Encyclopaedia Britannica [18, 7 ed.]

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ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA SEVENTH EDITION.

THE

ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA OR

DICTIONARY OF

ARTS, SCIENCES, AND GENERAL LITERATURE.

SEVENTH EDITION,

WITH PRELIMINARY DISSERTATIONS ON THE HISTORY OF THE SCIENCES, AND

OTHER EXTENSIVE IMPROVEMENTS AND ADDITIONS; INCLUDING THE LATE SUPPLEMENT.

A GENERAL INDEX, AND NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.

VOLUME XVIII.

ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, EDINBURGH; M.DCCC.XLIL

ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNIC A

PLATA, Plata. T A PLATA is the name of an extensive tract of coun-V''w' try in South America, extending from the eastern declivities of the Chilian Andes, to the great rivers Paraguay, Parana, and La Plata. During the latter period of Spanish domination, it formed the viceroyalty of the Rio de la Plata, or Buenos Ayres, having then annexed to it Bolivia or Upper Peru, Paraguay, and the Banda Oriental. By subsequent changes these have been erected into independent states, and the remaining territory has been constituted a republic under the name of the Argentine Republic, or the United Provinces of the Rio de la Plata. It is a federal state, consisting of a number of provinces, of which Buenos Ayres is the head. Before describing this country, we shall briefly glance at its past history. To the Spaniards belongs the honour of first discovering this part of the South American continent. In the year 1515, Juan Dias de Solis or Salis, having been furnished by the court of Spain with two ships for the purpose of exploring Brazil, arrived, on his voyage thither, at the mouth of the Rio de la Plata. Touching on the north coast between Maldonado and Monte Video, he took formal possession of the land in name of his sovereign ; but, thrown off' his guard by the deceitful friendship of the natives, he was slain, along with a few attendants who had followed him on shore. The coast was immediately abandoned by the survivors on board of the vessels; but in the year 1526 a fresh expedition, under the celebrated Sebastian Cabot, then in the service of Spain, entered the river, and cast anchor opposite the present site of Buenos Ayres. This took place at the time when a Spanish captain called Garcia was making discoveries in other parts of the same river. Advancing about a hundred and twenty leagues upwards, Cabot discovered a fine river flowing into the main stream. Up this he sailed with his fleet, and disembarking his men, built a fort, in which he left a garrison ; whilst he himself, with his remaining followers, pursued his discoveries still farther up the river. The Indians with whom he came in contact exhibited abundance of gold and silver plates, particularly the latter, brought by them from the eastern parts of Peru; but the circumstance led Cabot to believe that mines of the precious metals existed in the country in which he VOL. xvm.

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then was, and accordingly he gave the name of Rio de la La Plata. Plata, or River of Silver, to the noble stream by which it'—•'V—^ was watered. The Spaniards soon determined on colonizing this valuable acquisition; and, to prevent any interference on the part of the other nations of Europe, Don Pedro de Mendoza, with two or three thousand followers, was sent from Spain to secure the possession, and establish a relationship between it and the mother country. He landed upon the western shore of the La Plata in the year 1535, and founded the city of Buenos Ayres, which he so named from the salubrity of the climate. Pursuing his way into the interior, he conquered all the country as far as Potosi, at which mines of silver were discovered nine years afterwards. The first settlers at Buenos Ayres were most unfortunate ; their town was burned by the Indians, and after suffering every privation, they were shortly afterwards compelled to abandon the place. Previously to this event, Assumption, the capital of Paraguay, had been founded ; and thither the wretched remains of the expedition retreated. A second armament was fitted out, and an attempt made to rebuild the town, in 1542; but it was overwhelmed by a calamity similar to that which had overtaken the former. The chief attention of the Spaniards was for some time directed to forming settlements in Paraguay, in order to facilitate their communication with the mines of Peru, where Pizarro and his successors were gathering in a golden harvest. Contentions with the Indians were frequent and bloody, for the inhabitants of the vast plains upon either bank of the La Plata proved much more difficult to subdue than the timid and tractable Peruvians. It was not until the year 1580 that the Europeans succeeded in their attempts to found a town upon the site chosen by Mendoza. Before this period, however, they had established themselves at Santa Fe, Mendoza, and some other places in the interior; so that, as Dr Southey observes, the history of this part of South America differs from that of any other colony in one remarkable circumstance: The first permanent settlement was formed in the heart of the country, and the Spaniards colonized from the interior towards the sea. But they were not permitted quietly to enjoy the success of their third attempt to found Buenos Ayres. A

PLATA, La Plata. Stimulated by the recollection of their previous triumphs in demolishing the works of the invaders on the same ground, the Indians once more attacked it, and were so far successful as to set fire to the tents and temporary erections of the settlers. Their leader, however, being slain, they were compelled to retreat with loss ; and before they were in a condition to renew the work of demolition, the town was so well fortified and garrisoned as to bid defiance to their efforts. Again the leader of the savages fell, and his force was completely defeated and put to flight. From this period the city began to prosper, and the ship which carried to Castille the intelligence of its refoundation took home a cargo of sugar, and the first hides with which Europe was supplied from the wild cattle which now began to overspread the country, and soon produced a total change in the manners of all the adjoining tribes. The immense pampas of La Plata appear to have been originally stocked with cattle from a few which had been brought by the earliest settlers; and so rapidly had they multiplied, that, about the year 1610, no less than a million is said to have been driven from the country in the neighbourhood of Santa Fe into Peru. In the year 1620 Buenos Ayres was erected into a bishopric ; but for nearly two centuries it continued to be a place of little note, and comparatively scanty population. From the first period of the colonization of this country till the year 1778, the government was dependent on that of Peru, although the chief of Buenos Ayres had the title of captain-general. A false idea of what constitutes wealth led Spain to estimate the value of her possessions by the number and richness of their mines of gold and silver; and Buenos Ayres being deficient in these, its more solid advantages of a fertile soil and a salubrious climate were consequently overlooked. The pernicious system of political economy practised by Spain towards her colonies was the main cause why this city remained for such a length of time almost entirely unknown to Europeans. Apprehensive lest commodities might be introduced into Peru by way of Buenos Ayres, and thus prejudice the sale of the cargoes imported by the fleets which they sent to Panama, the early traders solicited and obtained from the government the prohibition of every kind of commerce by the Rio de la Plata. Those whom this measure most nearly affected put in a strong remonstrance against it, and were so far successful that, in 1602, permission was granted them to export for six years, in two vessels belonging to themselves, and on their own account, a certain quantity of flour, tallow, and jerked beef, but only to two ports. Upon the expiration of the term an indefinite prolongation was soli. cited, with an extension to all kinds of merchandise, and liberty to trade also with other ports. This application was vehemently opposed ; but notwithstanding, in the year 1618, the inhabitants of the shores of the Rio de la Plata were authorized to fit out two vessels, not exceeding one hundred tons burden each. Several other vexatious restrictions were imposed on them; and, to prevent any traffic with the interior of Peru, a custom-house was established at Cordova del Tucuman, where a duty of fifty per cent, was levied upon all imports. This custom-house was also designed to prevent the transmission of the precious metals from Peru to Buenos Ayres, even in payment for mules furnished by the latter city. By an order of 1622 this permission was prolonged for an indefinite period; and, with a view to promote the prosperity of the country, a royal audience was established at Buenos Ayres in 1665. Under such a miserable system of policy, it is not surprising that the provinces of the Rio de la Plata languished in indigence and obscurity. But the resources of so extensive and fertile a territory could not remain for ever concealed. As the population and wealth of the country increased, the continual remonstrances of the people at last opened the eyes of the Spanish government to the import-

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ance of the colony, and a relaxation took place in the sys- ba Plata. tem of commercial monopoly, which had hitherto been ri-'''-’" gorously adhered to. Indeed the absurd restrictions had been followed by their natural consequence, smuggling ; and to such a height was the contraband trade carried, that, in order to put a stop to it, the government of Castille gave permission to register ships to sail under a license from the council of the Indies at any time of the year. The flota which hitherto had embarked from Spain once a year, and was the only legitimate means of communication with America, dwindled away from 15,000 to 2000 tons of shipping ; and in 1748 it sailed for the last time to Cadiz, after having carried on the trade of Spanish America for two centuries. The register-ships now supplied the market with European commodities at a cheaper rate and at all seasons of the year; and from that time Buenos Ayres gradually rose into importance. Other relaxations in the mercantile system followed soon afterwards. In the year 1774 a free trade was permitted between several of the American ports ; and this was subsequently followed by additional liberties. The improvements which took place in Buenos Ayres by this enlargement of its commercial relations were frequently interrupted by circumstances which carry us back to an early period of its history. The Spaniards and Portuguese have, by a singular coincidence, been destined to be rivals, not only in the Old, but in the New World. The neighbouring territory of Brazil belonged to Portugal, and bitter hostilities frequently took place between the two countries. It is computed that, in the hostile incursions which the Brazilians made into the Spanish possessions in this quarter of America, they destroyed upwards of four hundred towns and villages. These marauders, born of Portuguese, Dutch, French, Italian, and Brazilian women, were called Mamelucos. Their principal object was to carry into slavery the Indians whom the Jesuits had partially civilized; and in exercising their inhuman trade they committed the most horrid enormities. It is asserted, that in one hundred and thirty years two millions of Indians were slain or carried into captivity by the Mamelucos of Brazil, and that more than one thousand leagues of country, as far as the river Maranon, were almost depopulated. It may well be believed that the settlements of the Rio de la Plata did not escape the same cruel devastation. But it does not appear that the acts of these marauders were authorized by the government which they professed to obey; for repeated decrees were passed in favour of the oppressed Indians. These, however, were seldom or never observed; and governors and others, who profited by the captivity and sale of the native tribes, winked at the traffic. But the rivalry and animosity of the Portuguese were productive of other evils besides those consequent on hostile incursions. We have alluded to an extensive contraband trade, originating, in the first instance, in the blind policy of Spain. This was chiefly carried on by the Portuguese, who were enabled, by means of the immense and thinly-inhabited territory of the Banda Oriental, to organize a system of smuggling which ultimately almost annihilated legitimate commerce. But the government having gained over Artigas, one of the most daring of the contrabandists, were at length enabled, with his assistance, to crush the illicit trade, and to put an end to the atrocities which it had inflicted on the country. In the year 1778, the provinces of the Rio de la Plata, Paraguay, Tucuman, Los Charcos, and Chiquito, were erected into a viceroyalty, of which Buenos Ayres was constituted the capital. At the same time it was thrown open to free trade of every description, even with the interior of Peru; and such was the effect of this wholesome measure, that the number of vessels trading with South America was at once augmented from fifteen to one hundred and seventy. They kept gradually increasing from year to year; and, in 1796, sixty-three vessels from Old Spain alone

PLAT A, L A. La Plata, arrived in the single port of Buenos Ayres, with cargoes valued at nearly three millions of piastres; and fifty-one sailed from it for the mother country, fourteen to the Havannah, and eleven to the coast of Africa. The value of the exports was about five millions and a half of piastres, including upwards of four millions in gold and silver. During the war which broke out between Great Britain and Spain, the trade of this colony suffered severely ; indeed for a time it was all but annihilated. Immense quantities of hides and other native productions, pent up in the warehouses of Buenos Ayres and Monte Video, were allowed to rot, there beinff no outlet for them; whilst at the same time many kinds of European goods rose to exorbitant prices, or were not to be procured at any cost, d his situation of affairs afforded the people of the United States of North America an opportunity of carrying on a contraband trade, by which the inhabitants of the provinces of the Rio de la Plata were supplied with European commodities ; and this traffic was connived at by the Spanish government. The fortune of war, however, in a few years placed Buenos Ayres for a short time in the hands of the British, and an end was put to the trade with the great western republic. In the year 1806, a British squadron, under the command of Sir Home Popham, appeared in the Rio de la Plata. From this armament a body of troops was landed, for the purpose of taking the capital. The British force was small, but, by the culpable negligence of the viceroy, the Marquis de Sombre Monte, who does not appear to have made any attempt to defend this important city, General Beresford accomplished his object on the 26th of June. This rash and unauthorized enterprise was fortunate in the first instance, but exceedingly disastrous in its issue. The viceroy having retired to Cordova, Don Santiago Liniers, a Frenchman in the service of Spain, put himself at the head of all the troops he could collect on both banks of the Plata, and on the 12th of August attacked the city at several points. So vigorous and successful was the assault, that the British general and his troops were compelled to surrender themselves prisoners of war. The disgraceful retreat of the viceroy having completely alienated from him the esteem of those over whom he ruled, they accordingly stripped him of his authority, and made the most strenuous efforts to obtain the office for Liniers, but without success. He was covered with honours, but a new viceroy arrived from Spain. Never was there a more favourable opportunity for these provinces entirely throwing off the yoke of the mother country; but no spirit of revolt existed in the country. The fact is, that, at the period of this invasion, Spain nowhere possessed more faithful subjects than those who peopled the banks of the Rio de la Plata. There cannot be a doubt, however, that this successful repulse of an enemy common to both, taught the people of Buenos Ayres “ a deep lesson and it ought to be regarded as the first step to that revolution in which the power of Spain in America was completely overthrown. In the mean time, British reinforcements arrived from the Cape of Good Hope, whence the original expedition had sailed ; and Sir Home Popham, after making an unsuccessful attempt on Monte Video, took Fort Maldonado, at the mouth of the river Plata. But the intelligence of the first capture of Buenos Ayres was so well received by the British public, that government resolved on maintaining possession of the banks of the Plata ; and an armament was therefore fitted out for effectually reducing the country. The first body of troops, which were commanded by Sir Samuel Auchmuty, enabled the British to undertake the conquest of Monte Video, which was carried by storm in February 1807. In May following, General Whitelocke arrived at the head of a formidable force ; and about a month afterwards these were joined by a further reinforce-

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ment under General Crawford. The army now amounted La Plata, to 8000 men, and the chief command was confided to Ge“v--—'' neral Whitelocke, a man destitute alike of courage and ability. The reduction of Buenos Ayres was now resolved upon; but if the British had acquired sufficient local and political knowledge of the counfly, they would never have attempted the conquest of that city. The attacking army sailed up the river, and, disembarking below the capital, marched towards it, but met with a reception which was little anticipated. The inhabitants of Buenos Ayres had made every preparation for a desperate resistance. The streets were intersected by deep ditches, defended by cannon, and the windows and house-tops were thickly planted with armed men. No sooner had the British troops begun to penetrate the streets in columns, than they were assailed by grape and musketry, under which they perished in great numbers, without being able to retaliate on the citizens. The cool, determined valour of the troops, and the heroic energy of the leaders of the several columns, were exerted in vain. About one third of the British army was either killed, wounded, or taken prisoners, without any material advantage having been gained. In these circumstances, it would have been madness to persist in such a mode of operation; and next day an armistice was concluded. A convention followed, the terms of which were, that the British should evacuate the possessions on the Plata in two months, and that all prisoners taken on both sides should be restored. By this capitulation, Monte Video, which might have been safely maintained against any enemy, and which would have afforded a secure depot for our manufactures, was also lost. But the events which were now passing on the continent of Europe were destined to change completely the aspect of affairs in South America. The unprincipled invasion of Spain by Napoleon in 1808 had placed that country in a situation extremely critical. Ferdinand VII., in concert with the emperor, had intrigued to wrest the sceptre from the feeble hands of his father ; the French everywhere overran the Peninsula, and numerous petty juntas were formed. These began to extend their authority to the colonies, and despatched several mandates to the New World, demanding implicit obedience to the resolutions which they contained. As far as possible, the provinces of the Rio de la Plata conformed to their dictates, and sent money and supplies of various kinds to repel the attempts of the French, a nation peculiarly offensive to them. Whilst the public mind at Buenos Ayres was thus kept in a state of excitement by the aggression of Napoleon, the transfer of the court of Lisbon to the Brazils inspired the princess regent of Portugal with the ambition of establishing herself in a similar manner at Buenos Ayres. Her father and her brother having at Bayonne renounced their right to the crown of Spain, she despatched emissaries to La Plata to assert her contingent claim, and to concert measures for her residence in the capital. Her proposals were received with enthusiasm, not only by the people, but also by the most influential persons of the country. But when her projects were on the point of being crowned with success, they were rendered abortive by the arrival, in May 1809, of the viceroy Cisneros, who, having touched at Monte Video in ascending the river Plata, there concerted measures with the governor-general, Elio, who, like himself, was a staunch supporter of the rights of Ferdinand. In the mean time Napoleon, having turned his attention to the colonies of Spain, had, like the princess already mentioned, sent an emissary to Buenos Ayres to gain over the inhabitants. Liniers, whom the course of events had brought prominently forward, is said to have secretly favoured the interests of France ; but he was deposed from all authority, and banished to Cordova. In no instance was Napoleon successful in seducing the American colonies from

PLATA, LA. and shot, along with several other influential persons. Such severe measures, however, not harmonizing with the moderate views of Saavedra and the junta, Ocampo was recaded, and the chief command intrusted to Don Antonio de Baicarce. The history of La Plata is now for some years closely interwoven with that of Upper Peru. In September ! 811 the junta gubernativa at Buenos Ayres was dissolved, and Saavedra the ex-president compelled to fly. An executive was thereupon vested in the hands of a triumvirate, Don Manuel Sarratea being its head. Monte Video still stoutly maintained the sinking cause of Spain ; the effort was unaval ing. Twice the soldiers of the fortress, in attacking the soldiers of Buenos Ayres, were driven back. In one of these the noted Artigas displayed his characteristic heroism, ant at the head of his brave Gauchos performed prodigies of valour in the patriot cause. But he had long displayed symptoms of insubordination. About this period he withdrew from the command of Rondeau, and, in acting independently, evinced ever afterwards great dislike to the inhabitants of Buenos Ayres. In October 1812 another change was effected in the government, and in the January following a sovereign constituent assembly was convened at Buenos cess Carlota changed their views, and formed plans of dt - Ayres. It was not until now that the Spanish flag and mately setting up the standard of independence. A cockade were abolished, and replaced by the bicolor. Now some political struggles, they succeeded in deposing the also the coinage bore the republican arms. I he assemvicerov, and, on the 25th of May 1810, named junta gu- bly elected an executive consisting of three individuals, bernaLa, composed of nine members, with Don Corneho and Don Carlos Alvear was chosen president of the assemde Saavedra as their president, and Dean Funes and Do bly. But this form of government was as short-lived as any Mariano Moreno as their secretaries. that had preceded it. On the 31st of December 1813 it Moreno, the secretary, possessing a genius fitted for the was abolished, and Sehor Posadas was elected supreme ditimes, became the life and soul of the new government. rector of the republic, with a council of seven to act along As the eves of the people in the provinces were opened to with him. „ , . . the daring nature of the step which had been taken, the Monte Video, which still held out for the mother country, authority of the junta became more and more circumscrib- was soon afterwards taken, when between 5000 and 6000 ed, and was soon reduced to the limits of Buenos Ayres royalist troops laid down their arms, and an immense quanMonte Video did not recognise it at all. As the port of this tity of military stores was likewise given up. But the recity contained a naval depot, there were there concentred fractory Artigas, who had assumed the title of chief of the a Greater number of civil and military officers, who, be b Banda Oriental, demanded possession of the place, which Spaniards, immediately took alarm, and decisive measures being refused, he in a short time took it by force, and rewere adopted to prevent the heresy from spreading beyond tained possession of the fortress until a Brazilian army ejectthe limits of Buenos Ayres, if not to crush lfc there. B ed him in the year 1817. The mutations and changes v nc i the Creoles viewed the matter very differently. They assem- the government of Buenos Ayres underwent we need not bled at the municipality, and unanimously resolved that it follow; and the civil dissensions by which the country was was expedient to join the party in the capital. But this wise afflicted are equally endless and uninteresting. In 181b resolution was rendered abortive by the precaution of the a new congress met at Tucuman, which named Pueyrrec on governor, Elio, and by the address and intrigue of an indi- director of the republic; in July it declared the countries vidual, Dr Obes by name, whose ambition was the original on the Plata independent, and, having transferred its sescause of the misfortunes which befell the Banda Oriental. sions to Buenos Ayres, issued a declaration,2 containing a He succeeded in drawing over many of his countrymen list of twenty-eight articles. This remarkable document de• to his own views ; and ultimately an answer was transmit- scribes the cruelties which the united provinces of the Kio ted to Buenos Ayres, the purport of which was, that the de la Plata, as well as other parts of America, had endured, Monte Videans could not give in their allegiance to an whilst under the yoke of Spain, and the motives whicn let authority not appointed in a legitimate way by the na- them to shake it off. , TT a T>. tion. But Moreno was nothing dismayed by this intelliThe republic now assumed the title of the United ijO" gence, and his measures became more decisive as the emer- vinces of South America, and on the 3d of December 18 gency increased. He succeeded in expelling the viceroy it proclaimed a reglamento provisorio, as preliminary to a and the oidores from the country ; and had not the junta constitution. The congress chosen in compliance with the itself become infected by schism, such a man at the head reglamento was opened in February 1819, and on the *oth of affairs would have soon brought matters to an issue, it of May the new constitution was published; but it afterbecame impossible for the junta to exist m its ^en dis- wards underwent many important changes. It was on the jointed state. Moreno and his party withdrew ; and he model of that of the United States, and secured personal having accepted a mission to England, unfortunately died freedom and equality, liberty of conscience and of the press, on his passage. ... and the right of suffrage. The country, however, still con The people of Buenos Ayres having so far succeeded in tinued in a disturbed state, and these troubles were increasestablishing their independence, considered themselves pow- ed by the intrigues of France and Austria to impose upon erful enough to proselytize in the provinces. A division of the natives of Buenos Ayres a Bourbon or an Austrian patriots under Ocampo was sent against Cordova, where a prince; but the latter were happily defeated by the good formidable faction opposed to the new order of things had sense and patriotism of the people, notwithstanding the anbeen organized by Liniers; and this leader was taken prisoner

La Plata. Spain, although it is perfectly evident that the doubtful nature of their allegiance, thus brought palpably before them, was well calculated to afford a plausible pretext for their adopting measures to secure their own individual independence, should circumstances hold out a well-grounded hope of success. These were not long in arriving. Cisneros, the new viceroy, exerted himself to the utmost to fulfil the orders of the court of Madrid, and to close the ports of the Plata against British traders, who, in spite of reiterated prohibitions, continued to land their goods. An intelligent native of the name of Don Mariano Moreno addressed a pamphlet to the viceroy, demonstrating the necessity of re-modelling antiquated institutions, no longer compatible with national prosperity. rl he enlightened views of Moreno, though strongly opposed by the privileged me diants of Cadiz and Buenos Ayres, were generally favoured by his countrymen, and the necessity of a relaxation of he prohibitory system, as the only means of replenishing the exhausted treasury, at length compelled the reluctant acqmescence ofperiod ^ principal supporters of tlie P™'

s

‘

Memoirs of General Miller, vol. i. p. 60.

Man’festacian Mstorica y politka de la Revolucicm de la America, Odr-

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PLATA, archy which had reduced them to the brink of destruction. ^ To enumerate the factions which successively got the upper hand at Buenos Ayres, or to describe their various intrigues to maintain themselves in power, would be to draw a most disgusting picture of the reign of anarchy. Numerous successive governors seized upon office, and retained it but for a few weeks, and in some instances for a still shorter period. These rapid changes were generally preceded by sanguinary struggles, and followed by banishments and proscriptions; but in no instance was confiscation of property resorted to, so far had public opinion wrought an improvement. In October 1833 an attempt was made to effect a revolution in Buenos Ayres, and in June of the year following the government resigned spontaneously. The internal provinces were as usual the theatre of petty dissensions and skirmishes. In March 1835 the chamber elected General Don Rosas governor and captain-general of the province of Buenos Ayres for five years; giving him extraordinary powers, whilst he was at liberty to resign whenever he might judge fit, and only restricting him in one point, by obliging him to maintain and uphold the Catholic religion. The peace of the republic was disturbed throughout the year by petty insurrections, and by an attempt in the province of Tucuman to foment a revolution in favour of the Unitarians; but it was completely put down, and during the year 1836 the republic remained in a comparatively tranquil state. It is worthy of record, that on the 4th of December Spain acknowledged the independence of La Plata, and of all the other provinces in America which formerly belonged to her. Since then, up to the present time (1838), no event of any moment has occurred, with the exception of a declaration of war against Peru; but a peace was concluded between the two powers before any blood was shed on either side. Boundaries La pjata js situated between 20° and 38° or 39° of south auu exttnu * latitude, and between 55° 36' and 71° of west longitude. Its extreme length is about 1400 miles, and in breadth it varies from 500 to 800. It is bounded on the north by Bolivia; on the east by Paraguay, Uruguay, and the Atlantic Ocean; on the south by Patagonia and the Atlantic Ocean; and all along its western limits, the lofty ranges of the Andes separate it from Chili. In the northwest, the eastern declivities of the Andes project a considerable way forwards, so that this district, which comprises the provinces of Salta, Tucuman, Santiago, Mendoza, San Juan, Rioja, and Catamarca, is a high and rugged tableland. All the rest of La Plata constitutes one continuous plain, perhaps the most extensive and uniform in the whole world. The geology of this country presents little variety, and almost nothing that is interesting. Rocks are seldom seen, except in the mountainous region. Some gypsum occurs in the vicinity of Buenos Ayres, and limestone is said to occur in several places. The stones used in paving the streets, or in building, are brought from the island of Martin Garcia, at the mouth of the Uruguay, or as ballast in vessels from Europe. Rivers. Of the rivers, the principal is that which gives name to the region. The country, however, is traversed by several other large streams, the general bearing of which is to the south-east. Passing over the Pilcomayo, the Bermijo or Rio Grande, and the Salado, which have been described in the articles PARAGUAY and PARANA, the next in importance is the Saladillo. The course and extent of this river are very imperfectly known. It appears to rise in the mountainous parts of Cordova, and after traversing the province of Buenos Ayres, it falls into the sea at Rosas, in the bay of Samborombon. The Tercero, which also rises in the province of Cordova, and falls into the Parana, has been

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proved to be navigable for barges as high as the Pass of Fereira, about thirty leagues below the city of Cordova. Considerable light has recently been thrown on the hydrography of the southern portion of the Argentine Republic, by the publication of a journal kept by La Cruz, a Chilian gentleman, who, in the year 1806, undertook the command of an expedition wffiich had for its object the discovery of a more direct means of communication between the southern provinces of Chili and Buenos Ayres, than the old one by Mendoza. An abridged account of the hydrographical facts which have resulted from this expedition we shall give in the language of an able writer. “ As we retrace his (La Cruz’s) route, proceeding from east to west (from the frontiers of Buenos Ayres towards the Andes), the first considerable body of water which we meet with is the Desaguadero of the Diamante, in the middle of the continent, fifteen leagues north of the lake in which it terminates, and which is many leagues farther south than has been hitherto supposed. We next find, at a very short distance, the Chadileubu, which rises in the cordillera of Melalgue, and flows into the Desaguadero. Proceeding some leagues farther, we come on the Cobuleubu, or Rio Colorado, making a bold circuit eastward through the Pampas, as it descends from the Andes near Maule, before it turns southwards to the sea. As we approach the Cordillera, we arrive at the Cudileubu and the Neuquen, the latter receiving the Tocoman and Reinguileubu, all considerable rivers, the united w'aters of which, under the name of Mucum-leubu, flow southwards into the Rio Negro. The Neuquen and Cobuleubu both appeared to him to be navigable downwards from the place where he crossed them. “ Respecting the Limayleubu, which La Cruz frequently made the object of his inquiries, the accounts of the Indians were positive and distinct. All concurred in stating it to be the greatest river with which they wrere acquainted on the eastern side of the Andes; that it was nowhere fordable, and that it received the Neuquen, Cudileubu, and all the other rivers of the Eastern Andes northwards to the sources of the Rio Colorado. It issues, according to them, from a beautiful lake called Alomini, of great size ; for the cacique Manguel had travelled a day and a half along its shores. It is situated between the Cordilleras Miguen and Quenuco, and has an island in the middle of it. The river Limayleubu is small at first, but is soon swelled by the accession of a great many streams, of which the last in order, as named by the Indians, is the Naguelguapi. This river springs, they said, not from a lake, but from a morass of the same name. Besides the lake Alomini, the Indian chiefs also knew a lake called Guechulauguen, situated farther south, and the waters of which flow into the Limayleubu.”1 This account differs somewhat from those which were previously given by Falkner the Jesuit and others, and which have found their way into all geographies, and vitiated all maps, thus giving rise to extreme confusion. The conclusions to be deduced from the statements of La Cruz we give in the language of the writer just quoted. “ Thus it appears to us to be clearly established that the main branch of the Rio Negro rises in the lake Alomini, situated in the Cordilleras, east of Villarica; and that, issuing thence under the name of Limayleubu, and being joined by numerous streams, among others by the Naguelguapi, mentioned by Falkner, it soon becomes a great river, of considerable width, and nowhere fordable. It afterwards receives the Cariguenague, coming from the north, and lower down, the Mucumleubu, itself a great river ; the numerous tributaries to which were crossed by La Cruz.

Edinburgh Review, No. cxxxi. p. 101-2,

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The latter river is evidently the Sanguel, or Reed River of snow and ice are not unknown. Upon the east coast the La PLt^ v air is humid ; rain, thunder, and violent storms are not un' Falkner. These united waters proceed southwards a short frequent; but in the western district the atmosphere is so way, till, meeting the southern branch of the Rio Megro, free from vapour, that at mid-day the planet Venus is often they turn eastward to the ocean.n .. . Lakes. Numerous rivers take their rise in the eastern declivities distinguishable in the heavens, and the drought is so great that dead bodies are actually parched into mummies. 1 fie of the Andes, and, after irrigating considerable tracts ot climate of the Pampas is subject to a great difference of country, are either absorbed by the soil or flow into in an temperature in winter and summer, although the gradua lakes. Amongst these may be mentioned the Rio Dolce, changes are very regular. The winter is about as cold as which originates in the lofty mountains of lucuman, and, November is in England, and the ground at sunrise is inafter watering the capital of the same name, passing near variably covered with white frost; but the ice is very t in. Santiago del Estero, capital of the province so named, and In summer the sun is oppressively hot; and not only is matraversing Cordova, is lost in a salt lake situated in that nual labour suspended during the middle of the day, but province, and called “ lagunas saladas de los I orongos. even the wild horses and cattle are exhausted by it. ine Lakes are distributed over the whole expanse of the Ram- only great irregularity in the climate is the pampero, oi pas, and some of them are of considerable size, one in Entre south-west wind, which sweeps these plains with a velocity Rios being one hundred miles in length ; but they cannot and a violence which it is impossible to withstand. I nese be said to correspond in grandeur to the other features o periodical visitations, however, produce beneficial effects, this region. The soil is almost everywhere impregnated the weather being particularly agreeable after they have with fossil salt; and the water of most of the lakes and exhausted their fury; and, taken as a whole, the Pampas pools is brackish and disagreeable to the taste, bo plenti- may be said to enjoy as beautiful and as salubrious an atfully is this saline matter distributed, that whole tracts of mosphere as the most healthy parts of Greece and Italy, country are covered with its efflorescence. But a want of and without being subject to malaria. With regard to huwater is universally experienced; for, notwithstanding the midity, the atmosphere is not uniform at places under t e number of lakes and inferior rivers, many of them disappear same latitude. In the provinces of Mendoza and San Luis, during the dry season. A growth of rushes overspreads their or in the regions of wood and grass, the air is very dry, and bottoms, serving as lairs for the pumas, who he in wait for there is no deposition of dew at night. But in Buenos the cattle that, perishing of thirst, fly to the green stagnant Ayres a considerable quantity of moisture prevails in the water which lies on the marly surface, is as thick as refuse atmosphere, probably from the vicinity of the place to the oil, and swarms with myriads ot mosquitos. . . , Soil. The soil of this vast territory is a rich mould, perfectly ocean. The productions are gold and silver, copper, tin, leaa,producfree from stones, not one being seen on its surface for many and iron (of which large masses are often found), saltpetre, tions. hundred miles together. Though an uninteresting level, selenite (which is used instead of glass for windows and devoid of picturesque scenery, it is divided into regions dif- lanthorns), marine salt, barrero (a loam impregnated with ferent in climate and in produce. On leaving Buenos Ayres, salt, and greedily devoured by sheep and oxen) ; and there ^ and proceeding in a westerly direction, the first of these are also numerous mineral springs, besides the saline lakes regions is covered for the space of 180 miles with clover already mentioned, from which salt can be procured. In and thistles, or artichokes; the second region, which ex- some parts of La Plata there are wooded tracts consisting tends for 450 miles, produces grass; and the third, winch of palms, cedars, and other trees; but from the Rio de la reaches the base of the cordillera, is a grove of low trees Plata to the Straits of Magelhaens, as well as throughout and shrubs. The first region varies in a striking manner the most part of the Pampas, we find neither tree nor with the seasons of the year. In winter the leaves of the shrub. Of fruits there are sugar, vines, and others; of thistles are large and luxuriant, and the whole surface of grains, wheat and maize are especially cultivated ; melons, the country has the rough appearance of a turnip field. pumpkins, beans, potatoes, and vegetables of all sorts, are The clover in this season is extremely rich and strong, and raised; as also rice, manioc, and a shrub resembling aloe, from amongst it the wild cattle graze at liberty. In spring the clover disappears, the leaves of the thistles droop along the the fibres of which ropes and cordage are made; ricinus, earth almonds, flax, hemp, rhubarb, indigo, vanilla, ipecacuanha, ground, and the country has still the appearance of a rough tobacco, cotton ; monkshood, with which the Indians poison crop of turnips. But in less than a month the whole region their arrows; St John’s wort, capaiva, and others. becomes a luxuriant wood of thistles in full bloom, and This country has long been celebrated for the abundance Animals, reaching ten or even eleven feet in height. Summer, however, is not over before another change takes place. I he of its cattle, oxen, horses, sheep, goats, asses, mules, and swine. thistles suddenly lose their verdure and sap, their heads The horses are both wild and tame, and the number of them, droop, the stems become black and dead, and being levelled as well as that of the cattle, is immense. The inhabitants of the Pampas who superintend the herds are called Gauchos, an by the pampero or hurricane, they are rapidly decomposed, account of whom will be found in the article BUENOS AYKES. when the clover rushes up, and all again becomes a sea o Amongst the w ild animals may be mentioned many species verdure. The second and third of these regions present nearly the same appearance throughout the year; for the of large wild cats, the jaguar, cougar, chibi-guazo; puma, which may be said to represent the lion in the new world ; trees and shrubs are evergreens, and the immense plain ot different kinds of pole-cats, the zorillo, tajassu, tapir, armagrass only changes its colour from green to brown. Not a dillo, marten, wild dog, guanaco ; chameleon, sometimes of weed is to be found throughout its vast extent; and over an enormous size; monkey, deer, hare, rabbit, elk, rigua, its ever-verdant and luxuriant surface innumerable herds of many species of serpents, as the boa, rattlesnake, great watercattle range at large. The region of wood is equally re- serpent, viper, adder; crocodile, mosquito, wasp, ant, and so markable. The trees are not crowded; but in their growth such beautiful order is observed, that the traveller can ga - on. Amongst the birds of this country may be mentioned the white raven, the gold-coloured sparrow, the partridge, lop between them in every direction.2 as large as a domestic fowl, the ostrich, pigeon, wild turkey, oi’matp The tropical climate which prevails in the northern dis- goose, and some others. There are seven kinds of bees, tricts disappears more and more towards the south, so that La Plata.

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ItghtteS during’some rapid journeys across the Pampas and amoag the Andes.

By Captain F. B. Head

PLATA, La

of which several produce honey that has a very considerv'—-' able, and sometimes alarming effect, when taken in large quantities. Of fish there are sea-bream and gold-fish ; crawfish, perch, shad ; whales and seals, which yield train oil and fish-bone for exportation ; sharks, eighteen thousand of their skins being annually exported; and turtles. InhabiThe inhabitants present the same national diversities here touts. Their number ag jn jj-jg other states of South America. has been variously estimated at from half a million to nearly three millions; a sufficient proof of the uncertainty which prevails regarding the exact amount of the population of La Plata. In the Weimar Almanack for 183S they are stated at 2,024,995, viz. Creoles of Spanish descent, 600,000; Mestizoes, 600,000 ; Indians, “ fideles,” 800,000 ; negroes, 25,000. Of aboriginal Indians there are numerous nations ; but, as will be seen, the whole do not comprise a population at all commensurate with the varieties of distinct tribes. The Indians of the Pampas are said not to exceed eight or ten thousand souls. La Plata consists of the following provinces, most of which have a capital city of the same name : Buenos Ayres, Cordova, Entre Rios, Corrientes, Catamarca, Mendoza or Cuyo, Rioja, Salta, Santiago del Estero, Santa Fe, San Juan, San Luis, Tucuman, and Tarija. Missiones is sometimes reckoned a province of La Plata, but it now belongs to Paraguay. Buenos Ayres, the capital, having already been described, we shall pass on to the other provinces. Cordova. Cordova is bounded on the north by Santiago, on the south by the Indian territory and Buenos Ayres, on the east by Santa Fe, and on the west by San Luis. It extends about 110 leagues from north to south, and about the same distance from east to west. This is a fine province, the soil being rich and fertile, and well irrigated. It is pretty thickly set with trees, possesses excellent pasturage, and abounds in fine clover. Cordova, the capital of the province, is picturesquely situated in a deep valley, beside a river surrounded by mountains, in lat. 31. 15. south, long. 62. 40. west. It was founded in 1573, and became a place of considerable importance in the time of the Jesuits. In 1804 and 1810 attempts were made to render the river Tercero, which passes near Cordova, navigable from this point to its junction with the Parana; but the commerce of the country was too limited, labour too dear, and overland carriage too easy and cheap, to render this an eligible speculation, so that the attempt was abandoned. The population of the whole province has been estimated at 315,000. Entre Rios. Entre Rios is situated between the two great rivers Parana and Uruguay, and is bounded on the north by the province of Corrientes, and on the south by Buenos Ayres. It possesses several peculiar advantages, and is one of the most fertile and pleasing provinces in the whole republic. Embraced on all sides but one by the two great rivers just named, it is easily accessible by shipping ; and being thus insulated, it is protected from the incursions of the Indians. It is copiously irrigated, and the soil is distinguished for its fertility. Wood is abundant, but small in size. The pastures are extensive ; but the wild cattle, which formerly abounded, are much reduced in number. There are two small towns in the province, each of which is dignified with the name of city ; one is Badaja, opposite to Santa Fe, on the Parana, the other is Villa del Arroyo de la China, on the Uruguay. Farther south, and nearer to Buenos Ayres, there are two other towns, called respectively Gualeguay and Gualeguaychu, but they are still smaller than the two former. The great natural advantages of Entre Rios must ultimately raise it into a place of considerable importance. At present the population is computed at 105,000. Corrientes. Corrientes is situated to the north of Entre Rios, and forms a continuation of that province, being also situated between the rivers Parana and Uruguay. On the north

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it is bounded by the state of Paraguay. It has an average Plata, La. breadth of about two hundred miles, and its length may —v'-—' exceed that, though the boundary line between it and Entre Rios has not been laid down with accuracy. The territory of Corrientes is intersected by several rivers, some of which are navigable for a considerable distance. Besides the celebrated lake Ybera, there are in the province numerous sheets of water, by which it is rendered one of the most fertile countries on the face of the globe. Corrientes, the capital, is admirably situated on the banks of the Parana, near its junction with the Paraguay. It is a very ancient city, but the population is inconsiderable. That of the whole province is estimated at 140,000. Santa Fe is situated between the river Parana and Cor-Santa Fe. dova, which constitute its boundaries on the east and the west. On the south it is bounded by Buenos Ayres, and on the north by Santiago del Ostero. This fertile country is irrigated by numerous rivers, some of which are of considerable size. The chief employment of the inhabitants consists in the breeding of vicumras and horses, the skins of which animals are conveyed to Buenos Ayres. Santa Fe, the capital, is situated on the western part of the Parana, at about eighty leagues from Buenos Ayres, and has risen to importance by becoming a depot for goods on the river. The inhabitants of the town amount to about 4000, and those of the province to about 52,500. San Luis is bounded on the east by the provinces ofSan Luis. Buenos Ayres and Santa Fe, on the west by Mendoza, on the south by the territory of the Pampas Indians, and on the north by Cordova. This province is reckoned about a hundred leagues in extent from north to south, and from fifty to sixty in breadth from east to west. The soil is uniformly productive, and the climate is salubrious, but the inhabitants are very indolent, and agriculture is not pursued to any extent. San Luis, the capital, is a very ancient town, and the only place of any importance in the journey between Buenos Ayres and Mendoza. It is situated in a fertile valley at the foot of a range of hills, and the entrance to it is through long lanes, having dead mud-walls on either side. The population of the town has been estimated at 15,000, and that of the province at 103,000. Mendoza or Cuyo is a well-irrigated and fertile plain, Mendoza, bounded on the east by San Luis, on the west by the cordillera of the Andes, on the north by San Juan, and on the south by the Indian territory. From north to south it extends about a hundred and fifty leagues, and from east to west rather more than a hundred leagues. The inhabitants of this province are very industrious, and they raise wheat and maize for exportation. Their chief occupation, however, is the cultivation of vines and clover grass. A considerable quantity of wine is made, in which article an extensive trade is carried on, and also in brandy and dried fruits. One of the most productive branches of commerce is the transport of mate to the various provinces of the republic. Mendoza, the capital of the province, is a large town, situated in an extensive and well-cultivated plain at the foot of the Andes, between 32° and 33° of south latitude. Its most remarkable feature is a fine alameda, or public promenade, of great length and beauty. The town covers a considerable space of ground, as there is generally a vineyard, orchard, and garden attached to every house. The population of the city is estimated at 16,000. There are several other towns of some note, such as San Carlos, to the south, in the valley of Uco; Coricouto, to the east; and another in the same direction, eleven leagues from the city, called Los Barriales. Over the whole country there are numerous establishments and farms for breeding cattle and prosecuting various agricultural operations. The population of the entire province may be estimated at 103,335. San Juan is situated to the north of Mendoza, extending San Juan.

PLATA, LA. La Plata.

neral are of an inferior description ; but the place is memorable from its having taken a distinguished part in the revolutionary struggle. The inhabitants, who amount to ten or twelve thousand, are described as hospitable, honourable in thPir dealings, of a mild disposition, and much inclined The other towns are Monteros, Suares, Chiqiuto labour< lieasta, Rio Chico, Francas, and Burroyaco, each of which constitutes a large parish, at the same time that it contains ^pulat;on of the whole provinee is umateu at ouuio. _ 4 D O Un SesXL‘^Td a^rSn of the eastern side of os— HO 00to 0 souls Salta is situated the north of Tucuman, and is of con-Salta., the Rio de la Plata. The city of San Juan, situated in la- siderable Salta is extent. situated Its western part belongs to the great titude 31. 15. south, and longitude 68. 35. west, was found- range of the Cordilleras, and is rich in metals. Here are ed as early as 1560, and is consequently one ot the most found gold and silver, copper, iron of various qualities, sulancient places in the republic. It is now considered as t e phur, alum, vitriol; and there are also indications of t e town which most closely follows Buenos Ayres in the march existence of tin and quicksilver. Many branches of mounof social reform. The mines of gold and silver which were tains, off-shoots from the colossal chain of the Andes, exsaid to enrich this province have never yet been discover- tend into the province, from which proceed pleasant and ed. The population of the city of San Juan is estimated beautiful valleys, intersected by numerous streams which i»,uuu, that tucu, of ui the n.c whole province r*~ —T ' i nlen fl1. irrigate and fertilize the country. In one of the intervals at 19,000, at 103,330 Rioja. Rioja is situated to the north of San Juan, an between the low collateral branches of the Andes is situatthe foit of the Andes. It is about one hundred and forty between frie^low eohatera^^ ^ the ^ the leagues in length, by nearly the same in br . becomes flat and continues so to the borders of the Berother provinces in this region, it is a mountain . ■ pai a The city of Salta, the capital of the proland ; and it shares with Mendoza and San Juan m the in lat. 24 15. south, and long. 64. 0. west, growth of vines, wTheat, and maize. Rioja, the cap , ,’ . j leading from Buenos Ayres to Lima by small and unimportant city, situated in latitude 28.30 son h ta/of plsl. It wfs founded in 1582, and has long and longitude 68. 35. west, two hundred and ninety jay of Potos^K ^ ^ t),n|y.pe0), d from Buenos Ayres. It contains about 3000 inhabitants, bee P , . amounts t0 about 9000 souls. The and the population of the entire province is reckoned at region. 1 be population amou ^ ^ other towns in the province are Caldeva, Rosania de la Vrnn r ron-_ 87,500 souls tera, Rosario de Serrillos, Chicoana, Atua, and a few small Catamarca. Catamarca is a tract of country extending about one hunvillages. The population of the whole province is estimated dred leagues in length and nearly as much in breadth, it at 140,000 souls. canba(,o is situated near the foot of the Andes, under the twentySantiago del Estero is situated between Tucuman and1" ■ n eighth degree of south latitude, and is bounded by iucu- Cordova, being south of the former and north of the latter. man and Salta on the north and east, by the Andes on It is of great extent in all directions, and is one of the most the west, and by Rioja on the south. It consists of a fertile of these provinces. Agriculture is the chief occumountainous table-land, but is noted for an extensive and pation of the inhabitants of Santiago. Wheat produces fruitful valley, called the Valley of Catamarca. The tem- eighty fold, and it requires little or no aid from art to raise perature of this district is of the most genial description, this heavy crop. All kinds of grain may here be brought and the country produces cotton of a very superior qua- to perfection, yet the inhabitants are slow to avail themlity The city of Catamarca is situated about sixty leagues selves of the advantages presented by nature. The city ot south-east of Tucuman, in latitude 27. 45. south, and lon- Santiago, situated on the road to Bolivia through Cordova, gitude 66. 0. west. It was founded more than a century in 27. 55. south latitude, and 63. 20. west longitude, is and a half ago, and stands in the beautiful valley which

La Plata, about a hundred and twenty leagues from north to south, ' v'---' and about the same distance from west to east, terminating, like Mendoza, at the foot of the Andes. The country is remarkably fertile, maiKauiy leimc, producing wheat, maize,' olives, and vines, m,1Ph in abundance. The produce of the olive p an h . at_ esteemed in Buenos Ayres; but the na 1 , tention chiefly to the cultivation of the vin , £hirh luxuriantly, and to the making of wines and b-and^whieh

Tucuman.

105,000 souls. Cortilp nrn Tucumam, vinces in the republic, is situated in tbe twenty s

in abundance, and is of a very superior T

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K dovsq'saiTLiiisj San Juan, Mendoza, and other cities. Fruits of various sorts are abundant; and potatoes here attain an enormous size. To the west of the city is a delightful mountain, of great height, from which sixteen rivers descend to fertilize and beautify the surrounding territmy. These streams unite and form the river Santiago del Estero. Along all the lower parts of this mountain are immense clusters ofJ. trees, and unded amongst of tracts, bitter • u bvthem thesemany woody Th oranges. Ihe city is ssurr0 rrounaea oy t e J some_ which occupy a space of fifteen lea^s. f the

aloni? with those of Tucuman and Cordova, are all bounded 1 tfe ^t by that vast territory called Grand Chaco, ex. i- vpnrp to tbe riVer Parana. It is the native coun-

The inhabitants of the Grand Chaco, although now ry much"in number'stm retoin their in that, possessing no mineral treasures,

The houses in ge- attention.

To the south-east of this province lies Jujuy,

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Platsese which, in the event of Tarija being permanently united with II. Bolivia, will be erected into a province of the Argentine Ite" riat!nt: - public ; indeed some recent writers reckon it such already. It is of much the same character as Tarija, having a very prolific soil, and producing abundance of similar productions. There are some mines of gold in this territory, but they have not been worked to advantage. The city of Jujuy lies on the road from Buenos Ayres to Upper Peru, and is a very old place. The whole district contains from 50,000 to 60,000 inhabitants. Executive i}on Juan de Rosas was in 1835 appointed dictator of poweu repUblic for five years. There are four principal ministers, one for each of the foreign, home, finance, and war departments. The state religion is the Roman Catholic, which is under the direction of four bishops. The Jesuits, who nearly three fourths of a century ago were expelled from this and other parts of South America, have been allowed to return. The commerce of the country, the state of education, and its moral aspect generally, will be found described in the article BUENOS AYRES. According to official accounts from Buenos Ayres, the finances stood thus on the 7th of April 1836 : Income, 11,727,446 dollars; expenditure, 8,439,165 dollars; surplus, 3,288,281 dollars. On account of the public debt, 7,747,000 dollars fall to be deducted, thereby giving rise to a deficiency, which was covered by the sale of 1200 leagues of the states land. It appears, however, that these accounts are little to be depended upon; for, according to the budget for 1837, the income was 12,000,000 dollars, and the expenditure 18,315,124 dollars, thus making a deficit of more than 6,000,000 of dollars. To cover these deficiencies, and wipe out the accumulated debt, it is proposed to

PL ATJ5/E, in Ancient Geography, the name of a strong town in Boeotia, which from its situation was exposed to the north wind. It was burned to the ground by Xerxes ; and it was famous for the defeat of Mardonius the Persian general, as also for the signal victory of the Lacedaemonians and other Greeks under Pausanias the Lacedaemonian, and Aristides an Athenian general, in memory of which the Greeks erected a temple to Jupiter Eleutherius, and instituted games which they called Eleutheria. Plataeae stood at the foot of Mount Cithteron, on the road to Athens and Megara, and on the confines of Attica and Megaris. PLATFORM, in the military art, an elevation of earth, sometimes covered with planks of wood, upon which cannon are placed to fire on the enemy. On the ramparts there is always a platform, where the cannon are mounted. It is made by heaping up earth upon the rampart, or by an arrangement of madriers, rising insensibly, for the cannon to roll on, either in a casemate, or, on attack, in the outworks. All practitioners are agreed that no shot can be depended on unless the piece can be placed upon a solid platform ; for if the platform shakes with the first impulse of the powder, the piece must likewise shake, which will alter its direction, and render the shot uncertain. PLATFORM, in Architecture, is a row of beams which support the timber-work of a roof, and lie on the top of a wall where the entablature ought to be raised. This term is also used for a kind of terrace or broad smooth open walk at the top of a building, whence a fair prospect may be obtained of the adjacent country. Hence an edifice is said to be covered with a platform when it is flat on the top, and has no ridge. Most of the oriental buildings are covered in this manner, as were all those of the ancients. PLATINA is a metallic substance, the name of which has an allusion to its colour. It is a diminutive of plata, VOL. XVIII.

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obtain a native loan of 17,000,000 dollars. Altogether, the Plating, accumulated debt of the Argentine Republic amounts to -v—' 42,000,000 dollars. The constitution of this federal republic has not yet been Constitucompletely organized. The head state, the seat of the con-tigress or legislative assembly, is Buenos Ayres. The number of senators amounts to forty-eight, and that of deputies to eighty-eight. The states are all at liberty to manage their own affairs, each having a governor, with subordinate functionaries. In all of them the principle of democracy is recognised, but practically it is more acted upon in some states than in others. Where the governor has great influence, either from his wealth or from other circumstances, he is frequently found to evince a distaste for legislative control. Occasionally, indeed, they openly avow themselves absolute ; and as Buenos Ayres can exercise but a feeble authority over those provinces which are situated far in the interior, they are not always called to a strict account of their stewardship. In conclusion, it may be observed, that the union of the provinces forming this republic is far from being perfect. They exercise too much individual independence, and are too jealous of each other, and of the capital in particular, heartily to entertain common views for the general good. They are as yet but weakly cemented together, and a long period will elapse before they are fused into one homogeneous mass. This is no douht in part owing to their being spread over a vast extent of country; but, when communication between distant parts becomes more easy and frequent, which it will be when the rivers are rendered properly navigable, so as to facilitate commerce, then a more complete amalgamation of the whole may confidently be anticipated. (R. R. R.)

and signifies little silver. From its great specific gravity, and other resemblances which it has to gold, it has been called or blanc, or white gold; from its refractory nature, diabolus metallorum ; and from some doubts entertained of its character as a metal, juan bianco, white jack, white rogue, or white mock metal. It has also received the appellation of the eighth metal; and, probably from some district which affords it, has been called platina del Pinto. PLATING is the art of covering baser metals with a thin plate of silver, either for use or for ornament. It is said to have been invented by a spur-maker, not for show, but for real utility. Till then the more elegant spurs in common use were made of solid silver, and, from the flexibility of that metal, they were liable to be bent into inconvenient forms by the slightest accident. To remedy this defect, a workman at Birmingham contrived to make the branches of a pair of spurs hollow, and to fill that hollow with a slender rod of steel or iron. Finding this a great improvement, and being desirous to add cheapness to utility, he continued to make the hollow larger, and of course the iron thicker and thicker, till at last he discovered the means of coating an iron spur with silver in such a manner as to make it equally elegant with those which were made wholly of that metal. The invention was quickly applied to other purposes; and to numberless utensils which were formerly made of brass or iron are now given the strength of these metals, and the elegance of silver, for a small additional expense. The silver plate is generally made to adhere to the baser metal by means of solder, which is of two kinds ; the soft and the hard, or the tin and silver solders. The former of these consists of tin alone, the latter generally of three parts of silver and one of brass. When a buckle, for instance, is to be plated by means of the soft solder, the ring, before it is bent, is first tinned, and then the silver-plate is B

Plato.

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Plato.

iron or other metal, it is rubbed over with a solution of bogently hammered upon it, the hammer employed being al- rax. Stripes of silver are placed along the joinings oMhe ' ways covered with a piece of cloth. The silver now forms plate, and instead of two or three cramps, as m the former as it were, a mould to the ring, and whatever of it is not case the whole is wrapped round with small wire , the intended to be used is cut off. This mould is fastened to solder and joinings are again rubbed with the borax, and the ring of the buckle by two or three cramps of small iron the who”e isputlnto a charcoal fire till the solder be m fuwire : after which the buckle, with the plated side under- sion. When*taken out, the wire is instantly removed, the most, is laid upon a plate of iron sufficiently hot to melt the plate is cleaned by the application of some acid, and aftertin, but not the silver. The buckle is then covered with wards made smooth by the strokes of a hammer. powdered resin, or anointed with turpentine ; and, lest there Metal nlating is when a bar of silver and another of cop Should be a deficiency of tin, a small portion of rolled tin per are « at least one equal side The equal sides is likewise melted on it. The buckle is now taken off with are made smooth, and the two bars fastened together by a tongs, and commonly laid on a bed of sand, where the wire wrapped round them. These bars are then sweated m y plate and the ring, whilst the solder is yet in a state of fu- a charcoal fire, and after sweating, they adher,e sion, are more closely compressed by a smart stroke with a together as if they were soldered. After this theyare block of wood. The buckle is afterwards bent and finish- tened into a plate between two rollers, when the copper ed. Sometimes the melted tin is poured into the silver appears on one side and the silver on the other. This sort mould, which has been previously rubbed over with some of plate is named plated metal. . , . • ^ flux The buckle ring is then put amongst the melted tin, French plating is when silver-leaf is burnished on a piece and the plating finished. This is called by the workmen of metal in a certain degree of heat. When silver is dissolved in aquafortis, and precipitated upon another metal, ^But Then the hard solder is employed, the process is in the process is called silvering. many respects different. Before, the plate is fitted to t ic

PLATO.

have been given to him by the person who was his master THE birth of Plato is nearly coincident with that great in the exercises of the gymnasium, as characteristic of his epoch of Grecian history, the commencement of the Pe- athletic frame in his youth.8 In this way, being familiarly loponnesian war. In the first year of that war, the Athe- applied to him, it gradually prevailed, to the entire disuse nians, having ejected the unhappy people of vEgina, ap- of his family name. , portioned the island amongst colonists from themselves. The philosopher was connected by descent with the Amongst these Athenian occupants were Ansto, and Pe- ancient worthies of Athens; on his mother’s side with rictione. or Potona, as she is also called, the father and Solon, and on his father’s with the patriot king Codrus. motner of Plato. Their residence, however, in the island And thus, according to the notions of nobility prevalent was not permanent nor even long, as the intrusive colony amongst the Greeks,10 he could trace up the honours of was in its turn ejected by the Lacedaemonians, on which his parentage to a divine founder, in the person of the god occasion his parents returned to Athens.1 2 this interval, and in the year 429 B. c., that the philosop ler A circumstance is related of his infancy, which, though was born.3 . obviously fabulous, cannot properly be omitted in his bioFrom these circumstances, it has been commonly sup- graphy, as a pleasing and appropriate tribute of the imaposed that Plato was born in /Egina. They are not, how- ginative genius of the Greeks to their poet-philosopher. ever, sufficient to establish such a conclusion. For a colo- Whilst he was sleeping when a babe, on Mount Hymetnization of the kind here described did not necessarily tus, in a bower of myrtles, during the performance of a imply residence on the part of those persons to whom the sacrifice by his parents to the muses and nymphs, bees, 4 lands were allotted. Nor is the fact of the recovery of the island by the Lacedaemonians from the hands of the Athe- it is said, lighted on him and dropped honey on his hps, thus giving an evident augury of that peculiar sweetness of nians, mentioned by the contemporary historian. Aigina by which his eloquence would be distinguished. was still in the occupation of the Athenians in the fifth style For the same reason, a similar fancy, which has thrown year of the Peloponnesian war ;5 and in the eighth year of the war we find that the poor exiles, who had mean- a poetical ornament over the account of his first devotion while obtained a refuge at Thyrea, were there cruelly ex- to philosophy, must not be passed over in silence, bocraterminated by the Athenians.0 On the whole, it seems tes, it is related, was apprized beforehand, in a dream, of more probable, from the constant designation of Plato as the first visit of the gifted pupil, who was destined to carry “ the Athenian,” without any other addition, though this philosophy forth on the wings of his genius to its boldest alone, it must be allowed, is not decisive of the fact, that flights. Socrates was telling his dream to some persons Athens itself may claim the honour of having been his around him, how he seemed to see a young swan coming from an altar in the grove of Academus, and first nestling birthplace. It is remarkable that his proper name was not that in his bosom, then soaring up on high, and singing sw eetly which his fame has immortalized, but Aristocles, after as it rose in the air, when Aristo presented himself, leading his paternal grandfather.7 The name of Plato is said to his son Plato, whom he committed to the instruction of the Thucyd. iii. 72. 1 Thucyd. ii. 27. Diog. Laert in Vit. Plat. Ibid. iv. 56, 572 Dioff. Laert. in Vit. Plat Thucyd. iii. 50. . ^ „ 17 Aristocles was also a Spartan name, being the name of the brother of the king Pleistoanax. L hucy . . . others inter* As derived from broad. Laertius gives this explanation, which Seneca also adopts (E^t. Ivin. 27), but says others inter preted the name as denoting a broad forehead; others, as characteristic of his style of eloquence. „ . Tyrants,’’ (( His family also is shewn to have been of rank, from its connection with some of the thirty, called * established at Athens by the Lacedaemonians. See Plat. Ep. vii. Clcer7 De Vmn See Herodot. Euterp. 143. > ‘ 6

3

6

4

7

9

7

6

r

11

PLATO. Plato, sage. Socrates, it is added, struck by the coincidence, im—' mediately recognized the fulfilment of his dream, and welcomed Plato as the young swan from the altar, represented to him in the vision. The accounts of his early education, to which we should naturally have looked with great interest, are extremely meagre. We only know by general notices that he passed through the usual course of education adopted amongst the higher classes of the Greeks. That education was directed to the cultivation at once of the powers of the mind and of the body, under the two great divisions of literature and gymnastics. The youth was delivered to the charge of the grammarian, the teacher of music, and the trainer. From the grammarian he learned the art of reading and writing his own language, and a knowledge of its authors, especially its poets; from the teacher of music, skill in performing on the lyre and the flute, together with the principles of the science of music; from the trainer he acquired strength and expertness in the several exercises of wrestling, and boxing, and running, by which it was intended not only to mature the powers of the body, but to qualify the youth for attaining eminence at the public games. These were the schoolmasters of the accomplished Athenian, and with these he was occupied until he had reached about his twentieth year. Accordingly, the names have been transmitted to us of those who discharged these offices for Plato; of Dionysius, as the grammarian under whom he learned the elements of that command over his own language, and its literary resources, which his matured eloquence so richly displayed; of Draco of Athens, and Metellus of Agrigentum, as his masters in music; and of Aristo the Argive, as his master in gymnastics. It is added that he also studied painting; but the name has not been given of any individual who acted as his preceptor in the art. In evidence of his great proficiency in these early studies, it has been stated, that he gave specimens of his genius in every department of poetical composition ; that in epic poetry he laboured after the highest excellence, and only abandoned the attempt on comparing his efforts with the poems of Homer, and despairing of reaching so high a standard; that in dramatic poetry, he had prepared a tetralogy, the four plays usually required of an author in order to competing for the prize at the festival of Bacchus, but changed his purpose only the day before the exhibition, in consequence of impressions received from Socrates. And even in gymnastics excellence has been claimed for him; since it has been asserted that he actually entered the lists at the Isthmian games. Whatever credit we may give to these particulars, there can be no doubt, that so inquisitive a mind as that of Plato, and so resolute a spirit in the prosecution of its undertakings, received the full benefit of this preliminary culture; and that he was thus amply prepared for entering on the severer discipline of those pursuits which engaged him when he became a hearer of Socrates. This preliminary education, in fact, was very imperfect as a discipline of the mind. It gave the youth a forwardness and fluency of knowledge, so that he was fain to fancy himself, when he had scarcely attained manhood, equal to undertake affairs of state, and to serve the highest offices of the government. But it did not form his mind or character. He had yet to learn the nature of man ; to study the principles of ethics and politics. This task of instruction devolved on the sophist or the philosopher (as the same person was at first indifferently called), into whose hands the Greek youth was now delivered. Plato, accordingly, at the age of twenty years, began to ' Aristoph. Nubes.

3

be a regular attendant on the lessons of Socrates. The Plato, reputation of Socrates as a teacher in this higher walk ofv—~v-’^ education, now eclipsed that of all other professors of philosophy. He had at once exposed the incompetence of the sophists who preceded him, and superseded them in their office. Plato would be conducted to him by his father, as the account states he was, very much in the way which is depicted under caricature by the comic poet,1 as to the most distinguished master of the day, to be qualified for taking on him those public duties to which every citizen of Athens might be called; to enable him to distinguish himself in counsel and argument, and obtain influence and importance in society. From the numbers that resorted to Socrates, as well as to the sophists before him, it is plain that, to obtain instruction in philosophy for its own sake, or to become philosophers themselves, was not the object with which he was sought by the generality. Here and there the spark fell on a kindred genius, and lighted up a flame of philosophy in the breast of a disciple. Thus from the school of Socrates came the founders of several other schools; and, on the whole, a greater impulse was given by his teaching to the study of philosophy than had ever been felt before in Greece. Still, as Socrates himself did not profess to teach his hearers wisdom, so neither did they in general come to him as learners of wisdom, or as actuated by the pure love of wisdom, but to acquire practical information which their previous studies had not given them. We may imagine such a disciple as Plato first presenting himself amongst the multitude of hearers ; how he would be struck by the first observation of the extraordinary manner of Socrates, especially at finding the very person to whom he came to be taught professing that “ he knew nothingand that he was only wiser than other men on this account, that, whilst others knew not and presumed they knew, he neither knew nor presumed that he knew. The interest of such a mind as Plato’s could not but be powerfully called forth by so strange an avowal on the part of a man whom he had been led to look up to as the wisest of men. To him it must naturally have prompted the questions, what philosophy might be; what the nature and condition of man ; what the criteria of truth and falsehood ; and thus have firmly laid hold of those tendencies to speculation which we see fully developed in the mature fruits of his genius. Again and again he is present at the searching investigations carried on in the discussions of which Socrates is the leader; soon he is himself interrogated by Socrates; and we cannot doubt that he is thenceforward irrevocably become, not the disciple of Socrates only, but the disciple and votary of philosophy. That Plato was thus won over to philosophy from an early period of his life, is evident from the statement of Aristotle respecting him, that “ from his youth he had been conversant with Cratylus, and the opinions of Heraclitus,”2 and from the indications in two at least of his dialogues (and these supposed to be the earliest in the date of their composition, as written indeed during the lifetime of Socrates), the Phcedrus and the Lysis, of his early acquaintance with Pythagorean notions. There seems, too, but little room to doubt that he had begun at the same time to study the doctrines of the Ionic school under Hermogenes, as well as those of Parmenides and Zeno. For what he puts into the mouth of Socrates in the Phcedo? respecting Anaxagoras, is probably (as Socrates himself was known to have had a strong aversion to physical science) the expression of his own disappointment and dissatisfaction at the outset of his studies, in the conclusions of the school, of which Anaxagoras was then the chief authority. Of Parmenides, again, he more than once

Aristot. Metaph. i, 3.

3

Phced. pp. 220-225, ed. Bip.

P L A T O.

2

Plato,

tQ speaks in terms of enthusiasm, as of a name with which he other sources, infusing it into, and blending it with his own v J^ ; speculations, whilst the Socratic spirit mellows the whole had very early associations of reverence d here, as in the instance of Anaxagoras, we are disposed to think, depict- mass, and gives unity to the composition. The death of Socrates, his tears over which Plato has ing, in the person of Socrates, a portion of the history ot his recorded in that affectionate and interesting memorial of own mind. Judging indeed from the tenor of his writings, we should his master’s truth and dignity, the Dialogue of the Phaconclude that his curiosity was excited, from a very early do, naturally excited alarms for their own safety amongst sa e period, to explore the whole field of philosophy; and that, those who were conspicuous disciples of the martyred g * so far from resting on what he learned from Socrates him- They saw, by the violent extremity to which the spirit of self, he applied the lessons of Socrates to the extending and intolerance had proceeded, unchecked by any feeling of perfecting those researches which he was carrying on at the humanity or regard for truth, that the wisdom, and gentlesame time, by means of books, or oral instruction from others.2 ness, and benevolence of an enlightened philosophy were Socrates was to him the interpreter, and commentator, and no securities against the deadly hatred of bigotry. They critic, of the various philosophical studies in which he was found that the malignant tongue of priestcraft could stoop engaged. For this is the view which he has given us of to employ any instrument, however mean, for the accomSocrates in his Dialogues. Socrates there seldom or never plishment of its purpose ; that it could instigate the actor appears as a didactic expounder of truth. lie is presented on the scene of civil affairs to do its work of sycophancy, as the critic of opinions and doctrines and systems, and the whilst the prompter of the mischief, lurking in ambuscade, judge to whom everything is to be submitted for approval, wore the mask of concern for the public good, and even arrogated the merit of sanctity, and truth, and tenderness. or rejection, or modification, as the case may be. Indeed, so exuberant and energetic a mind could not Persecution has ever been the same. Its essential features have been satisfied with being simply a learner in any are vices of the human heart, not of any particular sysschool. It would eagerly seek the means of comparing tem of religion. We find it, accordingly, in several recordsystem with system, and of examining into points of agree- ed instances in the heathen world, displaying itseif very ment or disagreement in the theories proposed.. The doubts nearly as in the dark times of anti-Christian corruption. raised by Socrates, the hints thrown out by him, the con- Athens itself had already furnished examples of its unand sure vengeance. In particular, the case of clusions to which he pointed, but which he yet left uncon- tiring Anaxagoras had been a striking illustration. When not cluded, would to such a mind seem as so many points of the power and the eloquence of Pericles could save departure for its own excursions. They naturally sug- even Anaxagoras from a prison, and expulsion from Athens, on gest that much more must be done than merely to take account of his physical speculations; the very philosopher up what has been said by Socrates, in order to work out, or even rightly to conceive, what had fallen from his lips. whose system of physics raised an insuperable barrier against For the conversations of Socrates wrere not framed to con- atheism, by demonstrating the supremacy of mind; it was but too evident that there was a mysterious agency workvey positive instruction, so much as to set the mind of the hearer a-thinking, and to provoke further inquiry. In the ing in the heart of society, like secret fires in the depths living pictures of them which Plato has drawn, they leave of the earth, capable of awing and paralyzing every other off just at the point where we expect the teacher would power. A more recent experience of the same truth, within the proceed to speak out more distinctly, and tell us precisely what his view of the subject is. If these pictures^ repre- memory of the youngest disciple of Socrates, was in the sent (as we may reasonably believe they do) the impres- dark proceedings consequent on the mutilation of the Hersions received by Plato from the conversations of Socrates, mse, the rude images of Mercury erected in the vestibules what stimulants to inquiry must he have felt in the several of private houses as well as in the sacred places of Athens, particulars which he has so forcibly touched, in the mingled and on the discovery of the profanation of the Eleusinian by the mock representation of them in private lights and shadows of the scenes in which the great master mysteries 3 occupies the foreground. Well therefore may we con- houses. The secret information on which those proceedceive that, at the time when he enjoyed the guidance, and ings were carried on; the indifterence shewn at the period control, and encouragement of Socrates, he was laying a of alarm to everything else, even on an occasion of great broad foundation of erudition for that vast and richly-orna- public interest, but the vindication of the popular supermented fabric of philosophy which the existing monuments stition ; the effect which the charge of being implicated in these outrages had in checking the career of Alcibiades of his genius exhibit. From Socrates himself this demand of the inquisitive at the moment of his triumph over his political opponents; hearer could evidently not be supplied. Sociates was de- all shew'ed, that it was a vain hope to resist the secret arficient in erudition properly so called. He had studied biters of public opinion on questions of religion. 1 hen came men rather than books. His wisdom consisted of deep the fearful consummation of this vengeance in the death and extensive observation accurately generalized, drawn of Socrates by the poisoned cup; leaving no doubt in the from passing things, and capable accordingly of ready ap- minds of any, that they who would follow his example in plication to the same course of things; forcibly convincing boldly and honestly inquiring into current opinions, and dehis hearers by the point and propriety with which it met daring their convictions of the truth on matters affecting each occasion, and giving experimental proof of its sound- the conduct of men, must either prepare themselves, for alone was a great punishment in the ancient ness and truth. Erudition, accordingly, was to be sought exile (which 4 elsewhere; and Plato therefore supplied this need from world), or drink the hemlock.

1

Ms Wav *«v «*; *'vS 'a iv Xzyovr, TO ^ mov; 'bi urn Quitirai TO TOU 'O^aw, ai’W TE pot sTva< ap* bavos rf o-vpiroomf/.iloc yacj bn , ~ ™ 137 13ft TW 72 ^ Ti lX£/v ‘TOOVTaoram y£vva;av. (Theatet. pp. 137, 138. Parmenid. p. 72.)

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r +i i o+o+amont whir'll rpnrpsents * This evident early devotion of Plato to the pursuit of his whole hfe, argues the mere calumny of that stateme P him to have at first sought his fortune by the profession of arms. The calumny is a current one, which has been apphed toother phdosophers. He has also been absurdly represented as present at the battles of Tanagra and Dehum, when he was, in truth, a mere c . p. A l I • a The performance of religious rites in private houses is forbidden in Plato’s Dialogue on Laws, x. p. 1L7naturam, non ignominiam nomini* 4 Cicero says of exile, endeavouring to reconcile the feelings to it, “ jam vero exilium, si rerum ns quzerimus, quantum demum a perpetua peregrinatione differt.” {Tuscul Qunst. v. 37.)

P L A T O. Plato. Socrates himself had the courage to take the latter part —v—^ of the alternative. To him it was the natural termination of that energetic course which he had from the first adopted. He w’ould have unsaid all his teaching; he wrould have practically recanted the strong language in which he had, through all his life, been discoursing of the worthlessness of the body and of the present life, and of the immortality and perfection of the soul. His philosophy kept him immured in his prison, and riveted the fetters on his limbs, far more than the condemnation of his judges or the hammer of the jailor. For, as he says of himself in the words in which Plato has naturally expressed his sentiments in the prison, his “ sinews and bones would long ago have been at Megara or in Boeotia,” had he not thought it “ best,” and firmly fixed his resolution, to abide the issue there.1 But this was not the case with the hearers of Socrates. They were not, like him, placed in a commanding post, from which they could not retreat without being stigmatized as deserters of their profession, and betrayers of the truth. They might with honour and propriety consult for their safety. Whilst, therefore, as is probable, the bulk of those who had attended on the teaching of Socrates simply withdrew from public notice, and retired to their homes at Athens or elsewhere, the principal disciples of the school, —those who were most known as followers and admirers of Socrates,—left Athens, and sought an asylum for themselves and for philosophy at Megara. Amongst those whom Socrates drew around him were several individuals of mature age, already trained in some sect of philosophy, and eminent in their own walk of science, yet desirous of availing themselves of the far-famed wisdom of the sage of Athens. Of this class was the philosopher Euclid, from whom the Megaric school derives its existence and celebrity.2 As a disciple he belonged to the Eleatic school, and, trained by Zeno, the great master of dialectic before him, had made that science his especial study. He had shewn a singular zeal in attending on the lessons of Socrates ; for he continued to go to Athens for that purpose, even when the obnoxious decree of exclusion against Megareans, on pain of death, had been passed by the Athenians; setting out at night-fall on a journey of more than twenty miles from Megara to Athens, and assuming the disguise of female attire that he might pass unnoticed.3 His conduct on the occasion of the dispersion of the school of Socrates corresponded with this zeal. He received the members of the school with open arms, and gave them a home with him at Megara. There, for a time at least, they gathered themselves, in shelter from the storm which had driven them from Athens. But the school, in fact, was broken up. It had subsisted and been held together by the personal influence of Socrates himself, and with him its principle of vitality, as a body, was gone. He had not laboured to establish a sect or a theory; and he left therefore no particular rallying point, or symbol of union, around which a party might be formed. He was himself the symbol of union to his disciples; bringing together around him the professors and disciples of every different sect. There was yet to arise out of his society one who, richly imbued with his doctrine and method, should rekindle the extinct school with his own spirit, and bid it live again in its genuine offspring; and that individual was Plato. But the times were not yet ripe for this. In the mean time Plato wras destined to spend several 1

2

See Phcedo, p. 224; also Crito. Euclid the mathematician flourished about a century after him.

judicavenmt ^CrLc^Q^iv

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13

years in journeying from place to place, at a distance from Plato, the past and the future scene of his philosophical labours, These were doubtless years of great importance to him, for the perfect formation of the peculiar character of his philosophy. In the course of them, we find him visiting Megara, Gyrene, the Greek settlements on the coast of Italy, Sicily, Egypt, “ exploring (as Cicero says of him in oratorical language) the remotest lands,”4 after the manner of Solon and Pythagoras, and other wise men before him, who had enlarged their minds by contemplations pursued in foreign travel. Thus did he singularly combine in his studies the more ancient with the Socratic mode of philosophizing. The method of Socrates was exclusively domestic. He studied mankind within a small compass (the circle of Athens itself), only with a more accurate and searching eye than any one had ever done before him; and therefore drew sound general conclusions from his observations within that range of view. He evidently judged it better thus to restrict the attention, and require men to investigate closely what lay before them, than to encourage them to indulge the prevailing habit of more diffusive and vague observation. This is told us in other words by Plato himself, where he introduces Socrates as a stranger even to the beautiful scenery in the immediate neighbourhood of Athens, and as one who appeared never to have been out of the walls of the city ; and as owning that, in his fondness for study, he was content to learn of the men in the city, who could teach him what the fields and the trees could not.5 But this method, good as a foundation, and necessary as a corrective of desultory and superficial habits of thought and study, was not sufficient for the requirements of Plato’s mind. He observes in one of his works that there is much to be gained from contemplation rightly directed in foreign travel both by land and sea; that Ave are not only to look to our own country for examples, but seek in the world at large for specimens of the highest order of men, which, though rare, might, from time to time, be found under every form of government; and that no perfect civilization can be attained without this means of observation and improvement.6 He describes, in fact, the course which he had himself pursued, and the benefit which he had found resulting from it. Having sojourned for a time at Megara, together with the other disciples of Socrates, and probably there, with the assistance of Euclid, increased his acquaintance with the writings of Parmenides and Zeno, as well as studied more intimately the dialectic of their school, he appears to have proceeded to Gyrene. Gyrene was the home, not only of Aristippus, to whose school it afterwards gave its name ; but of the venerable Theodorus, the most eminent geometrician of his day. Theodorus had been occasionally a resident at Athens, and an attendant on the teaching of Socrates, whilst he was himself resorted to by the Athenian youth for instruction in the science of geometry.7 Plato no doubt had been amongst those who had thus availed himself of the presence of Theodorus at Athens. His predilection for mathematical studies is conspicuous throughout his writings. His skill in geometry, in particular, requires no other evidence than the interesting fact of his ready solution, in that infant state of the science, of the oracular problem which required the doubling of the cubic altar at Delos.8 He has described Theodorus as present at Athens at the time when the prosecution was instituted

3

Thucyd. i. 139; Aul Cell. AToct Att. vi. 10.

Democritum

> Hatonem, accepimus: ubi enim quid esset quod disci posset, eo veniendum

ih xiL 7 8 1 March. t De Socrat. Gemo, ~ ■ p. 288, tom. 8, Reiske. ® De LeSThe - inscription P- 19 But esteemed as Isocrates was for the gentleness ot ms to have been the occasion of this invitation of I lato to life, and his skill as a master of rhetoric; and acceptable Syracuse. We see, at the same time, that there was a as the doctrines of Aristippus must naturally have been to struggle of factions at Syracuse at this period. I he party a corrupt society ; neither of these great names sufficed to opposed to Dion, in order to counteract his influence, obobscure the greater name of Plato, or could rival the pre- tained the recall of Philistus, a man distinguished alike as tensions of the Academia to be the great school ot philo- a statesman, a commander, and an historian, and a stresophy, and literature, and civilization. nuous supporter of the existing government, but then in A mind so intensely occupied as that of Plato, would banishment through the ingratitude and caprice of the scarcely find leisure for taking part in the political affairs elder Dionysius. The result was, that though the recepof his country. The profession of philosophy was not as tion of Plato at Syracuse was most flattering, for he was vet indeed become entirely distinct; but the teaciimg o welcomed with the royal pomp of a decorated chariot, and Socrates had greatly tended to render it so. The rigorous the celebration of a public sacrifice, his mission was ultimethod of interrogation which called forth the latent diffi- mately fruitless. culties on other subjects, could not but produce great disAt’first everything seemed prosperous. The change trust in those who laid themselves fully open to it, as to wrought in the manners of the court is described as martheir own ability to manage the complex matters of public vellous. Philosophy became the fashion; and the very concern, as well as impress them with despair of success palace was filled with the dust stirred up by the number in that walk of exertion. Socrates himself avoided as far of geometricians. Even the expulsion of Dion, which as possible all interference in the politics of Athens. 1 lato soon followed, through the successful intrigues of his enestrictly followed his example. Accordingly, we find, in mies, did not at once estrange Dionysius from the philososeveral places of his writings, a contrast drawn between Plat. Menex. p.

1

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iElian. Var. Hist. ii. 13.

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145; The tv t. p. 115, et seq. ; Gorg. p. 82, et seq.; Repuh. )’*• P-

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Ca-

17

PLATO. Plato, pher. He would not indeed allow Plato to leave Sicily " with Dion; but, using a gentle constraint over him, detained him within the precincts of the citadel; shewing him at the same time all respect, and hoping at last, as it seems, to bring him over to his interest. At length the attention of Dionysius was called to preparations for war; and Plato, released from his embarrassing situation, was enabled to return to Athens. He was not, however, deterred from once more making the trial, how far an impression could be made on the mind of Dionysius, and the restoration of Dion to his country effected; and, as on the former occasion, so now, he was chiefly induced to undertake the enterprise, by the earnest intercession of his Pythagorean friends. Dion himself was living at Athens, waiting the opportunity of returning to his country; and his relatives at Syracuse sent letters to Plato, urging him to use his exertions in behalf of Dion. Even Dionysius himself wrote a letter to him, entreating him to come, and promising satisfaction at the same time in regard to Dion. He also sent a trireme for him, with Archidemus, a disciple of Archytas, and others with whom the philosopher was acquainted, to render the voyage more agreeable to him.1 For a while Plato persisted in declining the invitation, pleading his advanced age, for he was now sixty-eight years old ;2 but at length he gave way to these united solicitations. Dionysius, indeed, like his father, was fond of drawing around him men of eminence for literature and philosophy. At this time, amongst others of the same class at his court, were the philosophers Diogenes, iEschines, Aristippus, and some Pythagoreans. Plato might have not unreasonably hoped, therefore, that a mind delighting in such society, or at least ambitious of the reputation of being a patron of literature, might yet be influenced to sound philosophy. He was, besides, desirous of making an attempt to produce a reconciliation between Dionysius and Dion. Thus did he pass the Straits of Sicily a third time, to be a third time disappointed in the object of his voyage. Though he was welcomed, as before, with great splendour and demonstrations of respect, not only were his endeavours for the restoration of Dion unsuccessful, but he incensed the tyrant by venturing to intercede in behalf of Heraclides, a member of the liberal party at Syracuse, who was under suspicion of having tampered with the mercenaries. Still Dionysius was desirous of retaining the friendship of the philosopher. Plato was removed, indeed, from the garden in which he lived, under the pretence of a sacrifice about to be performed there by women, and placed in the quarter of the mercenaries. Such a situation was most unpleasant to him; as he could not but feel himself in danger amongst that lawless class, who naturally disliked him, as an enemy of the power which gave them employment and pay.3 But this indignity was probably more the effect of the hostility of the opposite party against Dion, than an act of the weak tyrant himself. Plato, in his perplexity, applied to Archytas and the Pythagoreans at Tarentum, to extricate him from these difficult circumstances. At their instance, accordingly, Dionysius consented to the departure ot Plato, and dismissed him with kindness, furnishing him with supplies for his voyage. Thus did Plato once more return to Athens, heartily disgusted with the untoward result of his visits to Sicily.4 1

Plat. Epist. vii. p. 124.

4

MtfAurtizuf rnv ngi 'ItziX/av irkeivvv xat uri>%iat.

* Diog. Laert. in Vit. after Hermippus. MS 'ii '•Opoiaii

iXwva

Though the friend of Dion, the head of one great party at Syracuse, he had acted in Sicily consistently with his conduct at Athens, in not taking any active part in political affairs. Even Dionysius himself seems, throughout his conduct towards him, to have been jealous rather of his personal regard for Dion, than suspicious of any exertion on his part in the cause of Dion against him, and to have sought to detain him at Syracuse, not out of fear or ill will, but for the honour of the presence of the philosopher at his court. This is further evinced by the subsequent conduct of Plato. For, in the expedition which Dion planned and executed against Dionysius, he took no part; making answer to the invitation to join in it, “ that if invited to assist in doing any good, he would readily concur; but as for doing evil to any one, they must invite others, not him.”5 The remaining years of his life were gently worn away amidst the labours of the Academia. These labours were unintermitted to the very close of a long life ; for he died, according to Cicero’s account, in the act of writing; his death happening on the day in which he completed his eighty-first year. “ Such,” adds Cicero, “ was the placid and gentle old age of a life spent in quietness, and purity, and elegance.”6 Another account, however, of his death states that he died during his presence at a marriagefeast.7 And another account besides (evidently the invention of some enemy to his fame), attributes his death to a loathsome disease.8 On his first residence in the garden of the Academia, his health had been impaired by a lingering fever, in consequence of the marshiness of the ground. He was urged to remove his residence to the Lyceum, the grove afterwards frequented by the school of Aristotle; but such was his attachment to the place, that he preferred it, he said, even to the proverbial salubrity of Mount Athos ; and he continued struggling against the disorder for eighteen months, until at length his constitution successfully resisted it.9 Adopting habits of strict temperance, he thus preserved his health during the remainder of his life, amidst the harassings of foreign travel, and the undermining assiduities of days and nights of study. Plato was never married. He had two brothers, Glauco and Adimantus, and a sister, Potona, whose son, Speusippus, he appears to have regarded with peculiar affection and interest, as the destined successor to his school of philosophy. He inherited a very small patrimony, and he died poor, leaving but three minae of silver, two pieces of land, and four slaves, and a few articles of gold and silver to the young Adimantus, the son, as it would seem, of his brother of that name.10 In person he is described as graceful in his youth, and, if the etymology of his name be correct, as remarkable for the manly frame of his body.11 One circumstance, however, is mentioned, which detracts in some measure from his bodily accomplishments ; the imperfection of his voice, which has been characterized as wanting in strength of tone.12 In regard to moral qualities, he was distinguished by the gravity, and modesty, and gentleness of his demeanour. He had never been observed from his youth to indulge in excessive laughter.13 Several anecdotes are told of his self-command under provocation; as, for example, his declining to inflict the due punishment on a slave when he found himself under the excitement of anger.14 A pleasing instance is given of his amiableness and modesty, at a time

* is. c. 361. (Plato, Ep. vii. 149, Bip. ed.)

3

Plutarch, in Dion.

5

Ep. p. 149.

? j)e Senect. c. 5. fitn/Ltcysoiin vtgi rut TlXarutos fB-iifar, u( cvruf Stvrto riXturnravro;.

(Diog. Laert. in Vlt*\

liai1

10 ii -® - ... Diog- Laert. in Vit.; Aul. Gell. Noc. Jtt. hi. 18. Erat quidem corpus validum ac forte sortitus, et illi nomen latitude pectoris fecerat. (Seneca, Epist. 58.) 13 ni Diog. Laert. Diog. in Vit. Laert.Similar in Vit. after in Vit.Laert. Seneca De Ira. The anecdotes themselves can hardly be regarded asDiog. original. storiesHeraclides. are told of others, as of Archytas. Ex quo illud laudatur Archytse; qui cum villico factus esset iratior, “ Quo te modo, inquit, accepissem, nisi iratus essem ?” (Cicero, Tusu. Qu. iv. 36.) .

VOL. XVIII.

r

Plato;

18 Plato.

PLATO. Plato.

when his fame was at its height. Some strangers, into ' whose company he had been thrown at Olympia, coming afterwards to Athens, were received by him there with the greatest courtesy. All the while, however, they were ignonant who their host was. They merely knew that his name was Plato. On their requesting him to conduct them to the Academia, and show them his namesake, the associate of Socrates, they were astonished to find, by his smi e and avowal of himself, that they had experienced so much unpretending kindness from the great philosopher himselfd Again, being asked by some one it there would be any say

sion is which dte;; eep COT up conclusiVe of corresponding immorality regardmg them ^ c°nJh^ve ^ Country. They shew, o con writer has not escaped the contagion of ^ e ’ atmosphere which he breathed, and they are of the in our estimate of the purity of cou se S " , , But we ought to set off ter> ns sen i religious and moral feeling e ot against them ^ high ton r^g hil h . th| ^ ^Jhe g^ of de^ng al. e, i an(j 0f the misery consequent on

in| recorded of him, he answered with the like modesty, ^ ^ slowinyg exhortation to “ One must first obtain a name, and then there wdl be se- “^T^tTn extefn^ o? by aiming a, a '"The gravity of his manner was by some interpreted as severity and gloom. The comic poet Ampins complained of him, that “ he knew nothing but to look sad, and solemnly raise the brow.” Aristippus charged him wit arrogance. It is no wonder, indeed, that, in contrast with the coarse freedom of Diogenes, and the excessive a a ility of Aristippus, he should appear haughty and reserved, But that this character did not really belong to him, we may judge from the social humour which mingles even with Ihe sarcastic touches of his Dialogues and from the anxiety which he shewed to correct such a disposition as a fault in Dion. His favourite pupil Speusippus was distinguished by the opposite quality of a lively temper, a his especial direction we find Plato sending Dion that he might learn, by the conversation and example of Speusippus, a more conciliatory and agreeable mode of address. The instance given of his vanity in putting himself for-

mere human stodatd of vtrwe, but by inter^^ ca turn, and by ^ence of any reference to Much has been “eof^“ Xenyo|)hon, in his - ('n 1 has snoken of Plato and alluded to the affec^ But w * avaiied himself of any opportunity of paying « ^^Xent o Xenophon! This sileAce cannot, the hke for? witll0ut supposing that perhaps, be entirely ^ may partly acu Y onhon’s not appearino- as an interlocutor in * man of philosophical attended the teaching of Socrates, not to , ev^ntly Jf ^X^finduigeoce of a speWhen he philosophized, it was as a curiosity cukave c ty. .P himJlf with human naman «f..of men, in order to

with that feeling of dismay for themselves, under which he, in common with the rest, fled to Megara as an asylum; or with his indisputable affection for the person of Socrates, and veneration for his wisdom and talents. Again, the strictness of Plato’s philosophical profession, amidst the general dissoluteness of manners at Athens, was construed by some who had an envious eye on his re~ putation, as only an affected austerity. It was complained of him, that his life did not answer to the high requisitions of his moral teaching.3 Two of his brother disciples in the school of Socrates, Antisthenes and Aristippus, imputed to him the grossest licentiousness. The former taking offence at Pkto for objecting to a treatise, which he proposed to read, on the Impossibility of Contradiction, vented his spleen

the dtalogue ot that name, and whom m some pomts he resembled. He would not therefore naturally be selected by Plato, in order to the carrying on of discussions intended for the development of his philosophy. It is remarkable, that Plato has only in two places even alluded to himself; in the PJuedo, to explain his absence from the death-scene in the prison ;5 and in the Apologia, as amongst those present at the trial of Socrates, and capable of giving evidence as to the nature of those instructions which Socrates addressed to the young.6 TT- JSuch Was the character of this eminent man. His distinguished career exposed him to the shafts of envy and detraction; and the high aspirings of his mind were clogo-ed and weighed down by that corrupt heathenism with which be wJ surrounded. Still his reputation for wisdom ino- at once bv that term a satirical play on the name, and and virtue stands above all these attacks and cncumstance a stigma on the character, of the philosopher. These ca- of disparagement. The more we converse with him in his kmmieif are iif somemeasure supported by the tenor of writings, -the more we are charmed by the deep feeling of certain epigrams attributed to Plato, and by passages of natural piety which pervades his philosophy as its masterhis Dialogues, which display a license of impure allusion, thought, and by the sound practical wisdom s sacking to the feeHngs of Je reader, in these days at least, forth from them as the real character of the man, leclaimHis calumniators then found occasion for their scandal, in ing and subduing the wild aberrations of his speculative observing amongst those by whom he was surrounded, the fancy. His remains were buried in the place which he had enyoung and the handsome. But though we may see much to reprobate in such passages, and painful as the impres- nobled whilst living. Nor were they unattended by the . 2 Diog. Laert. in Vit. p. 23, Bip. i iElian, Var. Hist. iv. 9. . . „ „ • • ontimo cuique inimicissima, Platoni objectum est, objectum 1; == “ Aliter, inquit, loqueris; abter yms. Hoc, (Seneca viverent, seel quemadmodum vivendum esset. Epicuro, obiectum Zenom. Omnes emm isti dicebant, non quemaamoaum iphi \i\t, H De Vit. Beat. c. 18.) Xettoph. Mem. in. 6. f (Phxio, § 6.) Tin, cfrcumst&nr* was perhaps thrown infcr faphjc effect. His own is too intense to : was notsorrow present. be depicted; therefore be is concealed from the view : his name is introduced, but me y . , rrc T>' 6 Apol. p. 78, Bip. ed.

PLATO. Plato’s customary tributes of honour and affection. Aristotle, who had been his constant disciple during the last twenty years *> h ' °' preceding his death, displayed his veneration for his prev.J-LL' ceptor by consecrating an altar to him. A festival, called after him Platonea, was instituted in honour of him, and celebrated annually by his disciples. A statue, dedicated to the Muses, was afterwards erected in the Academia by Mithridates the Persian. He had not, indeed, been dead but a very few years, when the great celebrity of his name called forth from his nephew and successor, Speusippus, an express work in his praise. Seneca further tells us of a singular mark of honour which was paid to him on the very day of his decease. There were some Magi, he relates, at Athens at the time, who, struck by the singular circumstance of his having exactly completed the perfect number of nine times nine years, performed a sacrifice to him, esteeming him on that account to have been more than man.1 The story is evidently the invention of his later admirers. It is referred to here, as a testimony of the enthusiastic admiration with which his name has been ever attended. To the same feeling must be ascribed the fiction of the discovery of his body in the time of Constantine the Great, with a golden tablet on the breast, recording his prediction of the birth of Christ, and his own belief in the Saviour.2 PLATO’S WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY.

The writings of Plato obtained an early popularity. Already, during his lifetime, copies of them appear to have been circulated. An iambic line, Xoyo/ff/v 'Es/o.ooijjo; ifmo* esusrou, proverbially applied, long after the time of Plato, to those who made a traffic of the writings of others,3 shews that there was an immediate demand for them in Greece. The Hermodorus here referred to, was one of his hearers, who is said to have sold the writings of the philosopher in Sicily for his own profit. The fact of their early circulation is further evidenced, if it be true, as has been stated, that complaints were made by some of the persons whose names appear in the Dialogues, and even by Socrates himself, of the manner in which they had been represented in them by Plato.4 It is very probable, also, that during the long time in which he was publicly teaching at Athens, and, doubtless, recurring frequently to the same topics of discussion, considerable portions of what he delivered orally, were treasured up in the memory of some who heard them, and afterwards written down, and thus published to the world without having received the finishing touches of the author’s hand. The practice, indeed, of thus carrying off the oral lessons of the philosopher is alluded to by Plato himself in passages of his writings, as in the Phcedo, and Thecetetus, and Parmenides; where the dialogue is related by some one remembering what has passed in conversation on a former occasion. This circumstance may, at once, account for the comparative inferiority of some of the Dialogues in point of execution, and for the fact that some have been passed under his name which are not really his; whilst we have, at the same time, a very considerable collection of writings authenticated by testimonies descending from his own times. It is by no means necessary for our purpose here (which is to obtain a just general view of the character of the philosopher and his writings), to enter into the criticisms by 1

Senec. F.p. Iviii. 28. 2 Brucker, Hist. Grit. Phil. tom. i p. 654. Die mihi, placetne tibi, primum, edere injussu meo ? Hoc ne Hermodorus quidem faciebat, is qui Platonis libros solitus est divulgare ; ex quo Xoyonnv 'E^fto^afes. (Cicer. Ep. ad Att. xiii. 21.) 4 Athenaeus, xi. 113. Axiothea is said to have been induced to attend on the teaching of Plato, from having read the Republic. 5 G 7 See particularly Conviv. p. 245.. Aristot. Phys. iv. 2. Mitford, Hist, of Greece, vol. vi. ; Ritter, Hist, of Anc. Phil. 8 Est praeclara Epistola Platonis ad Dionis propinquos ; in qua scriptum est his fere verbis: “ Quo cum venissem, vita ilia beata quae ferebatur,” &c. Tusc. Qu. v. 35 ; also DeOjftc. i. 7» and De Fin. iL 14. 3

19

which doubts have been thrown on particular Dialogues, Plato’s and on different Dialogues by different critics, out of the Writings number commonly included amongst the genuine works of an The philosophical poems differed nothing Yet the Athenian was not entirely the creature . h metre and were exceedingly dry and b circumstances, which had so considerably moMed his cha- fiom^ng to the general reader. The books of Pythagoracter. He yet retained some traces of that he highthfee g g at least at thi8 time, and hardly known ™ ' but riJdevoted student of philosophy.* Nor would s„ beautifully touched by his own tragic poet » " “ speaks of “ the pious Athens, and appe^s to dialogues of Zeno or Euclid, concerned about mere loassociations of religion which consecrated the l«ii M. tte or the phj,sica, discussions of Anaxagoras, gion indeed had acquired the name of superstit , f)0ssess anY charm for the lively Athenian. Even afterwards, fear of supernatural powers, buaScii^oviu; but eve Flip instructive waitings of Aristotle did not obtain that rethat there were soml who cherished though ^that degeneLe them from a temporary oblivion, rate form, a veneration for the truths of^h^1V1"e ^thf: But the dialogues of Plato supplied exactly what was yet ■md the Divine agency in the world. Nor was the Athe . ? denartment of Athenian literature. They nian ever insensible to his 3pride of birth, and rank among ^nti^ deFelopmentof the philosophical element in those of the Grecian name. He dwelt on the recoil erto . P fPthe people. The shrewd practical talent of the of a remote antiquity of origin, as distinguishing him amon ^1 f ^ bFen strikingly exhibited in the successful the members of the Greek family. He claimed to be the A generals and statesmen, and m offspring of the Attic soil, whilst others were 1deam0°gst the states of Greece at the scended from successive immigrations of strangers. .-™ , tbe persian war. Their taste in arts, and poetry, his fickleness, and susceptibility of every passing imp , (1 iiterature, had put forth splendid fruits m the he yet felt himself strongly influenced by his veneration for and ge n artistg5 Athenian masters of the drama, the past, and loved to connect himself with the ancient g o- w v genius for abstract speculation their g a d of ries of his country. In the Athenian character accordingly, " which it could claim as strictly its own. may be observed the union of extremes; devoutness of deep as cr yet d g the bagis for sucb a work. During the inward feeling, accompanied with superficial irrehgion and ^ ^enSt^de din the appearance of Plato as the leadprofane dissoluteness of morals ; a mercurial tempera e , < schooFof philosophy, Socrates had been engaged as ever eager for change, floating like a light cloud “TJ* f “[^““X&phyfkwakening the curioaity of naen; deep-rooted reverence of antiquity, and the tradition o . thJr tj1 T0U r< 0Vr0V rr,v rc> ,v p 179 ) '“ ' ' to roZ uXtiS-oZs rou ru» voZv s^avraiv htr*o%(>vre>s SteZ evopa XeyirS-ut. (Ibid. h 8ht *lIrL?M\lbJ iv m]ntilely mathematical: *° Ibid. ' i'1V‘P‘

‘r£

nXtvrxv xa> pw* rm Ivrm uvuvrm

irtux* Xi^ivu xara for genius which breathes throughout the whole peifoimIn this brief sketch of the events of Mr Playfair’s ance, give it an attraction which is rarely to be found in we have purposely omitted any general account, eitherlife, of works of the same erudition, and render it not only one of personal character, or of the distinguishing features of the most instructive, but one of the most interesting pub- his lications that philosophy has ever bestowed on the world. his intellectual powers and habits; thinking it better to themselves, in the words in which they were In 1815 he drew up for the Royal Society of Edinburgh give those tobythe satisfaction, we believe, of most of those a very interesting Memoir of his distinguished predecessoi recorded, Dr John Robison, a philosopher in whose early life there who knew him intimately, in a periodical journal wherein was more adventure, and in his later days more political they appeared a short time after his death. The portrait prejudice, than we usually find to diversify the history of there given has been pronounced by one of the earliest and men of science. Nothing can be more spirited and inte- most illustrious of his3 surviving friends, “ a faithful and resting than Mr Playfair’s account of the former; nothing perfect resemblance ;” and has accordingly been allowed place in the prefatory memoir which his nephew Iras more manly and tender than his reluctant but decided pro- aprefixed to the collection of his works. testation against the excesses of the latter. “ It has struck many people, we believe, as very extraorAfter the general peace in 1815 had at last opened the Continent to British inquirers, Mr Playfair, at the age of dinary, that so eminent a person as Mr Playfair should have sixty-eight, undertook a long journey through France and been allowed to sink into his grave in the midst of us, withSwitzerland into Italy, and did not return for a period out calling forth almost so much as an attempt to commeof nearly eighteen months. His principal attention was morate his merit, even in a common newspaper; and that directed to the mineralogical and geological phenomena of the death of a man so celebrated and so beloved, and, at the different regions which he visited; and he made many the same time, so closely connected with many who could notes with a view to the great object which he was not well appreciate and suitably describe his excellencies, should destined to accomplish, namely, the extension and new- be left to the brief and ordinary notice of the daily obituary. modelling of his Illustrations of the Huttonian Theory. No event of the kind certainly ever excited more general Every object of liberal curiosity, however, had for him an sympathy; and no individual, we are persuaded, will be attraction as fresh as in his earliest youth ; and the social longer or more affectionately remembered by all the classes simplicity and benevolence of his character and manners of his fellow-citizens; and yet it is to these very circum• This piece is entitled Letter to the Author of the Examination of Mr Stewart’s Short Statement of Facts relative to the Election of Professor Leslie, 8vo, Edin. 1806. It has not been reprinted in the collection of his works. * Besides the Dissertation, Mr Playfair contributed the valuable biographical account of iEpixus, and the still more valuable. U ^Letter tVomCMr Dugald Stewart to Dr Playfair, in the Appendix to the Biographical Account of Professor Playfair, prefixed to the collection of his works, published at Edinburgh in 1822, in 4 vols. 8vo.

PLAY FAIR. lPlayfair, stances that we must look for an explanation of the appa■—-v''-"' rent neglect by which his memory has been followed. His humbler admirers have been deterred from expressing their sentiments by a natural feeling of unwillingness to encroach on the privilege of those whom a nearer approach to his person and talents rendered it more worthy to speak of them ; whilst the learned and eloquent amongst his friends have trusted to each other for the performance of a task which they could not but feel to be painful in itself, and not a little difficult to perform as it ought to be ; or perhaps have reserved for some more solemn occasion that tribute for which the public impatience is already at its height. “ We beg leave to assure our readers, that it is merely from anxiety to do something to gratify this natural impatience that we presume to enter at all upon a subject to which we are perfectly aware that we are incapable of doing justice; for of Mr Playfair’s scientific attainments, of his proficiency in those studies to which he was peculiarly devoted, we are but slenderly qualified to judge. But we believe we hazard nothing in saying that he was one of the most learned mathematicians of his age, and among the first, if not the very first, who introduced the beautiful discoveries of the later continental geometers to the knowledge of his countrymen; and gave their just value and true place, in the scheme of European knowledge, to those important improvements by which the whole aspect of the abstract sciences has been renovated since the days of our illustrious Newton. If he did not signalize himself by any brilliant or original invention, he must, at least, be allowed to have been a most generous and intelligent judge of the achievements of others ; as well as the most eloquent expounder of that great and magnificent system of knowledge which has been gradually evolved by the successive labours of so many gifted individuals. He possessed, indeed, in the highest degree, all the characteristics both of a fine and a powerful understanding; at once penetrating and vigilant, but more distinguished, perhaps, for the caution and sureness of its march, than for the brilliancy or rapidity of its movements; and guided and adorned through all its progress by the most genuine enthusiasm for all that is grand, and the justest taste for all that is beautiful, in the truth or the intellectual energy with which he was habitually conversant. “ To what account these rare qualities might have been turned, and what more brilliant or lasting fruits they might have produced, if his whole life had been dedicated to the solitary cultivation of science, it is not for us to conjecture; but it cannot be doubted that they added incalculably to his eminence and utility as a teacher, both by enabling him to direct his pupils to the most simple and luminous methods of inquiry, and to imbue their minds, from the very commencement of the study, with that fine relish for the truths it disclosed, and that high sense of the majesty with which they wrere invested, that predominated in his own bosom. Whilst he left nothing unexplained or unreduced to its proper place in the system, he took care that they should never be perplexed by petty difficulties, or bewildered in useless details, and formed them betimes to that clear, masculine, and direct method of investigation by which, with the least labour, the greatest advances might be accomplished. “ Mr Playfair, however, was not merely a teacher ; and has fortunately left behind him a variety of works, from which other generations may be enabled to judge of some of those qualifications which so powerfully recommended and endeared him to his contemporaries. It is, perhaps, to be regretted that so much of his time, and so large a proportion of his publications, should have been devoted to the subjects of the Indian Astronomy, and the Huttonian Theory of the Earth. For though nothing can be more

47

beautiful or instructive than his speculationsonthosecurious sPlayfair, topics, it cannot be dissembled that their results are less —"v— conclusive and satisfactory than might have been desired ; and that his doctrines, from the very nature of the subjects, are more questionable than we believe they could possibly have been on any other topic in the whole circle of the sciences. To the first, indeed, he came under the great disadvantage of being unacquainted with the eastern tongues, and without the means of judging of the authenticity of the documents which he was obliged to assume as the elements of his reasonings ; and as to the other, though he ended, we believe, with being a very able and skilful mineralogist, we think it is now generally admitted that that science does not yet afford sufficient materials for any positive conclusion, and that all attempts to establish a theory of the earth must, for many years to come, be regarded as premature. Though it is impossible, therefore, to think too highly of the ingenuity, the vigour, and the eloquence of those publications, we are of opinion that a juster estimate of Mr Playfair’s talent, and a truer picture of his genius and understanding, is to be found in his other writings ; in the papers, both biographical and scientific, with which he has enriched the Transactions of our Royal Society ; his account of Laplace, and other articles which he is understood to have contributed to the Edinburgh Review; the Outlines of his Lectures on Natural Philosophy ; and, above all, his Introductory Discourse to the Supplement to the Encyclopaedia Britannica, with the final correction of which he was occupied up to the last moments that the progress of his disease allowed him to dedicate to any intellectual exertion. “ With reference to these works, we do not think we are influenced by any national, or other partiality, when we say that he was certainly one of the best writers of his age; and even that we do not now recollect any one of his contemporaries who was so great a master of composition. There is a certain mellowness and richness about his style, which adorns without disguising the weight and nervousness, which is its other great characteristic ; a sedate gracefulness and manly simplicity in the more level passages, and a mild majesty and considerate enthusiasm where he rises above them, of which we scarcely know where to find any other example. There is great equability, too, and sustained force, in every part of his writings. He never exhausts himself in flashes and epigrams, nor languishes into tameness and insipidity; at first sight you would say that plainness and good sense were the predominating qualities, but by and by this simplicity is enriched with the delicate and vivid colours of a fine imagination, the free and forcible touches of a most powerful intellect, and the lights and shaeds of an unerring and harmonizing taste. In comparing it with the styles of his most celebrated contemporaries, we would say that it was more purely and peculiarly a written style, and, therefore, rejected those ornaments that more properly belong to oratory. It had no impetuosity, hurry, or vehemence,—no bursts or sudden turns or abruptions, like that of Burke ; and though eminently smooth and melodious, it was not modulated to an uniform system of solemn declamation like that of Johnson; nor spread out in the richer and more voluminous elocution of Stewart; nor still less broken into that patchwork of scholastic pedantry and conversational smartness which has found its admirers in Gibbon. It is a style, in short, of great freedom, force, and beauty; but the deliberate style of a man of thought and of learning, and neither that of a wit throwing out his extempores with an affectation of careless grace, nor of a rhetorician thinking more of his manner than his matter, and determined to be admired for his expression, whatever may be the fate of his sentiments. “ His habits of composition, as we have understood, were

PLAYFAIR. 48 Playfair, not perhaps exactly what might have been expected from to the most learned philosopher of his day the manners ^ Playfair, deportment of the most perfect gentleman. Nor was v" v 'their results. He wrote rather slowly, and his first and in him the result merely of good sense and good temsketches were often very slight and imperfect, hke t is this per, assisted by an early familiarity with good company, rude chalking for a masterly picture. His chief effort and and a consequent knowledge of his own place and that of greatest pleasure was in their revisal and correction ; and all around him. His good breeding was of a higher dethere were no limits to the improvement which resulted scent; and his powers of pleasing rested on something betfrom this application. It w^as not the style mere y, or in ter than mere companionable qualities. With tl*e greatest deed chiefly, that gained by it; the whole reasoning, and kindness and generosity of nature, he united the most sentiment, and illustration, were enlarge an new mo manly firmness, and the highest principles of honour; and delled in the course of it, and a naked outline became gradu- the most cheerful and social dispositions, with the gentlest ally informed with life, colour, and expression, It was not at and steadiest affections. Towards women he had always all like the common finishing and polishing to which caie- the most chivalrous feelings of regard and attention, and ful authors generally subject the first draught of their com- was, beyond almost all men, acceptable and agreeable in positions, nor even like the fastidious and tentative alter- their society, though without the least levity or pretenations with which some more anxious writers assay their sion unbecoming his age or condition ; and such, indeed, choicer passages. It was, in fact, the great filling in o was the fascination of the perfect simplicity and mildness the picture, the working up of the figured weft on the of his manners, that the same tone and deportment seemed naked and meagre woo/that had been stretched to receive equally appropriate in all societies, and enabled him to deit: and the singular thing in his case was, not only that he light the young and the gay with the same sort of converleft this most material part of his work to be performed sation which instructed the learned and the grave. There after the whole outline had been finished, but that he could never, indeed, was a man of learning and talent who approceed with it to an indefinite extent, and enrich and im - peared in society so perfectly free from all sorts of pretenprove as long as he thought fit, without any risk either of sion or notion of his own importance, or so little solicitous destroying the proportions of that outline, or injuring tie harmony and unity of the design. He was perfectly aware, to distinguish himself, or so sincerely willing to give place every one else. Even upon subjects which he had thotoo, of the possession of this extraordinary power ; an it to roughly studied, he was never in the least impatient to was partly, we presume, in consequence of this consciousness that he was not only at all times ready to go on with speak, and spoke at all times without any tone of authority, any work in which he was engaged, without waiting for whilst, so far from wishing to set oft what he had to say favourable moments or hours of greater alacrity, but that by any brilliancy or emphasis of expression, it seemed geas if he had studied to disguise the weight and orihe never felt any of those doubts and misgivings as to his nerally being able to get creditably through w ith his undertaking, ginality of his thoughts under the plainest form of speech the most quiet and indifferent manner; so that the to which we believe most authors are occasionally liable. and As he never wrote upon any subject of which he was not profoundest remarks and subtlest observations were often perfectly master, he was secure against all blunders in the dropped, not only without any solicitude that their value substance of what he had to say; and felt quite assured, should be observed, but without any apparent consciousthat if he was only allowed time enough, he should finally ness that they possessed any. Though the most social of come to say it in the very best way of which he was capa- human beings, and the most disposed to encourage and ble. He had no anxiety, therefore, either in undertaking sympathise with the gaiety and joviality of others, his own or proceeding with his tasks; and intermitted and resumed spirits were in general rather cheerful than gay, or at least them at his convenience, with the comfortable certainty, never rose to any turbulence or tumult of merriment; and that all the time he bestowed on them was turned to good whilst he would listen with the kindest indulgence to the account, and that what was left imperfect atone sitting more extravagant sallies of his younger friends, and prompt might be finished with equal ease and advantage at another. them by the heartiest approbation, his own satisfaction Being thus perfectly sure both of his end and his means, might generally be traced in a slow and temperate smile, he experienced, in the course of his compositions, none of gradually mantling over his benevolent and intelligent feathat little fever of the spirits with which that operation is tures, and lighting up the countenance of the sage with so apt to be accompanied. He had no capricious visitings the expression of the mildest and most genuine philanof fancy, which it was necessary to fix upon the spot or to thropy. It was wonderful, indeed, considering the measure lose for ever; no casual inspiration to invoke and to wait of his own intellect, and the rigid and undeviating propriety for; no transitory and evanescent lights to catch before of his own conduct, how tolerant he was of the defects and they faded. All that was in his mind vyas subject to his errors of other men. He was too indulgent, in truth, and control, and amenable to his call, though it might not obey favourable to his friends, and made a kind and liberal at the moment; and whilst his taste was so sure, that he allowance for the faults of all mankind; except only faults was in no danger of overworking anything that he had of baseness or of cruelty, against which he never failed designed, all his thoughts and sentiments had that unity to manifest the most open scorn and detestation. Indeand congruity, that they fell almost spontaneously into har- pendently, in short, of his high attainments, Mr Playfair was mony and order; and the last added, incorporated, and as- one of the most amiable and estimable of men ; delightful similated with the first, as if they had sprung simultaneously in his manners, inflexible in his principles, and generous in his affections, he had all that could charm in society or from the same happy conception. “ But we need dwell no longer on qualities that may be attach in private ; and whilst his friends enjoyed the free gathered hereafter from the works he has left behind him. and unstudied conversation of an easy and intelligent assoThey who lived with him mourn the most for those which ciate, they had at all times the proud and inward assurance will be traced in no such memorial; and prize far above that he was a being upon whose perfect honour and gethose talents which gained him his high name in philoso- nerosity they might rely with the most implicit confidence, phy, that personal character which endeared him to his in life and in death,-—and of whom it was equally imposfriends, and shed a grace and a dignity over all the society sible that, under any circumstances, he should ever perin which he moved. The same admirable taste which is form a mean, a selfish, or a questionable action, as that his conspicuous in his writings, or rather the higher principles body should cease to gravitate or his soul to live. “ If we do not greatly deceive ourselves, there is nothing from which that taste was but an emanation, spread a similar charm over his whole life and conversation, and gave here of exaggeration or partial feeling, and nothing with

P L A Playhouse, which an indifferent and honest chronicler would not con'—"-y'"'"'' cur. Nor is it altogether idle to have dwelt so long on the personal character of this distinguished individual. For we are ourselves persuaded, that this personal character has done almost as much for the cause of science and philosophy amongst us as the great talents and attainments with which it was combined; and has contributed in a very eminent degree to give to the better society of Edinburgh that tone of intelligence and liberality by which it is so honourably distinguished. It is not a little advantageous to philosophy that it is in fashion ; and it is still more advantageous, perhaps, to the society which is led to confer on it this apparently trivial distinction. It is a great thing for the country at large,—for its happiness, its prosperity, and its renown,—that the upper and influencing part of its population should be made familiar, even in its untasked and social hours, with sound and liberal information, and be taught to know and respect those who have distinguished themselves for great intellectual attainments. Nor is it, after all, a slight or despicable reward for a man of genius to be received with honour in the highest and most elegant society around him, and to receive in his living person that homage and applause which is too often reserved for his memory. Now, those desirable ends can never be effectually accomplished, unless the manners of our leading philosophers are agreeable, and their personal habits and dispositions engaging and amiable. From the time of Hume and Robertson, we have been fortunate in Edinburgh in possessing a succession of distinguished men, who have kept up this salutary connection between the learned and the fashionable world; but there never, perhaps, was any one who contributed so powerfully to confirm and extend it, and that in times when it was peculiarly difficult, as the lamented individual of whom we are now speaking; and they who have had the best opportunity to observe how superior the society of Edinburgh is to that of most other places of the same size, and how much of that superiority is owing to the cordial combination of the two aristocracies of rank and of letters (of both of which it happens to be the chief provincial seat), will be best able to judge of the importance of the service he has thus rendered to its inhabitants, and through them, and by their example, to all the rest of the country.” (p. p.) PLAYHOUSE. The most ancient English playhouses were the Curtain in Shoreditch, and the Theatre. In the time of Shakspeare, who commenced dramatic writer in 1592, there were no less than ten theatres open. Four of these were private houses, namely, that in Blackfriars, the Cockpit or Phoenix in Drury-Lane, a theatre in Whitefriars, and one in Salisbury Court. The other six were called public theatres, namely, the Globe, the Swan, the Rose, and the Hope, on the Bank-side ; the Red Bull, at the upper end of St John’s Street; and the Fortune in W hite-Cross Street. The two last were chiefly frequented by citizens. Mr Malone gives a pretty copious account of these playhouses, in a supplement to his last edition of Shakspeare, which account we shall here insert. “ Most, if not all,” says he, “ of Shakspeare’s plays were performed either at the Globe, or at the Theatre in Blackfriars. It appears that they both belonged to the same company of comedians, viz. his majesty’s servants, which title they assumed, after a license had been granted to them by King James in 1603, having before that time been called the servants of the lord chamberlain. “ The theatre in Blackfriars was a private house; but the peculiar and distinguishing marks of a private playhouse it is not easy to ascertain. It was very small, and plays were there usually represented by candle-light. The Globe, situated on the southern side of the river Thames, was a hexagonal building, partly open to the weather, partly coveied with reeds. It was a public theatre, and of consiVOL. XVIII

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derable size, and there they always acted by daylight. On Playhouse, the roof of the Globe, and the other public theatres, a pole v-—-'' was erected, to which a flag was affixed. These flags were probably displayed only during the hours of exhibition; and it should seem, from a passage in one of the old comedies, that they were taken down during Lent, in which season no plays were presented. The Globe, though hexagonal at the outside, was probably a rotunda within, and perhaps had its name from its circular form. It might, however, have been denominated only from its sign, which was a figure of Hercules supporting the Globe. This theatre was burnt down in 1613, but it was rebuilt in the following year, and decorated with more ornament than had been originally bestowed upon it. The exhibitions at the Globe seem to have been calculated chiefly for the lower class of people; those at Blackfriars for a more select and judicious audience. “ A writer informs us, that one of these theatres was a winter and the other a summer house. As the Globe was partly exposed to the weather, and they acted there usually hy daylight, it was probably the summer theatre. The exhibitions here seem to have been more frequent than at Blackfriars, at least till the year 1604 or 1605, when the Bank-side appears to have become less fashionable and less frequented than it formerly had been. Many of our ancient dramatic pieces were performed in the yards of carriers’ inns; in which, in the beginning of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, the comedians, who then first united themselves in companies, erected an occasional stage. The form of these temporary playhouses seems to be preserved in our modern theatre. The galleries are in both ranged over each other on three sides of the building. The small rooms under the lowest of these galleries answer to our present boxes ; and it is observable that these, even in theatres which were built in a subsequent period expressly for dramatic exhibitions, still retained their old name, and are frequently called rooms by our ancient writers. The yard bears a sufficient resemblance to the pit as at present in use. We may suppose the stage to have been raised in this area, on the fourth side, with its back to the gate-way of the inn, at which the money for admission was taken. Hence, in the middle of the Globe, and I suppose of the other public theatres, in the time of Shakspeare, there was an open yard or area, where the common people stood to see the exhibition ; from which circumstance they are called by our author groundlings, and by Ben Johnson ‘ the understanding gentlemen of the ground.’ “ In the ancient playhouses there appears to have been a private box, of which it is not easy to ascertain the situation. It seems to have been placed at the side of the stage, towards the rear, and to have been at a lower price; in this some people sat, either from economy or singularity. The galleries, or scaffolds as they are sometimes called, and that part of the house which in private theatres was named the pit, seem to have been at the same price ; and probably in houses of reputation, such as the Globe, and that in Blackfriars, the price of admission into those parts of the theatres was sixpence, while in some meaner playhouses it was only one penny, in others only twopence. The price of admission into the best rooms or boxes was, I believe, in our author’s time, one shilling; though afterwards it appears to have risen to two shillings and half-a-crown. “From several passages in our old plays, we learn, that spectators were admitted on the stage, and that the critics and wits of the time usually sat there. Some were placed on the ground; others sat on stools, of which the price was either sixpence or one shilling, according, I suppose, to the commodiousness of the situation ; and they were attended by pages, who furnished them with pipes and tobacco, which was smoked here as well as in other parts of the house; yet it should seem that persons were suffered to sit op the stage G

PLAYHOUSE. 50 Playhouse, only in the private playhouses, such as Blackfriars, &c. which were hung on the stage, four at either side; and within a few years were wholly removed by Mr (jarwhere the audience was more select, and of a higher class; these who, on his return from France, first introduced the and that in the Globe and other public theatres no such li- rick, present commodious method of illuminating the stage by cense was permitted ‘^The^stageTwas strewed trewea \with rushes, which, as we lean, lights not visMe tortte ^udien^ Itay of ,m Hentzner and Caius Cains de do Epheme Eph?n,era,, was,_ rndte tune of “fP^er^tranta bal’cn which £ ftteVan from Shakspeare, the usual covering of floors in England. 1 lie empire was supposed to depend w'as decided by half a do curtain which hangs in the front of the present stage, drawn zen combatants. It appears to have been a common pracup by lines and pulleys, though not a modern invention, tor tice in their mock engagements to discharge small pieces it was used by Inigo Jones in the masks at court, was yet of ordnance on the stage. Before the exhibition began, an apparatus to which the simple mechanism of our ancient three flourishes or pieces of music were played, or, in the theatres had not arrived, for in them the curtains opened ancient language, there were three soundings. Music was in the middle, and were drawn backwards and forwards on likewise played between the acts. The instruments chie y an iron rod. In some playhouses they were woollen, in used were trumpets, cornets, and hautboys. Ihe band, others made of silk. Towards the rear of the stage theie which did not consist of more than five or six performers, appears to have been a balcony, the platform of which was sat in an upper balcony, over what is now called the stageprobably eight or ten feet from the ground. I suppose it to have been supported by pillars. From hence, in many “ The person who spoke the prologue was ushered in by of our old plays, part of the dialogue was spoken; and in trumpets, and usually wore a long black velvet cloak, which, the front of this balcony curtains likewise were hung. « A doubt has been entertained whether, in our ancient I suppose, was considered as best suited to a supplicatory address. Of this custom, whatever might have been its theatres, there were side and other scenes. The question origin, some traces remained till very lately, a black coat is involved in so much obscurity, that it is very difficult to having been, if I mistake not, within these few years the form any decided opinion upon it. It is certain, that m the constant stage habiliment of our modern prologue speakers. year 1695 Inigo Jones exhibited an entertainment at Ox- The dress of the ancient prologue speaker is still retained ford, in which moveable scenes were used; but he appears in the play that is exhibited in Hamlet before the king and to have introduced several pieces of machinery in the masks court of Denmark. The performers of male characters at court, with which undoubtedly the public theatres were generally -wore periwigs, which in the age ot Shakspeaie unacquainted. A passage which has been produced from were not in common use. It appears from a passage in one of the old comedies proves, it must be owned, that Puttenham’s Art of English Poesy, 1589, that vizards were even these were furnished with some pieces of machinery, on some occasions used by the actors of those days ; and it which were used when it was requisite to exhibit the de- may be inferred, from a scene in one of our author 8 c0‘ scent of some god or saint; but, from all the contemporary medies, that they were sometimes worn in his time by those accounts, I am inclined to believe that the mechanism o who performed female characters; but this I imagine was our ancient stage seldom went beyond a painted chair or a very rare. Some of the female part of the audience liketrap-door, and that few, if any of them, had any moveable wise appeared in masks. The stage-dresses, it is reasonscenes. When King Henry VIII. is to be discovered by able to suppose, were much more costly at some theatres the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, reading in his study, the than at others; yet the wardrobe of even the king’s serscenical direction in the first folio, 1623, which was printed vants at the Globe and Blackfriars was, we find, but scanapparently from playhouse copies, is ‘ the king draws the cur- tily furnished ; and our author’s dramas derived very little tain (i. e.“draws it open), and sits reading pensively ; tor, aid from the splendour of exhibition. besides the principal curtains that hung in the front of the « It is well known, that in the time of Shakspeare, and stao-e, they used others as substitutes for scenes. It a bed- for many years afterwards, female characters were reprechamber is to be exhibited, no change of scene is mention- sented by bovs or young men. Sir William d’Avenant, in ed ; but the property-man is simply ordered to thrust forth imitation of the foreign theatres, first introduced females in a bed. ' When the fable requires the Roman capitol to be the scene, and Mrs Betterton is said to have been the first exhibited, we find two officers enter, ‘ to lay cushions, as it w'oman that appeared on the English stage. Andrew 1 enwere, in the capitol,’ &c. On the whole, it appears, that nycuike played the part of Matilda in a tragedy of Davenour ancient theatres in general were only furnished with port’s, in 1655; and Mr Kynaston acted several female curtains, and a single scene composed of tapestry, which parts after the Restoration. Downes, a contemporary ot were sometimes, perhaps, ornamented with pictures ; and his, assures us, ‘that being then very young, he made a some passages in our old dramas incline one to think, that complete stage beauty, performing his parts so well, partiwhen tragedies were performed the stage was hung with cularly Arthiope and Aglaura, that it has since been disblack i i i * ,vP smtW’ss fShaksneare’s') putable among the judicious whether any wmman that sue^ Le,/. m™—»•>«••• clF UiUiXill LcLllV^^ VV Ll/ll - J ur when Amelins desired him to share in the sacrifices wdiich he used to offer up on solemn festivals, “ It is their business,” replied Plotinus, “ to come to me; not mine to go to them.” Porphyry put the fifty-four books of Plotinus in order, and divided them into six nonades. The greater part of them turn on the most high-flown ideas in metaphysics; and this philosopher seems, in certain points, to differ but little from Spinoza. He wrote two books to prove that all being is one and the same ; which is, in fact, the very doctrine of Baruc Spinoza. He inquires, in another book, whether there are many souls, or only one. His manner of composing partook of the singularity of his nature. He never read over his compositions after he had WTitten them ; he wrote a bad hand, and was not exact in his orthography; he stood in need, therefore, of a faithful friend to revise and correct his writings; and he chose Porphyry for this purpose in preference to Amelius, who had been his disciple twenty- four years, and was very much esteemed by him. Some have accused Plotinus of plagiarism with regard to Numenius; a slander which Amelius refuted. Longinus was once much prejudiced against this philosopher, and wrote against his Treatise of Ideas, and against Porphyry’s answer in defence of that treatise. He afterwards conceived a high esteem for Plotinus; sought industriously for all his books; and, in order to have them correct, desired Porphyry to lend him his copy. At the same time he wrote to the latter in the following manner. “ I always observed to you, when we were together, when we were at a distance from one another, as well as when you lived at Tyre, that I did not comprehend many of the subjects treated of by Plotinus; but I was extremely fond of his manner of writing, the variety of his knowledge, and the order and disposition of his questions, which are altogether philosophical.” This single passage, says Bayle, shows the exalted genius, the exquisite discernment, and judicious penetration of Longinus. It cannot be denied that most subjects which this philosopher examines are incomprehensible; nevertheless, we discover in his works a very elevated, fruitful, and capacious genius, and a close way of reasoning. Had Longinus been an injudicious critic, had he not possessed an exalted and beautuul genius, he would not have been so sensible of Ploti-

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P L U 61 mis’s obscurity; for no persons complain less of the obscu- Plough rity of a book, than those whose thoughts are confused, and II whose understanding is shallow. Marsilius Ficinus, at the v Tluche. v request of Cosmo de’ Medici, executed a Latin version of the works of Plotinus, with a summary and analysis of each book; which was printed at Basil, first by itself in 1559, and afterwards with the Greek in 1580, folio. His life was written by Porphyry, the most illustrious of his disciples. PLOUGH, in Agriculture, a machine for turning up the soil by the action of cattle, contrived to save the time, labour, and expense, which must otherwise have been employed in digging the ground, and fitting it for receiving all sorts of seed. See Agriculture. PLOWDEN, Edmund, sergeant at law, descended from an ancient family in Shropshire, was born in 1517, and was first a student of the university of Cambridge, where he spent three years in the study of philosophy and medicine. He then removed to Oxford, where, having continued his former studies about four years more, he was in 1552 admitted to the practice of physic and surgery; but probably finding the practice of the healing art less agreeable than the study of physic, he entered himself of the Middle Temple, and began to read law. Wood says, that in 1557 he was summer reader to that society, and Lent reader three years afterwards, being then sergeant and oracle of the law. He died in the year 1584, aged sixty-seven ; and was buried in the Temple church. He wrote, 1. Commentaries or Reports of divers Cases in the reigns of Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth, London, 1571, 1578, 1599, and 1613, written in the old Norman language; and, 2. Queries, or a Mootbook of Cases, translated, methodized, and enlarged, by H. B. of Lincoln’s-Inn, London, 1662, in 8vo. PLUCHE, Antony, a celebrated French writer, was born at Rheims in 1688; and having distinguished himself by his engaging manners and proficiency in the belles lettres, was appointed professor of humanity in the university of that city. Two years afterwards he obtained the chair of rhetoric, and was admitted into holy orders. The Bishop of Leon, informed of his talents, conferred upon him the direction of the college of his episcopal city. By his industry and superior knowledge, a proper order and subordination w ere soon established in it; but some peculiar opinions respecting the affairs of the time disturbed his tranquillity, and obliged him to resign his office. The intendant of Rouen, at the request of the celebrated Rollin, intrusted him with the education of his son. Abbe Pluche having filled that situation with success and great honour to himself, left Rouen and went to Paris, where, by the patronage of some literary friends, and his own excellent writings, he acquired a distinguished reputation for learning. He published, 1. Le Spectacle de la Nature, in nine volumes 12mo. This work, w hich is equally instructive and entertaining, is written with perspicuity and elegance; but the form of dialogue which is adopted has rendered it somewhat prolix. The interlocutors are not distinguished by any striking or characteristic features ; and though the author has given the conversations a pretty ingenious turn, and even some vivacity, yet now and then they assume the tone of the college. 2. Histoire du Ciel, or History of the Heavens, in two vols. 12mo. In this performance we find two parts almost independent of each other. The first contains some learned inquiries into the origin of the poetical heavens. It is nearly a complete mythology, founded upon ideas which are new and ingenious. The second is the history of the opinions of philosophers respecting the formation of the world. The author shows the inutility, inconsistency, and uncertainty of the most esteemed systems ; and concludes with pointing out the excellence and sublime simplicity of the Mosaic account. Voltaire called this work Fable, du Ciel. 3. De Linguarum Artificio, a work which he translated under the title of Le Mecanique

62 P L U Plug des Langues, in 12mo. In this treatise he proposes a short II and easy method of learning languages, which is by the use lu 1 )cr v v “ l . - 0f translations instead of themes or exercises. 4. Harmony of the Psalms and the Gospel,.or a translation of the Psalms and Hymns of the Church, with notes relative to the Vulgate, the Septuagint, and Hebrew Text, printed at Paris in 1764, in ^mo. In 1749, Abbe Pluche retired to Varenne St Maure, where he gave himself up entirely to devotion and study. Having become so deaf that he could not hear without the help of a trumpet, the capital afforded him little enjoyment. It was in this retreat that he died of an apoplexy, on the 20th of November 1761, at the age of seventy-three years. He possessed those qualities which form the scholar, the honest man, and the Christian ; temperate in his meals, true to his word, an affectionate parent, a sensible friend, and a humane philosopher, he gave lessons of virtue in his life as wTell as his writings. His submission to all the dogmas of religion was profound. Some deists having expressed surprise that, in matters of faith, he should think and speak like the vulgar, his answer was, “ I glory in doing so; it is infinitely more rational to believe the word of God, than to follow the glimmering lights of a reason which is limited and subject to error.” PLUG, a certain piece of timber, formed like the frustum of a cone, and used to stop a hause-hole, or a breach made in the body of a ship by cannon-balls. Plugs used for the former purpose are therefore called hause plugs, and those for the latter shot-plugs ; and they are formed of various sizes, in proportion to the holes made by the different sizes of shot which may penetrate the ship’s sides or bottom in battle. Accordingly they are always ready for this purpose. PLUKENET, Leonard, a physician who flourished in the reign of Charles II., was one of the most excellent and laborious botanists of that or any other age. He was author of the Phytographia Plukenetiana, the Almagesticum Britannicum, and other works of a similar kind, on which he spent the greater part of his life and fortune. His Phytography is mentioned with the highest praise in the Philosophical Transactions for February 1696-1697. His Opera Botanica, with cuts, were printed at London, in six vols. folio, in 1720. PLUMBERY, the art of casting and working lead, and using it in building. As this metal soon melts, and with little heat, it is easy to cast it into figures of any kind, by running it into moulds of brass, clay, plaster, or other material. But the chief article in plumbery consists of sheets and pipes of lead ; and as these form the basis of the plumber’s work, we shall here describe the process of making them. In casting sheet-lead, a table or mould is made use of, consisting of large pieces of wood well jointed, and bound with bars of iron at the ends ; on the sides of which runs a frame, consisting of a ledge or border of wood, three inches in thickness, and four inches in height from the mould, called the sharps. The ordinary width of the mould, within these sharps, is from four to five feet; and its length is sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen feet. This should be something longer than the sheets are intended to be, in order that the end where the metal runs off from the mould may be cut off, because it is commonly thin, or uneven, or ragged, at the end. It must stand very even or level in breadth, and something falling from the end in which the metal is poured in, viz. about an inch or an inch and a half in the length of sixteen or seventeen feet or more, according to the thickness of the sheets wanted; for the thinner the sheet, the more declivity the mould should have. At the upper end of the mould stands the pan, which is a concave triangular prism, composed of two planks nailed together at right angles, and two triangular pieces fitted in between them at the ends. The length of this pan is the w hole breadth of the mould in which the sheets are cast. It stands

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with its bottom, which is a sharp edge, on a form at the Plumber end of the mould, leaning with one side against it; on the opposite side is a handle to lift it up by, in order to pour out the melted lead ; and on that side of the pan which is next the mould are two iron hooks to take hold of the mould, and prevent the pan from slipping whilst the melted lead is pouring out of it into the mould. This pan is lined on the inside with moistened sand, to prevent it from being fired by the hot metal. The mould is also spread over, about two inches thick, with sand sifted and moistened, which is rendered perfectly level by moving over it a piece of wood called a strike, and smoothing it over with a smoothing plane, which is a plate of polished brass about one fourth of an inch thick, and nine inches square, turned up upon all the four edges, and with a handle fitted on to the upper or concave side. The sand being thus smoothed, it is fit for casting sheets of lead. But if they would cast a cistern, they measure out the bigness of the four sides, and having taken the dimensions of the front or fore part, make mouldings by pressing long slips of wood, which contain the same mouldings, into the level sand; and form the figures of birds, beasts, or anything else, by pressing in the same manner leaden figures upon it, and then taking them off, and at the same time smoothing the surface where any of the sand is raised up by making these impressions upon it. The rest of the operation is the same in casting either cisterns or plain sheets of lead. But before wTe proceed to mention the manner in which that is performed, it will be necessary to give a more particular description of the strike. The strike, then, is a piece of board about five inches in breadth, and something longer than the breadth of the mould on the inside; and atr each end is cut a notch about two inches deep, so that w hen it is used it rides upon the sharps with those notches. Before they begin to cast, the strike is made ready by tacking on two pieces of an old hat on the notches, or by slipping a case of leather over each end, in order to raise the under side about one eighth of an inch or something more above the sand, according as they wmuld have the sheet to be in thickness; then the under edge of the strike is tallowed and laid across the mould. The lead being melted, it is put into the pan with ladles, in which, when there is a sufficient quantity for the present purpose, the scum of the metal is swept off with a piece of board to the edge of the pan, letting it settle on the sand, which is by this means prevented from falling into the mould at the pouring out of the metal. When the lead is cool enough, which must be regulated according to the thickness of the sheets wanted, and is known by its beginning to stand with a shell or wall upon the sand round the pan, two men take the pan by the handle, or else one of them lifts it by the bar and chain fixed to a beam in the ceiling, and pour it into the mould, whilst another man stands ready with the strike, and as soon as they have done pouring in the metal, puts on the mould, sweeps the lead forward, and draws the overplus into a trough prepared to receive it. The sheets being thus cast, nothing remains but to roll them up or cut them into any measure wanted. But if it be a cistern, it is bent into four sides, so that the two ends may join the back, where they are soldered together; after which the bottom is soldered up. We shall next describe the method of casting pipes without soldering. To make these pipes, they have a kind of little mill, with arms or levers to turn it withal. The moulds are of brass, consist of two pieces, which open and shut by means of hooks and hinges, their inward calibre or diameter being, according to the size of the pipe, usually two feet and a half. In the middle is placed a core or round piece of brass or iron, somewhat longer than the mould, and of the thickness of the inward diameter of the pipe. This core is passed through two copper rundles, one at each end df

P L U P L U 63 plummet the mould, which they serve to close; and to these is joinPLUMOSE, something formed in the manner of a Plumose 1! . ed a little copper tube about two inches long, and of the feather, with a stem and fibres issuing from it on each side: F llItarch II [’lunnmng^ t]le leaden pipe is intended to be of. By means such are the antennas of certain moths, butterflies, and other * v | " of these tubes the core is retained in the middle of the ca- insects. -y—^ vity of the mould. The core being in the mould, with the PLURAL, in Grammar, an epithet applied to that numrundles at its two ends, and the lead melted in the furnace, ber of nouns and verbs which is used when we speak of the latter is taken up in a ladle, and poured into the mould more than one thing. by a little aperture at one end, made in the form of a funPLUS, in Algtbra, a character marked thus, -f-, used for nel. When the mould is full, a hook is passed into the end the sign of addition. See Algebr a. of the core, and, by turning the mill, is drawn out; and PLUSH, in commerce, a kind of stuff having a sort of after opening the mould, the pipe is also taken out. If they velvet knap or shag on one side, composed regularly of a desire to have the pipe lengthened, they put one end of it woof of a single woollen thread and a double warp; the in the lower end of the mould, and pass the end of the core one wool, of two threads twisted, the other goat’s or camel’s into it; then shut the mould again, and apply its rundle hair; t hough there are some plushes entirely of worsted, and and tube as before, the pipe just cast serving for a rundle, others composed wholly of hair. &c. at the other end. Things being thus replaced, they PLU I ARCH, one of the most celebrated writers of anpour in fresh metal, and repeat the operation till they have tiquity, was a native of Chaeroneia, in Bceotia. The exact got a pipe of the length required. date of his birth and death is unknown; but as he tells us that For making pipes of sheet-lead, the plumbers have wood- he studied philosophy under Ammonius at Delphi, when Nero en cylinders of the length and thickness required; and on made a tour through Greece, and as we know this circumthese they form their pipes by wrapping the sheet around stance to have taken place a. d. 66, we may place the birth them, and soldering up the edges all along them. of Plutarch towards the latter years of the reign of Claudius The lead which lines the Chinese tea-boxes is reduced (a. d. 48-53). He was sprung from an honourable family, to a thinness which, we are informed, European plumbers which had often been invested with the highest offices of cannot imitate. The following account of the process by the magistracy. He speaks of having seen his great-grandwhich the plates are formed was communicated to a writer father Nicarchus, from whom he learned, as from an eyein the Gentleman’s Magazine, by an intelligent officer of an witness, the miseries which his country had suffered from / East Indiaman. The caster sits by a pot containing the the oppressions of Antony. His grandfather Lamprias wras melted metal; and has two large stones, the under one fix- distinguished for his eloquence and imagination; and his ed, the upper moveable, directly before him. He raises the father is praised for his modesty, his acquaintance with the upper stone by pressing his foot upon the side of it, and theology of his time, and his knowledge of the works of the with an iron ladle pours in the opening a proper quantity of poets. Plutarch had two brothers, Timon and Lamprias; of the fluid metal. He then immediately lets fall the upper the former of whom he says, that he has no obligations to stone, and by that means forms the lead into a thin irregu- fortune so great as the enjoyment of his brother Timon’s lar plate, which is afterwards cut into a proper shape. The invariable friendship and kindness. Under Ammonius, of surfaces of the stones, where they touch each other, are ex- whom we know little more than what his pupil has told us, actly ground together. he acquired the doctrines of that humane and rational philoPLUMMET, Plumb-rule, or Plumb-line, an instru- sophy for which he was afterwards so distinguished. Upon ment used by carpenters, masons, and others, in order to what occasion he visited Italy is uncertain, but it is supposjudge whether walls or beams be upright planes, horizon- ed to have been on some public business of the Cha?roneians. tal, or the like. It is so called from a piece oflead fasten- W hilst he remained at Rome, he found his house resorted ed to the end of a cord, which usually constitutes this in- to by all the principal citizens, and his lectures on philosostrument. Sometimes the string descends along a wooden phy attended by the most illustrious of the Romans. Sosruler, raised perpendicularly on another; in which case it sius Senecio, who was four times consul, once under Nerva becomes a level. and thrice under Trajan, was his most intimate friend. To PLUMMING, amongst miners, is the method of using him he addresses his Lives, except that of Aratus, which is a mine-dial, in order to know the exact place of the work inscribed to Polycrates of Sicyon, the grandson of Aratus. where to sink down an air-shaft, or to bring an adit to the WTether he remained in Italy till all philosophers were work, or to know which way the lode inclines when any banished from that country by a decree of Domitian, is a flexure happens in it. point of which we have no means of determining; butwe know It is performed in this manner. A skilful person, with an that he spent the greater part of his time in his native city. assistant, and provided with pen, ink, and paper, a long line, Here he devoted himself to the discharge of such humble and a mine-dial, after his guess of the place above ground, duties as the magistrates of Chasroneia were required to descends into the adit or work, and there fastens one end perform; and we find that he also joined to his magisterial of the line to some fixed thing in it; then the incited needle character the office of priest of Apollo. Suidas states that is let to rest, and the exact point where it rests is marked he was preceptor to Trajan; but he was so nearly contemwith a pen. The person in question then goes on farther porary with that emperor, that little credit is due to this in, the line being still fastened, and at the next flexure of assertion. Plutarch was married to a lady of his native the adit he makes a mark on the line, by a knot or otherwise, city, called Timoxena, and in his matrimonial connection he and, letting down the dial again, he there likewise notes seems to have been particularly fortunate. By her he had down that point at which the needle stands in this second five children, four sons, and a daughter, who died young; position. In this manner he proceeds, from turning to and on this occasion he addressed a beautiful letter of conturning, marking down the points, and marking the line, solation to his wife, which is highly honourable to both partill he comes to the intended place. This being done, he ties. Two only of his sons survived, Plutarch and Lamascends and begins to work on the surface of the earth prias, the latter of whom appears to have been a philosowhat he did in the adit, bringing the first knot in the line pher ; and it is to him that we are indebted for a catalogue of to such a place where the mark of the place of the needle his father’s writings. His nephew Sextus was of considerwill again answer its pointing; and continues this till he able eminence, and taught the Greek language to Marcus come to the desired place above ground, which is certain Antoninus. We have no particular account either as to to be perpendicular over the part of the mine into which the manner or the time of his death, only it is evident that the air-shaft is to be sunk. he lived to a good old age. The most probable conjecture

84 Pluto

PLY PLY is that of Fabricius, who says he died in the fifth year of of Plymouth, is not without its dangers, consisting of rocks PlyB’ou*: a r an at t le a e and shoals. Ot the former are the Mewstcme, the Shagstone, ^ ’ works ’ ^have£been °f seventy. vPlymouth ' ! ^ His divided, and they admit of a pretty and the Itenny ; and of the latter the Tinker, the Shovel, equal division, into Lives and Morals; the former of which, the Knap, and the Panther ; but their position is so well in his own estimation, were to be preferred, as more noble known, and so accurately pointed out by buoys, that in all than the latter. His style has been excepted to with some but the most tempestuous and foggy weather they are easireason. He has also been criticised for some mistakes in ly avoided, and few^er accidents to ships occur here than in Roman antiquities, and for a partiality to the Greeks. On almost any other harbour. The first object deserving nothe other hand, he has been justly praised for the copious- tice in the water-access to Plymouth is that part called ness of his fine sense and learning, for his integrity, and for the Sound, a most capacious anchoring place, capable of a certain air of goodness which appears in all be wrote. affording shelter and protection to fifty sail of the line. His business was not to please the ear, but to instruct and The Sound has been rendered secure by that prodigious charm the mind; and in this none ever excelled him. Of display of human labour known by the name of the Breakhis moral writings it is to be regretted that we have no good water. As a full and scientific description of that work has English translation. An English version of his Lives, exe- been given in a former volume (see vol. v. page 219), we cuted with fidelity and spirit, was presented to the public refer to it; only adding, that since the trial of the storms by the Langhomes in 1770. The best edition of his works of 1816 and 1817, the strength as well as the utility of is that of Reiske, in twelve volumes 8vo, 1774-82. the work has^ been proved by a storm which took place on PLUTO, in Pagan worship, the king of the infernal re- toe i3d of November 1824, when the whole southern coast gions, was the son of Saturn and Ops, and the brother of of England was bestrew ed with wreck and desolation. The Jupiter and Neptune. This deity, finding himself childless tide then rose to the frightful height of twenty-six feet two and unmarried, mounted his chariot to visit the world; and, inches, whilst the mean rise of its height at spring-tides is arriving in Sicily, fell in love with Proserpine, whom he saw usually only eighteen feet. The greater part of the surface gathering flowers with her companions in the valley of of the Breakwater was on that occasion completely overEnna, near Mount .Etna; when, forcing her into his cha- turned, and huge stones of from two to five tons each were riot, he drove her to the river Chemarus, through which he carried from the outer and deposited on the inner slope. opened for himself a passage back to the realms of night. The centre and western ends suffered most, and the landPluto is usually represented in an ebony chariot drawn ing-place was destroyed. It is, however, considered that by four black horses, sometimes holding a sceptre, to denote the advantage gained to the work by the shock, causing his power; at others, a wand,*with which he drives away the blocks to settle down more firmly, will amply compenthe ghosts; and at others, some keys, to signify that he had sate for the derangement of the surface. On the whole, the keys of death. Homer observes, that his helmet had therefore, this occurrence may be considered as a most sathe quality of rendering the wearer invisible, and that Mi- tisfactory proof of the utility and durability of this national nerva borrowed it in order to remain concealed from Mars barrier. It need scarcely be remarked, that those liabiliwhen she fought against the Trojans. Pluto was greatly ties to injury to which such a work as the Breakwater is revered both by the Greeks and Romans, who erected to subject whilst in progress, will not exist in an equal degree him both temples and altars. To this god sacrifices were when the work is completed. Thus, in a hurricane of Jaoffered in the night, and it was not lawful to offer them by nuary 1828 not a single stone of the finished part of the day. work was removed from its position. The fears entertainPLUTUS, in Pagan worship, the god of riches, is fre- ed by some persons that the erection might ultimately quently confounded with Pluto. He was represented as prove detrimental to the Sound and to the harbour within, appearing lame when he approached, but provided with by causing an increased deposit of mud and silt, are satiswings at his departure, to show the difficulty of amassing factorily proved to be groundless; no perceptible alterawealth and the uncertainty of its enjoyment. He was also tion having taken place in the depth of water in any of represented blind, to show that he often bestowed his fa- those places, or any change in the strength or the set of vours on the most unworthy, and left in necessity those the tides. who had the greatest merit. Within the Breakwater there are many indentations, the PLL \ IUS, a surname of Jupiter. He was invoked by mouths ot which terminate in the Sound, and form excelthat name amongst the Romans whenever the earth was lent harbours, some of them adapted for the largest class of parched by continual heat, and in want of refreshing rains. ships. The easternmost of these inlets is at first called He had an altar in the temple on the Capitol. Catwater, and extends to the Lake of Saltram, being crossPL YE RS, in fortification, denotes a kind of balance used ed by the Lary Bridge, an elegant work, erected between in raising or letting down a drawbridge. They consist of the years 1824 and 1827, about 500 feet in length. The two timber levers, twice as long as "the bridge they lift, small river Plym, which gives its name to the town, empjoined together by other timbers, framed in the form of a ties its water into the Lake of Saltram. It is a stream of St Andrew’s cross, to counterpoise them. They are sup- short course, rising from the Dartmoor Mountains. The ported by two upright jambs, on which they swing; and the next to Catw ater is a capacious harbour, called Sutton Pool, bridge is raised or let down by means of chains joining the which is capable of receiving a thousand sail. It is used ends ot the plyers and bridge. chiefly by the largest class of merchant-ships, and by the PLl ING, in nautical language, the act of making, or steam-packets ; and it has several yards for repairing or endeavouring to make, a progress against the direction of building merchant-vessels. The next harbour" is called the wind. Hence a ship that advances well in her course Mill Bay ; it is chiefly used for commercial purposes, and in this manner ot sailing, is said to be a wood plyer. has some good quays, some ship-building yards, and good PL\ MOL TH. a town at the western extremity of the moorings for steam-boats. Beyond that, at the extreme county of Devon, on the southern shore of England. It is a west, which it separates from Cornwall, is that indentation place which lias grown to its present importance from the which is of the most importance to the British navy. It is natural advantages of maritime access, and the capability the harbour of Hamoaze, one of the finest in the world. It Oi defence arising from local circumstances, which have is open to the full force of the tide, but receives the stores been extended by liberal expenditure under the direction of fresh water which fall into it from the rivers Tavy, Taof men of the most scientific attainments. mar, Lynher, and St Germains. It is the place where the The entrance to the harbour, or more properly harbours, men of war in ordinary are moored ; and on its border are

PLYMOUTH. 65 IvTaonth. the extensive dock*yard, the gun-wharf, and the powderaldermen, out of which one is appointed mavor; and, bePlymouth, ' magazine, which, with other objects, will hereafter be no- sides the mayor, it has six justices of the peace, who are v ticed. In Hamoaze, the admiral commanding the port has by the king. Two members for this borough the flag displayed on his ship ; and when surrounded, as he nominated are returned to the House of Commons. The town is in commonh is, by a hundred sail of vessels, a most impressive the hundred of Roborough, and consists of two parishes, spectacle is presented to view afloat, whilst the picturesque which are within the deanery of Plympton and the archdeaobjects on the shore tend to increase the effect. conry of Totness, in the diocese of Exeter. The church of Within the Breakwater is an island, sometimes called the parish of St Andrews is interesting to the admirers of Drake's, sometimes St Nicholas’. It is surrounded with ancient architecture. It formerly belonged to a monastery ; rocks, has a strong castle and other fortifications, and is and many alterations having been made since its erection provided with furnaces for heating balls, and with other in 1440, various styles are exhibited in the building, which means of defence ; and it is of great importance, as com- thus as a whole appears incongruous; and, though handmanding the entrance into Hamoaze, Catwater, and the some in parts, it wants, as regards the body of the church, other harbours. that altitude which is the most essential ingredient of GoLittle is known of Plymouth prior to the time of the Norarchitecture. The windows are of the pointed style. man conquest, when it was called South Town or Sutton. thic The tower, containing a fine peal of eight bells, must be In the reign of Edward I. it was called Sutton Prior and admitted to be of good general proportions, and it is crownSutton \ alletort, the northern parts being situated on the ed by a pinnacled compartment of remarkable beauty. lands of the prior of Plympton, and the southern parts on other church, of the parish of Charles, w as biiilt in the estates of the Valletorts. At that period it was chiefly theThe reign of the first king of that name. The tower and inhabited by fishermen. Under the fostering care of spire have an agreeable outline, but otherwise the exterior the priors the place made considerable advances, and the of the building can only be described as in the debased more appropriate name of Plym-mouth was given to it. The Gothic style of a degenerate period. Each of these churchgrowing prosperity of the town excited the jealousy of es has a chapel attached to it, under the respective clerFrance; and in 1389 a force from thence landed and atw hich together contain sittings for 2700 persons. tempted to bum it. They succeeded in burning a portion, gymen, There are two other episcopal chapels, one in the citadel but were ultimately repulsed, with the loss of 500 men, bv and the other the Hoe, which afford sittings for about Hugh Courtenay. Similar attempts were subsequently 3000 persons. onThe several sects of Methodists, Baptists, made at various times, but with no great result; and after Independents, Quakers, Roman Catholics, and Unitarians, each, the fortifications were extended and strengthened. have their respective places of religious worship; but the During the civil war between Charles I. and the parlia- first mentioned have by far the most numerous body of adment, Plymouth was held by the troops of the latter party, herents. The Hoe or Howe at is an eminence who, though besieged, and almost reduced by famine, re- on the south side of the town. ItPlymouth is a healthfiil and pleassisted for three years every effort of the royalists. After ing promenade, stretching from Catwater to Mill Bay, on th e r e t0rati n the citadei was the eastern of which is built the principal defence ’ ™ fi ° ’ erected; and in the reign of '> illiam III. the dock-yard and the naval arsenal were of this mostextremity important place, called the Citadel. The enestablished towards the west, upon the eastern shore of Ha- trance to this work, on the side of the town, is through two moaze. Since that time it has gone on increasing; but the greatest progress has been made during the present cen- gateways of a bad specimen of architecture. The buddings tury, in which it has assumed a new character, in the intel- consist of houses for the governor and other officers, of baran hospital, a magazine, an armoury, and a chapel. ligence and wealth of the inhabitants, as well as in the ar- mcks, 1 he fortification consists of three regular and two irregular dutectural style of its buildings both public and private. I he buildings collectively called Plymouth are comprehend- bastions; the curtains of the regular bastions being strengthed in three divisions, now known, the first by that name, the ened by two ravelins and horn-w orks; on the east, north, west sides are a deep ditch, counterscarp, and covered second by that of Stonehouse, and the third by that of De- and vonpori The name of the latter was till August 1824 way, palisadoed, and the parapets are pierced for 120 canThe lower fort is connected with the Citadel, and is rlymouth-Dock, when, on an application from the inhabi- non. chiefly intended to defend the Sound. tants, the present name was given by royal authority, on which occasion a column of 125 feet in height was erected { Amongst the public buildings of Plymouth, the most imposing is a noble pile, which comprehends the royal hotel to commemorate the introduction of the new name. the assembly-rooms, and the theatre. The foundation was The population of the three ports, at the respective delaid in September 1811; and the expense of the erection cennial enumerations, has been as follows: amounting to L.60,000, was defrayed partly by the corporation and partly by the institution of a tontine. 1801. 1811. 1821. 1831. The theatre is constructed with not less regard to the Plymouth 16,040 20,803 21,591 31,080 safety than to the accommodation of the audience. The roof and entire frame-work of the boxes are of iron, and Stonehouse 3,407 5,174 6,043 9,571 Devonport 23,747 30,083 33,578 34,883 the auditorium is of a magnitude fully equal to the purpose of the legitimate dramaThe Athenaeum is a fine building erected by the Phi43,194 ' 56,060 | 61,212 75,534 losophical Institution, and completed in the vear 1819. Presuming as we fairly may, that the increase between The portico exhibits four columns appropriate to the cha1831 and the present time (1838) has been at the same rate racter of a building devoted to literature and art In connection with the institution a public library has been e Penods the actual , l of?rfn^g or ’ double of what Population be established, the building of which exhibits great taste and upwards 8o,000, nearly it was will thirtyJ judgment. six years ago. The custom-house, a recent building, is worthy of the in COrP°rated as a borough in the year town, and convenient for its commerce. It exhibit a front L by that trifli ’ and andtill subsequent alterations mflrng nature, wasobarter, governed 1835, when, by the of lawa of granite, suitable, solid, and well proportioned. The innade to reform mmiapal corporations, it was divided into tenor is well arranged for business. On the ground floor are six wards, each choosing six councillors, who elect tv. th e the offices of the principal surveyor, the tide-surveyor, the lanaing waiter, the searchers, and others. A granite stairi

PLYMOUTH. 66 Plymouth, case leads to the long room, which is fifty-four feet in length, in the year ending January 1837, were, British two bun- Plymom: v "“—twenty-six in width, and twenty-two in height. This building dred and nineteen ships, 20,890 tons ; and foreign thirtyseven ships, 4779 tons. The whole number of ships owned was completed in 1820, at an expense of L.8000. The royal baths is a pileof buildingbetween Plymouth and by Plymouth are three hundred and fifty, the tonnage of Stonehouse, the appearance of which excites much admira- which amounts to 30,000 tons. Besides these, there are tion. It is most appropriately furnished with hot and cold more than fifty decked boats, called trawlers, employed in baths of fresh or of sea water, of hot air, of sulphur, and of the extensive fishery at sea, which take such quantities of vapour. The front is in the Doric style of architecture. It fish as to enable the captors to send them to Exeter, Bath, has within it a pump-room, where a medicinal water is sup- and even London. The building and repairing of ships plied fi’om a spring, which is chiefly composed of chloride of gives occupation to a great number of persons. Plymouth was in 1834 constituted a stannary town. The sodium, muriate of magnesia, and muriate of lime, combined with small proportions of sulphate and carbonate of lime, neighbouring tin and other mines are numerous and proand a very minute portion of carbonate of iron. It is per- ductive. The vicinity also abounds in quarries of granite, haps the best arranged institution of the kind in England ; slate, and marble ; the latter being highly esteemed for its and the luxuries it provides are administered at very low veining and susceptibility of polish. The export of granite rates. It belongs to a joint-stock company, incorporated by and the other stone is much facilitated by the railroad, twenty-four miles in length, which extends fi’om the intecharter in 1828. A new public edifice, begun in 1835, for the benevolent rior of Dartmoor to the quays of Catwater and Sutton Pool purpose of establishing a hospital and dispensary for bouth harbours. By the same means coal, lime, and manure are Devon and East Cornwall, is approaching to its completion. conveyed from the port to the interior. This railroad At present the central part only is erecting ; but in the plan was executed by a joint-stock company formed in the year it is contemplated to erect two wings, as soon as sufficient 1818, and was completed in 1820. The Exchange for the funds flow in for the purpose. These would double the merchants, erected in 1813, is near the custom-house ; and, capacity of the building as to beds, and supply other con- amongst other institutions, it has a chamber of commerce, veniences. There are in the centre part a theatre for ope- a marine insurance office, a steam-packet office, the oil-gas rations and lectures, and wards for forty beds, with appro- company’s office, and an appropriate reading-room. Plymouth abounds with benevolent institutions, both of priate rooms for nurses and other attendants. Few towns have advanced so much within the last twenty years, in re- ancient and modern foundation, which, from the great numspect to its public buildings, as Plymouth. That advance is ber of them, can only be but slightly noticed. The workstill progressive, and new erections are now constructing, house, a corporate establishment, founded by several acts one intended as a guild-hall, instead of the old building, of parliament, provides for a great number of paupers of another as a new prison, and also one by a society for hor- both sexes and of all ages. Charles’s alms-houses, Joy’s ticultural and other exhibitions. With all the improve- alms-houses, the Household of Faith, the new alms-houses, ments here noticed, it must be observed, that the principal the Mendicity Society, the Female Benevolent Society, thoroughfares are irregular in their disposition, and that the and some others, are supported either by bequests, or by most bustling street is the narrowest of the town; and though voluntary contributions, or by annual subscriptions. Most there are excellent shops of every description, some of them of the places of worship have schools attached to them; and exhibiting fronts of chaste architectural character, yet near there are a few endowed schools, and one grammar-school, them are houses of very antique date and style. The north- from whose funds exhibitions are given to students at Oxern part of the town consists of small but neat houses; but ford. Besides the hospital already noticed, there is a large the best masses of buildings are at the west end, and they public dispensary, and an infirmary for diseases of the eye. are chiefly occupied by legal, medical, and other professional There is a medical society, with a professional library for the members of the healing art, embracing the entire field persons. Plymouth is, upon the whole, a healthy place. The climate of medical literature. In 1815, a law library was estais mild but rainy: whilst frosts are gentle, and snow rarely blished, the members of which consist exclusively of barremains on the ground. It is well supplied with fresh water, risters and attorneys. The books are open to the referwhich is brought by pipes from a stream on Dartmoor, at ence of any subscriber to the general library, to whose coltwenty-four miles distance, and from a reservoir distributed lection they have been recently united. The amusements in the several streets ; the annual charge for the supply of of Plymouth are the stage, music, balls, annual races, and, water is sixteen shillings for each house. Provisions are un- what is more appropriate to the situation, regatta or marine commonly cheap, and of the best quality. The market for races, in which the assistance of the Naval Yacht Club is fish is very remarkable, both for the variety, the excel- afforded. Stonehouse, the centre town of the group, received the stonehou: lence, and the cheapness of that description of food. The market-days are Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and name from Joel de Stonehouse, the lord of this domain in the market-place is spacious, comprehending nearly three the reign of Henry III. before which it was called Hippeston. It is now descended to the Earl of Mount Edgecumbe, acres. The maritime commerce of Plymouth is extensive. A who, by gsgnting leases on liberal terms, has assisted in that great trade in timber is carried on with the Baltic, with great increase of the town which the state of the population America, and the Mediterranean, and there is a direct in- at four periods has manifested. These leases are granted tercourse with the West Indies and Mauritius, which se- on lives, renewable for ever at a fixed fine, and subject to cures a good supply of tropical commodities. It is a bond- an annual conventional rent. The town is joined with Plying port for many articles, and especially for tobacco. There mouth by a thoroughfare street, and it occupies nearly the are also large importations of timber, hemp, tallow, and same level. The southern part is most on the increase, other articles, for the use of the dock-yard. The coasting and is almost entirely occupied by genteel families, chiefly trade is carried on principally with London, Newcastle, those of naval and military officers, and other persons holdNewport in Monmouthshire, and Bristol. Great quantities ing situations under the government. Stonehouse was constituted a township by the reform of manganese are shipped to Scotland, lead to Bristol, and some wool to Hull. The amount of duties paid at the act, and exercises the elective franchise in connection with custom-house was, in the year ending 5th January 1836, the borough of Devonport. It is divided into two wards, L.93,462. 3s. lid., and at 5th January 1837, L.103,423. the east and the west, by the line of Brownlow Street. It is 7s. 4d. The ships and their tonnage that entered the port under the jurisdiction of a bench of magistrates, who sit

PLYMOUTH. 67 Plymouth, weekly at a town-hall. The poor are under the manage- rounded by quays of granite, save where an iron swing-bridge Plymouth, ''—'y'—^ ment of a governor, visitors, and guardians, in a work- vaults over an opening of forty-five feet into Stonehouse house, attached to which is a prison for vagrants and petty Pool. Answering the great bake-house, on the opposite of offenders, who are detained till they can be removed by the the basin, is the brew-house, similar in dimensions and in orders of the magistrates. The chief trade by water is in external character to the former, and having a correspondcoals and timber ; and the vessels discharge their cargoes ing chimney-shaft. Passing onwards in a direct line from on quays in the Pool, in which are accommodations for the entrance, the irregular quadrangle of the cooperage is building ships. on the left, and beyond that the Clarence stores, which run There are two parochial chapels, St George’s and St along the quay of that name 340 feet. There is also a reservoir Pauls, besides one in the Royal Naval Hospital, which to- for fresh water, elevated above most of the buildings, being gether provide sittings for 2500 persons, and maintain a fifty feet in height, neatly finished with granite and an iron large national school. The Roman Catholics, Independ- railing, which contains 7000 tons. The Melville quadrangle ents, both kinds of Methodists, and the Baptists, have also includes the offices of the establishment, and, with the Claplaces of worship; and most of them have schools for the rence stores, are used as depots for wet and dry provisions, instruction of those attending the public services of them. and for slops for the seamen. In the brew-house a steamAn object that strikes every one in passing from Ply- engine is used in the operation of grinding malt, in mashmouth into Stonehouse is the establishment of the United ing, and pumping. A similar engine is employed in the Gas Company, at Mill Bay, by which the three towns in bake-house, where there are twenty-five pair of millstones, a direct line of nearly four miles are supplied with light. affording the means of grinding a thousand bushels of meal The edifices belonging to the government are the most in ten hours. In the same period flour is converted in the prominent objects in Stonehouse. One of these, the Ma- bake-house into ship-biscuit, to the extent of 2450 pounds rine Barracks, is on the western shore of Mill Bay, where weight. The entire premises of this establishment occupy an there is a convenient landing-place. The buildings form extent of about thirteen acres, of which one half have been an oblong square, in front of which are the apartments for recovered from the sea, and the remainder excavated from the privates, whilst those of the officers are on the two sides. the rock, the stone taken from which has been made use On the west side are the entrance gate and a newly erect- of to build a strong wall to defend the whole against the ed guard-house. These barracks are handsomely and re- sea. gularly built, have an hospital, and accommodate about Devonport, the third town of the group, is divided from Devonport. 1000 men. The mess apartments are spacious and well Stonehouse by an arm of the sea, or inlet, over which there furnished, and the officers have a very good library. is now a bridge. It is the most populous of the three ; but The Royal Naval Hospital is situated in the north-east within the last thirty years there has not been so rapid an part of Stonehouse. This important institution for the re- increase of the inhabitants of this division as of the other ception of sick and wounded marines and seamen was found two. It is in the parish of Stoke Damerel; and the ground ed in 1762. It occupies a rising ground, and the area of on which it stands is for the most part the property of the the whole is about twenty-four acres, of which thirteen are St Aubyn family, whose steward holds a court-leet and a formed into a delightful place of exercise-ground for the court-baron annually at Michaelmas, when a jury is sworn convalescent patients. It consists of ten buildings, sur- in, to prevent nuisances, and to appoint and swear in conrounding an extensive quadrangle, each containing six wards stables. Having been constituted a borough by the reform calculated to receive sixteen patients ; but in cases of emer- act, it now retilrns two members to parliament; but the gency the number can be extended to twenty. Thus as right of voting for them is also extended to the householders many as twelve hundred patients can be accommodated at of Stonehouse. The town has neither mayor nor aiderone time. The vast importance of this establishment may men, but is governed by a board of 150 commissioners, be seen by an authentic account, which shows, that in ten elected chiefly from the inhabitants, vacancies being filled years from 1805 to 1815 no less than 48,452 seamen and once a year; amongst them are the lord and steward of the marines were received into the hospital, and a very great pro- manor, the commissioner of the dock-yard, the port-admiral, portion of them returned again to the service as effective and some other official men. The act of parliament by men. The superior officer is of the rank of post-captain in which this body is constituted has vested in it the managethe navy, and has under him two lieutenants. The other ment of the watching, lighting, and cleaning the streets, of officers are a physician, a surgeon, a steward, a dispenser, the poor, and the power of granting licenses to porters and four hospital-mates, several extra mates, and a chaplain. watermen. The mayor, aldermen, and recorder of the The most remarkable object at Stonehouse is one only borough of Plymouth and Saltash are also qualified to act finished during the last reign, and hence bearing the name on the licensing commission. A bench of resident magisof the Royal William Victualling Yard. It is situated close trates hold petty sessions at the town-hall on every Wedto the shore, upon which a most extensive marine terrace nesday. has been constructed, fifty feet broad and nearly 1500 feet The town of Devonport is supplied w ith water by a comin length. It is entered from the land side by a magnifi- pany established by act of parliament 33 George III., which, cent gateway, under an arch surmounted by a statue of his by means of pipes, have brought a stream of water from the majesty, and two lateral ways. The whole of the building Dartmoor Hills, which winds amongst the hills for thirtyis of beautiful granite; and the shafts of the columns form- seven miles, when it reaches a reservoir on the higher part ing the internal avenue are each of one stone thirty-six feet of the town, whence it is distributed to the several streets and high. After passing the gateway on the left are the neat houses. The streets of the town are clean, and the whole granite-fronted residences of the two principal resident offi- has an appearance of great neatness; and two or three of these cers. On the right is the baking-establishment, comprising a quadrangular range of buildings 250 by 200 feet, en- streets are of very handsome architecture. Several of the closing an architectural chimney-shaft of granite 150 feet public buildings, though upon a small scale, are distinguishin height. Further on is the Melville quadrangle, 240 feet ed for the classical elegance of their architectural designs. The town-hall is distinguished by a Doric portico, in which square, with its rusticated granite archway (twenty-eight the of the pronaos, and the elevation of the entranceeet high), and the clock-chamber, of the same material, doordepth a second internal landing, are features exciting making together an elevation of ninety-five feet, and form- great upon admiration. The columns are twenty-seven feet six ing a magnificent centre-piece sixty-one feet in width. Opin height, and the lower diameters five feet six posite to this is the basin, 250 by 200 feet in extent, sur- inches inches. The hall is seventy-five feet in length, forty feet

P L Y 68 PLY Plymouth, in width, and thirty-one feet in height. Within the build- structed at the joint expense of the navy and ordnance de- Plymptoir E!irls ing are cells for prisoners, offices for parochial business, and partments, and to the king’s stairs, erected for access to the _ . PlynteriJ apartments occupied by the Mechanics’ Institute. The li- shore in 1820, The most important object in Plymouth and its vicinity v brary is an elegant erection, like the town-hall, of recent construction, having been executed in 1823. The cele- is the dock-yard. In the eighth volume of this work, under brated Denon, on seeing the design for this facade, pro- the article Docks, is a general description of this establishnounced it the best attempt to appropriate Egyptian archi- ment, to which the reader is referred. To what is there tecture to domestic purposes that had ever come under his stated, we may add, that the whole dock-yard extends over notice. The institution is designated the Civil and Mili- seventy-five acres of land, of which about one sixth is the tary Library. It has a news-room, committee-room, and property of the crown, and the remainder of Sir John St spacious library already containing between 4000 and 5000 Aubyn, under a lease for twenty-one years, renewable every volumes, constantly augmenting; and, besides, it possesses seven years with a fine of L.534. 4s. 6d., and an annual a comprehensive and valuable collection of minerals, pre- ground-rent of thirty shillings per acre. The operations carried on within the yard give employsented by Sir John St Aubyn. When the name of Devonport was given to this town, a ment to upwards of 4000 men in time of w^ar, and 1500 in column was erected to commemorate the grant, which now time of peace ; and in the latter case the number of indiviforms one of its chief architectural ornaments. This noble duals depending on it for subsistence exceeds 7000. The monument is of granite, fluted, and of Doric proportions ; chapel of the dock-yard is a fine building, the foundation of not quite six diameters in height; measuring sixty-five feet which was laid in 1814. The interior is elegantly fitted up. four inches from the bottom of the shaft to the top of the It is one hundred feet in length and seventy-five in breadth, capital; and making, with its inferior and crowning pedes- and has a tower with a set of bells. The erection is said to tals a total altitude of 101 feet. Its height above the street, have cost L.24,000. In the year 1834 a police force was including the rock on which it stands, is 124 feet. A stair- established as a civil guard to the dock-yard, consisting of case of 140 steps leads to the gallery, the prospect from a director, three inspectors, three sergeants, and forty conwhich will well repay any one for the labour of ascending stables. The gun-wharf is an important part of this naval arsenal, to it. The church of Stoke Damerel, the mother church of this on the north side of the dock-yard. It covers five acres of very populous parish, being small, sevex*al chapels of ease land. It contains storehouses filled with the various instruhave been erected. Mount Zion chapel exhibits an inge- ments of destruction; vast quantities of muskets, pistols, nious adaptation of Mahommedan architecture to Chris- and cutlasses are deposited in chests or arranged in racks, tian purposes. Though it has a strange, it has also a pic- or on the walls in the form of stars, circles, and crescents. turesque appearance; and the interior is capacious and com- Near these storehouses is the blacksmith’s shop, and other modious. St Aubyn’s chapel is distinguished by its stone buildings used as depositories for gun-carriages, and the spire. It was built by subscription, under an act of parlia- implements of the field-train. The intervals between the ment, in 1771. St John’s chapel was built in the same way, different edifices are occupied by piles of ordnance belongeight years later, at a cost of L.7700. The arrangement of ing to the ships in the harbour, with their respective names the interior is curiously amphitheatrical. The roof em- painted on the cannon. There are also large quantities of braces a clear span of seventy feet, the length of the cha- shot arrayed in pyramidical heaps, marked with the numpel being ninety feet. Besides these episcopal chapels, a ber contained in each pile. The vast portion of stores seen large one was built in the dock-yard by government in here, together with the armoury, form a sight worthy of at1821. It was chiefly intended for the accommodation of tention. Access is granted to the national depositories, on an apthe officers, civil, naval, and military, together with the operatives and soldiers belonging to the yard; but it is also plication to the presiding officer, with the name, residence, (g.) open to the public. Besides the established churches, the Cal- and profession of the applicant. Plymouth. See New England. vinist and Arminian Methodists, and the Independents and PLYMPTON EARLS, or Plympton Maurice, a Baptists, have their places of w orship, as well as the smaller borough and market-town of the county of Devon, in the sects of the Moravians and the Unitarians or Socinians. The government-house, on Mount Wise, near the grand hundred of the same name, 217 miles from London and parade, commands a southern view, of much beauty. It five from Plymouth. It is one of the stannary towns for contains every accommodation for carrying on the military stamping tin. It is governed by a mayor, recorder, and government, and for the family of the governor. The front seven aldermen, and returned two members to parliament till extends 200 feet. A large brass cannon, at the principal 1832, when it was disfranchised. The population amountentrance, was taken from the Turks in the engagement of ed in 1801 to 604, in 1811 to 715, in 1821 to 762, and in the Dardanelles. The port-admiral’s house is near to it, 1831 to 804. PLYNTERIA, a Grecian festival in honour of Aglauros, on the north-west side, and comprises all the offices for the transaction of naval business, except that of courts-martial, or rather of Minerva, who received from the daughter of which are always held on board the flag-ship in Hamoaze. Cecrops the name of Aglauros. The word is derived from At a short distance from it, on the top of the hill, is the n'hvviiv, lavare, because during the solemnity they undressed semaphore, by which a constant communication is main- the statue of the goddess and washed it. The day on which tained between the office and the flag-ship, and which forms it was observed the people looked upon as unfortunate and the first of a chain of telegraphs communicating with the inauspicious; and therefore no person was permitted to apAdmiralty in London. To illustrate the perfection of the pear in the temples, which were purposely surrounded with telegraphic system, it will be sufficient to state, that a mes- ropes. The arrival of Alcibiades in Athens on that day was sage has been sent to, and an answer received irom Lon- thought very unfortunate, but the success which ever afterdon, in fifteen minutes. The parade with its martial pomp wards attended him proved it to be otherwise. It was cusand music, and Mount Wise with its charming walks anti tomary at this festival to bear in procession a cluster of figs, prospects, form a great source of pleasure to the inhabi- thus intimating the progress of civilization amongst the pritants. To these may be added Richmond Walk at the mitive inhabitants of the earth, as figs served them for food foot of Mount Wise, which leads to the public baths con- after they had contracted a dislike for acorns.

69

PNEUMATICS. According to the present usage of our language, this term is restricted to that part of natural philosophy which treats of Definition. mechanical properties of elastic fluids. The word, in its original meaning, expresses a quality of air, or more properly of breath. Under the article Physics we observed, that in a great number of languages the term employed to express breath was also one of the terms used to express the animating principle, nay, the intellectual substance, the soul. Extent of We have extended the term Pneumatics to the study the science of the mechanical properties of all elastic or sensibly compressible fluids, that is, of fluids whose elasticity and compressibility become an interesting object of our attention ; as the term Hydrostatics is applied to the study of the mechanical properties of such bodies as interest us by their fluidity or liquidity only, or whose elasticity and compressibility are not familiar or interesting, though not less real or general than in the case of air and all vapours. No precise There is no precise limit to the different classes of natural limit to the bodies with respect to their mechanical properties. There diflferent classes of is no such thing as a body perfectly hard, perfectly soft, perfectly elastic, or perfectly incompressible. All bodies bodies. have some degree of elasticity intermixed with some degree of ductility. Water, mercury, oil, are compressible; but their compressibility need not be attended to in order perfectly to understand the phenomena consequent on their materiality, fluidity, and gravity. But if we neglect the compressibility of air, we remain ignorant of the cause and nature of its most interesting phenomena, and are but imperfectly informed with respect to those in which its elasticity has no share ; and it is convenient to attend to this distinction in our researches, in order to understand those phenomena which depend solely or chiefly on compressibility and elasticity. This observation is important; for here elasticity appears in its most simple form, unaccompanied with any other mechanical affection of matter (if we except gravity), and lies most open to our observation, whether employed for investigating the nature of this very property of bodies, or for explaining its mode of action. We shall even find that the constitution of an avowedly elastic fluid, whose compressibility is so very sensible, will give us the distinctest notions of fluidity in general, and enable us to understand its characteristic appearances, by which it is distinguished from solidity, namely, the equable distribution of pressure through all its parts in every direction, and the horizontality which its surface assumes by the action of gravity: phenomena which have been assumed as equivalent to the definition of a perfect fluid, and from which all the laws of hydrostatics and hydraulics have been derived. And these lawshave been applied to the explanation of thephenomena around us; and water, mercury, oil, &c. have been denominated fluid only because their appearances have been found to tally exactly with these consequences of this definition, while the definition itself remains in the form of an assumption, unsupported by any other proof of its obtaining in nature. \ir the Of all the sensible conpressible fluids air is the most fanost fami- miliar, wras the first studied, and has been the most minutely iar eomIt has therefore been generally taken as the extressible examined. ample of their mechanical properties, whilst those mechaniluid. cal properties which are peculiar to any of them, and therefore characteristic, have usually been treated as an appendix to the general science of pneumatics. But although the mechanical properties are the proper iififerent roperties subjects of our consideration, it will be impossible to avoid t' air. considering occasionally properties which are more of a chemical nature ; because they occasion such modifications of

the mechanical properties as would frequently be unintelliAir. gible without considering them in conjunction with the other; and, on the other hand, the mechanical properties produce such modifications of the properties merely chemical, and of very interesting phenomena consequent on them, that these would often pass unexplained unless we give an account of them in this place. By mechanical properties we mean such as produce, or Mechanical are connected with, sensible changes of motion, and which properties, indicate the presence and agency of moving or mechanical powers. They are therefore the subject of mathematical discussion ; admitting of measure, number, and direction. We shall therefore begin with the consideration of air. It is by no means an idle question to put, What is this air what is of which so much is said and written? We see nothing, we air ? feel nothing of it. We find ourselves at liberty to move about in any direction without any obstacle or hinderance. Whence, then, the assertion, that we are surrounded with a matter cal’ed air ? A few very simple observations and experiments will show us that this assertion is well founded. We are accustomed to say, that a vessel is empty when Proofs that we have poured out of it the water which it contained, it is matter Take a cylindrical glass jar, having a small hole in its bottom; and Fig. 1. having stopped this hole, fill the jar with water, and then pour out the water, leaving the glass empty, in the common acceptation of the word. Now, throw a bit of cork, or any light body, on the surface of water in a cistern ; cover this with the glass jar A held in the hand with its bottom upwards, and move it downwards, as at B, keeping it all the while in an upright position. I he cork will continue to float on the surface of the water in the inside of the glass, and will most distinctly show whereabouts that surface is. It w ill thus be seen, that the water within the glass has its surface considerably lower at C than that of the surrounding water ; and however deep we immerge the glass, we shall find that the water will never rise in the inside of it so as to fill it. If plunged to the depth of 32 feet, the water will only half fill it; and yet the acknowledged laws of hydrostatics tell us, that the water would fill the glass if there were nothing to hinder it. 1 here istherefore something already withintheglasswhichprevents the water from getting into it; manifesting in this manner the most distinctive property of matter, viz. the hindering other matter from occupying the same place at the same time. W hile things are in this condition, pull the stopper D Possesst d out of the hole in the bottom of the jar, and the water willof impulinstantly rise in the inside of the jar, and stand at an equal sive lon:e, height within and without. This is justly ascribed to the escape through the hole of the matter which formerly obstructed the entry of the water; for if the hand be held before the hole, a puff will be distinctly felt, or a feather held there will be blown aside; indicating in this manner that what prevented the entry of the water, and now escapes, possesses another characteristic property of matter, impulsive force. I he materiality is concluded from this appearance, in the same manner that the materiality of water is concluded from the impulse of a jet from a pipe. We also see the mobility of the formerly pent up, and now liberated substance, in consequence of external pressure, viz. the pressure of the surrounding water.

PNEUMATICS. Air. Also, if we take a smooth cylindrical tube, shut at one the supposition that air is a heavy fluid, and, like other hea- Air. >^,~\^ate/end, and fit a plug or cork to its open end, so as to slide a- vy fluids, presses on the outsides of all bodies immersed in Impenetra- long it, but so tightly as to prevent all passage by its sides ; or surrounded by it. Thus, for instance, if we shut the bility, an[i :f tiie piUg ]-)e wen SOaked in grease, we shall find that nozzle and valve hole of a pair of bellows after having squeezno force whatever can push it to the bottom of the tube. ed the air out of them, we shall find that even some hunThere is therefore something within the tube preventing by dred pounds, are necessary for separating the boards. They its impenetrability the entry of the plug, and therefore pos- are kept together by the pressure of the heavy air which surrounds them in the same manner as if they were immersessing this characteristic of matter. Elasticity, In like manner, if, after having opened a pair of common sed in water. In like manner, if we stop the end of a sybellows, we shut up the nozzle and valve hole, and try to ringe after its piston has been pressed down to the bottom, bring the boards together, we find it impossible There is and then attempt to draw up the piston, we shall find a consomething included which prevents this, in the same man- siderable force necessary, viz. about fifteen or sixteen pounds Fig. 2. ner as if the bellows were filled with wool; but on opening for every square inch of the secthe nozzle we can easily shut them, viz. by expelling this tion of the syringe. Exerting this something; and if the compression be forcible, the something force, we can draw up the piswill issue with considerable force, and very sensibly impel ton to the top, and we can hold it there; but the moment we any thing in its way. Inertia, and It is not accurate to say, that we move about without any cease acting, the piston rushes mobility, obstruction : for we find, that if we endeavour to move a down and strikes the bottom. It large fan with rapidity, a very sensible hinderance is per- is called a suction, as we feel ceived, and a sensible wind is produced, which will agitate something as it were drawing in the neighbouring bodies. It is therefore justly concluded the piston; but it is really the that the motion is possible only in consequence of having weight of the incumbent air driven this obstructing substance out of the way ; and that pressing it in. And this obtains this impenetrable, resisting, moveable, impelling substance, in every position of the syringe ; is matter. We perceive the perseverance of this matter in because the air is a fluid, and its state of rest when we wave a fan, in the same manner that presses in every direction. Nay, we perceive the inertia of water when we move a paddle it presses on the syringe as well through it. The effects of wind in impelling our ships and as on the piston; and if the piston be hung by its ring on mills, in tearing up trees, and overturning buildings, are equal a nail, the syringe requires force to draw it down, just as indications of its perseverance in a state of motion. To this much as to draw the piston up ; and if it be let go, it will matter,when at rest,we give the name air; and when it is in spring up unless loaded with at least fifteen pounds for every square inch of its transverse section. See fig. 2. motion we call it wind. 4. But the most direct proof of the weight of the air is It may Air a maAir, therefore, is a material fluid ; a fluid,because its parts teriul fluid. ave easily moved, and yield to the smallest inequality of pres- had by weighing a vessel empty of air, and then weighing even be sure. Air possesses some others of the very general, though it again when the air has been admitted ; and this, as it is weighed, not essential, properties of matter. It is heavy. This ap- the most obvious consequence of its weight, has been asserted as long ago as the days of Aristotle. If we take a very pears from the following facts. 1. It always accompanies this globe in its orbit round the large and limber bladder, and squeeze out the air very sun, surrounding it to a certain distance, under the name of carefully, and weigh it, and then fill it till the wrinkles atmosphere, wliich indicates the being connected with the just begin to disappear, and weigh it again, we shall earth by its general force of gravity. It is chiefly in con- find no difference in the weight. But this is not Aristotle’s sequence of this that it is continually moving round the meaning; because the bladder, considered as a vessel, is earth from east to west; forming what is called the trade- equally full in both cases, its dimensions being changed. wind, to be more particularly considered afterwards. All We cannot take the air out of a bladder without its immethat is to be observed on this subject at present is, that, in diately collapsing. But what would be true of a bladder consequence of the disturbing force of the sun and moon, would be equally true of any vessel. Therefore, take a round 3 there is an accumulation of the air of the atmosphere, in the vessel A, (fig. 3,) fitted with a stopcock B, and same manner as of the waters of the ocean, in those parts syringe C. Fill the whole with water, and of the globe which have the moon near their zenith or na- press the piston to the bottom of the syringe. dir : and as this happens successively, going from the east Then keeping the cock open, and holding the to the west, by the rotation of the earth round its axis in vessel upright, with the syringe undermost, the opposite direction, the accumulated air must gradually draw down the piston. The water will folflow along to form the elevation. This is chiefly to be ob- low it by its weight, and leave part of the vesserved in the torrid zone ; and the generality and regulari- sel empty. Now shut the cock, and again ty of this motion are greatly disturbed by the changes which push up the piston to the bottom of the syare continually taking place in different parts of the atmos- ringe, the water escapes through the piston phere from causes which are not mechanical. valve, as will be explained afterwards ; then 2. It is in like manner owing to the gravity of the air that opening the cock, and again drawing down it supports the clouds and vapours which we see constantly the piston, more water will come out of the floating in it. We have even seen bodies of no inconsi- vessel. Repeat this operation till all the waderable weight float, and even rise, in the air. Soap bub- ter have come out. Shut the cock, unscrew bles, and balloons filled with inflammable gas, (hydrogen or the syringe, and weigh the vessel very accugas obtained from oil or coal,) rise and float in the same rately. Now open the cock, and admit the manner as a cork rises in water. This phenomenon proves air, and weigh the vessel again, it will be the weight of the air, in the same manner that the swim- found heavier than before, and this additional weight is the ming of a piece of wood indicates the weight of the water weight of the air which fills it; and it will be found to be which supports it. 523 grains, about an ounce and a fifth avoirdupois, for Familiar 3. But we are not left to these refined observations for every cubic foot that the vessel contains. Now since a proofs of the proof of the air’s gravity. We observe many familiar cubic foot of water would weigh 1000 ounces, this experiits u eigu . phenomenaj which must be immediate consequences of ment would show that water is about 840 times heavier than

70

Air.

PNEUMATICS. 71 water did not follow the piston there would be a void be- Air. tween them. But nature abhors a void ; therefore the water follows the piston ; this reasoning is overturned by one observation. Suppose the pipe shut at the bottom, the piston can be drawn up, and thus a void produced. Galileo seems to have been the first who seriously as- Galileo cribed this to the weight of the air. Many had supposed first preair heavy; and thus explained the difficulty of raising the dieted the board of bellows, or the piston of a syringe, &c. But he height to distinctly applies to this allowed weight of the air all the consequences of hydrostatical laws; and he reasons as fol-rise lows. The heavy air rests on the water in the cistern, and presses it with its weight. It does the same with the water in the pipe, and therefore both are on a level: but if the piston, after being in contact with the surface of the water, be drawn up, there is no longer any pressure on the surface of the water within the pipe ; for the air now rests on the piston only, and thus occasions a difficulty in draw ing it up. The water in the pipe, therefore, is in the same situation as if more water were poured into the cistern, that is, as much as would exert the same pressure on its surface as the air does. In this case we are certain that the water will be pressed into the pipe, and will raise up the water in it, and follow it till it is equally high within and without. The same pressure of the air shuts the valve E during the descent of the piston. He did not wait for the very obvious objection, that if the rise of the water was the effect of the air’s pressure, it would also be its measure, and w ould be raised and supported only to a certain height. He directly said so, and adduced this as a decisive experiment. If the horror of a void be the cause, says he, the water must rise to any extent however great; but if it be owing to the pressure of the air, it will only rise till the weight of the water in the pipe is in equilibrio with the pressure of the air, according to the common laws of hydrostatics. And he adds, that this is well known ; for it is a fact, that pumps will not draw water much above forty palms, although they may be made to propel it, or to lift it to any height. He then makes an assertion, which, he says, if true, will be decisive. Let a very long pipe, shut at one end, be filled with water, and let it be erected perpendicularly with the close end uppermost, and a stopper in the other end, and then its lower orifice immersed into a vessel of water ; the water will subside in the pipe upon removing the stopper, till the remaining column is in equiiibrio with the pressure of the external air. This experiment he proposes to the curious; saying, however, that hs thought it unnecessary, there being already such abundant proofs of the air’s pressure. It is probable that the cumbersomeness of the necessary His predicapparatus protracted the making of this experiment. An-“°“ ven' other equally conclusive, and much easier, was made in 1642 after Galileo’s death, by his zealous and learned disciple Totig. 5. ricelli. He filled a glass tube, close at one end, with mercury ; judging, that if the support of the water was ow ing to the pressure of the air, and was the measure of this pressure, mercury would in like manner be supported by it, and this at a height which was also the measure of the air’s pressure, and therefore thirteen times less than water. He had the pleasure of seeing his expectation verified in the completest manner ; the mercury descending in the tube AB, and finally settling at the height

air. The most accurate judgment of this kind of which we ' have met with an account, is that recorded by Sir George Shuckburgh, in the sixty-seventh volume of the Philosophical Transactions, (p.560.) From this it follows, that when the air is of the temperature 53, and the barometer stands at 29^ inches, the air is 836 times lighter than water. But the experiment is not susceptible of sufficient accuracy for determining the exact weight of a cubic foot of air. Its weight is very small; and the vessel must be strong and heavy, so as to overload any balance that is sufficiently nice for the experiment.1 The most To avoid this inconvenience, the whole may be weighed convenient in water, first loading the vessel so as to make it prepondermethod of doing this. ate an ounce or two in the water. By this means the balance will be loaded only with this small preponderancy. But even in this case there are considerable sources of error, arising from changes in the specific gravity of the water and other causes. The experiment has often been repeated with this view, and the air has been found at a medium to be about 840 times as light as water, but with great variations, as may be expected from its very heterogeneous nature, in consequence of its being the menstruum of almost every fluid, of all vapours, and even of most solid bodies; all which it holds in solution, forming a fluid perfectly transparent, and of very different density according to its composition. It is found, for instance, that perfectly pure air of the temperature of our ordinary summer is considerably denser than when it has dissolved about half as much water as it can hold in that temperature; and that with this quantity of water the difference of density increases in proportion as the mass grows warmer, for damp air is more expansible by heat than dry air. We have had occasion to consider this subject when treating of the connection of the mechanical properties of air with the state of the weather. This proSuch is the result of the experiment suggested by Arisperty of totle, evidently proving the weight of the air ; and yet the air denied by the Pe- Peripatetics uniformly refused it this property. It was a ripatetics. matter long debated among the philosophers of the last century. The reason was, that Aristotle assigns a different cause to many phenomena which any man led by common observation would ascribe to the weight of the air. Of this kind is the rise of water in pumps and syphons. Aristotle had asserted that all nature was full of being, and that nature abhorred a void. He adduces many facts, in which it appears, that if not absolutely impossible, it is very difficult, and requires great force, to produce a space void of matter. When the operation of pumps and syphons came to be known, the philosophers of Europe, found in this fancied horror a ready solution of the phenomena. We shall state the facts that every reader may see what kind pj ^ of reasoning was received not two centuries ago. Construc- Pumps were then constructed in the followT tion of pumps in ing manner: A long pipe GB was set in the the last water of the well A. This was fitted with a century. sucker or piston C, having a long rod CF, and was furnished with a valve B at the bottom, and a lateral pipe DE at the place of delivery, also furnished with a valve. The fact is, that if the piston be thrust down to the bottom, and then drawn up, the water will follow it; and upon the piston being again pushed down, the water shuts the valve B by its weight, and escapes or is expelled at the valve E; and on drawing up the piston again the valve E is shut, the water again rises after the piston, and is again expelled at its next descent. The Peripatetics explain all this by saying, that if the

This method as here stated requires a strong vessel, and consequently overloads a delicate balance; but the objection does not apply when water is not used, and the flask weighed, first w'hen full of air, and again when the air has been exhausted by the air-pump to a known amount; in this way the specific gravity of any gas may be determined.

