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ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
Cncpclopartna Bntanmca:
OR, A
DICTIONARY
OF
ARTS, SCIENCES, AND MISCELLANEOUS
LITERATURE;
ENLARGED AND IMPROVED.
THE SIXTH EDITION.
SllusitrateU iuttf) neatly m ftuntrreti (Ditgrabings;
VOL. XIV.
INDOCTI DISCANT; AMENT MEMINISSE PERITI.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY;
AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND COMPANY, 90, CHEAPSIDE,
LONDON.
1823.
> B ^
15 # AF
o./!3G6a
^oos-
Encyclopedia Britannica.
Micro-
ecope.
M1
M I €
ICROSCOPE, an optical instrument, consisting
of lenses, or mirrors, by means of which small
objects appear larger than they do to the naked eye.
Single microscopes consist of a single lens or mirror} or
if more lenses or mirrors be made use ofy they only serve
to throw light upon the object, but do not contribute to
enlarge the image of it. Double or compound mi¬
croscopes are those in which the image of an object is
. composed by means of more lenses or mirrors than
one.
For the principles on which the construction of mi¬
croscopes depends, see Optics. In the present article,
it is intended to describe the finished instrument, with
all its varied apparatus, according to the latest improve¬
ments ; and to illustrate by proper details its uses and
importance.
1. Of Single Microscopes.
The famous microscopes made use of by Mr Leeu-
wenhoeck, were all, as Mr Baker assures us, of the
single kind, and the construction of them was the most
simple possible j each consisting only of a single lens set
between two plates of silver, perforated with a small
hole, with a moveable pin before it to place the object
on and adjust it to the eye of the beholder. He informs
us also, that lenses only, and not globules, were used in
every one of these microscopes.
plate I. The single microscope now most generally known
eccxxxvii. and used is that called Wilson'1 s Docket Microscope. The
I- body is made of brass, ivory, or silver, and is repre¬
sented by rAA, BB. GC is -a long fine threaded male
screw that turns into the body of the microscope \ D
a convex glass at the end of the screw. Two con¬
cave round pieces of thin brass, with holes of difterent
diameters in the middle of them, are placed to cover
the above-mentioned glass, arid thereby diminish the
aperture when the greatest magnifiers are employed.
EE, three thin plates of brass within the body of the
microscope ; one of which is bent semicircularly in the
middle, so as to form an arched cavity ftrr the recep¬
tion of a tube of glass, the use of the other two be¬
ing to receive and hold the sliders between them. F,
a piece of wood or ivory, arched in the manner of
the semicircular plate, and cemented to it. G, the
other end of the body of the microscope, where a hol¬
low female screw is adapted to receive the difi'erent
magnifiers. H is a spiral spring of steel, between
Vol. XIV. Part I. f
MIC
the end G and the plates of brass, intended to keep Micm-
the plates in a right position and counteract the long scope,
screw CC. I is a small turned handle, for the better -v—
holding of the instrument, to screw on or off at plea¬
sure.
To this microscope belong six or seven magnifying
glasses : six of them are set in silver, brass, or ivory,
as in the figure K ; and marked I, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, the
lowest numbers being the greatest magnifiers. L is
the seventh magnifier, set in the manner of a little
barrel, to be held in the hand for the viewing of any
larger object. M is a flat slip of ivory, called a
slider, with four round holes through it, wherein to
place objects between two pieces of glass or Muscovy
talc, as they appear -At d d d d. Six such sliders, and
one of brass, are usually sold with this microscope,
some with objects placed in them, and others empty
for viewing any thing that may offer: but whoever
pleases to make a collection, may have as many as he
desires. The brass slider is to confine any small object,
that it may be viewed without crushing or destroying
it. N is a tube of glass contrived to confine living ob¬
jects, such as frogs, fishes, &c. in order to discover tins
circulation of the blood. All these are contained in a
little neat box of fish-skin or mahogany, very convenient
for carrying in the pocket.
When an object is to be viewed, thrust the ivory
slider, in which the said object is placed, between the
two flat brass plates EE : observing always to put
that side of the slider where the brass rings are far¬
thest from the eye. Then screw on the magnifying
glass you intend to use, at the end of the instrument
G j and looking through it against the light, turn the
long screw GC, till your object be brought to suit your
eye *, which will be known by its appearing perfectly
distinckand clear. It is most proper to look at it first
through a magnifier that can show the whole at once,
and afterwards to inspect the several parts more parti¬
cularly with one of the greatest magnifiers j for thus
you will gain a true idea of the whole, and of all its
parts. And though the greatest magnifiers can show
but a minute portion of any object at once, such as the
claw of a flea, the horn of a louse, or the like ; yet by
gently moving the slider which contains the object, the
eye may gradually examine it all over.
As objects must be brought very near the glasses
when the greatest magnifiers are made use of, be care¬
ful not to scratch them by rubbing the slider against
A them
M I C [2
them as you move it in ov out. A few turns of the
screw CC will easily prevent this mischief, by giving
them room enough. You may change the objects in
your sliders for any others you think proper, by taking
out the brass rings with the point of a penknife
the talcs will then fall out, if you but turn the sliders ;
and after putting what you please between them, by
replacing the brass rings you will fasten them as they
were before. It is proper to have some sliders furnish¬
ed with talcs, but without any object between them,
to be always in readiness for the examination of fluids,
salts, sands, powders, the farina of flowers, or any
other casual objects of such sort as need only be applied
to the outside of the talc.
The circulation of the blood may be easiest seen in
the tails or fins of fishes, in the fine membranes be¬
tween a frog’s toes, or best of all in the tail of a
water-newt. If your object be a small fish, place it
within the tube N, and spread its tail or fin along the
side thereof: if a frog, choose such a one as can but
just be got into your tube ; and, with a pen, or small
stick, expand the transparent membrane between the
toes of the frog’s hind foot as much as you can. When
your object is so adjusted that no part of it can inter¬
cept the light from the place you intend to view, un¬
screw the long screw CC, and thrust your tube into
the arched cavity, quite through the body of the mi¬
croscope j then screw it to the true focal distance, and
you will see the blood passing along its vessels with a
rapid motion, and in a most surprising manner.
The third or fourth magnifiers may be used for
frogs or fishes : but for the tails of water-newts, the
fifth or sixth will do 5 because the globules of their
blood are twice as large as those of frogs or fish. The
first or second magnifier cannot well be employed for
this purpose j because the thickness of the tube in
which the object lies, will scarce admit its being
brought so near as the focal distance of the magni-
fien
An apparatus for the purpose of viewing opaque
objects generally accompanies this microscope 5 and
which consists of the following parts. A brass arm
QR, which is screwed at Q, upon the body of the mi¬
croscope at G. Into the round hole R, any of the
magnifiers suitable to the object to be viewed are to
be screwed; and under it, in the same ring, the con¬
cave polished silver speculum S. Through a small
aperture in the body of the microscope under the
brass plates EE, is to slide the long wire with the
forceps T: This wire is pointed at one of its ends*,
and so, that either the points or forceps may be used
for the objects as may be necessary. It is easy to
conceive, therefore, that the arm at R, which turns
by a twofold joint at a and 6, may be brought ivith
its magnifier over the object, the light reflected upon
it by the application of the speculum, and the true
focus obtained by turning of the male screw CC as
before directed.—As objects are sometimes not well
fixed for view, either by the forceps or point, the
small piece shown at V is added, and in such cases
answers better : it screws over the point of T \ it con¬
tains a small round piece of ivory, blackened on one
side, and left white upon the other as a contrast to
coloured objects, and by a small piece of watch-spring
fastens down the objects upon the ivory.
3
] MIC
2. Single Microscope by reflection. In fig. 2. A is a 5
scroll of ^ brass fixed upright upon a round wooden
base B, or a mahogany drawer or case, so as to stand
perfectly firm and steady. C is a brass screw, that pas¬
ses through a hole in the upper limb of the scioll in¬
to the side of the microscope 13, and screws it fast to
the said scroll. E is a concave speculum set in a
box of brass, which hangs in the arch G by two small
screws ffl that screw into the opposite sides thereof.
At the bottom ol this arch is a pm of the same metal,
exactly fitted to a hole h in the vvoouen pedestal, made
for the reception of the pin. As the arch turns on
this pin, and the speculum turns on the end of the
arch, it may, by this twofold motion, be easily adjust¬
ed in such a manner aS to reflect the light of the sun,
of the sky, or of a candle, directly upwards through
the microscope that is fixed perpendicularly over it}
and by so doing may be made to answer many pur¬
poses of the large double reflecting microscope. The
body of the microscope may also be fixed horizon¬
tally, and objects viewed in that position by any light
you choose ; which is an advantage the common double
reflecting microscope has not. It may also be render¬
ed further useful by means of a slip of glass; one end
of which being thrust through between the plates where
the sliders go, and the other extending to some distance,
such objects may be placed thereon as cannot be ap¬
plied in the sliders : anti then, having a limb of brass
that may fasten to the body of the microscope, and ex¬
tend over the projecting glass a hollow ring wherein
to screw the magnifiers, all sorts of subjects may be
examined with great convenience, it a hole be made in
the pedestal, to place the speculum exactly underneath,
and thereby throw up the rays of light. I lie pocket-
microscope, thus mounted, says Mr Baker, “ is as easy
and pleasant in its use \ as fit for the most curious ex¬
amination of the animalcules and salts in fluids, of the
farinas in vegetables, and of the circulation in small
animals} in short, is as likely to make considerable
discoveries in objects, that have some degree of trans¬
parency, as any microscope I have ever seen or heard
of.”
The brass scroll A is now generally made to un¬
screw into three parts, and pack with the microscope
and apparatus into the drawer of a mahogany pocketr
case, upon the lid of which the scroll is made to fix
when in use.
The opaque apparatus also, as above described, is
applicable this ivay by reflection. It only consists in
turning the arm R (fig. lO* with the magnifier over
the concave speculum below (fig. 2.), or to receive
the light as reflected obliquely from it : the silver sper
culum screwed into R will then reflect the light, which
it receives from the glass speculum, strongly upon the
object that is applied upon the wire ’I underneath.
This miscroscope, however, is not upon the most
convenient construction, in comparison with others now
made: it has been esteemed for many years past from
its popular name, and recommendation by its makers.
Its portability is certainly a great advantage in its fa¬
vour ; but in most respects it is superseded by the, mi¬
croscopes hereafter described.
