Encyclopaedia Britannica [8, 7 ed.]

Citation preview

ENCYCLOPAEDIA 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 VIIL

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

ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA.

D

I A

Dialogism Tl|IALOGISiVI, in Rhetoric, is used for the soliloquies of II persons deliberating with themselves. 2^!^; DIALOGUE, in literature and in common life, a conversation between two or more persons, and either written or oral. As the end of speech is conversation, no kind of writing can tee more natural than dialogue, which represents this. Accordingly we find it was introduced at a very early period; for there are several instances of it in the Mosaic history. The ancient Greek writers, especially the philosophers, also fell very much into dialogue, as the most convenient and agreeable method of communicating their sentiments and instructions to mankind. And indeed it seems to be attended with very considerable advantages, if well and judiciously managed; for it is capable of rendering the driest subjects entertaining and pleasant, by its variety, and by the different characters of the speakers. Besides, things may be canvassed more minutely, and many lesser matters, which serve to clear up a subject, may be introduced with better grace, by means of questions and answers, objections and replies, than can be conveniently done in a continued discourse. There is likewise a further advantage in this way of writing, that the author is at liberty to choose his speakers; and therefore, as Cicero has w'ell observed, that when we imagine that we have persons of an established reputation for wisdom and knowledge talking together, this circumstance necessarily adds a weight and authority to the discourse, and more closely engages the attention. The subject-matter of dialogue is very extensive ; for whatever is a proper argument of discourse, public or private, serious or jocose—whatever is fit for wise and ingenious men to talk upon, either for improvement or diversion—is suitable for a dialogue. From this general account of the nature of dialogue, it is easy to perceive what kind of style best suits it. Its affinity with epistles shows there ought to be no great difference between them in this respect. Indeed, some have been of opinion that it ought rather to sink below the style of an epistle, because dialogues should in all respects represent the freedom of conversation, whereas epistles ought sometimes to be composed with care and accuVOL. VIII.

D

I A

racy, especially when written to superiors. But there seems Dialogue, to be little weight in this argument, since the design of an epistle is to say the same things, and in the same manner, as the writer judges would be most fit and proper for him to speak if present; and in a dialogue the design is similar with respect to the several persons concerned in it. Upon the whole, therefore, a plain, easy, and simple style, suited to the nature of the subject, and the particular characters of the persons concerned, seems to be alike suitable to both. But as greater skill is required in writing dialogues than letters, we shall give a more particular account of the priqcipal things necessary to be regarded in their composition, and illustrate them chiefly from Cicero’s excellent dialogues concerning an orator. A dialogue then consists of two parts ; an introduction, and the body of the discourse. The introduction acquaints us with the place, time, persons, and occasion of the conversation. Thus Cicero places the scene of his dialogues at the country seat of Crassus; a very proper retreat, both for such a debate and the parties engaged in it. And as they were persons of the first rank, employed in the greatest affairs of the state, and as the discourse occupied them for two days, he represents it to have happened at the time of a festival, when no business was done at Rome, and an opportunity wras thus afforded them of being absent. And because the greatest regard should be had in the choice of the persons, who ought to be such as are well acquainted with the subject upon which they discourse, in these dialogues of Cicero the two principal disputants are Crassus and Antony, the greatest orators of that age, and therefore the most proper persons to dispute respecting the qualifications essential for their art. One would think it scarcely necessary to observe that the corfference should be held by persons who lived at the time, and thus were capable of conversing together. But yet some good writers have run into the impropriety of feigning dialogues between persons who had lived at distant times. Plato adopted this method, in which he has been followed by Macrobius. But others, who have been willing to bring persons to discourse together who lived in different ages, without such inconA

9

D

I A

Dialogue, sistency, have written dialogues of the dead. Lucian has made himself most remarkable in this way. As to the number of persons in a dialogue, they may be more or fewer; so many as can conveniently carry on a conversation without disorder or confusion, or they may be only two. Some of Cicero’s dialogues have but two, others three or more, and those concerning an orator seven. But it is convenient in some respects that they should all be persons of different characters and abilities; a circumstance which contributes both to the variety and beauty of the discourse, like the different attitudes of figures in a picture. Thus, in Cicero’s dialogues last mentioned, Crassus excelled in art, Antony principally by the force of his genius, Catullus by the purity of his style, Scevola by his skill in the law, Caesar by wit and humour; and Sulpitius and Cotta, though young men, were both excellent orators, yet they differed in their manner. But there should be always one principal person, having the main part of the conversation ; like the hero in an epic poem or a tragedy, who excels the rest in action, or the principal figure in a picture, which is always made the most conspicuous. In Plato’s dialogues this is Socrates, and Crassus in those of Cicero above mentioned. It is usual likewise, in the introductions, to acquaint us with the occasion of the discourse. Indeed this is not always mentioned ; as in Cicero’s dialogue concerning the parts of oratory, where the son begins immediately with desiring his father to instruct him in the art. But it is generally taken notice of, and most commonly represented as accidental; the reason of which may be, that such discourses appear most natural, and may likewise afford some kind of apology for the writer in managing his different characters, since the greatest men may be supposed not always to speak with the utmost exactness in an accidental conversation. Thus Cicero, in his dialogues concerning an orator, makes Crassus occasionally fall upon the subject of oratory, in order to divert the company from the melancholy thoughts of what they had been discoursing of before, with relation to the public disorders, and the dangers which threatened their common country. But the introduction ought not to be too long and tedious. Mr Addison complains of this fault in some authors who employ dialogue. “ For though,” as he says, “ some of the finest treatises of the most polite Latin and Greek writers are in dialogue, as many very valuable pieces of French, Italian, and English, appear in the same dress; yet in some of them there is so much time taken up in ceremony, that, before they enter on their subject, the dialogue is half over.” We come now to the body of the discourse, in which some things relating to the persons, and others to the subject, are proper to be remarked. And as to the persons, the principal thing to be attended to is to keep up a justness and consistency of character throughout the whole. And the distinct characters ought to be so perfectly observed, that even from the very words it may be always known who is the speaker. This renders dialogue more difficult than single description, by reason of the number and variety of characters which are to be drawn at the same time, and each of them managed with the greatest propriety. The principal speaker should appear to be a person of great sense and wisdom, and best acquainted with the subject. No question ought to be asked him, nor objection started, but what he should fairly answer ; and all that is said by the rest should principally tend to promote his discourse, and carry it through in the most artful and agreeable manner. YVhen the argument is attended with difficulties, one other person or more, of equal reputation, or nearly so, but of different sentiments, should be introduced to oppose him, and maintain the

D

i A

contrary side of the question. This affords an opportunity Dialogue, for a thorough examination of the point on both sides, and for answering all objections. But if the combatants are not pretty equally matched, and masters of the subject, they will treat it but superficially. Through the whole debate, however, there ought not to be the least wrangling, peevishness, or obstinacy; nothing indeed but the appearance of good humour and good breeding, together with a readiness to submit to conviction and the force of truth, according as the evidence shall appear to be on one side or the other. In Cicero, these two characters are Crassus and Antony; and from them Mr Addison seemS to have taken his Philander and Cynthio in his Dialogues upon the Usefulness of Ancient Medals, which are formed pretty much upon Cicero’s plan. When younger persons are introduced, or such as are not equally acquainted with the subject, they should rather be inquisitive than disputative ; and the questions they ask should be neither too long nor too frequent, in order that they may not too much interrupt the debate, nor appear over talkative before wiser and more experienced persons. Sulpitius and Cotta sustain this character in Cicero, and Eugenius in Mr Addison. It is very convenient, however, that there should be one person of a witty and jocose humour, to enliven the discourse at proper seasons, and render it the more entertaining, especially when the dialogue is drawn out to any considerable length. Caesar performs this part in Cicero; and in Mr Addison, Cynthio, a person of a similar turn, opposes Philander in a humorous way. Mr Addison’s subject admitted of this; but the seriousness and gravity of Cicero’s argument required a different speaker for the jocose part. Many persens ought not to speak immediately after one another; though Scaliger and others think a fourth person may sometimes be permitted to speak in the same scene without confusion. However, if this is not commonly allowed upon the stage, where the actors are present, and may be distinguished by their voice and habit; much less should it be so in a dialogue, where we have only their names to distinguish them. With regard to the subject, all the arguments should appear probable at least, and nothing should be advanced which may seem weak or trivial. There ought also to be an union in dialogue, in order that the discourse may not ramble, but keep up to the main design. Indeed, short and pleasant digressions are sometimes allowable, for the ease and entertainment of the reader; but every thing should be so managed that he may still be able to carry on the thread of the discourse in his mind, and keep the main argument in view, till the whole be finished. The writers of dialogue have not confined their discourses to any certain space of time, but either concluded them with the day, or broken off when their speakers have been tired, and resumed them again the next day. Thus Cicero allows two days for his three dialogues concerning an orator; but Mr Addison extends his to three days, allowing a day for each. But the same method has not always been observed in composing dialogues ; for sometimes the writer, by way of narrative, relates a discourse which passed between other persons. Such are the dialogues of Cicero and Mr Addison last mentioned, and many others both of the ancients and moderns. But at other times the speakers are introduced in person as talking to each other. This, as Cicero observes, prevents the frequent repetition of those words, “ he said,” and “ he replied;” and by placing the hearer, as it were, in the conversation, gives him a more lively representation of the discourse, and thus makes it the more affecting. In this manner, therefore, Cicero wrote his Dialogue of Old Age, in which Cato, who was then advanced in years, recounts the satisfaction of life which may be enjoyed in old age; and, in fact, he tells his friend

D

I A

Bialthaea Atticus he was himself so affected with that discourse, II that when he reviewed it, he sometimes fancied they were Diamond. not ^ own wor(js, but Cato’s. There are some other dialogues of Cicero written in the same way ; and both Plato and Lucian generally chose this method. DIALTHiEA, in Pharmacy, an unguent formerly much used as a resolvent, and so called from Althcca, or marshmallows, which is the principal ingredient in it. DIALYSIS, in Grammar, a mark or character, consisting of two points placed over two vowels of a word, in order to separate them, because otherwise they would make them a diphthong, as Mosaic, &c. DIAMASTIGOSIS, a festival at Sparta in honour of Diana Orthia, which received that name anro ro-j yaanyouv, from whipping, because boys were whipped before the altar of the goddess. These boys, called Bomonicae, were originally free-born Spartans, but in the more delicate ages they were of mean birth, and generally of a servile origin. This operation was performed by an officer, in a severe and unfeeling manner; and, that no compassion should be raised, the priest stood near the altar with a small light statue of the goddess, which suddenly became heavy and insupportable if the lash of the whip was more lenient or less rigorous than necessary. The parents of the children attended the solemnity, and exhorted them not to commit any thing, either by fear or groans, that might be unworthy of Laconian education. These flagellations were so severe that the blood gushed profusely, and many expired under the lash, without uttering a groan or betraying any marks of fear. Such a death was reckoned very honourable; and the corpse was buried with much solemnity, with a garland of flowers on its head. The origin of this festival is unknown. Some suppose that Lycurgus first instituted it in order to inure the youth of Lacedaemon to bear labour and fatigue, and to render them insensible to pain and wounds. Others maintain that it is a mitigation of an oracle, which ordered that human blood should be shed on Diana’s altar; and, according to their opinion, Orestes first introduced this barbarous custom, after he had brought the statue of Diana Taurica into Greece. There is/another tradition which mentions that Pausanias, as he was offering up prayers and sacrifices to the gods before he engaged with Mardonius, was suddenly attacked by a number of Lydians, who disturbed the sacrifice, and were at last repelled with staves and stones, the only weapons with which the Lacedaemonians were provided at that moment. In commemoration of this, therefore, the whipping of boys was instituted at Sparta, and thereafter the Lydian procession. DIAMETER, in Geometry, a right line passing through the centre of a circle, and terminated at each side by the circumference. See GEOMETRY. DIAMOND, adamas of the ancients, almas of Persia, and heera of Hindustan, is the most brilliant of gems ; and although known from the remotest times, if we may judge by the casual notice made of it in Scripture, it had in the earlier periods of history obtained little more than a name. Pliny states that it bore a price above all things in the world, and was known to very few except princes and crowned heads. His meagre remarks on this gem are even less satisfactory than those upon almost any other; which affords another reason to conclude that the diamond still remained in his time an object of great rarity. The localities quoted by Pliny appear to be quite erroneous, at least subsequent observations give us reason to think so. Up to the commencement of the eighteenth century diamonds were wholly derived from India, where they were found in detached crystals, accompanied with grains of gold, amongst metallic sand washed down from surrounding mountains. In 1728 a similar territory, loaded with

D I A

3

the two most valuable substances in nature, was discover- Diamond, ed on the southern continent of the New World. When in pursuit of gold, crystals of diamond were often found; but the labourers being ignorant of their value, laid them aside as curiosities. A miner, who is said to have arrived in Brazil at this time, first directed attention towards them; and, without attempting to appropriate his discovery to his own aggrandisement, he led his comrades to turn their pursuit to the more engaging object. It soon, therefore, attracted the notice of the government, and was shortly afterwards taken possession of in name of the sovereign. Hitherto the supply of diamonds was entirely confined to Hindustan and the island of Borneo; and, as might reasonably be expected, the opening of a new field, the extent of which was as yet wholly unknown, could not fail to affect the market. The discredit which was at first thrown upon the accounts from Brazil, as also on the purity and perfection of the stones, repressed the fears of the Asiatic dealers, and the increased demand after the purchase of the Pitt diamond, a circumstance which no doubt rendered that gem far more recherche at the gay and luxurious court of France, all tended to increase the demand, and keep it more upon an equilibrium with the increased supply than could possibly have been expected. At a subsequent period, no doubt, the revolution of France interfered with the value of jewels; but the surplus thus produced was soon absorbed by the wealth of Britain, and diamonds of the first water for a long time maintained their ground. At the present day this perhaps cannot be said to hold good. As a commercial commodity, diamonds must have suffered depression like all others, and may perhaps be valued at from twenty-five to thirty per cent, particularly those beyond the smallest sizes, under the prices which they bore in the times of Tavernier; although Mawe appears to have been anxious to inculcate a different doctrine. After his examination of the Brazilian district, he says there would be no difficulty in calculating the period requisite to work out the whole of the diamond ground in that country ; and as many of the mines of Hindustan are considered as exhausted, the period must come sooner or later when diamonds will be no longer to be had. In both countries the gem is confined within the limits of the tropics. In India, Golconda has always been cited as one of its principal repositories, although none was ever found in the immediate vicinity of that fortress, from the circumstance perhaps of the geological character of the neighbourhood, which is entirely syenitic. It may have arisen, however, from the fact, that the diamond mines of Raolconda and Ganee Purteeal were situated in the territory of the Kootub Shahee kings of Golconda. When that dynasty was overthrown, and their country occupied by the officers of the Mogul emperors, Golconda ceased to be the capital, and Hyderabad, which is only a few miles distant, became the occasional seat of the new government. The territory in which the mines are situated has since been ceded to the East India Company. It lies near Condapilly, on the northern bank of the Kistna, about fifty miles from the sea, and near the Pass of Bezoara, where the river appears at some period to have forced its way through a chain of hills, and to have emptied an extensive lake which had existed to the westward of them. All attempts to work them have been abandoned, as the produce has ceased to refund the expense of labour. The localities of the diamond in Hindustan are so various that it would be almost endless to enumerate them. Those on the Mahanuddy, with those on the Kistna and at Mallavilly, north-west of Ellore, may be mentioned as probably the most productive of this beautiful gem. The island of

DIAMOND. Diamond. Borneo is the only other eastern locality which can boast of its production. It occurs at Pontiana, in that island, directly under the line, and at Benjarmassin, about three degrees south of the equator. Here it is said to be of a quality superior to that of the gems found in the other Indian localities, and to be distinguished in consequence by the name of Landak, the place they are found in.. Here also the diamond occurs in alluvial soil, accompanied with gold. One diamond was found about a century ago, of 367 carats, supposed to be now in the hands of the chief of Pontiana. From Heyne’s account of the working of diamond mines in Hindustan, it seems to afford a very miserable livelihood. He states that the diamond has hitherto been found only in alluvial soil, or in the most recent rocks; and that the stones are not scattered through the whole of these beds, but confined to one rather harder than the rest. The upper stratum, of eighteen inches, consists of sand, gravel, and loam; next there is a deposit of stiff black clay or mud, of about four feet; and next the diamond bed, which is distinguished by a mixture of large rounded stones. It is from two to two and a half feet thick, closely cemented together with clay. Sometimes this stratum is covered with calcareous tuffo. Here shallow pits are excavated, of a few feet in diameter, in such spots as the practice of the workman may induce him to select; he sinks to a depth of a few feet, and searches the bed which he considers most promising for his purposes, and if he meets with little encouragement, he shifts his situation, and proceeds elsewhere. Thus a great deal of the country may be turned to waste and neglected, and, when it comes to be again wrought over more carefully, may give ris& to the absurd fancy of regeneration. The miners, M. Voysey {Asiatic Researches, vol. xv. p. 120) says, are of opinion all over India, that the chips and small rejected pieces of former searchers actually increase in size, and in process of time become large diamonds ; and he finishes his paper, by hoping that some future mineralogist would ascertain whether there were any foundation for the vulgar opinion of the continual growth of the diamond; particularly as he hoped at some future period to produce undeniable proof of the re-crystallization of amethyst, zeolite, and felspar, in alluvial soil. This respectable gentleman did not live to bring forward his proofs; but bad he been doomed to arrive at the age of the patriarchs of old, we are of opinion he would have been puzzled to produce them. In Brazil, the diamond is more confined to one spot than in India. The district of Minas Geraes comprehends, as far as we yet know, the whole of the diamond grounds hitherto discovered in the New World. There the workings appear to be carried on more systematically than in India. The operations at the Serra do Frio we have already described in the article BRAZIL (vol. v. p. 199). The Serra do Frio, or cold mountain, is a mountainous platform, having an elevation of from sixteen to eighteen hundred metres. The district over which the diamonds are searched for, extends about sixteen leagues from north to south, by about eight from east to west. It is situated twelve leagues north of Tejuco, on the river Tigitouhonha, which falls into the river San Francisco. By the decomposition of the granite, an agglomerate is formed, composed of rounded white quartz pebbles, and light-coloured sand, to which the natives give the name of cascalho; and it is in this substance that the diamonds are found, along with gold, which is sometimes crystallized. It is exactly similar to some of the samples of the diamond deposits of Hindustan sent to the Royal Society of Edinburgh by Mr Swinton, but differs considerably from others, where a conglomerated sandstone of considerable tenacity

has in several instances been sent, as the matrix of the Diamond, diamond. From any thing we are yet able to judge, it does not appear that the diamond has ever yet been seen in a matrix which could be esteemed its original position. Heyne has given two coloured engravings of diamonds in the matrix, and they have the merit of representing very faithfully specimens of this description we have seen at home ; but they are in all probability only diamonds accidentally agglutinated in ferruginous matter having no character of a rock. The Musnuddy, which joins the Mahanuddy, is mentioned as affording an indication which might lead to a favourable result in such an investigation. At its confluence with the Maund River, near Chunderpoor, and not farther down than Sonpoor, it is only on the left bank of the river that diamonds are found. Hence the Maund is the point at which the examination should commence; and if the country can be effectually penetrated, it would be well worthy the attention of some enterprising mineralogist. We have no satisfactory geological account of any of the diamond countries; a slight sketch by Voysey, in the article above quoted, is the best that we can refer to. He particularly alludes to a range of hills, called the Nalla Malla, or Blue Mountains, about Cummum, on the Gunlacummum river, which are composed of schistose rocks, of all varieties, from clay-slate to pure limestone, accompanied with quartz rock, sandstone, sandstone brescia, flinty slate, hornstone slate, and a tuffaceous limestone, containing imbedded, rounded, and angular masses of all these rocks. These are bounded on all sides by granite, which appears to pass under and form the base. The only rock of this formation on which the diamond is found is the sandstone brescia. “ I have as yet,” says he, “ only visited the rich mines of Banaganpilly (lying in Heyne’s map in 78° 4' by 15° 4'), where the brescia is found under a compact sandstone rock, differing in no respect from that which is found under other parts of the main range. It is composed of a beautiful mixture of red and yellow jasper, quartz, calcedony, and hornstone, cemented together by a quartz paste. It passes into puddingstone, composed of rounded pebbles of quartz, &c. cemented by an argillo-calcareous earth, of a loose friable nature, in which the diamonds are most frequently found.” Heyne states, that in some of the mines in India the diamonds are found entirely broken or crushed, and only of value for pounding; but at the same time thinks it must be owing to carelessness. He mentions also that the diamonds of Cuddapah are carried to Madras to be used for the same-purpose, and the price he quotes for a carat of stones fit for brilliants is only seven rupees. No crystal in nature is more beautiful than that of the diamond. It is sometimes so pure and so pellucid, with its angles and faces so perfectly symmetrical, as to shine like a dew-drop in the rays of the sun. Its primitive form is that of the equilateral octahedron. It passes into the dodecahedron and the cube, presenting modifications in each. The colourless diamond of the first water is the most valuable ; but very fine diamonds sometimes present a deep red tinge, also yellow, orange, green, blue, and black. Those which have a slight tint of yellow are often remarkably brilliant, and are said to be of a superior hardness. The value of diamonds is always calculated in carats, which consists of four grains ; but it must be remembered, that the diamond grain differs from the Troy grain, as it takes five of the former to weigh four of the latter, or more exactly one carat = 3*174 gr. Troy. In valuing diamonds, either rough or cut, the practice is to take the weight in carats, to square that weight, and

DIAMOND. Diamond,

then to multiply the product by such a rate of price as by much the largest price ever paid for any jewel, is not Diamond, may correspond to the state and quality of the stone ; equal to the rule of value. This is esteemed the finest thus, if a natural crystal of diamond be clear, without flaws, and most perfect diamond known. The second was purchased for a bit of rock-crystal, on and of a favourable shape, the price by which the square of its weight should be multiplied is L.2; so that it the a stall in the market-place of Florence, at the cost of a stone weigh one carat, its value will be L.2, if two carats, few pence; it is of a beautiful lemon-yellow colour, and. is 2 X 2 == L and 4 X 2 = 8, or a stone of two carats is now in the possession of the house of Austria. The diaworth L.8. A stone of ten carats, in the same way, will mond mentioned as the property of the Emperor of Rusgive 10 X 10 = 100, and 100 X 2 = L.200, the value sia ornaments the top of his sceptre. It is of the size of a pigeon’s egg, and is said to have been the eye of an of a perfect rough diamond of this weight. If the diamond has been worked into a brilliant of just Indian idol pillaged by a deserter from the French service, proportions, the same rule is observed of squaring the who had the address to get himself installed as a priest in weight in carats; but a much higher price is used as the the service of the Malabar deity at Seringham, as narrated multiplier of the product; as L.8 is considered to be the by Dutens. The Empress Catherine purchased it for proper multiplier when the stone is perfect in water and L.90,000, together with an annuity of L.4000. The Great Mogul is described by Tavernier as an irregushape. Thus a diamond of 5^ carats gives 301 as its square, and this multiplied by 8 makes L.242 as its price. larly-shaped diamond, but cut and polished. It was found If the stone has been worked into the form which is at Colore, in the district of Golconda, in the year 1550 ; termed a rose, L.6 is used as the multiplier; and if it be and is said to have weighed 900 carats before cutting, but this appears a most enormous sacrifice. Of the Brazilian of the form termed table-cut, it is still lower. Considerable modifications, however, must be made in diamond some suspicions have been entertained. It has these multipliers, according to the quality of the diamonds been insinuated that it is only a mass of very fine white and the state of the market. If a brilliant be what is coloured topaz, and it is not likely that the king of Portermed “ off colour,” that is, not absolutely colourless, tugal will run the hazard of ascertaining the fact. The supply of diamonds from Brazil, according to Baron or if it be in any other way imperfect in shape or purity, a corresponding diminution must be made in the multi- d’Eschwege, during the eighty-four years from 1730 to plier. Thus a brilliant with a yellow or a milky hue, or 1814, was at the rate of 36,000 carats per annum ; but the with a small speck or flaw, may not be multiplied by more return from the registers of the administration of the diathan L.4, L.5, or L.6, according to the nature or extent mond mines from 1800 to 1806 was only 19,000 carats. of the imperfection. The state of the demand in the mar- It is also added, that the revenue derived by government ket must likewise have great influence. At present the during the first period was only eighteen or nineteen demand for good brilliants of one carat and under is francs the carat, whilst from forty to fifty were obtained greater in proportion to the supply than for heavier stones, during the last; a certain indication of a diminished supand such stones will therefore sometimes cost L.10 the ply. A singular circumstance is noticed with respect to carat; whilst there being fewer purchases for the larger the uniformity of the diamond ground of Do Frio. The sizes, they may often be had in commerce at a lower rate same cubic mass of cascalho will yield, on washing, pretty nearly the same number of carats, in large or small diathan has been mentioned above. monds, so that the superintendent can calculate on the proThe finest known diamonds are as follow: That of the crown of France (Pitt diamond), weighing bable produce of the washing. Large stones do not abound in Brazil, but there are 136f carats, the value of which, taken according to the above tde, WOuld be L. 141,058. The dimensions of some of considerable dimensions. Mawe mentions one from the little rivulet D’Albaite of 120 carats, but they do this fine stone are stated to be, not often exceed from eighteen to twenty. Length 1-2437 inches. The prices of diamonds quoted by Heyne, who visited Breadth 1-177 with a scrutinizing eye the principal mines of Hindustan, Depth -859 differ from those laid down by the rule of Tavernier and Weight in Troy grains, 434. That of the Grand Duke of Tuscany (now Austrian), Jeffreys. Without attempting to reconcile them, we shall quote the value which the Hindus put upon what they conweighing 139| carats, valued as above at L.153,682. That of the Emperor of Russia, weighing 195 carats. This sider as the best, and denominate the Brahma diamond; it is sold by the manjalin, which is equal to two carats, and diamond is rose cut. That of the Great Mogul, weighing 279^- carats, also rose each carat at the price of ten pagodas. One manjalin 10 Madras pagodas. cut. Two 24 That of the King of Portugal, weighing 1680 carats, being Three 40 rough, not less than L.5,644,800. Four 80 It is consequently quite evident that this rule can obFive 100 tain only among diamonds of moderate size; and if it Six 150 should establish something by which a price may be named, Seven 250 all else must be left to subsequent arrangement. Eight 400 Of the remarkable diamonds we have enumerated, the first is that known by the name of the Regent or Pitt dia- He adds that these are the prices of stones free from mond. It was found at Pasteal, in the Golconda district. It speck, flaw, or crack. Cut stones are valued in a different was imported into this country by Mr Pitt, governor of way. The most remarkable circumstance in the history of the Madras, who purchased it from a native for 48,000 pagodas, about L.20,400 at the exchange of the day, and after being diamond is to be found in the nature of its composition. offered to different crowned heads in Europe, was pur- This proud, this imperial ornament, which has ever occhased by the regent of France in 1717 as a jewel for the cupied the summit of the diadem, this most brilliant of crown. It was placed by Napoleon in the hilt of the sword gems, and hardest of all known bodies, is, after all, but a of state, and, according to Brard, the price paid for it was morsel of charcoal, which has been made to yield to the 2,250,000 francs; Jeffreys calls it L.125,000, and other rays of the sun, and dissolve into a noxious vapour. As authors say L.130,000. Any of these, however, although early as 1607, Boetius de Boodt threw out the hint that

6

DIAMOND.

Diamond, diamond was inflammable. In 1673 Boyle discovered that when it was exposed to a great heat it was dissipated into acrid vapour. In 1691, the experiments of Boyle were confirmed by those of Cosmo III. Grand Duke of Tuscany, with his celebrated burning glass. About the same time, but whether before or not is uncertain, Sir Isaac Newton was led, from the great refractive power of the diamond, to pronounce it “ an unctuous substance coagulated.” Lavoisier proved it to be composed of carbon, by throwing the sun’s rays concentrated by a powerful lens upon a diamond inclosed in a vessel with oxygen gas ; when the diamond and the oxygen disappeared, and carbonic acid was generated. Sir George Mackenzie repeated the experiments of Boyle in 1800; and, finally, when Sir Humphry Davy visited Florence in 1814, the experiment of the grand duke was performed again with the same lens ; and mineralogists no longer hesitated to place the gem amongst inflammable bodies. According to Ellicot, the specific gravity of Brazil diamonds is 3’513, and of India diamonds 3‘519. The former is the mean of four, the latter of ten experiments. Diamond cutting was little understood till 1476, when an artist of the name of Berghen, residing at Bruges, introduced the practice of using diamond powder for forming and polishing the facets. Holland, in consequence, long maintained a monopoly of this trade; and to this day the smaller diamonds are almost entirely manufactured for the European market, at Amsterdam. The Pitt diamond was, however, cut and polished in London, as most of the larger sized stones continue to be. It is a very laborious and tedious operation. The grinding into the required form is entirely done by the hand. Two stones are cemented to the ends of tool handles, and rubbed with a powerful pressure against each other, a leaden model being first taken of the rough stone intended to be cut. The faces are thus determined. The two stones are then rubbed together over a little metal box haying a double bottom, the upper one being loose and perforated with small holes, through which the diamond dust passes, and is carefully preserved. The desired form being thus obtained, the dust is afterwards used in polishing the faces of the diamond, mixed up with sweet oil, on a common lapidary’s wheel, and the brilliancy of the gem brought out. The period of constant work required to reduce a stone of between twenty-four and thirty carats to a regular form will extend to at least seven or eight months constant work. The Pitt diamond was said to occupy two years. From the outline in Plate CCII. fig. 1, there was a great deal of extraneous matter to reduce, and that space of time may very likely have been required. When the mass to be removed is of such a size as to render it of importance to keep it entire, the piece is cut off by means of a steel wire, extended on a bow of cane or whalebone, anointed with diamond powder. This process is very commonly adopted in India. The diamond is sometimes also split by means of a chisel under a sharp stroke of a hammer; but this means requires great firmness of mind and dexterity of hand, for a valuable stone is sometimes destroyed by an unlucky blow. The forms into which the diamond is cut are the brilliant, the rose, and the table. The first is composed of a principal face, which is called the table, surrounded by a fringe composed of a number of facets, which is all that is visible above the bezil when set. The proportion for the depth should be half the breadth of the stone, terminated with a small face, parallel to the table, and connected with the surface by elongated facets. As the octahedron is the most common natural form of the stone, and the brilliant cut being by far the most advantageous in point of effect, and the most economical form that can be

adopted, it is hence preferred. The others are suggested Diamond, by the shape of the mass. v— The rose is entirely covered with facets on the surface, and is flat below. The table form is adopted in consequence of the shape of the mass, whether crystal or fragment, and produces the least effect. It is principally used in India, where the native jewellers cleave stones into plates, having often a large surface with little proportioned weight or brilliancy, except at the edges, which are ornamented by being cut into facets. The great diamond of the Mogul emperor, called Derriah Noor, is of this description ; that called Koh-e-noor is rose-cut. Much of the value of diamonds depends on the cutting of the stone. A late celebrated philosopher, who required a piece of diamond for philosophical purposes, found a large mass in the hands of a jeweller. It was of an awkward form, and presented a flaw which very greatly deteriorated its value, as, in consequence of the refraction and reflection which took place within the mass, the flaw seemed to occupy nearly the whole of the interior. The gentleman, however, was not afraid. He paid a large sum for the stone, directed the workman in cutting it, amputated the piece he wanted, separating the flaw, and sold the remainder back to the jeweller, after being properly cut and polished, for double the price he paid for it. Hopes were recently excited, that a new diamond district had been discovered in Siberia by the celebrated traveller Humboldt. He thought he had met with appearances in a territory belonging to Count Demidoff, analogous to that of Minas Geraes, and recommended a search for the gem. But as two years have since elapsed without any confirmation of this suggestion, the old localities of Asia and Brazil are likely to remain without competition. Explanation of the Plate, No. CCII.—The three figures at the top, No. 1, 2, 3, are representations of the Regent or Pitt diamond, the Great Mogul, and the Grand Duke, of the full size and form. No. 4 presents the brilliant cut, looked at perpendicularly. No. 5, the same sidewise. No. 6 and 7 also represent the brilliant before it undergoes the process of re-cutting. No. 8 and 9 are the vertical and lateral appearances of the rose-cut diamond; and No. 10 and 11, that of the table-cut. The scale No. 12 exhibits the sizes of the set diamond within the hezil, together with the depth of the stone, and the number of carats a diamond of that size is likely to weigh. This estimate can only be an approximation to the exact weight; but the weight of a set stone may thus be very nearly ascertained. No. 13 is the figure of the octahedral diamond seen perpendicularly, with the table traced where the stone should be cut; and No. 14 is the same crystal seen laterally, with the table and the opposite face also traced. By these figures it will be seen how much more advantageous it is to adopt the brilliant form than any other. Diamonds have been imitated with great success by the French artists. To this composition, to which they give the name of strass, they not only communicate the adamantine lustre of the zircon, but succeed in giving it such a similitude to the real stone in all respects, hardness excepted, that it is nearly impossible for unpractised eyes to detect the difference. Recently quartz has been used with great effect to form the faces of factitious stones. DIAMOND used by Glaziers, is an instrument made of steel or iron, into the point of which a diamond is introduced and fixed by solder. Care must be taken to place the gem so that, by applying the instrument in a particular position, the angle of the crystal will come in contact with the glass. DIAMOND, in Heraldry, a term used for expressing the black colour in the achievements of peerage.

D I A ,Diamond

‘Harbour

J|

Diana.

Guillim does not approve of blazoning the coats of peers by precious stones instead of metals and colours; but the English practice allows it. Morgan says the diamond is an emklem 0f fortitude. DIAMOND Harbour, a harbour in the western branch of the Ganges, on the Hooghly river, about thirty-four miles below Calcutta in a straight line, but much more by the windings of the river. Here the Company’s ships generally unload, and take in great part of their homeward bound cargoes. There are mooring chains for their accommodation, and storehouses on shore ; and in the adjacent villages, consisting of a few thatched houses, with some petty shops, provisions may be purchased. But the place is very unhealthy, especially during the periodical rains in July, August, and September, ow ing to the exhalations from the swamps, and the heavy dews which fall at night. The country on both sides of the river is infested with tigers. DIAMOND Island is situated on the east side of the Bay of Bengal, twelve miles south from Cape Negrais. It is about a mile and a half long, by one mile broad; low, covered with wood, and surrounded by shoals, which render it dangerous for boats to land. It has fresh water, and abounds with turtle. It belongs to the Burmese, and is uninhabited. Long. 94. 12. E. Eat. 15. 51. N. DIAMPER, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Cochin, said to be inhabited chiefly by Christians. Here a synod was held by the Portuguese'archbishop and others, in the hopes of converting the Nestorians to the faith of the Roman Catholic church, but without effect. Long. 76. 37. E. Eat. 9. 55. N. DIANA, the goddess of hunting. According to Cicero, there were three of this name ; a daughter of Jupiter and Proserpine, who became mother of Cupid ; a daughter of Jupiter and Latona ; and a daughter of Upis and Glauce. The second is the most celebrated, and to her all the ancients allude. She was born at the same birth as Apollo; and the pains which she saw her mother suffer during her labour gave her such an aversion to marriage, that she obtained permission of her father to live in perpetual celibacy, and lo preside over the travails of women. In order to shun the society of men, she devoted herself to hunting, and was always accompanied by a number of chosen virgins, who, like herself, abjured the use of marriage. She is represented with a bow and quiver, and attended by dogs, and sometimes drawn in a chariot by two white stags. Sometimes she appears with wings, holding a lion in one hand, and a panther in the other, with a chariot drawn by two heifers, or two horses of different colours. She is represented as tall; her face has something manly in it; her legs are bare, well shaped, and strong; and her feet are covered with a buskin worn by huntresses among the ancients. She received many sirnames, particularly from the places where her worship was established, and from the functions over which she presided. She was called Lucina, Ilythia, or Juno Pronuba, when invoked by women in childbed; and Trivia when worshipped in the crossways, where her statues were generally erected. She was supposed to be the same as the moon and Proserpine or Hecate, and from that circumstance she was called Triformis ; and some of her statues represented her with three heads, namely, those of a horse, a dog, and a boar. She was also called Agrotera, Orithia, Taurita, Delia, Cynthia, Aricia, and the like. She was supposed to be the same as the Isis of the Egyptians, whose worship was introduced into Greece along with that of Osiris under the name of Apollo. When Typhon waged war against the gods, Diana, to avoid his fury, metamorphosed herself into a cat. She is generally known in the figures representing her, by the crescent on her head, by the dogs which attend

D

I A

her, and by her hunting habit. The most famous of her Diana’s temples was that of Ephesus, which formed one of the Bank seven wonders of the world. (See EPHESUS.) She wasj)ja j||.a there represented with a great number of breasts, and other symbols, which signified the earth or Cybele. Though she was the patroness of chastity, yet she forgot her dignity in order to enjoy the company of Endymion; and the favours she granted to Pan and Orion are also recorded among the mythic scandal of antiquity. The inhabitants of Taurica were particularly attached to the worship of this goddess, and they cruelly offered on her altar all the strangers who suffered shipwreck on their coasts. Her temple in Africa was always served by a priest who had murdered his predecessor; and the Lacedaemonians yearly offered her human victims till the age of Lycurgus, who changed this barbarous custom for the sacrifice of flagellation. The Athenians generally offered her goats ; and others a white kid, and sometimes a boar pig or an ox. Among plants, the poppy and the dittany were sacred to her. Diana, as well as her brother Apollo, had some oracles, among which those of Egypt, Cilicia, and Ephesus, are the best known. DIANA’S BANK, or DIANA’S SHOAL, a small sandy islet in the Indian Sea, scarcely visible from the masthead, its situation lying so low. Long. 151. 5. E. Lat. 15. 45. S. DIANiE ARBOR, or ARBOR LUN^E, in Chemistry, the beautiful arborescent form of silver, dissolved in nitric acid, and precipitated by another metal; so called from its resembling the trunk, branches, and leaves of a tree. DIANO, a city of Italy, in the Neapolitan province Principato Citeriore, containing 4146 inhabitants. DIAPASON, in Music, a musical interval, which most authors who have written on the theory of music use to express the octave of the Greeks. DIAPASON, among the musical instrument makers, a kind of rule or scale by which they adjust the pipes of organs, and cut the holes of hautboys, flutes, and the like, in due proportion for performing the tones, semitones, and concords, with precision. DIAPASON Diaex, in Music, a kind of compound con-

cord, of which there are two sorts; the greater, which is in the proportion of 10:3; and the lesser, in that of 16:5. DIAPASON Diapente, in Music, a compound consonance in a triple ratio, as 3:9. This interval, says Martianus Capella, consists of nine tones and a semitone, nineteen semitones, and thirty-eight dieses. It is a symphony made when the voice proceeds from the first to the twelfth sound. DIAPASON Diatessaron, in Music, a compound concord founded on the proportion of eight to three. To this interval Martianus Capella allows eight tones and a semitone, seventeen semitones, and thirty-four dieses. This is when the voice proceeds from its first to its eleventh sound. The moderns would rather call it the eleventh. DIAPASON Ditone, in Music, a compound concord, whose terms are as 10 :4, or as 5 : 2. DIAPASON Semiditone, in Music, a compound concord, whose terms are in the proportion of 12 :5. DIAPENTE, in ancient music, an interval marking the second of the concords, and with the diatessaron an octave ; in modern music it is called a jifth. DIAPER, a kind of cloth on which are formed various figures, and which is chiefly employed for table-linen. DIAPHANOUS, an appellation given to all transparent bodies, or such as transmit the rays of light. DIAPHORETICS, among physicians, all medicines which promote perspiration. DIAPHRAGM (DiaphragmcL), in Anatomy, a part vulgarly called the midriff, and by anatomists septum trans-

8

D

I A

D

I A

Diaphoresis It is a strong muscular substance, separating the man than Saracenic work. The bazars and baths contain Diarbeki I! , breast or thorax from the abdomen or lower venter, and brick work of a similar kind, which Mr Buckingham thinks "vxDiarbekir. serv;ng as a partition between the abdominal and the tho- is decidedly Mahommedan. Broken columns of black coral racic viscera. (See ANATOMY, Index.) Plato, as Galen are seen scattered in different quarters of the town; and informs us, first called it diaphragm, from the verb ha- among these are several Ionic capitals of Greek origin.

he produce it or not. This law, of course, regulates the ceived that the superiority of the illicitly distilled, or strength of his wort. For, in order to produce that quan- Highland whisky as it is called, is owing to the mode of tity, it is necessary that the wort should contain a certain distillation. The smugglers distil in a much slower way proportion of saccharine matter. Accordingly, the wort than the legal distillers. But nothing can be more absurd must be at least of the strength 55^ lbs. per barrel when than this opinion. The flavour of the spirits depends enit is let down into the fermenting tun, and the law prohi- tirely upon the previous steps of the process. The slowbits it from being stronger than 75 lbs. per barrel. If we ness or rapidity of the distillation can make no difference suppose the whole saccharine matter contained in the wort whatever in the flavour, provided it be properly performto be decomposed during the fermentation, 100 wine gal- cd. Accordingly, we have seen spirits distilled by the Ions would produce 14 gallons of spirits of the specific very rapid mode of distillation that formerly was practised gravity O’OOOIT, provided the original strength of the wort in Scotland, possessed of all the flavour of the best Highwas 55^ lbs. per barrel. But this is a supposition which land whisky. is never realized in practice. From a number of experiGreat pains have been taken to put an end to the pracments, conducted vrith considerable care, we consider our- tice of illicit distillation in Scotland; and, by greatly diselves warranted in concluding, that, even when the fer- minishing the duty, this object, of late years, has been mentation is conducted with the greatest success, the nearly attained. The smugglers formerly set the whole quantity of saccharine matter which will remain undecom- force of government at defiance, and carried on their proposed in a barrel of wort of the original strength of 55-L cesses in spite of all the attempts that were made to stop lbs. per barrel, cannot be less than 15 lbs. Hence a dis- them. Many of them, indeed, were brought to absolute tiller can scarcely be expected to produce 14 gallons of ruin, and few of them, we believe, were ever able to reaspirits of the specific gravity 0-90917 from 100 gallons of lize much money, or to rise to independence. But still a wort, unless the original strength of his wort was at least new race of smugglers rose up after another to carry on 70^ lbs. per barrel. In general, indeed, a still greater their illicit trade, to the great detriment of the revenue, strength than this will be requisite. Now, to produce and to an equal deterioration of the morals of the common wort of the strength 70^ lbs. per barrel from raw grain, people. Government do not seem to have been aware of without boiling, is by no means an easy task. Formerly, the principal reason of the continuance of this evil. They when the product necessary was 19 gallons of spirits from bound down the legal distillers in such a manner by injuthe 100 of wort, the distillers were accustomed to give rious restrictions, that it was not in their power to protheir wort the requisite strength by the process which duce a spirit equal in flavour to that manufactured by the they termed lobbing. This consisted in making up a very smugglers, who lie under none of those restrictions which strong infusion of saccharine matter from malt, raw grain, bind down the ingenuity of the legal trader. This supe&c. and adding it to the wort till it acquired the requisite riority induces a corresponding desire in the inhabitants strength. This substance was likewise called bub; and of Scotland to possess themselves of smuggled whisky, every distiller had his own method of preparing it. Pro- even at a higher price than that for which they can purbably sugar, treacle, or other similar prohibited articles, chase the same article from the licensed distillers. The often found their way into it. It was on this supposition smugglers, in consequence, are winked at, or rather enthat the addition of it to wort was entirely prohibited in couraged, by a very considerable proportion of the inhathe late act of parliament regarding the Scotch distilleries, bitants of the country. While this feeling existed it was And it was to prevent the secreting of the surplus spirits impossible to put an end to smuggling in Scotland. But which might be produced above the 14 per cent, that the government of late has removed the restrictions by which strength of the worts was limited to the maximum 75 lbs. the Scotch distillers were bound, so far as to allow them per barrel. to distil from malt at nearly the same rate as they formerW hen the quantities of grain, malt, and water, above in- ly did from raw grain. The consequence has been, that dicated, are employed, the first worts drawn off* will be the high reputation of smuggled whisky has gradually about the strength of 73 lbs. per barrel, and the second sunk, and smuggling has been nearly discontinued, worts of the strength 50 lbs. per barrel; and the two, when The only reason that was alleged for continuing the remixed together, would constitute a wort of the strength strictions under which the distillers were placed, was the of about 62 lbs. per barrel. Of course, the worts actually allegation that they were necessary in order to ensure the made by the Scotch distillers must exceed the strength payment of the duty upon the spirits actually distilled, of those which we have employed by way of illustration, But we conceive that this duty might be levied with as by about eight lbs. per barrel. But we have reason to be- much accuracy, though all the restrictions on the strength lieve that 62 lbs. per barrel would be a better strength of the wort were removed. From a number of experithan that pitched upon by those who contrived the act of ments conducted upon a large scale, we conclude that the parliament by which the Scotch distilleries are regulated, fermentation, however successful, is capable of decomposV\ ort of such strength should yield about 12 per cent, of ing only four fifths of the whole saccharine matter conspirits of the strength one to ten over proof, or of the tained in the wort. Farther, we find, that for every pound specific gravity 0-90917. The original strength of the of saccharine matter decomposed by the fermentation, wort from which Dutch Hollands is made is considerably there is formed half a pound of alcohol of the specific graless than this, and we believe that nobody will deny that vity 0-825. Now every gallon of spirits of the specific the Dutch spirit is, in general, much preferable to the gravity 0-90917, or one to ten over proof, contains 4-6 lbs. whisky manufactured in the lowlands of Scotland. of alcohol of the specific gravity 0-825. To form a galThe whisky made by smugglers in Scotland is univer- lon of spirits, then, of the specific gravity 0-90917, there sally preferred by the inhabitants, and is purchased at a is required the decomposition of 9-2 lbs. of saccharine higher price, under the name of Highland whisky. This matter. But as only four fifths of the saccharine matter is partly owing to its being made entirely from malt; but present are decomposed, we must increase 9-2 by a fifth, the chief reason is, that, from the unfavourable circum- which will raise it to 11L lbs. The rule, therefore, for lestances under which they operate, their wort is necessa- vying the duty on the distillers would be this. Ascertain,

DISTILLATION. 47 convenient circumstance, because it would afford an addiDistillai istilla* by the saccharoraeter, the strength of the wort, or the ttion. number of pounds avoirdupois of saccharine matter which tional security for determining the strength with accuracy. Lon. it contains, and for every 11^ of these pounds charge the He would have it in his power to try the strength of the duty upon one gallon of spirits. This would be no hard- worts while hot in the underback, and when newly let ship upon the distiller. If he is unable to produce a gal- down into the fermenting tuns, before the yeast was addlon of spirits from IHlbs. of saccharine matter, he is not ed. This second trial ought to give nearly the same resufficiently acquainted with his business, and the necessity sult as the first. We say nearly, because, when the worts of paying the duty would stimulate his ingenuity to ac- are hot, it is not so easy to determine their strength with quire the requisite information. He would soon discover accuracy, as when they are cold. During the cooling of the wort from raw grain, there is two facts which would probably regulate his conduct; namely, that the flavour, and consequently the value, ol always a considerable deposit of flocky matter, which we his spirits, increases as he diminishes the strength ot his conceive consists chiefly, if not entirely, of starch. This wort, and that the produce of spirits from the same quan- fiocky matter is swept along with the wort into the fertity of grain increases also as he diminishes the strength menting tun. It is the opinion of distillers that it contributes materially to the formation of spirits during the ferof his wort. It would be difficult, according to the method at pre- mentation. We have little doubt that the opinion is well sent followed by the distillers, for the excisemen to deter- founded. Probably during the fermentation it is convertmine the strength of the worts with the requisite degree ed first into saccharine matter, and then afterwards deof accuracy ; but it would be easy, we conceive, to order composed into alcohol and carbonic acid. The temperature to which the wort is cooled before it matters so, that this information might be gained without in the least injuring the process of fermentation to which is let down into the fermenting tuns differs a good deal in different distilleries, and even in the same distillery at these worts are to be subjected. Some distillers, not satisfied with three mashes, which different seasons of the year. Winter is the usual season they think insufficient to exhaust the grains of all the mat- for the distilleries, and it is the season which is considered ter that may be useful in the formation of spirits, add a as most advantageous for conducting the fermentation with fourth quantity of boiling water, after the worts of the success; for it is easy to raise the temperature of the third mash are drawn off, and mash a fourth time. The fermenting room to the degree which is considered as best worts of this fourth mash are always kept, to be employed adapted for the process. But when the weather is hotter than that degree, it is a much more difficult matter to instead of pure water during next day’s brewing. keep the fermenting room sufficiently cool. In winter the 2. The Cooling. distillers usually let down the first worts at about 70° ; Wort from raw grain has a much greater tendency to the second worts are cooled down to 60° or 65°. We do run into acidity than wort from malt. On that account not perceive any good reason for this distinction, though the distillers endeavour to bring it down to the tempera- we have frequently seen it practised. ture requisite to begin fermentation as speedily as possible. 3. The Fermentation. As soon as the first worts have begun to run into the unThis is by far the most important part of the whole derback, they are made to pass into the coolers. The nature and disposition of the coolers vary so much, accord- process. It is by the skill and success with which it is ing to the size of the distillery, that a general description conducted that distillers excel each other. Upon it the will by no means apply to them all. When the manufac- profit and loss of the manufactory chiefly turn. Much tory is of a moderate size, the coolers are a shallow wood- pains have been bestowed in investigating it; but it is of en vessel, covering the floor of an apartment or suit of so capricious a nature as occasionally to thwart the most apartments, placed usually in the upper part of the dis- skilful and experienced brewers. We shall describe the tillery, and open as much as possible to the influence of method of proceeding in this process usually followed by the external air. Here the hot worts are pumped up, and the Scotch distillers. In the article Bkewing we stated left at a depth of one, two, or three inches, till they have the facts at present known respecting the saccharine matacquired the requisite temperature. ter of the wort and yeast of beer which is employed as a When the distillery is on a large scale, it is usual to ac- ferment. To that article, therefore, we refer those who celerate the cooling of the worts by agitation. Of late wish for information on these subjects. years a new contrivance has been fallen on, which answers The yeast employed by the Scottish distillers is chiefly much better than the old method, by bringing the worts brought from the London porter breweries. Small quanalmost instantly to the particular temperature which the tities may be occasionally obtained from breweries in their distiller wishes them to acquire. This method is to pass neighbourhood; but never, we believe, a sufficient quanthe hot worts through a certain length of tin pipe, which tity to answer their purposes. The best yeast is that is immersed in a running stream of water. By properly which is thrown off' the top of the porter during its ferregulating the length of the pipe, the worts may be cool- mentation. But what is sold by the porter brewers coned down either to the temperature of the surrounding wa- sists chiefly of the slimy matter which remains at the botter, or to any other intermediate temperature required. tom of the vessels when the clear porter is drawn off As the worts in this case are cooled in close vessels, no Fresh yeast is better than stale ; but the distillers being evaporation goes on during the process. Hence their unable to procure a sufficient quantity of fresh yeast for strength will not increase during the process, and the their purposes, are under the necessity of using both fresh quantity will be precisely the same as in the underback, and stale. making allowance for the change of temperature. This As the quantity of yeast employed depends upon its quaprobably would be a disadvantage to the distillers, while lity, it is therefore impossible to lay down any very precise the present law obliges them to brew worts of a given rules upon the subject. For the quantity of wort which strength. But if this restriction were removed, it would we have supposed in the preceding part of this article, a be rather an advantageous circumstance, because it would Scotch distiller would probably employ about twenty-seenable them to regulate the strength of their worts at plea- ven gallons of good yeast, and about thirty-six gallons if sure, by the quantity of water employed during the mash- he considered the yeast of inferior quality. Only a poring and infusion. To the excise officer it w'ould also be a tion of this yeast is mixed at first with the wort. The

48 distil: Distilla- remainder is generally added on the second, third, and ^ourt^ day. Most commonly, indeed, the whole is added on the third day; but it is customary to make a farther addition at a later period, if the brewer is of opinion that the fermentation is not proceeding so well as it ought to do. We have seen yeast added on the sixth day of the fermentation. The first portion of yeast mixed with the wort is always if possible fresh yeast, and it is a great object with the distiller to have it of as good a quality as possible. For our wort, the quantity of yeast first used may amount to nine gallons. On the second day nine gallons more may be added, and on the third day nine or eighteen gallons, according to its quality. Some distillers add nine gallons the first day, and twenty-seven the third. Some add nine gallons every day for four days. In short, there is considerable difference, and probably a good deal of caprice, in the practice followed in the various manufactories. At least we have never been able to obtain a satisfactory reason from any brewer why he followed one practice rather than another. In hot weather we should prefer the addition of nine gallons of yeast every day for four days. But in cold weather it would probably answer better to add the whole yeast at twice ; and perhaps the third day is the most proper for making the great addition. The fermentation lasts nine, ten, eleven, or twelve days, according to circumstances. Sometimes, though seldom, we have seen it last thirteen days. During the first five days the fermenting tuns are left open on the top, or only slightly covered ; but ,on the sixth day they are shut up as closely as possible, so as to render the escape of the carbonic acid rather difficult. Two reasons have been alleged for this proceeding. 1. The carbonic acid gas is conceived to carry with it a portion of the alcohol, and by binding down the top it is supposed that the loss by this drain will be diminished. We do not lay much stress on this reason. The fermentation is almost at an end before the tuns are shut down. Of course, almost the whole of the alcohol abstracted by the carbonic acid has been already removed. 2. The presence of carbonic acid is conceived to promote the fermentation. Hence it is supposed that, by preventing that gas from escaping with facility, the attenuation will be greater than it otherwise would be. Perhaps there may be some foundation for this opinion. There is no doubt that carbonic acid gas may be substituted for yeast as a ferment, and that the fermentation of the wort, under such circumstances, will go on pretty well. We have seen the experiment tried by mixing yeast with wort in a close barrel, from which there proceeded a tin pipe that passed through another barrel filled with wort, and opened at the bottom of it. The gas was absorbed by the wort in this second barrel, and the wort was fermented by it. But the fermentation, as might have been expected, was not so complete as if it had been produced by the usual addition of yeast. The distillers do not collect any yeast from their fermenting vats, but beat it all into the liquid, being of opinion that any such collection would render the fermentation less complete, arid, of course, diminish the proportion of spirits obtained. The wort most commonly increases in temperature from 20° to 25° of the thermometer. Supposing it let down into the fermenting tun at 57°, its temperature, when at the highest, may amount to from 78° to 82°. It usually acquires the highest temperature on the fourth day of the fermentation, frequently upon the fifth day; sometimes upon the sixth, the third, or the seventh day; and we have seen it as late as the eighth, or even the eleventh day, before its temperature became a maximum. The following table exhibits the number of cases on which the highest temperature took place in these respec-

j A T I O N. tive days in seventy-six brewings, conducted upon a pretty Distill large scale: tion. 4th day 31 times 5th day 23 6 th day 9 3d day 6 7th day 5 8th day 1 11th day 1 This diversity, no doubt, depends upon the goodness of the yeast employed ; and, as we have no good criterion by which to determine the exact value of yeast as a ferment, it is impossible to be able to foretell the exact result in any particular case. Indeed we consider the uncertainty of the value of yeast as the great difficulty which the distiller has to encounter. Any person who could discover a method of estimating the exact value of any particular yeast as a ferment would greatly improve this difficult manufactory. We do not believe that such a discovery is impossible. Perhaps the specific gravity of the yeast, or the quantity of solid matter which is left behind when a given weight of the yeast is evaporated to dryness, might furnish very material information. We are rather surprised that no distiller has thought of subjecting yeast to a series of experiments, with a view to ascertain its real value as a ferment. I he new information which he would acquire would more titan compensate for the trouble, and would probably give him the means of improving his manufactory, or at least of forming some notion of the value of the yeast which he purchases. As the fermentation proceeds, the specific gravity of the wort diminishes, owing to the decomposition of the saccharine matter, and its conversion into alcohol and carbonic acid. I his diminution of specific gravity is called attenuation by distillers, and is employed by them as the measure of the success of the fermentation. They can easily foretell the quantity of spirits which their wash (the name by which their fermented wort is distinguished) will yield, if they know the attenuation which has taken place during the fermentation. This diminution of specific gravity is produced by two causes. 1. The destruction of the saccharine matter previously dissolved in the liquid, and which occasioned its specific gravity to be greater than that of water. If the whole of this saccharine matter were decomposed, it is obvious that the change of specific gravity from this cause would be exactly such as would sink the wash to the specific gravity of water. 2. The second cause of the diminished specific gravity of the fermented wort is the formation of a quantity of alcohol, which, being lighter than water, occasions, by its evolution, a corresponding diminution of the specific gravity of the liquid. The specific gravity of the purest alcohol which it has been hitherto possible to obtain, is 0793 at the temperature of 60°. When mixed with water it enters into a chemical combination with that liquid. Hence the specific gravity is greater than the mean of that of the water and alcohol, though considerably less than that of water. It is obvious, if we were to add alcohol to the unfermented wort, we would diminish its specific gravity. We might even, by this means, render it as light, or even lighter, than water, though none of the saccharine matter were destroyed. It is obviously impossible, therefore, to determine how much saccharine matter has been decomposed by the fermentation from the attenuation alone. Suppose the original specific gravity of the wort to have been TOGO; and suppose that, after the fermentation, its specific gravity is reduced to 1*002. The first of these specific gravities indicates 55*8 lbs. of saccharine matter per barrel; the second 1*6 lbs. per barrel. It does not follow, as the distillers suppose, that 54*2 lbs. of saccharine mat-

DISTILLATION. 49 ■ bistilla- ter per barrel have been decomposed and converted into ble at least, as light as water. This object they frequently Distilla|| lion, alcohol and carbonic acid. A considerable portion of the accomplish. But it sometimes happens that the fermenta- tion. saccharine matter still remains undecomposed, but the al- tion stops when the specific gravity has sunk to T013 or —' cohol which has been formed counteracts the specific gra- T008, and no addition of yeast will make it sink lower. vity of this saccharine matter, and prevents its presence Bad yeast is the most probable reason of this ill success. from being correctly indicated by the saccharometer. But If the wash be allowed to remain in the fermenting tuns if we measure out a quantity of such wash, put it into a after the fermentation is at an end, its specific gravity will retort or still, and distil off about a third of it; if we then be found gradually to increase a little, and it will not yield take the residual wash which remains in the retort or still, so great a proportion of spirits. This is owing to the forand add pure water to it till its original bulk be restored, mation of vinegar in the wash, which takes place at the the saccharometer being applied to it will indicate the expense of the alcohol; and if the vinegar-forming process quantity of saccharine matter which it still contains; and were allowed to go on long enough, the alcohol would disthis quantity being subtracted from the original quantity appear altogether. Distillers always ferment their worts in tuns of a large of saccharine matter contained in the wort before the fermentation commenced, the remainder will be the saccha- size. This is attended with the advantage, that the artificial heat evolved by the fermentation is not so speedily rine matter decomposed by the process. Alcohol is a substance which has a tendency to stop dissipated as it w-ould be if the process were conducted fermentation, and it stops that process completely when in small vessels. Some distillers fill the tuns only partly, added to fermenting wort in sufficient quantity. It must be leaving a portion of the upper part empty, that it may conobvious from this, that very strong worts are injurious to the tain the froth formed when the wort is in full fermentaprofits of the distiller; because the stronger the wort the tion. Others fill the tuns almost to the top, and cover greater will be the proportion of alcohol evolved, and, of down the mouth with a lid, from which a tube passes to course, the fermentation will ultimately be impeded or an open vessel placed above the tun. When the liquid stopped altogether, before the whole saccharine matter is swells by the fermentation, it passes up the tube into the decomposed. Accordingly, the spent wash will always be open vessel, and runs down again when the fermenting found to contain a considerable proportion of saccharine process subsides. No regular set of experiments, that we matter, and it might be fermented again, and made to know of, has been made to determine which of these two yield no inconsiderable quantity of spirit. The writer of methods is the best. this article made nine trials with malt worts, which were We have already observed that every 9-2 lbs. of sacchadesignedly made weak. They were fermented as tho- rine matter really decomposed by the fermenting process roughly as possible, and the following table indicates the yield a gallon of spirits one to ten over hydrometer proof, or specific gravities to which they were reduced. The ori- of the specific gravity 0-90917 (at the temperature of 60°). ginal specific gravity probably did not much exceed TQ45. But as the distillers are not in possession of a good method of determining how much saccharine matter has been Sp. Gravity. 1 1-0012 decomposed, the easiest rule will be to allow HJ-lbs. of 2 saccharine matter, estimated..1-0045 before the fermentation be3 1-0018 gins, to yield a gallon of spirits at 0-90917 specific gravit}^. 4 1-0000perhaps we might take If the original worts be very weak, 5 1-0012 11 lbs. of saccharine matter as producing that quantity of G 1-0045 spirits; but while the present law respecting the strength 7 of the worts continues, 11^ 1-0047 lbs. will be found, upon an 8 1-0007 average, to come very near the truth. 9 1-0007to ferment wort from a It does not seem to be possible Upon examining the state of the wash after the fermenta- mixture of raw grain and malt as completely as is required tion was at an end, we found that 4-34 parts of the sac- for the purposes of the distiller, without its becoming sour. charine matter had been decomposed, and that one part There seems no reason to doubt that the acid formed is remained unaltered. So that in these nine experiments, the acetic. Some are of opinion that the presence of this which were as favourable as possible to the fermentation, acid contributes to improve the flavour of the spirits. But on account of the weakness of the worts, not much less the quantity of acetic acid usually present in wash is so than one fifth of the whole saccharine matter remained small, that we do not see any reason for supposing that it unaltered. Surely then we may lay it down as a fact, that, can produce any sensible etfect. It is important, therefore, in all cases of fermentation in a Scotch distillery, at least that the acidity should be as small as possible, because one fifth of the whole saccharine matter is prevented from the acid is formed at the expense of the alcohol in the being decomposed by the antifermenting power of the al- wash. Hence the wash ought to be distilled as soon as the cohol evolved. The consideration of this circumstance fermentation has come to a conclusion. renders it of more importance to allow the distiller to 4. The Distilling. make his wort weak; for the weaker the original wort, the less will the quantity be of the saccharine matter which The stills commonly used in other countries are of large is prevented from being decomposed by the presence of dimension, and very deep, so that a great deal of time is the alcohol evolved. necessary to finish one process. Once in the week, for When the heat has acquired its maximum, we may rec- example, is no uncommon period. The same kind of still kon, at an average, that nine tenths of the whole attenu- was used in Scotland till about the year 1787, when the ation has been completed. No judgment can be formed of duty began to be levied on the distillers by a license paid the ultimate attenuation, by the rapidity or slowness with at the commencement of the season upon every still acwhich the heat reaches its maximum. We have seen the cording to its capacity. This was done to prevent that attenuation equally good when the maximum temperature propensity to smuggling by which the generality of Scotch happened on the third, fourth, fifth, or sixth day. distillers were supposed to be actuated. The quantity of It is impossible to lay down any specific rule with re- spirits which a still of given dimensions could produce in spect to the length that attenuation ought to be carried. a year was calculated, and the license was laid on accordIhe object of the distiller is to render his wash, if possi- ing to it. This saved the excise-officers all farther trouble, VOL. vm.

50 DISTILLATION. Distilla- after gauging the stills and collecting the license-duty, ex- a greater charge of wash into the still than it would have Distilla. tlon * cepting an occasional visit to be certain that no new still been in his power to do if the plate had been omitted. tion. ^r-Y-w' 0f larger dimensions was substituted for the old one. But These stills were supported by resting an inch and a about the year 1788 Messrs John and William Sligo, at half on the brick work all round the bulge. The furnace that time rectifiers in Leith, made an important alteration was quite level, and was placed at the distance of 15 inches in the shape of the still, at the suggestion of an English- below the bottom of the still. The inner end of the gratman, which greatly increased the rapidity of distillation. ing bars was placed 15 inches within a line falling vertiThey diminished their height, and increased the diameter cally from the part of support of the bulge of the still. of their bottom. The consequence of this alteration was, The bars were in two lengths, the inner length was 21 that they were able to distil off the contents of the still in inches, the outer 30 inches, supported by a cross bar bea few hours, instead of once a week, as had formerly been tween them four inches square. In front of the bars was the practice. Thus they were enabled to produce a great a dumb plate 10 inches broad. The bottom of the ashquantity of spirits from a very small still, and, of course, pit was three feet below the grating bars, and on a level paid in reality a much smaller duty than their brother ma- with the floor of the distillery. The bars were two inches nufacturers. This lucrative improvement they possessed thick, three inches deep, and three fourths of an inch apart. exclusively for about a year; but a secret of such import- The brick work extended 21 inches beyond the dumbance Could not be long confined to a single house. It be- plate, and was four feet wide and four inches higher outcame gradually known to other distillers, and was soon side than at the bulge of the still. The furnace doors imitated by all. The license-duty was increased year after were 30 inches wide. The bottom of the furnace beyond year; but the ingenuity of the distillers enabled them to the grating bars was lined with fire-brick nine inches deep, outstrip the acts of parliament; till, at last, a committee and passed level backward into the chimney. of the House of Commons was appointed to investigate the The chimney was 60 feet high, four feet square within subject in 1799. A very bulky report was published by this from top to bottom, and consisted of a double wall. The committee, which contains avast collection of curious facts inner wall of fire-bricks was nine inches thick. The outer respecting the mode of distillation at that time practised wall was placed at three inches distance on all sides from in Scotland. The license, in consequence of this report, the inner wall, and the space was left open at the top. was laid on the distiller, on the supposition that he could The outer wall was 18 inches thick at bottom, diminishdischarge his still every eight minutes, during the whole ing regularly on the outside till reduced to nine inches at season that the manufactory was in activity. Since that top. The two walls were tied together, at certain distantime the time of discharging the still was considerably ces, by long fire-bricks. This separation of the two walls shortened. But the saving in point of time was attended was found to prevent the rapid destruction of the chimney with such an enormous waste of fuel, that it is rather from the intensity of the fire, which always happened doubtful whether it was attended with much additional when the two walls were in contact. profit to the distiller. In the year 1815, which was the Such was the construction of the furnace and the shape last year of the license-duty, a still capable of bolding 80 of the stills during the time that rapid distillation was gallons could be completely distilled off, emptied, and practised in Scotland, when both had been brought to the ready for a new operation in 31 minutes, or even, it is said, greatest degree of perfection which the distillers were cain some cases in 3 minutes; and a still of 40 gallons in 21 pable of giving them. The writer of this article has not minutes. At that time a change took place in the excise had an opportunity of seeing the shape of the stills used by laws; the license-duty was abolished, and the whole duty the Scotch distillers since the license-duty was abolished. was levied, as in England, on the wash and the spirits But it is probable that the old shape will not have been produced. There was, of course, no longer any necessity entirely restored; but that the present stills, though much for continuing the rapid mode of distillation; and, as it larger in size, imitate the late stills in the great diameter was attended with a very considerable waste of fuel, and of their bottom, and their comparative shortness when comwas in other respects much more expensive than the slow pared with the stills employed by the English distillers. process, it has been, of course, discontinued. We conThe top of the still ends in a kind of tube, which is ceive, however, that it will be worth while to give a short bent downwards, and connected with a tin tube, which description of the still and furnace which the Scotch dis- makes a number of revolutions in a large vessel filled with tillers employed during the existence of the license-duty. cold water, and therefore called the worm. This large It would be a great pity indeed to allow the results of vessel is called the refrigeratory, and care is taken to keep such a series of important experiments to be forgotten. the water in it always cool by means of a stream of water The stills were made of copper. Those capable of hold- which is constantly flowing into it. The wash being put ing 44 gallons were about 44 inches in diameter at the into the still, and the top being fixed down, heat is apbottom, and about 5 inches deep. Those capable of hold- plied to the vessel till it is made to boil. The spirits being ing 80 gallons were 54 inches in diameter, and about 8 more volatile than the water, pass over first in the state inches deep. The bottom was perfectly flat, and about of steam, and are condensed into a liquid as they pass three eighths of an inch thick. Within it there were a through the worm. The first portions that come over are number of iron chains, which were turned round by ma- very strong; but the s-trength diminishes as the process chinery, and rubbing against the bottom prevented the proceeds. The distiller continues the distillation till the thick matter, which the wash always contains, from ad- liquid which flows from the worm is as heavy as water, or hering to the bottom of the still and catching fire. This at least so nearly so that the quantity of spirits remaining would have almost immediately occasioned the destruc- is not considered as a compensation for continuing the tion of the still; and the scorched starchy matter would process any longer. The strength of the liquid proceedhave communicated a disagreeable flavour to the spirits, ing from the worm is ascertained by a small hydrometer, which could not have been got rid of afterwards. There with which it is tried every now and then ; and whenever was likewise a circular plate in the inside of the still, to- a certain mark on the instrument comes to coincide with wards its top. The use of it was to break the bubbles that the surface of the liquid, a cock at the bottom of the still rise during rapid distillation ; and, of course, lessen the risk is opened, and what remains in the still is let off. This of the still boiling over, or running foul as the distillers liquor is called the spent wash. It is a muddy brown literm it; and, consequently, the distiller vras enabled to put quid, still containing a quantity of undecomposed saccha-

51 DISTILLATION. )istilla- rine matter. It is therefore used as food for cattle. These of a specific gravity as low as 0*908, and as high as 0*925. DistillaNo doubt they might be obtained much stronger or much tion. ’ tion. animals are fond of it, and soon fatten upon it. To prevent the still from boiling over, which is apt to weaker than these two extremes, if there were any object happen towards the commencement of the distillation, it in view to induce the distiller to alter his usual practice. Such is the mode followed in Scotland in order to obtain is usual to throw a piece of soap into the vessel along with the wash. This substance is partly decomposed, and the whisky. The distillers are at pains to purchase the best oily matter which it contains spreading on the surface, English barley which they can procure. They are cerforms a thin coat, which breaks tbe large bubbles when tainly in the right to select English barley for malting; they reach it, and thus prevents the wash from swelling for English barley, when malted, yields more spirits than beyond the requisite bulk. Butter would answer equally in the state of raw grain. But for that portion of grain well with soap, and would be less apt to give a disagree- which they use in the distilleries without malting, it would able flavour to the spirits; but its high price prevents the be their interest to employ the best big which they can possibility of using it for that purpose. We have some procure; for good big, while in the state of raw grain, suspicion that hogs’ lard would answer. If it were found yields rather more spirits than an equal quantity of the to do so, it would be cheaper than soap, and less apt to best English barley; and as it can be purchased at a give a bad flavour to the spirits. The supposition, how- cheaper rate than barley, it could obviously be employed ever, that soap communicates a disagreeable flavour to with economy as a substitute for that grain. Big is greatly spirits, though very generally entertained, is, we believe, deteriorated by malting it; of course it would be improa mistake. We have certainly met with spirits distinctly per to employ it in distilleries in that way; but the distainted with soap, and having in consequence a highly nau- tillers might employ it in the state of raw grain with great seous taste. But this was at a time when the rapid mode advantage. of distilling was only on its progress to perfection, and was owing, we believe, to little bits of the soap having been CHAP. II. OF THE MODE OF MANUFACTURING OTHER accidentally forced into the worm, and afterwards disKINDS OF SPIRITS. solved by the spirits. In this chapter we shall merely make a few very short It is impossible to lay down any rule with respect to the strength of the weak spirit obtained by this first distilla- observations on the processes followed by the distillers in tion, and which is called low wines in Scotland. That other countries. strength must depend partly upon the original strength of 1. Dutch Geneva. the wort, partly on the attenuation which has taken place The Dutch have long been famous for the manufacture during the fermentation, but chiefly upon the attention of the distiller to distil off the whole of the spirituous por- of an excellent kind of spirits, known in Scotland by the tion of the wash. In a great number of cases in which we name of Gin, in England by the name of Hollands, and have had the curiosity to determine the strength of the sometimes by the name of Geneva. W'e have been told low wines in distilleries, we have found the specific gra- that the manufacture of it originated in the city of Gevity at 60°, differing but little from 0*978 ; frequently a neva, and that this was the origin of the name Geneva, little weaker, and very rarely a little stronger. Low wines still applied to it in commerce ; but we have no means of of this strength contain the fifth part of their weight of determining how far this statement may be depended on. alcohol of the specific gravity 0*825; the remaining four We have not seen in print any accurate account of the mode of making Geneva practised by the Dutch; but the fifths are water. The low \jrines are put into the still and subjected to a following account may, we believe, be relied on. We second distillation, which in Scotland is called doubling. are indebted for it to a friend, who about forty years ago The first portion which comes over is a milky liquid, went over to Holland on purpose to make himself acknown by the name of foreshot. Its taste is disagreeable, quainted with the process. His object was to establish a and on that account it is received by itself, and returned similar manufactory in Scotland. But the severe laws back into the low wines to be subjected to another distil- by which the Scotch distillers were soon after bound put lation. The properties of the foreshot are owing to an oil it out of his power to execute his plan. with which it is loaded. When the spirits begin to run 112 lbs. of barley malt, and 228 lbs. of rye-meal, are transparent from the end of the worm, they are allowed mashed together with 460 gallons of water of the tempeto run into a receiver prepared for them. Whenever rature 162°. After the infusion has stood a sufficient their specific gravity, determined by the hydrometer, lias time, cold water is added till the strength of the wort is reached a certain point, they are no longer allowed to reduced to 45 lbs. per barrel. The whole is then put into flow into the receiver containing the spirits, but into a a fermenting back, at the temperature of 80°. The vesplace by themselves, and the distillation is continued till sel is capable of holding about 500 gallons. Half a galthe liquid coming over has approached very nearly to the lon of yeast is added. The temperature rises to 90°, and specific gravity of water. This third portion is called the fermentation is over in forty-eight hours. The attenuafaints. It is mixed with the low wines and distilled again. tion is such that the strength of the wash is not reduced Thus the distillation of the low wines is continued till the lower than 12 or 15 lbs. per barrel. The wash is put into whole of their alcoholic part is brought to that degree of the still with the grains and all. The low wines, as usual, strength which fits them for the market. The strength are distilled again, and the spirits of the second distillaat which the duty is levied on them is one to ten above tion are rectified ; so that the Hollands pass thrice through hydrometer proof, which corresponds with the specific gra- the still. A few juniper berries and some hops are used vity 0*90917. They are prohibited from sending out of to communicate a peculiar flavour to the spirits. their manufactory spirits of greater strength than this, or Now, 45 lbs. per barrel constitute a wort so weak that of a strength under one in six below proof, or of the specific it will not yield above seven and a half per cent, of spirits gravity 0*9385. Between these two intervals the specific of the usual strength ; so that the produce which the gravity of their spirits may be considered as vibrating ; Dutch obtain from their wort cannot amount to much for it is not to be expected that they should be able al- more than half what the Scotch distillers are obliged to ways to produce spirits of exactly the same specific gra- produce from theirs. vity. We have found the spirits, as obtained by doubling, It is obvious, from the preceding account, that the fer-

H

52 DISTILLATION. Distilla- mentation is very imperfectly accomplished in the Dutch tation. The distillery languished for some years, and then Distilla tion. process. The small quantity of yeast employed, and the terminated in a bankruptcy. Some attempts have been tion. short time that the wort is allowed to ferment, necessarily lately made to revive the Maidstone establishment; but '—H imply imperfection in the fermentation. And this is ob- we may venture to predict that they will not be successful. viously the case, for the original strength of 45 lbs. per 2. Rum. barrel is only reduced to 15 lbs. per barrel. We have This is the name given to a spirit manufactured in the often seen the attenuation of the porter-in the London breweries not much less complete. What advantage is West India islands, from the molasses, &c. which remain gained by putting the grains into the still along with the after the sugar is separated in small crystals from the wash we have not the means of determining. Such a prac- boiled juice of the sugar cane. We do not know any tice can only be followed in distilleries upon a very small thing about the origin of the word rum, or the time at scale. We do not see how it could be practised in the which the manufacture of this spirit commenced ; not, Scotch distilleries. Indeed, we have no doubt whatever, probably, till after the West Indies were colonized by Euthat when the mashing is repeated a sufficient number of ropeans. At present it is chiefly in the islands belongtimes, and the grains sufficiently washed with hot w’ater, ing to Great Britain that this spirit is made. The proevery thing likely to contribute to the formation of spirits cess, as we obtained it from a Dominica planter, who had for many years been in the habit of making this spirit, is will be carried off. Every person acquainted with the flavour of Hollands as follows: Twelve parts of sweets are dissolved in 100 parts of and Rowland whisky, must admit that the former is greatly superior to the latter. Indeed the flavour of Hollands is water, and fermented as completely as possible by means equal to that of malt whisky. This is owing in part to of yeast, which is chiefly obtained in the distillery itself the small proportion of raw grain used by the Dutch dis- by means of the fermentation of the rum wort, which gratillers. 112 lbs. of barley malt may be reckoned at three dually generates it. Fourteen gallons of spirits, one to ten bushels. We do not know the average weight of a bushel over proof, are obtained from 100 gallons of wash. If this of rye ; but if we suppose it to be 50 lbs. 228 lbs. will statement be correct, the produce of spirit from molasses amount to about 4-| bushels ; so that, in the Dutch distil- exceeds considerably what can be obtained in this counleries, the malt bears to the raw grain the proportion of try from barley. A solution of 12 parts of sugar in 100 two to three. We suspect that another reason of the of water would make a wort containing about 44 lbs. of superiority of the Dutch spirit over the Scotch, is the saccharine matter per barrel ; from 100 gallons of which, small quantity of yeast employed by the manufacturers of in this country, we would not obtain more than 8 gallons of Hollands. The vast quantity of porter yeast used by the spirits of the above strength ; but we suspect some misScotch distillers, often in a state almost approaching to take on the part of our informer, as he communicated the putrefaction, cannot but have an injurious effect upon the process to us in this country several years after he had flavour of their spirits, and has undoubtedly contributed given over the actual superintendence of his rum distillery. The peculiar flavour which distinguishes rum, and to the superior reputation of Highland over Lowland whisky; for the Highland distillers (especially the smug- makes it so agreeable to the taste, is undoubtedly owing glers) have not the means of procuring yeast from Lon- to a peculiar oil contained in the sugar-cane ; for when don. Of course their wash is less perfectly fermented, spirits are made in this country from sugar, they are enbut the flavour of their spirits is much more agreeable. tirely destitute of the peculiar flavour of rum, and resemWe think, indeed, that the flavour communicated by the ble, in their properties, the common spirit made in this yeast to Scotch Lowland whisky may be distinctly per- country from barley. The colour of rum is derived from ceived, and on that account are disposed to suspect that the oak casks in wliich it comes to this country from the the flavour of the spirits always suffers in proportion as islands in which it is made. the fermentation is brought nearer a state of perfection. Any person who should find out a method of fermenting CHAP. III.—ON THE NATURE OF THE VINOUS FERMENTAwort without the necessity of employing such quantities TION. of porter yeast as the distillers use, would undoubtedly In the article Brewing we have given a short sketch prodigiously improve the flavour of the spirits manufactured by the Scotch distillers. If government were to of the facts hitherto ascertained respecting the nature of make such an alteration in the laws as would enable the the change which saccharine matter undergoes when ferdistiller to employ a greater proportion of malt without mented ; and we have very little to add to the facts stated any material increase of expense, the object might be in that article. We shall merely enter a little more miconsidered as accomplished. In the present state of the nutely into the detail of facts than we thought necessary manufactures of Great Britain, it would be impossible to under the article Brewing. Common sugar has been analysed by Gay-Lussac and confer a greater favour on the country than a thorough revisal of the excise laws, under the auspices of a set of Thenard, by Berzelius, and by Dr Prout. The method individuals at once intimately acquainted with the most followed by each differed a little from that of the others, improved state of chemical science, and with the most and the results, though they do not quite tally, certainly liberal principles of political economy. Every thing that approach considerably to each other. The following table improves the quality and diminishes the price of our ma- exhibits the composition of 100 parts of sugar, according nufactures is of more value to the country than our legis- to each of these chemists : lators seem to be aware of. Gay-Lussac Prout. and Thenard. Berzelius. We do not think that Hollands could be manufactured in Great Britain with any probability of success. The Oxygen 50-63 49-083 53-33 experiment was tried at Maidstone, in Kent, by a MiCarbon 42-47 44-115 39-99 Bishop, who had interest enough with Mr Pitt to get a Hydrogen 6-90 6-802,.... 6-66 special clause introduced into an act of parliament permitting him to manufacture Hollands according to the 100-00 100-000 99-99 Dutch method; but the manufactory was never successTo be able to determine from these analyses the numful. The Maidstone Hollands never acquired much repu- ber of atoms of oxygen, carbon, and hydrogen, which are

D I S Xjitinc- requisite to form a constituent particle of sugar, it would fion be requisite, in the first place, to be able to specify the H weight of sugar capable of neutralizing a given weight of [litress. any solifiable base. Berzelius found, that when a solution of a given weight of sugar in water was digested over oxide of lead, the oxide was at first dissolved; but, after a certain interval of time, a light white powder makes its appearance. This powder is a compound of sugar and oxide of lead, and is composed, according to Berzelius’s analysis, of Sugar 4T74 10-03 Oxide of lead 58*26 14 100*00 Now the equivalent number for oxide of lead is 14. It follows from this, that if the white powder be a compound of an atom of sugar and an atom of oxide of lead, the weight of an atom of sugar is 10. But we have no evidence whatever for adopting one atom of sugar in this compound rather than two. And as one atom will not accord with the phenomena of fermentation, it is better to consider the white powder as a compound of one atom oxide of lead and two atoms of sugar. On that supposition an atom of sugar will weigh about five. Now, if we suppose it to be composed of 3 atoms oxygen = 3* 3 atoms carbon = 2*25 3 atoms hydrogen — 0*375 5*625 the weight of an atom of sugar will be 5*625, which does not differ very much from the weight, as resulting from Berzelius’s analysis ; not more, indeed, than might be expected from the extreme difficulty of analysing such a compound with precision. But if we suppose the weight of an atom of sugar to be as now stated, 100 parts of it will be composed of Oxygen = 53*31 Carbon ; — 40*03 Hydrogen = 6*66

D I S 53 pears that by the fermentation the sugar is decomposed Distress, and converted into alcohol and carbonic acid. Alcohol, w-y-w according to the analysis of Theodore de Saussure, is composed of three atoms hydrogen, two atoms carbon, and one atom oxygen. Carbonic acid is composed of two atoms oxygen and one atom carbon. Hence the weight of an integrant particle of alcohol is 2*875. For 1 atom oxygen = 1 2 atoms carbon .....= 1*5 3 atoms hydrogen = 0*375 2*875 And an integrant particle of carbonic acid weighs 2*75. We see likewise that a particle of sugar is capable of being decomposed into an integrant particle of alcohol and an integrant particle of carbonic acid. For a particle of alcohol is composed of Oxygen. Carbon. Hydrogen. 1 atom + 2 atoms + 3 atoms Carbonic acid, of...2 +1 +0 3 4- 3 4“ 3 both together, we see, corresponding to the number of atoms in a particle of sugar. If fermentation then be merely the separation of sugar into an atom of alcohol and an atom of carbonic acid, there ought to be formed, Of alcohol. 2*875 Of carbonic acid... 2*75 But alcohol of 0*825 contains about the fifth of its weight of water. Hence by fermentation sugar is converted into Alcohol of 0*825 3*45 parts, or 55*6 Carbonic acid gas 2*75 44*4

10000 Now, as these numbers are almost exactly the same with those of Dr Prout, we are disposed to consider them as representing the true constituents of sugar. From the phenomena of fermentation, as described under the present article, and in the article Brewing, it ap-

6*20 100*0 Now these proportions approach very nearly the results obtained by Lavoisier and Thenard. We are disposed therefore to consider the explanation which we have given as likely to be the true one. In what way the yeast acts, if no portion of it enter into the composition of the alcohol or carbonic acid, as would appear from what we know of the subject, we have no means at present of forming a conception. It would be requisite, before we could reason on the subject, to be better acquainted with the composition of yeast than we are at present. (l.)

DISTINCTION, in Logic, is an assemblage of two or more words, by means of which disparate things or their conceptions are denoted. DISTORTION, in Medicine, is when any part of the human body remarkably deviates from its natural shape or position. Distortions of different parts may arise either from a convulsion or a palsy; though sometimes distortion in the shape of the whole body has arisen merely from carelessness and ill habits. DISTRESS, in its ordinary acceptation, denotes calamity, misery, or suffering. The Contemplation of Distress a source of pleasure. On this subject there is a very pleasing and ingenious essay by Dr Barnes, in the Memoirs of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester. It is introduced with the following motto from Lucretius : Suave mari magno, turbantibus Eequora ventis, E terra alterius magnum spectare periclum. Non quia vexari quenquam est jucunda voluptas; Sed quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est.

“ The pleasure here described by the poet, and of which he has mentioned so striking and apposite an instance, may perhaps at first seem of so singular and astonishing a nature, that some may be disposed to doubt of its existence. But that it does exist in the case here referred to, and in many others of a similar kind, is an undoubted fact; and it may not appear an useless or disagreeable entertainment to trace its source in the human breast, together with the final cause for which it was implanted there by our bene-' volent Creator. “ Shall I, it maybe said, feel complacency in beholding a scene in which many of my fellow-creatures are agonizing with terror, whilst I can neither diminish their danger, nor, by my sympathy, divide their anguish ? At the sight of another’s woe, does not my bosom naturally feel pain ? Do I not share in bis sensations? And is not this strong and exquisite sensibility intended by my Maker to urge me on to active and immediate assistance? #These sensations are indeed attended with a noble pleasure, when I can, by friendly attention, or by benevolent communica-

54 D I S Distress, tion, soothe the sorrows of the poor mourner, snatch him from impending danger, or supply his pressing wants. But in general, where my sympathy is of no avail to the wretched sufferer, I fly from the spectacle of his misery, unable or unwilling to endure a pain which is not allayed by the sweet satisfaction of doing good.” In answer to these objections, it will be necessary, in the first place to prove the reality of the feeling, the cause of which, in the human constitution, many have attempted to explore. Mr Addison, in his beautiful papers on the pleasures of the imagination, has observed, “ that objects or scenes, which, when real, give disgust or pain, in description often become beautiful and agreeable. Thus, even a dunghill may, by the charms of poetic imagery, excite pleasure and entertainment. Scenes of this nature, dignified by apt and striking description, we regard with something of the same feelings with which we look upon a dead monster. Informe cadaver Protrahitur : nequeunt expleri corda tuendo Terribiles oculos, vultum, villosaque setis Pectora semiferi, atque extinctos faucibus ignes. “ This,” he observes, “ is more particularly the case where the description raises a ferment in the mind, and works with violence upon the passions. One would wonder,” he adds, “ how it comes to pass, that passions, which are very unpleasant at all other times, are very agreeable when excited by proper description; such as terror, dejection, grief, &c. This pleasure arises from the reflection we make upon ourselves, whilst reading it, that we are not in danger from them. When we read of wounds, death, &c. our pleasure does not rise so properly from the grief which these melancholy descriptions give us, as from the secret comparison we make of ourselves with those who suffer. We should not feel the same kind of pleasure if we actually saw a person lying under the tortures that we meet with in a description.” And yet, upon the principle assigned by this amiable writer, we might feel the same, or even higher pleasure, from the actual view of distress, than from any description ; because the comparison of ourselves with the sufferer would be more vivid, and consequently tbe feeling more intense. We would only observe, that the cause which he assigns for this pleasure is the very same with that assigned by Lucretius in our motto. Mr Addison applies it to the description, the poet to the actual contemplation, of affecting scenes. In both, the pleasure is supposed to originate in selfishness. But wherever the social passions are deeply interested, as they are here supposed to be, from the pathetic description, or the still more pathetic survey, of the sufferings of another, the sympathetic feelings will of themselves at once, and previously to all reflection, become a source of agreeable and tender emotions. They will thus dignify and enhance the satisfaction, if any such be felt, arising merely from the consideration of our own personal security. And the more entirely we enter into the scene, by losing all ideas of its being either past or fabulous—the more perfectly we forget ourselves, and are absorbed in the feeling—the more exquisite is the sensation. But as our subsequent speculations will chiefly turn upon the pleasure derived from real scenes of calamity, and not from those which are imaginary, we may be expected to produce instances in proof of the proposition that such pleasure is actually felt by persons very different in their tastes and mental cultivation. We shall not mention the horrid joy with which the savage feasts his eyes upon the agonies and contortions of

D I S his dying prisoner, expiring in all the pains which arti- sDistre ficial cruelty can inflict. Nor will we recur to the almost ' ^y' equally savage sons of ancient Rome, when the majesty of the Roman people could rush with eagerness and transport to behold hundreds of gladiators contending in fatal conflict, and probably more than half the number extended, weltering in blood and writhing in agony upon the arena. Nor will we mention the Spanish bull feasts; nor the fervent acclamations of an English mob around their fellowcreatures when engaged in furious battle, in which it is possible that some of the combatants may receive a mortal blow, and be hurried into another world. Let us survey the multitudes which in every part of the kingdom always attend an execution. It may perhaps be said, that in every place the vulgar have little of the sensibility and tenderness of more polished minds. But in the last-mentioned instance, an execution, there is no exultation in the sufferings of the poor criminal. He is regarded by every spectator with the most melting compassion. The whole assembly sympathize with him in his unhappy situation ; an awful stillness prevails at the dreadful moment; many are wrung with unutterable sensations; and prayer and silence declare, more loudly than any language could, the interest they feel in his distress. Should a reprieve come to rescue him from death, how great is the general triumph and congratulation. And probably in tins multitude you will find not the mere vulgar herd alone, but men of superior knowledge and of more refined sensibility, who, led by some strong principle which we wish to explain, feel a pleasure greater than all the pain, great and exquisite as one should imagine it to be, in beholding such a spectacle. The man who condemns many of the scenes we have already mentioned as barbarous and shocking, would probably run with the greatest eagerness to some high cliff overhanging the ocean, to see it swelled into a tempest, though a poor vessel, or even a fleet of vessels, were to appear as one part of the dreadful scenery, now lifted to the heavens on the foaming surge, now plunged deep into the fathomless abyss, and now dashed upon the rocks, where they are in a moment shivered into fragments, and, with all their mariners, entombed in the deep. Or, to vary the question a little, who would not be forward to stand safe on the top of some mountain or tower, adjoining to a field of battle, in which two armies meet in desperate conflict, though probably thousands may soon lie before him prostrate on the ground, and the whole field present the most horrid scenes of carnage and desolation ? That in all these cases pleasure predominates in the compounded feeling is plain, because you continue to survey the scene ; whereas, when pain became the stronger sensation, you would certainly retire. Cultivation may indeed have produced some minuter differences in the taste and feelings of different minds; and those whose sensibilities have not been refined by education or science, may feel the pleasure in a more gross and brutal form. But do not the most polished natures feel a similar, a kindred pleasure, in the deepwrought distresses of the well-imagined scene? Here the endeavour is to introduce whatever is dreadful or pathetic, whatever can harrow up the feelings or extort the tear. And the deeper and more tragical the scene becomes, the more it agitates the several passions of terror, grief, or pity, the more intensely it delights even the most polished minds. They seem to enjoy the various and vivid emotions of contending passions. They love to have the tear trembling in the eye, and to feel the whole soul as it were rapt in thrilling sensations. For that moment they seem to forget the fiction; and afterwards commend that exhibition most in which they most entirely lost sight of the

D I S jitress. author and of their own situation, and were alive to all the unutterable vibrations of strong or melting sensibility. Taking it then for granted, that in the contemplation of many scenes of distress, both imaginary and real, a gratification is felt, let us endeavour to account for it by mentioning some of those principles, interwoven into the web of human nature by its benevolent Creator, on which that gratification depends. Dr Akenside, in one of the most striking passages of his Pleasures of the Imagination, has endeavoured to show that the sympathetic feelings are virtuous, and therefore pleasant; and from the whole he deduces this important conclusion, that every virtuous emotion must be agreeable, and that this is the sanction and the reward of virtue. The thought is amiable, and the conclusion noble; but still the solution appears to us to be imperfect. We have already said, that the pleasure arising from the contemplation of distressful scenes is a compounded feeling arising from several distinct sources in the human breast. The kind and degree of the sensation must depend upon the various blendings of the several ingredients which enter into the composition. The cause assigned by Mr Addison, namely, the sense of our own security, may be supposed to have some share in the mass of feelings. That of Dr Akenside may be allowed to have a still larger proportion. Let us attempt to trace some of the rest. There are few principles in human nature of more general and important influence than that of sympathy. An ingenious writer, led by the fashionable idea of simplifying all the springs of human nature into one source, has, in his beautiful Theory of Moral Sentiments, endeavoured to analyze a very large number of the feelings of the heart into sympathetic vibration. Though it appears to us most probable that the human mind, like the human body, possesses various and distinct springs of action and of happiness, yet he has shown, in an amazing diversity of instances, the operation and importance of this principle of human nature. We naturally sympathize with the passions of others. But if the passions which they appear to feel be not those of mere distress alone; if,-amidst the scenes of calamity, they display fortitude, generosity, and forgiveness; if “ rising superior to the cloud of ills which covers them,” the}' stand firm, collected, and patient; a still higher source of pleasure opens upon us, arising from complacent admiration, and that unutterable sympathy which the heart feels with virtuous and heroic minds. By the operation of this principle, we place ourselves in their situation; we feel, as it were, some share of that conscious integrity and peace which they must enjoy. Hence, as was before observed, the pleasure will vary, both as to its nature and degree, according to the scene and characters before us. The shock of contending armies in the field ; the ocean wrought to tempest, and covered with the wrecks of shattered vessels; and a worthy family silently yet nobly bearing up against a multitude of surrounding sorrows; will excite very different emotions, because the component parts of the pleasurable sensation consist of very different materials. They all excite admiration; but admiration diversified both as to its degree and its cause. These several ingredients may doubtless be so blended together that the pleasure shall make but a very small part of the mixed sensation. The more agreeable tints may bear little proportion to the terrifying red or the gloomy black. In many of the instances which have been mentioned, the pleasure must arise chiefly, if not solely, from the circumstances or accompaniments of the scene. The sublime feelings excited by the view of an agitated ocean, relieve and soften those occasioned by the shipwreck: and

D I S 55 the awe excited by the presence of thousands of men, Distress, acting as if with one soul, and displaying magnanimity and firmness in the most solemn trial, tempers those sensations of horror and of pain which would arise from a view of the field of battle. The gratification we are attempting to account for depends also, in a very considerable degree, upon a principle of human nature, implanted in it for the wisest ends; the exercise which it gives to the mind by rousing it to energy and feeling. Nothing is so insupportable as that languor and ennui, for the full expression of which our language does not afford a proper term. To show how agreeable it is to have the soul called forth to exertion and sensibility, we may cite the case of the gamester, who, unable to endure the lassitude and sameness of unanimated luxury, runs with eagerness to the place where probably there await him all the irritation and agony of the most tumultuous passions. Again, it isyi law in our nature, that opposite passions, when felt in succession, and, above all, when felt at the same moment, heighten and increase each other. Ease succeeding pain, certainty after suspense, friendship after aversion, are unspeakably stronger than if they had not been thus contrasted. In this conflict of feelings, the mind rises from passive to active energy. It is roused to intense sensation; and it enjoys that peculiar, exquisite, and complex feeling, in which, as in many articles of our table, the acid and the sweet, the pleasurable and painful pungencies, are so happily mixed together, as to render the united sensation amazingly more strong and delightful. We have not yet mentioned the principle of curiosity, that busy and active power, which appears so early, continues unimpaired so long, and to which, for the wisest ends, is annexed so great a sense of enjoyment. To this principle, rather than to a love of cruelty, we would ascribe that pleasure which children sometimes seem to feel from torturing flies and lesser animals. They have not yet formed an idea of the pain which they inflict. It is indeed of unspeakable consequence that this practice should be checked as soon and as effectually as possible, because it is so important that they should learn to connect the ideas of pleasure and pain with the motions and actions of the animal creation. And to this principle may we also refer no small share of that pleasure in the contemplation of distressful scenes, the springs of which, in the human heart, we are now endeavouring to unfold. To curiosity, then, to sympathy, to mental exertion, to the idea of our own security, and to the strong feelings occasioned by viewing the actions and passions of mankind in interesting situations, do we ascribe the gratification which the mind feels from the survey of many scenes of sorrow. We have called it &'pleasure; but it approaches towards or recedes from pleasure, according to the nature and proportion of the ingredients of which the sensation is composed. In some cases pain predominates; in others there is exquisite enjoyment. Distress, in Law, the seizing or distraining of any thing for rent in arrear, or other duty unperformed. The effect of this distress is to compel the party either to replevy the things distrained, and contest the taking in an action of trespass against the distrainer; or rather to oblige him to compound and pay the debt or duty for which he was so distrained. There are likewise compulsory distresses in actions to cause a person to appear in court, of which kind there is a distress personal of one’s moveable goods, and tbe profits of his lands, for contempt in not appearing after summons ; and there is likewise real distress of a person’s immoveable goods. In these cases none shall be distrained to an-

56 D I T Distribu- swer for any thing touching their freeholds, except by the tion king’s writ. . II. Distress may be either finite or infinite. Finite distress Ditrihe- is that which is limited by law, in regard to the number dria. -of times it shall be made, in order to bring the party to a trial of the action. Infinite distress is that which is without any limitation, being made till the person appear; it is further applied to jurors who do not appear ; as, upon a certificate of assize, the process is venire facias, habeas corpora, and distress infinite. It is also divided into grand distress and ordinary distress. Of these, the former extends to all the goods and chattels which the party has within the county. A person, of common right, may distrain for rents and for all manner of services, and where a rent is reserved on a gift in tail, lease for life, or years, &c. though there be no clause of distress in the grant or lease, so as that he has the reversion ; but on a feoffment made in fee, a distress may not be taken, unless it be expressly reserved in the deed. DISTRIBUTION, in a general sense, the act of dividing a thing into several parts, in order to the disposing each in its proper place. Distribution, in Architecture, the dividing and disposing of the several parts and pieces which compose a building, as the plan directs. Distribution, in Rhetoric, a kind of description, by which an orderly division and enumeration is made of the principal qualities of the subject. David supplies us with an example of this kind, wrhen, in the heat of his indignation against sinners, he gives a description of their iniquity : “ Their throat is an open sepulchre ; they flatter with their tongues ; the poison of asps is under their lips ; their mouth is full of cursing and lies; and their feet are swift to shed blood.” Distribution, in Printing, the taking a form asunder, separating the letters, and disposing them in the cases again, each in its proper cell. DISTRICT, in Geography, a part of a province, distinguished by peculiar magistrates, or certain privileges; in which sense it is synon}'mous with hundred. DISTRINGAS, in Law, a writ commanding the sheriff or other officer to distrain a person for debt to the king, &c. or for his appearance at a certain day. Distringas Juratores, a writ directed to the sheriff, by which he is commanded to distrain upon a jury to appear and to return issues on their lands, &c. for non-appearance. This writ of distringas juratores issues for the sheriff to have their bodies in court at the return of the wrrit. DITCH, a common fence or inclosure in marshes, or other wet land where there are no hedges. Ditch, in Fortification, called also fosse and moat, a trench dug round the rampart or wall of a fortified place between the scarp and counterscarp. DITHYRAMBUS, in ancient poetry, a hymn in honour of Bacchus, full of transport and poetical rage. This poetry owes its birth to Greece, and to the transports of wine; and yet art is not quite exploded, but delicately applied to guide and restrain the dithyrambic impetuosity, which is indulged only in pleasing flights. Horace and Aristotle tell us that the ancients gave the name of dithyrambus to those verses in which none of the common rules or measures were observed. As we have now no remains of the dithyrambus of the ancients, we cannot say exactly what this measure wrs. DITONE, in Music, an interval comprehending two tones. The proportion of the sounds which form the ditone is 4 : 5, and that of the semitone is 5 : 6. DITRIHEDRIA, vtx Mineralogy, an old term expressive of crystals with twice three sides, or six planes, being

D I T formed of two trigonal pyramids joined base to base with- Dittfu out any intermediate prism. | DITTFURT, a market-town of the Prussian province of Saxony, situated on the river Bode, with 1797 inhabitants, who cultivate much flax, and conduct some tanneries. DITTEAH, a towm and fortress of Hindustan, in the province of Bundelcund. It is populous and well built, about a mile and a half long, and nearly as much in breadth. The houses are chiefly constructed of stone covered w ith tiles. It is surrounded by a stone wall, and furnished with gates. Without the town is the rajah’s palace, standing on an eminence, and commanding a very extensive prospect, including a handsome lake. It is an ancient place, having been in the rajah’s family for several centuries. The surrounding district yields a revenue of between L.12,000 and L.l5,000 sterling per annum. On the cession of Bundelcund by the peshwa to the British in 1804, the rajah of Ditteah joined the British standard, and a treaty was concluded with him, by which he was confirmed in the possession of his ancient inheritance. Long. 78. 32. E. Lat. 25. 43. N. DITTO, in books of accounts, usually written D°, signifies the afore mentioned. The word is corrupted from the Italian detto, the said; as in our law phrase, “ the said premises,” meaning the same as were afore mentioned. DITTON, Humphry, an eminent mathematician, was born at Salisbury on the 29th May 1675. Being an only son, his father, observing in him an extraordinary capacity, determined to cultivate it by means of a good education. For this purpose he placed him in a reputable private academy, upon quitting which he at the desire of his father, though against his own inclination, engaged in the profession of divinity, and began to exercise his profession at Tunbridge, in the county of Kent, where he continued to preach some years, during which time lie married a lady of that place. But a weak constitution and the death of his father induced Mr Ditton to quit that profession; and at the persuasion of Dr Harris and Mr Whiston, both eminent mathematicians, he engaged in the study of mathematics, a science to which he had always a strong inclination. In the prosecution of this science he w^as much encouraged by the success and applause he received, being greatly esteemed by the chief professors of it, and particularly by Sir Isaac Newton, by whose interest and recommendation he was elected master of the new mathematical school in Christ’s Hospital, where he continued till his death, which happened in 1715, in the fortieth year of his age. Mr Ditton published the following mathematical and other tracts: 1. Of the Tangents of Curves, &c. Phil. Trans, vol. xxiii. 2. A Treatise on Spherical Catoptrics, published in the Phil. Trans, for 1705, from which it was copied and reprinted in the Acta Eruditorum 1707, and also in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences at Paris. 3. General Laws of Nature and Motion, 8vo, 1705. Wolfius mentions this work, and says that it illustrates and renders easy the writings of Galileo, Huygens, and the Principia of Newton. It is also noticed by La Roche, in the Memoires de Literature, vol. viii. p. 46. 4. An Institution of Fluxions, containing the first Principles, Operations, and Applications of that admirable method, as invented by Sir Isaac Newton, 8vo, 1706. This work, with additions and alterations, was again published by Mr John Clarke in the year 1726. 5. In 1709 he published the Synopsis Algebraica of John Alexander, with many additions and corrections. 6. His Treatise on Perspective was published in 1712. In this work he explained the principles of that art mathematically; and, besides teaching the

D

I

V

Diu methods then generally practised, gave the first hints of II the new method afterwards enlarged upon and improved ivalia. j)r Brook Taylor, and which was published in the year ' 1715. 7. In 1714 Mr Ditton published several pieces, both theological and mathematical, particularly his Discourse on the Resurrection of Jesus Christ; and The New Law of Fluids, or a Discourse concerning the Ascent of Liquids, in exact Geometrical Figures, between two nearly contiguous Surfaces. To this was annexed a tract to demonstrate the impossibility of thinking or perception being the result of any combination of the parts of matter and motion ; a subject much agitated about that time. To this work also was added an advertisement from him and Mr Whiston concerning a method for discovering the longitude, which it seems they had published about half a year before. This attempt probably cost our author his life; for although it was approved and countenanced by Sir Isaac Newton before it was presented to the Board of Longitude, and the method had been successfully put in practice in finding the longitude between Paris and Vienna, yet that board then determined against it; so that the disappointment, together with some public ridicule, particularly in a poem written by Dean Swift, affected his health so that he died in the ensuing year, 1715. In an account of Mr Ditton, prefixed to the German translation of his Discourse on the Resurrection, it is said that he had published, in his own name only, another method for finding the longitude, but which Mr Whiston denied. However, Raphael Levi, a learned Jew, who had studied under Leibnitz, informed the German editor that he well knew that Ditton and Leibnitz had corresponded upon the subject, and that Ditton had sent to Leibnitz a delineation of a machine he had invented for that purpose, which was a piece of mechanism constructed with many wheels like a clock, and which Leibnitz highly approved of for land use, but doubted whether it would answer on board of ship, on account of the motion. DIU, a celebrated island and fortress of Hindustan, in the province of Gujerat. It is six and a half miles long by one and a half broad, is nearly barren, and contains no good water, excepting what is collected in ponds during the rainy weather. It owes its fame to a noted Hindu temple, which rose to great celebrity, and was reckoned one of the richest places of the East. In the year 1025, Sultan Mahmood of Ghizni having overrun the province, entered the island, which is separated from the main land by a narrow strait only fordable at low water, and having taken the temple, broke the image in pieces, and found in it jewels to an incredible amount, and immense treasures also in the temple. In 1815 the Portuguese gained possession of Diu. They immediately commenced fortifying it, and in ten years rendered it impregnable against all the powers of India. It soon became a place of great trade and commerce, and was the harbour in which the fleets were laid up in winter. But with the decline of the Portuguese power it fell into decay, and was finally plundered by the Arabs of Muscat in 1670. It has since dwindled into insignificance, and has now little or no commerce. Long. 71. E. Lat. 20. 43. N. DIVAL, in Heraldry, the herb nightshade, used by such as blazon by flowers and herbs, instead of colours and metals, for sable or black. DIVALIA, in Antiquity, a feast held among the ancient Romans, on the 21st day of December, in honour of the goddess Angerona; whence it is called Angeronalia. On the day of this feast, the pontifices performed sacrifice in the temple of Voluptia, or the goddess of joy and pleasure, who, some say, was the same with Angerona, and supposed to drive away all the sorrows and chagrins of .life. VOL. vm.

D I V 57 DIVAN, a council chamber or court of justice amongst Divan the eastern nations, particularly the Turks. The word is . .11 Arabic, and signifies the same with sofa in the Turkish ^lvination' dialect. The word is also used for a hall in the private houses of the orientals. The custom of China does not allow the receiving of visits in the inner parts of the house, but only at the entry, in a divan contrived on purpose for ceremonies. DIVANDUROW, the name of seven islands which lie about a league north of the Maldives, and twenty-four from the coast of Malabar, almost opposite to Cananor. DIVERGENT, or Diverging Lines, in Geometry, are those which constantly recede from each other. Divergent Bmjs, in Optics, are those which, going from a point of tl^ visible object, are dispersed, and continualty depart one from another in proportion as they are removed from the object; in which sense it is opposed to convergent. DIVERSIFYING, in Rhetoric, is of infinite service to the orator; it is an accomplishment essential to his character, and may fitly be called the subject of all his tropes and figures. Vossius lays down six wrays of diversifying a subject: 1. By enlarging on what was briefly mentioned before ; 2. by a concise enumeration of what had been insisted on at length; 3. by adding something new to what is repeated; 4. by repeating only the principal heads of what had been said; 5. by transposing the words and periods ; 6. by imitating them. DIVERSION, in military affairs, is when an enemy is attacked in one place where they are weak and unprovided, in order to draw off their forces from another place where they have made, or intend to make, an irruption. DIVESTING properly signifies undressing or stripping off one’s garment, in contradistinction to investing. In law it is used for the act of surrendering or relinquishing one’s effects. By a contract of donation or sale, the donor or seller is said to be disseised and divested of his property in such a commodity, and the donee or purchaser becomes invested therewith. A demise is a general divestiture which the fathers and mothers make of all their effects in favour of their children. DIVINATION, the knowledge of things obscure or future, which cannot be attained by any natural means. It was a received opinion amongst the heathens that the gods were wont to converse familiarly with some men, whom they endowed with extraordinary powers, and admitted to the knowledge of their councils and designs. Plato, Aristotle, Plutarch, Cicero, and others, divide divination into two sorts or species, viz. natural and artificial. The former was so called, because not attained by any rules or precepts of art, but infused or inspired into the diviner, without his taking any further care about it than to purify and prepare himself for the reception of the divine afflatus. Of this kind were all those who delivered oracles, and foretold future events by inspiration, without observing external signs or accidents. The second species of divination was called artificial, because it was not obtained by immediate inspiration, but proceeded upon certain experiments and observations arbitrarily instituted, and mostly superstitious. Of this sort there were various kinds, as by sacrifices, entrails, flame, cakes, flour, wine, water, birds, lots, verses, omens, and so on. In holy Scripture we find mention made of nine different kinds of divination. The first was performed by the inspection of planets, stars, and clouds. It is supposed to be the practisers of this whom Moses calls pijin, meonen, from px, anan, cloud (Deut. chap, xviii. ver. 10). 2. Those whom the prophet calls in the same place irmra, menacheseh, which the Vulgate and the generality of interpreters render augur. 3. Those who in the same place are called H

58 D I V Divination. tltran, mecascheph, which the Septuagint and Vulgate translate “ a man given to ill practices.” 4. Such others whom Moses in the same chapter, verse 11, calls •nm, hhober. 5. Those who consult the spirits called Python ; or, as Moses expresses it in the same book, “ those who ask questions of Python.” 6. Witches or magicians, whom Moses calls 'W', judeoni. 7. Those who consult the dead, necromancers. 8. The prophet Hosea (chap. iv. ver. 12), mentions such as consult staves, 'bpn bxtp; which kind of divination may be called rhabdomancy. 9. The last kind of divination mentioned in Scripture is hepatascopy, or the consideration of the liver. Divination of all kinds was necessarily made an occult science, which naturally remained in the handsr of the priests and priestesses, the magi, the soothsa3 ers, the augurs, the visionaries, the priests of the oracles, the false prophets, and other like professors, till the time of the coming of Jesus Christ. The light of the gospel, it is true, has dissipated much of this darkness; but it is more difficult than is commonly conceived to eradicate from the human mind a deep-rooted superstition, even though the truth be set in the strongest light, especially when the error has been believed almost from the origin of the world; so that we still find existing among us the remains of this Pagan superstition in the chimeras which enthusiastic and designing men have formed into arts and sciences, though it must be owned, to the honour of the nineteenth century, that the pure doctrines of Christianity, and the spirit of philosophy, which become every day more diffused, equally concur in banishing these visionary opinions. The vogue for these pretended sciences and arts, moreover, is past, and they can no longer be named without exciting ridicule in all sensible people. By relating them here, therefore, and drawing them from their natural obscurity, we only mean to show their futility, and to mark those rocks against which the human mind, without the assistance of a pilot, might easily split. For the attaining these supernatural qualifications, there are still existing in the world the remains of 1. Astrology ; a conjectural science, which teaches to judge of the effects and influences of the stars, and to predict future events by the situation of the planets and their different aspects. It is divided into natural astrology, or meteorology ; which is confined to the foretelling of natural effects, as the winds, rain, hail, and snow, frosts and tempests. In this consists one branch of the art of almanack-makers ; and by merely confronting these predictions in the calendar with the weather which each day produces, every man of sense will see what regard is to be paid to this part of astrology. The other part, which is called judicial astrology, is still more illusive and absurd than the former; and having been at first the wonderful art of visionaries, it afterwards became that of impostors; a very common fate with all those chimerical sciences of which we are here treating. This art pretends to teach the method of predicting all sorts of events which shall happen upon the earth, as well such as relate to the public as those which concern private persons; and this by the same inspection of the stars and planets, and their different constellations. The cabbala signifies, in like manner, the knowledge of things which are above the moon, as the celestial bodies and their influences ; and in this sense it is the same with judicial astrology, or forms part of it. 2. Horoscopy, which may also be considered as a part of

d i v astrology, is the art of drawing a figure, or celestial scheme, sLivir containing the twelve houses, in which are marked the dis- ' -^y position of the heavens at a certain moment; for example, that at which a man is born, in order to foretel his fortune, or the incidents of his future life. In a word, it is the disposition of the stars and planets at the moment of any person’s birth. But as there cannot be any probable or possible relation between the constellations and the human race, all the principles they lay down, and the prophecies they draw from them, are chimerical, false, absurd, and a criminal imposition on mankind. 3. The art of augury consisted, amongst the ancient Romans, in observing the flight, the singing, and eating of birds, especially such as were held sacred. See Augury. 4. The equally deceitful art of haruspicy consisted, on the contrary, in the inspection of the entrails of animals, but principally of victims, and from these predicting grand incidents relative to the republic, and the good or bad events of its enterprises. 5. Aeromancy was the art of divining by the air. This vain science has also come to us from the Pagans; but it is rejected by reason as well as Christianity, as false and absurd. 6. Pyromancy is a divination made by the inspection of a flame, either by observing to which side it turns, or by throwing into it some combustible matter, or a bladder filled with wine, or any thing else from which it was imagined that predictions might be drawn. 7. Hydromancy is the supposed art of divining by water. The Persians, according to Varro, invented this art. Pythagoras and Numa Pompilius both made use of it. 8. Geomancy was a divination made by observing cracks or clefts in the earth. It was also performed by points made on paper, or any other substance, at a venture ; and future events were judged of from the figures which thence resulted. This was certainly very ridiculous; but it is nothing less so to pretend to predict future events by the inspection of the grounds of a dish of tea or coffee, or by cards, and many other like matters. Thus have designing men made use of the four elements to deceive their credulous brethren. 9. Chiromancy is the art which teaches to know, by inspecting the hand, not only the inclinations of a man, but his future destiny also. The fools or impostors who practise this art pretend that the different parts or the lines of the hand have a relation to the internal parts of the body, as some to the heart, others to the liver, spleen, &c. On this false supposition, and on many others equally extravagant, the principles of chiromancy are founded ; and on which, however, several authors, as Robert Flud an Englishman, Artemidorus, M. de la Chambre, John of Indagina, and many others, have written treatises. 10. Physiognomy, or physiognomancy, is a science that pretends to teach the nature, the temperament, the understanding, and the inclinations of men, by the inspection of their countenances, and is therefore very little less frivolous than chiromancy; though Aristotle, and a number of learned men after him, have written express treatises concerning it. DIVINE, something relating to God. The word is also used figuratively for any thing that is excellent, extraordinary, and that seems to go beyond the power of nature and the capacity of mankind.

59

D I V I N G. iving. /

Diving is the art of descending under water to considerable depths, and of remaining there some time, so as to be able to collect valuable articles, such as pearls (see Pearl Fishing), sponges, coral, and other submarine productions, from the bottom of the sea or rivers, or property from the sunken wrecks of vessels. IJficulties This art is one of great utilitj^, but is attended with peoiiiving, culiar difficulties, owing to the very limited powers which 'yant man naturally possesses within the liquid element. On the sur ace ma no ou tlflungs swimming, ^' ^ arises bt continue a long time floating or andy hence the wonderful art of navigation. But the moment he plunges within the mass he is cut off from the vital air, and life is speedily extinguished. The necessity of a constant supply of air for the support of life is shown by simply attempting to withhold it by shutting the mouth and nostrils. No one can continue holding in the breath in this manner much longer than a minute or a minute and a half. If we begin to hold after having made an expiration, we cannot do it longer than a quarter of a minute; but if we take a large inspiration, and fill the lungs, this supply is found to last longer; so that we can readily hold breath a full minute, and, with practice and great exertion, some may even continue to do so two minutes. Now this is exactly what the diver must do to remain alive under water; and accordingly we find that in general a person cannot remain longer than half a minute without the danger of suffocation, and the most practised divers not above two minutes; such is the necessity for fresh air continually present in the lungs. N'essity The nature and cause of this necessity for air has been o0 ir,cause illustrated by the discoveries of modern chemistry. These have proved that it arises from a certain chemical action which the atmosphere exerts on the blood as it passes through the lungs, and which is continually going on, and cannot for a moment be intermitted. The nature of this action is not yet exactly understood, but the object of it undoubtedly)s to purify the blood, as it becomes vitiated by circulating through the system. For this purpose, the air inspired into the lungs, and coming there into contact with the blood, imparts to it its oxygen, a small portion of which is supposed to combine with the blood, and to give it renewed vigour; but by far the greater portion combines with the carbonaceous matter of the blood, and carries off this impurity in the shape of carbonic acid at each expiration. This is proved by a very simple experiment. Let a person, for instance, respire by means of a pipe into a bag or bladder of air of the capacity of a gallon or more; he will breathe freely enough at first, but in a very short time with great difficulty, and at last will feel the sense of suffocation the same as in holding the breath in the ordinary way. If the air in the bladder be now examined, it will be found to have entirely changed its nature; it will no longer support the flame of a candle, but extinguish it, the moment it is immersed, thus showing the loss of oxygen. Hence arises that sense of closeness and oppression which is felt in crow ded assemblies, where, as generally happens, the ventilation is imperfect. The same air being breathed again and again, becomes unfit for respiration, and produces those unpleasant sensations which are usually felt. A very curious and interesting set of experiments on respiration were made by Messrs Allen and Pepys, and narrated in the Philosophical Transactions for 1808. The following bears particularly on the present subject. “ Ihree hundred cubic inches of common air contained in one of the mercurial gasometers were respired. In less

than a minute it became necessary to take deeper and v Diving, deeper inspirations, and at last the efforts were so violent — that the glass was in danger of being broken. A great sense of oppression and suffocation was now felt in the chest, vision became indistinct, and after the second minute the attention of the operator seemed to be withdrawn from surrounding objects, and fixed upon the experiment. A buzzing in the ears took place, as in breathing nitrous oxide ; and after the third minute there was left only sufficient recollection to close the gasometer after an expiration ; after which he became insensible, having made thirty-five inspirations. The expired air contained ten per cent, of carbonic acid, four of oxygen, and eighty-six of azote.” With 300 cubic inches of air, then, in the gasometer, the Quantity n operator began to be insensible in the space of two mi-ofair ecessai ; nutes; and if we suppose that the lungs, which were jn 70 their natural state at the commencement of the operation, increasiil! .^ contained 100 cubic inches of atmospheric air, then jt ?* would follow that 200 inches each minute would be necessary to support life, so as to remain at the same time quite sensible. Hence, supposing the lungs to contain, with a full inspiration, 250 cubic inches, which is a pretty large allowance, it would follow that a man might hold breath, or remain under water, a minute and a quarter, which agrees veiy well with what occurs in ordinary cases. But a very curious fact has been mentioned to us by Professor Faraday of the Royal Institution, London, and was first noticed to him by a gentleman connected with the Asiatic Society, a fact which may often be of great importance, not only in diving, but in cases of fire, and of accidents in brewers’ vats, &c. The lungs in their natural state are charged with a large quantity of impure air, being a portion of the carbonic acid gas which is formed during respiration, but after each expiration still remains lodging among the involved passages of the pulmonary vessels. In proof of this, it is only necessary to breathe by a small pipe, or roll of paper, into a common water bottle, throwing away the first portion of the expiration, and propelling the last into the lower parts of the vessel. Then insert this over a taper, and it will be instantly extinguished. Now, by breathing hard for a short time, as one does after taking any violent exercise, this impure air is expelled, and its place is filled up with atmospheric air. The consequence is, that if we then take a full inspiration, the breath can easily be held for two minutes. This experiment any one can make. On trying it in the ordinary way, we could hold breath for about three quarters of a minute, but this with great difficulty. We then made eight to ten forced respirations, and on closing the mouth and nostrils felt no inconvenience even on the first trial, till after a minute and a half, but continued, however, to the end of the second minute. The knowledge of this fact might be of essential use in diving, and, we have no doubt, might often be the means of saving life ; for if in the ordinary way we can only remain a single minute under water, of what importance is it to be capable of doubling the time? A single minute in these cases must be invaluable. Whether the professed divers are aware of this circumstance or not, we do not know; but it is probable, at any rate, that in many cases the exertion induced by swimming may have the effect of clearing the lungs. Another curious fact illustrative of the same principles occurred to Mr Brunell in descending to examine the breach which the river had made in the Tunnel under the Thames. Having lower-

60 DIVING. Diving, ed the diving-bell nearly thirty feet to the mouth of the them thus company for some time in their voyage, con- Divin opening, this was found too narrow to admit the bell, so versing and asking questions ; and after eating a hearty that no further observation could be made on the state meal with them, he took his leave, and, jumping into the of the Shield and other works, which were perhaps eight sea, pursued his voyage alone. or ten feet deeper. Brunell, therefore, laying hold of the “ In order to aid these powers of enduring in the deep, end of a rope, left the bell, and dived himself down the nature seemed to have assisted him in a very extraordiopening; his companion in the bell being alarmed at the nary manner; for the spaces between his fingers and toes length of his stay, now about two minutes, gave the sig- were webbed, as in a goose ; and his chest became so very nal for pulling up ; and the diver, unprepared for the sig- capacious that he could take in, at one inspiration, as nal, had hardly time to catch hold of the rope which he much breath as would serve him for a whole day. “ The account of so extraordinary a person did not fail had let go, and was surprised on coming up to find that so much time had elapsed. On descending again, he to reach the king himself, who commanded Nicholas to be found that he could with ease remain fully two minutes brought before him. It was no easy matter to find Nichounder water. The reason evidently was, that the atmo- las, who generally spent his time in the solitudes of the sphere in the bell being condensed by a column of water deep ; but at last, after much searching, he was found and nearly thirty feet in height, contained nearly double the brought before his majesty. The curiosity of this moquantity of air in the same bulk, and thus nearly a double narch had been long excited by the accounts he had heard of the bottom of the Gulf of Charybdis; he now theresupply in the lungs. Difficulty Besides the difficulty of holding the breath, another fore conceived that it would be a proper opportunity to from the arises in diving, particularly at considerable depths, from have more certain information. He therefore commanded e externa thtMvater°* l pressure of the fluid on the chest, and on our poor diver to examine the bottom of this dreadful er th ’ every cavity of the body. On the chest this tends to whirlpool, and, as an incitement to his obedience, he orcompress it together, and to expel the air out of it, and dered a golden cup to be flung into it. Nicholas was not thus increases greatly the difficulty of holding the breath. insensible of the danger to which he was exposed, dangers At each foot of descent this pressure will increase up- best known only to himself, and therefore he presumed to wards of sixty lbs. on every square foot of the body ; and if remonstrate ; but the hopes of the reward, the desire of we suppose the chest to expose half a square foot, we have, pleasing the king, and the pleasure of showing his skill, at at the depth of fifteen feet, a force equal to the weight of last prevailed. He instantly jumped into the gulf, and 450 lbs. loading the chest, and tending to propel the in- was as instantly swallowed up in its bosom. He continued cluded air. A very great muscular exertion, therefore, for three quarters of an hour below, during which time will evidently be required to resist this enormous strain; the king and his attendants remained on shore anxious for nor is it practicable, by any breastplate or other contriv- his fate; but he at last appeared, holding the cup in ance, to defend the chest fi*om this pressure, as this, to triumph in one hand, and making his way good among do any good, would require to be so large, and of such the waves with the other. It may be supposed he was strength, as greatly to obstruct the free motions of the received with applause when he came on shore; the cup diver. It is this pressure of the deep water, and the violent was made the reward of his adventure; the king ordered exertion necessary to overcome it, that< causes, in divers him to be taken proper care of; and, as he was somewhat who go down frequently, the eyes to become blood-shot, fatigued and debilitated by his labour, after a hearty meal he was put to bed, and permitted to refresh himself by and brings on a spitting of blood. The art of diving having always in it, and particularly sleeping.” Marvellous ac- during the infancy of science, something of the marvellous, The diver then, according to the account, gave a narcounts of the most extraordinary accounts have been given, by dif- rative of the wonders he had seen, which so excited the divers. ferent authors, of the feats of some of the most noted curiosity of the monarch, that he again tempted the diver divers. The most singular of these is that given by Kir- to a second and fatal descent. After plunging into the cher, of the Sicilian diver Nicolo Pesce, taken, as he states, whirlpool, he was never more heard of. But to return to more authentic statements, these onAuthe from the archives of the kings of Sicily. “ In the times of Frederick king of Sicily,” says Kircher, the whole agree very well with the views already stated.staten Sicilian oftlie diver. “ there lived a celebrated diver, whose name was Nicholas, Among the pearl divers at Ceylon and other parts of the )W and who, from his amazing skill in swimming, and his per- East, instances have been known of a diver remaining sixF ^ severance under water, was surnamed the Jish. This man minutes under water ; but these are very rare ; the ordihad from his infancy been used to the sea, and earned his nary time seldom exceeds a minute, and sometimes it is scanty subsistence by diving for corals and oysters, which a minute and a half, or two minutes. There are generalhe sold to the villagers on shore. His long acquaintance ly ten divers in each of the boats belonging to the fishery; with the sea at last brought it to be almost his natural ele- five descend into the sea at a time, and the other five rement. He was frequently known to spend five days in main above to recruit their strength. In order to hasten the midst of the waves, without any other provisions than their descent, a large stone is used, with a rope attached the fish which he caught there, and ate raw. He often to it, which the diver seizes with the toes of his right foot, swam over from Sicily into Calabria, a tempestuous and while he grasps a bag of net-work with those of the left. dangerous passage, carrying letters from the king. He He then seizes another rope with his right hand, and was frequently known to swim among the gulfs of the Li- keeping his nostrils shut with his left, plunges into the water, and soon reaches the bottom. Then hanging the pari islands, noway apprehensive of danger. “ Some mariners out at sea one day observed something net round his neck, he speedily collects the oysters, and at some distance from them, which they regarded as a sea resuming his former position, he makes a signal to those monster; but upon its approach it was known to be Nicho- in the boat, and is immediately hauled up, and the stone las, whom they took into their ship. When they asked which assisted his descent is pulled up afterwards. The divers are all Indians, who are accustomed to this him whither he was going in so stormy and rough a sea, and at such a distance from land, he showed them a packet seemingly dangerous occupation from their infancy, and of letters which he was carrying to one of the towns of wdio fearlessly descend to the greatest depths. They will Italy, exactly done up in a leather bag, in such a manner frequently make from forty to fifty plunges in a day; but as that they could not be wetted by the sea. He kept the exertion is so extremely violent, that in coming up they

DIVING. 61 3c%, The diving-bell, which, from its simplicity, safety, Diving, discharge water, and sometimes blood, from their mouths, giving. ears, and nostrils. Some of them rub their bodies with and perfect efficiency, has now almost entirely superseded oil, and stuff their ears to prevent the water from enter- every other, though there is no doubt that in many cases * ing; but the greater part use no precautions whatever. these may still be of considerable utility in subservience They take no food while in the boats, nor till they return to the bell. In regard to dresses or armour, a number of different Wateron shore and have bathed themselves in fresh water. The 1 ar only danger to which they are exposed is from meeting, plans of this kind are detailed in Leopold’s TAeatrum^S^ mour Machinarum Hydraulicarum. At depths of twelve or fifwhile at the bottom, with the ground-shark, which is a common inhabitant of those seas, and of which the divers teen feet these may often be of essential use; but beyond are under dreadful apprehensions; some of them indeed this they become inapplicable, owing to the great pressure are so expert as to avoid this enemy, even when they re- on the limbs of the diver, which must either be exposed, main under water for a considerable time; but the uncer- or covered only with a flexible material, not to impede tainty of escaping is so great, that, in order to avert the his motions; and in that case the pressure, acting on all danger, they consult, before they begin, their priests or sides like a ligature, is liable to obstruct the circulation conjurors, in whom they place implicit confidence. of the blood in the limbs, and to drive it from these into I >rida Dr Halley relates, as a remarkable circumstance, that those parts of the body within the armour, causing exI lian he observed a Florida Indian diver at Bermudas, who treme pain. In any great depth, also, the necessary d ers. could remain two minutes under water. He states, that strength of the armour renders it unwieldy; and it is exthe divers for sponges in the Archipelago are in the prac- tremely difficult, if not impracticable, to fit it tightly on Tijs of tice of taking down in their mouths a piece of sponge every part; while the smallest opening, by admitting wab nges. dipped in oil, and by this are enabled to dive longer than ter, may endanger the life of the diver. others who have none. It is not easy to conceive how this One of the best of these contrivances is perhaps that Klingert’s can assist the diver’s breathing ; for the introduction of proposed by M. Klingert, and described in a pamphlet armour, any foreign substance into the mouth must necessarily published at Breslau in 1798. The harness or armour is diminish the quantity of air he can take down. But it made of strong tin-plate, in the form of a cylinder, with a has been lately said that the real object of taking oil in round end to inclose the head and body, and, for the contheir mouth is to calm those small waves on the surface of venience of putting it on, is made in two parts, the headthe sea which prevent the light being so steadily transmit- piece or helmet, and the body. Besides this, there is a ted to the bottom as is necessary to enable the divers to leather jacket, with short sleeves, and a pair of drawers of find the small objects they search for without delay. By the same, which are made water-tight, buttoned on the ejecting a little oil from their mouths, it rises to the sur- metal part where they join, and made tight with brass face, and spreading upon it, calms the waves in a most hoops, going round the leather and the metal upon the remarkable manner, and gives a brilliant light at the bot- outside. The chief peculiarity in this machine is the tom. mode in which fresh air is supplied, and respiration effectSith Sea Many nations, and particularly the savages in the South ed. This is done by two distinct flexible pipes proceeding d;ers. Sea and other islands, are remarkable for the expertness from the inside of the helmet to the surface of the water; they acquire by habit in diving and moving about in the the one is for inhaling the air, and terminates in an ivory water. Being accustomed to it from their infancy, the mouth-piece, which the diver may embrace with his lips element becomes so natural to them that they seem to and inhale the air; the -other enters the helmet at the have the use of all their faculties in the water the same same place, and opens merely into the inside of the maas on the dry land. According to the accounts of voy- chine, so as to allow the foul air to be discharged. The agers, they are such expert divers, that when a nail or diver, therefore, draws in the fresh air by the mouth, and other piece of iron was thrown overboard, they would in- discharges it into the helmet by the nostrils; and from stantly jump into the sea after it, and never fail to recover the interior of the machine it is propelled by the act of it. On one occasion a( smith’s anvil is said to have fallen inspiration, the expansion of the chest contracting the overboard. Not being able to bring this up, the island- space between it and the armour, and forcing out exactly ers notwithstanding contrived to bring it ashore, by de- as much air as is drawn in, keeping up always a due equiscending a great many times to the bottom, and rolling it librium. This is certainly a very ingenious arrangement; over and over till it reached the land. for, if there were no second pipe to discharge the air, the Afiaratus Such is the length to which diving has been carried by expansion of the chest would compress the air round the aiding the natural powers of the body alone. But from the curious body of the diver, and, unless this were of large capacity, divers. and difficult nature of the object, and the many important which would be inconvenient, would create a difficulty in purposes to which the art might be employed, ingenious the operation. The construction of the apparatus will be men were led to the invention of various contrivances for understood from the drawing, fig. 1, Plate CLXXXIX., the use of the diver, which have greatly extended his which is a front view of the diver, and by the following powers and the usefulness of the art. A multitude of description: A is the helmet-piece, fifteen inches in these contrivances of different descriptions have been height, and the diameter adapted to the size of the body brought forward by mechanical projectors for the last two of the diver; BB is the lower part of the cylinder, of hundred years. They all resolve themselves into three the same diameter, and of such a height as to meet the different kinds. other at the dotted line C; ddQ is the jacket, and jfjfE ls£, Water-tight armour or dresses for the body, so the drawers; these are attached to the cylinder by butstrong as to protect it from the external pressure of the tons, as seen ; and «, c, bb are the three brass hoops fitfluid; and, along with this, the means of supplying the ted over each joint to make it water-tight; the hoops diver with fresh air, so as to enable him to remain any are made of brass-plate, with their ends turned up, and time under water. fitted with screws, by means of which they can be drawn , Water-tight vessels of metal for inclosing the very tight upon the leather. The cylinder has holes diver, and of such capacity as to contain a supply of air for the arms, one half in the upper piece and one half in for a limited period of perhaps half an hour or an hour or the lower; and when the jacket is fastened on, it binds more, and giving him also the use of his hands ancharms the upper and lower parts of the cylinder together. It is externally by a sort of flexible sleeves. fastened at the arms with brass screw hoops, dd, and the

62 DIVING. Diving, drawers by similar ones at ff; k h represent the breath- unfortunately lost off Weymouth in 1804. It consisted of Divii ing pipes, the first for drawing in the air, the second for a body of copper with iron boots, put together and jointed discharging it; these are united to a little metal cylinder, in the manner of coats of mail; the whole is then covered which screws on the helmet at the aperture g; this is with leather, and afterwards with canvass to distinguish it shown more particularly at fig. 2, where a partition will under water. The arms are made of strong water-proof be observed in the cylinder dividing the fresh air com- leather ; and the place for sight is about eight inches diapartment from the other, the one terminating in the ivory meter, glazed over with a plate of glass an inch thick. mouth-piece v, the other just entering the machine at t. The diver is sunk in this machine by means of weights, W is a small reservoir at the lower part of the pipes, for fastened equatorially round the waist of it; and he is suscondensing any air, or receiving what may penetrate pended by a rope, by means of which his situation is through the pipes. To resist the external pressure of the changed at pleasure. A flexible air-tube communicates water on the limbs, the leather drawers have a framing of with an air-vessel in the boat above. Through this tube iron within them, represented at fig. 3; this consists of a the diver gives his instructions and obtains his supply of semicircular piece ll, also seen at //, fig. 1, extending be- fresh air. This machine was used with very good effect tween the legs of the diver, and fastened to the lower ex- in a depth of water of near seven fathoms, and enabled the tremity of the cylinder at the front and back; also two diver to direct the operations of several curious machines, irons nn outside the thighs, which are jointed to the cy- such as saws for clearing away the ship’s decks, and maklinder, and extend down to^ where they are attached to ing sufficient openings to give him access to the treasure a hoop surrounding the thigh; there is another hoop for below, as well as tongs, &c. for taking up the heavy goods each thigh farther up at q ; these hoops are farther con- by tackle in the vessel above. In regard to the second kind of diving machines, that Eorelli nected by irons, which at the upper end are fitted to slide upon the semicircular hoop, as at t; and by this means, proposed by Borelli is only curious as showing the low Jiving; ladtle though the frame-work is very strong, the diver is at li- state of physical knowledge in his time. He proposed tok berty to walk, imv are weights hooked on the cylinder, have a copper vessel, or vesica as he terms it, about two to keep the diver down. P is a small pump for discharg- feet diameter, to contain the diver’s head, and to be ing any leakage water which may penetrate through the fixed to a habit of goat skin for the body. Within the vessel there were pipes contrived to produce a circulation of joints. When the different parts of the machine have been fitted air, by which Borelli supposed that the objections to other to the body of the diver, and the proper weights are at- diving machines from the want of air would be obviated; tached, he enters the water till it rises as high as his eyes, “ the moisture,” as he says, “ by which it is clogged in while the end of the pipe is held by an assistant above the respiration, and by which it is rendered unfit for the same surface ; and if he finds that he can breathe freely, and no use again, being taken from it by its circulation through water is forced into the pipe, he may venture to go deeper; the pipes, to the sides of which it would adhere, and leave and, stopping for some time, to ascertain whether respi- the air as free as before.” It also contained an air-pump, ration be not inconvenient from the want of fresh air, he by means of which the diver could raise or lower the apmay advance to still greater depths, while he makes the paratus, by condensing or rarefying the air, on the prinproper signals by means of the rope which is secured to ciple of the air-bladder of fishes. Mr Martin, in his Philosophia Britannica, mentions an Death one of his arms, or by speaking through the pipe. By this ( vin kind of exercise for some time, the diver acquires confi- apparatus contrived by an Englishman, consisting of strongchiestlf dence and ease for conducting the necessary operations. leather, so prepared that no air could pass through. It fitWhen he is desirous of ascending he has only to unhook ted to his arms and legs, and had a glass window placed in the weights attached to the apparatus, or to fix them to a the fore part of it. When dressed in this apparatus, which rope let down for the purpose, that they may not be lost, was large enough to contain half a hogshead of air, he and as he is then lighter than the same bulk of water, he could walk on the ground at the bottom of the sea, and enter the cabin of a sunk ship to take out the goods. The rises to the surface. By following these directions, any one may be able to use inventor is said to have himself used this machine very ! the apparatus, and dive to moderate depths, in a very short extensively in recovering wrecks, and with such success time. In one of the trials upon the Oder, near Breslau, as to have acquired considerable property by it. We are the diver was a huntsman taught by the author; the water not informed of the depths to which he descended. Mr Klingert, the inventor of the water armour, also con- dKling s was of considerable depth, and the current strong,and there vin were a great number of spectators present. He sawed trived a diving chest, of the form of a hollow cylinder, toc iiestl ' through the trunk of a tree which was lying at the bottom; be used along with it. This contained fifty-eight cubic he showed also that he could have fastened sunk bodies to feet of air, which, he estimated, would last two hours. It a rope in order to be drawn up, and that in case any impe- was suspended from a boat, but could be raised and dediment should prevent the use of the saw, the trunks of pressed independently of this by a pump compressing or trees might be hewed to pieces by an axe. On the whole, dilating the included air. Thus the ballast is so adapted this apparatus, or one similar, might certainly be of great to the size of the machine, as to make it sink so far use in many cases, particularly in hydraulic works, where that only a cubic foot of it remains above water. In the diving-bell and the machinery connected with it might this state an additional weight of a hundred pounds will not be attainable. The water-proof cloth of Mackintosh depress it below the surface, or make it sink to the botmight also be substituted with good effect for the leather. tom. The effect of adding extra weights is produced by Apparatus Another mode of supplying air to the diving apparatus diminishing the volume of contained air, by condensing it by Tonkin, has been adopted in some cases. This consists in forcing into a smaller space. To accomplish this, a large cylinder the fresh air into the machine by a bellows or pump, till is applied in the bottom of the vessel, and provided with its elastic force is equal to the pressure of the water. The a piston, which, by a rack and pinion, can be moved from foul air may in this case be suffered to escape into the one end of the cylinder to the other, when the diver turns water through a valve, or may be conducted to the surface a handle, coming through the side of the machine, and by a pipe. Of this kind is the apparatus contrived by communicating motion by a worm and wheel to the piMr Tonkin, and employed for some time in raising parts of nion of the rack before mentioned. The lower end of the the wreck of the Abergavenny East India ship, which was cylinder is open to the water, and the upper end opens

D I V I N G-B ELL. 63 snatching or twitching the line a certain number of times, Diving, ving. within the machine; therefore, when the diver turns the handle in the direction to raise up the piston in its cylin- as has before been agreed upon. This is immediately der, it necessarily diminishes the bulk of the included air, felt by the person above, who gives orders accordingly. and the machine will sink; but on depressing the piston The size of the vessel is such that he can continue at the in the cylinder, it will ascend again. The inventor pro- bottom about half an hour, without any pipes or other posed to furnish the machine with two small oars to move supply, and will be enabled to do man)' things very readily, it in the water, and an anchor or grapnel to make it fast such as recovering moorings, chains lost in rivers or harwhilst the diver walks about on the bottom, within the bours, hooking ropes for weighing up lost anchors, or any limits of the length of the pipe, to examine sunk bo- other purpose where there is free access to the object dies, and discover the best mode of raising them. To pre- sought; though in entering and searching the wrecks of vent danger from any accident happening to the machine, ships, it would be less convenient than some others which the diver is to be provided with the means of quickly we shall describe. Besides the above, several other projects of a similar Diving madetaching the pipes from the machine, and retaining a to sufficiency of air in the armour to carry him to the sur- kind have been proposed, not only with means within it-chine m unface when he throws off the weight suspended from his self of raising and lowering the vessel, but with contri- er°ve water vanees in the shape of screw arms for moving it when ^ • girdle. j!Ire’s Another diving machine or chest was invented by Mr under water in any direction; but none with much sucBftng Rowe in 1753, and is represented in Plate CLXXXIX. cess. This is said to have been tried in the reign of King d’fig. 4. It consists of a trunk or hollow copper vessel AB, James I. by a famous English projector, Cornelius Drebell, soldered or riveted together with strength proportioned who, we are told by Mr Boyle, made a submarine vessel, to the depth of water where it is to be fixed. It contains which would carry twelve rowers besides the passengers; the diver’s body, and also a sufficiency of air for the time and that he had also discovered a liquid which had the he intends to dive. He enters with his feet first at the singular property of restoring the air when it became imopen end A, which is then closed by a lid or cover screw- pure by breathing. This last circumstance, with the numed on by a number of screw bolts passing through the ber of persons inclosed in the machine, and the imperfect flanches. The vessel is bent at F, for the bearing of the state of mechanics at the period alluded to, render the diver’s knees, and has a sufficiency of leaden ballast at B whole story extremely improbable, though it shows clearly to sink it in the right position. There are two hoops sur- that the idea had been entertained, and perhaps some rounding it, which, at the same time that they strengthen attempt made. The celebrated Bishop Wilkins, in his it, afford points of suspension by a bar, which is attached Mathematical Magic, takes up the scheme of Drebell, and, to them, and is pierced with several holes to admit a span with all the sanguine facilities of a projector, describes upon the rope, which is so adjusted as to suspend the the benefits of these submarine enterprises. The submawhole, with the diver in it, nearly in the position of the rine vessel of Mr Bushnell of Connecticut, in America, figure, when he will be in a convenient posture for working constructed in 1787, though very complex, appears to with his arms, which come through openings C in the ves- have been a curious and ingenious machine, and to have sel, to which sleeves E, of very strong leather, are attached promised success if persevered in, according to the acby a hoop or ring, screwed to the vessel with the leather counts published of it. It was intended to act chiefly as between them. The sleeves are lined with cloth, and the an engine of war, by advancing under water towards an edges round the holes are defended by soft quilting, from enemy’s ship, and fixing in the bottom of it a magazine of hurting the diver’s arms by the pressure, as well as to pre- powder, which, by peculiar contrivances, was intended to vent the sleeves and his arms being thrust inwards. D is take fire after the machine had got to a sufficient distance an aperture covered by a strong lens, for the diver to see to be out of danger. But if this be the only use of such through. At H and G are two other openings in the up- a machine, its failure need not be regretted. Let us now per part of the vessel, covered by screw caps, which are turn, then, to the most important of all diving machines removed when fresh air is to be introduced into the ma- yet contrived, namely, chine by the nose pipe of a pair of bellows being applied to force fresh air into one, and drive out the foul air at the The Diving-Bell. other. The lower opening is also of use to pump out any water which may leak through at the joints, though this The principle of the diving-bell is extremely simple. General is as much as possible prevented by fitting leather into the Let anyone insert a wine glass in a tumbler of water; on principles, joints of the cover and the caps before they are screwed sinking it to the bottom, the inside of the glass will be tight. The mass of lead F is fastened to the lower side of observed to remain nearly full of air, so that any small the vessel in a line between the diver’s arms, by means of object within the glass will remain perfectly dry, the inhoops. On this the whole rests if it comes to the ground, cluded air being confined on all sides, and by its impeneand remains in a proper position for the diver to work, and trability excluding the water from its place. If this exfasten ropes to any thing which is to be drawn up, as shown periment be made with a pretty large bell-glass, inverted in fig. 5. over a taper floating on the surface of the water in a still It the water be very deep, the diver must wear a kind of larger vessel, the taper will be observed to descend with saddle on his back, which, having a ridge touching the the glass to the bottom; and though surrounded on all top part of the vessel withinside, enables him to keep his sides with water, it will be found to remain perfectly dry, arms properly out of the apertures, otherwise he would and to continue burning for some time. Conceive then not have strength to resist the pressure acting upon the a vessel of wood or metal, in the shape of a wine-glass or surface ot the arms and sleeves, which forces them into it truncated cone, but so large as, when inverted, to admit with a weight proportional to the quantity of surface ex- several persons within it, sitting, for instance, on a board posed, and to the depth of water. The diver gives his in- along one of the sides. Let the whole then be suspended struction to those above by a small line, which is laid by a rope or chain over the side of a vessel, with a jib pulthrough a staple at the side of the machine, and has a ley and crane, to lower or raise the machine at pleasure. handle always hanging in reach of the diver’s hand. The I hen, on the machine being lowered and loaded with sufupper part of this line is held by a person in the boat or ficient wreight to sink it, the persons may all descend to a ship above, to whom any signal is given, by the diver great depth in the sea, without being wetted in the small-

64 D I V I N G-B ELL. Diving- est degree; and there is nothing to prevent them remain- of a diving-machine, that which approaches nearest to the Divi: ^ ^ ing any time in this situation, and moving about and doing diving-bell is in a book on fortification by Lorini; who de- Be] scribes a square box bound round with iron, which is furoperations at great depths. Hist&ry. The above, then, was the original construction of the nished with windows, and has a stool affixed to it for the diving-bell; and the great advantage of it, and what dis- diver. This ingenious contrivance appears, however, to tinguishes it above every other similar invention, and ren- be older than that Italian ; at least he does not pretend to ders it vastly superior, is, that being perfectly open below, be the inventor of it. “ In the year 1617, Francis Kessler gave a description the divers can get out and in with the utmost facility. This invention, according to Professor Beckmann, is ge- of his water-armour, intended also for diving, but which nerally assigned to the sixteenth century ; and “ I am of cannot really be used for that purpose. In the year. 1671, opinion,” says he, “ that it was little known before that Witsen taught, in a better manner than any of his predeperiod. We read, however, that in the time of Aristotle cessors, the construction and use of the diving-bell; but divers used a kind of kettle, to enable them to continue he is much mistaken when he says that it was invented at longer under the water ; but the manner in which it was Amsterdam. In 1679 appeared, for the first time, Borelli’s employed is not clearly described. The oldest information well-known work De Motu Animalium ; in which he not which we have of the use of the diving-bell in Europe is only described the diving-bell, but also proposed another, that of John Taisnier, who was born in Hainault in 1509, the impracticability of which was shown by James Berand had a place at court under Charles V., whom he at- noulli. When Sturm published his Collegium curiosum in tended on his voyage to Africa. He relates in what man- 1678, he proposed some hints for the improvement of this ner he saw, at Toledo, in the presence of the emperor and machine, on which remarks were made in the Journal des several thousand spectators, two Greeks let themselves Sgavans.” The diving-bell, as hitherto used in the above down under water, in a large inverted kettle, with a burn- simple form, is liable to two great defects, viz. 1. The elasticity of the included air prevents it from ing light, and rise up again without being wet. It appears that this art was then new to the emperor and the Spa- resisting entirely the entrance of the water into the lower niards, and that the Greeks were caused to make the ex- part of the bell. The water, by the universal law of fluids, presses the bell on all sides, in proportion to the depth of periment in order to prove the possibility of it.” “ When the English in 1588 dispersed the Spanish fleet the immersion. This pressure therefore it exerts upwards called the Invincible Armada, part of the ships went to on the bottom of the bell, and against the included air; the bottom, near the Isle of Mull, on the western coast of but the air being extremely compressible, yields to the Scotland; and some of these, according to the account of pressure, and is contracted into a smaller volume, allowing the Spanish prisoners, contained great riches. This in- the water to enter and occupy the lower portion of the formation excited, from time to time, the avarice of spe- bell. Such is the effect of this pressure, that at the depth culators, and gave rise to several attempts to procure part of thirty-three feet the air becomes compressed into half of the lost treasure. In the year 1665, a person was so its volume, and the bell fills half full of water; and the fortunate as to bring up some cannon, which, however, same proportion at every other depth. But, 2. The air within the bell, by continued respiration, bewere not sufficient to defray the expenses. Of these attempts, and the kind of diving-bell used in them, the read- comes speedily unfit to support life; and the whole appaer will find an account in a work printed at Rotterdam in ratus therefore must be raised from time to time, to re1669, and entitled G. Sinclari Ars nova et magna gravi- ceive a fresh supply. Suppose that only two persons detatis et levitatis. In the year 1680, William Phipps, a na- scend in the bell at a time, we have seen that a supply of tive of America, formed a project for searching and un- two hundred cubic inches of air per minute is absolutely loading a rich Spanish ship sunk on the coast of Hispa- necessary for each person to keep in life and sensibility. niola ; and represented his plan in such a plausible man- But in order to breathe freely, at least double that quanner, that King Charles II. gave him a ship, and furnished tity would be required; say for two persons half a cubic him with every thing necessary for the undertaking. He foot per minute. If then we have a bell six feet long, set sail in the year 1603 ; but being unsuccessful, return- and four feet average diameter, this would contain about ed again in great poverty, though with a firm conviction seventy cubic feet, and would last upwards of two hours. of the possibility of his scheme. By a subscription, pro- So that for at least one hour or more respiration might be moted chiefly by the Duke of Albemarle, the son of the carried on with all manner of freedom. At great depths, such as twenty, thirty, forty, and sixty Effect celebrated Monk, Phipps was enabled, in 1687, to try his fortune once more, having previously engaged to divide feet, where the usual pressure on the body from the at-pressu the profit according to the twenty shares of which the mosphere above is doubled and tripled, amounting in the subscription consisted. At first all his labour proved fruit- latter case to nearly forty pounds in every square inch, less ; but at last, when his patience was almost entirely one would imagine that respiration, and indeed the whole exhausted, he was so lucky as to bring up, from the depth system of the body, would be deranged under so thick and of six or seven fathoms, so much treasure, that he return- confined an atmosphere. But experience proves that no ed to England with the value of L.200,000. Of this sum great inconvenience arises from this circumstance; and he himself got about sixteen, others say twenty thousand, the reason is, that the air pressing into every cavity withand the duke ninety thousand pounds. After he came in the body, as well as externally, the pressure is exactly back, some persons endeavoured to persuade the king to balanced ; so that the effect of the actual increase is renseize both the ship and the cargo, under a pretence that dered near! 3^ insensible. The only particular sensation felt painij Phipps, when he solicited for his majesty’s permission, had in descending in the bell is a severe pain in the ears, par-ears, not given accurate information respecting the business. ticularly at first. This increases a little as we descend, But the king answered, with much greatness of mind, that but, after resting at the bottom, goes entirely off. It arises he knew Phipps to be an honest man, and that he and his from the effect of the condensed air acting externally on friends should share the whole among them, had he re- the tympanum of the ear, before the air within the tympanic turned with double the value. His majesty even confer- cavity has acquired the same density to counterbalance red upon him the honour of knighthood, to show how it. The tympanum on the outside communicates directly much he was satisfied with his conduct. We know not the with the atmosphere, the pressure of which therefore acts construction of Phipps’s apparatus; but of the old figures instantaneously. But on the inside the tympanum bounds

D I V I N G-B ELL. 65 ving- the tympanic cavity; and this has no communication with clear glass, as a window, to let in the light from above ; Diving♦3ell. the external air, excepting by the Eustachian tube, which and likewise a cock to let out the hot air that had been Bell. leads from the cavity into the mouth. Through this tube, breathed ; and below, about a yard under .the bell, I placed therefore, the condensed air must pass from the mouth, to a stage, which hung by three ropes, each of which was supply what is necessary within the cavity for restoring the charged with about one hundredweight to keep it steady. same equilibrium within and without. But the Eustachian This machine I suspended from the mast of a ship by a tube is a long and narrow passage; at its commencement sprit, which was sufficiently secured by stays to the mast in the ear it has a bony structure, but towards its termi- head, and was directed by braces to carry it overboard nation in the mouth, behind the nostrils, it becomes soft clear of the ship’s side, and to bring it again within board, and fleshy, so as readily to close the passage, particularly as occasion required. “ To supply air to this bell when under water, I caused with any pressure acting externally. It admits therefore an easy passage from the ear to the mouth ; but when any a couple of barrels, of about thirty-six gallons each, to be pressure arises in the opposite direction, it acts in some cased with lead, so as to sink empty; each of them havdegree like a valve, shutting the passage, until the increas- ing a bung-hole in its lowest parts to let in the water as ing pressure again forces it open. Some time then elapses the air in them condensed on their descent, and to let it before all this can be accomplished ; and during this time out again when they were drawn up full from below. And the external air pressing with full force on the tympanum, to a hole in the uppermost part of these barrels I fixed a produces the pain which is felt. When the Eustachian leathern trunk or hose well liquored with bees-wax and tube opens, it is generally all of a sudden, and with a oil, and long enough to fall below the bung-hole, being slight explosion or pop, which is followed by instant relief kept down by a weight appended; so that the air in the from the pain. This relief may often be produced by fill- upper part of the barrels could not escape, unless the lower ing the mouth, or gulping the air and pressing it into the ends of these hose were first lifted up. tube. “ The air-barrels being thus prepared, I fitted them Different accounts have been given of this effect on the with tackle proper to make them rise and fall alternately, ears in the diving-bell; but the above seems the most ac- after the manner of two buckets in a well; which was curate, and what really takes place. The effect, indeed, done with so much ease, that two men, with less than half may be shown experimentally by shutting the mouth and their strength, could perform all the labour required; and nostrils, and exhausting the air from them by the action of in their descent they were directed by lines fastened to the lungs. The air in the tympanic cavity immediately the under edge of the bell, which passed through rings on rushing through the Eustachian tube into the mouth, the both sides of the leathern hose in each barrel; so that, external air acts on the tympanum, and produces a slight sliding down by these lines, they came readily to the hand sensation of deafness, such as is felt in the bell. But, in- of a man who stood on the stage on purpose to receive stead of exhausting the air, attempt to compress it, and them, and to take up the ends of the hose into the bell. force it through the tube into the internal ear; at first no Through these hose, as soon as their ends came above the effect is produced : but after exerting a considerable pres- surface of the water in the barrels, all the air that was insure, a slight pop is felt, and a little pain in the ear, which cluded in the upper parts of them was blown with great is just the sudden opening of the tube. force into the bell, whilst the water entered at the bungThe great inconveniences of the diving-bell already holes below, and filled them ; and as soon as the air of one mentioned were completely removed by the labours of barrel had been thus received, upon a signal given, that the celebrated and ingenious philosopher Dr Halley, who was drawn up, and at the same time the other descended, about the year J715 introduced the grand improvement of and, by an alternate succession, furnished air so quick, and supplying it with fresh air for any length of time without in so great plenty, that I myself have been one of five who raising the bell out of the water. This he effected by have been together at the bottom in nine or ten fathom letting down from the vessel from which the bell was sus- water, for above an hour and a half at a time, without any pended, barrels of fresh air, which, by means of pipes, dis- sort of ill consequence ; and I might have continued there charged their contents into the bell; while the foul air as long as I pleased, for any thing that appeared to the escaped by a small cock in the top of the bell. In this contrary. Besides, the whole cavity of the bell was kept manner the air within the bell was kept perfectly fresh, entirely free from water, so that I sat on a bench which and for any length of time. Another remarkable advan- was diametrically placed near the bottom, wholly dressed, tage arose from this plan. The force of the air in the with all my clothes on. I only observed that it was nebarrels was made to discharge the whole of the water out cessary to be let down gradually at first, as about twelve of the bell, which the elasticity of the included air had feet at a time ; and then to stop and drive out the air that hitherto allowed to enter and partially to fill the cavity. entered, by receiving three or four barrels of fresh air beThis was easily done by stopping the cock at the top, and fore I descended further. But being arrived at the depth letting down the barrels below the level of the bell, by designed, I then let out as much of the hot air that had which means the air included in them received a sufficient been breathed as each barrel would replenish with cool, preponderating pressure to enter the bell and drive out by means of the cock at the top of the bell; through the water. In this manner the whole cavity of the bell whose aperture, though very small, the air would rush became available for working ; and, what was of still more with so much violence as to make the surface of the sea importance, the diver could with ease descend and walk boil, and to cover it with a white foam, notwithstanding on the bottom of the sea, the feet being only slightly im- the weight of the water over us. mersed. The following is the interesting account which “ Thus I found that I could do any thing that required Dr Halley gives of his arrangements : to be done just under us; and that, by taking off the “ I he bell I made use of was of wood, containing about stage, I could, for a space as wide as the circuit of the sixty cubic feet in its concavity, and was of the form of a bell, lay the bottom of the sea so far dry as not to be truncated cone, whose diameter at the top was three feet, over shoes thereon. And, by the glass window, so much and at the bottom five. This I coated with lead so heavy light was transmitted, that when the sea was clear, and that it would sink empty ; and I distributed the weight so especially when the sun shone, I could see perfectly well about its bottom, that it would go down in a perpendicular to write or read, much more to fasten or lay hold on any direction, and no other. In the top I fixed a strong but thing under us that was to be taken up. And, by the reVOL. vm. i

GG D I V I N G-B ELL. Diving, turn of the air-barrels, I often sent up orders written with without a considerable addition of weight; the leaden Divir Bell, an iron pen, on small plates of lead, directing how to move caps were therefore made to weigh about half a hundred- Bel us from place to place as occasion required. At other weight, to which was added a girdle for the waist, formed times, when the water was troubled and thick, it would be of large weights of lead nearly of as great weight in the as dark as night below; but in such cases I have been whole ; also two clogs of lead for the feet, of about twelve able to keep a candle burning in the bell as long as I pounds each. With this accession of weight Dr Halley pleased, notwithstanding the great expense of air neces- found a man could stand well in an ordinary stream, and sary to maintain flame. This I take to be an invention even go against it. It is necessary for the diver to be applicable to various uses, such as fishing for pearls, div- provided against the cold of the w^ater, which, though it ing for coral or sponges, and the like, in far greater depths could not be removed so that a man could endure it long,r than has hitherto been thought possible. Also for the fit- yet it was much eased by wearing a waistcoat and draw ting and placing of the foundations of moles, bridges, &c. ers made close to the body, of that thick woollen stuff'of in rocky bottoms, and for the cleaning and scrubbing of which blankets are made. This becoming full of water, ships’ bottoms when foul, in calm weather, at sea. I shall would be a little warmed by the heat of the body, and only intimate, that by an additional contrivance, I have keep off the chill of new cold water coming on. When the water is not turbid, things are seen suffifound it not impracticable for a diver to go out of an engine to a good distance from it, the air being conveyed to ciently distinct at the bottom of the sea; but a small dehim with a continued stream, by small flexible pipes ; gree of thickness makes perfect night in a moderate depth which pipes may serve as a clue to direct him back again of water. To obtain an open view from the leaden caps, which, from their use, the doctor called caps of maintewhen he would return to the bell.” Plate CLXXXIX., fig. 5, represents the construction nance, he at first used a plain glass before the sight, but soon found that the vapour of the breath made such a and operations of Dr Halley’s bell as thus described. In 1721, shortly after the above experiments were dew on the surface of the glass that it lost its transpamade, Dr Halley contrived additional apparatus, to enable rency. To remedy this, he found it necessary to prolong the diver to go out from the bell to a considerable dis- that side of the cap which was before the eyes, and theretance, and stay a sufficient time in the sea, and walk by enlarge the prospect of what was beneath. Another plan of the diving-bell was proposed by Mr about on the bottom, with full freedom to act as occasion required. Considering that the pressure being greater on Martin Triewald, F. R. S. and military architect to the the surface of the water in the bell than on any other king of Sweden, which, for a single person, is in some resurface which was higher than that in the bell, the air spects thought to be more eligible than Dr Halley’s, and is would pass by a pipe from the bell into any cavity for air; constructed as follows. AB, fig. 6, is the bell, which is sunk where the surface of the water was higher, he concluded by lead weights DD hung to its bottom. This bell is of that a man, by putting on his head a bell or cap of lead, copper, and tinned all over in the inside, which is illumimade sufficiently heavy to sink empty, and in form re- nated by three strong convex lenses P, with copper lids sembling the bell itself, might keep his head dry, and to defend them. The iron ring or plate below the bell might receive a constant stream of air from the great bell, serves the diver to stand on when he is at work, and is so long as the surface of the water in the cap was above suspended at such a distance from the bottom of the bell the level of that in the bell, by means of a flexible pipe by the chains, that when the diver stands upright, his head is just above the water in the bell, where the air which he would carry coiled on his arm. In pursuance of this idea he procured pipes to be made, is much better than higher up, because it is colder, and which answered all that was expected from them. They consequently more fit for respiration. But as the diver were secured against the pressure of the water by a spi- must always be within the bell, and his head of course ral brass wire, which kept them open from end to end, in the upper part, the inventor has contrived, that even the diameter of the cavity being about the sixth part of there, when he has breathed the hot air as well as he an inch. These wires being coated with thin glove lea- can, he may, by means of a spiral copper tube be, plather, and neatly sewed, were dipped into a mixture of ced close to the inside of the bell, draw the cooler and hot oil and bees-wax, which, filling up the pores of the fresher air from the lowermost parts; for which purpose leather, made it impenetrable to water; several thick- a flexible leather tube, about two feet long, is fixed to nesses of sheep's entrails were then drawn over them, the upper end of the copper tube; and to the other end which, when dry, were covered with paint, and then the of this tube is fixed an ivory mouth-piece, by which the whole defended with another coat of leather to keep them diver draws in the air, at the same time expiring by the from fretting. Several of the pipes were as much as forty nostrils. This bell may be supplied with fresh air by barfeet long, the size of a half inch rope. One end of a pipe rels, the same as Dr Halley’s. The next improvements introduced in the construe- Spaldi being fixed in the bell at some height above the water, the other end was fastened to a cock which opened into tion of the diving-bell were those by Mr Spalding of trials: the cap. The use of the cock was to stop the return of Edinburgh, and for which the Society of Arts voted him Hdk, the air whenever there was occasion to stoop down or go a reward. These are certainly deserving of attention, e ‘ below the surface of the air in the bell, which occurred as although they do not appear to have afterwards been often as there was occasion to go out or return into the ma- adopted in practice. Mr Spalding had, in the two prechine. The diver, therefore, when he has descended to ceding years, acquired considerable experience in the the bottom in the great bell, puts on his cap with the management of a bell on Dr Halley’s plan, which he had pipe hanging on his arm like the coil of a rope. As soon constructed in the hopes of recovering some of a conas he leaves the bell, he opens the cock in the pipe, and siderable property which had been lost in a ship wrecked walks on the bottom of the sea, giving out the coils of his on the Scares, or Fern Islands, in 1774, in the night, when pipe as it is required; and this serves as a clue to direct all the crew perished. Some of the light goods were him back again to the great bell, from whence he derives thrown on shore, and it was proposed to recover the rest by diving, the remainder of the owners giving up the mahis supply of air by means of the pipe. The weight of a man being very little more than that of nagement of the whole to Mr Spalding. His first experihis bulk in water, he could not act with any strength, nor ments were made in depths of five, six, and eight fathoms, stand with any firmness, especially if there is any current, in Leith Roads ; and having in these made his apparatus

DIVING-BELL. 67 •ing- tolerably perfect, he sailed for Dunbar, thirty miles dis- two or three miles nearer the land, I could execute this Diving*•41. tance, in an open long boat, sloop-rigged, and of about six design with less difficulty, especially as the weather con- Bell, 1 or eight tons burthen. By a mistaken account he had tinued still favourable. Having procured all the intelli- ''-''V''-' ' been informed the bottom of the Fox ship of war lay there ; gence possible, we went to the place, where I went down but upon his arrival, the oldest seaman in the place could four different times, but could find no marks of any wreck, give him no intelligence; and as that vessel had perish- notwithstanding my walking about in five and six fathoms ed in the night with all on board, somewhere in Dunbar water, as far as it was thought safe to allow the rope to Bay, and by storms, so long before as thirty years, it was the bell, continuing generally twenty minutes each time thought to be sanded up. In order to gratify the curio- at the bottom. On this occasion I was obliged to carry a sity of some friends there, he still determined to descend cutting hook and knife, and clear away the sea weeds, where it might be thought probable her bottom lay; but which at this place are very thick and strong; without in seven and eight fathoms water he found nothing but this method I could not move about. At the fifth going a hard sandy bottom, from which he was led to conjec- down, each trial being in a different place, I was agreeture that the proprietors of the valuable effects which ably surprised to find a large grove of tall weeds, all of were on board that vessel might have found their account them from six to eight feet high, with large tufted tops, in sweeping for her. Being informed that a vessel, which mostly in regular ranges, as far as the eye could reach, a was thrown up by accident in the river Tay, near Dun- variety of small lobsters and other shell-fish swimming dee, with a large quantity of iron, lay within two fathoms about in the intervals.” He then discovered the place of the surface at low water, he determined to make trial where one of the cannons lay; but was too much exthere, and accordingly sailed across the frith to that place, hausted, by having been down at intervals for near three about fifteen leagues distant from Dunbar. Here he went hours, to attempt bringing it up. In these descents Mr Spalding found out two vei'y sedown three different times, changing the ground at each going down, and at last fell in with a stump of the wreck, rious dangers attendant on the use of the bell on Dr Halsunk five fathoms deep at low water to a level with the ley’s plan. These are, 1. By Dr Halley’s construction, the soft bed of the river, which is composed of a light sand sinking or rising of the bell depends entirely upon the peointermixed with shells. The principal parts of this wreck ple who are at the surface of the water; and as the bell, were supposed to have been carried away by an immense even when in the water, has a very considerable weight, body of ice the year before. He found that the muddi- the raising of it not only requires a great deal of labour, but ness of the river occasions a darkness at only two fathoms there is a possibility of the rope breaking by which it is from the surface that cannot be described ; and from the raised, and thus every person in the bell would inevitably smallness of his machine, which contained only forty- perish. 2. As there are, in many places of the sea, rocks eight English gallons, it was impossible to have a candle which lie at a considerable depth, the figure of which burning in it, which would consume the air too quickly cannot possibly be perceived from above, there is danger for any man to be able to work, and at the same time pay that some of their ragged prominences may catch hold attention to receiving the necessary supplies of air. of one of the edges of the bell in its descent, and thus These trials were only preparatory to his views at the overset it before any signal can be given to those above, Scares, hoping to acquire experience which would enable which would infallibly be attended with the destruction him to surmount the dangerous difficulty of the unequal of the people in the bell, especially as it must always be rocky bottom which he expected to meet with ; but in the unknown, before trial, what kind of a bottom the sea has preceding trials, and different alterations of the machinery, in any place. so much time liad been lost, that the weather became To obviate these defects, Mr Spalding introduced a Spalding’s stormy, and he was obliged to wait at Bamborough Castle balance-weight suspended below the bell, and which, improvesome time till the weather became more favourable. He when it reached any rocky or uneven ground, settled ments• then sailed to the Scares with his brother, three sailors, down first, and then the bell being made too light to sink and two pilots. It was four in the afternoon, about high without the weight, remained suspended and free from water, when he went down at a small distance from the danger; and for the purpose of raising or levelling the place where he judged the wreck to lie. The depth was bell without aid from above, he divided with an air-tight about ten fathoms. He fortunately alighted on a flat part partition the upper portion of the bell from the lower. of the rock, within a small space of a dreadful chasm, and The former was capable of being filled either with water or had just gone two steps with his machine, when the ter- air at pleasure, and of thus increasing or diminishing the ror of the two pilots was so great, that, in spite of his buoyant effect at pleasure, on the same principle as the brother, they brought him up very precipitately, before he air-bladder in fishes. had in any degree examined around him. On coming Plate CLXXXIX. fig. 7, represents these arrangements, into the boat, they remonstrated on the danger of the which will be understood from the following description : machine being overturned either on the wreck or the ABCD represents a section of the bell, which is made of rocks, and also on the impossibility of raising any of the wood ; ee are iron hooks, by means of which it is suspended weighty goods with so small a purchase in an open boat, by ropes QBFe, and QAERe, and QS, as expressed in the and in a place where, at this season, no large vessel figure; cc are iron hooks, to which are appended lead would venture to lie, as the nights were then so long, weights, that keep the mouth of the bell always parallel and only two passages for a small vessel to run through, to the surface of the water, whether the machine, taken in case of a gale of easterly or southerly wind; one of altogether, is lighter or heavier than an equal bulk of wathe passages being extremely narrow, and both of them ter. By these weights alone, however, the bell would not dangerous. sink; another is therefore added, represented at W, and “ Convinced from this,” says Mr Spalding in his account, which can be raised or lowered at pleasure by means of a “ that with an open boat nothing could be accomplished, rope passing over the pulley, and fastened to one of the and that, except in June and July, no man would risk sides of the bell at M. As the bell descends, this weight, himself with me in a sloop, to continue a few days and called by Mr Spalding the balance-weight, hangs down a nights at anchor there, I was obliged to abandon my pro- considerable way below the mouth of the bell: In case ject ; yet I determined to take a view of the guns of a the edge of the bell is caught by any obstacle, the Dutch ship of war lost in the year 1704; and as they lay balance-weight is immediately lowered down, so that it

68 Divingt

DIVING-BELL. upon the bottom. By this means the bell is the bell, could be let off at pleasure, and filling the lower Divin lightened, so that all danger of oversetting is removed ; bell, would displace the water and increase the buoyancy. Bell for? being lighter without the balance-weight than an equal The last great improvement on the diving-bell, and what bulk of water, it is evident that the bell will rise as well stands next in importance to that of Halley, and has f',ast P as the length of the rope affixed to the balance-weight brought the machine to that perfect state in which it will allow it. This weight, therefore, will serve as a kind is now so successfully employed, was introduced by thetro(ju” of anchor, to keep the bell at any particular depth which celebrated engineer Mr Smeaton. This consisted in sub-ofanai the divers may think necessary; or, by pulling it quite up, stituting for the air-barrels of Halley a forcing air-pump, pump t the descent may be continued to the very bottom. by which a continued stream of air was poured intoSmeato By another very ingenious contrivance, Mr Spalding the bell without any farther trouble or apparatus than a rendered it possible for the divers to raise the bell, with man or twm to work the pump. It was about the year Triala all the weights appended to it, even to the surface, or to 1779, in the repairs of the foundations of Hexham Bridge, Hexha stop at any particular depth, as they might think proper ; that Mr Smeaton first tried the use of the diving-bell; bridge and thus they could still be safe, even though the rope de- and this was the first attempt indeed to introduce it into signed for pulling up the bell was broken. For this pur- the operations of engineering, where it has since renderpose the bell is divided into two cavities, both of which ed such essential service. The piers of the bridge having are made as tight as possible. Just above the second bot- been undermined by the violence of the current sweeping tom EF, are small slits in the sides of the bell, through away the gravel from under the floor timbers of the caiswhich the wrater entering as the bell descends, displaces sons by which they were founded, it occurred to Smeaton the air originally contained in this cavity, which flies out that by means of the diving-bell the cavities under the at the upper orifice of the cock GH. When this is done, foundations might be filled up with rough stones, ramthe divers turn the handle G, which stops the cock ; so med and wedged firmly together. His diving-bell conthat if any more air was to get into the cavity AEFD, sisted of a square box or chest of wood, three and a half it could no longer be discharged through the orifice H, feet long, two feet broad, and four feet high. The as before. When this cavity is full of water, the bell pump for supplying it with air vras fixed on the top of the sinks ; but when a considerable quantity of air is admit- bell, and worked by a handle at one side. The depth of ted, it rises. If, therefore, the divers have a mind to the river being small, it was not intended to go down so raise themselves, they turn the small cock ff, by which a as to cover the whole of the bell, else the air-pump would communication is made between the upper and under have required to be removed; it was only necessary to cavities of the bell. The consequence of this is, that a sink the mouth of the bell down to the level of the caisson quantity of air immediately enters the upper cavity, forces bottom. With the assistance of this machine Mr Smeaton out a quantity of the water contained in it, and thus ren- succeeded in underpinning the foundations of some of the ders the bell lighter by the whole weight of the water piers. The calamitous accident which followed in 1782, which is displaced. Thus, if a certain quantity of air is when the whole structure was carried away by a sudden admitted into the upper cavity, the bell will descend very and violent flood, only proved the great insufficiency of slowly; if a greater quantity, it will neither ascend nor the natural bed of the river. descend, but remain stationary; and if a larger quantity In 1788 Mr Smeaton constructed a second diving-bell, Operat of air is still admitted, it will rise to the top. It is to be for the operations contemplated at Ramsgate harbour, on at Ran observed, however, that the air which is thus let out into a much more substantial and improved plan; and this isS316*11 the upper cavity must be immediately replaced from the the model on which all the succeeding diving machines^0”’ air-barrel; and the air is to be let out very slowly, or the have been formed. Instead of the usual form of a bell or bell will rise to the top with so great velocity that the conical inverted tub of wood, sunk by weights attached to divers will be in danger of being shaken out of their seats. the outside, this consisted of a square chest of cast iron, But, by following these directions, every possible accident four and a half feet long, four and a half feet high, and may be prevented, and people may descend to great three feet wide, affording sufficient room for two men at depths without the least apprehension of danger. The a time to work under it. Instead of the weights applied bell also becomes so easily manageable in the water, that externally, the bell itself was cast of such thickness, partiit may be conducted from one place to another by a small cularly at the bottom, that its own weight, viz. fifty cwt., boat with the greatest ease, and with perfect safety to was more than sufficient to sink it when full of air. The those who are in it. pump also for supplying fresh air was placed in a boat by Instead of wooden seats used by Dr Halley, Mr Spald- itself, on which several hands were stationed, to keep the ing made use of ropes suspended by hooks bbb, and on pump continually in action. The air from the pump was these ropes the divers may sit without any inconvenience. conveyed to the machine by a flexible tube, which allowI and K are two windows made of thick strong glass, for ed the bell to be moved up or down, or in any direction, admitting light to the divers. N represents an air-cask independent of the motion of the boat. From the above with its tackle, and NP the flexible pipe through which dimensions, the bell would always contain about fifty cubic the air is admitted to the bell. In the ascent and descent feet of air, which, from what we have already shown, would of this cask the pipe is kept down by a small weight ap- be sufficient to support life for two persons for about an pended, as in Dr Halley’s machine. F is a small cock by hour, independent of any supply from above; so that any which the hot air is discharged as often as it becomes idea of danger from this source is completely removed. troublesome. Fig. 5 is a representation of the whole diving It was in clearing the foundations for the advanced pier apparatus, which it is hoped will be readily understood at Ramsgate that it occurred to Mr Smeaton the operawithout any further explanation. Two air-barrels are tion might be facilitated by the diving-bell. A large quanrepresented in this figure ; but Mr Spalding was of opi- tity of stones had been thrown in, to secure the old pier nion that one air barrel capable of containing thirty gallons head; and it seemed doubtful whether they could be got is sufficient for an ordinary machine. up in nine and ten feet water by the usual method of An improvement has been suggested on Mr Spalding’s tongs from the barges. The diving-bell was found to plan of raising or lowering the bell, by shutting up the answer completely the object intended. In the course upper bell entirely, and forming it into a magazine of con- of two months the foundations were cleared; and it was densed air, which being charged by two air-pumps within computed that of 160 tons of stone raised out of the founmay rest

D I V I N G-B ELL. 69 left, up or down, until they be exactly over the stone; DivingI dng- dation, about 100 stones, many of them above a ton each, e (ell. were brought up by the diving-bell, without which a full then making fast a strong chain to the lewis of the stone, rR hthe other end of which is attached to a ring in the top ~’ ~ season would have been lost. The pier, which was afterwards built on the foundation of the bell, they give the signal to heave, and the bell, thus cleared, was founded by caissons, but in the course with the stone under it, are both suspended by the tackle, of years was found to require renewal in some places, and and being moved right or left until it cover exactly over in others to be protected by an apron or outside wall of its place in the wall, it is then let down, and the chain regularly-built masonry; and here a new application of being detached, the operation proceeds with another stone the diving-bell arose in the building of this wall under in the same manner, until the wall be completed. No water. For this purpose the bell is suspended by power- cement is generally used to unite the stones; their own ful tackle to the extremity of a long wooden frame, which weight, and the accuracy of the joints, being sufficient to rests on the top of the pier, the one end projecting over hold them together. Since the completion of Ramsgate harbour, the diving-Divingthe pier, and the other running back and turning on a centre pin, which is fixed in a heavy stone on the pier. bell has been applied with great success to various other beh in The frame thus sweeping with a long radius, and the operations of a similar kind in different parts of the kingweight of the whole being borne by a roller running along dom, and particularly at Dublin, Donaghadee, and other near the edge of the pier on a cast-iron plate or rail in harbours in Ireland, and at Holyhead and Portpatrick on the segment of a circle, the bell is capable of having a this side the channel. Plate CLXXXVIII. contains considerable motion right or left along the wall, and the drawings of the bell and machinery used for the harbour block of the tackle being moveable along the frame, the of Houth, near Dublin, under the direction of the late emibell is by this means shifted out or in from the wall at nent Mr Rennie, and with which the foundations of the pleasure; and by these two motions can be set in any re- pier wall were laid with success at very considerable quired position within the sweep of the apparatus. The depths below water. Fig. 1 is a section showing the machine and the bell Account of directions for moving it are given by the divers, and communicated to those who have charge of the apparatus viewed in the direction of the length of the wall which is bell and above, by merely striking with a hammer on the inside of to be erected, and fig. 2 is an elevation of the same as oat ’ the bell. From the great facility with which water con- appears when viewed from the sea. A is the bell, which is^ar ducts sound, the strokes of the hammer are heard at a made of cast iron. It is suspended by strong chains passed Dublin, great distance, and have a peculiar character, which is not through eyes rr, fig. 5,’ and through the ring m of a tackle easily mistaken for any other. To convey various directions, B. FF, figs. 1 and 2, are strong beams supported in a the divers have established a sort of language from the num- horizontal position by cross beams G, resting at one end ber of blows of the hammer. One blow, for instance, de- on the shore, and the other ends supported by a scaffoldnotes more air; two, stand fast; three, heave up; four, lower ing L of piles firmly braced. On the beams F two iron down; and so on. The first operation in the building is to railways are laid for the wheels of two carriages to run clear and level the foundation. If this be loose materials, upon ; one of these carriages contains the tackle which they are removed by dredging, in the usual manner; but suspends the bell, and the other has a similar tackle to wherever rock occurs, it is done by the bell, with two men hoist the large stones, which are to be laid on the wall X. in it, being let down to the bottom, which, at Ramsgate, Each carriage runs with four wheels aa upon the railways is a hard chalk rock. When it stands thereon, it lays the F, and has a smaller or upper carriage running upon it in chalk dry to the level of the bottom edge of the bell; but a transverse direction ; and this upper carriage contains if the surface is uneven, the bell cannot descend so low the windlass purchase tackle, by which the bell or the but that it will leave six or eight inches of water on the stone is raised. Thus F' is the timber frame of the prinbottom. The surface of this water is the level they work cipal carriage, on the top of which are railways for the to, and by cutting away every eminence which rises above wheels dd of the upper carriage, of which D is the frame ; the water, they soon obtain a perfectly level surface. They and C is the roller or barrel to wind up the rope or fall of work with a small pick, made something like a narrow adze, the great purchase tackle B, which is suspended from for this purpose; and the work proceeds rapidly, for the the frame of the carriage, and bears the weight of the chalk is not very hard. When they have accumulated as bell. On the end of the barrel is a large cog-wheel M, much rubbish as becomes inconvenient, they give three which is turned round by a pinion fixed on the axis N knocks on the bell to order the people to draw it up, till of a second wheel O, and this is turned by a pinion, to they, standing on the bottom, find themselves knee deep; which the handles H are applied. By turning these, two then two knocks to stand fast. They now take in a shal- men can raise or lower the bell with ease. In order to low basket which has been previously let down from above, move the bell in either direction, the wheels aa of the and fill the rubbish into it, then snatch it to order it to be lower carriage E are provided with cogs at one edge, and drawn up, and strike four times on the bell, that they may pinions b work in the teeth of these ; both pinions b are be lowered down to proceed with their work. Having in fixed on the same axis, which extends across the frame ; this manner hewed away the surface till the water, stand- and wheels c are also fixed on each extremity of the axis. ing equally all over it, shows it to be a perfect level plane, These wheels have holes or mortises in them to receive they give orders to be removed to a new situation, yet at handspikes or levers, by which they can be turned round, such a small distance that part of the surface they before and will then move the lower carriage and the bell along levelled is still beneath the bell, in order that both may the railways FF, in the direction of the length of the wall, be brought to one plane. Thus continuing the work, they which is to be built as shown by X. In like manner the get all the rock prepared for the stone-work, without any wheels dd of the upper carriage are provided with cogs other level than the water. and pinions e, on the end of which are the capstan head f The foundation being thus levelled, the stones are in to receive handspikes, when it is required to move the upthe mean time all prepared and jointed, either square or per carriage and the bell in a transverse direction. By with dovetails. These are first hoisted from the pier by means of these two motions in transverse directions, the means of a crane, and let down to their places in the bell or the stone can be suspended over any required spot work, as nearly as can be done, by the crane. As each in the wall, and lowered down thereupon as the men in the stone is thus laid, the divers direct themselves right or bell direct. Fig. 5 is a section of the bell, and fig. 6 a

70 D I V Divinity, plan to show the apertures nn for the lenses which give light. Two men descend together, a seat s being fixed across on each side of the bell. The air-pipe is screwed on at A, and proceeds to the air-pump as shown in fig. 1. The pump is placed on the top of the scaffold G ; it has two barrels 11, which are worked by a lever K, by one or two men ; they act as forcing pumps, and the air which is thrown down escapes from the lower edge of the bell, and rises up through the water in bubbles. By this means the air in the bell is at1 all times quite fresh and pure. The stones which are to be used in building the wall are prepared on shore, and fitted to each other. When all is prepared, these stones are lowered down the bank by a capstan to the position w. The rope of the machine is then attached, and by the aid of both ropes the stone is lowered down upon the wall. The divers then descend in the bell, and the two carriages are brought close together, by which means the bell will hang partly over the stone W, fig. 2, so that the men can guide it into its place on the wall X, and make signals to those above to direct them which way to move the stone, and where to lower it. The bell was also employed, in the first instance, to clear the foundation for the walls. It was then lowered quite down on the bottom, and the men worked the rock to a level surface. In many parts it was requisite to blast it ’ with gunpowder. The divers bored the hole in the rock, and placed the powder in a tin cartridge, which was well secured in the hole, by running in small fragments of stone. A small tin pipe was affixed to the canister, long enough to reach up above the surface of the water. When all was prepared, the bell was drawn up out of the way, and a nail or other small piece of iron heated red hot was dropped into the tin pipe, thereby to descend to the powder. Figures 3 and 4 represent a vessel which was fitted up under the direction of Mr Rennie, to carry a diving-bell of cast iron. This vessel was used in Plymouth Sound, and the bell was swept over the bottom to discover and take up old anchors, &c. The bell A is suspended over the bow of the vessel, by a strong tackle q, from the extremity of a pair of shears ; that is, two masts DB, DB, fig. 4. The fall or rope of the tackle q is drawn up by a windlass at C. There is also another strong tackle GH, extended between the head of the mast I and the top of the shears D. This is drawn by the windlass F. The use of this is to raise the shears upright, and bring the bell on board.