PNEUMATICS. Air. Air. f B of 29f Roman inches: and he found, that when the repeated in various forms, and with apparatus which enabled ' tube was inclined, the point/was in the same horizontal philosophers to examine several effects which the vacuum plane with/in the upright tube, according to the received produced on bodies exposed to it. This was done by maklaws of hydrostatical pressure. The experiment was often ing the upper part of the tube terminate in a vessel of some repeated, and soon became famous. About three years capacity, or communicate with such a vessel, in which were afterwards the same experiment was published, at Warsaw included along with the mercury bodies on which the experiin Poland, by Valerianus Magnus, as his own discovery : ments were to be made. When the mercury had run out, but it appears from the letters of Roberval, not only that the phenomena of these bodies were carefully observed. An objection was made to the conclusion drawn from To- An objecToricelli w as prior, and that his experiment was the general topic of discussion among the curious ; but also highly ricelli’s experiment, which appears formidable. If the To- tion to the probable that Valerianus Magnus was informed of it when ricellian tube be suspended on the arm of a balance, it is conclusion at Rome, and daily conversant with those who had seen it. found that the counterpoise must be equal to the weight both He denies, however, even having heard of the name of To- of the tube and of the mercury it contains. This could not be, say the objectors, if the mercury were supported by the ricelli. Origin of This was the era of philosophical ardour ; and we think air. It is evidently supported by the balance ; and this gave the Royal that it was Galileo’s invention and immediate application of rise to another notion of the cause different from the PeriSociety. the telescope which gave it vigour. Discoveries of the most patetic/k/a vacui. A suspensive force, or rather attraction, wonderful kind in the heavens, and which required no ex- w as assigned to the upper part of the tube. But the true explanation of the phenomena is most easy tent of previous knowledge to understand them, were thus put into the hands of every person who could purchase a and satisfactory. Suppose the mercury in the cistern and spy-glass ; whilst the high degree of credibility which some tube to freeze, but without adhering to the tube* so that the of the discoveries, such as the phases of Venus and the ro- tube could be freely drawn up and down. In this case the tation and satellites of Jupiter, gave to the Copernican sys- mercury is supported by the base, without any dependence tem, immediately set the whole body of the learned in mo- on the pressure of the air ; and the tube is in the same contion. About the years 1642 and 1644 we find clubs of gentle- dition as before, and the solid mercury performs the office of men associated in Oxford and London for the cultivation of a piston to this kind of syringe. Suppose the tube thrust knowledge by experiment; andbefore 1655 all the doctrines of down till the top of it touches the top of the mercury. It hydrostatics and pneumaticswere familiar there, and establish- is evident that it must be draw n up in opposition to the presed by experiment. Mr. Boyle procured a coalition of these sure of the external air, and it is precisely similar to the syclubs under the name of the Invisible and Philosophical So- ringe in fig. 2. The weight sustained therefore by this arm ciety. In May 1658 Mr. Hooke finished for Mr. Boyle an of the balance is the weight of the tube and the downward air-pump, which had employed him a long time, and occa- pressure of the atmosphere on its top. The curiosity of philosophers being thus excited by this Galileo’s sioned him several journeys to London for things which the r workmen of Oxford could not execute. He speaks of this very manageable experiment, it w as natural now to try the original ex' iment as a great improvement on Mr. Boyle’s own pump, which he original experiment proposed by Galileo. Accordingly Ber- pei erfonne “ had been using some time before. Boyle therefore must ti in Italy, Pascal in France, and many others in different P have invented his air-pump, and was not indebted for it to places, made the experiment with a tube filled with water, Schottus’s account of Otto Guericke’s, published in the Mc- wine, oil, &c., and all with the success which might be exchanica Hydraulo-pneumatica of Schottus in 1657, as he as- pected in so simple a matter: and hence the doctrine of serts Techniea Curiosa. The Royal Society of London arose the weight and pressure of the air r was established beyond in 1656 from the coalition of these clubs, after fifteen years’ contradiction or doubt. All this w as done before the year co-operation and correspondence. The Montmorine Socie- 1648. A very beautiful experiment was exhibited by Auty at Paris had subsisted nearly about the same time ; for zout, which completely satisfied all who had any remaining we find Pascal in 1648 speaking of the meetings in the Sor- doubts. A decisive A small box or vial EF GH, had two glass tubes, Fig. bonne College, from which we know that society originatexperiment ed. Nuremberg, in Germany, was also a distinguished se- AB, CD, three feet long, inserted into it in such by Auzout. minary of experimental philosophy. The magistrates, sen- a manner as to be firmly fixed in one end, and to sible of its valuable influence in many manufactures, the reach nearly to the other end. AB was open at source of the opulence and prosperity of their city, and many both ends, and CD was close at D. This apof them philosophers, gave philosophy a professed and mu- paratus was completely filled with mercury, by nificent patronage, furnishing the philosophers with a copi- unscrew ing the tube AB, filling the box and the ous apparatus, a place of assembly, and a fund for the expence tube CD ; then screwing in the tube AB, and of their experiments ; so that this was the first academy of filling it; then holding a finger on the orifice A, sciences out of Italy under the patronage of government. the whole was inverted and set upright in the In Italy, indeed, there had long existed institutions of this position represented in the figure /S, immersing & kind. Rome was the centre of church-government, and the the orifice A (now a of fig. /3,) in a small vessel resort of all expectants for preferment. The clergy was the of quicksilver. The result was, that the mercury majority of the learned in all Christian nations, and particu- ran out at the orifice a, till its surface in n withlarly of the systematic philosophers. Each, eager to recom- in the phial descended to the top of the tube ba. mend himself to notice, brought forward every thing that The mercury also began to descend in the tube was curious ; and they were the willing vehicles of philoso- dc (formerly DC,) and run over into the tube W phical communication. Thus the experiments of Galileo b a, and run out at a, till the mercury in tl,e ressure of n i P Ae external’ a£ that of the air in the barrel by a difference able to lift up Irf'the ?? b h eceiver. it was pushed down again, the^ valve ^ D receiver When T™' V ? ”fthe le valve fig. 10. A piece of waxed silk tied across this o e can hardly be made tight and certain of clapping to the 1111 7 th Su erior ^ this f. Pwas sufficiently elasticity of the air in the hole without some small straining, which must therefore be syrTngt^lnd * nge > and when compressed it overcome. It must be very gentle indeed not to require a F ani WaS l findbarged, ^t was^mmersed orce equal to the weight of two inches of water, and this hfwater^h n a r' might itS Wa throu h ‘ >' 8 ‘he joints or is equal to about the 200th part of the whole elasticity of cocks the ordmary air ; and therefore this syringe, for this reason fo/ Guericke H vs 7CWne 7f ”0t ^ Pettits imper. alone, cannot rarefy air above 200 times, even though air yS 1 11 t0 k severaI 1;iours to nf ’ 1 ° an factions, evacuation of a moderate-sized vessel; but heproduce says, that were capable of an indefinite expansion. In like manner w ten i was in good order, the rarefaction was so great, that

PNEUMATICS. 80 r Air-pump, when the cock was opened, and water admitted, it filled the exhaust the air which w as already in it; and his principle Air-pump, receiver so as sometimes to leave no more than the bulk of was the power which he suspected to be in air of expanding a pea filled with air. This is a little surprising ; for if the itself into a greater space when the force was removed 3 valve F be placed as far from the bottom of the syringe, as which he supposed to compress it. He expressly says, that 1 in Schottus’ figure, it would appear that the rarefaction the contrivance occurred to him accidentally when occupied could not be greater than what must arise from the air in with experiments in the Toricellian tube, in which he found DF, expanding till it filled the whole syringe i because, as that the air would really expand, and completely fill a soon as the piston in its descent passes F, it can discharge much larger space than what it usually occupied, and that no more air, but must compress it between F and the bot- he had found no limits to the expansion, evincing this by tom, to be expanded again when the piston is drawn up. facts which we shall perfectly understand by and bye. This It is probable that the piston wTas not very tight, but that was a doctrine quite new, and required a philosophical mind on pressing it down, it allowed the air to pass it; and the to view it in a general and systematic manner ; and it must water in which the whole was immersed prevented the re- be owned, that his manner of treating the subject is equally turn of the air when it was drawn up again ; and this ac- remarkable for ingenuity and for modesty. His doctrine and his machine were soon spread over Progress of counts for the great time necessary for producing the deEurope. It was the age of literary ardour and philosophical experimensired rarefaction. bl oso ' His imGuericke added a part to the machine, which saved his curiosity ; and it is most pleasant to us, who, standing on p P provement numerous visitants the trouble of hours’ attendance, before the shoulders of our predecessors, can see far around us, to observe the eagerness with which every new, and to us fri°* they could see the curious experiments p. ^ volous, experiment was repeated and canvassed. with rarefied air. He made a large copper About this time the foundations of the Royal Society of Ardour of vessel G (fig. 17.), having a pipe and London were laid. Mr. Boyle, Mr. Wren, Lord Brounker,Mr- Boyle* cock below, which passed through the Dr. Wallis, and others, held meetings at Oxford, in which floor of the chamber into an under apartr were received accounts of whatever was doing in the study ment, where it w as joined to the syringe of nature; and many experiments were exhibited. The immersed in the cistern of water, and researches of Galileo, Toricelli, and Pascal, concerning the worked by a lever. The upper part of pressure of the air, greatly engaged their attention, and the vessel terminated in a pipe, furnished many additions were made to their discoveries. Mr. Boyle, with a stopcock H, surrounded with a the most ardent and successful studier of nature, had the small brim to hold water for preventing principal share in these improvements, his inquisitive mind the ingress of air. On the top was anobeing aided by an opulent fortune. In a letter to his nether cap I, also filled with water, to prophew Lord Dungarvon, he says that he had made many attect the junction of the pipes with the tempts to see the appearances exhibited by bodies freed from receiver K. This great vessel was always the pressure of the air. He had made Toricellian tubes, kept exhausted, and workmen attended having a small vessel a-top, into which he put some bodies below. When experiments were to be before filling the tubes with mercury ; so that when the performed in the receiver K, it was set on the top of the great vessel, and the cock H was opened. tube was set upright, and the mercury run out, the bodies The air in K immediately diffused itself equally between were in vacuo. He had also abstracted the water from a the two vessels, and was so much more rarefied as the re- vessel by a small pump, by means of its weight, in the ceiver K was smaller than the vessel G. When this rare- manner shewn in fig. 3, having previously put bodies into faction was not sufficient, the attendants below immediately the vessel along with the water. But all these ways were very troublesome and imperfect. He was delighted when worked the pump. Guericke’s method of excluding air from all the joints of he learned from Schottus’ first publication, that Guericke his apparatus, by immersing these joints in water, is the had effected this by the expansive power of the air ; and only method that has to this day been found effectual; and immediately set about constructing a machine from his own there frequently occur experiments where this exclusion for ideas, no description of Guericke’s being then published. His airIt consisted of a receiver A, a long time is absolutely necessary. In such cases it is nepump. Fig. 18. cessary to construct little cups or cisterns at every joint, and (fig. 18.) furnished with a stopto fill them with water or oil. In a letter to Schottus, cock B, and syringe CD placed in 1662-3, he describes very ingenious contrivances for pro- a vertical position below the reducing complete rarefaction after the elasticity of the re- ceiver. Its valve C was in its maining air has been so far diminished that it is not able to bottom, close adjoining to the enopen the valves. He opens the exhausting valves by a try of the pipe of communication; plug, which is pushed in by the hand ; and the discharging and the hole by which the air isvalve is opened by a small pump placed on its outside, so sued was farther secured by a that it opens into a void instead of opening against the pres- plug which could be removed. sure of the atmosphere.2 These contrivances have been The piston was moved by a wheel lately added to air-pumps by Haas and Hurter as new in- and rack-work. The receiver of G uericke’s pump was but ill adaptventions. Merits of It must be acknowledged, that the application of the ed for any considerable variety of Guericke, pump or syringe to the exhaustion of air was a very obvious experiments ; and accordingly vethought on the principle exhibited in fig. 3 ; and in this ry few were made in it. Mr. Boyle’s way it was also employed by Guericke, who first filled the receiver had a large opening EF, receiver with water, and then applied the syringe. But with a strong glass margin. To this was by no means either his object or his principle. His this was fitted a strong brass cap, object was not solely to procure a vessel void of air, but to pierced with a hole G in its middle, to which was fitted a 1 In Guericke’s own account of these discoveries, published in 1672, eight years after the Technica Curiosa, the valve is represented at A2 close to the bottom of the syringe ; hence it would appear that the representing it in the middle at F was a blunder of Schottus.—Ed. See Schotti Technica Curiosa, p. 68—70. 8 Tractatus de Experimentis Magdeburgicis, et Epistolcc ad Schottunu

PNEUMATICS. Pneumatics plug ground into it, and shaped like the key of'a cock. The valves of oiled silk are so oh,cod „„ r., '—^extremity of this key was furnished with a screw, to which of the air from the received to thrswini™ rta^e|Ph,of ing what was to be examined in the S e XT^Tiststo be 21FS*™, ■ ^ ing various motions within it, without admitting fhe air. Ihis was farther guarded against by means of oil poured found in the lower portion of the barrel until the^irnt! ed ™“dof ,ohthe Ikecover. .y:."'hereWith ,1.t,"asall ^r «he MWhowever, cup-like receiver, by its elastic forci, o^enteg the valve V or ft form these »y precautions, lushes in, distributing itself equally betwixt the barrel and Mr. Boyle ingenuously confesses, that it was but seldom, and receiver, as the pistons are furnished with valves P anti with great difficulty, that he could produce an extreme de- P similarbut to and opening in the same direction as VV'; on gree of rarefaction ; and it appears by Guericke’s letter to the descent of the piston the air which occupies the space Schottus that in this respect the Magdeburgh machine had betwixt the piston and bottom of the barrel being preventthe advantage. But most of Boyle’s very interesting expe- ed from returning to the receiver by the valve V or V' riments did not require this extreme rarefaction ; and the opens the valve in the piston and escapes into the apartvariety of them, and their philosophic importance, compenwith the air of which the piston valve communicates, sated for this defect, and soon eclipsed the fame of the in- ment, ibis evidently doubled the expedition of the pumn’s operventor to such a degree, that the state of air in the receiver ation ; but it also greatly diminished the labour of pumpwas generally denominated the vacuum Boyleanum, and ing ; for it must be observed, that the piston P must be the air-pump was called machina Boyleana. drawn up against the pressure of the external air, and when His contri- Mr. Boyle found, that to make a vessel air-tight, it was the rarefaction is nearly perfect, this requires a force of vances to sufficient to place a piece of wet or oiled leather on its brim U1 U1C pounds for every inch oftheareaofthe make air- and to lay a flat plate of metal on this. Thp nrpC«nr« J' nearly fifteen u area or cne ppiston. ist0n. vesseis the external air squeezed the two solid bodies so hard toge- otlmrV'Ts at die ton of If, ^ !)0tto,m,of the barre1’ the V£h 'ther, that the soft leather eflectuallv excluded it Thl " ,i ,s at“e,t0P .ofbarrel, and the air below PMs enabled him to render the whole machine incomparabiy more sure of the external air on the piston P'isTher ?fore tl'etopresequal that convenient ror a variety of experiments. He caused the on the piston P. Both, therefore, are actingnearly in opposite direcconduit-pipe to terminate in a flat plate which he covered tions on the wheel which gave them motion ; and the force with leather, and on this he set the glass ball or receiver, which had both its upper and lower brim ground flat. He necessary for raising P is only the difference between the covered the upper orifice in like manner with a piece of oiled elasticity of the air in the barrel P, and that of the air in leather and a flat plate, having cocks and a variety of other the barrel P'. This is very small in the beginning of the perforations and contrivances suited to his purposes. This stroke, but gradually increases as the piston P' descends, and he found infinitely more expeditious, and also tighter than becomes equal to the whole excess ofthe air’s pressure above the elasticity ofthe remaining air of the receiver, when the the clammy cements which he had formerly used for secu- air at P of the natural density begins to open the piston ring the joints. va ve8, ^Ln accurate attention to the circumstances will DrHooke’s He was now assisted by Dr. Hooke, the most ingenious show us that the force requisite for working the pump is improve- and inventive mechanic that the world greatest at first, and gradually diminishes as the rarefaction ment of has ever seen. This person made a advances; and when this is nearly complete, hardly any Boyle’s great improvement on the air-pump, air-pump by applying two syringes A A, (fig. more force is required than what is necessary for overcommg the friction ofthe pistons, except during the discharge 19), whose pistons P and P' are both of the air at the end of each stroke. This is therefore the worked by one wheel, O pitching in ff>nn Oi the air-pump which is most generally used over all the racks or piston rods R and R', the Furope; though in the various modifications some traces pistons being thus raised and depressed of national prepossession remain. We shall give a descripalternately by turning the winch W tion of Boyle’s air-pump as finally improved by Hawkesbee, backwards and forwards. In the botwhich, with some small accommodations to particular views tom of each of the barrels there is an continued for many years the most approved form. opening communicating with the reIt consists of two brass barrels ceiver or bell glass B, placed on the Hawkesa a, (fig. 21.) twelve inches plate A, (fig. 20). Over these openings bee’s imhigh, and two wide. The pistons proveinenta Fig. 20. are raised and depressed by turn ing the winch b. This is fasten ed to an axis passing through a strong toothed wheel, which lays hold of the teeth of the racks c c. Then the one is raised while the other is depressed; by which means the* valves, which are made of limber bladder, fixed in the upper part of each piston, as well as in the openings into the bottom of the barrels, perform their office of discharging the air from the barrels, and admitting into them the air from the receiver to be afterwards discharged ; and when the re ceiver comes to be pretty well exhausted of its air, the pressure of the atmosphere in the descending piston is nearly so great, that the power required to raise the other is htt.e more than is necessary for overcoming the friction of the piston, which renders this pump preferable to all vou. xviii.

PNEUMATICS. 82 Pneumatics others, which require more force to work them as therare- the rarefied air acting on its upper surface, shall be exactly Pneumatics equal to the whole pressure of the atmospheie. The height ~ ' faction of the air in the receiver advances. The barrels are set in a brass dish about two inches deep, of the mercury is the exact measure of that part of the filled with water or oil to prevent the insinuation of air. The whole pressure which is not balanced by the elasticity of barrels are screwed tight down by the nuts e e, which the rarefied air, and its deficiency from the height of the force the frontispiece//down on them, through which the mercury in the Toricellian tube is the exact measure of this . . _ two pillars g g pass ; for the sake of distinctness these are remaining elasticity. It is evident, therefore, that the pipe will be a scale of omitted in the figure. From between the barrels rises a slender brass pipe h h, the elasticity of the remaining air, and will indicate in some communicating with each by a perforation in the transverse sort the degree of rarefaction ; for there must be some anbetween the density of the air and its elasticity ; and piece of brass on which they stand. The upper end of this alogy r pipe communicates with another perforated piece of brass, w e have no reason to imagine that they do not increase which screws on underneath the plate i i, of ten inches and diminish together, although we may be ignorant of the diameter, and surrounded with a brass rim to prevent the law, that is, of the change of elasticity corresponding to a shedding of water used in some experiments. This piece known change of density. This is to be discovered by exof brass has three branches. 1st, An horizontal one com- periment ; and the air-pump itself furnishes us with the municating with the conduit pipe h h. 2d, An upright one, best experiments for this purpose. After rarefying till the screwed into the middle of the pump plate, and terminating mercury in the gage has attained half the height of that in with the barin a small pipe k, rising about an inch above it. 3d, A the Toricellian tube, shut the communication r perpendicular one, looking downwards in the continuation rels and gage, and admit the w ater into the receiver. It of the pipe k, and having a hollow screw in its end receiv- will go in till all is again in equilibrio with the pressure of ing the brass cap of the gage-pipe l /, which is of glass, the atmosphere ; that is, till the air in the receiver has colthirty-four inches long, and immersed in a glass cistern lapsed into its natural bulk. This we can accurately ^meam filled with mercury. This is covered a-top with a cork sure, and compare with the whole capacity of the receiver ; float, carrying the weight of a light wooden scale divided and thus obtain the precise degree of rarefaction correinto inches, which are numbered from the surface of the sponding to half the natural elasticity. We can do the mercury in the cistern. This scale will therefore rise and same thing with the elasticity reduced to one-third, onefall with the mercury in the cistern, and indicate the true fourth, &c. and thus discover the whole law. This gage must be considered as one of the most ingeelevation of that in the tube. There is a stop-cock immediately above the insertion of nious and convenient parts of Hawkesbee s pump ; and it the gage-pipe, by which its communication may be cut off. is well disposed, being in a situation protected against acciThere is another at n, by which a communication is open- dents ; but it necessarily increases greatly the size of the ed with the external air, for allowing its readmission ; and machine, and cannot be applied to the table-pump reprethere is sometimes another immediately within the inser- sented in fig. 20. When it is wanted here, a small plate is tion of the conduit-pipe for cutting off the communication added behind, or between the barrels and receiver ; and on between the receiver and the pump. This is particularly this is set a small tubulated (as it is termed) receiver, covuseful when the rarefaction is to be continued long, as there ering a common weather-glass tube. This receiver being are by these means fewer chances of the insinuation of air rarefied along with the other, the pressure on the mercury in the cistern arising from the elasticity of the remaining by the many joints. The receivers are made tight by simply setting them on air, is diminished so as to be no longer able to support the the pump-plate, with a piece of wet or oiled leather be- mercury at its full height; and it therefore descends till tween ; and the receivers, which are open a-top, have a brass the height at which it stands puts it in equilibrio with the cover set on them in the same manner. In these covers elasticity. In this form, therefore, the height of the merthere are various perforations and contrivances for various cury is dhectly a measure of the remaining elasticity ; while purposes. The one in the figure has a slip wire passing in the other it measures the remaining unbalanced pressure through a collar of oiled leather, having a hook or a screw of the atmosphere. But this gage is extremely cumberin its lower end, for hanging any thing on, or producing a some, and liable to accidents. We are seldom much interested in the rarefaction till it is great; a contracted form variety of motions. Sometimes the receivers are set on another pl^te, which of this gage is therefore very useful, and was early used. A has a pipe screwed into its middle, furnished with a stop- syphon ABCD (fig. 22.) each branch of Fig. 22. cock and a screw, which fits the middle pipe k. When the which is about four inches long, close at A and open at D, is filled with boilrarefaction has been made in it, the cock is shut, and then the whole may be unscrewed from the pump, and removed ing mercury till it occupies the branch to any convenient place. This is called a transporter plate. AB, and a very small part of CD, havIt only remains to explain the gage ll. In the ordin- ing its surface at O. This is fixed to a ary state of the air, its elasticity balances the pressure of small stand, and fixed into the receiver, the incumbent atmosphere. We find this from the force along with the things that are to be exthat is necessary to squeeze it into less bulk in opposition hibited in the rarefied air. When the to this elasticity. Therefore the elasticity of the air in- air has been rarefied till its remaining creases with the vicinity of its particles. It is therefore elasticity is not able to support the reasonable to expect, that when we allow it to occupy more column BA, the mercury descends in room, and its particles are further asunder, its elasticity will AB, and rises in CD, and the remainbe diminished though not annihilated; that is, it will no ing elasticity will always be measured by the elevation of longer balance the whole pressure of the atmosphere, the mercury in AB above that in the leg CD. Could the though it may still balance part of it. If thei'efore an up- exhaustion be perfected, the surfaces in both legs would be right pipe have its lower end immersed in a vessel of mer- on a level. Another gage might be put into the same foot, cury, and communicate by its upper end with a vessel con- having a small bubble of air at A. This would move from ^ comp]ete taining rarefied, therefore less elastic air, we should expect the beginning of the rarefaction ; but our ignorance of theexjjallstiori that the pressure of the air will prevail, and force the mer- analogy between the density and elasticity hinders us from „ot effected cury into the tube, and cause it to rise to such a height using it as a measure of either. ^by the air It is enough for our present purpose to observe, that thelminP* that the weight of the mercury, joined to the elasticity of

PNEUMATICS. 83 Pneumatics barometer gage is a perfect indication and measure of the the piston on the barrel keeps it in its place, and the rod is Pneumatics performance of an air-pump, and that a pump is, eerier is drawn up through the stirrup D. Thus the wheel has liberty paribus, so much the more perfect, as it is able to raise the to turn about an inch; and this is sufficient for turning the cock, mercury higher in the gage. It is in this way that we dis- so as to cut off the communication with the external air, and cover that none can produce a complete exhaustion, and to open the communication with the receiver. This being that their operation is only a very great rarefaction: for done, and the motion of the winch continued, the piston is none can raise the mercury to that height at which it stands raised to the top of the barrel. When the winch is turned in in the Toricellian tube, well purged of air. Few pumps will the opposite direction, the piston remains fixed till the cock bring it within one-tenth of an inch. Hawkesbee’s, fitted is turned, so as to shut the communication with the receiver, up according to his instructions, will seldom bring it within and open that with the external air. one-fifth. Pumps with cocks, when constructed according This is a pretty contrivance, and does not at first appear to the principles mentioned when speaking of the exhaustino- necessary ; because the cocks might be made to turn at the syringe, and new and in fine order, will in favourable cir* beginning and end of the stroke without it. But this is just cumstances bring it within one-fortieth. None with valves possible ; and the smallest error of adjustment, or wearing fitted up with wet leather, or when water or volatile fluids of the apparatus, M'ill cause them to be open at improper are allowed access into any part, M ill bring it nearer than times. Besides, the cocks are not turned in an instant, and one-fifth. Nay, a pump of the best kind, and in the finest are improperly open during some very small time; but this order, will have its rarefying power reduced to the lowest contrivance completely obviates the difficulty. standard, as measured by this gage, if we put into the reThe cock is precisely similar to that formerly described, ceiver the tenth part of a square inch of white sheep-skin, having one perforation diametrically through it, "and another fresh from the shops, or of any substance equally damp. entering at right angles to this, and after reaching the cenThis is a discovery made by means of the improved air-pump, tre, it passes along the axis of the cock, and comes out to and leads to very extensive and important consequences in the open air. general physics, some of which will be treated of under this It is evident, that by this construction of the cock, the Its inconarticle; and the observation is made thus early, that our ingenious improvement of Dr, Hooke, by M’hich the pressure verriem-es readers may better understand the improvements which have of the atmosphere on one piston is made to balance, in great reinefheci. been made on this celebrated machine. part, the pressure on the other, is given up: for, whenever It would require a volume to describe all the changes the communication with the air is opened, it rushes in, and Various improve- which have been made on it. An instrument of such mul- immediately balances the pressure on the upper side ofthe ments of tifarious use, and in the hands of curious men, each diving this ma- into the secrets of nature in his favourite line, must have re- piston in this barrel; so that the whole pressure in the other must be overcome by the person working the pump. Gravechine. ceived many alterations and real improvements in many par- sande, aware of this, put a valve on the orifice of the cock ; ticular respects. But these are beside our present purpose ; that is, tied a slip of M*et bladder or oiled leather across it; which is to consider it merely as a machine for rarefying and now the piston is pressed down, as long as the air in the elastic or expansive fluids. We must therefore confine oui^ barrel is rarer than the outward air, in the same manner as selves to this view of it; and shall carefully state to our when the valve is in the piston itself. readers every improvement founded on principle, and on This is all that is necessary to be described in Mr.s’Gravepneumatical laws. All who used it perceived the limit set sande’s air pump. Its performance is highly extolled by to the rarefaction by the resistance of the valves, and tried him, as far exceeding his former pumps with valves. The to perfect the construction of the cocks. The Abbe Nollet same preference was given to it by his successor Muschenands’Gravesande, two of the most eminent experimental phi- brock. But, while they both prepared the pistons and valves losophers in Europe, were the most successful. and leathers of the pump, by steeping them in oil, and then Mr. s’Gravesande justly preferred Hooke’s plan of a double in a mixture of water and spirits of wine, we are certain that s’Gravesande’s im-pump, and contrived an apparatus for turning the cocks by no just estimate could be made of its performance. For provement. the motion of the pump’s handle. This is far from either with this preparation it could not bring the gage within onebeing simple or easy in working; and occasions great jerks fifth of an inch ofthe barometer. We even see other limits and concussions in the whole machine. This, however, is to its rarefaction : from its construction, it is plain that a not necessarily connected with the truly pneumatical im- very considerable space is left between the piston and cock, provement. His piston has no valve, and the rod is connect- not less than an inch, from which the air is never expelled ; ed with it by a stirrup D (fig. 23), as and if this be made extremely small, it is plain that the pump in a common pump. The rod has a must be worked very slow, otherwise there will not be time cylindric part cp, which passes through for the air to diffuse itself from the receiver into the barrel, the stirrup, and has a stiff motion in it especially towards the end, when the expelling force, viz. up and down of about half an inch ; the elasticity of the remaining air, is very small. There is being stopped by the shoulder c above also the same limit to the rarefaction, as in Hooke’s or and the nut below. The round plate Hawkesbee’s pump, opposed by the valve, which will not supported by this stirrup has a short open till the air below the piston is considerably denser than square tube n d, which fits tight into the extei nal an ^ and this pump soon lost any advantages it the hole of a piece of cork F. The possessed when fresh from the workman’s hands, by the round plate E has a square shank g, cock s groM ing loose and admitting air. It is surprising that which goes into the square tube n d Gi avesande omitted Flawkesbee’s security against this, bv A piece of thin leather/soaked in oil, placing the ban els in a dish filled with oil; which would is put betM-een the cork and the plate effectually have prevented this inconvenience. E, and another betMeen the cork and M e must not omit a seemingly paradoxical observation Advant.ve the plate which forms the sole of the or s Giavesande, that in a pump constructed with valves, and of short ° stirrup. All these pieces are screwed worked with a determined uniform velocity, the required barrels, together to form the piston by the nail degiee of rarefaction is sooner produced by short barrels e, whose flat head covers the hole n. than by long ones. It would require too much time to give Suppose, therefore, the piston touching a geneial demonstration of this, but it M ill easily be seen by the bottom ofthe barrel, and the winch an example. Suppose the long barrel to have equal capaturning to raise it again, the friction of city with the receiver, then at the end ofthe first stroke the

PNEUMATICS. 84 Pneumatics air in the receiver will have one-half its natural density. is put between them ; and when the piston is thrust into Pneumatics Now, let the short barrrels have halt this capacity : at the the barrel from above, the leather Fig, 25. end of the first stroke the density of the air in the receiver comes up around the side of the piston, and fills the barrel, making T is two-thirds, and at the end of the second stroke it is fourninths, which is less than one-half, and the two strokes of the piston perfectly air-tight. The^ half of the piston projects the short barrel are supposed to be made in the same time lower upwards into the upper, which has with one of longest, &e. Hawkesbee’s pump maintained its pre-eminence without a hollow g b c d \,o receive it. The valve pump im- rival in Britain, till about the year 1750, when it engaged There is a small hole through the proved by the attention of Mr. John Smeaton. He was then a maker lower half at a to admit the air ; i'meaton of philosophical instruments, and made many attempts to and a hole c d \n the upper half perfect the pumps with cocks, but found, that whatever per- to let it through, and there is a slip fection he could bi'ing them to, he could not enable them to of oiled silk strained across the preserve it; and he never would sell one of this construction. hole a by wjy of valve, and there is room enough left at Z» c for this He therefore attached himself solely to the valve pumps. The first thing was to diminish the resistance to the entry of valve to rise a little when pressed below. The rod GH passes the air from the receiver into the barrels; and this he rendered from almost nothing, by enlarging the surface on which this fee- through the piece of brass which bly elastic air was to press. Instead of making these valves forms the top of the barrel so as to open by its pressure on a circle of one-twentieth of an to move freely, but without any inch in diameter, he made the valve-hole one inch in diame- sensible shake: this top is formed ter, enlarging the surface 400 times ; and, to prevent this into a hollow box, consisting of piece of thin leather from being burst by the great pressure two pieces ECDF and CNOD, which screw together at CD. an it, when the piston in its descent was approaching the This box is filled with rings of oiled leather exactly fitted to bottom of the barrel, he supported it by a delicate but its diameter, eachhavingahole in it for the rod to pass through. When the piece ECDF is screwed down, it compresses the strong grating, dividing the valveFig. 24. leathers ; squeezing them to the rod, so that no air can pass hole like the section of a honey-comb, between them; and, to secure us against all ingress of air, the as represented in fig. 24; and the upper part is formed into a cup EF, which is kept filledwith oil. ribs of this grating are seen edgewise The top of the barrel is also pierced with a hole LK, in fig. 25, at a b c. which rises above the flat surface NO, and has a slip of oiled The valve was a piece of thin silk tied over it to act as a valve ; opening when pressed membrane or oiled silk, gently strainfrom below, but shutting when pressed from above. ed over the mouth of the valve-hole, The communication between the barrel and receiver is and tied on by a fine silk thread made by means of the pipe ABPQ; and there goes from wound round it in the same manner that the narrow slips had been tied on formerly. This done, the hole K in the top of the barrel a pipe KRST, which he cut with a pointed knife the leather round the edge, either communicates with the open air or with the receiver, nearly four quadrantal arcs, leaving a small tongue between by means of the cock at its extremity T. The conduit pipe each, as in fig. 24. The strained valve immediately shrinks ABPQ has also a cock at Q, by which it is made to cominwards, as represented by the shaded parts ; and the strain municate either with the receiver or with the open air. by which it is kept down is now greatly diminished, taking These channels of communication are variously conducted place only at the corners. The gratings being reduced and terminated, according to the views of the maker. I he nearly to an edge (but not quite, lest they should cut), there sketch in this figure is sufficient for explaining the princiis very little pressure to produce adhesion by the clammy ple, and is suited to the general form of the pump, as it has oil. Thus it appears, that a very small elasticity of the air been frequently made by Nairne and other artists in London. Let us now suppose the piston at the top of the barrel, Superiority in the receiver will be sufficient to raise the valve ; and Mr. Smeaton found, that when it was not able to do this at first, that it applies to it all over, and that the air in the bar-of thb con* when only about ^ of the natural elasticity, it would do rel is very much rarefied : In the common pump the piston structioi it after keeping the piston up eight or ten seconds, the air valve is pressed hard down by the atmosphere, and continhaving been ail the while undermining the valve, and gra- ues shut till the piston gets far down, condenses the air below it beyond its natural state, and enables it to force up dually detaching it from the grating. Unfortunately he could not follow this method with the the valves. But here, as soon as the piston quits the top piston valve. There w7as notr room round the rod for sucn of the barrel, it leaves a void behind it; for no air gets in an expanded valve ; and it w ould have obliged him to have round the piston rod, and the valve at K is shut by the a great space below the valve, from which he could not ex- pressure of the atmosphere. There is nothing now to oppel the air by the descent of the piston. His ingenuity hit pose the elasticity of the air below but the stiffness of the on a way of increasing the expelling force through the com- valve be; and thus the expelling (or more accurately the mon valve. He inclosed the rod of the piston in a collar of liberating) force is prodigiously increased. The superiority of this construction will be best seen by leather D C (fig. 25,) through which it moved freely without allowing any air to get past its sides. I’or greater se- an example. Suppose the stiffness of the valve equal to the curity, the collar of leather was contained in a box termi- weight of 1-10th of an inch of mercui'y, when the baromenating in sa cup filled with oil. As this makes a material ter stands at 30 inches, and that the pump-gage stands at change in the principle of construction of the air-pump, and 29'9 ; then, in an ordinary pump, the valve in the piston indeed of pneumatic engines in general, and as it has been will not rise till the piston has got within the 300th part of adopted in all the subsequent attempts to improve them, it the bottom of the barrel, and it will leave the valve-hole filled with air of the ordinary density. But in this pump merits a particular consideration. Structure The piston itself consists of two pieces of brass fastened by the valve will rise as soon as the piston quits the top of the of his pis- screws from below. The uppermost, which is of one solid barrel; and when it is quite down, the valve-hole a will ton piece with the rod GH (fig. 25), is of a diameter somewhat contain only the 300th part of the air which it would have less than the barrel; so that when they are screwed together, contained in a pump of the ordinary form. Suppose, fara piece of leather soaked in a mixture of boiled oil and tallow, ther,. that the barrel is of equal capacity with the receiver.

PNEUMATICS. Pneumatics and that both pumps are so badly constructed, that the ally made by Nairne. Upon a solid base or table are set Pneumatics space left below the piston is the 300th part of the barrel. up three pillars F, H, H ; the pillar F supports the pump-^-Y-w In the common pump the piston valve will rise no more, plate A, and the pillars H, H, support the front or head, and the rarefaction can be carried no farther, however de- containing a brass cog-wheel, which is turned by the handle licate the barrel valve may be; but in this pump the next B, and works in the rack C fastened to the upper end of stroke will raise the gage to 29-95, and the piston valve will the piston rod. The whole is still farther steadied by two again rise as soon as the piston gets half way down the barrel. pieces of brass n and h, which connect the pump-plate The limit to the rarefaction by this pump depends chiefly with the front, and have perforations communicating beon the space contained in the hole LK, and in the space tween the hole a in the middle of the plate and the barrel, b c d o? the piston. When the piston is brought up to the as will be described immediately. DE is the barrel of the top, and applied close to it, those spaces remain filled with pump, firmly fixed to the table by screws through its upper air of the ordinary density, which will expand as the piston flanch ; e f d c \s a slender brass tube screwed to the botdescends, and thus will retard the opening of the piston tom of the barrel, and to the under side of the horizontal valve. The rarefaction will stop when the elasticity of this canal n. In this canal there is a cock zra, which opens a small quantity of air, expanded so as to fill the whole barrel communication between the barrel and the receiver, when (by the descent of the piston to the bottom), is just equal the key is in the position represented here ; but when the to the force requisite for opening the piston valve. key is at right angles with this position, this communication Another advantage attending this construction is, that in is cut off. If that side of the key which is here drawn next T drawing up the piston, w e are not resisted by the whole to the pump-plate be turned outward, the external air pressure of the air; because the air is rarefied above this is admitted into the receiver ; but if turned inwards, the piston as well as below it, and the piston is in precisely the air is admitted into the barrel. same state of pressure as if connected with another piston g h is another slender brass pipe, leading from the disin a double pump. The resistance to the ascent of the pis- charging valve at g to the horizontal canal h k, to the under ton is the excess of the elasticity of the air above it over side of which it is screwed fast. In this horizontal canal the elasticity of the air below ; this, toward the end of the there is a cock n which opens a passage from the barrel rarefaction, is very small, wdhle the piston is near the bot- to the receiver when the key is in the position here tom of the barrel, but gradually increases as the piston rises, drawn ; but opens a passage from the barrel to the exand reduces the air above it into smaller dimensions, and ternal air when the key is turned outwards, and from tbe becomes equal to the pressure of the atmosphere, wdien the receiver to the external air when the key is turned inwards. air above the piston is of the common density. If w e should This communication with the external air is not immediate raise the piston still farther, we must condense the air above but through a sort of box i ; the use of this box is to reit; but Mr. Smeaton has here made an issue for the air by ceive the oil which is discharged through the top valve g. a small hole in the top of the barrel, covered with a deli- In order to keep the pump tight, and in working order, it cate valve. This allows the air to escape^.and shuts again is proper sometimes to pour a table-spoonful of olive oil as soon as the piston begins to descend, leaving almost a into the hole a of the pump-plate, and then to work the perfect void behind it as before. pump. The oil goes along the conduit bed f e, gets into This pump has another advantage. It may be changed the barrel and through the piston-valve, when the piston is in a moment from a rarefying to a condensing engine, by pressed to the bottom of the barrel, and is then drawn up, simply turning the cocks at Q, and T. Whilst T communi- and forced through the discharging valve g along the pipe cates with the open air and Q,with the receiver, it is a rarefy- g/i, the horizontal passage h n, and finally into the box t. ing engine or air-pump; but when T communicates with the This box has a small hole in its side near the top, through receiver, and Q with the open air, it is a condensing engine. which the air escapes. | description Fig. 26 represents Mr. S meat on’s air-pump as it was usuFrom the upper side of the canal n there arises a slenof Smeader pipe which bends outward and then turns downwards, ; ton’s pump. Fig. 26. and is joined to a small box, which cannot be seen in this view. From the bottom of this box proceeds downwards the gage-pipe of glass, which enters the cistern of mercury G fixed below. On the upper side of the other canal there is a small stud, having a short pipe of glass projecting horizontally from it, close by and parallel to the front piece of the pump, and reaching to the other canal. This pipe is close at the farther end, and has a small drop of mercury or oil in it. This serves as a gage in condensing, indicating the degree of condensation by the place of the drop ; for this drop is forced along the pipe, condensing the air before it in the same degree that it is condensed in the barrel and receiver. In constructing this pump, Mr. Smeaton introduced a Method of method of joining together the different pipes and other joining to-' tlie pieces, which has great advantages over the usual manner gdetlier fferet,t of screwing them together with leather between, and which i is now much used in hydraulic and pneumatic engines. WepipeS’ &c‘ shall explain this to our readers by a description of the manner in which the exhausting gage is joined to the horizontal duct c b. I he piece h i p, in fig, 27, is the same with the little cylinder observable on the upper side of the horizontal canal n, in fig. 26. The upper part h i is formed into an outside screw, to fit the hollow screw of the piece deed. The top of this last piece has a hole in its middle, giving an easy passage to the bent tube c b a, so as to slip along it with

PNEUMATICS. 86 faction which had been produced when the gage was 5m- Pneiimari Pneumatics freedom. To the end c of this bent mersed into the mercury; or if DC be of the whole Fig. 27. ' tube is soldered a piece of brass c f capacity, and be divided into 100 parts by a scale annexed g, perforated in continuation of the to it, each unit of the scale will be of the whole. tube, and having its end ground flat This was a very ingenious contrivance, and has been the on the top of the piece h ip, and also means of making some very curious and important discocovered with a slip of thin leather veries. By this gage Mr. Smeaton found, that his pump strained across it and pierced with a frequently rarefied a thousand, ten thousand, nay, an hunhole in the middle. dred thousand times. But though he in every instance saw It is plain from this form, that if the great superiority of his pump above all others, he frethe surface fg be applied to the top quently found irregularities which he could not explain, and of h i, and the cover deed be a want of correspondence between the pear and the baroscrevved down on it, it will draw or meter gages which puzzled him. The pear-gage frequently press them together, so that no air indicated a prodigious rarefaction, when the barometer-gage can escape by the joint, and this would not show more than 600. without turning the whole tube c b These unaccountable phenomena excited the curiosity of a round, as is necessary in the usual way. This method is now adopted for joining together the philosophers, who by this time were making continual use conducting pipes of the machines for extinguishing fires, an of the air-pump in their meteorological researches, and much operation which was extremely troublesome before this im- interested in everything connected with the state or constitution of elastic fluids. Mr.Nairne, a most ingenious and acprovement. The conduit pipe E ef c (fig. 26), is fastened to the bot- curate maker of philosophical instruments, made many curitom of the barrel, and the discharging pipe g h to its top, ous experiments in the examination and comparison of Mr. in the same manner. But to return to the gage ; the bent Smeaton’s pump with those of the usual construction, atpipe cb a (fig. 27), enters the box s t near one side, and tending to every circumstance which could contribute to obliquely, and the gage-pipe qris inserted through its bot- the inferiority of the common pumps or to their improvetom towards the opposite side. The use of this box is to ment, so as to bring them nearer to this rival machine. catch any drops of mercury which may sometimes be dashed This rigorous comparison brought into view several circumup through the gage-pipe by an accidental oscillation. 1 his, stances in the constitution of the atmospheric air, and its by going through the passages of the pump, would corrode relation to other bodies, which are of the most extensive them, and would act particularly on the joints, which are and important influence in the operations of nature. We generally soldered with tin. When this happens to an air- shall notice at present such only as have a relation to the pump, it must be cleaned with the most scrupulous atten- operation of the air-pump in extracting air from the receiver. tion, otherwise it will be quickly destroyed. Mr. Nairne found, that when a little water, or even a bit ExperiThis account of Smeaton’s ptyaip is sufficient for enabling Great powers of the reader to understand its operation and to see its supe- of paper damped with water, was exposed under the re-11ments witr this pump, riority. It is reckoned a very fine pump of the ordinary ceiver of Mr. Smeaton’s air-pump, when in the most perfectISaluie^ ' ’ construction which will rarefy 200 times, or raise the gage condition, raising the mercury in the barometer-gage to to 29’85, the barometer standing at 30. But Mr. Smeaton 29*95, he could not make it rise above 29*8 if Fahrenheit’s found, that his pump, even after long using, raised it to thermometer indicated the temperature 47°, nor above 29*7 29,9o, which we consider as equivalent to rarefying 600 if the thermometer stood at 55°; and that to bring the gage times. When in fine order, he found no bounds to its rare- to this height and keep it there, the operation of the pump faction, frequently raising the gage as high as the1 barome- must be continued for a long time after the water had He ter ; and he thought its performance so perfect, that the disappeared or the paper become perfectly dry. barometer-gage was not sufficiently delicate for measuring found that a drop of spirits, or paper moistened with spithe rarefaction. He therefore substituted the syphon-gage rits, could not in those circumstances allow the mercury already described, which he gives some reasons for prefer- in the gage to rise to near that height; and that similar ing ; but even this he found not sufficiently sensible. effects followed from admittting any volatile body whatcon r vec ever into the receiver or any part of the apparatus. .Another ^ i ^ another, which could be carried to any decontrivance gree °f sensibility. It consisted of a glass body A (fig. 28), This showed him at once how improper were the dhections which had been given by Guericke, Boyle, Graveof Smea- of a pear shape, and was therefore called the 28. ton’s. pear-gage. This had a small projecting orisande, and others, for fitting up the air-pump for experiment, by soaking the leather in water, covering the joints fice at B, and at the other end a tube CD, whose capacity was the hundredth part of with water, or in short, admitting water or any volatile body the capacity of the whole vessel. This was near it. suspended at the slip-wire of the receiver, He therefore took his pumps to pieces, cleared them of and there was set below it a small cup with all the moisture which he could drive from them by heat, mercury. When the pump was worked, the and then leathered them anew with leather soaked in a air in the pear-gage was rarefied along with mixture of olive oil and tallow, from which he had expelled the rest. When the rarefaction was brought all the water it usually contains, by boiling it till the first to the degree intended, the gage was let frothing was over. When the pumps were fitted up in this down till B reached the bottom of the mermanner, he uniformly found that Mr. Smeaton’s pump rarecury. The external air being now let in, fied the gage to 29*9o, and the best common pump to 29*87, the mercury was raised into the pear, and the first of which he computed to indicate a rarefaction to stood at some height E in the tube CD. The 600, and the other to 230. But in this state he again length of this tube being divided into 100 found that a piece of damp paper, leather, wood, &c. in the parts, and those numbered from D, it is evireceiver, reduced the performance in the same manner as Remarkbefore. able phenoDE dent that will express the degree of rareBut the most remarkable phenomenon was, that when he nienon. ’ This can only be explained by supposing that Mr. Smeaton employed an imperfect barometer.

PNEUMATICS. 87 Pneumatics made use of the pear-gage with the pump cleared from all the piston and the top, it successively collapses into tvater Pneumatics moisture, it indicated the same degree of rarefaction with during the ascent of the piston, and again expands into vathe barometer-gage ; but when he exposed a bit of paper pour when we push the piston down again. Whenever moistened with spirits, and thus reduced the rarefaction of this happens there is an end of the rarefaction. the pump to what he called 50, the barometer-gage standWhilst this operation is going on, the air comes out along Air ami vaing at 29‘4, the pear-gage indicated a rarefaction exceed- with the vapour ; but we cannot say in what proportion.pour not ing 100,000. In short, it was not measurable; and this If it were always uniformly mixed with the vapour, it would u,!'f°rinly phenomenon was almost constant. Whenever he exposed diminish rapidly ; but this does not appear to be the case.mix,ec*to" any substance susceptible of evaporation, he found the rare- There is a certain period of rarefaction in which a transientge ler‘ faction indicated by the barometer-gage greatly reduced, cloudiness is perceived in the receiver. This is watery vawhilst that indicated by the pear-gage was prodigiously in- pour formed at that degree of rarefaction, mingled with, but creased ; and both these effects were the more remarkable as not dissolved in or united with, the air, otherwise it would the subject was of easier evaporation, or the temperament of be transparent. A similar cloud will appear if damp air be the air of the chamber w as warmer. admitted suddenly into an exhausted receiver. The vaThis uniform result suggested the true cause. Water pour, which formed an uniform transparent mass with the boils at the temperature of 212°, that is, it is then convert- air, is either suddenly expanded and thus detached from ed into a vapour w hich is permanently elastic while of that the other ingredient, or is suddenly let go by the air, which temperature, and its elasticity balances the pressure of the expands more than it does. We cannot affirm with probaatmosphere. If this pressure be diminished by rarefying bility which of these is the case. Different compositions of the air above it, a low temperature will not allow it to be air, that is, air loaded with vapours from different substanconverted into elastic vapour, and keep it in that state. ces, exhibit remarkable differences in this respect. But we Water w ill boil in the receiver of an air-pump at the tem- see from this and other phenomena, which shall be menperature of 96°, or even under it. Philosophers did not tioned in their proper places, that the air and vapour are think of examining the state of the vapour in temperatures not always intimately united ; and therefore will not always lower than what produced ebullition. But it now appears, be drawn out together by the air-pump. But let them be that in much lower heats than this the superficial water is ever so confusedly blended, we see that the air must come converted into elastic vapour, which continues to exhale out along with the vapour, and its quantity remaining in the from it as long as the water lasts, and, supplying the place receiver must be prodigiously diminished by this association, of air in the receiver, exerts the same elasticity, and hin- probably much more than could be, had the receiver only ders the mercury from rising in the gage in the same man- contained pure air. ner as so much air of equal elasticity would have done. Let us now consider what must happen in the pear-gage. ConsequenExperiWhen Mr. Nairne was exhibiting these experiments to As the air and vapour are continually drawn off from the ces of this, ments illus-the Hon. Henry Cavendish in 1770, this gentleman inform- receiver, the air in the pear expands and goes off with it. tnative of etl him that it appeared from a series of experiments of his We shall suppose that the generated vapour hinders the gage this ac- father Lord Charles Cavendish, that when water is of the from rising beyond 29’5. During the continued working count. temperature 72°, it is converted into vapour, under any pres- of the pump, the air in the pear, whose elasticity is 05, sure less than three-fourths of an inch of mercury, and at slowly mixes with the vapour at the mouth of the pear, and 41° it becomes vapour when the pressure is less than one- the mixture even advances into its inside, so that if the fourth of an inch: even mercury evaporates in this manner pumping be long enough continued, what is in the pear is when all pressure is removed. A dewy appearance is fre- nearly of the same composition with what is in the receiver, quently observed covering the inside of the tube of a baro- consisting perhaps of 20 parts of vapour and one part of air, meter, where we usually suppose a vacuum. This dew, all of the elasticity of OA. When the pear is plunged into when viewed through a microscope, appears to be a set of the mercury, and the external air allowed to get into the detached globules of mercury, and upon inclining the tube receiver, the mercury rises in the pear-gage, and leaves not so that the mercury may ascend along it, these globules will 1 , 1 1 of it filled with common air, the be all licked up, and the tube become clear. The dew 60’ ut 60 x 20 1200 which lined it was the vapour of the mercury condensed by the side of the tube ; and it is never observed but when vapour having collapsed into an invisible atom of water. one side is exposed to a stream of cold air from a window, Thus the pear-gage will indicate a rarefaction of 1200, while the barometer-gage only showed 60, that is, showed the &c. To return to the vapour in the air-pump receiver; it must elasticity of the included substance diminished 60 times. be observed, that as long as the water continues to yield it, The conclusion to be drawn from these two measures (the we may continue to work the pump ; and it will be contin- one of the rarefaction of air, and the other of the diminuually abstracted by the barrels, and discharged in the form tion of elasticity) is, that the matter with which the receiver of water, because it collapses as soon as exposed to the ex- was filled, immediately before the readmission of the air, ternal pressure. All this while the gage will not indicate consisted of one part of incondensible air, and or 20 any more rarefaction, because the thing immediately indicated by the barometer-gage is diminished elasticity, which parts of watery vapour. does not happen here. When all the water which the temThe only obscure part of this account is what relates to Difficulty perature of the room can keep elastic has evaporated under the composition of the matter whiqh filled the pear-gagein act:ouii ta certain pressure, suppose half an inch of mercury, the gage before the admission of the mercury. It is not easy to see & for . standing at 29’5, the vapour which now fills the receiver how the vapour of the receiver comes in by a narrow mouth expands, and by its diminished elasticity the gage rises, and while the air is coming out by the same passage. Accordnow some more water which had been attached to bodies ingly it requires a very long time to produce this extreme by chemical or corpuscular attraction is detached, and a new rarefaction in the pear-gage ; and there are great irregusupply continues to support the gage at a greater height; larities in any two succeeding experiments, as may be seen and this goes on continually till almost all has been ab- by looking at Mr. Nairne’s account of them.1 Some vastracted. But there will remain some which no art can take pours appear to have mixed much more readily with the air away ; for as it passes through the barrels, and gets between than others ; and there are some unaccountable cases where 1

Phil Trans, vol. Ixvii.

PNEUMATICS. 88 Air-pump, vitriolic acid and sulphureous bodies were included, in which w'ay, however, it communicates also with a barometer gage Air-pump. the dimunition of density indicated by the pear-gage was p o, standing in a cistern of mercury o, and covered with uniformly less than the diminution of elasticity indicated by glass tube close at the top. Beyond e, on the opposite cirthe barometer-gage. It is enough for us at present to have cumference of the receiver plate, there is a cock or plug/ established, by unquestionable facts, this production of elas- communicating with the atmosphere. The piston rod is closely embraced by the three collars tic vapour, and the necessity of attending to it, both in the construction of the air-pump, and in drawing results from of leather; but, as already said, has a free space round it in the two brass rings. To produce this pressure of the leaexperiments exhibited in it. Two new Mr. Smeaton’s pump, when in good order, and perfectly thers to the rod, the brass rings which separate them are improve- free from all moisture, will in dry weather rarefy air about turned thinner on the inner side, so that their cross section ments. 600 times, raising the barometer-gage to within ^gth ot an along a diameter would be a taper wedge. In the side of inch of a fine barometer. This was a performance so much the piston rod are two cavities q r, t s, about one-tenth of superior to that of all others, and by means of Mr. Nairne’s an inch wide and deep, and of a length equal to the thifckexperiments opened so new a field of observation, that the ness of the two rings a b, and the intermediate collar of air-pumps once more became a capital instrument among leathers. These cavities are so placed on the piston-rod, the experimental philosophers. The causes of its superio- that when the piston is applied to the bottom of the barrel, rity were also so distinct, that artists were immediately ex- the cavity £ s in the upper end of the rod has its upper end cited to a farther improvement of the machine ; so that this opposite to the ring a, and its lower end opposite to the ring b, or to the mouth of the pipe c d. Therefore, if there be a becomes a new epoch in its history. ImproveThere is one imperfection which Mr. Smeaton has not void in the barrel, the air from the receiver will come from ments in attempted to remove.. The discharging valve is still open- the pipe c d, into the cavity in the piston-rod, and by it will a nst get past the collar of leather between the rings, and thus i ]jsthe pressureadds of the atmosphere. author of will aactem empnecT e . C(^ agwe( p academy a subsidiary pumpAn to this valve, get into the small interstice between the rod and the which exhausts the air from above it, and thus puts it in the upper ring, and then into the pipe l m n, and into the empty situation of the piston valve. We do not find that this im- barrel. When the piston is drawn up, the solid rod immeprovement has been adopted so as to become general. In- diately shuts up this passage, and the piston drives the air deed the quantity of air which remains in the passage to this through the discharging valve k. When it has reached the valve is so exceedingly little, that it does not seem to me- top of the barrel, and is closely applied to it, the cavity q r rit attention. Supposing the valve hole ^pth of an inch wide is in the situation in which t s formerly was, and the comand as deep (and it need not be more), it will not occupy munication is again opened between the receiver and the more than y A^th part of a barrel twrelve inches long and empty barrel, and the air is again diffused between them. Pushing down the piston expels the air by the lower distwro inches wide. Mr. Smeaton, by his ingenious construction, has greatly charging pipe and valve h i; and thus the operation may diminished, but has not annihilated, the obstructions to the be continued. This must be acknowledged to be a most simple and inpassage of the air from the receiver into the barrel. His success encouraged farther attempts. One of the first and genious construction, and can neither be called a cock nor most ingenious was that of Professor Russell of the Univer- a valve. It seems to oppose no obstruction whatever; and sity of Edinburgh, who, about the year 1770, constructed a it has the superior advantage of rarefying both during the ascent and the descent of the piston, doubling the expedipump in which both cocks and valves were avoided. The piston is solid, as represented in fig. 28, and its rod tion of the performance, and the operator is not opposed by the pressure of the atmosphere except towards the end of each stroke. The expedition, however, is not so great as Fig. 28. one should expect; for nothing is going on while the piston is in motion, and the operator must stop a while at the end of each stroke, that the air may have time to come through this long, narrow, and crooked passage, to fill the barrel. But the chief difficulty which occurred in the execution arose from the clammy oil with which it was necessary to impregnate the collar of leathers. These were always in a state of strong compression, that they might closely grasp the piston rod, and prevent all passage of air during the motion of the piston. Whenever therefore the cavities in the piston rod come into the situations necessary for connecting the receiver and barrel, this oil is squeezed into them, and choaks them up. Hence it always happened that it was some time after the stroke before the air could force its way round the piston rod, carrying with it the clammy oil which choaked up the tube l m n ; and when the rarefaction had proceeded a certain length, the diminished elasticity of the air was not able to make its way through these passes through a collar of leather on the top of the barrel. obstructions. 1 Mr. Cavallo has given the description of an air-pump This collar is divided into three portions by two brass rings a, b, which leave a very small space round the piston rod. contrived and executed by Messrs Hans and Hurter, inThe upper ring a communicates by means of a lateral per- strument makers in London, where these artists revived foration with the bent tube, l m n, which enters the barrel Guericke’s method of opening the barrel-valve during the at its middle n. The lower ring b communicates with the last strokes of the pump by a force acting from without. bent tube c d, which communicates with the horizontal pas- We shall insert as much of this description as relates to the sage d e going to the middle e of the pump plate. By the distinguishing circumstance of its construction. 1

PM Trans, vol. Ixxiii.

Air-pump.

PNEUMATICS. 89 Fig. 29 represents a section of the bottom of the barAiming still at the removing the obstructions to the entry Air-pump, rel, where AA is the barrel, and BB the bottom, which of the air from the receiver into the barrels, Mr. Prince, an has in its middle a hollow cylinAmerican, has constructed a pump in which there is no valve Prince, Fig. 29. der CCFF, projecting about half or cock whatever between them. In this pump the piston an inch into the barrel at CC, rod passes through a collar of leather, and the air is finally and extending a good way downdischarged through a valve, as in the two last. But we are wards to FF. The space bechiefly to attend, in this place, to the communication between this projection and the sides tween the barrel and the receiver. The barrel widens beof the barrel is filled up by a low into a sort of cistern ABCD, brass ring DD, over the top of communicating with the receiver Fig. 30. which is strained a piece of oiled by the pipe EF. As soon, theresilk EE, which performs the office fore, as the piston gets into this of a valve, covering the hole CC. wider part, where there is a vacanBut this hole is filled up by a cy all round it, the air of the repiece of brass, or rather an asceiver expands freely through the semblage of pieces screwed togepassage FEE into the barrel, in getherGG,HH,II. It consists of which the descent of the piston had three projecting fillets or shouldmade a void. When the piston is ers GG, HH, II, which form two hollows between them, again drawn up, as soon as it gets and which are filled with rings of oiled leather 00, PP, into the cylindric part of the barfirmly screwed together. The extreme fillets GG, II, are rel, which it exactly fills, it carries of equal diameter with the inside of the cylinder, so as up the air before it, and expels it EBjgHjil to fill it exactly, and the whole stuffed with oiled leather, by the top valve; and, that this slide up and down without allowing any air to pass. The may be done more completely, this valve opens into a semiddle fillet HH is not so broad, but thicker. In the up- cond barrel or air-pump whose piston is rising at the same per fillet GG there is formed a shallow dish about £ of an time, and therefore the valve of communication (which is inch deep and | wide. This dish is covered with a thin the discharging valve of the primary pump) opens with the plate, pierced with a grating like Mr. Smeaton’s valve plate. same facility as Mr. Smeaton’s piston valve. While the There is a perforation VX along the axis of this piece, which piston is rising, the air in the receiver expands into the has a passage out at one side H, through the middle fillet. barrel; and when the piston descends, the air in the barrel Opposite to this passage, and in the side of the cylinder again collapses till the piston gets again into the cistern, CC,FF, is a hole M, communicating with the conduit pipe when the air passes out, and fills the evacuated barrel, to MN, which leads to the receiver. Into the lower end of be expelled by the piston as before. the perforation is screwed the pin KL, whose tail L passes No distinct account has yet been given of the performthrough the cap FF. The tail L is connected with a lever ance of this pump. W e only learn that great inconveniences RQ, moveable round the joint Q. This lever is pushed were experienced from the oscillations of the mercury in the upwards by a spring, and thus the whole piece which we gage. As soon as the piston comes into the cistern, the have been describing is.kept in contact with the slip of oiled air from the receiver immediately rushes into the barrel, and silk or valve EE. This is the usual situation of things. the mercury shoots up in the gage, and gets into a state of Now suppose a void formed in the barrel by drawing up oscillation. The subsequent rise of the piston will frequentthe piston ; the elasticity of the air in the receiver, in the ly keep time with the second oscillation, and increase it. pipe MN, and in the passage XV, will press on the great The descent of the piston produces a downward oscillation, surface of the valve exposed through the grating, will raise by allowing the air below it to collapse ; and by improperly it, and the pump will perform precisely as Mr. Smeaton’s timing the strokes, this oscillation becomes so great as to make does. But suppose the rarefaction to have been so long the mercury enter the pump. To prevent this, and a greater continued, that the air is no longer able to raise the valve; irregularity of working as a condenser, valves were put in the this will be seen by the mercury rising no more in the pump- piston ; but as these require force to open them, the addigage. When this is perceived, the operator must press with tion seemed rather to increase the evil, by rendering the his foot on the end R of the lever RQ. This draws down oscillations more simultaneous with the ordinary rate of the pin KL,and with it the whole hollow plug with its grated working. top. And thus, instead of raising the valve from its plate, • It appears, however, of very difficult execution. It has the plate is here drawn down from the valve. The air now many long, slender, and crooked passages, which must be gets in without any obstruction whatever, and the rarefac- drilled through broad plates of brass, some of them appeartion proceeds as long as the piston rises. When it is at the ing scarcely practicable. It is rare to find plates and other top of the barrel, the operator takes his foot from the lever, pieces of brass without air-holes, which it would be very difand the spring presses up the plug again and shuts the valve. ficult to find out and to close; and it must be very difficult The piston rod passes through a collar of leather, as in Mr. to clear it of obstructions; so that it appears rather a sugSmeaton’s pump, and the air is finally discharged through gestion of theory than a thing warranted by its actual peran outward valve in the top of the barrel. These parts have formance. nothing peculiar in them. M. Lavoisier, or some of the naturalists who were oc- Lavoisier, This is an ingenious contrivance, similar to what was copied in concert with him in the investigation of the difadapted by Guericke himself; and we have no doubt of these ferent species of gas which are disengaged from bodies in pumps performing extremely well if carefully made ; and it the course of chemical operations, contrived an air-pump seems not difficult to keep the plug perfectly air-tight by which has great appearance of simplicity, and, being very supplying plenty of oil to the leathers. We cannot say, how- different from all others, deserves to be taken notice of. ever, with precision, what may be expected from it, as no It consists of two barrels l m, (fig. 31) with solid pistons k k. account has been given of its effects, besides what Mr. The pump plate a i, is pierced at its centre c with a hole which Cavallo published in the Philosophical Transactions for branches towards each of the barrels, as represented by e e?, c e. j 7 83, where he only says, that when it had been long used, Between the plate and the barrels slides another plate h i, it had, in the course of some experiments, rarefied 600 pierced in the middle with a branched hole f dg, and near times. the ends with two holes h h, i i, which go from its under vol. xvin. M

PNEUMATICS. 90 Air-pump, side to the ends. The holes in these two plates are so ad- of failure by a spring a-top, which took hold of a notch in Air-pump, the inside of the piston-rod about a quarter of an inch from justed, that when the plate A i the lower end, so as certainly to lift the valve during the Fig. 31 is drawn so far towards A that last quarter of an inch of the piston’s motion. Being an exthe hole i comes within the barcellent mechanic, he had executed a valve on this principle, rel m, the branch df of the hole and was fully satisfied with its performance. But having in the middle plate coincides with already confirmed his doctrines respecting the nitrous acid the branch cd of the upper plate, by incontrovertible experiments, his wishes to improve the and the holes e g are shut. air-pump lost their incitement, and h® thought no more of Thus a communication is estait; and not long after this the ardour of the philosophers of blished between the barrel l and the Teylerian Society at Haerlem and Amsterdam excited the receiver on the pump-plate, the efforts of Mr. Cuthbertson, their instrument maker, to and between the barrel m and the same purpose, and produced the most perfect air-pump the external air. In this situathat has yet appeared. We shall give a description of it, tion the barrel l will exhaust, and and an account of its performance, in the inventor’s own m will discharge. When the piswords. ton of l is at its mouth, and that Cuthbertson'sAir-Pump.—Onfig.32isa perspective view of m touches its bottom, the sliding plate is shifted over to the Fig. 32. other side, so that m communicates with the receiver through the passage gd, ec, and l communicates with the air by the passages A A. It is evident that this sliding plate performs the office of four cocks in a very beautiful and simple manner, and that if the pistons apply close to the ends of the barrels so as to expel the whole air, the pump will be perfect. It works, indeed, against the whole pressure of the external air. But this may be avoided by putting valves on the holes A i; and these can do no harm, because the air remaining in them never gets back into the barrel till the piston be at the farther end, and the exhaustion of that stroke completed. But the best workmen of London think that it will be incomparably more difficult to execute this cock (for it is a cock of an unusual form), in such a manner that it shall be air-tight and yet move with tolerable ease, and that it is much more liable to wearing loose than common cocks. No accurate accounts have been received of its performance. It must be acknowledged to be ingenious, and it may suggest to an intelligent artist a method of combining common conical cocks upon one axis so as to answer the same purposes much more effectually ; for which reason we have inserted it here. CuthoertThe last improvement which we shall mention, is that son ’ published by Mr. Cuthbertson. His pump has given such evidences of its perfection, that we can hardly expect or wish for any thing more complete. But we must be allowed to observe, beforehand, that the same construction was invented, and in part executed, before the end of 1779, by Dr. Daniel Rutherford, then professor of botany in the University of Edinburgh, who was at that time engaged in experiments on the production of air during the combustion of bodies in contact with nitre, and who was vastly desirous of procuring a more complete abstraction of pure aerial matter than could be effected by Mr. Smeaton’s pump. The compiler of this article had then an opportunity of perusing the Doctor’s dissertation on this subject, which was read in the Philosophical Society of Edinburgh. In this dissertation he of Cuthbertson’s pump, with its two principal gages screwed appears fully apprised of the existence of pure vital air in into their places. These need not be used together, except the nitrous acid, as its chief ingredient, and as the cause of in cases where the utmost exactness is required. In comits most remarkable phenomena, and to want but a step to mon experiments one of them is removed, and a stop-screw the discoveries which have ennobled the name of M. La- put in its place. When the pear-gage is used, a small round voisier. He was particularly anxious to obtain apart this plate, on which the receiver may stand, must be distinguishing ingredient in its composition, and, for this first screwed into the hole at A ; but this hole is Fig. 33. purpose, to abstract completely from the vessel in which he stopped on other occasions with a screw. When all subjected it to examination, every particle of elastic matter. the three gages are used, and the receiver is exThe writer of this article proposed to him to cover the bot- hausted, the stop-screw B, at the bottom of the tom of Mr. Smeaton’s piston with some clammy matter, pump, must be unscrewed, to admit the air into C which should take hold of the bottom valve, and start it the receiver; but when they are not all used, either when the piston is drawn up. A few days after, the Doc- of the other stop-screws will answer this purpose. tor showed him a drawing of a pump, having a conical meFig 33 represents a cross bar for preventing tal valve in the bottom, furnished with a long slender wire, the barrels from being shaken by working the pump c sliding in the inside of the piston-rod with a gentle friction, or by any accident. Its place in fig. 32 is represufficient for lifting the valve, and secured against all chance sented by the dotted lines.

PNEUMATICS. 91 Fig. 34 is a section of one of the barrels, with all its in- filled with oiled leathers with holes through which gg can Air-pump, ternal parts ; and figs. 35, 36, 37, and 38, are different parts slide stifly. There is also a male screw with a hole in it,' of the piston, proportioned in size to one another.1 fitted to g g, serving to compress the leathers r. In fig. 37, In fig. 34 CD represents the barrel, F the collar of lea- aaaa is the outside of the piston, the inside of which is thers, G ahollow cylindrical vessel to contain oil, R is also turned so as exactly to fit the outside of fig. 38 ; 5 5 are an oil-vessel to receive the oil which is drawn, along with round leathers about 60 in number, c c is a circular piece the air, through the hole a a, when the piston is drawn up- of brass of the size of the leathers, and is a screw servwards ; and, when this is full, the oil is carried over with ing to compress them. The screw at the end of fig. 36 is the air, along the tube T, into the oil-vessel G, c c is a wire made to fit the screw in fig. 38. Now if fig. 39 be pushed which is driven upwards from the hole a a by the passage into fig. 38, this into fig. 37, and fig. 36 be screwed into of the air; and as soon as this has escaped, it falls down the end of fig. 38, these will compose the whole of the pisagain by its own weight, shuts up the hole, and prevents ton, as represented in fig. 34. H, in fig. 34, represents the all return of the air into the barrel. At dd are fixed two same part as H in fig. 35, and is that to which the rack is pieces of brass, to keep the wire c c in a vertical direction, fixed. If, therefore, this be drawn upwards, it will cause that it may accurately shut the hole. H is a cylindrical wire fig. 38 to shut close into fig. 37, and drive out the air above or rod which carries the piston I, and is made hollow to it; and when it is pushed downwards it will open as far as receive a long wire g g, which opens and shuts the hole L ; the shoulder a a will permit, and suffer air to pass through. and on the other end of the wire O is screwed a nut, which, AA (fig. 40) is the receiver plate, BB is a long square piece by stopping in the narrowest part of the hole, prevents the wire from being driven up too far. This wire and screw Fig. 40. are more clearly seen in figs. 35 and 39 ; they slide in a collar of leather r, figs. 35 and 38, in the middle piece of the piston. Figs. 37 and 38 are the two main parts which

Air-pump.

Fig. 34.

Fig. 35.

Fig. 36.

Fig. 38.

Fig 39.

compose the piston, and when the pieces 36 and 39 are added to it the whole is represented by fig. 35. Fig. 38 is a piece of brass of a conical form, with a shoulder at the bottom. A long hollow screw is cut in it, about two-thirds of its ength, and the remainder of the hole, in which there is no screw, is of about the same diameter with the screwed part, except a thin plate at the end, which is of a width exactly equal to the thickness of g g, fig. 34. That part of e inside of the conical brass in which no thread is cut, is

everJo^doublTsize.

316 1 65 inCheS in diameter in

>

of brass, screwed into the under side of the plate, through which a hole is drilled corresponding to that in the centre of the receiver-plates and with three female screws a, b, c. The rarefaction of the air in the receiver is effected as follows. Suppose the piston at the bottom of the barrel. The inside of the barrel, from the top of the piston to a, (fig. 34) contains common air. When the rod is drawn up, the outer part of the piston sticks fast in the barrel till the conical part connected with the rod shuts the conical hole, and its shoulder applies close to its bottom. The piston is now shut, and therefore the whole is drawn up by the rackwork, driving the air before it through the hole a c, into the oil-vessel at R, and out into the room by the tube T. The piston will then be at the top of the barrel at a, and the wire gg will stand nearly as represented in the figure just raised from the hole L, and prevented from rising higher by the nut O. During this motion the air will expand in the receiver, and come along the bent tube m into the barrel. Fhus the barrel will be filled with air, which, as the piston rises, will be rarefied in proportion as the capacity of the receiver, pipes, and barrel, is to the barrel alone. When the piston is moved down again by the rack-work, it will force the conical part (fig. 38) out of the hollow part (fig. 37) as far as the shoulders aa ; fig. 35 will rest on a a (fig. 37) which will then be so far open as to permit the air to pass freely through it, while at the same time the end of ^ is forced against the top of the hole, and shuts it, in order to prevent any air from returning into the receiver. Thus the piston, moving downwards, suffers the air to pass out between the sides of figs. 37 and 38 ; and, when it is at the bottom of the barrel, will have the column of air above it ; and, consequently, when drawn upwards it will shut, and drive out this air, and, by opening the hole L at the same time, will give a free passage to more air from the receiver. This process being continued, the air of the receiver will be rarefied as far as its expansive power will permit. For in this machine there are no valves to be forced open by the

proportion to which the scale is drawn. Figures 35,36, 37, and 38, are, how-

CD
discharged pump, either to rarefy or through c, and the air in the receiver will again be equally to condense, the screw K, distributed between it and the barrel. Therefore the re- which fastens the rack to the piston rod H, must be a taken out. Then turning When the piston reaches the ceiver will now contain 1000 the winch till H is depressed as low as possible, the 121 bottom, there will be ^Mn the barrel. When again drawn machine will be fitted to exhaust as a single pump; 21 up to the top, there will be discharged, and the re- and if it be required to condense, the direction in No. 8 must be observed with regard to the tube T, and fig 41. “ I took,” says Mr. Cuthbertson, “ two barometer Fig.43. ceiver will contain ^ • and when the piston reaches the tubes of an equal bore with that fixed to the pump. 1000’ These were filled with mercury four times boiled. Hi bottom, there will be —1-. At the next stroke the receiver They were then compared, and stood exactly at the same height. The mercury in one of them was boil1000 ed in it four times more, without making any change in their height; they were therefore judged will contain only o-l &c. &c. very perfect. One of these was immersed in the Thus it appears, that notwithstanding the which al cistern of the _pump gage, and fastened in a _posiways expands back again out of the hole ac into the barrel, tion parallel to it, and a sliding scale of one inch was attached attached to the rarity of the air in the receiver will be doubled at every was to it. it. This scale, when the gage is stroke. There is therefore no need of a subsidiary air-pump used, must have its upper edge set equal with the at c, as in the American air-pump, and in the Swedish at- surface of the mercury in the boiled tube after exhaustion, and the difference between the height of tempt to improve Smeaton’s. In using this air-pump no particular directions are ne- the mercury in this and in the other barometer of an inch ; and cessary, nor is any peculiar care necessary for keeping it in tube may be observed to the order, except that the oil-vessel A be always kept about being close together, no error arises from their not half full of oil. When the pump has stood longwithout being being exactly vertical, if they are only parallel. This used, it will be proper to draw a table-spoonful of olive-oil gage will be better understood by inspecting fig. 43. “ I used a second gage, which I shall call a dou- i [I i through it, by pouring it into the hole in the middle of the receiver-plate when the piston is at the bottom of the bar- ble syphon. (See fig. 42.) This was also prepared bliO rel. Then by working the piston, the oil will be drawn with the utmost care. I had a scale for measuring the difthrough all the parts of the pump, and the surplus will be ference between the height of the columns in the two legs. driven through the tube T into the oil-vessel G. Near the It was an inch long, and divided as the former, and kept in top of the piston rod at H, there is a hole which lets some a truly vertical position by suspending it from a point with 1

An air-pump of this description is by far too delicate to be employed without risk of injury in experiments on condensed air.

PNEUMATICS. Air-pump, a weight hung to it, as represented in the figure. Upon The performance of the pump may be judged of from Air comparing these two gages I always found them to indicate thefourfollowingexperiments': The twogagelbSscrewed

g3

d ^r,L though the T„ most'iwr^i imperfect of all, in order to repeat the curious experiments of Mr. Nairne and others.” When experiments require the utmost rarefying power of the pump, the receiver must not be placed on leather, either oiled or soaked in water, as is usually done. The pump plate and the edge of the receiver must be ground very flat and true, and this with very fine emery, that no roughness may remain. The plate of the pump must then be wiped very clean and very dry, and the receiver rubbed with a warm cloth till it become electrical. The receiver being now set on the plate, hog’s lard, either alone or mixed with a little oil which has been cleared of water by boiling, must be smeared round its outside edge. In this condition the pump will rarefy its utmost, and whgt still remains in the receiver will be permanent air Or a little of Jis composition may be thinly smeared on the pump plate ; this will prevent all risk of scratching it with the edge of the receiver. Leather of very uniform thickness, long dried be-

rplaces rm“ ’rdthe nho,e in ^-^"4 the pump was made to exhaust as ^ far as it could. The mercury- in the legs of the syphon was only o jr —j is of an inch out of me level, and that in the boiled barometer-tube sV of an inch higher than in the one screwed to the pump. A standard barometer then stood at 30 inches, and therefore the pump rarefied the permanent air 1200 times. This is twice as much as Mr. Nairne found Mr. Smeaton’s do in its best state. Mr. Cavallo seems disposed to give a favourable account of Haas and Hurter’s pump, and it appears never to have exceeded 600 times. Mr. Cuthbertson has often found the mercury within tis of an inch of the level in the syphongage, indicating a rarefaction of 3000.1 a ^'° ,one en(l glass tube, two inches diameter and thirty inches long, was fitted a brass cap and collar of leather, through’which" a ^e ™“i^T through wTiir»h t inches within the tube. This was connected SiththecZ ductor of an electric machine. The other end was ground flat and set on the pump plate. When the gages indicated a rarefaction of 300, the fight became steady and uniform, be cleared of all water by the first boiling, will answer very of a pale colour, though a little tinged with purple ; at 600

nr leathers i r ’ should be at hand soaked ^in la comy shifted. Other po tmn contammg a little rosin This gives it a clamminess which renders it impermeable to air, and is very proper at all joints of the pump, and all apparatus for pneumatic expenments. As it is impossible to render the pear-gage as dry as other parts of the apparatus, there will be gene-

Pe

8

to

e( uentl

P fight of a pale dusky white 1200conducted it disappeared in was the middle of the tube, and; when the tube so well that the prime conductor only gave sparks so to and short as to be scarcely perceptibll After tog off the tube, and making it as dry as possible, it was again c'onnected with the conductor, which was giving sparks two inches long. When the air in it was rarefied ten times, the

e Vana ^r rintended bet™eentothishow s andthe the utmost other gages. When iti is only power of the pump, without mtendmg to ascertain the quality of the residuum, the receiver may be set on wet leather. If, in

sparksdarted were along of thethe same length. Sometimes a pencilwts of fight tube. When the rarefaction 20, the spark did not exceed an inch, and fight streamed the whole length of the tube. When the rarefaction was

be rar fie aS ar P sible tbe Sy 30 the nhon^td T11’ eairgage f, mdlCat l / af °f ee’ rare ‘ the ’ tubesparks were half an inch, and the fight rushed along in reat fen than th mT ? IeBut |f deg " °t & about breams. the rarefaction was tube 100, faction the fformer experiments. when the air' the sparks were £ long,When and the fight filled the is let m again, the pear gage will point out a rarefaction in an uninterrupted body. When 300, the apnearances some thousands of times greater than it did before If the were as before. When 600, the sparks were £ and the manent after ex * of Perbe T the be required, K nearest + ^ustion the pear gage will truth ; for when the air is rarefied to a certain degree, the moistened leather emits an expansible fluid, which, filling the receiver, forces out the permanent an-; and the two first gages indicate a degree of exhaustion which relates to the whole elastic matter re maining in the receiver, viz. to the expansible fluid together with the permanent air; whereas the pear gage points out the degree of exhaustion, with relation to the perman en« air atane which remains in ,ho receiver , iWby iw

light purple was of toward a faint white colourWhen in 'the1200, middle, tinged with the ends. thebut fight was hardly perceptible in the middle, and was much fainter at the ends than before, but still ruddy. When 1400 which was the most the pump could produce, six inches of the middle of the tube were quite dark, and the ends free of any tinge of red, and the sparks did not exceed ^ of an inch.3

1 611 1 t tIle ec< ,v er the eh ranomisrfihmeHtnW " "bulk, “ which , f is : imperceptible, . > “c p u is reduced to its former Many bodies emit this elastic fluid when the pressure of the air is much diminished ; a piece of leather, in its ordinary damp state, about an inch square, or a bit of green or dry wood, will supply this for a great while. When such

matKm the air "'hich itingives will be experiments, of great use and to every m/nts -of much engaged pneumatic help person him inpump macie the contrivance and construction of the necessary appara-in Britain tus. We may be indulged in one remark, that although this * noble instrument originated in Germany, all its improvements were made in this kingdom. Both the mechanical

generated musTbpJffr fT cleared !? anyfor experiments, pneumatical principles Mr. Boyle’s were must be carefully of them, they remainthe notpump only and extremely different from theofGerman, and,construction in respect ofexe receiver, but in the barrels and passages, and will again pedition and conveniency, much superior. The double expand when the exhaustion has been carried far. barrel and gage by Hawkesbee were capital improvements, be h d f deanng the um 18 t0 take a ver on G J receiver, A using ° every precaution, P P to exhaust it asy and principle ; and Mr. method of making large and, piston work in rarefied airSmeaton’s made a complete chan«-e in the 1 far as possible. Then the expansible matter lurking in the whole process. ° in me barrels and passes will be diffused through the receiver also, Aided by this machine, we can make experiments estab- tut, or will be carried off along with its air. It will be as much fishing and illustrating the gravity and elasticity of the air the b fore a he a e ate receivp/hbarrels ^ and f passes ’ ?is tlarger g^ oflast, the in much more phenomena perspicuous of manner by pump.* receiver, thang thatcapacity of the two thea spontaneous nature.thanItcoukfbe allows usdone in the

eX ri nen t where corresponds withThl besttforrationwe^ve ^ ' . it ™ is fted f and d—Y>— ^ —D, = 4VHOVD X x/D—x/D—S* time t with this velocity) will be

PNEUMATICS. 108 DP Air in DxP+P—DP d—T> DxP+7>— P+^—p has been said above) the bulk 8VHO< (for the velocity V Air in =r j and———— _ , y —— P . motion. — constant); and therefore the quantity SVYiOdt. On the motion. P d DxP+iJ +P is other hand, the quantity of air at the beginning was CD, C j therefore v=zV X sf > which is a very sim- being the capacity of the vessel; and when the air has acp ’ ^ p+^| quired the density d, the quantity is Cd; therefore the +i,» —— quantity which has run out in the time t must be the fluxpie and convenient expression. Hitherto we have considered the motion of air as pro- ion of CD—Ce/, or —Cd. Therefore we have the equation duced by its weight only. Let us now consider the effect —C^ C d of its elasticity. Sv^HOcfe = —Cd, and t = SVHOc/ "8VHO The effect Let ABCD (fig. 73) be a vessel containing air of any of the air’s density D. This air is in a state of compression; and if C log. ipes’ ’c> this value of S in the former value of e, we have X of quantity passing through a hole in a thin plate that is ob/5Pg—D)—A(Q—g)] , which gives the relation be- served in water. We know that, abating the small effect of friction, water issues with the velocity acquired by fallqB(Q,—D) ing from the surface; and yet if we calculate by this velocity tween the velocity v and the density q. and by the area of the orifice, we shall find the quantity of In order to ascertain the time when the air in ABCD water deficient nearly in the proportion of 63 to 100. This has acquired the density q, it will be convenient to abridge is owing to the wrater pressing towards the orifice from all the work by some substitutions. Therefore make G(B+A) sides, which occasions a contraction of the jet. The same N —M, BQD-j-BQ.2=N, BO—BD=R and M Then, thing happens in the efflux of air. Also the motion of water is greatly impeded by all contractions of its passage. These proceeding as before; we obtain the fluxionary equation oblige it to accelerate its velocity, and therefore require an increase of pressure to force it through them, and this in Vm? -N i— ACT—g = —Ag, whence proportion to the squares of the velocities. Thus, if a maS^HOgVRVg chine working a pump causes it to give a certain number of AVR of which the fluent, complet- strokes in a minute, it will deliver a determined quantity of water in that time. Should it happen that the passage of Sv'HOv'M ' V q-—mg the water is contracted to one half in any part of the maAVR ed so that t—o when g = Q, is tz SV'HOV'M X.log- chine, a thing which frequently happens at the valves, the water must move through this contraction with twice the /Q—^m+V(Q^mQ)j velocity that it has in the rest of the passage. This will require four times the force to be exerted on the piston. Nay, \ g—+V,(g2mg) if no part of the passage is narrower than the barrel of the i Vhen air Some of these questions are of difficult solution, and they 3 expelled ^ not °f frequent use in the more important and usual ap- pump, but on the contrary a part much wider, and if the coniy force, plications of the doctrines of pneumatics, at least in their duit be again contracted to the width of the barrel, an addipresent form. The cases of greatest use are when the air tional force must be applied to the piston to drive the water is expelled from a vessel by an external force, as when bel- through this passage, which would not have been necessary lows are worked, whether of the ordinary form or consisting if the passage had not been widened in any part. It will of a cylinder fitted with a movement piston. This last case require a force equal to the weight of a column of water of the merits a particular consideration ; and, fortunately, the inves- height necessary for communicating a velocity, the square of which is equal to the difference of the squares of the velocities tigation is extremely easy. Let AD (fig. 73) be considered as a piston moving down- of the water in the wide and the narrow part of the conduit. The same thing takes place in the motion of air, and thereward with die uniform velocity f and let the area of the piston be n times the area of the hole of efflux, then the ve- fore all contractions and dilatations must be carefully avoidlocity of efflux arising from the motion of the piston be nf. ed, when we want to preserve the velocity unimpaired. Air also suffers the same retardation in its motion along A'r su^ers Add this to the velocity V produced by the elasticity of the air in the first question, and the whole velocity will be V-f «/. pipes. By not knowing, or not attending to that, engineers 3retardation It will be the same in the other. The problem is also freed of the first reputation have been prodigiously disappointed °Iit’ from the consideration of the time of efflux. F or this depends in their expectations of the quantity of air which will be denow on the velocity of the piston. It is still, however, a very livered by long pipes. Its extreme mobility and lightness intricate problem to ascertain the relation between the time hindered them from suspecting that it would suffer any senand the density,even though the piston is moving uniformly; sible retardation. Dr. Papin, a most ingenious man, profor at the beginning of the motion the air is of common density. posed this as the most effectual method of transferring the As the piston descends, it both expels and compresses the action of a moving power to a great distance. Suppose, for air, and the density of the air in the vessel varies in a vqry instance, that it was required to raise water out of a mine intricate manner, as also its resistance or reaction on the by a water-machine, and that there was no fall of wTater piston. For this reason, a piston which moves uniformly by nearer than a mile’s distance. He employed this water to means of an external force, will never make an uniform blast drive a piston, which should compress the air in a cylinder by successive strokes; it will always be weaker at the be- communicating, by a long pipe, with another cylinder at the ginning of the stroke. The best way for securing an uniform mouth of the mine. This second cylinder had a piston in blast is to employ the external force only for lifting up the it, whose rod was to give motion to the pumps at the mine, niston, and then to let the piston descend by its own weight. He expected, that as soon as the piston at the water-machine

no Air in

PNEUM A T I C S. had compressed the air sufficiently, it would cause the air in shall see by the experiments which have been made on the Air it the cylinder at the mine to force up its piston, and thus work subject; and as our experiments on the compression of air the pumps. Dr. Hooke made many objections tor the me- shew us the particles of air ten times nearer to each other ^ thod, when laid before the Royal Society, and it w as much in some cases than in others (viz. when we see air a thousand debated there. But dynamics was at this time an infant times denser in these cases), and therefore force us to acscience, and very little understood. Newton had not then knowledge that they are not in contact; it is plain that this taken any part in the business of the society, otherwise the obstruction has no analogy to friction, which supposes roughtrue objections would not have escaped his sagacious mind. ness or inequality of surface. No such inequality can be Notwithstanding Papin’s great reputation as an engineer and supposed in the surface of an aerial particle ; nor would it mechanic, he could not bring his scheme into use in Eng- be of any service in explaining the obstruction, since the land ; but afterwards, in France and in Germany, where he particles do not rub on each other, but pass each other at settled, he got some persons of great fortunes to employ him some small and imperceptible distance. We must therefore in this project; and he erected great machines in Auvergne have recourse to some other mode of explication. We shall and Westphalia for draining mines. But, so far from being apply this to air only in this place; and, since it is proved effective machines, they would not even begin to move. He by the incontrovertible experiments of Canton, Zimmerman, attributed the failure to the quantity of air in the pipe of and others, that water, mercury, oil, &c., are also comprescommunication, wdiich must be condensed before it can con- sible and perfectly elastic, the argument from this principle, dense the air in the remote cylinder. This indeed is true, which is conclusive in air, must equally explain the similar and he should have thought of this earlier. He therefore phenomenon in hydraulics. diminished the size of this pipe, and made his water-machine The most highly polished body which wre know must be Particles exhaust instead of condensing, and had no doubt but that conceived as having an uneven surface when we compare it of air resist the immense velocity with which air rushes into a void would with the small spaces in which the corpuscular forces are a change make a rapid and effectual communication of power. But exerted ; and a quantity of air moving in a polished pipe may from a rec he was equally disappointed here, and the machine at the be compared to a quantity of small shot sliding down a chan- tillIleaJ t]° mine stood still as before. nel with undulated sides and bottom. The row of particles ting mo-4 Nearly a century after this, a very intelligent engineer immediately contiguous to the sides will therefore have an ti'on. attempted a much more feasible thing of this kind at an iron- undulated motion: but this undulation of the contiguous founderyin Wales. He erected a machine at a powerful fall particles of air will not be so great as that of the surface of water, which worked a set of cylinder bellows, the blow- along which they glide ; for not only every motion requires pipe of which w as conducted to the distance of a mile and force to produce it, but also every change of motion. The ’ a half, where it was applied to a blast furnace. But not- particles of air resist this change from a rectilineal to an un. I 1 withstanding every care to make the conducting pipe very dulating motion ; and, being elastic, that is, repelling each air-tight, of great size, and as smooth as possible, it would other and other bodies, they keep a little nearer to the surhardly blow out a candle. The failure was ascribed to the face as they are passing over an eminence, and their path is impossibility of making the pipe air-tight. But, what was less incurvated than the surface. The difference between surprising, above ten minutes elapsed after the action of the the motion of the particles of air and the particles of a fluid pistons in the bellows before the least wind could be per- quite unelastic is, in this respect, somewhat like the differceived at the end of the pipe; whereas the engineer ex- ence between the motion of a spring-carriage and that of a pected an interval of six seconds only. common carriage. When the common carriage passes along No very distinct theory can be delivered on this subject; a road not perfectly smooth, the line described by the cenbut we may derive considerable assistance in understanding tre of gravity of the carriage keeps perfectly parallel to that the causes of the obstruction to the motion of water in long described by the axis of the wheels, rising and falling along pipes, by considering what happens to air. The elasticity with it. Now" let a spring body be put on the same wheels of the air, and its great compressibility, have given us the and pass along the same road. When the axis rises over an distinctest notions of fluidity in general, shewing us, in a eminence perhaps half an inch, sinks down again into the way that can hardly be controverted, that the particles of a next hollow", and then rises a second time, and so on, the fluid are kept at a distance from each other, and from other centre of gravity of the body describes a much straighter bodies, by the corpuscular forces. line ; for upon the rising of the wheels, the body resists the How fluids The writers on hydrodynamics have always considered the motion, and compresses the springs, and thus remains lower are obobstruction to the motion of fluids along canals of any kind, than it w^ould have been had the springs not been interou n t0 moving ^ 418 so ? » something like the friction by which the motion posed. In like manner, it does not sink so low as the axle along ca^ bodies on each other is obstructed ; but we cannot does when the wheels go into a hollow". And thus the morm t0 aalsf f° ourselves any distinct notion of resemblance, or even tion of spring-carriages becomes less violently undulated analogy between them. The fact is, however, that a fluid than the road along which they pass. This illustration will, running along a canal has its motion obstructed ; and that w-e hope, enable the reader to conceive how- the deviation this obstruction is greatest in the immediate vicinity of the of the particles next to the sides and bottom of the canal solid canal, and gradually diminishes to the middle of the from a rectilineal motion is less than that of the canal itself. stream. It appears, therefore, that the parts of fluids can no It is evident that the same reasoning will prove that the more move among each other than among solid bodies, with- undulation of the next row of particles will be less than that out suffering a diminution of their motion. The parts in phy- of the first, that the undulation of the third row will be less sical contact with the sides and bottom are retarded by these than that of the second, and so on, immoveable bodies. The particles of the next stratum of as is represented in fig. 75. And Fig. 75. fluid cannot preserve their initial velocities without over- thus it appears, that whilst the mass passing the particles of the first stratum; and it appears from of air has a progressive motion die fact that they are by this means retarded. They retard along the pipe or canal, each parin the same manner the particles of the third stratum, and tide is describing a waving line, of which a line parallel to so on to the middle stratum or thread of fluid. It appears the direction of the canal is the axis, cutting all these unfrom the fact, therefore, that this sort of friction is not a dulations. This axis of each undulated path will be straight consequence of rigidity alone, but that it is equally compe- or curved as the canal is, and the excursions of the path on tent to fluids. Nay, since it is a matter of fact in air, and each side of its axis vrill be less and less as the axis of the is even more remarkable there than in any other fluid, as we path is nearer to the axis of the canal.

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Ill PNEUMATICS. Air in Let us now see what sensible effect this will have ; for all is in addition to the force necessary for producing the un- motion. dulations so minutely treated of. The consequence of this the motion which we here speak of is imperceptible. It is demonstrated in mechanics, that if a body moving with any must be, that an additional force will be necessary for pre-' velocity be deflected from its rectilineal path by a curved serving a given progressive motion in a longer obstructing and perfectly smooth channel, to which the rectilineal path pipe, and that the motion produced in a pipe of greater length is a tangent, it will proceed along this channel with undi- by a given force will be less than in a shorter one, and the minished velocity. Now the path, in the present case, may efflux will be diminished. There is another consideration which must have an inbe considered as perfectly smooth, since the particles do not touch it It is one of the undulations which we are consi- fluence here. Nothing is more irrefragably demonstrated dering, and we may at present conceive this as without any than the necessity of an additional force for producing an subordinate inequalities. There should not, therefore, be efflux through any contraction, even though it should be any diminution of the velocity. Let us grant this of the ab- succeeded by a dilatation of the passage. Now both the solute velocity of the particle ; but what we observe is the inequalities of the sides and the undulations of the motions velocity of the mass, and we judge of it perhaps by the mo- of each particle are equivalent to a succession of contraction of a feather carried along by it. Let us suppose a sin- tions and dilatations ; although each of these is next to ingle atom to be a sensible object, and let us attend to two finitely small; their number is also next to infinitely great, such particles, one at the side, and the other in the middle: and therefore the total effect may be sensible. We have hitherto supposed that the absolute velocity of There are although we cannot perceive the undulations of these partiother ob-fS cles during their progressive motions, we see the progressive the particles was not diminished; this we did, having as-struct ‘°' ’ motions themselves. Let us suppose, then, that the middle sumed that the interval of each undulation of the sides awas so particle has moved without any undulation whatever, and without inequalities. But this was gratuitous; it was ^ asperities^ that it has advanced ten feet. The lateral particle will also gratuitous that the sides were only undulated. We have have moved ten feet; but this has not been in a straight no reason for excluding angular asperities. These will proline. It will not be so far advanced, therefore, in the direc- duce, and most certainly often produce, real diminutions in tion of the canal; it will be left behind, and will appear to the velocity of the contiguous particles; and this must exus to have been retarded in its motion; and in like manner tend to the very axis of the canal, and produce a diminueach thread of particles will apparently be more and more tion of the sum total of motion; and in order to preserve retarded, as it recedes farther from the axis of the canal, or the same sensible progressive motion, a greater force must be employed. This is all that can be meant by saying that what is usually called the thread of the stream. 'he unduAnd thus the observed fact is shewn to be a necessary there is a resistance to the motion of air through long pipes. m tory °- consequence of what we know to be the nature of a comThere' remains another cause of diminution, viz. the want on is a pressible or elastic fluid; and that without supposing any of perfect fluidity, whether arising from the dissemination al obruction. diminution in the real velocity of each particle, there will of solid particles in a real fluid, or from the viscidity of the be a diminution of the velocity of the sensible threads of the fluid. We shall not insist on this at present, because it general stream, and a diminution of the whole quantity of cannot be shown to obtain in air, at least in any case which deserves consideration. It seems of no importance to deair which passes along it during a given time. Let us now suppose a parcel of air impelled along a pipe, termine the motion of air hurrying along with it soot or which perfectly smooth, out of a larger vessel, and issuing dust. The effect of fogs on a particular modification of the from this pipe with a certain velocity. It requires a certain motion of air will be considered under another head. What force to change its velocity in the vessel to the greater ve- has been said on this subject is sufficient for our purpose, as locity which it has in the pipe. This is abundantly demon- explaining the prodigious and unexpected obstruction to strated. How long soever we suppose this pipe, there will the passage of air through long and narrow pipes. We are be no change in the velocity, or in the force to keep it up. able to collect an important maxim from it, viz. that all But let us suppose that about the middle of this pipe there pipes of communication should be made as wide as circumis a part of it which has suddenly got an undulated surface, stances will permit; for it is plain that the obstruction dehowever imperceptible. Let us further suppose that the pends on the internal surface, and the force to overcome it final velocity of the middh^ thread is the same as before. must be in proportion to the mass of matter which is in moIn this case it is evident that the sum total of the motions tion. The first increases as the diameter of the pipe, and of all the particles is greater than before, because the abso- the last as the square. The obstruction must therefore bear lute motions of the lateral particles is greater than that of a greater proportion to the whole motion in a small pipe the central particle, which we suppose the same as before. than in a large one. It were very desirable to know the law by which the re- The law of This absolute increase of motion cannot be without an inretardation crease of propelling force: the force acting now, therefore, tardation extends from the axis to the sides of the canal, unknown must be greater than the force acting formerly. Therefore, and the proportion which subsists between the lengths of if only the former force had continued to act, the same mo- the canal and the forces necessary for overcoming the obtion of the central particle could not have been preserved, structions when the velocity is given ; as also whether the or the progressive motion of the whole stream must be di- proportion of the obstruction to the whole motion varies minished. And thus we see that this internal insensible with the velocity; but all this is unknown. It does not, undulatory motion becomes a real obstruction to the sen- however, seem a desperate case in air ; we know pretty dissible motion which we observe, and occasions an expense tinctly the law of action among its particles, viz. that their of power. mutual repulsions are inversely as their distances. This Let us see what will be the consequence of extending promises to enable us to trace the progress of undulation n addi)nal force this obstructing surface further along the canal. It must from the sides of the canal to the axis. ■cessary evidently be accompanied by an augmentation of the moWe can see that the retardations will not increase so fast Jlie rate °f rpreserv-tion produced, if the central velocity be still kept up ; for as the square of the velocity. Were the fluid incompres-^"c^se no,: ^gressive t^ie Partieles which are now in contact with the sides do not sible, so that the undulatory path of a particle were invari- gf}uare otion. continue to occupy that situation. The middle particles able, the deflecting forces by which each individual particle tl}ie Velocimoving faster forward get over them, and in their turn come is made to describe its undulating path would be precisely ties, next the side ; and as they are really moving equally fast, such as arise from the path itself and the motion in it; for but not in the direction into which they are now to be forced, each particle would be in the situation of a body moving force is necessary for changing the direction also ; and this along a fixed path. But in a very compressible fluid, such

PNEUMATICS. as air, each particle may be considered as a solitary body, it is interesting. In all languages it has got a name; we Velocity cj actuated by a projectile and a transverse force, arising from call it wind; and it is only upon reflection that we consider win(f the action of the adjoining particles. Its motion must de- air as wind in a quiescent state. Many persons hardly know ■ y'^’ pend on the adjustment of these forces, in the same man- what is meant when air is mentioned; but they cannot rener as the elliptical motion of a planet depends on the ad- fuse that the blast from a bellows is the expulsion of what justment of the force of projection, with a gravitation in- they contained ; and thus they learn that wind is air in moversely proportional to the square of the distance from the tion. focus. The transverse force in the present case has its oriIt is of consequence to know the velocity of wind; but The velogin in the pressure on the air which is propelling it along no good and unexceptionable method has been contrived for c'ty of wind the pipe ; this, by squeezing the particles together, brings this purpose. The best seems to be by measuring the space their mutual repulsion into action. Now it is the property passed over by the shadow of a cloud ; but this is extremely of a perfect fluid, that a pressure exerted on any part of it fallacious. In the first place, it is certain, that although we is propagated equally through the whole fluid; therefore suppose that the cloud has the velocity of the air in which the transverse forces which are excited by this pressure are it is carried along, this is not an exact measure of the curproportional to the pressure itself; and we know that the rent on the surface of the earth ; we may be almost certain pressures exerted on the surface of a fluid, so as to expel that it is greater; for air, like all other fluids, is retarded by it through any orifice, or along any canal, are proportional the sides and bottom of the channel in which it moves. But, to the squares of the velocities which they produce. There- in the next place, it is very gratuitous to suppose, that the fore, in every point of the undulatory motion of any par- velocity of the cloud is the velocity of the stratum of air ticle, the transverse force by which it is deflected into a between the cloud and the earth ; we are almost certain that curve is proportional to the square of its velocity. When it is not. It is abundantly proved by Dr. Hutton of Edinthis is the case, a body would continue to describe the same burgh, that clouds are always formed wdien two parcels of curve as before; but, by the very compression, the curva- air of different temperatures mix together, each containing tures are increased, supposing them to remain similar. This a proper quantity of vapour in the state of chemical soluwould require an increase of the transverse forces ; but this tion. We know that different strata of air will frequently is not to be found; therefore the particle will not describe flow in different directions for a long time. In 1781, whilst a similar curve, but one which is less incurvated in all its a great fleet rendezvoused in Leith Roads during the Dutch parts ; consequently the progressive velocity of the whole, war, there was a brisk easterly wind for about five weeks ; which is the only thing perceivable by us, will not be so and, during the last fortnight of this period, there was a brisk much diminished ; that is, the obstructions will not increase westerly current at the height of about three-fourths of a so fast as they would otherwise do, or as the squares of the mile. This was distinctly indicated by frequent fleecy clouds at a great distance above a lower stratum of these clouds, velocities. This reasoning is equally applicable to all fluids, and is which wrere driving all this time from the eastward. A genabundantly confirmed by experiments in hydraulics, as we tleman who was present at the siege of Quebec in 1759, statshall see when considering the motion of rivers. We have ed that one day whilst there blew a gale from the west, so taken this opportunity of delivering our notions on this sub- hard that the ships at anchor in the river were obliged to and it was with the utmost difficulty ject ; because, as wre have often said, it is in the avowed strike their topmasts, T discrete constitution of air that we see most distinctly the that some w ell-manned boats could row against it, carrying operation of those natural powers which constitute fluidity some artillery stores to a post above the town, several shells w'ere thrown from the town to destroy the boats; one of the in general. Bossut’s We wrould beg leave to mention a form of experiment shells burst in the air near the top of its flight, which was experifor discovering the law of retardation with considerable ac- about half a mile high. The smoke of this bomb remained ments on curacy. Experiments have been made on pipes and canals. in the same spot for above a qaarter of an hour, like a great pipes and M. Bossut, in his Hydrodynatnique, has given a very beauti- round ball, and gradually dissipated by diffusion, w ithout recanals. ful set made on pipes of an inch and two inches in diameter, moving many yards from its place. When, therefore, two and 200 feet in length ; but although these experiments are strata of air come from different quarters, and one of them very instructive, they do not give us any rule by which we flows over the other, it will be only in the contiguous surcan extend the result to pipes of greater length and differ- faces that a precipitation of vapour wall be made. This will form a thin fleecy cloud; and it will have a velocity and dient diameters. Let a smooth cylinder be set upright in a very large ves- rection which neither belongs to the upper nor to the lower sel or pond, and be moveable round its axis ; let it be turn- stratum of air which produced it. Should one of these strata ed round by means of a wheel and pulley with an uniform come from the east and the other from the west with equal motion and determined velocity. It will exert the same velocities, the cloud formed between them will have no moforce on the contiguous wTater which would be exerted on it tion at all; should one come from the east, and the other by water turning round it with the same velocity ; and as from the north, the cloud will move from the north-east with this water would have its motion gradually retarded by the a greater velocity than either of the strata. So uncertain fixed cylinder, so the moving cylinder will gradually com- then is the information given by the clouds either of the municate motion to the surrounding water. We should ob- velocity or the direction of the wind. A thick smoke from serve the water gradually dragged round by it; and the a furnace will give us a much less equivocal measure ; and vortex would extend farther and farther from it as the mo- this, combined with the effects of the wind in impelling botion is continued, and the velocities of the parts of the vor- dies, or deflecting a loaded plane from the perpendicular, or tex will be less and less as we recede from the axis. Now, other effects of this kind, may give us measures of the difwe apprehend, that when a point of the surface of the cy- ferent currents of wind with a precision sufficient for all linder has moved 200 feet, the motion of the water at dif- practical uses. The celebrated engineer, Mr. John Smeaton, has given, The result ferent distances from it will be similar and proportional to, of Smeaif not precisely the same with, retardations of water flow- in the 51st volume of the Philosophical Transactions, theton s 0 ^ ing 200 feet at the same distance from the side of a canal; velocities of wind corresponding to the usual denominations S€rvatlons ' at any rate, the two are susceptible of an accurate compari- in our language. These are founded on a great number 0f son, and the law of retardation may be accurately deduced observations made by himself in the course of his practice in erecting wind-mills. They are contained in the followfrom observations made on the motions of this vortex. Air in motion is a very familiar object of observation ; and ing table:— Wind.

112

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PNEUMATICS. 11: Miles Feet that the scale of this instrument is extremely short, and that Velocity of Names. per hour. per second. it would be a great improvement of it to make the leg CD wind, 1 not perpendicular, but very much sloping ; or perhaps the ’ 1*47 2 following form of the instrument will give it all the perfec2*93 ) Light airs. tion of which it is capable. f Let 440 3 the horizontal branch AB ) (fig. Fig. 77. 4 587 Breeze. 77) be contracted at B, and con5 7-33 f tinued horizontally for several 10 14-67 \ Brisk gale. inches BG of a much smaller 22- J 15 29-34 j bore, and then turned down 20 Fresh gale. for two or three inches GC, e 25 36-57 / and then upwards with a wide 30 44-01 | Strong gale. bore. To use the instrument, / 51-34/ 35 hold it with the part DC per58-68 ^ 40 Hard gale. pendicular ; and (having shel66-01 J 45 tered the mouth A from the 50 73-35 / Storm. wind) pour in water at D till it 88-02 / 60 J Hurricane, tearing up trees,1 advances along GB to the point B, which is made the be117-36 80 ^ overturning buildings, &C. ginning of the scale ; the water in the upright branch stand146-70 100 ccount of One of the most ingenious and convenient methods for ing at F in the same horizontal line with BG. Now, turn r. Lind’s measuring the velocity of the wind is to employ its pressure the mouth A to the wind ; the air in AB will be compresslemome- in supporting a column of water, in the same way as Mr. ed and will force the water along BG to F, and cause it to r Pitot measures the velocity of a current of water. We be- rise from/to E ; and the range/E will be to the range BF lieve that it was first proposed by Dr. James Lind of Wind- on the scale as the section of the tube BG to that of CD. sor, a gentleman eminent for his great knowledge in all the Thus, if the width of DC be half an inch, and that of BG branches of natural science, and for his ingenuity in every l-10th, we shall have 25 inches in the scale for one inch of real pressure E / matter of experiment or practical application. But it has not been demonstrated in a very satisfactory His anemometer consists of a glass tube of manner, that the velocity of the wind is that acquired by the form ABCD (fig. 76), open at both ends, Fig. 76. falling through the height of a column of air whose weight and having the branch AB at right angles is equal to that of the column of water E/ Experiments to the branch CD. This tube contains a few made with Pitot’s tube in currents of water show that seveinches of water or any fluid (the lighter the ral corrections are necessary for conducting the velocity of better) ; it is held with the part CD upright, the current from the elevations in the tube : these correcand AB horizontal and in the direction of the tions may however be made, and safely applied to the prewind ; that is, with the mouth A fronting the J? sent case; and then the instrument will enable us to conwind. The wind acts in the way of pressure ' clude the velocity of the wind immediately, without any on the air in AB, compresses it, and causes it fundamental comparison of the elevation, with a velocity acto press on the surface of the liquor ; forcing J tually determined upon other principles. The chief use it down to F, whilst it rises to E in the other which we have for this information is in our employment of leg. The velocity of the wind is concluded from the difference Ef between the heights of the liquor in the wind as an impelling power, by which we can actuate malegs. As the wind does not generally blow with uniform chinery or navigate ships. These are very important applivelocity, the liquor is apt to dance in the tube, and render cations of pneumatical doctrines, and merit a particular conthe observation difficult and uncertain; to remedy this, it is sideration ; and this naturally brings us to the last part of proper to contract very much the communication at C be- our subject, viz. the consideration of the impulse of air on tween the two legs. If the tube has half an inch of diameter, bodies exposed to its action, and the resistance which it opand it should not have less, a hole of l-50th of an inch is poses to the passage of bodies through it. This is a subject of the greatest importance, being the This sublarge enough ; indeed the hole can hardly be too small, nor foundation of that art which has done the greatest honourject importhe tubes too large. tant t,ut This instrument is extremely ingenious, and will undoubt- to the ingenuity of man, and the greatest service to human edly give the proportions of the velocities of different cur- society, by connecting together the most distant inhabitants rents with the greatest precision; for in whatever way the of this globe, and making a communication of benefits which pressure of wind is produced by its motion, we are certain would otherwise have been impossible ; we mean the art of that the different pressures are as the squares of the veloci- Navigation or Seamanship. Of all the machines which huties ; if, therefore, we can obtain one certain measure of the man art has constructed, a ship is not only the greatest and velocity of the wind, and observe the degree to which the most magnificent, but also the most ingenious and intricate ; pressure produced by it raises the liquor, we can at all other and the clever seaman possesses a knowledge founded on times observe the pressures and compute the velocities from the most difficult and abstruse doctrines of mechanics. The them, making proper allowances for the temperature and the seaman probably cannot give any account of his own sciheight of the mercury in the barometer; because the velo- ence ; and he possesses it rather by a kind of intuition than city will be in the subduplicate ratio of the density of the by any process of reasoning ; but the success and efficiency air inversely when the pressure is the same. of all the mechanism of this complicated engine, and the It is usually concluded, that the velocity of the wind is propriety of all the manoeuvres which the seaman practises, that which would be acquired by falling from a height which depend on the invariable laws of mechanics ; and a thorough is to E/as the weight of water is to that of an equal bulk knowledge of these would enable an intelligent person not of air. Thus, supposing air to be 840 times lighter than only to understand the machine and the manner of working water, and that E/‘is 9-10ths of an inch, the velocity will it, but to improve both. be about 63 feet per second, which is that of a very hard Unfortunately this is a subject of very great difficulty; and gale, approaching to a storm. Hence we see by the bye, although it has employed the genius of Newton, who has con-

elocity of wind.

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VOL. XVIII.

See also some valuable experiments by him on this subject, Philosophical Transactions, 1760 and 1761.

PNEUMATICS. 114 Velocity of sidered it with great care, and his followers have added more city of the wind, as the square of the sine of the angle o/Velocity (i wind, [q ])is labours on this subject than on any other, it still remains incidence, and as the sine of the obliquity jointly, which we wai(i- 2 s in a very imperfect state. A minute discussion of this subject may express by the symbol R=S V ' sin?’ I* sin. O ; and' ^^V^* cannot therefore be expected in a work like this ; we must as the impulse depends on the density of the impelling fluid, take in every circumstance by the equation R=S‘ content ourselves with such a general statement of the most we may 2 approved doctrine on the subject as shall enable our readers D-V - sin?’ !• sin. O. If the impulse be estimated in the to conceive it distinctly, and judge with intelligence and con- direction of the stream, the angle of obliquity ACD is the fidence of the practical deductions which may be made from it. same with the angle of incidence, and the impulse in this direction is as the surface, as the square of the velocity, and Suppose then a plane suras the cube of the angle of incidence jointly. face, of which aC (fig. 78), is Fig. 78. It evidently follows from these premises, that if AC A' be the section, exposed to the aca wedge, of which the base AA7 is perpendicular to the tion of a stream of wind blowwind, and the angle ACA' bisected by its direction, the ing in the direction Q,C, perdirect or perpendicular impulse on the base is to the oblique pendicular to aC. The motion impulse on the sides as radius to the square of the sine of of the wind will be obstructed, half the angle ACA'. and the surface aC pressed forThe same must be affirmed of a pyramid or cone AC A', ward. And as all impulse or of which the axis is in the direction of the wind. pressure is exerted in a direcIf ACA' (fig. 79,) represent the section of a solid, protion perpendicular to the surface, and is resisted in the opposite direction, the surface duced by the revolution of a curve line will be impelled in the direction CD, the continuation of APC round the axis CD, which lies in the QC. And as the mutual actions of bodies depend on their direction of the wind, the impulse on this relative motions, the force acting on the surface aC will be body may be compared with the direct imthe same, if we shall suppose the air at rest, and the surface pulse on this base, or the resistance to the moving equally swift in the opposite direction. Ihe resis- motion of this body through the air may tance of the air to the motion of the body will be equal to be compared with the direct resistance of the impulse of the air in the former case. Thus resistance its base, by resolving its surface into elementary planes Pp, which are coincident and impulse are equal and contrary. Air moving If the air be moving twice as fast, its particles will give a with a tangent plane PR, and comparing with a dou- double impulse ; but in this case a double number of parti- the impulse on P p with the direct impulse ble velocity cies win exert their impulse in the same time. The impulse on the corresponding part K A of the base. generally therefore be fourfold, and in general it will be as the In this way it follows that the impulse on a sphere is one half of the impulse on its great circle, or on the base of a sc uare the''square l °velocity ; or if the air and body be both in cylinder of equal diameter. of that ve- motion, the impulse and resistance will be proportional to We shall conclude this sketch of the doctrine with a very locity. the square of the relative velocity. This is the first proposition on the subject, and it appears very consistent to rea- important proposition to determine the most advantageous son. There will therefore be some analogy between the position of a plane surface, when required to move in one force of the air’s impulse or the resistance of a body, and direction while it is impelled by the wind blowing in a difthe weight of a column of air incumbent on the surface ; ferent direction. Thus, Let AB (fig. 80) be the sail of a ship, CA the direction Inference for it is a principle in the action of fluids, that the heights from this of the columns of fluid are as the squares of the velocities in which the wind blows, doctrine. Fig. 80. which their pressures produce. Accordingly, the second and AD the line of the proposition is, that the absolute impulse of a stream of air, ship’s course. It is requirblowing perpendicularly on any surface, is equal to the ed to place the yard AC weight of a column of air which has that surface for its base, in such a position that the and for its height the space through which a body must fall in impulse of the wind upon the sail may have the order to acquire the velocity of the air. Thirdly, Suppose the surface AC equal to aC no longer greatest effect possible in to be perpendicular to the stream of air, but inclined to it impelling the ship along AD. Let AB, Ab, be two positions of the sail very near the in the angle A CD, which we shall call the angle of incidence ; then, by the resolution of forces, it follows, that the best position, but on opposite sides of it. Draw BE, b e, action of each particle is diminished in the proportion of ra- perpendicular to CA, and BF, b f perpendicular to AD, dius to the sine of the angle of incidence, or of AC to AL, calling AB radius ; it is evident that BE, BF, are the sines of impulse and obliquity, and that the effective impulse is AL being perpendicular to CD. 2 2 Again: Draw AK parallel to CD. It is plain that no BE x BF, or e X & f This must be a maximum. Let the points B, b, continually approach and ultimately air lying farther from CD than KA is will strike the plane. The quantity of impulse therefore is diminished still farther coincide; the chord b B will ultimately coincide with a in the proportion of aC to KC, or of AC to AL. There- straight line CBD touching the circle in B ; the triangles similar, as also the triangles DBF, T) b f: fore, on the whole, the absolute impulse is diminished in CBE, c b e are 2 2 2 2 the proportion of AC2 to AL2 : hence the proposition, that therefore2 BE : b e 2=BC : b c2 , and BF: b2 f—BD : b t>; the impulse and resistance of a given surface are in the pro- and BE x BF : 6 e X 6 /= CB x BD : c 6 x 6D. 2 Thereportion of the square of the sine of the angle of incidence. fore when AB is2 in the best position, so that BE X BF is than b e x b f we shall have CB x BD greater than Fourthly, This impulse is in the direction PL, perpendi- greater 2 2 cular to the impelled surface, and the surface tends to move Cb X &D, or cB x BD is also a maximum. This we know in this direction : but suppose it moveable only in some other to be the case when CB—2BD : therefore the sail must be direction PO that we wish to employ this impulse, its action so placed that the tangent of the angle of incidence shall is therefore oblique ; and if we wish to know the intensity be double of the tangent of the angle of the sail and keel. In a common windmill the angle CAD is necessarily a of the impulse in this direction, it must be diminished still farther in the proportion of radius to the cosine of the angle right angle ; for the sail moves in a circle to which the wind LPO or sine of CPO. Hence the general proposition : The is perpendicular: therefore the best angle of the sail and effective impulse is as the surface, as the square of the velo- axle will be 54° 44' nearly.

7

PNEUMATICS. 115 Impulse on a Velocity of Velocity Impulse on a Velocity I Velocity of Such is the theory of the resistance and impulse of the foot in pounds wind. in feet. vv 1< foot in pounds. in feet. h h air. It is extremely simple and of easy application. In all 27,675 8,234 110 60 physical theories there are assumptions which depend on 32,926 120 11,207 70 other principles, and those on the judgment of the natur38,654 130 14,638 80 alist ; so that it is always proper to confront the theory with 44,830 140 18,526 90 experiment. There are even circumstances in the present 51,462 22,872 150 100 case which have not been attended to in the theory. When a stream of air is obstructed by a solid body, or when a If we multiply the square of the velocity in feet by 16, solid body moves along in air, the air is condensed before it and rarefied behind. There is therefore a pressure on the the product will be the impidse or resistance on a square anterior parts arising from this want of equilibrium in the foot in grains, according to Mr. Rouse’s numbers. The greatest deviation from the theory occurs in the elasticity of the air. This must be superadded to the force arising from the impetus or inertia of the air. We cannot oblique impulses. Mr. Robins compared the resistance of tell with precision what may be the amount of this conden- a wedge, whose angle was 90°, with the resistance of its sation ; it depends on the velocity with which any conden- base ; and instead of finding it less in the proportion of to 1, as determined by the theory, he found it greater sation diffuses itself. Also, if the motion be so rapid that the pressure of the atmosphere cannot make the air im- in the proportion of 55 to 68 nearly ; and when he formed mediately occupy the place quitted by the body, it will sus- the body into a pyramid, of which the sides had the same tain this pressure on its fore part to be added to the other surface and the same inclination as the sides of the wedge, the resistance of the base and face were now as 55 to 39 forces. The prin- Experiments on this subjects are by no means numerous ; nearly ; so that here the same surface with the same inclipal expe- a|. ]easf sucp, experiments as can be dependend on for the nation had its resistance reduced from 68 to 39 by being iiTsiibject foundation of any practical application. The first that have put into this form. Similar deviations occur in the experithis character are those published by Mr. Robins in 1742, ments of the Chevalier Borda; and it may be collected from in his Treatise on Gunnery. They were repeated with some both, that the resistances diminish more nearly in the proadditions by the Chevalier Borda, and some account of them portion of the sines of incidence than in the proportion of published in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences in the squares of those sines. The irregularity in the resistance of curved surfaces is as 1763. In the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, vol. Ixxiii., there are some experi- great as in plane surfaces. In general, the theory gives the ments of the same kind on a larger scale by Mr. Edge- oblique impulses on plane surfaces much too small, and the worth. These were all made in the way described in our impulses on curved surfaces too great. The resistance of a account of Mr. Robins’s improvements in gunnery. Bo- sphere does not exceed the fourth part of the resistance of dies were made to move with determined velocities, and its great circle, instead of being its half; but the anomaly the resistances were measured by weights. In all these ex- is such as to leave hardly any room for calculation. It periments the resistances were found very exactly in the would be very desirable to have the experiments on this proportion of the squares of the velocities; but they w'ere subject repeated in a greater variety of cases, and on larger found considerably greater than the weight of the column surfaces, so that the errors of the experiments may be of of air, whose height would produce the velocity in a fall- less consequence. Till this matter is reduced to some rule, ing body. Mr. Robins’s experiments on a square of 16 the art of working ships must remain very imperfect, as inches, describing 25.2 feet per second, indicate the resis- must also the construction of windmills. The case in which we are most interested in the knowtance to be to this weight nearly as 4 to 3. Borda’s exresjs_ periments on the same surface state the disproportion still ledge of the resistance of the air is the motion of bullets tance 0f a{r and shells. Writers on artillery have long been sensible in the mogreater. of proThe resistances are found not to be in the proportion of of the great effect of the air’s resistance. It seems to have tion ect es the surfaces, but increase considerably faster. Surfaces of been this consideration that chiefly engaged Sir Isaac New-j h ' 9, 16, 36, and 81 inches, moving with one velocity, had re- ton to consider the motion of bodies in a resisting medium. A proposistion or two would have sufficed for showing the sistances in the proportion of 9> 17-j, 42£, and 104|. Now as this deviation from the proportion of the surfaces incompatibility of the planetary motions with the supposiincreases with great regularity, it is most probable that it tion that the celestial spaces were filled with a fluid matcontinues to increase in surfaces of still greater extent; and ter ; but he has with great solicitude considered the motion these are the most generally to be met with in practice in of a body projected on the surface of the earth, and its deviation from the parabolic track assigned by Galileo. He the action of wind on ships and mills. Borda’s experiments on 81 inches show that the impulse has bestowed more pains on this problem than any other in of wind moving one foot per second is about of a pound his whole work; and his investigation has pointed out alon a square foot. Therefore to find the impulse on a foot most all the improvements which have been made in the corresponding to any velocity, divide the square of the ve- application of mathematical knowledge to the study of nalocity by 500, and we obtain the impulse in pounds. Mr. ture. Nowhere does his sagacity and fertility of resource Rouse of Leicestershire made many experiments, which are appear in so strong a light as in the second book of the mentioned with great approbation by Mr. Smeaton. His Principia, which is almost wholly occupied by this problem. great sagacity and experience in the erection of windmills, The celebrated mathematician John Bernoulli engaged in oblige us to pay a considerable deference to his judgment. it as the finest opportunity of displaying his superiority. A These experiments confirm our opinion, that the impulses mistake committed by Newton in his attempt to a solution increase faster than the surfaces. The following table was was matter of triumph to him ; and the whole of his percalculated from Mr. Rouse’s observations, and may be con- formance, though a piece of elegant and elaborate geometry, sidered as pretty near the truth : is greatly hurt by his continually bringing this mistake, which is a mere trifle, into view. The difficulty of the subject is Impulse on a Impulse on a Velocity Velocity so great, that subsequent mathematicians seem to have kept in feet. foot in pounds. in feet. foot in pounds. aloof from it; and it has been entirely overlooked by the many voluminous writers who have treated professedly on 0 0,000 2,059 30 military projectiles. They have spoken indeed of the re3,660 10 0,229 40 sistance of the air as affecting the flight of shot, but have 20 5,718 0,915 50

116 PNEUMATICS. Resistance saved themselves from the task of investigating this effect ployment, as chief engineer to the East India Company, in Resistancn ar of air in (a task to which they were unequal), by supposing that it service he went out to India, where he died in less unner ' in gunnery. was not so great as to render their theories and practical whose than two years. It is to be regretted that no person has v -SP £ ydeductions very erroneous. Mr. Robins was the first who prosecuted these experiments. It would be neither labori- ' V^>k seriously examined the subject. He showed, that even the ous nor difficult, and would add more to the improvement Newtonian theory, which had been corrected, but not in of artillery than any thing that has been done since Mr. the smallest degree improved or extended in its principles, Robins’s death, if we except the prosecution of his experiwas sufficient to show that the path of a cannon ball could ments on the initial velocities of cannon-shot by Dr. Charles not resemble a parabola. Even this theory showed that Hutton, royal professor at the Woolwich Academy. It is to the resistance was more than eight times the weight of the be hoped that this gentleman, after having with such effect ball, and should produce a greater deviation from the para- and success extended Mr. Robins’s experiments on the inibola than the parabola deviated from a straight line. tial velocities of musket-shot to cannon, will take up this This simple but singular observation was a strong proof other subject, and thus give the art of artillery all the sciIgnorance in this re- how faulty the professed writers on artillery had been, in entific foundation which it can receive in the present state spect of rather amusing themselves with elegant but useless appli- of our mathematical knowledge. Till then we must conwriters on cations of easy geometry, than in endeavouring to give tent ourselves with the practical rules which Robins has artillery. their readers any useful information. He added, that the deduced from his own experiments. As he has not given difference between the ranges by the Newtonian theory and us the mode of deduction, we must compare the results by experiment was so great, that the resistance of the air with experiment. He has indeed given a very extensive must be vastly superior to what that theory supposed. It comparison with the numerous experiments made both in was this which suggested to him the necessity of experi- Britain and on the continent; and the agreement is very ments to ascertain this point. We have seen the result of great. His learned commentator Euler has been at no these experiments in moderate velocities; and that they pains to investigate these rules, and has employed himself were sufficient for calling the whole theory in question, or chiefly in detecting errors, most of which are supposed, beat least for rendering it useless. It became necessary there- cause he takes for a finished work what Mr. Robins only fore to settle every point by means of a direct experiment. gives to the public as a hasty but useful sketch of a new Here was a great difficulty. How shall we measure either and very difficult branch of science. these great velocities which are observed in the motions of The general result of Robins’s experiments on the retar- General cannon-shot, or the resistances which these enormous ve- dation of musket shot is, that although in moderate veloci- results, locities occasion ? Mr. Robins had the ingenuity to do ties the resistance is so nearly in the duplicate proportion both. The method which he took for measuring the velo- of the velocities that we cannot observe any deviation, yet city of a musket-ball was quite original; and it was sus- in velocities exceeding 200 feet per second the retardations ceptible of great accuracy. We have already given an ac- increase faster, and the deviation from this rate increases count of it under the article Gunnery. Having gained rapidly with the velocity. He ascribes this to the causes this point, the other was not difficult. In the moderate already mentioned, viz. the condensation of the air before velocities he had determined the resistances by the forces the ball and to the rarefaction behind, in consequence of which balanced them, the weights which kept the resisted the air not immediately occupying the space left by the body in a state of uniform motion. In the great velocities, bullet. This increase is so great, that if the resistance to he proposed to determine the resistances by their immedi- a ball moving with the velocity of 700 feet in a second be ate effects, by the retardations which they occasioned. This computed on the supposition that the resistance observed was to be done by first ascertaining the velocity of the ball, in moderate velocities is increased in the duplicate ratio of and then measuring its velocity after it had passed through the velocity, it will be found hardly one-third part of its a certain quantity of air. The difference of these veloci- real quantity. He found, for instance, that a ball moving ties is the retardation, and the proper measure of the resist- through 1670 feet in a second lost about 125 feet per seance ; for, by the initial and final velocities of the ball, we cond of its velocity in passing through 50 feet of air. This learn the time which was employed in passing through this it must have done in the ^ of a second, in which time it air with the medium velocity. In this time the air’s resis- w-ould have lost one foot if projected directly upwards; from tance diminished the velocity by a certain quantity. Com- winch it appears that the resistance was about 125 times pare this with the velocity which a body projected directly its weight, and more than three times greater than if it had upwards would lose in the same time by the resistance of increased from the resistance in small velocities in the dugravity. The two forces must be in the proportion of their plicate ratio of the velocities. He relates other experiments effects. Thus we learn the proportion of the resistance of which show similar results. See Gunnery. The first mathematicians of Europe have employed themthe air to the weight of the ball. It is indeed true, that f]is. the time of passing through this space is not accurately had selves in improving the theory of the motion of bodies in acussions of by taking the arithmetical medium of the initial and final resisting medium ; but their discussions are such as fewar-mathemanot velocities, nor does the resistance deduced from this calcu- tillerists can understand. The problem can only be solved ticians lation accurately correspond to this mean velocity; but both by approximation, and this by the quadrature of very com- easle‘'y aP* may be accurately found by the experiment by a very trou- plicated curves. They have not been able therefore to de- ^ blesome computation, as is shown in the fitlh and sixth pro- duce from them any practical rules of easy application, and positions of the second book of Newton’s Principia. The have been obliged to compute tables suited to different cases. difference between the quantities thus found and those Of these performances, that of the Chevalier Borda, in the deduced from the simple process is quite trifling, and far Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences for 1769, seems the within the limits of accuracy attainable in experiments of best adapted to military readers, and the tables are undoubtthis kind ; it may therefore be safely neglected. edly of considerable use ; but it is not too much to say, that Mr. RoMr. Robins made many experiments on this subject; but the simple rules of Mr. Robins are of as much service, and bins’s expe- unfortunately he has published only a very few, such as are more easily remembered; besides, it must be observed, riments on this subject were sufficient for ascertaining the point he had in view. that the nature of military service does not give room for He intended a regular work on the subject, in which the the application of any very precise rule. The only advangradual variations of resistance corresponding to different tage that we can derive from a perfect theory would be an velocities should all be determined by experiment; but he improvement in the construction of pieces of ordnance, and was then newly engaged in an important and laborious em- a more judicious appropriation of certain velocities to cer-

nr PNEUMATICS. place, that the philosopher who proposes them understands Undulation Indication tain purposes. The service of a gun or mortar must always precisely the nature of these undulations £ in the next place, of air. be regulated by the eye. There is another motion of which air and other elastic that he makes his reader sensible of those circumstances of Indication £[uic|s are SUSCeptible, viz. an internal vibration of their par- them which are concerned in the effect to be explained ; of air - tides, or undulation, by which any extended portion of air and, in the third place, that he makes the reader understand how this circumstance of the vibrating fluid is connected is distributed into alternate parcels of condensed and rare- with the phenomenon, either by showing it to be its mefied air, which are continually changing their condition chanical cause, as when the philosopher explains the rewithout changing their places. By this change the con- sounding of a musical chord to a flute or pipe which gave densation which is produced in one part of the air is graduthe same tone ; or by showing that this circumstance ot the ally transferred along the mass of air to the greatest distan- undulation always accompanies the phenomenon, as when ces in all directions. It is of importance to have some dis- the philosopher shows that 233 vibrations of air in a second, tinct conception of this motion. It is found to be by t is in manner or by whatever cause they are produced, means that distant bodies produce in us the sensation ot alwwhatever ays are followed by the sensation of the tone C in the sound. Sir Isaac Newton treated this subject with his ac- middle of the harpsichord. customed ingenuity, and has given us a theory of it in the We propose now to give some account of the motion c. Howelasend of the second book of his Principia. This theory has elastic fluids ; and the first thing incumbent on us is to show been objected to with respect to the conduct of the argu- how these fluids differ from the unelastic in the propagation lastic fluid^ ment, and other explanations have been given by the most any agitation of their parts. When a long tube is filled eminent mathematicians. Though they appear to ditter of from Newton s, their results are precisely the same ; but, with water, and any one part of it pushed out of its place, whole is instantly moved like a solid mass. But this on a close examination, they differ no more than John Ber- the not the case with air. If a door be suddenly shut, the noulli’s theorem of centripetal forces difters from Newton s, is at the farther end of a long and close room will ratviz. the one being expressed by geometry and the other by window tle ; but time w ill elapse between the shutting of the literal analysis. The celebrated Lagrange reduces New- door and some motion of the window. If some light dust be ton’s investigation to a tautological proposition or identical lying on athe braced drum, and another be violently beat at a equation; but Mr. Young of Trinity College, Dublin, has, little distance it, an attentive observer will see the dust by a different turn of expression, freed Newtons method dance up fromfrom the parchment; but this will be at the infrom this objection. This has But since Newton published this theory of aerial undula- stant he hears the sound of the stroke on the other drum, >een used tions, and of their propagation along the air, and since the and a sensible time after the stroke. Many such familiar 0 explain tbeorY iias been so corrected and improved as to be receiv- facts show that the agitation is gradually communicated the air; and therefore that when one particle is agi1 varie ty of , ed by the most accurate philosophers as a branch of natu- along tated by any sensible motion, a finite time, however small, iheriomena. ral philosophy susceptible of rigid demonstration, it has been must elapse before the adjoining particle is agitated in the freely resorted to by many writers on other parts of natural manner. This would not be the case in water if wascience, who did not profess to be mathematicians, but made same ter be perfectly incompressible. We think that this may use of it for explaining phenomena in their own line on the made intelligible with very little trouble. authority of the mathematicians themselves. Learning from be Aa B6 C D them that this vibration, and the quaquaversum propagation of the pulses, were the necessary properties of an elastic fluid, and that the rapidity of this propagation had a certain Let A, B, C, D, &c- be a row of aerial particles, at such assignable proportion to the elasticity and density of ttie distances that their elasticity just balances the pressure fluid, they freely made use of these concessions, and have of the atmosphere; and let us suppose (as is deducible introduced elastic vibrating fluids into many facts, where from the observed density of air being proportional to others would suspect no such thing, and have attempted to the compressing force) that the elasticity of the particles, by explain by their means many abstruse phenomena of na- which they keep each other at a distance, is as their disture. iEthers are everywhere introduced, endued with tances inversely. Let us farther suppose that the particle great elasticity and tenuity. Vibrations and pulses are sup- A has been carried, with an uniform motion, to a by some posed in this aether, and these are offered as explanations. external force. It is evident that B cannot remain in its The doctrines of animal spirits and nervous fluids, and the present state ; for being now nearer to a than to C, it is whole mechanical system of Hartley, by which the opera- propelled towards C by the excess of the elasticity of A tions of the soul are said to be explained, have their foun- above the natural elasticity of C. Let E be the natural elastidation in this theory of aerial undulations. If these fancied city of the particles, or the force corresponding to the distance fluids, and their internal vibrations, really operate in the BC or BA, and let F be the force which impels B towards C, phenomena ascribed to them, any explanation that can be and let/be the force exerted by A when at «. We have given of the phenomena from this principle must be nothing E :/=B« : BC=Ba, BA ; else then showing that the legitimate consequences of these and E : /—E=rBa : BA—Ba=Ba : Aa ; undulations are similar to the phenomena ; or, if we are no or E : F=Ba : Aa. more able to see this last step than in the case of sound, Now', in fig. 81, let ABC be the (which we know to be one consequence of the aerial un u- line joining three particles, to which Fig. 81 lations, although we cannot tell how), we must be aole to draw FG, PH parallel, and IAF, point out, as in the case of sound, certain constant relations HBG perpendicular. Take IF or between the general laws of these undulations and the ge- HG to represent the elasticity corneral laws of the phenomena. It is only in this w ay that we responding to the distance AB. Let think ourselves entitled to say that the aerial undulations the particle A be supposed to have are causes, though not the only causes, of sound ; and it is been carried with an uniform mobecause there is no such relation, but, on the contrary, a tion to a by some external force, total dissimilarity, to be observed between the laws of elas- and draw RaM perpendicular to tic undulations and the laws of the propagation of light, thar RG; and make FI: RM=Bc!: BA. we assert with confidence that ethereal undulations are not We shall then have FI : PM—Ba : the causes of vision. . Explanations of this kind suppose, therefore, m the first Aa; and PM will represent the force

118 PNEUMATICS Undulation with which the particle B is urged towards C. Suppose scribed one-third of the space described by A ; but if the Undulatio ° air' (this construction to be made for every point of the line AB, motion of C be considered, the acceleration of B must be of and that a point M is thus determined for each of them, increased by the retreat of C, and B must describe a greater mathematicians know that all these points M lie in the curve space in proportion to that described by A. By computaof a hyperbola, of which FG and GH are the asymptotes. tion it appears, that when both B and C have acquired the It is also known by the elements of mechanics, that since velocity of A, B has described nearly one-half of A’s mothe motion of A along AB is uniform, Aa or IP may be tion, and C more nearly one-third. Extending this to D, taken to represent the time of describing Aa ; and that the we shall find that D has described still more nearly onearea IPM represents the whole velocity which B has ac- fourth of A’s motion. And from the nature of the compuquired in its motion towards C when A has come to a, the tation it appears that this approximation goes on rapidly ; force urging B being always as the portion PM of the or- therefore, supposing it accurate from the very first particle, dinate. it follows from the equable motion of A, that each succeedTake GX of any length in HG produced, and let GX ing particle moves through an equal space in acquiring the represent the velocity which the uniform action of the na- motion of A. tural elasticity IF could communicate to the particle B duThe conclusion which we must draw from all this is, that ring the time that A would uniformly describe AB. Make when the agitation of A has been fully communicated to a GX to GY as the rectangle IFGH to the hyperbolic space particle at a sensible distance, the intervening particles, all IFRM, and draw YS cutting MR produced in S, and draw moving forward with a common velocity, are equally comFX cutting MR in T. It is known to the mathematicians pressed as to sense, except a very few of the first particles ; that the point S is in a curve line FSs, called the logarith- and that this communication, or this propagation of the orimic curve ; of which the leading property is, that any line ginal agitation, goes on with an uniform velocity. RS parallel to GX is to GX as the rectangle IFGH is to These computations need not be attended to by such as the hyperbolic space IFRM, and that FX touches the curve do not wish for an accurate knowledge of the precise agiin F. tation of each particle. It is enough for such readers to This being the case, it is plain, that because RT increases see clearly that time must escape between the agitation of in the same proportion with FR, or with the rectangle A and that of a distant particle ; and this is abundantly maIFRP, and RS increases in the proportion of the space nifest from the incomparability (excuse the term) of the IFRM, TS increases in the proportion of the space IPM. nascent rectangle IFRP with the nascent triangle FRT, Therefore TS is proportional to the velocity of B when A and the incomparability of FRT with FTS. has reached a, and RT is proportional to the velocity which What has now been shown of the communication of any Newton’s the uniform action of the natural elasticity would commu- sensible motion A a must hold equally with respect to any demonstra. nicate to B in the same time. Then since FT is as the change of this motion. Therefore if a tremulous motion oftion on this time, and TS is as the velocity, the area FTS will be as the a body, such as a spring or bell, should agitate the adjoin-subjectspace described by B, urged by the variable force PM; ing particle A by pushing it forward in the direction AB, while A, urged by the external force, describes Aa ; and and then allowing it to come back again in the direction the triangle FRT will represent the space which the uni- BA, an agitation similar to this will take place in all the form action of the natural elasticity would cause B to de- particles of the row one after the other. Now if this body scribe in the same time. vibrate according to the law of motion of a pendulum viAnd thus it is plain that these three motions can be com- brating in a cycloid, the neighbouring particle of air will pared together : the uniform motion of the agitated particle of necessity vibrate in the same manner ; and then Newton’s A, the uniformly accelerated motion which the natural elas- demonstration in the article Acoustics needs no apology. ticity would communicate to B by its constant action, and Its only deficiency was, that it seemed to prove that this the motion produced in B by the agitation of A. But this would be the way in which every particle would of necescomparison, requiring the quadrature of the hyperbola and sity vibrate; which is not true, for the successive parcels of logarithmic curve, would lead us into most intricate and te- air will be differently agitated according to the original dious computations. Of these we need only give the re- agitation. Newton only wants to prove the uniform prosult, and make some other comparisons which are palpable. pagation of the agitations, and he selects that form which Let Aa be supposed indefinitely small in comparison of renders the proof easiest. He proves, in the most unexAB. The space described by A is therefore indefinitely ceptionable manner, that if the particles of a pulse of air small; but in this case we know that the ratio of the space are really moving like a cycloidal pendulum, the forces FRT to the rectangle IFRP is indefinitely small. There acting on each particle, in consequence of the compression is therefore no comparison between the agitation of A by and dilatation of the different parts of the pulse, are prethe external force, and the agitation which natural elasti- cisely such as are necessary for continuing this motion, and city would produce on a single particle in the same time, therefore no other forces are required. Then since each the last being incomparably smaller than the first. And particle in a certain part of its path, is moving in a certhis space FRT is incomparably greater than FTS; and tain direction, and with a certain velocity, and urged by a therefore the space which B would describe by the uniform determined force, it must move in that very manner. The action of the natural elasticity is incomparably greater than objection started by John Bernoulli against Newton’s dewhat it would describe in consequence of the agitation of A. monstration of the elliptical motion of a body urged by a From this reasoning we see evidently that A must be force in the inverse duplicate ratio of the distance from the sensibly moved, or a finite or measurable time must elapse focus, is precisely the same with the objection against Newbefore B acquires a measurable motion. In like manner, ton’s demonstration of the progress of aerial undulations, and B must move during a measurable time before C acquires is equally futile. a measurable motion, &c.; and therefore the agitation of It must, however, be observed, that Newton’s demonstraA is communicated to the distant particles in gradual suc- tion proceeds on the supposition that the linear agitations cession. of a particle are incomparably smaller than the extent of By a further comparison of these spaces we learn the an undulation. This is not strictly the case in any instance, time in which each succeeding particle acquires the very and in many it is far from being true. In a pretty strong agitation of A. If the particles B and C only are consi- twang of a harpsichord wire, the agitation of a particle may dered, and the motion of C neglected, it will be found that be near the 50th part gf the extent of the undulation. This B has acquired the motion of A a little before it has de- must disturb the regularity of the motion, and cause the r

119 PNEUMATICS. tion, the part of greatest density is between the particles i Undulation ndulation agitations in the remote undulations to differ from those of air of air. in the first pulse. In the explosion of a cannon, the break- and k, and the greatest rarity between c and d. of an exhausted bottle, and many instances which may Fig. 82. be given, the agitations are still greater. The commentators on Newton’s Principia, Le Sueur and Jacquier, have f g h shown, and Euler more clearly, that when the original agi> Jr T tations are very violent, the particles of air will acquire a f S h subordinate vibration compounded with the regular cycloif g h dal vibration, and the progress of the pulses will be some,d e f what more rapid; but the intricacy of the calculus is so df f g h great, that they have not been able to determine with any l d efg h tolerable precision what the change of velocity will be. d e' f_air' serve, that this alternate action must assist the muscles of ed through the nostrils ; and it is a prodigious distress to ^ the abdomen in promoting the motion of the food along the an infant w'hen this passage is obstructed by mucus. We alimentary canal, See. We can distinctly observe in birds beg to be forgiven for observing by the way, that this obthat their belly dilates when the chest collapses, and vice struction may be almost certainly removed for a little while, versa, contrary to what we see in the land animals. An- by rubbing the child’s nose with any liquid of quick evapoother use of this double passage may be to produce a cir- ration, or even with water. culation of air in the lungs, by which a compensation is The operation in drinking is not very different from that Of drinkmade for the smaller surface of action on the blood ; for the in sucking. We have indeed little occasion here to suck,ing* number of small vesicles, of equal capacity with these large but we must do it a little. Dogs, and some other animals, bags, give a much more extensive surface. cannot drink, but only lap the water into their mouths with If we try to raise mercury in a pipe by the action of the their tongues, and then swallow it. The gallinaceous birds chest alone, we cannot raise it above two or three inches ; seem to drink very imperfectly. They seem merely to dip and the attempt is both painful and hazardous. It is pain- their head into the water, up to the eyes, till their mouth is ful chiefly in the breast, and it provokes coughing. Pro- filled with water, and then holding up the head, it gets inbably the fluids ooze through the pores of the vesicles by to the gullet by its weight, and is then swallowed. The the pressure of the surrounding parts. On the other hand, elephant drinks in a very complicated manner. He dips we can bv expiration support mercury about five or six his trunk into the water, and fills it by making a void in inches high ; but this also is very painful, and apt to pro- his mouth. This he does in the contrary way to man. duce extravasation of blood. This seems to be done en- After having depressed his tongue, he begins the application of it to the palate at the root, and by extending the tirely by the abdominal muscles. '"he opera- The operation properly termed sucking, is totally differ- application forward, he expels the air by the mouth which ;oa of The process here is not very ent from breathing, and resembles exceedingly the action of came into it from the trunk. a common pump. Suppose a pipe held in the mouth, and unlike that of the condensing syringe without a piston its lower end immersed in water. We fill the mouth with valve, in which the external air, corresponding to the air the tongue, bringing it forward, and applying it closely to in the trunk, enters by the hole in the side, and is exthe teeth and to the palate ; w’e then draw it back, or bend pelled through the hole in the end of the barrel; by this it downwards from the palate behind, thus leaving a void. operation the trun k is filled with water ; then he lifts his The pressure of the air on the cheeks immediately depresses trunk out of the water, and bringing it to his mouth, pours them, and applies them close to the gums and teeth ; and the contents into it, and swallows it. On considering this its pressure on the water in the vessel causes it to rise operation, it appears that, by the same process by which through the pipe into the empty part of the mouth, which the air of the trunk is taken into the mouth, the water it quickly fills. We then push forward the tip of the could also be taken in, to be afterwards sw allowed; but tongue, below the water, to the teeth, and apply it to them we do not find, upon inquiry, that this is done by the eleall round, the water being above the tongue, which is kept phant ; we have always observed him to drink in the manmuch depressed. We then apply the tongue to the palate, ner now described. In either way it is a double operation, beginning at the tip, and graduallyr going backward in this and cannot be carried on any way but by alternately suckapplication. By this means the w ater is gradually forced ing and swallowing, and while one operation is going on, backward by an operation similar to that of the gullet in the other is interrupted; whereas man can do both at the swallowing. This is done by contracting the gullet above, same time. Nature seems to delight in exhibiting to raand relaxing it below’, just as we would empty a gut of its tional observers her inexhaustible variety of resource ; for contents, by drawing our closed hand along it. By this many insects which drink w ith a trunk, drink without inoperation the mouth is again completely occupied by the terruption ; yet we do not call in question the truth of the tongue, and we are ready for repeating the operation. Thus aphorism, Natura maxime simplex et semper sibi consona, the mouth and tongue resemble the barrel and piston of a nor doubt but that, if the whole of her purpose were seen, pump ; and the application of the tip of the tongue to the we should find that her process is the simplest possible ; for teeth, performs the office of the valve at the bottom of the Nature, or Nature’s God, is wise above our wisest thoughts, barrel, preventing the return of the water into the pipe. and simplicity is certainly the choice ot wisdom ; but, alas ’ Although usual, it is not absolutely necessary, to withdraw it is generally but a small and the most obvious part of her the tip of the tongue, making a void before the tongue. purpose that we can observe or appreciate. \\ e seldom Sucking may be performed by merely separating the tongue see this simplicity of nature stated to us, except by some gradually from the palate, beginning at the root. If we system-maker, who has found a principle which somehow withdraw the tip of the tongue a very minute quantity, the tallies with a considerable variety of phenomena, and then cries out, Frustra sit per plura quod fieri potest per panwater flows back above the tongue. The action of the tongue in this operation is very pow- dora. There is an operation similar to that of the elephant, which Mode of erful ; some persons can raise mercury 25 inches; but this ee in U strong exertion is very fatiguing, and the soft parts are manyfindagreatdifficulty in acquiring; namely, keeping up a k P & P prodigiously swelled by it. It causes the blood to ooze continued blast with a blow-pipe. We would desire our che-^ast witha plentifully through the pores of the tongue, fauces, and pa- mical reader to attend minutely to the gradual action of hisblow pjpc late, in the same manner as if a cupping-glass and syringe tongue in sucking, and he will find it such as we have described. were applied to them ; and, when the inside of the mouth Let him attend particularly to the way in which the tip of is excoriated or tender, as is frequent with infants, even a the tongue performs the office of a valve, preventing the very moderate exertion of this kind is accompanied with turn of the water into the pipe ; and the same position of the extravasation of blood. When children suck the nurse’s tongue w ould hinder air from coming into the mouth. Next breast, the milk follows their exertion by the pressure of let him observe, that in swallowing what water he has nowthe air on the breast; and a weak child, or one that with- got lodged above his tongue, he continues the tip of the holds its exertions on account of pain from the above men- tongue applied to the teeth ; now let him shut his mouth, tioned cause, may be assisted by a gentle pressure of the keeping his lips firm together, the tip of the tongue at the

PNEUMATICS. 126 Effects of teeth, and the whole tongue forcibly kept at a distance from sufficient to make an abundant circulation of air along the Effects of the pres- t}ie palate; bring up the tongue to the palate, and allow whole passage ; and care is taken to dispose the shafts and the pres^ sure of the j.jie ^jp separate a little from the teeth, this will expel conduct the passages in such a manner that no part of thesureal,r e air * the air into the space between the fauces and cheeks, and mine is out of the circle. When any new lateral drift is ^ wjp blow up the cheeks a little ; then, acting with the tip made, the renewal of air at its extremity becomes more imof the tongue as a valve, hinder this air from getting back, perfect as it advances: and when it is carried a certain and depressing the tongue again, more air from the nos- length, the air stagnates and becomes suffocating, till either trils will get into the mouth, which may be expelled into a communication can be made with the rest of the mine, or the space without the teeth as before, and the cheeks will a shaft be made at the end of this drift. As this current depends entirely on the difference of be more inflated. Continue this operation, and the lips will no longer be able to retain it, and it will ooze through as temperature between the air below and that above, it must long as the operation is continued. When this has become cease when this difference ceases. Accordingly, in the familiar and easy, take the blow-pipe, and there will ^be no spring and autumn, the miners complain much of stagnadifficulty in maintaining a blast as uniform as a smith’s bel- tion ; but in summer they never want a current from the lows, breathing all the while through the nostrils. The deep pits to the shallow, nor in the winter a current from only difficulty is the holding the pipe. This fatigues the the shallow pits to the deep ones. It frequently happens lips ; but it may be removed by giving the pipe a conve- also, that in mineral countries the chemical changes which nient shape, a pretty flat oval, and wrapping it round with are going on in different parts of the earth occasion differences of temperature sufficient to produce a sensible current. leather or thread. And this naturally leads us to consider a very important The nature Nature of Another phenomenon depending on the principles althe land ready established, is the land and sea-breeze in the warm effect of the expansion and consequent ascent of air by heat, and sea- countries. We have seen that air expands exceedingly by namely, the drawing, as it is called, ot chimneys. I he air ltl breeze in heat; therefore heated air, being lighter than an equal bulk which has contributed to the burning of fuel must be i^1" chimneys, warm heated, and will rise in the atmosphere. This will countries. of cold air, must rise in it. If we lay a hot stone in the tensely sunshine in a room, we shall observe the shadow of the also be the case with much of the surrounding air which stone surrounded with a fluttering shadow of different de- has come very near the fire, although not in contact w ith grees of brightness, and that this flutter rises rapidly in a it. If this heated air be made to rise in a pipe, it will be column above the stone. If we hold an extinguished candle kept together, and therefore will not soon cool and collapse : near the stone, we shall see the smoke move towards the thus we shall obtain a long column of light air, which will stone, and then ascend from it. Now, suppose an island rise with a force so much the greater as the column is longreceiving the first rays of the sun in a perfectly calm morn- er or more heated. Therefore the taller we make the chiming ; the ground will soon be warmed, and will warm the ney, or the hotter we make the fire, the more rapid will be contiguous air. If the island be mountainous, this effect the current, or the draught or suction, as it is injudiciously will be more remarkable ; because the inclined sides of the called, will be so much the greater. The ascensional force hills will receive the light more directly. The midland air is the difference between the weight of the column of heatwill therefore be most warmed. The heated air will rise, ed air in the funnel and a column of the surrounding atand that in the middle will rise fastest; and thus a current mosphere of equal height. We increase the draught, thereof air upwards will begin, which must be supplied by air fore, by increasing the perpendicular height of the chimney. coming in from all sides, to be heated and to rise in its Its length in a horizontal direction gives no increase, but, turn ; so that the morning sea-breeze is produced, and on the contrary, diminishes the draught by cooling the air continues all day. This current will frequently be revers- before it gets into the effective part of the funnel. We ined during the night, by the air cooling and gliding down crease the draught also by obliging all the air which enters the chimney to come very near the fuel; therefore a low the sides of the hills, and we shall have the land-breeze. Circulation It is owing to the same cause that we have a circulation mantle-piece will produce this effect; also filling up all the of air in of air in mines which have the mouths of their shafts of un- spaces on each side of the grate. When much air gets in mines. equal heights. The temperature under ground is pretty above the fire, by having a lofty mantle-piece, the general constant through the whole year, while that of the atmos- mass of air in the chimney cannot be much heated. Hence phere is extremely variable. Now, suppose a mine having it must happen that the greatest draught will be produced a long horizontal drift, communicating between two pits or by bringing down the mantle-piece to the very fuel; but shafts, and that one of these shafts terminates in a valley, this converts a fire-place into a furnace, and by thus sendwhile the other opens on the brow of a hill perhaps 100 feet ing the whole air through the fuel, causes it to burn with higher. Let us further suppose it summer, and the air great rapidity, producing a prodigious heat; and this proheated to 65°, while the temperature of the earth is but ducing an increase of ascensional force, the current becomes 45° ; this last will be also the temperature of the air in the furiously rapid, and the heat and consumption of fuel imshafts and the drift. Now, since air expands nearly 24 parts mense. If the fire-place be a cube of a foot and a half, and in 10,000 by one degree of heat, we shall have an odds of the front closed by a door, so that all the air must enter pressure at the bottom of the two shafts equal to nearly the through the bottom of the grate, a chimney of fifteen or 20th part of the weight of a column of air 100 feet high twenty feet high, and sufficiently wide to give passage to (100 feet being supposed the difference of the heights of all the expanded air which can pass through the fire, wall the shafts.) This will be about six ounces on every square produce a current which will roar like thunder, and a heat foot of the section of the shaft. If this pressure could be sufficient to run the whole inside into a lump of glass. All that is necessary, however, in a chamber fire-place, continued, it would produce a prodigious current of air down the long shafts, along the drift, and up the short shaft. is a current sufficiently great for carrying up the smoke and The weight of air acting through 100 feet would commu- vitiated air of the fuel. And as we want also the enlivennicate to it the velocity of 80 feet per second : divide this ing light and flutter of the fire, we give the chimney-piece by */20, that is, by 4-5, and we shall have 18 feet per se- both a much greater height and width than what is merely cond for the velocity : this is the velocity of what is called necessary for carrying up the smoke, only wishing to have a brisk gale. This pressure would be continued, if the the current sufficiently determinate and steady for counterwarm air which enters the long shaft were cooled and con- acting any occasional tendency which it may sometimes densed as fast as it comes in ; but this is not the case. It have to come into the room. By allowing a greater quanis however^cooled and condensed, and a current is produced tity of air to get into the chimney, heated only to a mode-

PNEUMATICS. 127 jTects of rate degree, we produce a more rapid renewal of the air of the real fire-place and is carried up the vent, and the rest Effects of the 0prese pres- the r0om : did we oblige it to come so much nearer the fire rises to the ceiling and is diffused over the room. ire ot It is surprising to a person who does not consider it withsurea11, . ^ t^ie t0 pro(juce the same renewal of the air in consequence ail ‘_ of a more rapid current, we should produce an inconveni- skill, how powerfully this grate warms a room. Less than ent heat. But in this country, where pit-coal is in general one-fourth of the fuel consumed in an ordinary fire-place so very cheap, we carry this indulgence to an extreme; or is sufficient; and this with the same cheerful blazing hearth jts con_ rather we have not studied how to get all the desired ad- and salutary renewal of air. It even requires attention tostruction. vantages with economy. A much smaller renewal of air keep the room cool enough. The heat communicated to than we commonly produce is abundantly wholesome and those parts in contact with the fuel is needlessly great; and pleasant, and we may have all the pleasure of the light and it will be a considerable improvement to line this part with thick plates of cast-iron, or with tiles made of fire-clay flame of the fuel at much less expense, by contracting greatly very T the passage into the vent. The best way of doing this is w hich will not crack with the heat. These, being very bad by contracting the brick-work on each side behind the man- conductors, will make the heat, ultimately communicated tle-piece, and reducing it to a narrow parallelogram, having to the air, very moderate. If, with all these precautions, the back of the vent for one of its long sides. Make an the heat should be found too great, it may be brought uniron plate to fit this hole, of the same length, but broader, der perfect management by opening passages into the vent so that it may lie sloping, its lower edge being in contact from the lateral spaces. These may be valves or trap-doors with the foreside of the hole, and its upper edge leaning on moved by rods concealed behind the ornaments. Thus we have a fire-place under the most complete rethe back of the vent. In this position it shuts the hole entirely. Now let the plate have a hinge along the front or gulation, where we can always have a cheerful fire without lower edge, and fold up like the lid of a chest. We shall being for a quarter of an hour incommoded by the heat; thus be able to enlarge the passage at pleasure. In a and we can as quickly raise our fire, when too low, by hangfire-place fit for a room of 24 feet by 18, if this plate be ing on a plate of iron on the front, which shall reach as low about 18 inches long from side to side, and folded back as the grate. This in five minutes will blow up the fire within an inch or an inch and a half of the wall, it will into a glow; and the plate may be sent out of the room, allow passage for as much air as will keep up a very cheer- or set behind the stove-grate out of sight. The propriety of inclosing the ash-pit is not so obvious ; ful fire; and by raising or lowering this register, the fire may be made to burn more or less rapidly. A free passage but if this be not done, the light ashes, not finding a ready of half an inch will be sufficient in weather that is not im- passage up the chimney, will come out into the room along moderately cold. The principle on which this construction with the heated air. Under this head we shall next give a general account Mod# of produces its effect is, that the air which is in the front of the fire, and much warmed by it, is not allowed to get into and description of the method of warming apartments by warming the chimney, w’here it would be immediately hurried up stoves. A stove in general is a fire-place shut up on all apartments stoves the vent, but rises up to the ceiling and is diffused over the sides, having only a passage for admitting the air to support ^ whole room. This double motion of the air may be dis- the fire, and a tube for carrying oft' the vitiated air and tinctly observed by opening a little of the door and holding smoke ; and the air of the room is warmed by coming into a candle in the way. If the candle be held near the floor, contact with the outside of the stove and flue. The genethe flame will be blown into the room ; but if held near the ral principle of construction, therefore, is very simple. The air must be made to come into as close contact as possible top of the door, the flame will be blown outward. 'scripBut the most perfect method of warming an apartment with the fire, or even to pass through it, and this in such n of a in the temperate climates, where we can indulge in the quantities as just to consume a quantity of fuel sufficient 've-grate cheerfulness and sweet air produced by an open fire, is what for producing the heat required; and the stove must be so chapelfc. we cal] a stove-grate, and our neighbours on the Continent constructed, that both the burning fuel and the air which call a chapelle, from its resemblance to the chapels or ora- has been heated by it shall be applied to as extensive a surface as possible of furnace, all in contact with the air of the tories in the great churches. In the great chimney-piece, which, in this case, ma.y be room ; and the heated air within the stove must not be almade even larger than ordinary, is set a smaller one fitted lowed to get into the funnel which is to carry it off till it up in the same style of ornament, but of a size no greater is too much cooled to produce any considerable heat on the than is sufficient for holding the fuel. The sides and back outside of the stove. In this temperate climate no great ingenuity is necessary of it are made of iron (cast iron is preferable to hammered iron, because it does not so readily calcine), and are kept for warming an ordinary apartment; and stoves are made at a small distance from the sides and back of the main rather to please the eye as furniture than as economical chimney- piece, and are continued down to the hearth, so^ substitutes for an open fire of equal calorific power. But that the ash-pit is also separated. The pipe or chimney of our neighbours on the Continent, and especially towards the stove grate is carried up behind the ornaments of the the north, where the cold of winter is intense and fuel very mantle-piece till it rises above the mantle-piece of the main dear, have bestowed much attention on their construction, chimney-piece, and is fitted with a register or damper-plate and have combined ingenious economy with every elegance turning round a traverse axis. The best form of this re- of form. Nothing can be handsomer than the stoves of gister is that which we have recommended for an ordinary Fayencerie that are to be seen in French Flanders, or the fire-place, having its axis or joint close at the front; so that Russian stoves at St. Petersburg, finished in stucco. Our when it is open or turned up, the burnt air and smoke strik- readers will not, therefore, be displeased with a description ing it obliquely, are directed with certainty into the vent, of them. In this place, however, we shall, only consider a without any risk of reverberating and coming out into the stove in general as a subject of pneumatical discussion, and room. All the rest of the vent is shut up by iron-plates or refer our readers to the article Stove for stoves as articles of domestic accommodation. brick-work out of sight. The general form, therefore, of a stove, and of which General The effect of this construction is very obvious. The of a fuel, being in immediate contact with the back and sides of all others are only modifications adapted to circumstan-form stove the grate, heats them to a great degree, and they heat the ces of utility or taste, is as follows:.—MIKL (fig. 79-) is air contiguous to them. This heated air cannot get up the a quadrangular box of any size in the directions MILK. vent, because the passages above these spaces are shut up. The inside width from front to back is pretty constant, It therefore comes out into the room; some of it goes into never less than 10 inches, and rarely extending to 20;

PNEUMATICS. 128 of Effects of included space is divided by a great many partitions, because the heat communicated to the partitions of the Effects tbe the pres- •pjjg iowest chamber B is the stove does no good. By diminishing their breadth, the pro- sur< prosure ) 1 e portion of useful surface is increased. The whole body of \r’f th« receptacle for the fuel, which aj r the stove may be considered as a long pipe folded up, and. ^ dies on the bottom of the stove its effect would be the greatest possible it it really were so; without any grate ; this firethat is, if each partition cC, dl), &c. were split into two, place has a door AO turning and a free passage allowed between them for the air of the on hinges, and in this door room. Something like this will be observed afterwards in is a very small wicket P : the Borne German stoves. roof of the fire-place extends It is with the same view of making an extensive applicato within a very few inches of tion of a hot surface to the air, that the stove is not built the farther end, leaving a narin the wall, not even in contact with it, nor with the floor; row passage B for the flame. for by its detached situation, the air in contact with the The next partition c C is about back, and with the bottom, where it is hottest, is warmed, eight inches higher, and reaches and contributes at least one-half of the whole effect; for almost to the other end, leaving the great heat of the bottom makes its effect on the air of a narrow passage for the flame the room at least equal to that of the two ends. Sometimes at C. The partitions are rea stove makes part of the wall between two small rooms, peated above, at the distance and is found sufficient. of eight inches, leaving passIt must be remarked, on the wdiole, that the effect of a ages at the ends, alternately disposed as in the figure ; the stove depends much on keeping in the room the air already last of them H communicates with the room vent. This communication may be regulated by a plate of iron, which heated^ by it. This is so remarkably the case, that a small be slid across it . by same room will be so far increasing •.J means of a rod or handle ^ which open fire in the i* ..,;n airmiv»ior, • ii from will £>vpn clravv comes through the side. The more usual way of shutting its heat, that it will greatly diminish it; it will even the warm air from a suite of adjoining apartments. This up this passage is by a sort of pan or bowl of earthen ware, which is wdielmed over it with its brim resting in sand con- is distinctly observed in the houses of the English mertained in a groove formed all round the hole. This dam- chants in St. Petersburg; their habits of life in Britain per is introduced by a door in the front, which is then shut. make them uneasy without an open fire in their sitting The whole is set on low pillars, so that its bottom may be rooms ; and this obliges them to heat all their stoves twice a few inches from the floor of the room. It is usually placed a-day, and their houses are cooler than those of the Russians, in a corner, and the apartments are so disposed that their who heat them only once. In many German houses, especially of the lower class, the fire-place of the stove does chimneys can be joined in stacks as with us. Some straw or wood shavings are first burnt on the hearth not open into the room, but into the yard or a lobby, where at its farther end. This wrarms the air in the stove, and all the fires are lighted and tended ; by this means is avoidcreates a determined current. The fuel is then laid on ed the expense of warm air which must have been carried the hearth close by the door, and pretty much piled up. off by the stove ; but it is evident, that this must be very It is now kindled; and the current being already directed unpleasant, and cannot be wholesome. We must breathe to the vent, there is no danger of any smoke coming out the same quantity of stagnant air loaded with all the vainto the room. Effectually to prevent this, the door is shut, pours and exhalations which must be produced in every inand the wicket P opened. The air supplied by this, being habited place. Going into one of these houses from the directed to the middle or bottom of the fuel, quickly kindles open air, is like putting one’s head into a stew-pan or under a pie-crust, and quickly nauseates us who are accustomed to it, and the operation goes on. Aim and The aim of this construction is very obvious. The flame fresh air and cleanliness. In these countries it is a matter effects of and heated air are retained as long as possible within the almost of necessity, to fumigate the rooms with frankincense this con- body of the stove by means of the long passages ; and the and other gums burnt. The censer in ancient worship was struction. narrowness of these passages obliges the flame to come in in all probability an utensil introduced by necessity for contact with every particle of soot, so as to consume it com- sweetening or rendering tolerable the air of a crowded pletely, and thus convert the whole combustible matter of place ; and it is a constant practice in the Russian houses the fuel into heat. For want of this, a very considerable for a servant to go round the room after dinner, waving a portion of our fuel is wasted by our open fires, even under censer with some gums burning on bits of charcoal. The account now given of stoves for heating rooms, andwalb Of hot1 the very best management. The soot which sticks to our vents is very inflammable, and a pound weight of it will of the circumstances which must be attended to in their e^ " give as much if not more heat than a pound of coal. And construction, will equally apply to hot walls in gardening,^ what sticks to our vents is very inconsiderable in compari- whether within or without doors. The only new circumson with what escapes unconsumed at the chimney top. In stance which this employment of a flue introduces, is the fires of green wood, peat, and some kinds of pit-coal, nearly attention which must be paid to the equability of the heat, one-fifth of the fuel is lost in this way ; but in these stoves and the gradation which must be observed in different parts there is hardly ever any mark of soot to be seen ; and even of the building. The heat in the flue gradually diminishes this small quantity is produced only after lighting the fires. as it recedes from the fire-place, because it is continually The volatile inflammable matters are expelled from parts giving out heat to the flue. It must therefore be so conmuch heated indeed, but not so hot as to burn ; and some ducted through the building by frequent returns, that in of it charred' or half-burnt cannot be any further consumed, every part there may be a mixture of warmer and cooler being enveloped in flame and air already vitiated and unfit branches of the flue, and the final chimney should be close for combustion. But when the stove is well heated, and the by the fire-place. It would, however, be improper to run current brisk, no part of the soot escapes the action of the air. the flue from the end of the floor up to the ceiling, where The hot air retained in this manner in the body of the the second horizontal pipe would be placed, and then restove is applied to its sides in a very extended surface. To turn it downward again and make the third horizontal flue increase this still more, the stove is made narrower from adjoining to the first, &c. This would make the middle of front to back in its upper part; a certain breadth is neces- the wall the coldest. If it is the flue of a greenhouse, this sary below, that there may be room for fuel. If this breadth would be highly improper, because the upper part of the were preserved all the way up, much heat would be lost, wall can be very little employed ; and in this case it is bet-

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PNEUMATICS. 129 : tJects of ter to allow the flue to proceed gradually up the wall in its prominence down from the arch of the reverberatory would Effects of e pres- different returns, by which the lowest part would be the bave this effect, by suddenly throwing the current into con- the proi e of th® warmest, and the heated air will ascend among the pots fusion. If the additional length of passage do not cool the Sl,re of t!ie air '_ and plants; but in a hot wall, where the trees are to re- air too much, we should think that if there were interposed air‘ ceive heat by contact, some approximation to the above between the fuel and the refining floor a passsage twisted method may be useful. In the hypocausta and fudaria like a cork-screw, making just half a turn, it would be most of the Greeks and Romans, the flue was conducted chiefly effectual; for we imagine, that the two airs, keeping each under the floors. to their respective sides of the passage, would by this means alt-kilns Malt-kilns are a species of stove which merit our atten- be turned upside down, and that the pure stratum would ipecies oftion. Many attempts have been made to improve them on now be in contact with the metal, and the vitiated air would ive. the principle of flue stoves ; but they have been unsucess- be above it. ful, because heat is not what is chiefly wanted in malting; The glass-house furnace exhibits the chief variety in the Current in it is a copious current of very dry air to carry off the moisture, management of the current of heated air. In this it is ne- the glasshouse furf the cur- All that is to be attended to in the different kinds of cessary that the hole at which the workman dips his pipenaces it of air melting furnaces is, that the current of air be sufficiently into the pot shall be as hot as any part of the furnace. This ‘ melting rapid, and that it be applied in as extensive a surface as could never be the case, if the furnace had a chimney situ•naces. p0SSible to the substance to be melted. The more rapid ated in a part above the dipping-hole; for in this case cold the current it is the hotter, because it is consuming more air would immediately rush in at the hole, play over the fuel; and therefore its effect increases in a higher propor- surface of the pot, and go up the chimney. To prevent tion than its rapidity. It is doubly effectual if twice as hot; this the hole itself is made the chimney ; but as this would and if it then be twice as rapid, there is twice the quantity be too short, and would produce very little current and very of doubly hot air applied to the subject; it would therefore little heat, the whole surface is set under a tall dome. Thus be four times more powerful. This is procured by raising the heated air from the real furnace is confined in this dome, the chimney of the furnace to a greater height. The close and constitutes a high column of very light air, which will application of it to the subject can hardly be laid down in therefore rise with great force up the dome, and escape at general terms, because it depends on the precise circum- the top. The dome is therefore the chimney, and will prostances of each case. duce a draught or current proportioned to its height. Some rrent in In reverberatory furnaces, such as refining furnaces for are raised above a hundred feet. When all the doors of i erbera- gold, silver, and copper, the flame is made to play over the this house are shut, and thus no supply given except through ity fuma- surface of the melted metal. This is produced entirely by the fire, the current and heat become prodigious. This, the form of the furnace, by making the arch of the furnace however, cannot be done, because the workmen are in this as low as the circumstances of the manipulation will allow. chimney, and must have respirable air. But notwithstandSee Furnace. Experience has pointed out in general the ing this supply by the house-doors, the draught of the real chief circumstances of their construction, viz. that the fuel furnace is vastly increased by the dome, and a heat produced should be at one end on a grate, through which the air en- sufficient for the work, and which could not have been proters to maintain the fire; and that the metal should be duced without the dome. This has been applied with great ingenuity and effect to Cotterel’s placed on a level floor between the fuel and the tall chimimproveney which produces the current. But there is no kind of a furnace for melting iron from the ore, and an iron finery,men or furnace more variable in its effect, and almost every place both without a blast. The common blast iron furnace is ^ f has a small peculiarity of construction, on which its pre- well known. It is a tall cone with the apex undermost. eminence is rested. This has occasioned many whimsical The ore and fluxes are thrown into this cone mixed inti-the ore varieties in their form. This uncertainty seems to depend mately with the fuel till it is full, and the blast of most much on a circumstance rather foreign to our present pur- powerful bellows is directed into the bottom of this cone pose ; but as we do not observe it taken notice of by mi- through a hole in the side. The air is thrown in with such neralogical writers, we beg leave to mention it here. It is force, that it makes its way through the mass of matter, not heat alone that is wanted in the refining of silver by kindles the fuel in its passage, and fluxes the materials, lead, for instance. We must make a continual application which then drop down into a receptacle below the blastto its surface of air, which has not contributed to the com- hole, and thus the passage for the air is kept unobstructed. bustion of the fuel. Any quantity of the hottest air, al- It was thought impossible to produce or maintain this curready saturated with the fuel, may play on the surface of rent without bellows ; but Mr.Cotterel, an ingenious founthe metal for ever, and keep it in the state of most perfect der, tried the effect of a tall dome placed over the mouth fusion, but without refining it in the least. Now, in the of the furnace, and though it was not half the height of ordinary construction of a furnace, this is much the case. many glass-house domes it had the desired effect. The last application which we shall make of the currents Currents of If the whole air has come in by the grate, and passed airfree applied through the middle of the fuel, it can hardly be otherwise produced by heating the air is to the freeing mines, ships,t0 than nearly saturated with it; and if air be also admitted prisons, &c. from the damp and noxious vapours which fre- . by the door, which is generally done or something equiva- quently infest them. As a drift or work is carried on in the noxious lent, the pure air lies above the vitiated air, and during the mine, let a trunk of deal boards, about six or eight inches air passage along the horizontal part of the furnace, and along square, be laid along the bottom of the drift, communicating the surface of the metal, it still keeps above it, at least there with a trunk carried up in the corner of one of the shafts. Let is nothing to promote their mixture. Thus the metal does the top of this last trunk open into the ash-pit of a small furnot come into contact with air fit to act on the base metal nace, having a tall chimney. Let fire be kindled in the furand calcine it, and the operation of refining goes on slowly. nace ; and when it is well heated, shut the fire-place and ashTrifling circumstances in the form of the arch or canal may pit doors. There being no other supply for the current protend to promote the jumbling of the airs together, and thus duced in the chimney of this furnace, the air will flow into render the operation more expeditious; and as these are it from the trunk, and will bring along with it all the offenbut ill understood, or perhaps this circumstance not attend- sive vapours. This is the most effectual method yet found ed to, no wonder that we see these considered as so many out. In the same manner may trunks be conducted into nostrums of great importance. It were therefore worth the ash-pit of a furnace from tile cells of a prison or the while to try the effect of changes in the form of the roof wards of an hospital. In the account which we have been giving of the managedirected to this very circumstance. Perhaps some little K VOL. XVIII.

PNEUMATICS. 130 pr.eui Pneumatic ment of air in furnaces and common fires, we have frequently part N considerably raised above the bottom of the cavern, Pneumatic and thence sloping downwards into lower ground, and terengines, engines- mentioned the immediate application of air to the burning w*fuel as necessary for its combustion. T his is a general fact. minating in an open well at P. Let the dimensions of this Air neces- |-n order that any inflammable body may be readily inflamed, canal be such that it will discharge much more water than sary for the anc| comkustikie matter consumed and ashes produced, is supplied by TO. All this is very natural, and may be very common. The effect of this arrangement will be a of'Tuel- 10n ^ *s no^ enou»h that the body be made hot. A piece of remitting spring at P ; for when the cavern is filled higher charcoal inclosed in a box of iron may be kept red hot for ever, without wasting its substance in the smallest degree. than the point N, the canal MNP will act as a syphon ; and, It is further necessary that it be in contact with a particu- by the conditions assumed, it will discharge the water faster lar species of air, which constitutes about three-fourths of than TO supplies it; it will therefore run it dry, and then the air of the atmosphere, viz. the vital air or oxygen of the spring at P will cease to furnish water. After some Lavoisier. It was called empyreal air by Scheele, who first time the cavern will again be filled up to the height N, and observed its indispensable use in maintaining fire ; and it the flow at P will recommence. If, besides this supply, the well P also receive water from appears, that, in contributing to the combustion of an inflammable body, this air combines with some of its ingredi- a constant force, we shall have a reciprocating spring. The ents, and becomes fixed air, suffering the same change as situation and dimensions of this syphon canal, and the by the breathing of animals. Combustion may therefore supply of the feeder, may be such, that the efflux at P be considered as a solution of the inflammable body in air. will be constant. If the supply increase in a certain deThis doctrine was first promulgated by the celebrated Dr. gree, a reciprocation will be produced at P with very short Hooke in his Micrographia, published in 1660, and after- intervals ; if the supply diminishes considerably, we shall wards improved in his Treatise on Lamps. It is now com- have another kind of reciprocation with great intervals and pletely established, and considered as a new discovery. It great differences of water. If the cavern have another simple outlet R, new varieis for this reason, that in fire-places of all kinds we have directed the construction, so as to produce a close applica- ties will be produced in the spring P, and R will afford a tion of the air to the fuel. It is quite needless at this day copious spring. Let the mouth of R, by which the water into it from the cavern, be lower than N, and let the to enter into the discussions which formerly occupied phi- enters losophers about the manner in which the pressure and elas- supply of the feeding spring be no greater than R can disticity of the air promoted combustion. Many experiments charge, we shall have a constant spring from R, and P will were made in the seventeenth century by the first members give no water. But suppose that the main feeder increases winter or in rainy seasons, but not so much as will supof the Royal Society, to discover the office of air in com- in ply both P and R, the cavern will fill till the water gets bustion. It was thought that the flame was extinguished N, and R will be running all the while ; but soon in rare air for want of a pressure to keep it together ; but over this did not explain its extinction when the air was not re- after P has begun to flow, and the water in the cavern newed. These experiments are still retained in courses of sinks below R, the stream from R will stop. The cavern experimental philosophy, as they are judiciously styled; but will be emptied by the syphon canal MNP, and then P will they give little or no information, nor tend to the illustra- stop. The cavern will then begin to fill, and when near tion of any pneumatical doctrine ; they are therefore omit- full R will give a little water, and soon after P will run ted in this place. In short, it is now fully established, that and R stop as before, &c. Desaguliers shows (vol. ii. p. 177, it is not a mechanical but a chemical phenomenon. We &c.) in what manner a prodigious variety of periodical can only inform the chemist, that a candle will consume ebbs and flows may be produced by underground canals, faster in the low countries than in the elevated regions of which are extremely simple and probable. We shall conclude this article with the descriptions ofsom Account of Quito and Gondar, because the air is nearly one half denser e 1 61, some pneumatical machines or engines which have not been . P ' below, and will act proportionally faster in decomposing the en particularly noticed under their names in the former volcandle. umes of this work. Curious We shall conclude this part of our subject with the exBellows are of most extensive and important use ; and it effect of the planation of a curious phenomenon observed in many plapressure of ces. Certain springs or fountains are observed to have will be of service to describe such as are of uncommon conthe air. periods of repletion and scantiness, or seem to ebb and flow struction and power, sufficient for the great operations in at regular intervals; and some of these periods are of a metallurgy. It is not the impulsive force of the blast that is wanted complicated nature. Thus a well will have several returns of high and low water, the difference of which gradually in most cases, but merely the copious supply of air, to proincreases to a maximum, and then diminishes, just as we duce the rapid combustion of inflammable matter ; and the observe in the ocean. A very ingenious and probable ex- service would be better performed in general if this could planation of this has been given in No. 424 of the Philo- be done with moderate velocities, and an extended surface. What are called air-furnaces, where a considerable surface sophical Transactions, by Mr. Atwell. Let ABCD (fig. 90,) represent a cavern, into which of inflammable matter is acted on at once by the current water is brought by the subterraneous passage OT. Let which the mere heat of the expended air has produced, are found more operative in proportion to the air expended than blast furnaces animated by bellows ; and we doubt not but Fig. 90. that the method proposed by Mr. Cotterel, which we have already mentioned, of increasing this current in a melting furnace by means of a dome, will in time supersede the blast furnaces. There is indeed a great impulsive force required in some cases ; as for blowing off the scoriae from the surface of silver or copper in refining furnaces, or for keeping a clear passage for the air in the great iron furnace. In general, however, we cannot procure this abundant supply of air any other way than by giving it a great velocity by means of a great pressure, so that the general conit have an outlet MNP, of a crooked form, with its highest struction of bellows is pretty much the same in all kinds.

PNEUMATICS. 131 jecting over the outside of the box. By this contrivance Pneumatic ; jumatic The air is admitted into a very large cavity, and then exengines. •igines. pelled from it through a small hole. the laths are pressed close to the sides and The furnaces at the mines having been greatly enlarged, curved end of the moveable box, and the it was necessary to enlarge the bellows also ; and the lea- spring wires yield to all their inequalities. thern bellows becoming exceedingly expensive, wooden ones A bar of wood RS, fig. 91, is fixed to the were substituted in Germany about the beginning of the upper board, by which it is either raised by seventeenth century, and from them became general through- machinery, to sink again by its own weight, out Europe. They consist of a wooden box ABCPFE,fig.91, having an additional load laid on it, or it is forced downward by a crank or wiper of the Fig. 91machinery, and afterwards raised. The operation here is precisely similar to that of blowing with a chamber-bellows. When the board is lifted up) the air enters by the valves V, V, fig. 93, and is expelled at the pipe OQ. by depressing the boards. There is therefore no occasion to insist on this point. These bellows are made of a very great size, AD being 16 feet, AB five feet, and the circular end AE also five feet. The rise, however, is but about 3 or 3* feet. They expel at each stroke about 90 cubic feet of air, and they make about 8 strokes per minute. Such are the bellows in general use on the continent. We have adopted a different form in this kingdom, which seems much preferable. We use an iron or wooden cylinder, with a piston sliding along it. This may be made with much greater accuracy than the wooden boxes, at less exwhich has its top and two sides flat or straight, and the end pense, if of wood, because it may be of cooper’s work, held BAE formed into an arched or cylindrical surface, of together by hoops ; but the great advantage of this form is which the line FP at the other end is the axis. This box being more easily made air-tight. The piston is suris open below, and receives within it the shallow box its rounded with a broad strap of thick and soft leather, and it KHGNML, fig. 92, which exactly fills it. The line FP has around its edge a deep groove, in which is lodged a quantity of wool. This is called the packing or stuffing, Fig. 92. and keeps the leather very closely applied to the inner surT, face of the cylinder. Iron cylinders may be very neatly bored and smoothed, so that the piston, even when very tight, will slide along it very smoothly. To promote this, a quantity of black lead is ground very fine with water, and a little of this is smeared on the inside of the cylinder from a time to time. The cylinder has a large valve, or sometimes two, in the of the one coincides with FP of the other, and along this line is a set of hinges on which the upper box turns as it bottom, by which the atmospheric air enters when the pisrises and sinks. The lower box is made fast to a frame fix- ton is drawn up. When the piston is thrust down, this air ed in the ground. A pipe OQ, proceeds from the end of it, is expelled along a pipe of great diameter, which terminand terminates at the furnace, where it ends in a small pipe ates in the furnace with a small orifice. This is the simplest form of bellows which can be concalled the fewer or tuyere. This lower box is open above, and has in its bottom two large valves V, V, fig. 93, opening ceived. It differs in nothing but size from the bellows used by the rudest nations. The Chinese smiths have a bellows Fig. 93. very similar, being a square pipe of wood ABCDE, fig. 95, Fig. 95.

inwards. The conducting pipe is sometimes furnished with a valve opening outwards, to prevent burning coals from being sucked into the bellows when the upper box is drawn up. The joint along PF is made tight by thin leather nailed along it. The sides and ends of the fixed box are made to fit the sides and curved end of the upper box, so that this last can be raised and lowered round the point F P without sensible friction, and yet without suffering much air to escape ; but as this would not be sufficiently air-tight by reason of the shrinking and warping of the wood, a farther contrivance is adopted. A slender lath of wood, divided into several joints, and covered on the outer edge with very soft leather, is laid along the upper edges of the sides and ends of the lower box. This lath is so broad, that when its inner edge is even with the inside of the box, its outer edge projects about an inch. It is kept in this position by a number of steel wires, which are driven into the bottom of the box, and stand up touching the sides, as represented in fig. 94, where ah c are the wires, and e the lath, pro-

with a square board G which exactly fits it, moved by the handle FG. At the farther end is the blast pipe HK, and on each side of it a valve in the end of the square pipe, opening inwards. The piston is sufficiently tight for their purposes without any leathering. The piston of this cylinder bellows is moved by machinery. In some blast engines the piston is simply raised by the machine, and then let go, and it descends by its own weight, and compresses the air below it to such a degree, that the velocity of efflux becomes constant, and the piston descends uniformly; for this purpose it must be loaded with a proper weight. This produces a very uniform blast, except at the very beginning, whilst the piston falls suddenly and compresses the air ; but in most engines the piston rod is forced down the cylinder with a determined motion, by means of a beam, crank, or other contrivance. This

PNEUMATICS. 132 Pneumatic gives a more unequal blast, because the motion of the pis- were nearly adjusted to this supply. Each stroke of the Pneumatic en I1 engines. jon js necessarily slow in the beginning and end of the blowing cylinder sent in 118 cubic feet of common air. g' e8. The ordinary pressure of the air being supposed 14| pounds ’ stroke, and quicker in the middle. But in all it is plain that the blast must be desultory. on an inch, the density of the air in the regulating cylinder It ceases while the piston is rising; for this reason it is must be =1.1783, the natural density be14.75 usual to have two cylinders, as it was formerly usual to have ing two bellows which worked alternately, feometimes three ^ machine gives an opportunity . of comparing the exThis or four are used, as at the Carron iron-works. This makes pense of air with the theory. It must, at the rate of 15 a blast abundantly uniform. But an uniform blast may be made with a single cylin- strokes, expel 30 cubic feet of air in a second through a der, by making it deliver its air into another cylinder, which hole of 1|- inches in diameter. This gives a velocity of has a piston exactly fitted to its bore, and loaded with a suf- near 2000 feet per second, and of more than 1600 feet for ficient weight. The blowing cylinder ABCD, fig. 96, has the condensed air. This is vastly greater than the theory can give, or is indeed possible ; for air does not rush into a its piston P worked by a rod NP, void with so great velocity. It shows with great evidence, connected by double chains with that a vast quantity of air must escape round the two pisthe arched head of the working tons. Their united circumferences amount to above 40 beam NO, moving round a gudfeet, and they move in a dry cylinder. It is impossible to geon at R. The other end O of prevent a very great loss. Accordingly, a candle held near this beam is connected by the the edge of the piston L has its flame very much disturbed. rod OP, with the crank PQ. of a This case, therefore, gives no hold for a calculation ; and it wheel machine; or it may be suggests the propriety of attempting to diminish this great connected with a piston of a steamwaste. engine, &c. See. The blowing cyThis has been very ingeniously done, in part at least, at linder has a valve or valves E in its bottom, opening inwards. some other furnaces. At a certain foundery, near Glasgow, There proceeds from it a large the blowing cylinder, also worked by a steam-engine, depipe CF, which enters the regulivers its air into a chest without a bottom, which is immersed in a large cistern of water, and supported at a small lating cylinder GHKI, and has a valve at top to prevent the air height from the bottom of the cistern, and has a pipe from from getting back into the blowing cylinder. It is evident its top leading to the tuyere. The water stands about five that the air forced into this cylinder must raise its piston L, feet above the lower brim of the regulating air-chest, and and that it must afterwards descend, while the other piston by its pressure gives the most perfect uniformity of blast, is rising. It must descend uniformly, and make a perfect- without allowing a particle of air to get off by any other ly equable blast. passage besides the tuyere. This is a very effectual reguObserve, that if the piston L be at the bottom when the lator, and must produce a great saving of power, because a machine begins to work, it will be at the bottom at the end smaller blowing cylinder will thus supply the blast. We of every stroke if the tuyere T emits as much air as the must observe, that the loss round the piston of the blowing cylinder ABCD furnishes ; nay, it will lie a while at the cylinder remains undiminished. bottom, for, while it was rising, air was issuing through T. A blowing machine was erected many years ago at ChasThis would make an interrupted blast. To prevent this, tillon in France on a principle considerably different, and the orifice T must be lessened; but then there will be a which must be perfectly air-tight throughout. Two cylinsurplus of air at the end of each stroke, and the piston L ders A, B,(fig. 97) loaded with great weights, were suspended will rise continually, and at last get to the top, and allow air to escape. It is just possible to adjust circumstances, Fig. 97. so that neither shall happen. This is done easier by putting a stop in the way of the piston, and putting a valve on the piston, or on the conducting pipe KST, loaded with a weight a little superior to the intended elasticity of the air in the cylinder. Therefore, when the piston is prevented by the stop from rising, the snifting valve, as it is called, is forced open, the superfluous air escapes, and the blast preserves its uniformity. It may be of use to give the dimensions of a machine of this kind, which worked for many years at a very great furnace, and given satisfaction. The diameter of the blowing cylinder is 5 feet, and the at the ends of the lever CD, moving round the gudgeon E. length of the stroke is 6. Its piston is loaded with 3^ tons. From the top F, G of each there was a large flexible pipe It is worked by a steam-engine whose clyinder is 3 feet 4 which united in H, from whence a pipe KT led to the inches wide, with a six-feet stroke. The regulating cylin- tuyere T. There were valves at F and G opening outder is 8 feet wide, and its piston is loaded with 8^ tons, wards, or into the flexible pipes; and other valves L, M, making about 2.63 pounds on the square inch ; and it is adjoining to them in the top of each cylinder, opening invery nearly in equilibrio with the load on the piston of the wards, but kept shut by a slight spring. Motion was given blowing cylinder. The conducting pipe KST is 12 inches to the lever by a machine. The operation of this blowing in diameter, and the orifice of the tuyere was -g ths of an inch machine is evident. When the cylinder A was pulled down, when the engine was erected, but it has gradually enlarged or allowed to descend, the water, entering at its bottom, by reason of the intense heat to which it is exposed. The compressed the air, and forced it along the passage FHKT. snifting valve is loaded with 3 pounds on the square inch. In the mean time, the cylinder B was rising, and the air When the engine worked briskly, it made 18 strokes per entered by the valve M. We see that the blast will be very minute, and there was always much air discharged by the unequal, increasing as the cylinder is immersed deeper. It snifting valve. When the engine made 15 strokes per mi- is needless to describe this machine more particularly, benute, the snifting valve opened but seldom, so that things cause we shall give an account of one which we think per-

P N E U M A T I C S. 13.3 middle cylinder a second time, more air will be forced into Pneumatics |ieumatic feet in its kind, and which leaves hardly any thing to be the air-chest, and it will at last escape by getting out be- engines, ngines- desired in a machine of this sort. f< ^ ABCD (fig.98) is an iron cylinder, truly bored within,and tween its brims Y, Z, and the bottom of the cistern; or ifv,^V'^^ we open the passage c, it will pass along the conduit c d e Fig. 98. to the tuyere, and form a blast. The operation of this machine is similar to Mr. Haskins’s quicksilver pump, described by Desaguliers.1 The force which condenses the air is the load on the middle cylinder. The use of the wrater between the inner and outer cylinders, is to prevent this air from escaping ; and the inner cylinder thus performs the office of a piston, having no friction. It is necessary that the length of the outer and middle cylinders be greater than the depth of the regulatorcistern, that there may be a sufficient height for the water to rise between the middle and outer cylinders, to balance the compressed air, and oblige it to go into the air-chest. A large blast-furnace will require the regulator-cistern five feet deep, and the cylinders about six or seven feet long. It is in fact a pump without friction, and is perfectly airevasated a-top like a cup. EFGH is another, truly turned tight. The quickness of its operation depends on the small both without and within, and a small matter less than the in- space between the middle cylinder and the two others ; and ner diameter of the first cylinder. This cylinder is close this is the only use of these two. Without these it would above and hangs from the end of a level moved by a machine. be similar to the engine at Chastillon, and operate more It is also loaded with weights at N. KILM is a third cy- unequally and slowly. Its only imperfection is, that if the linder, whose outside diameter is somewhat less than the cylinder begin its motion of ascent or descent rapidly, as it inside diameter of the second. This inner cylinder is fixed will do when worked by a steam engine, there will be some to the same bottom with the outer cylinder. The middle danger of water dashing over the top of the inner cylinder, cylinder is loose, and can move up and down between the and getting into the pipe SV ; but should this happen, an outer and inner cylinders without rubbing on either of them. issue can easily be contrived for it at V, covered with a The inner cylinder is perforated from top to bottom by loaded valve v. This will never happen if the cylinder'is three pipes OQ, SV, PR. The pipes OQ, PR have valves moved by a crank. One blowing cylinder only is repreat their upper ends O, P, and communicate with the ex- sented here, but two may be used. We do not hesitate in recommending this form of belternal air below. The pipe SV has a horizontal part VW, which again turns upwards, and has a valve at top X. This lows as the most perfect of any, and fit for all uses where upright part WX is in the middle of a cistern of water fhkg. standing bellows are required. They will be cheaper than Into this cistern is fixed an air-chest aYZ b, open below, any other sort for common purposes. For a common smith’s and having at top a pipe ede terminating in the tuyere at forge they may be made with square wooden boxes instead of cylinders. They are also easily repaired. They are the furnace. When the machine is at rest, the valves X, O, P, are perfectly tight; and they may be made with a blast almost shut by their own weights, and the air-chest is full of wa- perfectly uniform, by making the cistern in which the airter. When things are in this state, the middle cylinder chest stands, of considerable dimensions. When this is the EFGH is drawn up by the machinery till its lower brims case, the height of water, which regulates the blast, will F and G are equal with the top RM of the inner cylinder. vary very little. This may suffice for an account of blast machines. The Now pour in water or oil between the outer and middle cylinders ; and it will run down and fill the space between the leading parts of their construction have been described as outer and inner cylinders. Let it come to the top of the far only as was necessary for understanding their operation, and enabling an engineer to erect them in the most inner cylinder. Now, let the loaded middle cylinder descend. It can- commodious manner. Views of complete machines might not do this without compressing the air which is between have amused, but they would not have added to our read its top and the top of the inner cylinder. This air being er’s information. But the account is imperfect unless we show how their compressed, will cause the water to descend between the inner and middle cylinders, and rise between the middle and parts may be so proportioned that they shall perform what outer cylinders, spreading into the cup ; and as the middle is expected from them. The engineer should know what cylinder advances downwards, the water will descend far- size of bellows, and what load on the board or piston, and ther within it, and rise farther without it. When it has got what size of tuyere, will give the blast which the service so far down, and the air has been so much compressed, that requires, and what force must be employed to give them the difference between the surface of the water on the in- the necessary degree of motion. We shall accomplish these side and outside of this cylinder is greater than the depth purposes by considering the efflux of the compressed air of water between X and the surface of the water/V/, air through the tuyere. The propositions formerly delivered will go out by the pipe SVW, and will lodge in the air- will enable us to ascertain this. That we may proportion everything to the power emchest, and will remain there if c be shut, which we shall suppose for the present. Pushing down the middle cylin- ployed, we must recollect, that if the piston of a cylinder der till the partition touch the top of the inner cylinder, all employed for expelling air, be pressed down with any force the air which was formerly between them will be forced in- p, it must be considered as superadded to the atmospheric to the air-chest, and will drive out water from it. Draw up pressure P on the same piston, in order that we may comthe middle cylinder, and the external air will open the pare the velocity v of efflux with the known velocity V with valves O, P, and again fill the space between the middle which air rushes into a void. By what has been formerly and inner cylinders ; for the valve X will shut, and prevent delivered, it appears that this velocity v=\ X —— , the regress of the condensed air. By pushing down the Experimental Philosophy, vol. ii. p. 491; and Philosophical Transactions, 1728, vol. xxxii. p. 5.

134 PNEUMATICS. || Pneumatic where P is the pressure of the atmosphere on the piston, evident: we do not know precisely the quantity of air ne- p™«ic engines. and „ the additional load laid on it. This velocity is ex- cessary for animating a furnace ; but this calculation tells engines, 'pressed in feet per second; and, when multiplied by the us what force must be employed for expelling the air that area of the orifice (also expressed in square feet) it will give may be thought necessary^. If we have fixed on the strength us the cubical feet of condensed air expelled in a second ; of the blast, and the diameter of the cyhnder, we learn the but the bellows are always to be filled again with common weight with which the piston must be loaded ; the length air, and therefore we want to know the quantity of common of the cylinder determines its capacity, the above calculaair which will be expelled ; for it is this which determines tion tells the expense per second ; hence we have the time the number of strokes which must be made in a minute, in of the piston’s coming to the bottom. This gives us the order that the proper supply mav be obtained. Therefore number of strokes per minute. The load must be lifted up recollect that the quantity expelled from a given orifice by the machine this number of times, making the time ot with a given velocity, is in the proportion of the density; and ascent precisely equal to that of descent; otherwise the that when D is the density of common air produced by the machine will either catch and stop the descent of the pispressure P, the density d produced by the pressure P-pp> ton, or allow it to lie inacthe for a while of each stioke. These circumstances determine the labour to be performed P+P P+P by the machine, and it must be constructed accordingly. is Dx p ’ or if D be made i,' we have d- P Thus the engineer will not be affronted by its failure, nor Therefore, calling the area of the orifice expressed in will he expend needless power and cost. square feet O, and the quantity of r common air,^ or the In machines wdiich force the piston or bellowTs board with cubic feet expelled in a second Q, w e have X O X a certain determined motion, different from what arises from their own weight, the computation is extremely intricate. P / P When a piston moves by a crank, its motion at the beginP+P ning and end of each stroke is slow, and the compression It will be sufficiently exact for all practical purposes, to and efffrix is continually changing. We can however apsuppose P to be 15 pounds on every squaie inch of tiepin- proximate to a statement of the force required, ton; andp is then conveniently expressed by the pounds Even,7 time the piston is drawn up, a certain space of the of additional load on every square inch. W e may also take Cy];nder js filled again with air of the common density ; V—1332 feet. . . and this is expelled during the descent of the piston. A As the orifice through which the air is expelled is gene- certajn number of cubic feet of common air is therefore exrally very small, never exceeding three inches in diameter, peiied wdij a velocity which perhaps continually varies ; Uo — it in in snnnrP ^ & medium velocity with which it might have it will be more convenient tn to ovnrp^ express it square inohes inches : ^ which being the T^?th of a square foot, we shall have the been uniformly expelled, and a pressure corresponding to cubic feet of common air expelled in a second, or Q= this velocity. " To find this, divide the area of the piston p+p by the area of the blast-hole (or rather by this area multi1332 O *p+/> =0 x9-25 X y: p A p ’ plied by 0-613, in order to take in the effect of the conp+P\ r V+p 144 and this seems to be as simple an expression as we can obtain. tracted jet), and multiply the length of the stroke performThis will perhaps be illustrated by taking an example in ed in a second by the quotient arising from this division; numbers. Let the area of the piston be four square feet, the product is the medium velocity of the air (of the natudensity). Then find by calculation the height through and the area of the round hole through which the air is ex- ral pelled, be two inches, its diameter being 1.6, and let the which a heavy body must fall in order to acquire this veloair load on the piston be 1728 pounds; this is three pounds city ; this is the height of a column of homogeneous 7 on every square inch. We have P=15, p=3, P-(-p= which would expel it with this velocity. The w eight of 18, and 0=2 ; therefore we will have Q=2 X 9.25 x this column is the least force that can be exerted by the engine : but this force is too small to overcome the resist18 X —, =9-053 cubic feet of common air expelled in ance in the middle of the stroke, and it is too great even for the end of the stroke, and much too great for the begin18, 15 a second. This will however be diminished at least one- ning of it. But if the machine is turned by a very heavy third by the contraction of the jet; and therefore the sup- water-wheel, this will act as a regulator, accumulating in ply will not exceed six cubic feet per second. Supposing itself the superfluous force during the too favourable positherefore that this blowing machine is a cylinder or prism tions of the crank, and exerting it by its vis insita during of this dimension in its section, the piston so loaded would, the time of greatest effort. A force not greatly exceeding after having compressed the air, descend about 15 inches the weight of this column of air will therefore suffice. On in a second. It would first sink one-fifth of the whole the other hand, if the strength of the blast be determined, length of the cylinder pretty suddenly, till it had reduced which is the general state of the problem, this determines the air to the density j-f, and would then descend uniform- the degree of condensation of the air, and the load on the ly at the above rate, expelling six cubic feet of common square inch of the piston, or the mean force which the machine must exert on it. A table, which will be given preair in a second. The computation is made much in the same way for bel- sently, determines the cubic feet of common air expelled lows of the common form, with this additional circumstance, in a second, corresponding to this load. This combined that as the loaded board moves round a hinge at one end, with the proposed dimensions of the cylinder, will give the the pressure of the load must be calculated accordingly. descent of the piston or the length of the stroke. The computation, however, becomes a little intricate, when These general observations apply to all forms of bellows ; the form of the loaded board is not rectangular. It is al- and without a knowledge of them no person can erect a most useless when the bellows have flexible sides, either machine for working them without total uncertainty or serlike smith’s bellows or like organ bellows, because the change vile imitation. In order, therefore, that they may be useof figure during their motion makes continual variation on ful to such as are not accustomed to the management of the compressing powers. It is therefore chiefly with re- even these simple formulae, we insert the following short spect to the great wooden bellows, of which the upper table of the velocity and quantity of air discharged from a board slides down between the sides, that the above calcu- cylinder whose piston is loaded with the pounds contained lation is of service. in the first column on every square inch. The second coThe propriety, however, of this piece of information is lumn contains the velocity with which the condensed air

PNEUMATICS. 135 1-3umatie rushes out through any small hole ; and the third column cubic feet. There is another pipe NI of four inches diameter, Pneumatic igines. is the cubic feet discharged from a hole whose area is a which rises from engines. square inch ; column fourth contains the mean velocity of within four inches Fig. 100. air of the common density ; and column fifth is the cubic of the bottom of feet of common air discharged; the sixth column is the this lower cylinheight in inches at which the force of the blast would sup- der, is soldered inport a column of water if a pipe were inserted into the side to its top, and rises of the cylinder. This is an extremely proper addition to to the trough NO, such machines, showing at all times the power of the ma- which carries off chines, and teaching us what intensity of blast is employed the water from for different purposes. The table is computed from the the mouth of the supposition that the ordinary pressure of the air is 15 pounds pit. This lower on a square inch. This is somewhat too great, and there- cylinder commufore the velocities are a little too small; but the quantities nicates at the botdischarged will be found about one-third too great, without tom with the waaffecting the velocities, on account of the convergency of ter L which colthe stream. lects in the drains of the mine. A large cock K serves to admit or exclude this water ; another cock M, at the top of this cylinder,communicates with the external air. Now, suppose the cock C shut, and all the rest open; the upper cylinder will contain air, and the lowrer cylinder will be filled with water, because it is sunk so deep that its top is below the usual surface of the mine-waters. Now, shut the cocks F, E, M, K, and open the cock C. The water of the source B must run in by the orifice D, and rise in the upper cylinder, compressing the air above it and along the pipe GHH', and thus acting on the surface of the water This table extends far beyond the limits of ordinary use, in the lower cylinder. It will therefore cause it to rise very few blast-furnaces having a force exceeding 60 inches gradually in the pipe IN, where it will always be of such a height that its weight balances the elasticity of the comof water. We shall conclude this account of blowing machines with pressed air. Suppose no issue given to the air from the a description of a small one for a blow-pipe. ABCD, (fig. upper cylinder, it would be compressed into one-fifth of its bulk by the column of 136 feet high ; for a column of 99) is a vessel containing water, about Fig. 9934 feet nearly balances the ordinary elasticity of the air. two feet deep. EFGH is the air-box of Therefore, when there is an issue given to it through the the blower open below, and having a pipe pipe GHH', it will drive the compressed air along this pipe, ILK rising up from it to a convenient and it will expel water from the lower cylinder. When height; an arm ON which grasps this the upper cylinder is full of water, there will be 34 cubicpipe carries the lamp N: the blow-pipe feet of water expelled from the lower cylinder. If the LM comes from the top of the upright pipe IN had been more than 136 feet long, the water would pipe. PKQ. is the feeding-pipe reaching near to the bottom of the vessel. have risen 136 feet, being then in equilibrio with the water in the feeding pipe B6CD, by the intervention of the Water being poured into the vessel beelastic air; but no more water would have been expelled low, and its cover being put on, which from the lower cylinder than what fills this pipe. But the fits the upright pipe, and touches two pipe being only 96 feet high, the water will be thrown- out studs a, a, projecting from it, blow in a at N with a very great velocity. If it were not for the great quantity of air by the feeding pipe PO; obstructions which water and air must meet with in their this expels the water from the air-box, passage along pipes, it would issue at N with a velocity of and occasions a pressure which produces more than 50 feet per second. It issues much more slowthe blast through the blowr-pipe M. In a preceding part of this article, we mentioned an appli- ly, and at last the upper cylinder is full of water, and the cation which has been made of Hero’s fountain, at Chemnitz water would enter the pipe GH and enter the lower cylinin Hungary, for raising water from the bottom of a mine. We der, and without displacing the air in it, would rise through shall now give an account of this very ingenious contrivance. the discharging pipe IN, and run off to waste. To prevent In fig. 100, B represents the source of water elevated this there hangs in the pipe HG a cork ball or double cone, above the mouth of the pit 136 feet. From this there is by a brass wire which is guided by holes in two cross pieces led a pipe B6CD four inches diameter. This pipe enters in the pipe HG. When the upper cylinder is filled with the top of a copper cylinder b c d e, feet high, five feet water, this cork plugs up the orifice G, and no water is diameter, and two inches thick, and it reaches to within four wasted ; the influx at D now stops. But the lower cylininches of the bottom ; it has a cock at C. This cylinder der contains compressed air, which would balance water in has a cock at F, and a very large one at E. From the top b c a discharging pipe 136 feet high, whereas IN is only 96. proceeds a pipe GKH' two inches in diameter, which goes Therefore the water will continue to flow at N till the air down the pit 96 feet, and is inserted into the top of another has so far expanded as to balance only 96 feet of water, that brass cylindery^/u, which is 6^ feet high, four feet diame- is, till it occupies one-fourth of its ordinary bulk, that is, ter, and twro inches thick, containing 83 cubic feet, whiich is one-fourth of the capacity of the upper cylinder, or 421? very nearly one-half of the capacity of the other, viz. of 170 cubic feet. Therefore 42^ cubic feet will be expelled, and

PNEUMATICS. 136 with a mill. And, lastly, let it be noticed, that such » 1 Pneumatic the efflux at N will cease ; and the lowercyhnder isabout machine can be used where no mill whatever can be put engines, one-half full of water. When the attending workman ob- in motion. A small stream of water, which would not ' serves this, he shuts the cock C. He might have done this move any kind of wheel, will here raise one-third of its before, had he known when the orifice G was stopped; but own quantity to the same height, working as fast as it is no loss ensues from the delay. At the same time the attendant opens the cock E, the water issues with great vio*For all these reasons, we think that the Hungarian malence being pressed by the condensed air from the lower chine eminently deserves the attention of mathematicians cylinder. It therefore issues with the sum of its own weight and engineers, to bring it to its utmost perfection, and into and of this compression. These gradually decrease toge- general use. There are situations where this kind of mather, bv the efflux of the water and the expansion of the chine may be very useful. Thus, where the tide rises 17 air; but this efflux stops before all the water has flowed feet, it may be used for compressing air to seven-eighths of out; for there is 42^ feet of the lower cylinder occupied by its bulk ; and a pipe leading from a very large vessel inair. This quantity of water remains, therefore, in the up- verted in it, may be used for raising the water from a vesper cylinder nearly ; the workman knows this, because the sel of one-eighth of its capacity 17 feet high ; or it this vesdischarged water is received first of all into a vessel con- sel has only one-tenth of the capacity of the large one set taining three-fourths of the capacity of the upper cylinder. in the tide-way, two pipes may be led from rt* °ne into the Whenever this is filled, the attendant opens the cock E small vessel and the other into an equal vessel 16 feet higher, by a long rod which goes down the shaft ; this a ows which receives the water from the first. Thus one-sixteenth the water of the mine to fill the lower cylinder, allows of the water may be raised 34 feet, and a smaller quantity the air to get into the upper cylinder, and this allows the to a still greater height, and this with a kind of power that remaining water to run out of it. And thus every thing can hardly be applied in any other way. Machines of this is brought into its first condition; and when the attendant kind are described by Schottus, Sturmius, Leupold, an sees no more water come out at E, he shuts the cock other old writers; and they should not be forgotten, because E and M, and opens the cock C, and the operation is re- UU1JU1 opportunities may offer of making O them highly useful. A peated vciy ~ water by a machine that will cost little* and hardly go ou this engine. When the efflux at N has stopped, if the cock of repair. . c . F be opened, the water and air rush out together with proThe last pneumatical engine winch we shall speak ot at digious violence, and the drops of water are changed into present is the common fanners, used for winnowing grain, hail or lumps of ice. It is a sight usually shown to stran- and for drawing air out of a room ; and we have but few gers, who are desired to hold their hats to receive the blast observations to make on them. of air : the ice comes out with such violence as frequently The wings of the fanners are enclosed in a cylinder or to pierce the hat like a pistol bullet. This rapid congela- drum, whose circular sides have a tion is a remarkable instance of the general fact, that air large opening BDE, (fig. 101), by suddenly expanding, generates cold, its capacity foi heat round the centre, to admit the air. being increased. Thus the peasant cools his broth by By turning the wings rapidly round, blowing over the spoon, even from warm lungs ; a stream the air is hurried round along with of air from a pipe is always cooling. ,. The above account of the procedure in working this en- them, and thus acquires a centrifutendency, by which it presses gine shows that the efflux both at N and E becomes very gal on the outer rim of the slow near the end. It is found convenient therefore not to strongly this is gradually detached wait for the complete discharges, but to turn the cocks when drum: the circle as at KI, and terabout 30 cubic feet of water have been discharged at N : from in a trunk IHGF, which more work is done in this way. A gentleman of great ac- minated curacy and knowledge of these subjects took the trouble, at goes off in a tangential direction ; •—— is driven along our desire, of noticing particularly the performance of the the air therefore 1 machine. He observed that each stroke, as it may be call- this passage. If the wings were disposed in planes passing through the ed, took up about three minutes and one-eighth ; and that axis the compression of the air by the anterior surface 32 cubic feet of water were discharged at N, and 66 were wouldC,give it some tendency to escape in every direction, expended at E. The expense, therefore, is 66 feet of water falling 136 feet, and the performance is 32 raised 96, and and would obstruct in some degree the arrival of more air the side holes. They are therefore reclined a little they are in the proportion of 66 X 136 to 32x96, or of 1 through to 0’3422, or nearly as 3 to 1. This is superior to the per- backward, as represented in the figure. It may be shown formance of the most perfect undershot mill, even when all that their best form would be that of a hyperbolic spiral friction and irregular obstructions are neglected, and is not ah c ; but the straight form approaches sufficiently near to much inferior to any overshot pump-mill that has yet been the most perfect shape. Much labour is lost, however, in carrying the air round erected. When we reflect on the great obstructions which water meets with in its passage through long pipes, we those parts of the drum where it cannot escape. The fanmay be assured that, by doubling the size of the feeder and ners would either draw or discharge almost twice as much discharger, the performance of the machine will be greatly air if an opening were made all round one side. This could improved ; we do not hesitate to say, that it would be in- be gradually contracted, where required for winnowing, by creased one-third: it is true that it will expend more wa- a surrounding cone, and thus directed against the falling used ter, but this will not be nearly in the same proportion, for grain ; as has been verified by actual trial. When T most of the deficiency of the machine arises from the need- for drawing air out of a room for ventilation, it w ould be less velocity of the first efflux at N. The discharging pipe much better to remove the outer side of the drum entirely, ought to be 110 feet high, and not give sensibly less water. and let the air fly freely off on all sides ; but the flat sides Then it must be considered how inferior in original ex- are necessary, in order to prevent the air from arriving at pense this simple machine must be to a mill of any kind the fanners any other way but through the central holes, to which would raise 10 cubic feet 96 feet high in a minute, which trunks should be fitted leading to the apartment (b. b. b.) and how small the repairs on it need be, when compared which is to be ventilated. A machine precisely similar is now extensively used instead of bellows by engineers, smiths, &e.