3. Microscope for Opaque Objects, called the Single fi
Opaque Microscope. This microscope remedies the in¬
convenience of having the. dark side, of an object ne>r,t
MIC [ 3 ] MIC
MScro- the eye, which formerly was an insurmountable ob-
pc. jection to the making observations on opaque objects
" .r——* wi^jj rtrjy considerable degree of exactness or satisfac¬
tion : for, in ail other contrivances commonly known,
the nearness of the instrument to the object (when
glasses that magnify much are used) unavoidably over¬
shadows it so much, that its appearance is rendered ob¬
scure and indistinct. And, notwithstanding ways have
been tried to point light upon an object, from the sun
or a candle, by a convex glass placed on the side there¬
of, the rays from either can be thrown upon it in such
an acute angle only, that they serve to give a confused
glare, but are insufficient to afford a clear and perfect
yiew of the object. But in this microscope, by means of
a concave speculum of silver highly polished, in whoso
centre a magnifying lens is placed, such a strong and
direct light is reflected upon the object, that it may be
examined with all imaginable ease and pleasure. 1 he
several parts of this instrument, made either ot brass or
silver, are as follow.
Through the first side A, passes a fine screw B, the
other end of which is fastened to the moveable side C.
D is a nut applied to this screw, by the turning of
which the two sides A and C are gradually brought
together. E is a spring of steel that separates the
two sides when the nut is unscrewed. F is a piece of
brass, turning round in a socket, whence proceeds a
small spring tube moving upon a rivet; through which
tube there runs a steel wire, one end whereof termi¬
nates in a sharp point G, and the other with a pair of
pliers H fastened to it. The point and pliers are to
thrust into, or take up and hold, any insect or object;
and either of them may be turned upwards, as best
suits the purpose, I is a ring of brass, with a female
screw within it, mounted on an upright piece of the
Same metal *, which turns round on a rivet, that it may
be set at a due distance when the least magnifiers are
employed. This ring receives the screws ot all the
magnifiers. K is a concave speculum of silver, po¬
lished as bright as possible ; in the centre of which is
placed a double convex lens, with a proper aperture
to look through it. On the back of this speculum a
male screw L is made to fit the brass ring I, to screw
into it at pleasure. There are four of these concave
specula of different depths, adapted to four glasses of
different magnifying powers, to be used as the ob¬
jects to be examined may require. The greatest mag-
Vriifiers have the least apertures. M is a round object-
plate, one side of which is white and the other black :
The intention of this is to render objects tho more vi¬
sible, by placing them, if black, on the white side,
or, if white, on the black side. A steel spring N turns
down on each side to make any object fast j and is¬
suing from the object-plate is a hollow pipe to screw
it on the needle’s pdint G. O is a small box of brass,
wfth a glass on each side, contrived to confine any li¬
ving object, in order to examine it: this also has a
pipe to screw upon the end of the needle G. P is a
turned handle of wood, to screw into the instrument
when it is made use of. Q, a pair of brass pliers to
take up any object, or manage it with conveniency.
R is a soft hair-brush for cleaning the glasses, &c. S is
a small ivory box for talcs, to be placed, when wanted,
in the small brass box O.
When you would view any object with this micro¬
scope, screw the speculum, with the magnifier yoQ Micro*
think proper to use, into the brass ring I. Place your sc^>e* ,
object, either on the needle G in the pliers H, on the *
object-plate M, or in the hollow brass box O, as may
be most convenient *, then holding up your instrument
by the handle P, look against the light through the
magnifying lens 5 and by means of the nut D, together
with the motion of the needle, by managing its lower
end, the object may be turned about, raised, or de¬
pressed, "brought nearer the glass, or removed farther
from it, till you find the true focal distance, and the
light be seen strongly reflected from the speculum up¬
on the object, by which means it will be shown in a
manner surprisingly distinct and clear j and for this
purpose the light of the sky or of a candle will answer
Very well. Transparent objects may also be viewed by
this microscope } only observing, that when such come
under examination, it will not always be proper to
throw on them the light reflected from the speculum;
for the light transmitted through them, meeting the re¬
flected light, may together produce too great a glare.
A little practice, however, will show how to regulate
both lights in a proper manner.
4. Ellin's single and Aquatic Microscope. Fig. 4. re- Fig- 4-
presents a very convenient and useful microscope, con¬
trived by Mr John Ellis, author of An Essay upon Co¬
rallines, &c. To practical botanists, observers of ani-
malcula, &v. it possesses many advantages above those
just described. It is portable, simple in its construc¬
tion, expeditious, and commodious in use. K re¬
presents the box containing the whole apparatus : it
is generally made of fish-skin ; and on the top there
is a female screw, for receiving the screw that is at the
bottom of the pillar A : this is a pillar of brass, and
is screwed on the top of the box. D is a brass pin
which fits into the pillar 5 on the top of this pin is a
hollow socket to receive the arm which carries the
magnifiers j the pin is to be moved up and down, in
order to adjust the lenses to their focal or. proper dis¬
tance from the object. [N. B. In the representa¬
tions of this microscope, the pin I) is delineated as
passing through a socket at one side of the pillar A;
whereas it is usual at present to make it pass down a
hole bored through the middle of the pillar.] E, the
bar which carries the magnifying lens j it fits into the
socket X, which is at the top of the pin or pillar D.
This arm may be moved backwards and forwards in
the socket X, and sideways by the pin D \ so that the
magnifier, which is screwed into^fhe ring at the end
E of this bar, may be easily made to traverse over any
part of the object that lies on the stage or plate B.
FF is a polished silver speculum, with a magnifying
lens placed at the centre thereof, which is perforated
for this purpose. The silver speculum screws into the
arm E, as at F. G, another speculum, with its lens,
which is of a different magnifying power from the
former. H, the semicircle which supports the mirror I;
the pin R, affixed to the semicircle H, passes through
the hole which is towards the bottom of the pillar A.
B, the stage, or the plane, on which the objects are to
be placed j it fits into the small dove-tailed arm which
is at the upper end of the pillar DA. C, a plane
glass, with a small piece of black silk stuck on it; this
glass is to lay in a groove made in the stage C. M,
a hollow glass to be laid occasionally on the stage in-
A 2 stead
MIC [4
.Micro- Stead of the plane glass C. L, a pair of nippers,
scope. These are fixed to the stage by the pin at bottom j
" * the steel wire of these nippers slides backwards and
forwards in the socket, and this socket is moveable
upwards and downwards by means ot the joint, so that
the position of the object may be varied at pleasure.
The object may be fixed in the nippers, stuck on the
point, or affixed, by a little gum-water, See. to the
ivory cylinder N, which occasionally screws to the point
of the nippers.
To use this microscope : Take all the parts of the
apparatus out of the box j then begin by screwing the
v pillar A to the cover thereof; pass the pin li of the
semicircle which carries the mirror through the hole
that is near the bottom of the pillar A $ push the stage
into the dove-tail at B, slide the pin into the pillar (see
the N. .B. above) j then pass the bar E through the
socket which is at the top of the pin D, and screw one
of the magnifying lenses into the ring at F. The mi¬
croscope is now ready for use: and though the enume¬
ration of the articles may lead the reader to imagine the
instrument to be of a complex nature, we can safely
affirm that he will find it otherwise. The instrument
has this peculiar advantage, that it is difficult to put
any of the pieces in a place which is appropriated to an¬
other. Let the object be now placed either on the
stage or ia the nippers L, and in such manner that it
may be as nearly as possible over the centre of the stage :
bring the speculum F over the part you mean to ob¬
serve $ then throw as much light on the speculum as
you can, by means of the mirror I, and the double mo¬
tion of which it is capable $ the light received on the
speculum is reflected by it on the object. The distance
of the lens F from the object is regulated by moving
the pin D up and down, until a distinct view of it is
obtained. The best rule is, to place the lens beyond
its foeal distance from the object, and then gradually
to slide it down till the object appears sharp and well
defined. The adjustment of the lenses to their focus,
and the distribution of the fight on the object, are what
require the most attention : on the first the distinctness
of the vision depends j the pleasure arising from a clear
view of the parts under observation is due to the modi¬
fication of the light. No precise rule can be given for
attaining accurately these points j it is from practice
alone that ready habits of obtaining these necessary pro¬
perties can be acquired, and with the assistance of this
no difficulty will be found.
^ 5* A very simple and convenient microscope for
botanical and other purposes, though inferior in many
respects to that of Mr Ellis, was contrived by the
ingenious Mr Benjamin Martin, and is represented at
fig. 5. where AB represents a small arm supporting
two or more magnifiers, one fixed to the upper part
as at B, the other to the lower part of the arm at C $
these may be used separately or combined together.
The arm AB is supported by the square pillar IK,
the lower end of which fits into the socket E of the
foot EG ; the stage DL is made to slide up and down
the square pillar y H, a concave mirror for reflecting
light on the object.—To use this microscope, place the
object on the stage, reflect the light on it from the
concave mirror, and regulate it to the focus, by moving
the stage nearer to or farther from the lens at B. The
ivory sliders pass through the stage *, other objects may
j MIC
be fixed in the nippers MN, and then brought under the Micro¬
eye-glasses j or they may be laid on one of the glasses scope,
which fit the stage. The apparatus to this instrumentv—v—>
consists of three ivory sliders j a pair of nippers ; a pair
of forceps j a flat glass and a concave ditto, both fitted
to the stage.
The two last microscopes are frequently fitted up
with a toothed rack and pinion, for the more ready ad¬
justment of the glasses to their proper focus.
6. Withering's portable Botanic Microscope. Fig. 6. pjg, 6
represents a small botanical microscope contrived by
Dr Withering, and described by him in his Botanical
Arrangements. It consists of three brass plates, ABC,
which are parallel to each otherthe wares D and E
are rivetted into the upper and lower plates, which are
by this means united to each other; the middle plate
or stage is moveable on the aforesaid wires by two little
sockets which are fixed to it. The. two upper plates
each contain a magnifying lens, but of different powers ;
one of these confines and keeps in their places the fine
point F, the forceps G, and the small knife H.—To
use this instrument, unscrew the upper lens, and take
out the point, the knife, and the forceps ; then screw
the lens on again, place the object on the stage, and
then move it up or down till you have gained a dis¬
tinct view of the object, as one lens is made of a shorter
focus than the other; and spare lenses of a still deeper
focus may be had if required. This little microscope
is the most portable of any. Its principal merit is its
simplicity.