DIVINITY properly signifies the nature, quality, and essence of God. Divinity is also used in the same sense with theology. DIVISIBILITY, that property by which the particles of matter in all bodies are capable of separation or disunion from one another. As it is evident that body is extended, so it is no less so that it is divisible; for since no two particles of matter can exist in the same place, it follows that they are really distinct from each other; which, indeed, is all that is meant by being divisible. In this sense the least conceivable particle must still be divisible, since it consists of parts which are really distinct. To illustrate this by a familiar instance, let the least imaginable piece of matter be conceived lying on a smooth plain surface; it is evident the surface will not touch it everywhere, and those parts, therefore, which it does not touch may be supposed separable from the others, and so on as far as we please. And this is all that is meant when we say that matter is infinitely divisible. All that is supposed in strict geometry, says Mr Maclaurin, concerning the divisibility of magnitude, amounts

D I V A platform S is fixed on the deck to lower it upon whenDivis out of use. The diving bell has lately been employed with success Diviti in improving the navigation of the Clyde between Glas-Mb gow and Greenock, by raising up and removing out of the^M bed of the river a number of large stones which obstructed the channel, and could not be so readily got out by any other means. The bell is constructed similarly to that in fig. 3, but instead of being let down at the end or side of the barge, has a well constructed in the middle of the vessel itself, in which it is made to rise and fall by strong chains, tackling, and cranes. Recently a second barge and bell have been constructed, and are now employed on the river for the same purpose. The management of the vessel and bell requires six or seven hands. The whole can be moved with great facility to different parts of the river, and moored wherever their assistance is required. Such, then, is an account of the construction and uses of the different diving machines, and particularly the diving-bell ; and we have no doubt that the principle, as it is susceptible of it, may yet be still more extensively applied, and in various other ways. The only disadvantage attending the machine in its present form is the expense and cumbrous nature of the apparatus, which prevents its use in many cases where it might be of real service; so that it is only in some great and extensive public work that it can ever be thought of. It is to be hoped, therefore, that the skill and ingenuity of our mechanicians may yet succeed in introducing the machine in a more accessible and manageable form. See Halley, Phil. Trans. 1716, vol. xxix. p. 492, also vol. xxxi. p. 177; Triewald, Phil. Trans. 1736, vol. xxxix. p. 377 ; Spalding, Transactions of the Society of Arts, vol. i. p. 220; Klingert, Phil. Mag. vol. iii. p. 172; Lawson, Phil. Mag. vol. xx. p. 362; Bushnell, Transao tions of the American Philosophical Society, vol. iv. p. 303; Repertory of Arts, vol. xv. p. 383 ; Nicholson’s Journal, vol. iv. p. 229 ; Healy, Phil. Mag. vol. xv. p. 9; Robertson, Phil. Trans. 1757, p. 30; Franklin’s Works, letter Iv.; Leopold’s Theatrum Pontijic. tom. i. ii. xxvi.; Borelli and Mersenne, in Hooke’s Phil. Collections, No. ii. p. 36; Bachstrom’s Kunst zu schwimmen, Berlin, 1742 ; Bazin, Hamb. Mag. i. iii. and xxi.; Gelacy, Mem. de VAcad. Par. 1757; and Coulomb, Recherches sur les moyens dexecuter sous I'eau Travaux Hydrauliques. (c.)

to no more than that a given magnitude may be conceived to be divided into a number of parts equal to any given or proposed number. It is true that the number of parts into which a given magnitude may be conceived to be divided is not to be fixed or limited, because no given number is so great but a greater may be conceived and assigned ; but there is not, therefore, any necessity for supposing the number of parts actually infinite; and if some have drawn very abstruse consequences from such a supposition, yet geometry ought not to be loaded with these. How far matter is actually capable of being divided, may in some measure be conceived from this, that a piece of wire gilt with so small a quantity as eight grains of gold, may be drawn out to a length of 13,000 feet, the whole surface of it still remaining covered with gold. We have also a surprising instance of the minuteness of some parts of matter in the nature of light and vision. Let a candle be lit and placed in an open plain, it will then be visible for about two miles round ; and consequently, were it placed two miles above the surface of the earth, it would fill with luminous particles a sphere four miles in diameter, and this before it had lost any sensible part of its weight.

d

i

y

sion. A quantity of vitriol being dissolved, and mixed with nine thousand times as much water, will tinge the whole ; ' consequently it will be divided into as many parts as there are visible portions of matter in that quantity of wrater. There are perfumes which, without a sensible diminution of their quantity, will fill a very large space with their odoriferous particles, which must therefore be of an inconceivable smallness, since there are a sufficient number in every part of that space sensibly to affect the organ of smelling. Dr Keill demonstrates, that any particle of matter, how small soever, and any finite space, how large soever, being given, it is possible for that small particle of matter to be diffused through all that space, and to fill it in such a manner as that there shall be no pore in it whose diameter shall exceed any given line. The chief objections against the divisibility of matter in infinitum are, that an infinite cannot be contained by a finite; and that it follows from a divisibility in infinitum, either that all bodies are equal, or that one infinite is greater than another. But the answer to these objections is easy; for the properties of a determinate quantity are not to be attributed to an infinite considered in a general sense; and who has ever proved that there could not be an infinite number of infinitely small parts in a finite quantity, or that all infinites are equal ? The contrary is demonstrated by mathematicians in innumerable instances. DIVISION, in general, is the separating a thing into two or more parts. Mechanical Division signifies that separation which is occasioned in the parts of a body by help of mechanical instruments. The mechanical division of bodies does indeed separate them into smaller, homogeneous, and similar parts; but this separation cannot extend to the primary integrant molecules of any body, and consequently it is incapable of breaking what is properly called their aggregation ; also, no union is formed betwixt the divided and dividing bodies, in which respect division essentially differs from dissolution. Division is not properly a chemical operation; it is, in fact, only employed preparatorily, in order to facilitate other operations, and particularly solution. For this purpose it is very usdful, as it increases the quantity of surface, and consequently the points of contact, of any body. Different methods are used to divide bodies according to their nature. Those which are tenacious and elastic, as horns and gums, require to be cut, rasped, or filed. Metals, because of their ductility, require the same treatment; but as they are also fusible, they may be quickly and conveniently reduced into grains small enough for most operations, by pouring them, when melted, into water. All brittle bodies may be conveniently reduced into fine parts by being bruised in a mortar with a pestle. Very hard bodies, such as glass, crystals, and stones, particularly those of the vitrifiable kind, before they are pounded, ought to be plunged when red hot into water, by which means they are split and cracked, and rendered more easily pulverable. Bodies of this kind may also be bruised or ground by means of a hard and flat stone, upon which the matter is to be put, and bruised by another hard stone so small as to be held and moved upon the larger stone with the hand. The larger stone is called a 'porphyry, from its being generally of that kind of stone ; and the operation is called porphyrization. Instead of porphyrization, a mill may be used, composed of a hard grit millstone, moving round upon another stone of the same kind, which must be fixed ; in the upper stone is a groove or channel through which the matter to be ground passes. By this method a substance may be more quickly reduced to a fine powder than by porphyrization. But these mills can be only employed for considerable quantities of matter.

D I V 71 These methods of mechanically dividing bodies are at- Division tended with some practical inconveniences, the most con!i siderable of which is, that some parts of the dividing in- Divorce, struments are always struck off and mixed with the matter to be divided. This may greatly affect the operations ; for instruments of iron and copper furnish metallic colouring particles, and copper is very prejudicial to health. Porphyry is coloured by a reddish-brown matter, which injures the colour of crystal glasses, enamels, and porcelains made with matters ground upon this stone. These matters, therefore, must be cleansed after their porphyrization, or else no instruments capable of injuring the intended operations ought to be employed. Thus, for the ‘ preparation of all medicines to be taken internally, no copper instruments, as mortars, pestles, or the like, should be used, those made of iron being preferable ; and mortars, grinding stones, and mill-stones, made of hard and white stones, ought to be employed, instead of those made of porphyry, for substances which are to enter into the composition of enamels, crystal glass, and porcelain, the whiteness of which is a most necessary quality. Division, in Algebra. See Algebra. Division, in Arithmetic. See Arithmetic. Division of an Army, in the military art, two or more brigades under the command of a general of division. Division, in sea affairs, a number of ships in a fleet or squadron of men of war, distinguished by a particular flag or pendant, and usually commanded by a general officer. A squadron is commonly ranged into three divisions, the commanding officer of which is always stationed in the centre. DIVORCE, a breach or dissolution of the bond of marriage. Divorce was allowed of in great latitude both amongst the Pagans and Jews. In Rome, barrenness, age, disease, madness, and banishment, were the ordinary causes of divorce. Under the consulship of M. Attilius and P. Valerius, Spurius Carvilius was the first who put away his wife because she was barren ; though Plutarch, in his Roman Questions, maintains that Domitian was the first who permitted divorce. Justinian afterwards added impotence, a vow of chastity, and the profession of a monastic life, as valid reasons of divorce. The Roman lawyers distinguish between repudium and divortium ; the former being the breaking of a contract or espousal, and the latter separation after matrimony. Romulus enacted a severe law, which forbade a wife to leave her husband, but gave the husband the liberty of turning away his wife, either upon her poisoning her children, counterfeiting his private keys, or committing the crime of adultery; if the husband, however, put her away on any other occasion, he ordered one moiety of his estate to be settled on the wife, and the other to be given to the goddess Ceres, besides an atonement to the gods of the earth. In later times, however, the women as well as the men might sue a divorce. The common way of divorcing was by sending a bill to the woman, containing the reasons of separation, and the tender of all her goods which she brought with her, and this was called repudium mittere ; or else it was performed in her presence, and before seven witnesses, accompanied with the formalities of tearing the writings, refunding the dowry, taking away the keys, and turning the woman out of doors. The Grecian laws concerning divorce were different. The Cretans allowed divorce to any man who was afraid of having too many children. The Spartans seldom divorced their wives, and it was extremely scandalous for a woman to depart from her husband. The Athenians allowed divorce on very trivial grounds. It proceeded by a bill, containing the reason of the divorce, and approved,

Divorce, jf the party appealed, by the chief magistrate; and women also were allowed to leave their husbands on just occasions. Persons divorcing their wives were obliged to return their portions, otherwise the Athenian laws obliged them to pay nine oboli a month for alimony. The terms expressing the separation of men and women from each other were different; the men were said or airoXveiv, to dismiss their wives; but wives, airokurtuv, to leave their husbands. “ The law of Moses,” observes Archdeacon Paley, “ for reasons of local expediency, permitted the Jewish husband to put away his wife ; but whether for every cause, or for what cause, appears to have been controverted amongst the interpreters of those times. Christ, the precepts of whose religion were calculated for more general use and observation, revokes this permission, as given to the Jews ‘ for their hardness of heart,’ and promulgates a law which was thenceforward to confine divorces to the single cause of adultery in the wife : ‘ Whosoever shall put away his wife, except it be for fornication, and shall marry another, committeth adultery; and whoso marrieth her which is put away, doth commit adultery.’ “ Inferior causes may justify the separation of husband and wife, although they will not authorize such a dissolution of the marriage contract as would leave either at liberty to marry again; for it is that liberty in which the danger and mischief of divorces generally consist. The law of this country, in conformity to our Saviour’s injunction, confines the dissolution of the marriage contract to the single case of adultery in the wife ; and a divorce even in that case can only be brought about by the operation of an act of parliament, founded upon a previous sentence in the spiritual court, and a verdict against the adulterer at common law ; which proceedings taken together compose as complete an investigation of the complaint as a cause can receive. It has lately been proposed to the legislature to annex a clause to these acts, restraining the offending party from marrying with the companion of her crime, who by the course of proceeding is always known and convicted; for there is reason to fear that adulterous connections are often formed with the prospect of bringing them to this conclusion ; at least, when the seducer has once captivated the affection of a married woman, he may avail himself of this tempting argument to subdue her scruples and complete his victory; and the legislature, as the business is managed at present, assists by its interposition the criminal design of the offenders, and confers a privilege where it ought to inflict a punishment. The proposal deserved an experiment; but something more penal, it is apprehended, will be found necessary to check the progress of this alarming depravity. Whether a law might not be framed, directing the fortune of the adultress to descend as in case of her natural death ; reserving, however, a certain proportion of the produce of it, by way of annuity, for her subsistence (such annuity in no case to exceed a certain sum) ; and also so far suspending the estate in the hands of the heir as to preserve the inheritance to any children she might bear to a second marriage, in case there was none to succeed in the place of their mother by the first; whether such a law would not render female virtue in higher life less vincible, as well as the seducers of that virtue less urgent in their suit, I would recommend to the deliberation of those who are willing to attempt the reformation of this important but most incorrigible class of the community. A passion for splendour, for expensive amusements and distinctions, is commonly found in that description of women who would become the subject of such a law, not less inordinate than their other appetites. A severity of the kind proposed applies immediately to that passion ; and there is no room

D I V for any complaint of injustice, since the provisions above Divi stated, with others which might be contrived, confine the >»■> punishment, so far as it is possible, to the person of the offender; suffering the estate to remain to the heir, or within the family of the ancestor from whom it came, or to attend the appointments of his will. “ Sentences of the ecclesiastical courts, which release the parties a vinculo matrimonii, by reason of impuberty, frigidity, consanguinity within the prohibited degrees, prior marriage, or want of the requisite consent of parents or guardians, are not dissolutions of the marriage contract, but judicial declarations that there never was any marriage ; such impediment subsisting at the time as rendered the celebration of the marriage rite a mere nullity. And the rite itself contains an exception of these impediments. The man and woman to be married are charged ‘ if they know any impediment why they may not be lawfully joined together, to confess it;’ and assured, ‘ that so many as are coupled together, otherwise than God’s word doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful;’ all which is intended by way of solemn notice to the parties, that the vow they are about to make will bind their consciences and authorize their cohabitation only upon the supposition that no legal impediment exist.” By the law of Scotland, a divorce may be obtained on the ground either of adultery or of wilful desertion ; but neither of these grounds dissolves the marriage ipso jure; and if a process of divorce be not instituted, the marriage subsists, notwithstanding the adultery or desertion. Until recently the action of divorce proceeded before the commissaries of Edinburgh ; and in every such action, whether founded on adultery or desertion, the pursuer must make oath that the action is not collusive. The legal effect of divorce on the ground of desertion is, that the offending party loses the “ tocher,” as it is called, and the donationes propter nuptias ; that is, the offending husband is bound to restore the dowry, and to pay or make good to the wife all her provisions, legal or conventional; and the offending wife forfeits her dowry, and all that would have come to her had the marriage been dissolved by the predecease of her husband. It is now held that recrimination is not a good defence against divorce for adultery; yet, as the mutual guilt may affect the patrimonial interests of the parties, it may be stated in a counter-action. But lenocinium, or the husband’s participation in the profits of his wife’s prostitution, nay even the husband’s connivance in her guilt, is a good defence to the wife against an action of divorce on the ground of adultery. The statute 1600, c. 20, declares marriages contracted between the adulterer and the person with whom he or she may be found, by the sentence of divorce, to have committed the crime, to be null and unlawful, and the issue of such marriages to be incapable of succeeding to their parents; but the act, nevertheless, has not the effect of bastardizing such issue. The right to institute a divorce is personal to the husband or wife; but if, after the action has been raised, either party die before the decree of divorce becomes final, it has been argued that the natural dissolution of the marriage by death supersedes and definitively closes all proceeding commenced for dissolving it on any other ground. The natural dissolution, it has been contended, is the first effectual one, and that which is to regulate all questions as to the patrimonial rights or the status of the survivor. But the question how far litiscontestation in such a case renders it transmissible to representatives, has .not yet, we believe, been decided. By the law of England there are two kinds of divorce, the one total and the other partial; the one a vinculo matrimonii, the other merely a mensa et toro. The total

D

J

E

Inis divorce must be for some of the canonical causes of impediment, and these existing before the marriage, not superl)!bail. venient or arising afterwards ; for in cases of total divorce the marriage is declared null, as having been absolutely unlawful ab initio. Divorce a mensa et toro is when the marriage is just and lawful ab initio, but, for some supervenient cause, as in the case of adultery in either of the parties, it becomes impossible for them to live together. But in England adultery is only a cause of separation from bed and board; because, according to the law of that country, if divorces were allowed to depend upon a matter within the power of either of the parties, they might become extremely frequent, and the stability of society might in consequence be shaken. However, divorces a vinculo matrimonii have latterly been frequently granted by act of parliament; though, in order to prevent such from being obtained by fraud and collusion, the two houses not only examine witnesses in order to be convinced of the adultery of the wife, but they also require that the husband shall have obtained a sentence of divorce in the spiritual courts, and a verdict with damages in a court of law against some one who has had criminal intercourse with the wife. But this is not a standing order of the House of Lords; it is merely adopted as a rule of caution, and, in particular circumstances, it may therefore be dispensed with. In connection with this subject a most important question has arisen, and can scarcely be said to be yet determined, namely, whether an English marriage can be dissolved by a Scottish court, when the parties have come within its jurisdiction. This question has been decided in the negative by the English, and in the affirmative by the Scottish judges. The ground taken by the English courts was, that an English marriage was by its nature indissoluble, and that as the lex loci contractus regulates other contracts, so it ought to regulate this. But in the Scottish courts it was contended, with much apparent force, that, in such a question as this, the lex loci must prevail over the lex loci contractus, and that the principle of comitas between the two countries, as well as public policy, requires that this doctrine should be recognised and admitted. The question, however, being one of great difficulty and nicety, we abstain from giving any opinion in this place concerning it. DlVUS, Diva, in Antiquity, appellations given to men and women who had been deified, or placed in the number of the gods. Hence it is that upon medals struck on the consecration of an emperor or empress, they have the title of dims or diva; thus, DIVUS JULIUS, DIVO ANTONINO PIO, DIVO PIO, DIVO CLAUDIO, DIVA FAUSTINA AUG. and so on. DIXMUYDEN, a city, having been formerly fortified, in the province of West Flanders, and circle of Furnes. It is situated on a rich soil on the river Yser, and the butter is considered the best in Flanders. It has 2563 inhabitants. DIZIER,^ St, a city of the department of the Upper Marne, in France, on the river Marne. It is a fortified place, well built, situated in a pleasing district, and contains 816 houses, and 5640 inhabitants, some of whom find employment in building vessels from wood, which is abundant near to the city. DJEBAIL, a town of Syria, situated on an eminence near the sea, two miles north of the river Ibrahim, which ts crossed by a bridge of a single arch, fifty paces wide, and of light architecture. The Arabs established themselves icre under the caliphate of Omar, and it is conjectured that the bridge was built by them. The crusaders in 1100 took possession of the town, which, after some vicissitudes, VOL. vm.

D O A remained subject to them during their sway in the East. There was formerly a harbour, now almost obliterated. This town occupies the site of the ancient Biblos. The population is 6000. DJEZIZA OMELMELECK, a sandy islet of the Red Sea, two miles from the Arabian shore. Here a singular bank is seen, in which all stages of petrifaction are observed in the course of a few feet from the sand. It is calcareous, and exceedingly white. The island is covered with plants. Lat. 25. 15. N. DJIDEIDA, a town of Arabia, in the province of Hedsjaz, situated in a valley. The houses are very low, and constructed of stone without cement. It is twenty-eight leagues east-south-east from Yeuboa. DMITRIEW, a circle in the Russian government of Kursk, bounded on the north and west by Orel, on the east by Fatesch, and on the south by Lgow. It is watered by the rivers Swapa, Usoscha, and numerous small streamlets, and is very productive of corn, potatoes, and hops. The inhabitants are about 96,000, in two cities and 138 villages, with sixty-five churches. The capital is a city of the same name, situated on the Swapa, but does not contain more than 1000 souls. Long. 35. 44. E. Lat. 52. 7. N. DMITROW, a circle in the Russian government of Moscow, bounded on the north by Twer, on the east by Wladimir, on the south-east by Bogorodsk, on the southwest by Swenigorod, and on the west by Klin. It extends over 980 square miles, or 619,520 English acres, of which nearly one half is covered with wood. It contains 58,240 inhabitants, living in one city and in 463 villages, distributed in seventy-five parishes. The capital is a city of the same name, situated on the river Jacbroma, at its junction with the Neteka. It contains 594 houses, and 2950 inhabitants, who carry on some trade by the rivers that pass near it. Long. 37. 30. E. Lat. 56. 18. N. DMITROWSK, a circle in the Russian government of Orel, south-east from that city. It is watered by the river Narusa, and consists chiefly of good arable land, which is celebrated for its production of hemp. The capital is a city of the same name, situated on the Oscheriza, which contains 600 houses and 3400 inhabitants. It was originally a colony of Greeks, Moldavians, and Wallachians, induced to settle here by Prince Kantem, to whom the land belonged, and it was first incorporated as a city in 1778. Long. 37. 12. E. Lat. 52. 25. N. DO, in Music, a note of the Italian scale, corresponding to ut of the common gamut. See Music. DOAB. This term in Flindustan means any tract of country included between two rivers. It should properly include all the territory between the Jumna and the Ganges ; but it is usually restricted to the southern portion of it, for the most part comprehended in the province of Agra. This country is of a fertile soil, and yields a large return to the cultivator. It produces mullet, sugar cane, and barley, and is peculiarly adapted for indigo, which grows here in a wild state. Tobacco has also been introduced by the Europeans, and thrives well. The climate during the rainy season is exceedingly hot, and during the winter is only cool in the morning. The country was once in a high state of cultivation; and the remains of former prosperity are everywhere seen amidst the extensive wastes and jungles which now occupy a large portion of the surface. The tranquillity which it has enjoyed under the dominion of the British is highly favourable to its improvement. By a treaty concluded with Scindia in 1803, the forts and territories of the Doab between the Jumna and the Ganges were ceded to the British; and the southern part of the Doab was ceded in 1801 by the reigning nabob. DOABEH Barry is a district of Hindustan, in the K

73 Djeziza Omelmeleck Doabeh Barrj.

74 DOB Dobberan province of Lahore, situated between the Beyah and RaII Dobuni. vey rivers, and between the thirtieth and thirty-first degrees of north latitude. Doabeh Jallinder is a large district in the Darne province, between the Sutlege and Beyah rivers, and for the most part between the thirtieth and thirty-first degrees of north latitude. DOBBERAN, a town in the duchy of Mecklenburg Schwerin, the capital of a district of the same name, which comprises two towns, three parishes, and several hamlets, with 8800 inhabitants. The town is a mile from the Baltic, and is much frequented by visitors, on account of its sulphureous natural baths, and for the advantage of seabathing. The reigning duke makes it his residence in the bathing season, and has constructed appropriate buildings for the accommodation of the company that resort to it. It is about six miles from Rostock. The regular residents are between 1400 and 1500, but the summer visitors more numerous. DOBRUSHKA, or Dobruska, a town in the Austrian kingdom of Bohemia, in the circle of Kdnigingratz, the residence of the princes Colloredo. It has much trade in corn, flax, and yarn, which are largely sold at its weekly market. It contained, in 1819, about 400 houses and 1893 inhabitants. DOBSCHAU, a town of Hungary, in the province of Hither Theis. It is situated on the banks of the Dobsina. It is the chief place of the mining district Rosneau, in which are extracted iron, copper, cobalt, and mercury. In the neighbourhood asbestos and granite are found. It contains one Catholic and one Lutheran church, with about 500 houses and 4000 inhabitants, mostly Germans, who find employment in manufacturing the metals. DOBSON, William, an English portrait and historical painter, born at London in 1610. He served an apprenticeship to one Peck, a stationer and picture dealer; and owed his improvement to the copying of some pictures of Titian and Vandyck, whose manner he always retained. He had further obligations to the latter of these artists ; for it is said that a picture of his painting being exposed at a shop on Snow-hill, Vandyck, happening to pass by, was struck with it exceedingly, and having inquired after the author, found him at work in a poor garret. Vandyck had the generosity to equip him in a manner suitable to his merit. He presented him to King Charles I. who took him under his protection, kept him at Oxford all the time his majesty continued in that city, and not only sat to him several times for his own picture, but caused the Prince of Wales, Prince Rupert, and indeed most of the lords of his court, to do so likewise. Mr Dobson, however, being somewhat loose and irregular in his way of life, was far from improving the many opportunities he had of making his fortune, and died very poor, in 1647, at his house in St Martin’s Lane. DOBUNI, or Boduni, an ancient people of Britain, who possessed the territory which now forms the counties of Oxford and Gloucester. Both the names of this British nation seem to have been derived from the low situation of a great part of the country which they inhabited ; for both l)uvn and Bodun signify deep or low in the ancient language of Gaul and Britain. The Dobuni are not mentioned among the British nations who resisted the Romans under Julius Caesar, which was probably owing to the distance of their country from the scene of action ; and before the next invasion under Claudius, they had been so much oppressed by their ambitious neighbours the

DOC Cattivellauni, that they submitted with pleasure to the DocRomans, in order to be delivered from that oppression. | Cogidunus, who was at that time prince of the Dobuni, Doct recommended himself so effectually to the favour of the Emperor Claudius, by his ready submission, and other means, that he was not only continued in the government of his own territories, but had some other states put under his authority. This prince lived so long, and remained so steady a friend and ally to the Romans, that his subjects, being habituated to obedience in his time, never revolted, nor stood in need of many forts or forces to keep them in subjection. This is certainly the reason why we meet with so few Roman towns and stations in the country anciently inhabited by the Dobuni. The Durocornovium of Antoninus, and the Corinium of Ptolemy, are believed by antiquaries to have been the same place, namely, the capital of the Dobuni, and situated at Cirencester, in Gloucestershire, where there are still many marks of a Roman station. Clevum or Glevum, in the thirteenth iter of Antoninus, stood where the city of Gloucester now stands; and Abone, in the fourteenth iter, was probably situated at Avinton on the Severn. The country of the Dobuni was comprehended in the Roman province Britannia Prima. DOCETiE (from buxuv, to appear), in Ecclesiastical History, the followers of Julius Cassianus, one of the Valentinian sect, towards the close of the second century, who revived a notion which had been adopted by a branch of the Gnostics, against whom St John, Ignatius, and Polycarp, had asserted the truth of the incarnation. They, as their name imports, believed and taught that the actions and sufferings of Jesus Christ were not real, but only apparent. . DOCIMASIA, or Dokimasia, in Greek antiquity, a probation of the magistrates and persons employed in public business at Athens. It was performed publicly in the forum, where they were obliged to give an account of themselves and of their past lives before certain judges. Amongst the questions proposed to them was, whether they had been dutiful to their parents, had served in the wars, and had a competent estate. DOCIMASTIC, or Dokimastic, Art, a name given to the art of trying, by operations in small, the nature and quantity of metallic or other matters which may be obtained from mineral or other compound bodies. DOCIMENUM Marmor, a name given by the ancients to a species of marble, of a bright and clear white, which was much used in large and sumptuous buildings, such as temples and the like. It derived its name from Docimenos, a city of Phrygia, afterwards called Synaia, near which it was quarried, and whence it was conveyed to Rome. It was accounted little inferior to the Parian in colour, but not capable of so elegant a polish; and hence it was less used by the statuaries, or in other smaller works. The Emperor Hadrian is said to have used this marble in building the temple of Jupiter; and many of | the great works of the Romans are constructed of the same materials. DOCK, in the manege, is used for a large case of leather, as long as the dock of a horse’s tail, which serves it for a cover. The French call the dock trousse-queue. It is made fast by straps to the crupper, and has leathern thongs which pass between the thighs, and along the flanks of the animal, to the saddle straps, in order to keep the tail tight, and to prevent it from whisking about.

75

DOCK Vj-k

An inclosed space for the reception of ships, either for their security or for the convenience of building or giving them repairs. This word has been derived by some, absurdly enough, from the Greek beyofMti, to receive. That we had it, along with almost the whole of our seaterms, from the northern continental nations, is sufficiently obvious. Thus in Flemish it is dok ; Teutonic, dock ; Swedish, docka ; Suio-Gothic, docka; perhaps originally from dekken, to cover, protect, secure, inclose. The dock for inclosing the prisoner in a court of justice is evidently from the same origin. Docks for the reception of ships are of two kinds, wet and dry. A wet dock may either have gates to retain the water in it, so that ships shall constantly remain afloat, or be left open for the tide to flow into and ebb out of it at pleasure, either leaving it dry at low water, or with a certain depth of water remaining in it, according to its construction and situation with regard to the low-water mark, and to the ebbing of the sea at spring or neap tides. A wet dock, without gates, is generally distinguished by the name of a basin, which, however, is sometimes indiscriminately applied to a wet dock, whether with or without gates. A dry dock either becomes dry by the ebbing of the tide when the gates are left open, or by shutting the gates at low water, and pumping out whatever water may remain in it at that time, by the power of men, horses, wind, or, which is now most commonly performed in the king’s dock-yards, by the steam-engine. A ivet dock, therefore, may be defined to be “ a basin of water, in which ships may be kept afloat at all times of the tidea dry dock, a “ receptacle in which every part of a ship can be examined, and its defects repaired.” Ships may also be conveniently built in dry docks, and floated out by opening the gates; though, in all dockyards, there are places set apart for this purpose, under the name of slips. A wet dock is called by the French un basin ; a dry dock, une forme ; and a slip, un calle. The digging out the earth, and building the surrounding walls of masonry to prevent the sides falling in, and the preparation of the mortar and puzzolana, in the construction of a wet dock, are attended with great labour and expense. The two wet docks or basins of Cherbourg (see Breakwater), which are probably the finest specimens that exist in the world, are estimated to have cost three millions sterling. The labour of excavation may sometimes be spared, and a series of wet docks or basins conveniently made by turning the course of a tide-river through an isthmus, and placing a pair of gates at each end of the old channel. In this way were the new docks of Bristol constructed out of the bed of the Avon. We locks. Wet docks are an improvement in navigation and commerce of the utmost importance, but of very modern date in this country; indeed, they owe their introduction entirely to a spirit of individual enterprise in commercial speculation. Liverpool might still have remained a poor fishing village but for its convenient docks, which not only produce to the town and corporation a large revenue, but ensure to the merchant every possible facility in refitting, loading, and discharging his ships, whatever their burden or their cargo may be, without being exposed to the risk of losing both ship and cargo in a rapid tide-river; and, at all events, to an unavoidable delay, occasioned by distance, the weather, or the state of the tides. Hull is also greatly indebted for the extension of its

commerce to its docks. Its old wet dock contains an Dock, area of ten acres nearly, and has accommodated at one time 130 sail of such vessels as frequent that port. London, though unquestionably the first city in the world for its opulence, its commerce, and public spirit, and possessing within itself the powerful internal means of supporting docks, and all other conveniences that trade and shipping may require on the most extensive plans; London has been the last to try the experiment of docks, except in the case of two spirited individuals, Mr Perry at Blackwall, and Mr Wells at Greenland Dock, both private ship-builders. Notwithstanding the total inadequacy of legal quays, which subjected the merchants to incalculable losses and delays, and in many cases proved absolutely ruinous ; notwithstanding the effect of the heavy, expensive, and fatal embarrassments experienced regularly on the arrival of the West India fleets, and the annual losses, by plunder in the river, on West India produce, which alone were calculated to amount to L.150,000 to the proprietor, and L.50,000 to the revenue, and more than the double of those sums, including other branches of commerce; it was not till the year 1799 that prejudices and private interests were so far removed as to enable the merchants concerned in the West India trade to obtain an act of parliament to carry into execution a plan of docks, quays, and warehouses, for the convenience of that trade on the Isle of Dogs. Since that time the London Docks, St Katharine Docks, and various others, have been completed, to the incalculable benefit of the shipping interest and the commerce of the metropolis. The docks of Liverpool were the first of the kind that were constructed in this kingdom, by virtue of an act of parliament passed in 1708; and from that period the town of Liverpool has rapidly raised itself from a poor fishing village, and a port for coasting vessels, to be the second commercial town and port in the empire; and the plan of improvements now carrying into execution for the enlargement and better arrangement of the docks will, when completed, render it, for convenience and appearance, in this respect the very first, not London even excepted. It appears from a statement, apparently authentic, that in the ten years ending with 1808, the number of ships which entered these docks was 48,497, tonnage 4,954,204; and the dock duties received L.329,566; and that, in the following ten years ending in 1818, the number of ships was 60,200, the tonnage 6,375,560, and the amount of duties L.666,438. It may also be observed, that this extraordinary increase has taken place since the abolition of the slave trade, which, it was asserted, would be the ruin of Liverpool. The docks of Hull have also been advantageous, though in a less degree, to the wealth and prosperity of this trading town. The docks at Leith afford security and convenience to the increased commerce of the capital of Scotland. The West India Docks on the river Thames commenced in February 1800, and were opened in August 1802. They consist of an outward and a homeward-bound dock, and communicate by means of locks with a basin of five or six acres on the end next to Blackwall, and with another of more than two acres at the end next to Limehouse, both of which basins communicate with the Thames. The outward-bound dock is about 870 yards in length, by 135 in width, containing consequently an area of more than twenty-four acres; the homeward-bound dock is of the

76 DO Dock, same length, and 166 yards in width, its area being little ''“"'V'*-'' short of thirty acres ; and the two together will contain with ease at least 500 vessels of from 250 to 500 tons. The whole are surrounded with a high wall, and, as a security against fire, the moment that a ship enters the dock the crews are discharged, and no person whatever is allowed to remain on board, or within the premises, the gates of which are closed at a certain hour. They are surrounded by immense warehouses, which are estimated to contain nearly 10,000 hogsheads of sugar, and an immense quantity of rum. The sum authorized by parliament to be raised for completing these docks and warehouses was L.1,200,000, and the total expense was probably not far short of one million and a half; yet on this capital the subscribers have been receiving from a very short period after their opening ten per cent., which, by the terms of the act, is not to be exceeded, and the term granted is limited to twenty-one years ; but, like most other property, these docks have been greatly depreciated in value, and at present barely pay eight per cent. The next set of docks that were undertaken for the advantage of the trade of the capital was the London Docks. These docks are situated in Wapping, and are appropriated for the reception of all ships arriving in the port of London with wine, spirits, tobacco, and rice on board, but not exclusively, ships having on board other cargoes being admitted, on the payment of certain fees. The act of parliament for incorporating the dock company wras passed in 1800, authorizing them to raise a capital of L.1,200,000; but such was the number of houses to be purchased (we believe not less than twelve hundred) occupying the site of the dock, that this capital, by subsequent acts, was extended to L.2,200,000, the dividends on which are limited, as in the West India Docks, to ten per cent. The great dock is 420 yards in length, and 230 yards in width, covering an area of twenty acres. A basin of three acres nearly connects it with the river. The warehouses are very magnificent; and the tobacco warehouse is the grandest and most spacious building of its kind in the world, being capable of containing five and twenty thousand hogsheads of tobacco, and the vaults underneath as many pipes of wine. This single building, under one roof, is said to occupy upwards of four acres of ground. These docks were opened in February 1805. The East India Docks, for the exclusive reception and accommodation of the East India ships, were the last in succession. The act for the incorporation of the company was passed in July 1803, authorizing them to raise a capital of L.200,000, which was afterwards increased to L.600,000, the dividend, as in the case of the two others, to be limited to ten per cent. These docks are situated at Blackwall. That for the reception of homeward bound ships is 470 yards in length by 187 in width, containing a surface of rather more than eighteen acres; the outwardbound dock is 260 by 173 yards, and is consequently something more than nine acres. An entrance basin of three acres nearly, and a spacious lock, connect them with the Thames. Dry docks. A dry dock, requiring to be perfectly water-tight, demands the greatest care in its construction. It is sometimes lined all round with wood, but more generally with masonry, mostly of hewn granite. The expense is very considerable, as the foundation, bt' means of piles or otherwise, must be well secured, all leakage prevented, and the culvers or drains properly constructed, to let in and carry off the water without its undermining the quays or piers. The cost of a complete dry dock will vary probably from L.20,000 to L.100,000, according to the size of the ships it is intended to admit, and the nature of the ground on

C K. which it is to be constructed. A dry dock may be single, dc or made to contain only one ship ; or double, to contain two ships; but the former is the most common, because most convenient. As it is of the utmost importance to preserve the water in a wet dock, and to keep it out of a dry dock, it may be proper to describe the different kinds of gates which are in use for this purpose. The most common, and on the whole, perhaps, the best Dock and most convenient, are swinging gates, which open in the middle, and lie flat, one part against each wharf or sidewall of the passage leading into the dock or basin. The elevation of this kind of gate is represented in Plate CCIII. fig. 3. This kind of dock gate requires to be made of great strength, with sound timber and good iron, and the gudgeons on which the hinges turn to be well secured into the stone abutments. Care also must be taken to make the bottom of the passage and the bottom of the gates perfectly plane and parallel, to prevent leakage, and give facility to their opening and shutting, which is usually assisted by rollers fixed in a groove, and performed by means of a small capstern on each pier. Attached to the top of the gates is usually a foot bridge with railing, which, separating in the middle, opens and shuts with the gates. The most simple, but by no means the most effective contrivance for keeping out the water, is the wicketgate, of which the plan and elevation are represented in Plate CCIII. fig. 5 and 6. It consists of three parts, which, when opened, are removed separately. This gate is rarely made use of unless where the abutments are not sufficiently strong, or their foundation sufficiently secure, to bear the weight of a pair of swinging gates. A third kind of gate consists of a floating dam or caissoon, first introduced into this country by General Bentham, and first applied to the great new basin in Portsmouth dock-yard. They are built somewhat in the shape of a Greenland fishing-boat, sharp at the two ends, narrow, and deep in proportion to the depth of water at the entrance of the dock. The keel fits into a groove at the bottom of the passage, and the two slanting ends rise and fall in corresponding grooves cut into the two abutments. Of this kind of gate, fig. 1 and 2, Plate CCIII. represent the plan and elevation. By letting in the water, the caissoon sinks in the grooves, and acts as a closed gate; and by pumping out the water, or letting it out to a certain depth, the dam floats as the tide rises, and the narrow part, rising to the top, is readily disengaged from the grooves, and easily floated away as a boat. The advantages of these floating dams, as stated by General Bentham, are, that they are cheaper of construction than the gates heretofore in use for closing docks or basins; that they occupy less space, are more easily repaired, and one and the same dam is capable of being used, as need may require, in different places at different times. These caissoons have also the advantage of serving as bridges of communication for loaded carriages across the entrances they close, and they require much less labour than gates in opening or shutting up passages into docks or basins, since their occasional buoyancy may be obtained without pumping water or unloading ballast. Fig. 7 represents a plan, and fig. 4 a sectional elevation, of a dry or graving dock, into which ships are taken to have their defects examined and repaired, coppered, &c. and in which, if necessary, as already observed, ships may be built. When a ship is brought into a dry or graving dock, sheDocl T gradually subsides as the water flows out, till her keel^'P" rests upon the line of square blocks which are placed to receive it along the middle for the whole length; and on

DOCK. j,ck. these blocks she is kept steady and upright by a number of shores or poles on each side, one of their ends being i placed on the altars or steps of the dock, the other under the ship’s bends and bottom. As a ship under repair generally requires something to be done to the main or false keel, or at any rate these parts require to be inspected, sometimes to shift the main keel, or to add to the whole length of the false keel, it was always found necessary in such cases to remove the blocks in order to get at the bottom of the ship; but this operation could not be performed without the more serious one of first lifting bodily the ship clear of all the blocks, and suspending her as it were in the air. This process was performed by driving wedges simultaneously under the ends of all the shores that supported the ship; an operation that required from four to five hundred men to enable them to suspend a ship of the first rate. When the San Josef, a large three-decker, required her bottom to be examined in 1800, the assistance of almost every artificer in the dock-yard was found necessary to perform this process of lifting her; nor was this the only inconvenience; the ship, thus suspended, suffered very material injury by the pressure of her own enormous weight against the ends of the shores that supported her, such as forcing in her sides, straining the knees and all her fastenings, breaking the treenails, &c. To remedy these glaring inconveniences and very serious injuries that ships thus placed were apt to sustain, and to effect a saving of time and expense in the operation, Mr (now Sir Robert) Seppings, then master shipwright, and afterwards surveyor of the navy, contrived, sixteen or eighteen years ago, an improvement, as ingenious as it is simple, by which twenty men will suspend the largest ship in the navy, or rather, which amounts to the same thing, will disengage any one block that may be required, in the space of two or three minutes, without the necessity of suspending her at all; and, as a first rate in dock sits upon about fifty blocks, these twenty men will clear her of the whole of these blocks in about two hours; and as the saving of a day in completing the repairs of a ship is frequently the saving of a whole spring tide, the docking and undocking of a ship may make, and frequently has made, by this new method, the difference of a fortnight in the time of equipping her for sea. The block of Mr Seppings, instead of being one solid piece, consists of three wedges, or, more properly speaking, of one obtuse wedge and two inclined planes, which, when put together and placed under the ship’s keel, ap^ near as under, when viewed in the direction or line of the keel,

^

F F where G is the wedge on which the keel rests, having its ohtusc angle equal to 170°, and HH are the two inclined planes, each having an acute angle of 5°. The wedge is of hard wood, having its two sides lined with iron; the two inclined planes are of cast iron. When one of these blocks is to be disengaged from under a ship’s bottom, nothing more is required than a few smart blows alternately on the two sides of the two inclined planes, when they fly out, and the middle part or wedge drops; and the facility of thus disengaging any of the blocks is in proportion to the quantity of pressure upon that block. The strokes are usually given by a kind of catapulta or battering-ram, being a thick spar or pole moving on a pair of wheels, as KK.

This simple contrivance to get at any part of a ship’s bottom by removing in succession all the blocks, without the necessity of lifting the ship, which the removal of any one block required to be done by the old method, is now universally adopted in all the dock-yards ; and the lords of the admiralty marked their sense of the great utility of the improvement, by bestowing on Mr Seppings a reward of L.1000 for the invention. Another very material improvement, recently introdu- Roofing ced into his majesty’s dock-yards, is that of covering the the docks, dry docks and building slips with roofs. The rapid decay of our ships of war by that species of disease known by the name of the dry rot, attracted very general attention ; its effects were well known, but a variety of opinions were entertained as to its causes and its cure. It was quite obvious, however, that exclusion of air and moisture were the two great operating causes in giving activity to the progress of the disease (see Dry Rot); and that a ship in dock, stripped of her planking, and open to the weather in every part, alternately exposed to frost, rain, wind, and sunshine, must at least have her timbers differently affected, some swelled and water-soaked, others shrunk with heat, and others rifted with the wind and frost; and, if closed up with planking in this state, might be expected, at no great distance of time, to exhibit symptoms of decay. The workmen, too, in the open docks or slips, suffered from the vicissitudes of the weather no less than the ships, and their labour was frequently suspended, to the great detriment of the naval service. The measure of roofing over the docks and slips had long and repeatedly been suggested, but, either from prejudice or a false economy, it was only very recently carried into practice, but is now almost universal in all the yards. These roofs are generally constructed so as to be capable of having the sides and ends occasionally closed, according to the quarter from which the wind may blow; and by this contrivance the timber is prevented from rifting, as it is liable to do, by the action of a thorough draught of wind, and the health of the artificer is prevented from injury. The light is admitted through numerous windows placed in the roof. These roofs are in general supported on a row of wooden pillars, and covered with slate, some with plates of iron, and others with shingle. Plate CCIII. fig. 8, exhibits the transverse section of a roof thrown over the head of the dock at Plymouth, in which the Foudroyant is repairing; its span, from A to A, being 95 feet 4 inches, and the extreme width, from B to B, 125 feet 4 inches, supported, on the principle of trussing, without a single beam. Another of the same kind was built over the Prince Regent at Chatham, whose span was 100 feet, and the extreme width 150 feet. These immense roofs were constructed after a plan of Mr Seppings. The cost of one of the dimensions above mentioned was from L.6000 to L.7000, which, great as it may appear, must be amply repaid by the superior quality and durability of the ships built under it; but the same roof, with little or no repair, will, in all probability, serve as a covering for eight or ten different ships in succession. General Bentham, who, in his statement of Services rendered in the Civil Department of the

DOCK. 78 Dock. Navy, seems to claim to himself all the inventions and cupy less space; they can be constructed on a steep or a d improvements which have been introduced into the dock- shelving shore; and ships can be hauled upon them either Y yards for the last twenty years, carries his invention be- in spring or neap tides; whereas a dry dock can only be ^jy yond a mere covering, and proposes to house over the made in particular situations, and, when made, ships can docks and slips so completely as to afford “ means of heat- only be docked and undocked in certain states of the ing, warming, ventilating, and artificially lighting the in- tides; from which circumstance a considerable delay and terior at pleasure; the introduction of boilers or steam- inconvenience are frequently experienced. It should be kilns for bending the planks within the inclosure ; the recollected, however, that a large ship must necessarily go introduction of machinery for assisting in various opera- into a dock preparatory to her being hauled up on a slip. It has been considered as not at all impossible, as was tions, particularly the more laborious ones; the providing room for carrying on all the shipwright’s work within suggested some time ago by Mr Perring, the ingenious the building; besides a variety of lesser works, such as it clerk of the check in Plymouth dock-yard, that the whole is found very inconvenient during the building or repair- ordinary may hereafter be laid up on slips, which, if housed ing of a ship to have executed, for example, in a smith’s over, would unquestionably be the best means of increasor carpenter’s shop at a distance.” Such buildings would ing their durability, and preserving them from partial denot only be enormously expensive, but, in the present cay. Nor is it certain that in the end it would not be the crowded state of the dock-yards, utterly impracticable. most economical mode of preserving them. The expense, With regard to the invention of covered docks and slips, as appears from the Estimates of the Ordinary of the Navy they have been used in Venice from time immemorial; for the year 1817, is L.187,000 for harbour victuals, harand it appeared, from the evidence given by Mr Strange, bour moorings and riggings, &c. besides L.135,000 for the consul at that port in the year 1792, before the com- wages; the chief part of both which sums is on account of missioners of land revenue, that two-and-twenty large ships of war laid up in ordinary, none of which would be ships had been under covered slips, some of them for sixty required by placing them on slips. It would indeed form years nearly. At Carlscrona, also, there are several co- a singular revolution in naval management, if ships herevered docks, and both Mr Nicholls and Mr Snodgrass after should be laid up in ordinary on dry land, whilst the strongly recommended the building of ships under cover timber of which they are built is now considered to be the best preserved under salt water; a process which, frotn nearly thirty years ago. Hauling Among other experiments which have recently been mak- some experiments recently made, promises fair to be the up sfiips on ing in the dock-yards for facilitating and expediting the most effectual prevention of, and a probable cure for, the slips. repairs of ships, one may be mentioned, of which many dry rot. (See Dry Rot). This method of preserving persons are sanguine enough to think that the successful timber has long been practised at Brest, Carthagena, and result is likely to be attended with most important bene- several other places on the Continent; and the only obfits to the naval service. It is that of hauling up ships of jection to it in some of our ports appears to be the attack war, of any dimensions, on building slips, instead of taking of the worm known to naturalists by the name of teredo them into docks. It is no uncommon practice, at various navalis, whose bite is almost as destructive as the dry rot. On the other hand, there are very many and serious obports of this kingdom, where thei‘e are neither artificial basins nor natural harbours, to haul vessels of the burden jections, even were the measure practicable, of hauling up of fifty to two hundred tons, or probably larger, upon the ships of the line in particular, to be laid in ordinary on beach, by means of capstans, to give them repairs ; in like slips. In the first place, the length of sea-beach which would manner, most of the large fishing smacks are hauled up be required is greater than probably all the dock-yards in for security in tempestuous weather; but the practicabi- the kingdom could furnish. Secondly, the three warrantlity of hauling up ships of war, especially of the larger officers who are now employed in each ship, and who are classes, was a matter of some doubt. Several frigates the best men in tbe service, being no longer necessary, had, at various times, been hauled upon slips, when the would be turned adrift, and, in all probability, utterly lost docks were all occupied ; and the ease with which the ope- to the navy. Thirdly, no large ship could be hauled on ration was performed induced the officers of the dock- the slips without being previously taken into a dock to yard to propose the hauling up of a line-of-battle ship. have her bilgeways fitted, and her bottom prepared for The Kent, of 74 guns, was selected for this purpose. It placing her on the slip. The time taken for this purpose was necessary, in the first place, to take her into a dock, must necessarily interfere with the other works of the to have proper bilgeways prepared, and to be stripped, so yard ; and after taking her out, the preparations for heavas to be made as light as possible, her weight being, ac- ing her up, the capstans, blocks, purchase-falls, chains, and cording to a calculation made from the water she displa- a variety of other articles, amount to a very large expense, ced when afloat, about fourteen hundred tons. To heave not less, with the expense of the roof to cover the ship, up this weight fourteen capstans were employed, and the than L. 10,000 for each slip so hauled up. number of men to work these were as under: Dock- Yards. Nine men to each bar and swifter 1512 Previously to the reign of Henry VIII. the kings of EngEight men to hold on at each 112 land had neither naval arsenals nor dock-yards, nor any Three men to each capstan, to attend the fall 42 regular establishment of civil or naval officers to provide Men on board the ship, and employed in other) ships of war, or to fight them. They had admirals, howoperations J ever, possessing a high jurisdiction and very great power. (See the article Admiral). And it would appear, from Total of men employed 2116 a very curious poem in Hachluiis Collection, called The The time occupied in hauling her up, after all the pur- Policie of Keeping the Sea, that Henry V. had both ships, chases were brought to bear, was forty minutes. The ex- officers, and men exclusively appropriated to his service, pense of preparing her, and the loss and wear and tear of and independently of those which the Cinque Ports were the materials, was estimated at somewhere about L.2000. bound, and the other ports were occasionally called upon, The advantages which slips are supposed to possess over to furnish, on any emergency. By this poem it also apdry docks are many and important. They can be con- pears that Little Hampton, unfit as it now is, was the structed at one twentieth part of the expense; they oc- port at which Henry built

DOC K-Y ARDS. 79 .....his great Dromions consist of sand and mud, and totally unfit for the con- Dockstruction of basins, docks, and such solid buildings as are Yards, lh Which passed other great shippes of the commons. But what these dromions were no one can now tell; nor is required for naval purposes. The imperfection of the naval yards to the eastward, On the peit easy to conceive how the building and repairing of the Great Harry, which in the reign of Henry VII. was launch- the extension of the boundaries of France towards that ninsula of Northed at Portsmouth, and cost L.15,000, was managed, con- quarter, the occupation of the great naval port of Ant- nee * sidering the very rapid strides made at once from the werp, and the uninterrupted command of the Scheldt and small Cinque Port vessels, manned with twenty-one men the ports of Holland by that power, rendered an enlargeand a boy, to this enormous floating castle. At that time ment of the means of naval equipment in the eastern dockit is well known that they had no docks, nor even sub- yards of England, or a new naval arsenal, indispensable. For the latter purpose the banks of the Thames were constitutes for them. The foundation of a regular navy, by the establishment sidered, in every point of view, as preferable to those of of dock-yards, and the formation of a board, consisting of the Medway, the entrance into the latter being narrow, certain commissioners for the management of its affairs, and having a bar across it, on which, at low water of spring was first laid by Henry VIII., and the first dock-yard tides, there is only fourteen or fifteen feet of water; whereerected under his reign was that of Woolwich. Those of as the navigation of the Thames is at all times uninterPortsmouth, Deptford, Chatham, and Sheerness, followed rupted, excepting by the badness of the weather. It comin succession; and the last, excepting the new and unfi- municates directly with the great market-town of London, nished yard of Pembroke, was Plymouth, which was found- in which every description of stores, foreign and domestic, is accumulated; and the trade of the Thames is the great ed by William III. From the first establishment of the king’s dock-yards source from which the fleet is supplied with seamen. The to the present time, most of them have gradually been en- marshy peninsula of Northfleet was considered by naval larged and improved by a succession of expedients and men, who had turned their attention to the subject, to make-shifts, which answered the purposes of the moment; possess every possible requisite for the establishment of a but the best of them possess not those conveniences and royal dock-yard on an extensive scale. It was sufficiently advantages which might be obtained from a dock-yard removed from the mouth of the river to be completely systematically laid out on a uniform and consistent plan, sheltered, yet near enough for ships to proceed to sea with with its wharfs, basins, docks, slips, magazines, and work- one wind. In the river between Northfleet and the sea shops, arranged according to certain fixed principles, cal- there is plenty of water for the largest three-deckers to culated to produce convenience, economy, and dispatch, proceed with all their guns, ammunition, stores, and pro[m dec- Neither at the time when our dock-yards were first esta- visions on board, and almost with any wind, if moderate. ioiofthe blished, nor at any subsequent periods of their enlarge- A copious stream of good fresh water runs across the peiirls ment as the necessities of the service demanded, could it ninsula. The soil afforded plenty of earth suitable for lodyards.have j3een foreseen what incalculable advantages would bricks; the foundation was excellent for docks, slips, one day be derived from the substitution of machinery for wharfs, and buildings of all kinds. It was sufficiently near human labour; and without a reference to this vast im- the metropolis for speedy communication with the naval provement in all mechanical operations, it could not be departments, and to receive stores in barges and the river expected that any provision would be made for its future craft. It was capable of being defended both on the land introduction; on the contrary, the docks and slips, the and river side; and when the whole was raised to the work-shops and store-houses, were successively built at height of twelve feet with a dry gravelly soil, from the random, and placed wherever a vacant space would most excavations of the docks and basins, there could be no conveniently admit them, and in such a manner as in most doubt of the healthiness of the situation. By the direccases to render the subsequent introduction of machinery tion, therefore, of the lords of the admiralty, a complete and iron railways, and those various contrivances found in survey was made by Messrs Rennie and Whidbey, who the large manufacturing establishments of private indivi- furnished a plan and estimate of a naval arsenal on a magduals, quite impossible, even in the most commodious and nificent scale, within which all kinds of machinery were proposed to be employed for the making of anchors, sawroomy of his majesty’s dock-yards. iVbsed The want of a systematic arrangement in our dock- ing of timber, rope-making, block-making, &c.; iron railjo«eyard yards, independently of machinery, and the enormous ex- ways to be laid from the timber wharfs to the timber i Isle penditure of money laid out on expedients, were questions fields, from thence to the mills and pits, and from them to if -ain. of frequent discussion among naval men connected with the docks, slips, and workshops. The estimate, it appears, the various administrations of the navy, and it was thought was about six millions sterling, which Mr Rose, in his letby many that it would be more desirable to construct an ter to the late Lord Melville, calculates, with the fortifientire new dock-yard in some eligible situation, on an ex- cations and unforeseen expenses, to amount actually to tensive scale, than to continue the improvements in the old ten millions; an expense which the minister did not venones. For this purpose, so early as the year 1765, the at- ture to propose, though there can be little doubt that, tention of the naval administration appears to have been when the case was fairly stated to the public, and the neturned to the Isle of Grain in the river Medway, along cessity of increasing our naval establishments to the eastthe shore of which is a fine expansive sheet of deep water. ward had been made apparent, no violent opposition would A dock-yard thus placed, on a systematic plan, would su- have been made to a measure which tended to keep up persede that of Chatham on one side and Sheerness on the our naval superiority, and which was the less objectionable, other; but it was discovered on boring that the substra- as none of the money would have been taken out of the tum was so loose and sandy as not to admit of a solid country, but circulated within it, to the encouragement foundation. General Bentham, however, revived the pro- of the arts, trades, and manufactures of the kingdom. ject in the year 1800, which he seems to claim as his own, The board of revision made a detailed report on the and painted the situation in such glowing colours, and as merits of the plan, which, however, as the execution of affording so many advantages for a grand naval arsenal, it was delayed, was not printed; but the real reason that the lords of the admiralty were induced to order a was supposed to be, the very gloomy view taken by the fresh set of borings to be taken. These were carried to commissioners of the disadvantages and imperfections of the depth of sixty feet, and were everywhere found to the present dock-yards, which Mr Rose seems to think,

SO DOC K-Y ARDS. Dock- and indeed it is generally thought, is by no means war- the iron tanks for holding water, now universally used for Lock Yards. ranted, and that those disadvantages in that report are the ground tier, in lieu of wooden casks. These are taken Yard greatly exaggerated, perhaps to enhance the value of the on board next after the ballast, and, together with the su- v—V Northfleet plan, of which they seem to have been much perincumbent casks, would be filled in the ship’s hold by enamoured. Imperfect as the old dock-yards are, chiefly means of flexible pipes to convey the water into them. from their having risen, as before observed, to their pre- The provisions would at the same time be taken on board sent state, by a succession of expedients and make-shifts, at the same wharf, in front of the victualling stores. The they are nevertheless far superior to any similar establish- third side might be appropriated to the ordnance departments on the Continent of Europe, if we except the un- ment, with the gun-wharf extending along the whole side, finished arsenal of Cherbourg, whose magnificent basins and the gun-carriage storehouses, magazines, &c. in the (see Breakwater) are certainly unequalled, and the rear. The fourth side would be occupied as the anchor space surrounding them capable of being turned to every wharf, with the cable storehouses, the sail lofts and stores, possible advantage. M. Charles Dupin, a French officer, rigging loft, and magazines for various stores, in the rear. who examined all our dock-yards with a skilful eye, pro- Behind these, again, on the first side, containing the dry nounces them as by far superior to any on the Continent. docks and building slips, the ground would be appropriWe have heard much of the magnificent basins and the ated to the reception, birthing, and converting of timber, covered docks of Carlscrona, but the one has been greatly from whence iron railways would lead to the saw-mills, overrated, and the others are merely covered over with saw-pits, and work-shops, all of which would be placed on shed-like roofs; nor is there the least likelihood that the that side. On the second side a pond or basin for the plan will ever be finished. We have been told likewise victualling lighters and craft, wdth wharfs communicating of the superior advantages of the naval arsenal of Copen- with the manufactories and storehouses ; the same on the hagen, where every ship has its appropriate storehouse. ordnance or third side; and on the fourth side might be This plan has been adopted at Brest, and is reprobated placed the ropery, hemp storehouses, tar-houses, with a there by every naval officer, and the officers of the yard, basin for hemp-vessels, lighters, and the like. Communias most inconvenient, and a great waste of room, by hav- cating with the great basin on the building side, and also ing the most bulky and the most trifling articles stowed with the river or harbour, on the shore of which the docktogether in the same room. A better arrangement is that yard is to be formed, should be a mast-pond, with a lock of having certain magazines appropriated to certain kinds for the storing of spars; in front the mast-houses, topof stores, and arranged according to the class or rate of houses, capstan-houses, and a slip to launch the masts into ship for which they are intended, and, if appropriated or the pond. Here also might be placed the boat-houses and returned stores, the name of the ship to which they be- boat-pond. long painted in front of the birth in which they are deA peninsular situation like that of Northfleet, having Advan, posited. This is the system generally followed in our at least three fourths of its shore surrounded with deepstages oil dock-yards. water, is peculiarly favourable for some such arningement ystem;! The great point in which our naval arsenals are most as is here mentioned; as any number of locks and canals the knowledge of which is most applicable to the art one draws oft' the larger bodies of water which are collect- of draining, is the most difficult to be understood, and has ed from the discharge of springs in isolated spots, and the hitherto been the least explored. Most of the arable soil other absorbs the superabundance of water from and un- is contained within the tertiary and alluvial formations of der the surface of the land. The first is called under- rocks. 1 he intricate relations of the newer beds, which draining, because it intercepts the passage of the water compose the alluvial class of rocks, and which are the most from springs at some distance under ground. The second intimately connected with arable culture and draining, makes channels for conveying away the water which falls present almost insurmountable obstacles to the thorough on the surface of the ground, and is therefore called sur- acquirement of the art of draining. They at least throw face-draining. Surface-draining is again divided into two an uncertainty over its operations; and this uncertainty kinds; the one consists only in making small open channels must continue till the relations of the alluvial rocks are and furrows immediately on the surface of the ground; discovered to be as fixed as those of the other classes. the other is effected by means of small drains constructed Perhaps this certainty is unattainable; because it maybe at a short distance under the surface of the ground, in that the newer members of the alluvia strata do not bear order to collect the water which would otherwise remain a strictly relative position to one another. But till this on a retentive subsoil at the bottom of the plough furrow. fact is ascertained one way or the other, draining must be This latter kind derives its name from the particular con- conducted in a great measure in these alluvial deposites by struction of the drain. trial. In undertakings on trial, error generally ensues, and The theory on which these different kinds of draining unnecessary expense is often incurred. One very unforare founded is sufficiently explicit. WRere the upper sur- tunate circumstance, arising from the uncertainty attendface of land is at all permeable to water, and where it ing draining, is the uselessness of the experience acquired rests on beds of matter of different depths, of various in one set ot operations, in guiding to a means of securing lengths and breadths, each possessing a consistency of re- a more certain result in another. As uncertainty attends tentiveness or permeability, the water produced from rain, on the number and depth, and even direction, of the drains snow, or dew, in its progress along the porous bed, will which are required to dry one field sufficiently, so a similar be interrupted and retained by the retentive beds, and uncertainty prevails over the similar operations in the adwill accumulate in them in larger or smaller quantities, joining field. Every drainer will concur in the justness according as they present a basin shape, over the edge of of these remarks. A deeper study by geologists in this

DRAINING. 137 drains deep is almost essential to the success of his system. Draining. n Min*, branch of geology would therefore confer everlasting obli- The difficulty in the application of the principle consists in „ations on the drainer; and would they also direct their ^ particular attention to the connection between the upper discovering the seat of the spring. A minute knowledge of surface of the earth’s crust, and the one immediately the alluvial rocks would overcome this difficulty. In the subjacent, that connection would perhaps be found to be present state of that knowledge, shrewdness must perform intimate; or, at all events, the investigation would sup- the part of science, assisted by trials in digging pits or ply desirable materials for a correct nomenclature and cutting straight ditches through the beds of earth, in order to ascertain which of them contains the spring. classification of soils. The drains which our forefathers made rested on the It does not appear that the ancients practised draining. The Egyptians, Indians, and Persians, and indeed the inha- subsoil, immediately under the surface soil; and their bitants of the tropical regions, rather practise the opposite depth under the surface depended on the depth of the though almost sister art in effect, namely, irrigation, on land upper soil. But as the depth of the arable soil, when it is which is beyond the influence of the great periodical over- of a different nature from the subsoil, is never very great, flowings of rivers. The Greeks had neglected draining; and these drains were necessarily shallow. As experience, indeed they did not attend much to agriculture. The Ro- however, would soon teach men the impropriety of plamans, on the other hand, skilful husbandmen in every de- cing the stones in a drain within reach of the plough, few partment of agriculture, drained their lands with the great- stones were placed in them, often not exceeding three, one est care and assiduity. Cato, their oldest writer on agricul- on each side of the cut, and another above them, forming ture, enters so minutely into the importance of draining, a sort of conduit. These conduits being near the surface, as even to prescribe the dimensions and shapes of open and and of small areas, an additional quantity of water, or covered drains. The Romans had only been acquaint- moles digging across them, placed such obstructions in ed with the draining of springs, and the clearing away them as to prevent entirely the flow of the water. They of surface water. For the former purpose the drains were then became receptacles of water, and produced the misleft open at both ends, and the water from the springs was chief they were intended to remedy. Many of these drains conveyed away by them out of the field, as particularly are met with in the soil; and they appear to have been described by Columella. For taking away surface water formed on the notion that a conduit to convey the stagthey used open ditches in stiff soils, as Palladius informs nant jvater between the upper and subsoils was quite us; and Cato directs that when the rain commences in sufficient to render the soil permanently dry. The disautumn, all the servants should go out with sarcles, or covery of these trifling drains compels us to the belief of other iron tools, open drains, turn the water into the chan- the fact, that the mode of draining practised by the Ronels, and take care of the corn fields, that it flow from mans, and which without doubt they had introduced into them. It thus appears that the Romans were unacquaint- this country, had been neglected or forgotten in the dark ed with the deeper kind of surface-draining. In our own ages, previously to the revival of agriculture in Britain in country draining has been practised for a long period. the reign of Henry the Eighth. Compared with the paltry method just described, the Ingulphus mentions that a chamberlain of William the Conqueror, Richard de Rulos, lord of Brunne and Deep- system of Elkington is super-excellent. No wonder that ing, drained a great extent of country, and embanked the it produced at the time of its introduction a revolution in river Wielland, which used to overflow the neighbouring the art. It was as much more effective than the old syscounty every year. It is more than probable that drain- tem in changing the quality of the land, as blood-letting ing was practised in this country long before that period, with a lancet from a vein affects the general constitution as the Romans invariably introduced the arts of life into in a greater degree than the topical application of leeches. every country which they conquered. Fitzherbert’s Boke Elkington’s discovery also created discussion, which terof Husbandries which was published in 1534, during Henry minated in the permanent establishment of the present VIII.’s reign, contains minute directions for draining. But method of draining practised in this country. This methe greatest impulse which draining received in Britain thod is a modification of that of Elkington; and it is an was in the latter half of the last century; and that was improvement, in as far as it effectually drains a species of given by a practical discovery of the seat of springs, by wetness in land, for which his method is perhaps not so a farmer, Mr Elkington of Princethorp, in Warwickshire. suitable. It is fully granted, that to drain bursts of water Being an uneducated man, Elkington was not able to com- and marshy ground, it is necessary to cut off the springs municate his ideas to the public. Mr Johnstone, a drainer which supply them with water ; and that whatever depth residing in Edinburgh, under the authority of the Board of drain or strength of materials are required to effect of Agriculture, published a full and satisfactory account of these purposes, they ought to be executed. In this manElkington’s mode of draining wet land. Elkington was ig- ner many extensive properties have been drained, at great norant of geology, and cotild not therefore have acted on expense it is true, but so effectually, that the increased scientific principles. These principles Farey, in his report income derived from the improved quality of the soil, and of the agriculture of Derbyshire, maintains that many con- the more rapid growth of the trees, will continue as a pertemporaries of Elkington understood better than he did. manent fund, from which the expense of the improvements But whatever might have been Elkington’s personal qua- will be amply repaid. Granting these advantages, with ; lifications, it cannot be denied that the mode of draining which, however, it is not intended to intermeddle, it is which he practised himself, and which he showed to many nevertheless maintained by many that the portion of land farmers and country gentlemen, produced a complete re- which is wetted by water springing from below, bears a volution in that art in this country. His principle was very small proportion to that which is in a wet state from simple and strictly scientific, though he was probably not the retention of rain water on an impervious subsoil. A aware of its scientific character, or of the science which great extent of land may be wetted by the bursting out it involved; but it was undoubtedly its scientific nature of a spring of water; and the obvious mode of drying that which caused it to be attended with such success. He land is to remove the spring; but will the same mode of applied his principle chiefly to the draining of springs, draining, dry land which is wetted to a great extent by which was simply to intercept the water by a drain at its rain water being retained in the surface soil like water in source or spring; and the wetness in the land arising from a sponge, in consequence of a retentive subsoil ? Obvithat source will of course be removed. The cutting the ously not. A drain in a retentive subsoil cannot draw waVOL. vm.

$

138 DRAINING. Draining, ter from a distance. A number of drains should therefore them to be superficially constructed, this defect would be Dra be made, all to co-operate by their absorbing power, in a strong objection against the whole system; but substanorder to remove the water from the retentive subsoil; tial drains are as necessary in this as in the other system. and as drains cannot draw water from a distance in a re- Drains which are to contain broken stones, and no other tentive subsoil, so in such a subsoil they need not be made material wfill answer the purpose in a retentive but spondeeper than to contain a sufficient quantity of materials to gy subsoil, should not be less than thirty inches in depth; ensure their durability. This method of draining may be one foot for the passage of the plough over the stones, as expensive or more expensive than the system of drain- and eighteen inches of small stones. . This is the least size ing springs; but whatever may be its expense, the in- the drains should be, and of this size they will endure for creased produce and the improved quality of the subse- generations. In this mode of draining it is proposed to quent crops will soon repay it. The theory on which this make the drains three feet deep. method is founded is also purely scientific. In the natural Having explained the ratioziale of different modes of circumstances of the upper and subsoils, varying from light draining, it will be necessary to give a minute detail of the dry loam resting on beds of sand and gravel, to a thin mode of forming the different kinds of drains. steril crust, incumbent on impervious clay, the drainage It is scarcely necessary to state that all drains must be must be various. In the former no water springs from be- cut in a direction to permit the water in them to run low ; and what falls upon the surface is immediately ab- down hill. No drain should be made more level than sorbed and carried down beyond the reach of vegetation. an inclination in the bottom of one foot in twenty-five In the latter case, water, whether springing from below or yards. With this fall water will easily gravitate in a drain. falling on the surface in the shape of rain, must, where Drains formed for the purpose of drying springs which there is a declivity, run slowly off over the surface, how- are not in the immediate vicinity of marshy ground, should ever great the distance; or, in the event of a level sur- be four feet in depth at the least. A reservation is made face, must remain stagnant till evaporated by the sun. On in case of marshy ground, for it is probable that its vicisuch a subsoil, a sufficient depth of active soil cannot be nity will not afford a fall of four feet. All drains of four long maintained; for even if enriched with lime and ma- feet in depth should be filled with small stones gathered nure, it will bear scanty crops ; and if laid out for pasture, from the fields, or stones from the quarry broken small for it will in a few years revert to its natural state, aiyl pro- the purpose; and such drains should always be built with duce only coarse herbage. Some soils rest on subsoils a conduit of dry masonry, of a size in the opening proporpartially permeable by water. Such, in dry seasons, with tionate to the quantity of water which it is supposed will judicious management, produce good crops; but in rainy run through them; and the size of this conduit will of seasons the crops are thin and the grain inferior in quality. course regulate the breadth of the bottom of the drain to When soil is immediately incumbent on open rock, such be cut out. In all cases of conduits they should be built as the trap rocks, which contain many fissures, the land is on a bottom floored on stones; for in many kinds of clay uniformly fertile. Thus carefully copying the operations which have a mixture of sand (and in all drainable clays of nature, if drains were made in retentive subsoils, so as such a mixture does exist), the water, if considerable, to give water frequent opportunities of escape, the soil will wear away the clay from under the conduit, and would then become fertile, like the soil which rests on cause sinkings in the drain. The small stones should be the open rock. Hence the drains are made straight and carefully packed around the conduit with the hand till it parallel to one another, and as near to each other as is be covered, and the remainder thrown in from the side of necessary for the effectual drying of the land. These pa- the drain by the hand, to within eighteen or fifteen inches rallel drains are placed down the inclination, instead of of the surface of the ground. When the filling is comacross the land. pleted, the stones should be neatly levelled; the filling Strong objections are urged against this system of sur- should commence immediately after the cutting is finished, face-draining by those who are strenuous advocates of El- which should be executed in small portions at a time. kington’s mode of cutting deep drains across the face of The stones should be covered over with any material which inclined ground. They maintain that fewer of these cross will prevent the loose earth trickling down through them drains will dry the land than those which run straight into the drain, such as straw, which is perhaps too valudown the inclined ground, and that these small drains will able an article for this purpose, turf with the grass side only serve a temporary purpose, and will have to be re- downwards, or quicken well shaken of its earth gathered newed at no great distance of time, at a greater cost than from the fallow fields. The levelling of the earth which the making of cross drains. Such objections to the pa- has been cast out should be executed as soon after the rallel straight drains are not so strong as they appear. It filling of the stones as possible, and it should be carefully might be supposed, indeed, at first sight, that a drain pass- and not slovenly performed; as a ridge of earth, however ing across a piece of inclined ground will more readily in- small, placed across a piece of inclined ground, and which tercept the descent of water than drains passing down in cannot afterwards be removed till the field is ploughed up a direction parallel to the course of the wTater. But the again, will intercept the water in its descent down the fact is, in all pieces of ground which lie at an inclination, furrows, and there cause that moisture in the ground there is a double inclination, the one down the face of the which the draining was intended to remove. An easy inclination, which is always the greatest, and the other method of levelling the earth is to put some of it in the across its face. Water running down a double inclination first place with the spade over the covering of the stones, will of course take the direction of the diagonal, in the and then to pass the plough and turn the earth over into exact proportion the angles of inclination bear to one ano- the drain in the same direction, returning the plough ther, provided the substance of the subsoil were homoge- empty. This operation may be repeated twice or thrice, neous. As it is very improbable that the subsoil should be according to the quantity of earth to be levelled, and then homogeneous, there is a risk of cutting the cross drains pa- a space of the adjoining ground may be ploughed with rallel to the course of the water, in which case they would that thrown out, in the manner of a common ridge, till the not intercept any of it; whereas numerous drains cut pa- ■whole is flat. It is almost always recommended to fill rallel to the direction of the ridges on the inclined ground, drains from their upper end towards the mouth. This would certainly intercept the water in its diagonal and de- may be a desirable arrangement when the drain is necesvious course. Should the adoption of small drains cause sarily very level, in order to preserve the fall, but never

139 draining. otherwise • for the risk which is incurred should wet wea- ther, when the water in all drains is more or less turbid, ac- Draining, !3 ther set in, by the falling in of the sides, while waiting for cording to-the soil through which it passes, the rubble drain its current throughout its whole course, and causes perhaps a great length of cutting, would more than coun- retards it to deposite what portion of earth may be mechanically teract any advantage of preserving a minute level. These suspended in it, in a gradual manner; whereas the rather general observations on the cutting and filling and cover- rapid current in a conduit will deposite its earth in quantiLr of drains apply to every species of drain. Other geties in every eddy which it forms, and in the course of time neral observations are, that main drams, into which the banks of earth will be formed in the conduit at different lateral drains empty themselves, should be larger than the places, so as to affect the depth of the drain above those lateral ones. Main drains should be cut in the nearest and deposites. most convenient hollows for the outlet of water from the Tiles made on purpose for drains are now very frequently fields. All lateral drains should enter the main dram, or used of stones. They are sometimes made in the other lateral drains, with an acute angle of confluence^ to shapeinstead of long truncated cones which fit into one another, expedite the water in its course. The mouths of main drains but more commonly in semicircular pieces placed upon should be left open, strongly built, and defended with flat tiles. Where stones can be procured for the gatherwooden or iron bars, to prevent the ingress of the larger ing, or quarried near at hand, and a sufficient quantity can class of vermin, such as badgers, foxes, and polecats. be obtained of them, they are in every case superior to Where square stones cannot be easily procured for the tiles for draining. Tiles may be beneficially used in conbuilding of conduits, and where flat stones are more plen- junction with stones when the latter are carefully packed tiful, they should be used in coupling, that is, one should around, and of a sufficient depth above the former. They be laid flat on the bottom of the drain, and other two set may also be used in clay soils, if well packed in a mass of up on it, meeting at the top, the three forming an isosceles peat moss. Clay soils seldom contain stones, but are often triangle. Small stones should then be packed carefully associated with peat. Tiles at present (1833) are for the with^the hand along the side and over the apex of the triangle. This coupled drain is perhaps not so strong as most part used in furrow-draining, that is, in drains cut any furrow between the ridges, these drains are gea built conduit, but it may be made very durable if the in nerally made twenty inches in depth, one foot wide at the stones are of compact structure, and it is less expensive, top, and two or three inches at the bottom. Sometimes as it requires a narrower cut than the conduit. Drains from three and a half to two and half feet deep small broken stones to the height of ten inches are used should be wholly filled with small stones. They are termed in these drains instead of tiles. With whatever materials rubble drains. They need not exceed the breadth of a they are filled, such a size of drains is objectionable. It garden spade at the bottom. The small stones with intended to drain springs, they are incompetent to reach ' which they are filled should not exceed the size of the their source ; if surface water arising from rain lodging on fist, and they should be thrown in by the hand from the an impervious subsoil, the paucity of materials in them deside of the drain; not carelessly against the sides and on prives them of utility and durability. Such a system can the bottom of the drain, but rolled down, as it were, the only serve a temporary purpose; and in a permanent iminclined face of the stones already filled in. In this man- provement such a motive should always be proscribed. ner they will arrive easily at the bottom, and find their Draining insufficiently performed is nearly as bad as leavown position. When rubble drains are formed in hazel ing it undone. Its defects cannot frequently be discovered loams, they become the favourite resort of earthworms in till a great loss has been sustained. Another method of draining has lately been introduced, search of fresh and unexhausted soil. Moles soon follow them, and these may cause damage to the drains if pre- and is termed plug-draining. It is exclusively confined to cautionary measures be not adopted. I he pressing of the draining of tenacious clay, and chiefly practised on pasthe smallest stones by the foot into the bottom of the ture land. It consists of removing the turf with a common drain, to form a sort of causeway upon which the other spade twelve inches in width and six inches in depth. stones are placed, is an insuperable obstacle to moles The clay under the turf is removed with a narrow-shaped running under it, and heaving the earth up into the drain. instrument called a grafting iron, on the side of which is It has always been recommended to build conduits in raised a cutting bit six inches long, to the depth of eighquicksands; but the circumstance most deserving notice teen inches. The drain is made two feet deep, one foot in the drainage of these troublesome things is the laying in breadth at the top, and one inch and three quarters at the bottom of the drain with flat stones, and building up^ the bottom. Plugs of wood to fit the bottom of the diain, its sides with a sort of masonry, in which pieces of turf one and three quarters of an inch wide at bottom, four should act as mortar, to prevent the sand running into inches at the top, and six inches in height, and of any the middle of the drain. Instead i)f leaving the conduit length, perhaps a foot, are then placed in the bottom. open, it should be filled up with small stones carefully The clay last taken out of the drain is returned into it packed in with the hand, because this construction is and rammed hard down, until the whole clay thrown out the strongest for resisting the lateral pressure of the is replaced in a solid mass into the drain. Upon the claye the grass turf is replaced in its original position. ffh quicksand. In regard to the comparative advantages of a conduit plugs are then withdrawn from below the clay to within and rubble drain, where no necessity exists of making the eight inches of their length, by means of a lever acting drain so deep as the stones at the bottom would be pressed upon it with a chain attached to the end of the plugs. into the earth by the weight of those above them, and this Three or four of these plugs are united together by iron injurious effect will not be produced at a less depth than slips, which permit them to have as much play as to acthree and a half feet, no better materials can be employed commodate themselves to any curvature or inequality in to fill drains than hard round stones not exceeding the the cutting of the drain. Expedients for draining the size of a goose’s egg. It will be quite unnecessary to be surface of grass lands have frequently been attempted; at the expense of conduits and couples in all those shallow such as turning over a turf slice wdth the plough, paring drains formed in retentive subsoils not containing springs. the earth off the bottom of the turf slice with a spade, and Water in the quantity generally found in drains, percolates replacing it. The drain thus made is like a large mole galthrough rubble stones with less injury to the drains them- lery, and hence it is called mole-draining. But this and the selves than in conduits ; because, after a tract of wet wea- plug-draining, and all other expedients of the like kind, are

140 DRAINING. Draining, but temporary shifts. They all originate in a false notion Another style of draining has lately assumed the appel- bra of economy. The advantages of draining can only be ob- lation of the frequent-drain. It consists of cutting parallel ^ ^ tained when it is effectually executed, and it cannot be so rows of drains down the face of inclined ground, which executed without a considerable expense. Its operations terminate in a main drain in the lowest part of the field. being beyond the reach of daily observation, is a strong Contrary to the mode of draining just mentioned, this will reason for executing it effectually. To be obliged to rec- cost little per rood, and much per acre. The expense in tify the errors of draining is a serious evil, and will always the hardest clay subsoil will not exceed tenpence per rood cost more than a judicious primary outlay. of six yards; but from the number of drains required, it The minor adjuncts connected with Elkington’s mode will cost in such a subsoil nine or ten pounds per imperial of draining springs should not be overlooked. They con- acre. The cost of course will be in proportion to the obsist of boring with the auger, and sinking pits. Where duracy of the material to be operated upon. In clayey tenacious beds of clay of moderate thickness forming re- subsoils generally of a reddish hue, containing small round tentive subsoils rest on gravel or sand, or open rock, holes and angular stones, frequently round masses of slaty sandbored through them with the auger when their depth is stone, sometimes water-worn boulders of the older formaconsiderable, or pits sunk through them when they are tions, and isolated veins of sand, this species of draining is less so, may effect a very considerable saving of expense. admirably adapted, provided the drains are made of a suffiThere is obviously no use of cutting a great length of a cient depth to contain eighteen inches of small stones. This main drain, merely as a conveyance for water, when a hole subsoil often continues of the same structure to a great or a pit opened on the spot would effect a similar purpose. depth, and it is very retentive of water, which has its oriIn many cases, rich marshy land, and land-locked lakes, gin in it chiefly from above in the shape of rain and snow. cannot be drained in any other way. A correct knowledge Deep draining is quite inapplicable to this subsoil. From of geology is essentially necessary in this department of the very structure of the subsoil, it is clear that digging the draining, in order to arrive at the desirable result with the drains beyond a certain depth will confer no advantage. least trouble. Water permeates such a subsoil only through the sand These various modes of draining, which have been but which it contains; and as that exists in an isolated state, imperfectly described, are executed in what may be term- it is not in the power of any drain to attract moisture from ed different styles. Elkington’s mode presents a ramified a distance. Dark hazel-coloured loams and black mould or dendritic appearance. The main drains occupy the generally rest on these subsoils. These soils, when drainlowest parts, or the hollows of fields. From them the la- ed, form good turnip land, are sound for the rearing and teral drains branch out in various lengths in a sloping di- feeding of live stock, raise barley of fine quality, and will rection along the inclined face of the ground. Where carry good winter and spring wheat, when clay enters springs abound at the foot of mountain ridges, and where into their composition. In deep loams, where the influthe substratum consists of beds of sand, however thin, in- ence of moisture is remote, draining, at least deep drainterlayed with thick beds of impervious clay, and where ing, is unnecessary. It is more necessary in thin loams, the water evidently rises from below, this is the most as the proximate relation of the subsoil to them in regard beneficial system of draining which can be followed. The to a state of wetness has a direct influence on the producupper soil on such a substratum is generally a clay loam, tive powers of the soil. unprofitable when wet, but extremely grateful when dried. Furrow-draining consists of cutting a drain in every furWith deep ploughing, plentiful liming, and liberal manur- row between the ridges, and these drains will be crooked ing, after drainage, such land will continue for ages to or straight as the furrows are so: the drains terminate in produce wheat, clover, beans, and Swedish turnips, in a main drain at the lowest part of the field. The only abundance. The expense of this method of draining is instance where furrow-draining can be safely recommended considerable by the rood, though not by the acre. It is in pure clays, where the soil from time immemorial has j will be more than a shilling per rood of six yards; but been formed into broad, high, crooked ridges, the furrows not exceeding L.3 or L.4 per imperial acre. These clay of which cannot with propriety be changed in ploughing I loams almost always rest on inferior kinds of clay, of the land, as may be done with most other soils. Many of various qualities and colours. They rest on retentive these furrows contain surface water during a great part of subsoils, generally occupy large flats, large detached the year, which frequently destroys the crops half way up patches, knolls, and often run in bands across part of the sides of the ridges, the general declivity of the surface the country. In hollow portions of ground, mossy soils of the land being unable to convey away the water without of little depth rest on these clays. In examining the the assistance of drains. But instead of making these furstructure of the subsoil on which these clay loams rest, it row-drains two or three inches wide at the bottom, as is is probable they have been deposited when the retiring usually done, they should never be less than the breadth of waters were nearly in a quiescent state. Though the dif- a common spade, and filled eighteen inches high with small ferent kinds of clay, often exhibiting different colours, are stones or gravel, or tiles with peat moss, and the remainder not arranged in horizontal or parallel beds, they appear in to the top with porous earth. Pure clays, which extend undulating beds of different lengths, and of contempora- to some depth, and which have the upper and subsoils neous formation, and these are frequently divided by thin composed of homogeneous clay, if judiciously managed, beds of sand. These undulations act as basins to inter- require no draining at all, not because they are not wet cept and collect the water which permeates gradually soils (on the contrary they are very wet soils), but because through the detached beds of sand. This permeant pro- water cannot permeate through them, except as far as perly permits them to contain large quantities of water, the plough reaches. Such soils may be effectually dried and hence this class of soil is very wet, and difficult to by deep ploughing, and keeping the furrows always clear manage before they are drained. Very frequently a thick- with the spade. To keep such a soil dry, a practice might er bed of sand than the rest divides the mixed clayey sub- be beneficially taken from Irish agriculture. It is called soil from clay of a different and generally more homoge- double shovelling. This is done after the land is waterneous structure below it; and in cases where this homo- furrowed. A cutting plough drawn by two horses, one geneous clay is not more than six feet below the surface, before the other, is passed along the furrow. The plough and it is often less, it forms an excellent flooring for a goes and returns close to the sides of the ridges, and at main drain. six inches deep, thus furnishing fresh mould, and pre-

DRAINING. • 141 may riot ultimately reap the advantages arising from those Draining, Li. serving a narrow furrow, the shovelling with the shovel improvements. Were draining an operation which could Li ^ or spade being completed from its depth instead of its be executed at little cost and trouble, it would be of little width ; and if the mould be thus ploughed in dry weather, importance to urge its accomplishment in the most effecit can be shovelled even after receiving rain. In retentive tual way; but as it is an expensive operation, when consoils these furrows are absolutely necessary; and by the foregoing method, the extra covering for the ridge, by ducted even in the most economical manner, much thought which some harrowing is saved after the sowing of the is requisite before attempting to break up the ground to a extent. A knowledge of the structure ot the upper seed, is produced with nearly as little waste of ground as great portion of the earth’s crust is absolutely necessary to direct by the common water-furrow drawn by the plough. All our thoughts on this subject. That knowledge may flat clay deposites, or what are called Carses in Scotland, even now be aright acquired by any farmer. Let him are composed of this kind of soil, and many detached therefore, in partially the first place, contemplate the facts it unfields on the sides of winding rivers may be found of a similar character. They cover a very inconsiderable folds to his view, and endeavour through them to acquire portion of the face of the country, though in productive that wisdom which will direct him to expend his money in draining with prudence as well as skill. It will assist him powers they stand in the first rank of soils. Sandy soils resting on sand require no draining. They much in ascertaining what are the kinds of soil which require deep draining, and what kinds may be treated equalare found occupying extensive flats on the estuaries ot ly well under a different management. Inattention to this large rivers. All soils resting on a subsoil of gravel are distinction has given rise to the inordinate application of naturally dry. Drought alone injures them. It is remarkable that all soils which rest on gravel are a light a general principle, which, as a general principle, but subloam, of a light hazel-brown colour, whether they have ject to great and necessary limitations, must receive the a siliceous or alluminous basis. These constitute the true approbation of every man who knows and feels the importurnip soils, and are to be found on the banks and haughs tance of this improvement in husbandry. Much has already been effected in Great Britain, but of straight-running rivers, rapid streams, and fresh-water much yet remains to be done, by draining. A vast extent lakes. A thorough knowledge of the various modes ot drain- of the arable land of England and Scotland, and we may ing is not alone sufficient to constitute a good drainer ; he more especially include Ireland, generally esteemed dry, should know the principles as well as the practice of his is yet so far injured by the tardy and imperfect escape of art. The difficulty is not so great in constructing a the water, especially in winter, and during long periods drain, as in knowing where it should be made. A true of wet weather in summer, that the working of it is often knowledge of whether the wetness in land arises from difficult and precarious, and its fertility much below what springs or stagnant water under the surface of the soil, would uniformly exist under a thorough dryness. A syscan alone teach a man where to open up the ground. Every tem of drainage, therefore, generally applicable, and effectmanager of land unfortunately thinks he possesses that ing complete and uniform dryness, is of the utmost imknowledge, and the consequence has frequently happened portance to the agricultural interest, and through them to that small drains have been opened where only deep ones every other interest in the country. The advantages arising from draining land are both nushould have been, and much money expended in making deep drains where smaller ones would have answered the merous and various. Manures and stimulants can never purpose. But the former error is greater than the latter. impart their peculiar benefits to any soil which rests conIn neither case, however, has the money expended been tinually on a wet bottom ;—the operations of husbandry thrown away. A certain degree of success has attended can never be accomplished in due season ;—and the proevery attempt at draining; and this favourable result, duce is never abundant or of good quality in such circumperhaps, more than any other circumstance, has beguiled stances. Draining removes all these evils. It is truly an many into the belief that they are accomplished drainers ; operation, as Pliny terms it, of the highest utility,—Hufor no one, however incapable he might be of directing the midiorem agrum fossis concidi citcpie siccari, utilissimurn est; it is not only the meliorator, but the maker of soil. Let operation aright, would even make the attempt to drain no one despair of his soil, however forbidding; let him land until he had actually experienced an obvious injury arising from wet land. It must be confessed that many really drain it, and the results will encourage him. The general improvement of the soil by draining would improvements effected by draining have been purchased at a greater cost than was necessary to accomplish the lower the value of high-rented land ; but it would greatly end. Many attempts have been made at draining land by increase the aggregate rental of the kingdom. It would men who did not know how to accomplish it to the best diminish the general cost of produce, thereby affording advantage either to themselves or the land. The outlay cheaper provisions to the consumer. Both landlord and of their money has therefore been ill directed. Were the tenant would have greater returns from the land; and evil effects of ignorance confined to the squandering of a these returns being permanent, the landlord ought to bear little money, they might be counteracted by superior ma- the greatest share of the expense. Increased production nagement in the other operations of the farm. But, un- would create a demand for labour, and the labourers of fortunately, the sinking of valuable capital in injudicious all professions would be enabled to live more comfortably. draining, deprives the farmer of the means of pursuing From this only true mode of cheapening labour, the Briother improvements, and prevents his reaping all the ad- tish manufacturer would be aided in his competition with vantages derivable from draining itself. Thus crippled in foreign labour ;—the general revenue of the country would his resources, he cannot put and maintain his farm in the increase ;—the salubrity of the climate, and the genera! highest condition ; for such is the generous character of beauty of the country, would be greatly promoted, dhere our farmers, as promoters of improvement, that they can- is no subject, therefore, more worthy the attention of the not be accused of the desire of hoarding up riches through landed interest, than the encouragement of thorough the love of gain, so long as they can improve the condition drainage, and, as a necessary and beneficial consequence of (k. k. k.) of their farms in any way, even though they themselves draining, the deep working of the soil.

142 rake.

D R A D R A DRAKE, Sir Francis, a celebrated English admiral, having repassed the straits, had returned to England. He Di was the son of Edmund Drake, a sailor, and was born thence continued his voyage along the coast of Chili and' near Tavistock, in Devonshire, in the year 1545. He was Peru, taking all opportunities of seizing Spanish ships, and brought up at the expense and under the care of Sir attacking them on shore, till his men were satiated with John Hawkins, who was his kinsman, and, at the age of plunder; and then, coasting America to the height of eighteen, was the purser of a ship trading to Biscay. At forty-eight degrees, he endeavoured to find a passage that twenty he made a voyage to Guinea, and at twenty-two way back into the Atlantic, but could not, because none he was made captain of the Judith. In that capacity he exists. However, he landed, and called the country New was in the harbour of San Juan de Ulloa, in the Gulf of Albion, taking possession of it in the name and for the Mexico, where he behaved most gallantly in the actions use of Queen Elizabeth ; and having careened his ship, he under Sir John Hawkins, and returned with him to Eng- set sail from thence on the 29th September 1579, for the land, having acquired great reputation, though not worth Moluccas. He is supposed to have chosen this passage a groat. Upon this he projected an attack against the round, partly to avoid being attacked by the Spaniards Spaniards in the West Indies; a project which he no at a disadvantage, and partly because, from the lateness sooner published than he found volunteers enow ready to of the season, dangerous storms and hurricanes were apaccompany him. In 1570 he undertook an expedition prehended. On the 13th of October he fell in with cerwith two ships, and the next year with only one, in which tain islands inhabited by the most barbarous people he he returned safe, if not with such advantages as he had had met with in all his voyage. On the 4th of November expected. In 1572 he made another expedition, in which he got sight of the Moluccas; and, arriving at Ternate, he did the Spaniards some mischief, and gained consider- was extremely well received by the king of that place, able booty. In these expeditions he was much assisted who appears from the most authentic relations of this by a nation of Indians, who were then engaged in a sort voyage to have been a wise and politic prince. On the of chronic warfare with the Spaniards. The prince of 10th of December he made the Celebes, where his ship these people was named Pedro, to whom Drake present- unfortunately struck upon a rock on the 9th of January ed a fine cutlass from his side, which he saw the Indian following; but, beyond all expectation, they got her off, greatly admired. Pedro, in return, gave him four large and continued their course. On the 16th of March he wedges of gold ; which Drake threw into the common arrived at Java, whence he intended to have directed his stock, saying that he thought it but just that such as on course to Malacca; but he found himself obliged to alter his credit bore the charge of so uncertain a voyage, should his purpose, and to think of returning home. On the 25th share the utmost advantage which that voyage produced. of March 1580, he put this design in execution; and on Ihen having embarked his men with all the wealth he the 15th of June he doubled the Cape of Good Hope, had obtained, which was very considerable, he bore away having then on board only fifty-seven men and three for England, where he arrived in August 1573. casks of water. On the 12th of July he passed the line, Plis success in this expedition, joined to his honourable reached the coast of Guinea on the 16th, and there waterbehaviour towards his owners, gained him high reputa- ed. On the 11th of September he made the island of tion, and the use which he made of his riches a still Terceira, and on the 3d of November he entered the higher. Havipg fitted out three frigates at his own ex- harbour of Plymouth. This voyage round the world was pense, he sailed with them to Ireland; and there, under performed in two years and about ten months. ShortWalter earl of Essex, the father of the famous but unfor- ly after his arrival, the queen having gone to Deptford, tunate earl, he served as a volunteer, and performed many went on board his ship, and there, after dinner, conferred glorious actions. After the death of his patron, he re- upon him the honour of knighthood, at the same time turned to England, where Sir Christopher Hatton intro- declaring her entire approbation of all that he had done. duced him to her majesty Queen Elizabeth, and procur- She likewise gave directions for the preservation of his ed him countenance and protection at court. By this ship, that it might remain a monument of his own and his means he acquired the means of undertaking that grand country’s glory. In the year 1585, he sailed with a fleet expedition which has rendered his name immortal. The to the West Indies, and took the cities of St Jago, St Dofirst proposal he made was to undertake a voyage into the mingo, Carthagena, and St Augustine. In 1587 he went South Seas through the Straits of Magelhaens ; an achieve- to Lisbon with a fleet of thirty sail; and having received ment which no Englishman had hitherto ever attempted. intelligence of a great fleet being assembled in the bay of This project having been well received at court, the queen Cadiz, and destined to form part of the armada, he with furnished him with means; and his own fame quickly great courage entered the port, and there burnt upwards drew together a sufficient force. The fleet with which of 10,000 tons of shipping; a feat which he afterwards he sailed on this enterprise consisted only of five vessels, merrily called “ burning the king of Spain’s beard.” In small when compared with the size of modern ships, and 1588, when the Spanish armada was approaching our having on board no more than a hundred and sixty-four shores, Sir Irancis Drake was appointed vice-admiral unable men. Having sailed on the 13th of December 1577, der Charles Lord Howard of Effingham, high-admiral of he on the 25th fell in with the coast of Barbary, and on England ; and here fortune favoured him as remarkably as the 29th with Cape Verde. On the 18th of March he ever ; for he made prize of a very large galleon, commandpassed the equinoctial, made the coast of Brazil on the ed by Don Pedro de Valdez, who was reputed the pro5th of April, and entered the river Plata, where he part- jector of the invasion. This affair deserves to be particued company with two of his ships; but having met them larly stated. On the 22d of July, Sir Francis observing a again, and taken out their provisions, he turned them adrift. great Spanish ship floating at a distance from both fleets, On the 29th of May he entered the port of St Julian’s, sent his pinnace to summon the commander to yield. where he continued two months for the sake of laying in Valdez replied, with much Spanish solemnity, that they a stock of provisions. On the 20th of August he entered were four hundred and fifty strong, that he himself was the Straits of Magelhaens, and on the 25th of September Don Pedro, and stood much upoh his honour; and therepassed them, having then only his own ship. On the 25th upon propounded several conditions, upon which he was of November he arrived at Macao, which he had appoint- willing to yield. But the vice-admiral replied, that he had ed as the place of rendezvous in the event of his ships no leisure to parley; that if the Don thought fit instantly being separated; but Captain Winter, his vice-admiral, to yield, he might; if not, he should soon find that Drake

D R A 143 same reign. This town was under very particular obligaDrakenwas no coward. Pedro, hearing the name of Drake, immediately yielded, and with forty-six of his attendants tions to him; for, in the year 1587, he undertook to bring borch 11 came on board the admiral’s ship. This Don Pedro re- into it water, from want of which it had till then been L,rama mained about two years Sir Francis Drake’s prisoner in grievously distressed; and he performed this undertaking England ; and when he was released, paid for his own and by conducting thither a stream from springs at eight miles his captain’s liberty a ransom of L.3500. Drake’s soldiers distance, but by a course of upwards of twenty miles. DRAKENBORCH, Arnold, a celebrated scholar and were well recompensed with the plunder of this ship, for they found in it 55,000 ducats of gold, which were divid- editor, was a native of Utrecht, where he was born on the 1st of January 1684; and in that city he was aftered amongst them. A little before this formidable Spanish armament put wards professor of rhetoric and history, an office which to sea, the ambassador of his Catholic majesty had the he filled with great reputation. Graevius and Burmann confidence to propose to Queen Elizabeth, in Latin verse, taught him the belles lettres, and Cornelius Van Eck was the terms upon which she might hope for peace. The his preceptor whilst he devoted his attention to the law. lines embodying this singular diplomatic communication He succeeded Professor Burmann in the year 1716, and terminated his mortal career in 1748, in the sixty-fourth are as follow: year of his age. He was an author of distinguished emiTe veto ne pergas hello defendere Belgas ; nence, as his publications sufficiently evince. His disserQuae Dracus eripuit nunc restituantur oportet: tation entitled Disputatio philologico-historica de Prcefecto Q,uas pater evertit jubeo te condere cellas : Iteligio Papse fac restituatur ad unguem. urbis, in 4to, proves him to have been an able philologist, and gave flattering indications of future eminence. Its To these the queen made this extempore response: intrinsic merit caused it to be reprinted at Frankfort, in Ad Graecas, bone rex, fiant mandata kalendas. 1752, by Professor Uhl, accompanied with a life of its In the year 1559, Sir Francis Drake commanded the learned author. His next work, entitled Disputatio de fleet sent to restore Dom Antonio, king of Portugal, the officio prcefeclorum prcetorio, was published in the year land forces being under the orders of Sir John Norris; 1707; and ten years afterwards he gave to the world his but they had hardly put to sea when the commanders edition of Silius Italicus, in seventeen books, 4to. In differed, and thus the attempt proved abortive. But as order to render this edition as perfect as possible, nothing the war with Spain continued, a more formidable expedi- was omitted ; and many historical subjects were engraved tion was fitted out, under Sir John Hawkins and Sir Fran- for the purpose of elucidating the text, to which his own copicis Drake, against their settlements in the West Indies, ous and learned annotations greatly contributed. But his than had hitherto been undertaken during the whole course splendid edition of Livy, with a life of that eminent hisof it. Here, however, the commanders again disagreed torian, is that on which his fame as a scholar chiefly rests. about the plan ; and the result in like manner disappoint- It is entitled T. Livii Patavini historiarum ab urbe coned public expectation. Before these two last expeditions, dita libri, qui supersunt, omnes. Lugd. Batav. 1738 and all difficulties had given way to the skill and fortune of 1746, 7 tom. The preface to this work is very long, and Sir Francis Drake; and this probably was the reason why replete with erudition, giving a particular account of all he did not bear these disappointments so well as he might the literary characters who have at different periods comotherwise have done. A strong sense of them is suppos- mented on the works of Livy. He took the edition of ed to have thrown him into a melancholy, which occasion- Gronovius as his model, because in his estimation it was ed a bloody flux, of which he died on board his own ship, the most correct; but he made many important alterations near the town of Nombre de Dios, in the West Indies, on on the authority of manuscripts which it is probable Grothe 28th of January 1595-96. His death was lamented novius had either never seen, or not taken the pains to by the whole nation, and particularly by his countrymen, consult. Upon the whole, this edition of Livy is at once who had great reason to love him from the correctness of the most elaborate, interesting, and instructive, ever given his private life, as well as to esteem him on account of his to the world, since he has introduced into it the criticisms public character. He was elected burgess for the town of of Duchier, Gronovius, Perizonius, and Sigonius, in adBossiny, otherwise called Tintagal, in the county of Corn- dition to his own, which, though somewhat prolix, are wall, in the twenty-seventh parliament of Queen Elizabeth ; certainly fraught with much literature and deep discernand for Plymouth, in Devonshire, in the thirty-fifth of the ment. D

R

A

DRAMA. A drama (we adopt Dr Johnson’s definition, with some little extension) is a poem or fictitious composition in dialogue, in which the action is not related, but represented. A disposition to this fascinating amusement, considered in its rudest state, seems to be inherent in human nature. It is the earliest sport of children to take upon themselves some fictitious character, and sustain it to the best of their skill, by such appropriate gesture and language as their youthful fancies suggest, and such dress and decoration as circumstances place within their reach. The infancy of nations is as prone to this pastime as that of individuals. When the horde emerges out of a nearly brutal state, so far as to have holidays, public sports, and general rejoicings, the pageant of their imaginary deities, or of their fabulous ancestors, is usually introduced as the most

pleasing and interesting part of the show. But however general the predisposition to the assumption of fictitious character may be, there is an immeasurable distance.betwixt the rude games in which it first displays itself, and that polished amusement which is numbered among the fine arts, which poetry, music, and painting have vied to adorn, and to whose service genius has devoted her most sublime efforts; whilst philosophy has stooped from her loftier task, to regulate the progress of the action, and give probability to the representation and personification of the scene. The history of Greece—of that wonderful country, whose Outline, days of glory have left such a never-dying blaze of radiance behind them—the history of Greece affords us the means of correctly tracing the polished and regulated drama, the subject of severe rule, and the vehicle for ex-

144 DRAMA. j^raina^ pressing the noblest poetry, from amusements as rude in stage, but still giving a reality to the whole performance, Dj their outline as the mimic sports of children or of savages. which could not fail to afford pleasure to those who beheld -u The history of the Grecian stage is that of the dramatic for the first time an effort to surround the player, while art in general. They transferred the drama, with their invested with his theatrical character, with scenery which other literature, to the victorious Romans, with whom it might add to the illusions of the representations. But this rather existed as a foreign than flourished as a native art. was not all. A theatre, at first of wood, but afterwards of Like the other fine arts, the stage sunk under the decay stone, circumscribed, whilst it accommodated, the specta- I of the empire, and its fall was accelerated by the intro- tors, and reduced a casual and disorderly mob to the quaduction of the Christian religion. In the middle ages dra- lity and civilization of a regular and attentive audience. matic representation revived, in the shape of theliomely The most remarkable effect of the tragedy of ZEschylus Mysteries and Moralities of our forefathers. The revival was the introduction of the chorus in a new character, of letters threw light upon the scenic art, by making us which continued long to give a peculiar tone to the Greacquainted with the pitch of perfection to which it had cian drama, and to make a striking difference betwixt been carried by the genius of Greece. With this period that original theatre and those which have since arisen commences the history of the modern stage, properly so in modern nations. called. Some general observations on the drama, and its The chorus who sung hymns in favour of Bacchus, the present state in Britain, will form a natural conclusion to musical part, in short, of the entertainment, remained in the article. the days of Thespis, as it had been in the rude village gambols which he had improved, the principal part of the Rise ot the The account which we have of the origin of Grecian dramatic entertainment. The intervention of monologue, the ltrical or recitation, was merely a relief to the musicians and a drama1” orgies f of shepherds representations, describes as the fantastic and peasants, whothem solemnized the rites variety to the audience. iEschylus, whilst he assigned a of Bacchus by the sacrifice of a goat, by tumultuous dances, part of superior consequence to the actor in his improved and by a sort of masquerade, in which the actors were dialogue, new-modelled the chorus, which custom still disguised like the ancient Mornce-dancers of England, or enjoined as a necessary and indispensable branch of the the Guisards of Scotland, who have not as yet totally dis- performance. They were no longer a body of vocal muused similar revels. Instead of masks, their faces were sicians, whose strains were as independent of what was stained with the lees of wine, and the songs and jests cor- spoken by the personages of the drama, as those of our responded in coarseness to the character of the satyrs and modern orchestra when performing betwixt the acts. The fawns, which they were supposed to assume in honour of chorus assumed from this time a different and comtheir patron Bacchus. Music, however, always formed a plicated character, which forms a marked peculiarity in part of this rude festivity, and to this was sometimes added the Grecian drama, distinguishing it from the theatrical the recitations of an individual performer, who, possessed compositions of modern Europe. of more voice or talent than his companions, was able to The chorus, according to this new model, was composed entertain an audience for a few minutes by his own indi- of a certain set of persons, priests, captive virgins, mavidual exertions. trons, or others, usually of a solemn and sacred characOut of such rude materials, Thespis is supposed to have ter, the contemporaries of the heroes who appeared on been the first who framed something like an approach to the stage, who remained upon the scene to celebrate in a more regular entertainment. The actors under this, the hymns set to music the events which had befallen the first of theatrical managers, instead of running about wild active persons of the drama; to afford them alternately among the audience, were exalted upon a cart, or upon a their advice or their sympathy; and, at least, to moralize, scaffold formed of boards laid upon tressels. In these im- in lyrical poetry, on the feelings to which their history provements Thespis is supposed to have had the aid of and adventures, their passions and sufferings, gave rise. one Susarion, whose efforts were more particularly directed The chorus might be considered as, in some degree, the to the comic drama. But their fortunes have been un- representatives of the audience, or rather of the public, equal, for whilst the name of Thespis is still united with on whose great stage those events happen in reality every thing dramatic, that of Susarion has fallen into obli- which are presented in the mimicry of the drama. In the vion, and is only known to antiquaries. strains of the chorus, the actual audience had those feelThe drama in Greece, as afterwards in Britain, had ings suggested to them as if by reflection in a mirror, scarcely begun to develope itself from barbarism, ere, with which the events of the scene ought to produce in their the most rapid strides, it advanced towards perfection. own bosom ; they had at once before them the action of Thespis and Susarion flourished about four hundred and the piece, and the effect of that action upon a chosen band forty or fifty years before the Christian era. The battle of persons, who, like themselves, were passive spectators, of Marathon was fought in the year 490 before Christ; whose dignified strains pointed out the moral reflections and it was upon .ZEschylus, one of the Athenian generals to which the subject naturally gave rise. The chorus on that memorable occasion, that Greece conferred the were led or directed by a single person of their number, honoured title of the Father of Tragedy. We must ne- termed the coryphaeus, who frequently spoke or sung cessarily judge of his efforts by that which he did, not by alone. I hey were occasionally divided into two bands, that which he left undone; and if some of his regulations who addressed and replied to each other. But they almay sound strange in modern ears, it is but just to com- ways preserved the character proper to them, of spectapare the state in which he found the drama, with that tors, rather than agents in the drama. in which he left it. I he number of the chorus varied at different periods, .ZEschylus was the first, who, availing himself of the in- often extending to fifty persons, and sometimes restricted vention of a stage by Thespis, introduced upon the boards to half that number; but it is evident that the presence a plurality of actors at the same time, and converted into of so many persons on the scene, officiating as no part of action and dialogue, accompanied or relieved at intervals the dramatis personce, but rather as contemporary spectaby the musical performance of the chorus, the dull mono- tors, involved many inconveniences and inconsistencies, logue of the Thespian orator. It was iEschylus, also, who lhat which the hero, however agitated by passion, must introduced the deceptions of scenery, stationary indeed, naturally have suppressed within his own breast, or utand therefore very different from the decorations of our tered in soliloquy, was thus necessarily committed to the

DRAMA. 145 there was no interruption of the representation from beDrama. I !ma. confidence of fifty people, less or more. And when a deed The piece was not, indeed, constantly 0f violence was to be committed, the helpless chorus, ginning to end. instead of interfering to prevent the atrocity to which the progressive; but the illusion of the scene was always beperpetrator had made them privy, could only, by the rules fore the audience, either by means of the actors themof the theatre, exhaust their sorrow and surprise in dithy- selves or of the chorus. And the musical recitation and rambics. But still the union which iEschylus accomplished character of the dances traced by the chorus in their inbetwixt the didactic hymns of the chorus and the events terludes, were always in correspondence with the characwhich were passing upon the stage, was a most important ter of the piece, grave, majestic, and melancholy; in traimprovement upon the earlier drama. By this means the gedy, gay and lively; in comedy, and during the repretwo unconnected branches of the old Bacchanalian revels sentation of satirical pieces, wild, extravagant, and borwere combined together ; and we ought rather to be sur- dering on buffoonery. The number of these interludes, prised that iEschylus ventured, whilst accomplishing such or interruptions of the action, seems to have varied from an union, to render the hymns sung by the chorus subor- three to six, or even more, at the pleasure of the author. dinate to the action or dialogue, than that he did not take The music was simple and inartificial, although it seems the bolder measure of altogether discarding that which, to have produced powerful effects on the audience. Two before his time, was reckoned the principal object of a flute-players performed a prelude to the choral hymns, or directed the movement of the dances, which in tragedy religious entertainment. Gr ian The new theatre and stage of Athens were reared, as were a solemn, slow, modulated succession of movements, thJre, we have seen, under the inspection of iEschylus. He also very little resembling anything termed dancing among the aniinoite introduced dresses in character for his principal actors, to moderns. The stage itself was well contrived for the purposes of which were added embellishments of a kind which mark r the wide distinction betwixt the ancient and modern the Greek drama. The front w as called the logeum, and stage. The personal disguise which had formerly been occupied the full width of the flat termination of the thea. attained by staining the actor’s face, was now, by what tre, contracted, however, at each extremity by a wall, doubtless was considered as a high exertion of ingenuity, which served to conceal the machinery necessary for the accomplished by the use of a mask, so painted as to piece. The stage narrowed as it retired backwards; and represent the personage whom he performed. To aug- the space so restricted in breadth was called the proscement the apparent awkwardness of this contrivance, the nium. It was terminated by a flat decoration, on which mouths of these masks were frequently fashioned like was represented the front of a temple, palace, or whatever the extremity of a trumpet, which, if it aided the actor’s else the poet had chosen for his scene. Suitable decoravoice to reach the extremity of the huge circuit to which tions appeared on the wings, as in our theatres. There he addressed himself, must still have made a ridiculous were several entrances, both by the back scene and in appearance upon the stage, had not the habits and expec- front. These were not used indiscriminately, but so as tations of the spectators been in a different tone from to indicate the story of the piece, and render it more those of a modern audience. The use of the cothurnus clear to apprehension. Thus, the persons of the drama or buskin, which was contrived so as to give to the per- who were supposed to belong to the palace or temple in former additional and unnatural stature, would have fallen the flat scene, entered from the side or the main door, as under the same censure. But the ancient and modern befitted their supposed rank; those who were inhabitants theatres may be said to resemble each other only in name, of the place represented, entered through a door placed as will appear from the following account of the Grecian at the side of the logeum; while those supposed to come from a distance were seen to traverse the orchestra, and stage, abridged from the best antiquaries. The theatres of the Greeks were immensely large in to ascend the stage by a stair of communication, so that comparison to ours; and the audience sat upon rows of the audience were made spectators, as it were, of their benches, rising above each other in due gradation. In journey. The proscenium was screened by a curtain, form they resembled a horse-shoe. The stage occupied a which was withdrawn when the piece commenced. The platform, which closed in the flat end of the building, and decorations could be in some degree altered, so as to was raised so high as to be on a level with the lowest row change the scene; though this, we apprehend, was selof benches. The central part of the theatre, or what we dom practised. But machinery for the ascent of phancall the pit, instead of being filled with spectators, accord- toms, the descent of deities, and similar exhibitions, were ing to modern custom, was left for the occasional occupa- as much in fashion among the Greeks as on our own motion of the chorus, during those parts of their duty which dern stage; with better reason, indeed, for we shall predid not require them to be nearer to the stage. This sently see that the themes which they held most proper space was called the orchestra, and corresponded in to the stage called frequently for the assistance of these some measure with the open space which, in the modern mechanical contrivances. equestrian amphitheatres, is interposed betwixt the auIn the dress and costume of their personages the Greeks dience and the stage, for the display of feats of horse- bestowed much trouble and expense. It was their object manship. The delusion of the scene being thus removed to disguise as much as possible the mortal actor who was to a considerable distance from the eye of the spectator, to represent a divinity or an hero; and while they hid his was heightened; and many of the objections oft’ered to face and augmented his height, they failed not to assign the use of the mask and the buskin were lessened or him a mask and dress in exact conformity to the poputotally removed. When the chorus did not occupy the lar idea of the character represented; so that, seen across orchestra, they ranged themselves beside the thymele, the orchestra, he might appear the exact resemblance of a sort of altar, surrounded with steps, placed in front of Hercules or of Agamemnon. their stage orchestra. From this, as a post of observation, The Grecians, but in particular the Athenians, became they watched the progress of the drama, and to this point most passionately attached to the fascinating and splenthe actors turned themselves when addressing them. The did amusement which iEschylus thus regulated, which Sosolemn hymns and mystic dances of the chorus, perform- phocles and Euripides improved, and which all three, with ed during their retreat into the orchestra, formed a sort of other dramatists of inferior talents, animated by the full interludes, or interruptions of the action, similar in effect vigour of their genius. The delightful climate of Greece to the riiodern division into acts. But, properly speaking, permitted the spectators to remain in the open air (for VOL. VIII. T

146 DRAMA. Drama, there was no roof to their huge theatres) for whole days, tragedy especially, Sophocles and Euripides, as well as during which several plays, high monuments of poetical iEschylus, selected their subjects from the exploits of the talent, were successively performed before them. The en- deities themselves, or of the demigods and heroes whom thusiasm of their attention may be judged of by what hap- Greece accounted to draw an immediate descent from the pened during the representation of a piece written by He- denizens of Olympus, and to whom she paid nearly equal gemon. It was while the Athenians were thus engaged reverence. The object of the tragic poets was less to that there suddenly arrived the astounding intelligence of amuse and interest their audience by the history of the the total defeat of their army before Syracuse. The thea- human heart, or soften them by the details of domestic tre was filled with the relations of those who had fallen; distress, than to elevate them into a sense of devotion or there was scarcely a spectator, who, besides sorrowing as a submission, or to astound and terrify them by the history patriot, was not called to mourn a friend or relative. But, and actions of a race of beings before whom ordinary morspreading their mantles before their faces, they command- tality dwindled into pigmy size. This they dared to ated the representation to proceed; and thus veiled, con- tempt ; and, what may appear still more astonishing to the tinued to give it their attention to the conclusion. Na- mere English reader, this they appear in a great measure tional pride, doubtless, had its share in this singular con- to have performed. Effects were produced upon their auduct, as well as fondness for the dramatic art. Another dience which we can only attribute to the awful impression instance is giyen of the nature and acuteness of their feel- communicated by the idea of the immediate presence of ings, when the assembly of the people amerced Phrynicus the divinity. The emotions excited by the apparition of in a fine of a thousand drachma;, because, in a comedy the Eumenides or furies, in Aeschylus’s tragedy of that founded upon the siege of Miletos, he had agitated their name, so appalled the audience that females are said to feelings to excess, in painting an incident which Athens have lost the fruit of their womb, and children to have lamented as a misfortune dishonourable to her arms and actually expired in convulsions of terror. These effects her councils. may have been exaggerated ; but that considerable inconThe price of admission was at first one drachma; but veniences occurred from the extreme horror with which Pericles, desirous of propitiating the ordinary class of citi- this tragedy impressed the spectators, is evident from a zens, caused the entrance-money to be lowered to two o&o/«, decree of the magistrates, limiting the number of the so that the meanest Athenian had the ready means of in- chorus, in order to prevent in future such tragical condulging in this luxurious mental banquet. As it became sequences. It is plain that the feeling by which such imdifficult to support the expense of the stage, for which pressions arose must have been something very different such cheap terms of admission could form no adequate from what the spectacle of the scene alone could possibly fund, the same statesman, by an indulgence yet more pe- have produced. The mere sight of actors disguised in rilous, caused the deficiency to be supplied from the trea- masks, suited to express the terrific yet sublime features sure destined to sustain the expense of the war. It is a of an antique Medusa, with her hair entwined with sersufficient proof of the devotion of the Athenians to the pents,—the wild and dishevelled appearance, the sable and stage, that not even the eloquence of Demosthenes could bloody garments, the blazing torches, the whole apparatus, tempt them to forego this pernicious system. He touch- in short, or properties as they are technically called, with ed upon the evil in two of his ofhtions; but the Athenians which the classic fancy of iEschylus could invest those terwere resolved not to forego the benefits of an abuse which rific personages,—nay more, even the appropriate terrors they were aware could not be justified, and they passed a of language and violence of gesture with which they were law making it death to touch upon that article of reforma- bodied forth, must still have fallen far short of the point tion. which the poet certainly attained, had it not been for the It must not be forgotten, that the Grecian audience en- intimate and solemn conviction of his audience that they joyed the exercise of critical authority, as well as of clas- were in the performance of an act of devotion, and to a sical amusement, at their theatre. They applauded and certain degree in the presence of the deities themselves. censured, as at the present day, by clapping hands and It was this conviction, and the solemn and susceptible hissing. Their suffrage at those tragedies acted upon the temper to which it exalted the minds of a large assembly, solemn feasts of Bacchus, adjudged a laurel crown to the which prepared them to receive the electric shock promost successful dramatic author. This faculty was fre- duced by the visible representation of those terrible bequently abused; but the public, on sober reflection, sel- ings, to whom, whether as personifying the stings and dom failed to be ashamed of such acts of injustice, and terrors of an awakened conscience, or as mysterious and faithful, upon the whole, to the rules of criticism, evinced infernal divinities, the survivors of an elder race of deities, a fineness and correctness of judgment, which never des- whose presence was supposed to strike awe even into Jove cended to the populace of any other nation. himself, the ancients ascribed the task of pursuing and Peculiar To this general account of the Grecian stage, it is pro- punishing atrocious guilt. character per to add some remarks on those peculiar circumstances It was in consistency with this connection betwixt the of the Gre-from which it derives a tone and character so different drama and religion of Greece, that the principal Grecian ciandrama.fronj that of the modern drama; circumstances affecting tragedians thought themselves entitled to produce upon the at once its style of action, mode of decoration, and gene- stage the most sacred events of their mythological history. ral effect on the feelings of the spectators. It might have been thought that in doing so they injured The Grecian drama, it must be remembered, derived the efiect of their fable and action, since suspense and its origin from a religious ceremony; and, amid all its uncertainty, so essential to the interest of a play, could refinement, never lost its devotional character, unless it not be supposed to exist where the immortal gods, beings shall be judged to have done so in the department of sa- controlling all others, and themselves uncontrolled, were tirical comedy. selected as the agents in the piece. But it must be reWhen the audience was assembled, they underwent a membered, that the synod of Olympus, from Jove downreligious lustration, and the archons or chief magistrates wards, were themselves but limitary deities, possessing paid their public adoration to Bacchus, still regarded as indeed a certain influence upon human affairs, but unable the patron of the theatrical art, and whose altar was al- to stem or divert the tide of fate or destiny, upon whose ways placed in the theatre. dark bosom, according to the Grecian creed, gods as well The subject of the drama was frequently religious. In as men were embarked, and both sweeping downwards to

,

DRAMA. 147 some distant yet inevitable termination of the present sys- representation sustained by an actor whose personal ap- Drama, tem 0f the universe, which should annihilate at once the pearance and peculiar expression of features should be race of divinity and of mortality. This awful catastrophe concealed from us, however splendid his declamation, or is hinted at not very obscurely by Prometheus, who, when however appropriate his gesture and action. But this chained to his rock, exults, in his prophetic view, in the mode of considering the drama, and the delight which we destruction of his oppressor Jupiter; and so far did fEs- derive from it, would have appeared to the Greeks a foolchylus, in particular, carry the introduction of religious ish and profane refinement, not very different in point of topics into his drama, that he escaped with some difficulty taste from the expedient of Snug the joiner, who intimatfrom an accusation of having betrayed the Eleusinian ed his identity by letting his natural visage be seen under the mask of the lion which he represented. It was mysteries. ‘Where the subject of the drama was not actually taken with the direct purpose of concealing the features of the from mythological history, and when the gods themselves individual actor, as tending to destroy the effect of his did not enter upon the scene, the Grecian stage was, as theatrical disguise, that the mask and buskin were first we have already hinted, usually trod by beings scarcely invented, and afterwards retained in use. The figure was less awful to the imagination of the audience ; the heroes otherwise so dressed as to represent the deity or demigod, namely of their old traditional history, to whom they at- according to the statue best known, and adored with most tributed an immediate descent from their deities, a frame devotion, by the Grecian public. The mask was, by artists of body and mind surpassing humanity, and after death who were eminent in the plastic art, so formed as to perfect the resemblance. Theseus or Hercules stood before an exaltation into the rank of demigods. It must be added, that, even when the, action was laid the audience in the very form with which painters and among a less dignified set of personages, still the altar was statuaries had taught them to invest the hero, and there present on the stage; incense frequently smoked; and was certainly thus gained a more complete scenic decepfrequent prayers and obtestations of the deity reminded tion than could have been obtained in our present mode. the audience that the sports of the ancient theatre had It was aided by the distance interposed betwixt the auditheir origin in religious observances. It is scarcely neces- ence and the stage; but, above all, by the influence of sary to state how widely the classical drama, in this re- enthusiasm acting upon the congregated thousands, whose spect, differs in principle from that of the modern, which imaginations, equally lively and susceptible, were prompt pretends to be nothing more than an elegant branch of to receive the impressions which the noble verse of their the fine arts, whose end is attained when it supplies an authors conveyed to their ears, and the living personificaevening’s amusement, whose lessons are only of a moral tion of their gods and demigods placed before their eyes. It is scarcely necessary to add, that, while these obserdescription, and which is so far from possessing a religious character, that it has with difficulty escaped condemna- vations plead their apology for the mask and the buskin tion as a profane, dissolute, and antichristian pastime. of the ancients, they leave, where it stood before, every From this difference of principle there flows a difference objection to those awkward and unseemly disguises, conof practical results, serving to account for many circum- sidered in themselves, and without reference to the peculiar purpose and tendency of the ancient theatre. In fact, stances which might otherwise seem embarrassing. The ancients, we have seen, endeavoured by every the exquisite pleasure derived from watching the elomeans in their power, including the use of masks and of quence of feature and eye, which we admire in an accombuskins, to disguise the person of the actor; and, at the plished actor, was not, as some have supposed, sacrificed expense of sacrificing the expression of his countenance, by the ancients for the assumption of these disguises. and the grace, or at least the ease, of his form, they re- They never did, and, according to the plan of their theamoved from the observation of the audience every associ- tres, never could, possess that source of enjoyment. The ation which could betray the person of an individual play- circuit of the theatre was immense, and the eyes of the er, under the garb of the deity or hero he was designed thousands whom it contained were so far removed from to represent. To have done otherwise would have been the stage, that, far from being able to enjoy the minute held indecorous, if not profane. It follows, that as the play of the actor’s features, the mask and buskin were object of the Athenian and of the modern auditor in at- necessary to give distinction to his figure, and to convey tending the theatre was perfectly different, the pleasure all which the ancients expected to see, his general resemwhich each derived from the representation had a distinct blance, namely, to the character he represented. The style of acting, so far as it has been described to source. Thus, for example, the Englishman’s desire to see a particular character is intimately connected with us, corresponded to the other circumstances of the reprethe idea of the actor by whom it is performed. He does sentation. It affected gravity and sublimity of movement not wish to see Hamlet in the abstract, so much as to see and of declamation. Rapidity of motion and vivacity of how Kemble performs that character,1 and to compare him action seem to have been reserved for occasions of partiperhaps with his own recollections of Garrick in the same cular emotion; and that delicacy of bye-play, as well as part. He comes prepared to study each variation of the all the aid which look and slight jesture bring so happily actor’s countenance, each change in his accentuation and to the aid of an impassioned dialogue, were foreign to deportment; to note with critical accuracy the points their system. The actors, therefore, had an easier task which discriminate his mode of acting from that of others ; than on the modern stage, since it is much more easy to and to compare the whole with his own abstract of the preserve a tone of high and dignified-declamation, than to character. The pleasure arising from this species of cri- follow out the whirlwind and tempest of passion, in which tical investigation and contrast is so intimately allied with it is demanded of the performer to be energetic without our ideas of theatrical amusement, that we can scarce ad- bombast, and natural without vulgarity. mit the possibility of deriving much satisfaction from a The Grecian actors held a high rank in the republic, 1 It is proper to state here, once for all, that, contrary to our usual practice, this article is reprinted as it originally appeared in the Supplement to the fourth, fifth, and sixth editions of this work, without any of those adaptations which the course of time and change of circumstances render necessary in ordinary cases. We have deemed this homage due to the genius and fame of the illustrious author (Sir Walter Scott), whose splendid view of the origin and progress of the dramatic art we have accordingly presented to the reader exactly as it proceeded from his own hand, leaving every contemporaneous allusion and illustration untouched.

r

.148 DRAMA. Drama, and those esteemed in the profession were richly recom- ant fortunes, aware that the contrast offered new sources Dra , pensed. Their art was the more dignified, because the of the pathetic to the author. Sophocles was the most ^y poets themselves usually represented the principal cha- fortunate of the Greek tragedians. He attained the age racter in their own pieces ; a circumstance which corro- of ninety-one years ; and, in his eightieth, to vindicate borates what we have already stated concerning the com- himself from a charge of mental imbecility, he read to the parative inferiority of talents required in a Grecian actor, judges his CEdipus Coloneus, the most beautiful, at least who was only expected to move with grace and declaim the most perfect, of his tragedies. He survived Euripides, with truth and justice. His disguise hid all personal im- his most formidable rival, of whom also we must say a perfections ; and thus a Grecian poet might aspire to be- few words. come an actor without that extraordinary and unlikely It is observed by Schlegel, that the tone of the trageunion of moral and physical powers which would be ne- dies of Euripides approaches more nearly to modern taste cessary to qualify a modern dramatist to mount the stage than to the stern simplicity of his predecessors. The pasin person, and excel at once as a poet and as an actor. sion of love predominates in his pieces, and he is the first Principal It is no part of our present object to enter into any mi- tragedian who paid tribute to the passion which has been tragic nute examination of the comparative merits of the three too exclusively made the moving cause of interest on the Athens ^ 8reat tragedians of Athens, iEschylus, Sophocles, and Eu- modern stage,—the first who sacrificed to ripides. Never, perhaps, did there arise, within so short Cupid, king of gods and men. a space, such a succession of brilliant talents. Sophocles might, indeed, be said to be the contemporary of both his The dramatic use of this passion has been purified in rivals, for his youthful emulation was excited by the suc- modern times, by the introduction of that tone of senticess of iEschylus, and the eminence of his latter years ment which, since the age of chivalry, has been a princiwas disturbed by the rivalry of Euripides, whom, however, pal ingredient in heroic affection. This was unknown to he survived. To iEschylus, who led the van in the dra- the ancients, in whose society females, generally speaking, matic enterprise, as he did in the field of Marathon, the held a low and degraded place, from which few individuals sanction of antiquity has ascribed unrivalled powers over emerged, unless those who aspired to the talents and virthe realms of astonishment and terror. At his summons, tues proper to the masculine sex. Women were not forthe mysterious and tremendous volume of destiny, in bidden to become competitors for the laurel or oaken which are inscribed the doom of gods and men, seemed crown offered to genius and to patriotism; but antiquity to display its leaves of iron before the appalled spectators; held out no myrtle wreath as a prize for the domestic virthe more than mortal voices of Deities, Titans, and de- tues peculiar to the female character. Love, therefore, parted Heroes, were heard in awful conference; heaven in Euripides, does not always breathe purity of sentiment, bowed, and its divinities descended; earth yawned, and but is stained with the mixture of violent and degrading gave up the pale spectres of the dead, and the yet more passions. This, however, was the fault of the age rather undefined and grisly forms of those infernal deities who than of the poet, although he is generally represented as struck horror into the gods themselves. All this could an enemy of the female sex; and his death was ascribed only be dared and done by a poet of the highest order, to a judgment of Venus. confident, during that early age of enthusiasm, that he When blood-hounds met him by the way, addressed an audience prompt to kindle at the heroic And monsters made the bard their prey. scene which he placed before them. It followed almost naturally, from his character, that the dramas of iEschyThis great dramatist was less happy than Sophocles in lus, though full of terrible interest, should be deficient in the construction of his plots; and, instead of the happy grace and softness; that his sublime conciseness should expedients by which his predecessor introduces us to the deviate sometimes into harshness and obscurity; that, business of the drama, he had too often recourse to the finding it impossible to sustain himself at the height to mediation of a prologue, which came forth to explain in dewhich he had ascended, he should sometimes drop, “ flut- tail the previous history necessary to understand the piece. tering his pinions vain,” into great inequalities of compoEuripides is also accused of having degraded the chasition ; and, finally, that his plots should appear rude and racter of his personages, by admitting more alloy of human inartificial, contrasted with those of his successors in the weakness, folly, and vice, than was consistent with the dramatic art. Still, however, iEschylus led not only the high qualities of the heroic age. Hischylus, it was said, way in the noble career of the Grecian drama, but out- transported his audience into a new and more sublime stripped, in point of sublimity at least, those by whom he race of beings ; Sophocles painted mankind as they ought was followed. to be, and Euripides as they actually are. Yet the variSophocles, who obtained from his countrymen the title ety of character introduced by the latter tragedian, and of the JBee of Attica, rivalled iEschylus when in the pos- the interest of his tragedies, must always attract the mosession of the stage, and obtained the first prize. His dern reader, coloured as they are by a tone of sentiment, success occasioned the veteran’s retreat to Sicily, where and by his knowledge of the actual business, rules, and he died, commanding that his epitaph should make men- babits of actual life, to which his predecessors, living, as tion of his share in the victory of Marathon, but should they did, in an imaginary and heroical world of their own, contain no allusion to his dramatic excellencies. His more appear to have been strangers. And although the judg^ fortunate rival judiciously avoided the dizzy and terrific ment of the ancients assigned the pre-eminence in tragepath which iEschylus had trode with so firm and daring a dy to iEschylus or Sophocles, yet Euripides has been found step. It was the object of Sophocles to move sorrow and more popular with posterity than either of his two great compassion, rather than to excite indignation and terror. predecessors. He studied the progress of action with more attention than iEschylus, and excelled in that modulation of the story I he division betwixt tragedy and comedy, for bothGre i by which interest is excited at the beginning of a drama, sprung from the same common origin, the feasts, namely,com ‘ maintained in its progress, and gratified at its conclusion. in honour of Bacchus, and the disguises adopted by his His subjects are also of a nature more melancholy and worshippers, seems to have taken place gradually, until the less sublime than those of his predecessor. He loved to jests and trolics, which made a principal part of these revels, paint heroes rather in their forlorn than in their triumph- were found misplaced when introduced with graver mat-

drama. 149 cion of the magistracy. But its province was far more ex- Drama, fcnina. ter, and were made by Susarion, perhaps, the subject of a tensive, the poets claiming the privilege of laying their r,%^/ separate province of the drama. The Grecian comedy was divided into the ancient, the middle, and the modern style opinions on public affairs before the people in this shape. Cratinus, Eupolis, and particularly Aristophanes, a daring, of composition. The ancient and original comedy was of a kind which powerful, and apparently unprincipled writer, converted lt y. may, at first sight, appear to derogate from the religious comedy into an engine for assailing the credit and characpurposes which we have pointed out as the foundation of ter of private individuals, as well as the persons and polithe drama. They frequently turn upon parodies, in which tical measures of those who administered the state. The the persons and adventures of those gods and heroes who doctrines of philosophy, the power of the magistrate, the were the sublime subjects of the tragic drama, are intro- genius of the poet, the rites proper to the deity, were alduced for the purpose of buffoon-sport and ridicule, as in ternately made the subject of the most uncompromising Carey’s modern farces of Midas and the Golden Pippin. and severe satire. It was soon discovered that the more Hercules appears in one of those pieces astonishing his directly personal the assault could be made, and the more host by an extravagant appetite, which the cook in vain revered or exalted the personage, the greater was the maattempts to satiate, by placing before him, in succession, lignant satisfaction of the audience, who loved to see wisall the various dishes which the ancient kitchen afforded. dom, authority, and religious reverence brought down to In another comedy, Bacchus, in whose honour the so- their own level, and made subjects of ridicule by the lemnity was instituted, is brought in only in order to ridi- powers of the merciless satirist. The use of the mask enabled Aristophanes to render his satire yet more pointcule his extreme cowardice. At other times, allowing a grotesque fancy its wildest edly personal; for, by forming it so as to imitate, probably range, the early comic authors introduced upon the stage with some absurd exaggeration, the features of the object animals, and even inanimate things, as part of their dra- of his ridicule, and by imitating the dress and manner of matis personae, and embodied forth on the stage the fan- the original, the player stepped upon the stage a walking tastic imaginations of Lucian in his True History. The and speaking caricature of the hero of the night, and was golden age was represented in the same ridiculous and usually placed in some ludicrous position, amidst the fanbizarre mode of description as the Pays de la Cocagne of ciful and whimsical chimeras w'ith which the scene was the French minstrels, or the popular ideas of Lubber-land in peopled. In this manner Aristophanes ridiculed with equal freeEngland; and the poets furnished kingdoms of birds, and dom Socrates,r the wisest of the Athenians, and Cleon, the worlds, in the moon. Had the only charm of these entertainments consisted demagogue, w hen at the height of his power. As no one in the fantastic display with which the eyes of the spec- durst perform the latter part, for fear of giving offence to tators were regaled at the expense of the over-excited one so powerful, the author acted Cleon himself, with his imagination of the poet, they would soon have fallen into face smeared with the lees of wine. Like the satire of disuse; for the Athenians were too acute and judicious Rabelais, the political and personal invective of Aristocritics to have been long gratified with mere extravagance. phanes was mingled with a plentiful allowance of scurril But these grotesque scenes were made the medium for and indecent jests, which were calculated to insure a fathrowing the most bold and daring ridicule upon the mea- vourable reception from the bulk of the people. He resures of the state, upon the opinions of individuals, and sembles Rabelais also in the wild and fanciful fictions which he assumes as the vehicle of his satire; and his upon the religion of the country. This propensity to turn into ridicule that which is most comedy of the Birds may even have given hints to Swift, serious and sacred, had probably its origin in the rude when, in order to contrast the order of existing institutions gambols of the sylvan deities who accompanied Bacchus, with those of an Utopian and fantastic fairy land, he carand to whose petulant and lively demeanour rude jest was ries Gulliver among giants and pigmies. Yet though his a natural accompaniment. The audience, at least the indecency, and the offensive and indiscriminate scurrility more ignorant part of them, saw these parodies with of his satire, deserve censure;—though he merits the blame pleasure, which equalled the awe they felt at the per- of the wise for his attack upon Socrates, and of the learnformance of the tragedies, whose most solemn subjects ed for his repeated and envenomed assaults on Euripides,—^ were thus burlesqued; nor do they appear to have been Aristophanes has nevertheless added one deathless name checked by any sense that their mirth was profane. In to the deathless period in which he flourished; and, from fact, when the religion of a nation comes to consist chiefly the richness of his fancy, and gaiety of his tone, has de* in the practice of a few unmeaning ceremonies, it is often served the title of the Father of Comedy. When the style found that the populace, with whatever inconsistence, as- of his sarcasm possessed the rareness of novelty, it was sume the liberty of profaning them by grotesque parodies, considered of so much importance to the state, that a widiout losing their reverence for the superstitions which crown of olive was voted to the poet, as one who had they thus vilify. Customs of a like tendency w^ere com- taught Athens the defects of her public men. But unless mon in the middle ages. The festival of the Ass in angels were to write satires, ridicule cannot be considered France, of the Boy-Bishop in England, of the Abbot of as the test of truth. The temptation to be w itty is just Unreason in Scotland, and many other popular practices so much the more resistless, that the author knows he will of the same kind, exhibited, in countries yet Catholic, get no thanks for suppressing the jest which rises to his daring parodies of the most sacred services and ceremo- pen. As the public becomes used to this new and piquant nies of the Roman church. And as these were practised fare, fresh characters must be sacrificed for its gratificaopenly, and under authority, without being supposed to tion. Recrimination adds commonly to the contest, and shake the people’s attachment to the rites which they thus those who were at first ridiculed out of mere wantonness ridiculed, we cannot wonder that similar profanities were of wit, are soon persecuted for resenting the ill usages well received among the Pagans, whose religion sat very until literature resembles an actual personal conflict, where loosely upon them, and w ho professed no fixed or neces- the victory is borne away by the strongest and most savage, who deals the most desperate wounds with the least sary articles of faith. It is probable that, had the old Grecian comedy conti- sympathy for the feeling of his adversary. The ancient comedy was of a character too licentious nued to direct its shafts of ridicule only against the inhabitants of Olympus, it would not have attracted the coer- to be long tolerated. Two or three decrees having been

150 DRAMA. Drama, in vain passed, in order to protect the citizens against pens that the same incident is at once affecting and ludilibels of this poignant description, the ancient comedy was crous, or admits of being presented alternately in either A; finally proscribed by that oligarchy which assumed the point of view. In a drama, also, which treats of the faults government of Athens upon the dov/nfall of the popular and lighter vices, as well as of the follies of mankind, it is government towards the end of the Peloponnesian war. natural that the author should sometimes assume the high By order of these rulers, Anaxander, an actor, was pu- tone of the moralist. In these cases, to use the language nished capitally for parodying a line of Euripides, so as of Horace, comedy exalts her voice, and the offended fato infer a slight of the government. He was starved to ther, the pantaloon of the piece, swells into sublimity of death, to which, as an appropriate punishment, the public language. A pleasant species of composition was thus has since his time often indirectly condemned both actors attained, in which wit and humour were relieved by and dramatists. Aristophanes, who was still alive, bowed touches both of sentiment and moral instruction. The to the storm, and relinquished the critical and satirical new comedy, taken in this enlarged point of view, formed scourge which he had hitherto exercised in the combined the introduction to the modern drama; but it was neither capacity of satirist, reformer, and reviewer; and the use so comprehensive in its plan, nor so various in character , of the chorus was prohibited to comic actors, as it seems and interest. The form which the Greeks, and in imitation of them Gem to have been in their stanzas chiefly that the offensive satire was invested. To this edict Horace alludes in the the Romans, adopted, for embodying their comic effusions,0chan1 well known lines: was neither extended nor artificial. To avoid the chargeconi£ ^* p of assaulting, or perhaps the temptation to attack private Successit vetus his comoedia, non sine multa persons, the actors in their drama were rather painted as Laude: sed in vitium libertas excidit, et vim personifications of particular classes of society, than living Dignam lege regi. lex est accepta, chorusque individual characters. • The list of these personages was Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi.1 sufficiently meagre. The principal character, upon whose Middle In the middle comedy, Thalia and her votaries seemed devices and ingenuity the whole plot usually turns, is the comedy, to have retraced their steps, and, avoiding personal satire, Geta of the piece, a witty, roguish, insinuating, and maresorted once more to general subjects of burlesque rail- lignant slave, the confident of a wild and extravagant son, lery. We learn from history, real or fabulous, or from the whom he aids in his pious endeavours to cheat a suspicious, works of the elder poets, that these plays had the fanciful severe, and griping father. When to these three are addwildness without the personal satire of the ancient comedy; ed a wily courtezan, a procuress, a stolen virgin, who is for the authors were obliged to take care that there was generally a mute or nearly such, we have all the stockno “ offence” in their pleasantry. At most, they only ven- characters which are proper to the classic comedy. Upon tured to touch on matters of instant interest in the way of this limited scale of notes the ancients rung their changes, inuendo, under feigned titles and oblique hints, and had relieving them occasionally, however, by the introduction no longer the audacity to join men’s vices or follies to of a boastful soldier, a boorish clown, or a mild and goodtheir names. Aristophanes re-cast several of his pieces in natured old man, to contrast with the irascible Chremes this manner. But the same food, without the poignant of the piece, the more ordinary representative of old age. The plot is in general as simple as the cast of the chaseasoning to ftfliich the audience had been accustomed, palled on their taste, and this cast of pieces soon gave racters. A father loses his child, who falls into the hands place to that which the ancients called the New Comedy, of a procuress or slave merchant. The efforts of the youth, who falls in love with this captive, to ransom her so successfully cultivated by Menander and others. New coNotwithstanding what modern critics have said to the from her captivity, are seconded by the slave, who aids medy. contrary, and particularly the ingenious Schlegel, the new him in the various devices necessary to extort from his tone which comedy thus assumed seems more congenial father the funds necessary for the purchase, and their to true taste as well as to public decorum, and even to the tricks form the principal part of the intrigue. When it is peace and security of the community, than that of Aris- necessary that the play shall close, the discovery of the tophanes, whose satiric wit, like a furious bull, charged girl’s birth takes place, and the young couple are married. upon his countrymen without respect or distinction, and The plots are indeed sometimes extended or enlarged by additional circumstances, but very seldom by any novelty tossed and gored whatever he met with in his way. The new comedy had for its object the ludicrous inci- of character or variety of general form. It is a necessary consequence, that the ancient comic dents of private life (celebrare domestica facta, says Horace); to detail those foibles, follies, and whimsical acci- authors were confined within a very narrow compass. The dents, which are circumstances material and serious to the vast and inexhaustible variety of knavery, folly, affectaagents themselves, but, as very usually happens on the tion, humour, &c. as mingled with each other, or as mostage of the world, matters only of ludicrous interest to dified by difference of age, sex, temper, education, prothe on-lookers. The new comedy admitted also many inci- fession, and habit of body, are all within the royalty of dents of a character not purely ludicrous, and some which, the modern comic dramatist, and he may summon them calling forth pathetic emotion, approached more nearly to up, under what limitations and in what circumstances he the character of tragedy than had been admitted in the pleases, to play their parts in his piece. The ancients ancient comedies of Aristophanes, and in this rather re- were much more limited in their circle of materials, and, sembled what the French have called Tragedie Bourgeoise. perhaps, we must look for the ruling cause once more in It is scarce necessary to remark, that the line cannot be the great size of their theatres, and to the use of the always distinctly drawn betwixt the subjects which excite mask, which, though it easily presented the general or mirth and those which call forth sympathy. It often hap- generic character of the personage introduced, was inca1

The ancient comedy next play’d its part, Well-famed, at first, for spirit and for art: But Liberty o’erleaping decent awe, Satiric rage required restraint from law ; The edict spoke, dishonour’d silence bound The chorus, and forbade their ancient right to wound.

DRAMA. 151 pable of the endless variety which can be given to ridicule account of the rust of antiquity, and the total change of Drama. of a more minute, refined, and personal kind, by the flex- religion and manners. It is no wonder, therefore, that the wit of Plautus and Terence should come forth diminished ible organs of a modern actor. But besides this powerful reason for refraining from in weight and substance, after having been subjected to any attempt to draw characters distinguished by peculiar the alembic of modern criticism. That which survives the habits, there is much reason to think that the mode of investigation, however, is of a solid and valuable character. life pursued by the ancient Athenians was unfavourable If these dramas do not entertain us with a display of the to the formation of whimsical, original, or eccentric cha- specific varieties of character, they often convey maxims racters. Citizens of the same state, they lived much to- evincing a deep knowledge of human passion and feeling; gether, and the differences of ranks did not make the and are so admirably adapted to express, in few and pithy same distinction in taste and manners as in modern Eu- words, truths which it is important to remember, that rope. Their occupation, also, was the same. They were even the Apostle Paul himself has not disdained to quote all public men, and had a common interest in the manage* a passage from a Grecian dramatist. The situation, also, ment of the state ; and it probably followed that, in men of their personages is often truly comic; and the modern whose pursuits were all bent the same way, the same ge- writers who have borrowed their ideas, and arranged them neral similarity of manners might be found to exist, which according to the taste of their own age, have often been is remarked in those who follow the same profession. The indebted to the ancients for the principal cause of their differences of youth and age, of riches and poverty, of success. good or bad temper, &c. must have been much modified Having dwelt thus long upon the Grecian drama, we Homan in Attica, where all free citizens were, to a certain degree, on a level—discussed the same topics of state, and gave are entitled to treat with conciseness that of Rome, which, drama, the same vote to forward them—enjoyed, without restric- like the other fine arts, that people, rather martial than tion, the same public amusements; and where the same literary, copied from their more ingenious neighbours. The Romans were not, indeed, without a sort of rude general cast of manners might descend to the lowest of the citizens, for the very reason that even a poor herb- dramatic representation of their own, of the same nature woman understood the delicacy of the Attic dialect so with that which, as we have already noticed, usually arises perfectly, as to distinguish a stranger by the first words he in an early period of society. These were called Fabulcs Atellanee; farces, for such they were, which took their addressed to her. The chorus, silenced, as we have seen, owing to the li- name from Atetta, a town belonging to the Osci, in Italy. cense of the old comedy, made no appendage to that which They were performed by the Roman youth, who used to was substituted in its place. The exhibition of the Gre- attack each other with satirical couplets during the intercian comedy did not, in other respects, in so far as we vals of some rude game, in which they seem to have reknow, materially differ from that of the tragedy. Instead presented the characters of fabulous antiquity. But, 361 of the choral interludes, the representation was now divid- years before the Christian era, the Romans, in the time ed, by intervals of cessation, into acts, as upon the modern of a great pestilence, as we learn from Livy, introduced a stage. And the number five seems to have been fixed more regular species of theatrical entertainment, in order upon as the most convenient and best adapted for the pur- to propitiate the deities by a solemn exhibition of public poses of representation. The plot, as we have seen, and games; after which, what had hitherto been matter of the distinct and discriminated specification of character, mere frolic and amusement, assumed, according to the were, in either case, subordinate considerations to the historian, the appearance of a professional art; and the force of style and composition. It follows, of consequence, Roman youth, who had hitherto, appeared as amateur perthat we can better understand and enjoy the tragedies formers, gave up the stage to regular performers. These plays continued, however, to be of a very rude than the comedies of the ancients. The circumstances which excite sublime or terrific sensations are the same, structure, until the Grecian stage was transplanted to notwithstanding the difference of age, country, and lan- Rome. Livius Andronicus, by birth a Grecian, led the guage. But comic humour is of a character much more way in this improvement, and is accounted her first draevanescent. The force of wit depends almost entirely matist. upon time, circumstance, and manners, insomuch that a Seneca the philosopher is the only Roman tragedian jest which raises inextinguishable laughter in a particular whose works have reached our time. But his tragedies class of society, appears flat or disgusting if uttered in afford no very favourable specimen of Roman art. They another. It is, therefore, no winder that the ancient co- are in the false taste which succeeded the age of Augusmedy, turning upon manners so far removed from our own tus, and debased the style of composition in that of Nero; time, should appear to us rather dull and inartificial. The bombastic, tedious, and pedantic ; treating, indeed, of Grenature of the intercourse between the sexes in classic cian subjects, but not with Grecian art. times was also unfavourable for comedy. The coquette, the By a singular contrast, although we have lost the more fine lady, the romp, all those various shades of the female valuable tragedies of Rome, we have been compelled to character which occupy so many pleasant scenes on the judge of the new Greek comedy through the medium of modern stage, were totally unknown to ancient manners. the Latin translations. Of Menander we have but a few The wife of the ancient comedy was a mere household fragments, and our examples of his drama are derived exdrudge, the vassal, not the companion, of an imperious clusively from Plautus and Terence. Of these, the forhusband. The young woman whose beauty is the acting mer appears the more original, the latter the more elemotive of the intrigue, never evinces the slightest intel- gant author. The comedies of Plautus are much more lectual property of any kind. And the only female cha- connected with manners, much more full of what may racter admitting of some vivacity is that of the courtezan, be termed drollery and comic situation, and are believed whose wit as well as her charms appeared to have been to possess a greater portion of Roman character. The professional. Romans, indeed, had two species of comedy, the Palliata, After subtracting the large field afforded by female art where the scene and dress were Grecian ; the Togata, or caprice, female wit, or folly, or affection, the realm of where both were Roman. But besides this distinction, the ancient comedy will appear much circumscribed; and even the Mantled, or Grecian comedy, might be more or we have yet to estimate a large deduction to be made on less of a Roman cast; and Plautus is supposed to have

DRAM A. Drama. infused a much stronger national tone into his plays than tribe, by a legal and disgraceful Censure, which the cen- u ' ~Y^-/ can be traced in those of Terence. They are also of a sors were to execute ; because they would not suffer their ^ ! ruder cast, and more extravagant, retaining, perhaps, a vulgar sort of people, much less their senators, to be delarger portion of the rough horse-play peculiar to the Fa- famed, disgraced, or defiled with stage-players which bulce Atellance. Terence, on the contrary, is elegant, re- act of theirs he styles “ an excellent true Roman prufined, and sententious ; decorous and regular in the con- dence, to be enumerated among the Romans’ praises.” struction of his plots ; exhibiting more of wit in his diaAccordingly, an edict of the praetor stigmatized as inlogue, than of comic force in his situations; grave often famous all who appeared on the stage, either to speak or and moral, sometimes even pathetic ; and furnishing, upon act; but it is remarkable that from this general proscrip, the whole, the most perfect specimens of the Grecian tion the Roman youth were excepted; and they continucomedy, both in action and character. ed to enact the Fabulce Atellance, namely, the farces or The alterations which the Romans made in the practice drolleries of ancient Italian origin, without incurring any of the theatrical art do not seem to have been of great stigma. This exception seems to indicate that the edict consequence. One circumstance, however, deserves no- originated in the national pride of the Romans, and their tice. The orchestra, or, as we should say, the pit of the contempt for Grecian literature, and for foreigners of theatre, was no longer left vacant for the occasional occu- every description. Under any other view it is impossible pation of the chorus, but was filled with the senators, they should have preferred the actors in these coarse knights, and other more respectable citizens. The stage farces, who, by the bye, are supposed to have been the was thus brought more near to the eye of the higher class originals of no less persons that Harlequin and Punchiof the audience. It would also seem that the theatres nello, to those who possessed taste and talents sufficient were smaller; for we read of two so constructed that to execute the masterly scenes borrowed from the Greeach turned upon a pivot, so that, when placed back to cian drama. back, they were separate theatres, yet were capable of Injustice, however, and we call that law unjust which being wheeled round, with all the audience, so as to bring devotes to general infamy any profession of which it their oblong ends together, then forming a single amphi- nevertheless tolerates the practice, is usually inconsisttheatre, in which the games of the circus succeeded to ent. Several individual play-actors in Rome rose to high dramatic representation. It is not easy to conceive the public esteem, and to the enjoyment of great wealth. existence of such machinery; but the story, at any rate, Roscius was the friend and companion of Piso and of seems to show that their theatres must have been greatly Sylla, and, what was still more to his credit, of Cicero smaller than those of Greece, to admit the supposition of himself, who thus eulogises the scenic art, while commesuch an evolution as being in any degree practicable. morating the merit of his deceased friend: Quis nostrum This diminution in the size of the house, and the occupa- tarn animo agresti ac duro fuit, ut Roscii morte nuper non tion of the orchestra by the most dignified part of the au- commoveretur ? qui quum esset senex mortuus, tamen, propdience, may have afforded a reason why masks were, at ter excellentem artem ac venustatem, videbatur omnino mori least occasionally, disused on the Roman stage. That non debuisse. they were sometimes disused is certain ; for Cicero menParis, another Roman actor, reached a height of celetions Roscius Gallus as using a mask to conceal a defor- brity as distinguished as Roscius, and exercised, as many mity arising from the inequality of his eyes, which implies of his profession have since done, an arbitrary authority plainly that other comedians played with their faces dis- over the unfortunate dramatic authors. It is recorded by closed. It is therefore probable that the imperfections of the satirist that Statius the epic poet might have starved the mask were felt so soon as the distance was diminish- had he not given up to this favourite of the public, upon ed between the performer and the spectators; and we his own terms doubtless, the manuscript of an unacted may hazard a conjecture that this disguise was first laid performance. Paris was put to death by Domitian out of aside in the smaller theatres. jealousy. But the principal change introduced by the Romans DegradaIf the actors rose to be persons of importance in Rome, tion of the into the drama, and which continues to affect it in every the dramatic critics were no less so. They had formed a theatrical country of Europe, respected the status or rank of the ac- code of laws for the regulation of dramatic authors, to profession. tors in society. We have seen that Athens, enthusiastic which the great names of Aristotle and Horace both conin her attachment to the fine arts, held no circumstances tributed their authority. But these will be more properly degrading which were connected with them. iEschylus treated of when we come to mention their adoption by the and Sophocles were soldiers and statesmen, yet lost no- French stage. thing in the opinion of their countrymen by appearing on Having thus hastily given some account of the ancient he a the public stage. Euripides, who was also a person of consequence, proved that “ love esteems no office mean stage, from its rise in Greece to its transportation to Rome,11'5 Utaii for he danced in a female disguise in his own drama, and we have only to notice the circumstances under which it. ta; that not as the Princess Nauticlea, but as one of her expired. handmaidens, or, in modern phrase, as a figurante. The Christianity from its first prigin was inimical to the instiGrecians, therefore, attached no dishonour to the person tution of the theatre. The fathers of the church inveigh of the actor, nor esteemed that he who contributed to against the profaneness and immodesty of the theatre. In giving the amusement of the theatre was at all degraded the treatise of Tertullian, I)e Spectaculis, he has written beneath those who received it. It was otherwise in Rome. expressly upon the subject. The various authorities on The contempt which the Romans entertained for players this head have been collected and quoted by the enemies might be founded partly upon their confounding this ele- of the stage, from Prynne down to Collier. It ought, gant amusement with the games of the circus and amphi- however, to be noticed, that their exprobation of the theatre theatre, performed by gladiators and slaves, the meanest, is founded, first, upon its origin, as connected with heathen in short, of mankind. Hence, to use the words of St Au- superstition ; and secondly, on the beastly and abominable gustine, “ the ancient Romans, accounting the art of license practised in the pantomimes, which, although they stage-playing and the whole scene infamous, ordained that made no part of the regular drama, were presented neverthis sort of men should not only want the honour of other theless in the same place, and before the same audience. citizens, but also be disfranchised and thrust out of their “ We avoid your shows and games,” says Tertullian, “ be-

rjna. P

brdatic rq, cntatiis of the iiddle .'es.

DRAMA. 153 History of English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 370.) These pasDrama, cause we doubt the warrant of their origin. They savour of superstition and idolatry, and we dislike the entertain- sages do not prove that actual mysteries or sacred dramas ment,as abhorring the heathen religion on which it is found- were enacted on such occasions; but probably the indeed.” In another place he observes, the temples were unit- cent revels alluded to bore the same relation to such reed to theatres, in order that superstition might patronize presentations, as the original rites of Bacchus to the more debauchery; and that they were dedicated to Bacchus and refined exhibitions of Thespis and Susarion. There has been some dispute among theatrical antiquato Venus, the confederate deities of lust and intemperance. It was not only the connection of the theatre with ries, in which country of Europe dramatic representations heathen superstition that olfended the primitive church, of a religious kind first appeared. The liberal and ingenibut also the profligacy of some of the entertainments which ous editor of the Chester Mysteries has well remarked, in were exhibited. There cannot be much objected to the his introduction to that curious and beautiful volume, that regular Roman dramas in this particular, since even Mr a difficulty must always attend the inquiry, from the doubts Collier allows them to be more decorous than the British that exist, whether the earliest recorded performances of stage of his own time; but, as we have already hinted, in each country were merely pantomimes, or were accomthe Ludi Scenici, the intrigues of the gods and the heroes panied with dialogue. The practice of processions and pageants with music, were represented upon the stage with the utmost grossness. These obscene and scandalous performances thus in which characters, chiefly of sacred writ, were presentfar coincided with the drama, that they were acted in the ed before the public, is so immediately connected with same theatres, and in honour of the same deities, and that of speaking exhibitions, that it is difficult to discriboth were subjected to the same sweeping condemnation. minate the one from the other. We are tempted to look first to Italy; as it is natural They were not, however, absolutely or formally abolished, even when Christianity became the religion of the state. that the tragic art should have revived in that country in Tertullian and St Augustin both speak of the scenic re- which it was last exercised, and where traditions, and presentations of their own day, under the distinct charac- perhaps some faint traces, of its existence were still preters of tragedy and comedy ; and although condemned by served. “ The first speaking sacred drama,” says Mr Walker, the church, and abhorred by the more strict Christians, there is little doubt that the ancient theatre continued to “ was Della Passione di nostro Signor Giesu Christo, by exist until it was buried under the ruins of the Roman Giuliano Dati, bishop of San Leo, who flourished about empire. the year 1445.” (Walker’s Essay on the Revival of the Drama in Italy, p. 6.) This elegant author does, indeed, Modern Drama. show that Italian scholars, and particularly Mussato, the The same proneness to fictitious personification, which Paduan historian, had composed two Latin dramas upon we have remarked as a propensity common to all countries, something like the classical model about the year 1300. introduced, during the dark ages, a rude species of drama Yet, although his play upon the tyranny and death of into most of the nations of Europe. Like the first efforts Ezzlino obtained him both reputation and honour, it does of the ancients in that art, it had its foundation in religion ; not appear to have been composed for the stage, but rather with this great difference, that as the rites of Bacchus be- to have been a dramatic poem, since the progress of the fore, and even after the improvements introduced by Thes- piece is often interrupted by the poet speaking in his own pis, were well enough suited to the worship of such a person. deity, the religious dramas, mysteries, or whatever other The French drama is traced by M. Legrand as high name they assumed, were often so unworthy of the Chris- as the thirteenth century; and he has produced one curitian religion, on which they were founded, that their be- ous example of a pastoral entitled Un Jeu. He mentions ing tolerated can be attributed only to the gross ignorance also a farce, two devotional pieces, and two moralities, to of the laity, and the cunning of the Catholic priesthood, each of which he ascribes the same title. It may be suswho used them, with other idle and sometimes indecorous pected that these are only dialogues recited by the trasolemnities, as one means of amusing the people’s minds, velling minstrels and troubadours, such as Petrarch acand detaining them in contented bondage to their spiritual knowledges having sometimes composed for the benefit of superiors. the strolling musicians. Such were probably the specIn the empire of the East, religious exhibitions of a tacles exhibited by Philip the Fair in 1313, on account of theatrical character appear to have been instituted about the honour of knighthood conferred on his children. Rithe year 990, by Theophylact, patriarch of Constantinople, coboni, anxious for the honour of Italy, denies to these with the intention, as Warton surmises, of weaning the amusements the character of a legitimate drama; with minds of the people from the Pagan revels, by substituting what justice we have no information that can enable us to Christian spectacles, partaking of the same spirit of license. decide. His contemporaries give him little credit for his good inAmidst this uncertainty,, it is not unpleasant to record tentions. “ Theophylact,” says Cedrenus, as translated the fair claim which Britain possesses to be one of the by Warton, “ introduced the practice, which prevails to earliest, if not the very first nation in which dramatic this day, of scandalizing God and the memory of his saints, representation seems to have been revived. The Chester on the most splendid and popular festivals, by indecent Mysteries, called the Whitsun Plays, appear to have been and ridiculous songs, and enormous shoutings, even in the performed during the mayoralty of John Arneway, who midst of those sacred hymns which we ought to offer to filled that office in Chester from 1268 to 1276. The very divine grace for the salvation of our souls. But he having curious specimen of these mysteries, which has been of collected a company of base fellows, and placing over them late printed for private distribution by Mr Markland of one Euthynicus, surnamed Casnes, whom he also appoint- the Temple, furnishes us with the banes or proclamation, ed the superintendent of his church, admitted into the containing the history and character of the pageants sacred service diabolical dances, exclamations of ribaldry, which it announces. and ballads borrowed from the streets and brothels.” The Iteverende forties and ladyes all. irregularities of the Greek clergy, who, on certain holiThat at this tyme here assembled bee, days, personated feigned characters, and entered even the By this messauge understande you shall, choir in masquerade, are elsewhere mentioned. (Warton’s That sometymes there was mayor of this citie, VOL. vm.