F -

P 0 c P 0 c 137 Po PO, Padus, Eridanus, one of the great rivers of Eu- he had prepared an edition of the second Epistle of St Peter, Pococke II rope, which traverses the north of Italy from west to east. the second and third of St John, and the Epistle of St Jude, cockc. jt jts source in Monte Yiso, one of the Cottian Alps, in Syriac and Greek, with a Latin translation and notes. flows north-east to Turin, passes that capital, holds an east- In 1629 he was ordained priest, and appointed chaplain to erly course throughout the whole length of Lombardy, se- the English merchants at Aleppo, where he arrived in Ocparating Austrian Italy from Parma, Modena, and the Ec- tober 1630, and continued for five or six years, during clesiastical States, and discharges itself by a number of which he distinguished himself by his zeal and fortitude, mouths into the Adriatic, about thirty miles to the south of particularly whilst the plague raged there in 1634. At Venice. In its course, which, including its windings, is length returning to England, he was in 1636 appointed upwards of 500 miles, it receives a great number of rivers, reader of the Arabic Lectures, founded by Archbishop Laud. flowing in full current from the Alps on the north, and in Three years afterwards he went to Constantinople, where less copious but equally rapid streams from the Apennines he prosecuted his studies of the eastern tongues, and proon the south. Of these tributary waters the principal are, cured many valuable manuscripts. After a residence of the Dora Riparia, the Dora Baltea, the Stura, the Oreo, the nearly four years in that city, he embarked in 1640 ; and Sesia, the Tanaro, the Ticino, the Adda, the Olona, the taking Paris in his way, visited Gabriel Sionita the famous Oglio, the Mincio, the Crostolo, and the Panaro. The Po, Maronite, and also Hugo Grotius. In 1643 he was prerising in a very mountainous country, soon becomes a large sented to the rectory of Childrey, in Berkshire ; and about river, and is sufficiently deep to float boats and barges at three years afterwards married the daughter of Mr Thomas thirty miles from its source; but its current is often so ra- Burdett. About the middle of 1647 he obtained the respid that the navigation is at all seasons difficult, and not un- titution of the salary of his Arabic Lecture, which had been frequently hazardous. Hence, though it passes in its pro- detained from him about three years. In 1648, Charles gress more than fifty towns, little advantage comparatively I., being then prisoner in the Isle of Wight, nominated Mr is derived from it for the conveyance of merchandise. Its Pococke to the professorship of Hebrew, and the canonry volume of water is subject to sudden increase from the melt- of Christ-Church annexed to it; but in 1650 he was ejected ing of the snows, and from heavy falls of rain, the rivers that from his canonry for refusing to take the engagement, and flow into it being almost all mountain streams ; and in the soon afterwards a vote passed for depriving him of his Heflat country, in the lower part of its course, this would brew and Arabic professorships. But several governors of have been attended with very destructive effects, if great houses, and others, having presented a petition in his favour, dykes had not been constructed to confine it within its chan- he was suffered to enjoy both these places. He had some nel. The gravel rolled down from the mountains has pro- years before published his Specimen Historice Arabum, a gressively raised the bed of the river, and the protecting very learned work, and now appeared his Porta Mosis ; and mounds have also been correspondingly elevated ; so that soon afterwards the English Polyglot edition of the Bible, the Po, in the lower part of its course, presents the singular to which he had largely contributed, and also Eutychius’s spectacle of a vast body of water, the level of which is higher Annals, with a Latin version, gave evidence of his industry than that of the adjoining country. Its borders, interspers- and learning. At the Restoration he was reinstated in the ed with trees and villages, display great luxuriance of ve- canonry of Christ-Church, and also received the degree of getation, and are extremely pleasant, though by no means doctor of divinity. He then published his Arabic version picturesque. This river, like the Rhine, is crossed by fly- of Grotius’s Treatise of the Truth of the Christian Religion; ing bridges. A post is fixed in the middle of the stream, and an Arabic poem entitled Lamiato VAjam or Carmen and a rope conveyed from it to the passage raft, by means Abu-Ismaelis Tograi, with a Latin translation and notes. of a number of small boats which form the connecting links ; Soon afterwards he published Gregory Abulfaragius’s Hisand these boats being pressed on by the current, guide the toria Dynastiarum; but this work did not meet with much raft to the opposite side, with no other assistance than that encouragement from the public, a circumstance which his of an oar. The raft usually consists of two barges boarded biographer accounts for in a manner not very creditable to over, and encompassed with a rail. Lastly, the basin of the the reign, of Charles II. as compared with the protectorate, Po has been the theatre of some of the most remarkable when solid learning was appreciated and rewarded. The military operations of modern times ; more particularly of fact seems to be, that the love of Arabic learning was now the campaigns of Eugene, Napoleon, and Suwarof, who, each growing cold; and Pococke himself, in his correspondence with Mr Thomas Greaves, appears to be not only sensible in his turn, decided, for the time, the fate of Italy. POBASSOO’S Island, a small island on the norlh coast that such was the case, but very much hurt by the decline of New Holland; forming, with Cotton’s Island, a secure of sound literary taste. The same circumstance also may shelter for shipping, which Captain Flinders called Malay in some measure account for this distinguished scholar not having obtained higher preferment at the period of the ReRoad. Long, of this road 136. 27. E. Lat. 11. 53. S. POCKLINGTON, a market-town of Yorkshire, in the storation, when such numbers of vacant dignities were coneast riding, and the wapentake of Harthill, 193 miles from ferred on far inferior men. Perhaps he was almost the only London. It is situated on a small stream that falls into the instance of a clergyman, then at the highest pitch of emiriver Derwent, and has a market, which is held on Saturday. nence for learning, and every other merit proper to his proThe population amounted in 1801 to 1502, in 1811 to 1539, fession, who lived throughout the reign of Charles II. within 1821 to 1962, and in 1831 to 2048; but the whole parish, out the least regard from the court, except the favour somewhich comprehends three other townships, had at the last times done him of being called upon to translate Arabic letters from the princes of the Levant, or the credentials census 2265 inhabitants. POCOCK’S Island is situated in the Eastern Seas. of ambassadors coming from thence ; a service for which we do not find that he obtained any recompense, besides fair Long. 118. 12. E. Lat. 6. 2. S. POCOCK’S Point, on the east coast of New Zealand, words and hollow compliments. But his modesty equalled was formerly the north-west point of the Bay of Islands. It his merit; and after presenting Abulfaragius to the king, he ceased to obtrude his claims on the attention of royalty. In is four miles west of Cape Brett. POCOCKE, Dr Edward, a learned English divine, and 1674 he published an Arabic version of the principal parts the first oriental scholar of his time, was the eldest son of of the Liturgy of the Church of England; and a few years Edward Pococke; and born in November 1604, at Oxford, afterwards appeared his Commentary on the Prophecies of where he was also educated. In 1628 he was admitted Micah, Malachi, Hosea, and Joel. This truly great man probationer-fellow of his college, and about the same time died in 1691, after having been for many years confessedly s VOL. xvm.

Pococke ll Podgorodv_,

the first orientalist in Europe; and he was no less worthy of admiration for his uncommon modesty and humility, and a]j ^jle vjrtues which can adorn a Christian. His theological works were republished at London in 1740, in two volumes folio. Pococke, Richard, distantly related to the preceding, was the son of Mr Richard Pococke, head master of the freeschool at Southampton, where he was born in the year 1704. He received his school-learning under his father, and his academical education at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, where he took his various degrees. He commenced his travels in the East in 1737, and returned in 1742. In 1743, he published his Observations on Egypt, under the general title of a Description of the East and some other Countries. In 1744, he was made precentor of Waterford; and in 1745, he printed the second volume of his Travels, under the title of Observations on Palestine or the Holy Land, Syria, Mesopotamia, Cyprus, and Candia, which he dedicated to the Earl of Chesterfield, then lord-lieutenant of Ireland, whom he attended in the capacity of domestic chaplain. In 1756, Dr Pococke was promoted to the bishopric of Ossory, vacant by the death of Dr Edward Maurice; in July 1765, he was translated to the see of Meath, which had been originally intended for the Bishop of Elphin, who, however, declined taking out his patent; and he died suddenly in September following, having been carried off by apoplexy, whilst engaged in visiting his diocese. As a traveller Dr Pococke was equally distinguished for research, learning, and accuracy, to which ample justice has indeed been done by Jablonski, in the preface to part third of his Pantheon JEc/yptiorum. He penetrated no farther up the Nile than the island of Philae, called by the Arabs the Temple Island; whereas Norden, in 1737, proceeded as far as Derre, between the first and second cataract. The two travellers are supposed to have met on the Nile, in the neighbourhood of Esneh, in January 1738; but, according to another account, they passed in the night without recognition. Bishop Pococke visited other parts besides the East, and described some remarkable objects both in Scotland and Ireland. According to Cumberland, he was a man of mild but peculiar manners, and of primitive simplicity. “ Having given the world,” says this writer, “ a full detail of his researches in Egypt, he seemed to hold himself excused from saying anything more about them, and observed, in general, an obdurate taciturnity. In his carriage and deportment lie appeared to have contracted something of the Arab character ; yet there was no austerity in his silence, and though his air was solemn, his temper was serene.” Cumberland adds : “ When we were on our road to Ireland, I saw from the window's of the inn at Daventry a cavalcade of horsemen approaching on a gentle trot, headed by an elderly chief in clerical attire, who was followed by five servants at distances geometrically measured and most precisely maintained, and who, upon entering the inn, proved to be this distinguished prelate conducting his horde with the phlegmatic patience of a scheik.” Cumberland’s delineation, however, must be received with some caution, particularly in the latter part, which bears evident marks of exaggeration. PODALIRIUS, son of Aisculapius and Epione, was one of the pupils of the centaur Chiron, under whom he made himself such a master of medicine, that during the Trojan war the Greeks invited him to their camp to check a pestilence wdiich had baffled the skill of all their physicians. On his return Podalirius was shipwrecked upon the coast of Caria, where he cured of epilepsy a daughter of the king of the place. He fixed his habitation there; and built two towns, one of which he called after his wife Syrna. On his death, the Carians built him a temple, and paid him divine honours. PODGORODKOI, a fortress of Asiatic Russia, in the

government of Oufa, on the Oural. It is ninety-two miles east of Orenburg. PODEM, a village of Asiatic Turkey, in Trebisond, thirty miles east of Trebisond. PODEMNO, a village of Tobolsk, in Asiatic Russia, forty-four miles east of Kemskoi. PODENDA, a village of Asia Minor, at the junction of the Sihoun with the Adana, thirty-three miles north of Adana. PODOL, a town of Russia, in the province of Moskau, the capital of a circle of the same name, which extends over 590 square miles, and contains 58,800 inhabitants. The town is situated on the river Pochra, 508 miles from St Petersburg, and contains only 1100 inhabitants, who carry on some silk manufactures. Long. 37. 25. E. Lat. 55. 25. N. PODOLIA, a province or government of the Russian empire, formerly a part of Poland, acquired by Russia at the first dismemberment of that unfortunate kingdom. It extends in north latitude from 47. 23. to 49. 44., and in east longitude from 26.16. to 30. 41.; and it is bounded on the north by Volhynia, on the north-east by Kiew, on the east and south-east by Cherson, on the south by Bessarabia, and on the west by the Austrian kingdom of Gallicia. It is 20,796 miles in extent, is divided into twelve circles, and contains 121 towns, 2429 villages, with 1,450,000 inhabitants, a great part of whom are Poles, but many are Russians ; and the Jews are numerous. The majority are of the Greek church, but the nobility and higher classes commonly adhere to the Roman Catholic worship. The province is situated on the northern slope of the Carpathian Mountains, several of the spurs of which project into it, but none are more than 500 feet in height. It is a well-watered district, part of the streams of which fall into the Dniester, and part into the Bug ; the former of which is at all seasons navigable, but the latter only one portion of the year. The climate is pure and healthy, but it is not productive of wine, which is supposed to arise from the w’ant of calcareous earth. Mulberry-trees have been lately planted, and seem hitherto to have succeeded. The soil is generally fertile, yielding always a great surplus of grain, especially of wheat, some of which finds a vent at Odessa, and some at Dantzig. It is peculiarly adapted to pasture, and feeds numerous horses, and a breed of cows, which are highly prized, and supply a large extent of country with young cattle and fat oxen, even as far as a part of Germany. The sheep are abundant, but their wool is coarse; and few merinos have hitherto been introduced to improve the breed. Flax and hemp are raised to an extent equal to the consumption of the inhabitants. The manufactures are chiefly for domestic use { but some potash, pitch, and tar, are made for exportation. Though possessing a fruitful soil, and means of communication with both the north and the south, there is little trade, except occasionally that of corn. PODSTEPNOI, a fortress of Asiatic Russia, in the government of Kolivan, on the Irtisch, two hundred miles south-east of Omsk. PODSPUSKNOI, a fortress of Asiatic Russia, in the government of Kolivan, 220 miles south-west of Kolivan. PGECILE was a famous portico at Athens, which received its name from the variety (wo/x/Xos) of paintings which it contained. Zeno kept his school there ; and there also the Stoics received their lessons; whence their name, from ffroa, a porch. Amongst other things, the Pcecile was adorned with a picture of the siege and sacking of Troy, another of the battle of Theseus with the Amazons, and a third of the fight between the Lacedaemonians and Athenians at (Enoe in Argolis. It was also accounted a great distinction to have one’s portrait placed in this national gallery. In fact, the only reward which Miltiades obtained after the battle of Marathon, was to have his picture drawn more conspicuously than those of the rest of the officers who fought

'cestum. with him on that occasion, in the representation which was made of the engagement, and to have it hung up in the Poecile in commemoration of that celebrated victory. This was accounted glory enough for so great and memorable an achievement. PQESTUM, or P^sTum, a celebrated city of Italy, now in ruins, but anciently a place of great opulence and magnitude. Its remains stand on a fertile plain, considerably to the south of the city of Salerno, being bounded on the west by the Tyrrhenian Sea, and about a mile distant by five hills, amongst which the town of Acropoli is embosomed ; on the north by the Bay of Salerno; and on the east by two hills, which still retain their ancient names of Callimara and Cantena. The walls of the city remain. In some places they are five, and in others twelve feet in height. They are formed of solid blocks of stone, and appear to have been furnished with towers at intervals ; but the archway of only one gate stands entire. This rampart encloses a space of about four miles in circumference ; but of the splendid cluster of buildings which it once enclosed, only three temples rise, like the mausoleums of the ruined city, dark, silent, and majestic, to attest the ancient magnificence of the place. They are the admiration of all who visit them, and are considered as the purest and most perfect specimen in existence of the foreign Doric order of architecture. The first temple which presents itself to the view of the traveller is the smallest. It consists of six pillars at each end, and thirteen at each side, counting the angular pillars in both directions ; and it is one hundred and seven feet in length, by forty-seven feet in breadth. The architrave is pretty entire, as is the pediment at the west end, with the exception of the corner stones and triglyphs, which are fallen, and the first cornice, which is worn away. At the east end, part of the pediment remains, and also much of the frize and cornice. The cella occupied more than one third of the length, and had a portico of two rows of columns, the ruins of which, now overgrown with vegetation, encumber the area of the temple. The second edifice has six columns at each end, and fourteen on each side, including those of the angles. The entablature and the pediments are entire. A double row of columns adorned the interior of the cella, and supported each another row of small pillars; the upper being separated from the lower by an architrave only, without frize or cornice. A number of these pillars on each side remain standing. The cella had two entrances, one at each end, with a portico formed of two pillars and two antae. The foundation and part of tlie wall of this cella still remain: underneath it there was a vault. The third edifice is the largest, being one hundred and ninety-five feet four inches in length, by seventy-eight feet ten inches in breadth. It has nine pillars at each end, and eighteen on each side, including the angular columns as before. Nor is its size its only claim to distinction. A row of pillars, extending from the middle pillar at one end to the middle pillar at the other, divides it into two equal parts, and is considered as a proof that it was not a temple. What it was intended for is yet a disputed point amongst the learned. In the centre there appears to have been an aperture in the pavement, and at some distance another, both leading, it is said, to subterranean vaults. Such appear to be the peculiar features of each of these edifices. They are all raised upon substructions forming three gradations (for they are too high to be called steps), intended solely to give due elevation and relief to the building ; the columns of all rise without bases from the upper-

most of these degrees. They are all fluted, between four Pcestum. and five diameters in height, and taper as they ascend aboutv'—■"'v'"**" one fourth } the capitals of the whole are very flat and prominent; the intercolumniation is a little more than one diameter ; the order and the ornaments in all are the same ; the pediment is almost invariably low ; and, finally, they are all built of a porous stone, of a light or rather yellow-grey colour, and in many places perforated and worn away. In the open space between the first and second temple there were two other large edifices, built of the same stone, and of nearly the same size ; but they are totally overthrown^. All these temples stand in a line, and border a street which ran from gate to gate, and divided the town into two nearly equal parts. A hollow space, scooped out in a semicircular form, seems to be the traces of a theatre ; and as it lies in front of the temples, gives reason to suppose that other public buildings might have ornamented the same side, and made it correspond in grandeur with that opposite; in which case few cities could have surpassed Pcestum in the splendour of its appearance. Although the city has left such magnificent monuments of its existence, considerable obscurity hangs over its origin and general history. According to the learned Mazzochi, Pcestum was founded by a colony of Dorians, from Dora, a city of Phoenicia. It was first called Posetan or Postan, which in Phoenician signifies Neptune, to whom it was dedicated ; but it was afterwards invaded, and its primitive inhabitants expelled, by the Sybarites. This event is supposed to have taken place about five centuries before the Christian era. Under its new possessors the city assumed the Greek appellation Posidonia, of the same import as its Phoenician, because it was a city of great opulence and magnitude, and is supposed to have extended from the present ruin southward to the hill on which stands the little town of Acropoli. The Lucanians afterwards expelled the Sybarites, and checked the prosperity of Posidonia, which was in its turn deserted and left to moulder imperceptibly away. Vestiges of it are still visible all over the plain of Spinazzo or Saracino. The original city then recovered its ancient name, and not long afterwards it was taken and colonized by the Romans. From this period Pcestum is mentioned almost solely by the poets; indeed, from Virgil to Claudian, they all delight to expatiate upon the beauty of its gardens, and to celebrate the bloom, the sweetness, and the fertility of its roses ; and to this day the roses are remarkable for their fragrance. A few bushes, the remnants of biferi rosaria Pcesti, flourish here and there neglected, and still blossom twice a year, in May and December, as if to support their ancient fame, and justify the descriptions of the poets.1 Pcestum was subsequently plundered by the Saracens and the Normans; and its remaining inhabitants were at length compelled to flee for refuge to the mountains. The Dorians appear to have the fairest claim to the erection of the majestic monuments which we have described. “ But at what period were they erected ?” says Mr Eustace. “ To judge from their form, we must conclude that they are the oldest specimens of Grecian architecture now in existence. In beholding them and contemplating their solidity, bordering upon heaviness, we are tempted to consider them as an intermediate link between the Egyptian and Grecian manner, and the first attempt to pass from the immense masses of the former to the graceful proportions of the latter. In fact, the temples of Pcestum, Agrigentum, and Athens, seem instances of the commencement, the improvement, and the perfection of the Doric order.” (r. r. r.)

1 Virgil and Ovid just mention the Pocstan roses; Propertius introduced them as an emblem of mortality; Claudian employs them to grace a complimentary comparison. Ausonius alone presents them in all their beauty and freshness. Vidi Pcestano gaudere rosaria cultu Exoriente novo roscida Lucifero.

140

POETRY. us from the hard and glittering surface of society, as from Poetry, a cold and polished mirror ; it would go hard with man inVs—"v-,~ adversity, perhaps still more in prosperity, if some resource were not provided for him, which, under the form of an amusement and a recreation, administered a secret but powerful balm in the one case, and an antidote in the other. This resource is afforded us by the influences of poetry. “ Whatever withdraws us from the power of the senses; whatever makes the past, the distant, and the future, predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of human beings.” Sometimes, no doubt, poetry openly assumes the garb of morality, but it is generally least instructive when most directly didactic, and practically attains the end of instruction with most success when the instructor is himself unconscious of the lesson he conveys. In an indirect form, however, and through the medium of the feelings and the imagination rather than the mere reason, its efficiency as a moral agent is great and undeniable. And as upon the intellectual worth and nobleness of individuals depends the standard of a national morality, it may with truth be said that the fame and character of nations,—those qualities the presence of which makes the smallest state conspicuous in the world’s eye, and the absence of which Still less can verse or metrical form be regarded as con- renders the widest empire, on which the sun never sets, instituting the essence, or even one of the essentials, of poetry. significant ; namely, national pride, honour, fidelity to enIt no doubt heightens its effect; it increases its charm and gagements, courage to act, fortitude to suffer, a generous power of pleasing, by enlisting the aid of musical sound and and far-seeing policy, disdaining all mean or questionable cadence on the side of imaginative language or touching advantages; are to some extent derived, and, at all events, sentiment; but it must yet be regarded as amongst the exter- continually cherished and fostered, by the influence of a nals of poetry,—something which will never make poetry of pure and ennobling national poetry. If Plato had succeeditself, and without which poetry is not only conceivable, but ed in banishing poets from his ideal republic, he would ashas in fact existed, and that in very striking and impres- suredly have conferred no benefit upon morals. He would sive forms. have created a hard and utilitarian frame of society, inacObject of Poetry may perhaps be defined to be an art which has cessible to generous feeling, and incapable of those great poetry the creation of intellectual pleasure for its object, which attains efforts, either of action or of endurance, which have their communi- its end by the use of language natural in an excited state source only in enthusiasm, and cannot be suggested by any ima ination intellectual notthe g and, the feelings, and generally, though principle of expediency, however enlarged may be the bapleasure. . necessar>ly> formed into regular numbers. The proper sis of calculation. antithesis, therefore, to poetry, as Mr Coleridge has remarkIt is the conviction of this intimate though indirect con- No poetry ed, is not prose, but science. The proper antithesis to prose nection between poetry and morality, and the consequent permanentis verse. Science seeks to instruct, to discover and to com- bearing of the former upon human welfare, that explains ^ municate truth; “ the proper and immediate object of poe- the veneration which mankind have always felt for those g','immoral try is the communication of immediate pleasure.” Poetry poets who, acting under an impression df the sacredness ofIiatUre. may indeed incidentally instruct, as science may indirectly the task committed to them, and of the power of the talisman communicate pleasure ; but the object of each must be ga- which genius has placed in their hands, have devoted their thered from its main direction and bearing, and in this sense labours to the purest forms of poetry, and to the excitement the production of intellectual enjoyment is unquestionably of emotions, either virtuous in themselves, or conducive to the aim and the proper province of poetry. virtue. It is this conviction which accounts for the averThisapleaso closely are the intellectual and refined pleasures sion which they have never failed in the end to manifest sure con- of man connected with his moral qualities ; so much does against all those who have made the fascinations of poetry morahhvy 0 ^ relish for the higher and more spiritual pleasures of the and wit subservient to the gratification of baser feelings or ‘ imagination depend on a sound and healthy state of mora- meaner propensities. For men taken in the mass judge lity in the first instance, and so much is this state in turn rightly, even when they act wrongly ; and moral opinion, so promoted and encouraged by stimulating and keeping alive variable and wavering when applied to our own case or that the activity of the imagination and the sensibilities of the heart, that poetry, though generally avoiding the form of of our friends, is found a safe and steady guide when apdirect instruction, may yet be said, with justice, to be the plied to the mere representation of human thought and acmost important handmaid and assistant of moral education, tion in the forms with which they are invested by the poet. by its appeals to those affections which are apt to become Hence the feelings of all men are enlisted and warmly exindolent and dormant amidst the commerce of the world, cited on the side of virtue in fictitious composition, and still and the revival of those purer and more enthusiastic feel- more in the most fascinating form of fictitious composition, ings which are associated with the earlier and least selfish poetry. 1 or here the tendency of tlie poem is felt to be no period of our existence. Immersed in business, which, if mere speculative question, but a real dispute “ pro aris et t sharpen the edge of intellect, leaves the heart barren; focis; a contest whether, as is said to be often the case in toiling after material wealth or power, or struggling with India, poison is to be conveyed into the wells from which fortune for existence; seeing selfishness reflected all Lund pure and refreshing water ought to be drawn. And this practical bearing upon important interests, of the abuse of

Poetry. The difficulty of giving a definition of poetry, which shall y '"- ” include all that essentially belongs to it, and exclude all that Definition. jg forejgn or accidental to it, has been long felt and admitted. The definition of the ancients, which makes poetry “ an imitative art,” is obviously exposed to the double objection of being at once too comprehensive, since it would equally apply to the other imitative arts of pointing and sculpture ; and too limited, since it would exclude many departments of poetry, in which, as in the lyrical, the art is not properly imitative, but expressive ; not copying in any sense the thoughts and actions of others, but presenting to the sympathy of the reader the emotions of the poet himself. Not less objectionable is the definition, that poetry is “ the art-of expressing our thoughts by fiction which, while it is equally applicable to the novel and the romance, is, in fact, not necessarily true of poetry at all, except in this sense, that in all high poetry a certain transforming and beautifying power of imagination is excited, which in some measure transmutes the forms of things from their actual prosaic aspect, Clothing the palpable and the familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn.

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POETRY. 141 Poetry, a fine art, is more felt, and justly, in poetry than in any a great painter, it is easy to see, that from the nature of the Poetry, other. In painting, for instance, Parrhasius, Julio Roma- materials with which they deal, as well as their modes of v— no, Annibal Caracci, and Titian, have ministered by their operation; the one producing its effects by a momentary pictures to the promotion of vice ; some have even en- impression, the other by a continuous exertion ; the degree deavoured to pervert the pure marble into a vehicle of im- in which the different component qualities of mind are empure representations : but the circle of their operation is ployed in these respective arts is materially different. limited ; to the mass of men their iniquities of this nature Foremost amongst the qualities that constitute the poet is Im • are even unknown: but poetry, multiplied indefinitely by imagination, that creative principle of the mind which forms tion^ printing, finding its way into every quarter of the globe, new conceptions out of previously existing materials; “ conand penetrating into the humblest as well as the highest ceptions not absolutely justifiable by the rules of logic, but class of society, has a sphere of operation bounded only by quite intelligible to the mind when duly elevated; intelligible the globe itself, and a practical influence, through their through our sympathies or sensibilities, though not sufficientsympathies, upon men’s habits of thought, and consequently ly definite nor strictly coherent to stand the cold survey of upon their morality and their happiness, which is not the our reason.” This is indeed the most essential gift of the less certain and extensive, that its limits do not admit of poet, “ where either he must live or have no lifewith it, he any precise or distinct determination. may triumph over every other defect; without it, no combiHence it is a remarkable fact in the history of poetry, nation of qualities will ever render him a great poet. This that no work essentially immoral, or even exhibiting a mere is the power which emancipates the poet from the trammels indifference to moral feeling, has ever maintained a perma- of space and time; carries him back into the spirit of past nent popularity. The low ribaldry which deforms the splen- ages ; enables him to create and to endow with coherent did talents of Aristophanes will always render the perusal of attributes beings of a nature different from our own, and his plays a painful task; the witty licentiousness of the Pu- yet having for us a real existence, so far as our sympathies celle is already all but forgotten ; and the next generation, are concerned: to conceive and consistently to follow out the while they treasure the better parts of Byron, will assuredly thoughts, and words, and passions of imaginary actors, and consign to oblivion much of his gloomy reasonings, his con- all this not by a metaphysical analysis of the emotions or tempt for human nature, and his ridicule of generous feel- passions, nor by a course of induction from actual observaings. The poets who are found to retain their hold over all tion in the world about him, but by a secret consciousness, hearts, and whose influence even appears to extend with flashing upon his mind, in a concentrated shape, the result the progress of ages, Homer, Shakspeare, Milton, Spenser, of all philosophy, embodying all, which conception, abstracCalderon, Tasso, are those who have done their utmost to tion, and judgment would have separately furnished. It elevate rather than to depress the spirit and the hopes of supersedes the necessity of observation in every special case, men ; to make existence brighter about us, and to embody because it furnishes him with those primary elements of our in their strains the principles of faith and hope, of purity nature which give the formula for the solution of all. The and universal charity. For it need hardly be observed, that value of patient observation and study of life and character, we are not to condemn a work as immoral on account of in addition to the suggestions of the imagination, we do not a few brief passages, in which the poet, led away by a too dispute ; we shall afterwards see, that within certain limits, lively imagination, has admitted scenes or images of an ob- and for certain departments of poetry, they are indispensable. jectionable kind. Such, indeed, are to be found in Shak- But we may be assured, that for those elemental concepspeare, and in the pure and religious poems of Spenser; more tions of character which are unmodified by mere manners, rarely also in Tasso ; but the general strain of the poem, and local position, or age; the conception, for instance, of a Lear the obvious aim of the poet, being to promote the cause of or a Miranda, a Caliban, an Ariel, or a Hamlet; no observirtue, the few objectionable particulars are lost in the ge- vation of human character in the actual world, nor dissecneral effect, and cease to be dangerous from their proximity tion of the component passions and sympathies that make to so much that is calculated to purify and to elevate the up character, would have sufficed. We have but to look at mind. the range of Shakspeare’s characters to be at once satisfied e ating~ . of this. Pre-eminent amongst these are his characters of wo^ k difficult to give an accurate definition of poetry, poetry; it is still more difficult to describe that precise combination men ; and yet from what analysis of character, or observam enta an( nmon . so * as itomoral qualities which arethe required forrequired its pro- tion of society, could these have been drawn ? Where j, to duction, distinguish these from qualities could a youth, whose chief companions had been deer-stalkfor perfection in the other imitative arts. The sensibility ers, actors, or play-writers of no high repute, and to whom to natural and moral beauty ; the study both of the outward female society, at least in its most refined form, must have world and of the mind of man; imagination and fancy to been unknown, have gleaned the materials which enable furnish the materials; judgment and taste to select and ar- him to pourtray, with equal mastery, the fierce overbearing range them; these are common to the great poet and the spirit of Lady Macbeth and Constance, the tranquil regal great painter. W hat determines these energies and capa- dignity of Hermione and Katharine of Aragon, or the totally bilities to the one direction more than to the other, and dissimilar aspect of female character presented in the pasmakes one man paint to the bodily eye in cblours, the other sion of Juliet, the purity of Miranda, the simplicity of Opheto the eye of the mind in words, is that secret undefinable lia, or the tender submission and wife-like confidence of instinct which we call genius, which it is impossible to re- Imogen and Desdemona ? No prototypes existed in the solve into any mere result of the force of circumstances, society around him from which these could be drawn. The and which, all experience teaches us, is born with the artist, streets and taverns of London might indeed furnish him and, like an instinct, directs his after-course. A genius for with Bardolphs and Pistols; his acquaintance with Lord poetry or for painting is as certainly dependent on an or- Southampton, or with the other gallants of the court, might ganization mental and physical, with which we come into afford the outlines of his Prince Henry or Hotspur; but the world, as a musical ear; no education can give them ; his female creations are obviously drawn from no other uo general superiority of intellect will enable a man to turn sphere but his own breast. They are the offspring of an with equal success to either; nature made him with the imagination “ all compact,” not elaborately constructing, elements of a poet or a painter, and what she has so framed, but almost unconsciously creating. art and education will never alter. I he power of imagination is shown in its most imposing - But though it is difficult to enumerate any quality requi- form in the conception of character, incident, situation, and site to form a great poet which is not necessary also to form scenery,—in the general scope and design of the poem; but

'

Poetry, its value and importance as an element of poetry is scarcev- ' ly less felt in the details, in the manner in which it informs and transforms the whole language ol the poem ; studding it with imagery, simple or complex, often making a single word act like a spell, and conjure up a host of magical associations. Its province in this respect is not to be confounded with that lower department of the poetical art which is called diction, and which, when the idea is formed, simply dictates the selection of the word most appropriate to express the precise idea to be conveyed. Imagination supplies the idea itself, or fasciculus of ideas, to be embodied in the word; and in the number, novelty, and judicious selection of associations which can be suggested to the mind within any equal space, lies the chief difference between the work of a great poet and an inferior one, between an original or an imitative mind. The images suggested by the imagination, we have said, are frequently complex. It seems to fuse many in one, to divide one into many, and to present the mass to the mind in a form which suggests all the particulars of which it is composed. It is certain, too, that many of the images which it suggests, and the effect of which upon the mind is immediately felt by all lovers of poetry to be beautiful, can by no means be justified upon the principles of logic, or their coherence made clear to the understanding. “ When Milton tells us of ‘ darkness visible,’ ” says a writer on poetry, “ we feel that he has uttered a fine paradox ; we feel its truth, but cannot prove it. And when in that appalling passage where the poet stands face to face with Night and Chaos in their dark pavilion, ‘ spread wide on the wasteful deep,’ and says that By them stood Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name Of Demogorgon, how is it possible to reconcile such expressions to a mere prosaic understanding ? Darkness is, strictly speaking, absence of light. How then shall we say that it is visible, when we see only by the aid of light ? And with respect to the ‘ name' of Demogorgon, which stands by Orcus and Ades, how can such a phrase be justified by the rules of reason ? Nevertheless it is as magnificent as words can make it. It is clothed in a dark and spectral grandeur, and presses upon our apprehensions like a mighty dream.”1 Take another instance also from Milton, where he speaks of music At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled. Here also it is impossible to perceive the mere logical connection of the images; for, allowing darkness to be embodied under the notion of some bird with glossy and raven plumage, it would certainly puzzle any critic to show how musical sounds could smooth such plumage ; and yet we should have little hesitation in putting this passage to any one as a test whether he possessed a feeling or sense of poetry, or whether his mind was entirely of a prosaic character. In these, and a thousand similar instances, particularly in Shakspeare, it is clear that the poetical effect can be explained upon no ordinary principle of reason. The metaphors are what are called broken ; they cannot logically be united, and yet they have a sufficient poetical coheience. How this x’esult is produced we shall only be enabled to explain when the whole law’s which govern the faculty of imagination, as yet most imperfectly understood, shall be discovered. It is somewhat difficult to establish a plain and practical distinction between fancy and imagination, so far as regards the imagery oi ornaments of poetry; though, as we have already said, the higher efforts of conception, and the general design, fall almost entirely, in serious and heroic poetry, 1

under the province of imagination. From Milton’s line, Poetry “ Sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy’s child,” it would seem that v— the words fancy and imagination had then been used as having the same meaning; for certainly any one now endeavouring to describe the most remarkable of Shakspeare’s qualities would refer to his imagination rather than his fancy. Yet fancy may perhaps be said to be imagination at a lowrer point of excitement; not dealing with passions, or creating character; nor pouring out unconsciously, under the influence of strong feeling, images as they arise massed and clustered; but going in search of comparisons and illustrations, and when it invests them with personality, as in metaphors, still adhering much more closely to the logical fitness and sequence which govern similar ornaments in prose. It seems to act like a colder and weaker species of imagination, furnishing the thoughts which “ play round the head, but do not touch the heartpleasing the eye and the ear; creating or heightening the idea of the beautiful, much more than of the sublime. It is not careful, like imagination, to make the whole bear on the general design, and heighten the main impression sought to be produced, but rather strives to excite our pleasure, and to bespeak our admiration for the images themselves which it suggests. Its natural field, so far as regards the general design, is in poems like the Rape of the Lock, or the Lutrin, where the object is to give a poetical dress to a subject essentially prosaic, and excluding passion or high imagination. To these it lends an airy machinery, ingenious comparisons, imagery of a lively and pleasing cast in harmony with the level tone of the subject, and thus brings them within the domain of poetry. Some have represented the distinction between the effects of imagination and fancy to consist in this, “ that the former altogether changes and remodels the original idea, impregnating it with something extraneous; the latter leaves it undisturbed, but associated with things to which, in some view or other, it bears a resemblance.” But this distinction cannot be admitted; fancy, though in a less degree, does create, or change and remodel ideas; the difference between them must be sought more in the sort of ideas on which they operate, and the purposes to which they apply them, than in the plastic power supposed to be exercised in the one case and not in the other. “ Fancy,” says Mr Wordsworth, in a fine passage in his preface, “ depends upon the rapidity and profusion with which she scatters her thoughts and images, trusting that their number, and the felicity with which they are linked together, will make amends for the want of individual value; or she prides herself upon the curious subtilty and the successful elaboration with which she can detect their lurking affinities. If she can win you over to her purpose, and impart to you her feelings, she cares not how mutable and transitory may be her influence, knowing that it will not be out of her power to resume it upon an apt occasion. But the imagination is conscious of an indestructible dominion ; the soul may fall away from it, not being able to sustain its grandeur ; but if once felt and acknowledged, by no act of any other faculty of the mind can it be relaxed, impaired, or diminished. Fancy is given to quicken and to beguile the temporal part of our nature, imagination to incite and support the eternal. Yet it is not the less true, that fancy, as she is an active, is also, under her own laws and in her own spirit, a creative faculty. In what manner fancy ambitiously aims at a rivalship with the imagination, and imagination stoops to work with the materials of fancy, might be illustrated from the compositions of all eloquent writers, whether in prose or verse, and chiefly from those of our own country. Scarcely a page of the impassioned parts of Bishop Taylor’s works can be opened that shall not afford examples. Referring the reader to these inestimable volumes, we will content ourselves writh placing a conceit, ascribed to Lord

Edinburgh Review, 1825.

POETRY. M3 Poetry. Chesterfield, in contrast with a passage from the Paradise their combination.” It is only in minds where imagination is Poetry, limited, and where its possessor tries by effort and strainingv— to enlarge it beyond its appointed bounds, that the judgThe dews of the evening most carefully shun ; They are tears of the sky for the loss of the sun. ment is generally found defective. Homer and Shakspeare, After the transgression of Adam, Milton, with other appear- the most inventive and imaginative of poets, are also the ances of sympathizing nature, thus marks the immediate most sagacious, the most practical, the most abounding in wisdom, both of a worldly and of a higher kind. consequence. But, in addition to the natural gifts of sensibility to feel, cessar Study neSky lowered, aud, muttering thunder, some sad drops memory to retain impressions, imagination and fancy to y to Wept at completion of the mortal sin. fashion new conceptions, and judgment to blend in harmony forma PoetThe associating link is the very same in each instance; dew all the materials which have been thus accumulated, study and rain, not distinguishable from the liquid substance of is just as essential for the formation of the poet as for the tears, are employed as indications of sorrow. A flash of acquisition and practice of the most mechanical art. That surprise is the effect in the former case ; a flash of surprise study regards both the materials of poetry and the language and nothing more ; for the nature of things does not sustain by which they are to be communicated in a sensible form to the combination. In the latter, the effects of the act, of others. Study of men in the different conditions of life, and which there is this immediate consequence and visible sign, the habit of observing and systematising these observations ; are so momentous, that the mind acknowledges the justice study of external nature, so as to mark the peculiarities w hich and reasonableness of the sympathy in nature so manifest- escape common eyes; the accustoming the mind to search ed ; and the sky wreeps drops of water, as if with human eyes, for resemblances among things different, and to lay them up as earth had before trembled from her entrails, and nature in the memory as in a treasury ; these are assistances which given a second groan.” It is evident, that in the parallel no poet can overlook, and without which the imaginative passages thus opposed to each other by Wordsworth, the faculty is deprived of its due nourishment, and of half its creative or remodelling operation produced by fancy in the power. For even imagination does not strictly create out former case, and by imagination in the latter, is the same; of nothing; it must be quickened and set in motion by in both the sky is endowed with personality and human something external, and demands materials on which it can feeling ; it is the propriety of the action attributed to the try its processes of change or recombination. All great imaginary being in the one case, and its unreasonableness poets, therefore, have steadily pursued this course of study in the other, which makes the former merely fanciful, the of nature, both moral and physical ; though, after the halatter highly imaginative. bit is once formed, these mental operations are carried on Danger of it will readily be perceived, from what has here been said almost unconsciously, and the treasures of poetical observat le na ure of fancy> ^ t °f fancy, that when unregulated by a strong tion grow upon their possessor, w ithout his being conscious judgment, and unwarmed by strong passion, it is one of the of any effort in their accumulation. A remarkable instance most dangerous qualities w hich a poet can possess. To the of the attention paid by great poets to the minutest peculipredominance of this quality, indeed, to the consciousness arities of external nature, and of course equally applicable of a facility of finding ingenious analogies or subtile dis- to the study of mental phenomena, is afforded by the case tinctions, of- conjuring up a multitude of fantastic resem- of Sir Walter Scott. Every one know's the graphic truth blances, pleasing in themselves, but in no way heightening as well as the wonderful variety of his descriptions of scenery, the leading impression sought to be conveyed, are to be which, by their selection of every thing that is characascribed many of the errors of taste by which modern poe- teristic, embody the very spirit of the ^lace, and call back try has been deformed. To this must be ascribed those to our minds the impression with which we had first viewconceits, from which scarcely a single Italian writer prior to ed it, and which had faded away and become forgotten. It the eighteenth century is free, and which reached their con- is evident that in such descriptions Scott trusted little to summation in Marino ; to this the similar extravagancies of the imagination, as able to compensate the observation of Gongora, Quevedo, and their followers in Spain ; the affect- reality. Mr Morritt mentions, that whilst he was engaged ed taste introduced by Voiture and Balzac in France, and in the composition of Rokeby, he observed him noting dow n exploded by the good sense of Moliere; and the similar ex- even the peculiar little wild flowers and herbs that accidentravagancies of our own metaphysical poets. An excess of tally grew round and on the side of a crag near his intendimagination cannot lead to bad taste in style; an excess of ed cave of Guy Denzil; and on his saying that he need not fancy is but too apt to produce that effect. have taken the trouble, since daisies, violets, and primroses, Judgment. Of judgment, which is the regulating and controlling would have suited his purpose as well as the humble plants power by which the active and creative faculties of imagi- he was examining, the poet replied, “ that in nature herself nation and fancy are guided, checking the too daring flight no two scenes are exactly alike, and that whoever copied of the one, and pruning the excesses of the other, it is truly what was before his eyes, would possess the same vaneedless to speak ; since it is a quality not more peculiarly riety in his descriptions, and exhibit apparently an imaginarequisite in poetry than in oratory, or any of those depart- tion as boundless as the range of nature in the scenes he rements of intellectual exertion which depend not on demon- corded ; whereas, whoever trusted to imagination would soon stration, but on the balance of probabilities. In fact, the find his own mind circumscribed and contracted to a few fahighest range of imagination has invariably been found to vourite images, and the repetition of these would, sooner or be accompanied by a corresponding depth and comprehen- later, produce that very monotony and barrenness which had siveness of judgment; or rather, perhaps, it would be more always haunted descriptive poetry in the hands of any but philosophical to say, that judgment is involved and consti- the patient worshippers of truth.” tutes one of the component parts of high imagination. For The other department of the poet’s study relates to the use Diction, the imagination, as is justly remarked by Mr Stewart, is a of the medium through which his ideal creations are to be concomplex power. “ It includes conception or simple appre- veyed to others; in other words, diction, or the choice and hension, w hich enables us to form a notion of those former arrangement of the words most appropriate to convey the objects of perception or knowledge, out of which we are to precise shade of meaning, and to convey it divested of all make a selection (in the fine arts) ; abstraction, which se- those associations of a low or ludicrous character, which parates the selected materials from the qualities and cir- usage sometimes connects with words, and assisted by all the cumstances which are connected with them in nature ; and charms of musical sound. All men who seek to command judgment or taste, which selects the materials, and directs the minds of others through speech must by study learn to

POETRY. 144 condense these into a sentence. Poetry, he says, must be Poetry. v apprehend the power and perfect force, as affecting thought, “ simple, sensuous, passionate. Poetry, aj , , , 'imagination, and passion, of every word winch his fellowBy the first quality, simplicity, which applies both to the Poetry men have used for ages as the vivid image of some concep- matter and the language, he seems to indicate the neces-must be tion of the soul. They must acquire a perception ot the sity of dealing in poetry with the simple elements of human simPlevalue of words, at once exact, delicate, and passionate. nature; keeping the broad highways of feeling, avoiding This careful and fond study of language, however, is pe- affectation of sentiment, over-refinement, or morbid pecuculiarly requisite to the poet, and has been carried to higher liarity of any kind. “ It distinguishes poetry from the arduperfection by them than by prose writers ; “ because, m tne ous processes of science labouring towards an end not yet composition of poetry, the mind, attempered to delight, teels arrived at, and supposes a smooth and finished road on more sensitively the exquisite form into which the mate- which the reader is to walk onward easily, with streams rial expression of its conception is wrought. The very murmuring by his side, and trees, and flowers, and human shackles imposed by metre and rhyme, though they may dwellings, to make his journey as delightful as the object occasionally tempt an inferior poet into the use of a word of it is desirable, instead of having to toil with the pioneers, which is not the one most apt to express his conception, and painfully to make the road on which others are to traunquestionably only operate as a stimulus to the great poet 1 to make himself master of all the resources of words which vel.” And unquestionably it is the fact, that the works of greatest poets are the simplest, the most level to ordithe language supplies, so as to comply with the neces- the nary apprehension, the most adapted to ordinal y sympasities of rhyme and musical sound without sacrificing any portion of the substance of his conception. Without this thies. Homer, in whose works nature is reflected without thorough command of the whole armament of language, and change, is understood and relished equally by the youth and the utmost patience and perseverance in its use, we may be the man, by nations the most distant from each other both assured that no poet has ever succeeded in attaining a gene- in space and time. Shakspeare, in like manner, in whose ral and permanent popularity. Verse cannot leap full arm- works we can detect no subjective influence produced by ed from the brain of the poet. The steps which lead from his own mind, and who seems to range like the universal the rudeness of the first conception to the elegance of the sun over the provinces of emotion, enlightening all alike, last, though they cannot be seen, are undoubtedly many. produces the same deep impression on the learned and the The ideas must be patiently wrought into shape; words unlearned. Both concur in this, that they do not paint the weighed and rejected; shades of meaning of the nicest kind exceptional, but the customary; not the peculiarities, but discriminated ; associations foreseen and guarded against; the common features of humanity ; and that they paint and an arrangement of words throughout preserved, which, these broadly and simply, instead of endeavouring, by a comwhile it differs from that of prose, never allows the inver- plex apparatus of singular traits and colours, to display their sions which are admitted in poetry to obscure the mean- own artistic skill. The second of the qualities enumerated by Milton is, Sensuous, ing. The practice of the greatest poets we know to have been in conformity to these rules. We find Virgil dic- that poetry must be “ sensuousthat is, that it shall have tating a number of verses in the morning, spending the that character of sensible reality, which shall prevent its day in revising, connecting, and reducing them, and com- degenerating into mere dreams and abstractions; that it paring himself, as Aulus Gellius mentions, to a she-bear shall be so far connected with the world about us, and with licking her misshapen offspring into shape. We see Pe- our actual interests and pursuits, as not to appear altogetrarch returning day after day to his sonnets, to alter some ther the creature of another sphere; and this both as to single word, or make some trifling change in the arrange- the nature of the subject and the definite nature of the ment of a line. The manuscripts of Ariosto, whose style imagery employed upon it. The right understanding and appears the very perfection of ease, and an almost sponta- application of this rule w ould have saved the world from neous emanation, still exist at Ferrara, and show that many many of those hazy poetical abstractions, or attempts to of the favourite passages in the Orlando were written eight transmute political or metaphysical theories into poetry, times over. Scarcely less attention was bestowed upon the with which, in the present age in particular, the public has stanzas of the Gerusalemme by Tasso. Milton’s study of been inundated. It is the neglect of it which renders the English speech, and mastery of the artifice of language, as metaphysical poetry of the sixteenth century, with all its well as the critical care with which he built up “ the lofty grandeur and force of thought, so often unreadable ; which rhyme,” are well known. has made the poetry of Keats, abounding, as it does, in exHe with difficulty and labour hard quisite beauties of conception, a sealed book to the mass Moved on; with difficulty and labour he. of readers ; and which, more even than its irreligious tenThe specimens of Pope’s Iliad given in Johnson’s Life, ex- dency, has obstructed the popularity of the poems of Shelley. hibiting the successive changes which the lines underwent The third requisite of poetry is that it be passionate. It Passionate' before they assumed that compact and harmonious form in is not enough that thought and imagery be sensuous, or which they appeared before the public, must be in the re- objective and definite; the passio vera of humanity, as collection of every reader. And we see from the letters of Coleridge remarks, must animate both. It is by our symLord Byron, that the same laborious process of polishing pathies that poetry lays its strongest hold on us; and it is was not disdained even by his impetuous mind. It is indeed by the representation of passion that these must be set in scarcely too much to say, that no composition of any length, motion. Even the lower and more level departments of which has attained a permanent popularity, was ever thrown poetry must be warmed by it; of the epic, and still more off at a heat; and that the nearer the work approaches to the dramatic, it constitutes the mainspring. Didactic and the appearance of spontaneity, the greater has in general descriptive poetry would become wearisome were they not been the extent of the labour which has been employed enlivened by the occasional introduction of scenes awakenupon it. ing the feelings of love or pity. In lyric poetry, the song Qualities Such being the qualities and habits of mind that make constantly exhibits its condensed expression; in fact, so umi0I 1 to “’, poet, it may be asked what are the common qualities to powerful is its influence, that genuine passion will often all good1 the found in all poetry which has permanently commanded support a poem which has but slender claims to fancy or poetry. be the admiration of mankind. Milton has endeavoured to imagination. The mere literal and truthful exhibition of 1

Coleridge’s Literary Remains, vol. ii. p. 10.

POE Poetry, the greater passions of our nature so stirs within us the sense of the sublime or the terrible, so rouses our curiosity and suspense, that for a time we are willing to dispense with the more ethereal colouring which imagination might impart to them. \\ e say, however, for a time only ; for a literal picture of human passions, if prolonged through a whole drama, and unrelieved by imagery, or the expression of calmer thought, is felt to be painful and harrowing to the mind. Such is the effect produced by the Newgate Calendar dramas of Lillo, George Barnwell, Arden of Feversham, and the Fatal Curiosity, and by the similar tragedy of Werner, the Twenty-Ninth of February. So great was the effect produced by the scene in Lillo’s play representing the murder of Arden, that the audience, unable to endure the excitement of the representation, rose up with one accord and interrupted it. Appeals to our passions, presented in this bleak and naked reality, have the same painful effect upon the mind which exhibitions of crime and suffering have in real life. To make them produce a pleasing effect in poetry, at least for any length of time, they must be blended with associations of a less vulgar and less agitating kind; and the pain which attends our sympathy must be tempered by the soothing imagery suggested by the imaginative and reflective faculties. • 'try The qualities enumerated by Milton may be considered < nges as fixed and inherent in all good poetry; beyond these it is s0 ' difficult to point out any which are of permanent and uni(' versal necessity, lhat poetry which seeks to please through our sympathies must shift and vary, both in its themes and in the manner of treating them, with the changes of society, is a truism on which it is needless to enlarge. If the opinions of men change, if their habits and the objects and associations which interest them alter, poetry must adapt itself to this altered state of things. It does so indeed unconsciously; it cannot avoid doing so, for the poet’s own nature has partaken of the change. Ihct of It is a more important question, whether the progress of j society, the advancement in civilization, and the moral haan t ooetry.1 d intellectual constitution which accompany it, operate favourably or unfavourably on poetry; in other words, Is there reason to believe that the imaginative faculty in poets, and the sensibilities of their readers, decline with the progress of refinement in the arts; or that the imagination no longer finds the same materials in actual life on which its plastic power can be excited ? I he tendency of most of the late inquiries into the question has been towards the opinion of its unfavourable influence. The faculty of imagination is supposed to decline as knowledge becomes more exact; the turn for analysis, which is the characteristic of advancing civilization, and which shows itself in the philosophical character which language assumes, is maintained to be destructive of that individuality and distinctness which is the life of poetry ; substituting general abstractions for particulars, vague phrases instead of images, and personified qualities instead of men. In a half-civilized state of society, too, life is a romance, a tissue of adventures, powerfully exciting the feelings of fear, wonder, and enthusiasm. In more refined periods these sources of excitement cease; and, even where they exist, they are veiled by the caution which the fear of ridicule produces, a restraint which in the ruder periods of society is comparatively unknown. Hence both the imagination of the poet and the sensibilities of the reader of poetry are chilled. “ Poetry,” says one of the ablest exponents of this unfavourable view of the effects of civilization on the arts, produces an illusion on the eye of the mind, as a magic lantern produces an illusion on the eye of the body. And as the magic lantern acts best in a dark room, poetry effects its purpose most completely in a dark age. As the light of knowledge breaks in upon its exhibitions—as the outlines o* certainty become more and more definite, and the shades VOL. XVIII.

TRY. H5 of probability more and more distinct—the hues and linea- Poetry, ments of the phantoms which it calls up grow fainter and ^ fainter. We cannot unite the incompatible advantages of reality and deception, the clear discernment of truth and the exquisite enjoyment of fiction.” Yet these observations, though true to some extent, must be received also with some qualification. If language loses something in picturesqueness, it becomes far more pliant, far better adapted to convey the exact idea intended; if phrases which originally conveyed images have by long use ceased to be metaphorical, we see that genius is constantly creating and giving currency to new combinations. Knowledge and learning and mechanical improvements, if they tend to repress enthusiastic feeling, at least supply poetry with a host of illustrations unknown to earlier periods ; but, above all, it may be doubted whether the enthusiastic and imaginative faculties within us can ever be materially affected by the changes of society, however their outward manifestations may be repressed. Whilst men feel that they are connected with eternity, mysteriously surrounded by influences which they feel and acknowledge though they cannot account for them ; whilst love still holds a place in the heart, and carries the spirit of romance into the barest realities of existence ; whilst men have a country to honour and defend ; whilst they can still be animated to enthusiastic concert in the cause of humanity; whilst the strange accidents by which even our decorous and conventional course of life is at times broken, still present to them a thousand scenes of joy or calamity ; there seems little reason to apprehend that the imaginative faculty can ever be so impaired from want of external nutriment or inward vigour, but that a truly great poet will always find the means of speaking to the hearts and sympathies of men, in different language it may be, but with undiminished power. Still less reason is there for the apprehension, that the materials for description and illustration which external nature offers to the poet are likely to be in time exhausted, or even materially encroached upon. Certainly the first and the more obvious of its features are caught by the first labourers in the field of poetry, with a truth and liveliness which no subsequent efforts are likely to surpass ; and if poetical imitation were, like literal landscape or portrait painting, a mere transcript of the scene before us, there might be reason to think that all the more striking aspects and points of view would, in the course of time, come to be exhausted, and the poet driven either to mere repetition in a feebler form, or to seek tor novelty by endeavouring to turn to account the materials which his predecessors had thrown aside as least fit for their purposes. But when it is recollected how infinite are the varieties and combinations of which the objects of moral and material nature are susceptible, how largely, too, a creative and changing power is exercised in poetical imitation; and in howr many different lights, independently of this process of imaginative change, the objects around us are placed by natural differences of associations in the person who contemplates them; it may be safely assumed that the materials of poetry are inexhaustible. That poetry must have existed from the very earliest periods is undoubted. As the expression in language, of that feeling of excitement and elevation produced either by moral or material grandeur or beauty, it had its seat and origin in human nature itself; and in its simplest form must necessarily have existed as soon as man felt the desire of recording his impressions, or communicating them to others. In its first shape it may have been destitute either of rhythm or metre ; although so close is the connection between that state of the imagination which gives birth to poetical conceptions, and a tendency to assist the effect of these by certain intonations of the voice approaching to musical sounds, that it is far more probable that even from the first T

POETRY. 146 sible smoke from Mount Sinai, in the presence of assembled Poet;, Poetry. something of measure was imparted to it, probably without myriads. They had a religion which, excluding the wor-^ ^ effort or consciousness on the part of the reci er. c y ship of the Deity under visible symbols, only made the •rate, the power of measure as an assistant to memory, ant image of the Deity more deeply and impressively worshipas furnishing a species of gratification to the ear. apart fro ped within the temple of the heart and the imagination : the mere effect of the ideas upon the mind, could not fail to while the connection of religion with all the affairs of life ; be soon perceived and acted upon. At first, in fact, poetry the constant rites and ceremonies and festivals of rejoicing and music seem to have been constantly associated, for or humiliation; the presence of the Deity, kept before their the study of music, as something separate from the accom- thoughts by the ark, which was supposed to be his pecupaniment of words, is one which arises only at a later pe- liar seat, and the sacredness of which had been more than riod ; and in all the poetical compositions which have de- once guarded or avenged by prodigies; prevented that rescended to us, the elements of versification, or division of ligion from becoming a mere abstraction, and gave to their lines into certain measures, are discernible. conceptions of the Deity a warmth and life peculiarly suitHebrew The poetry of the Hebrews is the oldest in the world. It ed to the poetry of devotion, as blending the ideas of the Poetry, stands apart from all the rest, in solitary grandeur, like a visible and the spiritual, without any admission of those palpable, material, and degrading conceptions which mingle pillar of fire in the poetical wilderness. The poetry of with and deform, to our associations, the mythological or Greece, for instance, only begins to exist centuries after the religious poetry of Grecian polytheism. No commercial noblest efforts of the Hebrew muse had been produced and pursuits tended to excite among the earlier Hebrews the committed to writing. Even the oldest poetry of the Aralove of gain. They were shepherds, husbandmen, bians, whose language is a kindred one to the Hebrew, is prosaic warriors, deriving subsistence from the soil, and attachof far more recent date than the Jewish Scriptures, in fact or to it by a train of recollections. Frequent public cerenot much older than the time of Mahommed. The He- ed monies, festivals, jubilees, gave occasion for the assembrew poetry, as it has come down to us, seems limited in its field, though within that field it has attained a mastery blage of the people in large masses, for a common purpose ; never excelled. Almost all its compositions are lyrical, the occasion of all others most likely to call forth, by a and chiefly in the highest department of the lyric, resem- common sympathy, the enthusiasm which stimulates the bling, though in a less regular and artful form, the ode of imagination into poetical activity. Add to these a climate the classical poetry. Its characteristics appear to be un- bright and cheerful, but admitting also of every variation equalled majesty of thought and expression, a fervour and and interchange of serenity or tempest; a country, the flow which, more than in any other poetry in existence, sug- external aspect of which presented the strongest contrasts gest the idea of an inspiration or divine afflatus, dictating, of barrenness and luxuriance ; fertile plains, with mounthrough the poet as a mere organ, the sublimest ideas in tain ranges of the most bleak and desolate grandeur ; garwords of corresponding weight and grandeur; a profusion dens like those of Damascus, with dreary lakes like the of imagery and illustration, which, though it at first appears Dead Sea, whose stagnant waters still spoke of the fall excessive and overpowering to the critic of modern times, of the cities of the plain, or wildernesses haunted by the and colder climes, is seen upon further study to be in the lion, the rhinoceros, and the serpent; and it would indeed emsest harmony with the Hebrew character, and that of be matter of surprise if the Hebrew sacred poetry were all the oriental nations, and is remarkable for the absence not characterized by a remarkable feeling of national pride, of any thing farfetched or elaborate ; a rapid desultory of sublimity, simplicity, and natural pathos in its sentimovement from one train of thought or illustration to an- ment, and by a peculiar freshness, truth, and boldness in other, without formally supplying the links in the chain of its pictures of nature, or illustrations derived from external association which have led to the new topic,—as if the poet scenery. The parched plains of Judaea, the rocky top of relied upon a corresponding excitement in his readers or Sinai, the towers of Damascus, and the gardens of Lebanon hearers to supply that elevation and reach of poetical vision and Carmel, supply them with figures or allusions which necessary for tracing the chain of ideas from first to last. have an unspeakable charm of picturesqueness and beauty. It is certain, however, that to the Hebrews themselves there The climate is vividly brought before us in the allusions to was much less of abruptness and want of connection in the wellsprings that water the desert, and to the shadow their lyrics than at first sight appears to us ; and that slight of the great rock in a weary land. We see the simple hints were sufficient to awaken trains of associations to which, character of their life in their pastoral images, so constantly from our altered circumstances and character of mind, we derived from the tending of flocks and herds ; imagery so have now no clue; and this observation, in fact, applies congenial to their minds, that it is employed by the Author equally to the Hebrew and to great part of the classical of our faith in some of the most touching passages of the New Testament. Such is the character of those books of poetry of Greece and Rome. CircumWhen we look to the Hebrew character and poetry, and the Hebrew Scriptures which are on all hands admitted to stances to the local situation and manners of the country, we per- be poetical, though we know too little of the laws of Hece ve a ^ combination of circumstances highly favourable to brew prosody to be able to say whether they are written in its peculiar ^nle growth and development of that department of poetry verse, though a species of rhythm, and apparent equality in character. * which alone they can be said to have attained distin- the divisions of portions of the sentences, appear to indiguished eminence. All the elements out of which a great cate that they are. Such are the Book of Psalms; one of national lyric poetry is formed existed amongst the Hebrews, which (the ninetieth) is even ascribed to Moses, whilst seveboth as regarded the impulses of the mind and the external ral others were the production of predecessors or contempoinfluences by which they were surrounded and daily acted raries of David. It is certain, however, that those ascribed to on. They had been selected as God’s peculiar people from him are the finest and the most affecting of the whole, though among the nations; they held as it were a commission from perhaps not the most magnificent in point of stateliness of heaven, giving them authority over the world ; they looked diction and imagery. “ Nor is it in tragic so much as in joyous upon themselves as the race from which its Saviour Was expression,” says Mr Campbell, “ that I conceive the power to spring. rl hey had triumphed, by the divine aid, over of his genius to consist. Its most inspired aspect appears to the kings, and princes, and Pharaohs of the earth ; they present itself when he looks abroad on the universe with the had the recollection of all their strange wanderings, their eye of a poet and with the breast of a glad and grateful miraculous deliverances, their acquisition of the promised worshipper. When he looks up to the starry firmament, land, and their law given amidst audible thunders and vi- his soul assimilates to the splendour and serenity which he

POETRY. 147 Poetry, contemplates. His lofty but bland spirit of devotion peculi- however, are most powerfully impressive, such as the vision s Poetry, arly reigns in the eighth and in the nineteenth psalms. But, of the four cherubim* in the first chapter, and the resur- —-v—«■ above all, it expands itself in the 10 4th into a minute and rection of the dry bones in the thirty-seventh, when there richly diversified picture of the creation. Verse after verse wras “ a noise and a shaking, and the bones came together, in that psalm leads on the mind through the various objects bone unto his boneand the prophet calls unto the wind, of nature, as through a mighty landscape ; and the atmo- “ Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon sphere of the scene is coloured, not with a dim or mystic, these slain, that they may live; and they stood up on their but with a warm and clear light of religious feeling. He feet, an exceeding great army.” spreads his sympathies over the face of the world, and reBut whilst the Hebrew poetry equals, and indeed far exjoices in the power and goodness of its protecting Deity. cels, that of any other nation in the sacred lyric, it is singuThe impressions of that exquisite ode dilate the heart with larly defective in the other departments. The Song of Soloa pleasure too instinctive and simple to be described.”1 mon, laying aside its spiritual meaning, maybe admitted to be Such also are the Song of Solomon, the Proverbs, Eccle- a fine specimen of the pastoral: but of dramatic and narrative siastes, the Lamentations, and the Book of Job, with large poetry the Hebrews have left no specimens; for, though portions of the prophetic books, and occasional passages the book of Job has to a certain extent a dramatic form, it even in the narrative books, such as the Song of Moses has clearly nothing of the essential qualities of the drama. and Miriam, Jacob’s dying prophecies to his sons, the tri- This has been ascribed mainly to the theocratic nature of umphal chant of Deborah, Balak’s involuntary blessing on the Jewish constitution, in which the Levites or priesthood the people whom he came to curse, and, above all, the ex- formed the sole and literary aristocracy; thus devoting quisitely pathetic and beautiful lamentation of David over poetry exclusively to religious themes. But, considering Saul and Jonathan. Amongst the Hebrew prophets, view- the ample field which the Jewish national religious history ing their writings apart from their divine inspiration, and afforded, it is not easy to see why, if the genius of the merely in the light of poetical compositions, the highest people had inclined toward narrative or dramatic poetry, rank is universally ascribed to Isaiah ; and that on account the Exodus, the wanderings in the desert, the wars carried of the union of excellencies which his sacred poetry exhi- on under the judges, and the many other striking events bits. Deeply pathetic in some portions, as in those where which gave interest to their annals, should not have been he paints the destruction which is about to fall upon Judah ; embodied in verse, as they were in prose, in the narrative awfully sublime in others, as where he describes the de- books of the Old Testament. scent of the Assyrian king into the regions of hell, while But, though the poetry of the Hebrews is the first in the all the dead monarchs of the earth rise up to greet him order of time, it cannot properly be regarded as the founwith reproaches; he rises with equal ease to themes of rap- tain-head of that literature, the course and connection of turous exultation, or spreads out in minute portraiture all which we trace in an unbroken series of great works down the tranquil and soothing images of a coming millennium. to the present time. “ Joel,” says Mr Campbell, “ may be deemed to surpass him The sacred poetry of the Hebrews, no doubt, impressed in continuity, and both Joel and Habakkuk are at moments upon the literature of Christianity some strong and remarkmore sublime. But their compositions are much shorter able features ; but it was from the fountain of classical literathan his, and give us not the same conception of copious ture that the genius of modern Europe first drew its inspiand unwearied inspiration. Isaiah’s genius goes farther on ration. It is therefore to Greece that we must turn, as the an even wing, and burns longer with an unwavering fire. head of that great family of literature with which we feel When he has merely to relate, his language has the utmost ourselves connected by relationship of thought and asso-? plainness; and his expositions are remarkably clear, consi- ciation. dering the nature of oracidar poetry. He unites the same simplicity with his rich and high visionary scenes, which are On turning from the poetry of the Hebrews to that of Greek neither meagre like Jeremiah’s, nor ambitiously overwrought Greece, we are immediately struck with one distinctive fea- Poetry. and complex like Ezekiel’s. A deliberate air, a divine self- ture, which, as applicable to the whole of its poetry, we may possession, turns the very scorn and w rath of his spirit into notice before adverting to the different departments into movements of grace and beauty.” which it is subdivided, viz. the more palpable, material, and Jeremiah and Ezekiel belong to the declining period of distinct character of all its conceptions and imagery. This Hebrew literature. They had fallen upon the evil days of immaterial, vague, and spiritual character of the Hebrew their country, and the influence which its misfortunes and poetry, dwelling more on emotions of the mind than on acdegradation produced on the mind, is peculiarly visible in tions, and on the invisible rather than the outward and vithe melancholy strains of Jeremiah. “ His genius seems sible, is unquestionably to be ascribed in a great measure to bend, his voice to falter, under the burden of prophecy; to the predominance, in the national mind, of a pure and and though sometimes pleasingly aftecting, he generally elevating religious creed. On the other hand, the Grecian prolongs the accents of grief to monotony, and seldom mind, formed under the influence of a mythology which avoids tautology except where he abridges the works of other was in fact a mere deification of the material world, and prophets.” Ezekiel is the last great prophetic poet of the which certainly exercised no strong influence save on the Hebrew line; and opinions have been divided as to the fancy, banished those themes and trains of thought which lod poetical rank to which he is entitled. Dr Lowth thinks beyond the visible diurnal sphere, and, concentrating its that he is not excelled in sublimity even by Isaiah himself; attention upon the present, gave to all its imagery a distinctMichaelis, on the contrary, that he displays more luxuriance ness of outline, a simplicity and pellucid clearness in the in amplifying and decorating his subject than is consistent thought, which, if less suited than the Hebrew to the exwith true poetical fervour. Mr Campbell adopts the view citement of the evidences of the sublime, was certainly in of Michaelis, but adds, that the fancy of Ezekiel is daring a corresponding degree favourable to the creation of beauand ingenious. Ingenious hardly appears to be the term ty. The Hebrew poetry, therefore, is contemplative and applicable to the imagination of Ezekiel, which revels with subjective ; the Grecian plastic and objective, peculiar pleasure in visions of a mystical, and, it must be In an outline like the present, of the progress of poetry, admitted, somewhat confused sublimity. Some passages, it is needless to dwell upon the subject of the anti-homeric * Campbell’s Lectures on Poetry, i.

148 POE TRY. The two great poems of Homer are the first specimens of Poetry Poetry, poets of Greece. That there were poets before Homer, The Epic, or narrative poem. It is, in fact, fiom the Iliad in ^ \ vr^_ we know; and this is really the extent of what is known particular our conceptions of an epic poem have been deon the subject. That the ort of poetry had been cultivated rived, andthat its canons deduced. What Homer has done has1 to a considerable extent, that its principles had been sub- been'consecrated as establishing inviolable rules to be objected to reflection and experiment, when Homer lived, is served by his successors. The epic is, upon the whole, the as clear as internal evidence in any case can make it.. noblest form of poetry ; that which demands the highest and Poetry improves only as painting and sculpture rise to perfection. u In sculpture,” says Herder, a what a track most sustained power of imagination, combined with the must it have travelled over in passing from the figures on simplest and purest taste. The power of tragedy is greater the chest of Cypselus to the decorations of the Propyleia for the moment; for its presentations, assisted by action and and the Minerva of Phidias, or from the sculptures of Dae- visible form, are more vivid ; but the epic, possessing a wider dalus to the Olympic Jupiter. A like track was travelled compass, and painting only by words to the eye of the mind, by poetrv in advancing from the rude lays in honour of has a more diversified, enduring, and tranquil operation. Ragods and chiefs to the Homeric Epos.” We know, indeed, pidity, strength of passion, vehement and animated dialogue, that many of the minstrels before Homer had sung theogo- are the essential requisites of tragedy ; a calm, sustained, nies and cosmogonies, the adventures of Titans and heroes, progressive, and sober majesty the characteristic of the of Hercules, Theseus, and the Argonauts; and in all proba- epic. “ Of dramatic pieces,” says Herder, “ we remember bility the legends of the siege of Troy, and the return of sentences; the characters move before our eyes, we feel the chiefs engaged in that enterprise, had formed the sub- their emotions with them. But this emotion being stronger, ject of many a ballad or rhapsody, ere a Homer arose to is also briefer; it passes away. The epopee, with its more give them unity, proportion, and poetic life. All these quiet working, with its proportions too vast for any stage to have faded and been forgotten, for the tablet of human compass, fills the soul, and there abides.” The other points memory is narrow, and, to give room for the last and best, noticed by Aristotle, “ revolutions of fortune, recognitions, the older and ruder inscriptions must be erazed. Not one characters, passions,” are common to both, as well as to ficof these, accordingly, has descended to us in any authentic titious composition in prose. Every romance written on any form ; whilst the spuriousness of most of the Orphic poetry high principle is, in fact, a prose epic ; the epopee in verse is unquestionable. Whether even an Orpheus ever existed, merely adds to the other sources of interest the charm of w'as doubted by Aristotle; and Herodotus distinctly states poetical diction, and of those elaborate ornaments of figures his belief, that the poets given out as older than Homer and similes, which, though stately and appropriate in verse, only produce a bombastic and ridiculous effect in the prose were in fact of more recent date. We do not enter into the details of the question whether of Fenelon, or still more in that of Macpherson. An epic, then, is the poetical development, in narrative, Essentials the works which bear the name of Homer were the producee ic tions of one man, and written in their present form at the of some great and interesting event, or series of events, suf-°f ffi P period commonly ascribed to them, namely, nine hundred ficiently separate from what goes before or follows, to posyears before Christ, or whether they were originally the work sess the character of a whole; having, therefore, a clear and of many rhapsodists, in portions separate and distinct, and distinct beginning, middle, and end; an action simple at afterwards woven together in a collected form about the first, leading into a complication of plot, and terminating in time of Solon and Pisistratus. The question is, in fact, of less a natural and soothing solution. These are its essentials ; importance in reference to the history of poetry than might amongst its accidental features are the employment of superat first sight appear. For whatever view may be adopted, it natural agency as a medium either of heightening emotion is clear that the spirit, the tone, and the manners which are or of conducting the plot; the introduction of episodes, of described in the separate lays, supposed to have been ulti- formal addresses, invocations, and similes; matters which mately incorporated in one, are those of the earlier and not have no essential connection with epic poetry, and the proof the later period, and that the Iliad paints the Grecian priety of the introduction of w hich varies with the theme, the mind and character as it appeared three or four hundred age, and the national associations of the poet. years before the time of Solon, and that from draughts made To the confusion of these accidental qualities, many of How far at the time. If so, the only way in which the adoption of which are certainly quite unsuited to the taste of modern suited to the modern theory of Wolff affects the question is, that it times, with those essential features which must have an equal deprives Homer of the merit of one grand general design, interest for all time, must be ascribed the numerous failures consistently followed out. It is certain, however, that what- wffiich in modern times have thrown a certain discredit and ever difficulties may attend the supposition of the Iliad and air of ridicule upon the epic poem; as well as the belief Odyssey being written by one man, in their present form, that appears to prevail, that the time for epic poetry is past. and at the early date ascribed to them, and preserved in the Unquestionably any epic now written which deals with faabsence of writing by mere oral tradition, the difficulties on bulous mythologies or exploded superstitions, and employs the other side are infinitely greater. To suppose that a set of in the nineteenth century the long elaborate speeches, the scattered lays, composed by a number of unconnected min- minutely touched similes, the formal enumeration of ships, strels, should ever have been made to cohere so smoothly and muster-rolls of regiments, which suited the primitive and compactly, evincing such perfect unity of plot and pur- times of Plomer, when description was new, will probably pose ; that they should have been confined to so small a share the fate of Leonidas or the Epigoniad. But in the portion of the Irojan legendary history, and have given hands ot a poet selecting a theme of sufficient natural and such prominence to a single Thessalian hero ; seems a sup- human interest, remote enough to allow play for the imaposition far more startling than any that attends the belief gination, yet near enough to make us understand and symthat the Iliad is the work of a single author. “ For inspi- pathise with his actors, and treating it, not in a slavish spirit ration is a solitary creative spirit; and it is not to knots and of imagination, but with the vigour and independence of groups, or accidental fabricators, that she has ever intrust- original thought, we are persuaded that the epic would be ed those great conceptions in poetry or painting, or the fine found to have lost none of its power. It seems to be an enarts, that have commanded the permanent homage of man- tirely mistaken opinion, that the epic is only the production in Many smaller additions, by other hands, in the same an early and comparatively simple state of society, and spirit and style, may have been afterwards superinduced of therefore unlikely to harmonize with the more complex naupon the original work of Homer. (See the article Ho- ture and critical taste of more advanced civilization. On mes.) the contrary, the Jerusalem of Tasso, the Paradise Lost of

POETRY. 1-iO Poetry. Milton, and the Lusiad of Camoens, the only three modern stantly reproduced. Achilles, with his union of ferocity and Poetry, v—^ epics which deserve the name, are the productions of what gentleness, generosity and vindictive feeling, has been the ' may be termed the golden age in point of taste in each model of all our mixed characters of passion since, and recountry, and of individuals uniting to poetical inspiration all appears in Turnus and Rinaldo ; just as the kingly Agamemthe stores which the widest reading and most sedulous cul- non, with his grave dignity, has formed the archetype of tivation of learning could supply. those which represent the ascendency of reflection, and the ThfiHome- The great powers of Homer are distinguished from all moral power of sustained and tranquil grandeur, as in the ic epics, modern epics, by their wonderful air of truth, their broad Godfrey of Tasso’s poem. ind their clear portraiture of character, infinitely varied, and yet not The characters of the Iliad are naturally the more varied, The Iliad, ■'.hanicteris- antithetically contrasted; their perfect absence of all affecbecause its subject was a great public event, and the actors tation, false sentiment, or exaggeration, either in character were the congregated princes and heroes of Greece and or sentiment; their calm and impartial spirit; their serenity, Asia; the Odyssey is the poem of domestic life, the tale of cheerfulness, and good sense. Such a union is indeed not the fortunes of a single hero, to whom all the other perto be expected in a modern state of society ; after poetical sonages are purposely placed in subordination, but whose description has already traced all the leading outlines both character, by this isolation, gains a degree of distinctness of moral and material nature, and when men, insensibly and and natural truth absolutely unequalled in fiction, save in unavoidably subjecting the influences from things without some of the creations of Shakspeare. The remarks of Mr to a process of intellectual chemistry from within, and thus, Campbell on the characters of the Iliad are so just and beauconnecting them with peculiar associations, cease to have tiful, that we cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of quoting either the power or the inclination of simply reflecting back them. on their verses, as in a mirror, the impressions of nature as “ Achilles, in the centre, is of the order of spirits that they fall upon the mind. Neither, although the power of electrify and command mankind. His alarming and sensidelineation existed, can it ever be expected that such ma- tive being is the soul of the Iliad, and his very absence and terials for broad, simple, and effective painting can be found repose are the causes of its disastrous action. He is unin modern times, when differences of character are veiled, questionably ferocious, but his quarrel is just; he is wrongif not in a great measure obliterated, by community of edu- ed, high minded, hating falsehood like the gates of hell, cation and habits, or are converted into mere humours or young, beautiful, and predestined to fall. Casual glimpses peculiarities, to which the shades of distinction are too of his manners are also given, that interestingly soften our minute for any grand poetical effect. conception of him. He is the only hero of the Iliad who Even the greatest of our modern epic poets, in painting the amuses himself with music and poetry. The deputies of manners and the moral habitudes to which chivalry gave the army find him in his tent playing on his lyre, and birth, laboured under the disadvantages of pourtraying feel- chanting heroic songs; and, though he knows their hateings which, springing, as they had done, out of a visionary ful errand, he receives them w ith a calm and manly benigand unreal, because exaggerated, sentiment, had a tendency nity. Horace does him injustice w hen he calls him a disto run into caricature, and to give a monotonous and hyper- claimer of laws, and inexorable ; for he melts into tears at bolical cast to their delineations of human character. The the prostrate gray hairs of Priam, the father of the slayer of beings painted by Homer, who himself lived upon the out- his friend, though he had lately withstood all the eloquence skirts of the heroic times of Greece, were in their features of Nestor. the men whom he saw around him; beings natural, open, and “ It show s the security of Homer in his inspiration to have unsophisticated, both in their good and bad qualities: the introduced such an opponent to Achilles as Hector. But manners simple, primitive, and homely, yet not without a when he leads us to Troy, he makes us Trojans in our aftouch of grave courtesy and refinement; the scenery which fections, and almost seems to become so himself. Prodigal forms the foreground or background of his human groups in sympathy with the events and agents which he conjures as yet undepicted, the incidents through which they pass up, his imagination as tenderly conceives the lamentations unhackneyed; all nature was before him where to choose: of Hecuba, and the heart-sick swroon of Andromache, as it while the language which was to be employed as the me- makes itself impetuously congenial with the vengeance of dium of his art, neither debased by vulgar associations, nor Achilles. Like nature, he is fruitful in creating characdiluted from its original freshness and strength by meta- ters, and, like her, impartial in distributing and intrusting physical refinements; which diminish its picturesqueness, virtues to contending parties. Conscious that Achilles could in proportion as they render it more complex and philoso- shine by his own light, he fears not to show us his image phical, affected the mind with all the distinctness of sounds through tears for the fate of Hector. In delineating Hecand colours, and stamped upon it an impression fresh and tor by the eulogies of his weeping country and friends, the immediate, as from the signet of nature. climax is exquisitely perfected by Helen. All others who The power of invention displayed by Homer in his two had bewailed him, she says, were bound to him by recigreat poems, in the conception of character, can only be procal ties ; but hers was the grief of gratitude for the unfully appreciated when we recollect, that the germ or out- deserved and gratuitous kindness of his mighty heart. He line of almost every character which has since figured in had interposed when others had reproached her; he had epic poetry is to be found in the Iliad. Now, though the soothed her when her tears flowed at their reproaches. wonderful variety of his incidents, his battles, sieges, and “ Tineas creates a less ardent, though still respectable instorms, his nocturnal adventures, his combats of gods and terest ; and it is increased by a hint, w hich is thrown out men, and his scenes of enchantment, may have been in a with an air of minute historical probability, that Priam w as considerable degree derived from his predecessors, and, in jealous of his greatness, and that his virtues had been parfact, the hereditary and traditional 'properties of the ballad tially thrown into the shade. What expression in every minstrels of Greece, it is impossible to conceive that he figure of this mighty tablet! What diversity even between could have derived much aid from this source in giving in- men incompetent to great actions; as between the abject dividuality and life to character. And yet, with the excep- coward and vulgar braggart Thersites, and the gay goodtion of characters under the influence of the passion of natured Paris, whose spirit, though sunk in luxury, still love, such as Dido, Armida, and Erminia, scarcely any sub- shows some traces of his noble breed! The stout heart and stantial addition has been made to the picture gallery of arm of Ajax stand him in lieu of all piety, craft, or sensibiHomer by later epic poets. His characters, in fact, have lity ; whilst Sarpedon, bleeding in warfare not his own, been like stereotypes, from which newr impressions are con- spends his last generous breath in exhorting the brave to

POE TRY. 150 Iliad, is marked also by striking differences ; so great, in- Poetr Poetry, rally the battle. Homer Is above all artificial antithesis in deed, as to afford room for believing, not that it was the ——'/-■—■''the painting of character ; but in describing natures remote- work of several hands, but that it may be the work of a “e M ly different, he could not avoid exhibiting contrasts ; and different poet from the author of the Iliad. None of the that which is visible between Achilles and Ulysses is as per- o-ods and goddesses who play a part both in the Iliad and fect as heroic nature can afford. appear the same in the latter poem as in the for“ The youthful Diomed is, among the Greeks, next to Odyssev Jupiter, the representative of force or power, and Achilles, the apparent favourite of the poet: all spirit and mer. arbiter of all things in the Iliad, resigns the conduct of lustre, his valour burns like ‘ the unwearied fire that plays the the hero to Minerva, the personification of wisdom. Meneon his shield and crest.’ Like Achilles, he is insulted by laus, Helen, and Ulysses himself, leave a different impression Agamemnon, who charges him with cowardice on the eye on the mind. Manners and morals have changed. There of battle ; but he is wise as well as warlike, and it is not till is a perceptible advance in knowledge and the mechanical his actions have belied the imputation, that he retaliates arts. There seems a decline in physical strength. The upon his commander. When the Greeks have been worst- chivalrous of the Iliad is exchanged for a more prued, and when Agamemnon proposes abandoning toe siege, dential andspirit calculating one. Voyaging and wandering Diomed, the youngest of all the chiefs, rises in the council, and gives him a dignified rebuke. Agamemnon him- come in place of warfare. The qualities most valued are self is not without the virtues of fraternal affection, and no longer the wild strength and energy of Achilles, but willingness to listen to able counsellors. He has also his the self-possession, energy, forecast, invention, and eloday of distinction in the field. But his importance alto- quence of Ulysses. The agency of Magic, in room of a gether is more royal than personal, and his faults are made purely divine agency, a power of which we have no hint in conspicuous by his supremacy. Alternately presumptuous the Iliad, finds a place. Wonders and prodigies are scatand despondent, he is the readiest to tax others with defi- tered with a profusion unknown to the Iliad. Many porcient courage, and the first himself to despair under public tions of the Odyssey have an air of resemblance to the reverses. He is also unmerciful in victory. 1 he cry for Arabian Nights ; and Sinbad would seem to have borrowed quarter is addressed to him in vain, and he makes two of more than one of his adventures from Ulysses. It is not the most atrocious refusals to spare that occur in the Iliad. even difficult to perceive that the vocabulary and syntax of It has been remarked, that Homer speaks as a friend to the language have in some measure altered. Each poem royal government; but still he describes it as too limit- seems, as Herder remarks, to have its peculiar atmosphere, ed, or rather as too undefined, to be despotic ; and the its sky, its panorama of objects in the upper, the middle, chiefs in the councils of the Iliad present us with a sort of and the nether world. Ulysses, the hero of the latter poem, is a conception Greek picture of Gothic feudalism. And if he shows respect for monarchy, he makes his kings no monopolists of more in harmony with ancient than modern views of herovirtue. In poetical justice, he seems to have thought it ism. Our ideas on the subject have been so strongly insufficient to give Agamemnon the diadem, and a few good fluenced by those notions of the point of honour introduced qualities, as his share of importance in the poem, leaving by chivalry, that we do not easily sympathize with a hero brighter heroic endowments to chiefs subordinate in politi- who, though not deficient in bravery, is always more ready to employ craft than courage, and only appeals to arms cal power. “ Amidst these forms which the Iliad exhibits in the bloom when artifice is found to be ineffectual. The character emboor strength of heroism, the aged characters are no less dies, as Mr Coleridge observes, the idea of an accomplished happily distinguished. Nestor looks back on a life of great- man of the world, after the manner of ancient paganism; ness and wisdom :—he has no rival in venerable years ; his and it is therefore with some effort that we, whose ideal of powers have reached the last ripeness of experience, but such a personage is so different, interest ourselves in his they have also something of the mellow tint that precedes fate. Yet he does make his way at last into our affections. decay. He dwells on his own exploits with an egotism and His character grows upon us like the gradual influence of fulness that could only be endured in the most ancient of good sense. Human traits peep forth under the guise of men. Phoenix, the friend of Achilles, on the other hand, impassive constancy and caution. His home-sick longings is also old, but his youth had been embittered by misery for Ithaca, his abandonment to the power of love under and vindictive passions ; and when he comes to exhort the the influence of Circe, remind us of our common humanity. hero against excessive resentment, he confesses his early He bears his trials so firmly, he steers through difficulties errors in a tone very different from the self-complacency of with such tact and skill, and meets danger, when it must Nestor. be met, with such self-reliance and courage, that he gra“ Priam is neither very wise nor energetic ; but his heart dually acquires our admiration ; and when we become more is warm with natural affections, and his woes and years sus- familiar with the kindly and warm affections which, after tain our reverence and solicitude. When the wail of the all, burn on in his breast beneath the crust of stoicism, he at Trojans bursts from their walls, at the sight of Hector last engages our sympathy and our love. dragged in triumph by his conqueror, when the frantic faThe poems of Homer are at once the first and the last Hesiod, ther implores his friends to let him go forth and implore great specimens of heroic song in Grecian poetry ; for it the pity of the destroyer, the struggle of his people to de- were out of place, in an outline like this, to allude to the tain him, and the voice of his instinctive agony, surpass middle school of the epic, while even the attempt to revive almost everything in the pathos of poetry, and affect us heroic poetry in the Alexandrian period only proved that more like an event passing before our eyes, than a scene of its life and soul was extinct. Even in the Odyssey, as alfictitious calamity. Never was the contrast of weakness ready mentioned, we perceive a decline of the enthusiastic and strength more fearful, than when he throws himself at and chivalrous spirit, a tendency towards the commercial the feet of Achilles, whilst his feeble perspicacity makes us and the peaceful. Imagination is gradually “ fading into tremble at every moment, lest he should light up the in- the light of common day.” This tendency appears, howflammable temper of Achilles, fluctuating between wrath ever, far more remarkable in the works of Homer’s immeand compassion. Yet, hallowed by paternal sorrow, age diate successor, Hesiod. We say successor, because, although and weakness prevail. The old man accomplishes his point, some authorities represent him as older than Homer, and and the terrific victor condescends to the delicacy of even Herodotus speaks of him as Homer’s contemporary, the veiling Hector’s corpse from his view.” balance of evidence is clearly in favour of the superior anThe Odyssey, with certain common resemblances to the tiquity of Homer. The precise date of his appearance,

151 POETRY. Poetry, however, cannot be fixed with more precision than as hav- tests, assembling multitudes together, exciting the spirit of Poetry, —V’"’' ing been between eight and nine hundred years before Christ. rivalry, and gratifying the poet as it were with a foreThe works which bear his name consist of the Weeks and taste of his poetical immortality, the high honours and disDays, the Theogony, and the Shield of Hercules, of which tinctions everywhere paid to song, rapidly advanced the the latter is generally regarded as spurious. Looking to art to perfection. It is probable, that if the whole mass of the subjects and character of his poems, which are of a do- the Greek lyric poetry could now be recovered, not only mestic and peaceful character; to his style, which, though would Horace, Catullus, and the Latin lyric w riters, be unhighly natural and simple, is, in the main, flat, level, and questionably shorn of many of their finest passages, but, in uninspired by high imagination ; we should almost ima- all probability, w e should be presented with the noblest and gine that a full century must have elapsed between the most varied collection that the world has ever produced. Odyssey and the Weeks and Days. The time, adventures, For if the light luxurious Bacchanalian spirit of the time be battles, moving accidents by flood and field, and expeditions imaged in the graceful trifling of Anacreon’s festive songs, undertaken to recover some fair runaway “ that enchants we know how the deeper and more gloomy sentiments of a the world,” seem to be for ever gone. In their stead we genuine passion were embodied in the burning lines ot Saphave an account how labour fell to the lot of man, the pho ; the ardour of military enthusiasm in him wLo sang his story of Pandora, our gradual degeneracy from the gold to verses to the Spartan fife, Tyrtseus; the inspiring themes the iron age, precepts of agriculture and commerce, moral of patriotism in “ Alcaeus, fancy drest, singing the sword in and religious admonitions, which have much the air of trite myrtles dressed the touching tenderness of maternal afproverbs and commonplaces of what deserves no better fection in the Danae of Simonides, weeping over her child name than cunning and worldly wisdom; every thing, in in her frail and sea-beaten prison ; and, above all, the loftishort, indicates the triumph of the spirit of peace over that est strains of religious fervour, the praises of demigods and of war. The Theogony is in a somewhat more ambitious heroes, all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of human exstyle; and, as a catalogue or muster-roll of the Grecian istence, in the odes of the greatest master of the Grecian divinities, with a regular deduction of their genealogies, is lyre, Pindar. But, unfortunately, of the works of the nine curious. Unfortunately, however, its finest passage, the who are enumerated by the ancients as forming the conbattle of the gods and Titans, a piece of genuine vigour stellation of the lyric writers, and embracing the period and sublimity, appears so different from the style of He- from the death of Hesiod down to the great era of the Persiod, that it would rather seem interpolated at a later time sian war, viz. Pindar, Bacchylides, Sappho, Anacreon, Stesiby some scholar, whose work has in this case very far sur- chorus, Simonides, Ibycus, Alcaeus, and Aleman, some passed his master’s. On the whole, Quinctilian has criti- have completely perished, and of others only the most trifling cised Hesiod with judgment and fairness. “ Raro assur- fragments remain. Anacreon and Pindar are the only two git Hesiodus, magnaque pars ejus in nominibus est occu- of which we possess any considerable rspecimens. pata; tamen utiles circa praecepta sententiae lenitasque verJudging from the few fragments w e possess of Sappho, Sappho, borum et compositionis probabilis, daturque ei palma in the loss of her works is particularly to be deplored ; for she illo medio genere dicendi.” appears to have possessed not merely that wild fire and ic HoThe Homeric hymns, a series of compositions in praise hurry of passion which predominate in her celebrated ode ;ric of the gods, and probably of a date a little later than the (with which every one is familiar in the version of Phillips), age of Hesiod, seem to bridge over the passage from the but a tenderness of heart, a power of presenting imagery in epic and heroic poetry to the lyrical. The steps of the a line or a word, not surpassed by any of the ancient writers, transition may even be in some measure traced, in the and justly entitling her to the lofty title of the Tenth Muse, gradual ascendency acquired by the musical accompani- bestowed upon her by antiquity. How exquisite, for instance, ment which had from the first been employed in the recita- is the fragment preserved by Demetrius Phalereus, tion of the epic, but to which a greater prominence was ’EtrTSgi •xu.'nu. tp’.^us given in the hymns, thus leading on to the decided influence «mv, tys/tus atya of the lyre and pipe, and conseqiient accommodation both If sous ftccrsgi vraiSac. of the form and character of the poetry to that lyric mould in which it was thenceforward to be cast. Terpander him- Thus expanded, yet scarcely improved, by Lord Byron:— O Hesperus, thou bringest all good things self composed the music for these Homeric rhapsodies; and Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, Hesiod is said to have been denied admittance to the PyTo the young bird* the parent’s brooding -wings, thian games because he could not accompany his verses The welcome stall to the o’erlaboured steer; on the harp. These hymns, strange, quaint, some almost Whate’er of peace about our hearthstone clings, Whate’er our household gods protect of dear, comic ; others, like that to Hermes (the finest of all), full Are gathered round us by thy look of rest; of a wild and dancing gaiety; almost all treating the inhaThou bringst the child too to the mother’s breast. bitants of Olympus with a free and easy familiarity; abounding in rapid transitions, invocations, and reflections or senPindar unquestionably occupied the highest place among Tindar. timents of the writer; prepared the way for the more re- the Greek lyrists ; and though it is certain that we are in gular lyric, as it appeared in the strains of Archilochus possession of only a small part ot his works, for he appears (about 700 b. c.), to whom is assigned the distinction of to have written on every variety of theme, enough remains being the father of the Grecian lyric. to satisfy us that the judgment of antiquity, which raised e lyric The perfection of the Greek lyric had growm out of the him to the lyric throne, was well founded. Forty-five tri1 try of intimate connection of poetry with music, fusing the finest umphal lays, in honour of the victors in the public games, iece. results of both into a whole, which, charming the senses have descended to us, and the character and peculiar meand the soul at once, hurried away the listener with an ir- rits of these have been described with such eloquence, and resistible sweep of enthusiasm. Every thing in the circum- at the same time critical justice, by Sir Daniel Sandford, in stances of Greece contributed to its rapid development his able sketch of the rise and progress of literature, that we Itnd unfailing effect. A spirit of gaiety and social enjoy- quote the passage in preference to any remarks of our ow n. ment wras the national characteristic, heightened by the “ The most careless reader of these odes must be struck influence of a delightful climate, and by a religion whose by the excessive admiration of wealth, magnificence, and airy and fantastic character interposed no gloomy reflec- every species of greatness, to which we have alluded as a tion to check the enjoyment of the present. The public characteristic of Pindar’s mind. Splendour was the passion and family festivals, sacrifices, games, and poetical con- of his soul; splendour of achievement, splendour of renown.

POETRY. 152 P Poetry, splendour of station and outward circumstances. His very to find the appearance of the bucolic or pastoral poetry, so SwPoetry j late in comparison with the heroic, the lyrical, and the dra^v^*j pride seems to have suggested to him that nothing but splendour was worthy of his muse. His genius, to use a figure matic. As it seems to paint a primitive period of human of his own, was the eagle of Jove, that would not be severed nature, we are led to think that it would be one of the first from the sceptre and the god. These aristocratic predilec- forms in which poetry would appear. Jlie truth is, howtions, this enthusiastic attachment to munificent monarchs ever, that it has generally made its appearance, and has alLii and chiefs of ancient fame, were in perfect unison with the ways been most popular, in ages of great social refinement, tot when excess of luxury in the life of cities drives the mind whole tenor of his destiny; born as he was in the midst of the Pythian festival, living surrounded by shows of solemn back upon the supposed simplicity of rural life and its occupomp, and dying, as he had lived, in the full blaze of pub- pations. Such was the case with the Greek Idylls of Theolic ceremony, in the centre of a theatre, and while rapt in critus, with the Bucolics of Virgil; with the pastoral dramas those emotions of rejoicing sympathy which such scenes of Tasso, Guarini, and Bonarelli; and with the pastorals of were sure to awaken in his bosom. To those, however, who Pope and Phillips. They are all the growth of a period of may deem apology requisite for the indulgence of so stately great literary refinement. Frederick Schlegel observes justa temper, it may be urged in behalf of Pindar, that, as in^ ly, however, that there is an essential error in isolating pasthe case of many remarkable poets, the abstract feeling of toral poetry, as is generally done, and viewing the country veneration was predominant in his mental constitution, and life abstracted from its due situation in that picture of the that it was called forth not merely by rank and opulence world and of human life which it is the province of poetry among mankind, but even more powerfully by the contem- to unfold. “ Let us reflect for a moment on those passages plation of the divine attributes. Hence that glow of piety in the heroic poems of antiquity, or in the chivalric rowhich shines so brightly in his odes, sometimes breaking out mances of the moderns, which afford us glimpses of the in expressions of the deepest awe, or in sublime pictures of simplicity and repose of rural manners. Their simplicity apdeity, and sometimes assuming an aspect of moral beauty, pears still more innocent, and their repose still more peaceadding force and lustre to the lessons of wisdom. The lat- ful, from the situation in which they are placed in the midst ter modification of religious feeling has given birth to some of the guilty tumult of wars, and the fierce passions of heof the noblest passages in the poetry of Pindar. He was roes. Here everything appears in its true and natural conwell aware that emotion does not exclude sentiment; that nexion, and the poetry is as varied as the world and the men the ethics of the heart are not less sound than those of the which it professes to represent.” It is certain that this treatbrain ; and that nature is often hurried, in moments of ex- ment of the rural life as a department of life, by narrowing citement, into the innermost shrines of truth. But he knew within the most confined limits the materials of the poet, is likewise, that the philosophy of such moments is prompt and the cause of that monotony which is generally found to perperemptory ; oracular, not syllogistic; and this knowledge vade pastoral poetry. Nothing, in fact, becomes more wearihas secured him from frequently offending against the ge- some than the repetition of Arcadian descriptions of the nuine character of lyric song by lengthened trains of moral golden age, reflection.” Lactis uberes Cantare rivos atque truncis When the lyric poetry of Greece had reached its perfecLapsa cavis iterare mella. tion in Pindar, its drama rose into shape and grandeur in the tragedies of fEschylus. But for the history of the pro- But this fault is more prominent amongst the modern, partigress and decline of the Greek drama, tragic and comic, the cularly the Italian pastoral writings, than in Theocritus, who reader is referred to the article Drama in this work. has in general painted his shepherds and peasants with a naDecline of Little remains to be said of the declining portion of Greek tural and manly simplicity, approaching even, as it seems to Greek poe- poetry. General corruption, introduced by luxury, and the modern ideas, to coarseness. His Idylls, as indeed the name Alexand ' ev^ P™C'P^(;S °f the sophists ; loss of liberty, when all the implies, are little poetical pictures or representations in mian school1" Powers °f Greece had yielded to the sway of Alexander ; niature, sometimes of mythological subjects, at other times the introduction of a tumid oriental taste into eloquence and of matters of common life, but almost always amatory in composition in general; such are the features which mark the their purpose and termination. With Theocritus may be period from the rise of Alexander the Great to the extinc- classed, though far inferior to him in vigour, the “ showy tion of the poetical literature of Greece. After the death of Bion and the delicate Moschus,” the last names of any note Alexander, indeed, a strong effort was made by the Ptole- which precede that period of exhaustion, when, the days of mies to render Alexandria the rival of Athens, and to as- high imagination and great works being over, those of mere semble about their court poets, orators, and men of science. cleverness and neatness of execution, of slender trifles, epiIn the latter point only their efforts were successful. Science grams, and anthologies, commenced. continued to flourish, and long after Greece had ceased to produce any great works in the fine arts, we find geometrical But as the genius of one nation, yielding to the force of Latin invention carried to a height by Euclid, whilst the wonder- circumstances, declines, nature seems to provide a principle Poetky. working science of Archimedes struck the Romans at the of compensation in the development of that of another. Thelts nse' siege of Syracuse with terror and astonishment. But elo- course of literature and poetry appears to resemble an arctic quence remained, as before, hollow and pompous, whilst poe- summer, in which the sun scarcely dips in one quarter of try was in a great measure wasted in the vain attempt to the horizon before he re-appears in another. While the creagive life and interest to the abstractions of science. This tive energies of Greece either sink into barrenness or exwas the period of the learned or didactic poetry. Mytholo- pand into a rank and unwholesome luxuriance, as her mogy, astronomy, botany, were the favourite subjects to which rals are corrupted, and her liberties impaired and at last exthe art of the poet was devoted. One attempt, however, to tinguished, we perceive in the Italian peninsula the rise of a revive the epic taste is visible in the elegant Argonautics of national character and a literature, destined, alike in arts and Apollonius Rhodius. He cannot indeed be regarded as an arms, in polity or in literature, to give laws to the world. epic poet, for he wants fire and originalitv; but he is a graceYet Italy, free and independent as she was, and animat-This not ful compiler of traditions, the effect of which he heightens by ed by a consciousness of national pride and growing power, occasional touches of tenderness. exhibits during the first five centuries of her history the exist Pastoral. Ihe most interesting, however, and by far the most ori- b. c. to 253 b. c.) a mere blank, so far as poetry is concern-ence of Theocri- ginal, of the works of the decline of Greek poetry, are the ed. I hat she may have possessed legendary ballads found-Rome, tas. Idylls of Theocritus (270 b. c.). One is at first surprised ed on those various mythic or semi-historical traditions which

P O E Poetry, were afterwards interwoven by Livy into his history of Home, '-’"v"'—'' is not improbable ; but of the nature of these we know nothing, of their existence at all we have no certain traces ; and nothing can be more fanciful than the extent to which Niebuhr, Sehlegel, and other German writers have carried their conjectures on this subject. Livius An- In fact, we know nothing of Roman poetry prior to the Ironicus. introduction of the Greek language and literature, through the conquest of Tarentum (272 b. c.) and Magna Gracia; soon after which the rude attempts of a Greek slave, Livius Andronicus, to translate the Odyssey of Homer into Latin (240 b. c.), first gave the victors some idea of the poetical treasures of that nation, to which, though victors in the field of warfare, the Homans felt their inferiority in the more peaceful domain of literature. His preferring the wilder and more homely of Homer’s poems to his more imposing, elaborate, and dignified performance, only showed that he rightly apprehended the tendencies of an infant taste. Children as they were in poetry, the power of the marvellous had attractions for the Homans, which that of simple yet heroic truth would probably not have possessed. The efforts of Andronicus to diffuse a taste for Greek literature did not stop here ; for he was the translator also of several specimens both of the tragic and the comic drama of Greece, innius. He was succeeded by a Homan poet of original though coarse and unequal genius, Ennius (239 b. c.). Yet, with strong originality of mind, he was a worshipper of Greek literature ; and his influence on his successors is probably owing in a higher degree to what he transplanted from the soil of Greece, than what he reared from the independent stores of his mind. He attempted by turns, epic, tragic, satiric, epigrammatic, didactic, and even acrostic poetry. He versified the Roman Historical Chronicles, a poem of which few specimens survive, but these calculated to excite much regret that a work, executed with so much force and feeling in parts, should have been irrecoverably consigned to oblivion. His vigorous and forcible style, with all its rudeness, conceits, and ridiculous jingles, appears in its better parts to have possessed great charms for the best judges of diction at an after period; for we find that Virgil, Lucretius, and Ovid, and particularly the first, have availed themselves most liberally, not only of the ideas, but of the precise expressions, and frequently whole lines, of Ennius ;l while Horace, who seems to have had a warm feeling of the poetical fire that lay under the rude crust of the verses of Ennius, after citing two of his lines, says that the “ disjecta membra poetae would appear visible,” however their arrangement might be transposed; a result which, he fairly admits, would not be the case with regard either to the satirical works of Lucilius or his own. lautus Neither in Ennius, however, nor in his dramatic succesd'fe- sors, Plautus (died 184 b. c.) or Terence (born 195, died jncB. ]59 B> c ^ (j0 we meet with much that is truly national. In all we are in fact perusing Greek compositions in Roman forms; for the plays of Plautus and Terence present to us, not the aspect of Homan life, but the state of Greek society, pretty much as it had appeared in the days of Menander. In the former we perceive more vigour, more variety, broader humour, but at the same time more coarseness ; in the latter a limited invention, and characters reducing themselves to a few limited classes, generally an over-indulgent father, a profligate son, a rapacious mistress, and a knavish slave ; to which Plautus is fond of adding some Bobadil or parasite, by way of relief. Yet in Terence’s case we perceive the traces of genius, notwithstanding the close imitation by which he is fettered. His characters have a truthful air, his dialogue is always free from affectation, and sometimes touching and tender in the high1

VOL. XVIII.

T It Y. . 153 est degree. In fact, a few of his best passages in this style Poetry, are models of apparently artless and yet consummately artful and beautiful expression. Tw o other individuals of distinguished genius precede Lucretius, what is called the Augustan period of Homan poetry, Lucretius and Catullus ; the one the most distinguished of the Roman didactic poets, the other unequalled in the short and tender lyric. Lucretius contended with an absolutely unmanageable subject; one which, from its unimaginative character, from the dreary details, psychological, meteorological, geological, which it necessitated, the inherent feeling of discomfort which it leaves behind, and the irreligious character of the opinions which it involves, necessarily interposed the most formidable difficulties in the way of the poet, which it is no disgrace even to the most distinguished genius, and such Lucretius possessed, not to have entirely overcome. It is, in fact, the highest proof of the ability and genuine inspiration of Lucretius, that he has infused a poetical vitality even into the dry bones of that philosophical mummy which he was attempting to animate; that he has treated w ith a feeling of poetical enthusiasm the coldest and most heartless of all creeds, the Epicurean ; so that the very strains which he has employed in combating the belief of the immortality of the soul, bear upon their face the stamp of immortality. “ In inspiration and in sublimity,” says Frederick Schlegel, “ he is the first of Roman poets ; as a painter and worshipper of nature, he is the first of all the poets of antiquity whose writings have come down to us.” In Catullus the Epicurean theory, which wears a majes- Catullus, tic aspect in Lucretius, appears in a less dignified but more probable form. Carpe diem is the motto which might be inscribed over all his compositions ; yet with this enjoyment of the present mingles not absolutely a melancholy, but a pensive feeling, which gives a peculiar interest to them all. For compositions of a higher mood and more extended plan, Catullus apparently had as little ability as inclination ; his taste was Grecian, and formed in the school of Alexandria; slight performances, epigrams, elegies, little lyric effusions expressive of individual feelings, like the charming lines to Sirmio, or the lament for the sparrow, and polished with the most exquisite felicity of diction, were the subjects to w hich his talents were devoted. There is, in fact, every reason to believe that his more ambitious performances, such as the Epithalamium of Helens and Thetis, and the Atys, were simply editions in a Latin form of Greek originals. The poets hitherto mentioned belong to the period of the republic ; in their successors, the poets of the Augustan period, we perceive a considerable change both of spirit and expression. Under the calm but firm sway of Augustus, which had reduced all the contending parties under one powerful dominion, and conferred upon the country the blessings of peace, the art of poetry was peculiarly cultivated and patronized. And it is at this period that the Roman poetry first displays in its fullest extent that feature which Frederick Schlegel considers its truly national and original trait, namely, that exaltation of Home and of the Roman character; that feeling of the unrivalled energies, the rapid growth and ever-increasing dominion of their country, which formed, to the imagination of the poet at least, an ample compensation for the loss of that liberty which, since the commencement of the troubles of the Gracchi, or the contests of Sylla and Marius, had been little better than a political phantom, or a party watchword with no real meaning. The great representatives of this Augustan period of Virgil poetry are Virgil and Horace. No two poets could be more dissimilar in the direction of their tastes, and yet it would be difficult to say to whom the palm of greater genius

Dunlop, History of Roman Literature, vol. i. p. 21., u

POETRY. 154 infinite advance which the delineation of the passion of J^etry Poetry, ought justly to be assigned. Even in his Pastoral, though love has made since the time of Homer. Virgil has be-' —v—Nearly work, the leading qualities of Virgil s mind his eun to comprehend that feellhg, with the world of emoexquisite taste and fine sensibility, are apparent, though tions to which it gives birth. And if he has not painted it they can hardly be considered in any other light than as with all that purity and depth which was imparted to it graceful adaptations, and, it may be safely added, improve- bv Christianity, he has exhibited its leading traits with a ments, of the subjects and manner of Theocritus. In these warmth and sensibility which make all the other classical he was painting from a painting; he was copying a Greek delineations of passion both cold and lifeless beside that ot landscape in the colouring of the Latin tongue. But in is Georgies he drew from his own observation of Italian na- ^Horace exhibits the singular specimen of a poet borrow-Horace, ture ; and, bringing the native excellencies and qualities ot ing half his thoughts from the lyric writers of Greece, and his mind to bear upon imagery and events and associations m akin o' his odes a mosaic formed from the gems of other which nature and experience had dictated, presenting us with countries as well as his own, and yet imparting to the comdelicious landscapes varied by all the natural occupations bination a high degree of unity, and a decided originality of the Italian agricultural life, gilded by sunshine, clouded of character. Calm wisdom, shrewd penetrating observaby storm, or darkened and disturbed by tempests ; combin- tion of life, a sober enthusiasm, and most refined taste, are ing these in the most dexterous manner with striking allu- the qualities which most distinguish him, imparting to all sions to well-known events and catastrophes of Roman his- his compositions extreme point, terseness, and occasionally, tory, such as the prodigies which portend the death of Caesar, in themes of a higher cast, particularly those connected or with old mythological traditions; and making the di lest with the elder worthies of Rome, or the lofty position she details of husbandry, such as the grafting of trees or the breeding of bees, prolific of imagery or of fable consecrated then occupied in the eye of the world, a stately and solemn This admirable balance of mind which distinby early associations; the result is one of the most, oiigi- grandeur. guishes Horace, and informs all his writings with such pregnal and at the same time delightful poems which exists. The iEneid was a great, but, it must be admitted, unsuc- nant good sense, renders him a peculiar favourite in a cessful attempt to do that for Rome and the Roman people country like our own, whose national character is marked which Homer had done for Greece, namely, to give the Ro- by not a few of those features that distinguished the mind mans a great national poem. No one felt this failure more of the poet. Hence his odes are more read and quoted, than Virgil. His reluctance to give publicity to the /Eneid particularly by men of business and practical sagacity, than is well known. He could only be prevailed upon to read to the works of any of the classic poets. But the merits of Horace, though most conspicuous-as a Augustus the first, second, fourth, and sixth books. Several causes may be obviously assigned for its want of suc- lyric poet, are great also as a satirist. Lucilius had indeed cess. ls£, Not only did Virgil, from the intense admiration made the first approach to the regular form of Roman sahe felt for Homer, copy in many respects his characters and tire ; but his rude and harsh effusions can no more be comdesign; but he endeavoured to combine the distinct and pared to the polished and graceful productions of Horace, ^ almost incompatible characters of the Iliad and the Odys- than the rugged verses of Donne can be compared with the sey', the grand and warlike character of the former with the satires and epistles of Pope. In Horace all follies and lighter wandering and adventurous character of the latter poem. vices of the day (for he seemed to think satire scarcely a fit 2d, Although the notion of grafting the adventures of /Eneas weapon when directed against the darker vices) are touched upon the origin of the Roman nation, was in itself a happy on in a strain of the most urbane ridicule, which insinuates one ; and the mythological traditions connected with it reproof. As compared with those either of Lucilius who might have been brought to bear with much effect upon preceded, or of Persius and Juvenal who succeeded him, the subject; Virgil committed the great error from which the tone of the Horatian satire is light and playful. . It has Tasso has also suffered, of making an epic poem a mere in- been correctly observed, that these satires filled up for Rostrument of political flattery, by identifying the character man literature exactly the department which in our times of his hero with that of Augustus. By depriving himself of is occupied by the stage. For as the plays of Plautus and the open and untrammelled field which the traditional cha- Terence truly represented Greek and not Roman manracter of yEneas presented, and making that character a ners, it was in the light form of satire that all those humormere portrait, en beau, of the cold-blooded, calculating, and ous follies and oddities of Roman society, which properly critical emperor, he lost at once all hold over the sympathies fall within the range of the comic, were displayed and ex. of the reader in the fortunes of his hero, a cardinal point in posed. The elegiac poets of this period, Tibullus and Proper- The eleall poems that pretend to the character of epic. 3c/, Nay, he even enlisted those sympathies against him; for, as Vol- tins, wrote with purity and good taste; the former withgiacPoe taire, who is seldom wrong in what may be called the logic more of tenderness, the latter with more of force and menof poetry, observes, he represents him as a mere adven- tal vigour. But in the extravagant luxuriance and frequent turer, who in the first place is guilty of the most shameless conceits of Ovid, we perceive the commencement of that want of feeling in regard to Dido, whose sole object is to decline of poetry, which, relieved only by the manly vigour acquire a settlement in Italy; who, in breaking off the of Juvenal’s satires, goes on in rapidly-increasing progresmatch of Turnus with Lavinia, is instigated, not by passion, sion to the extinction of the Roman empire. For the amabut by policy; and who would in all probability have most tory and elegiac poems of Ovid little can be said; they^ willingly surrendered the Latian princess to his brave and want heart and passion as much as delicacy or propriety of generous though cruel rival, if he would have resigned the sentiment. But the praise of a teeming fancy cannot be kingdom of Old Latinus to a Trojan stranger, and taken La- denied to him; he is a mine from which thoughts and vinia, like Cordelia, without a(X VAUVVC1* dower. CA|JI UtJ dug without W ILllUULt end LI HI 9; and clllU his IIIO 1TJL t: lcuxiv/i expressions may be MetamorOnly one substantial addition has been made by Virgil phoses, as a graceful exposition of the finest mythological to the character ~ characters of Homer, and Ct-HVA for that Illclt nidi clLI/CA he 11L may Illciy tales of antiquity, will always retain their interest for modern have received some hints from the Ariadne of Catullus ; times. but it must be admitted to be one of the most deeply inWe pass over the so-called tragedies of Seneca, the works Juvei a teresting in poetic fiction, we mean that of Dido. The of a mere school rhetorician ; and the satires of Persius, obgreat night-picture of the sack of Troy, and the episode of scure and rugged, though not without a masculine energy. Dido, are indeed the finest things in the /Eneid. In the But the name of Juvenal must be mentioned as the last character of the Carthaginian princess, we perceive the great poetical name that illustrates this period of decline.

POETRY. 155 degree, may be indicated before proceeding to any notice Poetry, Poetry. In the finer portions of his satires, for it must be admitted ''“■“V"" ■—they contain a good deal that is level and prosaic enough, of these separate literatures. 1. The first and most important is the influence of the he displays the highest talents for this species of poetry ; the strength of his language, the fire of his invective, cor- Christian religion on the productions of the imagination. The Pagan religions were mere religions of the fancy; respond with the gigantic character of the vices which he exposes. But a certain air of exaggeration mingles with and they were nothing but the poetry of humanity. They dealt alloys the effect of his censures; we are led to think of the only with the palpable and the material; and by the combinadoubtful character of his own life, and to question the title tion of the finest features of the actual, they produced an of the moralist to raise the scourge which he applies with ideal which each moulded to his owti fancy. The concepsuch severity to others. A tinge, in short, of that rhetorical tions of the infinite and the immaterial they avoided. The and formal character which his mind appears to have con- solemn and the mournful found no place in their thoughts, tracted in the schools of declamation attaches to his poetry, or, if such ideas did intrude, they were made use of as arand leaves an impression of hollowness and insincerity upon guments for present enjoyment. Let us eat and drink, seems the moral of paganism; let us eat and drink, for tothe mind. Lucan’s Pharsalia, it must be recollected, was a compa- morrow we die. ucan From this materialism of the ancient mythology, and its ratively boyish effort; but it seems plain, from the character of his mind, that he wanted the highest of the poetical fa- purely imaginative character, the results were, Isf, great culties, imagination. He uttered bold and striking thoughts clearness in all its conceptions and its expressions, that occasionally in the happiest words. No poems afford finer clearness which is imparted by the absence of all that is specimens of single lines for quotation than Lucan. But not palpable to sense; 2d, a light and cheerful tone, the the whole is destitute of poetical warmth ; it blazes only natural product of that mental indifference, and absence of with a phosphoric fire. Quinctillan has, in fact, hit with ad- serious reflection, which the disbelief, or as least doubt of mirable tact the character of Lucan’s mind in the remark, immortality, would produce ; 3c7, the feeling of beauty as “ Si dicam quod sentio, oratoribus magis quam poetis annu- the object aimed at and accomplished, and the vital principle of all the classical creations. merandus.” Very different were the character and the influence of We shall not here touch upon the remaining writers who feebly kept alive the vestal fire of poetry up to the period Christianity. This was a revelation, not a creation of the of the overthrow of the Roman empire of the west; Statius, fancy. It spoke to the heart, to the hopes and fears of men, Claudian, or Ausonius. Even the introduction of Christi- not merely to their imaginations. The outlines of the anity, much as it did towards improving morality, not only Christian theology were communicated in a fixed and settled among its votaries, but amongst the Pagan nations them- form, with which fancy could not deal at will, or mould selves, could not re-animate to new life the worn-out and them in accordance with its notions of beauty. It excludenervated frame of literature. That could only be effected ed at once that plastic power which had formed the excelby sweeping away entirely the old landmarks, making a new lence of Greek art and literature, and banished mere beauty heaven and a new earth, creating new associations in all as the aim of the poet, or the principle of modern inspithe ideas of men, giving them new hopes, aspirations, and ration. To the clearness, the sunny lightness of touch, the cheerpursuits, and thus restoring that elastic principle of moral and mental vigour, of faith and enthusiastic feeling, out of ful levity of tone, which distinguish the classic poetry, it was which all high poetry must spring. From the rude but equally unfavourable. It made the mind familiar with the warlike and uncorrupted nations of the North, was to come ideas of infinity and eternity; it accustomed it to abstract that influence which was to give a new aspect to society ; conceptions beyond the pale of sense, or the scope of disat first, like the descent of a deluge, sweeping the remains tinct expression; it forced upon its consideration the imof cultivation before it, but ultimately depositing and car- material and the invisible, as constantly as the Pagan theorying deep into fhe bosom of the soil the elements of a logy had confined the attention of its votaries to the visible and the actual. The Pagan clearness of portraiture, and reviving and healthy fertility. smiling lightness of tone, were incompatible with the dePoetry of From the fall of the Roman empire of the West, about scription of regions and states of being, sights and sounds, Modern the close of the fifth century after Christianity, to the ap- which eye had not seen, nor ear heard, and which it had not 2drope. pearance of the first great poet of modern Europe, Dante, entered into the mind of man to conceive. The Christian an interval of seven dreary centuries elapses, a -period cha- poet, before whom, instead of a natural and visible Olympus racterized in popular language by the epithet of the dark and Acheron, there stretched out in dim but awful vision the ages. During this period the chaos resulting from the conception of heaven and hell, encompassed by an eternity on overthrow of the old Pagan constitution in religion, govern- this side and on that,—a conception impressed by the sense of ment, laws, and social institutions, was gradually settling moral responsibility, and of eternal punishment or happiness, into shape ; the new religion was incorporating itself with and animated by a principle of faith based upon things not and imparting a new form to social life ; new laws super- seen,—could not but carry into the literature which was seding the subtile and complex jurisprudence of Rome, new the expression of his thoughts, and hopes, and fears, some languages growing out of its ruins. During the greater shadow of that solemnity and mystery with which human part of the period to which we have alluded, literature, in life was now surrounded. He left this narrow spot of earth, any high sense of the word, did not exist; but the materials already in the possession of his predecessors, to open up the of new literatures were accumulating, and the spirit which new and undiscovered country of the abstract and the inwas to give them breath and vitality, when language should visible ; and the principle of poetical inspiration which they be sufficiently settled for the purpose, was developing itself, sought in beauty, he found in grandeur and sublimity. Hence though manifesting itself in other fields and departments earnestness and profundity are the means of effect in the than that of poetry. When poetry re-appeared in the thir- literature of Christianity; and elevation rather than beauty teenth century, the influence of the intermediate changes may be said to be the aim of the higher poetry of the mowhich the human mind had undergone became visible in derns. 2. The superstitions which grew out of the corruptions of certain marked traits, separating by thq broadest distinctive lines the character of the modern European from the an- Christianity, and which assumed a systematic form after the cient classical poetry. A few of these, as applicable to all crusades had opened to Europe a communication with the the modern literatures of Europe, though with differences in East; the belief in spectres, fairies, witchcrafts, and the di-

POETRY. 156 Poetr, I Poetry, rect interposition of evil spirits in the affairs of mcii . gave Perseus’s deliverance of Andromeda, the Argonautic expe-^ different" character'to t?ie modern literature of Europe^ It is true, that in the Canidia ot Horace, the huic 10 o u i -1, thivalrvy Pprescribed to the members of its can, the Thessalian scenes of enchantment m the Golden explo.ts ™'ch n t J'le„ in which chivalry gave a Ass of Apuleius, and occasionally in otheru passages of the .T^^hnSnls of the age, and a new impulse classical writers, we have allusions “P'!P ;‘‘r(“l'P"* ‘jajn t0 literature, was in the altered position which it gave to somewhat ^ analogous- to ouixit-wniao - our own; .hnt nf noetical women. It is certain, that before chivalry was known, nay, that these are not matters of serious belief, but ot poetical u o e introduced, a peculiar reverence

and of ot a principle of ol evi{ eyii,wc,^ which, with limited powers, was nprmittpdrto oppose the principle of good. These concepP CX™SbetagS distinct from men, but influencing their actions, assumed a reality and appearance of probability, which soon rendered the belief in their existence one ot strong practical influence upon society, and ot couise upon literature. Hence the gloomy and superstitious character

etiamofsanctum ahquidratlhed et providum putant. The this feeling mtroducox chr5stianit and consecrated of tion of Christianity , . . not respect. It made woman the equal and compamon the slave, ot man But chivalry went a step farther. It reversed the relations in which the sexes had stood ouring the classical times, and exalted, in theory at least, the softer sex above the stronger and the more warlike. As the best means of arming the helpless against the powerful, it suriTXt'du”^^ bounded them with an angeUc~atmosphere of sacredness: centuries, manifested itselfin such fearful action in theatre- and converted love into adoration, respect into religion, cities of the trials and executions for witchcraft. Here, too, there was something affected, but much more 3. Whilst the Pagan mythology affected only the imagi- that was genuine. I Ins feeling, exaggerated as it see nation, Christianity appealed to the conscience, and was to us, did unquestionably influence m a high degree t e calculated to operate practically upon conduct. We see, opinions of the age, their tastes, their modes ot expression, accordingly, in the history of the middle ages, that religion Its effect upon modern literature has been most remarkwas not, as it becomes in after ages, a mere profession, able. It has rendered the principle ot romantic love aioften assumed from habit, but a principle of faith, of con- most the mainspring of modern poetry, and ot imaginative viction, and of serious action. We see, through this invi- composition in general. It forms almost the sole subject sible but powerful agency, a spiritual throne established at of the poems of the Troubadours, the minstrels ot the south Rome, to which, weak and insignificant as it appeared in of France, Spain, and Italy, with whose compositions the physical and economical resources, the most powerful mo- history of modern poetry properly ..commences. Dante, narchs in Europe were content to bow with implicit obe- the father of the Italian language “and poetry, finds the dience. During the middle ages, the possession of the source of the inspiration which dictates his sonnets and keys of St Peter was found a more effectual instrument of canzoni, and at last The Divina Commedia itself, in this supremacy than the temporal sword. We perceive the/species of romantic adoration for a deceased mistress. Peclergy looked upon as a superior race ; their persons and trarch’s poetry, and his deification of Laura, are one and possessions considered as sacred; the rudest and boldest the same thing. The lyric poets of the fifteenth and six nobles of the time trembling at the thought of their ana- teenth centuries of Italy seem to have scarcely conceived themas, courting absolution at their hands^^icitipg. dis- that any other course than that of imitating Dante and Pepensations, founding monasteries and cathedrals, undertak- trarch in this chivalrous Platonism was open to them. Ihe ing penances, pilgrimages, and crusades ; and we see them principle of romantic love is carried by Pulci, Boiardo, and often, in the midst of the fierce Qareer of warfare, as if Ariosto to an excess which communicates to it an air of the struck by some sudden inward but irresistible impression, ludicrous; a reproach, however, from which it is again rethrowing down the sword, exchanging the helmet for the deemed by the serious and enthusiastic Jerusalem of Tasso. cowl, and wearing out, as is told of our own Guy of War- When in modern times the attempt was made to revive wick, the evening of a stormy life in the peaceful cell of tragedy, it proved totally unsuccessful, until this principle the hermit. There was in all this much of error, much of was admitted into the drama to give it warmth and life, impure feeling and doubtful character ; but there was also Of that species of composition which in its proper sense is much of truth, much of earnestness,;' aijd hence faith and pecqliar to the moderns, viz. the novel and romance, it forms, devotion are as visibly stamped upon the literature of the as we all knpw, the moving powrer. In short, it influences, middle ages, Us ‘they unquestionably were influential upon rnofe or less, every department in which the imagination has its life. ‘ exerted itself with success since the revival of literature. 4. Apart from the influence of religion, althougli not un- ’ 5. Another point in the social institutions of the time, connected with it, there were other social changes which which - - affects in a considerable degree the spirit of the litehad strongly affected the course of feeling and opinion, and rature of the European nations in the outset, is the relacould not fail to render themselves visible in literature as tion of feudal vassalage, the degraded condition of the mass soon as it began to assume a regular form. The most im- of the people, and the subdivision of the state into so many portant of these was the institution of chivalry, growing separate baronies, within each of which its feudal lord exout of, and affording an imperfect remedy for, the defects ercised supreme authority. This subdivision annihilates and eviis ot feudalism ; an attempt, in fact, to create a spe- that inspiration of patriotism, or attachment to country or cies of police or constabulary, founded upon those prin- state, which is very visible in the Roman literature, and ciples ot generosity and honour which were frequently more faintly in the Greek, and introduces in its stead the found associated in the human mind with cruelty or been- principle of loyalty or implicit obedience to the individual tiousness, during those stormy days of feudal dominion. superior to whom fortune had given the right of disposing It was not, hovvever, on its warlike and serious side that of the destinies of his vassal. Submission to authority under chivalry exlnbited any very novel features ; for, as far as all circumstances, without remonstrance, is represented as regarded merely its spirit of adventure, numerous parallels the highest of virtues; and a violation of this principle cannot might be found m ancient story to the exploits of its vota- be palliated by any exhibition of courage or self-devones. Ihe feats of Theseus with the Minotaur, the story of tion. A fine illustration of this principle in the moral code

POETRY. 157 logy of which, at a later date, came to exert a strong influPoetry, Poetry, of the feudal times occurs in Schiller’s fine ballad of the ^ -v-’-'' Fight with the Dragon, founded on a story given as authen- ence over the poetry of Europe. The Provencal language, the first-born of European Provenyal. tic by Vertot, in his History of the Knights of Malta. Rhodes was laid waste by a monstrous serpent, which has tongues, in which Thebaut afterwards sung, and Cceur de already destroyed not a few of the knights of St John, who Lion expressed his complaints in prison, we find moulded had been rash enough to engage in copibat with it. The into form about the close of the ninth century. The Progrand-master, accordingly, had strictly prohibited any of vencals had undoubtedly borrowed many things besides the order from engaging in the apparently hopeless attempt. rhyme from the Arabian literature of the Peninsula, for an One young knight, unable to witness with patience the oriental spirit is visible in many of their compositions, and spectacle of the misery and distress daily caused by the ra- much of their imagery. But, on the other hand, they added vages of the monster, ventured to despise the prohibition, much from their independent stores; they widely extended and, by dint of art and valour combined, delivers the island the domain of poetry, gave it spirit as well as refinement; from its persecutor. He was conducted in triumph to the they even rendered it, as Villemain observes, a substitute for hall, where the knights were met in council. The grand- the liberty of the press; while their forms of versification, master received him in gloomy silence, reminded him that canzoni, sonnets, sestine, madrigals, &c. soon became the obedience under the Christian creed was the first of virtues, patterns adopted by all the southern languages of Europe. and banished him from the island. The knight, conscious Their compositions, introduced into Germany through the of his error, bowed in silence, divested himself of his knight- Hohenstauffen emperors, instantly communicated a marked ly mantle, kissed the hand of the master, and was about to impulse to German poetry: the numerous band of the Mingo. The stern superior was softened; he called him back, nesingers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are, in fact, and, presenting him again with his sword and mantle, in- the Provencals of Germany. In the north of France, again, arises, during the same pe- Trouveres. formed him that his prompt submission and penitence has restored him to the rank which his disobedience had for- riod, the literature of the Trouveres; a literature of satires and legends, and tales of knavery, licentious gallantry and feited. 6. One other feature is strikingly characteristic of the adventure, destined afterwards strongly to influence the diearlier literature of Europe, although good taste at a later rection of the genius of Boccacio, and his successors the period has pretty well weeded out its traces, viz. the sin- Italian novelists, and to furnish the amplest materials for gular and incongruous mixture of science with poetry. later writers of fiction. Nor during this creative period were The literary men of the time w7ere learned men, familiar fictions of a higher cast v/anting. Three leading cycles of romance may indeed be pointed Three with theology and w ith the writings of the ancients, and delighted with the abstractions and refinements of a mystical out, which owe their origin to this period. The first con- never obtained great fictions influence Italy. with Petrarch speaks of theany warlike of inromance dislike and contempt; and indeed, from the earliest periods, we can perceive the traces of a commercial much more than a military spirit; inclining the nation, in the adoption of foreign models, to turn with far greater interest to the gay, lively, and licentious tales of the Trouveres, or the dreamy reveries of the Provencal poets, than to those tales of chivalry, the “ romans de longue haleine,” which formed the study and the delight of the rest of Europe. Before the period, too, when the Italians first thought of resorting to the fictions of chivalry as the materials of poetr y, the feeling of chivalry itself was generally on the decline throughout. Europe, and its high-flown sentiments and extravagances in action were beginning to be looked upon as a superannuated and exploded fashion. Hence the consciousness of a certain air of ridicule attaching itself

TRY. 159 to themes of this kind must from the first have been pre- Poetry, sent to the minds of the Italian poets ; and accordingly the ^ chief puzzle connected with the work of Pulci, the Morgante Maggiore, is, whether the work be of a serious nature, or an elaborate jest; or whether, as seems more probable, it be not a jumble of both. All the Italian poets who have adopted these fabulous themes of chivalry seem, in fact, to have perceived that, in their own country at least, the taste for romance, if it ever existed, had gone by, and that a serious poem, in the style of the prose romances of chivalry, would have met merely with ridicule or neglect. Their aim, therefore, seems to have been to avail themselves merely of the fictions and machinery of romance, as affording a new source of poetical embellishment; to address no higher feeling than the principle of curiosity aroused by complicated adventure ; and to anticipate, by a tone of levity, and a gaiety approaching to the comic, that ridicule with which they felt that the spirit of chivalry had begun to be associated. They wrote “ as if they mocked themselves, that could be moved to sigh at any thing.” This aim is visible in them all; they differ only in the degree of art, taste, and genius with which the result at which they aimed has been accompanied. In the rude poem of Luigi Pulci (born 1431, died 1487), pulci. there is no harmony whatever between the extremes of the tragic and comic. The poet appears to be in one page sincerely devout; in the next he seems a profligate and scoffer. The broadest farce in the adventures of the goodnatured but stupid giant Morgante, alternates with the elevated and the pathetic in the really chivalrous enthusiasm of the battle of Iloncesvalles and the death of Orlando; the dreariest platitudes are succeeded by occasional outbreakings of devotional enthusiasm or fine sentiment. The effect of the whole is disjointed and painful, and such as to excite our surprise that the accomplished companion and favourite of the great Lorenzo should have produced a work so enigmatical and unsatisfactory. With more invention and greater variety than Pulci (for Boiardo. in the construction of plots, and in sketching the outline of characters, Boiardo left little for Ariosto to perform), and with far less of that disposition to caricature in which Pulci unconsciously indulges, the Orlando Innamorato of Matteo Maria Boiardo (1430 to 1494) still wants that airy grace and ease of movement, that unconscious flow, like the marvellous tale of an Arabian improvisatore, without, which this species of poem,—a “ chartered libertine,” in as far as regards the ordinary canons of criticism,—can have no permanent success. In Boiardo’s hands it moves laboriously and stiffly; his verse wants harmony ; his style wants pruning, polishing, and lightening. This, together with the infusion into the poem of a most peculiar species of grave humour, was the service afterwards performed for Boiardo by Berni, with such perfect success, indeed, that the rifaccimento has superseded and almost obliterated the recollection of the original. It remained, however, for Ariosto (1474-1533) to hit the Ariosto, happy medium between the poco meno and poco piu ; to blend the tragic and comic in the proper proportions suited to the serio-comic epic; to give life and natural movement to the mere machines of his predecessors ; to throw over his recitals an air of simplicity and bonhornmie, which gives probability to the wildest marvels; and to invest the whole airy tissue of romance, with a style, the peculiar charm of yvhich, though most clearly felt, appears almost indescribable ; so clear, so popular and translucent, as to charm the most uneducated ; so correct and classical as to satisf^the most critical taste. To compare Ariosto to Tasso as a poet of feeling, is to compare objects absolutely disparate, and unsuited to comparison. Probably the native cheerfulness and easy temper of his mind was not consistent with strong

POETRY. emotion; but it is equally clear, that the expression of haps the point m which Tasso has been more completely Poet strong emotion was inconsistent with his plan. To have successful, is the skill with which the spirit of a religious orafted the deep and serious interests and passions of men chivalry is breathed into the classic framework; and all upon so gossamer a groundwork as that which he has adopt- the incidents which he liberally borrows from Homer or ed would have been like building an edifice of marble Virgil, are made to harmonize with that prevailing tone of upon the unsubstantial basis of a summer cloud. In the devotion, valour, and tenderness, which is spread like an department he assigned to himself he has employed the atmosphere of purity over the Jerusalem Delivered, most appropriate instruments with corresponding success. Whilst the general plan of the Jerusalem, perhaps, bears The e After Homer he has been, on the whole, the favourite poet too close a resemblance to that of Homer, in the retirement sodes of Europe. Above sixty editions of the Orlando were pub- of Rinaldo, like Achilles, from the army, which is made the lished in the course of the sixteenth century alone. “ The nodus of the poem, the singular beauty of its episodes Orlando Furioso,” says Mr Hallam, in summing up a most has been always felt and admitted. In fact, it is by the iust and discriminating criticism of Ariosto, in his Introduc- episodes that we chiefly remember the poem. Tasso has tion to the Literature of Europe, “ as a single great poem, thrown the whole tenderness of his soul into such passages has been very rarely surpassed in the living records of as those where he describes Sofronia and Olindo at the poetry. Ariosto must yield to three, and only three, of his stake, the “ pastoral melancholy” of Erminia’s residence predecessors. He has not the force, simplicity, and Jtruth with the shepherds, or Clorinda perishing by the hand of ^to nature, of Homer, the exquisite style and sustained— ma him who would willingly have died to save her. The turn jesty of Virgil, nor the originality and boldness of Dante. of his mind, in fact, was fully more towards the lyrical than The most obvious parallel is Ovid, whose Metamorphoses, the epic, and, in passages like these, the lyrical tendency however, are far excelled by the Orlando F urioso, not in breaks forth with peculiar force and flow. In his characters Tasso has not made any very substan- Cliara fertility of invention, or variety of images and sentiments but in purity of taste, in grace of language, and harmony of tial addition to the picture gallery of the ancients, though even n versification.” i this respect he is superior to Ariosto, who in most The incongruous elements of devotion and ribaldry, ca- cases contents himself with a few general types without ricature and tragic emotion, which had been left unblended distinctive traits. Tasso’s male characters, with one excepbv Pulci, which?'Boiardo partly rejected and partly harmo- tion, that of Tancred, are judicious adaptations of Homer’s nized, had received from the pen of Ariosto the last graces outlines of character to other times, manners, and religious of which such a poem was susceptible. In him there is even creeds. Tancred, however, is an original conception ; pera o-entle pathos combined with a sort of enthusiasm of va- haps the more striking that its outline was drawn in some lour, which gives sincerity and elevation to the fantastic, measure from within ; for in Tancred, the brave, visionary, But the serious and brooding fancy of his successor Tasso melancholy Tancred, the victim of a hopeless passion, we (born 1544, died 1595) could not be contented to sing, like probably see a dim reflection of the poet himself. Ariosto, “ le donne, i cavalier, 1’arme, gli amori,” in the same The same broad line of distinction which divides Ariosto lio-ht, and at times half-mocking strain. He determined to and Tasso as to the conception of their subjects, may be present the serious side of the romantic epic, as Ariosto had traced in the whole details of their execution. Ariosto is done the comic. Whether the dull “ Gazette in verse,” by throughout a painter. It is with external things that he Trissino, the Italia Liberata, in any way suggested to him chiefly deals ; with colour, arrangement, form, and grouping, the idea of a historical subject, we know not. Certain it is, rather than with their internal spirit. But Tasso cannot however, that his earnestness of purpose, his deep and at paint this objectively. Every image, every feeling, as it last morbid sensibilities, impelled him to the selection of a passes through his mind, receives the stamp of his own petheme where reality should give steadiness and human culiar habits of thought, and issues forth impressed with interest to the creations of imagination ; and where the the image and superscription of his own tender and loving spirit of the Christian religion should be the moving prin- soul, ciple, instead of a phantasm which played round the head Though Tasso is best known by his great epic, his Pastor, rather than touched the heart. This theme he sought and Aminta deserves notice as the finest of those. pastoral dra-rd and pa: successfully found in the delivery of the Holy Sepulchre mas which were so common in Italy in the sixteenth cen- r by the crusaders ; an event more interesting to Christiani- tury and the commencement of the seventeenth. It was ty than had been the Trojan expedition to the assembled not indeed the earliest, for the Sagrifizio of Agostino Becprinces of Asia; and satisfying that essential condition of cari (1510-1590) had preceded it. And even Beccari’s a good epic, that its action, whatever its importance, shall work had grown out of those pastorals, frequently in diabe one springing from enthusiastic feeling rather than po- logue, of which the fifteenth century was so fruitful, and litical motives. His poem was written while the European of which the Arcadia of Sannazzaro (1458-1530) affords monarchs still flattered themselves with the hope of re- the finest example. Tasso’s, however, of all the Italian gaining the lost conquests of Godfrey in the Holy Land, pastoral dramas, is the most inspired by the spirit of poetry. and the glorious exploits at Malta, at Rhodes, at the Go- The Pastor Fido of Guarini (1537-1612) certainly has the letta, and Lepanto, showed the strength of the feeling that advantage of a far more stirring plot; it rouses more custill prevailed “ against the general enemy, Ottoman ;” and riosity and attention, but it wants the charm, the truly Ardealing as it did with a topic of religious interest, placed cadian repose, which Tasso has spread over his Aminta. among scenes hallowed by the most aftecting recollections, Here also, as in his Tancred, the feelings of the poet gave and presenting the finest natural features for the pencil of vivacity and truth to the poem; for it is not difficult to see, the poet; admitting, from the remoteness of the period to that under the disguise of Amyntas, and in the form of alwhich it related, and the faith which then prevailed, the lusions to the joys and sufferings of the pastoral life, or inintroduction of a fabulous agency, contrasting with the im- vectives against that influence of rank and honour by which pressive machinery which the Christian religion afforded, it the natural feelings of the heart are suppressed, the lover is difficult to conceive a theme uniting more features of in- of Leonora is pleading his own cause, or his own apology, terest, or affording a richer or more picturesque groundwork For an account of the Italian drama, which took its rise for an epic poem. in the Sophonisba of Trissino (born 1478, died 1550), the Tasso has conceived his plan in the spirit of antiquity, reader is again referred to the article Drama in this work, and in the grand and enlarged style of the classic epic ; but One species of poetry, which is almost peculiar to Italy, Bernes he has executed it in the spirit of the middle ages; and per- distinguishes or rather disgraces this period, viz. that massP0e J.'

.i.

POETRY. 161 flintry. of poems entitled Capitoli, &c. which obtained the name of Pope by Parini, and of Gray and Young by Pindemonte, Poetry. Wy-—'' Bernesque from the poet who first set the example of these redeem it from the charge of utter barrenness, but cannot specimens of reckless and indecent drollery, Francesco entitle it to the praise of originality. Nor, with the excepBerni (died about 1543). His quiet, grave humour, the host tion of Manzoni, has the nineteenth century produced any of ludicrous associations which he conjures up, and frequent poem which can justly be said to have attained a European felicities of expression, at first render even his ribaldry amus- reputation. ing ; but when similar themes were taken up and hunted down by Molza, Casa, Firenzuola, and their followers, it Of all the languages formed from the ruins of the Latin, Spanish became oppressive and revolting in the highest degree. the Spanish approaches the nearest to the Italian. The Poetry. ?j Lja, We now approach the period of decline in Italian poetry. spirit of the two literatures differs extremely; but so closely Ili, and The sixteenth century had been its golden period: in the do the words resemble each other, that translations have been Ifin. seventeenth we drop at once into the age of brass, or the executed by Spaniards from the Italian, as in the case of age of tinsel. Chiabrera (born 1552, died 1637) indeed Jauregui’s translation of Tasso’s Aminta, w here even whole exhibits lyric fire, and, by discarding the hackneyed and lines are found to correspond with the original. The lanoutworn form of the Italian versification of the Provencal guage, as it now exists, is the dialect of Castille, polished school, and approximating to the metres of the ancients, and purified, the Catalonian or Limousin having long ceased gave a character of originality to his odes. Yet, granting to be the language of poetry. the boldness of his imagery, and a certain fervour and enOne feature peculiarly marks the whole of the Spanish Its oriental thusiasm, which raise his lyric poetry above the slumbrous poetry with a character unknown to that of the rest of Europe, character, and monotonous beauty of most of his predecessors who were viz. the strong traces of orientalism which it exhibits, a tenof the school of Petrarch, it is yet impossible to subscribe dency to the pompous and the exaggerated, and a strange to the excessive eulogiums bestowed upon him by Tirabos- compound of strong passion, combining with a great wantonchi, who almost seems to think he had combined in Italian ness and luxuriance of fancy. More or less this feature is to the graces of Anacreon with the majesty of Pindar. More be traced through all the changes which its poetry has unimpressive, more affecting, though occasionally, and particu- dergone ; subdued, no doubt, and kept down by the good larly in his sonnets, more deformed by the conceits and ex- taste of such men as Garcilaso or Cervantes, but re-appearaggerations which give an evil distinction to the poets of ing in the e&tilo culto of Calderon, and reaching its height in this period, whom the Italians have branded with the title the ludicrous extravagancies of the Spanish Marini, Gongora. of Seicentisti, are the lyrics of the senator Filicaja (born Considering, indeed, the intimate connection which sub1642, died 1707), whose religious canzoni, particularly the sisted between Spain and Arabia from the eighth down to noble triumphal hymn on the deliverance of Vienna from the the close of the fourteenth century, a connection which, Turks by John Sobieski, are amongst the finest specimens though one of hostility in the field, appeared to have adof this class of poetry of which Italy has to boast. In his mitted of many of the ties of friendship and mutual respect, sonnets he is less pure and less natural; even his famous and the natural admiration which the brilliant poetry of sonnet on Italy is, in its second quatrain, disfigured by one of Arabia was likely to exercise over the minds of a ruder the poorest and coldest of conceits. One other name must people, the Asiatic character of the Spanish poetical genius be mentioned, as preserving a pure and classic taste amidst appears exactly what, under such relations, might have been the general corruption which, under the influence of Marini, expected. was now pervading and perverting the whole spirit of Italian The earliest monument of the Spanish poetry is the old Chronicle poetry. We refer to Fulvio Testi (1593-1646), the Italian Chronicle of the Cid, a cycle of romantic legends, founded 6;e Cid. Horace, as he has been called, a title certainly quite un- upon the exploits and misfortunes of that Don Rodrigo Laymerited, so far as regards the power or brilliancy of his imagi- nez who, after exalting the glory of the Spanish arms under nation, but not inappropriate, if limited to the purity and Ferdinand king of Castille, and his son Don Sancho, was terseness of his style. The greater corrupter of this de- treated with such ingratitude by Alfonso VI., the son of the clining period of Italian literature is the once famous Marini latter, that he fled to the Moorish court, where, from 1081 (born 1569, died 1625), the author of the Adone, a poem to 1085, he gained many brilliant victories over the Christian which is an absolute chaos of brilliant antitheses and exag- arms. Again recalled to the Spanish court by Alfonso, who gerated language, plays of wit and ingenious imagery, but began to feel his value, he was a second time disgraced, and heaped together without the slightest direction of any go- banished about 1090. The Chronicle, which, both from inverning judgment, and producing a tiresome and chilling, ternal and external evidence, appears to be as old as the instead of an exciting effect. In his own days his writings twelfth century, relates to this second banishment; and were differently estimated. For a time, indeed, his popu- though its language is rude, and its rhymes most imperfect, larity in his own country was boundless, and his influence there is a captivating freshness in the scenes which it preon the literature of other countries, particularly that of sents, in its vivacity of movement, and in the occasional traits Spain, as powerful as it was mischievous. But good sense of poetry which seem to escape almost involuntarily from and good taste shortly resumed their sway, and Rousseau, the w riter, that raise it considerably above the ordinary level if one may judge from the frequent quotations from Marini of such chronicles. in his Heloise, would almost appear to be the last person From the date of the poem of the Cid to the reign ofB&llad of any literary distinction who was familiar with the once John II. (1407-1454), the only monuments of Spanish Poetry* poetry, at least the only specimens possessing the slightest celebrated and now completely forgotten Adone. Ti oni. In comic poetry, however, the seventeenth century was interest, consist in that vast mass of popular or ballad poetry more successful. To this period belongs the Secchia Ra- in which Spain is richer than any other country in Europe. pita of Tassoni (1565-1635), the first specimen of that style Fortunately the process of collecting and preserving these which was afterwards carried to perfection in the Lutrin relics of an adventurous and enthusiastic period, “ ere poand the Rape of the Lock. The imitations of Tassoni need lity, sedate and sage, had quenched the fires of feudal rage,” not be mentioned. Instead of improving on his model, they was commenced at a very early period, the first collection having appeared in 1510, under the title of the Cancionero degraded and vulgarized it. Excepting in the drama, which was distinguished by the General. Not only in numbers, however, but in merit, the great and strongly contrasted genius of Metastasio and Al- Spanish ballad poetry appears superior to that of any other fieri, the eighteenth century in Italy can boast of little in nation of Europe. Everything, in fact, united to give to poetry. Some graceful fables by Pignotti, imitations of this species of poetry its freest development. A national x VOL. XVIII.

POETRY. 162 Pojt Poetry, character of strong sensibility, excitable yet constant; na- 1500 to 1544), who, though he had at first composed and Poetn published a volume of poems in the old Spanish manner, ''-"v-' —tional pride, in the feeling that they had so long formed the advanced guard of Europe against the Moors, and were daily had been led, by his acquaintance with the Venetian amdriving backward the tide of invasion; a life of adventure an bassador Navagero, to the study of the Italian classics, and gallantry ; a strong passion for music and the dance ; a de- in consequence formed the design, in conjunction with his licious climate ; a language rich in rhymes, and admitting friend Garcilaso de la Vega (1500-1536), of introducing his countrymen the refinements of the Italian versificaa species of versification (the assonance), in whiche “ bponte to and the superior polish of the style of the Petrarchists. sua carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos,” were h ie ™un' tion, But with all Boscan’s careful study of the Italian poets, united. The result has been a collection of ballads ot all which is evident from the perpetual imitations which his kinds, warlike, amatory, Moorish (these last chiefly com- poetry contains, of Petrarch, Bembo, and Sannazzaro, he posed after the conquest of Granada by Ferdinand and Isa- never could acquire their elegance of taste, nor divest himbella in 1492), and satirical, marked by a degree of taste self of the national tendency to orientalism. Something of and poetical beauty, of which very tew of our English or Scottish ballads have to boast. The Moorish ballads have the old leaven of impetuosity and hyperbole attaches to his 53 producing a feeling of incoherence between the a peculiar charm, from the richness of the colouring with poetry, matter itself and the medium through which the ideas are which they are invested, and their style, which has hit the conveyed. happy medium between the boldness of some of the old hisBut what Boscan attempted and imperfectly performed, Gaicilas: torical ballads, and the over-refinement and affectation oi Garcilaso accomplished with complete success. He was those which were composed after the introduction of the equally distinguished in the field of warfare and of literaItalian taste into Spanish poetry. The picturesque characture. “ One hand the sword employed, and one the pen ter of the Moorish life, the natural beauties and artificial magnificence of Granada, the quarrels of the rival families and he fell at last, crowned at once with the laurels of poeand war. In Garcilaso the Italian poets found a rival, of the Zegris and the Abencerrages, the tournaments, feasts try if not a superior; for while he adopted their best points, he of canes, and other amusements of the luxurious court of avoided in a great measure that subtilty of taste which had Boabdil, afford in these ballads inexhaustible materials for descriptive poetry, a tendency which is hardly to be traced grown out of the study of the later Platonists, and introin the earlier ballads. “ It is wonderful,” says a very emi- duced a metaphysical and reasoning style into those subnent Spanish critic, Quintana, “ with what vigour and bre- jects where it was the most out of place. Garcilaso has vity they paint scenes, personages, and feelings. In one it written little, but that little (at least his Eclogues, for his is the Alcayde of Molina, who enters, rousing the Moors Sonnets are not of equal merit) is of the highest class ; for against the Christians, who are ravaging their fields ; in an- he has contrived so finely to temper the subtilty of the Itaother, the unfortunate Aliatar, borne back with the gloom lian poets by the more natural warmth of the Spanish, and of a funeral procession, through the gate from which he had to clothe his sentiments in words at once so simple and so issued with such gaiety the day before ; now it is a simple classically pure, that the result is something superior to any country maiden, who, having lost the ear-rings her lover thing that is to be found in his models. In all of them, no had given her, weeps at the prospect of the reproaches doubt, the classic reader will recognize at every turn resemwhich await her; and now a shepherd, who, solitary and blances to the Latin poets ; but these imitations are introforsaken, grows indignant at the sight of two turtles cooing duced with so much taste, and fitted with such art into a in a neighbouring poplar, and drives them away with a Spanish framework, that the knowledge that they are imitastone.” Besides the ballads descriptive of incidents, these tions rather increases than diminishes our sense of the talent collections contain many charming little songs and lyrical of the poet. and Garcilaso Mendoza snatches, vague and undefined, indeed, but often pleasing A third personage was associated with Boscan 11 us even by this very vagueness, which merely suggests a in this poetical triumvirate, the famous tyrant of Sienna, hint to the mind, and leaves the rest to be filled up by the the accomplished warrior, statesman, historian, novelist, and imagination. With few exceptions, the authors of these ly- poet, Diego de Mendoza (1500—1575). Mendoza’s Epistles, rics are unknown. A few are attributed to the great Don however, betray more rudeness of manner than even the Juan Manuel (who died in 1362), but on doubtful evidence; verses of Boscan ; and indeed the chief feature of interest which they possess, is the singular spectacle they present ot the writers of the others have died and made no sign. Though the Spaniards date the rise of their classic poetry a stern and hardhearted warrior of the school of the Duke from the reign of John II., it is certain this period contains of Alva breathing out to his friends Boscan and Zuniga the little which has any interest for foreign readers. The pe- most fervent aspirations after the domestic happiness of a dantic and tedious labyrinth of Juan de Mena (1412-1456), rural life, or longings for the enjoyment of a philosophical soa cold and lifeless imitation of Dante’s great poem, possesses litude. This feature indeed more or less marks the whole nothing of a more classical nature than the older poetry, save poetry of the period. Whilst the Spanish warriors were disits form. One poem only of this period, viz. the noble tinguished all over Europe for their ferocity, presenting, as stanzas or coplas written by Don Jorge Manrique on the Sismondi says, “ to the enemy a front of iron, and to the death of his father, and a few graceful redondillas by the unfortunate an iron heart,” we find all their poetry marked accomplished Marquis of Santillana, afford some relief from with a dreamy, tender, and melancholy spirit. In Mendoza, the pretension and pedantry which generally characterize Garcilaso, and Montemayor, all of whom were soldiers, and conversant with scenes little calculated to soften the affecthis period of Spanish poetry. IntrcducA great revolution, however, was about to be effected in tions, we observe this union of practical ferocity with theotion of the Spanish taste, by the introduction at once of the measures retical innocence ; nay, even the terrible Duke of Alva apItalian and of the spirit of the Italian poetry. The close relation pears to have been inspired by the same tastes, and appears taste. in the poetry of the time, not as the ferocious governor of Boscan. into which Spain was brought with Italy during the reign the Low Countries and the organ of the Inquisition, but of Charles V. had led to a general knowledge of the treasures of Italian poetry ; while many changes in the political as the discerning critic, the lover and the patron of litera. constitution and habits of the Spaniards themselves con- ture. This tendency to themes of an Arcadian cast gave rise to Mon ecurred to weaken their attachment to their old and natural ma romantic poetry, and disposed them to adopt the more re- the Pastorals of Montemayor (1520-1561) and his succes- 5°“ gular and polished strains of their Italian neighbours. This sors. The Diana of Montemayor, a pastoral romance, inchange was introduced by Don Juan Boscan (from about terspersed with ballads and canzoni in the style of Sannaz-

POETRY. etry. zaro’s Arcadia, was once amongst the most popular produc- of the dramatic literature of Spain. For a general account ^ tions of Europe. Its influence may be traced, not only in of the peculiarly national and remarkable character of the the host of Spanish pastorals which succeeded it, but in the Spanish theatre, which, while it is connected with our own literature of other countries, in the Astrea of D’Urfe, and by so many common features, has yet some striking points in the Arcadia of our own Sir Philip Sydney. Cervantes of distinction, which render its study peculiarly interesting bestows upon it a sort of qualified praise in his review of to the admirers of our older British theatre, we refer to Don Quixote’s Library, but is disposed to give the prefer- the article on the drama. Cervantes, we must admit, apence to the continuation by Gil Polo over the original. pears to mark its childhood; for the plots of his dramas Montemayor labours, in fact, under the fault of all his coun- are loose, disjointed, and scarcely deserving of the name, trymen of the time; he cannot compress; he pours out a though the gloomy grandeur of the Numantia gives it a stream of musical language, “ which runs, and, as it runs, for painful fascination, like the scenes in the town of Hunger ever would run onbut he gives us few ideas that are at in the Inferno. . Lope is identified with its boyhood; Calonce natural and new, and none that stir the heart or deron, with its maturity and perfection; Moreto, Roxas, strongly awaken the imagination. De Solis, Mira da Mescua, Da Hoz, and others, who wrote The works of Herrera, another poet of this period (1500- during the reign of Philip IV., with its decline. InvenH.'ra. 1578), on whom the Spaniards have, with questionable pro- tion, high poetry in parts, the power of exciting and mainpriety, bestowed the title of “ the Divine,” are in a totally taining curiosity and suspense, must be accorded to the different strain. His themes are religious and warlike, such Spanish theatre. Against these must be set religious bias the triumph of the Christian arms at Lepanto, or the fa- gotry and mysticism, often painfully predominant in the tal defeat of Sebastian in his expedition to Africa, Of all plays of Calderon, particularly in those autos which the the Spanish poets, Herrera, whose mind was deeply imbued German critics have especially selected as the themes of with the beauties of the sacred writings, possesses the lof- their admiration; the affected and redundant style into tiest style of expression; but the majesty of his diction is which most of their poets were led by the facility of their often obscured by strange and new creations or combina- versification, combined with the habit of working for the tions of words, •while his elevation not unfrequently explodes stage; and the practice which, upon the Spanish stage, is in palpable bombast. There is a strong resemblance be- almost universal, of painting manners and general types of tween Herrera and the Italian Chiabrera, both in their beau- character, rather than discriminating its shades, or giving ties and their faults. individuality to the personages represented. The greatest of the Spanish lyrical writers is Luis Ponce We may here notice, in connection with Spanish literaLu de Lei de Leon (1527-1591). “ More earnest and enthusiastic ture, the solitary great name of which the kindred literathan Boscan; tender as Garcilaso, but with a soul whose ture of Portugal has to boast, Luis de Camoens (1524tenderness was engrossed by heavenly, not earthly love; 1578), who conferred upon his countrymen that which pure and high-hearted, with the nobility of genius stamp- Spain has in vain essayed to produce; for the Araucana ed upon his brow, but with religious resignation calm- of Ercilla certainly does not deserve the title of an epic ing his heart, he is different from his predecessors, but more poem. Viewed in this light, too, it must be admitted that complete; a man Spain only could produce, for in Spain even the Lusiadas of Camoens is most objectionable; the only had religion such sovereign sway as wholly to reduce action flags miserably; the mythology is ludicrous; the the rebel inclinations of man, and, by substituting supernal morality of some portions of the poem, as, for instance, the for terrestrial love, not diminish the fulness and tender- scenes on the island which Venus prepares for the refreshness of' passion, but only give it another object.”1 The ment of the returning Portuguese, is more than questionmost remarkable feature of Luis de Leon’s poetry, is the able ; but, with all these, the work is inspired and supportunion of a mystical and religious enthusiasm with the ed by the true spirit of poetry; and its continued populamost perfect clearness and transparency of expression. rity and reputation prove how little the real charm or sucNever was a high and soaring imagination more perfectly cess of an epic depends on the mere plan or machinery of under the control of a cool judgment and a critical taste. a poem. That which will always render Camoens delightWhilst a religious Platonism forms the fond of his odes, ful, is the tenderness of heart which overflows in such epithe style exhibits all the terseness, precision, and finish, of sodes as that of Ignez de Castro; and the pride and zealthat of Horace, of whom, notwithstanding the great dif- ous endeavour with which he labours to embody in imferences in their poetical character, he continually reminds mortal verse the spirit of those days in the annals of Porus, by the sententious air of his odes, and that serene tugal, when learning and commerce, warlike enterprise and moral wisdom which drops from him in common with the success, went hand in hand; when De Gama braved the Epicurean poet, whatever subject he touches on. But the terrors of the Cape, and Alvarez and Albuquerque first odes of the Spanish poet have a moral grandeur far ex- launched their gallies into the Atlantic. From the seventeenth century to the present time, theGongora ceeding those of Horace. The spirit of present enjoyment, or indifference to futurity, which not unnaturally literature of Spain has been one of decline. Three names ve(!o-Quepervades the latter, was revolting to the warm sympathies enly, amongst the many whose works are found quoted in and devout belief of Luis de Leon. Accordingly, the ideas Anthologies and Parnasos, deserve notice ; those of Gonand images which, to the Epicurean poet, only afford in- gora (1561-1627), Quevedo (1580-1645), and Villegas ducements to devote the hours to pleasure, such as the (1595-1669). The real talents and rich imagination posshortness of life, the fading of flowers, or the instability of sessed by Gongora make us lament that, like Marini (from fortune, the Spanish moralist holds out as inducements whom indeed he borrowed his manner), he applied them to the cultivation of those higher faculties which raise the only to corrupt and pervert the public taste. Some of his soul above this world of mutability and misfortune, and little Anacreontic verses, songs, and letrillas, written at an prepare it for that purer abode, which he regarded as its earlier period of his life, are models of natural grace and felicity of expression ; contrasting most painfully with the appointed home. Dra The close of the reign of Charles V. is adorned by the ridiculous jargon of language, and galimatias of sentiment, great name of Cervantes (1547-1616), more distinguished, which he employed in his later days. The same evil tenhowever, as a prose writer than as a poet; and by the rise dency is visible in Quevedo. We have great invention, 1

Literary and Scientific Men of Italy, vol. iii. p. 70.

POETRY. 164 Poeti Poetry. much acuteness and comic humour, but a lamentable defi- tical allegoric dreams; and, with much monotony, their poetry certainly presents an elevated and imposing exte-' ciency of feeling and taste. His works have been most justly compared by Bouterwek to a massive ornament of nor. The Trouveres were generally men of an inferior jewellery, in which the setting of some parts is exquisitely grade, sprung from the lower ranks of life, in fact literally skilful, of others extremely rude, and in which the number wandering minstrels. Yet the position they occupied in society was particularly favourable to the promotion of those of false stones and of valuable gems is nearly equal. Villegas A purer taste occasionally appears in Villegas, the Ana- habits of satirical observation and comic description which creon of Spain, though he, too, seems to labour under the constitute the chief attraction of the Fabliaux. Men, in mania of the day, and now and then to run into extrava- general, of acute and vigorous minds, though destitute of gances worthy of the very wildest of the Cultoristos. Af- learning and delicacy, and too often of principle ; welcome in all society from their powers of amusing, yet reter Villegas there appeared no Spanish poet of any origi- guests nality ; for the verses and the pastoral comedy of Melen- spected in none, experiencing every extreme of life, and dez Valdez, founded on the episode of the marriage of Ca- making themselves at home in all; sometimes helping to macho in Don Quixote, do not rise above mediocrity ; the dispel the ennui of baronial castles, at others courting the fables of Yriarte have merely the merit of brevity and neat- society of the humblest vassals, they rambled over the ness of expression; and the comedies of the younger Mo- world, harp in hand, as it were, picking up everywhere the ratin, the last dramatic wrorks which have attracted any materials of their art, and thus painting with a truth and attention, are merely ingenious imitations of Moliere. At freshness otherwise unattainable, the full-length portrait the present moment Spanish poetry would seem to be ab- of French manners during the thirteenth and fourteenth solutely effete ; nor does there appear much reason to an- centuries. These light and joyous compositions turn chiefly on subjects of a familiar nature, and consist of stories ticipate its speedy revival. of knavery and intrigue, and occasionally of those Asiatic leThe present language of France has sprung from that gends with which the crusades had by this time rendered French Poetry. northern dialect which was spoken in Normandy, and known Europe familiar. Except, therefore, in invention of ingeby the name of the Walloon. The earliest compositions in nious incidents and comic imbroglios, and in a certain tinge that dialect were romances, founded on some fabulous his- of humour and vivacity, which breathes of the sunny skies tory, such as Brut of England, which appeared about 1155. and vine-covered hills of France, they have little pretento poetry. And yet this opinion must be taken with Romances. To these succeeded the romances of chivalry, from about sions 1130 to 1190, of which, unless the Portuguese romance of exceptions, for they have occasionally shown that they could Lobeira, Palmerin of England, be supposed to have appear- excel in themes of a higher kind; and the beautiful and ed before this time, it would seem the Norman-French are well-known fabliau of Aucassin and Nicollette, by its tenfairly entitled to claim the invention. Taking them as a der and natural spirit, combined with the deep interest of whole, there is no disputing that much fancy and ingenuity its situations, throws into the shade the greater part of the are expended upon these now-forgotten performances, though more ambitious and elaborate chivalrous romances. We the style is invariably flat and lumbering. They are sus- perceive in it all the romantic spirit and deep feeling of the tained merely by the high spirit which they breathe, and old Spanish ballads, heightened by the graceful naivete pethe happy incidents which the chronicler occasionally intro- culiar to the early French poetry. The period from the commencement of the fifteenth to duces. Allegorical The taste for the allegorical romance was of a date some- the sixteenth century is regarded by the French as the tranromance. what posterior. Of these singular compositions, the most sition period of their poetry from infancy to maturity ; and remarkable is the once celebrated Roman de la Rose, be- the three leading names of the period are Marot, Ron sard, gun by William de Lorris, and concluded by Jean de Me- and Malherbe. Clement Marot (born 1495, died 1544) is the creator of Marot, un, a poem which was received with boundless admiration, and which continued for a century strongly to influence that school of naive poetry which was afterwards carried to the literature of Europe. It was at once a romantic and an its perfection by La Fontaine and Voltaire. With a playallegorical poem ; a new edition of the art of love, adapted ful unambitious grace, he gives a happy turn to every to the moral and metaphysical creed of the middle ages ; subject, and delights to put the world in good humour of dreary length, and yet enlivened here and there by al- with itself. It is justly observed by a French critic, Nisard, legorical portraits of imaginary personages, drawn with that the naivete of Marot differs from that of any previous considerable vivacity and spirit, and by those strokes of sa- poet. In the older strains of the Trouveres and their suctire, or lessons of practical philosophy, which, together writh cessors, what we call naivete often arises merely from the the art of narration, very early began to characterize the imperfection of the language, and not from any peculiarity literature of France. The conclusion, by Jean de Meun, in their turn of mind. But Marot wears this air of unconis inferior to the commencement; it is deformed by a ribald- sciousness even in giving expression to ideas the most subry and coarseness which justifies the term “ niedrige polis- tile and recherche; his naivete seems independent of the sonerie,” or low blackguardism, applied to it by Bouterwek. language, independent almost of the ideas; it is an emanaBut by far the most striking and characteristic part of tion of the peculiar genius and idiosyncrasy of the man. The FabIt is amusing to contrast the fame of Ronsard during his Ronsa'1 the early French literature consists in that vast collection liaux. of short tales entitled Fabliaux, which were almost exclu- life (1524-1585) with his reputation at the present moment. sively the production of the French provinces lying to the His own age elevated him to honours almost divine : in the north of the Loire, and which are well deserving of atten- present how many are acquainted even with a single page of tion, whether their own merits and originality be regard- his poems ? He was considered the presiding luminary of ed, or their general influence on fiction. The period of that constellation of genius which arrogated to itself the title their appearance extends from the last half of the twelfth, of the French Pleiad; whose great object it was to transplant through the whole of the thirteenth and part of the four- into French the form and the manner of the lyrics of antiteenth century, but the greater number are supposed to quity ; but who succeeded only, as Boileau says, in making have been written during the reign of St Louis (1226 to a jumble of everything {brouiller tout), a patchwork, in short, 1270). The compositions of these minstrels differ extreme- of Greek and Latin ideas with Italian subtilty of thought ly in character from those of their Provencal brethren of and French naivety of expression. “ Enfin Malherbe vint,” says Boileau (1558-1628), likeMal^1 the south of France. The poets of Provence were generally knights and nobles; their themes love or war, or mys- Ronsard a classicist, but endeavouring, and not without

POETRY. 165 • >etry. success, to seize rather the spirit of the ancients than their sponding strength and originality of expression. Yet two Poetry. ' ' forms. Of the higher inspiration of the ode he had little; names impress themselves, by their strongly discriminated " v ' his march is stately enough, but it is measured and slow; traits, upon the memory,—La Fontaine (1621-1695) as the he has little or no enthusiasm, but, in all that regarded the reviver of the old naive style of Marot, though with a degree judicious treatment of a subject, or the minutiae of language of polish and grace of which Marot had no conception ; and or versification, he was well fitted to be the legislator of Boileau, as the representative of that school of terse morathat new and more sober school of composition which su- lity, sound sense, and wit, mingled with and heightened by perseded in France the extravagances of Ronsard and his fancy, of which Pope is the best example in English poetry. satellites. The three pieces of Malherbe which appear to With all the levity and licentiousness which deform the La Fonindicate the highest talent, approaching indeed to genius, Contes, there is no denying to La Fontaine many of thetaine. are the Ode to Henry IV. on the taking of Sedan, the Ode best qualities of the poet; knowledge of the world, which to the Queen-Mother, and the beautiful verses addressed yet does not impair his bonhommie and kindness of heart; to the Councillor Duperier on the sudden death of his daugh- a humour playful, gentle, continuous, never pushed to exter. Few lines could be selected more beautiful than the cess, combined with tenderness, with a disposition to refollowing stanza from the latter : verie and pensiveness; a strong sensibility to the beauties of the country, of which his descriptions, though short, Mais elle estoit du monde oil les plus belles choses are always striking, and marked by that just selection of Out le pire destin; Et Rose, elle a vecu ce que vivent les roses, points and clear local portraiture which we find in Crabbe, L’espace d’un matin. and which show that he made his studies for them on the spot; the whole heightened and set off by a style appaBut she was of a world where fairest things Have foulest doom: rently simplicity itself, but which must have been, as we Rose as she was, she had a rose’s life, know it was, the result of the most laborious polishing and A morning’s bloom. elimination : all these give an extreme charm to the Contes, 7 > of We now arrive at the period which is, or rather was, con- and perhaps still more to the Fables, of La Fontaine ; I iisXIV. sidered by the French as the golden age of their poetical for the Contes, though their licentious gaiety has made literature, the long reign of Louis XIV. Everything at this them more generally known, display to less advantage the time concurred to impress on poetry that stamp of stateli- peculiar qualities of La Fontaine’s genius. Boileau, again (1636-1711), pleases and must always Boileau. ness, polish, and courtier-like adoration of monarchy, which at that time pervaded French society, and which exerted so please, although by qualities the most opposite to those of La powerful an influence on the general tastes of Europe. The Fontaine ; namely, by awakening a calm emotion of intelFrench monarchy had now been consolidated by the firm lectual satisfaction, rather than by any excitement of the imahand of Richelieu, who, whilst he unrelentingly pursued his gination or the feelings. As Racine represents the tender and design of lowering the aristocracy and exalting the throne, voluptuous side of French manners and character during the was not insensible to the claims or the importance of litera- age of Louis XIV.; as La Fontaine embodies in his tales and ture, and had been the first to give it the support which a fables its easy tone of moral indifference and malice, maskcorporate character appeared likely to afford, by the forma- ing itself under the disguise of simplicity ; so in Boileau we tion of the celebrated academy. The troubles of the Fronde find, arrayed in a dignified and philosophical dress, its betwere over. The heats and animosities of rival religions had ter points, its good sense and sagacity, its lively perception been appeased by the edict of Nantes. The personal cha- of the eccentric and ridiculous, its love of external decency, racter of Louis was well suited to effect his main object, order, and propriety, both in morality and in literature. In his Lutrin he even displays a considerable degree of which was to render his court a model for the imitation of the world. Of limited abilities, without talent either for invention, though chiefly of a comic kind ; for, though not warfare or diplomacy, he possessed tact enough to perceive destitute of a sense and feeling of high poetry, he was essenat once his deficiencies and his advantages ; and, endowed tially deficient in any actual power of dealing with such with many of the most attractive outward graces and ac- themes ; and, with that tact and judgment which distincomplishments of a king, he played the part of a dignified guished him, he has rarely, save in his most unfortunate monarch with much discretion and ability. Thus w ielding, Ode on the taking of Namur, which has been so justly but without opposition, the energies of a powerful kingdom, so unmercifully parodied by Prior, ventured within this proand collecting around him at his court all that France con- vince of poetry. Within his proper field of moral censortained of intellectual ability, a tone of courtly polish and ship, or of the mock heroic, arrayed in all the graces of eleextreme refinement was imparted to society, which soon gant diction and classic allusion,—or the poetical abridgimpressed its traces upon literature, 'partly for good, and ment, in the most condensed and pointed form of the appartly for evil. The influence exercised by French man- proved critical canons of the time,—he is assuredly without ners and French literature upon other countries became a rival in French poetry, and, with the exception of Pope, paramount and unprecedented, superseding the most inve- in European literature. The literature of the eighteenth century in France is Eighteenth terate usages, overturning the strongest national prejudices, century. and establishing a despotism more universal than had been more distinguished by its prose than its poetry. Prior to Kousseaiu known in literature since the downfall of Greece and Rome. Voltaire, at least, in whom great and versatile powers 0f The most imposing shape in which poetry appears during mind, approaching if not attaining to high genius, must be this supposed Augustan period of French literature, is in admitted, it added nothing of substantial value to the conthat of the drama ; which, commencing with the rude plays tributions of the age of Louis XIV. At one time indeed of Jodelle (who died in 15fl0), reached its perfection during the odes of J. B. Rousseau (1669-1741) were extolled to the close of the reign of Louis XIII. and the reign of Louis the skies, as models of lyric poetry; and Voltaire certainly XIV., in the tragedies of Corneille and Racine, and the ex- speaks of them in terms of extravagant praise. To any one quisite comedies of Moliere. For a full account of the French now perusing them, with the recollection of the great models of antiquity before him, or even testing them by the stage we refer to the article Drama. It cannot be said that, in any other department of poetry simpler process of his own feelings, they will assuredly apexcept that of the drama, the age of Louis XIV. was pre- pear totally deficient in genuine inspiration. The enthueminently distinguished; for the artificial and hollow refine- siasm is imitative and factitious ; the imitation dexterous, ment of the time seemed unfavourable to that vigorous and no doubt, but yet palpable to every one who possesses any natural feeling which should speak in poetry, with a corre- real poetical sensibility ; the thought is often propped up

166 POE TRY. Poetry, Poetry, by the words, not the words elevated and quickened un- made subservient to purposes like these, song is the most >— ' V ' consciously by the vital grandeur of the thought. What effective, universal, and immediate in its operation. It' true lyric enthusiasm, indeed, could reside in a mind which speaks not to a particular class, but to all; its brevity fixes busied itself alternately in the composition of rapturous re- it in the memory; the creature of the moment, it avails itself of every allusion, every passion, every prejudice of ligious odes, and epigrams of disgusting obscenity ? ciiaulieu Much more of real poetry, because accompanied by na- the day; while its outward form appears so trivial and and Gres- ture and simplicity, is to be found in Chaulieu s pastoral harmless, that even despotic governments are deterred, set. lyrics; in some of the little romances of Moncrif, such as by the fear of ridicule, from attempting to interfere with Alexis and Alix, which abounds with lines that by their it. Beranger, whilst he selects the simplest, the most unitruth and simplicity of expression have become proverbial; versal feelings, the most familiar sentiments and images, proor in Gresset’s pleasing stanzas on the golden age, or even vided they are true, unforced, and natural, yet, by the tact and skill which he employs in their treatment, and the fein his livelv tale of Vert-Vert. Voltaire. The reputation of Voltaire (1694-1778) at the present licity of their expression, invests them with quite an oriday rests more upon his witty and amusing prose than ginal character. The oftener a thought has occurred to upon his poetry. That didactic tendency which was the others, so much the better with him ; for it is an evidence spirit of the age, that attempt to make all the creations of of its truth, and of its power of affecting the heart. What poetry subservient to inculcating certain philosophical opi- remains for him, and what he performs, is to impart to this nions, appears in all the poetry of Voltaire ; it speaks even thought, so familiar to all, though perhaps vaguely and inin Mahomet and in Zane, as much as in his graceful oc- definitely, form, colour, expression, so that when presentcasional verses, his Tales in the manner of La Fontaine, ed by him to our notice, it is felt at once to be an old acor his epistles. “ Les Francois n ont pas la tete Epique,” quaintance, and yet awakens all the curiosity and interest was his own expression; and the Henriade certainly went with which we regard a new one. His originality, in short, far to prove the fact. It is the mere simulacrum of an lies entirely in his application of the idea, and the point epic ; hard, laboured, soulless. It is most unfortunate for and compactness with which the image is brought out by Voltaire, that the poem in which his versatile abilities have his hands. His success in these respects is great; but it been displayed to the greatest advantage, is one which its is a success attained, as may be imagined, by the most paindecencies and impieties have in a great measure banish- tient revision. He is said to be an extremely slow composer, frequently laying aside the subject on which he is ed beyond the pale of literature. About 1770 may be noticed the rise of the descriptive employed for weeks, and patiently waiting, till, by dint of school of poetry, in the poems of St Lambert and Delille ; long reflection on the subject, and careful polishing, by the an importation in all probability from England, where a selection of the happiest allusions, by the studious elimisimilar taste had been introduced by the success of the Sea- nation of every phrase or illustration that appears recherche sons of Thomson. From 1730 to the commencement of or ornate, he has given to the whole that unity and apthe present century, numerous attempts were also made to pearance of ease and simplicity at which he constantly aims. confer on France something that should merit the title of We have noticed the early development of German German an epic poem; but without the slightest success. During the despotism of Napoleon, poetry appeared to heroic song in the Nebelungen and the Heldenbuch; and Poetry. be almost silent. With the restoration of the Bourbons the introduction of the Provencal taste under the Suaappears the rise of that romantic school, the growth of the bian emperors in the poetry of the Minnesingers. In all fermentation of the revolution, and -of that removal of the its leading features the poetry of this period (1138 to old landmarks both in polity and opinions which it caused; 1346) corresponds with that of the French Troubadours, a school which, both in theory and practice, repudiates the with this unfavourable distinction, that the poetry of the principles of the old French classicists, and has certainly Minnesingers (love-singers) is much more exclusively deeffected a complete revolution in the literary tastes of the voted to amatory themes than that of the Provencals, time. Whether much or anything has been gained by which blended with these, warlike and patriotic or satirical the change, is in the highest degree questionable. Calm effusions. Hence their monotony of effect, when we perobservers think the French have injudiciously sacrificed use any of these collections at once, is undeniable. Schiltheir reputation for correct and classic execution, for wit and ler has, accordingly, in a passage of unusual severity, degood sense, in the search after those higher qualities of lyri- nounced their poverty of ideas, and says, that if the sparcal inspiration or epic grandeur which nature appears to rows were to compose an “ almanack of love and friendhave denied to them. We do not speak of the revolting ex- ship,” it would probably bear a close resemblance to these travagances in which the leaders of the romantic school, at cloying strains of the Minnesingers. But against this the head of whom stands Victor Hugo, have indulged. The sarcastic remark must be placed the observations of Frepublic taste of Europe, and latterly of France, has so derick Schlegel. “ The impression of uniformity arises strongly revolted against this convulsionary school, that it from our seeing these poems bound together into large cannot long maintain any hold over the national mind; collections, a fate which was probably neither the design but we fear that, even when the worst extravagances of the nor the hope of those who composed them. But, in truth, new school are retrenched, there will remain a pei'manent not only love-songs, but all lyrical poems, if they are really injury to the national taste, in the loose, disjointed, and true to nature, and aim at nothing more than the expression barbarous style, with the total want of all logical plan in of individual feelings, must necessarily be confined within a composition, which these innovators have introduced. very narrow range both of thought and sentiment. The B2ranger. Yet it is pleasing to close this short notice of French poe- truth is, that great variety in lyrical poetry is never to be try with the name of one who, though partaking of all the found, except in those ages of imitation when men are modern influences of his time, is yet within his own de- fond of treating of all manner of subjects in all manner of partment, that of song, a genuine classic. In this depart- forms. Then, indeed, we often find the tone and taste of ment of the lyric, France has always been distinguished. twenty different ages and nations brought together within In that country not only has it constituted, as elsewhere, the same collection, and observe that the popularity of the the amusement of the lower classes, but it has long attain- poet is increased exactly in proportion as he descends ed the dignity of a powerful political agent; its monarchy from his proper dignity, when simplicity is sacrificed to was justly described by Champfort as a despotism temper- conceits and epigrams, and the ode sinks into an occasional ed by songs. Of all the modes in which poetry can be copy of verses.”

POETRY. Wallenstein. In one particular he most rank fat higher than Goethe; in the elevated aim winch he always had m view; the attainment of noble ends hy no ^e're rendering poetry what it always ought to be, specimen of plastic ingenuity, but something Y ^ IC1 soul feels itself refined and the hear made better. His enthusiasm, impetuous, and yet tender and affection , clothed all the universe, moral and material with forms of grandeur, and gave to all he uttered the stamp of purity a^d truth. “ His greatest faculty,” says the most eloquent of hi, biographers, “ was a halfwpoefcal, hf pMosophical imagination, a faculty teeming '‘h .amid hancy; now adorning or aiding to erect a ta y p> of scientific speculation, now brooding over the abysses of thought and feeling, till thoughts and feelings else u terable were embodied in expressive forms, and palaces and landscapes, glowing ^ ethereal beauty, rose li -e halations from the bosom of the deep. d Of Goethe we have already so very g^Y ^Pr^se“ ° in opinion (see the article Goethe), that we shall not again enter upon the subject. Gorman noetrv is not At the present day ^talent

^ooUf^thos^ rencl^ aheg^ ^ ^ ^ ^ nearlyCW half his lifej as Mr Campbell remarks, was passed amongst , emblems flower-worshippings, and courts and parliaments of love, of that visionary and tiresome school, 0 _^°r y’ of bef0're he commenced the y ' - which alone the peculiarities of his T1 P ^^ its extent, c an be said to be g ’ ^ Th!^ late discovery of the true complet^ ^ tr Ch S appeal pe! bentjf h^powers « amg , ^ ^.^P ^ P^ le' yf but of clear observation of life, and of practical g J Canterbury Tales, which were obviously aims In Lanterbu ^y lf Decamero^ ^ g? Y display of the various qualist 0 ^ ;f ^ real knowledge of j.fe ^ experience of society> in aii its aspects, high and low, from the palace to the cottage, at home and b ab road) had suppiied his mind. His clear observation, and ^ ’ ding P^ of clear painting? giving the most vivid picturesqueness to all his delineations; his quiet and unobtrusive humour; his satirical power, at once forcible

forthTMiihXrorJgend^ delicate (aand combination rarehisinimagination that smge toi tbe Manrcnen, or i^egenuary TaH, to rtul hlcommul andstruggling imperfect peculiarly civilization); su c ® 4f&rtVit7yZgteichygmaLrs a cheerful contented tone /ff n«’Jr“c" impartial towards all the w-or d, a power either ot creat ing character, or of so artfully and harmoniously putting together the result of his actual studies of men, as togiveto these all the free and natural effect of a creation; all these qualities found fit scope for their e“rc'se ,n ^ varied canvass he selected, which, by means of its inge nious framework of a plgrimage embracing persons of both sexes and of all ranks, and enlivened by tales told to relieve the tedium of the way, admitted equally of the comic and the tragic, the high and low ; themes of chivalry and mythology, like the Knight’s Tale ; tales of English It is not our intention to enter into any minute details wonder, blending oriental marvels with the romance of Poetry, as to English poetry, with which we shall conclude the present sketch. Since we have already noticed, under separate the West, like the Squire’s; or stories of English low life, heads, most of the individuals by whom it was adorned, we like the Miller’s or the Reve’s. The versatility of talent, shall merely attempt to indicate generally the directions indeed, displayed in the Canterbury Tales is astonishing; and, as in the case of his Italian rival, Boccacio, it is diftaken by poetical taste at different periods of our annals.^ Even prior to the Norman conquest, we know from Wil- ficult to say whether it is in the comic or the tragic that liam of Malmesbury, that England, like all the Gothic na- Chaucer most excels. In invention, so far as regards incident, the English poet tions, had been possessed by a large mass of ballads, written in Anglo-Saxon, though, as no fragments of these re- and the Italian novelist may be placed nearly on a par; the main, we know nothing of their poetical merit. This ear- woodland freshness and beauty of Chaucer’s forest scenes, lier minstrelsy must soon have sunk into discredit, or been may be equalled by the charming country landscapes in which Boccacio places his interlocutors; but in power of entirely suppressed, by the Norman conquest. The English language, as it now exists, grew out of the characteristic delineation, particularly by those minute mixture of the Anglo-Saxon with the Norman, and seems strokes of Dutch painting which present the exterior of to nave have acquneu acquired a complete cumpieie form luun by uy the uie middle imuuic of the me objects, or those happily rr-j selected traits . which , . at once mark • thirteenth century. In 1297, we have the Rhyming Chro- the individual, Boccacio cannot sustain the least comparison nicle of Robert of Gloucester, the first undoubted compo- with the father of English poetry. He has many tauits, sition in the English tongue. but they are the faults of his age;_ the faults of coarseness From the Norman conquest to the time of Edward III., of taste and manners, of inartificial plans, o pro ixi y o the literature and poetry of England consists of little else style; the natural errors to which the infancy o poe ry, than translations from, or imitations of, the Norman ro- destitute of models, and struggling with an un orme an mances and chronicles; and, judging from the ridicule with guage, was exposed. Against these must be placed t le a which they have been assailed by Chaucer in his Rhyme vantages of a vocabulary in which words are pictures, o of Sir Thopas, they must have been of slender merit, since subjects of description, unhackneyed, and bright witi a they are represented as shocking the taste, of course not their primitive freshness; the wisdom or grave humour o particularly refined, of the host of the Tabard. The dis- the philosophic observer blending most cunningly with tie tance, at all events, which separates all our English versi- bonhommie and the garrulous graces of the narrator, an fiers of this period from Chaucer (born 1328, died 1406), easy abandon, both as to matter and manner, which has its is such as justly to entitle him to the honour of being the charm, however little reconcileable with the more arti first of English poets, the sun that “flames in the fore- cial treatment which criticism would suggest; nature pamthead of the modern sky;” throwing out a splendour that ed without exaggeration, as without disguise; and wit a showed at once his own lustre, and the dreary wastes that that feeling of unity imparted to the wRole, which ma es spread far and wide towards the literary horizon. the most discordant elements unite in kindly harmony, an

for prose and polemical discussion. Uhland and Euckert are at this moment tha most eminent among the German iVric poets- for the effusions of Heine, wretched attempts to intuse a sneering imitation of Byronism into lyric poetry, have akerfv we believe, survived their popularity. The host of poe£ besides these, is numerous but not of any marked excellence or originality. Judging from a few of his composMons we si,odd be disposed” m say there was more of poetical genius in Leopold Schefer, than in almost any of his contemporaries.

POETRY. 169 ry. which is never found except in the productions of the high- assumed that outworn and almost comic air which it wore Poetry, est minds. when Ariosto first took up the entangled threads of Boi- '---'v— The appearance of Chaucer in English poetry has been ardo. It had still a vital influence on society, and ran well com{)ared by barton to the early appearance of a like a thread of silver tissue through the coarser web of bright and genial day in an English spring; exciting the life. Nay, even the religious spirit in wdiich Tasso had brighter hopes of a speedy and balmy summer,—hopes conceived the Jerusalem, scarcely satisfied the mind of which are almost immediately blasted by the return of frost Spenser. He would render every incident which he deand tempest, and the settling down of winter, as bleak and scribed a step in some high argument or moral demonblighting as before. In English poetry that effect was pro- stration ; every character the embodied representation of duced by the disastrous period of the wars of the Roses. some virtue and vice; all the visions of imagination subFrom the time of Chaucer almost to that of Spenser, cer- servient to the cause of religion. He would enlist all the tainly no progress is made; or rather, if the language in some restless and excursive intellect, and adventurous feelings of degree advances, the spirit of poetry retrogrades. Gower an ardent and romantic age, under the banner of purity and was his contemporary, Lydgate followed immediately after goodness. him ; but they belong, so far as regards poetical genius, nay That with the glory of so goodly sight, even poetical dexterity, to a previous century. In truth, the The hearts of men that fondly here desire first introduction of learning into England appears to have Fasre seeming shews, and feed on vain delight. been unfavourable to poetry, giving rise to pedantic imiTransported with celestial desire tation in place of independent efforts of genius; a tendenOf those fair forms, may lift themselves up higher. And learn to love, with zealous humble duty, cy which, indeed, to some extent, is visible even in the Th’ eternal fountain of that heavenly beauty. finest poetry of the Elizabethan period. By far the most distinguished name, indeed, between Chaucer and Spenser, And so deeply does this principle pervade his poems, that, is that of the Scottish poet Dunbar, who, in humour and whilst wandering among the scenes of enchantment with power of character-painting, greatly surpasses Gower, and which he surrounds us in that spiritual region to which he approaches to Chaucer. The poems of Surrey, and Wyatt, gives the name of Fairy Land, we can never forget that and Sackville, who followed during the reign of Henry they have a spell beyond their first outward significance, VIII., can be regarded only as proofs that the love of poe- nor be insensible to that still small voice of piety and wistry had not ceased to exist, and that in some shape, how- dom, which speaks through all those creations of his geever rude, its voice was struggling to make itself heard in nius, and whispers that the place whereon we are standing that calmer and more settled state of the political atmo- is holy ground. sphere which had followed the union of the rival houses in It must be admitted, however, that if this under-current the persons of Henry VII. and Elizabeth of York. of allegory gives a degree of solemnity and moral grandeur .Ej. But when Spenser arose to enrich English literature to Spenser’s poem, its effects in other respects are unfawith another great work of original genius, many causes, vourable. It does occasionally interfere with the natural w’hich had probably at first acted unfavourably for the movements of the imagination, gives a formal and metaprogress of poetry, were beginning to exercise a more sa- physical air to the conceptions of the poet, and, by renderlutary operation. The Reformation, which had at first pro- ing the characters abstractions of moral qualities, impairs duced tumult, bloodshed, and wide-extended distress, by their individuality as human beings. So far the injurious efthe suppression of those great hospitals, the monasteries, fect of Spenser’s allegorical plan can hardly be denied; but was now beginning to bring forth its better fruits, in the it is absux-d to speak of the allegory in Spenser. being so shape of a free and inquiring spirit, carried into all de- obtrusive and continuous as altogether to destroy the intepartments of thought and imagination. That acquain- rest of the poem as a representation of romantic life. The tance with the treasures of ancient learning, or the classic fact is quite different. Occasionally, no doubt, in the perpoetry of modern Italy, which had at first tended to over- sonifications of Envy or Pride, or the siege of the Castle power and confuse the national mind, was now turned to of Temperance, in which the barriers of hearing, sense, better account; it had insensibly refined the taste, and smell, taste, and touch are represented as successively made the purest models of preceding times familiar to the assailed by troops of monsters from without, the allegory poet and the scholar. The spirit of chivalry, still lingering is too prominent; but assuredly it sinks entirely out of view, in the English character, had been aroused into new and and is perceived only on subsequent reflection, in the deep active existence by the triumphs which had attended the human interest of all the finer passages of the poem, such national arms during the reign of Elizabeth. A love of as the remorse of the Red Cross Knight, his temptation adventure had been generated by the frequent expeditions by Despair; the wanderings of Una, with her angel face into remote countries and climes, as to which, in that im- “ making a sunshine in the shady place;” Guyon’s visit to perfect state of geographical and physical knowledge, mar- the cave of Mammon, and his trial in the gardens of vels were believed, as incredible as any that figure in the Acrasia; the combat of Campbel with the three brothers; pages of Sir John Mandeville. There was, in short, at or the many other passages, which must be impressed upon this period, a remarkable union, in the English character, the memory of every reader. of the sober qualities of strong intellect with deep convicAn extreme sensibility, almost amounting to a luxurious tions and high imagination; a character which manifests love of beauty, a flush of colour in his descriptions, which has led Mr Campbell to compare him to Rubens, and a itself in every department both of poetry and literature. Born in this happy period, and educated under such in- fancy of the most remarkable exuberance, are the leading fluences, Spenser (1510-1598) produced his great poem of qualities of Spenser’s mind. In this prodigality of fancy, the Fairy Queen. Familiar with Italian literature, as well indeed, lies at once the strength and the weakness of as with the best learning of antiquity, it was from the Spenser: for while it infuses life into all his pictures, works of Ariosto and Tasso that he had derived his bent making the plumes of Prince Arthur wave like the almondtowards chivalrous poetry. But the deeper earnestness of tree on the top of Selinis; or the face of Britomart, when his character prevented him from treating his subject with she raises her vizor, like the moon breaking forth in darkthe levity of Ariosto. Chivalry was to him a principle of some night from behind the noisome cloud in which she faith, a part of religion, not the mere fantastic framework was enveloped; so, on the other hand, it leads him occain w hich successive pageants of love and war, or luxurious sionally to revel in images and traits which are painful, or description, were to be enclosed. In England it had not even physically revolting, such as the portrait of Gluttony, Y vol. xvm.