7. Botanical Lenses or Magnifiers. The haste with
which botanists, &c. have frequently occasion to view
objects, renders an extempore pocket-glass indispen¬
sably necessary. The most convenient of any yet con¬
structed, appears to be that contrived, in regard to the
form of the mounting, by Mr Benjamin Martin; and
is what he called a Hand Mtgalascope, because it is
wrell adapted for viewing all the larger sort of small
objects universally, and by only three lenses it has seven
different magnifying powers.
Fig. 7. represents the case with the three frames and^g- 7*
lenses, which are usually of 1, 14, and 2 inches focus:
they all turn over each other, and shut into the case,
and are turned out at pleasure.
The three lenses singly, afford three magnifying
powers; and by combining two and two, we make three
more: for d with e makes one, d with f another, and
e with f a third ; which, with the three singly, make
six ; and lastly, all three combined together make an¬
other ; so that upon the whole, there are seven powers
of magnifying with these glasses only.
When the three lenses are combined, it is better to
turn them in, and look through them by the small aper¬
tures in the sides of the ease. The eye in this case
is excludenl from extra fight; the aberration of the
superfluous rays through the glasses is cut off; and the
eye coincides more exactly with the common axes of
the lenses.
A very useful and easy kind of microscope (describ- .
ed by Joblot, and which has been long in use), adapt-cccxx)nflU*
ed chiefly for viewing, and confining at the same time,
any living insects, small animals, &c. is shown at fig. 8..rig. S,
where A represents a glass tube, about inch dia¬
meter, and 2 inches high. B, a case of brass or wood,
containing a sliding tube, with two or three magnify¬
ing
Micro¬
scope.
rig.
MIC [ 5 j MIC
ing glasses that may be used either separately or com¬
bined. In the inside, at the bottom, is a piece of ivory,
black and white on opposite sides, that is occasionally
removed, and admits a point to be screwed into the
centre. The cap unscrews at D, to admit the placing
of the object: the proper distance of the glasses from
the object is regulated by pulling up or down the brass
tube E at top containing the eye-glasses.
This microscope is particularly useful for exhibiting
the well-known curious curculio imperialism vulgarly
called the diamond beetle, to the greatest advantage j
for which, as well as for other objects, a glass bottom,
and a polished reflector at the top, are often applied,
to condense the light upon the object. In this case,
the stand and brass-bottom F, as shown in the figure,
are taken away by unscrewing.
9. Mr Lyonel's Single Anatomical Dissecting Micro-
scope.—Fig. 9. represents a curious and extremely use¬
ful microscope, invented by that gentleman for the pur¬
pose of minute dissections, and microscopic prepara¬
tions. This instrument must be truly useful to ama¬
teurs of the minutite of insects, &c. being the best
adapted of any for the purposes of dissection. TV ith
this instrument Mr Lyonet made his very curious mi¬
croscopical dissection of the chenille de sank, as related
in his TraitS Anatomique de la chenille qui range le hois
de sank, 4to.
AB is the anatomical table, which is supported by
a pillar NO j this is screwed on the foot CD. The
table AB is prevented from turning round by means
of two steady pins. In this table or board there is a
hole G, which is exactly over the centre of the mirror
EF, that is to reflect the light on the object 5 the hole
G is designed to receive a flat or concave glass, on
which the objects for examination are to be placed.
RXZ is an arm formed of several balls and sockets,
by which means it may be moved in every possible si¬
tuation •, it is fixed to the board by means of the screw'
H. The last arm IZ has a female screw7, into which
a magnifier may be screwed as at Z. By means of the
screw II, a small motion may be occasionally given to
the arm IZ, for adjusting the lens with accuracy to its
focal distance from the object.
Another chain of balls is sometimes used, carrying a
lens to throw light upon the object j the mirror is like¬
wise so mounted, as to be taken from its place at K, and
fitted on a clamp, by which it may be fixed to any part
of the table AB.
To use the Dissecting Table.—Let the operator sit
with bis left side near a light window7 \ the instrument
being placed on a firm table, the side DH towards the
stomach, the observations should be made with the
left eye. In dissecting, the two elbows are to be sup¬
ported by the table on which the instrument rests, the
hands resting against the board AB j and in order to
give it greater stability (as a small shake, though im¬
perceptible to the naked eye, is very visible in the mi¬
croscope), the dissecting instruments are to be held
one in each hand, between the thumb and tw7o fore¬
fingers.
II. Of Double Microscopes, commonly called Com¬
pound Microscopes.
Double microscopes are so called, from being a com¬
bination of two or more lenses.
The particular and chief advantages which the com¬
pound microscopes have over the single, are, that the
objects are represented under a larger field of view7, and'
w ith a greater amplification of reflected light.
I. Culpeper's Microscope.—The compound microscope,
originally contrived by Mr Culpeper, is represented at
fig. 10. It consists of a large external brass body A, tQ
B, C, D, supported upon three scrolls, which are fixed °
to the stage EF 5 the stage is supported by three lar¬
ger scrolls, that are screwed to the mahogany pedestal
GH. There is a drawer in the pedestal, which holds
the apparatus. The concave mirror 1 is fitted to a-
socket in the centre of the pedestal. The lower part
LMCD of the body forms an exterior tube, into which
the upper part of the body ABLM slides, and may
be moved up or down, so as to bring the magnifiers,
which are screwed on at N, nearer to or farther from
the object.
To use this microscope: Screw one of the buttons,
which contains a magnifying lens, to the end N of the
body : place the slider, with the objects, between the
plates of the slider-holder. Then, to attain distinct
vision, and a pleasing view of the object, adjust the
body to the focus of the lens you are using, by moving
the upper part gently up and dow7n, and regulate the
light by the concave mirror.
For opaque objects, two additional pieces must be
used. The first is a cylindrical tube of brass (represent¬
ed at L, fig. 11.), which fits on the cylindrical part atpij, Ir>
N of the body. The second piece is the concave specu¬
lum hi this is to be screwed to the lower end of the
aforesaid tube: the upper edge of this tube should be
made to coincide with the line which has the same num¬
ber affixed to it as to the magnifier you are using j e. g.
if you are making use of the magnifier marked 5, slide
the tube to the circular line on the tube N that-is
marked also with N° 5. The slider-holder should be
removed when you are going to view opaque ob¬
jects, and a plane glass should be placed on the stage
in its stead to receive the object; or it may be placed'
in the nippers, the pin of which fits into the hole in the
stage.
The apparatus belonging to this microscope consists
of the following particulars : viz;. Five magnifiers, each
fitted in a brass button 5 one of these is seen at N,
fig. 10. Six ivory sliders, five of them with objects.
A brass tube to hold the concave speculum. The
concave speculum in a brass box. A fish pan. A set
of glass tubes. A flat glass fitted to the stage. A
concave glass fitted to the stage. A pair of forceps.
A steel wire, with a pair of nippers at one end and a
point at the other. A small ivory cylinder, to fit on
the pointed end of the aforesaid nippers. A convex
lens, moveable in a brass semicircle this is affixed to
a long brass pin, which fits into a hole on the stage.
The construction of the foregoing microscope is very
simple, and it is easy in use y but the advantages of the
stage and mirror are too much confined for an exteneivS'
application and management of all kinds of objects. Its
greatest recommendation is its cheapness; and to thosei
who are desirous of having a compound microscope at’
a low price, it may be acceptable.
2. Cuff's Microscope.—The improved microscope
nsxt in order is that of Mr Cuff. Besides remedying
the disadvantages above mentioned, it contains the
addition
MIC {6
RHcro- addition of an adjusting screw, which is a consider-
scope. able improvement, and highly necessary to the ex-
^ animation of objects under the best defined appear¬
ing. ii. ance from the glasses. It is represented at fig. II.
with the apparatus that usually accompanies it. A,
B, C, shows the body of this microscope j which
contains an eye-glass at A, a broad lens at B, and
a magnifier which is screwed on at C. The body
is supported by the arm DE, from which it may
be removed at pleasure. The arm DE is fixed
On the sliding bar F, and may be raised or depres¬
sed to any height within its limits. The main pil¬
lar a b is fixed in the box be; and by means of the
brass foot d is screwed to the mahogany pedestal XY,
in which is a drawer containing all the apparatus. O is
a milled-headed screw, to tighten the bar F when the
adjusting screw c g- is used, p q\s the stage, or plate,
which carries the objects 5 it has a hole at the centre
n. G, a concave mirror, that may be turned in any
direction, to reflect the light of a candle, or the sky,
upon the object.
To use this microscope: Screw the magnifier you
intend to use to the end C of the body ; place the
slider-holder P in the hole 77, and the slider with the
object between the plates of the slider-holder; set the
upper edge of the bar DE to coincide with the di¬
visions which correspond to the magnifier you have in
use, and pinch it by the milled nut; now reflect a
pfoper quantity of light upon the object, by means of
the concave mirror G, and regulate the body exactly
to the eye and the focus of the glasses by the adjusting
screw c g.
To view opaque objects, take away the slider-holder
*- P, and place the object on a flat glass under the cen¬
tre of the body, or on one end of the jointed nippers
op. Then screw the silver concave speculum h to the
end of the cylinder L, and slide this cylinder on the
lower part of the body, so that the upper edge thereof
may coincide with the line which has the same mark
with the magnifier that is then used : reflect the light
from the concave mirror G to the silver speculum,
from which it will again be reflected on the object.
The glasses are to be adjusted to their focal distance as
before directed.
The apparatus consists of a convex lens H, to Col¬
lect the rays of light from the sun or a candle, and
condense them on the object. L a cylindrical tube,
open at each side, with a concave speculum screwed to
the lower end h. P the slider-holder: this consists of a
cylindrical tube, in which an inner tube is forced up¬
wards by a spiral spring; it is used to receive an ivory
slider K, which is to be slid between the plates h
and z. The cylinder P fits the hole n in the stage ^
and the hollow part at k is designed to receive a glass
tube. R is a brass cone, to be put under the bottom
of the cylinder P, to intercept occasionally some of
the rays of light. S, a box containing a concave and
a flat glass, between which a small living insect may
be confined: it is to be placed over the hole n. T,
a flat glass, to lay any occasional object upon ; there
is also a concave one for fluids. O is a long steel wire,
with a small pair of pliers at one end, and a point at
the other, designed to stick or hold objects : it slips
backwards and forwards in the short tube 0; the pin
p fits into the hole of the stage. W, a little round
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ivory box, to hold a supply of talc and rings for the Ml-ro-
sliders. V, a small ivory cylinder, that fits on the scope,
pointed end of the steel wire : it is designed for opaque " v
objects. Light-coloured ones are to be stuck upon
the dark side, and vice versa. M, a fish-pan, whereon
to fasten a small fish, to view the circulation of the
blood: the tail is to be spread across the oblong hole
h at the small end, and tied fast, by means of a rib¬
band fixed thereto; the knob l is to be shoved through
the slit made in the stage, that the tail may be brought
under the magnifier.