154 Drama.

DRAMA. Sir John Arnway, Knyghte, who most worthilye with some comic scenes, and introduced by an interlude, I 4 Contented hymselfe to sett out an playe coarseness altogether unmatched. The spirit of Aris- ^ N The devise of one Done liondali, moonke of Chester Abbey. in tophanes, in all its good and evil, seems to have actuated This moonke, moonke-like in scriptures well scene, the Scottish king-at-arms. It is a singular proof of the In storyes travelled with the best sorte ; liberty allowed to such representations at the period, that In pagentes set fourth, apparently to all eyne, James V. and his queen repeatedly witnessed a piece, in The Okie and Newe Testament with livelye comforte ; which the corruptions of the existing government and reIntermynglinge therewith, onely to make sporte, ligion were treated with such satirical severity. The play, Some things not warranted by any writt, as acted, seems to have differed in some respects from the Which to gladd the hearers he woulde men to take yt. state in which it exists in manuscript. This matter he abrevited into playes twenty-foure, In a letter to the Lord Privy Seal of England, dated And every playe of the matter gave but a taste, Leavinge for better learninge scircumstances to accomplishe, 26th January 1540, Sir William Eure (envoy from Henry VIII.) gives the following account of the play, as it had For his proceedinges maye appeare to be in haste: Yet all together unprofitable his labour he did not waste, then been performed “ in the feast of Ephipanie at For at this daye, and ever, he deserveth the fame Lightgowe, before the king, queene, and the whole counWhich all monkes deserves professinge that name. saile, spirituall and temporall. In the firste entres come in Solace (whose parte was but to make mery, sing ballets with his fellowes, and drinke at the interluydes of This worthy Knihte Arnway, then mayor of this citie, This order toke, as declare to you I shall, the play), whoe showed firste to all the audience the play That by twentye-fower occupations, artes, craftes, or misteries, to be played. Next come in a king, who passed to his These pagentes shoulde be played after breeffe rehearsall; throne, having nae speche to thende of the play, and then For every pagente a cariage to be provyded witkall, to ratify and approve, as in parliament, all things done by In Avhich sorte we purpose this Whitsontyde, the rest of the players, which represented The Three i Our pageants into three partes to devyde. Estates. With hym came his cortiers, Placebo, PicI. Now you worshippfull Tanners that of custome olde thank, and Flatterye, and sic alike gard; one swering The fall of Lucifer did set out, he was the lustiest, starkeste, best proportionit, and most Some writers awarrante your matter, therefore be boulde valyeant man that ever was; ane other swere he was the liustelye to playe the same to all the rowtte : beste with long-bowe, crosse-bowe, and culverin, and so And yf any thereof stand in any double. Your author his author hath, your she.we let bee, fourth. Thairafter there come a man armed in harness, Good speech, fyne players, with apparill comelye. with a swerde drawn in his hande, a Bushop, a BurgesChester Mysteries. man, and Experience, clede like a Doctor; who set Such were the celebrated Mysteries of Chester. To them all down on the deis under the King. After them Mr Markland’s extracts from them is prefixed a curious come a poor man, who did go up and down the scaffblde, dissertation upon their age and author. They were so making a hevie complainte that he was hereyet, throw highly popular, as to be ranked, in the estimation of the the courtiers taking his fewe in one place, and his tackes vulgar, with the ballads of Robin Hood; for a character in in another; wherthrough he had sceyled his house, his wyfe and childrene beggyng thair brede, and so of many one of the old moralities is introduced as boasting, thousands in Scotland; saying thair was no remedy to be I can rhimes of Robin Hood, and Randal of Chester, gotten, as he was neither acquainted with controller nor But of our Lord and our Lady I can nought at ail. treasurer. And then he looked to the king, and said he The poetical value of these mysteries is never consider- was n6t king in Scotland, for there was ane other king i able, though they are to be found among the dramatic an- in Scotland that hanged Johne Armstrang, with his feltiquities of all parts of Europe. It was, however, soon lowes, Sym the Laird, and mony other mae ; but he had discovered that the purity of the Christian religion was lefte ane thing undone. Then he made a long narracione j inconsistent with these rude games, in which passages of the oppression of the poor, by the taking of the corse- I from scripture were profanely and indecently mingled presaunte heists, and of the berrying of poor men by the with human inventions of a very rude, and sometimes an consistorye lawe, and of many other abusions of the Spiindecorous character. To the Mysteries, therefore, suc- ritualitie and Church. Then the Bushop raise and re- I ceeded the Moralities, a species of dramatic exercise, buked him. Then the Man of Armes alledged the conwhich involved more art and ingenuity, and was besides traire, and commanded the poor man to go on. The poor much more proper for a public amusement, than the imi- man proceeds with a long list of the bishop’s evil practices, j tations or rather parodies of sacred history, which had the vices of cloisters, &c. This is proved by Experience, I who, from a New Testament, shows the office of a bushop. hitherto entertained the public. Moralities. These Moralities bear some analogy to the old or ori- The Man of Armes and the Burges approve of all that ginal comedy of the ancients. They were often founded was said against the clergy, and alledge the expediency of upon allegorical subjects, and almost always bore a close a reform, with the consent of parliament. The Bushop and poignant allusion to the incidents of the day. Public dissents. The Man of Armes and the Burges said they reformation was their avowed object, and, of course, satire were two, and he but one, wherefore their voice should was frequently the implement which they employed. Dr have most effect. Thereafter the king, in the play, ratiPercy, however, remarks that they were of two characters, fied, approved, and confirmed all that was rehersed.” The other nations of Europe, as well as England, had serious and ludicrous ; the one approaching to the tragedy, the other to the comedy of classical times; so that they their mysteries and moralities. In France, Boileau, folbrought taste as it were to the threshold of the real drama. lowing Menestrier, imputes the introduction of these specThe difference between the Catholic and reformed religion tacles to travelling bands of pilgrims. was fiercely disputed in some of these dramas; and in Chez nos ddvots ayeux, le the'atre abhorre Fut long-temps dans la France un plaisir ignore; Scotland, in particular, a mortal blow was aimed at the Des pelerins dit-on, une troupe grossiere superstitions of the Roman church, by the celebrated Sir En public a Paris y monta la premiere; David Lindsay, in a play or morality acted in 1539, and Et sottement zelee en sa simplicite entitled The Satire of the Three Estates. The objects of Jo'ua les saints, la Vierge, et Dieu par piete. this drama were entirely political, although it is mixed L'Ait Poctiquc, chant, ill.

r

155 DRAMA. plead for stage plays, that they elucidate and explain Drama, D na. In Spain the Autos Sacramentales, which are analogous 1^^ t0 the mysteries of the middle ages, are still presented many dark and obscure histories, and fix the facts firmly without shocking a nation whose zeal is stronger than their in the minds of the audience, of which they had othertaste ; and, it is believed, such rude and wild plays, found- wise but an imperfect apprehension, the stern Prynne reed on scripture, are also occasionally acted in Flanders. plies with great scorn, “ that play-poets do not explain, In the History of the Council of Constance, we find that but sophisticate and deform, good histories, with many mysteries were introduced into Germany by the English, false varnishes and playhouse fooleriesand that “ the about 1417, and were first performed to welcome the Em- histories are more accurately to be learned in the origiperor Sigismund, on his return from England ; and, from nal authors who record them, than in derivative playhouse the choice of the subjects, we should almost suppose that pamphlets, which corrupt them.” (Prynne’s Histrio-Masthey had transferred to that country the Chester Mysteries tix, p. 940.) The dramatic chronicles, therefore, were a field in themselves. “ Les Anglois,” says the historian, “ se signale ent entre les autres par un spectacle nouveau, ou au which the genius of the poet laboured to supply, by chamoins inusite jusques alors en Allemagne. Ce fut une racter, sentiment, and incident, the meagre detail of the comedie sacree, que les eveques Anglois firent representer historian. They became so popular in England, that, durdevant I’empereur, le Dimanche 31 de Janvier, sur la ing the short interval betwixt the revival of the stage and Naissance du Sauveur, sur I’Arrivee des Mages, et sur la the appearance of Shakspeare, the most part of the EngMassacre des Innocens. (Ilist, du Concile de Cjonstance, lish mpnarchs had lived and died upon the stage; and it par L’Enfant, lib. v.) The character of these rude drama- is well known that almost all his historical plays were tic essays renders them rather subjects for the antiquary new written by him, upon the plan of old dramatic chronicles which already existed. than a part of a history of the regular dramatic art. But the miscellaneous audience which crowded to the We may also pass over, with brief notice, the Latin La. i plays which, upon the revival of letters, many of the vernacular theatre at its revival in Europe, were of that learned composed in express imitation of the ancient Gre- rank and intellect which is apt to become tired of a secian and Latin productions. We have mentioned those rious subject, and to demand that a lamentable tragedy of Mussato, who was followed by the more celebrated Ca- should be intermingled with very pleasant mirth. The raro, in the path which he had opened to fame. In other poets, obliged to cater for all tastes, seldom failed to incountries the same example was followed. These learned sert the humours of some comic character, that the low prolusions, however, were only addressed to persons of or grotesque scenes in which he was engaged might serve letters, then a very circumscribed circle, and, when acted as a relief to the graver passages of the drama, and graat all, were presented at universities or courts on solemn tify the taste of those spectators who, like Christofero public occasions. They form no step in the history of the Sly, tired until the fool came on the stage again. Hence drama, unless that, by familiarizing the learned with the Sir Philip Sidney’s censure on these dramatists, “ how form and rules of the ancient classical drama, they gra- all their plays be neither right tragedies nor right comedually paved the way for the adoption of the same regu- dies, mingling kings with clowns ; not because the matlations into the revived vernaeular drama, and formed a ter so carrieth it, but to thrust in the clown, by head and division amongst the theatres of modern Europe, which shoulders, to play a part in magestical matters, with neither decency nor discretion, so that neither the admirahas never yet been reconciled. R orical While the learned laboured to revive the classical dra- tion and commiseration, nor the right sportfulness, is by 1)! > ma in all its purity, the public at large, to which the trea- their mongrel tragi-comedy attained.” (Defence of Poesie. sures of the learned languages were as a fountain sealed, Sidney’s Arcadia, edit. 1627, p. 563.) “ If we mark them became addicted to a species of representation which well,” he concludes, “ funerals and hornpipes seldom match properly neither fell under the denomination of comedy daintily together.” or tragedy, but was named History or Historical Drama. The historical plays led naturally into another class, Romantic Charles Yerardo, who, about 1492, composed a drama of this sort, in Latin, upon the expulsion of the Moors from which may be called Romantic Dramas, founded upon po-drama, Granada, claims, for this production, a total emancipation pular poems or fictitious narratives, as the former were.on real history. Some of these were borrowed from foreign from the rules of dramatic criticism. nations, ready dramatized to the hand of the borrower; llequirat auteni nullus hie comcedise, others were founded on the plots which occurred in the Leges ut observantur, aut tragediae; almost innumerable novels and romances which .we had Agenda nempe est hisioria non fabula. made our own by translation. “ I may boldly say it, says “ Let none expect that in this piece the rules of comedy Gosson, a recreant play-wright, who attacked his former or of tragedy should be observed ; we mean to act a his- profession, “ because I have seen it, that the Palace oj tory, not a fable.” From this expression it would seem Pleasure, the Golden Asse, the Ethiopian History, Amadis that, in a historical drama, the author did not think him- of Fraunce, the Round Table, Hawdie Comedies in Latin, self entitled to compress or alter the incidents as when French, Italian, and Spanish, have been thoroughly ranthe plot was fabulous, but was bound, to a certain extent, sacked to furnish the playhouse in London.” But it was to conform to the actual course of events. In these his- not to be supposed that the authors would confine themtories, the poet embraced often the life and death of a selves to stricter rules in pieces founded upon Italian and monarch, or some other period of history, containing se- Spanish novels, or upon romances of chivalry, than they veral years of actual time, which, nevertheless, were made had acted upon in the histories. Every circumstance to pass before the eyes of the audience during the two or which tended to loosen the reins of theatrical discipline three hours usually allotted for the action of a play. It is in the one case, existed in the other; and, accordingly, not to be supposed that, with so fair a field open before comedies of intrigue, and tragedies of action, and show, them, and the applause of the audience for their reward, everywhere superseded, at least in popular estimation, the the authors of these histories should long have confined severe and simple model of the classical drama. It happened that in England and Spain, in particuthemselves to the matter of fact contained in records. They speedily innovated or added to their dramatic chro- lar, the species of composition which was most indepennicles without regard to the real history, lo those who dent of critical regulation was supported by the most bril-

156 DRAMA. Drama. liant display of genius. Lopez de Vega and Calderon manner, contrasted to disadvantage with the intricacies, D rushed on the stage with their hasty and high-coloured, involutions, suspense, and bustle of Spanish intrigue upon w | but glowing productions, fresh from the mint of imagina- the stage. Hence the boast of one of their poets, thus tion, and scorning that the cold art of criticism should translated by Lord Holland : weigh them in her balance. The taste of the Spaniards Invention, interest, sprightly turns in plays, has been proverbially inclined to the wild, the romantic, Say what they will, are Spain’s peculiar praise; and the chivalrous; and the audience of their bards would Her’s are the plots which strict attention seize, not have parted with one striking scene, however inartifiFull of intrigue, and yet disclosed with ease. Hence acts and scenes her fertile stage affords, cially introduced, to have gained for their favourites the Unknown, unrivall’d, on the foreign boards. praise of Aristotle and all his commentators. Lopez de Life of Lope de Vega, p. 10G. Vega himself was not ignorant of critical rules; but he pleads the taste of his countrymen as an apology for ne- While we admire the richness of fancy displayed in the glecting those restrictions which he had observed in his Spanish pieces, it is impossible, in an age of refinement, earlier studies. to avoid being shocked by their wilful and extravagant neglect of every thing which can add probability to the acYet true it is I too have written plays. tion of their drama. But the apology for this license is The wiser few, who judge with skill, might praise ; But when I see how show and nonsense draws well pleaded by Lord Holland. The crowds, and, more than all, the fair’s applause ; “ Without dwelling on the expulsion of the chorus (a Who still are forward with indulgent rage most unnatural and inconvenient machine), the moderns, To sanction every monster of the stage ; by admitting a complication of plot, have introduced a I, doom’d to write the public taste to hit, greater variety of incidents and character. The province Resume the barbarous dress ’twas vain to quit; of invention is enlarged ; new passions, or at least new I lock up every rule before I write, Plautus and Terence banish from my sight, forms of the same passions, are brought within the scope Lest rage should teach these injured wits to join, of dramatic poetry. Fresh sources of interest are opened, And their dumb books cry shame on works like mine. and additional powers of imagination called into activity. To vulgar standards, then, I frame my play, Can we then deny what extends its jurisdiction, and enWriting at ease, for, since the public pay, hances its interest, to be an improvement in an art whose ’Tis just, methinks, we by their compass steer, professed object is to stir the passions by the imitation of And write the nonsense that they love to hear. Lord Holland’s Life of Lope de Vega, p. 103. human actions? In saying this I do not mean to justify the breach of decorum, the neglect of probability, the anaThe Spanish comedies of intrigue also went astray, as chronisms, and other extravagancies of the founders of the far as their romantic tragedies, from the classical path. In modern theatre. Because the first disciples of the school fact, these new representations were infinitely more cap- were not models of perfection, it does not follow that the tivating from their vivacity, novelty, and, above all, from fundamental maxims were defective. The rudeness of their reflecting the actual spirit of the time, and holding their workmanship is no proof of the inferiority of the mathe mirror up to nature, than the cold imitations which the terial ; nor does the want of skill deprive them of the melearned wrote in emulation of the classic drama. The one rit of having discovered the mine. The faults objected to class are existing and living pictures of the times in which them form no necessary part of the system they introduthe authors lived ; the others, the cold resurrection of the ced. Their followers in every country have either comlifeless corpses which had long slumbered in the tomb of pletely corrected or gradually reformed such abuses. antiquity. I he spirit of chivalry, which so long lingered Those who bow not implicitly to the authority of Arisin Spain, breathes through the wild and often extravagant totle, yet avoid such violent outrages as are common in genius of her poets. The hero is brave and loyal, and our early plays. And those who pique themselves on the true to his mistress : strict observance of his laws, betray, in the conduct, the sentiments, the characters, and the dialogue of their pieces A knight of love who never broke a vow. (especially of their comedies), more resemblance to the Lovers of this description, in whose minds the sexual modern than the ancient theatre; their code may be passion is sublimated into high and romantic feeling, Grecian, but their manners, in spite of themselves, are make a noble contrast with the coarse and licentious Spanish, English, or French. They may renounce their Greek or Roman, whose passion turns only on the difficul- pedigree, and even change their dress, but they cannot ty of purchasing his mistress’s person, but who never con- divest their features of a certain family-likeness to their ceives the slightest apprehension concerning the state of poetical progenitors.” her affections. In France the irregularities of the revived drama were That the crowd might have their loud laugh, a grazioso of a lower complexion; for, until her stage was refined or clown, usually a servant of the hero, is in the Spanish by Corneille, and brought under its present strict regime, drama uniformly introduced to make sport. Like Kemp or it was adorned by but little talent ; a circumstance Tarletun, famous in the clown’s part before the time of which, amongst others, may account for the ease with Shakspeare, this personage was permitted to fill up his which she subjected herself to critical rules, and assumed part with extemporary jesting, not only on the performers, the yoke of Aristotle. Until she assumed the Grecian but with the audience. This irregularity, with others, forms and restrictions, there is but little interesting in the seems to have been borrowed by the English stage from history of her stage. that of Spain, and is the license which Hamlet condemns England adopted the historical and romantic drama with in his instructions to the players : “ And let those that be ardour, and in a state scarce more limited by rules than your clowns speak no more than is set down for them ; for that of Spain herself. Her writers seem early to have there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some ransacked Spanish literature ; for the union of the counquantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though, in the tries during the short reign of Mary, nay even their wars mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to under Elizabeth and Philip, made them acquainted with be considered; that’s villainous, and shows a most pitiful each other. 1 he Spaniards had the start in the revival ambition in the fool that uses it.” of the drama. Ferrex and Perrex, our earliest tragedy, The bald simplicity of the ancient plots was, in like was first presented in 1561 ; and Gammer Gurtons

DRAMA. 157 has encumbered his scene with a chorus. It has some Drama, Needle, our first comedy, in 1575; whereas Lopez de Vepoetic beauties, and is well calculated to recommend the ga who was not by any means the earliest Spanish draor rather revived system on which it was written. La matist, died in 1562, leaving the stage stocked with his new innumerable productions, to which his contemporaries had Rosmonda of Rucelleri was written about the same time Sophonisba; and, after these pieces, tragi-comedies, not failed to add their share. Thus, as soon as the stage with and romantic dramas, were discarded, and sucof Britain was so far advanced as to be in a capacity of histories, borrowing, that of Spain offered a fund to which her au- ceeded by tragedies upon a regular classical model; writin verse, having five acts, and generally a chorus. thors could have recourse ; and, in fact, the Spanish dra- tenNotwithstanding their rigorous attention to the ancient ma continued to be a mine in which the British poets model, the modern tragic poets of Italy have not been collected materials, often without acknowledgment, during successful in arresting the attention of their countryall the earlier part of her dramatic history. From this very men. They are praised rather than followed; and the source, as well as from the partialities of the audience, arose that early attempt at show and spectacle, at com- stern, unbending composition of Alfieri, while it has bats and marvellous incidents, which, though with very given a tone of rude and stoical dignity to his dramas, has poor means of representation, our early dramatic poets failed in rendering them attractive. They frequently loved to produce at the Bull or the Fortune playhouses. please in the closet; but the audience of modern days reThe extravagance of their plots, and the poor efforts by quires to be kept awake by something more active, more which our early dramatists endeavoured to represent show bustling, more deeply interesting, than the lessons of the and procession, did not escape the censure of Sir Philip schools; and a poet of high fancy has written in some Sidney, who, leaning to the critical reformation which was measure in vain, because he has mistaken the spirit of already taking place in Italy, would gladly have seen our his age. The tragic actors, also, whatever excellence they may attain to in their art, do not attract the same stage reduced to a more classical model. “ It is faultie,” says that gallant knight, “ both in consideration, attention, and respect, as in France or Engplace and time, the two necessarie companions of all cor- land ; and they who are the direct authors of a pleasure porall actions. For the stage should alway present but so nearly connected with our noblest and best feelings, one place; and the uttermost time presupposed in it occupy a rank subordinate to the performers at the opera. It is only as a modification of the drama that we here Opera, should bee, both by Aristotle’s precept and common reason, but one day; there are both many dayes and many propose to touch upon that entertainment of Italian places inartificially imagined. But if it be so in Gorboduhe, growth, but known by importation in every civilized kinghow much more in all the rest ? where you shall have Asia dom of Europe. These kingdoms have often rivalled each of the one side, and Affricke of the other, and so many other in the rewards held forth to musical performers, other under kingdomes, that the plair, when he comes in, and encouraged their merit by a degree of profusion, must ever begin with telling where hee is, or else the tale which has had the effect of rendering the professors petuwill not be conceived. Now shall you have three ladies lant, capricious, and unmanageable. Their high emoluwalke to gather flowers, and then wee must beleeve the ments are not granted, or their caprices submitted to, stage to be a garden. By and by wee heare newes of without a degree of pleasure in some degree correspondshipwracke in the same place, then wee are to blame if we ing to the expense and the sufferance ; and it is in vain for accept it not for a rocke. Upon the backe of that comes the admirers of the legitimate drama to pretend that such out a hideous monster with fire and smoke, and then the is not obtained. Voltaire has with more justice confessmiserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave ; while, ed, that probably the best imitation of the ancient stage in the mean time, two armies flie in, represented with some was to be found in the Italian tragic opera. The recitaswordes and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not tive resembled the musical declamation of the Athenians, receive it for a pitched field ? Now of time they are and the choruses, which are frequently introduced, when much more liberall; for ordinarie it is, that two young properly combined with the subject, approach to those of princes fall in love. After many traverses shee is got with the Greeks, as forming a contrast, by the airs which they childe, delivered of a faire boy; he is lost, groweth a man, execute, to the recitative, or modulated dialogue of the falleth in love, and is readie to get another childe, and all scene. Voltaire instances the tragic operas of Metastasio this in two houres space ; which how absurd it is in sense, in particular, as approaching in beauty of diction, and truth even sense may imagine, and art hath taught, and all an- of sentiment, near to the ancient simplicity; and finds an cient examples justified, and at this day the ordinary play- apology even for the detached airs, so fatal to probability, in the beauty of the poetry and the perfection of the muers in Italy will not err in.” sic. And although, as a critic and man of cultivated It* m Italy, referred to by Sir Philip Sidney as the cradle of taste, this author prefers the regular, noble, and severe tri dy. the reformed drama, had had her own age of liberty and beauties of the classic stage, to the effeminate and mereconfusion; her mysteries, her moralities, her historical and tricious charms of the opera, still he concludes that, with her romantic dramas. But the taste for the ancient and all its defects, the sort of enchantment which results from classical stage was still rooted in the country where it the brilliant intermixture of scenery, chorus, dancing, muhad flourished, and Trissino is acknowledged as the fa- sic, dress, and decoration, subjects even the genius of crither of the regular drama. The Sophonisba of this learn- ticism ; and that the most sublime tragedy, and most arted prelate is praised by Voltaire as the first regular tra- ful comedy, will not be so frequently revisited by the same gedy which Europe had seen after so many ages of bar- individual as an indifferent opera. We may add the experience of London to the testimony of this great critic ; barism. Pope has added his tribute. and, indeed, were it possible that actors could frequently When learning, after the long Gothic night, be procured, possessed of the powers of action and of Fair o’er the western world renewed its light, voice which were united in Grassini, it would be imposWith arts arising, Sophonisba rose, sible to deny to the opera the praise of being an amuseThe tragic muse returning wept her woes; With her the Italian scene first learned to glow, ment as exquisite in point of taste as fascinating from And the first tears for her were taught to flow. show and music. But as the musical parts of the entei'This tragedy was represented at Rome in the year 1515. tainment are predominant, every thing else has been too The Greek model is severely observed, and the author often sacrificed to the caprice of a composer, wholly igno-

158 DRAMA. Drama, rant in every art save his own; and the mean and paltry Commedia dell arte, and were congenial to the taste of dialogue, which is used as a vehicle for the music, is be’ the Italians, with whom gesticulation and buffoonery are come proverbial to express nonsense and inanity. natural attributes. Their drama was of the most simple Italian The Italian comedy, as well as their tragedy, boasts its kind. Each of the actors was already possessed of his comedy, regular descent from classical times. Like the comedy dramatic character, which was as inalienable as his dress, of Menander, it introduces dramatis 'personce whose cha- and was master of the dialect he was to use, and had his racters are never varied, and some of whom are supposed imagination and memory stored with all the characteristo be directly descended from the ancient Mimi of the tic jests, or lazzi as they were termed, peculiar to the perAtellan Fables. Such an origin is claimed for the ce- sonage he represented. All that the author had to do was lebrated Harlequin, and for the no less renowned Punci- to invent the skeleton of a plot which should bring his chanello, our English Punch, both of whom retain the cha- racters into dramatic situation with respect to each other. racter of jesters, cowards, wags, and buffoons, proper to The dialogue suited to the occasion was invented by the the Sannio of the Romans. It is believed of these wor- players, just as ours invest their parts with the proper gesthies that they existed before the time of Plautus, and tures and actions. This skeleton had the name of scenario) continued to play their frolics during the middle ages, and was filled up by the performers, either impromptu or when the legitimate drama was unknown. For the former in consequence of previous arrangement and premeditafact, sculpture, as well as tradition, is appealed to by Ita- tion. This species of comedy was extremely popular, lian antiquaries, who have discovered the representation especially among the lower class of spectators. It was of these grotesque characters upon the Etruscan vases. often adopted as an amusement in good society, and by In support of the latter averment, the grave authority of men of genius; and Flamineo de la Scala has left about Saint Thomas Aquinas is appealed to, who, we rejoice to fifty such scenarios adapted for representation. The fafind, thought Harlequin ^and Punch no unlawful company shion even found its way into England, and probably the in fitting'time and place. “ Ltidbis," says that eminent part of Master Punch, who first appeared in the character person, with more consideration for human infirmity than of the Vice of the English morality, was trusted to the some saints of our own day, “ est ?iecessarius ad conversa- improvisatory talents of the actor. Mr dTsraeli, a curious tionem vitce humanoe: ad omnia aiitem quee sunt utilia con- as well as elegant investigator of ancient literature, has versationi humanoe, deputaripossunt aliqua qfficia licita: et shown that at least one scheme of a Commedia dell' arte idea etiam qfficium histrionum quod ordinatur ad solatium has been preserved to us. It is published in the Variorum hominihus exhibendum, non est secundum se illicitum, nec edition of Shakspeare, but remains unexplained by the sunt histriones in statu peccati, dummodo moderate ludo commentators. Such comedies, it is evident, could reutantur; id est, non utendo aliquibus illicitis verbis vel fac- quire no higher merit in the composer than the imagining tis, ad ludum, et non adhibendo ludum negotiis et te -pori- and sketching a few comic situations; the dialogue and bus indebitis, unde Mi qui moderate eis subveniunt, non pec- diction was all entrusted to the players. cant, sed juste faciunt mercedem minister 'd eorum eis tribuThe Italians, however, became early possessed of a reendo. Et licet J). August, super Joan, dicit quod donare gular comedy, which engrossed the admiration of the more res suas histrionibus, vitium est humane, hoc intelligi debet cultivated classes of society. Bibbiena’s comedy, entitled de Mis qui dant histrionibus qui in ludo utuntur illicitis, vel La Calandra, is composed in imitation of Terence and de Mis qui superfine sua in tales consumunt, non de Mis Plautus. It was first acted in 1490. La Calandra is rehistrionibus qui moderate, ludo utuntur.'' markable, not only for being the first Italian comedy, but Saint Anthony gives his sanction to Saint Thomas on also for the perfection of scenic decoration with which it this point: “ Histrionatus ars quia deservit humanai recre- was accompanied in the representation. It was followed ationi quee necessaria est vitce hominis secundum D. Tho- by the productions of Ariosto and Trissino, and other mam, de se 71011 est illicita et de ilia arte vivere non est pro- authors in the same line. But it appears, from the efforts hibitum." (S. Antonius in 3 part. Suce Summce, tit. iii. used to support this style of drama, that it did not take cap. 4.) Saint Anthony, indeed, adds the reasonable re- kindly root in the soil, and lacked that popularity which striction, that no clergyman should play Harlequin, and alone can nurse it freely. Various societies were formed that Punch should not exhibit in the church. under the whimsical titles of Gli Intronati, Gli Insensati, Under this venerable authority these Mimi went on and and so forth, for the express purpose of bringing forward flourished. Other characters enlarged their little drama. the regular drama; exertions which would certainly have The personages appeared in masks. “ Each of these,” says been unnecessary had it received that support and encouMr Walker, “ was originally intended as a kind of charac- ragement which arises from general popularity. teristic representation of some particular Italian district or Goldoni, in a later age, at once indulged his own fancitown. Thus Pantalone was a Venetian merchant; Dot- ful genius and his natural indolence, by renouncing the tore, a Bolognese physician ; Spaviento, a Neapolitan brag- classical rules, and endeavouring to throw into the old and gadocio ; Pullicinella, a wag of Apulia; Giangurgolo and native Italian Mascherata the variety and attributes of the Coviello, two clowns of Calabria; Gelsomino, a Roman proper comedy. He adopted Harlequin and the rest of beau; Beltrame, a Milanese simpleton; Brighella, a Fe- his merry troop in the characters which they held, and rarese pimp ; and Arlecchino, a blundering servant of Ber- endeavoured to' enlist them in the more regular service of gamo. Each of these personages wars clad in a peculiar the drama, just as free corps and partizans are sometimes dress, each had his peculiar mask, and each spoke the new-modelled into battalions of the line. This ingenious dialect of the place he represented. Besides these, and and lively writer retained all the license of the Commedia a few other such personages, of which at least four were dell' arte, and all the immunities which it claimed from introduced in each play, there were the Amorosos or In- regular and classical rules; but instead of trusting to the namoratos; that is, some men and women who acted se- extempore jests and grotesque wit of the persons whom rious parts, with Smeraldina, Colombina, Spilletta, and he introduced, he engaged them in dialogues, as well as other females, who played the parts of servettas or wait- plots, of his own invention, which often display much huing-maids. All these spoke Tuscan or Roman, and wore mour and even pathos. It required, however, the richno masks.” {Essay on the Revival of the Drama in Italy, ness of a fancy like Goldoni’s to extract novelty and inp. 249.) terest from a dramatic system in which so many of the The pieces acted by this class of actors were called actors held a fixed and prescriptive character, hardly

]59 DRAMA. pertinence, and the latter a gross and indecent insult. The Drama, admitting of being varied. Accordingly, we do not find that the Italian stage is at present in a more flourishing muse of comedy was therefore bound over for her good behaviour; and even her grave sister was laid under such condition than that of other modern nations. rules and restrictions as should insure the decorum and The revival of the regular drama in France was attend- dignity of her scene. It was at this period that those classical fetters which Frfnc1 h 11 ed with important consequences, owing to the nature of are framed on the three unities were fashioned into form,^^ ^ * her government, the general use of her language throughout Europe, and the influence which, from her situation, and imposed on the French drama. These are acknow- uniticSt she must necessarily hold over other nations. It is the ledged by Corneille, in his Essay upon Dramatic Poetry, boast of Paris that the regular classical drama, banished in the following short but emphatic sentence : “ II faut from every other stage, found a safe and honourable re- observer les unites d'action, de lieu, et de jour ; personner fuse on her own. Yet France has reluctantly confessed nen doute.” The rule, as thus emphatically admitted by that she also had her hour of barbarism. Her earlier the fiery Corneille, was equally binding upon the elegant drama was borrowed, like that of other countries, from Racine, and has fettered the French stage until the preSpain, who, during the whole of the sixteenth and great sent day. “ La Motte,” says Voltaire, “ a man of wit and part of the seventeenth century, held such a formidable talent, but attached to paradoxes, has written in our time predominance in the European republic. While the clas- against the doctrine of the unities; but that literary hesical stage was reviving in Italy, and the historical and resy had no success.” Upon these rules, adopted by the very first writer of romantic drama was flourishing in Spain, France w'as torn to pieces by civil discord. The first French tragedy com- eminence for the French stage, and subscribed to by all posed upon a regular plan was that of Mairet, imitated succeeding dramatists, depends the principal and longfrom the Sophonisba of Trissino; and Riccoboni boasts disputed difference betwixt the drama of France and those with justice, that whoever shall compare the Italian tra- countries in which her laws of taste have been received, gedy of the sixteenth century with that of the French of and the stages of Spain, England, and modern Germany, the same period, will find the latter extravagant and irre- where those critical maxims have been controverted. In gular, and the former already possessed of gravity, dig- other words, the unities proper to the classical drama have nity, and regularity. The French, like the English, date been found inapplicable to plays of a historical or romanthe excellence of their stage from one great author; and tic plan. It is therefore necessary to examine with accuthe illustrious name of Pierre Corneille affords to their racy the essence and effect of those laws so often disputed dramatic history the mighty landmark which Shakspeare with more obstinacy than liberality. The arbitrary forms to which the French thus subjectedExaminagives to our own. of this Cardinal Richelieu, who had succeeded in establishing their theatre are, in their general purport, founded on goodtion oct,rme ' upon a broad basis the absolute power of the French mo- and sound rules of the critical art. But, considered junarch, was not insensible to the graces and ornaments daically and literally, the interpretation put upon those which the throne derived from being surrounded by the unities by the French critics must necessarily lay the muses. He was himself fond of poetry, and even a com- dramatic author under restraints equally severe and unpetitor for the honours of the buskin. He placed himself necessary, without affording any corresponding addition at the head of five dramatic writers, to whom on that ac- to the value of his work. The pedantry by which they count the public gave the title of Les Cinq Auteurs. All are enforced reminds one of the extreme, minute, rigorthese are deservedly forgotten excepting Corneille, of ous, and punctilious discipline to which some regiments whose successful talent the cardinal had the meanness to have been subjected by a pedantic commanding officer, evince no ordinary degree of jealousy. The malevolence which seldom fails to lower the spirit and destroy the of that minister was carried so far that he employed the temper of the soldier, without being of the slightest serFrench Academy, whose complaisance must be recorded vice to him in the moment of danger or the day of battle. The first dramatic unity is that of action, and, rightly to their shame, to criticise severely the Cid, the first, and perhaps the finest, of Corneille’s tragedies. Scudery, a understood, it is by far the most important. A whole, favourite of the cardinal, buoyed by Richelieu’s favour, says Aristotle, is that which has a beginning, middle, and was able for some time to balance Corneille in the opinion end. In short, one strong concentrated interest, upon of the public; but his name is now scarcely known by any which all subordinate incidents depend, and to which they other circumstance than his imprudent and audacious contribute, must pervade the piece. It must open with the rivalry. This great man was not only surrounded by the commencement of the play, evolve itself, and be progresworst possible models, but unfortunately the authors of sive with its progress—must be perpetually in sight, and these models were also favourites of the public and of the never stationary, until at length it arrives at a catastrophe, all-powerful cardinal; yet Corneille vanquished the taste by which it is ended and extinguished. In this rule, abof his age, the competition of his rivals, and the envy of stractedly considered, there is nothing but what is consistent with good sense and sound criticism. The period Richelieu. Corneille, like his predecessors, and like Routrou in par- allowed for dramatic representation is not long, and will ticular, borrowed liberally from the Spanish theatre; but not admit of the episodical ornaments which may be haphis own taste, regulated probably upon his situation, dic- pily introduced into epic poetry. And as the restlessness tated an adherence to the classical model. The French or impatience of a theatrical audience is always one of its stage arose, it must be remembered, under the protection marked characteristics, it has been observed, that neither of an absolute monarch, for whose amusement the poet the most animated description, nor the most beautiful laboured, and in whose presence the drama was performed. poetry, can ever reconcile the spectators to those inartifiIt followed, as a natural consequence, that a more strict cial scenes in which the plot or action of the piece stands etiquette was exacted upon the scene than had hitherto still that the performers may say fine things. The introbeen supposed applicable to a merely popular amusement. duction of an interest, separate and distinct from the main A departure from regularity in tragedy was no longer a action of the play, has a still worse effect; it diminishes bold flight. A violation of decorum in comedy was no the effect of the whole, and divides the attention of the longer a broad jest. When the audience was dignified by audience; as a pack of hounds, when in full pursuit, are the presence of the monarch, the former became an im- impeded and puzzled by starting a fresh object of chase.

DRAMA. Yet even this rule must be liberally considered if we dulations, or to compel it into a straight channel. He Dr would allow dramatic authors that fair room and exercise would follow the course of nature, and neither affect to ' for their genius, which gives rise to the noblest displays of conceal the smaller rills by which the stream was fed, nor genius in the art. Modern dramatists are no longer, it bring them so much in view as to deprive the principal must be remembered, limited to the simple and surer uni- object of its consequence. We admit the difficulty inseformity of the ancient drama, which fixed on one single parable from the dramatic art, and must grant that the event as its object, made it the subject of the moral re- author runs some risk of losing sight of the main interest flections of the chorus, managed it by the intervention of of the piece, by dwelling upon the subordinate accessothree or at most five persons, and consequently presented ries ; but we contend that the attention of the audience is a picture so limited in size and subject that there was no still more likely to be fatigued by a bald and simple plot, difficulty in avoiding the intermixture of a foreign inte- to which, during the course of five acts, there must berest. The modern taste has opened the stage to a wider long much speaking and little progress. And, in point of range of topics, which are at the same time more compli- common sense and common feeling, that piece must alcated in detail, depending on the agency of a variety of ways present unity of action which has unity of interest performers, and on the result of a succession of events. and feeling; which fixes the mind of the audience upon Such dramas have indeed an unity of action peculiar to one train of thought and passion, to which every occurthemselves, which should predominate over and absorb rence in the drama verges ; and which is consummated and every other. But although, like the oak, it should predo- wound up by the final catastrophe. The second dramatic unity is that of time, about which minate over all the neighbouring underwood, its dignity is not injured by the presence and vicinity of that which the critics of various nations have disagreed. If taken in it overshadows. On the contrary, a succession of events its strict and proper sense, it means that the time suptending to the same end, if they do not divert the atten- posed to be consumed in the action represented, should tion from the principal interest, cannot fail, by their va- not exceed that which is occupied by the actual repreriety and succession, to keep it fixed upon the business of sentation. But even Aristotle extends the duration of the action to one revolution of the sun, and Corneille exthe scene. To take an example. In the tragedy of Macbeth a tends it to thirty hours, which is to the actual period of chain of varied and important events are introduced, any representation as ten to one. Boileau, a supereminent one link of which might be hammered out into a drama authority, thus lays down the rule for the unities of time on the severe and simple model of the drama of ancient and place: Greece. There is the murder of Duncan, that of Banquo, Que le lieu de la scene y soit fixe & marque'. and the dethronement and death of the tyrant; all which Un Itimeur, sans peril, dela les Pirenees, are events complete of themselves, independent of each Sur la scene en un jour renferme des annees. other, and yet included within one tragedy of five acts. La souvent le Hdros d’un spectacle grossier, But, nevertheless, this is never felt as a deficiency in the Enfant au premier acte, est Barbon au dernier, Mais nous, que la liaison a se regies engage, performance. It is to the character of Macbeth, to his Nous voulons qu’avec art Paction se me'nage : ambition, guilt, remorse, and final punishment, that the Qu’en un lieu, qu’en un jour, un seul fait accompli mind attaches itself during the whole play; and thus the Tienne jusqu’d la fin le Theatre rempli. succession of various incidents, unconnected excepting by the relation they bear to the principal personage, far from It has been triumphantly remarked, that in thus yielddistracting the attention of the audience, continues to ing up the strict letter of the precept, in allowing the sharpen and irritate curiosity till the curtain drops over three hours employed in acting a play to be multiplied the fallen tyrant. This is not, indeed, an unity of action into twenty-four or thirty, the critics have retained according to the rule of Aristotle, or the observance of nearly all the inconvenience of this famous rule, while the French theatre. But, in a lighter point of view, it they sacrificed its principle, and any advantage attached has all the advantage which could possibly be derived to its observance. The only benefit supposed to be atfrom the severest adherence to the precept of Aristotle, tached to this unity is that of probability. We shall not with this additional merit, that the interest never stag- at present inquire whether this is worth preserving at the nates in declamation, or is suspended by unnecessary dia- cost of imposing heavy restrictions on dramatic genius. logue. But granting the affirmative, probability is as much vioIt would in fact be easy to show that the unity of ac- lated by squeezing the events of twenty-four hours into a tion, in its strict sense, may frequently be an unnatural as period of only three, as if the author had exercised the well as a cumbrous restraint on the genius of the poet. still greater license of the English and Spanish theatres. In the course of nature, an insulated action seldom exists There is no charm in the revolution of the sun, which cirof a nature proper to transfer to the stage. If, indeed, cumscribes within that particular period the events of a the play is founded on some single mythological fable, or drama. When the magic circle drawn around the author if the scene is laid in some early stage of society, when by the actual date of representation is once obliterated, man as yet remained separated from his kind, and con- the argument grounded upon probability falls; and he may nected only with his petty tribe or family, the subject of extend his narrative unconfined by any rule, except what a plot may be chosen where the agency of a very few per- may be considered as resolving itself into the unity of acsons, and these naturally connected together, may, with- tion. A week, a month, a year, years may be included out foreign or extraneous assistance, afford matter for a in the course of the drama, provided always the poet has tragedy. But in the actual course of the peopled world, power so to rivet the attention of the audience on the men are so crowded together, and their movements de- passing scene, that the lapse of time shall pass unregarded. pend so much upon impulses foreign to themselves, that Ihere must be none of those marked pauses which force the action must often appear multiplied and complicated, upon the spectators’ attention the breach of this unity. and all that the author can do is to preserve the interest Still less ought the judicious dramatist to permit his piece uniform and undivided. Its progress may be likened to to embrace such a space of time as shall necessarily prothat of a brook through beautiful scenery. A judicious duce the change on the persons of the characters ridiimprover of the landscape would be certainly desirous to culed by Boileau. The extravagant conduct of the plot make its course visible, but not to cut off its beautiful un- in the Winter s Tale has gone far to depreciate that dra-

DRAMA. 10] ■rama. ma, which, in passages of detached beauty, is inferior to posed of by precedent, we have shown that the rule of Drama, none of Shakspeare’s, in the opinion of the best judges. the ancients was neither absolute, nor did the circumIt might perhaps be improved in acting, by performing stances of their stage correspond with those of ours ; the three first acts as a play, and the fourth and fifth as to which it may be added, that the simple and inartian afterpiece. Yet, even as it is now acted, who is it ficial structure of their plots seldom required a change of that, notwithstanding the cold objection arising out of the scene. But surely it is of less consequence to examine breach of unity, witnesses without delight the exquisite the practice of the ancients, than to consider how far it is contrast betwixt the court and the hamlet, the fascinat- founded upon truth, good taste, and general effect. Granting and simple elegance of Perdita, or the witty rogueries ing, therefore, that the supposed illusion, which transof Autolycus? The poet is too powerful for the critic, ports the spectator to the actual scene of action, really and we lose the exercise of our judgment in the warmth exists, let us inquire whether, in sacrificing the privilege of an occasional change of scene, we do not run the risk of our admiration. The faults of Shakspeare or of his age we do not, how- of shocking the spectator, and disturbing his delightful ever, recommend to the modern dramatist, whose mo- dreams, by other absurdities and improbabilities, attenddesty will certainly place him in his own estimation far ant necessarily on a scrupulous adherence to this rebeneath that powerful magician whose art could fascinate striction. If the action is always to pass in the scene, some place us even by means of deformity itself. But if for his own sake the author ought to avoid such gross violations of of general resort must be adopted, a hall, anti-room, or the dramatic rule, the public, for theirs, ought not to tie him like. It can seldom be so fortunately selected but that down to such severe limitations as must cramp, at least, much must be necessarily discussed there, which, in orif they do not destroy, his powder of affording them plea- der to preserve any appearance of probability, should be sure. If the whole five acts are to be compressed within transacted elsewhere; that many persons must be introthe space of twenty-four hours, the events must, in the duced whose presence must appear unnatural; and that general case, be either so much crowded upon each other much must be done there which the very circumstances as to destroy the very probability which it is the purpose of the piece render totally absdrd. Dennis has applied of this law to preserve; or many of them being supposed these observations with great force, and at the same time to have happened before the commencement of the piece, with great bitterness, in his critique upon Cato, which must be detailed in narrative, which never fails to have a Johnson has quoted at length in his Life of Addison. The bad effect on the stage. scene, it must be remembered, is laid, during the whole The same objections apply to the rigid enforcement of drama, with scrupulous attention to the classical rule, in the third unity, that of place ; and indeed the French au- the great hall of Cato’s palace at Utica. Here the conthors have used respecting it the license of relaxing, in spirators lay their plots, the lovers carry on their intrigues ; practice, the severity of their theory. They have fre- and yet Sempronius, with great inconsistency, disguises quently infringed the rule which they affirm to be invio- himself as Juba to obtain entrance into this vestibule, lable; and their flexible creed permits the place to be which was common to all. Here Cato retires to moralize, changed, provided the audience are not transported out and chides his son for interrupting him; and although he of the city where ^he scene is laid. This mitigation of retires to stab himself, it is to this place that he is brought doctrine, like that granted in the unity of time, is a vir- back to die. All this affords a striking proof how genius tual resignation of the principle contended for. Let us and taste can be fettered and embarrassed by a too peexamine, however, upon what that principle is founded. dantic observance of rules. Let no one suppose that the The rule which prohibits the shifting the scene during inconveniences arising from the rigid observance of the the period of performance, was borrowed by the French unity of place, occur in the tragedy of Cato alone; they from the ancients, without considering the peculiar cir- might in that case be attributed to the inexperience or cumstances in which it arose. First, we have seen al- want of skill in the author. The tragedies of Corneille ready, that during the ancient drama, there was no divi- and Racine afford examples enough that the authors found sion into acts, and that the action was only suspended themselves compelled to violate the rules of probability during the songs of the chorus, who themselves repre- and common sense, in order to adhere to those of Arissented a certain class of personages connected with the totle. In the tragedy of Cinna, for example, the scene is scene. The stage, therefore, was always filled; and a laid in the emperor’s cabinet; and in that very cabinet, supposed change of place would have implied the violent compelled, doubtless, by the laws of unity, Amelia shouts improbability that the whole chorus were transported, forth aloud her resolution to assassinate the emperor. It while in the sight of the spectators, and employed in the is there too that Maximus and Cinna confide to each other discharge of their parts, to the new scene of action. Se- all the secrets of their conspiracy; and it is there where, condly, there is evidence that in the Eumenides of jLs- to render the impropriety more glaring, Cinna suddenly chylus, and the Ajax of Sophocles, the scene is actually reflects upon the rashness of his own conduct: changed, in defiance of the presence of the chorus; and Amis, dans ce palais on peut nous ecouter; a much greater violation of probability is incurred than Et nous parlous peut-etre avec trop d’imprudence, could have taken place in a modern theatre, where, beDans un lieu si mal propre a notre confidence. fore every change of scene, the stage is emptied of the performers. Thirdly, the ancients were less hardly pressIt would be an invidious, but no difficult task, to show ed by this rule than the modern writers. From the ex- that several of the chefs dHoeuvres of the French drama are tent ol their theatres and the size of their stages, the liable to similar objections; and that the awkward dilem-' place of action was considerably larger, and might be held mas in which the unity of place involves them, is far more to include a wider extent, than ours. The climate of likely to destroy the illusion of the performance, than the Greece admitted of many things being transacted with* mere change of scene would have done. But we refer the propriety in the open air; and, finally, they had a contri- reader to the Dramaturgie of Lessing upon this curious vance for displaying the interior of a house or temple to topic. the audience, which, if not an actual change of scene, was The main question yet remains behind, namely, wheadapted to the same purpose. ther such an illusion is actually produced in the minds of It this long litigated question, therefore, is to be dis- the audience by the best-acted play, as induces them to vol. vm. x

I DRAM A. Drai suppose themselves witnessing a reality;—an illusion, in municate, as well as colours and words can do, the same w short, so complete, as to suffer from the occasional exten- sublime sensations which had dictated his own composi- ' v sion of time or change of place in the course of the piece ? tions. The tragedian attempts to attain this object still We do not hesitate to say that no such impression was more forcibly, because his art combines those of the poet, ever produced on a sane understanding; and that the Pa- orator, and artist, by storming as it were the imagination risian critic, in whose presence the unities are never vio- at once through the eye and the ear. Undoubtedly a lated, no more mistakes Talma for Nero, than a London drama with such advantages, and with those of dresses citizen identifies Kemble with Coriolanus, or Kean with and costume, approaches more nearly to actual reality, Richard III.1 The ancients, from the distance of the stage, and therefore has a better chance of attaining its object, and their mode of dressing and disguising their charac- especially when addressing the sluggish and inert fancies ters, might certainly approach a step nearer to reality; of the multitude ; although it may remain a doubtful quesand producing on their stage the very images of the dei- tion whether, with all these means and appliances, minds ties they worshipped, speaking the language which they of a high poetic temperature may not receive a more liveaccounted proper to them, it is highly probable that, to ly impression from the solitary perusal than from the reminds capable of high excitation, there might be a shade presentation of one of Shakspeare’s plays. But, to the of this illusion in their representations. The solemn dis- most ignorant spectator, however unaccustomed to the tance of the stage, the continuous and uninterrupted ac- trick of the scene, the excitement which his fancy retion, kept the attention of the Greeks at once more close- ceives falls materially short of actual mental delusion. ly riveted, and more abstracted from surrounding circum- Even the sapient Partridge himself never thought of being stances. But in the modern theatre, the rapid succession startled at the apparition of the king of Denmark, which of intervals for reflection, the well-known features of the he knew to be only a man in a strange dress; it was the actors, the language which they speak differing frequent- terror so admirably expressed by Garrick, which commuly from that which belongs to the age and country where nicated itself to his feelings, and made him reverse the the scene is laid, interrupt at every turn every approxi- case of the fiends, and tremble without believing. In mation to the fantastic vision of reality into which those truth, the effects produced upon this imaginary character, writers who insist upon the strict observance of the uni- as described by an excellent judge of human nature, exties suppose the audience to be lulled. To use the nerv- hibit, probably, the highest point of illusion to which theaous words of Johnson, “ It is false that any representa- trical exhibition can conduct a rational being. In an tion is mistaken for reality; that any dramatic fable in its agony of terror which made his knees knock against each materiality was ever credible, or for a single moment was other, he never forgets that he is only witnessing a play. ever credited.” There is a conventional treaty between The presence of Mrs Millar and his master assures him the author and the audience, that upon certain supposi- against the reality of the apparition; yet he is no more tions being granted by the latter, his powers of imagina- able to subdue his terrors by this comfortable reflection, tion shall be exerted for the amusement of the spectators. than we have been to check our tears, although well The postulates which are demanded, even upon the French aware that the Belvidera with whose sorrows we sympatheatre, and under the strictest model, are of no ordinary thized was no other than our own inimitable Mrs Sidmagnitude. Although the stage is lighted with lamps, dons. With all our passions and all our sympathies, we are still conscious of the ideal character of that which exthe spectator must say with the subjugated Catherine, cites them; and it is probably this very consciousness of 1 grant it is the sun that shines so bright. the unreality of scene that refines our sorrows into a meThe painted canvass must pass for a landscape; the lancholy yet delicious emotion, and extracts from it that well-known faces of the performers for those of ancient bitterness necessarily connected with a display of similar Greeks, or Romans, or Saracens ; and the present time for misery in actual life. many ages distant. He that submits to such a convention If, therefore, no illusion subsists of a character to be ought not scrupulously to limit his own enjoyment; that affected by a change of scene, or by the prolongation of which is supposed Rome in one act, may in the next be the time beyond the rules of Aristotle, the very foundafancied Paris; and as for time, it is, to use the words of tion of these unities is undermined ; but, at the same time, Dr Johnson, “ of all modes of existence, most obsequious every judicious author will use liberty with prudence. to imagination; a lapse of years is as easily conceived as If we are inclined to ascend to the origin of these celea passage of hours. In contemplation we easily contract brated rules, we ought not to be satisfied with the ipse the time of real actions, and therefore willingly permit it dixit of a Grecian critic, who wrote so many centuries to be contracted when we only see their imitation.” ago, and whose works have reference to a state of dramaIf dramatic representation does not produce the im- tic composition which has now no existence. Upon the pression of reality, in what, it may be asked, consists its revival of letters, indeed, the authority of Aristotle was power? We reply, that its effects are produced by the considered as omnipotent; but even Boileau remonstrated powerful emotions which it excites in the minds of the against his authority, when weighed with that of reason spectators. The professors of every fine art operate their and common sense. impressions in the same manner, though they address Un pedant envieux de sa vaine science, themselves to different organs. The painter exhibits his Tout herisse de Grec, tout bouffi d’arrogance, scene to the eye, the orator pours his thunder upon the Et qui de mille auteurs retenus mot pour mot, ear, the poet awakens the imagination of his reader by Dans la teste entassez, n’a souvent fait qu’un sot, Croit qu’un livre fait tout, et que sans Aristote written description; but each has the same motive, the La raison ne voit goutte, et le bon sens radote. hope, namely, of exciting in the reader, hearer, or spectator, a tone of feeling similar to that which existed in his The opinions of Aristotle must be judged of according own bosom, ere it was bodied forth by his pencil, tongue, or to the opportunities and authorities which lay open before pen. It is the artist’s object, in short, to tune the reader’s him; and from the high critical judgment he has displayimagination to the same pitch with his own; and to com- ed, we can scarce err in supposing he would have drawn 1

See note to page 147.

DRAMA. 163 interest of his piece into two or more separate plots, inDrama, Irama. different results in different circumstances. Dr Drake, whose industry and taste have concentrated so much cu- stead of combining it in one progressive action. We conrious information respecting Shakspeare and his age, has fess, moreover, that the author, who more violently exquoted upon this topic a striking passage from Mr Mor- tends the time, or more frequently changes the place of representation, than can be justified by the necessity of the gan’s Essay on the Character of Falstaff. Speaking, says Dr Drake, of the magic influence which story, and vindicated by his exertion of dramatic force, our poet almost invariably exerts over his auditors, Mr acts unwisely, in so far as he is likely to embarrass a great Morgan remarks, that “ on such an occasion, a fellow like part of the audience, who, from imperfect hearing or slowByrner} waking from his trance, shall lift up his consta- ness of comprehension, may find it difficult to apprehend ble’s staff, and charge this great magician, this daring the plot of his play. The latitude which we are disposed practiser of arts inhibited, in the name of Aristotle to sur- to grant is regulated by the circumstances of the case, render; whilst Aristotle himself, disowning his wretched the interest of the plot, and, above all, the talents of the officer, would fall prostrate at his feet and acknowledge author. He that despises the praise of regularity which his supremacy. — O supreme of dramatic excellence! is attainable by study, cannot reckon on the indulgence of might he say, not to me be imputed the insolence of fools. the audience, unless on the condition of indemnifying them The bards of Greece were confined within the narrow circle by force of genius. If a definitive rule were to be adopted, of the chorus, and hence they found themselves constrain- we should say that it would certainly be judicious to place ed to practise, for the most part, the precision, and copy any change of place or extension of time at the beginning the details, of nature. I followed them, and knew not that of a new' act; as the falling of the curtain and cessation of a larger circle might be drawn, and the drama extended the action has prepared the audience to set off, as it were, to the whole reach of human genius. Convinced, I see that upon a new score. But we consider the whole of these a more compendious nature may be obtained ; a nature of points of propriety as secondary to the real purposes of effects only, to which neither the relation of places, or con- the drama, and not as limitary of that gifted genius who tinuity of time, are always essential. Nature, condescend- can, in the whirlwind of his scene, bear the imagination of ing to the faculties and apprehensions of man, has drawn his audience along with him over the boundaries of place, through human life a regular chain of visible causes and While panting time toils after them in vain. effects. But poetry delights in surprise, conceals her steps, It is not upon the observance of the unities alone that French noseizes at once upon the heart, and obtains the sublime of tions co of things without betraying the rounds of her ascent. True the French found their pretensions to a classical theatre, tra poetry is magic, not nature; an effect from causes hidden They boast also to have discarded that intermixture ofmed£>k- ^ or unknown. To the magician I prescribed no laws; his tragic and comic scenes, which was anciently universal law and his power are one; his power is his law. If his upon the Spanish and English stages. If it had been only understood by this reformation, that end is obtained, who shall question his course ? Means, whether apparent or hidden, are justified in poesy by suc- the French condemned and renounced that species of cess; but then most perfect and most admirable when tragi-comedy which comprehended two distinct plots, the one of a serious, the other of a humorous character, and most concealed. “ Yes, continues Mr Morgan, whatever may be the ne- these two totally unconnected, we give them full credit glect of some, or the censure of others, there are those for their restriction. Dryden, in the Spanish Friar, and who firmly believe that this wild, this uncultivated barba- other pieces; and Southern, both in Oronoko and Isabella, rian, as he has been called, has not yet obtained one half as well as many other authors of their age, have in this unpardonably the unity of action. of his fame; and who trust that some new Stagyrite will particular transgressed r arise, who, instead of pecking at the surface of things, will For, in the cases w e have quoted, the combination of the enter into the inward soul of his compositions, and expel, two plots is so slight, that the serious and comic scenes by the force of congenial feelings, those foreign impurities separated, might each furnish forth a separate drama; so which have stained and disgraced his page. And as to that the audience appear to be listening, not to one play those spots which still remain, they may perhaps become only, but to two dramatic actions independent of each invisible to those who shall seek them through the medium other, although contained in the same piece. So far, thereof his beauties, instead of looking for those beauties, as is fore, we heartily agree in the rule which excludes such an too frequently done, through the smoke of some real or unhappy interchange of inconsistent scenes, moving upon imputed obscurity. When the hand of time shall have opposite principles and interests. When, however, the French critics carry this rule farbrushed off his present editors and commentators, and when the very name of Voltaire, and even the memory of the ther, and proscribe the appearance of comic or inferior language in which he has written, shall be no more, the characters, however intimately connected with the tragic Appalachian Mountains, the banks of the Ohio, and the plot, we would observe, in the first place, that they run plains of Sciola, shall resound with the accents of this bar- the risk of diminishing the reality of the scene; and sebarian. In his native tongue he shall roll the genuine pas- condly, that they exclude a class of circumstances essensions of nature ; nor shall the griefs of Lear be alleviated, tial to its beauty. On the first point it must be observed, that the rule or the charms and wit of Rosalind be abated, by timer" In adopting the views of those authors who have plead- which imposes upon valets and subordinate personages the ed for the liberty of the poet, it is not our intention to necessity of talking as harmonious verse and as elegant deny that great advantages may be obtained by the ob- poetry as their masters, entirely ruins the probability of servance of the unities ; not considering them as in them- the action. Where all is elegant, nothing can be sublime;. selves essential to the play, but only as points upon which where all is ornamented, nothing can be impressive; where the credibility and intelligibility of the action in some sort all is tuned to the same smooth falsetto of sentiment, nodepends. We acknowledge, for example, that the author thing can be natural or real. By such an assimilation of would be deficient in dramatic art, who should divide the manners and language, we stamp fiction on the very front 1 2

Rymer was a calumniator of Shakspeare. Shakspearc and his Times, by Nathan Drake, M.D. p. 553, 554, vol. ii.

DRAMA. While we differ from French criticism respecting the Drar of our dramatic representation. The touches of nature which Shakspeare has exhibited in his lower and gayer right to demand an accurate compliance with the unities, '-'■v characters, like the chastened back-ground of a landscape, and decline to censure that casual intermixture of comic increase the effect of the principal group. The light and character which gives at once reality and variety to the fanciful humour of Mercutio serves, for example, to en- drama, we are no less disposed to condemn the impertihance and illustrate the romantic and passionate character nent love scenes which these authors have, as a matter of of llomeo. Even the doating fondness and silly peevish- etiquette, introduced into all their tragedies, however alien ness of the nurse tends to relieve the soft and affectionate from the passion on which they are grounded. The French character of Juliet, and to place her before the audience drama assumed its present form under the auspices of . in a point of view which rthose who have seen Miss O’Neil Louis XIV. who aimed at combining all the characters of perform Juliet know how to appreciate. A contrast is ef- a hero of romance. The same spirit which inspired the fected which a French author dared not attempt, but of dull monotony of the endless folios of Scudery and Calwhich every bosom at once acknowledges the power and prenede, seemed to dictate to Corneille, and even to Rathe truth. Let us suppose that the gay and gallant Mer- cine, those scenes of frigid metaphysical passion which encutio had as little character as the walking confident of a cumber their best plays. We do not dispute the deep inFrench hero, who echoes the hexameters of his friend in terest which attaches to the passion of love, so congenial hexameters of a lower level; or let us suppose the nurse to the human breast, when it forms the groundwork of of Juliet to be a gentle Nora, as sublime in white linen the play; but it is intolerably nauseous to find a dull love as her principal in white satin; and let the reader judge tale mingled as a indispensable ingredient in every drawhether the piece would gain in dignity any thing pro- matic plot, however inconsistent with the rest of the portioned to what it must lose in truth and interest. The piece. The Amoureux and Amoureuse of the piece come audience at once sympathizes with the friendship of Romeo regularly forth to recite their common-places of gallantry, and Mercutio, rendered more natural and more interest- in language as cold as it is exaggerated, and as inconsising by the very contrast of their characters; and each tent with passion and feeling as with propriety and comspectator feels as a passion, not as a matter of reflection, mon sense. Even the horrid tale of CEdipus has the misthat desire of vengeance which impels Romeo against placed garnishment of a love intrigue between Theseus, Tibalt; for we acknowledge as an amiable and interesting brought there for no other purpose, and a certain Dirce, individual the friend whom he has lost by the sword of whom, in the midst of the pestilence, he thus gallantly Capulet. Even the anilities of the nurse give a reality to compliments: the piece, which, whatever French critics may pretend, is Quelque ravage afireux qu’etale ici la peste, much more seriously disturbed by inconsistency of manI.’absence aux vrais amans est encore plus funeste. ners, than by breach of their dramatic unities. “ God The predominance of a passion which expresses itself so forbid,” says Mr Puff, in the Critic, “ that, in a free coun- absurdly is all that the French have condescended to adopt try, all the fine words in the language should be engrossed from the age of chivalry, so rich in more dramatic stores; by the higher characters of the piece.” The French cri- and they have borrowed it in all its pedantry, and without tics did not carry their ideas of equality quite so far, but its tenderness and fire. Riccoboni has probably alleged they tuned the notes of their subalterns just one pitch the true reason for the introduction of these heavy scenes lower than those of their principal characters, so that their of love intrigue, which is, that at little expense of labour language, similar in style, but lower in sentiment and dic- to the author, they fill up three quarters of the action of tion, presents still that subordinate resemblance and cor- his play. We quote from the French version, as that imrespondence to that of their superiors, which the worsted mediately before us, and most generally intelligible : “ Par lace upon the livery of a servant bears to the embroidery exemple, dtons de Nicomede les dix scenes de Laodice, upon the coat of his master. de 1' (Edipe les dix scenes de Dirce, de Polieucte les It is not to mere expression that these remarks are scenes d'amour de Severe, de la Phedre de Monsieur confined; for if we consult the course of human life, we Racine les six scenes dAricie, et nous verrons que non shall find that mirth and sorrow, and events which cause seidement Vaction ne sera point interrompue, mais quelle en both, are more nearly allied than perhaps it is altogether sera plus vice ; en sorte que l'on verra manifestement, que pleasing to allow. Considered relatively to a spectator, an ces scenes de tendresses nont servi qua ralentir taction de incident may often excite a mingled emotion, partaking at la piece, d la refroidir, et d rendre le heros moins grand. Si once of that which is moving and that which is ludicrous ; apres ces deux meilleurs tragedies de la France, on examine and there is no reader who has not, at some period of his tous les autres, on connoitra bien mieux cette verite. Lorsque life, met with events at which he hesitated whether to Vamour fait le sujet de la tragedie, ce sentiment, si intelaugh or to cry. It remains to be proved why scenes of ressant par lui-meme, occupe le scene avec raison; Jaime this dubious yet interesting description should be exclud- Vamour dePiiEERE, mais de Phedre seule." Under this thraled from the legitimate drama, while their force is acknow- dom the fetters of the French stage long laboured, notledged in that of human life. We acknowledge the difficulty withstanding the noble example of Athalie, the chef of bringing them upon the scene with their full and cor- d’oeuvre of Racine. By the example of Voltaire, in one or responding effect. It was perhaps under this persuasion two of his best pieces, they have of late ventured occathat the fool, whose wild jests were too much the result of sionally to discard their uninteresting Cupid, whose aphabit and practice to be subdued even by the terrors of pearance on the stage as a matter of course and of cerethe storm, has been banished from the terrific scene of raonys produced as little effect as when his altar and godKing Lear. But, in yielding to this difficulty, the terrible head are depicted on the semicircle of a fan. contrast has been thus destroyed, in which Shakspeare We have already observed, that the refined, artificial, exhibited the half perceptions of the natural fool, as con- and affected character of the French tragedy, arose from trasted with the assumed insanity of Edgar, and the real its immediate connection with the pleasures and with the madness of the old king. They who prefer to this living presence of an absolute sovereign. From the same cirvariety of emotion the cold uniformity of a French scene cumstance, however, the French stage derived several adof passion, must be numbered among those who read for vantages. A degree of discipline, unknown in other theaRie pleasure of criticism, and without hope of partaking tres, was early introduced among the French actors; and ‘the enthusiasm of the poet. those ol a subordinate rank, who, on the English stage,

DRAMA. 165 ,rama. sometimes exhibit intolerable, contemptuous, and wilful passion of love with truth, softness, and fidelity; and his v Drama, negligence, become compelled, on that of France, to pay scenes of this sort form the strongest possible contrast — the same attention to their parts as their superiors, and to with those in which he, as well as Corneille, sacrificed to exert what limited talents they possess in the subordinate the dull Cupid of metaphysical romance. In refinement parts to which they are adapted. The effect of this com- and harmony of versification, Racine has hitherto been mon diligence upon the scene, is a general harmony and unequalled ; and his Athalie is, perhaps, likely to be gecorrespondence in its parts, which never fails to strike a nerally acknowledged as the most finished production of stranger with admiration. the French drama. The royal protection, also, early produced on the PariSubsequent dramatists, down to the time of Voltaire, Voltaire, sian stage an improved and splendid style of scenery, de- were contented with imitating the works of these two great coration, and accompaniments. The scenes and machi- models, until the active and ingenious spirit of that celenery which they borrowed from Italy, they improved with brated author seems tacitly to have meditated further extheir usual alert ingenuity. They were still further im- perimental alterations than he thought it prudent to de- ’ proved under the auspices of Voltaire, who had the sole fend or to avow. His extreme vivacity and acute intellect merit of introducing natural and correct costume. Before were mingled, as is not unfrequent in such temperaments, his time the actors, whether Romans or Scythians, ap- with a certain nervous timidity, which prevented him from peared in the full dress of the French court; and Augus- attempting open and bold innovation, even where he felt tus himself was represented in a huge full-bottomed wig, compliance with existing rules most inconvenient and dissurmounted by a crown of laurel. The strict national cos- piriting. He borrowed, therefore, liberally from Shaktume introduced by Voltaire is now observed. That au- speare, whose irregularities were the frequent object of his thor has also the merit of excluding the idle crowd of cour- ridicule; and he did not hesitate tacitly to infringe the tiers and men of fashion who thronged the stage during dramatic unities in his plays, while in his criticism he holds the time of representation, and formed a sort of semicircle them up as altogether inviolable. While he altered the round the actors, leaving them thus but a few yards of an costume of the stage, and brought it nearer to that of naarea free for performance, and disconcerting at once the tional truth, he made one or two irresolute steps towards performers and the audience, by the whimsical intermix- the introduction of national character. If we were, inture of players and spectators. The nerves of those pe- deed, to believe the admirers of Corneille, little remained dants who contended most strenuously for the illusion of to be done in this department; he had already, it is said, the scene, and who objected against its being interrupted taught his Romans to speak as Romans, and his Greeks as by an occasional breach of the dramatic unities, do not Greeks ; but of such national discrimination foreigners are appear to have suffered from the presence of this singular unable to perceive a trace. His heroes, one and all, talk chorus. like men of no peculiar character or distinct age and nai rneille. It was not decoration and splendour alone which the tion, but, like the other heroes of the French dramatic French stage owed to Louis XIV. Its principal obligation school, are “ all honourable men,” who speak in high, was for that patronage which called forth in its service the grave, buskined rhimes, where an artificial brilliancy of talents of Corneille and Racine, the Homer and the Vir- language, richness of metaphor, and grandeur of sentiment, gil of the French drama. However constrained by pedan- are substituted for that concise and energetic tone of diatic rules; however held back from using that infinite va- logue, which shows at once the national and individual riety of materials which national and individual character character of the personage who uses it. In Mahomet, Alpresented to them ; however frequently compelled by sys- zire, and one or two other pieces, Voltaire has attempted tem to adopt a pompous, solemn, and declamatory style some discrimination of national character; the groundof dialogue; these distinguished authors still remain the work, however, is still French ; and, under every disguise, proudest boast of the classical age of France, and a high whether of the turban of the Ottoman, the feathery crown honour to the European republic of letters. It seems pro- of the savage, or the silk tunic of the Chinese, the characbable that Corneille, if left to the exercise of his own judg- ter of that singular people can be easily recognized. Volment, would have approximated more to the romantic taire probably saw the deficiency of the national drama drama. The Cid possesses many of the charms of that with his usual acuteness; but, like the ancient philosospecies of composition. In the character of Don Gourmaz, phers, he contentedly joined in the idolatry which he dehe has drawn a national portrait of the Spanish nobility, spised. for which very excellence he was subjected to the censure It seems, indeed, extremely doubtful whether the French of the academy, his national court of criticism. In a ge- tragedy can ever be brought many steps nearer to nature. neral point of view, he seems to have been ambitious of That nation is so unfortunate as to have no poetical lanoverawing his audience by a display of the proud, the guage ; so that some degree of unnatural exaltation of severe, the ambitious, and the terrible. Tyrants and con- sentiment is almost necessary to sustain the tone of traquerors have never sat to a painter of greater skill; and gedjr at a pitch higher than that of ordinary life. The peothe romantic tone of feeling which he adopts in his more ple are passionately fond of ridicule; their authors are perfect characters is allied to that of chivalry. But Cor- equally afraid of incurring it: they are aware, like their neille was deficient in tenderness, in dramatic art, and in late ruler, that there is but one step betwixt the sublime the power of moving the passions. His fame, too, was in- and the ridiculous; and they are afraid to aim at the jured by the multiplicity of his efforts to extend it. Critics former, lest their attempt, falling short, should expose of his own nation have numbered about twenty of his them to derision. They cannot reckon on the mercy or dramas which have little to recommend them; and no enthusiasm of their audience ; and while they banish com-, foreign reader is very likely to verify or refute the cen* bats and deaths, and even violent action of any kind, from sure, since he must previously read them to an end. the stage, this seems chiefly on account of the manifest Racine, who began to write when the classical fetters risk that a people, more alive to the ludicrous than the kine. were clenched and riveted upon the French drama, did lofty, might laugh when they should applaud. The drunken not make that effort of struggling with his chains which and dizzy fury with which Richard, as personated by we observe in the elder dramatist; he was strong where Kean, continues to make the motion of striking after he Corneille evinced weakness, and weak in the points where has lost his weapon, would be caviare to the Parisian par.his predecessor showed vigour. Racine delineated the terre. Men must compound with their poets and actors,

166 DRAMA. Drama, and pardon something like extravagance, on the score of limits the extensive and prolonged transactions which com- Dra® enthusiasm. But if they are nationally dead to that enthu- prehend the revolution of kingdoms and fate of monarchs. ; siasm, they resemble a deaf man listening to eloquence, What influence, however, these.rules do possess, must who is more likely to be moved to laughter by the ges- operate to cramp and embarrass the comic as well as the tures of the orator, than to catch fire at his passionate tragic writer; to violate and disunite those very probabideclamation. lities which they affect to maintain; and to occasion a Above all, the French people are wedded to their own thousand real absurdities rather than grant a conventional opinions. Each Parisian is, or supposes himself, master license, which seems essential to the freedom of the drama. of the rules of the critical art; and whatever limitations The later comic authors of France seem to have abanit imposes on the author, the spectators receive some doned the track pointed out by Moliere, as if in despair indemnification from the pleasure of sitting in judgment of approaching his excellence. Their comedy, compared upon him. To require from a dancer to exhibit his agi- with that of other nations, and of their great predecessor, lity without touching any of the lines of a diagram chalked is cramped, and tame, and limited. In this department, on the floor, would deprive the performance of much ease, as in tragedy, the stage experienced the inconvenience strength, and grace; but still the spectator would feel a arising from the influence of the court. The varied and certain interest in watching the dexterity with which the unbounded field of comic humour which the passions and artist avoided treading on the interdicted limits, and a peculiarities of the lower orders present, was prohibited, certain pride in detecting occasional infringements. In as containing subjects of exhibition too low and vulgar for the same manner, the French critic obtains a triumph a monarch and his courtiers; and thus the natural, fresh, from watching the transgressions of the dramatic poet and varied character of comedy was flung aside, while the against the laws of Aristotle ; equal, perhaps, to the more heartless vices and polished follies of the great world were legitimate pleasure he might have derived from the unfet- substituted in its place. Schlegel has well observed, that tered exercise of his talents. Upon the whole, the French the object of French comedy “ is no longer life, but sotragedy, though its regulations seem to us founded in ciety ; that perpetual negotiation between conflicting vapedantry, and its sentiments to belong to a state of false nities which never ends in a sincere treaty of peace; the and artificial refinement, contains, nevertheless, passages embroidered dress, the hat under the arm, and the sword of such perfect poetry and exquisite moral beauty, that by the side, essentially belong to them ; and the whole of to hear them declaimed with the art of Talma, cannot but the characterization is limited to the folly of the men and afford a very high pitch of intellectual gratification. the coquetry of the women.” It is scarcely in nature that a laughter-loving people French The French comedy assumed a regular shape about the comedy, same period with the tragedy ; and Moliere was in his should have remained satisfied with an amusement so dull department what Corneille and Racine were in theirs ; an and insipid as their regular comedy. A few years preoriginal author, approached in excellence by none of those ceding the revolution, and while the causes of that event that succeeded him. The form which he assumed for a were in full fermentation, the Marriage of Figaro apmodel was that of the comedy of Menander, and he has peared on the stage. It is a comedy of intrigue ; and the copied pretty closely some pieces from the Latin stage. dialogue is blended with traits of general and political Moliere was endowed by nature with a rich fund of comic satire, as well as with a tone of licentiousness, which was humour, which is nowhere more apparent than in those till then a stranger to the French stage. It was received light pieces which are written upon the plan of the Italian with a degree of enthusiastic and frantic popularity which masked comedy. In these he has introduced the jealous nothing but its novelty could have occasioned, for there is old pantaloon, the knavish and mischievous servant, and little real merit in the composition. Frederick of Prussia, some of its other characters. In his regular comedy he and other admirers of the old theatrical school, were greatsoared to a higher pitch. Before his time the art had ly scandalized at so daring an innovation on the regular sought its resources in the multiplicity and bustle of in- French comedy. The circumstances which followed have trigue, escape, and disguise,—of, at best, in a comic dia- prevented Beaumarchais’ example from being imitated; logue, approaching to mere buffoonery. Moliere’s satire and the laughers have consoled themselves with inferior aimed at a nobler prey; he studied mankind for the pur- departments of the drama. Accordingly, we find the pose of attacking those follies of social life which are best blank supplied by farces, comic operas, and dramatic vaexposed by ridicule. The aim of few satirists has been rieties, in which plots of a light, flimsy, and grotesque chaso legitimate, or pursued with such success. Female va- racter are borne out by the comic humour of the author nity, learned pedantry, unreasonable jealousy, the doating and comic skill of the actor. Brunet, a comedian of extraand disgraceful passions of old men, avarice, coquetry, ordinary powers in this cast of interludes, has at times slander, the quacks who disgrace medicine, and the knaves presumed so far upon his popularity as to season his farce who prostitute the profession of the law, were the marks with political allusions. It will scarce be believed that at which his shafts were directed. he aimed several shafts at Napoleon when in the height Moliere’s more regular comedies are limited by the law of his power. The boldness as well as the wit of the of unities, and finished with great diligence. It is true, actor secured him the applause of the audience; and such the author found it sometimes necessary tacitly to elude a hold had Brunet of their affections, that an imprisonment the unity of place, which he durst not openly violate ; but, of a few hours was the greatest punishment which Bonain general, he sacrifices probability to system. In the parte ventured to inflict upon him. But whatever be the Ecole des Femmes, Arnolph brings his wife into the street, attachment shown to the art in general, the French, like out of the room in which his jealousy has imprisoned her, ourselves, rest the character of their theatre chiefly upon in order to lecture her upon the circumspection due to the ancient specimens of art; and the regular tragedy, as her character; which absurdity he is guilty of, that the well as comedy, seems declining in that kingdom. scene may not be shifted from the open space before his door to her apartment. In general, however, it may be As the drama of France was formed under the patro- Engli noticed, that the critical unities impose much less hard- nage of the monarch, and bears the strongest proofs of its dram: ship upon the comic than upon the tragic poet. It is much courtly origin, that of England, which was encouraged by more easy to reconcile the incidents of private life to the the people at large, retains equally unequivocal marks of unities of time and place, than to compress within their its popular descent. Its history must naturally draw to

DRAMA. 167 ?-ama. some length, as being that part of our article likely to be have been granted for the purpose of police alone, not of Drama, most interesting to the reader. In part, however, we exclusive privilege or monopoly ; since London contained, have paved the way for it by the details common to the in the latter part of the sixteenth century, no fewer than rise of dramatic art in the other nations of Europe. We fourteen distinct companies of players, with very considershall distinguish the English drama as divided into four able privileges and remunerations. (See Drake’s Shakperiods, premising that this is merely a general, and not a speare and his Times, vol. ii. p. 205.) precise division. The taste which governed each period, The public, therefore, in the widest sense of the word, and the examples on which it is grounded, will usually be was at once arbiter and patron of the drama. The comfound to have dawned in the period preceding that in panies of players who traversed the country might indeed which it was received and established. assume the name of some peer or baron, for the sake of I. From the revival of the theatre until the great civil introduction or protection ; but those of the metropolis do not, at this early period of our dramatic history, apwar. II. From the Restoration to the reign of Queen Anne. pear to have rested in any considerable degree upon learned III. From the earlier part of the last century down to or aristocratic privilege. Their license was obtained from the crowm, but their success depended upon the voice of the present reign. IV. The present state of the British drama. the people; and the pieces which they brought forward ]. ,tpe- I. The drama of England commenced, as we have al- were, of course, adapted to popular taste. It followed ri of the ready observed, upon the Spanish model. Ferrex and necessarily that histories and romantic dramas were the !■; rlish perrex was the first composition approaching to a regular favourites of the age. A general audience in an unlearned cl 11a. tragedy, and it was acted before Queen Elizabeth, upon age requires rather amusement than conformity to rules, the 18th day of January 1561, by the gentlemen of the and is more displeased with a tiresome uniformity than Inner Temple. It partakes rather of the character of a shocked with the breach of all the unities. The players historical than of a classical drama, although more nearly and dramatists, before the rise of Shakspeare, followed, allied to the latter class than the chronicle plays which of consequence, the taste of the public, and dealt in the afterwards took possession of the stage. We have al- surprising, elevating, and often bombastic incidents of traready recorded Sir Philip Sidney’s commendation of this gedy, as well as in the low humour and grotesque inciplay, which he calls by the name of Gorboduc, from one dent of the comic scene. Where these singly were found of the principal characters. Acted by a learned body, to lack attraction, they mingled them together, and dashed and written in great part by Lord Sackville, the principal their tragic plot with an under-intrigue of the lowest bufauthor of the Mirror for Magistrates, the first of English foonery, without any respect to taste or congruity. tragedies assumed in some degree the honours of the The clown was no stranger to the stage ; he interfered, learned buskin ; but although a chorus was presented ac- without ceremony, in the most heart-rending scenes, to cording to the classical model, the play was free from the the scandal of the more learned spectators. observance of the unities, and contains many irregulariNow lest such frightful shows of fortune’s fall. ties severely condemned by the regular critics. And bloody tyrant’s rage, should chance appall English comedy, considered as a regular composition, The death-struck audience, ’midst the silent rout is said to have commenced with Gammer Gurtons Needle. Comes leaping in a self-misformed lout, This “ right pithy, pleasant, and merry comedy,” was the And laughs and grins, and frames his mimic face, And jostles straight into the prince’s place ; supposed composition of John Still, Master of Arts, and Then doth the theatre echo all aloud afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells. It was acted in With gladsome noise of that applauding crowd, Christ-Church College, Cambridge, in 1575. It is a piece A goodly hotchpotch, where vile russettings of low humour, the whole jest turning upon the loss and Are matched with monarchs and with mighty kings. recovery of the needle with which Gammer Gurton was An ancient stage-trick, illustrative of the mixture of to repair the breeches of her man Hodge; but, in point of manners, it is a great curiosity, as the curta suppellex tragic and comic'action in Shakspeare’s time, was long of our ancestors is scarcely anywhere so well described. preserved in the theatre. Henry IV. holding council beThe popular characters also, the Sturdy Beggar, the Clown, fore the battle of Shrewsbury, was always represented as the Country Vicar, and the Shrew of the sixteenth cen- seated on a drum ; and when he rose and came forward, tury, are drawn in colours taken from the life. The unity the place was occupied by Falstaff, which seldom failed of time, place, and action, are observed through the play to produce a laugh from the galleries. The taste and with an accuracy of which France might be jealous. The judgment of the author himself was very different. Durtime is a few hours; the place, the open square of the ing the whole scene Falstaff gives only once, and under village before Gammer Gurton’s door; the action, the irresistible temptation, the rein to his petulant wit, and it loss of the needle; and this, followed by the search for is instantly checked by the prince, to whom, by the way, and final recovery of that necessary implement, is inter- and not to the king, his words ought to be addressed.^ The English stage might be considered as equally with- Shakspeare. mixed with no other thwarting or subordinate interest, but is progressive from the commencement to the conclu- out rule and without model when Shakspeare arose. The effect of the genius of an individual upon the taste of a sion. It is remarkable that the earliest English tragedy and nation is mighty; but that genius, in its turn, is formed comedy are both works of considerable merit; that each according to the opinions prevalent at the period when it partakes of the distinctive character of its class ; that the comes into existence. Such was the case with Shakspeare. tragedy is without intermixture of comedy, the comedy With an education more extensive, and a taste refined by . the classical models, it is probable that he also, in admirawithout any intermixture of tragedy. These models were followed by a variety of others, in tion of the ancient drama, might have mistaken the form which no such distinctions were observed. Nuiiieraus for the essence, and subscribed to those rules which had theatres sprung up in different parts of the metropolis, produced such masterpieces of art. Fortunately for the opened upon speculation by distinct troops of performers. full exertion of a genius as comprehensive and versatile Their number shows how much they interested public as intense and powerful, Shakspeare had no access to any •curiosity; for men never struggle for a share in a losing models of which the commanding merit might have conprofession. They acted under licenses, which appear to trolled and limited his own exertions. Fie followed the

DRAMA. 168 Drama, path which a nameless crowd of obscure writers had trod- he seems adequate to expressing them. He laboured in w Dran '“"’■'v-*—'' den before him; but he moved in it with the grace and the mine of the classics, but overloaded himself with the ' "y | majestic step of a being of a superior order, and vindi- ore, which he could not or would not refine. His Catacated for ever the British theatre from a pedantic restric- line and Sejanus are laboured translations from Cicero, tion to classical rule. Nothing went before Shakspeare Sallust, and Tacitus, which his own age did not endure, which in any respect was fit to fix and stamp the charac- and which no succeeding generation will probably be ter of a national drama; and certainly no one will succeed much tempted to revive. With the stern superiority of him capable of establishing by mere authority a form more learning over ignorance, he asserted himself a better judge of his own productions than the public which condemned restricted than that which Shakspeare used. Such is the action of existing circumstances upon genius, him, and haughtily claimed the laurel which the public and the re-action of genius upon future circumstances. suffrage often withheld; but the world has as yet shown Shakspeare and Corneille were each the leading spirit of no disposition to reverse the opinion of their predecessors. In comedy Jonson made some efforts partaking of the his age; and the difference between them is well marked by the editor of the latter. “ Corneille est inegal comme character of the older comedy of the Grecians. In his Shakspeare, et plein de genie comme lui; mais le genie de Tale of a Tub he follows the path of Aristophanes, and Corneille etoit d celui de Shakspeare ce quun seigneur est d lets his wit run into low buffoonery, that he might bring Vegard dun homme de peuple ne avec le me me esprit que upon the stage Inigo Jones, his personal enemy. In CynIml' This distinction is strictly accurate, and contains a thia's Revels and the Staple of News, we find him introcompliment to the English author which, assuredly, the ducing the dull personification of abstract passions and critic did not intend to make. Corneille wrote as a cour- qualities, and turning legitimate comedy into an allegoritier, circumscribed within the imaginary rules and cere- cal mask. What interest can the reader have in such chamonies of a court, as a chicken is by a circle of chalk racters as the three Penny boys, and their transactions drawn round it. Shakspeare, composing for the amuse- with the Lady Pecunia? Some of Jonson’s more legitiment of the public alone, had within his province, not mate comedies may be also taxed here with filthiness of only the inexhaustible field of actual life, but the whole language, of which disgusting attribute his works exhibit ideal world of fancy and superstition; more favourable to more instances than any English writer of eminence exthe display of poetical genius than even existing realities. cepting Swift. Let us, however, be just to a master-spiUnder the circumstances of Corneille, Shakspeare must rit of his age. The comic force of Jonson was strong, have been restricted to the same dull, regular, and unva- marked, and peculiar; and he excelled even Shakspeare ried system. He must have written, not according to the himself in drawing that class of truly English characters, dictates of his own genius, but in conformity to the man- remarkable for peculiarity of humour ; that is, for some date of some intendant des menus plaisirs ; or of some mi- mode of thought, speech, and behaviour, superinduced nister of state, who, like Cardinal Richelieu, thought he upon the natural disposition by profession, education, or could write a tragedy because he could govern a kingdom. fantastical affectation of singularity. In blazoning these It is not equally clear to what height Corneille might forth with their natural attributes and appropriate lanhave ascended had he enjoyed the national immunities of guage, Ben Jonson has never been excelled, and his Shakspeare. Each pitched down a land-mark in his art. works everywhere exhibit a consistent and manly moral, The circle of Shakspeare was so extended, that it is with resulting naturally from the events of the scene. It must also be remembered, that although it was Jonadvantage liable to many restrictions; that of Corneille included a narrow limit, which his successors have deem- son’s fate to be eclipsed by the superior genius, energy, and taste of Shakspeare, yet those advantages which enaed it unlawful to extend. It is not our intention, within the narrow space to bled him to maintain an honourable though an unsuccesswhich our essay is necessarily limited, to enlarge upon ful struggle, were of high advantage to the drama. Jonthe character and writings of Shakspeare. We can only son was the first who showed by example the infinite sunotice his performances as events in the history of the periority of a well-conceived plot, all the parts of which theatre—of a gigantic character indeed, so far as its dig- bore upon each other, and forwarded an interesting connity, elevation, and importance are considered; but, in re- clusion over a tissue of detached scenes, following without spect of the mere practice of the drama, rather fixing and necessary connection or increase of interest. The plot of sanctioning, than altering or reforming those rules and the Fox is admirably conceived; and that of the Alchyforms which he found already established. This we know mist, though faulty in the conclusion, is nearly equal to it. for certain, that those historical plays or chronicles, in In the two comedies of Every Man in his Humour and which Shakspeare’s muse has thrown a never-fading light Every Man out of his Humour, the plot deserves much upon the history of his country, did, almost every one of less praise, and is deficient at once in interest and unity them, exist before him in the rude shape of dry dialogue of action; but in that of the Silent Woman nothing can and pitiful buffoonery, stitched into scenes by the elder exceed the art with which the circumstance upon which playwrights of the stage. His romantic dramas exhibit the conclusion turns is, until the very last scene, concealthe same contempt of regularity which was manifested by ed from the knowledge of the reader, while he is tempted Marlow and other writers; for where there was abuse or to suppose it constantly within his reach. In a word, Jonextreme license upon the stage, the example of Shak- son is distinguished by his strength and stature, even in speare may be often quoted as its sanction, never as tend- those days when there were giants in the land, and affords ing to reform it. In these particulars the practice of our a model of a close, animated, and characteristic style of immortal bard was contrasted with that of Ben Jonson, a comedy, abounding in moral satire, and distinguished at severe and somewhat pedantic scholar; a man whose mind once by force and art, which was afterwards more cultiwas coarse, though capable both of strength and elevation, vated by English dramatists, than the lighter, more wild, and whose strong perception of comic humour was tinc- and more fanciful department in which Shakspeare moved, beyond the reach of emulation. tured with vulgarity. The general opinion of critics has assigned genius as Jonson. Jonson’s tragic strength consists in a sublime, and sometimes harsh, expression of moral sentiment; but displays the characteristic of Shakspeare, and art as the approprilittle of tumultuous and ardent passion, still less of ten- ate excellence of Jonson; not surely that Jonson was dederness or delicacy; although there are passages in which ficient in genius, but that art was the principal character-

DRAM A. 169 istic of his laborious scenes. We learn from his own con- If character be sometimes violated, probability discarded, Dramafession, and from the panegyrics of his friends, as well as and the interest of the plot neglected, the reader is, on the taunts of his enemies, that he was a slow composer. the other hand, often gratified by the most beautiful deThe natural result of laborious care is jealousy of fame; scription, the most tender and passionate dialogue, a disfor that which we do with labour, we value highly when play of brilliant wit and gaiety, or a feast of comic huachieved. Shakspeare, on the other hand, appears to mour. These attributes had so much effect on the pubhave composed rapidly and carelessly, and sometimes lic, that, during the end of the seventeenth and the beeven without considering, while writing the earlier acts, ginning of the eighteenth centuries, many of Beaumont how the catastrophe was to be huddled up, in that which and Fletcher’s plays had possession of the stage, while was to conclude the piece. We may fairly conclude him those of Shakspeare were laid upon the shelf. to have been indifferent about fame, who would take so Shirley, Ford, Webster, Decker, and others, added per- Shirley little pains to win it. Much perhaps might have been formances to the early treasures of the English drama,and others, achieved by the union of these opposed qualities, and by which abound with valuable passages. There never, problending the art of Jonson with the fiery invention and bably, rushed into the lists of literary competition togefluent expression of his great contemporary. But such ther a band more distinguished for talent. If the early an union of opposite excellencies in the same author was drama be inartificial and unequal, no nation at least can hardly to be expected; nor perhaps would tlie result show so many detached scenes, and even acts, of distinhave proved altogether so favourable as might at first guished poetical merit. One powerful cause seems to view be conceived. We should have had more perfect have produced an effect so marked and distinguished, to specimens of the art, but they must have been much wit, the universal favour of a theatrical public, which daily fewer in number; and posterity would certainly have and nightly thronged the numerous theatres then open in been deprived of that wild luxuriance of dramatic excel- the city of London. lencies and poetic beauties, which, like wild flowers upon In considering this circumstance, it must above all beCause of a common field, lie scattered profusely among the unacted remembered that these numerous audiences crowded, not the abunplays of Shakspeare. to feast their eyes upon show and scenery, but to see and^ance ot Mjsinger. Although incalculably superior to his contemporaries, hear the literary production of the evening. The scenes j^ient in Shakspeare had successful imitators, and the art of Jonson which the stage exhibited were probably of the most pal-this period, was not unrivalled. Massinger appears to have studied try description. Some rude helps to the imagination of the works of both with the intention of uniting their ex- the audience might be used by introducing the gate of a cellencies. He knew the strength of plot; and although castle or town ; the monument of the Capulets, by sinking his plays are altogether irregular, yet he well understood a trap-door, or by thrusting in a bed. The good-natured the advantage of a strong and defined interest; and in un- audience readily received these hints, with that convenravelling the intricacy of his intrigues, he often displays tional allowance which Sir Philip Sidney had ridiculed, and the management of a master. Art, therefore, not perhaps which Shakspeare himself has alluded to when he appeals in its technical, but in its most valuable sense, was Mas- from the poverty of theatrical representation to the excitsinger’s as well as Jonson’s ; and, in point of composition, ed imagination of his audience. many passages of his plays are not unworthy of Shakspeare. Can this cockpit hold Were we to distinguish Massinger’s peculiar excellence, The vasty fields of France ? Or may we cram we should name that first of dramatic attributes, a full "Within this wooden O, the very casques conception of character, a strength in bringing out, and That did affright the air at Agincourt ? consistency in adhering to it. He does not, indeed, alO, pardon ! since a crooked figure may Attest, in little space, a million ; ways introduce his personages to the audience in their And let us, ciphers to this great account, own proper character; it dawns forth gradually in the proOn your imaginary forces work; gress of the piece, as in the hypocritical Luke, or in the Suppose, within the girdle of these walls, heroic Marullo. But, upon looking back, we are always Are now confined two mighty monarchies, surprised and delighted to trace from the very beginning, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder; intimations of what the personage is to prove as the play Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth. advances. There is often a harshness of outline, howFor ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, ever, in the character of this dramatist, which prevents Carry them here and there ; jumping o’er times; their approaching to the natural and easy portraits beTurning the accomplishment of many years queathed us by Shakspeare. Into an hour-glass imont Beaumont and Fletcher, men of remarkable talent, Such were the allowances demanded by Sbakspeare and art''letch' seemed to have followed Shakspeare’s mode of composition rather than Jonson’s, and thus to have altogether ne- his contemporaries from the public of their day, in conglected that art which Jonson taught, and which Massin- sideration of the imperfect means and appliances of their ger in some sort practised. They may, indeed, be rather theatrical machinery. Yet the deficiency of scenery and said to have taken for their model the boundless license show, which, when existing in its utmost splendour, divides of the Spanish stage, from which many of their pieces are the interest of the piece in the mind of the ignorant, and expressly and avowedly derived. The acts of their plays rarely affords much pleasure to a spectator of taste, may have are so detached from each other, in substance and consis- been rather an advantage to the infant drama. The specta tence, that the plot scarce can be said to hang together at tors having nothing to withdraw their attention from the imall, or to have, in any sense of the word, a beginning, pro- mediate business of the piece, gave it their full and unin- . gress, and conclusion. It seems as if the play began be- terrupted attention. And here it may not be premature cause the curtain rose, and ended because it fell, the au- to inquire into the characteristical difference between the thor, in the mean time, exerting his genius for the amuse- audiences of the present day, and those earlier theatrical ment of the spectators, pretty much in the same manner ages, when the drama boasted not only the names of Shakas in the Scenario of the Italians, by the actors filling up, speare, of Massinger, of Jonson, of Beaumont and Fletcher, with their extempore wit, the scenes chalked out for them. of Shirley, of Ford, and others of subordinate degree ; the To compensate for this excess of irregularity, the plays of meanest of whom shows occasionally more fire than warms Beaumont and Fletcher have still a high poetical value. whole reams of modern plays. This will probably be found VOL. vm.

1

170 DRAMA. Drama. to rest on the varied and contrasted feelings with which and interests him in the business of each scene, however Dram the audience of ancient and that of modern days attend the disconnected from the others. His eyes are riveted to progress of the scene. the stage, his ears drink in the accents of the speakers, Nothing, indeed, is more certain than that the general and he experiences in his mature age, what we have all felt cast of theatrical composition must receive its principal in childhood, a sort of doubt whether the beings and business of the scene be real or fictitious. In this state bent and colouring from the taste of the audience: of delightful fascination, Shakspeare and the gigantic draThe drama’s laws, the drama’s patrons give,; matic champions of his age found the British public at For those who live to please, must please to live. large ; and how they availed themselves of the advantages But though this be an undeniable, and in some respects a which so favourable a temper afforded them, their works melancholy truth, it is not less certain that genius, labour- will show so long as the language of Britain continues to ing in behalf of the public, possesses the power of re-ac- be read. It is true that the enthusiastic glow of the pubtion, and of influencing in its turn that taste to which it lic admiration, like the rays of a tropical sun darted upon is in some respects obliged to conform ; while, on the other a rich soil, called up in profusion weeds as well as flowers; hand, the playwright, who aims only to catch the passing and that, spoiled in some degree by the indulgent accepplaudit and the profit of a season, by addressing himself tation which attended their efforts, even our most admired exclusively to the ruling predilections of the audience, writers of Elizabeth’s age not unfrequently exceeded the degrades the public taste still farther by the gross food bounds of critical nicety, and even of common taste and which he ministers to it, unless it shall be supposed that decorum. But these eccentricities w'ere atoned for by a he may contribute involuntarily to rouse it from its dege- thousand beauties, to which, fettered by the laws of the neracy, by cramming it even to satiety and loathing. This classic drama, the authors would hardly have aspired, or, action, therefore, and re-action of the taste of the age on aspiring, would hardly have attained. All of us know and dramatic writing, and vice versa, must be both kept in feel how much the exercise of our powers, especially those view when treating of the difference betwixt the days of which rest on keen feeling and self-confidence, is dependent upon a favourable reception from those for whom Shakspeare and our own. Perhaps it is the leading distinction betwixt the ancient they are put in action. Every one has observed how a and modern audiences, that the former came to listen and cold brow can damp the brilliancy of wit and fetter the to admire ; to fling the reins of their imaginations into the flow of eloquence ; and how both are induced to send forth hands of the authors and actors, and to be pleased, like the sallies corresponding in strength and fire, upon being rereader to whom Sterne longed to do homage, “ they knew ceived by the kindred enthusiasm of those whom they not why, and cared not wherefore.” The novelty of dra- have addressed. And thus, if we owe to the indiscrimimatic entertainments (for there elapsed only about twenty nate admiration with which the drama was at first received, years betwixt the date of Gammer Gurton s Needle, account- the irregularities of the authors by whom it was practised, ed the earliest English play, and the rise of Shakspeare) we also stand indebted to it, in all probability, for many must have had its natural effect upon the audience. The sun of its beauties, which became of rare occurrence, when, of Shakspeare arose almost without a single gleam of in- by a natural, and indeed a necessary change, satiated adtervening dawn ; and it was no wronder that the audience, miration began to give way to other feelings. When a child is tired of playing with a new toy, its introduced to this enchanting and seductive art at once, under such an effulgence of excellence, should have been next delight is to examine how it is constructed ; and, in more disposed to wonder than to criticise; to admire, or like manner, so soon as the first burst of public admiration rather to adore, than to measure the height or ascertain is over with respect to any new mode of composition, the the course of the luminary which diffused such glory next impulse prompts us to analyse and to criticise what around him. The great number of theatres in London, was at first the subject of vague and indiscriminate wonder. and the profusion of varied talent which was dedicated to In the first instance, the toy is generally broken to pieces; this service, attest the eagerness of the public to enjoy in the other, while the imagination of the authors is subthe entertainments of the scene. The ruder amusements jected to the rigid laws of criticism, the public generally of the age lost their attractions ; and the royal bear-ward lose in genius what they may gain in point of taste. The of Queen Elizabeth lodged a formal complaint at the feet author who must calculate upon severe criticism turns his of her majesty, that the play-houses had seduced the au- thoughts more to avoid faults than to attain excellence, dience from his periodical bear-baitings. This fact is as he who is afraid to stumble must avoid rapid motion. worth a thousand conjectures; and we can hardly doubt The same process takes place in all the fine arts ; their first that the converts, transported by their improving taste productions are distinguished by boldness and irregularifrom the bear-garden to the theatre, must, generally speak- ty ; those which succeed, by a better and more correct ing, have felt their rude minds subdued and led captive taste, but also by inferior and less original genius. The original school founded by Shakspeare and Ben by the superior intelligence, which not only placed on the stage at pleasure all ranks, all ages, all tempers, all pas- Jonson, continued by Massinger, Beaumont and Fletcher, sions of mere humanity, but extended its powers beyond Shirley, Ford, and others, whose compositions are distinthe bounds of time and space, and seemed to render visi- guished by irregularity as well as genius, was closed by ble to mortal eyes the secrets of the invisible world. We the breaking out of the great civil war in 1642. The stage may, perhaps, form the best guess of the feelings of Shak- had been the constant object of reprobation and abhorspeare’s contemporary audience, by recollecting the emo- rence on the part of the puritans, and its professors had tions of any rural friend, of rough but sound sense and no favour to expect at their hands if victorious. We read, ardent feelings, whom we have had the good fortune to therefore, with interest, but without surprise, that almost conduct to a theatre for the first time in his life. It may all the actors took up arms in behalf of their old master be well imagined that such a spectator thinks little of the King Charles, in whose service most of them perished. three dramatic unities, of which Aristotle says so little, Robinson, a principal actor at the Blackfriars, was killed and his commentators and followers talk so much ; and that by Harrison in cold blood, and under the application of a the poet and the performers have that enviable influence text of scripture,—“ Cursed is he that doeth the work of over his imagination, which transports him from place to the Lord negligently.” A few survivors endeavoured ocplace at pleasure, crowds years into the course of hours, casionally to practise their art in secrecy and obscurity,

DRAMA. 171 i-ama. but were so frequently discovered, plundered and strip- vagant. In point of system it was stated, that a heroic Drama, ped by the soldiers, that “ Enter the red-coat, Exit hat and play should be an imitation of a heroic poem. The laws cloak," was too frequent a stage direction. Sir William of such compositions did not, it was said, dispense with Davenant endeavoured to evade the severe zealots of the those of the elder drama, but exalted them, and obliged time, by representing a sort of opera, said to have been the poet to draw all things as far above the ordinary prothe first drama in which moveable scenery was introduced portion of the stage, as the stage itself is beyond the comupon the stage. Even the cavaliers of the more grave mon words and actions of human life. The effects which sort disapproved of the revival of these festive entertain- a heroic play, constructed upon such an overstrained moments during the unstable and melancholy period of the del, produced, is well described by Mrs Evelyn, wife of interregnum. “ I went,” says the excellent Evelyn, in the author of that name already quoted, in a letter to Mr his Diary, 5th May 1658, “ to see a new opera after the Bohun, written in 1671. “ Since my last to you I have Italian way; in recitation, music, and scenes, much in- seen the Siege of Grenada, a play so full of ideas, that the ferior to the Italian composure and magnificence; but it most refined romance I ever read is not to compare with it. was prodigious that in such a time of public consternation, Love is made so pure, and valour so nice, that one would such a variety should be kept up or permitted, and be- imagine it designed for an Utopia rather than our stage. ing engaged with company, could not decently resist the I do not quarrel with the poet, but admire one born in the going to see it, though my heart smote me for it.” Da- decline of morality should be able to feign such exact virvenant’s theatrical enterprise, abhorred by the fanaticism tue ; and as poetic fiction has been instructive in former of the one party, and ill adapted to the dejected circum- ages, I wish this the same event in ours. As to the strict law of comedy, I dare not pretend to judge. Some think stances of the other, was not probably very successful. Sondpe- II. With royalty the stage revived in England. But the division of the story not so well as if it could all have r I of the the theatres in the capital were limited to two, a restric- been comprehended in the day of action. Truth of history, Iglbh tjon which has never since been extended. This was exactness of time, possibilities of adventures, are niceties llma ■ probably by the advice of Clarendon, who endeavoured, which the ancient critics might require; but those who though vainly, to stem at all points the flood of idle gaiety have outdone them in fine notions may be allowed the and dissipation which broke in after the Restoration. The liberty to express them their own way, and the present example of France might reconcile Charles to this exer- world is so enlightened that the old dramatique must bear tion of royal authority. With this restoration of the drama, no sway. This account perhaps is not enough to do Mr as well as of the crown, commences the second part of Driden right, yet is as much as you can expect from the leisure of one who has the care of a nursery.” (See English dramatic history. Charles II. had been accustomed to enjoy the foreign Evelyn’s Works.) This ingenious lady felt what, overstage during his exile, and had taste enough to relish its awed by the fashion of the moment, she has intimated beauties. It is probable, however, that his judgment was rather than expressed; namely, that the heroic drama, formed upon the French model, for few of the historical or notwithstanding the fine poetry of which it may be made romantic dramas were revived at the restoration. So early the vehicle, was overstrained, fantastical, and unnatural. In comedy, also, there was evinced, subsequent to the as 26th of November 1662, the Diary of Evelyn contains this entry: “ I saw Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, played; Restoration, a kindred desire of shining in dialogue rather but now the old plays began to disgust this refined age, than attempting the humorous delineation of character of I roduc- since his majesty has been so long abroad.” Dryden, which Shakspeare, Jonson, and the earlier schools, had II of the Howard, and others, who obtained possession of the stage, set the example. The comic author no longer wrote to 1 oic introduced what was for some time called Heroic Plays, move the hearty laugh of a popular assembly, but to please * written in couplets, and turning upon the passions oflove a fashionable circle, “ the men of wit and pleasure about and honour. In the dialogue, these pieces resembled that town,” with whom wit and raillery is always more preof the French stage, vrhere the actors declaim alternately vailing than humour. As in tragedy, therefore, the auin the best language and in the finest thoughts which thors exhausted trope and figure, and reduced to logic the the poet can supply, but without much trace of natural language of heroic passion; so in comedy, a succession of passion or propriety of character. But though French in smart jests, which neither serve to advance the action of dialogue and sentiment, the heroic plays were English in the piece, nor display the character of the speaker, was noise and bustle, and the lack of truth and nature was bandied to and fro upon the stage. Satire is the appropriate corrective of extravagance in Heroic supplied by trumpets and tempests, victories and procesa ssi y f“ sions. An entertainment of a character so forced and composition; and the Rehearsal of the Duke of Bucking-P^ uncom_ ham, though it can scarcely be termed a work of ^dramas unnatural was obviously of foreign growth, and flowed from the court. Dryden himself has assured us “ that mon power, had yet the effect of holding up to public ri-0f a more the favour which heroic plays had acquired upon the stage dicule the marked and obvious absurdities of the revived natural was entirely owing to the countenance which they had re- drama in both its branches. After the appearance of this structure, ceived at court; and that the most eminent persons for satire, a taste too extravagant for long endurance was wit and humour in the royal circle had so far honoured banished from the theatre; both tragedy and comedy them, that they judged no way so fit as verse to entertain retraced their steps, and approached more nearly to the a noble audience, or express a noble passion.” In these field of human action, passion, and suffering; and, down pieces the unities were not observed; but in place of the to the revolution, a more natural style of drama occupied classical restrictions, there were introduced certain roman- the stage. It was supported by men of the highest getic whimsical limitations of the dramatic art, which, had nius, who, but for one great leading error, might perhaps . they been adopted, must soon have destroyed all its pow- have succeeded in giving to the art its truest and most ers of pleasing. The characters were avowedly formed energetic character. The talents of Otway, in his scenes upon the model of the French romance, where honour was of passionate affection, rival at least, and sometimes excel, a sort of insane gasconading extravagance, and who seem those of Shakspeare. More tears have been shed, probato have made a vow never to speak or think of any thing bly, for the sorrows of Belvidera and Monimia than for but love, and that in language sometimes ingeniously me- those of Juliet and Desdemona. The introduction of taphysical, sometimes puerile to silliness, sometimes mad actresses upon the stage was scarcely known before the even to raving, but always absurd, unnatural, and extra- Restoration, and it furnished the poets of the latter period

172 DRAMA. Drama, with appropriate representatives for their female charac- at court, at which I was present; though very seldom now Dram ters. This more happy degree of personification, as it going to the public theatres, for many reasons, as they greatly increased the perfection of the scene, must have are now abused to an atheistical liberty. Foul and indeanimated in proportion the genius of the author. A mark- cent women now, and never till now, are permitted to aped improvement, therefore, may be traced in love scenes, pear and act, who, inflaming several young noblemen and and, indeed, in all those wherein female characters are gallants, became their misses, and some their wives : witintroduced; that which was to be spoken by a fitting re- ness the Earl of Oxford, Sir 11. Howard, P. Rupert, the presentative was of course written with more care, as it was Earl of Dorset, and another greater person than any of acted with greater effect. This was an advantage, and a them, who fell into their snares, to the reproach of their great one, possessed by the theatre succeeding the Resto- noble families, and ruin of both body and soul.” He elseration. Great dramatic force and vigour marked the dra- where repeatedly expresses his grief and disgust at the matic compositions of this age. It was not, indeed, equal pollution and degeneracy of the stage. (Evelyn’s Works, to that of Shakspeare, either in point of the talent called vol. i. p. 392.) In a letter to Lord Cornbury (son of the forth, or the quantity of original poetry given to the pub- great Clarendon), he thus expresses himself: “ In the lic ; but Otway, and even Lee, notwithstanding his bom- town of London there are more wretched and indecent bastic rant, possessed considerable knowledge of dramatic plays permitted than in all the world besidesand adds art and stage-effect. Several plays of this period have shortly after, “ If my Lord Chancellor would but be inkept possession of the stage; less perhaps on account of strumental in reforming this one exorbitancy, it would intrinsic merits, than because some of the broad errors of gain both the king and his lordship multitudes of blessthe earlier age had been removed, and a little more art ings. You know, my lord, that I (who have written plays, had been introduced in the combination of the scenes, and am a scurvy poet too sometimes) am far from puritaand disentanglement of the plot. The voice of criticism nisme ; but 1 would have no reproach left our adversaries, was frequently heard; the dramatic rules of the ancients in a theme which may so conveniently be reformed. Plays were known and quoted; and though not recognized in are now with us become a licentious exercise, and a vice, their full extent, had nevertheless some influence in re- and neede severe censors, that should look as well to their gulating the action of the drama. morality as to their lines and numbers.” And, at the haGross im- In one heinous article, however, the poets of this age zard of multiplying quotations, we cannot suppress the morality sinned at once against virtue, good taste, and decorum; following:—1st March 1671. “ I walked with him (the anc ent an ere( drama * ^ g ^ hy the most profligate and shameless in- king) through St James’s Park to the garden, where I decency, the cause of morality, which has been often con- both heard and saw a very familiar discourse betwixt— sidered as nearly allied with that of the legitimate drama. (*. e. the king) and Mrs Nelly (Gwyn), as they called an In the first period of the British stage, the actors were impudent comedian, she looking out of her terrace at the men of decent character, and often acquired considerable top of the wall, and [the king] standing in the green independence. The women’s parts were acted by boys. walk under it. I was heartily sorry at this scene.” Hence, although there were too many instances of low The foul stain, so justly censured by a judge so compeand licentious dialogue, there were few of that abominable tent and so moderate as Evelyn, was like that of the lespecies which addresses itself, not to the fancy, but to prosy in the Levitical law, which sunk into and pervaded the passions, and is seductive, instead of being ludicrous. the very walls of the mansion ; it became the leading chaHad Charles II. borrowed from the French monarchs the racteristic of the English theatre, of its authors, and of its severe etiquette of their court, when he introduced into players. It was, however, especially' in comedy that this England something resembling the style of their plays, he vice was most manifest; and, to say truth, were not the would have asserted what was due to his own dignity, and eyes of antiquaries, like the ears of confessors, free from the cause of sound morals and good manners, by prohibit- being sullied by the impurities committed to them, the ing this vulgar and degrading license, which in itself was comedies of this period, as well as the comic scenes introinsulting to the presence of a king. It was, however, duced to relieve the tragedies, are fitter for a brothel this prince’s lot, in the regulation of his amusements, as than for the library of a man of letters. well as in his state government, to neglect self-respectaIt is a pity that we are under the necessity of drawing bility. In his exile he had been “ merry, scandalous, the character of the drama at this age from a feature so and poor;” had been habituated to share familiarly coarse coarse and disgusting. Unquestionably, as the art in other jests and loose pleasures with his dissolute companions; respects made progress, it might, but for this circumand unfortunately he saw no reason for disusing the li- stance, have reached an uncommon pitch of perfection. cense to which he had accustomed himself, when it was The comedies of Congreve contain probably more wit than equally destructive to his own character and to decorum. was ever before embodied upon the stage; each word was What had been merely coarse was, under his influence, a jest, and yet so characteristic, that the repartee of the rendered vicious and systematic impurity. Scenes, both servant is distinguished from that of the master; the jest passionate and humorous, were written in such a style of the coxcomb from that of the humorist or fine gentleas if the authors had studied whether the grave seduc- man of the piece. Had not Sheridan lived in our own tion of the heroic, or the broad infamy of the comic scenes, time, we could not have conceived the possibility of rivalshould contain the grossest insult to public decency. The ling the comedies of Congreve. This distinguished aufemale performers were of a character proper to utter thor understood the laws of composition, and combined whatever ribaldry the poet chose to put into their mouths; his intrigue with an art unusual on the British stage. Nor and as they practised what they taught, the king himself, was he without his rivals, even where his eminence was and the leading courtiers, formed connections which gave most acknowledged. Vanburgh and Farquhar, inferior to the actress a right to be saucy in their presence, and to Congreve in real wit, and falling into the next period, reckon upon their countenance when practising in public were perhaps his equals in the composition of acting plays. the effrontery which marked their intercourse in private Like other powerful stimulants, the use of wit has its life. How much this shocked the real friends of Charles, is bounds, which Congreve is supposed sometimes to have shown by its effects upon Evelyn, whose invaluable Diary exceeded. His dialogue keeps the attention too much we have already quoted ; “ This night was acted my Lord upon the stretch, and, however delightful in the closet, Broghill’s tragedy called Mustapha, before their majesties fatigues the mind during the action. When you are per-

DRAMA. 173 •D^na. petually conscious that you lose something by the slight- my pen in the defence of a bad cause, when I have so Drama, est interruption of your attention, whether by accident or often drawn it for a good one. Yet it were not difficult to absence of mind, it is a state of excitement too vivid and prove, that in many places he has perverted my meaning too constant to be altogether pleasant; and we feel it by his glosses, and interpreted my words into blasphemy possible that we might sometimes wish to exchange a and bawdry, of which they were not guilty; besides, that companion of such brilliant powers, for one who would af- he is too much given to horse-play in his raillery, and comes from battle like a dictator from the plough. I will ford us more repose and relaxation. 4 The light, lively, but somewhat more meagre dialogue not say, the zeal of God’s house has eaten him up;’ of the latter dramatists of the period, and of that which but I am sure it. has devoured some part of his good mansucceeded, was found sufficient to interest, yet was not ners and civility.’’ Congreve, less prudent, made an anso powerful as to fatigue the audience. Vanburgh and gry and petulant defence, yet tacitly admitted the charge Farquhar seemed to have written more from the portraits brought against him, by retrenching in the future editions of ordinary life ; Congreve from the force of his own con- of his plays, passages of grossness and profaneness, which ception. The former, therefore, drew the characters of the restless antiquary still detects in the early copies. men and women as they found them; selected, united, And, on the whole, Collier’s satire was attended with such and heightened for the purpose of effect, but without salutary effects, that men started at the mass of impubeing enriched with any brilliancy foreign to their nature. dence and filth which had been gradually accumulated But all the personages of Congreve have a glimpse of his in the theatre during the last reigns; and if the Augean own fire, and of his own acuteness. He could not entire- stable was not sufficiently cleansed, the stream of public ly lay aside his quick powers of perception and reply, even opinion was fairly directed against its conglomerated imwhen he painted a clown or a coxcomb; and all that can purities. Since that period, indecency, that easy substibe objected, saving in a moral sense, to this great author, tute for wit and pleasantry, has been gradually banished is his having been too prodigal of his wit; a faculty used from the drama, where the conversation is now (according to Sheridan) at least always moral, if not entertaining. by most of his successors with rigid economy. During the second period of the British drama, great That personification of fantasy or whim called characters of humour, which Ben Jonson introduced, was re- improvement was made in point of art. The principles of vived during this period, Shadwell, now an obscure name, dramatic composition were more completely understood, endeavoured to found himself a reputation, by affecting to and the poets themselves had written so much upon the maintain the old school, and espousing the cause of Ben subject, that, as Dryden somewhere complains, they had Jonson against Dryden and other innovators. But al- taught their audience the art of criticising their performthough there was considerable force of humour in some ances. They did not, however, so far surrender the liof his forgotten plays, it was Wycherly upon whom fell berties and immunities of their predecessors, as to receive the burthen of upholding the standard of the Jonsonian laws from the French critics. The rules of the unities school. The Plain Dealer is indeed imitated from Mo- were no further adopted by Otway, Congreve, and the liere; but the principal character has more the force of a writers of the time, than their immediate purpose admitreal portrait, and is better contrasted with the perverse, ted. It was allowed on all hands that unnecessary and bustling, masculine, petty-fogging, and litigious character gross irregularities were to be avoided, but no precise of Widow Blackacker, than Alceste is with any of the rule was adopted. Poets argued upon the subject accordcharacters in the Misanthrope. The other plays of this ing to caprice, and acted according to convenience. Gross author are marked by the same strong, masculine, and and palpable extensions of time, and frequent changes of forcible painting, which approaches more to the satire of place, were avoided; and, unless in tragi-comedies, auJonson, than to the ease of Vanburgh, the gaiety of Far- thors studied to combine the intrigue of their play into one quhar, or the wit of Congreve. Joining, however, the distinct and progressive action. The genius by which this various merits of these authors, as belonging to this pe- art was supported was neither so general nor so profuse riod, they form a galaxy of comic talent scarce to be as that which decorated the preceding period. It was matched in any other age or country; and which is only enough, however, to support the honour of the drama; obscured by those foul and impure mists which their pens, and if the second period has produced fewer masterlike the raven wings of Sycorax, had brushed from fern pieces of talent, it has exhibited more plays capable of being acted. and bog. III. In the third period of dramatic history, the critics Third peMorals repeatedly insulted long demanded an avenger; and he arose in the person of Jeremy Collier. It is no began to obtain an authority for which they had long nod of'the disgrace to the memory of this virtuous and well-meaning struggled, and which might have proved fatal to the liberman, that, to use the lawyer’s phrase, he pleaded his cause ties of the stage. It is the great danger of criticism, whent rama’ too high ; summoned unnecessarily to his aid the artillery laying down abstract rules without reference to any exwith which the Christian fathers had fulminated against ample, that these regulations can only apply to the form, the heathen drama; and pushing his arguments to extre- and never to the essence, of the drama. They may asmity, directed it as well against the use as against the abuse sume that the plot must be formed on a certain model, of the stage. Those who attempted to reply to him but they cannot teach the spirit which is to animate its availed themselves, indeed, of the weak parts of his argu- progress. They cannot show how a passion should be ments; but, upon the main points of impeachment, the painted, but they can tell to a moment when the curtain poets stood self-convicted. Dryden made a manly and should be dropped. The misfortune is, that, while treatliberal submission, though not without some reflections ing of these subordinate considerations, critics exalt them upon the rudeness of his antagonist’s attacks. “ I shall to an undue importance in their own minds and that of say the less of Mr Collier, because in many things he has their scholars. What they carve out for their pupils is a taxed me justly; and I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts mere dissection of a lifeless form ; the genius which aniand expressions of mine which can be truly accused of mated it escapes, as the principle of life glided from the obscenity, profaneness, or immorality, and retract them. scalpel of those anatomists who sought to detect it in the If he be my enemy, let him triumph; if he be my friend, earlier days of that art. Ilymer had, as early as 1688, as I have given him no occasion to be otherwise, he will discovered that our poetry of the last age was as rude as be glad of my repentance. It becomes me not to draw its architecture. “ One cause thereof,” he continues.

174 DRAMA. Drama. “ might be, that Aristotle’s Treatise of Poetry has been so success was contagious. Southerne and Rowe may be Lrai little studied amongst us; it was, perhaps, commented considered as belonging to the same school; although the ^ upon by all the great men in Italy, before we well knew former admired Shakspeare, and the latter formed him(on this side of the Alps) that there was such a book in self, in some degree, on the model of Otway. Translabeing.” Accordingly, Rymer endeavours to establish what tions of French tragedies became every day more frehe calls the Rule of Reason over Fancy, in the contrivance quent ; and their diction and style of dialogue was imitatand economy of a play. “ Those who object to this sub- ed upon the British stage. The language of tragedy no jugation,” he observes, “ are mere fanatics in poetry, and longer expressed human passion, or intimated what the will never be saved by their good works.” The species of persons of the drama actually felt, but described and dereason, however, to which Rymer appeals, resembles, in bated alternately what they ought to feel; and sounding its occult nature, that which lies hidden in the depths of sentences, and long similes, exhibiting an active fancy municipal law, and which is better known to the common and a cold imagination, supplied at once the place of force class of mankind under the name of Authority. Because and of pathos. Aristotle assigns Pity and Terror as the objects of tragedy, The line between comedy and tragedy was now strictly Rymer resumes the proposition, that no other source of drawn. The latter was no kmger permitted to show that passion can be legitimate. To this he adds some arbitrary strain of heroic humour which exhibits itself in the charules, of which it would be difficult to discover the ratio- racter of Falconbridge, Hotspur, and Henry V., as well as nale. It was the opinion, we are told, of the ancients, Mercutio. All was to be cold and solemn, and in the same “ that comedy (whose province was humour and ridicu- key of dull, grave state. Neither was comedy relieved lous matter only) was to represent worse than the truth, by the touches of pathetic tenderness, and even sublimity, history to describe the truth, but tragedy was to invent which are to be found in the romantic plays of the earlier things better than the truth. Like good painters, they period. To compensate the audience for the want of this must design their images like the life, but yet better and beautiful variety of passion and feeling, Southerne, as Otmore beautiful than the life. The malefactor of tragedy way had done before him, usually introduces a few scenes must be a better sort of malefactor than those that live in of an under-plot, containing the most wretched and indethe present age : For an obdurate, impudent, and impeni- cent farce, which was so slightly and awkwardly dovetent malefactor, can neither move compassion nor terror, tailed into the original tragedy, that they have since been nor be of any imaginable use in tragedy.” It would be cancelled as impertinent intrusions, without being so much difficult to account for these definitions upon any logical as missed. Young, Thomson, and others who followed the principle, and impossible for an admirer of the drama to same wordy and declamatory system of composition, conassent to a rule which would exclude from the stage lago tributed rather to sink than to exalt the character of the and Richard III. It is equally difficult to account for the stage. The two first were both men of excellent genius, rationale of the following dogmas: “ If I mistake not, in as their other writings have sufficiently testified; but, as poetry no woman is to kill a man, except her quality gives dramatists, they wrought upon a false model, and their her the advantage above him; nor is a servant to kill his productions are of little value. master ; nor a private man, much less a subject, to kill a It is a remarkable instance of the decay of dramatic art king, nor on the contrary. Poetical decency will not suf- at this period, that several of the principal authors of the fer death to be dealt to each other by such persons, whom time felt themselves at liberty to write imitations of old the laws of duel allow not to enter the lists together.” plays belonging to the original school, by way of adapting (Rymer’s Vieio of the Tragedies of the Last Age?) Though them to the taste of their own age. The Fair Penitent for these and similar critical conceits it would be difficult of Rowe is well known as a poor imitation of Massinger’s to find any just principle, nevertheless, Rymer, Dennis, Fatal Dowry. It does not greatly excel the original in and other critics, who, mixing observations founded on the management and conduct of the piece ; and, in every sound judgment and taste, with others which rested mere- thing else, falls as far beneath it as the baldest translation ly upon dauntless assertion, or upon the opinions of Aris- can sink below the most spirited original. totle, began thereby to extend their authority, and proIt would appear that the players of this period had duce a more than salutary influence upon the drama. It adopted a mode of acting correspondent to the poetical is true, that both of the aristarchs whom we have named taste of the time. Declamation seems to have been more were so ill advised as themselves to attempt to write plays, in fashion in the school of Booth and Betterton than that and thereby most effectually proved that it was possible vivacity of action that exhibits at once with word, eye, for a drama to be extremely regular, and at the same and gesture, the immediate passion which it is the actor’s Unfavour-1*1116 intolerably dull. Gradually, however, their precepts, part to express. “ I cannot help,” says Cibber, “ in reable influ- in despite of their example, gained influence over the gard to truth, remembering the rude and riotous havock enceof dra-stage. They laid down rules in which the audience were we made of all the late dramatic honours of the theatre: matic criti- taught to regard the trade of a connoisseur as easy and all became at once the spoil of ignorance and self-coneism. goon ]earne[j. anti the same quantity of technical jargon ceit. Shakespeare was defaced, and tortured in every which, in the present day, constitutes a judge of painting, signal character; Hamlet and Othello lost, in one hour, all was, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, suffi- their good sense, their dignity, and fame; Brutus and cient to elevate a templar into a dramatic critic. The Cassius became noisy blusterers, with bold unmeaning court of criticism, though self-constituted, was sufficiently eyes, mistaken sentiments, and turgid elocution.” (Cibformidable, since they possessed the power of executing ber’s Memoirs?) their own decrees. Many authors made their submission ; A singular attempt to deviate from the prevailing taste Lillo! amongst others, Congreve humbled himself in the Mourn- in tragedy was made by Lillo, with the highly laudable deav* ing Bride; and Addison, with anxious and constitutional purpose of enlarging the sphere of dramatic utility. Hetoei! ’ timidity, sacrificed to the unities in his celebrated tragedy conceived that plays founded upon incidents of private , of Cato. Being in form and essence rather a French than life might carry more immediate conviction to the mind0 an English play, it is one of the few English tragedies of the hearers, and be the means of stifling more vices in which foreigners have admired. It was translated into the bud, than those founded on the more remote and Italian, and admired as a perfect model by Riccoboni, al- grander events of history. Accordingly, he formed bis though his taste condemns the silly love intrigue. Its plots from domestic crimes, and his characters never rose

DRAMA. 175 D»na. above the ranks of middle life. Lillo had many requisites and gives a false colouring to those crimes which should Drama, for a tragedian; he understood, either from innate taste be placed before the mind in their native deformity. But or critical study, the advantage to be derived from a con- the heaviness of this class of plays, and the difficulty of sistent fable; and, in the tragedy of the Fatal Curiosity, finding adequate representatives for those characters which he has left the model of a plot, in which, without the help are really well drawn, are powerful antidotes to the evil of any exterior circumstances, a train of events operating which we complain of. That which is dully written, and upon the characters of the dramatic persons produce a awkwardly performed, will not find many imitators. conclusion at once the most dramatic and the most horThe genteel comedy being a plant of foreign growth, Comedy of rible that the imagination can conceive. Neither does it never obtained exclusive possession of the English stage, intrigue' appear that, as a poet, Lillo was at all inferior to others any more than court dresses have been adopted in our of his age. He possessed a beautiful fancy ; and much of private societies. The comedy of intrigue, borrowed, his dialogue is as forcibly expressed as it is well conceiv- perhaps, originally from the Spaniards, continued to be ed. On some occasions, however, he sinks below his sub- written and acted with success. Many of Cibber’s pieces, ject ; and on others, he appears to be dragged down to the of Centlivre’s,. and others, still retain their place on the nether sphere in which it is laid, and to become cold and stage. I his is a species of comedy easily written, and creeping, as if depressed with the consciousness that he seen with pleasure, though consisting chiefly of bustle and was writing upon a mean subject. George Barmoell never complicated incident; and requiring much co-operation of rises above an idle and profligate apprentice; Milwood’s the dress-maker, scene-painter, and carpenter. After all attractions are not beyond those of a very vulgar woman the bustle, however, of surprise, and disguise, and squabof the town; Thoroughgood, as his name expresses, is ble ; after every trick is exhausted, and every stratagem very worthy and very tiresome ; and there is, positively, played off, the writer too often finds himself in a labyrinth nothing to redeem the piece, excepting the interest aris- from which a natural mode of extrication seems altogeing from a tale of horror, and the supposed usefulness of ther impossible. Hence the intrigue is huddled up at the moral. The Fatal Curiosity is a play of a very dif- random ; and the persons of the drama seem, as if by comferent cast, and such as might have shaken the Grecian mon consent, to abandon their dramatic character before stage even during the reign of terror. But the powers of throwing oft their stage-dresses. The miser becomes gethe poet prove unequal to the concluding horrors of his nerous ; the peevish cynic good humoured; the libertine scene. Old Wilmot’s character, as the needy man who virtuous ; the coquette is reformed; the debauchee is rehad known better days, exhibits a mind naturally good, claimed ; all vices natural and habitual are abandoned by but prepared for acting evil, even by the evil which he those most habitually addicted to them: a marvellous rehas himself suffered, and opens in a manner which excites formation, which is brought about entirely from the conthe highest interest and expectation. But Lillo was un- sideration that the play must now be concluded. It was able to sustain the character to the close. After disco- when pressed by this difficulty that Fielding is said to vering himself to be the murderer of his son, the old man have damned all fifth acts. falls into the common cant of the theatre ; he talks about I he eighteenth century, besides genteel comedy, and English computing sands, increasing the noise of thunder, adding comedy of intrigue, gave rise to a new species of dramatic opera, water to the sea, and fire to iEtna, by way of describing amusement. The Italian opera had been introduced into the excess of his horror and remorse; and becomes as this country at a great expense, and to the prejudice, as it dully desperate, or as desperately dull, as any other de- was supposed, of the legitimate drama. Gay, in aiming at spairing hero in the last scene of a fifth act. nothing beyond a parody of this fashionable entertainment, jernel During this third period of the drama, comedy under- and making it the vehicle of some political satire against miy. went several changes. The department called genteel Sir Robert Walpole’s administration, unwittingly laid the comedy, where the persons as well as the foibles ridiculed foundation of the English opera. The popularity of his were derived chiefly from high life, assumed a separate piece was unequalled; partly owing to its peculiar huand distinct existence from that which ransacked human mour, partly to its novelty, partly to the success of the nature at large for its subject. Like the tragedy of the popular airs, which every body heard with delight, and period, this particular species of comedy was borrowed partly to political motives. The moral tendency of the from the French. It was pleasing to the higher classes, Beggars Opera has been much questioned; although, in because it lay within their own immediate circle, and all probability, the number of highwaymen is not more inturned upon the topics of gallantry, persiflage, affectation, creased by the example of Macheath, than that of murand raillery. It was agreeable to the general audience, derers is diminished by the catastrophe of George Barnwho imagined they were thereby admitted into the pre- well. Many years ago, however, an unhappy person, rasence of their betters, and enjoyed their amusement at ther from a perverted and most misplaced ambition, than their expense. The Careless Husband of Cibber is, per- from the usual motives of want and desperation, chose, haps, the best English play on this model. The general though in easy circumstances, and most respectably confault to which they are all liable is their tendency to nected, to place himself at the head of a band of thieves lower the tone of moral feeling; and to familiarize men, in and housebreakers, whose depredations he directed and the middling, with the cold, heartless, and selfish system shared. On the night on which they committed the of profligate gallantry practised among the higher ranks. crime for which he suffered, and when they were equipWe are inclined to believe that, in a moral point of view, ped for the expedition, he sung to his accomplices the genteel comedy, as it has been usually written, is more chorus of the Beggar s Opera, “ Let us take the road.” prejudicial to public morals, than plays the tendency of But his confederates, professional thieves, and who purwhich seems at first more grossly vicious. It is not so sued, from habit and education, the desperate practices , probable that the Beggar s Opera has sent any one from which Mr B adopted from an adventurous spirit of the two-shilling gallery to the highway, as that a youth profligate quixotry, knew nothing at all of Gay or the entering upon the world, and hesitating between good and Beggars Opera; and, in their several Confessions and evil, may be determined to the worse course by the gay testimonies, only remembered something of a Jlash-song, and seductive example of Lovemore or Sir Charles Easy. about “ turning lead to gold.” This curious circumstance, At any rate, the tenderness with which vices are shaded while it tends to show that the drama may affect the weak off into foibles familiarizes them to the mind of the hearer, part of a mind, predisposed to evil by a diseased imagina-

176 DRAMA. Drama. tion, proves the general truth of what Johnson asserts in The former, chusing a theme not only totally unfit for re- brar the Life of Gay, that “ highwaymen and housebreakers presentation, but from which the mind shrinks in private seldom mingle in any elegant diversions ; nor is it possible study, treated it as a man of genius, free from the tramfor any one to imagine that he may rob with safety be- mels of habit and of pedantry. His characters in the Mysterious Mother do not belong to general classes, but cause he sees Macheath reprieved on the stage.” This play is now chiefly remarkable as having given have bold, true, and individual features; and the language rise to the English opera. In this pleasing entertainment, approaches that of the first age of the English drama. The it is understood that the plot may be light and the cha- Douglas of Home is not recommended by this species of racters superficial, provided that the music be good and merit. In diction and character it does not rise above adapted to the situation, the scenes lively and possessed other productions of the period. But the interest turns of comic force. Notwithstanding the subordinate nature upon a passion which finds a response in every bosom ; for of this species of composition, it approaches, perhaps, more those who are too old for love, and too young for ambition, closely to the ancient Grecian drama than any thing are all alike awake to the warmth and purity of maternal which retains possession of our stage. The subjects, in- and filial affection. The scene of the recognition of Doudeed, are as totally different as the sublime from the light glas’s birth possesses a power over the affections, which, and the trivial. But, in the mixture of poetry and music, when supported by adequate representation, is scarcely and in the frequent introduction of singing characters un- equalled in the circle of our drama. It is remarkable connected with the business of the piece, and therefore that the ingenious author was so partial to this theatrical somewhat allied to the chorus, the English opera has situation, as to introduce it in several of his other tragesome general points of resemblance with the Grecian tra- dies. The comedjr of the fourth period is chiefly remarkable Comal I gedy. This species of dramatic writing was successfully practised by Bickerstaff, and has been honoured by the for exhibiting The Rivals and the School for Scandal, ofe thi^ Critics prefer the latter, whilst the general audience reap,P ™(l| | labours of Sheridan. Fourth IV. With the fourth era of our dramatic history com- perhaps, more pleasure from the former; the pleasantry period of menced a return to a better taste, introduced by the cele- being of a more general cast, the incident more complicatthe Eng- grated David Garrick. The imitations of French tragedy, ed and varied, and the wThole plot more interesting. In lisa iama. an£j tiresome uniformity of genteel comedy, were ill both these plays, the gentlemanlike ease of Farquhar is adapted to the display of his inimitable talent. And thus, united with the wit of Congreve. Indeed, the wit of if the last generation reaped many hours of high enjoy- Sheridan, though equally brilliant with that of his celebratment from the performances of this great actor, the pre- ed predecessor, flows so easily, and is so happily elicited sent is indebted to him for having led back the public by the line of the dialogue, that, in admiring its sparkles, we never once observe the stroke of the flint which protaste to the dramas of Shakspeare. Revival of The plays of this great author had been altogether for- duces them. W'it and pleasantry seemed to be the natuthe plays gotten, or so much marred and disguised by interpolations ral atmosphere of this extraordinary man, whose history of Shak- anj alterations, that he seems to have arisen on the Bri- was at once so brilliant and so melancholy. Goldsmith speare. jjgjj stage with the dignity of an antique statue disencum- was, perhaps, in relation to Sheridan what Vanburgh was bered from the rubbish in which it had been enveloped to Congreve. His comedies turn on an extravagance of since the decay of the art. But, although Garrick show- intrigue and disguise, and so far belong to the Spanish ed the world how the characters of Shakspeare might be school. But the ease of his humorous dialogue, and the acted, and so far paved the way for a future regeneration droll yet true conception of the characters, make suffiof the stage, no kindred spirit arose to imitate his tone of cient amends for an occasional stretch in point of probabij composition. His supremacy was universally acknowledg- lity. If all who draw on the spectators for indulgence ed ; but it seemed as if he was regarded as an object of ado- were equally prepared to compensate by a corresponding ration, not of imitation; and that authors were as much degree of pleasure, they would have little occasion to cominterdicted the treading his tragic path, as the entering his plain. The elder Colman’s Jealous Wife, and some of his magic circle. It was not sufficiently remembered that the smaller pieces, are worthy, and it is no ordinary complifaults of Shakspeare, or rather of his age, are those into ment, of being placed beside these masterpieces. We which no modern dramatist is likely to fall; and that he dare not rank Cumberland so high, although two or three learned his beauties in the school of nature, which is ever of his numerous efforts retain possession of the stage. open to all who profess the fine arts. Shakspeare may, The Wheel of Fortune was certainly one of the best actindeed, be inimitable, but there are inferior degress of ex- ing plays of its time, but it was perhaps chiefly on account cellence, which talent and study cannot fail to attain ; and of the admirable representative which the principal chathe statuary were much to blame who, in despair of mo- racter found in Mr John Kemble. The plays of Foote, the modem Aristophanes, who vendelling a Venus like that of Phidias, should set himself to imitate a Chinese doll. Yet such was the conduct of the tured, by his powers of mimicking the mind as well as the dramatists of Britain long after the supremacy of Shak- external habits, to bring living persons on the stage, bespeare had been acknowledged. He reigned a Grecian long to this period, and make a remarkable part of its draprince over Persian slaves ; and they who adored him matic history. But we need not dwell upon it. Foote Tragedy did not dare attempt to use his language. The tragic was an unprincipled satirist; and while he affected to be of this muse appeared to linger behind the taste of the age, and the terror of vice and folly, was only anxious to extort forperiod. still used the constrained and mincing measure which she bearance-money from the timid, or to fill his theatre at had been taught in the French school. Hughes, Cumber- the indiscriminate expense of friends and enemies, virtuland, and other men of talent, appeared in her service; ous or vicious, who presented foibles capable of being but their model remained as imperfect as ever ; and it was turned into ridicule. It is a just punishment of this course not till our own time that any bold efforts were made to of writing, that Foote’s plays, though abounding in comic restore to tragedy that truth and passion, without which and humorous dialogue, have died with the parties whom declamation is only rant and impertinence. Horace Wal- he ridiculed. When they lost the zest of personality, their pole, however, showed what might be done by adopting a popularity, in spite of much intrinsic merit, fell into utter more manly and vigorous style of composition ; and Home decay. Meantime dramatic composition of the higher class seemdisplayed the success of a more natural current of passion.

DRAMA. 177 L iama. ed declining. Garrick in our fathers’ time, Mrs Siddons must never so far yield to feeling as to lose sight of grace Drama, in ours, could neither of them extract from their literary and dignity. He must never venture so far in quest of admirers any spark of congenial fire. No part written for the sublime, as to run the risk of moving the risible faculeither of these astonishing performers has survived the ties of an audience, so much alive to the ridiculous, that transient popularity which their talents could give to al- they will often find or make it in what is to others the most any thing. The truth seems to be, that the French source of the grand or the terrible. The Germans, on the model had been wrought upon till it was altogether worn contrary, have never subjected their poets to any arbitrary out; and a new impulse from some other quarter—a fresh forms. The division of the empire into so many indepenturning up of the soil, and awakening of its latent energies dent states has prevented the ascendency of any general by a new mode of culture—was become absolutely neces- system of criticism ; and their national literature was not TKdramasary to the renovation of our dramatic literature. Eng- much cultivated, until the time when such authority had reryesa ]and was destined to receive this impulse from Germany, become generally unpopular. Lessing had attacked the n6 ’™" where literature was in the first luxuriant glow of vegeta- whole French theatrical system in his Dramaturgic with Gunany. tion, with all its crop of flowers and weeds rushing up to- the most bitter raillery. Schiller brought forward his gether. There was good and evil in the importation de- splendid dramas of romance and of history. Goethe rived from this superabundant source. But the evil was crowded the stage with the heroes of ancient German of a nature so contrary to that which had long palsied our chivalry. No means of exciting emotion were condemned dramatic literature, that, like the hot poison mingling with as irregular, providing emotion was actually excited. And the cold, it may in the issue bring us nearer to a state of there can be no doubt that the license thus given to the health. poet, the willingness with which the audience submitted The affectation of Frederic II. of Prussia, and of other to the most extravagant postulates on their part, left them German princes, for a time suppressed the native litera- at liberty to exert the full efforts of their genius. ture, and borrowed their men of letters from France, as Lessing, Schiller, and Goethe, became at once the fawell as their hair-dressers,—their dramas as well as their thers and the masters of the German theatre ; and it must dressed dishes. The continental courts, therefore, had no be objected to these great men, that, in the abundance of share in forming the national drama. To the highest circle their dramatic talent, they sometimes forgot that their in every nation that of France will be most acceptable, pieces, in order to be acted, must be adapted to the capanot only on account of its strict propriety and conformity bilities of a theatre ; and thus wrote plays altogether into les convenances, but also as securing them against the capable of being represented. Their writings, although risk of hearing bold and offensive truths uttered in the affording many high examples of poetry and passion, are presence of the sovereign and the subject. But the bold, marked with faults which the exaggeration of their folfrank, cordial, and rough character of the German people lowers has often carried into total extravagance. The at large did not relish the style of the French tragedies plays of chivalry and of history were followed by an intranslated for their stage ; and this cannot be wondered undation of imitations, in which, according to Schlegel, at, when the wide difference between the nations is con- “ there was nothing historical but the names and external sidered. circumstances ; nothing chivalrous but the helmets, buckThe natural character of the Germans is diametrically lers, and swords ; and nothing of old German honesty but opposite to that of the French. The latter are light al- the supposed rudeness. The sentiments were as modern most to frivolity, quick in seeing points of ridicule, slowly as they were vulgar ; from chivalry pieces, they were conawakened to those of feeling. The Germans are of an ab- verted into cavalry plays, which certainly deserve to be stracted, grave, and somewhat heavy temper; less alive to acted by horses rather than men.” (Schlegel on the Drama.') the ridiculous, more easily moved by an appeal to the It is not the extravagance of the apparatus alone, but passions. That which moves a Frenchman to laughter, exaggeration of character and sentiment, which have been affects a German with sorrow or indignation ; and in that justly ascribed as faults to the German school. The auwhich touches the German as a source of the sublime or thors appear to have introduced too harshly, brilliant pathetic, the quick-witted Frenchman sees only subject of lights and deep shadows; the tumid is too often substilaughter. In their theatres the Frenchman comes to judge, tuted for the sublime ; and faculties and dispositions the to exercise his critical faculties, and to apply the rules most opposed to each other are sometimes described as which he has learned, fundamentally or by rote, to the existing in the same person. performance of the night. A German, on the contrary, In German comedy the same faults predominate in a expects to receive that violent excitation which is most much greater degree. The pathetic comedy, which might pleasing to his imaginative and somewhat phlegmatic cha- be rather called domestic tragedy, became, unfortunately, racter. While the Frenchman judges of the form and very popular in Germany; and found a champion in Kotshape of the play, the observance of the unities, and the zebue, who carried its conquests over all the Continent. denouement of the plot, the German demands the power- The most obvious fault of this species of composition is ful contrast of character and passion—the sublime in tra- the demoralizing falsehood of the pictures which it offers gedy and the grotesque in comedy. The former may be to us. The vicious are frequently presented as objects called the formalist of dramatic criticism, keeping his eye less of censure than of sympathy; sometimes they are chiefly on its exterior shape and regular form ; the latter selected as objects of imitation and praise. There is an is the fanatic, who, disregarding forms, requires a deep affectation of attributing noble and virtuous sentiments and powerful tone of passion and of sentiment, and is often to the persons least qualified by habit or education to encontent to surrender his feelings to inadequate motives. tertain them ; and of describing the higher and better edu- ” ;ral from the different temper of the nations, the merits cated classes as uniformly deficient in those feelings of d| icter and faults of their national theatres became diametrically liberality, generosity, and honour, which may be considerofl'i to each other. The French author is obliged to ed as proper to their situation in life. This contrast may w (nan opposed dPia. confine himself, as we have already observed, within the be true in particular instances, and being used sparingly, circle long since described by Aristotle. He must attend might afford a good moral lesson ; but, in spite of truth to all the decorum of the scene, and conform to every re- and probability, it has been assumed, upon all occasions, by gulation, whether rational or arbitrary, which has been these authors, as the groundwork of a sort of intellectual entailed on the stage since the days of Corneille. He jacobinism ; consisting, as Mr Coleridge has well expressvol. vm. z

DRAMA. 178 Drama, ed it, “ in the confusion and subversion of the natural terbalance, which confessedly depresses the national dra- Dram v —order of things, their causes and their effects; in the ex- ma, in despite of the advantages we have enumerated ? Ba( citement of surprise, by representing the qualities of libe- We apprehend it will be found in the monopoly possessed l cotj rality, refined feeling, and a nice sense of honour in per- by two large establishments, which, unhappily for the prosons and in classes of life where experience teaches us gress of national taste, and, it is said, without any equivaleast to expect them; and in rewarding with all the sym- lent advantage to the proprietors, now enjoy the exclusive sessed l pathies that are the dues of virtue, those criminals whom privilege of dramatic representation. It must be distinctly the Ion law, reason, and religion, have excommunicated from our understood, that we attribute these disadvantages to the theatres system itself, and by no means charge them upon those esteem.” The German taste was introduced upon the English who have the administration of either theatre. The protheatre within these twenty years. But the better pro- prietors have a right to enjoy what the law invests in ductions of her stage have never been made known to us; them; and the managers have probably discharged their for, by some unfortunate chance, the wretched pieces of duty to the public as honourably as circumstances would Kotzebue have found a readier acceptance or more willing admit of; but the system has led into errors which affect translators, than the sublimity of Goethe, the romantic public taste, and even public morals. We shall briefly strength of Schiller, or the deep tragic pathos of Lessing. consider it as it influences, ls£, the mode of representation; They have tended, however, wretched as the model is, to 2dly, the theatrical authors and performers; and, Sdly, introduce on our stage a degree of sentiment, and awaken the quality and composition of the audience. The first inconvenience arises from the great size of among the audience a strain of sensibility, to which we the theatres, which has rendered them unfit for the legiwere previously strangers. George Coleman’s comedy of John Bull is by far the timate purposes of the drama. The persons of the perbest effort of our late comic drama. The scenes of broad formers are, in these huge circles, so much diminished, humour are executed in the best possible taste; and the that nothing short of the mask and buskin could render whimsical, yet native characters, reflect the manners of them distinctly visible to the audience. Show and mareal life. The sentimental parts, although one of them in- chinery have therefore usurped the place of tragic poetry; cludes a finely wrought up scene of paternal distress, par- and the author is compelled to address himself to the take of the falsetto of German pathos. But the piece is eyes, not to the understanding or feelings, of the spectaboth humorous and affecting; and we readily excuse its tors. This is of itself a gross error. Every thing beyond obvious imperfections, in consideration of its exciting our correct costume and theatrical decorum is foreign to the legitimate purposes of the drama, as tending to divide the laughter and our tears. Joanna Whilst the British stage received a new impulse from a attention of the audience; and the rivalry of the sceneBaillie. country whose literature had hitherto scarce been known painter and the carpenter cannot be very flattering to any to exist, she was enriched by productions of the richest author or actor of genius. Besides, all attempts at deconative genius. A retired female, thinking and writing in ration, beyond what the decorum of the piece requires, solitude, presented to her countrymen the means of re- must end in paltry puppet-show exhibition. The talents gaining the true and manly tone of national tragedy. She of the scene-painter and mechanist cannot, owing to the has traced its foundation to that strong instinctive and very nature of the stage, make battles, sieges, &c. any sympathetic curiosity, which tempts men to look into the thing but objects of ridicule. Thus we have enlarged our bosoms of their fellow-creatures, and to seek, in the dis- theatres, so as to destroy the effect of acting, without cartresses or emotions of others, the parallel of their own rying to any perfection that of pantomime and dumb show. Secondly, The monopoly of the two large theatres has passions. She has built on the foundations which she laid bare, and illustrated her precepts by examples which will operated unfavourably both upon theatrical writers and long be an honour to the age in which they were pro- performers. The former have been in many instances, if duced and admired, yet its disgrace, when it is consider- not absolutely excluded from the scene, yet deterred from ed that they have been barred their legitimate sphere of approaching it, in the same manner as men avoid attempting to pass through a narrow wicket, which is perpetually influence upon the public taste. Maturin, Besides this gifted person, the names of Coleridge, of thronged by an importunate crowd. Allowing the manaColeridge, Maturin, and other men of talents, throng upon our recol- gers of these two theatres, judging in the first and in the and others. iectjon . ancj there is one who, to judge from the dramatic last resort, to be possessed of the full discrimination nesketch he has given us in Manfred, must be considered cessary to a task so difficult; supposing them to be at all as a match for iEschylus, even in his sublimest moods of times alike free from partiality and from prejudice; still horror. It is no part of our plan, however, to enter upon the number of plays thrust upon their hands must prevent the criticism of our contemporaries.1 Suffice it to say, that their doing equal justice to all, and must frequently dethe age has no reason to apprehend any decay of drama- ter a man of real talents, either from pride or modesty, from entering a competition clogged with delay, solicitatic talent. Neither can our actors be supposed inadequate to the tion, and other circumstances, hand suheunda ingenio suo. representation of such pieces of dramatic art as we judge It is unnecessary to add, that increasing the number of our authors capable of producing. We have lost Mrs theatres, and diminishing their size, would naturally tend Siddons and John Kemble, but we still possess Kean, to excite a competition among the managers, whose inteYoung, and Miss O’Neil; and the stage has to boast other rest it is to make experiments on the public taste; and tragic performers of merit. In comedy perhaps it was that this would infallibly secure any piece of reasonable never more strong. In point of scenery and decoration, promise a fair opportunity of being represented. _ It is by our theatres are so amply provided, that they may rather such a competition that genius is discovered; it is thus seem to exceed than to fall short of what is required to that horticulturists raise whole beds of common flowers, for the chance of finding among them one of those rare form a classical exhibition. Where then are we to look for that unfortunate coun- varieties which are the boast of their art. i This and other similar expressions, which now excite a melancholy interest, are suffered to remain, for the reason stated in the note, page 147.

D

R

A

*ama The exclusive privilege of the regular London theatres I is equally, or in a greater degree, detrimental to the perDr linen. former; for it is with difficulty that he fights his way to a London engagement; and when once received, he is too often retained for the mere purpose of being laid aside, or shelfed as it is technically called; that is, rendered a weekly burden upon the pay-list of the theatre, without being produced above four or five times in the season to exhibit his talents. Into this system the managers are forced, from the necessity of their situation, which compels them to enlist in their service every performer who seems to possess buds of genius, although it ends in their being so crowded together that they have no room to blossom. In fact, many a man of talent thus brought from the active exercise of a profession, to be paid for remaining inactive in obscurity in London, and supported by what seems little short of eleemosynary bounty, either becomes careless of his business or disgusted with it; and, at any rate, stagnates in that mediocrity to which want of exercise alone will often condemn talent. Thirdly, and especially, the magnitude of these theatres has occasioned them to be destined to company so scandalous, that persons not very nice in their taste of society must yet exclaim against the abuse as a national nuisance. We are aware of the impossibility of excluding a certain description of females from public places in a corrupt metropolis like London ; but in theatres of moderate size, frequented by the better class, these unfortunate persons would feel themselves compelled to wear a mask at least of decency. In the present theatres of London, the best part of the house is openly and avowedly set off for their reception; and no part of it that is open to the public at large is free from their intrusion, or at least from the open display of the disgusting improprieties to which their neighbourhood gives rise. And these houses, raised at an immense expense, are so ingeniously misconstructed, that in the private boxes you see too little of the play, and in the public boxes greatly too much of a certain description of the company. No man of delicacy would wish the female part of his family to be exposed to such scenes ; no man of sense would wish to put youth of the male sex in the way of such temptation. This evil, if not altogether arising from the large size of the theatres, has been so incalculably increased by it, that, unless in the case of strong attraction, prostitutes and their admirers usually form the principal part of the audience. We censure, and with justice, the corruption of morals in Paris. But in no public place in that metropolis is vice permitted to bear so open and audacious a front as in the theatres of London. Barefaced vice is never permitted to insult decency. Those who seek it must go to the haunts to which it is limited. In London, if we would enjoy our most classical public amusement, we are braved by her on the very threshold. We notice these evils, without pretending to point out the remedy. If, however, it were possible so to arrange interests, that the patents of the present theatres should

DRAMBURG, a circle in Prussian Pomerania, in the government of Stralsund, extending over 550 square miles, and comprehending three cities, seventy-one villages, and ninety hamlets, with 21,285 inhabitants. The capital is a city of the same name, situated on the river Drage, and containing 277 houses and 1808 inhabitants, who make gloves and linen cloth. DRAMMEN, a city of Norway, situated on the river of that name, in the province of Aggerhuus. It is an open city, well built, near a mile in length. It contains 900 houses

D R A 179 cover four, or even six, of smaller size, dedicated to the Drama same purpose, we conceive that more good actors would || be found, and more good plays written; and, as a neces- Dran. sary consequence, that good society would attend the theatre in sufficient numbers to enforce respect to decency. The access to the stage would be rendered easy to both authors and actors; and although this might give scope to some rant and false taste, it could not fail to call forth much excellence, that must otherwise remain latent or repressed. The theatres would be relieved of the heavy ex-’ pense at present incurred, in paying performers who do not play; and in each maintaining three theatrical corps for the separate purposes of tragedy, comedy, and musical pieces; only one of which can be productive labourers on the same evening, though all must be supported and paid. According to our more thrifty plan, each of these companies would be earning at the same time the fruits of their professional industry. The hours of representation, in one or more of these theatres, might be rendered more convenient to those in high life, whilst the middling classes might enjoy a rational and classical entertainment after the business of the day. Such an arrangement might indeed be objected to by those who entertain a holy horror of the very name of a theatre, and who imagine impiety and blasphemy are inseparable from the drama. We have no room left to argue with such persons, or we might endeavour to prove that the dramatic art is in itself as capable of being directed either to right or wrong purposes, as the art of printing. It is true, that even after a play has been formed upon the most virtuous model, the man who is engaged in the duties of religion will be better employed than he who is seated in a theatre, and listening to it. To those abstracted and enrapt spirits, who feel or suppose themselves capable of remaining constantly involved in heavenly thoughts, any sublunary amusement may justly seem frivolous. But the mass of mankind are not so framed. The Supreme Being, who claimed the seventh day as his own, allotted the other six days of the week for purposes merely human. W hen the necessity of daily labour is removed, and the call of social duty fulfilled, that of moderate and timely amusement claims its place, as a want inherent in our nature. To relieve this want, and fill up the mental vacancy, games are devised, books are written, music is composed, spectacles and plays are invented and exhibited. And if these last have a moral and virtuous tendency; if the sentiment expressed tend to rouse our love of what is noble, and our contempt of what is mean; if they unite hundreds in a sympathetic admiration of virtue, abhorrence of vice, or derision of folly; it will remain to be shown how far the spectator is more criminally engaged, than if he had passed the evening in the idle gossip of society, in the. feverish pursuits of ambition, or in the unsated and insatiable struggle after gain—the gravef employments of the present life, but equally unconnected with our existence hereafter. (D* ^ D’)

and 5412 inhabitants. The trade consists in making leather, oil, and sailcloth; in the export of timber and iron, and in the pursuit of the fishery. There are many vessels belonging to the port, but chiefly of small tonnage. DR AN, Henri-Fran^ois le, a celebrated French surgeon, born at Paris in 1685, was the son of a surgeon ot the same name, who, while serving with the army, had been distinguished for practical dexterity in the treatment of gunshot wounds. Young Le Dran entered on the surgical career under the auspices and direction of his father,

180 D R A Drawing, and early attained to eminence in his profession. He became surgeon-major and demonstrator of anatomy at La Charite, member of the royal academy of surgery, consulting surgeon of the camps and armies of the king, and associate of the Royal Society of London. Apart from his professional pursuits, almost no particulars of his life have been preserved. He died at Paris on the 17th October 1770, at the advanced age of eighty-five. Le Dran was the author of a variety of works on surgery, of which we shall here subjoin a very brief account. 1. Parallele des differentes manieres de tirer la Pierre hors de la Vessie, Paris, 1730, 1740, 8vo, with plates ; translated into German, Berlin, 1737, 8vo, and into English, London, 1738, 8vo. Le Dran, in this work, condemns the small, and shows himself a partizan of the large apparatus; recommending, however, that the incision should be made a little lower than Collot had been accustomed to make it, and that it should be of an extent sufficient to prevent the dilaceration of the bladder. He approves of the high apparatus only in the case where the bladder is sound and the calculus very voluminous. In order to obviate the too frequent lesion of the rectum in using the probe described by Albinus for the lateral operation of Rau, Le Dran invented a new sound, which enabled him to avoid such a casualty, and contributed materially to his success. 2. Observations de Chirurgerie, auxquelles on a joint plusieurs Reflexions en faveur des Etudiants, Paris, 1731, 2 vols. 12mo: translated into German, Nuremberg, 1738, 8vo, and into English, 1739, 8vo. This collection is rich in facts well chosen, and reported with candour and precision. The author does not dissemble his faults, and speaks of his success without ostentation. 3. Traite des operations de Chirurgerie, Paris, 1731 and 1742, 8vo; London, 1749, 8vo, with additions by Cheselden. This work, in which the author ascribes an imaginary influence to the animal spirits, is nevertheless valuable, as containing an accurate description of a great number of operations, and many practical facts alike curious and interesting. If a

D R A new method is spoken of, he never fails to indicate the Drastj author of the discovery. 4. Reflexions pratiques sur les |i plaies d'armesa feu, Paris, 1737, 1740, 1759, 12mo; Am- v^awi» sterdam, 1745, 12mo ; Nuremberg, in German, 1740, 8vo. To the excellent precepts of Ambroise Pare, the author has here added the fruits of his own experience ; and he has contributed to check in some cases the use, then too exclusive, of the seton. He has also advocated the method of large incisions, and justly proscribed the application of sindons or pledgets of linen soaked with brandy, in the first dressing of gunshot wounds. 5. Suite du Parallele de la Taille, Paris, 1756, 8vo. 6. Consultations sur la plupart des Maladies qui sont du ressort de la Chirurgerie, Paris, 1765, 8vo. 7. Traite economique de VAnatomic du corps humain, Paris, 1768, 12mo. This work is full of superannuated hypotheses and material omissions. 8. Recit d'une guerison singuliere du plomb fondu dans la Vessie, and Lettre sur la dissolution du plomb dans cet organe, Paris, 1749. Here Le Dran gives an account of his experiments for dissolving lead by means of mercury, and evinces great credulity in attributing to mercury certain imaginary qualities. Besides the works above enumerated, a great number of interesting observations by Le Dran may be found in the Memoires of the Academy, (a.) DRASTIC, in Physic, an epithet bestowed on such medicines as are of present efficacy, and potent in operation. It is commonly applied to emetics and cathartics. DRAVE, a river, which, taking its rise near Innichen, in Tyrol, on the borders of Salzburg, traverses Carinthia and Styria, and after receiving the Mur at Legrad, and separating Croatia and Sclavonia from Hungary,falls into the Danube below Essek. It is navigable from Villach in Carinthia. Some gold is collected from its bed by washing. DRAWBACK, in commerce, certain duties, either of the customs or of the excise, allowed upon the exportation of some of our own manufactures, or upon certain foreign merchandises which have paid duty on importation. See Commerce.

D It A W I N G. Drawing is the art of representing forms upon a flat surface, by means of any sort of instruments, such as pencils, chalks, and the like. It is also a word used to denote the forms or contours of the figures in compositions, or in sculpture generally. Thus we say that the drawing in a picture, or the drawing of a statue, or any other figure, is of a high or an inferior kind, good or bad. History. This art is well known to be of the most remote antiquity, and it has been in use amongst the most barbarous and most civilized nations for a variety of purposes. The hieroglyphic figures, whether carved or painted, upon the ancient Egyptian obelisks and temples, the ornaments of the same description upon their buildings and sarcophagi, together with the like productions amongst the Mexicans, prove the ancient origin of the art. Some of the purest and best of the Egyptian sculptures, and particularly the figures of the harpers, described and illustrated by Bruce the traveller, exhibit a knowledge and correctness of taste in the art far surpassing what is usually admitted, and show that the Greek school in this, as well as in their other acquirements, was greatly indebted to the Egyptians for pointing out the road to that excellence of form and dignity of character and expression which their matchless works possess. Greece Although examples of drawings by the Greeks have not and Rome, come down to us, their magnificent statues assure us that their proficiency in the art must have been of the highest

order; and certain expressions of Pliny, in describing their pictures, evidently indicate that the Greeks must have attained to the utmost excellence in drawing, at the period of their glory as a nation. It is not our intention to load this article with ancient historical information respecting the fine arts, otherwise many curious anecdotes might be introduced ; but we cannot pass over the mention of Alexander’s emotion on seeing a picture of Palamedes when betrayed by his friends, which forcibly reminded the hero of his own treatment of Aristonicus; nor can we refrain from noticing the picture of Agamemnon and Iphigenia by Timanthes, so highly extolled by Cicero Quintilian, Valerius Maximus, and Pliny, as satisfactory proofs of the excellence of the ancients in drawing and painting, as well as in their scupltures and arthitecture. From the emotions which the higher excellencies of the pictures by the Greek artists produced in these gifted men, a fair inference may be drawn as to the perfection to which the art must have attained at the period of Grecian glory; and consequently drawing, even in the confined sense of the word, must have also been in a corresponding state of advancement. Their principal schools were at Sicyon, Rhodes, Athens, and Corinth ; and when Greece was subdued by the Romans, the conquerors, alive to the benefits to be derived from the sciences and arts, encouraged the cultivation of them in their own capital, to which the

D R A WING. 181 Greek artists resorted, and laid the foundation of the Ro- The study ought to be begun by copying the most simple Drawing, Diving. parts, such as we have exhibited in Plates CXC., CXCL, MT1-' man school. From the conquests of Alaric and Attila in the fifth cen- CXCIL, CXCIII.; and the greatest anxiety to attain actury, the arts lay prostrate and neglected, until their re- curacy in the gentle undulations of form ought to be vival about the year 1450 at Florence, where Dominico evinced. We would recommend that perspective should Ghirlandaio, the master of Michel Angelo, practised paint- be studied at the earliest stage of the pupil’s practice. By ing with considerable reputation, Tvhich his pictures show means of a knowledge of its rules, which are simple, much time will be spared to the student, and excellence more he well merited. We have now arrived at the golden age of the arts speedily acquired than when directed only by his eye in Hi*el Injlo. amongst the moderns, for Michel Angelo must be admit- the practice of drawing, whatever the object may beted to have been the first to discover and practise them Although it matters little what the instrument may be Drawing with the classical discernment and skill which ultimately which is usedin the practiceof drawing, yet, upon the whole, in chalk, led him to the highest eminence amongst his contempo- we would recommend black and white chalks as the most raries as a painter, a sculptor, an architect, and engineer, to be preferred. They are easily procured, and conveand deservedly placed his reputation on a level with the nient for use. They are usually fixed in an instrument of greatest names of antiquity. Till his time painters were brass or steel, as represented below, the white chalk beingconsidered as mere mechanics or labourers, and their placed at the one end, and the black at the other. employment was almost entirely confined to making representations of saints, and other figures used by the superstitious of the age. It was at this period, and surrounded by the wretched examples of such artists as Cimabue, Giotto, and others, that Michel Angelo, upon exThe paper should be slightly tinged with colour, so that amining the torso of the Belvidere, instantly abandoned the white chalk which is put upon the lights may tell prothe barbarous taste and style of his master, and bound- perly. Crayon paper is the best. The outline being careed into that sublime path which has been the admira- fully made, first with charcoal as slightly as possible, and tion of all. “ The poetry of the art,” says Sir Joshua Rey- then corrected and smoothed with the black chalk, the nolds, “ he possessed in the most eminent degree ; and the shading may be executed as the taste of the student insame daring spirit which first urged him to explore the clines. It may either be done with careful hatchings at unknown regions of the imagination, impelled him forward particular angles, or in one solid smooth mass, or by a in his career beyond those limits which his followers, des- combination of both, which is probably the most advistitute of the same incentives, had not strength to pass. He able mode of practice. Too much attention to elaborate was the bright luminary from whom painting has borrowed hatchings may divert the attention of the student from a new lustre, under whose hands it assumed a new appear- the more essential excellencies of the outline, and proper ance, and became another and superior art.” balance of light and shade; and a too careless manner in Hi ielle Raffaelle Santio, the pupil of Pietro Perugino, was born his materials may lead to equal disadvantages, for KaiJio. on Good Friday in the year 1483, and died on Good Fri- using in art, as in every thing else, carelessness in the beginning day in the year 1520, so that he only lived thirty-seven can never lead to excellence in the end. Much time years. He must be admitted to have surpassed all the in laying in the shadows may be spared by using an inmoderns in drawing and painting, though his design does strument called a stump, made of a piece of shamois leanot possess those sublime conceptions to be found in the ther rolled up in a cylindrical form, in a tight manner, works of his rival Michel Angelo. Generally speaking, tied round with thread, and shaped to a blunt point, as the choice of his subjects is simple and pleasing, for he represented below. cared not to grapple with those severe attitudes and expressions to be found in the works of his gifted contemporary ; but his compositions are invariably correct and harmonious, and his drawing careful, elegant, and pure. It is to his school that we would recommend the student to look for those examples which will be of the greatest practical benefit to him in drawing; a circumstance which A little chalk-powder may be dusted upon the shadow if ought to be his first and principal aim. extensive, and rubbed in with the instrument above deIt is not the proper place here to enter into the history scribed, and afterwards the part finished up with the ot painting in Italy after its revival by the two great mas- chalk. The white chalk should not be used until the ters whose names and characteristic excellencies we have drawing is completed with the black, otherwise it is apt just mentioned. This we reserve for the article Painting ; to get injured by admixture, which in no instance should and we now proceed to explain the practical details of the be the case, for there ought always to be a space between management and manipulation of drawing in its various the two chalks occupied by the tint of the paper. styles. The black chalk will be found to work very well upon Drawing, as we have already stated, is that part of the white as well as coloured paper; but the process is more art which represents the forms of objects upon a flat sur- tedious, in consequence of all the middle or light tints face, and may be divided into outlining and shading ; and having to be attended to and executed, which, in the case as the chief attributes of almost all objects are embraced of the other paper, the tint produces. Errors in outline in the correctness of their forms, the student of art should or shading may be rectified by rubbing out the defect labour with the utmost pains and assiduity in order to with a piece of bread squeezed into a convenient shape acquire severe accuracy in his outline, without which the between the finger and thumb. most dexterous shading and finishing will be worse than After the student has acquired some degree of profithrown away. ciency in using the chalk, and imitating any drawing or In whatever department the genius of the student may print which may be given him, he should next begin to lead him to practise, habits of correctness will be most copy from real substances, or what is technically termed successfully cultivated by drawing the human figure, the drawing from “ the round.” knowledge of which is the basis of all true excellence. Here a wide field is opened up to him in the study of

182

DRAWING. A man, when his arms are stretched out, is from the Draw Drawing, the antique statues ; and while striving to attain accuracy in copying these noble reliques of art, he should consider longest finger of his right hand to the longest finger of his deeply their high character and expression. It is not to left, as broad as he is long. be expected that a very extensive set of examples of the From one side of the breast to the other, two faces. antique, or a discussion and detail of their merits, can be The bone of the arm, called humerus, is the length of given here; all that we can do is to lead the student to two faces from the shoulder to the elbow. the proper source whence he may draw supplies; and From the end of the elbow to the root of the little finwith this view we would recommend him to peruse and ger, the bone called cubitus, with part of the hand, concontemplate the statues of the Apollo Belvidere, the Ve- tains two faces. nus de’ Medici, the Gladiator Borghese, the Torso of the From the box of the shoulder-blade to the pit betwixt Belvidere, and the matchless group of the Laocoon, at the the collar-bones, one face. time he is copying them in the way of practice. See Plates If you would be satisfied in the measure of breadth CXCIV., CXCV., CXCVL, CXCVII., CXCVIII. from the extremity of one finger to the other, so that this Red chalk. We have hitherto only considered the drawing of the breadth should be equal to- the length of the body, you human figure, and that in black and white chalks. Ano- must observe that the boxes of the elbows with the humether very good way of producing a spirited effect is, by a rus, and of the humerus with the shoulder-blade, bear the union of both these with red chalk, a method much prac- proportion of half a face when the arms are stretched out. tised by the old masters in their academy figures, &c. The sole of the foot is the sixth part of the figure. The hand is the length of a face. MeasureThe following are the measures of the human body, as ment of taken by Fresnoy from the ancient statues. The ancients The thumb contains a nose. the human have commonly allowed eight heads to their figures, The inside of the arm, where the muscle disappears iigiue. though some of them have allowed but seven. The figure which makes the breast (called the pectoral muscle), to is ordinarily divided into ten faces ; that is to say, from the middle of the arm, four noses. the crown of the head to the sole of the foot, in the followFrom the middle of the arm to the beginning of the ing manner: head five noses. From the crown of the head to the forehead is the third The longest toe is a nose long. part of a face. The utmost parts of the teats and the pit betwixt the The face begins at the root of the lowest hairs which collar-bones of a woman make an equilateral triangle. are upon the forehead, and ends at the bottom of the chin. For the breadth of the limbs no precise measures can The face is divided into three proportionable parts, the be given, because the measures themselves are changefirst contains the forehead, the second the nose, and the able, according to the quality of the persons, and accordthird the mouth and the chin; from the chin to the pit ing to the movement of the muscles. betwixt the collar-bones is two lengths of a nose. The best example of the measures of an ancient statue From the pit betwixt the collar-bones to the bottom of are by Audran, an author whom Sir Joshua Reynolds rethe breast one face. commends as being the most useful; and on this departFrom the bottom of the breast to the navel one face. ment of our subject we now add the following table of the From the navel to the genitories one face. measurements and comparisons of the three celebrated From the genitories to the upper part of the knee two statues of the Apollo, the Venus, and the Hercules, as faces. published by Volpato and Morghen at Rome, in a work The knee contains half a face. called 11 Principi dd Disegno. To preserve uniformity in From the lower part of the knee to the ankle two faces. the measurements, the head of each figure is divided into From the ankle to the sole of the foot half a face. twelve parts, and each part into six minutes. Apollo. From the beginning of the head to the root of the hairs From the root of the hairs to the eyebrows, or beginning of the nose From the eyebrows to the end of the nose From the end of the nose to the bottom of the chin From the chin to the articulation of the clavicle with the sternum From the clavicle to the end of the breast From the end of the breast to the middle of the umbilicus From the umbilicus to the symphysis pubis From the symphysis pubis to the middle of the patella From the middle of the patella to the beginning of the flank From the same to the swell of the foot From the swell of the foot to the end of the figure, or to the ground From the patella to the ground From the patella to the end of the heel of the right leg The length of the sole of the foot The highest part of the foot from the ground From the instep to the end of the toes From the clavicle or collar-bone to the beginning of the deltoid muscle... The length of the whole clavicle on the right side From the clavicle to the nipple From one end of the breasts to the other The greatest breadth of the trunk, taken a little below the beginning of the thorax....

Venus.

Hercules.

Parts. Min. Parts. Min. Parts. Min. 3 0 3 0 3 0 0 3 0 0 3 0 0 3 0 1 4 Q_L 10 5 9 4 Si 10 51 8 2 10 4 7 n11 4| 8 24 0 18 23 27 28 2 30 23 31 4 4 25 3 29 2^ *2 14 11 3 6 4 9 Oi 10 4 9 0 6 3 14 1 10 41 6 01 10 4 15 0 11 15 4 18 3 22 4

DRAWING. Drying.

Apollo. The breadth of the trunk from the end of the breast The narrowest part of the same, taken at the beginning of the flank The greatest breadth of the ossa ilei, where the flanks project most From the highest part of the deltoid muscle to the end of the biceps From the beginning of the os humeri to the cubit From the end of the biceps to the beginning of the hand The greatest breadth of the fore-arm in front The greatest breadth of the arm in front Breadth of the pulse of the arm in front The greatest breadth from one trochanter to the other The greatest breadth of the thigh in front The greatest breadth of the left thigh The greatest breadth of the knee opposite the middle of the patella The greatest breadth of the calf of the leg The greatest breadth between the inner and outer ankle The narrowest part of the foot The broadest part of the same From the last vertebra of the neck to the lower part of the os sacrum From the end of the os sacrum to the end of the glutaeus From the end of the glutaeus to the beginning of the gastrocnemius muscle From the beginning of the gastrocnemius to the end of the figure

In the foregoing table, we by no means have set down the ancient formula as an infallible guide, since the changes which the human form undergoes from infancy to old age preclude the possibility of limiting its measurements to definite proportions, and much depends upon the order or rank of the figure to be represented. Thus the Apollo Belvidere and the Venus de’ Medici have more than ten faces in their length; and in other respects these figures, which by their authors were intended to represent divinities, are considerably different in their proportions from others of the antique statues. It is enough if something approximating to accuracy of measurement be kept in view when the student is engaged in making his drawing; and this he should do without the use of compasses or any other mathematical means, which ultimately cramp his powers of imitation, and retard his progress towards perfection. Lid an(] Light and shade are the means by which the actual apsihaa,; or pearance of substance in the object represented is conveydii ed, and they should be studied with every attention, from ost ’• the objects themselves which are assumed as the models for imitation. No rules can be laid down so good as the study of nature herself, and no language can explain the beauties of her varied appearances of lights, shadow's, or reflections. It is by means of light and shade also that the figures in a picture or composition are made to keep their proper places: thus the principal figure is generally illuminated with the strongest and broadest light, and the others kept subordinate. It is with considerable diffidence, however, that we state this as the practice most to be approved of: every artist, and indeed every school, has a peculiar mode of management in this, and we are aware that a different practice has often produced excellent results. The general rule with regard to the relative proportions of light, shadow, and middle tint in a well-ordered effect is, that there should be rather more shadow than light, and more middle tint than either of the former, provided the subject does not require a different arrangement. In the infinite variety of forms of composition of the various schools, rules for the attainment of excellence can hardly be laid down with safety; and we must on this account refer the student to the contemplation of the works of the most esteemed masters, for examples to direct him in the practice of the chiar’ oscuro of his pictures. Ar 1)my. The study of anatomy is of the utmost importance to-

Venus.

Parts. Min. Parts. 15 15 15 16 17 17 01 20 16 0 14 4 5 5 5 3 4 17 9 21 5 6 4 3 5

3^ 3| 3 0

Hercules.

Min. Parts. Min. 41 1 19 31 5 21 11 2 0 0 5

19 3 9 5

22 15

01 3 0 3 1

1£ U

22 0 11

5 6 4 3 5

183 Drawing.

6 38 6 15 30

OL 4 5k 3 5 41 4 4 4 1

wards a correct knowledge of the human figure, and is most beneficial in leading the way to an accurate representation of its various parts and attitudes. Without it no proper estimate can be formed of the movements of the joints of the limbs, nor of the swellings and undulations of the muscles, which, when in action, are constantly varying, and must be seized at the moment. It was by the careful study of this branch of science that Michel Angelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and other eminent artists, attained to such excellence in representing the forms when engaged in action, and displayed that accuracy of outline and show of energy which appear in the various members of their figures. The most necessary preparation for all drawings execut-j)rawing ed with Indian ink, sepia, bistre, or the like, is an accurate in Indian outline, which should be made with a black-lead pencil, or ink, sepia, pen and ink if the work is only meant to be finished in abistre> &c* sketchy manner. Care must be taken in both to regulate the strength of the touch or line by the nearness or distance of the object represented. The shades should be laid in a good deal lighter at first than they are intended to be when the drawing is finished, and the hard edges of the touches softened with a water brush. The greater the attention paid to the subject as a whole in this stage, and the broader and less minute the washes are laid on, the better; for it is only as the drawing advances towards completion that the minutiae should be attended to. In Plate CCI. we have given an example of the method of proceeding with a drawing washed in with one colour only. Fig. 1 exhibits the outline; fig. 2 the first broad wash ; fig. 3 the second working; and fig. 4 the finished drawing. Each shading should be allowed to dry thoroughly before the succeeding wash is laid on; and there are many modes, we had almost said tricks, by which certain excellent effects are produced, which are only to be acquired by practice. Thus the use of a sharp pointed penknife will be found most serviceable in taking out irre- . gularly-formed lights in the foreground ; and much advantage will be found in wiping out lights and middle tints with a towel or handkerchief during the progress of the work ; but regarding these no rules can be laid down. The artist must use his own discretion; though too much of such practice is not to be recommended. The study of landscape ought to be commenced by imitating the most simple forms, as in the following figures.

184 '"Drawincr.

DRAWING.