POETRY. 170 Poetry, the loathsome vomit of Envy, or the minute description of lish ; witness the “ He that loves a rosy cheek” of Carew, Poete '''“’“V""*’' the operation of Diet and Appetite, Concoction and Diges- and the song written by Lovelace during his confinement tion, with some other inmates of Castle Temperance. His in Westminster, “ When love with unconfined wings howithin my gates.” To Denham and Waller, particufancy may indeed be compared to the Nile in its over- vers flow, disdaining the confinement of banks, and spreading larly the latter, have been ascribed by Johnson the glory around a luxuriance of soil, alike productive of the flower of improving our English numbers. It would be more just to say, that they had the good sense to perceive the iman(j klig weed. In the portraiture of the allegorical beings introduced, portance of this element of poetry, as Spenser had done, Spenser is admitted to be.without a rival. In his hand while their contemporaries too much neglected it. Almost the poets above mentioned have been classed by Johnthey almost cease to be mere abstractions of good and all under the title of the metaphysical poets; a title of evil qualities, so life-like is the form in which they are son doubtful application as to any of them, but which, if it be presented, so picturesque the garb and accompaniments applicable Cowley, whom he considers their chief, can with which they are invested, so natural the gestures, ac- scarcely betovery when applied to Suckling and tions, and occupations, attributed to them. They appear Waller. Cowley isaccurate simply a poet in whom the fancy, while the natural inhabitants of this realm of enchantment, raised it is teeming and fertile, is seldom warmed by passion as it is many degrees above the level of reality, bright in directed by judgment; whose miscellaneous learning the near ground, with the sunniest tints of fancy, and fad- or ing away in the distance into the most aerial and heavenly oppresses and buries his taste; and who therefore wearies us even at the moment he impresses us with the conscioushues. . The language of Spenser seems to be steeped in music; ness of his great resources and his mental powers. A great change in the character and spirit of poetry Change he is the greatest master of the difficult art of employing followed the con vulsions which closed abruptly the reign produce* alliteration with success; his versification unites in the heci highest degree melody with majesty. It is formed on the of the first Charles. The poetry of that court leant to-^ war wards the elegant, the romantic, the fanciful, the brilliant, ' principle of the Italian ottava rima ; but, by the addition of the Alexandrine, it possesses a sonorous grandeur in and witty; but the stronger passions which had been awathe close which the Italian stanza wants. “ It has not, kened, the deeper interests which had been put in hazard, says Mr Hazlitt, “ the bold dramatic transitions of Shak- by the civil war, had soon impressed a character of solemspeare’s blank verse, nor the high varied tone of Milton’s; nity on all literature, and made poetry itself, following the but it is the perfection of harmony, dissolving the soul in fashion of the time, assume a polemical, ascetic, sometimes pleasure, or holding it captive in the chains of suspense. mystical, yet grand and enthusiastic character. In those Spenser is the poet of our waking dreams ; and he in- whose tastes were formed only after the change, this polevented not only a language, but a music of his own for mical character, and this proscription of certain subjects them. The modulations are infinite, like those of the or associations, to which puritanism led, would probably waves of the sea; but the effect is still the same, lulling have damped the wing and narrowed the flight of imaginathe senses into a deep oblivion of all the jarring noises of tion ; and accordingly no great poet appears to have been reared in that rigid and prosaic school. But the tastes of the world.” In the hands of Spenser, the allegorical form appears in- Milton, the great poet of this period, had all been formed vested with all the brightest colours of the fancy. In the in an age and a school more favourable to the exercise ot works of most of his contemporaries it appears lifeless and the imaginative powers; his exquisite lyrics, and his Copedantic. A disagreeable mixture of stilted expression mus, had already been written before he visited Italy in and false learning blends with and alloys most of the 1638, at the very time when Carew, and Suckling, and Dapoetry of the time. It deforms the otherwise noble lines venant were in the height of their popularity and reputaof Sir John Davies, and renders Silvester unreadable. tion. Ere his great epic poem appeared, he had witnessShakspeare is not free from it; for it was deeply inwoven ed and deeply shared in the agitating struggle which had with the national taste of the time, and showed itself in the ended in the temporary subversion of the monarchy, and language of ordinary conversation no less than in poetry. the stern but imposing despotism of Cromwell; and thus Yet it is delightful to find the greatest dramatist also the educated in the former period, and as yet witnessing the greatest lyrical poet of his age; for, after Spenser, what best bloom and flush of the latter, he united the chivalwork of that time will bear the least comparison with rous recollections of the Elizabethan age, and the classic Shakspeare’s sonnets ? Sonnets they are not, in the associations with which his early education had filled his strict Italian sense; but for condensation of imagery, for mind, with the enthusiasm of principle and intensity ot natural thoughts, clothing themselves in the aptest ex- will which characterised the men of the Parliament. Milpressions either of majesty or melody, without any redun- ton represents more vividly than any other the wide sweep dance of expletives, or rank luxuriance of epithets, they and overpowering force of those political and religious senleave Petrarch and his imitators at a distance. A singu- timents which agitated the age; for all his earlier leanings lar grace, and even dreamy beauty, surprises us in the were visibly directed towards the romantic and gorgeous asmasques of Ben Jonson; because it contrasts so strangely sociations of the past, towards the pride and pomp of chiwith the otherwise hard and saturnine turn of his mind. valry, the well-trod stage, the throngs of knights and barons A few gems, amidst much that is coarse or quaint or in- bold, the stateliness of feudal castles, the solemnity of minsdifferent, may be gleaned from the pages of Herrick; ters, the pomp of tournaments, the peal of organs, and the power and vigour, mixed with sectarian gloom, and de- dim religious light of painted windows. Such was the poet formed by extreme ruggedness of versification, are visible of Lycidas, of Comus, of the Allegro, and the Penseroso, the in Quarles. The rise of satire appears in the works of two most perfect gems of contemplative lyric poetry of which Hall and Donne, of pastoral in Browne ; while sacred Britain has to boast; and yet we see these tastes abandonpoetry finds no unworthy representatives in Giles Fletcher ed or repressed as he advances in life and in party spirit, and Crashaw. A lighter and gayer taste, a more level, till at last he views them only as unnatural corruptions of but natural expression, shows itself in the compositions of primitive liberty and simplicity. Still, with Milton, though the cavalier poets of the court of Charles I., in the grace- a taint of bigotry pervades his views, everything is pure, ful little airs and verses of Carew, Lovelace, Davenant, high minded, and disinterested. “ Nought he does in and Suckling. In particular, to them we are indebted for hate, but all in honour.” He stands at an immense dissome of the best of the few good songs we possess in Eng- tance from the sect to whom he had allied himself, but with

POETRY. 171 whom, after all, he had little in common. In no one does and Milton and Shakspeare, and in a less artificial state of Poetry, poetry more conspicuously appear a part of religion. He society, he might at least have avoided the gross want ofv “ y'”"*" regards it as a sacred trust, not to be sadrificed on the al- nature evinced in these rhyming plays, though we can hardtar of vanity, not to be purchased for a price, not to be ap- ly persuade ourselves that, by any process of tuition, he plied to any unworthy or even trifling end. could ever have become a great dramatist. “ The general soundness and healthfulness of his mental constitution, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, his information of vast superficies though of small volume, And in clear dream and solemn vision his wit scarcely inferior to that of the most distinguished Telling of things which no gross ear can hear; Till oft converse with heavenly habitants followers of Donne, his eloquence grave, deliberative, and Begin to cast a beam on the outer shape, commanding, could not save him from disgraceful failure The unpolluted temple of the mind, as a rival of Shakspeare, but raised him far above the level And turn it by degrees to the soul’s essence, of Boileau. His command of language was immense. With Till all be made immortal. him died the secret of the old poetical diction of England, It would be absurd, at the present day, to enter on any the art of producing rich effects by familiar words. In formal criticism of his great work of Paradise Lost, the the following century it was as completely lost as the Gomost original, if not the most successful, of modern epics. thic method of painting glass, and was but poorly supplied About no poem perhaps are opinions more agreed ; every by the laborious and tesselated imitations of Mason and one feels its sustained loftiness, combined with so much of Gray. On the other hand, he was the first writer undef tenderness, in the scenes of Eden, but always suggesting whose skilful management the scientific vocabulary fell the idea of effort and labour,—the wonderful art with which into natural and pleasing verse. In this department he learning itself is rendered poetical in his hands; for even the succeeded as completely as his contemporary Gibbons sucvisions of mythology, and the fantastical traditions of chi- ceeded in the similar enterprise of carving the most devalry, are made to heighten the effect of a sacred poem licate flowers from heart of oak. The toughest and most dealing with the mystery of the fall of man;—and, lastly, knotty parts of language became ductile at his touch. His the consummate artifice of the versificadon, which, as Haz- versification, in the same manner, while it gave the first litt remarks, seems to float up and down, as if on wings. model of that neatness and precision which the following Milton represents the more imposing side of the Puri- generation esteemed so highly, exhibited at the same time tans, and he is almost the solitary poet of whom they can the last examples of nobleness, freedom, variety of pause, boast. The other side of their character, their hypocrisy, and cadence.”1 and their narrow and coarse tastes, are exposed in the Pope is the last great writer of that school of poetry, the Pope, merciless and consummately clever Hudibras of Butler. poetry of the intellect, or rather of the intellect mingled The poem is now, no doubt, in a great measure obsolete, with the fancy, which occupies the period from the Relike every application of poetry to the exposure of the pe- storation to the close of the eighteenth century. In Dryculiarities or vices of a particular age; yet its masculine den’s satires and miscellaneous poems, we perceive the vigour, its condensation of thought, and its wit, entitle reasoning poetry brought to its perfection, as far as reButler to a very high rank among the broad humourists of gards vigour of conception and force of expression. In poetry. these respects nothing remained to be added. But Pope tn, From the oppressive wit and subtilty of Cowley and his possessed that quick tact and intuitive discernment, both of fellows, it is delightful to turn to the manliness, the com- the range and limit of his own powers, and also of the taste mon sense, the “ long-resounding march and energy di- of the age, which showed him the solitary direction in vine,” of Dryden, who marks the point of transition from which, so far as regarded this philosophic and critical school the metaphysical poetry to the critical. He had himself of poetry, there yet remained an opening for himself. He in youth been strongly influenced by the pervading taste felt that the qualities of his mind did not fit him to surfor conceit; and it must be admitted, that in the greater pass, and scarcely to contend on equal terms, with Drypart of his dramatic writings this taint clings to him to the den, so far as regarded grasp or force; but he conceived, last. As a dramatist, indeed, we can admire in him no- that in the way of polish, refinement, grace, and choice thing but the nerve and vigour of his dialogue, and that of expression, something yet remained to be done, and power of reasoning in verse in which he so much excelled. that that something he was able to afford. Selecting, by But in his other works, such as the Absalom and Achito- a natural preference, themes of a moral and didactic rather phel, he threw aside this rage for conceits, he was natural, than passionate character, adopting the idea that everytransparent, vigorous; his illustrations, instead of being thing should be polished to the highest pitch, and that sought for, as in the case of Cowley, on account of their artifice was the fundamental principle of poetry, that arremoteness and apparent inaptitude, are such as at once tifice, he thought, could hardly be carried too far; and, adorn and elucidate, and are felt to be close and familiar accordingly, with Pope we find habitual that attention to without being common. High imagination he did not pos- words which is only occasional with Dryden. If in Drysess, and for his purpose it was scarcely needed. He has, den we perceive a tendency to substitute logic and reflecin fact, scarcely written a line which is pathetic, and few tion for feeling, to exhibit pictures of conventional and arthat can be considered sublime. Yet in fancy he was not tificial rather than of general nature, and to borrow his ildeficient, for it supplies him with inexhaustible imagery; lustrations much oftener from science and art than from his Ode shows that he could be raised at times into a true natural objects, this tendency appears still more decided lyrical enthusiasm, whilst his judgment rarely fails him, ex- and uniform in Pope, who is pre-eminently the poet of a cept, indeed, in those bombastic plays, which he had framed period of high intellectual culture and limited poetical senby jumbling together an imbroglio of two inconsistent mo- sibilities ; the poet who wrought to its last perfection the dels, the F'rench school, from which he borrowed his rhymes pure but limited vein which this contemplative and preand his affectation of sentiment; and the Spanish, to which ceptive style of poetry afforded. After Dryden nothing he was indebted for the exaggeration of his passionate scenes, new could have been achieved for this style of poetry, save and the complexity of his plots. Had he known nothing of what has been done by Pope; and what he attempted he these, and been left to form himself on the model of Spenser perfected. r

Edinburgh Review

112 Poetry.

POETRY.

It is indeed impossible to award to him a rank in poe- Even now we must admire the painter-like skill with which, v Poetrr W’ try of the same kind with that which had been occupied by in his rural descriptions, he selects his point of view, the art with which hb seizes the characteristic, and drops the our Miltons, Spensers, and Shakspeares. In the highest departments of poetry, the epic and dramatic, he has at- less marking features of the landscape; the infinite variety tempted nothing. In the lyrical he has failed. In trans- of little circumstances connected with animate and inaninature, unnoticed by his predecessors, but which his lation his example has tended to corrupt the national taste, mate tact detects and sets before our eyes; the soft, bland, and to substitute a glittering, false, and metaphrastical quick version for a true translation. His forte is essentially the Claude-like glow which he spreads over all he touches; the of love, and benevolence, and philanthropy, w hich he didactic and satirical; moral instruction or censure en- spirit forced with all the charms or all the point of which such awakens; qualities which give to his Seasons a fascination though felt most strongly in childhood, is yet not subjects are susceptible. M ithin that range he has never which, materially abated by the judgment of cooler years. His yet found his equal; for to the logical and reasoning power faults are cumbrousness of diction, and occasional vulgarity and condensation of Dryden and of Boileau, he adds at times, as in his Rape of the Lock, an excursiveness and of taste. The same sweet and natural tastes, though 01 a moreGoldsE brilliancy of fancy, a compact strength with perfect harrefined kind, the same philanthropical spirit, and the same mony, a quiet, graceful, continuous humour, altogether without parallel. Yet, whilst speaking of the harmony of his gentle inspiration of poetry, are visible in Goldsmith. He versification, it must be added, that he carried this prin- has not indeed Thomson’s sympathy with the sublime and in nature; his mind habitually turned towards its ciple to excess; that his system of terminating the sense terrible invariably with the line, and his pauses, placed almost al- milder and more smiling aspects, the fertility and richness ways on the fourth or sixth syllable, led to a monotony the of cultivation, the tranquillizing tone of village^ life, “ the most painful when contrasted with the varied pauses and short and simple annals of the poor.’ “ He is refined, lines flowing into each other, which were so happily em- says Mr Campbell, “ without false delicacy, and correct ployed by our elder writers; and that, finally, in regard to without insipidity. Perhaps there is an intellectual comrhymes, Pope, though he was singularly limited as to range, posure in his manner, which may in some passages be said to approach to the reserved and prosaic; but he unbends was even within that range far from correct. “ The best,” says an eminent critic, “ of what we co- from this grave strain of reflection to tenderness, and even pied from the continental school, is copied in the lighter to playfulness, with a peculiar grace, and connects extenpieces of Prior. 'I hat tone of polite raillery, that airy, sive and philosophic views of the happiness and interests 01 rapid, picturesque narrative, mixed up of wit and naivete, society with pictures of life that touch the heart by their that style, in short, of good conversation, concentrated homeliness and familiarity....His whole manner has a still into flowing and polished verses, was not within the vein depth of feeling and reflection, which gives back the image of our native poets, and probably never would have been of nature unruffled, and minutely. He has no redundant known among us, if we had been left to our own resources. thoughts or false transports, but seems on every occasion It is lamentable that this, which alone was worth borrow- to have weighed the impulse to which he surrendered himing, is the only thing which has not been retained. I he self ; and whatever ardour or casual felicities he may have tales and little apologues of Prior are still the only examples thus sacrificed, he gained a high degree of purity and selfpossession.” of this style in our language.” The names of Blair and Ramsay deserve notice, the first Biair, As we advance through the eighteenth century, wre perceive that the critical school of poetry had evidently at- as the author of a poem gloomy and homely, but withR^Jj tained its perfection in Pope, and was destined, at no dis- a decided character, and a picturesqueness of imageiy, tant period, to sink into mere prose, disguised under the which redeem it from vulgarity, and which have been appearance of verse. At least, after Pope, there is a vi- justly compared to the powerful expression of a countesible decline, until the appearance of the first germs of a nance without regular beauty ; the latter as the writer of new taste, with which the intellect had less to do, whilst a true pastoral drama, in a style totally different from the hackneyed mythological models on the subject, and delithe feelings obtained a more decided supremacy. Addison, Addison’s poetry is so flat, and cold, and destitute of ima- neating the natural and simple manners of the peasantiy of Swift. gination, that, but for the exquisite grace and refined taste Scotland, with a truth, a comic archness and tenderness, of his prose works, it would not now be mentioned; and which entitle the Gentle Shepherd to an honourable rank in Swift, though a most clever versifier, and endowed with no British poetry. A mournful interest attaches itself to the names of ha-W ordinary talents for libel in the shape of epigram or satire, can hardly, by any stretch of favour, be regarded as a vage and Chatterton, both the victims of misfortunes caus-,.ton. ed, in some degree, by their irregularities of conduct 01 poet. The first symptoms of the change which had been gra- deficiency of principle. In the latter, in particular, the Thomson. dually going on, appears in the return to a taste for simple seeds of a mind of considerable power are evidently disinstead of artificial nature; for as yet the revival of strong cernible, choked indeed with many rank weeds of evil tenfeeling or passion would have met with no sympathetic dency, but which, pruned and weeded by years and expefeeling on the part of the public. In Thomson are to be rience, might have rendered him an ornament to the litetraced the first symptoms of the reviving taste for the rature of the eighteenth century. Collins wrote but little, yet that little was of first-rate Co111 “ simple-natural.” True it is, his field is limited. When he attempts narrative, when he indulges in properly di- merit. His Oriental Eclogues may be regarded as only a dactic poetry, his style appears cumbrous, and his ideas boyish production ; but the rest of his lyrics suffer only by commonplace enough. “ Liberty,” says Dr Johnson, “ when comparison with those of Milton, and that chiefly through it first appeared, I tried to read, and soon desisted.” Few a certain obscurity of diction, into which he was led by enat the present day will even make the trial. But when he deavouring to avoid the commonplaces of expression. Iu comes to deal with the matters which lie within his proper proportion to the neglect which they encountered on their sphere, and are congenial to his quiet, contemplative, and first appearance, has been their popularity since. The Odeindolent turn of mind, he is an original and a striking poet. on the Passions, in particular, has become a universal fa We must never forget, in speaking of Thomson at the pre- vourite, by its admirable personations, the flush of beautisent day, that his poem was the first of its kind, and even ful colouring with which it is invested, and the richness yet, like Milton’s Eve, it is the fairest of its daughters. of the versification, which adapts itself with such art to

POETRY. * i.otry. the themes of sadness and gaiety, or deep gloom, which al- which occasionally escape the poet, as in that where he Poetry, v.v—^ ternate throughout the poem. audresses the stars in the fifth book of the Task, he has '-—v— Clrchill, There is strength and nerve, but nothing more, in the left us some of the most touching and spirit-stirring pasA aside, ferocious satires of the dissipated Churchill; an undeni- sages of which the eighteenth century has to boast. > able, though very often turgid and unsubstantial, grandeur "I he same spirit appears, in Scotland, in the deep tender-Burns, gtt'stonf' asb°auso t Akenside’s Pleasures of the Imagination ; but there ness of the lyrics ot Burns. Much of his poetry, doubtFi oner, ’ * ^ perfect truth in Johnson’s remark, that the words less, can only be remembered with regret, as the effusion of Gl er. are multiplied till the sense is hardly perceived, and that a reckless and ungoverned spirit, mistaking coarseness for attention deserts the mind and settles on the ear. Some foice, and conibunding genius with extravagance and irrepleasing pictures in Dyer and Armstrong, and a natural gularity. But he has left behind him a few strains which grace in Shenstone (which, however, sometimes borders on are of a higher mood, nay, of the very highest order; fachildishness), w ill preserve a certain popularity to Grongar miliar and yet noble, tender and yet manly ; such as a peaHill, the Art of Preserving Health, and the School-Mistress. sant only could have written, but a peasant who was one The mei’its of Falconer’s Shipwreck have, we think, been of nature s nobles. “ Scotland,” says an American critic, overrated. Its technicalities frequently appear tedious, and “ owes a large debt of gratitude to Burns ; for he invested few poets have dealt more in needless expletives and mere the feelings and sentiments of its peasantry, their joys and commonplaces of description. Of Glover, whose Leonidas sorrows, with dignity and beauty; he redeemed their lanwas once compared to Milton’s Paradise Lost, the world guage from neglect, if not from contempt; he made the now remembers nothing except his clever ballad of Hozier’s heart of every true Scot burn within him as he thought of Ghost. the hills and valleys of his native land ; he first guided the Yfig. Young is a poet of more fire, and of a decided though footstep of the pilgrim to the scenes of her traditionary perverted ingenuity. He exhibits a curious mixture of glories, and he sung those glories in strains so simple, yet the style of Queen Anne’s day with the more pensive and sublime, that the world stood still to listen.” meditative cast of our own. Few poems could be pointed Although, in the poetry of Burns, there are abundant out in which so much point, rare wit, and brilliancy, have traces of that stern force and strong passion with which been employed with so little effect. The whole poem is we have been of late rather too familiar, the general tone a long epigram, a string of hyperboles. It is precisely of the poetry of the eighteenth century may be described such a work, indeed, as we should expect to be produced as quiet and contemplative. But the great and terrible by a person naturally of a cheerful turn of mind, putting events which darkened its close, exciting the minds of men on, for the sake of effect, the garb of melancholy, and mis- throughout Europe, introduced into the literature of all anthropy, and weariness of existence; and composing, as nations a spirit of restlessness and doubt, a love of strong he is said to have done, by the light of a candle stuck into agitation and stimulus, which either manifested themselves a human skull. It has the worst points of Lord Byron’s in a longing retrospection and veneration for the past, or in manner, without the earnestness and verity of that feeling wild discontent with the present, and delusive visions of the of weariness of the world which speaks throughout Childe future. This tendency appears in the publication of our Harold. ancient ballads, and the enthusiastic admiration which Gi Gray, in the delicacy, the classical neatness, and polish of their rough vigour, their simple pathos, and their spirithis verses, is closely associated with the writers of the age stirring pictures of love or war awakened; in the undisof Anne. There is no doubt a certain wTant of ease and criminating republication and study of our older dramatists spontaneity about Gray; his inspiration seems to flow slow- of the school of Shakspeare, and our lyrical poets of the ly ; he rises with compulsion and laborious flight. His period which immediately followed; in the popularity and poetical fire seems often cold and phosphorescent; but he influence which the works of Goethe and Schiller, stamped has a fine sensibility to the beautiful and sublime, a mind with the character of the time, immediately obtained, when richly stored with the beauties of the classical and Italian introduced to us through the means of wretched translapoets, and he has combined his ideas of invention and recol- tions ; and in that mixture of scepticism, moody disconlection in a mosaic of singular delicacy and compactness. tent, and wild enthusiasm which had been painted in such Be ae, jn the Minstrel of Beattie, some of the features of mo- gloomy and forcible colours in the Werther, the Faust, and dern poetry become discernible, in its stronger sympathy the Robbers. with nature; nay, even in the general idea of the poem, On the poetry of the present century, however, we do not which describes the solitary growth of a romantic and poeti- intend to enter at all. Many of its most distinguished writers r cal spirit, and which possesses high merits as a sw eet pic- are yet alive; and we are still too near to others to enable ture of still life, and a vehicle of unobtrusive morality. us to appreciate their merits with calmness or impartiality. Cd per. But the complete transition from the artificial style of We shall merely remark, that the leading directions which the writers of Queen Anne, to that which characterized poetry has taken during that period seem reducible to the poetry of the opening of the present century, first ap- three: The chivalrous poetry of Scott and his school, the pears visible in Cowper; wdio, throwing aside the trammels taste for which has in a great measure disappeared; the of artificial refinement, and the imaginary requisites of a glocmy and sceptical, but most forcible, and occasionally conventional poetical diction and classical imagery, ven- touching poetry of Byron, which may be said to have extured to write as he thought, with the force and freedom pired with the great original; and, lastly, the contemplaof an older and a better time. In no poet of the last cen- tive and philosophical poetry of Wordsworth, the better tury did a more vigorous and original cast of mind present parts of which are animated by a natural tenderness, and itself; and to no poet are we more indebted for awakening sustained by a moral grandeur, of which the others canthat freer and more forcible spirit, that poetry of the heart not boast, and which, though its influence over the publicrather than the head, which has formed the marking fea- mind has been more gradual, promises to maintain a more ture of our own times. His satirical and didactic poems, enduring popularity than either. Crabbe and Campbell though abounding with wit, and animated by the eloquence alone seem to have been but little influenced by the geof conviction, are indeed deformed by many defects, both of nius either of Scott, Byron, or Wordsworth, and to have indifferent poetry and bigotry of opinion; but in his descrip- pursued an independent course. In the other poets of the tive poetry, in his charming pictures of in-door life, his nineteenth century, the influence of one or other of these summer and winter landscapes (so different from Thom- master-minds, and sometimes of more than one, is too son’s, by their minute detail), in those bursts of inspiration prominent and palpable to be mistaken. (w. w. w. w.)

P O I P O I 174 consequence in the island, whilst in point of trade it ranks Point Poggio POGGIO Bracciolini, a man of great parts and learn- next to Columbo. The petlah or native town is extensive, Gordwa ! ing, who contributed much to the revival ot letters in4|u_ Point de rope, was born at the little town of Terranova, near hlo- and enclosed with a wall, and the houses are superior to Galle. , ence, in 1380. His first public employment was that ot those at Trincomalee. It has a good and spacious harr bour, especially the outer road ; whilst the inner harbour writer of the apostolic letters, which he held for ten years, is secure during a great part of the year, but the egress after which he was made apostolic secretary, and in that ca- is not so easy, as it requires the wind from a particular pacity he officiated, under seven popes, for a period ot torty quarter to carry the vessels out. During the season when years. In 1453, when he had attained the age of seventy- the roadstead from Columbo is unsafe, ships frequently two, he accepted the employment of secretary to the repub- wait at Point de Galle till their cargoes are ready. The lic of Florence, and he died in 1459. Poggio visited seve- fortress stands very high, but is much out of repair ; and not ral countries, and searched many monasteries to recover an- above six families reside in it constantly, except when the cient authors, numbers of which he brought to light. His homeward-bound fleet is assembled there, when a much own works consist of moral pieces, orations, letters, and a greater number is collected. There is no regular rainy seahistory of Florence from 1350 to 1455, which is the most son at Point de Galle ; but being open to both monsoons, it considerable of them all. In 1802, the Rev. Dr Shepherd has more rain than the continent of India. The shore, both published, in one volume quarto, a Life of Poggio, contain- to the westward and in the vicinity of the port, is lined with ing much curious information in literary history. rocks ; and it is therefore advisable to keep in twenty-five POGGY Islands. See Nassau Isles. POGROMNAIA RECA, a small river of Asiatic Rus- fathoms till near the entrance into the harbour. The exports are cinnamon, cardamums, arrack, oil, salt fish, and sia, in the district of Nertschinsk. It has on its banks a cotton. Fisheries are carried on to a considerable extent. spring of mineral water, which is successfully employed in Cinnamon is also grown, but not to such an extent as about the cure of several diseases. Columbo. Near the fort is a colony of Chinese, established POICTIERS. See Poitiers. by government as gardeners for The purpose of raising vePOINT, a term used in various arts. getables, in which they have at length succeeded, and have Point, in Grammar, is a character used to mark the di- also thriving plantations of sugar-cane. At Billegam, about visions of discourse. A point proper is what is otherwise twenty miles south-east from Point de Galle, is a celebrated called a. period ox full stop. See Punctuation. temple, in which is a recumbent figure of Buddha. Point, in Geometry, according to Euclid, is that which Buddhist There is also a gigantic four-handed figure of Vishnu, of a has neither parts nor magnitude. Point, in Music, a mark or note anciently used to dis- dark colour ; and the walls are covered with painted figures tinguish the tones or sounds. Hence we still call it simple of Buddha. In a corner is another figure seated on a cocounterpoint, when a note of the lower part answers exactly bra de capella snake coiled up, the hood of which forms a over his head. Point de Galle was occupied by the to that of the upper ; and figurative counterpoint when any canopy in 1517, and taken from them by the Dutch in note is syncopated, so that one of the parts makes several Portuguese notes or inflections of the voice, whilst the other holds on 1640. It came into the possession of the British in 1796. It is sixty miles south from Columbo. Long. 80. 15. E. 6. N. • A point is still used to raise the value of a note, and pro- Lat. POINT GORDWAR, a low point of land which prolong its time by one half. Ihus a point added to a semibreve, instead of two minims, makes it equal to three ", and jects into the Bay of Bengal, at the mouth of the Godavery River. The sea breaks heavily over it. Long. 82. 17. E. so of the other notes. . „ Point, in Astronomy, a term applied to certain points or Lat. 16.48. N. POINT PEDRO, a town on the northern extremity ot places marked in the heavens, and which are distinguished the island of Ceylon. Long. 80. 25. E. Lat. 9. o2. N. by proper epithets. POINTING, in Grammar, the art of dividing a disThe four grand points or divisions of the horizon, namecourse by points into periods and members of periods, in orly, the east, west, north, and south, are denominated the der to show the proper pauses to be made in reading, and cardinal points. The zenith and nadir are the vertical points; the points to facilitate the pronouncing and understanding thereof. POINTS, in Heraldry, are the several parts of an esin which the orbits of the planets cut the plane of the ecliptic are called the nodes ; the points in which the equator cutcheon, denoting the local positions of any figure. Points, in Electricity, are those acute terminations ot and ecliptic intersect are called the equinoctial points ; that bodies which facilitate the passage of the electrical fluid whence the sun ascends towards the north pole being called the vernal point', and that by which he descends to the to or from such bodies. POINTY, a town of Bengal, in the district of Mongier, south pole the autumnal point. The points of the ecliptic, delightfully situated on the south bank of the Ganges, in where the sun’s ascent above the equator, and descent below it, terminate, are called the solstitial points ; the former the view of the Rajemahl Flills, in a country abounding in being the estival or summer point, and the latter the brumal game. Long. 87. 26. E. Lat. 25. 20. N. POISON, any substance which, acting on living boor winter point. Point is also used to signify a cape or headland jutting dies in small quantities, occasions serious disturbance of out into the sea. Thus seamen say two points of land are their functions, and may cause death. I he science which in one another when they are in a right line against each treats of poisons is termed toxicology. Poisons have been known from remote antiquity; but other, so that the innermost is prevented from being seen the notions entertained of their effects were generally fanby the outermost. Point, in Perspective, is used for various poles or places, ciful and vague, so that it is often impossible now to discover what the poisons of the ancients really were. In with regard to the perspective plane. Point, in Poetry, denotes a lively brisk turn or conceit, modern times a great addition has been made to our knowledge of them, both as regards their number and their acusually found or expected at the close of an epigram. PoiNT-Plank, in Gunnery, denotes the shot of a gun tion ; and it is only within the last thirty years that the levelled horizontally, without either elevating or depressing nature and the varieties of their action have been studied scientifically and with success. the muzzle of the piece. The number of poisonous substances now known is very POINT DE GALLE, a seaport and fortified town on the south-western point of Ceylon, reckoned the third in great, and there can be no doubt that very many still re-

P O I >ison. main to be discovered, equally in the mineral, the animal, " and the vegetable world, but more especially among vegetables. Numerous, however, as they are, they present many remarkable agreements in their effects or actions, so as to admit of convenient classification. Some poisons produce no other effects besides what depend on the local injury they give rise to. Of these, some produce by their chemical properties absolute destruction of the textures to which they are applied; and the result depends less on the nature of the injury, than on the importance of the injured texture, and its sympathetic connection with other parts of the body. The mineral acids, such as sulphuric and nitric acid, and the mineral alkalis, potash or soda, are the best examples of this kind. Others, again, of those which act locally alone, produce inflammation, but not chemical destruction, where they are applied; and all the ordinary effects of inflammation may ensue ; of which gamboge and colocynth are good illustrations. The action of the former description of local poisons does not differ essentially from that of mechanical injuries of the same textures; the action of the latter is almost identical with that of the natural causes of inflammation. A third description of local poisons merely produce a peculiar impression on the nerves of the part to which they are applied, without either destroying or inflaming its texture. But there is no pure instance of the kind yet known ; all such poisons likewise act otherwise than locally. Opium and prussic acid are examples. Other poisons, and these by far the most numerous, act upon remote organs and textures, on parts to which they are not, nay, cannot be, directly applied ; and the effects of this kind are often developed without any appreciable signs of a direct local action. There is scarcely an important organ in the body which may not be brought thus under the influence of some poison or another. The brain is very often so affected, as by opium, belladonna, prussic acid, and charcoal fumes. The stomach and intestines are also frequently affected indirectly, as by arsenic. The spine is affected by nux-vomica, the kidneys and bladder by cantharides, the lungs by tartar-emetic, the heart by oxalic acid, the liver by manganese, the salivary organs by mercury, and many of the glands by iodine. Many poisons possess the property of acting on a great number of organs in this remote or indirect way, of which arsenic and mercury are perhaps the most remarkable instances. Arsenic introduced by the skin has been known to act on the stomach, intestines, kidneys, heart, the lining membrane of the eyes, nose, windpipe, and vagina, the nerves of voluntary motion, and the skin at a distance from its place of application. Physiologists are still in doubt through what channel these remote effects are produced,—some believing that the poison is carried in substance with the blood from the organ to which it is applied, into the parts on which it acts; others, that the operations are merely nervous, and consist of the transmission of certain local impressions along the nerves which communicate between one organ and another ; and others, that both modes of action may exist, even for the same, and still more for different, poisons. Two facts, however, are clearly established, whatever theoretical deductions may be drawn from them ; first, that very many poisons do enter the blood, and may be detected there ; and, secondly, that these never enter except in very minute proportion, so that, unless very delicate tests are known for them, they may readily escape detection. It seems not improbable that some poisons are deposited by a species of election in particular organs ; but of course their presence in the blood will give them access more or less almost everywhere, since there are few organs not traversed by bloodvessels, and minutely injected with blood. The greater number of poisons produce their peculiar effects, through whatever texture they are introduced into

SON. 175 the body. The effects of local poisons depend, as was Poison. stated already, on the texture to which they are applied;' v— but the far more numerous denomination of poisons which act remotely, exert that action, to whatever part they are applied, provided they fairly enter the body. They enter the sound skin with extreme difficulty, unless in the form of gas or vapour, or with the aid of friction. But they act energetically through the surface of the true skin stripped of its cuticle, through the cellular texture under the skin, through the soft mucous membrane which lines the mouth, nose, ears, stomach, intestines, windpipe, and organs of generation, through the firm serous membranes which line the interior of the belly and chest, and also when introduced directly into the blood-vessels, more especially into the veins. I hey generally act with greatest energy when injected into the blood directly, or when introduced into the serous cavity of the chest or belly; but if they operate in very minute doses, their effects are scarcely less prompt when simply thrust into a fresh wound, or under the skin; and there is no way in which they exert their action with more swiftness and energy, than when inhaled into the lungs, provided they assume the form of gas or vapour. For the most part their activity is greatest when applied to organs and textures where absorption is most prompt. The action of poisons is greatly modified by an infinite variety of collateral circumstances, without a thorough knowledge of which toxicology cannot be well understood, either as a branch of physiological science, or in its practical bearings on medical practice, as well as medical jurisprudence. These modifying circumstances cannot be accurately laid down here, but the most important are the following': quantity or dose, chemical or mechanical form, the texture directly acted on, habit, and peculiarity of constitution, either natural or induced by disease. By all of these causes the effects of poisons may not merely be altered in degree, but likewise even modified in kind, or entirely neutralized. 1. Most substances which are poisonous in moderate doses, are innocuous in small quantity; but some are amazingly energetic even in very minute quantities,—such as prussic acid or strychnia, the active principle of nux-vomica, either of which may prove fatal to a man in favourable circumstances in the dose of one grain,—or still more the poisonous secretion of venomous snakes, or the secretions of the human body in some diseased states, which will prove fatal in quantities inappreciably small if introduced into a wound. 2. As to mechanical form, poisons must be, or must become, either gaseous or liquid before they act; mixture and dilution weaken their activity, though there are exceptions to this rule; and some, which are rather insoluble, such as arsenic, are rendered nearly inert when mixed with insoluble powders of great tenuity, such as charcoal, magnesia, and the like. 3. Chemical changes materially affect their actions ; corrosives becoming innocuous by neutralization, purely local irritants being thereby much enfeebled, and all of them being rendered more feeble, or even inert, if they are converted into substances insoluble in the secretions of the textures to which they are applied. Poisons that act through the blood on remote organs are little influenced by chemical changes, except in so far as their solubility is affected ; a very important general principle, which ought never to be overlooked in the search for antidotes. Arsenic, mercury, prussic acid, opium, and numberless other poisons, are almost equally active in all their chemical combinations, provided they continue soluble. 4. The effect of the texture acted on in modifying the influence of poisons has been already adverted to. As examples of this, it may be mentioned that prussic acid has little or no effect through the sound skin, nor snake-poison when swallowed; and that strychnia, the active principle of nux-vomica, has no effect through the skin, while one or two grains might prove fatal if swallowed, and a third of a

POISON. 17G Poison, grain would probably kill a man in a few minutes if inject- skin, mouth, throat, intestines, and so forth,—and at other Poison. f ;(. ed in a state of solution into a wound, into the cavity ot the times of organs at a distance from their place of applichest, or into a vein. 5. Habit weakens the effects of many cation, such as the stomach, intestines, kidneys, bladder, poisons, as in the familiar instances of opium and ardent lungs. And the symptoms they produce are those incispirits, of which ten or twenty times what is sufficient to dental to inflammation generally, grouped, however, in so prove fatal in ordinary circumstances may be taken with peculiar a manner, either in order, kind, or complexity, as in impunity by those who have long used them. Mineral poi- many instances to distinguish the cause which occasions sons are less under the influence of this modifying circum- them from any natural cause of inflammation. Many substance than vegetable poisons; and of the latter those are stances arranged among irritants produce effects which would most influenced which act chiefly upon the brain. It is also associate them with the class of narcotics ; but still invery difficult to account for the varying effect of habit on flammation and irritation are their leading consequences. the energy of vegetable poisons. Strychnia, for example, The narcotics comprise principally opium, prussic acid, the the active principle of nux-vomica, seems altogether ex- volatile oils of bitter almond, cherry-laurel, and other drucluded from the modifying effect of habit; while another paceous plants; henbane, thorn-apple, deadly nightshade, principle, analogous in elementary composition and in che- and certain poisonous gases, such as carbonic acid, carbonic mical properties, morphia, the active principle of opium, oxide, carburetted hydrogen, cyanogen, sulphuretted hydromay through habit be taken without injury in a dose fifteen gen. These agree in acting either upon the brain, or upon times as great as what might in ordinary cases prove fatal. the spinal marrow, or upon both these parts of the nervous 6. Peculiarity of constitution commonly operates in render- system at once. The symptoms thus arising are stupor ing the body more than usually sensible to the action of and coma, delirium, convulsions, paralysis, with a great vapoisons, as in the case of opium, mercury, and cantharides, riety of less important yet often very significant phenomena. medicinal doses of w hich act with poisonous violence on When coma is the chief result, the brain is considered to some. In a fewr instances original peculiarity deadens the be chiefly acted on ; when convulsions or paralysis occur activity of certain poisons, and this is observed still more without stupor or coma, the spinal marrow must alone sufremarkably during the constitutional state of certain dis- fer ; and where both sets of phenomena present themselves, eases, such as hydrophobia, locked jaw, mania, delirium tre- it is probable that the whole nervous system partakes more mens, and excessive loss of blood. In some constitutions or less of the injury. The narcotico-acrids comprehend substances not injurious to mankind generally produce all hemlock and other deleterious plants of the family Umbelthe phenomena of poisoning. Thus there is scarcely any liferse, black and w’hite hellebore, meadow-saffron, fox-glove, article of food or drink, except the great staple commodi- ipecacuan, nux-vomica, cocculus indicus, camphor, poisonties, beef, mutton, and the simple kinds of bread, which are ous fungi, and all ethereal and alcoholic fluids, besides many not at times observed to act poisonously on some people. others of less note, or not so familiar. It is difficult someBut the most remarkable substances of the kind are red times to separate the individuals of this class from the narfish, shell-fish, mushrooms, bitter almonds in small quantity, cotics on the one hand and the irritants on the other. But for the most part they produce in different circumstances and eggs. CkssificaIt has been stated that poisons are exceedingly nume- either narcotism or inflammation alone, or both conjunctly, tion. rous, but that they possess only a limited number of ac- and that either simultaneously or in succession. It may be well to illustrate these statements by a brief Examples ; tions. As these aciions consist of derangement of the funcof the ri ‘ *i f tions of certain organs and textures of the body, it follows sketch of the effects of a few familiar or interesting species that the outward signs of these derangements must be cir- belonging to each class. The purest examples of irritant poisons are the strong cumscribed within certain bounds, and that many poisons must agree with one another in producing the same, or mineral acids and alkalis, namely, sulphuric, nitric, and nearly the same, outward signs. This general fact consti- muriatic acids, and potash and soda. These, when applied to tutes the basis of the most approved classification. For- the external parts of the body for a sufficient length of time, merly physiologists endeavoured to arrange poisons accord- cause corrosion and consequent destruction ; and life may ing to certain theoretical notions of their nature, or accord- be thus brought into imminent danger, either from the exing to certain mysterious properties imputed to them ; and tent of the injury and the consequent sympathetic derangesubsequently most were content with distributing them in ment of the vital functions, or from a variety of less direct three classes, according to the kingdom of nature whence or incidental disorders. Of such a course of things the they happen to be derived. Every classification, however, public in this country have lately had too many illustrashould have some practical bearing; and as the most im- tions, resulting from the execrable crime of throwing sulportant objects in the present instance are the decision of phuric acid over the person. When swallowed, the strong the question of poisoning in a general sense, the discovery mineral acids and alkalis sometimes act in a great measure of the particular poison, and the treatment of its effects, on the throat and gullet, more frequently on the stomach these points ought to be invariably kept in view. With and intestines. In the former case there is instant and horthis understanding, the best classification is obviously that rible sense of burning in the mouth, throat, and neck, erucwhich is founded on the external signs of poisoning, that tation of acid matter, often bloody, or mixed with dark is, the grouping of the symptoms produced by each. Such masses, excessive tenderness of the injured parts, incapabiis the basis of all the most esteemed modern arrangements. lity of swallowing, difficult, husky breathing; and the sufThe whole wonderful multiplicity of poisons, when thus ferer may either die suffocated, or from the depressing symviewed, may be considered as either exciting irritation in pathetic impression produced on the heart; or he may surparticular organs, or disordering the functions of the brain vive for a length of time, perishing, however, miserably in and spinal marrow, or as uniting both these properties. The the end, from stricture of the gullet and starvation, or he first are called irritants, the second narc.otics, the third nar- may recover after the discharge of more or less of the lining cotico-irritants, or more usually narcotico-acrids. The ir- membrane of the throat, and a tedious and precarious conritants comprise chiefly the free acids and free alkalis, with valescence. Where the stomach and intestines are acted many of their compound salts, several earths with their salts, on by the acids or alkalis, there is in general violent vomitmany compounds of the metals, acrid vegetables, and acrid ing, often of blood, and, especially after swallowing anything animal substances. These all agree in producing, as their burning pain in the pit of the stomach, extending over the principal phenomenon, destruction or inflammation, some- belly, with excessive tenderness and eventually swelling, times of the part to which they are applied, such as the frequently profuse purging and gripes, and extraordinary

POISON. 177 prostration of the pulse and of the strength; and the issue kind called burning pain—and with excessive depression of Poison, may be either recovery, more or less prompt, or far more the action of the heart; and death may ensue either in a'— generally death, at times from the sympathetic depression few hours from the derangement of the function of the heart, of the heart and general system, more rarely from gradual or more slowly from extensive injury of the cellular tissue, exhaustion, occasioned partly by constant irritation, partly which terminates in gangrene. Of the phenomena produced by the narcotics, the purest by inanition, on account of extensive injury of the internal membrane of the stomach,—on which digestion, probably, in and most familiar example is to be found in the eftects of a great measure depends for its integrity. These pheno- opium. This drug produces a great variety of interesting mena are purely the results of local corrosion and irritation. nervous phenomena when taken in small medicinal doses. No remote phenomena arise except exhaustion of the heart, AVhen taken in a poisonous dose, it first occasions languor, from sympathy with the local injury ; in particular, there is giddiness, weakness, and drowsiness, afterwards deep sleep, no disturbance of the function of the brain, spine, or nerves, attended in general with complete repose, soft, slow breathexcept what arises simply from exhaustion of the circulation. ing, and highly contracted pupils, and then profound coma, The "most remarkable of all the irritants for subtilty and va- or insensibility, which cannot be dispelled by any stimulants, riety of action conjoined is arsenic. It is not, however, an and which usually proves fatal if it be permitted to be fully absolutely pure irritant; for, though irritation of a multi- formed. In particular cases these symptoms are varied with farious nature is its most prominent result, it also disturbs delirium in the early stage, and convulsions in the advanced the functions of the nervous system. When applied for stage; but such deviations from the ordinary rule are rare. some time to the surface of the body, denuded of the Uelladonna, or deadly nightshade, is another narcotic which scarf-skin, it kills the part to some depth ; at least a por- produces eftects somewhat different. Its berries, which are tion is thrown olf by the process of sloughing, showing sometimes eaten by mistake by children and other ignorant either that the part had been killed, or that inflammation is people, although they have a mawkish and by no means seproduced, of a kind which leads to its death. Both in this ductive taste, occasion in the first instance a singular state manner, and with much greater certainty if it is applied to of very active delirium, in which the individual performs a a fresh wound, or introduced into any of the external open- series of incoherent and extravagant acts with much vivaings of the body, or injected in solution into the cavity of city, or falls into the condition of somnambulism; and after the chest or belly, it excites irritation and inflammation, some hours this is succeeded by a state of deep sopor or coma, not merely where it touches, but likewise in various distant as from opium, though more frequently intermingled with organs. The stomach and intestines suffer the most inva- convulsions than in the case of that drug. Death is someriably, giving rise to violent vomiting, especially of all ar- times the result, and would be more frequent were it not ticles swallowed, burning pain in the bowels, tenderness, that the precursory stage of active delirium often leads to griping, purging, and excoriation of the anus. The kid- the discovery of the offending cause, and its removal by fit neys, bladder, and organs of generation, are also often af- treatment. Prussic acid, another pure narcotic, which is fected, causing strangviry, suppression of urine, pains in the now almost as familiar as opium among poisons, rivals them loins, tenderness in the lower belly, &c. The lining mem- all in subtilty and rapidity of action. Small animals, such brane of the air-passages likewise frequently partakes in the as rabbits, have been killed with it in the brief space of four injury, as is indicated by hoarseness, cough, difficult breath- seconds. A single drop has killed a cat in half a minute, and ing, expectoration, and deep-seated pain in the chest. Not one grain, or about four drops, has repeatedly proved fatal unfrequently the investing membrane of the nostrils and to man within three quarters of an hour. These statements .mouth 1 presents signs of derangement, such as redness, apply to the pure acid, which is seldom seen; but the comaphtha , and constant discharge. These symptoms are mon acid of the shops, which is used in medicine, is equally also generally attended with extraordinary depression of energetic in larger doses; and so are the distilled waters and the action of the heart, which is the most frequent cause of essential oils of the bitter almond, peach-kernels, cherrydeath ; and this sometimes forms the only prominent effect, laurel leaves, rowan-tree root, and apple-seeds, which all the sufferer dying in a few hours, with scarcely any other owe their poisonous qualities to the same cause. The eftects symptom but mortal faintness. Recovery may take place produced by all these poisons are immediate, dreadful alarm, even though the complicated effects which have been de- giddiness, and hurried breathing, speedily followed by conscribed may have been developed. But after these primary vulsions, insensibility, one or two fits of deep convulsive redisorders have disappeared, there are important secondary spiration, and death. The narcotic gases act very much in the risks to be encountered, such as dropsy, gradual emacia- same manner with opium, as is well exemplified by the fumes tion from constant disturbance of digestion, and, above all, of burning charcoal, and other forms of carbonic acid. AVhen epilepsy, palsy, and other affections characteristic of an ac- in a pure or concentrated state, carbonic acid extinguishes tion upon the nervous system. Of the symptoms thus in- life immediately, in part by suffocation, on account of the exdicating a narcotic action, the most pointed and most re- clusion of respirable air, and partly by its narcotic operation. markable are epileptic convulsions and local partial palsy. But when breathed in a diluted state, as in an ill-ventilated To these illustrations of the phenomena of internal poison- mine, or in a confined chamber heated by charcoal, it ining produced by the irritants, it may be well to add a short duces giddiness, fulness of the features, ringing in the ears, sketch of the very striking effects produced by many of them gradually increasing stupor, and at length profound insenas external poisons, when they have been introduced into sibility, commonly attended with lividity of the face, glisthe substance of the skin or its subjacent cellular tissue, tening of the eyes, and occasional convulsions, which often through a wound. Of poisons of the kind now alluded to prove fatal, and always if not speedily relieved by fresh air the most familiar are snake-poison, and the fluids of the dead and other suitable treatment. The narcotico-acrids may be exemplified by a great vahuman body after certain diseases or in some peculiar unknown state; but similar effects are also produced by many riety of well-known and powerful poisons. Hemlock, which acrid vegetables. The affection produced is diffuse inflam- is believed to have been a familiar poison for more than two mation of the cellular tissue, so called because it diffuses thousand years, but whose effects are very generally misitself rapidly along that texture, without any tendency to understood, ought scarcely to be arranged in this class, become circumscribed, as in ordinary inflammation similarly where it is commonly placed. Its irritant properties are seated. It is attended with some puffy elevation and ten- very ill defined. But it is a powerful and very remarkable derness of the skin over the inflamed part, but not always narcotic, and its active principle, named coma, is scarcely with redness—with pain, not always acute, usually of that inferior to prussic acid in celerity of operation, or in the VOL. XVIII.

POISON. 178 Poison, smallness of its dose. It seems to act by paralyzing the above will convey some idea of the objects of which it treats, Poison, -‘'•v—'' muscles of voluntary motion and of respiration, without af- more especially as a branch of physiology. Farther details fecting the brain; and the symptoms are weakness of the on the subject at large seem uncalled for. But there are limbs, gradually pervading the rest of the body, and termi- two departments which may be enlarged on with some adnating in loss of the power of motion, while at the same time vantage, namely, the Evidence of poisoning, and the Treatthe respiration, at first laborious, gradually becomes more and ment of the effects of poisons. Poisoning, both criminal more circumscribed and slower, till at length it ceases, the and accidental, has become so common and so notorious in heart all the while acting vigorously, and the sensation con- recent times, that there are probably few persons who have tinuing unaffected. A better instance of a narcotico-acrid not turned their thoughts to these two branches of the subpoison is nux-vomica, and its principle strychnia. These ject ; and it is desirable for many reasons that correct views are counterparts in action to hemlock and conia. I hey should be entertained of them, even by unprofessional perpowerfully stimulate the spinal marrow, producing violent sons,-—more correct views, at least, than what generally preconvulsions, like those which attend locked jaw or tetanus, vail. Till a very recent date, most erroneous notions were en- Evidence, and without impairing the sensibility. The first symptoms are restlessness, undefinable uneasiness, and alarm, speedi- tertained, alike by the vulgar as by scientific men, of the ly followed by fits of stiffness of the jaw and neck, and then evidence of poisoning. Proofs of the most unsubstantial by violent paroxysms of muscular contraction, in which the kind were considered infallible tests of death by poison; limbs and arms are extended, the features hideously distort- and, under the authority of grievous professional error, we ed, and the head, body, and legs bent backward forcibly; now know that courts of law must have sanctioned many a and the third or fourth fit commonly proves fatal. Strych- judicial murder. It is not uninteresting to trace these dognia, the source of these dreadful effects, is on a par with mas of antiquity, abandoned as they now are by the scienprussic acid and conia in energy ; for a third of a grain will tific, still obstinately adhered to by the unprofessional world kill a wild boar in ten minutes, and one grain properly ad- as articles of popular belief, and leading, as of old, to conministered would certainly kill a man in half that time. So stant blunders, which it is now the business and glory of far this genus of poisons acts like the narcotics; but, in the toxicologist to check, whilst it was formerly his fate to frequent instances, where the narcotic symptoms pass away, foster and give effect to them. The evidence of poisoning cannot be thoroughly underthey are succeeded by the signs of inflammation in the stomach and intestines, namely, pain, vomiting, purging, stood in all its bearings, without a minute knowledge of the and swelling of the belly, which affection, too, may prove multifarious phenomena produced by all ordinary poisons t fatal. Such irritant effects, however, are rare, perhaps be- and, in judicial cases, it is in the end viewed commonly in cause in the great majority of cases, death is brought about reference to the supposed administration of a particular in the early stage by narcotism. A better example still of substance. It would be out of place to attempt embracing a narcotico-acrid is fox-glove. A most valuable and safe this wide field here. All which can be ventured on is a medicine in small doses, this plant nevertheless acts as a view of the evidence of poisoning in a general sense, that very dangerous poison in large doses; and it sometimes is, without reference to any special poison,—a topic of great produces in the same case both deep coma with convul- interest in relation to the first suspicions and earliest invessions, and likewise profuse diarrhoea, with tormina and ten- tigation of supposed cases of poisoning, whether criminal derness of the abdomen, while at the same time it occa- or accidental. The evidence of poisoning in this compresions suppression of urine, and extreme depression of the hensive sense is derived from symptoms, from appearances action of the heart. By far the most characteristic illustra- in the dead body, from experiments on animals, from certions, however, of the narcotico-acrid poisons are to be found tain moral circumstances, and from chemical analysis. in the deleterious fungi, or poisonous mushrooms as they 1. The symptoms are naturally the first particulars to are sometimes called. These differ from most other poi- attract attention and excite suspicion. They were once sons in their effects being often put off (though to this thought adequate to decide singly any question of poisonrule exceptions exist) for several hours, apparently because ing. Now we know that natural diseases imitate so closetime must be allowed for the digestion of substances on the ly the phenomena of poisoning, that the symptoms will whole difficult of digestion. The effects are singularly va- rarely yield more than presumptive, and only in* rare and rious ; for it has been often observed, that among a num- very peculiar circumstances, absolute evidence. There is ber of persons who have partaken of the same poisonous nothing in the kind of symptoms taken generally which stew, some had only giddiness, confusion, delirium, stupor, will distinguish poisoning from certain natural diseases. The coma, and convulsions; while others suffered only from vo- natural diseases, indeed, which imitate the effects of one miting and purging, distension of the belly, tenderness, and great class of poisons, namely, the irritants, are on the whole griping; and a third party were seized at first with the for- rare ; yet they are scarcely less a source of fallacy, at least mer class of symptoms, and on these passing partially off, in judicial cases, where certainty, or something like it, must were attacked severely with the latter. be aimed at. But there are a number of collateral circumBesides the irritant, narcotic, and narcotico-acrid poisons, stances connected with the symptoms, which, if taken tosome writers on the subject admit a fourth class, under the gether, will often supply a very powerful criterion in supname of Morbid poisons, comprising those poisonous secre- posed cases. Thus, in the instance of by far the greater tions which are engendered in the body by disease, and number of poisons, and of almost all which are used for a possess the property of reproducing by contact or inocula- homicidal or suicidal purpose, the symptoms begin soon tion the same disease to which they owed their own pro- after food, drink, or medicine has been taken, commonly duction. The most important of these are hydrophobia, within an hour, often much sooner; and in respect of not the venereal disease, small-pox, and cow-pox. Authors on a few common poisons, such as the mineral acids, mineral toxicology, however, whether physiological or practical, alkalis, hartshorn, prussic acid, oxalic acid, they must comhave generally agreed of late in discarding these from the mence immediately. In general, too, the symptoms begin toxicological system, and in arranging the phenomena of suddenly, advance quickly, and prove speedily fatal. For their action where they are more philosophically placed, the most part they are steady in their progress, exclusive namely, among natural diseases. of the influence of treatment. They are upon the whole In a work like the present, it is not easy to decide how uniform in their nature. And they appear in the great mamuch ought to be introduced of a subject so comprehensive jority of cases abruptly during a state of good health. The as toxicology, or the science of poisons. The sketch given consideration of these characters wall not unfrequently en-

POISON. 179 i( on. able the man of experience to pronounce that suspicions There is, however, a more urgent objection to such expe- Poison, ' which have prevailed of poisoning are wholly unfounded ; riments,—that they involve the consumption for doubtful but, taken singly, they will never justify, on the other hand, evidence of the materials from which decisive evidence may more than a presumption in favour of poisoning. It must be obtained by other means ; for if there is poison enough at the same time be observed, that when these general cha- left to affect sensibly the lower animals, there is amply sufracters are all applicable, and concur with a certain com- ficient for detection by chemical analysis. Accordingly, plicated grouping of the symptoms in particular cases, the express experiments with remains of suspected food, drink, presumption becomes very strong; and when other articles or medicine, are now abandoned by all good authorities in of general evidence are added, the proof may be all but toxicology. 4. There are certain moral circumstances which complete, nay, absolutely so. Such is clearly the state of may also be often taken into account in the evidence of poithe case in not a few instances of poisoning with the mine- soning in a general sense, when viewed as a scientific quesral acids and alkalis, with arsenic, corrosive sublimate, nux- tion, because they cannot be correctly appreciated except by vomica, oxalic acid, prussic acid, alcoholic fluids. 2. The a scientific man, and consequently they belong in some measame confident reliance was long placed in the appearances sure to the scientific or toxicological proof. The chief parof the body after death, as in the symptoms, and with even ticulars are as follows. It may be proved that poison has less reason. The discovery of certain morbid appearances been purchased, of a kind which may produce the sympmay prove poisoning to have been impossible; and yet toms observed. A suspicious article may be proved to even here an opinion should not be formed without reserve, have been administered, either from its taste, or from its because the discovery of the effects of natural disease in having been recommended for properties either absurd in the body, even in an advanced stage, is no absolute proof nature, or such as the pretended article is not thought even of death from that disease. Poison, as in many authentic by unprofessional people to possess, or from a comparative cases, may have been nevertheless administered, and have analysis of the materials for making the suspected article, proved the real occasion of death. But there is never any- showing that something injurious must have been added at thing in the appearances after death which will bear out a a particular time, and by a particular person. It may be general charge of poisoning, as was once universally thought. proved that exacerbations of the symptoms have repeatedly It should be particularly known, that the vulgar prejudice, occurred soon after articles were given in a suspicious manwhich discovers poison wherever the skin becomes unusu- ner. It may be proved that the person poisoned, or a seally livid after death, or wherever the body undergoes cond party under suspicion, exhibited by words or deeds prompt decomposition, is utterly without support from sci- an intention to administer poison, as by assigning impossible entific experience. Nay, in regard to the latter character, properties to what is administered, or by manifestly changevidence has been proved in recent times to be deducible ing medicine which has been prescribed. A highly imporfrom the very opposite condition, or the unusual preserva- tant circumstance is the simultaneous and similar illness of tion of the body from decay, which is now well known to several individuals who have partaken of the same meal, occur in many cases of poisoning with arsenic. There are coupled perhaps wfith the degree of their illnesses concurring certain morbid appearances in the dead body, especially with their respective shares, and probably also united wfith upon the skin, and in the throat, gullet, and stomach, which the escape of others of the same company who did not parwill furnish the strongest presumption, nay, according to take of the meal, or of particular dishes or liquors. Many good authorities, almost absolute proof, of poisoning with other moral circumstances might be here alluded to, by certain substances, for example the mineral acids ; but the which the question of poisoning in a general sense may be details cannot be entered upon here, because a full enume- often materially cleared; but as they do not belong to the ration, and much professional skill, are required for appre- scientific view of the question, either directly or indirectly, ciating precisely their import. 3. Experiments on domes- they may be passed over. 5. The chemical evidence is tic animals, made with suspected articles, were once sup- justly considered the best of all the departments of proof; posed to furnish the best of all evidence ; and this was pro- for it not only establishes poisoning in a general sense, but bably the best evidence to be r had in the days when che- likewise points out the particular poison. 1 here is no demistry and chemical analysis w ere all but unknown. Now, partment of toxicology which has made such amazing prohowever, such experiments are not admitted, either by me- gress in recent times as that of toxicological analysis. A dical or legal authorities, to be of any weight, except under century ago, the search for the remains of poison in susparticular circumstances. They are admissible, and indeed pected dishes, or in the dead body, was scarcely ever atclearly indispensable, for deciding questions in toxicological tempted, and, owing to the ignorance of the chemical prophysiology w'hich may arise during trials. They ought perties of poisons, could not have been successful. Even also to be allowed some weight when they have been ob- no more than five-and-twenty years ago, the method of served accidentally, as, for example, when the remains of analysis was in all cases crude and unsatisfactory, and for suspected articles have been devoured incidentally by do- many poisons good processes continued unknown ; so that mestic animals, especially by a number of them, and above it was no uncommon thing for charges of poisoning to break all by the dog or cat, with the effect of producing in them down, solely on account of the dubious quality of the chesymptoms and appearances after death similar to what were mical evidence. But at present, the proof of poisoning is witnessed in the suspected case in the human subject. The scarcely ever defective in the chemical branch; the eviobjection drawn against such evidence, that the effects of dence of death by poison is usually complete; and how many poisons on the brute creation are different from their can it fail to be so in competent hands, when the chemist effects on man, though fundamentally sound, has been al- can detect in the most complex mixtures the minute quanlowed to operate far too sweepingly in modern times. The tity of a twentieth or fiftieth of a grain of the common poidifferences in respect to many common poisons are by no sons, and when many years of interment frequently cannot means so great as was thought not very long ago ; and withdraw the crime of the poisoner from the keenness of upon two animals, the dog and the cat, the effects of. most his search ? It has been proved by careful experiments, poisons are almost identical with those observed in man, that the mineral acids, arsenic, corrosive sublimate, blue due attention being paid to differences in dose, and to the vitriol, opium and its principle morphia, strychnia the prinsingular facility with which these animals discharge poisons ciple of nux-vomica, cantharides, and other less familiar by powerful early vomiting. But the objection here stated substances, may be discovered in the body of animals poimay be allowed sufficient force to put an end to experi- soned with them, though buried for nine months ; and inments made expressly on animals with suspected articles. stances have occurred of the detection of arsenic in man

180 POISON. Poison, after interment for two, four, and even seven years. It basis of observation, tnat ceitain antidotes, such as vinegar, loisot.| ''■—"'V"'—' does not absolutely follow that death has been occasioned milk, oils, and the like, which are really not amiss in some V^v^,| by poison because poison is found within the body after forms of poisoning, were equally efficacious in all. These ildeath ; for it may have been feloniously introduced after- lusions have been dispelled, even among professional people, wards, for the purpose of falsely imputing poison; or, though only within a very few years ; and among the unprofespoison has been swallowed, death may nevertheless have sional they still have currency. I he clearing away of the arisen either from natural disease, or some other kind of mists of error has been attended with the discovery of violence. Instances of such extraordinary occurrences are many real and most valuable remedies. The improvement absolutely not uncommon, sufficiently so at least to require which has taken place has been owing partly to the imbeing kept always in view. The determination of them provements made in chemistry ; but in this way nothing involves too refined an inquiry to be considered here. On could have been ultimately effected without the aid of phythe other hand, the non-discovery of poison after death is siological experiment, and more especially of experiments still farther from being evidence that death was not oeca- on animals, a method of inquiry, nevertheless, which it has sioned by poison. For many poisons are still undiscover- been too much the practice of an ignoiant or spurious finable by any method of analysis ; others are soon decom- manity to decry. posed within the body after death, such as prussic acid; The treatment of poisoning is directed to three objects, others are quickly absorbed from the stomach during life, the removal of the poison, the administration of an antiso as to prove fatal without leaving any remains behind, as dote, and the cure of the disorders which have been proin many instances of poisoning with opium ; others may be duced. expelled by vomiting, and nevertheless have, in the first in1. ihe first object, in every instance, is the prompt restance, occasioned injury enough to prove fatal, as some- moval of what may remain of the poison. If it had been times happens in the case of arsenic, and very commonly in applied outwardly to a sore or wound, it must be carefully poisoning with mineral acids. It has, however, been made wiped or wrashed away. When introduced deep into or a subject of question, whether the evidence of poisoning can under the skin by a puncture, it is to be withdrawn by sucever be considered as complete, so as to involve a convic- tion with the mouth, and, still better, with a cupping-glass, tion in a criminal case, unless poison be found either in the the efficacy of which is insured, as in the case of snakebody or in the remains of a suspected article which has poison, by a bandage being applied above the wound, so as been swallowed. It appears absurd, however, to insist on to obstruct the return of blood from the veins to the heart, the absolute necessity of such evidence. For were the but without compressing the arteries. Another plan, which poisoner to choose his means skilfully, and avoid over-doses, has been found effectual in the like circumstances, is simhe would, on such principles, almost constantly escape, ply to apply the bandage above the wound, and then to And the best scientific authorities, in the most recent times, open a vein between the wound and bandage, so that the seem inclined to allow that the general evidence, from the poison is drawn from the wound with the blood, and disvarious sources detailed above, may be often so strong as charged outwardly from the orifice in the vein. Someto leave scarcely any scientific doubt of the occurrence of times it is useful to make deep scarifications before applypoisoning; and the conjunction of the circumstances of ing the cupping-glass; yet in this way the bottom of the ordinary evidence may, in a legal sense, entirely remove wound may be missed; and, on the whole, if incisions are what little doubt may have existed of a scientific nature, to be made at all, it seems better to calculate the proAccordingly there have been instances of condemnation bable depth of the wound, and to remove a portion of the lately in this and other countries, where poison could not texture with the knife all around it. The bleeding which be discovered. It may be right to add, that it is most sin- follows commonly effects the discharge of the remaining gular how effectually and how quickly poisons are some- poison ; but some afterwards add the use of an incandestimes removed beyond the reach of analysis by incidental cent iron for cauterizing the whole adjacent parts. I he causes, even those poisons v/hich may be detected in other removal of the poison, when taken internally, may be vacircumstances in extremely minute quantities, and where riously managed. But, first, care must be taken not to the methods of analysis are well understood. Prussic acid attempt its removal wffien nature may have already looked is seldom to be detected if life be prolonged for half an after this step in the treatment, as in the case of profuse, hour, while in the ordinary cases of death in a few minutes and frequent, and full vomiting. All that is necessary it may be discovered with ease. Arsenic, which in the in such circumstances, is to give occasional draughts of great majority of cases adheres obstinately to the stomach, lukewarm water, or milk and water, to render vomiting and may in consequence be detected there though life has easy, and to aid in washing out the stomach. \V hen vobeen prolonged under frequent vomiting for twro days and miting does not occur, or is not free, an emetic ought to upwards, has been known to be removed beyond the reach be promptly given. Whatever is nearest should be first of analysis in the short space of five hours. tried, mustard, for example ; but the most effectual is white Treatment. f he treatment of poisoning, like all other branches of vitriol, in the quantity of a scruple or half a drachm, distoxicology, has, within a few years, been prodigiously im- solved in a large wine-glass-full of water, to be repeated proved. It may be said, indeed, to have been understood in fifteen minutes if necessary. Where the symptoms inonly within the last quarter of a century. In ancient times dicate narcotic poisoning,—for instance, with opium,—it is the notions entertained of the treatment were not less crude essential to keep the person roused after giving the emetic,’ than those formed of the nature and action of poisons, otherwise it will hardly act. Emetics, when they do opeAmong other errors, it was strangely supposed that certain rate, are greatly preferable to the stomach-pump, which counter-poisons existed, w’hich not only possessed the pro- has been of late currently substituted for them. The stoperty of curing the effects of all poisons indifferently, but mach-pump, however, is one of the most important addiwhich likewise, when taken for a length of time, had the tions which have been made to the healing art in modern faculty of impregnating the constitution, and rendering it times. In very many instances of narcotic poisoning no proof against the influence of any poison. Princes and emetics will operate ; and all such cases, till of late, ineviothers often lived thus for years under the care of their tably perished where the quantity of poison was considerphysicians, or protected against their treachery, by being able. The stomach-pump insures the prompt removal of charged with conservative antidotes. After these notions almost all poisons ; so that when used in time recovery is were exploded, other erroneous practices came into vogue; next to certain, where formerly a large majority of cases and, in particular, it was believed to be established on the proved fatal. 2. By all such means, however, the poison

POISON. 181 organs through the medium of absorption, it is not enough Poison, is often but partially removed. Some of it pervades the system ; more of it impregnates the tissues with which it that it be chemically neutralized. For all such poisons act-y-~was in contact, and is ready for absorption ; much of it often as such throughout their soluble compounds; their compasses down into the intestines; occasionally it adheres with pounds act on the whole in proportion to their solubility ; obstinacy to the inner membrane of the stomach, and can- and those only are inert which are insoluble, and insoluble not be dislodged either by emetics or by washing through not merely in water, but likewise in the animal fluids of the means of the stomach-pump. The second object, then, is stomach. Hence oxalic acid and arsenious acid (common to administer an antidote. Antidotes have usually been arsenic) are not neutralized in their physiological actions conceived to be of two kinds. Some, by changing the che- by being neutralized with potash ; prussic acid similarly mical form of poisons, render them inert, and are called che- treated remains as energetic as ever; and the powerful mical antidotes. Others are thought to subdue the morbid vegetable alkaloids, morphia, strychnia, conia, and the like, action of poisons by exciting a counter-action, and are term- instead of becoming inert by neutralization with acids, are ed constitutional antidotes. In ancient times, and likewise rendered positively more active, because they are made more until the recent improvements in toxicology, scarcely any soluble. In the case of every poison, then, it is advantaother antidotes were known, except what belonged to the geous, and in very many it is indispensable, that the chemiconstitutional class. But it is now thought that in correct cal change effected shall be such as to impart to the comlanguage scarcely any such antidote exists. European phy- pound insolubility ; and care should be taken that this insiologists are not acquainted with any decided constitutional solubility shall exist in regard to the natural juices of the antidote for any of the numberless multitude and variety of stomach, which are commonly acidulous. But, thirdly, the poisons now familiar to the scientific. It is very generally antidotal tendency of such chemical remedies, even when believed, however, that savages in all quarters of the world of undoubted virtue, is often counteracted where the poiare in possession of remedies of this nature, more especially son is a fine rather insoluble powder ; for it adheres forcifor the effects of snake-poison. Apparently authentic ac- bly to the inner coat of the stomach, irritates it to throwcounts have been published, of a considerable variety of an- out tough mucus, which covers the powder, and defends it tidotes known to the natives in different parts of North and against the approach of the neutralizing agent. Frequent South America for the bite of venomous snakes. But none instances of such a course of things occur in the case of of these supposed antidotes have been found to stand the poisoning with arsenic. 3. The last object of the treatment test of scientific investigation ; natives who put trust in of poisoning is the cure of the disorders which the poison them have been seen to perish in the usual way; there is has produced. These disorders, since they are substantially no difficulty in accounting for their apparent occasional suc- natural diseases, must be treated as such. But there are cess ; and those who give faith to the marvels of travellers certain circumstances which render them in some measure on the subject ought to consider how very extraordinary peculiar, and consequently modify the treatment. These it would be, if, in every part of the globe where there are are chiefly as follows. Treatment will obviously be of little savages, discoveries of this kind should be made in regard use for such disorders, until what remains of the poison be to their poisons, while, with all the advantages of science removed or rendered inert; and as this object is often unatto aid them in the search, no civilized people have yet tainable, ultimate success is frequently beyond reach. Evacontrived to stumble on a similar discovery in relation to cuation of the poison is in this point of view of primary imany of the innumerable poisons with which they have long portance, as well as for its own sake. In the case of poisonbeen familiar. If constitutional antidotes are still much ing with the irritants, the treatment is often exceedingly wanted, there is no want of excellent antidotes of the che- embarrassing, because it must be simultaneously directed mical class. Some of these act by neutralizing the chemi- towards two opposite ends, the suppression of inflammation cal qualities on which the properties of the poison depend, by evacuating, and consequently debilitating measures, and others by simply rendering the poison insoluble. Thus sul- the removal of depression of the heart and general system phuric acid is rendered inert by magnesia, because it be- by stimulating remedies. These two contrary and incomcomes thereby a neutral salt, soluble, indeed, but no longer patible objects are often the cause why the best treatment capable of corroding the animal textures, or of exciting proves inefficacious. The treatment ot narcotic poisoning violent irritation. In like manner potash is rendered inert, is somewhat differently circumstanced. The remains of the or nearly so, by lemon-juice or vinegar, or, though less poison being removed, there is only the induced disorder to easily, by oil, because it is converted into neutral salts, which combat. These disorders are in the great majority of cases are feebly irritant and not at all corrosive. On the other functional only; that is, no structural injury has been occahand, oxalic acid is rendered inert by magnesia, partly be- sioned. Hence, the offending cause having been withdrawn, cause its corrosive qualities are neutralized by chemical there may be expected to prevail in the constitution a naneutralization, but chiefly because these, in common with tural tendency to throw off the functional disorder,—a tenits not less formidable effects on the nervous system through dency towards recovery. Experience shows that such is absorption, are prevented by a substance resulting which actually the fact. If in narcotic poisoning the remains of is insoluble. So, too, arsenic becomes inert when brought the poison can be removed, and life can be preserved for a thoroughly in contact with the hydrated peroxide of iron, moderate length of time, success is highly probable in a because an insoluble compound is formed, the arseniate of great majority of cases. Thus very few die of poisoning iron. In using and searching for antidotes of the chemical w'ith opium, and perhaps still fewer ought to die in skilful kind, several important general rules should be attended hands, who survive for eighteen hours. In narcotic poisonto. For, first, where a poison is a pure local irritant, des- ing, then, the treatment for subduing the disorders induced titute of action through the blood or remote organs, it is consists mainly in employing, in some instances, sedatives usually sufficient that it be neutralized ; because the result- for subduing irritation of the nervous system, but much ing compound is commonly but a feeble irritant, although more commonly stimulants, for the purpose of keeping the soluble. One condition, however, must be observed, namely, person roused, and in applying various means for supporting that the antidote shall be itself innocuous, otherwise harm artificial respiration where the natural breathing fails. Exmay be done by the antidote before it comes in contact cellent methods for accomplishing the first object are now with the poison, or because it is given in excess. Thus the in familiar use, such as loud talking, agitation of the body, mineral acids are unfit antidotes for neutralizing the mineral injecting water into the ears, tickling the nostrils, dashing alkalis, and the latter for neutralizing the former. But, cold water over the head and shoulders, applying sinapisms secondly, when the poison is of a kind which acts on remote to the calves, blistering the head with boiling water, and

POISON. 182 Poison, internally ammonia, ether, and spirits. But the best method ascertained fact, that some vegetable poisons, and probably Poison; 1 of supporting artificial respiration has not yet been discover- more of them than the physiologist may at present be infrci' ed ; there are practical objections to all the methods yet dined to admit, do not exist ready formed in the plants devised ; and it is only when these shall be perfected, that whence they are obtained, but are produced only when the treatment of narcotic poisoning will be rendered sub-i certain principles, existing naturally apart in distinct restantially superior to what it is at present. It is not un- ceptacles, are brought in contact by mechanical force or likely that galvanism will be found a material part of the chemical manipulations. A remarkable instance in point most efficacious method,—applied, however, not continue is the essential oil of the bitter-almond kernel, or cherryously, as is often practised, but interruptedly, so as not to laurel leaf, which does not exist ready formed, otherwise disturb the alternate contractions and relaxations of the re- it would bq betrayed, like other essential oils, by its powerful odour, but is formed only when certain principles, spiratory muscles. Action on In the preceding observations on the effects and treat- named amygdalin and emulsin, are brought in contact with vegetables. ment of poisoning, poisons have been regarded solely in each other and with water. No poisons are better fitted for illustrating the phenotheir operation on the animal body. But they were defined at the outset as acting on living bodies generally ; mena of poisoning in vegetables, or better deserve the atand upon vegetables their action is not less remarkable tention of physiologists and practical men, than those which than upon animals. This branch of the subject has been are gaseous in their nature. Most of them seem to act in hitherto little studied; but what is already known of it excessively minute quantities and proportions. A tenth seems full of interest both in a physiological and in a prac- part of a cubic inch of muriatic acid gas, which is equivatical point of view. It appears that in a general sense there lent to the twenty-fifth part of a grain by weight, will in no a small plant, although the gas be dilutis a close analogy between the actions exerted by poisons long time destroy r on both divisions of the living world. As there are two ed with tw enty thousand times its volume of air ; and the leading effects produced in animals, so are there two great devastating effects produced on surrounding vegetation by classes of phenomena developed in vegetables, those of irri- all manufactories where this acid is thrown abundantly tation and those of narcotism, or at least of an action close- into the atmosphere, as in the manufacture of black-ash ly analogous. The apparent phenomena of both kinds are and soda from sea-salt, abundantly show that far less proindeed much simpler in vegetable than in animal beings, portions will prove equally deleterious when applied contipartly because the organs and functions of the former are nuously. Sulphurous acid gas acts with nearly as great more simple than those of the latter, partly because physi- intensity. The effect of either of these poisons is simply ologists have not yet ascertained with precision the special to shrivel and wither the leaves and buds, like the action of changes that are induced. Still, however, it is easy to frost in spring ; and the plant will eventually recover if retrace in vegetables the leading effects produced by irri- moved in time from the influence of the noxious agent, but tants and by narcotics respectively, upon animals. The with the loss of its foliage. Other gases, such as sulphuformer occasion partial or general disorganization or death retted hydrogen and cyanogen, produce no visible change of the organs of plants to which they are directly applied, until the leaves begin to bend and droop; after which the and the plant may eventually either recover or perish, ac- drooping quickly extends, till at length the whole plant becording to the extent of the injury or the importance of comes flaccid, so as to present exactly the same appearthe organ injured. The latter seem to act upon the vita- ance as when deprived of moisture ; and it perishes inevility of the plant, without in general producing any marked tably. Some substances which are poisonous to animals are not t change of a local nature, or such as may be referred to a direct impression, at least until the first signs of vital de- poisonous to vegetables. The experiments which have pression appear; and it is commonly observed, that so been made on this subject are neither sufficiently extensive soon as such signs of depression do make their appearance, nor sufficiently exact to warrant any general deductions. however slight they may be, they quickly pervade the whole A very remarkable instance is carbonic acid gas, a small plant, which in consequence perishes irrevocably. The ir- proportion of which in the atmosphere will speedily extinritants appear to act topically, and from without inwards; guish animal life, but which is innocuous to vegetables in i the narcotics act more generally, and from within outwards, almost any proportion, nay, on the contrary, is commonly being probably first absorbed. thought to supply them with aliment. Poisons act upon vegetables, through whatever channel Poisons are by no means without their uses in the eco-Uses. they are introduced, and to whatever organ they are ap- nomy of nature. It is in the first place not improbable that 1 plied, provided the texture be such as to admit of their vegetable poisons serve some purpose in the economy of passage to those parts which are more or less directly the plants which produce them. On this point we are connected with life. The organs through which they act still much in the dark, in consequence of the little advancewith greatest energy are the leaves and the roots. Liquid ment which has been hitherto made in vegetable physiolopoisons act with most energy through the roots ; gaseous gy. But one purpose of the kind seems to be the perpepoisons are probably most energetic when applied to the tuation and extension of such plants, by rendering them J leaves. Partial action is sometimes produced by the topi- unfit for the food of herbivorous animals and frugivorous s cal application of a general or narcotic poison ; thus arsenic birds, which by instinct commonly avoid them. In the introduced into the axilla of a leaf of the dipsacus fullo- case of certain poisons of the animal kingdom, their purnum kills the whole superior part of the plant on the side pose is obviously to preserve the animals which are endowcorresponding with the leaf. Vegetable poisons are not ed with them, by enabling them to destroy their prey and less energetic than mineral poisons. Nay, however extra- their enemies. Another important use to which poisons ordinary it may appear, there seems no question that plants from every kingdom may be applied, is for the treatment t may be promptly killed by their own poisons,—that the of diseases. A very close connection subsists between mepoison produced by a particular species may kill that spe- dicinal and poisonous action. This is sufficiently shown ) cies as readily as it will others, if applied to the root so as perhaps by the undoubted fact, that, with very few exto be absorbed into the nutritive juices. This singular ceptions, our best medicines are active poisons; and, conphenomenon may depend on the poison being secreted and versely, that there are few active poisons which have not [ confined in particular receptacles in the ordinary state of been turned to account as useful medicines. Besides, in I the plant. But another and more intelligible explanation the greater number of instances, the two properties, mediin regard to certain poisons may be drawn from the well- cinal virtue and poisonous influence, are plainly nothing I

P O I Jpon* else than manifestations of the same action, differing mere* ly somewhat in degree, which is well exemplified by most purgatives and emetics, by opium, henbane, prussic acid, and other anodynes, and by counter-irritants, or substances employed for irritating the skin. In other instances, again, where the poisonous and medicinal actions are to appearance different and unconnected, the existence of some relationship between them seems to be pointed out by the activity of the substances as drugs being proportioned to their energy as poisons. Another purpose to which some poisons are applied is for the destruction of the lower animals for the use of man. In most parts of the world, where the primitive habits of mankind have not been materially modified by civilization, poisons of great energy are familiarly employed for the destruction of game, and in some countries also for killing beasts and birds of prey. In civilized countries they have hitherto been used chiefly for the more ignoble purpose of getting rid of vermin. But they are susceptible of far more important applications of the same nature; which, however, have been as yet entirely overlooked. (x. x. x. x.) Poison- Thee of Java, called in the Malayan language Bohun Upas, is a tree which has often been described by naturalists; but its existence has been very generally doubted, and the descriptions given of it, containing much of the marvellous, have been treated as idle fictions. M. Foersch, however, in an account of it, written in Dutch, asserts that it does exist, that he made the most particular inquiries, and that he found it was situated in the island of Java, about twenty-seven leagues from Batavia. The poison procured from the Upas is said to be a gum, issuing from between the bark and the tree, and brought by malefactors who have been condemned to death. But a variety of circumstances conspire to prove that Foersch’s account of the tree is extremely suspicious. Although he had letters of introduction, he went to no con-

POL 183 siderable house, and afterwards withdrew amongst the Eno-- Poitiers fish. The distances given to mark the situation of the tree I are not accurate. The execution of criminals is different Polacre from what he represents. There were no such disturbances in 1775 as those stated by Foersch, the tract to which he alludes having submitted to the Dutch East India Company as early as 1756. And, lastly, the assertions and pretended facts of Foersch are supported by no collateral evidence. Sir George Staunton, during his stay at Batavia, made the most particular inquiries concerning the Upas, but found that the existence of such a tree had never been known thereJ POITIERS, an arrondissement of the department of the Vienne, in France. It extends over 792 square miles, and comprehends ten cantons, divided into 101 communes, and containing 88,600 inhabitants. The capital is the city of the same name, the seat of the departmental government and of the courts of law. It is an elevated spot, almost surrounded by lofty rocks, at the foot of which run the river Elain on the east side, and the river Boivre on the west; both of which streams unite to the north of the city. It is surrounded with ancient u alls, and is built in an antique style and irregular manner. It is the see of a bishop, and has an old cathedral and several other churches, three hospitals, an academy, a lyceum, a public library, 4160 houses, and about 19,500 inhabitants. It is a place of little commerce, chiefly confined to making a few woollen cloths, some hosiery, leather, and distilling brandy. Near to it are some Celtic and some Roman antiquities. It is celebrated for the battle which bears the name of the city, though fought at Beauvoir, between Edward the Black Prince of England, and King John of France, in the year 1356, when the latter was made prisoner. Long. 0. 15. 43. E. Lat. 46. 34. 50. N. POL A, or Otewhei, one of the Navigators’ Islands, in the South Pacific Ocean. Long. 172. 20. W. Lat. 13. 52. S. POLACRE, a ship with three masts, usually navigated in the Levant and other parts of the Mediterranean.

1 In the Edinburgh Philosophical Journal (vol. xii. p. 102) we find the following account of a visit to the Valley of Death, extracted trom a journal ot a tour through the islands of Java and Madara, by Mr A. Loudon, in the year 1830. “ Balor, 3d Jw/ylSSO—This evening, while walking round the village with the Patteh (native chief), he told me that there was a valley oniy three miles from Balor, that no person could approach without forfeiting their lives, and that the skeletons of human beings, an all sorts ot beasts and birds, covered the bottom of the valley. I mentioned this to the commandant, Mr Van Spree wenberg, and proposed that we should go to see it. Mr Daendels, the assistant-resident, agreed to go with us. At this time I did not believe all that the Javanese chief told me. I knew there was a lake close to this, and that it was dangerous to approach too near, but I had never heard of the Valley of Death. “ Balor, 4th Jn/y.^—Early this morning we made an excursion to the extraordinary valley called by the natives Gutvo Upas, or Poisoned Valley, it is three miles from Balor, on the road to the Djienz. Mr Daendels had ordered a footpath to be made from the main road to the valley. We took with us two dogs and some fowls, to try experiments in this poisonous hollow. On arriving at the foot of the mountain, we dismounted and scrambled up the side, about a quarter of a mile, holding on by the branches of trees ; and we were a good deal fatigued before we got up the path, being very steep and slippery from the fall of rain during the night. When within a few yards of the valley, we experienced a strong, nauseous, suffocating smell; but on coming close to its edge, this disagreeable smell left us. ' We were now all lost in astonishment at the awful scene before us. The valley appeared to be about half a mile in circumference, oval, and the depth from thirty to thirty-five feet; the bottom quite flat; no vegetation; some very large (in appearance) river-stones; and the whole covered with the skeletons of human beings, tigers, pigs, deer, peacocks, and all sorts of birds. We could not perceive any vapour or any opening in the ground, which last appeared to us to be of a hard sandy substance. It was now proposed by one of the party to enter the valley; but at the spot where we were this was difficult, at least for me, as one false step would have brought us to eternity, seeing no assistance could be given. We lighted our cigars, and with the assistance of a bamboo, we went down within eighteen feet of the bottom. Here we did not experience any difficulty in breathing, but an offensive, nauseous smell annoyed us. We now fastened a dog to the end of a bamboo, eighteen feet long, and sent him in; we had our watches in our hands, and in fourteen seconds he fell on his back, did not move his limbs or look round, but continued to breathe eighteen minutes. We then sent in another, or rather he got loose from the bamboo, and walked in to where the other dog was lying; he then stood quite still, and in ten seconds he fell on his face, and never afterwards moved his limbs; he continued to breathe for seven minutes. We now tried a fowl, which died in a minute and a half. We threw in another, which died before touching the ground. During these experiments we experienced a heavy shower of rain; but we were so interested by the awful scene before us, that we did not care for getting wet. On the opposite side, near a large stone, was the skeleton of a human being, who must have perished on his back, with the right arm under his head. From being exposed to the weather, the bones were bleached as white as ivory. I was anxious to procure this skeleton, but any attempt to get at it would have been madness. After remaining two hours in this Valley of Death we returned, but found some difficulty in getting out The human skeletons are supposed to be those of rebels who had been pursued from the main road, and taken refuge in the different valleys; as a wanderer cannot know his danger till he is in the valley, and, when once there, he has not the power or ^he presence of mind to return.” Mr Loudon conceives that there is a great difference between this valley and the Grotto del Cane, near Naples. In the Grotto the air is confined to a small aperture, whilst in the valley the circumference is fully half a mile, and not the least smell of sulphur, nor any appearance of an eruption having taken place near it, although the whole chain of mountains is volcanic, and there are two craters which constantly emit smoke, at no great distance from the side of the road at the foot of the Djienz. It thus appears that the story told by Foersch is an entire fabrication, and that the notion of a poison-tree is a pure romance; but, like most fictions, it has a thread of truth interwoven in its texture, some of the circumstances agreeing with those above stated, but at the same time proving that Eoersch had never visited the Valley of Death,

184 S-tory POLAND. Of the transactions of Lech during the time he enjoyed Historj. Poland, a country of Europe, was, in its largest extent, ^ ^ bounded on the north-west by the Baltic Sea, with the ports the sovereignty we have no certain account. Hi§ successor was named Viscimar, and is generally supposed to have of Dantzig, Elbing, Libau, and Windau ; on the north and been the nephew of Lech. He was a warlike and successeast by Muscovy, and the rivers Dwina and Dnieper, forming part of the frontier of the two countries; on the. south ful prince, who subdued many provinces of Denmark, and the city of Wismar, so called from the name of the by the possessions of the Turkish empire, Wallachia and built sovereign. But the Danish historians take no notice of his Moldavia, and Hungary, separated by the Carpathian Mountains ; and on the west by Silesia, and the possessions of the wars with their country, nor do they even mention a prince of this name. duchy of Brandenburg, the present kingdom of Prussia. After the defeat of Viscimar, the nobility were upon the Change ir Before the year 1772, that is, prior to the first partition, of electing a sovereign, when the Tpeople, sufferingtlie the boundaries of Poland were not materially altered. At point under the burdens occasioned by the w ars of Viscimar, that period, the whole territory included under this deno- unanimously demanded another form of government. At mination comprised more than 13,000 square geographical miles, and upwards of 15,000,000 of inhabitants. Except- first the nobility pretended to yield, though with great reing the palatinates of Podolia, some parts of Volhynia, Gal- luctance ; but they afterwards determined on such a form licia, Sandomir, and Cracow, this tract of land presents in of government as threw all the power into their own hands. the greater part one immense plain, where a mountain or Twelve palatines, or vayvodes, were chosen ; and the Poa hill is scarcely to be met with. But in the southern part lish dominions divided into as many provinces. But these of Poland, the ground rises to a certain degree of elevation, palatines exercised a despotic authority within their seveuntil it reaches the chain of the Carpathian Mountains, which ral jurisdictions, and aggravated the misery of the people at one extremity abuts on the Rhine, and at another on the by perpetual wars; wherefore the Poles, worn out with opDanube. The highest summit of this range is the Great pression, resolved to return to their ancient form of governKrapak, the elevation of which has been ascertained to be ment. For this purpose many assemblies were held; but, by reason of the opposition of the vayvodes, they all came to 10,220 feet above the level of the sea. The Poles, considered as a nation, are not of very ancient nothing. At last, however, the people cast their eyes upon date. Prior to the niijth century, they were divided into a one Cracus, whose wealth and popularity had raised him multitude of independent tribes, each governed by its re- to the highest honours amongst his countrymen. Accordspective chief; and, except in cases of invasion, where the ing to the Poles, he was a native of Poland, and one of necessity of self-defence produced combination, they ac- the twelve vayvodes; the Bohemians, however, affirm that knowledged no general head or chief. Like most other he was a native ofr their country; but both agree in mainpeople, however, they lay claim to an antiquity sufficiently ve- taining that he w as descended from the ancient family of nerable, and trace their origin back to one of the immediate the Gracchi in Rome ; a paternity which insured assent descendants of Noah, who, according to them, colonized this by reason of its absurdity. Cracus, however, is said to have part of ancient Sarmatia. But the absurdity of such a claim signalized himself against the Franks, whom he overthrew being too obvious to be long supported, especially amongst in some desperate engagements, and afterwards founded the a people who never had even a fabulous history, less extra- city of Cracow, whither he transferred the seat of his govagant chroniclers were content with assigning to Lech or vernment. He did not enlarge his dominions, but he did Lesko, wdio is said to have reigned about the middle of the more than this; he made his subjects happy by many exsixth century, the honour of their incorporation as a nation. cellent laws and regulations. At last, after a long and gloNor can it be doubted that even this era is much too early. rious reign, he was assassinated by a nobleman who aspired As the laws of historical evidence became better under- to the crown. Cracus left three children ; Cracus, Lech, and a daughter stood, it was accordingly given up as untenable, and the authentic opening of Polish history has been brought down named Wenda. The first succeeded to the dukedom in three centuries ; that is, to the accession of Ziemowitz, in virtue of his birthright, but was soon afterwards murdered the year 860. Lastly, it was reserved for the Polish writers by his brother Lech. The latter, however, did not long of our own time, Lelewel, Niemcewitz, Golembrowski, Zie- profitr by this fratricide. His crime having been discovered, linski, and others, to abstract another century from the he w as deposed and banished by his subjects, and his sister national existence, and to proclaim Miecislas I. as the true Wenda was declared duchess. This princess was beautiful and accomplished; and soon after she had been raised to founder of the Polish monarchy.1 Polish so- The sovereigns of Poland had at first the title of dukes the sovereignty, Rudiger, a German prince, sent an amvereigns at or generals, as if their office had been only to lead the bassador demanding hef in marriage, and threatening war if first only armies into the field. The first of these is new generally his proposals were refused. Wenda marched in person styled allowed to have been Lech or Lecht; and to this day Po- against him at the head of a numerous army ; but the dukes. land is called by the Tartars the kingdom of Lech. Busch- event proved fatal both to Rudiger and herself. The troops ing, however, gives a different account of the origin of the of Rudiger having abandoned him without striking a blow, Poles. Sarmatia, he observes, was an extensive country, he killed himself in despair ; and \\ enda was so much coninhabited by a variety of nations of different names; as he cerned for his death that she is said to have drowned hersupposes the Poles to be the descendants of the ancient self in the Vistula. Lazi, a people who lived in Colchis, on the Euxine; hence The family of Cracus having become extinct by the death the Poles are sometimes called Polazi. Having crossed of Wenda, and the Poles being again at liberty to choose several rivers, they entered Posnania, and settled on the a new sovereign and a new form of government, through borders of the Warta, whilst their neighbours the Zechi a natural levity restored the vayvodes, notwithstanding all settled on the Elbe, in the 550th year of Christ. that they had formerly suffered from them. The conse-

History.

1 The word Pole is not older than the tenth century, and seems to have been originally applied not so much to the people as to the region they inhabited; Polska, in the Sclavonic language, signifying a field or plain.

POL fc ory. quences were precisely the same as before. The vayvodes abused their power; the people were oppressed; and the state was distracted between foreign wars and civil contentions. The Hungarians and Moravians had invaded Poland, and were opposed only by a handful of men almost ready to surrender at discretion. Subjugation and ruin appeared inevitable; when one Prezemislas, a private soldier, contrived a stratagem by which the numerous forces of the enemy were overthrown, and for his valour was rewarded with the dukedom. We are ignorant of the other transactions of his reign; but historians inform us that he died deeply regretted, leaving no issue. On the death of Prezemislas several candidates appeared for the throne; but the Poles determined to prefer him who should overcome all his competitors in a horse-race. A stone pillar was erected near the capital, on which were laid all the ensigns of the ducal authority; and a herald proclaimed, that he who first arrived at that pillar from a river at some distance, named Pradnik, should obtain the prize. A Polish lord named Lech or Lesko resolved to secure the victory by artifice ; for which purpose he caused iron spikes to be driven all over the course, reserving only a path for his own horse. The fraudulent design took effect; all the rest of the competitors were dismounted, some being severely hurt by their fall; and Lesko was about to be proclaimed victor, when, unluckily for him, a peasant who had found out the artifice opposed the ceremony. An examination of the fact immediately took place; Lesko was torn in pieces, and the ducal authority conferred upon the peasant. The name of the new monarch was also Lesko. Having thus attained the sovereignty, he conducted himself with great wisdom and moderation. Though he possessed the qualities of a great warrior, and extended his dominions on the side of Moravia and Bohemia, yet his chief delight was to render his subjects happy by cultivating the arts of peace. In the decline of life he was obliged to engage in a war with Charlemagne, and is said by some to have fallen in battle ; though others assert that he died a natural death, at an advanced age, when the springs of life were quite worn out. Lesko II. was succeeded by his son Lesko III. who inherited all his father’s virtues. He suppressed an insurrection in the Polish provinces ; and having led his army against the Greek and Italian legions who had overrun Pannonia, he gained a complete victory over his enemies. Nor was his valour more conspicuous in the battle than his clemency in the victory. He dismissed all his prisoners without ransom, demanding no other conditions than that they should never again disturb the peace of Poland, or the allies of that kingdom. This duke is said to have been endowed with many virtues, and is charged only with the vice of incontinence. He left twenty natural children, and only one legitimate son, named Popiel, to whom he bequeathed the sovereignty. The latter removed the seat of government from Cracow to Gnesna, and was succeeded by his nephew Popiel II. then a minor. This young king behaved with great propriety as long as he was under the tuition of others ; but as soon as he had got the reins of government into his own hands the face of affairs was altered. Lesko III. had promoted his illegitimate children to the government of different provinces; and they had discharged the duties of their offices in such a manner as showed that they were worthy of the confidence reposed in them. But as soon as he came of age, Popiel, seduced by his wife, an artful and ambitious woman, removed them from their posts, treated them with the utmost contempt, and at last found means to poison them all at an entertainment. A dreadful punishment, however, is said to have awaited his treachery and cruelty ; and he perished miserably, with all his house. The nation now became a prey to civil discord, at the VOL. XVIII.

AND. 185 same time that it was harassed by a foreign enemy; and History, the state seemed to be on the verge of dissolution, when~V'-—^ Piast was proclaimed duke in 842. The reign of Piast was the golden age of Poland. He engaged in no foreign wars ; he was harassed with no domestic commotions; respect and honour met him without, abundance and contentment within. This excellent monarch, from whom those of ducal or regal dignity were called Piast, died in the year 861, and was succeeded by his son Ziemowitz, who was of a more warlike disposition than his father, and first introduced regular discipline amongst the Polish troops. He maintained a respectable army, and took great pains to acquire a perfect knowledge of the art of wyar. Lienee he was victorious in all his battles, retook from the Germans and Hungarians all that they had gained by conquest, and, at the same time, greatly enlarged his own dominions. After his death nothing remarkable happened in Poland Christiatill the time of Miecislas I., who attained the ducal autho-nitycery- time, however, he did not assist the knights in their designs patched under John Hunniades, waywode of Transylvania, History, against his country ; but having in vain applied to the king to oppose the Turks, and likewise to support the election of ' for protection, he at last joined in the schemes formed by Uladislas to the crow n of Hungary. This detachment surthe knights for the destruction of Poland. Entering Li- prised the Turkish army near the river Morava, and dethuania at the head of a numerous army, he took the ca- feated Amurath with the loss of thirty thousand men ; after pital by storm, burned part of it, and destroyed fourteen which Hunniades retook all the places which had been conthousand persons in the flames, besides a great number who quered by Amurath, the sultan was forced to sue for peace, were massacred in attempting to make their escape. The and Uladislas wras raised without opposition to the crown upper part ot the city, however, was vigorously defended, of Hungary. A treaty was concluded, by which the Turks so that the besiegers were at last obliged to abandon all promised to relinquish their designs upon Hungary, to acthoughts of making themselves masters of it, and to con- knowledge the king’s right to that crown, and to give up tent themselves with desolating the adjacent country. The all their conquests in Bosnia and Servia. This treaty was next year Vitowda renewed his attempts upon the city, but sealed by mutual oaths; but Uladislas broke it at the perwith the same want of success; though he got possession suasion of the pope’s legate, who insisted, that now was the of some places of less importance. As soon, however, as time for humbling the power of the infidels, and produced an opportunity offered, he came to an accommodation with a special commission from the pope, absolving the king the king, who conferred on him the government of Lithua- from the oath he had taken at the late treaty. The result nia. During the first years of his government, he bestow- of this perfidy was, that Uladislas was entirely defeated ed great attention on domestic affairs ; but at last his im- and killed at Varna, and the greater part of his army cut in petuous valour prompted him to engage in a war with Ta- pieces. merlane, after the victory gained by the latter over Bajazet Uladislas VI. was succeeded by Casimir IV. in whose Casimir the Turkish emperor. Prior to this time Vitowda had been reign the Teutonic knights were subdued, and obliged to IV. at war with the neighbouring Tartars, and had been con- yield up the territories of Culm, Michlow, and the duchy/^u^on'c stantly victorious. Uladislas, however, dissuaded him from of Pomerania, together with the towns of Elbing, Marienattacking the whole strength of the nation under such a burg, 1 alkmith, Schut, and Christburg, to the crown of Pocelebrated commander as Tamerlane ; but Vitowda was ob- land. On the other hand, the king restored to them all stinate in his determination to fight. He encountered an the other conquests he had made in Prussia; granted a seat army of four hundred thousand Tartars under Ediga, Ta- in the Polish senate to the grand-master; and endowed him merlane’s lieutenant, with only a tenth part of their num- with other privileges, on condition that, six months after ber, and the battle continued for a whole day ; but at last his accession, he should do homage for Prussia, and take an Vitowda was surrounded by the numbers of his enemy, and oath of fidelity to the king and republic. This success in the utmost danger of being cut in pieces. However, he raised the spirits of the Polish nation, which had drooped cleared his way with prodigious slaughter on both sides, ever since the battle of Varna. The Diet did not, however, and came off without a total defeat, having killed a number think proper to renew the war against the Turks. of the enemy equal to the whole of his own army, About this time the crown of Bohemia having become Crowns of Wa vith] During the absence of Vitowda, the Teutonic knights had vacant, and the people being desirous of being governed by Bohemia the uto-penetrated into Lithuania, committing everywhere dreadful one of the princes of Poland, the barons were induced toant1' ■ nick. ;ut8. ravages. On his return he attacked and defeated them, bestow' the crown upon Uladislas, eldest son of Casimir, info^hat off making an irruption into Livonia, to punish the inhabitants opposition to the intrigues of the king of Hungary. Not Poland, of that country for the assistance which they had given to satisfied with this acquisition, however, Uladislas took adthe Teutonic order. This was succeeded by a long series vantage of the dissensions in Hungary, in order to unite of wars between Poland and Prussia, in which it became that crown to his own, which he also effected, and thereby necessary for Uladislas himself to take the field. The greatly augmented his power, though not the happiness of knights having now got possession of Samogitia, Mazovia, his people. Numerous foreign expeditions had exhausted Culm, Silesia, and Pomerania, Uladislas resolved to punish the treasury, and oppressed the peasants with taxes ; the them before they became too pow erful; and with this view gentry were greatly diminished by a number of bloody enhe assembled an army composed of several different nations. gagements ; agriculture was neglected, and the country alHe then penetrated into Prussia ; took several towns; and most depopulated. But before a proper remedy could be was advancing to Marienburg, the capital of Pomerania, applied for these evils, Casimir died in 1492. In the reign when he was met by the army of the Prussian knights, who of this prince, the deputies of the provinces first appeared determined to hazard a battle. When the engagement be- at the Diet, and assumed to themselves the legislative gan, the Poles were deserted by all their auxiliaries, and power; all laws before that time having been framed by obliged to stand the brunt of the battle. But the courage the king in conjunction with the senate. and conduct of their king so animated them, that after a During the succeeding reigns of John Albert and Alex-Exploits of most desperate struggle, they obtained a complete victory; ander, the affairs of Poland fell into decline, the kingdom Sigismund. near forty thousand of the enemy being killed in the field, being harassed by continual ware with the Turks and Tarand thirty thousand taken prisoners. This terrible over- tars. But they were retrieved by Sigismund I. who asthrow, however, was less fatal to the affairs of the Prussian cended the throne in 1507. This monarch, having reformknights than might have been expected. Uladislas did not ed some internal abuses, set about rendering the kingdom improve his victory, and a peace was concluded upon easier as formidable as it had formerly been. He first quelled an insurrection which broke out in Lithuania; after which, he terms than his adversaries had any reason to hope for. nadj.iS drove the Walachians and Moldavians out of Black Russia, Uladislas V. died in 1435, and was succeeded by his son VI. Uladislas VI., at that time only nine years of age. He had and defeated the Russians in a pitched battle, with the loss scarcely ascended the throne, when the kingdom was in- of thirty thousand men. In this engagement he was obvaded by the Tartars, who defeated the general of the Po- liged to cause his cavalry to swim across the Borysthenes lish forces ; and, committing everywhere dreadful ravages, in order to begin the attack, whilst a bridge was preparing returned to their own country loaded with booty. A few for the infantry. These orders were executed with astoyears afterwards the nation was involved in a war with nishing celerity, notwithstanding the rapidity of the stream, Amurath, the sultan, who threatened to break into Hun- the steepness of the banks, and the enemy’s opposition. gary. But before all things were prepared for the young The onset was led by the Lithuanians, who were directed king taking the field, a strong body of auxiliaries was des- to retreat gradually, with a view of drawing the enemy vol. XVIII.

P O L A 14 D. 194 who, encouraged by i the History, ^ r History. within reach of the cannon. This the Russians mistook for test I • iwith 1hadT the 1 Russians, ’ ~.j J l*.between F rrV» f cr disputes on/1 the f n '^*mm**. which subsisted the Teutonic knights and a real flight; and as they were pursuing with eagerness, Sigismund opened his line to the right and left, pouring in archbishop of Riga, cousin of Sigismund, had made an irgrape-shot from the artillery with dreadful success. The ruption into Livonia. The province was at that time diRussian general, and several noblemen of the first distinc- vided between the knights and the prelate ; and the Rustion, were taken prisoners, whilst the whole loss of the royal sians, under pretence of assisting the former, had seized great part of the dominions of the latter. 1 he archbishop army did not amount to three hundred men. After this victory, the king turned his arms against the had recourse to his kinsman the king of Poland, who, after Teutonic knights, who had elected the Marquis of Branden- fruitless efforts to accommodate matters, marched towards an army of a hundred thouburg as their grand-master ; whilst this prince not only re- the frontiers of Livonia with r fused to acknowledge the sovereignty of the crown of Po- sand men. The knights w ere in no condition to resist such land, but even invaded the Polish territories. Sigismund a formidable power; and therefore, deserting their allies, marched against him, and gained possession of several im- they put themselves under the protection of the king of Poportant places in Brandenburg ; but as he was pursuing his land. But the czar, John Basilides, though deserted by the conquests, the marquis, reinforced by fourteen thousand knights, did not lose his courage ; nay, he even insolently Germans led by the Duke of Schonenburg, ventured to refused to return any answer to the proposals of peace made lay siege to Dantzig, after having ravaged the neighbouring by Sigismund. His army consisted of three hundred thoucountry. The Dantzigers, however, defended themselves sand men, with whom he imagined himself able to reduce so bravely, that the besiegers were soon obliged to relin- all Livonia, in spite of the utmost efforts of the king of Poquish their enterprise; whilst in their retreat they were at- land ; but having met with some checks in that quarter, he tacked by a strong detachment of Polish cavalry, who made directly invaded Poland with h;s whole army. At first he prodigious havoc amongst them, compelling the wretched carried everything before him ; but the Poles soon made a remains to take shelter in Pomerania, where they were mas- vigorous opposition ; and the Russians, though everywhere sacred by the peasants. Soon after this the marquis was defeated, still continued their incursions, which Sigismund obliged to submit to the clemency of the conqueror. To at last revenged by invading Russia in his turn. These mutual desolations and ravages at last made both Extinct* secure him in his interest, however, Sigismund granted him parties desirous of peace, and a truce for three years was ^ hie half the province of Prussia as a secular duke, dependent agreed on ; but during the continuance of the armistice thehouseot Jagellon on the crown of Poland. In the reign of Sigismund, the kingdom of Poland may king of Poland died, and with him was extinguished the be considered as having attained its greatest pitch of glory. house of Jagellon, which had governed Poland for nearly This monarch possessed, in his own person, the republic of two hundred years. On the death of Sigismund, Poland Poland, the great duchies of Lithuania, Smolensko, and Sa- became a prey to intestine divisions ; and intrigues were veria, besides vast territories lying beyond the Euxine and set on foot at the courts of Vienna, France, Saxony, Swethe Baltic ; whilst his nephew Louis possessed the kingdoms den, and Brandenburg, each of them endeavouring to estaof Bohemia, Hungary, and Silesia. But this glory received blish a prince of their own nation on the throne of Poland. a sudden check in 1548, by the defeat and death of Louis, The result of all this was, that the kingdom became one who perished in a battle fought with Solyman the Great, universal scene of corruption, faction, and confusion. Ihe sultan of the Turks. The daughter of this prince married members of the Diet consulted only their own interest, and 11)0*5 Ferdinand of Austria, an alliance by which the dominions were ready on every occasion to sell themselves to the best bidder. The Protestants had by this time got a considerof Hungary, Bohemia, and Silesia, became inseparably connected with the hereditary dominions of the Austrian fa- able footing in the kingdom, and thus religious disputes mily. This misfortune is believed to have hastened the were intermingled with political ones. One good effect, death of Sigismund ; though, being then in the eighty-fourth however, flowed from this confusion. A law was passed, year of his age, he could not, by the ordinary course of by which it was enacted that no difference in religious opinature, have lived long. He did not, however, survive the nions should occasion any contention amongst the subjects news many months, but died of a lingering disorder, leav- of the kingdom ; that all the Poles, without discrimination, ing behind him the character of a complete general, an should be capable of holding public offices and trusts under able politician, a good prince, and one of the strongest men the government; and that the future kings should swear expressly to cultivate the internal tranquillity of the realm, in the north. Sigismimd Sigismund Augustus, who succeeded his father Sigis- and to cherish without distinction their subjects of all perAugustus. mund I. proved also a very fortunate prince. At that time suasions. Whilst the candidates for the throne were severally at-Duke of the most violent and bloody wars were carrying on in Gertempting to support their own interest in the best manner Anjoui many, and indeed throughout other parts of Europe, on acsenkl "= bn count of religion; but Sigismund wisely avoided interfering they could, John Crasoski, a Polish gentleman of great mein these disputes. He would not admit into his dominions rit, but diminutive stature, had just returned from k ranee, 1’ any of those divines who were taxed with holding hetero- whither he had travelled for improvement. His humour, dox opinions, nor even allow his people the liberty of cor- wit, and diverting size, had rendered him universally agreeresponding with them ; yet he never persecuted, nor em- able at the court of France, and in a particular manner enployed any other means for the preservation of the state gaged the esteem of Catharine de’ Medicis, which the little than those of a well-conducted and regular policy. Instead Pole had the address to make use of for his own advantage. of disputing with his subjects about speculative opinions, He owed many obligations to the Duke of Anjou, whom, Sigismund applied himself diligently to the reforming of out of gratitude, he represented in such favourable terms, abuses, enforcing the laws, enriching the treasury, promot- that the Poles began to entertain thoughts of making him ing industry, and redeeming the crown-lands where the their king. These sentiments were confirmed and encoutitles of the possessors appeared illegal. Out of the revenue raged by Crasoski, who returned into France by order of recovered in this manner he raised a formidable standing several leading men in Poland, and acquainted the king and army without laying any additional tax upon his subjects; queen-mother that nothing was wanting except the formaand though he preferred peace to war, he was always able lity of an embassy to procure the crown for the Duke of Anto punish those who offered indignities to his person or his jou, almost without opposition. Charles IX. king of France, at that time also promoted the scheme ; being jealous ot crown. His knowledge of the art of war was soon tried in a con- the Duke of Anjou’s popularity, and willing to have him re-

P O L A N D. I> >ry. moved to as great a distance as possible. The parties ac- more alert; for whilst Maximilian was disputing about cercordingly came to an agreement, in which it was stipulat- tain conditions which the Poles required for the security of ed that the Duke of Anjou should maintain the laws, liber- their privileges, he entered Poland, married the princess, ties, and customs of the kingdom of Poland, and of the and was crowned on the 1st of May 1576. No opposition grand duchy of Lithuania; that he should transport all his was made to the authority of Batory, except by the inhaeffects and annual revenues in France into Poland ; that the bitants of Dantzig, who adhered to the interest of MaximiFrench monarch should pay the late king Sigismund’s debts; han, even after he was dead, and had the presumption to that he should maintain a hundred young Polish gentlemen demand from the king an oath acknowledging their absoat his ^ court, and fifty in other places; that ^ he ^ should send lute freedom and independence. Batory referred them to a fleet to the Baltic to assist Poland against the Russians; the senate, declaring that he had no right to give up the and, lastly, that Flenry should marry the Princess Anne, privileges of the republic; but he admonished the citizens sister of the late king Sigismund, though this article Henry to avoid all occasion of a civil war, which must necessarily refused to ratify till his return to Poland. Everything being terminate in their disadvantage. The obstinate citizens, thus settled, the young king quitted France, attended by a however, construing the king’s lenity into fear, shut the splendid retinue, and was accompanied by the queen-mo- gates against the ambassador, seized upon the fortress of ther as far as Lorraine. He was received by his subjects Grebin, and published a manifesto against the king and the on the frontiers of Poland, and conducted to Cracow, where republic. The king, incensed at these proceedings, marchlie was soon afterwards crowned.1 The affections of the ed against Grebin, retook the castle, and ravaged certain Poles were soon engaged by the youth and accomplish- territories belonging to the people of Dantzig ; who, on the ments of Henry; but scarcely had he been seated on the other hand, retaliated by burning to the ground a monasthrone, when, by the death of Charles IX., he became heir tery named Oliva, to prevent the Poles from taking possesi„ n crown of France, Being informed of this by re- sion of so important a position. Batory now renewed overto the peated messages from Catharine, he repented his having tures of accommodation, but to no purpose. The people accepted the crown of Poland, and resolved to leave it for of Dantzig were deaf to these proposals ; and it was not unthat of France. But being sensible that the Poles would til after suffering severely that they were at length induced oppose his departure, he kept his intentions secret, and to submit. watched an opportunity of stealing out of the palace in disThe war with Dantzig had no sooner been ended than the Cruelty of e us guise during the night-time. The Poles, as might well be king directed his whole strength against the czar of Mus-^ ^ sians expected, were irritated at being thus abandoned, from the covy, who had laid siege to Revel, and made himself masmere motive of interest, by a prince whom they had so much ter of several important cities in Livonia. The czar beloved and honoured. Parties were despatched after him haved everywhere with the greatest cruelty, slaughtering by different roads; and Zamoski, a nobleman who headed without distinction all who were able to bear arms, and one of these parties, overtook him some leagues distant abandoning the women and children to the brutality of the from Cracow. All the prayers and tears of that nobleman, Tartars who served in his army. The Russians were alhowever, could not prevail on Henry to return; he rode lowed to proceed in this manner till the whole province of post to Vienna, and then passed into France by the way of Livonia, excepting Riga and Revel, had suffered the barItaly. barities of this insulting conqueror. But at length, in 1578, In the mean time the Poles were so much exasperated a body of forces was despatched into the province; the i wl' is depfd. against Henry and his nation, that all the French in Cra- towns of Wender and Dwinaburg were surprised; and an cow would have been massacred if the magistrates had not army sent by the czar to surprise the former was defeated. placed guards in the streets. Henry, however, had fore- At this time the Muscovites w’ere not the only enemies seen the consequences of his flight, and therefore endea- who opposed the king of Poland and oppressed Livonia. voured to apologise for his behaviour. But nothing could That unhappy province was also invaded by the Swedes, satisfy the Poles, who now acquainted their king, that if he who professed themselves to be enemies equally to both did not immediately return, they would be obliged to di- parties, and who in cruelty were scarcely inferior to the vest him of the royal dignity, and to choose another sove- Russians themselves. The king, however, was not dauntreign. Henry began to excuse himself on account of the ed by the number of his adversaries. Having made great wars in which he was engaged, and promised to send men preparations, and called to his assistance Christopher, prince of unexceptionable integrity to govern Poland till he should of Transylvania, with all the standing forces of that counreturn. But no excuses were accepted ; and on the 15th of try, he took the field in person against the Muscovites, and July 1575, he was in full Diet solemnly divested of the re- laid siege to Polocz, a town of great importance, situated on gal dignity, and the throne declared vacant. the river Dwina. 1 he Russians no sooner heard of the apSte]|>n After the deposition of Henry, commotions and factions proach of the Polish army than they resolved to put all the ! iatf, again occurred, but the contending parties were now re- citizens to death, thinking by this means to strike terror inchoMi duced to two; one who supported the interest of Maximi to the enemy. When Batory came near the town, the most kinfi> lian, emperor of Germany; and the other, who were for shocking spectacle presented itself. The river appeared electing the Princess Anne, and marrying her to Stephen dyed with blood, and a vast number of human bodies, fastBatory, prince of Transylvania. The latter prevailed ened to planks, and terribly mangled, were carried down through the courage of one gentleman, who, in imitation the stream. But this barbarity, instead oi intimidating ihe of the power assumed by the Roman tribunes, stood up in Poles, irritated them to such a degree that nothing could the full senate, and opposed the proclamation of Maximi- resist them. Finding that their cannon made little impreslian, declaring that his election was violent and illegal. In sion upon the walls of the city, which were constructed of this situation of affairs, it was obvious that strength and ce- w'ood, they advanced to the assault w ith burning torches lerity must determine which election was legitimate; and in their hands, and would soon have reduced the fortifications both parties wrote to the princes whose cause they had es- to ashes, had not a violent storm of rain prevented them. poused, entreating them to hasten with all possible expedi- The design, however, was put in execution as soon as the rain tion to take possession of the throne. Batory proved the slackened ; and the Russian barbarians w ere obliged to sur1

Henry of Valois, afterwards Henry III. of France, when he was elected king of Poland, was the first who swore to the celebrated pacta conventa, a document containing certain obligations on the pare of the king in regard to the liberties of the nation.

POLAND. 196 History. render at discretion. It reflects the highest honour on Ba- deposed; and the Russians not only regained their liberty, History, tory, that, notwithstanding the dreadful instances of cruelty but began to make encroachments on Poland itself. A very “v-. which he had before his eyes, he did not suffer his soldiers unfortunate war also took place with Sweden, which was to retaliate. Indeed the atrocities committed by the Rus- now governed by the great Gustavus Adolphus; but the sians on this occasion seem almost to have authorized any particulars of that contest, with the other exploits of that renowned warrior, are elsewhere related. At last Sigismund, revenge that could possibly have been taken. Russia raAfter the reduction of Polocz, Batory continued the war, worn out with cares and misfortunes, died in 1629. After Sigismund’s death the affairs of Poland seemed to Uladislas vaged by and with great success. Two detachments fiom the army Batory. penetrated the enemy’s country by different roads, wasted revive a little under Uladislas VIE, who obliged the Rus-VI1all before them to the gates of Smolensk©, and returned sians to sue for peace, and Sweden to restore some of her with the spoils of two thousand villages which they had conquests; but an attempt being made to abridge the liberty pillaged and destroyed. In the mean time the Swedes of the Cossacks, they revolted, and gave the Poles several iff and Poles thought proper to come to an accommodation; terrible defeats ; nor did the war terminate in the lifetime of Uladislas, who died in 1648. His successor, John Casiand though John, king of Sweden, was at that time prevented from bearing his share of the war, yet Batory re- mir, concluded a peace with these dangerous enemies; but duced such a number of cities, and committed such devas- the war was soon after renewed ; and whilst the kingdom tations, in the Russian territories, that the czar was obliged was distracted between the hostility of the Cossacks and the to sue for peace, which he obtainedr on condition of relin- discontents of its own inhabitants, the Russians took the quishing Livonia, after having throw n away the lives of more opportunity of invading and pillaging Lithuania. In a little time afterwards, the whole kingdom was sub-Poland than four hundred thousand of his subjects in attempting dued by Charles Gustavus, successor to Christina, queen subduedhj to conquer it. Batory being thus freed from a most destructive and cruel of Sweden. Happily for Poland, however, a rupture took J Ul ' war, applied himself to the internal government of his king- place between the courts of Sweden and Copenhagen, and dom. He regulated the Polish cavalry in such a manner the Poles were thereby enabled to drive out the Swedes that they became formidable to the Turks and other neigh- in 1657. This was succeeded by civil wars and contests bouring nations; and this is the military establishment to with Russia, which so much vexed the king that he resignwhich the Poles have given the name of quciTliennc, be- ed the crown in 1668. For two years after the resignacause a fourth part of the revenue was employed in support- tion of Casimir, the kingdom was filled with confusion; ing them. Batory sent this body of cavalry towards the but on the 17th of September 1760, one Michael Korifrontiers of Tartary, to check the incursions of the barba- buth Wisnowiecki, collaterally descended from the house rians inhabiting that country; and by its means the Ukraine, of Jagellon, though in a very mean situation at that time, a vast tract of desert country, was filled with flourishing was chosen king. Llis reign continued only for three years, towns and villages, and became a strong barrier against the during which time John Sobieski, a celebrated Polish geTurks, Tartars, and Russians. The last memorable action neral, gave the Turks a dreadful overthrow, though their of Batory was his attaching to Poland the Cossacks, whom army consisted of more than three hundred thousand men; he civilized and instructed in the arts of war and peace. and if this blow had been followed up, the Cossacks would All kinds of manufactures at that time known in Poland were not only have been entirely subdued, but very advantageous likewise established amongst the Cossacks ; the women were terms might have been obtained from the sultan. 01 that employed in spinning and weaving woollen cloths, whilst the vast multitude of Turks, no more than fifteen thousand made men were taught agriculture, and other arts proper for mas- their escape, the rest being all either killed or taken. However, the Polish soldiers, being only bound by the laws oi culine cultivation. Whilst Batory was employed in this manner, the Swedes their country to stay a certain time in the field, refused to broke the convention into which they had entered with pursue this signal victory, and suftered the king to make Poland, and were on the point of obtaining possession of peace on any terms he could procure. Wisnowie^ki died before the news of this transaction John SoRiga. To this, indeed, Batory himself had given occasion, by attempting to impose the Catholic religion upon the in- reached Cracow; and after his death a new scene of con- bieski rehabitants, after having promised them entire liberty of con- fusion ensued, till at last the fortune ot John Sobieski pro-^™^ science ; a proceeding which so irritated them, that they vailed, and he was elected king of Poland in 1674. A the Polesrevolted, and were on the point of admitting a Swedish most magnanimous and heroic prince, it was he who, by garrison into the city, when the king became informed of his valour and good conduct, retrieved the affairs of Poland, what was going forward. He resolved to take a most ex- and entirely checked the progress of the Turks westward. emplary vengeance on the inhabitants of Riga; but be- These barbarians were everywhere defeated; but notwithfore he could execute his intention, he died, in 1586, the standing his great qualities, Poland was now so thoroughly corrupted, and pervaded by such a spirit of disaffection, that fifty-fourth year of his age, and tenth of his reign. Consequen- The death of Batory involved Poland in fresh troubles. the latter part of this monarch’s reign was involved in trouces of Bato Four candidates appeared for the crown ; the princes Er- bles, through the ambition and contention of some powerful ry’s death. nest and Maximilian of the house of Austria, Sigismund noblemen. Sobieski died in 1696, and with him the glory Sigismund prince of Sweden, and Theodore czar of Muscovy. Each of of Poland descended into the tomb. HI. Most violent contests took place about the succession, these had a separate party ; but Sigismund and Maximilian managed matters so cleverly, that in 1587 both of them were but the recital of these would far exceed our limits. At elected. The result was a civil war, in which Maximilian last Frederic Augustus, elector of Saxony, prevailed; but was defeated and taken prisoner; and thus without opposi- as some of the most essential ceremonies were wanting in tion Sigismund III., surnamed Vasa, became master of the his coronation, because the primate, who was in an oppothrone of Poland. He waged a successful war with the Tar- site interest, would not perform them, he found it extremetars, and was otherwise prosperous; but though he suc- ly difficult to keep his subjects in proper obedience ; and, to ceeded to the crown of Sweden, he found it impossible for add to his misfortunes, having engaged in a league with him to retain both kingdoms, and he was formally deposed Denmark and Russia against Sweden, he was attacked with from the Swedish throne. In 1610 he conquered Russia, irresistible fury by Charles XII. Though Augustus had and placed his son on the throne of that country ; but the not been betrayed, as indeed he almost always was, he was | Polish conquests of that country have always been short- by no means a match for the ferocious Swede. The partilived. Accordingly, the young prince was soon afterwards culars of this war, however, as they form great part of the J|

POLAND. 197 Kory. exploits of that northern hero, more properly fall to be re- two confederacies, at Thorn and Sluck. One of these was History. w.-—- ' lated under the head of Sweden. Here, therefore, we shall signed by the Dissidents of Great and Little Poland, and' v-— only observe, that Augustus was reduced to the humiliat- the other by those of the grand duchy of Lithuania. The ing necessity of renouncing the crown of Poland on oath, purpose of these confederacies was, an engagement to exand even of congratulating his rival Stanislasr upon his ac- ert themselves in the defence of their ancient privileges, cession to the throne. But when the pow er of Charles and the free exercise of their religion; professing at °the was broken by his defeat at Pultowa, the fortune of Augus- same time the utmost loyalty to the king, and resolving to tus again prevailed; Stanislas was driven out; and the for- send to him a deputation to implore his protection. They mer, being absolved from his oath by the pontiff, resumed even invited those of the Catholic communion, and all true possession of the throne of Poland. patriots, to unite with them in maintaining the fundamental Since that time the Polish nation has made no figure, ex- laws of the kingdom, the peace of religion, and the rights Dej |ierac rf the cept in the history of political iniquity. Surrounded by of men in society. They also claimed, by virtue of public Pol-. great and ambitious powers, it has sunk under the pressure, tieaties, the protection of the powers who were guarantees and now scarcely exists as a nation. On the 5th of Octo- of their liberties, namely, Russia, Sweden, Great Britain, ber 1763, Augustus III., elector of Saxony and king of Po- Denmark, and Prussia. And they protested, that they had land, died, and was succeeded by Count Poniatowski, a Po- no intention of acting to the detriment of the Roman Calish grandee, who, on the 7th of September 1764, was pro- tholic religion, which they duly respected, but only asked claimed king by the name of Stanislas Augustus, and crown- liberty for their own, and the re-establishment of their aned on the 25th of November the same year. During the cient rights. The three cities of Thorn, Elbing, and Dantinterregnum which took place between the death of Augus- zig, acceded to the confederacy of Thorn on the 10th of tus III. and the election of Stanislas, a decree had been April; as did the duke and nobles of Courland to that of passed by the convocation-diet of Poland, with regard to Sluck on the 15th of May. In the mean time the empress the Dissidents, as they were called, or dissenters from the of Russia and the king of Prussia continued to issue forth Catholic faith, by which they were prohibited the free ex- new declarations in favour of the Dissidents ; and the Rusercise of their religion, and excluded from all offices and sian troops in Poland were gradually augmented to thirty places under the government. On this occasion several thousand men. Great numbers of other confederacies were of the European powers interposed, and the courts of also formed in different parts of the kingdom ; but these at Russia, Prussia, Great Britain, and Denmark, tendered first took little part in the affair of the Dissidents. They remonstrances to the Diet; but, notwithstanding these, the complained chiefly of the administration of public affairs, in decree was confirmed by the coronation-diet held soon which they alleged that innovations had been introduced, after the king’s election. and were therefore for some time called Confederations of Inte:1On- the 6th of October 1766, an ordinary Diet was as- Malcontents. All these confederacies published manifesrenof sembled. Here declarations from the courts above menforei tioned were presented to his Polish majesty, requiring the tos, in which they recommended to the inhabitants to receive and treat the Russian troops as the defenders of the po\^ in liehi!; of re-establishment of the Dissidents in their civil rights and liberties of Poland. the I ssi- privileges, and the peaceable enjoyment of their modes of The different confederacies of malcontents formed in the General dent: worship secured to them by the laws of the kingdom, w hich twenty-four districts of Lithuania united at Wilna on the confedehad been observed for two centuries. These privileges, it 22d of June ; and that general confederacy re-established racywas alleged, had been confirmed by the treaty of Oliva, Prince Radzivil, who had married the king’s sister, in his concluded by all the northern powers, and could not now liberty, estates, and honour, of which he had been deprived be altered except by the consent of all the contracting par- in 1764 by the states of that duchy. On the 23d of June ties. The Catholic party contended strongly for a confir- Prince Radzivil was chosen grand marshal of the general mation of some decrees against the Dissidents, made in the confederacy of all Poland, which then began to be called years 1717, 1723, and 1736. The deputies from the foreign the National Confederacy, and was said to be composed of powers replied, that those decrees had passed in the midst seventy-two thousand noblemen and gentlemen. The geneof intestine troubles, and were contradicted by the formal ral confederacy now took such measures as appeared most protestations and express declarations of those powers. At proper for strengthening their party. They sent to the selast, after a violent contest, the matter was referred to the veral waywodes of the kingdom, requiring that all the genbishops and senators for their opinion; and upon a report tlemen who had not signed the confederacy should do it from them, the Diet came to a resolution that they would immediately; that all the courts of justice should subsist as maintain the Dissidents in all the rights and prerogatives formerly, but not judge any of the confederates ; that the to which they were entitled by the laws of their country marshals of the crown should not pass any sentence without and by treaties; and that as to their complaints with re- the participation of at least four of the confederates ; and gard to the exercise of their religion, the college of arch- that the marshals of the crown and the treasurers should be bishops and bishops, under the direction of the prince pri- immediately restored to the possession of their respective mate, would endeavour to remove all those difficulties in a rights. In the mean time the Catholic party were not idle. manner conformable to justice and charity. In the mean The bishop of Cracow sent a letter to the Diet assembled time, the court of Russia, resolved to enforce her remon- at Warsaw on the 13th of August, in which he exhorted strances, marched a body of troops to within a few miles of them to arm their nuncios with courage, by giving them Warsaw. These resolutions of the Diet were by no means orthodox and pious instructions, that they might not grant agreeable to the Dissidents. The latter dated the begin- the Dissidents new advantages beyond those which were sening of their sufferings from the year 1717. Referring their cured to them by the constitutions of the country and the grievances to the archbishops and bishops was looked upon treaties with foreign powers. The pope also sent briefs to as a measure the most unreasonable that could be imagin- the king, the great chancellor, the nobility, the bishops of ed, as that body of men had always been their opponents, the kingdom, and to the prince primate, with such arguand in fact the authors of the evils which had befallen them. ments and exhortations as were thought most calculated to When matters came to be considered in this view, an ad- ward off the impending danger. Councils in the mean time ditional body of Russians, to the number of about fifteen were frequently held at the bishopof Cracow’s palace, where thousand, entered Poland. all the prelates at Warsaw assembled. On the 26th of Sep(Cons iueni , of this i,;r. The Dissidents, being now pretty sure of the protection tember 1767 the confederacy of Dissidents was united w'ith of foreign powers, entered, on the 20th of March 1767, into the general confederacy of malcontents in the palace oi feren

POLAND.

Hie1' History, contrary to the orders of his court, and that he w’ould there .r Prince Radzivil, who on that occasion expressed great fore be dismissed. . . . . . friendship for the Dissidents. In a few days afterwards the Great cruelty was in the mean time exercised against thenar beRussian troops in the capital were reinforced, aiul a con- rPcJrlents where there were no Russian troops to protect tween tfe siderable body of them was posted at about five miles dis- Sem Towards the end of October 1768, Prince Martin Lubomirski, one of the southern confederates, who had been Russians Tumults in ^On the 5th of October an extraordinary Diet was held. driven cut of Poland, and had taken shelter with some of the Diet. But the affair of the Dissidents met with such opposition, his adherents amongst the mountains of Hungary, caused a that it was thought necessary to adjourn the meeting till manifesto to be posted up on several of the churches of Crathe 12th, during which interval every expedient was used cow in which he invited the nation to a general revolt, asto gain over those who opposed Prince Radzivd s plan. T suring them of the assistance of the Ottoman Porte, with was, to appoint a commission furnished with full power whom he pretended to have concluded a treaty. The unenter into conference with Prince Repnin, the Russian am- happy kingdom of Poland became the first scene of this war, bassador, concerning the affairs of the Dissidents. But not- and in a short time it was reduced to the most deplorable withstanding all the pains taken, the meeting of the 12th situation. In the end of the year 1768, the peasants of the proved exceedingly tumultuous. 1 he bishops of Cracow and Greek faith in the Ukraine took up arms, and committed Kiow, with some other prelates, and several magnates, de- the greatest ravages, having, as they pretended, been threatclared that they would never consent to the establishment ened with death by the confederates unless they would beof such a commission ; and at the same time they spoke with come Roman Catholics. Against these insurgents the Rusmore vehemence than ever against the pretensions of the sians employed their arms, and made great numbers of them Dissidents. Some of the deputies replied with great warmth ; prisoners. The rest took refuge amongst the Haidamacks, and this occasioned such animosities, that the meeting was by whom they were soon joined, and in the beginning o again adjourned till the 16th. 1769 they entered the Ukraine, committing everywhere the On the 13th the bishops of Cracow and Kiow, the pala- most horrid massacres. Here, however, they were at last Violent proceed- tine of Cracow, and the starost of Domski, were carried oft defeated by the Polish troops, at the same time that several ings of the by Russian detachments. The crime alleged against them, of the confederacies in Poland were severely chastised. Russians. in a declaration published next day by Prince Repnin was, Soon afterwards, the khan of the Crim Tartars having been that they had been wanting in respect to the dignity of the repulsed with loss in an attempt on Servia, entered the 1 ohsh empress of Russia, by attacking the purity of her intentions territories, where he left frightful marks of his inhumanity; towards the republic ; though she was resolved to continue which, with the cruelties exercised by the confederates, inher protection and assistance to the general confederacy duced the Polish Cossacks of Braclau and Kiovia, amountunited for preserving the liberties of Poland, and correcting ino; to near thirty thousand effective men, to join the. Rusall the abuses which had been introduced into the govern- sians, in order to defend their country against these destroyment of that country. ers. Matters continued much in the same state during the Confedera- It was probably owing to this violent proceeding of the rest of the year 1769; and in 1770 skirmishes frequently cy of Bar. Russians that Prince Radzivil’s plan was at last adopted, occurred between the Russians and confederates, in which and several new regulations were made in favour of the Dis- the latter were almost always worsted ; but they took care sidents. These innovations, however, soon produced a cm to revenge themselves by the most barbarous cruelties on war, which at last ended in the ruin of the kingdom. In the Dissidents, wherever they could find them. In 17 /0, the beginning of the year 1768, a new confederacy was a considerable number of the confederates of Bar, who had formed in Podolia, a province bordering on I urkey ; it was joined the Turks, and been excessively ill used by them, afterwards called the Confederacy of Bar, and the inten- came to an accommodation with the Russians, who took tion of it was to abolish, by force of arms, the new consti- them under their protection upon very moderate terms. In tutions, particularly those in favour of the Dissidents. 1 ie the mean time agriculture had been so much neglected, that members of the new confederacy likewise expressed great the crop of 1770 proved deficient. This encouraged a numindignation at the carrying away the bishops of Cracow, ber of desperadoes to associate, who, under the denominaKiow, and others, and still detaining them in custody. of Confederates, were guilty of still greater excesses Podolia wras reckoned the fittest place tor the purpose of tion than those who had been under some kind of regulation ; the confederates, who imagined that the Russians could not and thus a great part of the country was at last reduced to a attack them there without giving umbrage to the Ottoman mere desert, the inhabitants being either exterminated, or court. Similar confederacies, however, were quickly enter- carried off to stock the remote Russian plantations. ed into throughout the kingdom. The clergy excited all In the year 1771, the confederacies, which appeared toNe** ranks of men to exert themselves in defence of their religion; have been extinguished, sprang up afresh, and increased to and so effectual did their exhortations prove, that even the a u-reat degree. This was occasioned by their having been king’s troops could not be trusted to act against these com- secretly encouraged and supplied with money by France. binations. The empress of Russia threatened the new-con- A great number of French officers also engaged as volunfederates as disturbers of the public tranquillity, and de- teers in their service; and having introduced discipline clared, that if they persisted, her troops would act against amongst their troops, they acted with greater vigour than them. It was some time, however, before the Russian formerly, sometimes proving more than a match for their troops were considerably reinforced; nor did they at first enemies. But these gleams of success served only to light seem inclined to act with the vigour that they might have them on to their ruin. The Russians were reinforced and exerted. A good many skirmishes soon occurred between properly supported. The Austrian and Prussian troops enthe contending parties, in which the confederates weie for tered the country, advancing on different sides ; and in a the most part defeated. In one of these encounters, the lat- short time the confederates found themselves entirely surter being worsted, and hardly pressed, a number of them rounded by enemies, who seemed to have nothing less in passed the Dniester and took refuge in Moldavia. I his province had formerly belonged to Poland, but was now view than an absolute conquest of the country, and sharing themselves. subject to the grand signior. The Russians, however, pur- it amongst Before matters came to this crisis, however, the confede-At r sued their enemies into Moldavia; but in order to prevent rates formed a design of assassinating the king, c“ ^ k®: any offence being taken by the Porte, Prince Repnin wrote counthad of his supposed attachment to the Dissidents. ^\Foto the Russian resident at Constantinople, that the conduct lish nobleman, named Pulaski, a general in the army Oi t e of the Russian colonel who commanded the party was quite

POL AND. 199 Hfpry. confederates, was the person who planned the enterprise ; quarter of an hour after, a second Russian guard challenged History, and the conspiratoi’s who carried it into execution were them anew. Two of the assassins then fled, and the king ^ about forty in number, headed by three chiefs, named re- remained alone wfith Kosinski. His majesty, exhausted with spectively Lukawski, Strawenski, and Kosinski. These chiefs the fatigue w'hich he had undergone, implored his conhad been engaged and hired for the purpose by Pulaski, ductor to stop, and suffer him to take a moment’s repose. who obliged them to swear in the most solemn manner, Kosinski refused, at the same time informing him, that beeither to deliver the king alive into his hands, or, in case yond the wood they should find a carriage. They conthat was found impossible, to put him to death. On the tinued their walk till they came to the door of the convent 2d of September they obtained admission into Warsaw, of Bielany. Kosinski appeared lost in thought. “ I see you unsuspected and undiscovered. On Sunday night, the 3d are at a loss which way to proceed,” said the king. “ Let of September 1771, a few of these conspirators x-emained me enter the convent of Bielany, and do you provide for in the skirts of the town ; but the others repaired to the your own safety.” “ No,” replied Kosinski; “ I have sworn.” place of rendezvous, the street of the Capucins, wdxere his They proceeded till they came to Mariemont, a small majesty was expected to pass about his usual hour of re- palace belonging to the house of Saxony, not above half a turning to the palace. The king had been to visit his league from Warsaw. Here Kosinski betrayed some satisuncle Prince Czartoryski, grand chancellor of Lithuania, and faction at finding where he was, and the king still demandwas on his return from thence to the palace between nine ing an instant’s repose, he at length consented. They sat and ten o’clock. He was in a coach, accompanied by at down together on the ground, and the king employed these least fifteen or sixteen attendants, besides an aide-de-camp moments in endeavouring to soften his conductor, and inin the carriage. Scarcely was he at the distance of two duce him to favour or permit his escape. His majesty rehundred paces from Prince Czartoryski’s palace, when he presented the atrocity of the crime he had committed in was attacked by the conspirators, who commanded the attempting to murder bis sovereign, and the invalidity of an coachman to stop on pain of instant death. They fired se- oath taken to perpetrate so heinous an action. Kosinski veral shots into the carriage, and almost all the other per- lent attention to this discourse, and began to betray some sons who preceded and accompanied his majesty were dis- symptoms of remorse. The king pursued the advantage persed ; the aide-de-camp having also abandoned him, and he had gained, overcame the fears of Kosinski, and was at attempted to conceal himself by flight. Meanwhile the length x-econducted to the capital. Upon his return to Warking had opened the door of his carnage with the design saw he wTas received with the utmost demonstrations of joy. of effecting his escape under cover of the night, which was But neither the virtues nor the popularity of the sovereign extremely dark, when the assassins seized him by the hair, could allay the factious spirit of the Poles, nor prevent the exclaiming in Polish, “ We have thee now ; thy hour is dismemberment of his kingdom. The partition of Poland was first projected by the king First parti, come.” ;One of them discharged a pistol at him, so vei*y Ponear that he felt the heat of the flash ; whilst another cut of Prussia. Polish or Western Prussia had long been antionof him across the head with his sabre, wdxich penetrated to object of his ambition. Exclusively of its fertility, com-laiui‘ the bone. They then laid hold of him by the collar, and merce, and population, its local situation rendered it highmounting on horseback, dragged him along the ground ly valuable to that monarch ; it lay between his German between their horses at full gallop for nearly five hundred dominions and Eastern Prussia, and, whilst in the possession I paces through the streets of Warsaw. But finding that he of the Poles, it cut off' at their will all communication bewas incapable of following them on foot, and that he had tween them. The period had now arrived when the situalready almost lost his resphation from the violence with ation of Poland seemed to promise the easy acquisition of which they had dragged him, they set him on horseback, this valuable province. Frederic, however, pursued it with and then redoubled their speed for fear of being overtaken. all the caution of an able politician. On the commenceWhen they came to the ditch which surrounds Warsaw, ment of the troubles, he showed no eagerness to interfere in the affairs of this country ; and although he had conthey obliged him to leap his horse over .the obstacle. They had no sooner crossed the ditch than they began curred with the empress of Russia in raising Stanislas Auto rifle the king, tearing off the order of the Black Eagle gustus to the throne of Poland, yet he declined taking any of Prussia, which he wrore round his neck, and the diamond active part in his favour against the confederates. Aftercross attached to it. Having thus plundered him, a great wards, when, in 1769, the whole kingdom became convulsed number of the assassins retired, probably intending to no- with civil commotions, and desolated by the plague, he, tify to their respective leaders the success of their enterprise, under pretence of forming lines to prevent the spreading ot and the king’s aridval as a prisoner. Only seven remained the infection, advanced his troops into Polish Prussia, and with him, of whom Kosinski was the chief. The night was occupied the wdxole of that district. Though now comexceedingly dark ; they were absolutely ignorant of the way; pletely master of the country, and by no means apprehenand, as the horses could not keep their legs, they obliged sive of any formidable resistance from the disunited and his majesty to follow them on foot. They continued to distracted Poles, yet, as he w^as well aware that the security wander through the open meadow's, without following any of his new acquisition depended upon the acquiescence of certain path, and without getting to any distance trom Russia and Austria, he planned the partition of Poland. Warsaw. After some time, they again mounted the king on He communicated the project to the emperor, either upon horseback, two of T them holding him on each side; and in their interview at Niess in Silesia in 1769, or in that of the this manner they w ei’e proceeding, when his majesty, finding following year at Nieustadt in Austria, and from him the they had taken the road which led to a village called Bura- overture met with a ready concurrence. To induce the * kow, warned them not to enter it, because there were some empress of Russia to acquiesce in the same project, he desRussians stationed in that place, who might probably at- patched to St Petersburg his brother Henry, who suggested 1 tempt to rescue him. From the time they had passed the to the empress, that the house of Austria was forming an ditch, they repeatedly demanded of Kosinski, their chief, if alliance with tlxe Porte, with which she was then at war; i it was not yet time to put the king to death; and these de- that if such alliance took place, it would create a most for! mands were reiterated in proportion to the obstacles and midable combination against her; that, nevertheless, the difficulties they encountered, till they were suddenly alarm- friendship of that house was to be purchased by acceding K j1 ed by a Russian patrole or detachment. Instantly holding to the partition ; that, upon this condition, the emperor was council, four of them disappeared, leaving the king with willing to renounce his connection with the grand signior, the other three, who compelled him to walk on. Scarcely a and would suffer the Russians to prosecute the war with-

POLAND. 200 History, out interruption. Catharine, anxious to push her conquests circular letters for the election ; he gave orders to the sta- History, against the Turks, and dreading the interposition of the rosts, a sort of military officers who had great authority, and emperor in that quarter; perceiving, likewise, from the inti- whose proper business it was to levy the revenue, to keep a mate union between the courts of \ ienna and Berlin, that strict guard upon the fortified places, and enjoined the grand it would not be in her power, at the present juncture, to generals to do the same upon the frontiers, towards which prevent the intended partition; closed with the proposal, the army marched. The place of election was the field of Vola, at the gates and selected no inconsiderable portion of the Polish territories for herself. The treaty was signed at St Petersburg of Warsaw ; and all the nobles of the kingdom had a right in the beginning of February 1772, by the Russian, Aus- of voting. The Poles encamped on the left side of the Vistrian, and Prussian plenipotentiaries. It would be tedious tula, and the Lithuanians on the right, each under the banto enter into a detail of the pleas urged by the three powers ners of their respective palatinates. The field of election in favour of their several demands ; nor would it be less un- was surrounded by a ditch provided with three gates ; one interesting to lay before the reader the answers and remon- to the east for Great Poland, another to the south for Little strances of the king and senate, as well as the appeals to Poland, and a third to the west for Lithuania. In the middle the other states which had guaranteed the possessions of of the field was erected a great building of wood, named Poland. The courts of London, Paris, Stockholm, and Co- the szopa, or hall of the senate. All who aspired openly to penhagen, remonstrated against these usurpations ; but re- the crown were expressly excluded from the field of elecmonstrances without assistance could be ot no effect. Po- tion, that their presence might not constrain the voters. The land submitted to the dismemberment, not without the most king must be elected nemine contradicente, by all the sufviolent struggles; and now for the first time that unhappy frages without exception. The law which prescribed unacountry felt and lamented the fatal effects of faction and nimity was founded upon this principle, that when a great family adopts a father, all the children have a right to be discord. A Diet being demanded by the partitioning powers, in pleased. The idea seems plausible in speculation ; but if it order to ratify the cession of the provinces, it met on the w’ere rigorously adhered to, Poland could never have had 19th of April 1773; and such was the spirit of the mem- such thing as a lawful king. They therefore gave up a real bers, that, notwithstanding the deplorable situation of their imnnimitv. and rnntpnted themselves with the anDearance country, and the threats and bribes of the three powers, the or semblance of concord. No election could possibly be carried on with more order, partition-treaty was not carried through without much difficulty. For some time the majority of the nuncios appear- decency, and appearance of freedom. The primate in few ed determined to oppose the dismemberment, and the king words recapitulated to the nobles on horseback the respecfirmly persisted in the same resolution. The ambassadors tive merits of the candidates ; he exhorted them to choose of the three courts enforced their requisitions by the most the most worthy, invoked heaven, gave his blessiqg to the alarming menaces, and threatened the king with deposition assembly, and remained alone with the marshal of the Diet, whilst the senators dispersed themselves into the several and imprisonment. They also gave out by their emissaries, that in case the Diet continued refractory, Warsawr should palatinates to promote an unanimity of sentiment. If they be pillaged. This report was industriously circulated, and succeeded, the primate himself went to collect the votes, made a sensible impression upon the inhabitants. By me- at the same time naming again all the candidates. “ Szoda,” naces of the same sort, by corrupting the marshal of the answered the nobles, “ that is the man we choose and inDiet, and by bribes, promises, and threats, the members stantly the air resounded with his name, together with cries were at length prevailed on to ratify the dismemberment. of vivat, and the noise of pistols. If all the palatines agreed The partitioning powers, however, did less injury to the in their nominations, the primate got on horseback, and republic by dismembering its fairest provinces, than perpe- then, the profoundest silence succeeding to the greatest tuating the principles of anarchy and confusion. Under noise, he asked three times if all were satisfied, and, after a pretence of amending the constitution, they confirmed all general approbation, three times proclaimed the king; upon its defects, and took effectual precautions to render this un- which the grand marshal of the crown repeated the proclahappy country incapable of ever emerging from the deplo- mation three times at the three gates of the camp. Before the king was proclaimed, the pacta conventa were The^ rable state into which it had fallen ; as was seen in the failure of the most patriotic attempt ever made by a king to re- read aloud to him, which, on his knees at the altar, he swore to observe. This contract, which had been drawn up, meform the constitution of his kingdom. The kings The kings of Poland were anciently hereditary and thodized, and approved by the senate and nobility, was of Poland absolute, but afterwards became elective and limited. In deemed the great charter of Poland. It provided that the originally t]ie 0f Louis, towards the end of the fourteenth cen- king should not attempt to encroach on the liberty of the iiereaitarv tur 0 hut aftery, several limitations were imposed on the royal prero- people, by rendering the crown hereditary in his family; wards elec- gative. In that of Casimir IY. who ascended the throne that he should preserve all the customs, laws, and ordinances tive. in 1446, representatives from the several palatinates were respecting the freedom of election ; that he should ratify all first called to the Diet; the legislative power till then hav- treaties subsisting with foreign powers, which were approving been lodged in the states, and the executive in the king ed by the Diet; that it should be his chief study to cultiand senate. On the decease of Sigismund Augustus, it was vate peace, preserve the public tranquillity, and promote the enacted by law, that for the future the choice of a king interest of the realm ; that he should not coin money exshould perpetually remain free and open to all the nobles cept in the name of the republic, or appropriate to himself of the kingdom ; and this law was accordingly observed, to the advantages arising from coinage ; that in declaring war, the great injury of the kingdom. concluding peace, making levies, hiring auxiliaries, or adAs soon as the throne became vacant, all the courts of jus- mitting foreign troops upon any pretext within the Polish tice, and other parts of the machine of government, remained dominions, the consent of the Diet and senate should be in a state of inaction, and the authority was transferred to the necessary ; that all offices and preferments should be given primate, who, in quality of interrex, had in some respects to the natives of Poland and Lithuania, and that no premore power than the king himself; and yet the republic tence should excuse or palliate the crime of introducing took no umbrage at this, because he had not time to render foreigners into the king’s council or the departments of the himself formidable. He notified the vacancy of the throne republic ; that the officers of his majesty’s guards should be to foreign princes, which was in effect proclaiming that a Poles or Lithuanians, and that the colonel should absocrown was to be disposed of; he issued the universctlia, or lutely be a native of Poland, and of the order of nobility;

POLAND. 201 .fflbiy- that all the officers should be subordinate to the authority count of his ability and experience ; and the other two were History. of the marshal; that no individual should be invested with added only to give weight to this leading member, and by" more employments than the law allows; that the king should their magnificent appearance do honour to the palatinate not marry without the approbation of the senate; that the which they represented. As these deputies, since the reign sovereign should never apply his private signet to acts and of Casimir III. had seats in the Diet, it naturally divided papers of a public nature ; that the king should dispose of the general assembly into two bodies, the upper and lower; the offices both of the court and of the republic, and regu- the one being composed of the senate, the superior clergy, late with the senate the number of forces necessary for the and the great officers ; and the other of the representatives defence of the kingdom ; that he should administer justice of the palatinates, who prepared all business for the superior by the advice of the senate and his council; that the ex- body. penses of his civil list should be the same with those of his 1 he first business of the assembly was to choose a mar- Absurd predecessors ; that he should fill up all vacancies in the shal, upon which occasion the debates and tumults often ran customs obspace of six weeks ; that this should be his first business in high. After his election the marshal kissed the king’s hand ;|frv^5? *n 16 the Diet, obliging the chancellor to publish his appoint- and the chancellor, as the royal representative, reported the ' ments in due form ; that the king should not diminish the matter to be deliberated by the Diet. Then the marshal treasure kept at Cracow, but, on the contrary, endeavour acquainted the king with the instructions the deputies had to augment it, as well as the number of the crown jewels ; received from their constituents, the grievances which they that he should not borrow money without the consent of the would have redressed, and the abuses they required to be Diet; that he should not equip a naval force, without the remedied. He likewise requested his majesty to fill up the consent and full approbation of the republic ; that he should vacant offices and benefices according to law ; and he was profess the Roman Catholic faith, and promote, maintain, answered by a formal speech from the chancellor, who reand defend it, throughout all the Polish dominions; and, ported the king’s inclination to satisfy his people, as soon finally, that all their several liberties, rights, and privileges, as he had consulted his faithful senate. In certain customs should be preserved to the Poles and Lithuanians in gene- observed by the Polish Diet, there was something peculiarly ral, and to all the districts and provinces contained within absurd and preposterous. One in particular merits atteneach of these great divisions, without change, alteration, or tion. Not only was an unanimity of voices necessary to pass the smallest violation, except by the consent of the repub- any bill, and constitute a decree of the Diet, but every bill lic. To these articles a variety of others were added, ac- likewise required to be unanimously assented to, or none cording to circumstances and the humour of the Diet; but could take effect. Thus, if out of twenty bills one happenwhat has been recited formed the standing conditions, which ed to be opposed by a single voice, called the liberum veto, were scarcely ever altered or omitted. all the rest were thrown out, and the Diet had met, deliTh netof The Diet of Poland was composed of the king, the senate, berated, and debated, during six weeks, to no purpose whatP61J. bishops, and the deputies of the nobility or gentry of every ever. palatinate, called, in their collective capacity, comitia togaTo add to the inconveniences which attended the con-Its venality ta, that is, when the states assembled in the city without stitution of the Diet of Poland, a spirit of venality in thean(^ .cor~ I arms and horses ; or comitia paludata, when they met in deputies, and a general corruption, had seized all ranks andmPtl0n' the fields armed, as during an interregnum, at the Diet of degrees in that assembly. There, as in some other counelection. It was a prerogative of the crown to assemble tries, the cry of liberty was kept up for the sake of private the Diet at any particular place, except on occasion of a co- interest. Deputies came with a full resolution of profiting ronation, which the custom of the country required should by their patriotism, and not lowering their voice without a be celebrated at the capital. For a number of years, indeed, gratification. Determined to oppose the most salutary meathe Diet assembled regularly at Warsaw; but, on complaints sures of the court, they either withdrew from the assembly, being made by the Lithuanians, it was agreed that every and protested against all that should be transacted in their third Diet should be held at Grodno. 'When it w^as pro- absence, or else excited such a clamour as rendered it necesposed to hold a general Diet, the king, or, in case of an in- sary for the court to silence them by some lucrative penterregnum, the primate, issued writs to the palatines of the sion, donation, or employment. Thus the business of the several provinces, specifying the time and place of the meet- assembly was not only obstructed by its own members, but ing. A sketch likewise was sent of the business to be de- frequently by largesses from neighbouring powers, and someliberated on by the assembly; the senate was consulted in times by the liberality of an open enemy, who had the art this particular, and six weeks were allowed the members to of distributing his money with discretion. Perhaps the most respectable department of the Polish The Senate prepare themselves for the intended session. It is remarkable, that the Diet never sat more than six weeks in the government was the senate, composed of the bishops, pala- of Poland, • most critical conjunctures and pressing emergencies ; nay, tines, castellans, and ten officers of state, who derived a they have been known to break up in the middle of an im- right from their dignities of sitting in that assembly, and portant debate, and to leave the business to a future meeting. amounting in all to a hundred and forty-four members, who This custom has been justly esteemed one of the greatest were styled “senatorsofthekingdom,”or“ counsellors of the defects of the Polish constitution ; but it probably owed its state,” and had the title of excellency, a dignity supported origin to convenience, and was afterwards superstitiously by no pension or emoluments necessarily annexed to it. observed from whim and caprice. On receipt of the king’s The senate presided over the execution of the laws, and was writ, the palatine communicated the meeting of the Diet the guardian of liberty, the judge of right, and the protector to all the castellans, starosts, and other inferior officers and of justice and equity. All the members, except the bigentry within his jurisdiction ; requiring them to assemble shops, who were senators ex officio, were nominated by the on a certain day to elect deputies, and take into considera- king, and took an oath to the republic before they were pertion the business specified in the royal summons. These mitted to enter upon their functions. Their honours contimeetings were called petty diets, dietines, or lantage, in the nued for life. At the general Diet they sat on the right language of the country, every gentleman possessing three and left of the sovereign, according to their dignity, withacres of land having a vote, and matters being determined out regard to seniority. They were the mediators between by a majority; whereas in the general Diet decrees were the monarch and the subject, and, in conjunction with the only valid when the whole body was unanimous. Every king, ratified all the laws passed by the nobility. As a sepalatinate had three representatives, though the business nator was bound by oath to maintain the liberties of the devolved on one called a nuncio, who was elected on ac- republic, it was thought no disrespect to majesty that they VOL. XVIII.

POLAND. 202 History, reminded the prince of his duty. They were his counsel- ed that the government of the Polish nation should be com- s Hietc ^ v y'-—' lors, and this freedom of speech constituted an inseparable posed of three distinct powers ; the Legislative, in the states assembled ; the Executive, in the king and the council of prerogative of their office. The PerSuch was the constitution of Poland before being new- inspection; and the Judicial power, in the jurisdictions manent modelled by the partitioning powers That it was in all re- existing or to be established. The sixth and seventh arCouncil. spects a very bad one, needs no proof whatever But those ticles, as being of more importance, we shall state the subof at greater length. foreign reformers did not improve it. For two centuries stance According to the former, the Diet, or the legislative power, The I at least, the Poles had with great propriety denominated was to be divided into two houses, viz. the House of Nuncios to con their government a republic, because the king was so ex- or deputies, and the House of Senate, where the king was tot wok ceedingly limited in his prerogative that he resembled The former, being the representative and central more the chief of a commonwealth than the sovereign of a preside. point of supreme national authority, was to possess the prepowerful monarchy. That prerogative, already too conin the legislature ; therefore all bills were to be fined to afford protection to the peasants, groaning under eminence decided first in this house. the tyranny of the nobles, was, after the partition-treaty, Within the competency of the House of Nuncios were House still further restrained by the establishment of the Perma- included all general laws, constitutional, civil, and criminal, Nunc, nent Council, which was vested with the whole executive besides perpetual taxes; matters concerning which the king authority, leaving to the sovereign nothing but the name. to issue his propositions by the circular letters sent beThe permanent council consisted of thirty-six persons, elect- was the dietines to every palatinate and to every district for ed by the Diet out of the different orders of nobility ; and fore and which, coming before the house with the though the king, when present, presided in it, he could not deliberation, opinions expressed in the instructions given to their repreexert a single act of pow er without the consent of the mashould be taken the first for decision. Next, jority of persons, who might well be called his colleagues. sentatives, That the virtuous and accomplished Stanislas should have particular laws, viz. temporal taxes; regulations of the laboured to extricate himself and the great body of the mint; contracting public debts ; creating nobles, and other people from such unparalleled oppression, and that the more casual recompenses ; reparation of public expenses, both orrespectable portion of the nation should have wished to dinary and extraordinary ; concerning war and peace, with give to themselves and their posterity a better form of go- the ratification of treaties both political and commercial vernment, was surely very natural and very meritorious. all diplomatic acts and conventions relative to the laws of The influence of the partitioning powers was indeed exert- nations ; examining and acquitting different executive deed to render the king contented with his situation. His partments, and similar subjects arising from the accidental revenues, which before did not exceed L. 100,000, were now exigencies and circumstances of the state ; in all which tne increased to three times that sum. The republic likewise propositions coming directly from the throne into the house agreed to pay his debts, amounting to upwards of L.4-00,000. of nuncios, were to have a preference in discussion before It also bestowed on him, in hereditary possession, four sta- the private bills. In regard to the House of Senate, it was to consist oflliei rosties or governments of castles, with the districts belongbishops, palatines, castellans, and ministers, under the pre-of kn ing to them, and reimbursed him for the money which he T had laid out on account of the state. It was likewise agreed sidency of the king, w ho should have but one vote, and the casting voice in case of parity, which he might give eithei that the revenues of the republic should be raised to thirtypersonally or by a message to the house. Its power and three millions of florins, or nearly two millions sterling ; and that the army should consist of thirty thousand men. Soon duty were clearly defined, hirst, every general law that after the conclusion of peace with Turkey, the empress passed formally through the house of nuncios was to be of Russia also made the king a present of 250,000 rubles, sent immediately to this, which either accepted or suspendas a compensation for that part of his dominions which ed it till further national deliberation, by a majority of votes, as prescribed by law. If accepted, it became a law in all had fallen into her hands. A new con- These bribes, however, were not sufficient to blind the its force ; if suspended, it might be resumed at the next stitution penetration of Stanislas, nor to cool the ardour of his pa- Diet, and if it was then agreed to again by the house of established triotism. He laboured for posterity, and with such ap- nuncios, the senate must submit to it. Secondly, in every in 1791. parent success, that on the 3d of May 1791, a new consti- particular law or statute of the Diet touching the matteis tution of the government of Poland was established by the above specified, as soon as it had been determined by the king, together wdth the confederate states assembled in house of nuncios, and sent up to the senate, the votes ot double number to represent the Polish nation. That this both houses should be jointly computed, and the majority, constitution was perfect, we are far from asserting ; but it as described by law, should be considered as the will of the was probably as much so as the inveterate prejudices of the nation. Those senators and ministers who, from their share nobles would admit of. It deviated as little as possible in the executive power, were accountable to the republic, from the ancient forms, and consisted of eleven articles re- had no active voice in the Diet, but might be present in specting the government of the republic, to which were order to give necessary explanations to the states. These ordinary legislative Diets were to have an unin-Tk '■ added twenty-one sections, regulating the dietines or priterrupted existence, and be always ready to meet. The™”!. mary assemblies of Poland. ’’abolish,! The first article of this constitution established the Ro- length of sessions was to be determined by the law conSubstance of the first man Catholic faith, with its various privileges and imtnu- cerning Diets. If convened upon some urgent occasion out five arti nities, as the dominant national religion ; but to all other of ordinary session, they were only to deliberate on the cles people, of whatever persuasion, it secured peace in matters subject which occasioned such a call, or on circumstances of faith, and the protection of government. The second which might arise out of it. No law or statute enacted by article guaranteed to the nobility or the equestrian order all such ordinary Diet could be altered or annulled by the same. the privileges w'hich it enjoyed under the kings of the house The majority of votes M as to decide everything and everyof Jagellon. The third and fourth articles granted to the where ; therefore the liberum veto was utterly abolished, free royal towns internal jurisdictions of their own ; and ex- together with all sorts of confederacies and confederate empted the peasants from slavery, declaring every man free Diets, as contrary to the spirit of the constitution, as underas soon as he set his foot on the territory of the republic. mining the government, and as being ruinous to society. The fifth article, after declaring, that in civil society all The framers of this constitution, willing to prevent violent power should be derived from the will of the people, enact- and frequent changes in the national constitution, yet consi-

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POL I itory. dering the necessity of perfecting it after experiencing its ^ y—" effects on public prosperity, determined the period of every twenty-five years for an extraordinary constitutional Diet, to be held for the revision of the constitution, and making such changes and alterations as might be found requisite, piers of The seventh article proceeds on the principle that the tl king most perfect government cannot exist or endure without an Bleouncil effectual executive power. The happiness of the nation o; uspec- Spends on just laws> but the good effects of laws flow only from their execution. The framers of this constitution, therefore, having secured to the Polish nation the right of enacting laws for themselves, the supreme inspection over the executive power, and the choice of their magistrates, intrusted to the king and his council the highest power of executing the laws. This council was to be called Siraz, or the Council of Inspection. The duty of such executive power was to watch over the laws, and to see them strictly executed according to their import, even by means of public force, should it be found necessary. All departments and magistrates were bound to obey its directions. This executive power could not assume the right of making laws, or of interpreting them. It was expressly forbidden to contract public debts ; to alter the repartition of the national income, as fixed by the Diet; to declare war ; to conclude definitively any treaty, or any diplomatic act; it was only allowed to carry on negotiations with foreign courts, and facilitate temporary occurrences, always with reference to the Diet. T crown. The crown of Poland w'as declared to be elective in regard to families, and it was so settled for ever. But it was resolved to adopt hereditary succession to the throne. Therefore it was enacted and declared that, after the expiration of the present king’s life, the elector of Saxony should reign over Poland, and in his person should the dynasty of future kings of Poland commence, nation Every king, on his accession to the throne, was to take a solemn oath to God and the nation, to support the present constitution, and to fulfil the pacta convmta. The king’s person was sacred and inviolable. As no act could proceed immediately from him, he could not in any manner be responsible to the nation; he was not an absolute monarch, but the father and the head of the people ; and his revenues, as fixed by the pacta conventa, were to be sacredly preserved. All public acts, the acts of magistracies, and the coin of the kingdom, were to bear his name. He had the right of pardoning those who were condemned to death, except the crimes were against the state ; and in time of war he had the supreme command of the national forces, but he might appoint the commanders of the army, with the consent of the states. The nomination to all offices and dignities was vested in him. T j Coun- The king’s Council of Inspection was to consist of the 1011, Pr*mate as t^ie head of the clergy, and the president of the sprio'" commission of education, or the first bishop in ordine ; of five ministers, viz. those of police, justice, war, finances, and foreign affairs; of two secretaries to keep the protocols, one for the council, and another for the foreign department; but both without a decisive vote. The hereditary prince, on coming of age, and having taken the oath to preserve the constitution, might assist at all sessions of the council, but could have no vote therein. The marshal of the Diet had also a right to sit in this council, without taking any share in its resolves, in order that he might call together the Diet, always existing ; for, should he deem the convocation of the Diet absolutely necessary, and should the king refuse to do it, the marshal was bound to issue his circular letters to all nuncios and senators, adducing real motives for such meeting. The cases demanding such convocation of the Diet were the follow ing: First, in a pressing necessity concerning the law of nations, and particularly in case of a neighbouring war; secondly, in case of an internal

AND. 203 commotion, menacing the country with revolution, or of a History, collision between magistrates ; thirdly, in an evident danger of general famine ; fourthly, in the orphan state of the country, by demise of the king, or in case of the king’s dangerous illness. All the resolutions of the council of inspection were to be examined by the rules above mentioned. If it should happen that two thirds of secret votes in both houses demanded the changing of any person, either in the council, or any executive department, the king was bound to nominate another; and w hen these ministers were denounced and accused before the Diet, of any transgression of positive law, they were answerable with their persons and fortunes. Such impeachments being determined by a simple majority of votes, collected jointly from both houses, were to be tried immediately by the comitial tribunal, wffiere the accused were to receive their final judgment and punishment if found guilty, or to be honourably acquitted on sufficient proof of innocence. In order to form a necessary organization of the execu-Commistive power, there were established separate commissions,education sions of connected with the above council, and subject to its ordi- &c > nations. These were commissions of education, of police, ‘ of war, and of treasury. I he eighth article regulated the administration of jus- Adminitice. It constituted primary courts of justice for each pa- stration of latinate or district, composed of judges chosen at the die-)usticetine ; and appointed higher tribunals, one being erected in each of the three provinces into which the kingdom was divided, with which appeals might be lodged from the primary courts. It likewise appointed for the trial of persons accused of crimes against the state, one supreme general tribunal for all classes, called a comitial tribunal, or court composed of persons chosen at the opening of every Diet. The ninth article provided a regency during the king’s minority, in case of his settled alienation of reason, or upon the emergency of his being made a prisoner of war. The regulation of the dietines contained nothing that can The elecbe interesting to a British reader, except what related totion and the election and duties of nuncios or representatives to the duties of general Diet. And here it was enacted, that persons hav-nuncaos' ing a right to vote must all be nobles of the equestrian order ; that is, all hereditary proprietors of landed property, or possessed of estates by adjudication for a debt, paying territorial tax to government; brothers inheriting estates before they have shared their succession ; all mortgagees who paid a hundred florins of territoi’ial tax per year from their possessions ; and all life-holders of lands paying territorial tax to the same amount. AH nobles in the army possessed of such qualifying estates had a vote in their respective districts in time of peace, and when absent on leave during war ; and legal possession was understood to qualify when it had been acquired and actually enjoyed for twelve calendar months previously. Persons who had no right to vote were those of the equestrian order that were not actually possessed of a property as described in the foregoing article ; such as held royal, ecclesiastical, or noble lands, even with right of inheritance, but on condition of some duty or payment to their principals ; gentry possessing estates on feudal tenure, called ordynachie, as being bound to certain personal service thereby ; all renters of estates that had no other qualifying property ; those that had not attained eighteen years of age ; persons crimine notati, and those that were under a decree passed in default, even in the first instance, for having disobeyed any judicial court. Every person of the equestrian order that paid territorial Persons tax to government for his freehold, let it be ever so small, eligible and was eligible to all elective offices in his respective district, not eligible. Gentlemen actually serving in the army, even possessed of landed hereditary estate, must have served six complete years before they could be eligible to the office of nuncio only. But this condition was dispensed with in favour of

POLAND. 204 iurT'1 History. those that had before filled some public function. Who- accounts, and in behalf of the emigrant Poles, her imperial Histo: rT' ever waf not personally present at the dietine ; whoever majesty had ordered her troops to enter the terntones ot'—v hadToTeoniDleted twentv-three years of age; whoever had the republic. At the moment when this declaration was St beenTanv public function, nor passed the biennial of- delivered to the Diet, the Russian troops, accompanied by fleee 01 of tu cuiimussu commissaryy in the orderlyj commission; Counts few Polish rem „ those . z that ne ga(Jes,Potocki, appearedRzewuski, upon the Bramcki, frontiers, and and,abefore the close were not exempted by law from obligations of scarta bellalus, which subjected all newly-nobilitated persons to cer- of the month, entered the territories of the republic in setain civil restrictions until the next generation ; and, lastly, veral columns. The spirit manifested by the nobility was truly honour-Spirit ■ all those against whom might be objected a decree in conable to that body. Some of them delivered in their plate the no tumaciam in a civil cause, were not eligible. Such were the heads of the Polish constitution established to the mint. Prince Radzivil engaged voluntarily to furThis conoffered stitution by the king and the confederates in 1791. It will not bear a nish ten thousand stand of arms,-r, and„ anotherfnoble shluuuh , opposed by comparison with systems which have been matured by long to provide a tram of artillery. The courage of the new and the Rus- experience ; but it is surely infinitely superior to the mot- hastily embodied^oldiers^corresponded with the patriotism ley form of government which, for a century previous, ren- of their chiefs. Prince Poniatowski, nephew of the king dered Poland a perpetual scene of war, tumult, tyranny, was appointed commander-in-chief; and though his force and rebellion. Many of the corrupt nobles, however, per- was greatly inferior to the enemy, it must be confessed that ceiving that it would curb their ambition, deprive them of he made a noble stand. The perfidy, the meanness, and the duplicity manifested Conduti the base means which they had long enjoyed of gratifying their avarice by setting the crown to sale, and render it im- by Prussia on this occasion is probably without a parallel 0the com er possible for them to continue with impunity their tyranni- in history. By the treaty of defensive alliance, solemnly ^ ^ contracted between the republic of Poland and the king of cal oppression of the peasants, protested against it, and withdrew from the confederates. This was nothing more Prussia, and ratified on the 23d of April 1790, it is expressthan what might have been expected, or than what the ly stipulated, that the contracting parties shall do all in their king and his friends undoubtedly expected. But the mal- power to guarantee and preserve to each other reciprocalcontents were not satisfied with a simple protest; they pre- ly the whole of the territories which they respectively posferred their complaints to the empress of Russia, who, ever sess ; that, in case of menace or invasion from any foreign ready on all occasions, and on the slightest pretence, to in- power, they shall assist each other with their whole force, vade Poland, poured her armies into the republic, and sur- if necessary ; and that if any foreign power whatever should rounding the king and the Diet with ferocious soldiers, com- presume to interfere in the internal affairs of Poland, his pelled them, by the most indecent menaces, to undo their Prussian majesty would consider this as a case falling withglorious labour of love, and to restore the constitution as in the meaning of the alliance, and assist the republic according to the tenor of the above article, that is, with his settled after the partition-treaty. General On the 21st of April 1792, the Diet received the first no- whole force. What, then, was the pretext for violating this rising. tification from the king, of the inimical and unjust intentions treaty ? It was this, that the empress of Russia had shown of Russia. He informed them that, without the shadow of a decided opposition to the order of things established in pretence, this power had determined to invade the territory Poland on the third of May 1791, and was provoked by of the republic with an army of sixty thousand men. This Poland presuming to put herself into a posture of defence. formidable force, commanded by Generals Soltikof, Mi- It is ascertained, however, by the most authentic documents, chelson, and Kosakowski, was afterwards to be supported by that nothing was effected on the 3d of May 1791, to which a corps of twenty thousand, and by the troops then acting Prussia had not previously assented, and which she did not in Moldavia, amounting to seventy thousand. The king, afterwards sanction ; and that Prussia, according to the ashowever, professed that he was not discouraged; and he sertion of her own king, did not intimate a single doubt re-declared his readiness to put himself at the head of the na- specting the revolution till several months after it had taken tional troops, and to terminate his existence in a glorious place; in short, to use the king’s own words as explanatory contest for the liberties of his country. Then, and not be- of his double politics, “ not till the general tranquillity of fore, the Diet decreed the organization of the army, and its Europe permitted him to explain himself.” Instead, thereaugmentation to a hundred thousand. The king and the fore, of assisting Poland, Prussia insultingly recommended council of inspection were invested with unlimited autho- to Poland to retrace her steps ; in which case, she said that rity in everything that regarded the defence of the king- she would be ready to attempt an accommodation in her dom. Magazines were ordered to be constructed when it favour. But this attempt was never made, and probably was too late, and quarters to be provided for the army. The never intended; for the empress pursued her measures withDiet and the nation rose as one man to maintain their in- out opposition. The duchy of Lithuania was the great scene of action in War m dependence. All private animosities were obliterated, all private interests were sacrificed; the greatest encourage- the beginning of the war. But the Russians had madekussia' ments were held forth to volunteers to enroll themselves un- little progress before the middle of the month of June. On der the national standard ; and it was unanimously decreed the 10th of that month, General Judycki, who commanded by the Diet that all private losses should be compensated a detachment of the Polish troops between Mire and Swiout of the public treasury. erzna, was attacked by the Russians ; but, after a combat Russian the inhuman and atrocious act does not appear to have caused any sensation, nor was any inquiry instituted into the “ North-west Fox,” prevailed on some merchants oftoi London to procure from King Charles I. his countenance, the proceedings of the mutineers. and the loan of one of his ships, for attempting the discoTwo of them, in fact, Abacuk Pricket and Robert Bylot, Of Thomas But- were employed under Captain (afterwards Sir Thomas) But- very of a north-west passage. Fox was undoubtedly niore ton. ton, appointed to prosecute the discovery of a north-west shrewd and intelligent than all former navigators ; and if, passage, in two ships, the Resolution and Discovery. But- when he reached w hat he calls Fox’s Farthest, he had stood ton followed the tract of Hudson, and succeeded in reach- across to the westward, the probability is, that he wmuld ing the coast of America, where he wintered in Nelson’s have got upon the northern coast of America, and succeedRiver, in latitude 57° 10'. The following year they stood ed in working his way into the Pacific, by the very route w to the northward, and discovered Southampton Island, as which Parry since pursued. In the same year the merchants of Bristol fitted out the Of Pl | high up as latitude 65° ; made some discoveries of islands, Maria of seventy tons, the command of which was given to an and returned to England in the autumn of 1613. In 1612, w e find James Hall employed on an expedition Captain James. In proceeding up Hudson’s Strait, someOf James up the western coast of Greenland, where he was slain by where about Resolution Island, he got his ship entangled Hall. one of the natives, at Hamel’s Point, in latitude 67°. The in the ice ; and from that spot to Charlton Island, at the account of the voyage is written by William Baffin, who w as bottom of Hudson’s Bay, in latitude 52°, he details a senes

POLAR SEAS. 219 ar Seas, of disasters which never happened to any navigator before vessels were fitted out, and the command of them given toi Polar Seas. or since. Here he passed the winter, and returned the Captain William Moor and Captain Francis Smith, following year, without making the least progress in discoTheir first examination was thatof the Wager River, which Of Moor tvery. was found to terminate in a broad rapid, beyond which were aml Smith. Captain In 1652>the kinS of Denmark again set forth an expedi- two unnavigable rivers. They then proceeded northerly, till iiel. tion under Captain Daniel, to explore the eastern coast of they came to Captain Middleton’s “ frozen strait,” or opening Greenland. He stood to the northward of Iceland, but he into Repulse Bay, when a difference of opinion arose amongst could not approach the land on account of the ice, though the the officers, whether they were authorized by their instrucmountains were visible at least sixty miles. The most north- tions to examine this bay. The fact appears to be, that the ern cape seen was in 65° 30', to which he gave the name of officers and men had no taste for the business, and were unCape King Frederick. From this point to Cape Farewell der no kind of discipline. Instead, therefore, of proceeding, the ice lay between him and the shore, which in no part he they began to murmur; and although only the 7th of Aicmst^ could approach within twenty miles ; of course, no disco- they urged the lateness of the season, and wished to return very was made by him. home. After this nothing was done or even attempted; and Wood After the lapse of more than a century, a paper admitted Repulse Bay remained, till the second voyage of Captain I Flaws, into the Transactions of the Royal Society of London in Parry, unexamined. 1675 tended to revive the attempt at a north-east passage No farther attempts at either passage appear to have been Of Phipps in England. It contained an account of a Dutch ship, fitted made by any of the maritime nations for nearly thirty years.and L1'1wid e out by a company of merchants in Holland, having passed But the Honourable Daines Barrington having, jn the year S to the north-eastward of Nova Zembla several hundred 1773, presented to the Royal Society a series of papers on leagues, between the parallels of 70° and 80° ; and the sea the practicability of approaching the North Pole, the prein that direction was found to be perfectly open and free sident and council of that society made application to the from ice. About the same time it was reported that Spit*- first lord of the Admiralty (then Lord Sandwich) to send bergen had been circumnavigated, and that a Dutch shi^Ji out a ship or ships, to try how far navigation might be prachad proceeded within one degree of the pole. Upon the ticable towards that quarter. The Racehorse and Carcass strength of these reports, Captain John Wood addressed a bombs were accordingly prepared, and the command given memorial to the king, assigning seven reasons and three ar- to Captain the Honourable Constantine Phipps and Capguments for the existence of a north-east passage. Accord- tain Skiffington Lutwidge. They left the Nore on the ingly, two ships were fitted out under Captains Wood and 10th of June, passed along the western coast of Spitzbergen, Flaws. They left the Nore in May 1676 ; on the 22d of June and advanced to latitude 80° 48', in sight of the Seven had reached the latitude 75° 79', and on the 26th got sight Islands ; here they were beset in the ice on the 1st of Auof the west coast of Nova Zembla. Three days after this, gust, and on the 10th, after being forced through it by a Wood lost his ship amongst the ice, and after some perils, north-east wind, they proceeded to the southward, and arand the loss of two men in reaching the shore, they were rived at the Nore on the 25th of September. picked up by the other ship, and returned homewards withThe hopes of a north-west passage were not abandoned Of Cook out making the least discovery; when Wood published many by this failure ; but it was resolved to make the attempt by and Clerke. peremptory and ill-founded reflections on former navigators, a different route to any that had yet been attempted ; that and now found out seven reasons and three arguments against is to say, from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Captain Cook the passage to the north-east. was selected for this enterprise, and two ships, the ResoluCaptain Of the voyages of Knight, Barlow, Vaughan, and Scroggs, tion and Discovery, were fitted out for the purpose, the Idleton. from the Hudson’s Bay Company’s settlements, along the latter being commanded by Captain Clerke. An amended eastern coast of America, little else need be said, than that act was passed for granting the reward of L.20,000 for the they did not extend the knowledge of that coast beyond discovery of “ any northern passage” by sea, between the Whale Point; but the observations they made on the strong Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and also the reward of L.5000 tide flowing down the Welcome induced a gentleman of the to any ship which should approach the North Pole within name of Dobbs to press the Board of Admiralty to appro- one degree. Captain Cook left England in July 1776; priate a ship of the navy to make discoveries in this quar- entered Behring’s Strait on the 9th of August 1779; and on ter. Two ships were accordingly fitted out; the Furnace the 17th of August reached latitude 70° 4P N., and saw the bomb, and the Discovery pink, commanded by Captain highest point of America, surrounded with ice, and thereMiddleton and Mr William Moor. They left England in fore named by him Icy Cape, in latitude 70° 29', longitude 1741, and wintered in Churchill River, in latitude 58° 56'; 198° 20'. The main body of the ice drifting down towards remained there till the 1st of July ; proceeded northerly to the ships, and the weather becoming foggy, they stood to the latitude 65° 23', and entered Wager River, which they the southward ; and as the season was far advanced, Capexamined in an imperfect manner. They then stood to the tain Cook determined to pass the winter at the Sandwich northward as far as Cape Hope, in latitude 66° 14', longi- Islands, and to renew the attempt at an earlier period the tude 86° 28' W.; and, most unaccountably, abandoned all following year. By his death at this place, Captain Clerke farther search, having seen, or fancied they saw, “ a frozen became the commanding officer. I hat he should have strait” between them and the point round which they had failed in reaching as far north as Cook had done, is not at to proceed to the westward. Middleton had been an old all surprising, after an absence of three years from home, servant of the Hudson’s Bay Company, who were supposed and all hands, as is avowed, “ heartily sick of a navigation to be jealous of any discoveries in their neighbourhood, and full of danger.” A small vessel had been sent in the year averse from encouraging them ; and he was accused of hav- r.'76 up Davis’s Strait, under Lieutenant Pickersgill, and ing taken a bribe from them to defeat the object of the ex- the same vessel again in \ t il, under Lieutenant Young, to pedition. The lords of the Admiralty refused to approve render any assistance that might be required, in the event of his proceedings; and to evince the feeling of the govern- of Captain Cook’s reaching Baffin’s Bay; but neither of ment, an act was passed the very year after his return, of- these officers made a progress beyond the 73d degree of fering a reward of L.20,000 to the person or persons, being latitude. subjects of his majesty, who should discover a north-west In 1786 and 1787, the king of Denmark, at the sugges- mua passage through Hudson’s Strait to the Pacific. Dobbs, tion of Bishop Egede, sent out an expedition under Cap- returning these circumstances to the advantage of his favourite tain (afterwards Admiral) Lowenorn, for the purpose of reproject, got up a large subscription, and in 1746 two other discovering the eastern coast of Greenland. This officer per-

POLAR SEAS. 220 Polar Seas, severed for two years, but with no better success than his the attempt the following year. An accident, however, Polar predecessors. They saw the coast at various points, as high which occurred on his second entrance of the strait, though ^—vj-' up as 661°, but could not approach it on account of the ice. personal only, put an end to the expedition. This voyage of Kotzebue would alone have been suffi-Of Rci‘ No discovery, therefore, of importance resulted from this cient to stimulate England to attempt once more to accom- and if expedition. the almost only. interesting discovery in geography ’ Mr DunOn the part of England, all further attempts appeared plish - - - that^j* x mu can’s voy- to be abandoned after the failure of Captain Cook. One remains to be made ; but other circumstances were reported jjn ages. gentleman, however, Mr Alexander Dalrymple, hydrogra- in the year 1817, which determined the government to fit pher to the Admiralty, considering that three points of the out two expeditions for northern discovery. A ship from northern coast of America had been clearly established, viz. Hamburg, in the summer of that year, made the eastern Icy Cape, by Cook; the north of the Copper Mine River, coast of Greenland, which was supposed to have been shut in 1772, bv Hearne; and the mouth of Mackenzie River, up with ice for four centuries, in the 70th parallel of latiby the traveller whose name it bears, in 1789; which tude, continued along it to the 80th degree, and stood three points were supposed to be in or about the 70th paral- along that parallel to the coast of Spitzbergen. For three lei of latitude, and that they comprehended within them years before this, the post-office packets, and other vessels fully two thirds of the whole of that coast; and combining crossing the Atlantic, had fallen in with very unusual quanthese discoveries with other circumstances, he was decidedly tities of ice floating to the southward. This breaking up of opinion that a north-west passage did exist, and that it of the ice was deemed favourable for the prosecution of was practicable. On the strength of this opinion he pre- northern discovery. For this purpose two separate expedivailed on the governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company to tions were put in preparation. One was intended to proemploy Mr Charles Duncan, a master in the navy, on the ceed by the North Pole, as the nearest route, and, if no indiscovery. He left England for this purpose in 1790, to terruption from land occurred, probably the most pi'actijoin a sloop of the name of the Churchill, then in Hudson’s cable, to Behring’s Strait; the other, to attempt a passage Bay; but he soon discovered that the crew were averse by some of the openings leading out of Baffin’s Bay. To to the intended enterprise, and set up so systematic an each were assigned two ships. Those destined for the opposition to proceeding upon it, that he deemed it pru- polar passage were the Dorothea, of 370 tons, commanded dent to leave them, and to return to England. The gover- by Captain David Buchan, and the Trent, of 250 tons, by nors of the company expressed their regret; and, to prove Lieutenant John Franklin. Those for the north-west were how much they were in earnest, fitted out a strong ship the Isabella, of 382 tons, commanded by Captain John called the Beaver, and Mr Duncan set out a second time. Ross, and the Alexander, of 252 tons, by Lieutenant WilHe wintered in Churchill River, where he remained till the liam Edward Parry. The polar expedition was rendered 15th of July, and entered Chesterfield Inlet; but his crew abortive by the disabling of the Dorothea in the ice ; the mutinied, encouraged by his first officer, who was a servant other circumnavigated Baffin’s Bay, and ascertained that of the Hudson’s Bay Company ; and thus ended his second the narrative of that able navigator whose name it bears is substantially true; and that the chart appended to the voyage. Of the Rus- We have said nothing of the Russian voyages along the Voyage of the North- West Fox is in fact the chart of Baffin, sian voy- northern coast of Asia. That no one person has performed and wonderfully correct for the time in which it was laid ages. the whole, either at once or by successive trials, is quite down. Not one, however, of the many great openings clear; but, with the single exception of one “ sacred pro- which appear in that chart, and were ascertained to exist, montory,” called Cape Cevero Vostochnoi, between the was examined ; and the only one that was entered was Yenisei and the Lena, the whole has been navigated by abandoned in a most unaccountable manner, and on grounds various persons at different times. In the years between which were at once suspected, and subsequently proved, to 1734 and 1738, Lieutenants Moroviof, Malgyn, and Skura- be utterly without foundation. Another expedition was, therefore, immediately fitted Of Pa:| kof, succeeded in proceeding from Archangel to the Bay Li of Obe; and in the latter year, Offzin and Koskelef pro- out, consisting of two ships, the Hecla bomb and Griper and 0I1 ceeded from that bay to the mouth of the Yenisei. In gun-brig, and the command of it given to Lieutenant Parry, ' 1735, Lieutenant Prontshistshef set out in the contrary di- Lieutenant Liddon being appointed to that of the Griper. rection from the Lena, but was stopped by the promontory They dropped down the river on the 4th of May 1819 ; saw above mentioned; though some affirm that he passed it, Cape —r_ Farewell on the 15th of June ; and by the^SOth of and reached as far as Taimura. From the Lena eastward July had succeeded in crossing the ice of Baffin’s Bay, and to the Kowyma the voyage has frequently been performed, reaching the opening of Sir James Lancaster’s Sound, just and Shaularoff, in 1671, succeeded in reaching the Shelat- one month earlier than in the preceding year. To the exskoi-noss, but could not double it; and the only instance amination of this sound Mr Parry was particularly directed of its having been passed is that of Deshnef, as far back as by his instructions. In proceeding along it to the westthe year 1648, who sailed from the Kowyma, through Beh- ward, he met with little obstruction from the ice (though ring’s Strait, to Anadyr. he was evidently navigating through an archipelago ox OfLieuteThe immense distance by sea from St Petersburg to islands, where it usually most abounds) until he came to isant Kotze* Kamtschatka, and the Russian settlements on the north- the western extremity of what he calls Melville Island, the k'aewest coast of America, would render the discovery of a last that was visible on the northern side of the strait or north-west passage of infinite importance to Russia. Im- passage through which he had proceeded. Beyond this he pressed with the magnitude of this importance, an indivi- struggled in vain, till the 20th of Septembei’, to get to the dual of that nation, the Count Romanzoff, fitted out at his westward, when the severity of the weather made it prxxown expense a small vessel, named the Rurick, the com- dent to look out for a secure spot to pass the winter ; and, mand of which was given to Lieutenant Kotzebue. She after cutting a canal through the ice upwards of two miles left the Baltic in 1815, passed Cape Horn, and in 1817 en- in length, tracked the two ships into \Vinter Harbour, the tered a deep inlet on the eastern side of Behring’s Strait, in crews “ hailing the event with three loud and hearty which he passed the remaining part of the summer. He cheers.” The following year, when released from their icy found no ice, neither in the strait nor the inlet, and saw prison, every effort was again made to pass the western exnothing to prevent his proceeding up the American coast tremity of Melville Island, but in vain; and, after many to Icy Cape but the lateness of the season ; and therefore fruitless attempts, the ships returned to the eastward, and returned to the southward, with the intention of renewing reached England in safety, bringing back every man who

POLAR SEAS. 221 Seas.had embarked on the expedition, with the exception of one, Welcome and Fox’s Channel, carrying with them those Polar Seas, who carried out with him an incurable complaint. fields and hummocks of ice that accumulate in the Frozen'“v'—-" The farthest point reached by Lieutenant, now Captain, Strait, and amongst the narrows between the islands that ocParry in the Polar Sea, was latitude 74. 26. 25. north, and cur from this point down to Hudson’s Bay. The strait itself longitude 113. 46. 43. west; a point of western longitude is so choked with ice, adhering to its two shores, as to renwhich, by an amended act of parliament, dividing the sum der it unfit for navigable purposes, otherwise it would be the of L.20.000 into a graduated scale, entitled the discoverers nearest and most direct line to pursue to get into the Polar to L.5000. Sea through the lower portion of Prince Regent’s Inlet. On their return to England, there was not an officer or A third attempt was made in the Hecla and Fury in the •ry /on man in the whole expedition that was not satisfied with the years 1824-1825, the least successful of all. In this voyage practicability of a western passage from the Atlantic to the Parry entered Lancaster Sound, and, instead of proceeding Pacific, though in some other line of direction, either to westerly, as he had before done, towards Melville Island, the northward or the southward of the extensive group of he deemed it expedient to strike off to the southward, islands amongst which they had been navigating. The lords down Prince Regent’s Inlet, on the supposition, that havof the Admiralty appear to have entertained the same feel- ing reached the current which he had previously ascerings, and accordingly gave directions for two bombs, the tained to pass through the Fury and Hecla Strait, he would Fury and the Hecla, to be prepared for the prosecution of find himself in the direct line of the passage that would the discovery. To Captain Parry was given, as was justly bring him to Icy Cape. It was, however, with much difdue, the command of the expedition, and to Captain Lyon ficulty he was enabled to reach Port Bowen on the eastern that of the Hecla. They left England in May 1821, and shore of the inlet, on account of the vast masses of ice that on the 2d of August arrived in the channel formed between almost filled up this strait or inlet; and it was then so late Southampton Island and the coast of America; passed the in the season that he resolved to winter in this port. On Frozen Strait of Middleton, and unconsciously entered Re- the 20th of July following, the ships were released from pulse Bay, “ wherein was not a piece of ice to be seen.” their winter quarters by the disruption of the ice ; but such They found it entirely surrounded by land. Proceeding was the pressure of the vast masses by which they soon to the northw ard along the coast of America, they examin- found themselves surrounded, that both ships were driven ed several inlets, all of which terminated at short distances on shore, and the Fury was finally wrecked. Parry was from their entrance. The arrival of the 1st of October gave therefore under the necessity of taking on board the crew sufficient indications of the necessity of finding some place of the Fury, and as much of her provisions as he could to pass the winter in; and after much research, to a small stow, and of making the best of his way to England. Parry was not in the least disconcerted by the unsuc-Of Parry island selected for that purpose, Parry gave the name of Winter Island. Its latitude was observed to be 66|°, the cessful issue of the last voyage. Fie offered his services and Ross, on a new plan of discovery, which indeed had already been lowest temperature, during the winter, was — 40°. On the 2d of July they left Winter Island, proceeded up proposed by Sir John Franklin. This was to proceed to Fox’s Channel, in which, from the strength of the current, the northern extremity of Spitzbergen, and from thence, and the floating masses of ice, both ships had a narrow es- with boats, to make the attempt to reach the North Pole. cape from being nipped, that is, crushed between the huge These northern voyages had always been popular from the hummocks. At length they reached the latitude of 67° lb', earliest periods of British navigation. The president and where they found a considerable opening in the land of council of the Royal Society addressed a letter to Lord America, out of which a strong current was observed to set Melville, signifying their approval of Parry’s proposal, and into the sea. It turned out, on examination, to be the stating their opinion, that such an enterprise could not fail to mouth of a fresh-water river. Proceeding still northerly afford many valuable scientific results, and to settle points along the coast of America, they came to a strait which had of philosophical inquiry. The Hecla was again put in combeen previously indicated by a party of Esquimaux at Win- mission for this service. She left the Nore the beginning ter Island, and which one of the women, of a very superior of April 1827, and on the 14th of May was abreast of Hakcast, had marked down on a chart, with extraordinary cor- luyt’s Headland, and in June was anchored in a bay in larectness. Near it was the island of Igloolik, where (the 30th titude 79° 55' north, longitude 16° 54' east. From thence of October having arrived) they resolved to take up their Parry proceeded in two sledge-boats, which he named the second winter quarters. Its latitude was 69^°, the lowest Enterprise and Endeavour ; Parry in the one, and Lieutemperature 45° below zero. That horrible disease, the tenant (now Captain) Ross in the other. At first they had scurvy, having, in the following spring, made its appear- to contend with loose and rugged ice, amongst which were ance, both amongst the officers and the crews, which, how- pools of water; they then came to floe or field-ice, in ever, yielded to the universal specific, lemon-juice, Captain places rugged, and sometimes covered with snow. Over Barry, by the advice of the surgeons, deemed it expedient, these the boats were to be hauled, which proved a most as soon as the ships could be liberated, to make the best of severe and laborious task, the result of which was a prohis way home, where he arrived on the 18th of October, hav- gress of four or five miles a day due north, seldom more. ing lost, in the course of the voyage, and the two winters But the most mortifying circumstance of all was, that when he was shut up in the ice, five of his crew, three by sick- they thought they had advanced some ten or twelve miles ness, one of previous disease, and one killed, out of the to the northward, they found that they had retrograded as two ships’ companies amounting to 118 men. many miles to the southward, the floe on which they were The result of this voyage forms a valuable and import- exerting themselves having been carried by the current ant addition to our geographical knowledge. The strait in that direction. In this way they struggled for thirtynear which they wintered was named by Parry the Fury five days, when, having expended half their provisions, and Hecla Strait. The north-eastern termination of the and the season approaching to its termination, it was recontinent of America was for the first time ascertained to solved they should return to the ship, the farthest point be the southern point of land forming its entrance, and is that they had reached being only 82° 45' north, longitude in latitude 69° 4P north, longitude 82° 35' west. The 19° 25' east. It has been observed, that this unsuccessful attempt “ is narrowest part of the strait is about two miles across; its length about sixty geographical miles, where it joins Prince of so bold and daring a character, that it must stand as a Regent’s Inlet. It is through this strait that the waters of record to the latest posterity, of the patient, persevering, the Polar Sea are poured, in a perpetual current, into the energetic, and undaunted conduct which British seamen