3. This microscope has received several material im¬
provements from Mr Martin, Mr Adams, &c. By
an alteration, or rather an enlargement, of the body of
the tube which contains the eye-glasses, and also of the
eye-glasses themselves, the field of view is made much
larger, the mirror below for reflecting light is made to
move upon the same bar with the stage ; by which means
the distance of it from the stage may be very easily and
suitably varied. A condensing glass is applied under
the stage in the slider-holder, in order to modify and
increase the light that is reflected by the mirrors be¬
low from the light of a candle or lamp. It is furnish¬
ed also with two mirrors in one frame, one concave
and the other plane, of glass silvered; and by simply
unscrewing the bodv, the instrument, when desired, may
be converted into a single microscope. Fig. 12. is al'ig- 12.,
representation of the instrument thus improved; and
the following is the description of it, as given by
Mr Adams in his Essays.
AB represents the body of the microscope, con¬
taining a double eye-glass and a body-glass ; it is
here shown as screwed to the arm CD, from whence
it may be occasionally removed, either for the conve¬
nience of packing, or when the instrument is to be used
as a single microscope.
The eye-glasses and the body-glasses are contained
in a tube which fits into the exterior tube AB ; by
pulling out a little tins tube when the microscope is in
use, the magnifying power of each lens is increased.
The body AB of the microscope is supported by
the arm CD ; this arm is fixed to the main pillar CF,
which is screwed firmly to the mahogany pedestal
GH; there is a drawer to this pedestal, which holds
the apparatus.
NlS, the plate or stage which carries the slider-holder
KL ; this stage is moved up or down the pillar CF, by
turning the milled nut M ; this nut is fixed to a pinion,
that works in a toothed rack cut on one side of the pil¬
lar. By means of this pinion, the stage may be gradu¬
ally raised or depressed, and the object adjusted to the
focus of the different lenses.
KL is a slider-holder, which fits into a hole that is in
the middle of the stage NIS ; it is used to confine and
guide either the motion of the sliders which contain the
objects, or the glass tubes that are designed to confine
small fishes for viewing the circulation of the blood.
The sliders are to be passed between the two upper
plates, the tubes through the bent plates.
L is a brass tube, to the upper part of which is fixed
the condensing lens before spoken of; it fits into the
under part of the slider-holder KL, and may be set at
different distances from the object, according to its dis¬
tance from the mirror or the candle.
O is the frame which holds the two reflecting mir¬
rors.
MIC [
Micro- rors, one of which is plane, the other concave. These
scope, mirrors may be moved in various.directions, in order
1 ‘ to reflect the light properly, by means of the pivots
on which they move, in the semicircle QSR, and the
motion of the semicircle itself on the pin S : the con¬
cave mirror generally answers best in the day-time;
the plane mirror cembines better with the condensing
lens, and a lamp or candle. At I) there is a socket for
receiving the pin of the ^rm Q (fig. 31.) to which the
concave speculum, for reflecting light on opaque objects,
Plate is fixed. At S is a hole and slit for receiving either the
CCCXLI. nippers*L (fig. 31.) or the fish-pan I j when these are
31* used, the slider-holder must be removed. T, a hole tp
receive the pin of the convex lens M.
To use this microscope : Take it out of the box.
Screw the body into the round end of the upper part
of the arm CD. Place the brass sliders, which con¬
tain the magnifiers, into the dove-tailed slit which is
on the under side of the aforesaid arm, as seen at E,
and slide it forwards until the magnifier you mean
to use is under the centre of the body : opposite to
each magnifier in this slit there is a notch, and in
the dove-tailed part of the arm CD there is a spring,
which falls into the above-mentioned notch, and thus
makes each magnifier coincide with the centre of the
body. Pass the ivory slider you intend to use between
the upper plates of the slider-holder KL, and then
reflect as strong a light as you can on the subject by
means of one of the mirrors j after this, adjust the ob¬
ject to the focus of the magnifier and your eye, by
turning the milled screw M, the motion of which raises
and depresses the stage NIS. The degree of light
necessary for each object, and the accuracy required in
the adjustment of the lenses to their proper focal di¬
stance from the object, will be easily attained by a little
practice.
When opaque objects are to be examined, remove
the slider-holder, and place the object on a flat glass,
or fix it to the nippers L, the pin of these fit into the
hole on the stage *, screw* the concave speculum R
into the arm Q (fig, 31-), and then pass the pin of this
arm through the socket D (fig. 12.) 5 the light is now
to he reflected from the concave mirror to the silver spe¬
culum, and from this down on the object. No exact
rule can be given for reflecting the light on the object;
we must therefore refer the reader to the mother of all
aptness, practice. The speculum must he moved lower
or higher, to suit the focus of the different magnifiers
and the nature of the object.
The foregoing directions apply equally to the using
of this instrument as a single microscope; with this dif¬
ference only, that the body AB is then removed, and
the eye is applied to the upper surface of the arm CD,
exactly.over the magnifiers.
This microscope is sometimes made with the follow¬
ing alterations, which are supposed to make it still
more convenient and useful. The arm CD that car¬
ries the body, and magnifiers is made both to turn on
a pin, and to slide backwards and forw*ards in a socket
at C j so that, instead of moving the objects below on
the stage, and disturbing them, the magnifiers are more
conveniently.brought over any part of the objects as
desired. The condensing glass is made larger, and
slides upon the square bar CF quite distinct from the
stage, .like the mirrors below*} and it is thereby made
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useful for any other objects that may he applied en Micro-
glasses fitted to the stage, as w'dl as those put into the scope,
slider-holder K. It is thereby not confined to this stage ——
alone as in the preceding. When the body AB is
taken away, the arm CD may be slipt away from its
bar, with the magnifiers, and the forceps, wire, and
joint, applied to it j and it thereby serves the purpose
of a small single or opaque hand microscope, for any ob¬
ject occasionally applied to this wire. The magnifiers
in the slider E are mounted in a wheel case, which per¬
haps prevents its being in the way so much as the long
slider E before described.—This contrivance is repre¬
sented at X, fig. 12.
4. Martin'*s New Universal Compound Microscope.—
This instrument w*as originally constructed by Mr B.
Martin, and intended to comprise all the uses and ad¬
vantages of the single, compound, opaque, and aquatic
microscopes. The follow ing is a description of it.
Fig. 13. is a representation of the instrument pla- Plate
ced up for use. ABCD is the body of the micro-cccxxxir..
scope : w’hich consists of four parts, viz. AB the eye- 13*
piece, or that containing the eye-glasses, and is screw¬
ed into C, which is a moveable or sliding tube on the
top ; this inner tube contains the body-glass screw*ed
into its lower part. D is the exterior tube or case,
in which the other slides up and down in an easy and.
steady manner. This motion of the tube C is useful
to increase and decrease the magnifying power of the
body-glass when thought necessary, as before mention¬
ed. E is a pipe or snout screwed on to the body of the
microscope D, and at its lower part, over the several
magnifying lenses hereafter described. FGHI is the
square stem of the microscope, upon which the stage
R moves in an horizontal position, upwards or down¬
ward, by means of the fine rack work of teeth and pinion.
KL is a strong solid joint and pillar, by which the po¬
sition of the instrument is readily altered from a verti¬
cal one to an oblique or to a perfectly horizontal one as
may be required : it is thus well adapted to the ease of
the observer either sitting or standing ; and as it is very
often convenient to view objects by direct unreflected
light, when the square stem FI is placed in a horizon¬
tal position for this purpose, the mirror T is then to be
taken oft’ in order to prevent the obstruction of the
rays. M is a circular piece of brass, serving as a base
to the pillar. NOP, the tripod or foot by which the
whole body of the microscope is steadily supported ; it
folds up when packed into the Case. W is a brass
frame, that contains the condensing lens, and acts in
conjunction with the large concave and plane mirrors
below at T; the reflected rays from which, either of
the common light or of that of a candle or lamp, it
agreeably modifies, and makes steady in the field of
view.
The particulars of the apparatus to this •microscope
are as follow : Q is a circular brass box, containing six
magnifiers or object lenses, numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 j
the digits 'of which appear severally through a small
round hole in the upper plate of it. To the upper side
is fixed a small circle of brass, by which it is connected
with, and screwed into, the round end of the arm
a b c d; which is a long piece of brass, and moves through
either by teeth or pinion, or not, as may be desired, in
c f; which is a socket on the upper part of the pillar,
and admits, with a motion both easy and steady, the
•*' brass
MIC [8
Micro- twass arm. R is a fixed stage, upon will oh the objects
scope. to be viewed are to be placed : it is firmly fastened to
1 ^ ' v '■' the square pillar, which is moved by the rack-work.
In the middle is a large circular hole, for receiving
concave glasses, with fluids, &c. } it has also a sliding
spring frame to fasten down slips of glass or other things,
at a be are three small sockets or holes, intended to
receive several parts of the apparatus. S is the refrac¬
tor, or illuminating lens, for converging the sun’s rays
upon opaque objects laid upon the stage R. lo this
purpose it moves on a semicircle upon a long shank g,
in a spring socket h, in the arm this arm moving
every way by a stout pm k in the socket o. ot the stage.
In this manner it is easily adjusted to any position of the
sun, candle, &c.—T, the reflecting-glass frame, con¬
taining a concave and plane speculum, which is moved
upon the square pillar by the hand. The use.of it is to
illuminate all transparent objects that are applied to the
stage above.