These or similar figures may be copied two or three times over before attempting such a work as we have given in Plate CCI. Plate CC. exhibits two examples of the style of sketching landscape by Claude; and we strongly recommend Turner’s Liber Studiorum to the careful perusal of the young artist in this department. The studies of the human figure by Rafiaelle, Parmegiano, and others, or their imitations by Rodgers, are the best. Drawing There is no branch of the art in which such a variety in water 0f means may be adopted for attaining the same end, colours. namely, the imitation of nature, as in water-colour drawing; consequently we shall not attempt to lay down particular rules for the guidance of the student. Practice, as we have already stated, is the only means of arriving at the wishedfor perfection ; we shall therefore limit our notice to a few of the details most in use among painters in water colours. The substances used in painting in wrater colours are to be had in all the shops in prepared cakes, which are rubbed down upon a stone pallet or plate with a little vrater. Paper. The paper upon which the drawing is to be made may be either smooth or rough ; and if greasy on the surface, so that the colours do not adhere pleasantly, it may be sponged over, or the colours may be mixed with a little ox-gall. Ox gall, either in its native or prepared state. One drop of gall in the former condition, or the size of a large pin head in the latter, will be enough to saturate a tea-cupful of water for the purpose of mixing with or softening off the colours. Colours, The paintschieflyusedareultra-marineblue,indigo, Antwerp and cobalt blues, gamboge, ochre, Indian, and crome yellows, Indian red, vermilion, lake, carmine, burnt ochre, and brown pink reds; and although these may be denominated the primaries out of which all other modifications of tints can be made up, yet we may add to them a number of

browns which will be found to be serviceable, such as terra di sienna, both raw andburnt,Vandykebrown, umber, sepia, &c. The paper ought to be stretched upon a drawing board Fasti or frame, which is effected by soaking it in water, or byontl the p: sponging it over on both sides, then removing the super- | abundant water with a piece of blotting paper or towel,tram j and afterwards folding back the edge for about an inch all ' round, and applying the paste to the folded portion, and also to that part of the drawing board which the paper is to adhere to. The part so pasted should be pressed strongly, or the finger may be dipped into the paste and rubbed upon the pasted edge, and then the paper sponged all over, that the pasted edge may be permitted to dry more quickly than the centre part. Care must be taken not to let any of the paste touch the middle of the paper, which would destroy the drawing when cut from the board. Whatever may be the subject, it will be advisable to begin with light colour, and gradually work up both effect of light and shadow, and strength of tint, in a broad manner, without much attention to minutiae, as already described in Indian ink drawing. The earlier water-colour painters were in the practice of working with a gray or neuter tint at the commencement of their drawings ; and as this method is very simple, it will be the best for beginners, though in the end there will not be produced that richness of effect, and freshness, depth, and warmth of colour, which is the result of the contrary practice of the best masters of the present day; we mean the laying on of the colours almost at once, without any under preparation of neuter tint. In landscape painting, the paper where the Sky. sky is represented ought to be well soaked with water from a sponge, and afterwards dried moderately with a towel or piece of bibulous paper, to make the tints lie on

D

R

A

I Ly more solidly. The tints are then to be blended into each |j other while the surface is damp, and this should be done ■31, ton. with large brushes. After the sky and distance are laid in, the middle and foregrounds should be added, and the I'd • details worked out as the taste or ability of the artist may n ici £ ‘ lead him, for it is impossible to prescribe rules where no two artists follow the same practice, jjj.t. The appearance of air may be given to the distance by pwjie. washes of ultramarine or other semi-transparent colours ; and the spaces where sharp distinct lights are situated may be scraped out with a pen-knife, or the touches may be laid in with clean water, and after being allowed to remain upon the paper for a minute or less, they may be rubbed out with a piece of stale bread. Another mode of leaving out the lights is to touch the places with pipe-clay, used in a liquid state, with a camel’s hair pencil, and after wards the colour may be freely laid over them; the parts where the clay is laid have then only to be rubbed with bread or Indian rubber, to remove the tint, and expose the Itejoving clean paper. Should any error, either in outline or effect of of -ons. chiar’ oscuro, have been committed, the whole space can be removed with a sponge and water, without much injury to the paper ; indeed many of the best artists of the present day rub out and lay in their colours almost alternately, by which means a very great variety of surface and tint is obtained which could not be effected by any other practice. We have thus endeavoured to give what we hope will be found a satisfactory account of practical drawing, whether in chalk or water colour ; and it now remains for us to recommend, for the student’s careful perusal, Leonardo da Vinci the works of Sir Joshua Reynolds; Burnet on Light and Shadow in Painting, on Colour in Painting, on Composition in Painting ; the works of the old masters, whether their drawings or etchings; and, above all, Drjing the study of nature. Every one who has long been in the fro na- habit of copying from drawings alone, of whatever description, must have felt considerable diffidence in attempting to draw from real objects or from nature. This arises from the fear of being unable properly to reduce and hold in their relative place, on a sheet of paper, the objects which present themselves to the eye. To remove this obstacle, we would recommend that too much should not be attempted at the first, but the most simple subjects chosen, and these represented in a careful manner; the outline on the light side of the objects to be done in a delicate manner, and that on the shadow side in a bold style, and the shading to be also conducted upon similar principles. The most careful attention to representing the various forrns should be practised in the outline, for on the accuracy of it depends the balance or fitness of the whole design or picture. By thus habituating the eye to a correct delineation of the parts, it has little difficulty in

DRAY, a kind of cart used by brewers for carrying barrels of beer or ale; also a sledge drawn without wheels, Dray, among sportsmen, denotes squirrel nests built on the tops of trees. DRAYTON, Michael, an eminent English poet, was born at Harshull, in the parish of Atherston, in 1563, and was descended of an ancient family in Warwickshire. His propensity to poetry showed itself even from his infancy ; and we find that his principal poems had been published, and he himself distinguished as a poet, by the time he had attained about thirty years of age. It appears from his poem of Moses s Birth and Miracles, that he was a spectator at Dover of the Spanish Armada; and it is not improbable that he was there engaged in some military employment. It is certain, indeed, that, owing both to his merit as a VOL. VIII.

D R A 185 coming at the power of representing the general effect and Drayton, appearance of the whole ; and thus a picture, whether consisting of figures, rocks, trees, or marine objects, is managed with comparative ease; while, on the other hand, when a design has been commenced without due attention to the outline and balance of the objects, a loose and disjointed performance is produced. Many other difficulties present themselves at first to the anxious student, and not the most unimportant is the feeling which seizes him upon the contemplation of works of excellence when seen in a finished form ; but let him not despond, for much pains have been used, and great and palpable errors committed, even by the most accomplished masters, in the details of their works, which, the more accurate they are, the greater has been the.difficulty encountered. As an illustration of this, we have thought it proper to direct attention to the variety of lines used to represent the objects of Plate CXCIX., taken from a sketch by Raffaelle. The subject is the study for a portion of the picture of the School of Athens, and contains much valuable information to the learner respecting the progress of this great master in the management of his compositions, of one of the most important of which this is the first rough sketch. Description of the Plates. Plate CXC. Initiatory lessons for drawing the various parts of the face. bigs. 1, 2, 3, represent the human eye in a variety of positions. Figs. 4 and 5 the nose. Figs. 6, 7, 8, the nose and mouth. Plate CXCI. Second lesson. Figs. 1 and 2, the ear. Figs. 3, 4, 5, studies of heads. Plate CXCII. Plate of male and female hands in a variety of positions, as represented in figures 1 to 11. Plate CXCIII. contains eight figures or studies of the human foot. Plate CXCIV. Studies from the antique. Fig. 1, Thalia ; fig. 2, Clio; both examples of sitting figures. Fig. 3, Bacchus. Fig. 4, Venus of Arles. Fig. 5, a Discobolus. Plate CXCV. Studies from the antique. Fig. 1, Hercules and Telephus. Fig. 2, the Torso of Michel Angelo. Fig. 3, Jason. Fig. 4, the Dying Gladiator. Plate CXCVI. Studies from the antique. Fig. 1, Venus de’ Medicis. Fig. 2, Venus of the Capitol. Plate CXCVII. Study from the antique. Fig. 1, the Apollo Belvidere. Plate CXCVIII. Study from the antique. Fig. 1, Group of the Laocoon. Plate CXCIX. Specimen of sketching by Raphael. Plate CC. Specimens of sketching by Claude Lorraine. Plate CCI. Example of the mode of conducting a drawing in Indian ink, bistre, sepia, &c, from outline to finished performance. (g. g. g.)

writer and to his valuable qualities as a man, he was held in high estimation, and warmly patronized by several personages of consequence, particularly by Sir Henry Goodere, Sir Walter Aston, and the Countess of Bedford, to the first of whom he owns himself indebted for the greater part of his education, whilst by the second he was for many years supported. Amongst his poems the most celebrated is the Poly-Olhion, a chorographical description of England, with its productions^ antiquities, and curiosities, in dodecasyllabic verse. This he dedicated to Prince Henry, by whose encouragement it was written; and whatever may be thought of the poetry, his descriptions are allowed to be exact. In 1626 we find him styled poet-laureat in a copy of verses written in commendation of Abraham Holland ; but as Ben Jonson then held that office, it is to be 2A

186 D R E Dreams, understood in a loose sense as a term of commendation ; and, in fact, it was bestowed on others as well as Drayton, without being confined strictly to the office commonly known by that appellation. He died in 1631 ; and was buried amongst the poets in Westminster Abbey, where his bust is still to be seen, with an epitaph penned by Ben Jonson. DREAMS are all those thoughts which pass through the mind, and those imaginary transactions in which we often fancy ourselves engaged when in the state of sleep. Scarcely any part of nature is less open to our observation than the human mind in this state. The dreamer himself cannot well observe the manner in which dreams arise or disappear in his own mind. When he awakes, he cannot recollect tjie circumstances of his dreams with sufficient accuracy. Were we to watch over him with the most vigilant attention, we could not perceive with certainty what emotions were excited in his mind, or what thoughts passed through it, during his sleep. But though we could ascertain these phenomena, many other difficulties would still remain. What parts of a human being are active, and what dormant, when he dreams? Why does he not always dream while asleep ? Or why dreams he at all ? Do any circumstances in our constitution, situation, and peculiar character, determine the nature of our dreams ? In treating of this subject, we shall endeavour to lay before our readers such facts as have been ascertained concerning dreaming, together with the most plausible conjectures which have been offered to explain the phenomena of dreams. - In dreaming we are not conscious of being asleep. This is well known from a great variety of circumstances. When awake, we often recollect our dreams; and we remember, on such occasions, that whilst those dreams were passing through our minds, it never occurred to us that we were separated by sleep from the acfive world. Persons are often observed to act and talk in dreaming as if they were busily engaged in the intercourse of social life. In dreaming we do not consider ourselves as witnessing or bearing a part in a fictitious scene. We seem not to be in a similar situation with the actors in a dramatic performance, or the spectators before whom they exhibit, but engaged in the business of real life. All the varieties of thought that pass through our minds when awake may also occur in dreams; all the images which imagination presents in the former state may be called up in the latter ; the same emotions may be excited, and we are often actuated by equal violence of passion ; none of the transactions in which we are capable of engaging whilst awake is impossible in dreams; in short, our range of action and observation is as wide in the one state as in the other ; and whilst dreaming, we are not sensible of any distinction between our dreams and the events and transactions in which we are actually concerned in our intercourse with the world. It is said that all men are not liable to dream. Dr Beattie, in a very pleasing essay on this subject, relates that he knew a gentleman who never dreamed except when his health was in a disordered state; and Locke mentions that a certain person of his acquaintance was almost a stranger to dreaming until the twenty-sixth year of his age, when he began to dream in consequence of having had a fever. These instances, however, are too few, and we have not been able to obtain more; and, besides, it does not appear that those persons had always attended, with the care of a philosopher making an* experiment, to the circumstances of their sleep. They might dream, but not recollect their dreams on awaking; and they might both dream and recollect their dreams immediately upon awaking, yet afterwards suffer the remembrance of them to slip out of their memory. We do not advance this,

D R E therefore, as a certain fact concerning dreaming; we are Dreat rather inclined to consider it as a mistake. But though y it appears to be by no means certain that any of the human race are throughout the whole of life absolute strangers to dreaming; yet it is well known that all men are not equally liable to dream. The same person dreams more or less at different times ; and as one person may be more exposed than another to those circumstances which promote this exercise of fancy, one person may therefore dream more than another. The same diversity will naturally take place in this as in other accidents to which mankind are in general liableN Though in dreams imagination appears to be free from all restraint, and indulges in the most wanton freaks, yet it is generally agreed that the imaginary transactions of the dreamer bear always some relation to his particular character in the world, his habits of action, and the circumstances of his life. The lover, we are told, dreams of his mistress, the miser of his money ; the philosopher renews his researches in sleep often with the same pain and fatigue as when awake; and even the merchant at times returns to balance his books, and computes the profits of an adventure, when slumbering on his pillow. And not only do the more general circumstances of a person’s life influence one’s dreams ; the passions and habits are nearly the same when asleep as when awake. A person whose habits of life are virtuous, does not in his dreams plunge into a series of crimes ; nor are the vicious reformed when they pass into this imaginary world. The choleric man finds himself offended by slight provocations in his dreams as well as in his ordinary intercourse with the world; and a mild temper continues pacific even in sleep. The character of a person’s dreams is influenced by his circumstances when awake in a still more unaccountable manner. Certain dreams usually arise in the mind after a person has been in certain situations. Dr Beattie relates that once, after riding thirty miles in a high wind, he passed a part of the succeeding night in dreams beyond description terrible. The state of a person’s health, and the manner in which the vital functions are carried on, have a considerable influence in determining the character of dreams. After too full a meal, or after eating of an unusual sort of food, a person is very apt to be harassed with uncomfortable dreams. In dreaming, the mind for the most part carries on no intercourse through the senses with surrounding objects. Touch a person gently who is asleep, and he feels not the impression. You may awake him by a smart blow; but when the stroke is not sufficiently violent to awake him, he remains insensible of it. We speak softly beside a person asleep, without fearing that he will overhear us. His eyelids are shut; and even though light should fall upon the eyeball, yet still his powers of vision are not wakened to active exertion, unless the light be strong enough to rouse him from sleep. He is insensible both to sweet and to disagreeable smells. It is not easy to try whether his organs of taste retain their activity, without awakening him; yet from analogy it may be presumed that these too are inactive. With respect to the circumstances here enumerated, it is indifferent whether a person be dreaming or buried in deep sleep. Yet there is one remarkable fact concerning dreaming, which may appear contradictory of what has been here asserted. In dreams we are liable not only to speak aloud in consequence of the suggestions of imagination, but even to get up and walk about, and engage in little enterprises, without awaking. Now, as we are in this instance so active, it seems that we cannot be then insensible of the presence of surrounding objects. The sleep-walker is really sensible in a certain degree of the presence of the objects

D R E A M S. 187 t jiams. around him ; but he does not attend to them with all their pared with those in which the event falsifies the prognos- Dreams, circumstances, nor do they excite in him the same sensa- tications of the dreamer, yet being calculated to make a tions as if he were awake. He feels no terror on the brink much stronger impression on the mind, they are rememof a precipice, and in consequence of being free from fear, bered, whilst the others are forgotten ; and hence the exhe is also without danger in such a situation, unless sud- ception is, by a natural transition, converted into the rule. Yet it would be too much to allow to dreams all that denly awaked. This is one of the most inexplicable phenomena of dreaming. importance which has been ascribed to them by the priestThere is also another fact not quite consonant with what hood among heathens, or by the vulgar among ourselves. has been above mentioned. It is said that in sleep a We know how easily ignorance imposes on itself, and what person will continue to hear the noise of a cataract in the arts imposture adopts to impose upon others. We cannot neighbourhood, or regular strokes with a hammer, or any trace any certain connection between our dreams and those similar sound sufficiently loud, and continued uninterrupt- events to which the simplicity of the vulgar pretends that edly from before the time of his falling asleep. We know they refer. And we cannot, therefore, if disposed to connot whether he awakes on the sudden cessation of the noise; fine our belief to certain or probable truths, join with the but the fact is asserted on apparently sufficient evidence, vulgar in believing them really referrible to futurity. It appears that the brutes are also capable of dreaming. and it is curious. Even when awake, if very deeply intent on any piece of study, or closely occupied in business, The dog is often observed to start suddenly up in his the sound of a clock striking in the neighbourhood, or the sleep, in a manner which cannot be accounted for in any beating of a drum, will escape us unnoticed; and it is other way than by supposing that he is roused by some therefore the more surprising that we should thus con- impulse received in a dream. The same thing is observable of others of the inferior animals. That they should tinue sensible to sounds when asleep. Not only do a person’s general character, habits of life, dream, is not an idea inconsistent with what we know and state of health, influence his dreams; but those con- of their economy and manners in general. We may therecerns in which he has been most deeply interested during fore consider it as a pretty certain truth, that many, if not the preceding day, and the views which have arisen most all, of the lower species are liable to dream, as well as frequently to his imagination, very often afford the subjects human beings. of his dreams. When we look forward with anxious exIt appears, then, that in dreaming we are not conscious pectation towards any future event, we are likely to dream of being asleep; that to a person dreaming, his dreams either of the disappointment or the gratification of our seem realities; that although it be uncertain whether wishes. If we have been engaged throughout the day either mankind are all liable to dream, yet it is well known that in business or amusements which we have found exceed- they are not all equally liable to dream; that the nature ingly agreeable, or in a way in which we have been ex- of a person’s dreams depends in some measure on his tremely unhappy, either our happiness or our misery is habits of action, and on the circumstances of his life ; that likely to be renewed in our dreams. the state of the health, too, and the manner in which the Though dreams have been regarded amongst almost all vital functions are carried on, have a powerful influence nations of the world, at some periods of their history, as in determining the character of a person’s dreams; that prophetic of future events, yet it does not appear that in sleep and in dreaming, the senses are either absolutely this popular opinion has ever been established on any good inactive, or nearly so; that such concerns as we have grounds. Christianity, indeed, teaches us to believe that been very deeply interested in during the preceding day, the Supreme Being ma)r, and actually does, operate on are very likely to return upon our minds in dreams in the our minds, and influence at times the determinations of hours of rest; that dreams may be rendered prophetic of our will, without making us sensible of the restraint to future events; that therefore, wherever we have such eviwhich we are thus subjected ; and, in the same manner, dence of their having been prophetic as we would accept no doubt, the suggestions which arise to us in dreams may on any other occasion, we cannot reasonably reject the fact be produced. The imaginary transactions in which we on account of its absurdity; that, however, they do not are then engaged may be such as are actually to occupy appear to have been actually such, in those instances in us in life; the strange and seemingly incoherent appear- which the superstition of nations ignorant of true reliances which are presented to the mind’s eye in our dreams, gion has represented them as referring to futurity, nor in may allude to some events which are to befall ourselves or those instances in which they are viewed in the same others. It is therefore by no means impossible, or incon- light by the vulgar among ourselves; and, lastly, that sistent with the general analogy of nature, that dreams dreaming is not a phenomenon peculiar to human nature, should have a respect to futurity. We have no reason to but common to mankind with the brutes. regard the dreams related in the Holy Scriptures as not We scarcely know of any other facts that have been inspired by Heaven, nor to laugh at the idea of a prophetic fully ascertained concerning dreaming. But we are by dream as absurd or ridiculous. At the same time, a mind no means sufficiently acquainted with this important phewhich, during its waking hours, is filled with anxious nomenon in the history of mind. We cannot tell by what thoughts and presentiments of the future, may 1'eproduce laws of our constitution we are thus liable to be so frethese forebodings in its dreams, when the imagination acts quently engaged in imaginary transactions, nor what are oyer again the scenes of the past day, embellished and the particular means by which the delusion is accomplished. diversified with its own peculiar colouring; and as, from The delusion is indeed remarkably strong. One will somethe mere law of probabilities, the actual result must some- times have a book presented to him in a dream, and fancy times correspond with the anticipative vision, and the that he reads ; and actually enter into the nature of the * dream be realised by the event, the apparent prophetic imaginary composition before him, and even remember, intimation is thus as much the consequence of natural after he awakes, what he knows that he only fancied himcauses and of the ordinary workings of the mind, as any self reading. Can this be delusion ? If delusion, how or of the phenomena which it exhibits. To accident alone for what purposes is it produced ? The mind, it would is to be ascribed that correspondence which, among the appear, does not, in sleep, become inactive like the body, uneducated or the unreflecting portion of mankind, pass- or at least is not always inactive while we are asleep. es for divination by means of supernatural agency; and When we do not dream, the mind must either be inacthough the cases where it occurs are necessarily few, com- tive, or the connection between the mind and the body

188 D R E Dreams, must be considered as in some manner suspended; and, when we dream, the mind, though it probably acts in concert with the body, yet does not act in the same manner as when we are awake. It seems to be clouded or bewildered, in consequence of being deprived for a time of the service of the senses. Imagination becomes more active and more capricious; and all the other powers, especially judgment and memory, get disordered and irregular in their operation. Various theories have been proposed to explain what appears here most inexplicable. Mr Baxter, in his treatise on the immateriality of the human soul, endeavours to prove that dreams are produced by the agency of some spiritual beings, who either amuse or employ themselves seriously in engaging mankind in all those imaginary transactions with which they are employed in dreaming. This theory, however, is far from being plausible. It leads us entirely beyond the limits of our knowledge ; it requires us to believe without evidence; it is unsupported by any analogy ; and it creates difficulties still more inexplicable than those which it has been proposed to remove. Until it be made to appear that our dreams cannot possibly be produced without the interference of spiritual agents, possessing such influence over our minds as to deceive us with fancied joys, and to involve us in imaginary afflictions, we cannot reasonably refer them to such a cause. Besides, from the facts which have been stated as well known concerning dreams, it appears that their nature depends both on the state of the human body and on that of the mind. But were they owing to the agency of other spiritual beings, how could they be influenced by the state of the body with reference to health or sickness, fasting or repletion ? They must be a curious set of spiritual beings who depend in such a manner on the state of our corporeal frame. Better not to allow them existence at all, than to place them in such a dependence. Wolfius, and after him Formey, have supposed that dreams never arise in the mind, except in consequence of some of the organs of sensation having been previously excited. Either the ear or the eye, or the organs of touching, tasting, or smelling, communicate information in a tacit and secret manner, and thus partly rouse its faculties from the lethargy in which they are buried in sleep, and engage them in a series of confused and imperfect exertions. But what passes in dreams is so very different from all that we do when awake, that it is impossible for the dreamer himself to distinguish whether his powers of sensation perform any part on the occasion. It is not necessary that imagination should be always excited by immediate sensation. Fancy, even when we are awake, often wanders from the present scene. Absence of mind is incident to the studious; the poet and the mathematician many times forget where they are. We cannot discover from any thing that a person in dreaming displays to the observation of others, that his organs of sensation take part in the imaginary transactions in which he is employed. In those instances, indeed, in which persons asleep are said to hear sounds, the sounds which they hear are said also to influence in some manner the nature of their dreams. But such instances are singular. Since then it appears that the person who dreams is himself incapable of distinguishing, either during his dreams, or by recollection when awake, whether any new impressions are communicated to him in that state by his organs of sensation ; that even by watching over him, and comparing our observations of his circumstances and emotions in his dreams with what he recollects of them after awaking, we cannot, except in one or two singular instances, ascertain this fact; and that the mind is not wholly incapable of acting while the organs of sensation are at rest, and on many occasions re-

A M S. . fuses to listen to the information which they convey; we Drea may without hesitation conclude that the theory of Wolfius and Formey has been too hastily and incautiously advanced. Other physiologists tell us that the mind when we dream is in a state of delirium. Sleep, they say, is attended with what is called a collapse of the brain ; during which either the whole or a part of the nerves of which it consists are in a state in which they cannot carry on the usual intercourse between the mind and the organs of sensation. When the whole of the brain is in this state, we become entirely unconscious of existence, and the mind sinks into inactivity; when only a part of the brain is collapsed, as they term it, we are then neither asleep nor awake, but in a sort of delirium between the two. This theory, like that last mentioned, supposes the mind incapable of acting without the help of sensation; it supposes that we know the nature of a state of which we cannot ascertain the phenomena; and it contradicts a well-known fact, in representing dreams as confused images of things around us, instead of fanciful combinations of things not existing together in nature or in human life. For these reasons it must be held as wholly inadmissible. Of all the writers who have treated of this subject, however, Mr Dugald Stewart is perhaps the only one who, by concentrating the lights of a sound philosophy on the results of refined and accurate observation, has been enabled to classify the phenomena of dreams, and to introduce the order of science into a department of speculative inquiry where fancy had previously reigned paramount. “ Dreams,” says Mr Addison, “ look like the relaxations and amusements of the soul when she is disencumbered of her machine ; her sports and recreations when she has laid her charge asleep. The soul is clogged and retarded in her operations when she acts in conjunction with a companion that is so heavy and unwieldy in its motions ; but in dreams she converses with numberless beings of her own creation, and is transported into ten thousand scenes of her own raising. She is herself the theatre, the actor, and the beholder.” This description, which is not more beautiful than true, will serve to convey some idea of the difficulties of disentangling mental operations necessarily so complex, and of keeping steadily in view the threefold character or agency which the mind exhibits in dreaming; and as the only approximation which has yet been made towards the accomplishment of so interesting an object is contained in Mr Stewart's section on the application of the principles and laws of association to explain the phenomena of dreaming (Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, vol. i. p. 327, sixth edition, Lond. 1818, 8vo), we conceive that we cannot do better than subjoin this exquisite specimen of philosophical acuteness and discrimination, in the author’s own beautiful language. “ With respect to the phenomena of dreaming,” says Mr Stewart, “ three different questions may be proposed. First, what is the state of the mind in sleep ? or, in other words, what faculties then continue to operate, and what faculties are then suspended? Secondly, how far do our dreams appear to be influenced by our bodily sensations ; and in what respects do they vary, according to the different conditions of the body in health and in sickness? Thirdly, what is the change which sleep produces on those parts of the body with which our mental operations are more immediately connected; and how does this change operate, in diversifying, so remarkably, the phenomena which our minds then exhibit, from those of which we are conscious in our waking hours ? Of these three questions, the first belongs to the philosophy of the human mind; and it is to this question that the following inquiry is almost entirely confined. The second is more particu-

D R E A M S. 189 DjWs- larly interesting to the medical inquirer, and does not pro- when we are actually asleep, is this, that in the former Dreams, perly fall under the plan of this work. The third seems case, although its active exertions be suspended, we can to me to relate to a subject which is placed beyond the renew them if we please. In the other case, the will loses reach of the human faculties. its influence over all our powers both of mind and body, “ It will be granted, that, if we could ascertain the state in consequence of some physical alteration in the system, of the mind in sleep, so as to be able to resolve the vari- which we shall never probably be able to explain. ous phenomena of dreaming into a smaller number of ge“ In order to illustrate this conclusion a little farther, neral principles; and still more, if we could resolve them it may be proper to remark, that if the suspension of our into one general fact; we should be advanced a very im- voluntary operations in sleep be admitted as a fact, there portant step in our inquiries upon this subject; even al- are only two suppositions which can be formed concernthough we should find it impossible to show in what man- ing its cause. Ihe one is, that the power of volition is ner this change in the state of the mind results from the suspended; the other, that the will loses its influence change which sleep produces in the state of the body. over those faculties of the mind, and those members of Such a step would at least gratify, to a certain extent, the body, which, during our waking hours, are subjected that disposition of our nature which prompts us to ascend to its authority. If it can be shown then that the former from particular facts to general laws, and which is the supposition is not agreeable to fact, the truth of the latter foundation of all our philosophical researches; and, in the seems to follow as a necessary consequence. present instance, I am inclined to think that it carries us “ 1- That the power of volition is not suspended during as far as our imperfect faculties enable us to proceed. sleep, appears from the efforts which we are conscious of “ In conducting this inquiry with respect to the state of making while in that situation. We dream, for example, the mind in sleep, it seems reasonable to expect, that that we are in danger, and we attempt to call out for assome light may be obtained from an examination of the sistance. The attempt indeed is in general unsuccessful, circumstances which accelerate or retard its approach; and the sounds which we emit are feeble and indistinct; for when we are disposed to rest, it is natural to imagine but this only confirms, or rather is a necessary consethat the state of the mind approaches to its state in sleep quence of the supposition that, in sleep, the connexion more nearly than when we feel ourselves alive and active, between the will and our voluntary operations is disturband capable of applying all our various faculties to their ed or interrupted. The continuance of the power of voproper purposes. lition is demonstrated by the effort, however ineffectual. “ In general, it may be remarked, that the approach of “ In like manner, in the course of an alarming dream, sleep is accelerated by every circumstance which dimi- we are sometimes conscious of making an exertion to save nishes or suspends the exercise of the mental powers, ourselves, by flight, from an apprehended danger; but in and is retarded by every thing which has a contrary ten- spite of all our efforts we continue in bed. In such cases dency. When we wish for sleep, we naturally endeavour we commonly dream that we are attempting to escape, to withhold, as much as possible, all the active exertions and are prevented by some external obstacle; but the of the mind, by disengaging our attention from every in- fact seems to be, that the body is at that time not subject teresting subject of thought. When we are disposed to to the will. During the disturbed rest which we somekeep awake, we naturally fix our attention on some sub- times have when the body is indisposed, the mind appears ject which is calculated to afford employment to our in- to retain some power over it; but as, even in these cases, tellectual powers, or to rouse and exercise the active prin- the motions which are made consist rather of a general ciples of our nature. agitation of the whole system, than of the regular exer“ It is well known that there is a particular class of sounds tion of a particular member of it, with a view to produce which compose us to sleep. The hum of bees, the mur- a certain effect, it is reasonable to conclude that, in permur of a fountain, the reading of an uninteresting dis- fectly sound sleep, the mind, although it retains the powcourse, have this tendency in a remarkable degree. If er of volition, retains no influence whatever over the bodiwe examine this class of sounds, we shall find that it con- ly organs. sists wholly of such as are fitted to withdraw the atten“ In that particular condition of the system which is tion of the mind from its own thoughts; and are, at the known by the name of incubus, we are conscious of a total same time, not sufficiently interesting to engage its atten- want of power over the body; and I believe the common tion to themselves. opinion is, that it is this want of power which distinguishes “ It is also matter of common observation, that children, the incubus from all the other modifications of sleep. But and persons of little reflexion, who are chiefly occupied the more probable supposition seems to be, that every about sensible objects, and whose mental activity is in a species of sleep is accompanied with a suspension of the great measure suspended as soon as their perceptive pow- faculty of voluntary motion ; and that the incubus has noers are unemployed, find it extremely difficult to continue thing peculiar in it but this, that the uneasy sensations awake when they are deprived of their usual engagements. which are produced by the accidental posture of the body, I he same thing has been remarked of savages, whose time, and which we find it impossible to remove by our own like that of the lower animals, is almost completely divid- efforts, render us distinctly conscious of our incapacity to ed between sleep and their bodily exertions. move. One thing is certain, that the instant of our awak“from a consideration of these facts, it seems reasonable ing, and of our recovering the command of our bodily orto conclude, that in sleep those operations of the mind are gans, is one and the same. suspended which depend on our volition; for if it be cer“ 2. The same conclusion is confirmed by a different view tain, that before we fall asleep, we must withhold, as much of the subject. It is probable, as was already observed, as we are able, the exercise of all our different powers, it is that when we are anxious to procure sleep, the state into scarcely to be imagined that, as soon as sleep commences, which we naturally bring the mind approaches to its state these powers should again begin to be exerted. The after sleep commences. Now it is manifest that the means more probable conclusion is, that when we are desirous which nature directs us to employ on such occasions, is to procure sleep, we bring both mind and body as nearly not to suspend the power of volition, but to suspend the as we can into that state in which they are to continue exertion of those powers whose exercise depends on volialter sleep commences. The difference, therefore, be- tion. If it were necessary that volition should be sustween the state of mind when we are inviting sleep, and pended before we fall asleep, it would be impossible for

DREAMS. 190 Dreams. us by our own efforts to hasten the moment of rest. The dreaming from our waking thoughts are such as must ne- Drea very supposition of such efforts is absurd, for it implies a cessarily arise from the suspension of the influence of the wy will. continued will to suspend the acts of the will. “ I. That the succession of our thoughts in sleep is re“ According to the foregoing doctrine with respect to the state of the mind in sleep, the effect which is produced gulated by the same general laws of association which inon our mental operations is strikingly analogous to that fluence the mind while we are awake, appears from the folwhich is produced on our bodily powers. From the ob- lowing considerations. “ 1. Our dreams are frequently suggested to us by bodily servations which have been already made, it is manifest that in sleep the body is, in a very inconsiderable degree, sensations; and with these it is well known, from what if at all, subject to our command. The vital and involun- we experience while awake, that particular ideas are fretary motions, however, suffer no interruption, but go on quently very strongly associated. I have been told by a as when we are awake, in consequence of the operation friend, that having occasion, in consequence of an indisof some cause unknown to us. In.like manner, it would position, to apply a bottle of hot water to his feet when appear that those operations of the mind which depend on he went to bed, he dreamed that he was making a journey our volition are suspended, while certain other operations to the top of Mount iEtna, and that he found the heat of are at least occasionally carried on. This analogy natu- the ground almost insupportable. Another person, having rally suggests the idea that all our mental operations a blister applied to his head, dreamed that he was scalped which are independent of our will may continue during by a party of Indians. I believe every one who is in the sleep, and that the phenomena of dreaming may perhaps habit of dreaming will recollect instances, in his own case, be produced by these, diversified in their apparent effects, of a similar nature. “ 2. Our dreams are influenced by the prevailing temper in consequence of the suspension of our voluntary powers. “ If the appearances which the mind exhibits during of the mind, and vary in their complexion according as sleep are found to be explicable on this general principle, our habitual disposition at the time inclines us to cheerit will possess all the evidence which the nature of the fulness or to melancholy. Not that this observation holds without exception; but it holds so generally, as must consubject admits of. “It was formerly shown that the train of thought in the vince us that the state of our spirits has some effect on mind does not depend immediately on our will, but is re- our dreams as well as on our waking thoughts. Indeed, gulated by certain general laws of association. At the in the latter case, no less than in the former, this effect same time it appeared, that among the various subjects may be counteracted or modified by various other circumwhich thus spontaneously present themselves to our no- stances. “ After having made a narrow escape from any alarming tice, we have the power of singling out any one that we chuse to consider, and of making it a particular object of danger, we are apt to awake in the course of our sleep with attention; and that by doing so we not only can stop the startings, imagining that we are drowning, or on the brink train that would otherwise have succeeded, but frequent- of a precipice. A severe misfortune, which has affected ly can divert the current of our thoughts into a new chan- the mind deeply, influences our dreams in a similar way, nel. It also appeared that we have a power (which may and suggests to us a variety of adventures analogous in be much improved by exercise) of recalling past occur- some measure to that event from which our distress arises. rences to the memory by a voluntary effort of recollec- Such, according to Virgil, were the dreams of the forsaken Dido. tion. “ 3. Our dreams are influenced by our prevailing habits “ The indirect influence which the mind thus possesses over the train of its thoughts is so great, that during the of association while awake. “ In a former part of this work I considered the extent of whole time we are awake, excepting in those cases in which we fall into what is called a reverie, and suffer our that power which the mind may acquire over the train of thoughts to follow their natural course, the order of their its thoughts ; and I observed that those intellectual diversuccession is always regulated more or less by the will. sities among men, which we commonly refer to peculiariThe will, indeed, in regulating the train of thought, can ties of genius, are at least in a great measure resolvable operate only (as 1 already showed) by availing itself of into dift'erences in their habits of association. One man the established laws of association ; but still it has the possesses a rich and beautiful fancy, which is at all times power of rendering this train very different from what it obedient to his will. Another possesses a quickness of would have been if these laws had taken place without recollection, which enables him at a moment’s warning to its interference. bring together all the results of his past experience, and “ From these principles, combined with the general fact of his past reflections, which can be of use for illustrating which I have endeavoured to establish with respect to the any proposed subject. A third can without effort collect state of the mind in sleep, two obvious consequences fol- his attention to the most abstract questions in philosophy; low. First, that when we are in this situation, the suc- can perceive at a glance the shortest and the most effeccession of our thoughts, in so far as it depends on the laws tual process for arriving at the truth ; and can banish from of association, may be carried on by the operation of the his mind every extraneous idea which fancy or casual assame unknown causes by which it is produced while we sociation may suggest to distract his thoughts or to misare awake; and, secondly, that the order of our thoughts lead his judgment. A fourth unites all these powers in a in these two states of the mind must be very different; capacity of perceiving truth with an almost intuitive rainasmuch as in the one it depends solely on the laws of pidity, and in an eloquence which enables him to comassociation; and in the other, on these laws combined mand at pleasure whatever his memory and fancy can with our own voluntary exertions. supply to illustrate and to adorn it. The occasional ex“ In order to ascertain how far these conclusions are ercise which such men make of their powers may undoubtagreeable to truth, it is necessary to compare them with edly be said, in one sense, to be unpremeditated or unthe known phenomena of dreaming; for which purpose I studied ; but they all indicate previous habits of meditation shall endeavour to show, first, that the succession of our or study, as unquestionably as the dexterity of the expert thoughts in sleep is regulated by the same general laws of accountant, or the rapid execution of the professional association to which it is subjected while we are awake; musician. and, secondly, that the circumstances which discriminate “ From what has been said, it is evident that a train of

DREAMS.. 191 j^rns. thought which in one man would require a painful effort mote from each other; and, in the course of the same Dreams, of study, may in another be almost spontaneous; nor is dream, conceive the same person as existing in different it to be doubted that the reveries of studious men, even parts of the w’orld. Sometimes we imagine ourselves conwhen they allow, as much as they can, their thoughts to versing with a dead friend, without remembering the cirfollow their own course, are more or less connected toge- cumstance of his death, although perhaps it happened but ther by those principles of association w’hich their favour- a few days before, and affected us deeply. All this proves clearly that the subjects which then occupy our thoughts ite pursuits tend more particularly to strengthen. “ The influence of the same habits may be traced dis- are such as present themselves to the mind spontaneous^, tinctly in sleep. There are probably few mathematicians and that we have no power of employing our reason in who have not dreamed of an interesting problem, and wdio comparing together the different parts of our dreams, or have not even fancied that they were prosecuting the in- even of exerting an act of recollection, in order to ascervestigation of it with much success. They whose ambi- tain how far they are consistent and possible. tion leads them to the study of eloquence are frequently The processes of reasoning in which we sometimes conscious, during sleep, of a renewal of their daily occu- fancy ourselves to be engaged during sleep, furnish no pations; and sometimes feel themselves possessed of a exception to the foregoing observation ; for although every fluency of speech which they never experienced before. process, the first time we form it, implies volition, and, in The poet in his dreams is transported into Elysium, and particular, implies a recollection of the premises till we leaves the vulgar and unsatisfactory enjoyments of huma- arrive at the conclusion, yet when a number of truths have nity, to dwell in those regions of enchantment and rapture been often presented to us as necessarily connected with which have been created by the divine imaginations of each other, this series may afterwards pass through the Virgil and of Tasso. mind according to the laws of association, without any “ As a farther proof that the succession of our thoughts more activity on our part than in those trains of thought in dreaming is influenced by our prevailing habits of asso- which are the most loose and incoherent. Nor is this ciation, it may be remarked, that the scenes and occur- mere theory. I may venture to appeal to the consciousrences which most frequently present themselves to the ness of every man accustomed to dream, whether his reamind while we are asleep are the scenes and occurrences sonings during sleep do not seem to be carried on without of childhood and early youth. The facility of association any exertion of his will, and with a degree of facility of is then much greater than in more advanced years; and which he was never conscious while awake. Mr Addison, although during the day the memory of the events thus in one of his Spectators, has made this observation ; and associated may be banished by the objects and pursuits his testimony, in the present instance, is of the greater which press upon our senses, it retains a more permanent weight, that he had no particular theory on the subject hold of the mind than any of our subsequent acquisitions ; to support. ‘ There is not,’ says he, ‘ a more painful and, like the knowledge which we possess of our mother action of the mind than invention, yet in dreams it works tongue, is, as it were, interwoven and incorporated with with that ease and activity that we are not sensible when all its most essential habits. Accordingly, in old men, the faculty is employed. For instance, I believe every whose thoughts are in a great measure disengaged from one, some time or other, dreams that he is reading papers, the world, the transactions of their middle age, which books, or letters; in which case the invention prompts so once seemed so important, are often obliterated; while readily, that the mind is imposed on, and mistakes its own the mind dwells, as in a dream, on the sports and the suggestions for the composition of another.’ No. 487. companions of their infancy. “ 2. If the influence of the will during sleep be sus“ I shall only observe farther, on this head, that in our pended, the mind will remain as passive, while its thoughts dreams, as well as when awake, we occasionally make use change from one subject to another, as it does during of words as an instrument of thought. Such dreams, how- our waking hours, while different perceptible objects are ever, do not affect the mind with such emotions of plea- presented to our senses. sure and of pain, as those in which the imagination is oc“ Of this passive state of the mind in our dreams it is cupied with particular objects of sense. The effect of unnecessary to multiply proofs, as it has always been conphilosophical studies, in habituating the mind to the al- sidered as one of the most extraordinary circumstances most constant employment of this instrument, and, of con- with which they are accompanied. If our dreams as well sequence, its effect in weakening the imagination, was as our waking thoughts were subject to the will, is it not formerly remarked. If I am not mistaken, the influence natural to conclude, that in the one case, as well as in the of these circumstances may also be traced in the history other, we would endeavour to banish, as much as we could, of our dreams, which in youth commonly involve in a every idea which had a tendency to disturb us, and demuch greater degree the exercise of imagination, and af- tain those only which we found to be agreeable ? So far, fect the mind with much more powerful emotions, than however, is this power over our thoughts from being exerwhen we begin to employ our maturer faculties in more cised, that we are frequently oppressed, in spite of all our general and abstract speculations. efforts to the contrary, with dreams which affect us with “ II. From these different observations wre are autho- the most painful emotions. And, indeed, it is matter of rized to conclude, that the same laws of association which vulgar remark, that our dreams are, in every case, invoregulate the train of our thoughts while we are awake, luntary on our part, and that they appear to be obtruded continue to operate during sleep. I now proceed to con- on us by some external cause. This fact appeared so unsider how far the circumstances which discriminate dream- accountable to the late Mr Baxter, that it gave rise to his ing from our waking thoughts, correspond with those which very whimsical theory, in which he ascribes dreams to the uiight be expected to result from the suspension of the immediate influence of separate spirits on the mind. influence of the will. “ 3. If the influence of the will be suspended during “1. If the influence of the will be suspended during sleep, the conceptions which we then form of sensible obsleep, all our voluntary operations, such as recollection, jects will be attended with a belief of their real existence, reasoning, &c. must also be suspended. as much as the perception of the same objects is while we “ That this really is the case, the extravagance and in- are awake. consistency of our dreams are sufficient proofs. We fre“ In treating of the power of Conception, I formerly obquently confound together times and places the most re- served, that our belief of the separate and independent

,

DREAMS. 192 Dreams. existence of the objects of our perceptions, is the result of noise has the effect of awaking us; and yet during that Dr( s experience; which teaches us, that these perceptions do momentary interval a long series of circumstances has„ not depend on our will. If I open my eyes, I cannot pre- passed before the imagination. The story quoted by Mr vent myself from seeing the prospect before me. The Addison (Spectator, No. 94) from the Turkish Tales, of case is different with respect to our conceptions. While the miracle wrought by a Mahometan doctor to convince they occupy the mind, to the exclusion of every thing else, an infidel sultan, is in such cases nearly verified. “ The facts I allude to at present are generally explained I endeavoured to shew that they are always accompanied with belief; but as we can banish them from the mind, by supposing that, in our dreams, the rapidity of thought during our waking hours, at pleasure, and as the mo- is greater than while we are awake; but there is no nementary belief which they produce is continually checked cessity for having recourse to such a supposition. The by the surrounding objects of our perceptions, we learn to rapidity of thought is at all tiipes such, that in the twinkconsider them as fictions of our own creation, and, ex- ling of an eye, a crowd of ideas may pass before us to cepting in some accidental cases, pay no regard to them which it would require a long discourse to give utterance; in the conduct of life. If the doctrine, however, formerly and transactions may be conceived which it would require stated with respect to conception be just, and if, at the days to realize. But in sleep the conceptions of the mind same time, it be allowed that sleep suspends the influence are mistaken for realities ; and therefore our estimates of of the will over the train of our thoughts, we should na- time will be formed, not according to our experience of turally be led to expect, that the same belief which accom- the rapidity of thought, but according to our experience panies perception while we are awake, should accompany of the time requisite for realizing what we conceive. the conceptions which occur to us in our dreams. It is Something perfectly analogous to this may be remarked scarcely necessary for me to remark, how strikingly this in the perceptions we obtain by the sense of sight. When I look into a show-box, where the deception is imperfect, conclusion coincides with acknowledged facts. “ May it not be considered as some confirmation of the I see only a set of paltry daubings of a few inches diameforegoing doctrine, that when opium fails in producing ter ; but if the representation be executed with so much complete sleep, it commonly produces one of the effects skill as to convey to me the idea of a distant prospect, of sleep, by suspending the activity of the mind, and throw- every object before me swells in its dimensions, in proporing it into a reverie; and that while we are in this state, tion to the extent of space which I conceive it to occupy; our conceptions frequently affect us nearly in the same and what seemed before to be shut up within the limits manner as if the objects conceived were present to our of a small wooden frame, is magnified, in my apprehension, to an immense landscape of woods, rivers, and mountains. senses ? “ The phenomena which we have hitherto explained take “ Another circumstance with respect to our conceptions during sleep deserves our notice. As the subjects which place when sleep seems to be complete ; that is, when the we then think upon occupy the mind exclusively, and mind loses its influence over all those powers whose exas the attention is not diverted by the objects of our ex- ercise depends on its will. There are, however, many ternal senses, our conceptions must be proportionably live- cases in which sleep seems to be partial; that is, when the ly and steady. Every person knows how faint the con- mind loses its influence over some powers, and retains it ception is which we form of any thing with our eyes open, over others. In the case of the somnambuli, it retains its in comparison of what we can form with our eyes shut; power over the limbs, but it possesses no influence over and that in proportion as we can suspend the exercise of its own thoughts, and scarcely any over the body, exceptall our other senses, the liveliness of our conception in- ing those particular members of it which are employcreases. To this cause is to be ascribed, in part, the effect ed in walking. In madness, the power of the will over which the dread of spirits in the dark has on some per- the body remains undiminished, while its influence in sons who are fully convinced in speculation that their ap- regulating the train of thought is in a great measure susprehensions are groundless; and to this also is owing the pended, either in consequence of a particular idea, which effect of any accidental perception in giving them a mo- engrosses the attention, to the exclusion of every thing mentary relief from their terrors. Hence the remedy else, and which we find it impossible to banish by our which nature points out to us when we find ourselves over- efforts, or in consequence of our thoughts succeeding each powered by imagination. If every thing around us be other with such rapidity that we are unable to stop the silent, we endeavour to create a noise by speaking aloud train. In both of these kinds of madness, it is worthy of or beating with our feet; that is, we strive to divert the remark, that the conceptions or imaginations of the mind attention from the subjects of our imagination by present- becoming independent of our will, they are apt to be mis- j ing an object to our powers of perception. The con- taken for actual perceptions, and to affect us in the same clusion which I draw from these observations is, that as manner.” there is no state of the body in which our perceptive Some very beautiful fables have been written both by powers are so totally unemployed as in sleep, it is natural ancients and moderns in the form of dreams. The Somto think that the objects which we conceive or imagine nium Scipionis, for instance, is perhaps one of the finest must then make an impression on the mind beyond com- of Cicero’s compositions. He who shall carefully peruse parison greater than any thing of which we can have ex- this piece, with Macrobius’s commentary thereupon, will perience while awake. undoubtedly acquire a considerable knowledge of ancient “ From these principles may be derived a simple, and, I philosophy. In the periodical publications which early think, a satisfactory explanation of what some writers have diffused so much elegant and useful knowledge throughout represented as the most mysterious of all the circumstances Britain, the Tatlers, Spectators, Guardians, and the like, connected with dreaming; the inaccurate estimates we we find a number of excellent dreams. Addison excelled are apt to form of time while we are thus employed—an in this line of writing; his Vision of Mirza is a masterinaccuracy which sometimes extends so far as to give to a piece of its kind. But the public are now less partial to single instant the appearance of hours, or perhaps of days. this species of composition than they formerly were : writA sudden noise, for example, suggests a dream connected ings purely imaginative, having ceased to be relished, are with that perception; and the moment afterwards this no longer produced.

. ’

193

DREDGING, C jging. Is a term used to express the important operation in the practice of the engineer, of removing deposited matters from the beds of navigable rivers, harbours, canals, and basins. Ti; pro- In describing the several methods by which dredging ce: of silt-]ias been successfully employed, it is not our intention to in ! enter into geological discussions regarding the ultimate tendency of the process of deposition; but we cannot allow it to pass without at least hinting at its original cause, a knowledge of which may lead the inexperienced practitioner more readily to the proper means of removing an evil so generally complained of in our most secure and sheltered harbours. If the universal tendency to waste and decay in the higher lands, from the agency of moisture, heat, and frost, be considered, we shall find that every rill of water must carry along with it a portion of separated matter. These rivulets being so many tributary streams to the great rivers which form the drainage of vast tracts of country, we need not be surprised to find that the beds and embouchures of the Scheldt, the Meuse, the Rhine, and the Elbe, or of the Thames, the Humber, the Tay, and other great tributaries to the German Ocean, should be variously silted up; and that even this great basin itself should be much encumbered by numerous banks of deposited matters. To the agency of these, combined with the eifects of cross-running tides, we ascribe the existence of the Dogger Banks, the Yarmouth Sands, the Flemish Banks, and even the great platforms of Holland, and the opposite planes of the Fens of Lincoln. There is also a marked difference to be noticed in the separation and distribution of these matters of deposition. In those rivers which flow with a very gentle current toward the sea, fine silt, or what is sometimes termed ouse, is produced ; while rivers of greater fall, and consequently of more velocity, carry forward the grosser particles proportionally farther from their embouchures. Another circumstance which deserves our notice is the greater specific gravity of salt water than fresh, which (as has been ascertained by the writer of this article, on the Dee at Aberdeen, and other rivers where he has made observations) preserve their course in distinct films, the salt water under the fresh. The salt water thus flows up the courses of the respective rivers to an extent corresponding to the fall of their beds and the rise of the tide. A considerable portion of the heavier matters, as gravel and sand, are arrested in their progress sea-ward, where the current is languid ; while the lighter particles floating at or near the surface are either borne along with the stream into the expanse of the ocean, or settle in the eddy-waters. In this way the projecting obstacles along the margin are formed, and thus accumulate in the form of sand banks and small islets; the creeks and sinuosities are also silted up, and too often render the connecting harbours and shipping places so shallow, as to be unfit for the purposes of floating ships of burden. To such a degree has this been experienced in some situations, as, for example, Sandwich in Kent, that this ancient sea-port is left almost in the state of an inland town; while other ports have been more or less deteriorated. Importance is therefore justly attached to such means as may be instrumental in counteracting or preventing the tendency of this process of silting. \Ye shall accordingly direct the attention of our readers to some of those means, both natural and artificial. VOL. VIII.

. Where recourse can be had to natural means in keep-Dredainsr. ing a navigable channel clear, they will always be found v-O preferable to those which are artificial. The great agent mean Natural laid to our hand by nature for this purpose is the judi- re sn°f cious use and application of the drainage waters of the^ ^ ^‘ connecting district, and the preservation of the full and ample flow of the tide waters. But in many instances these means are tampered with, and rendered ineffectual, by the reckless thirst of acquiring land at the expense or by the exclusion of the back-waters arising from the flow of the tide. Notwithstanding all that can be said by professional men upon the subject, this practice prevails in many parts of the united kingdom to a frightful extent. With a view to put a stop to this, an act (in which the late eminent engineer Mr Rennie, and the writer of this article, had some connection) which originated with the admiralty, was passed in 1806, entitled “ An act for the preservation of public harbours of the united kingdom,” Geo. III. cap. 153. But this act wants amendment, and has been rarely acted upon, especially to the extent contemplated by Earl Grey, then Lord Harwich, and first lord of the admiralty. In noticing the natural means of cleaning harbours, we Montrose cannot perhaps better illustrate the subject than by refer-basin, ence to Montrose, in Forfarshire, where some of the conterminous proprietors have from time to time proposed to make firm ground of part of the great natural basin connected with the harbour of that port. This basin is flooded every tide to the extent of about five square miles, and is estimated, especially in spring-tides, to contain about fifty-five millions of cubic yards of the back-waters of the tide, which passing four times in the twenty-four hours through this harbour, produces so powerful a current that the shifting sand-bank at the entrance, called the Annet, is prevented from being thrown across the mouth of it in gales of easterly wind. In this state of the weather the Annet-bank has a continual tendency westward, while the back-waters of this great natural basin check its progress, and not only keep the navigation open, but are sufficient to preserve a considerable depth in it during the lowest tides. In the course of forming the bold design of opening a Lake Loharbour near Lowestoffe, and carrying an inland naviga-thing, tion to the mercantile city of Norwich, Mr Cubit the engineer projected an entrance to this harbour, with a pair of gates measuring fifty feet in width, and of a depth so considerable that their ground-sill is sunk about twelve feet under low water of spring-tides, the rise of which upon this coast is very limited: the gates are laid at this depth, so as to be capable of receiving the largest class of mercantile ships. They are also ingeniously contrived for letting off the head-waters of Lake Lothing. This extensive sheet of water, which pervades a great portion of the lower district of Suffolk, is to be used as back-water to scour and keep the entrance of the harbour open against the effects of storms from the east sea acting upon the sand banks which so much encumber this part of the coast. This great work is only in the progress of being executed, but very sanguine expectations are entertained of its success. In the improvement of the navigation of the river Clyde, The river the means resorted to have been those of narrowing the Clyde, channel and confining the current; and these have been so successful that a depth of about ten feet has been obtained, instead of only five feet as formerly, by which the trade 2£

DREDGING. 194 various other simple implements, suited to local cir- Dre % Dredging, and commerce of the city of Glasgow derive the most de- and are sometimes employed by manual labour, ^ C cided advantages. Formerly only barges came up to t e cumstances, diere the bottom is sufficient sufficientalso with horse power, where city, now sea-borne ships from all quarters or the globe and ly firm to admit of the necessary trackage. Nor must we are seen at its quays. But in forming a design upon the omit to mention the use of the common wheelbarrow and principle of narrowing the channel of a river, and thereby spade so much used in operations of this kind. shutting out a portion of the tide waters, several elements The spoon dredging apparatus, with its boat, as repre- Spo connected with the local circumstances of the place re- sented in Plate CCV., fig. 13, is of long standing, ancldm ls quire to be carefully weighed before attempting to lessen was probably used by the Dutch, who still apply itaPP is, the capacity or water-way of a river. Much depends on extensively. first It is also much employed upon the river the level or rise of the bed of the river, the perpendicu- Thames, for lifting and deepening the navigation of lar rise of the tide on the coast, the situation ot its em- that greatest of allballast commercial rivers. Referring to fig. bouchure, and other circumstances which favourably and fortunately present themselves upon the Clyde. The ap- 13, the reader will at once comprehend the construction plication of the steam tug-boat, in towing vessels through and application of this simple apparatus. The boats for ^narrow channels, i l_ 1hasnf* tllP most most se Sfi- this purpose vary in size according to the situation in removed objections of the which they are to be worked, say from twenty to sixty rious nature upon this navigation. tons burden. They are built to float upon an easy draught Ballvshan- Many other circumstances might be adduced to show the of water, and are sometimes flush-decked, carrying their non har advantages of supplying the natural means in our power cargo wholly upon deck; but for the greater part, and hour. to the scouring of navigable tracks, dhe writer of this arthose of the larger size, they are in the state of ticle has now (1833) under consideration the improvement especially open boats, with a kind of inner sole or floor. When the of the harbour of Ballyshannon, in the county of Donegal, which possesses the natural means to an immense extent excavated matters are not to be employed in banking on of clearing its embouchure, having almost the entiie drain- the sides of the river, or ballasting ships, the boat is age waters of the county of Fermanagh collected in Lough formed with a kind of hopper-hold, somewhat upon the Erne, which extend to about fifty miles in length, and in principle of the fishing smacks with wells, being convesome places three miles in breadth, the entire overflow of nient for getting quit of the stuff in deep water. In this case a hold of two compartments, one fore and one aft, which passes over the bar of Ballyshannon harbour. The most eminent engineers, both of our own country are formed, as represented by the dark shading and dotArtificial means of and of France, have introduced scouring basins into their ted lines in fig. 13. Each of these hoppers has an aperdredging. a—a- designs of tide harbours. Mr Smeaton constructed a tide- ture or opening _ in the bottom, through which the stuff ' basin of this kind at Ramsgate in Kent, where the silt of is dropped by flap-door, marked letter A, as repreitamsgate. ^ harbour is loosened by artificial means, and sented in the the figure. In some circumstances, also, the stuff is received into a system of sheet-iron boxes, and dredged into the tracks or courses of water issuing from the sluices of an artificial tide-basin. By this means a lifted out of the boat by a tackle, to be emptied. The considerable portion of the deposited stuff is carried out spoon or shovel, marked letter B, which accompanies of the harbour into deep water. It is, however, to be re- these boats, consists of a strong ring or hoop of malleable gretted that there is not a more extensive collection of iron, the cutting part of which is of steel, and is about six back-waters here, as, from its very circumscribed position, or seven feet in circumference, properly formed for dredgthat eminent engineer was prevented from enlarging his ing upon soft mud or gravelly ground. To this ring a scouring basin to a sufficient extent to ensure the best ef- large bag made of bullocks’ hide, but more generally of tanned leather, is strongly attached with thongs. The fects of his design. At Dover there is a good example of artificial scouring bag is perforated with a number of small holes for allowDover. upon a small scale. This harbour is often choked up in a ing the water to drain off, and its capacity may be about single tide, with the debris of the heights of Dover, and four or five cubic feet. A pole of from thirty to forty with the flinty gravel which surrounds this coast. Upon feet in length is fixed to the spoon, or rather two poles these occasions, the back-waters of an adjoining basin are are so laid together with hoops and rings as to be lengthconducted in great cast-iron pipes of about three feet in ened or shortened at pleasure, to suit the depth of water in diameter. The water issuing from these pipes is made to which the apparatus is required to work. A rope is also act upon a system of temporary weirs, consisting of deal- attached to the bottom of the bag, for directing its position boards set on edge, which are shifted about at pleasure at the commencement of each operation. This apparatus is in different directions, so as to bring the water from the generally worked with a chain or rope, brought from the sluices to bear upon the gravel; and it is astonishing with spoon to a winch, worked with wheel and pinion, through what facility the entrance *to this harbour is by these a block suspended from a small crane used for hauling the means cleaned and rendered accessible to the packets, bag and its contents along with the progress of the boat, and in lifting the spoon over the gunwale to be emptied from a state of being quite shut up. Liverpool In extensive plans of docks for floating ships much use into the hopper of the boat. The purchase-rope is led is or may be made of a system of soughs or sluices for along the deck to the winch, by a snatch-block placed in docks. scouring or floating away mud. By opening these sluices a proper direction for this purpose. The boat is moored from one dock into another, as is done by Mr Hartley, at the head and stern, and its berth may be shifted at pleaThese boats are generally managed and worked engineer for the Liverpool docks, the advantages of such a command of head-water is attended with the most bene- with from two to four men, who with this simple apparaficial effects, both for clearing the several docks, and also tus can lift in a tide from twenty to sixty tons of stuff the outer harbours or receiving basins of this great port. from the bottom, at the depth of two and a half or three The common plough and harrow, differing very little fathoms, when the ground is somewhat loose, and favourDredging implefrom their ordinary construction, and also a kind of frame able for the operation. In Holland this apparatus, and all ments, &c. 0f timber shod with plate iron, and provided with stilts or these simple modes of dredging, are much practised upon handles somewhat like a great shovel, are often used for the extensive flats at the entrance of their great navigaloosening and dredging stuff within reach of removal by a ble rivers, in connection with the sluices and natural curstream of back-water, with which it is afterwards floated rents issuing from their extensive basins and canals. On out of the respective harbours or navigable tracks. These the British coast, dredging, when carried on to any extent,

DREDGING.

195

is now confined chiefly to the spoon and bucket machines; are connected at the stern by four strong timbers, placed Dredging, and here steam, wherever it can be applied, is the great across the well, and immediately above the keel. Upon moving power. In Holland the excavated matter is very these, timbers are placed in sloping directions for supportgenerally of a mossy description, which, after being strong- ing the planking. This vessel draws only four feet of water, ]y compressed in moulds by that industrious people, is in but the bucket frame can be lowered so as to dredge in a state to be speedily used as turf fuel. On the Thames a depth of fifteen feet. The steam engine is of the usual the spoon dredging machine is conducted upon a large form of marine condensing engines; the diameter of the scale, and in the most systematic manner, under the im- cylinder is twenty-four inches, and the length of the stroke mediate direction of the Trinity Board. The stuff brought thirty-one inches, being equal to the power of about sixfrom the bottom consists chiefly of mud and gravel. This teen horses. From the nature of the process of dredging, is not only a useful operation for deepening and preserving the resistance is extremely irregular, causing violent the navigation, but the stuff itself is sold to good advan- shocks; and therefore malleable instead of cast iron is tage as ballast for shipping. To such an extent is this used as much as possible in the construction of the movcarried, that the colliers, or shipping from London to New- ing parts. For the same reason a heavy fly-wheel becastle, have raised ballast hills in the neighbourhood of comes necessary, to regulate the motion. As a vessel of Shields, which from their vast extent have become objects this description, in a tide harbour, must frequently get aof no small curiosity. ground in places where it is unequal, the whole machiIn proportion as the commerce of a country extends, its nery is liable to be strained. On this account it is necesships increase in their dimensions, and a greater depth of sary that all pipes connected with the engine should be water is consequently required to float them; and hence of copper, and for the same reason every facility is given greater difficulty and expense attends the construction and for disengaging the parts of the machinery, to prevent preservationofharboursfor their accommodation. To effect fracture or derangement. From the corrosive nature of these objects, and especially to obtain a greater depth of the stagnant water in harbours, which must be used for water, recourse has been had to various means, such as condensing, it is necessary to line or case the air-pump the extension of piers, the formation of breakwaters, and with copper or brass, and also to make the buckets, airdeepening by means of the process of dredging now de- pump, valves, and rod, of the same metal. It has been scribed. These simple modes have, however, been suc- observed that cast iron wastes more rapidly when exposed ceeded by a still more powerful engine termed the bucket to the action of this harbour-water than in the open sea. Subjoined are the dimensions of some of the principal dredging machine. Since the date of the last edition of this work, very con- parts of the engine. These, to the practical engineer, may siderable improvements have been effected in the system hardly seem to be necessary; but as the Aberdeen maof dredging, both by the application of the power of steam, chine has been found to answer every expectation, and as and the form and construction of the apparatus itself, as it appears to the writer to be similar to those so successwell as that of the vessel containing it. The machine is said fully employed on the river Clyde, it may be of conseto have been first worked by men only: when the principles quence to the general reader to know, from such data, upon which it acts were more fully ascertained, horses were the proper strength and size for its different parts. This employed, and worked round a covered gin-track or cir- engine is set upon a cast-iron cistern, measuring three cular path within the boat. A machine of this description, feet in width, and prolonged as far as to contain the airworked by horse power, was used for some years at the pump, foot-valve, and condenser. The cistern and cylinport of Greenock, though it was there ultimately found der, set on the top, are strongly bolted down through the more suitable and expedient to resort to manual labour, bottom of the vessel. On the top of the cistern the coapplied by crane-work with wheel and pinion. Perhaps, lumns of support for the fly-wheel shaft are set at a suffiin all situations where fuel is very expensive, and where cient height to connect with the dredge-gearing, which is the work is not of sufficient extent for the full employ- stayed by a circular entablature, as represented in the ment of steam, it will be found better, in a process of this plan of the engine at letter a. It has also a diagonal stay, kind, to employ manual labour than horses, which, from securely bolted to a bracket, cast on the side of the cylinthe circumscribed and hampered nature of the track on der. The side levers of the engine are seven feet eight board of the vessel, must be very disadvantageous, as ex- and a fourth inches long; between centres one and threeperience has shown on the Clyde. Indeed, the only ques- fourth inches thick of plate, and three and three-fourth tion seems to be, in such cases where steam cannot be inches thick on the back; fifteen inches broad in the profitably employed, whether it were not better to use the middle, with forked ends one and three-fourth inches spoon apparatus, as upon the Thames, where manual la- thick, for laying hold of the cross-rail and cylinder sidehour is at the highest rate. rods. The cylinder cross-head is seven and a half inches In this article we shall give a minute detail of one of the deep at the middle, tapering to four inches where the best and latest constructed dredging machines, employed side-rods are attached, and five and a fourth inches in by Messrs Gibb upon the harbour works of Aberdeen. This diameter at the eye, and two inches in thickness. The machine was entirely constructed by Messrs John Duff’us cross-head of the air-pump is four and a half inches diaand Company of that port, both as regards the vessel and meter at the eye, five and a half inches deep, and one and the machinery. In describing it we refer to Plates CCIV. three-fourth inches thick. The cylinder side-rods are two and CCV. Fig. 1, Plate CCIV., represents a longitudi- and one-eighth inches diameter at each end, and two and nal section of the vessel, exposing to view an elevation two-eighth inches at the middle. The side-rods of the of the steam-engine and bucket apparatus, with its frame- air-pump are finished with forked ends, for embracing the work. The ground to be dredged is also shown, with the side-lever centre on each side, and fitted with straps and buckets in contact, and the attendant barge astern. Fig. 2 braces. The main centres are four and five-eighth inches is a plan of the vessel and machinery. Her extreme length diameter, keyed into the side levers. The parallel motion as taken by measurement is ninety feet, and the extreme is constructed with radius and parallel boxes, as is usual breadth twenty-two feet; the length of the ark or well in this description of engine. The connecting-rod is of which contains the bucket-frame is fifty-four feet, and its malleable iron, three inches diameter at both ends, and width four feet one inch in the clear. The after-part of three and three-fourth inches at the centre, fitted into the the vessel being thus formed into two compartments, these eye of the cross-tail with a gib and cutter. The fly-wheel

196 DREDGING. Dredging, is ten feet three inches in diameter, and eight inches deep This barrel is provided with an offset-clutch, for engaging Bred by four inches broad in the rim, as represented in dotted and disengaging it from the engine, for the purpose ofv ] lines upon the cross section of the vessel, fig. 3, Plate raising and lowering the bucket-frame; and as a precauCCV., and at fig. 1, Plate CCIV. The shaft is of cast iron, tion against accident, this clutch is provided with a fricseven and three-fourth inches diameter. The engine is tion-nave similar to that already described for the main also provided with a governor and its necessary connec- spur-wheel. This becomes indispensably necessary in tions, and is driven from the fly-wheel shaft by means of situations like that of Aberdeen, where tree-roots, stones, a pulley and belt. or the like, obstruct the buckets. The machinery would The boiler, marked c, fig. 1, Plate CCIV., is of iron, mea- otherwise run great risk of being torn in pieces and desuring ten feet four inches across the end, eight feet four stroyed. This barrel is also provided with a brake-wheel inches long, and four feet eight inches in height in the and friction-hoop, for lowering or fixing the bucket-frame middle, with two furnaces two feet three inches wide. to any required depth. This is effected by means of a The water-ways between the flues are four inches wide, weight constantly acting over a pulley at the extremity of and the flues fifteen and a half inches, making one and a the lever s, Plate CCIV. fig. 1, for pressing the friction-hoop half turns in the length of the boiler. The sides and tops upon the circumference of the brake-wheel with force of the furnaces, the bottoms and sides of the flues, are sufficient to hold the bucket-frame in any position. But three eighths of an inch thick, and the top half an inch in when this weight is partially removed, which is done by the thickness. The copper steam-pipes are of the thickness hand, the bucket-frame is lowered to the intended depth No. 10 on the wire-guage, the funnel a of the engine is at the discretion of the master of the vessel, or person two feet in diameter and twenty-five feet in height, made who has charge of the work. The upper tumbler is square, of plate-iron an eighth of an inch in thickness. as shown in fig. 1, Plate CCV. and in the vertical section, Fig. 3, Plate CCV., represents a cross section of the ves- fig. 2, showing the flange and part of the body of the sel accurately drawn to the scale, showing its outline, and tumbler. In the original form it is cast in one piece, the the manner in which it is constructed. The machinery is body being an octagonal prism, and is afterwards brought supported upon the three keels ABC of the vessel by their to the square form by bolting the triangular bars a on respective keelsons, or beams placed immediately over the alternate sides. Fig. 12 represents the upper end of them. The bottom of the vessel is further supported by the bucket-frame, the shaft M which carries the tumbler the like means, DD. The central keel extends only to N, and the great bevelled-wheel O, which is shown in secthe fore part of the ark or well. This cross section also tion ; also a view of one of the buckets P attached to the exhibits an elevation of the train of wheels for raising and links QQof the bucket-chain. RR are the plumber-blocks, lowering the bucket-frame. From the main spur-wheel and SS the brackets for supporting the shaft. Fig. 4 is a on the lying shaft, marked E, fig. 3, Plate CCV., down to cross section of the under tumbler of the bucket-frame, the lowest wheel on the same shaft, with the chain-barrel, which is five sided: a is the flange, b the strong studs to marked L, the connection is in the following order. The which the tumbler bars are bolted, c the tumbler bars, main spur-wheel is of that description called a mortise- and d the bolts by which they are secured. Fig. 5 is a wheel: it is eight feet in diameter, constructed in a very vertical section of the flange, with the same letters of reingenious manner, to revolve upon a friction nave as fol- ference, showing the method of fixing the tumbler bars. lows : The nave is three feet seven inches in diameter, The lying shaft is of cast iron, in five lengths, as represmoothly turned on the circumference, and fixed to the sented in the longitudinal section, Plate CCIV. fig. 1. It is lying shaft with keys. The wheel is also particularly six and a half inches in diameter; the second length of turned in the eye to coincide with the nave, and is fur- the shaft is furnished with an offset clutch at m, for disnished with eight pincing plates and screws markedy, for engaging the bucket-frame without stopping the engine. tightening it at pleasure, and made to pass with sufficient This clutch is put into and out of gear by the lever n; force upon the nave, in order to carry the spur-wheel but the clutch is more particularly shown in Plate CCV. round in its fair work along with it; but if overstrained, it fig. 6 and 7. The coupling-boxes for the lying shaft are immediately slips, and thereby any injurious consequences fifteen inches long by one and three fourth inches thick, to the apparatus are prevented. The cogs or teeth of fastened together by four screwed bolts of one and a fourth this wheel are made of hard wood; all the teeth of the inch square. other wheels are made of cast iron. The spur-pinion g, The bucket-frame, with its train of buckets, as reprethe half of which only is shown, is on the same shaft with sented in Plate CCIV. fig. 1, is fifty-two feet in length the fly, as is also the small spur-wheel h. The pinion g between the centres of the lower and upper tumbler shafts. works in the main spur-wheel, and is three feet six inches The frame is of the best oak timber, each side being of one in diameter. The small spur-wheel A, the half of which entire piece. The buckets, one of which is represented in only is shown, connects the engine and the other wheels Plate CCV., fig. 8, are perforated in the back and bottom for working the chain-barrel: it is three feet seven and a with small holes for draining off’ the water. They measure half inches in diameter, and works in the wheel i, measur- one foot nine inches in depth, one foot two inches in width ing four feet two and three fourth inches in diameter. On from back to breast at the bottom, and one foot five inches the shaft of the last-mentioned wheel, which is four and -at the mouth; the breadth from side to side is two feet an eighth inches square, there is fixed a pinion j, of one two inches. The mouth-piece or cutting edge a is of temfoot three inches diameter, working in the wheel K, which pered steel; 6 is a side view of the double link connectis three feet eleven inches in diameter; and on the same ed with the bucket. Fig. 9 is an edge view of this link, shaft there is fixed a wheel /, two feet six inches in dia- fig. 10 a side view of the single link, and fig. 11 an edge meter, working in another wheel L, which is four feet ten view of it. These links are twenty-one inches long from inches in diameter: it is fixed upon the shaft that carries centre to centre, three inches in breadth by two in thickthe purchase chain-barrel, and is the last wheel of the ness, with a ring of steel one fourth of an inch in thicktrain. The barrel of cast iron, Plate CCIV., fig. 1 and 2, ness welded into the eye of each. The bolts for the chain measures five feet ten inches in length within the flanges, are two inches in diameter, coated with steel. The weight two feet in diameter, and two feet eight inches over the of each double link is about 84 lbs. and of each single flanges. It makes six and one tenth revolutions in one link about 44 lbs. The trussing rod for the bucket-frame, minute, being equal to thirty-eight strokes of the piston. marked tt, Plate CCIV. fig 1, is three inches in breadth

D R E v*ing by one and a fourth inch in thickness, meeting in the centre, and forming a breadth of seven inches. The friction r‘n' rollers along the upper side of the bucket-frame are ten C( tl ' in number, as shown in the longitudinal section ; they are ^ seven inches in diameter, with a flange measuring twelve inches in diameter. The bucket-frame is lowered and regulated upon the ground to be dredged by a tackle formed by two three-sheaved iron blocks, with 185 feet of three-fourth inch chain run through them for a tacklefold. This tackle is suspended from a frame of cast iron, as shown at O, Plate CCIV., fig. 1, and is represented in dotted lines at P. It is attached to the bucket-frame by a malleable iron cross-bar and two side rods, the other end being attached to the cast-iron barrel already described. The iron ties marked xx, Plate CCIV., fig. 1, of which there are four, are used, along with the vertical beam, for supporting the extremity of the bucket-frame: they are of malleable iron, measuring five eighths of an inch in diameter. The dredging vessel is moored with anchors of two and a half cwt. each, and is moved in any required direction when dredging, by means of four winches of cast iron, viz. one of double power on each bow of the vessel, having a five-eighth inch chain of 300 feet in length, with couplings, and one single-power crab on each quarter, with two iron leading-locks, having also 300 feet of half-inch chain. This vessel and its apparatus requires nine men to work it; when dredging in clean gravel it will discharge into the receiving-barges at the rate of 120 tons per hour; the period for working is regulated by the tides, but generally about four hours is obtained each tide, or eight hours per day, which is equal to 960 tons. But when the machine works upon a clayey bottom, about sixty tons per hour may be taken as the average quantity lifted; and when the stuff is mixed with gravel and stones, the quantity is still less. It is not uncommon with the buckets to take up stones of upwards of one hundredweight, and occasionally the roots of large trees. In some instances the receiving barges are built with a hold for carrying their load, especially where the mud or sleek is thin. It is received into plate-iron tanks, fitted so as to fill the hold. (Tanks of this description, which contain about one ton each, are used at the harbour works of Dundee.) They are fitted with ears or handles, and are lifted out of the boat by a tackle, and emptied into ships as ballast, or they are landed on the quay to be otherwise disposed of. But where these excavated matters are not found necessary for the purposes of the port, they are thrown into deep water, for accomplishing which the barges are furnished with a copper-hold and flap-doors in the bottom, for letting off the stuff, as shown in Plate CCIV., fig. 13. Though we have not been able to trace the invention of the bucket-dredging machine to any particular person, yet we believe it is strictly of British origin, and, so far as our information goes, was first used at the port of Hull in the Humber. It may here be curious to remark, that Jo-

DRELINCOURT, Charles, minister of the Calvinist church at Paris, was born in July 1595, at Sedan, where his father held a considerable office. He had all the qualifications which constitute a respectable clergyman; and though he defended the Protestant cause against the Roman Catholic religion, he was much esteemed even amongst the Catholics. He is best known in England by his Catechism and Consolations against the Fears of Death, works which have been translated, and frequently reprinted. His controversial works are numerous, and include the Juhiwe, the Roman Combat, the Jesuit's Owl, an Answer to

D R E 197 nathan Hulls was of that place; he obtained a British Dredging patent for working vessels by Steam in 1735, although, if strange to say, it was not introduced into practice till 1812, Drelinwhen the late Mr Henry Bell fitted out the canal steamboat upon the Clyde. Since that period the steam dredging machine has come into very general use. On the Clyde there are now no fewer than three such vessels as we have described employed, besides a diving bell for the removal of large boulder stones, which in various parts obstruct that navigation. The engines and apparatus used on the Clyde are chiefly of the manufacture of Messrs Girdwood and Berry of Glasgow. The dredging machine delineated in Plates CCIV. and CCV. was constructed by Messrs John Duffus and Company, Aberdeen. As before noticed, it is simple in its form, and contains the latest improvements both in the build of the vessel and the position and arrangement of the machinery. The great object to be attended to in framing these vessels is, to obtain such a degree of strength as not only to withstand the tremulous motion of the engine and dredging buckets, but also to be capable of resisting the strains to which they are continually liable in taking the ground, or in the fair way of shipping. The cost of the vessel, engine, and bucket apparatus, complete, with her twelve lighters, may be taken atL.5000. The expenditure of coal is at the rate of four cwt. per hour, and the daily expense of working her at L.3. 3s. But these items of course vary in amount, according to local circumstances and the situation of the port. The strength of the vessel, the power of the engine, fitness of the machinery, and the security of the whole against accident by fire, are circumstances connected with the application of the dredging-machine which will always meet with the attentive consideration of the engineer, whose reg'ulation in all the parts of this apparatus will be guided by the actual operation to be performed, as more or less suitable to the peculiar situation of the works in which this apparatus is to be employed. What we have been able to bring under the professional reader's notice in this article, we trust will be sufficient to give him an idea, not only of the construction of the apparatus, and the principles upon which it acts, but also to afford such details as cannot fail to be highly useful in the construction of such an apparatus. To the general reader, who may not take much interest in the details of complicated machinery, we presume our section, elevation, and plan of the bucket dredging-machine will be sufficiently obvious. To him it will also have been interesting to know how operations of this kind are performed, the quantity of work that may be done, and the rate of its expense. We shall also be happy if our observations upon the baneful consequences of shutting out tide water by embanking shall happen to come under the eye of those possessed of legislative power, and be the means of rendering more effective the act of 1800, for the preservation of the navigable rivers of the kingdom, as noticed at page 193. (x. x.)

Father Coussin, Disputes with the Bishop of Bellai, an Answer to Lamilletiere, Dialogues against the Missionaries, the False Paster convicted, the False Face of Antiquity, the Pretended Nullities of the Reformation, an Answer to Prince Ernest of Hesse, an Answer to the Speech of the Archbishop of Sens, and a Defence of Calvin. He married the daughter of a rich merchant at Paris, by whom he had sixteen children. His third son, professor- of physic at Leyden, was physician to the prince and princess of Orange before their accession to the crown of England. Bayle has given him a high character. Mr Drelincourt died in November 1660.

198 D R E Drenthe DRENTHE, one of the provinces of the Netherlands, II bounded on the north and east by Groningen, on the southDrevet. eagt tpe kingdom 0f Hanover, on the south and southwegt ^ Overyssel, and on the north-west by Friesland. It is 820 square miles in extent, and contains 46,470 inhabitants, in three towns and thirty-seven villages. The capital is Assen. It is generally a poor, cold, heathy district, depending chiefly on its breed of cattle, and on the sale of wool, honey, wax, and turf, and on the conveyance of the latter for fuel to other and larger towns that are within the province. DRESDEN, a city of Germany, the capital of the former electorate, now the kingdom of Saxony. It is a beautiful spot, both as regards the position and the buildings. The river Elbe divides it into two unequal parts, over which is a fine bridge of sixteen arches, 1420 feet in length and thirty-six in breadth, which, though destroyed in the French revolutionary war, has again been restored. It was fortified, but the works now serve the purposes merely of police. There are seven market-places or squares, and about sixty broad streets, with others connecting them together; and the public buildings, which are numerous and beautiful, give to the whole a most magnificent appearance, but especially in the new town, which is of more recent erection. There are seventeen Lutheran, two Catholic, and a small Calvinist church; the most remarkable are the Frauenkirk of the Protestants, and the elegant Catholic church connected with the royal palace. Over the altar of the latter is a painting of the ascension by Mengs, highly valued. Dresden has obtained the name of the Athens of the north, from the various collections of the fine arts and of antiquities that are to be seen there. The palace is spacious and noble, and in the repository in the Griinen Gewolbe is arranged a collection of antiquities connected with the ancient history of the country, of very great value. The zwenger or barbican is a beautiful circular building. The garden serves the purposes of a promenade, and the apartments are used as the repository of a valuable cabinet of natural history. The picture gallery occupying the four sides of a square building is peculiarly rich in specimens of art of the best and oldest masters, and is said to be the best in Europe at the present time. The Japan palace, in a garden looking on the Elbe, contains the royal library, amounting to more than 150,000 volumes, a collection of porcelain, and many of the finest specimens both of ancient and modern statuary. The chancery house is a fine building, and, besides several paintings, contains some most valuable records of the historical kind. The other public and private houses deserving attention are numerous, and will reward the curious visitor who shall devote his time to their minute examination. The institutions for benevolence and for instruction are numerous, appropriate, and well conducted. The surrounding country presents many objects which induce pleasing walks or rides, especially the Plaunesche-grund, where a rapid stream runs between lofty rocks, the palace of Pilnitz on the banks of the Elbe, and the gardens which surround a part of the city. There are many manufactures carried on of gold and silver articles, silk goods, cotton and woollen cloth, gloves, hosiery, and other minute commodities. A considerable quantity of wine is made from the vineyards on the sides of the hills overlooking the Elbe. Dresden has suffered in its population by war in 1745, 1756, 1811, and especially in 1813. The inhabitants amount to 49,000, of whom 5000 are Catholics, 200 Calvinists, 860 Jews, and forty Hussites. DREVET, Peter, the younger, an eminent French

D R I engraver, was a member of the royal academy of painting and sculpture, and died at Paris in 1739, at the age of forty- | two. His portraits are neat and elegant, but laboured to Dri I the last degree. He particularly excelled in represent- ^ i ing lace, silk, fur, velvet, and other ornamental parts of dress. But the younger Drevet did not confine himself to portraits. We have several historical prints by him, which in point of neatness and exquisite workmanship are scarcely to be equalled. His most esteemed and best historical print is very valuable; but the first impressions of it are rarely to be met with. It is The Presentation of Christ in the Temple; a very large plate, lengthwise, from Luigi de Bologna. Among his portraits, the two held in the highest estimation are, that of Bossuet, bishop of Meaux, a whole length figure standing, a middling sized upright plate, from Rigaud ; and that of Samuel Bernard, a whole length figure sitting in a chair, a large upright plate. The first impressions of the last are before the words Conseiller dEtat were inserted upon the plate. DREUX, an arrondissement in the department of the Eure and Loire, in France, extending over 620 square miles, and divided into seven cantons and 138 communes, with 71,506 inhabitants. The chief city, of the same name, is situated on the river Blaise, and contains 860 houses, with 6037 inhabitants. Long. 1. 16. 19. E. Lat. 48. 44. 17. N. DRIESEN, a city of Prussia, in the province of Brandenburg, surrounded by the two rivers Netze. It contains 317 houses, and 2565 inhabitants, mostly weavers oflinen and woollen cloth, or employed in distilleries. DRIFFIELD, a market-town in the wapentake of Harthill, in the east riding of Yorkshire, 197 miles from London. There is a market which is held on Thursday. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1411, in 1811 to 1857, and in 1821 to 2303. DRIFT, in Navigation, the angle which the line of a ship’s motion makes with the nearest meridian, when she drives with her side to the wind and waves, and is not governed by the power of the helm; it also implies the distance which the ship drives on that line. A ship’s way is only called drift in a storm, and then when it blows so vehemently as to prevent her from carrying any sail, or at least restrains her to such a portion of sail as may be necessary to keep her sufficiently inclined to one side, that she may not be dismasted by her violent labouring produced by the turbulence of the sea. Drift, in mining, a passage cut out under the earth betwixt shaft and shaft, or turn and turn ; or a passage or way wrought under the earth to the end of a meer of ground, or part of a meer. Drift-*SW, a sail used under water, veered out right a-head by sheets, as other sails are. It serves to keep the ship’s head right upon the sea in a storm, and to hinder her from driving too fast in a current. Drift-JPoog?, trees or timber carried out to sea by the rivers when in flood, and then drifted about in various directions, and to different parts, by the currents of the ocean. DRILL, in Mechanics, a small instrument for making such holes as punches do not conveniently serve to fora. Drills are of various sizes, and are chiefly used by smiths and turners. DRILLING is popularly used for exercising soldiers. The word is derived from the French drille, which signifies a raw soldier. DRINK, a part of our ordinary food in a liquid form. See Dietetics. DRISSA, a circle in the Russian government of Witepsk. It is bounded on the north by Sebesk, on the east by Polozk, on the south by Minsk, and on the west by Resitza. It is watered by the Diina and its tributary streams, and

D

R

O

r^ing is fertile in rye, flax, and black cattle. The inhabitants « amounted in 1797 to 51,400, who have since that census prc-neda. rapidly increased. It contains four cities and 1055 villages. The capital, of the same name, is situated on the river Drissa, where it falls into the Diina. It is a small town, with a slight but growing population. DRIVING, in Metallurgy, is said of silver, when, in the operation of refining, the lead being burnt away, the remaining copper rises upon its surface in red fiery bubbles. Driving, in the sea language, is said of a ship when an anchor being let fall does not hold her fast, nor prevent her sailing away with the wind or tide. The best help in this case is to let fall more anchors, or to veer out more cable; for the more cable she has out, the safer she rides. When a ship is a-hull or a-try, they say she drives to leeward. DROGHEDA, a town in the province of Leinster, in Ireland, situated in the middle of a small district called the county of the town of Drogheda, between the counties of Louth and Meath, is built on both sides of the river Boyne, about five miles from its mouth, and thirty miles north of the city of Dublin. The entire extent of the county is 5800 acres, or nine square miles. In the earliest notices of it by ancient writers it is called Inver-Colpa, or the Port of Colpa, and afterwards Tredagh. Drogheda, the name it is at present known by, signifies “ the Bridge over the Ford.” The portions on each side of the Boyne were formerly distinct towns, under separate jurisdictions, distinguished by the names of Drogheda on the side of Meath, and Drogheda on the side of Uriel, the ancient appellation given to the county of Louth and some adjoining districts. It is now divided into the parishes of St Peter, St Mary, and part of that of Ballymakenny; and in the year 1813 it contained a population of 16,000 souls, in 1821 of 18,118, and in 1831 of 17,365; being the only place in Ireland whose numbers did not increase in the interval between the two last-mentioned dates. It ranks in amount of inhabitants the eighth of the chief cities and towns in Ireland. The municipal government of the town is vested in the mayor, two sheriffs, two justices of the peace, and a recorder, who hold under a charter granted under the following singular circumstances : Whilst the town was split into two independent jurisdictions, the inhabitants were incessantly in a state of mutual hostility, in consequence of trading vessels landing their cargoes in the southern town, to avoid the payment of pontage duty levied on all vessels discharging on the northern or Louth side. Much blood was frequently shed on these occasions. At length Philip Bennett, a monk residing in the town, took occasion, on the festival of Corpus Christi, to preach a sermon before the constituted authorities of both sides, in which he inculcated the blessings of union so emphatically, and followed up the subject so effectively at an entertainment to which he invited them in his convent the same day, that they all joined in sending a deputation to Henry IV. to obtain a new charter, by which both parts were embodied into a single corporation. This event took place in the year 1412. The charter was afterwards confirmed with alterations by James I. The mayor was honoured by Edward IV. with a sword of state, and L.20 a year for its maintenance, in reward of the services performed by the townsmen in an engagement at Malpas Bridge, where this magistrate, at the head of 500 archers and 200 pole-axemen, contributed to the defeat of O’Reilly and his confederates. Previously to the union Drogheda returned two members to parliament. The number has since been reduced to one, who is elected by a constituency consisting of 531 freemen and 407 freeholders and leaseholders, the total number of electors being 560.

D R O 199 The town has always been considered by the English Drogheda, as a place of much importance. In the reign of Edward w-v-w III. it was classed, along with Dublin, Waterford, and Kilkenny, as one of the four staple towns of Ireland. Richard II. received in it the submissions of O’Neal, O’Donnel, and other chieftains of Ulster and Leinster. The right of coining money was granted to it. Parliaments were several times assembled in it, in one of which the value of money was raised, by altering the silver groat or fourpenny piece to sixpence. In another parliament, also held here, in the beginning of the reign of Edward IV., the town was granted the right of having a university, with the same privileges as that of Oxford. The plan however failed, owing to the poverty of the town and the unsettled state of the country; and an attempt lately made by the corporation to re-assert the right was also unsuccessful. One of the Earls of Desmond was beheaded here on a charge of high treason, brought against him in parliament by the Earl of Worcester when lord lieutenant. Plere also the celebrated statutes known by the name of Poyning’s laws, which made such a change in the political relations between England and Ireland, were enacted. In the civil wars of 1641 the town was besieged by O’Neal and the northern Irish forces; but was gallantly defended by Sir Henry Tichbourne, and after a long blockade relieved by the Marquis of Ormond. The same nobleman relieved it a second time, when invested by the parliamentary army under Colonel Jones. In 1649 Cromwell appeared before it at the head of a numerous and ■well-appointed army. The town was taken after a short though spirited defence; and every individual in it, without distinction of age or sex, was put to the sword, after promise of quarter given. Thirty only escaped the butchery, who were afterwards transported as slaves to Barbadoes. In 1690 it was garrisoned by King James’s army; but after the decisive battle of the Boyne it surrendered to the conqueror without a struggle, in consequence of a threat that quarter would not be granted if it were taken by storm. Its subsequent history is not marked by any circumstance of striking political notoriety. Of the ancient fortifications very few relics remain. The only one of its four gates still in existence is that of St Laurence, which forms a very picturesque object. The modern town, built chiefly on the northern bank of the Boyne, is divided into four principal parts or quarters, by the two main streets that intersect each other at the Tholsel. The bridge which connects this portion with the southern is narrow, and by no means well suited to the great and increasing current of passengers and vehicles that take advantage of it. The principal public buildings are, the mayoralty-house, to which a suite of assembly-rooms is attached ; the Tholsel, a square building of cut stone, with a cupola ; the corn-market, the linen-hall, two parish churches, and several Roman Catholic chapels, the largest of which is that of St Peter. There are also several religious houses, in one of which, the abbey of Dominican nuns, without St Laurence’s gate, is still preserved the head of Oliver Plunket, Roman Catholic archbishop of Armagh, who was executed at Tyburn in the year 1681, on an unfounded charge of treason. His body, having been interred in St Giles’, London, was afterwards removed to the Continent. A classical school, under the endowment of Erasmus Smith, is maintained here. There are also several free schools, ■ the principal of which, called the Patrician school, accommodates 150 pupils. Among the charitable institutions is one for the reception of thirty-six clergymen’s widows, who are each provided with a house and an annuity of L.26 during life, arising from bequests made by two archbishops of Armagh. Here is also an alms-house for twenty-four aged widows, an infirmary, and a mendicity asso-

200 D R O Drohicyn ciation for the suppression of street-begging, in which the _ . II . , inmates are provided with food and employment, but are notjjjg Jodged. . former importance of Drogheda may also be inferred from the numerous remains of its monastic institutions. The principal were, the hospital of St Mary, for the sick and infirm ; the priory of St Laurence, which was granted to the corporation on the dissolution of the monasteries; the Dominican friary, of which a tower of stately proportions still exists ; the Grey friary and the Augustinian friary ; all in the northern part of the town. On the southern side were the hospital of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem, and the Carmelite friary. The archbishops of Armagh had a palace in the town, built by Archbishop Hampton about the year 1620. Drogheda was until lately the seat of an extensive manufacture of coarse linens, on the decline of which the cotton manufacture supplied its place. Brewing and tanning are carried on largely. Four fairs are held annually on May 12, June 22, August 26, and October 29. It is also a great place of export for grain, hides, and butter. Vessels of two hundred tons can lie at the quay. The communication with the country is facilitated by means of the Boyne navigation, which is carried on for nine miles, chiefly in the bed of the river, to Slane; six miles of still water navigation continue it thence to Navan, and seven more to Trim. The chief articles conveyed by it are coal, slate, timber, iron, and salt upwards ; grain, yarn, and linen downwards. The salmon fishery on the Boyne was once very valuable ; the fish is highly esteemed for its flavour. About four miles west of the town is the village of Old Bridgetoun, memorable for the celebrated and decisive victory gained by King William over King James, his unfortunate competitor for the crown of Great Britain. The battle, which marks one of the great epochs in Irish history, is fully detailed in every general account of the country. The precise point where the main body of the British army crossed the Boyne during the action, and where the aged Duke Schomberg was killed whilst leading on his men, is marked by an elegant obelisk 150 feet high, having on each side of its pedestal an appropriate inscription. DROHICYN, a circle in the Russian government of Bialystock, on the southernmost division of it. It is about 1100 square miles, or 704,000 acres in extent, and contains six cities, one market-town, and 112 villages, with, in 1797, 49,651 inhabitants, who are estimated to have increased in 1827 to 68,000. The chief place, of the same name, is situated on the river Bug, and contains a college, in vvhich are 250 noble students, a Franciscan and a Benedictine monastery, and four churches. Lone. 22. 38 E. Lat. 51. 4. N. DIvOHOBICZ, a city of the circle of Sambor, in the Austrian kingdom of Galicia. It stands on the river Tesmenica, which empties itself into the Dniester. It is a place of considerable trade, especially in corn, cattle, and salt. It contains several churches, monasteries, and public schools, with 1200 houses, and about 8000 inhabitants, among whom are a great number of Jews. The salt mines produce annually about 3700 tons of refined salt. DROITWICH, a town of the hundred of Halfshire, in the county of Worcester, 118 miles from London. It is situated in a valley filled with salt springs, which, when reached, rise nearly to the surface; a circumstance supposed to proceed from a subterranean river passing through the masses of rock-salt which are excavated in Cheshire. Ihe water from the springs is fully saturated, so that com. mon salt will not dissolve in it. The salt is procured by evaporating the water, which yields about seven times as

D R O much salt as an equal quantity of sea water. The cheap- Dro, ness of coal causes an extensive making of salt, which ) supplies the neighbourhood. There is a canal joining the Dro Severn, by which much salt is conveyed to Worcester, ^eij Gloucester, and Bristol, from which last city much is ex- V,—"Y ported to distant markets. It is an ancient borough, lately sending two members to parliament, but now only one. The market is held on Friday. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1845, in 1811 to 2079, in 1821 to 2176, and in 1831 to 2487. DROME, a department of France, formed out of the districts Valentenois and Divis, of the ancient principality of Dauphine- It is bounded on the north by the department of the Isere, on the east by that and the Upper Alps, on the south by the Lower Alps and Vaucluse, and on the west by the Ardeche, from which the Rhone separates it. The extent is 2722 square miles, or 692,750 hectares. The whole department consists of mountains, with valleys between, the entrances to which are commonly very narrow. The mountains increase in height on removing from the Rhone. At first they are sandy, then calcareous, and the highest of all are granite. Cultivation is in a languid state; the produce of corn is insufficient for the consumption, and 200,000 bushels are annually required from the surrounding districts to feed the population. They are enabled to obtain this in exchange for olives, almonds, nuts, silk, and hermitage wine, which the great heat of the summers brings to perfection under the shelter of the mountains. Much fuel also is collected, as one sixth of the land is covered with wood. Many sheep too are bred, but of an inferior race, producing a coarse wool. The manufacturing industry is confined to making some coarse woollen cloths, a few silk goods, and some domestic utensils for the supply of the inhabitants. The population amounts to 252,847 persons, of whom 34,500 are of the reformed church. None of them are rich or poor, but in moderate and nearly equal circumstances. It is divided into four arrondissements, twenty-eight cantons, and 360 communes. The capital is the city of Valence. DROMEDARY. See Mammalia. DROMORE, a town of Ireland, in the county of Down, situated on the river Lagan. It is a very ancient town, and the seat of a bishopric. The see was founded by St Colman in the sixth century. Besides the cathedral, which is small, there are two meeting houses. The population amounts to 1942. Dromore is situated fifteen miles southwest of Belfast. DRONE, the male of the honey bee. Sometimes other flies also are so named. See Bee. DRONERO, a city of Italy, in the province of Coni, and kingdom of Sardinia. It stands on the river Maria, is surrounded with walls, and contains six parish churches, one capuchin monastery, and 6440 inhabitants. There is a very considerable linen manufactory in the city. DRONFIELD, a town of the hundred of Scarsdale, in the county of Derby, 157 miles from London. It has a well-endowed free school, founded in the reign of Elizabeth. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1182, in 1811 to 1343, in 1821 to 1522, and in 1831 to 1653. DRONI HEIM, the northernmost province of the kingdom of Norway, extending from 61. 41. to 71. 11. north latitude. It extends over 64,284 square miles, but the population amounts to no more than 239,712 individuals, who inhabit six cities or towns and 115 parishes, which contain 262 churches and 110 chapels. Drontheim, the capital of the province of the same name in Norway, and the see of a bishop, is situated at the mouth of the river Nidelf, in a deep bay or fiord, in a most pleasing situation. It is walled, and was formerly de-

i*

D

R

O

fended by two forts, which are now in a dilapidated state, -phe streets are spacious, and the houses of respectable ling-appearance, though all built of wood. The cathedral was ^ once the most celebrated in the north, though now only the choir, in which the kings were formerly crowned, is entire. It has, besides, two churches, and 1400 houses, with 9000 inhabitants. The haven is secure, and causes some export trade in copper, planks, stockfish, herrings, and train oil. There are a few manufactures of linen cloth, and also refineries for sugar and saltpetre, besides tanneries and glove-making. Long. 10. 18. 47. E. Lat. 63. 25. 47. N. DROPSY, in Medicine, an unnatural collection of water in any part of the body. See Medicine. DHOSSEN, a city of Prussia, in a marshy situation, on the river Lenze, in the province of Brandenburg, containing 476 houses, and 2883 inhabitants. DROWNING. This term usually signifies the extinction of life by total submersion ; but it ought also to be applied to that species of suffocation which is produced by the exclusion of atmospheric air from the lungs by any liquid; for the effects produced in all such cases are similar. Drowning, therefore, may be considered as having taken place when the animal perishes from immersion of its head, or even from the obstruction to the air passages by a fluid, The ordinary phenomena of drowning may be witnessed by submerging a small animal in a glass vessel filled with water. The animal at first struggles violently, and is soon observed to make a forcible expiration, as is indicated by the escape of bubbles of air from its mouth and nose. It next attempts to inspire; an effort marked by the strong heaving of its thorax, and convulsive efforts of its abdominal muscles. This effort is vain, and is speedily followed by the extrication of a few more air bubbles from its lungs. These convulsive motions are repeated at shorter intervals, while smaller portions of air are forced from the lungs at each succeeding expiration, until the air cells are deprived of a considerable portion of the air they contained at the moment of submersion. Insensibility soon comes on ; but convulsive movements of the limbs mark the progress of cerebral congestion, and the influence of unoxygenated blood on the centre of the nervous system. After these struggles, the animal is apparently dead; but a feeble motion may still be perceived in the chest; and before it ceases altogether, the muscles of the thorax are once more thrown into action by an ineffectual effort to breathe. Brodie has remarked, that in drowning, the action of the heart and diaphragm cease almost at the same instant. Unless the animal be removed from the water before the movements of the heart and diaphragm have entirely ceased, it perishes, and a minute or two more are sufficient to destroy it. If the animal be removed from the water while the heart and diaphragm are yet in action, it may escape from the immediate risk of suffocation, but yet may die from injury to the brain produced by congestion of dark blood on that organ. Bichat, Cruickshank, and Brodie, have proved, that dark unoxygenated blood acts as a poison on the brain, causing diminished nervous energy, laborious respiration, feeble pulse, dilated pupils, stupor, and convulsive twitches of the voluntary muscles. Signs of death from drowning.—The signs of death from drowning are external and internal. 1. The external signs most usually perceived are either a very pale countenance, or the face bloated and livid; the lips, and not unfrequently the whole head, swelled; the eyes half open, and the pupils much dilated; the tongue swelled, and protruded between the teeth, so as to be in contact with the inner surface of the lips; the lips and nose often lined VOL. VIII.

D R O 201 with a whitish froth ; the chest and epigastrium tumid, Drowning, and much arched; the ends of the fingers usually exco- v— riated; and the spaces under the nails often filled with sand or mud. 2. The most usual internal signs are more or less cerebral congestion; but in some cases no morbid change appears in the brain. We usually find the blood in the vessels of the head, and indeed in the whole body, of a blackish colour. There is generally frothy mucus in the trachaea, which is sometimes tinged with blood; the lungs are dilated and gorged with blood ; the diaphragm descends low into the abdomen, and has lost more or less of its concave surface towards that cavity. The right cavities of the heart, and the great vessels connected with it, are gorged with black blood, whilst the left side and its vessels are usually found empty. The blood in the body always remains fluid, and readily flows wherever an incision is made. Water is sometimes found in the bronchial tubes and cells of the lungs; and not unfrequently some water has been swallowed in the act of drowning. These symptoms will generally enable us to detect a death from drowning, if we examine the body before putrefaction is advanced. The immediate cause of death from drowning has given rise to much controversy ; and physiologists have appealed to contradictory experiments and observations in support of their different hypotheses. But this difference of opinion has orginated in physiologists supposing that the suspension of the vital functions on submersion always depended on the same proximate cause. It is singular -that the very dissimilar appearances which the face presents in different cases did not suggest some difference in the cause of death. In some drowned persons, the face is remarkably pale, and rather pinched; in others, the countenance is livid, and the whole head swelled; the first indicating the deficiency of blood in the head, the latter its redundancy. This led Dr Desgranges to the conclusion that there were two different modes in which drowning proved fatal. The first, which he terms nervous or syncopal asphyxia, occurs when the person, either from the terror of impending fate, the effect of surprise, or from the sudden immersion in extremely cold water, faints at the instant of immersion. The instantaneous arrestation of the movements of the heart in such cases prevents the transmission of unoxygenated blood to the brain; the principle of life is merely suspended; the resources of the animal machine are not destroyed, but are capable of being again called into action by suitable means. The second Desgranges terms asphyxia by suffocation. In this species the heart continues to act for some time after respiration is impossible. The brain thus becomes loaded with black or unoxygenated blood, which is known to act as a direct sedative or a poison on that delicate organ. When this has gone on for a short time, its functions are annihilated, and cannot be restored when the body is again exposed to asmospheric air. In this second species water often finds its way into the air tubes, and even into the cells of the lungs, during the vain efforts of the individual to breathe. These distinctions are important, will serve to explain most of the anomalies which have been observed as effects of submersion, and render probable the very extraordinary instances of resuscitation after long-continued submersion, which have been related by men worthy of credit, but which have appeared marvellous to those whose ideas of drowning are founded on a few experiments made on the lower animals forcibly submerged. Amongst individuals who have recovered from insensibility induced by long submersion, by far the majority are those who have been affected by syncopal asphyxia, in whom there has been instantaneous arrestation of the mo2c

202 DROWNING. Drowning, tion of the heart, and suspension of consciousness. This Hunter, and Cullen, each of whom have made many judi- Drc v— distinction will enable us also to explain why, when seve- cious remarks on the best means of restoring animation; w] ral persons are submerged together, some will be found and the Humane Society of London have published twelve quite irrecoverable; whilst others, who have been con- general rules for the recovery of drowned persons, which siderably longer under water, may be capable of resusci- are, on the whole, useful, although some of them are now tation. obsolete, and require emendation. The recovery from syncopal asphyxia is well illustrated The principal objects in such cases should be, by a case given by Plater. A female, condemned for in1st, To restore or keep up the animal heat. fanticide, was inclosed in a sack, according to the provi2d, To induce a renewal of respiration. sions of the Caroline Code of Germany, and thrown into 3d, To rouse latent animation by the exhibition of stimuli. a lake. She fainted at the moment of immersion; and, 1. As soon as the body is removed from the water, the after having been under water for a quarter of an hour, wet clothes should be taken off, and the body rolled in was drawn out and restored to life. warm blankets or dry clothing, while it is transporting to Pouteau relates the history of a man at Lyons, who the nearest house. The body should be carried in the suddenly fell into a river covered with ice, and remained arms of men, or on a bier, with celerity, but without joltsubmerged for three hours, yet was restored to life by the ing, to a room which, in hot weather, should have the long-continued assiduity of his medical attendant. Mor- windows open, but in winter should have a fire. The gagni mentions the case of a man who was resuscitated head, during the transporting, should not be suffered to after having been under water for half a day; and Pecklin hang down, but be laid in an easy position. When brought relates the instance of a Swedish gardener, who was sub- into the apartment in cold or damp weather, the body merged in a frozen pond for sixteen hours, and yet was re- should be laid on a mattress before a fire, when the surface covered by similar means. is to be diligently rubbed with dry warm flannel, both to In all such cases, Desgranges conceives that the capa- dry the surface, and to rouse the excitability of the capilbility of recovery is to be attributed to the sudden arres- laries. Whilst this is going on, it is important to permit tation of the vital motions at the moment of immersion. the free access of warm air. No more persons should be The action of the heart and of the lungs ceasing simulta- present than are useful about the patient; and the Humane neously, no vitiated blood could be transmitted to the Society limit the number to six. Sometimes the body has brain. A stop would at the same time be put to all secre- been placed in warm water; but this practice is objectiontions and excretions, so that there could be no expenditure able. Some recent experiments have rendered it more of vital power. How long this suspension might continue than probable that the influence of the free application of without extinction of vitality, is unknown ; but something air to the general surface of the body is not unimportant resembling it occurs in some long-continued paroxysms of in restoring animation in cases of asphyxia ; and the cutahysteria, and in persons who have for several days lain neous circulation is more readily induced by dry and diliapparently dead, but have been resuscitated. gent frictions of the surface than by immersion in warm Drowning has been ascribed to water finding its way water. Applications of bags of hot sand, bran, or the into the stomach and air passages; but this opinion was like, to different parts of the body, as the arm-pits, scroproved to be fallacious by Senac and Cullen. The for- biculus cordis, and extremities, are obvious means of re>mer denied that water ever entered the lungs; but Mor- storing animal heat not to be neglected; and in some ingagni showed that it actually does sometimes enter the stances much benefit seems to have been derived from air cells; and he ascribes the frothy mucus found in the switching the soles and palms with twigs, or striking them fauces and air tubes to the intermixture of air with that with the open hand. Whilst these means are being emwater. The opinion of Morgagni on this last point is, ployed, we must not neglect the important object, viz. however, incorrect; for the froth is found in many cases 2. The restoration of respiration, by insufflation of the of asphyxia from noxious gases in epilepsy and apoplexy; lungs. The best and simplest mode of effecting this oband in the recent experiments of Dr M.'Hall, it was ob- ject is, to introduce the nozzle of a pair of common belserved in dogs that had been bled to death. It appears lows into one nostril, whilst the operator closes the other to be produced by the escape of air from the lungs mixing nostril and the mouth with his left hand, and applies his with the natural mucus lining the air passages, and indeed right to the thyroid cartilage, pressing it gently backis common to all cases of laborious respiration. Goodwyn ward, in order to shut up the oesophagus, and prevent the and Cullen showed the insufficiency of the water which air entering the stomach instead of the lungs. The belfinds its way into the lungs in drowning to cause speedy lows should be wrought by an assistant, so as moderately death. to inflate the chest. A third person is to press the chest Hie excoriation of the ends of the fingers is produced with his hands, to expel the air. These motions are to be by the person endeavouring to save himself by catching at alternated, so as to imitate natural breathing as much as the bottom, or the first solid which meets his hands ; and possible. This mode of insufflation is much preferable to the sand and mud under the nails have the same origin. the proposal of introducing a tube into the glottis, and In fact, we are, by these marks, often able to discover still more so to the hazardous operation of tracheotomy, whether a person has been drowned, or thrown into the which never can be necessary in a case of simple drownwater after death. The tumid state of the chest, and de- ing, and which, even in the hands of the celebrated surscent of the diaphragm into the abdomen, are caused by geon Mr Justamond, proved fatal, by permitting the inthe violent efforts made to dilate the chest, for the relief filtration of blood into the air passages. of the sense of suffocation. The fluidity of the blood is When a sufficient supply of oxygen gas can be obtained, remarkable, and seems almost universal in drowning. This it would probably expedite recovery; but perhaps it should appearance takes place wherever death is caused by the not in general be employed undiluted. Where a p^ir of exclusion of oxygen, or when the blood does not undergo bellows cannot be obtained, the life of a person may be the usual changes in the lungs. saved by introducing any sort of pipe into the nostril, as Treatment of drowned persons^—Various directions have above directed, and blowing air from the mouth of the been given for the treatment of persons who have been operator into the lungs of the drowned person. In this tound in a state of asphyxia from submersion. The sub- case, care should be taken not to use the air from the ject claimed the especial attention of De Haen, of John lungs of the operator, but merely that which his mouth

D

R

O

knirning. contains, thrown forward by the compression of his cheeks, jn the manner used with the common blow-pipe. But a pair of bellows should always be preferred. In the directions of the Humane Society, we read (art. 10) that (he body, especially if the subject be a child, “ is to be well shaken every ten minutes, in order to render the process of animation more certain.” This practice is justly condemned by most modern authors, as either useless or dangerous. All the benefit of “ shaking” may be obtained by frictions and switchings, without the risk of extinguishing the feeble remains of animation by rude concussions, “ pullings, and pushings,” which have been generally employed in cases of asphyxia. It is scarcely necessary to caution the practitioner against the exploded practice of hanging the drowned person by the heels, or laying him across a barrel with his head hanging downwards ; a practice of which even Fothergill approves, on the principle of making him disgorge the water that might have found its way into the stomach and lungs, which was erroneously imagined to be the chief cause of suspended animation. 3. The application of various stimulants internally and externally, to facilitate resuscitation, is limited, but not unimportant. The vapour of ammonia, to irritate the Schneiderian membrane of the nose, has been generally adopted, and is useful in rousing the dormant excitability. When a tube can be introduced into the stomach, a portion of warm spirit and water, with or without ammonia, will generally be useful. The introduction of warm stimulants by the arms is likewise desirable, both to rouse the latent powers of life by their stimulant effect, and to restore the animal heat. The eighth rule of the Humane Society recommends the injection of tobacco smoke into the fundament. This practice was borrowed from the savage Indians of North America; but it is of very questionable utility. The excessive faintness produced by this strong narcotic is a great objection to its employment in cases where the powers of life are already too low ; and we have abundant means of exciting the peristaltic motion of the alimentary canal, by aloetic and other warm purgatives, without running the risk of extinguishing the feeble remains of vitality by the introduction of a narcotic. The objection is still stronger to infusions of the plant, which have also been recommended. The application of Voltaic electricity bids fair to aid resuscitation, especially if not used too strong. It has a powerful effect in rousing the voluntary muscles, but its influence on the heart is doubtful. Yet there can be no doubt of its capability of stimulating the diaphragm and abdominal muscles, to cause the dilatation of the chest; and its application to the parts of the body most suitable for this end, as about the lower ribs and the pit of the stomach, should be tried. Common electricity is less suited to this purpose; but neither should be passed through the head, lest the excitability of the nervous system should be exhausted by so powerful and general a stimulant. Blood-letting was reprobated by John Hunter; and in cases of drowning, when there are marks of syncopal asphyxia, \t wWl probably prove injurious; but when there are decided marks of cerebral congestion, venesection under the direction of a medical practitioner will facilitate recovery, 'Ibese methods of resuscitation should be diligently employed for four or five hours at least, before the case is given up as hopeless. It is a vulgar and a dangerous enor to suppose that because our efforts do not seem successful for one or two hours, that the patient is irrecoverably dead. There are instances of persons submerg-

D R U 203 ed, in whom no symptoms of returning animation have Drugget been obvious until after four, or even six hours of unremit|| ted efforts. (j. j. !.) Druids. DRUGGET, in commerce, a stuff sometimes all wool, and sometimes half wool half thread; sometimes corded, but usually plain. Those which have the woof of wool and the warp of thread are called threaded druggets ; and those wrought with the shuttle on a loom of four marches are called corded druggets. As to the plain, they are wrought on a loom of two marches, with the shuttle, in the same manner as cloth, camblets, and other like stuffs not corded. DRUIDiE, or Droium, in Ancient Geography, a very ancient town, the principal place of the Druides or Druidae in Gaul, as they are called; now Dreux in the Orleannois. Here, according to Caesar, they met every year in a consecrated grove. The town was also called Durocases. Long. 1. 21. W. Lat. 48. 45. N. DRUIDS, Druides, or Druid.®, the priests or ministers of religion amongst the ancient Celtae or Gauls, the Britons, and the Germans. Some authors derive the word from the Hebrew Erunvp derussim, or drussim, which they translate contemplatores. Picard ( Celtopcxd. lib. ii. p. 58) believes the druids to have been thus called from Druis or Dryms, their leader, the fourth or fifth king of the Gauls, and father of Saron or Naumes. Pliny, Salmasius, Vigenere, and others, derive the name from Sgus, quercus, oak, on account of their inhabiting, or at least frequenting and teaching, in forests; or perhaps because, as Pliny says, they never sacrificed except under the oak. But it is hard to imagine how the druids should have come to speak Greek, even although Cmsar assures us that they had the Greek letters. Menage derived the word from the old British drus, a daemon or magician; and Borel, from the Saxon dry, a magician, or rather from the old British dru or derw, an oak ; whence he supposes fyvg to be derived, which indeed is not an improbable supposition. Becanus (lib. i.) takes druis to be an old Celtic and German word, formed from trowis or truwis, a doctor of the truth and the faith; and in this etymology Vossius is disposed to acquiesce. The druids were the first and most distinguished order General among the Gauls and Britons. They were chosen out of account of the best families; and the honours of their birth, joined^ ^ru^s* with those of their function, procured them the highest veneration among the people. They were conversant in astrology, geometry, natural philosophy, politics, and geography : they were the interpreters of religion, and the judges in secular affairs : whoever refused obedience to them was declared impious and accursed. We know but little as to their peculiar doctrines, only that they believed the immortality of the soul, and, as is generally supposed, in the metempsychosis; though it appears highly probable that they did not believe in this last doctrine, at least not in the sense of the Pythagoreans. The chief settlement of the druids in Britain was in the isle of Anglesey, the ancient Mona, which they chose for this purpose, as it was well stored with spacious groves of their favourite oak. They were divided into several classes or branches, namely, the vacerri, hardi, cubages, symnothii or semnothei, and saronidce. The vacerri are held to have been the priests; the bardi were the poets; the eubages were the augurs; and the saronidcc were the civil judges and instructors of youth. As to the semnothei, who are said to have been immediately devoted to the service of religion, it is probable that they were the same with the vacerri. Strabo, however, and Picard after him in his Celtopcedia, do not comprehend all these different orders under the denomination of Druids, as species under their genus, or parts under the whole, but make them quite different conditions or orders. Strabo in effect only distin-

204 DRUIDS. Druids, guishes three kinds, bardi, rates, and druids. The bardi with the greatest earnestness and anxiety, and when found Dn were the poets; the rates, ovarug, apparently the same with it was hailed with raptures of joy. As soon as the druids ^ the racerri, were the priests and naturalists; and the were informed of this fortunate discovery, they prepared druids were those who, besides the study of nature, ap- every thing for the sacrifice under the oak, to which they fastened two white bulls by the horns; then the archplied themselves to that of morality. Diogenes Laertius assures us in his prologue, that the druid, attended by a prodigious number of people, ascenddruids were the same among the ancient Britons with the ed the tree, dressed in white, and, with a consecrated sophoi or philosophers among the Greeks, the magi among golden knife or pruning-hook, cropped the misletoe, which the Persians, the gymnosophists among the Indians, and he received in his sagum or robe, amidst the rapturous exclamations of the people. Having secured this sacred the Chaldeans among the Assyrians. Their garments were remarkably long; and, when em- plant, he descended the tree; the bulls were sacrificed; ployed in religious ceremonies, they always wore a white and the Deity invoked to bless his own gift, and render it surplice. They generally carried a wand in their hands ; efficacious in those distempers in which it should be adand wore a kind of ornament enchased in gold about their ministered. The consecrated groves, in which they performed their necks, called the druid's egg. Their necks were likewise decorated with gold chains, and their hands and arms or- religious rites, were fenced round with stones, to prevent namented with bracelets. They wore their hair very short, any person’s entering between the trees, except through and their beards remarkably long. the passages left open for that purpose, and which were The druids had one chief or arch-druid in every na- guarded by some inferior druids, to prevent any stranger tion, who acted as high priest, or pontifex maximus. He from intruding into their mysteries. These groves were possessed absolute authority over the rest, and command- of different forms ; some quite circular, others oblong, and ed, decreed, or punished, at pleasure. At his death he more or less capacious as the votaries in the districts to was succeeded by the most considerable amongst the sur- which they belonged were more or less numerous. The vivors ; and if there were several pretenders, the matter area in the centre of the grove was encompassed with sewas ended by an election, or else put to the decision of veral rows of large oaks set very close together. Within arms. this large circle were several smaller ones surrounded with The druids, we have observed, were in the highest es- large stones ; and near the centre of these smaller circles teem. They presided at sacrifices and other ceremonies, were stones of a prodigious size and convenient height, on and had the direction of every thing relating to religion. which the victims were slain and offered. Each of these The British and Gallic youth flocked to them in crowds being a kind of altar, was surrounded with another row of to be instructed by them. With the children of the no- stones, the use of which cannot now be known, unless bility, Mela tells us, they retired into caves, or the most they were intended as cinctures to keep the people at a desolate parts of forests, and kept them there sometimes convenient distance from the officiating priest. for twenty years under their discipline. Besides the imSuetonius, in his life of Claudius, assures us that the mortality and metempsychosis, their disciples were here druids sacrificed men; and Mercury is said to have been instructed in the motion of the heavens and the course of the god to whom they offered these victims. Diodorus the stars, the magnitude of the heavens and the earth, Siculus observes, that it was only upon extraordinary octhe nature of things, the power and wisdom of the gods, casions they made such offerings ; as, to consult'what meaand a variety of other doctrines. They preserved the me- sures to take, or to learn what should happen to them, by mory and actions of great men in their verses, which they the fall of the victim, the tearing of his members, and the never allowed to be written down, but made their pupils manner in which his blood gushed out. Augustus conget by heart. In their common course of learning, they demned the custom, and Tiberius and Claudius punished are said to have taught them twenty-four thousand such and abolished it. verses. By this means their doctrines appeared more We learn from Caesar that the druids were the judges mysterious by being unknown to all but themselves; and and arbiters of all differences and disputes, both public having no books to recur to, they were the more careful and private; they took cognizance of murders, inherito fix these doctrines in their memory. tances, boundaries, and limits, and decreed rewards and They worshipped the Supreme Being under the name punishments. Such as disobeyed their decisions they exof Esus or Hesus, and the symbol of the oak; and had no communicated, which was their principal punishment; the other temple than a wood or a grove, where all their reli- criminal being thereby excluded from all public assemblies, gious rites were performed. Nor was any person admitted and avoided by all the world, so that nobody durst speak to enter that sacred recess, unless he carried with him a to him, for fear of being polluted.1 Strabo observes they chain, in token of his absolute dependence on the Deity. had sometimes interest and authority enough to stop arIndeed their whole religion originally consisted in ac- mies upon the point of engaging, and accommodate their knowledging that the Supreme Being, who made his abode differences. in these sacred groves, governed the universe, and that It has been disputed whether the druids were them-Thei)'■ every creature ought to obey his laws and pay him divine selves the inventors of their opinions and systems of reli-n'°n9 homage. gion and philosophy, or received them from others. SomeP^0: ■' They considered the oak as the emblem, or rather the have imagined that the colony of Phocians which left peculiar residence, of the Almighty; and accordingly chap- Greece and built Marseilles in Gaul about the 57th olymlets of it were worn both by the druids and the people in piad, imported the first principles of learning and philosotheir religious ceremonies, whilst the altars were strew- phy, and communicated them to the Gauls and other naed with its leaves and encircled with its branches. The tions in the west of Europe. It appears indeed that this fruit of it, especially the misletoe, was thought to contain famous colony contributed not a little to the improvement a divine virtue, and to be the peculiar gift of heaven. It of that part of Gaul where it settled, and to the civilizawas therefore sought for on the sixth day of the moon tion of its inhabitants. “ The Greek colony of Marseilles,” 1 The aqua: et ignis interdictio of the Roman law was probably borrowed from and founded on the druidical excommunication, just as the “ letters of intercommuning” in the reigns of Charles II. and James II. were a reproduction of the Roman penalty.

4

DRUIDS. 205 losophers of many different and very distant nations, was Druids, say Justin, “civilized the Gauls, and taught them to live S D^ids. under laws; to build cities, and enclose them with walls; probably neither the result of rational inquiry in all these % to raise corn; to cultivate the vine and olive; and, in a nations, nor communicated from one of them to others, word, made so great a change both in the face of the but descended to them all from their common ancestors country and the manners of its inhabitants, that Gaul of the family of Noah by tradition, though corrupted and seemed to be translated into Greece, rather than a few misunderstood through length of time. The agreement Greeks transplanted into Gaul.” But though we may al- of the druids with the philosophers of so many other nalow that the druids of Gaul and Britain borrowed some tions in this opinion about the alternate dissolution and hints and embellishments of their philosophy from this renovation of the world, gives us reason to believe that Greek colony, and perhaps from other quarters, there is they agreed with them also in their opinion of its origin some reason to believe that the substance of it was their from two distinct principles : the one intelligent and omown. Others have suggested that the druids derived their nipotent, which was God; the other inanimate and inacphilosophy from Pythagoras, who published his doctrines at tive, which was matter. We are told by Caesar that they Crotona in Italy, where he lived above twenty years, in the had many disquisitions about the power of God; and, no highest reputation for his virtue, wisdom, and learning. doubt, amongst other particulars, about his creative power. This conjecture seems to be confirmed by the remarkable But whether they believed with some that matter was expression of Ammianus Marcellinus, “ That the druids eternal, or with others that it was created, and in what were formed into fraternities, as the authority of Pytha- manner they endeavoured to account for the disposition goras decreed.” It has also been observed, that the phi- of it into the present form of the universe, we are entirely losophy of the druids bore a much greater resemblance to ignorant, though they certainly had their speculations on that of Pythagoras than to that of any of the other sages these subjects. We are only informed that they did not of antiquity. But it seems probable that Ammianus express their sentiments on these and similar heads in a meant no more by the above expression than to illustrate plain and natural, but in a dark, figurative, and enigmatical the nature of the druidical fraternities, by comparing them manner. This might incline us to suspect that Pythagoras to those of the Pythagoreans, which were well known to had borrowed from them his doctrines about numbers, to the Romans; and the resemblance between the Pythago- the mystical energy of which he ascribes the formation rean and druidical philosophy may perhaps be best ac- of all things; for nothing can be more dark and enigmacounted for, by supposing that Pythagoras learned and tical than that doctrine. The druids disputed likewise adopted some of the opinions of the druids, as well as im- about the magnitude and form of the world in general, and parted to them some of his discoveries, or that both were of the earth in particular, of which things they pretended derived from a common source. It is well known that this to have a perfect knowledge. We know not what their philosopher, animated by the most ardent love of know- opinions were about the dimensions of the universe or of ledge, travelled into many countries in pursuit of it, and the earth, but there is reason to think that they believed got himself admitted into every society that was famous both to be of a spherical form. This is visibly the shape for its learning. It is therefore highly probable in itself, and form of the sun, moon, and stars, the most conspicuas well as directly asserted by several authors, that Py- ous parts of the universe; and hence it was natural and thagoras heard the druids of Gaul, and was initiated into easy to infer that such was also the form of the world their philosophy. and of the earth. Accordingly this seems to have been Lcning From the concurring testimonies of several authors, it the opinion of the philosophers of all nations; and the of|je appears that physiology or natural philosophy was the fa- circle was the favourite figure of the druids, as appears dr Is. vourite study of the druids of Gaul and Britain. Cicero from the form both of their houses and places of worship. tells us that he was personally acquainted with one of the Besides these general speculations about the origin, disGaulish druids, Divitiacus the iEduan, a man of quality in solution, magnitude, and form of the world and of the his own country, who professed to have a thorough know- earth, the druids engaged in particular inquiries into the ledge of the laws of nature, or of that science which the natures and properties of the different kinds of substances. PH lies. Greeks called physics or physiology. According to Dio- But all their discoveries in this most useful and extensive dorus Siculus, Strabo, Caesar, Mela, Ammianus Marcelli- branch of natural philosophy, whatever they were, have nus, and others, they entered into many disquisitions and been entirely lost. Astronomy also appears to have been one of the chief Astronomy, disputations in their schools, concerning the form and magnitude of the universe in general, and of this earth in par- studies of the druids of Gaul and Britain. “ The druids,” ticular, and even concerning the most sublime and hidden says Caesar, “ have many disquisitions concerning the secrets of nature. On these and similar subjects they heavenly bodies and their motions, in which they instruct formed a variety of systems and hypotheses, which they their disciples.” Mela, speaking of the same philosophers, delivered to their disciples in verse, that the latter might observes, “ that they profess to have great knowledge of the more easily retain them in their memories, since they the motions of the heavens and of the stars.” Some knowwere not allowed to commit them to writing. Strabo has ledge of this science indeed was not only necessary for preserved one of the physiological opinions of the druids measuring time in general, marking the duration of the concerning the universe, viz. that itr was never to be en- different seasons, regulating the operations of the husbandtirely destroyed or annihilated, but w as to undergo a suc- man, directing the course of the mariner, and for many cession of great changes and revolutions, which were to other purposes in civil life ; but it was especially necessary be produced sometimes by the power and predominacy of for fixing the times and regular returns of their religious water, and sometimes by that of fire. This opinion, he solemnities, of which the druids had the sole direction. intimates, was not peculiar to them, but was entertained Some of these solemnities were monthly, and others analso by the philosophers of other nations; and Cicero nual. It was therefore necessary for them to know, with speaks of it as a truth universally acknowledged and un- some tolerable degree of exactness, the number of days deniable. “ It is impossible for us,” says he, “ to attain in which the sun and moon performed their revolutions, a glory that is eternal, or even of very long duration, on that th^se solemnities might be observed at their proper account of those deluges and conflagrations of the earth, seasons." This was the more essential, as some of these which must necessarily happen at certain periods.” This solemnities were attended by persons from different and opinion, which was entertained by the most ancient phi- very distant countries, who were all to meet at one place

c -

206 DRUIDS. Druids, on one clay, and who must have had some rule to discover had also a cycle or period of thirty years, which they call- Dr the annual return of that day. ed an age, and which likewise commenced on the sixthsTheir nfe- The most perceptible division of time by means of the day of the moon ; but that author has not acquainted us thod of two great luminaries is into day and night; the former on what principle this cycle was formed, nor to what purcomputing occasioned by the presence of the sun above the horizon, pose it was applied. We can hardly suppose that this was the latter by his absence, which is in some measure sup- the cycle of the sun, which consists of twenty-eight years, plied by the moon and stars. The druids computed their and regulates the dominical letters. It is more probable^ time by nights, and not by days; a custom which they that whilst the druids made use of the year of twelve luhad received by tradition from their most remote ancestors, nar months, and had not invented a method of adjusting and in which they were confirmed by measuring their time it to the real revolution of the sun, they observed that the very much by the motions of the moon, the mistress and the beginning of this year had passed through all the seasons, queen of night. As the changes in the aspect of that lumi- and returned to the point whence it set out, in a course naryare most conspicuous, they engaged theattention of the of about thirty-thx-ee years; which they might therefore most ancient astronomers of all countries, and particularly denominate an age. Others may perhaps be of opinion of the druids, who regulated all their great solemnities, both that this thirty years cycle of the druids is the same with sacred and civil, by the age and aspect of the moon. “When the great year of the Pythagoreans, or a revolution of Sana unexpected accident prevents it, they assemble upon turn. Some have imagined that the druids w#ere also acstated days, either at the time of the new or full moon ; quainted with the cycle of nineteen years, which is comfor they believe these to be the most auspicious times for monly called the cycle of the moon. But the evidence of transacting all affairs of importance." Their most august this depends entirely on the truth of that supposition, that ceremony, that of cutting the misletoe from the oak by the the Hyperborean island, which is described by Diodorus archdruid, was always performed on the sixth day of the Siculus, was Britain, or some of the British isles. Amongst moon. Nay, they even regulated their military operations many surprising things, that author states, concerning by this luminary, and avoided, as much as possible, to en- the Hyperborean island, that “ its inhabitants believed gage in battle whilst the moon was on the wane. As the that Apollo descended into their island at the end of every attention of the druids was so much fixed on this planet, nineteen years ; in which period of time the sun and moon, it could not be very long before they discovered that she having performed their various revolutions, return to the passed through all her various aspects in about thirty days ; same point, and begin to repeat the same revolutions. This and by more accurate observations, they would gradually is called by the Greeks the great year, or the cycle of find, that the real time of her performing an entire revo- Melon.’’ lution was very nearly twenty-nine and a half days. This We are told both by Caesar and Mela, that the druids Thei would furnish them with the division of their time into studied the stars as well as the sun and moon; and thatkno«i;e months, or revolutions of the moon ; of which we know they professed to know, and taught their disciples, many°^1£ fswith certainty they were possessed. But this period, things concerning the motions of these heavenly bodies, though of great use, was evidently too short for many From these testimonies we may conclude that the druids purposes, and particularly for measuring the seasons ; were acquainted with the planets, distinguished them from which, they could not fail to perceive, depended on the the fixed stars, and carefully observed their motions and influences of the sun. By continued observation theydis- revolutions. If this discovery was the result of their own covered that about twelve revolutions of the moon in- observations, it would be gradual, and it would be a long eluded all the variety of seasons, which began again and time before they found out all the planets. They might revolved every twelve months. This suggested to them perhaps have received assistance and information from that larger division of time called a year, consisting of Pythagoras, or from some other quarter. But whether twelve lunations or three hundred and fifty-four days, this discovery of the planets was their own, or communiwhich was the most ancient measure of the year in al- cated to them by others, it is highly probable that they most all nations. That this was for some time at least were acquainted with the precise number of these wanderthe length of the druidical year, is both probable in it- ing stars. Dio Cassius says, that the custom of giving self, and apparent from the expression of Pliny, that the name of one of the planets to each of the seven days “ they began both their months and years, not from the of the w^eek was an invention of the Egyptians, and from change, but from the sixth day of the moon;” which is them was gradually communicated to all the other nations a demonstration that their years consisted of a certain of the world ; and that in his time this custom was so firmnumber of lunar revolutions, as they always commen- ly established, not only among the Romans, but among all ced on the same day of the moon. But as this year of the rest of mankind, that in every country it appeared to twelve lunar months falls eleven days and nearly one be a native institution. The knowledge of the planets, fourth of a day short of a real revolution of the sun, this and perhaps the custom of giving their names to the days error would soon be perceived, and call for reformation ; of the week, was brought out of Egypt into Italy by Pythathough we are not informed of the particular manner in goras, more than five hundred years before the beginning which it was rectified. Various arguments might be col- of the Christian era ; and from thence it could not be very lected to render it very probable that the Britons were long before it reached Gaul and Britain. But though we acquainted with a year exact enough for every purpose of have little or no reason to doubt that the druids knew the life when they were first invaded by the Romans ; but it number and observed the motion of the planets, yet it may will be sufficient to mention one, which is taken from the be questioned whether they had discovered the times in time and circumstances of that invasion. The learned which these bodies performed their several revolutions. Dr Halley has demonstrated that Caesar arrived in Bri- Some of the planets, as Jupiter and Saturn, take so great tain, in his first year’s expedition, on the 26th day of Au- a number of years in revolving, that it required a very exgust; andr Caesar himself informs us, that at his arrival the traordinary degree of patience and attention to discover harvest w as finished, except in one field, which by some the precise periods of their revolutions. If we could be means or other was more backward than the rest of the certain that the island in which the ancients imagined Sacountry. This is a proof that the British husbandmen turn lay asleep was one of the British isles, as Plutarch knew and used the most proper seasons for ploughing, intimates it was, we might be inclined to think that the sowing, and reaping. The druids, as we are told by Pliny, British druids were not ignorant of the length of the period

207 D R U IDS. LLis in which the planet Saturn performs a revolution ; for that cording their calculations. In particular, it is believed Druids, r^J same author, in another treatise, tells us, that “ the in- that they made use of the letters of the Greek alphabet habitants of that island kept every thirtieth year a solemn for both these purposes. This seems to be pretty distinctfestival in honour of Saturn, when his star entered into ly intimated by Caesar, who, in speaking of the druids of the sign of Taurus.” If we could depend upon this testi- Gaul, observes, that “ in almost all other public transacmony, we should have one positive proof that the druids tions and private accounts or computations, they make of the British isles were acquainted with the constella- use of the Gi'eek letters.” And this is further confirmtions, and even with the signs of the zodiac; and that ed by what he says of the Helvetii, a people of the same they'measured the revolutions of the sun and planets, origin, language, and manners, with the Gauls and Briby observing the length of time between their departure tons. “ Tables were found in the camp of the Helvetii from and return to one of these signs. But history sup- written in Greek letters, containing an account of all plies no direct evidence that this was really the case. The the men capable of bearing arms who had left their nadruids of Gaul and Britain, indeed, as well as the ancient tive country, and also separate accounts of the boys, old philosophers of other countries, had a general plan or sys- men, and women.” There is historical evidence of the tem of the universe, and of the disposition and arrange- druids being also well acquainted with geometry. “ When ment of its various parts, in which they instructed their any disputes arise,” says Caesar, “ about their inheritances, disciples. This is both probable in itself, and is plainly or any controversies about the limits of their fields, they intimated by several authors of the greatest authority. are entirely referred to the decision of their druids.” But But we cannot be certain whether this druidical system besides the knowledge of mensuration which this implies, of the world was of their own invention, or was borrow- both Caesar and Mela plainly intimate that the druids were ed from others. If it was borrowed, it was most probably conversant in the most sublime speculations of geometry ; from the Pythagoreans, to whom they were the nearest “ in measuring the magnitude of the earth, and even of neighbours, and with whom they had the greatest inter- the world.” There are still many monuments remaining in Britain Skill in course; or at all events from some oriental sect, order, or caste, of which many are of opinion that they originally and the adjacent isles, which cannot so reasonably be mechanics, ascribed to any race as to that of the ancient Britons, and sprung. It has been imagined that the druids had instruments which lead us to think that they had made great progress of some kind or other, which answered the same purposes in this department of knowledge, and could apply the meas our telescopes, in making observations on the heaven- chanical powers so as to produce very astonishing effects. ly bodies. The only foundation of this very improbable As these monuments appear to have been designed for reliconjecture is an expression of Diodorus Siculus, in his de- gious purposes, we may be certain that they were erected scription of the famous Hyperborean island. “ They say under the direction of the druids. Many obelisks or pilfurther, that the moon is seen from that island, as if she lars, of one rough unpolished stone each, are still to be seen were but at a little distance from the earth, and having hills in Britain and its isles. Some of these pillars are both or mountains like ours on the surface.” But no such in- very thick and lofty, erected on the summits of barrows ference can be reasonably drawn from this expression, and of mountains ; and some of them, as at Stonehenge, which in reality merits little more regard than that which, have ponderous blocks of stone raised aloft, and resting on according to Strabo, was said of some of the inhabitants of the tops of the upright pillars. We can hardly suppose Spain, that “ they heard the hissing noise of the sun every that it was possible to cut these prodigious masses of stone, some of them above forty tons in weight, without evening when he fell into the western ocean.” The application of the druids to the study of philosophy wedges, or to raise them out of the quarry without levers. and astronomy amounts almost to a demonstration that But it certainly required still greater knowledge of the they applied also to the study of arithmetic and geometry; mechanical powers, and of the method of applying them, for some knowledge of both these sciences is indispen- to transport those huge stones from the quarry to the sably necessary to the natural philosopher and astronomer, places of their destination; to erect the perpendicular as well as of great and daily use in the common affairs of pillars, and to elevate the imposts to the tops of these life. If we were certain that Abaris, the famous Hyper- pillars. If the prodigious stone in the parish of Constanborean philosopher, the friend and scholar of Pythagoras, tine, Cornwall, was really removed by art from its original was really a British druid, as some have imagined, we place, and fixed where it now stands, it is a demonstrashould be able to produce direct historical evidence of tion that the druids could perform the most astonishing their arithmetical knowledge. For lamblicus, in the life feats by their skill in mechanics. That the British druids of Pythagoras, says, that “ he taught Abaris to find out were acquainted with the principles and use of the balance, all truth by the science of arithmetic.” It may be thought we have reason to believe, not only from the great antiimprobable that the druids had made any considerable pro- quity of that discovery in other parts of the world, but gress in arithmetic, as this may seem to have been impos- also from some druidical monuments which are still resible by the mere strength of memory, without the assist- maining in this island. These monuments are called loance of figures and of written rules. But it is very difficult gan stones, or rocking stones, and each ot them consists to ascertain what may be done by memory alone, when it of one prodigious block of stone, resting upon an upright has been long exercised in this way. We have had ex- stone or rock, and so equally balanced, that a very small amples of persons who could perform some of the most force, sometimes even that of a child, can move it up and tedious and difficult operations in arithmetic by the mere down, though hardly any force is sufficient to remove it strength of memory. The want of written rules could be from its station. Some of these stones may have fallen no great disadvantage to the druids, as the precepts of into this position by accident, but others ot them evidentthis, as well as of the other sciences, were couched in ly appear to have been placed in it by art. That the anverse, which would be easily got by heart and long re- cient Britons understood the construction and use of membered. Though the druids were unacquainted with wheels, the great number of their war-chariots and other the Arabic numeral characters, which are now in use, we wheel carriages is a sufficient proof; and that theyjknew have no reason to suppose that they were destitute of how to combine them together and with the other mechamarks or characters of another kind, which, in some mea- nical powers, so as to form machines capable of raising sure, answered the same purposes, both in making and re- and transporting very heavy weights, we have good rea-

208 DRUIDS. Druids, son to believe. In a word, if the British druids were offer a sacrifice of bread and wine before he proceeded to d, wholly ignorant of the principles and the use of any of the cut it, which he was to do with his right hand covered mechanical powers, it was most probably of the screw, with the skirt of his garment, and with a hook of some more precious metal than iron. When it was cut, it was though even of this we cannot be certain. Medicine. In Germany and in the northern nations of Europe the to be received and kept in a new and very clean cloth. healing art was chiefly committed to the old women of Gathered exactly according to this whimsical ritual, it every state; but in Gaul and Britain it was entrusted to was affirmed to be not only an excellent medicine, but the druids, who were the physicians as well as the priests also a powerful charm and preservative against misforof these countries. Pliny saj^s expressly, that “ Tiberius tunes and unhappy accidents of all kinds. The druids Caesar destroyed the druids of the Gauls, who were the also entertained a high opinion of the herb samolus or poets and physicians of that nationand he might have mashwort, from its sanative qualities, and gave directions added, of the Britons. The people of Gaul and Britain for gathering it, not less fanciful than those which have were probably induced to devolve the care of their health already been mentioned. The person who was to perform on the druids, and to apply to these priests for the cure that office was to do it fasting, and with his left hand; he of their diseases, not only by the high esteem they had was on no account to look behind him, nor to turn his face of their wisdom and learning, but also by the opinion from the herbs he was gathering. It would be tedious to which they entertained, that a very intimate connection relate the extravagant notions they entertained of the subsisted between the arts of healing and the rites of re- many virtues of the vervain, and to recount the ridiculous ligion, and that the former were most effectual when they mummeries which they practised in gathering and prewere accompanied by the latter. It appears indeed to paring it, both for the purposes of divination and physic. have been the prevailing opinion of the nations of an- It is easy to see that Pliny’s information was very impertiquity, that all internal diseases proceeded immediately fect ; and that, like many of the other Greek and Roman from the anger of the gods ; and that the only way of ob- writers, he designedly represented the philosophers of taining relief from these diseases was by applying to the Gaul and Britain in an unfavourable light. The herb callpriests to appease their anger by religious rites and sacri- ed Britannica by the ancients, which some think was the fices. This was evidently the opinion and practice of the great water-dock, and others the cochlearia or scurvy-grass, Gauls and Britons, who in some dangerous cases sacri- was probably much used in this island for medicinal purficed one man as the most effectual means of curing ano- poses, as it derived its name from Britain, and was thence ther. “ They are much addicted,” says Cassar, “ to su- exported to Rome and other parts. Though these few perstition, and hence those who are afflicted with a dan- imperfect hints are all that we can now collect of the gerous disease sacrifice a man, or promise that they will botany of the British druids, yet there is some reason to sacrifice one, for their recovery. For this purpose they think that they were not contemptible botanists. Their make use of the ministry of the druids, because the latter circumstances were peculiarly favourable for the acquisihave declared that the anger of the immortal gods can- tion of this kind of knowledge. For as they spent most not be appeased, so as to spare the life of one man, but by of their time in the recesses of mountains, groves, and the life of another.” This way of thinking also gave rise wmods, the spontaneous vegetable productions of the earth to that great number of magical rites and incantations constantly presented themselves to their view, and courtwith which the medical practices of the druids, and in- ed their attention. deed of all the physicians of antiquity, were attended. The opinions which, it is said, the druids of Gaul and “ Nobody doubts,” says Pliny, “ that magic derived its Britain entertained of the anguinum or serpent’s egg, both origin from medicine, and that, by its flattering but delu- as a charm and as a medicine, are romantic and extravasive promises, it came to be esteemed the most sublime gant in a very high degree. This extraordinary egg was and sacred part of the art of healing.” formed, as they pretended, by a great number of serpents, Botany. That the druids made great use of herbs for medicinal interwoven and twined together; and when itK had been purposes, there is sufficient evidence. They not only had formed, it was raised up in the air by the hissing of these a most superstitious veneration for the misletoe of the oak, serpents, and was then to be caught in a clean white cloth on a religious account, but they also entertained a very before it fell to the ground. The person who caught it was high opinion of its medicinal virtues, and esteemed it as a obliged to mount a swift horse, and to ride away at full kind of panacea, or remedy for all diseases. “ They call speed to escape from the serpents, who pursued him with it,” says Pliny, “ by a name which in their language sig- great rage, until they were stopped by some river. The nifies All-heal, because they have an opinion that it cures way of making trial of the genuineness of the egg was no all diseases.” They believed it to be in particular a specific less extraordinary. It was to be encased in gold, and against barrenness, and a sovereign antidote against the thrown into a river, and if it was genuine it would swim fatal effects of poisons of all kinds. It was also esteemed against the stream. “I have seen,” says Pliny, “that egg; an excellent emollient and discutient for softening and it is about the bigness of a moderate apple, its shell is a discussing hard tumours, and good for drying up scrofu- cartilaginous incrustation, full of little cavities, such as are lous sores, and curing ulcers and wounds; and, provided on the legs of the polypus; it is the insignia or badge of it was not suffered t from the timbers and planking. iri PrJ n H are arrived at the right conclusion as to the cause of;: ;r 1 > of dry rot in timber, we can be at no loss with regard to

ROT. 229 the mode of treatment for the prevention of the disease. Dry Hot. The experiments for this purpose have been very numerous, but may be classed under three general heads; desiccation or seasoning ; immersion in earth, sand, or water; and impregnation with some foreign matter, which wall resist putrefaction. The most simple and common mode of preventing the by desiccadecomposition of vegetable matter, is by depriving it of^0” or sea* moisture. Various schemes have been put in practice for sonin8‘ drying the juices in large logs of timber. Time alone will do it when the wood is placed in favourable situations, that is to say, in a dry atmosphere, and constantly exposed to a free circulation of air ; but time will also produce the rot in timber when piled up in stacks in the open air, imbibing moisture from the earth, and exposed to the vicissitudes of the seasons, and the alternatives of weather ; scorched at one time by the heat of the sun, at another drenched with rain, and rent and split in every possible way by the freezing of the water which has insinuated itself into the pores and crevices of the wood. It was formerly, and, indeed, till very lately, the practice to let ships of war remain on the stocks in frame for two, three, or four years, to season, as it was called; but there never was so mistaken a notion. “ When a ship,” says Mr Wade, “ is built, exposed to the weather, the lower part forms a grand reservoir for all the rain that falls; and as the timbers in that part are placed as close together as possible, the wet escapes very slowly. Those timbers are always soakqd with moisture, and, to some distance from the keel, exhibit a green appearance ; their green matter, when viewed through a microscope, is found to be a beautiful and completely formed moss, which vegetates at the expense of the timber. If to season timber be only to dry it, the sooner it is dried the better ; and when completely dry, it cannot too soon be employed in ship-building, when it should be kept dry. It cannot answer any end to have seven years wear out of a ship on the stocks.” At length our ship-wrights are convinced of this truth, and every ship of war now building in the dock-yards has excellent roofs placed over them, with the sides open to admit a free current of air, but to exclude all moisture, as well as the rays of the sun (See Dock-Yards) ; a practice which we have tardily adopted from the Swedes and the Venetians. A new system seems also to have been adopted on the piling the timber stacks. Instead of their being placed on old, useless, and often rotten logs of timber resting on the ground, they are now insulated from the earth on stone or iron pillars; and in place of their surfaces coming in contact with each other, pieces of wood are placed between them so as to admit of a circulation of air. Nothing further appears to be wanting but to protect the tops and the ends of the stocks or piles from the effects of the weather. Of the various modes of artificial and rapid desiccation, that of charring is perhaps the best; but it is liable to two objections, the first is, that if the surface be completely charred, it diminishes very much the strength of the timber; and, secondly, it the more readily attracts moisture. The juices of timber may be drawn off or hardened by kiln-drying; but this also disturbs the arrangement of the fibres, and deprives the wood of a great part of its strength. The experiments made by Mr Lukin for the rapid sea- Mr Lusoning of green oak timber, promised at one time much kin’s expesuccess, but ended in disappointment. He conceived, Hments for that if the acid and the watery particles were driven out of a piece of oak timber by some process which should prevent the surface from splitting, the fibres would be brought closer into contact, and whilst the log lost in weight it would gain in strength. With this view he

230 DRY ROT. Dry Rot. buried a piece of wood in pulverized charcoal in a heated barking time, except for building or repairing his majes- p. v ,, rv - 'V'w' oven. The log wore a promising appearance; the surface ty’s houses or ships. s - | *• was close and compact; it had lost in its weight and diThe old Sovereign of the Seas is the standing example mensions ; but when divided with the saw, the fibres were generally quoted to prove the beneficial effects of winterdiscovered to have started from each other, exhibiting a felled timber. We are informed by one writer that, when piece of fine net-work, resembling the inner bark of a tree. taken in pieces, after forty-seven years’ service, the old His next contrivance was to supply the place of the timber was still so hard that it was no easy matter to fluids driven out by heat, with some other substance of an drive a nail into it, and all future writers have taken it oily or resinous nature, which, while it destroyed the for granted that this was owing to its being winter-felled. principle of vegetation, should preserve the timber in a Mr Pett, however, who built her, takes no notice of any compact state. For this purpose he erected a large kiln such circumstance. He merely says he was commanded in Woolwich dock-yard, capable of containing from two to by the king, on the 14th May 1635, to hasten into the three hundred loads of timber. At each end, on the out- north to procure the frame-timbers, plank, and trenails side, was a retort in which the saw-dust of the pitch-pine for the great new ship at W'oolwich. But he left his son was submitted to distillation. From the heads of these behind to ship the moulds, provisions, and workmen, in a retorts were iron pipes, perforated with holes like a cylin- hired ship, to transport them to Newcastle; that the frame, der, continued along the upper part of the kiln the whole as it was got ready, was sent in colliers from Newcastle length in the inside. By this arrangement it was expect- and Sunderland; and that, on the 21st December, in the ed, that while the heat of the kiln drove off the aqueous same year, the keel was laid in the dock; and in less than matter of the timber, the product of the saw-dust, which two years after this she was launched. Now, as it was resembled weak oil, or rather spirit of turpentine, would the middle of May before Mr Pett received his majesty’s drop through the holes in the tubes upon the logs, and commands tq procure timber for this ship, and as she was supply its place. But before the process of transfusion on the stocks the same year, it is not very probable that was judged to be complete, an explosion took place, which the timber procured and sent in colliers from Newcastle proved fatal to six of the workmen, and wounded fourteen, to Woolwich was felled in the winter ; much less could it two of whom shortly afterwards died. The explosion was have been “ stripped of its bark in the spring, and felled like the shock of an earthquake ; it demolished the wall of the second succeeding autumn,” as Mr Wade has it. the dock-yard, part of which was thrown to the distance Neither is there the least proof of the old Royal Wilof 250 feet; an iron door, weighing 280 pounds, was driven liam, recently broken up, when a century old, being built to the distance of 230 feet, and other parts of the building of winter-felled timber. The fact is, that she was rebuilt were borne in the air upwards of 300 feet. The experi- half a dozen times, and the only old and original timber ment was not repeated. remaining in her was in the lowest part of her hull, always The bad effects of applying artificial heat to the season- immersed in the salt water externally, and washed with ing of green timber were strongly exemplified by a prac- the bilge-water internally; and the wood from this part of tice introduced very generally into our ships of war which her, when broken up, was perfectly sound, but quite black, had exhibited indications of the dry rot, particularly in having the appearance of being charred. the Queen Charlotte. Enormous fires were made in stoves As far as experiments have been made, there is no reaplaced in various parts of the ship, and the heat led in son to conclude that timber felled in the winter is at all tubes to the cavities between the timbers, &e. The con- more durable than that which is felled at the usual time. sequence of which was, as might be expected, an increase In the year 1793, the Hawke sloop of war was ordered to of the mischief they were intended to prevent. Every be built, one side being of timber that had been barked in part of the ship was converted into a hot-house, and every the spring and felled in the winter, and the other side part where the seeds of fungi had been deposited began with timber felled at the usual time. In 1803 she was reto throw out a luxuriant crop of mushrooms; and where ported to be in so bad a state of rottenness, that she was orthese did not appear, the juices of the wood were thrown dered to be taken in pieces, when no difference whatever into a state of fermentation, and, in the course of a twelve- could be discovered in the state of the timbers of the two month, a great part of her upperworks became a mass of sides. It is said, however, in Derrak’s Memoirs of the rottenness. After staving the powder magazines of some Navy, “ that the timber had been stripped in the spring of the ships, there appeared under their floors, which are of 1787, and not felled until the autumn 1790,” and this contiguous to much moisture, numbers of large excres- is given as an explanation of the failure. Why the barkcences of a leathery consistence, of the size and shape of ing in the spring should add to the durability of timber, a quart glass-decanter; and in all such parts where two is not easily conceived, if the object be to fell the timber surfaces of the wood were imperfectly brought into con- when all the sap-vessels are empty, as, if the sap descends tact, were whole masses of fungi, at all, which is doubtful, it might be expected to deinterAnother mode, of very ancient standing, was practised scend more freely when the bark is on than off the tree. felled tim- for getting rid of the juices of timber. This was supposed The experiments which, we understand, are now making to be effected by felling the tree in the winter season, by the commissioners of his majesty’s woods and forests, when the sap had descended and the vessels were empty. will, it is to be hoped, throw more light on a subject so But by this practice the bark of the oak, so valuable in vitally important to the British navy. In France, so long the process of tanning, was lost, as it will strip only from ago as 1669, a royal ordonnance limited the felling of timthe wood in the spring of the year, when the sap is said ber from the 1st October to the 15th April; and the conto be rising. The supposed superior quality of the wood servators of the forests directed that the trees should be when winter-felled, and the general practice of felling oak felled when the “ wind was at north,” and “ in the wane timber at that season, may be inferred from a statute of of the moonand we find an instruction of Bonaparte, James I. by which it is enacted, that no person or persons that “ as ships built of timber felled at the moment of shall fell, or cause to be felled, any oaken trees meet to vegetation must be liable to rapid decay, and require imbe barked, when bark is worth 2s. a cart-load (timber for mediate repairs, from the effect of the fermentation of the the needful building and reparation of houses, ships, or sap in those pieces which had not been felled at the promills, only excepted), but between the first day of April per season the agents of the forests should abridge the and last day of June, not even for the king’s use, out of time for felling naval timber, which should take place “ in

DRY ROT. 231 I T)r;[i0t, the decrease of the moon, from the 1st November to the obliged to be boiled in water or steam in order to bend Dry Rot. them, are never infected with the dry rot: if the water in 15th March.” . n The facts are so numerous and so strong in favour of which they are boiled be strongly impregnated with salt, the durability of timber when steeped in water or buried the effects would probably be more durable and decisive. In a lecture read by Mr Ogg, a salt refiner, to the PlyKm'or in earth or sand, that no doubt whatever can be enter'wat' tained of the efficacy of such a practice. At Brest all the mouth Institution, on the prevention and cure of dry rot timber used in ship-building is deposited in the narrow in ships of war, common salt is strongly recommended, creek of the harbour which runs through the middle of for its cheapness, its wholesomeness, and its easy applicathe dock-yard, and it is said that the Brest built ships tion ; but he proposes a saturated solution of salt, in which never had the dry rot. The same practice prevailed at he would steep not only single logs or planks, but the Cadiz and Carthagena. Indeed there is reason to think whole frame of a ship, or even the ship itself. “ Let that steeping in fresh water is a preventive of dry rot, pro- every ship in the navy,” says the salt refiner, “ be immersbably by dissolving the juices of the timber. It was an ed a sufficient time in this fluid, and let every new ship ancient practice, and we believe is still followed in some be prepared in the same way, and dry rot would be heard parts of England, to place the timber intended for thrash- of no more. But how is this to be accomplished ? I aning-floors in the midst of a stream of water, to harden it; swer, provide a dock or docks sufficiently capacious to reand all the oak plants intended for the wainscotting of ceive five, ten, or twenty ships, and the work is done.” the old mansions were previously steeped in running wa- As common sea-water will answer the purpose equally ter. well, the apparatus of extensive docks and water saturat“ I know it,” says Mr Chapman, “ to be the opinion of ed with salt are wholly unnecessary. But Mr Ogg, like some well-informed men, whose sentiments are highly de- Mr Bowden, appears to mistake the real cause of dry rot. serving of notice, that the sap of trees does not descend, “ I affirm,” says he, “ that dry rot is occasioned by the but, like the arterial blood, is prevented by valves from vegetative principle; brine will destroy this principle; returning; as a proof of which, it is asserted, that fresh- then sink the ship in brine.” The experiments in the cut timber, if laid in a running stream, with the but-end case of the Resistance and the Eden show that brine is not towards the current, will have the water percolating necessary. through it, and carrying off the mucilaginous matter, but The Dutch having observed that their busses, in which not otherwise.” “ There can be no doubt,” he adds, “ that the herrings were caught and stowed away in pickle, lastthe effect will be produced sooner in this direction than ed longer than any other craft, adopted the practice of the other, and it should therefore be attended to.” The filling up the vacancies between the timbers and planks reason is obvious; the extractive matter, which is the chief, of ships with salt, and of boring holes in the large timbers though not the only, cause of putrefaction, is dissolved and cramming them full of salt. The Americans also and driven off. The usual mode of preserving timber for found, that the ships employed in carrying out salt for masts, is to keep it immersed in water in what are called their fisheries and domestic purposes were the most duramast-locks. The mast of the Kangaroo sloop of war was ble ; and both they and the Dutch are glad to get a cargo dug out of the mud at the bottom of the mast-pond, at of salt into a new ship, as the surest means of preserving Deptford dock-yard, where it had been fifty years, and her. The carpenter of the Franklin, an American sevenwas one of the most serviceable masts in the navy. Bury- ty-four gun ship, when at Spithead, told some of her visiing timber in sand is a usual process for preserving it in tors, that at the junction of the beams, and at the butwarm climates. Yet, with all these facts and long expe- ends of the timbers, pieces were cut, and the hollow part rience, it was but the other day that the steeping of tim- filled with salt, and covered over with felt, for the purber in salt water was practised in the king’s dock-yards, pose of preserving those parts where two surfaces are imand this originated in an accident. The Resistance frigate perfectly brought together, from the dry rot, where it is went down in Malta harbour. But as she had been re- always most prevalent. ported in such a state of dry rot, or rather the surface of There are, however, very serious objections to the imher timbers so covered with fungus, as to render it expe- mersion of ships in a strong solution of salt, and the pracdient to send her home, she was suffered to continue un- tice of inserting salt in the vacant space between the timder water for many months. On her arrival in England bers, which may not, perhaps, apply with equal force to it was observed that all appearance of fungus had vanish- their immersion in sea-water. It is observed by a writer ed, and she remains a sound ship to this day. Yet even in the Quarterly Review for October 1814, that “ the atthis fact does not seem to have attracted much attention. traction for moisture which salts and acids possess, would But when the dock-yard was removed from the northern keep the whole interior of the ship dripping wet; which to the southern side of Milford-haven, a few loads of tim- would not only destroy the ship with the wet rot, but the ber that was covered with fungus were suffered to remain ship's company also, whose health, experience has proved, in the water for several months; and it was observed that, is best preserved by keeping the ship as dry as possible; after being taken out and stacked in the new yard, the and thus the remedy would be worse than the disease.” timber did not exhibit those appearances of dry rot which These bad effects have unquestionably been experienced, the same timber did most abundantly which had not been the muriate of magnesia, which exists in sea-water, being immersed in the salt water. This fact being reported to one of the most deliquescent salts; but whether the abthe navy board, it was proposed to sink one of two sister straction of moisture from the atmosphere be of long duships, the Mersey and the Eden, both alike infected with ration, is a fact which remains to be proved. In corrothe dry rot, in Plymouth Sound. The Eden was the ship boration of the injurious effects above described, Mr selected for this purpose. She remained under water for Strange, in his Evidences, observes, “ that the practice at about eighteen months, and, on being raised, every trace Venice of the fresh cut timber being thrown into saltwaof fungus had totally disappeared, whilst the Mersey was ter prevents its ever becoming dry in the ships, and that almost wholly covered with it. After remaining a year the salt water rusted and corroded the iron bolts.” Mr at home perfectly sound, she was sent out to the East Chapman also observes that “ the Florida, a twenty gun Indies, where she now is. ship, taken from the Americans, and subsequently comIt is said, and there seems to be no reason for doubting missioned in the British service, had been salt-seasoned; t ie fact, that the planks of ships near the bows, which are and the result was, that in damp weather every thing bc-

232 DRY Dry Rot. came moist, the iron work was rusted, and the health of the crew was impaired; in fine,” he adds, “ vessels so circumstanced are perfect hygrometers; being as sensible to changes of the moisture in the atmosphere as lumps of rock salt, or slips of fuci, or the plaster of inside walls where sea-sand has been used.” Mr Chapman, however, is of opinion, that vessels impregnated with bay-salt, or the large grained salt of Limington or of Liverpool (being pure muriate of soda, without admixture with the bitter deliquescent salts), will possess decided advantages, as would also vessels laden with saltpetre, if it has been dispersed among their timbers; and Mr Ogg sees no difficulty in refining salts so as to deprive it ol its deliquescent quality. But if a very weak solution of salt, or even fresh water, shall be found to answer the purpose, the objection against immersing timber in sea-water seems to be got rid of. That it will immediately destroy all vegetable life in the delicate fibres of the fungus, and also prevent its future growth, is quite clear; and if it shall be found to prevent also the putrefactive process, it may be considered as the most advisable way to prepare timber for all purposes of house carpentry and ship-building. Impregna- A great variety of substances besides common salt, intion of tim. deed almost any salt or acid, will destroy and prevent the berwith fo-gr°wth of fungus. Sir Humphry Davy recommends a stances!'v^ea^ soluti°n of the corrosive sublimate as the most efficient. A solution of sulphate of iron or copperas is much used in Sweden for hardening and preserving wood for wheel-carriages, &c. It is first boiled in this solution for three or four hours, and then kept in a warm place to dry, by which process it is said to become so hard and compact that moisture cannot penetrate it. “ The wooden vessels,” says Mr Chapman, “ in which the sulpho-ferruginous solution is finally placed for the copperas to crystallize, become exceedingly hard, and not subject to decay. A solution of alum has been recommended; but Mr Chapman seems to think that its earthy basis would become a nidus of putrefaction. The wood, however, which is used about alum works, becomes hard and durable, and resists fire in an extraordinary manner. All timber, in fact, when completely saturated with saline matter, is more or less indestructible, and absolutely incombustible. A solution of arsenic has not been found to prevent the dry rot. With regard to the impregnation of oils there are various opinions, some thinking them beneficial and others injurious to the durability of timber. It is known, however, that ships in the Greenland trade have their timbers and planks preserved as high up as they are impregnated with whale oil from the blubber; and Mr Chapman says, that one of the masters of a Greenland ship having payed her upperworks with twelve or more successive coats with whale oil in hot weather, they became covered with a thin varnish, much harder and more compact than if filled with successive coats of turpentine. Resinous substances, however, are probably better than oil. After a variety of experiments and sensible observations, Mr Chapman sums up the three great operations by which timber may be brought to resist the tendency to dry rot. 1. To deprive the timber of its mucilage, which is very liable to fermentation. 2. To impregnate timber with any strongly antiseptic and non-deliquescent matter. 3. To dry timber progressively by the sun and wind, or by the latter alone; and then to close its pores completely with any substance impervious to air and moisture, and at the same time highly repellant to putrescency. Mr Wade recommends the impregnation of timber with sulphates of copper, zinc, or iron, rejecting deliquescent salts, as they corrode metals, and would destroy the bolts

ROT. and metal fastenings of a ship. He observes, that timber Dr impregnated with saline matter is no longer capable of w •ot. fermentation, and that, of course, the gases necessary for V the nutriment of fungi are not evolved. Selenite is recommended as being insoluble, or nearly so, and not liable to any alteration in the ordinary temperature of the atmosphere ; but all salts, he observes, composed of barytes, should be rejected, because, though they are plentiful, cheap, and have some qualities eminently fitting them to be employed for this purpose, yet they are, without any exception, very poisonous. From all experiments that have been made, it appears that the most effectual method of preventing the dry rot, and of giving durability to timber, is that of depriving the sap of its mucilage, more especially in the alburnum, where it most abounds; for though seasoning in the dry way will coagulate and harden the extractive matter of timber, yet when exposed to heat, moisture, and a stagnant air, the process of putrefaction will commence, and all the symptoms of dry rot will speedily make their appearance. It will be preferable, therefore, that such timber as is likely to be exposed to the vicissitudes of weather, should be seasoned by immersion or impregnation, rather than by the dry way. In this disease, as in those incident to animal life, pre-Cun the vention is much easier than cure. In fact, there is no dry other cure for the part affected than excision, and the sooner it is done the better, as the disease spreads most rapidly when fungi are propagated, throwing their minute fibres into the tubes of the contiguous sound wood, and producing that moisture which is a condition absolutely necessary to the putrefactive process. If, however, the fibre of the wood is still sound, and the roots of the fungi extend not beyond the alburnum near to the surface, immersion in sea water, as in cases of the Resistance and the Eden, or impregnation with some of the solutions above mentioned, may stop the progress of the disease; but the only safe cure, we apprehend, is that of cutting out the infected part. The sinking of the Royal George at her moorings has not been the means of preserving her timbers. On being visited in the diving-bell, her oaken sides were broken down into a confused mass of timber and black mud; having, no doubt, been too far gone in decay when the fatal accident happened ; but her fir deck appeared as sound as the day when she sunk. It is a great mistake to suppose that the ancients wereMisi neoii unacquainted with the dry rot, or premature decay ofserv jI ’■ timber. Pliny has a number of valuable observations on the preservation of timber, and on its decay occasioned by the juices ; and, among other things, recommends that a tree should be cut to the heart all round, in order to let the juices escape, and that it should not be felled until the whole had run out. He knew that the sappy part of oak was more subject to rot, and r advised that it should be cut away in squaring. He knew , too, that resinous and oleaginous matter in wood preserved it; observing, that the more odoriferous a piece of timber is, the more durable. He knew that much depended on the close texture of timber, and that box, ebony, cypress, and cedar, might almost be considered as indestructible. We also know that cedar, teak, and mahogany, are very durable woods. The felling of timber while young and full of vigo»•, making use of the sap-wood or alburnum, and applying it to ships and buildings in an unseasoned state, have no doiibt contributed to make the disease of dry rot infinitely more common and extensive than it was in former times, when our ships were “ hearts of oak,” and when in our large mansions the wind was suffered to blow freely through them, and a current of air to circulate through the wide space left between the pannelled wainscot and the wall.

DUB n’ Rot In those old mansions which yet remain, and in the an’ll cient cathedrals and churches, we find nothing like the I'plin- dry-rot, though perhaps perforated sore And drill’d in holes, the solid oak is found By worms voracious eaten through and through. Numerous examples of the extraordinary duration of timber may be produced, both from complete desiccation and exposure to the air, and from the complete exclusion of air and immersion in earth or water. Without adducing the surturbrandt of Iceland, covered with several strata of solid rock, or the logs of wood dug out of peat-moss, the antiquity of which is mere conjecture, we may instance the mummy cases of Egypt as being in all probability the most ancient timber in existence that has been worked by the hand of man. When Belzoni entered the splendid tomb of the kings of Thebes, in which was the transparent sarcophagus of gypsum, he found two human figures larger than life sculptured in wood, in as good preservation as if it had been worked in his own time; but the sockets of the eye, which had been copper, were entirely wasted away. We are told by Pliny, that the image of Diana at Ephesus, supposed to be of ebony, remained entire and unchanged, though the temple itself was ruined and rebuilt seven times. He adds that, in his own time, the image of Jupiter in the.capitol, made of cypress wood, was still fresh and beautiful, though set up in the year after the foundation of Rome 551, nearly three hundred years before. He further says that there.was a temple of Apollo at Utica, the timbers of which, being of Numidian cedar, are said to have stood 1188 years. The roof of Westminster Hall, which is constructed of chestnut, has stood for more than three hundred years, and is probably better now than when newly erected. Similar instances

DSJABBE TAR, a small island in the Red Sea, pertaining to Arabia, about forty miles west-south-west of Loheia. Long. 41. 35. E. Eat. 15. 32. N. DSJABBEL, a small island in the Red Sea, about twenty-four miles from the coast of Arabia. Long. 43. 34. E. Lat. 15. 32. N. DSJAR, a sea-port of Arabia, in the province of Hedsjaz, situated on the coast of the Red Sea, supposed to be the Eziongeber of the Scriptures. It is sixty-seven miles west of Medina. DSJEBI, a walled town and district of Arabia, in the country of Yemen, with a citadel. It is the residence of a chief. The surrounding country is mountainous, and produces coffee. It is fifty-six miles east of Hodeida. Long. 43. 40. E. Lat. 14. 44. N. DSJOBLA, a town of Arabia, in Yemen. The streets are paved, and the houses high and well built. It contains 600 houses. Part of the population consists of Jews, who inhabit a particular quarter without the town. It is twenty-two miles north of Taas, and sixty miles north-east of Mocha. ' DSJOF, an extensive province of Arabia, in the country of \ emen, consisting chiefly of sandy plains and deserts. It is celebrated for its horses and camels, which aie exported in great numbers; and Mareb, its principal town, sends salt to Sana. DUBLIN, the metropolitan county of Ireland, in the Hovjnce of Leinster, is bounded on the north by the county of Meath, on the east by the Irish Sea, on the south by the coun ty Wicklow, and on the wrest by those of Kildare and Meath. It is the smallest county in Ireland except Louth and Carlow, containing 248,631 acres, or 3884 vol. vm.