POLAR SEAS. 222 Polar Seas. are capable of displaying in the most difficult, discourag- so as to entitle those who, at the expense of every personal Pok! e* ing, and dangerous circumstances, when under the com- comfort, embarked in them, to the gratitude of mankind. mand of prudent and intelligent officers, in whom they From the present state of our knowledge thus acquired, a have entire confidence. On their return they met with very probable conjecture may now be formed of the pracopen water to a considerable extent, and they reached the ticability, or otherwise, of a navigation through some part Hecla in sixty-one days from the time they had left her. of the Polar Sea. In the first place, it has been distinctly ascertained that If any future attempt to reach the pole be undertaken, it should not be made by boats, which are at the mercy of human beings can winter with impunity to their health in every current, and of every floe of ice with which they may the highest possible degree of cold which can exist in any come in contact; but in a small sailing vessel, that can take part of the earth’s surface ; for there is every reason short of advantage of the open water, which every breeze from the actual proof to believe, that the temperature of the atmonorthward affords to a vast extent. The distance is so short, sphere on the pole itself is not lower than, perhaps not so low that the success of an expedition of this kind is far from im- as, in the parallel of 75°, where Parry wintered; the spirit in the thermometer having there descended to 55° below probable. Of Ross. Of Captain (now Sir John) Ross’s expedition little need zero. So little, indeed, is a high parallel of latitude the sole be said. It was a bold but inconsiderate undertaking, and cause of a decreased temperature, that, in 65° north, ten deevery soul who embarked on it must have perished, but for grees less than Parry’s winter-quarters, Lieutenant Franklin the ample supplies they received from the Fury, or rather had the spirit in the tube down to 57°, two degrees lower from the provisions and stores which, by the providence of than Parry. This officer, therefore, left England with the Captain Parry, he had ordered to be carefully stored up on impression that he should experience no injury, nor much the beach; for the ship herself had entirely disappeared. inconvenience, from passing a second winter in the Polar He proceeded down Regent’s Inlet as far as he could in Sea, if it should be found necessary. In the second place, it has now been ascertained in what his little ship, the Victory; placed her amongst the ice clinging to the shore, and after two winters left her there; and, situations it w ould be a waste of time to look for a passage, in returning to the northward, by great good luck fell in and where the only remaining points are deserving of exwith a whaling-ship, which took them all on board, and amination. That a communication, if not a practicable pasbrought them home. Captain James Ross, by his inde- sage, does exist between the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans, fatigable exertions, collected some geographical informa- through the medium of the Polar Sea, very little doubt can tion, and proceeded along the eastern coast of the land remain. The constant current which the old navigators which Sir John Ross has named Boothia, out of compli- Button, Fox, Middleton, and since their time Parry, Lyon, ment to his generous friend Booth, who bore the expenses and Back, found setting down the Welcome, and which also, of the expedition; and in this journey Ross came to the in a less degree, prevails in Baffin’s Bay and Davis’s Strait, tospot on which, he informs us, the magnetic pole was then gether with the current which as constantly sets up Behring’s Strait, as appears from the journal of Cook, Clerke, Glottof, situated. Captain Beechey was employed on a surveying expedi- and Kotzebue, testifies to this position. The fact of this Expeditions of tion along the western coast of North America, and when circumvolving current, which we have no doubt contributes Beechey, he had reached Behring’s Strait he despatched his master, to those permanent movements everywhere existing in the Franklin, in the long-boat, round Icy Cape, to endeavour to fall in great oceans, has been called in question, because, forsooth, Richardson, Simp- with Sir John Franklin, who was proceeding westerly from Sir John Ross found it running as much one way as the son, Back, Mackenzie’s River towards Icy Cape. These two officers, other in Baffin’s Bay. Sir John Ross had no further know&c. uncertain of their respective situations, returned each the ledge of currents than of those which are generally found way they had come, when about one hundred and tw’enty to agitate the surface of the sea, and which are known to miles distant from each other. At the same time Dr Rich- change with every wind. Superficial currents, however, ardson had proceeded easterly and surveyed the American are not here meant, but the uniform motion of that great coast as far as Hearne’s River, Franklin on a previous ex- body of water, which, in spite both of winds and superficial pedition having surveyed from thence to Cape Turnagain. currents, and in the teeth of both, carry icebergs many The interval between the point reached by Beechey’s mas- hundred feet immersed below the surface, and bear them ter and that by Franklin on the second journey was, in the along the coast of America, in direct opposition to the summer of 1837, accurately surveyed by Mr Simpson and strongest and most extensive current that we know of, the the servants of the Hudson’s Bay Company, who, with Gulf Stream. How happens it, then, it may be asked, that a zeal and spirit that cannot be too strongly approved, are none of these icebergs, so very commonly met with in the in the present summer of 1838 engaged in completing that Atlantic, ever come across to the coast of Norw’ay or Denpart betw een Cape Turnagain and the bottom of Regent’s mark, Scotland or Ireland, with the spread of the said Inlet, which Captain Back was sent by land to complete, Gulf Stream, after it reaches the banks of Newfoundland, matters, floating on the but was too late in reaching the coast for the party to un- and carries with it so many other r dertake it. Captain Back in the year 1837 was sent, in surface, to these coasts ? Or w hy do all the bottles which the Terror, to land at Wager River or Repulse Bay, w ith have been launched in Davis’s Strait leave the direction the view of accomplishing what the Hudson’s Bay servants taken by the icebergs, and turn up on some of the aboveare in the present year engaged upon ; but his attempt was mentioned coasts ? Clearly, because there is a body of waa complete failure, owing to the ship being immoveably ter acting on those parts of the icebergs under the surface fixed in the ice which adhered to the shore of Southampton (and which are at least thirty times the magnitude of the parts above the surface) in a contrary direction to that Island. which is in motion above. The fact is so obvious as not to require another word on the subject. It is the icebergs * Probability The sketch here given of the various attempts which of a pas- have been made for the discovery of a north-west, a north only that are subject to this law. The field-ice, which is in„. , east, and polar passage, is purely historical. The results fluenced and drifted about according to the winds and the currents on the surface, gives no indication of the direction ination°ob- ^ave ^een uniformly unsuccessful; but though they have in which the great body of water is moved. tained. failed in the main object, it must not be concluded that In the rsame manner, we may be satisfied of the constant they have been useless. On the contrary, they have been the means of accumulating a stock of information of the rush of w ater from the Pacific, through Behring’s Strait, highest importance in almost every department of science, into the Polar Sea, to supply the constant stream which

POLAR flows down the Welcome into Hudson’s Bay. It is this ‘ eas/‘ current which, according to the observations of Kotzebue and the naturalist Chamisso, brings the great quantity of drift-wood found in Behring’s Strait and Kotzebue’s Inlet. It is the same current by which, on the same authority, we are told, the icebergs and fields of ice, which are formed and break up in the sea of Kamtschatka, “ do not drift, as in the Atlantic, to the south, but into the strait to the north and the strength of this set of the sea is stated to be from two and a half to three miles an hour, and that even in the teeth of a strong northerly wind. The conclusion drawn by M. Kotzebue is this, that the constant north-east direction of the current of Behring’s Strait proves that the water meets with no opposition, and, consequently, that a passage must exist (to the Atlantic), though perhaps not adapted to navigation. Observations have long been made that the current in Baffin’s Bay runs to the south ; and thus no doubt can remain that the mass of water which flows into Behring’s Strait takes its course round the northern shore of America, and returns through Baffin’s Bay into the ocean. But we have still more direct and positive information. Two Russian ships doubled the Icy Cape in 1821, and proceeded some forty or fifty miles beyond the point reached by Captain Cook ; and such was the strength of the current to the eastward, that it was with the utmost difficulty they could stem it on their return, which a want of provisions, and of every requisite to pass the winter or encounter ice, compelled them to do; but they had no doubt whatever of a practicable passage. An idea has heedlessly been started, that the superficial current in Baffin’s Bay, and that which descends along the coast of Labrador, may be owing to the melting of the ice in summer; but if so, why does not the summer current at least descend through Behring’s Strait instead of perpetually ascending it ? But the supposition is altogether without foundation ; for the quantity of ice destroyed above the surface will be replaced by very nearly the same quantity rising from below the surface; and, therefore, the water produced by the melting of the ice will merely supply the place of the latter, and not raise the surface of the sea above its usual level, nor produce any current. Be it observed, too, that in the arctic regions little or no increase of the ice is occasioned by the fall of rain or snow, which are of trifling amount. Another objection, equally frivolous, was taken against a communication of the waters of Hudson’s Bay and Behring’s Strait, on the ground that the continent of Asia overlapped and was united to America, making Behring’s Strait to terminate in a great bay. That question, however, has been set at rest for ever, even with those who were disposed to doubt of the voyage of Deschreff. The Russian government has recently employed several men of science to determine points of doubtful position on the northern coast of Siberia. In February 1821, Baron Wrangel, a distinguished officer in their service, left his head-quarters on the Nishey Kolyma, to determine, by astronomical observation, the position of Shelatskoi-noss, or the north-east cape of Asia, which was found to be in latitude 70° 5' north, considerably lower than it is usually placed on the maps. He then proceeded over the ice directly north for eighty miles, without perceiving any other object than a boundless field of ice. The supposed continuation, therefore, of Asia to the eastward, may be considered as an idle speculation. But the perpetual current from Behring’s Strait has been traced along the whole extent of the northern coast of America into Hudson’s Bay (with the exception of some 200 miles not yet examined), by Beechey, Franklin, Richardson. Back, and the Hudson’s Bay Bav Comoanv, ardson, Company, and so distinctly, as not to leave a doubt on the subject; and Parry found it discharging itself impetuously into Fox’s Channel, and down the Welcome through the Strait of the Hecla and

SEAS. 223 Fury. These facts, then, being established, it may be as-Polar Seas. sumed that a water communication does exist between the ''■"“v-"*"' Atlantic and Pacific ; and that, from the low latitude of the coast of America, may be inferred the probability that this communication is a navigable one. The ques- ' tion, then, is narrowed to the direction in which it is most probable a passage will be found ? The north-eastern route may be given up, were it only for the great distance (just one half of the whole circumference of the Polar Sea) that it would be necessary to navigate, more or less, amongst ice. Ihe tract pursued by Parry on his first voyage through Probable Barrow’s Strait, and amongst the islands, must obviously betlle direction of given up as hopeless. The prevailing north-westerly winds Pas' wedge in amongst the islands such a mass of ice, whichsage' never melts, as to render all attempts to penetrate it at the western opening of the funnel impracticable ; but beyond this ice, Captain Parry had no doubt there was an open sea, as it was observed, that, whenever the wind came to the eastward, the whole body of the ice kept moving to the westward for several days together. And this open sea is probably not inaccessible from some other quarter. Indeed we now know, that from the concurring reports of those who have examined the line of coast which terminates America, and from Captain James Ross when on the western shore of Boothia, that neither land nor ice was visible to the northward in the first case, nor to the westward in the second. It is clear, then, that to effect a passage to Behring’s Strait, the route should be through Lancaster Sound (always free from ice), along Barrow’s Strait, to the first opening beyond that of Regent’s Inlet, proceeding in a slanting direction to the south-west till the coast of America be in sight, and then westerly to Icy Cape. It is much to be wished that a trial were made of this passage. The attempts hitherto made have taught us that straits, and islands, and shores, should be avoided, as the ice is generally found to block up the first, and by grounding to adhere to the others, and render navigation impracticable. Parry, and Lyon, and Back found that to be the case in the straits through which they in vain attempted to pass; wffiilst, as all the Greenland fishermen know, there is little obstruction in the field-ice of the open sea, which breaks up and is scattered in all directions by moderate breezes of w ind. Sir David Brewster, in an ingenious and interesting pa-Probable per on the Mean Temperature of the Globe, has shown, in mean tema satisfactory manner, by comparing the results of the late P®ratu |'e of expeditions with those he had drawn from a preconceived e theory, “ that the mean temperature of the north pole of the globe will be about 11°,” which, he says, is “ incomparably warmer than the regions in w hich Captain Parry spent the winter.” The mean annual temperature of this spot, according to a series of accurate observations for twelve months, was actually 1° 33'; and on shore could not have been more than 1° below zero. In fact, the whole surrounding coast of the North Polar Coast of Sea is inhabited ; the European part with Laplanders and the Polar Finns; the Asiatic shores with Ostiacks, Samoieds, Yuckagires, Tchutskies, and Koriacks, who derive their subsist-0 ence from the rein-deer and dried fish. The Tchutskoi bordering on Behring’s Strait are a superior kind of Esquimaux, and are no doubt the same race which extend along the northern coast of America, the shores and islands of Baffin’s Bay, Davis’s and Hudson’s Straits, and the coast of Labrador; and as high up on the coast of Old Greenhmd as latitude 78°, the highest habitable spot, in all probability, on the face of the globe. All these people, distantly as they are removed from each other, speak the same language, wear the same dress, subsist in the same manner, and in all their habits and appearance are precisely the same people. Spitzbergen has no permanent inhabitants; but English,

POLAR SEAS. 224 Polar Polar Seas. Dutch, Danes, and Russians, have frequently wintered ice islands. There are, therefore, still remaining about s, —v~—' there; and, even as high as 80° north, many hundreds, 340 degrees of longitude in which the antarctic circle has "“'\ some say thousands, of graves are met with in two or three not been crossed, and full half the circumference of the particular spots where it was usual with the Dutch and globe which has not been visited lower to the southward other nations to extract the oil from the w’hale and other than the parallel of 60° south latitude. Mr Weddell, a master in the navy, proceeded some three marine animals furnishing blubber. On Nova Zembla, the body of which is five or six degrees lower in latitude, no degrees farther south than Cook; and since that, two ships inhabitants are found, nor, with the exception of Barentz of Mr Enderby discovered a long tract of land, the extent and his associates, have any been known to pass the win- of which they did not determine. It is understood this ter even in the more southerly parts. Such, indeed, is the spirited gentleman either has or is about to send out other difference of climate on the same parallels, that whilst on ships to prosecute at the same time the whale-fishery and the southern part of Nova Zembla, in latitude 69°, not a maritime discovery. There was little doubt of the existence of high land in shrub is to be found, at Altengoord, in Norway, in latitude 70°, trees grow to a considerable size. Old Greenland, the South Polar Sea, though Cook discovered none beyond and the islands on the western shore of Baffin’s Bay, of the Southern Thule, or Sandwich Land, on the parallel of Davis’s Strait, and of Hudson’s Bay, down to the 55th 60°. Without high precipitous land, those large icebergs degree of latitude, are barren of trees and shrubs ; whilst which he met with floating amongst the fields of ice could on the western side of America, as high up as the 60th not have been formed; the hummocks of ice, occasioned and even 65th degree, the firs and birch grow to a con- by the agitation of the sea and the meeting of the jields or siderable size. Even in the short distance which sepa- flaws in opposite directions, seldom rise to the height of rates America from Asia across Behring’s Strait, Kotzebue, twelve or fifteen feet above the surface. The Russians, in passing from the former to the latter, experienced a indeed, on a recent voyage of discovery, are said to have change like that of summer and winter; in the former all fallen in with many islands about the seventieth parallel of was verdure, in the latter a complete surface of ice and latitude: they also circumnavigated the Sandwich Land, snow. On the south side of Melville Island, in 75° of lati- which was left undetermined by Cook, and conjectured tude, the moment that the snow had departed, the ground that it might be a part of the great southern continent, which occupied so much of the attention of the geographers was enamelled with a variety of brilliant flowers. Animals of Nor are these dreary regions entirely destitute of ani- and philosophers of the last century. This idea was rethe nortli- mated nature. Rein-deer are met with on the northern- newed by the recent discovery of a very considerable exern regions. most part of Spitzbergen. The polar bear, the wolf, the tent of land to the southward of Cape Horn, in latitude arctic fox, the polar hare, the ermine, the lemming or Hud- 63°, and seen extending from longitude 55° to 65° west. son’s Bay mouse, the musk-bull, and the rein-deer, were As the eastern extremity had not been seen, and the all caught on Melville Island, the first six being perpetual winding of the coast was to the north-east, it was conjecresidents, the two last migratory. Grouse, ptarmigan, plo- tured that it might unite with the Southern Thule of Cook, ver, and a great variety of water-fowl, frequent in vast and form the long-sough t-for southern continent. It is numbers the straits and islands of the Arctic Seas. The said, however, that the Russians have also circumnavigatfollowing picture, drawn by the naturalist who accompa- ed this land, and that it is composed of a great cluster of nied Kotzebue, is correct and interesting. “ As, on the islands. The land in question has been called South Shetland, one hand, in proportion as you advance farther on the land towards the north, the woods become less lofty, the but it is no new discovery. In the account of the voyage vegetation gradually decreases, animals become scarcer, of the Five Ships of Rotterdam, under the command of and lastly (as on Nova Zembla), the rein-deer and the Jacob Mahu and Simon de Cordes, to the South Seas, in glires vanish with the last plants, and only birds of prey the year 1599, it is stated, that, on approaching the Strait Gherritz, prowl about the icy streams for their food; so, on the of Magelhaens, the yacht, commanded by Dirk r other hand, the sea becomes more and more peopled. The w as separated from all the other ships, and w as carried by algcB, gigantic species of tang, form inundated woods round tempestuous weather to the south of the strait, to 64° south the rocky coasts, such as are not met with in the torrid latitude, where they discovered a high country, with mounzone. But the waters swarm with animal life,—the medu- tains which were covered with snow, like the land of Norsa and zoophytes, molluscce and Crustacea, innumerable way. This land of Gherritz was marked on some of the species of fish, in incredibly crowded shoals; the gigantic old charts, but discontinued on the more modern ones, swimming mammalia, whales, physeters, dolphins, morse, from the uncertainty of its position with regard to longiand seals, fill the sea and its shores, and countless flights of tude. There can be no doubt of its identity with the mowater-fowl rock themselves on the bosom of the ocean, and dern South Shetland. It answered to the description of in the twilight resemble floating islands.” the mountains of Norway, covered with snow, and is wholly barren, having neither tree nor shrub of any kind. It is unnecessary to say that it is uninhabited, there being no such people in the southern hemisphere as the Esquimaux; SOUTH POLAB SEA. and it may be remarked, that no human beings are found Confined Of the South Polar Sea little or nothing may be said to in the Southern Ocean below the fifty-fifth parallel of latiknowledge be known. Captain Cook, in the years 1773 and 1774, tude, and none beyond the fiftieth, except on Patagonia of the crossed the antarctic circle in jive places only ; in longi- and Tierra del Fuego. On the shores, the seals and sea0 horses, which had remained from the creation undisturbed, iar's'A a " tude 391° east, where he advanced to latitude 67-f°, and ‘ met with fields and detached pieces of ice ; in longitudes were so numerous, that, on the first notice of the redis101° and 110° west, between which he proceeded to lati- covery, a whole fleet of vessels from England and North tude 71° 10' south, the farthest progress made by him to- America crowded thither on speculation ; but the loss of wards the south pole, where he was stopped, or at least several, from tempestuous weather and a dangerous navideemed it prudent to return, on account of the fields and gation, and the destruction and alarm of the objects of mountains of ice which were scattered over the surface of their cupidity, will probably cause it, for some time at the sea; and in longitudes 136° and 148° west, between least, to remain as much a land of desolation as it had been which he descended to latitude 68°, and saw many floating before. (M0

0 Ito ikt

225

POLARISATION OP LIGHT.' j.risa- Until a very few years since, the greater number of nai of tural philosophers, and almost all mathematical opticians, ■,ht- were agreed in considering the rays of light as composed of '' extremely minute molecules, darted, in every possible direction, by a luminous body, with very great velocities. The form of these molecules remained undetermined; but as it was inferred from some observations, made long ago, that certain rays had not the same properties in every part of their circumference, it was natural to compare them to little magnets, and to suppose them possessed of poles. Hence the appellation of a polarised ray was applied to every ray of light so modified as to exhibit the polar properties of its molecules. We shall begin this article by describing the different methods that have been discovered for obtaining polarised rays. SECT. I.—OF DOUBLE REFRACTION, CONSIDERED AS A MODE OF POLARISING LIGHT.2 Supposing a pencil of natural light, that is to say, of light coming directly from a luminous body, without having undergone any change by refraction or by reflection, to fall upon a crystal of carbonate of lime, perpendicularly to one of its surfaces, either natural or artificial: This pencil will in general undergo a bifurcation as it enters the crystal; one half of the incident light continuing its course in a right line, according to the ordinary laws of refraction, and the other exhibiting a very remarkable phenomenon, and assuming an oblique direction, notwithstanding its original perpendicularity. The former half is called the ordinary pencil or ray, the latter the extraordinary pencil or ray. The plane passing through these two pencils must obviously be perpendicular to the surface of the crystal: this plane is of great importance in the phenomena of polarisation, and it is denominated the principal section of the crystal. According to this definition, it appears that every ray of light, at each point of incidence on a given crystal, will have a principal section corresponding to it; and we have only to observe, that all these sections will be parallel to each other. In a rhomboid of Iceland spar, the principal section cuts the natural faces of the crystal in a line parallel to the diagonal joining the obtuse angles of the parallelogram, and dividing it into two equal parts. Now, the ordinary and extraordinary rays both acquire within the crystal new properties, not inherent in the direct light. In order to show this, it will be sufficient to remark what happens to these rays when they fall on a second crystal which has the properties of double refraction ; and, first, with respect to the ordinary ray, which has preserved its rectilinear direction without deviation. If the principal section of the second crystal is parallel to the principal section of the first, the ray will undergo no double refraction in the second, but will continue its course without any subdivision. But if the principal sections of the two crystals are perpendicular to each other, the ray which was ordinarily refracted in the first crystal, will become an extraordinary ray in the second, and will be refracted obliquely when its incidence is perpendicular. But wrhen the principal sections are neither perpendicular nor parallel to each other, this same ordinary ray will be subdivided in the second crystal, but its portions 11111 be of

different intensities, excepting when the sections form an Polarisa. angle of 45° with each other. tion of The extraordinary pencil exhibits phenomena of a simi- Li^ht. lar nature. It remains an extraordinary pencil in every' v"'— crystal of which the principal section is parallel to that of the crystal which has transmitted it, and becomes an ordinary pencil when the principal sections are at right angles to each other. It is subdivided into two pencils of equal intensity if the two sections make an angle of 45° with each other, and, in every other position, into two pencils of unequal intensities. It is extremely easy to verify these propositions by experiment. \\ e place on a horizontal table a piece of black paper, and draw two very fine lines at right angles to each other, with a white spot of a certain magnitude at their intersection ; and we lay on the paper a rhomboid of calcareous spar, and with our eye immediately above the spot we see two images of it, situated in a line parallel to the shorter diagonal of the upper face of the rhomboid. One of these images is seen in the true place of the spot, as is easily ascertained by two lines which cross in it, and of which the portions not covered by the crystal point at it; these rays have therefore undergone no deviation, and have been ordinarily refracted. The other rays have been bent, since they do not pass through the true place of the spot, and therefore afford the extraordinary image. We now place a second crystal on the first, in such a manner that the shorter diagonals of the faces in contact may be parallel; and we still find only two images of the white spot, but they are more remote from each other. The one retains its natural situation ; whence it follows, that the rays which afford it are no more deflected from their course in the second crystal than they are in the first, and that they have always remained ordinary rays. With regard to the second image, since it is more remote from the true place of the object than when seen through the first crystal only, it is obvious that the rays, which have already been extraordinarily refracted in the lower rhomboid, have undergone the same kind of refraction in passing through the upper. If we only turn the upper rhomboid round the vertical line, so as to remove its principal section from its parallel position, each of the two images will be subdivided into two others. The new images will at first be very weak; but their intensity will augment by degrees at the expense of the original images, in proportion as the angle formed by the two sections becomes greater; and at last, when it is a right angle, the two primitive images will have disappeared, and the new images alone will remain. One of them will be at a distance from the true place of the spot, in the direction of the shorter diagonal of the upper rhomboid, about equal to the result of the double refraction of the second crystal if it were separate from the first. This image is therefore formed by rays which have been refracted ordinarily in the first crystal, and extraordinarily in the second. And it will be equally manifest that the other image is derived, on the contrary, from rays refracted at first extraordinarily, and then ordinarily, in the respective crystals.3 As it is difficult to procure very thick rhomboids of carbonate of lime that are quite transparent, the same experiments may be performed by means of two prisms, cut out

Thjs artidc was written by M. Arago of the French Institute, and obligingly translated by his friend the late Dr Thomas Young, ° a see ’e Supplement the previous tne article toOptics, vol. xvi.editions p. 461.of this work. Some additions were, with M. Arago's 3permission, Ibid. p. 461,made 462.by* the translator. . VOL. Win, 2F

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 226 When natural philosophers say of a loadstone or a magPolarisa- of doubly refracting crystals, and rendered achromatic by tion of combining them with prisms of common glass placed with net that it has poles, they merely understand by this exLight. bases in opposite directions. Through two such acluo- pression that certain points about the circumference of the ^ , J"~Y ' matic prisms placed on each other, the image of a candle magnet possess properties which do not belong, either at all, appears quadruple or double, according to the relative po- or in the same degree, to the other parts of the circumfesitions of the principal sections. We thus see very distinct- rence It was then equally correct to say of the ordinary ly that the images which disappear are not contounded with and extraordinary rays derived from the subdivision of natural light in the crystals of carbonate of lime, that they the other two, but that they become fainter gradually, whilst had poles, or were polarised. It is only necessary to rethe others increase in intensity by the same degrees. It appears, then, first, that the direct light is always di- mark, in order to avoid extending the analogy between the vided into two pencils in its passage through the natural rays of light and the magnet beyond its proper bounds, that faces of a crystal of carbonate of lime ; and, on the contrary, for every element of the ray, the sides or poles diametricaltnat the light of which either of the two pencils is compos- ly opposite to each other, that is, in the position here suped. when submitted to the action of such a crystal, in some posed for illustration, the north and south poles of the orparticular positions of the principal section, is not divided, dinary ray, appear both to possess exactly the same properties ; and it is at the angular distance of 90° from these and gives but a single pencil • Secondly, the two images furnished by the direct light points, that is, on a perpendicular to the line that , ,joins ,rr have always un equal degree of brightness ; but the light of them, that we find in the same ray poles possessed of difthe ordinary or extraordinary pencils, when it undergoes a ferent properties; and if we compare with each other the further double refraction, gives almost always images of two pencils transmitted by a given crystal, the poles possessed of the same properties will be situated in directions unequal intensities Hence it follows, that in the act of double refraction this perpendicular to each other. Let us once more consider the two rays transmitted by last light has received some new properties, by which it may always be distinguished from natural light. But are a crystal of which the principal section is supposed to be in these properties necessarily of such a nature as to be inex- the plane of the meridian. There is no reason whatever plicable without supposing the elementary molecules of the for assigning the denomination of poles to the north and rays to possess certain poles ? This is a question which we south sides of the ordinary ray rather than to the east and west; but as it is necessary to make some distinction, it are now to examine. We will suppose that a rhomboid of carbonate of lime is has been generally agreed to apply the name of poles to the placed horizontally ; that the incident light falls perpendi- north and south sides. Hence it has been usual to say, that cularly on its upper surface, and that the principal section, the ordinary ray is polarised in the plane of the principal which will be vertical, is in the plane of the meridian, or section ; which is as much as to say that the different elethat it runs north and south ; observing, however, that these ments of the ray have the faces, which we have called poles, directions are only chosen to facilitate our comprehension situated in that plane. The extraordinary ray is polarised perpendicularly to the principal section; its poles are siof the facts. The ordinary pencil afforded by this crystal when it is tuated perpendicularly to that plane, since it becomes persubmitted to the action of a new rhomboid similarly placed, fectly similar to the ordinary ray when it is made to dethat is to say, having also its principal section in the plane scribe a fourth of a revolution round itself. When we have arrived thus far, it becomes natural to ask of the meridian, passes through it, as we have seen, without lateral refraction, and continues its course in a right whether we are to suppose that the separation of the light within the crystal has given poles to the molecules, or that line, remaining as an ordinary ray. But when the principal section of the second crystal, the poles, already pre-existing, have merely been turned tobeing still vertical, is directed from east to west, the ordi- wards the same points of space. This question is a very nary ray, transmitted by the first crystal, will be refracted difficult one ; but we shall find hereafter, if not a demonlaterally in it, although it falls perpendicularly on the sur- stration of the second hypothesis, at least some plausible reason for adopting it. It will be here sufficient to remark, face, and will become an extraordinary ray. In the first case, the principal section of the second rhom- that the modification undergone by the rays is entirely inboid intersected the ray, or the luminous molecules sup- dependent of the nature of the crystal, provided that it only posed to compose it, from north to south; in the second, produce a double image ; and that the phenomena presentthese molecules were intersected from east to west. It may ed by two rhomboids of calcareous spar, placed on each be remarked, that this is the only circumstance in which other, would be reproduced, with their minutest details, if the cases differ from each other, the ray falling in both we combined, for example, one of these rhomboids with a cases on the same point of the crystal, and in the same an- crystal of carbonate of lead ; or if the first crystal were ot gular direction. It must therefore be concluded, that in sulphur, and the second of quartz or of sulphate ot baryta. But it is not only in the phenomena of double refraction Polar:*the ray of light, or in the elements of which it is formed, the north and south sides must have different properties that the particular properties of polarised rays are exhibit- ^ ^; from those of the east and west. ed; the reflection of these rays, at the surfaces oi transpar ^olK When we analyse the extraordinary pencil with the se- rent bodies, affords also a method of distinguishing them cond crystal, if the principal section intersects this pencil from common light. from north to south, it undergoes the extraordinary refracWhen a pencil of natural light falls on a transparent million, but it follows the ordinary course when this same plane ror, with any inclination whatever, it is divided into two intersects it from east to west, which is exactly the contrary parts ; the one passes through the substance of the mirror, of what occurs with the ordinary pencil. The north and the other is reflected. This latter portion is always found south sides of this pencil have therefore the properties of in the plane passing through the primitive pencil, and the the east and west sides of the extraordinary pencil, and the line perpendicular to the surface, which is called the plane reverse ; nor is there any other difference between the pen- of reflection, and which must be carefully distinguished from cils ; the sides possessed of similar properties are only dif- the reflecting surface. ferently directed, so that if we could cause an extraordiIf we now place the principal section of a doubly-refractnary ray transmitted by any crystal to make a quarter of a ing crystal in a vertical position, and throw a pencil of cornrevolution on itself, it would be impossible to distinguish it mon light perpendicularly on its surface, receiving the two from the ordinary ray that has been separated from it. emerging pencils on the horizontal surface of some water;

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. P< isa- and let us suppose the ordinary pencil to make with the SECT. II.—OF REFLECTION, CONSIDERED AS A MODE OF PO- P°lan9£* t surface of the liquid an angle of 37° 15' [the crystal being LARISING LIGHT. *held in a position inclined to the horizon] ; this pencil will undergo a partial reflection like the direct light, while the Reflection, at the surface of a transparent body, affords, extraordinary pencil, when its angle of incidence is also as we have seen, a criterion for the distinction of polarised 37° 15', will enter the liquid completely, without the reflec- from ordinary rays: we must also add, that such a reflection of any of its molecules ; a character which constitutes tion is also capable of polarising ordinary light. a marked distinction between this pencil and the natural Throwing, for example, a pencil of natural rays on a light. mirror of common glass in a horizontal position, in such All other circumstances of the experiment remaining a manner that the inclination of the ray to the surface may the same, let us now cause the crystal to make one fourth be about 35° ; we shall find that a part of the pencil will of a revolution round the incident pencil, so as to bring pass through the glass, the other part will be reflected, the principal section into a position perpendicular to its and the reflected portion will be polarised in the same first situation; we shall then find that the ordinary pen- manner as the ordinary pencil transmitted by a crystal of cil alone will be entirely transmitted by the liquid ; the w hich the principal section coincides with the plane of reother will undergo a partial reflection, exactly equal to that flection. which we had first observed in the ordinary ray; the exIn fact, if we analyse the light thus partially reflected, periment affording a new proof, that the two rays only dif- by the assistance of a crystal of which the principal section fer in the direction which is assumed by their correspond- coincides with the plane of reflection, it is not subdivided, ing sides. and affords only a single ordinary image. Nor is it again We find also, that in all positions of the principal section, subdivided in passing through the crystal when the prinintermediate between these two, the two pencils will both cipal section is perpendicular to the plane of reflection ; undergo a partial reflection so much the stronger, for the but in this case it only affords an extraordinary image. In ordinary pencil, as the principal section is the nearer to a every other position we have both an extraordinary and an coincidence with the plane of reflection, and for the ex- ordinary image, the intensity of the latter being expressed traordinary pencil, as these planes are more nearly perpen- by the formula, F cos.2 i ; in w hich F is the total intendicular to each other. sity of the pencil subjected to the experiment, and i the We shall finish this section with an account of the ma- angle formed by the principal section of the crystal with thematical law which appears to determine the compara- the plane of reflection. This formula obviously coincides tive intensities of the ordinary and extraordinary pencils with that which we have given for the ordinary pencil in into which polarised light is separated when it is analysed the case of two crystals combined. The plane of reflection with a doubly refracting crystal. Let Fq be the intensity here performs the office of the principal section of the first of the ordinary pencil transmitted by any crystal, and F^ crystal; it is therefore in this plane that the ray has become polarised by the reflection. and Foe the intensities of the ordinary and extraordinary Before we assert, however, that there is an identity in pencil derived from it in passing through the second the species of polarisation effected by partial reflection crystal: let i be the angle formed by the two principal with given inclinations, at the surface of a transparent body, sections: then w’e shall have Foo — Fo cos.2 i; Foe — Fo and that which results from double refraction, we must . submit the ray polarised by a first reflection to the test of sin.- i. In particular cases we shall have from these formulas, new reflections. These second reflections will obviously throw the light if * = F,„ = F'F'. = 0; ifi = 90°, Fm = 0, =F,; downwards if the mirror is above the ray, or upwards if and if. = 45°,^ = ^, ^ J F. below; from right to left if the mirror receives the ray on These three consequences of the formula, as we have its [left-hand] surface, and the reverse if on the [right] seen, are conformable to observation. It will not, how- surface. Now, if the second mirror is above or below the ray, ever, be proved to be mathematically exact, until we have also verified it for some values of i, intermediate between so that the new plane of reflection coincides with the old, there is a partial reflection at all incidences. But when, these limits. The formulas belonging to the extraordinary ray are on the contrary, this mirror is presented to the ray on equally simple : Fg being the intensity of this ray, and Fgo the left or the right side, and in such a manner that the new plane of reflection may be perpendicular to the old an ^ ^ee th°Se °f the two ordinary and extraordinary pencils one, all reflection ceases at the inclination of about 35°, ; into which it is divided by the crystal, i preserving its already mentioned. In the intermediate positions of the former signification, we shall have F = F sin.2 i, and mirror, and with the constant inclination of 35°, the intensity of the reflection varies in proportion to the square of Fee = cos.21. If * = 0, Feo = 0, and Feg - Fg ; and the cosine of the angle formed by the two planes of rein fact there is no ordinary ray in this case, the whole flection with each other. light following the extraordinary path : if * — 90°, F The least attention will show how much analogy this ~ Fg, and Fee = 0; which is again confirmed by observa- experiment has with those which have been made with a crystal. In those experiments, in order to see tion, since the extraordinary ray, coming from a certain rhomboidal if the ordinary ray had the same properties with respect to crystal, follows only the ordinary course in passing through each point of its circumference, we caused the crystal to another, of which the principal section is perpendicular to revolve round the ray as an axis, so as to bring in succesat of the first. Ihe same agreement between the cal- sion its principal section, and consequently the poles conC and tIle ex eriment wi be R i.0nhowever, P not supersede U found when i of = veri45°; tained in it, into a vertical direction, from right to left, and which, does the necessity forth ; in these different positions we threw the ray on ymg these formulas, as well as the former, by direct expe- aso transparent substance. Here we left the first plane of nments at intermediate angles.1 reflection immoveable, and the second turned round the 1

See the article Optics, p. 462.

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 228 There exist also some transparent bodies, such as the Pol: Polarisa- ray, which was thrown on its different sides. This trial is diamond and sulphur, which never produce complete polari- tio, tion of evidently similar to the former, and the result is identical. Light. , We may therefore now affirm, that the ray which is re- sation of the light that is reflected at their surfaces; but flected at the upper surface of the glass, writh an inclina- the quotient ~ acquires, at least, much greater values for tion of about 35°, possesses in all respects the same pioperties as a ray transmitted by a crystal of which the princi- their substances than for the metals. The mathematical law which connects the value of A pal section coincides with the plane of reflection. We have supposed the substance employed in this expe- with that of the angle of incidence, and of the refractive riment to be transparent; but we must add, that some form of the mirror, has not yet been discovered. It is only opaque bodies, such as black marble, ebony, and some var- known, that at regular angular distances above and below nishes, possess in an equal degree the property of polaris- the angle of complete polarisation, the proportion of A to ing rays which are reflected at their surface. . Ihese suo- ^4 + iZ is nearly the same, although the absolute value of stances, when made to revolve round a polarised ray, ex- A and B may have changed very considerably. Thus, in the case of the glass of St Gobin, for example, hibit the same effect, with regard to the reflected hgnt, as in which the complete polarisation takes place when the the transparent substances which have been considered. inclination of the ray to the surface is about 35°, we find that the reflected pencils contain the same proportion of SECT. III.—OF BAYS PARTIALLV POLARISED. polarised light at the following angles :— V 65° 42' 63° 54' 60° 18' Hays partially polarised are those which possess properand 7 12 7 55 II 40 ties that may be called intermediate between the properties of ordinary light and of light completely polarised. mean 36 27 35 55 35 59 They are distinguished from polarised light by affording For water, the relation of A to A-\-B \s nearly the always two pencils in their passage through a crystal possessed of the property of double refraction; they diffei fiom same at the angles 3° 29' and 73° 48'; the mean of these, natural light in not affording always two pencils of the same 38° 36', exceeds by lj° only the true inclination of comintensity, in all positions of the principal section of the plete polarisation, though it is deduced from angles which differ from it more than 30°. same crystal. . . , . , In the same manner, therefore, as astronomers deterIt may be asked, if a ray partially polarised may not be considered as consisting of a portion A of polarised and a mine the instant of the passage of a luminary over the portion B of natural light. This latter portion would al- meridian, by corresponding altitudes, observed before and Ways be equally divided into an ordinary and an extraor- after that passage, we may obtain, with tolerable precidinary pencil, in its passage through a crystal possessing sion, the angle of complete polarisation, by taking the half the properties of double refraction; the other would pass sum of the inclinations corresponding to equivalent partial sometimes entirely as an ordinary or an extraordinary pen- polarisations, especially if we take care not to deviate cil. In a certain position of the principal section, there- too far from the angle required; and this method has its fore, the comparative intensities of the two pencils would advantages, when we make the experiment on bodies which be IZ? + J, and \B ; and, after one fourth of a revolution, do not polarise the rays of light completely at any inci, they would become \B and %B f A respectively. In dence. all other positions, A would be divided between the two images; the portion2belonging to the ordinary image being SECT. IV.—OF THE LAWS WHICH CONNECT THE REFRACTIVE expressed by A cos. i, i being the angle contained bj the DENSITIES OF BODIES WITH THE ANGLES OF POLARI* plane of polarisation of A and the principal section of the SATION.2 crystal; and when i = 45°, the two images would be of It is sufficient to look over the tables which liave been equal intensity. ... , All these consequences of the hypothesis that we have published, of the angles of complete polarisation for rays assumed are conformable to experiment; and we may reflected by substances of various kinds, in order to observe therefore suppose that a ray partially polarised is composed that these angles, reckoned from the perpendicular, apof two separate portions, the one, B, in its natural state, proach so much the more to right angles, as the refractive the other, A, totally polarised. (Sir David Brewster’s experi- densities of the substances are greater ; but it was not so ments on partial polarisation will be mentioned hereafter.) easy to detect the remarkable connection which exists beIn every pencil reflected perpendicularly by a transpa- tween these two elements, and which we shall now proceed rent substance, the portion A vanishes : it acquires greater to examine. When a ray of light, 10, passes from a vacuum into a and greater values in proportion as the angle of incidence increases ; but at the angular situation of complete polari- certain medium, SS', it is refractsation B vanishes, and A comprehends the whole pencil. ed at the point of incidence O, Still farther from the perpendicular, we find again in the approaches to the perpendicular pencil natural light B, and polarised light A. Lastly, PQ, and follows, for example, the when the incident and reflected light sweeps, as it were, direction OR; the angles POI the surface of the mirror, A is again very inconsiderable and 0,0R being for each medium with respect to B. connected by the proportion sin. Metallic mirrors do not completely polarise the rays that POI: sin. OOR r= /« : 1, in which they reflect at any angle of incidence. As in the case of the quantity m. is constant for all transparent substances, A is evanescent for perpendicular values of the angles. This quanrays ; but it becomes sensible in every other case, and the tity, which is always greater than light becomes partially polarised. The angle of polarisa- unity, has been called the index B of refraction, appropriate to the medium. It is necessary tion of a metal is that which makes the quotient a to distinguish it carefully from the refractive power, a numerical expression depending on m, and on the density* maximum. 1

See the article Optics, p. 4G0, col. 2; and p. 469, col. 1.

* JVid. pp. 463, 405.

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 229 ansa- and chiefly relating to the particular properties attributed of specular iron ore, in which the phenomena is very strik- Polarisa:m of to refractive substances in the theory of emission. and the oil of cassia, of which the great dispersive fl°n of iiight. This being understood, if the angle of incidence be sup- power renders it also perfectly distinct. It may be added Light. posed such, that the reflected ray Oh may be completely too, that there is every reason to hope, that more accurate polarised, it is found that the tangent of the angle of inci observations made with homogeneous light from different ■dence will be equal to the index of refraction. parts of the spectrum, and more precise measurements of In the following table, the angles of polarisation, deter- the quantities of light that escape polarisation at inclinamined by experiment, are compared with those which re- tions approaching to that of complete polarisation, will heresuit from the general law ; and the errors are not^greater after remove the slight appearance of disagreement between than may be attributed to the unavoidable error of obser experiments and a law too nearly approaching to the whole vation.1 mass of the phenomena to be considered as otherwise than rigorously accurate. The table already inserted contains the names of several Observed Computed DifferSubstances. mediums, such as the diamond and sulphur, which do not Angle. Angle. ence. completely polarise light; the law of the tangent seems therefore applicable to such mediums as these, provided 45° to 47° 45° [1°] Air that we understand, by the angle of polarisation, that in 52 45' 53 IV — 26' Water which the reflected pencil contains the greatest proportion 54 50 55 9 — 19 Fluor spar of polarised light. In this case, the observation of this 56 3 56 6 — 3 Obsidian angle for metals would be the more important, as their re56 28 56 45 — 17 Sulphate of lime... fractive density has not been hitherto determined. 57 22 56 58 + 24 Rock-crystal The angles of greatest polarisation, measured from the 40 58 34 + 6 58 Topaz perpendicular, appear to be, for mercury, 76|0 ; for steel, 23 58 51 — 28 58 Iceland crystal above 71° ; hence the index of refraction for mercury and 60 16 60 25 — 9 Ruby spinel for steel ought to be 4'16 and 2*85. [The oxide colouring 63 8 63 0 + 8 Zircon the surface of heated steel has been found to give about 45 64 30 + 15 64 Glass of antimony. 2* l for its index, which agrees sufficiently well with this ex10 63 45 + 25 64 Sulphur periment.] 2 68 1 68 Diamond + 1 We have hitherto only spoken of the polarisation which 67 42 68 3 — 21 Chromate of lead.. takes place at the first surface of transparent surfaces entered by the light; the second surfaces possess analogous This law is capable of being expressed in other two re- properties with respect to light passing out of them. markable forms. The angle measured from the perpendicular at which Since in all cases sin. POI: sin. QOR z= m : 1, we have light is polarised when it is on its passage from a vacuum universally sin. POI = m sin. QOR; but for the angle of into a refractive medium, is greater than that in which the complete polarisation tang. POI w, and since tang, same phenomenon is observed when the light coming from sin. sin. POI . POI = m cos. POI = m the medium tends to pass into the vacuum ; it is also shown —— ——- — m, and. sin. by experiment that the sine of the former angle is to the sine cos. cos. POI sin. QOR, and sin. QOR =r cos. POI, consequently QOR of the latter as the index of refraction is to unity. We + POI 90° ; hence, when the polarisation is complete, might express the same fact by saying, that at the second the inclination of the incident ray to the surface is equal to surface, as well as at the first, the ray completely polarised the angle of refraction ; and the reflected and refracted rays by reflection is perpendicular to the refracted ray. It follows, also, that if a medium is contained between two paare perpendicular to each other. It is of consequence to examine some objections which rallel surfaces, and if we throw a pencil of rays on the first have been made to the accuracy of the law in question. If surface, in the angle which affords complete polarisation, it were mathematically accurate, the rays of different co- the transmitted portion of the pencil will also fall on the lours, it has been observed, would not be polarised exactly second surface in the angle which again produces complete at the same time, since they enter the refractive medium polarisation. Thus, if MN, RS, be the parallel surfaces, OR the inin different directions. Hence it would follow, that in the usual mode of investigating this angle of complete polarisa- cident ray, n . the intion by analysing the reflected light with the assistance of dex of refraction, and a doubly refractive crystal, we ought not, in any case, to lose O V the refracted ray; sight of one of the images; that when we arrived, for in- the angle of refraction rpfmrHon stance, at the angle which causes all the red light of the VOP' will always be mixed pencil to be polarised, and to pass into the ordinary equal to the angle pencil, the observer ought to see an extraordinary image OVZ, formed by the formed of the white wanting the red, that is, green ; and the refracted ray with VZ, same for the other colours. Notwithstanding this, it has the perpendicular to been added, in the greater number of cases, the crystal the second surface. being properly arranged, one of the images is weakened by Now, according to t ic little and little, as we approach to the appropriate inclina- assigned ^law^ jvhen 1 is the angle of tion, and at last disappears entirely without presenting any POR ° complete polarisation visible traces of colour. It may be answered, in the first place, that there actually for the first surface, sin. POR : sin. angle of polarisation are substances in which this appearance of colour is mani- at the second surface ■= n : l, whence sin. POR = n sin. fest; and which, therefore, do not polarise the rays of dif- angle of polarisation at the second surface. But from the ferent kinds at the same angle, but accord with the law of law o the sines, as in the other cases, we have sin. POll. n sinthe tangent. Among others may be adduced the instance sin. \ Ol — n. , theiefore sin. J See the article Optics, p. 4G4. /

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 230 Polarisa- = n sin. ZVO; an equation which, combined with the but at certain obliquities it occasions at least a partial po- P«krii tion of former, gives the angle of complete polarisation at the se- larisation ; for, in examining the rays transmitted obliquely by a plate of glass with parallel surfaces, by means of a Light. , cond surface = ZVO. , . possessed of the property of double refraction, it is Hence it follows, that if the incident ray, being previously crystalthat the two images differ sensibly in intensity. polarised, is such as to escape all partial reflection at its found Let Ar be the part of the transmitted pencil which is poentrance into a substance terminated by parallel surfaces, larised, B' the portion of the same pencil not so modified, it will also escape reflection upon its passage out of t ic and A and B the analogous portions of the pencil reflected substance. the same incidence. If ROP has the appropriate value, OF becomes com- at We have already said that A is polarised as an ordinary pletely polarised, and VK likewise : the subsequent refrac- ray would be, transmitted by a crystal having its principal tion in K makes no alteration in this ray; so that when we section coinciding with the plane of reflection ; the poles wish to procure polarised light by reflection from a trans- of A', on the contrary, are placed like those of the extraparent plate, there is no occasion to blacken the second ordinary ray of the same crystal. If we analyse with a surface of the plate; supposing it parallel to the first, the rhomboid the light reflected by a plate of glass, we find, polarisation will be equally complete, and the reflected pen- for example, when in a certain position of the principal seccil will be brighter. It will only be proper to take care, by tion, the image on the right hand is the more brilliant; and placing at a distance from the plate a black substance, as a the relative position of the plate, the crystal, and the eye, piece of velvet, for example, to intercept the rays which remaining unaltered, it will be the opposite image, on the might be transmitted by the plate from other objects be- left hand, that will become the most conspicuous when we y The law from which these consequences have been de- examine the transmitted light. All these results may be enumerated. duced is only a particular case of a more general law, which thusThe plane which contains the poles of the transmitted may be thus enunciated. light is to that which contains the poles of the The sine of the angle at which a pencil must be reflected refectedperpendicular light. at the first surface of a refractive medium, in order that it These different pencils are therefore polarised in direcmay contain a certain proportion of polarised light, is tions at right angles to each other. to the sine of the angle at which a reflection at the second If we submit the reflected light A B to the action of face only would cause an equivalent polarisation in crystal of carbonate of lime, of which the principal secthe same pencil, as the sine of incidence to the sine of refrac- ation coincides w ith the plane of reflection, the intensities of tion. It has been found by experiment, that the sine of the the ordinary and extraordinary pencil will become A1B angle at which a certain proportion of a natural pencil is and 12?. In the same position of the plate and of the crystal, the reflected at the first surface of a transparent substance, is of the same images, furnished by the transmitto the sine of the angle at which an equal proportion of the intensities ted pencil, will be | B' and Ar f \ B'. same pencil would be reflected at the second surface, if it A will therefore ~be the quantity by which the ordinary arrived there immediately, as the sine of incidence to the furnished by the reflected pencil, surpasses the sine of refraction. This law of photometry, combined with image, extraordinary image, while A' will express, for the transthe former, leads to a very simple enunciation. The first and second surface of a transparent substance mitted pencil, the quantity by which the extraordinary polarise light in an equal degree, at the same angles which image will surpass the ordinary. With respect to this phenomenon, a remarkable result of experiment may enable them to reflect light in an equal degree. here be noticed; that is, that in every possible inclinaWe have now seen in what manner light is polarised, either in passing from a vacuum into a given substance, or tion A — A', or, in other terms, that the intensities of the in returning out of the substance into the vacuum. We two images afforded by the crystal differ in the same demust next examine the laws relating to the polarisation gree, whether we consider the reflected or the transmitted which occurs at the surface separating two mediums pos- pencil Let us suppose that sessed of unequal refractive powers. a plate of glass ED is Let m and m! be the indices of refraction for the two mediums: suppose m to be greater than'm!; it is proved placed in the position by experiment that the tangent of the angle of complete that the figure represents, before a mepolarisation at the common surface is equal to —- [w hich in dium AB of a uniform tint, for instance a fact is the index of refraction for that surface]. sheet of fine white paHence it follows that the reflected and refracted rays are per. The eye placed perpendicular to each other, as in other cases of complete at O will receive simultaneously the ray 10, reflected at I, polarisation. and the ray BIO transmitted at the same point. Place at mn an opaque diaphragm, blackened, and perforated by a SECT. V.—OF REFRACTION CONSIDERED AS A MODE OF PO- small hole at S. Lastly, let the eye be furnished with a doubly refracting crystal, C, which affords two images of the LARISING LIGHT.1 aperture. If, now, by means of a little black screen placed between It was believed for some time that the rays of light were only polarised by transparent substances in the act of re- B and I, we stop the ray BI, which w-ould have been transflection, and that the refracted pencil always retained the mitted, the crystal, properly placed, will give an ordinary properties of ordinary light. But this opinion was erro- image = A + % B, and an extraordinary image = % B. between A and I, and the neous. It is true, that the simple transmission of light But if the screen were placed r through one or even two surfaces of any known substance ray AI were intercepted, w e should still have two images is not sufficient for completely polarising a pencil of light; of the hole, and their intensities would be B' and A* 1

See the article Optics, p. 470-473.

1

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 231 respectively. Consequently, without any screen, if the that the quantity of natural light reraainint; will be / 2J whole of the reflected hght AIO and the transmitted BIO which we may call = Then the pSl' + jTji^ Polarisaare allowed to arrive at the eye, we shall have for the or- on a second plate parallel to the / + A o g tion of Light. tory image, A + i B + i B', and for the extraordinary, the same a^as’ 'hat the iltwoappears, actually making the experiment, be found entoftaX^ imagesfrom are perfectly equal, whatever may be plate; /' will be divided in the same manner i /wTll the angle formed by the ray AI with the plate of glass, first; a portion A' of I- is polarised by reflectimi the re y 6 ,S ,0 C n ini ng 11 A is y “yS ellUal ° - ot Tpolarised , l’°rtion ' "-ansmitted! and w'li contl Aque ’ . , in . the rays, ~ soplate, that thebenatural light, 7 T The qwmMy of polartsed IxgU contained pencil through the second will reduced to after nassinoand transmitted by a transparent plate, is exactly equal to the the quantity polarised by refraction will be A + A' foT assa ,sfoundin th ii h, / a+a ihepencil reflected by Vie same plate. ’ through a third to the two former iPns7ge '-^ r f plate, , '+parallel ”i"t Hence it follows that at the angle of complete polar,sa- a new quantity A" of light polarised by retraction, wS tion by reflection, the two images of the transmitted pencil will be added to A + A? and so forth given by a crystal properly placed, differ in intensity by a _ The pencils, /, T, 1’, ’and so forth, 'consisting of natural quantity equal to the whole of the reflected pencil. So light, are polarised in equal trropartmis by the respective F that if ever a body should be discovered that could reflect a A> A» half of the light incident at this angle, the pencil transmit- plates : the quotients 4, will constantly have the 1 ted, at the same inclination, would also be completely po- same * lansed. . value. If, for instance, ^th part of the pencil /is poIn order to simplify this reasoning, we have supposed larised by reflection at the surfaces of the first plate,] J-th throughout that there was only one efficient surface in the of T will be polarised at the surfaces of the second, - -th of plate ED ; it would be entering into too much detail if we /* by the third, and so forth ; and the pencils transmitted by proceeded to demonstrate in what manner this supposition these same plates will contain respectively of natural light, might be justified; and it will be sufficient to remark, that or of light possessing the same properties, fths of/, iths of/ the experiment in question succeeds equally well when ED fths of /', and so forth. Hence, whatever may be the numis a simple plate of glass with parallel surfaces, which im- ber of plates employed, the pencil ultimately transmitted plies that the second surface polarises also equal quantities will contain, mathematically speaking, a certain quantity of of light by reflection and by refraction. But, lastly, in or- natural light; but this quantity will be rapidly diminished, der to remove every doubt respecting the accuracy of these and will finally become completely insensible. [Sir David results, it may be added, that when some natural light, and Brewster, on the contrary, maintains that it wholly disapsome light that had passed through a rhomboid of carbonate pears after transmission through a finite, and even a moof lime, was thrown on a plate of glass reflecting at one of derate number of plates.] its surfaces, or at both, it was found that the reflected light It may be said, in this sense, that a pile of parallel plates contained the same quantity of polarised rays in both cases, polarises the light which passes through them, in a direction Now the reflecting plate exercises no particular action on perpendicular to the plane in which the rays would be pothe two equal pencils of light transmitted by tbe rhomboid, larised by reflection at the same surfaces. and polarised in directions perpendicular to each other ; it We have here supposed the incident light to meet the only divides them unequally; and if the reflected pencil plate of glass at the inclination capable of polarising it contains an excess of rays polarised in one direction, there completely by reflection ; but the same result is obtained will be found in the transmitted pencil an excess precisely whatever the inclination may be. It is only necessary that equal, of rays polarised in the direction perpendicular to it should be composed of a number of elements, so much it. In this case, the law here laid down must necessarily the greater as the direction of the rays is nearer to the perbe true; and in order to extend it to natural light, it is pendicular. sufficient to have y assured ciioou-j. ourselves, wLliodVCOj do as we W C lid have V C LIUIltfj done, »» 1L11 da given llll^lllldLHJllj 1/llCv llllilllLICl t-oodi y With inclination, the number of J^ldlCO plates HcL necessary that it is affected in the act of reflection and in that of to produce by transmission a polarisation nearly complete, refraction, precisely in the same manner as the combina- depends also on their reflective power: we have already tion of two equal pencils polarised at right angles to each observed, for example, that a single plate, capable of reflect°ther. ing half the incident light at the angle of polarisation, would One of the best modes of verifying the accuracy of phy- of itself be sufficient to constitute a pile, sical laws is, to inquire what their results are in extreme There are certain natural bodies, the agate, for example, cases. The law now in question, supposing it universally which modify the transmitted light precisely as a pile of true, leads us, for example, to this conclusion, that where plates would do. If we cut a plate of agate sufficiently there is no transmission of light, there can be no polarisa- thick, in a direction perpendicular to that of its laminae, the tion ; and, in fact, if we cause a pencil of light to fall on light which passes through it acquires a polarity in the dithe interior surface of a prism, at an inclination which pro- rection of the plates. A similar property is observed in duces complete reflection, we shall find no trace of polari- the tourmaline, and it is here the more remarkable, as this sation in the reflected pencil, although, at incidences but mineral, when pure, exhibits no lamellar structure whatlittle different, a considerable part of the light, and even ever. If the two opposite faces of a prism of tourmaline the whole, may have been polarised. are polished so as to form it into a plate with parallel surLet us represent by A the part of the pencil I which is faces about ^jth of an inch in thickness, the light transpolarised by reflection, at the angle of 35° from the two mitted by it, whatever its angle of incidence may be, will surfaces of a plate of glass ; the pencil transmitted will be be polarised in a direction perpendicular to the axis of the /—A: now in this quantity of light there will be, accord- column. ing to the law laid down, A rays of which the plane of poIt will be proper to mention here the phenomena exhilarisation is perpendicular to that of the reflected rays, so bited by piles of plates when they are exposed to rays that

1

See the article Optics, p. 473.

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 232 Polari Polarisa- have been previously polarised : supposing always that the SECT. VI. OF THE DEPOLARISATION OF LIGHT.1 tion tion of pile is formed of parallel plates of glass ; and, besides, that Ligi Light. After having examined in wdiat manner ordinary light is s , the angle of inclination to the first surface is about 35°, converted into polarised light, we must now proceed to reckoning from the surface itself. . ., If the primitive plane of polarisation of the incident ray study the modifications which this latter undergoes in its coincides with the plane drawn through this ray and the turn when it is subjected to reflection or refraction at surperpendicular to the first plate at the point of incidence, faces of different natures, and differently situated with reto its poles. a part of this ray more considerable than if we employed spect W7hen a polarised pencil falls on the surface of a wellnatural light will be reflected; at the point of incidence polished mirror, in such a manner that its plane of polaon the second plate, the luminous pencil transmitted by risation coincides with the plane of reflection, or is perthe first will undergo reflection in the same proportion as pendicular to it, the light regularly reflected at this surthe former pencil; the same effect vail take place in the is completely polarised, like the incident pencil, in a third plate, and so forth. The transmitted ray, however in- face parallel or perpendicular to the plane of reflectense it may have been in the first instance, will thus be direction tion ; and this happens whatever the nature of the mirror gradually weakened in a geometrical progression, and at , , ■ last will become insensible ; so that if we look at the pile on may be. But whenever the primitive plane of polarisation of the the opposite end, it will appear to be an opaque body, per- incident pencil is any otherwise situated, it will be found fectly impervious to light. Everything else remaining in the same state, if we turn that the reflected pencil is modified, and the modification depend on the nature of the mirror. the pile round the ray as an axis through an angle of 90°, willWhen we employ for these experiments a mirror either the new plane of reflection will be perpendicular to the transparent or opaque, which is capable of completely polaformer, and the plate will have reached the situation which has been already mentioned, in which the reflective pro- rising natural light, the rays previously polarised which perty wholly disappears, and the whole of the light will fall on this surface will again be completely polarised, after pass through it. But the second plate, the third, and all their reflection, but not in the plane of their primitive pothe following plates, which are parallel to the first, will be larisation. This deviation of the plane of polarisation of a found in the same circumstances possessing the same pro- luminous pencil, produced by its reflection at the first surperties, and will not reflect any of the incident light; so face of a transparent mirror, depends both on the angle of that, setting aside the effect of absorption, the apparatus ac- incidence and on the direction of the plane of reflection with regard to the poles of the ray. tually transmits light without weakening it. Eor given inclination, the deviation is so much more The pile of plates possesses, therefore, with respect to polarised light, the singular property of being either com- considerable as the plane of reflection makes with the plane pletely opaque or perfectly transparent, according to the of primitive polarisation an angle more nearly approaching ... side which it presents to the light, notwithstanding that the to 45°. Let us first suppose, in order to assist the imagination, inclination of the light to the first surface remains constantly 35°. In the intermediate positions the quantity of that the reflecting surface is horizontal; that the eye of transmitted light increases gradually as we proceed fiom the observer, and the rhomboid which is to furnish the pothat in which nothing is transmitted, to the other extreme larised pencil, remain constantly situated, the one to the north, the other to the south of the point of reflection, so in which the light is only weakened by absorption. Tourmalines and agates appear to be true piles of plates, that the plane of reflection may always coincide with the so that they must produce similar effects; and, in fact, a meridian : and that, lastly, the principal section of the crysplate cut, for example, in a direction parallel to the axis of tal, which contains in its plane the poles of the ordinary a column of tourmaline, transmits rays which are polarised pencil, makes an angle of 45° with the meridian. When this ordinary pencil falls perpendicularly on the in a plane perpendicular to the axis, and totally stops, on the other hand, rays of which the primitive plane of polari- mirror, it will be reflected without any deviation of its plane of polarisation : so that this plane, having at first formed, sation is parallel to that axis. When we place such a plate between the eye and a re- by the suppositions, an angle of 45° with the meridian, the flecting surface of water or glass situated in the open air, inclination to the meridian wall remain the same after the and look at it with an inclination producing complete po- reflection. If w^e cause the direction of the incident light to vary larisation, it appears either fully enlightened or quite dark, or in intermediate states, according to the situation of the more and more from the perpenuicular, we shall first replate in its own plane. A circumstance which adds to the mark that the plane of polarisation of the reflected light apsingularity of this experiment is, that it succeeds com- proaches by degrees to the plane of reflection, and that it pletely even when the incidence on the plate is perpendi- coincides exactly with it when we have arrived at the angle cular ; while for a pile properly so called, unless it be com- of complete polarisation ; that afterwards the reflected ray posed of an immense number of plates, it is necessary that is polarised in a plane which is more remote from the plane the distance of the ray from the perpendicular should be of reflection in proportion as it forms a smaller angle with the surface of the mirror; and that at last, when the ray i» very considerable. Whatever may be the cause of these phenomena, it re- nearly parallel to the surface, its plane of polarisation coinsults evidently, from what has been mentioned, that two cides with that of the incident light, as it did when the inplates of tourmaline placed so that their axes form a right cidence was perpendicular. Let us call the angle of incidence, reckoned from the perangle, must compose a system perfectly opaque with respect to light of all kinds. If, for example, the incident light is pendicular, i, the corresponding angle of refraction for the in its natural state, it is obvious that the portion transmit- substance concerned, i'; the tangent of the angle formed ted will be polarised in the direction of the axis of the by the plane of polarisation of the reflected light w ith the plate, and that the second plate, situated in a perpendicu, cos. (* + *') lar direction, will consequently stop the whole of the light plane of reflection will be expressed by C0S ^_Jjy so polarised. 1

See the article Optics, p. 470.

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 233 This formula may be illustrated by applying it to partiIt is easy to observe, that, in the most material cases, this Polarisaof cular cases. If i — 0, i' being also — 0, C-S‘. ^ l')— j . but tormri a correctly corresponds with the experiments ; but we tion are still in want of an experimental demonstration of its truth1 LiShtcos. (i—*') ’ the angle of which the tangent is unity is an angle of 45°. tor any very diversified combinations of the values of a and i. ' x'"—' I he deviations of the planes of polarisation follow the Consequently, if the formula is correct, the plane of polarisation for the reflected ray, when the incidence is perpen- same gradations when the reflection takes place at the sedicular, must coincide with the primitive plane of polarisa- cond surface of transparent mirrors, from the position of tion of the light employed; and this is conformable to ob- perpendicular incidence to that of the beginning of total reflection. But beyond that inclination the phenomenon acservation. quires a character totally different: we have then no longer os The angle of which the tangent is g_ - (HO kecomes a simple change of the direction of the primitive poles of cos. (t—i') unless tne the ray for unless the plane contains the the poles poles either either ako 45° whpn ? — QO° • tW ooxr ^ 9; 101 P^ne which which contains 116 ne 0f rrfeC ti0, OT be concerned, since then coscos. (*-f f) r= frtr'V t , ', ‘ to 1parallel to the surface —l&S ’ ir. Theenlight the ray will undergo a true depolarisation, so that how — cos. i', and cos. (?—f) — -j- cos. preserves, ever we place the rhomboid through which we cause it to therefore, in this case also, its primitive plane of polarisa- pass, we shall always observe that two images are formed. tion, as the experiment had shown. The same happens also when the mirror is metallic. The If 90°, the angle of *, as it has already been ob- particular and very remarkable modifications which the light served (Sect. III.), is that of complete polarisation, and undergoes in these two cases will shortly be mentioned.2 cos. (i + f) . cor (j,' i'j 18 := ^ ’ 80 ^le P^ane of polarisation of the reflected ray coincides with the plane of reflection, which SECT. VII OF THE PHENOMENA OF INTERFERENCE, SO FAR AS THEY 3ARE MODIFIED BY A PREVIOUS POLARISATION has already been shown by experiment. OF LIGHT. The following table will show that, for intermediate angles of incidence, the agreement between this mode of calculaIt has long been known [having, however, first occurred tion and the observation is as satisfactory as it was possible to tlie translator of this article in the room and at the table to expect. on which he is now writing], that if, after having cut in a thin plate of metal two very fine slits very near to each On Glass. other, we cause them to be enlightened by a pencil proObserved Deceeding from the same radiating point, we may observe Angles of viation of the Computed Debehind the plate a formation of iridescent fringes, derived Difference. Incidence. Plane of Polaviation. from the action exerted by the rays scattered from the leftrisation. hand slit on the rays scattered from the right-hand slit, in the points where these two parcels of rays are intermixed. 24° 38° 55' 37° 54' + lc 1' This experiment, when studied in-all its details, has led 39 24 35 24 38 —0 3 to the simple law, which maybe thus enunciated : Two rays 49 II 45 10 52 + 0 53 of homogeneous light, proceeding from the same source, and 561 0 0 0 0 0 0 arriving from a given point of space by two different routes, 60 5 15 5 29 — 0 14 a little unequal in length, co-operate with each other, or 70 19 52 20 24 — 0 32 are destroyed, and form, on a screen which receives them, 80 32 45 33 25 — 0 40 either a bright or a dark spot, according to the magnitude 85 38 55 39 19 — 0 24 of the difference of their routes. 87 40 55 41 36 — 0 41 The two rays always co-operate completely when they 88 41 15 42 44 — 1 29 are united after passing through a route of equal length. If 89 44 35 43 52 +0 43 the smallest difference of routes, which will cause them again to co-operate, be called d, they will co-operate whereever the distance is any member of the series 2d, ?>d, M...; On Water. and the intermediate values 0 + |rf, d-\-^d, 2d-\-^d..., will Angles of Observed De- Computed Deshow the cases in which the two rays, when combined, proDifference. Incidence. viation. viation. duce darkness. The magnitude of the quantity d varies with the species of light concerned, and with the nature of 53° 0° 0' 0° 0' 0° O' the medium which transmits it. 60 10 20 10 51 — 0 31 If tw o rays destroy each other after having passed through 70 25 20 24 48 — 0 32 routes differing, for example, by the quantity d', they will 80 36 20 35 49 + 0 31 also destroy each other after having passed through, either 85 40 50 40 32 -f 0 18 perpendicularly, or with the same obliquity, two plates of nature, and of the same thickness. The formula, thus compared with experiment, supposes theAsame difference of thickness, or of refractive density, in the that the primitive plane of polarisation of the light employ- two plates interposed, may produce the effect of an ineed makes an angle of 45° with the plane of reflection ; but quality in the routes described: the difference will give a slight addition is sufficient to accommodate it to all other rise, in certain cases, to a displacement only of the fringes; cases. If we make a the angle of which the particular value but in others they will entirely disappear. is here assumed 45°, * and f retaining their values, the tanu, llgm in Anese Iaws reiau, to LU the Ult3 rays ineir These laws relate rays in results their namrai natural gen o the angle expressing the deviation of the plane of state ; if we employ polarised light,ofwelight obtain which, po ansation of the incident pencil, after reflection, will in independently of the numerous applications of which they general be represented bvJ cos- (HO cos. (i—i')

'

are susceptible, deserve for their singularity to arrest our attention.

1 Suck experiments will be found in the article Optics, p. 465, 466; and in the same article the reader will find a new formula, confirmed by numerous experiments, exhibiting the deviations’of the planes of polarisation produced by3refraction. See the article Optics, p. 505. Ibid. p. 426 and 497. VOL. XVIII. 2G

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 234 PolarisaLet us first suppose, that instead of enlightening the two slits from rays polarised in the same direction into rays po- Polari*, tion of slits of the plate of metal with natural rays, we employ po- larised in directions at right angles to each other ; and that, t’onB Light. larised light, - the - fringes -i. in • both i .1 cases. before the interference of the rays, we bring them back to ^ will be formed' equally If we then try the effect of the light polarised in one di a similar polarisation, either by the assistance of a third pile, rection and transmitted by one of the slits on the light po or by that of a tourmaline, as in the former experiment: larised in a perpendicular direction, and transmitted by tne the observer will then find, and no doubt with great surother ; an arrangement which may be obtained by placing prise, that the rays are again susceptible of interference, two piles properly directed in the passage of the different or that in mixing together they produce a very visible group rays; we shall find, that when the directions are correctly of iridescent fringes. The series of experiments here related leads us to the perpendicular, there is no trace of fringes behind the perfollowing conclusions. forated plate. 1. Two pencils converted from natural light into light It has been remarked, that any material difference in the mediums through which the two rays pass, is sufficient to polarised in the same direction, retain, after this modificaannihilate the effects of interference which would otherwise tion, the property of interfering with each other. 2. Two pencils, which are made to pass directly from be observable. The experiment now mentioned would therefore be wholly inconclusive, if we had not previously the state of natural light to that of light polarised in two assured ourselves that the piles, which are supposed to be perpendicular directions, are no longer capable of interferof the same nature, are also exactly of the same thickness. ence, either while they remain in this state, or after they The best mode of ascertaining this is evidently to render have been restored to a similar polarisation. 3. Two pencils polarised in contrary directions do not the two planes of polarisation parallel: if in this case wre perceive fringes, and if, after having turned one of the piles interfere, whatever may have been the modifications that one fourth of a revolution round its axis without changing they have undergone before they arrive at this state from their mutual inclination, we find that they disappear, we that of natural light; but when restored to a similar state may fairly conclude that this disappearance must be attri- of polarisation, they become capable of interfering, provided buted to the direction of the polarisation of the rays of light that, in their passage from the natural state to that of polarised light, the first planes of polarisation of the two concerned. This experiment would be a very difficult one to make pencils were parallel. Thus it appears, that in these phenomena the mode of with success if the piles had any considerable thickness ; but they may be made very thin by means of plates of mica, or action of the rays does not depend on what they are only of bits of glass blown in a lamp ; and then, by dividing them when they meet, but also on what they have previously been. in the middle, we may obtain a pair of piles of thicknesses perfectly equal. Besides, nothing prevents our varying SECT. VIII. OF THE KIND OF POLARISATION WHICH IS EXgradually the inclination of one of the piles, so as to comHIBITED IN THE APPEARANCE OF COLOURS, AND WHICH pensate in this manner for the effect of a slight difference HAS THEREFORE BEEN CALLED COLOURED POLARISAof thickness, if it exists. TION.1 But there is another mode of observation which is more We may first examine the nature of the new modificaconvenient. We take a crystal of tourmaline cut in a direction parallel to its axis, so as to form a plate with paral- tion of light that is concerned in these appearances; and, lel surfaces ; we divide it into two parts, and apply the two secondly, the means of producing it. Supposing a ray of direct light to be polarised in any ot portions, one to the slit on the right hand of the plate, and the other to that on the left. We then find that fringes the ways that have been described, and then to pass through are produced when the two axes of the fragments are pa- a plate of rock-crystal cut perpendicularly to the edges of rallel, and that no traces of them are left when they are the hexaedral prism, about a quarter of an inch in thickness, to the ray : w hen perpendicular to each other; and that in changing the po- and having both its surfaces perpendicular r sitions of the portions of tourmaline from one of these rela- it emerges from the surface, it w ill no longer possess the tions to the other, the intensity of the fringes gradually dis- properties of common polarised light; and yet it will not have re-assumed the characters of direct light: for if we appears. Supposing now the piles to remain fixed to the slits in submit it to the action of a rhomboid of carbonate of lime, perpendicular directions, so that no fringe may be visible ; instead of affording one image only in a particular position and placing a third pile before the eye of the observer, in with respect to the principal section of the crystal, it will a plane that forms an angle of 45° with the planes of inci- be constantly subdivided into two pencils ; so that it cannot dence of the two former; this last plane must reduce to a be identical with common polarised light. Neither is it simply natural light; for a white pencil of similar polarisation the rays coming from the two slits, which before they met were polarised at right angles; so that natural light is always divided, by a doubly refracting crysthere seems to be no reason why the rays should not again tal, into two white pencils of equal intensity. The white peninterfere: and yet whatever pains we take in the experi- cil which has passed through the plate of quartz, on the conment, we shall discover no trace of fringes. [Might there trary, gives always two images, but they are distinguished not, however, be fringes if the rays met behind the third by the most vivid colours. If the ordinary image is red, pile rather than before it ? Tr.] the extraordinary is green, and the reverse: and the case It is unnecessary to remark, that a tourmaline of any is the same with regard to the other prismatic colours; that kind may be substituted for the third pile, as the two for- of the ordinary pencil is complementary to the tint of the mer may be exchanged for the two halves of a piece of extraordinary pencil, and they both vary according to the tourmaline with parallel surfaces: the result will be precise- position of the principal section of the rhomboid which causes ly the same. the separation. Let us lastly suppose, in order to exhaust all possible The prismatic telescope of M. Itochon affords an appacombinations, that the plate of metal is illuminated with po- ratus perfectly adapted to the performance of these experilarised light, and that two piles or two tourmalines are so ments, and which requires to be mentioned, first, because it placed as to transform the rays passing through the two exhibits the tints with great brilliancy; secondly, because 1

See the article Optics, p. 476-501.

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 235 ilarisa- it gives us the means of assuring ourselves that the images greater or less thickness of the crystal that they have passed Polarisanon of viewed lose nothing of their distinctness by the interposition through. Light. of the plate, and that its effect is not owing to any irregution of / If we employ homogeneous polarised light, we shall rea- Light. lar dissipation of the light concerned ; and, thirdly, on ac- dily find, that, supposing a given plate of quartz to turn the count of the facility with which it allows us to show that poles of a certain ray of light through an arc of 20° from the tints are complementary to each other. their primitive direction, a plate of the same crystal twice This instrument is nothing more than an ordinary tele- as thick will cause a double deviation, and will turn the pole scope, furnished, between the object-glass and the eye-glass, through an arc of 40° ; a plate of thrice the thickness will with a prism of rock-crystal or of carbonate of lime render- cause a triple deviation, amounting to 60°; and so forth, ed achromatic. This prism being moveable at pleasure without limit. along the axis of the telescope, the observer is enabled to ith regard to the simple rays of different colours, in separate more or less, at his pleasure, the two images of the passing through a given plate, they undergo deviations so object which he is viewing. much the more considerable as they are more refrangible, Having, then, before the object-glass of this telescope the and this in the inverse proportion of the numbers which plate of quartz in question, and adapting besides to the eye- Newton calls the lengths of the fits; or, what comes to the glass a greenish dark glass of a particular kind, which is same result, in the inverse proportion of the quantities much employed by astronomers because of its property of which have been designated in this article by the letter d. absorbing a good deal of light, without sensibly colouring (Sect. VII.) the transmitted pencil; if we observe the sun directly with V, hen, therefore, we know the deviation for a given plate, this instrument, we shall see two images of the sun, both we may find the effect of a thicker or thinner plate of the white, and of equal brightness, whence it follows that the same substance by a simple proportion. plate produces no particular effect on natural light; but if, on the contrary, we look at the sun’s image as reflected by Table of the Deviations of the Planes of Polarisation of the different “ Homogeneous" Rays in passing through a a plate of glass not silvered, we shall perceive two more Plate of Rock- Crystal perpendicular to the Axis of the suns, each of them coloured; and whilst the telescope perPrism, of which the thickness is a millimetre, or -03937 forms half a revolution on its axis, they wall both run through E. I. [^according to the Newtonian division of the specnearly the whole series of the prismatic colours. Thus, the trumf image that was red, will become successively orange, yellow, greenish-yellow, bluish-green, and violet: and at this Extreme red 17-500 period the telescope will have made half a turn ; its moveLimit of red and orange 20*48 ment being continued, the violet image will become first orange and yellow 22*31 red, then orange, and so forth. The second image will al...... yellow and green 25*68 ways give us the complementary colour ; for if, instead of green and blue 30*05 completely separating the images, we allow them to overblue and indigo 34*57 lap each other, the part common to both the discs will reindigo and violet 37*68 main constantly white, while the remaining lunular porExtreme violet 44*08 tions will exhibit the most vivid colours. There is no reason to suppose that the angular deviations i he reflection of a transparent plate may also be employ- will undergo any alteration in their values when all the ed for more directly exhibiting the distinctive properties of molecules pass through the crystal at the same time. Conthe light transmitted by the plate of quartz. sequently, in the white pencil transmitted by a plate of a If we cause a plate of glass to turn round a pencil of na- millimetre, the axes of the elementary red rays will form an tural light forming with its surface an angle of about 35^°, angle of 8° with the axes of the first orange rays, of about the reflected pencil will be directed in succession to all 5° with those of the first yellow rays, and of 26*5° with the the points of the horizon, but it will constantly preserve the axes of the extreme violet rays ; and if we analyse this same intensity. white pencil by means of a rhomboid, the differently coBut if the incident pencil is polarised, we shall find, on loured rays will not be divided in the same proportions bethe contrary, two positions diametrically opposite to each tween the two images : hence there will necessarily be apother, in which the mirror will not reflect a single ray. pearances of colour. It is obvious, for example, that when Making, now, a similar experiment with the light that the rhomboid is so placed that its principal section shall has been transmitted by a plate of rock-crystal, we shall coincide with the poles of the red ray, this ray will remain see that it becomes coloured by reflection, though it falls altogether in the ordinary pencil, and the red tint will be white on the plate, and that the nature of the colour de- wholly wanting in the extraordinary image. pends on the side of the ray that is presented to the reflectWe may obtain an exact idea of the modification which ing surface. These reflected colours succeed each other a plate of quartz produces in a white pencil of polarised during the revolution of the plate, in the same order as in light, by conceiving a combination of red rays polarised by the prismatic spectrum; and they are also observed in the reflection at the surface of a certain transparent substance, transmitted light, being always complementary to those of of orange rays polarised by a second surface placed in a the light reflected at the same time. different angular situation, of yellow rays polarised by a If the properties of polarised rays depend, as is supposed third surface, and so forth. The necessity of the intimate by the partisans of the system of emission, on the particular mixture of all these kinds of molecules in each line of white arrangements assumed by the molecules of which they are light, and some other obstacles, would render it impossible formed, it will be easy to describe the intimate composition to realise this fiction without a very complicated apparatus; ot the ordinary polarised ray, and that of the same ray after while a simple plate of quartz is sufficient, on the other it has passed through the plate of rock-crystal: in the for- hand, to give to the different constituent parts of the white mer, the axes of all the molecules of the different colours pencil these individual polarisations situated in different must be parallel; in the latter, the molecules of different azimuths. tints must have their poles turned towards different parts of The phenomena which have been described are produspace. ced by plates of quartz with parallel surfaces cut perpendiIt now becomes necessary to examine according to what cularly to the axis of the hexaedral prism. Now, in a diaw the direction of these poles is varied, both as they de- rection perpendicular to these surfaces, quartz exhibits no pend on the particular, tint of each molecule, and on the double refraction; so that the causes which in this case

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 236 For this purpose we may place the principal section of a Polariw Polarisa- produce the deviation of the planes of polarisation of the tion of luminous molecules, are different from the causes which oc- rhomboid of calcareous spar in the plane of polarisation of tion o:ij Light. casion the separation of the two pencils in other sections of a white pencil, which of course will be subjected to thev Light. the crystal. And it is remarkable that the properties of ordinary refraction only : we may then place the plate in these plates have been found in bodies not possessed of re- question before the rhomboid, so that the rays may pass gular crystallization, as flint-glass, and even in perfect through it perpendicularly. If now the principal section fluids, such as the essential oils of turpentine and of lemons, of this plate is parallel to that of the rhomboid, we shall or the solution of camphor in alcohol, the simple syrup of still see but one white image ; and the same will happen if sugar, and so forth. The only difference is in the absolute the principal sections are perpendicular to each other; value of the thicknesses which afford the same tints, the but in every other situation of the plate, the rhomboid will other laws remaining the same. Thus the thickness of oil furnish two'pencils, and they will be distinguished by comof turpentine must be sixty-nine times as great as that of a plementary tints. The motion of the plate in its own plane does not alter plate of rock-crystal to produce the same effect; and the action of the oil of lemons is to that of the oil of turpentine the nature of the tints: their brightness only varies, and as seventeen to ten [or to that of crystal as one to forty- becomes greatest when the angle formed by the two sections is equal to 45°. one]. These tints vary with the thickness of the plate, and deWe have seen that a plate of quartz a millimetre in generate into perfect whiteness when the thickness becomes thickness causes the poles of the red molecules to describe an arc of 17-5°. We may suppose this motion to have considerable. In the sulphate of lime, the appearances are taken place from right to left: then every other plate, of no longer observable when the thickness is about halt a whatever thickness, cut out of the same crystal, will cause millimetre, or one fiftieth of an inch. Supposing O to be the tint of the ordinary pencil, and E the poles to deviate still farther in the same direction, that is, to turn still from right to left; whilst other plates, on the that of the extraordinary ; the experiment shows that the contrary, cut out of a different crystal, may turn them from tint E is nearly that of one of the coloured rings seen in left to right. This phenomenon, at first sight, must appear the light reflected from twm object-glasses touching each very singular ; but if we reflect that the rays pass through other, as in the celebrated experiments of Newton ; and the plates in a direction which affords no double refraction, that the tint O is that of the corresponding transmitted we shall be aware that a deviation of the poles directed ring. This rule, however, is not perfectly general; for in constantly the same way in every specimen of the crystal many crystals the tints E by no means resemble those of the rings. would be not at all less astonishing. When the regular sequence of the Newtonian rings is It has not hitherto been possible to point out any exterior signs which shall indicate the direction of the deviation observable, the successive thicknesses of the same crystal, that will be produced by a given crystal, except in one very which afford the respective colours E, are proportional to remarkable case. In some varieties of quartz, the solid those which Newton has assigned for substances not crysangles, situated at the base of the pyramid by which the tallized : it is only found that, for any given density, the prism is terminated, are replaced by as many facets placed absolute values of these thicknesses greatly surpass the obliquely with respect to the edges. Now the direction of thicknesses shown in the Newtonian tables. We find also a remarkable relation between the tint E, the deviation which these plagiedral crystals give to the poles of the luminous molecules, is constantly that of the the thickness of the plate, and the elements of its double refraction, which it is important to point out. The image obliquity of these little facets. When a polarised ray passes successively through two E only appears when the principal section of the plate is plates producing contrary rotations, the ultimate deviation neither parallel nor perpendicular to the primitive plane of of the poles is the difference of the effects which each plate polarisation of the ray which passes through it. If we supwould have produced separately. The ray exhibits exact- pose this plate to possess only the ordinary properties of ly the same tints as if it had passed through a single plate, double refraction, the ray will in general be divided by it of a thickness equal to the difference of the thicknesses of into two pencils, one of which w ill be refracted ordinarily, the other extraordinarily; so that two pencils from the the two plates. If the plates thus combined are equal in thickness, the same origin meet, after having passed through different pencil transmitted, having been turned first in one direc- routes, and interfere. There is a certain inequality of the tion, and then turned back in the contrary direction, seems lengths of these paths at which the red rays destroy each other; at another interval the yellow rays, the green, the not to have its polarisation ultimately changed. The essential oil of turpentine causes the axes of the blue, and so forth. If we determine, from these principles, molecules of the polarised ray to turn from the right to the the tint resulting from the interference of the different rays, left of the observer receiving the ray ; the essential oil of taking into account the thickness and the intensity of the lemons from left to right. These fluids do not lose their double refraction of the plate, we shall always find a very peculiar properties when they are mixed; so that if their satisfactory agreement between the calculation and the exproportions in the mixture are inversely as their rotatory periment. (See the article Chromatics.) The singular deviation which these thin plates seem to forces, the ray which 1has passed through them retains its produce in the poles of the molecules of different colours primitive polarisation. which constitute white light, was extremely difficult to be SECT. IX ON THE PHENOMENA OF DEPOLARISATION, AND discovered; and nothing shows this difficulty better than OF COLOURS PRODUCED BY CRYSTALLIZED PLATES NOT the general assent of natural philosophers to the laws which CUT PERPENDICULARLY TO THE AXIS OF DOUBLE RE- have been the foundation of the theory of moveable polarisation. It is not therefore sufficient to explain here the FRACTION.2 true principles on which these phenomena are founded: We are next to inquire how a white pencil, polarised in the confutation of an erroneous theory becomes absolutely a single direction, is modified in passing through a crystal- necessary in this stage of the investigation, especially line plate possessed of double refraction. when it is plausible in appearance, and when it is brought * See the article Optics, p. 504, col. 2.

s

Ibid. p. 476.

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 237 forward with confidence in the latest works, notwithstand- when the effect of the difference of velocity is 0, nd, or Polarisaing the decisive objections which had been opposed to it. {n + l)d, n being a whole number, a pencil previously tion of The fundamental theorem of this moveable polarisation polarised, and transmitted by the plate, will appear en- Light. has been thus enunciated. “ When a ray of natural light, tirely polarised in the primitive plane, or in the azimuth 2i, polarised in a certain fixed direction, passes perpendicular- as the principles of the doctrine of moveable polarisation ly through a crystallized plate, which is parallel to the axis require. of double refraction, the molecules of light penetrate at first When the plate has such a thickness that the difference to a certain distance without losing their primitive polari- of the paths described by the ordinary and extraordinary sation : after this they begin to perform periodical oscilla- pencils is included in the general formula {n -f-L) d, the tions round their own centres, so that their axis of polarisa- transmitted light will appear to have become common light, tion is carried alternately on each side of the principal sec- if the principal section of the plate makes an angle of 45° tion of the crystal, or of the line perpendicular to it, like a' with the primitive plane of polarisation of the incident pendulum passing from one side to the other of the verti- light, which, as we have already seen, by no means agrees cal line which is its quiescent position. Each of these os- with the doctrine of moveable polarisation. cillations is performed in a given thickness 2e, twice as Lastly, when the thickness of the plate employed is not great as that in which the molecule had made its excursion comprehended in any of the preceding expressions, the in one direction. Thus, from the thickness zero to a certain completely polarised rays, which pass through it, emerge fundamental thickness e', the homogeneous molecules of which with the characters of a partial polarisation. This result the ray passing through the crystal is composed, are affect- is no less inconsistent than the former with the laws of ed, after their emergence, as if they had not quitted tlvir pri- moveable polarisation ; since, according to these laws, the mitive polarisation; from e to 2e they are affected as if polarised incident ray ought always to emerge completely .-j a new polarisation, 7 ^ the ■' for^ polarised, with a simple change of the azimuth of its poles. they had assumed differing from mer by the azimuth 2i; i being the angle which the princiIt is not, therefore, generally true, that a pencil of polarpal section of the plate forms with the original plane of their ised homogeneous light, which passes through thin cryspolarisation ; and they appear, in short, alternatively polar- tallized plates, either preserves its primitive polarisation, ised in their former azimuth, and in an azimuth at the dis- or assumes a new one at the angular distance of 2i; and tance 2« from it.” with this falls the wdiole fabric of the oscillatory motions To this law it may be objected, first, that whenever the attributed to the molecules of light. With respect to the light emerging from a crystal with one axis, whether thin objection already made to this theory, regarding the conor thick, is composed of twu distinct pencils, we find that nection to be established between the phenomena of thin they are polarised in directions at right angles to each plates and those of thick crystals, it seems to retain its full other, whether the incident light may have been natural force, since it has not been established by experiment that or polarised; and no exception to this rule has yet been the rays concerned in the phenomena of thin plates are podiscovered. Now it is difficult, if not impossible, to con- larised in two rectangular directions. ceive, in the system of moveable polarisation, how the Supposing, however, for a moment, that this were the transition can be made from that state into the state of case, and that a luminous pencil, passing through a thin polarisation in two directions at right angles, which, for plate of sulphate of lime, is divided into two rays, the one the sake of distinction, has been called the fixed polarisa- ordinary and the other extraordinary, polarised at right tion. angles: let us examine what would be the consequence. But there is a still more direct objection to this theory. Mathematically speaking, these two rays follow in general If we place a plate of sulphate of lime in such a manner different routes within the crystal; but it is not possible to that its principal section may make an angle of 45° with separate them physically, because the imperfection of our the primitive plane of polarisation of homogeneous light organs forces us to contemplate objects of a certain exthat is to pass through it, the angle 2i being then equal to tent. The advocates of a moveable polarisation will ex90°, the transmitted pencil, according to the doctrine of amine this light in a mass. They will find in certain moveable polarisation, would be entirely polarised either cases that it appears to have preserved its primitive polain the primitive plane or in the plane perpendicular to it, risation, and in others that it seems to be polarised in an and, when analysed by means of a rhomboid, it would ex- azimuth differing by 2i, and they will hence conclude that hibit, in two positions of the principal section of this crys- thin plates act very differently from a thick crystal. tal, only a single image. But this is so far from being true, This conclusion, however, may be disputed. When we that if the plate is of a proper thickness, the pencil will make use of a thick crystal, the ordinary and extraordibe constantly divided into two images of equal intensities, nary images are separated ; we study the properties of whatever the direction of the principal section of the rhom- each apart. In the case of the thin plates the observer boid may be. has to do w ith light which is mixed and complicated. Now, When two pencils, derived from the same origin, and who can affirm, without having made the experiment, that possessing the same velocity, are made to intersect each two rays really polarised at right angles, will not seem, in other at a very small angle, after having travelled by dif- cases of interference, to have lost their primitive polariferent paths, of which the lengths are slightly different, sations, and will not exhibit an intermediate polarisation, they may destroy each other completely, as we have al- the result of the others, which might be considered as comready seen; and this destruction would as readily take posing it ? place if they came by the same path with different veloci The reader will now have conjectured, that, in order to ties. Let d be the difference of the paths which deter- elucidate these mysterious phenomena, it will require to mines, in the first case, the periodical series of the points be proved, first, that two pencils are actually formed in of space in which two rays of a certain homogeneous light the thin plates of crystallized substances, as well as in produce complete darkness by their interference; the same thicker crystals, polarised at right angles to each other ; letter d will express, in the second case, the quantity by and, secondly, that these pencils, when they are mixed, which one of the rays will require to be more advanced may exhibit the appearance of a polarisation intermediate than the other by the excess of its velocity, in order that between the two separate directions. Such, then, is the the light may again be destroyed. When, in a crystallized object of the very delicate experiments which are now to plate, the difference of the tracks described by the ordi- be related. nary and extraordinary rays of a given kind of light, or A pencil of homogeneous solar light being concentrated

a c

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 238 Polarisa- into a very small point, by the aid of a lens of a short fo- tertained on this subject, they might be removed in the Polani tion of CUSj fixe(j in the shutter of a dark room, the pencil of di- following manner. ^on > We might substitute for the two thin plates which have ^ verging rays is to be received on two plates of glass slight^v ^ ly inclined to each other, and making an angle with the been employed, two thick crystals, for example two rhomray of about 35°: the pencils reflected by the two plates boids of carbonate of lime, in which the double refraction will then be completely polai’ised, and where they inter- would be manifest. As we might then follow separately sect each other they will form light and dark stripes ; and the course of each pencil, and intercept them in turn by whatever the position of the plates may be, the stripes will screens, it might thus be proved, by the most direct evibe polarised in the same direction as the two pencils which dence, that, for the formation of the two groups of stripes, it is necessary and sufficient that the ordinary pencil of one afford them. If we now take a very transparent plate of sulphate of of the crystals should meet the extraordinary pencil of the lime, and divide it in the middle, so as to have two plates other, and the reverse. The direction of the polarisation of exactly the same thickness; if we fix one of the halves of these fringes, determined by the aid of a rhomboid, of this plate before the mirror, in such a situation that it would also be exactly the same as in the case of the emmay transmit that pencil only which is reflected by the ployment of thin plates. The only remarkable difference first mirror, and so that the principal section may make an between the two experiments would be in the degree of angle of 45° with the primitive plane of polarisation ; and separation of the two groups of fringes. This distance, then the other half of the plate in the way of the polarised depending on the difference of the paths described by the light reflected by the other mirror, but with its principal ordinary and extraordinary rays, would be “ greater" [or section at right angles to that of the other plate, and mak- rather smaller] with the crystals than with the plates. It ing an angle of 45° with the primitive plane in a contrary might even happen, if the crystals were very thick, that in direction : then, if these plates act in the same manner as order to “ bring the stripes within the field of view” [or to thick plates, however small the measure of their double re- render them visible], it would be necessary to compensate fraction may be, they must divide the reflected rays which for a part of the difference of the lengths of the paths, pass through them into two pencils of the same intensity, or of the velocities, by the assistance of a plane glass, and polarised at right angles to each other ; but, in the fixed in the way of one of the pencils ; but in every case positions here assigned to them, it will evidently happen, the results of the experiment would be equally clear and that the plane of polarisation of the ordinary pencil, coming, decisive. It may also be added, in the last place, as a full answer for example, from the right-hand plate, will be parallel to the plane of polarisation of the extraordinary pencil of the to every objection that might be raised against this explaleft-hand plate ; and the same will be true of the two re- nation of the formation of the two groups of stripes in the thin plates, that the interval which separates the two sysmaining pencils of the respective plates. This being admitted, it is easy to see what will happen tems is always so dependent on the double refraction of the at the points in which the two pencils intersect each other. plates, that its exact numerical value may always be deduThe ordinary rays of the right-hand plate will at once in- ced from the elements of the double refraction, as obtained terfere with the extraordinary rays of the left-hand plate, by experiments on other portions of the same substance. since they are polarised in the same direction, and will form (See the article Chromatics.) We must now consider how it will be possible to recona group of light and dark stripes ; and a second group will be afforded by the extraordinary rays of the right-hand cile the experiment which has been related, and which plate and the ordinary of its companion. The two groups proves the subdivision of the light into two pencils, polarwill be the farther separated from each other as the plates ised at right angles to each other, with the other fact, are thicker, and as their double refraction is more strongly which seems to be opposed to it, that when the plate is marked. In the intermediate space we find the rays of the of a proper thickness, the whole group of polarised rays same description furnished by the two plates ; but as they that pass through it shall appear to be polarised either in have now received contrary polarities, they intersect each the primitive plane or in another making with it an angle other without exhibiting any of the phenomena of inter- of 2i. We make, in a dark room, a very small radiant point of ference, and the eye has the sensation of a uniform light homogeneous light, by means of a lens, as already menonly. A fact which is no less evident than the existence of tioned. We receive the diverging pencil on a plate of the two systems of stripes, is, that when we employ the glass, having its posterior surface covered with a black varsulphate of lime, each of the systems is completely polar- nish ; supposing the plate to be in a vertical position, and ised in a plane perpendicular to the principal section of the the diverging pencil to be nearly horizontal, and to make an angle with the surface not much differing from that of complate which is nearest to it. Now, there is no one of the consequences of the suppo- plete polarisation : when this arrangement is completed, we sition with which we set out, that is, the supposition that place in the way of the reflected light a rhomboid of calcaevery plate divides polarised light passing through it into reous spar, its principal section making with the horizon, or two pencils polarised at right angles, that is not fully con- with the plane of reflection, an angle of 45°. In this posifirmed by this experiment. The truth of the hypothesis tion of the rhomboid the light passing through it is divided is therefore demonstrated; for every other mode of separa- into two pencils, the one ordinary and the other extraordition or of polarisation of the rays, that for example which nary, polarised at right angles, and of equal intensity. After is deduced from the principles of moveable polarisation, having passed through the first rhomboid, the two pencils would lead to phenomena totally different from those which fall on another rhomboid of the same thickness, but having have been described. its principal section perpendicular to that of the former. A little attention to the passages (Sect. VII.) contain- The ordinary pencil will then be subjected to the extraoring an account of the circumstances under which polar- dinary refraction in it, and the reverse; and the two penised rays are capable of occasioning appreciable effects of cils will emerge from the second rhomboid, one polarised in interference, will be sufficient to convince the reader that the plane of its principal section, and the other perpendithe two systems of stripes which have been the subjects cularly to it. of these experiments, can only have been the result of the Let us now follow the course of each of the pencils. In interference of the ordinary rays of one plate with the ex- the first place, it is evident, that on account of their divertraordinary rays of the other. But if any doubts were en- gence they will intersect each other in a space so much the

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 239 wider as they become more remote from the rhomboid: only homogeneous light, so that it produced only Polarisation their points of emergence being distinct and sensibly sepa- contained nrignt and dark stripes. But if we employ white light the of rated, the observer may intercept, in turn, with a screen, ei- stripes will be coloured; because d has different values for IjiShtther the ordinary or the extraordinary pencil, and enlighten the rays of different tints, and these tints are precisely the"^"1' at pleasure any other object, either with the one or the same as are developed by polarised light in their passage other separately, or with both at once. through crystallized plates of all possible thicknesses. This delicate and complicated experiment being so far A few words will now be sufficient to show the mode of advanced, let us place a glass slightly roughened in a part action of these plates in the phenomena of the colours first of the field of view common to the two pencils; marking, described. by a very fine opening in an opaque plate covering the A polarised ray passing through a crystallized plate which glass, the precise spot on which we fix our attention ° and possesses the power of double refraction is divided by it, employing, as usual, a doubly-refracting crystal to analyse mathematically speaking, into two pencils polarised at right the different kinds of light, which, after passing through the angles ; but two pencils of this description do not interslit in the diaphragm, depict an image within the eye. fere; the plate will therefore not exhibit colours to the It will now easily be observed that the ordinary ray, naked eye, whatever its thickness may be, even when it is when it arrives alone at the aperture, wherever it may be only exposed to polarised light; and this result is confirmplaced, undergoes no modification, and remains polarised as ed by experiment. it w as before ; and the same is true of the extraordinary ray: Each of the ordinary and extraordinary pencils transmitbut if both these rays intersect each other in the slit, and ted by the plate will again be divided into two when it enter the eye together, the phenomenon is by no means so passes through an achromatic prism of crystal, or a rhomsimple, and its nature changes according to the place occu- boid of calcareous spar. Of these four emergent pencils, pied by the slit; so that moving this slit gradually by means the two which follow the ordinary path will be no more of a screw, we soon find the point where the light, compos- separated than they were at their emergence from the ed of the two pencils that pass through it, seems to be plate; and the same is true of the two extraordinary penwholly polarised, in the same manner as the pencil was at cils, so that the eye will ultimately perceive but two disits first reflection from the plate of glass ; further on, the tinct images. plane of polarisation seems to be perpendicular to the priOr the two pencils which thus concur in the formation mitive plane ; and in a position intermediate between these of the ordinary image, the one was ordinary in its passage the rays transmitted afford no material traces of polarisation through the plate, and has remained ordinary in the rhomat all. boid placed near the eye, while the action of this rhomboid This experiment, therefore, offers us the singular pheno- has been required for bringing the other pencil from the menon of two pencils, polarised at right angles, which, after extraordinary to the ordinary refraction. The different having intersected each other in the ground glass, unite kinds of rays have different velocities in crystals capable of within the eye, and form together, as the test of the rhom- double refraction ; and an inequality of velocity gives rise boid shows, a pencil polarised sometimes in one direction to the phenomena of interference, as well as an inequality and sometimes in an opposite one, or sometimes without of distance described. If, in the plate employed, the difany sensible trace of polarisation, according to the magni- ference between the velocities of the ordinary and extraortude of the difference of the paths described by the two dinary ray corresponds, either on account of its thickness pencils. or of the diversity of the two refractions, to a certain quanIt is only to assist the imagination that the piece of tity, d, or its multiple, the kind of rays of which the interground glass has been supposed to be employed, for its val nd determines the destruction, n being a whole numpresence is not necessary to the success of the experiment. ber, will be wanting in the ordinary image transmitted by A lens alone may be used for observing the stripes formed the rhomboid. And this effect, it must again be repeated, in the air by the interference of the luminous pencils. If, depends on the interference of the two pencils of which this however, we merely placed ourselves with this lens before image is really formed, and which, in the plate, possessed the two rhomboids, the eye would only receive a uniform different velocities. and continued light; but as soon as a doubling crystal is If the experiment with the two rhomboids had not taught perfectly interposed between the lens and the rhomboids, or us, that, in order to calculate the mutual actions of the lubetween the lens and the eye, we shall observe two sys- minous rays, which in passing through different crystals tems of dark and bright stripes, the bright stripes of one of possessed of doubly refractive powers, have several times the images corresponding always with the dark stripes of changed their planes of polarisation, the ordinary laws of the other. Ihe middle stripes, for example, will be bright interference require some modification, we should have in the ordinary image, if the principal section of the inter- found ourselves arrested by a considerable difficulty. posed crystal is parallel to the primitive polarisation of the The difference of the velocities being the same for the Toys on the blackened glass ; and in the same case the mid- two pencils of which the extraordinary image afforded by dle stripe will be dark in the extraordinary image. The the rhomboid consists, and for the two which concur in the pomt of space occupied by the middle of the image seems formation of the ordinary image, it would seem that the therefore to transmit to the eye, through the crystal, only rays of the same colour ought to be destroyed at once in such light as is polarised in the primitive plane, because it both the images, and that they ought to exhibit the same affords only an ordinary image of the light; and this cir- tint; but if we recollect that, after having calculated for one cumstance —mat shows also that the Luc. cntuLs effects ui of iiiteiitrence interference m in the me ui me uiiagcs me cnee* i c&jjunuiiig to tu the me of the images the effect vi of nitciicicncc interference cui corresponding extraordinary image require, for their computation, the ad- difference d in theXpath,' we are obliged, © ? when we~ proceed M***»_y» UltlOn of" kd f”toO f” FleO /L-flL 4-1 1-v y-v sT X-toy-v they-* other y-k4-T»1image, O in T /'ll ■•/I to f'/'X obtain 4* rt 1 results y-\ CM « 1 1 4-I'V 1 order conformable ^ difference described. When ^ the principal section of ofthe thepaths crystal interposed be- to experiment, to add Id to the difference of the paths, or ween the eye and the rhomboid is perpendicular to the to the effect of the difference of the velocities, this difficulty original plane of polarisation, the two kinds of pencils in- will disappear. Supposing “ d” [rad] in the ordinary image eichange their effects; and in this case the central stripe to occasion the destruction of the red rays, “ d + l/f’ ° the ordinary image is bright, and that of the extraordi- [nd + will correspond, on the contrary, to their most naX irna l ge is completely dark, as if the difference of the complete agreement in the extraordinary image, and these paths of the rays forming it were two images will exhibit tints rigorously complementary to t has been hitherto supposed that the original pencil each other, as the experiment shows.

POLARISATION OF LIGHT. 240 The phenomena of these thin plates, therefore, which PolarisaThe colours developed by polarised light, in passing tion of through crystallized plates being only, to speak correctly, seemed to some persons to afford an unexceptionable deLight. . portions of stripes produced by interference, we must ex- monstration of the system of emission; which seemed to >s pect to find in them, by varying the thicknesses of the require the assistance of the most singular oscillations of plates, the same apparent deviations of the planes of pola- the molecules of light; which seemed to enable them to risation as we found in the experiment on the narrow stripes discover, in those particles, an axis of rotation, a pair of produced by means of the rays transmitted by two plates poles, and an equator ; and even a kind of precession of the of sulphate of lime, of which the principal sections were equinoctial points: these phenomena are in fact only, as perpendicular to each other; and it has already been re- we have just seen, the immediate and unavoidable consequences of the simple but inexhaustible laws of interfermarked that this analogy is supported by observation. It can scarcely be doubted that this explanation will rea- ence. dily be adopted as fully satisfactory, by all those who will SECT. X ON CIRCULAR POLARISATION.1 give themselves the trouble to examine it with sufficient attention ; and the subject may now be concluded with the The kind of polarisation which is now to be considered formulas which express the intensities of the ordinary and extraordinary images for the case of a polarised ray which differs essentially from those which have been hitherto exhas passed through one or two crystallized plates, with a amined. Suppose that, having polarised a pencil of perpendicular incidence, whatever may be the situation of light, we cause it to undergo twice over, at their principal sections. For a single plate, making unity the intensity of the pri- the angle of 54°, a total reflection within a mitive homogeneous pencil; i the angle made by the prin- parallelepiped of glass, as seen in the figure ; cipal section of the plate with the primitive plane of pola- the new planes of reflection being also suprisation ; s the angle made by this same plane with the prin- posed to be inclined at an angle of 45° to cipal section of the rhomboid or of the achromatic prism, the plane of primitive polarisation; the emerby means of which we analyse the emergent light; o — e gent pencil will then have acquired some parthe difference of the paths of the ordinary and extraordi- ticular properties, which are very remarknary rays at their emergence; d the interval already ex- able. When this emergent pencil is analysed with plained ; and cr the circumference of the circle of which the a rhomboidal crystal, it is constantly decomdiameter is unity: we shall then have, for the ordinarv image, cos.2 s — sin. 2i sin. 2 (i — s) sin." posed into two rays of the same intensity, whatever may be the direction of the principal section. From this circumstance it might be supposed that it had resumed the character of orfor the extraordinary image, sin.2 s + sin. 2i sin. 2 (i — s) dinary light; but if it be transmitted through a crystallized plate before it is subjected to the action of the rhomboid, we shall soon perceive a distinction : for, in this case, comWhen the polarised pencil has passed through two plates, mon white light would afford two white images of the same there must be an additional element in the formula, that is, intensity, while the light of the parallelepiped is divided the angle formed by the principal section of this second into two pencils, both strongly coloured. This new kind of rays has also some other peculiarities. plate with the primitive plane of polarisation. Let this angle It has already been remarked (Sect. V.), that one or more be t, all the others retaining the same symbols, and let o’ — e' be the difference of the paths belonging to the se- total reflections make no difference in the properties of orcond plate *, the intensity of the ordinary image afforded by dinary light; but they modify, on the contrary, in a rea pencil of homogeneous light will then be represented by markable manner, the pencil which has passed through the parallelepiped: for this pencil resumes all the qualities O■ 6 of polarised light when it has been subjected to two total cos.2 s + sin. 2t sin. 2i cos. 2(t + i — s) sin.2 w — reflections similar to the first, whatever may be the azio' — d of the latter planes of reflection with regard to the - cos.21 sin. 2i muth sin. 2t cos. 2i sin. 2 (/ + e — s) sin.2 tt d former. The pencil of light in question is decomposed, then, into o — e + o' — ef + sin.2 t sin. 2i two coloured images, when it is only analysed by a rhom2(t -j- i — s) sin.2 boid after having been transmitted through a crystallized e — (o' — d) and the inten- plate ; but it must be remarked, that the colour of each of 2 (< + i — s) sin.2 , chap. 11. See, on the indirect means of preventing crimes, Bentbam, Principles of Legislation, penal code, part 4. 3 Conversations*Lexicon, vol. viii. 1835, art. PolizeL

POLICE. 249 Charles VI. of France. In 1502, we find police regulations corded upon respectable authority. Colqunoun, writintr in Polk*, 1 established at Nuremburg, relating principally to the cen- the ear 1 bOO, estimated the value of the property purloin- ^^y"*1** sorship of books ; and there are extant,, ordinances of police ed and pilfered in various ways, in and about the metropoof the German empire, of the dates of 1548 and 1577, con- lis, at two millions sterling in one year. Some of the intaining distinct ordinances for the empire, the circles, the stances given would now appear very curious.2 The same counties, and the towns. Towards the end of the seven- writer furnishes a statement of the number of prisoners disteenth century, the science of police acquired a new develop- charged from the metropolitan gaols and hulks in the eight ment, by the introduction into France of the system of se- years, 1792 to 1799, the total of which is 21,893, being, on cret police, to which we shall presently refer. There does an average, 2734 yearly; a very considerable number in pronot appear any particular advantage in detailing at length portion to the then population. The almost innumerable the police legislation of antiquity, or of the middle ages. It ramifications of crime in London, as detailed by Colquhoun, will, we think, be more instructive to confine our statements may excite surprise at the little effort that was made in any to modern times. quarter before he wrote to repress it. iMd law of The provision made for preventive justice by the old law 1 he public office in Bow Street was for some time the Police of jigland. of England, consisted in the powers which it vested in jus- only place in the metropolis where a police magistrate sat Lo^on. tices of the peace and constables, as also in individuals, regularly, without the jurisdiction of the city of London. when present at the commission of crime, or summoned by Seven additional police offices were established in 1792, by the hue and cry. The office of constable existed in the the act 32d Geo. III. cap. 53, and the Thames police-office time of the Saxons, and the statute of Winchester (13th in 1798. Previously to their establishment, the magistrates Edward I.) expressly directed that two constables should of the county of Middlesex, and city of Westminster, acted be chosen in every hundred ; that suspicious night-walkers as occasion required, in the same way as the magistrates should be arrested and detained by the watch; and that in ordinarily act in other parts of the country. walled towns the gates should be closed from sun-setting to The constabulary force of the metropolis, comprising that sun-rising. These are called high constables ; in addition of the cities of London and Westminster, the borough of to whom petty constables were instituted for every town and Southwark, and parts adjacent, is stated by Colquhoun at parish in the reign of Edward III. and especially empowered 883 ; that consisting of the constables attached to the police by the statute 5th Edward III. cap. 44, “ to arrest persons offices and the Thames establishment, at 157; and, adding suspected of manslaughter, felonies, and robberies, and to to these 2044 beadles, watchmen, and patroles, employed by deliver them to the sheriff, to be kept in prison till the com- the city, and by the numerous parishes and trusts, the civil ing of the justices.” The hue and cry is the raising an force of the metropolis, available for purposes of police, alarm, and making continuous pursuit through the country, amounted, in the aggregate, to 3084 men. upon the commission of a felony, and was used as far back The Parliamentary Finance Committee of 1798, in their as the reign of Edward L, when it was comparatively easy Twenty-eighth Report, took a general view of the Police by such means to discover a criminal flying from the law. Establishment, in reference principally to its expense ; but At the present day, when the hue and cry is raised, every although that committee recommended several important person, by command of the constable, is legally obliged, on reforms, and, in the same year, the Government had under pain of fine and imprisonment, to join in pursuit of the felon its consideration a proposition of Mr. Colquhoun for the esfrom county to county, or until they come to the sea; but tablishment of a central police board, and other remedial it is now so rarely put in practice, that it may be considered measures, no result followed. The progress of crime and as having almost fallen into desuetude. It is further an old demoralization, however, began gradually to attract the atrule of law, that every person present when a felony is com- tention of the Legislature, and Parliamentary Committees mitted, is authorized and required to arrest the offender. inquired into the subject of police in the years 1812, 1816, In early times, it seems to have been the custom for the 1817, 1822, and 1828. At the latter date the necessity for freeholders of each county to elect “ de probioribus et po- a new system had become very urgent. The metropolis was tentioribus comitatas” to be keepers of the peace ; but the subdivided into a number of petty jurisdictions, each acting statute 1st Edward III., cap. 16, gave such appointments to independently, and frustrating the efforts of the other; the the crown, by whom they still continue to be made. When local functionaries were miserably inefficient; the absence the keepers of the peace became authorized by the statute of union in the constabulary power offered facilities to crime 34th Edward III. to try felonies and misdemeanours, they and disorder; and in the event of any real or anticipated acquired the title of justices; and their judicial functions tumult, it was necessary to preserve the peace of the town have been so vastly extended by modern statutes, that the by a military force. In 1829, the act 10th Geo. IV. cap. mere conservation of the peace is now by no means the 44, was passed, “ for improving the police in and near the most important part of their duties. Such were the ordinary metropolis and pursuant to that act, a central office was courses available, under the law of England, for the pre- established in London, and two commissioners appointed for vention of crime, and for bringing offenders to justice. the administration of a system of centralization, in lieu of As population and property increased, it was found that the local functionaries. The metropolitan police district, the ordinary magisterial and constabulary force became according to that act, consists of about ninety parishes, and more and more inadequate for the public protection. It is ultra-parochial places, in and surrounding the metropolis, not necessary to refer to the Newgate Calendar, or the life comprising a population at present amounting to 1,515,592, of Jonathan Wild, to prove the total absence of any effec- but exclusive of the city of London and the river Thames. tual security to individuals, in the last century, against out- The active force employed under the commissioners at the rage and depredation. It is within the remembrance of per- close of the year 1837, was as follows :— sons now living, that a journey could not be undertaken from 17 Superintendents at L.200 per annum each. one part of England to another without risk of highway70 Inspectors at L.l, 10s. 6d. per week each. robbery. The extent of crime in the metropolis at the close 342 Sergeants at L.l, 2s. 6d. per week each. of the last century would be incredible, if it were not re2992 Constables at 19s. per week each. Police.

1 t

Treatise on the Police of the Metropolis, by P- Colquhoun, LL.D-, magistrate, &c. London, 1806, seventh edition. The following is one :—“ The wife of a well-known sharper, lately upon the town, is said to have appeared at court, dressed in a style of peculiar elegance; while the sharper himself is supposed to have gone in the dress of a clergyman. According to the information of a noted receiver, they pilfered to the value of L.1700 on the king’s birthday (1705), without discovery or suspicion.” VOL. XVIIJ, ~1

POLICE. The subjoined table, compiled from official returns, will Police. The horse patrol, formerly attached to Bow Street, and recently1 placed under the commissioners, consists of seven- shew the extent to which the central police force is brought' into action in the course of the year. Horse pa- ty-six men, mounted and armed. trol. There are at present in London nine police-offices, to each Offices. of which three magistrates are attached. These are, Bow Number of Number Number persons discharged summarily Number Street, Queen Square, Marlborough Street, Marylebone, committed taken into by Years. Hatton Garden, Worship Street, Whitechapel, Union Hall, the ^Ma- orconvicted held to for trial. custody by gistrates. and the Thames Police. Constables are specially attached bail Police. to each office, sixty-three altogether, besides twenty-two surveyors, and seventy river constables, belonging to the 3,468 1834 64,269 34,499 26.302 Thames police. 3,113 63,474 32,544 27,817 1835 Expense. The total expense of these establishments appears by the 3,175 63,384 29,776 30,453 1836 latest returns to be as follows:— 3,028 64,416 33,043 28,345 1837 Metropolitan Police Establishment, exclu- ) l,209,754 ^ 2 sive of Commissioners’ salaries, year 1837 f ’ s Total 255,543 129,862 112,897 12,783 Horse Patrol, do 10,289 ) Salaries of two commissioners 1,600 Average of Police-offices,including theRiverForce,(1835) 51,724 3 3,196 63,885 32,915 28,228 the last four years. Total... L.272,367 The expenses of the metropolitan force are defrayed prinThe circumstance of more than half of the persons taken cipally by a rate levied with the poor rate, upon the inhabitants. A certain proportion, however, is paid out of the con- into custody, having been discharged without punishment, solidated fund; but the advances by the treasury are limited cannot fail to be remarked as indicating unnecessary detento L.60,000 per annum. The expenses of the nine offices, tion to a serious extent. The remedy for this lies in an imincluding the Thames service, and also the commissioners’ proved system of bail and recognizances. Of the 64,416 persons apprehended in the year 1837, it Numlierof salaries, are wholly defrayed out of the consolidated fund. City police The city of London is not included within the metropo- appears that 5643 were charged with offences against the offenders litan district, but retains its separate police, acting under the person, 180 with violent offences against property, 15,289 apprehendmunicipal authorities. Upwards of 1000 persons are em- with larcenies and other offences against property cotnmit- ed. ployed as marshalmen, watchmen, and constables, and the ted without violence, 1727 with malicious offences against total annual cost is returned at L.43,862, of which L.34,924 property, 884 with forgery and offences against the curwas levied by rates upon the4 inhabitants, and the residue rency, and 40,684 with offences of a miscellaneous character. Of this latter class, it is worthy of remark, that paid out of the city revenue. Functions The functions of the metropolitan police force are exer- 21,426 were charged with drunkenness, 3103 as disorderly of the me- cised under the control partly of the commissioners, and prostitutes, and 6842 as reputed thieves, suspicious charactropolitan partly 0f the magistrates. They are distributed throughout ters, and vagrants. It should be borne in mind that these police. the district in seventeen divisions, distinguished by the let- offenders are exclusive of those apprehended by the city poters A to V. In each division there are one or more sta- lice, and the constables attached to the offices. tion houses, in which prisoners are lodged in the first inThe police magistrates are occupied not only in the disstance, on their being given in charge, or taken into cus- posal of the offenders brought before them, but in some mattody, until they can be brought before the magistrates at ters not of a criminal character, such as the administration the police offices. Prisoners consequently remain in the of the poor-laws, and other duties conferred by particular station-houses during the night, and also during Sundays. statutes. A reference to Burn’s Justice will shew the wide When the case comes on before the magistrate, he deals range of a magistrate’s duty. They have some few, but very with it as the law requires, either by discharging the offend- limited, powers, in civil cases. They act, in some meaer, committing him for trial or further examination, convic- sure, ministerially, in planning the detection of offenders, ting him summarily, or holding him to bail. and shaping the evidence towards their conviction. There When a complaint is made to a police magistrate, he is- are, however, good reasons for desiring that the magistrates sues his warrant as he sees occasion, either to a constable should be entirely confined to their judicial functions. attached to his office, or to one of the metropolitan force. The law of England has never entrusted the constabu- Vagrants, The commissioners of police, although as magistrates they lary, nor has it armed the central police, with any general have the legal power to do so, are not in the habit of grant- power of personal surveillance over the people. The law ing warrants ; and the policemen cannot arrest without war- which is the most stringent against disorderly or suspicious rant, unless a charge is made, or an offence isr committed in persons, is the vagrant act,5 which in fact authorises the matheir presence. They have in fact little pow er beyond that gistrate to punish, without any direct proof of the commisof an ordinary constable, except that the police acts contain sion of a crime; and the metropolitan police acts6 have somemore express authority for the apprehension of suspected per- what extended the description of persons who may be apsons, than the laws which apply to the kingdom in general. prehended and dealt with as rogues and vagabonds, accordThe means of detecting crime have been greatly augment- ing to the first mentioned act. In so populous and wealthy ed by the action of the central police establishment, but it a city as London, it is indispensable that summary powers may be doubted whether its operation is as efficient as it should be vested in the magistracy for the protection of the might be made towards the hindrance of crime, or the pre- public against those who live by depredation, and who have venting its commission. Numerous receivers of stolen goods neither “ a local habitation nor a name,” as securities for continue to carry on their business with impunity, and flash- their good behaviour. It is officially recorded that in the houses still exist in the metropolis, where thieves are known year 1837, the number of depredators, offenders, and susto congregate to concert their plans. There are no autho- pected persons, within the cognizance of the central police, rised informers belonging to the police force. was 19,919, being in the ratio of 1 to each 83 of the popu250 Police.

Under Act 6th and 7th, Will. IV. cap. 50. See Parliamentary Return, lOth June 1836.

2 8

3 See Parliamentary Return, 16th Feb. 1838. Ibid, 13th June 1836. 6 5th Geo. IV. cap. 83. 10th Geo. IV. cap. 44, and 3d Will. IV. cap. 19-

POLICE. 251 folire. lation ; and as the average length of the career of each offen- of Mr. Hawes, inquired into the state of the metropo- Police, der is estimated at about four years, the danger to property is police, and recommended various important improvefrom the existence of such a floating mass of crime is suffi- ments in its management. Amongst these are the consoliciently apparent. Far from the apprehension of peril to the dation of the several constabulary forces of the metropolis liberty of the subject, from a further extension of the and the river Thames, including those of the city of Lonsummary powers of the magistrates, the better opinion seems on, under one authority ; the confinement of the magisat present to be, that they might be extended with advan- trates to judicial duties ; the extension of their summary tage even to all cases of larceny. jurisdiction to all cases of larceny, and also to many civil (| mbling There are in London at present about thirty common gam- cases; the augmentation of the officer’s power to arrest; Li'-es bling-houses known to the police, and the average number of the improvement of the bail system ; and the better regupersons daily resorting to each is about twenty. The police lation of the police-offices, with a view to the public accomhas not, however, any summary control over them, but they modation. Our limits do not permit us to discuss the adare subject to indictment by any common informer. Colqu- vantages of these reforms. Suffice it to say, that they are houn reckoned forty-three gambling-houses, including seven of the utmost importance to the efficiency of the police sersubscription-houses of the first class, and supposed the yearly vice ; and that until they are effected, the metropolis will aggregate of money won and lost in them to be L.7,225,000. not be adequately protected against crime and disorder.2 There are no means of knowing what may be the amount The English rural police is of two kinds ; that establish- Rural poof play in the club-houses of the present day, but we enter- ed in the principal cities and towns, and that of the rural lice, tain no doubt whatever that Colquhoun’s estimate was alto- districts properly so called. In the former case, it is exergether an exaggeration. The number of persons charged cised by the municipal magistracies, and the constabularies with gambling in London in the year 1837 was 366. acting under them ; in the latter, it is vested in the justices I.’ical There exists no medical police in this country of the kind of the peace, and constables acting under the old law to which we find specially established in some parts of the con- which we have adverted. tinent. The exercise of the medical profession is subject The cities and towns in which a police has been establishto conditions imposed by law. We have quarantine laws, ed upon the same system as that of the metropolis, are, under the superintendence of the officers of the customs re- Liverpool, Bristol, Bath, Hull, and Newcastle-upon-Tyne. venue ; and the laws which prohibit the sale of unwholesome Other towns have their police, more or less efficient, but food are rather enforced by the officers of markets, than by regulated upon plans of their own, either prescribed by the any branch of the police service. A Board of Health was municipalities, or by local Acts of Parliament. appointed for a special purpose, during the late visitation 1 he only instance that we are aware of, in which a speof the cholera, but there has never been any permanent es- cial rural police has been established in England, is in tablishment of this nature. The inquiry, how far such an Cheshire, by an act passed in 1829,3 entitled “ An Act to establishment would be expedient, suggests itself chiefly as enable the magistrates of the county palatine of Chester to regards female prostitution. The existing law only sub- appoint special high constables for the several hundreds or jects prostitutes to punishment as in case of disorderly con- divisions, and assistant petty constables for the several townduct, and houses of ill-fame are only liable to indictment, ships of that county.” This act has provided the county not to summary visitation. The consideration of protect- with a comparatively efficient constabulary, whose duties ing the public against the spread of diseases, has not hith- and conduct are prescribed and superintended with more erto entered into the policy of our legislation, so as to sub- accuracy and vigilance than in any other part of the country. ject prostitutes to any medical visitation ; nor are they reBut, however efficient, within an isolated district, may be stricted from walking the streets, or frequenting places of this or that police establishment, it will have little effect public amusement. We shall presently notice the very dif- towards the prevention or hindrance of crime in the aggreferent way in which this matter is treated in France. In gate, unless a regular chain of communication be maintainthe mean time, it is satisfactory to mention, that the extent ed throughout the country ; unless vigilance be made to cirof prostitution in London is, in truth, nothing like that which culate ; unless, in short, there be centralization. This conthe notions of some writers have formed of it. Instead of sideration induced the Government to issue a commission, datthere being 50,000 prostitutes in the metropolis, as esti- ed the 20th of October 1836, the commissioners under which mated by Colquhoun, the actual number known to the po- were directed to inquire into the best means of establishing lice in 1837 was as follows :— a constabulary force in the English counties, with an especial view to the prevention of offences, and with regard to Prostitutes, well-dressed, living in brothels........ 895 any proceedings before trial by which the detention and Ditto, well-dressed, walking the streets, 1612 apprehension of offenders might be rendered more certain ; Ditto, low, infesting low neighbourhoods,...3864 also to inquire into the public services which might be obTotal, 6371 tained from such a force, either in the preservation of peace, The number of brothels, in which prostitutes are kept, was and due protection of property, or enforcing the more re933, having an average number of four in each; the num- gular observance of law; and into the manner in which such ber of houses of ill-fame to which they resort, 848 ; and that force should be appointed and paid. At the time we write, of houses in which they lodge, 1554. Such appears from the commissioners have not made their report, but there is the best authority to be the real state of the case.1 reason to believe that a very valuable one will soon be proA daily police report of the proceedings, and of the in- duced. That it is perfectly practicable to organize a constabulary Advantaformations received at the several police-offices, is printed for the use of the magistrates and officers; and an official force for the whole kingdom, acting under a central autho-ges of ornewspaper, called the Hue and Cry or Police Gazette, rity in the metropolis, and governed by a gradation of su-£UIllzufioais also circulated amongst the authorities, throughout the perior and responsible officers, cannot be doubted. Nor is rm iitions kingdom. it much less clear, that the public morality, and the interests During the sessions of 1837 and 1838, a select commit- of property would be greatly promoted by such a measure. co ' littt'c tee of the House of Commons, appointed on the motion It especially deserves notice, that, in the rural districts, the 1 4

The statistics throughout this paper are quoted an the authority of official documents. See the valuable Report of this Committee (Session 1838); also the Edinburgh Review, No. 134, Art * 11th Geo. IV. cap. 97.

Police of the Metropolis.’’

POLICE. 252 Police, delinquents are almost entirely of the vagrant class, he mg pervision be a peculiarly appropriate punishment for vagrants Police either habitual depredators, or vagrants asking alms. ISow, and other petty offenders, the terms of whose imprisonment^^the only law for the constant control of these habitual de- are very short ? and might it not be advantageous, even in linquents, is the vagrant act before cited, which experience the cases of graver offenders, to permit the commutation, certain regulations, of a portion of the imprisonment, has shewn to be by no means sufficient. Few offences are under committed within the view of a constable ; theiefore the into police-supervision ? We think that the principle of such constabulary seldom acts but upon information, and as there alterations might be demonstrated to be beneficial, but then would remain to be considered of what the proposed suis no special obligation upon any one to communicate infor- it mation, the enforcement of the law is so far dependent up- pervision ought to consist. The liberated convict, who might be thus placed under on chance. Then, the ancient practice of pursuit by hue police control, might properly be required to inform the poand cry having fallen into disuse, the vagrant depredators referred to, go from county to county, taking up their tem- lice from time to time of his place of residence ; to present to an officer periodically ; to avoid all disorderly or porary abode in common lodging-houses, the number ot himself tumultuous assemblies, and all places of public resort of a which has much increased of late years, and so pursue their career with impunity. Of the habitual depredators within vicious character, to be specified to him by the police ; not to enter any towns or districts, specially prohibited by the the cognizance of the metropolitan police in 1837, 2712 police, such as in many cases the metropolis, or other powere known to be vagrant; in Bristol 605 were so known ; in Hull 303 ; and in Newcastle 454. From 18,000 to 20,000 pulous towns, or the localities of large fairs, or races, would vagrants are annually committed to prison throughout the be; and, above all, not to associate with other liberated concountry. They assume different names as occasion requires, victs. Any breach of these conditions should subject the and to identify them, or ascertain their real history, is usu- offender to summary imprisonment. Such regulations might be objected to upon the one hand ally a matter of great difficulty. as too irksome, and, on the other, as not sufficiently strinExpedien- One of the indirect means enumerated by Bentham for cy of plac- the prevention of crime, was a system of proper names, by gent. It might be suggested to add to their severity, by ing dis- which an appellation should be assigned to each individual, prescribing absolutely the place of residence of the delincharged indicative of his family and birth-place, and distinguishing quent, by prohibiting him from all places whatever of pubcriminals from a][ other persons whatsoever. Bentham also re- lic amusement, and the like. Care, however, must be taken not to draw the restraining cord so tight as to debar the lice Control commended, in certain cases, the affixing marks on the skin, convict from that which is harmless in itself, and may by such as are imprinted by sailors on their bodies, with gunpowder, at the present day. The old law of England brand- possibility have a beneficial influence upon his character. ed all laymen who had once been admitted to the benefit of But we acknowledge the difficulty of fixing the limits of reclergy, by burning them with a hot iron in the brawn of striction, a difficulty which occurs in every branch of pothe left thumb, in order to distinguish their persons for the lice, and, until our knowledge of the science shall be adfuture. Now, it is worthy of consideration, whether the vanced by experience, will continue to meet us at every rationale of branding is not still applicable to the cases of all step in legislation. Whilst the formation of a general rural police in Engoffenders once convicted of crime ? It is very desirable that all persons of suspicious character should, for a limited pe- land is under consideration, it will answer little purpose to riod after their liberation, be so distinguished from others, as describe the nature of the constabulary, which now serves notorious. The fatal to enable the police to have a knowledge of their move- as a substitute for it. Its inefficiency is 1 ments. It is also desirable, for their own sake, as well as riot which took place at Canterbury is a flagrant instance that of the public, that such individuals should, as far as pos- of the mischiefs which a single individual may bring upon sible, be kept away from immediate incentives to crime. 1 o society, when society has not taken measures of ordinary whatever perfection prison-discipline may eventually be prudence for its own protection. The constabulary of Scotland is under the control of the Scotland brought, it is vain to expect that its reformatory influence can invariably be such as to subdue the frailty of human na- magistrates of the municipalities and counties, in the same ture, and the seductions of present opportunities. 1 he law way as in those parts of England where the principle of the of France has, therefore, as we shall presently show, placed central police has not been introduced. It is consequently the criminal, for a limited period after his discharge, under wanting in almost all the requisites of an efficient system. A regular police force was first established throughout Ire- Ireland, a certain surveillance of the Haute police, as a part of his 2 punishment. The expediency of introducing such a system land under an act passed in 1814, “ to provide for the betinto the English law to any, and to what extent, is a point ter regulation of the laws in Ireland, by appointing superintending magistrates and additional constables in certain cases. deserving of serious reflection. Such a proposal must of course be understood as applica- Several other3 acts followed, which were consolidated by the ble only to persons actually convicted of offences. Any act of 1836, and by this latter the constabulary is at prething resembling ar passport system for the whole popula- sent regulated. The lord-lieutenant appoints stipendiary tion, innocent as w ell as guilty, would not only be incom- magistrates and constables in the several towns, counties, patible with free institutions, but invincibly repugnant to and baronies in the proportions prescribed by the act, with tiie spirit and feelings of the British people. The question an inspector-general and sub-inspectors for their superintherefore resolves itself into one of punishment, the problem tendence. The following qualification for the constables is being to find that punishment, which having regal'd to the illustrative of the state of society in Ireland. They are rehabits of the criminal, shall contain within it the maximum quired to be “of a sound constitution, able-bodied, and of prevention, combining the direct with the indirect me- under the age of forty years, able to read and write, of a thod of hindering crime. Now, assuming, as the fact is, good character for honesty, fidelity, and activity, not a gamethat imprisonment, according to the present system of se- keeper, wood-ranger, tithe-proctor, viewer of tithes, bailiff, condary punishments, has not the qualities required, but is or parish clerk, or a hired servant, or keeping any house for often neither deterring, nor reformatory, might not police- the sale of beer, wine, or spirituous liquors by retail.” The supervision be substituted, in some cases partially, in others stipendiary magistrates are fifty in number, with salaries vaentirely, for such imprisonment? Would not such police su- rying from L.400 to L. 1000 per annum. The office of inspec1

We refer to the proceedings of Courtenay, otherwise Thom, in May 1838. 3 * 54 Geo. III. c. 131. 6 Will. IV. e. 13.

1 1

POLICE. 253 , police, tor-general is considered as a highly responsible one ; his die water, the quays, the ramparts, and the public festivals of Police. I ^salary is L.1500 per annum. The following is a summary of 1 ans, and whose principal officer was styled the provost of the total amount of police force employed on the 1 st of Jan- merchants. For along period, the parliament of Paris moderuary 1838 ; distinguishing the proportion of expenses borne ated these conflicting jurisdictions, and in 1667, their rerespectively by the consolidated fund, and by the counties, commendations gave rise to the edict made by Louis XIV. cities, and towns, pursuant to the provisions of the act d in that year, w hereby the functions of police were withdrawn 1 Inspector-general from the civil and criminal lieutenants, and conferred on a 2 Deputy inspectors-general new magistrate, who, under the name of lieutenant de po4 County inspectors lice, became the representative of that jurisdiction which 3.3 Sub-inspectors had previously been exercised by the authorities of the 109 Chief constables Chatelet, Thebureaude ville, however, continued its func105 Do. 2d rate 35 Head constables Consolidated fund L.227,306 tions as before. In 1674, the title of the new magistrate 216 Do. 2d class Counties and towns 152,661 was declared by the king to be that Lieutenant-General 1037 Constables de Police, which continued to the Revolution. Total expense L.380,268 5211 Sub-constables The first of these officers was De la Reynie, famous for 1439 Do. 2d class being charged with the execution of the edict which revoked 50 Magistrates that of Nantes in 1685. To him succeeded the Marquis 18 Paymasters D Argenson in 1697, the creator of the system of secret 1 Receiver police, which has ever since been more or less acted upon 8263 in France. D’Argenson employed espionage largely. He It will be observed that the above force contains a varie- is described by Fontenelle, as having unparalleled powers ty of gradations of officers ; and this is a principle of great of divination, and was undoubtedly a man of unusual sagaimportance in the organization of police establishments. It city. He had the merit of refusing to execute in Paris, the both regulates responsibility, and holds out the prospect of measures of persecution against the Protestants, which were being carried on in the provinces. The succeeding lieupromotion as the reward of merit. The lord-lieutenant is empowered to establish an addi- tenants-general were, Machault d’Arnouville (1718), Count tional special police force in any county or district declared d’Argenson (1720), Taschereau de Baudry (1720), Ravot to be in a state of disturbance. The peculiar condition of d’Ombreval (1724), Rene Herault (1725), De Marville Ireland has rendered this provision requisite ; but it is well (1739), Berryer (1747), Bertin (1754), De Sartine (1759). known that it has not hitherto superseded the necessity of The activity of the last mentioned officer was very remarkthe large military force which, as an instrument of mere able. He chose his inferior agents with judgment, and some curious proofs are on record, how accurately he knew all police, continues to be stationed in that country. 4 I ilin. The City of Dublin has a special police force, with an that was passing in Paris. He was in the habit of furnishoffice and two magistrates, acting for that metropolis and a ing to Louis XV. reports of a licentious character, describcertain surrounding district. Its powers and duties are ana- ing the most scandalous indecencies committed in the capilogous to those of the London central police ; and it acts tal, and a collection of them was found in the Bastille at the ofthat fortress-prison, in July 1789. The secret pounder the immediate authority of the chief secretary to the capture r Lord-Lieutenant.2 It was established by act of Parliament lice w as brought to great perfection by De Sartine, and he had his emissaries in every European state. He seems to in the year 1836. llks, &c. There are, in various parts of the United Kingdom, offi- have been both feared and hated by the people. The French cers possessing limited powers of police for special purposes, police about this time excited the attention of other governsuch as the police of docks, railways, &c. whose authority ments; and both the Empress Catherine II. of Russia, and is defined by the particular statutes under which they act. Maria Theresa of Austria, having applied to the French goI ice. The nation, in whose history the operations of the police vernment for information on the subject, De Sartine made for have been the most conspicuous, is modern France. A know- their use a collection of the ordinances and regulations then ledge of the extent and effects of the police agency for the subsisting, which is still extant. An unfortunate event is last century and a half is indispensable to a right under- recorded to have happened during De Sartine’s administrastanding ofFrench history, and there are ample materials for tion, which is illustrative of the evils of conflicting jurisdican elaborate wrork upon the subject.3 Our present limits do tions in matters of police. A fete, with fire-works and ilnot permit us to do more than trace superficially the origin luminations, was held in the Place Louis XV. on 30th of May 1770, in celebration of the marriage of the Dauphin with of existing institutions. I orical From the commencement of the feudal regime^ the pro- Marie Antoinette. The responsibility of the arrangements vost of Paris was the highest municipal authority. He not was divided between De Sartine and the provost of Meronly carried the sword at the head of a military force, but chants, and the consequence was, that a scene of confusion presided in the robe of a judge at the Chatelet, that ancient ensued, in which 132 persons were killed, and as many and venerable building to which the administration of justice wounded. The parliament reprimanded both functionaries, was so long wholly confined. One of the ten chambers, or and additional powers were soon afterwards conferrred on courts, of the Chatelet, w as that of police, to which reports the lieutenant-general. To De Sartine, succeeded Le Noir were made of all infractions of the police regulations of the (1774), D’ Albert (1775), Le Noir, (second administration city. The provost had under him two officers of the second 1776), and De Crosne (1785), who closed with the Revorank, called the lieutenant-civil, and the lieutenant-criminel, lution the list of lieutenants of police. Their office, and besides the judicial and ministerial staff of the Chatelet. that of the provost of Merchants, merged in the comite There was also an independent police authority, called the permanent, who re-organized the municipality of Paris, and bureau de ville, which took cognizance of all that related to laid the foundation of the existing institutions, which take 1 5

2 See Parliamentary Return, 11th May 1838. See act 6 and 7 Will. 4, cap. 29. See especially the following works: De la Marre, Traile de la Police. Dessessart’s Dictionnaire Urr.versel de Police de 17c6 d 1791. Peuchet, Archives de Police, 6 vols. Nouveau Diclionnaire de Police, par Elouin, .Trebueliet, et Lalmt, Paris 1835 ; an iiitercsting and valuable account of the whole of the internal arrangements of society in France. De la Prostitution dans la \ille de Paris, par A. J. 1>. Parent-Duchatelet. Paris 1836. 4 See two anecdotes cited by Colquhoun, chapter 17.

POLICE. 254 Police. their origin principally from the legislation of the revolu- milted in ports or naval arsenals, whether committed by Polic tionary period. The secret or haute police, was acted on, persons in the naval service or otherwise, are cognizable by v as is well known, by the General Directory, and afterwards, the maritime tribunals established for the purpose. The with terrible effect, under the Emperor Napoleon. The unfor crews of all ships of w ar in port, are amenable to these tritunate Due d’Enghien w'as one of its victims. The life of the bunals for all offences against naval discipline, Offences celebrated Fouche, is full of interest and instruction under against maritime police are described to be; first, all such this head. Not the least remarkable circumstance in Fouche’s as are committed against public order, and the service of career, is the fact of Napoleon having been in the habit of the arsenals, or in the contravention of the special rules made employing several branches contre-police, to watch the for the port; and, second, simple thefts below the value of proceedings of his own police-minister.1 Thus, he had a six francs, committed in the arsenals. The penalties which distinct police of the palace under the grand-marshall, of the tribunals of police are empowered to inflict, are, imthe city of Paris under the military governor, and of all prisonment not exceeding three months, compensation unFrance under the inspector-general of (jendarmerie. The der 100 francs, loss of wages, and expulsion from the service gendarmes throughout France had to transmit daily bulle- of the arsenal.6 tins of all that took place, for the information of the EmThe rural police of France is exercised by the juges de peror. The general police under Fouche was evidently paix, and the mayors, under the superintendence 1 of the considered by Napoleon as a sort of rival of the Imperial prefets and sous-prefets, by the aid of gendarmerie.' The prefets are the chief magistrates of the departments, and are power. T>r'«cription The law of France declares the police to be instituted appointed by the king. The duties of a prefect are so comof French “ to maintain order and public tranquillity, liberty, property, prehensive, as to have been thus described by a legal writer, ■system. and individual security.” Its principal characteristic is de- “ Surveiller, reparer, feconder, voila sa tache.” He watches clared to be “ vigilancethe objects of its solicitude are especially over the property of the state, and the public security ; the roads, rivers, and other objects of common society en masse.2 It is divided into administrative &x\ The author is a most intelligent and consist- circulation ; and though infected with some very grave er-^™J in England. ^ advocate 0f tpe great principles of commercial freedom. rors, had a powerful influence in preventing the success of Pie is not, like the most eminent of his predecessors, well Mr Lowndes’s proposal for degrading the standard of the informed on one subject, and erroneous on another. He coin, and in contributing to establish the true theory of is throughout sound and liberal. His system is consenta- money. The restoration of the currency was not, howneous in its parts, and complete. He shows, that in com- ever, effected without great opposition. A large minority mercial matters, nations have the same interests as indivi- in parliament supported Lowndes’s views; and they were duals ; and exposes the absurdity of supposing that any also supported by a number of writers. Of these, Mr Ni-MrBarboal trade advantageous to the merchant can be injurious to the cholas Barbon seems to have been one of the ablest. In public. His opinions respecting the imposition ot a seig- his tract entitled A Discourse concerning Coining the norage on the coinage of money, and the expediency of New Money Lighter, published in 1696, he detected sevesumptuary laws, then in great favour, are equally enlight- ral of the errors into which Locke had fallen ; and he had the further merit of ably demonstrating the fallacy of the ened. We subjoin from the preface to this tract an abstract of popular opinions respecting the balance of trade; and of showing that no bullion could ever be sent abroad in paythe general propositions maintained in it: “ That the whole world as to trade is but as one na- ment of an unfavourable balance, unless it were at the time the cheapest and most profitable article of export. tion or people, and therein nations are as persons. The inferences deduced by Barbon from his investiga“ That the loss of a trade with one nation is not that only, separately considered, but so much of the trade ot tions into the balance of trade and foreign exchange are : “ That a trading nation is made rich by traffic and the the world rescinded and lost; for all is combined together. “ That there can be no trade unprofitable to the pub- industry of the inhabitants—and that the native stock of a lic ; for if any prove so, men leave it off; and wherever nation can never be wasted. “ That no sort of commodities ought to be totally prothe traders thrive, the public, of which they are a part, hibited—and that the freer trade is, the better the nation thrive also. “ That to force men to deal in any prescribed manner, will thrive. “ That the poverty and riches of a nation does not demay profit such as happen to serve them; but the public gains not, because it is taking from one subject to give pend on a lesser or greater consumption of foreign trade, nor on the dilference of the value of those goods that are to another. “ That no laws can set prices in trade, the rates of which consumed. “ That the balance of trade is a notion that serves rather must and will make themselves. But when such laws do happen to lay any hold, it is so much impediment to trade, to puzzle all debates of trade, than to discover any particular advantages a nation may get by regulating of trade. and therefore prejudicial. “ That the balance of trade (if there be one) is not the “ That money is a merchandise, whereof there may be a glut, as well as a scarcity, and that even to an inconve- cause of sending away the money out of a nation: But that proceeds from the difference of the value of bullion in nience. “ That a people cannot want money to serve the or- several countries, and from the profit that the merchant dinary dealing, and more than enough they will not have. makes by sending it away more than by bills of exchange. “ That there is no occasion to send away money or bul“ That no man will be the richer for the making much money, nor have any part of it, but as he buys it for an lion to pay bills of exchange, or balance accounts. “ That all sorts of goods, of the value of the bill of exequivalent price. “ That the free coynage is a perpetual motion found out, change, or the balance of the account, will answer the bill, whereby to melt and coyn without ceasing, and so to feed and balance the account as well as money.” (P. 59.) goldsmiths and coyners at the public charge. It is singular', that a writer possessed of such sound and “ That debasing the coyn is defrauding one another, and enlarged opinions respecting the principles of commercial to the public there is no sort of advantage from it; for that intercourse, and who had shown that bullion differed in no admits no character or value but intrinsick. respect from other commodities, should have maintained “ That the sinking by alloy or weight is all one. that the value of coined money depended on the stamp af“ That exchange and ready money are the same, nothing fixed to it by government. This gross and unaccountable but carriage and re-carriage being saved. error destroyed the effect of Barbon’s tract; and was, most “ That money exported in trade is an increase to the probably, the cause of the oblivion into which it very soon wealth of the nation ; but spent in war, and payments fell, and of its never having attracted that attention to abroad, is so much impoverishment. which, on other accounts, it was justly entitled. “ In short, that all favour to one trade or interest is an The commercial writings of Dr Davenant, inspector-p)r Daveabuse, and cuts so much of profit from the public.” general of imports and exports, were published in the in-nant. Unluckily this admirable tract never obtained any con- terval between 1695 and 1711. Though a partisan of the siderable circulation. There is good reason, indeed, to mercantile system, Dr Davenant had emancipated himself suppose that it was designedly suppressed.1 At all events, from many of the prejudices of its more indiscriminate and it speedily became excessively scarce ; and we are not zealous supporters. He considered a watchful attention to aware that it has ever been referred to by any subsequent the balance of trade, and its “ right government,” as of the writer on commerce. highest importance ; but he did not consider wealth as conThe disordered state of the coin, and the proceedings sisting exclusively of gold or silver; or that prohibitions relative to the great recoinage, in the reign of William III., and restrictions should be rashly imposed, even on the inled to a great deal of discussion both in and out of parlia- tercourse with those countries with which the balance was ment, and contributed, in no ordinary degree, to diffuse supposed to be unfavourable. But we are far from thinkjuster notions respecting money and commerce. It was ing that his commercial writings deserve the eulogies that _ during the administration of Turgot. But the facility given to the imposition of the contribution fonciere should certainly be considered as the greatest practical achievement of the economists ; and there is but too much reason to fear it will long continue to afford2 a palpable demonstration of the fallacy of their doctrines. Notwithstanding the defects of their theory, the labours of the French economists contributed powerfully to accelerate the progress of economical science. In reasoning on subjects connected w ith national wealth, it was now found to be necessary to subject its sources, and the laws which regulate its production and distribution, to a more accurate and searching analysis. In the course of this examination, it was speedily ascertained that the mercantile and economical theories were alike erroneous and defective; and that to establish the science on a firm foundation, it was necessary to take a much more extensive survey, and to seek for its principles, not in a few partial and distorted facts, or in metaphysical abstractions, but in the connection subsisting among the various phenomena manifested in the progress of civilization. The Count di Verri, whose Meditations on Political Economy were published in 1771, pointed out the fallacy of the opinions entertained by the French economists respecting the superior productiveness of agriculture ; and showed that all the operations of industry really consist of modifications of matter already in existence.3 But Verri did not trace the consequences of this important principle ; and, possessing no clear and definite notions of what constituted wealth, he did not attempt to discover the means by which labour might be facilitated. He made several valuable additions to particular branches of the science, and had sufficient acuteness to detect the errors in the systems of others; but the task of constructing a better system in their stead required talents of a far higher order. At length, in 1776, our illustrious countryman, Adam Wealth of Smith, published the Wealth of Nations—a w ork which has Notions, done for political economy what the Principia of Newton did for physics, and the Esprit des Loix of Montesquieu for politics. In this work the science was, for the first time, treated in its fullest extent, and many of its fundamental

them any. It is probable he may have seen Locke’s treatise on Raising the Value of Money, where the idea is thrown out that all taxes fall ultimately on the land. But there is an immeasurable difference between the suggestion of Locke and the welldigested system of Quesnay. 1 Turgot’s Reflexions sur la Formation et la Distribution des Richesses, published in 1771, is certainly the best of all the works founded on the principles of the Economists, and is, in some respects, the best work on Political Economy published previously to the8 Wealth of Nations. Exclusive of the Reflexions of Turgot, the following are the principal works published by the French Economists :— Tableau Econoniiquc, et Maximes Generates du Gouvernemcnt Economique, par Francois Quesnay, 4to. Versailles, 1758. Thiorie de Vlmpot, par M. de Mirabeau, 4to, 1760. L'Ami des Hommes, par M. de Mirabeau, seven tomes, 1760, &c. EVmerits de la Philosophic Rurale, par M. de Mirabeau, three tomes 12mo, 1763. L'Ordre Mature! et Essentiel des Societes Politiques, par Mercier de la Riviere, 4to, and two tomes 12mo, 1767Sur I'Origine et Progres d’une Nouvelle Science, par Dupont de Nemours, 1767« La Physiocratie, ou Constitution Naturelle du Gouvernemcnt le plus avantageux avxgenre humain, par Quesnay, two tomes, 1767* „ Lettres d'un Citoyen d tin Magistral, sur les Vingtitmes et les autres Impots, par 1’Abbe Baudeau, 1768. Alcuni benemeriti scrittori, rattristatidai gravi disordini, che soffrono i popoli per le gabelle, sono passati all’estremo de considerare ingiusto e mal collocate il tributo se non ripartito sui fondi di terra, e colla creazione di un linguaggio ascetico, hanno eretta la setta degli economisti, presso la quale ogni uomo che non adoperi 1'aratro, e un essere sterile, e i manifattori si chiamano una classe sterile. Rispettando il molto di vero e di utile che da essi e stato scritto, io non saprei associarmi alia loro opinione ne sul tributo, ne su di questa pretesa classe sterile. La riproduzione e attribuibile alia manifattura ugualmente, quanto al laroro de campi. 1 utti i tenomini dell’ universe, sieno essi prodotti dalla mano dell’uomo o vero dalle universal! leggi della fisica, non ci danno idea di attuale creazione, ma unicamente di una modificazione della materia. Aceostare e seperarc sono gli unici dementi che 1’ingegno umano ritroya anahzando 1 idea della riproduzione ; e tanto e riproduzione di valore e di richezza se la terra, 1’aria, e 1’aqua ne’eampi si trasmutino in grano, come se colla mano dello uomo il glutine di un insetto si trasmuti in velluto, o vero alcuni pezzetti di metallo si organizzino a tormare una ripetizione. . Degli intieri citta, e degli stati intieri campano non d’altro che sul prodotto di questa fecondissima classe sterile, la. di cm riproduzione comprende il valore della materia prima, la consumazione proporzionata delle mani impiega6 ir e 1 nU c e a orzione 1 ' ' Politico, ,. J ^§ 3.) i P A*6 arrichire chi ha intrapresa la fabbrica e chi vi ^impiega nomia ° con felice talento.” v(Mcditazioni sulla Eco-

POLITICAL ECONOMY. 271 ealth of principles placed beyond the reach of cavil and dispute. In The practical part of the science of political economy Distinction Un+mna. 0pp0Siti0n to tiie French economists, Dr Smith showed that was long confounded with that of politics; and it is un- beDveen labour is the only source of wealth, and that the desire in- doubtedly true that they are very intimately connected, I,pli]t.1ure and fertility have been cultivated; the increased quantity of uises of produce that must thus be thrown on the market will plainly J, t Rent. ' ‘ depress prices to such an extent that, instead of yielding average profits to the cultivators of No. 6, they will not yield them to the cultivators of No. 5. But they will yield more to them than to the cultivators of No. 6. The latter, therefore, will be first driven from their business; and when they have retired, prices will rise, not indeed to such a height as to enable No. 6 to be cultivated, but so high as to enable the cultivators of No. 5 to continue their business ; that is, as has been already shown, to such a sum as will enable the raisers of the last portion of the necessary supply to obtain the common and average rate of profit. Should the demand, instead of continuing stationary, increase so that it could not be supplied without cultivating Nos. 6 and 7, the price will rise in proportion to the increased expense of their cultivation. But to whatever extent the demand might increase, still, were such an improvement made in agriculture, or in the art of raising corn, as would enable the supply to be obtained from No. 1 only, the price would infallibly fall to the sum that paid the expenses of its cultivators, and rent would entirely disappear, [stinction This analysis of the nature and causes of rent discovers ween a fundamental distinction between agricultural and com0 merc a an * ^ d manufacturing industry. In manufactures, the dl mam!' mami;tures worst machinery is first set in motion, and its powers are 1 com- progressively improved by new inventions; and it is renrce. dered capable of yielding a greater amount of produce with the same expense. And as no limits can be assigned to the quantity of improved machinery that may be introduced; indency as a million of steam-engines may be constructed for the namitac- same, or rather for a less, proportional expense than would rts to fall be required for the construction of one; the competition of price, capitalists never fails to reduce the price of manufactured commodities to the sum which the least expensive method of production necessarily requires for their production. ■naency In agriculture, on the contrary, the best machinery, that agricul- is, the best soils, are first brought under cultivation, and re'ai pro- course is afterwards had to inferior soils, requiring a greater mts to ein price, expenditure of capital and labour to produce the same sup^ plies. The improvements in the construction of farming implements, and meliorations in agricultural management, which occasionally occur in the progress of society, countervail to a greater or less extent the decreasing fertility ot the soil. But the fall of price, which is permanent in manufactures, is only temporary in agriculture. A fall in the price of raw produce, by enabling every class to obtain greater quantities than before for their products or their labour, raises the rate of profit, and leads, of course, to an increased accumulation of capital; and this necessarily leads to a greater demand for labour, to higher wages, to an increased population, and, consequently, to a further demand for raw produce and an extended cultivation. Agricultural improvements check for awhile the necessity of having recourse to inferior soils and the rise of rents; but the check cannot be lasting. The stimulus which they at the same time give to improvement and population is sure in the end to raise prices, and, by forcing recourse to poor lands, to raise rents. irth corn- Malthus, in illustrating this important distinction between red by agricultural and manufacturing industry, set the doctrine althus to, ren senes oi serv ^ a staking point of view. “ The earth,” he obichines es, “ has been sometimes compared to a vast machine, dowed presented by nature to man for the production of food and th differ-raw materials; but, to make the resemblance more just, as t pro- far as they admit of comparison, we should consider the wers

so

^ as a present to man of a great number of machines, all susceptible of continued improvement by the application of capital to them, but yet of very different original qualities and powers. “ This great inequality in the powers of the machinery

293 employed in procuring raw produce, forms one of the most Nature and remarkable features which distinguishes the machinery of ^auses ol the land from the machinery employed in manufactures. . Rent. “ When a machine in manufactures is invented which " v” will produce more finished work with less labour and capital than before, if there be no patent, or as soon as the patent is over, a sufficient number of such machines may be made to supply the whole demand, and to supersede entirely the use of all the old machinery. The natural consequence is, that the price is reduced to the price of production from the best machinery; and if the price w'ere to be depressed lower, the whole of the commodity would be withdrawn from the market. “ The machines which produce corn and raw materials, on the contrary, are the gifts of nature, not the works of man ; and we find by experience that these gifts have very different qualities and powers. The most fertile lands of a country, those which, like the best machinery in manufactures, yield the greatest products with the least labour and capital, are never found sufficient to supply the effective demand of an increasing population. The price of raw produce, therefore, naturally rises till it becomes sufficiently high to pay the cost of raising it with inferior machines, and by a more expensive process; and as there cannot be two prices for corn of the same quality, all the other machines, the working of which requires less capital compared with the produce, must yield rents in proportion to their goodness. “ Every extensive country may thus be considered as possessing a gradation of machines for the production of corn and raw materials, including in this gradation not only all the various qualities of poor land, of which every large territory has generally an abundance, but the inferior machinery which may be said to be employed when good land is further and further forced for additional produce. As the price of raw produce continues to rise, these inferior machines are successively called into action; and as the price of raw produce continues to fall, they are successive ly thrown out of action. The illustration here used serves to show at once the necessity of the actual price of corn to the actual produce, and the different effect which would attend a great reduction in the price of any particular manufacture, and a great reduction in the price of raw produce. “ I have no hesitation, then, in affirming, that the reason why the real price of corn is higher and continually rising in countries which are already rich, and still advancing in prosperity and population, is to be found in the necessity of resorting constantly to poorer land,—to machines which require a greater expenditure to work them,—and which consequently occasion each fresh addition to the raw produce of the country to be purchased at a greater cost;—in short, it is to be found in the important truth, that corn is sold at the price necessary to yield the actual supply ; and that, as the production of this supply becomes more and more difficult, the price rises in proportion. “ I hope to be excused for having dwelt so long, and presented to the reader in various forms, the doctrine that corn, in reference to the quantity actually produced, is sold at its necessary price, like manufactures, because I consider it as a truth of the highest importance, which has been entirely overlooked by the economists, by Dr Smith, and all those writers who have represented raw produce as selling always at a monopoly price.” {Inquiry into the Nature and Progress of Rent, p. 37.) It appears, therefore, that in the earliest stages of society, and when only the best lands are cultivated, no rent is paid. The landlords, as such, do not begin to share in the produce of the soil until it becomes necessary to cultivate lands of an inferior degree of fertility, or to apply capital to the superior lands with a diminished return. Whenever this

POLITICAL 294 Nature and is the case, rent begins to be paid ; and it continues to inCauses of crease according as cultivation is extended over poorer Rent - S0ilSj and diminishes according as they are thrown out of v v '” 'cultivation. Rent, therefore, depends exclusively on the extension of tillage. It is high where tillage is widely extended over inferior lands, and low where it is confined to the superior descriptions only. But in no case does rent enter into price; for the produce raised on the poorest lands, or with the capital last applied to the soil, determines the price of all the rest; and this produce yields no surplus above the common and average rate of profit. It being thus established that the circumstance of land being appropriated, and rent paid to the landlords, does not affect the price of commodities, or the principle which regulates their exchangeable value in the earliest stages of society, we have, in the next place, to inquire into the effects of the accumulation and employment of capital, and of the rise and fall of wages on the value of commodities.

ECONOMY. It does not, however, seem that there is much room for Exchangethese differences. Suppose that a certain quantity of goods, ableValue. twenty pairs of stockings, for example, manufactured by^J^w^ independent workmen, freely exchange for forty pairs ofplo®^ gloves also manufactured by independent workmen; theyof work. w’ould necessarily continue to do so, provided the quantity men by caoflabour formerly required for their production continuedpitalists invariable, though the workmen were employed by some d(?es j104e master manufacturer. In the first case, it is true, as Dr o{. Smith has observed, that the whole goods produced by the c0mmo(ii. workmen belonged to themselves, and that, in the second ties, case, they had to share them with others. But it must be recollected, that in the first case the capital made use of in the production of the commodities also belonged to the workmen, and that in the latter case it has been furnished them by others. The question then comes to be,—does the circumstance of labourers voluntarily agreeing to give a portion of the commodities produced by them, as an equivalent or compensation for the wages, that is, for the capital furnished them by others, afford any ground for raising the Sect. IV.— Influence of the Accumulation and Employment value of commodities ? It is evident it cannot. The proof Capital, and of Fluctuations in the Rate of Wages on fits of stock are only another name for the wages of accuExchangeable Value. mulated labour. They make a part of the price of every Value of It will be remembered, that the quantity of labour re- commodity in whose production any portion of capital has commodi- quired to produce commodities, and bring them to market, been wasted. But whether the capital belong to the laties regu- formed, in the earliest stages of society, and before ca- bourer, or is supplied to him by another, is obviously of lated by theL mnount of phal was accumulated, the standard by which their ex- no consequence. When the capital does not belong to immediate changeable value was regulated. But capital is merely the labourer, the commodities he produces are divided into labour and the accumulated produce of anterior labour; and when it two specific portions, whereof one is the return for the imcapital ex- js employed in the production of commodities, their value mediate labour, and the other for the capital, or accumulated labour, expended on their production. But the value their^rt)01 's determined, not by the quantity of immediate labour only, of the commodities is the same, into how many portions duction. " but by the total quantity of immediate labour and of accumulated labour, or capital, necessarily laid out on them. soever they may be divided. A shoemaker who manufacSuppose that an individual can by a day’s labour, without tures shoes on his own account, must obtain the same rate the assistance of capital, kill a deer ; but that it requires a of profit on their sale, that would accrue to a master-shoeday’s labour to construct the weapons necessary to enable maker were he employed by him as a workman. He must him to kill a beaver, and another day’s labour to kill it; it is possess a capital adequate to maintain himself and his faevident, supposing the weapons to have been rendered use- mily until his shoes are disposed of, and he must also be less in killing the beaver, that it took as much labour to kill able to provide himself with a workshop and tools, to adthe latter as was required to kill two deer, and the beaver vance money to the tanner to pay his leather, and to prooutgoings. If he did not, exclusive must, therefore, be worth the two deer. The durability of vide for various other r the weapons, or capital of the beaver hunter, is obviously an of the ordinary w ages of labour, realize a rate of profit, or element of the greatest importance in estimating the value a return for his capital, equal to the profit obtained by the of the animals he has killed. Had the weapons been more master-shoemaker, it would obviously be for his advantage durable than has been supposed,—had they served, for to lend his capital to the latter, and to work on his account; example, to kill twenty beavers instead of one, then it is and it is plain, inasmuch as his shoes could not be sold for plain the quantity of labour required to kill a beaver would a higher price than those of the capitalist, that he could only have been one twentieth part, or five per cent., more not realize a greater rate of profit. than that required to kill a deer, and the animals would, of It appears, therefore, that the circumstance of the accucourse, have been exchanged in that proportion. With mulated labour or capital, and the immediate labour reevery extension of the duration of the weapons, the value quired to produce commodities, being furnished by differof the deer and the beaver would obviously be brought still ent classes of people, makes no difference whatever on the nearer to equality. principle which shows that their value depends on the toIt appears, therefore, inasmuch as capital is nothing but tal quantity of labour necessary for their production. It the produce of anterior labour, that its accumulation and now only remains to trace the influence of fluctuations in employment cannot affect the principle which makes the the rate of wages on price. When this is done, the subvalue of commodities depend on the quantities of labour ject will be exhausted. required for their production. A commodity may be altoTo simplify this inquiry, we shall divide it into two Effect of gether produced by capital, without the co-operation of any branches. We shall inquire,whether fluctuations in fluctu3immediate labour ; and if so, its value will be determined the rate of wages have any, and, if any, what effects, on the r e ^ by the quantity of capital, that is, of antecedent labour, ex- value of commodities produced by the aid of capitals of ^s 0” ex. pended in its production : or it may be partly produced by equal degrees of durability; and, second, whether these Changeable capital, and partly by immediate labour, and then its value fluctuations have any, and, if any, what effects, when the value:— will be proportioned to the sum of the two, or, which is the capitals employed are of unequal degrees of durability, same thing, to the total quantity oflabour bestowed upon I. When all classes of producers employ fixed or circuit. The principles now laid down are almost self-evident, lating capitals, of precisely the same degree of durability, and we are not aware that they have been disputed by any they must be all equally affected by a rise or fall of wages. economist of consideration; but a considerable difference This is a principle assented to by every one, and is indeed of opinion is entertained respecting the influence on value self-evident. But when such is the case, it is plainly imof the employment of workmen by capitalists, and of fluc- possible that a rise or fall of wages should occasion any tuations in the rate of wages. variation in the value of commodities. To revert to our

POLITICAL ECONOMY. 295 xchange- former example, let it be supposed that wages, at the rate in money or commodities, proportional wages are often ExchangebleValue. 0f a shilling a day, were paid by the stocking manufacturer, lowest when money wages are highest, and they are often devalue, one pair of whose stockings exchanged for two pairs of rising at the moment that money wages are falling, and '''-—n'-—' these gloves> and that, from some cause or other, the wages of his vice versa. And hence, in order to avoid falling into enductua- work-people have been doubled, or raised to two shillings; less mistakes, it is best, in all theoretical investigations ( ons when the question is, will he now obtain a greater quantity of with respect to value, to consider wages in the light of a ie capitals gloves in exchange for his stockings? It is obvious he certain proportion of the produce of industry ; as being 11! cannot ur e r°’duc wil1 n0t‘ g the fact of his having to pay a really invariable, so long as this proportion continues unonareof Sreater amount of wages to his workmen, as a reason why changed ; and as having really risen when it is increased, ie same the glove manufacturer should give him more gloves in and really fallen when it is diminished. ?gree of exchange for his stockings; for the latter would have it The mistaking of fluctuations in the rate of money wa| -liability, in his power to reply, that the same rise of wages affected ges for fluctuations in the rate of proportional wages, has him to precisely the same extent! If, therefore, one pair been the source of much error and misapprehension. A of stockings were previously worth two pairs of gloves, they man whose wages are one shilling a day, must get two would continue to preserve; this relation to each other, so shillings to keep them at the same level, should the value long as the quantities of labour required for their produc- of money decline a half; and the hat which now sells for tion were not varied, whatever might be the fluctuation ten shillings must then, for the same reason, sell for twenof wages—whether they fell to a sixpence, or rose to five ty shillings. It is obviously false to call this a real rise, eishillings, a day. Even if the price of commodities rose, ther of wages or prices : this, however, is what is generalwhich it could not, when wages rose, that would be of no ly done. The manufacturer who gives sixpence a day advantage to the producers. Commodities are always more to his men, and who sells his goods at a proportionbought by commodities, or by labour. Of what conse- ally higher price because of a fall in the real value of moquence, then, would it be to a capitalist, when wages rose, ney, rarely suspects that there has been any such fall, and to sell his commodities at an equal advance ; when he, in almost invariably concludes that the rise of wages has his turn, would be obliged to give so much more for every been the cause of the rise of prices, overlooking entirely article which he purchased ? Were wages to rise fifty per the real cause of the rise of both—the decline in the value cent, a producer, a farmer, for example, would be precisely of the money or commodity in which wages and prices are in the same condition, whether he sold his corn for fifty estimated. per cent, advance, and gave an additional fifty per cent., as It has been seen that a general and equal increase of the he would be obliged to do, for his hats, shoes, clothes, &c. labour required for the production of commodities cannot &c. or sold his corn at its former price, and bought all the alter their relation to one another; and it is consequently commodities which he consumes at the prices he had for- obvious that this relation cannot be altered by a general merly paid for them. and equal increase of the w ages paid for that labour. FlucIn order farther to illustrate this principle, we may be tuations in the rate of wages affect the proportion in which allowed to make a supposition, which, although it can never the produce of industry, under deduction of rent, is divided actually take place, will serve to set this doctrine in a clear- between capitalists and labourers—diminishing the proporer point of view. Should the quantities of labour required tion belonging to the capitalists when they rise, and increasfor the production of every species of commodities be in- ing it when they fall. But as these changes in the districreased in exactly the same proportion, it is plain their bution of commodities neither add to nor take from the exchangeable values would remain unaltered. Their cost quantity of labour required to produce them and bring would, however, be augmented. A bushel of corn would not them to market, they do not affect either their real or exthen exchange for a greater quantity of muslins or of broad changeable value. cloth than it did before the increased expense of its proII. We have seen by the investigation under the pre-2rf, Effect duction ; but each would be the produce of more than ceding head, that, where the capitals employed in produc-°f these the former quantity of labour. Under such circumstances, tion are of equal degrees of durability, fluctuations in the ductuathe prices of commodities would remain stationary, while rate of wrages affect all classes of producers to the same ^1)ons ie,n the wealth and comforts of the society would be materially extent, and have, therefore, no influence on the value ofemp]0ye(j diminished. Every person would have to make greater commodities, or on their price. But when the capitals em-in producexertions to obtain a given quantity of any one commodity ; ployed are of different degrees of durability, this is not the tion are of . but as the expense of producing all commodities is, by the case. Fluctuations in the rate of wages do not, in such desupposition, equally increased, it would not be necessary cases, equally affect all classes of producers, and the natu11 to make any greater exertions to obtain one than another, ral equilibrium of profit cannot be maintained without a “ 7and their values, as compared with each other, would be variation in the value of their products. To illustrate this, totally unaffected. let it be supposed that a certain quantity of goods, the proIn this statement it is taken for granted that the value of duce of fixed capital or machinery fitted to last many years, money has been all the while invariable, that is, that the freely exchanges for a certain quantity of other goods ensame quantity of labour continues necessary to produce tirely produced by manual labour. It is plain they would the same quantity of money. If the value of money fluc- not be exchanged on this footing after a rise or fall of wages : tuate,—if it become either more or less difficult of produc- for the proprietor of the machinery would be very little tion,—then, undoubtedly, both the rate of wages and the affected by such fluctuations, whereas they would very seprice of commodities will vary. But they will do so, not riously affect the proprietor of the goods produced by mabecause the labourer gets a greater or less amount of nual labour. And, therefore, when wages fluctuate, the wages, but because the value of the commodity, or stand- values of the goods produced by capitals of different deard in which wages and prices are estimated, has varied. grees of durability must also fluctuate—that is, they must Wages, though most commonly paid in money, really con- be adjusted so that they may continue to yield the same sist of a portion of the produce of the industry of the la- common and average rate of profit. Let us endeavour to bourer ; consequently, they bear a high proportional, or trace the mode in which this adjustment is effected. cost value, when the labourer gets a comparatively large The arguments now brought forward, to show the imposshare of the produce of his industry, and a low proportion- sibility of fluctuations in the rate of wages affecting the al value when he gets a comparatively small share of that value of commodities produced by capitals of the same duproduce. Instead of being identical with wages estimated rability, were first advanced by Mr Ricardo. He, tco, was

POLITICAL ECONOMY. 296 has been already seen that, whatever might be the amount Exchange. Exchange- the first who endeavoured to analyse and discover the in- of the rise—whether it were one, ten, or a hundred per cent, Value. able Value. fluence of fluctuations in the rate of wages on commodities, the holder of such capital could not obtain any additional when the capitals employed in their production were not of quantity of the commodities belonging to other producers the same degree of durability. The results of his resear cites whose capitals were also of the tenth degree of durability; in this more difficult branch of the science were still more and in so far, therefore, as this class of commodities is conimportant, and more at variance with the previously re- cerned, profits will be reduced to the precise extent that ceived opinions of political economists. Mr Ricardo not w ages have risen. But the holders of the other capitals are only showed that it was impossible for any rise of wages to all of them more affected by the rise of wages than the raise the price of all commodities ; but he also showed, that holders of No. 10; and if we took any one of them as a in many cases a rise of wages necessarily led to a ot standard by which to measure profits, they w ould appear to prices, and a fall of wages to a rise of prices ! 1 he novelty have fallen in a still greater proportion. of these opinions, and the talent and ingenuity wiLi which Hence it is plain, that while other things remain the same, Profitsvar. they were supported, immediately recommended them to profits vary inversely as wages ; that is, they fall when wages general notice; and the repeated examinations to which rise, and rise wdien wages fall. But, owing to the different 13 they have been subjected have confirmed their truth, and and ever-varying proportions in which fixed and circulating set them in a still clearer point of view. capital and immediate labour are employed in the producIf a rise of Suppose a manufacturer has a machine worth L.^U,uuu, tion of commodities, it is extremely difficult to discover the wages low- of a high degree of durability, and which can, without the in the rate of ers profits, assistance of any, or with but little, manual labour, produce precise extent to which any given fluctuation T it must commodities: If profits were at ten per cent., the commo- wages affects profits. W e shall, how ever, state three diflower the ferent cases, which will briefly, and, it is hoped, satisfactovalue of dities annually produced by this machine would sell for rily, elucidate the manner in which fluctuations in the rate L.2000, together with a small addition to replace its wear gools wages always operate, and the method to be followed in chiefly pro- and tear.1 Now, it is quite clear, that if, from any cause of duced by whatever, profits either rise or fall, the price of the goods estimating their influence on profits. 1. If all commodities were produced by immediate labour, Method of fixed capi- produced by this machine would also rise or fall. If profits tal or ma- were to rise to fifteen per cent., the price of the goods pro- or by capital employed in the payment of wages, it is ob-^g chinery. that every Vise of wages would cause an equal fall of duced by the machine must, in order that its owner may vious profits. A capitalist who employed L.1000 in the payment ^j0Ilsin ^ obtain the same profit with other capitalists, rise to L.3000 ; and if, on the other hand, profits fall to five per cent., the of wages must, if profits were at ten per cent., sell the com- rate of on price of his goods must, for the same reason, fall to L.1000. modities for L.l 1 DO. But when wages rise five per cent., wapes rotlts or to L.1050, he would not be able to sell his commodities P ' If, therefore, it can be shown that a rise of wages reduces the rate of profits, it is plain it must also reduce the price for more than L.l 100 ; for money is itself a commodity, of such commodities as are chiefly produced by machinery, and as, by the supposition, all commodities are produced by or fixed* capital of a considerable degree of durability, or immediate labour, the rise of wages would affect the proby circulating capital returnable at distant periods, and vice ducers of money in the same degree that it affects other versa. But it is not difficult to see that this is really the producers. In this case, therefore, it is plain every rise of case, and that, in point of fact, profits, supposing other things wages will equally sink profits, and every fall of wages will to continue the same, fall when wages rise, and rise when equally raise them. 2. If all commodities were produced, one half by imwages fall. It is plain, from what has been previously stated, that to mediate labour, and the other /i«// by capital, profits would whatever extent wages might rise, it would be impossible only fall to half the extent that wages rose. Suppose a for any class of producers, whether their capitals were re- capitalist employs L.500 in the payment of wages, and L.oOO turnable in a day, a week, or any other period, to obtain a as a fixed capital, when profits are at ten per cent., the larger share of the commodities produced by others of the commodities produced must, as before, sell for L.l 100. If s'Wie class,—that is, whose capitals were returnable in equal wages rose five per cent., the capitalist would have to pay periods with their own. Suppose wages rise ten or twenty L.525 as wages, and would, consequently, only retain L.75 per cent., that wmuld not enable the holder of a capital as profits. In this case, therefore, a rise of wages to the returnable every month, or every twelve months, to obtain extent of five per cent, would, because of the employment any additional value in exchange for his commodities from of equal quantities of capital and immediate labour in the such of his fellow-capitalists as were affected to the same production of commodities, only sink profits two and a half extent with himself by the rise of wages,—that is, whose per cent. 3. If all commodities were produced by capital of a high capitals were returnable in the same period as his own. This is as impossible as it is to change the relation of pro- degree of durability, the capitalists, it is obvious, would not portional numbers by multiplying or dividing them by the be at all affected by a rise of wages, and profits would, of same number ; and, therefore, it cannot be true that a rise course, continue as before. Now, suppose that commodities, instead of being wholly of wages will raise the price of any one commodity, as produced by immediate labour, as in the first case, or compared with all other commodities. But if a rise of wages cannot do this, it is demonstrably wholly by equal quantities of immediate labour and of cacertain it must lowrer profits. Suppose that the numbers 1, pital, as in the second, or wholly by fixed capital, as in 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, represent 7 capitals of corre- the third, are partly produced in the one mode and partly sponding degrees of durability: When w ages fluctuate, the in the other, and let us see what effect this increase of five proprietors of the least durable capitals, numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, per cent, in the rate of wages would have on their relative and 5, are plainly more affected thereby than the proprie- values. To facilitate this inquiry, we shall distinguish these tors of the more durable capitals, numbers 6, 7, 8, 9, and three descriptions of commodities by the Nos. 1, 2, and 3. 10. Suppose, now, that wages rise, and let us endeavour Now, it is quite evident that the rise of wages has affected to discover what would be the effect of this rise on the No. 1 two and a half per cent, more than it has affected No. holder of a capital of the tenth degree of»durability. It 2, and five per cent, more than it has affected No. 3. No. 1 1 So small a sum as two shillings and elevenpence would be sufficient for tnis purpose, if the machine would last for 100 years; for an annuity of two shillings and elevenpence, accumulating for 100 years at ten per cent., would at the end of that period amount to L.20,000.

POLITICAL ECONOMY. 297 rcchange- must, therefore, as compared with No. 2, have risen two exchangeable value of most commodities, caused by va- Exchangele Value. and a half per cent, in value, and, as compared with No. 3, nations in the rate of proportional wages, are confinedublc Value. it must have risen five per cent.; No. 2 must have fallen within comparatively narrow limits. It has been already two and a half per cent, as compared with No. 1, and risen seen, that were all commodities produced wholly by im- Vfariat}ons two and a half per cent, as compared with No. 3 ; and No. mediate labour, or wholly by capital, or wholly by equal geaMe va-' 3 must have fallen five per cent, as compared with No. 1, quantities of both, no variation in the rate of wages would lue caused and two and a half per cent, as compared with No. 2. If have any influence on their value. But, in point of fact, aby wages, instead of rising, had fallen, the same effects would very large class of commodities are produced by means of a,tions in . obviously have been produced, but in a reversed order. The nearly equal portions of fixed and circulating capital; and! ^ ^ proprietors of the commodities of the class No. 1 would gain as every rise of proportional wages that may take place fined withfive per cent, by the fall, those of No. 2 would gain two must, under such circumstances, be balanced by a fall in in narrow and a half per cent., and those of No. 3 nothing ; and the the rate of profit, or by a proportional increase in the pro- haats. relative values of their commodities would be adjusted ac- ductiveness of industry, it is evident that the value of the cordingly.1 commodities in question, as compared with each other, neral Thus, then, it appears, inasmuch as any commodity taken remain nearly stationary. Although, therefore, a e on the for a standard by which to estimate the values of other would oject of commodities, must itself be produced by capital return- rise of wages has a necessary tendency to raise the exchangeable value of one class of commodities, and conseliuctuaable in a certain period, that when wages rise, commodities quently to lower that of another, the fall of profits, which produced by less durable capitals than those which pro- must inevitably follow every rise of wages that is not acduce the commodity taken for a standard, will rise in ex- companied by an increased productiveness of industry, has changeable value, and those produced by more durable a contrary effect, and tends to sink the value of the comcapitals will fall; and conversely when wages are reduced. modities which the increased rate of wages would raise, Suppose, as before, that the Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and to elevate the value of those which the same increased and 10, represent capitals of corresponding degrees of du- rate would sink. And it is only in extreme cases, or in rability : If a commodity produced by the least durable the case of commodities produced almost wholly by direct capital, No. 1, and which may be supposed to be wholly manual labour on the one hand, or in that of those proemployed in the payment of wages, be taken for a stand- duced almost wholly by the aid of fixed capital or machiard, all commodities whatever produced by the other and nery on the other, that a variation in the rate of propormore durable capitals would fall in value when wages rose ; tional wages occasions a considerable variation in their reand if we suppose those produced by No. 2 to decline one lative values. per cent., those produced by No. 3 would decline two per It must also be observed, that though fluctuations in the cent., those produced by No. 4, three per cent., and so on rate of wages occasion some variation in the exchangeable until we arrive at No. 10, which will have fallen nine per value of particular commodities, they neither add to nor cent. If, on the other hand, a commodity produced by the take from the total value of the entire mass. If they inmost durable capital, No. 10, and which may be supposed crease the value of those produced by the least durable to consist wholly of highly durable machinery, be made the capitals, they equally diminish the value of those produced standard, when wages rise, all the commodities produced by the more durable capitals. Their aggregate value conby the other less durable capitals would also rise ; and if tinues, therefore, always the same. And though it may those produced by No. 9 rose one per cent., those produced not be strictly true of a particular commodity, that its exby No. 8 would rise two per cent., and those produced by changeable value is directly as its cost or real value, or as No. 1, nine per cent. If a commodity produced by capital the quantity of labour required to produce it and bring it to of a medium degree of durability, as No. 5, and which market, it is most true to affirm this of the mass of commomay be supposed to consist half of circulating capital em- dities taken together. ployed in the payment of wages, and half of fixed capital In thus endeavouring to trace the cost of all descriptions or machinery, be taken as a standard, the commodities pro- of non-monopolized commodities to the quantity of labour duced by the less durable capitals, Nos. 4, 3, 2, and 1, will required for their production, it is not meant to deny that a rise with a rise of wages, on the former hypothesis, the very large portion of the useful or desirable qualities of such first, or No. 4, one per cent., the second, or No. 3, two per commodities may be the result of the action or labour of cent., &c.; while those produced by the more durable ca- natural agents. But it is, as was previously seen, the pepitals, Nos. 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, will fall, the first, or No. 6, culiar and distinguishing feature of natural agents or powers, one per cent., the second, or No. 7, two per cent., See. ex- that they render their services gratuitously. Whatever they actly the reverse of the other. do is done without fee or reward. And hence, though Hence it is obvious that the influence which variations in their co-operation be necessary to the production of every the rate of wages have on price will principally depend on species of useful and desirable articles, they add nothing the nature of the capital employed in the production of to their value. This is a quality that can be communigold and silver. Whatever may be the proportions of cir- cated only by the labour of man, or by the instrumentality culating and fixed capital employed in the production of of capital appropriated or accumulated by his labour. In money, all commodities produced by the agency of a greater estimating the value of a quantity of corn, for example, quantity of labour, and with less fixed capital and machinery, we include only the labour of the individuals employed, as will rise when wages rise, and fall when wages fall ; but ploughmen, reapers, thrashers, &c. the value of the corn those that are produced by the agency of a less quantity used as seed, and the value of the services rendered by of labour, and with more fixed capital or machinery, will the horses and instruments made use of in the different fall when wages rise, and rise when wages fall; and those operations. Nothing whatever is set down to account of that are produced in nearly the same circumstances, or by the aid derived from the vegetative powers of nature, and the agency of the same quantities of circulating and fixed the action of the sun and showers ; for though without capital as money, will not be affected by fluctuation of them the crop could not be obtained, and our utmost exwages. ertions would be altogether fruitless, yet, as they are the It should be observed, however, that variations in the free gift of Providence, they add nothing to the value of the 1 These examples are substantially the same with those given by Mr Milk See Elements of Political Economy, p. 77VOL. xvm. 2p

POLITICAL ECONOMY. 298 Exchange- produce, that is, they add nothing to its power of exchun- as capital, or to be considered in the same point of riew aaM™, able Value, ^ng for or buying labour, or other things procured by the the tools or engines with which they perform their tasks ^weValnei and to say that the exchangeable value of commodities des " intervention of labour. . ... pends on'the quantities of capital expended on their pro. It mav be thought, perhaps, that this principle is at va- duction, is not to contradict, but is, in fact, only another riance with what is observed to take place in the produc- way of expressing the identical proposition we have been tion of certain descriptions of commodities. Ihus, it a endeavouring to illustrate.1 cask of new wine be kept for a definite period, or till it arrive at maturity, it will acquire a higher value : now, as the change produced on the wine is entirely brought about by Sect. V. Division of the Produce of Industry, under deduction of Pent, between Capitalists and Workmen—Dethe operation of natural agents, and as, without the change, finition of Profits.—Mr Ricardos Theory of Profits ; the wine would have no higher value, it has been contended that this is a case in which the labour of natural agents 'sense in which it is true—Causes tchich occasion a Rise or a Fall of Profits.—Influence of the Decreasing Feris plainly productive of an increased value. But it is easy tility of the Soil and of Taxation on Profits. to see that this is a mistake. The cask of wine is a capital, or is the result of the labour employed in cultivating, Before attempting to investigate the circumstances which Dirisoii cE gathering, pressing, and otherwise preparing the grapes determine the rate of profit, it is necessary to be aware ofthe Proirom which it was made. But it is necessary, in order to which determine the proportions in which the whole ^ give time for the processes of fermentation, decomposition, those of industry, under deduction of rent, is divided be&c. to effect the desired changes in the wine, that it should produce labourers and capitalists. capitalists be laid aside until they are completed. The producer of tween This preliminary inquiry may be disposed of in a few and workwine would not, however, employ his capital in this way, unless it were to yield the same return that is derived from words. We have seen, that the whole produce of the landmen, capital employed in other businesses. And hence it follows, and labour of every civilized society is always divided, in that though the processes carried on by nature render the the first instance, into three, and not more than three, porwine more desirable, or bestow on it a greater degree of tions ; the first of which goes to the labourers, the second utility, they add nothing to its value ; the additional value to the capitalists or proprietors of stock, and the third to which it acquires being a consequence of the profit accru- the landlords ; and we have also seen, that the portion of ing.on the capital required to enable the processes to be the produce of industry, or of rent, which belongs to the landlords, as proprietors of the soil, and not as capitalists, carried on. . Besides the objection now stated, it has been contended is altogether extrinsic to the cost of production ; and that by Colonel Torrens, in his valuable work on the Produc- the circumstance of the landlords’ consenting to give it up, tion of Wealth, in opposition to the theory we have been would not occasion any change in the productiveness of inendeavouring to establish, that, after capital has been ac- dustry, or any reduction in the price of raw produce. Supcumulated, the value of commodities is no longer, as in the posing, then, that rent is deducted or set aside, it is obviearly stages of society, determined by the total quantities ous that all the remaining produce of the land and labour of labour required to bring them to market, but by the of every country must be primarily divided between the quantities of capital required for that purpose. At bottom, two great classes of labourers and capitalists. And it is however, this theory is identical with that now explained. further obvious, that were there no taxes in a country, or Capital is the accumulated produce of anterior labour ; and were the rate of taxation invariable, the proportion of the its value, like that of everything else, is estimated by the whole produce of industry, under deduction of rent, falling quantity of labour required to procure it. In this respect, to the share of the labourers, could not be increased except too, there is no difference, as has been already seen, be- by an equivalent reduction in the proportion falling to the tween labourers and any other species of machines. A la- share of the capitalists, and vice versa. Suppose, still betbourer is himself a portion of the national capital, and may, ter to illustrate this proposition, that the whole produce ot without impropriety, be considered, in theoretical investiga- industry in Great Britain is represented by the number tions of this sort, in the light of a machine which it hasr re- 1000; suppose farther, that the landlords get 200 of this quired a certain outlay of labour to construct; the w ages sum as rent, and that the remaining 800 is divided in equal which he earns may be looked upon as a fair remuneration portions between labourers and capitalists. L nder these for his services, or, if we may so speak, they yield him the circumstances, it is quite obvious that nothing could be addcommon and ordinary rate of profit on his capital, exclusive ed to the proportion of the produce, or to the 400, falling of a sum to replace its wear and tear, or to supply the place to the labourers, except at the expense of the capitalists; of the old and decayed labourers with new ones. Whether, nor to the proportion or 400 falling to the latter, except at therefore, a commodity have been produced by the outlay the expense of the former. Whether the 800 were increased to 1600, or reduced to of a capital which it cost a certain quantity of labour to provide, or whether it have been produced by the expenditure 400, so long as those between whom it must be divided reof that amount of labour directly upon it, is of no moment. ceive each a half, their relative condition must continue the In either case it is the result of the same outlay of labour, same. And hence the propriety of the distinction between or, if it be deemed a better phrase, of capital. There is, proportional and real wages, or wages estimated in parts ot in truth, no substantial difference between the manual labour the produce raised by the labourer, and those estimated in of man and the action of machinery. Men are themselves, definite quantities of money or produce. If the productivein so far as their mere physical powers are concerned, and ness of industry were to diminish, proportional wages might it is of such only that we are now talking, to be looked upon rise, notwithstanding that real wages, or the absolute quan1 Sir V, illiam Petty stated, so early as 1GG7, that the value of commodities is always regulated by the quantity of labour required to produce them ; there is, however, the same difference between his statements and the analysis and investigations of Mr Ricardo, whom we have principally followed in this section, that there is between the conjectures of Pythagoras respecting the true system ofthe world and the demonstrations of Newton. But as the statement of Petty is curious, we subjoin it: If,” says he, “ a man can bring to London an ounce of silver out of the earth in Peru in the same time that he can produce a bushel of corn, then one is the natural price of the other ; now, if, by reason of new and more easie mines, a man can get two ounces of silver as easily as formerly he did one, then corn will be as cheap at 10s. the bushel- as it was before at 5s. ccetcris paribus.' (Treatise of Taxes and Contributions, ed. 1G79, p. 31.)

POLITICAL Division tity of the products of industry received by the labourer,

ECONOMY. 299 It w ill facilitate the acquisition of clear and precise ideas Profits and Wa ges. tofln-111‘»ht be diminished ; and if, on the other hand, the pro- respecting the circumstances which determine the average ustrv be- ductiveness of industry were to increase, proportional wages rate of profit in different employments, as that term is com- ^ m ,veeii Ca- might be diminished, while real wages might, at the same monly understood, if we confine our attention, in the first pitaiists time, be increased. place, to those that determine profits in agriculture,—bothture^ >d Work- It is plain, therefore, that were taxation unknown or because the latter admit ot being accurately measured, and men '^ y constant, the whole produce of industry, under deduction of because they may be taken as representing profits in other rent, would be divided between capitalists and labourers ; businesses. Agriculture is a branch of industry that must and that the proportion of that produce falling to either be carried on at all times, and under all circumstances; but party would vary inversely as the proportion falling to the it would not be carried on, if it did not, at an average, other—that is, the proportion falling to the capitalists would yield as great a return to the capital vested in it as other be increased when that falling to the labourers was dimi- businesses ; nor would these other businesses be carried on nished, and diminished when it was increased, if they yielded a less return than is derived from agriculefinition Profits must not, however, be confounded with the pro- ture. It necessarily follows, therefore, that the returns obproiits. duce 0f industry primarily received by the capitalists. They tained Irom agricultural industry, or agricultural profits, really consist of the produce, or the value of the produce, may, in ordinary cases, be considered as identical with the remaining to those who employ capital in industrious un- returns or profits obtained from other businesses. Whendertakings, after all their payments to others have been de- ever, for example, the average return to an outlay of capiducted, and after the capital wasted or used in the under- tal or labour worth a hundred quarters of wheat, employed takings has been replaced. If the produce derived from an in the cultivation of the soil, amounts to a hundred and ten undertaking, after defraying the necessary outlay, be insuf- quarters, we may safely infer that L. 100 employed in maficient to replace the capital expended, a loss will have nufactures is also yielding L.110: for a regard to their been incurred; if the capital be merely replaced, and there own interest will not permit those engaged in such departis no surplus, there will neither be loss nor profit; and the ments to prosecute them for less profit than is obtained in greater the surplus, the greater of course will be the profit. agriculture, and the competition of the agriculturists will Profits are not measured by the proportion which they bear not permit them to obtain more. to the rate of wages, but by the proportion which they bear Taking, then, as we are entitled to do, agricultural pro-Circumto the capital by the agency of which they have been pro- fits as a standard of all other profits, let us suppose that asta)ffes duced. Suppose an individual employs a capital equiva- landlord employs a capital equal in value to i 0,000 quar- whkh oclent to 1000 quarters of corn in the cultivation of a farm, ters, or L. 10,000, in the cultivation of an estate; that he^j^^L, and that he expends 700 quarters in the payment of wages, expends 5000 quarters, or L.5000, of this capital in seed, 0f profits, and 300 in seed and other outgoings: suppose now that in the keeping of horses, and in defraying the wear and the return to this capital is 1200 quarters. Under these cir- tear of implements and machines ; and 5000 quarters, or cumstances, the proportion of the produce falling to the L.5000, in paying the wages of his labourers. Suppose, labourers as wages, will be to that falling to the capitalists now, that the return obtained by this landlord is 12,000 as seven to two ; for of the 1200 quarters that fall, in the quarters, or L.12,000 ; of which 10^000 quarters, or L. 10,000, first instance, to the capitalist, 200 only are profits, 1000 go to replace his capital, and 1000 quarters, or L.1000, to being required to replace the capital he has expended. In pay his taxes, leaving 1000 quarters, or L.1000, as profits, this case, therefore, the rate of profit would be said to be being ten per cent, on the capital employed : it is plain twenty per cent., meaning, that the excess of produce be- from this case (and this case is, in point of principle, the longing to the cultivator, after the capital employed in its actual case of all cultivators), that the rate of profit may be production was fully replaced, amounted to twenty per cent, increased in three, but only in one or other of three, ways, upon that capital. viz. 1, by a fall of wages ; 2, a fall of taxes ; or, 3, an in■ Ricar- We have been thus particular with respect to the defini- creased productiveness of industry. - theory tion of profits, because, from not keeping it sufficiently in Thus, it is obvious, 1, that if wages were reduced from profits. vieW) yir Ricardo has been led to contend, that the rate of 5000 to 4000 quarters, profits, supposing other things to be profit depends on the proportion in which the produce of invariable, would be increased from 1000 to 2000 quarters, industry, under deduction of rent, is divided between capi- or from ten to twenty per cent.: if, 2, the burden of taxtalists and labourers; that a rise of profits can never be ation were reduced from 1000 to 500 quarters, profits would brought about except by a fall of proportional wages, nor a be increased from 1000 to 1500 quarters, or from ten to fall of profits except by a corresponding rise of proportional fifteen per cent.: and if, 3, owing to the introduction of wages. It is evident, however, that this theory is true only an improved system of agriculture, the return to a capital in the event of our attaching a radically different sense to of 10,000 quarters were increased from 12,000 to 13,000 the term profit from what is usually attached to it, and quarters, profits, supposing wages still to amount to 5000 supposing it to mean the real value of the entire portion of and taxes to 1000 quarters, would be increased to 2000 the produce of industry falling, in the first instance, to the quarters, or to twenty per cent.; and though, in this case, share of the capitalist, without reference to the proportion after the productiveness of industry had been increased, which this produce bears to the capital employed in its wages would form a less proportion of the whole produce production. If we understand the terms in this sense, Mr of industry than they did previously, it is to be observed, Ricardo’s theory will hold universally ; and it may be af- that this diminished proportion is the consequence, and not firmed, that so long as the proportion in which the produce the cause, of profits having risen; and, therefore, in such of industry, under deduction of rent, is divided between cases as this, and they are of very frequent occurrence, it is capitalists and labourers, continues the same, no increase true to say, that proportional wages fall because profits rise : or diminution of the powers of production will occasion any but the converse of the proposition is not true ; for the rise variation in the rate of profit. But if we consider profits of profits was occasioned by causes that had nothing whatin the light in which they are invariably considered in the ever to do with wages, and which were, in fact, totally inreal business of life—as the produce accruing to the capita- dependent of them. It is indeed true, inasmuch as the rise of profits is the lists, after the capital expended by them in payments and outgoings of all sorts is fully replaced—it will immediately result of an increased productiveness of industry’, that the be seen, that there are innumerable exceptions to Mr Ri- real value of the 13,000 quarters will not exceed the real value of the 12,000 previously obtained by the same quancardo’s theory.