Fig. 14. Fig. 14. N° I. is an auxiliary moveable stage ; which
,- by means of a pin k is placed in the hole a of the stage
11, and can be moved in a horizontal direction over
the whole field of the stage. In this stage, there are
three circular holes with shouldered bottoms j a large
one in the middle, and on each side a small one,
for the reception of the three following necessary arti¬
cles : N° 2. a watch-glass to he placed in the large hole,
to hold fluids containing animalcules, Sec. j a circu¬
lar piece of ivory, N° 3. one side of which is black, the
other white, to support opaque objects of different con¬
trasted colours 5 and circular plane and concave glasses,
N°4. for extemporaneous transparent objects.—Thesame
use is made of the other small hole as of the large one,
only in a lesser degree, to receive small conoave glasses,
, plates, &c.
N° 5. is the silvered speculum, called, a hberkhun,
which makes the single opaque microscope, by being
screwed to the slider abed (fig. 13.) in room of the box
of lenses Q, and the body AE above it. The chief
use of this is to view very small objects strongly illu¬
minated near the compounded focus of the mirror
T (fig. 13.). N° 6. is the forceps or pliers, for holding
such kind of objects, and by which they can be ap¬
plied very readily.to the. .focus of the lens in the li-
berkhun. They have a motion all ways by means of
the spring socket o, the joint 6, and the shank c:
they are placed in the socket c of the fixed stage R
(fig. 13.). 7* is a small piece of ivory, to be
placed upon the pointed end of the pliers :• it is black
upon one side, and white upon the other, to receive
opaque objects.
N° 8. is a liberkhun of a larger size than that first
mentioned, with a hole in its centre : this is screwed
into N° 9. the hole o of a brass ring, fastened to a long
wire b; which moves up and down in the spring soc¬
ket b of the stage R, in which it also moves sideways •,
and thus, with the body AE above, forms an aquatic
compound microscope for showing all sorts of objects in
water and other fluids placed under it in the watch-glass
N° 2. on the stage.
N° 11. is a cone, with a proper aperture a to exclude
superfluous light, that would disturb a critical observa¬
tion of a curious object 5 it is placed on the under side
of the fixed stage R.
N° 12. is what is usually called a bug-box, ©onsist-
■2
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ing of a concave glass with a plane one screwed over Mirro-
it j by means of which a bug, louse, flea, &c. may be scopes
secured and viewed alive. It is to be placed on either
of the stages R (fig. I3‘)> or K° 1. (fig. I4*)*
N° 13. is the fish pan. In the long concave body
a bt ti fish may be so confined by the ribband c, that
the transparent tail may be in part over the slit or hole
at a. In this state, it is placed on the stage R, with
the pin d in the hole c of the stage, and moves free¬
ly and horizontally for viewing the circulation of the
blood, &c.
N° 14. is the slider-holder that is placed on the stage
R * it receives the sliders and tubes when filled with
transparent objects, to be viewed either by the com¬
pound or single microscope.
N° 15. represents the ivory slider, to hold the objects
between the talcs as usual.
N° 16. is a useful auxiliary slider framed in brass.
In this slider small concave glasses are cemented *, and
a slip of plane glass slides over them j by which any
small living object, as mites, &c. may be confined with¬
out injury, and deliberately viewed.
17. represents a set ot glass tubes, three in num¬
ber, one within another j they are useful for small tad¬
poles, w'ater newts, eels, &c. when the circulation of
the blood is to be viewed. There is a small hole at
one end of each tube, that serves to admit the air $ tor
when they are filled with water,• the other end is stop¬
ped with a cork.
N° 18. is a small ivory box, containing spare talcs
and wires, to supply the sliders with occasionally.
N0 19. a brass cell or button, containing a very small
lens, properly set between two small plates of brass,
that it may be brought very near to the object when
viewed therewith as a single microscope. Tliis magni¬
fier is screwed into the same hole as the wheel of six
magnifiers Q are (fig. 13.).
N° 20. is a lens, adapted to view and examine ob¬
jects, by magnifying them sufficiently, so as to be able
to apply them to the microscope lor inspection : on this
account it is called the exphrator.
The preceding are the chief articles of the appara¬
tus : which, on account of their being somewhat dif¬
ferent from what is applied to other microscopes, we
have been thus particular in describing. In using
the microscope, and while viewing objects by either
the single or compound instrument, the focal distances
of the magnifiers are made perfectly exact by turn¬
ing of the pinion at the nut ,ty, in one way or the
other, very gently in the teeth ol the rack-work at
X (fig. 13.).
It is necessary that the centres of the object-lenses
or magnifiers, the stage, and the mirrors at bot¬
tom, should all be in a right.line in the axis of the
microscope, when opaque objects are to be viewed,
that are placed upon the ivory piece N° q. or the for¬
ceps 6. and all other such sort of objects which are
placed in the centre of the stage R, or slider-holder
N° 14 : But when aquatic or living objects, which re¬
quire a great space to move in, are to be viewed, then
the horizontal motion oX. e f (fig. 13.) is made use ol,
and the view may be extended laterally over the whole
of the diameter of the object or field of view ; and
by putting the arm abed forward or backward in
its socket e j\ the view is extended in the contrary
direction
MIC [ 9 J MIC
Micro direction equally well j and in this manner the whole
scope, of the objects may be viewed without the least disturb-
ance.
As the brass arms abed may be brought to the
height of three or four inches above the stage R ; so,
by means of the rack-work motion of the stage, a
lens of a greater focal distance than the greatest in
the wheel Q may be occasionally applied in place of
the wheel, and thereby the larger kind of objects be
viewed j the instrument becoming, in this case, what is
called a megalascope.
In viewing moving living objects, or even fixed ones,
when nice motions are requisite, a rack-work and pi¬
nion is often applied to the arm abed: the arm is
cut out rvith teeth j and the pinion, as shown at Y, is
applied to work it. This acts but in one direction •,
and, in order to produce an equally necessary motion
perpendicular to this, rack-work and pinion is applied
tangent-wise to the stage, which is then jointed.
What has been related above respects the construc¬
tion of those denominated parlour microscopes, in con¬
tradistinction to those which are portable : their di¬
mensions, however, have been considerably reduced by
opticians, in order to render them fit for the pocket;
and as they are for the most part constructed on nearly
the same principles as those which have been already
described, what has been said will sufficiently instruct
our readers in using any pocket microscope whatever.
Only it may be observed, that in those reduced instru¬
ments, both the field of view and the magnifying
power are proportionably diminished.
We shall conclude the account of this sort of mi¬
croscope with descriptions of a very portable pocket
apparatus of microscopic instruments, and of a new mi¬
croscopic pocket telescope, both invented by the late
Mr B. Martin, and since made by most instrument-
makers in London.
jg jr. The former is represented at fig, 15. It consists
of two parts, viz. the body a b, and the pedestal i k,
■which is joined by a screw at the part between b and
u It consists of three cylindric tubes, viz. (1.) the
exterior tube, or case, a b; (2.) a middle tube eh;
and (3.) the interior tube f g. The middle tube
c d is the adjuster j and is connected with the outer
tube by the rack-work of teeth and pinion, as shown
at e: by which means it is moved up and down at
pleasure through the smallest space, and carries with
it the internal tube/'(_g. The interior tube/*g receives
on its lower part at b the several capsules or boxes 2,
3, 4, .5, (fig. 16.) which contain the object lenses or
magnifiers.
The method of using this compound microscope in
the perpendicular position, is as follows : The stage
N° 1. is put within the exterior tube at b. Un¬
der the springs are applied the four ivory sliders,
which contain a variety of transparent objects 5 then
move the interior tube f g up and down with the hand,
till you discern the object in the slider, and there let
it rest. After this, turn the pinion at c very tenderly
one way or the other, till you obtain a perfect view
of the transparent objects properly illuminated, from
a mirror contained in the pedestal or- stand i k, sus¬
pended upon, and moveable about, the points of
Vol. XIV. Part I.
two screws (//). N° 6. (fig. 16.) represents a-move- Micro-
able stage, which is placed in the spring socket m. It < scope,
contains a concave glass, for the reception of animal-^
cules in fluids ; and has the advantage of blunging any 0
part into view by moving the handle at ?i. If living
and moving objects are required to be shown, they must
he confined in the concave, by putting a glass cover,
N° 7. upon the stage 5 and then a small spider, a louse,
a flea, bug, &c. may be seen, and the motion or cir¬
culation of the blood, &c. observed with surprising di¬
stinctness.
To view the circulation of the blood in the most
eminent degree, it must be done by placing small frogs,
tadpoles, water-newts, fishes, &c. in a tube as repre¬
sented N° 8. (fig. 17.)', which tube is placed in the Fig. 17.
holes 0 in the opposite sides of the case a b, fig. 15. in
the lower part.—N° 9. (fig. 16.) is a pair of pincers
or pliers d, for holding any object; the other end of
the steel wire is pointed to receive a piece of ivory b,
with one end black, and the other white, on which you .
stick objects of different hue: this also, when used, is
placed in the spring socket ?«.
To use this instrument as a compound opaque, you
screw off the body part a b, and screw to it the handle
r (fig. 16.) j by this means you may hold the micro¬
scope in a horizontal position, as shown in the figure.
The silver dish or speculum (which is contained in the
bottom or base k, fig. 15.), is then screwed on at b.
N° 9. is placed in the spring socket tn, and adjusted
backward and forward in m, till the reflected light from
the speculum falls in a proper manner on the opaque
object. Either of the four magnifiers, 2, 3, 4/5, may be
used, and brought to a proper focus, as before describ¬
ed by the tooth and, pinion e (fig. 15.). If you take
off the opaque apparatus, and apply the stage N° 1. (fig.
16.) w'ith an ivory slider, and at the end b screw in either
of the two lenses, N° 10. (which are distinguished by
the name of illuminators), the microscope being held up
to the light (and properly adjusted),.the whole field of
view will be strongly illuminated, and present a most
pleasing appearance of any transparent object. These
two convex lenses are of different focuses, and are to be
used singly or together ; N° 2- being the greatest magni¬
fier, will require the object to be strongly illuminated,
and of course both the lenses must be used together.
By candle-light, this method of viewing transparent ob¬
jects will prove very entertaining *, by screwing the
handle r into the part s of N° 10. it becomes a delight¬
ful hand megalascope for viewing flowers, fossils, shells,
&cc, ; and each lens, as before mentioned, having a
different focus, produces two magnifying powers used
singly, and when combined a third.