DUB 233 of the long duration of timber have occurred in situations Dry Rot where the atmospheric air has been excluded. In the || Leverian Museum was a post said to be dug out of Fleet Dublin. Ditch, charred at the lower end, having the name of Julius Caesar cut into it. The foundation on which the stone piers of London Bridge are laid consist of huge piles of timbei driven close to one another, on the top of which is a floor of planks ten inches thick, strongly bolted together ; on these the stone piers rest, at above nine feet above the bed of the river, and, at low water, may be seen or felt at a very few inches below the surface. These . piles have been driven upwards of six hundred years, and, from the solidity of the superincumbent weight, it may be concluded that they are perfectly sound. In the old city wall of London, timber is frequently dug out as sound and perfect as when first deposited there. As the last instance of the extraordinary preservation of timber, we may mention, that, in digging away the foundation of the Old Savoy Palace, which was built about six hundred and fifty years ago, the whole of the piles, consisting of oak, elm, beech, and chestnut, were found in a state of perfect soundness, without the least appearance of rottenness in any part of them, and the plank which covered the pile-heads was equally sound. Some of the beech, however, after being exposed a few weeks to the air, but under cover, had a coating of fungus spread over the surface ; which affords a striking proof of the immense length of time that the seeds of this parasite will remain dormant, without parting with the principle of vegetable life, which is called into activity from the moment that they are deposited in a situation favourable to their growth. In this instance we have only to suppose that the indurated juices of the wood became dissolved by its exposure to the moist atmosphere, and the phenomenon of fungous vegetation is capable of receiving a satisfactory explanation. (m.)

square miles, of which 237,819 acres are cultivable, the remaining 10,812 being bog or mountain. Its greatest length from north to south is thirty miles, it greatest breadth from west to east twenty-three. A small portion, detached from the rest, lies at a distance of between twenty-four and thirty miles from the city, and is surrounded by the counties of Wicklow and Kildare. In Ptolemy’s geography it is stated to be inhabited by the tribe of" the Eblani. At the period of the English invasion, and for some time previously to that event, the city of Dublin and all the adjoining districts were in the possession of the Danes, from whom the tract to the north of the city was called Fingal, or the country of the White Strangers, a name given by the natives to those invaders on account of their fair hair and complexion ; and that on the south was called Harold’s country, which name it retained long after it fell into the hands of the English. Of the nine baronies into which the county is divided, those of Balrothery, Castleknocl^, Coolock, and Nethercross, are on the north of the Liffey; those of Donore, Newcastle, Rathdown, St Sepulchre, and Upperci’oss, are on the south of the same river. The baronies are subdivided into seventy-eight parishes, besides four parts of parishes, the remainders of which are in the city. The ultimate subdivision of townlands is retained here, as in other counties, but is little used, because the county is divided in a differ- . ent manner for the purpose of collecting the local taxes; the whole surface being considered as broken up into 114,657 parts, a proportionate number of which is allocated to each barony. The northern portion of the county is flat, and the soil good, particularly in the parts bordering on Meath ; but, 2G

DUB on the southern side, the land soon rises into elevations of considerable height, which extend into the adjoining county of Wicklow. Of these, Kippure Head is 2527 feet above the level of the sea, and the Three Rock Mountain 1585 feet. The soil in these mountains is very poor, affording no encouragement for tillage, being chiefly covered with heath, except where a subsidence in the ground affords a nucleus for the formation of bog, with which about two thousand acres are covered. There are also a few small tracts of bog in the northern part of the county. This mountain district is well adapted for timber, to the growth of which much attention has lately been paid, and the labours of the improvers are already rewarded by some fine plantations equally ornamental and profitable. This range of mountain ground produces a very striking effect on the traveller proceeding to the metropolis from Wicklow county. On arriving at its brow, the whole of the plain, watered by the Litfey, studded with villas, and enriched with groups of trees, spreads itself out before him, in the midst of which may be seen the spires and domes of the city rising through the dusky canopy of smoke that envelopes them ; whilst beyond, the beautiful expanse of Dublin Bay, backed by the Hill of Howth, and the islands of Lambay and Ireland’s Eye, and still more remote the peaked summit of Slieve Donard towering above them all on the horizon’s verge, present a view of highly improved nature not often to be surpassed. Though by much the greater part of the soil is inclined to clay, it is not of the deep and tenacious character so common in England ; for scarcely any part is without a mixture of gravel; and due search will generally discover limestone or other beneficial substrata at no very great depth, attended with the further advantage, that the operation of draining generally raises a sufficiency of gravel to manure the whole surface. The position of the ground, usually more or less sloping, affords peculiar facilities for drainage; and the circumstance of a great city in a central position furnishes large quantities of ashes and other species of refuse well calculated to conquer the natural stubbornness of such soils. Along the coast between Howth and Balbriggen are salt marshes, but not of any extent. The only stream deserving the name of river is the Liffey, which, rising in the table-land of Wicklow, and precipitating itself over the fine cataract of Polaphuca, near which it is joined by the King’s River, traverses the level county of Kildare; on leaving which it rushes over another elevated ledge of rocks called the Salmon-leap at Leixlip, after which it resumes its tranquil character, and, passing through the centre of Dublin city, discharges itself into the bay of the same name. It is joined at its mouth by the Dodder, a mountain stream which, though too insignificant to afford depth sufficient for the smallest boat, supplies water for several mills of various description during its short course from Kippure Hill to the sea. The other streams, which are numerous, have all an eastern direction, but are too small to be noticed, except the Delvan and Braywater, and these only as forming the county boundaries to the north and south. Dublin Bay, much admired by strangers who arrive by sea, and deemed inferior only to the Bay of Naples in scenic grandeur, is very unsafe for shipping. It is five and a half miles wide at the entrance between the Point of Howth and Dalkey Island, and six miles deep to the mouth of the Liffey at Ringsend. It is dangerous to navigators, being exposed to a heavy sea from the east. To guard against wreck, a lighthouse has been erected at the Point or Bailey of Howth, another on a pier projecting from the mouth of the Liffey, and a third on the Kish Bank, outside the bay. Two artificial harbours have also been constructed, the smaller at Howth, occupying an area

LIN. of fifty acres, at an expense of L.300,000. It is now little Bub] used. The other is at Dunleary or Kingstown, formed by '"•'y two immense moles, including a space of 250 acres, from three to four fathoms deep at low water. Its entrance is marked by a revolving light. A small obelisk, surmounted by a regal crown, has been erected close to the pier, to point out the place where King George IV. took his departure from Dublin in 1821. The place of his previous landing at Howth has not been marked by any similar memorial. A rail-road from Kingstown to Dublin has been commenced. The only other harbours are those of Balbriggen and Skerries, to the north of Howth. Each of them has been improved by artificial piers, but both are dry at low water. The former admits vessels of some size, and enjoys a small coasting trade. The latter is little more than a fishing station. The sailors are considered as among the most skilful and hardy on the eastern coast. They fish in decked wherries, manned by a full crew of twelve or fourteen hands, all of whom have a share in the boat, and consequently an interest in the capture of fish. The largest island on the coast is Lambay, to the north of Howth, comprehending somewhat more than 650 acres. A castle on it serves as the occasional residence of the proprietor. Shell-fish of every description is taken in abundance on the shore, and during the summer season it is frequently visited by fishing and pleasure parties from Dublin. To the north are the Skerries, consisting of the islets of Innispatrick, Colt, Shenex, and Red Island, the last named of which is connected to the mainland by the pier already noticed. Innispatrick is noted in the ecclesiastical annals of the country as being the place on which St Patrick first landed, and where he built a church. Between Lambay and Howth is Ireland’s Eye, or, as it should be named, Hirlandsie, a craggy rock, comprehending about thirty acres, and supposed by some geologists to be an insulated portion of the neighbouring peninsula. At the southern extremity of Dublin Bay is Dalkey Island, formerly called St Begnet’s or Bennet’s, and at present remarkable only for a martello tower erected on it. The channel which separates it from the mainland occasionally affords a good roadstead for shipping. It has been considered by some engineers as the most appropriate situation on which the public money could be laid out on a safety harbour with the greatest economy, and the most probable return of advantage to the trade of Dublin. The greater part of the county is the eastern extremity of the great bed of floetz limestone that extends over the middle of the island, widening as it spreads westward. It rises in its southern part into a range of mountains, which forms the verge of an elevated district, extending thence for more than thirty miles to the south. Through this latter tract a large body of granite passes in a south-western direction, bounded on its eastern and western sides by incumbent rocks of great variety of structure and relations. Within the portion of this district included in the county of Dublin, and distinguished by its beautiful scenery, are veins of lead ore at Dalkey and near the Scalp. The country near Bray presents, within a small space, an instructive series of rocks ; and at Killiney, schistoze beds are to be seen to a considerable extent, reposing on granite. Near Booterstown, in Dublin Bay, a mass of compact limestone is visible, within a few fathoms of the granite. The calp of Kirwan, a variety of limestone, is the prevailing rock in the immediate vicinity of Dublin, and is much used for building. The brown spar of Jameson is found in veins in the quarries of Dolphinsbarn, and beds of magnesia limestone in the Dodder. Petrifactions abound in many parts of the limestone country. In the peninsula ol Howth gray ore of manganese, with brown iron stone, and brown iron ore, have been obtained in quan-

pMin. titles; and a variety of the earthy black cobalt of Werner the records kept, is at Kilmainham, a suburb of Dublin. Dublin. wv'-' has been found on the side of the hill, forming a crust of W hen opened for legal proceedings, the chairman of the a rich blue colour, lining the fissures of a rock of clay county, who is a barrister, nominated by the crown, but slate nearly approaching to whet slate ; a mineral found not allowed to practise as such, presides. In many points in great abundance at Killiney, and for some time consi- the jurisdiction of the city police, of which an account will dered as a nondescript species, is to be referred to the an- be given in the description of the city, extends throughout dalusite. It appears thickly on the surface of beds of a great part of the county. mica slate, and seems to abound also imbedded in the subThe manners, appearance, and dress of the lower classes stance of the same rock. White clay, potters’ clay, and differ less from what may be considered as being peculiaryellow and brown ochre, are found in Howth, and at ly characteristical of the rural population of remoter disRush and Skerries. Indications of lead show themselves at tricts, than might be expected in the vicinity of a large the commons of Kilmainham, near Castleknock, at Clon- metropolis. Even in the immediate neighbourhood of the tarf, and near Dalkey and Killiney. The copper mines at city are to be seen groups of cabins, exhibiting, both in Lough Shinney have been badly wrought; the ore was of their external appearance and in the dress and manners a rich quality, and apparently derived from contemporane- of their inmates, much to remind the observer of the peaous veins of quartz of uncertain extent. santry of the interior. The farms are in general small. At Lucan, to the west of Dublin, there is a spring strong- Near .Dublin, particularly^ on the southern side, they are ly impregnated with iron and sulphur; another exists at chiefly villas, with land attached to them, more for ornaGoldenbridge, near Kilmainham ; and both are much fre- ment and convenience than for agricultural profit. The quented by invalids. Chalybeate springs have been dis- rents are proportionally high, being rated rather from local covered in various places in the vicinity of Dublin city. circumstances than from the quality of the soil. Tillage, The population of the county, taken detached from that though not in a backward state, is by no means so far adof the city, has until lately been calculated on very uncer- vanced as might be expected. Dairy farms, for the supply tain data, and the results are consequently very unsatis- of the city with milk and butter, are much run upon. Vefactory. De Burgho, in his Hibernia Dominicana, pub- getable gardens are numerous, particularly in the superior lished in 1762, estimates it at 211,674, including the city ; soil of the northern outlets of Dublin. Grazing farms for but this is evidently too high. Beaufort, in 1792, estimates black cattle and horses are also frequent. The fences are it at 64,000, which is probably too low. The subsequent generally of white thorn, close, and well kept. Manure of parliamentary returns give the following results : In 1812 every kind is abundant; blue, brown, and white marl is it amounted to 132,000, in 1821 to 150,011, in 1831 to extracted in many parts ; fine shelly sand is drawn from the 183,042. flat shores; and coal ashes, night soil, and other refuse of The state of education has been ascertained by parlia- the metropolis, furnish abundant supplies of this important mentary returns to be as follows: material, varying in quality according to the taste of the Sex not fanner and the peculiarity of the soil. The waste from Boys. Girls. Total. ascertained. gas works has also been beneficially used for the same pur1821, 15,237 9235 ... 23,425 pose, when mixed with other substances. 1824-6, 17,989 14,524 495 33,008 Manufactures are carried on, but in a limited manner, in The numbers in the latter return are thus classified ac- the country parts. At Balbriggen is a stocking manufaccording to the religious persuasion and pecuniary capabi- tory of some extent. The Dodder furnishes sites for selities of the pupils : Of Roman Catholics, 20,440 ; of the veral paper-mills, a distillery, and some cotton and woollen established church, 10,372; of dissenters, 465; of those factories. There is also an extensive woollen factory at whose religious persuasion was not ascertained, 1731. As Kilmainham, and a few smaller ones in the liberties of to the mode of payments, there are stated to be 730 Dublin. schools, fifty-four of which, containing 3301 pupils, are This county is distinguished for the superior quality of supported by grants of public money; 140 schools, con- its eels; they are found in great abundance in Tullagheen taining 13,467 pupils, by voluntary contributions; while river, where they are called silver eels, from their clear those in the remaining 535 schools, amounting to 16,605 white colour, supposed to be derived from the superior pupupils, are supported wholly by the fees paid for educa- rity of the water they inhabit. The mud eels are of a yeltion by the parents and friends of the children. low tinge and less pleasant flavour. Sand eels are found in Previously to the union the county returned ten repre- plenty along the coast. At Rush and Skerries the curing sentatives to parliament; two for the county, two for the of cod and ling is carried on. Sturgeon has at times apcity, two for the university, and two for each of the boroughs peared in Dublin Bay; and the sprat is found in the LifFey, of Swords and Newcastle. The number was reduced to in which river there is also a profitable salmon fishery. five by the act of union ; the members for both boroughs There are oyster beds at Llowth, Lambay, and Poolbeg; being struck off, and one withdrawn from the university, the fish was originally brought from Arklow. Porpoises but this latter has been restored to it by the reform act. are frequent on the Dublin coast. The principal supply Ihe constituency at various periods, before, during, and of fish for the Dublin market is from Skerries and llowth. since the alterations made in consequence of the Catholic Among the amusements of the lower classes, horse-rarelief bill, presents the following results :— cing and steeple chases are peculiarly attractive. LatterL.100. L.50. L.20. L.10. 40s. Total. ly a new direction has been given to the public taste for 1st Jan. 1829, ... 1092 434 ... 2490 4016 manly diversions by means of the new harbour at Kings1st Jan. 1830, ... 1135 465 49 ... 1649 town. A regatta is annually held there, where prizes are 1st May 1831, ... 1223 496 109 ... 1828 distributed, by a club of noblemen and gentlemen, for races 1st Jan. 1833, ... 674 592 759 ... 2025 of yachts and row-boats. The annual assemblages occafrom this table it appears that, though the constituency sioned thereby every summer give rise to much festivity in has been increased by the reform act beyond what it had the neighbourhood. Formerly a club devoted to convivibeen reduced to by the disfranchisement of the forty-shil- ality used to assemble once a year on the island of Dalhng freeholders, it still amounts to but one half of what it key, where, during the period of the meeting, a king of had been before that period. The county court, in which the island, elected for his superior qualifications, from the elections are held, the county business transacted, and among his boon companions, and who therefore might just-

236 DUBLIN. Dublin, ly be styled the king of good fellows, held his mimic court, he received the native chieftains who came to do homage Dui v— with all the appendages of burlesque royalty. But, during to him. It is also said that he held a parliament here, but4 the period subsequent to the first French revolution, the no records of it are now in existence. Before his deparlove of frolic, as was to have been expected, took a demo- ture for England he invited over a colony from Bristol, encratic bent. The good king of Dalkey was formally de- couraged them to settle by the grant of a charter, the oriposed. The events which followed were ill adapted for the ginal of which is still to be seen in the archives of the indulgence of this species of sociability; the annual meet- city, conferring on them all the rights of citizens of Brisings were discontinued, and have never since been reviv- tol. King John visited the city during his father’s lifetime, ed. At Finglas, a village to the north of Dublin, Mayday as Earl of Morton, and again in 1210, after he came to is celebrated by amusements of a different kind, yet not the throne, when upwards of twenty Irish chieftains swore less grotesque, consisting of races of asses, men in sacks, allegiance to him, he on his part covenanting to establish pigs with soaped tails, and other feats of waggish skill and the English laws and customs throughout the island, and eccentricity. But of all places calculated to exhibit the consequently opening courts of justice according to the peculiarities of Irish frolic in its wildest mood, Donny- forms of the law of England. In 1216 Magna Charta was brook bears the palm. A fair is held here annually in Au- granted to the Irish by Henry III.; a copy of it is to be gust, ostensibly for the sale of cattle; and there is gene- found in the Red Book of the Exchequer. In 1217 the city rally a good show at it, particularly of horses ; but its lead- was granted to the citizens at200marks perannum. In 1227 ing attraction is the great variety of diversions of every the same monarch confirmed the charter of John, fixing the kind likely to draw to it the artizans and lower classes of city’s boundaries and the jurisdiction of its magistrates. Dublin. The festivities are kept up night and day for a During the invasion of Ireland by Edward Bruce, in the week, and sometimes for a fortnight. Latterly, however, commencement of the reign of Edward II. some of the the irregularities it gave rise to have induced the civic suburbs were burnt to prevent them from falling into his authorities to restrain its duration, and it is consequently hands when besieging the city. Richard II. erected it inon the decline as a place of public amusement. to a marquisate for his favourite Robert de Vere, whom This county reckons three round towers among its an- he also created Duke of Ireland. The same king visited tiquities ; one at Clondalkin in a high state of preservation ; it twice, first in 1394, on which occasion he bestowed the another at Swords, where also is the remains of a large honour of knighthood on four Irish princes in Christ monastic institution; a third at Lusk, forming one of the Church; and again in 1399, when his continuance there angles of the steeple. The church of St Doulaghs is worthy was cut short by the rebellion of the Duke of Lancaster. of note for the extreme antiquity of its architecture; it is In 1404 the statutes of Kilkenny and Dublin were concovered with a double stone roof. A fine cromleach is firmed in a parliament held in the city by the Earl of Orstill preserved near Cabinteely. The remains of a stone mond. The attachment of the people of Dublin to the chair, and a rudely sculptured piece of granite, mark the house of York induced them to acknowledge Lambert former existence of an ancient temple near Killiney. At Simnel, who was crowned in Christ Church in 1486. The Old Connaught is a cross of considerable antiquity formed rash rebellion of Lord Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the Earl of granite. Its shaft is surmounted by a circle, on which of Kildare, seriously endangered the city in 1534. On his the crucifixion is rudely sculptured. Among modern mo- appearing before the walls with a powerful force, the citinuments may be noticed the Wellington memorial in the zens were induced through fear to give admission to a depark; obelisks at Stiltorgan and on Killiney Hill, built by tachment of his troops to besiege the castle; but, on hearthe proprietors of those demesnes, to supply employment ing that he had met with a reverse in another quarter, during seasons of scarcity; and another also near Killiney, they suddenly closed their gates and detained his men as on the spot where the young Duke of Dorset was killed prisoners. He then attacked the city itself; but finding it by a fall from his horse. This county can boast of no too strong to be seized by a covp de main, he raised the large town except the capital. Balbriggen, the second in siege on condition of having his captured soldiers exsize, contains a population of only 3016 souls. changed for the children of some of the principal citizens Dublin, the capital city of Ireland, and the second in who had fallen into his hands. At the breaking out of the the united kingdom in magnitude and population, is situ- civil war in 1641, a conspiracy to seize on Dublin Castle ated nearly in the middle of the county of the same name, was detected on the eve of the day in which it was to be and at the mouth of the river Liffey. It was known as a effected, and the city was thus preserved for the king’s place of importance as early as the time of Ptolemy, who party. In 1646 it was besieged by the Irish army, but notices it by the name of Eblana. By the Irish it is called without success, as the Marquis of Ormond, then lordAthcliath or Bally-Ath-Cliath, signifying the town of hur- lieutenant, had put it into a respectable state of defence, dles, and by that of Drom-Col-Choil, or the hill of the in doing which he was aided by his wife and the other hazel wood, which latter name is supposed to have been ladies of distinction residing there, who assisted in carrymore peculiarly applied to the hill on which the castle of ing baskets of earth to repair the fortifications. He was, Dublin now stands, a conjecture confirmed by the fact, however, compelled to surrender it on conditions the next that on removing the walls of the old castle chapel in year to Colonel Jones, commander of the parliamentary 1806, they were found to have been laid on piles of hazel forces; and in 1649 he was totally defeated at Rathmenes wood. Its modern name is said to be compounded of the in an attempt to recover possession of it. The same year Irish words Dubh and Linn, the black water or black bath, Oliver Cromwell landed in Dublin, and proceeded thence from the dark appearance of the river in the marshes near on his career of conquest, which commenced with the cap* its mouth. ture of Drogheda by storm, and the subsequent massacre The city was in possession of the Ostmen at the close of its inhabitants. On the resignation of Richard Cromof the fifth century, who maintained themselves in it, and well in 1659, the castle was surprised by a party of offiin the adjoining district, until the arrival of the English, by cers favourable to the royal cause; and though immediwhom it was taken after a stubborn resistance, and Asculph ately retaken by Sir Hardress Waller, it was forced to Mactorkill, the Danish governor, made prisoner and put surrender again in a few days. When James II. landed to death by the conquerors. When Henry II. landed in in Ireland in 1688, to assert his right to the British throne, Ireland he made it his place of residence, and constructed he held a parliament in Dublin, and erected a mint there, a palace of wattles “ after the country manner,” in which in which a large quantity of base money was coined, in

!• 1 the hope of relieving his financial difficulties. On his rew turn thither, after the defeat of the Boyne, it is said that he refused to listen to a proposal to burn the city, in order to check his adversary’s pursuit. Such a step was, however, as unnecessary as it would have been flagitious ; for William advanced by slow marches, and on his arrival encamped at Finglas, and did not enter the city till the ensuing day, when he went in state to St Patrick’s Cathedral to return thanks for his victory. In 1783 a convention of delegates from all the volunteer corps in Ireland assembled in Dublin for the purpose of procuring a reform in parliament; but the House of Commons refused to entertain the proposition, and the convention separated without coming to any practical result. In May 1798 the explosion of a conspiracy planned by the united Irishmen to seize the city was prevented by the capture of Lord Edward Fitzgerald and some of the other leaders. In 1800 the act of union between Great Britain and Ireland was passed in both parliaments, and on the 1st January following the imperial standard of the united kingdom was hoisted on Dublin Castle. In 1803 another insurrection, headed by Robert Emmett, a young barrister of great talents, broke out, but was immediately quelled with the loss of some lives in the tumult, and the death of its leaders on the scaffold. The only remarkable event in which Dublin was more peculiarly interested since that event, was the visit of George IV. to Ireland in 1821, when he spent several days in inspecting its public institutions and receiving the congratulations of his Irish subjects ; and on quitting it left behind him a letter expressive of his feelings on the reception he had met with, and of his wishes for their welfare and prosperity. The site of the city was long confined to the hill on the south side of the river of which Fligh Street forms the crest, and the castle the eastern declivity. The walls, which may still be traced on maps, though scarcely a vestige of them now remains, did not exceed a mile in length. From the north tower of the castle they were carried over Cork Hill, near which was. an entrance called Dame’s Gate, looking towards Hoggin’s, now College Green. Near Essex Bridge was another entrance called Essex Gate, erected on the site of Isod’s Tower. The wall was then carried westwards along the course of the river to the end of Fishamble Street. Here stood Fyan’s Castle, sometimes used as a state prison. Thence it continued along Wood Quay to Winetavern Street, where was another castle; and, still continuing parallel to the river, it joined a castle through which was one of the principal entrances, opposite to Bridge Street. Thence it was carried to New Row, and up the hill to Cutpurse Row, at the end of which was Newgate, also used as a prison. From Corn Market it passed along the rear of Back Lane to Nicholas Gate, thence between Ross Lane and Bride’s Alley to Pool Gate, afterwards Werburgh Gate, and thence in a straight line till it joined the castle at Birmingham Tower. The part of the city now called Dame Street and College Green was a low swampy plot, subject to inundations of the river, to the north of which were a Danish settlement, now called Oxmantown, a corruption from Ostmen’s Town, and the extensive monastery of St Mary’s, with its appendage the friary of St Saviour. The only passage across the river by land was by a bridge at the end of Bridge Street, formerly called Old Bridge, Dublin Bridge, and for some time Friars’ Bridge. It was taken down in 1815, and its place supplied by an elegant new erection of three arches called Whitworth Bridge. In sinking for a foundation the traces of two or three former ones were discovered, one of them of excellent workmanship, supposed to have been the original, laid in the reign of John, and which, having been swept away in 1385, was replaced by the Dominican

1)1

friars, who repaid themselves by a toll. All the other monastic buildings were on the south side of the river. These were, the two cathedrals, to be described more minutely hereafter; the abbey of St Thomas the Martyr, since called Thomas Court; the priory of All Hallows, now Trinity College; the monastery of St Francis in Francis Street; the monastery of the Holy Trinity, on the site of the late theatre in Crow Street; the Carmelite or Whitefriars’ Monastery, lately restored, in Whitefriar Street; and the nunnery of St Mary de Hogges, on the ground where St Andrew’s Church now stands. The precise situations of the nunnery of St Mary des Dames, whence Dame Street has its name, of the abbey of St Olave, somewhere in Castle Street, of the monastery of Witeshan in the west of Dublin, and of the priory of Knights Templars in Catgott, in the southern suburbs, are now unknown. The hospital of St Stephen occupied the site of Mercer’s Hospital; the Steyne Hospital stood on Lazar’s Hill, now Bank Street; and Allen’s Hospital lay between St Kevin Street and the bounds of the archbishop’s palace in St Sepulchre’s. Though the buildings spread themselves from an early period in all directions, the walls were never extended beyond their original limits. During the civil wars in 1641, indeed, entrenchments were thrown up between the castle and the college, from the river to the vicinity of St Patrick’s Cathedral; but being constructed of earth, they did not long survive the necessity to which they owed their origin. In general it may be observed, that the progress of architectural improvement has taken an eastern direction. Most of the public buildings and new streets lie on that side of the castle, whilst those towards the west are rapidly falling into decay. Flence it is that the boundaries of the civic jurisdiction are in some parts strangely at variance with the arrangement of the buildings. In the north-eastern district the entire parish of St George is beyond the scope of the municipal authorities, whilst in the south-eastern they extend beyond the low-water mark on the South Bull, and to the Blackrock, a village five miles from the castle, including a large tract of arable and pasture land, and the villages of Ringsend, Irishtown, Sandymount, Merrion, Ballsbridge, and Donnybrook. About the year 1770 a road was carried round the city, so as to connect all the outlets;,it was called the Circular Road. The boundary thus formed measures somewhat less than nine miles. Latterly the lines of the Royal and Grand Canal on the north and south have afforded a boundary line still more comprehensive ; but the entire of the included area is not covered with buildings. A circle, with Essex Bridge as a centre, and with a radius of one mile, will comprehend very nearly all the inhabited part of the city, exclusive of the outlying villages subject to municipal jurisdiction. The area within the limits of the Circular Road covers a space of 1264 acres, of which about 785 are on the southern side, and 478 on the northern side of the Liffey, or Anna Liffey, a name said to be derived from Awen Luiffa, the black river. This river, which, after traversing the city from west to east, through an extent of two miles and a half, reckoned from the King’s Bridge to the quay point, near Ringsend, discharges itself into the Bay of Dublin, forming a harbour singularly ill calculated for commercial purposes, in consequence of two sand-banks called the North and South Bulls, between which it flows. Attempts were made to diminish the dangers arising from them, and to deepen the bed of the river, particularly at the entrance, where a bar having but six or seven feet water at low tide prevents the entrance of ships of heavy burden, by carrying out two piers called the North and South Walls, into the sea. The former of these, which is much the shorter, is terminated by a small light-house;

238 DUBLIN. Dublin, the latter extends in the form of a broad road, a mile and The population of the city is stated by Stanihurst, a na- but a half in length, to the Pigeon House, a collection of tive, to have been upwards of 300,000 in 1584. Porter ^ buildings originally intended as a landing place for the who wrote in 1680, computed it at the same amount! ' Holyhead packet boats, but, since the removal of these to Though it is nearly certain that each of these estimates the Howth Harbour, converted into a military magazine. is far above the truth, it is impossible to account satisfacIt is continued two miles farther as a solid wall, thirty-two torily for the smallness of the numbers in 1645, particufeet broad at the bottom, to a light-house at the end of the larly when compared with the sudden and enormous inSouth Bull. These walls have not had the ctesired effect crease in the beginning of the subsequent century. The of deepening the channel. Within them there is safe an- accounts, according to calculations at various periods and chorage, and vessels not drawing more than fourteen feet by different rules, some being merely conjectural, others water can moor at the quays near Carlisle Bridge. Be- expressing the number of houses, others that of souls yond this point the river is navigable for lighters and row- others again resting on actual enumeration, are given in boats only as far as Sarah Bridge, to the west of the city, the following table. In those cases in which the number where a weir thrown across it puts a stop to further navi- of houses only is stated, the average of inhabitants is calgation. Both sides of the river are cased by walls of gra- culated at twelve and a half, that being nearly the amount nite, forming spacious quays. These are intersected by ascertained in those estimates in which both houses and nine bridges; Carlisle Bridge, nearest the sea; Welling- souls have been taken by actual enumeration. ton Bridge, a single arch of cast-iron, for foot passengers only; Essex Bridge; Richmond Bridge; Whitworth Bridge, Authority. Houses. Inhabitants. formerly Dublin Bridge ; Queen’s Bridge ; Barrack, former- Date. ly Bloody Bridge ; King’s Bridge ; and Sarah Bridge. The 1584 Stanihurst Not stated 300,000 two last named are each of a single arch, the first of them 1G44 Annals of Dublin Not stated 8,159 Not stated of iron, the other, a building peculiarly elegant in its pro- 1681 Lynch 40,000 1690 Porter Not stated 300,000 portions, of stone. All except Barrack Bridge are mo- 1732 Lynch 13,000 By estimation, 162,500 dern and beautiful. 1744 Lynch 11,923 By estimation, 149,037 Besides the splendid avenue from east to west formed 1753 Rutty 12,887 By estimation, 161,088 by the quays, and combining elegance and convenience 1760 Lynch 13,421 By estimation, 167,758 with health, there are several lines of communication 1788 Bushe 14,327 By estimation, 179,088 1798 Whitelaw 14,854 By enumeration, 182,370 formed of fine streets. The passage through the city from 1813 Parliament 14,696 By enumeration, 175,319 the great northern road is peculiarly striking, particularly 1821 Parliament 14,949 By enumeration, 185,881 at Sackville Street, on account of its great width, and the 1831 Parliament By enumeration, 203,752 fine houses of which it is built. The entrance from Kingstown is equally imposing. Both these avenues meet in College Green, an opening surrounded by palaces, and In the parliamentary return of 1821 the population of having an equestrian statue of William III. in its centre; the city has been given in three forms, the first containtheir continuance to Dublin Castle, through Dame Street, ing the parishes and parts of parishes within the canals, is also fine. But on deviating from these main lines, the and also within the corporate jurisdiction; the second decline of the bustle of business, and of the display of containing the total area within the canals; the third the luxury, is immediately visible. Dublin can boast but of same area as the second, together with those parts of pafive squares; St Stephen’s Green, the largest, exhibits rishes beyond the canals. The brief extracts from the resome fine mansions, but the houses are irregular, and of turns of 1831 as yet published by parliament give also a very unequal merit in their architectural structure. An threefold view of the population, but whether the limits equestrian statue of George II. is in its centre. Merrion are the same as those of 1821, cannot be satisfactorily Square, the next in size, is more uniform and modern. ascertained until the returns shall have been fully beFitzwilliam Square, the smallest in the city, pleases from fore the public. The three statements give the followits extreme neatness. All these are on the southern side, ing result;— and nearly contiguous to each other. Rutland Square, also 1821. 1831. of very limited dimensions, is surrounded on three sides by 1st. . 175,585 203,752. ranges of splendid private mansions, the fine edifice of the 2d. 224,317 232,362. Lying-in-Hospital forming the interior of its fourth side. 3d.. .227,335 265,316. Mountjoy Square resembles Fitzwilliam Square in its style of architecture, but on a larger scale. These two are in Few large cities present a more striking picture of the the north-eastern quarter. The streets are well paved, extremes of splendour and destitution than Dublin. A flagged, and lighted, and kept in a very respectable state line drawn from the King’s Inns in the north of Dublin, of cleanliness. directly south, through Capel Street, the castle, and Ihe city, taking the word in its larger acceptation, is Aungier Street, will, together with the line of the Liffey, divided into nineteen parishes, fourteen in the south and divide the whole area into four districts, materially diffive in the north. The southern are St Andrew’s, St Anne’s, fering from each other in appearance and character. The St Audoen’s, St Bridget’s, St John’s, St Luke’s, St Mark’s, south-eastern district, which comprehends three of the St Michael’s, St Nicholas’, within the walls, and St Wer- great squares, is chiefly inhabited by the nobility, the burgh’s within the civic boundaries; St Catherine’s, St landed gentry, and the liberal professions. The northJames’s, and St Peter’s, partly within them ; and St Luke’s eastern, which includes the two other squares, contains wholly without them. St Kevin’s parish is included in that the residences chiefly of the mercantile and official classes. of St Peter. Besides these, there are the extraparochial li- 'I he post-office and custom-house are in this division. These berties of the deaneries of St Patrick’s and Christ Church. two districts present every appearance of affluence and luxThe northern parishes are St Mary’s, which originally em- ury. But on proceeding westward the scene suddenly braced all those on the north side of the river; St Michan’s, changes. The south-western district, which includes the St Paul’s, and Thomas’s within the city; St George’s in liberties of St Sepulchre’s and Thomascourt, and was the county; and the late manor, but now the parish, of formerly the seat of the silk and woollen manufactures, is Grangegorman. in a state bordering on ruin, as is also the north-western

DUBLIN. jUn, district, in which are the barracks, and the great market for cattle and hay. Dublin is the seat of the local executive, consisting of the lord lieutenant and the privy council. It is also the seat of the supreme courts of judicature, from which an appeal lies only to the House of Lords in Westminster, The lord lieutenant resides, for a few months during spring, in Dublin Castle, but spends most part of the year at an elegant \illa in the 1 hcenix 1 ark. ihe castle was built in 1205, by Henry de Loundres, archbishop of Dublin. It originally consisted of a single square flanked by towers at each angle, the two southern of which still remain. It contains a suite of apartments for the lord lieutenant, in which are two magnificent rooms, the audience chamber, and St Patrick’s hall, where balls are given on that saint’s day. The remainder of the buildings are appropriated to the privy council, the apartments of the state officers, and some of the public offices. Other buildings without the square have been successively attached to the castle. The principal of these is the chapel royal, projecting from one of the towers yet standing. It is a beautiful pile of highly finished florid Gothic architecture, of small proportions. Its interior has a fine painted window, and is ornamented with the arms, carved in oak, of all the lord lieutenants of Ireland to the period of its erection. The treasury, the ordnance, the quarter-master’s office, and some other minor departments, occupy the remaining space. A guard of state of horse, foot, and artillery, is mounted here daily. The judicial functions are committed to the lord chancellor, who presides in the court of chancery, the master of the rolls, who holds a subordinate court, and the three law courts, viz. the king’s bench, the common pleas, and the exchequer, over each of which four judges are placed. The building where the courts are held, on the King’s Inns quay, is a large and highly ornamented pile, consisting of a central part containing a circular hall of large size, in each angle of which one of the four principal courts is held, that of the master of the rolls being in a detached apartment. The wings, which form two small squares, are appropriated to the offices and record repositories belonging to the courts. The prerogative, consistorial, and admiralty courts, are held in the King’s Inns buildings, to be described hereafter. The boards of commissioners which had charge of the principal branches of the revenue all sat in Dublin until very lately. They are now removed to London, and the details here managed by inferior agents. Ihe customs and excise offices were both held in the custom-house, which at first stood on the south side of the river, close to Essex Bridge, but on the erection of Carlisle Bridge they were removed to the magnificent structure erected for them on the north wall, a square building 3/5 feet by 209, with four fronts, each highly ornamented, and having a beautiful cupola rising from the centre, but recently consunied by fire. At present the officers of customs have little more to do than to collect the duty still levied on coal importeu for the use of private families, dhe business of the stamp-office, which had been transacted in a separate building in William Street, once the private mansion of the Earl of Powerscourt, has been transferred to some of the apartments of the custom-house, vacant since the removal of the boards to London; and the buildmg in William Street has been sold to a mercantile establishment. The post-office, which on its first opening had been held in College Green, is carried on in a fine buildmg m Sackville Street, under the care of a secretary act-g-der postmaster-general in London. A large military force has always been maintained in and near Dublin. The principal barracks are at the western

extremity of the city. They consist of four large squares, capable of accommodating two thousand men, both infantry and cavalry. A temporary barrack, capable of containing a regiment of infantry, has been fitted up in some unfinished houses south of the castle. Richmond barrack, for infantry, on the banks of the Grand Canal, beyond Kilmainham, on an elevated and healthy situation, forms a fine and substantial fabric of great extent. Portobello banack, for cavalry, is on the banks of the same canal, near Harold’s Cross. At Island Bridge, near Kilmainham, there is an artillery barrack; and another at the magazine at the Pigeon House. The municipal government is vested in the lord mayor, two sheriffs, a board of aldermen, and an assembly consisting of ninety-six representatives from the twenty-five guilds of trade, together with an unlimited number of sheriffs’ peers. The charter of Henry II. already mentioned was confirmed and enlarged by John, and by numerous others from succeeding monarchs. The latest is that by James II. The chief magistrates were originally styled provost and bailiffs. The former title was changed to that of mayor in 1409, the latter to that of sheriff in 1547. In 1660 Charles II. granted the lord mayor a golden collar, a company of foot, and the right of having a sword of state, a mace, and a cap of dignity. ' In 1665 the title of lord mayor was conferred on him, and L.500 per annum granted in lieu of the foot company. In 1672 the Earl of Essex, then lord lieutenant, issued new rules for the regulation of the corporation. In 1682 the tholsel was built as its place of assembly; it w^as taken down in 1807, and the corporation since meets in a plain building in William Street. The city assembly is formed of two bodies, the aldermen and commons. The latter consists, as already noticed, of representatives chosen every three years by the twentyfive guilds of trades, in numbers proportioned to the estimated importance of each ; besides which, every person who has been elected to the office of sheriff has a seat in the commons for life, under the name of sheriffs’ peer, In this assembly the sheriffs preside; they are annually chosen from among the representatives of the guilds, by the common council. Each person elected must prove himself by oath worth L.2000. Those who please may decline to serve the office, on paying a sum of L.500. Such persons are said to fine, but are not therefore disqualified from sitting as sheriffs’ peers. The aldermen, twenty-five in number, are chosen by the common council out of a list of four names sent down to them by the board of aldermen, which sits in a separate chamber, where the lord mayor presides. They hold office during life. The lord mayor is elected by the aldermen generally, according to seniority; he must be approved and sworn in by the lord lieutenant. This ceremony takes place at Michaelmas. He holds a court for the trial of petty offences and misdemeanours, and settles disputes between workmen, journeymen, and servants, and their employers. During the year subsequent to that of office he presides at the court of conscience, which takes summary and final cognizance of suits of debt under L.2 Irish. Every third year he perambulates the city bounds on horseback, attended by the civic authorities. The tour commences at low-water mark on the South Bull, where he determines the boundary of his jurisdiction by flinging a javelin into the sea. This.ceremony, called riding the franchises, was formerly made the occasion of a splendid procession of all the guilds dressed in uniform, and preceded by banners and appropriate emblems. The corporation appoints a recorder, treasurer, town-clerk, secretary, sword-bearer, and other inferior officers. It has also the regulation of the markets. The principal wholesale

DUBLIN. 240 Dublin, markets are that of Smithfield for cattle, hay, and straw, has not succeeded. An enquiry into its internal manage- 1 and those near the new prison for fruit, potatoes, vege- ment disclosed several grave abuses, the jailor has been tables, eggs, and fish. There are ten retail meal markets, removed, and the building was used for a cholera hospital . generally well supplied, but not remarkable for cleanliness, in 1832. Juvenile offenders are sent, on conviction, to a with the exception of the Northumberland market, lately house of correction in Smithfield. The bridewell on the opened in the neighbourhood of Sackville Street by a spi- Circular Road for minor offences is under the city magisrited individual as a private speculation. The custom of trates. It is well regulated. Useful works are carried on slaughtering cattle in private yards is carried on to an so far as to defray part of the expenditure. The treadoffensive extent. A small market for hay, straw, and mill has been introduced into it. The prisoners are also butter is held beyond the jurisdiction of the corporation in employed in cultivating a large garden for the use of the Kevin Street, in the manor of St Sepulchre. The supply inmates. The prisons for debtors are four. The Four of fuel is also in some degree under the control of the cor- Courts’ Marshalsea receives prisoners both from the city poration. It consists chiefly of coal from England, and some and from all the counties in Ireland. It is in a healthy from Scotland; turf is brought in large quantities by both situation on a rising ground near Thomas Street, and well canals. Native coal is also sent to the city from Leitrim secured by a lofty wall, but badly ventilated. A plan and Kilkenny, but not in quantities or at prices to do proposed by an intelligent architect for correcting this away with the demand for the imported article. The cor- defect without the risk of escapes, has not been carried poration has also the charge of supplying the city with into effect. Tile Sheriffs’ Prison in Green Street is inwater, which is brought from the canals into the reser- tended for all cases of debt above L.10 contracted within voirs, whence, after having been forced through a filter- the city. Previously to its erection in 1794, debtors were ing machine of excellent construction, it is conveyed by detained in the residences of the bailiffs, commonly called pipes through all parts, so that the inhabitants are copi- spunging-houses, a custom which occasioned many gross ously supplied with this necessary of life on moderate abuses. For some time also after the opening of this priterms. Fountains are also set up in several places in the son, the keeper was partly remunerated by the rents of the poori£ parts of the town ; but these are under the control apartments. The abolition of prison fees has put an end to this abuse, and the only well-founded cause of complaint of a special corporation. Four distinct courts, besides the court of conscience, at present arises from the limited extent of its accommoare held within the limits of the lord mayor’s jurisdiction ; dations. The City Marshalsea, adjoining the Sheriffs’ Prithe quarter sessions, at which the recorder, aided by son, receives debtors for sums less than L.10, under detwo aldermen at least, presides to try petty offences ; the crees of the lord mayor’s court and the court of conscience. court of oyer and terminer, held by two of the puisne The prisoners are generally of the poorest classes, and judges of the superior courts for crimes of a graver nature; many of them have nojesource but casual charity for the the recorder’s court, which is held in January, April, support of life ; even a lodging in the common hall must July, and October, for actions of debt by civil bill process; be purchased at the rate of a penny a night. The state and the lord mayor’s court already mentioned. All are of the Dublin prisons in general, though considerably imheld in the sessions’ house, a neat building of hewn stone proved by the degree of attention lately paid to remedy in Green Street, erected in 1797. The records of the the defects of their construction and their internal ecocity are preserved in some of the apartments of this build- nomy, still requires much amelioration, not only with respect to the classification and treatment of the prisoners, ingFor the purposes of police, the city is divided into four but also to the expenditure, which is much greater than districts, nearly corresponding with those already describ- what would be found to be necessary under a better ared. In each there is an office, at which three magis- ranged system. Those parts of Dublin not under the civil magistrates trates, one an alderman, the second a common council man, and the third a barrister, all appointed by the crown, are, the manor of Grangegorman, which includes a dissit every day. They have under them an armed force, trict in the neighbourhood of Glasnevin and Mountjoy consisting of fifty-two peace-officers, thirty mounted, and Square, of which the dean of Christ Church is the lord, a hundred and seventy dismounted police, and six hundred and appoints a seneschal, who holds his court in a private and fifty watchmen, which last body remains on duty from house. The manor of Thomascourt and Donore, granted an hour after sunset till an hour before sunrise. The police to an ancestor of the Earl of Meath, on the dissolution of has the regulation of the public carriages plying in the the monastery to which it had been appendant. Its court city and its neighbourhood. These are chiefly-hackney was first established in the reign of King John, and still coaches and jaunting cars, which latter are now distributed continues open for trial of petty debts and offences. The on convenient stands through most part of Dublin, like manor of St Sepulchre, including the parishes of St Kethe former. vin and St Nicholas Without, of which the Archbishop The criminal prison was formerly at Newgate, between of Dublin is lord, with extensive powers that have now Thomas Street and Cutpurse Row, but has been removed nearly become obsolete. It has a court-house and prison to a square building flanked with towers, built in Green attached to it. The ground immediately adjoining the Street for the purpose. Originally it was intended for cathedrals of Christ Church and St Patrick are also exprisoners of every description ; but in consequence of ar- empt jurisdictions, subject to their respective deans; but rangements lately made to diminish the numbers by which their authority is now little more than nominal. it was thronged, it is not now often overstocked. It is unThe seat of the archiepiscopal see is in this city. The der the control of the corporation, which appoints all the palace was till lately in an old building in St Sepulchre’s, officers, and has been annually reported by the inspectors- now converted into a police barrack. The archbishop general as among the worst arranged prisons in Ireland. resides in a house purchased for him in Stephen’s Green. The Richmond General Penitentiary, an extensive pile of He exerts spiritual jurisdiction over the two cathedrals building in Grangegorman Lane, was erected to prevent of Christ Church and St Patrick. Of these the former the necessity of transportation, being intended for convicts claims the priority by right of antiquity; its foundation sentenced to long periods of punishment. It was under is attributed to the Danes in 1038. It stands nearly in the immediate control of the government, by whom the the middle of the old city, on the northern declivity of jailor and other officers were appointed. The experiment the hill. Earl Strongbow, the invader of Ireland, is in-

DUB LIN. 241 church, from its elliptical form, is remarkable for a statue Dublin, in terred here, and his tomb was long the place at which of its patron saint over its entrance ; this being the only inthe tenants of the church were bound to pay their rents. ' -pjie m0nument was much injured by the fall of one of the stance of a statue erected in such a place in Dublin. St Pecathedral walls; but was repaired, and is still to be seen ter’s and St Michan’s are chiefly noted for their size. The in good preservation, with a smaller tomb by its side, cemetery of the former possesses the bones of the ambitious having on its top the representation of the superior ex- and arrogant Earl of Clare, who signalized himself in the tremities of a boy cut off at the waist, which circumstance stormy scenes of 1798. The piety of the inheritor of his tradition accounts for by informing us that the youth had title and fortune suffers the remains of him to whom he been cut in two by his father for his cowardice in battle. owes his rank to moulder under the undistinguishing proSeveral fine monuments are in the aisle; and in the chan- tection of a plain grave-stone. The vaults of St Michan’s cel is that of the nineteenth Earl of Kildare, father of the are remarkable for an antiseptic quality, which preserves Duke of Leinster. Under the same roof with the cathe- the relics deposited there from decay. Among these are dral is a small building called St Mary’s Chapel. The the bodies of the two Shears, brothers and barristers, chapter consists of the dean, precentor, chancellor, trea- who were among the first victims of the law on the breaksurer, the three prebendaries of St Michael, St Michan, ing out of the rebellion just alluded to. The Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin also resides and St John, and four vicars choral. The cathedral is well endowed; its economy fund, amounting to L.2400 in the city. The metropolitan church, in Marlborough annually, is applied to the payment of the dignitaries and Street, is considered as more peculiarly under his charge. • officers, and to the maintenance of the structure, which This is a building of great dimensions, highly ornamented has lately undergone a thorough repair, both internally internally in the Grecian style, but as yet unfinished on and externally. The deanery-house was in Fishamble the outside, from the want of adequate funds. When Street, which being considered a situation unsuitable to a complete it will be among the finest specimens of archidignitary of the establishment, was sold, and it is now a tecture which the city can boast of. The total number of merchant’s warehouse. The dean resides on some of the Roman Catholic parish chapels is twelve, all large, but cathedral lands at Glasnevin, in one of the northern out- few externally elegant; a circumstance easily accounted for lets. The cathedral of St Patrick was founded in 1190 by the fact, that previously to the year 1745 the strict by John Comyn, archbishop of Dublin, in a very low si- enforcement of the penal laws prohibited the public extuation, and therefore subject to the bad effects of floods, ercise of their forms of worship. The relaxation of the by which it is liable to be inundated. About a hundred law was occasioned by the falling in of the floor of an years after its erection it was completely burnt, but was upper apartment, where a Catholic congregation had assoon after raised from its ruins in increased splendour. sembled to celebrate mass secretly, and by which seAt the reformation it was dissolved, and the building used veral lives were lost. On hearing of the accident, Lord for some of the purposes of the courts of justice. King Chesterfield, then lord lieutenant, nobly declared that he Edward projected its change into a university; but in would no longer be accessory to the enforcement of a the succeeding reign of Mary it was restored to its pri- statute productive of a catastrophe so fatal. The Cathomary destination, which it still retains. The installations lic places of worship have ever since been kept open of the knights of St Patrick, the first of which took place without molestation; but the apprehensions of their pasin 1783, are held here. Its walls have since been orna- tors, and the jealousy of the ruling powers, compelled them mented with the helmets, swords, and banners of the long after to select places of comparative privacy for their knights, those of the present members being suspended erection. The interior of the chapels in Anne Street over their stalls in the chancel, whence they are removed and Exchange Street are highly worthy of inspection. on their decease into the aisle. This cathedral contains Besides the parochial chapels, there are seven belonging the monuments of several illustrious persons, among which to friaries of the Franciscans, the Calced and the Disthe most celebrated, not so much for the execution of the calced Carmelites, the Capuchins, the Dominicans, the sculpture, as for the more durable fame of the characters Augustinians, and the Jesuits, and nine belonging to nunthey commemorate, are those of Dean Swift; of Mrs John- neries, viz. two of Discalced Carmelites, two of Poor Clares, ston, immortalized by him under the name of Stella; of two of the Presentation, one of Dominicans, one of the Archbishop Marsh, who bequeathed a fine library to the Sisters of Mercy, and one of the Sisters of Charity; the public; of the first Earl of Cork; and of Duke Schomberg, ladies of which last-named order signalized themselves by who fell at the Boyne. The northern transept is used as their zealous and indefatigable attendance on the dying the parochial church of the adjoining parish of St Nicho- beds of the sufferers in the hospitals during the late awlas Without. The chapter consists of the dean, precentor, ful visitation of the cholera. Protestant dissenters are by no means numerous in Dubchancellor, treasurer, the two archdeacons of Dublin and Glandalogh, nineteen prebendaries, four minor canons, lin. There are four congregations of Presbyterians, two of and twelve vicars choral. The economy fund amounts to which profess the Trinitarian, and two the Unitarian docL.2050 per annum. The singing men of these cathedrals trine ; four congregations of Independents, six of Methoperform conjointly at both, and at the chapel of Trinity dists, and of Quakers, Seceders, Baptists, Moravians, KelCollege, at different hours on Sundays; so that it may be ly ites, and German Lutherans, one each. The few Jews said there is only one choir in Dublin; but that one, from resident in Dublin have no synagogue. The following the combination of musical talent, is excellent, although table will afford a concise view of the comparative numit is a question with many whether the amalgamation, by bers of the respective places of abode: stifling emulation, does not injure rather than serve the Protestants. Catholics. Dissenters. cause of sacred music. The deanery house is in the im2 Parish chapels 9 Presbyterians 4 mediate vicinity of the church. Sir James Ware, who Cathedrals 19 Chapels of ease 3 Independents 4 wrote in the reign of Charles L, pronounces this cathe- Parish churches 7 Friaries 7 Methodists.. 6 dral to be superior to all others in Ireland for magnificence Chapels of ease of structure and for extent. Some of the parish churches Unattached chapels 12 Nunneries 9 Other dissenters one each 6 possess strong claims to admiration. St George’s is a fine insulated Grecian fabric, with a highly ornamented steeple 40 28 20 and spire. St Andrew’s, commonly called the round 2H VOL. VIII.

242 D U B L I N. Dublin. _ Each of the parish churches has a cemetery attached to The Inns of Court were intended for the instruction of it, m which the parishioners of every religious persuasion law students. Collet’s Inn, the first appropriated to this were interred, until the restraints imposed on Catholics purpose in the reign of Edward I., having been erected by the law called the burial casement act, as to perform- without the city walls, was destroyed, together with the ing their burial service over the dead, obliged them to king’s exchequer, by an incursion of the Irish from the open two large cemeteries, the one at Golden Bridge, the Wicklow Mountains. The inns were revived during the other at Glasnevin, which, though but two years insti- reign of Edward III. in a building near the castle given tuted, are both nearly full, to the serious diminution of by Sir Robert Preston, chancellor of the exchequer and burial fees to the Protestant functionaries. The profits of thence called Preston’s Inns, where the institution was these cemeteries, which are considerable, though the fees maintained for upwards of two centuries. But the society are much less than what had been previously demanded, being dispossessed in consequence of a flaw in the title are devoted to educating the children of the poor. The the inns were removed to the dissolved monastery of St vaults of the newly built Roman Catholic places of wor- Saviour’s, where the four courts now stand, and there ship are also appropriated to the reception of the dead, took the name of King’s Inns. These buildings having The Jews, the Quakers, the French Calvinists, and the been suffered to fall to ruin, a new site was chosen in the Moravians, have each a cemetery in or near the city. northern extremity of Dublin, where they are now held. Dublin has had its full share of the benefits arising The principal apartments are the dining-hall and the lifrom improvements in education. As early as the year brary, which latter forms a detached building. Law stu1311 a university was erected in it, under a bull of Cle- dents are obliged to attend terms here for two years pre. ment V. in St 1 atricks Church ; but it gradually declin- viously to being allowed to practise as barristers; but as ed, until it became virtually extinct at the close of Hen- no arrangements have been made for literary instruction ry VII.’s reign. After the Reformation, Sir Henry Sid- beyond the use of the library, punctuality of attendance ney and Sir John Perrot exerted themselves to convert is ascertained solely by their presence in the dining-hall that cathedral into a university; but they were overruled and therefore they are facetiously said “ to eat their wav by Archbishop Loftus, who protested successfully against to the bar.” * what he deemed an encroachment on the rights of the The school of medicine is partly under the control of church. In lieu of it, however, he prevailed on the cor- the board of Trinity College, which nominates and mainporation of Dublin to apply the dissolved monastery of tains professors of anatomy, chemistry, and botany, and All 8aints or Ah Hallows to the same purpose. Hence partly under that of the college of physicians, which noarose the university of Trinity College, which at first con- minates the professors of the practice of medicine, of the sisted only of a provost, three fellows, and three scholars; institutes of medicine, and of materia medica, who are but now of a provost, seven senior fellows, who together paid by grants of public money; but the emoluments of form a board which has the regulation of all the concerns ; all depend likewise on the fees of pupils. The college of eighteen junior fellows, and seventy scholars, besides se- physicians was first incorporated by Charles II., and reveral professors in various branches of science. The num- newed by William and Mary. It enjoys some important her of under graduates amounts to more than 1200. The privileges ; among others, the right of inspecting the shops bin dings form thiee laige squares, and are used partly as and stores of apothecaries, druggists, and chemists, and of dwefling apartments, partly for the purposes of education, destroying drugs of bad quality. The college consists of I e libiary, consisting of more than 100,000 volumes, is fourteen fellows, on whom the management devolves - of deposited in a noble gallery 210 feet long, adorned with honorary fellows, who are excluded from any interfebusts of distinguished literary and scientific characters rence with the financial arrangements; and of licentiates, from Homer to the present day. It is rich in modern who, though not entitled to take any part in the manageng is i publications, in consequence of having the right ment of the collegiate concerns, are summoned on occato a copy of every book published under the copyright sions of importance. Every physician practising in Dubact, and also in theology. It likewise possesses some valu- lin deems it necessary to take out a license, which is able manuscripts. Its greatest defect is a want of modern granted on examination. The college meets at an infircontinental publications. The chapel and examination hall mary in the south of Dublin, founded by Sir Patrick Dun, are also fine buildings ; the latter contains a very fine who bequeathed a large estate to it, and to other uses monument of Dr Baldwin, one of the chief benefactors to connected with the advancement of medical knowledge, the college, and some portraits of other remarkable perSurgery was long considered in Ireland, as well as in sonages. ic dining-hall, a plain building, has also some England, as a trade, the practitioners being included in the similar portraits. Hie museum is not well stocked ; but worshipful corporation of barber-surgeons. Nor was it till t le botanic garden in the suburbs is maintained in a man- 178T that a charter, founding a college of surgery, nut the ner highly creditable to the college. The school of ana- practice of that inestimable art on a basis enabling it to tomy is of first-rate excellence. I he regular course of advance in a manner suited to the wants and character of studies for a batchelor s degree continues for four years, a civilized nation. Still, indeed, so much of the antiquatduring each of which the student is subjected to four ex- ed prejudice prevails as to require, though not of necessiaminations; and at the close of this period gold medals ty, the servitude of an apprenticeship for five years. The are awarded to the two best answerers in science and the college, which was at first held in an obscure building classics. The college observatory is at Dunsink, about near Mercer’s Hospital, has been removed to an elegant five miles north-west of Dublin. The revenues arise from range of buildings in St Stephen’s Green, where lectures lands to a large extent, and from the fees of pupils. The on all the most important branches are delivered, a mucoHege lias also the disposal of a number of valuable be- seum, dissecting-room, and library kept up, and exaniinanehces, which, when vacant, are offered to each of the tions held for the admission of practitioners. The large fellows successively, commencing with the senior. The amount of fees on a diploma has, however, deterred many acceptor consequently vacates his fellowship, which is from taking advantage of this arrangement, and obliged filled up by election, after a severe public examination by them to have recourse to London, where the low rates of t le provost and senior fellows. During the short reign of fees more than compensate for the trouble and expense James 11. a college for Roman Catholics was opened in of the journey thither. Back Lane, but was extinguished on his abdication. The apothecaries also have some share in the comple-

DUB LIN. f ilin. tion of a medical education, by lectureships and examina- branches taught are weaving, netting, and basket-making. v> ^>-^tions on chemistry and pharmacy at their hall in Mary The number of inmates is about thirty-two, besides some Street. Their establishment consists of a governor, de- externs, who, after having been taught, are allowed to puty-governor, treasurer, secretary, and thirteen directors. work there, and to dispose of the produce of their industry There is in Dublin no classical school on a public foun- for their own benefit. These two hospitals are for males dation similar to the great grammar schools in London only. The Molyneux Asylum, opened in Peter Street, in and Westminster; but the institutions for the literary in- a large building which had been an amphitheatre for struction of the poor are numerous. According to the re- equestrian exhibitions, is confined to blind females, of turns made in 1824-26, there were then nineteen paro- whom those above the age of fifty have in it a permanent chial schools maintained partly by the incumbent and asylum, while those under that age are admitted to a tempartly by subscriptions and charity sermons, eleven assist- porary residence, until they can procure a permanent ed by issues of public money through the Kildare Place livelihood elsewhere. There are about twenty on the Society, two assisted in a similar manner by the Associa- establishment; the building could accommodate fifty. tion for discountenancing Vice, one by Erasmus Smith’s The Retreat at Drumcondra was opened, and is supportbequest, two by the Charter School Society, and fifty-six ed, by some private individuals, to afford a temporary by private contributions from charitable societies and in- asylum to aged and indigent persons of respectability sufdividuals. The number of schools wholly maintained by fering under some sudden emergency. The Old Men’s the pupils’ fees is 323, making the total number 412. Asylum, near Mountjoy Square, accommodates twentyHospitals or asylums for those reduced by age or other four inmates, who must be at least sixty years old on admiscauses are also numerous, and liberally supported. The sion, and Protestants ; servants and retailers of spirituous chief is the House of Industry, in North Brunswick Street, liquors are specially excluded. The Vintners’ Asylum, in originally established in 1773, in the vain hope of abolish- Charlemont Street, affords a place of shelter for indigent ing mendicity. After an experience of forty-five years, persons of the last-named class. The Goldsmiths’ Jubilee, it was found to be totally inadequate to attain its object, founded in the jubilee year by members of that corporanotwithstanding the great outlay in buildings, and the tion, affords a similar place of shelter for reduced and suheavy annual charges for its maintenance. The buildings, perannuated artizans of the trade. An institution for the therefore, instead of being, as before, open to mendicants maintenance and education of children born deaf and of every description, now receive only the aged and dis- dumb is maintained at Claremount, near Glasnevin. The abled poor. The main edifice consists of a large square plan of the Royal Hospital, for decayed and maimed sol265 feet by 230, attached to which are other ranges for diers, was first suggested by the Earl of Essex, when lord workhouses, stores, and the like. lieutenant, and w'as carried into effect through the repeatLunatics are maintained in St Patrick’s Hospital, found- ed applications of the Duke of Ormond to Charles II. ed by the celebrated Dean Swift, and conducted by go- The site chosen for it had been the ancient priory of Kilvernors appointed under its charter. The unhappy in- mainham, founded by Strongbow for Knights Templars. mates have every indulgence compatible with their situa- Upon the extinction of that order, and the confiscation of tion. The General Lunatic Asylum, erected near the its property, which was effected by a simultaneous and House of Industry, and placed under the care of officers secret movement of all the crowned heads in Europe, this appointed by government, originally received patients part of their possessions was transferred to the Knights of from all parts of the country; but, under a late act of par- St John of Jerusalem, and it became an hospital for guests liament, it has been limited to a district consisting of the and strangers only, to the exclusion of the sick and maimcounties of Dublin, Louth, Meath, and Wicklow, each of ed. On the dissolution of monasteries, it devolved to the these contributing towards its expenses in proportion to crown, and so continued till applied to its present use by the number of patients sent in. The number in 1831 Charles II. The building, which is according to a plan was 239, of which 101 were males and 138 females. A of Sir Christopher Wren, is a square 306 feet by 288, lunatic department is also attached to the Llouse of In- three sides of which are dwelling-rooms, connected by dustry, to which incurable and epileptic patients are perio- covered corridors. The fourth contains the chapel, a vedically transferred from that just described. There were, in nerable building, of limited size ; the dining hall, in which 1831,470 patients in it, namely, 179 males and 291 females, the banners taken from the Spaniards at Gibraltar are susof whom 105 males were employed, chiefly in gardening, pended ; and the apartments of the master, who is always and 152 females in occupations suitable to their sex, and the commander of the forces for the time being. Connectconducive to the economy of the institution. They are ed with the main building are several subordinate offices, well and economically supported. Cases requiring severe a garden, and avenue bordered by rows of stately trees. corporeal restraints are uncommon ; and the whole institu- The entrance from Dublin is through an embattled gatetion, notwithstanding the limited extent of accommoda- way on the south side of Barrack Bridge. The resident tion, is conducted in a manner highly creditable. Besides veterans wear the military costume of Charles II. Besides these public establishments for the recovery^ and safe cus- these, there is a great number of out-pensioners. The antody of lunatics, five others are maintained by private re- nual expenditure of the house is about L.20,000, that of sources ; one near Donnybrook, called the Retreat, by the the externs L.50,000. Of hospitals for reduced and aged Society of Friends, and four others by medical practition- women there are, 1. widows’ alms houses ; thirteen of these ers for their own emolument. are of Protestant foundation, the principal one being for The principal institution for the blind is Simpson’s clergymen’s widows, who are comfortably lodged and Hospital, founded by a merchant of Dublin, who had la- maintained in an asylum in Mercer Street; three are Roboured under severe affections of the eyes, and under man Catholic, one Presbyterian, one Independent, one gout. The income is upwards of L.2500 per annum, by Moravian, and one Methodist: 2. an asylum for superwhich fifty patients, either blind or gouty, are comfortably annuated female servants, on Summer Hill: 3. two houses maintained, in a large plain edifice in the northern side of of refuge for young women of good character when out of Dublin. The apartments can accommodate a hundred in- service, one for Protestants, in Baggot Street, the other for mates. r The Richmond National Institution in Sackville Catholics, in Stanhope Street: 4. six female penitentiaries, Street w as founded in order to instruct the blind in some four under the direction of Protestants, viz. the Magdalen of the more useful handicraft occupations. The principal Asylum, in Leeson Street, founded by Lady Arabella

DUBLIN. 244 Dublin. Denny; the Female Penitentiary, on the North Circular House of Industry. It forms three sides of a square, Du Road ; another under the same name on the South Circular and contains apartments for 390 children of both sexes'^ Road, near Baggot Street, and the Lock Penitentiary, for in which they are taught various kinds of useful works! the special reception of penitents from the Lock Hospi- The teachers are paid by a portion of the profits of the tal ; two under the management of Catholics, viz. the children’s labour in lieu of salary. The principal estaGeneral Asylum, in Townshend Street, and the asylum in blishment for female orphans is that on the North Circular Bow Street. This latter has something romantic connect- Road, originating with two benevolent ladies, who formed ed with its origin. The founder, a merchant of the name an institution for maintaining female orphans under ten of Dillon, had been exposed, when an infant, at the door years old. The funds were soon considerably augmented of a bricklayer, who preserved him, and taught him his by the exertions of the celebrated Dean Kirwan, whose trade. On arriving at years of maturity, he was accosted, appeals from the pulpit for several years brought in a large while returning homewards, by an unfortunate street- additional income. It is now supported by subscriptions, walker. Instead of yielding to her allurements, he per- charity sermons, and a grant of public money. It can suaded her to relinquish her abandoned line of life, and accommodate 160 children, who are educated for servants, engaged to provide her with the means of subsistence till and apprenticed at a proper age. The freemasons of Irea permanent asylum could be procured. While thus oc- land formed an institution in 1797 for the support of female cupied he was recognised by his parents, and succeeded orphans of the craft. It supports about twenty children. to a considerable estate, part of which he devoted to the In Pleasants’ Asylum twenty female Protestant children endowment of this asylum. A penitentiary has also been are maintained and educated; and, when of age, receive opened on the South Circular Road, for females discharged a handsome portion on marrying conformably with the from prison, until means of honest employment present rules laid down in the founder’s will. Most of the places of religious worship have attached to them schools, in themselves. Among the asylums for destitute children, the Foundling which a certain number of the destitute children of the Hospital was by much the most extensive. It was opened parishioners, chiefly orphans, are maintained by the conin 1730 for destitute children of every age, but afterwards tributions of the benevolent part of the congregation. The progress of disease is combated, and the sufferings limited to the reception of those under a year old, who are sent to nurse in the country until old enough to be instruct- from accidental injuries assuaged, by means of numerous ed. WTien arrived at a suitable age, they are apprenticed. infirmaries and dispensaries. Of the former, the most The institution was maintained partly by voluntary contri- extensive of those which take in cases of all kinds, surbutions, partly by a local tax on Dublin, but chiefly by large gical and medical, is Stevens’ Hospital. It was founded parliamentary grants, whichhavebeen gradually diminished by the bequest of a physician wdiose name it bears, and for several }'ears past, and restraints put on the admission erected by his sister, who having been left a life interest of children. The average number of children admitted in the property previously to its being applied to its final for twenty years up to 1825 was 2000. Dr Bell’s system purpose, immediately devoted the greater part of it to of education is adopted in the schools. The buildings, fulfil her brother’s intentions, reserving to herself only with large gardens attached to them, are situated in a L.120 per annum, and apartments in the hospital. In adhealthy and elevated situation in the west of Dublin. dition to the original estate, and to other contributions The Blue Coat Hospital was originally intended as a place and bequests, it receives a grant of public money; through of refuge for all the poor in the city. This object being all which means, its income, amounting to L.2200 per soon found impracticable, it was reduced to an asylum for annum, supports about 200 beds. The Meath Hospital, aged citizens and their orphan sons, and ultimately con- originally built on the Coombe, for the benefit of the fined to this last-named class. The buildings in Oxman- liberties of Dublin, and afterwards converted into a county town originally covered a considerable space; and previ- hospital by act of parliament, has been transferred from its ously to the building of the parliament house in College former confined and low situation to another in the outlets, Green the parliament held its sittings there. The pre- where a large building was erected for it, chiefly through sent edifice is built nearly on the site of the former. It the munificence of Mr Thomas Pleasants, who contributed consists of an elegant centre, with detached wings, one L.6000 towards its building and maintenance. Its annual used as a chapel. Of 120 boys it receives, fifty-eight are income exceeds L.1000. The medical officers at first renamed by the corporation, fifty by the governors of Erasmus ceived salaries of L.100 each, which they have resigned Smith’s schools, ten by the Bishop of Meath as trustee to a for the benefit of the institution. The hospital on the bequest, and two by the incumbent of St Werburghs on a Coombe, after having been closed for some time, has been similar title. They are educated in the tenets of the Pro- restored to its former purpose by voluntary subscriptions. testant church, and apprenticed to Protestant masters. The Charitable Infirmary, in Jarvis Street, the oldest in The Hibernian Nursery in the Park supports and educates Dublin, and opened at first in Cook Street by the contrithe children of soldiers. A preference is given to those butions and exertions of a few gentlemen of the medical whose fathers have been killed, or died on foreign stations. profession, -was transferred to its present situation in 1792. The buildings, which are spacious, have gardens and exer- It is capable of accommodating fifty patients, but the state cising ground attached to them ; and the boys, in addition of its funds seldom admits of more than thirty. The to the usual routine of scholastic instruction, are trained Royal Military Infirmary in the Phoenix Park, near its ento the rudiments of military tactics. On the southern trance, is a general infirmary for the army. The edifice, quay, near Ringsend, is the Hibernian Marine School, in- though plain, is much admired for the elegance of its prostituted for sailors’ children. It consists of a centre build- portions. The interior is provided with everything requiing and two wings, the latter containing the school and site for such an institution. The total annual expense of chapel. The age of admission is six years, and the course of each patient is estimated at L.33, which is defrayed by a instruction nautical. At a proper age the pupils are placed public grant, and by stoppages of the soldiers’ pay while in the royal navy, or apprenticed to merchants, who take in hospital. Sir Patrick Dun’s Hospital is appropriated them without fee. The number of boys was 180; but it exclusively to medical cases, for the instruction of the has been contracted in consequence of the reduction of pupils attending the professors of the College of Physithe parliamentary grant. The Bedford Asylum, for in- cians. The Richmond Hospital, a part of the House of dustrious children, is one of the existing branches of the Industry, and Mercer’s Hospital, founded by a benevolent

DUBLIN. 245 nifl. ]ajy of that name in Stephen Street, on the site of the for its object the relief of all paupers not street beggars, Dublin, /-^decayed hospital of St Stephen, are set apart for surgical and the procuring of work for the industrious poor. Anocases and accidents. There are three fever hospitals. ther society, confined to the latter object alone, and estaThe House of Recovery in Cork Street, the first and blished by the Society of Friends, meets at the House of largest, supported by subscriptions and public money, has Refuge in Dorset Street. The Dorset Institution in Abcontributed to check considerably the progress of low bey provides suitable work for industrious females ; childfever prevalent among the ill-fed artizans and paupers in ren are also taught in it to plait straw; and a wareroom is that district. Its beneficial effects led to the opening of opened, in which wearing apparel, made up by the poor a second in the north of Dublin, on a smaller scale, called employed, is sold at reduced prices. The Debtors’ Friend the Whitworth Hospital; the third, the Hardwick Hospi- Society is formed for the release of debtors confined for tal, is another of the appendages of the House of Indus- sums under L.5, and not contracted for spirituous liquors, try. The Lock Hospital was opened in Townshend Street or for other improper purposes. The Musical Fund, for in 1792, for the reception of venereal patients of both the special relief of distressed musicians, was formed from sexes; but in 1820 male patients were excluded, and it the profits of concerts, and is supported by the annual has been ever since confined to females. The number of subscriptions of the members, who have thereby a right beds, originally 300, is now reduced to half that number. to its benefits under certain restrictions. The Literary The building, of plain granite, consists of a centre con- Teachers’ Society has the same object with respect to taining apartments for the officers, and two wings in which members of their own profession, by whom also it is chiefly are the patients’ wards. It is wholly under the control of supported. There are two associations for lending small sums to poor tradesmen, payable by instalments witha board appointed by the lord lieutenant. The formation of dispensaries is encouraged by a special out interest; the one, the Meath Charitable Society, and act of parliament authorizing grand juries to present in the other, the Charitable Loan. They meet monthly in aid of them a sum equal to that subscribed by individuals. the vestry rooms of St Catherine’s and St Anne’s parishes. Most of the infirmaries in Dublin have dispensaries at- The system of Savings’ Banks was introduced into the tached to them, besides which there are several unattach- city by an association, which had influence enough to proed. St Mary’s and St Thomas’s was the first established; cure an act of parliament, establishing them on provisions the next in importance is the Dublin General Dispensary. adapted to the country. The principal bank is in School The Meath Dispensary has connected with it a depart- Street, which now has several branch banks in various ment for supplying food, from a conviction that much of parts of the city. Another was afterwards opened in St the disease incident to the poor arises from or is augment- Peter’s parish; but after continuing some time, its affairs ed by unwholesome or deficient nutriment. A vaccine fell into confusion, from which it is now endeavouring, it establishment is carried on extensively in Sackville Street; is hoped successfully, to extricate them. Most of the religious societies spring from kindred and a second, connected with a dispensary for the infant poor, in Clarendon Street; their efficacy is more highly sources in England. The chief among them is the Hiberappreciated every year. There are also several minor nian Bible Society, founded in 1807, and which has now a district or parochial dispensaries in various situations, for fine establishment in Sackville Street. Several minor societies for the distribution of the Bible, and differing from particular complaints. The most remarkable charitable institution among those one another chiefly as to the channel into which their lawhich do not undertake to supply lodging as well as main- bours should be directed, have arisen from it, some detenance, is the Mendicity Association, formed in 1818, tached, others auxiliaries or branches of the parent assoand since supported solely by voluntary contributions. It ciation. The Irish Society was formed for promoting the originated in a well-founded conviction of the inefficacy of religious instruction of the Irish through the medium of the attempt to prevent the practice of street-begging in their own language, by publishing Bibles, Testaments, Dublin, through the medium of the House of Industry, tracts, and rudimental books in that tongue, and by sendfrom which it differs in two important points; the one, in ing itinerant teachers through the country for their indeclining to provide the poor with lodging, but merely struction. The names of the Church Missionary, the with food, and in obliging them to procure the means of Tartarian Missionary, and the Methodist Missionary Solodging and clothing themselves by their own labour, for cieties, announce the origin and objects of each. The the exertion of which the society procures the means; the Jews’ Society undertakes the conversion of that nation other, its total dependence on voluntary contributions, to to the Christian faith. The Religious Tract Society has the utter rejection of grants of public money. The mana- an extensive store and sale-room in Sackville Street. The ger’s committee publishes annual reports, which show that, Continental Society professes generally to promote religithough it has been more than once on the eve of dissolu- ous knowledge and sentiments throughout Europe. tion through want of pecuniary resources, it still continues Scientific and literary societies are few. The Royal to exist in vigour sufficient to diminish considerably, Dublin Society is foremost in seniority and importance. though not wholly to suppress, the custom of street-beg- It owes its origin to some literary characters, who in 1731 ging. The Sick and Indigent Room Keepers’ Society ori- formed an association for scientific purposes. In 1749 it ginated in an effort made in 1790, by a few householders in was incorporated by charter, and received an annual parthe neighbourhood of Corn-market, to provide for the most liamentary grant of L.500, which was gradually augmenturgent necessities of the poor in their neighbourhood, by ed until it amounted to L.10,000, but latterly it has been affording a temporary weekly stipend in money for their reduced to L.7000. It embraces a variety of objects. lodging and maintenance. It has since extended itself The encouragement of agriculture and rural economy is throughout the whole city, and is managed by four com- attempted by shows of cattle, and by botanical lectures, nuttees for its four divisions, who ‘hold a joint meeting for which the society maintains a fine garden near Glasevery month to receive reports and issue grants. The nevin, containing upwards of twenty acres. The study of Strangers’ Friend Society somewhat resembles that just mineralogy is promoted by a professorship, and a museum described, but is more particularly directed to the relief classed according to the Wernerian system. It contains of strangers reduced to want during their temporary so- the Leskean collection, which is peculiarly rich in shells, journ in the city. It was set on foot, and is chiefly sup- butterflies, beetles, and reptiles. Lectures are also deported, by the Methodists. The Charitable Association has livered by professors of chemistry and natural philosophy.

246 DUBLIN. Dublin. The professorships of mining and the veterinary art have sequence of the society’s removal to Leinster House, which n been discontinued. A drawing school is established, in afforded no suitable room for it, the artists attempted their W ' which pupils of promising talents are instructed gratuitous- revival in the Royal Arcade in 1821, but without success. ^ ly in landscape, figure drawing, architecture, and model- These failures are attributable not merely to the indiffer-* ling, and premiums are periodically awarded. The socie- ence of the public to the subject, but to dissensions among ty is also provided with a good library, containing upwards the artists themselves. The want of a permanent place of 12,000 volumes. It is particularly rich in works on bo- of exhibition has at length been supplied by the liberality tany, and in those relating to Ireland. It has likewise a of Mr Francis Johnston, an architect to whom Dublin is gallery of statuary, in which are casts from the Elgin mar- indebted for several of its modern buildings, particularly bles. The museum and gallery are open to the public on the new Castle Chapel. He built an elegant and approparticular days. The members, who are admitted by bal- priate structure, at an expense of L. 10,000, which, when lot, on payment of an admission fee of L.30, which covers finished, he presented to the Society of Artists. Their exall subsequent expenses, have the exclusive advantage of hibitions have been held in it since its opening in 1825. the library, and of a reading-room well supplied with news- The society was incorporated in 1823. The progress of papers and periodicals. By a late bye-law, annual mem- the arts has been still further promoted by an associabers are admissible to most of the advantages of the socie- tion of noblemen and gentlemen, who, under the name ty on payment of a subscription of three guineas. The of the Royal Irish Association, have erected a building society held its meetings in Shaw’s Court until 1767, when near College Green, in which an annual exhibition of it removed to Grafton Street, and thence in 1796 to a pictures of the old masters, sent in for the occasion by building erected for it in Hawkins Street. It 1815 it pur- their Owners, is held, and premiums are occasionally ofchased the splendid museum and grounds of the Duke of fered to excite emulation among the young artists. This Leinster in Kildare Street, where it still continues. The association also defrayed the expenses of procuring the Farming Society was formed in 1800, and incorporated in patent for the Irish artists’ charter, amounting to L.350. 1815. It was maintained by grants of public money ; but The principal library in Dublin for the number and value as the results were ultimately found not to be commen- of its books is that of Trinity College. It is open of right surate with the expenditure, the grants have been with- only to such graduates of that university as take a strict drawn, and the society has sunk into non-existence. The oath relative to their conduct while in it, and to their treatKuwvanian Society, which takes its name from the cele- ment of its contents. Admission by special favour is atbrated chemist and mineralogist, was formed in 1812 for tainable, but with some difficulty. The King’s Inns Librathe advancement of chemistry, mineralogy, and natural ry is next in value. The right of reading in it is confined history. It is supported wholly by individual subscription. to the members of the King’s Inns Society; that is, to The Zoological Society, formed in 1830, on the model of barristers, attorneys, and law students. Each of these lithose in Dublin, has a garden on land granted to it by the braries is well supplied with modern English publications, lord lieutenant in the Phoenix Park, in which it has already in consequence of the right conferred on them by act of collected an assemblage of living animals, which makes it parliament, of receiving a copy of every new publication. an object of general attraction to the citizens of Dublin. It Marsh’s Library, attached to St Patrick’s Cathedral by the is supported by subscriptions, and by the money paid by the munificent bequest of an archbishop of Dublin of that public for admission. The Royal Irish Academy was insti- name, contains a good collection of old books, and is open tuted bypatent in 1786, topromote the study of polite litera- to the public on liberal terms; but, from the very small ture, science, and antiquities. Its formation was chiefly portion of its funds appropriated to the purchase of books, owing to the exertions of its president, the first Earl of it is very deficient in modern publications. It possesses Charlemont. It holds its meetings in Grafton Street, where some valuable manuscripts. Stevens’ Hospital, the Royal it has a small library containing some valuable manuscripts, Hospital, Sir Patrick Dun’s Hospital, and the College of and occasionally publishes a volume of transactions. This Surgeons, have each a small library attached to it, chiefly society receives an annual parliamentary grant of L.300. of medical books, for the use of the practitioners. The Several fruitless attempts have been made to excite a want of a public library easily accessible, and provided taste for Irish antiquities and literature, by societies under with the works most in request, w'as attempted to be supthe names of the Gaelic, the Hiberno-Celtic, and the Ar~ plied by a society, which, having been formed in 1791, chaeologian. Each has successively failed, but not until has collected a large number of books in a handsome and the two first named had sent forth some publications con- well-arranged building, raised for their reception in Dolier nected with the objects of their formation. The Dublin Street. Attached to it is a fine reading-room, well supInstitution, formed in 1811, in imitation of the London plied with newspapers. But as the fund, arising solely Institution for literary and scientific purposes, collected a from annual subscriptions, is not sufficient to stock the liliterary and philosophical apparatus for the use of its mem- brary with new publications, and to furnish a sufficient asbers by means of a capital of L.1500 raised in L.50 shares. sortment of newspapers, the former of these demands has The society has been virtually dissolved this year (1833), been made subordinate to the latter, and the library conby the sale of its books, and the announcement of its in- sequently impoverished. The other public reading-rooms tention of disposing of its mansion in Sackville Street, on are that in the Commercial Buildings, to which members which a considerable sum had been expended for a lecture are admitted by ballot and the payment of an annual subroom and laboratory. scription ; and the Northumberland Reading-room, opened Several attempts have been made to excite a taste for by the proprietor of an hotel near the Custom House as a the fine arts in Dublin. In 1764 an association of artists pecuniary speculation. erected p neat building in William Street for their meetDublin owes its commercial rank chiefly to its political ings, and for the exhibition of their works; but the pro- position as the metropolis of Ireland, and to its being the fits of the scheme did not cover their expenses, and the main pivot of communication with England. The natural building was consequently offered for sale, and purchased impediments to the entrance of large vessels into the by the corporation of Dublin as an assembly-house. Ex- river, combined with the dangerous navigation of the bay, hibitions of pictures by native artists were afterwards present serious checks to the ardour of mercantile specuopened in Hawkins Street, under the patronage of the lation. The want of a communication with the interior Dublin Society. On their discontinuance there, in con- by water is but imperfectly supplied by the two lines of

DUB L 1 N. 247 fice was erected in 1729; and notwithstanding the changes Dublin, lin. inland navigation proceeding from it. A particular account of these must be postponed to its appropriate place made in it since it was diverted from its original purpose, in the general account of Ireland. As far as Dublin is the exterior has been but little altered. It consists of concerned, they are mainly serviceable in conveying to it three fronts. The principal, towards College Green, a bulky articles, such as stone, bricks, potatoes, grain, and colonnade of the Ionic order, formed of a facade and two turf. The increase of commercial transactions occasioned projecting wings, is much admired for the noble simpliThe western front, a portico of four by a long continuance of domestic tranquillity after the city of its elevation. r revolution of 1688, excited a desire among the merchants Ionic columns, w as connected with the other by a colonto have a suitable place for transacting their public busi- nade of the same order, forming the quadrant of a circle. ness with one another, and consequently the foundations The eastern front, which was the entrance of the House of the Royal Exchange were in 1769 laid on Cork Hill, of Lords, was, by their special order, a colonnade of the and the building was opened in ten years after, at an ex- Corinthian order, which the architect found great diffipense of L.40,000, procured by subscriptions, lotteries, and culty in uniting with the other parts. The apartment for grants of public money. It is one of the most admired the Lords, a fine room, was hung with tapestry. That of structures in Dublin. Its principal front consists of a Co- the Commons having been burned in 1792, whether by rinthian portico of six pillars. The interior is chiefly oc- accident or design has never been fully ascertained, was cupied by a magnificent circular hall lighted from above, reconstructed after a more elegant design, in the form of a with which several smaller apartments are connected. circle surrounded by pillars, between which was a gallery The progress of civic improvements already noticed gra- for hearers. This fine hall was taken down by the bank dually threw this fine building out of the more convenient directors, and converted into a square room, now the channels of business. A more central position for mer- cash-office. The bank possesses a very curious and comcantile transactions presented itself in College Green. plicated system of machinery, worked by steam, for printThither therefore the sagacity of speculation was directed, ing the notes, whereby the number struck oft’ can be asand a new building has been raised, principally by L.50 certained at any moment without the chance of error. It small arms for all the clerks shares, with more numerous and suitable accommodations, has also an armory, containing 7 under the name of the Commercial Buildings. The value and servants, who w ere formed into a corps in 1798 and of the Royal Exchange has consequently diminished. It 1803. The building is still further secured from assault is now little used except for public meetings, for which the by embrasures and loopholes concealed in the walls. reverberation of the voice from its lofty dome, and the Tanks of great magnitude, and powerful forcing pumps, intercolumniations of the great hall, render it unfit. It is have been provided for guarding against casualties by also a depository for the statues of celebrated characters, fire. The private banking houses are those of Latouche and has in it those of George III., Henry Grattan, and and Company, which transacts the Dublin part of the buDoctor Lucas. The Commercial Buildings form a small siness of the provincial bank, the Hibernian, Shaw’s, and square of simple architecture fronting College Green. Bali’s. The silk, woollen, and cotton manufactures, have been They contain a large saloon occupied as a news-room, and a number of offices for merchants and brokers, together carried on in Dublin. The first was introduced by some with an hotel and coffee-house. In order still further to French refugees on the revolution of the edict of Nantz. promote the commercial interests of Dublin, an associa- It employed a number of hands, until the alteration in the tion was formed about thirty years ago, under the name of duties in 1815 gave it a blow from w hich it has never rethe Chamber of Commerce ; but it soon died away. The covered. It is now nearly extinct. The article most in idea was revived in 1820, when a number of merchants demand was a mixed fabric of silk and worsted, called formed themselves into a society under the same name, tabinet, or Irish poplin. The woollen manufacture gave which still exists. Its objects are the protection and employment for many years to the greater part of the . promotion of the manufacturing and commercial interests population of the liberties. Their hall on the Coombe is of Dublin, and of the country in general. The business embellished with a statue of George II. The process of is transacted by a council, which is instructed to commu- tentering the cloth was long performed in the open air; nicate with the officers of government on the subjects of but as the broken weather to which the country is subject the association. Their office is held in the Commercial frequently interrupted this part of the manufacture, or Buildings. The Ouzel Galley is another voluntary asso- compelled the workmen to have recourse to public houses ciation of merchants, for determining commercial differ- to dry their w'ebs, Mr Thomas Pleasants, whose name has ences by arbitration. It takes its name from that of a been already more than once mentioned as a most muvessel, which u'as the occasion of a complicated and pro- nificent contributor to the benevolent institutions, erected tracted suit, that wras ultimately adjusted in an amicable a tenter-house in Cork Street, at an expense of L. 13,000. manner by the interference of some of the most respect- This branch is also rapidly declining. The cotton trade able merchants in Dublin. The effect of steam-naviga- has always been carried on to some extent in Dublin since tion on the cross-channel trade has produced a great al- its introduction into Ireland, but there is no public buildteration in the state of commerce in Dublin. Most of ing especially connected with it. The board of trustees the business formerly transacted through the merchants for the linen manufacture at first met in a'room on Cork of this city is now carried on by letter with the English Hill, afterwards in an apartment in the castle, and ultibroker, and not unfrequently by a personal visit to the mately in buildings erected for the promotion of the matrading and manufacturing towns in England, to which ac- nufacture in the north of the city. These buildings occess is obtained with extraordinary expedition and cheap- cupy nearly three acres,' and consist of six courts, surness, by the steamers, and by the peculiar facilities for rounded by stores communicating by piazzas and galletravelling which that country affords. ries. Part is used as a yarn hall. The trustees, whoihe Bank of Ireland was formed in 1783, in order to give were nominated from among the leading personages in security to commerce. It was opened at first in some each of the four professions, were entrusted with the-disold houses in Mary’s Abbey, with a capital of L.600,000, tribution of a large sum for premiums and other expenses. which was afterwards increased to L.3,000,000. In the The board has been dissolved; but the buildings are still year 1802 the parliament-house was purchased by the di- kept up as warerooms and stores, under the care of a rectors, and adapted to its present destination. This edi- chamberlain.

248 Dublin.

DUB The Corn-Exchange was built to obviate the inconveniences felt from the want of a well-situated mart. A charter was obtained in 1817, and a fund raised by shares, with which a large hall has been erected on Burgh Quay, in which grain is sold by sample. Attached to it are buildings intended for an hotel, and hall for public meetings, which latter was used as such by the Catholic Association, and since by the National Political Union. There are few cities in which the pleasures of domestic society are more indulged in than in Dublin. A spirit of sociability pervades all ranks. One consequence of this peculiar feature is a disregard of public amusements. In Queen Elizabeth’s time plays were performed in the ballroom of the castle by the nobility and gentry. In 1635 Lord Strafford erected a theatre in Werburgh Street, for which Shirley wrote. It was closed in 1641. After the restoration a new theatre was opened in Orange Street, now Smock Alley, under the former patent. In 1733 there were three theatres; one in Bainsford Street, in the liberty of Thomascourt; another in George’s Lane; and the third in Smock Alley. In 1745 Mr Sheridan had a theatre in Aungier Street, which was destroyed in a riot in 1754. Smock Alley still continued open ; and in 1758 another was opened in Crow Street, after which both continued, until, after a violent struggle for twenty-five years, the former was given up. On the expiration of the patent, about 1820, the new patentee, not being able to procure the building in Crow Street on what he deemed reasonable terms, purchased the Dublin Society’s premises in Hawkins Street, then used as the Mendicity Asylum, on which a large and elegant theatre has been constructed; but it is not well attended, unless during the extraordinary excitement of first-rate performers, particularly singers. A building called the Arena, set up in Abbey Street for equestrian performances, after having been closed for some years, was taken as their place of meeting by the Dublin Trades Political Union. Shortly after the opening of the Lying-Inn Hospital, an adjoining suite of rooms was splendidly fitted up for balls, concerts, and assemblies. The principal is a circular hall eighty feet in diameter, called the Rotunda; the others, of smaller dimensions, are used as music and supper-rooms. They communicate with the interior of Rutland Square, and were originally thrown open on Sunday evenings as a place of relaxation, where the respectable part of society met together to walk, to look at one another, and to take refreshments. These promenades, as they were called, were ultimately put down by the interference of the clergy. The rooms have since been used for concerts, public meetings, particularly of religious societies, and latterly for auction rooms. The gardens are opened two evenings in every week, and lighted with illuminated lamps, during the summer season. Military bands attend, and rope-dancers and tumblers occasionally exhibit. The attractions thus held out have been found sufficient to draw together occasionally a large concourse of company. The profits arising from the trifle paid for admission are applied to the use of the hospital. The town residence of the Marquis of Waterford, in Marlborough Street, and that of the Earl of Charlemont, in Rutland Square, are fine buildings. The latter contains a large and choice library, particularly rich in continental literature, some fine antiques and statues, and a good collection of pictures. Steam navigation has considerably augmented the concourse of strangers to Dublin, and consequently increased the number of hotels, and improved their management. The Commercial Hotel, on Usher’s Quay, which forms part of a large pile of buildings, intended for a mart for native manufactures, is remarkable for a colonnade in front;

DUB and Gresham’s, in Sackville Street, is a splendid and well- Duj appointed concern. There are but two public monuments worthy of parti- Dui cular notice,—Nelson’s pillar in the centre of Sackville '“’“n 1 Street, which is 108 feet high, surmounted by a colossal statue of Nelson, and raised at an expense of L.6856; and the Wellington memorial in the Phcenix Park, near its entrance, a stupendous obelisk 205 feet in height, and not yet finished. At the north-western extremity of the city, the Phcenix Park, an inclosure containing about lOOOacres, belonging to the crown, is thrown open for the recreation of the citizens. Reviews of the garrison also take place in it. It contains the lord lieutenant’s lodge, and the residences of some of the public officers. The name is derived from one of the town-lands, of which it is formed. The communications from.Dublin to the interior are maintained by the mail coaches, thirteen of which leave the city every day; and by numerous stage-coaches, caravans, and public jaunting cars. These latter vehicles also afford a convenient and economical, though by no means elegant, mode of conveyance to visit the picturesque and romantic scenery that on all sides embellishes the outlets of this beautiful i city. Dublin is situated in long. 6. 21. W. and lat. 53. 23. N., and is distant from London 300 miles in a direct line, 339 miles by Holyhead, and 350 by Liverpool in a direction nearly west-north-west. DUBNQ, a circle in the Russian province of Volhynia. It is bounded on the north-west by Luzk, on the northeast by Rowno, on the east by Ostrog, on the south by Kremenez, and on the south-west by Austrian Galicia. It is the most fertile part of the rich province to which it belongs, is watered by the Slyr, and yields abundant crops of wheat, flax, tobacco, and rye. The capital, of the same name, is situated on the river Irwa. It is a large ill-built town, chiefly consisting of wooden houses, with crooked and ill-paved streets, and contains 5650 inhabitants, a great proportion of whom are Jews. Long. 25.35. E. Lat. 50. 26. N. DUBOI, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Gujerat and district of Chumpaneer, situated in a low and marshy situation. Here are the remains of a Hindu city of great antiquity. The fortifications which surround it are nearly three miles in circumference. It is forty miles north-east from Broach. Long. 73. 35. E. Lat. 22. 4. N. DUBOS, Jean-Baptiste, an eminent French author, was born at Beauvais in December 1670. At first he applied himself to theology, but soon renounced this pursuit for the study of public law, and of the political interests of Europe. M. de Torcy, when minister of foreign affairs, employed him with advantage in several secret negociations ; and both the regent and Cardinal Dubos made the same use of his talents, with the same success. Having retired from the field of politics, he entered upon that of history and literature ; and, in 1720, his works opened to him the doors of the French academy, of which, in 1722, he vyas appointed perpetual secretary, in the room of M. Dacier. He died at Paris on the 23d of March 1742, at the age of seventy-two, repeating as he expired the wellknown remark of an ancient, “ Death is a law, not a punishment. ’ According to Dubos, “ there are three things which ought to console us for parting with life ; the friends whom we have lost, the few persons worthy of being loved whom we leave behind, and lastly, the recollection of our follies, with the certainty that we shall commit no more.” His first work was L'Histoire des quatre Gordiens, prouvee et illustreepar des Medailles, Paris, 1695, 12mo. The common opinion, which only admits three emperors of this name, has prevailed in spite of all the efforts of his erudition and criticism. About the commencement of the war

DUG j 0f 1701, being charged with different negociations both in II' Holland and in England, in order if possible to engage jJJc; ^gge powers to adopt a pacific line of policy, he, in order t0 promote the objects of his mission, published a work entitled Les Interets de VAngleterre mal entendus dans la Guerre presents, Amsterdam, 1703, 12mo. But as this work contained indiscreet disclosures, of which the enemy took advantage, and predictions which were not fulfilled, a wag took occasion to remark that the title ought to be read thus: Les Interets de VAngleterre mal entendus par lAbbe Dubos. His next work was L'Histoire de la Ligue de Cambray, Paris, 1709,1728, and 1785, 2 vols. 12mo. This history, says Voltaire, is profound, political, interesting; it makes us acquainted with the manners and usages of the time, and is a model of its kind. In 1734 he published his Histoire Critique de Vetablissement de la Monarchie Frangaise dans les Gaules, 3 vols. 4to ; a work the object of which was to prove that the Francs had entered the Gauls, not as conquerors, but at the request of the nation, which, according to him, had called them in to govern it. But this system, though unfolded with a degree of skill and ability which at first procured it many zealous partizans, was victoriously refuted by Montesquieu at the end of the thirtieth book of the Esprit des Lois. “ C’est un colosse,” said Montesquieu, “ qui a de pieds d’argile, et c’est parce que les pieds sont d’argile qus le colosse est immense. Si le systeme de M. 1’Abbe Dubos avait. eu de bons fondemens, il n’aurait pas ete oblige de faire trois mortels volumes pour le prouver; il aurait tout trouve dans son sujet; et sans aller chercher de toutes parts ce qui en etait tres loin, la raison elle-meme se serait chargee de placer cette verite dans la chaine des autres verites. L’histoire et nos lois lui auraient dit: ' Ne prenez pas tant de peine; nous rendrons temoignage de vous.’ ” His Reflexions critiques sur la Poesie et sur la Peinture, published for the first time in 1719, 2 vols. 12mo, but often reprinted in three volumes, constitute one of the works in which the theory of the arts is explained with the utmost sagacity and discrimination. “ All artists,” says Voltaire, “ read it with advantage. It is the most useful book which has ever been written on the subjects of which it treats, in any nation of Europe. The excellence of the work consists in this, that it contains few errors, and many reflections which are just, novel, and profound. It is not a methodical book ; but the author thinks, and makes others think. He was, however, ignorant of music; he had never been able to make verses, and he had not a single picture in his possession ; but he had read, seen, heard, and reflected much.” Besides the works above enumerated, a manifesto of Maximilian, elector of Bavaria, against Leopold, emperor of Germany, relative to the succession in Spain, has been attributed to Dubos, chiefly, we believe, by reason of the excellence of the style, which has been greatly commended. (a.) DEBRIS, in Ancient Geography, a town of Britain; now Dover, from Dovoria of the lower age, and a porttown in Kent, opposite to Calais. DUCAL, in general, something belonging to a duke. See Duke. I he letters patent granted by the senate of Venice were called ducal; and so also were the letters written in the name of the senate to foreign princes. The denomination of ducal is derived from the circumstance that, at the beginning of such patents, the name of the duke or doge was written in capitals. The date of ducals is usually in Latin, but the body is in Italian. In 1716 a courier was dispatched with a ducal to the emperor, returning him thanks for renewing the treaty of alliance with the republic of Venice, against the Turks. DU CAS, a learned Greek, who wrote a history of what vol. vm.

D U C 249 passed under the last emperors of Constantinople, until the Ducat capture of that city, and the fall of the eastern empire. || This work, which is esteemed, was printed at the Louvre Duchy, in 1649, with the Latin translation and notes of Boillaud. DUCAT, a foreign coin, either of gold or silver, struck in the dominions of a duke. The origin of ducats is referred to one Longinus, governor of Italy, who, revolting against the emperor Justin the Younger, made himself duke of Ravenna, and called himself Exarcha, that is, without lord or ruler ; and, in order to show' his independence, struck pieces of money of very pure gold in his own name, and with his own stamp, which, as Procopius relates, were called ducati, ducats. After him, the first who struck ducats were the Venetians, who called them zecchini, or sequins, from Zecca, the place where they were first struck. This was about the year 1280, and in the time of John Dandolo. But we have pretty good evidence that Roger king of Sicily had coined ducats as early as 1240 ; and Du Cange scruples not to affirm that the first ducats were struck in the duchy of Apulia in Calabria. See Money. DUCATOON, a silver coin, struck chiefly in Italy, particularly at Milan, Venice, Florence, Genoa, Lucca, Mantua, and Parma, though there are also Dutch and Flemish ducatoons. See Money. DUCENARIUS, in Antiquity, an officer in the Roman army, who had the command of two thousand men. The emperors had also ducenarii among their procurators or intendants, called procuratores ducenarii. Some say that Ducenarii were those whose salary was two hundred sesterces ; as in the games of the circus, horses hired for two hundred sesterces were called ducenarii. Others hold that ducenarii were those who levied the two hundredth penny, or the officers appointed to inspect the raising of that tribute. In the inscriptions at Palmyra, the word ducenarius, in Greek dovxsmpoi, occurs very frequently. DUCENTESIMA, in Antiquity, a tax of the two hundredth penny, exacted by the Romans. DUCHAL, James, D.D. a pious and learned dissenting minister, was born in Ireland, and finished his studies at the university of Glasgow, which afterwards, from a regard to his merit, conferred on him the degree of doctor of divinity. He resided ten or eleven years at Cambridge as the pastor of a small congregation, and there enjoyed his beloved retirement, with the advantage of books and of learned conversation, which he improved with the greatest diligence. On Mr Abernethy’s removal from Antrim he succeeded him there, and on that gentleman’s death he again succeeded him as a minister of a dissenting meeting-house in Wood Street, Dublin. In this situation he continued till his death, which happened on the 4th of May 1761, when he had completed his sixty-fourth year. He published a volume of excellent discourses on the presumptive arguments in favour of the Christian religion, together with many occasional tracts ; and after his death a number of his sermons were published, in three volumes 8vo. DUCHENPARAH, a town of Cashmere, the capital of a district of the same name, situated at the foot of a ridge of high mountains which bound Cashmere on the side of Great Thibet. Long. 74. 58. E. Lat. 34. 51. N. The district is situated between the thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth degrees of north latitude. DUCHOWTSCHINA, a circle in the Russian government of SmoLensko, north-east from the city, well watered and cultivated. The capital, of the same name, is situated on two rivers, the Ehewistitza and the Zarrewitza, which here join. The inhabitants amount to 950 only. DUCHY, in Geography, an appellation given to the dominions of a duke. 2i

I 250 DUG DUG Duchy Duchy Court, a court where all matters belonging to all the wits oi his time, by whom he was well received. Court the duchy or county palatine of Lancaster are decided by He became a member of that club, or association of young men, who published their juvenile productions under the ie Duclos court ^ecreewas t^in chancellor of Henry that court. The obtained origin of this ^ the time of IV. who the titles of Recueil de ces Messieurs, Etrennes de la St Jean crown by the deposition of Richard II. and having taken (Eufs de Paques, &c. The romance of Acajou and Zirthe duchy of Lancaster by descent, in right of his mother, phile, which was composed after a series of plates which became seised thereof as king, not as duke; so that all had been engraved for another work, was one of the fruits the liberties, franchises, and jurisdictions of the said of this association, and was produced in consequence of a county passed from the king by his great seal, and not sort of wager amongst its members. The epistolary dediby livery or attornment, as the earldom of March, and cation to the public, which was prefixed to this trifle, gave other possessions, which descended to him by other ances- umbrage to some, in consequence of the flippant tone tors than the king’s did. Henry IV. by authority of par- w hich the author assumed. Duclos had previously writliament, dissevered the possessions, liberties, &c. of the ten two other romances, which were more favourably said duchy from the crown, but Edward IV. restored received: The Baroness de Luz, and the Confessions of them to their former nature. The officers belonging to the Count de ***. His first serious publication was the this court are, a chancellor, attorney-general, receiver-ge- History of Louis XI. The style of this work is dry and neral, clerk of the court, and messenger, besides the as- epigrammatical, but the author has displayed in it consistants, such as an attorney in the exchequer, another in siderable powers of research, and preserved the character of an impartial historian. The reputation of Duclos chancery, and four counsellors. as an author was confirmed by the publication of his ConDUCK. See Ornithology. Duck, Stephen, originally a common thrasher in a barn, siderations sur les Mceurs, a work which is much praised was born about the beginning of the eighteenth century. by Laharpe, and not without justice; for although the By his poetical talents he first attracted the notice of style, as in most of the writings of this author, is rather some gentlemen at Oxford; and having been recommend- stiff and sententious, the book undoubtedly contains a ed to Queen Caroline, he, under her patronage, took or- great deal of just and ingenious reflection. It was transders, and was preferred to the living of Byfleet in Surrey. lated both into English and German. The Memoim Swift, who, one would have thought, might have overlook- pour servir d I'Histoire du dix-huitieme Siecle, which were ed such an object as Duck, but whose splenetic humour intended by the author as a sort of sequel to the precedprompted him to be satirical for any reason or none, chose ing work, are nevertheless much inferior both in respect to feel piqued at the generosity displayed by the queen, of style and matter, and are, in reality, little better than a and under the influence of this feeling wrote the following kind of romance. In consequence of his History of Louis bitter Epigram “ on Stephen Duck the thresher and fa- XL he was appointed historiographer of France, when that place became vacant on Voltaire’s retirement to Prusvourite poet:” sia. His Secret Memoirs of the Reign of Louis XIV. and The thresher Duck could o’er the queen prevail; Louis XV. and his Considerations on Italy, were not pubThe proverb says, “No fence against a flail.” lished until after the revolution. The former work is From threshing corn he turns to thresh his brains, | For which her majesty allows him grains. highly spoken of by Chamfort. Though ’tis confess’d that those who ever saw Duclos became a member of the Academy of InscripHis poems, think them all not worth a straw. tions in 1739, and of the French Academy in 1747. Of Thrice happy Duck, employ’d in threshing stubble ! the latter he was appointed perpetual secretary in 1755. Thy toil is lessened, and thy profits double. Both of these academies were indebted to him, not only Duck’s abilities, however, were much more conspicuous in for many valuable contributions, but likewise for several his primitive station than in his advancement, though it is useful regulations and improvements. As a member of said he was not disliked as a preacher. At length, having the Academy of Inscriptions, he composed several mefallen into a low-spirited melancholy way, probably owing moirs on the Druids; on the origin and revolutions of the to his change of life, and the cessation of his usual labour, Celtic and French languages; on trial by battle, and proof he in a fit of insanity threw himself from a bridge near by ordeal; and on scenic representations, and the ancient Reading, into the Thames, and was drowned. This un- drama. As a member of the French Academy, he assisted happy accident occurred in the year 1756. in compiling the new edition of the Dictionary which was DUCKING, plunging in water, a diversion anciently published in 1762; and he made some just and philosophipractised among the Goths by way of exercise; but among cal remarks on the Port Royal Grammar. On several octhe Celts, Franks, and ancient Germans, it was a sort of casions he resolutely supported the honour and prerogapunishment for persons of scandalous lives. tives of the societies to which he belonged, and maintained DUCKINSHAHABAZPOOR, a large island of Hin- the respectability of the literary character in general. He dustan, in the province of Bengal, situated at the junction used to say of himself, “ I shall leave behind me a name of the great river Meyna with the sea, thirty miles in dear to literary men.” His fellow-citizens, whose interests length by fifteen in average breadth. It lies low, and he always supported with zeal, appointed him mayor of during the rains is almost wholly submerged. their town in 1744, although he was resident at Paris. He DUCKUP, at sea, is a term used by the steersman was afterwards elected deputy from the commons to the when the mainsail, foresail, or spritsail hinders his seeing assembly of the states of Bretagne; and upon the requisito steer by a landmark; upon which he calls out, Duckiip tion of this body the king granted him letters of nobility. the clew-lines of these sails, that is, haul the sails out of In 1766 he was advised to retire from France for some the way. time, in order that the government might have an opporDUCLOS, Charles Pineau, a French author of some tunity of forgetting some opinions which he had hazarded, celebrity, was born at Dinant, in Bretagne, in the year on the subject of the dispute between the Due d’Aiguil1704. At an early age he was sent to study at Paris. lon and M. de la Chalotais, the friend and countryman of The imprudence of youth, and his love of pleasure, led Duclos. Accordingly he set out for Italy, and, on his him at first to contract certain intimacies which were return, he wrote an account of his travels, which is also little .suited to his circumstances; but having afterwards praised by Chamfort. He died at Paris on the 26th oi disengaged himself from these, he courted the society of March 1772, in the sixty-ninth year of his age.

IS.

j)!t

The'character of Duclos, although it exhibited many singular traits, was still respectable, whether we consider fcuf/y- him as a man or as an author. Rousseau described him very laconically as a man, droit et adroit. In his manners he displayed a sort of bluntness in society, which frequently rendered him disagreeable; and his caustic wit on many occasions created enemies. To those who knew him, however, he was a pleasant companion. He was a great lover of anecdotes, and had the talent of relating them in a very agreeable manner. A considerable number of his good sayings have been preserved by his biographers. A complete edition of the works of Duclos was published by Desessarts, at Paris, in 10 vols. 8vo, 1806. (See Biog. Universelle.') DUCT, in general, denotes any tube or canal. It is a term much used by anatomists. DUCTILITY, in Physics, a property possessed by certain solid bodies; it consists in their yielding to percussion or pressure, and receiving different forms, without breaking. Some bodies are ductile both when they are hot and when they are cold, indeed in all circumstances. Such are metals, particularly gold and silver. Other bodies are ductile only when heated to a sufficient degree ; such as wax and other substances of that kind, and glass. Other bodies, again, particularly some kinds of iron, called by the workmen red short, brass, and some other metallic mixtures, are ductile only when cold, and brittle when hot. The degrees of heat requisite to produce ductility in bodies of the first kind, vary according to their different natures. In general the heat of the body must be such as is sufficient to reduce it to a middle state, betwixt solidity and perfect fusion. As wax, for instance, is fusible with a very small heat, it may be rendered ductile by a still smaller ; and glass, which requires a most violent heat for its perfect fusion, cannot acquire its greatest ductility until it is made perfectly red hot, and almost ready to fuse. Lastly, some bodies are made ductile by the absorption of a fluid. Such are certain earths, particularly clay. When these earths have absorbed a sufficient quantity of water to bring them into a middle state betwixt solidity and fluidity, that is, to the consistence of a considerably firm paste, they have then acquired their greatest ductility. Water has precisely the same effect upon them in this respect that fire has upon the bodies above mentioned. DUDLEY, Edmund, a celebrated lawyer and statesman in the reign of Henry VIL, who with Sir Richard Lmpson, another lawyer of the same stamp, assisted in filling that rapacious monarch’s coffers by arbitrary prosecutions of the people on old penal statutes. Dudley and kmpson were beheaded on the accession of Henry VIII. in order to pacify the clamours of the people for justice. Dudley, John, Duke of Northumberland, son of the above, a statesman memorable in the English history for his unsuccessful attempt to place the crown on the head of his daughter-in-law, Lady Jane Grey, who fell a victim to his ambition, was born in 1502, and beheaded in 1553. Ambrose, his eldest son, was a brave general and able statesman under Queen Elizabeth, and received the appellation of “ the good Earl of Warwick.” Henry, the duke s second son, was killed at the siege of St Quintin. Kobert, the third son, a man of bad character, was created Earl of Leicester, and became one of Queen Elizabeth’s favourites. His fourth son was the unfortunate Lord Guildford Dudley, whose only crime was his being the husband of Lady Jane Grey, an offence for which he was beheaded in 1554. Dudley, Sir Robert, as he was called in England, and, us he was styled abroad, Earl of Warwick and JDuke of

Northumberland, was the son of Robert above mentioned, Dudley, by the Lady Douglas Sheffield, and born at Sheen in Surrey in 1573, where he was carefully concealed, in order to prevent the queen acquiring a knowledge of the earl’s engagement with his mother. He was entered of Christ Church, Oxford, where he remained some time. In 1588 his father died, and left him, after the decease of his uncle Ambrose, his castle of Kenilworth, the lordships of Denbigh and Chirk, and the bulk of his estate, which before he was of age he in a great measure enjoyed, notwithstanding the enmity borne him by the Countess Dowager of Leicester. He was at this time one of the finest gentlemen in England; and having a particular turn for navigation, he fitted out a small squadron at his own expense, with which he sailed to the river Orinoco, and took and destroyed nine sail of Spanish ships. In 1595 he attended the Earl of Essex and the lord high admiral of England in their expedition against the Spaniards, and, for his gallant behaviour at the taking of Cadiz, he received the honour of knighthood. He now endeavoured to prove the legitimacy of his birth, in order to be entitled to his hereditary honours. But being overpowered by the interest of the Countess Dowager of Leicester, he applied for a license to travel; and being well received at the court of Florence, he resolved to continue there, notwithstanding his receiving a letter of recall; upon which his whole estate was seized by King James I. and vested in the crown. At the court of Cosmo II. great duke of Tuscany, he discovered those great abilities for which he had been admired in England, and was at length made chamberlain to his serene highness’s consort. Whilst in this situation, he contrived several methods of improving shipping; introduced new manufactures ; and by other services obtained so high a reputation that, at the desire of the archduchess, the Emperor Ferdinand, in 1620, created him a duke of the holy Roman empire. He afterwards drained a vast tract of morass between Pisa and the sea, and raised Leghorn, which was then a mean and insignificant place, into a large and beautiful town, improving the haven by a mole, which rendered it both safe and commodious; and having engaged his highness to declare it a free port, he by his influence and correspondence drew many English merchants to settle and set up houses there, which proved of very great service to his native country, as well as to the Spaniards. He was also the patron of learned men, and held a high place himself in the republic of letters. His most celebrated work is his Del Arcano del Mare, Firenze, 1630, 1646, folio. This work, which has always been scarce, has now become extremely rare. There is a copy in the British Museum, dated 1661, and called the second edition ; but that which we have seen and examined belongs to the Society of Writers to the Signet, Edinburgh, whose valuable and well-selected library contains many works of the greatest merit, and literary gems and rarities. The work, which consists of a collection of tracts, comprehends a great number of projects for the improvement of navigation and commerce, with the charts and plans relative thereto; all of them schemes which, considering the time when they were devised, are quite remarkable for the boldness and originality with which they are conceived, and the extent of scientific acquirements which they exhibit. Dudley, a large town of the hundred of Halfshire, in the county of Worcester, 130 miles from London. It contains two parishes, with their respective churches. The country around it abounds with coal and iron. The chief employment consists in making nails and other hardware. It is a very ancient town, the castle of which is reported to have been built in the seventh century, by a Saxon prince Dodo or Duddo. There is a large market held every Saturday. The inhabitants in 1801 amounted to

DUE 10,107, in 1811 to 13,925, in 1821 to 18,211, and in 1831 to 23,043. DUEL, a combat between two persons. To distinguish it from the unpremeditated combat or rencontre, it must take place at a time and place appointed in consequence of a cartel or challenge, and generally in presence of two or more witnesses or umpires. The word is derived from duellum, used by the barbarous Latin writers quasi duorum helium ; and, as a judicial trial, it has been defined “ singularis pugnus inter duos ad probandum litem, et qui vicit probasse intelligitur.” (Fleta.) The origin of duelling may be traced to that barbarous state of society in which personal courage was followed as the ruling principle, and esteemed as the noblest ornament, of life. Under the influence of such principles, the considerations of justice and humanity were little regarded ; and patience under injuries being branded as infamous and cowardly, men were naturally impelled, not only to avenge their own wrongs, but to gratify their private resentments, at the point of the sword. Before the dawn of Christianity had thrown its light upon the interesting doctrine of a providence superintending the affairs of men, the belief of an adequate distribution of rewards and punishments in the present life seems to have been generally received. The rich, the prosperous, and the happy, were apt to be considered as the peculiar favourites of Heaven; whilst disease, misfortune, and sudden or violent death, were regarded as the inflictions of divine vengeance on the crimes of the sufferers. Hence, in a superstitious age, arose the practice of making a direct appeal to the deity in the single combat, under the persuasion that the justice of Heaven would infallibly declare for the innocent, and visit the perjured and the guilty with dishonour and death. The duel, as a judicial trial, prevailed at an early period amongst the Germans, Danes, and Franks; and by a law instituted in 501, by Gondeband, king of Burgundy, it was allowed in legal proceedings in lieu of swearing. Louis le Debonnaire was the first French monarch who permitted to litigants the trial by arms ; and the same mode of trial was introduced into England, with other Norman customs, by William the Conqueror. It was only used, however, in three cases : in the court martial or court of chivalry, in appeals of felony, and in civil cases upon issue joined in a writ of right; in which last it was the only decision, until Henry II., with consent of parliament, introduced the grand assize. None were exempt from the trial by battle but females, the sick and the maimed, and persons under fifteen or above sixty years of age ; ecclesiastics, priests, and monks, being allowed to produce champions in their stead. The trial by battle, however, soon degenerated into a convenient pretext for gratifying private revenge under sanction of the law, or on pretence of discovering truth and punishing perjury. Under the feudal system it was of course warmly patronized, being but too congenial with the feelings and habits of the fierce and haughty barons, who, uncontrolled by any principles of law or religion, disdained to submit their differences to any arbitration, or to seek any reparation for an injury but by the sword. Arms were the sport, plunder and revenge the business, of their lives. And to such a height did the evils arising from their private quarrels and petty warfare increase, that it became necessary to adopt some means for controlling and directing the torrent of military violence, which threatened to sweep away every feeling of justice and humanity, and subject the peace and comfort of the community to the unrestrained passions of a fierce and lawless aristocracy. Martial societies were accordingly instituted, whose duty it was to protect the weak and defenceless, to relieve the

DUE oppressed, to correct abuses, and to promote the public D good. J Hence arose chivalry and knight-errantry, which, although they modified in some degree the evil of duelling, by imposing a minute and punctilious system of observances, had yet a tendency to perpetuate the practice, by instituting those false and fantastic principles of honour the evils of which are still felt in the modern duel. With the code of punctilious regulations, the grounds and motives of the duel were changed and extended. Malice and revenge gave place to the gratification of personal vanity, and the desire of that renown for deeds of arms which was considered as the glory of the age. Tilts and tournaments were the pastime of the nobles, and were not only countenanced by the presence of the prince, who not unfrequently shared the dangers of the field, but graced by the attendance of female beauty and distinction, from whose hands the successful champion received the prize of his achievements, and at whose feet he longed to lay the trophies of his victory. jSee Chivalry. The tournament continued in high estimation, notwithstanding the many valuable lives sacrificed on the most frivolous occasions, until the middle of the sixteenth century, when the death of Henry II. of France, in a tournament given in honour of his sister’s marriage, gave a check to these sanguinary amusements. At this entertainment Henry sent his lance to Count Montgomerie, the captain of his guards, who at first declined the challenge; but on the king repeating his commands, he was compelled to obey. At the encounter, Montgomerie purposely broke his lance against the king’s breastplate ; but unhappily for the monarch he wore his helmet open, and a splinter of the lance flying up into his eye, pierced his brain. He survived for about a month in great agony, and died on the 10th July 1559. (Cockburn on Duels.) In no country has the duel on private and personal quarrels prevailed to so great an extent as in France. Francis I. encouraged the practice by his well-known determination “ that the lie was never to be borne without satisfaction but by a base-born fellow.” By his challenge to the Emperor Charles V. he set an example which his high-minded nobles were but too eager to follow; and under the countenance of their monarch their native propensity to the single combat was indulged to an extent which all the power of his successors was scarcely able to control. The power of the church was frequently exerted to restrain these bloody proceedings, especially by a council at Valentia in 855, and lastly by the council of Trent, session xxv. chap. 19, which excommunicated not only the combatants, but their associates, and even the spectators of the battle; declaring the custom to be detestable, introduced by Satan for the destruction both of body and soul. It adds, that “ all advisers, supporters, witnesses, or those in any way concerned, are likewise excommunicated. Princes also who connive at duels are to be deprived of all temporal power, jurisdiction, and dominion over the places where they have permitted duels to be fought.” Philip the Fair, at the close of the thirteenth century, forbade all gages or pledges of battle; but this prohibition was afterwards relaxed in several instances, and in 1306 a royal ordonnance was published, prescribing rules, conditions, and ceremonies for the combat. In the reign of Henry II. a noted duel was fought in the king’s presence between Guy Chabot de Jarnac and Francis de la Chastaignerie, in which the latter was slain; and on this occasion Henry is said to have taken an oath never to allow another during his reign. An edict was published accordingly; but this, which appears to have been the first royal prohibition of the duel, was produc-

DUE live of no good effects. The prohibition indeed arose rather from the king’s grief for the loss of his friend Chastaignerie than from any desire on public grounds to abolish the custom; and it appears rather to have aggravated the evil, by increasing the number of private duels: for the same punctilious notions of honour from which the duel generally originated, and the same dread of the imputation of cowardice which kept it alive, were still entertained ; and as the royal permission, without which the duel had formerly been high treason, could not now be obtained, each man became the judge in his own cause; and in those delicate cases, of which the law could take no cognizance, the point of honour was more likely to be stretched than curtailed. The parliament of Paris in 1599 declared all persons who had assisted or been present at the prosecution of these unlawful quarrels to be rebels to the king, transgressors of the laws, and disturbers of the public peace. Henry IV., during the first eighteen years of whose reign no less than four thousand gentlemen are said to have perished by the duel, alludes in his edict at Blois, 1602, to the disorders arising from this barbarous custom ; and in 1609 he added to the penalties already imposed, punishment by death, confiscation of goods, fines, imprisonment, and degradation from honour, on all who were in any way concerned in these combats, not only principals and seconds, or bearers of challenges, but spectators, and even those who, being accidentally present, did not interfere to prevent bloodshed. The severity of these edicts might have contributed greatly to diminish the evil; but unfortunately they arose rather from the complaints of the people, and the persuasions of the Duke of Sully, than from any desire on the part of Henry himself to abolish a custom for which he privately entertained a great partiality, as was evident from the readiness with which he granted pardons to offenders, and even privately encouraged particular duels. He readily gave permission to Crequi to fight Don Philip of Savoy, and even added this encouraging compliment, “ If I were not a king I would gladly offer myself to be your second.” It was not be expected that laws, however severe, the open violation of which was thus countenanced by the monarch himself, could be productive of any beneficial effects ; and we find the passion for the single combat continuing unabated during the reign of the succeeding monarch Louis XIII. To such extent indeed did it prevail, that the common inquiry when acquaintances met was not, “ what is the news to-day,” but “ who fought yesterday;” and Lord Herbert, who was ambassador at the court of Louis, says, that “ there is scarce a Frenchman worth looking on who has not killed his man in a duel.” Two noblemen, however, Montmorenci count de Boutteville, the most renowned duellist of the day, and the Marquis de Beuoron, persisting to fight in defiance of the royal interdict, were tried according to law, and both beheaded. This execution caused for a time a cessation of the sanguinary custom; but it was reserved for Louis XIV. to give the first effectual check to the continuance of the practice. During the minority of this prince a very desperate battle was fought between the Dukes de Beaufort and de Nemours, each attended by four friends. The seconds of the Duke de Nemours were the Marquis de Villars, the Chevalier de la Chaise, D’Uzerches, and Compan ; and the Duke de Beaufort was attended by D’Henricourt, De Ris, Buri, and Brillet. They fought five against five, with swords arid pistols. Nemours was shot by Beaufort, the Marquis de Villars killed D’Henricourt, and D’Uzerches slew De Ris: the rest were only slightly wounded. This, with another desperate encounter fought in 1663,

DUE 253 four against four, determined the king on taking some de- Duel, cided step to prevent the recurrence of such disgraceful and bloody quarrels. The famous edict published in 1679, with the solemn agreement entered into by the principal nobility, “ that they would never fight a duel on any pretence whatever,” and the firmness of Louis in refusing pardon to all offenders, contributed more to restrain this unhappy propensity than all the efforts of his predecessors. I he practice of duelling in England, although it never prevailed to such an extent as in France, may be traced to the same causes which gave rise to it on the Continent. The duel, as we have already mentioned, was early in use amongst the Franks and Normans, and was probably by them introduced into England. One of the latest instances of the trial by battle occurred in the reign of Elizabeth in the year 1571, of which Sir Henry Spelman, who was eye-witness, gives an account of the whole proceedings, which were conducted, he says, “ non sine magna jurisconsultorum perturbatione.” A proceeding having been instituted in the Court of Common Pleas, for recovery of some manorial rights in the Isle of Hartic, Kent, the defendant offered to maintain his right to possession by the duel. The petitioners accepted the challenge, and as the court does not appear to have had the power of refusal, champions were appointed, and all the requisite forms adjusted. The queen, to prevent bloodshed, had commanded the parties to compromise ; but, anxious at once to save the credit of the defendant, who demanded the combat, and to support the authority of the law, which enjoined its being fulfilled, the ceremony of the duel was allowed to proceed. On the appointed day the justices of the common pleas and the counsellors appeared at Tothil Fields as umpires of the combat; but as the petitioners did not appear to acknowledge their champion, they were nonsuited, and victory declared for the defendant. Thus ended the last judicial combat we read of in a civil case. Another, however, occurred in the court of chivalry in 1631, and in the county palatine of Durham in 1638; and the trial by battle was claimed so late as 1818, in the case of Thornton v. Ashford, in an appeal of murder. But although the duel was disused in judicial proceedings, the fantastic notions of honour to which it gave rise still prevailed; and as the law could take-no cognizance of points of honour and personal affronts, private duelling rather increased in the reigns of Elizabeth and James I. During the civil wars the minds of men were too much occupied with the agitating events of the time to pay much attention to the settlement of points of etiquette; and as the contest was between the commonalty and all that was royal and noble in the land, private feuds were forgotten, and those who would have turned their swords against each other in private quarrel, disdained to employ them in such a cause against men of mean birth and ignoble sentiment. The custom, however, agairs gained ground after the restoration of Charles II.; and although he did issue a proclamation to put the existing laws in force, this object was defeated by his great laxity in pardoning offenders. In consequence of a duel between the Duke of Hamilton and Lord Mohum in 1712, which was fought with the greatest ferocity and apparent determination of murder, and in which both parties were killed, the subject again came under the consideration of government. At the meeting of parliament in the following year, the queen’s speech alluded to the subject in this sentence : “ thepratice of duelling requires some speedy and effectual remedy.” No precise notice was taken of this part of the

DUE speech in the address from the House of Commons; and a bill which was brought in for the more effectual restraint of the duel was thrown out on a second reading. Since the fashion of wearing the sword has been abandoned, private duels have become less frequent in this country, and we have not now to deplore the numerous and often fatal rencontres which, during the last century, were so frequently begun and concluded in the moment and heat of passion, and not seldom on the most frivolous occasions. Such was the duel between Lord Byron and Mr Chaworth in 1765, which originated in a dispute during dinner about the quantity of game on their respective manors. The parties retired to an adjoining room, where they fought by the uncertain light of one small tallow candle, and Mr Chaworth, although the more expert swordsman, was mortally wounded. By the laws of this country all the parties concerned in a duel which terminates fatally are guilty of murder, however fairly the combat may have been conducted, and however great the provocation. The suddenness of the provocation, and the agitation of excited feelings, which in other cases may be pled in extenuation of the crime, cannot be urged in favour of those who, after ample time for deliberation, meet for the avowed purpose of murder. It is seldom indeed that the extreme penalty is inflicted, except in cases where unfair advantage has been taken, or which are otherwise attended with peculiar aggravation. The duel between Major Campbell and Captain Boyd, for which the former was executed in 1808, is well known, and was considered as little better than deliberate assassination. But in the case of Lieutenant Blundell, who was killed in a duel at Carisbrooke Castle, in the Isle of Wight, in 1813, every thing appears to have been conducted with perfect fairness ; yet the surviving principal, the seconds, and two others who were considered accessary, were convicted of murder at the Hampshire assizes, and sentenced to death; and although the royal pardon was obtained, they were all dismissed from his majesty’s service. Foster expresses the following opinion: “ Deliberate duelling, if death ensueth, is in the eye of the law murder. For duels are generally founded on deep revenge. And though a person should be drawn into a duel, not upon a motive so criminal, but merely upon a punctilio of what swordsmen falsely call honour, that will not excuse. For he that deliberately sheddeth the blood of another, upon a private quarrel, acteth in defiance of all laws, human and divine, whatever his motive may be.” And Judge Blackstone : “ When both parties meet avowedly with an intent to murder, thinking it their duty as gentlemen, and claiming it as their right, to wanton with their own lives, and those of their fellow-creatures, without any warrant or authority from any power either divine or human, but in direct contradiction to the laws both of God and man, the law has justly fixed the crime and punishment of murder on them, and on their seconds also.” In a moral point of view the practice admits of no defence, for the very principle on which the duellist proceeds is one which, if universally adopted, would be subversive of all good order, namely, that an individual may be the judge of his own cause, and the avenger of his own wrongs. The legislature has provided a reparation for all those inj uries which the wisdom of legislators has thought it reasonable to redress ; and for an individual, or body of individuals, to adopt a law for the regulation of their own conduct, differing in spirit and opposed in principle to the laws of the country, is alike inconsistent with sound moral and political philosophy. Such is the law of honour, as it is called, a law by which no wise or sober-minded man would desire to regulate his life: it prescribes none of

DUE those duties which we owe to God as his creatures, it ad- But mits or connives at many direct violations of his laws, and |i it imposes no restraint on that indulgence of the sensual huge passions, which is degrading to human nature, injurious to society, and opposed to all that is really good and honourable in the character of man. But unfortunately “ the law of honour having annexed the imputation of cowardice to patience under an affront, challenges are given and accepted with no other design than to prevent or wipe off this suspicion, and without any other concern than to preserve the duellist’s own reputation and reception in the world.” Every man of experience in the world must be convinced of the truth of this remark. And it is not one of the least evils of this system, that the word honour^ which, rightly understood, denotes all that is truly noble and virtuous, should be prostituted as a pretext for gratifying the most malignant of human passions, or as a cover for that moral cowardice, the fear of being thought afraid. “ Duels,” says Sir George Mackenzie, “ are but illustrious murders. It is an imperious crime, which triumphs both over public revenge and private virtue, and tramples boldly upon the laws of the nation and the life of our enemy. Courage thinks law here to be but pedantry, and honour persuades men that obedience here is cowardice.” It has been the aim of every moral writer to expose the folly, and of every wise legislature to check the prevalence, of this pernicious practice; yet so powerful is the domineering influence of fashion, that a custom originating in barbarism, and cherished only by pride and selfishness, has for ages stood its ground against all the arguments of reason and religion. Its prevalence is indeed abated in our country, and it is to be hoped there are not many men in the present day who fight for the mere gratification of revenge ; but it is to be feared that there are not a few who, condemning the custom in their hearts, are yet compelled to “ go as an ox to the slaughter,” and to “ die as a fool dieth,” under the dread of an imputation of cowardice, which they would not otherwise deserve. Nor is it likely that the duel will ever be entirely abolished by the law as at present administered. Death, which the law of honour views as but an adequate reparation for an offensive word, is thought too severe a punishment for what the laws of God and man both declare to be murder. The penalty, therefore, is seldom inflicted; and where many are acquitted, all will hope to escape. “ Death,” says Mr Addison, “ is not sufficient to deter men who make it their glory to despise it; but if every one who fought a duel were to stand in the pillory, it would quickly diminish the number of these imaginary men of honour, and put an end to so absurd a practice.” DUERO, or Douro, a river of Spain and Portugal. It rises in the Sierra de Urbion, not far from Durcula, in Soria, and empties itself into the ocean at St Joao da Foz, below Oporto. Its course through Spain is 306 miles, and through Portugal 185. In the latter kingdom it is not navigable more than seventy-four miles, on account of the rapidity of its course. The streams which flow into it are the Pisuerga, the Esla, the Adaja, the Valderaguary, the Yeltes, the Agueda, the Coa, the Sabor, the Tua, and the Tamaga. DUFF’S GROUP, a range of islands in the South Pacific Ocean, about eleven in number, extending fourteen or fifteen miles in a direction north-west to south-east. These islands were discovered by Captain Wilson in the course of his missionary voyage in the ship Duff. The largest two were covered with wood, the others appeared barren. The natives appeared shy and apprehensive of strangers. DUGD ALE, Sir Willi am, an eminent English antiqua-

D

U

H

D U H 255 IDiJamel. ry and historian, was born at Shustoke, near Coleshill, in of Trees, 1751. 39. The Growth of Horns, 1751. 40. Duhamel. Warwickshire, in 1605. He was introduced into the herald’s Bees, 1/54. 41. Madder, 1757. 42. Spontaneous Comoffice by Sir Christopher Hatton, and ascended gradual- bastions, 1757. 43. Ergot, 1759. 44. An Insect Devourly through all the degrees, until he became garter princi- ing Corn, 1761; and separately, 12, Paris, 1762. 45. A pal king at arms. His chief work is the Monasticon An- Descent of the Barometer, 1763. 46. The Tea Plant in glicanum, in 3 vols. folio, containing the charters and de- Sweden, 1763. 47. Inflammable Vapours, 1763. 48. scriptions of all the English monasteries, adorned with Salts in Ashes, 2 parts, 1767. 49. Overdriving Animals, engravings; a work in which he was assisted by Mr Roger 1768. 50. Rhubarb, 1768. 51. Hair Returning after I. Dodsworth. Nor are his antiquities of Warwickshire less fifty Years, 1770. 52. A Change of the Needle, 1771. esteemed. He wrote likewise, the History of St Paul's •>3. Variation Compasses, 1772. 54. A Monstrous Apple Cathedral, London, 1658, folio; a History of Embanking Tree, 1775. 55. The Management of Prisons, 1780. and Draining, London, 1662, 1675, 1676, folio; a Baron56. Observations and Experiments with Madder Root, age of England; and he completed the second volume of which has the Faculty of Tinging the Bones of Living Sir Henry Spelman’s Councils, with a second part of his Animals of a Red Colour. Phil. Trans, xli. 1740 n Glossary. He died on the 10th February 1686, in the 390. ^ eighty-first year of his age. His son, Sir John, was norroy 57. Trade, dela Culture des Terres, 6 v. 12. Par. 1750 king at arms, and published a Catalogue of the English Ac. Par. 1755-7. nobility. His daughter Elizabeth was married to Elias 58. Architecture Navale, 4. Par. 1752, 1758. Ac. Par. Ashmole. 1752. Avis pour le Transport par Mer des Arbres, 2d DUHAMEL, de Vrigny le Monceau, Henri Louis, edit. 12. Par. 1753. author of many valuable works on agriculture, natural 59. Conservation des Grains, 12. Par. 1753, 1754, 1768. history, and the arts, son of Alexander du Hamel, lord Supplement. Par. 1765, 1771. Ac. Par. 1765. of Denainvilliers, and of Ann Trottier, was born at Paris 60. Fabrique des Manoeuvres pour les Vaisseaux. 4. in 1700. His family had formerly emigrated to Holland, Par. 1757. but returned to France as early as the year 1400, with 61. Trade des Bois et Forets. 8 v. 4. Par. 1755—1767. the Duke of Burgundy. Arbres et Arbustes, 2 v. 1755. Physique des Arbres, 2 He was educated at the College d’Harcourt; but the v. 1758. Semis et Plantations, 1760. Exploitation, 2 v. chief advantage which he derived from his residence there, 1764. Transport, Conservation, et Force, 1767. Ac. was a taste for the further acquirement of physical know- Par. 1755, 1758, 1760, 1767, 1768. ledge, which he afterwards pursued with ardour at the 62. Moyen de Conserver la Sante aux Equipages. 12. Jardin du Roi, having for his fellow-students a number of Par. 1759. Ac. Par. 1755, 1758, 1759, 1760. young men, who afterwards acquired a high degree of ce63. Trade des Arbres Fruitiers. 2 v. 4. Ac. Par. 1768. lebrity, and among the rest Dufay, Geoffroi, Lemeri, Jus64. Trade des Peekes, 1769. Jointly with M. de la sieu, and Vaillant. At the age of twenty-eight he obtain- Marre. Ac. Par. 1769. ed the title of adjunct botanist in the Academy of 65. Art du Charbonnier. Par. fol. Noticed Ac. Par. Sciences; in 1730 he became an associate, and in 1738 1761. 66. De la Fabrique des Ancres, 1761. 67. Du an academician, having previously been elected a fellow Chandelier, 1761. 68. De VEpinglier, 1761. 69. De of the Royal Society of London, in the beginning of 1734. Reduirele Fer en Fil, 1768. 70. Du drier, 1762. 71. Upon his first admission into the list of the academy, his De Faire les Enclumes, 1762. 72. Du Cartier, 1762. 73. assistance was requested in the investigation of a disease De Rafiner le Sucre, 1764. 74. Du Drapier, 1765. 75. which affected the saffron cultivated in the Gatinois, where De Faire les Tapis. 76. De Friser les Etoffes, 1766. 77. his estate was situated; and he found reason to attribute Du Couvreur, 1766. 78. Du Tuilier Briquetier. 79. it to a parasitical fungus attached to the roots of the Du Serrurier, 1768. 80. De Preparer le Colle. 81. De plant. His memoirs and notes communicated to the aca- Faire les Pipes, 1772. 82. Du Potier de Terre, 1774. 83. demy, as well as his separate publications, are so multitu- Du Savonnier, 1775. dinous, that the shortest possible enumeration of their subThe earlier part of Mr Duhamel’s life was chiefly dejects can barely be brought within the ordinary limits of voted to the study of vegetable physiology, which he a biographical article. had continued for thirty years before the publication of 1. A Disease of Plants, Acad. Paris, 1728. 2. The his principal works. The most original of his observations Multiplication of Fruits, 1728. 3. The Growth of Plants, related to the growth of plants, the formation of the bark 1729. 4. Grafting, 1730. 5. The Pear Tree, 1730-1-2. and the wood, the effects of grafting, the inversion of a 6. Soluble Tartar, 1732-3. 7. Ether, 1734. 8. Salt of tree, the double motion of the sap, and the influence of Sulphur, 1734. 9. Sal Ammoniac, 3 parts, 1735. 10. light, air, and soil. In agriculture he introduced the pracThe Purple Dye, 1736. 11. The Base of Sea Salt, 1736. tice of drying corn in a particular stove or kiln, with a 12. The Strata of Wood, 1737. 13. Frosts, 1737. 14. heat sufficient to destroy the insects which infested it and Bones Tinged Bed, 1739. 15. Poly gala as a Pectoral, their larvas. He made many experiments on manures, L39. 16. The Misletoe, 1740. 17. Botanico-meteorologi- and he conferred a great benefit on several provinces of cal Observatiotis, continued annually for forty-two years, France, by introducing the cultivation of potatoes into l^O—1781. 18. The Union of Fractured Bones, 2 parts, general practice, as well as by promoting that of rhubarb 1741. 19. The Strength of Timber, 1742. 20. The in different places. Growth of Bones, 5 parts, 1742—3. 21. Frobenius s Ether, Having obtained from M. Maurepas the appointment 1742. ^ 22. Anatomy, 1743. 23. Slips, Layers, and Off- of inspector-general of the marine, he undertook to make sets, 1744. 24. Moisture in Oak Timber, 1744. 25. A himself master of every department of nautical knowledge; Magnetic Ore, 1745. 26. The Preservation of Seed, 1745. and setting out with the established doctrines of Euler 27. Magnetising a Bar, 1745. 28. Cordage, 1746. 29. and Bouguer, where theory was wanted, he collected for The Wounds of Trees, 1746. 30. Lime, 1747. S\. Cal- his works on these subjects an immense mass of facts and cination of a Stone, 1748. 32. Ventilation, 1748. 33. experiments, affording the means of resolving every quesPlants raised in Water, 1748. 34. Gunpowder, 1750. tion on practical grounds. He established a school for 3o. The Weight of Ignited Metals, 1750. 36. Tull's Agri- ship-builders, which effectually secured to them an educulture, 1750. 37. The Compass, 1750. 38. The Strata cation superior to that of simple carpenters. He also

256 D U H Duhamel. made some very valuable improvements in the theory of rope-making, showing especially the disadvantages arising from the excessive twisting of cordage. His conduct in this capacity seems to have been as judicious in a moral as in a mechanical point of view; whilst by his modesty and good nature he silenced the contending passions of those with whom he was obliged to enter into discussion,, and was enabled to unite a variety of opposite interests, in the important object of the establishment of an academy lor the cultivation of naval science. His meteorological observations included, besides the usual registers, accounts of the direction of the magnetic needle, of the state of agriculture, of the diseases of the year, and of the times of migration of birds, and of the appearance of their young. From his experiments on the growth of their bones, he inferred that they are enlarged by means of the ossification of the laminae of the periosteum, nearly in the same manner as trees are known to grow by the hardening of the cortical layers; although the bones, while they are soft, expand in every direction, as the very young shoots of vegetables are also found to do. Having learned from Sir Hans Sloane that madder possesses the property of giving colour to the bones, he fed animals successively on food mixed and not mixed with madder; and he found that their bones in general exhibited concentric strata of red and white, whilst the softer parts showed in the mean time signs of having been progressively extended. These experiments are still of great importance in illustrating the physiology of ossification, although the actual conversion of the periosteum into bone may justly be disputed. In trees Mr Duhamel found that the graft was incorporated with the stock, so as to form a single substance completely identical with it; and he showed that animal bodies were capable of a similar union, the vessels of the animals forming communications with those of the parts inserted ; the spur of a cock, for instance, grafted into his comb, uniting perfectly with it, and becoming gradually furnished with a bony core, like the horn of a bullock, which either forms a joint with the cranium, or is firmly attached to it, and affords nourishment for the growth of this newly adopted member. Having demonstrated in 1737 the different natures of soda and potass, he made an interesting experiment on the production of these alkalies by different vegetables. He sowed the head of the salsola kali at Denainvilliers, and it was found by the analysis of Mr Cadet that its ashes produced at first soda, but afterwards more and more potass every year; and after several generations almost entirely potass. His other chemical memoirs were of less permanent importance; and, with respect to the weight of ignited iron, he was unfortunately inaccurate in his mode of conducting the experiment, otherwise it must necessarily have led him to an anticipation of some of the most important discoveries of the last century. From his extensive correspondence in different countries, he was enabled to communicate to the academy from time to time a number of detached facts, which were both amusing and instructive, and which appear perpetually in the histories of the respective years. His wrorks were in general of an elementary nature, and calculated for the use of such as possessed but little previous information; and hence they may appear to some readers to contain an unnecessary detail of explanation. “ Prolixity,” says Mr Condorcet, “ is injurious to perspicuity, when we are addressing ourselves to persons accustomed to fix their attention firmly on the subject before them, who are able to observe the slightest shades of difference, and to receive at once a variety of ideas; supplying, where there is occasion, any connecting links of the chain which may

D U H have been omitted. If we are too diffuse, the attention Buh e1, of such persons droops for want of excitement; their meJ mory is fatigued with the attempt to retain impressions which have not been communicated to them with sufficient force ; and when they are compelled to travel slowly, the delay exhausts them, from having been in the constant habit of a more rapid motion. But it was not for this very limited class of readers that Mr Duhamel’s works were calculated. He wrote for the use of those who seldom go beyond the bare expressions of the author, who find all close attention toilsome, and who read rather for simple information than for the cultivation of the mind; and an author may always be said to write well when his style is appropriate to his subject, and to the capacity of his readers.” Mr Duhamel was economical in his habits of life, and disinterested in his views, sacrificing his own pecuniary advantage, and that of his family, to the desire of serving the public by his experiments and his writings. Having once established a certain scale for his expenses, he never troubled himself with keeping a minute account of them. His integrity sometimes wore the appearance of severity, and his vivacity that of harshness; but no imputation was ever cast on the goodness of his heart. He was averse to all changes, both in political and scientific institutions, which were not connected with obvious improvement. He was punctual in his attention to the duties which his religion imposed on him, but he did not sacrifice to unnecessary parade such of his hours as he thought might be more conscientiously employed in studies of general utility. His application, though assiduous, was seldom severely laborious. He never entered into any matrimonial engagements. On some occasions he felt himself neglected by the public; but he was little disposed to lament this injustice, except from reflecting on the effect which it would have had on an individual less zealous or less independent than himself. Besides his election as a fellow of the Royal Society of London, he obtained the honour of diplomas from the academies of St Petersburg, Palermo, Bologna, Edinburgh, and Padua, and from several agricultural societies; and his name has acquired a celebrity commensurate to the extent of his varied researches. Few persons have ever passed through life with greater tranquillity of mind, or with a greater desire of rendering themselves useful to mankind, than Mr Duhamel. He was one of the most active promoters of the kind of revolution which took place in the cultivation of science during the last century, and of which the characteristic distinction was, to endeavour to turn its chief course towards the grand objects of public utility and domestic convenience. Upon this modification of the pursuits of natural philosophy, Mr Condorcet very judiciously remarks, that “ if the sciences have sometimes raised themselves too high towards heaven, and if it has been of advantage to recall them towards the earth, we must still shun the opposite error of condemning them to creep on it for ever.” And when we see the paths of discovery open before us, we must follow boldly wherever they lead us, confident that, sooner or later, all theoretical knowledge may eventually confer some material benefit on society, even with regard to the more practical purposes of life. Mr Duhamel indeed well knew the necessity of previous study and of extensive inquiry for the success of his experimental investigations; and the former half of a long life he spent chiefly in qualifying himself for making the observations which he recorded, and deriving from them the instructions which he published, in the latter. At a very advanced age his memory began to fail; he still continued his pursuits, but without reaping any advantage

D

U

K

Julius from his application ; he attended the meetings of the N os academy, but took little or no interest in any thing that passed at them; and after having been present at one of r ite- j.jjggg meetings, on the 22d of July 1782, he had an attack of apoplexy, which wholly deprived him of his remaining faculties, and on the 13th of August put an end to his life. A few years before his death he had felt very severely the loss of his brother, who had lived constantly at Denainvilliers, and had assisted him in many of his agricultural researches and meteorological observations, though he had always remained anonymous. His nephew, Mr Fougeroux, had also been useful to him on several occasions in his literary pursuits; and this gentleman became heir to the principal part of the property of both his uncles. Eloge, by Condorcet, Hist. Ac. Par. 1782, p. 131. (l. l.) DUILLIUS Nepos, C., a Roman consul, the first who obtained a victory over the naval power of Carthage, in the year of Rome 492. He captured fifty of the enemy’s ships, and was honoured with a naval triumph, the first of the kind ever granted at Rome. The senate rewarded his valour by permitting him to have music playing and torches lighted at the public expense every day while he was at supper. Some medals were struck in commemoration of his victory; and there exists a column at Rome which was erected on the occasion. DUISBURG, a city of the Prussian province of Westphalia, on the river Ruhr. It is an active manufacturing place, and carries on a regular trade by weekly passage vessels with Arnheim, Dort, and other places in Holland. There was formerly a university here, which is now reduced to a gymnasium. In 1817 it contained 4510 inhabitants, but their number has since increased. DUKE {Dux), a sovereign prince, without the title or quality of king. The word is borrowred from the Latin through the medium of the modern Greek. Some sovereigns have the title of grand duke, as the Grand Duke of Tuscany and the Grand Duke of Muscovy. The title of grand duke belongs to the heir apparent of Russia; and the title of archduke is given to all the sons of the house of Austria, and that of archduchess to all the daughters. Duke is also a title of honour or nobility, the next below princes. The dukedom, or dignity of duke, is a Roman dignity, so denominated a ducendo, from leading or commanding. Accordingly the first dukes, duces, were the ductores exercituum, leaders or commanders of armies. Under the later emperors, the governors of provinces in time of war were entitled duces. In after times the same denomination was also given to the governors of provinces in time of peace. The first governor under the name of duke was a duke of the Marchia Rhactica, or Grisons, of which mention is made in Cassiodorus ; and there were afterwards thirteen dukes in the eastern empire, and twelve in the western. The Goths and Vandals, upon their overrunning the provinces of the western empire, abolished the Roman dignities wherever they settled; but the Franks, in order to humour the Gauls, who had long been used to that form of government, made it a point of policy not to make any change therein ; and accordingly they divided all Gaul into duchies and counties, giving to the governors of these sometimes the names of dukes, and sometimes that of counts, or comites. In England, during the Saxon times, Camden observes, the officers and commanders of armies were called dukes, duces, in the ancient Roman manner, without any addition. But after the conqueror came in, the title lay dormant till the reign of Edward III., who created his son Edward, called the Black Prince, first duke of Cornwall; VOL. VIII.

d i: L 257 a title which has ever since been the peculiar inheritance Dukeof the king’s eldest son during the lifetime of his father, Duke so that he is dux natus, non creatus. After this more dukes II were made, in such a manner that their titles descended ^Iv^on. to their posterity. They were created with much solemnity, per cincturam gladii, cappceque, et circuli aurei in capite impositionem. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, however, that is, in 1572, the whole order became utterly extinct; but it was revived about fifty years afterwards by her successor, in the person of George Villiers, duke of Buckingham. Though the French retained the names and forms of the ducal government, yet under their second race of kings there was scarcely any such dignity as that of duke. All the great lords were called counts, peers, or barons, excepting, however, the Dukes of Burgundy and Aquitain, and the Duke of France, which was a dignity held by Hugh Capet himself, and corresponded to the modern dignity of maire de palais, or the king’s lieutenant. By the weakness of the kings, the dukes or governors sometimes made themselves sovereigns of the provinces entrusted to their administration. This change happened chiefly about the time of Hugh Capet, when the great lords began to dismember the kingdom; so that this prince found more competitors among them than subjects. It was even with great difficulty that they could be brought to own him as their superior, or to consent to hold of him by faith and homage. What with force, and what by marriages, these provinces, both duchies and counties, which had been severed from the crown, were again gradually united to it. But the title of duke was no longer given to the governors of provinces. From that time duke became a mere title of dignity, annexed to a person and his heirs male, without giving him any domain, territory, or jurisdiction over the place of which he was duke. All the advantages of the title now consist in the name, and in the precedence which it gives. The dukes of our days retain nothing of their ancient splendour except the coronet on their escutcheon, which is the only mark of their departed sovereignty. They are created by patent, cincture of the sword, mantle of state, imposition of a cap and coronet of gold on the head, and a verge or rod of gold in their hand. The eldest sons of dukes are by the courtesy of England styled marquises, though they are usually distinguished by their father’s second title, whether it be that of marquis or earl; and the younger sons are lords, with the addition of their "Christian name, as Lord James, Lord Thomas, Lord Charles, and they take place of viscounts, though not so privileged by the laws of the land. DuKE-Duke, a quality given in Spain to a grandee of the house of Sylva, on account of his having several duchies from the union of two considerable houses in his person. Don Roderigo de Sylva, eldest son of Don Ruy Gomez de Sylva, and heir of his duchies and principalities, having married the eldest daughter of the Duke de ITnfantado, the Duke de Pastrana, who was descended from her, added to his other great titles that of duke-duke, to distinguish himself from the other dukes, some of whom might enjoy several duchies, but none so considerable ones. DUKLA, a city in the circle of Jaslow, of the Austrian kingdom or province of Galicia. It stands on the river Jasielka, on the great road to Hungary, in a fertile district, in which are manufactories for cloth, flannels, and baizes. DULVERTON,amarket-town in the hundred of Willerton and Freemanners, in the county of Somerset, 168 miles from London. The town is well built, and clean, having two streams of water running through it. It was formerly a manufacturing town for coarse woollen goods, but the trade has greatly declined. The market is held on Satur-

258 D U M Dumarsais day. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1049, in 1811 II to 1035, in 1821 to 1127, and in 1831 to 1285. Ton ^ DUMARSAIS, Cesar Chesnau, a French writer, who ij- * i distinguished himself as a philosophical grammarian, was born at Marseilles on the 7th of July 1676. His life consisted of a succession of misfortunes ; and his merits, considerable as they were, seem to have been entirely overlooked and neglected by his contemporaries. His father died while he was yet an infant; and his mother, by her extravagance, dissipated his patrimony. He was educated in his native town by the Fathers of the Oratory, into whose congregation he entered, but left them at the age of twenty-five, and repaired to Paris, where he married, and was admitted an advocate in 1704. He soon, however, quitted the bar ; separated from his wife, to whom he gave up the little he possessed, and went to reside with the President de Maisons, in the capacity of tutor to his son. But his prospects in this quarter were blasted by the death of his patron, by whose family he was not treated with that respect and gratitude which were due to his talents and his services. He was afterwards successive^ly tutor to the son of Law, the famous projector, and of the Marquis de Beaufremont. It was during this last period that he published the results of his grammatical investigations, which were received with great coldness. At a subsequent period he opened an establishment for education in the suburb St Victor, which scarcely afforded him the means of subsistence; and he expired, at length, under the accumulated pressure of years, infirmities, poverty, and neglect, on the 11th of June 1756, at the age of eighty. Dumarsais possessed no ordinary talents. His researches are distinguished alike by their accuracy, ingenuity, and depth. As a man, he combined the greatest purity of morals and simplicity of character with a rare degree of manly fortitude in the midst of his misfortunes; yet during the greater part of his life he was left to languish in obscurity, and his merits scarcely attracted any notice until nearly half a century after his death. His works on philosophy and general grammar, however, are worthy of attention. Of these, the best is his Treatise on Tropes or Figures. D’Alembert and Voltaire have both paid a just and discriminating tribute to the merits of Dumarsais. An edition of his works was collected by Duchosal and Millon, and published at Paris in 1797, in seven vols. 8vo. In the year 1804, the French Institute proposed a prize for an Eloge on Dumarsais, which was gained by M. Degerando, whose work was published at Paris, 1805, in 8vo. A previous and well-written Eloge on the same author, by D’Alembert, is to be found in the Melanges de Litterature, and prefixed to the above-mentioned edition of the Works of Dumarsais. See also Biographic Universelle. DUMBARTON, a county in Scotland, situated between 55. 53. and 56. 25. north latitude, and between 3. 55. and 4. 53. west longitude from Greenwich, consists of two districts, six miles distant from each other, part of Lanarkshire running between them. The western, which is much the larger, is about forty miles long and twelve broad, and is bounded by Perthshire on the north ; by Argyleshire, from which it is separated by an arm of the sea called Loch Long, on the west; by the river Clyde and Lanarkshire on the south-west and south ; and by Stirlingshire on the east. The eastern district is completely enclosed by Stirlingshire and Lanarkshire. The whole county contains 298 square miles, or 190,848 English acres, of which the smaller division contains about fortytwo miles, or 28,000 acres. Itis divided into twelve parishes, of which there are only two in the eastern district, Kirkintilloch and Cumbernauld. This last belonged to Stirlingshire. till the Earl of Wigton, whose property it was,

D U M became heritable sheriff of Dumbartonshire, when he pro- Dun cured it to be annexed to this county. t'’ ' The prevailing winds are from the west and south-west, ^ ; but easterly winds are frequent in the spring months! Showers are very common, but heavy and continued rains of rare occurrence. Frosts are seldom severe, and, except on the mountains, snow never lies long. The climate is upon the whole salubrious. The range of the barometer is about 2-80, and of the thermometer from 6° to 80°. The soils of the lower grounds are schistoze clay mixed with small stones, rich black loam on the banks of the Clyde, and gravelly soil on the river Leven; but about two thirds of the county consist of lofty mountains, some of them 3000 feet high, part of the ridge which crosses the island from Forfarshire to the Frith of Clyde, known in the districts to the eastward by the names of the Siedlaw, Ochil, and Campsie Hills. Coal, iron ore, limestone, freestone, and slate, are its most valuable fossil productions. There are pits for working coals at Langfauld and Lawmuir in East Kilpatrick, and at Duntocher in West Kilpatrick, where great quantities are raised for the consumption of the cotton works at Duntocher, and for calcining lime at the neighbouring lime works. Ironstone is raised in considerable quantities in the parishes of Kirkintilloch and Cumbernauld, which meets with a ready market at Carron foundery. Limestone is found in the higher grounds at Kilpatrick, Dumbarton, and Row ; but it is only wrought at Langfauld, Lawmuir, and Duntocher, where coal is quarried along with it, and also at Row, Netherwood, and Cumbernauld. White and red freestone are met with in several places ; the finest quarries are at Garscube, on the banks of the Forth and Clyde Canal; and at Levengrove and Dalreoch, in the immediate neighbourhood of Dumbarton. Several slate quarries have been wrought with success, at Luss and Camstradden on the estates of Sir James Colquhoun, and at Roseneath on the estates of the Duke of Argyll. The principal markets are at Glasgow, Greenock, &c. to which the slates are conveyed in lighters by the Leven and the Clyde. The only river of any note which can be said to belong to this county is the Leven, the outlet of Lochlomond, which, flowing for about five miles through a fine valley, joins the Clyde at Dumbarton Castle. Its waters, which are singularly pure and soft, are well adapted to the business of bleaching and printing cottons, branches which are established to a great extent along its course. The other streams are Luss, Froon, Finlays, Douglas, Falloch, and Luggie. Clyde, Endrick, and Kelvin, flow along its borders. Lochlong and Gareloch are arms of the sea, the first of which separates this county from Argyleshire; and the other, penetrating the land for about seven miles, nearly detaches the peninsula of Roseneath from the mainland. Whilst this extent of sea-coast affords the benefit of water carriage to so large a portion of the county, the inland tracts are benefited in almost an equal degree by the Forth and Clyde Canal, which passes through it for more than sixteen miles. This canal is about thirty-five miles in length, and it rises and falls about 160 feet, by means of forty locks. It is carried over the valley where the Kelvin flows, by an aqueduct sixty-five feet in height and 420 feet in length. The only remarkable lake is Lochlomond, which is about twenty-four miles long, and in its greatest breadth, towards the south, above six. About two thirds of the shore, and most of its islands, thirty in all, are in Dumbartonshire; the rest belong to Stirlingshire. It is probably not to be equalled by any lake in Britain for the variety and magnificence of its scenery; the picturesque beauty of its wooded banks and islands affording a striking confcrast to the rugged and lofty moun-

D

U

M

r, ?,ar. tains that rise in its vicinity. It covers about 20,000 t. acres, and its surface is supposed to be increasing. The best view of the lake is from a promontory above Luss, a village on the western shore. The landed property of this county is divided among about a hundred and fifty individuals, exclusive of feuars in towns and villages. One third of the estates are of considerable extent, and the remainder are small. The valued rent is L.33,327. 19s. Scots, of which about a third is held under the fetters of strict entails. In 1811 the actual rent of the lands was L.56,972. 15s., and of the houses L.5791. 15s., total L.62,764. 10s.; and the annual value of real property in 1815 was L.71,587 sterling. There are a number of beautiful seats belonging to the larger proprietors, among which Roseneath, the splendid mansion of the Duke of Argyll, and Garscube, the residence of Sir Archibald Campbell of Succoth, are by far the finest specimens of architecture. There are also a great many fine villas, the property of manufacturers and merchants. The county sends one member to parliament, who, prior to the passing of the reform act in 1832, was elected by about seventy voters upon superiorities ; but by the reform measure the constituency has been increased to 924. The arable lands of Dumbartonshire are divided into farms ranging in extent from 50 to 250 acres: and of late years great improvements have been made in agriculture, and in the breed of all kinds of stock. The land is generally laboured and manured according to the improved system of husbandry; two crops of grain seldom or never being taken without the intervention of a green crop properly tilled and manured. The usual rotation is, first, oats; secondly, potatoes or other green crop; thirdly, wheat or barley sown with rye-grass and clover ; fourthly, hay; and, lastly, pasture. Wheat, oats, and potatoes, are the principal crops. The land is well inclosed and subdivided, principally by hedge and ditch, and partially by stone-walls. The tenants generally hold leases for nineteen years. Within the last twelve or fifteen years the breed of draught or farm horses has been greatly improved; a circumstance which is ascribed partly to the emulation excited among the tenantry to ride good horses at the yeomanry drills, and partly to the annual competition for prizes given by the landlords of this district. The dairy stock is principally of the Ayrshire breed ; and great improvements have also been made in this department, which is a source of much profit to the farmers nearest to the city of Glasgow. The accommodation to the tenantry has kept pace with these improvements. Many excellent steadings have been erected, generally in the form of a square, having in front the dwelling-house, which communicates with the offices, forming the other three sides of a square. There are in this county many excellent tracts of pasture land. Sheep of the black-taced breed, and a limited number of black cattle, are reared with great success. The sheep are disposed of in Glasgow, where there is a weekly sale; and the cattle are sold at the Carman market, held in the Moor of Carman on the first Tuesday of June. From 12,000 to 17,000 head of cattle, principally of the Argyleshire breed, are generally disposed of at that market, for the purpose of being fattened on the rich pastures of the south. In the highland district, farms for grazing are necessarily of great extent. But it is not uncommon for fishermen and mechanics to hold pendicles, or “poffles” as they are called, below L.12 of rent; and the cottars, who are usually employed as labourers on the larger farms, possess small patches of arable ground for raising potatoes, with hill pasture for a cow, at a rent of L.5, and sometimes less. Great improvements have been made on the roads intersecting this county. A new road along the upper part

D IT M 259 of Lochlomond, and passing through Glenfalloch, com- Dumbarmunicates with the great military road through Perthshire, ton. Argyleshire, &c. and renders all parts of this county of easy access. I he woods and plantations of this county are extensive and valuable. According to the agricultural survey in 1810, their extent appears to be near 7000 English acres, of which about the half is coppice; yielding to the proprietors a yearly income almost equal to the rent of the arable lands. On spots unfavourable to oak, these coppice woods consist of ash, yew, holly, mountain-ash, birch, hazel, aspen, alder, crab, thorn, and willow. The age at which they are cut is from twenty-two to twenty-four years, when they are worth from L.4-0 to L.45 an acre; but there are instances of woods, of considerable extent, selling at much more, where proper attention has been paid to inclosing them, and afterwards thickening them by means of layers, or thinning them, as may be necessary. It is the usual practice to reserve a certain number of young trees at each cutting, the greater part of which are cut down at the second fall, when they are nearly fifty years old, and the rest left to grow up to timber trees. The soil and climate of this county are particularly favourable to plantations, which begin to make a return to their owner in ten or twelve years, and, in thirty years afford supplies to the carpenter. The most extensive plantations are on the estates of Luss and Bonhill. There is a very fine ash in Bonhill church-yard, the branches of which cover an area one hundred feet in diameter. Its trunk is about nine feet high, the smallest diameter is six feet, and its three principal branches are from ten to twelve feet in circumference. On the banks and islands of Lochlomond there is a considerable number of yew trees, some of them of great size. The manufactures of this county are various and extensive. The cotton works at Duntocher, belonging to Mr Dunn of Duntocher, are the most extensive wmrks of that description in Scotland. He gives employment to a population of 2500, and he is the second landed proprietor in the county. There are two paper-mills at Dalmuir; two extensive ship-building yards, three large glass manufactories, and two tan-works, at Dumbarton; a manufacture of alkali at Burnfoot of Dalmuir; and a distillery of pyroligneous acid at Milburn. On the short course of the river Leven, not much exceeding three miles in a direct line, there are twelve large print-fields and bleachfields. The extent of the whole, in 1810, is thus stated ; Ground occupied, about (Scotch acres) 350 Value of buildings and machinery L.250,000 Coals consumed annually, tons 32,000 Yearly expense in fuel L.19,000 Number of persons employed, of both sexes and all ages 3,000 Average earnings about 2s. a day. Total yearly wages, allowing for interruptions from sickness and other causes L.90,000 Excise duties annually L.140,000 Besides these large establishments, there is a number of lint-mills, two woollen-mills, chiefly employed in carding, and several fulling-mills. The gross produce of the salmon-fisheries of this county may be about L.1000 a year; the principal are upon the rivers Leven and Clyde. Those on Lochlomond are comparatively of little importance. About fifty boats are employed in the herring fishery, of which the annual value may be about L.4500. The rates of wages are higher in this than in most of the Scottish counties. In 1810, farm servants, who are for the most part unmarried, had from L.35 to L.42 a year; and when manufactures are prosperous, many of the work-

260 D U M Dumbar- men in them earn nearly twice as much. Provisions are ton - also dear; and fuel, which consists principally of coal, the L _ greater part of it brought from the adjoining counties, is in many parts higher priced than in our largest cities. There were about 274 paupers in the county in 1811; but few of them were maintained solely on parochial charity. Such as are able to gain their subsistence in part by their own industry, receive only what is necessary to support them in addition to their own earnings ; and those

Arrochar parish Bonhill ditto Cardross ditto Cumbernauld ditto Dumbarton burgh and parish.... Kilmaronock parish Kilpatrick, New or East, parish. Kilpatrick, Old or West, parish.. Kirkintilloch parish Luss ditto Roseneath ditto Row ditto County of Dumbarton. Dumbarton, tbe capital of Dumbartonshire, in Scotland, is situated at the confluence of the rivers Clyde and Leven. It is a very ancient place, and is said to have been once the capital of a kingdom of the Britons, established in the vale of the Clyde. Alcluyd was the name of this ancient capital of the Strathclydenses ; but whether it was situated on the site of the present town, or confined within the precincts of the castle, cannot be exactly ascertained. Dumbarton is built upon the eastern bank of the Leven, which almost encircles it. The greater part of the town is composed of one main street, lying in a semicircular form round the head or west end of the peninsula. At the height of the tides it is flooded by the waters of the Leven. It was erected into a royal burgh by Alexander II. in the year 1221, and declared to be free of all imposts and burgh taxes; it afterwards received other charters front succeeding monarchs; and, finally, it obtained a confirmation of the whole from James VI. The subsequent history of the burgh is destitute of interest. It naturally partook of the fortunes and misfortunes of the adjacent part, of which it was in reality a dependency. Besides the main street, there are some bye thoroughfares, lanes, and detached houses, and a suburb on the western side of the Leven, leading to Renton. It is connected with the latter by a good stone bridge of five arches, 300 feet long. The waters of the Leven form a commodious harbour, and, for the benefit of trade, an excellent quay and capacious dock have been formed. Ship-building is carried on to some extent. Ihe principal article of manufacture and export is glass. I he glass-works, which are situated to the north-west of the town, give employment to a great number of individuals ; and the article made is considered as equal to any manufactured in Britain. The other and inferior manufactures of Dumbarton are leather, glue, some linen, beer, &c. with a considerable quantity of goods for the Glasgow market. In recent years the intercourse and trade with Glasgow have been much extended by means of steam navigation. Dumbarton has an important cattle market every year on the 4th of June. There are two other fairs throughout the year, and the town has a large weekly market on luesdays. The burgal government of the town consists of a provost, an elder and younger bai-

D

U

M

who are altogether incapable of work are in most cases re-Dum] lieved by the charity of individuals, the parish paying only for clothes and house rent. The whole sum expended by the parishes does not much exceed L.1000 a year, of which a small part is raised by assessment. The rent of land and interest of capital amount to L.200, incidental funds to L.120, and the collections at the churches to L.390. The following is a tabular view of the population of this county:— 1801.

1811.

1821.

1831.