300

POLITICAL

ECONOMY.

as has been already seen, on the proportion which Profits an j Profits andtity of labour ; but profits, in the sense in which they are pend, I Wages, practically understood, and as we understand them, do not they bear to the capital by which they are produced, and on the proportion which they bear to wages. Suppose ^ v’'*i ''— depend on real values, but on the excess of the commodi- not an individual employs a capital of 1000 quarters, or L.1000, ties produced above the capital expended in their produc- in cultivation; that he lays out half this capital in the paytion ; and whenever this excess is augmented, without any ment of wages, and obtains a return of 1200 quarters, or previous depression in the rate of wages, the rate of profit L.1200 : in this case, assuming he is not affected by taxamust evidently be increased by the operation of causes ex- tion, his profits will amount to 200 quarters, or L.200, betrinsic to variations in that rate. at the rate of twenty per cent., and will be to wages Nor is this all. The rate of profit may remain stationary, ingthe proportion of two to five. Suppose, now, that the or rise, though the proportion of the produce of industry in productiveness of industry is universally doubled, and let it falling to the share of the labourer be actually increased. be farther supposed, that the additional 1200 quarters, or Suppose, to exemplify this, that a landlord employs 1000 L.1200, is divided between the capitalist and his labourers quarters of wheat as a capital, 500 of which are expended in former proportion of two to five, or that the capitalist in seed, keep of horses, &c. and 500 in paying wages ; if getsthe343 or L.343, of additional profits, and the the produce be 1200 quarters, and the taxes to which he labourers quarters, 857 quarters, or L.857, of additional wages: in is subjected 100, his profits will amount to 100 quarters, or this case, both parties will obtain the same proportions ten per cent.: suppose now that, owing to the introduction of the produce of industrystill as before; and if we look only of improved machinery, or improved methods of culture, he to them, we must say that neither profits nor wages have only requires to expend 400 quarters in seed, keep of horses, risen. But when we compare, as is invariably done in es&c. but that wages rise from 500 to 550 quarters, and that timating profits, the return obtained by the capitalist with the same return is obtained ; in this case, supposing taxthe capital he employs, it will be found, notwithstanding ation to be constant, the profits of the landlord will be increased from ten to fifteen three fourths per cent., though the constancy of proportional wages, that the rate of profit proportional wages have risen from five twelfths to five and has increased from twenty to fifty-four per cent. Thus, then, it appears, as was previously stated, that proa half twelfths of the whole produce. It may be said, however, that if this increased produc- fits rise in one or other of the three following ways, viz. 1, tiveness were confined to agriculture, and did not extend to from a fall of wages; or, 2, from a fall cff taxes directly most other important businesses, the price of agricultural or indirectly affecting capitalists; or, 3, from an increased produce would fall, while that of other produce would re- productiveness of industry : and they fall, 1, from a rise of main stationary; and that, in such a case, the profits of wages; or, 2, from an increase of taxes ; or, 3, from a dimiagricultural industry, if estimated in money, or in any com- nished productiveness of industry. But they can neither modity other than corn, would be diminished in consequence rise nor fall, except from the operation of one or more of of the rise of wages. This is true; but Mr Ricardo has the causes now stated. It is consistent with universal experience, that profits are Influence o|5 made no exception, in laying down his theory, in favour of 0 those possible, and indeed frequently occurring cases, when, invariably much higher in colonies, and thinly-peopled coun-jk ^™ from any single circumstance, or combination of various tries, than in countries that have been long settled, and where circumstances, industry becomes generally more productive, the population is comparatively dense ; and that (referring 0)1 projjts and when, consequently, profits, estimated in money, corn, to periods of average duration) their tendency is to fall in cloth, or any commodity in extensive demand, would have the progress of society. This sinking of profits in rich and risen, without their rise having been occasioned by a fall populous countries has been ascribed by Dr Smith to the of wages. And it is also true, that an increased produc- competition of capitalists. He supposes that when capital is tiveness of agricultural industry, whether it have been caused augmented, its owners endeavour to encroach on each other’s by the introduction of an improved system of agriculture, employments ; and that, in furtherance of their object, they or by the repeal of restrictions on the importation of corn are tempted to offer their goods at a lower price, and to into a comparatively populous country, most commonly ex- give higher wages to their workmen; which has a twofold tends itself to other businesses, and has the effect of bringing influence in reducing profits. This theory was long univerabout a universal rise of profits; for, as raw produce forms sally assented to. It has been espoused by MM. Say, Sisthe principal part of the labourer’s subsistence, and as he mondi, and Storch, by the Marquis Gamier, and, with some obtains a larger quantity in exchange for the same amount trifling modifications, by Mr Malthus. But, notwithstandof money, after it has fallen in price, his condition is in so ing the deference due to these authorities, it is easy to see far improved; and a stimulus being, in this way, given to that competition can never bring about a general fall of population, and the supply of labour increased, wages are profits. It prevents any one individual, or set of individuals, from monopolizing a particular branch of industry, and rereduced, and the rate of profit universally raised. When industry, instead of becoming more productive, duces the rate of profit in different businesses nearly to the becomes less so, the opposite effects follow. Profits then same level; but this is its whole effect. Most certainly it fall, without any fall having previously taken place in the has no tendency to lessen the rproductiveness of industry, or rate of wages. It is evident, therefore, that the proposition to raise the average rate of w ages or the rate of taxation; that a rise of profits cannot be brought about otherwise than and if it do none of these things, it is quite impossible it by a fall of wages, nor a fall of profits otherwise than by a should lower profits. So long as an individual, employing rise of wages, is true only in those cases in which the pro- a capital of 1000 quarters, or L.1000, obtains from it a reductiveness of industry and the burden of taxation remain turn of 1200 quarters, or L.1200, of which he has to pay constant. So long as this is the case, or, which is the same 100 quarters, or L.100, as taxes, so long will his profits conthing, so long as the same capital is employed, and the same tinue at ten per cent., whether he have the market to himquantity of produce has to be divided between capitalists self, or have 50,000 competitors. It is not competition, but and labourers, the share of the one cannot be increased it is the increase of taxation, and the necessity under which without that of the other being equally diminished; and a growing society is placed of resorting to soils of less ferit is also true, that if profits depended on the proportion tility to obtain supplies of food, that are the great causes of in which the produce of industry is divided between ca- that reduction in the rate of profit which usually takes place pitalists and labourers, they could not be affected by va- in advanced periods. When the last lands taken into culriations in the productiveness, but would be determined tivation are fertile, there is a comparatively large amount wholly by the state of proportional wages. But profits de- of produce to be divided between capitalists and labourers;

POLITICAL ECONOMY. 'refits and and both profits and real wages may, consequently, be high. the bounty of nature is limited, and she deals out her gifts Profits and Wages. But with every successive diminution in the fertility of the with a frugal and parsimonious hand, ° Wages. soils to which recourse is had, the quantities of produce obtained by1 the same outlays of capital and labour necessarily Pater ipse colendi Haud facilem esse viam voluit. diminish. And this diminution will obviously operate to reduce the rate of profit—1, by lessening the quantity of Fqual quantities of capital and labour do not always proproduce to be divided between capitalists and labourers; duce equal quantities of raw produce. The soil is of limitand, 2, by increasing the proportion falling to the share of ed extent and limited fertility; and this limitation is the the latter. real check—the insuperable obstacle—which prevents the The influence of the decreasing productiveness of the means of subsistence, and consequently the inhabitants, of soil, as well on the condition and fortunes of society, as on every country, from increasing in a geometrical proportion, the rate of profit, is so very powerful, that we shall endeavour until the space required for carrying on the operations of to trace and exhibit its operation a little more fully. It industry has become deficient. has been shown over and over again, that the principle of It is plain that the decreasing productiveness of the soils increase in the human race is so very strong, as not only to which every improving society is obliged to resort, will to keep population steadily up to the means of subsistence, not, as was previously observed, merely lessen the quantity but to give it a tendency to exceed them. It is true, that of produce to be divided between profits and wages, but a peculiar combination of favom-able circumstances occa- will also increase the proportion of that produce falling to sionally causes capital to increase faster than population, the share of the labourer. It is quite impossible to go on and wages are in consequence augmented. But such aug- increasing the cost of raw produce, the principal part of the mentation is rarely permanent, at least to the whole ex- subsistence of the labourer, by forcing good or taking intent; for the additional stimulus it is almost sure of giving ferior lands into cultivation, without increasing wages. A to population seldom fails, by proportioning the supply of rise of wages is seldom indeed exactly coincident with a labour to the increased demand, to reduce wages to their rise in the price of necessaries, but they can never be very old level, or to one not much above it. If, therefore, it far separated. The price of the necessaries of life is in were possible always to employ additional capital in rais- fact the cost of producing labour. The labourer cannot ing raw produce, in manufacturing that produce when work, if he be not supplied with the means of subsistence; raised, and in conveying the raw and manufactured pro- and though a certain period of varying extent, according ducts from place to place, with an equal return, it is evi- to the circumstances of the country at the time, must gedent, supposing taxation to continue invariable, that, speak- nerally elapse, when necessaries are rising in price, before ing generally, the greatest increase of capital would not oc- wages are proportionally augmented, such an augmentation casion any considerable fall in the rate of profit. So long must, in all ordinary cases, be brought about in the end. as labour may be obtained at the same rate, and as its proIt is plain, therefore, inasmuch as there is never any fallductive power is not diminished, so long must the profits of ing off, but a constant increase, in the productiveness of stock continue unaffected. It is evident, then, that the the labour employed in manufacturing and commercial inmere increase of capital has, by itself, no lasting influence dustry, that the subsistence of the labourer could not be on wages, and it is obviously the same thing, in so far as the increased in price; and, consequently, that it would not be rate of profit is concerned, whether ten or ten thousand necessary to make any additions to his natural wages, or millions be employed in the cultivation of the soil, and in the wages required to enable him to subsist and continue the manufactures and commerce of this or any other king- his race, were it not for the diminished power of agricultudom, provided the last million so employed be as produc- ral labour, originating in the inevitable necessity under tive, or yield as large a return, as the first. Now, this is which man is placed, of resorting to inferior soils to obtain invariably the case with the capital employed in manufac- larger supplies of raw produce. The decreasing fertility of tures and commerce. The greatest amount of capital and the soil is, therefore, at bottom, the great and only neceslabour may be employed in fashioning raw produce, and sary cause of a fall of profits. The quantity of produce adapting it to our use, and in transporting it from where it forming the return to capital and labour would never dimiis produced to where it is to be consumed, without a dimi- nish, but for the diminution that uniformly takes place in nished return. Whatever quantity of labour may now be the productiveness of the soil; nor is there any other phyrequired to build a ship or construct a machine, it is abun- sical cause why the proportion of wages to profits should be dantly certain that an equal quantity will, at any future pe- increased, and the rate of profit diminished, as it uniformly riod, suffice to build a similar ship, or to construct a simi- is, in the progress of society. lar machine ; and although these ships and machines were We have thus endeavoured to exhibit the ultimate influindefinitely multiplied, the last would be as well adapted to ence which the necessity of resorting to poorer lands for every useful purpose, and as serviceable, as the first. The supplies of food has on profits and wages. But though this probability, indeed, or rather the certainty, is, that the last cause of the reduction of profits be “ of such magnitude would be much more serviceable than the first. It is not and power as finally to overwhelm every other,”2 its opepossible to assign limits to the powers and resources of ge- rations may be, and indeed commonly are, counteracted or nius, nor consequently to the improvement of machinery, facilitated by extrinsic causes. It is obvious, for example, and of the skill and industry of the labourer. Future Watts, that every discovery or improvement in agriculture, which Arkwrights, and Wedgwoods, will arise ; and the stupen- enables a greater quantity of produce to be obtained for the dous discoveries of the last 'and present age will doubtless same expense, has a similar effect on profits, as if the exbe equalled, and most probably surpassed, in the ages that tent of superior soils were increased, and may, for a lengthare to come. It is therefore clear, that if equal quantities ened period, increase the rate of profit. of capital and labour always raised equal quantities of raw Had the inventive genius of man been limited in its produce, the greatest additions that might be made to them powers, and had the various machines and implements used would not lessen the capacity of employing them with ad- in agriculture, and the skill of the husbandman, speedily vantage, or sink the rate of profit. But here, and here only, attained to their utmost perfection, the rise in the price of 1 2

This supposes, of course, either that no improvements are made, or that their influence has been taken into account. Malthus’ Principles of Political Economy, &c. p. 317.

302 POLITICAL Prolits and raw produce, and the fall of profits consequent to the inWages. crease of population, would have been so apparent as to s Y " ^ force themselves on the attention of every one. \\ hen, in such a state of things, it became necessary to resort to poorer soils to raise an additional quantity of food, a coi responding increase of labour would have been required ; for, supposing the perfection of art to be attained, nothing except greater exertion can overcome fresh obstacles. Not only, therefore, would additional labour have been necessary to the production of a greater quantity of food, but it would have been necessary in the precise proportion in which the difficulty of its production was increased ; so that, had the arts continued stationary, the price of raw produce would have varied directly with every variation in the qualities of the soils successively brought under tillage. But the circumstances which really regulate the value of raw produce are extremely different. It is true, indeed, that even in those societies that are most rapidly improving, it has, as was previously shown, a constant tendency to rise ; for the rise of profits consequent to every invention, by occasioning a greater demand for labour, gives a fresh stimulus to population ; and thus, by increasing the demand for food, again inevitably forces the cultivation of poorer soils, and raises prices. But it is evident that improvements render these effects of this great law of nature, from whose all-pervading influence the utmost efforts of human ingenuity cannot enable man to escape, far less palpable and obvious. After inferior soils are cultivated, more labourers are, in most cases, required to raise the same quantities of food ; but as the powers of labourers are gradually improved in the progress of society, a much smaller number is required, in proportion to the whole work that is performed, than if no such improvement had taken place. The natural tendency to an increase in the price of raw produce is in this way counteracted. The productive energies of the earth gradually diminish, and we are compelled to resort to less fruitful soils ; but the productive energies of the labour employed in their tillage are as constantly augmented by the discoveries and inventions that are always being made. Two directly opposite and continually acting principles are thus set in motion. From the operation of fixed and permanent causes, the increasing sterility of the soil is sure, in the long run, to overmatch the improvements that occur in machinery and agriculture, prices experiencing a corresponding rise, and profits a corresponding fall. Occasionally, however, these improvements more than compensate, during lengthened periods, for the deterioration in the quality of the soils successively cultivated; and a fall of prices and rise of profits take place, until the constant pressure of population has again forced the cultivation of still poorer lands. In so far as the general principle is concerned, the previous reasoning is applicable alike to the commercial world or to a single nation. It is plain, however, that the fall in the rate of profit, and the consequent check to the progress of society, originating in the necessity of resorting to poorer soils, will be more severely felt in an improving country, wdiich excludes foreign corn from her markets, than in one which maintains an unfettered intercourse with her neighbours. V- ere a highly manufacturing and commercial country, like England, to deal with all the world on fair and liberal principles, she might avail herself of all those capacities of production which Providence has given to different countries ; and besides obtaining supplies of food at the cneapest rate at which they can be raised, the numberless markets to which she could resort would prevent her from feeling any very injurious consequences from the occasional failure of her own harvests, or from deficiencies in one or a few of the sources whence she drew her foreign supplies ; so that she would thus go far to secure herself constant plenty, and, what is of hardly less importance, constant stea-

ECONOMY. diness of price. Such a nation would have the foundations Profits si of her greatness established on a broad and solid basis ; for ^ a?es they would rest, not on the productive powers of her own 'v'" soil only, but on those of all the countries of the world. And supposing her not to be involved to an unusual degree in war, or subjected to comparatively heavy taxes, her profits w'ould not be reduced, nor would she get clogged in her progress, until the increase of population forced the cultivation of inferior soils in the countries whence she was in the custom of importing corn. And even then she would not be surpassed by her neighbours ; her progress being retarded by a cause which equally affects them, her relative power would not be impaired; and should new markets be opened, or new discoveries made, in any quarter of the world, she wrould reap her full share of the advantage, and be renovated and strengthened for a new career of exertion. But the case would be very different were foreign rawproduce excluded from the markets of a nation like England, which has made an unusual progress in commerce and manufactures, and whose population is therefore comparatively dense. A government which prevents its subjects from exchanging their manufactured goods for the corn of more fertile or less densely-peopled countries, compels them prematurely to resort to poor soils at home ; and profits being consequently reduced, the country is made to approach the stationary state at a period when, had the legislature acted on more enlarged principles, she might have been advancing with the same rapidity as before in the career of improvement. It is needless here to advert to the influence of restrictions on the corn trade in aggravating the evils of scarcity, and occasioning fluctuations of price. Their operation in this respect is too wr 7ell established to admit of any doubt. But supposing it w ere otherwise, still it must be obvious, for the reasons stated above, that such restrictions cannot fail to be exceedingly injurious. It may, one should think, be laid down as an axiom, that government should either not interfere at all with industrious undertakings, or interfere only in the view7 of rendering them more secure or more productive. But to exclude any article, and particularly one so important as corn, when it may be imported cheaper from abroad than it can be raised directly at home, is really to adopt the means most effectual for rendering industry least secure and least productive ! It is not merely contradicting the best established principles, but it is employing the power of government to arrest the natural progress of opulence and prosperity, and to accelerate the period of old age, decrepitude, and decay! If we could, by laying out L.1000 on the manufacture of cottons or hardware, produce a quantity of these articles that .would exchange for 400 quarters of Polish or American wheat; and if the same sum, when expended in cultivation in this country, would not produce more than 300 quarters; the prevention of importation occasions an obvious sacrifice of 100 quarters out of every 400 consumed in the empire ; or, which is the same ^ thing, it occasions an artificial advance of twenty-five per cent, in the price of corn. It is not even true that a system of this sort is, in any respect, advantageous to the landlords or farmers; and to suppose that it can be advantageous to those who are obliged to buy their produce, is too contradictory to merit one moment’s attention. Practically, however, we are not disposed to think that the influence of the existing restrictions on the importation ot corn into Great Britain is nearly so injurious as is frequently represented. The fact is, that our average prices have been during the last seven years rapidly approximating to those of the Continent. Owing to the great increase in the imports from Ireland, and still more to the extraordinary improvement made in agriculture since 1825, partly by the greater facilities afforded by steam-navigation for bringing the produce of the more remote districts to market,

POLITICAL refits and and partly and principally, perhaps, by the influence of a Wages, better system of draining, and of the application of bonemanure, &c., production has latterly shot a-head of population. During the seven years ending with 1837, prices were comparatively low, and were, indeed, taking quality into account, but little, if anything, above their level in the principal markets in the western parts of continental Europe supplied with corn brought from a distance. The pernicious influence of the corn-laws is now principally felt in scarce years, or when the crop is deficient; and as their tendency is to render the country dependent on its own resources, and to hinder corn from being grown abroad for our markets, they must necessarily aggravate, in no common degree, all the mischievous consequences resulting from a bad harvest. Sound policy would, therefore, suggest their repeal, under the conditions, and in the way pointed out, in the article Corn Laws. PART IV. CONSUMPTION OF WEALTH. Having in the previous sections endeavoured to explain the means by which labour is facilitated, and wealth produced, and to investigate the laws which regulate its distribution among the various classes of society, we come now to the third and last division of the science, or to that which treats of the Consumption of Wealth. Definition of Consumption.— Consumption the end of Production— Test of Advantageous and Disadvantageous Consumption—Error of Dr Smith’s Opinions with respect to Unproductive Consumption Error of those who contend, that to facilitate Production, it is necessary to encourage Consumption.— Cause of Gluts.— Consumption of Government.— Conclusion. ifinition It was formerly seen, that by production in this science, is not meant the production of matter, that being excluI p ' sively the prerogative of Omnipotence, but the giving to matter such a shape as might fit it for ministering to our wants and enjoyments. In like manner, by consumption is not meant the consumption or annihilation of matter, that being as impossible as its creation, but merely the consumption or annihilation of the qualities which render commodities useful and desirable. To consume the products of art or industry, is to deprive them of the utility, and consequently of the value, communicated to them by labour. And hence we are not to measure'wnsumption by the magnitude, weight, or number of the products consumed, but exclusively by their value. Large consumption is the destruction of large value, however small the bulk in which it may happen to be compressed. : n^ho^" Consumption, in the sense in which the word is used by Id of pro- peliiieaL economists, is synonymous with use. We produce I cfion. QMl&nodities only that we may use or consume them. ConsumptiaPfs the end and object of human industry ; production is merely a means to attain that end. All the products of art and industry are destined to be consumed, or made use of; and if the consumption of a commodity fit to be used be deferred, a loss is incurred. Products are intended to satisfy the wants or to add to the enjoyments of their producers; or they are intended to be employed as capital, and made to reproduce a greater value than themselves. In the first case, by delaying to use them, we either refuse to satisfy a want, or deny ourselves a gratification ;— and in the second, by delaying to use them, we allow the instruments of production to lie idle, and lose the profit derivable from their employment. But though commodities are produced only to be con-

ECONOMY. 303 sumetl, we must not fall into the error of supposing, that all Consumpof consumption is equally advantageous to the individual or tion the society. If an individual employ a set of labourers to ^ ealti,• build him a house the one summer, and to pull it down the next, theiriabour, or the capital paid them in exchange for vantageoua it, and which they consumed during the time they wTere en-consumpgaged in this futile employment, is evidently destroyed for however, and absolutely lost both to their employer and the public; whereas, had he employed them in the raising of corn, or the production of any species of valuable produce, he would have obtained products equal to, or more valuable than, the capital he gave them. The value of the return, or the advantage obtained from the consumption, is, therefore, the true test of advantageous and disadvantageous, or, as it is more commonly termed, of productive and unproductive consumption. Commodities are consumed productively when the advantage or benefit accruing in consequence to their possessors, or when the value of the products obtained in their stead, exceeds their value ; and they are consumed unproductively when the value of the advantage or benefit, or that of the new commodities, is less than their value. The prosperity or decay of every nation depends on this balance of consumption and reproduction. If, in given periods, the commodities produced in a country exceed those consumed in it, the means of increasing its capital will be provided, and its population will increase, or the actual numbers will be better accommodated, or both. If the consumption in such periods fully equals the reproduction, no means will be afforded of increasing the stock or capital of the nation, and society w ill be at a stand. And if the consumption exceed the reproduction, every succeeding period wall see the society worse supplied ; its prosperity and population will evidently decline, and pauperism will gradually spread, itself over the whole country. It is impossible, however, to fix on any standard by a comparison with which to obtain even a tolerable approximation to the value or advantage of different kinds of consumption. This is a point on winch the sentiments of no two individuals ever exactly coincide. The opinions of each will always depend more or less on the situation in which he is placed. The rich man will naturally be inclined to give a greater extension to the limits of advantageous consumption than the man of middling fortune ; and the latter than he who is poor. And it is undoubtedly true that a man’s expenses should always bear some proportion to his fortune and condition in society; and that what might be proper and advantageous expenditure in one case, might be exceedingly improper and disadvantageous in another. It is, therefore, quite impracticable to frame any system of rules on the subject of expenditure applicable to the case of every individual; and even if it were practicable, there is no ground for thinking that they would be of the smallest utility. The state has no right whatever to control individual expenditure ; nor, if it had such a right, could it exercise it without serious injury. The public interest requires that the national capital should, if possible, be constantly kept on the increase ; or, which is the same thing, that the consumption of any given period should become the means of reproducing a greater value. But it has been sufficiently proved that this cannot, under any circumstances, be the result of a system of surveillance and restriction. Industry and frugality never have been, and never can be, promoted by such means. To render a man industrious, secure him the peaceable enjoyment of the fruits of his industry :—to wean him from extravagance, and make him frugal and parsimonious, allowr him to reap all the disadvantage of the one line of conduct, and all the advantage of the other. The poverty and loss of station that inevitably result from improvident and prodigal consumption are a sufficient security against its ever becoming injuriously prevalent. Wherever the public burdens are

POLITICAL ECONOMY. 304 provided it be confined within proper limits,1 be Consump. consump- moderate, property protected, tustiy ’c01‘„sidered unproduc- tion don of - - as either - * disadvantageous‘or ’ tion of of the great body of the people to rise in Wealth. Wealth prove their condition occasion the continued increase oi na- tive. If, indeed, a man consume more luxuries than his. It is luie to expect cApct. that all unproductive r , .. Ml 1„ fortune But the same will or his enable him to command, his thing consumptional wealth.expenditure It is idle . r unprofitable should ever be avoided; but and the labour tion will be disadvantageous oXrie^ce of S tolerably well governed states proves, that happen if he consume a greater quantity of necessaries than P - - froduciiveW'enpcnded, i ic alwavs much much greater preater he he can can afford. I he mischief mischief does does not not consist in the species species thewealth is always afford. The consist in the of articles consumed, but in the excess of their value over than that expended unproductively Luxury not It was long a prevalent opinion among moralists, that the the means of'purchasing them possessed by the consumers. disadvan- labour bestowed on the production of luxuries, and conse- This, however, is a fault which should always be left to be tageous. quentiy their consumption, was unproductive. But this corrected by the self-interest of those concerned. The poopinion is now almost universally abandoned. Unless, in- verty and degradation caused by indulging in unproductive against its ever being deed, all comforts and enjoyments are to be proscribed,^ it consumption is a sufficient guarantee To attempt to lessen unis impossible to say where necessaries end and luxuries can-ied to an injurious extent. To attempt t is equivalent begin. But if we are to understand by necessaries such productive consumption by proscribing luxury, begin enrich a country by taking away some of products only as are absolutely required for tor the me support to attempting to luemwu* of human life, everything but wild fruits, roots, and wa- the most powerful motives to production, ter must be deemed superfluous ; and in this view of the Dr Smith has given another criterion of productive and Dr Smith’s matter, tile peasantry of Ireland, who live only on potatoes unproductive consumption ; but his opinions on this point, ente„.n »f and butter-milk, must be considered as having much more though exceedingly ingenious, and supported with his usualP^ ^ of the character of productive labourers than those of Bri- ability, appear to rest on no solid foundatmn. He divides ductive tain' The mere statement of such a doctrine is sufficient society into two great classes. The first consists of those consump. for its refutation Everything that stimulates exertion is who fix, or, as he terms it, “ realize their labour in some tion. advantageous. The mere necessaries of life may be ob- particular subject, or vendible commodity, which lasts for tained with comparatively little labour: and those savage and some time at least after that labour is pastthe second, of uncivilized hordes, who nave no desire to possess its com- those whose labour leaves nothing m existence after the ’ moment of exertion, but perishes in the act of performance. forts, are proverbially indolent and‘ dissipated. 1 o make men industrious,—to make them shake off that lethargy The former are said by Smith to be productive, the latter which is natural to them,—they must be inspired with a taste unproductive, labourers. Not that, in making this distincfor the luxuries and enjoyments of civilized life. When tion, Smith meant to undervalue the services performed by this is done, their artificial wants become equally clamorous the unproductive class, or to deny that they are often of with those that are strictly necessary, and they increase the highest utility ; for he admits that such is frequently exactly as the means of gratifying them increase. Wher- the case: but he contends, that these services, however ever a taste for comforts and conveniencies is generally useful, do not augment the wealth of the country; and, diffused, the wants and desires of man become altogether consequently, that the commodities consumed by this class illimitable. The gratification of one leads directly to the ai’e unproductively consumed, and have a tendency to imformation of another. In highly civilized societies, new poverish, not to enrich, society. But, to avoid all chance of products and new modes of enjoyment are constantly pre- misrepresentation, we shall give Dr Smith’s opinions in his senting themselves as motives to exertion, and as means of own words. rewarding it. Perseverance is, in consequence, given to “ There is one sort of labour,” says he, “ which adds to all the operations of industry ; and idleness, and its attend- the value of the subject upon which it is bestowed; there ant train of evils, almost entirely disappear. “ What,” asks is another which has no such effect. The former, as it Dr Paley, “ can be less necessary, or less connected with produces a value, may be called productive, the latter unthe sustentation of human life, than the whole produce of productive, labour. Thus the labour of a manufacturer the silk, lace, and plate manufactory ? Yet what multitudes adds, generally, to the value of the materials which he labour in the different branches of these arts! What can works upon, that of his own maintenance, and of his masbe imagined more capricious than the fondness for tobacco ter’s profit. The labour of a menial servant, on the conand snuff? Yet how many various occupations, and how trary, adds to the value of nothing. Though the manufacmany thousands in each, are set at work in administering turer has his wages advanced to him by his master, he, in to this frivolous gratification !” The stimulus which the reality, costs him no expense, the value of those wages desire to possess these articles gives to industry renders being generally restored, together with a profit, in the imtheir introduction advantageous. The earth is capable of proved value of the subject upon which his labour is befurnishing food adequate for the support of a much great- stowed. But the maintenance of a menial servant never er number of human beings than can be employed in its is restored. A man grows rich by employing a multitude cultivation. But those who are in possession of the soil of manufacturers; he grows poor by maintaining a multiwill not part with their produce for nothing; or rather, tude of" menial servants. The labour of the latter, howthey will not raise at all what they can neither use them- ever, has its value, and deserves its reward, as well as that of selves nor exchange for what they want. As soon, how- the former. But the labour of the manufacturers fixes and ever, as a taste for conveniencies and luxuries is introduced, realizes itself in some particular subject, or vendible comthe occupiers of the ground raise from it the utmost that it modity, which lasts for some time at least after that labour can be made to produce, and exchange the surplus for such is past. It is, as it were, a certain quantity of labour stockconveniencies and gratifications as they are desirous of ob- ed and stored up, to be employed, if necessary, upon some taining; and, in consequence, the producers of these articles, other occasion. That subject, or, w hat is the same thing, though they have neither property in the soil, nor any con- the price of that subject, can afterw ards, if necessary, put cern in its cultivation, are regularly and liberally supplied into motion a quantity of labour equal to that which had w ith its produce. In this w7ay, the quantity of necessaries, originally produced it. The labour of the menial servant, on as w ell as of useful and agreeable products, is vastly increased the contrary, does not fix or realize itself in any particular by the introduction of a taste for luxuries ; and the people subject or vendible commodity. His services generally are, in consequence, not only better provided for, but their perish in the very instant of their performance, and seldom numbers are proportionally and greatly augmented. leave any trace or value behind them for which an equal It is plain, therefore, that the consumption of luxuries quantity of service could afterwards be procured.

POLITICAL Consump- “ The labour of some of the most respectable orders in t le societ s Wealth * y*’ that of menial servants, unproductive of ea w any value, and does not fix or realize itself in any permanent subject or vendible commodity, which endures after that labour is past, and for which an equal quantity of labour could afterwards be procured. The sovereign, for example, with all the officers both of justice and war who serve under him, the whole army and navy, are unproductive labourers. They are the servants of the public, and are maintained by a part of the annual produce of the industry of other people. Their service, how honourable, how necessary, or how useful soever, produces nothing for which an equal quantity of service can afterwards be procured. The protection, security, and defence of the commonwealth, the effect of their labour this year, will not purchase its protection, security, and defence for the year to come. In the same class must be ranked some both of the gravest and most important, and some of the most frivolous professions: churchmen, lawyers, physicians, men of letters of all kinds; players, buffoons, musicians, operasingers, opera-dancers, &c. The labour of the meanest of these has a certain value, regulated by the very same principles which regulate that of every other sort of labour; and that of the noblest and most useful produces nothing which could afterwards purchase or procure an equal quantity of labour. Like the declamation of the actor, the harangue of the orator, or the tune of the musician, the work of all of them perishes in the very instant of its production.” ( Wealth of Nations, p. 146.) )r Smith’s It will not, we think, be very difficult to show the fallacy istinction of the distinction Dr Smith has here endeavoured to esta‘ie differ nt dashes j f society I aown to e ill funded.

between the labour, and consequently also the cousumption, of the different classes of society. To begin with the case of the menial servant:—Smith says that his labour is unproductive, because it is not realized in a vendible commodity, while the labour of the manufacturer is productive, because it is so realized. But of what, may we ask, is the labour of the manufacturer really productive ? Does it not consist exclusively of comforts and conveniencies required for the use and accommodation of society ? The manufacturer is not a producer of matter, but of utility only. And is it not obvious that the menial servant is also a producer of utility ? If, for example, the labour expended in converting the wool when in the fleece into a coat be, as it unquestionably is, productive, then surely the labour expended in cleaning and brushing the coat, and rendering it fit to be worn, must be so too. It is universally allowed, that the labour of the husbandman in raising corn, beef, and other articles of provision, is productive ; but if so, why is the labour of the menial servant who performs the indispensable task of preparing and dressing these articles, and fitting them to be used, to be stigmatized as unproductive ? It is clear there is no difference whatever between the two species of labour—that they are either both productive, or both unproductive. To produce a fire, is it not quite as necessary that coals should be carried from the cellar to the grate, as that they should be carried from the bottom of the mine to the surface of the earth ? And if it be said that the miner is a productive labourer, must we not say as much of the servant employed to make and mend the fire ? The whole of Dr Smith’s reasoning proceeds on a false hypothesis. He has made a distinction where there is none, and can be none. The end of all human exertion is the same—that is, to increase the sum of necessaries, comforts, and enjoyments; and it must be left to the judgment of every man to determine what portion of these he will have in the shape of menial services, and what in the shape of material products. It is an error to suppose that a man is impoverished by maintaining menial servants, any more than by indulging in any other species of expense. It is true, he will be ruined if he keep more servants than he has occasion for, or can afford VOL. XVIII.

ECONOMY.

305 to pay ; but his ruin would be equally certain were he to Consumppurchase an excess of food or clothes, or to employ more fi°n °f workmen in any branch of manufacture than are required ( Wealth. to carry it on, or than his capital could employ. The keeping of two ploughmen when one only might suffice, is as improvident and wasteful as the keeping of two footmen to do the business of one. It is in the extravagant quantity of the commodities we consume, or of the labour we employ, and not in the particular species of commodities or labour, that we must seek for the causes of impoverishment. The same reasoning applies to all the other cases men-Case of the tioned by Smith. Take, for example, the case of the phy- physiciansician. He tells us that he is an unproductive labourer, because he does not directly produce something that has exchangeable value. But if he do the same thing indirectly, what is the difference ? If the exertions of the physician be conducive to health, and if, as is undoubtedly the case, he enable others to produce more than they could do without his assistance, he is indirectly, at least, if not directly, a productive labourer. Dr Smith makes no scruple about admitting the title of the workman employed to repair a steam-engine to be enrolled in the productive class; and yet he would place a physician, who had been instrumental in saving the life of an Arkwright or a Watt, among those that are unproductive ! It is impossible that these inconsitsencies and contradictions should have occurred to Smith ; and the errors into which he has fallen in treating this important branch of the science, show in the strongest manner the necessity of advancing with extreme caution, and of subjecting every theory, how ingenious soever it may appear when first stated, to a severe and patient examination. The amusements furnished by players, singers, and so forth, come under the description of luxuries, and have the same effect on the public wealth as the introduction of a taste for tobacco, tea, or other superfluities. They create new wants, and, by so doing, stimulate industry to procure the means of gratifying them. They are really, therefore, a means of production ; and while they furnish elegant and amusing recreation, they add to the mass of useful material products. The productiveness of the higher class of functionaries Public is still more obvious. Far, indeed, from being unproductive, they are, when they discharge properly the duties of juctiv.Tlatheir high station, the most productive labourers in a state, bourers. Smith says, that the results of their service, that is, to use his own words, “ the protection, security, and defence of the commonwealth any one year, will not purchase its protection, security, and defence for the year to come.” But this is plainly an error. We do not say that the protection and security afforded by good government is directly a cause of wealth ; but it is plain that, without it, the productive powers of industry could not be brought into efficient action. Smith allows that the material products produced by the society one year, form the means of producing its supplies of necessaries, conveniencies, and enjoyments during the following year. But without the security and protection afforded by government, these products would either not exist at all, or their quantity would be very greatly diminished. How, then, is it possible to deny that those whose labour is necessary to afford this security are productively employed ? Take the case of the labourers employed to construct fences ; no one ever presumed to doubt that their labour is productive ; and yet they do not contribute directly to the production of corn or any other valuable product. The object of their industry is to give protection and security ; to guard the fields that have been fertilized and planted by the husbandman from depredation ; and to enable him to prosecute his employments without having his attention distracted by the care of watching. But if the security and protection afforded by hedg-

POLITICAL ECONOMY. 306 in other ConsumpConsump- ers and ditchers justly entitle them to be classed among chase the commodity he wishes to possess; or, it. i It is b°n o* tion of those Wealth. se who contribute to enrich their country, on what prin- words, he must be able to offer an equivalent for Wealth. can tiie labours of those public servants who protect not in the nature of things that there can be any limits to, —v~' Xertv in the mass and render every portion of it secure our wish to possess the products of art and industry. The agauist" hostile aggression, and the attacks of thieves and power to give effect to our wishes, or to furnish equivalents plunderers, be said to be unproductive ? If the labourers for the things we are desirous to obtain, is the only desiwho moSct a single corn-field from the neighbouring deratum. The more, therefore, tha this power is increased, crowsPand cattle be productive, then surely the judges that is the more “d“tt'Of i»d'«duals become, then and magistrates, the soldiers and sailors, who protect every means of buying the products of others will be proportionfield in the empire, and to whom it is owing that every ally increased, and the market rendered so much the more class of inhabitants feel secure in the enjoyment of their extensive. M. Sismondi and Mr Malthus have indeed contended, in Unproduc. property, rights, and privileges, have a right to be classed of in-Kiirr.ntinn five conamong those whose services are supereminently productive, opposition to ^ this doctrine,, that the i productiveness sumotion .i . i That much wealth has been unproductively consumed dustry may be carried to excess, and t.ia,t where tl e e e ^ neces_ by the servants of the public, both in this and other coun- great facilities of production, a large unproductive con- ytopre> tries, it is impossible to doubt. But we are not to argue, sumption is necessary to stimulate industry, and prevent Vent gluts, from abuses extrinsic to a beneficial institution, against the the overloading of the market. But if we attend to t le institution itself. If the public pay their servants exces- motives which ma*e men engage in any branch of mdussive salaries, or employ more than are required for the try, we shall be satisfied that the apprehensions of these purposes of good government and security, it is their own writers are unfounded, and that the utmost facility of profault. Their conduct is similar to that of a manufacturer duction can never be productive of a permanent glut of who should pay his labourers comparatively high wages, the market, or require to be counteracted by means o unand employ more of them than he has occasion for. But productive expenditure. In exerting his productive powers, though a state or an individual may act in this foolish every man’s object is either directly to consume t le proand extravagant manner, it would be not a little rash duce of his labour himself, or to exchange it for such comthence to conclude that all public servants and all manu- modifies as he may wish to get from others. If he do the facturing labourers are unproductive ! If the establishments first,—if he directly consume the produce of his industry, which provide security and protection be formed on an there is an end of the matter, and it is evident that no conextravagant scale, if we have more judges or magistrates, ceivable increase of such produce could occasion a glut: more soldiers or sailors, than are necessary, or if we pay If he do the second,—if he bring the produce of his them larger salaries than would suffice to procure the ser- industry to market, and offer it in exchange for ot er vices of others quite as competent to discharge their du- things, then, and then only, there may be glut; but why; ties, let their numbers and their salaries be reduced. The Not because there has been an excess of production, but excess, if there be any, is not a fault inherent in the nature because the producersr have not properly adapted their of such establishments, but results entirely from the extra- means to their ends. Ihey wanted, for example, to obtain silks, and they offered cottons in exchange for them; the vagant scale on which they have been arranged CcnsunipBut, in showing that Dr Smith was mistaken in consi- holders of silks being, however, already sufficiently suption ought dering the consumption of menial servants, and of lawyers, plied with cottons, wanted broad cloths. The cause of the not to be physicians, and public functionaries, unproductive, we must glut is therefore obvious. It consists not in over-producencouraged |3eware 0f falling into the opposite extreme, and of coun tion, but in the production of cottons, which were not torthesake ° -*.1 . . . of'stimulat" tenancing the erroneous and infinitely more dangerous doc- wanted, instead of broad cloths, which were. Let this ering produc- trine of those who contend that consumption, even when ror be rectified, and the glut will disappear. Even suption. most unproductive, should be encouraged as a means of posing the proprietors of silks to be not only supplied with stimulating production, and of increasing the demand for cottons, but with cloth and every other commodity that labour! The consumption of the classes mentioned by the demanders could produce, it would not invalidate the Smith is advantageous, because they render services in re- principle for which w e are contending. If those who want turn, which those who employ them, and who are the only silks cannot get them from the holder by means of an exproper judges in such a case, consider of greater value change, they have an obvious resource at hand,—let them than the wages they pay them. But the case would be cease to produce the things which they do not want, and totally different were government, and those who employ directly produce the silks which they do want, or substilabourers, to do so, not in order to profit by their services, tutes for them. It is plain, therefore, that the utmost facibut to stimulate production by their consumption. It is a lity of production can never be a means of overloading the fallacy and an absurdity to suppose that production is ever market. Too much of one thing may occasionally be proencouraged by a wasteful consumption of the products of duced ; but it is quite impossible that there should be too industry. A man is stimulated to produce when he finds great a supply of everything. For every excess on the one a ready market for the produce of his labour, that is, when hand there is a corresponding deficiency on the other. J. he he can readily exchange them for other products. And fault is not in producing too much, but in producing comhence the true and only encouragement of industry con- modities which do not suit the tastes of those with whom sists, not in the increase of wasteful and improvident con- we wish to exchange them, or which we cannot ourselves sumption, but in the increase of production. Every new pro If we attend to these two grand requisites, we duct necessarily forms a new equivalent for, or a new means may increase the power of production a ten or a twenty of, purchasing some other product. It must always be re- times, and w-e shall be as free of all excess as if we dimimembered, that the mere existence of a demand, how in- nished it in the same proportion. Unproductive consumptense soever it may be, cannot of itself be a means of en- tion is not therefore required to prevent the overloading of couraging production. To become a real demander, a man the market; and though it were, no government would be must not only have the will, but also the power, to pur- justified in carrying it on for such a purpose.1 M. Say was the first who showed, in a satisfactory manner, that effective demand depends upon production. (See his chapter De Debouches.) But the principles from which his conclusions are drawn had been stated so early as 1752, in a tract of Dean Tucker, entitled Queries on the late Naturalization Bill. As this tract is now become of rare occurrence, we subjoin the queries referred to.

POLITICAL jCotisump- It must, however, be remembered, consistently with what tioii ot |ias |:)een previously advanced, that in deciding as to the \\ ealt i. ^ c]iaracter of the consumption or expenditure of any quantity of wealth, we must look at its indirect and ultimate, as well as its direct and immediate, effects. An outlay of capital or labour which, if we take its immediate results only into account, we should pronounce improvident and unproductive, may yet be discovered, by looking at it in its different bearings, and in its remote influences, to be distinctly the reverse; and it is also true, that cases frequently occur. in which that expenditure which is ruinous to the individual may not be injurious, but beneficial, to the state. Montesquieu has said, “ Si les riches ne depensent pas beaueoup, les pauvres mourront de faim.”1 The truth of this proposition has, however, been disputed; nor is this to be wondered at, as it may be either true or false according to the sense in which it is understood. If it be construed to mean that a rich man will be able directly to employ a greater number of servants or labourers if he spend his revenue in luxurious accommodations than if he lay out a part of it on the improvement of his estate, or accumulate it as a provision for his younger children, it is plainly erroneous. The demand for labour cannot be sensibly increased without an increase of capital; and it is quite impossible for those who spend their whole revenue on immediate gratifications to amass any capital, or consequently to employ an additional individual. But the proposition advanced by Montesquieu should not be interpreted in this confined sense, or as referring only to the influence of the expenditure of wealthy individuals on their own demand for labour, but as referring to its influence on that of the society ; and if we so interpret it, and suppose it to mean that the lavish expenditure and luxury of the great and the affluent becomes a means of materially benefiting the poor, by exciting the emulation of others, who cannot expect, except through an increase of industry and economy, to be able to indulge in a similar scale of expense, it will, we apprehend, be found to be perfectly correct. To suppose, indeed, that the passion for luxurious gratifications should decline amongst the rich, and that men should notwithstanding continue equally industrious, is a contradiction. Riches are desirable only because they afford the means of obtaining these gratifications; and so powerful is the influence of a taste for them, that it may be doubted whether the extravagance which has ruined so many individuals, has not been, by giving birth to new arts and new efforts of emulation and ingenuity, of material advantage to the public. These remarks are not made in the view of countenancing extravagant expenditure, but merely to show that those who attempt to decide as to the influence, in a public point of view, of any outlay of wealth, without endeavouring to appreciate and weigh its remote as well as its immediate effects, must, when they are right in their conclusions, be so only through accident. But without insisting farther on this point, it is abundantly certain that there is nothing to fear from the improvidence of individuals. There is not, as has been already observed, an instance of any people having ever missed an opportunity to save and amass; and in all tolerably well governed coun-

ECONOMY. 307 r tries the principle of accumulation has alw ays had a marked Con sumpascendency over the principle of expense. fi°n oi Individuals are fully sensible of the value of the articles. they expend; for in the vast majority of instances they are y v the produce of their own industry and frugality; and they rarely consume them unless in order to subsist, or to obtain some equivalent advantage. Such, however, it must be allowed, is not often the case with the consumption of governments and their servants. They do not consume their own wealth, but that of others; and this circumstance prevents them from being so much interested in its profitable outlay, or so much alive to the injurious consequences of wasteful expenditure, as their subjects. But economy on the part of governments, though more difficult to practise, is of infinitely greater importance than economy on the part of individuals. A private gentleman may, inasmuch as he is master of his own fortune, dispose of it as he pleases. He may act on the erroneous principle of profusion being a virtue, or he may attempt to excite the emulation and industry of his fellow-citizens by the splendour of his equipages and the magnificence of his mode of living. But government can with propriety do none of these things. It is merely a trustee for the affairs of others; and it is consequently bound to administer them as economically as possible. Were the principle admitted that government might raise money, not for the protection and good government of the state, but in order to excite industry and ingenuity by the pressure of taxation, or the luxury of public functionaries, an avenue would be opened to every species of malversation. It is indeed pretty certain that no people woidd submit to be taxed for such purposes; but if they did, the flagrant abuses to which it would inevitably lead could scarcely fail of ending either in revolution or in national poverty and degradation. Economy in expenditure is, upon all occasions, the first virtue of a government, and the most pressing of its duties. We have now seen how labour may be rendered most Conclusion, productive of wealth—how that wealth is distributed among the various classes of society—and how it may be most advantageously consumed. We have seen the indissoluble connection between private and public opulence; that whatever has any tendency to increase the former, must, to the same extent, increase the latter; and that security of PROPERTY, FREEDOM OF INDUSTRY, AND MODERATION IN the public expenditure, are the only, as they are the certain, means by which the various powers and resources of human talent and ingenuity may be called into action, and society made continually to advance in the career oi wealth and civilization. Every increase of security or of freedom is a benefit, as every diminution, whether of the one or the other, is an evil. It is by the spontaneous and unconstrained efforts of individuals to improve their condition and rise in the world, that nations become rich and powerful. The labour and the savings of individuals are at once the source and the measure of national opulence and public prosperity. They may be compared to the drops of dew, which invigorate and mature all vegetable nature. None of them has singly any perceptible influence ; but we owe the foliage of summer and the fruits of autumn to their combined action. (c. c.)

“ Whether it is possible, in the nature of things, for all trades and professions to be overstocked ? And whether, if you were to remove any proportional number from each calling, the remainder would not have the same grounds of complaint they had before ? u Whether, in fact, any tradesman thinks there are too many of other occupations to become his customers; though narrow selfish views lead him to wish there were fewer of his own trade ? “ If a particular trade be at anytime overstocked, will not the disease cure itself? That is, will not some persons take to other trades, and fewer young people be bred up to that which is least profitable ? And whether any other remedy but this is not, in fact, curing one transient disorder by bringing on many which are dangerous, and will grow inveterate ? “ Whether it is not an infallible maxim, that one man’s labour creates employment for another ?” (P. 13 ) For a farther demonstration of the same principle, see Mill’s Commerce Defended, p. 80. ' Esprit de Loi.v, liv. vii. cap. 4.

POL 308 POL Poll POLL, a word used in ancient writings for the head, Calydonian boar, and joined Jason in his search for the Pollux 11 l i Hence to poll is either to vote, or to enter down the names golden fleece. On their return they were invited by their 01 UX cousins Lynceus and Idas, the sons of Aphareus, to at-. ° i * °f those persons who give their.votes at an election. v Vow*-Money, or Capitation, a tax imposed by authority tend their marriage with Phoebe and Hilseira, daughters of of parliament on the person or head, either on all indif- Leucippus, prince of Messene. They, however, became so ferently, or according to some known mark or distinction. enamoured of the two brides, that they forcibly attempted Thus by the statute 18 Car. II. every subject in the king- to carry them off, when Castor was killed by Idas. Jupiter, dom was assessed by the head, or poll, according to his enraged at this proceeding, struck Idas with a thunderbolt; degree; a duke L.100, a marquis L.80, a baronet L.30, a and, to comfort Pollux, offered him his choice of immortaknight L.20, an esquire L.10, and every single private per- lity, or, if he preferred it, to live and die alternately with son 12d. This was no new tax, as appears by former acts his brother. He chose the latter. Another tradition makes Pollux show his fraternal love by dividing his immortality of parliament. POLLARD, or Crocard, the name given to a sort of in such a way that Castor lived one day and Pollux the next; base money current in Ireland in the time of Ldward I. but Homer does not allude to this. Pollux was said to have married Phcebe, daughter of Leucippus, and to have had (See Simon’s History of Irish Coins, p. 15.) POLLEN, the fecundating or fertilizing dust contained by her Mnesileus. Having had a dispute with his cousin within the antherae or tops of the stamina, and dispersed Idas respecting the division of some spoil they had driven upon the female organ when ripe, for the purposes of im- from Messenia, he is represented by one tradition as having perished by the hands of Idas. pregnation. (See Botany.) Pollux, Julius, a Greek writer of antiquity, was born at POLLICIS Pressio, and Pollicis Yersio, were used at the combats of gladiators as signals of life or death to Naucrates, a town in Egypt, and flourished in the reign of the vanquished combatant; in other words, to the victor to the Emperor Commodus. He was educated under the Sospare or take the life of his antagonist. The pollicis pres- phists, and made great progress in grammatical and critical sio, by which the people granted life to the prostrate gla- learning. Having taught rhetoric at Athens, he became so diator, was no more than a clenching of the fingers of both famous that he was made preceptor of the Emperor Comhands together, and so holding upright the two thumbs modus. He drew up for the use of the latter, and inscribclose together. The pollicis versio, which authorized the ed to him, whilst his father Marcus Antoninus was living, victor to kill the vanquished as a coward, was the bending an Onomasticon, or Greek vocabulary, which he divided back of the thumbs. Such is the opinion of Dacier; but into ten books. It is extant, and contains a vast variety of others say that the pollicis pressio was when the people held synonymous words and phrases, ranged under the general up one hand with the thumb bent, and the pollicis versio classes of things. It was intended to facilitate the knowwhen they showed the hand with the thumb raised. Au- ledge of the Greek language to the young prince ; and it is thors, however, are not perfectly agreed on this matter; still very useful to all who have a mind to be perfect in that though the phrases pollicem premere and pollicem vertere tongue. The first edition of the Onomasticon was printed frequently occur in the Latin classics as indications of the at Venice by Aldus in 1502, and a Latin version was afterwards published along with it; but there was no correct and people’s will that a gladiator should live or die. POLLIO, Caius Asinius, a celebrated Latin poet and handsome edition of this work till that of Amsterdam, 1706, orator, was of consular dignity, and composed some trage- in lolio, by Lederlinus and Hemsterhusius. Lederlinus dies which were much esteemed, but are now unfortunately went through the first seven books, and corrected the text lost. He was the first who opened at Rome a library for and the version, subjoining his own along with the notes of the use of the public. Being the friend of Mark Antony, Salmasius, Vossius, Valesius, and Kuhnius. Pollux wrote he was prevented from complying with the solicitations of many other things, none of which remains. He lived to the Augustus, who pressed him to embrace his party. At length age of fifty-eight. Philostratus and Lucian have both treatAugustus having written some verses against Pollio, he was ed him with much contempt and ridicule. (Philostrat. de urged to answer them ; upon which he observed, “ I shall Vit. Sophist, lib. ii.; and Lucian in Rhelorum Proeceplore.) POLO, a small island, one of the Philippines, off the take care of writing against a man who has the power of proscribing us.” He is praised by Virgil and Horace, both western coast of Luzon, about the fifteenth degree of north latitude. It is twenty-five miles in length by three in aveof whom her patronized. There w as another Pollio, a friend of Augustus, who rage breadth. POLOONSHAH, a small town and district of Hindusused to feed his fishes with human flesh. This cruelty was discovered when one of his servants broke a glass in the tan, in the pi'ovince of Hyderabad, tributary to the nizam. presence of Augustus, who had been invited to a feast. It is situated in a rich and luxuriant valley, and has a fort The master ordered the servant to be seized, but he threw 300 yards square, with a large round tower at each angle. himself at the feet of the emperor, and begged him to in- It is seventy miles north-west from Rajahmundry. Long. terfere, and not suffer him to be devoured by fishes. Upon 81. 10. E. Lat. 17. 35. N. this the grounds of his apprehension were examined ; and POLTROON, or Poltron, a coward or dastard, wantAugustus, astonished at the barbarity of his favourite, caused ing the courage requisite to perform anything great or nothe servant to be dismissed, all the fish-ponds to be filled ble. The w ord is borrowed from the French, who, accordup, and the crystal glasses of Pollio to be broken in pieces. ing to Salmasius, derived it a pollice truncato ; because anPOLLOOR, a town of Hindustan, in the Carn air. si - ciently those who wished to avoid going to the wars cut off venty-seven miles south-west from Madras. Long. 79.15. their thumb. But Menage, with more probability, derives E. Lat. 12. 30. N. it from the Italian poltrone, and that from poltro, a bed; POLLUX, the son of Tyndareus king of Amyclae, and of because timorous and pusillanimous people take pleasure in Leda, according to the tradition followed by Homer, was lying a-bed. Others, again, derive the word from the Itaby late writers, along with his sister Helen, made the child lian poltro, a colt, because of that creature’s readiness to of Jupiter, who gained the affections of Lydia in the form run away. of a swan. He was the brother of Castor and ClytemPOLYiENUS, the name of many famous men recorded nestra, and was born in the island Pephnos, on the coast by the ancient writers. Amongst them was Julius Polyaenus, of Laconia. Pollux was distinguished for his skill in box- of whom we have some Greek epigrams extant in the first ing and wrestling, whilst Castor was famed for his horse- book of the Anthologia. The Polyaenus whom it most conmanship. They both took an active part in the hunt of the cerns us to know about, is the author of the eight books of

POL ’olyan- the Stratagems of Illustrious Commanders in War. He thca was probably a Macedonian, and perhaps a soldier in the Dlvbius. earlY Part of 1118 life ’ but tbis there is no certainty. He was undoubtedly a rhetorician and a pleader of causes ; and, from the dedication of his work to the Emperors Antoninus and Yerus, he appears to have lived towards the latter part of the second century. The Stratagemata were published in Greek by Isaac Casaubon, with notes, 1589, in 12mo ; but no good edition of them appeared till that of Leyden, published in 1690, in 8vo. We have in this work the various stratagems employed by above three hundred captains and generals of armies, chiefly Greeks and barbarians, for the Romans seldom resorted to such arts; and, besides, Polyaenus has shown that he was little acquainted with Roman affairs. A great number of these stratagems appear to us to be ridiculous or impracticable ; and neither the generals, nor even common soldiers, of our days, would be found simple enough to be caught by them. Few of the latter order indeed are capable of reading Polyaenus’s Stratagems; and if they were, they would reap but little benefit from the book. It is useful, however, to such as study the Greek language and antiquity ; for many things will be found in it illustrative of the customs and opinions of ancient times. The sixth and seventh books are both imperfect. Polyaenus composed several other works besides the Stratagemata. Stoboeus has produced some passages out of a book De Republica Macedonum; and Suidas mentions a piece concerning the Thebans. If death had not prevented him, he would have written Memorabilia of the Emperors Antoninus and Verus, which he promised to undertake in the preface to his sixth book of Stratagems. Casaubon, in the dedication of Polyaenus to Mornaeus, calls him an elegant, acute, and learned writer. POLYANTHEA, a collection of common-places arranged in alphabetical order, for the use of orators, preachers, and others. The word is formed from the Greek ttoXu;, »2we/*,and avdog, flower, and has much the same meaning with anthology or florilege. The first author of the Polyanthea was Dominic Nanni di Mirabellio, whose labour has been improved on by Amantius and Torsius ; and since their time by Langius, under the title of Polyanthea Nova, 1613. POLYBIUS, a celebrated Greek historian, was the son of Lycortas, a native of Megalopolis, in Arcadia, who succeeded Philopcemen in the chief direction of the Achaean league. His father, therefore, must have been one of the most distinguished men of his time; and we find him accordingly taking part in the principal transactions of his country. The exact date of his birth is unknown, but it is generally believed that it took place between b. c. 210-200 ; and his death was, therefore, not earlier than b. c. 129, as he lived to the advanced age of eighty-two. Plutarch tells us that the character of Polybius was formed under the eye of Philopcemen ; and that at the funeral of that general he carried the urn which contained his ashes, b. c. 182. The following year he was, along with his father and the son of the celebrated Aratus, appointed as ambassador, to return thanks to Ptolemy Epiphanes for the assistance which he had offered to the Achaeans ; but the death of that prince took place before the ambassadors left the Peloponnesus. In the war which arose between the Romans and Perseus king of Macedonia, the opinion of Polybius and his father Lycortas was, that the Achaeans should observe a strict neutrality; but they were overruled, and the Achaeans were implicated in the ruin of Perseus. To break the spirit of the Achaeans, and to prevent any further attempts at insurrection, more than a thousand of the principal citizens were sent to Rome, and afterwards dispersed throughout the different cities of Italy. Polybius was one of these exiles ; but he was so far favoured that he was allowed to remain in Rome, where he resided for sixteen years, from b. c. 167 to 151. He became

POL 309 the intimate friend and instructor of Scipio the younger, Polybius, at that time only eighteen years old, and who afterwards showed how much benefit he had derived from the care Polybius bestowed on his education. At last, through the influence of Scipio and Cato, the senate was prevailed on to allow the Achaean exiles to return to their country ; but of the original thousand only three hundred survived to enjoy the permission thus granted to them. Polybius seems now to have employed his time chiefly in travelling, with the view of acquiring more accurate notions of geography. He examined with great care and minuteness the passes of the Alps, that he might be enabled to give a correct account of the passage of Hannibal. He afterwards visited Gaul, Spain, and Africa, to which latter country he accompanied, Scipio, b. c. 146, when that general took and destroyed Carthage. But the calamities of his own unhappy country called him away, and he hurried to the Peloponnesus, where his presence, however, was unable to save Corinth from the fate which had overtaken Carthage. He did all in his power to prevail on his countrymen to submit to a fate which they only made worse by resistance ; and the Roman deputies felt such reliance on his good intentions, that they appointed him to the office of judge in all disputes that might arise in any part of the Peloponnesus. He gradually acquired the esteem of his countrymen, and many of the cities of Greece erected statues to his honour. He subsequently extended his travels into Egypt, which he visited in the reign of Ptolemy Physcon. Whether he was present with Scipio at the siege of Numantia, B. c. 134, we are nowhere told; but he left behind him a work on the subject. He also wrote a biographical sketch of Philopcemen, a work on Military Tactics, and another on the Equatorial Regions. His principal work, however, was entitled General History, though it referred more particularly to a space of fifty-three years (from 220 to 168 b. c.), from the commencement of the second Punic war, where the historian Timaeus, and Aratus of Sicyon, had stopped, to the defeat of Perseus, king of Macedonia, by the Romans. It was divided into forty books, of which we now only possess the first five entire, and rather long fragments of most of the others. The first two books are occupied with introductory matter, giving a sketch of the events that happened anterior to the second Punic war. He explains the causes which gave vise to the first Punic war, and then relates the various events which took place during the twenty-four years it lasted. He gives also some account of the contest which arose between the Carthaginians and their stipendiaries. The second book contains the wars of the JEolians, Illyrians, Achseans, the expeditions of the Romans against the Illyrians and Gauls, and the transactions of Antigonus king of Macedonia, and Cleomenes king of Sparta, occupying a period of seventeen years, from b. c. 237 to 220. The third book enters into what is more properly the subject of his history, and, after explaining what he considers to be the true causes of the second Punic war, follows the path of Hannibal’s victories as far as the battle of Cannae, b. c. 216. Yet it would appear that he was defective in method, as the fourth book carries us back to anterior events, which had happened in 220, 219, 218, b. c. After a sketch of the people of the East during the reign of Philip, son of Demetrius king of Macedonia, of Ariarathes king of Cappadocia, of Antiochus king of Syria, and Ptolemy Philopator king of Egypt, this book traces the history of wars and seditions in Greece. In the fifth book we have the victories of Philip, the wars in Syria between Antiochus and Ptolemy, and the confederated arms of Greece turned against Rome. It would be useless to give any detailed account of the fragments of the thirty-five books that have been preserved; but we know that the thirty-ninth book ended with the destruction of Corinth, b. c. 146

P O L' 310 POL Polycarp. There have been many editions of this work, but the most them with provisions, invited them to partake, and only re- Polycarp, '—-'y'—-'' critical is that of J. Schweighiiuser, eight vols. 8vo, Leipzig. quested for himself one hour for prayer ; after which he was 1789-1795. It has been translated into English by Hamp- set upon an ass, and conducted towards Smyrna. On the ton ; into French by Folard, six vols. Par. 1727, with nu- road he met Herod, a justice of the province, and his father, merous plates and critical annotations; into Geiman by who were the principal instigators of the persecution. HeChr. Seybold, Lemgo-, 1779-1783, and by L. Storch, Prenzl. rod took him up into his chariot, and strenuously endea1828. See Polybii et Appiani Historiarum Excerpta Vati- voured to undermine his constancy ; but having failed in the attempt, he thrust him out of the chariot with so much cana recognita a J. !'• Lucht, Altona, 1830. POLYCARP, one of the most ancient Fathers of the violence and indignation, that his thigh was bruised by the Christian church, was born towards the end of the reign of fall. When at the place of execution, there came, as is Nero, probably at Smyrna, where he was educated at the said, a voice from heaven, saying, “ Polycarp, be strong, expense of Caiista, a noble matron distinguished alike by her and quit thyself like a man.” When before the tribunal he piety and charity. He was unquestionably a disciple of St was urged to swear by the genius of Caesar. “ Repent,” said John the Evangelist, and he conversed familiarly with others the proconsul, “ and say with us, take away the impious.” of the apostles. When of a proper age, Bucolus ordained Upon this the martyr, looking round at the crowd with a him a deacon and a catechist of his church ; and upon his severe and angry countenance, beckoned with his hand, death he succeeded Bucolus in the bishopric, to which he is and looking up to heaven, said with a sigh, in a very difsaid to have been consecrated by St John, who also direct- ferent tone from what they expected, “ Take away the imed his Apocalypse, amongst others, to him, under the title pious.” At last, having confessed himself to be a Christian, of “ the angel of the church of Smyrna.” When the con- the crier thrice proclaimed his confession, and the people troversy about the observation of Easter began to run shouted, “ This is the great doctor of Asia, and the father high between the eastern and western churches, he went to of the Christians; this is the destroyer of our gods, who Rome to discourse with those who were of the opposite teaches men not to do sacrifice to, or worship, the deities.” party. The Roman see was then occupied by Anicetus, When the fire was prepared, Polycarp requested not to be with whom he had many conferences, which were carried nailed, as usual, but only tied to the stake; and after a on in the most amicable manner ; and though neither of short prayer, which he pronounced w ith a clear and audible them could bring the other to embrace his opinion, they voice, the executioner blew up the fire, which increasing both retained their own sentiments without violating that to a mighty flame, “ Behold a wonder seen by us, who were purposely reserved,” says the relator, “ that we might charity which is the great law of religion. Whilst at Rome he particularly opposed the heresies of declare it to others ; the flames, disposing themselves into Marcian and Valentinus. His conduct on this occasion is the resemblance of an arch, like the sails of a ship swelled related by Irenseus, who informs us, that when Polycarp with the wind, gently encircled the body of the martyr, passed Marcian in the street without speaking, Marcian who stood all the while in the midst, not like roasted flesh, said, “ Polycarp, own us to which he replied with indig- but like the gold or silver purified in the furnace, his body nation, “ I own thee to be the first-born of Satan.” Ire- sending forth a delightful fragrance, which, like frankinnaeus adds, that when any heretical doctrines were spoken cense or some other costly spices, presented itself to our in his presence, he would stop his ears and say, “ Good senses. The infidels, exasperated by the miracle, comGod, to what times hast thou reserved me, that I should manded a spearman to run him through with a sword; hear such things,” and immediately left the place. He was which he had no sooner done, than such a vast quantity accustomed to mention, that St John, going into a bath at of blood flowed from the wound as extinguished the fire, Ephesus, and finding in it Cerinthus the heretic, imme- and then a dove was seen to fly from the wound, which diately started back without bathing, crying out, “ Let us some suppose to have been his soul, clothed in a visible run away, lest the bath should fall upon us whilst Cerinthus, shape at the time of its departure.”1 The Christians endeathe enemy of truth, is in it.” Polycarp governed the church voured to carry off his body entire, but were not allowed of Smyrna with apostolic purity, till he suffered martyrdom by the irenarch or justice, who commanded it to be burned in the seventh year of Marcus Aurelius. The manner of to ashes. The bones, however, were gathered up, and dehis death is thus related. The persecution waxing hot at cently interred by the Christians. Smyrna, and many having sealed their faith with their Thus died St Polycarp, on the seventh of the kalends of blood, the general cry was, “ Away with the impious ; let May, in the year 167. The amphitheatre on which he sufferPolycarp be sought for.” Upon this he privately withdrew ed was mostly remaining not many years ago ; and his tomb, into a neighbouring village, where he continued for some which is in a little chapel in the side of a mountain, on the time praying day and night for the peace of the church. south-east of the city, was solemnly visited by the Greeks He was thus employed, when one night he fell into a trance on the festival day; whilst, for maintaining and repairing it, and dreamed that his pillow took fire, and was burned to travellers w ere wont to throw a few aspers into an earthen ashes. When he awoke, he told his friends the circum- pot which stands there for the purpose. He wrote some stance, and pronounced it a presage that he should be homilies and epistles, which are now lost, except that to burned alive for the cause of Christ. Three days after- the Philippians, which is a truly pious and Christian prowards, in order to escape the incessant search after him, he duction, containing short and useful precepts and rules of retired into another village. His enemies, however, were life, which St Jerome informs us was even in his time read at hand, and having seized upon two youths, one of whom in the public assemblies of the Asiatic churches. It is sinthey forced by stripes to confess, they were by these lads gularly useful in proving the authenticity of the books of conaucted to his lodging. He might have saved himself by the New Testament; for he has cited several passages and getting into another house ; but he submitted, saying, “ The expressions from St Matthew, St Luke, the Acts, St Paul’s will of the Lord be done.” He therefore came down from Epistles to the Philippians, Ephesians, Galatians, Corinhis bed-chamber, and saluting his persecutors with a serene thians, Romans, Thessalonians, Colossians, the first Epistle and cheerful countenance, he ordered a table to be set before to Timothy, first Epistle of St John, and first Epistle of r cu , lls ar • V}* thisobserves, account is“ ridiculed by Dr Middleton in his Free Defenceandofa it; but something TP t °fwho m its favour ^by hMrT Jorton, The circumstances are sufficient only Inquiry to createanda pause doubt.” (Remarksisonoffered Ecclesiastical History, vol. i )

POL P O L 311 'oychord Peter; and makes particular mention of St Paul’s Epistle tators, however, are not at all agreed as to the construction Polydorus t0 the E hesians j, Ivcrota P and sentiments - Indeed taken the whole epistle consists of these vessels. y 'of phrases from of thethis New Testament. POL1DORE Virgil. See Virgil. Polygamy. POLYCHORD, from the Greek abow instrua son of Priam by Hecuba, or, accordment resembling the double-bass, but smaller. It had ten mgPOI^YDORUS, to others, by Laothe, the daughter of Altes, king of strings, and a compass from C the second space in the Pedasus. Being young and inexperienced when Troy was bass clef, to C the third space in the treble clef. Its finger- besieged by the Greeks, his father removed him to the board could be lengthened or shortened at pleasure, in order court of Polymnestor, king of Thrace, to whose care he into tune the instrument. It was invented in 1799, by Hil- trusted the greater part of his treasures, until his country mer, at Leipzig. should be freed from foreign invasion. On the death of POLIlCLETUS, a celebrated statuary and architect, I fiam, Polymnestor made himself master of the riches which who is said to have been a native of Sicyon, and a disciple were in his possession; and to insure them the more, he of Ageladas. He was the fellow-disciple of Myron. But murdered the young prince, and threw his body into the it seems doubtful v/hether he was born at Sicyon, since sea, where it was found by Hecuba. According to Virgil, Plato, who was his contemporary, calls him in his dialogue Ins body was buried near the shore by his assassin; and entitled Protagoras, a native of Argos, and Maximus of Tyre there grew on his grave a myrtle, the boughs of which dropexpressly says that the statue of Juno was a work of Poly- ped blood, when Tineas, going to Italy, attempted to tear cletus of Argos. He is not, however, to be confounded with them from the tree. another statuary of Argos, who lived at a later period. It POLYGAMIA (toXuj, many, and yaga, marriage) is a is believed that he was born about 480 n. c., and was still teim expressing an intercommunication of sexes, and is apalive 405 b. c., after the battle of (Egos-potamos, as Pau- plied by Linnaeus both to plants and to flowers. A polygasanias states that he executed one of the bronze tripods mous plant is that which bears both hermaphrodite flowers, which the Spartans consecrated in the temple of Apollo at and male or female, or both. Amyclse. By far the most celebrated of his statues was that POLYGAMY, a plurality of wives or husbands, in the of the Argive Juno, which is thought to have been executed possession of one man or woman at the same time. about 416 b. c., eighteen years after the consecration of Polygamy is so universally esteemed unlawful, and even Jupiter of Olympia, and twenty or twenty-four years after unnatural, throughout Europe, and in all Christian countries, that of the Minerva of the Parthenon. The statue of Juno that we have generally reasoned upon this conviction. Both was colossal, and seated on a golden throne, in a majestic religion and reason appear at first sight at least to condemn attitude; the head, breast, arms, and feet, were of ivory, and it; and with this view of the subject mankind in general the drapery of gold. She had a crown on her head, on remain satisfied. But some bolder geniuses have taken the which the artist had represented the Hours and Graces. In opposite side of the question, cast off the prejudices of eduone hand she held a sceptre, with a cuckoo seated on it; in cation, and attempted to show that polygamy is not unlawthe other she bore a pomegranate. Her mantle was orna- ful, but that it is just and necessary, and would be a public mented with vine branches, and her feet rested on the skin benefit. Such writers recur to the common subterfuge, of of a lion. Another celebrated statue was called Canon, or which every setter up of strange gods, and every conscienthe Rule, because it was so perfect that it was looked upon tious troubler of the public peace, have artfully availed as the model after which all others ought to be made. Ga- themselves, to silence the clamour of expostulation. len says, that he composed a treatise on the proportions Dr Percival1 has very justly observed, that the practice which constitute the harmony, and consequently the beauty is brutal, destructive to friendship and moral sentiment, inof the human body, and that his statue was designed to illus- consistent with one great end of marriage (the education of trate his work. Winckelman suspects that this statue was children), and subversive of the natural rights of more than also called Doryphorus, as Lysippus states that he formed half of the species. Besides, it is injurious to population, his taste principally by studying it. The group called Ca- and therefore can never be countenanced or allowed in a nephorse, two young girls carrying sacred baskets on their well-regulated state ; for though the number of females in heads, formed part of the plunder of Verres, carried off from the world may considerably exceed the number of males, Messana in Sicily. It is believed that we have still a copy yet there are more men capable of propagating their species of his Diadumenos, in a young athlete attaching to his fore- than women capable of bearing children ; and it is a wellhead a garland as the sign of victory, which is now in the known fact, that Armenia, in which a plurality of wives is Museo Borbonico at Naples. This Diadumenos was sold not allowed, abounds more with inhabitants than any other for about one hundred talents. As an architect, Polycletus province of the Turkish empire. is known to have constructed two buildings at Epidaurus, Indeed it appears, that in several countries where it is alwhich are highly spoken of; the Tholus, a circular build- lowed, the inhabitants do not take advantage of it. “ The ing, and a theatre, of which considerable remains are still to Europeans,” says M. Niebuhr,2 “ are mistaken in thinking be seen. Varro thought that he had too much sameness in the state of marriage so different amongst the Mussulmans his statues ; and Quintilian says that he never was able to from what it is with Christian nations. I could not disrepresent the awful majesty of the gods, probably meaning cern any such difference in Arabia. The women of that such statues asthe Jupiterand Minerva of Phidias. Amongst country seem to be as free and as happy as those of Europe his pupils were Asopodorus, Aristides, Dinon, Athenodorus, possibly can be. Polygamy is permitted, indeed, amongst and Pericletus the brother of Naucydes. Mahommedans, and the delicacy of our ladies is shocked at POLYCROTA, in the naval architecture of the ancients, this idea; but the Arabians rarely avail themselves of the a word used to express such of their galleys as had three, privilege of marrying four lawful wives, and entertaining four, five, or more tiers of benches, seated at different heights. at the same time any number of female slaves. None but Ifiey were distinguished by this term from the monocrota, rich voluptuaries marry so many wives, and their conduct or those which had only single rows of oars. The number is blamed by all sober men. Men of sense, indeed, think this of rows of benches in the polycrote galleys has given occa- privilege rather troublesome than convenient. A husband sion to some to suppose that those vessels were of such a is by law obliged to treat his wives suitably to their condiheight above the water as is scarcely credible. Commen- tion, and to dispense his favours amongst them with perfect 1

Phil. Trans, vol. Ixvi. part i. p. 163.

3

Niebuhr’s Travels.

POLYGAMY. 312 ception of what happens in a foreign country, without fur- Poiv^v, Polygamy, equality ; but these are duties not a_ little disagreeable t ther foundation, cannot be admitted as equivalent testiv ^ - most Mussulmans ; and such modes of luxury are too expenand I am ready to admit this objection, as there sive to the Arabians, who are seldom in easy circumstances. areno’bdis of mortality in any of these countries. I shall I must, however, except one case; for it sometimes hap- therefore say in what manner I attained the knowledge pens that a man marries a number of wives in the way ot which I have just mentioned. Whenever I went into a commercial speculation. I know a Mullah, in a town near town, village, or inhabited place, dwelt long in a mountain, the Euphrates, who had married four wives, and was sup- or travelled journeys with any set of people, I always made ported by the profits of their labour.” it mv business to inquire how many children they had, or 1 Selden has proved, in his Uxor Hebraica, that plurality their” fathers, their next neighbours or acquaintance. I of wives was allowed, not only amongst the Hebrews, but then asked my landlord at Sidon, suppose him a weaver, also amongst all other nations, and in all ages. It is true, how many children he has had ? He tells me how many the ancient Homans were more severe in their morals, and sons and how many daughters. The next I ask is a tailor, never practised it, though it was not forbidden amongst a smith, &c., in short every man who is not a stranger, from them ; and Mark Antony is mentioned as the first who took whom I can get the proper information. I say, therefore, the liberty of having two wives. that a medium of both sexes, arising from three or four From that time it became pretty frequent in the empire hundred families, indiscriminately taken, shall be the protill the reigns of Theodosius, Honorius, and Arcadius, who portion in which one differs from the other ; and this, I first prohibited it by express law in 393. Alter this the am confident, will give the result to be three women in 50° Emperor Valentinian, by an edict, permitted all the subjects of the 90° under every meridian of the globe.” of the empire, if they pleased, to marry several wives. Nor The same author corroborates his argument by supdoes it appear, from the ecclesiastical history of those times, posing that Mahommed perceived this disproportion, and that the bishops made any opposition to the introduction o that upon it he founded his institution allow ing one man to polygamy. In effect, there are some even amongst the have four wives. “ With this view he enacted, or rather Christian casuists who do not look on polygamy as in itself the law w7hich gave liberty to evei \ indhidual to criminal. Jurieu observes, that the prohibition of polygamy revived, marry four wives, each of whom was to be equal in rank is a positive law, but from which a man may be exempted and honour, without any preference but what the predilecby sovereign necessity. Baillet adds, that the example ot tion of the husband gave her.” the patriarchs is a powerful argument in favour of polygamy. Having thus established, as he supposes, the necessity ot Of these arguments we shall speak hereafter. polygamy in the East, Bruce proceeds to consider whether It has been much disputed amongst the doctors of the civil law whether polygamy be adultery. In the Roman there is not some other reasons why it should not be praclaw it is denominated stuprum, and punished as such, that tised in Britain further than the mere equality in numbers the sexes to one another. This reason he finds in the is, in some cases capitally. But a smaller punishment is of between the constitutions of the Europeans and more consistent with the Jewish law, in which the prohibi- difference tion of adultery is perpetual, but that of polygamy tempo- eastern nations. “ Women in England,” says he, “ are capable of child-bearing at fourteen; let the other term be rary only. Bernardus Ochinus, general of the order of Capucins, forty-eight, when they bear no more ; thirty-four years and afterwards a Protestant, published, about the middle of therefore an English woman bears children. At the age the sixteenth century, Dialogues in favour of Polygamy, of fourteen or fifteen they are objects of our love ; they are which were answered by Theodore Beza. And about tile endeared by bearing us children after that time ; and none, close of the last century, an artful treatise was published at I hope, will pretend, that at forty-eight and fifty an EngLondon in behalf of a plurality of wives, under the title of lishwoman is not an agreeable companion. The Arab, on Polygamia Triumphatrix, the author of which assumes the the other hand, if she begins to bear children at eleven, name of Theophilus Aletheus, though his true name was seldom or never has a child after twenty. The time, then, Lyserus. He was a native of Saxony, and his work has of her child-bearing is nine years ; and four women, taken altogether, have then the term of thirty-six. So that the been answered by several writers. A new argument in favour of polygamy has been ad- English woman that bears children for thirty-four years has duced by Mr Bruce, on the principle, that in some parts of only two years less than the term enjoyed by the four wives the w orld the proportion of female children is much greater whom Mahommed has allowed ; and if it be granted that than that of the males. “ From diligent inquiry,” says he, an English wife may bear at fifty, the terms are equal. “ into the south and scripture part of Mesopotamia, Arme- But there are other grievous differences. An Arabian girl nia, and Syria, from Mousul or Nineveh, to Aleppo and An- at eleven years old, by her youth and beauty, is the object tioch, I find the proportion to be fully two women to one of man’s desire: being an infant, however, in understandman. There is indeed a fraction over, but it is not a con- ing, she is not a rational companion for him. A man marsiderable one. From Latikea, Laodicea ad mare, down the ries there, say at twenty ; and before he is thirty, his wife, coast of Syria to Sidon, the number is nearly three, or two improved as a companion, ceases to be the object of his and three fourths, to one man. Through the Holy Land, desires and a mother of children: so that all the best and the country called Horan, in the Isthmus of Suez, and the most vigorous of his days are spent with a woman he canparts of the Delta unfrequented by strangers, it is some- not love ; and with her he would be destined to live forty thing less than three. But from Suez to the Straits of Ba- or forty-five years, without comfort to himself by increase belmandel, which contains the three Arabias, the proportion of family, or utility to the public. The reasons, then, is fully four women to one man ; which, I have reason to against polygamy, which subsist in England, do not by any believe, holds as far as the line, and 30° beyond it. The means subsist in Arabia; and that being the case, it would imam of Sama was not an old man when I was in Arabia be unworthy of the wisdom of God, and an unevenness in Felix in 1769; but he had eighty-eight children then alive, his ways, which we shall never see, to subject two nations of w hom fourteen only were sons. The priest of the Nile under such different circumstances absolutely to the same . had seventy and odd children; of whom, as I remember, observances.” To all this argumentation, however, it may be repne > above fifty were daughters. “ It may be objected, that Dr Arbuthnot, in quoting the that whatever we may now suppose to be the constitution bills of mortality for twenty years, gave the most unexcep- of nature in the warmer parts of the globe, it certainly was tionable grounds for his opinion; and that my single ex- different at the beginning. We cannot, indeed, ascertain

POLY GAMY. 313 Polygamy, the exact position of the Garden of Eden ; but it is with to the man ; in support of which he refers to the polyga- Polygamy, — ' reason supposed not to have been far from the ancient seat mous connections of the patriarchs and saints of the Old of Babylon. In that country, therefore, where Mr Bruce Testament, and infers the lawfulness of their practice from contends that four women are necessary to the comfort of the blessings which attended it, and the laws which were one man, it pleased God to grant only one to the first man ; instituted to regulate and superintend it. He contends for and that, too, when there was more occasion for population the lawfulness of Christians having, like the ancient Jews, than ever there has been since, because the whole earth more wives than one, and labours much to reconcile the was to be peopled from a single pair. Matters were not genius of the evangelical dispensation with an arrangement altered at the Flood ; for Noah had but one wife. And this of this sort. With this view he asserts, that there is not a is the very argument used by our Saviour himself when single text in the New Testament that even hints at the speaking of divorce without any sufficient cause, and then criminality of polygamous connection ; and he wrould infer marrying another woman, which is a species of polygamy. from St Paul’s direction, that bishops and deacons should Again, with respect to the alleged multiplicity of females have but one wife, that it was lawful for laymen to have in the eastern part of the world, it is by no means probable more. Jesus Christ, he says, was not the giver of a new that the calculations of Mr Bruce or any other person can law; but the business of marriage, polygamy, and divorce, be admitted in this case. History mentions no such thing had been settled before his appearance in the world, by an in any nation ; and considering the vast destruction amongst authority which could not be revoked. Besides, this writer the male part of the human species more than that of the not only thinks polygamy lawful in a religious, but advanfemales, by war and other accidents, we may safely say, that tageous in a civil light, and highly politic in a domestic view. if four women children were born for every single male, In defence of his notion of marriage, which, he says, conthere would in such countries be five or six grown-up wo- sists in the union of man and woman as one body, the efmen for every man ; a proportion which we may venture to fects of which in the sight of God no outward forms or ceaffirm does not, and never did, exist anywhere in the world. remonies of man’s invention can add to or detract from, he That it was not so in former times, we can only judge grounds his principal argument on the Hebrew words made from the particular examples recorded in history, and these use of in Genesis (ii. 24) to express the primitive instiare but few. We read in the Greek history, indeed, of the tution of marriage, viz. inwio psi, rendered by the Seventy fifty daughters of Danaus; but these are matched by as xgoffx.o\kri()r}fcrcii oto; vjjv yuvococa ccvrou, which translation is many sons of another man. Job had only one wife, yet had adopted by the evangelist (Mat. xix. 5), with the omission seven sons and but three daughters. Jacob had two wives, only of the superfluous preposition (ngos) after the verb. who bore twelve sons, and only one daughter. Abraham Our translation, “ shall cleave to his wife,” does not, he had only one child by his first wife, and that was a son. says, convey the idea of the Hebrew, which is literally, as By his second wife Keturah he had six sons ; and, consider- Montanus renders the words, “ shall be joined or cementing his advanced age at the time he married her, it is by ed in his woman, and they shall become (by this union) one no means probable that he could have twenty-four daugh- flesh.” But on this criticism it is well remarked, that both the ters ; nay, if, as Mr Bruce tells us, the women in the east- Hebrew and Greek terms mean simply and literally attachern countries bear children only for nine years, it was im- ment or adherence ; and are evidently made use of in the possible she could have so many. Gideon, who had many sacred w ritings to express the whole scope of conjugal fidewives, had no fewer than seventy sons by these wives, and lity and duty, though he would restrain them to the grosser even his concubine had a son ; so that if all these women part of it. had produced according to Mr Bruce’s proportion, of nearW ith respect to the Mosaic law, for which Mr Madan is ly three females to one male, he must have had almost two a warm advocate, it was certainly a local and temporary hundred and eighty-four children ; a more numerous family institution, adapted to the ends for which it was appointed, probably than any of which Mr Bruce’s eastern acquaint- and admirably calculated, in its relation to marriage, to ance can boast. maintain and perpetuate the separation of the Jewish peoWith regard to the subject, however, it must be observ- ple from the Gentiles. In attempting to depreciate the ed, that the procreation of male or female children depends outward forms of marriage, this writer would make his in some degree on the health and vigour of the parents. readers believe, that because none are explicitly described, It is by no means improbable, therefore, that the eastern therefore none existed ; and consequently that they are voluptuaries, whose constitutions are debilitated by their the superfluous ordinances of human policy. But it is eviexcesses, may have many more female than male children dent, from comparing Ruth (iv. 10, 13) with Tobit (vii. born to them. 13, 14), and from the case of Dinah, related in Genesis The boldest defence of polygamy that has appeared in (xxxiv.), that some forms were deemed essential to an homodern times is that by the Rev. Mr Madan, who publish- nourable marriage by the patriarchs and saints under the ed a treatise artfully vindicating and strongly recommend- Old Testament, exclusive of the carnal knowledge of each ing it, under the title of Thelyphthora, or a Treatise on other’s persons. It is also evident in the case of the woman Female Ruin, in its Causes, Effects, Consequences, Preven- of Samaria, whose connection with a man not her husband tion, and Remedy. Marriage, according to this writer, is mentioned in John, iv., that something besides cohabitasimply and wholly consists in the act of personal union, or tion is necessary to constitute marriage in the sight of God. actus coitus. Adultery, he says, is never used in the saHaving stated his notion of marriage, the same writer cred writings but to denote the defilement of a betrothed urges, in defence of polygamy, that, notwithstanding the seor married woman, and to this sense he restricts the use of venth commandment, it was allowed by God himself, who the term; so that a married man, in his opinion, is no adul- made laws for the regulation of it, wrought miracles in supterer, if his commerce with the sex be confined to single port of it by making the barren woman fruitful, and declarwomen, who are under no obligations by espousals or mar- ed the issue legitimate to all intents and purposes. God’s riage to other men; but, on the other hand, the woman allowance of polygamy is argued from Exodus, xxi. 10, and who should dare to have even but once an intrigue with particularly from Deut. xxi. 15, which, he says, amounts to any other man besides her husband, let him have as many a demonstration. This passage, however, at the utmost, wives as Solomon, would, ipso facto, be an adulteress, and only presupposes that the practice might have existence ought, together with her gallant, to be punished with im- amongst so hard-hearted and fickle a people as the Jews; mediate death. This, he boldly says, is the law of God, and therefore wisely provides against some of its more unand on this foundation he limits the privilege of polygamy just and pernicious consequences, such as tended to affect VOL. XVIII.

P O L 314 POL Polyglot;: Polygars’ the rights and privileges of heirship. Laws enacted to le- tish, having been long the scene of violence and disorder, It where might was the rule of right, these Polygars were exTerritory. gUiate it cannot be fairly urged in proof of its lawfulness, J1 tremely averse to the British yoke, and defended their in- Polyma thy. ^ author’s own hypothesis ; because laws were also on and their properties with resolution. Theyv made to regulate divorce, which Mr Madan condemns as ab- dependence however, brought under subjection by the irresistisolutely unlawful, except in cases of adultery. Besides, it were, power of the British arms, and forced to yield to whatis more probable that the “ hated wife” had been dismiss- ble ever terms were imposed upon them. Those who resisted ed by a bill of divorcement, than that she was retained by demand of tribute imposed on them, or showed signs her husband ; and, moreover, it is not certain but that the the turbulence, were made prisoners, and deprived of their two wives, so far from living with the same husband at the of lands; fled to the hills, where they made inroads same time, might be dead ; for the words may be render- on the others lower country, collecting the tribute of their lands, ed thus, “ If there should have been to a man two wives, or marauding plundering the country. They have been &c. The words expressing the original institution of mar- now, however,and mostly and the country has been riage (Genesis, ii. 24), compared with Matthew (xix. 4, 5, restored to tranquillity,subdued, under the rule of the British. 8), afford insuperable objections against Mr Madan’s docPOLYGLOTT, amongst divines and critics, denotes a trine of polygamy. . . r . If we appeal on this subject from the authority of Scrip- Bible printed in several languages. See Bibliography. POLYGNOTUS, a famous painter of Thasos, flourishture to the writings of the earliest Fathers in the Christian church, there is not to be found the faintest trace of any- ed about 422 years before the Christian era, and was the thing resembling a testimony to the lawfulness of poly- son and scholar of Aglaophon. He adorned one of the gamy ; on the contrary, many passages occur in which the public porticoes of Athens with his paintings, in which he had represented the most striking events of the Trojan practice of it is strongly and explicitly condemned. In a word, when we reflect that the primitive institution war. The Athenians were so pleased with him, that they of marriage limited it to one man and one woman; that offered to reward his labours with whatever he pleased this institution was adhered to by Noah and his sons, to accept; but he declined the offer ; and the Amphictyamidst the degeneracy in which they lived, and in spite of onic council, which was composed of the representatives the examples of polygamy which the accursed race of Cain of the principal cities of Greece, ordered that Polygnotus had introduced;—when we consider how very few, compa- should be maintained at the public expense wherever he ratively speaking, were the examples of this practice amongst went. Of the talents of Polygnotus, much honourable the faithful; how much it brought its own punishment along mention is made by many of the best authors of antiquiwith it; and how dubious and equivocal those passages are ty, as Aristotle and Plutarch, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, in which it appears to have the sanction of divine appro- Pliny, and others. Pausanias speaks of his pictures of the bation ;—when to these reflections we add another, respect- events of the Trojan war, and, in his tenth book, introduces ing the limited views and temporary nature of the more an- a long description of other pictures by the same artist, paintcient dispensations and institutions of religion ; how often ed also from Homer, in the temple at Delphos. The pasthe imperfections and even vices of the patriarchs and peo- sage, however, gives but a confused and imperfect idea ot ple of God, in the olden time, are recorded, without any ex- the painter’s performance. How much the art is indebted press notification of their criminality; how much is said to this ancient master, what grace and softness he gave to to be commanded, which our reverence for the holiness of the human countenance, what embellishments he added to God and his law will only suffer us to suppose were, for wise the female figure and dress, are much more happily describends, permitted; how frequently the messengers of God ed by Pliny. See also the article Painting. POLYGON, in Geometry, a figure with many sides, adapted themselves to the genius of the people to whom they were sent, and the circumstances of the times in which or one the perimeter of which consists of more than four they lived ;—above all, when we consider the purity, equity, sides at least; such are the pentagon, hexagon, heptagon, and benevolence of the Christian law ; the explicit decla- and others. POLYGRAPHY, Polygraphia, or Polygraphice, the rations of our Lord, and his apostle St Paul, respecting the institution of marriage, its design and limitation ;—when we art of writing in various unusual manners or ciphers; as reflect, too, on the testimony of the most ancient fathers, also that of deciphering the same. The word is formed who could not possibly be ignorant of the general and from the Greek croXu, signifying much, and ygaipr,, scriptura, * common practice of the apostolic church;—and, finally, writing. POLYHYMNIA, in the Pagan mythology, one of the when to these considerations we add those which are founded on justice to the female sex, and all the regulations of nine muses, thus named from the Greek words tgAu, much, domestic economy and national policy,—we must wholly and {jivuci, memory. She presided over history, or rather condemn the revival of polygamy, and thus bear our honest rhetoric, and is represented with a crown of pearls and a testimony against the leading design of this and all similar white robe ; her right hand in action as if haranguing, and holding in her left a caduceus, or sceptre, to show her publications. POLYGARS’ Territory. This is a district in the power. POLYHEDRON, in Geometry, denotes a body or soSouthern Carnatic, and it is situated between the tenth and eleventh degrees of north latitude. To the north it is lid comprehended under many sides or planes. Polyhedron, in Optics, is a multiplying glass or lens, bounded by Trichinopoly, to the south by Marawas and Madura, to the east it has Tanjore and the sea, and to consisting of several plane surfaces disposed into a convex the west Dindigul. The Polygars, amongst whom this form. country is divided, are military chieftains, resembling the POLYMATHY denotes the knowledge of many arts Zemindars of Bengal. Their estates are called Pallams. and sciences. The word is derived from the Greek, itohu, The country, before it was finally subdued by the Bri- multum, and /jluvOclvw, disco.

315

POLYNESIA. plynesia.

Polinesia is a name given by several early writers on the islands of Polynesia, all the inhabitants being of the p geography, but first, we believe, by De Barros, to the nu- brown race, and evidently derived from the same common v f] aaracte- merous islands scattered over the Pacific Ocean, or, as it was stock to which the Tartars, the Chinese, the Japanese, and Natives of usualI calle d the Great the Malays, owe their origin. In this opinion Sir William Polynesia. Son!' is . ’ by most modern South Sea. It is the name nowy applied geographers to thewhich sixth Jones, Dr Buchanan, Dr Hunter, Mr Marsden, and Sir great division of the earth’s surface; a division which will Stamford Raffles, unanimously concur. This race, modiprobably appear, on examination, less arbitrary than some fied, of course, by the circumstances of climate, occupaothers; for whether we consider it in a political, physical, tions, and habits, may thus be described :—Their persons or moral point of view, the separation from America on the short, squat, and robust; their lower limbs large and heavy; one hand, and from Australasia and the Asiatic islands on their arms fleshy ; hands and feet small; face somewhat of the other, is marked by very strong and distinct features. a lozenge shape, the forehead and chin rather sharpened, A considerable portion of the two last, for instance, have, but broad across the cheek-bones, which are high, and the ages ago, been invaded and taken possession of by foreign- cheeks hollow; the eyes black, small, narrow, and placed ers, and many of them have more recently been colonized by obliquely in the head, the external angle being the highest; Europeans. No colonies have yet been planted in Polyne- nose broad, but not flat, and nostrils open and circular; sia, with the exception of that on one of the Ladrone Islands mouth rather wide ; hair harsh, lank, and quite black. by Spain. Of late, however, many of these islands have Dispersed as the Polynesians are, and rarely and purely Language, been visited by European missionaries, for the purpose of accidental as any communication between distant islands spreading amongst the natives the light of the gospel; and in must be, it is perfectly certain that the different dialects many cases their efforts have been so far successful that they spoken, from the shores of India and Africa to those of have established permanent settlements in these islands, America, are the derivatives of one common language, which, and have instructed the natives, not only in the doctrines according to Marsden, still forms the primitive portion of of the Christian religion, but in all the mechanical arts and the Malay language, mixed as it now is with Sanscrit and other improvements of civilized society. The inhabitants Arabic. “ The Malayan,” says this learned and accurate have no political connection with any of the other divisions writer, “ is a branch or dialect of the widely extended lanof the earth, and little or none exists between any two of guage prevailing throughout the islands of the archipelago its groups or separate islands, each being governed by its to which it gives name, and those of the South Sea, comown chiefs, and confining its friendships or hostilities to prehending, between Madagascar on the one side and Easter some neighbouring group or island, Island on the other, both inclusive, the space of full two ysically Physically considered, the line of separation is almost as hundred degrees of longitude. This consideration alone is isi ere . distinct as their political seclusion. If a line be draw n in a sufficient to give it claim to the highest degree of antiquity, south-easterly direction along the eastern extremity of the and to originality, as far as that term can be applied.” Philippine Islands, Mindanao, Papua or New Guinea, New Not less remarkable is the general accordance of the Po- Religion, Ireland, and Solomon’s Archipelago, and from thence con- lynesians in manners, superstitions, and religious observtinued southerly along the eastern shores of the New He- ances. The conversion of the Malays of the archipelago brides and New Zealand, this line will mark with sufficient to Mahommedanism has obliterated nearly their ancient precision the separation of the Asiatic islands (mostly to faith, but enough still remains on some of the Asiatic islands, the northward of the equator) and Australasia (to the south- and still more on the Asiatic continent, to trace the source W’ard of the equator) from Polynesia. Besides, the geolo- whence the Polynesians have derived their notions and gical structure of the islands which constitute the last-men- practices on matters of this kind. tioned divisions is, generally speaking, essentially differThese preliminary observations on the physical form, fea- General ent, consisting chiefly of lofty mountains of primary or se- tures, language, and religion of the Polynesians, are made view of the condary formation, partaking of the same structure as those with a view to assert their common origin, and may be^an^3' on the continent of Asia, with which some of them indeed taken as a general description of the natives of the various may probably have once been connected, their rugged sides groups of islands which are scattered over the surface of presenting as it w ere a broken barrier to the Great Paci- the vast Pacific Ocean. These groups are exceedingly diffic; whereas Polynesia exhibits a series of low, flat islands, ferent in their extent, both as to number and size, as well scarcely rising above the level of the sea, which, with the as in their composition. Sometimes single islands are met exception of a few of the larger groups of volcanic forma- with, surrounded by rocky reefs. These islands and reefs are tion, are the labours of minute sea animals, and are usually dispersed, as already observed, over the whole of the Pacific distinguished by the name of Coral Islands or Reefs. Ocean, but chiefly between the thirtieth degree of northern ra a % 1° moral point of view, the distinctive character of the and the thirtieth degree of southern latitude. The follow51 eiea ’ Polynesians is as strongly marked as the physical structure ing classification will be found to embrace the greater part of the islands which they inhabit. In the Eastern Archi- of those islands which are comprehended under the geograpelago, or the Asiatic islands, and in Australasia, two dis- phical division Polynesia: tinct races of men have been traced, the black and the In the Northern Hemisphere. Classificabrown. In the archipelago, and more particularly in the tion of the Philippine Islands, a few individual families of the negro 1. The Marian or Ladrone Islands. islands. race were discovered by the early European visitors; in 2. The Carolinas, including the Pellew Islands. New Guinea and the Papuan Islands the whole population 3. The Sandwich Islands. after the death of its ancestor, into separate and in) poly.6 dependent tribes, of which some would be driven by vio- to different and contrary powers. Hence the spirit or power jmcio. lence, or would voluntarily wander, to a distance from the of darkness was in all probability the second god in the parest. From this dispersion great changes would take place gan calendar ; and as they considered the power of light as in the opinions of some of the tribes respecting the object a benevolent principle, the source of all that is good, they of their religious worship. A single family, or a small tribe, must have looked upon the contrary power of darkness as banished into a desert wilderness, such as the whole earth a malevolent spirit, the source of all that is evil. This we know from authentic history to have been the Polytheism must then have been, would find employment for all their °fFertime in providing the means of subsistence, and in defend- belief of the Persian Magi, a very ancient sect, who called1,11111 ing themselves from beasts of prey. In such circumstances their good god Yazdun, and also Ormuzd, and the evil god ' they would have little leisure for meditation, and being con- Ahriman. Considering light as the symbol, or perhaps as stantly conversant with objects of sense, they would gra- the body, of Ormuzd, they always worshipped him before 1

See Sketches of the History of Man.

Bishop Law, in his Considerations on the Theory of Religion.

POLYTHEISM. 332 Magianism. the fire, the source of light, and especially before the sun, rived from the Hebrew word Tsaba, which signifies an host Tsabaisn? '—~ the source of the most perfect light; and for the same rea- or army; and this class of polytheists was so called, because worshipped the host of heaven, or the Tsaba hesemim, son fires were kept continually burning on his altars. That they which Moses so pathetically cautions the people of they sometimes addressed prayers to the Evil Principle, against 2 we are informed by Plutarch in his Life of Themistocles; Israel. species of idolatry is thought to have first prevailed Tsabaism but with what particular rites he was worshipped, or where in This Chaldaea, and to have been that from which AbrahamUialda:a arose in he was supposed to reside, it is not so evident. Certain it is, however, that the worshippers held him in detestation ; separated himself, when, at the command of the true God, “ departed from his country, and from his kindred, and and when they had occasion to write his name, they always he inverted it, to denote the malignity of his nature. The from his father’s house.” But as it nowhere appears that principles of the Magi, though widely distant from pure the Chalda-ans had fallen into the savage state before they theism, were much less absurd than those oi other ido- became polytheists and idolaters, and as it is certain that laters. It does not appear that they ever worshipped their they were not savages at the period of the call of Abraham, o-ods through the medium of graven images, or had any their early Tsabaism may be thought inconsistent with the other emblems of them than light and darkness. Indeed account which we have given of the origin of that species we are told by Diogenes Laertius and Clemens Alexandii- of idolatry. If a great and civilized nation was led to their instigation Xerxes was said to have burned all the sition to ascertained facts. True ; but we beg leave to reply, that our account of the temples of Greece, because the builders ot those edifices impiously presumed to enclose within ■walls the gods, to origin of polytheism is opposed by no fact, because we have whom all things ought to be open and free, and whose pro- not supposed that the worship of the host of heaven arose per temple is the whole world. 1 o these authorities we may amongst savages only. That savages, between whom it add that of all the historians, who agree, that when the creed is impossible to imagine any intercourse to take place, of the Magi was the religion of the court, the Persian mo- have universally worshipped, as their first and supreme dinarchs made war upon images, and upon every emblem of vinities, the sun, moon, and stars, is a fact evinced by every historian and by every traveller; and we have shown how idolatry different from their own. their rude and uncultivated state naturally leads them to r Tsabaian The Magi, how ever, were but one sect, and not the larpolytheism. gest, of ancient idolaters. The worship of the sun, as the that species of idolatry. But there may have been cirsource of light and heat, soon introduced into the calendar cumstances peculiar to the Chaldaeans, which led them likeof divinities the other heavenly bodies, the moon, the pla- wise to the worship of the heavenly host, even in a state of nets, and the fixed stars. Men could not but experience high civilization. We judge of the philosophy of the angreat benefit from those luminaries in the absence of their cients by that of ourselves, and imagine that the same rechief god ; and when they had proceeded so far as to admit fined system of metaphysics was cultivated by them as by two divine principles, a good and an evil, it was natural for the followers of Descartes and Locke. But this is a great minds clouded with such prejudices to consider the moon mistake ; for so gross w ere the notions of early antiquity, and the stars as benevolent intelligences, sent to oppose the that it may be doubted whether there was a single man, power of darkness whilst their first and greatest divinity uninspired, who had any notion of mind as a being distinct was absent or asleep. It was thus, as they imagined, that and entirely separated from matter. From several passages he maintained a constant superiority over the Evil Prin- in the books of Moses, we learn, that when in the first ages ciple, Though to astronomers the moon is. known to be of the world the Supreme Being condescended to manifest an opaque body of very small dimensions when compared his presence to men, he generally exhibited some sensible with a planet or a fixed star, yet to the vulgar eye she emblem of his pow er and glory, and declared his will from appears much more magnificent than either. By those early the midst of a preternatural fire. It w-as thus that he apidolaters she was considered as the divinity second in rank peared to the Jewfish lawgiver himself, when he spoke to and in power; and whilst the sun was worshipped as the him from the midst of a bush ; it was by a pillar of cloud and fire that he led the Israelites from Egypt to the Land king, she was adored as the queen, of heaven. The earth, considered as the common mother of all things; of Promise ; and it was in the midst of smoke, and fire, and the ocean, the waters of which are never at rest; the air, thunderings, that the law was delivered from Mount Sinai. the region of storms and tempests; and indeed all the ele- That such manifestations of the divine presence would ocments, were gradually added to the number of divinities. casionally be made to the descendants of Noah who settled Not that mankind in this early age had so far degenerated in Chaldaea soon after the Deluge, must appear extremely from the principles of their ancestors as to worship brute probable to every one who admits the authority of the matter. If such worship was ever practised, which to us is Hebrew Scriptures; and he who questions that authority hardly conceivable, it must have been at a later period, has no right to make the objection to which we now rewhen it was confined to the very lowest of the vulgar, in ply, because it is only from the book of Genesis that we nations otherwise highly civilized. The polytheists of whom know the Chaldaeans to have been a civilized people when we now treat conceived everything in motion to be ani- they fell into idolatry. All histories agree in representing mated, and animated by an intelligence powerful in pro- the inhabitants of Chaldaea as at a very early period corportion to the magnitude of the body moved. rupted by luxury, and sunk in vice. When this happened, This sect of idolaters, which remains in some parts of the we must suppose that the moral governor of the universe East to this day, was known by the name of Tsabaians, would withdraw from them those occasional manifestations which they pretended to have derived from a son of Seth; of himself, and leave them to. their own inventions. In and amongst the books in which their sacred doctrines are such circumstances, it wras not unnatural for a people adcontained, they have one which they call the Book of Seth. dicted to the study of astronomy, who had been taught to We need hardly observe, that these are senseless and ex- believe that the Deity frequently appeared to their ancestravagant fables. The epithet Tsabaian is undoubtedly de- tors in a flame of fire, to consider the sun as the place of * De Lcgikus, lib. ii. § 10.

* Dent. iv. 19.

POLYTHEISM. 333 Tsabaism. his permanent residence, if not as his body. But when either tions which were addressed towards the luminaries them- Statue'-'-y'——^ opinion was firmly established, polytheism would be its in- selves. Hence Sanchoniathon calls them animated or Iw- Worship. evitable consequence, and the progress of Tsabaism woidd, ing stones, Xi6ovg from the portion of the divine in the most polished nation, be such as we have traced it spirit which was believed to reside in them; and as they amongst savage tribes. were dedicated to the host of heaven, they were generally It passed From Chaldsea the idolatrous worship of the host of hea- erected upon the tops of mountains, or, in countries which, into Egypt, yen spread itself over all the East, passed into Egypt, and like Egypt, were low and level, they were elevated to a &c * thence found its way into Greece; for Plato affirms,1 that great height by the labour of men. “ the first inhabitants of Greece seemed to him to have worIt has been supposed that this practice of raising the The idolashipped no other gods but the sun, moon, earth, stars, and pillars on high places proceeded from a desire to make the try of high heavens, as most barbarous nations,” continues he, “ still do.” objects of worship conspicuous and magnificent. But we plares. That Tsabaism, or the worship of the host of heaven, was the are strongly inclined to believe, that the erectors of fiairvfirst species of idolatry, besides the probability of the thing, Xiz had something further in view', and that they thought of and the many allusions to it in sacred Scripture, we have nothing less than to bring the sacred stone or pillar as near the positive evidence of the most ancient pagan historians as possible to the god whom it represented. But whatever of whose writings any part has been transmitted to us. there be in this, we know that the practice itself prevailed Herodotus,2 speaking of the religion of the Persians, says universally throughout the East; and that there w’as nothing that “ they worship the sun, moon, and earth, fire, water, which the Jewish legislator more strictly enjoined his people and the winds ; and this adoration they have all along paid to destroy, than the altars, statues, and pillars erected for from the beginning.” He testifies the same thing of the idolatrous worship upon mountains and high places. “Ye savage Africans, of whom he affirms,3 that they all worship- shall utterly destroy,” says he, “ all the high places wherein ped the sun and moon, and no other divinity. Diodorus the nations which ye shall possess served their gods, upon Siculus, writing of the Egyptians,4 tells us that “ the first the high mountains, and upon the hills, and under every men, looking up to the world above them, and terrified and green tree. And ye shall overthrow their altars, and7 break struck with admiration at the nature of the universe, sup- down their pillars, and burn their groves with fire.” posed the sun and the moon to be the principal and eternal The mention of groves by the Hebrew lawgiver brings gods.” And Sanchoniathon the Phoenician, a more an- to our recollection another species of idolatry, which was cient writer than any of these, informs us, in the fragment perhaps the second in order, as men deviating from the of his history preserved by Eusebius, that “ the two first principles of pure theism became more and more entangled mortals were dEon and Protogonus, and their children in the labyrinths of error. The Chaldseans, Egyptians, and Genos and Genea, who inhabited Phoenicia; and when all the eastern nations who believed in a superintending prothey were scorched with the heat, they lifted up their hands vidence, imagined that the government of this world, the to the sun, whom they believed to be the lord of heaven, care of particular nations, and even the superintendence of and called him Baahamen, the same whom the Greeks call groves, rivers, and mountains, in each nation, was committed by the gods to a class of spirits superior to the soul of Zsuj.” StatueHitherto those divinities were worshipped in person, or, man, but inferior to those heavenly intelligences which aniworship, as Dr Prideaux expresses it, in their sacella, or sacred ta- mated the sun, the moon, and the planets. These spirits bernacles ; for the votaries of each directed their devotions were by the Greeks called baigovig, dcemons, and by the Rotowards the planet which they supposed to be animated by mans genii. Timaeus the Locrian, who flourished before 8 the particular intelligence whom they meant to adore. But Plato, speaking of the punishment of wicked men, says, all these things has Nemesis decreed to be executed in the these orbs, by their rising and setting, being as much below the horizon as above it, and their grossly ignorant worship- second period, by the ministry of vindictive terrestrial daepers not supposing it possible that any intelligence, however mons, w'ho are overseers of human affairs; to which daemons divine, could exert its influence except in union with some the Supreme God, the ruler over all, has committed the gobody, statues or pillars were soon thought of as proper em- vernment and administration of this world, which is made blems of the absent gods. Sanchoniathon, in the fragment up of gods, men, and animals. Concerning the origin of these intermediate beings, scho- Origin of already quoted, informs us, that “ Hyspouranios and his brother Ousous, Phoenician patriarchs, erected two pillars, lars and philosophers have framed various hypotheses. The daemonthe one to fire, and the other to air or wind, and worshipped belief of their existence may have been derived from five worship, those pillars, pouring out to them libations of the blood of different sources. Firstly, it seems to have been impossible for the limited the wild beasts hunted down in the chase.” As these early monuments of idolatry were called fiourvXiu, a word evi- capacities of those men, who could not form a notion of a dently derived from the Hebrew Bethel, the probability is, God divested of a body and a place, to conceive how the. that they were altars of loose stones, such as that which was influence and agency of such a being could every instant built by Jacob,5 and from him received the same name. As extend to every point of the universe. Hence, as we have his was consecrated to the true God, theirs were consecrated seen, they placed the heavenly regions under the governto the host of heaven ; and the form of consecration seems ment of a multitude of heavenly gods, the sun, the moon, to have been nothing more than the anointing of the stone and the stars. But as the nearest of those divinities was at or pillar with oil,6 in the name of the divinity whom it was an immense distance from the earth, and as the intelligence intended to represent. When this ceremony was performed, animating the earth itself had sufficient employment in rethe ignorant idolaters, who fancied that their gods could gulating the general affairs of the whole globe, a notion innot hear them except when they were visible, supposed that sinuated itself into the untutored mind, that these superior the intelligences by which the sun and planets were ani- governors of universal nature found it necessary, or at least mated took possession, in some inexplicable manner, of the expedient, to employ subordinate intelligences or daemons, consecrated pillars, and were as well pleased with the prayers as ministers to execute their behests in the various parts of and praises offered up before those pillars, as with the devo- their widely extended dominions. 4 5 1 3 3 Lib. iv. cap. 188. Eib. i. Genesis, chap. xxxv. In Cratylo. Lib. i. cap. 131. “ Hence the proverb of a superstitious man, iruiru, rdo* rivavav ^^orxuvei, lie kisses or adores every anointed stone »; which Arnobius calls Inbricatam h’pidcm, ct cx olivi unguine for didatum. Stillingileet’s Origincs Sacra. 8 De Deut. xii. 23. dnima MunAi, inter scnptores a T. Gale editos

m D«mons.

POLYT Secondly, such an universal and uninterrupted course of action as was deemed necessary to administer the affairs of the universe, would be judged altogether inconsistent with that state of indolence which, especially in the East, was held an indispensable ingredient in perfect felicity. It was this notion, absurd as it is, which made Epicurus deny the providence, whilst he admitted the existence, of gods. And if it had such an effect upon a philosopher who in the most enlightened ages had many followers, we need not surely wonder if it made untaught idolaters imagine that the governor or governors of the universe had devolved a great part of their trouble on deputies and ministers. Thirdly, when men came to reflect on the infinite distance between themselves and the gods, they would naturally form a wish that there might somewhere exist a class of intermediate intelligences, whom they might employ as mediators and intercessors with their far-distant divinities. But what men earnestly wish for, they very readily believe. Hence the supposed distance of their gods would, amongst untutored barbarians, prove a fruitful source of intermediate intelligences, more pure and more elevated than human souls. Fourthly, these three opinions may be denominated popular ; but that which we are now to state, wherever it may have prevailed, was the offspring of philosophy. On this earth we perceive, a scale of beings rising gradually above each other in perfection, from mere brute matter through the various species of fossils, vegetables, insects, fishes, birds, and beasts, up to man. But the distance between man and God is infinite, and capable of admitting numberless orders of intelligences, all superior to the human soul, and each rising gradually above the other till they reach that point, wherever it may be, at which creation stops. Part of this immense chasm the philosophers perceived to be actually filled by the heavenly bodies; for in philosophical polytheism there was one invisible God, supreme over all these ; but still there was left an immense vacuity between the human species and the moon, which was known to be the lowest of the heavenly host; and this they imagined must certainly be occupied by invisible inhabitants of different orders and dispositions, which they called good and evil daemons. Fifthly, there is yet another source from which the universal belief of good and evil daemons may be derived, with perhaps greater probability than from any or all of these. If the Mosaic account of the creation of the world, the peopling of the earth, and the dispersion of mankind, be admitted as true (and a more consistent account has not as yet been given or devised), some knowledge of good and evil angels must necessarily have been transmitted from father to son by the channel of oral tradition. But this tradition would be corrupted at the same time, and in the same manner, with others of greater importance. When the true God was so far mistaken as to be considered, not as the sole governor of the universe, butr only as the self-existent power of light and good, the devil w ould be elevated from the rank of a rebellious created spirit to that of the independent power of darkness and evil; the angels of light would be transformed into good daemons, and those of darkness into daemons that are evil. This account of the origin of daemonol°gy receives no small support from Plato, who derives one branch of it wholly from tradition. “ With respect to those daemons, says he,1 “ who inhabit the space between the earth and the moon, to understand and declare their generation 7 is a task too arduous for my slender abilities. In this case w e must ci edit the report of men of other times, who, according to their own account, were the descendants of the gods, and had, by some means or other, gained exact

H E I S M. intelligence of that mystery from their ancestors. We must Damons, not question the veracity of the children of the gods, even'^though they should transgress the bounds of probability, and produce no evidence to support their assertions. We must, I say, notwithstanding, give them credit, because they profess to give a detail of facts with which they are intimately acquainted, and the laws of our country oblige us to believe them.” Though these daemons were generally invisible, they were not supposed to be pure disembodied spirits. Proclus, in his commentary upon Plato’s Timceus, tells us, “ that every daemon superior to human souls consisted of an intellectual mind and an ethereal vehicle.” Indeed it is very little probable, that those who gave a body and a place to the Supreme God, should have thought that the inferior orders of his ministers were spirits entirely separated from matter. Plato himself divides the class of daemons into three orders; and whilst he holds their souls to be particles or emanations from the divine essence, he affirms that the bodies of each order of daemons are composed of that particular element in which they for the most part reside. “ Those of the first and highest order are composed of pure ether; those of the second order consist of grosser air; and daemons of the third or lowest rank have vehicles extracted from the element of water. Daemons of the first and second orders are invisible to mankind. The aquatic daemons, being invested with vehicles of grosser materials, are sometimes visible and sometimes invisible. When they do appear, though faintly observable by the human eye, they strike the beholder with terror and astonishment.” Daemons of this last order were supposed to have passions and affections similar to those of men; and though all nature was full of them, they were believed to have local attachments to mountains, rivers, and groves, where their appearances were most frequent. The reason of these attachments seems to be obvious. Polytheism took its rise in countries scorched by a burning sun; and daemons by their composition being necessarily subject in some degree to the influence of heat and cold, it was natural to suppose that they, like men, would delight in the shady grove and in the purling stream. Hence the earliest altars of paganism were generally built in the midst of groves, or on the banks of rivers; because it was believed that in such places were assembled multitudes of those intelligences, whose office it was to regulate the affairs of men, and to carry the prayers and oblations of the devout to the far-distant residence of the celestial gods. Hence too are to be derived the mountain and river gods, with the dryads and hamadryads, the satyrs, nymphs, and fauns, which held a place in the creed of ancient paganism, and make so conspicuous a figure in the Greek and Roman poets. These different orders of intelligences, which, though Deification worshipped as gods or demigods, were yet believed to par-of departed take of human passions and appetites, led the way to the heroes, deification of departed heroes, and other eminent benefactors of the human race. By the philosophers all souls were believed to be emanations from the divinity ; but , mies were forced, by a violent storm, to retire to their re- and likewise the provinces of Cilicia, then under Quintus spective camps. Triarius having, however, that very day re- Marcius, and of Bithynia under Glabrio, were committed ceived intelligence of the approach of Lucullus, and fearing to Pompey. By the same law he was continued in that unhe would snatch the victory from his hands, resolved to limited power by sea, with which he had been invested when make a bold push, and next morning by break of day to at- he first set out against the pirates of Cilicia. In virtue ot tack the king in his camp. If he conquered, the glory, he this law, Pcmpey, who had then just ended the war with thought, would be entirely his own ; if he were overcome, the Cilician pirates, took upon him the command of the the enemy could reap no great advantage from his victory, army, and directed the allies of the Roman people to join Lucullus being at hand with a powerful army. The king him with all possible expedition. But before he took the was surprised, but putting himself at the head of a few field, he renewed the alliance which Sylla and Lucullus had troops of his guards, he sustained the shock of the Romans concluded with Phrahates king of Parthia; and then sent till the rest of his army came to his relief, and attacked the friendly proposals to Mithridates, who at first seemed inenemy with such fury, that the Roman infantry were forced clined to give ear to them, and accordingly despatched an to give way, and driven into a morass, where they were sur- ambassador to the Roman army to treat of a peace. Pomrounded, and great numbers of them cut in pieces. pey required of him, if he was in earnest, to lay down his The cavalry were likewise put to flight, and pursued with arms, and deliver up to him all those who had revolted from great slaughter, till a Roman centurion in the king’s ser- the Romans during the war. This demand was no sooner vice, pitying his countrymen, attempted to kill him. The reported abroad in the king’s camp, than the deserters, who king’s hie was saved by his breastplate ; but as he received were very numerous in the king’s army, betaking themselves a deep wound in the thigh, he was obliged to discontinue to their arms, threatened to put Mithridates himself to the pursuit himself, and those who were about him caused death ; ami would have occasioned a great disturbance, had the retreat to be sounded, which, as it was unexpected, oc- not the king appeased the growing tumult, by assuring them casioned great confusion in the army. The centurion was that he had sent ambassadors, not to treat of a peace, but immediately cut in pieces; but the Roman horse, getting only, under pretence of suing for peace, to take a near view the start of the enemy, found means to make their escape. of the enemy’s strength. He moreover obliged himself, by Above seven thousand of the Romans were killed in that a solemn oath, in presence of the whole army, never to enbattle ; amongst whom were one hundred and fifty centu- ter into any treaty of friendship with the Romans, nor to rions and twenty-iour tribunes, the greatest number of offi- deliver up to them such as had ever served under him. cers that had ever before fallen in any engagement. MithPompey finding his proposals rejected, advanced against ndates being cured of his wound, in order that he might not the king with an army of thirty thousand foot and twenty

P O N Pontus. thousand horse, as Plutarch writes, or thirty thousand, all —chosen troops, as we read in Appian ; for he discharged is propo- most 0f those who had served under Glabrio and Luculbv Atith- lus* he entered Galatia, he was met by Lucullus, who iates. endeavoured to persuade him to march back, the war being nearly finished, and even deputies sent by the republic to settle the province of Pontus ; but not being able to prevail with him, after mutual complaints against each other, they parted; and Pompey removing his camp, commanded the troops that were with Lucullus to join him, except sixteen hundred, whom he left to attend Lucullus in his triumph. Lucullus then set out for Rome, where he was received by the senate with great marks of esteem, most men thinking him highly injured by the authors of the Manilian law\ Pompey pursued his march into Pontus ; but finding that he could not by any means induce the king to risk a battle, he marched back into Armenia Minor, with a design either to reduce that province, or oblige Mithridates to venture a battle in order to relieve it. Mithridates followed him at some distance, and entering Armenia, encamped over against the Romans, on a hill, where, by intercepting their convoys, he reduced them to such distress that they were obliged to remove to a more convenient place; the king cutting off many in their rear, and harassing them with frequent attacks, till he fell into an ambuscade prepared by Pompey, whose personal courage and prudent conduct on that occasion confirmed the king in his resolution not to hazard a general engagement. The two armies encamped over against each other ; Pompey on one hill, and the king on another, near the city of Dastira, in the province of Acisilene, at a small distance from the Euphrates, which divides Cisilene from Armenia Minor. ie king Here Pompey, seeing he could neither draw the king to I sieged. a battle, nor force his camp, which was pitched on a steep and craggy mountain, began to block him up with a ditch, which he carried round the bottom of the hill where the king was encamped ; and meeting with no opposition, he finished his work, thus cutting off the enemy’s communication with the country. Pompey was amazed to see the king thus tamely suffer himself to be shut up, and could not help saying, that he was either a great fool or a great coward ; a fool, if he did not apprehend the danger ; and a coward, if, being apprised of it, he did not to the utmost of his power endeavour to prevent it. By this ditch, which was one hundred and fifty furlongs in circuit, and defended by many forts raised at small distances from each other, the king wras so closely besieged, that he could neither send out parties to forage, nor receive the supplies that came to him from Pontus. He was thus besieged for the space of forty-five or fifty days, and his army reduced to such straits, that, having consumed all their provisions, they were at last forced to live on their dead horses. Mithridates therefore resolved at all events to break through the Roman fortifications; and accordingly, having put to the sword all those who were sick or disabled, that they might not fall into the enemy’s hands, he attacked in the dead of the night the Roman guards, and having overpowered them with numbers, got safe into the open fields, and continued his march till night towards Armenia Major, where he was expected by Tigranes. tlu-idates Pompey next morning by break of day pursued the eneWaken d defeat my with his whole army; and having with difficulty overtaken them, found the king encamped on a hill, to which there was but one ascent, and that guarded by a strong body of infantry. The Romans encamped opposite them ; but Pompey, fearing the king would make his escape in the night-time, decamped privately, and taking the same route the enemy were to hold in order to gain Armenia, possessed himself of all the eminences and defiles through which the king was to pass. Mithridates, thinking that Pompey had returned to his former camp, pursued his march, and about the dusk of the evening entered a narrow valley, which was

T U S. 357 surrounded on all sides by Steep hills. On these hills the Pontus. Romans lay concealed, expecting the signal to fall upon the -v—enemy, and attack them upon all sides at once, whilst they were fatigued by their march, and apparently in great security. Pompey was at first for delaying the attack till the next morning, thinking it not safe to engage in the nighttime amongst such steep and craggy mountains ; but he was at last prevailed upon, by the earnest prayers and entreaties of all the chief officers of the army, to fall upon the enemy that very night. It was therefore agreed, that in the dead of the night all the trumpets should at once sound the charge, that this signal should be followed by an universal shout of the whole army, and that the soldiers should make what noise they could, by striking their spears against the brass vessels that were used in the camp. The king’s army, at this sudden and unexpected noise, which was echoed again by the mountains, imagined at first that the gods themselves were come down from heaven to destroy them ; and the Romans charging them on all sides with showers of stones and arrows from the tops of the hills, they took themselves to flight; but finding all the passes beset with strong bodies of horse and foot, they were forced to fly back into the valley, where, for many hours together, they wrere exposed to the enemy’s missiles, without being able, in the confusion, either to attack them or defend themselves. They attempted indeed to make some resistance when the moon rose; but the Romans running down upon them from the hills, did not give them time to form in order, and the place w'as so narrow that they had not room even to make use of their swords. The king on that occasion lost ten thousand men according to Appian, and forty thousand according to Eutropius and others. On Pompey’s side there fell between twenty and thirty private men, and two centurions. Mithridates, at the head of eight hundred horse, broke Distress of through the Roman army, and being after this effort aban- te6 Mithridadoned by all the rest, because they were closely pursued ‘ by the enemy, he travelled all night, attended by three persons only, viz. his wife or his concubine, Hypsicratia, his daughter Dripetine, and an officer. At day-break he fell in with a body of mercenary cavalry, and three thousand infantry, who were marching to join him. By these he was escorted to the castle of Sinoria, situated on the borders of the two Armenias. As great part of his treasures was lodged here, he rewarded very liberally those who accompanied him in his flight ; and taking six thousand talents, withdrew into Armenia. As soon as he passed the borders, he despatched ambassadors to Tigranes, acquainting him of his arrival; but that prince, who was then on the point of concluding a separate peace with the Romans, clapped his ambassadors in irons, pretending that his son Tigranes had, at the instigation of Mithridates, revolted first to the Parthians, and then to the Romans. Mithridates finding himself thus abandoned, even by his son-in-law, left Armenia ; and directing his course towards Colchis, which was subject to him, and not as yet invaded by the Romans, passed the Euphrates the fourth day, and got safe into his own territories. Pompey sent out several parties in pursuit of the king, His flight but remained himself with the main body of the army inScythe field of battle, where he built a city, calling it, from that remarkable victory, Nicopolis. This city, with the adjoining tries territory, he bestowed upon such of his soldiers as were old or disabled ; and many flocking to it from the neighbouring countries, it in a short time became a very considerable place. This battle was certainly attended with very fatal consequences for Mithridates, who, his army being either entirely cut off or dispersed, was forced to abandon his own dominions, and fly for shelter to the most remote parts ot Scythia. Pompey having concluded a peace with 1 igranes, and settled the affairs of that kingdom, began his march in

P O N T U S. 358 Pontus. pursuit of Mithridates through those countries which are si- tonix had delivered it up to Pompey, on condition that he Pontus. 's-“-—tuated near the Caucasus. The barbarous nations through would save the life of her son in case he should take him ‘ ■*“ which he passed, chiefly the Albanians and Iberians, at- prisoner, the king immediately caused the youth, who was tempted to stop his march, but were soon put to flight.. The in his army, to be put to death, and his body to be left unexcessive cold and the deep roads, however, obliged him to buried ; Stratonix beholding from the walls the cruel and pass the winter near the river Cyrus. Early in the spring unnatural murder, for he was her son by Mithridates, and he pursued his march ; but meeting writh great opposition had served him with great fidelity. At the same time he from the Iberians, a warlike nation, and entirely devoted to sent ambassadors to Pompey to treat of a peace, offering Mithridates, most part of the summer was spent in reducing to pay a yearly tribute to the republic, upon condition of them to subjection. In the mean time, Mithridates, who being restored to his kingdom. Pompey replied, that he had wintered at Dioscurias, on the isthmus between the would hearken to no proposals whatsoever, unless the king Euxine and Caspian Seas, and had there been joined by came to treat with him in person, as Tigranes had done. such of his troops as had made their escape from the hate But this Mithridates looked upon as nowise consistent with unfortunate battle, continued his flight through the countries his dignity, and therefore, laying aside all thoughts of an acof the Achseans, Zygians, Heniochians, Cercetans, Moschi- commodation, he began to make what preparations he could ans, and Colchians. Of these nations some received him for renewing the war. He summoned all his subjects who were able to bear Recovers kindly, and even entered into alliance with him; whilst he was forced to fight his way through others with the sword. arms to meet at an appointed place ; and having chosen out several lace£ Pompey’s Pompey took the same route, directing his course by the of the whole multitude sixty cohorts, each consisting of a P * hundred men, he incorporated them with the regular troops further t rs, especially in the northern parts of Scythia, and even s a conquests. carrying wnh him a supply of water for the army in the vast that were already on foot. Being now in a condition to act deserts through which he marched. He spent two years offensively, for Pompey had left but a small number ot in warring with these nations, and was often in danger of troops in Pontus, he possessed himself of Phanagorium, losing both his life and his army. But at last he overcame Chersonesus, Theodosia, Nymphseum, and several other imthem all; and believing Mithridates, of whom he could ob- portant places. But, in the mean time, Castor, whom Mitain no account, to be dead, he marched back into Arme- thridates had appointed governor of Phanagorium, falling nia Minor, where he allowed some rest to his soldiers, who out with Tripho, one of the king’s favourite eunuchs, killed were quite worn out with the hardships they had endured him, and, dreading the king’s resentment, stirred up the in the expedition. Having refreshed his army, he marched inhabitants to a revolt. By this means Phanagorium was into Pontus to reduce some strongholds which were still again lost; but the castle, which was defended by four of garrisoned by the king’s troops. Whilst he was at Aspis in the king’s sons, Artaphernes, Darius, Xerxes, and Oxathres, Pontus, many of the king’s concubines were brought to him ; held out for some time. The king hastened to their relief; but he sent them all home to their parents, without offering but the castle being set on fire by the rebels, they were them the least injury, and thereby gained the affections of forced to surrender to Castor before his arrival. These the chief lords of Pontus, whose daughters they were. The four sons, with one of the king’s daughters, by name Cleostrong castle of Symphori was delivered up to him by Stra- patra, Castor sent to the Romans ; and fortifying himself in tonix, one of the king’s concubines, upon no other terms the town, persuaded most of the neighbouring cities, which than that he would spare her son Xiphares, who was with were oppressed with heavy taxes, and greatly harassed by the king, in case he should fall into his hands. She like- the king’s collectors, to join in the rebellion. Mithridates finding that he could neither rely upon the Disconteiit wise discovered to him treasures hidden under ground, !>u which he, with great generosity, bestowed upon her, re- soldiery, most of whom were forced into the service, nor on serving for himself only some vessels to set off his triumph. his other subjects, who were dissatisfied by reason of the^ Having taken another fort, called the New Castle, hitherto exorbitant taxes, sent ambassadors to invite the princes of regarded as impregnable, he found in it great store of gold, Scythia to come to his relief, and with them his daughters, to silver, and other valuable things, which he afterwards con- be bestowed in marriage on such as showed themselves most secrated to Jupiter Capitolinus. Here, in looking over the inclined to assist him. But as the ambassadors he employking’s manuscripts, he came to discover where the rest of ed on this occasion were eunuchs, a race of men no less abhis treasures were concealed, what troops he could raise and horred by the army than favoured by the king, over whom maintain, and what sums were yearly paid him by his sub- they had a great ascendant, especially in his old age, the jects and tributaries, so that he could form a true estimate soldiers who were sent to attend them on their journey put of his whole power and wealth. Amongst other manu- them all to the sword as soon as they were out of the king’s scripts, he found some books of physic, written by Mithri- reach, and delivered his daughters up to the Romans. Midates himself, which he commanded Lenaeas, a learned gram- thridates, finding himself thus deprived of his children, bemarian, to translate into Latin. trayed by his army, and forsaken even by those on whom MitliridaPompey having thus reduced all Pontus, marched into he chiefly relied, could not yet be induced to submit to the t«s appears Syria with a design to recover that kingdom, and, passing Romans, though Pompey promised him honourable condib?ad of a!'0 throuS^ Arabia, to penetrate as far as the Red Sea. But tions, provided he came to treat with him in person. In this desperate condition he left no stone unturned to His design annv 1 whilst he was employed in this expedition, accounts were brought him that Mithridates, whom he believed to be dead, stir up the princes of Asia against the Romans, especially °f had appeared unexpectedly in Pontus at the head of a con- the Parthians ; but finding them awed by the great opinion1 ■' siderable army, and surprised Panticapaeum, a famous empo- they all had of Pompey, he had recourse at last to the Eurium at the mouth of the Euxine Sea. All this time he had ropean Gauls, whom he understood to be at war with the lain concealed in the territories of a Scythian prince, ad- Romans ; and having sent some of his trusty friends to enjoining to the Palus Mceotis; but hearing that Pompey had gage them in his favour, taking leave of his own kingdom, left Pontus, and was engaged in other wars, he ventured out he began his long march, designing to pass through Bosphoof his hiding-place, resolved either to recover his paternal rus Cimmerius, Scythia, and Pannonia, and, joining the Gauls, kingdom, or perish in the attempt. He returned privately to pass the Alps, and invade Italy. This design was no into Pontus, and managed matters there so dexterously that sooner known in the army, than the soldiers openly began the Roman garrisons knew nothing of his arrival till he ap- to complain and mutiny ; exaggerating the boldness of the peared with a considerable army in the field. He advanced attempt, the length of the march, and the insurmountable first to the castle of Symphori; and understanding that Stra- difficulties which must necessarily attend such a desperate

P O N T U S. 359 pontus* enterprise. The chief commanders did all that lay in their Mithridatis and Nissa, who not long before had been be- Pontus. power to divert him from it; representing to him, that if he trothed to the kings of Egypt and Cyprus. To the women was not able to cope with the Romans in his own kingdom, it proved immediate death ; but on the king, who from his much less would he be a match for them in Italy or Gaul, infancy had inured his constitution to poisonous potions, it where they could daily receive new supplies; whereas he had so slow an operation, that he was forced, through fear of would lose the greater part of his army in so long and dif- falling into the rebels’ hands, to recur to his sword. Neither ficult a march, and the rest, perhaps, in the first engage- did the wound, as he was greatly weakened by the poison, ment, without any possibility of repairing the loss. But all prove mortal; so that the rebels, having in the mean time was to no purpose. They found him so unalterably fixed stormed the town, and broken into the house, found the in his resolution, that he caused those to be put to death king wallowing in his blood, but still alive, and in his senses. who with most warmth remonstrated against it, not sparing Pharnaces, hearing this, sent some of those that were about even his own son Exipodras, for dropping some unguarded him to dress his wounds, with a design to deliver him up expressions on that occasion. Thus they were forced to to the Romans, and thereby ingratiate himself with Pomlet him pursue his owrn measures, until they found a more pey. But, in the mean time, a Gaul, who had served in proper opportunity to oppose them, which soon afterwards the army, by name Bitmtus, or Bithocus, entering the king’s presented itself, as they were encamped at Bosphorus Cim- room in quest of booty, and being touched with compassion merius, on their march into Scythia, at seeing him forsaken by all his friends, and struggling on levolt of Here Pharnaces, the king’s favourite son, whom he had the bare ground in the agonies of death, drawing his sword, is son appointed to succeed him, observing the general discontent put an end to his misery, and thus prevented the insults hamaces. reigned in the army, began to entertain thoughts of which he apprehended if he should fall alive into his son’s placing the crown on his own head ; and not doubting but hands. The barbarian, when he first saw the king, is said the soldiery would stand by him, if he declared against the to have been so awed by the majesty of his countenance, intended expedition into Italy, openly protested amongst that, forgetful of his booty, he fled out of the room; but the Roman deserters, who were a considerable part of the being called back, and earnestly entreated by the dying army, that if they would follow him he would return into prince to put an end to his misery, he summoned all his Pontus. The Romans, who were well apprised of the dan- courage to perform that office, which he did with a trembling ger that attended such an undertaking, and had most of all hand ; and immediately retired without touching anything exclaimed against it, promised to support him to the utmost that belonged to the king, though the hope of a rich booty of their power, and even encouraged him to assume the was the only motive that had led him thither. Pompey, who was at that time engaged in a war with the Excessive title of king, a title which his father seemed determined to hold till he had destroyed, by his rash and desperate at- Jews, received the first notice of the death of Mithridates,joynians of the tempts, himself, his friends, and his army. Pharnaces, find- as he was on his march to Jerusalem. The messenger who R°s ea 1-at ing he could depend upon the Romans, engaged the same brought the joyful tidings was sent by Pharnaces, and ap-^ ^ ^ night most of the principal commanders in his party, and peared unexpectedly before Pompey with the branch of a by their means the greater part of the soldiery. It was laurel, as was customary on the like occasions, twisted round agreed, that next morning by break of day all those who the head of his javelin. When he heard what had happenhad declared in his favour should appear in arms, and with ed at Panticapaeum, he was so impatient to impart it to the a loud shout proclaim Pharnaces king. This was accord- soldiery, that he could not even wait until they had raised ingly done, and the shout returned even by those persons him a mount of turf from which to address the army, acwhom Pharnaces had not thought proper to let into the se- cording to the custom of the camp, but ordered those who cret. The king, who had taken up his quarters in the city, were beside him to form a kind of mount with their saddles ; being awakened by the noise, sent out some of his domes- and from thence he acquainted the soldiery that Mithridates tics to ascertain what had happened in the army. Neither had laid violent hands on himself, and that his son Phardid the officers or soldiers dissemble the matter, but boldly naces was ready to acknowledge the kingdom as a gift of answered, that they had chosen a young king instead of an the people of Rome, or resign it if they were unwilling he should reign. This news was received with joyful shouts old dotard governed by eunuchs. Hereupon Mithridates, mounting on horseback, and at- by the whole army, and the day solemnized with feasts and tended by his guards, went out to appease the tumult; but sacrifices throughout the camp, as if in Mithridates alone his guards forsaking him, and his horse being killed under all the enemies of the republic had expired. Pompey dehim, he was obliged to fly back into the city, whence he spatched without delay a messenger wfith letters to the sesent several of his attendants one after another to desire of nate, acquainting them with the death of Mithridates, and Pharnaces. When his letters his son a safe-conduct for himself and his friends. But as the submission of his son r none of the messengers returned, some being slain, and vrere read, the senators w ere so overjoyed, that, at the pror others siding w ith the new king, Mithridates endeavoured posal of Cicero, then consul, they appointed twelve days to move his son to compassion, by signifying to him from the for returning due thanks to the gods, who had delivered walls the distressed condition to which he was reduced by them from such an insulting and powerful enemy: and the a son whom he had favoured above the rest of his children ; tribunes of the people enacted a law, by which Pompey, in but finding him nowise affected by this speech, turning to consideration of his eminent service in the Mithridatic war, the gods, he beseeched them with many tears to make his was to wear a crown of laurel, with the triumphal gown at the son know one day by experience the grief and agony which Circensian games, and a purple gown at the scenical shows. Pharnaces, when he heard of his father’s death, caused Submisa father must feel in seeing his love and tenderness requited e em with such base and monstrous ingratitude. Having thus spo- his body to be preserved in brine, proposing to present it siv ken, he thanked in a very obliging manner those who had to Pompey, who had promised to return into Pontus after stood by him to the last, and exhorted them to make their the reduction of Judaea, and there settle matters to his sasubmission to the new king on the best terms they could tisfaction. Accordingly, the latter, having taken the city procure; adding, that as for himself, he was determined and temple of Jerusalem, set out with two legions for Ponnot to outlive the rebellion of a son whom he had always tus ; and on his arrival at Sinope, he was there met by ambassadors from Pharnaces, acquainting him that their master distinguished with particular marks of paternal affection, itli of After this, he withdrew into the apartment of his wives had forborne assuming the title of king till his will and pleaUrida- an(j concubines, where he first took poison himself, and sure were known ; that he put both himself and the kingdom then presented it to them, and to his favourite daughters entirely into his hands ; and that he w’as willing to attend

P O N 360 Pontus. him at any time or place which he might think fit to appoint. The same ambassadors delivered up to Pompey those who had taken Manius Aquilius the Roman legate, whom Mithridates had put to a cruel death ; all the prisoners, hostages, and deserters, whether Romans, Greeks, or barbarians ; and the body of Mithridates, with his rich apparel and arms, which were greatly admired by Pompey and the other Ro* mans. Roth soldiers and officers flocked to see the king s body; but Pompey declined that sight, saying that all enmity between that great prince and the people of Rome had ended with his life, and, returning the body to the ambassadors, caused it to be interred with the utmost pomp and magnificence amongst his ancestors in the burying-place of the kings of Pontus, the Roman commander defraying all the charges of the ceremony. With the body Pompey restored his wearing apparel and armour ; but the scabbard of his sword, which cost four hundred talents, was stolen by Rublius, a Roman, and sold to Ariarathes king of Cappadocia; and his cap or turban, which was a curious piece of workmanship, was privately taken by one Caius, who presented it to Faustus the son of Sylla, in whose house it was kept, and shown for many years afterwards amongst the rarities which Sylla had brought out of Asia. The kingPompey bestowed the kingdom of Bosphorus on Phardom of naces, and honoured him with the title of friend and ally of Bosphorus the pe0pie 0f Rome. Pharnaces, being thus acknowledged

T U S.

the charges of their journey. After his triumph, he deli- v Pontus. vered into the treasury twenty thousand talents, though, at ' — the disbanding of the army, he had divided sixteen thousand talents amongst the tribunes and centurions, two thousand sestertia amongst the quaestors, and had given to each soldier fifty sestertia. Pompey had no sooner left Asia, than Pharnaees fell un- Quarrel of expectedly upon the Phanagorenses, a people of Bosphorus, Phornace* whom Pompey had declared free, because they had been the first to revolt against his father Mithridates, and by their example had induced others to abandon the king’s party. Pharnaces besieged their chief city Phanagoria, and kept them blockaded till, for want of provisions, they were forced to sally out, and put all to the issue of a battle ; and this proving unsuccessful, they delivered up themselves and the city to the conqueror. Some years afterwards, when the civil war broke out between Ca;sar and Pompey, he laid hold of that opportunity to recover the provinces which his father had formerly possessed ; and, having raised a considerable army, overran Pontus, Colchis, Bithynia, Armenia, and the kingdom of Moschis, where, as Strabo observes, he plundered the temple of the goddess Leucothea. He took the strong and important city of Sinope, but failed to reduce Amisus. In the mean time, Cmsar, having vanquished Pompey and his party, appointed Cn. Domitius Calvinus governor of Asia, enjoining him to make war upon Pharnaces with the legions which were quartered in that province. • a resort to a new variety of punishments; all persons defined and whatever may have been the portion attributable to any unquestionably in the act as rogues and vagabonds, or sturdy beggars, are of the several causes in operation, the result r for the first offence to be grievously whipped and burned to was, that vagabondage and idleness w ere found in the last the gristle of the right ear with a hot iron, of the compass half of the last century to prevail in England to a less exof an inch about; for the second, they are to be deemed tent than in any of the larger states of Europe, with the felons; for the third, to suffer death as felons, without bene- single exception of Holland. As the extremity of the evil fit of clergy. But now chiefly is to be observed the im- had formerly produced severity in the law, so the disappearprovements in assessing the burthen; the justices having ance of the evil produced a disastrous relaxation in the repower to settle the poor for their abidings, and to set down strictions of which the experience and prudence of the prewhat portion the weekly charge towards the relief and sus- vious times had discovered the necessity. About the middle of the last century, there began to be Relaxation tentation of the poor people would amount unto, and that done, shall by their good discretions tax and assess all the indicated in the acts of the legislature a growing opinion, ot the la" inhabitants dwelling within the divisions limited for the set- that the severity of the tests applied to the recipients of public charity required to be diminished. In the 7th year tling of the poor. 4 License to This statute contained, like some of its predecessors, an of the reign of George III., guardians were especially apheg. enactment giving a limited license for begging, provided pointed in the city of London, the city of Westminster, the that the poor people ask relief of victualling only in the bills of mortality, the liberties of the Tower, not with any same parish where they do dwell, so the same be at the administrative or executive powers, but “ to guard against time and in the manner directed by the churchwardens and the dangerous consequences which may arise from the false overseers of the poor. This license has been extended, parsimony, negligence, inadvertency, or the annual change modified, and restrained, but still kept in existence, espe- of parish officers.” These guardians were to protect the cially in the case of discharged soldiers and prisoners, up poor children of the metropolitan districts'to which the act applied, by visiting the places in which they were kept, reto recent times. So far we have seen the gradual accumulation of all the porting on their condition, and calling on the assistance of 43 Eliz. elements contained in the poor-laws up to the time of the the magistracy where it might seem necessary. cap. 2. Throughout the whole of the reign of George III. the exlast amendment in the system made in the reign of the late King William IV. The statute which permanently ample thus set was followed by constantly succeeding and fixed all these elements in one system was passed in the increasing relaxations of the rigour of the old law; some of last year of the reign of Elizabeth, the celebrated statute the most conspicuous instances of which are to be found in the 43d Elizabeth, chap. 2. In this statute we find ex- Gilbert’s act, passed in the twenty-second year of that reign, treme severity abandoned, and its place supplied with a 1782, which, instead of rendering the workhouse a means reasonable test of destitution of such as may be presumed of testing voluntary pauperism, by employing the ableto be voluntary beggars or idlers. The able-bodied, married bodied, thereby deterring them from habits of pauperism, or unmarried, are to be set to work ; children may be ap- by rendering their state less eligible than one of indepenprenticed; only the “ lame, impotent, old, blind, and such dence, reverses this principle entirely. It confines the use others among them, being poor and not able to work,” are to of the workhouse to that of a mere receptacle for the aged, have “ necessary relief,” without being set to work. For the impotent, and infant poor ; and provides, that the able-bolatter class of poor, habitations may be provided at the ex- died shall not be required to enter it; and proceeds to the pense of the parish, on the waste or common ; and for the absurd extent in favour of the able-bodied pauper, of com-

' POOR-LAWS. 371 History of pelling the guardians appointed under the act to find work We find in a statute of Charles II. in the second year of Operation, English near their own houses, for all applicants able and professing the Restoration (13 and 14 Car. II. cap. 12), a multifarious " Laws* t0 willing to work, but unable to get employment; and law of settlement created, upon reasons thus expressed in to make up any supposed deficiency of wages out of the the recital: “ Whereas, by reason of some defects in the y poor-rates. law, poor people are not restrained from going from one The evils of able-bodied pauperism were now proceed- parish to another, and therefore do endeavour to settle theming with alarming rapidity. The consummation of the false selves in those parishes where there is the best stock, the larpolicy of the legislature during this reign was attained in gest commons or wastes to build cottages, and the most East’s act, 55 Geo. III. chap. 137 (passed 1815). It con- woods for them to burn and destroy ; and when they have sists of a complete abrogation of almost all the salutary por- consumed it, then to another parish; and at last become tions of the 9th Geo. I. chap. 7. The relief was no longer rogues and vagabonds, to the great discouragement of parequired to be received in the workhouse, it was to be paid rishioners to provide stocks, where it is liable to be deto any poor person or persons at his or her or their home or voured by strangers.” From this period the whole of the homes, house or houses. Justices were empowered to order efforts of the legislation are incessantly made to prevent this relief for any time they might be pleased to define, not the too easy settling of the poor upon the parish ; but they exceeding three months; and two justices might make all equally prove that settled pauperism had more and more subsequent orders for relief for a period not exceeding six taken the place of vagrant mendicancy. months. The preambles and recitals in this statute consist, If to the poor-laws can be attributed this good effect, as might have been anticipated from the previous course of they must also necessarily have the credit of preventing legislation, of descriptions of the grossest disorders on the that train of evils which follows upon the existence of a part of those maintained by the public charity. large mass of mendicants and vagrants in any community. The insolence and general demoralization of the pauper, the The corruption, the demoralization, the inevitable bodily most alarming deterioration in the industry of the labouring misery, to the mendicant himself, his connections, and his classes, especially the agricultural labourers of the south of offspring ; the extortion, depredation, and the more violent England, the unscrupulous interference of the employers crime which such a class have almost unlimited opportunity with the wages and the mode of remuneration of the em- and frequent temptation to commit; next the deterioration ployed, were abundantly shown by the committees of both in the feelings and habits of those whom circumstances may houses of parliament, appointed to inquire into the progress bring in contact with them; the refuge which they afford of the poor-laws, especially by that appointed on the motion to all who are inclined or tempted to fall off from the more of Mr Sturges Bourne (in 1817), and upon the report of steady and respectable occupations of life, many of whom which the act known as Sturges Bourne’s act, passed in the are even tempted by the mere spirit of adventure to become last year but one of this reign (the 59th Geo. III. c. 12), recruits ; add to these the alarm and practical annoyance, was founded. This act does not entirely abandon the views which renders the industry and morality of all other classes which dictated the dangerous provisions of East’s act. Ge- less a security for enjoyment; and we have some idea of nerally, however, it was a salutary measure, providing for the train of evils the prevention of which was cut off when the election of bodies of persons called select vestries, who vagrancy on the great scale was at length, in England, sucwere to supersede the'overseers, and, in some measure, the cessfully suppressed, though to be replaced in a great meajustices, more effectually to avoid the evils consequent upon sure by voluntary and resolute pauperism. The bad effects, as they arose in detail, usually led to the Injurious the administration being intrusted to annual and unpaid officers. It made provision also for the performance of the successive modifications which we find the law in its pro-effects, overseers’ duties, by paid and permanent assistant overseers. gress undergoing from time to time. Many of the evils From the end of George III.’s reign to the year 1834, temporarily and partially felt might even now be described though legislative changes were not unfrequent, they were with advantage, and as warnings to future legislators; but confined to matters of detail, involving neither the aban- generally their interest would at present be greater to the historian and antiquary than in a practical point of view. donment nor the adoption of any important principle. At no period had these laws attained such an influence on the interests of the community of England and Wales, as about the years 1831 and 1832, when the effects of the CHAPTER III. whole system had reached a greater height than had ever yet been attained. EFFECTS OF POOR-LAWS IN ENGLAND. In these years many of the anticipations of those who Commission of Inquiry. had seen the evil tendency of the poor-laws, and had prolects of In the course of the foregoing description of some of the phesied that the results of the system must be disastrous, evious principal statutes, the useful or injurious principles involv- were realized in such a way as to produce a conviction in Rslation. ed in them have been shortly referred to ; the effects ope- the most supine, that either a remedy must be applied, or a rated by the working out of those principles have been less wide-spread ruin be submitted to. In an article in this jneficial remarked upon. In the main, the good effects had consist- work, written in the year 1823, by one of the most humane ects. ed in reclaiming from a vagrant and profligate course of life and enlightened men who had ever given their attention to a large proportion of the population. The settlement laws the subject, it was shown that a crisis was impending, and especially had been instrumental in this; for we find that could not be far removed; that, as the law then stood, the the creation of the claim to relief from the parish funds had poor-rates were increasing in the same ratio in which the so far attracted the idle and dissolute from the practice of prudence and forethought of the receivers of relief were becommon begging, that, in the reign of Charles II., after a ing destroyed. It was shown, that “ whenever the charge period of great commotions, when many disbanded soldiers upon the land in support of those who do not add enough to and sailors, and others, who, in a period of turmoil, are the annual produce of the country to support themselves is so either forced upon or voluntarily resort to an unsettled life, great that the land can be no longer cultivated with profit, had much swelled the mass of those who in previous times then of course it will be thrown up.” In 1832 was seen the would have been found in the ranks of sturdy and valiant phenomenon of whole parishes of fertile land being abanbeggars, the same order of people were now found to be doned, “ the landlords giving up their rents, the farmers systematic though rapacious paupers, making the parish fund their tenancy, the clergyman his glebe and the tithes.” We find the paupers assembled and refusing to accept of the offer the means of levying their contributions on society.

POO R-L A W S. 372 Operation, of the whole land of the parish, avowing that “ they liked they also collected a vast mass of interesting evidence from Operation, our ambassadors and diplomatic agents in different coun- 'S'““‘Y'W ^ the present system better.”1 In the article referred to, it had been shown that the sys- tries of Europe and America. The result was a scrutinizing and minute inquiry; which tem then in operation was fraught with the danger of discontented turbulence. “ Every one is brought up with the was followed by the suggestion of amendments in the law, belief that the state is bound to provide him with employ- the practical deductions from the experience, yet so systement and support. When, therefore, the employment as- matic, that their operation could be calculated almost with signed him is such as he does not approve, and the recom- certainty, and which were, therefore, proportionally to be pense awarded him falls below his expectations (and when relied upon. As the success in inquiring had been great, the employment is a loss to the public, the recompense must so was the confidence of the legislature readily given; and often be below even reasonable expectations), he becomes the most important statute upon the subject passed since an irritated and uneasy subject; and, unless he is restrained the statute of Elizabeth was carried through both houses by by the fear of detection, or by the better influence of moral large and confident majorities. A description of the evils found in operation at the time principles, he vents his spleen by any mischief that is in his power, and the burning of stackyards, or the destruction of the inquiry, of the remedies proposed for those evils, and of machinery, results from an unsatisfactory interview with of the enactments actually adopted, will afford the most the overseer, or an ineffectual appeal to the bench of ma- complete and consistent view of the present system of English poor-laws. The statement of the operation of the pregistrates.” In the winter of 1831-1832 we find the practical exempli- vious law, and of the remedies proposed, will be condensed fication of these remarks. In a period of great general pros- from the Report of the Commissioners of Inquiry; that of the perity, we find that portion of England in which the poor- enactments passed, from the Act for the Amendment and laws had had their greatest operation, and in which by much better Administration of the Laws relating to the Poor in the largest expenditure of poor-rates had been made, the England and Wales, being 4 and 5 William IV. cap. 76. The poor entitled to relief consist,of those who are scene of daily riot and nightly incendiarism; and we discover a state of things which, in the sober language of statistics, is impotent through old age or bodily infirmity, through infancy, thus described: “ Of ninety-three parishes in four ill-admi- through accident, or through mental infirmity; and, secondly^ nistered counties, the population is 113,147, and the expen- of the able-bodied poor. diture L.81,978, or fourteen and fivepence per head ; and of eighty parishes in three well-administered counties, the I.—RELIEF OF THE ABLE-BODIED. population is 105,728, and the expenditure L.30,820, or five It was in the relief of the able-bodied that the greatest and ninepence per head ; and those counties in which the expenditure is large are those in which the industry and pecuniary expenditure, and, above all, that the greatest moskill of the labourers are passing away, the connection be- ral evils, were incurred. The relief granted was in a great tween the master and servant has become precarious, the measure unconditional; in many districts it had superseded unmarried are defrauded of their fair earnings, and riots and the necessity of practising even the thrift and husbandry incendiarism have prevailed. The three counties in which necessary in expending the funds placed at the pauper’s it is comparatively small are those in which scarcely any disposal. The great source of abuse was found to be the out-door instance of fire or tumult appears to have occurred; in which mutual attachment exists between the workman and relief afforded to the able-bodied on their own account, or his employer; in which wages depend not on marriage, but on that of their families. This was given either in kind or on ability, and the diligence and skill of the labourers are in money. unimpaired or increased.” 1. Out-Door Relief of the Able-Bodied in Kind. The danger had become too real to be neglected if a The out-door relief of the able-bodied, when given in remedy could be found ; but parliamentary inquiries, both in the upper and lower house, had repeatedly taken place kind, was found to consist rarely of food, rather less unfrecomparatively without result, the largest effect produced by quently of fuel, and still less unfrequently of clothes, partiany committee of either house being that of the committee cularly shoes ; but its most usual form was that of relieving appointed in 1817, which in the year 1819 produced Sturges the applicants, either wholly or partially, from the expense Bourne’s act; an act, as events proved, almost wholly un- of obtaining house-room. This last mode of reliel was extensively prevalent, and productive of important conseproductive of effect in checking the course of pauperism. An effort of another kind was now felt to be necessary, quences, both direct and indirect. Partial relief from the expense of obtaining house-room and was accordingly made. A Commission of Inquiry was appointed, consisting of individuals remarkable alike for was given, or professed to be given, whenever the occupant their interest in the subject and their knowledge of its prin- of a cottage or an apartment was exempted on the ground ciples and details; its powers, though only those of ordi- of poverty from the payment of rates. In a great number nary commissioners of inquiry, far exceeding, for useful pur- of cases the labourer, if a parishioner, was not only exemptposes, those of a parliamentary committee. Its labours were ed from rates, but his rent was paid out of the parish funds. continued incessantly for two years, uninterrupted by the 2. Out-Door Relief of the Able-Bodied in Money. vacation or recess. Nor were these confined alone to the examination of witnesses summoned from different parts of The out-door relief afforded in money to the able-bodied the country. The commission were enabled to examine the on their own account or on that of their families was found locality itself, the documentary evidence, the living wit- to be still more prevalent. This was generally effected by nesses, and the actual operation of the system on the spot, one or other of the five following expedients, which may be and this by the members of their own body, as well as by concisely designated as, first, relief without labour; secondly, assistant-commissioners appointed to visit and examine all the allowance system; thirdly, the roundsman system; fourthparts of the country, some of whom extended their inqui- ly, parish employment; and, fifthly, the labour-rate system. ries into Scotland, France, Flanders, and Guernsey, whilst Relief without Labour.—By the parish giving to those who ' See, as tc> the parish of Cholesbury in Berkshire, the Report from his Majesty’s Commissioners for Inquiring into the’Administration and 1 radical Oneration of the Poor-Laws, 8vo Fellowe?, 1834. See also instances in Warwickshire, in Mr Yilliers’s Report, in Appendix (A).

POO R-L A W S. 373 )peration. were or professed to be without employment, a daily or a week- than the current or the previous week or fortnight. The Operation, —v-*-^ ly sum, without requiring from the applicant any labour. consequence was, that many of those who at particular pe- ''-'"v— Sometimes relief, to an amount insufficient for a com- riods of the year received wages far exceeding the average plete subsistence, was afforded, without imposing any fur- amount of the earnings of the most industrious labourer, ther condition than that the applicant should shift, as it received also large allowances from the parish.2 was called, for himself, and give the parish no further trouAgain, there were other parishes in which no sort of inble. In a still greater number of instances the relief was quiry whatever was made respecting earnings; but the birth found to have been given on the plea that the applicant had of a child endowed the parent with an allowance, whatever not been able to obtain work, that he had lost a day or a might have been his previous income.3 It was to be oblonger period, and was entitled, therefore, to receive from served, also, that under the scale system a child was very the unlimited resources of the parish what he had not been soon considered as an independent claimant for relief, and able to obtain from a private employer. entitled to it, though residing with his parents, and though Allowance—By the parish allowing to labourers who they might have been at full work on high wages.4 were employed by individuals, relief in aid of wages. The Roundsman System.—By the parish paying the In some places allowance was found to have been given occupiers of property to employ the applicants for relief at only occasionally, or to meet occasional wants ; to buy, for a rate of wages fixed by the parish, and depending not on instance, a coat or a pair of shoes, or to pay the rent of a cot- the services but on the wants of the applicants, the emtage or an apartment. In others, it was considered that a ployer being repaid out of the poor-rate all that he had adweekly sum, or more frequently the value of a certain quan- vanced in wages beyond a certain sum. This was the housetity of flour or bread, was to be received by each member row, or roundsman, or billet, or ticket, or stem, system. of a family. According to this plan, the parish in general made some The latter practice was found to have been sometimes agreement with a farmer to sell to him the labour of one matured into a system, forming the law of a whole district, or more paupers at a cei'tain price, and paid to the pauper sanctioned and enforced by the magistrates, and promul- out of the parish funds the difference between that price gated in the form of local statutes.1 The allowance fixed and the allowance which the scale, according to the price by these scales was usually called bread-money. Of this of bread and the number of his family, awarded to him. It kind of relief it was observed, that had received the name of the billet or ticket system, from “ No attention was paid to either the character of the a ticket signed by the overseer, which the pauper in general applicant or the causes of his distress. In fact, he was con- carried to the farmer as a warrant for his being employed, sidered as entitled to it without pleading any distress. and took back to the overseer, signed by the farmer, as a . “ The bread-money was hardly looked upon by the labour- proof that he had fulfilled the conditions of relief. In other ! ers in the light of parish relief. They considered it as much cases the parish contracted with some individual to have their right as the wages they received from their employers, some work performed for him by the paupers at a given and, in their own minds, made a wide distinction between price, the parish paying the paupers. In many places the ‘ taking their bread-money’ and ‘ going on the parish.’ ” roundsman system was effected by means of an auction.5 It was further to be observed, that even in those parishes Parish Employment.—By the parish employing and payin which the amount of allowance was supposed to depend ing the applicants for relief. upon that of the applicant’s earnings, the inquiry as to the The 43d Elizabeth does not authorize relief to be affordamount of those earnings was never carried back further ed to any but the impotent, except in return for work. And 1 “ Town of Cambridge The churchwardens and overseers of the poor are requested to regulate the incomes of such persons as may apply to them for relief or employment, according to the price of fine bread, namely, “ A single woman, the price of...34 quartern loaves per week. “ A man and his wife and one child...94 quartern loaves per week. “ A single man 44 ... ditto. “ Ditto ditto and two children 11 ... ditto. “ A man and his wife 8 ... ditto. “ Ditto ditto and three ditto ..13 ... ditto. “ Man, wife, four children and upwards, at the price of 2^ quartern loaves per head per week. “ It will be necessary to add to the above income in all cases of sickness or other kind of distress, and particularly of such persons or ufamilies who deserve encouragement by their good behaviour, whom parish-officers should mark both by commendation and reward. By order of the magistrates assembled at the town-hall, Cambridge,—A Chevell, clerk to the magistrates.—Nov. 27, 1829.” (Report, p. 22.) 2 Mr Bishop found a parish in the Bedford Level, in which a recently drained tract of fertile land requires more labour than the settled inhabitants can provide, and the average yearly earnings of a labourer’s family are from L.GO to L.70; but during a frost, and generally from November to March, almost every labourer comes on the parish. AV hen they commented on these facts in their conversation with a resident magistrate, his answer was, “ Why, what are we to do ? they spend it all, and then come and say they are starving; and you must relieve them.” “ In our vestry,” says Mr Russell, “ which meets every Monday, the calculation is confined to the earnings of the past fortnight. No further retrospect is ever taken either for or against the claimant. In some parishes I believe the account is settled once a week instead of once a fortnight.” Sometimes the inquiry does not go back even to the beginning of the week at the end of which the claim is made. (Ibid. p. 29.) _ . 3 In the northern division of Devonshire, says Mr Villiers, “ The practice of granting allowance for children is so general and confirmed, that the pauper is in the habit of giving formal notice to the overseer ol the pregnancy ol his wire.. Should the overseer refuse the application for the fixed sum allowed for the second, third, or fourth child, the magistrates single inquiry, on Ins appearance before them under a summons, would have been as to the custom of the parish or the hundred. At what number does allowance begin with you ?’ was the common mode of putting the question, as I was repeatedly assured by overseers. Ihe previous or 4present earnings of the pauper, or of any of his family, were never mentioned.” (Ibid. p. 31.) At Friston, Suffolk, Mr Stuart states that “ a child is entitled to relief at the rate, ot three shillings a week on Ins own account, from the age of fourteen.” “ At Bottisham, Cambridge,” says Mr Power, “ a boy of sixteen receives two shillings tnd sixpence lot the week ; he lives at home with his father; the family consists of his father, mother, brother, and himself. Seventeen is the age at which a young man is considered entitled to separate relief as an unemployed labourer ; his pay then is three shillings and sixpence. The allowance to our single young men out of employ used to be two shillings and tenpence; according to scale, four quartern loaves, present price eightpence-halfpenny. Last November they came to the sessions in a body to complain of the insufficiency, and it was then raised to three shillings and sixpence. This sum they receive when above a certain age, although residing wit 11 .eir families.” (Ibid. p. 31.) „ ,, , ,, . , . ,., i. 5 Mr Richardson states that, “ in Sulgrave, Northamptonshire, the old and infirm are sold at the monthly meeting to ie ’eh der, at prices varying, according to the time of the year, from one shilling and sixpence a week to three, shillings ; a a ai< yHastings, all the unemployed men are put up to sale weekly; and that the clergyman of the parish told him that he lac seen en nit the last week knocked down to one of the farmers for five shillings, and that there were at that time about seven y men e 1 this manner out of a body of 170.” (Ibid. p. 28.)

POO R-L A W S. 374 Operation, much as this part of the statute had been neglected, its \ a- the immediate employers of labour could t^row on the pa- Operation a part of the wages of their labourers. They preferred, y'*V"""'lidity was still recognised by the judges. In the King v. rish those modes of relief which they could turn to Collett, 2, Barnewell and Cresswell, 324, Lord 1 enterden therefore, decided it to be the duty of overseers to provide work, it their own account, and out of 1which they could extract piounder the mask of charity. possible, before they afforded relief. And whatever might fit In some of the agricultural districts, the prevalent mishave been the difficulty of finding profitable work, one management in this respect had created in tne minds of could scarcely suppose the existence of a parish in which it paupers a notion that it was their right to be exempted would not be'possible to provide some work, were it merely the from the same degree of labour as independent labourers. to dig holes and fill them again. But though such was the But in places, whilst the labour required by the palaw, it appears, from the parliamentary returns, that pay- rish wasmany trifling, the pay equalled or exceeded that of the 2 ment for work was the most unusual form in which relief independent labourer. was administered. The poor-rate returns for the year endThe Labour-Rate System—By an agreement amongst the ed the 25th of March 1832 state, that out of L.7,036,968 rate-payers, that each of them should employ and pay out expended in that year for the relief of the poor, less than of his own money a certain number of the labourers who L.354,000, or scarcely more than one twentieth part, was paid for work, including work on the roads and in the work- had settlements in the parish, in proportion, not to his real demand for labour, but according to his rental or to his conhouses. This might easily be accounted for. tribution to the rates, or to the number of horses that he kept In the first place, to afford relief gratuitously proved less troublesome to the parochial authorities than to require for tillage, or to the number of acres that he occupied, or work in return for it. Wherever work was to be paid for, according to some other scale. there must have been superintendence ; but where paupers II OUT-DOOR RELIEF OF THE IMPOTENT. were the work-people, much more than the average degree of superintendence was necessary. In ordinary cases, all The out-door relief to the impotent, using that word as that the superintendent inquired was, whether the workmen had performed an average day’s work; and where the work comprehending all except the able-bodied and their famiwas piece-work, he needed not make even that inquiry. lies, was subject to less abuse. The great source of poorThe practice of his trade fixed the market-price of the law mal-administration was the desire of many of those who work, and he paid it without asking whether the workman regulated the distribution of the parochial funds, to extract had been one hour or one day in performing it, or whether from it a profit to themselves. The out-door relief to the it exceeded or fell below his wants. But the superinten- able-bodied, and all relief which was administered in the dent of pauper labourers had to ascertain, not what was an workhouse, afforded ample opportunities for effecting^ this average day’s work, or what was the market-price of a purpose; but no use could be made of the labour of the given service, but what wras a fair day’s w7ork for a given aged and sick, and there was little room for jobbing if their individual, his strength and habits considered ; at what rate pensions were paid in money. Accordingly, it was found of pay for that wwk, the number of his family considered, that even in places distinguished in general by the most he would be able to earn the sum necessary for his and wanton parochial profusion, the allowances to the aged and their subsistence; and, lastly, whether he had in fact per- infirm were moderate. formed the amount which, after taking all these elements General Remarks on Out-door Relief. into calculation, it appeared that he ought to have performWe have dwelt at some length on out-door relief, beed. It will easily be anticipated that this superintendence was very rarely given ; and that in far the greater number cause it appears to be the relief which was most extensiveof instances in which work was professedly required from ly given, and because it appears to have contained in itself fiaupers, in fact no work was done. In the second place, col- the elements of an almost indefinite extension ; of an execting the paupers in gangs for the performance of parish tension, in short, which might ultimately have absoroed work was found to be more immediately injurious to their the whole fund out of which it arose. Amongst the eleconduct than even allowance or relief without requiring any ments of extension were the constantly diminishing relucwork at all. Whatever might have been the general charac- tance to claim an apparent benefit, the receipt of which ter of the parish labourers, all the worst of the inhabitants imposed no sacrifice, except a sensation of shame, quickly were sure to be amongst the number ; and it is well known obliterated by habit, even if not prevented by example; the that the effect of such an association is always to degrade the difficulty, often amounting to impossibility, on the part of good, not to elevate the bad. It was amongst these gangs, those who administered and awarded relief, of ascertaining who had scarcely any other employment or amusement than whether any and what necessity for it existed; and the existto collect in groups, and talk over their grievances, that ence in many cases of positive motives on their parts to grant the riots of 1830 appear to have originated. And, thirdly, it when unnecessary, or themselves to create the necessity. From the evidence collected by the Commissioners, it parish employment did not afford direct profit to any individual. Under the greatest part of the other systems of relief, will be seen how zealous must be the agency, and how in1 “ Either the work was completed bv two or three o’clock, and the rest of the day spent in idleness, or the men consumed the whole day in the lazy performance of the work of a portion of the day.”...“ In Pollington, Yorkshire, they send many of them upon the highways, but they only work four hours per day. This is because there is not employment sufficient in that way ; they sleep more than they work, and if any but the surveyor found them sleeping, they would laugh at them. In Itancliffe they employed a man in the winter of 1830-1831 to look over them ; but they threatened to drown him, and he was obliged to withdraw.”.In the parish ot Mancetter, in the county of Warwick, the overseer stated that young able men received two shillings and sixpence a week, and the magistrates would not allow the parish to employ them more than three days in the week, in order that they might get work lor themselves. Upon inquiry, it appeared that their characters soon became so infamous, that no person would employ them, having devoted their spare time to thieving and poaching. In the township of Atherstone, Mr Wellday, a manufacturer, impatient of contributing his property to the encouragement of vice and idleness by paying men without exacting labour, purchased some water-carts himself, for the purpose of giving employment to paupers. The magistrates refused to allow them to be used after twelve o’clock in the day, in order that these men might procure work for themselves. They were also described as becoming the most worthless characters in the2 town.” (Report, p. 37, 38.) Eastbourne, in Sussex, was a striking example. In that place, in which the average wages earned from individuals by hard vyork are twelve shillings a week, the parish pays for nominal labour as much as sixteen shillings a week. Two families alone received from it, in the year ended Lady-day 1832, L.92. 4s.; and the wives of the few independent labourers regret that their husbands are not paupers. (Ibid, p. 39.)

POO R-L A W S. 375 ■peration. tense the vigilance, to prevent fraudulent claims from crowd- insured proportionate disappointment and hatred if that ex- Operation, -’’'v'--'' ing in under such a system of relief. But it would require still pectation were not satisfied. On the other hand, wherever ^ y greater vigilance to prevent the bona fide claimants from de- the objects of expectation had been made definite, where generating into impostors ; and it was an aphorism amongst wages, upon the performance of work, had been substituted the active parish-officers, that “ cases which are good to- for eleemosynary aid, and those wages had been allowed to reday are bad to-morrow, unless they are incessantly watch- main matter of contract, employment had again produced coned.” A person obtained relief upon the ground of sickness ; tent, and kindness became once more a source of gratitude. but when he became capable of returning to moderate work, he was tempted, by the enjoyment of subsistence without Ill IN-DOORS RELIEF. labour, to conceal his convalescence, and fraudulently extend the period of relief. When it really depended upon In-doors relief, that which was given within the walls of the receivers whether the relief should cease with its occa- the poor-house, or, as it was usually, but very seldom propersion, it was too much to expect of their virtue that they ly, denominated, the workhouse, was also subject to great should, in any considerable number of instances, voluntari- mal-administration. But in by far the greater number of ly forego the pension. cases it was a large alms-house, in which the young were Another evil connected with out-door relief, and arising trained in idleness, and ignorance, and vice; the able-bodied from its undefined character, was the natural tendency to maintained in sluggish and sensual indolence; the aged and award to the deserving more than was necessary, or, where more respectable exposed to all the misery incident to dwellmore than necessary relief was afforded to all, to distinguish ing in such a society, without government or classification; the deserving by extx-a allowances. The scale which we and the whole body of inmates subsisting on food far exceedhave already referred to, promulgated by the magistrates ing, both in kind and in amount, not merely the diet of the for the town of Cambridge, as well as several others, all independent labourer, but that of the majority of the perdirected the parish-officers to reward or encourage the de- sons who contributed to their support. serving. The whole evidence showed the danger of such The progress of pauperism, as far as it can be inferred Extent of an attempt. It appeared that such endeavours to consti- from the progress of expenditure, had been such as is ex- pauperism, tute the distributors of relief into a tribunal for the reward hibited in the following table; to which the prices of wheat, of merit, out of the property of others, had not only failed in and the quantities which might have been purchased by the effecting the benevolent intentions of their promoters, but total sums expended, are added, for the purpose of checking, had become sources of fraud on the part of the distributors, in some measure, the misapprehension which might otherand of discontent and violence on the part of the claimants. wise arise as to the true value of the sums expended through A common consequence was, that to satisfy the clamours the fluctuating values of money during the interval to which of the undeserving, the general scale of relief was raised; the table extends. but the ultimate result of such a proceeding appears always to have been to augment the distress which it was intendNumber of QuarSums expended Population o Price ters of Wheat for ed to mitigate, and to render still more fierce the discontent for Relief of the England and Average of Wheat per which the money Poor. Wales.2 which it was intended to appease. Profuse allowances exQuarter. could have been exchanged. cited the most extravagant expectations on the part of the claimants, who conceived that an inexhaustible fund_ was L. s. d. devoted to their use, and that they were wronged to the 1801 4,017,871 115 11 8,872,980 693,234 1803 4,077,891 9,148,314 1,428,751 57 extent of whatever fell short of their claims. Such relief 6,656,105 1811 10,163,676 92 1,440,455 partook of the nature of indiscriminate alms-giving in its ef- 1814 6,294,581 10,755,034 1,746,474 72 1 fects, as a bounty on indolence and vice ; but the apparent- 1815 5,418,846 63 8 1,702,255 10,979,437 ly legal sanction to this parochial alms-giving rendered the 1818 5,724,839 76 2 1,503,240 11,160,557 discontent on denial the most intense. Wherever, indeed, 1817 6,910,925 11,349,750 94 0 1,470,409 1818 7,870,801 83 8 11,524,389 1,881,466 public charities are profusely administered, w e hear, from 7,516,704 11,700,965 72 3 2,080,748 those who are engaged in their administration, complaints 1819 7,330,256 1820 65 10 11,893,155 2,226,913 of the discontent and disorders introduced. 1821 6,959,249 11,978,875 54 5 2,557,763 It appeared from all the Commissioners’ returns, that in 1822 6,358,702 12,313,810 43 3 2,940,440 every district the discontent of the labouring classes was pro- 1823 5,772,958 51 9 12,508,956 2,231,094 62 0 12,699,098 1,850,612 portioned to the money disbursed in poor-rates or in volun- 1824 5,736,898 66 6 12,881,906 1,740,447 tary charities. The able-bodied unmarried labourers were 1825 5,786,989 5,928,501 13,056,931 56 11 2,083,221 discontented, from being put to a disadvantage as compar- 1828 56 9 13,242,019 2,26.9,987 1827 6,441,088 ed with the married. The paupers were discontented, from 1828 2,084,855 6,298,000 13,441,913 60 their expectations being raised by the ordinary administra66 13,620,701 1829 6,332,410 1,911,671 64 1830 6,829,042 2,125,772 tion of the system, beyond any means of satisfying them.1 13,811,467 66 2,049,916 13,897,187 Those who worked, though receiving good wages, being de- 1831 6,798,883 58 8 14,105,645 2,398,966 1832 7,036,968 nominated poor, and classed with the really indigent, thought 1833 52 11 14,317,223 2,566,601 6,790,799 themselves entitled to a share of the “ poor funds.” WhatThe numbers given in this column for the years 1801, 1811, 1821, and 1831, ever addition was made to allowances under these circum- aree those ascertained at the enumeration of those years; those stated for the instances excited the expectation of still further allowances, termediate and for subsequent years are computed from the baptisms and burials, and from the rate of increase, as ascertained at each census. increased the conception of the extent of the right, and 1 “ They, as well as the independent labourers, to whom the term poor is equally applied, are instructed,” says Mr Chadwick, “ that they have a right to ‘ a reasonable subsistence,’ or ‘ a fair subsistence,’ or ‘ an adequate subsistence.’ When I have asked of the rate-distributors what ‘fair' or ‘ reasonable,' or ‘ adequate' meant, I have in every instance been answered differently; some stating they thought it meant such as would give a good allowance of ‘ meat every day,’ which no poor man (meaning a pauper) should be without; although a large proportion of the rate-payers do go without it.” It is abundantly shown in the course of this inquiry,.that where the terms used by the public authorities are vague, they are always filled up by the desires of the claimants, and the desires always wait on the imagination, which is the worst regulated and the most vivid in the most ignorant of the people. In Newbury and Reading, the money dispensed in poor-rates and charity is as great as could be desired by the warmest advocate either of compulsory or of voluntary relief; and yet, during the agricultural riots, many of the inhabitants in both towns were under strong apprehensions of the rising of the very people amongst whom the poor-rates and charities are so profusely distributed. I he violence of most of the mobs seems to have arisen from an idea that all their privations arose from the cupidity or fraud of those intrusted with the management of the fund provided for the poor. (Report, p. 50.)

376 Operation.

POO R-L A W S. the sacrifices of landlords, who made deductions of Operation, The following represents the results of the above table lating rate in regard of these charges, are equally wanting. We ' at the periods of the decennial census. however find, that amongst the most conspicuous instances Cost per head Cost in Wheat Years in which the rents of a parish had been nearly or entirely on total in the proporof the absorbed in the relief afforded by these two systems, very Population. tion of Census. small rates had been levied upon the occupiers in money. s. d. The Commissioners’ evidence, particularly their Appendix 9 1801 (D), is full of instances of this source of indirect and unre13 141 2 1811 corded loss. 10 25^ 1821 It must also be borne in mind, that in proportion as these 9 20 1831 modes of relief to the able-bodied were extended, and as The foregoing table, however, can by no means be adopt- the real amount of the burthen was thus concealed, the ed as indicating with any accuracy the real progress of the deterioration of the labourer’s habits of industry, involving, evil. In the first place, the progress in the amount expend- not a loss of the particular year, but a permanent destruced only indicates an increased proportion of pauperism, inof his utility as a labourer, as well as of his prudence and asmuch as the increase in the sums expended exceeds the tion morality, were proceeding in a ratio even more rapid than increase in the population. Thus, from the year 1803 to the progress of these insidious forms of relief. the year 1823, the population increased from nine to twelve It might have been hoped, that, under such circumstances,to Objectijiu millions, whilst the sums expended for relief of the poor a general would have arisen that these abuses were menamenl1increased from four to five and three-fourth millions. Ihis intolerable,feeling and must be put an end to at any risk or at any b indicates but a small increase in pauperism relatively to the sacrifice. But many who acknowledged the evil seemed increase of population, and the number of paupers in every hundred persons might have been nearly the same at the to expect the cure of an inveterate disease without exposthe patient to any suffering, or even discomfort. They two periods compared. We find, however, that the increase ing exclaimed against the burthen as intolerable, but objected in the value of the money expended, as reckoned in the to any amendment, if it appeared that it must be, or might wheat purchaseable by it, was as fourteen to twenty-two, attended with any inconvenience. And amongst all that is, an increase in pauperism which would have exceed- be, ed the progress of the population in the proportion of twen- parties, labourers, employers of labourers, and owners of many were to be found who thought that they ty per cent.; and in this period it is to be supposed, either property, that the numbers of paupers may have increased in the would suffer some immediate injury from any change which proportion of twenty per cent., or that the effective relief, should tend to throw the labouring classes on their own that is, the quantity of commodities given on the one side resources. The labourer felt that the existing system, though it ge-1. On the and received on the other, had at least increased in the nerally gave him low wages, always gave him easy work. It part of la. proportion of twenty per cent. But, during all this period, ourer!, > other necessaries and commodities of life had diminished gave him likewise, strange as it may appear, what he valued more, a sort of independence. He needed not bestir himin price in a still greater proportion. Thus it is calculated by Mr Porter,1 from the extensive data contained in self to seek work, he needed not study to please his master, his tables, that the sum of nine shillings and ninepence, he needed not put any restraint upon his temper, he needthe amount of relief per head, in the year 1831, would have ed not ask relief as a favour. He had all a slave’s secupurchased as much as seventeen shillings would have bought rity for subsistence, without his liability to punishment. As a single man, indeed, his income did not exceed a bare subin 1801. The sums returned as expended in poor-rates, though, sistence ; but he had only to marry, and it increased. Even since 1834) and at present, they represent the whole amount then it was unequal to the support of a family, but it rose of the burthen, did, in fact, up to the year 1834, include on the birth of every child. If his family were numerous, hut a small part of the whole charge. Of the various modes the parish became his principal paymaster; for, small as in which relief was given to the able-bodied labourer, or the usual allowance of two shillings a-head might be, yet, rather extorted from a portion of the parishioners, two of when there were more than three children, it generally exthose above described, viz. relief on the roundsman system, ceeded the average wages given in a pauperised district. A and that on the labour-rate system, were means of casting man with a wife and six children, entitled, according to the the burthen of a man’s support upon a parishioner, without scale, to have his wages made up to sixteen shillings a week, the levying or expending of any rate. No means exist to in a parish where the usual wages paid by individuals did enable us to calculate the amount of the burthen thus in- not exceed ten shillings or twelve shillings, was almost an curred by the occupiers ; and of course the means of calcu- irresponsible being. All other classes of society were ex1 2

See the Progress of the Nation, by G. It. Porter, Esq. small 8vo, 1836, p. 83. , . Mr Cowell’s Iteport contains the examination of a large farmer and proprietor at Great Shelford, who, on 500 acres, situate in that parish, pays ten shillings per acre poor-rate, or L.250 a year. In addition, though he requires for his farm only sixteen regu ar labourers, he constantly employs twenty or twenty-one. The wages of these supernumerary labourers amount to L.150 a y^r, and he calculates the value of what they produce at L.50 a year ; so that his real contribution to the relief of the poor is not E. o , the sum which would appear in the parliamentary returns, but L.350. In the same Iteport is to be found a letter from Mr \Y eu o Royston, containing the following passages :— “ An occupier of land near this place told me to-day that he pays I..100 for poor-rates, and is compelled to employ fourteen men and six boys, and requires the labour of only ten men and three boys. His extra labour at ten shillings a week, which is the current£ rate for men, and half as much for boys, is L.130. . * Another occupier stated yesterday that he held 165 acres of land, of which half was pasture. He was compelled to employ twelve men and boys, and his farm required the labour of only five. He is about to give notice that he will quit. Every useless labourer is calculated to add five shillings an acre to the rent of a farm of 100 acres.” It contains also a letter from Mr Nash of lloyston, the occupier of a farm in a neighbouring parish, stating that “ The overseer, on the plea that he could no longer collect the money for the poor-rates without resorting to coercive measures, and that the unemployed poor must be apportioned amongst the occupiers of land in proportion to their respective quantities, had required him to take two more men. Mr Nash was consequently obliged to displace two excellent labourers, and of the two men sent in their stead one was a married man with a family sickly, and not much inclined to work ; the other a single man addicted to drinking.” ? The subsequent history of these two men appears in Mr Power’s Report. One killed a favourite blood mare of Mr Nash’s, ana the other he was obliged to prosecute for stealing his corn. (Report, p. 55.)

POO R-L A W S. 377 •Ejections posed to the vicissitudes of hope and fear; he alone had no- poor-rates, there is a portion, and a portion of considerable Objections 1 o Amend- thing to lose or gain. importance, less from its value, than from the number ofto Ameijd. It appeared to the pauper, that the government had un- rate-payers amongst whom it is divided, and their influence ment’ dertaken to repeal, in his favour, the ordinary laws of na- in vestries, which not only is, in practice, exempted from ^ ' Y ture ; to enact that the children should not sulfer for the contributing to the parochial fund, but derives its principal misconduct of their parents, the wdfe for that of the hus- value from the mal-administration of that fund. This proband, or the husband for that of the wife; that no one perty consists of cottages or apartments inhabited by the should lose the means of comfortable subsistence, whatever poor. In almost all places the dwellings of the poor, or at might be his indolence, prodigality, or vice; in short, that least of the settled poor, were exempted from rates, and, bethe penalty which, after all, must be paid by some one for sides, the rent was, in a very large proportion, paid by the paidleness and improvidence, should fall, not on the guilty per- rish. The former practice enabled the proprietor often to in son, or on his family, but on the proprietors of the lands and crease the rent by the amount of rate remitted, and always houses encumbered by bis settlement. Can we wonder if to be an owner of real property, and yet escape the princithe uneducated were seduced into approving a system w hich pal burdens to which such property was subjected. The aimed its allurements at all the weakest parts of our na- latter practice gave him a solvent tenant, and, if he had inture, which offered marriage to the young, security to the fluence with the vestry or with the overseer, a liberal one. anxious, ease to the lazy, and impunity to the profligate ? Of the higher classes of landlords, those who reside in On the The employers of paupers were attached to a system towns seldom took much part in parochial government, or art of em- which enabled them to dismiss and resume their labourers had any distinct ideas as to the extent or the effects of its myers; acC0rding to their daily or even hourly want of them, to mismanagement; and the majority of those who had become reduce wages to the minimum of what would support an familiarized with the abuses of the villages seem to have unmarried man, and to throw upon others the payment of acquired habits of thinking and feeling and acting which a part, frequently of the greater part, and sometimes al- unfitted them to originate any real and extensive amendmost the w'hole, of the wages actually received by their la- ment, or even to understand the principles upon which it bourers. And even if they paid in rates w hat they would ought to be based. I o suppose that the poor are the prootherwise pay in wages, they preferred the payment of per managers of their own concerns; that a man’s wages rates, which occurred at intervals, and the payment of which ought to depend on his services, not on his wants; that the might from time to time be put off, to the weekly ready- earnings of an ordinary labourer are naturally equal to the money expenditure of wages. High rates, too, were a ground support of an ordinary family ; that the welfare of that fafor demanding an abatement from rent; but high w^ages w ere mily naturally depends on his conduct; that he is bound to not.2 exercise any sort of prudence or economy; that anything On the The owners of rateable property might, at least, have is to be hoped from voluntary charity; are views W’hich many 1 0 een ex ecte( of those who have long resided in pauperised rural districts 16 s ' " ^ fetors*' P impending I t° be favourable to any change whichliable should ‘ avert their ruin. But of the property to seem to have rejected as too absurd for formal refutation. 1 Even in Barnard Castle, in Durham, Mr Wilson states, that if any remonstrance is made on account of the applicant’s bad character, the reply of the magistrate commonly is, u the children must not suffer for it.” The following answers are specimens of the feeling and conduct in the southern districts :—“ The answer given by the magistrates, when a man’s bad conduct is urged by the overseer against his relief, is, ( We cannot help that; his wife and family are not to suffer because the man has done wrong.’ ” ” Too frequently petty thieving, drunkenness, or impertinence to a master, throw able-bodied labourers, perhaps with large families, on the parish funds, when relief is demanded as a right, and, if refused, enforced by a magistrate’s order, without reference to the cause which has produced his distress, viz. his own misconduct, which remains as a barrier to his obtaining any fresh situation, and leaves him a dead weight upon the honesty and industry of his parish.” Mr Stuart states, that in Suffolk, children deserted by their parents are in general well taken care of, and that the crime of deserting them is largely encouraged by the certainty that the parish must support the family. Even the inconvenience which might fall on the husband by the punishment of his wife for theft, is made the subject of pecuniary compensation at the expense of the injured parish. Under what other system could there be a judicial instrument concluding thus:— “ And whereas it appears to us that the wife of the said Bobert Heed is now confined in the house of correction at Cambridge, and that he is put to considerable expense in providing a person to look after his said five children, we do therefore order the churchwardens and overseers of the poor of the said parish, or such of them to whom these presents shall come, to pay unto the said Robert Reed the sum of eleven shillings weekly and every week, for and towards the support and maintenance of himself and family, for one month from the day of the date hereof. Given under our hands and seals this twentieth day of February, in the year of our Lord one8 thousand eight hundred aud thirty-three.” (Report, p. 59.) In Mr Richardson’s instructive statement of the reforms effected by Mr Litchfield, in Farthingoe, Northamptonshire, we find that Mr Litchfield has been opposed, not only by the labourers, but by the farmers ; first, because they grudged giving the labourer with no children eight shillings a week; secondly, because they were afraid to displease the labourer who had two children, and preferred head-money; and, thirdly, because they were fearful lest, if the rates were lowered, their rents would be raised ; and that they encouraged the labourers, at first openly, and afterwards covertly, in their attempts to deter Mr Litchfield by menaces and insult. “ When; have no leases), 4 I have nothingt ,— ^ as a bad custom, as it holds out an inducement to the farmer to prefer low wages and high rates, aenants at will, says Air Gogslnll, too often think, the more poor-rates the less rent. Confidence between landlord and tenant seems quite lost. I have witnessed a good deal of this.” . . The following replies to question 36 of the Commissioners’ Rural Queries are further testimonies to the same effect. “ I think the poor-laws have not diminished the capital, but rather the rent of the landlord, as the tenant considers rents and rates as payment for the farm, and one can only be increased at the expense of the other.” . “ The farmers are aware that, excepting in cases of long tenures and very sudden augmentation or rates, the burden does not at all affect them. It is a rent paid to the parish instead of the landowner.” , “ It should be understood that poor-rates are deducted in all calculations for rent; and that landlords pay them, and not the farmers.” _ . “ Capital is decreasing, from the loose manner in which the laws are administered, and the tenants feeling that they t o no m effect pay the rates, but the landlord. I cannot otherwise account forthe apathy with which they view, and the tenacity with which, in many instances, they defend abuses.” (Report, pp. 60, 61, 62.) . VOL. XVIII. ^B

POO R-L A VV S. 378 Effects of Yet were the effects of the system such, that it might a labour-rate or some other device against non-parishion- Effects d System, reasonably have been expected that any plan affording a ers, and forced back to his settlement to receive as alms a System v portion only of what he was obtaining by his own exertions. tj / ^7TT'y’*'"T prospect of a remedy would have been welcomEffects ot reasonable proprietors, who had been mulcted He was driven from a place where he was earning, as a ed by a]1 classes- The free labourer, twelve or fourteen shillings a week, and was proprietors every year of a larger and larger portion of their income, offered road-work as a pauper, at sixpence a day, or perwere not only deprived of the benefits to their property naturally dependent on a constant increase of the population haps to be put up by the parish authorities to auction, and and in the consumption of produce, each such increase sold to the farmer who would take him at the lowest albringing with it an accumulating charge of pauperism. In- lowance. Can we wonder, then, if the labourer abandoned virtues 01 stances of the total abandonment of the land had not yet which this was the reward ; if he gave up the economy in become numerous, but the approach towards lit was in many cases imminent, and in all certain and rapid ; whilst every return for which he had been proscribed, the diligence for diminution of cultivation was seen to have a double effect in which he had been condemned to involuntary idleness, and increasing the rate on the remaining cultivation, the number the prudence, if it can be called such, which diminished his of unemployed labourers being increased at the same instant means just as much as it diminished his wants ? Can we as the fund for payment of rates was diminished ; and the winder if, smarting under these oppressions, he considered abandonment of property once begun, gave induced cause the law, and all who administered the law, as his enemies, the fair objects of his fraud or his violence ? Can we wonto proceed at an accelerated ratio. on emThe employers found the services of their labourers de- der if, to increase his income, and to revenge himself on ployers, teriorated both by the loss of industry, skill, and intelli- the parish, he married, and thus helped to increase that T gence, which can only be secured by a recognition, on the local excess of population which was gradually eating aw ay the fund out of which he and all the other labourers of the part of the labourer, of the value to himself of such qualities; and they had to contend with many other habits of insolence parish were to be maintained ? But though the injustice perpetrated upon the man who and insubordination, the natural results of the labourer’s struggled, as far as he could struggle, against the oppression ceasing to depend upon his good character. 11'lo But by far the severest sufferers were those for whose of the system, who refused, as far as he could refuse, to be buurers. benefit the system was supposed to have been introduced its accomplice, was at first sight the most revolting, the seand perpetuated; we mean the labourers and their families. verest sufferers were those that had become callous to their Amongst these, the effects were not confined to those ac- own degradation, who valued parish support as their privi • tually relieved. Instances were everywhere found in which lege, and demanded it as their right, and complained only the prudence and forethought of a labourer became his that it was limited in amount, or that some sort of labour punishment instead of a reward. So onerous was the entire or confinement was exacted in return. No man’s princisupport of a man with a large family, and entirely destitute, ples can be corrupted without injury to society in general; that the rate-payers in agricultural parishes were generally but the person most injured is the person whose principles corrupted. The constant war which the pauper agreed in employing such a one, so as to keep his family off have been r the rates, in preference to another who had not married, or had to w age with all who employed or paid him, was dewho had no family, or who had the means, by greater pru- structive of his honesty and his temper ; as his subsistence dence or by any good fortune, for a while to support him- did not depend on his exertions, he lost all that sweetens labour, its association with reward, and got through his self.2 The system, in short, was this. Piece-work was refused to the single man, or to the mar- work, such as it was, wdth the reluctance of a slave. His ried man, if he had any property, because they could exist pay, earned by importunity or fraud, or even violence, was upon day-wages; it was refused to the active and intelligent not husbanded with the carefulness which would be given labourer, because he could earn too much. The enter- to the results of industry, but wasted in the intemperance prising man, who had fled from the tyranny and pauperism to which his ample leisure invited him. The ground upon of his parish to some place where there was a demand and which relief was ordered to the idle and dissolute was, that a reward for his services, was driven from a situation which the wife and children must not suffer for the vices ot rthe suited him, and an employer to whom he was attached, by head of the family ; but as that relief was almost alw ays 1 See the Commissioners’ Report, page G5, where instances like the following are given from all parts of the country.. The present is taken from Leicestershire, a county not within the range of the extreme operation of pauperism. “ Mr Pilkington s description of several places in Leicestershire is equally alarming. In Hinckley he found the poor-rate exceeding one pound an acre, and rapidly increasing, and a general opinion that the day is not distant when rent must cease altogether. On visiting M igston Magna, in November 1832, he was informed that the value of property had fallen one half since 1820, and was not saleable even at that reduction. It does not appear, indeed, that it ought to have sold for more than two or three years’ purchase, the net rental not amounting to L.4000 a year, and the poor-rate expenditure growing at the rate of L.1000 increase in a single year. And on his return to that neighbourhood, three months afterwards, the statement made to him was, that property in land was gone ; that even the rates could not be collected without regular summons and judicial sales ; and that the present system must insure, and very shortly, the total ruin of every individual of any property in the parish. We cannot wonder, after this, at the statement of an eminent solicitor at Loughborough, that it is now scarcely possible to effect a sale of property in that neighbourhood at any price.” The following answers, taken from a multitude of others of a similar nature, contained in Appendix (B), are to the same effect: “ Annual value of the real property, as assessed April 1815, L.3390; annual value of the real property, as assessed November 1829, L.1959. 5s. It has undoubtedly fallen in value since the last valuation, i. e. in the last two years ; and the population has been more than trebled in thirty years—1801, 306; 1811, 707 ; 1821, 897 ; 1831, 938 ; and that in spffe of an emigration of considerable amount, at the parish expense, in 1829. The eighteen-penny children will eat up this parish in ten years more, unless some relief be afforded us.” (Report, pp. 65, 66.) * See striking evidences of these influences in the Report, page 78. y^- But many writers, misled by the phrase above cited, have asserted that James L was proclaimed on the 1st ^ January 1603. Hebe^, bishop of Calcutta, again, has ruined the entire chronology of the life of Jeremy Taylor and unconsciously vitiated the fac by not m ^ standing this fractional date. Mr Koscoe even too often leaves his readers to collect the true year as they can . thus, c. g. of his Life, he quotes from Pope’s letter to Warburton, in great vexation for the surreptitious publication ot ms letters under date of February 4, 174°. But why not have printed it intelligibly as 1741 ? Incidents there are in most men’s lives, which are susceptible of a totally different moral value, according as they are dated in one year or another, i J* Lonand honourable liberality in 1740, which would be a fraud upon creditors in 1741. Lxile to a distance o en ^ January don in January 1744, might argue, that a man was a turbulent citizen, and suspected of treason ; whi s le same ex i meet 1745 would simply argue that, as a Papist, he had been included amongst his whole body in a general measure o piecau ,jt;on3 the public dangers of that year. This explanation we have thought it right to make, both for its extensive app ica 10.1 ^ of Pope, and on account of the serious blunders which have arisen from the case when ill understood; and because, i noint education, written jointly by Messrs Lant Carpenter and Shephard, though generally men of ability and learning, is erroneously explained. .. ^ ^ iI fit-hpr that e 1 It is apparently with allusion to this part of his history, which he would often have heard from the lips ot ’ Pope glances at his uncle’s memory somewhat disrespectfully in his prose letter to Lord Harvey. converSome accounts, however, say to Flanders, in which case, perhaps, Antwerp or Brussels would have the honou sion. O

P o P E. 393 Pope- out serious injury, and was not farther tormented by cows culties, tnat he was now finally thrown for the rest of his Pope. --y'—or schoolmasters until he was about eight years old, when education, at an age so immature that many boys are then ' v'^-' the family priest, that is, we presume, the confessor of his first entering their academic career. Pope is supposed to parents, taught him, agreeably to the Jesuit system, the have been scarcely twelve years old when he assumed the rudiments of Greek and Latin concurrently. This priest office of self-tuition, and bade farewell for ever to schools was named Banister ; and his name is frequently employed, and tutors. together with other fictitious names, by way of signature Such a phenomenon is at any rate striking: it is the more to the notes in the Dunciad, an artifice which was adopted so, under the circumstances which attended the plan, and for the sake of giving a characteristic variety to the notes, under the lesults which justified its execution. It seems, according to the tone required for the illustration of the as regards the plan, hardly less strange that prudent parents text. From his tuition Pope was at length dismissed to a should have acquiesced in a scheme of so much peril to his Catholic school at Twyford, near Winchester. The selec- intellectual interests, than that the son, as regards the exetion of a school in this neighbourhood, though certainly the cution, should have justified their confidence by his final choice of a Catholic family was much limited, points appa- success. More especially this confidence surprises us in rently to the old Hampshire connection of his father. Here the father. A doating mother might shut her eyes to all an incident occurred which most powerfully illustrates the remote evils in the present gratification to her afi’ections; original and constitutional determination to satire of this but Pope s father was a man of sense and principle ; he irritable poet. He knew himself so accurately, that in after must have weighed the risks besetting a boy left to his owjr intellectual guidance; and to these risks he would allow times, half by way of boast, half of confession, he says, the more weight from his own conscious defect of scholarBut touch me, and no Minister so sore : ship and inability to guide or even to accompany his son’s Whoe’er offends, at some unlucky time Slides into verse and hitches in a rhyme, studies. He could neither direct the proper choice of stuSacred to ridicule his whole life long, dies ; nor in any one study taken separately could he sugAnd the sad burthen of some merry song. gest the proper choice of books. The case we apprehend to have been this: Alexander Already, it seems, in childhood he had the same irresistible instinct, victorious over the strongest sense of personal Pope the elder, was a man of philosophical desires and undanger. He wrote a bitter satire upon the presiding peda- ambitious character. Quiet and seclusion and innocence gogue, was brutally punished for this youthful indiscretion, of life,—these were what he affected for himself; and that and indignantly removed by his parents from the school. which had been found available for his own happiness, he Mr Roscoe speaks of Pope’s personal experience as neces- might reasonably wish for his son. The two hinges upon sarily unfavourable to public schools; but in reality he which his plans may be supposed to have turned, were, knew nothing of public schools. All the establishments for first, the political degradation of his sect; and, secondly, the Papists were narrow, and suited to their political depression ; fact that his son was an only child. Had he been a Proand his parents were too sincerely anxious for their son’s testant, or had he, though a Papist, been burthened with a religious principles to risk the contagion of Protestant as- large family of children, he would doubtless have pursued a different course. But to him, and, as he sincerely hoped, sociation by sending1 him elsewhere. From the scene of his disgrace and illiberal punish- to his son, the strife after civil honours was sternly barred. ment, he passed, according to the received accounts, un- Apostacy only could lay it open. And, as the sentiments der the tuition of several other masters in rapid succes- of honour and duty in this point fell in with the vices of his sion. But it is the less necessary to trouble the reader with temperament, high principle concurring with his constitutheir names, as Pope himself assures us that he learned no- tional love of ease, we need not wonder that he should early thing from any of them. To Banister he had been indebt- retire from commerce with a very moderate competence, or ed for such trivial elements of a schoolboy’s learning as he that he should suppose the same fortune sufficient for one possessed at all, excepting those which he had taught him- who was to stand in the same position. This son was from self. And upon himself it was, and his own admirable fa- his birth deformed. That made it probable that he might 1 This however was not Twyford, according to an anonymous pamphleteer of the times, but a Catholic seminary in Devonshire Street, that is, in the Bloomsbury district of London ; and the same author asserts, that the scene of his disgrace, as indeed seems probable beforehand, was not the first, but the last of his arenas as a schoolboy. Which indeed was first, and which last, is very unimportant; but with a view to another point, which is not without interest, namely, as to the motive of Pope for so bitter a lampoon as we must suppose it to have been, as well as with regard to the topics which he used to season it, this anonymous letter throws the only light which has been offered ; and strange it is, that no biographer of Pope should have hunted upon the traces indicated by him. Any solution of Pope’s virulence, and of the master's bitter retaliation, even as a solution, is so far entitled to attention ; apart from To our thinking. mean avenger of a childish insult by a bestial punishment, _ „ - , t, - , ticular statements which he makes with respect to himself and the young Duke of Norfolk of 1700, as two schoolfellows of Pope at that time and place, together with his voluntary promise to come forward in person, and verify his account if it should happen to be challenged,—are all, we repeat, so many presumptions in favour of his veracity. “ Mr Alexander Pope, ’ says he, before he had been four months at this school, or was able to construe Tully’s Offices, employed his muse in satirizing his master. It was a libel of at least one hundred verses, which (a fellow-student having given information of it) was found in his pocket; and the young satirist was soundly whipped, and kept a prisoner to his room for seven days ; whereupon his father fetched him away, and I have been told he never went to school more.” This Bromley, it has been ascertained, was the son of a country gentleman in Worcestershire, and must have had considerable prospects at one time, since it appears that he had been a gentleman-commoner at C inst s Churc i, xford. There is an error in the punctuation of the letter we have just quoted, which affects the sense in a way very important to the question before us. Bromley is described as “ one of King James’s converts in Oxford, some years after that prince s abdication ; but, if this were really so, he must have been a conscientious convert. The latter clause should be connected with what follows: “ Some years after that prince's abdication he kept a little seminary that is, when his mercenary views m quittmg his religion were effectually defeated, when the Boyne had sealed his despair, he humbled himself into a petty schoolmaster. These facts are interest, ing, because they suggest at once the motive for the merciless punishment inflicted upon Pope. His own father was a I apist like Bromley but a sincere and honest Papist, who had borne double taxes, legal stigmas, and public hatred for conscience sake. H s contempt was habituallv pointed at those who tampered with religion for interested purposes. His son inherited these upright feelings. And we may easily guess what would be the bitter sting of any satire he would write on Brom ey. Such a topic was too true to be forgiven, and too keenly barbed by Bromley’s conscience. By the way, this wnter, like ourselveo, tea si j venture a prefiguration of Pope’s satirical destiny. 3o VOL. XVIII.