The manner of using this instrument as a single mi¬
croscope (like Wilson’s) is represented in fig. 1 7. where
the button or magnifier at each is to be screwed off, and
the circular piece N° 11. is screwed in its place. This
piece has a spring socket made to receive the slider-hol¬
der N° 12. N° 13. is a circular piece of brass, with a
long shank and spring, and is introduced through the
outside tube a b at t. N° 2, 3, 4, 5, are screwed occa¬
sionally in the centre of this piece, and used as single
lenses with ivory sliders, &c. N° 14. contains a lens of
a great magnifying power, for viewing very minute ob¬
jects : to render this instrument the most complete single
opaque microscope, you have only to screw into N° 13.
f B the
MIC [ i<
tlie sliver speculum N° 15. which has a small lens set in
its centre. The slider-holder N° 12. is taken out of
N° 11, and the pincers or nippers d b, being detached
from the other part of N° 9. are passed through the
long spring socket N° II. and ready to receive any
opaque body in the pincers, or on the black and white
piece of ivory. To the large screw of N° 13- are applied
the two lenses N° 10. which make it the completest
megalascope that can be desired.
The handle r contains the four ivory sliders with
objects.
The shagreen case which contains this universal mi¬
croscope and its apparatus, is six inches long, three
inches wide, two inches deep j and weighs together 16
ounces. “ Thus (says Mr Martin) so small, so light,
so portable, and yet so universally complete, is this
pocket microscopic apparatus, that you find nothing
material in the large three-pillared microscope, the
epaque microscope, \Vilson’s single microscope, and
the aquatic microscope, all, together, which you have
not in this ; besides some very considerable advantages
in regard to the field of view, &c. which they have
not (a).”
This inventive artist having contrived a construc¬
tion of the compound microscope so small as to admit of
being packed in a common walking cane, thought next
of introducing the same instrument into the inside of
what he called his Pocket Three-brass drawer Achro¬
matic Telescope. The same eye glasses that serve the
purpose ot a telescope, answer as the compound magni¬
fier, for viewing transparent and opaque objects in a
microscope.
Fig. 18, 19, 20, represent the telescope separated
by unscrewing it at m, in order that the whole ot
the necessary parts in use may be exhibited. Fig. 19.
represents the exterior tube, which is ot mahogany,^
and its rims of brass. It is detached from the rest of
the telescope, as not making any part of the micro¬
scope. The brass cover k /, that shuts up the object-
glass of the telescope, is also the box which contains
the two-wheel object frames, and a small plain reflect¬
ing mirror.
In fig. 20. A is the cover taken off, by unscrew¬
ing the top part: The mirror B is taken out} and al¬
so, by unscrewing the bottom part, the two circular
wheels, with the objects shown in C and D.
Fig. 18. is a representation of the three internal
brass sliding tubes of the telescope, which form the
microscopic part. The tubes are to be drawn out as
shown in this figure; then, at the lower end of the
large tube in the inside, is to be pulled out a short
tube b c, that serves as a kind of stage to hold the
wheels, with objects, and support the reflecting mirror.
This tube is to be partly drawn out, and turned so
that the circular hole that is pierced in it may coin¬
cide with a similar hole that is cut in the exterior tube.
This tube is represented as drawn out in the figure ;
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and the mirror B placed therein, and the wheel with Micro,
transparent objects. C (fig. 20.) represents the wheel sc0Pe-
with transparent objects, and L) the wheel with opaque
objects. They are both made of ivory; and turn
round upon a centre brass pin slit upon the top, which
fits upon the edge of the tube ; which tube is then to
be pushed up into the telescope tube, so that its lower
end may rest upon the upper edge of the wdieel ac¬
cording to its view at a, fig. 18.
In viewing the objects, the second brass tube of the
telescope must be pushed down, till its milled edge at
top falls upon that of the exterior tube ; taking care
that the circular hole is duly placed to the exterior one.
These circular holes are not seen in fig. 18. being sup¬
posed in the opposite side, where the wheel is fixed.
The adjustment for the focus is now' only necessary ;
which is obtained by pushing downwards or upwards
the proper tube, till the object appear quite distinct.
In viewing transparent objects, the instrument may be
used in two positions ; one vertical, when the light is to
be reflected upon the object by the mirror; the other,
by looking up directly against the light of a candle,
common light, &c.; in which case the mirror must be
taken away. In viewing opaque objects, the mirror is
not used ; but as much common light as possible must be
admitted through the circular holes in the sides of the
tubes.
There is a spare hole in the transparent wheel, and
also one in the opaque, to receive any occasional object
that is to be viewed. Any sort of object whatsoever
may be viewed, by only pushing up the microscope
tube into its exterior, and bringing the first eye-tube
to its focal distance from the object.
The brass tubes are so contrived, that they stop
when drawn out to the full length : so that by
applying one hand to the outside tube, and the
other to the end of the smallest tube, the telescope at
one pull may be drawn out; then any of the tubes
(that next to the eye is best) may be pushed in gra¬
dually, till the most distinct view of the object be ob¬
tained.
The tubes all slide through short brass spring tubes,
any of which may be unscrewed from the ends ot the
sliding tubes by means of the milled edges which pro¬
ject above the tubes, taken from each other, and the
springs set clear if required.
III. Of Solar Microscopes.
This instrument, in its principle, is composed of a
tube, a looking-glass or mirror, a convex lens, and
Wilson’s single microscope before described. The sun’s
rays being reflected through the tube by means of the
mirror upon the object, the image or picture of
the object is thrown distinctly and beautifully upon
a screen of white paper or a white linen sheet, placed
at a proper distance to receive the same ; and may be
magnified
(a) Notwithstanding the properties that have been ascribed to the above instrument, and the praises bestowed
upon it by some, which induced us to admit so minute a description, we must apprise our readers, that it has been
omitted in Mr Adams’s enumeration; and upon inquiry we learn, that it has fallen into neglect among the most
judicious opticians, being found too imperfect to serve the purposes of science, and too complicated for the use 0!
persons who seek only entertainment.
Micro¬
scope.
Plate
CCCXL.
fig- 31.
MIC [ i:
magnified to a size not to be conceived by those
who have not seen it: for the farther the screen is re¬
moved, the larger will the object appear •, insomuch,
that a louse may thus be magnified to the length of
five or six feet, or even a great deal more} though it
is more distinct when not enlarged to above half that
size.
The different forms in which the Solar Microscope is
constructed, are as follow.
I. The old construction is represented in fig. 21. A
is a square W'ooden frame, through which pass two
long screws assisted by a couple of nuts I, I. By these
it is fastened firmly to a window shutter, wherein a hole
is made for its reception } the two nuts being let into
the shutter, and made fast thereto. A circular hole
is made in the middle of this frame to receive the piece
of wood B, of a circular figure j whose edge, that
projects a little beyond the frame, composes a shallow
groove 2, wherein runs a catgut 3 j which, by twist¬
ing round, and then crossing over a brass pulley 4,
(the handle whereof 5, passes through the frame),
affords an easy motion for turning round the circular
piece of wood B, with all the parts affixed to it. C
is a brass tube, which, screwing into the middle of the
circular piece of wood, becomes a case for the unco¬
vered brass tube D to be drawn backwards or forwards
in. E is a smaller tube, of about one inch in length,
cemented to the end of the larger tube D. F is
another brass tube, made to slide over the above de¬
scribed tube E ; and to the end of this the microscope
must be screwed, when we come to use it. 5. A con¬
vex lens, whose focus is about 12 inches, designed to
collect the sun’s rays, and throw them more strongly
upon the object. G is a looking-glass of an oblong
figure, set in a wooden frame, fastened by hinges in
the circular piece of wood B, and turning about
therewith by means of the above-mentioned catgut.
H is a jointed wire, partly brass and partly iron j
the brass part whereof 6, which is flat, being lastened
to the mirror, and the iron part 7, which is round,
passing through the wooden frame, enable the observer,
by putting it backwards or forwards, to elevate or de¬
press the mirror according to the sun’s altitude. There
is a brass ring at the end of the jointed wire 8, where¬
by to manage it with the greater ease. The extremi¬
ties of the catgut are fastened to a brass pin, by turn¬
ing of which it may be braced up, if at any time it be¬
comes too slack.
When this microscope is employed, the room must
be rendered as dark as possible ; for on the darkness
of the room, and the brightness of the sunshine, de¬
pend the sharpness and perfection of your image.
Then putting the looking-glass G through the hole in
vour window shutter, fasten the square frame A to the
shutter by its two screws and nuts 1,1. This done,
adjust your looking-glass to the elevation and situation
of the sun, by means of the jointed wire H, together
with the catgut and pulley, 3, 4. For the first of
these raising or lowering the glass, and the other in¬
clining it to either side, there results a twofold mo¬
tion, which may easily be so managed as to bring the
glass to a right position, that is, to make it reflect the
sun’s rays directly through the lens 5, upon the paper
screen, and form thereon a spot of light exactly round.
But though the obtaining a perfect circular spot of
: ] MIC
light upon the screen before you apply the micro- Micro¬
scope, is a certain proof that your mirror is adjusted scope,
right, that proof must not always be expected : for the 'r~
sun is so low in winter, that if it shine in a direct line
against the window, it cannot then afford a spot of
light exactly round 5 but if it be on either side, a
round spot may be obtained, even in December. As
soon as this appears, screw the tube D into the brass
collar provided for it in the middle of your wood-work,
taking care not to alter your looking-glass: then
screwing the magnifier you choose to employ to the
end of your microscope in the usual manner, take away
the lens at the other end thereof, and place a slider,
containing the objects to be examined, between the
thin brass plates, as in the other -ways of using the mi¬
croscope.
Things being thus prepared, screw the body of
the microscope over the small end E of the brass tube
F ; which slip over the small end E of the tube D,
and pull out the said tube D less or more as your ob¬
ject is capable of enduring the sun’s heat. Dead ob¬
jects may be brought within about an inch of the
focus of the convex lens 5 } but the distance must
be shortened for living creatures, or they will soon be
killed.
If the light fall not exactly right, you may easily,
by a gentle motion of the jointed wire and pulley, di¬
rect it through the axis of the microscopic lens. The
short tube F, to which the microscope is screwed,.
renders it easy, by sliding it backwards or forwards on
the other tube E, to bring the objects to their focal
distance j which will be known by the sharpness and
clearness of their appearance : they may also be turn¬
ed round by the same means without being in the least
disordered.
The magnifiers most useful in the solar microscope
are in general, the fourth, fifth, or sixth. The screen
on which the representations of the objects are thrown,
is usually composed of a sheet of the largest elephant
paper, strained on a frame which slides up or down, or
turns about at pleasure on a round wooden pillar, alter
the manner of some fire screens. Larger screens may
also be made of several sheets of the same paper pasted
together on cloth, and let down from the ceiling with a
roller like a large map.