470 2,460 2,549 1,795 2,541 879 1,404 2,844 3,210 953 632 970

420 2,791 2,859 2,334 3,121 898 1,643 3,428 3,740 965 747 1,243

376 3,003 3,105 2,864 3,481 1,008 1,545 3,692 4,580 1,150 754 1,759

559 3,874 3,596 3,080 3,623 999 1,675 5,879 5,888 1,181 825 2,032

20,710

24,189

27,317

33,200

lie, a dean of guild, a treasurer, five merchant councillors, and five trades councillors from the same number of incorporated trades. The town has an excellent grammar-school, and a good subscription library. A branch of the Commercial Bank is settled here, and there are a number of agents of insurance offices. A very excellent jail has recently been erected. The church of the burgh and parish is a handsome modern structure with a spire and clock. There are also in the town and its vicinity a burgher and relief meeting house, and a Roman Catholic chapel. The town is the seat of a presbytery in the synod of Glasgow. By the late reform act Dumbarton joins with Kilmarnock, Rutherglen, Renfrew, and Port Glasgow in returning a member to parliament. The situation of Dumbarton Castle is eminently picturesque. The buildings composing the fort are perched on the summit of a rocky mount, shooting up to the height of 206 feet sheer out of the alluvial plain on the east side of the debouche of the river Leven. lo the west of the castle there are rocky eminences on the verge of the Clyde, of a similar fabric, though less detached. rIhe rock of Dumbarton measures a mile in circumference at the base. It diminishes in breadth near the top, which is cloven into two summits, of different heights. The rock is basalt, and has a tendency to the columnar rformation. Some parts of it have a magnetic quality. Ihe fortress, naturally strong, possesses several batteries, which command a most exfensive range. The defences are kept in constant repair, and it is garrisoned by a limited body of soldiers and functionaries. The rock of Dumbarton has been occupied by works of a warlike character during the successive dynasties of 1800 years, and, as such, it is the most ancient stronghold in the country of which any record or tradition is preserved; nor is it necessary to observe, that it was the scene of many a gallant exploit to be found recorded in the annals of the country. Dumbarton is fifteen miles north-west of Glasgow, and fifty-nine west of Edinburgh. The population of the burgh and parish amounted in 1821 to 3481, and in 1831 to 3623. DUMBLANE, a town of Scotland, in the south-western portion of Perthshire. It is delightfully situated on the eastern bank of the river Allan, at the distance of forty-

D

U

M

f®

’ bnessone miles from Edinburgh. In the middle ages this place I was distinguished as being the seat of a convent of Culifries, (fees, and continued to be so till about the twelfth century. Dumblane was constituted the seat of a bishop by David I. Amongst those who, subsequently to the reformation, filled the chair, was the celebrated philanthropist Robert Leighton, who bequeathed his valuable library to the cathedral and diocese. It is still in existence, and has been augmented by several donations. Dumblane is at present only a village, consisting of a single street of an old-fashioned character, with various diverging lanes. A mineral well in the neighbourhood causes an influx of visitors during the summer months. The chief attraction of Dumblane is what was once the cathedral of the bishop, the choir of which is now the parish church. It is a large Gothic edifice, with a steeple of modern erection of 128 feet in height. Besides the parish church, there is a dissenting meeting-house. There is here a weekly market, and there are also four annual fairs. The population of the town and parish amounted in 1821 to 3135, and in 1831 to 3228. DUMBNESS, the privation of speech. See Deaf and Dumb. DUMBOWITSKA, a circle in the western part of Wallachia, between the rivers Ardfisch and Aluta. It is watered by the streams of the Ardfisch, Jalomitza, and Dumbowitska, and contains one city, Tergovst, and 164 villages. DUMFRIES, a county in the south of Scotland, is situated between 55. 2. and 55. 31. north latitude, and 3. 53. west longitude. Its greatest length is nearly sixty miles, and its greatest breadth from thirty to thirty-one. The boundaries are Galloway and part of Ayrshire on the south-west; Roxburgh, Selkirk, and Peebles, on the north-east; Lanark on the north-west; and on the southeast the Solway Frith and the county of Cumberland. The principal rivers are the Nith, the Annan, and the Esk, all of which discharge themselves into the Solway Frith. These rivers are fed by numerous tributaries, and the whole of them abound in salmon. The square miles of the county are calculated at 1006, and the acres at 644,385. Like many other Scottish counties, Dumfriesshire is popularly divided into districts. Of these there are three principal; Eskdale on the east, Annandale in the middle, and Nithsdale on the west, each taking its name from the river which traverses it. From these larger divisions diverge smaller vales, which likewise derive their titles from the streams that flow through them, such as Moffatdale, Dryfesdale, and Ewesdale. From various circumstances, the limits of these great divisions are but imperfectly defined, and have recently been abandoned. The Solway Frith waters the base of the county for twenty-four miles, and along its margin the land is generally flat for about ten miles. Beyond this the county expands into a series of hills and valleys, which rise gradually northward till they reach the mountain chain which bounds it in that quarter. The principal elevations are, Lowthers near Wanlockhead, which rises 3150 feet, and Hartfell in Annandale, which rises 2629 feet above the level of the sea. In former times it was said that 86 miles were in general low arable land, lying on the sea-coast, 322 miles chiefly hilly, and 598 mountainous. But the calculation has been disturbed by the steady progress of bone manure and green crop husbandry. Steeps which it was impossible to sharpen by common manure, from the expense and difficulty of transporting it thither, have been brought into excellent heart by ground bones, and improved by at least a hundred per cent, both as crop and pasture land. Many hills which were nearly bare have been covered to their tops with thriving plantations. In the spring of 1833 the Duke

D U M 261 of Buccleuch inclosed and planted nearly three hundred Dumfries, acres, on which are now growing more than a million and a half of trees; and it is his grace’s intention to prosecute these improvements a great way further. Still a large proportion of the county is mountainous, and is devoted almost exclusively to sheep farming, which, since the mortality of 1829, has again become very profitable. Judging from the map, nearly a third of the land in the county belongs to the nobleman above mentioned, who possesses a rental of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds yearly, two thirds of which are drawn from Dumfries-shire. In 1811, when the property-tax pressed on the energies of the country, the whole rental of the county was estimated at L.246,001. 12s. 6d.; and although rents have fallen greatly since that period, so marked has been the progress of improvement, that at present (1833) it in all probability exceeds L.300,000 sterling. The principal proprietors are the Duke of Buccleuch, the Marquis of Queensberry, and the Earl of Mansfield; Mr Hope Johnstone of Annandale, General Sharpe of Hoddam, Mr Rogerson of Dumcrieff, Mr Menteath of Closeburn, and Mr M‘Alpine Leny of Dalswinton. The climate of Dumfriesshire is mild and salubrious; much of the land has a southern exposure, and, excepting in very severe winters, the snow speedily disappears. The soils are gravel or sand loam, and clay, with moor and moss in some places, particularly along the bed of the Lochar, with alluvial tracts on the banks of the rivers and the Solway Frith. The farms vary greatly in size; but for years there has been a tendency to uproot almost entirely the pendicle system. On the Buccleuch estates the farms are generally extensive. Many excellent steadings of houses have been built, and subdivisions formed over waste tracts, which for centuries remained uninclosed. Since the war the wages of rural labour have been pretty stationary. The usual rate of wages for a ploughman is six pounds per half year, with board and lodging in the case of unmarried men, and a proportionate allowance of meal, potato-land, &c. for hinds with families. House and dairymaids receive from L.2 to L.2. 10s. per half year; day labourers Is. 2d.a day in winter, and Is. 6d. in summer. At one time the quantity of lime used, or at least worked, in Dumfriesshire, was very great, and it is still far from being inconsiderable. The principal pits are those of Kilhead, Closeburn, and Barjarg; and within the last fifteen years the supply was estimated at 1,200,000 Winchester bushels, valued at L.54,000. The capabilities of the pits are still excellent, but the demand for lime has diminished somewhat, owing to the continued progress of bone dust, a manure which unites to a certain extent the qualities of lime and common dung. Annandale and Nithsdale have profited greatly by this valuable mineral. Mr Menteath of Closeburn is a great land improver, and has converted bogs which were hardly worth five shillings an acre into some of the finest pasture land in the county, by the combined effects of pairing, careful selection of seed, the application of lime, and irrigation. Cattle and sheep are bought at the Falkirk trysts, and fattened during winter and the early part of spring. The latter branch of traffic is yearly extending. The indigenous breed of cattle is still the Galloway, although not always pure and unmixed. Of heavy or drove cattle, about 20,000 head are driven south annually, and their value in good years amounts to nearly L.200,000. Of the sheep fattened no census has yet been given, from the circumstance that they are mostly conveyed in steam-boats. Mutton has risen in price in the home markets; and there can be no doubt that steam navigation is rapidly equalizing prices in town and country. The sheep are of three kinds; black-faced, Cheviots, and halfbreds, the latter beingacross between the Leicester and the

262 D U M D U M Dumfries. Cheviot. Until 1820, hardly a single half-bred appear- we have already observed. Iron in different forms is also Durr ed at Loekerby Hill; now, however, they are quite com- found in the strata. Marl abounds in various parts, and ' mon, and appear to be gaining as fast on the Cheviots as of freestone and whinstone there is abundance everythe latter are gaining on the black-faced. Pig husban- where. Marble is also procured, and employed for some dry is much cultivated in Dumfries-shire and Galloway; purposes; a little slate is likewise found. Coal in conand a large proportion of the hogs reared in the stewartry siderable quantities exists at the two extremities of the are sold in Dumfries, and cured in Annandale and Cum- county, Sanquhar and Langholm ; and, with one or two berland. The curing trade lasts for about three months, exceptions, all the pits belong to the Duke of Buccommencing in December and ending in February. The cleuch. Lengthened land-carriage prevents the tackssales are all paid in ready money, and instances have oc- men from competing with the coal miners of England • curred in which green pork to the amount of L.6000 has and consequently the town of Dumfries and many parts' been sold before breakfast on a Wednesday morning. The of the county are supplied with fuel from Workington curers have good and bad seasons; but the capital re- and Maryporb The trade employs a considerable amount quired induces caution, and it is a fact that bankruptcy is of tonnage. The lead mines at Wanlockhead and Leadnearly unknown among the bacon traders of the district. hills belong to the Duke of Buccleuch and the Earl of The hams of Dumfriesshire are so much esteemed that Hopetoun. Their capabilities at present are nearly they are frequently sold in London under the name of equal, but both have declined greatly, from the imporWestphalian. Those who farm pendicles trust mainly to tation of Spanish lead, the increased difficulty of worktheir pigs when rent-day comes round; and the trade ing the shafts, and the poverty of the ore. For thirty every year brings L.3000 into Johnstone, which is equal years previously to 1828 each of the places mentioned proto the landed rental of the parish. Its annual value to duced about 700 tons of smelted lead annually; the price the district, including the curer’s profit, must be very was L.23 per ton, and the gross revenue L.20,700. The nearly L. 100,000 sterling. Duke of Buccleuch and the Earl of Hopetoun received a The manufactures of the county are dressed leather, sixth part each of the produce as rent, and netted respechosiery, clogs, and carpets. The cotton mill at Langholm tively L.3450 per annum. Both have reduced the rent; has ceased to work, and such weavers as remain there the first to one twelfth, and the second to one eighth of are supplied with webs by the manufacturers of Carlisle. the produce; and their incomes from this source have In Dumfries and other parts of the district the same fallen to L.700 and L.1000 annually. Neither mine at class of persons derives employment from the city of present produces more than 650 tons of smelted lead anGlasgow^. The hosiery trade exceeds L.20,000 per annum, nually, and the price has fallen to L.13 per ton. The and that of dressed leather is probably double this amount. consequences may be anticipated. Wanlockhead and The carpet and spinning and dyeing manufactory at Cra- Leadhills are no longer what they were, whether as rewick Mill, in the neighbourhood of Sanquhar, employs 150 gards the numbers, the comfort, or the intelligence of the persons, young and middle aged. It consumes nearly 5000 mining population. stones of wool, and produces 70,000 yards of carpeting The mineral waters of Moffat are well known, but the yearly. The wages average from L.180 to L.200 monthly. spas in other parts of the county are too obscure to reAlthough, as we have already remarked, Dumfriesshire quire special notice. The chalybeate at Hartfell acts as is mountainous, its lakes are inferior to those of Galloway, a powerful tonic, and contains, of sulphate of iron eightyboth as to number and extent. We must make an excep- four grains, sulphate of alumina twelve, oxide of iron fiftion, however, in favour of the Castle Loch of Lochmaben. teen, and five inches of azotic gas, in a wine gallon. This Bruce’s castle stood on a promontory on the farther side of spring was discovered about eighty years ago, but is too the loch ; but it is so much dilapidated that such artists as remote from the village to be of much use. The other sketch it contrive to hide the nakedness of bare unashlared spring, which is much more accessible, is strongest and best walls by the enlivening screen of green trees. In some of at the fountain-head, and probably the walk or ride (about a the lakes a singular fish is found, which naturalists term the mile and a half) does as much good to invalids as the wayendace, and which is supposed to be peculiar to this place, ter. The Moffat Spa contains, muriate of soda thirty-six if we except, perhaps, the lake of Geneva. At the grains, sulphuretted hydrogen gas ten cubic inches, azotic “ four towns of Hightae,” in the neighbourhood, King Ro- gas four inches, carbonic acid gas five inches. More than bert granted feus to a class of persons who were known two centuries have elapsed since this spring was discoveras “ the king’s kindly tenants.” Their possessions are ed. A few years ago baths, with a pump and readingsmall, but the land is rich, and they sit at almost a no- room, were erected by subscription in Moffat, at an exminal rent. They are a peculiar race, who live in a little pense of L.2000; an immense improvement, which has world of their own, and are beginning to feel the effects greatly increased the annual number of visitors. Annan, of continued isolation and intermarriage among the mem- Lockeroy, and Langholm, are all thriving, well-built towns. bers of their own tribe. Loch Skene, about ten miles Ihe scenery of the latter place is much admired, particufrom Moffat, is the only other lake of consequence. It is larly the ride along the banks of the Esk to Longtown. 1300 feet above the level of the sea; the scenery around Ihe county sends one member to parliament, and the is stern and savage in a high degree; and its superfluous united burghs of Dumfries, Annan, Lochmaben, Sanquhar, waters, in escaping to the strath or valley below, foam and and Kirkcudbright, a second. The population amounted leap from the dizzying heights above, and form the fine in 1821 to /0,878, and in 1831 to 73,770, increase 2892. cascade called the gray mares tail. Dumfries, the capital of the above county, is a royal Considerable quantities of salmon are caught in the Nith, burgh of considerable antiquity, although the period at and in the stake-nets at Caerlavcrock and Annan Water which it became incorporated is not exactly known. DurFoot. The finny tribes push into other streams, such as ing the border wars it was frequently stormed, and the the Milk, the Lsk, the Ewes, and the Wauchope; and in records were destroyed. The current belief, howformer times were speared in Moffat water. The supply public ever, is, that it received its charter before the middle of the of red fish is augmented by importations from Galloway. eleventh century, as a gravestone was discovered a numI he lower parts of Dumfriesshire consist of various va- ber of years ago, bearing the date 1079, and mentioning rieties of sandstone, the layers of which generally dip to that the individual whose ashes it covered had been conthe Solway. There is a considerable body of limestone, as spicuous as a merchant and burgess of the town. From

D

U

M

] mfries. this time it gradually increased in importance ; and in the y.yw' year 1307, Edward the Second appointed the estates of Scotland to assemble on the banks of the Nith. In certain chronicles the ancient name of the town is said to have been Cotiac, but this we suspect is mere fancy. It seems much more probable that, like many other places, it derived its name from its physical appearances and character. In remote times the Gaelic was spoken on both sides of the Frith of Forth ; and we concur in the etymology of Mr George Chalmers, who conceives the word to be composed of dun a castle, and /Wes a ridge. Dumfries, which may be regarded as the capital of the south of Scotland, is beautifully situated on the left bank of the river Nith, thirty-five miles below its source, and upwards of ten above the point where its waters mingle with and are lost in the Solway. The Nith in point of size ranks fifth among the rivers of Scotland, and is navigable from Carsethorn to Glencaple quay, even for vessels of considerable burthen. In consequence of the extraordinary manner in which the tides ebb and flow in the Solway during the winter months, the river is similarly aifected. The origin of the town appears to have been owing to a strong castle, which flourished as a border fortress during the twelfth century, and frequently became an object of contention, both prior and subsequent to the times of Wallace and Bruce. Of this stronghold not a vestige remains ; but the street occupying the ground on which it stood retains the name, and is likely to do so till the latest ages. In razing what remained of this place of strength, the local authorities, more than a century ago, found materials for building the new church. The Gray Friars, like the castle, attracted settlers; and, as early as the thirteenth century, the old bridge was planned and built at the expense of the Lady Devorgilla, third daughter of Alan, lord of Galloway, and grandmother to John Cumin, who was slain by Robert Bruce in the above-mentioned cathedral in the beginning of the year 1305. Originally it consisted of thirteen arches, and was guarded at the middle by a gate or port, which was removed in 1709, to lessen the central pressure when the structure became frail. This bridge, which still remains, and is crossed every day by foot passengers, was certainly a wonderful erection for the time; and, accordingly, the writer of a work entitled A Journey through Scotland, published by J. Pemberton, London, in 1723, says, “ I passed the river Nith from Galloway to Dumfries over a fair stone bridge of thirteen arches, the finest I saw in Britain next to London and Rochester.” A right of toll was attached to the bridge, which in 1789, according to Captain Grose, yielded a yearly rental of three hundred pounds, and which at the present day, a little higher up the river, produces to the town five hundred pounds sterling. The new bridge was commenced in 1793, and finished in 1795. The original contract price was L.4500, but as no rock could be found at one point, the landstool on the Dumfries side was founded on piles of wood, and for this the commissioners of supply allowed an additional sum of L.500. After Bruce had committed the crime already mentioned, and commenced that career which terminated at last in the redemption of his country from a foreign yoke, he became a mark for the vengeance of Edward of England. His friends and adherents also suffered along with him. Amongst these, Sir Christopher Seaton was betrayed by a pretended friend of the name of Macnab, apprehended at the Castle of Lochore in Fifeshire, marched to Dumfries, and barbarously executed on the Gallows-Hill, a slight eminence on the north-eastern side of the town, better known by the name of the Christell Chapel. Bruce sincerely regretted his fate, and, in the words of Sir Richard Maitland of Lethington, said, “ ‘ It is ane pity that sa noble

D U M 263 ane knight should die sa cruel ane dead.’ And inconti- Dumfries, nent in the same place where he was standing when the tidings came to him, garred found a chapel in honour of tile Virgin Mary; and, in remembrance of the said Sir Christell, founded a priest to devine service therein perpetually, and pray for the said Sir Christell; and gave to the said priest and his successors the sum of L.5 sterling, to be taken of the barony of Carlaverock, for their sustenation. I he ruins of the Christell Chapel were visible in the beginning of 1715; but when the Jacobite rebellion broke out in Scotland, the inhabitants of Dumfries hastily constructed a rampart, and during the operation the ruins of the old chapel disappeared, the line of fortification having passed close by their site. It is evident, from the traces of the foundation, that the building must have been very small. When Lord Scroop made an excursion in 1570 for the purpose of plunder, the chief magistrate of Dumfries, at the head of the burgesses, joined Lord Maxwell in opposing the invaders. They fought gallantly, but were unfortunately defeated. Dumfries suffered considerably during the reigns of Charles the First and Second. In 1617 it was visited by James the Sixth whilst returning to England. It was at this period that the incorporated trades received from James what is called the “ siller gun,” which was ordered to be shot for at stated periods, with the view of fostering their martial spirit, and skill in the exercises performed at the wappinshaw. This relic is still in existence, and the custom is yet observed at the distance of seven or nine years, more as a holiday exercise than for any other purpose. The trades muster in great strength, borrow guns far and wide, spend three fourths of the day in shooting, return to an entertainment in their hall in the evening; and the “ siller gun,” after being won, is worn for a short period by the best marksman. This festival forms the subject of a poem, written by Mr John Mayne, and which is praised for its humour and spirit in the notes appended to the Lady of the Lake. Almost no town in Scotland stood forward half so prominently as Dumfries did at the period of the union in 1707. On the 20th of November of the preceding year, according to Chalmers, two hundred Cameronians entered the burgh, issued a manifesto against the great pending measure, and burnt the articles at the market-cross. The last cofnmotion of any consequence occurred in 1715, when the Viscount Kenmure hung on the heights of Tenwaid, willing to do mischief, and yet timid as to the means and manner of attack. By a well-managed stratagem he was induced to depart; and this is believed to have been the last occasion on which the ancient war-cry of the town, “ Lereburn,” or “ A Lereburn,” was heard. Dumfries is the seat of a presbytery, synod, sheriff’s court, record of sasines, and four banks, branches of the principal companies of Scotland. There are two churches in connection with the establishment, an episcopalian, a catholic, and a number of other chapels supported by dissenters. In 1745, the Pretender and his rebel army, whilst retreating from England, paid a domiciliary visit to the town of Dumfries; and for a misdemeanour committed against some of his followers on their march southward, the town was compelled to pay a fine, which amounted altogether to L.4000 sterling. In 1750, however, the crown granted to Dumfries L.2800 out of a forfeited estate. Hosiery, leather, hats, wooden shoes, and baskets, are the only manufactures worth naming in Dumfries. Cotton checks at one time were woven on speculation in considerable quantities; but the trade has declined. The stocking trade gives employment to about 300 persons, and produces annually not less than L.20,000 sterling. The tanning trade, as regards money, is also considerable. An

264 D U M Dumfries, extensive grazing district is fertile in hides, notwithstanding the great number of bullocks that are driven south; and in good years dressed leather brings a return amounting to about L.30,000. Wooden shoes or clogs were long peculiar to Dumfriesshire and the lower part of Galloway; but the trade is increasing, and promotes greatly the health of such as are exposed to outdoor labour. Of these shoes more than L.1000 worth are annually disposed of in Dumfries alone. In the year 1831 the tonnage of Dumfries stood as follows: Foreign vessels inwards 1071 tons, coasting do. 20,463, goods 6320, coal 11,461, and lime 219; income to the commissioners of navigation L.870. 12s. 8d. In the same year vessels that cleared outwards paid duty on 5123 tons register, and on goods 2735 tons. Foreign vessels are charged at the rate of sixpence per ton, coasters twopence; goods one shilling and twopence, and lime and coal sixpence. The united income of the commissioners in the year above mentioned amounted to L.1072. 17s. 4d. The exports consist chiefly of grain, bark, wool, and hosiery; and the imports of coal, timber, and goods. The infirmary was built more than fifty years ago, and the hospital or poor-house in 1753. Both are well endowed, though supported partly by subscriptions; and the former expends fully L.1000 annually on medicine and other necessary outlays. The infirmary, since the time it was founded, has received in the shape of donations L.18,000, and the hospital L.6000; and the expenditure of the latter is about L.600 annually. In connection with such institutions, it may be noticed that the town was some time since left nearly L.100,000 to be employed for charitable purposes. Dumfries possesses an excellent academy, where Greek, Latin, French, English, mathematics, geography, drawing, &c. are taught. It has also a very handsome theatre. In 1826 a gas-work was erected in Dumfries, and has since flourished well. There is a weekly market, which is held on Wednesday, when a great deal of business is transacted. Since the year 1817, Dumfries has improved rapidly in appearance, although nearly stationary as to population. The High Street, which is broad and spacious, is one continued series of shops, which are nearly as handsome as the same description of buildings in Edinburgh or Glasgow. St Michael’s church-yard attracts the notice of all strangers. It is to a great extent a city of tombs, and has been frequently referred to as the Westminster of Scotland. Many of the monuments are very beautiful; and amongst these there is a sumptuous one over the ashes of the celebrated poet Burns. Ihe situation of Dumfries is admired by all tourists. With the exception of the point where it dips to the ocean, it is surrounded by a chain of hills, many of which are green to the top, and undulate in a very pleasing manner. In point of latitude, Dumfries is nearly a degree farther south than Edinburgh, and considerably more than a degree in climate. The chilling east winds which prevail so much on the east coast of Scotland are but little felt on the banks of the Nith ; and pulmonary complaints, though not unknown, are comparatively unfrequent. In 1831 the population of Dumfries, burgh and parish, was returned at 11,606 souls, being an increase on the preceding census of 554. Apart from the landward part of the parish, Dumfries contains about 9500 inhabitants. In Troqueer, on the opposite side of the river, the present population is 4665; but here again there is a distinction between the burgh and the parish, Maxwelltown containing above 3000 inhabitants, and the country part of Troqueer little more than 1000. Both localities are recognized in law, the one being a royal, and the other a burgh of barony of some standing; and as they are merely di-

BUM vided by a running stream spanned by two stone bridges, Dm they may be considered as forming parts of the same town. The population in round numbers is 13,000. DUMONT, Etienne, or Stephen, the friend, and often the Mentor, of Mirabeau, the redacteur of the principal works of Jeremy Bentham, and one of the most remarkable men of his time, was born in the month of July 1759 at Geneva, of which his family had been citizens of good repute from the days of Calvin. Shortly after his birth his father died, leaving a widow and five children wholly unprovided for. But the good widow, though placed in such destitute circumstances, and supported by little except the courage inspired by maternal affection, found means to educate her children in a place where necessary knowledge was accessible, and poverty not disgraceful. Induced by an anticipation of future eminence, seldom more happily realized, she accordingly contrived to send Stephen to the College of Geneva, where he justified her determination and the sacrifices necessary to carry it into effect, not only by his ability and proficiency, but by the virtuous purpose to which he turned his earliest attainments ; for ere long, he not only defrayed the cost of his own education, but even contributed to the support of the family, by assisting the private studies of his comrades in the capacity of repetiteur; an office somewhat resembling that of a private tutor in our academical system, and having for its object to prepare the students for examination in the public class, by “ grinding” them on the contents of the preceding lecture. Having completed his academical course, he took clerical orders ; and in the year 1781 he was chosen one of the pastors of the city, where his talents as a preacher soon attracted general notice, and gave promise of his becoming one of the most brilliant and persuasive of pulpit orators. But the political troubles which disturbed Geneva in 1782 suddenly turned the course of his life into a different channel. Two parties of opposite principles, one being attached to the authority of the magistrates, and the other anxious to extend the privileges of the people, but most widely separated as to the extension or limitation of the right of suffrage, had long divided that republic ; and the disputes of these parties gained lustre from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the most wayward, moody, and perverse of all the men of genius who have approached the borders of insanity, which, indeed, he appears more than once to have overpassed. The more liberal party received the name of representans, or petitioners, from a representation presented by them against the legality of the proceedings of the magistrates respecting the writings and person of that celebrated but unhappy man; whilst, on the other hand, the magistrates, who refused the prayer of the petition, and their adherents who supported them in this refusal, were thenceforward called the negatives. During twenty years a struggle had been maintained between these parties with various success, but without bloodshed, though certainly not without violence. At length, in the autumn of 1782, when the petitioners had gained the ascendency, the courts of Versailles and Turin, in concert with the canton of Berne, surrounded Geneva with an armed force, and, under pretence of some ancient guarantees, imposed anew constitution on the republic, and at the same time compelled the leaders of the representative party to fly from their country. Dumont was not included in the proscription. But his heart had been touched with the love of liberty; he could endure chains nowhere patiently, and chains at home, where he was free by birthright, not at all. He therefore became a voluntary exile, and went to join his mother and sisters at St Petersburg, a city to which many Genevese had carried their honourable patrimony of ability and

1 W

’

t

DUMONT. 265 of the degree of sagacity and purity of the man who enDumont, knowledge. In this he was probably influenced in part by the example of his townsman Lefort, who was the first tertained it. Yet even he was not more upright and betutor, minister, and general of the Czar At St Peters- nevolent than his two friends; though, having less vivacity burg he became pastor of the French church, an office than the one and less ardour than the other, he was not so he filled for eighteen months, during which time he ob- liable to be allured by imagination from the rigid observtained the consideration due to his great merit and excel- ance of the severe maxims of that moral prudence which lent character. But his views were directed towards Great is the safeguard of virtue. With a keen relish for pleaBritain, where most of the Genevese exiles had taken re- santry, and perfectly exempt from all gloom and harshconverfuge, and where some of them were actually employed in ness, he yet shunned the amusement of Wilkes’s T negociating with government for permission to establish a sation, solely from deference to morality. W hen MiraSwiss colony in Ireland. He left St Petersburg in 1785; beau visited England about 1786, Wilson did not follow and soon after his arrival in London went to reside with the example of his friends in cultivating the society of Lord Shelburne, then a minister of state, who confided to that extraordinary man, whose ill-trained fancies were him the education of his sons. Lord Shelburne, after- better adapted to sudden felicities than to composition, wards Marquis of Lansdowne, a man distinguished for and whose conversation was animated by an irregular behis cultivation of the society of men of letters, foreign nevolence, neither smothered by the profligacy of his as well as native, soon discovered the great talents of youth, nor altogether extinguished by the intrigues and Dumont, who gradually became a friend, or rather mem- corruptions of his latter years.” In 1788 Dumont undertook a journey to Paris in comber of the family; and it was at the house of this minister that he became acquainted with some of the most pany with Romilly; and it was under the auspices of the illustrious men of the country, amongst whom may be latter that he first became acquainted with Mirabeau. mentioned Fox, Sheridan, Lord Holland, and Sir Samuel During a sojourn of two months in the French capital, he Romilly. His connection with these and other distin- saw that extraordinary man almost every day; and a cerguished individuals, founded upon friendship, similarity tain affinity of talents and pursuits led to an intimate conof opinions and literary occupations, and the pursuit of nection between two persons diametrically opposed to great objects of public utility, gave them full opportuni- each other in habits and in character. It was after his reties of appreciating his worth. He was generally known turn from Paris that Dumont commenced his acquaintas a man of profound knowledge, correct judgment, irre- ance with Mr Bentham; a circumstance which exercised proachable character, and brilliant wit, and esteemed for a powerful influence over his future opinions, and, as it the possession of these high and invaluable qualities, which were, fixed his career as a writer on legislation. Filled were exemplified throughout the whole course of his life. with admiration for the genius of Bentham, and profoundAbout this time began his close connection with Sir ly impressed with the truth of his theory, and the imporSamuel Romilly, “ a man,” says Sir James Mackintosh, tant consequences to which it immediately led, Dumont “ whose whole excellence will be little understood by the applied all his talents to make the writings of the great world, until they see the narrative traced by himself of English jurist generally known, and devoted the greater those noble labours of self-education, by which he taught part of his life in order to render available to the world himself every sort of ability which is necessary to serve at large the inexhaustible store of knowledge which the mankind, and still more of that self-discipline by which active mind of Bentham was continually increasing. We he at length formed a character yet more exalted than his may mention here, that the following works are the result genius, composed of a probably unparalleled union of ten- of that confraternity of genius, talents, and labour, which der affection with unbending principle, and producing those was thus established, viz. Treatises on Legislation, publishdispositions towards the magnanimous and heroic which ed in 1822, in 3 vols. 8vo, now (1833) in the third ediwere hidden from the vulgar by the solemn decorums of tion ; Theory of Punishments and Rewards, 2 vols. 8vo, a formal profession, and are seldom found to be capable of also in the third edition; Tactics of Legislative Assemblies, breathing so long under the undisturbed surface of a well- two editions, 1815 and 1822; Judicial Evidence, publishordered and prosperous community. The habitual or me- ed in 1823, second edition 1830; and. Judicial Organizachanical part of Romilly’s life was necessarily governed tion and Codification, 1828, 8vo. Of course we make no hy those of his profession and country. The higher ele- mention here of the numerous editions published in foreign ment, however, secretly and constantly blended itself with countries. every thought and feeling; and there were moments when In the summer of 1789, that season of promise and of his moral heroism carried the majesty of virtue into the hope, especially to a Genevese exile, Dumont suspended his souls of the perplexed and affrighted vulgar.” The friend- labours in England in order to proceed to Paris along with ship which united these two remarkable men increased his friend Duroverai, ex-attorney-general of the republic daily; nor did its ardour or activity cease, until death un- of Geneva. The object of the journey was to obtain through expectedly rent asunder the tie which bound them toge- M. Necker, who had just returned to office, and by means ther, and left Dumont inconsolable for the loss of his de- of the events which were then passing in France, an unreparted friend, whom he never mentioned without tears. stricted restoration of Genevese liberty, by cancelling the There was a third in the circle, who is very strikingly treaty of guarantee between France and Switzerland, described by Sir James Mackintosh. which prevented the republic from enacting new laws “ Among the closest friends of Romilly and Dumont without the consent of the parties to this treaty. The prowas George Wilson, a man little known beyond the circle ceedings and negociations to which this mission gave rise, of his friends and that of his contemporaries in the pro- necessarily brought Dumont into connection with most of fession of the law, and one whom it would be difficult to the leading men in the Constituent Assembly, and made make known to others, without the use of that language him an interested spectator, sometimes even a participator, of vague panegyric, the abuse of which had more lowered indirectly, in the events of the French revolution. The it in his own eyes, than even in those of most men of mo- same cause also led him to renew his acquaintance with desty and taste. It might be said by as unaffectedly con- Mirabeau, whom he found occupied with his duties as a scientious a man as himself, if such another there be, that deputy, and with the composition of his journal, the Couramong those who thoroughly knew him, the degree of es- rier do Provence, in which he was assisted by Duroverai, teem for him was always considered as exactly indicative Claviere, and other Genevese patriots. For a time DuVOL. vm.

266 DUMONT. Dumont, mont took an active and very efficient part in the conduct shallow philosophy which then reigned, metaphysical prin- Du of this journal, supplying it with reports as well as origi- ciples were a novelty, in the contemplation of which he nt nal articles, and also furnishing Mirabeau with speeches was too agreeably employed to examine the solidity of to be delivered or rather read in the assembly. This is the foundation on which they rested. Wearied with the now completely established by his highly instructive and common-places of philanthropic declamation, which passinteresting posthumous work entitled Recollections of Mira- ed for philosophy, he ran with eagerness into the opposite beau. In fact, his friend George Wilson used to relate, extreme of new terms, dry definitions, and simple princithat one day, when they were dining together at a table ples. The method of Bentham is undoubtedly a powerful d hole at Versailles, he saw Dumont engaged in writing instrument for the discovery of truth, especially in the the most celebrated paragraph of Mirabeau’s address to juridical part of moral science. It is, however, a method the king for the removal of the troops, which was believed which may become more than mischievous, by the very to have been written by the orator himself. He also re- circumstance of its apparent perfection. ported such of Mirabeau’s speeches as he did not write, “ Supposing every other objection to that system to be and, with a disinterested sacrifice of his own reputation answered, it will still be evident that the value of its apto the diffusion of what he considered as truth, embellish- plication in every particular instance must be in propored and strengthened them from his own stores, which tion to the exactness and completeness with which every were inexhaustible. But this co-operation, so valuable for circumstance is enumerated that can affect the determinaMirabeau, and so self-devoted on the part of Dumont, was tion of the question. But the enumeration is not complete, destined soon to come to an end; for, being attacked in merely because the names of all such circumstances are pamphlets as one of Mirabeau’s writers, he felt hurt at enumerated. It is not thus that the philosopher proceeds the notoriety thus given to his name in connection with a in those sciences where the success is uncontested. He man occupying Mirabeau’s peculiar position, and resolved calculates the degree of every force that acts on a body; to return to England, which he accordingly did in 1791. he ascertains the proportion of every element which goes' The reputation of being a subaltern writer was, as he him- to make up a compound; and an error in either of these self states, by no means flattering; and the credit y of an respects is, in truth and effect, a want of exact and cominfluential connection with a man whose character w as far plete enumeration, which may lead to the most false refrom being untainted alarmed his delicacy. He saw that sults. Such mistakes in the physical sciences are easily he had no alternative but to put an end to a copartnership detected. In the moral sciences it is extremely easy to of which Mirabeau was certain to reap all the advantage, seem to form a complete theory by such general and vague whilst the odium or discredit would alone fall to the lot of inductions, because the means of quick and palpable deMirabeau s associate; and he acted upon this conviction tection are wanting. Wherever analysis is really exhauswith a promptitude and decision worthy of his character. tive, it is the most perfect of instruments; but where it In the eventful years which followed he continued to only reaches a semblance of exactness, it produces or perlive chiefly at Lansdowne House, or at Bowood, where petuates error in the exact proportion of its seeming apthe most remarkable men of Europe as well as of Britain proach to truth. There is no remedy against this danwere frequent and welcome guests. Latterly, he began gerous distemper but the habit of never forgetting that, to form an intimate friendship with Lord Holland, whom in each case, the main question always must be, ‘ How he had known from childhood ; and he became a member much of each enumerated cause is likely to act in the inof the society of familiar friends, the habitual visitors at stance before me ?’ No show of accuracy, no superiority Holland House, who, during many years, saw a succession of method, can dispense with this question, or enable any of celebrated guests of every country, party, religion, and man to answer it otherwise than by approximation. But of every liberal profession or station, which is likely to with these high and arduous matters we must not deal continue unmatched until another house be found that more largely in this place. The talent with which M. boasts such a master. “ His mind was at that time in Dumont performed his task is as generally acknowledged & most perfectly mature state, with much experience of as the perfect disinterestedness which led him to employ very memorable events, and familiar intercourse with the so much talent in expounding the opinions and enlivening most eminent men, besides an abundant store of amus- the reasoning of others. It is due to him to say, that he ing and striking anecdotes. “ He had entirely subdued always considered the system as a model, to be always the popular and declamatory propensities which charac- consulted and approached, but never imposed without a terize youthful genius, yet without being in the least cautious regard to circumstances. It must also be obdegree withdrawn from the love of letters and the de- served, that however entirely he adopted the speculations, lights of society by those scientific pursuits which occu- delighted in the method, and even acquiesced in the lanpied a subsequent period.” In 1801 he travelled over guage of Bentham, that for which he really felt a warm various parts of Europe with Lord Henry Petty, now Marand consecrated the labour of his life, was the pracquis of Lansdowne, and brought back a fresher acquaint- zeal, tical establishment of that grand reformation of law, which ance with the mental occupations of the continental na- owes indeed much to the writings of Bentham, and to the tions, from whom England had for years been separated discussions which they daily contribute to spread and by a wider and deeper channel than that formed by the keep up, but which, so far from being peculiar to him, is hand of nature. But Dumont had then opened a new zealously supported by those who dissent from his moral course of more serious occupations. theories, and was common to him, at least in that more “ J801 he published the Traites de Legislation ; the first fruits of his zealous labours to give order, clearness, obvious part of it which relates to criminal law, with the and vivacity, to the profound and original meditations of philosophers of the eighteenth century, who pursued the object, though with less distinctness of view, less Bentham, hitherto praised only by a very few patient same precision of language, and less knowledge of the abuses readers, and but little better known, even by name, to the to be reformed. I he mind of Dumont moved onward English than to the. European public. The extraordinary with that of the reformers of jurisprudence throughout merit of these writings, manuscript and printed, chiefly Europe. He does not needlessly question the singulariattracted his mind towards them; inferior circumstances, of his venerable master; but his attachment was to however, contributed their part to the fervour with which ties the main stock of reforming principle. Those who knew he devoted himself to them. Trained in the hasty and him need not be reminded, that if his principles have any

D U M ’ nt tendency to a cold and low morality, they were in that ^ ^ respect altogether defeated by the nature of Dumont; a man of the utmost simplicity and frankness, of a most unusually affectionate and generous disposition. A man of so much letters and wit could not have worked into his practical nature any indifference to art and accomplishment, to real learning, or to the only eloquence which deserves the name.” In 1814 the restoration of Geneva to independence induced Dumont to return to his native place, which he loved with that fervour which can only be felt by the citizen of a small republic. He was immediately chosen a member of the supreme council, and by conciliating opponents, moderating partizans, and gaining the confidence and respect of all, he became in time its chief leader and ornament, as he would have been in more conspicuous and powerful assemblies. At the time of his death he had completed a code of law, which, as chairman of a committee appointed for that purpose, it would have been his duty to present to the supreme council on its assembling after its vacation ; but at the moment when he was thus about to engrave his name on the annals of his beloved country, and to honour her, by rendering her, as he hoped, an example to Europe, he was cut off in the full vigour of his faculties, and on the eve of their most conspicuous exertion. In the autumn of 1829 he undertook a tour of pleasure, or rather of relaxation, to the north of Italy, in company with one of his friends, M. Bellamy Aubert; and his family were impatiently expecting his return when they received the tidings of his death. He died at Milan, in October 1829, in the seventy-first year of his age. Dumont was wholly untainted by political or philosophical bigotry, which has corrupted so many of those who inveigh against every form of that vice. His friends at Geneva, at Paris, or in London, were very far from sharing his peculiar opinions. Surrounded by fifty-three nephews or nieces in the first or second degree, the issue or progeny of three sisters, he treated them with a patriarchal tenderness very foreign from the scorn of some Epicureans for “ the charities of father, son, and brother.” In his will he leaves legacies to all; touchingly assuring them that they must not measure his kindness by his bequests. In every instance of the youngest child, he seems, with the most affectionate solicitude, to have weighed the needs and desires of each, and to have considered all their little claims as worthy of conscientious consideration. His will, which is dated in May 1826, opens with an acknowledgment worthy of him. “ I begin this testamentary disposition by an act of gratitude towards God, for having blessed me with a peaceable and independent life, which has owed its chief happiness to the charm of study and the enjoyments of friendship.” Such was Dumont, a pattern of wisdom and goodness, the like of which it is seldom indeed given us to contemplate, in the ordinary course of this rude and selfish world. (Notice of M. Dumont by Sir James Mackintosh, Foreign Quarterly Review, No. ix.; Recollections of Mirabeau, preface; Bibliotheque Universelle, November 1829; Revue Encyclopedique, vol. xiv. p. 258.) (a.) Dumont, John, a well-known publicist, was born in 1 ranee in the seventeenth century. He followed the profession of arms, but not obtaining promotion so rapidly as he expected, he quitted the service, and travelled through different parts of Europe. He stopped in Holland with the intention of there publishing an account of his travels. But in the interval, at the request of his bookseller, he wrote and published several pamphlets, which were eagerly sought atter, by reason of the unceremonious manner in which be treated the ministry of France, This freedom having

DUN 267 deprived him of all hope of employment in his own coun- Dumpalis try, he now thought of forming a permanent establishment II in that wrhere he resided; and the knowdedge which he Dun. had already acquired of the relations and interests of different nations having led him to entertain the idea of opening a course of lectures on public law, he lost no time in carrying it into effect. The project succeeded far beyond his expectations ; and some useful compilations which he published about the same period made him favourably known in foreign countries. The emperor of Germany appointed him his historiographer, and some time afterwards conferred on him the title of Baron de Carlscroun. He died at Vienna in 1726, at an advanced age. Dumont wrote with facility, but his style is deficient in vigour and correctness ; nevertheless, his works are esteemed as containing a great number of documents valuable for history. The following is a list of the works published by Dumont: 1. Nouveau Voyage au Levant, Hague, 1694, reprinted under the title of Voyages en France, en Italic, en Allemagne, a Malte et en Turquie, Hague, 1699, 4 vols. 12mo; 2. Memoires Politiques pour servir a la parfaite intelligence de I'Histoire de la Paix de Rysivick, Hague, 1699, 4 vols. 12mo; 3. Memoires sur la Guerre presente (1700), Hague, 1703, 12mo, reprinted under the title of Recherches modestes des Causes de la presente Guerre, en ce qui concerne les Provinces Unies, 1713, 12mo ; 4. Recueil de Trades d'alliance, de paix, et de commerce entre les Rois, Princes, et Etats, depuis la paix de Munster, Amsterdam, 1710, 2 vols. 12mo; 5. Soupirs de VEurope d la vue du projet de paix contenu dans la harangue de la reine de la Grande-Bretagne, 1712, 12mo ; 6. Corps Universel Diplomatique du Droit des Gens, contenant un Recueil des Trades de paix, d'cdliance, etc. fads en Europe, depuis Charlemagne jusqud present, Amsterdam, 1626, and following years, 8 vols. fol. continued after Dumont’s death by J. Rousset; and 7. Battailles gagnees par le Prince Eugene de Savoie, Hague, 1723. To the Corps Universel Diplomatique du Droit des Gens ought to be subjoined, EHistoire des anciens Trades jusqu d Charlemagne, by Barbeyrac, 1739, in 2 vols. folio; 2. Supplement au Corps Diplomatique, avec le ceremonial des Cours de VEurope, collected by Dumont, and arranged by Rousset, 1739, in 3 vols. fol.; 3. Histoire des Trades de Paix du dix-septieme Siecle, by St Priest, 1725, in 4 vols. folio. Dumont was also the author of Lettres Historiques contenant ce qui se passe de plus important en Europe, 12mo. This periodical, which was commenced in 1692, and two volumes of which appeared annually, Dumont conducted till 1710, from which time it was continued by Basnage, with the aid of several collaborateurs, until 1728. The earlier volumes are much esteemed. (a.) DUMPALIS, a spacious bay on the west coast of the island of Celebes, into which flow two considerable rivers. Good anchorage is found here, and the bay is much resorted to on account of the great quantity of fish which are found in it. At the bottom of this bay is situated the town of Dumpalis, which has a considerable trade. The inland merchants bring gold dust and a particular drug, which they dispose of to the inhabitants in the town, receiving in return tobacco, opium, white cloths, iron knives, and creeses. The natives here fight with poisoned barbed arrows, blown out of black ebony tubes; and are sure to kill at the distance of twenty yards. DUN, or Burgh, the name of an ancient species of building, of a circular form, common in the Orkney and Zetland Islands, the Hebrides, and the northern parts of Scotland. The latter term points out the founders, who at the same time bestowed on them their native name of borg, a Sueo-Gothic word signifying a defence or castle; and the Highlanders universally apply to these places the Celtic name dun, signifying a hill defended by a tower, which

V

268 DUN Dunaburg plainly points out their use. They are confined to the II countries once subject to the crown of Norway. With ,_U1—- few exceptions, they are built within sight of the sea, and several of them within sight of each other; so that, on a signal by fire, by flag, or by trumpet, they could give notice of approaching danger, and afford mutual support. In the Orkney and Zetland Islands they are most frequently called wart or toard hills, which shows that they were garrisoned. They had their wardmadher, or watchman, a sort of sentinel, who stood on the top, and challenged all who came in sight. The gackman was an officer of the same kind, who not only had to watch against surprise, but was also bound to give notice if he saw any ships in distress. He was allowed a large horn of generous liqunr, which he had always by him, to keep up his spirits. Along the Orkney and Zetland shores they almost formed a chain, and by that means not only kept the natives in subjection, but were situated commodiously for covering the landing of their countrymen, who were perpetually roving on piratical expeditions. These towers were even made use of as state prisons ; for we learn from Torfseus, that after Sueno had surprised Paul, count of Caithness, he carried him into Sutherland, and confined him there in a Norwegian tower. Out of this kingdom no buildings similar to these are to be found anywhere, except in Scandinavia. On the mountain of Swalberg in Norway is one; on the Stir-biskop, at Upsal, in Sweden, is another; and on Umsborg, in the same kingdom, is a third. These towers vary in their inner structure, but externally they are universally the same, though some have an addition of strength on the outside. The burgh of Culswick, in Zetland, notwithstanding it is built on the top of a hill, is surrounded with a dry ditch thirteen feet broad; that of Snaburgh, in Unst, has both a wet and a dry ditch, the first being cut with great labour through the solid rock. The burgh of Moura is surrounded by a wall, now reduced to a heap of stones, and the inside is cylindrical, not tapering, as is usual with others. The burgh of Hogster, upon an isle in a loch of the same name, has also the addition of a wall; a peculiarity in a causeway to join it to the main land, and a singular internal structure. Numbers of little burghs, with single cells, are scattered about these islands, in the neighbourhood of the greater, and were probably built by the poorer sort of people, in order to enjoy their protection. A multitude of places in these islands have the addition of burgh to their names, notwithstanding there is not a vestige of a tower near them, the materials having long since been carried away and applied to various uses. DUNABURG, a circle in the Russian government of Witebsk or Witepsk, formerly a part of Lithuania. It is bounded on the north by Livonia, on the east by Resitka, on the south-east by Wilna, and on the west by Courland. It is watered by the Diina, which is joined by other streams, and fertilizes the land, which is highly productive of rye and flax, and maintains a large stock of cattle. It contains three cities, one town, and 1078 villages, with a population in 1797 of 47,785, in 1827 of 61,500 inhabitants. The extent is 328 square miles, or 190,000 acres. The chief city, of the same name, is situated on the Dima. It was formerly fortified. It contains a Greek and a Catholic church, and 4000 inhabitants. DUNBAR, a royal burgh, post, and market town of Scotland, in the county of Haddington, is pleasantly situated on a gentle acclivity rising from the shores of the German Ocean, near the mouth of the Frith of Forth. It consists of one main street, which runs the length of the town, with several others of smaller dimensions which intersect it. I he whole has a neat and commodious ap-

DUN pearance. Dunbar is a place of considerable antiquity, Di and, there is reason to believe, was built by the Piets. R W ar. originated in a castle, once of great strength and importance as a bulwark for the defence of this route into Scotland, against the invasion of the English. The site of the fortress was well chosen both for defence and convenience. The coast is here bold, and studded with rocky islets along and within the margin of the sea ; and these in early times afforded room for the battlemented walls of a fort, which gradually increased by connection with the adjoining land and with the islets by walls of great strength. It was thus admirably adapted to receive succour by sea, or allow the escape of its keepers with impunity. We find it mentioned as early as the year 856, and subsequently it stands conspicuously prominent in the various conflicts in which Scotland was embroiled. It endured several memorable sieges, the most remarkable of which was that by the English in 1337, when it was defended by a female member of the Douglas family. The place is now a total ruin. The harbour and quay of Dunbar are on a confined plan! and the usual depth of water is scarcely sufficient to float vessels of 250 or 300 tons burden. The main evil of the port arises from the existence of various craggy islets and sunken rocks near the entrance, which renders the navigation somewhat dangerous. Contiguous to the inner parts of the harbour are some large granaries and storehouses, a small graving dock, and other conveniences for shipping, which, however, exists here, to a very limited extent. There is a market on Tuesday, and there are two fairs annually. Formerly Dunbar was famous for its herring fishery, but that branch of trade has now almost totally disappeared. The manufactories of the town are a soap-work, an iron foundery, and a manufactory of steam engines. I here is also here some small trade in corn. The most remarkable house in Dunbar is a large plain mansion, situated at the west end of the town, the property and residence of the family of Lauderdale. In 1819 a handsome new church was erected upon the old site, which was founded in the fourteenth centur}'. The new building is in the semi-gothic style, and is internally commodiously and elegantly fitted up. Besides this place of worship, there are two Seceder meeting-houses and a Methodist chapel. There are two public besides several private seminaries of education in the town ; and the charitable and other institutions are also extensive. The town is governed by a provost and three bailies, a treasurer, town-clerk, and chamberlain, with fifteen members of council. The annual revenue of the burgh is about L.1300. Dunbar lies twenty-eight miles almost due east from Edinburgh. The population, including the country part of the parish, amounted in 1831 to 4735. Dunbar, William, the most eminent of all the early Scotish poets, appears to have been born about the middle of the fifteenth century. Notwithstanding the high reputation which he enjoyed among hiscontemporaries,therecords of his personal history and character are extremely scanty; and although he belonged to the church, his progress is not to be traced by successive preferments. He describes himself as a native of Lothian. Kennedy represents him as related to the earl of March ; but this perhaps is only to be considered as a poetical fiction, introduced for the purpose of heightening his invective. His latest biographer however supposes that he may' have been the grandson of Sir Patrick Dunbar of Beill in the county of Haddington, a younger son of George the tenth earl of March. “ 1 his Sir Patrick,” we are informed, “ signalized himself on many occasions, and was one of the hostages for James the hirst in 1426; and it also appears from an original charter, dated August 10th, 1440, that one of his sons was named William, who in all probability was either

DUN BAR. 269 • From this and some other passages of his works, it is Dunbar, rhbar. the father or uncle of the poet. No other person of the ur*"' same baptismal name can be traced during the whole of evident that Dunbar had in some degree imbibed the spirit that century; and as such names generally run in families, of a reformer ; and it is obvious that in all countries which the circumstance of our author’s alleged descent from the have in any measure been extricated from the supersticarls of March, in connection with his own avowal respect- tions and delusions of the Romish church, the poets have ing his birth-place, adds some strength to the conjecture1 contributed to prepare the way for the theologians. Wit of his being the grandson of Sir Patrick Dunbar of Beill.” and satire, when thus directed, are formidable weapons ; During the present age, the births, marriages, and deaths and although ridicule is no test of truth, it has often been of persons possessing little property and less distinction found a powerful instrument for exposing inveterate error. may in a great variety of instances be very easily traced ; The best arguments may be employed in vain, and force but as the same diurnal records did not exist in the fif- commonly interposes in behalf of established opinions : teenth century, it is only where names are connected but poets have in all ages claimed and exercised considerwith property, rank, or office, that in most cases we can able freedom of animadversion ; and, as light troops are succeed in an attempt to discover the outlines of private sometimes more serviceable than the heavy-armed soldiery, or domestic history. Neither the name nor the surname the gay satirist is sometimes more successful in his attacks was uncommon : at that period Scotland certainly con- than the learned controversialist. Another inference to tained many Williams and many Dunbars; and if nu- be drawn from this poem is equally obvious: as the aumerous instances of this combination of name and sur- thor had preached in England and France, he must have name have not been detected, it is not difficult to assign a been familiarly acquainted with the languages of both countries; or, if we suppose him to have preached at reason. In the year 1477, William Dunbar of St Salvator’s Canterbury in his native tongue, we must at least conCollege took the degree of A. B. in the university of St clude that he spoke French when he instructed the inhaAndrews ; and as the statutes required the candidate to bitants of Picardy. His travels are likewise mentioned in be of three years standing, he must have been matricu-2 Kennedy’s Flyting, where we must however make some lated in 1474. In 1479 he took the degree of A. M. allowance for satirical exaggeration. Whether this was the poet, or another individual of the Fra Atrik Forrest furth ward to Drumfreiss same name, we have no means of ascertaining : but there Thow beggit with ane pardoun in all kirkis, is an apparent coincidence in the time ; and the supposiCollapis, crudis, meill, grottis, gryce, and geiss, tion that he studied at St Andrews, is highly probable in And undir nycht quhylis thow stall staigis and stirkis. Becauss that Scotland of thy begging irkis, itself. There is likewise some reason to suppose that he Thow schaipis in France to be a knycht of the feild ; studied in the university of Oxford: “ Quod Dunbar at Thow hes thy clamschellis, and thy burdoun keild, Oxenfurde,” is the colophon of one of his poems ; and we Unhonest wayis all, wolroun, that thow w irk is.4 need scarcely remark that Oxenford was once the current name of this seat of the Muses. But it is also to be reDunbar, in one of his invectives against Kennedy, has collected that the poet might visit Oxford in some other furnished us with some further information respecting his capacity than that of a student. In his youth he appears own adventures. to have been a novice of the order of St Francis. His senOr thow durst move thy mynd malitius, timents with regard to this profession we are enabled to Thow saw the saill abone my heid updraw; glean from one of his poems; and those sentiments we But Eolus full woid and Neptunus, shall here endeavour to exhibit in plain prose. “ Before Mirk and moneless, wes met with wind and waw, And mony hundreth myle hyne cowd us blaw the dawn of day,” says Dunbar, “ methought St Francis By Holland, Seland, Zetland, and Northway coist, appeared to me with a religious habit in his hand, and In desert [place] quhair we wer famist aw ; said, go, my servant, clothe thee in these vestments, and Yit come I hame, fals baird, to lay thy boist. renounce the world. But at the sight of him and his habit I was scared like one who sees a ghost. And why art After the period of his travelling noviciate, Dunbar apthou terrified at the sight of the holy weed ? St Francis, pears in the character of a court poet, and of a candidate reverence attend thee, and thanks for this intended bene- for preferment in the church. On one occasion he speaks fit; but with regard to those garments of which thou art of his dancing “ in the quenis chalmer.” so liberal, it has never entered into my mind to wear them : Than cam in Dunbar the makkar, sweet confessor, take it not in evil part. In holy legends On all the flure thair was nane frakkar, have I heard it alleged that bishops are more frequently And thair he daunsit the Dirrye dantoun; canonized than friars ; if therefore thou wouldst guide my He hoppet lyk a fillie wantoun, soul towards heaven, invest me with the robes of a bishop. For luiff of Musgraiffe, men tellis me ; Had it ever been my fortune to become a friar, the seaHe trippet quhill he tint his pantoun : son is now long past: between Berwick and Calais, in every A mirrear dance mycht na man see. flourishing town of the English dominions, have I made Than cam in Maist.riss Musgraiffe; good cheer in the habit of thy order ; in friar’s weeds have Scho mycht haiff lernit all the laiffe. I mounted the pulpit at Dernton and Canterbury, in them Quhen I saw hir sa trimlye dance, have I also crossed the sea at Dover, and instructed the Hir guid convoy and countenance, Than, for hir saik, I wissit to be inhabitants of Picardy; but this mode of life compelled The grytast erle or duik in France: me to have recourse to many a pious fraud, from the guilt A mirrear dance mycht na man see. of which no holy water could cleanse me. What had thus appeared to me as St Francis, was a fiend in the likeness But neither his dancing nor his solicitations seem to of a friar : he vanished away with stench and fiery smoke ; have procured him any considerable preferment. From methought he carried one end of the house along with him, the strain of his earlier compositions, it is evident that his and I awoke like a wight in perplexity.”3 first hopes were sufficiently sanguine, and from that of his 1

Laing’s Memoirs of Dunbar, p. 3. * Ibid. p. 9.

3 4

Dunbar’s Poems, vol. i. p. 28. Ibid. vol. ii. p. 81.

270 DUNBAR. Dunbar, later compositions, that those hopes had been completely witness the ceremony of affiancing the princess Margafrustrated. ° Fahren- very extensive genius; and, as Vasari remarks, he would heit below the freezing point. The city was founded in have been an extraordinary artist if he had had an Italian in1559. The population in 1803 was 12,000, but Major stead of a German education. Flis prints are very numePike makes it 40,000. He also states that the city is in- rous, and were much admired and eagerly bought up in his fested in a very remarkable manner by scorpions. “ They own lifetime. He was rich, and chose rather to practise come out of the walls and crevices in May, and continue his art as an amusement than as a business. This eminent for about a fortnight in such numbers that the inhabit- person died at Nuremberg, on the 6th April 1528, and was ants never walk in their houses after dark without a light, interred in St John’s Church, where an inscription was and always shift or examine the bed-clothes and beat the placed over his remains. Durer wrote several books in curtains previously to going to rest, after which the cur- German, which were translated into Latin by other pertains are secured under the bed.” sons, and published after his death. Among these we In the midst of a very level plain, between this city, the may mention, 1. De Symmetria Partium in rectis formis plantations Del Ojo and Del Chorro, and the town of Humanorum Corporum, Nuremberg, 1532, Paris, 1557, Nombre de Dios, which lies in the road to the famous ; 2. Institutiones GeometricParis, 1532 ; 3. De Urbimines of Sombrereto, there arises a singular group of rocks, fob bus, Arcibus, Castellisque condendis et muniendis, Paris, of a^ very grotesque form, covered with scoria, called La 1531 ; 4. De Varietate Figurarum, et flexuris Partium, et Brena. They extend twelve leagues from north to south, gestibus Imaginum, Nuremberg, 1534. (See Reliquien and rise fiom east to west, and appear to be a volcanic von Albrecht Durer, seinen Verehrern geiceiht, Taschenbuch

DUE .. ',sse flir Deutschland’s Kunstfreunde, zu Albrecht Diirer’s dritter * Secidar-feier, Niirnberg, 1828.) I pu am. DURESSE, Hardship, in Larv, is where a person is jjept in prison or restrained of his liberty contrary to order of law; or is threatened to be killed, maimed, or beaten. In which case, if a person so in prison, or in fear of such threats, make any specialty or obligation, by reason of such imprisonment or threats, such deed is void in law; and in an action brought on such specialty, the party may plead that it was brought by duresse. D’URFEY, Thomas, more generally known by the familiar name of Tom d’Urfey, an English satirist and songster, of whom, though his name was as well knowm as that of any writer extant, yet few particulars have been collected. He was born in Devonshire; but when, where, or of what family, is uncertain. He was bred to the law, which he forsook for the more agreeable employment of writing plays and songs ; and the latter he had so happy a talent both of writing and singing, that he received many favours from persons of quality on that account. Even crowned heads did not disdain his company. A writer of the Guardian (No. 67), tells us, he remembered to have seen Charles II. leaning on Tom d’Urfey’s shoulder more than once, and humming over a song with him. This indeed was not extraordinary in so merry a monarch ; but even the phlegmatic King William could relax the rigour of his Dutch muscles on hearing Tom sing a song. He was certainly by all accounts a cheerful, honest, goodnatured man ; but as this character does not include prudence, D’Urfey became poor as he grew old; and having prevailed on the managers of the playhouse to act his comedy of the Plotting Sisters for his benefit, Mr Addison wrote the above-mentioned paper in the Guardian, with another (No. 82) representing him in a good-humoured light, in order to procure him a full house. He died at an advanced age, in 1723. DURHAM, Bishopric of, one of the counties of England. Before the arrival of the Romans it was included in the British principality of the Brigantes, and after their arrival made part of the province of Maxima Ccesariensis. During the heptarchy it formed part of the kingdom of Northumberland, the fifth established, which began in 547, and ended in 827, having been governed by thirty-one kings. It was not mentioned by Alfred in his division of counties, being at that time considered as a part of Yorkshire. At present it is included in the northern circuit, in the province of York, and is a diocese and principality under the government of its own bishop, being a county palatine, the second in rank, and the richest in England. It is bounded on the north by Northumberland, on the south by Yorkshire, on the east by the North Sea, and on the west by Cumberland. It extends, according to the view of Mr Rickman, over 1061 square miles, and contains one city of the same name, nine market-towns, and 223 villages. It is divided into four wards. Until the passing of the reform act, it returned two members to the House of Commons for the county, and two for the city. The county has been formed, by that law, into two divisions, for the purpose of parliamentary elections; each of which returns two members. The northern division comprehends the wards of Chester and Easington, and the polling places are Durham, Sunderland, Lancheton, Wickham, Chester-le-Street, and South Shields. The southern division comprehends the wards of Darlington and Stockton, and the poling places are these two towns, and Bishop Auckland, Stanhope, Middleton-in-Teesdale, Barnard Castle, and Sedgefield. The following places within the county have by the same law obtained the privilege of electing two members each, viz. Gateshead, South Shields, Sunderland, and Tynemouth. VOL. VIII.

DUE 289 This is the only county palatine remaining in England, Durham, and it is called palatine, a palatio, because the owners thereof had, in this county, the authority to use the royal prerogative, as fully as the king had in his palace. The palatine privileges were granted to this county probably on account of its bordering upon the inimical kingdom of Scotland, in order that the inhabitants, having justice administered at home, might not be obliged to go out of their county, and leave it open to an enemy’s incursions ; and that the owners, being encouraged by so large an authority, might be the more watchful in its defence. There is a court of chancery in this county, and the bishop is at the head of the administration of justice. The western angle of the county of Durham is hilly and mountainous, with black, naked, and barren regions, crossed by a ridge of high hills, from whose sides issue numerous streams flowing to the sea. There are some beautiful and fertile valleys in the eastern and central parts, pleasantly varied with hill and dale, and alternately appropriated to corn and pasture. The waste lands occupy nearly 120,000 acres of the western part of the county ; but in the southern districts many hundred acres have been inclosed and cultivated within the last forty years. The common fields are now but few; for the land belonging to tbe townships has been inclosed for above a century. There is a great portion of wet ground still remaining, although draining is carried on to a great extent. Near the river Tees, and in some spots bordering on the other rivers, the soil is loam or a rich clay. At a farther distance from these rivers the soil is of an inferior quality, and marshy, with patches of gravel interspersed. The hills between the sea and an imaginary line from Barnard Castle on the Tees to Alansford on the Derwent, are covered with a dry loam, the fertility of which varies with its depth. From this line westward the summits as well as the sides of the hills are moorish wastes. The woodlands of Durham are not of very considerable extent, trees being chiefly confined to the parks and seats of the nobility and gentry, but many plantations have been made of late years. The banks of the rivers and brooks, however, particularly in the vicinity of Durham, are fringed with wood of long growth and much value. The public roads are in general good, but those belonging to private districts and townships want improving. The port of Stockton-upon-Tees is well situated for commerce. Hartlepool, situated on a promontory, nearly encompassed by the German Ocean, which on the south side of the town forms a capacious bay, is advantageously placed for the reception of vessels, and landing of troops from the Continent; and South Shields sends out many ships. The mineralogical substances found in Durham are numerous and valuable. The coal mines are some of the most extensive and productive in the kingdom, and the quantity of this important article is so great as to exceed all calculation. At Sunderland the coal trade furnishes employment for 520 vessels, independently of the keels which convey the coal from the staiths to the ships, which are 492 in number. This coal is chiefly conveyed to tire metropolis, though great quantities are sent to the different ports of the Baltic, and in time of peace to France and Holland. The whole quantity annually exported from Sunderland alone amounts to about 315,000 Newcastle chaldrons, each chaldron being equal to 53 cwt. The number of persons dependent on this trade is very great, and some years ago, when the consumption was by no means so great as it is at present, amounted to upwards of 26,000 on the river Wear only. The seams or strata now worked are five in number, extending horizontally for many miles, and are from twenty to one hundred fathoms 2o

TTir

290 D U R D U R Durham, beneath the surface; while each stratum is from three to ing and farming machinery become more and more com- Dm eight feet thick. Below these are several other seams of coal; and many parts of the county, besides those where The cattle at Durham are, at present, in great repute • the pits are now open, abound with this substance. as, for form, weight, produce of milk, and quickness of The principal lead mines of Durham are situated in fattening, there are none better. The sheep also, partiTeesdale and Weardale; those of the former place have cularly the Tees Water breed, stand high in estimation. not been very productive, but the produce of the latter It is the largest breed in the island ; the legs being lono-er' is of considerable value. The general method of working finer boned, and supporting a thicker and more firm and them is similar to that pursued in other mining counties. heavy carcass, than the Lincolnshire. They are also much The ore of Weardale is melted by the blast-hearth, but wider on the backs and sides, and afford a fatter and finer in Teesdale air-furnaces have been introduced with much grained mutton. The weight per quarter, in two-years’ success. old wethers, is from twenty-five to thirty-five pounds Ironstone is found in the neighbourhood of Swalwell and in particular instances fifty-five pounds or more. The and Winlaton, where are the first iron-works in England. wool is shorter and lighter than some other English Some excellent quarries of slate for buildings have been breeds. The Weardale sheep are small, but the meat is opened in different parts of the county. A beautiful black finely flavoured. When fat, the quarters seldom weigh spotted limestone is dug up near Walsingham, and made more than fourteen or eighteen pounds each. into hearths, chimney-pieces, and other ornaments. This Durham, taking its dimensions into consideration, is inneighbourhood abounds also with fine millstones. The ferior to no county in Great Britain for its numerous maNewcastle grindstones are procured at Gateshead Fell ; nufactures. It has cast-metal founderies, iron manufacand firestone of high estimation, for building ovens, fur- tories, potteries, glass-houses, copperas works, coal-tar naces, and the like, is obtained in various parts of Dur- and salt-works, quarries of marble, &c.; besides linen and ham, and exported in immense quantities. woollen manufactories. Several extensive works for manufacturing salt from At the distance of about three miles from Darlington, sea-water have long been established in the neighbour- at Oxenhall, are cavities in the earth, denominated Hell hood of South Shields ; but owing to the discovery of a Kettles, to the origin of which are attached many fabulous very singular salt spring at Birtley in this county, that conjectures. The diameter of the largest is not less than process is not so much attended to now. This water rises 114 feet, and that of the least seventy-five. About five at the depth of seventy fathoms, in an engine pit con- miles from Hartlepool is one of the most singular and rostructed for drawing water out of coal mines. It has for mantic clusters of rocks in the north of England, called many years produced 20,000 gallons per day, four times Black Halls, formed by the force and constant action of more strongly impregnated with salt than any sea-water. the waves, which have separated enormous masses from In consequence of the discovery of this spring, about the coast, washing some entirely away, but leaving others twenty-five years ago, a large and extensive manufactory standing, like the vast towers of a cathedral; in some of salt has been established near the spot, the quality of places the rock is perforated so as to resemble a fine pointwhich is excellent. At Butterby, near Durham, is ano- ed archway. ther salt spring, which issues from a rock in the river Near the north wall of the church-yard at Ryton is a Wear, but is only visible when the water is low; it con- large barrow, about twenty feet in perpendicular height, tains more of the sulphate of magnesia, or Epsom salt, now planted with trees. It does not appear to have been than the spring at Birtley. Within a few yards of the opened ; but a similar one, near Bradley Hall, in the same W ater-gate, on the south side of the town of Hartlepool, parish, inspected about thirty-five years ago, was found is a chalybeate spring, covered every tide by the sea. It to contain a square cavity, formed by stones placed edgeis impregnated slightly with sulphur, which evaporates wise, in which a human body had been interred. Between very quickly, leaving a sediment with salt of tartar; a one and two miles north of Brancepeth is Brandon Hill, a gallon will yield 120 grains of sediment, two parts of which lofty eminence, on the summit of which is a remarkable are nitrous, and the rest limestone. tumulus, ot an oblong form, 120 paces in circumference Improvements in agriculture have been pursued with at the base, and about twenty-four feet in perpendicular considerable spirit and success, in the environs of Dar- height. It does not appear to have been opened. One lington, chiefly through the patronage of a society of re- mile north of Eggleston is an ancient structure, called the spectable gentlemen, who hold their meetings in the town, Standing Stones. This originally consisted of a cairn in and bestow premiums upon merit. The usual rotation of the centre, surrounded by a trench, and that again encrops in this county is, after summer fallow, wheat, oats, compassed by a circular arrangement of rough stones, beans, or peas. On some spots of gravelly soil, turnips many of which have been removed and broken, to repair and barley are grown in almost perpetual succession, a the roads. Near a brook, at a small distance, is a large crop of clover being sometimes interposed. The produce barrow, crossed from east to west by a row of stones. of wheat on good land is from twenty to thirty bushels On Fullwell Hill, a gigantic skeleton and two Roman per acre, the produce of barley is from thirty to forty, of coins were discovered about fifty-five years ago, together oats from twenty to forty. The manures are chiefly lime with a small urn of unbaked clay. Several copper coins and the produce of the fold-yard; and though abundance have been found at the village of Whitburn. Some coins of sea-weed might be collected on the coast, the farmers of the Emperor Hadrian were found while widening the make but little use of it. The farms are of a middling road near Gateshead, which is supposed to have been a size, few of them exceeding 200 acres. The largest por- Roman station. tion of each farm is appropriated to tillage, but towards South Shields was the ad Jinem of Richard of Cirencesthe western extremity of the county the whole is applied ter’s itinerary, as appears from the Roman altars, coins, to pasture. The leases seldom exceed six years, and are anjl other relics found there. Evchester, a small irregular too frequently rendered of little value by injudicious re- village, is supposed to be the Vindomara of Antoninus; strictions. I he leases held of the see of Durham are many Roman inscriptions, and an urn of uncommon form, generally for life, or for twenty- one years, renewable every nearly a yard high and seven inches wide, with a small seven years on payment of a fine. The farm-houses are cup in the centre, having been found there. Chesterwell situated and commodious, and improvements in farmle-Street has been supposed to be the Condercum of the

I

D

U

R

Romans, situated on the. military way leading to Newcastle. Glanibanta, near the village of Lanchester, is another Roman station, which has survived the ravages of cultivation in an extraordinary degree, and is one of the most perfect in the kingdom. It occupies a fine eminence, and is of an oblong figure, being 174 paces from north to south, and 160 from east to west, within the vallum. In some parts the wall still remains perfect; the outside is perpendicular, twelve feet in height, and built of ashler work in regular courses, each stone being about nine inches thick and twelve long. The site of the Praetorium is clearly distinguishable. Binchester, the seat and manor of the Wren family, is the site of the Roman station called Vinovium by Antoninus. Its figure and extent seem nearly similar to those of the station just mentioned ; but the walls have been destroyed, and the area inclosed and cultivated. A military way, it is supposed, issued from it, leading towards Chester-le-Street. Innumerable fragments have been discovered here. The most ancient part of Durham Castle is the keep, now a mere shell; the magnificent hall is fast going to decay. Hilton Castle, an ancient baronial residence of the Hyltons, is situated in a pleasant vale on the north side of the Wear, about three miles from Wearmouth : its present form is that of an oblong square ; the interior consists of five stories ; the rooms are small, and exhibit every symptom of neglect and decay. Ravensworth Castle, the seat of Sir Thomas Henry, occupies part of the site of an ancient castle, which seems to have formed a quadrangle, having a square tower at each angle, connected by a curtain wall. Two of the towers are built up in the offices, the others are partly in ruins. Lumley Castle, about a mile to the east of Chester-le-Street, is one of the seats of the Earl of Scarborough. It forms a quadrangle, with an area in the centre; at each angle are projecting turrets of an octangular form ; it is a grand model of the taste of its age. Brancepeth Castle, an irregular but stately pile, was erected about Stephen’s reign, by the family of Bulmers. The original building has had many modern improvements added to it by the present proprietor. The castle of Bishop Auckland stands on the north angle of the town, and, together with its courts and offices, covers about five acres of ground. Raby Castle, the magnificent seat of the Earl of Darlington, owes its splendour to the Earl of Westmoreland, who enlarged a more ancient castle which stood here prior to the year 1379. The present mansion of Streatham Castle was erected on the foundation of the old castle at the beginning of the last century, and several of the apartments are retained in it. Barnard Castle is situated on the southern acclivity of an eminence, rising with a steep ascent from the river Tees; its ruins cover an extensive plot of grohnd. Kepier Hospital, near Durham, was founded in 1112; but the only part of the monastic buildings now standing is the gateway, a strong and not unhandsome piece of masonry with pointed arches. The ruins of a monastery for gray friars may be seen at Hartlepool. Several remains of monastic buildings occur near the church at Monk Wearmouth. The monastery of Jarrow may still be traced in its ruins on the summit of an elevated ridge near the church. On the east side of the main street of Gateshead are the ruins of St Edmond’s Monastery, which appears, from Bede, to have been established before the year 653. Finchall Priory was beautifully situated in a vale on the banks of the Wear; the ruins cover an extensive plot of ground, but are so much dilapidated that the original appropriation of their respective parts can be traced only with great difficulty. The remains of a chapel at Bear Park are most perfect, and display some neat ornamental architecture. There is at Walsingham the ruins

DVR 291 of a considerable building, inclosed with a deep moat, sup- Durham posed by some to have been a part of a monastery. II The ecclesiastical buildings now remaining, and most ^).urworthy of notice, are, the Cathedral of Durham, begun in 1093, in the Saxon and Norman style ; Sedgefield Church, in the Saxon style ; Bishop Wearmouth Church, supposed to have been founded very soon after the restitution made by Athelstan ; and the parish church of Brancepeth, an ancient structure of the conventual form, but apparently of different ages. The county of Durham contains a great number of noblemen and gentlemen’s seats. The following are some of the principal: Streatham Castle, the seat of the Earl of Strathmore ; Shincliff-Hall, that of R. Scott, Esq.; Croxdale-Hall, that of W. Salvin, Esq.; Raby Castle, that of the Duke of Cleveland; Lumley Castle, that of the Earl of Scarborough; Castle Eden, that of R. Burdon, Esq.; Harwicke, that of M. Russell, Esq.; Windleston, that of Sir John Eden, Bart.; Grange-Hall, that of G. Allan, Esq.; Winyard, that of the Marquis of Londonderry ; Seaham, that of Sir R. Milbanke, Bart.; Ravensworth Castle, that of Sir S. H. Liddel, Bart.; Axwell Park, that of Sir T. Clavering, Bart.; Gibside, that of the Earl of Strathmore ; Lambton Hall, that of Lord Durham ; and Bradley Hall, that of the Bowes family. The following titles are furnished from this county: Earl of Darlington to the Duke of Cleveland; Earl of Stanhope ; Viscount Lumley to the Earl of Scarborough ; Baron Auckland to the Eden family; and Baron Durham to the family of Lambton. The inhabitants of this county, by accounts of doubtful accuracy, amounted in the year 1700 to 95,500, and in 1750 to 135,000. By the four decennial returns they are stated as follows: In 1801 they amounted to 160,561, in 1811 to 177,625, in 1821 to 207,673, and in 1831 to 253,700. The annual value of the real property appears by the assessment of 1815 to have been L.791,359. Durham, a city, the capital of the county of that name, 260 miles from London. It is situated on the river Wear, which nearly surrounds it, and contributes to the fine situation ; the castle and cathedral standing on an eminence, communicate no inconsiderable share of beauty. Besides the cathedral, there are six parish churches. The see is the most richly endowed of any in England, and the prebendaries are of great value. In the vicinity of the city are many interesting remains of antiquity. The corporation consists of a mayor, twelve aldermen, and twenty-four common council men, who nominate the freemen, by whom two members are returned to parliament. The market, held on Saturdays, is well attended. There is very little of trade, and there are no manufactures. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 7530, in 1811 to 6763, in 1821 to 9822, and in 1831 to 10,125. DURKHEIM, a city, the chief place of a canton in the circle of the Rhine, in the kingdom of Bavaria. It stands on the river Isenach, and contains 500 houses, with 3081 inhabitants, who grow much wine. DURLACH, a circle in the grand duchy of Baden, containing one city, two market-towns, and twelve villages, with 12,626 inhabitants. The capital is of the same name, situated on the river Pfing. It contains 471 houses, and 3873 inhabitants employed in making linen cloth, China ware, and other goods, and in growing fruit and wine. DUROCHSKOI, a town of Asiatic Russia, in the government of Irkutsk, on the confines of China, near the Argun, 160 miles south-south-east of Nertchinsk. DURON, an island in the Straits of Malacca, about twelve miles in length and three in breadth. Long. 103, 30. E. Lat. 0. 42. N. DUROTRIGES, an ancient British nation, established

292 DUS DUS Durour’s in that part of the country which is now called Dorsetshire. chiefly possessed by Kurbatties; the remainder of the Du Island Their name is derived from the two British words dur, population being Coolees, Rajpoots, and other castes, belit water an< sides a few Banyans. This place, with twelve surround-^ on; Dussara. ’ ^ trigo, totheir dwell; it seems pretty of evident . -_i that they obtained nameandfrom the situation their ing villages, is the property of a Mahommedan zemindar 'w' V country, which lies along the sea coast. It is not very of Arabian descent, one of whose ancestors, about the certain whether the Durotriges formed an independent year 1209, was put to death for killing a cow, and he has state under a prince of their own, or were united with their since been considered as a martyr, and his tomb is held neighbours the Danmonii; for they were reduced by Ves- in high esteem. The military force of the chief is estipasian under the dominion of the Romans, at the same mated at 2000 horsemen and 100 infantry. time and with the same ease as the latter, and never afDUSSAULX, John, a French writer, best known as terwards revolted. The peaceable disposition of the in- the translator of Juvenal, was born at Chartres, on the 28th habitants was probably the reason why the Romans had of December 1728. He studied first at La Fleche, and so few towns, forts, and garrisons in this pleasant coun- afterwards at Paris; and having obtained the situation of a try. Dorchester, its present capital, seems to have been commissary in the gendarmerie, he served under the Mara Roman city of some consideration, though our antiqua- shal de Richelieu, in Hanover, during the seven years’ ries are not agreed about its Roman name. It is most w'ar. At the age of twenty-one he was admitted a mem. probable that it was the Durnovaria in the twelfth Iter of ber of the academy at Nanci; and in 1770 he published Antoninus. Many Roman coins have been found at Dor- his translation oi' Juvenal. This work procured him adchester. The military way, called Jeening Street, pass- mission into the Academy of Inscriptions ; and he was also ed through it; and some vestiges of the ancient stone- appointed ordinary secretary to the Duke of Orleans. wall with which it was encompassed, and of the amphiFor some years he quietly prosecuted his literary octheatre with which it was adorned, are still visible. The cupations at Paris ; but, upon the breaking out of the Recountry of the Durotriges was included in the Roman volution, his enthusiastic disposition led him to adopt its province called Flavia Ccesariensis, and was governed by principles; and he took part in the debates of the legisthe president of that province as long as the Romans lative assembly. He spoke and voted, however, at all maintained any footing in these parts. times for moderate measures; and, on several occasions, DUROUR'S Island, in the East Indian Ocean, disco- he was employed to calm the passions of the people durvered by Captain Carteret in 1767. Long. 143. 21. E. ing public tumults. At the memorable sitting of the conLat. 1. 15. S. vention of the 15th of January 1793, he voted that the DURRAJAH, a town of Hindustan, belonging to the king should be detained in custody during the war, and Mahrattas, in the province of Malwah, twenty-five miles banished on the return of peace. It is rather remarkable, north-west from Bopal. Long. 77. 9. E. Lat. 23. 28. N. that when the committee of public safety wished to send DURRAMPOOR, a town of Hindustan, in the pro- him to the scaffold, his pardon was obtained by Marat, vince of Aurungabad, fifty miles south-south-east from who represented him as an old dotard, incapable of beSurat. Long. 73. 23. E. Lat. 20. 34. N. coming dangerous. He became president of the council DURRESTEIN, a town of Austria, in the province of of ancients in the month of July 1796, but left it in 1798. the Lower Ens, and circle of Upper Manhartsberg. It is At the sitting of the 27th of April, he took leave of the situated on the banks of the Danube, and belongs to Count assembly in a speech which was ordered to be printed. Staremburg. Above it are the ruins of a castle in which He died on the 16th of March 1799, after a long and Richard king of England was kept a prisoner. Near to painful illness. it are extensive quarries of millstones and grindstones. Dussaulx wras a man of considerable literary attain| The inhabitants are about 1000. ments, and amiable, upright, and disinterested in his conDURSLEY, a market-town of the hundred of Berkeley, duct. His translation of Juvenal is esteemed the best in the county of Gloucester, 108 miles from London. It version of that poet in the French language. His other is a corporate town, but has long ceased to elect members works are, Memoires sur les Satiriques Latins; Lettres et of parliament. A considerable quantity of broad cloth is Reflexions sur la fureur du Jeu, auxquelles on a joint une made, chiefly for the China trade. A market, held on autre Retire Morale, Paris, 1775; Discours sur la Passion Thursday, is well supplied. The inhabitants amounted in du Jeu dans les difl'erents Siecles ; De la Passion du Jeu, 1801 to 2379, in 1811 to 2580, in 1821 to 3186, and in depuis les temps anciens jusqud nos jours, 1779, 8vo; Vie 1831 to 3226. de I’Abbe Blanchet, prefixed to the Apologues and Tales DURY, John, a Scotch divine, who travelled much, and of that author, Paris, 1784, 8vo; De l'Insurrection Pari'■ laboured with great zeal to reunite the Lutherans with sienne, et de la prise de la Dastille, Paris, 1790 ; Retire au the Calvinists. His discouragements in this scheme start- Citoyen Freron, 1796, 8vo ; Voyage a Barrege, et dans les ed another still more impracticable, namely, to reunite all Hautes-Pyrenees, Paris, 1796, 2 vols. 8vo; De mes RapChristians by means of a new explication of the Apoca- ports avec Jean-Jacques Rousseau, &c. Paris, 1798, 8vo, lypse, which he published at Frankfort in 1677. He there a curious work, which throws considerable light on the enjoyed a comfortable retreat in the country of Hesse; character of that celebrated man. but the time of his death is unknown. His letter to Peter Marie-Jeanne Lieutau, the widow of Dussaulx, pubdu Moulin, concerning the state of the churches of Eng- lished memoirs of his life, which are exceedingly interestland, Scotland, and Ireland, was printed at London in ing. See also Palissot, Memoires sur la Litterature; and 1658, under the superintendence of Du Moulin, and is Biographie Universelle. esteemed curious. DUSSELDORF, a circle of the Prussian province of DUSKY Bay, on the west coast of Tarai Poenammoo, Westphalia, on the right bank of the Rhine. Its extent J one of the islands of New Zealand. It is of considerable is 144 square miles, and it comprehends three cities, two extent, and affords good anchorage in coves and harbours market-towns, and thirty-four villages, with a population near the shore. In other parts of it the water is very 28,500 inhabitants. deep. This bay was discovered by Captain Cook in 1769. of Dusseldorf, a city, the capital of the circle of the Long. 166. 48. E. Lat. 45. 40. S. same name, in the Prussian dominions. It stands where DUSSARA, a fortified town of Hindustan, province of the river Dussel falls into the Rhine. It is one of the Gujeiat, which contains about 1300 houses, which are finest cities of Germany; and, though deprived of the

D ist

U

T

splendour it exhibited under its ancient dukes, has become a flourishing place by the introduction of various p ens, manufactures. The former fortifications are converted jnt0 extensive and prolific gardens. It contains three Catholic, one Lutheran, one reformed church, and ten chapels, with a house of industry, penitentiary, and an hospital, with appropriate institutions for education. The houses are 1387, and the inhabitants, including the military, in 1817 were 18,084. Long. 6. 40. 35. E. Lat. 51. 14. 12. N. . DUST, or Dustee, a river of Persia, flowing from the interior through the province of Mekran, from the southern shore of which it is discharged into the Indian Ocean. Its course is supposed to extend, under different appellations, about 1000 miles. DUTENS, Louis, a late French writer of some celebrity, was born at Tours, of Protestant parents, on the 15th of January 1730. In his youth he addicted himself to poetry; and in 1748 he repaired to Paris and composed a tragedy, entitled The Return of Ulysses to Ithaca, which he showed to the comedian Lanoue, requesting him to bring it on the stage. The latter, however, returned the piece, advising the author to retouch it. Irritated at this advice, Dutens went to Orleans, where he got his play represented with great applause; but he soon became sensible of the faults of his work, and abandoned a species of composition in which he found he was not destined to excel. He soon afterwards went to England. Before leaving France, he accidentally became acquainted with Miss Pitt, sister to the Earl of Chatham, who gave him a letter to her brother ; but after a short stay in London he returned to France. Not long afterwards, he was recalled to London by one of his uncles, to accompany a young English nobleman on his travels. Soon after his arrival, the young nobleman changed his intention; but, at the same time, he procured for Dutens the situation of a tutor in a private family. The father of the pupil was a man of considerable literary and scientific attainments, who instructed Dutens in those branches of knowledge in which he was deficient. In this manner he learnt Greek and mathematics; and he at the same time applied himself to the oriental languages, and to Italian and Spanish. At the end of three years his pupil died ; but one of his sisters being deaf and dumb, Dutens undertook to educate her. His young pupil, however, having become enamoured of her instructor, he deemed it a matter of delicacy and of duty to leave the house. About this time he wms appointed chaplain and secretary to the Honourable Mr Stuart Mackenzie, the English minister at the court of Turin, and left England in the month of October 1758. In 1760, when Mr Mackenzie returned to England, the secretary remained at Turin as charge d’affaires. Dutens came to England in 1762, and attached himself to the family of Lord Bute, wdio, before he retired from office in 1763, procured him a pension. He again went to Turin as charge d’affaires, and during this second mission he undertook the task of collecting and publishing a complete edition of the wrorks of Leibnitz, and wrote his work on the Discoveries of the Ancients. He afterwards quitted Turin, returned to Britain, and attached himself to the Duke of Northumberland, who procured him a living in the north of England. He accompanied the duke’s son, Lord Algernon Percy, in his travels through France, Italy, Germany, and Holland; and while at Paris, he w as chosen a member of the Academy of Inscriptions. In 1776 he returned to England, and soon afterwards accompanied Mr Mackenzie and his lady on a tour to Naples. On his return he was invited by Lord Mountstuart, who had been appointed envoy extraordinary, to accompany him to Turin, and Dutens found

D U T 293 himself for the third time chargfi d’affaires at that court, Dutens during a short absence of the envoy. From Turin, which II he left on account of some unpleasant circumstances, he v Duty, went to Florence, and thence to Rome. He was in Paris in 1783, and returned to London the following year. The revenue he derived from his living of Elsdon, amounting to L.800 per annum, together with a considerable legacy left him by Mr Mackenzie, and estimated at L. 15,000, enabled him to pass the remainder of his life in affluence, and in the best company. He died at his house, Mount Street, Grosvenor Square, on the 23d of May 1812. Dutens was the editor of the works of Leibnitz, published at Geneva, 1769, in 6 vols. 4to ; of the Greek pastoral romance of Daphnis and Chloe, by Longus, 1776, 12mo, and of Dacier’s translation of the Manual of Epictetus, 1775, 18mo. He was also the author of the following works : Le Caprice Poetique, a collection of poems, 1750, 16mo. Recherches sur Vorigine des Decouvertes attribuees aux Modernes, 1766, 2 vols. 8vo, 4th edition, 1812. Poesies, 1767, 12mo, and 1777, 8vo. Le Tocsin, Rome, 1769, 12mo, reprinted under the title of Appel au bon Sens, London, 1777, 8vo. This work was directed against the French philosophers, and was published anonymously. Explication de quelques medailles de Peuples, de Villes, et de Rois, Grecques et Phenicienn.es, 1773, 4to. Explication de quelques medailles du cabinet de Duane, 1774, 4to. Troisieme Dissertation sur quelques medailles Grecques et Pheniciennes, oil se trouvent des observations pour servir a Vetude de la Paleographie Numismatique, 1776, 4to. Dutens, at the same time, published a more complete edition of the two preceding works. Logique, ou Vart de Raisonner, 1773, 12mo, 1777, 8vo, and reprinted also in his miscellaneous works. Du miroir ardent d'Archimede, 1755, 1777, 8vo ; Des pierres precieuses et des pierces fines, avec les moyens de les connaitre et de les evaluer, 1776, 12mo, and reprinted at London and Paris. Itineraire des routes les plus frequentees, ou Journal d'un Voyage auxprincipales Villes d’Europe, 1775, 8vo, and frequently republished with additions and improvements. Lettre d M. D. B. {Debur e) sur la refutation du livre VEsprit, par J. J. Rousseau, 1779, 12mo, which contains some letters of Helvetius and Rousseau. De VEglise, du Pape, de quelques points de controver se, et moyens de reunion detoutes les Eg Uses Chretiennes, 1781, 8vo; several times reprinted, and finally under the title of Considerations Theologiques sur les moyens de reunir toutes les Eglises Chretiennes, 1798, 8vo. (Euvres melees, 1784, 8vo. Under the same title almost the whole works of Dutens were collected and published at London, 1797, 4 vols. 4to. EAmi des etrangers qui voyagent en Angleterre, 1789, 8vo, frequently reprinted. Uistoire de ce qui sest passe pour le retablissement dune regence en Angleterre, 1789, 8vo. Recherches sur le terns le plus recule de Vusage des Voutes chez les anciens, 1795. Memoires dun Voyageur qui se repose, Paris, 1806, 3 vols. 8vo. The two first volumes contain the life of the author, written in a romantic style; the third bears the title of Dutensiana, and is filled with remarks, anecdotes, bon mots, and so forth. Dutens is the author of the Catalogue of Medals in Swinburne’s Travels, and of the French text to the second volume of the Marlborough Gems. There is a Memoir of his in the Collection of the Academy of Inscriptions, and he also published a small tract on the Iron Mask. He was a member of the Royal Society of London, and had the title of historiographer to the king. (See Memoirs of Dutens in the Gentleman s Magazine for 1812; Chalmers s Biographical Dictionary; and Biographic Universelle.) DUTCHY. See Duchy. DUTY, in general, denotes any thing that one is obliged to perform.

294 Duty

D W A D W A Duty, in commerce, signifies an impost laid on merJeffery Hudson, the famous English dwarf, was born at Dw chandise, at importation or exportation, commonly called Oakham, in Rutlandshire, in 1619; and about the a^e ofn Dwarf. ^ the duties of customs; also the taxes of excise, stamp seven or eight, being then but eighteen inches high, he was duties, &c. See Political Economy, and Taxation. retained in the service of the Duke of Buckingham, who DUUMVIRI, in Roman antiquity, a general appella- resided at Burleigh-on-the-Hill. Soon after the marriage tion given to magistrates, commissioners, and officers, of Charles I. the king and queen being entertained at Burwhere two were joined together in the same functions. leigh, little Jeffery was served up at table in a cold pie, Duumviri Capitaleswere the judges in criminal causes. and presented by the duchess to the queen, who kept him From their sentence it was lawful to appeal to the peo- as her dwarf. From seven years of age till thirty he never ple, who alone had the power of condemning a citizen to grew taller; but after thirty he shot up to three feet nine death. These judges were taken from the body of the inches, and there remained fixed. Jeffery became a considecuriones, and had great power and authority ; they were derable part of the entertainment of the court. Sir William members of the public council, and had two lictors to walk Davenant wrote a poem called Jeffrddos, on a battle bebefore them. tween him and a turkey-cock; and in 1638 was published Duumviri Municipales were two magistrates in some a very small book, called the New Year’s Gift, presented at cities of the empire, answering to the consuls at Rome. court by the Lady Parvula to the Lord Minimus, commonly They were chosen out of the body of the decuriones, and called Little Jeffery, her majesty’s servant, written by their office commonly lasted five years, upon which ac- Microphilus, with a little print of Jeffery prefixed. Becount they were frequently termed quinquinales magistra- fore this period Jeffery was employed on a negotiation of tus. Their jurisdiction was of great extent. They had great importance; he wms sent to France to fetch a midofficers who walked before them, carrying a small switch wife for the queen ; and on his return with this gentlewoin their hands ; and some of them assumed the privilege man and her majesty’s dancing-master, and many rich preof having lictors carrying axes and the fasces or bundles sents to the queen from her mother Mary de’Medicis, he of rods before them. was taken by the Dunkirkers. Jeffery, being thus made Duumviri Navales were the commissaries of the fleet, of consequence, began to think himself really an important first created at the request of M. Decius, tribune of the personage. He had borne with little temper the teasing people, in the time of the war with the Samnites. The of the courtiers and domestics, and had many squabbles duties of their office consisted in giving orders for the fit- with the king s gigantic porter. At last, being provoked ting out of ships, and issuing their commissions to the ma- by Mr Crofts, a young gentleman of family, a challenge rine officers, &c. ensued; and Mr Crofts coming to the rendezvous armed Duumviri Sacrorum were magistrates created by Tar- only with a squirt, the little creature was so enraged that quinius Superbus for the performance of the sacrifices, a real duel ensued; and the appointment being on horseand for keeping the sibyls’ books. They were chosen back with pistols, to put them more on a level, Jeffery, from among the patricians, and held their office during with the first fire, shot his antagonist dead. This happenlife; they were exempted from serving in the wars, and ed in France, whither he had attended his mistress in the from the offices imposed on the other citizens; and with- troubles. He was again taken prisoner by a Turkish rover, out them the oracles of the sibyls could not be consulted. and sold into Barbary. But he probably did not remain DWAL, in Heraldry, the herb nightshade, used by long in slavery; for at the beginning of the civil war he such as blazon w'ith flowers and herbs, instead of metals was made a captain in the royal army, and in 1644 attendand colours, for sable or black. ed the queen to France, where he remained till the RestoARACA, a town and celebrated temple of Hindu- ration. At last, upon suspicion of his being concerned in the stan, province of Gujerat, situated at the south-west ex- Popish plot, he was seized in 1682, and confined in the Gatetremity of the peninsula. There are twenty-one villages house, Westminster, where he ended his life, in the sixtybelonging to Dwaraca, containing 2500 houses, and, on the third year of his age. This little hero cuts a considerable most accurate calculation, 100,000 inhabitants. The in- figure in Sir Walter Scott’s novel of Peveril of the Peak. habitants were formerly much addicted to piracy, but of In the Memoirs of the Royal Academy of Sciences, a relate years have been restrained by a treaty with the Bri- lation is given by the Count de Tressau, of a dwarf called Bsli- fhe temple is fabled to have been the residence of Hebe, kept by Stanislaus, king of Poland, and who died in Krishna, at which 15,000 pilgrims annually pay their de- 1764, at the age of twenty-three, when he measured only votions, which is an abundant source of wealth to the thirty-two inches. At the time of his birth he measured Brahmins. Long. 69. 15. E. Eat. 22. 21. N. only between eight and nine inches. Diminutive as were DWARF, in general, an appellation given to things dimensions, his reasoning faculties were not less scanty, greatly inferior in size to that which is usual in their se- his veral kinds. Thus there are dwarfs of the human species, appearing indeed not to have been superior to those of a well-taught pointer. But that the size and strength of the dwarf dogs, dwarf trees, and the like. intellectual powers are not affected by the diminutiveness ihe Romans were passionately fond of dwarfs, whom or tenuity of the corporeal organs, is evident from a still they called nani or nano;, insomuch that they often used more striking instance of littleness, given us by the same artificial methods to prevent the growth of boys designed nobleman, in the person of M. Borulawski, a Polish genfor dwarfs, by inclosing them in boxes, or by the use of tleman, whom he saw at Luneville, and who at the age tight bandages. Augustus’s niece, Julia, was extremely of twenty-two measured only twenty-eight inches. This fond of a dwarf called Sonopas, who was only two feet miniature of a man, considering him only with reference and a handbreadth in height. We have many other accounts of human dwarfs, but most of them deformed in to his bodily dimensions, appeared a giant with regard to some way or other, besides the smallness of their size. his mental powers and attainments. He is described by Many relations concerning dwarfs we must necessarily the count as possessing all the graces of wit, united with look upon as not less fabulous than those concerning Hants a sound judgment and an excellent memory; so that we The following history, however, which there is reason to may with justice say of M. Borulawski, in the words of Seneca, and nearly in the order in which he has used regard as authentic, is too remarkable not to be acceptable them, posse ingenium fortissimum ac heatissimum sub quoto the generality of our readers. libet corpusculo latere.

295 i DYEING jii ry. Is the art of communicating a new and permanent colour to any substance whatever; but it is usually confined to the art of giving colours to wool, silk, feathers, cotton, or flax, or the thread or cloth formed of any of these substances. To this more limited signification we shall restrict ourselves in the following treatise. For dyeing or staining paper, wood, bone, leather, marble, &c. the reader is referred to these articles. We shall divide this article into six chapters. In the first we shall give a rapid sketch of the history of the art; in the second we shall treat of the nature and properties of wool, feathers, silk, cotton, and flax, of which the fabrics to be dyed are composed; in the third chapter we shall treat of mordants, or the substances by means of which the colours are fixed on the cloth or thread. The fourth chapter will be occupied with the mode of dyeing the simple colours, or red, yellow, blue, black, and brawn. The object of the fifth chapter will be the compound colours, or the different shades of green, purple, orange, and gray. The sixth chapter will be occupied with a sketch of the processes of calico printing. Our object will be to give a general view of the processes, and to explain the theory of dyeing, so far as the present state of our knowledge enables us to go. We shall avoid minute details, except when they may be necessary for understanding the nature of the processes. CHAPTER I. HISTORY OF DYEING. Nature has implanted in man a sense of pleasure which he derives from beholding lively colours properly displayed and contrasted. And this sense receives ample gratification from the gay plumage of the feathered tribes, and the endless variety displayed in the blossoms of the vegetable kingdom. The diversity in the colours of flowers must have early attracted the attention of man, and he could scarcely avoid feeling a desire to employ them to adorn his person ; but their fading nature fitted them only for a temporary ornament. It would naturally occur to attempt to transfer some of the most lively colours of the vegetable kingdom either to the skin of the naked savage, or to the different articles of dress with which he covered himself up from the cold, or with which he decorated his person. A few trials would speedily show that the gay colours of most flowers could not be transferred to any article of dress, at least without a great diminution of their splendour; but a considerable difference would be observed depending upon the colour of the flower. The red flowers would either lose their colour altogether, as they would communicate to cloth, not a red, but a blue colour. The yellow coloured berries, on the other hand, would be found in some instances to communicate a very lively and beautiful, though not a permanent colour. By multiplying trials, various roots, barks, and fruits would be found capable of communicating certain colours to cloth. These facts would be treasured up, and thus a beginning would be made of the art of dyeing. Accordingly we find this art practised to a greater or smaller extent in the most remote ages, and among the most 1

savage and barbarous nations. Even the lowest of the History. American tribes, in point of civilization, understood how to communicate several very fine colours, and considerable improvements in dyeing were borrowed from the Americans. It would be in vajn, therefore, to attempt to discover Produced to whom the art of dyeing is indebted for its origin, as early 1in the practice of it precedes the origin of history. From^gyP the writings of Moses, who led the Israelites out of Egypt about 1555 years before the commencement of the Christian era, it is obvious that the art of dyeing had in his time made great progress in Egypt. He mentions blue, and purple, and scarlet, and badgers’ skins dyed red.1 There are some reasons for believing that what is translated in the Old Testament fine linen was in reality a cloth made of cotton wool. Indeed it is certain that cloth made of cotton w^as used in India and Egypt in the most remote ages. Cotton wool would naturally attract the attention of mankind in those countries where the plant which yields it grows. Now we know that the cotton plant is a native of India. India and Egypt are countries in which the processes of dyeing are as likely to have originated as any other; for they constitute the cradle of the human race, and civilization appears to have made earlier progress in them than in any other. The art of dyeing was brought to a considerable degree Tyrian of perfection at a very early period in Phoenicia. It appears dye. that it was in Tyre where the method of dyeing woollen e\o\\\purple was first discovered ; and this discovery, there is reason to believe, is at least as old as the time of Moses. The purple was communicated by means of several species of univalve shell-fish, which no doubt abounded on the coast of Phoenicia. Pliny, in the thirty-sixth chapter of his sixth book, gives us an account of two species of shellfish from which the purple was obtained. The first species was caWe&buccinum, doubtless from some resemblance to a hunting horn ; the second was called purpura. A single drop of the dyeing liquor was obtained from each fish by opening a vessel situated in the throat of the animal. The liquor, when extracted, was mixed with a considerable portion of salt, to prevent putrefaction. It was then diluted with five or six times as much water, and kept moderately hot in leaden or tin vessels, for the space of ten days, during which the liquor was frequently skimmed, to separate all impurities. After this, the wool, being first washed, was immersed and kept in the liquor for five hours. It was then taken out, carded, and again immersed and kept in the liquor till all the colouring matter was extracted. To produce particular shades of colour, carbonate of soda, urine, and a marine plant called fucus, were occasionally added. Several of these colours are particularly described by Pliny, though it is difficult to form an SrCcurate conception of his meaning. The purple itself seems to have been similar to the colour of blood. Pliny says the Tyrians first dyed their wool in the liquor of the purpura, and afterwards in that of the buccinum. We find allusions to this practice in several passages of the Old Testament. Doubtless Horace alludes to the same process when he says, te bis Afro Murice tinctse Yestiunt lanse. Od. ii. 16, line 35.

Exodus, xxv. 4 and 5.

296 DYEING. History. The shell-fish employed in this process were found abun- dyed; and the most common colour was scarlet, commu- p dantly both on the European and /African shores of the nicated to the cloth by kermes, a dyestuff still in use, and 'w Mediterranean. They still exist on these shores, and have which we shall describe in a subsequent part of this treabeen also met with abundantly on the coasts of England tise. This colour, as Pliny informs us, was scarcely less and France. esteemed than the Tyrian purple. Cloths of the scarlet Purple. The purple mentioned in Exodus was probably that colour were worn by the emperors; and scarlet and purdyed by the Tyrians. Ezekiel, who wrote about 593 ple seem to have been often confounded together. ^ years before the Christian era, in his prophecy against The modes of dyeing black, blue, yellow, and green Tyre, says, “ Fine linen with broidered work from Egypt, were brought by Alexander the Great into Greece from was that which thou spreadest forth to be thy sail; blue India, as Pliny informs us and purple from the isles of Elishah, was that which coAmong the Romans, new-married women wore a yellow vered thee.”1 By Elishah it is generally supposed that veil, and this colour was reserved for the women. In the Elis, on the west side of the Greek Peloponnesus, was circus the four different factions were distinguished by meant. Elence it would appear that the Tyrians in Eze- four different colours, one belonging to each faction. These kiel’s time drew their supply of shell-fish for dyeing pur- were the green (prasinus), the orange (rafatm), the blue ple from the coast of Greece. (venetus), and the white. These factions, with their colours From Herodotus it appears that purple was worn in were transferred to Constantinople, and long distracted Greece 559 years before the Christian era. It gradually that city.2 We are ignorant of the dyestuffs by means of made its way to Rome, and was purchased with avidity, which these colours were given to cloth.3 notwithstanding its high price. After the establishment The want of soap, which was unknown to the Greeks of the emperors upon the ruins of Roman liberty, the use and only known to the Romans in Pliny’s time as a poof the purple was limited to the emperor, people of infe- matum for the hair, must have greatly cramped the prorior rank being prohibited from wearing it, on pain of cesses of the ancient dyers; nor have we any evidence death. This of course sadly diminished the extent of the that alum was known to them, though they must have manufactory. It continued to languish for some centuries, employed some substitute, otherwise the red colour of the and then became extinct; and the mode of dyeing the kermes could not have been fixed upon the cloth. Alum Tyrian purple was lost for many ages, but was again appears to have been well known to Geber, who wrote in revived during the seventeenth century by Mr Cole of the eighth century. He mentions different manufactories Bristol, and during the eighteenth century by M. Reau- of it, and talks of it as a substance familiarly known in his mur of France. But by this time finer colours had been time. Is it not possible that the mode of making it had discovered, and cheaper processes brought into use. It been knowm to the Tyrian dyers, but kept by them as a was not therefore thought advisable by the dyers to re- profound secret? , The purple and scarlet dye was still in sume the methods followed by their Tyrian predecessors. use during Geber’s time, and even continued to be pracWith the exception of the processes followed in the dye- tised in the eleventh century. Alum, then, was certainly ing of purple, we are ignorant of the practices of the an- used by the -Tyrian dyers before their manufactory was cient dyers, or of the degree of progress which this art had finally extinguished ; but even if we admit that the anmade. Pliny, under whose province an account of dyeing cients were unacquainted with alum, yet it is obvious, naturally came, has passed it over in silence, and has as- from Pliny’s account of alumen, that it was a substance signed as a reason for his conduct that it was not reckon- found native; that there were different species of it, for ed among the liberal arts. Nec tingendi rationem omisis- he enumerates tour or five, and one of these may have been semuSy si unquam ea liberalium artium fuisset. a native combination of sulphuric acid and alumina, which Dyeing in- The fine colours given in India to cotton cloths are uni- (if pure) wrould doubtless answer all the purposes of a ro uced yersally known. The methods practised are no modern mordant. into but were in common use when India was visitIhe ancient dyeing processes, such as they were, conGreece. inventions, ed by Alexander the Great, and probably many ages be- tinued to be practised in Constantinople as long as the fore. These colours, which are both beautiful and perma- Greek empire lasted. It was during the crusades that the nent, prove that the methods of fixing gaudy colours on republics of Venice and Genoa reached the highest sumcotton were pretty far advanced. But these methods, as mit of their powrer. I hey w'ere trading and manufacthey have been described by Beaulieu and Bancroft, are tui ing communities, and made a point of making themso complicated, tedious, and imperfect, that they could be selves acquainted with the different arts at that time followed only where the wages of labour are exceedingly piactised in Greece. Dyeing was not neglected by them; low, and never would answer in any part of Europe. There but the art and trade of the dyers of Constantinople were is reason to believe that the processes of dyeing cotton and transferred by them to Italy. linen were introduced into Greece only after the expediAbout the year 1300 a merchant of Florence acciden-piscoi tion of Alexander the Great into India. tally discovered the method of making archil. He ob-ofarc The common people in Athens were very idle and very served that a certain species of lichen {lichen roccellus), poor, spending their time in the public places, and receiv- when macerated in urine, acquired a fine purple colour. ing a daily pension of three oboli, or about fourpence half- Phis led him to try various experiments, which terminated penny. But this sum would have purchased as much corn in the discovery of archil, and in the application of it to as three times the amount would do in this country; so the art of dyeing. that the income of a common Athenian citizen was equiIn the year 1429 the first collection of processes em-first valent to about thirteen pence halfpenny of our money. ployed in dyeing was published in Venice, under the titletiseon They went barefooted, and were dressed in garments Mariegola dell arte dei Tentori. A second edition of thisi11?which never had been dyed, but which were occasionally book, with many additions, was published in 1510. Giowashed. The rich citizens wore garments which had been van Ventura Rosetti formed the project of making this 1

Ezekiel, chap, xxvii. ver. 7-

2 eezen mil authentique documenten. Amsterdam, 1729, 8vo, 175 pages. 4 No. xl. p. 796.

308 DYEING. Simple insects breed, from South Carolina, and presented them 1656, consists essentially of a combination of cochinealin e Colours, the same year to the Royal Society. These specimens, and alumina. qT Mr Ellis observes, were full of the nests of this insect, in Most of the saline solutions alter the colour of the aque- ^ which it appeared in its various states, in the most minute, ous solution of this substance ; but few of them are camwhen it walks about, to the state when it becomes fixed, ble of producing a precipitate in it. Acetate oflead, howand wrapt up in a fine web which it spins about itself. ever, throws down a copious violet sediment from the deWith the assistance of the microscope, Mr Ellis discover- coction or infusion of cochineal; and by decomposing this ed the true male insect in the parcels which had been sent sediment by means of sulphuretted hydrogen, the cochito him from America ; and in August 1756, in consequence nealin may be obtained in a state of purity. The chloof Mr Ellis’s discovery, Dr Garden caught a male cochi- ride of tin throws down a violet precipitate, and the perneal fly, which, he observes, is rarely to be met with. He chloride strikes a fine scarlet colour, but precipitates nosupposes that there may be 150 or 200 females for one thing. When gelatinous alumina is added to this mixture male. These discoveries proved indisputably that the we obtain a fine red precipitate, which is not altered by cochineal is an animal production. boiling. Cochineal has been subjected to a chemical examination Cochineal was at one time used in great quantity in Euby various individuals ; but the most successful analysis of rope, chiefly for dyeing fine scarlet cloth. When Bancroft it is by Pelletier and Caventou in 1818, which was pub- published his work on colours in 1794, he informs us that lished in the eighth volume of the Annales de Chimieet de the annual European consumption was about 3000 bags Contains Physique, p. 250. They found it to contain about half its or 600,000 lbs., of which about 240,000 lbs. were concochinea- weight of the peculiar colouring matter to which they ap- sumed in Great Britain. The demand has since that time plied the name carmine; but we prefer the name cochi- very much diminished; and the price has in consequence nealin, already given to this substance by John, who was sunk from about thirty shillings to about nine shillings the person that first obtained it and described its proper- and sixpence per pound. This diminution is chiefly owties. Cochinealin may be obtained by the following pro- ing to the substitution of the lac dye for cochineal. Cochicess :— neal, however, is still used’ for the dyeing of fine scarlet Digest cochineal in alcohol, as long as it communicates cloth. a red colour to that liquid. The alcoholic solution being 3. Kermes.—This is also the female of an insect which left to spontaneous evaporation, lets fall a crystalline mat- inhabits a species of oak. The tree, which is a native of ter of a fine red colour. Dissolve these crystals in strong the countries bordering on the Mediterranean and Asia, is alcohol, and mix the solution with its own bulk of sulphu- called by Linnaeus quercus ilicis, and the insect coccus Hiric ether. The liquid becomes muddy, and gradually de- cis. This substance was known to the ancients, though Simil; 0 posites the cochinealin, which constitutes a purple crust on they were ignorant of its nature. Dioscorides calls itcochH the bottom of the vessel. xoxxoj, and Pliny coccum and granum. It was used in meProperties Cochinealin has a fine purple-red colour, is granular, dicine ; and there can be no doubt that it was employed in Asia at a very early period as a dyestuff. There is reanealin ^ air, it .cons ’s^s smno ^llsensible crystals.alteration. When left to the undergoes Atexposed 122 degrees it son to suspect that the scarlet cloth mentioned by Moses melts; and if the heat be increased, it swells up and is to adorn the tabernacle was dyed by means of kermes. If decomposed, yielding carburetted hydrogen gas, a great 'this conjecture has any foundation, the kermes dye must deal of oil, and a little water having a slightly acid taste. have been known in Egypt before the time of Moses. It furnishes no traces of ammonia. The word kermes or alkermes is at present in the East It is very soluble in water. The aqueous solution has a the common name for the animal which produces the dye, fine carmine colour, and, how much soever concentrated, as well as for the dye itself. Probably it comes from the does not deposite crystals. It dissolves also in alcohol; Arabic. If the kermes dye was known in Egypt and Phoebut the solubility diminishes in proportion to the strength nicia in the time of Moses, there is some difficulty in exof the alcohol. In sulphuric ether it does not dissolve. plaining how it was altogether unknown to the Greeks and Ihe weak acids dissolve it, probably in consequence of Romans till the time of the Emperor Aurelian, who began the water which they contain. When the cochinealin is his short reign in the year 270 of the Christian era. Vopure, no acid throws it down from its aqueous solution; piscus informs us that the king of Persia sent to that embut they precipitate it when in combination with the pe- peror, besides other articles of great value, some woollen culiar animal matter of cochineal. They produce a sensi- cloth, which was of a much costlier and brighter purple ble^ change upon its colour, causing it gradually to assume than any that had been ever seen in the Roman empire, a tint of yellow. 1 his is the reason why cochineal will and in comparison of which all the other purple worn by not dye scarlet, unless when mixed with bitartrate of pot- the emperor and the ladies of the court appeared dull ash. The concentrated acids decompose it altogether. and faded. Vopiscus goes on to say that this cloth had Alkalies also alter the colour of solutions of cochinealin. been dyed in India, and that the assertion of the king of It fiist becomes violet, and at last yellow ; and the original Persia, sumepurpuram quails apud nos est, was false; for colour cannot be again restored. Lime-water occasions a Aurelian, Probus, and Diocletian, had sent dyers into the precipitate when poured into an aqueous solution of this East on purpose to get information respecting this presubstance; but barytes and strontian water occasion no cious dye; but that their attempts utterly failed of sucprecipitate, though they change the colour to yellow. cess.1 Alumina has a strong affinity for cochinealin. When From this passage it would appear that the use of newly precipitated alumina is agitated in an aqueous solu- kermes dyeing had been known at a very early period tion of it, the liquid is rendered colourless, and the alu- in India,infrom which it gradually made its way into Permina converted into a beautiful lake. The pigment called sia, and afterwards into Europe. And as the colour which carmine, accidentally discovered by a Franciscan monk it yielded was more beautiful than the celebrated Phoeabout the middle of the sixteenth century, and the pro- nician dye, it may have contributed to put an end to the cess for obtaining which was published by Homberg in monopoly of the Phoenician dyers. The term scarlet, the 1

Vopiscus in Vita Aureliani, cap. 29.

DYEING. 309 I I 1 orio-in of which is unknown, but which was certainly em- of time, it is necessary to moisten it occasionally with Simple Sit'le Colors. ployed early in the twelfth century, was applied to the urine. We suspect that soda is not employed in the pre- Colours, paration of this dyestuff; at least it is not employed in the colour given to cloth by the kermes dye. Kermes is gathered chiefly in Languedoc, Spain, and manufacture of cudbear, the preparation of which, being Portugal. The insects are collected in the months of a manufacture of this country, we have often witnessed. If we adopt the opinion of Tournefort, the preparation j\Iay and June, wdien the female, which alone is useful, is distended with eggs. To destroy the young insects, the of archil was known to the ancient Greeks. He thinks kermes is exposed to the steam of vinegar for about half that the purple of Amorgos, one of the Cyclades, the coan hour, and afterwards dried* It is in the form of small lour given to the famous tunics of that country, 3was formgrains of a reddish-brown colour. 1Kermes, as appears ed by a dyestuff made from the lichen roccella. What is called in this country cudbear, and in Germany Cudbear from the experiments of Lassaigne, contains the very presame colouring matter as cochineal; but its quantity is persio, is prepared from the lichen tartareus, and ompha- how aret not so great, and of course it is mixed with a greater pro- lodes, by a process quite similar to that employed for making P f portion of animal matter. The introduction of cochineal archil. The lichen is steeped and left for some time in greatly diminished the consumption of kermes. It is sel- flat vessels moistened with ammonia distilled from putrid dom used in this country, yet it gives a very fixed and urine. When the purple colour is sufficiently developed, the whole is dried in the open air, and reduced to a fine beautiful colour to woollen cloth. 4. Lac.—This is an animal production which has been powder. The manufacture of this dyestuff was begun long known in India, and used for dyeing silk and other about the year 1777, at Leith, by Mr Mackintosh and Dr purposes. It is the nidus of the coccus lacca, Linnaeus, and Cuthbert Gordon, from which last the British name of is generally produced on the small branches of the croton cudbear (originally Cuthbert) is derived. Leith was found Akiimi- lacciferum. Three kinds of lac are well known in com- an improper place for the manufacture; but Mr Mackinlar tico- merce:—1. Stick lac is the substance or comb, in its na- tosh transferred it to Glasgow, and manufactured cudbear ml !• tural state, forming a crust on the small branches or twigs. during the rest of his life with success. He left it to his 2. Seed lac is said to be only the above separated from the son Charles Mackintosh, Esq. who still carries it on. The twigs and reduced into small fragments. Mr Hatchett, lichens used were at first collected in the Highlands of who has examined this substance with his usual skill and Scotland; but the rocks of that country being stript of precision, found the best 2specimens considerably deprived their covering, the manufacturers had recourse to Sweden of their colouring matter. According to the information and Norway, and likewise to Sardinia, from which counwhich he received from Mr Wilkins, the silk dyers in tries prodigious quantities of the lichens were brought. Bengal produce the seed lac by pounding crude lac into There is said also to be a manufactory of cudbear in small fragments, and extracting part of the colouring mat- Liverpool. Neither archil nor cudbear are capable of giving fast ter by boiling. 3. Shell lac is prepared from the cells, liquefied, strained, and formed into thin transparent laminae. colours to cloth ; but they are considered as indispensable There is also a fourth kind, called lump lac, which is ob- by the dyers, because they greatly improve the brilliancy tained from the seed lac' by liquefaction, and afterwards of some of the colours. The nature of the substance in the lichen roccella, Contains formed into cakes. The best lac is of a deep red colour: when it is pale and pierced at the top, the value is greatly which furnishes the colouring matter of archil, has been erythrin. diminished; for then the insects have left their cells, and investigated by Heeren, who has distinguished it by the name of erythrin. It may be obtained from the lichen by it can no longer be of use as a dyestuff. Unverdorben has likewise examined lac, but his expe- the following process : Digest the lichen for some time in riments throw no light upon the nature of the colouring alcohol, taking care not to raise the heat to the boiling matter. Being derived from a coccus, as well as the co- point, because at that temperature a portion of the erylouring matter of cochineal and kermes, the probability is thrin is decomposed. The alcoholic solution has a green that it is of the same nature. In the state in which it colour. Filter it while hot, and mix it with twice its bulk comes to this country (that of a purple powder), it dis- of water, which will render it muddy. Raise the liquid solves readily in boiling hot water. In this way it is em- to the boiling temperature, and introduce into it chalk in ployed by the dyers. Being much cheaper than either powder, until the precipitate, which was at first dispersed cochineal or kermes, it has in some measure superseded through the liquor, collects in flocks. This precipitate these dyestuffs, except when a very fine scarlet is wanted, consists chiefly of roccellate of lime.* The liquid must be filtered while boiling hot. During the cooling it deposites in which case cochineal is still employed. 5. Archil.—This substance, called orseille by the French, erythrin in the state of a fine powder, of a brown colour. is a violet-red paste, of which there are two varieties, one, Dissolve it in hot alcohol, digest the solution with ivory which is the best, made in the Canary Islands, the other black, filter, and mix it with one and a half times its bulk manufactured in the south of France. It is made from of boiling water. The liquor remains at first clear, but two species of lichens, the roccella and the parellus. Ber- during the cooling the erythrin precipitates nearly white. The following process for extracting erythrin from the thollet, who has copied Hellot, who again copied Micheli, has given the following description of the mode, of pre- lichen roccella is easier than the preceding. Pour on the Hil pre. paring it. The plant is reduced to a fine powder, which lichen a small quantity of concentrated ammonia, and digest I)a • is afterwards passed through a sieve, and slightly moisten- for some time, stirring well, but without the application of ed with stale urine. The mixture is daily stirred, each heat. Dilute the muddy and reddish solution thus obtained time adding a certain proportion of soda in powder, till it with water; and then add to it some dilute solution of chloacquire a clove colour. It is then put into a wooden cask, ride of calcium. Roccellate of lime precipitates, and the and urine, lime-water, or a solution of sulphate of lime filtered liquid has a reddish colour. Add to it a slight excess {gypsum), is added in sufficient quantity to cover the mix- of muriatic acid. The erythrin precipkates instantly, and ture. In this state it is kept; but to preserve it any length gives the liquid the aspect of a yellowish jelly. When we 1

2 3 Ann. dc Chim. ct dc Phys. xii.4 102. Phil. Trans. 1804. Tournefort’s Voyage, i. 248, English translation. lioccellic acid is an acid discovered by Heeren in the lichen roccella.

DYEING. 310 Simple heat to the boiling temperature, the erythrin is again dis- mined also by Heeren, who has pointed out some distinc- Sin colours. solved, and it is precipitated in powder during the cooling tive characters which it possesses. p0j( In France, besides the lichen parellus, the lichen deal- ^ i* of the liquid. It may be deprived of its brown colour by batus is employed, and the archil is obtained by treating ivory black. Its proper- Erythrin is a soft powder, having usually a slight shade the lichens with putrid urine and lime. Robiquet has ties ‘ of red, and a slightly crystalline aspect, when obtained from subjected the lichen dealbatus to a chemical analysis, and a weakly acid liquid. When pure it is perfectly white. It has extracted from it the matter which yields the red dye, has neither taste nor smell. At a temperature a little and which he has distinguished by the name of orcin. It above 212°, it melts into a transparent liquid, which be- constitutes white crystals, having a sweetish and nauseous comes hard and brittle during the cooling. If the heat taste, melts when heated, and may be distilled over withbe raised still higher, it froths, is partly volatilized, and out decomposition. It dissolves both in water and alcopartly charred ; but not the least trace of ammonia can hol. It is obvious that its properties are quite different be observed to be formed. Hence we may conclude that from those of erythrin; yet the process for converting it erytnrin contains no azote. When held to the flame of a into the red dyestuff is nearly the same as for archil and candle it burns like a resin. It is scarcely soluble in cold cudbear. 6. Carthamus, or Safflower.—This is the petals of the water, and requires 170 times its weight of boiling water to dissolve it. At the temperature of 53° it dissolves blossoms of the carthamus tinctorius, a plant formerly culin twenty-two and a half times its weight of alcohol, of tivated in Germany and France; but now the dyestuff specific gravity 0,825. It is soluble in 2-29 times its comes usually from Egypt and the countries round the weight of the same alcohol at the point of ebullition. eastern part of the Mediterranean, and from India. The method of preparing the flowers of carthamus in When this last solution cools, the whole is converted into a mass of the consistence of mortar. It is insoluble in Egypt, as it is described by Hasselquist, is the following. ether, and little soluble in oil of turpentine. Muriatic After being pressed between two stones, to squeeze out acid has no action on it, but acetic acid dissolves it the juice, they are washed several times with salt water, with facility when boiling hot, but lets it fall again on pressed between the hands, and spread out on mats in the cooling. Both nitric acid and concentrated sulphuric acid open air to dry. In the day time they are covered, that dissolve it, but they alter its nature. The aqueous solu- they may not dry too fast with the heat of the sun, but tions of the alkalies, or their carbonates, dissolve it with they are left exposed to the dew of the night. When facility, and the solutions are colourless. By the conti- they are sufficiently dry, they are put up, and kept for nued action of the alkalies, the erythrin is decomposed. sale under the name of saffranon. Care should be taken When this action takes place in close vessels, an extrac- afterwards not to keep it in too dry a place; for unless it tive substance is formed, which is soluble in water, having is a little moist, its properties are considerably impaired. a bitter taste, and which Heeren on that account has called Carthamus contains two colouring substances, a yellow Its c irbitter of erythrin. When the action is continued in vessels substance, which is soluble in water; and as it is of no^g11 ers. to which the air has access, the red or rather violet sub- use, it is extracted by the process mentioned above, by stance is formed which constitutes the colouring matter of squeezing the flowers between stones till no more colour archil. can be pressed out. The flowers become reddish in this During the conversion of erythrin into the red matter operation, and lose nearly one half of their weight. The three different substances are obtained, namely, the red other colouring matter, which is red, is soluble in alkaline colouring matter, a yellow substance, and a wine-red sub- carbonates, and it is precipitated by means of an acid. A stance. They are first mixed or combined; but the red vegetable acid, as lemon juice, has been found to produce colouring matter may be separated by dissolving the com- the finest colour. Next to this, sulphuric acid produces pound substance in alcohol, evaporating the solution to the best effect, provided too great a quantity, which would dryness, and digesting the residue in ammonia. The red alter and destroy the colour, be not employed. The juice colouring matter remains when this solution is evaporated. of the berries of the mountain-ash, or rowan-tree (sorbus It is little soluble in water. Alcohol dissolves it, and aucuparia, Lin.), is recommended by Scheffer as a substithe solution has a crimson-red colour. It is quite insolu- tute for lemon juice, and it is thus prepared. The berble in ether. The alkalies and their carbonates dissolve ries are bruised in a mortar with a wooden pestle, and the it, and the solution has a fine deep colour. The acids expressed juice, after it has been allowed to ferment, is throw it down from these solutions under the form of car- bottled up. The clear part, which is most acid, becomes mine red powder, but they do not precipitate it from its fitter for use the longer it is kept; but this operation resolution in alcohol. Heeren has shown that alcohol has quires a period of some months, and can only be conductthe property of altering erythrin, and of converting it into ed in summer. a snow-white substance, to which he has given the name From the colouring matter extracted by means of anRouf of pseudo-erythrin, because it does not yield the red co- alkali, and precipitated with an acid, is procured the sublouring matter, but only the wine red. It has been ana- stance called rouge, which is employed as a paint for the lyzed by Liebig, who found its constituents, skin. The solution of carthamus is prepared with crysCarbon 60-810 tals of soda, and precipitated with lemon juice which has Hydrogen 6-334 stood some days to settle. After being dried on delft Oxygen 32-856 plates with a gentle heat, the precipitate is separated, and These correspond with ground accurately with talc which has been previously re8 atoms carbon 6 duced to a very subtile powder; and on the fineness of 5 atoms hydrogen 0-675 the talc depends the difference between the cheaper and 3£ atoms oxygen 3-25 dearer kinds of rouge. Carthamus furnishes about five per cent, of this matter 9-925 (abstracting the talc), which is the true red colouring Hence these atoms, or some multiple of them, must re- matter. It reddens vegetable blues while moist, whether present the composition of pseudo-erythrin. from the acid employed in throwing it down, or from its Colouring The colouring matter of cudbear is obviously very near- own acid properties, has not been determined. It is inmatter of ly the same as that of archil. It has been slightly exa- soluble in water and dilute acids, but slightly soluble in J cudbear.

DYE I N G. 311 dyeing cotton what are technically called chemical co- Simple s 'ile alcohol. The solution has a rose-red colour, but when in Co boiled becomes yellow. Ether is still a worse solvent of lours, by which is understood colours that will not resist v Colours, The decoction of Brazil wood, which is called '—-V'w< rWge than alcohol. It is insoluble in oils, both volatile washing. and fixed; but it dissolves readily, and with a yellow co- juice of Brazil, is found to answer better for the process lour, in alkaline leys, or alkaline carbonates. According of dyeing when it has been kept some time, and has even to Dobereiner (who considers it as an acid, which he calls undergone some degree of fermentation, than when it has carthamic), soda saturated with it crystallizes in fine co- been fresh prepared. The colour by keeping becomes of lourless needles, having a silky lustre, which become in- a yellowish red. Within the last five or six years, Brazil wood has been stantly red when an acid is added to them. As a dyestuff, safflower affords only a fugitive colour, de- nearly superseded by a wood imported from Africa, to stroyed by exposure to the sun, and removed by washing. which our dyers give the name of camwood. It is richer, It is used, however, occasionally to give a red colour to and gives a finer colour, than any of the varieties of Brazil wood. It is not so much affected by alkalies, nor so silk. 7. Brazil Wood.—This wood comes from Brazil, and liable to assume a violet shade; and the yellow colouring from Pernambuco; and in the former case is said to be matter with which it is mixed gives the red a more lively the wood of the ccesalpina sapan, ccBsalpina crista, and appearance. We have not learned the botanical name of casalpina vesica; in the latter, of the ccesalpina echinata. the tree which yields this wood. 8. Logwood.—This wood is usually, on the Continent, These trees are large, and rich in colouring matter. The wood is very hard, and is said to sink in water. When called Campeachy wood. It is the wood of the hematoxyfresh cut it is pale, but becomes reddish by exposure to lon Campeachianum, a tree which grows to a considerable the air. Its taste is sweetish. The red colouring matter size in Jamaica, and on the eastern shore of the Bay of of Brazil wood is very easily acted on by chemical agents, Campeachy. Its specific gravity is greater than that of acids rendering it yellow, and alkalies violet. Chevreul water; it has a fine grain, and is susceptible of a fine pohehas given us the following process for extracting this co- lish. Besides the colouring matter to which it owes its Yields 11 Colring louring matter in a state of purity. Digest the raspings value, logwood contains resin and oil, which are soluble inmat' majr 0f the wood in water till that liquid has dissolved all the water; acetic acid and salts, consisting of potash and lime, colouring matter, and evaporate the infusion to dryness, combined with a vegetable acid, which are soluble in watan l ' to get rid of a little acetic acid which it contains. Dis- ter saturated with chloride of potassium. It contains also solve the residue in wmter, and agitate the solution with sulphate of lime, oxalate of lime, a little alumina, and litharge, to get rid of a little fixed acid which it contains. some peroxide of iron and oxide of manganese. ChevEvaporate again to dryness. Digest the residue in alco- reul, to whom we are indebted for a chemical examinahol : filter and evaporate to drive off the alcohol. Dilute tion of logwood, has given the following process for exthe residuum with water, and add to the liquid solution of tracting its colouring matter, which he has distinguished gelatine, till all the tannin which it contains is precipi- by the name of hematin. The raspings of the wood are digested in water of a How obtated. Filter again, evaporate to dryness, and digest the dry mass in alcohol, which, will leave undissolved the ex- temperature from 122° to 131°, till every thing soluble istained. cess of gelatine that may have been added. This last al- taken up. Evaporate the aqueous solution to dryness by coholic solution being evaporated, the pure colouring mat- a gentle heat, and treat the residue with alcohol of the specific gravity O’STS, which dissolves the colouring matter of Brazil wood remains behind. Its roper- It is soluble in water and in alcohol, but its fine red ter, leaving a brown residue still containing colouring matcolour does not appear till all the acid which it naturally ter in chemical combination. Filter the alcoholic solution, contains is saturated. Acids give it a yellow colour. The and distil it till what remains becomes of the consistence sulphuric, nitric, and muriatic acids, give it a pale dirty of a syrup. This syrup being mixed with some water, yellow. Fluoric acid gives it at first a yellow colour, crystals begin immediately to be deposited. Leave it for which is gradually altered to grayish green; while the twenty-four hours to evaporate spontaneously, then dephosphoric and citric give it a fine permanent yellow co- cant the liquid portion from off the crystals, and wash lour, which might be employed for dyeing silk and wool. them with a little alcohol. The decanted liquid being For these facts we are indebted to Bonsdorf. A very mi- left to spontaneous evaporation, will yield more crystals, nute quantity of alkali gives the infusion of Brazil wood a and finally remains a thick uncrystallizable liquid. If it violet colour; it is therefore a delicate re-agent for alkalies. be evaporated to dryness, macerate the dry mass in cold When neutral salts, with an alkaline base, are dissolved water, and evaporate afresh : more crystals are obtained, in the infusion of Brazil wood, it assumes a rose-red co- which may be purified, like the other, by washing them in lour. Acetates act most decidedly in producing this ef- alcohol. These crystals thus obtained constitute hemafect. When newly precipitated alumina is agitated in tin, or the pure colouring matter of logwood. They have considerable lustre, and a scarlet colour. its pr0per_ this infusion, it assumes a carmine-red colour. When Brazil wood is boiled in water, we obtain a rose- Under the microscope they appear to constitute needles ties, coloured solution, and the undissolved wood becomes arranged in sphericles. When rubbed on a glass it apblack, but still yields to alcohol a dark-red colour. When pears orange by transmitted light, and white by reflected an acid is poured into the decoction, a red precipitate falls, light. But if we let fall on it a drop of alcohol, it appears and the filtered liquid is yellow. Ammonia gives the de- carmine red by transmitted, and yellow by reflected light. coction a purple colour, and throws down a purple preci- When put into the mouth it is at first tasteless; but after pitate. The carbonates of potash and soda render it car- some time a sensation of astringency, acridity, and bittermine red, and throw down a precipitate of the same co- ness, is perceived. When heated in a retort to decompolour. Alum throws down an abundant carmine precipi- sition, it gives out among other products ammonia, from tate, but the liquid retains the same colour. The proto- which we may conclude that it contains azote. After chloride of tin gives a rose-red precipitate, and renders every thing volatile is driven off, there remains fifty-four per cent, of charry matter half fused ; which, when burned the decoction colourless. 1 is red Brazil wood is the substance from which red ink is pre- in the open air, leaves a quantity of lime and peroxide of pared. The colour which it communicates to cloth has iron, amounting to rather less than one per cent, of the very little permanence; yet it is occasionally employed hematin employed.

312 DYE Simple Hematm requires for solution 1000 times its weight of Colours, water. By evaporation it does not yield crystals, but when very much concentrated it is converted into a confused crystalline mass. It dissolves in alcohol and ether, and the solutions have a reddish-yellow colour. It combines with the acids, which render it yellow when added in small quantity; but when in a larger proportion they give it a red colour. Sulphurous acid and carbonic acid give the solution of hematin a pale-yellow colour. Boracic acid gives it a pale-red, and phosphoric and phosphorous acid a pale-orange colour. Arsenious acid has no sensible action on it. Sulphuretted hydrogen gas renders it yellow; and if we keep a solution of hematin charged with this gas for some time in a corked phial, it loses its colour altogether; but the colour appears if we remove the gas by means of a little oxide of lead. The salifiable bases give solution of hematin a violet, purple, or blue colour. With the fixed alkalies it forms compounds perfectly saturated and soluble. The alkaline earths fall down in combination, and have a purple colour when they fall from neutral salts, and a blue colour when from subsalts. An excess of alkali destroys the colour altogether. With the hydrated oxides of antimony, zinc, bismuth, nickel, iron, and copper, it forms blue or purple coloured compounds. The compound which hematin forms with alumina and oxide of copper at once may be fixed upon linen or cotton, and gives a blue colour like that of indigo, only it is rendered yellow by the concentrated acids, while indigo remains unchanged, unless the acid be the nitric. The protoxide of tin, when united with hematin, forms a blue-coloured compound, while its combination with the peroxide of tin is red. We see from this that the protoxide of tin possesses the characters of an alkali, • while the peroxide is an acid. A solution of gelatine throws down a concentrated solution of hematin purple. Hematin is easily altered. When a mixture of alkali and hematin is kept in vacuo, or in a well-corked phial, quite full, no action takes place ; but when air has access, oxygen is absorbed, and the hematin quite destroyed in a few hours. During this action, the blue colour of the liquid changes first into red, and then into brown. The alkali becomes saturated with carbonic acid.

Madder red.

II.—Method of dyeing Wool Red. All the colouring matters employed for dyeing wool red by modern dyers require a mordant to fix them. The shade of colour depends partly upon the kind of colouring matter used, partly on the mordant, and partly on the quantity of colour which the cloth is made to imbibe by the length of time that it remains exposed to the action of the dyeing liquor. The purple of the ancients, the colouring matter of which was obtained from different species of shell-fish, required no mordant; but it has already been observed that this mode of dyeing has been forages out of use. Madder Red.—Madder is only employed for dyeing coarse woollen stuffs; and the following is the process. The stuffs are first boiled for two or three hours with alum and tartar; they are then left to drain, slightly wrung out, put into a linen bag, and carried into a cool place, where they are to remain for some days. The quantities and proportions of the alum and tartar are varied according to the views of the dyer, and the shade of colour which is wanted. Some recommend five ounces of alum and one ounce of tartar to each pound of wool. By increasing the proportion of tartar to a certain degree, a deep and°permanent cinnamon colour, instead of a red, is produced. This arises from the yellow tinge which is induced by means of the acid on the colouring particles of the madder. Others propose to diminish the proportion of tartar,

I N G. and to employ only a seventh part. In conducting the Sin process of dyeing with madder, the bath should not be Colt | brought to the boiling point; because at that temperature ^ J the fawn-coloured particles would be dissolved, and a dif-*>rocf ferent shade obtained from that which is desired. When the water is at that degree of temperature which the hand can bear, Hellot recommends the addition of half a pound of grape madder for every pound of wool to be dyed. It is then to be well stirred before the wool is introduced, which must remain for an hour without boiling, excepting for a few minutes towards the end of the process, that the combination of the colouring particles with the stuff may be more certain. Madder reds are sometimes rosed, as it is called, withp • archil and Brazil wood. In this way they become more k°5lr beautiful and velvety; but this brightness is not permanent. But madder reds, even when they are most perfect, are far inferior to those obtained from lac and cochineal, and even to that produced by kermes; but as the expense of the materials is comparatively small, they are employed, as we have already observed, for coarse stuffs. Different authors recommend different proportions ofp madder. Poerner proposes to employ one third of theofma weight of the wool, while Scheffer limits the quantity to one fourth. In one process, Poerner added to the alum and tartar a quantity of solution of tin equal in weight to the tartar, and after two hours boiling allowed the cloth to remain in the bath, which had been left to cool for three or four days. He then dyed it in the usual way, and thus obtained a fine red. According to another process, he prepared the cloth by the common boiling, and dyed it in a bath slightly heated, with a larger proportion of madder, tartar, and solution of tin. The cloth remained twentyfour hours in the bath ; and when it had become cold he put it into another bath, made with madder only, where it remained for twenty-four hours. By this process he got a fine red, somewhat brighter than the common, but inclining a little to yellow. Scheffer informs us that he obtained an orange-red by boiling wool with a solution of tin and one fourth of alum, and then by dyeing with one fourth of madder. A cherry colour is obtained, according to Bergman, by dyeing with one part of a solution of tin and two of madder, without previously boiling the wool. By exposure to the air this colour becomes deeper. By boiling the wool for two hours with one fourth of sulphate of iron, then washing it, and afterwards immersing it in cold water with one fourth of madder, and then boiling for an hour, the result is a coffee colour. But if the wool has not been soaked, and if it be dyed with one part of sulphate of iron and two of madder, the colour is a brown approaching to red. When sulphate of copper is employed as the mordant, the madder dye yields a clear brown, inclining somewhatmord to yellow; and a similar colour may be produced by dyeing the wool, simply soaked in hot water, with one part of sulphate of copper and two of madder. But when this mordant and dyestuff are used in equal proportions, the yellow is somewhat more obscure, approaching to green; and in both these instances exposure to the air does not produce a darker colour. Berthollet informs us that he employed a solution of tin in various ways, both in the preparation and the application of the madder; and by the use of different solutions of tin, he found, that although the tint was somewhat brighter than what is obtained by the common process, it was always more inclined to yellow or fawn colour. Scarlet.—The finest and most splendid of all colours is gear] scarlet. This, like other colours, is of various shades, according to the quality and proportion of the colouring matter employed. The scarlet dye is communicated to wool-

DYE ING. 313 To give scarlet the bright lively red, which, as it apSimple Siiile len stuffs by means of cochineal, the history and properties Cun-9- of which we have already detailed. The Mexicans, as proaches to the colour of fire, has been distinguished by Colours, appears from their history, employed alumina as the basis the name ol fiery scarlet, a yellow tinge is communicated brighter or mordant to fix the colour of cochineal; and previous to by boiling fustic in the first bath, or by adding a little tur- re the discovery of the solution of tin, the use of the same meric to the cochineal. A larger proportion of the solusubstance seems to have prevailed in Europe. The fine tion of tin also produces this yellow shade, but it renders colour obtained from the latter received, as we have al- the cloth harsh, and limits the action of the colouring ready mentioned, different names in different places; as matter. The use of fustic or turmeric, therefore, although that of bow dye in England, scarlet of the Gobelins in France, the colour obtained from them is not permanent, is preferable to an excess of the solution of tin. When these suband in Holland Dutch scarlet. j,r() IS In the process for dyeing scarlet two operations are ne- stances are used, the inside of the cloth, when it is cut, cessary. The first is denominated the boiling, and the se- appears yellow; but in the ordinary processes, the cochicond is distinguished by the name of finishing or redden- neal, it is found, does not penetrate the cloth, for when no Uoi g- ing* The operation of boiling, which is the first part of other substance is employed the cloth is internally white. The use of tin boilers is recommended in dyeing scar- Tin and the process, is conducted in the following manner:—For one hundred pounds of cloth, six pounds of pure tartar are let. When copper boilers are employed, the acid acts on copper 011 618, added to the water, which is made pretty warm. The the metal, and thus forming a solution, injures the beauty k bath is then to be briskly stirred; and when the heat has of the colour. Tin boilers, however, are attended with increased a little more, half a pound of powdered cochineal several inconveniences. It is difficult to procure them of is to be added, and the whole is then to be well mixed. The sufficient size, and they are apt to be melted by the incaunext moment five pounds of a very clear solution of tin are tious continuance of the fire after they have been emptied. to be poured in and carefully mixed. When the bath be- In the use of copper boilers there are several necessary gins to boil, the cloth is introduced, and briskly moved for precautions. They must be kept very clean, the acid two or three turns: after which it is moved more slowly. liquor should not be allowed to remain in them for any The boiling having continued for two hours, the cloth is length of time, and some contrivance should be adopted to taken out, exposed to the air, and carried to the river to prevent the cloth from touching the metal, either by using a net or a wicker basket. be well washed. Different proportions of materials, we have observed, are Different Re :ning. In the preparation of the second bath, which is for the reddening, the boiler is to be emptied, and when the bath recommended by different authors. For the boiling, Scheffer proportions in r g chas just reached the boiling point, five pounds and three directs an ounce and a half of solution of tin, with an equal 1 611 quarters of cochineal, previously powdered and sifted, are quantity of starch, and as much tartar, to every pound of !! !8to be added. These are to be carefully mixed; and after cloth. The effect of the starch is to give more uniformity having ceased stirring, when a crust has formed on the to the colour. When the water boils, a dram of cochineal surface, and opened of itself in several places, thirteen or is to be added; it is then to be well stirred, and after the fourteen pounds of solution of tin are poured in. Should wool is introduced, to be boiled for an hour, taken out, and the bath during the boiling rise above the edge of the washed. The proportions for the reddening bath, in which boiler, it may be cooled with a little cold water. This so- the wool is to be boiled half an hour, are half an ounce of lution being well mixed, the cloth is put in, and two or starch, three fourths of an ounce of solution of tin, half an three times quickly turned. It is then boiled in the bath ounce of tartar, and seven drachms of cochineal. In Scheffor an hour, taking care to keep it under the surface. It fer’s process, it may be observed, the proportion of solution is afterwards taken out, exposed to the air, and, when it of tin is smaller than in that of Hellot, but the quantity of has cooled, washed in the river and dried. tin in the solution of the former is greater than in that of Prprtion There are no determinate proportions of cochineal and the latter. (l1 pe- solution of tin in either of these operations. Hellot inPoerner has described three principal processes, accord- Poerner’s U'Ha. forms us that some dyers employ two. thirds of solution of ing to the variety of the shade of the scarlet. He uses noPr°ces3. tin and one fourth of cochineal in the boiling or first ope- cochineal in the boiling; the materials of which are one ration, and the other one third of the solution of tin with ounce and six drachms of tartar, and an equal weight of the remaining three fourths of the cochineal in the second solution of tin, the latter being added after the tartar is disoperation, or the reddening. He adds farther, that the solved, for every pound of cloth. As soon as the boiling use of tartar gives a greater degree of permanency to the has commenced, the cloth is introduced, and it is boiled colour, provided the proportion do not exceed one half the for two hours. For the reddening of the first process he weight of the cochineal employed. According to Berthol- employs two drachms of tartar and one ounce of cochineal, let, several dyers at present adopt this practice. Tartar, adding gradually afterwards two ounces of solution of tin. he observes, promotes the solution of the colouring mat- For the reddening of the second process the same quanter; and this effect is greater when it is ground with the tity of cochineal and solution of tin, without any tartar, is cochineal, after which it is found that the residuum is more employed. In the reddening of the third process, two completely exhausted. But this consideration is of infe- drachms of tartar with one ounce of solution of tin, one rior consequence when the operations are successively ounce of cochineal, and two ounces of common salt, are performed, because any colouring matter that may remain directed to be used. The colour produced in the first prom the residuum is employed in the next operation. It cess has the deepest shade, that of the second is more liveought not, however, to be overlooked, that the tartar com- ly, while that of the third is paler and brighter. niunicates to the colour a rosy hue. By the use of tartar in the reddening in different pro-Different rac ce portions, various shades of scarlet may be obtained. When shades, pr ss out^of*s the ^le Pboiling. ^ °fThey somemerely dyers not to remove the cloth refresh it, and perform it is employed, the shade is deeper and fuller; but when the operation of reddening in the same bath. When this it is entirely omitted, the scarlet approaches to an orange is done, the infusion of cochineal, made in a separate ves- colour. The shade of colour also is subject to considerable sel, and mixed with the proper proportion of solution of variety, from the different degrees of strength of the soluhn, is added. By conducting the process in this way the tion of tin. To ascertain this effect, Berthollet made a scarlet is supposed to be equally fine, and there is a con- number of experiments. He found that a solution of tin, siderable saving of time and fuel. composed of sixteen parts of nitric acid, two of muriate of VOL. vm.

314 DYEING. Simple ammonia, and three of tin, produced a deeper shade than a good one. The object being to obtain a protochloride of sii Colours when the proportions of the acid and muriate of ammonia tin, one would think that muriatic acid would be a better CoL were equal, with only two parts of tin. The last propor- vehicle. Tin dissolves in this acid very well, and the pro- ~ tions, he observes, succeeded best. Four parts of water tochloride of tin formed in this way is easily obtained in were mixed with the solution. When the proportion of crystals. But the tin mordant, as prepared by the dyers, muriate of ammonia amounted only to half a part, the co- contains a great excess of nitric acid; and we cannot avoid suspecting that this excess is connected with the shade of lour was brighter, and inclining to orange. Use of Common salt has the effect of increasing the brightness scarlet produced. The nitric acid doubtless renders a part common of scarlet, while it is also attended with the advantage of of the colouring matter of the lac yellow, and thus changes salt. causing the colour to penetrate deeper into the cloth. It the dark crimson colour natural to this dyestuff into seems difficult to explain why common salt, which gives scarlet. Cochineal is still employed to a considerable extent in a deeper shade to the colour of the infusion of cochineal, and indeed produces a similar effect on colours in general, dyeing the finest kinds of woollen cloth scarlet. The proshould diminish the intensity of the colour of scarlet. The cess is precisely the same as when lac is employed, reproportion of common salt mentioned above is, according membering only that cochineal is much richer in colourto Poerner, the greatest that can be employed. When less ing matter than lac, and that therefore a smaller quantity is used, the shade, though lighter, is more agreeable. By will serve. Dr Bancroft introduced the method of putadding five ounces of white sugar to the ingredients of the ting the cochineal, the tin mordant, and the tartar into second process, a fine colour, which is always lighter than the dyeing vessel at once, and dissolving them all together that of the first process, will be obtained. The colour, it in water before the cloth is passed through the liquid ; and is said, is more permanent, and the shade more agreeable, this method is pretty generally though not universally folwhen the cloth is left twenty-four hours in the boiler after lowed. Dr Bancroft’s method of using quercitron bark to supit has cooled. Method of fo,. dyeing fine woollen cloth the lac dye is commonly ply the place of a portion of the cochineal, is likewise using t le usecj. it comes to the dyer in the state of a fine powder, pretty generally followed. The price of cochineal, in conlac dye. having a brownish-red colour, inclining to violet. It consequence of the introduction of the lac dye, has sunk from tains much less colouring matter than cochineal, but is in- thirty shillings the pound to about nine shillings and sixcomparably cheaper. To dye forty-three pounds of fine pence. This makes the saving not so considerable in point woollen cloth, six pounds of lac, three pounds of cream of of expense as it was when Bancroft wrote, though even at tartar, and five pounds of tin mordant are put into a dye- present it is an important saving. ing vessel, either of tin, or at least lined with tin, with a To produce different shades of scarlet, and the otherDiffe sufficient quantity of water. The whole is brought to the colours which are derived from it, all that is necessary is scarlt shads f boiling temperature, and after it has boiled briskly a suf- to vary the proportions of cochineal, tartar, and solution of ficient time to dissolve the colouring matter, the cloth tin; and for the shades which incline most to yellow, the is passed through it for about an hour, or till it has acquir- addition of quercitron bark or fustic is requisite. The use ed the requisite depth of colour. of the tartar is to deepen the colour, and the solution of Tin morThe tin mordant used is made by dissolving two ounces tin produces a shade of orange. When the shade of colour dant, how of tin in thirty pounds of aquafortis mixed with one pound required to be communicated to the stuff is light, the time made. of muriatic acid. The solution is transparent, and it is kept of continuing the process must be shortened.1 in well-corked bottles for use. The tin is doubtless in the Crimson.—The processes which are employed to dyeCrini; state of protochloride, though it sometimes also gets into wool a crimson colour are two. The stuff is either dyed the state of perchloride. Either state will answer, but in crimson at once, or the crimson shade is communicated to the second case the dyeing process is much slower, the it after being previously dyed of a scarlet colour. To dye cloth not seeming to imbibe the perchloride of tin so ra- crimson by a single process, a solution of two ounces and^ pidly as the protochloride. From the above proportions, it a half of alum and an ounce and a half of tartar for every0116?1 is obvious that to dye forty-three pounds of woollen cloth pound of stuff, is employed for the boiling, and the stuff iscesi’ scarlet, one third of an ounce of tin converted into proto- afterwards to be dyed with an ounce of cochineal. It is chloride is sufficient. This is rather less than 146 grains usual also to employ solution of tin, but in smaller proporof tin; so that each pound of the woollen cloth combines tion than for dyeing scarlet. The processes employed, it with not more than 3-4 grains of tin. It is obvious from is scarcely necessary to observe, must vary according as this that the particles of tin must be exceedingly minute the shade wanted is deeper or lighter, or more or less disindeed, otherwise 3-4 grains of tin could not be so minute- tant from scarlet. Common salt is also employed by some ly divided as to cover the surface of a pound weight of in the boiling. To render the crimson deeper, and to give woollen cloth. it more bloom, archil and potash are frequently used; but W hen the dyer wishes the scarlet to assume a brighter this bloom, it ought to be observed, is extremely fugacishade, he sometimes adds a little quercitron bark, which, ous. By adding tartar and alum, the boiling for crimson by the yellow colour which it induces, adds materially to is sometimes prepared after a scarlet reddening; and it is the brightness of the colour. This plan was first suggest- said that the colour possesses more bloom when both the ed by Dr Bancroft, and it has been since pretty generally boiling and reddening are made after scarlet, than when acted on. the crimson is dyed in a fresh bath prepared on purpose. Dr Bancroft recommended the tin mordant to be pre- In dyeing these colours the wild cochineal may be empared by dissolving tin in muriatic acid mixed with one ployed ; but as it contains a smaller proportion of colouring fourth of its weight of sulphuric acid. This solution, he matter, the quantity must be greater. says, answers very well, and is much cheaper. We cannot Different substances, as the alkalies, alum, and earthy01''3)1 find, however, that any of the dyers in this country follow salts in general, convert the colour of scarlet to crimson,00^ that process. We can hardly think that the present me- which is the natural colour of cochineal. To effect this, thod of using so much nitric and so little muriatic acid is the stuff’ previously dyed scarlet is boiled for an hour in a 1

Eerthollet, ii. IQ4-

DYE le solution of alum, the strength of which is to be regulated d urs. by the depth of shade required. In conducting this process, it is necessary to observe, that water impregnated with earthy salts has a considerable effect in varying the shade, so that the quantity of alum employed must be proportioned to the purity of the water. Hellot tried soap, soda, potash, and some other substances, and although they produced the crimson, yet it was of a deeper shade, and had less lustre, than what was produced by means of alum. Ammonia produced a good effect, but, from its great volatility, a considerable proportion must be put into the bath, moderately heated, with a little sal ammoniac, and an equal quantity of potash. By this process the stuff became of a bright rosy colour, and thus rendered a smaller quantity of cochineal necessary. Poerner directs the stuff, previously dyed scarlet, to remain twenty-four hours in a cold solution of sal ammoniac and potash. Hi train To produce crimsons, as well as scarlets, in half grain, crirtn, madder is to be substituted for half the quantity of the &c.j cochineal; or in other proportions, according to the shade desired. The same boiling is given as for scarlet in grain, and the other parts of the process are to be conducted as for reddening the scarlet or crimson. Even the common madder red assumes a greater degree of lustre when the boiling is made after the reddening for scarlet. At present we are not aware that kermes is ever employed by the dyers in this country. The use of this dye-stuff seems to have been completely superseded by cochineal and lac dyes. Certainly the colour given by kermes is not so fine as that given by these substances, but it has the advantage of being exceedingly durable. . 1

III.—Method of dyeing Silk Red. Difrent Madder Red.—The colour which is obtained from madpraises der does not possess sufficient brightness for dyeing silk. wit; nad- We shall here, however, describe some of the processes dei which are employed for this purpose. That of De la Folie is the following: Haifa pound of alum is to be dissolved in each quart of hot water, and two ounces of potash are afterwards to be added. When the effervescence has ceased, and the liquor has become clear, the silk must be kept in it for two hours, after which it is to be washed and put into the madder-bath. The silk which is dyed in this way becomes more beautiful by means of the soap proof. The process of Scheffer is somewhat different. For each pound of scoured silk he directs a solution of four ounces of alum and six drachms of chalk to be prepared. When the sediment has formed, the solution is to be decanted, and having become quite cold, the silk is immersed in it, and left for eighteen hours. It is then taken out and dried, and afterwards dyed with an equal weight of madder. The colour thus obtained is of a dark shade. Mr Guhliche describes another process. For every pound of silk he proposes a bath of four ounces of alum and one ounce of solution of tin. When the liquor has become clear it is decanted, and the silk carefully soaked m it for twelve hours, after which it is to be immersed in a bath with half a pound of madder softened by boiling with an infusion of galls in white wine. The bath is to be kept moderately hot for an hour, and then made to boil for two minutes. The silk, being taken from the bath, is to be washed in a stream of water, and dried in the sun. The colour thus obtained is very permanent. By leaving out the galls it is clearer. The brightness of the first colour may be considerably increased by passing the stuff through a bath of Brazil wood, to which one ounce of solution of tin is added. In this way the colour becomes » Pro s extremely beautiful and durable. vitlMra. bilk is sometimes dyed with Brazil wood, and the cobd. lour thus obtained has been distinguished by the name of

I N G. 315 false crimson, to distinguish it from the more durable co- Simple lour which is produced by cochineal. The silk, after being Colours. boiled with soap, is to be alumed. It is then to be refreshed at the river, and dipped in a bath more or less charged with Brazil juice, according to the depth of shade required. If pure water be employed, the colour will be too red for crimson ; but to remedy this, the stuff may be passed through a weak alkaline solution, or a little alkali may be added to the bath, or the stuff may be washed in hard water till it has acquired the proper shade. To deepen the shade of false crimsons or dark reds, the solution of logwood is added to the Brazil bath, the silk being previously impregnated with the latter; or a little alkali may be added, according to the shade required. The crimson produced by cochineal is called grain crim- With coson, to distinguish it from false crimson. The silk, being cluneal, well cleansed from the soap at the river, is to be immersed in alum liquor of the full strength, and to remain for a night. It is then to be wmshed and twice beetled at the river. The bath is prepared by filling a long boiler two thirds with water, to which are added, when it boils, from half an ounce to two ounces of pow'dered white galls for every pound of silk. When it has boiled for a few moments, from two to three ounces of cochineal, also powdered and sifted, for every pound of silk, are put in, and afterwards one ounce of tartar to every pound of cochineal. When the tartar is dissolved, one ounce of solution of tin is added for every ounce of tartar. In the preparation of this solution of tin, the following proportions are recommended by Macquer. For every pound of nitric acid two ounces of sal ammoniac, six ounces of fine grain tin, and twelve ounces of water, are employed. When these ingredients are mixed together, the boiler is to be filled up with cold water ; and the proportion of the bath for every pound of silk is about eight or ten quarts of water. In this the silk is immediately immersed and turned on the winch till it appear to be of a uniform colour. The fire is then increased, and the bath is kept boiling for two hours, taking care to turn the silk occasionally. The fire is afterwards put out, and the silk put into the bath, where it is allowed to remain for a few hours longer. It is then taken out, washed at the river, twice beetled, wrung, and dried. Two processes are recommended by Scheffer and Macquer. In that of the former, a greater proportion of cochineal is employed in the dye-bath ; but in that of the latter, a yellow ground is previously communicated to the silk. The colour which is thus obtained resists the action of soap, and is more durable than that which is produced by means of carthamus. To obtain other shades of red, the above processes must be varied. If, after the silk has been wrung out of the solution of tin, it is steeped for a night in a cold solution of alum, in the proportion of one ounce to a quart of water, wrung, and dried, then washed and boiled with cochineal, it will only appear of a pale poppy colour; but a fine poppy Poppy red. red may be produced by steeping it twelve hours in the solution of tin, diluted with eight parts of water, then left all night in the solution of alum, washed, dried, and passed through the two baths of cochineal, taking care to add to the second bath a small quantity of sulphuric acid. The same colour may be produced by dyeing the silk previously with anotta, and then passing it successively through a number of baths prepared with an alkaline solution of carthamus, to which lemon juice has been added, till it acquire a fine cherry-colour. To brighten the colour, the silk, after being dyed, may be immersed in hot wTater acidulated with lemon juice. Other shades of red, as a cherry red, and flesh red, areCherrv also produced by carthamus. For a cherry red it is notred, &c. necessary that the stuff be previously dyed with anotta,

316 DYEING. Simple and the proportion of colouring matter is smaller. A Glasgow the Turkey-red dye has gradually made its way Sir s Colours, flesh-red colour is obtained by adding a little soap to the into Lancashire. c0r bath, which has the effect of softening the colour, and of Cotton cloth which is to receive the Turkey-red dye is retarding the action of the colouring matter on the stuff. never bleached beforehand; because it has been found To produce dark shades, it is sometimes usual to mix that the first parts of the processes succeed better with unbleached than with bleached cloth. archil, and by this means the expense is diminished. 1. The first step of the dyer is to remove the weaver’s The Scarlet. Those who have produced a colour on silk which comes nearest to scarlet, Berthollet observes, begin with dyeing dressing. This is done by steeping the cloth in a weak steep the silk crimson. It is then dyed with carthamus, and alkaline ley. To this the technical name of \X\q rot steep lastly it is dyed yellow without heat. By this process a is given. From four to five pounds of caustic potash are fine colour is obtained; but the dye of the carthamus is generally employed for every 100 lbs. of cotton cloth. not permanent, as it is destroyed by the action of the air, The temperature of the solution is from 100° to 120°, and and the colour becomes deeper. The following is Dr the cloth is kept in2 the steep for twenty-four hours, and Bancroft’s process. In a solution of murio-sulphate of tin, then well washed. diluted with five times its weight of water, the silk is to 2. From seven to ten pounds of carbonate of soda are be soaked for two hours; and after being taken out, it is dissolved in a sufficient quantity of water to keep the cloth to be wrung and partially dried. It is then to be dyed in (supposed always to weigh 100 lbs.) wet. In this ley the a bath prepared with four parts of cochineal and three of cloth, previously deprived of the weaver’s dressing, is quercitron bark. In this way a colour approaching to boiled for some time. 3. The process which we are now going to describe is The scarlet is obtained. To give the colour more body, the immersion may be repeated both in the solution of tin and the one upon which the goodness of the Turkey-red dye steep in the dyeing bath ; and the brightness of the scarlet is in- depends more than upon any of the others. Without it creased by means of the addition of carthamus. A lively the dye cannot be produced upon new cloth; but when Rose co- rose colour is produced by omitting the quercitron bark, cloth which has been frequently washed with soap is to lour. and dyeing the silk with cochineal only; and by adding a be dyed (an old cotton shirt, for example), this process large proportion of water to the cochineal, a yellow shade may be omitted altogether. It is evident from this that is obtained, which changes the cochineal to the compound soap communicates to cotton cloth the same properties as scarlet colour.1 the process which we are now going to describe. A liquor is composed of the following ingredients: IV.—Method of dyeing Cotton and Linen Red. 1 gallon of gallipoli oil, I^- gallon of soft sheep dung, The dyestuff usually employed to give a red colour to cotton and linen is madder. It is easier to dye cotton than 4 gallons of solution of carbonate of soda, of the spelinen; but as the processes are the same for each, one cific gravity 1*06, 1 gallon of solution of pearl ash, of the specific gravity general description will apply to both. There are two 1-04, kinds of madder red ; the one is called simple madder red, and the other, which was originally invented in the Levant, mixed with a sufficient quantity of cold water to make up is distinguished in this country by the name of Turkey twenty-two gallons. The specific gravity of this liquor red. This last constitutes by far the brightest and most should be from L020 to 1*025. beautiful and permanent red which is communicated to This liquor has a milk-white appearance, and is in fact cotton; we shall therefore proceed to give a somewhat a kind of incipient soap. It is put into a large wooden particular account of the process. open cylindrical vessel, called the liquor tub (see Plate The method was first put in practice in Glasgow about CCVI. fig. 1 and 2), and is kept continually in a state of forty years ago, by M. Papillon, a French gentleman, who agitation by a kind of wooden levers, driven round in it established a Turkey-red dye-work along with Mr Mack- by machinery put in motion by the steam-engine. This intosh. He made an agreement with the commissioners and liquor is conveyed by a tin pipe to the padding machine, trustees for manufactures in Scotland, that the process was which is situated in an apartment below. Several secto be by them published for the benefit of the public at the tions of this machine are given in the same plate, fig. 3, 4, end of a certain term of years. The period agreed upon hav- and 5. A kind of trough in this machine is kept always ing expired in 1803, the trustees laid a minute account of full of the milky liquor, and the pieces of cloth to be dyed the different processes before the public. Since that period are made to pass through this liquid, and are thoroughly Turkey-red dyeing has been conducted in Glasgow upon a soaked with it. very extensive scale. Different individuals, possessed of By this process the cloth is impregnated with the soapy both chemical skill and considerable sagacity, have stu- matter, and the longer this matter is left undisturbed on died the different parts of this very complicated method the cloth, the better does it take the dye. Fourteen days of dyeing. The effects of each individual operation have is the least period that this impregnation is allowed to rebeen carefully investigated, and the whole has been some- main. what shortened and simplified, though it still constitutes the The sheep dung gives the cloth a dark-green colour, most complicated process in the whole art of dyeing. The and is found materially to assist the bleaching which the Turkey-red dye is practised by a considerable number of cloth afterwards undergoes. This bleaching goes on much persons in Glasgow; but the oldest, and perhaps the most more rapidly with than without the sheep dung, especiextensive establishment, is that of Henry Monteath and ally when the cloth is exposed on the grass between the Company at Rutherglen Bridge. The character of that different operations. In what way the sheep dung conhouse has been long established, and the beauty of their tributes to this acceleration has not been determined, but Turkey-red dye is known and appreciated in every part the fact is certain.3 of the globe where British manufactures are known. From 4. When the weather is favourable, the cloth, after be1

Philosophy of Permanent Colours, 312. - In general the alkaline ley of No. 9 is worked up in this process,-and when this is done less potash is required. No advantage has been found to result from using the alkalies caustic in this process ; and a mixture of potash and soda answers much better than soda alone. 3

DYE I N G. ■ 317 substituted for nutgalls, thirty-three lbs. of sumach being Simple < iple \x\v impregnated with the oleaginous liquor, is spread upC wrs. on the grass to dry. But should the weather be rainy, considered as equivalent to eighteen lbs. of nutgalls. Colours. wp-' as it would not do to allow the oleaginous liquid to be Sometimes a mixture of nine lbs. nutgalls and sixteen and washed out by the rain, the goods are dried in the stove. a half lbs. of sumach is employed. Through this decoction the cloth is either tramped by 5. After the cloth has been dried in the stove, it is a second time impregnated with the oleaginous liquid de- the hand, or it is passed and soaked in it by means of the scribed in No. 3, by means of the padding machine. It is padding machine. The temperature of the decoction then spread on the grass for some hours if the weather be should be from 80° to 100°. It is unnecessary to steep the cloth in the gall liquor; a complete soaking is all favourable, and ultimately dried in the stove. The impregnation with the oleaginous liquor, the ex- that is necessary. The cloth, thus soaked in a decoction posure on the grass, and the stove drying, are repeated a of fustic, comes out dyed yellow, a colour which serves to third time. When the weather is rainy, which prevents improve the madder red by rendering it more lively. 11. The next process is to fix the alumina mordant The alumexposure on the grass, and obliges the workmen to dry the cloth at once in the stove, the impregnation with the upon the cloth. This step is essential, because withoutingit the madder dye would not remain fixed in the cloth, oleaginous liquor is sometimes repeated a fourth time. Upon the sides of the tubs in which the oleaginous but would be easily washed out. Accordingly the depth liquor is kept, a white solid crust gradually accumulates. of the shade of red depends entirely upon the quantity of This matter being examined, was found to consist almost alumina fixed on the cotton. In a preceding part of this entirely of phosphate of lime. It was doubtless derived article we have stated the quantity of alumina fixed by from the sheep dung with which the saponaceous liquid this process upon the surface of a square yard of cloth. In this country common alum is usually employed; but was mixed. 6. The next process is to steep the cloth in a weak so- in many parts of the Continent they use acetate of alumina. lution of pearl ash, of the specific gravity 1-0075 to 1-01, The high price of that article prevents its employment in heated to the temperature of 120°. From this liquor it Britain. Acetate of alumina, however, is made in this country by the chemical manufacturers, and largely used by is wrung out and again dried. 7. A mixture is now made of the following substances: the calico-printers. It is made by mixing acetate of lime (obtained by saturating the acetic acid formed when wood 1 gallon gallipoli oil, is distilled with lime) with a solution of alum, and after3 gallons soda ley of specific gravity 1-06, wards drawing off the clear liquor; or by mixing acetate 1 gallon caustic potash ley of specific gravity l-04 to steep them twenty-nine hours in this solution; and if extensively used; but if not made use of till the end of it should appear that the liquor is exhausted of colouring two years, they yield a greater quantity of colouring matmatter, a fresh portion is to be employed. In this way a ter, at which time their odour has become peculiarly disfine permanent black is obtained. According to the same agreeable and fetid. The peels separated from the nuts author, this solution may be advantageously employed as before they arrive at maturity, may likewise be used in a substitute for sulphate of iron, in dyeing silk and wool. dyeing, but in this state they do not keep so long. Sumach {rkus coriaria, Lin.) is a shrub produced na- Sumach, But to give them a fine black, silk and woollen stuffs must be dipped in a decoction of logwood after they are taken turally in Palestine, Syria, Portugal, and Spain, being carefully cultivated in the last two of these countries. Its from the bath. shoots are annually cut down, dried, and reduced to powder in a mill, by which process they are prepared for Sect. V.— Of Brown. the purposes of dyeing. The infusion of sumach, which is of a fawn colour with Properties, The last of the simple colours is browm. This is also known under the name of fawn colour (fauve, Fr.). It is a greenish tinge, is changed into a brown by exposure to that brown colour which has a shade of yellow, and might the air. A solution of potash has little action on the reperhaps be considered as a compound colour, although it cent infusion of sumach ; its colour is changed to yellow is communicated to stuffs by one process. by the action of acids; the liquor becomes turbid by means of alum, a small quantity of precipitate being at the I.—Of the Substances employed in Dyeing Brown. same time formed, and the supernatant liquor remaining " ut The vegetable substances which are capable of indu- yellow. A copious precipitate of a yellowish-green colour lie ' cing a fawn or brown colour on different stuffs are very is thrown down by sulphate of copper, and the liquor renumerous, but those chiefly employed for this purpose mains clear. No change is speedily produced by muriate are walnut peels and sumach. The peels constitute the of soda (common salt), but it becomes rather turbid at the green covering of the nut; they are internally of a white end of some hours, and its colour is rather clearer. Sulcolour, which is converted into brown or black by expo- phate of copper produces a copious precipitate of a yellowsure to the air. The skin, when impregnated with the ish green, which after standing some hours changes to a juice of walnut peels, becomes of a brown or almost black brownish green ; the supernatant liquor, which is slightly

332 DYEING. Simple yellow, remains clear. Sulphate of zinc renders the liquor tion of walnut peels, and the addition of metallic oxides Compc i Colours, turbid, darkens its colour, and produces a deep blue pre- as mordants. The oxide of tin, he found, yielded a clearer Colou 1 I cipitate; but when the sulphate of zinc is pure, the pre- and brighter fawn colour than that of the simple decoccipitate, which is of a brownish fawn colour, is in very tion. The oxide of zinc produced a still clearer colour, small quantity. Acetate of lead gives a copious precipi- inclining to ash or gray. The colour from oxide of lead while that from oxide of iron was of tate of a yellowish colour; the supernatant liquor is of a had an orange cast, 1 clear yellow colour. No astringent has so strong a re- a greenish brown. A fawn colour, which has a shade of green, is obtainedDyein< semblance to galls as sumach ; but the precipitate thrown i down from an infusion of it by a solution of iron, is not so from sumach alone ; but to cotton stuffs which have beensi mac copious as that which is yielded by an equal quantity of impregnated with printers’ mordant, or acetate of alumina, ^ galls, on which account sumach may be generally em- sumach communicates a good and durable yellow. Here, ployed as a substitute for galls, only its quantity will re- however, some precaution is necessary in the use of this substance for this purpose ; for as the colouring matter is quire to be increased. Bark of The bark of the birch tree (betula alba, Lin.) yields a of so fixed a nature, the ground of the stuff' cannot be birch. decoction of a clear fawn colour, but it soon becomes tur- bleached by exposure on the grass. This inconvenience bid and brown. The addition of a solution of alum, in is avoided by impregnating the whole of the stuff with the open air, produces a copious yellow precipitate; a so- different mordants, producing in this way a variety of colution of tin gives also a copious precipitate of a clear yel- lours, and leaving no part white. Vogler employed the tincture of sanders wood for dye-With Jl low colour. With solutions of iron the decoction of the birch tree strikes a black colour, and it dissolves in con- ing patterns of wool, silk, cotton, and linen, having previ-dalwoj siderable quantity the oxide of iron, but in smaller pro- ously impregnated them with a solution of tin, and afterportion than the "decoction of walnut peels. On account wards washing and drying them. Sometimes he used the of this property, it is employed in the preparation of black solution unmixed, and at other times added six or ten parts of water, and in whatever way he employed it he vats for dyeing thread. Sandal Sanders or sandal wood (Petrocarpus sachtalinus) is also obtained a poppy colour. When the mordant employed wood. employed for the purpose of giving a fawn colour. There was the solution of alum, the colour was a rich scarlet; are three kinds of sandal wood, the white, the yellow, and with sulphate of copper it was a clear 2crimson, and with the red. The last only, which is a compact heavy wood, sulphate of iron a beautiful deep violet. brought from the Coromandel coast, is used in dyeing. By exposure to the air it becomes of a brown colour; CHAPTER V. when employed in dyeing, it is reduced to fine powder, and it yields a fawn colour with a brownish shade, inclinOF COMPOUND COLOUH^. ing to red. But the colouring matter which it yields of itself is in small quantity, and it is said that it gives harshA mixture of two colouring substances, it is well known,Naturr ness to woollen stuffs. When it is mixed with other sub01 stances, as sumach, walnut peels, or galls, the quantity of produces a very different shade from that of either of thecorop colouring matter is increased ; it gives a more durable co- uncombined colouring matters; hence compound coloursco^uri lour, and produces considerable modifications in the colour- are obtained, which are merely mixtures of simple colours. ing matter with which it is mixed. Sandal wood yields It would undoubtedly be a desirable thing to ascertain with its colouring matter to brandy, or diluted alcohol, more accuracy the peculiar shade produced by the combination readily than to water. of two colouring matters ; but these results can only be Soot. Soot communicates to woollen stuffs a fawn or brown certainly known by experiment, because by the action of colour, of a lighter or deeper shade, in proportion to the different substances in the bath they are subject to great quantity employed; but the colour is fading, and its affi- variations in their effects, according to the affinities which nity for wool is not great; and besides leaving a disagree- are brought into action, and the new combinations which able smell, it renders the fibres harsh. In some manufac- are formed. What is natural to colouring particles is not tories it is employed for browning certain colours, and it to be considered as a constituent part of compound colours, produces shades which could not otherwise be easily ob- but only the difference of shade which they ought to astained. sume with a particular mordant, or in a particular bath. The effects, therefore, of the chemical agents employed in II.— Of the Processes for dyeing Woollen, fyc. a Fawn these processes, and the result of different combinations, or Brown Colour. ought to be particularly attended to. It is in dyeing comWith wal- In dyeing with walnut peels, a quantity proportioned to pound colours that skill and ingenuity are most conspicunut peels, the quantity of stuff, and the intensity of shade wanted, is ous, and their application of greatest utility, to enable the boiled for fifteen minutes in a copper. All that is neces- dyer to vary his processes according to the shade desired, sary in dyeing with this substance is, to moisten the cloth and at the same time to accomplish his operations by the or yarn with warm water previous to its immersion in the shortest and cheapest means. copper, in which it is to be carefully stirred till it has As compound colours are obtained by the mixture offf1®3* ' acquired the proper shade. This is the process if the alu- simple colours, very different shades will be obtained from ^ minous mordant is not employed. In dyeing cloth, it is different proportions of the simple colours; hence comusual to give the deepest shades first, and the lighter ones pound colours exhibit an indefinite variety of shade, and afterwards; but in dyeing woollen yarn, the light shades the processes by which they are produced are very nuare given first, and the deeper ones afterwards. An ad- merous. It would extend this treatise to an unusual length were we to attempt to describe every variety of shade which ditional quantity of peels is joined to each parcel. BertholBerthollet made a number of experiments to ascertain is obtained from the mixture of simple colours. We shall let’s expe- the difference of colour obtained from the simple decoc- therefore limit our observations to some of the principal riments. 1

Elements of Dyeing, ii. 29 G.

2

Crell. Ann. 1790

DYEING. 333 Undcompound colours, and an account of the processes by in the same way as for dyeing yellow, with this difference, Compound Co irs. which they are obtained, leaving it to our readers, who that a larger proportion of weld is employed, excepting for Colours, have made themselves familiar with the principles already lighter shades, when the proportion must be smaller. In detailed, to vary these colours by employing different pro- dyeing green, it is usual to have a succession of shades at portions and different combinations of simple colouring the same time ; the process is begun with the deepest and ends with the lightest. Between each dip there should be matters. Compound colours have been usually divided into four an interval of one half or three quarters of an hour, and at classes, namely, green, purple, orange, and gray or drab each interval water is added to the bath. It is the praccolour. These are obtained from mixtures of the follow- tice of some dyers to give each parcel two dips, beginning the first time with the deep shades, and the second with ing simple colours: the lighter ones ; but when this practice is followed, the 1. Blue and yellow produce a green. time of immersion should be shortened. In dyeing very 2. Red and blue produce a purple, &c. light shades, the bath should never be permitted to reach 3. Red and yellow produce orange. the boiling temperature. For deep greens, a browning is 4. Black and other colours produce gray, &c. The following sections will be occupied in a short detail given with logwood and a small proportion of sulphate of of the methods which are usually employed in producing iron. For some kinds of green, sulphate of indigo is employed; Saxon these different compound colours. and in this case either the blue and yellow are dyed se-green* Sect. I.—Of the Mixture of Blue and Yellow, or Green. parately, or the whole of the ingredients are mixed together in the bath, and the whole process is finished at a single operation. The colour thus obtained has been disVai is Green colours, from the great variety of shades which shac of they exhibit, have been long known by different names, tinguished by the name of Saxon green. The following is grei by which the intensity of shade is characterized, such as the process recommended by Dr Bancroft. “ The most beautiful Saxon green,” says he, “ may be sea-green, apple-green, meadow or grass-green, pea-green, parrot-green, &c. Many plants afford a green colour, such produced very cheaply and expeditiously, by combining as brome grass (bromus secalinus, Lin.) green berries of the lively yellow which results from quercitron bark, muriorhamnus frangula, wild chervil (ehcerophyllum sylvestre, sulphate of tin, and alum, with the blue afforded by inLin.), purple clover (trifolium pratense), common reed digo when dissolved in sulphuric acid, as for dyeing the (arundophragmites). These colours, however, do not pos- Saxon blue. “ To produce this combination most advantageously, sess sufficient permanency. According to D’Ambourney, indeed, a permanent green may be obtained from the fer- the dyer, for a full-bodied green, should put into the dyemented juice of the berries of the berry-bearing alder ing vessel after the rate of six or eight pounds of powder(rhamnus frangula). Having previously prepared the cloth ed bark in a bag for every 100 pounds weight of cloth, with with tartar, solution of nitrate of bismuth, and common only a small proportion of water as soon as it begins to salt, he added to the fermented juice of the berries, after grow warm; and when it begins to boil, he should add it was warmed, a small proportion of acetate of lead ; and about six pounds of murio-sulphate of tin (with the usual in this bath he communicated to the cloth an intermediate precautions), and a few minutes after, about four pounds of shade between parrot and grass green. But it is usually alum. These having boiled together five or six minutes, from the mixture of blue and yellow that green is obtain- cold water should be added, and the fire diminished so as ed; and it may be observed, that it requires much skill to bring the heat of the liquor nearly down to what the and experience, especially in giving light shades, to pro- hand is able to bear; and immediately after this, as much duce a colour which is uniform and entirely without spots. sulphate of indigo is to be added as will suffice to produce the shade of green intended to be dyed, taking care to I.—Of the Processes for dyeing Woollen Stuff's Green. mix it thoroughly with the first solution by stirring, &c.; Cajnon To dye woollen green, either the yellow or the blue dye and this being done, the cloth, previously scoured and may be given to it first. But when the stuff is first dyed moistened, should be expeditiously put into the liquor, and yellow, and in this state is introduced into the blue vat, turned very briskly through it for a quarter of an hour, in part of the yellow colouring matter being dissolved in the order that the colour may apply itself equally to every part, vat, communicates to it a green colour, which renders it which it will certainly do in this way with proper care. unfit for dyeing any other colour than green. To avoid By these means, very full, even, and beautiful greens may this inconvenience, therefore, the blue colour is first given, generally be dyed in half an hour ; and during this space it and afterwards the yellow. It would be quite unnecessary is best to keep the liquor at rather less than a boiling heat. to resume the account of any part of the processes for dye- Murio-sulphate of tin is infinitely preferable for this use ing blue, which have been already detailed. It is proper, to the dyer’s spirit, because the latter consists chiefly of however, to add, that the intensity of the blue shade must nitric acid, which, by its highly injurious action upon inbe proportioned to the green, or to the depth of the green digo, would render that part of the green colour very fucolour which is wished to be obtained. Thus, for instance, gitive, as I have found by repeated trials. But no such to produce a parrot green, a ground of sky blue is given, effect can result from the murio-sulphate of tin, since the and for the green like that of a drake’s neck, a deep blue muriatic acid has no action upon indigo; and the sulphuis required. When the blue dye has been communicated, ric is that very acid which alone is proper to dissolve it for the yellow is afterwards given, according to some of the this use. processes which have been already described for dyeing “ Respecting the beauty of the colour thus produced, yellow. The proper ground being communicated to the those who are acquainted with the unequalled lustre and cloths, they are washed in the fulling mill, and boiled as brightness of the quercitron yellows, dyed with the tin for the common process of welding; but when the shade basis, must necessarily conclude that the greens composed is light, the proportion of salts should be less. Cloths therewith will prove infinitely superior to any which can which are to receive light shades are first boiled, and when result from the dull muddy yellow of old fustic; and in these are taken out, tartar and alum are added in fresh point of expense it is certain that the bark, murio-sulphate portions till the cloths which are intended for the darkest of tin, and alum, necessary to dye a given quantity of cloth shades are boiled. The process of welding is conducted in this way will cost less than the much greater quantity

t

334 DYEING. Compound (six or eight times more) of fustic, with the alum neces- which are intended to incline most to the yellow should Comp, j Colours. sary for dyeing it in the common way, the sulphate of in- be dyed first; and by adding sulphate of indigo, the green Cob1 1 digo being the same in both cases. But in dyeing with having a shade of blue may be obtained. This process, the bark, the vessel is only to be filled and heated once, Dr Bancroft observes, is tbe most commodious and cerand the cloth, without any previous preparation, may be tain for dyeing most beautiful Saxon greens upon silk.2 completely dyed in half an hour : whilst in the common To produce English green, which is more beautiful thanEnpli* way of producing Saxon greens, the copper is to be twice common green, and is said to be more durable than the green. filled ; and to this must be joined the fuel and labour of Saxon green, Guhliche gives the following process. He an hour and a half’s boiling and turning the cloth in the first dyes the silk of a light blue in the cold vat already course of preparation, besides nearly as much boiling in described, then soaks it in warm water, washes it in a another vessel to extract the fustic ; and after all, the dye- stream, and dips it in a weak solution of alum. He then ing process remains to be performed, which will be equal prepares a bath of sulphate of indigo, one ounce of soluin time and trouble to the whole of the process for pro- tion of tin, with the tincture of French berries made with ducing a Saxon green with the bark; so that this colour aceto-citric acid. The silk is kept in this bath till it has obtained from bark will not only prove superior in beauty, obtained the desired colour. It is then washed and dried but in cheapness, to that dyed as usual with old fustic.”1 in a shady place. Lighter shades may be dyed afterwards.3 II.— Of the Processes for dyeing Silk Green. III.— Of the Processes for dyeing Cotton and Linen Green. PreparaIn giving silk a green colour, greater precaution is necesCotton and linen, after being scoured in the usual way,Biuej tmn. sary, to preserve uniformity of colour, and to prevent spots are first dyed blue, and after being cleansed, they aregiven. and stripes. Silk which is intended to receive a green dipped in the weld bath, to produce a green colour. The colour is scoured in the same way as for other colours; strength of the blue and yellow is proportioned to the but for light shades the scouring must be as complete as shade of green which is wanted. But as it is difficult to for blue. Silk which is to be dyed green is first dyed give to cotton velvet a uniform colour in the blue vat, it yellow, and being well alumed, it is slightly washed at the is first dyed yellow with turmeric, and the process is comriver, and divided into small parcels, that it may receive pleted by giving it a green with sulphate of indigo. The the colouring matter uniformly, and then carefully turned same result, however, will be obtained by commencing the in the weld bath. When the ground is supposed to have process either with the yellow or the blue. acquired a sufficient degree of intensity, a pattern is put The process which D’Apligny describes for dyeing cot-Procelir into the blue vat to ascertain the proper shade. When ton velvet, or cotton thread, a sea or apple green, in onecottoa • this is the case, the silk is taken out of the bath, washed, bath, is the following. A quantity of verdigris is dis-vetand immersed in the blue vat. To produce a deeper co- solved in vinegar, and the mixture is kept excluded from lour, and at the same time to give variety of shade, a de- the air in the heat of a stove for fifteen days. A quancoction of logwood, fustic, or anotta is added to the yel- tity of potash equal in weight to the verdigris employed low bath, after the weld has been taken out. For very is dissolved in water, and, four hours before dyeing, it is light shades, such as apple and sea green, it is scarcely ne- added to the solution of verdigris. The mixture is to be cessary to add, that a weaker ground is to be given. For kept hot. One ounce of alum in five quarts of water for all light shades, except sea-green, the process is found to each pound of stuff being prepared, the cotton thread or succeed better when the yellow is communicated by baths velvet is soaked in this solution. It is then taken out, which have been already used; but these baths should not and the verdigris being added to the solution of alum, contain any logwood or fustic. it is again introduced to be dyed. Saxon Saxon green is produced by means of sulphate of indiThe different shades of olive green, and drake’s neck Olive green. go. This is a brighter but less durable colour than the green, are given to thread after it has received a blue green, former. This process is conducted by boiling as for weld- ground, by galling it, and dipping it in a weaker or stronging, after which the cloth is washed. Fustic in chips is er bath of iron liquor, then in the weld bath, to which enclosed in a bag, put into the same bath, and boiled for verdigris has been added, and afterwards in the bath with an hour and a half, when it is taken out, and the bath sulphate of copper. The colour is lastly to be brightened allowed to cool till the hand can bear it. A pound and a with soap. quarter of sulphate of indigo for each piece of cloth of Cotton dyed with Prussian blue may be dyed green byGreeii eighteen yards is added. The cloth is at first to be turned previously aluming while it is still wet with the blue, andfrom quickly, and afterwards more slowly, and it should be then dipping in a weld bath, the strength of which is pro-8121111 taken out before the bath boils. Some dyers put in only portioned to the shade required. The colour from weld two thirds of the solution at first, and after two or three is more lively than that obtained from fustic. But fustic, turns take out the cloth and add the other one third. By which gives a deeper shade than weld, and diminishes the this means the colour is more uniform. brightness of the blue, is to be preferred when a green By one To produce Saxon green at one operation, the follow- with an olive shade is wanted. operation. ing process is recommended by Dr Bancroft. A bath is The shade of green given to any stuff, it is obvious,Gene prepared of four pounds of quercitron bark, three pounds must vary according to the intensity of the blue shade,reman of alum, and two pounds of murio-sulphate of tin, with a the strength of the yellow bath, and the nature of the sufficient quantity of water. The bath is boiled ten or fif- yellow colouring matter employed. Yellow colours are teen minutes, and when the liquor is so far reduced in rendered more intense by means of alkalies, sulphate of temperature as the hand can bear it, it is fit for dyeing. lime, and ammoniacal salts; but become fainter by means By adding different proportions of sulphate of indigo, va- of acids, alum, and solutions of tin. In dyeing Saxon rious and beautiful shades of green may be obtained, and green the result will be different according to the process the colour thus produced is both cheap and uniform. Care which is followed. The effects will be different by addshould be taken to keep the bath constantly stirred, to pre- ing a yellow to a Saxon blue, from the process in which vent the colouring matter from subsiding. Those shades the sulphate of indigo is mixed with the yellow ingre* 1

Phil, of Perm. Col. 336.