394 Pope,

POPE. not marry. If he should, and happened to have children, pronounce worthless. This is the fate of all men. But the Pope, of Pope, as a general result or measure of his ju- ''"“'"V"' a small family would find an adequate provision in the pa- reading trimonial funds; and a large one at the \vorst could on y dicious choice, is best justified in his writings. They show throw him upon the same commercial exertions to which he him well furnished with whatsoever he wanted for matter or embellishment, for argument or illustration, for example had been obliged himself. "I he Roman Catholics, indeed, for model, or for direct and explicit imitation. were just then situated as our modern Quakers are: law to andPossibly, as we have already suggested, within the range the one, as conscience to the other, closed all modes of active of English literature Pope might have found all that he employment except that of commercial industry. Either But variety the widest has its uses ; and, for the his son, therefore, would be a rustic recluse, or, like himself, wanted. extension of his influence with the polished classes amongst he would be a merchant. With such prospects, what need of an elaborate educa- whom he lived, he did wisely to add other languages; and tion ? And where was such an education to be sought ? a question has thus arisen with regard to the extent of At the petty establishments of the suffering Catholics, the Pope’s attainments as a self-taught linguist. A man, or even instruction, as he had found experimentally, was poor. At a boy, of great originality, may happen to succeed best, in the great national establishments his son would be a de- working his own native mines of thought, by his unassisted graded person; one who was permanently repelled from energies: here it is granted that a tutor, a guide, or even every arena of honour, and sometimes, as in cases of pub- a companion, may be dispensed with, and even beneficialBut in the case of foreign languages, in attaining this lic danger, was banished from the capital, deprived of his ly. machinery of literature, though anomalies even here do arise, house, left defenceless against common ruffians, and rendered liable to the control of every village magistrate. and men there are, like Joseph Scaliger, who form their own To one in these circumstances solitude was the wisest dictionaries and grammars in the mere process of reading position ; and the best qualification for that was an educa- an unknown language, by far the major part of students tion that would furnish aids to solitary thought. No need will lose their time by rejecting the aid of tutors. As there for brilliant accomplishments to him who must never dis- has been much difference of opinion with regard to Pope’s play them; forensic arts, pulpit erudition, senatorial elo- skill in languages, we shall briefly collate and bring into quence, academical accomplishments—these would be lost one focus the stray notices. As to the French, Voltaire, who knew Pope personally, to one against whom the courts, the pulpit, the senate, the universities, were closed. Nay, by possibility worse than declared that he “ could hardly read it, and spoke not one lost; they might prove so many snares or positive bribes syllable of the language.” But perhaps Voltaire might disto apostacy. Plain English, therefore, and the high think- like Pope ? On the contrary, he was acquainted with his ing of his compatriot authors, might prove the best provi- works, and admired them to the very level of their merits. sion for the mind of an English Papist destined to seclu- Speaking of him after death to Frederick of Prussia, he prefers him to Horace and Boileau, asserting that, by comsion. Such are the considerations under which we read and parison with them, interpret the conduct of Pope’s parents ; and they lead us Pope approfondit ce qu’ils ont effleurt. D’un esprit plus hardi, d’un pas plus assure, to regard as wise and conscientious a scheme which, under II porta le flambeau dans I’aMme de 1’etre ; ordinary circumstances, would have been pitiably foolish. Et rhomme avec lui seul apprit a se connoitre. And be it remembered, that to these considerations, deL’art quelquefois frivole, et quelquefois divine, rived exclusively from the civil circumstances of the famiL’art des vers est dans Pope utile au genre humain. ly, were superadded others derived from the astonishing This is not a wise account of Pope, for it does not abprematurity of the individual. That boy who could write at twelve years of age the beautiful and touching stanzas stract the characteristic feature of his power ; but it is a very on Solitude, might well be trusted with the superintendence kind one. And of course Voltaire could not have meant of his own studies. And the strippling of sixteen, who any unkindness in denying his knowledge of French. But could so far transcend in good sense the accomplished he was certainly wrong. Pope, in his presence, would destatesmen or men of the world with whom he afterwards cline to speak or to read a language of which the pronuncorresponded, might challenge confidence for such a choice ciation was confessedly beyond him. Or, if he did, the of books as would best promote the development of his impression left would be still worse. In fact, no man ever will pronounce or talk a language which he does not use, own faculties. In reality, one so finely endowed as Alexander Pope, for some part of every day, in the real intercourse of life. could not easily lose his way in the most extensive or ill- But that Pope read French of an ordinary cast with fluendigested library. And though he tells Atterbury, that at cy enough, is evident from the extensive use which he one time he abused his opportunities by reading contro- made of Madame Dacier’s labours on the Iliad, and still versial divinity, we may be sure that his own native activi- more of La Valterie’s prose translation of the Iliad. Alties, and the elasticity of his mind, would speedily recoil ready in the year 1718, and long before his personal knowinto a just equilibrium of study, under wider and happier ledge of Voltaire, Pope had shown his accurate acquaintopportunities. Reading, indeed, for a person like Pope, ance with some voluminous French authors, in a way which, is rather valuable as a means of exciting his own energies, we suspect, was equally surprising and offensive to his noble and of feeding his own sensibilities, than for any direct ac- correspondent. The Duke of Buckingham1 had addressed quisitions of knowledge, or for any trains of systematic re- to Pope a letter, containing some account of the controversy search. All men are destined to devour much rubbish about Homer, which had then been recently carried on in between the cradle and the grave; and doubtless the man France between La Motte and Madame Dacier. This acwho is wisest in the choice of his books, will have read count was delivered with an air of teaching, which was many a page before he dies that a thoughtful review would very little in harmony with its excessive shallowness. Pope, 1 That is, Sheffield, and, legally speaking, of Ruckinghami/iire. For he would not take the title of Buckingham, under a fear that there was lurking somewhere or other a claim to that title amongst the connections of the Villiers family. He was a pompous grandee, who lived in uneasy splendour, and, as a writer, most extravagantly overrated ; accordingly, he is now forgotten. Such was his vanity, and his ridiculous mania for allying himself with royalty, that he first of all had the presumption to court the Princess (afterwards Queen) Anne. Being.rejected, he then offered himself to the illegitimate daughter of James II., by the daughter of Sir Charles Sedley. She was as ostentatious as himself, and accepted him.-

POPE. Pope, who sustained the part of pupil in this interlude, replied in '"V"’'' a manner that exhibited a knowledge of the parties concerned in the controversy much superior to that of the duke. In particular, he characterized the excellent notes upon Horace of M. Dacier the husband in very just terms, as distinguished from those of his conceited and half-learned wife; and the whole reply of Pope seems very much as though he had been playing off’ a mystification on his grace. Undoubtedly the pompous duke felt that he had caught a Tartar. Now M. Dacier’s Horace, which, with the text, fills nine volumes, Pope could not have read except in French ; for they are not even yet translated into English. Besides, Pope read critically the French translations of his own Essay on Man, Essay on Criticism, Rape of the Lock, &c. He spoke of them as a critic ; and it was at no time a fault of Pope’s to make false pretensions. All readers of Pope’s Satires must also recollect numerous proofs that he had read Boileau with so much feeling of his peculiar merit, that he has appropriated and naturalized in English some of his best passages. Voltaire was, therefore, certainly wrong. Of Italian literature, meantime, Pope knew little or nothing ; and simply because he knew nothing of the language. Tasso, indeed, he admired ; and, which is singular, more than Ariosto. But we believe that he had read him only in English; and it is certain that he could not take up an Italian author, either in prose or verse, for the unaffected amusement ofr his leisure. Greek, we all know , has been denied to Pope, ever since he translated Homer, and chiefly in consequence of that translation. This seems at first sight unfair, because criticism has not succeeded in fixing upon Pope any errors of ignorance. His deviations from Homer were uniformly the result of imperfect sympathy with the naked simplicity of the antique, and therefore wilful deviations, not (like those of his more pretending competitors, Addison and Tickell) pure blunders of misapprehension. But yet it is not inconsistent with this concession to Pope’s merits, that we must avow our belief in his thorough ignorance ot Greek when he first commenced his task. And to us it seems astonishing that nobody should have adverted to that fact as a sufficient solution, and in fact the only plausible solution, of Pope’s excessive depression of spirits in the earliest stage of his labours. This depression, after he had once pledged himself to his subscribers for the fulfilment of his task, arose from, and could have arisen from nothing else than, his conscious ignorance of Greek in connection with the solemn responsibilities he had assumed in the face of a great nation. Nay, even countries as presumptuously disdainful of tramontane literature as Italy took an interest in this memorable undertaking. Bishop Berkeley found Salvini reading it at Florence; and Madame Dacier even, who read little but Greek, and certainly no English until then, condescended to study it. Pope s dejection, therefore, or rather agitation (for it impressed by sympathy a tumultuous character upon his dreams, which lasted for years after the cause had ceased to operate) was perfectly natural under the explanation we have given, but not otherwise. And how did he surmount this unhappy self-distrust ? Paradoxical as it may sound, we will venture to say, that, with the innumerable aids for interpreting Homer which even then existed, a man sufficiently acquainted with Latin might make a translation even critically exact. This Pope was not long in discovering. Other alleviations of his labour concurred, and in a ratio daily increasing. The same formula; were continually recurring, such as, But him answering, thus addressed the swift-footed Achilles ; Or, But him sternly beholding, thus spoke Agamemnon the king of men. Then, again, universally the Homeric Greek, from many

395 causes, is easy ; and especially from these two: l.sf, The Pope, simplicity of the thought, which never gathers into those ''■““"v'"™-’' perplexed knots of rhetorical condensation which we find in the dramatic poets of a higher civilization : 2dly, From the constant bounds set to the expansion of the thought by the form of the metre ; an advantage of verse which makes the poets so much easier to a beginner in the German language than the illimitable weavers of prose. The line or the stanza reins up the poet tightly to his theme, and will not suffer him to expatiate. Gradually, therefore, Pope came to read the Homeric Greek, but never accurately; nor did he ever read Eustathius without aid from Latin. As to any knowledge of the Attic Greek, of the Greek of the dramatists, the Greek of Plato, the Greek of Demosthenes, Pope neither had it nor affected to have it. Indeed it was no foible of Pope’s, as we will repeat, to make claims which he had not, or even to dwell ostentatiously upon those which he had. And with respect to Greek in particular, there is a manuscript letter in existence from Pope to a Mr Bridges at Falham, which, speaking of the original Homer, distinctly records the knowledge which he had of his own “ imperfectness in the language.” Chapman, a most spirited translator of Homer, probably had no very critical skill in Greek; and Hobbes was, beyond all question, as poor a Grecian as he was a doggerel translator ; yet in this letter Pope professes his willing submission to the “ authority” of Chapman and Hobbes, as superior to his own. Finally, in Latin Pope was a “ considerable proficient,” even by the cautious testimony of Dr Johnson ; and in this language only the doctor was an accomplished critic. If Pope had really the proficiency here ascribed to him, he must have had it already in his boyish years; for the translation from Statius, which is the principal monument of his skill, was executed before he was fourteen. W e have taken the trouble to throw a hasty glance over it; and whilst we readily admit the extraordinary talent which it shows, as do all the juvenile essays of Pope, we cannot allow that it argues any accurate skill in Latin, ihe word Malea, as we have seen noticed by some editor, he makes Malea ; which in itself, as the name was not of common occurrence, would not have been an error worth noticing; but, taken in connection with the certainty that Pope had the original line before him— Arripit ex templo Maleae de valle resurgens, when not merely the scanning theoretically, but the whole rhythmus practically, to the most obtuse ear, w ould be annihilated by Pope’s false quantity, is a blunder which serves to show his utter ignorance of prosody. But, even as a version of the sense, wfith every allowance for a poet’s license of compression and expansion, Pope’s translation is defective, and argues an occasional inability to construe the text. For instance, at the council summoned by Jupiter, it is said that he at his first entrance seats himself upon his starry throne, but not so the inferior gods; Nec protinus ausi Coelicolae, veniam donee pater ipse sedendi Tranquilla jubet esse manu. In which passage there is a slight obscurity, from the ellipsis of the word sedere, or sese locare ; but the meaning is evidently that the other gods did not presume to sit down protinus, that is, in immediate succession to Jupiter, and interpreting his example as a tacit license to do so, until, by a gentle wave of his hand, the supreme father signifies his express permission to take their seats. But Pope, manifestly unable to extract any sense from the passage, translates At Jove’s assent the deities around In solemn state the consistory crown'd ; where at once the whole picturesque solemnity of the celestial ritual melts into the vaguest generalities. Again, at

396 P 0 P E. Pope. y. 178, ruptcp.que vices is translated “ and all the ties of na~ has passed the correspondence of all nations and languages, Pope 1 • y~~~' turc broke bat by vices is indicated the alternate reign of upon a scale unknown to any other country. In this street the two brothers, as ratified by mutual oaths, and subse- Alexander Pope the elder had a house, and a warehouse, quently violated by Eteocles. Other mistakes might be we presume, annexed, in which he conducted the wholecited, which seem to prove that Pope, like most self-taught sale business of a linen merchant. As soon as he had made linguists, was a very imperfect one.1 Pope, in short, never a moderate fortune he retired from business, first to Kenrose to such a point in classical literature as to read either sington, and afterwards to Binfield, in Windsor Forest. The Greek or Latin authors without effort, and for his private period of this migration is not assigned by any writer. It is probable that a prudent man would not adopt it with any amusement. The result, therefore, of Pope’s self-tuition appears to us, prospect of having more children. But this chance might considered in the light of an attempt to acquire certain ac- be considered as already extinguished at the birth of Pope ; complishments of knowledge, a most complete failure. As for though his father had then only attained his forty-fourth a linguist, he read no language with ease; none with plea- year, Mrs Pope had completed her forty-eighth. It is prosure to himself; and none with so much accuracy as could bable, from the interval of seven days which is said to have have carried him through the most popular author with a elapsed between Pope’s punishment and his removal from general independence on interpreters. But, considered with the school, that his parents were then living at such a disa view to his particular faculties and slumbering originali- tance from him as to prevent his ready communication w ith ty of power, which required perhaps the stimulation of ac- them, else w e may be sure that Mrs Pope would have flown cident to arouse them effectually, we are very much dis- on the wings of love and wrath to the rescue of her darling. posed to think that the very failure of his education as an Supposing, therefore,r as we do suppose, that Mr Bromley’s artificial training was a great advantage finally for inclining school in London w as the scene of his disgrace, it would his mind to throw itself, by way of indemnification, upon appear on this argument that his parents were then living its native powers. Had he attained, as with better tuition in Windsor Forest. And this hypothesis falls in with anohe would have attained, distinguished excellence as a scho- ther anecdote in Pope’s life, which we know partly upon his lar, or as a student of science, the chances are many that own authority. He tells Wycherley that he had seen Dryhe would have settled down into such studies as thousands den, and barely seen him. Virgilium vidi tantum. This could pursue not less successfully than he ; wlulst as it was, is presumed to have been in Will’s Coffee-house, whither the very dissatisfaction which he could not but feel with his any person in search of Dryden would of course resort; and slender attainments must have given him a strong motive it must have been before Pope was twelve years old, for for cultivating those impulses of original power which he Dryden died in 1700. Now there is a letter of Sir Charles stating that he first took Pope to Will’s ; and his felt continually stirring within him, and which were vivified Wogan’s, j into trials of competition as often as any distinguished ex- w ords are, “ from our forest.” Consequently, at that period, when he had not completed his twelfth year, Pope was cellence was introduced to his knowledge. already living in the forest. Pope’s father, at the time of his birth, lived in Lombard From this period, and so long as the genial spirits of Street ;2 a street still familiar to the public eye, from its adjacency to some of the chief metropolitan establishments, youth lasted, Pope’s life must have been one dream of pleaand to the English ear possessing a degree of historical im- sure. He tells Lord Harvey that his mother did not spoil portance ; first, as the residence of those Lombards, or Mi- him ; but that was no doubt because there was no room for lanese, who affiliated our infant commerce to the matron wilfulness or waywardness on either side, when all was one splendours of the Adriatic and the Mediterranean ; next, placid scene of parental obedience and gentle filial authoas the central resort of those jewellers, or “ goldsmiths,” as rity. We feel persuaded that, if not in words, in spirit and they were styled, who performed all the functions of mo- inclination, they would, in any notes they might have ocdern bankers from the period of the parliamentary war to casion to write, subscribe themselves “ your dutiful pathe rise of the Bank of England, that is, for six years after rents.” And of what consequence in whose hands were the the birth of Pope; and, lastly, as the seat, until lately, of reins which were never needed ? Every reader must be that vast Post Office, through which, for so long a period, pleased to know that these idolizing parents lived to see 1 Meantime, the felicities of this translation are at times perfectly astonishing; and it would be scarcely possible to express more nervously or amply the words, jurisjac secundi Ambitus impatiens, et summo dulcius unum Stare loco than this child of fourteen has done in the following couplet, which, most judiciously, by reversing the two clauses, gains the power of fusing them into connection : And impotent desire to reign alone. That scorns the dull reversion of a throne. But the passage for which beyond all others we must make room, is a series of eight lines, corresponding to six in the original; .and this for two reasons : First, Because Dr Joseph Warton has deliberately asserted, that in our whole literature, “ we have scarcely eight more beautiful lines than theseand though few readers will subscribe to so sweeping a judgment, yet certainly these must be wonderful lines for a boy, which could challenge such commendation from an experienced polyhistor of infinite reading. Secondly, Because the lines contain a night-scene. Now it must be well known to many readers, that the famous night-scene in the Iliad, so familiar to every school-boy, has been made the subject, for the last thirty years, of severe, and, in many respects, of just criticisms. This description will therefore have a double interest by comparison ; whilst, whatever may be thought of either taken separately for itself, considered as a translation, this which we now quote is as true to Statius as the other is undoubtedly faithless to Homer: Jamqueper emeriti surgens eonfinia PhceU ’Twas now the time when Phoebus yields to night, Titanis, late mundo suLcta silenti 4".CJ eT1S^ Cynthia1 1 sheds her silver light; she drew Jlorifera gelidum tenuaverat aera biga. ™ .° er T!' ' in SOi?mn Jam pccudes volucresque tacent: jal somnus avaris f erblr airy alldbeast chariot hung with pearly dew Inserpit curis, pronusque per aera nut at, ^ ^ „s lle huslld‘ .. SlefeP S eals ^ Grata laboratce referens oblivia viice. The wild desires of men and toils of day ; . ^J a gress of cultivation and population, all such lands, and all volve much war and extermination ; besides all the difficul- U lands of moderate quality, would soon be occupied ; and ties usually attendant upon new settlements in uncivilized when the future increase of the supply of food came to de- countries; and these alone are so formidable, and for a long pend upon the taking of very poor land into cultivation, time so destructive, that, combined with the unwillingness and the gradual and laborious improvement of the land al- which people must always naturally feel to quit their own ready cultivated, the rate of the increase of food would cer- country, much distress would be suffered at home before tainly have a greater resemblance to a decreasing geome- relief would be sought for in emigration. But, supposing for a moment that the object could be trical ratio than an increasing one. The yearly increment of food would, at any rate, have a constant tendency to fully accomplished, that is, supposing that the capacity ot diminish, and the amount of the increase of each succes- the earth to produce the necessaries of life could be put sive ten years would probably be less than that of the pre- fully into action, and that they were distributed in the proceding. portions most favourable for the grow th of capital and the Practically, however, great uncertainty must take place. effective demand for labour, the increase of population, An unfavourable distribution of produce, by prematurely whether arising from the increase of the inhabitants of each

POPULATION. 413 Popula- country, or from emigrants issuing from all those countries sent, what possible hope could there be of doubling the Population. which were more advanced in cultivation, would be so rapid, provision in the next twenty-five years ? tion ' that, in a period comparatively quite short, all the good Yet there is no reason whatever to suppose that any thing v lands would be occupied, and the rate of the possible in- besides the difficulty of procuring in adequate plenty the crease of food would be reduced much below the arithme- necessaries of life, should either indispose this greater numtical ratio above supposed. ber of persons to marry early, or disable them from rearing If, merely during the short period which has elapsed since in health the largest families. But this difficulty would of our Revolution of 1688, the population of the earth had in- necessity occur, and its effect would be either to discourage creased at its natural rate when unchecked, supposing the early marriages, which would check the rate of increase by number of people at that time to have been only eight hun- preventing the same proportion of births ; or to render the dred millions, all the land of the globe, without making al- children unhealthy from bad and insufficient nourishment, lowance for deserts, forests, rocks, and lakes, would on an which would check the rate of increase by occasioning a average be equally populous nith England and Wales at greater proportion of deaths ; or, what is most likely to present. This would be accomphshed in five doublings, or happen, the rate of increase would be checked, partly by a hundred and twenty-five years; and one or two doublings the diminution of births, and partly by the increase of mormore, or a period less than that which has elapsed since tality. The first of these checks may, with propriety, be called the beginning of the reign of James I., would produce the same effect from the overflowings of the inhabitants of those the preventive check to population ; the second, the positive countries where, owing to the further progress of cultiva- check; and the absolute necessity of their operation in the tion, the soil had not the capacity of producing food so case supposed is as certain and obvious as that man cannot as to keep pace with the increase of an unrestricted popu- live without food. Taking a single farm only into consideration, no man lation. Whatever temporary and partial relief, therefore, may be would have the hardihood to assert that its produce could be derived from emigration by particular countries in the ac- made permanently to keep pace with a population increasing tual state of things, it is quite obvious, that, considering the at such a rate as it is observed to do for twenty or thirty years subject generally and largely, emigration may be fairly said together at particular times and in particular countries. He not in any degree to touch the difficulty. And, whether we would, indeed, be compelled to acknowledge, that if, with exclude or include emigration, whether we refer to parti- a view to allow for the most sanguine speculations, it has cular countries, or to the whole earth, the supposition of a been supposed that the additions made to the necessaries future capacity in the soil to increase the necessaries of produced by the soil in given times might remain constant, life every twenty-five years by a quantity equal to that yet that this rate of the increase of produce could not poswhich is at present produced, must be decidedly beyond the sibly be realized; and that, if the capacity of the soil were at all times put properly into action, the additions to the truth. Effect of But if the natural increase of population, when uncheck- produce would, after a short time, and independently of .hetwodif-ed by the difficulty of procuring the means of subsistence, new inventions, be constantly decreasing, till, in no very erent rates or 0j-jier peculiar causes, be such as to continue doubling long period, the exertions of an additional labourer would Iwhen164186 ■ it® numbers in twenty-five years ; and the greatest increase not produce his own subsistence. But what is true in this respect in reference to a single jrought to-of food, which, for a continuance, could possibly take place .'ether. on a limited territory like our earth in its present state, be farm, must necessarily be true of the whole earth, from at the most only such as would add every twenty-five years which the necessaries of life for the actual population are an amount equal to its present produce ; it is quite clear that derived. And what would be true in respect to the checks a powerful check on the increase of population must be al- to population if the soil of the earth were equally divided among the different families which inhabit it, must be true most constantly in action. By the laws of nature man cannot live without food. under the present unequal division of property and variety Whatever may be the rate at which population would in- of occupations. Nothing but the confusion and indistinctcrease if unchecked, it never can actually increase in any ness arising from the largeness of the subject, and the vague country beyond the food necessary to support it. But, by and false notions which prevail respecting the efficacy of the laws of nature in respect to the powers of a limited ter- emigration, could make persons deny in the case of an exritory, the additions which can be made in equal periods to tensive territory or the whole earth, what they could not the food which it produces must, after a short time, either fail to acknowledge in the case of a single farm, which may be constantly decreasing, which is what would really take be said fairly to represent it. It may be expected, indeed, that in civilized and improvplace; or, at the very most, must remain stationary, so as to increase the means of subsistence only in an arithmeti- ed countries the accumulation of capital, the division of cal progression. Consequently, it follows necessarily that labour, and the invention of machinery, will extend the the average rate of the actual increase of population over bounds of production; but we know from experience that the greatest part of the globe, obeying the same laws as the effects of these causes, which are quite astonishing in the increase of food, must be totally of a different character reference to some of the conveniences and luxuries of life, are very much less efficient in producing an increase of from the rate at which it would increase if unchecked. The great question, then, which remains to be considered, food ; and although the saving of labour and an improved is the manner in which this constant and necessary check system of husbandry may be the means of pushing cultivation upon much poorer lands than could otherwise be upon population practically operates. worked, yet the increased quantity of the necessaries of General If the soil of any extensive well-peopled country were life so obtained can never be such as to supersede, for any character equally divided amongst its inhabitants, the check would length of time, the operation of the preventive and positive assume its most obvious and simple form. Perhaps each checks to population. And not only are these checks as absolutely necessary in civilized and improvpd countries, as ' copulation ^arm the well-peopled countries of Europe might allow they would be if each family had a certain portion of land of one, or even two doublings, without much distress, but the absolute impossibility of going on at the same rate is allotted to it, but they operate almost exactly in the same too glaring to escape the most careless thinker. When, by way. The distress which would obviously arise in the most extraordinary efforts, provision had been made for four times simple state of society, from the natural tendency of poputhe number of persons which the land can support at pre- lation to increase faster than the means of subsistence in a

POPULATION. 414 And this is particularly likely to happen when the Popula Popula- limited territory, is brought home to the higher classes ciety. original divisions of land have been extremely unequal, and tion. tion - of an improved and populous country, in the ditticulty the laws have not given sufficient facility to a better distriv — which they find in supporting their families in the same bution of them. Under a system of private property, the rank of life with themselves ; and to the labouring clo- only effectual demand for produce must come from the ses, which form the great mass of society, in the msufti- owners of property ; and though it be true that the effecciency of the real wages of common labour to bring up a tual demand of the society, whatever it may be, is best suplarge family. . . . under the most perfect system of liberty, yet it is not If in any country the yearly earnings of the commonest plied that the tastes and wants of the effective demanders labourers, determined, as they always will be, by the state true are always, and necessarily, the most favourable to the proof the demand and the supply of necessaries compared with gress of national wealth. A taste for hunting and the prelabour, be not sufficient to bring up in health the largest servation of game among the owners of the soil will, withfamilies, one of the three things before stated must happen ; out fail, be supplied, if things be allowed to take their naeither the prospect of this difficulty will prevent some and tural course; but such a supply, from the manner in which delay other marriages; or the diseases arising from bad it must be effected, would inevitably be most unfavourable nourishment will be introduced, and the mortality be inthe increase of produce and population. In the same creased; or the progress of population will be retarded, to manner, the want of an adequate taste for the consumption partly by one cause and partly by the other. of manufactured commodities among the possessors of surOf the efAccording to all past experience, and the best observa- plus produce, if not fully compensated by a great desire fect of pri- tions which can be made on the motives which operate vate prohuman mind, there can be no well-founded hope of ob- for personal attendance, which it never is, would infallibly a premature slackness in the demand for labour p erty or . ' taining a large produce from the soil, but under a system of occasion and produce, a premature fall of profits, and a check to culirress of do-private property. It seems perfectly visionary to suppose tivation. pillation, that any stimulus short of that which is excited in man by It makes little difference in the actual rate of the increase the desire of providing for himself and family, and of bettering his condition in life, should operate on the mass of of population, or the necessary existence of checks to it, society with sufficient force and constancy to overcome the whether that state of demand and supply which occasions natural indolence of mankind. All the attempts which have an insufficiency of wages to the whole of the labouring been made since the commencement of authentic history classes be produced prematurely by a bad structure of soto proceed upon a principle of common property, have either ciety and an unfavourable distribution of wealth, or necesbeen so insignificant that no inference can be drawn from sarily by the comparative exhaustion of the soil. The lathem, or have been marked by the most signal failures; bourer feels the difficulty nearly in the same degree, and it and the changes which have been effected in modern times must have nearly the same results, from whatever cause it by education do not seem to advance a single step towards arises ; consequently, in every country with which we are making such a state of things more probable in future. We acquainted, where the yearly earnings of the labouring may therefore safely conclude, that while man retains the classes are not sufficient to bring up in health the largest same physical and moral constitution which he is observed families, it may be safely said that population is actually to possess at present, no other than a system of private pro- checked by the difficulty of procuring the means of subperty stands the least chance of providing for such a large sistence. And, as we well know that ample wages, comand increasing population as that which is to be found in bined with full employment for all who choose to work, are extremely rare, and scarcely ever occur, except for a cermany countries at present. But though there is scarcely any conclusion which seems tain time, when the knowledge and industry of an old counmore completely established by experience than this, yet try is applied, under favourable circumstances, to a new one; it is unquestionably true that the laws of private property, it follows that the pressure arising from the difficulty of prowhich are the grand stimulants to production, do themselves curing subsistence is not to be considered as a remote one, so limit it, as always to make the actual produce of the earth which will be felt only when the earth refuses to produce fall very considerably short of the power of production. On any more, but as one which not only actually exists at prea system of private property no adequate motive to the ex- sent over the greatest part of the globe, but, with few exconstantly acting upon all the tension of cultivation can exist, unless the returns are suf- ceptions, has been almost T ficient, not only to pay the wages necessary to keep up the countries of which w e have any account. It is unquestionably true, that, in no country of the globe population, which, at the least, must include the support of a wife and two or three children, but also afford a profit on have the government, the distribution of property, and the the capital which has been employed. This necessarily ex- habits of the people, been such as to call forth, in the most cludes from cultivation a considerable portion of land, which effective manner, the resources of the soil. Consequently, might be made to bear corn. If it were possible to suppose if the most advantageous possible change in all these rethat man might be adequately stimulated to labour under a spects could be supposed at once to take place, it is certain system of common property, such land might be cultivated, that the demand for labour and the encouragement to proand the production of food and the increase of population duction might be such as for a short time in some counmight go on, till the soil absolutely refused to grow a single tries, and for rather a longer in others, to lessen the operaadditional quarter, and the whole of the society was exclu- tion of the checks to population which have been described. sively engaged in procuring the necessaries of life. But it It is specifically this truth constantly obtruding itself upon is quite obvious that such a state of things would inevitably our attention which is the great source of delusion on this lead to the greatest degree of distress and degradation. subject, and creates the belief that man could always proAnd if a system of private property secures mankind from duce from the soil much more than sufficient to support such evils, which it certainly does in a great degree, by se- himself and family. In the actual state of things this power curing to a portion of the society the leisure necessary for the has perhaps always been possessed. But for it we are inprogress of the arts and sciences, it must be allowed that debted wholly to the ignorance and bad government of our such a check to the increase of cultivation confers on so- ancestors. If they had properly called forth the resources of the soil, it is quite certain that we should now have but ciety a most signal benefit. But it must perhaps also be allowed, that, under a system scanty means left of further increasing our food. If merely of private property, cultivation is sometimes checked in a since the time of William the Conqueror all the nations of degree and at a period not required by the interest of so- the earth had been well governed, and if the distribution of

POPULATION. 415 Popula- property, and the habits both of the rich and the poor, had ly inevitable, and human institutions have any influence Population. been the most favourable to the demand for produce and upon the extent to which each of these checks operates, a tionlabour, though the amount of food and population would heavy responsibility will be incurred, if all that influence, ’ have been prodigiously greater than at present, the means whether direct or indirect, be not exerted to diminish the^116?6 of diminishing the checks to population would unquestion- amount of vice and misery. solvable8* ably be less. That difficulty in procuring the necessaries Moral restraint, in application to the present subject, int^moral of life which is now felt in the comparatively low wages of may be defined to be, abstinence from marriage, either for restraint, an labour almost all over the world, and is occasioned partly a time or permanently, from prudential considerations, with d by the necessary state of the soil, and partly by a pre- a strictly moral conduct towards the sex in the interval. m^ser-v* mature check to the demand for produce and labour, And this is the only mode of keeping population on a level would then be felt in a greater degree, and w'ould less ad- with the means of subsistence, which is perfectly consistent mit of any relaxation in the checks to population, because with virtue and happiness. All other checks, whether of it would be occasioned wholly and necessarily by the state the preventive or the positive kind, though they may greatof the soil. ly vary in degree, resolve themselves into some form of vice The laws It appears, then, that what may be called the propor- or misery. fnature tionate amount of the necessary checks to population deThe remaining checks of the preventive kind, are the esponsible or the ne- pends very little upon the efforts of man in the cultivation sort of intercourse which renders some of the women of essity of of the soil. If these efforts had been directed from the first large towns unprolific ; a general corruption of morals with hecks to in the most enlightened and efficient manner, the checks regard to the sex, which has a similar effect; unnatural lopulation. necessary to keep the population on a level with the means passions, and improper arts to prevent the consequences of of subsistence, so far from being lightened, would in all pro- irregular connections. These evidently come under the bability be operating with greater force; and the condition head of vice. of the labouring classes, so far as it depends on the facility The positive checks to population include all the causes of procuring the means of subsistence, instead of being im- which tend in any way prematurely to shorten the duration proved, would in all probability be deteriorated. of human life; such as unwholesome occupations, severe It is to the laws of nature, therefore, and not to the con- labour and exposure to the seasons, bad and insufficient duct and institutions of man, that we are to attribute the food and clothing, arising from poverty, bad nursing of necessity of a strong check on the natural increase of po- children, excesses of all kinds, great towns and manupulation. factories, the whole train of common diseases and epideJan reBut though the laws of nature which determine the rate mics, wars, infanticide, plague, and famine. Of these ponsible at which population would increase if unchecked, and the positive checks, those which appear to arise from the laws ' or the very different rate at which the food required to support of nature may be called exclusively misery ; and those | irevailing population could be made to increase in a limited territory, which we bring upon ourselves, such as wars, excesses of haracter f these are undoubtedly the causes which render necessary the ex- all kinds, and many others, which it would be in our power hecks. istence of some great and constant check to population, yet to avoid, are of a mixed nature. They are brought upon a vast mass of responsibility remains behind on man and the us by vice, and their consequences are misery. institutions of society. Some of these checks, in various combinations, and opeIn the first place, they are certainly responsible for the rating with various force, are constantly in action in all the present scanty population of the earth. There are few large countries with which we are acquainted, and form the imcountries, however advanced in improvement, the popula- mediate causes which keep the population on a level with tion of which might not have been doubled or tripled, and the means of subsistence. there are many which might be ten, or even a hundred Mr Malthus, in his work on this subject, has taken a times as populous, and yet all the inhabitants be as well view of the checks of population in most of the countries provided for as they are now, if the institutions of society of which we have the best accounts. His object was eviand the moral habits of the people had been for some hun- dently to trace in each country those checks which appeardred years the most favourable to the increase of capital, ed to be most effective in repressing population ; and to and the demand for produce and labour. endeavour to answer the question generally which had Secondly, though man has but a trifling and temporary been applied particularly to New Holland by Captain influence in altering the proportionate amount of the checks Cook, namely, By what means is the population of this to population, or the degree in which they press upon the country kept down to the number which it can subsist ? actual numbers, yet he has a great and most extensive inIt was hardly to be expected, however, that the general Prudential accounts of countries which are to be met with should con-011 restraint fluence on their character and mode of operation. It is not in superseding the necessity of checks to popu- tain a sufficient number of details of the kind required to lia mar lation, in the progress of mankind to the full peopling of enable us to ascertain what portion of the natural increase £e' the earth (which may with truth be said to be a physical of population each individual check which could be traced impossibility), but in directing these checks in such a way had the power to overcome. In particular, it was not to as to be the least prejudicial to the virtue and happiness of be expected, that any accounts could inform us of the desociety, that government and human institutions produce gree in which moral restraint prevails when taken in its their great effect. Here we know, from constant experi- strictest sense. It is necessary, therefore, to attend chiefly ence, that they have great power. Yet even here it must to the greater or smaller number of persons who remain be allowed that the power of government is rather indirect unmarried, or marry late ; and the delay of marriage, owing than direct, as the object to be attained depends mainly to the difficulty of providing for a family, when the degree upon such a conduct on the part of individuals as can sel- of irregularity to which it may lead cannot be ascertained, dom be directly enforced by laws, though it may be power- may be usefully called the prudential restraint on marriage fully influenced by them. and population. And this will be found to be the chief This will appear if we consider more particularly the na- mode in which the preventive check practically operates. But if the preventive check to population, that check ture of those checks which have been classed under the gewhich can alone supersede great misery and mortality, openeral heads of Preventive and Positive. It will be found that they are all resolvable into moral rates chiefly by a prudential restraint on marriage, it will restraint, vice, and misery. And if, from the laws of na- be obvious, as was before stated, that direct legislation canture, some check to the increase of population be absolute- not do much. Prudence cannot be enforced by laws, with-

POPULATION. 416 Populaand the force of each. And this inference, which inevit- tion. Popula- out a great violation of natural liberty, and a great risk of ably follows from theory, is fully confirmed by experience. tion. producing more evil than good. But still the very great It appears, for instance, from the accounts we have re" h p0su influence of a just and enlightened government, and the ceived of ancient nations, and of the less civilized Parts 01 Ttivee died Causes security of property in creating habits of prudence, the world, that war and violent diseases were the predo- o popukwhich prin- ' perfect t cipally af- cannot for a moment be questioned. The principal causes minant checks to their population. The frequency of wars, tion pre. fect the ha .and effects1 of these habits are thus stated in Mr Malthuss and the dreadful devastations of mankind occasioned by dominate, . bits of the last work. united with the plagues, famines, and mortal epide-^ labouring “ From high wages, or the power of commanding a large them, of which there are records, must have caused such a classes. portion of the necessaries of life, two very different results mics consumption of the human species, that the exertion of the may follow ; one, that of a rapid increase of population, m utmost power of increase must, in many cases, have been which case the high wages are chiefly spent in the main- insufficient to supply it; and we see at once the source of tenance of large and frequent families ; and the other, that those encouragements to marriage, and efforts to increase of a decided improvement in the modes of subsistence, and population, which, with inconsiderable exceptions, distinthe conveniences and comforts enjoyed, without a propor- guished the legislation and general policy of ancient times. tionate acceleration in the rate of increase. « In looking to these different results, the causes of them Yet there were some few men of more extended views, wno, they were looking to the settlement of a society in a will evidently appear to be the different habits existing when improved state, were fully aware, that unaer the most among the people of different countries, and at different more form of government which their imagination could times. In an inquiry into the causes of these different ha- beautiful conceive, greatest poverty and distress might be felt bits, we shall generally be able to trace those which pro- from a toothe increase of population. And the remedies duce the first result to all the circumstances which contri- which theyrapid proposed were strong and violent in proportion bute to depress the lower classes of the people, which make them unable or unwilling to reason from the past to the fu- to the greatness of the evil which they apprehended. Even ture, and ready to acquiesce, for the sake of present gratifi- the practical legislators who encouraged marriage, seemed cation, in a very low standard of comfort and respectabi- to think that the supplies of children might sometimes follity ; and those which produce the second result, to all the low too rapidly for the means of supporting them ; and it circumstances which tend to elevate the character of the appears to have been with a view to provide against this lower classes of society, which make them approach the difficulty, and of preventing it from discouraging marriage, nearest to beings who “ look before and after,” and who, that they frequently sanctioned the inhuman practice of in, , consequently, cannot acquiesce patiently in the thought of fanticide. Under these circumstances, it is not to be supposed that depriving themselves and their children of the means of the prudential restraint on marriage should have operated being respectable, virtuous, and happy. “ Among the circumstances which contribute to the cha- to any considerable extent. Except in a few cases where racter first described, the most efficient will be found to be a general corruption of morals prevailed, which might act despotism, oppression, and ignorance ; among those which as a preventive check of the most vicious kind, a aige contribute to the latter character, civil and political liberty, portion of the procreative power was called into action, t ic occasional redundancy from which was checked by violent and education. “ Of all the causes which tend to encourage prudential causes. These causes will be found resolvable almost wholhabits among the lower classes of society, the most essen- ly into vice and misery; the first of which, and a large tial is unquestionably civil liberty. No people can be much portion of the second, it is always in the power of man to accustomed to form plans for the future, who do not feel In a review of the checks to population in the different pruaena assured that their industrious exertions, while fair and honourable, will be allowed to have free scope ; and that the states of modern Europe, it appears that the positive checks restrain lL property which they either possess or may acquire will be to population have prevailed less, and the preventive chec st secured to them by a known code of just laws impartially more, than in ancient times, and in the more uncultivated mm ^ administered. But it has been found by experience, that parts of the world. The destruction occasioned by war haspopulatj, civil liberty cannot be permanently secured without politi- unquestionably abated, both on account of its occurring, onin m(^t, cal liberty; consequently political liberty becomes almost the whole, less frequently, and its ravages not being so fa-times, equally essential, r and, in addition to its being necessary in tal, either to man or the means of his support, as they were this point of view , its obvious tendency to teach the lower formerly. And although, in the earlier periods of the hisclasses of society to respect themselves, by obliging the tory of modern Europe, plagues, famines, and mortal epihigher classes to respect them, must contribute greatly to demics were not unfrequent, yet, as civilization and improvement have advanced, both their frequency and their all the good effects of civil liberty.” “ With regard to education, it might certainly be made mortality have been greatly reduced, and in some count! ics general under a bad form of government, and might be they are now almost unknown. This diminution of the very deficient under one in other respects good ; but it must positive checks to population, as it has been certainly much be allowed that the chances, both with regard to its quality greater in proportion than the actual increase of food and and its prevalence, are greatly in favour of the latter. Edu- population, must necessarily have been accompanied by an cation alone could do little against insecurity of property ; increasing operation of the preventive checks ; and probabut it would powerfully assist all the favourable consequen- bly it may be said with truth, that in almost all the more ces to be expected from civil and political liberty, which improved countries of modern Europe, the principal check which at present keeps the population down to the level of could not indeed be considered as complete without it.” The varying prevalence of these habits, owing to the the actual means of subsistence, is the prudential restraint . „ causes above referred to, combined with the smaller or on marriage. Yet in comparing together the accounts and registers of greater mortality occasioned by other customs, and the varying effects of soil and climate, must necessarily produce great the different countries of modern times, we shall still find differences in different countries, and at different periods, a vast difference in the character and force of the checks in the character of the predominant checks to population, which are mainly in action ; and it is precisely in this point 1

Principles of Political Economy, c. iv. sect. 2.

POPULATION. 417 Popula- of view that these accounts afford the most important inThe proportion of yearly births to the whole population Population. struction. Some parts of Europe are yet in an unimproved must evidently depend principally on the proportion of mar- tion'—v'"”'' state, and are still subject to frequent plagues and mortal riages; and it appears, consequently, from registers, that in ' De en 1 0 countries which will not admit of any considerable increase P ‘ * ^ thecha epidemics. 1° these countries, as might be expected, few racter and traces are to f°und of the prudential restraint on mar- of population, the births, as well as the marriages, are mainly bUths and force of the riage. But even in improved countries, the circumstances influenced by the deaths. When an actual decrease of po- marriao-es checks in may be such as to occasion a great mortality. Large towns pulation is not taking place, the births will always supply on the° IdifFerent are known to be unfavourable to health, particularly to the the vacancies made by death, and exactly so much more as deaths, countries. jiea]jk of young children ; and the unwholesomeness of the increasing wealth of the country and the demand for marshy situations may be such as in some cases to balance labour will admit. Evei’ywhere in the intervals of plagues, the principle of increase, even when nearly the whole of the epidemics, and destructive wars, the births considerably exprocreative power is called into action, which is seldom the ceed the deaths; but while from these and other causes the mortality in different countries is extremely various, it apcase in large towns. above stated, Thus, in the registers of twenty-two Dutch villages given pears from registers that, with the exception 4 by Sussmilch,1 and quoted by Mr Malthus, the mortality the births vary in the same proportion. (occasioned, as may be supposed, chiefly by the natural unThus, in 39 villages of Holland, where the deaths, at the healthiness of the country) was as high as one in twenty- time to which the registers refer, were about 1 in 23, the two or twenty-three, instead of the more common propor- births were also I in 23. In 15 villages round Paris, the tion of one in thirty-five or forty ; and the consequence was, births bore the same or even a greater proportion to the that the marriages, instead of being in the usual proportion whole population, on account of a still greater mortality, the of one in about 108 of the population, were in 2the extraor- births being 1 in 22T^Jths, and the deaths the same. In the dinary high proportion of one in sixty-four ;‘ showing a small towns of Brandenburg, which were in an increasing 7 most unusual frequency of marriage, while, on account of state, the mortality was 1 in 29, and the births 1 in 24y 0ths. the great mortality, the number of inhabitants was nearly In Sweden, where the mortality was about 1 in 34f, the births were 1 in 28. In 1056 villages of Brandenburg, in stationary, and the births and deaths about equal. On the other hand, in Norway, where the climate and which the mortality was about 1 in 39 or 40, the births modes of living seem to be extremely favourable to health, were about 1 in 30. In Norway, where the mortality was and the mortality was only one in forty-eight, the pruden- 1 in 48, the births were 1 in 34. In all these instances the births are evidently measured tial restraint on marriage was called more than usually into action, and the marriages were only one in 130 of the po- by the deaths, after making a proper allowance for the excess of births which the state of each country will admit. pulation. Gradualdi- These may be considered as extreme cases, but the same In such a country as Russia, this allowance must be great; minution result in different degrees is observable in the registers of as, although the mortality might perhaps be taken as low as | in the pro- au countries ; and it is particularly to be remarked, that in 1 in 48 or 50, the births were as high as 1 in 26, owing to n ot I^ those countries where registers of births, deaths, and mar- the increasing resources of the country, which admit of a r° marnages. rjages ^ave been kept for a considerable time, the progres- rapid increase of the population. Of all the countries which Mr Malthus has reviewed, Dependsive diminution or mortality occasioned by the introduction im-ence of the of habits more favourable to health, and the consequent di- there is none which so strikingly illustrates the mostmar ‘ th'e deaths minution of plagues and mortal epidemics, have been ac- portant fact of the dependence of the proportions of companied invariably by a smaller proportion of marriages riages and births on the deaths, and the general principles. and births. Sussmdch has given some striking instances of of population, as Switzerland. It appears, that between ;n switZerthe gradual diminution in the proportion of the number of 1760 and 1770, an alarm prevailed respecting the continued land, depopulation of the country ; and, to ascertain the point, M. marriages during a part of the last century.3 In the town of Leipsic, in the year 1620, the annual mar- Muret, minister of Yevay, made a very laborious and careriages were to the population as 1 to 82 ; from the year ful search into the registers of different parishes from the time of their first establishment. He compared the num1741 to 1756, they were as 1 to 120. In Augsburg, in 1510, the proportion of marriages to ber of births which had taken place during three different periods of seventy years each, the first ending in 1620, the the population was 1 in 86 ; in 1750 as 1 to 123. In Dantzic, in the year 1705, the proportion was as 1 to second in 1690, and the third in 1760. And finding by this comparison, that the number of births was less in the se89; in 1745, as 1 to 118. In the dukedom of Magdeburg, in 1700, the propor- cond period than in the first, and less in the third period than in the second, he considered the evidence of a tion was as 1 to 87; from 1752 to 1755, as 1 to 125. of the country from the year 1055 In the principality of Halberstadt, in 1690, the propor- continued depopulation as incontrovertible.5 But the accounts which he himself tion was as 1 to 88 ; in 1756, as 1 to 112. In the dukedom of Cleves, in 1705, the proportion was produces clearly show, that, in the earlier periods to which he refers, the mortality was very much greater than in the as 1 to 83 ; in 1755, as 1 to 100. In the churmark of Brandenburg, in 1700, the propor- latter; and that the greater number of births found in the registers formerly, was not owing to a greater population, tion was as 1 to 76 ; and in 1755, as 1 to 108. Instances of this kind are numerous, and they tend to but to the greater proportion of births which always acshow the dependence of the marriages on the deaths in all companies a greater mortality. It appears from accounts which are entirely to be deold countries. A greater mortality almost invariably produces a greater number of marriages; and it must be equally pended on, that during the last period the mortality was certain, that except where the means of subsistence can be extraordinarily small, and the proportion of children reared adequately increased, a greater proportion of marriages must from infancy to puberty extraordinarily great. At the time when M. Muret wrote his paper, in 1766, the proportion of occasion a greater mortality. 1

Gottliche Ordnung, vol. i. c. iv. s. 57, p. 128. Malthus^ Essayn PopulaUon. b. m ^^sP(n4t^e ^th ^ust have been oc* This very large proportion of marriages could not all have been supp 3 Gottnche Qrdnung, vol. i. p. 134 et *eq. cosioned in part by the influx of strangers. i : „ fifth a water may be at the same time poured into two vessels, one been established at Villeioy, , brouLdit to a b of which is good porcelain, and the other of an opposite qua- at those places the manu ac ure lity, it is not impossible that the former may break, and high degree of perfection. But the great seat of the man the latter may remain entire. The true method of disco- facture is now in the Limousin, w ere • vering what is good porcelain, is to examine several pieces are found, and whence the porce am in a w i which are in daily use ; and it has been found, that in many sent to Paris and othei places on ie con m ’ pieces of porcelain of oriental manufacture, which have namented. I he productions o tie ce e ra e y p been long used, cracks are seen in the direction of their celain manufactory at Sevies, near aris, on accoun co a height, which are never perceived in the more perfect por- the pure shining white, the fine g azing avi ° _ celains of European manufacture. grounds, the splendour and magnificence o e gi i g* It has long been a very general opinion, that the Japa- and the elegance and taste displaye in le s ape nese porcelain is the most perfect; it has indeed continued figures, are universally allowed to surpass every nn^ to be the object of admiration and emulation, and has been the kind which has yet appeared.^ It must e remar e > held up as a model for the European manufacturer. But the however, that this manufactory at Sevres, w erein ie por taste of Europeans having required a porcelain possessing celain dure” is produced in so great a degree o per ection, the qualities of transparency and whiteness in a greater de- is not carried on with a view to profit, but has receive oc gree than that of Japan, the attempts to imitate it have been casional grants ot money from the government, as a na lona mostly confined to experiments. It has therefore been erro- concern. . , neously contended that an article equal to the Japan porceIn speaking of the French porcelain, we may no ice e lain cannot be produced in Europe. The Saxon porcelain has result of some researches which were made on this subjec

P O R C E L A 1 N 43, Porcelain, by Guettard, and of which an account appeared in the Me- frit, or glass, as a component part of the basis or body of Porcelain, '^V^'moirs of the Academy of Sciences, for the year 1765. In the ware, and substituting a mixture of the fusible and inthe neighbourhood of Alen^on, M. Guettard discovered a fusible earths as the basis of his porcelain, as had been done, whitish argillaceous earth, in which he found that mica con- at a much earlier period, in Germany and France. And siderably predominated. This earth he employed as a substi- thus the English porcelain, in many of its essential qualities, tute for kaolin. The substance which he used instead of the particularly in the beauty and richness of its paintings and petuntse, he obtained from a hard stone, which is described gildings, as well as the elegance of its forms, has become litas a quartzose gritt stone, very abundant in that country, tle, if at all inferior, to that of any other country. and with which the streets of Alenin are paved. With 1 here are in England a number of manufactories of porthese materials Guettard instituted a series of experiments celain, at Derby, at Worcester, at Coalbrookdale, and at on porcelain, previously to the year 1751, and was associated Rotherham, in Yorkshire. But the principal site of this in his inquiries with the Duke of Orleans. For many years manufacture is now in the Staffordshire Potteries, where it the Count de Lauraguais, a member of the Academy of is produced in large quantities, at various manufactories. Sciences, was keenly engaged in prosecuting experiments to discover the true nature of porcelain, and the means by which 5. Different Processes in the Manufacture of Porcelain. the manufacture might be improved and perfected. To obThe basis of those porcelains which were respectively known Bases, tain the object of his researches, which was to produce por- by the name of vitreous, fusible, and soft porcelain, was in celain that in its essential qualities might be equal to that part composed of what was called a. frit; that is to say, a mixof eastern countries, he spared no trouble or expense ; and ture of alkalis and siliceous earths, brought into fusion, which, it would appear that he was not unsuccessful in his labours; forming an opaque glass, was ground very fine, and mixfor in the year 1766, when he exhibited some species of ed with an infusible earth or clay, in quantity sufficient to porcelain from his manufactory to the members of the Aca- produce a degree of fusion, and consequent transparency demy of Sciences, the persons who were appointed by that of the whole body, but not so much as to prevent the learned body to examine their properties, delivered it as their ductility necessary for the formation of the articles to be opinion, that of all the porcelain made in France, that of the made. The basis of the porcelains now generally made Count de Lauraguais approached most nearly in the essen- is composed of a mixture of infusible and fusible earths, in tial properties of solidity, texture, and infusibility, to that of those proportions which, on the application of intense heat, China and Japan. It is said, however, that it was consider- produce that transparency and semi-vitrification which is reably deficient in whiteness and lustre, when compared with quired as the distinguishing properties of porcelain. the ancient porcelain of Japan. The great interest, howUp to a certain point, the operations and manipulations Manipulaever, created in France in support of this elegant and use- are the same in all cases. The clay or infusible earth hav- fi°n* ful fabric, the continued experiments of the ablest chemists ing been separated by washing from the mass of decomposand scientific men, with the discovery of better materials ed granite, of which it forms a part, is mixed with a portion which are abundant in the South of France, gave to that of the fusible earth, finely livigated into a liquid of the concountry facilities which enabled her soon to take the lead of sistence of cream, which, after being passed through the the continent and of Britain in the production of this article. finer silk lawns, is placed on kilns to evaporate the superManufacPorcelain manufactories have long been established at fluous water, until the mass becomes a soft tenacious paste, tory at Tournay in Flanders. One of these manufactories furnishes ready for the operations of the workman^ It is then taken ournay. aq p]antlers with blue and white porcelain. At this manu- to the thrower, to be fashioned on his wheel; and having factory they have a particular process in forming cups and obtained a sufficient degree of hardness to preserve its form, other vessels. They are neither turned on the lathe, nor is transferred to the lathe to be more correctly shaped, and is the clay compressed in a mould ; but after being diluted the surface made even. It next has handles, feet, and other in water, and when the liquid has acquired a proper con- requisites added, and is then ready to receive its first firing. sistency, the workmen pour it into moulds, two or three To effect this, it is, when sufficiently dry, put into a case hundred of which are arranged together. When they have made of earthen ware, and placed in the furnace, that it may filled them all, they return to the first in the row. The be subjected to the process of baking. These cases are known liquid part is drawn off’ by a gentle inclination; the sur- amongst the English potters by the name of seggars or sagplus adheres to the side of the vessel, and thus forms the gars, and they are generally formed of a coarser kind of piece which it is intended to make. The piece is detached clay ; but this clay must possess the property of resisting from the mould by means of a slight stroke ; and after be- the action of heat necessary for the baking of porcelain, ing sufficiently dried, it is conveyed to the furnace, to un- without being fused. The porcelain contained in the cases is thus protected from the smoke of the burning fuel. The dergo the process of baking. n England Jn England but little progress was made in the manufac- whiteness of the porcelain depends greatly on the purity of ture of porcelain, until towards the end of the last century. the clay of which the saggars are made, so that being of a At an earlier period there was a manufactory carried on by more compact texture, the smoke is more effectually exsome Germans at Chelsea, afterwards removed to Derby, cluded. These cases are arranged in the furnace or kiln of porcelain of a very superior quality ; but whence they de- in piles, one upon the other, to the top of the furnace. A small fire is first made, that the furnaces may be grarived their materials is now uncertain. The porcelain which was then made at Liverpool, and some other places, dually heated ; and it is increased more and more until the was of an inferior kind, and manufactured so thin, in order process of baking is completed, that is, until the porceto procure transparency, as to render it in a great degree lain shall have acquired a proper degree of hardness and unserviceable. This porcelain was made of the clays from transparency. To ascertain this point, much attention is Devonshire, to which a frit, described hereafter, was added necessary, by taking out of the furnace from time to time, to improve the colour of the body, and to create that degree and examining, small pieces of porcelain placed for that of transparency which was required by the public as a prin- purpose in some cases, which have lateral openings in the walls of the furnace to render them accessible. When it cipal attribute of porcelain. About the year 1768, the discovery in Cornwall of mines appears, from the examination of those pieces, that the porof clay and stone similar to those used in France and Ger- celain is sufficiently baked, the fire is no longer to be supmany, and which are believed to be the kaolin and pe- plied with fuel; the furnace is allowed to cool gradually, tuntse of the Chinese, soon enabled the English manufac- and the porcelain is afterwards taken out. But at this point of the process of baking, or firing, the turer to improve his porcelain, by discontinuing the use of

PORCELAIN. 436 at that royal manufactory, under the able direction of M. Porcelain. modes adopted in France, and on the continent generally, Brogniat, the porcelame dure, now the only kind made there, are materially different from the practice m this country has been so much improved, as to admit of its being embelin fact, are totally reversed. In England the first, or biscu t lished by paintings of the most delicate and brilliant colours firing, is employed to produce, by an intense heat, the ’re- and superb grounds, with gilding equal, if not superior, to quired degree of transparency and vitrification ; whiU n the old Sevres. _ . France but a small degree of heat is applied, sufficient on y The pieces of porcelain which are intended to remain111 pamtto harden (degourdir) the ware, so that it may bear the white are now finished, but those which are to be orna- ^ manipulation necessary before the glazing, without break- mented with painting and gilding must go through various ing, the transparency and strength being obtained at the other operations. The colours which are employed in paintsecond operation of firing, which, like the English biscuit- ing porcelain on the glaze are similar to those which are apfiring, requires an intense heat to accomplish that object. in the painting of enamel. They are all composed of lino-lazed porcelain has the appearance of white marble, plied Unglazed metallic oxides or calces, combined with a very fusible vitreporcelain having nothing of that shining surface which it acquires by ous matter. The different colours are obtained from different called bis- coverino- it with the vitreous composition called glaze, and metals. The oxides of iron afford a red colour ; gold, precicuit. is said to be in the state of biscuit. For particular pur- pitated by means of tin, furnishes a purple and violet coposes, the porcelain is sometimes allowed to remain in this lour ; copper, precipitated from its solution in acids by state, and particularly when it is employed in smaller and means of an alkali, gives a fine green ; cobalt, or when comfiner pieces of sculpture, where the fineness of the work- bined with vitreous matter, zajfar, as it is called, yields a manship and the sharpness of the figures are wished to be blue. Earthy matters which are slightly feruginous, preserved, as it is well known that these will be greatly in- fine a yellow colour; and brown and black colours are iured by being covered with a coat of glazing. 1 he cele- produce obtained from iron in different states, and from manganese. brated manufactory of Sevres has long been distinguished The oxide of chrome, which has but lately come into use, for figures or small statues, and even for larger works, as has furnished artists with greens and some other colours, ornamental vases, &c., which are left in the state of biscuit. a brilliancy and fixedness in the fire not before known. The English manufactories are probably not inferior m the of delicacy and accuracy of execution of ornamental produc- These colours are applied to the ware by the painters according to the requisite pattern, and it is again conveyed tions of this kind. ^ ... to the furnace, and the colours are vitrified, to give them Method of The next operation in the manufacture of porcelain is the the proper degree of fixation and lustre. In the common process of glazing. This process consists in covering the glazing porcelain. porcelain with a thin coat of vitreous or fusible, matter, kind of porcelain, once or twice burning is sufficient, but in which adds greatly to its beauty, by its lustre 01 shining ap- the finer decorations the colours must be laid on several pearance. In preparing and applying the materials fit for times, and as often fired before the full effect can be proglazing porcelain, it has been found that the same mixture duced. This process is similar to that practised by enamelwill not admit of general application ; for it appears,7 that lers on copper, &c.; but the blue colour from cobalt is much . what forms a fine glazing for one kind of porcelain, w ill not used for painting on the biscuit ware before glazing. The discovery of a method of imitating the painted pat- Of Pnn answer the same purpose wdien applied to another. In the former it may have all the necessary requisites, but in the terns of the Chinese by impressions taken from engraveding. latter it may crack in many places, may have no lustre, and copper plates, was of great importance, as it enabled the may contain bubbles, or be apt to scale off. The first thing, European manufacturers to compete with the cheap labour then, is to prepare a glaze which shall be suited to the na- of the Chinese. This discovery is due to a manufacturer ture of the porcelain for which it is intended. The glazing at Liverpool, where porcelain w-as formerly made. The must be appropriated to each kind of porcelain, that is, to process is as follows. The pattern being engraved on a the ingredients which enter into its composition, or to the copper plate of the size wanted, it is charged with the codegree of hardness or density of the w7are. Ihe materials lour to be used, which is mixed with boiled linseed oil; the of which the glazing is composed are prepared by previous- plate is then placed on a hot stove, and a piece ot thin tis-^ ly fusing together all the substances of which they consist, sue paper, previously primed with a solution on one side of and thus forming a vitreous mass. This mass of vitrified soft soap, is laid upon the plate, and both passed through the matter must be finely ground in a mill, and the vitreous rollars of the press as in ordinary printing. The impression powder thus obtained be mixed with a sufficient quantity is then taken off, and transferred on to the ware. After being of water, so that the liquor shall have the consistence of well rubbed with a roller of flannel, to cause the colour and cream of milk. The pieces of porcelain are to be cover- oil to adhere to the ware, the piece is then put into lukewarm ed with a thin coating of this matter, which is done by im- water, where the paper, by the action of the soap, leaves the mersing them hastily in the liquid, and as they greedily im- ware and the colour upon it. The ware is next dried, and bibe the wTater, there remains on the surface a uniform co- subjected to a degree of heat, to evaporate the oils, and the vering of the glazing materials. This covering, which, it ware is then in a condition for the glazing. But when the pieces of porcelain are to be further deco- Giluif’g' must be observed, should be very thin, in a short time becomes so dry, that it does not adhere to the fingers when rated with gilding, they are pencilled with a mixture of oil the pieces are handled. When they are sufficiently dry, and gold, dissolved or thrown down by quicksilver with the they are replaced in the furnace in the same manner as in aid of heat, and are again introduced into the furnace. Here preparing the biscuit, and the heat is continued till the the gold returns to its solid state, but comes out with a dull glazing be completely fused; but the degree of heat ne- surface; and to recover its lustre and usual brilliancy, it is cessary for that purpose is far inferior to that which is re- burnished with blood-stones, and other polishing substances. quisite in baking the paste. As before noticed, however, this Much care and attention are necessary in the latter part of does not apply to the French porcelains, the glazing of which the process; for if the gold be not sufficiently burned, it will is effected by a higher degree of heat than what is applied be apt to separate in thin flakes ; and if it have been exposed to too great a heat, it is not susceptible of a fine to the paste or body. The glaze used for the soft porcelain possessed great ad- polish. In this manufactory, wdien pieces of porcelain vantages in the execution of the more delicate paintings and are to be finished in the highest style, they are frequently redecorations, by its property of assisting to flux and fix with turned to the enamel furnace, where the colours are fluxed more certainty the metallic oxides of which the colours are six or seven different times; and having gone through the procomposed. The old Sevres china is of this description. But cesses now described, the porcelain is fit for the market.

PORCELAIN. 437 The use of platma in porcelain painting has been recom- S to 20 parts in the hundred ; and iron from 0 to 12 or 15 Porcelain. mended by Klaproth; and experiments have been made on parts in the hundred. Silex gives hardness, infusibility,' lheorpi.;the subject by that celebrated chemist, with the view of louring 'ascertaining its effects for this purpose. In concluding his ders it fit to be kneaded, moulded, and turned at pleasure. porcelain, observations, he says, “ The process which I employ in the It possesses, at the same time, the property of being parapplication of platina to painting on porcelain is simple and tially fused by the heat which unites its parts with those of easy. I dissolve crude platina in aqua regia, and precipi- the silex; but it must not be too abundant, or it would rentate it by a saturated solution of sal-ammoniac in water. der the earthen ware too fusible, and too brittle to be used The red crystalline precipitate thence produced is dried, over the fire. and being reduced to a very fine powder, is slowly brought Hitherto it has not been proved by experience that lime to a red heat in a glass retort. As the volatile neutral salt is necessary in the composition of pottery ; and if traces of combined with the platina in this precipitate becomes sub- it are constantly found in that substance, it is because it is limated, the metallic part remains behind in the form of a always mixed with the other earths, from which the washgray soft powder. This powder is then subjected to the ings and other manipulations have not been able to sepasame process as gold ; that is to say, it is mixed with a small rate it. When this earth, however, does not exceed five quantity of the same flux as that used for gold, and being or six parts in a hundred, it appears that it is not hurtful to ground with oil of spike, is applied with a brush on the the quality of the pottery ; but if more abundant it renporcelain ; after which it is burned-in under the muffle of an ders it too fusible. The oxide of iron, besides the inconenameller’s furnace, and then polished with a burnishing venience of communicating a red or brown colour, accordtool. ing to the degree of baking, to the vessels in which it forms “ The colour of platina burnt into porcelain in this man- a part, has the property of rendering them fusible, and even ner is a silver white, inclining a little to a steel gray. If in a greater degree than lime. the platina be mixed in different portions with gold, differAs some kinds of pottery are destined to melt very pene- Mode of ent shades of colour may be obtained ; the gradations of trating substances, such as salts, metallic oxides, glass, &c. preparawhich may be numbered, from the white colour of unmixed they require a fine kind of paste, which is obtained only by platina to the yellow colour of gold. Platina is capable of reducing the earths employed to very minute particles. receiving a considerable addition of gold before the transi- Others destined for melting metals, and substances not very tion from the white colour to yellow is perceptible. Thus, penetrating, and which must be able to support, without for example, in a mixture of four parts of gold and one of breaking, a sudden transition from great heat to great cold, platina, no signs of the gold were to be observed, and the require for their fabrication a mixture of calcined argil white colour could scarcely be distinguished from that of with raw argil. By these means you obtain pottery, the unmixed platina : it was only when eight parts of gold to coarse paste of which resembles Irreche, or small-grained one of platina were employed that the gold colour assumed pudding-stone, and which can endure sudden changes of the superiority. temperature. “ I tried in the like manner different mixtures of platina The baking of pottery is likewise an object of great im- Baking, and silver ; but the colour produced was dull, and did not portance. The heat must be capable of expelling humidity, seem proper for painting on porcelain. and agglutinating the parts which enter into the composi“Besides this method of burning-in platina in substance tion of the paste, but not strong enough to produce fusion ; on porcelain, it may be employed also in its dissolved state; which, if too far advanced, gives to pottery a homogenein which case it gives a different result both in its colour ousness that renders it brittle. The same effect takes place and splendour. The solution of it in aqua regia is evapo- in regard to the fine pottery, because the very minute dirated, and the thickened residuum is then applied several vision given to the earths reduces them nearly to the same times in succession to the porcelain. The metallic matter state as if this matter had been fused. This is the reason thus penetrates into the substance of the porcelain itself, why porcelain strongly baked is more or less brittle, and and forms a metallic mirror of the colour and splendour of cannot easily endure alternations of temperature. Hence polished steel.” coarse porcelain, in the composition of which a certain quantity of calcined argil is employed, porcelain retorts, General principles of the manufacture of Porcelain and crucibles, tubes, and common pottery, the paste of which i^ Earthemvare. coarse, are much less brittle than dishes and saucers formConvinced that every accurate and scientific investiga- ed of the same substance, but ground with more labour. tion into the nature and processes of any important art, The general and respective dimensions of the different Dimenwill always be deemed of some value to the philosophical ob- parts of vessels of earthenware, have also considerable in- sions of the server, or the enlightened manufacturer, we shall introduce fluence on their capability to stand the fire. In some cases different the following observations on the principles of the manu- the glazing or covering, especially when too thick, and ofP^® facture of porcelain and earthenware. a nature different from the body of the pottery, also ren-UbSUb‘ ders them liable to break. Thus, in making some kinds of Observations by Vauquelin. pottery, it is always essential, first, to follow the best pro CumponAccording to this celebrated chemist, four things may portion in the principles; secondly, to give to the particles of the paste, by grinding, a minuteness suited to the purpose pon-eLinoccana -s^on rdifferences in the qualities of earthenware; first, for which it is intended, and to all the parts the same diand pottery tu e or composition of the matter ; second, the mode litware. r\ _ /~\T /"V < V . A 41 1 . .v* . 1 the I \ v-v v'dimensions 1 . V V W V V~Y1“, given ITT to ^the tvessels; 7 /A G G I G ® mensions as far as possible ; thirdly, to carry the baking to of preparation; third, fourth, the baking to which they are subjected. By compo- the highest degree that the matter can bear without being sition of the matter, the author understands the nature and fused ; and fourthly, to apply the glazing in thin layers, the proportions of the elements of which it is formed. These fusibility of which ought to approach as near as possible to elements in the greater part of earthen ware, either valuable that of the matter, in order that it may be more intimately or common, are silex, argil, lime, and sometimes a little ox- united. M. Vauquelin, being persuaded that the quality of good ide of iron. Hence it is evident that it is not so much by the diversity of the elements that good earthenware difi’ers pottery depends chiefly on using proper proportions of the from bad, as by the proportion in which they are united. earthy matter, thought it might be of importance to those Silex or quartz makes always two-thirds at least of earthen- engaged in this branch of manufacture, to make known the ware ; argil or pure clay, from a fifth to a third; lime from analysis of different natural clays employed for this purPorcelain.

.i

PORCELAIN. 438 Porcelain, pose, and of pottery produced by some of them, in order the puce-coloured and red oxides of lead, the yellow oxides Porcelain, ~ ' that, when a new earth is discovered, it may be known by of gold, and some others. Oxides in which the proportions a simple analysis whether it will be proper for the same of oxygen are susceptible of varying with too much facility, object, and to what kind of pottery already known it bears are rarely employed. The oxide of iron, though black, is never employed for producing that colour; and the green the greatest resemblance. oxide of copper is, under many circumstances, very uncerWedgwood’s tain. We have said that oxides alone are not susceptible of Argil of Porcelain . Hessian Capsules. Pyrometers. fusion. However, as they are destined to be applied to Dreux. Crucibles. thin strata upon vitrifiable substances, they may be attached 64.2 61 43.5 69 Silex to them by a violent heat. But, excepting the oxides of lead 25 28 33.2 21.5 Argil and bismuth, they wmuld give only dull colours. The vio6 6 3.5 1 Lime lent heat, often necessary to fix them, would change or to0.2 0.5 1. 8 Oxide of Iron. tally destroy the colours. A flux then is added to all me6.2 18. Water tallic oxides. This flux is glass, lead, 7and silex; glass of borax, or a Raw kaolin 100 parts; silex, 74; argil, 16.5 ; lime, 2 ; mixture of both. Its gene >d effect is to give splendour to water, 7. A hundred parts of this earth gave eight of alum, the colours after their fusion ; to fix them upon the article which is painted, by promoting more or less the softening after being treated with the sulphuric acid. Washed kaolin, 100 parts ; silex, 55 ; argil, 27 ; lime, of its surface ; to envelope the metallic oxides, and to pre2; iron, 0.5 ; water, 14. This kaolin, treated with the sul- serve their colour, by sheltering them from the contact of the air; in a word, to facilitate the fusion of the colour at phuric acid, gave about 45 or 50 per cent, ot alum. Petuntze. Silex, 74 ; argil, 14.5 ; lime, 5.5 ; loss, 6. A a low temperature not capable of destroying it. But we shall speak here only of the application of metallic The subhundred parts of this substance, treated with the sulphuric acid, gave seven or eight parts of alum. But this quantity colours to vitreous bodies, or to vitreous surfaces. These stances to bodies may be divided into three classes, very distinct by which they does not equal the loss sustained. are Porcelain of retorts. Silex, 64 ; argil, 28.8 ; lime, 4.55 ; the nature of the substances which compose them, the ef- applka•fects produced on them by the colours, and the changes iron, 0.50; loss, 2.77. Treated with the sulphuric acid they experience. These crusts are, first, enamel, soft porthis porcelain gave no alum. Porous There is a kind of earthen vessels, called-TZcarrezcs, which celain, and all crusts, enamels, or glass, that contain lead in ware. are used in Spain for cooling the water intended to be drunk. a notable quantity; secondly, hard porcelain, or porcelain These vessels consist of 60 parts of calcareous earth, mix- which has a crust of feldspar ; thirdly, glass in the composied with alumina and a little oxide of iron, and 36£ of sili- tion of which no lead enters, such as common window-glass. ceous earth, also mixed with alumina and the same oxide. We shall here examine in succession the principles of the The quantity of iron may be estimated at almost one hun- composition of these colours, and the general phenomena dredth part of the whole. This earth is first kneaded into they exhibit on these three kinds of bodies. It is well known that enamel is glass rendered opaque by a tough paste, being for that purpose previously diluted with water ; then formed into a cake of about six inches in thick- the oxide of tin, and exceedingly fusible by the oxide of ness, and left in that state until it begin to crack. It is then lead. It is the oxide of lead, in particular, contained in it, kneaded with the feet, the workman gradually adding to it that gives it properties very different from those of the other a quantity of sea-salt, in the proportion of seven pounds to excipients of metallic colours. Thus all glass and glazing a hundred and fifty ; after which it is applied to the lathe, that contain lead, will participate in the properties of enaand baked in any kind of furnace used by potters. The mel; and what we shall say of one may be applied to the alcarrezes, however, are only about half as much baked as rest with very trifling differences. Such are the white and the better kinds of common earthenware ; and being ex- tmnsnnrpnt crlny.incr nf stonpware. and the fflazing of porceceedingly porous, water oozes through them on all sides. lain called soft glazing. Enamel or soft porcelain colours require much less flux than Flux for Hence the air which comes in contact with it, by causing it to evaporate, carries off the caloric contained in the water others, because the glass upon which they are applied be-soft1 porcecomes sufficiently soft to be penetrated by them. ThisLh co our> in the vessel, which is thus rendered remarkably cool. flux may be either glass of lead and pure silex, called roObservations of Brongniart on the Colours used for caille, or the same glass mixed with borax. Montamy asEnamelling. serts that glass of lead ought to be banished from among Enamel The art of employing metallic oxides for colouring by the enamel fluxes; and he employs only borax. He then of the fusion different vitreous matters, is of very great antiquity. dilutes his colours in a volatile oil. On the other hand, the ancients. Every body knows that the ancients manufactured colour- painters of the manufactory of Sevres employ only colours ed glass and enamel, and that this art was practised in par- without borax, because they dilute them in gum; and borax ticular by the Egyptians, the first people who in this man- does not dilute well in that substance. Brogniart found ner imitated precious stones. The practice of this art in that both methods were equally good ; and it is certain that modern times has been carried to a high degree of perfec- Montamy was wrong to exclude fluxes of lead, since they tion ; but the theory has been neglected. It is almost the are daily employed without any inconvenience, and as they only one of the chemical arts in which no attempt has yet even render the application of colours easier. We have said that in the baking of these colours, the crust, been made to apply the new principles of that science. It is well known that all vitrifiable colours have for their basis softened by the fire, suffers itself to be easily penetrated by metallic oxides; but all the metallic oxides are not proper them. This is the first cause of the change which they for this purpose; besides, as they are not vitrifiable by them- experience. By mixing with the crust they become weaker, and the first heat changes a figure which appeared to be selves, they can scarcely ever be employed alone. Metallic Highly volatile oxides, and those which adhere little to finished into a very light sketch. oxides em- the great quantity of oxygen they contain, either cannot be The two principal causes of the changes which colours ployed as employed in any manner, as the oxide of mercury and that on enamel and soft porcelain are susceptible of experienccolours for porcelain. of arsenic, or are employed only as agents. The colour they ing do not depend in any manner upon the composition of present cannot be depended on, since they must lose it in these colours, but upon the nature of the glass to which thev the slightest heat by losing a part of their oxygen. Such are are applied. It follows from what has been said, that pair*

PORCELAIN. 439 Porcelain, ing on soft porcelain has need of being several times re- as well as all the shades obtained from it by mixing it with Porcelain, touched, and of several heats, in order that it may be car- other colours, really change on all porcelain and in every ried to the necessary degree of strength. These paintings hand. But it is the only one which changes on hard porcehave always a certain faintness; but they are constantly lain. Its place may be supplied by a rose-colour from iron more brilliant, and they never are attended with the incon- which does not change ; so that by suppressing the carmine venience of detaching themselves in scales. made with gold, and substituting for it the rose oxide of Colours ap- Hard porcelain, according to the division which Brogniart iron here alluded to, a palette may be exhibited, composed plied to hard established, is the second sort of excipient of metallic col- ot colours none of which changes in a remarkable manner. porcelain, ours. This porcelain, as is well known, has for its base a This rose-coloured oxide of iron has long been known; but and to glass. very white clay called kaolin, mixed with a siliceous and it was not employed on enamel, because on that substance calcareous flux, and for its covering feldspar fused without an it changed too much. As the painters on enamel, however, atom of lead. The same porcelain, which is that of Saxony, is have become the painters on porcelain, they have preserved much newer at Sevres than the soft porcelain. The colours their ancient method. applied to it are of two kinds. The first, destined to represent It might be believed that, by first reducing to a vitreous different objects, are baked in a heat very inferior to that which matter the colour called carmine already mixed with its is necessary for baking porcelain. They are exceedingly nu- flux, it might be made to assume its last tint. But the heat merous and varied. The others, destined to be fused in the necessary to fuse this vitreous mass destroys the red colour. same heat as that which bakes porcelain, lay themselves Besides, it is remarked that, to obtain this colour very beauflat, and are much less numerous. The colours of painting tiful, it must be exposed to the fire as few times as possible. are made nearly like those destined for soft porcelain ; they The carmine for soft porcelain is made with fulminating only contain more flux. Their flux is composed of glass gold slowly decomposed, and muriate of silver ; no tin enof lead and borax. When porcelain is exposed to heat in ters into it, which proves that the combination of the oxide order to bake the colours, the covering of feldspar dilates it- of this metal with that of gold is not necessary to the exself and opens its pores, but does not become soft; and as the istence of the purple colour. Violet is also made with purcolours do not penetrate it, they experience none of those ple oxide of gold. A greater quantity of lead in the flux is changes which they undergo on soft porcelain. It must what gives it this colour, which is almost the same crude however be said that they lose a little of their intensity by or baked. These three colours totally disappear when exacquiring that transparency which is given to them by posed to a great porcelain heat. fusion. Carmine and purple give us in glass only tints of a dirty One of the greatest inconveniences of these colours, es- violet. The violet, on the other hand, produces on glass a pecially in the manufactory of Sevres, is the facility with very beautiful effect, but it is liable to turn blue. We which they scale off when exposed several times in the fire. have not been able to discover the cause of this singular To remedy this defect without altering the quality of the change. paste, Brogniart wras of opinion that the crust only ought to Red, Rose, and Brown Colours, extracted from Iron. be softened by introducing into it more siliceous or calcareous flux, according to the nature of the feldspar. This These colours are made from red oxide of iron prepared method succeeded, and being employed, the colours might with nitric acid. The oxides are further calcined by keeping be exposed two or three times to the fire without scaling, them exposed to the action of heat; but if heated too much, if not overcharged with flux, and laid on too thick. they pass to brown. Their flux is composed of borax, sand, The third sort of excipient of vitrifiable metallic colours and minium, in small quantity. is glass without lead. The application of these colours to These oxides give rose and red colours capable of supglass constitutes painting on glass ; an art very much prac- plying the place of the same colours made with oxide of tised some centuries ago, and w hich was supposed to be lost gold. When properly employed upon hard porcelain, they because out of fashion ; but it has too direct a dependence do not change at all. We have caused roses to be painted on painting in enamel and porcelain to be entirely lost. with these colours, and found no difference between the The matters and fluxes which enter into the composition baked flower and that not baked, except what might be of the colours employed on glass are in general the same expected to result from the brilliancy given to colours by as those applied to porcelain. Neither of them differ except fusion. These colours may be employed indiscriminately, either in their proportions ; but there are a great number of enamel or porcelain colours which cannot be applied to glass, previously fused or not fused. In a great heat they in part where they are deprived of the white ground that serves to disappear, or produce a dull brick ground, which is not agreeable. The composition of them is the same both for give them relief. soft porcelain and for glass They do not change on the Of Colours in particular. latter ; but on soft porcelain they disappear almost entirely After collecting the general phenomena exhibited by on the first exposure to heat, and to make any thing remain each class of vitrifiable colours, considered in regard to the they must be employed very deep. Phis singular effect must body on which they are applied, we shall now make known be ascribed to the presence of lead in the crust or glazing. the most interesting particular phenomena exhibited by each We assured ourselves of this by a very simple experiment. principal kind of colours employed upon soft porcelain and We placed this colour on window glass, and having exposed it to a strong baking, it did not change. We covered seglass in a porcelain furnace. veral parts of it with minium; and on again exposing it to Reds, Purples, and Violets, made from Gold. the fire, the colour was totally removed in the places where Carmine red is obtained by the purple precipitate of cas- the red oxide of lead had been applied. By performing sius. It is mixed with about six parts of its flux ; and this this operation on a larger scale in close vessels, a large quanmixture is employed directly, without being fused. It is tity of oxygen gas was disengaged. then of a dirty violet, but by baking it acquires a beautiful It appears to us that the observationhere referred to clearly red carmine colour. It is, however, exceedingly delicate ; proves the action of oxidated lead on glass as a destroyer but a little too much heat and carbonaceous vapours easily of colour ; it is seen that it does not act, as was believed, by spoil it. On this account it is more beautiful when baked burning the combustible bodies, which might tarnish the glass, but by dissolving, discolouring, or volatilizing with it with charcoal than with wood. This colour and the purple, which is very little different, the oxide of iron, which might alter its transparency,

J

440 Porcelain.

PORCELAIN. because potash enters into their composition. These greens Porcelain, cannot be applied on glass, because they give a dirty colour. To obtain a green on glass, it is necessary to put yellow on Yellows are colours which require a great deal of care m one side, and blue, more or less pale, on the other. This the fabrication, on account of the lead which they contain, colour may be also made by a mixture of blue with yellow and which, approaching sometimes to the metallic state, oxide of iron. produces on them dark spots. The yellows for hard and soft porcelain are the same ; they are composed of the oxide of Bistres and Russets. lead, white oxide of antimony, and sand. These are obtained by mixtures, in different proportions, Oxide of tin is sometimes mixed with them ; and when it is required to have them more lively, and nearer the colour of manganese, brown oxide of copper, and oxide of iron from du souci, red oxide of iron is added, the too great redness ombre earth. They are also previously fused with their of which is dissipated in the previous fusion to which they flux, so that they do not in any manner change on soft porare exposed by the action of the lead contained in this celain, since lead has not the same action on oxide of manyellow.1 These colours, when once made, never change ; ganese as on that of iron. This colour fades very speedily they disappear, however, almost entirely when exposed to on glass. Russet grounds in a great heat, known under the name a porcelain heat. These yellows cannot be applied to glass, because they are of tortoise-shell grounds, are made in the same manner. too opaque and dirty. That employed by the old painters on Their flux is feldspar; and no titanium enters into their comglass has, on the contrary, a beautiful transparency, and is position, though it is so stated in all printed works. Titanium exceedingly brilliant, and of a colour which approaches near was not known at the manufactory of Sevres when Brognito that of gold. The processes which they gave clearly art arrived there. He treated this singular metal in various showed that silver formed part of their composition ; but, ways, and never obtained any but grounds of a pale dirty when exactly followed, nothing satisfactory was obtained. M. yellow, and very variable in tone. Miraud found means to make as beautiful paintings on glass as Blacks. the ancients, by employing muriate of silver, oxide of zinc, white argil, and yellow oxide of iron. These colours were Blacks are the colours the most difficult to be obtained of applied on glass merely pounded, and without a flux. The a very beautiful hue. ^io metallic oxide alone gives a beauoxide of iron brought the yellow to that colour which it ought tiful black. Manganese is that which approaches nearest to to have after baking, and contributed with the argil and it. Iron gives an opaque, dull, cloudy black, which changes oxide of zinc to decompose the muriate of silver without de- very easily to red; the colour-makers, therefore, to obtain oxidating the silver. After the baking, there remained a a black which they could not hope for from the best theodust which had not penetrated into the glass, and which was rist, have united several metallic oxides which separately do easily removed. not give black, and have obtained a very beautiful colour, This yellow, when employed thicker, gives darker shades, which, however, is liable to become scaly and dull. These and produces a russet colour. oxides are those of manganese, the brown oxides of copper, and a little of the oxide of cobalt. The grey is obtained by Blues. suppressing the copper, and increasing the dose of the flux. It is well known that blues are obtained from the oxide The manufactory of Sevres is the only one which has of cobalt. All chemists are acquainted with the preparation hitherto produced beautiful blacks in a strong heat. Tins of them. Those of Sevres, which are justly esteemed for is owing rather to the quality of its paste than to any pecutheir beauty, are indebted for it solely to the care employed liar processes, since it does not conceal them. It is by in manufacturing them, and to the quality of the porcelain, darkening the blue by the oxides of manganese and iron which appears more proper for receiving them in proportion that they are able in that manufactory to obtain very brilto the degree of heat which it can bear. liant blacks. ... p, p . • Respecting the oxide ol cobalt, we may remark a fact Having here made known the principles ot the labncawhich is perhaps not known to chemists ; namely, its volati- tion of each principal colour, it may be readily conceived lity in a violent heat. It is to this property that we must that by mixing these colours together all the shades possiascribe the bluish tint always assumed by white in the neigh- ble may be obtained. It is evident also that care in the bourhood of the blue. preparation, choice in the raw materials, and a just proporThe blue of hard porcelain, destined for what is called tion of doses, must produce in the result, differences very the ground of a great heat (les fonds au grand feu) is fus- sensible to an eye accustomed to painting. A mere knowed with feldspar ; that of soft porcelain has for its flux ledge of the composition of the colours does not give the silex, potash, and lead. It is not volatilized like the preced- talent of executing them well. ing; but the heat which it experiences is very inferior to that From the facts above mentioned, it is therefore seen, 1st, Facts reaof hard porcelain. These colours, when previously fused, do That amongst colours generally employed on hard porce-tive to^co | not change at all in the application. Blues on glass exhibit lain one only is susceptible of changing, viz. carmine, am plated, the same phenomena as those on soft porcelain. the tints into which it enters; that its place may be supplied by the reds of iron, and that no colortr then changes. Greens. 2d, That amongst the colours for soft porcelain and enamel, The greens employed in painting are made with green several change in a considerable degree. These are prinoxide of copper, or sometimes with a mixture of yellow or cipally the reds of gold and iron, the yellows, the greens, and blue. They must be previously fused with their flux, other- the browns. They have not been replaced by others, bewise they will become black; but after this first fusion they cause this kind of painting has been almost abandoned. no longer change. They cannot stand a strong heat, as it 3d, That several of the colours on glass change also by acwould make them disappear entirely. Green grounds for a quiring complete transparency. These, in particular, are strong heat are composed with the oxides of cobalt and the yellows and green. 4th, That it is neither by calcining the colours in a higher degree, nor previously fusing nickel, but a brownish green only is obtained. Bluish greens, called celestial blues, which were formerly them, as supposed by seme, that they are prevented from colours very much in vogue, can be applied only upon soft changing, since these means really alter the changing coporcelain; on hard porcelain they consequently become scaly, lours, and produce no effect on the rest. The change which Yellows.

FOR Porch several colours experience upon soft porcelain and upon 8 glass does not depend on the nature of their composition, Poretse ue. but rather on t]lat 0f tbe bocjy Up0n wbjcj1 are applie(j. It follows, then, that, by suppressing from the colours of PORCH, in Architecture^Wndi of vestibule supported by columns, and much used at the entrance of temples, halls, and other edifices. A porch, in ancient architecture, was a vestibule, or a disposition of insulated columns usually crowned with a pediment, forming a covert place before the principal door of a temple or court of justice. When a porch had four columns in front, it was called a tetrastyle ; when six, a hexastyle ; when eight, an octostyle, and so on. Porch, in Greek o-roa, a public portico in Athens, adorned with the pictures of Polygnotus and other eminent painters. It was in this portico that Zeno the philosopher taught; and hence his followers were called Stoics. PORCHESTER, a village of the county of Hants and in the hundred of Portsdown. It is on the north side of Portsmouth harbour, and is remarkable for its extensive and ancient castle, in which, during the w^ar, some thousands of French prisoners were confined. The walls inclose a square of four acres. It formerly belonged to the crown, and was settled by Edward IV. on his queen Margaret. It is now private property, and during the war w^as rented by the government, and converted into a prison. Since the peace, the population has somewhat declined, having been in 1801, 917 ; in 1811, 818 ; in 1821, 757 ; and in 1831, 739. PORCO, a province of Bolivia in South America, to the west of the city of Potosi. The region is elevated, and the climate is consequently cold, so that although in the valleys the soil is productive, there is a scarcity of grains and fruit. It is properly a pastoral country, and here are reared vast numbers of sheep, and also vicunas and guanacos, native sheep. The mountain of Porco in this province is celebrated for its silver mines. It was the first worked by the Spaniards after the conquest; and before that epoch it had been the source whence the Incas of Peru obtained their chief supplies of the precious metal. The original mine is still wrought, but, like most others in this quarter, without much vigour. Porco, the capital of the province, is a small town with but few inhabitants. The population of the province is estimated at above one hundred thousand. PORCU,atown on the sea-coast of Hindustan, situated in the province of Travancore. It is populous, and carries on a considerable trade. The adjacent country is fertile, and produces abundance of rice. The inhabitants consist of Mahommedan, Hindu, and Christian merchants. The Dutch had formerly a factory here for procuring cargoes of pepper. Long. 76. 24. E. Lat. 9- 23. N. PORDENONE, a city of Austrian Italy, in the province of Milan, and delegation of Belluno. It stands on the river Roncello, and contains 650 houses, with 4230 inhabitants, who are chiefly employed in making linen goods and paper. Lat. 45. 56. 42. Long. 12. 34. 54. E. PORETSCHIE, a city of the Russian empire, in the province of Smolensko, the capital of a circle of the same name. It is situated on the river Kasplea, which is navigable thusfar, but no farther. Itis 478 milesfrom St. Petersburg, and favourably situated as a depot for the trade between Smolensko andRiga. Itcontains three churches, 580 houses, and5900 inhabitants, with large storehouses. Lat.55.10. Long. 31.25.E.

FOR 441 hard porcelain the carmine of gold, which is by no means in- Porism. dispensably necessary, we shall have a series of colours which do not change, or, in other words, remain unalterable. So much for the colours employed in this manufacture. x. x. PORISM, in Geometry, is a name given by the ancient geometers to two classes of mathematical propositions. Euclid applies this name to propositions, which are involved in others which he is professedly investigating, and which, although they do not form his principal object, are obtained along with it, as is expressed by their name porismata, or acquisitions. Such propositions are now called corollaries. But he gives the same name, by way of eminence, to a particular class of propositions which he collected in the course of his researches, and selected from amongst many others, on account of their great subserviency to the business of geometrical investigation in general. These propositions were so named by him, either from the way in which he discovered them, that is to say, w'hilsthe wras investigating something else, so that, theymight be considered as gains or acquisitions, or from their utility as steps in the investigation. In this sense they are porismata ; for nopifa (from which, according to Proclus, the term is derived) signifies both to investigate and to acquire by investigation. These propositions formed a collection in three books, which was familiarly known to the ancient geometers by the name of Euclid’s porisms; and Pappus of Alexandria says, that it was a most ingenious collection of many things conducive to the analysis or solution of the most difficult problems, and which afforded great delight to those wdio ware able to understand and investigate them. Unfortunately for mathematical science, this valuable collection is now lost, and it still remains a doubtful question in what manner the ancients conducted their researches upon this curious subject. We have, however, reason to believe that their method was both comprehensive and excellent; for their analysis led them to many profound discoveries, and was restricted by the severest logic. The only account w'e have of this class of geometrical propositions, is in a fragment of Pappus, in which he attempts a general description of them, as a set of mathematical propositions distinguishable in kind from all others; but of this description nothing remains, except a criticism on a definition of the term given by some geometers, namely, “ A Porism is that which is deficient in hypothesis from a local theorem,” and which he finds fault with, as defining the porisms only by an accidental circumstance. Pappus also gives an account of Euclid’s porisms; but the enunciations are so extremely defective, at the same time that they refer to a figure now lost, that Dr. Halley confesses the fragment in question to be beyond his comprehension. The high encomiums pronounced by Pappus on these pro positions have excited the curiosity of the greatest geometers of modern times, who have attempted to discover their nature and the manner of investigating them. Fermat gave a few propositions, which have been published in his Opera (Tolosse, 1679), and Bullialdus, in a tract entitled Exercitationes Geometries Tres (Paris, 1657), attempted the same thing, but with less success. Albert Girard, at a still earlier period, announced that he had restored the w hole of the three books of Euclid, but it does1 not appear that this part of his works was ever published. i At length Dr. Simson, Professor of Mathematics in the University of Glasgow, was so fortunate as to succeed in

■ Into Tripmmb,. puhlisWJ at th, H.gaa in 1S29. after enumerating the form, of certain re.tilii.ear ^ree, Girard add., ;-Le tout qnand il n'y a ,ue deux lign.s qui |,a,«„t par m, J” Lotmc^Ltb al» made' by him in he adds, “ Mais il est a estimer qu’il en a plus escrit en ses trois hvres de Poiismes qui son p > inettre cn lumi&re, les ayant invemez de nouveau.” (See the preface to Simson s True a us oi VOL. XVIII.

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P O R I S M. 442 Porism. restoring the porisms of Euclid. In the preface to his trea- course of their researches. This will at the same time shew Porism. * tise De Porismatibus, he gives the following account of his the nature of the analysis peculiar to them, and their great progress and of the obstacles he encountered: “ Postcjuam use in the solution of problems. It appears to be certain, that it has been the solution of vero apud Pappum legeramPorismata Euclidis Collectioneni fuisse artificiosissimam multarum rerum, quae spectant ad problems which, in all states of the mathematical sciences, analysin difficiliorum et generalium problematum, magno has led to the discovery of geometrical truths. The first desiderio tenebar, aliquid de iis cognoscendiquare saepius mathematical inquiries, in particular, must have occurred et multis variisque viis turn Pappi propositionem generalem, in the form of questions, where something was given, and mancam et imperfectum, turn primum lib. 1. Porisma, quod, something required to be done ; and by the reasoning neut dictum fuit, solum ex omnibus in tribus libris integrum cessary to answer these questions, or to discover the relaadhuc manet, intelligere et restituere conabar ; frustra ta- tion between the things given and those to be found, many men, nihil enim proficiebam. Cumque cogitationes de hac truths were suggested, which came afterwards to be the re multum mihi temporis consumpserint, atque tandem mo- subject of separate demonstrations. The number of these lestae admodum evaserint, firmiter animum induxi haec nun- was the greater, because the ancient geometers always unquam in posterum investigare; praesertim cum optimus Geo- dertook the solution of problems, with a scrupulous and mimetra Halleius spem omnem de iis intelligendis abjecisset. nute attention, insomuch that they would scarcely suffer any Unde quoties menti occurrebant, toties eas arcebam. Postea of the collateral truths to escape their observation. Now, as this cautious manner of proceeding was not bettamen accidit ut improvidum et propositi immemorem invaserint, meque detinuerint donee tandem lux quaedam efful- ter calculated to avoid error than to lay hold of every colserit quae spem mihi faciebat inveniendi saltern Pappi pro- lateral truth connected with the main object of inqiiiry, these positionem generalem, quam quidem multa investigatione geometers soon perceived, that there were many problems which in certain cases would admit of no solution whatever, tandem restitui.” Dr. Simson’s Restoration has every appearance of being in consequence of a particular relation existing amongst just. All the lemmas which Pappus has given for the bet- the quantities which were given. Such problems were said ter understanding of Euclid’s propositions are equally appli- to become impossible ; and it was soon perceived, that this cable to those of Dr. Simson, which are found to differ from always happened wdien one of the conditions of the problem local theorems precisely as Pappus affirms those of Euclid was inconsistent with the rest. Thus, when it was required to have done. They require a particular mode of ana- to divide a line, so that the rectangle contained by its seglysis, and are of immense service in geometrical investiga ments might be equal to a given space, it was found that this was possible only when the given space was less than the tion. Whilst Dr. Simson was employed in this inquiry, he car- square of half the line ; for when it was otherwise, the two ried on a correspondence upon the subject w ith the late Dr. conditions defining, the one the magnitude of the line, and Matthew Stewart, Professor of Mathematics in the Univer- the other the rectangle of its segments, were inconsistent sity of Edinburgh ; who, besides entering into Dr. Simson’s with each other. Such cases would occur in the solution views, and communicating to him many curious porisms, of the most simple problems ; but if they were more compursued the same subject in a new and very different di- plicated, it must have been remarked, that the constructions rection. He published the result of his inquiries in 1746, would sometimes fail, for a reason directly contrary to that under the title of General Theorems, not wishing to give just now assigned. Cases would occur, where the lines, them any other name, lest he might appear to anticipate the which by their intersection were to determine the thing labours of his friend and former preceptor. The greater part sought, instead of intersecting each other as they did comof the propositions contained in that work are porisms, but monly, or of not meeting at all, as in the above mentioned without demonstration ; and those who wish to investigate case of impossibility, would coincide with one another enone of the most curious subjects in geometry, will there tirely, and of course leave the problem unresolved. It would find abundance of materials, and an ample field for discus- appear to geometers upon a little reflection, that since, in the case of determinate problems, the thing required was sion. Dr. Simson defines a porism to be “ a proposition, in determined by the intersection of the two lines already which it is proposed to demonstrate, that one or more things mentioned, that is, by the points common to both ; so in are given, between which, and every one of innumerable the case of their coincidence, as all their parts were in comother things not given, but assumed according to a given mon, every one of these points must give a solution, or, in law, a certain relation, described in the proposition, is to be other words, the solutions must be indefinite in number. Upon inquiry, it would be found that this proceeded from shewn to take place.” This definition is somewhat obscure, but will be plainer if some condition of the problem having been involved in anexpressed thus : “ A porism is a proposition affirming the other, so that, in fact, the two formed but one, and thus there possibility of finding such conditions as will render a cer- was not a sufficient number of independent conditions to litain problem indeterminate, or capable of innumerable solu- mit the problem to a single or to any determinate number of tions.” This definition agrees with Pappus’s idea of these solutions. It would soon be perceived, that these cases propositions, as far at least as they can be understood from formed very curious propositions of an intermediate nature the fragment already mentioned ; for the propositions here between problems and theorems; and that they admitted defined, like those which he describes, are, strictly speaking, of being enunciated in a manner peculiarly elegant and conneither theorems nor problems, but of an intermediate cise. It was to such propositions that the ancients gave the nature between both. They neither simply enunciate a name of porisms. truth to be demonstrated, nor propose a question to be reThis deduction requires to be illustrated by an example. solved, but are affirmations of a truth in which the deter- Suppose, therefore, that it were required to resolve the folmination of an unknown quantity is involved. In as far, lowing problem. A circle ABC, (fig. 1), a straight line DE, therefore, as they assert that a certain problem may become and a point F, being given in position, to find a point G in indeterminate, they are of the nature of theorems ; and, in the straight line DE such, that GF, the line drawn from it as far as they seek to discover the condition by which that to the given point, shall be equal to GB, the line drawn from is brought about, they are of the nature of problems. it touching the given circle. In order to give our readers a clear idea of the subject Suppose G to be found, and GB to be drawn touching of porisms, we shall consider them in the way in which it the given circle ABC in B, let H be its centre, join HB, is probable they occurred to the ancient geometers in the and let HD be perpendicular to DE. From D draw’ DL,

P O R X S M. Porism.

touching the circle ABC in L, and join HL ; also from the centre G, with the distance GB or GF, describe the circle BKF, meeting HD in the points K and K'. It is evident that FID and DL are given in position and magnitude : also because GB touches the circle ABC, HBG is a right angle ; and since G is the centre of the circle BKF, HB touches that circle, and consequently HB2 or HL2=KHx HK'; but because KK' is bisected in D, KH x HK'-j-DK2^: 2 DH22 , therefore HL22-f DK-=DH . But HL2 + LD2= DH , therefore DK =DL2 and DK=DL. But DL is given in magnitude, and consequently K is a given point. For the same reason K' is a given point, therefore the point F being given in position, the circle KFR' is given in position. The point G, which is its centre, is therefore given in position, which was to be found. Hence this construction: Having drawn HD perpendicular to DE, and DL touching the circle ABC, make DK and DK' each equal to DL, and find G the centre of the circle described through the points K'FK; that is, let FK' be joined and bisected at right angles by MN, which meets DE in G, G will be the point required; or it will be such a point, that it GB be drawn touching the circle ABC, and GF to the given point, GB is equal to GF. The synthetical demonstration is easily derived from the preceding analysis ; but it must be remarked, that in some cases this construction fails. For, first, if F fall anywhere in DH, as at F', the line MN becomes parallel to DE, and the point G is nowhere to be found; or, in other words, it is at an infinite distance from D. This is true in general; but if the given point F coincide with K, then MN evidently coincides with DE ; so that, agreeable to a remark already made, every point of the line DE may be taken for G, and will satisfy the conditions of the problem ; that is to say, GB will be equal to GK, wherever the point G is taken in the line DE : the same is true if F coincide with K'. Thus w e have an instance of a problem, and that too a very simple one, which, in general, admits but of one solution ; but which, in one particular case, when a certain relation takes place among the things given, becomes indefinite, and admits of innumerable solutions. The proposition w hich results from this case of the problem is a porism, and may be thus enunciated: “A circle ABC being given by position, and also a straight line DE, which does not cut the circle, a point K may be found, such, that if G be any point whatever in DE, the straight line drawn from G to the point K shall be equal to the straight line drawn from G touching the given circle ABC.” The problem which follows, appears to have led to the discovery of many porisms. A circle ABC (fig. 2), and two points D, E, in a diameter

of it being given, to find a point F in the circumference of the given circle, from which, if straight lines be drawn to the given points E, D, these straight lines shall have to one another the given ratio of a to j3, which is supposed to be that of a greater to a less. Suppose the problem resolved, and that F is found, so that FE has to FD the given ratio of a to /3; produce EF towards G, bisect the angle EFD by FL, and DFG by FM: therefore EL: LD :: EF : FD, that is in a given ratio, and since ED is given, each of the segments EL, LD, is given, and the point L is also given ; again, because DFG is bisected by FM, EM: MD : : EF : FD, that is, in a given ratio, and therefore M is given. Since DFL is half of DFE, and DFM half of DFG, therefore LFM is half of (DFE-f DFB), that is, the half of two right angles, therefore LFM is a right angle; and since the points L, M, are given, the point F is in the circumference of a circle described upon LM as a diameter, and therefore given in position. Now the point F is also in the circumference of the given circle ABC, therefore it is in the intersection of the two given circumferences, and therefore is found. Hence this construction: Divide ED in L, so that EL may be to LD in the given ratio of a to 0, and produce ED also to M, so that EM may be to MD in the same given ratio of a to 0; bisect LM in N, and from the centre N with the distance NL, describe the semicircle LFM ; and the point F, in which it intersects the circle ABC, is the point required. The synthetical demonstration is easily derived from the preceding analysis. It must, however, be remarked, that the construction fails when the circle LFM falls either wholly within or wholly without the circle ABC, so that the circumferences do not intersect; and in these cases the problem cannot be solved. It is also obvious that the construction will fail in another case, viz. when the two circumferences LFM, ABC, entirely coincide. In this case, it is farther evident, that every point in the circumference ABC will answer the conditions of the problem, which is therefore capable of numberless solutions, and may, as in the former instance, be converted into a porism. We are now to inquire, therefore, in what circumstances the point L will coincide with A, and also the point M with C, and of consequence the circumference LFM with ABC. If we suppose that they coincide, EA : AD : : a : 0:: EC : CD, and EA : EC : : AD * CD, or by conversion, EA : AC:: AD : CD AD : : AD : 2DO, O being the centre of the circle ABC ; therefore, also, EA : AO :: AD : DO, and by compositition, EO : AO : : AO : DO, therefore EO x OD= AO2. Hence, if the given points E and D (fig. 3), be so situated that EO X 0D=A02, and at the same time a : 0 : : EA : AD : : EC : CD, the problem admits of numberless solutions ; and if either of the points D or E be given, the other point, and also the ratio which will render the problem indeterminate, may be found. Hence we have this porism: , “ A circle ABC, and also a point D being given, another point E may be found, such that the two lines inflected from these points to any point in the circumference ABC,

443

444 Porism.

P O XI I S M. when conversely, it is said, if a circle ABC, of which the Porism. Fig. 3. centre is O, be given by position, as also a point E ; 2and it ',D be taken in the line EO, so that EO X OD -AO , and if from E and D the lines EF, DF be inflected to any point of the circumference ABC, the ratio of EF to DF will be given, viz. the same with that of EA to AD, we have a local theorem. Lastly, when it is said, if a circle ABC be given by position, and also a point E, a point D may be found, such that if EF, FD be inflected from E and D to any point F in the circumference ABC, these lines shall have a given ratio to one another, the proposition becomes a porism, and is the same that has just now been investigated. Hence it is evident, that the local theorem is changed shall have to each other a given ratio, which ratio is also to be found ” Hence also we have an example of the derivation into a porism, by leaving out what relates to the determiof porisms from one another, for the circle ABC, and the nation of D, and of the given ratio. But though all propopoints D and E remaining as before, if, through D we draw sitions formed in this way from the conversion of loci, are any line whatever HDB, meeting the circle in B and H ; porisms, yet all porisms are not formed from the converand if the lines EB, EH, be also drawn, these lines will cut sion of loci; the first, for instance, of the preceding, canoff equal circumferences BE, HG. Let FC be drawn, and not, by conversion, be changed into a locus ; therefore Ferit is plain from the foregoing analysis, that the angles Dr C, mat’s idea of porisms, founded upon this circumstance, could CFB, are equal; therefore if OG, OB, be drawn, the an- not fail to be imperfect. gles BOC, COG, are also equal; and consequently the anIf the idea which we have given of these propositions be gles DOB, DOG. In the same manner, by joining AB, just, it follows, that they are to be discovered by considerthe angle DBE being bisected by BA, it is evident that the ing those cases in which the construction of a problem fails, an o-l e A OF is equal to AOH, and therefore the angle h OB in consequence of the lines which by their intersection, or toidOG ; hence the arch FB is equal to the arch HG. It the points which by their position, were to determine the is evident that if the circle ABC, and either of the points problem required, happening to coincide with one another. DE were given, the other point might be found. Ihere- A porism may therefore be deduced from the problem to fore we have this porism, which appears to have been the which it belongs, just as propositions concerning the maxilast but one of the third book of Euclid s Porisms. “ A ma and minima of quantities are deduced from the propoint being given, either within or without a circle given blems of which they form limitations ; and such is the most by position, if there be drawn, anyhow through that point, natural and obvious analysis of which this class of proposia line cutting the circle in two points ; another point may tions admits. be found, such, that if two lines be drawn from it to the Another general remark which may be made on the anpoints in which the line already drawn cuts the circle, these alysis of porisms is, that it often happens that the magnitwo lines will cut off from the circle equal circumferences.” tudes required may all, or a part of them, be found by conThe proposition from which we have deduced these two sidering the extreme cases ; but for the discovery of the porisms, also affords an illustration of the remark, that the relation between them, and the indefinite magnitudes, we conditions of a problem are involved in one another in the must have recourse to the hypothesis of the porism in its porismatic or indefinite case ; for here several independent most general or indefinite form ; and must endeavour so to conditions are laid down, by the help of which the problem conduct the reasoning, that the indefinite magnitudes may is to be resolved. Two points D and E are given, from at length totally disappear, and leave a proposition assertwhich two lines are to be inflected, and a circumference ing the relation between determinate magnitudes only. ABC, in which these lines are to meet, as also a ratio which For this purpose accordingly Dr. Simson frequently employs these lines are to have to each other. Now these condi- two statements of the general hypothesis, which he compares tions are all independent of one another, so that any one may together. This double statement, however, cannot be made be changed without any change whatever in the rest. This without rendering the inis true in general; but yet in one case, viz. when the points vestigation long and comare so related to another, that the rectangle under their dis- plicated ; nor is it even netances from the centre is equal to the square of the radius cessary, for it may be avoidof the circle, it follows, from the preceding analysis, that the ed by having recourse to ratio of the inflected lines is no longer a matter of choice, simpler porisms, or to loci, but a necessary consequence of this disposition of the points. or to propositions of the From what has been already said, we may trace the im- data. The porism which perfect definition of a porism which Pappus ascribes to the follows, is given as an exlater geometers, viz. that it differs from a local theorem, by ample wdiere this is done w'anting the hypothesis assumed in that theorem. Now, to with some difficulty, but understand this, it must be observed, that if we take one of with considerable advanthe propositions called loci, and make the construction of tage, both with regard to the figure a part of the hypothesis, we get what was called the simplicity and shortness by the ancient geometers, a local theorem. If, again, in the of the demonstration. It enunciation of the theorem, that part of the hypothesis will be proper to premise which contains the construction be suppressed, the propo- the following lemma. sition thence arising will be a porism, for it will enunciate a Let AB (fig. 4.) be a straight line, and D, L any two truth, and will require to the full understanding and investi- points in it, one of which D is between A and B ; also let gation of that truth, that something should be found, viz. the CL be any straight line. Then shall circumstances in the construction supposed to be omitted. LA Thus, when we say, if from two given points, E, D, two •BL '+^DLastraight lines EF, FD, are inflected to a third point F, so CC'ADS+^'BDS=cl'AL' CL as to be to one another in a given ratio, the point F is in the circumference of a given circle, we have a locus. But For place CL perpendicular to AB, and through the point*

P O R Porism. A, C, B describe a circle, and let CL meet the circle a^ain -^“Y'^in E, and join AE, BE. Also draw DG parallel to CE, meeting AE and BE in H and G, and draw EK parallel to AB. Then, from the elements of geometry, CL : LB :: (LA : LE :: ) LA2 : LA x LE, and hence LA x LE=-^?-*LA2. Also CL : LA :: (LB : LE ::) LB2 : LB xLE, LA and hence LB X LE=-^- *LB2. Li Now CL : LB :: LA : LE :: EK or LD : KH, and CL : LA :: LA : LE :: EK or LD : KG, therefore, CL : AB :: (LD : GH ::) LD2 : EKx GH, A and hence EK x GH=—‘LD2. From the three equations now deduced, there results ^-.LA*+L-4LB2+ ^?.LD*=ABxLE+EKxGH. LG LC CL Again, because CL : LA :: (LB : LE :: DB : DG ::) DB DB x DG, 2 therefore DB x DG=-L^ DB .

And because

CL : LB :: (LA : LE :: DA : DH ::) DA2 : DA x DH,

I S M. 445 AB take L, so that AL : LB :: AH2 : BK2 :: AC2 : CB2. Porism. The point L is therefore given; and if a line N be taken, 2 so as to have to AL the same ratio that AB2 has2 to AH , 2 N will be given in 2magnitude. Also, since AH : BK :: AL : LB, and AH : AB2 :: AL : N, ex equo, BK2 : AB* :: LB : N. Draw LO, LM perpendicular to AC, CB LO, LM are therefore given in magnitude. Now, becaus* AB2 : BK2 :: AD2 : DF2, N : LB :: AD2 : DF2, and DF* LB AL 2 2 =-^r*AD2. For the same reason DE =-tt—'BD . N L02=^-AL2, and LM2=^-BL2. N N But, by the preceding lemma, -y^-,AD2-f--^^-*BD2= 2 2 2 2 -^•AL +^*BL +1 4ir--DL ; that is, DE2+DF N In N ‘ AT} = LO2LM2 + —‘DL2. Join LG, then by hypo-

thesis L02 + LM2 has to LG2, the same ratio as DFfl -f DE2 has to DG2 ; let it be that of II to N, then LO4 + LM2=-|.LG2; and therefore DE2 + DF2=-|.LG2+ ^.DL2; but DE2 + DF2=iDG2; therefore,-^.LG2

therefore DA xDH=-^-.DA2. From the result of these 2 Vs Li + 1#*DL -|DGS’ and ^•DL-'I(DG2- -LG ); two last propositions we have therefore DG2—LG2 has to DL2 a constant ratio, viz. .LLdA2 + -t^DB^DA X DH + DB X DG; that of AB to R. The angle DLG is therefore a right LL LL angle, and the ratio of AB to R that of equality, otherwise But DA x DH z=zticice trian. ADH, and DB x T)G=twice LD would be given in magnitude, contrary to the suppositrian. BDG, and therefore DA X DH + DB x DG=2 tion. LG is therefore given in position: and since R : N :: {trian. ADYl + lrian. BDG)=2 {trian. AEiQ-\-trian. AB : N :: L02 + LM2 : LG2 ; therefore the square of HEG)=AB x LE + EK x HG. Now it has been proved, LG, and consequently LG, is given in magnitude. The point G is therefore given, and also the ratio of DE2=:DF2 that DA x DH+DB xDG=--^-DA2 +-~.BD2, and to DG2, which is the same with that of AB to N. The construction easily follows from the analysis, but it 2 2 that ABxLE + EKxHG=-^-*LA2+-^-*LB2 + may be rendered2 more2 simple; for since AH 2: AB 2: AL : N, and BK : AB :: BL : N ; therefore AH + BK AB- :: AB : N. Likewise, if AG, BG, be joined, AB 2 2 2 2 -^•LD , therefore-^--AD +^-BD =-^-*AL + N :: AH2 : AG2, and AB : N :: BK2 : BG2 ; wherefore, 2 2 2 AB : N :: AH2 + BK : AG -f-BG , but it was2 proved2 2 2 2 LA AB 2 2 that. AB : N :: AH -f BK : AB , therefore AG -q-BG -^•BL * ptf-vDL , as was to be demonstrated. =AB2 ; therefore the angle AGB is a right angle, and LL LL AB be divided in L, Pobism. Let there be three straight lines AB, AC, AL : LG :: LG : LB. 2 If therefore so that AL : LB :: AH : BK2 ; and if LG, a mean proCB given in poFig. 5. portional between AL and LB, be placed perpendicular to sition ; (fig. 5) AB, G will be the point required. and from any The step in the analysis, by which a second introduction point whatever in of the general hypothesis is avoided, is that in which the one of them, as D, angle GLD is 2concluded to be a right angle ; which follet perpendiculows from DG —GL2 having a given ratio to LD2, at the lars be drawn to same time that LD is of no determinate magnitude. For, if the other two, as possible, let GLD be obtuse, (fig. DF, DE, a point Fig. 6. 6,) and let the perpendicular from G may be found, G to AB meet in V, therefore such, that if GD V is given : and since GD2—LG2 be drawn from it 2 =Lb X 2DL x LV ; therefore, to the point D, by the supposition, LD2 + 2 DL the square of that X LV must have a given ratio to line shall have a LD2 ; therefore the ratio of LD2 given ratio to the to DL X VL, that is, of LD to sum of thesquares VL, is given, so that VL being of the perpendigiven in magnitude, LD is also culars DF and given. But this is contrary to DE, which ratio the supposition ; for LD is indeis to be found. Draw'All!'BK perpendicular to BC and AC i and in finite by hypothesis, and therefore GLD cannot be obtuse,

I

446 Porism.

PORISM. and that some of the conditions by which they are produced Porism. nor any other than a right angle. The conclusion that is are common to both. 'here drawn immediately from the indetermmation of LD It is supposed above, that two of the conditions of a would be deduced, according to Dr. Simsons method, by problem involve in them a third ; and wherever that hapassuming another point IV any ho^n^from^e suppo^- pens, the conclusion which has been deduced will invariably take place. But a porism may in some cases be so casoly'appear that OLD must be a right angle, and the simple as to arise from the mere coincidence of one condirat with another, though in no case whatever can any inThSeVlismsaftcilitate the solution of the general prob- tion consistency take place between them. There are, howlems from which they are derived. For example, let thiee ever, comparatively few porisms so simple in their origin, straight lines AB, AC, BC, (fig. 5), be given m position, or that arise from problems where the conditions are but and also a point R, to find a point D in one of the given little complicated; for it usually happens that a problem lines, so that DE and DF being drawn perpendicular to which can become indefinite may also become impossible; BC, AC, and DR, joined; DE2+DF may have to D and if so, the connection already explained never fails to a given ratio. It is plain, that having found G, the pio- take place. D blem would be nothing more than to find , s«ch that the Another species of impossibility may frequently arise ratio of GD2 to DR2, and therefore that of GD to DR, from the porismatic case of a problem which will affect in might be given, from which it would follow, that the point some measure the application of geometry to astronomy, or D is in the circumference of a given circle, as is well known any of the sciences depending upon experiment or observation. For when a problem is to be resolved by means of t0 The same porism also assists in the solution of another data furnished by experiment or observation, the first thing problem. For if it were required to find D such that DE to be considered is, whether the data so obtained be suffi4-DF2 might be a2 given2 space; having found Cj, Elx cient for determining the thing sought ; and in this a very would have to DE + DF a given ratio, and DG would erroneous judgment may be formed, if we rest satisfied with therefore be given ; whence the solution is. obvious. a general view of the subject, f or though the problem may The connection of this porism with the impossible case in general be resolved from the data with which we are of the problem is evident; the point L being that from provided, yet these data may be so related to one another which, if perpendiculars be drawn to AC and CB, the sum in the case under consideration, that the problem will beof their squares is the least possible. For since Dh' + come indeterminate, and instead of one solution w ill admit DE2 : DG2 :: 2L02 +2LM2 : LG2 ; and since2 LG 2is less of an indefinite number. This we have already found to than DG, L0 + LM must be less than DF + DE . the case in the foregoing propositions. Such cases may It is evident from what has now appeared, that in some be not indeed occur in any of the practical applications of geinstances at least there is a close connection between these ometry ; but there is one of the same kind which has actupropositions and the maxima or minima, and of conseoccurred in astronomy. Sir Isaac Newton, in his Prinquence the impossible cases of problems. The nature of ally has considered a small part of the orbit of a comet as this connection requires to be farther investigated, and is cipia, straight line described with an uniform motion. From the more interesting because the transition from the inde- athis hypothesis, by means of four observations made at profinite to the impossible case seems to be made with won- per intervals of time, the determination of the path of the derful rapidity. Thus in the first proposition, though there be not properly speaking an impossible case, but only one comet is reduced to this geometrical problem. Four straight where the point to be found goes off in infinitum, it may lines being in position, it is required to draw a fifth line be remarked, that if the given point F (fig-l), be anywhere across them, so as to be cut by them into three parts, havout of the line HD, the problem of drawing GB equal to GF ing given ratios to one another. Now this problem had is always possible, and admits of just one solution ; but if F been constructed by Dr. Wallis and Sir Cristopher Wren, be in DH, the problem admits of no solution at all, the and also in three different ways by Sir Isaac himself in difpoint being then at an infinite distance, and therefore im- ferent parts of his works ; yet none of these geometers obpossible to be assigned. 1 here is, however, this exception, served that there was a particular situation of the lines that if the given point be at K in this same line, DFI is de- in which the problem admitted of innumerable solutions ; termined by making DK equal to DL. Then every point and this happens to be the very case in which the problem in the line DE gives a solution, and may be taken for the is applicable to the determination of the comet’s path, as point G. Here therefore the case of numberless solutions, was first discovered rby Boscovich, who was led to it by and of no solution at all, are as it were conterminal, and so finding, that in this w ay he could never determine the path close to one another, that if the given point be at K the of a comet with any degree of certainty. The preceding account of this interesting branch of the problem is indefinite ; but if it remove ever so little from K, remaining at the same time in the line DH, the problem ancient geometry, is taken from a very elegant and elaborcannot be resolved. This affinity might have been deter- ate paper, On the Origin and Investigation of Porisms, mined a priori; for, as we have seen, it is a general prin- by the late Professor Playfair, published in the third volume ciple, that a problem is converted into a porism when one of the Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and or when two of the conditions of it necessarily involve in also in his collected Works, (vol. iii. p. 178.) For further them some one of the rest. Suppose, then, that two of the particulars on the subject, the reader may consult the oriconditions are exactly in that state which determines the ginal paper of Professor Playfair; Dr. Simson s treatise, third ; then whilst they remain fixed or given, should that f)e Porismatibus, contained in his Opera Reliqua ; a paper third one vary or differ ever so little from the state requir- in the fourth volume of the Edinburgh Transactions, by ed by the other two, a contradiction will ensue. Therefore Professor Wallace, entitled, Some Geometrical Porisms, if, in the hypothesis of a problem, the conditions be so re- with examples of their application to the Solution of Prolated to one another as to render it indeterminate, a porism blems ; Dr. Traill’s Account of the Life and Writings oj is produced ; but if, of the conditions thus related to one Robert Simson, M.D ; and Professor Leslie’s Geometrical another, some one be supposed to vary, whilst the others Analysis. At the end of Dr. Stewart’s General Theorems, continue the same, an absurdity follows, and the problem above mentioned, five very remarkable porisms are enuncibecomes impossible. Wherever, therefore, any problem ad- ated, the demonstration of the first of which is given in mits both of an indeterminate and an impossible case, it is Leybourn’s Mathematical Repository, (vol.i.) and of the recertain, that these cases are nearly related to one another. maining four in the fifth volume of the same work published

P O R FOR 447 Pork in 1830. The algebraic analysis may frequently be applied Porphynus, says Dr. Enfield, “ was, it must be owned, Porphyry ii . with great advantage in the investigation of porisms, but this a writer of deep erudition ; and had his judgment and inte11 rorpiiynus. raanner 0f treating the subject does not come within the gnty been equal to his learning, he would have deserved a Porson. scope of the present article. distinguished place among the ancients. But neither the' PORK, the flesh of swine killed for the purposes of food. splendour of his diction, nor the variety of his reading, can The hog is the only domestic animal that we know which atone for the credulity or the dishonesty which filled the is of no use to man when alive, and therefore seems proper- narrative part of his works with so many extravagant tales, ly designed for food. Besides being loathsome and ugly to or interest the judicious reader in the abstruse subtilties every eye, it is killed without reluctance. The Pythago- and mystical flights of his philosophical writings.” reans, whether to preserve health, or on account of compasI ORPHYRY, a compound rock. The art of cutting sion, generally forbade the use of animal food ; and yet it porphyry, practised by the ancients, appears to have been is alleged that Pythagoras reserved the use of hog’s flesh for lost. Indeed it is difficult to conceive what tools they used himself. The Jews, the Egyptians, and other inhabitants for fashioning those huge columns and other porphyritic of warm countries, and all the Mahomedans, reject the use works in some of the ancient buildings in Rome. Modern of pork. It is difficult to discover a satisfactory reason for tools will scarcely touch porphyry. Dr. Lister therefore this, or for the precept given to the Jews respecting it, thinks, that the ancients had the secret of tempering steel though unquestionably some good one might be assigned. better than we ; and not, as some imagine, that they had the The Greeks greatly commended this food ; and Galen art of softening the porphyry, since it is probable that time everywhere speaks in its praise. The Romans considered and air may have contributed to increase its hardness. Mr. it as one of their delicacies ; and if some of the inhabitants Addison says, he saw a workman at Rome cutting porphyry ; of the northern climates have taken an aversion to it, that but his advances were extremely slow and almost insensible. probably arose from their country not being fitted to rear The Italian sculptors work the pieces of old porphyritic coit. Pork is of a very tender structure, increased perhaps lumns still remaining (for the porphyry quarries are long since from a peculiarity in its economy, namely, taking on fat more lost) with a brass saw without teeth. \\ ith this saw, emery, readily than any other animal. Pork is a white meat even and water, they rub and wear the stone with infinite pain its adult state, and then gives out a jelly in great quan- tience. Many persons have endeavoured to retrieve the tity. ancient art, and particularly Leon Baptista Alberti, who, PORLOCK, a small market town of Somersetshire, in searching for the necessary materials for temper, says, he the hundred of Carhampton, 170 miles from London. It found goat s blood the best of any ; but even this avails not stands at the foot of a lofty range of mountains, on a beau- much ; for in working with chissels tempered with it, sparks tiful bay of its own name, on the Bristol channel. The in- of fire came much more plentifully than pieces of the stone. habitants were, in 1801, 600 ; in 1811, 633; in 1821, 769; The sculptors were thus, however, able to make a flat or and in 1831, 830. oval form ; but could never attain to any thing like a figure. PORO-ISLE, commonly called Porto-Sipora or the isIn the year 1555, Cosmo de Medicis is said to have disland of Good Fortune. It contains four villages, in each of tilled a water from certain herbs, with which his sculptor, which there are about a thousand inhabitants. It is thirty- I rancesco ladda, gave his tools such an admirable hardthree miles in length, by eight in average breadth, and is ness and so fine a temper, that he performed some very exalmost wholly covered with wood. It is situated on the south- quisite works with them, particularly our Saviour’s head western coast of the Poggy Islands, and is inhabited by a in demi-relief, and Cosmo’s head with that of his duchess. race of people similar both in manners and language. Long. The very hair and beard, how difficult soever, are here well 99.15. E. Lat. 2. 12. S. conducted; and there is nothing of the kind superior to it in PORONNISHIR, one of the Kurile islands in the North all the works of the ancients; but the secret appears to Pacific Ocean, about 44 miles in length and 12 in breadth. have died w ith him. The French have discovered another It is unequal in its surface ; the northern part being moun- mode of cutting porphyry, namely, with an iron saw without tainous, but the north-west less so, though it is still diver- teeth, and with grez, a kind of free-stone pulverized, and sified by hills and valleys, one chain of hills rising to a great water. The authors of this invention say that they could height, and being never wholly free from snow. It contains form the whole contour of a column, if they had matter to abundance of minerals, but is destitute of timber. Wolves work on. Others have proposed to harden tools so as to and red foxes are found here in plenty ; and there is a con- cut porphyry, by steeping them in the juice of the plant siderable bay at the north-eastern extremity. The most nor- called bear’s breech or brankursine. (See Birch’s Hist. R. thern point of the island is Cape Wasitieff, in long. 156. 14. S. vol. i. p. 238. vol. ii. p. 73, &c.) Mr. Boyle says, that he E. Lat. 51.38. N. caused porphyry to be cut by means of emery, steel saws, and PORPHYRIUS, a famous Platonic philosopher, was water ; but he observes, that in his time the English workborn at Tyre in 233, in the reign of Alexander Severus. He men were ignorant of the manner of working porphyry, and was the disciple of Longinus, and became the ornament of that none of them would undertake to cut or polish it. (See his school at Athens, whence he went to Rome, and attend- his Works abr. vol. i. p. 11.) ed Plotinus, with whom he lived six years. After PlotinDa Costa supposes, and perhaps with reason, that the meus’s death he taught philosophy at Rome with great suc- thod used by the ancients in cutting and engraving porcess, and became well skilled in polite literature, geography, phyry was extremely simple, and that it was performed astronomy, and music. He lived till the end of the third without the aid of any scientific means. He imagines, that, century, and died in the reign of Diocletian. There are by unwearied diligence, and with numbers of common tools, still extant his book on the Categories of Aristotle ; a Trea- they rudely hewed or broke the stone into the intended tise on Abstinence from Flesh ; and several other pieces in figure, and by continued application reduced them into more Greek. He also composed a treatise against the Christian regular designs; and that they completed the work by poreligion, which is now lost. That work was answered by lishing it with great labour, by the aid of certain hard sands Methodius bishop of Tyre, and also by Eusebius, Apollin- found in Egypt. And he thinks, that in the porphyry quararius, St. Augustin, St. Jerome, St. Cyril, and Theodoret. ries there were layers of grit or loose disunited particles, The Emperor Theodosius the Great caused Porphyrius’s analogous to the porphyry, which they carefully sought for, book to be burned in 338. Those of his works that are and used for this work. See Geology and Mineralogy. still extant were printed at Cambridge in 1655, 8vo, with PORSON (Richard), the greatest of the verbal critics a Latin version. and classical scholars of modern times, born on the 25th of

P O R S O N. December 1759, was the rf

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teeCh“ nine fern om! he hldTeS to'eitrae; th^ exertion be acalled own, or in to his be exercises, written forwhether other they boys.were It to was copyhis of cube root in this manner. At the same time, for teaching Toup’s Longinus, presented to him as a reward for a good him to read and write, he employed the method which has exercise, that first gave him a decided inclination for the since been generally introduced in the schools of mutual in- pursuit of critical researches; but he always considered struction, making him draw the letters with chalk or on Bentley cincl Drp«pnts presents scarcely anv any event of ctDiffera quarrel between the king of Leon and his nephew Don ^ ^ the ^289 ; when, in the reign of Don^with Alonso king of Castille. The latter solicited ^tance from impo ^ dlfference Commenced with Castille, which subsist-■ the king of Portugal, which was readiy th gran • ed for’ a long period. Frequent reconciliations took place ; Ferdinand having received intelligence at the mta thege were either of short duration, or never sincere. Sancho, the king’s eldest son, was ady anci g length, in the reign of John L, Don Juan of Castille, who dad Rodrigo, assembled his troops ^ ^ had aLo Fetensions'to the crown of Portugal, invaded that that frontier, that being enabled to attack him unexpe • the head of the wh0le force of his dominions, edly, he entirely defeated him. , recruit- and’with the flower of the Castillian nobility entered the Don SanUnderstanding, however, that Don Sane , m-0vince of Alemteio. According to the Portuguese histooho s suc ’ " ing his forces with great diligence, he suggested that y P besieged Elvas, but without effect; a disappointrEot^tbe much better employed rTnt which emaged him to such a degree that he deterremained careless and unprepared, expecting^ , • . ; ed the following year to invade Portugal a second time, contest. Don Sancho did not fad to profit by this advice before him. Accordingly, having the e and after some movements intended to amuse llec[ed an army of thirty thousand men, he invaded Porhe made a sudden irruption into Andalusia, tugal) and took a^d ruined several places, whilst King John far as Tnana, one of the suburbs of Seville. ]av inactive, with a small army, waiting for some English sembled their forces in order to attack him on . ’ JL At last he ventured an enwhich he expected. but Don Sancho having first fatigued them by the cele y with the forces which he had, and, notwithstande of his march, at length chose a strong camp, and hav ng riorit of the enemy, obtained a complete given his troops time to repose, drew them out and offered ^ ^ ^ ^ int0 Castille, the enemy battle. The Moors accepted the cha e „ , Y ’ fortune to gain another battle, which fixed a & were entirely defeated; The Castillians throne of Portugal. defeated ; and Don Sancho returnea returned to rorPor- and hadJhe gf"0°d the tortu^ pnrtll,al. The tugal loaded with spoil For some w"e oblgVdtocJnsent to a truce of three years, which was continued without producing any ^ remarKao remarkablee event , ? were „g ftrdc imDroved ^ into ^ aa lasting lasting peace. peace.

assisted by Ferdinand of Leon, and entirely defeated an slain. By this victory the Portuguese were left at liberty to improve the interior of their country, and to for i y frontiers; but not long afterwards, that is, in the year o, the king died, in the seventy-sixth year of his age Wise admi- Don Alonso was succeeded by his son Don Sancho I. uistration Of this prince it is remarkable, that before he ascended the ot D n of Don throne he he was was of of aa restless restless and and warlike warlike disposition disposition ;; but no ? T throne out no ^L

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king left that country, when /league for the recovery P^e _ f thnup-h thev were defeated by the young o P p , whom John again sent into Barbary, prmces great that some of yet m wereP0f opinion the town should be dethe k g bavin J considered the arguments on mohshed. But me a g^ monsnou. ^ John, having considered tbe citv ; and therefore -„er did he come the possession of the kingdom than e * his became a lover of peace, and began with great assiduity to enlarged and strengthened the fortifications, augmenting repair the cities which had suffered most by the war, and to forces there to six thousand foot and two thousand five hunrepeople the country around them. By his steady attention dred horse, which he hoped would prove sufficient for rethe attacks of the Moors. to the work of restoration, he in a short time quite changed pelling King John died in 1428, and was succeeded by his eldest the appearance of his territories, and procured to himself the glorious title of The Restorer of Cities, and Father of his son Edward. The latter undertook an expedition against Country. In the year 1189, a fleet, composed for the most Tangier, in Barbary, but the event proved very unfortunate ; part of English vessels, but having on board a great num- the Portuguese being so shut up by the Moors, that, to obtain ber of adventurers of other nations, bound for the Holy leave to return to Portugal, they were obliged to give up Land, entered the river Tagus.. They were very kindly Kinoiy re re- Ceuta. The king’s son, Don ceived and supplied with all kinds of refreshments by Don tage for the de lverY 0 ’ -i p portun 14,30 joinedthemwithasquadronof his own galleys, and marched anything could be accompis iese es # a body of troops by land, the place was reduced, and the which put an ^ , '^ , . . 1 b t witbp^ssa£ret0 English, according to agreement, were rewarded with the The war with 1 ar ary con mu . and ’till 1497 the East plunder. But in a short time, the Moors from Africa hav- little success on the par o re & Li ’• tb bis- Indies dis* ing once more invaded Portugal, the town was several there is no event of any consequence ^ . le for covered' times taken and retaken, until at* last Don Sancho, sensible tory of Portugal. This year however remarkable for of the difficulties of retaining it, caused it to be demolished, the discovery of the passage to ie S , Pnrtmniese His last enterprise was the reduction of Elvas ; soon after of Good Hope. I he enterprising P^ ^ un_ which he died, leaving the reputation of being the best had, for a considerable time be 01 , p f when they economist that ever sat on the throne of Portugal. With dertake voyages along the coast o , n’rnhable that the character of being rather liberal than avaricious, he had undertook their first voyage of discov j, ] b

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465 PORTUGAL. •story. they had nothing farther in view than to explore those parts expected from a kingdom of such inconsiderable extent. History. of the coast of Africa which lay nearest to their own country. All these were directed by an intelligent monarch, capable -v— But a spirit of enterprise, when roused and put in motion, of forming plans of the greatest magnitude with systematic is always progressive; and that of the Portuguese, though wisdom, and of prosecuting them with unremitting persever- tjle portu_ slow and timid in its first operations, gradually acquired vi- ance. The prudence and vigour of his measures, however, gUese jn gour, and prompted them to advance along the western shore would have availed but little without proper instruments to India, of the African continent far beyond the utmost boundary of carry them into execution. Happily for Portugal, the discernancient navigation in that direction. Encouraged by suc- ing eye of Emanuel selected a succession of officers to take cess, they became more adventurous, despised dangers which the supreme command in India, who, by their enterprising formerly appalled them, and surmounted difficulties which valour, military skill, and political sagacity, accompanied were once deemed insuperable. When the Portuguese found with disinterested integrity, public spirit, and love of their in the torrid zone, which the ancients had pronounced to be country, have established a title to be ranked amongst the uninhabitable, fertile countries, occupied by numerous na- persons most eminent for virtue and abilities in any age or tions, and perceived that the continent of Africa, instead of nation. Greater things perhaps were achieved by them than extending in breadth towards the west, according to the opi- were ever accomplished in so short a time. Within twentynion of Ptolemy, appeared to contract itself, and to bend four years after the voyage.of Gama the Portuguese had reneastwards, more extensive prospects opened to their view, dered themselves masters of the city of Malacca, in which and inspired them with hopes of reaching India, by conti- the great staple of trade carried on amongst the inhabitants nuing to hold the same course which they had so long pur- of those regions in Asia which Europeans have distinguished by the general name of the East Indies, was then first estasued. -cumAfter several unsuccessful attempts to accomplish what blished. This conquest secured to them great influence over rices they had in view, a small squadron sailed from the Tagus, the interior commerce of India, whilst, at the same time, by rich fa- under the command of Vasco de Gama, an officer of rank, their settlements at Goa and Diu, they wTere enabled to enrtated gross the trade of the Malabar coast, and to obstruct great; disco- whose abilities and courage fitted him to conduct this diffi- ly the long-established intercourse of Egypt with India by cult and arduous enterprise. From ignorance, however, of the proper season and route of navigation in that vast ocean the Red Sea. In every part of the East they were received through which he had to steer his course, his voyage was with respect; in many they had acquired the absolute comlong and dangerous. At length he doubled that promontory mand. They carried on trade there without rivalry or conwhich had been descried by Diaz, and which, for several trol ; they prescribed to the natives the terms of their muyears, had been the object of terror and of hope to his coun- tual intercourse; they often fixed what price they pleased on trymen. After a prosperous navigation along the south- the goods which they purchased ; and they were thus enaeast coast of Africa, he arrived at the city of Melinda, and bled to import from Hindustan, and the regions beyond it, had the satisfaction of discovering there, as well as at other whatever was useful, rare, or agreeable, in greater abundance, places where he touched, people of a race very different and of more various kinds, than had been formerly known from the rude inhabitants of the western shore of that con- in Europe. Not satisfied with this ascendant which they had acquired Opposition tinent, which alone the Portuguese had hitherto visited. These he found to be so far advanced in civilization and ac- in India, the Portuguese early formed a scheme not less bold y^ eiiee ' quaintance with the various arts of life, that they carried on than interested, of excluding all other nations from partician active commerce, not only with the nations on their own pating in the advantages of commerce with the East; and coast, but with remote countries of Asia. Conducted by they accomplished one half of what their ambition had their pilots, who held a course with which experience had planned. In consequence of this the Venetians soon began rendered them w'ell acquainted, he sailed across the Indian to feel that decrease of their own Indian trade which they ocean, and landed at Calicut, on the coast of Malabar, on had foreseen and dreaded. In order to prevent the farther the 22d of May 1498, ten months and twm days after his de- progress of this evil, they incited the soldan of the Mamparture from the port of Lisbon. (See the article Gama.) lukes to fit out a fleet in the Red Sea, and to attack those unexpected invaders of a gainful monopoly, of which he and ae king The samorin or monarch of the country, astonished at his predecessors had long enjoyed undisturbed possession. this unexpected visit of an unknown people, whose aspect, and^ the The Portuguese, however, encountered his formidable squaI untry arms, and manners, bore no resemblance to those of any of dron with undaunted courage, entirely defeated it, and reilous of the nations accustomed to frequent his harbours, and who | s new arrived in his dominions by a route hitherto deemed imprac- mained masters of the Indian Ocean. They continued their i sitors. ticable, received them at first with that fond admiration progress in the East almost without obstruction, until they which is often excited by novelty ; but in a short time, ftom established there a commercial empire ; to which, whether consider its extent, its opulence, the slender power by whatever motives, he formed various schemes to cut oft Ga- we it was formed, or the splendour with which the goma and his followers. The Portuguese admiral, however, which vernment of it was conducted, there had hitherto been nowas not to be overreached by such politics as his. Trom thing comparable in the history of nations. Emanuel, who every danger to which he was exposed, either by the open the foundation of this stupendous fabric, had the satisattacks or secret machinations of the Indians, he extricated laid to see it almost completed. Every part of Europe himself with singular prudence and dexterity, and at last faction was supplied by the Portuguese with the productions of the sailed from Calicut with his ships, loaded not only with the and if we except an inconsiderable quantity which the commodities peculiar to that coast, but with many rich l)r0" East; Venetians still continued to receive by the ancient channels ductions of the eastern parts of India. He returned to Por- of conveyance, our quarter of the globe had no longer any tugal in two years after his sailing from the Tagus, but with commercial intercourse with India, and the regions of Asia a great loss of men ; for out of one hundred and forty-eight beyond it, except by the Cape of Good Hope. persons who sailed with him, only fifty-five returned. I he In Sentember 1522, King Emanuel died of an epidemi-Inquisition king received him with all possible testimonies of respect cal and was succeeded by his son John 111. The^ced and kindness; created him Count of Videgueira; and not mostfever, remarkable transaction of this princes reign was the only declared him admiral of the Indies, but also made that introduction of the inquisition into his dominions. This hapoffice hereditary in his family. pened in the year 1525, or, as some say, in 1535. A famine The Portuguese entered upon the new career opened to happening to cease in a short time after the Holy Office was them with activity and ardour, and made exertions, bot i introduced, the priests persuaded the ignorant multitude that commercial and military, far beyond what could have been 3N VOL. XVIII.

PORTUGAL. 466 Historv. it was a blessing from heaven on account of erecting such queen regent speedily sent succours, and promised such re- History -—y—a tribunal. It was not long, however, before the bulk of the wards to those who distinguished themselves, that the Moors, venation perceived what kind of a blessing the inquisition had although they brought eighty thousand men into the field, conferred. But their discernment came too late ; for by were obliged to abandon the enterprise. This was at first that time the inquisitors had acquired such power, that it magnified as a conspicuous instance of the queen’s capacity became equally ineffectual and dangerous to attempt dis- and wisdom ; but, in a short time, the natural aversion which closin" any of their mysteries. the Portuguese have to the government of women, together In the meantime Solvman the Magnificent, the most en- with the prejudice they had conceived against her counSolvman the Mag lightened monarch of the Ottoman race, observing the rising try, as being a Castillian, appeared so plainly, and gave her niScent. power and opulence of the Portuguese, attributing it to its so much uneasiness, thatof her own accord she resigned her Conduct proper cause, and eager to supplant them, sent orders to the authority into the hands of Cardinal Dom Henry, the king’s brother. Dom Alexis de Moneses was now appointed the of the'por- pasha of Egypt to employ his whole strength against the Chris- governor to the king, and Gonsales de Gomera and two tians in the East Indies. The pasha, in obedience to these orders, sailed from the Red Sea with a greater naval force other priests his preceptors. By these instructors the king’s than ever the Mahommedans had employed before, having education was totally marred. His governor assiduously infour thousand Janizaries and sixteen thousand other troops culcated upon his mind that the chief virtue of a king was on board. Yet, by the courage and conduct of the Portu- courage, and that danger was never to be avoided, but alguese officers and soldiers, all this mighty armament was ways surmounted; w’hilst his other tutors, instead of instructdefeated, and their East India possessions were saved from ing him in the true religion, only inspired him with an abthe danger which threatened them. In Africa, likewise, the horrence of professed infidels. The consequence was, that displaying all king of Fez was baffled before the town of Safi, whilst fresh he became rash, inconsiderate, and obstinate, r quarrels breaking out amongst the native princes, gave great those qualities that conspired to draw upon him the catasrelief to the Christians, who had long been obliged to carry trophe which ruined both him and the kingdom. After the king had grown up to man’s estate, his desire was Sebastian on a defensive war, and had more than once been on the very underbrink of ruin. For along time indeed their safety had de- to distinguish himself against the infidels. He himself in- takes an pended solely on the quarrels of the Moors amongst them- tended to conduct an expedition to the East Indies ; but e^pe(]jtl0[1 selves; for such were the envy and jealousy which reigned the prime minister Alcoqova, who did not choose to attend a./ai,is[ amongst the Portuguese, that they could never combine his monarch to such a distance, substituted Africa in its stead. Africa. heartily in opposing the common enemy; and therefore, had This expedition the king entered into in the most inconsitheir enemies united against them, they must certainly have derate and absurd manner. He first sent for Dom Antonio, been cut off. But whenever the scherifFs quarrelled with prior of Crato, with some hundreds of soldiers ; next he careach other, one party was sure to have recourse to the Por- ried his principal courtiers with him from a hunting match, tuguese, who, by sending them a small supply, secured quiet and without equipages; he then sent for the Duke of Aveycould collect on to themselves, and had the pleasure of seeing their enemies ro, who brought with him such troops as he r destroy one another. Yet in the end even this had bad con- so short a warning ; and when all these w ere assembled, the sequences. For, on the one hand, it kept up a martial spirit king spent his time in hunting, and slight excursions against amongst the Moors, and on the other it made them acquaint- the enemy, without doing any thing of consequence, except ed with the Portuguese discipline; so that after every short exposing his person upon all occasions. At length he returned interval of repose, they not only found them as much ene- to Portugal in tempestuous weather, and his unexpected armies as before, but more formidable than ever. The conse- rival was celebrated w ith the greatest rejoicings. The trifling success which had attended the king in this quence of all this was, that King John began to apprehend that the conquest of Barbary was impossible, and therefore expedition served only to inflame him with a greater desire limited his ambition to keeping those few fortresses which for another; and from the time of his return he seemed to lie had already acquired ; a necessary and prudent measure, think on nothing else. He was highly delighted also with which nevertheless displeased the generality of his subjects. an accident which furnished him with a pretence for war, King John exerted himself greatly in the settlement of of w hich, however, he stood in no great need. Muley HaBrazil. Brazil in South America, which he brought into a good met, king of Fez and Morocco, had been dispossessed of his state, caused several strong towns to be erected there, and dominions by his uncle Muley Moloch. At the beginning took all possible methods to encourage the conversion of the of this war Dom Sebastian had offered him the Portuguese natives to Christianity. He also introduced many regulations troops in Africa, a tender which was rejected with contempt; for the welfare and happiness of his subjects. The disputes of but now7 being a fugitive, and having in vain solicited assistthe nobility about precedency were frequently attended with ance from Philip of Spain, Muley Hamet applied to the king disagreeable consequences, which made the king resolve to of Portugal; and, that, he might the more easily succeed, he settle them definitively by established rules ; and the prin- caused the fortress of Arzila, which his father had recociples established by him on this occasion have subsisted vered, to be restored to the Portuguese. The king was in ever since, and serve in a great measure to prevent such al- rapture at this event, and fancied that his glory would extercations. He had also other designs in his mind, particu- ceed that of all his predecessors. He was, however, dissuadlarly with regard to the reformation of religious persons of ed against engaging in this expedition by all his friends. both sexes ; but, on a close examination of his affairs, he Philip of Spain, having done everything to dissuade him at a found that his subjects in general had been so much injured personal conference, sent Francisco Aldana, an old and expeby his leaving their concerns to the inspection of his coun- rienced officer, to Morocco ; and, at his return, ordered him cil, that he was thrown by grief into a kind of apoplexy, to attend Dom Sebastian, in order to give him an account of from which he never recovered. His death happened in the state of affairs in that country. This he performed with June 1557 ; and he was succeeded by his son Dom Sebas- the greatest fidelity, but w ithout any effect. The queentian III. an infant of three years of age. dowTager and the cardinal united in their endeavours to diAfter the death of King John, the administration re- vert him from this unfortunate enterprise; but he treated Education of the mained in the hands of the queen, grandmother of Sebas- them both with so little respect ^ that his grandmother broke 4 .young king, tian, who behaved with great prudence and circumspection, her heart; and the cardinal, to show his distaste of the mea The Moors, however, supposing that under a minority they sure, retired to Evora without coming either to court or to might be able to dispossess the Christians of such places as council, an example which wras followed by many of the nothey held in Barbary, laid close siege to Masagan. But the bles. Many of these, how ever, transmitted remonstrances

P O R T U G A L. 467 history, to the king on the impropriety of his conduct; and Philip thousand horse, he sent them to reconnoitre the enemy, by History, ^ sent to him the Duke de Medina Celi to lay before him once which act of confidence he secured them. Still, however, more the reasons why he thought his scheme impracticable, fearing that his officers might be corrupted by Portuguese and to put him in mind that he had no hand in pushing him gold, he entirely changed the disposition of his army, so upon his destruction, or of concealing from him the dangers that none of his officers commanded the corps to which they into which he seemed determined to plunge himself and his had been accustomed, and having new men to deal with, subjects. Lastly, he received aletter on the subject from Mu- had none in whom they could confide. Having taken these precautions, he advanced against the ley Moloch himself, in which that prince explained to him his own right to the crown of Fez, and showed that he had only Portuguese army with such celerity that he came in sight dispossessed a tyrant and a murderer, who had therefore no of them on the 3d of August. On this Dom Sebastian called right to his friendship or assistance. The Moorish prince next a council of war, in which many who out of complaisance assured him that he had no reason to fear either the power had declared for this march, were now for returning. They or the neighbourhood of the Portuguese ; and as a proof of were separated from the enemy by a river, but the Moors this, as well as a mark of his esteem, he was content to make being masters of the ford, it was impossible to force them him a present of some ten miles of arable ground round each immediately from their post; neither was it practicable for of the fortresses he possessed in Africa, viz. Tangier, Ceuta, them to wait for a more favourable opportunity, because Masagan, and Arzila. At the same time, he addressed him- they had no provisions. The foreign officers, on the conself to Philip king of Spain, with whom he was on good trary, were of opinion that fighting had now become necesterms, desiring him to interpose with his nephew Sebastian, sary, and a retreat dangerous. This, however, was violentthat things might yet be adjusted without the effusion of ly opposed by the scheriff, who saw plainly that they ran a human blood. But the king of Portugal was deaf to ail sa- great risk of being defeated, and of losing all, whilst, at the lutary advice; and therefore paid no regard to this letter, same time, they were not certain of gaining any thing of consequence should they prove victorious ; whereas, if they nor to the remonstrances of his uncle, ew expe- On the 24th of June 1577, he set sail from the bar of Lis- withdrew T towards the sea, they might entrench themselves tion to bon with a fleet of fifty ships and five galleys, twelve pieces till they w ere relieved by their fleet; and during this interval, | irica. 0f cannon, and many transports and tenders, making in all near if Muley Moloch should die, he looked upon it as certain a thousand sail. His troops consisted of nine thousand Por- that a great part of the army would desert to him, which tuguese infantry ; three thousand Germans ; seven hundred would render him master not only of the kingdom, but of Italians, commanded by Sir Thomas Stukeley, an English the fate of the Christians also. When he found that the king exile, remarkable for his bravery; two thousand Castillians was bent upon fighting, he only requested that the engageand three hundred volunteers, commanded by Dom Christo- ment might be delayed till four o’clock in the afternoon, that, val de Tuvara, master of the horse, a man of courage, but in case of a defeat, they might have some chance of escapwithout either conduct or experience. He touched first at La- ing. But even in this he could not prevail; for the king T gos Bay in the kingdom of Algarve, where he remained for having disposed everything for a battle the next day, w as impatient to begin the onset as soon as it was light. four days ; and thence he proceeded to Cadiz, where he was In the mean time, Muley Moloch ?was so sensible of the magnificently feasted for a week by the Duke de Medina Sidonia, who once more endeavoured to dissuade him from advantages of his situation, that he w as inclined to take the proceeding further in person. But this exhortation proved whole Portuguese army prisoners ; but finding his disease as fruitless as the rest; and the king having sailed with a increase to such a degree that he had no hopes of recovery, strong detachment for Tangier, ordered Dom Diego de he came to the resolution to fight, that his antagonist might Souza, the commander-in-chief, to follow with the remain- not avail himself of his death. The disposition of the Christian army was, through the care of some old officers in Don der of the army. The troops landed on the coast of Africa without any ac- Sebastian’s service, regular and correct. The infantry were cident, and joined at Arzila. Here the king was met by the disposed in three lines ; the battalion of volunteers formed Scheriff Muley Hamet, on whose account he had undertaken the vanguard ; the Germans, commanded by Colonel Amthe war, who delivered him his son Muley, a boy of twelve^ berg, and the Italians by Sir Thomas Stukeley, were stayears of age, as a hostage, and brought a reinforcement of tioned on the right; the Castillian battalions occupied the three hundred Moors. The boy was sent to Masagan under left, and the Portuguese were in the centre and rear; the a strong guard; but the father remained in the Portuguese cavalry, consisting of about fifteen hundred men, being partcamp. Here it was resolved in a council of war to reduce ly on the right, under the command of the Duke d’Avegro, the town of Larache, but it was disputed whether the troops to whom the scheriff joined himself with his horse. On the should proceed thither by land or by sea. Don Sebastian, left was the royal standard, with the rest of the cavalry, unwho espoused the former opinion, finding himself opposed der the command of the Duke of Barcelos, eldest son of the by Muley Hamet, answered him so rudely that he left his Duke of Braganza, Dom Antonio, prior of Crato, and sevepresence in disgust; after which the king’s opinion pre- ral other persons of rank. The king took post at first with vailed, and the army began its march on the 29th of July. the volunteers. Muley Moloch also disposed his troops in As they proceeded, the king received aletter from the Duke three lines. The first consisted of the Andalusian Moors, of Alba, requesting him to attempt nothing beyond the tak- commanded by three officers who had distinguished theming of the town of Larache. Along with the latter was sent selves in the wars of Granada; the second was composed of renegadoes ; and the third consisted of the natives of Africa. an helmet which had been worn by Charles V. loveOn the other hand, Muley Moloch, having received intel- They were formed in a crescent, with ten thousand horse on j wits and ligence of this formidable invasion, took the field with forty each wing, and the rest in the rear, with orders to extend ispusi- thousand foot and sixty thousand horse, and conducted every - themselves in such a manner as to encompass the Christian army. Muley Moloch, though extremely weak, was taken i rmies 11G the greatest prudence, notwithstanding he was so enfeebled by fever that he could not sit upon horseback, out of his litter, and set on horseback, that he might see how f inding reason to suspect that part of his army were desir- his commands had been obeyed; and being perfectly satisous of going over to his rival, he proclaimed that such as fied with the situation of his troops, he directed the signal of inclined to join their old master were at liberty to do so. battle to be given. The Christians advanced with the greatest resolution, This at once put a stop to the defection, and only a few availed themselves of the liberty which was granted them. broke the first line of the Moorish infantry, and disordered the Being likewise doubtful of the fidelity of a body of three second. On this Muley Moloch drew his sword, and would

PORTUGAL. 468 the nation ; and, under a History, History. have advanced to encourage his troops; but his guards pre- upon maintaining the freedom of off to distant places such ofv'^-' vented him, on which his emotion oi mind became so great show of confidence, they sent The For- that he fell from his horse. One of his guards caught him the nobility as they suspected. tuguese in his arms, and conveyed him to his litter, where he immePhilip finding everything in his favour, commanded the army enDuke of Alva to invade Portugal at the head of twenty diately expired, having only time to lay his finger on his tirely delips by way of enjoining them to conceal his death. But by thousand men. The people, perceiving that tiiey were befeated. this time the Moorish cavalry had wheeled quite round, and trayed, exclaimed against the governors, and placed on the attacked the Christian army in the rear; upon which the throne Don Antonio, prior of Crato. But his forces being cavalry in the left wing made such a vigorous effort that they inexperienced, and his own conduct indifferent, he was broke the Portuguese on the right; and at this time the quickly defeated by the Duke of Alva, and forced to leave scheriff, in passing a rivulet, was drowned. In this emer- the kingdom. On his flight the whole kingdom submitted, gency, the Germans, Italians, and Gastillians, performed together with the garrisons of Barbary, and also the settleprodigies ; but the Portuguese, according to their own histo- ments upon the coast of Africa, in Brazil, and in the East rians, behaved indifferently. Attacked on all sides, however, Indies. The Madeiras. however, excepting the isle of St they were unable to resist; and the whole army, except Michael, held out for Don Antonio until they were reabout fifty men, were killed or taken prisoners. 1 he fate of duced, and the French navy, which came to their assistthe king is variously related. According to some, he had ance, entirely defeated and destroyed. Philip made his entry into Lisbon as soon as the king- Terms two horses killed under him, and then mounted a third. His dom had been totallv reduced, and endeavoured to conci-granted by bravest officers were killed in his defence; after which the ™‘11‘ Moors surrounding him, seized his person, stripped him of liate the affections of the people by confirming the terms which he had before offered to the states. These terms his sword and arms, and secured him. They immediately began to quarrel about the prisoner, upon which one of the were, that he would take a solemn oath to maintain the generals rode in amongst them, crying, “ What, you dogs, privileges and liberties of the people ; that the states should when God has given you so glorious a victory, would you be assembled within the realm, and nothing proposed in cut one another’s throats about a prisoner ?” At the same any other states that related to Portugal; that the viceroy time, discharging a blow at Sebastian, he brought the king or chief governor should be a native, unless the king should to the ground, when the rest of the Moors soon despatched give that charge to one of the royal family ; that the househim. Others affirm, that one Louis de Brito meeting the hold should be kept on the same footing; that the. post of king with the standard wrapped round him, Sebastian cried first president, and all offices, civil, military, and judicial, out, “ Hold it fast; let us die upon itupon which, charg- should be filled by Portuguese, all dignities in the church ing the Moors, he w^as seized, but rescued by Brito, who and in the orders of knighthood confined to the same, the was himself taken with the standard and carried to Fez. commerce of Ethiopia, Africa, and the Indies, reserved also The latter affirmed, that after he was taken, he saw the king to them, and to be carried on only by their merchants and at a distance, and unpursued. Dom Louis de Lima met him vessels; that he would remit all imposts on ecclesiastical afterwards making towards the river; and this is the last ac- revenues; that he would make no grant of any city, town, or jurisdiction royal, to any but Portuguese; that estates count of his being seen alive. Portugal Immediately after the battle, Muley Hamet, the brother resulting from forfeitures should not be united to the doconquered of Muley Moloch, was proclaimed king by the Moors. The main, but go to the relations of the last possessor, or be by Philip next day, having ordered all the prisoners to be brought given to other Portuguese in recompense of services; that of Spain. before him, the new sovereign gave orders to search for the when the king came to Portugal, where he should reside body of Dom Sebastian. The king’s valet-de-chambre as much as possible, he should not take the houses of pribrought back a body, which he said was that of his master, vate persons for his officers’ lodging, but keep to the custom but so disfigured with wounds that it could not well be of Portugal; that wherever his majesty resided, he should known ; and, notwithstanding the most diligent search, this have an ecclesiastic, a treasurer, a chancellor, two masters monarch’s death could never be properly authenticated. of requests, with inferior officers, all of them Portuguese, This body, however, was preserved by Muley Hamet, who who should despatch everything relating to the kingdom ; delivered it up as the body of the unfortunate Dom Sebastian that Portugal should ever continue a distinct kingdom, and to Philip king of Spain. By the latter it was sent to Ceuta, its revenue be consumed within itself; that all matters of thence transported to Portugal, and buried amongst his an- justice should be decided within the realm; that the Porcestors in the monastery at Belem, with all possible solemnity. tuguese should be admitted to charges in the households of By this disaster, the kingdom of Portugal, from being the king and queen of Spain; that all duties on the fronthe most eminent, sunk at once into the lowest rank of the tiers should be taken away; and, lastly, that Philip should European states. All the young nobility were cut off or car- give three hundred thousand ducats to redeem prisoners, ried into slavery, and the kingdom was exhausted of men, repair cities, and relieve the miseries which the plague and money, and reputation ; so that Dom Henry, w ho assumed other calamities had brought upon the people. All these the government after the death of his brother Dom Sebastian, conditions, formerly offered and rejected by the Portuguese, found himself in a very disagreeable situation. The transac- the king now confirmed ; but although the Duke of Ossuna, tions of his reign were trifling and unimportant; but after by way of security, had promised them a law, that if the the death of the king a great revolution took place. The king did not adhere to them, the states should be freed crown of Portugal was claimed by three different competi- from their obedience, and might defend their right by the tors, viz. the Prince of Parma, the Duchess of Braganza, sword, without incurring the reproach of perjury or the and Philip of Spain. Whatever might have been the merits guilt of treason, this he absolutely refused to ratify. of their respective claims, the power of Philip quickly deAll these concessions, however, failed to answer the purcided the contest in his favour. He found his schemes fa- pose ; nay, although Philip was to the last degree lavish of cilitated by the treachery of the regents, who took the most honours and employments, the Portuguese w'ere still dissascandalous methods of putting the kingdom into his hands. tisfied. This had also an effect which was not foreseen. Under pretence of inspecting the magazines, they withdrew It weakened the power and absorbed the revenues of the some of the powder, and mixed the rest with sand ; they crown ; and, by putting it out of the power of any of his appointed an agent to repair for succours to France, whence successors to be liberal in the same proportion, it raised they knew that they could not arrive in time; they dissolv- only a short-lived gratitude in a few, and left a number of ed the states as soon as they discovered that they were bent malcontents, to which time was continually adding.

PORTUGAL. 469 History. Thus Philip, with all his policy and endeavours to please, trouble. He assumed the name of Don Sebastian, and gave History, —-v"—' found his new subjects still more and more disgusted with a very distinct account of the manner in which he had pass^ ’reatment jjjg government, especially when they found their kingtreat- ed his time since that defeat. He affirmed, that he had preom n ‘. *ing with the utmost severity all those who had supported served his life and liberty by hiding himself amongst the Don Antonio. The exiled prince, however, still styled slain; that, after wandering in disguise for some time in himself, “ king of Portugal.” At first he retired to France, Africa, he returned with two of his friends into the kingand there demanded succours for the recovery of his domi- dom of Algarve; that he gave notice of this to the king nions. Here he found so much countenance, that with a Don Henry; that finding his life sought, and being unwillfleet of nearly sixty sail, and a considerable body of troops on ing to disturb the peace of the kingdom, he returned again board, he made an attempt upon Terceira, where his fleet amongst the Moors, and passed ifeely from one place to was beaten by the Spaniards, and many prisoners being another in Barbary, in the habit of a penitent; and that after taken, all the officers and gentlemen were beheaded, and a this he became a hermit in Sicily, but at length resolved great number of meaner people hanged. Dom Antonio, to go to Rome, and discover himself to the pope. On the however, kept possession of some places, coined money, and road he was robbed by his domestics, and came almost performed many other acts of sovereign power; but he was naked to Venice, where he was known and acknowledged at length constrained to retire, which he did with some dif- by some Portuguese. Complaint, however, being made to ficulty, and returning into France, he passed thence into the senate, he was obliged to retire to Padua. But as the England, where he was well received; and many fitted out governor of that city also ordered him to depart, he, not privateers to cruize against the Spaniards under his com- knowing what to do, returned to Venice, where, at the remission. But after Philip had ruined the naval power of quest of the Spanish ambassador, who charged him not only Portugal as w ell as that of Spain, by equipping the Armada, with being an impostor, but also with many black and atroQueen Elizabeth made no difficulty of owning and assist- cious crimes, he was seized, and thrown into prison. He ing Dom Antonio, and even of sending Sir John Norris and underwent, before a committee of noble and impartial perSir Francis Drake with a strong fleet and a considerable sons, twenty-eight examinations, in which he not only acarmy to restore him. Upon this occasion Don Antonio quitted himself clearly of all the crimes which had been sent his son Don Christoval a hostage to Muley Hamet, king laid to his charge, but entered into so minute a detail of the of Fez and Morocco, who was to lend him two hundred transactions which had passed between himself and the rethousand ducats. But Philip prevented this by surrender- public, that the commissioners were perfectly astonished ; ing Arzila; which, with the unseasonable enterprise against and, moved by the firmness of his behaviour, his singular Corunna, and the disputes that arose between Norris and modesty, the sobriety of his life, his exemplary piety, and Drake, rendered the expedition abortive ; so that, except his admirable patience under affliction, they showed no discarrying the plague into England, it was attended with no position to declare him an impostor. The noise of this was consequences worthy of notice. Dom Antonio remained diffused throughout Europe, and the enemies of Spain ensome time afterwards in England; but finding himself dis- deavoured everywhere to give it credit. The state, however, refused to discuss the point, whether regarded, he withdrew once more into France, where he fell into great poverty and distress; and having at length he was or was not an impostor, unless they were requested died in the sixty-fourth year of his age, his body was buried so to do by some prince or state in alliance with them. in the church of the nuns of Ave Maria, with an inscrip- Upon this the Prince of Orange sent Dom Christoval, the tion on his tomb, in which he is styled, “ king.” He left son of the late Dom Antonio, to make that demand; and at behind him several children, who, on account of his being a his request an examination was instituted with great solemknight of Malta, and having made a vow of chastity at his nity. But no decision followed ; only the senate set him entrance into the order, were looked upon as illegitimate, at liberty, and ordered him to depart from their dominions mpostors But Dom Antonio was not the only pretender to the in three days. By the advice of his friends, therefore, he retending crown of Portugal. The people, partly from love of their proceeded to Padua in the disguise of a monk, and from ) be Dom prjncej an(} partly from their hatred to the Castillians, were thence to Florence, where he w'as arrested by the comastian. conj-;nua]]y feeding themselves with the hopes that Dom mand of the grand duke, who delivered him up to the viceSebastian would appear and deliver them ; and in this re- roy of Naples. He remained several years prisoner in spect such a spirit of credulity reigned, that they would the castle Del Ovo, where he endured incredible hardships. probably have taken a negro for Dom Sebastian. 1 his hu- At length he was brought forth, led with infamy through the mour induced the son of a tiler at Alcobaca, who had led a^ streets of the citv, and declared to be an impostor, who asprofligate life, and at length turned hermit, to give himself sumed the name of Sebastian ; at which words he said out as that prince; and having with him two companions, gravely, “ And so I am.” In the same proclamation it was one of whom styled himself Dom Christoval de Tavora, affirmed that he was in truth a Calabrian ; but as soon as and the other the bishop of Guarda, they began to collect he heard this he said, “ It is false.” He was next shipped money, and were in a fair way of creating much disturb- on board a galley as a slave, and carried to San Lucar, ance. But the cardinal archduke caused them to be ap- whence, after being for some time confined there, he was prehended, and after leading them ignominiously through transferred to a castle in the heart of Castille, and ne\tr the streets of Lisbon, he who took the name of Sebastian heard of more. Some persons were executed at Lisbon was sent to the galleys for life, and the pretended bishop for their endeavours to raise an insurrection in his behalf; was hanged. Not long afterw'ards, Gonsalo Alvarez, the son but it was thought strange policy, or rather a strange want of a mason, gave himself out as the same king, and having of policy, in the Spaniards, to make this affair so public promised marriage to the daughter of Pedro Alonso, a rich without proofs; and the attempt to put down the objection, yeoman, whom he created count of Torres Novas, he as- by affirming that he was a magician, justly excited ridicule . . . . _ . sembled a body of about eight hundred men, and some and contempt. The administration of affairs in Portugal, during the Bad conseblood was spilt before he was apprehended. At length, being clearly proved to be an impostor, this person and reign of Philip, was certainly detrimental to the nation ;‘lueiices ot his intended father-in-law were publicly hanged and quar- and yet it does not appear that this proceeded so much^ tered at Lisbon. The punishment, however, instead of from any ill intention in that monarch, as from errors m . tralion. extinguishing public credulity, served only to increase it. judgment. His prodigious preparations for the invasion of remark- About twenty years after the fatal defeat ol Sebastian, England impoverished all his European dominions; but it )! e knave, there appeared at Venice a person who created much more absolutely exhausted Portugal. The pretensions of Dom

PORTUGAL. 470 History. Antonio, and the hopes of despoiling their Indian fleets, bla was sent to assist her in council, and she could do nothing History, ■—'n-'""-' exposed the Portuguese to the resentment oi the English, without his advice. The council of Portugal, which was' from which the king wanted power to defend them. 1 heir to be composed entirely of natives, was filled with Castilclamours were not the less loud for their being in some lians, as the garrisons also were, though the contrary had measure without cause. The king, in order to pacify them, been provided. The presidents of provinces, or corregiborrowed money from the nobility upon the customs, which dors, were to be natives; but, by keeping those offices in was the only remedy he had left; and this was attended his own hands, the king eluded this article. No city, town, with fatal consequences. The branches, thus mortgaged, or district, was to be given to any except Portuguese; yet became fixed and hereditary; so that the merchant was op- the Duke of Lerma had Beja, Serpa, and other parts of the pressed, whilst the king in fact received nothing. This ex- demesnes of the crown, which were formerly appendages of pedient failing, a tax of three per centum was imposed, in the princes of the blood. None but natives were capable the nature of ship-money, for the defence of the coasts and of offices in the courts of justice, in the revenue, in the fleet, the commerce of the country, and for some years it was or of holding any post civil or military ; yet these were given properly applied; but it then became a part of the ordinary promiscuously to foreigners, or sold to the highest bidder, revenue, and went into the king’s exchequer without ac- not excepting the government of castles, cities, and procount. This made way for diverting other appropriated vinces. The natives w-ere so far from having an equal chance branches ; as, for instance, that for the repair of fortifica- in such cases, that no situations in the presidios were ever tions, the money being strictly levied, whilst the works were given to them, and scarcely any in garrisons; and whenever suffered to decay and tumble down ; and also that for the it occurred, in the case of a person of extraordinary merit, maintenance of the conquests in Africa, by which the gar- whose pretensions could not be rejected, he was either rerisons mouldered away, and the places were lost. Upon moved, or not allowed to exercise his charge, as happened the whole, in the space of eighteen years, the nation was to the Marquis of Marialva and others. The forms of provisibly impoverished; and yet the government of Pliilip ceeding, the jurisdiction, the ministers, the secretaries, were was so incomparably preferable to that of his immediate all changed in the council of Portugal, being reduced from successors, that his death was justly regretted, and the Por- five to three, then two, and at last to a single person. By reason of these and many other grievances too tedi- A reyolutuguese were taught by experience to confess, that of bad ous to be enumerated, the detestation of the Spanish gomasters he was the best Philip III. His son Philip, the second of Portugal and the third of vernment became universal; and in 1640 a revolution took0f and Philip Spain, sat twenty years upon the throne before he paid a place, in which John duke of Braganza was declared king, Bragariza T 7 IV ' visit to Portugal, where the people put themselves to a most by the title of John IV. This revolution, as being deterenormous expense to receive him. He held an assembly mined by the almost unanimous voice of the nation, was atof the states, in which his son was sworn as his successor. tended with very little effusion of blood ; neither were all Having done all that he wanted for himself, he acquired a the efforts of the king of Spain able to regain his authority. false idea of the riches of the nation, from the immoderate Several attempts, indeed, w ere made for this purpose. The and foolish display made during his stay at Lisbon ; and first battle was fought in the year 1644, between a Portuhaving shown himself little, and done less, he returned into guese army of six thousand foot and eleven hundred horse, Spain, where he acted the part of a good king upon his and a Spanish army of nearly the same number. The latter death-bed, in deploring bitterly that he had never thought were entirely defeated; and this contributed greatly to estaof acting it before. The reigns of Philip III. and Philip IV. blish the affairs of Portugal on a firm basis. The king carwere characterised by a series of bad measures, and worse ried on a defensive war during the remainder of his life; fortune. All their dominions suffered greatly; Portugal most and after his death, which happened in 1655, the war was great vigour. of all. The loss of Ormus in the east, and of Brazil in the renewed with This w7as what the Spaniards did not expect; for they Perilous west, together with the shipwreck of a fleet sent to escort ^ one of merchantmen from Goa, brought the nation incre- expressed an indecent joy at his death, hoping that it would dibly low, and encouraged the Conde Duke to hope that be followed by a dissolution of the government. It would they might be entirely crushed. These are the heads only not, indeed, be easy to conceive a kingdom left in more^ pe- dealh of the transactions of forty years. To enter in any degree rilous circumstances than Portugal was at this time. I he into particulars, would only be to point out the breaches king, Dom Alonso Enriquez, was a child not more than made by the Spanish ministers in the conditions granted thirteen years of age, reputed of unsound constitution both by Philip ; which, with respect to the nation, was the origi- of body and mind; the regency was in a woman, and that nal contract and unalterable constitution of Portugal whilst woman a Castillian ; the nation was involved in a war resubject to the monarchs of Castille, but which notwith- specting the title to the crown; and the nobility, some of them secretly disaffected to the reigning family, were alstanding, they often flagrantly violated. The PorThe very basis and foundation of their privileges was, most all of them embarked in feuds and contentions with tugueseop-that the kingdom should remain separate and independent, each other ; so that the queen scarcely knew whom to trust pressed by and consequently that Lisbon should continue as much its or how she should be obeyed. She acted, however, with the Span- capjtai as ever. But so little was this observed, that neither great vigour and prudence. By marrying her only daughter, promotion nor justice was to be obtained without journeys the Princess Catherine, to Charles II. king of Great Britain, to Madrid, which was not more the capital of Castille than she procured for Portugal the protection of the English it was that of Portugal. The general assembly of estates fleets, with reinforcements of some thousands of horse and was to be held frequently, and they were only held thrice foot; and at last, in 1665, the war w as terminated by the gloin the space of sixty years ; two of them being held within rious victory of Montesclaros. This decisive action broke the first three years. The king was to reside in this realm the powTer of the Spaniards, and fixed the fate of the kingas often and as long as possible. Philip I., however, was dom, though not that of the king of Portugal. Alonso was there but once ; Philip II. resided only four months ; and a prince whose education had been neglected in his youth, Philip III. never at all. The household establishment was who was devoted to vulgar amusements and mean company, suppressed during all these reigns. The viceroy was to be and whom the queen for these reasons wished to deprive of a native of Portugal, or a prince or princess of the blood ; the crown, that she might place it on the head of his youngyet when any of the royal family bore the title, ther power er brother Dom Pedro. To accomplish this object, she was in reality in the hands of a Spaniard. Thus, w hen the attempted every method of stern authority and secret artiPrincess of Mantua was vice-queen, the Marquis de la Pue- fice ; but her endeavours of every kind w'ere vain. Tlie

PORT History. Portuguese would not consent to set aside tlie rights of primogeniture, and involve the kingdom in all the miseries attending a disputed succession. iom Alon- But after the death of the queen-mother, the infant eni obliged tered into cabals against the king, of a much more dangeri resign ous nature than any that she had carried on. Alonso had le throne. married the Princess of Nemours; but being impotent, and less handsome than his brother, that lady transferred her affection to Dorn Pedro, to whom she lent her assistance to hurl the king from the throne. Alonso was compelled to sign a resignation of the kingdom; and his brother, after governing a few months without any legal authority, was in a meeting of the states unanimously proclaimed regent, and vested with all the powers of royalty. Soon after this revolution, for such it may be called, the marriage of the king and queen was declared null by the chapter of Lisbon ; and the regent, by a pontifical dispensation, and with the consent of the states, immediately espoused the lady who had been the wife of his brother. He governed, under the appellation of regent, fifteen years, when, upon the death of the king, he mounted the throne by the title of Dom Pedro II.; and after a long reign, during which he conducted the affairs of the kingdom with great prudence and vigour, he died on the 9th of December 1706. 'am John Dom John V. succeeded his father ; and though he was then little more tnan seventeen years of age, he acted with such wisdom and resolution, adhered so steadily to the grand alliance formed against France and Spain, and showed so great resources in his own mind, that though he suffered severe losses during the war, he obtained such terms of peace at Utrecht, that Portugal was in all respects a gainer by the treaty. The two crowns of Spain and Portugal were not, however, thoroughly reconciled until the year 1737 ; but from this period they became every day more united, which gave much satisfaction to some courts, and no umbrage to any. In this situation of things a treaty was concluded in 17.50 with the court of Madrid, by which Nova Colonia, on the river Plata, was ceded to his Catholic majesty, to the great regret of the Portuguese, as well on account of the value of that settlement, as because they apprehended that their possession of the Brazils would by this cession be rendered precarious. On the last of July the same year, this monarch, worn out by infirmities, died in the sixty-first year of his age, and the forty-fourth of his reign. I )om JoHe was succeeded by his son Joseph I., who ascended eph I. the throne of Portugal under very favourable circumstances; but his reign, although short, was marked by great national calamities. The most remarkable event which occurred was the memorable earthquake, which, in November 175.5, destroyed one half of the city of Lisbon, and buried thirty thousand people under the ruins. Two hours had scarcely elapsed after this terrible convulsion, when, to aggravate its horrors, flames burst forth from different quarters of the city, and the conflagration raging with terrific violence for three days, Lisbon was completely desolated. The royal family were fortunate enough to escape; but amongst the victims were the Spanish ambassador, and many other persons of distinction. Britain promptly afforded relief to the sufferers; an act of generosity the more honourable to her, as she had every reason to be dissatisfied with the conduct of the king of Portugal. From the commencement of his reign, he had thrown great obstructions in the way of our commerce, evadingtreaties,and imposing vexatious imposts; and it seemed perfectly clear, that his object was to annihilate the commercial intercourse which had for so many ages subsisted between the two countries. The same spirit of humanity was evinced by Spain ; but both nations received an unworthy return, although Britain had most to complain of. The Spaniards w'ere only treated with silent ingratitude, but the English were detested as heretics.

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Scarcely had the agitation which these great calamities History, gave rise to subsided, when Portugal was again thrown into's—-~v— commotion by a pretended conspiracy against the life of the king. No light has yet been thrown upon this dark transaction. The leading parties involved in it, and the ultimate object which they aimed at, are alike unknown. Suspicion fell on various classes of persons, particularly on certain ecclesiastics, who were said to have been incensed at the reform introduced by Dom Joseph; on the creatures of Spain, who aspired to the reunion of the two kingdoms under one sceptre; on the Jesuits, who were represented as indignant at the restriction of their ancient privileges; and on a prince of the royal family. All that is known wdth certainty is, that the scaffold flowed with noble blood ; and that the Jesuits, against whom Pombal had artfully inflamed the passions of the multitude, were stripped of their possessions, whilst their expulsion was decreed by the crown. In fact, the members of the company of Jesus were supposed to be at the bottom of every calamity; whether it was a dispensation of Providence, or an act of human depravity. Even the earthquake was boldly ascribed to them. Pombal had sworn their destruction, and the gross ignorance of the people ministered to his vengeance. Another occurrence of this reign wras a rupture with the see of Rome, every servant of the pope being expelled from Portugal, and all intercourse between the two courts suspended for about two years. A more important event was the invasion of the country by Spain. This aggression originated in the refusal of the king to join the alliance of France and Spain against England. War was immediately declared against him, and troops marched to the frontiers of his kingdom. The ally whom he had so long neglected, and even deliberately ill used, w^as appealed to, and not in vain. Troops, arms, and all necessary munitions of war, arrived from Britain ; and although the invaders succeeded in capturing Miranda, Braganza, and Almeida, their triumphs were speedily put a stop to by the combined forces of Britain and Portugal. At the instance of the British cabinet, the Count de Lippe was brought from Germany to assume the command of the whole army. This commander was ably assisted in his operations by General Burgoyne, and they had soon the glory of freeing the country from7 the Spanish army. The consequence of this triumph w as a peace, solicited and obtained by the two hostile courts, now hopless of success, and in apprehension of fresh disasters. The remainder of this king’s reign, extending from the year 1763 to 1777, was occupied by the introduction of measures for social, agricultural, and commercial improvement. He laboui'ed to improve the police and judicial administration, and not without success. He founded schools in the large towns, and improved the system of study in the university of Coimbra. He encouraged agriculture, the fisheries, and trade with the colonies ; but in attempting to give a stimulus to home manufactures, by laying such duties on articles of British produce as amounted to an almost total exclusion of them from the Portuguese market, he acted with equal short-sightedness and ingratitude. One monument to his honour, more noble than the statue of bronze which his grateful subjects erected to him in Lisbon during his life-time, remains to be mentioned. This was a decree by which the grandsons of slaves, and all who should be born after they date thereof, were declared free. Although this benefit w as confined to Portugal alone, yet, considering the state of matters at the time it was conferred, it must be regarded as an amazing stride in the career of improvement. Joseph I. died in 1777, and was mourned by his people as the best monarch who had swayed the sceptre of Portugal since the days of Philip I. It must, however, be added, that the administration of Pombal threw a false splendour on the reign of this monarch. In principle a freethinker, in profession a reformer, and in character a cruel and cold-blooded

PORTUGAL. 472 served, and the future happiness of the people solicitously History History, tyrant, this man was lauded to the skies by the infidel philo- guarded. But these professions were far from satisfying v sophers of France, because he had expelled the Jesuits from a people of whom the lower classes were dying of absoPortugal with every circumstance of barbarity and iniquity. lute want, and two thirds of the merchants were bankrupt. But few or none of his pretended reforms survived his tall, A British force under the Duke of Wellington (then Sir which was hailed with satisfaction by the whole nation ; and Arthur Wellesley) was promptly despatched to Portugal, his name is now remembered only in connection with some where it was joined by a considerable body of national of the darkest and foulest deeds recorded in the historical troops, now mustered in the northern provinces, and deterannals of Portugal. mined to maintain the struggle for freedom. A junta was Maria. Joseph was succeeded by his daughter Maria, whom he established in Oporto, to conduct the governnecessities of state had induced her father to give in mar- immediately ment. After some sharp skirmishing1 between the two riage to his own brother. Such revolting connections are armies, the decisive battle of Vimiero, which was fought unhappily far from rare in the modern history of Portugal. on the 21st of August 1808, overthrew the power of France Some attempts were made to exclude her in favour of a nePortugal. The convention of Cintra followed, and the phew,but they proved completely abortive. 1 hough the abi- in country was evacuated by the French troops. The imlities of this queen were limited, yet she was actuated by mediate consequences of this convention, which at the time good intentions. Her administration was feeble, but upon was severely censured, were highly beneficial. T. he governthe whole beneficial. She followed the example of her father ment displayed an energy which restored subordination, and in encouraging national industry and reforming the admi- was felt all over the kingdom. A levy en masse of the nistration of justice. She founded the Academy of Sciences, whole male inhabitants, from fifteen to sixty years of age, and introduced into the convents of friars a compulsory was demanded; but it does not appear that the call was reform of education, embracing useful literature, philosophy, sponded to with much alacrity. Towards the close of the and the sciences. She likewise endowed several admii able year 1808, Madrid having surrendered, and the British army charitable institutions, and went so far in judicial reform as under Sir John Moore having been compelled to retreat to abolish the law of imprisonment for debt. In short, had through the mountains of Galicia to Corunna, the subjugaher foreign policy resembled her domestic administration, tion of Portugal was again resolved upon by the French. Portugal would have had no reason to complain of her. The intelligence of the approaching invasion at first spread Maria^was forced into a family compact by her powerful consternation and dismay throughout Portugal, for it was neighbours of France and Spain, by which the influence of no condition to offer any serious resistance to the force the latter ivas strengthened and confirmed, whilst in the in the enemy that menaced the frontiers. But fresh reinsame degree that of England was weakened. This alli- of forcements arrived from Britain, and General Beresford, ance was accompanied by a treaty of limits, which fixed the who had been appointed commander-in-chief of the armies boundaries of Brazil, Paraguay, and Peru, the arrangement of Portugal, having established a system of subordination being peculiarly favourable to Spain. discipline amongst the troops, confidence was in a great In the year 1792 the queen exhibited symptoms of men- and restored before a blow could be struck. tal alienation, and John Maria Joseph, prince of Brazil, was measure Marshal Soult entered the kingdom of Portugal at the appointed regent. One of the first acts of his administration w as a declaration of war against the French republic, head of the French army, after dispersing the Spanish force Galicia. He was feebly opposed by the Portuguese, who, a step which he wras induced to take from his connection in displayed a laudable eagerness to fight. Their comwith England. But commercial distress, the accumulating however, mander, General Freyre, was opposed to a regular engagedebt of the country, and the menacing language which France compelled Spain to adopt towards her neighbour, ment; but his unruly troops rose in mutiny, and massacred led to a peace in 1797. In 1799 the malady of the queen both him and his supporters, under the suspicion of treachappearing to be incurable, the prince was confirmed in the ery. They were led against the enemy by Baron Eben, a regency, with full regal powders; but he made no change German in the British service, and the battle of Carvalho da was fought and lost. Soult then invested Oporto, and _ in the policy of the government. The same year he was Este although the city had been strongly fortified and garrisoned, ao-ain encouraged to arm against French aggression, in alit was carried by assault on the 29th of March 1809, after a liance with England and Russia; the victorious career of the revolutionists having received a severe, although, as it proved, feeble defence of only three days. Immediately on entering town, the French soldiery commenced an indiscriminate only a temporary check. But the glory of the French arms the was restored by the genius of Napoleon. After this con- slaughter of the inhabitants; and although their commander queror had fully confirmed his ascendency, Spain was under used every effort to repress their fury, the plunder and lihad continued a day and a night before suborthe necessity of declaring war against Portugal in the year centiousness dination could be restored. The defeat of the Spanish army 1801; but it was soon terminated by the treaty of Badajoz, in consequence of which Portugal was compelled to cede Oh- at Medellin opened an easy road to Lisbon ; but the French venza to Spain, and likewise to pay a considerable sum of force was divided into three separate bodies, under three inmoney. After this the prince enjoyed but a mere shadow dependent commanders, Soult, Victor, and Lapisse, thoug , of power, and at considerable sacrifices maintained a no- from fear of being separately committed, the whole remainminal independence, until at last, in 1807, a hostile army ed inactive, or only engaged in insignificant manoeuvres. under Marshal Junot invaded Portugal; and the house of Each commander appears to have waited for intelligence as Braganza was declared by Napoleon to have forfeited the to the movements of the others, and by this delay the capithrone. This bold declaration was owing to the prince tal was saved. Such was the situation of affairs when Sir having refused to seize the English property in his domi- Arthur Wellesley landed at Lisbon on the 23d of April, and nions. Having embarked with his family for Brazil, the assumed the chief command of the armies of England and French general immediately afterwards took possession of Portugal. By a series of brilliant manoeuvres, the British his capital, and Portugal sank into the condition of an ap- commander compelled the French to abandon Portugal. But Napoleon being pledged to his people and the world to pendage of France. General Junot issued a proclamation, in which he declar- conquer that country, early in 1810 an army of seventyed that justice should be duly administered, tranquillity pre- two thousand men was assembled in the vicinity of Sala1 The operations of the British army in Portugal and Spain having been already narrated at sufficient length in the article Bbitai , no details will here be given.

pr !

PORTUGAL. 473 History. manca, and the command of it intrusted to Marshal Mas- effected, without either violence or bloodshed. The provi- History, sena. After clearing his way to Portugal, by the capture sional government formed a union with the junta of Oporto '''“"'v— of several strongly-fortified places, the French general ad- on the 1st of October; and one of the earliest acts of this vanced upon Lisbon. But his vigilant enemy had well united body was to despatch Count Palmella, the head of employed the time afforded him, by preparing a secure the royal regency, to Brazil, with an account of the transacasylum for his troops, by which he at once kept his foot- tions which had just taken place, and a petition that either ing in the peninsula, and defended Lisbon against a greatly the king or the prince royal would return to Europe and superior force. This formidable defensive position is ce- assume the sovereignty of Portugal. In the mean while, lebrated in military annals by the name of the lines of Tor- dissensions of the most inveterate description arose amongst res Yedras. The advance of Massena, the battle of Bu- the members of the two juntas. One party, being eager saco, the stand made at Torres Yedras, the retreat of the for the immediate adoption of the constitution which had French, and their final evacuation of Portugal, will be found been given to Spain, compelled the supreme junta to declare described in the article Britain. It is true, that in the sub- for, and oblige the troops to take the oath of fealty to, that sequent operations of the war, some parts of the kingdom constitution. But the ascendency of this party was of short were included in the theatre of hostilities, yet they never duration, and ultimately it was agreed that, for the present, extended much beyond the frontiers. During the remain- no part of the Spanish constitution should be in force exder of the war, however, the troops of Portugal bore an ac- cept that which related to the mode of electing the cortes. tive and creditable part in almost every encounter with the This was to choose one deputy for every thirty thousand inhabitants. Clergymen, lawyers, and officers, were the enemy. !ohn VI. On the death of Maria, John VI. ascended the throne of sorts of persons who were chiefly elected, few men of wealth Portugal and Brazil. The establishment of the court of or family being chosen. On the 26th of January 1821, Lisbon in an American settlement, though productive of the cortes met, and named a regency and ministry, delittle good to the mother country, led to important re- clared the late insurrections legal and necessary, and abosults. In the first place, it induced Brazil to withdraw itself lished the inquisition. On the 9th of March, the articles from dependence on England; and, secondly, it paved the of the new constitution were adopted almost unanimousway for that colony erecting itself into a separate state. But ly. By these, freedom of person and property was guathe influence of England in Portugal continued, and the con- ranteed, and the liberty of the press, legal equality, the abodition of the kingdom for the present remained essentially lition of privileges, the admission of all citizens to all offiunchanged by the transference. The peace of Paris, con- ces, and the sovereignty of the nation, were secured. One cluded in May 1814, which, it was believed, would place chamber and a conditional royal veto were likewise resolveverything on a proper basis, did not realize the expec- ed upon. John VI. returned from America, leaving his eldest son, tations of the nation. Spain evaded the restitution of Olivenza, which had been provided for by the congress of Vi- Dom Pedro, viceroy or regent of Brazil; but the aged moenna ; whilst, at the same time, Portugal was required to narch found, on his arrival in Europe, greater troubles than restore French Guiana to France. The court of Rio there- those from which he had fled. He was under the necessity fore took possession of the Banda Oriental; but an account of of acceding to certain restrictions on his power, imposed by these transactions has been given in another part of this work the cortes, before he was permitted to disembark. On land(See Brazil.) These circumstances rendered the condi- ing, he swore to observe the new constitution, and concurtion of Portugal far from tranquil. The country felt that red in all the succeeding acts of the cortes. fo add to his the order of things had been inverted, and the parent state disquiet, Dom Pedro accepted the dignity of constitutional had become a dependent on her colony. A conspiracy of a Emperor of Brazil, in May 1822, and a complete separavery extensive nature was timeously discovered in the army, tion took place between the two countries. The constiand its progress checked; but the spirit wbich generated it tution of Portugal was finally completed and sworn to by was not extinguished. In short, everything was ripening the king on the 1st of October 1822; and, shortly afterfor a fundamental change in the administration and consti- wards, the session of this extraordinary cortes closed.. The tution of government; and the Portuguese people were soon members of the old cortes occupied several months in reafforded an opportunity of showing their dislike of the ab- organizing the different departments of the administration ; sence of the court, and the predominance of English in- but measures were rapidly maturing for the total oveithrow fluence. The continual bickerings between the commander of the new order of things. After several sanguinary enof the forces and the regency induced Marshal Beresfbrd gagements, the insurgents were driven from the northern to repair to Rio de Janeiro, to obtain fresh instructions, and, provinces into Spain, and a Portuguese regency was estabit might be, fresh powers, from the king; but during his ab- lished at Valladolid in May 1826. At the head of the for abolishing the new constitution was the queen, a sence that revolution burst forth which completely changed plot Spanish Infanta; and several of the nobility and clergy the whole political aspect of the kingdom. likewise engaged in it. Everything was now ripe for The first symptoms of this revolution were exhibited at were execution. Dom Miguel violated the promise which he Oporto on the 24th of August 1820, both the citizens and had solemnly given to his father, by becoming the leader the army acting in concert. The soldiers swore fealty to the king, the cortes, and the constitution which might be of the counter-revolutionists, and inviting the nation to rise the royal standard against the anarchical policy of the adopted, and the civil authorities declared in favour of the under cortes greater part of the troops declared for the Inmeasure. A junta of thirteen members was chosen by ac- fant, andThe VI., yielding to the force of circumstances, clamation ; and a declaration was addressed to the nation, named a John ministry, and declared the constitution of stating, that the assembling of the cortes and the adoption 1892 null new and void. Sixty members of the cortes protestof a new constitution were the only means of saving the against this proceeding; but the king, a mere puppet state. On the 15th of September, the day on which it was ed the hands of his son, was borne along by the force of the usual to celebrate the deliverance of Portugal from France, in the regency in Lisbon, fearing to assemble such a multitude current, without being able to give any effectual check to its of people as generally met on that day, resolved to omit The events which subsequently occurred in Portugal are the ceremony. But the troops and the citizens met, and still too recent to have yet assumed their just historical prodeposed the government; declared for the king, the cortes, portions. The object of the queen and the Infant was to inand the constitution ; and installed a temporary council as duce the king to resume absolute power; but John^Vl. firm y a provisional government. Thus a complete revolution was VOL. xvm.