“ This microscope (says Mr Baker) is the most en¬
tertaining of any; and perhaps the most capable of
making discoveries in objects that are not too opaque :
as it shows them much larger than can be done any
other way. There are also several conveniences at¬
tending it, which no other microscope can have : for
the weakest eyes may use it without the least straining
or fatigue : numbers of people together may view any
object at the same time ; and by pointing to the parti¬
cular parts thereof, and discoursing on what lies before
them, may be able better to understand one another,
and more likely to find out the truth, than in other
microscopes, where they must peep one after another,
and perhaps see the object neither in the same light nor
in the same position. Those also, who have no skill iu
drawing, may, by this contrivance, easily sketch out
the exact figure of any object they have a mind to pre¬
serve a picture of; since they need only fasten a paper,
on the screen, and trace it out thereon either with a
pen or pencil, as it appears before them. It is worth
B 2 the
MIC [ 12 ] MIC
Micro¬
scope.
Fig. 2 2.
Plate
cccxxxxix
Fig. 23.
tlie while of those who are desirous of taking many
draughts in this way, to get a frame, wherein a sheet
of paper may be put in or taken out at pleasure j for if
the paper be single, the image of an object will be seen
almost as plainly on the back as on the fore side } and,
by standing behind the screen, the shade of the hand
will not obstruct the light in drawing, as it must in
some degree when one stands before it.” I his con¬
struction, however, has now become rather obsolete,
and is superseded by the following.
II. The improved Solar Microscope, as used with the
improved single Microscope, with teeth and pinion. Fig.
22. represents the whole form of the single microscope ;
the parts of which are as follows : ABCD the external
tube GHIK the internal moveable one ; QM part
of another tube within the last, at one end of which
is fixed a plate of brass hollowed in the middle, for re¬
ceiving the glass tubes, there is also a moveable flat
plate, between which, and the fixed end of the second
tube, the ivory sliders are to be placed. L, a part of
the microscope, containing a wire spiral spring, keep¬
ing the tube QM with its plates firm against the fixed
part IK of the second tube.
EF is the small rack-work of teeth and pinion, by
which the tube IG is moved gradually to or from the
end AB, for adjusting the objects exactly to the focus
of different lengths. " NO is a brass slider, with six
magnifiers ; any one of which may easily be placed be¬
fore the object. It is known when either of the glasses
is in the centre of the eye-hole, by a small spring fall¬
ing into a notch in the side of the slider, made against
each of the glasses. Those parts of the apparatus,
fig. 14. marked N° 15, 16, I7> tg, 20, 21,
and 22. arc made use of here to this microscope.
GH is a brass cell, which holds an illuminating glass
for converging the sun’s beams or the light of a candle
strongly upon the objects. The aperture of the glass
is made greater or less, by two circular pieces of
brass, with holes of different sizes, that are screwed
separately over the said lens. But at times objects ap¬
pear best when the microscope is held up to the com¬
mon light only, without this glass. It is also taken
away when the microscope is applied to the apparatus
now to be described.
Fig. 23. represents the apparatus, with the single
microscope screwed to it, which constitutes the Sola?
Microscope. AB is the inner moveable tube, to which
the single microscope is screwed. CD is the external
tube, containing a condensing convex glajss at the end
D, and is screwed into the plate EF, which is cut
with teeth at its circumference, and moved by the pi¬
nion I, that is fixed with the plate GH. This plate
is screwed fast against the window-shutter, or board
fitted to a convenient window of a darkened room,
when the instrument is used. KL is a long frame,
'fixed to the circular plate EF •, containing a looking-
glass or mirror for reflecting the solar rays through the
fens in the body of the tube D. O is a brass milled
head, fastened to a worm or endless screw *, which on
the outside turns a small wheel, by which the reflecting
mirror 1VI is moved upwards and downwards.
In using this microscope, the square frame GH is
first to be screwed to the window shutter, and the
room well darkened : which is best done by cutting
a round hole of the size of the moveable plate EF,
that carries the reflector, in the window-shutter or Micro-
board } and, by means of two brass nuts a a, let in- SC0I)C-
to the shutter to receive the screws PP, when placed ' ’ ”
through the holes in the square frame GH, at the two
holes QQ : which will firmly fasten the microscope to
the shutter, and is easily taken away by only Unscrew¬
ing the screws PP.
The white paper screen, or v/hite cloth, to receive
the images, is to be placed several feet distant from
the window : which will make the representations the
larger in proportion to the distance. The usual dis¬
tances are from 6 to 16 feet.
The frame KL, with its mirror M, is to be moved
by turning the pinion I, one way or the other, till
the beams of the sun’s light come through the hole
into the room : then, by turning of the worm at O,
thq mirror must be raised or depressed till the rays be¬
come perfectly horizontal, and go straight across the
room to the screen. The tube CD, with its lens at
D, is now to be screwed into the hole of the circular
plate EF : by this glass the rays will be converged to
a focus } and from thence proceed diverging to the
screen, and there make a large circle of light. The
single microscope, fig. 22. is to be screwed on to the
end AB (fig. 23.) of the inner tube ; and the slider
NO, with either of the lenses marked 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, or
6, in the centre of the hole at the end AB. This
will occasion a circle of light upon the screen much
larger than before. The slider or glass-tube, with the
objects to be viewed, is to be placed between the plates
at IK against the small magnifier, and moved at plea¬
sure. By shifting the tube AB in or out, you may
place the object in such a part of the condensed rays
as shall be sufficient to illuminate it, and not scorch
or burn it; which will generally require the glass to
he about one inch distant from the focus. It now re¬
mains only to adjust the object, or to bring it so near
to the magnifier that its image formed upon the screen
shall be the most distinct or perfect : and it is effected
by gently turning the pinion F, fig. 22. a small matter
one way or the other. If the object be rather large
in size, the least magnifiers are generally used, and vice
versa.
N° 1. is the greatest magnifier, and N° 6. the least,
in the brass slider NO. But, if desired, single lenses
of greater magnifying powers are made: and they are
applied, by being screwed to the end AB, fig. 2 2. and
the brass slider NO is then taken away.
The same object may be variously magnified, by the
lenses severally applied to it} and the degree of mag¬
nifying power is easily known by this rule: As the di¬
stance of the object is to that of its image from the mag¬
nifier; so is the length or breadth of the object to that
of the image.
Instead of the brass sliders with the lenses NO,
there is sometimes screwed a lens of a large size, and
longer focal distance : the instrument is then converted
into a megafascope; and is adapted for viewing the
larger kind of objects contained in large sliders, such
as is represented at li. And, in the same manner,
small objects of entertainment, painted upon glass like
the sliders of a magic lanthorn, are much magnified,
and represented upon the same screen.
The solar microscopes just described are capable on¬
ly of magnifying transparent objects; for which pur-
4 pose
M I C
pose the last Instrument is extremely well adapted.
But as opaque objects form the most considerable part
of the curious collections in the works of art as well
as nature, a solar microscope tor this purpose was a
long time wanted.—For several years previous to
1774, Mr Martin made several essays towards the
construction of such an instrument; and at last com¬
pleted one about the time just mentioned, which he
named, .. .
III. The Opaque Solar Microscope. With this in¬
strument (to use his own words) “ all opaque objects,
whether of the animal, vegetable, or mineral king¬
dom, may be exhibited in great perfection, in all their
native beauty j the lights and shades, the prominences
and cavities, and all the varieties of different hues,
tints, and colours ; heightened by reflection of the so¬
lar rays condensed upon them.— Transparent objects
are also shown with greater perfection than by the
common solar microscope.”
Fig. 24. represents the solar opaque microscope,
mounted for exhibiting opaque objects.
Fi<r. 25. is the single tooth and pinion microscope,
as before, which is "used for showing transparent ob¬
jects ; the cylindrical tube Y thereof being made to lit
into the tube FE of the solar microscope.
ABCDEF, (fig. 24.) represents the body of the
solar microscope ; one part thereof, ABCD, is coni¬
cal 5 the other, CDEF, is cylindrical. The cylindri¬
cal part receives the tube G of the opaque box, or the
tube Y of the single microscope. At the large end
AB of the conical part, there is a lens to receive the
rays from the mirror, and refract them towards the
box HIKE. NOP is a brass frame ; which is fixed
to the moveable circular plate a b c : in this frame there
is a plane mirror, to reflect the solar rays on tne atore-
mentioned lens. This mirror may be moved into the
most convenient position for reflecting the light, by
means of the nuts Q and R. By the nut Q it may be
moved from east to west; and it may be elevated or
depressed by the nut R. d c, Two screws to fasten the
microscope to a window shutter. Ihe box tor opaque
objects is represented at HIKE : it contains a plane
mirror M, for reflecting the light which it receives from
the large lens to the object, and thereby illuminating
it j S is a screw to adjust this mirror, or place it at a
proper angle for reflecting the light. ^ N, two tubes
of brass, one sliding within the other, the exterior one
in the box HIKE these carry the magnifying lenses :
the interior tube is sometimes taken out, and the ex¬
terior one is then used by itself. Partot this tube may
be seen in the plate within the box HIKE. At H
there is a brass plate, the back part of which is fixed
to the hollow tube h, in which there is a spiral wire,
which keeps the plate always bearing against the side
II of the brass box HIKE. The sliders, with the
opaque objects, pass between this plate and the side of
the box y to put them there, the plate is to be drawn
back by means of the nut g: 1 k is a. door to one side of
the opaque box. The foregoing pieces constitute the
several parts necessary lor viewing opaque objects. We
shall now proceed to describe the single microscope,
which is used for transparent objects: but in order to
examine these, the box HIKE must be first removed,
and in its place we must insert the tube I of the single
microscope that we are now going to describe.
M I C
Fig. 25. represents a large tooth and pinion micro- Micro*
scope : at m, within the body of this microscope, are scope,
two thin plates, that are to be separated in order to ^
let the ivory sliders pass between them y they are pres- &
sed together by a spiral spring, which bears up the
under plate, and forces it against the upper one.
The slider S (under fig. 4.), wdiich contains the
magnifiers, fits into the hole and any of the magni¬
fiers may be placed before the object, by moving the
aforesaid slider : when the magnifier is at the centre ol
the hole P, a small spring falls into one ol the notches
which is on the side of the slider.