Ibid. 346.

3

Berthollet, ii. 319.

I 1

335 D Y E I N G. has been employed. The stuff is previously dyed blue, Compound r jn und clients; because in the latter case the sulphuric acid has Col rs. a considerable action on the colouring matter, and thus and, to give a brown shade, sulphate of iron is used; but Colours, diminishes the intensity of the yellow. As the particles the colours thus obtained are not permanent. By the folof indigo have a stronger affinity for the stuff than the lowing process, described by Decroizille, a durable dye is yellow colouring matter, in dyeing a succession of shades produced by means of this wood. He dissolved tin in in a bath in which both are mixed, the bath being first sulphuric acid, to which were added common salt, red aciexhausted of the indigo, the last shades incline more to dulous tartrite of potash, and sulphate of copper; or it the yellow, on account of the predominance of the yellow may be more conveniently done by making a solution of tin in a mixture of sulphuric acid, common salt, and wacolouring matter. ter, to which are to be added the tartrite and sulphate in the state of powder. Of this mordant not less than Sect. II.— Of the Mixture of Red and Blue, or 1500 quarts were made in twenty-four hours, in a leaden Purple, fyc. vessel to which a moderate heat was applied. A very luBy the mixture of red and blue, violet, purple, dove- crative trade was carried on for three years by Decroizille, colour, lilac, and a great variety of other shades, accord- who sold it at the rate of Is. 3d. sterling per pound. If wool in the fleece is to be dyed, it will require a third Process, ing to the proportion of the substances employed, or the predominance of the blue or the red, are produced. In of its weight of this mordant, while a fifth is a proportion stuffs which are to be dyed violet, a deeper blue must be sufficient for stuffs. A bath is prepared of such a degree given ; for purple colours, the ground requires to be of a of temperature as the hand can bear, with which the morlighter blue ; but in lilac and other light colours, it is neces- dant is properly mixed, and the wool or stuff dipped in it and stirred; the same degree of temperature being kept sary that both the blue and the red have a light shade. up for two hours, and increased a little towards the end ; I.— Of dyeing Wool Violet, Purple, &;c. after which it is taken out, aired, and well washed. A In the attempts which have been made to communicate fresh bath of pure water is prepared at the same tempea violet or purple colour to a scarlet ground, according to rature, to which is added a sufficient quantity of the dethe observations of Hellot, the colour is very unequal. It coction of logwood; the stuff is then immersed, stirred, becomes therefore necessary to give the blue colour first; and the heat increased to the boiling temperature, which and for violets or purples, the shade of blue ought not to be is to be continued for fifteen minutes, after which, the deeper than that of sky blue. The stuff being dyed blue, stuff being taken out, aired, and carefully rinsed, the prois boiled with alum, and two fifths of tartar, and is after- cess of dyeing is completed. If for every three pounds ot wards dipped in a bath composed of nearly two thirds wool one pound of decoction of logwood has been used, the quantity of cochineal required for scarlet, with the and a proportionate quantity for stuffs which require less, addition of tartar. The same process, indeed, as for dyre- a fine violet colour is produced, to which a sufficient quaning scarlet, is followed. It is a common practice to dyp tity of Brazil wood imparts the shade known in France by these colours after the reddening for scarlet, making such the name of prune de Monsieur. Logwood and Brazil, fustic and yellow wood, are co- Different additions of cochineal and tartar as the intensity of the louring substances which may be fixed with advantage shades shade may require. other Lil. &c. For lighter shades, as lilacs, dove-colours, &c. the stuff upon wool by means of this mordant. The colour cam-from 811 8 ances ‘ may be dipped in the bath which has served for violet municated by the two first of these is liable to be changed and purple, and is now somewhat exhausted, taking care in the fulling by the action of the soap or urine employed to add a quantity of alum and tartar. For reddish shades, for that purpose; but this change, which is always prosuch as a peach-blossom, a small proportion of solution duced by alkaline substances, is remedied by a slightly of tin is added. It may be observed in general, that acid bath a little hot, called brightening, for which the although the proportion of cochineal is less in dyeing sulphuric acid has the preference. 'I he colour becomes lighter shades, the quantity of tartar must not be dimi- as deep, and frequently much brighter than before the change. Wools which have been dyed by means of this nished. Cto ier mordant are said to admit of being spun into a finer and To obtain the same colours, a shorter and less expenm lorter sive process is recommended by Poerner. In this process more beautiful thread than by the use of alum. Ir the ^ he employs sulphate of indigo. He boils the stuff in a so- use of sulphate of copper is omitted, more beautiful colution of alum, in the proportion of three ounces of the lours are produced by fustic and yellow wood, as well as latter to one pound of the former, for an hour and a half, by weld. An orange-red colour is communicated by madand afterwards allows it to remain in the liquid for a night der, but not so deep as with a similar quantity of alum. after it has cooled. The dyeing bath is prepared with an When sulphate of copper is omitted, the wool is said to ounce and a half of cochineal, and two ounces of tartar, become much harsher, and the mordant thus prepared which are boiled for three quarters of an hour: two ounces yields but indifferent colours with logwood, and in partiand a half of sulphate of indigo are then added, the whole cular with Brazil wood. The use and carriage of this moris stirred, and boiled gently for fifteen minutes. The dye- dant are inconvenient, on account of the heavy sediment ing operation is conducted in the usual way', and a beau- by which the vessel is half filled under a corrosive liquor, tiful violet is thus obtained. To have all the variety of capable only of being kept in stone ware. T hese inconshades which are produced by the mixture of red and veniences may be remedied by the omission of the water blue, the proportion of the sulphate of indigo is increased in the receipt, which leaves only a paste more conveor diminished. It is sometimes increased to five ounces, niently used, and the carriage of it two fifths cheaper. The above process is thus explained by Berthollet. The Nature of and diminished to five drachms, for each pound of stuff. The quantity of cochineal is also varied, but when it is decomposition of the muriate of soda is effected by the the process, less than an ounce the colour is dull. Different proportions action of the sulphuric acid; and the muriatic acid being of tartar are also employed. To produce variety of shades, thus disengaged, dissolves the tin, part of which is precithe stuff is also prepared with different proportions of so- pitated by means of the tartaric acid, producing the sediment already mentioned. The oxide of copper produces lution of tin. P e 1f f'rc loti'. To communicate a purple colour to wool, as well as the blue with the colouring particles of the logwood; the some other shades, logwood, with the addition of galls, violet is formed by the oxide of tin with the same wood.

336 DYE Compound and the red with the colouring matter of the Brazil wood. Colours. The same ingenious chemist farther observes, that as an excess of acid is retained in the liquor, it might probably be of advantage to employ acetate as a substitute for sulphate of copper, in which case the action of the free acid would be moderated. He thinks it would still be more advisable to make use of verdigris; because the uncombined part of the oxide of copper would in that case unite with the excess of acid, on which account a smaller quantity of acid would remain in the liquor; and probably the quantity of tartar might be diminished,1 as a smaller quantity of tin would thus be precipitated. II.— Of dyeing Silk Violet or Purple. Two kinds Silk is capable of receiving two kinds of violet colours, of violet, denominated the fine and the false, the latter of which is produced by means of archil or Brazil wood. When the fine violet colour is required, the silk must first be passed through cochineal, and dipped afterwards in the vat. The preparation and dyeing of the silk with cochineal are the same as for crimson, with the omission of tartar and solution of tin, by means of which the colour is heightened. The quantity of cochineal made use of is always proportioned to the required shade, whether it is more or less intense ; but the usual proportion for a fine violet colour is two ounces of cochineal for each pound of silk. When the silk is dyed it is washed at the river, twice beetled, dipped in a vat more or less strong in proportion to the depth of the violet shade, and then washed and dried with precautions similar to those which all colours require that are dyed in the vat. If the violet is to have greater strength and beauty, it is usual to pass it through the archil bath; a practice which, though frequently abused, is not to be dispensed with for light shades, which would otherwise be too dull. Purple. When silk has been dyed with cochineal according to the above directions, only a very light shade is requisite for purple; the shades which are deepest are dipped in a weak vat, while dipping them in cold water is sufficient for such as are lighter, the water having been incorporated with a small quantity of the liquor of the vat, because in the vat itself, however weak it might be, they would acquire too deep a tinge of blue. In this manner are the light shades of this colour, such as gilly-flower, peachblossom, &c. produced by diminishing the quantity of cochineal. False vio- There are various ways of imparting to silk what are lets. denominated the false violets; but those which are most frequently used, and possessed of greatest beauty, are prepared with archil, the bath of which is, in point of strength, to be suited to the colour required. Having been beetled at the river after scouring, the silk is turned in the bath on the skein sticks; and when the colour is deemed sufficiently deep, a pattern is tried in the vat, to ascertain whether it takes the violet colour intended to be produced. , If the shade is found to have acquired the proper depth, the silk is beetled at the river and dipped in the vat, in the same way as for the fine violet colours; and less either of the blue or of the archil colour is given, according as it is meant that the red or blue shade of the violet colour should predominate. Process of The process recommended by Guhliche for communiGuhliche. eating a violet colour to silk is the following. A pound of silk is to be soaked in a bath of two ounces of alum and a like quantity of solution of tin, after having carefully poured off the sediment formed in the mixture. The dye-bath is prepared with two ounces of cochineal re1

I N G. duced to powder, with a drachm of tartar, and the remain-Compc ing part of the bath, which has answered the purpose of a Coloi mordant, with the addition of a sufficient quantity of wa- ^Y ter. When slightly boiled, such a quantity of solution of indigo is added as may communicate to the bath a proper shade of violet; after which the silk is immersed, and boiled till it has acquired the intended shade. It is then wrung, washed in a stream, and, like every other delicate colour, must be dried in the shade. The light shades exhaust the bath. But it ought to be observed that this colour, which is said to be a beautiful violet, possesses but little durability, and is apt to assume a reddish tinge, owing to the colour of the indigo fading first. A violet colour may be imparted to silks by immersing Anoth them in water impregnated with verdigris, as a substitute for aluming, and next giving them a bath of logwood, in which they assume a blue colour, which is converted to a violet, either by the addition of alum to the bath, or by dipping them in a weaker or stronger solution of that substance, which communicates a red colour to the particles of logwood. This violet possesses but a small degree of beauty, and little durability; but if alumed silk be immersed in a bath of Brazil wood, and next in a bath of archil, after washing it at the river, a colour is obtained possessing a much higher degree of beauty and intensity. The process described above for dyeing wool succeeds equally well, according to M. Decroizille, in communicating to silk a violet colour. III.— Of dyeing Cotton and Linen Violet. The most ordinary mode by which a violet colour is Comm communicated to cotton and linen stuffs, is first to giveProces them a blue ground in the vat, proportioned to the required shade, and to dry them. They are afterwards galled, in the proportion of three ounces of galls to a pound of stuff, and being left in this bath for twelve or fifteen hours, are wrung out and dried again. They are next passed through a decoction of logwood, and when thoroughly soaked and taken out, the bath receives an addition of two drachms of alum and one of dissolved verdigris for each pound of cotton or thread. The skeins are then dipped again on the skein sticks, and turned for about fifteen minutes, when they are taken out and aired. They are next immersed in the bath for fifteen minutes, taken out, and wrung. To complete the process, the vat employed is emptied; half of the decoction of logwood not formerly made use of is now poured in, with the addition of two drachms of alum, and the thread is again dipped in it till it has acquired the shade proposed, which must always regulate the strength or weakness of the decoction of logwood. This colour resists in a considerable degree the action of the air, but in point of permanency is much inferior to that which is obtained from the use of madder. Sect. III.— Of the Mixtures of Yellow and Red, or Orange. Orange is the usual result of a composition of yellow and red colours; but an almost endless variety of shades may be produced, according as we vary the proportion ol the ingredients, and the particular nature of the yellow made use of. It is sometimes the practice of dyers to combine blue with yellow and red, the result of which is the colour denominated olive. Many varieties may be obtained from the use of weld, saw-wort, dyers-weed, and other yellows, and by employing tartar, alum, sulphate ol zinc, or sulphate of copper, in the bath, or in the preparation of the cloth.

Berthollet, ii. 340.

DYEING. 337 tions are mixed together in various proportions, according Compound Com und I.— Of dyeing Wool Orange. to the particular shade required. The thread or cotton is Colours, . Coi rs^ yr-^ By a process exactly the same as that which is followed dipped in the compound solution in the usual way. Oran? by in communicating to stuffs a scarlet colour, an orange may the Sji'let be given to wool; but the quantity of red must be dimipr'j'.1 " nished, and that of the yellow increased. If wool is dyed Sect. IV.— Of the mixture of Black with other Colours. The compound colours which are obtained from the Brown, a red colour by means of madder, and afterwards yellow with weld, the resulting compound is a cinnamon colour, mixture of black and other colours, are brown, gray, drab, and the most proper mordant in this case is a mixture of &c. according to the nature and proportions of the simple alum and tartar. The shades may be varied at pleasure colours employed. by substituting other yellow dyestuffs instead of weld, and I-—Qf dyeing Woollen Stuffs Brown, Gray, 8fc. by varying the proportions as circumstances may require. To give a browning to cloth, as soon as it has been dyed, Wool may receive a reddish yellow colour by passing it through a madder bath, after it has undergone the usual it is dipped in a solution of sulphate of iron, with the adprocess for yellow, which has already been described. The dition of an astringent, which makes a black bath. It is strength of the madder bath is always to be proportioned more common to mix a small quantity of solution of iron to the shade required. Brazil wood is sometimes em- with a bath of water, adding more till the dyed stuff dipployed with yellow substances, or mixed with cochineal ped in it has received the intended shade. Sulphate of and madder. Snuff, chestnut, musk, and other shades are iron is sometimes added to the dye bath; but by dipping produced by substituting walnut-tree root, walnut peels, the dyed stuff in a solution of this salt, the end is more easily attained. It is the usual practice of M. Poerner to or sumach, for weld. soak the stuff in a solution of sulphate of iron, to which II.— Of Dyeing Silk Orange, 8$c. other ingredients are sometimes added; and after having Logwood, Brazil wood, and fustic, communicate to silk taken it out of the mordant, it is dipped in the dye bath. In order to obtain coffee and damascene colours, withcCoffee kc-! a marone and cinnamon colour, together with all the intermediate shades. The silk is scoured in the usual man- other shades of browns of the common dye, the first me- °l°ur. ner, alumed, and a bath is prepared by mixing together thod is adopted; a colour more or less deep is communidecoctions of the three different woods mentioned above, cated to them, according to the shade intended to be obmade separately, varying the quantity of each according tained by the browning; and a bath is made of galls, suto the shade intended to be given; but the proportion of mach, and alder bark, with the addition of sulphate of fustic should be greatest. The silk is turned in the bath iron. Those stuffs are first dipped to which the lightest on the skein sticks, and when it is taken out, if the colour shades are to be communicated, and when these are finishbe uniform, it is wrung and again dipped in a second bath ed, the browner ones are dipped, a quantity of sulphate of of these three ingredients, according to the effect pro- iron being added for each operation, proportioned to the duced by the first, in order to obtain the shade required. effect intended to be produced. Bluish grays are communicated to stuffs, according to Gray. The blue vat is not made use of when an olive colour 01i\ is to be communicated to silk. After being alumed, it is Poerner, by the solution of indigo in sulphuric acid, comdipped in a bath of weld, which is made very strong. To bined with a mixture of decoction of galls and sulphate of this is afterwards added the juice of logwood, with a small iron, varying the shades according to the different quanquantity of solution of alkali when the silk is dipped. tities of these ingredients made use of. If to a bath comThis converts it into green, and gives the olive colour. posed of cochineal, fustic, and galls, sulphate of iron be It is dipped again in this bath till it has acquired the added, other shades are obtained. For marone, and such other colours as bear a strong reshade wanted. To communicate to it the colour known by the name of semblance to it, sanders and galls are employed, and somerotten olive, fustic and logwood are added to the bath after times a browning with the addition of logwood. If dyed welding, without any alkali. If the colour wanted is to in the remains of a cochineal bath, these colours may be incline more to a red, the addition of logwood alone is made to incline to a crimson or purple; and the same efsufficient. A sort of reddish olive may likewise be ob- fect is produced by adding a small quantity of madder or tained by dyeing the silk in a fustic bath, to which a cochineal to the bath. A little tartar gives a greater degreater or less quantity has been added of sulphate of gree of brightness to the colour. With a mixture of galls, iron and logwood. fustic, and logwood, and a greater or smaller quantity of madder, with the addition of a little alum; those colours Ill—Of dyeing Cotton and Linen Orange, fc. may be communicated to stuffs which are known by the Cimjaon A cinnamon colour is communicated to thread and cot- name of hazel. Hazel. colo ton by commencing the process for dyeing them with verM. Guhliche produces what is called a puce colour, by pUce co. digris and weld; they are afterwards to be dipped in a boiling for fifteen minutes a pound of woollen stuff with lour, solution of sulphate of iron, denominated by the French two ounces of alum, a certain proportion of vinegar and bain dassurage, and then wrung out and dried. As soon as solution of iron, after which he leaves it in the mordant for they are dried, they are galled in the proportion of three twelve hours. He then makes a bath with the decoction ounces to the pound of stuff; then dried again, alumed as of two ounces of white galls carefully poured off from the for red colours, and maddered. After being washed and sediment, and mixed with four ounces of madder, in which, dried, they are put into hot soap suds, and turned till they when it grows hot, the stuff is immersed, after being taken have acquired a sufficient degree of brightness. It is the out of the mordant, allowing it to remain there, while the practice of some dyers to add to the aluming a decoction temperature is gradually increased, till the colour intendof fustic. ed has been imparted to it; after which it is boiled for two OliVji By boiling four parts of weld and one of potash in a suf- minutes, washed, and dried in the sun. The colour thus ficient quantity of water, M. d’Apligny informs us, a fine obtained possesses a great degree of durability. It is of olive colour is communicated to cotton and thread. Brazil a deeper brown by the omission of the alum and vinegar wood which has been steeped for a night is boiled sepa- in the mordant; and after these colours the lighter shades rately with a small quantity of verdigris, and these solu- are dyed. Sumach may be employed as a substitute for VOL. VIII. 2u

338 DYE Compound half of the madder. Different brown colours, possessing ^Colours, considerable permanency, may likewise be produced by the use of Brazil and logwood, if more or less of a solution of iron be mixed with a decoction of these substances. The wool being previously alumed and galled, is dyed in it. Purple violet.

Brick colour.

II.— Of dyeing Silk with Mixtures of Black, 8$c. M. Guhliche imparts to silk a purple violet without a b]ue groun(]} w;th a mixture of one part of galls dissolved in white wine, with three parts of water, in which a pound of silk is macerated for twelve hours, soaked in a mordant made up of two ounces of alum, one ounce of solution of tin, and half an ounce of muriatic acid. After wringing the stuff, it is dyed in a bath composed of two ounces of cochineal and a small quantity of solution of iron, till the intended shade has been communicated; and for shades which are lighter, the residua of these baths are sufficient, either separately or mixed together. Madder may be used in the same way, macerating a pound of silk in a solution of alum mixed with an ounce of muriatic acid and a quantity of solution of iron. When the stuff is wrung out, it is dyed in a bath made of eight ounces of madder. When deeper colours are wanted, some of the solution of galls in white wine is mixed with the madder and cochineal baths. Silk may be dyed in a bath made of equal parts of Brazil and logwood juice, adding a certain quantity of solution of iron after the stuff has been soaked in a solution of two ounces of alum and an ounce of muriatic acid. If solution of galls be added, the colour becomes deeper. Colours resembling that of brick may be produced by immersing silk in an anotta bath, after preparing it with a solution of galls mixed with a certain quantity of solution of iron. By the mixture of Brazil, logwood, archil, and galls, and by a browning with sulphate of iron, a number of different shades are produced; but the whole of them have more or less a tendency to fade, although their brightness is very pleasing to the eye.

III.— Of dyeing Cotton and Linen with Mixtures of Black, fyc. With black A permanent violet colour may be given to thread and cask. cotton, when scoured in the ordinary way, by preparing a mordant with two quarts of the bath of what is called tbe black cask, and four quarts of water, for each pound of stuff, which is made to boil, and the scum is removed which forms on the surface, till it wholly disappears. The liquor is poured into a vat, and, when warm, four ounces of sulphate of copper and one ounce of nitre are dissolved in it. The skeins are left to soak in it for ten or twelve hours, wrung out, and dried. If it is required to produce a deep violet colour, two ounces of verdigris must be added to the bath; and if the nitre be omitted, the colour becomes still deeper by galling the thread more or less prior to its being put into the mordant. If the nitre be increased, and the sulphate of copper be diminished, the violet colour becomes more inclined to lilac. A number of various shades may be produced by different modifications of the mordants employed. Marone Cotton is galled, dipped, and wrought in the common colour. way, when different shades of marone colour are wanted. To the bath employed must be added more or less of the liquor of the black cask. The cotton is then washed in a bath mixed with verdigris, next welded, and dyed to a fustic bath, to which a solution of soda and alum is sometimes added. When the cotton prepared in this manner has been thoroughly washed, it is next well maddered, 1

I N G. dipped in a weak solution of sulphate of copper, and last Cali of all in soap suds. Print For some hazel and snuff colours, a browning is com- 113281 ''“’y < municated to stuffs by means of soot, after the welding and madder bath, to which galls and fustic have been added; sometimes soot is mixed with this bath, and a browning is likewise imparted by means of a solution of sulphate of iron; and for browning colours, walnut peels are sometimes employed as a substitute for solutions of iron. For such wools as are designed for the manufacture of tapestry they are very advantageous, because the colour is not changed into yellow by exposure to the air, as is the case in browning, which is imparted by means of iron, but remains a considerable time without any sensible change. The hue is indeed rather dull, but its goodness and very moderate price are sufficient to recommend a more extensive use of it for grave colours, which in common stuffs are sometimes fashionable. CHAPTER VI. OF CALICO-PRINTING. Calico-printing is the art of communicating different colours to particular parts of the surface of cotton or linen cloth, while the rest of the cloth retains its white ^colour; or the whole of the cloth may be dyed one colour, as red or blue, except particular parts, to which some other colours, as yellow, orange, green, &c. are given. The process is not confined to linen and cotton cloth ; it may be applied also to silk and woollen cloth; but as the nature of the processes is in all cases the same, it will answer our purpose sufficiently if we give a sketch of the methods followed by the calico-printers. There is a curious passage in Pliny’s Natural History, from which it is evident that calico-printing in his time (the first century) was understood and practised in Egypt. The following is a translation of this passage. “ There exists in Egypt a wonderful method of dyeing.Pract 1n The white cloth is stained in various places, not with dye-^ ^ stuffs, but with substances which have the property ofcient: absorbing (fixing) colours. These applications are not visible upon the cloth; but when the pieces are dipt into a hot caldron containing the dye, they are drawn out an instant after dyed. The remarkable circumstance is, that though there be only one dye in the vat, yet different colours appear on 1the cloth ; nor can the colours be afterwards removed.” It is evident enough that the substances employed to stain the cloth, as Pliny expresses it, were different mordants, which served to fix the dye upon the cloth. Thus if we suppose certain parts of a piece of cotton cloth to be impregnated with alumina, and the cloth afterwards dyed with madder, after the clearing, those parts only impregnated with the mordant would retain their red colour, while the remaining parts will continue white. The general opinion is, that this ingenious art originated in India, and from that country made its way into Egypt. Whether this notion be well or ill founded, it is certain that calico-printing was known and executed by the Indians at a very early period. Their colours were beautiful and fast, and the varieties of pattern and the number of colours which they understood to fix on different parts of the cloth gave to their printed calicoes a beauty and a value of no ordinary kind; but their processes are so tedious and so clumsy that they could be put in practice only where labour was exceedingly cheap.

Plinii Hist Nat. xxxv. 11.

« Pr iniJ^ jnt)ufed to luvs>e.

Minds of

339 DYEING. Most commonly the printing process is applied to fixing .CalicoIt is not more than a century and a half since calicoprinting was transferred from India to Europe, and little mordants on the cloth, which is afterwards dyed in the Printing, more than a century since it became common in Great common way, those parts only retaining the colour which Britain. The nations with whom it has made the greatest have imbibed the mordant, while the other parts of the progress are Switzerland; France, especially in Alsace; cloth remain white. Sometimes it is applied to cloth al*ome parts 0f Germany ; and Great Britain. In Europe ready dyed, in order to remove the colour from certain the art has been in a great measure created anew. By portions of it which are either intended to remain white, the application of machinery, and by the light thrown on or to receive some other colour afterwards. Sometimes it is applied to cloth before it is dyed blue, the processes by the improvements in chemistry, the tedious methods of the Indians have been wonderfully sim- in order to prevent the indigo from being fixed on those plified ; and the processes are remarkable for the rapidity parts to which it is applied, that they may remain white, with which they are executed, and for the beauty and or be afterwards made to receive other colours. Substances fastness and variety of the colours which are applied on possessed of this property are called resist pastes. Finally', it is frequently employed to communicate morthe surface of cotton and linen cloth. We shall endeavour in this chapter to give a sketch of dants and colouring matter at once to the cloth. Let us the different processes of calico-printing, such as they are take a view of all these different uses. at present practised by the most scientific printers in LanI.—Mordants. cashire, and in the neighbourhood of Glasgow. The different processes to which the cotton cloth desThe principal mordants employed by the calico-printers tined to be printed is subjected, are the following: singeing, bleaching, callendering, printing, stoving, dunging, are the following: 1. Alumina.—The usual aluminous mordant of the ca- How dyeing, brightening. , , 1. The singeing is intended to remove the fibres ot cot- lico-printers is alum, partly decomposed by acetate of made, ton which protrude on the surface of the cloth. This is lime. The liquid is made by dissolving alum in water, done by passing the cloth rapidly over the surface of a and adding acetate of lime to the solution. The liquid red-hot iron plate, which burns off all the hairs or pro- has a specific gravity of 1-08, and contains about as much truding fibres of cotton without injuring the cloth. Of alum undecomposed as the liquid can hold in solution. For particular purposes calico-printers make a mordant late years singeing has been effected by a very ingenious coal gas apparatus. But we need not dwell upon this pre- by mixing three parts of acetate of lead with four of alum. liminary process, because the singeing has been described This mordant consists of a mixture of acetate of alumina already in this Encyclopaedia under the article Bleach- and alum, for about a third part of the alum remains undecomposed. ing, to which we refer the reader. When cloth to be dyed red is impregnated with this 2. The methods of bleaching and callendering cotton have been already given at sufficient length under the article mordant, it is not thickened. When applied only to particular parts of the cloth by the block or the cylinder, it Bleaching. 3. There are two modes of printing; namely, block- is thickened with flour or calcined starch, or gum Senegal, printing and cylinder-printing. The former has been prac- according to the nature of the style of work. 2. Oxide of tin.—Perchloride of tin is very much used Chemical tised from time immemorial; the latter is a modern incolours vention, and originated probably after the introduction of as a mordant. The colouring matter is previously mixedwhat the art of printing into Great Britain. The figure intend- with it, and both are applied at once. Such applications ed to be communicated to the cloth is cut out upon a are called chemical colours. The mixture is allowed to block of sycamore, the parts which are to make the im- dry on the cloth, which is then merely washed with water. pression being left prominent, and the rest of the block Colours so applied are easily altered by light, soap, &c. cut away, just as practised for wooden engravings. When Hence, in common language, a chemical colour means a the figure is too complicated, and the lines too fine, to ad- fugitive colour. The colours produced in this way are, mit of being cut in wood, it is made by means of small pink, from Brazil wood, peach wood, and cochineal; purpieces of copper, which are very ingeniously driven into plC) from logwood; and yellow, with Persian berries. Perchloride of tin is much used in another and pretty Steam cothe block, and the intervals are filled up with felt. Great patience and ingenuity are displayed in making these common process of the calico-printers, known technically lours, blocks for use, and calico-printers are under the necessity by the appellation of steam colours. It is decomposed and of keeping a number of workmen at high wages for that converted into stannate of potash. The whole piece of cloth is immersed in the liquid containing the stannate of express purpose. The cylinder is a large circular copper plate, being a potash, and dried. The peroxide of tin is then precipicircular ruler, .several feet long, and several inches in dia- tated upon the cloth, by immersing it into a solution of meter, upon which the different figures to be given to the sal ammoniac or sulphate of magnesia, but most commoncloth are engraved; and by its circular motion the whole ly into a very weak solution of free sulphuric acid. The of these figures are impressed upon the cloth as it moves different colouring matters previously thickened with through under the cylinder. But the usual method of starch are then printed on the cloth, and the whole subcylinder-printing is to have the intended figures engraven jected to the action of steam. The consequence is, that upon a flat copper plate about a square yard (or more) in by the joint action of moisture and heat, a combination size. Upon this plate the colour to be applied is spread. takes place between the colouring matter and the oxide, It is then pulled. As it passes along, an elastic steel plate which is thus rendered insoluble; and no considerable called a doctor takes off all the colour except that which quantity of water is ever present to carry off the colourfills the engraving. It is then pressed against the white ing matter before it has combined with the mordant. In this way pink, purple, and yellow are obtained of cloth, on which it thus leaves exactly the impression of the engraving. This is a very common method of print- every variety of shade that can be produced by mixture ing pocket handkerchiefs. of these colours with each other, or with Prussian blue. 3. Peroxide of iron.—This metallic oxide is much used How used, Whether the printing is applied by the block, the cylinder, or by flat copper plates, the treatment of the goods as a mordant. It is employed in the state of acetated protoxide of iron, by dissolving metallic iron in pyrolignic is nearly the same.

n

340 DYEING. Calico- acid.1 In a few days after being applied to the cloth, perchloride deposites peroxide of iron on the cloth, which Printing, especially if exposed to a moist atmosphere, it loses its combines and produces the characteristic buff or orange Calk Print acid, and the iron becomes peroxidized. colour of that oxide. Acetate of iron, of specific gravity 1'05, gives a black Sulphate of iron is used in a variety of ways. It dewith madder. Various shades of purple are obtained by oxidizes indigo in the indigo vat, and renders it soluble adding different proportions of the mordant and dyestuff. in lime water. It produces gold, buff, &c. colours, and Various shades of red, from brown red to pink, are obtain- makes a good chemical black with logwood. ed in the same way, substituting the aluminous mordant 4. Protochloride of tin, when applied to cloth dyed of various strengths for the iron. Chocolates are got by brown by sesquioxide of manganese, immediately reduces mixing the aluminous and iron mordants, and then dyeing it to the state of protoxide, and thus discharges the colour with madder. and leaves the parts white. If it be mixed with Brazil These are the principal mordants employed by the ca- wood or cochineal, it discharges the manganese as before, lico-printers. Several substances have so strong an affi- but leaves a pink. When mixed with logwood it leaves a nity for the cloth that they require no mordant. This is purple, and when with Prussian blue, a blue. the case with indigo, sesquioxide of manganese, peroxide of To produce a yellow upon manganese, ground chloride To for iron, and chromate and dichromate of lead. of tin is mixed with sulphate of lead. The mixture thick-yellow, ened with calcined starch is printed on the manganese brown. As soon as it is dry, the manganese being reII.—Substances used for discharging Colours. duced to the state of protoxide, may be washed off; but Most colours are fixed in the cloth, either by means of the sulphate of lead adheres to the cloth, from an affinity mordants or by being in a particular state of oxidizement. which exists between them. The cloth being now passed Thus madder is fixed by means of alumina, and cochineal through a solution of bichromate of potash, those parts by means of oxide of tin. Sesquioxide of manganese loses containing the sulphate of lead are dyed a beautiful yelits fixity and is washed away by water the moment that low by the formation of chromate of lead. it is converted into protoxide. Hence, when the printers Chloride ot tin is capable also of removing peroxide ofToren wish to discharge a colour from cloth, they employ some- iron from cloth, by reducing it to protoxide, as it doestheiron. thing that will dissolve the mordant, or, if no mordant sesquioxide of manganese. For this purpose it is printed be present, will de-oxidize the colouring matter, which in on a deep colour, composed of peroxide of iron and querthat case is a metallic oxide. The dischargers, then, are citron yellow. The protochloride of iron is formed and either acids, or substances having a strong affinity for washed away, while the oxide of tin remaining, constioxygen. We shall point out the chief of these, and the tutes a mordant for the quercitron. And thus the parts way of applying them. to which the protochloride of tin was applied become Method of 1. Citric acid is much used by printers to dissolve alu- yellow. using. mina and peroxide of iron, and thus to prevent the coThe protochloride of tin is also employed occasionally lours which these mordants would fix from remaining on to discharge the orange, consisting of dichromate of lead the cloth. It is obtained by evaporating lemon juice, and fixed upon cloth. This it does by reducing the chromic thickening it with gum-senegal for the cylinder, or with acid to protoxide. As the green oxide of chrome still gum and pipe-clay for the block. It is occasionally assist- continues attached to the cloth,-the discharged parts do ed by bisulphate of potash or sulphuric acid. not assume a good white colour. But this does not much Sometimes the citric acid is printed on white cloth, and affect the blue and purple colours substituted for the orange, the aluminous or iron mordant slightly thickened and dried by mixing the protochloride of tin with Prussian blue or immediately, to prevent the swelling of the acid figures. with logwood. At other times the mordants are first applied, and the When protocbloride of tin is decomposed by carbonate acids printed over them. of soda, protoxide of tin is obtained. This protoxide is In both cases the goods are afterwards passed through used along with potash to render indigo soluble. The hot water containing cow’s dung, and well washed before protoxide de-oxidizes the indigo, and the potash dissolves drying. By this means all the mordant is removed from the yellow base. It is then applied to the cloth in the those parts on which the acid was applied, which of course way that will be explained afterwards. remains white when the cloth is dyed. 2. Tartaric acid thickened with gum is applied by the III.—Resist Pastes. block or cylinder to cloth previously dyed Turkey red. It is then passed through an aqueous solution of bleaching These pastes are substances which have the property powder. The acid disengaging the chlorine, the red co- of restoring the blue colour to dissolved indigo, and thus lour is discharged from those places to which it had been of preventing it from being fixed to those parts of the applied, while all the other parts of the cloth retain their cloth on which the resist pastes have been applied. Any red colour. substance which has the property of parting with oxygen When oxide of lead is deposited on the cloth along with readily answers this purpose. Thus sulphate of copper, the acid, and the cloth, after passing through the aqueous or any salt containing black oxide of copper, when put solution of bleaching powder, is made to pass through into the indigo vat, instantly revives the indigo, by comwater impregnated with bichromate of potash, the parts municating oxygen to it. The hydrated black oxide has which would otherwise have become white are changed the same effect, and so have the sesquioxide and the deutinto a fine yellow. This beautiful process is not confined oxide of manganese. to Turkey red. The calico-printer’s indigo vat is a very deep large ves-Nature To dis3. Protochloride of iron is used to discharge the man- sel filled with water, into which indigo, sulphate of iron, resist charge ganese brown and substitute a buff. This it does by de- and an excess of lime are put. The lime decomposes the pastes, manga- priving the manganese of its oxygen, and thus rendering sulphate ot iron, and the protoxide of iron thus disengaged it soluble; while the protochloride of iron converted into coming in contact with the indigo at the bottom of the 1

An impure acetic acid, obtained by distilling wood.

t

DYEING. 341 without minding whether it be applied by dyeing or printCalico0. vat, deprives it of an atom of oxygen, and thus renders Printing. pri-ng. it capable of combining with the lime, and of forming a ing. compound which dissolves in water and forms a yellow1. Red. ish-coloured solution. Where this solution is in contact The usual dyestuff for red among the calico-printers is with the atmosphere the indigo is revived, assumes its blue colour, and loses its solubility. Hence the blue scum madder. Goods which have received the aluminous morwhich always covers the surface; but this scum in some dant applied in figures either by the cylinder or the block, measure protects the rest of the vat. When cloth is dipt are first passed through hot water containing cow-dung, into this vat it comes out yellow; but the indigo, from and well washed. They are then put into a dye vessel its exposure to the air, gradually absorbs oxygen, so that along with madder and cold water, to which heat is grathe cloth becomes at first green, and finally blue. But dually applied either by means of steam or fire. The if to any parts of the cloth before dipping something pieces are kept constantly moving in the vessel till .they has been applied which has the property of giving out have gained the requisite depth of shade, when they are oxygen to the indigo, all the indigo which w ould have taken out and washed again. The colour given by the been imbibed by these parts has been revived before it madder to those parts of the cloth which have received no has had time to come in contact with the cloth ; and in mordant, is removed by boiling the cloth in water conthe blue state it has not the property of uniting with taining either bran or soap, both of which substances have the cloth, but may be easily washed off. Hence the the property of removing it without injury to the red parts to which the resist pastes, as they are called, have figure. Afterwards the white portion of the cloth is farbeen applied, remain white. The principal resist pastes ther improved by rinsing it in a weak warm solution of bleaching powder. are the following: When Brazil wood or peach wood is used instead of Enu :ra' 1. Blue paste, or vitriol paste, consists of a mixture of tion. sulphate and acetate of copper, and the solution is thick- madder, the mordant and method of dyeing are the same. ened with gum-senegal and pipe-clay for the block, and The cloth, however, does not bear the same treatment with flour for the cylinder. When the cloth on which this after dyeing, and does not require it, because these copaste has been printed is dipt into the indigo vat, the in- lours are much more easily removed from the parts of the digo is oxidized before it reaches the surface of the cloth. cloth destitute of mordant. After dyeing, the piece is passed through weak sulphuric 2. Pink. acid, to remove the oxide of copper which has been preThe most beautiful pink to be seen on calico is given cipitated. 2. Mild paste consists of sulphate of zinc, gum, and by means of cochineal. The mordant is alumina, and the pipe-clay. It is used along with other colours which method of proceeding similar to that already described. copper would injure, or which would be destroyed by im- Madder, when mixed with bran to remove the brown mersion in sulphuric acid. It resists a pale blue, and colouring matter, gives what is called a brown pinh. Safflower cannot be applied to cloth in figures, but it is the removal of the oxide of zinc afterwards by an acid is frequently employed for giving a uniform pink dye to not necessary, as when copper is employed. Sulphate of zinc, as well as all the other metallic salts, pieces of cloth. It is first steeped in water containing a and all the acids, precipitate indigo from its solution in carbonated alkali, which dissolves its colouring matter. lime. It does not revive indigo like the salts of copper ; The solution freed from the fibrous part of the dyestuff is but when the base of indigo is precipitated, it is not so then saturated by an acid, which is commonly lime juice. readily fixed as when in a state of solution. The oxide A piece of cloth immersed in this saturated solution exof zinc, w ith the gum and pipe-clay, act mechanically^ in tracts the pink colouring matter from it, which is afterwards heightened by immersion in weak cream of tartar. keeping it at a distance. 3. Red paste consists of the aluminous mordant already- By this means a very beautiful but fugitive colour is comdescribed, mixed with acetate of copper, gum, and pipe- municated. clay. It resists pale blues; and the alumina remains upon 3. Yellow. the portions which are white, to be afterwards dyed with madder and produce a red, or with quercitron for a yelThe most usual substance now employed by the calicolow. printers for communicating this colour is chromate of lead. 4. Neutral paste is the name given by calico-printers to The use of this very beautiful and fixed colour does not a compound of lime juice, sulphate of copper, gum, and go farther back than ten or twelve years. The writer of pipe-clay. It resists during a short dip in the blue vat; this article endeavoured about fourteen years ago to preand the lime juice gives it the property^ of remaining white vail upon some of the calico-printers in the neighbourhood when the piece is dyed in madder, even where the pre- of Glasgow to try it, but unsuccessfully. At last, after ceding aluminous paste goes over it. This acid also pre- much entreaty, Mr Ramsay, at that time an extensive vents the lime of the blue vat from precipitating copper marfufacturer of colours for calico-printers, was induced upon the cloth, which would give the cloth a deep-brown to make a small quantity of bichromate of potash, so as tinge in the madder vessel. to put it in the power of those who chose it to trjr how it 5. Chrome yellow resist paste consists of a mixture of would answer. Soon afterwards the use of it was introduced a salt of copper to resist the blue vat, with a salt of lead into some of the printing works of France. From that to produce a yellow with bichromate of potash after hav- country it soon made its way to Lancashire, and thence ing been dyed blue in the blue vat. to Glasgow. The bichromate of potash, when first preThese five constitute the principal resist pastes. There pared, sold as high as a guinea per pound. Of late years are indeed a few others, but they are oflittle importance, it has been as low as tenpence. The method of using this and they will easily suggest themselves to those who un- beautiful dyestuff is this : derstand the principles of chemistry. Acetate or nitrate of lead is applied to the cloth, either Meld: of describing the mode of printing mordants by means of the block or cylinder. The cloth is either It' n,r0 11 Instead the |i - t ^ co^our*ng matters at once, or of applying chemical co- immediately passed through a solution of bichromate of co4,IUU3fo«™> as they are called, we think it will be better to make potash, or the oxide of lead is in the first place set free a few observations on each particular colour in succession, from its acid by immersing the cloth in lime water, or

DYEING. 342 Calico- in some cases into an aqueous solution of bleaching pow- common aluminous mordant gives a black when cloth im- Cali i. Printing. der. Indeed the processes for applying chromic acid are pregnated with it is dyed in logwood. A chemical black Print | >1 varied in a great many ways, to suit the different colours is made from a decoction of nutgalls mixed with nitrated ' ~Y which are applied along with the yellow; as in the yel- peroxide of iron. Another chemical black is formed by low discharge for bronze, and the yellow resist on blue mixing a decoction of logwood with a solution of sulphate already described, the yellow discharge on Turkey red, of iron. If cloth be dyed successively blue, red, and yellow, it &c. &c. Quercitron bark is also often employed to communicate becomes black. a yellow by the calico-printers. The alumina mordant 6. Buff. is first applied, and the cloth is cleaned in the dung To produce this colour, the cloth is printed with a mixvessel in the way described when giving an account of madder dyeing. Quercitron bark gives out its colouring ture of sulphate and acetate of iron. After having had matter at a lower heat than madder; and the parts of time to be partly peroxidized and partially decomposed, the cloth to which no mordant has been applied remain it is washed in water; or if a stronger buff is wanted, it is tolerably white after the cloth has been washed in cold rinsed in cream of lime till the protoxide is converted into water. the red. No mordant is required, as the peroxide of iron A decoction of Persian berries constitutes likewise a has a strong affinity for cotton cloth. common yellow dyestuff for calico-printers. The decoc7. Gold. tion is mixed with the requisite portion of alum to act as For this colour the process is the same as for buff. The a mordant; but a combination between the alumina and the yellow colouring matter takes place without the inter- only difference is, that the solution is stronger. vention of a third agent. It is effected either by exposing 8. Orange. the cloth to the action of steam, or by putting the piece into water containing an alkali or its carbonate. The most beautiful orange is given by means of dichromate of lead. It is obtained by saturating bichromate of 4. Blue. potash with potash or lime, and immersing in it while hot, The usual dyestuffs for giving a blue colour to calicoes cloth printed with a salt of lead. Nitric acid changes this orange into yellow, by uniting with half the oxide of are indigo and Prussian blue. The method of forming the indigo vat has been already lead. mentioned. The cloth is dipped in the clear solution. 9. Green. When taken out it is yellow, and gradually becomes blue by absorbing oxj'gen from the atmosphere. If a deep shade The fast green, discovered by Mr James Thomson of is wanted, the cloth is immersed again, when it receives an Primrosehill, near Clitheroe, and commonly known by the additional quantity of indigo, which must be oxidized, as name of Warwick's green, is a mixture of the pencil blue the former was, by exposure to the air. These alternate already described, and aluminated potash. The mixture dips and airings are repeated till the requisite shade is is thickened and applied as the blue is. The alumina attained. is then precipitated from its alkaline solution by being What is called 'pencil blue, is a solution of indigo in passed through a weak solution of sal ammoniac or sulcaustic potash or soda, the indigo being de-oxidized by phate of magnesia. The cloth is then dyed yellow in means of orpiment. The solution is thickened by means quercitron bark. It is sufficiently known that the two coof British gum, or gum-senegal, and printed upon the lours blue and yellow form a green. cloth either by the block or cylinder. When upon the Carbonate of copper makes a poor faint green upon cloth, cloth, the indigo attracts oxygen from the air, and thus while the hydrated black oxide forms a bright blue. It is becomes blue and fixed. The gum, alkali, loose indigo, obtained bjr printing on a strong solution of copper, and &c. are washed away in water. dipping the cloth, when dry, into strong caustic potash or Prussian blue may be applied to cloth in various ways. soda. We shall mention some of the principal of these. The colour called Scheele's green is a mixture of arsenite 1. An iron mordant is first applied to the cloth, and al- of copper and the hydrated black oxide. It is obtained lowed to remain untouched till the iron has had time to be by printing on the cloth a strong solution of copper thickperoxidized, and in that way become fixed. The piece is ened with gum, and then dipping it into a mixture of arthen cleaned as for dyeing, and dipt into a solution of senite of potash and caustic potash. Hot water destroys prussiate of potash mixed with sulphuric acid, to disengage this colour, by depriving the oxide of copper of its water. the acid or cyanogen which it contains. A green is obtained from Prussian blue and yellow ber2. Prussian blue is dissolved in muriatic acid, oxalic ries, by mixing together ferrocyanic acid, yellow berries, acid, perchloride of tin, or nitrate of iron, and the solution and an aluminous mordant, and subjecting them to the applied immediately to the cloth in the usual way. action of steam. 3. Ferrocyanic acid is printed upon the cloth, and deVarious other greens are attained by printing yellows composed by means of a steam heat, hydrocyanic acid over blues previously produced. escapes, and cyanodide of iron remains in the cloth. It Saxon green is produced by printing a solution of cerubecomes blue by exposure to the air, or by being put into lin over a yellow formed by dyeing the aluminous mor. a weak solution of bleaching powder, or of bichromate of dant with quercitron bark or weld. The cerulin adheres potash. to those parts of the cloth which have been dyed yellow, Logwood forms a bluish compound with the salts of but very slightly to the white cloth, from which it is easicopper; but this colour is exceedingly fugitive, and the ly washed away. use of it has been long laid aside. 10. Lilac. 5. Black. This colour is communicated to cloth by printing on a Various methods are employed by the calico-printers to much diluted mixture of the iron and aluminous mordants produce a black upon cotton. An iron mordant of the thickened with gum-senegal. The cloth is then dyed in specific gravity 1-05 gives a black with madder. The madder exactly as described for producing a red.

*

DYE

DYE m0

11. Chocolate. The same mordants, but much stronger, and dyeing in madder in the same way, produces this colour. 12. Purple. The iron mordant, diluted to the shade required, is printed on the cloth, which is then dyed in madder in the usual way. ... . , When the cloth, after a weak aluminous mordant has been printed on it, is dyed in logwood, a purple colour is obtained. 13. Brown. By far the finest and most fixed brown is communicated to cotton by means of the sesquioxide of manganese. The process is rather a recent one, but of late years it has become very general. A neutral solution of sulphate of manganese is thickened with gum, and printed on the cloth. It is then dipped into rather strong caustic potash ley, which precipitates the protoxide of manganese. By exposure to the air, or by immersion in bleaching powder solution, or in bichromate of potash, this protoxide absorbs more oxygen, and becomes fixed on the cloth. Though the state of oxidizement has not been determined by experiment, yet it is probable that the manganese is in the state of red oxide, which is a compound of two atoms sesquioxide and one atom protoxide.

This is made by printing on an iron mordant, and then dyeing in quercitron bark. 15. Olive. Formed by printing on a mixture of the iron and aluminous mordants, and dyeing in quercitron bark. 16. Dove. A weak iron mordant dyed in cochineal. 17. Slate. A weak iron mordant dyed in nutgalls or in sumach. 18. Cinnamon. The aluminous mordant, with the addition of a little iron, dyed in a mixture of madder and quercitron bark.

DYER, Sir James, an eminent English lawyer, chief judge of the court of common pleas in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. He died in 1581; and about twenty years afterwards was published his large collection of Reports, which have been highly esteemed for their succinctness and solidity. He also left other writings behind him relative to his profession. Dyer, John, the son of Robert Dyer, a Welsh solicitor of great capacity, was born in 1700. Fie passed through Westminster school under the care of Dr Freind, and was then called home to be instructed in his father’s profession. His genius, however, led him a different way; for besides his early taste for poetry, he had a passion no less strong for the arts of design, and determined to make painting his profession. With this view, having studied some time under a master, he became, as he tells his friend, an itinerant painter, and wandered about South Wales and the parts adjacent. About 1727 he printed Grongar Hill. Being probably dissatisfied with his own proficiency, he made the tour of Italy, where, besides the usual study of the remains of antiquity, and the works of the great masters, he frequently spent whole days in the country about Rome and Florence, sketching those picturesque prospects with facility and spirit. Images drawn from thence naturally transferred themselves into his poetical compositions ; the principal beauties of The Ruins of Rome are perhaps of this kind; and the various landscapes in The Fleece have been particularly admired. On his return to England he published The Ruins of Rome, 1740; but soon found that he could not relish a town life, nor submit to the assiduity required in his profession. As his turn of mind was rather serious, and his conduct and behaviour were always irreproachable, he was advised by his friends to enter into holy orders; and it is presumed, though his education had not been regular, that he found no difficulty in obtaining them. He was ordained by the

Such are the principal colours given to calicoes, and such are the methods of applying and fixing them. We have now finished our account of calico-printing; for the dunging and brightening processes have been described while treating of the various colours; and the storing, which consists simply in drying the goods in a room raised by artificial heat to a temperature higher than the boiling point of water, requires no description. (l.)

Bishop of Lincoln, and had a law degree conferred on him. ■ About the same time he married a lady of Coleshill, named Ensor, “ whose grandmother,” says he, “ was a Shakspeare, descended from a brother of every body’s Shakspeare.” His ecclesiastical provision was a long time but slender. His first patron, Mr Harper, gave him, in 1741, Calthorpe, in Leicestershire, of L.80 a year, on which he lived ten years; and in April 1751 he exchanged it for Belehford, in Lincolnshire, of LAS, which was given him by Lord Chancellor Hardwicke, on the recommendation of a friend to virtue and the muses. His condition now began to mend. In 1752 Sir John Heathcoate gave him Coningsby, of L.140 a year, and, in 1756, when he was created LL.B. without any solicitation of his own, obtained for him from the chancellor, Kirby-on-Bane, of L.110. In 1757 he published The Fleece, his greatest poetical work, of which Dr Johnson relates this ludicrous story. Dodsley the bookseller was one day mentioning it to a critical visitor, with more expectation of success than the other could easily admit. In the conversation the author’s age was asked ; and being represented as advanced in life, “ He will,” said the critic, “ be buried in woollen.” He did not indeed long outlive that publication, nor enjoy the increase of his preferments; for a consumptive disorder, with which he had long struggled, carried him off at length in 1758. Mr Dyer’s character as a writer has been fixed by three poems, Grongar Hill, The Ruins of Rome, and The Fleece ; in which a poetical imagination perfectly original, a natural simplicity connected with, and often productive of the true sublime, and the warmest sentiments of benevolence and virtue, have been universally observed and admired. These pieces were published separately in his lifetime ; but after his death were collected and published in one volume 8vo, 1761, with a short account of himself prefixed.

343 Dyer.

344

DYNAMICS. Dynamics.

1. This name marks that department of physico-mathematical science which contains the abstract doctrine Definition. 0f moving forces ; that is, whatever necessarily results from the relations of our ideas of motion, and of the immediate causes of its production and changes. Object of 2. All changes of motion are considered by us as the dynamics indications, the characteristics, and the measures of changing causes. This is a physical law of human thought, and dition of”" t*le.re^ore a principle to which we may refer, and from a thing which we must derive all our knowledge of those causes, which we When we appeal to our own thoughts or feelings, we do call its mo- not find in ourselves any disposition to refer mere existtion. ence to any cause, although the beginning of existence certainly produces this reference in an instant. Had we always observed the universe in motion, it does not appear that we should have ascribed it to a cause, till the observation of relative rest, or something leading to it, had enabled us to separate, by abstraction, the notion of matter from that of motion. We might then perceive that rest is not incompatible with matter; and we might even observe, by means of relative, motions, that absolute rest might be produced by the concourse of equal and opposite motions. But all this requires reflection and reasoning, whereas we are now speaking of the first suggestions of our minds. 3. We cannot have any notion of motion in abstracto, without considering it as a state or condition of existence which would remain if not changed by some cause. It is from changes alone, therefore, that we infer any agency in nature; and it is in these that we are to find all that wre know of their causes. Median!4. When we look around us, we cannot but observe calrela- that the motions of bodies have in most cases, if not altion, what. wayS> some relation to the situation, the distance, and the discriminating qualities of other bodies. The motions of the moon have a palpable relation to the earth ; the motions of the tides have as evident a relation to the moon; the motions of a piece of iron have a palpable dependence on a magnet. Ihe vicinity of the one seems to be the occasion at least of the motions of the other. The causes of these motions have an evident connection with or dependence on the other body. We are even disposed to imagine that they are inherent in that body, and that it possesses certain qualities which are the causes of those modifications of motion in other bodies. These serve to distinguish some bodies from others, and may therefore be called properties; and since the condition of other bodies so evidently depends on them, these properties express very interesting relations of bodies, and are chiefly attended to in the enumeration of the circumstances which ascertain what we call the nature of any thing. We do not mean to say that these inferences are always just; nay, we know that many of them are ill founded ; but they are real, and they serve abundantly for informing us what we may expect from any proposed situation of things. It is enough for us to know, that when a piece of iron is so and so situated in relation to a magnet, it will move in a certain manner. This mutual relation of bodies is differently considered, according to the interest that we chance to take in the phenomenon. The cause of the approach of the iron to a magnet is generally ascribed to the magnet, which is said to attract the iron, because we commonly employ the magnet in order that these motions may take place. The similar approach of a stone to the earth is ascribed to the stone, and we say that it tends to the earth. In all pro-

bability the procedure of nature is the same in both; forDthey are observed in every instance to be mutual between Wy the related bodies. As iron approaches a magnet, so the ' magnet approaches the iron. The same thing is observed in the motions of electrified bodies; also in the case of the stone and the earth. Therefore the cause of the motions may be conceived as inherent in either, or in both. The qualities thus inherent in bodies constituting their^, mechanical relations, have been called the mechanical at-Action fections of matter. But they are more commonly named%urat teriM powers or forces ; and the event which indicates their pre-used 'i sence is considered as the effect and mark of their agency.chanisi.1,1 The magnet is said to act on the iron, the earth is said to act on the stone; and the iron and the stone are said to act on the magnet and on the earth. All this is figurative or metaphorical language. All languages have begun with social union, and have improved along with it. The first collections of words expressed the most familiar and the most interesting notions. In the process of social improvement, the number of words did not increase in the same proportion with the notions that became interesting and familiar in their turn: for it often happened that relations of certain ideas so much resembled the relations of certain other ideas, that the word expressing one of them served very well for expressing the other; because the dissimilar circumstances of the two cases prevented all chance of mistake. Thus we are said to surmount a difficulty, without attaching to the word the notion of getting over a steep hill. Languages are thus filled with figurative expressions. 5. Power, Force, and Action, are words which must haveButtl appeared in the language of the most simple people; be-analog cause the notions of personal ability, strength, and exertion,not in are at once the most familiar and the most interesting that!orcf’6 can have a place in the human mind. These terms, whenj^j used in their pure, primitive sense, express the notions of the power, force, and action of a sentient, active being. Such a being only is an agent. The exertion of his power or force is (exclusively) action; but the relation of cause and effect so much resembles in its results the relation between this force and the work performed, that the same term may be very intelligibly employed for both. Perhaps the only case of pure unfigurative action is that of the mind on the body. But as this is always with the design of producing some change on external bodies, we think only of them ; the instrument or tool is overlooked, and we say that we act on the external body. Our real action therefore is but the first movement in a long train of successive events, and is but the remote cause of the interesting event. The resemblance to such actions is very strong indeed in many cases of mechanical phenomena. A man throws a ball by the motion of his arm. A spring impels a ball in the same manner by unbending. These two events resemble each other in every circumstance but the action of the mind on the corporeal organ; the rest of it is a train of pure mechanism. In general, because the ultimate results of the mutual influence of bodies on each other greatly resemble the ultimate results of our actions on bodies, we have not invented appropriated terms, but have contented ourselves with those already employed for expressing our own actions, the exertions of our own powers or forces. The relation of physical cause and effect is expressed metaphorically in the words which belong properly to the relation of agent and action. This has been attended by the usual consequences of poverty

DYNAMICS. 345 When a ball lies on a table, and I press it gently on one Dynamics, lies, of language, namely, ambiguity, and sometimes mistake, r' , iboth in our reflections Ic /(which wnmn are art* rmnorcillxr nn by Ixxr side, it moves toward the other side of the table. Ifl follow generally r*nrri^rt carried on mental discourse), our reasonings, and our conclusions. it with my finger, continuing my pressure, it accelerates Examples ress n> It is necessary to be on our guard against such mistakes; continually in its motion. In like manner, when I press °f P i° for they frequently amount to the confounding of things on the handle of a common kitchen jack, the fly begins to totally different. Many philosophers of great reputation, move. If I continue to urge or press round the handle, on no better foundation than this metaphorical language, the fly accelerates continually, and may be brought into a have confounded the relations of activity and of causation, state of very rapid motion. These motions are the effects and even denied that there is any difference; and they of genuine pressure. The ball would be urged along the have affirmed that there is the same invariable relation table in the same manner, and with a motion continually between the determinations of the will and the induce- accelerated, by the unbending of a spring. Also, a spring ments that prompt them, as there is between any physi- coiled up round the axis of the handle of the jack would, cal power and its effect. Others have maintained that by uncoiling itself, urge round the fly with a motion acthe first mover in the mechanical operations, and indeed celerating in the same way. The more I reflect on the through the whole train of any complicated event, is a pressure of my finger on the ball, and compare it with the percipient and intending principle, in the same manner as effect of the spring on it, the more clearly do I see the in our actions. According to these philosophers, a par- perfect similarity; and I call these influences, exertions, ticle of gravitating matter perceives its relation to every or actions, by one name, pressure^ taken from the most other particle in the universe, and determines its own mo- familiar instance of them. Again, the very same motion may be produced in the tion according to fixed laws, in exact conformity to its situation. But the language, and even the actions of all ball or fly, by pulling the ball or the machine by means of men, show that they have a notion of the relation of an a thread, to which a weight is suspended. As both are agent to the action, easily distinguishable (because all dis- motions accelerated in the same manner, I call the intinguish it) from the relation between the physical cause fluence or action of the thread on the ball or machine by and its effect. This metaphorical language has affected the same name, pressure, and weight is considered as a the doctrines of mechanical philosophy, and has produced pressing power. Indeed I feel the same compression from a dispute about some of its first principles; the only way the real pressure of a man on my shoulders that I would to decide this dispute is to avoid most scrupulously all feel from a load laid on them. But the weight in our exmetaphorical language, though at the expense of much ample is acting by the intervention of the thread. By its pressure it is pulling at that part of the thread to which circumlocution. Diruons 6. When we speak of powers or forces as residing in a it is fastened; this part is pulling at the next by means of fort) safe body, and the effect as produced by their exertion, the the force of cohesion; and this pulls at a third, and so on, tmpr- body, considered as possessing the power, is said to act till the most remote pulls at the ball or the machine. Thus on the other. A magnet is said to act on a piece of iron ; may elasticity, weight, cohesion, and other forces, perthisjia- a billiard ball in motion is said to act on one that is hit by form the office of a genuine power; and since their result is it; but if we attempt to fix our attention on this action, always a motion beginning from nothing, and accelerating as distinct both from the agent and the thing acted on, by perceptible degrees to any velocity, this resemblance we find no object of contemplation ; the exertion or pro- makes us call them by one familiar name. But further, I see that if the thread be cut, the weight cedure of nature in producing the effect does not come under our view. When we speak of the action as distinct •will fall with an accelerated motion, which will increase to from the agent, we find that it is not the action, properly any degree, if the fall be great enough. I ascribe this speaking, but the act, that we speak of. In like manner also to a pressing power acting on the weight. Nay, after the action of a mechanical power can be conceived only a very little refinement, I consider this power as the cause in the effect produced. of the body’s weight; which word is but a distinguishing 7. A man is not said to act unless he produces some name for this particular instance of pressing power. GraActn iinj s effect. Thought is the act of the thinking principle; mo- vitation is therefore added to the list of pressures; and cha*; tion of the limb is the act of the mind on it. In mecha- for similar reasons the attractions and repulsions of magan (Here also, there is action only in so far as there is mecha- nets or electric bodies may be added to the list; for they - mot ji is nics not .ion. nical effect produced. I must act violently in order to produce actual compressions of bodies placed between begin motion on a slide. I must exert force, and this them, and they produce motions gradually accelerated, force exerted produces motion. I conceive the produc- precisely as gravitation does. Therefore all these powers tion of motion in all cases as the exertion of force; but it may be distinguished by this descriptive name, pressures, requires no exertion to continue the motion along the which, in strict language, belongs to one of them only. slide; I am conscious of none ; therefore I ought to infer Several writers, however, subdivide this great class into Gravity, that no force is necessary for the continuation of any mo- pressions and solicitations. Gravity is a solicitation aiattractions, tion. The continuation of motion is not the production extra, by which a body is urged downward. In like man- anc* iePu|' of any new effect, but the permanency of an effect already ner the forces of magnetism and electricity, and a vast va‘ considered produced. We indeed consider motion as the effect of an riety of other attractions and repulsions, are called solid- as pres_ action; but there would be no effect if the body were not tations. We see little use for this distinction, and thesi0ns. moving. Motion is not the action, but the effect of the term is too like an affection of mind. action. 9. Impulsion is exhibited when a ball in motion puts Examples Prep,on, 8. Mechanical actions have been usually classed under another ball into motion by hitting, or (to speak metapho-0) imJJullni ilon w l * f o heads. They are either pressures or impulsions. rically) by striking it. The appearances here are veryMon' They are generally considered as of different kinds—the different. The body that is struck acquires, in the inexertions of different powers. Pressure is supposed to stant of impulse, a sensible quantity of motion, and somediffer essentially from impulse. times a very rapid motion. This motion is neither acceInstead of attempting to define, or describe, these two lerated nor retarded after the stroke, unless it be affected kinds of forces and actions, we shall just mention some by some other force. It is also remarked that the rapiinstances. This will give us all the knowledge of their dity of the motion depends, inter alia, on the previous vedistinctions that we can acquire. locity of the striking body. For instance, if a clay ball, 2x VOL. VIII.

DYNAMICS. 346 Dynamics, moving with any velocity, strike another equal ball which ally repeated lifting our body up a small height, and al-Byn is at rest, the struck ball moves with half the velocity of lowing it to come down again. This renewed ascent rethe other. And it is farther remarkable that the striking quires repeated exertion. body always loses as much motion as the struck body 11. We have other observations of importance yet toand gains. This universal and remarkable fact seems to have make on this force of moving bodies, but this is not the be hi given rise to a confused or indistinct notion of a sort of most proper occasion. Meanwhile we must remark, thatVgr transference of motion from one body to another. The the instantaneous production of rapid motion by impulset!lan phraseology in general use on this subject expresses this has induced the first mechanicians of Europe to maintainsion' in the most precise terms. The one ball is not said to that the power or force of impulse is unsusceptible of any cause or produce motion in the other, but to communicate comparison with a pressing power. They have asserted motion to it; and the whole phenomenon is called the that impulse is infinitely great when compared with presCommuni- communication of motion. We call this an indistinct no- sure ; not recollecting that they held them to be things cation of tion ; for surely no one will say that he has any clear con- totally disparate, that have no proportion more than weight sweetness. But these gentlemen are perpetually ena^ood1 n°tceiePtcommun *on We can form the most distinct notion of and ticed away from their creed by the similarity of the ultimate pression. " ^ ication of heat, or of the cause of heat; of the communication of saltness, sweetness, and a thousand results of pressure and impulse. No person can find any other things; but we cannot conceive how part of that difference between the motion of two balls moving equally identical motion which was formerly in A, is now infused swift, in the same direction, one of which is descending into B, being given up by A. It is in our attempt to by gravity, and the other has derived its motion from a form this notion that we find that motion is not a thing, blow. This struggle of the mind to maintain its faith, not a substance which can exist independently, and is and yet accommodate its doctrines to what we see, has susceptible of actual transference. It appears in this occasioned some other curious forms of expression. Prescase to be a state, or condition, or mode of existence, of sure is considered as an effort to produce motion. When which bodies are susceptible, which is producible, or (to a ball lies on a table, its weight, which they call a power, speak without metaphor) causable, in bodies, and which continually and repeatedly endeavours (mark the metais the effect and characteristic of certain natural qualities, phorical word and thought) to move the ball downward. properties, or powers. We are anxious to have our read- But these efforts are ineffectual. They say that this iners impressed with clear and precise notions on this sub- effectual power is dead, and call it a vis mortua : but the ject, being confident that such, and only such, will carry force of impulsion is called a vis viva, a living force. them through some intricate paths of mechanical and phi- But this is very whimsical and very inaccurate. If the losophical research. impelling ball falls perpendicularly on the other lying on Inherent 10. The remarkable circumstance in this phenomenon is, the table, it will produce no motion, any more than graforce is the that a rapid motion, which requires for the effecting it vity wfill; and if the table be annihilated, gravity becomes distinctive the action of a pressing power, continued for a sensible, a vis viva. c aracterofan(j freqUent]y a long time, seems to be affected in an inWe must now add, that in order to prove that impulse ArguU ^ ’ stant by impulsion. This has tended much to support is infinitely greater than pressure, these mechanicians turnindis t the notion of the actual transference of something former- our attention to many familiar facts which plead stronglyan( lj “• ly possessed exclusively by the striking body, inhering in in their favour. A carpenter will drive a nail into a boardclu5i’ it, but separable, and now transfused into the body stricken. with a very moderate blow of his hammer. This will reAnd now room is found for the employment of metaphor, quire a pressure which seems many hundred times greater both in thought and language. The striking body affects than the impelling effort of the carpenter. A very modethe body which it thus impels: it therefore possesses the rate blow will shiver into pieces a diamond which would •power of impulsion, that is, of communicating motion. It carry the weight of a mountain. Seeing this prodigious possesses it only while it is in motion. This power, there- superiority in the impulse, how shall they account for the fore, is the efficient distinguishing cause of its motion, production of motion by means of pressure; for this moand its only office must be the continuation of this mo- tion of the hammer might have been acquired by its falltion. It is therefore called the inherent force, the force ing from a height; nay, it is actually acquired by means inherent in a moving body, vis insita corpori moto. of the continued pressure of the carpenter’s arm. They This force is transfused into the body impelled ; and consider it as the aggregate of an infinity of succeeding therefore the transference is instantaneous, and the impell- pressures in every instant of its continuance; so that the ed body continues its motion till it is changed by some insignificant smallness of each effort is compensated by other action. All this is at first sight very plausible ; but their inconceivable number. a scrupulous attention to those feelings which have given On the whole, we do not think that there is clear evi-Nod rise to this metaphorical conception should have produced dence that there are two kinds of mechanical force essen-ence very different notions. I am conscious of exertion in or- tially different in their nature. It is virtually given up bytwee 'es‘ der to begin motion on a slide; but if the ice be very those who say that impulse is infinitely greater than pres-?^" smooth, I am conscious of no exertion in order to slide sure. Nor is there any considerable advantage to be obalong. My power is felt only while I am conscious of ex- tained by arranging the phenomenon under those two erting it; therefore I have no primitive feeling or notion heads. We may perhaps find some method of explaining of power wdiile I am sliding along. I am certain that no satisfactorily the remarkable difference that is really obexertion of power is necessary here. Nay, I find that I served in the two modes of producing motion; namely, cannot think of my moving forward without effort other- the gradual production of motion by acknowledged preswise than as a certain mode of my existence. Yet we sure, and the instantaneous production of it by impulse. imagine that the partizans of this opinion did really de- Indeed we should not have taken up so much of our readduce it in some shape from their feelings. We must con- ers’ attention with this subject, had it not been for some tinue the exertion of walking in order to walk on; our inferences that have been made from these premises, which power of walking must be continually exerted, otherwise meet us in our very entry on the consideration of first prinwe shall stop. But this is a very imperfect, incomplete, ciples, and that are of extensive influence on the whole and careless observation. Walking is much more than science of mechanical philosophy, and, indeed, on the mere continuance in progressive motion. It is a continu- whole study of nature.

1

DYNAMICS. 347 cs. 12. Mechanicians are greatly divided in their opinion by motion sufficiently near to another body, they repel it, Dynamics, vrY,.j about the nature of the sole moving force in nature. Those and are equally repelled by it. Thus is motion produced whotn we are now speaking of seem to think that all mo- in the other body, and their own motion is diminished. lion t tion is produced by pressure; for when they consider im- And they then show, by a scrupulous consideration of the polecfse pU]se as equivalent to the aggregate of an infinity of re- state of the bodies while the one is advancing and the jfmo4n?peate[j pressures, they undoubtedly suppose any pressure, other retiring, in what manner the two bodies attain a however insignificant, as a moving force. But there is a common velocity, so that the quantity of motion before body gaining as much party, both numerous and respectable, who maintain that collision remains unchanged, the one impulsion is the sole cause of motion. We see bodies in as the other loses. They also showr cases of such mutual acmotion, say they, and we see them impel others; and we tion between bodies, where it is evident that they have never see that this production of motion is regulated by such come into contact; and yet the result has been precisely laws, that there is but one absolute quantity of motion in similar to those cases where the motion appeared to be the universe which remains unalterably the same. It must changed in an instant. Therefore they conclude that therefore be transfused in the acts of collision. We also there is no such thing as instantaneous communication, or see, with clear evidence, in some cases, that motion can transfusion of motion, by contact in collision or impulse. produce pressure. Euler adduces some very whimsical The reason why previous motion of the impelling body is and complicated cases, in which an action precisely simi- necessary, is not that it may have a vis insita corpori moto, lar to pressure may be produced by motion. Thus, two a force inherent in it by its being in motion, but that it may balls connected by a thread may be so struck that they continue to follow the impelled and retiring body, and exshall move forward, and at the same time wheel round. In ert on it a force inherent in itself, whether in motion or at this case the connecting thread will be stretched between rest. According to these philosophers, therefore, all movthem. Now, say the philosophers, since we see motion, ing forces are of that kind which has been named solicitaand see that pressure may be produced by motion, it is tion, such as gravity. We shall know it afterwards by the preposterous to imagine that it is any thing else than a more familiar and descriptive name of acceleratmg or reresult of certain motions; and it is the business of a phi- tarding force. losopher to inquire and discover what motions produce the 14. The exertions of mechanical forces are differently Action, repressures that we observe. termed, according to the reference that we make to thesistance, They then proceed to account for those pressing powers, result. If in boxing or wrestling I strike, or endeavour tore*acti°n* or solicitations to motion, which we observe in the acce- throw my antagonist, I am said to act; but if I only parry leration of falling bodies, the attractions of magnetism and his blows, or prevent him from throwing me, I am said to electricity, and many other phenomena of this kind, where resist. This distinction is applied to the exertions of mebodies are put in motion by the vicinity of other bodies, chanical powers. When one body, A, changes the motion or, in the popular language, by the action of other bodies of another, B, we may consider the change in the motion at a distance. To say that a magnet can act on a piece of of B either as the indication and measure of A’s power of remote iron, is to say that it can act where it is not, which producing motion, or as the indication and measure of A’s is as absurd as to say that it can act when it is not. Nihil resistance to the being brought to rest, or having its motion movetur, says Euler, nisi a contiguo et moto. any how changed. The distinction is not in the thing itRories The bulk of these philosophers are not very anxious self, but only in the reference that we are disposed, by other it pr ice about the way in which these motions are produced, nor considerations, to make of its effect. They may be distinpresi e? do they fall upon such ingenious methods of producing guished in the following manner: If a change of motion pressure as the one already mentioned, which was adduced follow when one of the powers ceases to be exerted, that by Euler. The piece of iron, say they, is put in motion power is conceived as having resisted. The whole lanwhen brought into the neighbourhood of a magnet, be- guage on this subject is metaphorical. Resistance, effort, cause there is a stream of fluid issuing from one pole of the endeavour, &c. are words which cannot be employed in magnet, which circles round the magnet, and enters at mechanical discussions without figure, because they all the other pole. This stream impels the iron, and arranges express notions which relate to sentient beings; and the it in certain determined positions, just as a stream of wa- unguarded indulgence of this figurative language has so ter would arrange the flote grass. In the same manner, much affected the imagination of philosophers, that many there is a stream of fluid continually moving towards the have almost animated all matter. Perhaps the word recentre of the earth, which impels all bodies in lines per- action, introduced by Newton, is the best term for expendicular to the surface ; and so on with regard to other pressing that mutual force which is perceived in all the like phenomena. These motions are thus reduced to very operations of nature that we have investigated with sucsimple cases by impulsion. cess. As the magnet attracts iron, and in so doing is said ln«j It is unnecessary to refute this doctrine at present: it act on it; so the iron attracts the magnet, and may be tibh ’tk is enough that it is contrary to all the dictates of common to the: is of sense. To suppose an agent that we do not see, and for said to re-act on it. 15. With respect to the difficulty that has been object-We need phil phis,.];, whose existence we have not the smallest argument; with ed to the opinion of those who maintain that all the me-not supequal propriety we might suppose ministering spirits, or chanical phenomena are produced by the agency of at'p?s^iCstl0n any thing that we please. tracting or repelling forces; namely, that this supposesaaHaels‘ Oth 13. Other philosophers are so dissatisfied with this notion the bodies to act on each other at a distance, however tnab in of the production of pressure, that they, on the other hand, small those distances may be, which is thought to be abthat esthat pressure is the only moving force in nature; surd, we may observe, that we may ascribe the mutual «urc the affirm not according to the popular notion of pressure, by the approaches or recesses to tendencies to or from each other. sole by. »ng ce. mutual contact of solid bodies, but that kind of pressure What we call the attraction of the magnet may be considerwhich has been called solicitation, such as the power of ed as a tendency of the iron to the magnet, somewhat sigravity. They affirm that there is no such thing as contact milar to the gravitation of a stone toward the earth. We on instantaneous communication of motion by real collision, surely (at least the unlearned) can and do conceive the ihey say, and they prove it by very convincing facts, that iron to be affected by the magnet, without thinking of any the particles of solid bodies exert very strong repulsions intermedium. The thing is not therefore inconceivable, to a small distance; and therefore, when they are brought which is all that we know about absurdity; and we do not

348 DYNAMICS. Dynamics, know any thing about the nature or essence of matter In like manner, we conceive all mechanical forces aspVnai which renders this tendency to the magnet impossible. measurable by their effects; and thus they are made the v—^ ) That we do not see intuitively any reason why the iron subjects of mathematical discussion. We talk of the pro-How should approach the magnet, must be granted; but this is portions of gravity, magnetism, electricity, &c.; nay, wesured. ' not enough to entitle us to say that such a thing is impos- talk of the proportion of gravity to magnetism: yet these, sible, or inconsistent with the nature of matter. It appears, considered in themselves, are disparate, and do not admit therefore, to be very hasty and unwarrantable to suppose of any proportion ; but they produce effects, some of the impulse of an invisible fluid, of which we know no- which are measurable, and whose assumed measures are thing, and of the existence of which we have no proof. susceptible of comparison, being quantities of the same Nay, if it be true that bodies do not come into contact, kind. ‘ Thus, one of the effects of gravity is the acceleraeven when one ball hits another, and drives it before it, tion of motion in a falling body: magnetism will also acthis invisible fluid will not solve the difficulty, because the celerate the motion of a piece of iron; these two accesame difficulty occurs in the action of any particle of the lerations are comparable. But we cannot compare magfluid on the body. We are obliged to say that the pro- netism with heat, because we do not know any measurduction of motion without any observed contact, is a much able effects of magnetism that are of the same kind with more familiar phenomenon than the production of motion any effects of heat. by impulsion. More motion has been produced in this way When we say that the gravitation of the moon is theBvth by the gravitation of a small stream of water, running ever 3600th part of the gravitation at the sea-shore, we mean effect: since the creation, than by all the impulses in the world that the fall of a stone in a second is 3600 times greater twice told. We do not mean by this to say, that the giv- than the fall of the moon in the same time. But we also ing to this observed mutual relation between''iron and a mean (and this expresses the proportion of the tendency loadstone the name tendency makes it less absurd than of gravitation more purely), that if a stone, when hung when we say that the loadstone attracts the iron; it only on a spring steelyard, draw out the rod of the steelyard makes it more conceivable. It suggests a very familiar to the mark 3600, the same stone, taken up to the disanalogy; but both are equally figurative expressions, at tance of the moon, will draw it out no farther than the least as the word tendency is used at present. In the lan- mark 1. We also mean, that if the stone at the sea-shore guage of ancient Rome, there was no metaphor when Vir- draw out the rod to any mark, it will require 3600 such gil’s hero said, Tendimus in Latium. Tendere versus solem stones to draw' it out to that mark when the trial is made means, in plain Latin, to approach the sun. The safe way at the distance of the moon. It is not, therefore, in conof conceiving the whole is to say that the condition of the sequence of any immediate perception of the proportion iron depends on the vicinity of the magnet. of the gravitation at the moon to that at the surface of the Attraction, 16. When the exertions of a mechanical power are ob- earth that we make such an assertion ; but these motions, repulsion, served to be always directed toward a body, that body is which we consider as its effects in these situations, being are igura- saj(j t0 ajtract. when the other body always moves magnitudes of the same kind, are susceptible of compari‘ off from it, it is said to repel. These also are metaphori- son, and have a proportion wdiich can be ascertained by cal expressions. I attract a boat when I pull it toward observation. It is these proportions that we contemplate; me by a rope ; this is purely Attraction: and it is pure, although we speak of the proportions of the unseen causes, unfigurative Repulsion, when I push any body from me. the forces, or endeavours to descend. It will be of mateThe same words are applied to the mechanical pheno- rial service to the reader to peruse the judicious and acute mena, merely because they resemble the results of real dissertation on quantity in the works of Dr Reid (vol. ii.), attraction or repulsion. We must be much on our guard where he will see clearly how force, velocity, density, and to avoid metaphor in our conceptions, and never allow many other magnitudes of very frequent occurrence in those words to suggest to our mind any opinion about the mechanical philosophy, may be made the subjects of mamanner in which the mechanical forces produce their ef- thematical discussion, by means of some of those proper fects. It is plain, that if the opinion of those who main- quantities, measurable by their own parts, which are to be tain the existence and action of the above-mentioned in- assumed as their measures. Pressures are measurable visible fluid be just, there is nothing like attraction or re- only by pressures. When w^e consider them as moving pulsion in the universe. We must always recur to the powers, we should be able to measure them by any mov^mple phenomenon, the motion to or from the attracting ing powers, otherwise we cannot compare them; thereor repelling body; for this is all we see, and generally all fore it is not as pressures that we then measure them. that we know. This observation is momentous. Forces are 17. We conceive one man to have twice the strength of One circumstance must be carefully attended to. That conceived another man, when we see that he can withstand the those assumed measures may be accurate, they must be as measur. unjte(j effort of two others. Thus animal force is conceived invariably connected with the magnitudes which they are titles1111™" as a made up of and measured by its own parts. employed to measure, and so connected that the degrees But we doubt exceedingly whether this be an accurate of the one must change in the same manner with the deconception. We have not a distinct notion of one strain grees of the other. This is evident, and is granted by all. added to another, though we have of their being joined But we must also k7iow this of the measure we employ; or combined. We want words to express the difference we must see this constant and precise relation. How can of these two notions in our own minds, but we imagine we know this ? We do not perceive force as a separate that others perceive the same difference. We conceive existence, so as to see its proportions, and to see that clearly the addition of two lines or of two minutes; we these are the same with the proportions of the measures, can conceive them apart, and perceive their boundaries, in the same manner that Euclid sees the proportions ol common to both, where one ends and the other begins. triangles and those of their bases, and that these proporWe cannot conceive thus of two forces combined ; yet we tions are the same when the triangles are of equal alticannot say that two equal forces are not double of one of tudes. How do we discover that to every magnitude them. We measure them by the effects which they are which we call force is invariably attached a corresponding known to produce. Yet there are not wanting many cases magnitude of acceleration or deflection ? Clearly. In fact, where the action of two men, equally strong, does not pro- the very existence of the force is an inference that we duce a double motion. make from the observed acceleration; and the degree ot

¥

I i K 1

D YN AMI C S. 349 axioms or laws of motion. Some of these may be intuitive* First Law 'cs. the force is, in like manner, an inference from the observ- offering themselves to the mind as soon as the notions °f Motion* Our measures are ed magnitude of the acceleration. therefore necessarily connected with the magnitudes which which they involve are presented to it. Others may be as they measure, and their proportions are the same; because necessary results from the relations of these notions, but the one is always an inference from the other, both in may not readily offer themselves without the mediation of axioms of the first class. We shall select those which are species and in degree. -eg 18. It is now evident that these disquisitions are sus- intuitive, and may be taken for the first principles of all isTmon-ceptible of mathematical accuracy. Having selected our discussions in mechanical philosophy. strafe measures, and observed certain mathematical relations of sciee. ^gge measures, every inference that we can draw from FIRST LAW OF MOTION. the mathematical relations of the proportions of those re- Every body continues in a state of rest, or of uniform rectipresentations is true of the proportions of the motions, lineal motion, unless affected by some mechanical force. and therefore of the proportions of the forces. And thus 21. This is a proposition, on the truth of which the dynamics becomes a demonstrative science, one of the whole science of mechanical philosophy ultimately dediscipline accurate. 19. But moving forces are considered as differing and pends. It is therefore to be established on the firmest in kind; that is, in direction. We assign to the force the foundation ; and a solicitude on this head is the more jusdirection of the observed change of motion, which is not tifiable, because the opinions of philosophers have been only the indication, but also the characteristic, of the extremely different, both with respect to the truth of this changing force. We call it an accelerating, retarding, de- law, and with respect to the foundation on which it is flecting force, according as we observe the motion to be built. Tftese opinions are, in general, very obscure and unsatisfactory; and, as is natural, they influence the disaccelerated, retarded, or deflected. These denominations show us incontestably that we cussions of those by whom they are held through the whole have no knowledge of the forces different from our know- science. Although of contradictory opinions one only ledge of the effects. The denominations are all either can be just, and it may appear sufficient that this one be descriptive of the effects, as when we call them accelerat- established and uniformly applied; yet a short exposition, ing, penetrating, protrusive, attractive, or repulsive forces; at least, of the rest is necessary, that the greatest part of or they are names of reference to the substances in which the writings of the philosophers may be intelligible, and the accelerating, protrusive, &c. forces are supposed to that we may avail ourselves of much valuable information he inherent, as when we call them magnetism, electricity, contained in them, by being able to perceive the truth in the midst of their imperfect or erroneous conceptions corpuscular, &c. Fo'-s are 20. When I struggle with another, and feel, that in or- of it. disrered der to prevent being thrown, I must exert force, I learn 22. It is not only the popular opinion that rest is the Does conei f that my antagonist is exerting force. This motion is trans- natural state of body, and that motion is something foreign tinned moto1 icrUU ferred to matter; and when a moving power which is to it, but it has been seriously maintained by the greatfor . known to operate produces no motion, we conceive it to est part of those who are esteemed philosophers. They tinue(i a^._ be opposed by another equal force, the existence, agency, readily grant that matter will continue at rest unless some tion ? and intensity of which is detected and measured by these moving force act upon it. Nothing seems necessary for means. The quiescent state of the body is considered as matter’s remaining where it is, but its continuing to exist. a change on the state of things that would have been ex- But it is far otherwise, say they, with respect to matter in hibited in consequence of the known action of one power, motion. Here the body is continually changing its relations had this other power not acted ; and this change is con- to other things; therefore the continual agency of a chansidered as the indication, characteristic, and measure, of ging cause is necessary (by the fundamental principle of another power, detected in this way. Thus forces are re- all philosophical discussion), for there is here the continual cognised not only by the changes of motion which they production of an effect. They say that this metaphysical produce, but also by the changes of motion which they argument receives complete confirmation (if confirmation prevent. The cohesion of matter in a string is inferred of an intuitive truth be necessary) from the most familiar not only by its giving motion to a ball which I pull toward observation. We see that all motions, however violent, me by its intervention, but also by its suspending that ball, terminate in rest,- and that the continual exertion of some and hindering it from falling. I know that gravity is act- force is necessary for their continuance. 23. These philosophers therefore assert, that the conti- Whimsical ing on the ball, which, however, does not fall. The solidity of a board is equally inferred from its stopping the nual action of the moving cause is essentially necessary for notlon a ball which strikes it, and from the motion of the ball which the continuance of the motion; but they differ among it drives before it. In this way we learn that the particles themselves in their notions and opinions about this cause. of tangible matter cohere by means of moving forces, and Some maintain that all the motions in the universe are that they resist compression with force; and in making this produced and continued by the immediate agency of inference, we find that this corpuscular force exerted be- Deity ; others affirm, that in every particle of matter there tween the particles is mutual, opposite, and equal; for we is inherent a sort of mind, the puov; and of Arismust apply force equally to a or to b, in order to produce totle, which they call an Elemental Mind, which is the a separation or a compression. We learn their equality, cause of all its motions and changes. An overweening by observing that no motion ensues while these mutual reverence for Greek learning has had a great influence in forces are known to act on the particles; that is, each is reviving this doctrine of Aristotle. The Greek and Roopposed by another force, which is neither inferior nor man languages are affirmed to be more accurate expressuperior to it. sions of human thought than the modern languages are. In those ancient languages, the verbs which express motion are employed both in the active and passive voice; OF THE LAWS OF MOTION. whereas we have only the active verb to move, for expressSuch, then, being our notions of mechanical forces, the ing both the state of motion and the act of putting in causes of the sensible changes of motion, there will result motion. “ The stone moves down the slope, and moves all certain consequences from them, which may be called the pebbles which lie in its waybut in the ancient lan-

350

DYNAMICS. it, on this occasion, is precisely one of the erroneous Pird fTir Sthe gpassive > statevoice. of motion always conception expressed by o^Motion. ormere middle The isaccurate of by or inadequate conceptions that are suggested to curof! ?* the speakers is therefore extolled. The state of motion is thoughts by reason of the poverty of language. We ani- ‘ °4 expressed as it ought to be, as the result of a continual mate matter in order to give it motion, and then we endow action. Kmirat, movetur, is equivalent to “ it is moved.” it with a sort of moral character in order to explain the According to these philosophers, every thing which moves appearance of those motions. is mind, and every thing that is moved is body. 26. But more extended observation has made men graThe argument is futile, and it is false; for the modern dually desert their first opinions, and at last allow that languages are, in general, equally accurate in this instance: matter has no peculiar aptitude to rest. All the retarda“ se mouvoir” in French; “ jich bewegen” in German; tions that we observe have been discovered, one after an“ dvigatsu” in Slavonic; are all passive or reflected. And other, to have a distinct reference to some external cirthe ancients said that “ rain falls, water runs, smoke rises,” cumstances. The diminution of motion is always observjust as we do. The ingenious author of Ancient Meta- ed to be accompanied by the removal of obstacles, as when physics has taken much pains to give us, at length, the a ball moves through sand, or water, or air ; or it is owing procedures of those elementary minds in producing the to opposite motions which are destroyed; to roughness ostensible phenomena of local motion; but it seems to be of the path, or to friction, &c. We find that the more we merely an abuse of language, and a very frivolous abuse. can keep these things out of the way, the less are the This elemental mind is known and characterised only by motions diminished. A pendulum will vibrate but a short the effect which we ascribe to its action; that is, by the while in water; much longer in air; and in the exhaustmotions or changes of motions. Uniform and unexcept- ed receiver it will vibrate a whole day. We know that we ed experience shows us that these are regulated by laws cannot remove all obstacles ; but we are led by such obas precise as those of mathematical truth. We consider servations to conclude that, if they could be completely nothing as more fixed and determined than the common removed, our motions would continue for ever. And this laws of mechanism. There is nothing here that indicates conclusion is almost demonstrated by the motions of the any thing like spontaneity, intention, purpose; none of heavenly bodies, to which we know of no obstacles, and those marks by which mind was first brought into view; which we really observe to retain their motions for many but they are very like the effects which we produce by thousand years, without the smallest sensible diminution. the exertions of our corporeal forces; and we have ac27. Another set of philosophers maintain an opinioninact cordingly given the name force to the causes of motion. directly opposite to that of the inactivity of matter, andofma ?v It is surely much more apposite than the name mind, and assert, that it is essentially active, and continually chan-denie y conveys with much more readiness and perspicuity the ging its state. Faint traces of this are to be found in theLeibl very notions that we wish to convey. Action not 24. We now wish to know what reason we have to think writings of Plato, Aristotle, and their commentators. Mr Leibnitz is the person who has treated this question most for the ^ that the continual action of some cause is necessary for systematically and fully. He supposes every particle ofMona continu- continuing matter in motion, or for thinking that rest is matter to have a principle of individuality, which he there-what, ance of natural state. If we pretend to draw any argument fore calls & Monad. This monad has a sort perception motion. from the nature of matter, that matter must be known, as of its situation in the universe, and of its relation to every far as is necessary for being the foundation of argument. other part of this universe. Lastly, he says that the moIts very existence is known only from observation ; all our nad acts on the material particle much in the same way knowledge of it must therefore be derived from the same that the soul of man acts on his body. It modifies the source. motion of the material atom (in conformity, however, to . If we take this way to come at the origin of this opi- unalterable laws), producing all those modifications of nion, we shall find that experience gives us no authority motion that we observe. Matter, therefore, or at least for saying that rest is the natural condition of matter. We particles of matter, are continually active, and continualcannot say that we have ever seen a body at rest; this is ly changing their situation. evident to every person who allows the validity of the It is quite unnecessary to enter on a formal confutation This o Newtonian philosophy, and the truth of the Copernican of Mr Leibnitz s system of monads, which differs verynioni system of the sun and planets ; all the parts of this system little from the system of elemental minds, and is equally found* are in motion. Nay, it appears from many observations, whimsical and frivolous; because it only makes the unthat the sun, with his attending planets, is carried in a learned reader stare, without giving him any information. certain direction, with a velocity which is very great. We Should it even be granted, it would not, any more than have no unquestionable authority for saying that any one the action of animals, invalidate the general proposition of the stars is absolutely fixed ; but we are certain that which we are endeavouring to establish as the fundamany of them are in motion. Rest is therefore so rare a mental law of motion. I hose powers of the monads, or of condition of body, that we cannot say, from any experience the elemental minds, are the causes of all the changes of that it is its natural state. motion ; but the mere material particle is subject to the 25. It is easy, however, to see that it is from observa- law, and requires the exertion of the monad in order to tion that this opinion has been derived; but the observa- exhibit a change of motion. tion has been limited and careless. Our experiments in A third sect of philosophers, at the head of which this sublunary world do indeed always require continued we28. may Sir Isaac Newton, maintain the doctrine action of some moving force to continue the motion; and enouncedplace in the proposition. But they differ much in reif this be not employed, we see the motions slacken every spect of the foundation on which it is built. minute, and terminate in rest after no long period. Our Some that this truth flows from the nature of the Some] first notions of sublunary bodies are indicated by their thing. Ifassert a body be at rest, and you assert that it will notl080?*11 operation in cases where we have some interest. Perpe- remain rpmni’n at rest, raet it must w-.nct move in some oneJ.• direction, nTi>deduct u,. . Ifitf tually seeing our own exertions necessary, we are led to be ’ in • motion • in ■ any direction, -law oi and with any velocity, and^g,, consider matter as something not only naturally quiescent do not continue its equable, rectilineal motion, it mustth ewa and inert, but sluggish, averse from motion, and prone to either be accelerated or retarded ; it must turn either toofa^i rest (we must be pardoned this metaphorical language, one side or to some other side. The event, whatever it wining because we can find no other term). What is expressed be, is individual and determinate; but no cause which cause. F

Law

ua es

i

DYNAMICS. 351 jt Law can determine it is supposed; therefore the determina- carriage that strikes on them. In like manner, if we lay First Law oilotion.tion cannot take place, and no change will happen in the a card on the tip of the finger, and a piece of money on °f Motion, vy'-' condition of the body with respect to motion. It will con- the card, we may nick away the card, by hitting it neatly tinue at rest, or persevere in its rectilineal and equable on its edge; but the piece of money will be left behind, motion. lying on the tip of the finger. A ball will go through a But considerable objections may be made to this argu- wall and fly onward; but the wall is left behind. Buildings ment of sufficient reason, as it is called. In the immen- are thrown down by earthquakes; sometimes by being sity and perfect uniformity of space and time, there is no tossed from their foundations, but more generally by the determining cause why the visible universe should exist in ground on which they stand being hastily drawn sidewise the place in which we see it rather than in another, or at from under them, &c. this time rather than at another. Nay, the argument seems 30. But common experience seems insufficient for esta-Common to beg the question. A cause of determination is requir- Wishing this fundamental proposition of mechanical philo-experience ed as essentially necessary—a determination may be with- sophy. We must, on the faith of the Copernican system,irlsuffiout a cause, as well as a motion without a cause. grant that we never saw a body at rest, or in uniform rec-cient‘ 0 ;rs de- 29. Other philosophers, who maintain this doctrine, con- tilineal motion; yet this seems absolutely necessary before iLfit sider it merely as an experimental truth ; and proofs of its we can say that we have established this proposition exfr ex- universality are innumerable. perimentally. jx :nce When a stone is thrown from the hand, we press it forWhat we imagine, in our experiments, to be putting a ward while in the hand, and let it go when the hand has body, formerly at rest, into motion, is, in fact, only chanacquired the greatest rapidity of motion that we can give ging a mo^t rapid motion, not less, and probably much it. Thg stone continues in that state of motion which it greater, than 90,000 feet per second. Suppose a cannon acquired gradually along with the hand. We can throw pointed east, and the bullet discharged at noon day with a stone much farther by means of a sling, because, by a sixty times greater velocity than we have ever been able very moderate motion of the hand, we can whirl the stone to give it: it would appear to set out with this unmearound till it acquire a very great velocity, and then we let surable velocity to the eastward, to be gradually retardgo one of the strings, and the stone escapes, by continuing ed by the resistance of the air, and at last brought to rest its rapid motion. We see it still more distinctly in shoot- by hitting the ground. But, by reason of the earth’s moing an arrow from a bow. The string presses hard on the tion round the sun, the fact is quite the reverse. Immenotch of the arrow, and it yields to this pressure and goes diately before the discharge, the ball was moving to the forward. The string alone would go faster forward. It westward with the velocity of 90,000 feet per second therefore continues to press the arrow forward, and accele- nearly. By the explosion of the powder, and its pressure rates its motion. This goes on till the bow is as much on the ball, some of this motion is destroyed, and at the unbent as the string will allow. But the string is now a rnuzzle of the gun the ball is moving slower, and the canstraight line-It came into this position with an accele- non is hurried away from it to the westward. The air, rated motion, and it therefore goes a little beyond this po- which is also moving to the westward 90,000 feet in a sesition, but with a retarded motion, being checked by the cond, gradually communicates motion to the ball, in the bow. But there is nothing to check the arrow, therefore same manner as a hurricane would do. At last (the ball the arrow quits the string and flies away. dropping all the while) some part of the ground hits the These are simple cases of perseverance in a state of ball, and carries it along with it. motion, where the procedure of nature is so easily traced Other observations must therefore be resorted to, in that we perceive it almost intuitively. It is no less clear order to obtain an experimental proof of this proposition; in other phenomena which are more complicated ; but it and such are to be found. Although we cannot measure requires a little reflection to trace the process. We have the absolute motions of bodies, we can observe and meaoften seen an equestrian showman ride a horse at a gallop, sure accurately their relative motions, which are the difstanding on the saddle, and stepping from it to the back ferences of their absolute motions. Now, if we can show of another horse that gallops alongside at the same rate ; experimentally that bodies show equal tendencies to resist and he does this seemingly with as much ease as if the the augmentation and the diminution of their relative mohorses were standing still. The man has the same velo- tions, they, ipso facto, show equal tendencies to resist the city with the horse that gallops under him, and keeps this augmentation or diminution of their absolute motions. velocity while he steps to the back of the other. If that Therefore let two bodies, A and B, be put into such a siother were standing still, the man would fly over his head. tuation that they cannot (by reason of their impenetrabiAnd if a man should step from the back of a horse that is lity, or the action of their mutual powers) persevere in standing still, to the back of another that gallops past him, their relative motions. The change produced on A is the he would be left behind. In the same manner, a slack- effect and the measure of B’s tendency to persevere in its wire dancer tosses oranges from hand to hand while the former state; and therefore the proportion of these changes wire is in full swing. The orange, swinging along with will show the proportion of their tendencies to maintain the hand, retains the velocity; and when in the air, follows their former states. Therefore let the following experithe hand, and falls into it when it is in the opposite ex- ment be made at noon. tremity of its swing. A ball dropped from the mast-head Let A, apparently moving westward three feet per se-Experiof a ship that is sailing briskly forward, falls at the foot of cond, hit the equal body B apparently at rest. Suppose, ments prothe mast. It retains the motion which it had while in the ^st, that A impels B forward without any diminution of Per far fa® hand of the person who dropped it, and follows the mast its own velocity. This result would show that B mani-PurPose* during the whole of its fall. fests no tendency to maintain its motion unchanged, but a S lave ^ °a^ state familiar of the filled perseverance of that A retains its motion undiminished. a ody in of rest. instances When a vessel with water Zdly, Suppose that A stops, and that B remains at rest. is rawn suddenly along the floor, the water dashes over This would show that A does not resist a diminution of the posterior side of the vessel. It is left behind. In the motion, but that B retains its motion unaugmented. same manner, when a coach or boat is dragged forward, ■idly, Suppose that both move westward with the veloe persons in it find themselves strike against the hinder of one foot per second. The change on A is a dimipart of the carriage or boat. Properly speaking, it is the city nution of velocity, amounting to two feet per second.

DYNAMICS. 352 First Law This is the effect and the measure of B’s tendency to suppose the change of motion; for the action of this force, Pir8| aw of Motion, maintain its velocity unaugmented. The change on B is and the change of motion, is one and the same thing. We ot'M on. an augmentation of one foot per second made on its velo- cannot think of the action without thinking of the Tndica- ^ city ; and this is the measure of A’s tendency to maintain tion of that action ; that is, the change of motion. In the its velocity undiminished. This tendency is but half of same manner, when we do not think of a changing force, the former; and this result would show that the resist- or suppose that there is no action of a changing force, we ance to a diminution of velocity is but half of the resist- in fact, though not in terms, suppose that there is no inance to augmentation. It is perhaps but one quarter, for dication of this changing force; that is, that there is no change. the change on B has produced a double change on A. Whenever, therefore, we suppose that no mechanical It is aw Stilly, Suppose that both move westward at the rate of one and a half foot per second. It is evident that their force is acting on a body, we in fact suppose that the1of1011In n tendencies to maintain their states unchanged are now body continues in its former condition with respect to ' ; motion. If we suppose that nothing accelerates, or retards, equal. bihly. Suppose A = 2 B, and that both move, after the or deflects the motion, we suppose that it is not accelecollision, two feet per second; B has received an addition rated, nor retarded, nor deflected. Hence follows the proof two feet per second to its former velocity. This is the position in express terms— We suppose that the body coneffect and the measure of A’s whole tendency to retain its tinues in its former state of rest or motion, unless we suppose motion undiminished. Half of this change on B measures that it is changed by some mechanical force. Thus it appears that this proposition is not a matter of the persevering tendency of the half of A; but A, which formerly moved with die apparent or relative velocity experience or contingency, depending on the properties three, now moves (by the supposition) with the velocity which it has pleased the Author of nature to bestow on two, having lost a velocity of one foot per second. Each body; it is to us a necessary truth. The proposition does half of A therefore has lost this velocity, and the whole not so much express any thing with regard to body, as it loss of motion is two. Now this is the measure of B’s does the operations of our mind when contemplating body. tendency to maintain its former state unaugmented; and It may perhaps be essential to body to move in some parthis is the same with the measure of A’s tendency to ticular direction. It may be essential to body to stop as maintain its own former state undiminished. The conclu- soon as the moving cause has ceased to act; or it may be sion from such a result would therefore be, that bodies essential to body to diminish its motion gradually, and have equal tendencies to maintain their former states of finally come to rest. But this will not invalidate the truth of this proposition. These circumstances in the nature of motion without augmentation and without diminution. What is supposed in the fourth and fifth cases is really body, which render those modifications of motion essenthe result of all the experiments which have been tried; tially necessary, are the causes of those modifications; and this law regulates all the changes of motion which are and in our study of nature they will be considered by us produced by the mutual actions of bodies in impulsions. as changing forces, and will be known and called by that This assertion is true without exception or qualification. name. And if we should ever see a particle of matter in Therefore it appears that bodies have no preferable ten- such a situation that it is affected by those essential prodency to rest, and that no fact can be adduced which perties alone, we shall, from observation of its motion, disshould make us suppose that a motion once begun should cover what those essential properties are. suffer any diminution without the action of a changing This law turns out at last to be little more than a tail-and; ost cause. tological proposition; but mechanical philosophy, as we canal id But expe- But we must now observe, that this way of establishing have defined it, requires no other sense of it; for even il' . .P rience is the first law of motion is very imperfect, and altogether we should suppose that body, of its own nature, is capa-sltl01^ not the unfit for rendering it the fundamental principle of a whole ble of changing its state, this change must be performed ant ex ens ve foundation ^ t i science. It is subject to all the inaccuracy according to some law which characterizes the nature of of an J ^iat *s t0 be found in our best experiments; and it cannot body; and the knowledge of the law can be had in no axiom. be applied to cases where scrupulous accuracy is wanted, other way than by observing the deviations from uniform and where no experiment can be made. rectilineal motion. It is therefore indifferent whether Let us therefore examine the proposition by means of those changes are derived from the nature of the thing or principles which contain the foundation of all our know- from external causes; for, in order to consider the various ledge of active nature. These will, we imagine, give a motions of bodies, we must first consider this nature of decision of this question that is speedy and accurate; matter as a mechanical affection of matter, operating in showing the proposition to be an axiom or intuitive con- every instance; and thus we are brought back to the law sequence of the relations of those ideas which we have of enounced in this proposition. This becomes more certain motion, and of the causes of its production and changes. when we reflect that the external causes (such as gravity Logical 31. It has been fully demonstrated that the powers or or magnetism), which are acknowledged to operate changes proof! forces of which we speak so much are never the immedi- of motion, are equally unknown to us with this essential ate objects of our perception. Their very existence, their original property of matter, and are, like it, nothing but kind, and their degree, are instinctive inferences from the inferences from the phenomena. motions which we observe and class. It evidently follows The above very diffuse discussions may appear superfrom this experimental and universal truth, ls£, that where fluous to many readers, and even cumbersome; but we no change of motion is observed, no such inference is trust that the philosophical reader will excuse our anxiety made, that is, no power is supposed to act. But when- on this head, when he reflects on the complicated, indisever any change of motion is observed, the inference is tinct, and inaccurate notions commonly had of the submade ; that is, a power or force is supposed to have acted. ject. We may include Sir Isaac Newton in the number In the same form of logical conclusion, we must say of those who have at least introduced modes of expression that, 2dly, when no change of motion is supposed or which mislead the minds of incautious persons, and sugthought of, no force is supposed; and that whenever we gest inadequate notions, incompatible with the pure docsuppose a change of motion, we in fact, though not in trine of the proposition. Although in words they disclaim terms, suppose a changing force. And, on the other hand, the doctrine that rest is the natural state of body, and whenever we suppose the action of a changing force, we that force is necessary for the continuation of its motion,

* '

DYNAMICS, 353 j.. Law yet in words they (and most of them in thought) likewise action is as complete in the instant immediately succeed- First Law (1f ation. abet that doctrine: for they say that there resides in a ing the beginning of the motion as it is a minute after. °f Motion. moving body a power or force, by which it perseveres in The subsequent change of place is the continuation of an its motion. They call it the vis insita, the inherent force, effect already produced. The immediate effect of the oja moving body. This is surely giving up the question : moving force is a determination, by which, if not hinfor if the motion is supposed to be continued in conse- dered, the body would go on for ever from place to place. quence of a force, that force is supposed to be exerted; It is in this determination only that the state or condition and it is supposed that if it were not exerted, the motion of the body can differ from a state of rest; for in any inwould cease; and therefore the proposition must be false. stant the body does not describe any space, but has a deIndeed it is sometimes expressed so as seemingly to ward termination by which it will describe a certain space unioff this objection. It is said that the body continues in formly in a certain time. Motion is a condition, a state, uniform rectilineal motion, unless affected by some external or mode of existence, and no more requires the continued cause. But this way of speaking obliges us, at first setting agency of the moving cause than yellowness or roundness out in natural philosophy, to assert that gravity, magnetism, does. It requires some chemical agency to change the electricity, and a thousand other mechanical powers, are yellowness to greenness ; and itrequires a mechanical cause external to the matter which they put in motion. This is or a force to change this motion into rest. When we see quite improper. It is the business of philosophy to dis- a moving body stop short in an instant, or be gradually cover whether they be external or not; and if we assert but quickly brought to rest, we never fail to speculate that they are, we have no principles of argumentation with about a cause of this cessation or retardation. The case those who deny it. It is this one thing that has filled the is no way different in itself although the retardation should study of nature with all the jargon of ethers, and other in- be extremely slow. We should always attribute it to a visible, intangible fluids, which has disgraced philosophy, cause. It requires a cause to put a body out of motion, as much as to put it into motion. This cause, if not exterand greatly retarded its progress. yXuita, 32. We must observe, that the terms vis insita, inherent nal, must be found in the body itself; and it must have a indent force, are very improper. There is no dispute among phi- self-determining power, and may as well be able to put foi are losophers in calling every thing a force that produces a itself into motion as out of it. im er If this reasoning be not admitted, we do not see how ’P change of motion, and in inferring the action of such a tl' usual ft,rce whenever observe a change of motion. It is any effect can be produced by any cause. Every effect aJta. surely incongruous to give the same name to what has supposes something done ; and any thing done implies that tic not this quality of producing a change, or to infer (or rather the thing done may remain till it be undone by some other to suppose) the energy of a force when no change of motion cause. Without this it would have no existence. If a is observed. This is one among many instances of the moving cause did not produce continued motion by its indanger of mistake when we indulge in analogical discus- stantaneous action, it could not produce it by any continusions. All our language, at least, on this subject is ana- ance of that action ; because in no instant of that action logous. I feel that in order to oppose animal force I must does it produce continued motion. exert force. But I must exert force in order to oppose a We must therefore give up the opinion, that there rebody in motion ; therefore I imagine that the moving body sides in a moving body a force by which it is kept in mopossesses force. A bent spring will drive a body forward tion ; and we must find some other way of explaining that by unbending; therefore I say that the spring exerts remarkable difference between a moving body and a body force. A moving body impels the body which it hits; at rest, by which the first causes other bodies to move by therefore I say that the impelling body possesses and ex- hitting them, while the other does not do this by merely erts force. I imagine farther, that it possesses force only touching them. We shall see, with the clearest evidence, by being in motion, or because it is in motion; because I that motion is necessary in the impelling body, in order do not find that a quiescent body will put another into that it may permit the forces inherent in one or both motion by touching it. But we shall soon find this to be bodies to continue this pressure long enough for produfalse in many, if not in all cases, and that the communica- cing a sensible or considerable motion. But these moving tion of motion depends on the mere vicinity, and not on forces are inherent in bodies, whether they are in motion the motion of the impelling body; yet we ascribe the or at rest. exertion of the vis insita to the circumstance of the con34. The foregoing observations show us the impropriety Commumtinued motion. We therefore conceive the force as aris- of the phrase communication of motion. By thus reflect- cation of ing from or as consisting in the impelling body’s being in ing on the notions that are involved in the general con-m°tion is motion; and, with a very obscure and indistinct concep- ception of one body being made to move by the impulse an inprotion of the whole matter, we call it the force by which the of another, we perceive that there is nothing individual^6 ^ ia’e’ body preserves itself in motion. Thus, taking it for grant- transferred from the one body to the other. The detered that a force resides in the body, and being obliged mination to motion, indeed, existed only in the impelling to give it some office, this is the only one that we can body before collision; whereas, afterwards, both bodies think of. are so conditioned or determined. But we can form no 33. But philosophers imagine that they perceive the notion of the thing transferred. With the same metanecessity of the exertion of a force in order to the con- physical impropriety we speak of the communication of tinuation of a motion. Motion (say they) is a continued joy, of fever. action ; the body is every instant in a new situation ; there 35. Kepler introduced a term inertia, vis inertice, into so is vis is the continual production of an effect, therefore the con- mechanical philosophy; and it is now in constant use.iwcriia?. tinual action of a cause. But writers are very careless and vague in the notions which ^ F's This, however, is a very inaccurate way of thinking. they affix to these terms. Kepler and Newton seem geto employ it for expressing the fact, the perseverance co a t st nct conce t on °i iual ^ve^aVe ^ ‘ P ‘ °f motion ; and we con- nerally t at of the body in its present state of motion or rest: but they pd jiction ce ^ . ^ there is such a thing as a moving cause, which d ef. we distinguish from all other causes by the name force. It also frequently express by it something like an indifferfet| produces motion. If it does this, it produces the cha- ence to motion or rest, manifested by its requiring the same racter of motion, which is a continual change of place. quantity of force to make an augmentation of its motion as Motion is not action, but the effect of an action ; and this to make an equal diminution of it. The popular notion is VOL. VIII.

354 DYNAMICS. First Law like that which we have of actual resistance; and it always resemblance by which the affections of matter are to be of Motion. jmp]jes {fog notion of force exerted hy the resisting body. characterized; and it is to the discovery and determinaWe suppose this to be the exertion of the vis insita, or tion of these alone that our attention is now to be dithe inherent force of a body in motion. But we have the rected. We are directed in this research by the same notion of resistance from a body at rest which we set in motion. Now surely it is in direct contradiction to the SECOND LAW OF MOTION. common use of the word^brce, when we suppose resistance from a body at rest; yet vis inertice is a very common ex- Every change of motion is proportional to the force impression. Nor is it more absurd (and it is very absurd) pressed, and is made in the direction of that force. to say, that a body maintains its state of rest by the exertion of a vis inertice, than to say that it maintains its 37. This law also may almost be considered as an idenstate of motion by the exertion of an inherent force. We tical proposition ; for it is equivalent to saying that the should avoid all such metaphorical expressions ^resistance, changing force is to be measured by the change which it indifference, sluggishness, or proneness to rest (which some produces, and that the direction of this force is the direcexpress by inertia) because they seldom fail to make us tion of the change. Of this there can be no doubt, when indulge in metaphorical notions, and thus lead us to mis- we consider the force in no other sense than that of the conceive the modus operandi, or procedure of nature. cause of motion, paying no attention to the form or manThere is no resistance whatever observed in these pheno- ner of its exertion. Thus, when a pellet of tow is shot mena, for the force employed always produces its com- from a pop-gun by the expansion of the air compressed plete effect. When I throw down a man, and find that I by the rammer, or where it is shot from a toy pistol by have employed no more force than was sufficient to throw the unbending of the coiled wire, or when it is nicked down a similar and equal mass of dead matter, I know by away by the thumb like a marble—if, in all these cases, this that he has not resisted; but I conclude that he has it moves off in the same direction, and with the same veresisted if I have been obliged to employ much more locity, we cannot consider or think of the force, or at least force. There is therefore no resistance, properly so called, of its exertion, as any how different. Nay, when it is when the exerted force is observed to produce its full driven forward by the instantaneous percussion of a smart effect. To say that there is resistance, is therefore a real stroke, although the manner of producing this effect (if misconception of the way in which mechanical forces possible) is essentially different from what is conceived in have operated in the collision of bodies. There is no the other cases, we must still think that the propelling more resistance in these cases than in any other natural force, considered as a propelling force, is one and the same. changes of condition. We are guilty, however, of the In short, this law of motion, as thus expressed by Sir Isaac same impropriety of language in other cases, where the Newton, is equivalent to saying, “ that we take the cause of it is more evident. We say that colours in grain changes of motion as the measures of the changing forces, resist the action of soap and of the sun, but that Prussian and the direction of the change for the indication of the blue does not. We all perceive that in this expression direction of the forces: ’ for no reflecting person can prethe word resistance is entirely figurative ; and we should say tend to say that it is a deduction from the acknowledged that Prussian blue resists soap, if we are right in saying principle, that effects are proportional to their causes. We that a body resists any force employed to change its state do not affirm this law from having observed the proportion of motion; for soap must be employed to discharge or of the forces and the proportion of the changes, and that change the colour, and it does change it. Force must these proportions are the same ; and from having observed be employed to change a motion, and it does change it. that this has obtained through the whole extent of our The impropriety, both of thought and language, is plain study of nature. This would indeed establish it as a phyin the one case, and it is no less real in the other. Both sical law, an universal fact; and it is, in fact, so established. of the terms inherent force and inertia may be used with But this does not establish it as a law of motion, according safety for abbreviating language, if we be careful to em- to our definition of that term; as a law of human thought, ploy them only for expressing either the simple fact of per- the result of the relations of our ideas, as an intuitive severing in the former state, or the necessity of employing a truth. The injudicious attempts of philosophers to prove certain determinate force in order to chajige that state, and it as a matter of observation, have occasioned the only if ive avoid all thought of resistance. dispute that has arisen in mechanical philosophy. It is well Deviations 36- From the whole of this discussion we learn that the known that a bullet moving with double velocity penefrom uni- deviations from uniform motions are the indications of the trates four times as fai\ Many other similar facts corroform recti-existence and agency of mechanical forces, and that they borate this: and the philosophers observe, that four times tior^are °" are ^le 0n^ ideations* The indication is very simple— the force has been expended to generate this double velothe only rnerew change of place; it can therefore indicate nothing city in the bullet; it requires four times as much powder. indications hat is very simple, the something competent to the In all the examples of this kind it would seem that the offeree, production of the very motion that we observe; and when ratio of the forces employed has been very accurately astwo changes of motion are precisely similar, they indicate certained ; yet this is the invariable result. Philosophers, the same thing. Suppose a mariner’s compass on the therefore, have concluded that moving forces are not protable, and that by a small tap with my finger I cause the portional to the velocities which they produce, but to the needle to turn off from its quiescent position ten degrees. squares of those velocities. It is a strong confirmation to I can do the same thing by bringing a magnet near it, or see that the bodies in motion seem to possess forces in by bringing an electrified body near it, or by the unbend- this very proportion, and produce effects in this proporing of a fine spring pressing it aside, or by a puff of wind, tion ; penetrating four times as deep when the velocity or by several other methods. In all these cases the indi- is only twice as great, &c. cation is the same; therefore the thing indicated is the But if this be a just estimation, we cannot reconcile it same, namely, a certain intensity and direction of a mov- to the concession of the same philosophers, who grant ing power. How it operates, or in what manner it exists that the velocity is proportional to the force impressed, in and exerts itself in these instances, outwardly so differ- the cases where we have no previous observation of the ent, is not under consideration at present. Impulsive- ratio of the forces, and of its equality to the ratio of the ness, intensity, and direction, are all the circumstances of velocities. This is the case with gravity, which these

n Se( j La Me

I

i i

DYNAMICS. 355 ever the previous velocity may be, the changing force must Second be considered as the same. Therefore, finally, if the pre- Law °f vious velocity is nothing, and consequently the change on Motion, that body is the very velocity or motion that it acquires, we must say, that the force which produces a certain change in the velocity of a moving body is the same with the force which would impart to a body at rest a velocity equal to this change or difference of velocity produced on the body already in motion. 39. This manner of estimating force is in perfect conformity to our most familiar notions on these subjects. We conceive the weight or downward pressure of a body as the cause of its motion downwards; and we conceive it as belonging to the body at all times, and in all places, whether falling, or rising upwards, or describing a parabola, or lying on a table ; and, accordingly, we observe, that in every state of motion it receives equal changes of velocity in the same or an equal time, and all in the direction of its pressure, 40. All that we have now said of a change of velocity might be repeated of a change of direction. It is surely possible that the same change of direction may be made on any two motions. Let one of the motions be considered as growing continually slower, and terminating in rest. In every instant of this motion it is possible to make one and the same change on it. The same change may therefore be made at the very instant that the motion is at an end. In this case the change is the very motion which the body acquires from the changing force. Therefore, in this case also, we must say that a change of motion is itself a motion, and that it is the motion which the force would produce in a body that was previously at rest. 41. The result of these observations is evidently this, How ascerthat we must ascertain, in every instance, what is the tained and change of motion, and mark it by characters that are con- measured, spicuous and distinguishing; and this mark and measure of change must be a motion. Then we must say, that the changing force is that which would produce this motion in a body previously at rest. We must see how this is manifest as a motion in the difference between the former motion and the new motion; and, on the other hand, we must see how the motion produceable in a quiescent body may be so combined with a motion already existing as to exhibit a new motion, in which the agency of the changing force may appear. Suppose a ship at anchor in a stream, while one man walks forward on the quarter deck at the rate of two miles per hour, another walks from stem to stern at the same rate, a third walks athwart ship, and a fourth stands still. Let the ship be supposed to cut or part her cable, and float down the stream at the rate of three miles per hour. We cannot conceive any difference in the change made on each man’s motion in absolute space ; but their motions are now exceedingly different from what they were : the first man, whom we may suppose to have been walking westward, is now moving eastward one mile per hour; the second is moving eastward four miles per hour, and the third is moving in an oblique direction, about three points north or south of due east. All have suffered the same change of condition with the man who had been standing still. He has now got a motion eastward three miles per hour. In this instance, we see very well the circumstance of sameness that obtains in the change of these four conditions. It is the motion of the ship which is blended with the other motions. But this circumstance is equally present whenever the same previous motions are changed into the same new motions. We must learn to expiscate this; which we shall do by considering the manner in which the motion of the ship is blended with each of the men’s motions.

«ond philosophers always measure by its accelerating power, or IiV of the velocity which it generates in a given time. And 3 Ition. this cannot be refused by them ; for cases occur where the force can be measured in the most natural manner by the actual pressure which it exerts. Gravity is thus measured by the pressure which a stone exerts on its supports. A weight which at Quito will pull out the rod of a spring steelyard to the mark 312, will pull it to 313 at Spitzbergen; and it is a fact, that a body will fall 313 inches at Spitzbergen in the same time that it falls 312 at Quito. Gravitation is the cause both of the pressure and the fall, and it is a matter of unexcepted observation that they have always the same ratio. The philosophers who have so strenuously maintained the other measure of forces are among the most eminent of those who have examined the motions produced by gravity, magnetism, electricity, &c.; and they never think of measuring those forces any other way than by the velocity. It is in this way that the whole of the celestial phenomena are explained in perfect uniformity with observation, and that the Newtonian philosophy is considered as a demonstrative science. There must, therefore, be some defect in the principle on which the other measurement of forces is built, or in the method of applying it. Pressure is undoubtedly the immediate and natural measure of force ; yet we know that four springs, or a bow four times as strong, give only a double velocity to an arrow. The truth of our law rests on this only, that we assume the changes of motion as the measure of the changing forces, or at least as the measures of their exertions in producing motion. In fact, they are the measures only of a certain circumstance, in which the actions of very different natural powers may resemble each other, namely, the competency to produce motion. They do not, perhaps, measure their competency to produce heat, or even to bend springs. We can surely consider this apart from all other circumstances, and it is worthy of separate consideration. Let us see what can be, and what ought to be, deduced from this way of treating the subject. Cige of 38. The motion of a body may certainly remain unnijon is changed. If the direction and velocity remain the same, itt' we perceive no circumstance in which its condition with m: respect to motion differs. Its change of place or situation can make no difference; for this is implied in the very circumstance of the bodies being in motion. But if either the velocity or direction change, then surely is its mechanical condition no longer the same ; a force has acted on it, either intrinsic or from without, either accelerating, or retarding, or deflecting it. Supposing the direction to remain the same, its difference of condition can consist in nothing but its difference of velocity. This is the only circumstance in which its condition can differ, as it passes through two different points of its rectilineal path. It is this determination by which the body will describe a certain determinate space uniformly in a given time, which defines its condition as a moving body; the changes of this determination are the measures of their own causes, and to those causes we have given the name force. Those causes may reside in other bodies, which may have other properties, characterized and measured by other effects. Pressure may be one of those properties, and may have its own measures ; these may or may not have the same proportion with that property which is the cause of a change of velocity ; and therefore changes of velocity may not be a measure of pressure. This is a question of fact, and requires observation and experience; but, in the mean time, velocity, and the change of velocity, is the measure of moving force and of changing force. When, therefore, the change of velocity is the same what-

i 356 DYNAMICS. Second 42. This kind of combination has been called the com- ehmstance of sameness which is to be found in the four Sect Law of position of motion ; because, in every point of the motion changes of motion is this motion of the ship, or of the Can 'Motion^ really pursued, the two motions are to be found. man who was standing still. By composition with each ^ of the three former motions, it produces each of the three Comnosi- un ^le fundamental theorem on this subject is this : Two tion of mo- if°rm motions in the sides of a parallelogram compose new motions. Now, when each of two primitive motions is the same, and each of the new motions is the same, the tion. an uniform motion in the diagonal. Suppose that a point A (fig. 1) describes AB uniform- change is surely the same. If one of the changes has ly in some given time, while the line AB is carried uni- been brought about by the actual composition of motions formly along AC in the same time, keeping always paral- we know precisely what that change is ; and this informs lel to its first position AB. The point A, by the combi- us what the other is, in whatever way it was produced. nation of these motions, will describe AD, the diagonal of Hence we infer that, the parallelogram ABDC, uniformly in the same time. 43. When a motion is any how changed, the change is Its im that motion which, when compounded with the former mo- and ml Fig. 1. tion, will produce the new motion. Now, because we assume sure• the change as the measure and characteristic of the changing force, we must do so in the present instance ; and we must say, 44. That the changing force is that which will produce in Chang a quiescent body the motion which, by composition with the force, former motion of a body, will produce the new motion. And, on the other hand, When the motion of a body is changed by the action o/its efi; any force, the new motion is that which is compounded of the former motion, and of the motion which the force woidd produce in a quiescent body. When a force changes the direction of a motion, we seeDefbc r that its direction is transverse in some angle BAG; be-force. ’ described in the same time. When the point has got to cause a diagonal AD always supposes two sides. As we E, the middle of AB, the line AB has got into the situa- have distinguished any change of direction by the term tion GH, half way between AB and CD, and the point E deflection, we may call the transverse force a deflecting is in the place e, the middle of GH. Draw EeL parallel force. In this way of estimating a change of motion, all the to AC. It is plain that the parallelograms ABDC and AEeG are similar; because AE and AG are the halves of characters of both motions are preserved, and it expresses AB and AC, and the angle at A is common to botli. every circumstance of the change ; the mere change of diTherefore, by a proposition in the elements, they are rection, or the angle BAD, is not enough, because the about the same diagonal, and the point e is in the diago- same force will make different angles of deflection, accordnal of AD. In like manner, it may be shown, that when ing to the velocity of the former motion, or according to A has described AF, three fourths of AB, the line AB its direction. But in this estimation the full effect of the will be in the situation IK ; so that AI is three fourths of deflecting force is seen ; it is seen as a motion; for when AC, and the point f in which A is now found, is in the half of the time is elapsed, the body is at e instead of E; diagonal AD. It will be the same in whatever point of AB when three fourths are elapsed it is at /instead of F; and the describing point A be supposed to be found. The line at the end of the time it is at D instead of B. In short, the AB will be on a similar point of AC, and the describing body has moved uniformly away from the points at which it would have arrived independent of the change ; and this point will be in the diagonal AD. Moreover, the motion in AD is uniform; for Ae is de- motion has been in the same direction, and at the same scribed in the time of describing AE ; that is, in half the rate, as if it had moved from A to C by the changing time of describing AB, or in half the time of describing force alone. Each force has produced its full effect; for AD. In like manner, Kf is described in three fourths of when the body is at D, it is as far from AC as if the force the time of describing AD, &c. &c. AC had not acted on it; and it is as far from AB as it would Lastly, the velocity in the diagonal AD is to the velo- have been by the action of AC alone. For all these reasons, therefore, it is evident, that if we city in either of the sides as AD is to that side. This is evident, because they are uniformly described in the same are to abide by our measure and character of force as a time. mere producer of motion, we have selected the proper This is justly called a composition of the motions AB and characteristic and measure of a changing force; and our AC, as will appear bj' considering it in the following man- descriptions, in conformity to this selection, must be agreener: Let the lines AB, AC be conceived as two material able to the phenomena of nature, and retain the accuracy lines like wires. Let AB move uniformly from the situa- of geometrical procedure; because, on the other hand, tion AB into the situation CD, while AC moves uniformly the results which we deduce from the supposed influence into the situation BD. It is plain that their intersection of those forces are formed in the same mould. It is not will always be found on AD. The point e, for example, is a even requisite that the real exertions of the natural forces, point common to both lines. Considered as a point of EL, such as pressure of various kinds, &c. shall follow these it is then moving in the direction eH or AB ; and con- rules; for their deviations will be considered as new sidered as a point of GH, it is moving in the direction eL. forces, although they are only indications of the differenBoth of these motions are therefore blended in the motion ces of the real forces from our hypothesis. We have obof the intersection along AD. We can conceive a small tained the precious advantage of mathematical investigaring at e embracing loosely both of the wires. This ma- tion, by which we can examine the law of exertion which terial ring will move in the diagonal, and will really par- characterizes every force in nature. take of both motions. 45. On these principles we establish the following funThus we see how the motion of the ship is actually damental elementary proposition, of continual and indisblended with the motions of the three men ; and the cir- pensable use in all mechanical inquiries.

DYNAMICS. 357 real motion is undoubtedly along AD; but this is by no Second ^ond If cl body or material particle be subjected at the same time I.v of to the action of two moving forces, each of which would means a demonstration that the instantaneous or short- Law of X ion. separately cause it to describe the side of a parallelogram lived action of two forces would produce that motion; Motion, uniformly in a given time, the body will describe the dia- the man must continue to exert force in order to walk; Futiaand the ice is dragged along by the stream. Some indeed gonal uniformly in the same time. me express this proof in another way, saying, let a body deFor the body, whose motion AB was changed into AD, tbt^rahad gotten its motion by the action of some force. It was scribe AB, while the space in which this motion is performmoving along NAB, and when it reached the point A, the ed is carried along AC. The ice may be carried along, force AC acted on it. The primitive motion is the same, and may, by friction or otherwise, drag the man along or the body is in the same condition in every instant of with it; but a space cannot be removed from one place to the primitive motion. It may have acquired this motion another, nor, if it could, would it take the man with it. when it was in N, or when at O, or any other point of NA. Should a ship start suddenly forward while a man is walkIn all these cases, if AC act on it when it is in A, it will al- ing across the deck, he would be left behind, and fall toways describe AD ; therefore it will describe AD when it ward the stern. We must suppose a transverse force, and acquires the primitive motion also in A; that is, if the two we must suppose the composition of this force without forces act on it at one and the same instant. The demonstra- proof. This is no demonstration. We apprehend, that the demonstration given above of tion may be neatly expressed thus: The change induced by each force on the motion produced by the other is the this fundamental proposition is unexceptionable, when the motion which it would produce in the body if previously terms force and deflection are used in the abstract sense at rest. Therefore the motion resulting from joint action which we have affixed to them. The only circumstance in is the motion which is compounded of these two motions, it which can be the subject of discussion is, whether we or it is a motion in the diagonal of the parallelogram, of have selected the proper measure and characteristic of a change of motion. We never met with any objection to it. which these motions are the sides. 48. But some have still maintained that it does not evi-Objections Cofiosi. This is called the composition of forces. The forces detio'if which produce the motions along the sides of the parallelo- dently appear from these principles, that the motion nto the fon» gram are called the simple forces, or the constituent forces; which results from the joint action of two natural powers, i°nstraj* and the force which would alone produce the motion along whose known and measurable intensities have the same prothe diagonal is called the compound force, the resulting portions with AB and BC, and which also exert themselves annlv in those directions, will produce a motion having the direc-t0 pres_ force, the equivalent force. 46. On the other hand, the force which produces a mo- tion and proportion of AD. They will not, if the velocities sures. tion along any line whatever may be conceived as result- produced by these forces are not in the proportion of those ing from the combined action of two or more forces. We intensities, but in the subduplicate ratio of them. Nay, may hnow or observe it to be so ; as when we see a lighter they say that it is not so. If a body be impelled along dragged along a canal by two horses, one on each side. AC by one spring, and along AB by two springs equally Each pulls the boat directly toward himself in the direc- strong, it will not describe the diagonal of a parallelogram, tion of the track-rope ; the boat cannot go both ways, and of which the side AB is double the side AC. They add, its real motion, whatever it is, results from this combined that an indefinite number of examples can be given where action. This might be produced by a single force; for a body does not describe the diagonal of the parallelogram example, if the lighter be dragged along the canal by a by the joint action of two forces, which separately would rope from another lighter which precedes it, being drag- cause it to describe the sides. And lastly, they say that ged by one horse, aided by the helm of the foremost light- at any rate it does not appear evident to the mind, that er. Here the real force is not the resulting, or the com- two incitements to motion, having the directions and the pound, but the equivalent force. same proportion of intensity with that of the sides of a lUlution This view of a motion mechanically produced is called parallelogram, actually generate a third, which is the imthe resolution of forces. The force in the diagonal is said mediate cause of the motion in the diagonal. An equivato be resolved into the two forces, having the directions lent force is not the same with a resulting force. 49. Yet we see numberless cases of the composition of and velocities represented by the sides. This practice is of the most extensive and multifarious use in all mechani- incitements to motion, and they seem as determinate and cal disquisitions. It may frequently be exceedingly diffi- as susceptible of being combined by composition, as the cult to manage the complication of the many real forces things called moving forces, which are measured by the which concur in producing a phenomenon ; and by substi- velocities. We see them actually so combined in a thoututing others, whose combined effects are equivalent, our sand instances, as in the example already given of a lightinvestigation may be much expedited. But more of this er dragged by two horses pulling in different directions. Experiment even shows, that this composition follows preafterwards. We must carefully remember, that when the motion cisely the same rule as the composition of the forces AD is once begun, all composition is at an end, and the which are measured by the velocities; for if the point A motion is a simple motion. The two determinations, by (fig. 1) be pulled by a thread or pressed by a spring in one of which the body would describe AB, and by the the direction AB, and by another in the direction AC, other of which it would describe AC, no longer co-exist and if the pressures are proportional to AB and AC, then in tile body. This was the case only in the instant, in the it will be withheld from moving, if it be pulled or pressed very act of changing the motion AB into the motion BD ; by a third force, acting in the direction At?, opposite to yet is the motion AD equivalent to a motion which is pro- AD, the pressure being also proportional to AD. This duced by the actual composition of two motions AB and force acting in the direction Kd, would certainly withAC ; in which case the two motions co-exist in every point stand an equal force acting in the direction AD; thereof AD. fore we must conclude that the two pressures AB and Wide. 47. Accordingly this is the way in which the composi- AC really generate a force AD. This uniform agreement ®fkra. tioj t,raOn ' t*l>n forces is usually illustrated, and thought to be de- shows that the composition is deducible from fixed princidl ^ *monstrated. A man is supposed (for instance) to walk ples ; but it does not appear that it can be held as demon uniformly from A to C on a sheet of ice, while the ice is strated by the arguments employed in the case of motions. carried uniformly along AB by the stream. The man’s A demonstration of the composition of pressures is farther

358 DYNAMICS. Second wanted, in order to render mechanics a demonstrative proportional to the intensities of two pressures which act So > Law of science. in the same direction, then the magnitude a + b will mea- La Motion. Accordingly, philosophers of the first eminence have sure the intensity of the pressure, which is equivalent, and ms cum turned their attention to this problem. It is by no means may be called equal to the combined effort of the other ^ position is easY; being so nearly allied to first principles, that it must two; for when we try to form a notion of pressure as a of more be difficult to find axioms of greater simplicity by which measurable magnitude, distinct from motion or any other effect of it, we find nothing that we can measure it by but difficult in-it may be proved. yestigaMechanicians generally contented themselves with the another pressure. Nor have we any notion of a double or tl0r1, solution given by Aristotle; but this is merely a composi- triple pressure different from a pressure that is equivalent tion of motions; indeed he does not give it for any thing to the joint effort of two or three equal pressures. A preselse, and calls it (Tuvdeff/s ruv b to the increment of the square of the velocity acquired along Cc.

% G Remark.—Because the motion along any of theses is. three lines is uniformly accelerated, the relation betweenthe one bj if spaces, times, and velocities, may be represented by means1 61111in of the triangle ABC (fig. 17); where AB represents the ” time, BC the velocity, and ABC the space. If BC be taken equal to AB, the triangle is half of the square ABCF of the velocity BC; and the triangle ADE is half of the square ADEG of the velocity DE. Let E)d and BA be two moments of time, equal or unequal. Then DrfeEand BAcC are half the increments of the squares of the velocities DE and BC, acquired during the moments E>d and BA. It was demonstrated that the ratio of the area DcfeE to the area BAcC is compounded of the ratio of DE to BC, and the ultimate ratio of Dc? to BA. But E)d and BA are respectively equal to se and jcc. Therefore DcfeE is to BAcC, in the ratio compounded of the ratio of DE to BC, and the ultimate ratio of to xc. If we represent DE and BC by V and v, then se and xc must be represented by V' and v', the increments of V and v ; and then the compound ratio will be the ratio of VV' to vd; and if we take the ultimate ratio of the moments, and consequently the ultimate ratio of the increments of the velocities, we have the ratio of YdV to vdv. If therefore V2 and v2 represent the squares of the velocities, YdY and vdv will represent, not the increments of those squares, but half the increments of them. We may now represent this proposition concerning accelerating forces by the proportional equation a = ^; ys — vi ’ and wre must consider this as equivalent with a =■ v; ' tenets infected the isle of Cyprus. St John opposed both better to authorize their own practices, they even made Eb, Cerinthus and Ebion in Asia ; and it is thought that this that saint tell a number of falsehoods. (See St Epipha- Ebi apostle wrote his gospel in the year 97 in order to over- nius, who is very diffusive on the ancient heresy of the throw this heresy. Ebionites, Hair. 30. But his account deserves little creEBIONITES, ancient heretics, who appeared in the dit, as, by his own confession, he has confounded the church in the first ages, and formed themselves into a other sects with the Ebionites, and has charged them sect in the second century, denying the divinity of Jesus with errors to which the first adherents of this sect were Christ. utter strangers.) Origen conceives them to have been so called from the EBONY, a species of wood, exceedingly hard and heavy, Hebrew word ebion, signifying poor, because, according susceptible of a very fine polish, and on that account used to him, they were poor in sense, and wanted understand- in mosaic and inlaid works, toys, and the like. There are ing. Eusebius, with a view to the same etymology, is of different kinds of ebony, but the most usual amongst us opinion they were so called from having poor thoughts of are black, red, and green, and almost all of them the proJesus Christ, by taking him for a mere man. But it is duct of the island of Madagascar, where the natives call more probable the Jews gave this appellation to the Chris- them indifferently hazon mainthi, or black wood. The tians in general out of contempt; because in the first ages island of Mauritius likewise furnishes part of the ebonies there were few except poor people who embraced the used in Europe. Authors and travellers give very differChristian religion. This opinion Origen himself seems to ent accounts of the tree which yields the black ebony. incline to in his book against Celsus, where he says that According to some of their descriptions, it would appear they called those among the Jews who believed that Je- to be a sort of palm tree; but according to others, a cytisus was truly the expected Messiah, Ebionites. It might sus. The most authentic of these is that of Falcourt, who even be urged, with some probability, that the primitive resided many years in Madagascar as governor. He asChristians assumed the name themselves, in conformity sures us that it grows very high and large, its bark being with their profession; and it is certain that they valued black, and its leaves resembling those of our myrtle, of a themselves on being poor, in imitation of the apostles. deep dusky green colour. Tavernier says that the islandEpiphanius, however, is of opinion that there had been a ers always take care to bury their trees when cut down, man named Ebion, the chief and founder of the sect of in order to make them blacker, and to prevent their splitEbionites, and contemporary with the Nazarenes and Ce- ting when wrought. Plumier mentions another black ebony rinthians; and he gives a long account of the origin of tree, discovered by him at St Domingo, which he calls sparthe Ebionites, stating that they arose after the destruction tium portulacce foliis aculeatum ebeni materice. of Jerusalem, when the first Christians, called Nazarenes, Pliny and Dioscorides state that the best ebony comes went out in order to live at Pella. from Ethiopia, and the worst from India; but TheophrasThe Ebionites were little else than a branch of Naza- tus prefers that of India. Black ebony is much preferred renes, only that they altered and corrupted in many to that of other colours. The best is a jet black, free of things the purity of the faith as held by the first adhe- veins and rind, very massive, astringent, and of an acrid rents of Christianity. For this reason Origen, in his an- pungent taste. Its rind, infused in water, is said to purge swer to Celsus, distinguishes two kinds of Ebionites; one pituita, and cure venereal disorders; and hence Matthioof whom believed that Jesus Christ was born of a virgin, lus look guaiacum for a sort of ebony. It yields an agreeand the other that he was born after the manner of other able perfume when laid on burning coals; when green it men. The first were orthodox in every thing, except readily takes fire from the abundance of its fat. If rubthat to the Christian doctrine they joined the ceremonies bed against a stone it becomes brown. The Indians make of the Jewish law, together with the traditions of the Pha- statues to their gods and sceptres for their princes out of risees. They differed from the Nazarenes, however, in this wood. It was first brought to Rome by Pompey after several things, particularly as to the authority of the sa- he had subdued Mithridates. It is now much less used cred writings; for the Nazarenes received all as Scripture amongst us than anciently, since the discovery of so many that was contained in the Jewish canon, whereas the Ebi- ways of giving other hard woods a black colour. onites rejected the prophets, holding the very names of As to the green ebony, besides Madagascar and the David, Solomon, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel in abhor- Mauritius, it grows likewise in the Antilles, and especially rence, and also the Epistles of St Paul, whom they treated in the isle of Tobago. The tree which yields it is very with the utmost disrespect. They received nothing of the bushy; its leaves are smooth, and of a fine green colour. Old Testament except the Pentateuch ; a circumstance Beneath its bark there is a white blea, about two inches which indicates that they were descended rather from the thick; and all beneath this, to the very heart, is a deep Samaritans than from the Jews. They agreed with the green, approaching towards a black, though sometimes Nazarenes in using the Hebrew gospel of St Matthew, streaked with yellow veins. Its use is not confined to otherwise called the Gospel of the Twelve Apostles; but mosaic work; it is likewise employed in dyeing, as yieldthey had corrupted their copy in many places, and, parti- ing a fine green tincture. As to red ebony, called also cularly, had left out the genealogy of our Saviour, which grenadilla, we know little more of it than the name. was preserved entire in that of the Nazarenes, and even EBRO, a river of Spain. It has its source in the proin those used by the Cerinthians. vince of Toro, about ten miles west of Reynosa, from out Some, however, have made this gospel canonical, and of the two springs of Fontibre, whence it runs south-east, of greater value than our present Greek gospel of St Mat- divides Burgos and Soria from Alava and Navarre, passes thew. The Nazarenes, whose sentiments as to the birth through Aragon, becomes navigable near Logrono, and, of our Saviour were the same with those of the Ebionites, after a course of 362 miles near Amposta, empties itself built their error on this very genealogy. into the Gulf of Alfaques. Its tributary streams are the Besides the Hebrew gospel of St Matthew, the Ebion- Tadorra, the Ega, the Queiles, the Alhama, the Xalon, the ites had adopted several other books, under the names of Gallega, the Guadalupe, and the Segre. St James, St John, and the other apostles; they also made EBUDfE, or Hebudes, in Ancient Geography, islands use of the travels of St Peter, which are supposed to have off the west coast of Scotland, now called the Western been written by St Clement, but altered them so that Isles, also Hebrides.

E C C 395 battle of Arbela, this was the spot chosen by Darius as Ecchellensis Ecfsia ECALESIA, 'EmXnffia, in Antiquity, a festival held in the rallying point for his fugitive soldiers, (xvii. 64.) But honour of Jupiter, surnamed Hecalus, or Hecalesius, from no sooner did Alexander show his determination to attack jrcciesfiei(i Eclana. Hecale, one of the boroughs in Attica. ECASTOR, in Antiquity, an oath in which Castor was it, than Darius ingloriously fled, and Ecbatana fell, with all invoked. It was a custom for the men never to swear by its riches, into the hands of the Macedonian conqueror. (Arrian, 3, 19, 4.) The magnificence of its palace is parCastor, nor the women by Pollux. ECATiEA, Exara/a, in Antiquity, statues erected to ticularly remarked by Polybius, who tells us that the wood the goddess Hecate, for whom the Athenians had a great was all of cedar or of cypress ; the beams, the ceilings, and veneration, believing that she was the overseer of their the pillars that supported the porticoes, were covered, some with plates of silver, and some with plates of gold. The families, and that she protected their children. ECATESIA, Exar^cva, in Antiquity, an anniversary so- tiles likewise were all of silver. It was of course plunderlemnity, observed by the Stratonicensians, in honour of ed by the Macedonians; yet in the time of Antiochus, Hecate. The Athenians likewise had a public entertain- 209 b. c. he still found there pillars cased with gold, and ment or supper every new moon, in honour of the same a large quantity of silver tiles laid together in a heap. o-oddess. The supper was provided at the charge of the Amidst all the changes of empire in the East we find that more affluent; and it was no sooner brought to the accus- Ecbatana continued to a very late period one of its printomed place than the poor people carried all off, giving cipal cities. Vologeses held his court within its walls 64 d. (Tacit. Ann. xv. 31.) out that Hecate had devoured it. For the rest of the a. The site of this ancient town seems unquestionably to ceremonies observed on this occasion, see Potter, Arch. have been near Hamadan in A1 Djebal, though some are Grccc. lib. ii. cap. 20. ECATOMB/EON, Exaro/^Ca/wv, in Chronology, the first inclined to place it at Tebriz in Aderbidjon; and a late month of the Athenian year. It consisted of thirty days, writer, Mr Williams, has even attempted to prove it to and began on the first new moon after the summer sol- have been at Ispahan. This opinion he supports with great stice, and consequently answered to the latter part of our ability, but it is nothing else than a splendid paradox. June and beginning of July. The Boeotians called it Hip- The chief authorities adduced to prove its position are podromus, and the Macedonians Lous. The word is a de- the following: It is situated at the foot of Mount Oronrivation from the Greek riHuro[LZr\, a hecatomb, because of tes, Polyb. x. 27; twelve stadia distant from it, Diodor. ii. 13; twelve long days’ journey from the Caspian Gates, Arthe number of hecatombs sacrificed in it. ECAVESSADE, in the manege, is a term used for a rian, iii. 20; 450 miles from Gaza, the capital of Atropatene, Plin. vi. 13; from Susa fifteen days’journey, Diodor, jerk of the cavesson. ECBATANA, more properly written Agbatana, the xvii. 110; and twenty from Persepolis, xix. 46. The country round Hamadan at present abounds in garchief city of Media, and the summer residence of its princes. Its foundation is ascribed by Herodotus to Dejoces, dens, vineyards, and pasturages ; and though it is a gloomy first king of Media, who reigned about 733 b. c.; but as abode during winter, on account of the cold, it is a dethis period of history is involved in much obscurity, we lightful residence during the summer months. The tomb have some reason to doubt the correctness of his state- of Esther is still pointed out, and continues to be visited ment. The account of Diodorus, ii. 13, proves that it ex- by Jewish pilgrims (Otter, Voyage en Turquie, vol. i. p. isted at a still earlier period, and belonged to that era in 182); and also the tomb of Avicenna. Abdool Kerim’s the Median history which preceded the reign of Semira- Travels from India to Mecca, p. 97. See Mount Orontes. ECCHELLENSIS, Abraham, a learned Maronite, mis. That princess, who is supposed to have lived about 1916 b. c., indulged her love of magnificence by the erec- whom the president Le Jai employed in the edition of his tion of a royal palace within its walls ; and finding the city Polyglott Bible. Gabriel Sionita, his countryman, brought in great want of water, she constructed a splendid aque- him to Paris in order to make him his fellow-labourer in duct, which furnished a plentiful supply of that first ne- publishing that Bible. But they quarrelled, upon which cessary of life. Pliny, vi. 14, would have us believe that Gabriel complained to the parliament, and cruelly deSeleucus Nicator was the founder; but as this prince famed his associate. This dispute made a great noise. lived about 320 b. c. we cannot give credit to this state- The congregation de Propaganda Fide associated him in ment, except he means that Seleucus became its second 1636 with those whom they had employed in making an founder, after it had suffered from the calamities of war. Arabic translation of the Scriptures; they recalled him The citadel was remarkable for strength, and construct- from Paris, and he laboured in that translation at Rome in ed in a very peculiar manner. Being situated upon a hill, the year 1652. Whilst he was professor of the oriental it was surrounded by seven walls, in such a way that the languages at Rome, he was selected by Duke herdinand bulwarks of the one wall rose high above those of the II. to translate from Arabic into Latin the fifth, sixth, and other, whilst each of them was distinguished by its own seventh books of Apollonius s Conics; a task in which he particular colour. The circumference of the outermost was assisted by John Alphonso Borelli, who added comwall was equal to that of the city of Athens, or rather to mentaries to them. He died at Rome in 1644. ECCLES, one of those large manufacturing towns which 240 stadia, according to Diodorus; but this wonderful within a few years have risen from villages. It is 185 miles account ought to be received with some degree of hesitafrom London and four from Manchester, in the hundred tion. r Ecbatanawas from the most ancient times the place of of Salford, and county of Lancaster. lhe inhabitants are the royal residence, and seems in splendour and magnifi- chiefly occupied in the several branches of the cotton macence to have far exceeded all other cities. It was to it nufacture; and amounted in 1801 to 6197, in 1811 to that Cyrus carried the captive Crcesus, 546 b. c. when he 12,300, in 1821 to 23,331, and in 1831 to 28,083. ECCLESAL-Bierlow, a large township of the parish put an end to the Lydian empire ; and in the later years of his life, when the infirmities of age made'him more sus- of Sheffield, about three and a half miles from that town. ceptible of the vicissitudes of the seasons, he used to re- The inhabitants are chiefly occupied in the various branches tire for the summer months to its cool and delicious shades. of the metal manufactures; and amounted in 1801 to (Xen. Cyrop. viii. 6.) Here Artaxerxes assembled his ar- 5362, in 1811 to 6569, in 1821 to 9113, and in 1831 to my to oppose the designs of his brother Cyrus (Diodorus 14.279. ECCLESFIELD, a large manufacturing parish of the xiv. 22); and when the fate of Persia was decided by the E

C

B

396 E C H E C H Eccleshall west riding of Yorkshire, in the wapentake of StrafForth and joined in his time to the mainland by the depositions of F t, ■pH Tickhill, 167 miles from London and five from Sheffield, the river, and Thucydides (xi. 102), enters into a learned r with the trade of which place it is very much connected. disquisition to prove that they must all ere long be united Eel The population amounted in 1801 to 5114, in 1811 to to the shore. This observation of Thucydides had attract5805, in 1821 to 7163, and in 1831 to 7911. ed the attention of the inquisitive Pausanias ; and as he ECCLESHALL, a market-town of the county of Staf- found that the prediction had not been verified, he was ford, 148 miles from London. It is in the hundred of only able to account for it by supposing that the lands had Pirehill, on the banks of the river Sow; is a well-built ceased to be cultivated on its banks, and that thus it was town, in a pleasant district; and was formerly the resi- no longer supplied with the same quantity of sediment as dence of the bishops of Lichfield. The chief part of the before. Strabo states that they were rugged and barren. inhabitants are employed in manufactures. The market “ At present the Echinades belong to the inhabitants of is held on Thursday. The population amounted in 1801 Ithaca, and produce corn, oil, and a scanty pasture for to 3487, in 1811 to 3901, in 1821 to 4227, and in 1831 to sheep and goats. The name of the group is Curzolari." 4471. Dodwell’s Classical Tour, v. p. 109. Gell states that seECCLESIASTES, a canonical book of the Old Testa- veral of these islands, now hills in the plain, appear to have ment, the design of which is to show the vanity of all ruins. Itiner. of Greece, p. 298. sublunary things. It was composed by Solomon, who enuECHINATE, or Echinated, an appellation given to merates the several objects on which men place their hap- whatever is prickly, or resembling the hedgehog. piness, and then shows the insufficiency of all worldly enECHINITES, the name by which authors call the'fossil joyments. The Talmudists made King Hezekiah the au- centronia, frequently found in chalk pits. thor of this book; while Grotius ascribes it to Zorobabel, and ECH1NODERMATA, the first class of the fourth great others to Isaiah; but the generality of commentators be- division of the animal kingdom (see vol. iii. p. 179 of this lieve it to be the product of Solomon’s repentance, after work), commonly called Zoophytes, or radiated animals ; it having experienced all the follies and pleasures of life. includes, among numerous other species, the star-fish, sea ECCLESIASTICAL, an appellation given to whatever urchins, &c. We shall describe the animals of this class belongs to the church. Thus we say ecclesiastical polity, under the term Zoophytes, to which the reader is referred. jurisdiction, history, and so forth. ECHINUS. See Zoophytes. ECCLESIAST1CUS, an apocryphal book, generally ECHO, a sound reflected or reverberated from a solid bound up with the Scriptures, and so called from its being concave body, and so repeated to the ear. The word is read in the church, ecclesia, as a book of piety and instruc- formed from the Greek sound, which comes from the tion, but not of infallible authority. The author of this verb sono. book was a Jew, called Jesus the son of Sirach. The The ancients being wholly unacquainted with the true Greeks call it the Wisdom of the Son of Sirach. cause ol the echo, ascribed it to several which are suffiECCLOO, a city in the province of West Flanders, which ciently whimsical. But the moderns, who know sound contains 6269 inhabitants. It is the capital of the circle to consist in a certain tremor or vibration in the sonorous of the same name, comprehending three cantons, with a body, communicated to the contiguous air, and by that population of 42,484 persons. means to the ear, give a more consistent account of echo. ECCOPROTICS, in Medicine, laxative or loosening For a tremulous body, striking on another solid body, may remedies, which purge gently, by softening the humours evidently be repelled without destroying or diminishing its and excrements, and fitting them for expulsion. The word tremor ; and consequently a sound may be redoubled by is composed of the Greek particle £%, and y-ovgog, Jieces. the resilition of the tremulous body, or air. But a simple ELI)ALA, or Akdala, an ancient town and fortress reflection of the sonorous air is not enough to explain the or Bengal, in the district of Dacca, which is frequently echo; for then every plain surface of a solid hard body, mentioned in the histories of Bengal, but of which there as being fit to reflect a voice or sound, would redouble it, are now scarcely any remains. In the year 1353 Ilyas which we find does not hold. In order to produce an echo, Hajy, the second independent king of Bengal, took refuge therefore, it should seem that a kind of concameration or here, and defended the place until the setting in of the vaulting is necessary, in order to collect, and by collecting rains, when the siege was raised. Long. 96. 45. E. Lat. to heighten and increase, and afterwards reflect, the sound, 24. 4. N. as we find is the case in reflecting the rays of light, where ECDICI, EjcS/xo/, amongst the'ancients, patrons of cities, a concave mirror is required. In effect, as often as a sound who defended their rights, and took care of the public strikes perpendicularly on a wall, behind which is any money. Their office resembled that of the modern syndics. thing of a vault or arch, or even another parallel wall, so ECHALLANS, a bailiwick in the canton of Yaud, in often will it be reverberated in the same line, or other adSwitzerland, containing 6954 inhabitants, whose capital is jacent ones. For an echo to be heard, therefore, it is neof the same name, and situated on the river Talent, con- cessary that the ear should be in the line of reflection; for taining 850 inhabitants. the person who made the sound to hear its qcho, it is neECHAPE, in the manege, a horse begotten between a cessary that he should be perpendicular to the place which stallion and a mare of different breeds and countries. reflects it; and for a manifold or tautological echo, it is ECHAPER, in the manege, a gallicism used in the necessary that there should be a number of walls, and academies, implying to give a horse head, or to put him vaults or cavities, either placed behind or fronting each to full speed. other. A single arch or concavity can scarcely ever stop ECHINADES, a group of islands off the coast of Acar- and reflect all the sound; but if there be a convenient nania, at the mouth of the river Achelous. The}' are men- disposition behind it, part of the sound propagated thither, tioned by Homer as having sent a detachment of troops to being collected and reflected as before, will return another 1 roy under Meges. The chief island seems to have been echo; or if there be another concavity, opposed at a due Dulichium, which some of the ancients considered as only distance to the former, the sound reflected from the one another name for Cephallenia; but Strabo strenuously upon the other will be tossed back again by the latter. maintained that it was the Dolicha of his period, at the Echoes may be produced in circumstances wholly differmouth of the Achelous. It is curious that Herodotus (xi. ent. For, first, a plane obstacle reflects back the sound in 10), tells us that more than half of these islands had been its due tone and loudness, allowance being made for the

E J

0 '

C

H

proportionable decrease of the sound, according to its distance; secondly, a convex obstacle reflects the sound somew},at smaller and somewhat quicker, though weaker, than otherwise it would be; and, thirdly, a concave obstacle echoes back the sound larger, slower, and also inverted, but never according to the order of words. Nor does it seem possible to contrive any single echo that shall invert the sound, and repeat backwards ; because, in such a case, the word last spoken, that is, which last occurs to the obstacle, must be repelled first, which cannot be. For where in the mean time should the first words hang and be concealed; or how, after such a pause, could they be revived and animated again into motion ? From the determinate concavity or arching of the reflecting bodies, it may happen that some of them shall only echo back one determinate note, and only from one place. Fourthly, the echoing body being removed farther off, it reflects more of the sound than when nearer, which is the reason why some echoes repeat but one syllable, some one word, and some many. Fifthly, echoing bodies may be so contrived and placed, that by reflecting the sound from one to the other, either directly and mutually, or obliquely and by succession, out of one sound, a multiple echo or many echoes shall arise. Add to this, that a multiple echo maybe made, by so placing the echoing bodies at unequal distances, that they may reflect all one way, and not one on the other. By this means a manifold successive Sound will be heard, one clap of the hands like many, one ha continued like laughter, one single word like many of the same tone and accent, and one viol like many of the same kind imitating each other. Lastly, echoing bodies may be so arranged that from any one given sound they shall produce many echoes different both as to tone and intention. By this means a musical room maybe so contrived that one instrument playing ^herein shall not only seem as many of the same sort and size, but even as a concert of different ones ; which is effected by placing certain echoing bodies so that any note placed shall be returned by them in thirds, fifths, and eighths. Echo is also used for the place where the repetition of the sound is produced or heard. Echoes are distinguished into different kinds. Single echoes are those which return the voice but once. Of these some are tonical, which only return a voice when modulated into some particular musical tone ; and others, polysyllabical, which return many syllables, words, and sentences. Multiple or tautological echoes are those which return syllables and words the same oftentimes repeated. In echoes, the place where the speaker stands is called the centrum phonicum, and the object or place that returns the voice the centrum phonocampticum. At the sepulchre of Metella, wife of Crassus, there was an echo, which repeated what was said five times. Authors mention a tower at Cyzicus, where the echo repeated seven times. One of the finest echoes we read of is that mentioned by Barthius, in his notes on the Thebais of Statius (lib. vi. 30), which repeated the words uttered seventeen times; it was situated on the banks of the Naha, between Coblentz and Bingen. Barthius assures us that he had proved what he writes, and had counted seventeen repetitions. Echo, in Architecture, a term applied to certain kinds of vaults and arches, most commonly of the elliptic and parabolic figures, used to redouble sounds, and produce artificial echoes. Echo, in Poetry, a kind of composition in which the last words or syllables of each verse contain some meaning, which, being repeated apart, answers to some question or other matter contained in the verse. Thus, in the line of Virgil:

E c L 397 Crudelis mater magis, an puer improbus ille ? Echometer Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater. j Echo, in fabulous history, a daughter of the Air and Eclectics. Tellus, who chiefly resided in the vicinity of the Cephisus. She was once an attendant of Juno’s, and became the confidant of Jupiter’s amours. Her loquacity, however, displeased Jupiter, and she was deprived of the power of speech by Juno, and only permitted to answer to the questions which were put to her. Pan had formerly been one of her admirers, but he never enjoyed her favours. Echo, after she had been punished by Juno, fell in love with Narcissus ; but being despised by him, pined away, having nothing left but her disembodied voice. ECHOMETER, among musicians, a kind of scale or rule, with several lines on it, serving to measure the duration and length of sounds, and to determine their intervals and ratios. ECU A, a city of Spain, in that division of Andalusia denominated the kingdom of Seville. It is situated on the right bank of the river Xenil, which is here crossed by a neat bridge of modern erection. The surrounding country suffers much from a scarcity of water; but when the summer happens to be rainy, it is abundantly productive in grain of every kind, and in wine, and feeds considerable herds of cattle. It was a considerable city when the Romans ruled the peninsula, and was then called Astigi. Many inscriptions of ancient date are found in the city and its vicinity. It contains six churches, sixteen monasteries, fifteen hospitals, 6000 houses, and 28,176 inhabitants. There are some tanneries here, and a trade in leather is carried on. Cotton is grown in the surrounding country. It is thirty miles from Cordoba. Long. 4. 34. 19. W. Lat. 37. 31. 51. N. ECKIUS, or Echius, John, an eminent and learned controversialist, professor in the university at Ingolstadt, and remarkable for the opposition he gave to Luther, Melancthon, Carlostadius, and other leading Protestants in Germany, was born in Suabia in 1486. He wrote many polemical tracts; and amongst the rest a Manual of Controversies, printed in 1535, in which he discourses upon most of the heads contested between the Protestants and Roman Catholics. He also wrote a Commentary on Seligenstadt, 1536, Homilies, &c.; and died in 1543. ECLECTICS {eclectici), a name given to some ancient philosophers, who, without attaching themselves to any particular sect, took whatever they judged good and solid from each; and hence their denomination. Laertius observes that they were also, for the same reason, denominated analogetici; but that they call themselves philalethes, or lovers of truth. The chief or founder of the eclectics was Potamon of Alexandria, who lived under Augustus and Tiberius, and who, weary of doubting of all things with the Sceptics and Pyrrhonists, formed the eclectic sect, called by Vossius the eclective. Towards the close of the second century, a sect arose in the Christian church under the denomination of Eclectics, or modern Platonists, professing to make truth the only object of their inquiry, and to be ready to adopt from all the different systems and sects such tenets as they thought agreeable to it. However, they preferred Plato to the other philosophers, and looked upon his opinions concerning God, the human soul, and things invisible, as conformable to the spirit and genius of the Christian doctrine. One of the principal patrons of this system wns Ammonius Saccas, who laid the foundation of that sect afterwards distinguished by the name of the New Platonists in the Alexandrian school. Eclectics were also a certain sect of physicians among the ancients, of whom Archigenes, who lived under Trajan, was the chief, and selected from the opinions of all

393 ECO Eclipse the other sects those which appeared to be best and most IJ rational. Hence they are called eclectics, and their prescr t ons mists' ‘P ' medicina eclectica. the deprivation of the light ECLIPSE, in Astronomy, of the sun, or of some heavenly body, by the interposition of another heavenly body between us and that body. See Astronomy. Eclipse Islands, a cluster of small rocky barren islands in the South Pacific Ocean, near the south-west coast of New Holland. ECLIPTIC, in Astronomy, a great circle of the sphere, supposed to be drawn through the middle of the zodiac, making an angle with the equinoctial of about 23° 30', which is the sun’s greatest declination ; or, more strictly speaking, it is that path or way among the fixed stars, which the earth appears to describe to an eye placed in the sun. (See Astronomy.) Some call it via solis, or the way of the sun, because the sun in his apparent annual motion never deviates from it, as all the other planets do more or less. Ecliptic, in Geography, a great circle on the terrestrial globe, not only answering to, but falling within, the plane of the celestial ecliptic. See Geography.

ECO ECLODE, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Mai F wah, belonging to the predatory chieftain Meer Khan 7 dn Long. 77. 55. E. Lat. 24. 5. N. ' jj, . ECLOGUE, in Poetry, a kind of pastoral composition mis in which shepherds are introduced conversing together* The word is formed from the Greek txXoyjj choice • so that, according to the etymology, eclogue should be aselect or choice piece ; but custom has assigned to it a further signification, namely, a little elegant composition in a simple, natural style and manner. Idyllion and eclogue, in their primary sense, are the same. I hus the idyllia, udvXXiu, of Theocritus, are pieces written perfectly in the same vein wfith the ec% EGYPT. 459 lia—Death of Caesar—The Triumvirate.—Defeat and Death Egypt, vpt. to illustrate the history, literature, and antiquities of anof Antony.—Suicide of Cleopatra—Egypt reduced into a procient Egypt, we hope to derive sufficient materials to envince of t he Roman Empire.—Hadrian—-Severus.—Claudius able us to exhibit a clear and distinct digest of all that is Aurelian—Introduction of Christianity—State of Egypt under at present known respecting the wonderful country, whose Constantine.—Rise and Progress of Islamism. learning had become proverbial even in the days of The country latterly known by the name of Egypt was Moses, and whose high civilization is attested by the colossal splendour of its monumental ruins. With this view anciently denominated twntD, Mitzraim, livn, Matzor, and Dsyiarr, haretz Cham, the land of Cham. These names, we shall commence with its civil history. especially the first, occur frequently in Scripture, and, according to the general opiniop, the country was called Mitzrim, or Mitzraim, after the second son of Cham, SECTION I. though some have been inclined to think that the second son of Cham might have been called Mitzrim, after the HISTORY OF ANCIENT EGYPT. The name of Mitzrim, pointed by the MasoOrigin and Etymology of the name—High Antiquity of early country. Egyptian History—Obscurity in which it is involved—The rites Mitzraim in the dual form, probably indicated the only authority on which dependence can be placed—Territorial two divisions of Egypt into Upper and Lower. Bochart Division of Egypt.—Whence and how peopled.—Ancient Inha- has clearly established that Tptra, Matzor, signifies a forbitants—Copts—Reign of the Priests—Revolution—Menes. tress ; and that Egypt was so called either from its being —Age of this Monarch determined.—His Character and Actions. region fortified by nature, or from the word tzor, which —Commencement of Legitimate History—Fabulous extrava- asignifies narrow, and is sufficiently descriptive of the valgance of the Egyptian Chronology—Dynasties from Menes to Moeris—Invasion and Conquest of Egypt by the Shepherds.— ley of Upper Egypt. The first of these etymologies, howSubstance of Manetho’s account—Additional particulars of these ever, is to be preferred, because amongst the ancients UpInvaders.—Havoc committed by them—Their ultimate expul- per Egypt was considered as a natural fortification. With sion and retreat into Syria—Opinion of Bruce as to the origin regard to Mitzrim, it is most probably a contracted mode of this people.—Other opinions—Indian tradition respecting of writing Matzorim, the plural of Matzor ; and as it may the Pali or Shepherds—Palestine—Expulsion of the Shepherds not to be confounded with the Exode of the Israelites—Ame- be considered as perilous to give it a dual form on the aunoph—Thothmosis I.—Thothmosis II—Moeris—Thothmosis thority of the Masorites, the word Mitzrim, with its pluIII—Works executed by these Pharaohs, particularly Moeris. ral termination, may therefore be held as denoting the —Lake Moeris or Lake Fayoum—Rhamses the Great, other- Upper, the Middle, and Lower Egypt. Amongst the wise called Sesostris—Era of this Conqueror.—His Education. ancient inhabitants of the country, it was denominated —His Exploits—His Indian Expedition.—Results.—Return Chemi or Chame, either from Chmom, signifying heat, or of Sesostris Usurpation and treachery of his brother—Expulsion of Armais, called also Danaus General State of Egypt from Chame or Kame, signifying black, probably by reaat this period—Monuments erected and Improvements exe- son of the burnt and black appearance of the soil. The cuted—Component parts of the Egyptian Empire—Internal etymology of the word Egypt has occupied the attention condition.—Division of the people into Castes—Trade, Com- and puzzled the ingenuity of many learned writers. The merce, and Industry.—Successors of Sesostris—Rhamses-Mei- most common opinion is, that A/yu-rroj is composed of a/a ammon.—His Military Enterprises and Civil Labours—State of Egypt under the succeeding Pharaohs.—Expeditions of Che- for ya/a, terra, land, and Fwttos, or rather Kcirrog, and conchonk and Osorchon—Ethiopian Invasion and Conquest of sequently signifies the land of Kopt, or the Koptic land. Egypt Sabacon—.Anysias Sethon Twelve contemporary But this etymology has been objected to; first, by reason Kings—Psammeticus I—His proceedings,—Attempt made by of the alleged improbability that the whole country would him to discover the Sources of the Nile Pharaoh-Necho or be so named from an obscure town in the Thebais; and, Nechus—Circumnavigation of Africa War with Assyria— secondly, because it wras the river, and not the land on its Nechus defeated by Nebuchadnezzar, who became master of Egypt to the gates of Pelusium—Psammeticus II. or Psam- banks, which was first called iEgyptus; objections which mis—Pharaoh-Hophra or Ouaphre, called also Apries—His appear to be insuperable. The more probable opinion is treachery towards the Jews—Egyptians defeated by the Cy- that the word Aiguptos is a mere softening of Gups-Pta, reneans—Revolt—Apries defeated by Amasis, and strangled or Aigvps-Ptas, formed of gups or aigups, a vulture, and by his own people—Reign of Amasis Condition of Egypt.— Pta or Ptas, daemon ; the vulture being one of the prinAmasis succeeded by Psammenitus—Persian Invasion under cipal symbols of the Ikh-Ptahor or Dcemon Ptah of the anCambyses—Siege and capture of Pelusium—Egyptians defeated in a general battle Capture of Memphis—Barbarity of the cient Egyptians. But be this as it may, there can be litConquerors.—Fatal consequences of the invasion—Depressed tle doubt that, whatever be the true etymology of the state of Egypt—Insurrections—Put down by the Persians— word Aiguptos or AEgyplus, the name of Copts or Kobths Alexander the Great—Greek Dynasty.—Ptolemy Lagus, call- is nothing else than a corruption of the Greek term; and ed also Soter—Events of his Reign His Character—Ptolemy Philadelphus, surnamed Euergetes His Expeditions and that by the name of Kobthi were designated, first, the Conquests—Favour shown by him towards the Jews.—State of Egyptians in general, and afterwards the Christians of the Egyptian empire at this period Ptolemy Philopater— Egypt in particular. But the natives of Egypt were not Dissolute character of this Prince His Cruelty—Conduct to- known by the name of Copts until the time of Amru.1 wards the Jews—Minority Ptolemy Epiphanes—Ptolemy The early history of Egypt claims a much higher‘antiPhilometor.—Euergetes II. called also Physcon—Disputed quity than that of any other country, excepting perhaps Succession.—Various fortune of the struggle Interference of China and Hindustan, and is consequently involved in the Romans in the Affairs of Egypt Death of Philometor— Monstrous cruelty of Physcon.—His treatment of his wives ; darkness the more impenetrable. It is utterly impossible an Egyptian Henry VIII. in this respect Revolt—Physcon indeed to reconcile the accounts of different authors with restored—His Death—Ptolemy Lathyrus Cleopatra his mo- each other, or with any common standard; and even the ther—Revolt quashed—Capture and destruction of Thebes— same authors are not always consistent with themselves. Alexander II.—His barbarous conduct Ptolemy Auletes— But some idea may be formed of the comparative value Events of his Reign—Policy of Rome respecting Egypt— Pompey—Julius Csesar.—Mark Antony Conduct of Auletes. of the different catalogues of sovereigns, by observing —His Death—Cleopatra and her brother Ptolemy Dionysius. which of them is confirmed b)' the testimony of the great—Expulsion of the former Restored by Caesar after Pharsa- est number of respectable and unconnected writers, and 1

Drummond’s Origbics, or Remarks on the Origin of several Empires, States, and Cities, vol. ii. chap. 2.

460 EGYPT. Egypt, by inquiring, at the same time, what internal evidence him by Syncellus, which affords a series of kings some- Eotp. they afford of the truth or falsehood of their statements. what shorter than that of Manetho, and also more reguThe only authorities on which dependence can be pla- larly filled; but it seems to be principally a compilation ced respecting the early history of Egypt, are Herodotus, from Manetho, with some reference1 to the contemporary Manetho, Eratosthenes, Diodorus Siculus, and Strabo, all events of the scriptural chronology. Such being the principal sources of early Egyptian hisof whom had been for longer or shorter periods in the country. Herodotus lived soon after the conquest of tory, we shall now proceed to the more immediate object Egypt by the great Persian conqueror Cambyses, when of this section, namely, to exhibit an outline of the civil the names of the later monarchs could scarcely have been history of ancient Egypt. And here, in order to render forgotten. The earlier part of his history is certainly of our narrative intelligible, it is proper to state both the ana very apocryphal character ; but as he does not continue cient and modern divisions of the country. These have the series of the kings further than Sesostris and Moeris, been suggested by the course of the river, and the genealmost all his names are therefore sufficiently recent to ral configuration of the valley of the Nile, between the be considered as within the province of legitimate his- cataract of Assouan and the sea. Anciently this remarktory. Manetho lived under Ptolemy Philadelphus, to able country was divided into three parts, namely, Upper whom he dedicated his three books of the History of Egypt, called the Thebaid, because Thebes was its capiEgypt; and there is little doubt that the extracts pre- tal ; Middle Egypt, called the Heptanomis, or Seven Goserved by Josephus, Eusebius, and Syncellus, although vernments ; and Lower Egypt, or the Delta, extending to some of these may have passed from one compiler to an- the Mediterranean.2 The Arabs and Ottomans have other, are in general perfectly authentic. How much of only changed the names of these divisions, which in fact the work was originally fabulous, and how much has been are marked out by the hand of nature. First, Upper distorted by transposition and anachronism, it is impossible Egypt is called the Said, and includes the provinces accurately to determine. But besides the original inad- of Thebes, Djirdjeh, and Siout; second, Middle Egypt, missibility of so long a series of successive generations, called the Vostani, consists of the provinces of Fayoum, the invention of which may possibly be imputed to the Benisouef, and Minyeh ; third, Lower Egypt, called Basame national vanity which led the priests to boast to hari, or the maritime country, includes the provinces of Herodotus of three hundred and thirty kings between Bahyreh, Raschid or Rosetta, Gharbyeh, Menouf, MasMenes and Sesostris, there are several coincidences point- soura, Sharkieh, and the Cairo district, consisting of the ed out by Marsham, in the names and qualifications of subdivisions of Kelioubeh and Atfihieh. The appellation of princes mentioned at very remote periods, which tend Upper Egypt is sometimes taken in astrictly physical accepstrongly to encourage the opinion that the originals were tation, and made to include all the provinces above Cairo. respectively one and the same person. There are also The first tribes who peopled Egypt, that is, the valley of other instances which render it not improbable that se- the Nile between the cataract of Assouan and the sea, veral of the persons enumerated may have been contem- probably came from Abyssinia or Sennaar. The current porary sovereigns of different subdivisions of the country: of population appears to have descended along the course but, perhaps, this portion of Marsham’s theory has been of the stream, and to have gradually overspread the valley carried a little too far ; and, amidst so much confusion, fertilized by its waters ; but it is impossible to fix the peit is not to be wondered that all his learning and inge- riod of this first migration, which, however, must have nuity should have failed to establish any satisfactory re- been very remote. The ancient inhabitants of Egypt besult. He holds the catalogue of Eratosthenes in high and longed to a race of men in most respects resembling the just estimation, although he was not acquainted with the Kennous or Barabras, the actual inhabitants of Nubia. very strong argument in favour of its authenticity, de- In the Copts of Egypt we find none of the characteristics rived from the agreement of many of the etymologies with of the ancient population of that country. The Copts the acknowledged meaning of the terms in the Egyptian are the product of a confused mixture of all the nations language; an agreement, indeed, which renders it more who have successively domineered over Egypt; and it than probable that Eratosthenes, who lived in the reign of would therefore be absurd to expect to find amongst them Ptolemy Euergetes, did actually receive, these names from the characteristic features of the ancient race. The first the priests of Diospolis. This interesting catalogue has settlers who arrived in Egypt were nomadic, and had been successively copied by Apollodorus, Africanus, Eu- not more fixed dwellings than the Bedouins of the presebius, and Syncellus; but how many of the names con- sent day; they were then destitute of science, of arts, and tained in it were really those of actual sovereigns of of definite forms of civilization. It was the work of ages Egypt, and how many had been negligently or ignorant- of favourable circumstances which led the Egyptians, at ly read and pronounced, it is by no means easy to ascer- first errant, to apply at length to agriculture, and to tain. It may be observed, that scarcely any of them are establish themselves in a fixed and permanent manner: to be found in the works of other chronologers or histo- then, and then only, arose the first towns, which in their rians. Diodorus is, upon the whole, a very candid and beginnings were only small villages, but, by the succesjudicious writer; and although some modern critics have sive development of civilization, became at length great entertained considerable prejudices against him, it will be and powerful cities. The most ancient towns of Egypt afterwards found that he had a correct knowledge of the were Thebes (Luxor and Karnak) Esneh, Edfou, and the Egyptian institutions. The accuracy and good sense of others of the Said above Dendera. Middle Egypt was Strabo are so well known, that we cannot but regret the then peopled; but Lower Egypt had neither inhabitants paucity of historical facts respecting Egypt to be found nor towns until a later period. It was only in consequence in his writings. Besides the works of these authors, there of prodigious works executed by the labour of man that is an anonymous chronicle copied by Africanus, and from Lower Egypt became habitable.3 1 Young on Egyptian Literature and Antiquities, art. Historiography of Egypt. The figure of Egypt may be compared to the head and horn of an unicorn, the delta being the head, and the long narrow valley of 3the Nile the horn inserted, as it were, therein. “ Notice Sommaire sur 1’Histoire d’Eg.vpte, redige'e a Alexandrie pour le Vice-roi, et remise a S. A. au mois de Novembre 1829,” being appendix No. 1 to the “ Lettres ecrites d’Egypte et de Nubie en 1828 et 1829, par Champollion le Jeune.” Paris, 1833. 2

jr pt.