PORTUGAL. 474 History, declared his resolution not to comply with this request. The his daughter, Donna Maria, as an’ independent queen, on History ' v'—-' counter-revolutionists, however, began to act independently condition of her marrying her uncle, Dom Miguel. The''' —" ! prince at once agreed to this arrangement, but, with his of his authority. The national guards and militia were disarmed, a censorship of the press was established, many of characteristic duplicity, resolved on evading its conditions. the staunchest constitutionalists were disposed of by im- The absolutists, of whom he was the recognised chief, were prisonment or expatriation, and the highest offices were con- still very strong in the country; and a party was formed, ferred on the absolutists. Finally, a junta, with Palmella the very object of which was to overthrow the constitution, at its head, was organized, to draw up a constitution adapt- and proclaim Dom Miguel absolute king of Portugal. The ed to a representative monarchy. The queen and the In- attempt was made, but it proved unsuccessful. A strong fant, with their followers, exerted their whole energies to British army was landed at Lisbon, and the country, thus prevent the establishment of a constitution. Palmella and overawed, was in some measure restored to tranquillity. his coadjutors drew up a constitutional charter. By this Spain, which had secretly fomented the insurrection, was now act he rendered himself obnoxious both to the queen and forced to yield. In July 1827, Dom Miguel was appointed Dom Miguel, as well as to the absolutist party; and the king, by his brother lieutenant and regent of the kingdom. The probably more in compliance with their wishes than from his prince immediately quitted Vienna and r returned to Portuown conviction that the plan was bad, rejected it. The in- gal, taking Paris and London on his w ay. He was much trigues of the absolutists still continued. Dom Miguel was caressed whilst in England, and pledged himself to abide by appointed commander-in-chief of the army, and, having ob- the terms required by Pedro. He arrived in Lisbon on the tained this office, determined at one blow to extinguish all 26th of February 1828, and immediately assumed the admithe hopes of the constitutionalists, and to put an end to the nistration of the government, at the same time taking the system of moderation, according to which the king conti- oath to maintain the constitution. But oaths were in his eyes nued to act. Upon the 30th of April 1824, Miguel called a mere formality of state, involving no moral obligation. He the troops to arms, and issued proclamations, in which he assumed the sceptre as absolute king ; changed the ministry declared it as his intention to complete the work of the 27th to make room for his tools; dissolved the chamber of deMay 1823, and to emancipate the king from the control of puties, which was much too liberal for his views; altered free-masons and others by whom he was surrounded. The the mode of election; and, in short, restored the reign of ministers and other civil officers, to the number of one hun- absolutism. The recall of the British troops removed andred persons, were on the same day put under arrest; but other obstacle from his path. He convoked the ancient when the king ascertained what had occurred, he declared cortes of Lamego, and was in a fair way of carrying everythat the whole had been done without his orders. As an thing before him. But the military in general were unfaexcuse for his conduct, the Infant said that he had taken vourable to his projects. The garrison of Oporto declared these steps for the purpose of frustrating a conspiracy which for Dom Pedro and the charter ; other bodies of troops folhad been formed against the king’s life. On the represen- lowed their example ; and a corps of six thousand men adtations of the foreign ambassadors, the individuals imprisoned vanced towards the capital. But they were defeated by a were released ; and on the 3d of May the king issued a de- superior force, and the efforts of the constitutionalists were cree, commanding an immediate investigation of the pre- for the present baffled. The object of Dom Miguel was now to consolidate his tended treason. He also pardoned the Infant for his usurpation of the royal name; but this incorrigible person still acted power, and get himself proclaimed king. The cortes met, on his own authority, as if he were absolute sovereign, con- and all who were likely to oppose him having been caretinuing to arrest obnoxious or suspected individuals. John, fully consigned to dungeons, or driven into exile, this body finding himself in danger of falling a victim to the intrigues unanimously declared Dom Miguel lawful king of Portugal of his son, contrived to escape on board of an English vessel and the two Algarves. The pretext by which the cortes which lay in the Tagus. He deprived the Infant of his com- endeavoured to vindicate its conduct was, that as Dom Pedro mand, and summoned him into his presence. The prince had become a foreigner, he had neither a right to succeed obeyed, and having confessed his various delinquencies, re- himself, nor to appoint a successor. On the 4th of July ceived the royal pardon, with permission to travel. The king 1828, Dom Miguel confirmed the decree of the cortes, returned on shore, proclaimed an act of amnesty in favour of and assumed the title, as he had already done the powers, the adherents of the cortes of 1820, and, reviving the old con- of royalty. The punishment of those implicated in the stitution of the estates, summoned the cortes of Lamego. A Oporto insurrection followed as a matter of course. An new junta was appointed to prepare a constitution ; but the expedition was likewise sent against the refractory islands, convocation of the old cortes was resisted, and conspiracies which had refused to acknowledge the usurper; and Mawere formed against the king and his ministers. The lat- deira and the Azores were, with one exception, reduced. ter were themselves far from being unanimous, chiefly in re- The whole dominions of Portugal now became a scene of gard to Brazil, so that a new ministry was appointed in Janu- terror, distrust, and misery, under the sway of this hypoary 1825. Portugal and Brazil assumed a hostile attitude, critical and merciless usurper. but at length John VI. concluded a treaty with the emperor In the meanwhile, Donna Maria had set sail from Brazil Dom Pedro I. of Brazil, in which he acknowledged the en- for Europe; but on arriving before Gibraltar, she found that, tire independence of that country, and resigned the sove- under actual circumstances, it would be injudicious, if not reignty of it to his son, reserving for himself only the title dangerous, to land at Lisbon, and accordingly steered for of emperor. This good-natured monarch, who was incom- the English shores. She remained some time in London, petent to struggle with the troubles of his age, and the po- and during her stay was entertained as queen of Portugal. litical degeneracy of his nation, died on the 10th of March In August 1829 she returned to Brazil, in which a revolu1826, having previously appointed his daughter Isabella re- tion suddenly deprived her father of his American empire. gent of Portugal. Having abdicated a crown which he could no longer reIsabella for a short time governed Portugal in the name tain, in favour of his infant son, the ex-emperor sailed for of the emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro, who was the legitimate Europe with his daughter, to assert her claims to the throne successor to both the European and American possessions of Portugal. Under the title of Duke of Braganza he was of the house of Braganza. On the 23d of April 1826 he hospitably received in England, and instantly set to work in granted a constitution to Portugal, which established two making arrangements for effecting the dethronement of Dom chambers, and in some other respects resembled the French Miguel. The usurper still pursued the same course of opcharter. Not long afterwards, he surrendered Portugal to pression, and, not content with confining and despoiling

PORTUGAL. 475 History, his own countrymen, he extended his outrages to British boats to cover the landing. An officer who held a commis- History, --y'—''and French subjects. In the year 1830 it was calculated sion in the British army undertook the command of the y~—' that forty thousand individuals were under arrest for po- naval department. He had been deprived of his rank as litical causes alone; and that five thousand persons were a British officer, but became a Portuguese admiral. The concealed in hiding-places in different parts of the country. whole army on board did not amount to ten thousand men, How many had been devoted to destruction by being sent scantily provided with artillery, and still more scantily with to the fatal shores of Africa, and how many had volunta- cavalry. rily exiled themselves, it is impossible to estimate. The Dom Miguel made every preparation in his power to reBritish government demanded redress for the acts of vio- pulse the threatened attack. On the 8th of July Dom Pelence committed against its subjects ; and, on this being re- dro appeared before Oporto, landed his troops, and took posfused, a British fleet entered the Tagus, and terrified the session of the town, without the loss of a single man. The tyrant into compliance. France acted in a similar manner, advantages likely to result from the capture of the second and with even more success; demanding an indemnity for city in the kingdom need not be pointed out, nor was Dom the expenses incurred by the expedition. Even the United Miguel ignorant of them. He acted with decision, and imStates despatched a fleet to Lisbon to obtain satisfaction mediately menaced Oporto from two points. On the 22d for injuries done to American commerce. But these re- of July an action took place, in which his troops were repeated humiliations wrought no change in the policy of Dom pulsed, and compelled to fall back; but, on the other hand, Miguel. The petty insurrections which frequently broke Dom Pedro was not in a condition to follow up the victory. out were speedily suppressed by the vigour of the govern- Another attempt in a different quarter was with more diffiment, or the want of concert in the insurgents; and hence culty repelled; but the most discouraging circumstance for these ebullitions of popular indignation caused him little un- the invaders was the utter disappointment of the hopes they easiness. But his finances were now falling into inextri- had entertained that the population of the country would cable confusion. The revenue scarcely sufficing for the rise in their favour, and that the army of Dom Miguel would household expenses and the maintenance of the troops, desert its master. tha usurper was driven to all manner of expedients to reThe operations of the naval squadron were attended with lieve his necessities. The island of Terceira, one of the little success. Several partial engagements took place beAzores, resisted his claims; and here a regency was for- tween the fleet of Dom Miguel and that of the young queen mally installed, with the Marquis of Palmella at its head. under Sartorius ; but no advantage was gained on either From this spot Dom Pedro issued a decree in favour of side. Dom Pedro had continued to fortify Oporto from the his daughter Donna Maria, at the same time representing period of his landing; whilst Miguel, with equal industry, Dom Miguel in his true character, as a rebel and perjured was increasing his army, the greater part of which lay on the north side of the Douro. On the 8th of September the usurper. Although neither the government of France nor that of Miguelites made an attack upon Villa Nova, the suburb of England gave open assistance to Dom Pedro, both abstain- Oporto, which they carried ; and the possession of this place ed from opposing any obstacles to his measures of recruit- enabled them to harass the city with a constant fire both ing. Many officers of each nation enlisted in his ranks; of musketry and artillery. An attempt to recover this poand towards the end of December three hundred half-pay offi- sition utterly failed ; but a convent which formed part of it cers and volunteers sailed for Belleisle on the coast of France, still held out against all the efforts of the Miguelites. The which had been fixed upon as the place of rendezvous. The city began to be seriously injured by the incessant fire which intelligence of these preparations, whilst it gave encourage- was kept up from Villa Nova, and all attempts to dislodge ment to the constitutionalists, was productive of great alarm the Miguelites from their position proved abortive. On to Dom Miguel, wdio soon discovered that a considerable por- the 29th of September Dom Miguel made a general assault tion of his own army wras not to be trusted. Lisbon became upon the works with which Oporto was surrounded; but, the scene of anarchy, violence, and bloodshed. A regiment after manfully maintaining the contest for seven hours, he of the line broke out into open mutiny, and, dividing itself was compelled to retreat to his former positions. The cominto three bodies, marched upon three different points, where manders of Dom Miguel now changed their tactics. Finding other troops were stationed, expecting to be joined by them. that it was impossible to carry Oporto by storm, they deBut they were sadly disappointed in this expectation. Several termined to prevent all supplies from reaching the city, by bloody conflicts took place, and the insurrection was ulti- erecting batteries on the Douro, so as to command the bar mately suppressed. Many persons were shot for treason, and channel, and thus prevent all vessels from approaching. and every dungeon and fortress in the kingdom was filled They effected their purpose, and Dom Pedro found himself with suspected persons. Meanwhile the island of St Mi- reduced to the greatest difficulties. The operations of 1833, like those of the preceding year, chael’s was captured by a force from Terceira, under Villa Flor, one of the members of the regency. Afraid that Ma- consisted in partial bombardments across the river, or endeira would be the next object of attack, Dom Miguel sent gagements of detachments, occasionally varied by more rea small armament for its defence; indeed a large one could gular attacks and sallies to destroy works already erected, not well be spared at a time wdien the preparations of Dom or prevent new ones from being raised. The casualties were Pedro threatened to bring the contest nearer home. Phis not great on either side, nor was any permanent change efprince had prosecuted his measures with great activity and fected in the relative situation of the armies. Dom Pedro perseverance; nevertheless, his means appeared altoge- began the year by placing at the head of his troops the ther inadequate for the conquest of a kingdom. His levies French general Solignac, whom he had created a marshal. consisted of a motley group of raw recruits, men of despe- A few months afterwards he had a quarrel with his admiral, rate fortunes or suspicious characters, idle persons whose Sartorius, which for a time threatened serious consequences; object was plunder, disbanded troops from Brazil, Portu- but the naval commander being ultimately removed, his guese refugees, and the regiments which had so successful- place was supplied by another British officer, Captain, now ly maintained the cause of the young queen in the Azores. made Admiral Napier. In a short time the latter inflicted a But a kingdom was at stake, and Pedro resolved to hazard severe blow on Dom Miguel, by the capture of several of his a descent upon Portugal. The expedition sailed from the largest vessels, in as gallant a style as any thing recorded island of St Michael on the 27th of June 1832. It consist- in naval history. In short, the fleet of the usurper was uted of two frigates, three corvettes, three armed brigs, and terly annihilated, and he had now only the land force to look four schooners, besides transports, and a number of gun- to. Previously to this achievement, a body of queen’s troops

kJ

PORTUGAL. 476 acted under compulsion in relinquishing the throne, and^Histoq. History. had landed at another point of the coast, and m a few days that the transaction was null and void. the whole of the Algarves declared for Donna Maria, ihis The civil war being thus terminated, and the authority small army, under the command of Villa hlor, now Duke of the queen acknowledged all over the kingdom, an exof Terceira, marched upon Lisbon, and on the way com- traordinary cortes was assembled on the 14th of August. pletely routed a greatly superior force. The capital was Without the intervention of this assembly, however, the deserted by the garrison ; the inhabitants rose en masse, government had previously adopted legislative measures of and declared Donna Maria their lawful sovereign; and the great moment. It had declared free trade with all counDuke of Terceira entering Lisbon in triumph, hoisted the tries ; fixed the duties on all foreign imports at fifteen per queen’s colours on the citadel. Dom Pedro instantly set cent, ad valorem ; reduced all religious houses and regusail from Oporto to assume the government, and no sooner lar orders of monks, incorporating their estates with the had the intelligence reached France and England, than both national domains ; changed the state of the currency, and immediately acknowledged Donna Maria as queen of Por- abolished paper money ; and made various other sweeping The measures were well meant, but they were tU ^Great preparations were made for the defence of Lisbon alterations. harsh and despotic notwithstanding. After the meeting against the Miguelite army, 18,000 strong, which, under of cortes, one of the first proceedings of the legislature Marshal Bourmont, an experienced general, was now ad- was to consider how the executive power should be exvancing towards the capital. Several attacks were made ercised during the minority of the queen. Ihe regencj on the defences during the rest of the year 18.43, but the wras ultimately conferred on Dom Pedro, but he did not results were unimportant. The liberation of Lisbon led to long enjoy it. He expired on the 22d of September 1834, the recovery of the Cape de Verd Islands, and immediately having, during the latter years of his life, acted a part which afterwards Bonavista proclaimed the queen and the consti- the earlier stages of his career gave the world little reason tutional charter. The political measures of Dom 1 edro, to expect. Previously to this, the queen had set about the after assuming the government at Lisbon, were not looked formation of a new ministry, in which she united some of on with a favourable eye. He confiscated the property of the more moderate constitutionalists with the former miall who had served under Dom Miguel, and was guilty of nisters. Her marriage with the Duke of Leuchtenberg, some other arbitrary acts, which did not tend to strengthen the son of Eugene Beauharnois, and the brother of Dom his cause. Pedro’s wife, was soon afterwards resolved upon. A bill The affairs of Dom Miguel now began to wear a very to exclude Dom Miguel and his descendants from the throne unpromising appearance. His authority, indeed, was recogPortugal vvas passed without one dissentient voice. The nised over a large tract of country ; but his navy, which se- of for the year 1834 showed a considerable deficit, and cured him reinforcements from abroad, was destroyed, and budget this formed an excuse for treating the British auxiliaries, to events had taken place in Spain which prevented the go- whom they owed so much, with the most shameful and disvernment of that country from affording him any assistance. gusting ingratitude. .. , The first military operation of importance which took place During the year 1835, Portugal presented a peaceful and in 1834 was the capture of Leiria, an important town be- even prosperous picture, darkened a little by the intiigucs tween Lisbon and Coimbra, which capitulated to the queen s of political parties. The principal object of the cortes was troops on the 18th of February. A battle was lost by the Miguelites near Almoster, where Saldanha was posted; and to reduce the public debt, or to convert it into securities towns and provinces began to declare for the queen so ra- which should bear a lower rate of interest than that then The fund which r was principally looked to for acpidly, that the cause of the usurper became desperate. He paid. shut himself up at Santarem with a view of keeping up Ins complishing this object w as the national property, and meacommunications with the frontiers of Spain, whence he ex- sures were adopted for effecting sales thereof. I he budget pected aid. But from this very point destruction awaited for the year ending 30th June 1836 stated the expected at 8,420,257,408 milreis, and the expenditure at him. It was a singular coincidence, that in Spain as well as receipts jg 744,161,266, being a revenue of about L.2,200,000, and in Portugal, an infant queen was supporting her cause by favouring popular privileges, with an uncle for her rival, as a an expenditure of more than L.3,000,000. No new taxes representative of more despotic principles of government. were, however, imposed to cover the deficit, because it w as The cause of the two queens being so far the same, a com- expected that the expenditure would decrease, whilst the munity of interest led to an alliance, to which the courts of receipts would remain stationary or rise. Prince Augustus of Leuchtenberg, the husband of the Britain and France became parties. Each was recognised as lawful successor to the throne to which she aspired, and young queen, having arrived in Portugal in the beginning they both agreed to employ their arms jointly against their of the year 1835, was appointed commander-in-chief of the two rivals. Don Carlos was compelled to fly from Spain Portuguese army, a nomination which gave rise to much coninto Portugal, and thither he was pursued by a Spanish tention. But death soon cut short the discussion, for the army, which proved even more fatal to Dom Miguel than to young prince expired on the 28th of March. 1 he chamDon Carlos. The Miguelites, seeing all hope lost, rapidly bers, however, did not allow the queen to indulge long disbanded, and only the miserable remnant of an army re- in the sorrows of widowhood. The constitutional system mained attached to the usurper. A suspension of arms was denended greatly on a direct succession to the tin one, and agreed to; and on the 26th of May a convention was en- before the end of the year the queen’s second marriage tered into, by which Miguel formally consented to aban- was arranged. The bridegroom was selected from the house don the country. The terms granted him w ere, that he of Saxe-Cobourg (a great nursery for the supply of such should never again set foot either in Portugal or Spain, nor wants), and he had the honour to be a nephew of the king in any way concur in disturbing these kingdoms; that he of the Belgians. On the 8th of April 1836, Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Loshould leave the country within fifteen days ; that he should have a pension of about L.15,000, and be permitted to dis- bourg arrived at Lisbon, and on the following day w as forpose of his personal property, after restoring the crown jew’els mally united to his royal spouse. Government now beand other articles ; and, finally, that, by his command, the came extremely annoyed by the question, whether the king troops still adhering to his cause should instantly lay down should be appointed to the command of the army, when it their arms, and the fortresses surrender to the queen. On the turned out that this w as one of the special conditions of the 2d of June he embarked for Genoa, where he had no sooner marriage treaty. The proceeding proved very unpopular, arrived than he issued a declaration, declaring that he had not only with politicians, but the country, and materially

PORT U G A L. 477 History, hastened a revolution, in which the ministry and the conSTATISTICS. Statistics. v'"—^ stitution were shipwrecked together. It does not appear, 1 0 umlanes however, that the government anticipated any serious Portugal, the most westerly kingdom of Europe, lies be- ' . changes, as the country exhibited no dangerous symptoms tween 36° 55' and 42° 13' of north latitude, and betweenaiK extent' of discontent, although a good deal irritated by the ap- 6 ’ 15' and 8° 55' of longitude west from Greenwich. Acpointment which the queen had made. Yet the revolution- cording to the geographer Ebeling, its length from north ary plot must have been arranged beforehand, for even the to south is 301 geographical miles, and its breadth from troops of the line were seduced. On the night of the 9th east to w^est is 128 miles. It is bounded on the north and of September 1836, the drums of the national guards beat east by the Spanish provinces of Galicia, Valladolid, Salato arms, and they were soon joined by the garrisons and manca, Estremadura, and Seville, and on the south and many influential civilians. An address to the queen was west by the Atlantic Ocean. It has the figure of a paraldrawn up, requesting her majesty forthw ith to dismiss the lelogram, with its longest side from north to south. ministry, to annul the charter, and to proclaim the constituPortugal has a coast-line of nearly five hundred miles in Coast, tion of 1820. The queen at first hesitated to yield to force, length, the only province not washed by the ocean being and to recognise statements as to the alleged jeopardy to Tras-os-Montes, and Alemtejo is less so than the remainwhich the nation was exposed; but she was ultimately com- ing four. On the north the coast is low at first, but it afpelled to give way. The political constitution of the 23d terwards becomes rugged and steep. In Beira it again gets of September 1822 was declared to be in vigour: but it was flat, sandy, and marshy; in Estremadura it is in one part at the same time agreed that it should undergo such modifi- steep, and in another almost a dead level, and very insecations as circumstances had rendered necessary. A new cure ; in Alemtejo it is low, being full of rocks and shallows; ministry was immediately appointed, and Prince Ferdinand and although at Cape St Vincent it is high and rocky, as was deprived of his military commission. But neither the we proceed towards the Spanish frontier the country sinks great body of the people nor the more influential classes into low sandy downs. The promontories most worthy of showed any indications of accordance with the remodellers notice are, Mondego in Beira; Carvoeiro de Rocha and Esof government. Almost all the nobility, the superior clergy, pichel in Estremadura; and San Vincente, Carvoeiro, and and an immense number of persons holding official situations Santa Maria, in Algarve. On the low coasts there are inof greater or of less importance, refused peremptorily to lets of the sea, which afford opportunities for the formation take the oaths to the new constitution. The peers, whose of a number of excellent harbours. Portugal is only separated from Spain politically, not by Mountains, existence as a separate legislative assembly was thus abolished, protested to the queen against the measure, and called natural boundaries or peculiarities. Hence, in all its phyfor vengeance on those who had compelled her majesty to sical relations it is to be considered as a westerly continuadeclare it in force. But this only served to irritate the re- tion of that country. The principal chains of mountains volutionists. Not long afterwards a counter-revolution was are prolongations of those which traverse Spain. In the attempted. Commenced without any well-concerted plan, north, between the Minho and Douro, the country is interit was prosecuted without energy, and the results were al- sected in various directions by the southerly and westerly together unimportant. At last negotiations being entered procession of the Galician and Asturian mountain ranges, into between the queen and the rebels, it was proposed by which terminate at the sea in a steep and broken coast. the court, first, that the general cortes should be immedi- The provinces situated in this quarter are alternating mounately convoked, but that the members should be furnished tain and high table-land, a continuation of the lofty tawith special powers to make such alterations in the char- ble-land of Old Castille and Leon. The Serra de Monter of 1820 as were deemed necessary to secure the liber- tezinho, near the northern frontier, is a very lofty range, ties of the nation and the prerogatives of the crown ; and, on the summits of which snow not unfrequently remains secondly, that the Chamber of Peers, as it was instituted during the whole year. The lofty peak of Gaviarra, howbefore the revolution of the 10th of September, should ever, which forms part of the Serra de Suazo, is crowned vote upon these alterations, with the exception of those with perpetual snow. This range runs parallel with the which might relate to the organization of the chambers. river Lima to the sea, where it terminates under the name To the latter proposition the rebels refused their assent. of the Serra de Estrica. On the left bank of the Lima exThey likewise demanded of the queen to dismiss her mi- tends the Serra de Gerez, in the province of Entre Minho nisters, and form a new cabinet; and she was under the e Douro, and, passing into Tras-os-Montes, declines tonecessity of complying wdth their demands. Her majesty, wards the Lower Douro, where it bears the name of the indeed, became partially a prisoner in the hands of the de- Serra de San Catarina. In this last-named province is the mocrats, and many of the most distinguished persons of her Serra de Amarao, on the left bank of the Tamega, and stretching down almost to the Douro. To the east of it is court sought refuge in voluntary exile. The principal events which followed these changes were, the plateau of Guarda, between two and three thousand the economising of the expenditure, the imposition of a feet in height, and which on the north-east is bounded by tax for the support of the priesthood, the introduction of a the Serra de Montezinho. In the province of Beira extends uniform system of duties on vessels sailing from Portu- the Serra de Estrella, a continuation of a chain which traguese harbours, the abolition of the slave-trade, and other verses Leon and Castille. This mountain ridge consists measures of more or less moment, which had for their ob- of granite and layers of sandstone. It presents a shattered ject the pacification of the country and the promotion of and savage aspect, is covered with snow during the greater the general welfare. During the years 1837 and 1838, portion of the year, and in its ramifications encloses the some provinces of Portugal were kept in constant terror, river Mondego. Its highest summits are those of Cantaro and, to a certain extent, ravaged by rebel banditti, whose Delgado and the Malao da Serra. Northwards it declines ostensible object was to excite a rising in favour of Dom o-ently towards the Vouga, and stretches in a westerly diMiguel. The most noted of these guerilla chiefs was Re- rection to the gates of Coimbra under the name of the Serra mechido, who contrived to muster a formidable gang, and, de Alcoba. The southerly branch runs through the proby his daring exploits, to spread dismay throughout Al- vince of Estremadura, to the mouth of the Tagus, forming garve, the scene of his depredations. A military force was the granite mountains of Cintra, which terminate in the sea at length sent against him, by which the rebels were com- at the Cabo de Roca. To the south of the mouth of the pletely routed on the 28th of July 1838, and their leader, Tagus stretches the Serra de Arabida, an inferior range. Between the Tagus and the Guadiana the country is elevaG being taken prisoner, unceremoniously shot.

PORTUGAL. 478 Statistics, ed, but, gradually sinking towards the Spanish province of general much obstructed by rocks and bars of sand at their Statistic:. ''■““V’*'"■—tv''—''' Estremadura, is bounded on the south by a continuation of mouths, by which navigation is greatly impeded. Portugal possesses no navigable canals worthy of notice. sLakes an the Sierra Morena of Spain, which mountain chain is here penetrated by the river Guadiana. The Serra de Caldei- On the coast, especially in Alemtejo and Beira, there are P™gs. rao, which afterwards bears the name of the Serra de Mon- morasses, lakes, and inferior inland seas, none of them being chique, a ramification of the gigantic Morena, extends in a of great circumference. Several mountain lakes on the westerly direction to the sea, where it terminates in Cape Serra de Estrella are tepid, throwing up bubbles, without, St Vincent, and completely encloses Algarve. This serra however, materially troubling the waters, which are of crysonly yields in height to that of Estrella, and to those of tal clearness. Portugal is rich in medicinal springs, some Suazo and Montezinho. Its loftiest peaks are Foya and of which are used for baths. They consist of gaseous and saline mineral waters, and of sulphureous and chalybeate Picota. Portugal is therefore a mountainous country throughout, springs. The most celebrated sulphur and warm baths but its profusion of hills and mountains embosom innumer- are the Caldas de Gerez in Minho, the Rainha and the able beautiful and highly-cultivated valleys, and form se- Oeiras in Estremadura, those of Chaves and Anciaes in veral fine tracts of table-land. There are, however, two Tras-os-Montes, of San Pedro do Sul and Penagarcia in plains of some extent; one to the south of the Tagus, of Beira, and of Monchique in Algarve. The best chalybeates which that of Santarem forms a continuation, and one on the are at Torro de Moncorvo in Tras-os-Montes, those of Amaranha and Guimaraens in Minho, and of Villas in Esmouth of the Vouga. Rivers. Portugal receives its principal rivers from Spain. The tremadura. Granite composes the highest mountains of Portugal. ailti Geology largest are the Tagus, the Guadiana, the Douro, the Lima, miue3 and the Minho. The Tagus originates in the Sierra d’Al- The entire province of Minho, and the northern portion of baracin, on the borders of Cuenca and Aragon, flows at Tras-os-Montes, are formed of it j and, besides, it is found in first in a northerly direction, and then turns to the south, many other parts of the kingdom. Schistus rock, lying over but during the most part of its course its general bearing the granite, also covers a large portion of the country. It is westerly. After traversing several Spanish provinces, it forms the frontier mountains of Algarve, those of moderate enters the Portuguese territory near the point where it re- height in Alemtejo, those of Beira in the environs of Gasceives the Sever, separates the provinces of Beira and Alem- tello Branco, and the chain which accompanies the course tejo, and after dividing Portuguese Estremadura into two of the Douro. The primitive calcareous formation forms unequal parts, falls into the Atlantic. It receives the wa- a continuation of the mountains between Lisbon and Coters collected between two parallel ranges of mountains, imbra, as the Serra de Lousaa, Porto de Moz, and Monte flows through a mountainous country, and its current is Junto, with the Serra de Arrabida, and the mountain chain much broken by rocks and cataracts. Its waters are turbid, which reaches to Algarve. Coal is met with in this formaand annually overflow and fertilize the extensive plains in tion near Buareos, mineral coal at Cape Espichel, and the environs of Santarem and Villa Franca. Lower down sandstone is sometimes found covering it. The rocks near it forms many marshes of considerable extent, which yield a Lisbon and at Cape St Vincent are of the tertiary formalarge revenue. The length of its course is four hundred tion, more or less mingled with trap. When the granitic and fifty miles. It is affected by the tide a considerable dis- rocks blend with schistus, it is by layers; and it is contance above Lisbon, but is only navigable to Abrantes. Its nected with the latter by a stratification, resembling miwidth is so great near its mouth as to make it resemble a caceous schistus. The calcareous structure is changed in vast lake or arm of the sea; and at Lisbon it forms one of Tras-os-Montes into a true micaceous schistus; and it is the finest and safest harbours in the world. The tribu- only here that mountains of the latter are seen in a pure taries which it receives on the north are the Elga, the Pon- state. Tin mines appear to have been wrought by the Carthasal, and the Zezere ; and those from the south are the Sever, the Sorraya, erroneously called Zatas in most maps, and the ginians in this part of the peninsula; and it is affirmed that Canha; but none of these are navigable. The rivers worthy mines of tin-stone existed in some granitic mountains of of notice which have their source in Portugal are the Cavado, Beira. Mines of gold and silver were wrought in this Ave, Vouga, Mondego, Saado, Odemira, Portimao, and Rio country by the Romans. During the last century lead ores Quarteira. The Cavado rises in the Serra de Gerez, and after were worked near Mogadouro, in Tras-os- Montes, and in traversing the province of Minho, discharges itself near Es- the vicinity of Longroiva, on the banks of the Rio Priseo. posenda, being only navigable for seven miles. The Vouga In Tras-os-Montes a silver-mine was wrought in the year has its source in Beira, and after traversing this province, 1628. Mines of plumbago occur near Mogadouro, and ironenters the ocean below Aveira. The Mondego issues in mines in the same country, near Figueira and Torre de the Estrella, crosses Beira and the plains of Coimbra, and Moncorvo. The iron forge of Chapacunha is supplied from finally joins the ocean near Figueira and Buareos. This them. In Estremadura there are two very old establishis the largest of the rivers belonging exclusively to Portu- ments of the same kind, one in the district of Thomar, and gal, and it is navigable for sixty miles, except in summer, the other in that of Figuero dos Vinhos. On the frontier of when its waters considerably diminish. Its sands occasion- that province, and of its neighbour Beira, are situated the ally yield particles of gold. The Saado or Sadao has its mines of red oxyde of iron by which they are supplied. Iron source in Alemtejo in the Serra de Monehique, and flows indeed is one of the most abundant minerals in the country. with a north-westerly course towards Estremadura. It be- The mountains in the neighbourhood of Oporto everycomes navigable from Porto de Rey, and enters the ocean where give indications of copper and other ores; and at by a large bay to the south of Setubal. The same Serra Couna there is a deposit of cinnabar. In Portugal there gives rise to the Odemeira and Portimao, the former being are also mines of antimony, bismuth, and arsenic. Some navigable to the town of the same name, and the latter as of the rivers of this country, as well as those of Spain, are far up as Silves. The Rio Quarteira has its source in the washed for the gold which they contain ; and it is said that Serra de Caldeirao, and forms at its mouth the small port in this way large quantities of the precious metal were forwhich bears its name. These rivers, when swollen by the merly collected. The river Tagus wras anciently celebratwinter rains, overflow their banks, much to the advantage of ed for the particles of gold which were found mingled with the country, for the waters leave a rich deposit behind them. its sands; but its greatest riches are now borne on its boIn summer they are very low, and many of the smaller rivers som. Indeed, none of the streams yields a quantity worth of Portugal are dried up during that season. They are in much above the labour of collecting it. There is only one

PORTUGAL. 479 iatistir.s. gold-mine in Portugal, situated in a place called Adissa, in From the great differences of level which Portugal pre- Statistics, the district of St Ubes; but its annual produce is a mere sents, it abounds in every variety of vegetable productions. trifle, not reaching twenty pounds weight at an average. Forests of birch, oak, and chestnut are abundant; and fruit Two coal-mines exist; one near Figueira, and the other is everywhere plentiful. Orchards are met with at the foot near Oporto. The country abounds with most beautiful of large mountain chains ; and lower down may be found marbles, but they are comparatively little wrought, from the cork-tree, kermes, fir, lemon, and orange. The olive is the expenses required to bring them to market. Precious widely distributed, and the vine is cultivated to a great exstones are found in Portugal, and also quarries of limestone, tent. In the warmest regions we find the aloe of America gypsum, slate, freestone, millstone, black agate, together and the date of Africa. Figs, raisins, almonds, melons, waterwith immense beds of pyrites and marcasites, potters’ and melons, plums, cherries, peaches, apples, pears, and chestnuts, are all objects of attention. Of grains, those chiefly porcelain clay, and pits of common salt, mate Various causes conspire to produce great differences in raised are maize, barley, wheat, and rye ; rice is likewise an 11 soil, the climate of Portugal in different situations. The most object of attention in some parts. Potatoes and other veobvious one is the inequality of the soil; but vicinity to the getables are partially cultivated, together with hemp, flax, ocean, and to mountain ranges, which afford shelter from and cotton. The Flora of Portugal, although abundant in the winds, or expose to the direct influence of the sun, also some parts, presents little that is remarkable. None of greatly affect the temperature. The mountain chains in the plants of France or Spain, and only a few of those of the northern part of the country are very rugged and cold, Italy and Sicily, are found. In the cold regions a few plants the limits of perpetual snow being in this latitude under similar to those in the west of England are met with. In eight thousand feet. This cold region comprises a consi- the warmer districts poppies thrive well, and the coasts of derable portion of the provinces of Tras-os-Montes and Beira and Estremadura, with the low sandy plains of AlemBeira, and the whole of the northern frontiers of Minho. tejo, are adorned with the cistus and many varieties of heath. It is to be observed as a general rule, that the sea-coast of On the northern mountains is a tree peculiar to them, which these provinces, as well as that of all the others, is very is called azerino. Portugal is behind almost every nation of Europe in agri- Agriculwarm, the heat of summer, however, being tempered by the sea-breezes. The elevated plains and mountains are sterile, culture; and the various improvements which are general ture. and destitute of wood; but the valleys and other low situa- elsewhere have here been slowly and but recently introtions have a mild and agreeable climate, and are for the duced. The soil is neither manured nor tilled as it ought most part very fruitful. A great part of Minho is especially to be. The plough is composed of three pieces of wood deserving of notice for its delightf ul climate. Estremadura, awkwardly fastened together, and imperfectly aided by the on the other hand, is very hot in summer and very cold in clumsy machinery of wheels. The districts best cultivated winter; but the high land throughout the whole southern are the valleys of the Minho, those of the Oporto wine comportion of Portugal has an exceedingly agreeable tempera- pany of Upper Douro, and some portions of Tras-os-Monture, equally removed from excessive heat in summer and tes and Beira; the remaining temtory remains comparativesevere cold in winter. Algarve alone has an African cli- ly uncultivated. Where the soil is properly laboured and mate, but the excessive heat is greatly tempered by the sea- attended to, abundant crops of wheat, barley, maize, rice, breezes. Some striking anomalies occur, such as intense and rye are produced. But enough is not raised to supply summer heats in elevated situations ; but they are to be ac- home consumption, about one fifteenth of the quantity used counted for from the position and nature of the mountain being imported. Artificial meadows are almost unknown, ranges which environ them, and their distance from the except in Minho. The cultivation of potatoes, however, ocean. The warmer parts of Portugal have a short winter has rapidly extended over the country, and hemp and flax and a double spring. The first, which commences in Feb- of excellent quality are raised. But the chief attention of ruary, is a delightful season. The succeeding months are the Portuguese husbandman is directed to the production variable, being in some years hot and dry, and in others cold of those articles which find their most ready vent in foreign and rainy. Harvest is gathered in June. Summer com- countries, or which are raised with the least labour. Of mences in the last week of July, and continues till the be- the first sort is their wine, which is produced chiefly in the ginning of September. The heat is then very great, parch- northern provinces. The quantity usually made is about ing up all the vegetation on the plains and sea-coast, so 80,000 pipes of red, and 60,000 pipes of white. The prothat it is necessary to water plants to preserve them from ductions that require but little labour, such as chestnuts, destruction. But even during this hot season the evenings almonds, oranges, lemons, and citrons, are also profusely and nights are fresh and cool, and the table-lands and other raised, and, with the onions and garlic, form no small proelevated parts enjoy a modification of temperature. Rain portion of the aliment of the inhabitants. Olive-trees are begins to fall early in October, and the vegetation of spring plentiful, and the oil expressed from their fruit forms an immediately succeeds to that of autumn. Winter lasts from important article of sustenance; and, though not of a qualithe end of November till February, but the cold is seldom ty or flavour that is relished for the table in foreign counit is a considerable article of export. excessive, except in very elevated situations. In December tries, Generally speaking, cattle are not abundant in Portugal heavy rains descend, accompanied by violent whirlwinds; it is during this period that the rivers are so liable to overflow for, with the exception of the grazing lands of the Minho, the their banks. The climate of Portugal, in general, may be Estrella, and Monte Junto, and a few other places, in which pronounced salubrious, particularly along the coasts and on a beautiful and large breed of cattle is reared, the feeding the table-lands. Fevers of various kinds appear to be the is decidedly bad. Very little cheese or butter is made, articles being mostly imported from England and diseases most prevalent, but there are disorders peculiar to these different localities. Almost all the mountain chains of Por- Holland. Horses are far from being numerous, and they tugal show, in extinct and shattered craters, their foimer are of a small size, but very active. Mules, however, are or volcanic activity; and in many districts, in the country a first-rate breed, and they, in a great measure, compensate around Lisbon for instance, earthquakes are not unfrequent- the deficiency. Sheep are reared to some extent, and their is inferior to none but that of Spain. There are nuly felt in harvest and winter. The fearful convulsion which wool merous herds of goats, and abundance of swine of a pecudestroyed the capital has already been mentioned in the liar species. are plentiful; and bees are bred to preceding historical sketch. Portugal is rarely visited by some extent. Poultry rearing of silk-worms was once a conviolent storms, and thunder is only heard during autumn and siderable branchThe of industry; but the great injury sustainwinter.

480 PORTUGAL. Statistics, ed bv the mulberry plantations during war has subjected it is a statement of the quantities of British and Irish pro- Statistica. ' v ' to many fluctuations. Birds are not numerous; but of wolves, duce and manufactures imported into Portuga in the year v wild cats, wild goats, wild boars, stags, and some other spe- 1835 ; the declared value is given Apparel, slops, and cies of large game, there are a few in certain localities, haberdashery, L.l3,938; arms and ammunition, L.1293; Hares are rare, and rabbits are not so numerous as in Spain, bacon and hams, L.1479 ; beef and pork, L.1454 ; beer Amphibious reptiles are not common, but vipers and veno- and ale, L.2369 ; printed books, L.935; brass and copper mous serpents abound in the mountains; the other parts manufactures, L.10,730; butter and cheese, L.94,0o2 ; of the country, however, appear to be free from them, coals, culm, and cinders, L.l561; cordage, L.l6o ; cotton There are several species of lizards; the insects of Northern manufactures, L.796,002 ; hosiery, lace, and small wares, Africa occur on the heaths; the butterflies of the south of L.20,998 ; cotton, twist, and yarn, L.l3,338; earthenware France on the sides of the Estrella; and the scarabsei of the of all sorts, L.5171; woollen manufactures, L.350,71o ; north are found on the mountains of Northern Portugal, fish, herrings, L.122 ; glass, L.l 1,753; haidwares and The rivers are amply stocked with fish, and the coasts lite- cutlery, L.31,469 ; hats, L.1990 ; non and steel, L.4 , rally swarm with them. Pilchards are caught in immense lead and shot, L.8118 ; leather, L.6138 ; saddlery and harquantities. Another very common fish is the pescada, a ness, L.3212; linen manufactures, L.36,184; machinery species of the gadus. Besides these, the kinds in greatest and mill-work, L.5346 ; painters colours, L.3805; plate, esteem and abundance are the sea and river eel, the sole, jewellery, and watches, L.1281 ; silk manufactures, rodovalho, save!, ruivo, safio, cavalla, espada, and others. L. 19,485; soap and candles, L.48-; stationery, L.93/b; ManufacThe manufactures of Portugal are comparatively unim- refined sugar, L.6840 ; tin, L.410; tin and pewter ,wares lures. portant; but the country has in general been underrated and tin plates, L.41 / 6 ; woollen and worsted yarn, P ’h8 , in this respect. No comparison can be instituted between salt, L.150; all other articles, L.39,625. ^ 1 he total deits products of this sort and those of more industrious dared value of the whole was L. 1,554,326. ihiswas rastates; but if, notwithstanding the advantages England ther less than the amount of exports to Portugal during enjoys, the Portuguese have been able to compete with 1834, but more than for any preceding year. I he goo s the English in different manufactures, it maybe concluded imported from hranee in 1835 were, trench and foreign that industry cannot be at so very low an ebb as is often merchandise, raw produce, L.42,284 ; manufactures, asserted. However, almost all the finer fabrics are import- L.236,374 ; French merchandise, raw produce, L.27,24 ; ed. At Alcobaca and Tomar cottons, at Guarda wool- manufactures, L.l95,546. 1 he total amount was L.5U ,4 , lens, and at Guimaraens linens, are manufactured. The best about one third of that of Great Britain. The goods sent goods that are made in the kingdom, as compared with to the Portuguese dependencies are included, lortugai those of other countries, are the cambrics, shirting and exported to Great Britain in 1835, wines of Portugal, table linens, and sewing threads. Glass is manufactured 4,163,719 gallons; sheep’s wool, 680,956 lbs.; bees wax, at Leiria, and silk, paper, and other articles elsewhere; eighteen cwts.; brandy, 1084 gallons; 238o goats lve skins; 01 whilst in Lisbon there are manufactories of arms, cordage, sumach, forty cwts.; raisins, twenty-four cwts.; o > hats, chocolate, earthenware, tin, copper, lace, mats, rib- 270 gallons; oranges and lemons, 95,656 packages; gs, bands, soap, silk, cottons, w'ith distilleries, tanneries, sugar 828 cwts.; bark for tanning or dyeing, 1015 cwts.; cork, refineries, and founderies. The Portuguese display consi- 59,910 cwts.; wheat 2157 quarters ; and a few other arderable skill in working in gold and silver plate; and their tides. During the same year Portugal sent to France, raw taste in cabinet-w ork is said to be now much improved, materials and manufactures to the value of L.38,80o; arGenerally speaking, they manufacture most articles of re- tides in a state fit for use or for consumption, L.41,425 ; cognised necessity with more or less skill. But neither the total amount, L.80,231. But Portugal carries on 0'a^;e Wlt“ mines nor the fisheries are at all attended to as they ought many other countries besides Great Britain and Trance, to be. If the former were wrought, their produce might For her own products she receives from the Netherlands form important articles of commerce; and if the latter were grain, cheese, colours, and dye-stuffs ; from the north of Gerprosecuted, as much fish might be caught as would render many grain, linen, iron, tin, brass, and other metallic articles, the importation of this article unnecessary. and toys ; from Denmark, grain and timber ; from Svveden, Commerce. The separation of Brazil from Portugal, together with the grain, iron, steel, copper, and tar ; from Russia, grain, hemp, loss of her Indian possessions, have reduced the commerce flax, canvass, linen, cordage and tackling, timber, tar, talof this country T to a mere fragment of what it once was low, furs, and the like ; from Dantzig, grain, hemp, and tunwhen her ports w ere the medium through which much of the ber. There is likewise a considerable intercourse with the produce of the east and of the west passed to other coun- United States, the foreign colonies of the kingdom, Brazil, tries. Political events have also tended materially to de- and other places; but we have no data from which to estipress the foreign trade of Portugal. Previously to 1820 it mate the extent and value of the foreign commerce. I he was very considerable, but since that memorable epoch in internal trade, at the best unimportant, suffers from the want the annals of the country, it has sunk, comparatively speak- of good roads. Canals there are none, and the few naviing, to nothing. The chief articles of exportation are wines, gable rivers are not so at all times, so that until proper lemons, oranges, figs, almonds, and other dried fruits ; salt, roads are made or canals formed, the inland commerce of oil, sumach, wool, and corkwood. The chief goods imported Portugal must continue to be very limited, are wrheat and other grains, dried cod, salted meat, butter, The government of Portugal, once of the most absolute cheese, horses, oxen, mules, and other animals, medicinal kind, is now a limited monarchy. I he succession is ^^"^drehand drying drugs, linseed-oil, planks, and other kinds of ditary, and extends to both sexes. I he constitution of the^.^ prepared wood, iron, steel, lead, tin, brass, copper, char- kingdom, a sketch of which was laid before the cortes on coal, tar and pitch, flax, hemp, and silk. Numerous ar- the 7th of March 1837, is nearly a verbatim copy of that of tides of foreign manufacture were wont to be imported, 1822, an outline of which has already been given. I he and afterwards re-exported to foreign possessions; but this exceptions relate to the appointment of the senators, and trade is of course annihilated, or nearly so. the separation of the counsellors of state. I he mode of There is a great deficiency of authentic documents re- election now adopted is the direct instead of the indirect, garding the commerce of Portugal. Those which can be It is further provided, that no deputy can hold a public relied on relate to periods too far back to admit of their situation, and no officer in his district, no bishop in Ins diobeing taken as evidence of the present state of trade, and cese, nor any priest in his parish, is allowed to be chosen, those of a more recent date are imperfect. The following The king and the royal princes are declared incapable of

PORTUGAL. 481 Statistics, holding the chief command of the army or navy. The Statistics. German ''■'“v'™-'' cortes have the right to choose a new dynasty should the Geographi- Population. Firecal Square reigning family become extinct. If the assembly of the Places. .Miles.1 cortes is dissolved, a new one must be called together withIn Europe. in thirty days at the latest. The authority of the cortes is 126 872,406 193,868 so great that the power of the sovereign is little more than Province of Minho Province of Tras-os-Montes. 191-75 331,213 73,603 nominal. The management of the affairs of the nation be- Province of Upper Beira \ 221,410 405 (f 996,345 longs to the counsel ot state. There are six ministers, one Province of Lower Beira \ '* 109,215 24,270 for each of the departments of foreign affairs, the interior, Province of Estremadura 416-68 790,655 175,701 finance, war and the colonies, marine, and justice. There Province of Alemtejo 48375 314,311 69,847 Province of Algarve 99 135,261 30,058 are also boards of trade, of navigation, of agriculture, and of manufactures. 1,722 18 3,549,406 788,757 For the administration of justice there are two supreme courts of appeal; one at Lisbon, and the other at Oporto. To these there is to be added the There is also one for each of the provinces of Estremadura, Eastern District of the Azores.. 18 90,000 20,000 38-82 135,000 30,000 Alemtejo, Algarve, Minho, Tras-os-Montes, Beira, and one Western District of the Azores District of Madeira 18-50 112,500 25,000 for the comarca of Gastello Branco in Beira. A court of District of Cape Verd Islands... 149 54,000 12,000 cassation has been established in the capital. In criminal cases the proceedings are public ; in civil matters the parties 224-32 391,500 87,000 have the privilege of appointing an arbitrator, who is chosen In Africa. from a society belonging to each city. Each of the six dissettlement on the coast of 1 tricts of the kingdom is divided into comarcas or jurisdic- The 19-5 20,000 Guinea tions, which are again subdivided into ciudades, villas, and The settlement of Angola. J 14,750376,000 1 provincial under-courts of justice, called concelhos, houras, The settlement of Mozambique 13,500286,700 contos, julgados, and behetrias, these being distributed in 28,269-5 576,300 correicoes, over which a corregidor presides as head judge, and who has a right to speak in the second instance, or court of judicature. The sub-judges are in individual places GovernmentInofAsia. Goa 223417,900 juizes de fora ; but in all civil and criminal cases they speak Government of Dilli and Timor 85’ 120,000 in the first instance. In large towns the civil and criminal Government of Macao 4-5 38,400 jurisdiction is under two juizes da fora, one of whom bears 576.300 the title oijuiz da civel, and the other that of juiz da crime. There are also in the towns and villages ordinaries, or juizes da paz, a sort of justices of the peace. The number The principal cities and towns having above 10,000 inof persons connected with the administration of justice, those habitants are, Lisbon, 250,000 ; Oporto, 80,000; Elvas, who have seats in courts, as judges, advocates, and others, 18,000; Coimbra, 15,200; Setuval, 14,820; Braga, 14,400; is very great, and the course of law is tedious and expen- Evora, 10,500; Ovar, 10,300. In the colonies, Funchal, sive. The standard authority in matters of law and jus- 20,000; Villa Nova de Goa, 18,500; Ponta Delgata, 18,000; tice is the royal ordinances which Alphonso V. collected, Soanda de S. Paola, 18,000; Angra, 15,000; Cacheu, and Emanuel I. printed. When this juridical code is not suf- 15,000; S. Salvadore, 15,000; Mozambique, 12,340; Mafficient, the Roman law is appealed to ; and in ecclesiastical cao, 12,000. matters the canon law is the recognised authority. The The national varieties of the population are, Portuguese, religion of the state is the Roman Catholic ; but the exer- 3,397,050; Free Blacks, 595,000 ; Gallegos, 50,000; Hincise of all other forms of religion is permitted to foreign- dus and Malays, 420,000; Negro Slaves, 20,000; Chinese, ers. The supreme head of the clergy is the patriarch 64,800. of Lisbon, who is always a cardinal. There are fourteen The varieties of religion amongst the population are,Cathobishops under the archbishops of Braga and Evora, the for- lics, 3,782,050 ; Brahmins and Buddhists, 400,000 ; Foiten, mer bearing the title of primate of the kingdom. The num- 64,800 ; Fetishes, 400,000. In the year 1822 the statistics of education in Portugal instrucber of ecclesiastics and religious houses was at one time very great. In 1S22 there were 132 nunneries, w ith 2980 nuns, stood thus. The university of Coimbra, founded in 1279, tion. 912 pupils and novices, and 1971 servant-women; and their with six faculties, a preparatory college, sixteen hundred sturevenue amounted to 432,189 milreis. The number of dents ; eight hundred and eighty-three elementary schools; monasteries was 346, containing 5830 persons, who enjoyed three hundred and twenty-tw-o Latin, and twenty-one Greek an income of 784,513 milreis. The regular orders of monks and rhetorical schools, together with twenty-seven for theohave been reduced, and some other alterations relating to retical and moral philosophy. The total number of scholars, the church have taken place since Balbi published his exclusive of students, was 31,280. To these are to be addStatistical Essay ron Portugal, from which the above facts ed the following establishments ; the marine and royal acaand twenty-five are taken; but w e have no authentic data from which to demy at Oporto, which had three hundred 7 draw up a correct statement of the present condition of scholars ; the academy of Lisbon, w ith about as many puecclesiastical matters in Portugal. Religion has shared in pils ; the trades’ school at Lisbon, with a hundred and fifty scholars ; the Lisbon royal school for engineering, artillery, the political fluctuations of the times. Population The following is a tabular view of the statistics of Por- and drawing, with eighty scholars; and the military school at -f- tugal for the year 1835. The number of square miles and Luz, near the capital, with two hundred students. At Lisfire-places in the provinces and districts is given on the bon there are also a royal college for the nobility, and royal authority of official documents. The population has been schools for the Arabic language, drawing, and architecture, estimated by multiplying the number of fire-places by four and another for statuary ; also an institution for instruction and a half, which is reckoned a fair average number of souls in copperplate engraving, an academy for teaching music, and some others. Surgery is taught at the university of for each hearth.

VOL. XVIII,

A German geographical mile is nearly equal to 4|ths English miles*

3p

PORTUGAL. 482 Statistics. Coimbra, and in several royal schools ; in St Joseph s hos,- zen and countryman, the tenth part of the amount of all Statistics, sold, the profits of the “ cross-bull,” the impost on v ' y pital in Lisbon; and in hospitals at Oporto, Llvas, and goods several requisites of life, the excise, the “ decimas or tithes Chaves. The military school for mutual instruction, which of the clergy, stamps, lotteries, the mint, and others. Since the children of citizens are permitted to attend, had two the separation of Brazil from Portugal, and the attempt of thousand five hundred and sixteen scholars. There are Dom Miguel to maintain the sovereignty he had usurped, a other academies for instruction in science, geography, Por- great disproportion has taken place between the expendituguese history, navigation, nmrine afi’airs, artillery, and for- ture and the income; the latter being sometimes not equal tification ; an institution for the encouragement of literathe half of the former. The consequence has been the ture and other branches of knowledge at Lisbon ; an aca- to accumulation of a national debt of enormous magnitude for demy for history and antiquities at Santarem; and an aca- so poor a country, and which there appears to be no immedemy for scientific instruction in the small county-town of Tomar in Santarem. Portugal has seven botanic gardens, diate prospect of the government being able to extinguish, even to lessen. We have no information that can be but some of them are of a very humble description ; twelve or on as to its exact amount at present; but as it was museums of natural curiosities, open to the public; twelve relied collections of coins and other antiquities; eight observatories; stated to be three hundred and twenty-four millions of francs the year 1832, we are rather below than above the mark a royal library at Lisbon, with eighty thousand volumes; in estimating it now7,1838, at four hundred millions of nancs, and the university library of Coimbra, with sixty thousand in volumes. In the fine arts the Portuguese have made but or sixteen millions sterling. The income, as well as the exbut particularly the former, has been subject to little advancement. There are comparatively few printing- penditure, fluctuations. These, however, are mainly to be atpresses in the country; and book-printing establishments great to the unsettled state in which the country remainon a respectable scale are only to be met with in Lisbon, tributed ed for so long a period. In the year 1827, the income was Oporto, and Coimbra. Works of fiction, and books for edification in the Catholic faith, constitute half the yearly li- 46,843,975 francs, and the expenditure was 62,162,363, so terary produce of the Portuguese. On account of their po- that there appeared a deficit of 15,292,388 f rancs. In 1829 revenue was only eighteen millions, whilst the expenses verty, it has been customary to print scientific works at the the royal expense. It is difficult to say whether the press be amounted to forty millions of francs. The following is the for 1837-1838: free in Portugal, at least according to our ideas of freedom. budget Income 9,294 cantos, = 55,764,000 francs. Liberty of the press was established by a decree in the year Expenditure 11,214 — 67,284,000 ditto. 1823 ; but the cortes annulled it, and appointed a commission of censorship. Deficit 1,920 cantos, - 11,520,000 francs.1 Kaights, There are seven orders of knighthood in Portugal, viz. According to a decree dated on the 4th of January 1837, Army and royal tides, the military order of Christ, established in 1319 ; the order nav v &c * of San Jago, for civil merit, founded in 1288 ; the order of the organized army consists of, the infantry, thirty battalions, Avis, for military merit, established in 1213 ; the militaiy twenty of which are infantry of the line, and ten jagers, order of the tower and sword, founded in 1459, and re- in all 21,560 men; the cavalry, eight regiments, four bevived in 1805-1808 ; the order of Villa Vicosa, or the im- ing lancers and four jagers, in all 3680 men ; and the armaculate conception, founded in 1818 ; the female ordei of tillery, four regiments, and three batteries for the neighSanta Isabel, established in 1804 ; and the order of the bouring islands, consisting of 2232 men. 1 he combined faith. In 1749, the king of Portugal received from Be- military force of Portugal, therefore, amounts to nedict XIV. the title of rex fidelissimus ; and his Most men ; and there is, besides, an army of militia about 27,000 took n Faithful Majesty styles himself “ king of Portugal and Al- strong. According to an official document of the year 1835, the garve, of both sides of the sea in Africa, lord of Guinea, and of the navigation, conquests, and commerce of ^Ethiopia, naval force consisted of two ships of the line, four frigates, ei Arabia, Persia, and India.” The heir to the throne is six brigs, eight schooners and cutters, eight gun-boats, ght transports, eight packet-vessels, and two steam-boats, in all styled Prince Royal; his eldest son, Prince oi Beira ; the „ , ^ , other royal children are called Infants and Infantas ot Por- forty-six sail. The inhabitants of Portugal are generally a robust, yet People and tugal. The present Braganza line of princes commenced an u with John IV. who was proclaimed king of 1640. The na- not an industrious people. They are enterprising and per- 8 severing, patient in adverse circumstances, excessively attional escutcheon is a silver shield, with five smaller blue shields lying crossways. On each of these are five silver tached to their own religion and customs, and, though tempennies, placed so as to form a Saint Andrew’s cross. There porary circumstances may seem to indicate the contrary, is a red border containing the armorial bearings of Algrave, they retain a high sense of loyalty to their monarch, and o which are seven golden castles with blue towers. On the submission to their spiritual superiors. 4 he Portugese lansummit of the royal helmet there is a golden dragon; and guage is derived from the Latin, ot which it contains a great the shield contains two dragons, each holding a flag, adorned proportion of words, though mixed with many others ot Arabic origin. In the construction of its sentences it very with the emblems of Portugal and Algarve. Finances. The revenues of the state arise from the extensive crown- much resembles the Castillian ; but the pronunciation of the lands, together with the hereditary estates of the house ot syllables differs considerably, being in general less guttural; Braganza, and the possessions of the first three orders of and there are many words introduced which seem peculiar knights, the greater portion of which belongs to the crown. to itself, and the derivation of which it is difficult to trace, of the The other sources from which the government income is though probably they are to be found amongst some (K* derived are, the customs, a property-tax levied from citi- tribes on the coast of Barbary. 1

Weimar Almanac for 1838.

P O R Portumna PORTUMNA, a small market town, in the county of IJ Galway, Ireland. It is situated within half a-mile of the losen^ river shannon, over which there is a bridge, and consists of a long line of cabins built without any regularity. It possesses a church and a Roman Catholic chapel. It is distant from Dublin 74 miles, and had a population in 1821 of 736, and in 1831 of 1122. POSEGA, a city of the Sclavonian provinces of the Austrian kingdom of Hungary, the capital of a circle of the same name, which extends over 990 square miles, and comprehends one city, six towns, and 254 villages, with 74,200 inhabitants. The city is on the river Orlgava, and contains 410 houses, with 4220 inhabitants, who grow' tobacco and silk. Lat. 45.21. 30. Long. 17. 37. 25. E. POSEN, one of the provinces of the kingdom of Prussia. It was formerly a part of Poland, but "by the several partitions of that distracted country, and by the treaty of Vienna in the year 1815, has been guaranteed to Prussia. It is bounded on the north by w'est Prussia, on the east by Russian Poland, on the south by Silesia, and on the west by Brandenburg. It extends in north latitude from 51* 10' to 53° 27/, and in east longitude from 15° 2' to 18° 33', and comprehends 12,836 square miles. It is generally a plain, with few' elevations or even undulations. It consists for the most part of a sandy soil, though some of the marshy parts, when drained, form most excellent meadows for fattening cattle, and for the dairy. The chief product of the soil, as well as the chief food of the inhabitants, is rye, of which about ten times as much is grow n as of wheat. Barley is to rye as four to ten, and oats as three to ten ; thus the rye crops exceed the whole of the other. The agriculturer was in a miserable state till the possession of the country w as secured to Prussia by the treaty of Vienna, under the tranquillity and security created by which, it has been making surprisingly rapid improvement. Between 1802 and 1815, the stock of cattle had diminished; the cows, sheep, and horses being about one-third less in the latter than in the former year. Since 1815, an augmentation has again taken place, and the stock of that description in 1832, was found to have more than doubled. Many of the marshes had been drained and converted into excellent pasture, especially an extensive tract, by the construction of the Bromberg canal, w hich has improved the soil and formed a good communication through the Vistula with the Baltic sea. The forests, which cover one-twentieth part of the province, are a considerable means of occupation, and a source of wealth. There are few manufactures in the province, and those have been mostly introduced by settlers from Germany since 1815. No part of Europe has shewn such an increase in the number of its inhabitants, as the province of Posen, but especially in the government of Bromberg, which is the northern division of it, in the ten years from 1817 to 1826, both years inclusive. By the census of the former years the government of Bromberg contained 261,368 souls, and that of Posen 579,753; and by that of the latter year Bromberg contained 330,235, and Posen 715,712 ; thus exhibiting an account by which, at the same rate, the population would be doubled in less than thirty-two years. In 1815 the German inhabitants were estimated at 140,000, and the Jews at 48,000, but it is probable their increase has been greater than that of the Poles, who formed the rest of the population. The religion of the Poles is mostly Catholic, that of the Germans chiefly Protestant. The former have a bishop, under the archbishop of Gnesen, with 581 churches, and several monasteriesand nunneries, and two ecclesiastical seminaries. The latter have 101 churches, and two public colleges or gymnasiums. The nett revenue furnished by this province to Prussia in 1816, was about L.120,000, one-half arising from the forests, and other national estates, and the remainder from direct taxation. The whole province is divided into the

P O S 483 two governments of Posen and Bromberg, and the former Posen is divided into seventeen circles. Posen, a city, the capital of the Prussian province of Position. the same name. It stands on a plain on the banks of the river Warthe, and is surrounded with walls, beyond which are some extensive suburbs. Having been burned down in 1803, its buildings are in a more modern style than formerly. It contains a cathedral, and twenty-five other Catholic churches, five monasteries, and four nunneries, a Lutheran, Calvinist, and Greek church, an episcopal palace, and theatre, with about 2500 houses, and 28,000 inhabitants. It has but little other trade beyond what arises from being the seat of the provincial government. The manufactures, though increasing and improving, are still insignificant, and mostly in the hands of the Jews, wdiose numbers in the city amount to near 5000, and who have a synagogue and some schools. Lat. 52.22. Long. 17. 14. 30. E. POSIDONIUS, a celebrated Stoic philosopher of Apameia in Syria, was the disciple and successor of Pangetius, (Strab. xiv. 655.) 1 he exact date of his birth and death are unknown, but he flourished u. c. 78, and came to Rome B. c. 51. (Suidas.) He resided principally at the island of Rhodes, and his reputation was so high that many of the young Roman nobility attended his lectures. He was visited by Cicero, b. c. 78, (Plut. Cic. 4. Cic. n.d. 1,3), and by Pompey, b. c. 62. (Plin. vii. and Plut. Pomp. 42.) Posidonius went to Rome on an embassy respecting the affairs of the Rhodians, (Plut. Mar. 45), and probably at this time visited Spain, (Strab. xiii. 614), Gaul, (iv. 197), and Liguria, (iii. 165;. He lived to the age of eighty-four, (Lucian, Macrob. 20), and was succeeded by his grandson Jason, (Suid.) Cicero (Div. i. 3), alludes to a work of hts on divination, in five books ; but he was not merely a philosopher, he was also an astronomer and geographer, w'ho is frequently quoted by Strabo. He made an attempt to calculate the circumference of the earth, and also the diameter of the sun. (Strab. ii. 95, 138.) He treated at considerable length the phenomena of tides, and observed that they had diurnal, monthly, and annual periods, like the moon, (138, 174.) The scattered fragments of Posidonius have been collected and published, under the title, Posidonii Phodii rdiquicE doctrines, collegit atque illustravit J. Bake accedit Vrytlembachii annotatio, 1810. POSITION, Centre of. From Archimedes to Doctor Wallis, writers have assumed, that there belongs to every body an individual point, where, for most purposes, the whole weight may be conceived to reside ; and they have called it the centre of gravity. The learned Englishman, however, believed himself the first to accomplish a demonstration from the nature of gravity. (Scholium to Prop. xv. l)e Centro Gravitatis.) But the same point is admirably connected with other properties and contingencies of the body than its w'eight; and hence different names have been considered as preferable by many writers, such as centre of inertia, See. And from viewing a body as composed of physical points, it is found that the relation of this centre to their positions is fertile in some of the most beautiful theorems in the mathematics ; whence it has properly received the geometrical designation of the centre of position. We here introduce it in this geometrical character; and shall demonstrate very briefly, but we trust sufficiently, a collection ofelegant and most important properties,ofwhich some are virtually proved elsewhere, in a manner more suited to the direct object of their introduction. If there be any multitude of distinct points in space, it is clear that a plane may move, parallel to any given plane, until the collective distances of the points on one side of it be equal to those on the other. Let a plane thus situated, relatively to a system of points, be called a plane of equidistance.

484 PoBition.

P o s P O S from three planes, perpendicular or inclined to each Position, Suppose two planes of equidistance, A and B, perpendi- tem other, be given, the centre of position is given. For, by thev'^V^' distances of a point from three such planes, its position in Fig. 1. space is given. .. . , Cor. 3. If the centre of position, and the multitude ot A points in each of two systems be given, the centre of the P united svstems is found in the straight line joining the given centres at distances from these reciprocally proportional to the multitudes. Fig. 2. Let P and Q be the centres of position of two systems of p and q points respectively. Let perpendiculars from P and Q, meet any plane of equidistance in a and b respectively. Then p.¥a + q .Qb expresses the collective distances of the points of the united systems from the plane of equidistance, consequently the two terms are of opposite signs and equal magnitude. And because Va and Qb are perpendicular to the same plane, they are parallel : so that Pa, ab, fed, are in one cular to each other. Then, first, we shall find that any plane. Let O be the intersection of PQ, and ab. I hen plane C which passes through their common section or axis, PO and OQ are as Pa and Qb ; and since p . Ya=q . Q&, is also a plane of equidistance to the same system of points. we have also p. PO=q. QO, or PO : QO :: 9 :p. Thus every plane of equidistance passes through the same For, let any plane, perpendicular to this axis in O, cut the planes A, B, C, in the straight lines An, BZ», Cc, re- point O, which is therefore the centre of position. Scholium. Hence, if we spectively. Then Aa and B6 are at right angles. Let a Fig. 3. perpendicular from any point of the system meet the plane have any points A, B, C, D, ABC in p. Draw pq at right angles to Cc, and let it be &c., bisecting AB in M, or positive when on the same side of the plane C as AO. Also making AM==^AB; again, draw pr perpendicular to B&, and meeting Cc in s ; and let making MN to NC as 1 to pr and rs be positive when on the same sides of the planes 2, or MN=1MC ; and NO B and C respectively as AO. The triangle pqs being given to OD as 1 to 3, or NO-in species, pq is as ps, that is, as pr-\-rs ; so that the sum ND, and so on : Then M of the pq is as the sum of the pr together with that of the rs. is the centre of position of the two points A and B ; N of But the pr are the distances of the points of the system the three points A, B, C ; O of the tour points A, B, C, D, from the plane B, which is a plane of equidistance ; and and so on. And as we have proved that there cannot be therefore their aggregate is nothing. And again, the rs more than one centre of position to the same system of are as the rO, which are the distances from the plane A ; points, the ultimate point must be the same in whatever and, having different signs on the two sides, their aggregate order we take the given points into the operation. Cor. 4. The difference of the squares of the distances is also nothing. Thus the sum of the pq is nothing ; and the plane C is a plane of equidistance. of the centre of position from the extremities of any straight Now let O move along the axis to make ABC a plane line is an average of the difference of the squares of the of equidistance. Then shall any plane K which passes several points of a system from these extremities. through O be such a plane. Let SO be the straight line ; A Fig. 4. For let the plane K cut ABC in the line Cc. The plane a point of a system whose centre ABC, and the plane C, which cuts it perpendicularly in the of positiou is G; and Aa and Gg line Cc, are planes of equidistance ; therefore, by what we perpendicular to the extension of have just proved, the plane K which passes through their SO. Then AS2—A02=aS2—aO2 common axis Cc is also a plane of equidistance. Thus, to =(aS + «0). OS ; making aS and every system of points, there is a point through which every aO negative when measured con- / plane is a plane of equidistance. And there cannot be more trary to the tendency OS. /A than one. For if there were two, we might have through Hence 2 (AS2—AO2) =2(aS). g./-:!.—jg them two parallel planes of equidistance, which is manifestly 0S + 2a0).0S. But, if there be absurd. p points, E(aS) is p.gS, and 2(aO) ! a This single point has been called the centre of position. is».aO. Therefore, 2(AS2—AO2) 2 2 Cor. 1. The difference of the centre of position from =/?.(^S X^O).OS=/?.(GS —GO ). any given plane is an average of the distances of the several Cor. 5. The squares of the distances of any points in points of the system ; the distances on different sides being space from their centre of position are together less than distinguished by contrary signs. from any point in the surface of a sphere about this centre, For conceive the parallel plane of equidistance, at the by the square of the radius multiplied by the number of distance D from the given plane. Let the distance of a points. point of the system from the given plane be denoted by D For when G coincides with O, g is also there; and we -\-d. Then d will vary its sign according as the point of have 2(AS2—A02)=j9.0S.0S, or /j.OS2. the system and the given plane be on different sides of the Cor. 6. If A, B, C, &c., express the number of points plane of equidistance, or on the same side. whose respective centres are in the positions A, B, C ; and Now if there be p points in the system, the aggregate of O be the centre of position of all the points united in one their distances from the given plane will be pD, together system ; then, S being any other point, with the aggregate of the d. But the collective d are noa.sa2+b.sb+2c.sc2=a.oa2+b.ob2+c.oc2+(a+b+c)os*. thing ; so that it will be ; or D is the average distance. 2 2 2 2 2 Cor. 2. If the average distances of the points of a sys- For, by Cor. 4, AXSA —OA ) + B(SB —OB ) + C(SC

P o s Position. —OCJ) expresses the excess of the squares of the distances .j^V'^'^of the points from S over the squares of their distances from O, which (by the last cor.) is equal to (A + B + C). OS2. Cor. 7. In any system of points, the motion of the centre of position, in any given direction, is an average of their several motions in that direction. For assume a plane perpendicular to the given direction behind all their motions. Let there be p points, and the sum of their distances from the assumed plane, at the beginning of the motion pd. Then the distance of the centre of position from this plane is d. At any instant afterwards, let their united distances from this plane bepD, that of their centre of position being therefore D. The aggregate motion of the system in the given direction has been pY)—pd, or p(D—d), w hile that of the centre of position has been D—d. Cor. 8. If the several points of a system be uniform as to their motion, the centre of position either rests or moves uniformly. If it do not rest, whatever be its first tendency, it must persevere in the same. For as it begins without any motion perpendicular to this direction, the aggregate of the motions of the system in any direction perpendicular to this must be nothing, and therefore will continue nothing ; so that the centre will never be taken out of its first direction. And as the motion of each point, estimated in this direction, is the same during a given time, the average, or the motion of the centre is the same ; so that it traces its path uniformly. Otherwise.

P o s 485 the axis of rotation will pass through the centre of position. Positra For when there is rotation, no point out of the axis can II either rest or move in a straight line. Therefore the cen- Po!it' tre of position will be in the axis. Cor. 12. If attracting particles be left to their mutual attraction, they will coalesce about their centre of position. For their attractions do not affect the aggregate or average motion in any direction. Therefore the centre of position remains at rest while they are brought together around ft(o. o. o.) POSITRA, a sea-port town of Hindustan, in the province of Gujerat, and district of Okamindel. The inhabitants, like those of many others of the coast towns in India, have been long addicted to piracy ; which was prosecuted with ardour, notwithstanding an agreement between the chiefs and the British to lay aside these depredations. A British force r was in consequence sent against the town, which w as taken, and the wralls levelled with the ground. Long. 69. 17. E. Lat. 22. 23. N. POSON, one of the smaller Philippine islands, near the west coast of Leyta. Long. 124. 24. E. Lat. 10. 43. N. POSSESSION Island, in the South Pacific Ocean, discovered by Monsieur Marion in 1772. It is of a round form and mountainous. Long. 41. 40. E. Lat. 46. 30. N. There is another island of this name in the South Pacific Ocean, near the north point of New Holland. It was taken possession of by Captain Cook in the name of Great Britain. Long. 218. 21. E. Lat. 10. 33. N. POSSESSIVE, in Grammar, a term applied to pronouns, which denote the enjoyment or possession ofany thing either in particular or in common; as meus,m\x\e', tarns, thine; suns, his own, her own, its own, or their own. POSTERIOR, a term of relation, implying something Because the motion of any point of the system, estimated behind, or that comes after, another. In this sense it is in three different directions not in the same plane, is uni- used in opposition to prior and anterior. POSTERN, in fortification, a small gate, usually made form in each ; that of the centre of position is uniform in these directions, or is nothing. Hence it can have no mo- in the angle of the flank of a bastion, or in that of the curtain, or near the orillon, and descending into the ditch; by tion other than uniform in direction and velocity. Cor. 9. If a body, or system of bodies, be put in mo- which the garrison can march in and out, unperceived by tion, and subject to no other disturbance than the action of the enemy, either to relieve the works, or to make sallies the parts or bodies upon each other ; the centre of position against an enemy. The word is also used in general for any private or back door. will either rest or move uniformly in a straight line. POST-HORSE, a rocky inlet in the Eastern seas, near For every particle is at first determined to a certain direction and velocity, or put in a condition of uniform mo- the west coast of the island of Celebes. Long. 119. 18. E. tion. And the actions of material particles or bodies upon Lat. 5. N. POSTHUMOUS, a child born after the death of his faeach other, (whether by impulsion, attraction, impact, or leverage,) are equal and contrary; so that the aggregate ther, or taken out of the body of a dead mother ; and hence motion, and consequently the average motion, is not affect- frequently applied to the works of an author not published until after his decease. ed by it. POSTIL, a name anciently given to a note in the marCor. 10. The agregate momentum of a system, in any direction, is as if it were all collected into the centre ot gin of the Bible, and afterwards to one in any other book posterior to the text. position. POSTILLIONS, a chain of rocks in the Eastern Seas, The momentum in any direction is the united momenta of the several particles. Now, if there be p particles, and about 60 miles in length from north to south. Long. 119. their several velocities in a given direction be denoted by 18. to 119. 54. E. Lat. 6. 15. to 6. 48. S. POSTLIMINIUM, amongst the Romans, the return of v', v", v'", &c.; these also represent their several momenta ; and if we put pv=v' + v" •{•v'" ; v is the velo- one who had gone to sojourn elsewhere, or had been bancity of the centre of position. Thus the aggregate mo- ished, or taken by an enemy of his own country or state. POST, a word derived from the Latin positus, set or placmentum is as if every particle were in this centre. Strholium. When the system is connected these paral- ed. It is used in several different meanings, but all of them lel momenta compound a force in the given direction, referring either immediately or remotely to the primitive which passes through the centre of position, or centre of sense aiposition. Thus the word post signifies a stake, or gravity ; and is equal to the sum of the several forces. So piece of timber set upright; a station, particularly a milithat the impact of the system is as if all were collected in tary station; an office or employment; an operation in bookkeeping ; a conveyance for letters or dispatches; a particuthe centre. Cor. 11. If a body be left to itself in a state of rotation, lar mode of travelling.

486

POST-OFFICE. History. It has been usual to trace the origin of posts to a remote antiquity ; certain establishments, having something in common with the modern post system, being found to have existed at an early period of the world’s history. Herodotus and Xenophon mention that, amongst the ancient Persians, stations were appointed at intervals along the great roads ot the empire, where couriers were constantly kept in readiness to convey dispatches and intelligence. Similar institutions, as we learn from Suetonius, were maintained amongst the Komans in the time of Augustus, and such probably existed much earlier. But although the name of the post may be traced to this source, (from the Latin word positus, whether as applied to the accommodation and means of transport placed at intervals for the service of the couriers, or to the couriers themselves, placed or posted at the several stations,) such institutions obviously bear but a general resemblance to the postoffice of the present times. The couriers wrere mere state messengers, the communication only to and from the seat of government; nor, as far as appears, was there any regular machinery for the receipt and delivery of letters, so essential to the idea of a modern post establishment. The posts which were first instituted in the kingdoms of modern Europe, as those by Charlemagne and Louis XI. of France, the Emperor Charles V., and some other sovereigns, differed little, if at all, from those now described. It is indeed probable, that whenever the posts or couriers were appointed to perform their journeys at stated periods (which, as soon as the occasions for employing them became frequent, would be found at once the most economical and effective mode,) such a convenient means of conveying correspondence, though primarily intended only for state purposes, would soon come to be used by individuals. Houses of call, for the receipt and delivery of letters, would in process of time be established by custom, if not by regular appointment ; and in this way might grow up the modern post system. The earlier posts instituted in Europe, however, were in general but of temporary duration; their existence being dependent sometimes on occasion, sometimes on the disposition or policy of particular monarchs. Between the end of the fifteenth and beginning of the seventeenth century, indeed, there were several members, in succession, of the noble family of Taxis in Germany who applied themselves in a remarkable manner to the establishment of posts, and the office of postmaster-general of the empire was eventually conferred on the family as a hereditary fief. As certain posts settled by this family ('at a period preceding that in which the modern post system was generally introduced in Europe,) continued permanent, such posts may be considered (unless, indeed, they wTere at first formed on the modern plan (as affording an instance of transition from the ancient to the modern system. In other cases, however, there is no room for representing the latter as having grown out of any extension, adaptation, or improvement of the former. Thus, in our own country, the insular position of which made our sovereigns less anxious about intelligence from their frontier, nothing of the

nature of a public post establishment can be said to have History, existed, (with an immaterial exception in the reign of Edward IV.) until after the modern form was introduced, the rise of which it is a matter of no difficulty to explain. The conveyance of letters, indeed, is what must inevitably become, in the course of human transactions, as much matter of necessity, as the conveyance of persons or of commodities ; and the same circumstances which generate the formation of roads and bridges, and give existence to the trade or occupation of carrier, shipmaster, or innkeeper, must necessarily lead to the employment of the post messenger, under greater or less degrees of system and regularity. History, more attentive to record the transactions of monarchs, than the steps by which communities effect their advancement and improve their conveniences, furnishes nothing beyond an incidental notice of the modes by which the circulation of correspondence was conducted, before it became matter of state regulation. Of course, however, it is not to be supposed that no such modes existed, or that notices of these are entirely wanting. The conveyance and delivery of letters was often part of the regular occupation of travelling pedlars and others whose business led them to perform stated or frequent journeys. When commerce began to advance, regular conveyances for correspondence were established between some of the principal trading cities, either by the municipal authorities,1 or by concert of private individuals or associations. A permanent establishment of messengers for the conveyance of letters was attached to the university of Paris, from the beginningof the thirteenth century, and, indeed, was not abolished until the year 1719, long after a general post had been settled in France. Other universities were similarly provided.2 In some instances powerful and opulent individuals established posts, either as a mercantile speculation, or for the convenience of any district in the prosperity of which they took an interest. But although the conveyance of correspondence was thus brought to some degree of system, or rather prevailed under a variety of systems, even in places where the state authorities had not yet provided any public establishment for this purpose, it is easy to see that communication, especially between more distant places, must have been slow, irregular, and insecure. The advantage and even necessity of having a uniform and legalized system of post conveyance, could not have failed to present itself to th£ eyes both of subjects and rulers ; although it may be a question whether the sovereigns who first established such systems in their dominions were, in general, moved so much by large and enlightened views of public benefit, as by the wish to create, according to the practice so usual in that age, a lucrative trading monopoly in behalf of some of their favourites. The establishment of the modern post system, then, in regard to the mode of its taking place in some of the principal countries of Europe, is not properly to be viewed as of the nature of a political or civil invention ; being merely the assumption, on the part of the state, of the conduct of a particular department of human affairs, which had grown up with the progress of society, but could no longer be com-

1 Kennedy, in bis annals of Aberdeen, mentions that the magistrates of that city, in the year 1590, appointed a person to convey their dispatches to and from Edinburgh and other places of royal residence. This functionary bore the style of council post, and was arrayed in a2 garment of blue cloth with the town’s armorial bearings in silver upon the sleeve. Vol. i. p. 262. In the act of Queen Anne there is a special clause, permitting letters to be sent to and from the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, “in manner as heretofore hath been used, anything herein to the contrary notwithstanding.” The privilege has since ceased to exist.

POST-OFFICE. 487 History, petently managed by individuals, whether acting severally or Thus, the proclamation of Charles I. in 1632,5 forbidding History, ^V'^'^in concert. And accordingly, in acts and ordinances rela- the conveyance of letters abroad otherwise than by the post, tive to posts, there is not so much in the shape of offer of refers to the act of his father, by which the post to foreign a new species of accommodation, as of prohibition against parts was first established; and narrates, that that act gave procuring the same accommodation by any other than the to the postmasters “ power to take moderate salaries,” meanoffered means. ing, it might be supposed, to charge such rates as would afThe notices we possess of the early history of the Bri- ford moderate salaries ; and a little later, in regard to the tish post-office, are but meagre and indistinct. What they case of Wytherings, from whom the office of postmaster had amount to may be stated as follows. There was a chief post- been sequestrated by proclamation in 1640,6 we find the master of England in the reign of Elizabeth, if not earlier, Commons in 1642 declaring the sequestration a grievance Randolph having that title assigned him by Camden (1581) ; and illegal, and “ that Mr. Wytherings ought to be restorbut his duties, of which that author takes no notice, proba- ed into the possession of his place as postmaster for foreign bly related but partially, if at all, to the conveyance of cor- parts, and to the mean profits received since he was out of respondence.1 James I. appointed a postmaster to take possession, deducting the reasonable and usual charge of charge of the conveyance of letters to and from foreign execution.”7 At a later period, commencing probably about parts ; and different persons are named as successively en- the time when Prideaux held the office of postmaster, it was joying this office during his reign and that of his son Charles. the custom to farm the revenues of the post-office.8 In 1635 Charles established a letter office for England and The post rates first established were twopence for a sinScotland, which may properly be regarded as the origin of gle letter for a distance under 80 miles, fourpence from 80 the British post-office. The persons to whose management to 140, and sixpence above 140. About the year 1654, they it was committed, were directed to establish, within a limit- were fixed at twopence for 80 miles, and threepence for a ed time, a post from London to Edinburgh, one to West- greater distance. chester and Holyhead, and another to Plymouth and ExeUnder the authority of the Protector and his Parliament, ter ; and the journey from London to the termination of some material changes were again made in regard to the each of these lines and back, was appointed to be perform- management of the post-office in 1657, by which it was ed in six days. Bye-posts were ordered to be established, brought nearer to the model under which it has more lat-9 and other principal lines opened upas occasion might arise; terly subsisted. An advantage held forth in an ordinance and conveyance of letters otherwise than by post was now passed on this occasion, as one that was to be derived from prohibited within the kingdom, as it had formerly been be- the establishment of posts, is worth noticing, namely, that “ they will be the best means to discover and prevent many tween the kingdom and places abroad.2 In the year 1642, a committee of the House of Commons dangerous and wicked designs against the commonwealth.” was appointed to report on certain matters connected with Possibly a hint from Charles, some twenty years before, as the post-office ; and the subject continued afterwards, at in- to making the post-office afford this sort of convenience, tervals, to engage the attention of the House. In 1644, Mr. had not been very well taken. It does not appear, however, Edmund Prideaux, who afterwards held the office of attor- that either at this or any subsequent time, the secrecy of was ney-general to the commonwealth, and who had been chair- correspondence passing through the British post-office, 10 man of the committee of 1642, was elected postmaster-ge- ever violated to serve the purposes of government. The arrangements made in 1657 were confirmed, and neral by resolution of both Houses of Parliament; “ in the 11 execution of which office,” says Blackstone, “ he first estab- some further improvements effected, at the Restoration. In were assigned to the Duke lished a weekly conveyance of letters into all parts of the 1663, the post-office revenues 12 nation, thereby saving to the public the charge of maintain- of York and his heirs male, and again settled, after his acing postmasters to the amount of L.7000 per annum.”* This cession to the throne, on the king and his successors, thus has been interpreted to mean (whether correctly or not) becoming part of the hereditary revenues of the crown. that the charges of the post-office previously to the improve- From this time nothing of importance seems to have occurment effected by Prideaux, exceeded its income by the sum red ih the history of the post-office, until the year 1710, mentioned.4 Be this as it may, there seems to have been, when was passed the statute 9 Anne, ch. 10, which may from the period of these improvements, a considerable pro- be called the charter of the British post-office. In the system of posts established by Charles I. in 1635, fit realised from the posts. Whether from a desire to share in this profit, or for other reasons, the Common Council of provision was made for the conveyance of letters between London, in the year 1649, set about establishing a separate England and Scotland, but the royal ordinance makes no post-office; an attempt, however, which was promptly put mention of an internal post for the latter kingdom. The down by a resolution of the House of Commons, declaring postage between the two capitals was then eightpence; in that “ the office of postmaster is and ought to be in the sole the time of Cromwell it was fourpence. After the Restoration, the postage to Berwick was fixed at threepence. In power and disposal of Parliament.” It appears likely, that, originally, any surplus revenue which the latter part of this century, however, there was a postmight be obtained from the posts, was allowed to belong to master-general in Scotland, and posts on some of the printhe postmaster, and even that the charges for postage were cipal lines of road. In 1667, a post was established to pass fixed by him, although subsequently regulated otherwise. between Edinburgh and Aberdeen twice a-week, and one 1 The name oi vests as already observed, had its origin in relation to an arrangement of travelling stations, a relation which it continued to preserveHnd fefoS the estabLhmern of tor office! the postmaster use of the term not yet obsolete) ffie1 person who proved the means of conveyance from one station to another. The necessity of regulation an superm eiu en gc ,, t 0f led to the appointment of a postmaster-general, to whom such superintendence was committed. For some time alter the establishment of letter-offices, the duties of rpostmaster,’ in the earlier and later meaning of 3the term, were conjome 2 Com. book j. ch. 8. Fcedera, tom. xix. p. 649. 4 It is stated that the revenue in 1614 was estimated at L.5000. Macphersons °.f Commeice, vol. >fiP* 7 Journals, 5 6 Fcedera, tom-t xx.mp.non 429. Journals. 28th March, 164?. 8 Rymer’s Fcedera, tom xix. p. 385. They were farmed in 1654, by a person named Maubey, or Manley, tor H.1U, . In a view , oft the rpublic , revenue made up by a Committee of the Commons in 1669, there is an item, “ By postage of letters in arm, . , . , . . p. - .

■» utlmpMrfbJS-X in tbe declaration made by every post-office, at his entrance into office, that a letter may be opened by warrant of a Secretary of State. . TT c ,. 11 12 15th Cbarks IL 12th Charles II. c. 35. ’

POST-OFFICE. 488 sametime, between Edinburgh and Inverness once curricle from Morpeth, now discontinued, to 40. Mails History, History* about the at present conveyed partially by railway, from London to ' a-week.1 Somewhat earlier, (in 1662) a post was established are Edinburgh in 33 hours, and from Edinburgh to London in 36. between Ireland and Scotland, and the privy council gave RoUntil the year 1788, there was no direct mail from Lonbert Main, then postmaster-general, an allowance of L.200 sterling, to build a packet boat for conveying the mails be- don to Glasgow. Previously to that period, the course of had been five days, the letters being sent round by tween Portpatrick and Donaghadee. 1 he postage to Ireland post Edinburgh ; and as no mails were dispatched from the latter was sixpence. But whatever was effected in these respects city upon Sunday, there was in consequence one arrival the in Scotland, seems to have been entirely by the authority of less at Glasgow each 4 week. Dr. Cleland tells, when the local executive, or the magistrates of the principal towns; a direct mail conveyance was first established (athat, little bethe first legislative act appointing an internal post in Scotland, being that of the 20th of the 5th Session of the 1st fore the time now spoken of) from London to Carlisle, the Parliament of William III., passed at Edinburgh in 1695. mail for Glasgow, that otherwise would have been the one The preamble of this act embodies the statement that, “ for delayed on Sunday at Edinburgh, was transmitted through the maintenance of mutual correspondence, and preventing Carlisle to Glasgow in four days; notwithstanding which of many inconveniences that happen by private posts, sever- the mails of the other days were allowed for a year to be al public post-offices have been heretofore erected for carry- carried round by Edinburgh; and the delay, the means of ing and receiving letters by posts, to and from most parts saving which was thus shewn in regard to one day in the and places of this kingdom.” This act, as also that of the week, acquiesced in for all the other days. One of the most remarkable steps which the post-office 12th Charles II., was repealed (unless so far as re-enacted) has made in advance, is usually and justly considered to be bv the statute of Anne above referred to. The act of Queen Anne established a general post-office the adoption of Mr. Palmer’s celebrated plan in 1784. The for, and throughout the kingdom of Great Britain and Ire- chief part of this plan, as is well known, was, to have the land, and the colonies in North America and the West mails conveyed in charge of an armed guard, by the stageIndies, with one master of such office, who was to bear the coaches, (which thus became mail coaches) instead of by a name and style of her Majesty’s postmaster-general. The boy on horseback, or mail cart, as formerly. The credit postmaster-general was empowered to keep one chief letter- due to Mr. Palmer, is not perhaps so properly that of haying office in Edinburgh, one in Dublin, one in New York, and discovered a means to an end, as that of having conceived others in the West Indies. In the year 1784, however, and aimed at the end itself; for it is not easy to see how about which time there prevailed in Ireland a remarkable the increased speed and regularity, which were in effect jealousy of any assumption of superiority on the part of obtained, were bound up in his specific proposal, or how Britain, an act was passed by the Irish parliament, by which, (as the advantages of that proposal are sometimes described) as well as by certain corresponding acts2 on the part of the the post-office was at once to borrow regularity from the stageBritish legislature, the Irish post-office was withdrawn from coaches, and the stage-coaches from the post office. Mr. the government of the British postmaster-general, and plac- Palmer’s merit really consisted in seeing that a greater deed under an independent officer styled “ his Majesty’s post- gree of speed and regularity in post conveyance was possimaster-general for Irelandbut the two offices were, agree- ble, which nobody saw but himself; and in catching the hint from the stage-coaches, which nobody else caught. The ably to the recommendation of the commissioners of revenue inquiry, again consolidated by an act passed in 1831 ;J and advantage of employing the stage-coaches instead of conat the same time the office of deputy postmaster-general veyances furnished expressly by the post-office, would seem of Scotland was abolished. The whole affairs relating to to resolve mainly into the point of economy. Mr. Palmer was afterwards appointed controller of the the post-office throughout the kingdom, were thus put under the direct management of the London board ; but the post-office, in which capacity he is understood to have made secretaries at Edinburgh and Dublin are still the organs of some important improvements in the internal details and communication with the country offices, and exercise a arrangements. The first mails on Mr. Palmer’s plan, were the Bath and general administrative superintendence in their respective Bristol, on the 2d August 1784. Previously to the adopdivisions of the kingdom. tion of this plan, the ordinary speed of the post is said to During the period for which an account has now been have been but about r three miles and-a-half in an hour. given of what may be called the constitutional history of. After that, the speed w as doubled. At present, the average the post-office, a very great increase has, as may be suppos- speed of the mail coaches, is eight miles seven furlongs, the ed, taken place, in the speed of conveyance, and the extent highest reaching to ten miles five furlongs. This is exclusive of stops. of the communications maintained. The number of miles travelled over'in England and ScotFor a considerable time after the first establishment of the post-office, there were no relays of post-boys or horses land, by the mail 5coaches in 1833, was 5,911,006; in 1836 at different stages ; one man and horse accomplishing the it was 6,643,217. Mails were first conveyed between Liverpool and Manwhole ride, and taking the necessary rests by the way. The post between Edinburgh and Aberdeen stopped one night chester, in 1828. Three communications took place daily at Dundee, and another at Montrose. This system con- between these towns, until September 1835; afterwards there tinued in Scotland till about the middle of the last century. were four, and latterly there have been six, from Liverpool Until 1763, the communication between London and Edin- to Manchester, and five the contrary way. The important line burgh was only three times a week ; but in that year it was of railway connecting London with Birmingham, Liverpool, made to be five times a week. At first, the mail was 85 and Manchester, and extending northwards to Preston, havhours in travelling from London to Edinburgh, and 131 ing lately been opened, mails are now regularly transmitted hours in returning. In 1757, the time was shortened to 82 by it from the capital to the various towns in the extensive hours in the one case, and 85 in the other. Latterly, the and populous district through which it passes, and onwards journey has been performed by the mail coach, in 42 and to Scotland and Ireland, from its terminating points in each 45 hours, the 42 being farther reduced, by the use of the direction. A travelling post office is conveyed along the 1 The former was established by the magistrates of Aberdeen,2 but was transferred to the direction of the 3Scotch postmaster-general in 41674..—Kennedy’s AnnaZs, vob i. p. 262. 24 Geo. III. c. 6, 8. , 1 Wm. IV. c. 8. Statistical Account of Glasgow. s App. to First Report of Postage Com. 1838, No. 23.

POST-OFFICE. History, line, in which letters are sorted during the passage, the adcourse of post with that part of the world has been very History, vantage of which will be afterwards explained. The only, greatly shortened. Letters for India can also be forwarded or principal, other line of railway by which mails are at through France by steam boats sailing three times a month present conveyed, is that connecting Carlisle and Newcas- from Marseilles. tle, but this mode of carriage must of course extend itself Very important facilities and immunities have recently as newr lines are completed. A late act1 empowers the been given in regard to the transmission of neiapapers. postmaster-general to require railway proprietors to carry At first the transmission of newspapers seems to have the mails at a rate fixed by arbitration. The effect of the been^a privilege confined to certain officers in the post-office. rapid transmission of correspondence by railway, increased In 1763 an act was passed,* giving the sanction of law to a.s that rapidity yet may be, if there were added such a re- what then seems to have become the current practice, duction of postage as has lately been proposed, would al- namely, that of allowing newspapers to be sent free by memmost be that of bringing the inhabitants of the extremes of bers of Parliament and certain public officers, when signed the kingdom into personal communication. The revolution on the outside by their hand, or to such members at any which may thus be produced on trade, science, government, place of which they had given notice in writing to the postand social economy, it is hardly possible to calculate. master-general. By gradual relaxations, the restrictions on In the course of the last twelve or fifteen years, the facilities the free transmission of newspapers degenerated into a mere of communication, both inland and foreign, have been mate- form, that of printing or writing a member’s name on the rially extended, by reduction of postage duties and otherwise. cover; and in 1825 an act6 was passed, rendering even the Until the year 1827, letters passing bettveen Britain and observance of this form unnecessary. The same act, as Ireland had been charged the added amount of the British subsequently amended,’ allowed printed newspapers to be and Irish land postage, severally taken. From that year, the sent to the colonies, by the packet boats, at a postage of rate has been calculated the same as if such letters had been one penny halfpenny each paper, and colonial newspapers conveyed the whole distance in Great Britain. At the same to be brought to Britain and Ireland, by packet or private time, the law which required double postage to be charged ship, at a postage of threepence. In 18348 the postage on on one sheet of paper with two letters written on it, or a let- newspapers sent to the colonies by packet, and on colonial ter and invoice, &c. was repealed, and a single sheet declared newspapers brought by packet, was wholly taken off. At 2 to be in any case but a single letter. this time, too, a most important enactment was made in re3 In the year 1835 it was enacted, that after an agreement gard to the transmission of newspapers to and from foreign shall have been made with the post-office of any foreign king- states. Hitherto the power of such transmission (unless at dom or state, it shall be optional with persons sending let- an expense amounting to a prohibition) had been enjoyed ters by post to such foreign kingdom, to pay both the Bri- exclusively by certain officers in the post-office, from whom tish and foreign postage at the time of sending the same, or individuals could only obtain the accommodation at a conto send the same without payment of any part of the post- siderable charge. By the statute now passed, British and age, or to pay the British postage only: persons residing Irish newspapers were allowed to be sent to foreign states, in foreign kingdoms having the same option. Following and foreign newspapers received into Britain and Ireland out the powers given by this statute, a convention was at a postage of twopence for each paper. A later statute9 entered into, and signed at Paris, on the 30th March 1836, extends tlse accommodation still farther, by a clause authobetween his Britannic Majesty and the King of the French, rising the postmaster-general to allow newspapers to pass in wdiich the requisite arrangements are made for giving free to and from such foreign states as grant a correspondthe proposed option as to payment of postage on all cor- ing allowance in regard to Britain; or even, if he sees fit, withrespondence between France, on the one hand, and Great out such a reciprocal arrangement on the part of other states ; Britain and Ireland, and those British colonies and posses- or to impose in any case an equivalent duty. And, by virsions where the post-office of Great Britain has establish- tue of these provisions, there is now a free transmission of ed post-offices, on the other. The postage between Paris newspapers between Britain and the following states and and the British frontier is fixed at one franc, between Lon- places abroad: viz. Hamburg, Bremen, Cuxhaven, Dendon and the French frontier at tenpence, and in proportion mark, Spain, Greece, Ionian Islands, Hayti, Buenos Ayres, for other distances in each kingdom. And though under Brazil, Columbia. British newspapers are sent to France. the present arrangements the option of sending letters with- without any charge in this country, but pay four centimes out payment is confined to those for France alone, letters there. NewspapersFrance are charged one halfpenny may be sent through France, paid for the full distance, to in Britain. any post town in Switzerland, Sardinia, Central Germany, At this time also newspapers to or from penny post towns, or Bavaria; also to the Southern Italian States, as far as passing through the general post, were freed from penny Sarzane, the Italian frontier of Sardinia, and to Austria, postage. To these facilities for the circulation of newspapers is to Bohemia, Venice, &c., as far as the French frontier offices of Huninguen or Forbach. be added that arising from the important alteration in the By the same statute,4 the postage on letters sent by pri- stamp laws, by which the duty on newspapers was reduced, 15th September 1836, from B^d. (nomivate ship from the United Kingdom to places beyond seas, from and after the (which until then had been one-half of the packet rates), nally 4d.) to Id.10 In proceeding to give a brief account of the post-office B,lsh|e's was fixed at the uniform rate of eightpence, single, on letac business and establishments, it may not be improper to *" blislfmeiits ters posted at the port, and one shilling if posted at any other IS1 ^ *■ part of the kingdom. Letters were at the same time per- vert to the new and improved accommodation lately promitted to be sent abroad, from any port, by a private vessel, vided for the use of this department, in the metropolis. without passing through the post-office, or from one port to About the year 1815 the premises in Lombard Street being another, within the United Kingdom, by private ship, at a found, after every possible enlargement, to be quite inadequate for the uses they were required to serve, measures sea postage of eightpence. In 1835, a post communication was opened up between were taken for the erection of a more ample, commodious, Britain and India, through the Mediterranean, by which the and elegant structure. It was not, however, until Septem1 5 8

3 1 and 2 Viet. c. 98. * 7th and 8th Geo. IV- r.6 21. 5th and 6th Will IV. c. 25. 4th Geo. III. c. 24. 6th Geo. IV. c. 68. 9 4th and 5th Will. IV. c. 44. 6th and 7th Will. IV. c. 54. (1836.) vol. xvm.

4 7 19

5th and 6th Will. IV. c. 25. 7th and 8th Geo. IV. c. 21. 6th and 7th Wdl. IV. c. 76. 3Q

POST-OFFICE. 490 and as many in telling up. The newspapers are sort- Business Business ber 1829, that this purpose was finally accomplished, and ing, an 4 and the new building brought into a state of readiness tor the ed by the letter-carriers in their own office: from 120 to 300 being thus employed on different days. Six or more ' establish- pUblic service. It is constructed of Portland stone, alter a are occupied in examining newspapers, to detect private, design by Mr. Smirke, and is in length about 390 feet, width ' 130, and height 64. The principal front, towards the west, communications, enclosures, &c. From forty to sixty newscharged daily, the postage amounting to L.100 in St. Martin’s-le-grand, is composed of three Ionic porticos, papers areAfter all these operations are finished, the bags that in the centre surmounted with a pediment. 1 he mid- a-week. are to be filled, tied, sealed, and delivered to the guards. dle space in the interior, lying between the principal and The daily average of letters dispatched from London is back entrances, is occupied by a hall of eighty by sixty feet in extent, having a range of columns and pilasters on each 36,000. On Mondays the number is from 40,000 to 50,000. side. On the right, or south side of this hall, are the secie- The number of newspapers dispatched from London in tary’s, accountant’s, and receiver-general’s chambers, toge- the last three months of 1835, was 3,146,127 ; of 183/, ther with the foreign letter and twopenny post-offices. I he 5,020,230 ; the one period being previous, the other subopposite side contains the inland, the newspaper, and the sequent, to the reduction of the stamp duty. On Saturdays ship-letter offices. The mails, inwards and outwards, pass and Mondays, when the numbers are greatest, (sometimes through a vestibule on the eastern front, communicating exceeding 100,000,) it is necessary to engage one or two with the inland office. The latter is nearly ninety feet in outside seats on the coaches for their conveyance. Somelength, and about fifty-six in width ; the letter-carriers, or times they are sent separately by the stage-coaches. About newspaper office, adjoining the inland, 103 by 35. The 3000 are sent by the Edinburgh mail. The weight of the building contains a variety of other apartments for the dif- Edinburgh mail, as ascertained by one evening’s trial, was ferent branches of the service, general and particular. To as follows : sacks and bags, 1 cwt. 9 lb. 8 oz.; 2296 newsavoid the inconvenience and confusion of communication, papers, 2 cwt. 2 qrs. 3 lb. 8 oz.; two stamp parcels, 1 qr. through the public hall, between the departments on each 12 lb.; 484 franks, 1 qr. 19 lb. 15 oz.; 1555 chargeable side of it, the letters are conveyed from the one to the other letters, 1 qr. 6 lb. 14 oz.; in all, 4 cwt. 2 qrs. 23 lb. 13 oz. through a tunnel below, by means of a curious machine! y The weight of the Holyhead mail on the 30th June 1838, was: bags, 1 cwt. 10 lbs.; letters, 1 cwt. 2 qrs. 17 lbs.; contrived on purpose. The office at St. Martin’s-le-grand, may be said to con- Newspapers, 15 cwt. 1 qr. 18 lbs. In the morning, on the arrival of the mails, the bags are sist of two distinct establishments; one is the grewera/postoffice, properly so called, or that devoted to the post busi- counted and inspected, to ascertain that all have arrived, ness of the empire in general; the other is just the post- and with the seals secure ; after which they are emptied, office of London. In the first division, under the post- and turned inside out, and the amount of the postage markmaster-general, are the departments of the secretary, ac- ed on the paid letters compared with the account sent by countant, the dead letter, mail coach offices, &c. The prin- the postmaster. The letters then undergo an examination, cipal departments of the second division, are the inland and in order to its being seen that all have been rightly charged, twopenny post offices. 1 he former has charge of the dis- as single, double, &c. Being then stamped, they are dispatch of the London letters and newspapers, and of those tributed into several larger divisions, as those for the twofrom abroad, passing through London, to all parts of the penny post, for the window-men, and for the different diskingdom. It also manages the delivery of all those arriv- tricts of the town ; which last divisions are again subdividing at, and destined for London.1 Subject to this depart- ed for the walks of individual letter-carriers. Each of the ment there are seventy receiving-houses within a circle of different persons to be engaged in the delivery is then rethree miles from the office. Within this circle letters are quired to tell the amount of postage on that portion of the taken in and delivered without any charge beyond the ge- letters committed to him ; and on his reporting an amount neral post rates. The inland office employs eighty-four corresponding with that brought out by a separate telling clerks, two hundred and ninety-one subsorters and letter- previously made, but not communicated, the charge becarriers, and about fifty messengers, stampers, &c. The comes established, and is signed by the party. In case of most arduous business of this department, that requiring the difference, reference is made to a third person. Each man s greatest energy and rapidity, is the dispatch of the mails, letters being then arranged, the delivery commences. The in number twenty-nine, at eight o’clock each evening. So letter-carriers having the more distant walks, are conveyed near has the time up to which letters and newspapers are to the ground by omnibuses, (of which ten are employed received, been brought to the hour of dispatch, and such is for this purpose,) each man being dropped at the comthe increase of business, particularly in regard to newspa- mencement of his walk. In the morning duties, there are pers, that it almost exceeds the utmost efforts of the per- fifteen persons employed in opening the bags, and checksons engaged to accomplish the duties within the limited ing the accounts ; nine in examining letters ; fifty sorters ; space. By an account kept on the 19th February 1838, it and ten tellers. The number of letters arriving in London was found that of 47,795 letters received at the inland of- daily, is from 30,000 to 40,000. There is a separate department for dispatch and receipt fice, up to fifteen minutes before eight, only 9>428 had arrived before half-past five, and 9,842 came in after seven. of foreign mails, and another for the same duties in regard The sum of 6d. charged on each letter taken in during a to ship-letter mails. Masters of vessels are allowed 2d. for limited time each day after the receiving box is shut, each letter brought from, or carried abroad. The number of letters from France in the year 183/, amounts to above L.1000 a-year. Sometimes 30,000 newspapers are received within the last fifteen minutes allowed was from 30,000 to 36,000, and about half as many more for taking them in. The letters are successively stamped, in transit, through France. Letters expedited to France, sorted into divisions corresponding with the principal lines from 33,000 to 39,000 ; in transit through France, from of road, taxed, (or2 marked with postage, after the neces- 11,000 to 15,000. Newspapers sent to the continent of sary examination,) and subdivided for post towns. The Europe, about 30,000 per month ; received, about 20,000. The London penny, or twopenny post, was first set on foot amount charged on each postmaster is then told, and entered in his bill, and duplicate preserved. From thirty-five by a person named Murray, an upholsterer, about the year to fifty-five persons are employed in sorting, twenty in tax- 1683, and by him assigned to one Dockwra. A suit, how1 2

Foreign mails arriving after the general post delivery, are delivered by the twopenny post letter-carriers. Stamping is performed at the rate of from 100 to 200 letters in a minute; examining and taxing, 33; and sorting, 30.

POST-OFFICE. Business ever, was commenced against the latter by Government, pers posted at all the offices throughout the United Kingand and the management of this post withdrawn from him. But establish- he received an indemnification, and was afterwards appoint- dom, in the week commencing 15th January 1838 : General post letters, paid 164,719 ments. ed controller of the office. The present limits of the twounpaid, 776,543 penny and threepenny posts were fixed in 1831. Penny post, paid, 16,998 K penny ox twopenny post-office delivers and collects the unpaid, 123,773 correspondence of a particular portion of the district bePrivileged, 122,901 longing to any principal office. In the former respect, Total, 1,204,935 (however the duties may be farther subdivided,) it just perOf which forms the part of one letter-carrier, with merely the differFor England, 916,815 ence of the additional charge on the letters. All letters ... Scotland, 128,584 arriving by the general post at London, for parties residing ... Ireland, 159,536 beyond a circle of three, and within a circle of twelve 1,204,935 miles, are transferred to the twopenny post department for delivery ; and letters posted for dispatch within the same Total newspapers, 842,646 space, are collected by this department, and transferred to London twopenny post, (not included above,) total letthe general post. Such letters are charged 2d. in addition ters, 231,900; newspapers, 10,724. to the general post rates. So far the London twopenny In the week commencing 29th January, the total number post performs exactly the same functions as any of the was (including the London twopenny post) 1,550,620,—the penny posts in other parts of the kingdom. It differs from postage amounting to L.45,509 : Newspapers 858,927. In them in so far as it collects and delivers all the local cor- the week commencing 5th March, the proportion of the respondence, not merely in its own portion of the district classes of general post letters w'as, (in the united kingdom), annexed to the principal office, but in the whole of that single, 699,182 ; double, 38,562; treble, 11,358; ounce, district: having its own receiving houses, and its own let- 1,908 ; above an ounce, 2447. ter-carriers, within, as well as beyond, the circle of general The number of charged newspapers returned to the deadpost delivery. Letters both posted and delivered within letter office in London in 1837, was above 19,000. The the three-mile circle, are charged with a postage of two- number of undelivered letters, opened and returned to the pence ; those crossing beyond it into the space within the writers, are about 20,000 in a month. wider circle, or vice versa ; also those both posted and deThe total number of ship-letters (i. e. letters by private livered between the inner and outer circles, threepence. ship, not post-office packets,) both sent and received through The twopenny post subdivides its duties within the three- all the posts in the kingdom was, mile circle, among four branch offices, besides the chief For the year ending 5th January 1834, 1,044,000 office of the department. The correspondence to and from 1838, 1,547,000 these, as well as to and from the district beyond the threeThe two principal ship-letter ports are Liverpool and Hull; mile circle, is conveyed by horse posts, or mail carts. The the former being the great channel (by the weekly packets) rides to the country are ten in number, some dividing into to America; the latter (by the steam-boats to Hamburgh two branches, besides four cross rides. There are 209 two- twice a-week,) to Germany and the north of Europe. The penny post receiving houses1 within the three-mile circle, number of letters sent by these, was, Liverpool. Hull. and 194 in the country, and 640 letter-carriers and assistFor the year ending 5th January 1834, 15,318 15,797 ants, of whom 270 are employed within the smaller circle. 1838, 63,116 47,457 Seven collections and deliveries take place daily within the The regular mail packets for the conveyance of foreign three-mile circle, and from two to six between it and the outer one. The whole of the twopenny and threepenny post and colonial correspondence are as follows :— To France, every day except Sunday, by Dover and Caletters, wheresoever collected, are carried to the chief office, and reissued from thence, with exception only of those pass- lais, (steam). To Belgium, by Dover and Ostend, four ing between receiving houses lying in the line of one ride. times a-week, (steam). To Hamburgh from London, twice The whole number of persons employed on the London a-week, and to Holland by London and Rotterdam, twice general and twopenny post establishment in 1835, was 1338. a-week. (These two mails are conveyed by contract in priThis includes the country surveyors, 7, and mail guards, vate steam-vessels.) From Falmouth, to Lisbon, Cadiz, and Gibraltar, once a228. In the same year there were 258 persons2 on the Dublin, and 97 on the Edinburgh establishment. But there week, (steam). From Gibraltar to Malta, Greece, and Ionian Islands, once a-fortnight, and from Malta to Egypt and has been some increase since. The number of post-offices is constantly varying. At India, every four weeks, (steam). To Jamaica, St. Domingo, and Leeward Islands, once apresent they may be stated about as follows : England 649 ; Scotland 211 ; Ireland 328 : Sub-offices '5 in the three king- fortnight, carrying letters to La Guayra one fortnight, to Carthagena the other. To Mexico and Cuba, monthly. doms, respectively 191—105—102 : Penny posts 1085 To Halifax, North America, monthly. To Madeira, Bra225—197. Convention or fifth clause ^o^ in England 50. There are 42 offices in the interior of Jamaica, and 33/ in zil, and Buenos Ayres, monthly. The mails are conveyed between the West India islands British North America. There are in England, Scotland, and Ireland, 194 mail by steam-boats, on contract. On the Falmouth station, there are thirty vessels employcoaches and other carriages; 217 saddle-horse posts; 3/4 ed in the packet service, six at the Dover station, and eight mail carts, and 806 foot posts. The following are the numbers of letters and newspa- steam vessels from the Ihames. n 2p consolidationPaper, of the^ postyears receivffig-houses^ Parhamentary No. ^^and^wopenny 442. About ninety betoie p

chcleAs^understoodbein^postnfaste^s| the^hree-mhe ^ ^ time ^ Edinb h establishment (Sir John letter

of private letter-carriers.” fPresent State of Great

by Mr. olton D45J

po;tf.t°SieedS r«»r^roinfi^rSi* become bound for any deficiency in the expense of maintaining them.

,nd

^ -”'

offlcer design,,ed apprehender “ ^ ^ incipai offices. “ Fifth clause

^

POST-OFFICE. 492 Business For communication between Britain and Ireland, there are on other offices. Thus the postage on every letter whatever, Rates,1 and packets from Liverpool and Holyhead to Kingston, hom paid or unpaid, is brought to the charge of one office or wv ** establish- Milford to Waterford, and from Port-Patrick to Donaghadee. another. Both the items of every bill are entered in an acments. , There are also packets from Weymouth to Guernsey and count at each of the two offices to which its contents relate ; Jersey, Liverpool to Isle of Man, Aberdeen to Shetland, &c. the one account checking the other, and the bill remaining Until about fifteen years ago, the post-office had the whoie to settle differences if any ; and when the accounts are sumcharge of procuring, fitting out, and maintaining the difFei - med, the charge against each postmaster is just his sent paid, ent mail packets. About that time the Falmouth packets and received unpaid. This charge he liquidates either by were transferred to the Admiralty. A further transfer of actual remittances, by allowances to his credit for his own most or all of the others was recommended by different com- salary and other payments, and by his dead-letter account. missions appointed to inquire into the management of the The last is vouched, first, by dead-letters actually returned; post-office, and carried into effect last year, (1837). The secondly, by receipts for overcharges ; and thirdly, by claims grounds of this recommendation were, that the duties re- for letters re-sent to other offices ; which claims, as noted quired for the efficient and economical management of the on a form prepared for that purpose and transmitted along packets, were such as the peculiar habits and qualifications with the re-sent letter, are certified by the receiving postof the heads of a civil department did not adequately fit them master ; and being forwarded to the inspector of dead-letto perform. A great saving has accordingly been effected ters, serve to check the claimant’s account. The country postmasters’ remittances are made to the seby the change of management. The packet communication with France is regulated by treaty made in 1833 ; and that cretary, who transfers them over to the receiver-general, with Belgium by a similar treaty made the following year.1 after furnishing a note of the amount to the accountant, who France maintains her own packets for carriage of the french from thence credits the postmaster, and debits the receivermails to Dover ; but receives from L.10,000 to L. 12,000 an- general. The revenue collected at the general post-office nually from Britain for transit postage ofletters carried through is paid direct into the hands of the receiver-general by the her dominions to Italy, Turkey, Switzerland, Spain, &c^, persons actually collecting, who are merely the window according to a scale fixed by the treaties of 1802 and 1836. clerks and the letter-carriers ; the charge against each, cerOut of this, however, she has to pay to Austria the transit tified by the parties as admitted, being furnished at once to duty of letters passing through that country. Hamburgh the receiver-general and the accountant by the superintendletters is sent from the and Holland pay nothing for having their correspondence ing officer. No account of the conveyed by British packets, but charge no transit. Bel- general to the country offices ; the check being there maingium also charges no transit against Britain, and moreover tained betv/een one department and another. Postmasters pays L.1000 yearly for packet conveyance, there being four advancing the charge on a letter observed to be under-taxed, weekly mails to that country, and only two to Llamburgh are required to put their initials to the alteration, which, if and fiolland. From L.200 to L.300 a-year is paid by Rio the letter is for their own delivery, is in effect sending out a receipt for the additional charge. Janeiro. The deputy postmasters-general in the colonies are charged The mode in which letters are circulated, and the post revenues collected, is as follows:—Each of the three capi- with the amount of letters sent them by each mail, in the tals, London, Edinburgh, and Dublin, sends a bag direct to, same way as the country postmasters within the kingdom ; and receives one direct from, every office in its respective the method of check and account between the internal codivision of the kingdom. Every postmaster sends a bag to lonial offices being also the same as between the different every office on the different lines of road leading from his own, country offices at home. The present rates of inland postage in the_United King- Rates, as far as the first office (inclusive), at which the mail conveyance makes a stop. Into the bag for the most distant office, dom are as follows:— Ireland, are put all the letters (tied up together indiscriminately) (for same disthat are for places beyond it; and which, accordingly, are tance in Irish here sorted into the bags for each place, as far as that, inBritain. miles.) d. d. d. clusive, where the next stop takes place, and where the same 2 and 3 process is repeated. Letters thus sent to another office to For any distance not exceeding 8 miles, 2 4 0 ... 3 be sorted and forwarded are called forward letters. Such Above 8, not exceeding 15 5 0 ... 4 as are to go off at a cross line, are sent, as forvcard, to the 15, 20 4 and 5 6 office from which the cross line diverges. This is the gene20, 30 6 and 7 ral principle of the circulation. The moving post-office on 7 30, 50 8 8 and 9 the railway answers all the purpose that a sorting office in50, 80 terposed between every two stations on the line would do, 80, 120 9 and 10 9 at the same time saving the necessity of stoppage. Every 170 10 11 and 12 120, office conveys its letters, as forward, into the moving one 11 12 and 13 230 170, as it passes. In it, the mails for the station next occur12 230, 300 13 and 14 ring are immediately made up, ready against arrival there : the letters going to stations beyond being sepaAnd for every 100 miles above 300, (or fractional part rated, so to speak, as forward on the position of the mov- of that distance,) one penny additional. ing office, after passing that station. Letters are taxed If the amount of all the rates in this scale is taken, and (or marked with postage) as well as stamped, at the office divided by the number of rates, it will yield an average of where they are put in; and with every bag is sent a bill 9d. A similar process applied to the scale of 1710, gives containing simply two items, namely, the amount of postage 3^d. for the average. The increase in the intermediate pefor letters in the bag, chargeable on the sending postmaster riod has been almost gradual, though the intervals between for paid, and on the receiving, for unpaid. The bill conse- the alterations have been very different. There was no alquently does not include the. paid postage on letters from teration from 1710 to 1765. Since that time, either in the offices behind the sending postmaster’s, nor on wwjoafc?letters British or Irish, there have been ten alterations. In 1800 going beyond the receiving postmaster’s: the former having the average was 5|-d.; in 1810, 7-^d. been already charged, the latter afterwards to be charged The sea rates from Port-Patrick, Holyhead, or Milford 1

Sixth Itq)ort of Commissioners of Post- Office Inquiry.

POS T-G F F I C E. 493 Exemp- Haven, and Liverpool, to Ireland, are respectively 4d. 2d. nous, and 8d.; from Weymouth to Guernsey and Jersey 3d • and' bers sometimes procured a number of franks for the pur- Exemp} ^%^from Liverpool to the Isle of Man, 6d. ’ nd pose of selling them. Occasionally, too, considerable frauds tions. Ihe packet postage fiom London to France is lOd • to were practised by writing promissory notes or other instruSwitzerland, Is. 2d.; Holland and Belgium, and Germany ments over the signature of a member given on a blank cover. by members in writinevia France, Is. 4d ; Germany and north of Europe, (by Many curious devices w^ere used 4 their signature to prevent this. The estimated postage of Hamburgh,) Is. 8d.; Spain, Italy, and Turkey, via France Is. 7d.; Spam, via Cadiz, 2s. 2d.: to which is to be added flanked letters in 1/15 was L.23,600 ; in 1763 it had risen the inland late to London, less 2c?., from any office in the to L. 170,700. Until that period, a letter passed free simEven the requirement country, where a letter may be posted. From Falmouth to ply by the signature of a member. by the act passed in 1763,5 that the wholer superscripPortugal is Is. 7d.; Madeira, Azores, and Canaries, Is 8d • made Brazils, 2s. 7d.; West Indies and North America, Is 3d • tion should be in the member’s hand-writing, w as found an and inland postage to Falmouth, less Idf.; to Buenos Ayres' insufficient check to the6 abuse ; and it was further required Chili, Peru, 2s. Sd^; St Domingo, Is. 3d.; Carthagena^ La by the statute o. 1 / 84, that the direction should bear the name of the post-town, and the day, (written in words at Guayra, Mexico, Honduras, Cuba, 2s. Id.; and the full in- length) and year of posting. Letters can be frankland postage to Falmouth. To Gibraltar, Malta, Ionian ed from month, any post-town which the member has been within Islands, Greece, Egypt, and India, (by steam from Falmouth ) twenty miles of, on the day of, or day before date. They a uniform rate of 2s. 6d. from all parts of the kingdom. To cannot be delivered but for full postage at a place where the Cape of Good Hope, East Indies, New South Wales, and member himself is not, (as to any agent or relation,) unless van Diemens Land, 2d. more than the inland postage. at his residence in London, or his proper house of parliament. Letters from India, Van Diemen’s Land, Cape ofGeod Printed votes and proceedings in parliament pass free unHope, &c., 4d. a letter above the inland postage ; from other der certain regulations to and from members of parliament parts of the world by private ship, 8d. a single letter, and in and some public officers. Petitions to parliament, not exproportion for double, &c. The charge on ship-letters out- ceeding six ounces in weight, may be sent free to any memwards, has been already noticed. ber in covers open at the ends. Ah letters to places abroad must be paid at posting, exIn 1653, the post-office revenue w as farmed for L. 10,000; Revenue, cept packet letters for the British colonies in America and in 3663 it yielded L.21,500; in 1685, when made over to the West Indies, or for France. Failing of this, the letters James II. as part of his private income, it was estimated at are opened at the dead-letter office, and returned to the L.65,000. The average of the nett revenue, during the writers. eight years of King William’s wars, is stated" at L 67,222 ; Letters to and from soldiers and seamen in the service, during four years of subsequent peace, at L.82,319 ; the pass through the whole British1 dominions for a postage of average of the years 1707—10, at LAS,052 ; of 1711—14, one penny, payable in advance. at L.90,223. The gross in 1711,8 wasL.l 11,426. In 1722 Letters under an ounce weight are charged single, dou- the gross was L.201,804, nett L.98,010. From that period ble, or tiiple, according to the number of pieces of which till after the middle of the century, the revenue, though of they consist; triple being the highest rate below that weight. course, subject to occasional fluctuations, made on the An ounce is charged four single postages, and every addi- whole but little advance, since we find that of the year 1754 tional quarter of an ounce, a single postage more. to be only, gross, L.210,663, nett, L.97,365. Its progress for ExempCertain public officers, nearly a hundred in number, have the remainder of the century, taken at intervals often years, twns. the privilege of franking without any limitation either as to (each ending 5th April), may be seen as follows :9 weight or number of letters. Every member of parliament Rate per cent, can send ten and receive fifteen letters a-day, free; each Gross. Nett. of Collection. letter not exceeding one ounce in weight, and being to and fiom a place within the United Kingdom. On occasion of 1764, L.242,566 116,128 52 1774, passing the bill for the regulation of the post-office in 1657, 51 164,077 334,829 “ a proviso was tendered for freeing members of parliament 1784, 452,404 196,514 56 and other officers of state from payment of any money for 1794, 431.981 915,608 40 1800, 1,083,950 720.981 30 letters, which was laid aside w ithout a question.”2 Freedom from postage, however, was claimed by the House of Com- From the beginning of the present century the revenue conmons in 1660, but the claim wras afterwards dropped on an tinued increasing progressively until the year ending the 5th assurance from the crown that rthe privilege would be allow- January 1816 ; the following year it was considerably lower, ed. Accordingly, a warrant w as always issued to the post- and never rose to such an amount again, until the corresmaster-general directing the allowance to the extent of two ponding year 1837, when it reached its highest. The folounces in weight.3 The privilege, however, was abused to lowing table exhibits the particulars; (the Marlborough an enormous extent, so much so that the servants of mem- grants, &c. are not included in the charges of collection.) There are other descriptions of special, and modifications of general rates, which would require too much space to particularize. The system of rates is full of the most preposterous niceties and anomalies. It is but fair to state, however, that some attempts have lately been made to introduce greater uniformity, as in the ship-letter and 4Mediterranean rates. * Journals, 9th June. * Blackstone. See Gentleman's Magazine, 1784, vol. liv. ; also vol. xxvii. p. 593. * 4 Geo. III. c. 24. 6 24 Geo. III. c. 37. ‘Chambers’s Historical View of the Domestic Economu of Britain. The cross, on a medium of three years prior to 1898, is stated by D’Avenant at L.90,440. u 8 The revenue, as stated for the years previous to 1711, are believed to include the Irish From that year to the end of the century, the account given relates to the British revenue solely; the Irish, for this period, not being stated in any of the documents from which the account is taken. In comparing different accounts of the post-office revenue, even including those found in parliamentary documents, the most puzzling discrepancies are to be met with. These, however, are not so much, if at all, to be ascribed to error, as to differences, not expressed in the subjects of the statements. Sometimes the Irish, or twopenny post revenue is included, sometimes not; the revenue for a year, ending 5th April or 5th January, is sometimes given as the revenue for that, sometimes for the preceding year; the nett sometimes means the remainder after deducting from the gross the simple charges of management, sometimes after farther deduction of returns, parliamentary grants, &c. ’ Second Report of Postage Com. Ap. p. 176. The nett is after deduction of returns. In 1782, the expense of collection was 72 per cent.

I

POST-OFFICE. General and Twopenny Post of United Kingdom.1 Year ended

Gross.

£ 956,212 1,619,196 1,645,835 1,589,762 1,393,465

£ 29 29 28

82,729 110,540 79,597 98,947

1,522,640 1,513,052 1,428,352 1,632,267

26 30 29 26

£ 5th Jan. 1804 1,429,429 1816 2,418,741 1837 2,461,806 Greatest in the interval} 1827 2,392,271 from 1816-37 J 1822 2,122,965 Smallest Greatest (absolute) a-} stated above. 1827 mountot charges of col- > lection from 1816-37..J 1820 2,191,562 586,193 Smallest ditto 1835 2,319,979 696,387 Greatest returns 1823 2,128,926 620,977 Smallest ditto 1826 2,367,567 636,353 Greatest nett stated above. 1822 Smallest ditto The gross Irish general post revenue for the year ending 5th January 1800, was L.84,040; it increased progressing until 1816 when it reached L.225,000 ; it never attained so high again until 1829, from which it continued increasing till 1832, when it reached its highest, viz.L.2o6,9 / 6. In 1837 it was L.255,070. The lowest amount after 1816 was that of 1823, which was L.l86,024. The highest nett in the whole period was in 1832, viz. L.154,322; the smallest after 1816, was 1821, viz. L.65,017. The highest rate per cent, of collection, January 1800, LwO, 9s. 2d., lowest, 1832, L,32, 11s. 9d. The gross receipts of the London twopenny post in the year ending January 5,1804, was L.60,069; 1837, L.l 20,801; nett for the same years, L.35,640 and L.73,334 ; rate per cent, of collection for the same years, L.40, 13s. 3fd. and L.39, 5s. 10£d.2 It is related that in the year 1698, Sir Robert Sinclair of Stevenson had a grant from King William of the whole revenue of the post-office of Scotland, together with a pension of L.300 to maintain the post. Even with this allowance, however, the undertaking was considered hazardous and the grant surrendered. At the union, the post-office revenue was farmed for L.l 194. The nett revenue, on an average for three years preceding 1711, was estimated at only L.2000 ; in 1733 it was L.5399 ; in 1754, L.8927 ; in 1776, L.31,103. In the year ending 5th January 1801, the revenue was, gross, L.100,652, nett, L.83,755. It increased progressively till the corresponding year 1815, when the gross was L.203,366, nett, L.l6l,551. In 1822 the gross had sunk to L.179,404, whence again it took a start in the other direction, and in 1837 was L.220,759, nett, L.l60,813. The expense of collection in the present century has varied from 14 to 28 per cent.3 The amount of postage charged on postmasters in the West Indies and British North America in the year ended 5th January 1838, was L.78,905, of which above L.18,000 was for unpaid letters from Britain. Of the first sum, there was for Canada, L.38,977, for Jamaica, L.l 8,274. The postmaster-general is not responsible, under any circumstances, for the safety of letters passing through the post-office, nor for the value they may inclose, if lost or stolen. This point was first settled in the case, Lane v. the Postmaster-General, in 1699, (reported in Raymond, vol. i. p. 646). Some doubts hanging over the principle of this de1 3 4 5

Rate per cent, of collection.

Charges of Returns. collection. £ £ 416.767 56,450 704.639 94,906 704.768 111,203 706.640 95,869 84,259 645,241

Nett.

s. n. 3 n 2 7f 12 6f

29 10 9i 30 7 10i

14 0 3 17

1U 4 4 6

cision, the point was again tried, before Lord Mansfield, in 1778, (Whitfield v. the Postmaster-General, Cowper’s Reports, p. 754,) and judgment given for the defenders. The punishment of death for letter stealing was abolished in 1835,4 and transportation substituted. Forging, or altering a frank is punishable with seven years’ transportation. A newspaper with an enclosure, or any writing or marks, is subject to three times the postage of a packet of equal contents : which postage may be recovered from the sender,5 or the postmaster-general may prosecute as for a misdemeanour. Masters, crews, or passengers of vessels from abroad, failing to deliver their letters at the first postoffice, incur heavy fines. Penalties and postage debts not above L.20, are summarily recoverable. Letters once posted become the property of the person addressed, and cannot be again withdrawn. Other laws (those against illicit conveyance being frequently made public) are of less general concernment. In the year ending October 1834, there were fifteen criminal prosecutions in England for post-office offences, and twelve convictions, some of them capital; and thirtyfour prosecutions for penalties, in which the parties submitted. The whole acts relating to the post-office have been consolidated into five statutes, viz. 1 Victoria, ch. 32—36. The British post-office has generally been allowed to be Alleged remarkable for the precision and regularity with which it defects, &e. circulates the correspondence passing through it, and the celerity with which the official business is conducted ; and the prevalent opinion has until lately been, that the department, on the whole, has been skilfully and efficiently administered. Instances, however, both of defects and mismanagement, have, within these few years, been somewhat frequently brought forward, and perhaps with a degree of exaggeration answerable to the indifference with which they had in former periods been regarded. As respects, in the first place, the constitution of the department, the inexpediency has been maintained of having the supreme direction vested in a single person, generally a nobleman, removeable at every change of government, and who, by his education and habits, cannot be supposed peculiarly fitted to superintend an establishment, possessing fully more of a commercial than of a civil, or even fiscal character. The tendency, and even the actual effect of such a system has been alleged

Appendix to First Report of Postage Committee, 1838. * Old Statistical Account of Scotland, vol. vi. p. 586. Second Report of Postage Committee, 1838. 5 and 6 William IV. c. 81. The postage of all returned letters is recoverable from the sender, (1 Viet. c. 34, § 2,) but'the law has not hitherto been enforced-

POST-OFFICE. 495 Alleged to be, that of removing the charge from the really responsi- by the abstraction of letters containing value, may be said to Alleged defects, Stevie head, and throwing it upon a secondary officer. The have been of late in a great measure obviated by the esta- defects, abolition of the office of postmaster-general, and the substi- blishment of a system of money orders, to be granted by tution of a permanent board of three or more persons, has one office, payable at another, to the amount of L.5, at an accordingly been recommended by successive commissions expense of from 6d. to ] s. 6d. Larger sums can, in general, of inquiry ; and a bill for giving effect to such recommenda- be safely transmitted through banks. tion has been twice sent up from the lower, to the upper Within these few years, a plan of singular boldness and house of parliament, but refused a second reading by the ingenuity, and developed with the utmost perspicuity and latter. As regards the laws of the post-office, the grand fairness of intention, has been put forth by Mr. Rowland Hill; subject of complaint, and that on which perhaps the mind a plan which aims at the removal of several of the defects of of the community is more made up than on any other, is the present post system, but the practicability ofwhich is matter of much doubt and dispute. The main feature of this plan, the high rate of postage, both generally, and in particular cases, as for shorter distances, circuitous routes,1 penny as every body knows, consists in a proposal to reduce the postage on general post letters, and the like. That there postage of all letters under half an ounce weight, to a penny, is a great fault in this respect, is argued from the fact of to be collected by a stamp-duty on the paper of the letter there being little or no increase on the annual revenue, for or envelope. The great benefits of such a system as this more than twenty years ; and though this fact, to a certain are obvious, the objections are not less so. These (omitextent, at least, admits of other explanations, it is undeni- ting minor articles) resolve chiefly into this dilemma ; either able that a large amount of correspondence is conveyed the number of letters would not be sufficiently great to prootherwise than by post, merely to avoid the expense of pos- duce the required gross amount, or, if it were, they would tage ; and that the existing laws are insufficient, as would be unmanageable without an additional expense that would any laws be that could possibly be framed, to check such as much diminish the nett. On Mr. Hill’s part, the necessity practice. The complaints against the administration of the of the alternative is denied. As respects the first branch post-office relate principally to the alleged want of suffi- of it, he calculates on as many letters as would be sufficient ciently frequent and numerous communications on various at once to keep up the revenue, and defray any additional lines of road, and the consequent delay of correspondence, expense, first, from the falling in of all the illicit and most of which the most important case is the want of day mails of the franked correspondence ; next, from the great number and Sunday mails2 from London, there being at present but of letters that would be sent by persons who now cannot one day mail, and that but lately established. Without en- often, or at all, afford postage, and are restrained by fear or tering into a consideration of the justice of any of the com- conscience from smuggling ; and lastly from the variety of plaints now enumerated, (the fact of their existence being printed bills, lists, advertisements, &c., which may be legally all that it concerns the present purpose to notice), it may sent otherwise than by post, but for which the post would be remarked with regard to the nature of the particular be preferred at a low expense. On the other branch of the class just adverted to, that they frequently resolve into ques- alternative he maintains, that, as regards the matters of retions between the interests of one portion of the community ceipt, despatch, and delivery, the post-office, by being freed and those of another ; or into similar questions between a from examining, taxing, and the whole business of accounts, portion and the whole ; or between an advantage with a cor- would be relieved from a great part of the additional labour responding sacrifice, and the loss of such advantage ; ques- that would be imposed upon it by the increased number of tions to which the administrators of the post-office, at least, letters ; and, as to conveyance, that the estimated increase of profess and appear to have given full consideration, and, chargeable letters, would add but by a very small proportion^ either in regard to what is done or what is contemplated, to the weight or bulk of the mails; the far greater part of which is made up of newspapers, parliamentary documents, to have determined with a view to the best. 3 French One cause of complaint of not unfrequent occurrence, and franks. The French post-office, after the modern system, had its post-office. namely, that regarding the losses that occur in the post-office,

J

1 Since this was written, it has been announced that postage is in future to be charged only for the distance by the nearest carnage road without regard to the actual distance the letter may be conveyed. .... -j c . •. i2 It iS) perhaps, superfluous to observe, that the subject of Sunday mails and deliveries, involves considerations of a nature quite distinct from those on which questions, relating to post accommodation usually fall to he determined. . r , . great a reduction in the expense of correspondence, rvould meet wrthextens.ve favour and support, is 1 what might be expected ; and, consequently, in estimating the .f .n ^ £ Yield it is necessary to distinguish between a desire for its adoption, and a conviction of its practicability; so that vie may not ascribe to Se latter vvhat may be wholly due to the former. It is to be remembered, too, that what is called the practicahhty of the scheme is a very vague ipresS. In Aei.ric.es. sense, i. mns. mean practicability, consistently with the wo7d the post-office, or a revenue not materially smaller ; in another sense, the practical i y o P tv,eZiail differ in the sort of practiSU occasion no deficiency, but what could, and ought to be, otherwise provide oi. ^ P1 ,. manv individuals and bodies of cability which they ascribe to it; but a conviction of its praeticability genem y, as ^ e*P^ indiffeyrence of an embarrassment men, qualified by their knowledge and habits to judge of such a matter, of Mr Y id bl Th subject has been taken of the public finances, that a strong presumption of the intrinsic merits a ci ‘ 1 r SfnPrl!",, frSe suecifiC purpose. Regular inquiries up in most of the principal cities of the empire, by constituted bodies, or ^ ‘| ° ' ascertaining how far the present system is suffihave been instituted by the circulation of minute queries, and reotherw.se, w.t^ .Pand what increase of s urc nUe P cient as a meansbyofpost, accommodation ; bow ®might ^h ^ -P’ [ such a reduction of postage as Mr. as a ° take jpia Ce, under correspondence or decrease of illicitfar, conveyance, nresented to parliament, in behalf of Hill Mr. proposes. Numerous petitions from the most influential and respectab e quar f N b 1837 to conside^, generally, the subject of a Hill’s plan. A Committee of the House of CommonsHl11 appmnted on 23d of Nov^be, ^ has bJ, sitting, reduction of postage, and especially the merits ot Mr. ® P™1 ’ han’ts literary men, agents of trading companies, and philanthropic th examined a great number of witnesses officers of e P^t-office, h ^ to ^ ^ to ghew the working 0f the present sysassociations, clergymen, and others ; all descriptions o. P^® ’ ittee’ha at the same time, collected a vast body of statistical evidence tern, and to estimate the probable effects of the new. I he Committee ■> , • t f tbe investigation. The results of the inquiry relating to the post establishment, in regard to every particular bearing on the subject ot tbe investigation. have been communicated in two voluminous reports. rpnrpssion of correspondence altogether, and in another, to the That the present high rates of postage have ’ 1"^"^unt -a portion much more vast than had ever previously been suspected; diversion, into illegal channels, of a vast portion of its existing a > * • f tk moral feelings, which actions requiring conthat in the latter way, they beget a disregard to the law, and produce that detenorat,on ot the moral gn of know]edge, curb the cealment, tend to generate; that, in both ways, they embarrass the motions ot trade, checK tne a

POST-OFFICE. 496 French origin early in the 17th century. As in Britain, its re\enues 100,000 printed papers of different descriptions, dispatched United States post-office. a£ accrued to the postmaster, and were next tor a time from the former daily, Sundays not excepted. The French ost P -°/-fficew ' farmed. In 1791) the French post-office yielded a revenue post towns amount in number to about 1460, but the postv-r of 11,000,000 of francs; about thirty years later, the re- accommodation is carried to the utmost possible extent, let- ^ ' and vilvenue had become nearly double, and in 1836 it amounted to ters being delivered not merely within the towns 1 37,405,516 francs ; the number of letters for that year being lages, but throughout the country generally. T The same 78,970,561. The French post establishment is under the degree of dispatch in post business has not, how ever, been direction of a council, consisting oi a chief, and two or moie attained in France. The post-office of the United States is under the charge members. The French difiers from the British office, in charging postage by weight, a mode usual throughout the of the general government. For a long period it was a continent. The French office has been remarkable for the source of expense, and it is only during the last six or sevenr facilities it affords to the circulation of printed matter. All years that it has yielded a revenue, which, however, is now sorts of circulars, lists, advertisements, and the like, may rapidly increasing. The following particulars regarding its first be stamped on payment of five centimes, and then present state, are from a report of the Postmaster-General transmitted by post for ten centimes more, in whole about of the United States to the President. On the first of l^d. British money. The number of such circulars pass- July 1837, the post routes were about 141,242 miles in ing through the French post-office is immense. The busi- extent, and the annual transportation of the mails upon ness of the Parisian office even exceeds that of the Lon- them was: on horses and in sulkeys 11,999,282 miles ; in don, there being from forty to fifty thousand letters, and stages and coaches 18,804,800; and in steam-boats and 1 The average of each letter is about fivepence. In Britain, it is probably double this, at least. The charges of collection in France are about 50 per cent., in Britain 28 per cent. exercise of the social affections, and confine the efforts of philanthropy ; that the post-office, in short, is neither fully and effectually available for the purposes which it is the essential object of such an institution to serve, nor able to preserve the monopoly conferred upon it by law, from systematic and extensive violation ; these are points which may fairly be considered as settled by the evidence given before the C °Tlm questions involved in the investigation, as far as it relates to the practicability of Mr. Hill’s plan, have been partly of fact, partly of calculation, partly of conjecture and estimate. It being incumbent on Mr. Hill’s part to make it appear that the increase of the number

rate would produce the same gross 1 - - . . „ . , , . . . reduction is one of conjecture. Even the first two descriptions of questions, however, have not been so easily determined as their nature would seem to promise. Actual returns beyond the suspicion of incompleteness or incorrectness are, under the circumstances of haste and perplexity in which such returns can only be made, and the incapacity of some of those who have to make them, hardly to be expected • whilst from the fluctuations in the amount of correspondence at different periods, a fair season for presenting an average is not easily fixed upon.’* Even, however, after an agreement, actual or assumed, has been attained on this point, several of those differences on subiects of calculation (which, viewed in the abstract, might be supposed of impossible occur]ence, but in point of fact, aie so often found to occur in regard to the admissibility of data and the mode of applying them,) have arisen to complicate and embarrass the inquiry. One cannot help observing that some of the calculations, the correctness of which has been made matter of dispute, refer to rather irrelevant points. Such, for instance, is that regarding the exact cost of the conveijance of letters, &c. in Britain. Mr. Hill’s calculations on this point, are probably subservient to the single purpose of evincing the justice of a uniform charge, which is done by shewing that the cost of mere conveyance, as distinguished from other parts of tne charge of postage, is so small, as to make mere distance an immaterial element in the adjustment of the rate- Without examining (and certainly without admitting) the correctness of Mr. Hill’s statements on this subject,t it may be held as allowed, on all hands, that whatever considerations may exist, to justify, or even recommend, the regulation of postage according to distance, these considerations may fairly be made to yield to the advantage of uniformity, especially at a very low absolute rate. But conveyance being but a part of the expense of distributing correspondence,J the calculation now alluded to, goes to no farther end. „ , . r i , j . -r Equally irrelevant to the main question (except as facilitating a calculation of the increase of expense under the proposed system, it indeed they serve even for that) are all those analyses which Mr. Hill makes of the composition of the present post-office expenditure. It is obvious that, throughout the inquiry (so far as it relates merely to a point of finance, its sole relation as presently considered) the nett revenue now derived from the post-office, must be taken as a standard, by which, according as the revenue to be raised by Mr. Hill’s system reaches or approximates to it, the merits of that system are to be tested. Consequently, in comparing Mr. Hills plan with the present, we must take the expenditure of the post-office as it is, unless so far as a saving can be shewn to arise specifically out of Mr. Hills plan. If any deduction, otherwise, is made from the charges of management, as applied to Mr. Hill’s plan, the same deduction must be made from the present expenditure, thereby raising the present nett—that is, raising the standard that Mr. Hill is bound to reach, just in the same proportion that it raises his means of reaching it.§ from fifty-seven millions of general post letters, eight millions of penny post letters, and thirteen millions of twopenny and tareepenny post letters. On t\ic penny letters, Mr. Hill calculates on no increase ; the twopenny and threepenny, if reduced to a penny, he expects to increase threefold, making these three descriptions of letters amount to forty-seven millions. Forty-seven millions oi pence, deducted from the 573,723,600, leave 526,723,600 to be raised from the general post letters, which Mr. Hill estimates (taking in the weights above the jienny rate) to produce 1 Jd. each. It requires 421,378,880 letters at l|d. to produce this; and to give such a number, the fifty-seven millions (the present number) require to be multiplied by about 7^, that is, to be increased 7g fold. Now this would only leave the present nett revenue, supposing the expenses to remain as at present. But Mr. Hill allows that a sevenfold increase of the number of letters would, or might, increase the expense of internal distribution by nearly half a million of pounds, (the difference between L. 575,384, * See Sir Edward Lees’s evidence, Q. 9413. , , t If postage is to be charged according to the actual cost of conveyance, as compared with the returns, then a letter for ten miles will often cost more than one for 100 ; if on an average of such cost as applied to the whole, then, of course, the postage will be uniform ; but if the charge is to be fixed on the general principle, that the cost of establishing and maintaining a conveyance for a large distance, must exceed that for a small ; and that conveyance for a large distance is worth a greater price to the payer, inasmuch, as generally it would increase the difficulty to him of getting his letter conveyed, (which seems the actual principle of the charge) _then distance must, be reckoned a fair element. ± Jn this particular, and otherwise, Mr. Hill’s statements have been applied (though apparently not intended by him to serve such) to purposes oi utter delusion and misrepresentation. . run-, § These considerations are not brought forward as if in opposition to Mr. Hill, (by whom, in his latter statement presented to the Committee, they aje given tub eltect to, though apparently overlooked in his pamphlet) but in order that persons who desire to see the matter with their own eyes, may not he deterred by the apprehension of having to encounter a tedious or intricate calculation. . . H This assumption appears incorrect, as supposing the year’s revenue to be ivhclly raised from letters posted in the United fitKc-dom, without taking into account the postage of those arriving from abroad. And as, on the assumption ini question, c Mr. Hill multiplies the letters of o'ne week by 53, instead of 52, (the postage o. the wttk being but 1-53.1 of the year’s revenue) a deduction of about a million o"f letters would fall to he made from his estimate.

POST-OFFICE. 497 United railroad cars 1,793,024. The number of post-offices on the 900,000. The number of letters delivered in the year, is United States post-1st December 1837, was 12,089- The revenue of the deestimated at 29,360,992, Free and dead letters about States post° C!^, partment for the preceding year was D.4,137,056 . 59 three millions more. The number of newspapers, pamph- office' The expenditure, 3,380,847 . 75 lets, &c. paying postage, is estimated at about 25 millions, Dead and free newspapers, four millions more. Excess of revenue D.756,208 84 The Americans charge in the same mode as the British, namely, by the pieces of which the letter consists. The The average number of dead letters annually, is about lates are as follow's : for a distance not exceedin0lLhe^ef„ntland 1>035-833

^prospective expense.) To leaving, balance after this, anhe increase has theofestimated on foreign .200,000,* (supposing a way shewn of raising this) thus 7i-fold, a additional deficit of L.rate 300000° ^ and ship letters Let the fairness ol this calculation be tested, and then let it be reviewed in comparison with that hv whinh \Tr h;ii n • different result, that is to say nearly as favourable a result from an increase of five-fold as has now been d!»nefmm 7!2 “ qUlte After ha.virig on grounds, the correctness of which have been in part already questioned, (and, for the rest are neither admitted demefl, raised the number of otters for a year, from seventy.fou, to seventy.eight millions ; he neit, on a ground which o,, a moment's e h creased tive-foid, they jield L.2,083,330, The cost on inland distribution he makesTi~-“ L.868,967, which, together with LL112 hoTvS LB2083 m "V •^rai8eS “ ' -^14 416lfi2 6W t'other In! branches of expenditure) makes L.981,129. This deducted from the gross, leaves L.1,102,201 for the nftt to which he adds the two items iust mentioned of L I 96,000 and L.48,000, thus making the total nett L. 1,346,201, or o’nly something mole’ ffiant.SOoloOO of a deS on a.five-{o\A increase. I'ow all that is necessary for the purpose of explaining how this more favourable result is brought out, is to compare the produce of his>e-fold, with that of h.s one-fold. The former will be found just five times the amount of the latter ; and as the one-fold includes all descriptions of letters, penny, twopenny, and threepenny, five times the produce of the one-fold, of course, asuppose an equal increase on all^: ’ “iTu:,c Finding the average postage of a letter is merely another method of arriving at the same result. The average postage of a aeneral post letter, appears from the returns to be above lOd. An eight-fold increase (at lid. on average for each letter) would therefore produce the same amount on the present number at lOd. Other two folds of an increase would produce L.475,000 to which the L 200 000 for foreign and ship letters being added, there would be L.675,000 for additional expenses. While it is admitted then to be i vaque statement, (vague as respects the estimate of the increased expense, which can only be a guess), it is believed to be a moderate one, to say, that on ten-fold increase of general post letters, with a three-fold increase on the twopenny and threepenny post letters, would be necessary1 to uphold the present revenue. § This, indeed, is a calculation, both the data and the conclusions of which, any plain man who pays twenty shillings to the post-office in a twelvemonth, may verify on five minutes’ reflection. Let such a one consider, whether the average of his general post letters can be less than 10d., and then say, if the average cost were reduced to lid., whether it could require less than ten letters for one, takin r*~ for Hill’s plan. Suppose a person to pay L.l a-year in postage, and L.5 in other taxes; suppose that in anot ser jeai ie pay ^ . postage, and L.5, 15s. in other taxes, it is evident that, ceteris paribus, matters will remain the same, both as regards the state and el vidual, that is, if the number of letters which the individual gets conveyed remains the same. But if, on the latter supposition, he g s tw ya aI five letters conveyed, while on the former he only got twenty, the conveyance of the five letters additional is a e eai ^' ‘ f , * The true measure then of the benefits of Mr. Hill’s plan, is not the amount of surplus revenue it creates, as relative to .e pies^ , the number of letters conveyed, on that plan, as relative to the expense of conveyance. If Mr. Hill, by adding twenty-five per • 0 f of conveyance, can add 100 per cent, to the number of letters conveyed, this is clear benefit. And as there can be no lea a van «g the adoption of his plan that does not resolve into this principle, so (speaking on the abstract) any alleged disadvantage, no r^on i0 into the same principle, may be regarded as only apparent. * As regards increase of expense for comieyance, there does not seem so much ground for apprehension. -_tended. This would be •t Various suggestions might be offered for lessening this difficulty. For a time, at least, the system of receiving a/ee with late letter., mignt . , i£ ^ v, i,o could no nul lification of the boon of a cheap postage ; for it would be the fairest and most convenient way of throwing the expense on y108? ^.o ™ would be gradualbest find their account in increasing it. Or London might lie split down into separate post towns, with separate bags from eai h, ^{V,.oi,.n,, kv colour, and marli)y diminishing, as railways, with moving offices, were established.) Or three or four different kinds of stamped covers might be sold, lUstingm. fe J jc|,ness throw ed respectively, late, later, latest, and charged 3d., 6d , or Is. each, to be received up to certain hours, A clerk, at the receiving box, ciiuid, w 8 9 . tQ the out in transition all of the wrong colour for the how, to wait next dispatch j or, as often as the sorting boxes are failed, their contents mi0nt oe

V O T Patentia Potatoes were not introduced into Ireland until 1610, 1 li . when a small parcel was sent by Sir Walter Raleigh to be Potosi. planted on his estate in the vicinity of Youghall. There is no other instance of the cultivation of an exotic having been so rapidly extended in so short a period as has elapsed since potatoes were introduced into Ireland. Potatoes were not raised in Scotland, except in gardens, till 1728, when they were planted in the open fields by Thomas Prentice, day-labourer at Kilsyth. Prentice died at Edinburgh so late as 1792. It has been estimated that one acre of land will produce three times, or at least twice, as much food when growing potatoes, as when employed in the culture of wheat; consequently, where the inhabitants live upon potatoes, the population will be twice or thrice as dense as where they are fed entirely on corn. While, however, the use of the potato as a principal article of food renders population comparatively dense, it tends also to render the people habitually poor, and to multiply the chances of famine. For the cultivation of the potato see Agriculture. For the political views see M‘Culloch’s Commercial Dictionary, and his notes to Smith’s Wealth of Nations. POTENTIA, power, that whereby a thing is capable either of acting or being acted upon. POTENTIAL, in the schools, is used to denote and distinguish a kind of qualities which are supposed to exist in the body in potentia only ; that is, to be capable in some measure of affecting and impressing on us the ideas of such qualities, though not actually inherent in themselves. In this sense we say, potential heat, potential cold, &c. Potential, in Grammar, an epithet applied to one of the moods of verbs. The potential is the same in form with the subjunctive, and is, according to Ruddiman, implied in that mood, for which reason it is rejected by that grammarian; but others consider that it differs from the subjunctive by always implying in it either possum, volo, or debeo. It is also called the permissive mood, because it often implies a permission or concession to do a thing. POTIPHAR, or Putiphar, an officer of the court of Pharaoh, king of Egypt, and general of his troops, according to our translation, Le Clerc, and the version of the vulgate; but according to the Hebrew and Septuagint, the chief of his butchers or cooks. The Hebrew text, the Septuagint, and vulgate, call him Eunuch. But it is probable it in this place means only an officer of the king’s court, for he was certainly married and had children. We have no other account of him but what appears in Scripture. POTOMAC, a large river of North America, which forms through its whole course the boundary between the states of Maryland and Virginia. It rises in the Alleghany Mountains, and flowing in a north-easterly direction towards Pennsylvania, it forms a junction with the Shenandoah at Harper’s Ferry, and then makes its celebrated passage through South Mountain. At its embouchure it is seven miles and a half in breadth ; and at Alexandria, 290 miles from the ocean, it is one mile and a quarter in breadth. Tide-water reaches about 300 miles from the Atlantic; and for nearly that distance the Potomac is navigable for the largest vessels. The river is seven fathoms deep at its mouth, five at St George’s Island, three at Swan’s Point, and thence to Alexandria of the same depth. The length of its course, the curvatures included, is considerably above 300 miles. POTOSI is the name of a department, a province, and a city of Bolivia, in South America. This part of the republic has been celebrated from the earliest times for its metallic wealth. The Cerro de Potosi, where the argentiferous mines are situated, is a conical hill, 16,037 feet in height, and about three leagues in circumference at the base. It bears marks of a volcanic origin, and its sides are marked with spots of various hues, such as dark green,

POT 499 orange, gray, and red. In this mountain no less than above Potsdam. 5000 mine mouths or levels have been opened, but very few v Y—» of the mines are now worked. A tradition exists that Diego Hualca, an Indian peasant, accidentally discovered -these mines whilst hunting the wild goat. In pursuing his game, he arrived at a steep declivity, and, to prevent himself from falling, he seized hold of a shrub, which, yielding to his weight, was torn from the ground, and disclosed to his eyes a large mass of silver, part of which adhered to the roots of the plant. A slave to whom he intrusted the secret of his good fortune betrayed him, and the mine was opened by the Spaniards on the 21st of April 1545. The surrounding country is also metalliferous. Silver of great fineness abounds in a hill called Guayna-Potosi (Young Potosi), close to the Cerro ; but from the number of springs which occur not far from the surface, it has been found impossible to work it. The ore is pulverised in mills, driven by streamlets conducted from lakes or pools in the mountains, from one to ten miles distance from the city of Potosi. In connexion with the mines, General Miller relates the following circumstance. “ A singular custom, which probably originated in the indulgence of early mine-owners, still prevails. Between Saturday night and Monday morning, the Cerro literally becomes the property of such persons as choose to work upon their own account. During that time, the boldest master would not venture to visit his own mines. They who thus take possession are called caxchas, and generally sell the produce of Sunday to their own masters. Independently of the ore thus abstracted, the caxchas did considerable mischief, by neglecting the proper precautions as they excavated. If they met with a more than usually rich vein in the course of the week, it was passed over, and cunningly reserved for the following Sunday. Very strong measures were therefore taken to abolish the custom; but every effort proved unsuccessful. The caxchas defended their privilege by force of arms, and by hurling down large stones upon their assailants.” These mines are still considered the richest in South America, but great ignorance of mining operations is displayed in working them. In an agricultural point of view this province is unimportant; its riches consist in its mineral wealth. The city of Potosi, the capital of the department, is situated on the south side of the mountain, above 13,000 feet above the level of the sea, in lat. 19° 34' south, and long. 67° 22' west from Greenwich. Upon the discovery of the mines, it was named an asiento or mine-station ; but in process of time it was raised to the rank of a town, and made the capital of an intendencia. In 1611 it contained 150,000 inhabitants, according to a census taken by order of government officials. On this point General Miller judiciously observes, “ This number must at that time have consisted principally of mitayos of every tribe existing between Potosi and Cuzco, a distance of nearly 300 leagues. Those unhappy beings were generally accompanied in their labours by their wives and families, who came rather to share in the hopeless sufferings of their husbands and fathers, than to settle in the arid hills of Potosi. It is not therefore surprising that its population should have been, by the abolition of the mita, and by the shocks which wealthy establishments received during the revolution, reduced to only 8000 in the year 1825.” POTSDAM, one of the provinces into which the kingdom of Prussia is divided. It is bounded on the north by the duchies of Mecklenburg-Schwerin and MecklenburgStrelitz, on the north-east by Pomerania, on the east by Frankfort, on the south by Saxony, on the south-west by the duchy of Anhalt-Dessau, on the west by Prussian Saxony, and on the north-west by the kingdom of Hanover. It extends over 8272 square miles, and comprehends 67 cities, or places once fortified, 16 market-towns, and 1319 villages, besides scattered houses, and distinct agricultural es-

POT POT 500 Potten tablishments. It is divided into thirteen circles. The po- discourses on church government, and divinity lectures, were Pottery, Y printed at Oxford in 3 vols. 8vo, 1753. '™"* ll pulation, which in 1817 consisted of 696,878 individuals, POTTERY and Stone-ware. Under this name may 1>0tter ' had increased in 1826 to 812,138, and has gone on aug- be classed all those wares, from the common butter-pot " menting up to the present time. W ith the exception of mentioned by Dr Plot, to the finer kinds of earthen-ware, about 3000 Catholics, and about 2000 Jews, the whole of which, in contradistinction to porcelain, possess neither the inhabitants profess the Protestant religion. The land transparency nor any degree of vitrification, except on the is generally level, and though tolerably cultivated, is by no surface after being glazed. means productive, though there are some local exceptions. The most famous manufacture for this common ware, as It is provided with great natural means of access to the sea Dr Plot states in his History of Staffordshire (1686), was by the navigable river Havel, which falls into the Elbe, at Burslem, in that county, now one of the principal towns, and which affords a communication between the different forming a part of that extensive and populous district called portions of the province. The capital of this province is Staffordshire potteries, in which it is calculated that the city of the same name, the first in exterior beauty in the no less 30,000 persons, or one half the population, are the Prussian dominions. It is situated twenty-one miles directlythan employed the manufacture of porcelain and from Berlin, on an island about eighteen miles in circum- earthen-ware. It is in proved, however, that the manufacture ference, formed by some lakes and canals, and bj the river of common wares had existed long before Dr Plot s time; Nuthe, which here joins the Havel. Potsdam contains seof its first introduction no tradition remains. ven Protestant and one Catholic church, and a synagogue butThese common wares were made of the clays found in for the Jews. The inhabitants are about 26,000, the dwel- the district, and were of a red body covered with a glazlino-s 1640. The civil population does not exceed 16,000 ing of lead ore, with a portion of manganese added to make persons. The others are either military, or those employed when that colour was wanted. in the fabrication of arms. The muskets for the troops are a black About the year 1690, two ingenious artisans from Germade at Spandau, but are fitted with locks and finished at many, of the name of Eller, settled near Burslem, and carPotsdam. There are manufactories carried on of silk and on a small trade for a little time. They brought into cotton, of leather, of cloth, of snuff, of musical and mathe- ried country the method of glazing stone-ware, by casting matical instruments, and some large breweries and distdle- this salt into the kiln while it is hot, and some other improveneS. of less importance ; but finding they could not keep POTTEN, a market-town of Bedfordshire, in the hun- ments secrets to themselves, they left the place rather in dred of Biggleswade, forty-nine miles from London. It is their disgust. From this time various kinds of stone-ware, glazed well built now, having been burned down in 1785, after which the fumes of salt in the manner above mentioned, were for some time the inhabitants lived under tents. It is in a by to the wares before made. The white kind, which fertile district, and has a good market on Saturday. 1 ie added afterwards and for many succeeding years conpopulation amounted in 1801 to 1103, in 1811 to Ho4, in tinued, the became, staple branch of pottery, is said to have owed 1821 to 1498, and in 1831 to 1768. POTTER, Christopher, a learned English divine, was its origin to the following accident. A potter, Mr Astbury, born in 1591, and bred at Oxford. In 1633, he published travelling to London, perceived something amiss with one his horse’s eyes; an hostler at Dunstable said he could his Answer to a late Popish Plot, entitled Charity Mis- of soon cure him, and for that purpose put a common black taken, which he wrote by special order of Charles I., whose flint-stone into the fire. The potter observing it, wlmn chaplain he was. In 1634, he was promoted to the deanery of Worcester; and, in 1640, was constituted vice-^ taken out, to be of a fine white, immediately conceived the chancellor of the university of Oxford, in the execution of idea of improving his ware by the addition of this material which office he met wTith some trouble from the members of to the whitest clay he could procure. Accordingly he sent the Long Parliament. Upon the breaking out of the civil home a quantity of flint-stones of that country, where they wars, he sent all his plate to the king, declaring that he would are plentiful among the chalk, and, by mixing them with rather, like Diogenes, drink in the hollow of his hand, than tobacco-pipe clay, produced a white stone-ware much supethat his majesty should want; and he afterwards suffered rior to any that had been seen before. Some of the other potters soon discovered the source of much for the royal cause. In consideration of this he was this superiority, and did not fail to follow his example. For nominated to the deanery of Durham in 1646, but was prevented from being installed by his death, which happened a long time they pounded the flint-stones in private rooms by manual labour in mortars ; but many of the poor woikabout two months thereafter. Potter, John, D.D., Archbishop of Canterbury, was the men suffered severely from the dust of the flint getting into son of a linen-draper at Wakefield in Yorkshire, where he their lungs, and producing dreadful coughs, consumptions, was born about the year 1674. He studied at University and other pulmonary disorders. These disasters, and the inCollege, Oxford ; and at the age of nineteen he published, creased demand for the flint-powder, induced them to try to Variantes Lectiones et Notce ad Plutarchi librwn ad audi- grind it by mills of various constructions ; and this method, endis poetis ; et ad Basilii Magni orationem ad juvenes, being found both effectual and safe, has continued in pracquomodo cum fractu legere possint Gracorum libros, 1693, tice ever since. With these improvements, in the begin8vo. In 1697, came out his edition of Lycophron, in fo- ning of the present century, various articles were produced lio, which is reckoned the best of that obscure writer; and for tea and coffee equipages. Soon after, attempts were soon after, he published his antiquities of Greece, in two made to furnish the dinner-table also ; and before the midvols. 8vo. These works established his literary reputation, dle of the century, utensils for the table were manufactured and engaged him in a correspondence with Graevius and in quantity as well for exportation as home consumption. But the salt glaze, the only one then in use for this purother learned foreigners. In 1706, he was made chaplain to the queen ; in 1715, bishop of Oxford ; and in 1737, he pose, is in its own nature so imperfect, and the potters, from succeeded Archbishop Wake in the see of Canterbury, which an injudicious competition among themselves for cheapness high station he supported with much dignity until his death rather than excellence, had been so inattentive to elegance in 1747. He was a learned and exemplary churchman; of form and neatness of workmanship, that this ware was but not of an amiable disposition, being too strongly tinc- rejected from the tables of persons of rank; and about the tured with the pride of office. Nor is it to his credit that year 1760, a white ware, much more beautiful and better he disinherited his eldest son for marrying below his rank glazed than ours, began to be imported in considerable in life. His theological works, containing sermons, charges, quantities from France.

POT The inundation of a foreign manufacture, so much superior to any of our own, must have had very bad effects upon the potteries of this kingdom, if a newT one, still more to the public taste, had not appeared soon after. In the year 1763, Mr Josiah Wedgwood, who had already introduced several improvements into this art, invented a species of earthen-ware for the table, quite new in its appearance, covered with a rich and brilliant glaze, bearing sudden alternations of heat and cold, manufactured with ease and expedition, and consequently cheap, and having every requisite for the purpose intended. To this new manufacture the queen was pleased to give her name and patronage, commanding it to be called Queen’s ivare, and honouring the inventor by appointing him her majesty’s potter. The common clays of the district are now mostly used for making the saggers or cases in which the finer wares are fired, for bricks to construct the ovens and kilns, and for some kinds of inferior wares, while the clays for the improved article are brought from Devonshire and Dorsetshire by sea to Liverpool, and by the canal to the potteries. The flint-stone is obtained mostly from London, so that it would appear the cheapness of coals has been the principal reason for the establishment of extensive potteries in this inland district, notwithstanding the heavy charges of transport on the raw materials to the seat of manufacture, and, so far as the export trade is concerned, again on the manufactured articles to the shipping ports. Before the introduction of steam power to machinery purposes, the flint-stones were ground by water-mills at a considerable distance from the manufactories; but many of the manufacturers have now erected steam-engines of great power, for the purposes of grinding flint, and other materials used in the different processes of the manufacture. The article of queen!s ware, before mentioned, w as composed of the Devonshire and^ Dorsetshire clays, mixed with a proportion of ground flint, covered with a fine soft glazing, composed of siliceous earths and carbonate or oxide of lead. This glazing, covering a very porous body, made of the above clays and a portion of flint-stone, was liable to crack or craze, and become discoloured in the using, causing a prejudice against it, under an erroneous idea that, by its coming in contact with acids and salts, the glaze had been decomposed, that the lead it contained was poisonous ; and a premium was accordingly offered by the Society of Arts for the discovery of a glaze without lead, which was only cancelled on the books of the society a few years ago. It appears singular that it did not immediately occur to scientific men, that all the chemical vessels made of glass contain as large a portion of lead in their composition as there is in the glaze on queen’s ware, and that the vitrification is as complete in the one case as the other. The fact is, that, through the cracks in the glazing, it was the earth composing the body of the ware which the acids and salts acted upon, leaving a coloured deposit, visible through the extreme thin lamina of glazing which covers it. This defect in the glazing arises from several causes ; the want of a corresponding contraction of the body and the glaze, from too sudden a cooling of the oven, and other mismanagement of the workmen. Since the introduction, however, of a better clay from the mines in Cornwall (about 1777), together with a stone containing a notable quantity of feldspar, the potter has been enabled to bring his earthen-ware to a very great degree of perfection; the defect in glazing above noticed has been greatly diminished on the queen’s ware, and other glazes introduced, in appearance possessing much of the texture and whiteness of porcelain, though still deficient in the solidity and compactness of the old white stone-ware which it had superseded. About the year 1805 an article was produced called Ironstone-ware, in which, however, not a particle of iron

POT 501 stone was introduced, it being a compound principally of Potte^. the Cornish materials above mentioned. —y-L-' This ware has nearly all the properties of the Japan porcelain ; it possesses great hardness and density ; is sonorous, but is deficient in whiteness and transparency, although the vitrification is as complete as in that of the Japan. It continues to be made in great quantities, and being more durable, is perhaps, though higher in price, as economical as earthen-ware. It is a cheap substitute for porcelain, but its nature does not admit of those fine paintings and splendid decorations which are applied with so much success on that more elegant production. From the common earthen-ware to the finest porcelain, Manipulathe manipulations are nearly similar. The materials being finely ground and levigated, are mixed together in their proper proportions in a liquid state, and this mixture being put into broad shallow pans or kilns, is subjected to a heat sufficient to evaporate the extra water until the clay is of a proper consistency for use, and it is then prepared by beating with wooden and iron paddles until it becomes one ductile homogeneous mass, fit for the operation of the workman. The operations of throwing on the wheel, turning in the lathe, and moulding, are similar to those already described in the article on porcelain. The potter’s wheel consists of a triangular bench, where- Throwing, on the workman sits, having before him a small horizontal circular block on which he places the portion of clay made into a ball, according to the size of the piece of ware wanted to be made, and with his hands fashions it into the shape wanted; the inner surface being smoothed by a piece of slate, iron, or earthen-ware, cut to the form required. This workman has two assistants; one employed to prepare the balls of clay, and remove the piece when formed ; the other to turn a larger vertical wheel, which gives motion to the horizontal block, or whirler, as it is called, before mentioned as being before the workman. The ware is then taken into a stove and dried sufficiently hard to be put upon the lathe and undergo the operation of turning or smoothing the outer surface. This lathe is of the like construction as the common Turniag, lathe used in wood turning, and needs no description here. &c. The ware is then given to another workman, who puts on the handles and feet, or such ornaments as may have to be fixed on the body of the ware ; and after being thoroughly dried, it is ready for the first or biscuit firing. It must be observed, that only articles of a circular form can be produced on the wheel or from the lathe. All others, as well as the feet and handles and ornaments, are made by different workmen, from moulds of gypsum or of baked ware. An earthen-ware called dipped ware is made of different colours, some of which are very striking, by being dipped into a slip or wash of the same clay, or of other clays coloured by metallic oxyds finely ground and mixed up with the wash. This operation is performed at the lathe, before the ware has had time to get dry or hard. The ware being made dry, is placed in saggers (cases), Firing and which are piled on each other until the oven is filled up baking, nearly to the top of the dome. Fire is then applied in mouths round the outside of the oven, having flues round the inside, and under the bottom of the oven, communicating with the mouths. The fire is applied very gradually, the operation requiring from forty-eight to fifty hours. As a test to show when the necessary degree of heat is obtained, small round caps made of common brick-clay are put into a sagger, opposite a small opening in the oven, which the fireman draws out from time to time, judging, from the degree of colour the test or trial had acquired, which was produced by the oxyd of iron contained in the clay, how to regulate his further operations. The operation of glazing is similar to that detailed in the Glazing, article on porcelain, but is performed with much les£ diffi-

P R A 502 P O U Poulton culty, and with a greater degree of certainty, on a porous have been more generally admired than that of the death Poussin II II than on a vitrified surface. After the ware is glazed (a of Germanicus, which would have gained him immortal ^ Poussin, considerable portion of which is first painted, and printed honour if he had never painted another picture. He be-. raS->ue. Y on the body, a biscuit), the ware is then again placed into gan the labours of Hercules in the gallery of the Louvre ; the saggers or cases, and placed as before to undergo the but the faction of Vouet’s school railing at him and his persecond firing. In this second firing for the glazing, a much formances, put him so out of humour with his own country, lower degree of heat is applied than for the biscuit-ware, that he returned to Rome, where he died in 1665. He and the operation is performed in fifteen or eighteen hours, never went beyond easel-pieces, for which he had a perpeaccording to the size of the oven. The painting or ena- tual demand; and his method was to fix the price he exmelling, and the printing on earthen-ware, are done in the pected on the back of the canvass, which -was readily paid. Poussin, Gaspar. This painter, whose real name was same manner as that described on porcelain, which need Dughet, was born at Paris in 1600, and was induced to not here be repeated. The extent to which the manufacture of pottery wares travel to Rome, not only from a love of the art of painting, is now carried on in this country, in which porcelain but also to visit his sister, who was married to Nicholas may be included, together with its usefulness and excel- Poussin. Sandrat says that Gaspar was employed at first lence, has rendered it a subject of great national importance. only to prepare the pallet, pencils, and colours for Nicholas ; The raw materials are of home production, and of little in- but by the precepts and example of that excellent master, trinsic value, the transport of which affords to the coasting he gradually rose to the highest reputation, and is undoubttrade a freightage of from 40,000 to 50,000 tons annually. edly one of the best landscape painters that ever appeared. The manufactured articles are wholly produced by manual Whilst he continued at Rome he dropped his own name, labour, which is not likely to be superseded by machinery, and assumed that of r his brother-in-law and benefactor, by while the export of the bulky article of earthen-ware to all which only he is now known. He died in 1662. POUTEOU, or Pootoo, a small island off the coast of parts of the world gives employment, to an immense extent, to the shipping of this and other countries. Nor is China, a little to the east of Tehnsan. It is represented as this interesting manufacture without some claim in further- a beautiful spot, containing numerous temples. POVERTY Bay, on the east coast of New Holland, ing the progress of the fine arts, by the cultivation of painters, engravers, and modellers, many of whom have in the South Pacific Ocean, discovered by Captain Cook displayed talents of a superior order in their respective in 1769. Long. 181. 36. W. Lat. 38. 42. S. POWALLY, a town of Hindustan, in the province of lines. In flower-painting, the specimens exhibited in the work of English artists cannot be excelled. In figure- Tinnevelly, twenty miles south-west from Madura. Long. painting, owing to the want of schools for design, the por- 77. 59. E. Lat. 9. 39. N. POWANGHUR, a celebrated hill-fort of Hindustan, celain painters of this country have not made much progress ; but in flower-painting, and in decoration generally, province of Gujerat. It rises nearly perpendicular to the immense height of six hundred yards, and is inaccessible our British artists cannot be surpassed. There are some considerable manufactories of pottery except on the north side, which is fortified with fine walls. ware in the north of England, and one or two in Yorkshire; A small rock rises on the summit, on which stands a Hindu but the principal site of both pottery and porcelain wares temple. It was taken by the British, after a very slight reis in the newly created borough of Stoke-upon-Trent, sistance, in 1803. Long. 73. 39. E. Lat. 22. 31. N. PRACELS, a range of small islands and rocks in the which contains a population of nearly 60,000 persons, engaged either directly or indirectly in these manufactures. Chinese Sea, about sixty miles to the east of Cochin-China. On the passing of the reform bill, this borough was consi- They are of dangerous navigation, from the currents that dered of sufficient importance to have its great interests re- run between them. Length, 300 miles ; breadth, 60 ; from long. 110. to 111. E. and lat. 11. 40. to 16. 10. N. presented by two members in parliament. (b. a.) PRAEMUNIRE, in English Law, a writ of citation. POULTON, a market-town in the county of Lancaster, PR/ENESTE, in Ancient Geography, a town of Latium, and hundred of Amounderness, 235 miles from London. It is on the sea-shore, near the mouth of the river Wye, to the south-east of Rome, towards the territory of the and communicates by a canal with most of the rivers of the /Equi. It is a place of great strength, and famous for the county. It has a market on Monday. The population of temple and oracle of Fortune, called Sortes Prcenestmce. PRAGMATIC SANCTION, in the civil law, is defined the town was, in 1801, 769; in 1810, 926 ; in 1821, 101 i; and in 1831, 1025; but the whole parish contains five town- by Hottoman to be a rescript or answer of the sovereign, delivered by advice of his council, to some college, order, or ships, and at the last census 4080 inhabitants. POULTRY, all kinds of domestic fowls brought up in body of people, upon consulting him on some case of their community. The like answer given to any particular peryards, as cocks, hens, and the like. See Agriculture. POUND, a standard weight, for the proportion and sub- son is called simply rescript. The term pragmatic sanction is chiefly applied to a setdivisions of which, see the article Weights and Measures. Pound also denotes a money of account, so called be- tlement of Charles VI. emperor of Germany, wffio, in the cause the ancient pound of silver weighed a pound troy. year 1722, having no sons, settled his hereditary dominions POUNDAGE, a subsidy of twelve pence in the pound, on his eldest daughter, the archduchess Maria Theresa, which granted to the crown on all goods and merchandises export- was confirmed by the diet of the empire, and guaranteed by ed or imported; and if by aliens, one penny more. Great Britain, France, the States-General, and most of the POUSSIN, Nicholas, an eminent French painter, born powers in Europe. in 1594, at Andel, a little city in Normandy, where his faPRAGUE, a city, the capital of the Austrian kingdom ther was of noble extraction, but born to a small estate. of Bohemia. It is nearly in the centre of the kingdom, on Being invited to Paris by Louis XIII., who assigned him the river Moldau, which runs to the Elbe on its way to the a pension and lodgings in the Tuilleries, he painted for ocean, and divides the city into two parts. There is over Prince Justiniani an historical picture representing Herod’s the river one of the finest ancient bridges in Europe, 1800 cruelty ; an admirable composition, in which he gave such feet in length, consisting of sixteen arches, and adorned with expression to every character, as could not fail to strike the twenty-eight statues of saints and martyrs. beholder with terror and pity. He then laboured for seveThe city is built on seven hills, and the streets are conral years on the celebrated pictures of the seven sacraments sequently irregular ; the houses are very antique and large, of the Catholic church. But none of Poussin’s designs and the compass of the whole is said to be nine miles. It

P R A Praam contains numerous public buildings, amongst others the meS tropolitan cathedral, dedicated to St. Beit, with twelve highPratl L . ly-decorated side chapels, besides which, are no less than ^ forty-six other Catholic churches, and several monasteries and nunneries. The palace of the ancient kings of Bohemia has been converted into a citadel; but a more modern one, now used as a Stadthouse, is of vast extent, containing 150 apartments, with a hall near equal in size to that of Westminster. There is a university, one of the oldest in Germany, in which degrees are obtained in the four faculties of law, medicine, theology, and philosophy. It has connected with it a library of 100,000 volumes ; a botanic garden, an astronomical observatory, and collections of natural history. There are forty-four professors, and the students, which were in 1816, only 8798, had increased, and in 1823, were 1348. This seminary may be considered the birthplace of the reformation of religion, as John Huss and Jerome exercised in it the right of free inquiry, and became victims to it nearly one hundred years before the appearance of Luther. There are also several societies for thepromotion of learning, of the sciences, and of the fine arts. The institutions for the maintenance of the poor, for affording medical aid, and for other benevolent purposes, are numerous and well conducted. The inhabitants, like those of all Europe, have greatly increased since the treaty of Vienna in 1815. In that year they were 67,730 Christians, and 6,783 Jews; in 1817, they were 79,606, from which, by regular increase, they had grown up, in 1827, to 107,325. The chief trade is that which arises from its central position, and from its being the seat of the local government; but there are manufactures of gold, silver, jewellery, and other luxuries, as well as others, for internal consumption, of silk, cotton, linen, and woollen goods, and for cutlery and haberdashery wares ; there are also large breweries and distilleries. The city is fortified ; but, from being commanded by hills, is scarcely defensible; but it has been the theatre of many bloody actions. A battle was fought in 1620 on the white plains a few miles from the city, between the Elector Palatine and the Austrians, when the success of the latter caused the independence of Bohemia to expire. It was besieged by the French in 1751, and by the Prussians, who bombarded it in 1757; but in both cases the resistance was attended with success. Eat. 50. 5. 33. Long. 14. 49. 40. PRAAM, a kind of lighter used in Holland and the ports of the Baltic sea, to carry the cargo of a merchant-ship alongside, in order to lade or to bring it to shore to be lodged in the storehouses after being discharged out of the vessel. PRATINAS, a Greek poet contemporary with Alschylus,and born atPhlius. He was the first amongst the Greeks who composed satires, which were represented as farces. Of these, thirty-two were acted, as also eighteen of his tragedies, one of which only obtained the poetical prize. Some of his verses are extant, quoted by Athenaeus. PRATO, a city of the duchy of luscany, in Italy, the capital of a district called a vicarate, of the same name, in the circle of Florence. It stands on the river Bisenzeo. It is surrounded with walls and ditches. It contains some handsome plazas, a theatre, a cathedral, twelve parish and seventeen monastic churches, four hospitals, and 10,000 inhabitants, who make linen and woollen cloths, paper, copper ware, and other articles, and draw from quarries some good millstone. . PRATT, CHARLES, Earl of Camden, was the third son of Sir John Pratt, knight, chief-justice of the Court oi King’s-Bench under George I. by his second wife Elizabetn, daughter of the Reverend Hugh Wilson, canon of Bangor, and was born in 1713, the year before his father was called to the honour of the bench. He received the first rudiments of his education at Eton, and afterwards removed to King’s College, Cambridge. Of his early life at both places

P R A 503 little is known, other than that at college he was found to Pratt, be remarkably diligent and studious, and particularly so in the history and constitution of this country. By some he was thought to be a little too tenacious of the rights and privileges of the college he belonged to ; but perhaps it was to this early tendency that we are indebted for those noble struggles in defence of liberty, which, whether in or out of office, he displayed throughout the whole course of his political life. After remaining the usual time at college, and taking his master’s degree, in 1739 he entered himself a student of the Inner Temple, and was in due time admitted by the honourable society as a barrister-at-law. And here a circumstance developes itself in the history of this great man, which shows how much chance governs in the affairs of this world, and that the most considerable talent and indisputable integrity will sometimes require the introduction of this mistress of the ceremonies, in order to obtain that which they ought to possess from their own intrinsic qualifications. Mr. Pratt, after being called to the bar, notwithstanding his family introduction, and his own personal character, was very near nine years in the profession, without ever getting in any degree forward. Whether this arose from a natural timidity of constitution, ill-luck, or perhaps a mixture of despondence growing out of the two circumstances, it is now difficult to tell. But the fact was so; and he was so dispirited by it, that he had some thoughts of relinquishing the profession of the law, and retiring to his college, where, in rotation, he might be sure of a church living, that would give him a small but honourable independence. With these melancholy ideas he went as usual the western circuit, to make one more experiment, and then to take his final determination. Mr. Henley, afterwards Lord Northington, and chancellor of England, was in the same circuit. He was Mr. Pratt’s most intimate friend; and he now availed himself of that friendship, and told him his situation, and his intentions of retiring to the university and going into the church. He opposed his intention with strong raillery, and got him engaged in a cause along with himself; and Mr. Henley being ill, Mr. Pratt took the lead, and displayed a professional knowledge and elocution that excited the admiration of his brother barristers as much as that of the whole court. He gained his cause ; and besides, he acquired the reputation of an eloquent, profound, and constitutional lawyer. It was this circumstance, together with the continued good offices of his friend Henley, which led to his future greatness ; for with all his abilities and all his knowledge, he might otherwise in all probability have passed his life in obscurity, and gone down to the grave unnoticed and unknown. He now became one of the most successful pleaders at the bar, and honours and emoluments flowed thick upon him. He was chosen to represent the borough ot Downton, Wiltshire, after the general election in 1759; recorder of Bath 1759 ; the same year he was appointed attorney-general ; and in January 1762 he was called to the degree of serjeant at law, appointed chief-justice ot the common pleas, and knighted. His lordship presided in that court with a dignity, weight, and impartiality, nevei exceeded by any of his predecessors ; and when John Wilkes was seized and committed to the Tower on an illegal general warrant, his lordship, with the intrepidity of a British magistrate, and the becoming fortitude of an Englishman, granted him an habeas corpus, and on his being brought before the court of common pleas, discharged him from his confinement in the Tower, 6th May 1163,in a speech which did him honour. His wise and spirited behaviour on this remarkable occasion, was so acceptable to the nation, that the city of London presented him with the freedom ot their corporation in a gold box. On the 16th of July 1765 he was created a peer ot Great

P R A P R A 504 Praslin Britain, by the style and title of Lord Camden, Baron Cam- manifold transgressions of the divine laws, and our conse- Prayer, 11 den, in the county of Kent; and, on the 30th July 1766, quent unworthiness of all the good things which we enjoy Prayer. on the resignation of Robert Earl of Northington, he was at present, or expect to be conferred upon us hereafter. In appointed lord high chancellor of Great Britain. In this supplication we entreat our omnipotent Creator and mercicapacity he, in a speech of two hours, declared, upon the ful Judge, not to deal with us after our iniquities, but to first decision of the suit against the messengers who arrest- pardon our transgressions, and by his grace to enable us to ed Mr. Wilkes, that it was the unanimous opinion of the live henceforth righteously, soberly, and godly, in this prewhole court, that general warrants, except in cases of high sent world ; and by Christians this intreaty is always made treason, were illegal, oppressive, and unwarrantable. He in the name and through the mediation of Jesus Christ, beconducted himself in this high office so as to obtain the love cause to them it is known that there is none other name and esteem of all parties ; but when the taxation of Ame- under heaven given unto men whereby they may be saved. rica was in agitation, having declared himself against it, and To these supplications for mercy, we may likewise add our strongly opposed it, he was removed from his station in prayers for the necessaries of life, because if we seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, we are assured 1770. Upon the fall of Lord North he was again taken into the that such things shall be added unto us. Intercession, sigadministration, and on the 27th of March 1782, appointed nifies those petitions which we offer up for others, for friends, president of the council; an office which he resigned in for enemies, for all men, especially for our lawful governors, March 1783. On the 13th of May 1786, he was created whether supreme or subordinate. And thanksgiving is the Viscount Bayham of Bayham Abbey, Kent, and Earl Cam- expression of our gratitude to God, the giver of every good den. He died on the 18th of April 1794 at his house in and perfect gift, for all the benefits enjoyed by us and others, Hill Street, Berkeley Square, being at that time president for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory. Such of his Majesty’s most honourable privy council. He mar- are the component parts of a regular and solemn prayer, ried Elizabeth, daughter and co-heir of Mr. Nicholas Jef- adapted either for the church or for the closet. But an fery, son and heir of Sir Jeffery Jefferys of Brecknock Priory, ejaculation to God, conceived on any emergency, is likewise knight, who died in December 17795 and by whom he had a prayer, whether it be uttered by the voice, or suffered issue John Jefferys Pratt, born 1759, and several daughters. to remain a mere affection of the mind; because the bePRASLIN, an island in the eastern seas, one of the ing to whom it is addressed discerneth the thoughts of the group called the Sechettis. It contains an excellent har- heart. That prayer is a duty which all men ought to perform bour, well sheltered by small islands from every wind. The interior is lofty, and covered with trees. Long. 55. 47. E. with humility and reverence, has been generally acknowledged as well by the untaught barbarian as by the enlightLat. 4. 19. S. PRAT US ISLES, a cluster of islands, shoals, and large ened Christian ; and yet to this duty objections have been rocks, in the Chinese sea, about 300 miles S.S.E. of Can- made by which the understanding has been bewildered in ton. The principal island, called Prata, is surrounded by sophistry and affronted with jargon. “ If God be indepena very extensive shoal of uncertain extent. They are six dent, omnipotent, and possessed of every other perfection, leagues in extent from north to south, and stretch three or what pleasure, it lias been asked, can he take in our ac four leagues to the east. Long. 116.45. E. Lat. 23. 50. N. knowledgment of these perfections ? If he knows all things PRAXAGORAS, a native of Athens, who, at nineteen past, present, and future, where is the propriety of our conyears of age composed the History of the Kings of Athens, fessing our sins unto him ? If he is a benevolent and merin two books; and at twenty-two wrote the Life of Con- ciful Being, he will pardon our sins, and grant us what is stantine the Great, in which, though a pagan, he speaks very needful for us without our supplications and entreaties; and advantageously of that prince. He also wrote the History if he be likewise possessed of infinite wisdom, it is certain of Alexander the Great. Praxagoras lived under Constan- that no importunities of ours will prevail upon him to grant us what is improper, or for our sakes to change the equal tine, about the year 345. PRAXITELES, a very famous Greek sculptor, who and steadv laws by which the world is governed. lived 330 years before Christ, during the reign of AlexanShall Durning JEtna, if a sage requires der the Great. All the ancient writers mention his statues Forget to thunder, and recal her fires ? with high commendation, especially a Venus executed by On air or sea new motions be imprest, him for the city of Cnidus, which was so admirable a piece, O blameless Bethel, to relieve thy breast ? that Nicomedes offered to release the inhabitants from their When the loose mountain trembles from on high, tribute as the purchase of it; but they refused to part with Shall gravitation cease, if you go by ? Or some old temple, nodding to its fall, it. The inhabitants of the isle of Cos requested of PraxiFor Chartres’ head reserve the hanging wall ? teles a statue of Venus ; and in consequence of this application the artist gave them their choice of two, one of them Such are the most plausible objections which are usually representing the goddess entirely naked, and the other covered with drapery. Both of these were of exquisite work- made to the practice of prayer ; and though they have been manship. Although the former was esteemed the most set off with all the art of the metaphysical wrangler, and embeautiful, nevertheless the inhabitants of Cos had the wis- bellished with all the graces of the poetry of Pope, they apdom to give the preference to the latter, from a conviction pear to us such gross sophisms as can operate only on a very that no motive whatever could justify their introducing into unthinking head, or on a very corrupt heart. For if God their city any indecent statues or paintings, which are so certainly exists, and there is not a mathematical theorem likely to inflame the passions of young people, and lead capable of more rigid demonstration, it is obvious that no man can think of such a Being without having his mind them to immorality and vice. PRAYER, a solemn address to God, which, when it is strongly impressed with the conviction of his own constant . of any considerable length, consists of adoration, confession, dependence upon him; nor can he “ contemplate the heavens, the work of God’s hands, the moon and the stars which supplication, intercession, and thanksgiving. By adoration we express our sense of God’s infinite per- he has ordained,” without forming the most sublime concepfections, his power, wisdom, goodness, and mercy; and ac- tions that he can of the Divine power, wisdom, and goodknowledge that our constant dependence is upon Him by ness. But such conviction, and such conceptions, whether whom the universe was created and has been hitherto pre- clothed in words or not, are to all intents and purposes what served. By confession is meant our acknowledgment of our is meant by adoration ; and are as well known to the Deity

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P R A Prayer, whilst they remain the silent affections of the heart, as after they are spoken in the beginning of a prayer. Our adoration, therefore, is not expressed for the purpose of giving information to God, who understands our thoughts afar off; but merely, when the prayer is private, because we cannot think any more than speak without words, and because the very sound ot words that are well chosen affects the heart, and helps to fix our attention. And as the Being who sees at once the past, present, and to come, and to whom a thousand years are but as one day, stands not in need of our information ; so neither was it ever supposed by a man of rational piety, that he takes pleasure on his own account in hearing his perfections enumerated by creatures of yesterday ; for being independent, he has no passions to be gratified, and being self-sufficient, he was as happy when existing alone as at that moment “ when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.” Adoration is therefore proper only as it tends to preserve in our minds just notions ot the Creator and Governor of the world, and ot our own constant dependence upon him ; and if such notions be useful to ourselves, who have a part to act in the scale of existence, upon which our happiness depends, a proposition which no theist will controvert, adoration must be acceptable to that benevolent God, who, when creating the world, could have no other end in view than to propagate happiness. By the same mode of reasoning, it will be easy to show the duty of confession and supplication. We are not required to confess our sins unto God, because he is ignorant ot them ; for he is ignorant of nothing. If he were, no reason could be assigned for our divulging to our judge actions deserving of punishment. Neither are we required to cry for mercy, in order to move him in whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. The Being that made the world, governs it by laws that are inflexible, because they are the best; and to suppose that he can be induced by prayers, oblations, or sacrifices, to vary this plan of government, is an impious thought, which degrades the Deity to a level with man. One of these inflexible laws is the connection established between certain dispositions of mind and human happiness. We are enjoined to pursue a particular course of conduct under the denomination of virtue, not because our virtuous actions can in any degree be of advantage to him by whom we are created, but because they necessarily generate in our own minds those dispositions which are essential to our ultimate happiness. A man of a malignant, arrogant, or sensual disposition, would have no enjoyment in that heaven, where all are actuated by a spirit of love and purity ; and it is doubtless for this reason amongst others, that the Christian religion prohibits malice, arrogance, and sensuality, among her votaries, and requires the cultivation of the opposite virtues. But a person who has deviated far from his duty cannot think of returning, unless he be previously convinced that he has gone astray. Such conviction, whenever he obtains it, will necessarily impress upon his mind a sense of his own danger, and fill his heart with sorrow and remorse for having transgressed the laws established by the most benevolent of all Beings for the propagation of universal felicity This conviction of error, this sense of danger, and this compunction for having transgressed, are all perceived by the Deity as soon as they take place in the mind of the sinner ; and he is required to confess his sins, only because the act of confession tends to imprint more deeply on his mind his own unworthiness, and the necessity of returning immediately into the paths of that virtue of which all the ways are pleasantness, and all the paths are peace. In the objection, it is taken for granted, that if God be a benevolent and merciful Being, he will pardon our sins, and grant us what is needful for us, whether we supplicate, him or not; but this is a gross and palpable mistake, arising from the objector’s ignorance of the end of virtue and the VOli. XVHI.

P R A 505 nature of man. Until a man be sensible of bis sins and bis Prayer, danger, he is, for the reason already assigned, incapable of^^V''^'' pardon, because his disposition is incompatible with the happiness of the blessed. But whenever he acquires this conviction, it is impossible for him not to form a mental wish that he may be pardoned ; and this wish being perceptible to the all-seeing eye of his Judge, forms the sum and substance ot a supplication for mercy. If he clothe it in words, it is only for a reason similar to that which makes him adore his Creator and confess his sins in words, that just notions may be more deeply imprinted on his own mind. The same reasoning holds good with respect to those prayers which we put up for temporal blessings, for protection and support in our journey through life. We are told by high authority, that “ the Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon him, to all that call upon him in truth.” This, however, is not because he is attracted or delighted by their prayers and entreaties, but because those prayers and entreaties fit such as offer them for receiving those benefits which he is at all times ready to pour upon all mankind. In his essence God is equally present with the righteous and with the wicked, with those who pray, and with those who pray not; for “ the eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.” But as the atmosphere equally surrounds every person upon this globe, and yet in its state of greatest purity does not affect the asthmatic as it affects those who are whole ; so the Divine presence, though essentially the same everywhere, yet does not protect the impious as it protects the devout, because the impious are not in a state capable of the Divine protection. The end for which God requires the exercise of prayer as a duty, is not his benefit, but ours ; because it is a mean to generate in the petitioner such a disposition of mind as must render him a special object of that love and that providential care which extend over the whole creation. That part of the objection which results from the consideration of the fixed laws of nature, and which the poet has so finely illustrated, presents, it must be confessed, consider-r able difficulties ; but none which to us appear insurmountable. If, indeed, we suppose that in the original constitution of things, when the laws of nature were established, a determinate duration was given to the top of the mountain and the nodding temple, without any regard to foreseen consequences, it would undoubtedly be absurd and perhaps impious to expect the law of gravitation to be suspended by the prayers of a good man, who should happen to be passing at the instant decreed for the fall of these objects. But of such a constitution there is so far from being evidence, that it appears not to be consistent with the wisdom and goodness of the Author of nature. This world was undoubtedly formed for the habitation ot man and ot other animals. If so, we must necessarily suppose, that in the establishing of the laws of nature, God adjusted them in such a manner as he saw would best serve the accommodation of those sentient beings for whose accommodation alone they were to be established. Let it then be admitted, that all the human beings who were ever to exist upon this globe, with all their thoughts, words, and actions, were at That important moment present to the divine intellect, and it will surely not be impossible to conceive that in consequence of the foreseen danger and prayers of a good man, the determinate duration of the mountain and the tower might be either lengthened or shortened to let him escape. This idea of providence, and of the efficacy of prayer, is thus illustrated by Mr. Wollaston. “ Suppose M (some man) certainly io foreknow, by some means or other, that, when he should come to be upon his death-bed, L would petitio?i for some particular legacy, in a manner so earnest and humble, and with such a good disposition, as would render it proper to grant his request; and upon this, M makes ms last will, by which he devises to L that which was to be asked, and then locks up the will; and all this many yeais 3s

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P R E P R A 506 Prayer ought to cultivate in ourselves, mutual intercession is unPrayer. before the death of M, and whilst L had yet no expectation deniably a duty, because nothing contributes so effectually •> or thought of any such thing. When the time comes, the petition is made and granted ; not by making any new wi , to the acquisition of that spirit which an apostle terms the jencef of the commandment. > but by the old one already made, and without alteration , endWhen it is said, that by interceding for kings, and all in which legacy had, notwithstanding that, never been left, had the petition never been preferred. The grant may be authority, we seem to consider the prosperity of communicalled the effect of a future act, and depends as much upon ties as depending upon our interest with God, the objector mistakes the nature and end of these intercessions. In the it as if it had been made after the act. So, if it had been prosperity of any community consists great part of the hapforeseen, that L would not so much as ask, and he had been therefore left out of the will, this prceterition would have piness of its individual members; but that prosperity debeen caused by his carriage, though much later than the pends much upon the conduct of its governors. When, date of the will. In all this nothing is hard to be admitted, therefore, individuals intercede for their governors, the ulif M be allowed to foreknow the case. And thus the prayers timate object of their prayers must be conceived to be their which good men offer to the all-knowing God, and the ne- own good. Having evinced the duty of adoration, confession, suppliglect of prayers by others, may find fitting effects already cation, and intercession, we need not surely waste our readforecasted in the course of nature.” This solution of the difficulty presents indeed to the mind ers’ time with a formal and laboured vindication of thanks Gratitude for benefits received is so universally a prodigious scheme, in which all things to come are, as it giving. were, comprehended under one view, and estimated and acknowledged to be a virtue, and ingratitude is so detestacompared together. But when it is considered what a mass ble a vice, that no man who lays claim to a moral character of wonders the universe is in other respects; what an in- will dare to affirm that we ought not to have a just sense (h.h.h.h) comprehensibly great and perfect being God is; that he of the goodness of God. BREAD AMITE, a denomination given to the inhabicannot be ignorant of any thing, no not of the future wants and deportments of particular men; and that all things which tants of the earth, conceived, by some people, to have lived derive their existence from him must be consistent with one before Adam. Isaac de la Pereyra, in 1655, published a book to evince another, it must surely be confessed that such an adjustment of physical causes to moral volitions is within the com- the reality of Preadamites, by which he gained a considerable number of proselytes to the opinion ; but the answer pass of infinite power and perfect wisdom. To that part of a prayer which we have termed interces- of Desmarets, professor of theology at Groningen, published sion, it has been objected, that “ to intercede for others is the year following, put a stop to its progress, though Peto presume that we possess an interest with the Deity up- reyra made a reply. PREBEND, the maintenance a prebendary receives out on which their happiness and even the prosperity of whole communities depends.” In answer to this objection, it has of the estate of a cathedral or collegiate church. Prebends been observed by an ingenious and useful writer (Mr. Pa- are distinguished into simple and dignitary. A simple preley), that “ how unequal soever our knowledge of the Di- bend has no more than the revenue for its support; but a vine economy may be to a complete solution of this diffi- prebend with dignity has always a jurisdiction annexed to it. PREBENDARY, an ecclesiastic who enjoys a prebend. culty, which may require a comprehension of the entire plan, and of all the ends of God’s moral government, to explain The difference between a prebendary and a canon is, that it satisfactorily, we can yet understand one thing concern- the former receives his prebend in consideration of his ofing it, that it is, after all, nothing more than the making of ficiating in the church, but the latter merely by his being one man the instrument of happiness and misery to another ; received into the cathedral or college. PRECEDENCE, a place of honour to which a person which is perfectly of a piece with the course and order that obtain, and which we must believe were intended to obtain, is entitled. This is either of courtesy or of right. The forin human affairs. Why may we not be assisted by the mer is that which is due to age, estate, or the like, and is prayers of other men, as well as we are beholden for our regulated by custom and civility; the latter is settled by support to their labour ? Why may not our happiness be authority, and when broken in upon, gives an action at law. In Great Britain, the order of precedency is as follows: made in some cases to depend upon the intercession as it certainly does in many upon the good offices of our neigh- The king, the princes of the blood, the archbishop of Canbours ? The happiness and misery of great numbers we see terbury, the lord high chancellor, the archbishop of York, oftentimes at the disposal of one man’s choice, or liable to the lord treasurer of England, the lord president of the be much affected by his conduct; what greater difficulty is council, the lord privy seal, dukes, the eldest sons of dukes there in supposing, that the prayers of an individual may of the blood royal, marquises, dukes’ eldest sons, earls, maravert a calamity from multitudes, or be accepted to the be- quises’ eldest sons, dukes’ younger sons, viscounts, earls’ eldest sons, marquises’younger sons, bishops, barons, speaker nefit of whole communities.” These observations may perhaps be sufficient to remove of the house of commons, lord commissioner of the great the force of the objection, but much more may be said for seal, viscounts’ eldest sons, earls’ younger sons, barons’ eldthe practice of mutual intercession. If it be one man’s duty est sons, privy counsellors not peers, chancellor of the exto intercede for another, it is the duty of that other to in- chequer, chancellor of the duchy, knights of the Garter not tercede for him; aud if we set aside the particular rela- peers, lord chief justice of the king’s bench, master of the tions which arise from blood, and from particular stations in rolls, lord chief justice of the common pleas, lord chief baron society, mutual intercession must be equally the duty of all of the exchequer, puisne judges and barons, knights banmankind. But there is nothing (we speak from our own neret if made in the field, masters in chancery, viscounts’ experience, and appeal to the experience of our readers), younger sons, barons’ younger sons, baronets, knight banwhich has so powerful a tendency to generate in the heart neret, knights of the Bath, knights batchelors, baronets’ of any person good-will towards another, as the constant eldest sons, knights’ eldest sons, baronets’ younger sons, practice of praying to God for his happiness. Let a man knights’ younger sons, field and flag officers, doctors graregularly pray for his enemy with all that seriousness which duate, serjeants at law, esquires, gentlemen bearing coat devotion requires, and he will not long harbour resentment armour, yeomen, tradesmen, artificers, labourers. It is to against him. Let him pray for his friend with that ardour be observed, the ladies, except those of archbishops, bishops, which friendship naturally inspires, and he will perceive his and judges, take place according to the degree of quality of attachment to grow daily and daily stronger. If) then, uni- their husbands; and unmarried ladies take place according versal benevolence, or charity, be a disposition which we to that of their fathers.

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PRECESSION OF THE Precession In the article Astronomy (vol. vi. p. 767), the phenomenon of the of the annual precession of the equinoxes has been described, Equinoxes. an(j jts physical cause stated to be the attraction of the sun and moon upon the protuberant mass of matter accumulated about the earth’s equator, combined with the diurnal rotation. We shall here discuss the subject more particularly, and shew in what manner the different forces which tend to displace the plane of the earth’s equator give rise to the phenomenon in question, and how their effects are computed from the fundamental principles of dynamics. The general problem, which is that of determining the perturbations of the earth’s axis of rotation, embraces the Nutation of the axis, as well as the pfecessional motion of the equinoctial points, and is one of the most important and interesting in physical astronomy. If the earth were a perfect sphere, the attraction of the sun or moon would have no tendency to communicate to it any motion about its centre of gravity. In this case, all the particles being symmetrically disposed with reference to every plane passing through its centre, the forces acting on opposite sides of any plane passing through its centre and the centre of the attracting body, would exactly balance each other, and consequently would have no tendency to produce a rotatory motion. But by reason of the spheroidal form of the earth, and of the intensity of the force of attraction varying with the distance, the action of a distant body which is not situated either in the plane of the equator, or in the prolongation of the axis of rotation, produces an unequal effect on the opposite sides of every plane passing through the earth’s centre, (excepting the meridian in which the body is situated), and tends to produce a rotatory motion about that diameter of the equator which is perpendicular to the line which joins the centre of the earth with the centre of the attracting body. Hence the sun exerts a force, which at every instant has a tendency to bring the plane of the earth’s equator towards the plane of the ecliptic ; and if the earth had no motion of rotation about its axis, the two planes would at length be brought to coincide. In consequence, however, of the rotatory motion, the inclination of the two planes, as we shall shew, undergoes no permanent alteration; but a motion is given to the earth’s axis, such that the pole of the equator constantly revolves about the pole of the ecliptic in the direction opposite to that of the diurnal rotation, and the intersection of the equator and ecliptic, following the motion of the pole, is carried backwards along the ecliptic. The moon produces a similar effect in reference to the plane of the lunar orbit; and the motion produced by the combined action of the sun and moon, which is the phenomenon observed, is the luni solar precession of the equinoxes. As the efficacy of the disturbing force to turn the earth about an axis varies with the distance of the attracting body from the /plane of the equator, the precessional motion of the equinoxes is not uniform. The efficacy of the sun’s force continues to increase, while the sun passes from either equinox to the solstice, and to diminish while it passes from the solstice to the equinox. The period of the inequality is consequently half a-year. The period in 4which the action of the moon passes through all its degrees of intensity is about nine years, being that in which the nodes of the lunar orbit accomplish half a revolution on the ecliptic. The apparent effect of this irregular action, is an alternate increase and diminution of the declinations of the fixed stars, most sensible for those nearest the pole, which is characteristically called the nutation of the earth’s axis. The solar

EQUINOXES.

nutation, however, is so small as to be insensible to obser- Precession yation ; the lunar nutation is sufficiently sensible, amount- of the mg to about 18" between the extreme positions of the pole, ®(iu‘noxes• . Before proceeding with the investigation of the problem,v it will be convenient to premise the two following elementary theorems respecting the composition of rotatory motion, referring the reader for their demonstration to the article Rotation. Theorem 1. If a rigid body revolving about an axis A«, which passes through its centre of gravity O, with an angular velocity =.v, receive an impulse which alone would cause it to revolve about an axis B6, also passing through its centre of gravity, with a velocity =:$, the body will now revolve about a third axis Cc, passing through its centre of gravity, and lying in the plane of the two axes Aa and B5, and so situated that the sine of its inclination to the axis Aa will be to the sine of its inclination to the axis B6, as the velocity about B& to the velocity about Aa ; that is, the new axis will divide the angle AOB, so that sin AOC : sin BOC ::cp :v. In order to determine whether the pole C of the new axis lies between A and B, or between A and b, it is only necessary to consider that the new axis must evidently be that line in the body in which every point is at rest in respect of both motions. If, therefore, we suppose the original motion about Aa, to be in the direction which would raise the point B above the plane of the paper, and to depress b below it, and the new impulse to be given in the direction which would depress the point A below the plane of the paper, and raise a above it, then C will lie between A and B; but if the new impulse tends to raise A above the plane of the paper, then C will lie between A and b. Corollary 1. If the two axes Aa and B6 are at right sin AOC angles, then sin BOC=cos AOC, and we have