EGYPT. 461 The Egyptians in the early stage of their progress were facts, combined with the account which is given in the Egypt, ruled by priests. The latter administered the government old chronicle of the dynasty of kings which proceeded in every district of Egypt under a high priest, who again from Mitzraim, seem to warrant the conclusions of modern pretended to issue his orders in the name of God. This chronologers. It is evident, therefore, that Champollion form of government, which is called a theocracy, resem- has committed an egregious error in stating that, accordbled that by which the Arabians were governed under ing to the ancient histories of Egypt, the epoch of the rethe first caliphs, though, in several respects, its construc- volution which placed Menes on the throne was about six tion was much less perfect. From its peculiar character, thousand years before the publication of Islamism. This a government of this kind easily became unjust and op- is very nearly the double of tbe truth as ascertained by pressive, and, for a very long period, it retarded the ad- the very authorities to which he refers. The actions of this monarch have been conveyed to us vance of civilization. It had divided the nation into three distinct parts or castes; first the priests, then the mili- through the obscure and uncertain channel of tradition. tary, and, thirdly, the people. The people alone laboured, On his accession he found the kingdom, like all priestand the fruit of all their toils was devoured-by the priests, governed countries, in a most deplorable condition. Exwho kept the military in their pay, and employed them in cepting the Thebais, the whole of it was a morass ; and, keeping in check the rest of the population. But a period though ruled by priests, the people were destitute of arrived when the military became weary of yielding a every kind of religion, as well as sunk in utter ignorance. blind obedience to the priests. A revolution broke out, According to Herodotus, Menes applied himself to remeand the change which proved fortunate for Egypt was dy these evils. He diverted the course of the Nile, which brought about by a military chief, named Menei or Me- before his time had washed the base of the sandy ridge nes, who became the head of the nation, established the near the borders of the Libyan desert, and thus protected royal government, and transmitted the power to his de- from the inundations of the river the ground on which scendants in the direct line. From this period the coun- Memphis was afterwards erected. To accomplish this try was ruled by kings, and the government became mild- object, he erected a mound about twelve miles south from er and more enlightened ; for the royal power found a the future capital of Egypt; turned the course of the sort of counterpoise in the influence which the priesthood stream, a large branch of which had previously made its necessarily possessed, now that it was confined to its pro- way through the valley of Fayoum, towards the Delta; per province of inculcating the laws of morality, and and Conducted it to the sea at an equal distance from the teaching the principles of the arts. Thebes still remained elevated ground by which on either side the country is the capital of the kingdom ; but king Me.nes, and his son bounded. Menes also acquired glory in war ; but his best and successor Athothes, laid the foundations of Memphis, renown consists in having improved his country, and inwhich they rendered a strong city, and constituted their structed his subjects in the arts of life. His death is said second capital. It was built at a short distance from the to have been occasioned by a hippopotamus. Nile; and its ruins have been found in the villages of Menf, We may here give an example of the fabulous extravaMokhnan, and particularly Mit-Rhahinch. gance of Egyptian chronology, as founded on tbe stateAs the reign of Menes forms the extreme limit of legi- ments of the priests. Menes or Menas was the first mortimate curiosity in this interesting field of inquiry; and tal who sat upon the throne of Egypt, the country having as all correct notions of Egyptian chronology must in a before bis time been governed by eight gods in succesgreat measure rest on the determination of the period at sion. But Herodotus mentions, that the priests recited which that monarch assumed or exercised the supreme to him, from books, three hundred and thirty sovereigns, power; various attempts have been made to fix this successors of Menes, of whom eighteen were ^Ethiopian important epoch, from the data furnished either by monu- princes, and one a queen called Nitocris. Now, allowing ments or by lists of dynasties and kings as given by the thirty-three years for a generation, the joint reigns of three ancient autfiors. It will be sufficient for our present pur- hundred and thirty kings would amount to about eleven pose, however, merely to state the results at which dif- thousand years ; a period which, according to the forged ferent inquirers have arrived. Menes, then, commenced records of these priests, must have intervened between his reign, the reign of Menes and that of Sesostris. The statement of Diodorus Siculus, however, is by no means so violently B. C. According to Dr Hales, Ne-oo Analysis of Ancient) 0 ,. c) opposed to truth and probability. He agrees with HeroChronology, vol. iv. p. 418 \ dotus in representing Menes as the first king of Egypt According to Old Chronicle, New Analysis, vol. ) 00„, who reigned after the gods; but he says that after Menes iv. p. 407 f fifty-two kings reigned during a period of fourteen hunAccording to Eratosthenes, Prichard’s Egyptian I dred years, or about twenty-seven years at an average for Antiquities j each reign. This statement, though it falls short of the According to Eusebius, New Analysis, vol. iv.) oor o p. 417 j ordinary calculation, has at least a reasonable amount of jor 2262 According to Julius Africanus, ibid 2218 probability in its favour, and indeed seems to be a pretty According to Dr Prichard, Egyptian Antiquities,) 001 . close approximation to the truth. Of the three hundred p. 91 >4414 and thirty monarchs mentioned by Herodotus, on the The mean of these different calculations is 2256, which, authority of the sacred records, none except Moeris was therefore, may be taken as perhaps the closest approxima- distinguished by any acts of magnificence or renown ; and tion to the truth. Amongst the principal authorities on hence he prudently abstains from loading his pages with which the reign of Menes has been determined as above, the appellations and titles of this catalogue of royal lummay be mentioned the statement of Josephus,1 that Menes ber. It may, however, serve to assist the recollection of lived many years before Abraham, and that he governed the reader, on this obscure and intricate subject, if we Egypt more than 1300 years before Solomon. But Abra- exhibit an abridged list of the kings who occupy the space ham was born 2153 years, and the son of David ascended between the accession of the first mortal sovereign of the throne of Israel 1030 years before Christ; and these Egypt and the death of Mceris. 1

Judeeor. Antiquitat. lib. viii.

462

EGYPT. a king of Upper Egypt, named Amosis, or Thothrnosis, to First Dynasty, Egyptians, 253 Years. Y. B. C. abandon the country. This prince’s father had, it seems, ^Y Menes and his successors, ending with Timaus, 253...2412 gained great advantages over them, and shut them up in a place named Abaris or Avaris, that is, the Pass (afterwards called Pelusium), where they had collected all their cattle Second1 Dynasty, Shepherd Kings, 260 Years. and plunder. Here they were closely besieged by Thoth1. Salatis, Silites, or Nirmaryada 19...2159 mosis with an army of 480,000 men ; but at last the kum 2. Baion, Byon, or Babya 44...2140 finding himself unable to reduce them by force, propos3. Apachnes, Pachman, or Ruchma 37...2096 ed a sort of capitulation, which was readily accepted: the First Pyramid begun about 2095 Shepherds in consequence withdrew from Egypt with Abraham visits Egypt about 2077 their families, to the number of 240,000 souls. Accord4. Apophes 61...2059 ingly, they crossed the desert, and entered Syria; but 5. Janias or Sethos 50...1998 fearing the Assyrians, who were then very powerful, and 6. Assis or Aseth 49...1948 held Asia in subjection, they entered the land of Judaea, and built there a city capable of containing so great a Expulsion of the Shepherds 260...1899 multitude, which they called Jerusalem. Such is the substance of Manetho’s statement, as preThird Dynasty, Native Kings, 251 Years. served by Josephus in his tract against Appion ; and, with Alisphragmuthosis, &c 27...1899 the exception of the concluding part, where he seems to Joseph appointed governor or regent 9... 1872 identify the savage invaders of Egypt with the peaceful Jacob’s family settle in Goshen 215...1863 family of Jacob, its accuracy can scarcely be called in Death of Joseph 1792 question. It appears, indeed, that these barbarians havQueen Nitocris 1742 ing established themselves in Egypt, tyrannized over it for several centuries; that the progress of civilization was Exode of the Israelites 251...1648 arrested, and the inhabitants ruined, by exactions and rapine ; that the barbarians having elected a chief, the latter Fourth Dynasty, 340 Years. took the name of Pharaoh; and that it was under the 1. Amosis, Thuthmosis, or Thummosis 25...1648 fourth of these foreign chiefs that Joseph the son of Ja2. Chebron 13... 1623 cob became the prime minister of Egypt, and afterwards 3. Amenophis 1 20...1610 brought thither the family of his father, which thus be4. Amesses 21...1589 came the source of the Jewish nation. But in process of 5. Mephres 12... 1567 time different parts of Upper Egypt freed themselves from 6. Misphragmuthosis 25...1554 the yoke of the strangers; and at the head of this resist7. Thmosis or Thothmosis 9...1528 ance appeared the princes descendants of the Egyptian line 8. Amenophis II 30... 1518 of kings whom the barbarians had dethroned. Of these 9. Orus or Horus 36...1488 the most distinguished was Amosis, who, having collected 10. Acenchris 12...1452 sufficient forces, drove them from Memphis, which they 11. Rathosis 9... 1440 had made their capital; attacked them in Lower Egypt, 12. Acencheres 1 12... 1431 where they were firmly established; and ultimately, by 13. Acencheres II 20... 1418 means of the capitulation of Avaris or Avara, delivered 14. Armais or Harmais 4... 1398 Egypt from their tyranny. 15. Harnesses 1...1394 Various opinions have been entertained as to the origin 16. Harnesses Meiamun 66... 1393 of the detested race which overthrew Thebes and tyran17. Amenophis III. or Mceris 19... 1327 nized over all Egypt. According to Bruce, the Shepherds who invaded Egypt were no other than the inhabitants of Death of Mceris 340...1308 Barabra, and carriers to the Cushites, who lived farther to the south. The latter had built many stately temples During the long interval between the reign of Menes in Thebes and other cities of Egypt; yet, according to and the death of Mceris, the most remarkable event which him, they had no other dwelling-places than holes or caves occurred, and one, too, which forms the first distinct piece in the rocks. Being a commercial people, they remained of history we meet with respecting Egypt, was the inva- at home collecting and preparing their articles, which were sion of the Pastors or Shepherds, which, according to the dispersed by the Barabers or Shepherds already mentionchronology here adopted, took place more than two thou- ed. These, from the nature of their employment, lived in sand years before the birth of Christ. This irruption, as moveable habitations, as the Tartars do at this day. By related by Manetho, happened in the reign of Timaus the Hebrews, he tells us, they were called Phut, but king of Egypt, when God being displeased with the Egyp- Shepherds by every other people ; and from the name tians, exposed them to a great revolution ; for a multitude Baraber the word Barabra is derived. By their employof men, of obscure origin, pouring from the East into ment, which consisted in dispersing the Arabian and AfriEgypt, made war on the inhabitants, who, being apparent- can goods all over the continent, they had become a great ly unwarlike, submitted almost without resistance. The and powerful people; and, from their opposite dispositions Shepherds, however, behaved with the greatest cruelty; and manners, were frequently enemies of the Egyptians. they burned the cities, threw down the temples of the gods, To Salatis Bruce ascribes the destruction of Thebes in put to death the inhabitants, and carried the women and Upper Egypt, so much celebrated by Homer for its granchildren into captivity. This people came from Arabia, deur’and magnificence. In fact, he reckons three invaand were called Hycsos, or King-Shepherds. They held sions of this people ; the first being that of Salatis already Egypt in subjection for more than two centuries and a mentioned, who overthrew the primary dynasty of Egyphalf, at the end of which period they were compelled by tian kings from Menes, and destroyed Thebes; the second 1

This is the 17th of Manetho.

J,

ti

EGYPT. 463 tj]at of Sabacon or So, a word which, according to him, towns were rebuilt; edifices consecrated to religion ap- Egypt. was not the name of a single prince, but of a people, and peared on all sides ; and several of the monuments which signifies shepherd; and the third, when, after the building are admired on the banks of the Nile belong to this inteof Memphis, 240,000 of these people were besieged as resting epoch of the restoration of Egypt by the wisdom above mentioned. But this hypothesis is in the highest of its kings. Of this number are the monuments of Semdegree inconsistent; for how is it possible that the third neh and Amada in Nubia, and several of those of Karnak invasion, antecedent to the building of Jerusalem, could and Medinet-Abou, which are the works of Thothmosis I. be posterior to the second, if the latter happened only in or of Thothmosis III. who is also called Mceris. This king, under whom the two obelisks of Alexandria were erected, the days of Hezekiah ? There is less doubt as to the destruction of these bar- is the Pharaoh who achieved the greatest undertakings; it barians. When forced to evacuate Egypt in virtue of the is to him that Egypt owes the existence of the great lake capitulation entered into with Amosis, they appear to have of Fayoum. By immense works which he caused to be thrown themselves upon Syria, where several of their tribes executed, and by means of canals and sluices, this lake fixed themselves, and became the ancestors of the Philis- became a reservoir which served to maintain, in the lower tines, who occupied the eastern shores of the Mediterra- country, a perpetual equilibrium between the inundations nean, and occasionally 1extended their power as far as the of the Nile ; to supply water when these were insufficient, banks of the Euphrates. It is not a little remarkable that a or to withdraw it when they were excessive. Formerly it tradition of the conquest of the Shepherds is still preserv- bore the name of Lake Moeris; at present it is called Bired among the tribes of Central India. In one of the sa- ket-el-Karoun. These kings, and several of their succescred books of the Hindus, a record is preserved of two mi- sors, appear to have preserved in all its plenitude the royal grations from the East in remote times ; one of the Yada- power which they had recovered from the Shepherd vas or Sacred Race, and the other of the Pali or Shepherds, chiefs ; but they used it only for the advantage of the who were a powerful tribe, and governed the whole coun- country, in correcting and reconstituting society, corrupttry from the Indus to the mouth of the Ganges. Having ed by slavery, and in restoring Egypt to the first political passed the shores of the Persian Gulf, they took posses- rank amongst surrounding nations. At this period several nations of Asia had already atsion of Arabia, then crossed or turned the Red Sea, and occupied the lands on its western shore. But to a legend tained a certain degree of civilization, and their power so wholly unsupported as this is, no weight or value can was believed to endanger the tranquillity of Egypt. Mcebe attached. Many circumstances, however, conspire to ris and his successors often took arms, and carried the war render it probable that this people, whose memory was into Asia or Africa, either to establish the dominion of held in the greatest abhorrence in Egypt, by reason of Egypt, or to ravage and enfeeble those states, and thus to their tyranny, were a Tartar or nomadic horde, and that, ensure the tranquillity of the Egyptian nation. Amongst when expelled from that country, they settled on the these conquerors may be reckoned Amenoph II., the son shores of Syria, in the country which from them was call- of Mceris, who rendered tributary Syria and the ancient ed Palesthan or Palestine. The exode of the Israelites kingdom of Babylon ; Thothmosis IV. who invaded Abysmust not therefore be confounded with the expulsion of sinia and Sennaar ; and, lastly, Amenoph III. who completed the conquest of Abyssinia, and undertook great expethe Shepherds. Amenoph, the son of Amosis, and the first of that name, ditions into Asia. There still exist monuments of this having assisted in the expulsion of the Shepherds, with king. It was he who caused to be built the palace of whom he had concluded the capitulation above mentioned, Sohleb in Upper Nubia, the magnificent palace of Luxor, united all Egypt under his dominion, and raised the throne and all that part south of the grand palace of Karnak at of the Pharaohs, that is to say, of the kings of the Egyp- Thebes. The two colossal statues at Kourna are undertian race. He was the chief or head of the eighteenth stood to represent this illustrious prince. His son Horus dynasty. His entire reign, and that of his three succes- chastised a revolt of the Abyssinians, and continued the sors, Thothmosis I., Thothmosis II., and Mceris-Thothmo- works of his father ; but two of his children who succeedsis III. were devoted to the object of re-establishing a re- ed him, having neither the firmness nor the courage of gular government, and raising up the nation, which had their ancestors, lost in a few years the influence which been crushed by so many years of servitude under a fo- Egypt had exercised over neighbouring countries. King reign yoke. The barbarians had destroyed everything ; Menephtha I., however, restored the glory of the country, all therefore had to be reconstructed. These great kings and carried his victorious2 arms into Syria, Babylonia, and spared no pains to raise up Egypt from its state of debase- even the north of Persia. We come now to the era of his son Rhamses 3the Great, ment ; order was re-established throughout the whole kingdom; the canals, which had been neglected or de- known also in history by the name of Sesostris. He was stroyed, were repaired or re-formed; whilst agriculture the first mighty warrior whose conquests are recorded with and the arts, encouraged and protected, soon brought any degree of distinctness. Much diversity of opinion back abundance, and at once increased and perpetuated prevails as to the date of his reign. Some chronologers, the resources of the government. In a little time the among whom is Sir Isaac Newton, are of opinion that he 1 In the language of Asia the word Pali denotes shepherds, and stun or sthan means country; so that Palis-tan literally signifies shepherd-land, or the country of shepherds. But as Palistan is manifestly identical with Palestine, or the country of the Philistines, it is hence not improbable that the warlike nation which so frequently disputed the possession of the Syrian border with the descendants of Abraham were the progeny of the fierce herdsmen who for more than two centuries and a half held Lower, Middle, and even part of Upper Egypt subject to their despotic sway. (Russell’s Egypt, p. 69, 2d ed.) 3 3 Champollion, Notice Sommaire sur 1'Ilistoire d'Egyptc, 1829 ; Lettres icritcs d'Egypte, appendix. This monarch has been designated by a great variety of names. Thus he has been called Sesostris, Sesoosis, Sesochis, Sesonchosis, Sethosis, Sethos, Ramesses, Rameses, Ramestes, Rhampstes, Rhamses, Vexores, and ASgyptus. But most of these appellations were probably titular. Thus, Sesostris may be 2E-2I02-T-PH, Se-sios-t-re, which signifies filius domini, donum solis. Sesoosis may, in like manner, be a corruption for 2E-2IOS-2IOS, Se-sios-sios, Jilius domini dominorum; and Ramesses, derived from PH, Re, s °l, and ME2, mes, gignere, may have signified begotten by the sun. But it is impossible to render ancient Egyptian according to the grammatical rules established in the Coptic language. (Drummond’s Origines, vol. ii. p. 500.)

464 EGYPT. Kgypt. is the Sesak or Shishak who took and plundered Jerusa- of the Red Sea ; but its progress was stopped by shoals Eg]em }n rejgn 0f Rehoboam the son of Solomon. Others, and other difficulties which the navigators of those days 'WY however, place him still earlier; and Mr Whitson con- were unable to pass, so that he seems not to have made tends that he was the Pharaoh who refused to part with many conquests by sea. the Israelites, and was at last drowned in the Red Sea. With the land forces Sesostris marched against the Larcher, who builds his calculation on Herodotus, asserts Ethiopians and Troglodytes, whom he overcame, obliging that Sesostris mounted the throne of Egypt 1356 years them to pay him a tribute of gold, ebony, and ivory. He before Christ; Hales places his accession to the crown then proceeded as far as the promontory of Dira, which at the commencement of the thirteenth century before lay near the Straits of Babelmandeb, where he set up a Christ; and Sir William Drummond, who contests the pillar with an inscription in sacred characters or hierogly. assertion of Larcher, fixes the commencement of his reign phics. He then marched on to the country where cinnaat a period still more recent, namely, about the beginning mon grows, or at least to a country whence cinnamon at of the eleventh century anterior to our era. Mr Bryant, that time was brought, probably some place in India; and again, endeavours to prove that no such person ever ex- here he in like manner set up pillars, which were to be isted ; but that in his history, as well as in that of many seen many ages afterwards. As to his further conquests, it ancient heroes, we have an abridgment of that of the is agreed by almost all authors of antiquity that he overCushites or Babylonians, who spread themselves over great ran the greater part of the continent of Asia, and some part part of the then known world, and everywhere brought of that of Europe. Having ci ossed the Ganges, he erected the people in subjection to them. His reign is the most pillars on its banks; and thence marching northward, he extraordinary portion of the Egyptian history. The father ascended the plateau of Central Asia, subdued the Assyof Sesostris was told in a dream, by the god Ptha, that rians and Medes, directed his course towards the Caspian his son, who was then newly born, should be lord of the and the Black Sea, and invaded the Scythians and Thrawhole earth. Upon the credit of this vision, he got toge- cians. Authors are not agreed that he conquered the nather all the males in the land of Egypt who were born on tions last mentioned. Some even affirm that he was overthe same day with Sesostris, appointed nurses and proper thrown with great slaughter on the banks of the Phasis, by persons to take care of them, and had them treated like Timaus, prince of the Scythians, and obliged to abandon a his own child ; being persuaded that they who were the great part of his booty and military stores; but whether he constant companions of his youth would prove the most was successful or the reverse in these parts, it is a comfaithful ministers and soldiers in his riper years. As they mon opinion that he settled a colony in Colchis. Herodogrew up they were inured to laborious exercises, and, in tus, however, does not say whether the colony^ was designparticular, were never permitted to taste food till they edly planted by Sesostris, or whether part of his army, havhad performed a journey of upwards of twenty-two of our ing refused to accompany him further, settled in that region. miles. WRen the old king imagined they were sufficiently From his own knowledge he asserts that the inhabitants of educated and trained in martial exercises, he sent them, the country were undoubtedly of Egyptian descent. This by way of trial of their qualities, against the Arabians. In was indeed evident from the personal resemblance they this expedition Sesostris proved successful, and in the end bore to the Egyptians, who were of swarthy complexions, subdued that people, who had never before been conquer- with frizzled hair j1 but more especially from the conformity ed. He was then sent to the westward, where he con- of their customs, particularly that of circumcision. The quered the greater part of Africa, and was only stopped utmost limit of this monarch’s conquests, however, was in in his career by the Atlantic Ocean. Whilst he was ab- Thrace or Rumelia; for beyond this country his pillars were sent on this expedition his father died; and then Sesos- nowhere to be seen. These pillars he was accustomed to tris resolved to fulfil the prediction of Ptha at his birth, set up in every region which he conquered, with the folby actually conquering the whole world. With this view lowing inscription, or one to the same purpose: “ Sesoshe divided the kingdom into thirty-six provinces, and en- tris, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, subdued this coundeavoured to secure the affections of the people by gifts try by the power of his arms” Besides these, he left also both of money and land. He forgave all those who had stat ues of himselfi two of which, according to Herodotus, been guilty of offences, and discharged the debts of his were to be seen in his time; the one on the road between soldiers. He then constituted his brother Armais or Har- Ephesus and Phocaea, and the other between Smyrna and mais regent, but forbade him to use the diadem, and com- Sardis. They were armed after the Ethiopian and Egypmanded him to offer no injury to the queen or her child- tian manner, with a javelin in one hand and a bow in the ren, and to abstain from the royal concubines. His army other; whilst across the breast a line was drawn from one consisted of 600,000 infantry, 24,000 cavalry, and 27,000 shoulder to the other, with the following inscription: chariots. Besides these land forces, he had two fleets; “ This region I obtained by these my shoulders.” They one of them, according to Diodorus, of four hundred were mistaken for images of Memnon. vessels. Of these fleets, one was designed to make conThe reasons assigned by this warlike prince for returnquests in the west, and the other in the east; and there- ing into Egypt from Thrace, and thus leaving the conquest fore the former was built on the Mediterranean, and the of the world unfinished, were the want of provisions for latter on the Red Sea. The first of these conquered his army, and the difficulty of the passes. Most probably, Cyprus, the coast of Phoenicia, and several of the islands however, his return was hastened by the intelligence he called Cyclades; and the second subdued all the coasts received from the high priest of Egypt, concerning the re1 these physical marks of the African race, although they may afford a proof that the founders of the Colchian colony were, if not Africans, at least of African descent, yet warrant not the conclusion that the ancient Egyptians belonged exclusively to this family of mankind, ihat Africans, particularly the inhabitants of the countries now called Nubia and Abyssinia, served in the army of Sesostris, seems to admit of little doubt; and it is by no means impossible that the founders of the Colchian colony were exclusively of this race, which haying been subdued by Sesostris, and afterwards compelled to serve in his army, might naturally take the first .opportunity that offered to detach themselves from a standard which to them was the emblem of subjection and humiliation. But it is a remarkable fact, that of the bodies found in the mummy cases, almost all those "which have been unswathed and examined have strong red hair, and a cast of features somewhat resembling those of a New Zealander, and are as remote as possible from the general contour and expression of the negro countenance.

EGYPT. 465 Iypt. bellious proceedings of his brother, who, encouraged by the south of Africa; all the wandering tribes of the deserts Egypt. his long absence, had assumed the diadem, violated the east and west of the Nile; Syria; Arabia, in which the queen, and appropriated the royal concubines. On re- most ancient kings had establishments, near the valley of ceiving this news, Sesostris hastened from Thrace, and, nine Pharaoh; and also in the places now called Djebbel-elyears after he had set out on his expedition, arrived at Mokatteb, El Magara, and Sabouth-el-Kadim, where there Pelusium in Egypt, attended by an innumerable multitude appear to have existed brass-founderies ; the kingdoms of of captives taken from many different nations, and loaded Babylon and Nineveh, now called Mossul; a great part of with the spoils of Asia. His brother met him at this city, Anatolia, or Asia Minor; the Isle of Cyprus, and several where, it is said, though with but little probability, Se- islands of the Archipelago ; and a considerable portion of sostris accepted from the traitorous regent an invitation the country now known by the name of Persia. ' At this to an entertainment. On this occasion he drank freely, as period, when the star of the Pharaohs had reached its zeold soldiers are wont to do, whilst the queen and the rest nith, there existed regular and frequent communications of the royal family joined in the compotation ; but during between the Egyptian empire and that of India. The inthe entertainment Armais caused a quantity of dried reeds tercourse between these countries, indeed, appears to have to be laid round the apartment where they were to sleep; been carried on with much activity; and the discoveries and as soon as the party, filled with wine and wassail, had which are daily made in the tombs of Thebes, of stuffs retired to rest, he set fire to the reeds. Sesostris, however, of Indian fabric, of articles in wood the growth of India, perceived the danger, and finding that his guards, over- and of hard-cut stones which certainly came from that charged with liquor, were incapable of assisting him, he country, leave no manner of doubt as to the commerce rushed through the flames, and was followed by his wife which ancient Egypt carried on with India, at a period and children. For this wonderful deliverance he made when the European tribes and a great portion of the Asiaseveral donations to the gods, particularly to the god of tics were still in a state of barbarism. It is impossible fire; and he then took vengeance on his brother Armais, indeed to explain the number and magnificence of the who is said to be the Danaus of the Greeks, and who, be- ancient monuments of Egypt, except on the supposition ing now driven out of Egypt, withdrew into Greece, where, that the principal source of the immense wealth expendunder his new name, he acquired great renown. ed in producing them consisted in the ancient commercial This illustrious conqueror, the history of whose achieve- prosperity of the country. Hence it is well ascertainments is so dashed and brewed with fable and romance, is ed that Memphis and Thebes were the first centre of generally supposed to have been one of the best of princes, that commerce, before Babylon, Tyre, Sidon, Alexandria, as well as bravest of warriors. He employed all the riches Tadmor (Palmyra), and Bagdhad, all cities in the vicitaken from the conquered nations, and the tributes he nage, as it were, of Egypt, enjoyed that advantage and received from them, in the execution of immense works of distinction. public utility. He founded new cities, endeavoured to With regard to the internal condition of Egypt at this elevate the ground of some, and surrounded others with period, it appears that the arts and the sciences, as well strong embankments of earth, to protect them from the in- as what may be denominated police, were then carried to undation of the river; he dug new canals, and to him is at- a high degree of advancement. The country was divided tributed the first idea of a canal for connecting the Nile into thirty-six provinces or governments, administered by with the Red Sea; and he covered Egypt with a great num- functionaries of different grades, according to a complete ber of magnificent structures, many of which are still in code of written laws. The population amounted in all to existence. Ihese are the monuments of Ibsambul, Derri, between five and seven millions. Of this a part specially Guircheh-Hanan, and Wady-Essebouah, in Nubia; and in devoted to the study of the sciences, and to promote the Egypt those of Kournah, of El Medineh near Kournah, a advancement of the arts, was charged, besides the cereportion of the palace of Luxor, and the grand hall with monies of worship, with the administration of justice, the columns in the palace of Karnak, which had been com- assessment and collection of the imposts invariably fixed menced by his father. This last monument is the most according to the nature and extent of each portion of magnificent structure ever reared by the hand of man. property measured beforehand, and with all the branches But Sesostris did not confine himself to these more than of the civil administration. This was the instructed and Herculean labours. Not content with adorning Egypt learned part of the nation, and it was called the Sacerdowith sumptuous edifices, and desirous to promote the real tal Caste. The principal functions of this caste were exwelfare of the people, he published a body of new laws, ercised or directed by members of the royal family. Anothe most important of which was that which gave to all ther portion of the Egyptian nation was specially entrustclasses of his subjects the right of property in its fullest ed with watching over the external defence, and guardextent. By this he divested himself of that absolute and ing the internal tranquillity, of the country. It was in the unlimited power which his ancestors had preserved after numerous families endowed and supported at the expense the expulsion of the Shepherds; and immortalized his name, of the state, and which formed the Military Caste, that all w iich, in fact, was always venerated as long as there exconscriptions and levies of soldiers took effect. They isted in the country a man of Egypt acquainted with an- the regularly maintained the Egyptian army on the footing of cient lustory. Hence it was under the reign of Rhamses a war establishment, at the total strength of about 180,000 the Great, or Sesostris, that Egypt arrived at the highest men.1 The third class of the population formed the Agripitch of political power and internal splendour. cultural Caste. Its members devoted all their labour and Amongst the countries which were either subject or to the cultivation of the soil, whether as proprietributary to him, this great monarch reckoned Egypt, the attention tors or as farmers; and the products belonged to them whole of Nubia, Abyssinia, Sennaar, several countries of en propre, subject only to the deduction of a portion des°f divisions of this army wasledtrained to fight on cars or chariots drawn by two horses. This consti80 Ca fantry of different arms vfz “the^old^Tf f,™P,erneyarme( ! fJld no? then in Egypt. The remainder consisted of corps of in16 80 ( 1 rs archers tlio ui;., . ’i ' f Vlt h hatchets E or l with a cuirass, a buckler, a lance, and a sword; and the light troops the and performed movementsTn ' .. battle-axes. The troops were exercised in regular manoeuvres, marched trunmet • 11161118 111 hne by divisions and companies, their evolutions to the sound of the drum and the irmnpet. Tl,, Ihese circumstances indicate an advanced civilization.andSeeexecuted the article Ahmy. VOL. VIII, 3N

EGYPT. 466 Egypt, tined for the support of the king, and also for that of the dence, and improved by his wise institutions. His sue- Egypt! sacerdotal and military castes, which formed the principal, cessors enjoyed in peace the fruits of his labours, and preand indeed the most certain, revenues of the state. Ac- served the greater part of his conquests, which the fourth cording to the statements of ancient historians, the an- of these in order, called Rhamses-Meiammon, a warlike and nual revenue of the Pharaohs, including the tributes paid ambitious prince, still further extended, his entire reign by foreign nations, may be estimated at not less than from being occupied with a series of successful enterprises L.27,000,000 to L.28,000,000 sterling. The artizans, the against the most powerful nations of Asia. This king workmen of all kinds, and the merchants, composed the built the beautiful palace of Medinet-Abou at Thebes, fourth class of the nation, or the Industrious Caste, which on the walls of which may still be seen sculptured and was subjected to a proportional impost, and thus contribut- painted all the campaigns of this Pharaoh in Asia, the ed by its labours to defray the expense, as well as to aug- battles which he fought on land and on sea, the siege and ment the wealth, of the state. The productions of this caste capture of several cities, and the ceremonies of his triumph raised Egypt to its highest pitch of prosperity. All kinds on his return from his distant expeditions. This conquerof industry were in fact practised by the ancient Egyptians ; or appears also to have improved the navy of Egypt, which and their commerce with other nations more or less ad- had been neglected by his immediate predecessors. Under the Pharaohs who reigned after Rhamses survanced, who formed the political world of that period, had named Meiammon, or Beloved of Ammon, Egypt enjoyed experienced great development. Egypt carried on a regular and extensive commerce in a long tranquillity. During this period of profound rethe grain which remained after supplying its own con- pose, although the warlike and conquering spirit with sumption. It derived great profit from its herds, and also which the country had been animated during the precedfrom its horses. It supplied the world with its linen fa- ing dynasties declined, Egypt must necessarily have imbrics and with its cotton tissues, equalling in perfection proved its internal government, and advanced progressiveand in fineness any thing which India or Europe has yet ly in art and industry; but its external dominion became produced. The metals, of which Egypt contained no contracted from age to age, by reason of the increasing mine, but which it derived from the tributary countries, civilization of the countries, which thus scarcely owned its or by advantageous exchanges with independent nations, sway, and which, improved by their very connection with came out of its workshops manufactured into various Egypt, could not be kept in subjection except by means forms, and changed either into arms, instruments, uten- of a military establishment out of all proportion to the resils, or into articles of luxury and dress, which were ea- sources and population of that country. A new political gerly sought after by all the neighbouring nations. It world had in fact been formed around Egypt. The tribes exported annually a considerable quantity of pottery of of Persia, incorporated into one nation, already menaced every kind, as well as innumerable products wrought in the great united kingdoms of Nineveh and Babylon; whilst, glass and in enamel; arts which the Egyptians had carried on the other hand, the latter, aiming at depriving Egypt to the highest pitch of perfection. Lastly, it provided the of important branches of commerce, disputed with that neighbouring nations with papyrus or paper, formed from country the possession of Syria, and employed the Arab the interior pellicles of a plant which several centuries nations and tribes to harass its frontiers. In this conago ceased to exist in Egypt.1 The Egyptians had no flict, the Phoenicians, naturally the commercial agents of monetary system at all similar to ours. For small com- these powerful rivals, sided sometimes with the one party merce they had a money of convention ; but in considerable and sometimes with the other, according to the interest transactions payments were made in rings of pure gold of of the moment; but the struggle was long and obstinate, a certain weight and diameter, or in rings of silver of a the commercial existence of one or other ol these powerdenomination and weight equally fixed. With them sil- ful empires being at stake. The military expeditions of Pharaoh Chechonk I. and ver was a legal tender as well as gold. In regard to the state of the marine at this early period, we have not suf- those of his son Osorchon I. who overran Mestern Asia, ficient information to enable us to speak with confidence. maintained during some time the supremacy of Egypt; It appears, however, that Egypt had a navy composed of and it might long have enjoyed the fruits of these victolarge galleys, propelled both by oars and sails ; and it may ries, if an invasion of ^Ethiopians or Abyssinians had not be presumed that the mercantile marine had also made turned its whole attention to the south. But all its efforts considerable advances, although it is not improbable that were unavailing. Sabacon, king of the Ethiopians, havcommerce and navigation on an extended scale were car- ing seized upon Nubia, passed the last Cataract with an ried on, in quality of brokers or agents, by a small tribu- army augmented by all the barbarous races of Africa, and tary people of Egypt, whose principal cities were Sour, poured this savage horde like a torrent down the valley Said, Beirout, and Acre. In short, the internal prospe- of the Nile. After an unavailing struggle, in which its rity of Egypt was founded on the great development of its native prince, Pharaoh Bok-hor, perished, Egypt yielded agriculture and its industry. In the tombs of Thebes and to the conqueror. Sabacon began his reign with an act of Sakkara are discovered at every step objects of im- of great cruelty, causing the conquered prince 7 to be burnt proved and elaborate workmanship," showing that this alive ; nevertheless, when he saw himself firmly established people wrere acquainted with all the comforts of life, and on the throne of Egypt, he is said to have become a new all the enjoyments of luxury. No nation, ancient or mo- man, and in fact he is highly extolled for his mercy, cledern, has in truth carried further than the old Egyptians mency, and wisdom. Sabacon is probably the So menthe grandeur and richness of their edifices, or taste and tioned in Scripture, who entered into a league with Horecherche in furniture, utensils, costume, and decoration. shea king of Israel against Shalmaneser king of Assyria.. Of Sabacon’s immediate successor little or nothing is Such was Egypt at the period of its greatest known splendour. This prosperity dates from the epoch of the last kings known. After him reigned Sethon, who was both king and of the eighteenth dynasty, to which belonged Rhamses the priest of Ptha. He gave himself up to religious contemGreat or Sesostris ; a sovereign terrible to his enemies, but plation ; and not only neglected the military class, but dethe benefactor of the nation, which he governed with pru- prived them of their lands. They were so much incensed 1 The papyrus, called herd by the ancient Arabs, grew principally in marshy soils, and the cultivation of it proved a source of wealth to those who lived on the banks of Lakes Bourlos and Menzaleh or Tennis.

EGYPT. 467 to obstacles which nature had thrown in the way of such Egypt, at this, that they entered into an agreement not to bear arms under him ; and in this state of affairs Sennacherib an undertaking, he was obliged to abandon the enterking of Assyria arrived before Pelusium with a mighty prise, after having lost 120,000 men in the attempt. After army. Sethon now applied to his soldiers, but in vain ; this he sent a fleet, manned with Phoenician mariners, on they unanimously persisted in refusing to march under a voyage to explore the coast of Africa. Accordingly, his banner. Being therefore destitute of all human aid, having left the Red Sea, he sailed round the continent of he had recourse to Ptha, who, according to the legend, Africa, doubling the Cape of Good Hope, and after three promised, that if Sethon would but go out against the As- years returned to Egypt by the Mediterranean, having of syrians, he should obtain a complete victory. Encouraged course passed the Straits of Gibraltar. The most remarkby this assurance, the king assembled a body of artificers, able wars in which this king was engaged are recorded shopkeepers, and labourers, and with this undisciplined in the sacred writings. He marched agamst the king of rabble marched towards Pelusium. He had no occasion, Assyria; and being opposed by the king of Judaea, he dehowever, to fight; for the very night after his arrival at feated and killed his opponent at Megiddo; after which Pelusium, an innumerable multitude of field rats having he set up King Jehoiakim, and imposed on him an annual entered the enemies’ camp, gnawed to pieces the quivers, tribute of a hundred talents of silver and one talent of bowstrings, and shield straps; so that, next morning, when gold. He then proceeded against the king of Assyria, Sethon found the enemy disarmed, and on that account and having weakened him so much that the empire was beginning to fly, he pursued them with terrible slaughter. soon afterwards dissolved, he became master of Syria and In memory of this extraordinary event, a statue of Sethon Phoenicia. But the end of his reign was unfortunate ; for was erected in the temple of Ptha, holding in one hand Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, having come against a rat, whilst the words, “ Whosoever beholdeth me, let him with a mighty army, the Egyptian monarch boldly ventured a battle, but was overthrown with great slaughter, him be pious,” appeared to be issuing from the mouth. Soon after the death of Sethon, the form of government and Nebuchadnezzar became master of all the country as was totally changed, and the kingdom divided into twelve far as the gates of Pelusium. His son Psammeticus II., parts, over which as many of the chief nobility presided. called also Psammis, endeavoured to recover the provinBut this division subsisted only for a short time ; for Psam- ces which had been detached from Egypt, but without meticus I. one of the twelve, dethroned all the rest, fifteen success. But his successor Apries, the Pharaoh-Hophra of Scripyears after the division was made. The history of Egypt now begins to be divested of fable; and from this time it ture, in Egyptian Ouaphre, was in some respects more formay be accounted as certain as that of any other ancient tunate. He is represented as a martial prince, and in the nation. The vast conquests of Sesostris w*ere now merely beginning of his reign as very successful. He took by storm matters of tradition, and Psammeticus possessed only Egypt the rich city of Sidon ; and having overcome the Cypriots itself. Indeed none of the successors of Sesostris, not even and Phoenicians in a sea-fight, returned to Egypt laden that monarch himself, had made use of any means to keep with spoil. It was probably this success which induced in subjection the countries which he had once conquered. Zedekiah, king of Judaea, to enter into an alliance with Perhaps his original design was rather to pillage than to Ouaphre against Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon; an conquer ; and hence his vast empire speedily fell to pieces. alliance the unfortunate result of which was foretold by Psammeticus. however, endeavoured to extend his domi- the prophet Jeremiah ; for when Nebuchadnezzar sat down nions by making war on his neighbours ; but by putting with his army before Jerusalem, Apries marched from more confidence in foreign auxiliaries than in his native Egypt to relieve the city, but no sooner did he perceive subjects of the military caste, the latter were so. much the Babylonians approaching him, than he retreated as offended that upwards of 100,000 fighting men emigrated, fast as he could, leaving the Jews exposed to the mercy of in a body, passed the Cataracts, and took up their resi- their enemies. By this cowardly or treacherous conduct, dence in Ethiopia, where they established an independent Apries justly brought upon himself the vengeance denounstate. To repair this loss, Psammeticus earnestly applied ced by the prophet. The Cyreneans, a colony of Greeks, himself to the advancement of commerce, and opened his being strengthened by a body of their countrymen under ports to all strangers, wdiom he greatly caressed, contrary their third "king Battus, and encouraged by the Pythian to the maxims of his predecessors, who had refused to oracle, began to expel their Libyan neighbours, and divide admit them into the country. He also laid siege to the among themselves the possessions of those whom they city of Azotus in Syria, which held out for twenty-nine had driven out. In these circumstances Andica, king years against the whole strength of his kingdom; a suffi- of Libya, sent an embassy to Apries to implore his procient proof that, as a warrior, Psammeticus was by no tection against the Cyreneans. Apries complied with means very formidable to his enemies. He is said to have this request, and sent a powerful army to his relief. been the first king of Egypt who drank wine. He also But the Egyptians were defeated with great slaughter; sent to explore the sources of the Nile, and attempted to and those who returned complained that the army had discover the most ancient nation in the world by an ex- been sent out in order to be destroyed, and that the king periment which has been often recorded. Having pro- might tyrannize without control over the remainder of cured two newly-born children, he caused them to be his subjects. This notion having caught the attention brought up without hearing the sound of a human voice ; of the multitude, an almost universal defection ensued. imagining that these children would naturally speak the Apries sent Amasis, a friend in whom he thought he could original language of mankind. When, therefore, at two confide, to endeavour to bring back the people to a sense years of age, they pronounced the Phrygian word for of duty. But he was betrayed by Amasis, who, taking bread, or some sound resembling if, he concluded that the opportunity of the ferment, caused himself to be prothe Phrygians were the most ancient people in the world. claimed king. Both parties now prepared for war. The usurper had under his command the whole body of naThis Pharaoh was but an indifferent logician. Nechus, the son and successor of Psammeticus, and tive Egyptians, and Apries such lonians, Carians, and the Pharaoh-Necho of Scripture, was a prince of an en- other mercenaries as he could engage in his service. terprising and warlike genius. In the beginning of his The army of Apries amounted only to 30,000; but though reign he attempted to cut through the isthmus of Suez, greatly inferior in number to the troops of his rival, yet between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean; but owing as he well knew that the Greeks were much superior in

468 EGYPT. Egypt valour, he did not doubt of victory. The two armies met, daring to throw a dart or shoot an arrow against their IVy —■-v-w' and drew up in order of battle near Memphis, where a enemies, lest their weapons should kill some of the sacred Wy , bloody engagement ensued, in which, though the army of animals. Cambyses had scarcely taken possession of the Apries behaved with the greatest resolution, they were city, when Psammenitus advanced against him with a nuat last overpowered by numbers, and utterly defeated, the merous army. But before the engagement, the Greeks king himself being taken prisoner. Amasis now took who served under Psammenitus, in order to show their possession of the throne without opposition, and confined indignation against their treacherous countryman Phanes Apries in one of his palaces, but treated him with great brought his children into the camp, killed them in the precare and respect. The people, however, were implac- sence of their father and the two armies, and then drank able, and Amasis therefore found himself obliged to de- their blood. Enraged at so cruel an act, the Persians liver the prisoner into their hands. Apries was according- advanced to the combat, which proved long and bloody; ly given up to those “ who sought his life,” and who no but at the close of the day the Egyptians, overpowered sooner had him in their power than they strangled him, by numbers, gave way. Cambyses prevailed, and the naand laid his body in the sepulchre of his ancestors. tional independence of Egypt was for ever lost. Those During the reign of Amasis, Egypt is said to have been who escaped from the field fled to Memphis, where they perfectly happy, and to have contained twenty thousand were soon after guilty of an outrage for which they afterpopulous cities. That good order might be preserved wards paid dear. Cambyses sent a herald to summon amongst such vast numbers of people, Amasis enacted a them, in a small vessel from Mitylene; but no sooner did law by which every Egyptian was bound once a year to they observe this craft coming into the port, than they inform the governor of his province by what means he flocked down to the shore, destroyed the boat, tore in gained his livelihood ; and if he failed in this, he was pieces the herald and all the crew, and afterwards carried liable to be put to death. The same punishment he de- their mangled limbs into the city in a kind of barbarous creed to those who could not give a satisfactory account triumph. Not long afterwards, Memphis was taken by of themselves. This monarch greatly favoured the Greeks, assault, and given up to pillage; whilst Psammenitus fell and married a woman of Grecian extract. To many Greek into the hands of an inveterate enemy, enraged beyond cities, as well as particular persons, he made considerable measure at the cruelties committed upon the children of presents. He likewise gave permission to the Greeks in Phanes, the Persian herald, and the Mitylenian sailors. general to come into Egypt, and either settle in the city The conquerors, being still a barbarous race, carried everyof Naucratis, or carry on their trade upon the sea coasts; where destruction and death. Thebes was sacked, its finest granting them also temples, and places where they might monuments were demolished or laid in ruins, and the icoerect temples, to their own deities. He likewise received noclastic fury of the conquerors raged even more fiercely a visit from Solon the celebrated Athenian lawgiver, and against the temples than the palaces of the land, which reduced the island of Cyprus under his subjection. was thus made desolate. This prosperity, however, ended with the death of AmaThe rapid success of the Persians struck such terror sis, or rather before it. The Egyptian monarch having some- into the Libyans, Cyreneans, Barcaeans, and other depenhow incensed Cambyses, king of Persia, the latter vowed dents or allies of the Egyptian monarchy, that they immethe destruction of Amasis. In the mean time Phanes of diately submitted. Nothing now remained but to dispose Halicarnassus, commander of the Grecian auxiliaries in of the captive king, and revenge on him and his subjects the pay of Amasis, received some private disgust, and leav- the cruelties which they had committed. This the merciing Egypt, set out for Persia. He was a wise and able less victor executed in the severest manner. On the tenth general, well acquainted with every thing which related to day after Memphis had been taken, Psammenitus and the Egypt, and held in great estimation by the Greeks resi- chief of the Egyptian nobility were ignominiously sent into dent in that country. Amasis became immediately sen- one of the suburbs of that city ; and the king being there sible of his loss, and therefore sent after him a trusty seated, saw his daughter coming along in the habit of a eunuch in a fast-sailing galley. Phanes was accordingly slave with a pitcher to fetch water from the Nile, and folovertaken in Lycia, but not brought back ; for having made lowed by the daughters of the first families in Egypt, all his guard drunk, he continued his journey to Persia, and in the same miserable garb, with pitchers in their hands, presented himself before Cambyses as the latter was me- drowned in tears, and loudly bemoaning their miserable ditating the destruction of the Egyptian monarchy. situation. When the fathers observed their daughters in But Amasis had not1 the misfortune to behold the cala- this distress, they all burst into tears, except Psammenitus, mities of his country. He died about 525 years before who only cast his eyes on the ground and kept them fixed Christ, after a reign of forty-two years, and left the king- there. After the young women came the son of Psammenidom to his son Psammenitus, just as Cambyses was ap- tus, with two thousand of the young nobility, all of them proaching the frontiers of the kingdom. with bits in their mouths and halters round their necks, who The new prince was scarcely seated upon the throne were led to execution. This was done to expiate the murwhen the Persian host appeared. Psammenitus drew to- der of the Persian herald and the Mitylenian sailors; for gether what forces he could, in order to prevent the in- Cambyses caused ten Egyptians of the first rank to be vader from entering the kingdom. Cambyses, however, publicly executed for every one of those who had been immediately laid siege to Pelusium, and made himself mas- assassinated. Psammenitus himself was afterwards reter of the place by a stratagem. Having placed in the stored to his liberty, and had he not showed a desire of front of his army a great number of cats, dogs, and other revenge, might perhaps have been entrusted with the goanimals which were deemed sacred by the Egyptians, vernment of Egypt; but being discovered hatching schemes he then attacked the city, and took it without opposition; against the conquerors, he was seized, convicted, and conthe garrison, which consisted entirely of Egyptians, not demned to drink bull’s blood. S°n regne fut heureux et paisible,” says Champollion; “ le commerce reprit un grand essor, et les richesses affluaient en Egypte; non qu’elle fut forte par elle-meme, non qu’ell“ ^ : . . • dans ce temps-la les rois de Babylone cessaient de menacer Cyrus, qui attaqua impe'tueusement PAssyrie et en fit bylone.” {Notice sur VHistone de I'Egypte.)

EGYPT. 469 The Egyptians, now reduced to the lowest degree of Fifth Dynasty, 342 Years. 1 Egypt. iyp - y slavery, were placed at the mercy of satraps or governors Y. b. c. 33...1308 appointed by the conquerors. Their country became a 1. Sethos, Sethosis, Sesoosis, or Sesostris 61...1275 province of the Persian empire, and the body of Amasis, 2. Rampses or Pheron 50...1214 their late king, being taken out of the grave, and mangled 3. Cetes, Proteus, or Ramesses 4. Amenophis IV 40... 1164 in a shocking manner, was finally burnt. Never was con42...1124 quest more complete, desolation more universal, or tyranny 5. Rampsinites 50...1082 more fierce and unrelenting. It was the very frenzy of 6. Cheops or Chemmis 56...1032 barbarous fanaticism let loose, like some evil spirit long kept 7. Cephrenes, Cephres, or Sesah 10... 976 in chains under darkness, to destroy the monuments of the 8. Mycerimus or Cherinus proudest civilization which the world had ever yet seen, His death 342... 966 and which in some of its characteristics had far distanced 1 all future rivalry. In the moral chaos which ensued, the Sixth Dynasty, 293 Years. arts and sciences almost entirely disappeared from that A chasm 151, .966 very soil in which they had long flourished ; and the learn- 1. Bocchoris or Asychis 44. .815 ing of the Egyptians became merely a recollection or tra- 2. Any sis 2. .771 dition of the past. But what was accounted by the super- 3. Sabacon or So,) 50. .769 So,l stitious portion of the people more grievous than all the Anysis again,b i 6. .719 rest, the sacred bull Apis was slain, and his priests were 4. Sebecon or Sethos. 40. .713 ignominiously scourged; treatment which inspired the Sennacherib invades Egypt. .711 whole nation with an unextinguishable hatred of the Persians. A similar spirit of vengeance dictated the attempt End of the period 293- -673 to seize the consecrated fane of Jupiter Ammon, situated Seventh Dynasty, 148 Years. in the great Oasis ; an attempt which cost Cambyses half 15. .673 his army, and produced disaffection among the remainder. 1. Twelve contemporary kings 39. .658 As long as the Persian empire subsisted, the Egyptians 2. Psammeticus 1 16. .619 were never able to shake off the yoke. They revolted fre- 3. Nechus or Pharaoh Necho 6. .603 quently, it is true, but in every instance they were ulti- 4. Psammis 28. .597 mately overthrown with prodigious loss. The chiefs who 5. Apries or Pharaoh Hophra 44. .569 headed these insurrections gained partial successes, and 6. Amasis Cyrus conquers Egypt for a brief space even freed their country from servitude ; .535 .525 but their generous efforts were soon exhausted against the 7. Psammenitus. First revolt of Egypt constantly increasing power of the Persian empire, and 148 the expected deliverance was not achieved. But when Alexander (Iskander), at the head of an Eighth Dynasty, Persian Kings, 112 Years. army of Greeks, overturned the dominion of the Persians ) in Asia, Egypt at length respired freely under this new 1. Cambyses reduces Egypt, 38. .525 First Persian Administration, J and enlightened master; and if he had lived he would 3 .487 doubtless have raised it to something like its ancient 2. Darius Hystaspes. Second revolt of Egypt { 9, renown. He founded the city of Alexandria, which he 3. Xerxes reduces Egypt, .484 Second Persian administration, J called after his own name, and destined to become the 4. Artaxerxes Longimanus. Third Revolt 4 .460 centre of the commerce of the world, for which, from its Reduces Egypt, I geographical position, it was eminently calculated; and 43. .456 Third Persian administration, J he was meditating other plans equally enlarged and comHerodotus visits Egypt .448 prehensive, when all his projects were suddenly arrested by death. 112. .413 Having thus arrived at the point where commences the 5. Darius Nothus. Fourth Revolt history of the Greek rulers of Egypt, we shall, in order Ninth Dynasty, Egyptian Kings, 81 Years. to connect that which precedes with what is to follow, 1. Amyrtaeus 6. .413 exhibit a tabular view of the several Egyptian dynas- 2. Pausiris or Busiris 6. .407 ties from the death of Mceris-Thothmosis III. to the ac- 3. Psammeticus II 6. .401 cession of the first Ptolemy, the head of the Lagidae. It is 4. Nephereus 6. .395 proper to observe here, however, that this arrangement of 5. Acoris 14. .389 the dynasties, founded on the information contained in the 6. Nectanebo 12. .375 writings of Herodotus and Diodorus, differs very materi- 7. Tachus or Tachos 2. .373 ally from that of Manetho, which will be presented under Nectanebo II 11, .361 a subsequent head ; and that it has been adopted in this 8. Ochus reduces Egypt, ) 18 place solely with a view to the illustration of the narrative, Fourth Persian administration, J to which it is more immediately applicable than the royal canon of Manetho. Alexander conquers Egypt 81...332 n a poetical “ Address to the Mummy in Belzoni’s Exhibition,” which appeared about the time when that enterprising but un ortunate traveller exposed his Egyptian tomb and other curiosities to the view of the London public, and which has deservedly een admired for its picturesque vigour combined with richness and felicity of historical allusion, the fury which marked the whole career of the Persian conquest is indicated in the most graphic manner. Addressing the mummy, the poet asks Didst thou not hear the pother o’er thy head When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, Marched armies o’er thy tomb with thundering tread, O’erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder. When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ?

470 Egypt.

EGYPT. On the demise of Alexander the Great the Greek ge- him to obedience. At last an accommodation took place • E nerals divided amongst them his conquests, when Egypt, and a marriage was proposed between Berenice, the only w together with Libya, and that part of Arabia which bor- daughter of Magas, and Ptolemy’s eldest son. But before ders on Egypt, were assigned to Ptolemy Lagus, as gover- this treaty could be carried into effect, Magas died; and nor, under Alexander’s son by Roxana, who was but new- Apamea, the princess’s mother, afterwards did all in her ly born. But nothing was further from the intention of power to prevent the match. This, however, she was unthis governor than to hold these provinces in trust for ano- able to effect, though her intrigues produced a destructher. He did not, however, assume the title of king until tive war of four years’ continuance with Antiochus Theus he found his authority too firmly established to be over- king ot Syria, and the enacting of a cruel tragedy in the thrown ; nor did this happen until nineteen years after family of that prince. Philadelphus conveyed the waters the death ot Alexander, when Antigonus and Demetrius of the Nile into the deserts of Libya, finished the Pharos had unsuccessfully attempted the conquest of Egypt. near the harbour of Alexandria, and laboured to improve Ptolemy then declared himself king, and became the head the navigable canal which connected the capital with both of the Greek dynasty which governed Egypt for nearly the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. But he dishonoured three centuries. From the time of his first establishment himself by resenting the advice given to his father by on the throne, Ptolemy, who had assumed the cognomen of Demetrius the librarian, who recommended to Lagus to Soter, reigned twenty years, which, added to the former allow the succession to proceed in the natural course, and nineteen, make up the thirty-nine years during which it to settle the crown on his eldest to the exclusion of his is computed by historians that he reigned alone. In the second son. thirty-ninth year of his reign he associated one of his sons, About 246 years before Christ, Ptolemy Philadelphus named Philadelphus, as his partner in the empire, at the died, and was succeeded by his eldest son Ptolemy, who same time declaring him successor to the throne, in pre- had been married to Berenice, the daughter of Magas, as judice of his eldest son, named Ceraunus; a preference above stated. In the beginning of his reign he found himwhich he was induced to give by his extravagant affection self engaged in a war with Antiochus Theus king of Syria. for Berenice, mother of Philadelphus. When the succes- In this, however, he proved victorious, and brought with sion had been thus settled, Ceraunus immediately quitted him two thousand five hundred statues and pictures, the court, and fled into Syria, where he was received amongst which were many of the ancient Egyptian idols, with open arms by Seleucus Nicator, whom, in order to which had been carried away by Cambyses into Persia. evince his gratitude, he afterwards murdered. These were restored by Ptolemy to their antient temples, The most remarkable transaction of this reign was the and in memory of this pious act the Egyptians conferred embellishing of the city of Alexandria, which Ptolemy on him the surname of Euergetes, or the Beneficent. In made the capital of his new kingdom; and the establish- the expedition against Theus he greatly enlarged his doment of the celebrated Alexandrian Library, in which minions, made himself master of several countries situated were deposited all the treasures of ancient learning. (See beyond Mount Taurus, and carried his arms to the confines the article Alexandria.) About 284 years before Christ, of Bactria. An account of these conquests was drawn up died Ptolemy Soter, in the forty-first year of his reign, and by Ptolemy himself, and inscribed on a monument, to the eighty-fourth of his age. He was the best as well as the following effect: most accomplished prince of his race, and he left behind “ Ptolemy Euergetes, having received from his father him an exampleof prudence, justice, and munificence which the sovereignty of Egypt, Libya, Syria, Phcenice, Cyprus, few of his successors chose to imitate. Learned himself, he Lycia, Caria, and the other Cyclades, assembled a mighty was a great patron and encourager of learning in others; army of cavalry and infantry, with a great fleet and eleand whilst he proved himself one of the most eminent phi- phants out of Trogloditia and Ethiopia, some of which had losophers of his age, he also invited to his court, and placed been taken by his father, and the rest by himself, and in the schools which he had established in Alexandria, all brought thence and trained up for war. With this great those who were then most distinguished for scientific ac- force he sailed into Asia, and having conquered all the quirements. To him learning and philosophy owe nume- provinces which are situated on this side of the Euphrarous and deep obligations; and for nothing are they more tes, Cilicia, Pamphylia, Ionia, the Hellespont, and Thrace, indebted than the practical direction which he gave to the he crossed the river with all the forces of the conquered pursuits of science, by withdrawing the speculations of the countries, and the kings of those nations, and reduced learned from the entities and quiddities of metaphysics, Mesopotamia, Babylonia, Susiana, Persia, Media, and all and the barren subtilties of scholastic systems of dispu- the country as far as Bactria.” tation, in order to engage them in the more profitable stuOn his return from this expedition, he passed through dies of history, geometry, medicine, and philosophy. In Jerusalem, where he offered many sacrifices to the God this indeed consisted the true glory of his reign. The of Israel, and ever afterwards expressed great favour for employment to which he devoted his accomplished mind, the Jewish nation. At this time the Jews were tributaand the encouragement which he afforded to true learning, ries of the Egyptian monarchs, and paid them annually reflect greater honour upon the memory of Ptolemy Soter, twenty talents of silver. This tribute, however, Onias, than all the magnificence of the Serapeion, all the bril- then high priest, had for a long time neglected to pay, liant utility of the Pharos, or the success which crowned and the arrears in consequence now amounted to a very his arms and issued in the extension of his empire. Be- large sum. Soon after his return, therefore, Ptolemy sides the provinces originally assigned to him, he acquired sent one of his courtiers named Athenion to demand the those of Ccelo-Syria, Ethiopia, Pamphylia, Lycia, Caria, money, and instructed him to acquaint the Jews that he and some of the Cyclades. would make war upon them in case of refusal. A young His successor, Ptolemy Philadelphus, added nothing to man, however, named Joseph, nephew of Onias, not only the extent of the empire; nor did he perform any thing found means to avert the king’s anger, but even got himworthy of notice except further embellishing the city of self appointed receiver-general, and by his faithful disAlexandria, and entering into an alliance with the Romans. charge of that important trust continued in high favour In his time Magas the governor of Libya and Cyrene re- with Ptolemy as long as he lived. volted, and held these provinces as an independent prince, Having at last concluded a peace with Seleucus, the notwithstanding the utmost efforts of Ptolemy to reduce successor of Antiochus Theus king of Syria, Ptolemy Eu-

EGYPT. 471 Syrian expedition, the king of Egypt had attempted to Egyptereetes attempted the enlargement of his dominions to the south; and in this he was so successful that he made enter the temple of Jerusalem; but he was prevented do- ^ himself master of all the coasts of the Red Sea, both on ing so by the Jews, a circumstance which filled him with the Arabian and Ethiopian shores, as far as the entrance the utmost rage against the whole nation. On his return of the Strait of Dira or Babelmandeb. On his return he to Alexandria, being resolved to make those who dwelt was met by ambassadors from the Achaeans, who came to in that city feel the first effects of his vengeance, he pubimplore his assistance against the iEtolians and Lacedae- lished a decree, which he caused to be engraved on a pilmonians. This the king readily promised ; but the envoys lar erected at the gate of his palace, excluding all those having in the mean while engaged Antigonus king of Ma- who refused to sacrifice to the gods worshipped by the cedonia to support them, Ptolemy was so much offended king; by which means the Jews were debarred from suing that he sent powerful succours to Cleomenes king of Spar- for justice, or obtaining protection, when they happened to ta, hoping thereby to humble both the Achaeans and their require it. By the favour of Alexander the Great, Ptonew ally Antigonus. In this, however, he was disappoint- lemy Soter, and Ptolemy Euergetes, the Jews at Alexed; for Cleomenes, after having gained very consider- andria had enjoyed the same privileges with the Macedoable advantages over the enemy, was at last defeated in nians. In that metropolis indeed the inhabitants were the battle of Sellasia, and obliged to take refuge in Pto- divided into three classes. In the first were the Macedonilemy’s dominions. He was received by the Egyptian ans, the original founders of the city, and the Jews ; in the monarch with the greatest kindness, and a yearly pension second were the mercenaries who had served under Alexof twenty-four talents was assigned him, with a promise ander ; and in the third the native Egyptians. By another of restoring him to the Spartan throne; but before this decree, however, Ptolemy now ordained that the Jews could be accomplished, the king of Egypt died, in the should be degraded from the first rank, and enrolled among twenty-seventh year of his reign, and was succeeded by the native Egyptians; but that he might not seem to be an enemy to the whole nation, he declared that those who his son Ptolemy Philopater. At this period the Egyptian empire had attained to a sacrificed to the gods of the Egyptians should enjoy their great height of power; and if the succeeding monarchs had former privileges, and remain in the first class. Yet been careful to preserve what was transmitted to them notwithstanding this tempting offer, only three hundred by Euergetes, it is probable that Egypt might have been out of many thousand Jews who lived in Alexandria could capable of holding the balance against Rome, and, after be prevailed upon to abandon their religion in order to the destruction of Carthage, might have prevented that save themselves from slavery. Meanwhile, the apostates haughty city from becoming mistress of the world. But were excommunicated by their brethren ; and this, being after the death of Ptolemy Euergetes, the Egyptian em- construed as done in opposition to the king’s order, exaspire being governed only by weak or vicious monarchs, perated him so much that he resolved to extirpate the rapidly declined; and henceforth it makes no conspicuous whole nation, beginning with the Jews who lived in Alexfigure in history. Ptolemy Philopater commenced his andria and other cities of Egypt, and proceeding thence reign with the murder of his brother; after which he gave even to Judea and Jerusalem itself. Accordingly he himself up to all manner of licentiousness, and the king- commanded the Jews who lived in any part of Egypt to dom fell into a state of anarchy. Cleomenes the Spartan be brought in chains to Alexandria, and there to be shut king still resided at court; and being now unable to bear up in the Hippodrome; and having sent for the master the dissolute manners which prevailed there, he pressed of the elephants, he ordered that functionary to have five Philopater to give him the assistance which had been pro- hundred of these animals in readiness against the next day, mised for restoring him to the throne of Sparta. I his he to be let loose upon the Jews. But when at length the insisted upon the more, because he had received advice elephants were let loose, instead of falling upon the Jews, that Antigonus king of Macedonia was dead, that the they turned their rage against the spectators and soldiers, Achaeans were engaged in a war with the Etolians, and great numbers of whom were destroyed; and this elethat the Lacedaemonians had joined the latter against the phantine retribution, together with some strange appearAchaeans and Macedonians. Ptolemy, when afraid of hm ances which were at the same time observed in the air, brother Magas, had indeed promised to assist the king of so terrified the king, that he commanded the Jews to be Sparta with a powerful fleet, hoping by this means to immediately set at liberty, and restored them to their attach the latter to his own r interest; but nowr when Ma- former privileges. The death of Philopater was followed by a minority, gas no longer stood in the w ay, it was determined by the king, or rather his ministers, that Cleomenes should not his son and successor Ptolemy Epiphanes being only five be assisted, nor even allowed to quit the kingdom. Of vears old at the period of his demise. 'Ibis minority was the disorders which ensued in the government, Antiochus chiefly remarkable for having afforded the Romans an opking of Syria, surnamed the Great, took advantage, and portunity of interfering in and powerfully influencing the attempted to wrest from the hands of Ptolemy the pro- affairs of Egypt. When, owing to the extreme youth of vinces of Ccelo-Syria and of Palestine. But in this he the Egyptian monarch, the kings of Syria and Macedonia was unsuccessful, and might easily have been driven alto- had resolved to dismember and divide his dominions, the gether out of Syria, had not Ptolemy been too much oc- guardians of the young prince made application to Rome cupied with his debaucheries to think of carrying on the to interpose her authority in the cause of justice, and to war. The discontent occasioned by this negligence soon prevent the aggrandisement of two grasping and unprinproduced a civil war in his dominions; and the whole king- cipled monarchs with the spoils of an unoffending country. dom continued in the utmost confusion and disorder until It was always the policy of Rome to mask her ambitious his death, which happened in the seventeenth year of his views under the show of a regard to justice; and this apreign and thirty-seventh of his age. A slave to his pas- plication, which furnished the necessary pretence, whilst it sions, addicted to cruelty, and incapable of governing, he held out hopes of future advantage, appeared too inviting at that early age sunk under a ruined constitution, amidst to be refused. The request of the guardians was promptly granted, and Marcus iEmilius Lepidus set sail for Alexthe universal scorn and contempt of mankind. In this reign the Jews were inhumanly persecuted. andria to assume the direction of affairs, whilst ambassaThe hatred of this people entertained by Philopater arose dors were dispatched to Antiochus and Philip, to make out of a remarkable occurrence. Whilst engaged in his known to them the line of policy which the republic had

472 EGYPT. Egypt. resolved to pursue. But the peace which Rome thus dicmeans, and not by force, he dismissed his army, and retated terminated when Epiphanes took the sceptre into turned to Libya, whilst one of the ambassadors proceeded % his own feeble hand. As he became corrupt, his sub- to Alexandria. Their design was to bring the two bro. jects grevy discontented; various conspiracies were formed thers to an interview on the frontiers of their dominions* against him ; and although these were discovered and de- and there to settle matters in an amicable manner. But tected, he at length fell by the hands of an assassin, in the ambassador who went to Alexandria found Philomethe twenty-ninth year of his age, and the twenty-fourth of tor averse to comply with the decree of the senate; and* his reign. in fact, he had recourse to so much evasion, that Physcon Ptolemy Epiphanes was succeeded by Ptolemy Philo- sent the other also to Alexandria, hoping that the joint permetor, who was only six years old. In the beginning of suasions of the two would induce Philometor to comply this reign a war commenced with the king of Syria, who, But the king, after entertaining them at an immense in the preceding reign, had seized upon the provinces of charge for forty days, at last plainly refused to submit Coelo-Syria and Palestine. In the course of the war and informed the ambassadors that he was resolved to adPhilometor was either voluntarily delivered up to Antio- here to the first treaty. Having received this answer, the chus, or taken prisoner ; and the Alexandrians, despairing Roman ambassadors departed, and were followed by others of his ever being able to recover his liberty, raised to the from the two brothers. The senate, however, not only throne his younger brother, who took the name of Euerthe decree in favour of Physcon, but renounced getes II., but was afterwards called Physcon, on account confirmed their alliance with Philometor, and commanded his amof the prominentabdominal rotundity which by his gluttony bassador to leave the city in five days. and sensual indulgence he had acquired. Physcon, howIn the mean time the inhabitants of Cyrene having ever, was scarcely seated on the throne, when Antiochus heard unfavourable accounts of Physcon’s behaviour duEpiphanes, returning into Egypt, expelled him from that ring the short time he reigned in Alexandria, conceived country, and restored the whole kingdom, except Pelusium, so strong an aversion to him, that it was resolved to exto Philometor. His design was to foment a war between clude him from their country by force of arms. On rethe two brothers, that he might have an opportunity of ceiving intelligence of this resolution, Physcon hastened seizing the kingdom for himself; and with this view he with all his forces to Cyrene, where he overpowered his retained possession of the city of Pelusium, by which, as rebellious subjects, and established himself in the kingit formed the key of Egypt, he might at his pleasure enter dom. But his vicious and tyrannical conduct soon esthe country. But Philometor, apprised of his design, in- tranged from him the minds of his subjects; and some of vited Physcon to an accommodation, which was happily them, having entered into a conspiracy against him, fell effected by their sister Cleopatra; and in virtue of the upon him one night as he was returning to his palace, agreement then entered into, the brothers consented to wounded him in several places, and left him for dead. reign jointly, and to oppose to the utmost of their power Ihis he laid to the charge of his brother Philometor, and, Antiochus, whom they considered as a common enemy. as soon as he had recovered, undertook another voyage to This family compact did not suit the views of the king of Rome, where he made his complaints to the senate, and Syria, who invaded Egypt with a mighty army; but the showed them the scars of his wounds, accusing his broRomans interfered, and prevented him from seizing on the ther of having employed the assassins from whom he had country. received them. Though Philometor was known to be a man T he two brothers were no sooner freed from the appre- of humane and mild disposition, and therefore unlikely to hensions of a foreign enemy than they began to quarrel have been concerned in such an attempt, yet the senate, with each other; and their differences soon reached such offended at his refusing to submit to their decree concerna height that the Roman senate interposed. But before ing the island of Cyprus, listened to this false accusation, the ambassadors employed to inquire into the merits of and carried their prejudices so far as not only to refuse the cause could arrive in Egypt, Physcon had driven Phi- an audience to his ambassadors, but to order them to lometor from the throne, and obliged him to quit the depart immediately from the city. At the same time they kingdom. On this the dethroned prince fled to Rome, appointed five commissioners to conduct Physcon to Cywhere he was very kindly received by the senate, who prus, and to put him in possession of that island ; enjoining immediately decreed his restoration. He was reconduct- all their allies in those parts to supply him with forces for ed accoidingly, and on the arrival of the ambassadors in that purpose. Egypt, an accommodation between the two brothers was Physcon having by this means got together an army negociated. By this agreement Physcon was put in pos- which appeared to be sufficient for the purpose, landed in session of Libya and Cyrene, and Philometor of all Egypt Cyprus; but being there encountered by Philometor in and the island of Cyprus; each of them being declared person, he was entirely defeated, and obliged to shelter independent of the other in the dominion allotted to them. himself in a city called Lapitho, where he was closely beThe tieaty, as usual, was confirmed with oaths and sacri- sieged, and at last obliged to surrender. Every one now fices, and was broken almost as soon as made. Physcon expected that Physcon would have been treated as he dewas dissatisfied with his share of the dominions, and he served ; but instead of punishing, his brother restored him therefore sent ambassadors to Rome to require that the to the government of Libya and Cyrene, adding some island of Cyprus might be added to his other possessions. other territories instead of the island of Cyprus, and proBut this the ambassadors failed to obtain, and accordingly him his daughter in marriage. Thus an end was Physcon proceeded to Rome in person. His demand was mising put to the war between the two brothers; the Romans evidently unjust, but the Romans, considering it as their being ashamed any longer to oppose a prince who had interest to weaken the power of Egypt, without further given such a signal instance of justice and clemency. ceremony adjudged to him the island in question. On the death of Philometor, occasioned by wounds rePhyscon set out from Rome along with two ambassa- ceived in battle, Cleopatra the queen intended to secure dors ; and having arrived in Greece on his way to Cyprus, the throne her son. But some of the principal nobiproceeded to raise a number of mercenaries, with a design lity having for declared for Physcon, a civil war was about to to sail immediately for that island and conquer it. But the Roman ambassadors having informed him that they ensue, when matters were compromised on condition that Physcon should marry Cleopatra, that he should reign were commanded to put him in possession of it by fair jointly with her during his life, and that he should de-

1

E G Y P T. 473 Physcon, fled to Ptolemais or St Jean d’Acre, where her Egypt, •vpt. clare her son by Philometor heir to the crown. These terms were no sooner agreed to than Physcon married daughter the queen of Syria at that time resided. Phys- 's— Cleopatra, and on the very day of the nuptials murdered con was then restored to the throne of Egypt, which he her son in her arms. But this bloody deed was only a enjoyed without further molestation till his death, which prelude to the cruelties which he afterwards practised on happened at Alexandria, in the twenty-ninth year of his his subjects. He was no sooner seated on the throne as reign, and sixty-seventh of his age. Physcon was succeeded by Ptolemy Lathyrus, about a sole occupant than he put to death all those who had shown any concern for the murder of the young prince : he then hundred and twenty-two years before Christ; but the wreaked his fury on the Jews, whom he treated more like latter had not reigned long when his mother, finding that slaves than subjects, on account of their having favoured he would not be entirely governed by her, stirred up the the cause of Cleopatra; and even his own people were Alexandrians, who drove him from the throne, and placed treated with little more ceremony. Numbers were every on it his youngest brother Alexander. After this Lathyday put to death for the smallest faults, and often for no rus was obliged to content himself with the government of fault at all, but merely to gratify the inhuman temper of Cyprus, which he was still permitted to hold. But Ptolemy this tun-bellied despot. Towards the Alexandrians he Alexander, finding that he was to have only the shadow acted with the greatest barbarity, indulging all the san- of sovereignty, whilst his mother Cleopatra possessed all guinary caprices of the most wanton cruelty. In a short the power, stole away privately from Alexandria. The time, being wearied of his queen, who was his sister, he queen knowing well that the Alexandrians would never divorced her, and married her daughter, also called Cleo- suffer her to reign alone, employed every artifice to bring patra, whom he had previously ravished. In a word, his back her son, who at last yielded to her entreaties; but behaviour was so exceedingly wicked that it soon became soon afterwards understanding that she had hired assassins quite intolerable to his subjects; and he was at length to dispatch him, he caused her to be murdered. The obliged to fly to the island of Cyprus with his new queen, death of the queen was no sooner made known to the and Memphitis, a son whom he had had by her mother. Alexandrians than, disdaining to be governed by a parriAfter the flight of the king, the divorced queen was cide, they drove out Alexander, and recalled Lathyrus. placed on the throne by the Alexandrians; but Physcon, The deposed prince for some time led a rambling life fearing lest a son whom he had left behind should be ap- in the island of Cos; but having got together a few ships, pointed king, sent for him into Cyprus, and caused him he the next year attempted to return into Egypt, when, to be murdered as soon as he landed. This barbarity so being met by Tyrrhus, admiral of Lathyrus, he was deprovoked the people against him, that they pulled down feated, and obliged to fly to Myra in Lycia. From this and dashed to pieces all the statues which had been place he steered his course towards Cyprus, hoping that erected to him at Alexandria. The indignant act of the the inhabitants would place him on the throne instead of people being attributed by the tyrant to the instigation of his brother; but Chareas, another admiral of Lathyrus, the queen, he resolved to revenge it, by putting to death the having come up with him just as he was about to disembark, son whom he had by her. Accordingly, without the least an engagement ensued, in which Alexander’s fleet was disremorse, he caused the young prince’s throat to be cut; persed, and he himself killed. During these disturbances, and having put his mangled limbs into a box, he sent them Appion king of Cyrenaica, the son of Ptolemy Physcon as a present to his mother Cleopatra. The messenger by by a concubine, having maintained tranquillity in his dowhom this horrid present was conveyed was one of Phys- minions during a reign of twenty-one years, died, and by con’s guards; and the man had orders to wait until the ar- his will left his kingdom to the Romans; a bequest by rival of the queen’s birth-day, which was to be celebrated which the Egyptian empire was still further reduced and with extraordinary pomp, and in the midst of the general circumscribed. rejoicing to deliver the present. The horror and detestaLathyrus being now freed from all competitors, turned tion occasioned by this unexampled piece of cruelty can- his arms against the city of Thebes, which had revolted not be expressed. An army was soon raised, and the against him, and declared itself independent. The king command of it given to Marsyas, whom the queen had marched in person against the insurgents, and, having appointed general, and enjoined to take all the necessary defeated them in a pitched battle, laid siege to the an-' steps for the defence of the country. On the other hand, cient metropolis of Egypt. The inhabitants, however, Physcon having hired a numerous body of mercenaries, defended themselves with great resolution for three years; sent them under the command of Hegelochus against the but at last, they were obliged to submit, and the city was Egyptians. The twro armies met on the frontiers of Egypt, given up to be plundered by the soldiery, who everywhere and a bloody battle ensued; but at last the Egyptians left the most melancholy traces of their rapine and cruelty. were entirely defeated, and Marsyas was taken prisoner. This calamity completed the destruction of Thebes, which Every one expected that the captive general would have until that time, notwithstanding all it had suffered under been put to death with the greatest torments; but Phys- the Persians, was a place of wealth and consequence; con, perceiving that his cruelties only exasperated the but by the barbarous and vindictive policy of Lathyrus, people, resolved to try whether he might not regain their the venerable city was reduced to a heap of ruins. Its affections by lenity ; and therefore, having pardoned Mar- fate was indeed peculiarly hard. First Memphis, and then syas, he set him at liberty. In the mean time Cleopatra, Alexandria, had arisen to obscure its ancient splendour, distressed by this overthrow, demanded assistance from and to attract each into its own bosom the wealth and poDemetrius king of Syria, who had married her eldest pulation of the country; nor is it to be wondered that the daughter by Philometor, at the same time promising him citizens of Thebes should have evinced a desire to recover the crown of Egypt as his reward. Demetrius accepted some share of the distinction of which they had been grathe proposal without hesitation, marched with all his forces dually deprived, and to secure to the Egyptians a seat of into Egypt, and laid siege to Pelusium. But as this prince government at a greater distance from the arms and inwas no less hated in Syria than Physcon was in Egypt, trigues of warlike neighbours. But they paid dear for the the people of Antioch, taking advantage of his absence, attempt to establish their independence, and the overrevolted against him, and were joined by most of the other throw of Thebes, begun by the Persian, was completed by oities in Syria. Demetrius was accordingly obliged to re- the Greek. turn ; and Cleopatra, beinsc now in no condition to oppose About eighty-one years before Christ, Ptolemy Lathy3o VOL. VIII.

474 Egypt.

EGYPT. succeeded by Alexander II., the son of the Pto- danced in a female dress, in the same measures which |>v lemy Alexander for whom Lathyrus had been expelled. were used during the festivals of Bacchus ; and he acquir- v This prince had met with many adventures. He was first ed a second surname descriptive of this particular acsent by Cleopatra into the island of Cos, with a great sum complishment. As his title to the crown was disputable of money, and all her jewels. But when Mithridates king the first care of Auletes was to get himself acknowledged of Pontus made himself master of that island, the inhabit- by the Romans, and declared their ally; and this was obants delivered up to him the young Egyptian prince, to- tained by applying to Julius Caesar, w-ho was then consul gether with all the treasures. Mithridates gave him an and immensely in debt. Caesar, glad of such an opportu* education suitable to his birth ; but Alexander, not think- nity of raising money, made the Egyptian king pay dear ing himself safe with a prince who had shed the blood of for his alliance. Six thousand talents, a sum equal to his own children, fled to the camp of Sylla the Roman dic- about L.l, 162,500 sterling, were paid partly to Caesar himtator, who was then making war in Asia Minor. From that self, and partly to Pompey, whose interest was necessary time he lived in the family of the Roman general, till the for obtaining the consent of the people. Though the renews of the death of Lathyrus reached Rome. Sylla then venues of Egypt amounted to twice this sum, yet it was sent him to Egypt in order to take possession of the raised wdth great difficulty, and occasioned general disthrone. But as the Alexandrians had before his arrival content ; and whilst the people were almost ready to take chosen Cleopatra as their sovereign, it was agreed, by way up arms, a decree passed at Rome for seizing the island of-compromise, that Ptolemy should marry this queen, of Cyprus. When the Alexandrians heard of the intenand admit her as his partner in the throne. This was ac- tions of the republic, they pressed Auletes to demand cordingly done; but it proved a fatal marriage to Cleo- that island as an ancient appendage of Egypt; and, in patra, for nineteen days thereafter the unhappy queen case of a refusal, to declare war against that haughty and was murdered by her husband. Nor did the cruelty of the imperious people, who, they now saw, though too late, royal barbarian cease with the commission of this horrid aimed at nothing less than the sovereignty of the world. crime. During the fifteen subsequent years he showed But the king having refused to comply with this request, himself such a monster of wickedness, that a general in- his subjects, already provoked beyond measure at the surrection at length broke out amongst his subjects, and he taxes with which they were loaded, flew to arms, and surwas obliged to fly to Pompey the Great, who was then car- rounded the palace. The king, however, had the good rying on the war against Mithridates king of Pontus. But fortune to escape their fury, and having immediately Pompey having refused to concern himself in the matter, quitted Alexandria, set sail for Rome. he retired to the city of Tyre, where he died some months But on his arrival in the metropolis of the world he afterwards. found that Caesar, in whom he placed his greatest confiWhile he remained at Tyre a sort of prisoner, Alexander dence, was then in Gaul. He was, however, received with sent ambassadors to Rome, in order, if possible, to move great kindness by Pompey, who assigned him an apartthe senate in his favour. But having been seized with the ment in his own house, and omitted nothing in his power illness of which he died, before the negotiation was con- to serve him. But notwithstanding the protection of so cluded, he, by his last will, made over all his rights to the powerful a man, Auletes was forced to go from house to Roman people, declaring them heirs to his kingdom ; not house soliciting the votes of the senators ; and after he had out of any affection to the republic, but with the view of spent immense treasures in procuring, or rather in purraising disputes between the Romans and his rival Aule- chasing, a strong party in the city, he was at last permittes, a son of Ptolemy Lathyrus, whom the Egyptians had ted to lay his complaints before the senate. It would have placed on the throne. The will was brought to Rome, cost him less, and reflected more honour on his character, where it occasioned warm debates, some being for taking had he followed the advice given him by Cato, who, havimmediate possession of the kingdom, whilst others thought ing met the fugitive prince at Cyprus, advised him to rethat no notice whatever should be taken of such a will, be- turn to Egypt, and endeavour by more equitable conduct cause Alexander had not the right to dispose of his do- to regain the affections of his people, instead of repairing minions in prejudice of his successor, and to exclude from to Rome, where all the riches of Egypt would not be sufthe crown those who were of the royal family of Egypt. ficient to satisfy the rapacity of the leading men. At the Cicero, in particular, represented that such a notorious same time there arrived an embassy from the Alexanimposition would debase the majesty of the Roman people, drians, consisting of a hundred citizens, who had been deand involve them in endless wars and disputes; that the puted to make the senate acquainted with the reason of fruitful fields of Egypt would be a strong temptation to their revolt. the avarice of the people, who would insist on their being When Auletes first set out for Rome, the Alexandrians, divided; and that by this means the sanguinary quarrels not knowing what had become of him, placed on the about the agrarian laws would be revived. These reasons throne his daughter Berenice, and sent an embassy into had some weight with the senate ; but what chiefly prevent- Syria, to Antiochus Asiaticus, inviting him to come into ed them at this time from seizing on Egypt was, that they Egypt to marry the queen, and to reign in partnership had lately taken possession of the kingdom of Bithynia in with her. Before the arrival of the ambassadors, however, virtue of the will of Nicomedes, and of Cyrene andf Libya Antiochus had died, upon which the same proposal was in consequence of that made by Appion. They perceived made to his brother Seleucus, who readily accepted it. that if they should, on a similar pretence, take possession This Seleucus is described by Strabo as monstrously deof the kingdom of Egypt, this might expose their design formed in body, and still more so in mind. The Egyptians of setting up a kind of universal monarchy, and cause a nicknamed him Kybiosactes, or the Scullion; a sobriquet formidable combination to be formed against them. which seems to have fitted him entirely. Scarcely was Auletes, who now assumed and disgraced the title of he seated on the throne, when he gave a signal instance Ptolemy, surpassed all the princes who went before him of his sordid and avaricious temper. Ptolemy Lagus had in the effeminacy of his manners. The surname of Auletes caused the body of Alexander the Great to be deposited was given him because he valued himself on his skill in in a sarcophagus of massive gold. This the royal Scullion performing upon the flute, and was not ashamed even to seized upon; and thereby so provoked his wife Berenice contend for the prize in the public games. He took great that she caused him to be murdered. She then married pleasure in imitating the manners of the Bacchanals; he Archelaus, high priest of Comana, in Pontus, who prerus was

* 475 EGYPT. the money he had been obliged to borrow whilst in a state Egypt, tended to be the son of Mithridates the Great, but was, in of exile. These oppressions and exactions the Egyptians JX'' fact, only the son of a general in the service of that illus- bore patiently, being intimidated by the garrison which trious monarch. # On hearing of these transactions, Auletes was not a Gabinius had left in Alexandria. But notwithstanding the little alarmed, especially when the ambassadors arrived, heavy taxes which Ptolemy laid on his people, it does not which he feared would overturn all the schemes in favour appear that he had any serious intention of paying his of which he had laboured and expended so much. The debts. Rabirius, who, as we have already observed, had embassy was headed by Dion, a celebrated Academic lent him immense sums, finding that the king affected philosopher, who had many powerful friends at Rome. delays, undertook a voyage to Egypt in order to expostuBut Ptolemy found means to get both him and most of late with him in person. But Ptolemy paid little rehis followers assassinated; and thus intimidated the rest gard to his expostulations, and excused himself on acto such a degree that they durst not execute their com- count of the bad state of his finances, at the same time mission, nor, for some time, even demand justice for the offering to make Rabirius collector-general of his revenues, murder of their colleagues. The report of so many mur- in order that, whilst thus employed, he might indemnify ders, however, at last spread a general alarm. But Aule- himself. The unfortunate creditor accepted the employtes, certain of the protection of Pompey, did not scruple ment, in the hope of recovering his debt; but soon afterto own himself the perpetrator of them; and though a wards, upon some frivolous pretence or other, Ptolemy prosecution was commenced against Ascitius, one of the caused him and all his servants to be closely confined. assassins who had stabbed Dion, the chief of the embassy, This base conduct exasperated Pompey as much as Rabiand the crime was fully proved, yet the ruffian was ac- rius ; for the former had been in a manner secjurity for the quitted by venal judges, who had all been bribed by Pto- debt, as the money had been lent at his request, and the lemy. In a short time the senate decreed that the king business transacted at his country house near Alba. Howof Egypt should be restored by force of arms; and all the ever, as Rabirius had reason tp fear the worst, he seized great men in Rome were ambitious of this commission, the first opportunity of making his escape, glad to escape which, they expected, would be attended with immense with life from a debtor at once so faithless and cruel. To profit. Their contests on this occasion occupied a consi- complete his misfortunes, he was prosecuted at Rome as derable time; and at last there was discovered a pro- soon as he returned, first, for having enabled Ptolemy to phecy of the Sybil, which forbade the assisting an Egyp- corrupt the senate with sums lent him for that purpose ; tian monarch with an army. Ptolemy, therefore, wearied secondly, for having debased and dishonoured the characout with so long a delay, retired from Rome, where he ter of a Roman knight, by farming the revenues, and behad made himself generally odious, to the temple of Diana coming the servant of a foreign prince; and, thirdly, for at Ephesus, there to await the decision of his fate. At this having been an accomplice with Gabinius, and sharing place he remained for a considerable time ; but as he found with him the ten thousand talents which that proconsul that the senate came to no resolution, though he had so- had received for his Egyptian expedition. But, by the licited them by letters so to do, he at last, by Pompey s eloquence of Cicero, Rabirius was acquitted; and one of advice, applied to Gabinius, the proconsul of Syria, a the best orations to be found in the writings of that illusman of most infamous character, and ready to undertake trious Roman was composed on this occasion. Gabinius any thing for money. The application was successful; was also prosecuted; and, as Cicero spoke against him, and, though it was contrary to an express law for any go- he very narrowly escaped death. He was, however, convernor to go out of his province without positive orders demned to perpetual banishment, after having been stripfrom the senate and people of Rome, yet Gabinius ven- ped of all he was worth; and he lived in exile until the tured to transgress this law, upon condition of being well time of the civil wars, when he was recalled by Caesar, in paidfor his pains. As a recompense for his trouble, however, whose service he lost his lifp. Auletes enjoyed the throne of Egypt about four years he demanded ten thousand talents; thatis,aboutL.l,937,500 after his restoration, and at his death left his children sterling. Glad to be restored on any terms, I tolemy agreed to pay the sum demanded; but Gabinius refused under the tuition of the Roman people. Among the infants to stir until he had received one half of it. 'Ihis obliged thus left to the protection of the republic were Cleopatra, the king to borrow it from a Roman knight called Gaius who afterwards became so famous, and her brother PtoRabirius Posthumius, Pompey interposing his credit and lemy Dionysius. As soon as these princes became of age, authority for the payment of the principal sum and in- they were placed on the throne, and associated in the government; but their union was of short continuance, terest. Gabinius now set out for Egypt, attended by the fa- and each being supported by a numerous party, their dismous Mark Antony, who at this time served in the army sensions soon terminated in a civil war. In this contest the under him. He was met by Archelaus, who since the queen was beaten, and compelled to seek refuge in Syria. departure of Auletes had reigned in Egypt jointly with 13ut not long after her misfortune Julius Csesar appeared Berenice, at the head of a numerous army; but the Egyp- in Egypt: his victory at Pharsalia had given him Rome, tians were utterly defeated, and Archelaus taken prisonei he was now undisputed master of the republic, and he had in the first engagement. Gabinius might now have put come to Egypt to complete his conquest by quelling the an end to the war, but his avarice prompted him to dis- intestine commotions which had distracted that kingdom. miss Archelaus, on the latter paying a considerable ran- Cleopatra lost no time in repairing to Alexandria, and som ; after which, pretending that the captive had made having managed to obtain a secret interview with the Rohis escape, fresh sums were demanded from Ptolemy^for man general, speedily secured his powerful favour by her defraying the expenses of the war. For these sums Pto- arts and caresses. This able but profligate soldier immelemy was again obliged to apply to Rabirius, who lent diately restored her to power, and issued a decree in the him what money he wanted, on exorbitant interest; but name of the senate, which in fact existed only in his own at last Archelaus was defeated and killed, and thus Pto- person, ordaining that Ptolemy Dionysius and his sister Cleopatra should be acknowledged as joint sovereigns of lemy again became master of all Egypt. No sooner had Auletes regained possession of the throne, Egypt. This arrangement, however, displeased the parthan he put to death his daughter Berenice, and oppressed tizans of the young king, who had recourse to a stratahis people by the most cruel exactions, in order to raise gem, by which Caesar and his attendants narrowly escaped

476 EGYPT. Egypt destruction. A war soon afterwards ensued; Ptolemy carried captive to Rome. At a subsequent period the Enj was defeated and killed; and the power of the Romans Emperor Probus visited Egypt, where, under his auspices was established by the right of conquest, no less than by many considerable works were executed; the navigation the title of guardianship. of the Nile was improved ; and temples, bridges, porticos In order to satisfy the prejudices of the Egyptians, Cleo- and palaces were constructed, chiefly by the hands of the patra was now provided with a colleague; and her youngest soldiers, who acted as engineers, architects, and common brother, then not more than eleven years of age, was placed labourers. But on the division of the empire by Dioclebeside her on the throne. Such an appointment could not tian, Egypt fell into a very distracted state ; Achilleus at possibly serve as any real restraint on the authority of the Alexandria, and the Blemmyes, a savage race of Ethio queen, or as a limitation of her power, although this was pians, having defied the arms of Rome. Resolved to no doubt the object of the people in requiring it; but punish the insurgents, the emperor opened the campaign notwithstanding that the control thus established was in a with the siege of Alexandria; he cut off the aqueducts great measure nominal, the apparent check was removed which supplied the city with water, and, notwithstandinoby the murder of the unhappy boy, who fell a victim to a vigorous resistance, pushed, his attack with so much the remorseless jealousy which at the period in question steadiness and effect, that at the end of eight months the inflamed, whilst it dishonoured, the descendants of Pto- besieged submitted to the mercy of the conqueror. Busilemy Lagus. But the term of the dynasty which this ns and Coptos were even more unfortunate than Alexangreat man had founded was now approaching. The mur- dria. I hese proud cities, one distinguished for its great der of Julius Caesar, and the subsequent defeat of Mark antiquity, and the other remarkable for its riches, acquired Antony, raised the fortune of Octavianus above all rivalry by the transit of the commerce of India, having continued or competition, and at length invested him with the pur- their resistance to the last, wrere carried by assault and ple, as the acknowledged head of the Roman empire. utterly destroyed. Cleopatra, whose charms had enslaved the triumvir to his The introduction of Christianity into Egypt was atruin, escaped by a voluntary death from the vengeance of tended by many excesses on the part of the people, and the conqueror. Suspecting that he intended to degrade even by some commotions which endangered the stability her, by assigning her a place in the train of captives who of the government. The adherents of the ancient faith, the were to adorn his triumphal ascent to the capitol, the fa- worshippers of Ammon, of Knouphis, and of Ptha, natuvourite of Caesar and of Antony spared herself this igno- rally resisted the exposure of their idols, the desecration miny by means of the friendly poison of an asp. With of their temples, and the destruction of their most sacred Cleopatra ended the line of the Greek sovereigns, and the monuments; whilst, on the other hand, the ministers of descendants of Ptolemy Lagus, the founder of the Greek Christianity, with a zeal which far outran the limits of dynasty of Egypt, after having governed that country for discretion, wantonly insulted the opinions of the idolaters, the space of two hundred and ninety years. whose ignorance they disdained to enlighten, and someFrom this time Egypt became a province of the Roman times set at defiance the authority of the civil magistrate, empire, and its history merged in that of the mighty when interposed for the preservation of the public peace. people by whose lieutenants it was henceforth governed. But after the conversion of Constantine the spirit of ChrisOccasionally disturbed by intestine insurrections, and tianity grew milder as its ascendency became more certain, sometimes a prey to foreign war, it was nevertheless main- and the power of the church was effectually exerted, in tained against both domestic and external foes, until the co-operation with the provincial rulers, for supporting the decline of the Roman power under the successors of Au- rights of the empire, and repelling the inroads of barbagustus rendered it necessary to abandon the extremities in rians ; nor was it until a new religion sprung up in Araorder to defend the heart of the empire, and to withdraw bia, and gave birth to a dynasty of warlike fanatics claimthe legions from distant provinces in order to protect from ing a direct descent from the new Prophet, that Egypt, the inroads of barbarians the countries situated on the wrested from the hands of its European conquerors, was Danube and the Tiber. In the beginning of the second forced to receive more arbitrary masters, and to submit to century, the indefatigable Hadrian spent two years in a severer yoke.1 At this era, when the crescent arose in Egypt, and during this stay laboured with his accustomed its first splendour over the cross, we terminate our retroperseverance to revive among the natives a love of let- spect of the ancient history of Egypt. ters, and a taste for the beauties of architecture. At a somewhat later period, Severus made a similar visit to the land of the Pharaohs and Ptolemies, and, like his illustriSECTION II. ous but eccentric predecessor, exerted himself to relieve the burdens and ameliorate the condition of the people; HISTORY OF MODERN EGYPT. at the same time encouraging every attempt made to repair the ancient monuments, to replenish the libraries of New Religion and new Conquest—Islamism Its genius and Alexandria with books, and the museums with instrucharacter—Progress of the Moslemin arms Conquest of Egypt ments and works of art, and, above all, to withdraw stuby Amru—Library of Alexandria burned by order of the Cadious or contemplative minds from the dangerous and abliph Omar—State of the country during the contests for the Caliphate Independent government established Achmed surd pursuits of magic and judicial astrology. During the Ebn-Tolun and his immediate successors—Dynasty of the Fareigns of Claudius and Aurelian, Egypt was slightly agitemite Caliphs..—Moez—Abu-el-Mansur Barar.—A1 Hakem. tated in consequence of the pretensions of Zenobia, queen —Al Taher.—A1 Mostanser Billah—Proceedings and Reof Tadmor or Palmyra, who, as a descendant of the Ptobellion of Bassasiri—Defeated and killed by Togrol Beg lemies, declared herself sovereign of Egypt, marched her Declension of the Empire of the Caliphs Famine and pestilence—Intestine divisions—Extinction of the Fatemite Caliphs. armies to the frontiers of that country, and even gained —Aladad—Landing of the Crusaders in Egypt—Alliance ensome advantages over the Romans; but her troops being tered into between them and Shawer, Vizir of Aladad Nurodfirmly opposed by the legions, at length sustained a total din, prince of Syria—Progress of the Crusaders Salah-eddin defeat, when the queen herself was taken prisoner and or Saladin—Appointed Yizir by his uncle Nuroddin.—Usurps 1

Russell’s Egypt, pp. 01-95.

EGYPT. 477 actual strength—War with Turkey—Campaigns in Syria, and Egypt, the sovereignty of Egypt—Rebellion—Crusade under William beyond Mount Taurus—Battle of Koniah—Intervention of of Sicily-—Panic and Flight of his Army—Damascus, Aleppo, Russia—Conclusion of Peace Character and designs of Meand other places besieged and taken by Saladin—His triumhemmed Ali. phal entry into Cairo Contests with the Crusaders in Palestine Saladin defeated—A fleet of European ships in the Red We come now to the birth of a new religion, and we also Sea destroyed Great battle on the Jordan, where the Christians were'defeated with prodigious slaughter—Tiberias, Pto- approach the era of a new conquest. Islamism, which orilemais, and other places surrendered to the Sultan—Jerusalem ginated in a free and warlike nation, breathed the fiercest also taken after a brave defence—Loss sustained by the Chris- intolerance, and enjoined the destruction of infidels. Untians Siege of Ptolemais—Crusade under the Emperor of like the founder of the Christian religion, who, being a Germany Progress of the siege—Arrival of Philip II. and simple preacher, exercised no power upon earth, MahomRichard Cceur de Lion in the camp before Ptolemais—Surrender of the place Battle of Ascalon, and defeat of Saladin— med became a king, and having declared that the whole Truce of three years, &c Death of Saladin—Crusaders defeat- universe ought to be subjected to his sway, commanded ed Successors of Saladin—Rise of the Mamlukes—The his followers to employ the sabre to destroy the idolater Borghites, who also assumed the name of Mamlukes—Defeat- and the infidel, an injunction which they were not slack ed and nearly exterminated by Sultan Selim—Form of govern- in obeying. The idolaters of Arabia were soon converted or ment given to Egypt by the Sultan—Powers conferred on the exterminated ; the infidels in Asia, in Syria, and in Egypt Reys The Mamlukes* recover their ascendency, owing to the neglect of Egypt by the Turks—Ibrahim Bey—Ali Bey— were attacked and conquered. As soon as Islamism had Syrian campaign of Ali.—His death and character—Moham- triumphed at Mecca and Medina, it served as a rallying med Bey Siege bf Jaffa—Pyramid of Heads—Fall of Acre. point to the different Arab tribes, who were all imbued —Death of Mohammed—Ibrahim and Murad Beys—Their with the fanatical spirit; and the result was, that a whole mutual jealousies and disputes—They agree to share the supreme power between them—The expedition of Hassan Pasha, nation, actuated by one fierce impulse, precipitated itself and re-establishment of the authority of the Porte—Plague— upon its neighbours. The progress of the Arabs therefore Return of Murad and Ibrahim from exile.—French Invasion of was rapid and irresistible. Inflamed by fanaticism, their Egypt**—Origin and objects of this enterprise—Battle of the armies at once attacked the Roman empire and that of Pyramids Battle of the Nile—Bonaparte’s expedition to Persia. The latter was speedily subjugated; the MosleSyria Jaffa St Jean d’Acre—Siege of the latter place ; defeat and return of Bonaparte to Egypt—Battle of Aboukir, mins penetrated as far as the Oxus, obtained possession and destruction of a Turkish army—Departure of Napoleon of innumerable treasures, destroyed the empire of Chosfrom Egypt Desaix’s campaign in Upper Egypt.—Conven- roes, and pushed their conquests beyond the limits of tion of El Arisch.—Assassination of Kleber—Landing of the Persia. In Syria, the victories which they gained at British under Sir Ralph Abercromby—Battle of Alexandria. Aiquadiah and Dyrmonk put them in possession of Da—Subsequent operations—Capitulations of Cairo and Alexan- mascus, Aleppo* Amasia, Caesarea, and Jerusalem. By dria Policy of Great Britain in regard to Egypt—The Beys. Hassan Pasha His treacherous conduct—Massacre of the the capture of* Pelusium and Alexandria they rendered Beys at Aboukir Remonstrances of the English—Departure themselves masters of Egypt, now wholly Coptic, and deof the Capitan Pasha—Kusruf.—Affairs of Egypt—Battle ot cidedly separated from Constantinople through heretical Damanhour, and defeat of Yussuf Bey—Mehemmed Ali— dissensions. His origin and early history.—Circumstances of his rise— The conquest of this country was effected, in name of Mutiny of the Albanians—Taher Pasha—His fall—Mehem- the Caliph Omar, by his able and politic general Amru med Ali and the Mamlukes—Ali Gezairli.—Defeated by the Albanians and Mamlukes at Chalakan—Projects of Mehemmed. Ebn-el-As. About the same time the famous library of —He foments discord among the Beys, whom he at length at- Alexandria, which had been founded by the great Ptotacks.—Albanians ordered to return to their own country.—-Me- lemy, and which now formed the grand repository of anhemmed disobeys the mandate of the Porte, and is proclaimed cient learning and science, fell a prey to the religious Pasha by the people and the troops—A body of Mamlukes fanaticism of the conquerors. If, said the Caliph Omar, enticed into Cairo and massacred.—State of affairs—Arrival of in ordering it to be consigned to the flames, if this libiai y Saleh the Capitan Pasha The Albanians and the people again declare in favour of Ali.—His formal investiture as Viceroy of contains only what is in the Koran, it is useless; if it Egypt. The Mamlukes.—British expedition of 1807—Affairs contains any thing else, it is dangerous. It must be conof Rosetta and El Hamad—Disastrous result of the expedition. fessed, that the spirit of destruction has seldom provided —State of affairs after the evacuation of Egypt by the British. itself with a more convenient or comprehensive principle —Position of Ali Destruction of the Mamlukes resolved on. of self-justification. But this fact, and many others of the —Dissimulation and treachery of the Viceroy—General massacre of the Mamlukes.—Details of the butchery at the Citadel same nature, ought not to make us forget what we owe of Cairo.—Conduct of Mehemmed Ali throughout the affair.— to the Arabian caliphs, the successors of Omar, who, so Subsequent measures to complete their extermination.— 1 he far from being actuated by such barbarous hostility to extinction of the Mamlukes as a body.—War with the Waha- science, were constantly engaged in extending the sphere bis.—The Viceroy proceeds to Arabia—Wahabis defeated.— of human knowledge, and in embellishing society by the Peace concluded Regular troops.—Views of the Viceroy—■ 1 Mutiny of the Albanians—Change of system adopted—War charms of their literature. The conquest of Amru, though it laid the foundation with the Wahabis renewed—Capture of Derayeh, and severities of Ibrahim History of the formation of the Egyptian of the Saracen power in Egypt, still left that country in regular army Labours of Colonel Seves and others—Expe- an unsettled state; whilst the frequent contentions for dition to Upper Egypt, Dongola, and Sennaar—Army aug- the honours of the caliphate, which ensued during the mented Capture of Mecca—Actual force of the Egyptian ninth century, occasionally afforded it opportunities ot army Schools and Colleges—Pay, clothing, and condition of the troops Campaigns in the Morea.—Egyptian navy.—Its asserting and attempting to re-establish its independence. 1 Napoleon’s Memoirs, vol. ii. Egypt, Religion, It is nevertheless possible that the successors of Mahommed may have been at iirst apprehensive lest the Arabs should suffer themselves to be enervated by the arts and the sciences, v nci weie carnet o so righ a pitch in Egypt, Syria, and the Lower Empire. They had before their eyes the decline Of the empire of Constantine, owing partly to perpetual discussions, scholastic and theological; and it is probable that this spectacle had preju ice rem agains libraries, which, in fact, were principally filled with books of this kind. But whatever may have been the immediate cause of the let which conferred such unenviable distinction on the name of Omar, it is certain that the Arabs were, for five hundred years, the most enlightened nation of the world. It is to them we are indebted for our system of numeration, our organs, solar quadrants, p . iulums, and watches; and nothing can be more elegant, ingenious, or moral, than the literature which owe 10 I writers of Bagdad and Bassora. (Memoirs, ubi supra.)

478 EGYPT. Egypt. But no sooner had the struggle for supreme power been pressed by the Egyptians, demanded assistance from the F ' terminated by arms or by treaty, than the land of Miz- Greek emperor, who accordingly ordered a body of troops 'JJ raim, the inheritance of the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies, to advance to his relief. Manjubekin, general of A1 Aziz ^ was again compelled to receive the law from the con- being informed of their approach, immediately advanced queror. In the year 889, an independent government to give them battle, and an obstinate engagement ensued was established in Egypt by Achmed Ebn-Tolun, who in which the Greeks were overthrown with great slaughhad rebelled against A1 Mokhadi, caliph of Bagdad; and ter. Manjubekin then pushed on the siege of Aleppoit continued to be governed by him and his successors but meeting with more resistance than he had expected’ for twenty-seven years, when it was again reduced by A1 and his provisions beginning to fail, he felt himself obliged Moktasi, who had succeeded to the caliphate. In about to raise the siege. Enraged at this proceeding, the caliph thirty years afterwards we find it again an independent threatened the general with vengeance, and commanded state, united with Syria under Mahommed Ebn-Taj, who him to resume the siege. Manjubekin obeyed, and conhad been appointed governor of these provinces. But tinued the siege for thirteen months, during which time this government was also short lived; for in the year the place was bravely defended by Lulu ; but at last the 968 Egypt was conquered by Jawhar, general of Moez Egyptians, hearing that a numerous army of Greeks was Ledinillah, Fatemite caliph of Kairwan in Barbary. on its way to relieve the city, raised the siege, and fled No sooner had Moez received information of the suc- with the utmost precipitation. The Greeks then took and cess of his general, than he prepared to take possession plundered some of the cities possessed by A1 Aziz in Syof his new conquest. He ordered all the gold which he ria ; whilst Manjubekin made the best of his way to Daand his predecessors had amassed, to be cast into ingots, mascus, where he set up for himself. A1 Aziz, informed and conveyed on camels’ backs into Egypt; and, in order of this revolt, marched in person with a considerable to show his determination to abandon his dominions in army against the rebellious general; but being taken ill Barbary, and to make Egypt the place of his residence, by the way, he expired, in the twenty-first year of his he caused the remains of the three former princes of his reign and forty-second of his age. race to be removed from Kairwan, and deposited in a A1 Aziz was succeeded by his son Abu-el-Mansur, surmosque erected for that purpose in Kahira, or the City of named A1 Hakem, who, being only eleven years of age, Victory, the Grand Cairo of latter times. In order the was put under the tuition of a eunuch of approved integrity. more effectually to establish himself in his new dominions, Phis reign is only remarkable for the madness with which and to fortify his conquest by all the force of religion, he the caliph was seized towards its close. This first manisuppressed the usual prayers offered up in the mosques fested itself by edicts alike absurd and tyrannical, and at for the caliphs of Bagdad, and substituted his own name length rose to such a height that he fancied himself a god, in their stead ; and this was complied with not only in and no fewer than sixteen thousand persons were found Egypt and in Syria, but even throughout all Arabia, the to acknowledge him as such. They were mostly Daraholy city of Mecca alone excepted. The unity oflslamism rians, a new sect which sprung up about this time, and was thus interrupted, and a schism originated, which con- were so called from their chief, Mohammed Ebn-Ismael, tinued for upwards of two hundred years, and was pro- surnamed Darari, who is supposed to have inspired the mad ductive of continual anathemas, and sometimes destruc- caliph with this impious notion. Darari set up as a second tive wars between the caliphs of Bagdad and of Egypt. Moses, and did not scruple to assert that A1 Hakem was Having thus fully established himself in his conquest, the creator of the universe; for which blasphemy he was Moez died in the forty-fifth year of his age, three years stabbed in the caliph’s chariot by the hand of a zealous after he had left his dominions in Barbary, and was suc- Moslemin. I he sect, however, did not expire with its auceeded by his son Abu-el-Mansur Barar, surnamed Aziz- thor. A disciple of his named Hamza, being encouraged Billah. by the mad caliph, spread it far and wide throughout his The new caliph haying ascended the throne at the age dominions ; all the Mahommedan fasts, festivals, and pilof twenty-one, committed the management of affairs en- grimages, including that to Mecca, were abolished; and tirely to the care of Jawhar, his father’s general and the zealous Mahommedans became greatly alarmed, supprime minister; and in 978 the latter proceeded to drive posing that A1 Hakem designed entirely to suppress the out A1 Aftekin, the emir of Damascus ; but at the end of worship of the true God, and introduce his own in its two months the Egyptian general, who had laid siege to stead. But from this apprehension they were delivered that city, was obliged to raise it, on the approach of an by the death of the caliph, who at the instigation of his army under the command of A1 Hakem, which, not being own sister was assassinated, in the year 1020. strong enough to engage in battle, he could not prevent A1 Hakem was succeeded by his son A1 Taher, who from effecting a junction with the forces of A1 Aftekin. He reigned fifteen years, and left the throne to a son under therefore retreated with the utmost expedition towards seven years of age, named A1 Mostanser-Billah. In the Egypt; but being overtaken by the two confederate ar- year 1041, a revolt happened in Syria ; but A1 Mostanser mies, he was soon reduced to the last extremity, and only having sent a powerful army into that country, reduced permitted to resume his march on condition of passing the rebels, and considerably enlarged the Egyptian dounder A1 Aftekin’s sword and A1 Hakem’s lance. To minions in Syria. In 1054, an adventurer named A1 this humiliating condition Jawhar was obliged to submit; Bassasiri, having quarrelled with the vizir of A1 Kayem, and on his arrival in Egypt he advised A1 Aziz to under- caliph of Bagdad, fled to Egypt, and put himself under take an expedition in person against the combined army the protection of A1 Mostanser, who thinking this a faunder the command of A1 Aftekin and A1 Hakem. The vourable opportunity for enlarging his dominions, supplied caliph followed his advice; and having advanced against Bassasiri with money and troops, by which means he was his enemies, overthrew them with great slaughter, at the enabled to possess himself of Arabian Irak, and to ravage same time making A1 Aftekin prisoner. Jawhar was after- that province to the very gates of Bagdad. Alarmed at wards disgraced, and died a. d. 990, and of the Hegira 381. the progress made by Bassasiri, A1 Kayem applied for About this time, also, A1 Aziz having received intelligence assistance to Togrol Beg, who possessing very extensive of the death of the prince of Aleppo, sent a formidable dominions in the East, immediately complied with this rearmy to reduce that place. But Lulu, who had been quest, and soon arrived at Bagdad with a formidable army. appointed guardian to the prince’s son, finding himself But nothing of importance happened till the year 1058,

EGYPT. 479 Egypt. his office of vizir, Shawer, as an inducement to Nuroddin when Bassasiri, having found means to excite Ibrahim the v 0 brother of Togrol Beg to revolt, the latter was obliged to to assist him more powerfully, told him that the Crusaders employ all his force against him. This gave Bassasiri an had landed in Egypt, and made considerable progress in opportunity of seizing on the city of Bagdad, where he the conquest of that country; and added, that in the caused A1 Mostanser to be immediately proclaimed caliph. event of being reinstated in his office, he would pay NuThe imperial palace was also plundered, and the caliph roddin annually the third part of the revenues of Egypt, himself detained a close prisoner. But this success was and besides defray the whole expense of the expedition. short lived. In the year 1059, Togrol Beg having defeated Nuroddin bore an implacable hatred to the Christians, his brother Ibrahim, and taken him prisoner, caused him to and the more readily undertook an expedition against be strangled with a bowstring. He then marched to Bagdad, them, that he was to be well paid for his holy zeal in dewhich Bassasiri abandoned at his approach; upon which fence of the true faith. He therefore sent an army into the caliph A1 Kayem was delivered up and immediately Egypt under the command of Shawer, assisted by a generestored to his dignity. Bassasiri again advanced against ral named Asadoddin ; and as Dargam had cut off many the city; but in a battle which took place between the generals whom he imagined favourable to Shawer’s intearmy of Togrol Beg and that of Bassasiri, the latter was rest, and had weakened the military force of the kingdefeated and killed. Thus the hopes of A1 Mostanser dom, he was easily overthrown by Asadoddin, who reinwere entirely frustrated; and from this period we may stated Shawer in the office of vizir. The faithless minisdate the declension of the Egyptian empire under the ter, however, no sooner saw himself established in office caliphs. They had made themselves masters of almost than he refused to fulfil his engagements with Nuroddin, all Syria ; but as soon as Bassasiri’s defeat and death were and thus forced Asadoddin to seize on Pelusium and some known, Aleppo revolted, and several other places followed other cities. Shawer then entered into an alliance with its example. A1 Mostanser sent a powerful army against the Crusaders, and Asadoddin was besieged in Pelusium the rebels, but it was entirely defeated, and his general by the combined forces of the Christians and Infidels. But Nuroddin having invaded the Christian dominions in taken prisoner. This disaster was soon followed by others still greater. Syria, and taken a strong fortress called Harem, Shawer In 1066 a famine raged over all Egypt and Syria, and and his confederates hearkened to terms of accommodamultitudes of people died in Cairo from want of food. Nay, tion, and Asadoddin was permitted to depart for Syria, In the mean time, Nuroddin, having subdued the greatto such a degree of misery were the inhabitants reduced, not only in Cairo, but throughout all Egypt, that the car- er part of Syria and Mesopotamia, resolved to make the casses of those who died were sold for food at an exorbi- perfidious Shawer feel the weight of his resentment. He tant price, and the most loathsome animals were greedily therefore sent Asadoddin back into Egypt with a force sufdevoured by a famishing people. The famine, as usual, ficient to compel Shawer to fulfil his engagements; but the was followed by the plague; and this again by an inva- vizir took care, before the arrival of Asadoddin, to acquit sion of the Turks under Abu Ali A1 Hasan-Naserod’dawla, himself of the obligation he had come under, and thus for the general who had been sent against the rebel chief of the present averted the threatened danger. But it was Aleppo, and defeated by him.. The caliph was besieged not long until he gave Nuroddin fresh occasion to send in his own palace; and being in no condition to make re- this general against him. That prince had now driven sistance, the unfortunate prince was obliged to buy him- the Crusaders almost entirely out of Syria; but he was self off at the expense of every thing valuable left in his greatly alarmed at their progress in Egypt, and offended exhausted capital and treasury. This, however, did not at the alliance which Shawer had concluded with them, prevent the merciless plunderers from ravaging all Lower and which he still persisted in observing. This treaty Egypt from Cairo to Alexandria, and committing the most was also thought to be contrived on purpose to prevent horrid excesses throughout the whole of that portion of Shawer from being able to fulfil his promise to Nuroddin, of sending him annually a third of the revenues of Egypt. the country. These events happened in the years 1067 and 1068. In Nuroddin, therefore, in 1166, again dispatched Asadoddin 1069 and 1070 there occurred two other revolts in Syria; into Egypt with a sufficient force, attended by his nephew so that this country was now almost entirely lost to Egypt. Salah-eddin, or Saladin, who afterwards became so celebratIn 1095 the caliph A1 Mostanser died, after a reign of ed. The invaders entered the kingdom without opposition, sixty years, and was succeeded by his son Abul Kasem, and having totally defeated Shawer and the Crusaders, made surnamed A1 Mostali. The most remarkable event of themselves masters of Alexandria, and overran all Upper this prince’s reign was his taking the city of Jerusalem Egypt. Saladin was left with a considerable garrison in from the Turks in 1098; but this success was of short du- Alexandria; but after the departure of Asadoddin the ration, for the Holy City was the same year taken by the Crusaders laid siege to that city, and the Syrian general was obliged to return to its relief. But the losses he had Crusaders. From this time till the year 1164, the Egyptian history sustained in his expedition induced him to agree to a presents little else than a series of intestine broils and treaty with Shawer, by which he engaged to evacuate contests between the vizirs and prime ministers, who had Egypt upon being paid a sum of money. No sooner had in a great measure stripped the caliphs of their civil power, Asadoddin withdrawn, however, than Shawer entered into and left them nothing but a shadow of spiritual dignity. a fresh treaty with the Franks, by which he was to attack But these contests at last led to a revolution, by which Nuroddin in his own dominions, whilst engaged in quelling a revolt which effectually prevented his sending more forthe race of Fatemite caliphs was totally extinguished. One Shawer, having overcome all his competitors, be- ces into Egypt. This treaty so enraged the Syrian prince, came vizir of A1 Adad, or Aladad, the eleventh caliph of that he resolved to suspend for a time his other ambitious Egypt. But he had not been long in possession of office projects, and exert his whole strength in the conquest of when A1 Dargam, an officer of rank, endeavoured to de- Egypt. By this time, however, the Crusaders had reduced Peluprive him of his dignity; upon which both parties had recourse to arms, and a battle ensued, in which Shawer was sium, and made considerable progress in Egypt, as well defeated, and obliged to throw himself on the protection as in some other countries, through the divisions.which of Nuroddin, prince of Syria. The latter having received reigned amongst the Mahommedan prinqes. Their conthe fugitive graciously, and promised to reinstate him in quests were marked by barbarities of which Infidels might

480 EGYPT. Egypt. well have been ashamed. Christians as well as Mahom- Nuroddin’s orders were received, he lay on his death-bed v J medans were put to the sword ; their prisoners were sold past all hopes of recovery. On his demise, Saladin seized wi as slaves; and the towns which they captured were given all his wealth and effects, consisting of jewels of prodigious ~ up to be pillaged by a licentious soldiery. From Pelusium size, sumptuous furniture, a library containing a hundred they marched to Cairo, which was then in no posture of thousand volumes, and many other valuable possessions defence, and in the utmost confusion on account of the di- He caused his family to be closely confined in the most visions which prevailed in it. But as soon as he heard of retired part of the palace, and either manumitted his their approach, the vizir caused the ancient quarter of the slaves, kept them for his own use, or disposed of them town to be set on fire, whilst the inhabitants retired into to others. the other districts ; and he also prevailed upon the caliph Saladin had now arrived at the highest pitch of wealth to solicit the assistance of Nuroddin, which, in truth, the power, and grandeur. He was, however, obliged to act latter was much inclined of himself to grant, as it afforded with great circumspection towards Nuroddin, who still him a fair opportunity both for driving the Crusaders out of continued to treat him as his vassal, and insisted on the Egypt, and for seizing the kingdom to himself. With this most implicit obedience to his commands. Saladin relied view he had already raised an army of 60,000 horse, and chiefly for counsel on his father Ayub, a consummate poon receiving Aladad’s message he instantly gave them litician, who, ambitious of seeing his son raised to the orders to march. The Crusaders had now arrived before throne of Egypt, advised him to continue stedfast in his Cairo, and so closely invested that place, that neither resolutions, and, whilst he amused Nuroddin with feigned Shawer nor the caliph were aware of the approach of the submissions, to take every method in his power to secure Moslemin army which was hastening to their relief. The to himself the possession of so valuable a kingdom. Nuvizir, therefore, finding it impossible to hold out for any roddin himself, however, was too great a master in the art length of time, had recourse to his old expedient of trea- of dissimulation to be easily imposed on ; and though he ties and promises; he sent the enemy 100,000 dinars, and pretended to be pleased with Saladin’s conduct, he was promised them 900,000 more, if they would agree to raise all the while busily occupied in raising a powerful army, the siege; terms which, as they dreaded the approach of with which he intended the following year to invade Egypt. Asadoddin, were very readily accepted by the Crusaders. But whilst he was meditating this expedition, he was'seizThe army of Nuroddin now approached the capital by ed at Damascus with a distemper which put an end to his forced marches, and were everywhere received with de- life, in the year 1173. monstrations of joy. On his arrival at Cairo, Asadoddin Though thus freed from the apprehension of so formidwas invited by Aladad to the royal palace, where he was able an enemy, Saladin durst not yet venture to assume the entertained in the most splendid manner; nor were Sala- title of sovereign, more especially when he saw the sucdin and the other principal officers less magnificently treat- cessor of Nuroddin at the head of a powerful army, and ed. Shawer, also, conscious of his perfidious conduct, was not less desirous than able to dispossess him. His first not less assiduous in his attentions. But as he was be- care, therefore, was to secure to himself an asylum in case lieved to have formed a scheme for having the general and he should be obliged to abandon Egypt; and having achis principal officers seized and murdered during an enter- complished this object by the conquest of a considerable tainment, his head was struck off, and Asadoddin was made portion of Arabia Felix, he assumed the title of sultan or vizir in his stead. Ihe latter did not, however, long enjoy sovereign of Egypt, and was acknowledged as such by the his new dignity; for he died some months after his instal- greater part of the states. The zeal of the Egyptians for ment into office, and was succeeded by tne illustrious the Fatemite caliphs, however, soon produced a rebellion, nephew of Nuroddin. ihe governor of a city in Upper Egypt having assembled Saladin, the new vizir, was the youngest of all the gran- an army of blacks, and marched into the lower country, dees who had aspired to that office, and he had already was there joined by great numbers of other Egyptians; given signal proofs of his valour and conduct. The cir- but Saladin dispatched his brother Malek against the incumstances which determined the caliph to give him the surgents, who were entirely defeated and dispersed. This, preference over so many competitors are not known; but however, did not prevent another insurrection under an it is certain that some of them were highly displeased with impostor, who pretended to be a son of the last Fatemite his promotion, and even publicly declared that they would caliph, and who had collected a body of 100,000 men; not obey him. In order, therefore, to gain over to his in- but before they had time to do much damage, they were terest these disappointed aspirants, Saladin found it ne- surprised by the sultan’s forces, and entirely defeated, with cessary to distribute amongst them part of the treasures the loss of nearly three fourths of their whole number. left by his uncle; and by means of this powerful instruAbout this time Saladin gained a considerable advanment of corruption he soon governed Egypt without con- tage over the Crusaders under the command of William trol, as had been customary with the vizirs before his time. II. king of Sicily. That prince having invaded Egypt Soon after his instalment into office, he also defeated and with a numerous army, supported by a powerful fleet, had dispersed the negro guards of the royal palace, who had invested Alexandria both by sea and land. Saladin flew opposed his election ; and having placed a strong garrison to the relief of a place the preservation of which was of in the castle or citadel of Cairo, his power became firmly so much importance to the success of his future plans, established. ^ and he had mustered a force which he deemed suflicient For some time there subsisted between Nuroddin and Sa- to justify him in risking a battle ; but before he had time ladin a good understanding, which contributed in no small to make the necessary dispositions, the Crusaders, seized degree to raise the credit of the latter with the Egyptians. with a sudden panic, fled with the utmost precipitation, But in 1169 Nuroddin sent him orders to omit the name of leaving all their military engines, stores, and baggage beAladad, the caliph of Egypt, in the public prayers, and to hind them. substitute that of the caliph of Bagdad in its stead. This was In the year 1175, the inhabitants of Damascus, jeanot only a bold, but a dangerous attempt, as it might pro- lous of the minister who had the tuition of the reigning duce a revolt in favour of Aladad ; and even if it did not, prince, and governed all with an absolute sway, entreatit afforded Saladin an opportunity of engrossing what small ed Saladin to assume the sovereignty of that city and remnant of power had been left to the caliph. But Aladad its dependencies; and the application was no sooner was not sensible of the disgrace intended him ; for when made than the sultan set out with the utmost celerity to

jj.pt. Damascus, at the head of a chosen detachment of seven hundred horse. Having settled affairs in that city, he appointed his brother Saif A1 Islam governor, and set out for Hems, which he immediately invested. Having also made himself master of this place, he then proceeded to Hamah, which soon surrendered; but the citadel held out for some time. Saladin pretended that he accepted the sovereignty of Damascus and the other places he had conquered, only as deputy to Almalek-el-Saleh, the successor of Nuroddin, who was then under age ; and that he was desirous of sending Azzoddin, who commanded in the citadel, with a letter to Aleppo, where the young prince resided. This so pleased Azzoddin that he took the oath of fidelity to Saladin, and immediately set out with the sultan’s letter. But he had not been long at Aleppo before he was thrown into prison by the minister’s orders ; upon which his brother, who had been appointed governor of the citadel of Hamah in his absence, delivered it up to Saladin. The sultan then marched to Aleppo with a design to reduce it; but being vigorously repulsed in several attacks, he was at last obliged to abandon the enterprise. At the same time, Kamschlegin, Almalek’s minister, hired the chief of the Batanists, or Assassins, to murder the sultan, and several attempts were in consequence made on his life; but happily for Saladin all of them miscarried. After raising the siege of Aleppo, Saladin returned to Hems, which the Crusaders had invested. On his approach, however, they thought proper to retire; and the sultan then made himself master of the castle, which before he had not been able to reduce. This was soon followed by the reduction of Baalbec. And these rapid conquests so alarmed the ministers of Almalek, that, entering into a combination with some of the neighbouring princes, they raised a formidable army, with which they hoped to crush the sultan at once. Saladin, however, dreading the event of a war, offered to cede to Almalek, Hems and Hamah, and to govern Damascus only as his lieutenant. But these terms were rejected, and a battle ensued, in which the allied army were utterly defeated, and the shattered remains of it shut up in the city of Aleppo. This produced a treaty, by which Saladin was left undisputed master of Syria, excepting only the city of Aleppo and the territory belonging to it. In 1176, Saladin having returned from the conquest of Syria, made his triumphal entry into Cairo; and having allowed his troops some time for repose, he began to encompass the city with a wall of great extent, which however he did not live to complete. Next year he led a numerous army into Palestine to operate against the Crusaders. But here his usual good fortune deserted him. His army was entirely defeated; forty thousand of his best troops were left dead on the field; and the rest, having no towns in which they could find shelter, betook themselves to the desert between Palestine and Egypt, where the greater part of them perished from want of water. Even Saladin himself seemed to have been intimidated by this disaster: for in a letter to his brother he stated that he was more than once in the most imminent danger; and that God, as he apprehended, had delivered him from peril, in order to reserve him for the execution of some grand and important design. In the year 1182, the sultan, at the head of a formidable army, set out on an expedition to Syria, amidst the acclamations of the people. He was, however, repulsed wdth loss both before Aleppo and Almasel, after having spent much time and labour in besieging these places. In the mean time a powerful fleet of European ships appeared in the Red Sea, and threatened the cities of Mecca and Medina. The news of this armament no sooner reachvol. vm.

ed Cairo, than Abubekr, Saladin’s brother, who had been Egypt, left viceroy in the sultan’s absence, caused another to be fitted out with all speed, under the command of Lulu, a brave and experienced officer, who sailed in quest of the enemy. A dreadful engagement ensued, but after an obstinate resistance the Christians were defeated, and the prisoners butchered in cold blood. This proved so severe a blow to the Europeans that they never again ventured to attempt any thing in this quarter. In 1183 Saladin continued to extend his conquests. The city of Amida in Mesopotamia surrendered after a siege of eight days; and Aleppo, which he now attacked with better success than formerly, also capitulated. After the conquest of Aleppo, Saladin took three other cities, and then marched against his old enemies the Crusaders. Having sent out a party to reconnoitre the enemy, they fell in with a considerable detachment of Christians, whom they easily defeated, taking about a hundred prisoners, with the loss of only a single man on their side. Animated by this first instance of success, the sultan drew up his forces in order of battle, and advanced against the Crusaders, who had assembled their whole army at Sepphoris in Galilee. On viewing the sultan’s troops, however, and perceiving that they were greatly superior in strength to what had at first been apprehended, the Christian leaders declined an engagement, nor could Saladin, with all his skill and address, force them to accept battle. But though it was found impossible to bring the Crusaders to a decisive engagement, Saladin found means to harass them greatly, and destroyed great numbers of their men; he also carried off many prisoners, dismantled three of their strongest cities, laid wraste their territories, and concluded the campaign with the capture of another strong town. For three years Saladin continued to gain ground on the Crusaders, yet without obtaining any decisive advantage ; but in 1187 the fortune of war turned completely against the soldiers of the Cross. The Christians in fact now found themselves obliged to venture a battle, on account of the ravages which the sultan committed on their territories, and the encroachments which he daily made on all sides. Both armies therefore resolved to exert their utmost efforts, and a fierce and bloody battle ensued. Night prevented victory from declaring for either side; but the fight was renewed with equal obstinacy next day, and the contest still remained undecided. On the third day the sultan’s men, finding themselves surrounded by the enemy on all sides but one, and on that also hemmed in by the river Jordan, so that all retreat was cut off, fought with the courage of despair, and at last gained a complete victory. Vast numbers of the Christians perished on this bloody field. A large body indeed succeeded in retiring to the top of a neighbouring hill covered with wood; but Saladin’s troops having surrounded the hill, set fire to the wood, and obliged them to surrender at discretion. Some of the captives were butchered as soon as they had delivered themselves into the hands of the enemy; and others, amongst whom were Lusignan the king of Jerusalem himself, Arnold prince of Alshabek and Alkarak, the masters of the Templars and Hospitallers, and almost the whole body of the latter, were thrown into irons. So great was the consternation which this sad reverse produced amongst the Christians, that one of Saladin’s men is said to have taken thirty of them prisoners, and tied them together with the cord of his tent, to prevent them from making their escape. The masters of the Templars and Hospitallers, with the knights acting under them, were brought into Saladin’s presence, when he instantly ordered them to be cut in pieces. He called these warlike monks assassins or batanists; and he had been accustomed to pay fifty dinars for the head of

482 EGYPT. Egypt, every Templar or Hospitaller which was brought him. Af- under age; whilst for the poorer class who were unable to Egyn ter the engagement Saladin seated himself in a magnificent pay any thing, the rest of the inhabitants contributed the tent, and placing the king of Jerusalem on his right hand, sum of thirty thousand dinars. and Arnold prince of Alkarak on his left, he drank to the Most of the inhabitants of Jerusalem were escorted by former, who was at that time ready to expire from thirst, a detachment of Saladin’s troops to Tyre; and soon afterand at the same time offered him a cup of snow water, wards he advanced with his army against that place. As which was thankfully received. The king then drank to the port was blockaded by a squadron of five men of war the prince of Alkarak, who sat near him. But Saladin Saladin imagined that he might easily become master of itinterrupted him with some warmth : “ I will not,” said he, but in this he found himself mistaken; for one morning at “ suffer this cursed rogue to drink; for that, according to day-break a Christian fleet fell upon his squadron, and so the laudable and generous custom of the Arabs, would se- entirely defeated it that not a single vessel succeeded in cure to him his life.” Then turning towards the prince, effecting its escape. About the same time Saladin himself he reproached him with having undertaken the expedition was vigorously repulsed by land; and after calling a counwhilst in alliance with himself, and also with having inter- cil of war, it was thought proper to raise the siege. In 1188, Saladin, though his conquests were not so rapid cepted an Egyptian caravan in the time of profound peace, and massacred the people of whom it w as composed. But and considerable as they had hitherto been, continued still notwithstanding this, the sultan offered to grant him his superior to his enemies. He reduced the city of Laodicea life if he would embrace Mahommedanism. The disgrace- and some other places, besides many strong castles; but ful condition was however rejected, and the sultan, with he met also with several repulses. At length he took the one stroke of his scimitar, cut off the prince’s head. This road to Antioch; and having reduced all the fortresses, summary proceeding naturally alarmed the king of Jeru- many of them deemed impregnable, which lay in his way, salem ; but Saladin assured him he had nothing to fear, and he intimidated Bohemond prince of Antioch so much that that Arnold had brought his fate on himself by his want the latter desired a truce for seven or eight months; a request which, on account of the prodigious fatigues his men of common honesty. The Crusaders being thus totally defeated and dispersed, had undergone, and the circumstance of his auxiliaries Saladin next laid siege to Tiberias, which in a short time now demanding leave to return home, Saladin was forced capitulated. He then marched towards Acca or Ptole- to comply with. mais, which likewise surrendered after a short siege. Here The heavy losses they had sustained, however, proved he found four thousand Mahommedan prisoners in chains, in some respects an advantage to the Christians, as they whom he immediately released; and as the inhabitants were thus obliged today aside those animosities w’hich had carried on a very extensive trade, he also discovered there proved the ruin of their affairs, and to act with more connot only vast sums of money, but likewise a great variety cert and unanimity. The brave men who had defended of valuable merchandise, all of which he seized and ap- Jerusalem, and most of the other fortresses taken by Salaplied to his own use. About the same time his brother din, having retreated to Tyre, formed there a very numeAlmalek attacked and took a very strong fortress in the rous body; a circumstance which proved the means of preneighbourhood; after which the sultan divided his army serving that city, and also of re-establishing their affairs. into three bodies, that he might with the greater facility Accordingly, having received powerful reinforcements overrun the territories of the Christians, and thus in a short from Europe, they were enabled, in 1189, to take the field time made himself master of Neapolis, Caesarea, Seppho- with thirty thousand foot and two thousand horse. Their ris, and other cities in the neighbourhood of Ptolemais. first attempt was upon Alexandretta, whence they disHis next conquest was Joppa, which was taken by assault lodged a strong body of Mahommedans, and then made after a vigorous resistance. Saladin then marched in per- themselves masters of the place with but little loss. They son against Tebrien, a strong fortress in the neighbour- next laid siege to Ptolemais; but Saladin, as soon as he hood of Sidon, which was also taken by assault after a siege received intelligence of the fact, lost no time in marching of six days, razed to the ground, and the garrison put to to the relief of that place. After several skirmishes a gethe swrord. From Tebrien the victorious sultan proceeded neral engagement followed, in which the soldan was deto Sidon itself, which surrendered almost on the first sum- feated with the loss of ten thousand men. This enabled mons. Berytus was next invested, and yielded to the con- the Christians to carry on the siege with greater vigour; queror in seven days. but so little acquainted were they with the methods of Saladin, proceeding with his conquests, made himself attacking strong places, that Ptolemais was enabled for master of Ascalon after a siege of fourteen days, and then two years to resist all their efforts, and was at last reinvested the city of Jerusalem. The garrison was nume- duced rather by famine than by active warfare or military rous, and made an obstinate defence; but Saladin having at force. last made a breach in the walls by sapping, the besieged deThis year the sultan was greatly alarmed on receiving sired to capitulate. This was at first refused; but a strong intelligence that the emperor of Germany was advancing representation having been made by the Christian ambas- to Constantinople with an army of two hundred and sixty sador, who threatened that if an honourable capitulation thousand men, in order to assist the other Crusaders. This was refused them, the garrison would kill their wives and prodigious armament, however, came at last to nothing. children, massacre their prisoners, commit their property The multitude was so reduced by sickness, famine, and fato the flames, and then sally out and sell their lives as tigue, that scarcely a thousand men reached the camp bedearly as possible, Saladin immediately called a council of fore Ptolemais. But the siege of that city was continued, war, at which the general officers to a man declared it as though without success on the part of the Christians. They their opinion that it would be most prudent to allow the were repulsed in all their attacks ; their engines were burnt Christians to depart unmolested. They judged according with naphtha; and the besieged received supplies of provito the maxim which recommends that a bridge of gold sions in spite of the utmost efforts of the besiegers, at the should be made for a flying or a desperate enemy. The same time that famine and pestilence raged in the Christian sultan therefore allowed the garrison to march out freely camp, sometimes carrying off two hundred persons a day. with their wives, children, and effects, upon receiving But in 1191 the Christians received powerful succours from ten dinars from every man capable of paying that sum, Europe. Philip II. of France, and Richard l. of England, five from every woman, and two from every young person surnamed Cceur-de-Lion, arrived in the camp before Pto-

1 EGYPT. 483 another claimant appeared in Nojmoddin, an elder broEgypt. I mt. lemais. The latter was esteemed the bravest and most enterprising of all the chiefs of the Crusade; and the ther of the deceased prince, and a bloody contest would w spirits of the soldiers were greatly elated by the thoughts probably have ensued, had not the young prince in the of acting under such an experienced commander. Soon meanwhile disappeared or died. This circumstance led to after his arrival the English sunk a Mahommedan ship of the peaceable accession of Nojmoddin, who, like his prelarge size, having on board upwards of six hundred sol- decessor, soon acquired great influence with the chiefs of diers, and a great quantity of arms and provisions, which the Crusade; whilst Richard, earl of Cornwall, perceiving was proceeding from Berytus to Ptolemais. Of the soldiers that the sultan of Egypt possessed more power than the and the sailors who navigated this vessel, only a single Syrian lords of Karak and Damascus, concluded an alliperson escaped, who, being taken prisoner by the English, ance with him, and thereby insured protection to the nuwas dispatched to the sultan with the news of the disas- merous Christian pilgrims when wending their weary way ter. But the besieged still defended themselves with great to the holy sepulchre. Whilst affairs were thus unsettled, Nojmoddin entered resolution ; and the king of England happening to fall sick, the operations of the besiegers were considerably delayed. Syria, resolved, with the aid of the wild tribes who roamed On his recovery, however, the attacks were renewed with through the adjoining desert, to make himself master of such fury that the place was every moment in imminent Damascus. A battle crowned his enterprise with success, danger of being taken by assault. But although Saladin and opened a path to still more signal advantages, when was informed of the condition to which it was reduced, Louis the Ninth of France landed at Damietta with a new and although it formed his principal magazine of arms, he host of Crusaders, and in the absence of the sultan made found it impossible to march to its relief; and the inha- considerable progress, taking several towns, and forcing bitants were therefore under the necessity of surrendering the inhabitants to fly into the upper part of the country. the place. One of the terms of the capitulation was, that Nojmoddin, then engaged in the siege of Emessa, hastenthe Crusaders should receive a very considerable sum of ed to the relief of his subjects; but, overpowered by famoney from Saladin, upon the condition of their deliver- tigue and anxiety, his strength failed, and he died by the ing up the Mahommedan prisoners they had in their hands; way, leaving the government to his son, an inexperienced but Saladin refused to ratify this article, and, in conse- youth. Nojmoddin, however, left one who was able and quence of his refusal, three thousand of those unfortunate willing to avenge him. Apprehending no serious opposimen were slaughtered at once by orders of the king of tion, the Crusaders, with their habitual want of precaution, England. pushed recklessly into the interior, when, to their extreme After the reduction of Ptolemais, Richard, now appoint- surprise, they suddenly found themselves in presence of ed generalissimo of the Crusaders, took the road to Asca- a formidable army, raised by the exertions of the sultan’s lon, in order to besiege that place; after which he intend- widow, the celebrated Shagir Aldor. A battle was inevied to make an attempt to recover Jerusalem. Saladin pro- table ; and Louis, compelled to fight at a disadvantage, was posed to intercept him on his advance, and with this view defeated and taken prisoner; whilst his followers, after placed himself in the way with an army of three hundred enduring the greatest privations, were compelled to throw thousand men. On this occasion was fought one of the themselves on the compassion of the natives whose fields greatest battles of that age, or indeed of any other. After they had desolated, whose houses they had plundered, & terrible conflict, Saladin was totally defeated, with the and whose hearths they had profaned. loss of forty thousand men; and Ascalon soon afterwards The period at which we have now arrived is remarkable fell into the hands of the Crusaders. Other sieges were for the accession to power of a race of slaves, who, transsubsequently undertaken with success, and Richard even formed into soldiers, became alike celebrated for their miapproached within sight of Jerusalem; but by reason of litary qualities, and formidable by their exactions, to the the weakened state of his army, and the dissensions which country over which they domineered. It will be at once prevailed in it, he found himself under the necessity of understood that we allude to the Mamlukes. The origin concluding a truce with the sultan. In the year 1192 of this celebrated military caste dates from the time of this was accordingly agreed to, for the term of three years, Saladin. As a usurper, the sultan naturally put little conthree months, three weeks, three days, and three hours; fidence in the native troops; and hence, distrusting the and soon after it was concluded the king of England set fidelity of his subjects, he was led to place around his out on his return to his own dominions. person a guard of foreigners, composed chiefly of slaves In 1193 Saladin died, to the inexpressible grief of all purchased or made captives in the provinces bordering on true Moslemins, who held him in the utmost veneration. the western shores of the Caspian. Under succeeding sulHis dominions in Syria and Palestine were parcelled out tans the power of these armed attendants was increased amongst his children and relations in petty principalities. by new privileges ; and in a short time they, like the ceHis son Othman succeeded to the throne of Egypt; but lebrated pretorian bands at Rome, acquired or usurped although he possessed the ambition, he wanted the enter- the entire disposal of the sovereign authority. In the year prising genius of his father; and indeed Saladin had no 1250 the reigning sultan, Malek-al-Salek, was dethroned successor capable of rivalling, far less eclipsing his renown. and slain by these mercenaries; in consequence of which But Alcamel, to whom the sceptre devolved about the crime the Mamlukes became sole masters of Egypt, and beginning of the thirteenth century, shed a lustre on his chose a sultan out of their own number. This was Ibeg, reign by repulsing the Crusaders, who for the fifth time who, having been named regent during the minority of the had invaded the kingdom of the sultans. Damietta had young prince, married the queen-mother upon the death yielded to the arms of the Christians; and, elated with of that boy, and finally, supported by his companions in their success, they advanced up the Nile, doubtless medi- arms, stepped into the vacant throne. tating the entire conquest of the country, when a general The Mamlukes having obtained possession of the goaction took place, which in its issue proved disastrous, and vernment, and neither understanding nor valuing any thing compelled the invaders to accept a treaty, the conditions except the art of war, every species of learning soon deof which were more honourable to the generosity of the cayed in Egypt, and barbarism in some measure resumed Moslemin conquerors than to the ability of the Christian its ancient empire. Nor was their ascendency of long ducommanders. Alcamel died at Damascus in 1238, and one ration, notwithstanding their martial abilities. The fact of his sons, by name Aladel, was raised to the throne. But is, that originally they formed but a small part of the

484 EGYPT. Egypt, standing forces of Egypt; and as a numerous army was of government, both external and internal; whilst, on the F necessary in a country where, according to the funda- other hand, the members of the council had a right to reject mental maxim of government, every native must be a slave, the orders of the pasha, or even to depose him, provided ' they were at first at a loss how to act, being justly suspi- they could assign sufficient reasons for so doing; and all cious of the other portions of the regular force. But at civil and political ordinances required to be ratified by them. length they resolved to purchase Christian slaves, and From the Mamluke Beys, who presided over the provinces' educate them in the same way as they themselves had were chosen the Sheikh-el-Belled, or governor of Cairo • formerly been; and these were commonly brought from the Janizary Aga, or commander of the janizaries; the Circassia, where the people, though they professed Chris- Defterdar, or accountant-general; the Emir-el-Hado-ee tianity, made no scruple of selling their children. When or conductor of the caravan to Mecca; the Emir-el-Sa,id, they had completed their military education, these soldiers or governor of Upper Egypt; and the Sheikh-el-Bekheri’ were disposed of throughout the fortresses erected in the or governor of the scherifs. He then formed the whole country to keep down the inhabitants; and because in body into a sort of republic ; and with this view issued an their language a fort was denominated borge, the new mi- edict, setting forth that a republican government was grantlitia received the name of Borgites or garrison-troops. By ed to the twenty-four sangiacs or governors of provinces. this expedient the Mamlukes hoped to secure themselves These were, 1. That the sovereignty of the Porte should in the sovereignty; but the result proved that they were be acknowledged by the republic, and, in token of obemistaken in their calculations. The old Mamlukes having dience, its lieutenant should be received as the represenbecome proud, insolent, and lazy, the Borgites took ad- tative of the sultan ; but if the said lieutenant should atvantage of their degeneracy, rose upon their masters, de- tempt to infringe any of its privileges, the republic might prived them of the government, and about the year 1382 suspend him from his authority, and send to the Sublime transferred it to one of their own number, by name Bar- Porte a complaint against him : 2. That in time of war the cok, under whom the Mamluke dynasty, properly so call- republic should provide twelve thousand troops at its own ed, was brought to an end, after having endured about a expense, to be commanded by a sangiac or sangiacs; 3. hundred and twenty years. That the republic should raise annually, and send to the The Borgites, as well as their former masters, now assumed Sublime Porte, the sum of 560,000 aslany (afterwards augthe name of Mamlukes, and became famous for their va- mented to 800,000, or about L.100,000), accompanied by lour and ferocity of conduct. They were almost perpetu- a sangiac, who should receive an acknowledgment for the ally engaged in wars either foreign or domestic; and their same; 4. That the same sum should be raised for the use of dominion lasted till the year 1517, when they were at- Medina and Kiaba or Mecca: 5. That the janizaries should tacked by Sultan Selim. The Mamlukes defended them- not exceed fourteen thousand in time of peace, though selves with incredible valour; but being overpowered by this number might be increased in time of war : 6. That to numbers, they were defeated in every engagement. The the sultan’s granaries shpuld be sent annually a million same year the city of Cairo was taken, after great slaugh- measures of corn, 600,000 of wheat, and 400,000 of barley: ter, and the Borgite sultan was obliged to fly. But having 7. That, on fulfilling these articles, the republic should have collected all his force, he ventured a decisive battle, in a free government over all Egypt, independently of the which he was defeated, the most romantic efforts of va- sultan’s lieutenant, but on condition of executing the laws lour proving unavailing against the innumerable multitude of the country, with the advice of the inoollah: 8. That which composed the Turkish army. A great number of his the republic should be in possession of the mint as heretotroops perished on the field ; and the unhappy prince him- fore, but on condition that it should be under the inspecself, seeing all hope utterly gone, took shelter in a marsh, tion of the sultan’s lieutenant, in order that the coin might whence he was dragged by his pursuers, and soon after- not be adulterated : and, 9. That the republic should elect wards put to death. Nor did the vengeance of the con- a Sheikh-el-Belled out of the number of Beys, to be conqueror stop here. Having erected a throne on the banks firmed by the sultan’s lieutenant; and that the said Sheikhof the Nile, he caused the prisoners, amounting to up- el-Belled should be the sultan’s lieutenant, and esteemed wards of thirty thousand men, to be brought before him, as the head of the republic. It was further provided, that when he ordered them to be beheaded in his presence, if the sultan’s lieutenant should be guilty of oppression, or and their bodies to be thrown into the river. With the exceed the bounds of his authority, the Sheikh-el-Belled death of Tuman Bey, and the wholesale butchery which should represent the grievance to the Porte; and in case followed it, ended the glory, and almost the existence, of the peace of the republic should be disturbed by foreign the Mamlukes, who were now everywhere hunted out and enemies, the sultan guaranteed it his protection free of all cut in pieces. expense. But notwithstanding these barbarous proceedings, Selim Thus the power of the Mamlukes, which conquest and did not attempt the total extermination of the Mamlukes, massacre had broken, was in some measure re-established though this would have been quite agreeable to the max- by the arbitrary will or caprice of the conqueror; and it ims of Turkish policy. He seems to have considered, that continued to increase until at last the Turkish dominion if he should establish a pasha in Egypt, with the same over Egypt became little better than a species of feudal powers with which those of other parts were invested, superiority, recognised in principle, but disregarded in pracsuch a lieutenant or viceroy would, by reason of the dis- tice. But in order to understand how this transference of tance from the capital, be under strong temptations to re- authority was produced, it is necessary to attend to the volt. He therefore devised a new form of government, manner in which the race of Mamlukes was continued and according to which, the power being distributed amongst multiplied in Egypt. This was not in the ordinary way, the different members of the state, an equilibrium might be by marriage or descent; on the contrary, during all the established, and the dependence of the whole upon himself time the Mamlukes maintained a footing in Egypt, few of might thereby be secured. With this view he chose a di- them left subsisting issue, and almost all their children van, or council of regency, consisting of the pasha or vice- perished in the first or second descent. The means by roy, and the chiefs of the seven military corps. To the for- which they were perpetuated and multiplied were the same mer, who was to be in all cases president, it belonged to by which they were originally established, namely, by slaves notify to the council the orders of the Porte, to transmit brought from the country whence they originally came. the tribute to Constantinople, and to provide for the safety From the time of the Moguls this commerce continued on

EGYPT. 485 Kiaya. At this time he is supposed to have been about Egypt, t the banks of the Cuban and Phasis, in the same manner V as it is carried on in Africa, by wars amongst the hostile thirteen or fourteen years old; and he was employed by tribes, and the misery or avarice of the inhabitants, who his patron in offices similar to those of the pages belongsold their children to strangers. The slaves thus procur- ing to European princes. The usual education of Mamed were first brought to Constantinople, and afterwards lukes was also given him. He was taught to manage a dispersed throughout the empire, where they were pur- horse adroitly ; to fire a carbine or pistol with a sure aim ; chased by the wealthy. When the Turks subdued Egypt and to throw the djereed, a kind of dart or javelin used they should undoubtedly have prohibited this dangerous in the diversions of the country. He was also instructed traffic ; and their omitting to do so in a great measure dis- in the exercise of the sabre, and taught a little reading possessed them of their conquest, a consummation which and writing. In all feats of activity he discovered such a series of great political errors had otherwise been long fire and impetuosity, that he obtained the surname of preparing. In fact, the Porte had, for a considerable time, Djendali or Madman; and as he grew up he discovered neglected the affairs of this province, and, in order to an ambition proportioned to the activity displayed in his restrain the pashas, had suffered the divan to extend its youth, but which served to moderate and restrain the power till the chiefs of the janizaries and ayahs were left ardour of his disposition. About the age of eighteen or . without control. The soldiers themselves, having become twenty he received his freedom, and his kind patron also citizens by the marriages which they had contracted, were promoted him to the rank of kiachef or governor of a disno longer the creatures of Constantinople ; and a change trict, and at last elected him one of the twenty-four Beys, introduced into their discipline still more increased these at once the tyrants and oppressors of the unhappy Fellahs. The death of Ibrahim in 1757 afforded him an oppordisorders. At first the seven military corps had but one common treasury ; and though the society was rich, indi- tunity of satisfying his ambition; and he now engaged in viduals, not having any thing at their own disposal, could every scheme connected with the promotion or disgrace effect nothing. But the chiefs, finding their power dimi- of the chiefs, and had a principal share in the ruin of Ronished by this arrangement, had interest enough to get it dohan Kiaya, as already mentioned. The post of Rodoabolished, and to obtain permission to possess distinct pro- han was quickly filled by another competitor for his danperty, lands, and villages. As these lands and villages, gerous office, who, however, did not long enjoy his elevahowever, depended on the Mamluke governors, it was ne- tion ; and in 1762 Ali Bey, who was then styled Sheikhcessary to conciliate them, in order to prevent their exac- el-Belled, having caused Abderrahman, the real possessor tions. From that moment the Beys acquired an ascen- of the office, to be exiled, managed to get himself elected dency over the soldiers, who till then had treated them in his stead. But he soon shared the fate of the rest, and with disdain ; and this ascendency continued to increase, was condemned to retire to Gaza. This place, however, as their government secured to them the possession of con- being then under the dominion of a Turkish pasha, proved siderable riches, which they employed chiefly in creating by no means either agreeable to or safe for Ali, who acfriends and multiplying dependents. They increased the cordingly betook himself to another asylum, where he number of their slaves ; and after emancipating them, em- remained concealed until 1766, when his friends at Cairo ployed all their interest to obtain various employments, procured his recal. On this he appeared suddenly in that and procure advancement in the army. These upstarts, city, killed four of the Beys who were inimical to his deretaining for their patrons the superstitious veneration signs, banished the rest, and assumed the whole power. common in the East, formed factions implicitly devoted Still, however, his ambition was not satisfied. Indulgto their will, and were ready at all times to execute their ing the loftiest aspirations of ambition, he determined to throw off his dependence on the Porte, and to declare commands. Accordingly, about the year 1746, Ibrahim, one of the himself sultan of Egypt. With this view he expelled the kiayas or commanders of the janizaries, rendered himself pasha, refused to pay the accustomed tribute, and, in the in reality master .of Egypt, having managed matters so year 1768, proceeded to coin money in his own name. well, that of the twenty-four Beys or Sangiacs, eight were The Porte being at that time on the eve of a war with members of his own household. His influence too was Russia, had not leisure to attend to the proceedings of augmented by always leaving vacancies in order to draw Ali; so that the rebel chief had leisure and opportunity the emoluments himself, whilst the officers and soldiers for forwarding his enterprise. His first expedition was of his corps were attached to his interest; and his power directed against an Arabian prince named Hammam, unwas completed by gaining over to his interest Rodohan, der pretence that the latter had concealed a treasure enthe most powerful of all the chiefs. Thus the pasha be- trusted to him by Ibrahim Kiaya, and that he had affordcame altogether unable to oppose him, and the orders of ed protection to rebels. The command of the expedition the sultan were much less respected than those of Ibrahim. he entrusted to his favourite Mohammed Bey, by whom On his death in 1757, his family, that is, his enfranchised the unfortunate prince was destroyed, and his territories slaves, continued to rule in adespolic manner. But hav- despoiled. Ali next set about executing a plan which had ing quarrelled amongst themselves, Rodohan and several been proposed to him by a young Venetian merchant, for other chiefs fell in the contests which ensued, and the ut- rendering Djidda, the port of Mecca, an emporium for all most anarchy and confusion prevailed. the commerce of India; and he even imagined that he In 1766, while matters still continued in this state, Ali would succeed in causing the Europeans to abandon the Bey, who had been a principal actor in the disturbances, passage to the East Indies by the Cape of Good Hope. gained a decided superiority over his rivals, and, under With this view he fitted out some vessels at Suez; and the successive titles of Emir-el-Hadgee, and Sheikh-el- having manned them with Mamlukes, commanded Hassan Belled, he rendered himself absolute master of Egypt. Bey to sail with the squadron for Djidda, and attack it, The birth of Ali Bey, like that of the Mamlukes in gene- whilst a body of cavalry under Mohammed Bey advanced ral, is extremely uncertain. It is commonly believed that against the town. Both these operations were executed he was born among the Abazans, a people of Mount Cau- to his wish, and Ali became quite intoxicated with his casus, who, next to the Circassians, are most valued by the success. Nothing but ideas of conquest now occupied his Turks as slaves; and that having been brought to a pub- mind ; and without considering the disproportion between lic sale at Cairo, he was purchased by two Jews, brothers, his own force and that of the Grand Signior, he never named Isaac and Yussuf, who presented him to Ibrahim once doubted that he would be able to maintain himself

486

EGYPT. Egypt- against all the power of the Porte. And circumstances, it towards Cairo; and in April 1772, having defeated the Ee must be owned, were at this time favourable to his designs. troops of Ali in a rencounter, he entered the city sword ^ Sheikh Daher was in rebellion against the Porte in Syria, in hand, whilst the latter had scarcely time to make his and the pasha of Damascus had so exasperated the people escape with eight hundred Mamlukes. Ali proceeded to by his extortions that they were ready for revolt. Having Syria, which he reached with difficulty, and immediately therefore made the necessary preparations, Ali, in 1770, joined Sheikh Daher with the troops which accompanied dispatched about five hundred Mamlukes to take posses- him in his flight. The Turks under Osman were at that sion of Gaza, and thus to secure an entrance into Pales- time besieging Sidon, but they raised the siege on the tine. When Osman, pasha of Damascus, heard of the in- approach of the allied army, consisting of about seven vasion, he prepared for war with the utmost diligence; thousand cavalry. Though the Turkish army was at least whilst the troops of Ali Bey were, it is said, ready to fly three times this number, the allies did not hesitate to atat the first attack. But they were relieved from their tack them; and having gained a complete victory, their embarrassment by Sheikh Daher, who hastened to their affairs now began to wear a more favourable aspect. assistance; and Osman, dreading to encounter both, fled In the beginning of 1773, Jaffa, a place which had rewithout offering the least resistance, thus leaving the ene- volted, capitulated, and Ali Bey began to think of returnmy masters of Palestine. About the end of February ing to Cairo. For this purpose Sheikh Daher promised 1771 the army of Ali Bey was put in motion. Its num- to furnish him with fresh succours ; and the Russians, with bers have been variously represented, but it is probable whom he had now contracted an alliance, made him a that, including camp followers, a very numerous class in similar promise. But Ali ruined every thing by his own the East, it exceeded forty thousand men. This force, folly and impatience. Deceived by an astrologer, who or rather armed multitude, commanded by Mohammed pretended that the auspicious moment indicated by the Bey, the friend of Ali, took the road to Acre, leaving stars had just arrived, and also misled by false information wherever they passed frightful traces of their rapacity insidiously conveyed to him by the agents of Mahommed, and want of discipline. At Acre a junction was formed who caused letters to be written to him urging his immewith the troops of Sheikh Daher, consisting of fifteen hun- diate return to Cairo, he set out with his Mamlukes and dred Safadins; Sheikh Daher’s subjects being so called about fifteen hundred Safadins sent him by Daher, without from Safad, a village of Galilee, originally under his juris- waiting for further aid; but he had no sooner entered the diction. These were on horseback, and accompanied by desert which separates Gaza from Egypt, than he was attwelve hundred Motualis cavalry under the command of tacked by a body of a thousand chosen Mamlukes who Sheikh Nasif, and about a thousand Moggrebin infantry. were waiting his arrival. They were commanded by a Thus they proceeded towards Damascus, whilst Osman young Bey named Murad, who being enamoured of the prepared to oppose them by another army equally nume- wife of Ali Bey, had obtained a promise of the lady from rous and ill regulated. Mohammed, in case he should bring him her husband’s The military operations in Syria in the year 1771 have head. As soon as Murad perceived the dust which anbeen described by Volney. The combined army of Ali nounced the approach of Ali Bey’s army, he rushed upon Bey and Sheikh Daher marched to Damascus. The pa- the advancing force, defeated it, and took Ali Bey himshas waited for them; they approached, and, on the 6th self prisoner, after wounding him in the forehead with a of June, a decisive action took place. The Mamlukes and sabre. Being conducted to the presence of Mohammed Safadins rushed on the Turks with such fury, that, terri- Bey, Ali was treated by the latter with every appearance fied at their onset, the latter immediately took to flight, of respect, and a magnificent tent was ordered to be erectand the pashas were not the last in endeavouring to make ed for him; but in three days thereafter he was found their escape. The allies became masters of the country, dead, of his wounds, as was given out, though some afand took possession of the city without opposition, there firm, perhaps with good reason, that he was poisoned. being neither walls nor soldiers to defend it. The castle After the death of Ali, Mohammed Bey became undisalone resisted. Its ruined fortifications had not a single puted master of Egypt; but to the people this change of cannon, much less gunners; but it was surrounded by a despots proved to be one from bad to worse. At first he muddy ditch, and behind the ruins were posted a few pretended to defend the rights of the sultan; he remitted . musketeers, who alone were sufficient to check this army the usual tribute to Constantinople, and he took the cusof cavalry. As the besieged, however, were already con- tomary oath of unlimited obedience; after which he soquered by their fears, they capitulated on the third day ; licited permission to make war against Sheikh Daher, the and the place was to be surrendered next morning, when ally of Ali Bey. This request, although springing out of at daybreak an extraordinary revolution took place. personal animosity, was nevertheless granted, and MohamThis was the defection of Mohammed Bey himself, med made diligent preparations for war. Having procured whom Osman had gained over in a conference during the a considerable train of artillery, he provided foreign gunnight. At the moment, therefore, when the signal of sur- ners, whom he placed under the orders of an Englishman render was expecte-d, this treacherous commander sound- named Robinson; and, having completed the necessary ed a retreat, and turned towards Egypt with all his caval- preparations, he, in the month of February 1776, appeared ry, flying with as great precipitation as if he had been in Syria with an army equal in number to that which he pursued by a victorious army. Mohammed continued his had formerly commanded when in the service of Ali Bey. march with such celerity that the report of his arrival in Daher’s forces, unable to cope with so formidable a body, Egypt reached Cairo only six hours before himself. Thus abandoned Gaza, which Mohammed immediately took Ali Bey found all his expectations of conquest disappoint- possession of, and then marched towards Jaffa, the ancient ed, and a traitor whom he durst not punish at the head of Joppa, situated on a part of the coast the general level of his forces. A sudden reverse of fortune now took place. which is very little above that of the sea. The city is built Several vessels laden with corn for Sheikh Daher were on an eminence in the form of a cone, and about a hundred taken by a Russian privateer; and Mohammed Bey, whom and thirty feet in height. The houses distributed on the he designed to put to death, not only made his escape, declivity rise above one another like the steps of an ambut was so well attended that he could not be attacked. phitheatre ; and on the summit is a small citadel, which As his followers continued to increase daily in number, commands the town ; whilst the bottom of the hill is surMohammed soon became sufficiently strong to march rounded by a wall without a rampart, of twelve or four-

( EGYPT. Fpt.

^

487

teen feet in height and two or three feet in thickness, but Ibrahim should retain the title of Sheikh-el-Belled, and Egypt. without a ditch, and environed by gardens. The city was that the power which neither was inclined to relinquish defended by five or six hundred Safadins and as many in- should be divided between them. But the Beys and other habitants, who had only a few brass cannon, twenty-four chiefs who had been promoted by Ali Bey, perceiving their pounders, without carriages, which they mounted as well own importance totally annihilated by this duumvirate, as they could on timbers prepared in a hurry. resolved to shake off the yoke, and therefore united in a Mohammed, finding he must have recourse to force, league for supporting what they were pleased to term the formed his camp before the town, in the most irregular house of Ali Bey. This combination was managed with and disorderly manner possible. Batteries were now so much silence and dexterity, that both Murad and Ibraerected upon a rising ground at the distance of about him were obliged to abandon Cairo. In a short time, howtwo hundred yards from the town, and the bombardment ever, having collected reinforcements, they returned and commenced. A wall only three feet thick, and without a defeated their enemies; but notwithstanding this success, rampart, was soon breached even by the ill-served artil- they were unable altogether to suppress the party which lerv of Mohammed, and the Mamlukes advanced on foot had been formed against them. A new combination was to the assault; but the besieged coolly waiting till they formed among the Beys, five of whom were sentenced to arrived at the empty space betw-een the city and wall, banishment in the Delta. They pretended to comply assailed them from the terraces and windows of the houses with this order, but took the road through the desert of with such a shower of bullets, that the assailants retired, the Pyramids, and, though they were pursued for three under a persuasion that the breach was utterly impracti- days, arrived safe at Minieh, a village situated on the Nile, cable. Murad Bey brought them several times back to forty leagues above Cairo. Here they took up their resithe attack, but all his efforts were vain. Six weeks pass- dence, and being masters of the river, soon reduced Cairo ed in this manner; and Mohammed, distracted with rage, to distress by intercepting its provisions. A new expedianxiety, and despair, had thoughts of abandoning the en- tion, therefore, became necessary, and Ibrahim took the terprise. But fortunately for him, the besieged, whose command upon himself. In the month of October 1783 numbers were diminished by the repeated attacks, became he set out with an army of three thousand cavalry, and weary of defending the cause of Daher; and some per- the two armies soon came in sight of each other; but sons having begun to treat with the enemy, it was at length Ibrahim thought proper to terminate the affair by negociproposed to abandon the place, upon the Egyptians giving ation. This gave great offence to Murad, who, suspecting hostages. Conditions were agreed upon, and the treaty some design against himself, immediately left Cairo. A was on the point of being concluded, when, in the midst war between the two sovereign colleagues seemed now of the security which this circumstance occasioned, some inevitable, and the armies continued for twenty-five days Mamlukes entered the town. Numbers followed their in sight of each other, being only separated by the river, example, and attempted to plunder ; the inhabitants de- But negociations were at length opened ; and the five extended themselves, and the attack recommenced. The iled Beys, finding T themselves abandoned by Murad, took whole army then rushed into the town, which suffered all to flight. They w ere however pursued and brought back the horrors of a successful assault; men, women, and to Cairo, and peace appeared to be re-established on a children, young and old, were indiscriminately cut in better footing than heretofore; but the jealousy of the pieces; and Mohammed, equally mean and barbarous, two rivals having produced new intrigues, Murad was once caused a pyramid, formed of the heads of these unfor- more obliged to leave Cairo in 1784. He encamped, howtunate sufferers, to be raised as a monument of his in- ever, at the very gates of the city; and Ibrahim, dreading glorious victory. his power, or overawed by his boldness, found himself This disaster everywhere diffused the greatest terror obliged in his turn to retire to the desert, where he reand consternation. Sheikh Daher fled, and Mohammed mained till March 1785. A new treaty was then entered soon afterwards became master of Acre, where he behav- into, by which the rivals agreed to share the supreme ed with his usual cruelty, and abandoned the city to pil- power between them ; an arrangement which certainly lage. The French merchants claimed an exemption, which afforded but little prospect of lengthened tranquillity, was obtained with the utmost difficulty, and, but for a forMatters were in this situation, when, in 1786, the Porte, tunate accident, would have been of little consequence, having concluded a peace with Russia, resolved to reduce Being informed that the treasures of Ibrahim, the kiaya Egypt once more to a state of subjection and obedience, of Daher, had been deposited in that place, Mohammed With this view, Hassan Pasha, famous for his exploits in the immediately demanded them, threatening the merchants Morea and in Cyprus, was dispatched by the sultan at the with death if they were not instantly delivered up; and a head of a force amounting to twenty-five thousand men. day was appointed for making the search; but before it Having effected a landing at Alexandria in the month of arrived the tyrant had caught a malignant fever, of which July, Hassan made instant preparations for advancing tohe died after a short illness. When his death became wards Cairo. But he was met near Mentorbes by Murad known, the army, aware of the vengeance it had provok- at the head of his Mamlukes, and a furious battle immeed, and being now without a head, made a precipitate and diately ensued. The victory, however, remained with tumultuous retreat. This event occurred in the summer Hassan. The ground being still soft from the effects of of 1776. Sheikh Daher continued his rebellion for some the inundation, the Mamlukes, whose horses sunk in the time, but he was at last entirely defeated, and his head mud, were unable to charge with their accustomed impesent to Constantinople by Hassan, the Turkish capitan- tuosity, and the Turkish infantry thus gained a decided pasha or high admiral. advantage. Had it not been for this fortunate circumAs soon as the news of Mohammed’s death reached stance, Hassan might have been shorn of some of his Egypt, Murad Bey hastened to Cairo in order to dispute laurels in contending with that superb cavalry, by far the the sovereignty with Ibrahim Bey, who had been entrust- finest and most enterprising in all the East. As it was, ed with the government on the departure of Murad for Cairo opened its gates to the victorious pasha, who, after Syria. Preparations for war were in consequence made appointing a governor, continued his march in pursuit of on both sides ; but at last, finding that the contest would the Beys into the Sai'd. But finding the power of these he attended with equal difficulty and uncertainty, they chiefs still in some measure unbroken, and experiencing came to an accommodation, by which it was agreed that great difficulties in subsisting his army in the face of an

488 EGYPT. Egypt, active and vigilant enemy, Hassan was induced, in the put an end to all hope of disputing with her the empire Ea, course of the following year, to accede to a treaty, by of the ocean, or again establishing a footing in India by w, which the Beys were left in full possession of the country means of armies transported by fleets, the project of seizing from Barbieh to the confines of Nubia, upon condition of upon Egypt began to be anxiously discussed and seriously their relinquishing all claims to the territory below the place meditated. Nor was this scheme viewed merely in conjust mentioned. By this arrangement, he freed Lower nection with objects of commercial enterprise, or even Egypt from the exactions of the Mamlukes, and secured the extension of the colonial possessions of France. To to the inhabitants of that part of the country the benefit the bold and ardent minds that now predominated in the of something like a settled government. He also applied French councils, it promised other and still more importhimself to lighten their burdens, to redress their grievan- ant advantages. The subjugation of Egypt by a nation ces, and to fortify Cairo so as to enable it to hold out whose territory bordered on the Mediterranean w^as conagainst any sudden inroad of the disaffected Beys ; and his sidered as the most effectual blow which could be struck whole conduct indeed was alike distinguished for wisdom against the powTer of Turkey; whilst, by occupying that and moderation. But, in 1790, the plague appeared in its country with a powerful military force, and, as a necesmost virulent type; and after committing frightful ravages sary consequence, adding to it the possession of Syria, a amongst the lower classes, who in all countries, and par- position would be obtained from which the British possesticularly in Egypt, are the first victims of a pestilence, it sions in India might be threatened, and perhaps in due put an end to the life of Hassan Pasha. By this event time attacked. Ideas the most gigantesque were formed, the authority which had kept the Mamlukes in check was and to men flushed with the confidence inspired by vicannihilated ; and, after a short interval, during which an tory all things seemed possible. T attempt was made to confirm the authority of the Porte, It is not certainly known with w hom originated the proMurad and Ibrahim returned from exile, and once more ject of sending an expedition at this time to Egypt, and ( assumed the sovereign power, in defiance of all the mena- various persons have claimed or received the merit of the suggestion. It is beyond all doubt, however, that the ces of the divan. entered into the scheme with But the domestic contentions by which Egypt had so ardent mind of Napoleon long been distracted were now to be succeeded by foreign characteristic energy,1 and that the executive directory invasion. From an exaggerated notion of the importance acquiesced in it with a readiness which perhaps arose as of the British dominions in the East, which were regard- much from policy as conviction. The young soldier of ed as a source of inexhaustible wealth to this country, Italy had already become too great for a republic. In a the possession of Egypt, the channel through which the country which had recently witnessed so many revolucommerce of India ancientty flowed into Europe, had long tions, and where all distinctions are so liable to be eclipsbeen viewed by the statesmen of France as a most desirable ed by military glory, the man who had dictated to Austria acquisition for that country. Various arguments, some of the preliminaries of Leoben could not but be an object them plausible enough, were accordingly advanced in sup- of dread to a feeble and unpopular government; and hence port of this conclusion. In particular, it had been con- it is at least a reasonable presumption, that the immediate tended that the communication between India and the advantage of removing to a safe distance a dangerous southern parts of Europe, by the channel of the Red Sea, army and a still more dangerous military chief, weighed was the shortest, the safest, and the most economical; fully as much with the executive directory as any of the that the Nile might be connected with the Arabian Gulf speculations to which we have alluded. by means of a canal cut across the isthmus of Suez ; that, But be this as it may, an expedition was fitted out independently of the commerce of India, the country on with all possible secrecy, and on the 18th May 1798 it the eastern shores of the Red Sea abounded in spices, per- sailed from Toulon. The squadron consisted of thirteen fumes, and other valuable products ; that Africa had gold sail of the line, six frigates, and a dozen brigs, sloops, and dust and ivory to give in exchange for the more bulky cutters, having on board about forty thousand men of all commodities of Europe ; and therefore that Egypt, if oc* arms, under the command of Napoleon, who had been cupied by one of the maritime powers of the Mediterranean, named general-in-chief of the army of the East. After would prove a more valuable possession than all the British doubling Cape Corso and Cape Bonara, the expedition arterritories in India. From the time of Leibnitz, who ad- rived on the 10th of June before Malta, which, through dressed to Louis XIV. a memorial recommending the the degeneracy of the knights, surrendered almost withoccupation of Egypt for the purpose of destroying the out resistance ; and having left a garrison in the island, it maritime and commercial ascendency of the Dutch, the next steered for the coast of Egypt, which, after narrowly speculation which he had in some measure originated escaping an encounter with the British fleet under Lord continued to find favour with the statesmen of France; Nelson, it reached on the 1st of July. The troops were and when the naval pre-eminence of Britain, which a immediately landed near Alexandria, and on the evening series of unexampled triumphs had placed on a firm basis, of the 5th that place was carried by assault. The gene1 Napoleon has himself explained the views with which this expedition was undertaken. ‘c There were three objects,” says he, “ in the expedition to Egypt: ls