Under the plate m are placed two lenses, for en¬
larging the field of view on the screen : the smaller ol
the two is fixed in a piece of brass, and is nearest the
plate m ; this is to be taken out when the magnifiers,
N° 4, 5, or 6, are used, or when the megalascope lens
T (fig. 24.) is used y but is to be replaced for
N° E 2, 3- . . t „ • .
This microscope is adjusted to the focus by turning
the milled nut O.
To rise the solar microscope :—Make a round hole
in the window shutter, a little larger than the circle
abc; pass the mirror ONP through this hole, and
apply the square plate to the shutter y then mark with
a pencil the places which correspond to the two holes
through which the screw' is to pass y take away the mi¬
croscope, and bore two holes at the marked places, suf¬
ficiently large to let the milled screws d e pass through
them.
The screws are to pass from the outside of the shut¬
ter, to go through it : and being then screwed into
their respective holes in the square plate, they will,
when screwed home, hold it fast against the inside oi
the shutter, and thus support the microscope.
Screw the conical tube ABCD to the circle a b cy
and then slide the tube G of the opaque box into the
cylindrical part CDEF of the body, if opaque objects
are to be examined ; but if they be transparent objects
you mean to show, then place the tube Y within the
tube CDEF.
The room is to be darkened as much as possible,
that no light may enter but what passes through the
body of the microscope y for, on this circumstance.,
together with the brightness of the sunshine, the per¬
fection and distinctness of the image in a great measure
depend.
When the microscope is to be used for opaque ob¬
jects, 1. Adjust the mirror NOP, so as to receive the
solar rays, by means of the two finger screw's or nuts,
QR-, the first, Q, turns the mirror to the right or
left*, the second, R, raises or depresses it: this you
are to do till you have reflected the sun’s light through
the lens at AB strongly upon a screen of white paper
placed at some distance from the window, and formed
thereon a round spot of light. An unexperienced ob¬
server will find it more convenient to obtain the light
by forming this spot before he puts on either the
opaque box or the tooth and pinion microscope.
Now put in the opaque box, and place the object
between the plates at H ; open the door i k, and ad¬
just the mirror M till you have illuminated the object
strongly. If you cannot effect this by the screw S,
you must move the screws Q, R, in order to get the
lio-ht reflected strongly from the mirror NOP, or the
mirror
[ 13 J
MIC [i
Micro- mirror M, ■without which the latter cannot illuminate
scope, the object.
v 1 The object being strongly illuminated, shut the door
i k, and a distinct view of the object will soon be
obtained on your screen, by adjusting the tubes VX,
which is effected by moving them backwards or for¬
wards.
A round spot of light cannot always be procured in
northern latitudes, the altitude of the sun being often
too low ; neither can it be obtained when the sun is
directly perpendicular to the front of the room.
As the sun is continually changing its place, it will
be necessary, in order to keep his rays full upon the
object, to keep them continually directed through the
axis of the instrument, by the two screws Q and II.
To view transparent objects, remove the opaque box,
and insert the tube Y, fig. 25. in its place ; put the
slider S into its place at «, and the slider with the ob¬
jects between the plates at m ; then adjust the mirror
NOP, as before directed by the screws Q, R, so that
the light may pass through the object •, regulate the
focus of the magnifier by the screw O. The most
pleasing magnifiers in use are the fourth and fifth.
The size of the object may be increased or dimi¬
nished, by altering the distance of the screen from the
microscope : five or six feet is a convenient distance.
To examine transparent objects of a larger size, or
to render the instrument what is usually called a mega-
lascope, take out the slider S from its place at n, and
screw the button T (fig. 24.) into the hole at P, fig.
25. and remove the glass which is under the plate at
tn, and regulate the light and focus .agreeable to the
foregoing directions.
N. B. At the end of the tube G there is a lens for
increasing the density of the rays, for the purpose of
burning or melting any combustible or fusible sub¬
stance : this lens must be removed in most cases, lest
the objects should be burnt. The intensity of the
light is also varied by moving this tube backwards or
forwards.
Apparatus of the Opaque Solar Microscope.—The
large square plate and mirror ; the body of the micro¬
scope } the opaque box and its tube ; the tooth and
pinion microscope; the. slider with the magnifiers j the
megalascope magnifier ; the two screws d and e; some
ivory sliders 5 some sliders with opaque objects 5 a brass
frame, with a bottom of soft deal to stick any object
Plate on i a brass cy1Inder K (fig. 31.), for confining opaque
CCCXLI. objects.
IV. The Camera Orscura, or Lucernal, Microscope.
The great facility with which objects can be repre¬
sented on paper or a rough glass in the camera obscura,
and copies drawn from them by any person though
unskilled in drawing-, evidently suggested the applica¬
tion of the microscope to this instrument. The great¬
est number of experiments that appear to have been
made with this view, were by Mr Martin and Mr
Adams; the former of whom frequently applied the
microscope to the portable camera, and with much
effect and entertainment. But these instruments being
found to answer only with the assistance of the sun,
Mr Adams directed his experiments to the construc¬
tion of an instrument of more extended utility, which
could be equally employed in the day-time and by
: ] MIC
night. He accordingly succeeded so far as to pro- Micro,
duce, by candle-light, the images of objects refracted , bC"1>fc'
from a single magnifier upon one or two large convex
lenses (of about five inches or upwards in diameter),
at the end of a pyramidal shaped box, in a very pleas¬
ing and magnified appearance, so as to give opaque
objects as well as transparent ones the utmost distinct¬
ness of representation 5 but still the light of a candle
or lamp was found generally insufficient to throw the
requisite degree of illumination upon the objects, ffhe
invention of ivhat is called Argand's lamp, within these
few years, offered a complete remedy for this defect, by
the intensity and steadiness of its light. This did not
escape Mr Adams (son of the former), who immedi¬
ately applied it; and who had likewise so altered and
improved his father’s instrument, both in construction
and form, as to render it altogether a different one, and
far more perfect and useful.
The advantages and properties of this excellent¬
ly conceived instrument are numerous and important.
“ As the far greater part of the objects which sur¬
round us are opaque (says our author), and very few
are sufficiently transparent to be examined by the com¬
mon microscopes, an instrument that could be readily-
applied to the examination of opaque objects has al¬
ways been a desideratum. Even in the examination
of transparent objects, many of the fine and more cu¬
rious portions are lost, and drowned, as it were, in the
light which must be transmitted through them •, while
different parts of the same object appear only as dark
lines or spots, because they are so opaque as not to
permit any light to pass through them. These diffi¬
culties, as well as many more, are obviated in the lu¬
cernal microscope ; by which opaque objects of vari¬
ous sizes may be seen with ease and distinctness : the
beautiful colours with which most of them are adorn¬
ed, are rendered more brilliant, without changing in
the least the real tint of the colour 3 and the concave
and convex parts retain also their proper form.— 1 he
facility with which all opaque objects are applied to
this instrument, is another considerable advantage, and
almost peculiar to itself 3 as the texture and configu¬
ration of the more tender parts are often hurt by pre¬
vious preparation, every object may be examined by
this instrument, first as opaque, and afterwards (if the
texture will admit of it) as transparent.—The lucer¬
nal microscope does not in the least fatigue the eye 3
the object appears like nature itself, giving ease to the
sight and pleasure to the mind : there is also, in the
use of this instrument, no occasion to shut the eye
which is not directed to the object. A further ad¬
vantage peculiar to this microscope is, that by it the
outlines of every object may be taken, even by those
who are not accustomed to draw 3 while those who
can draw well will receive great assistance, and execute
their work with more accuracy and in less time than
they would otherwise have been able to have perform¬
ed it. Transparent objects as well as opaque may be
copied in the same manner. The instrument may be
used at any time of the day, but the best effect is by
night 3 in which respect it has a superiority over the
solar microscope, as that instrument'can only be used
when the sun shines.
Transparent objects may be examined with the lu¬
cernal microscope in three or four different modes,
from
MIC [ i
Micro- from a blaze of light almost too great for the eye to
scope, bear, to that which is perfectly easy to it: And by
* the addition of a tin lanthorn to the apparatus, may
be thrown on a screen, and exhibited at one view to a
large company, as by the solar microscope.
We shall now proceed to the description of the in¬
strument and apparatus as given by Mr Adams.
Plate Fig. 26. represents the improved Zz/cerwo/Afz’mwcqpe,
CCCXLI. mounted to view opaque objects. ABCD is a large
mahogany pyramidal box, which forms the body of
the microscope j it is supported firmly on the brass
pillar FG, by means of the socket H and the curved
piece IK.
LMN is a guide for the eye, in order to direct it
in the axis of the lenses 5 it consists of two brass tubes,
one sliding within the other, and a vertical flat piece,
at the top of which is the hole for the eye. The outer
tube is seen at MN, the vertical piece is represented
at LM. The inner tube may be pulled out, or push¬
ed in, to adjust it to the focus of the glasses. The
vertical piece may be raised or depressed, that the hole,
through which the object is to be viewed, may coin¬
cide with the centre in the field of view j it is fixed by
a milled screw from M, which could not be shown in
this figure.
At N is a dove-tailed piece of brass, made to re¬
ceive the dove-tail at the end of the tubes MN, by
which it is affixed to the wooden box ABCDE. The
tubes MN may be removed from this box occasionally,
for the convenience of packing it up in a less com¬
pass.
OP, a small tube which carries the magnifiers.
O, one of the magnifiers •, it is screwed into the end
of a tube, which slides within the tube P ; the tube
P may be unscrewed occasionally from the wooden
body.
QRSTVX, a long square bar, which passes through
the sockets YZ, and carries the stage or frame that
holds the objects ; this bar may be moved backward
or forward, in order to adjust it to the focus by means
of the pinion which is at a.
b, A handle furnished with an universal joint, for
more conveniently turning the pinion. When the
Fig. 27. handle is removed, the nut (fig. 27.) may be used in
its stead.
de, A brass bar, to support the curved piece KI,
and keep the body AB firm and steady.
fghi, The stage for opaque objects: it fits upon
the bar QRST by means of the socket/zz, and is
brought nearer to or removed farther from the magni¬
fying lens by turning the pinion a : the objects are
placed in the front side of the stage (which cannot be
seen in this figure) between four small brass plates ; the
edges of two of these are seen at k L The two upper
pieces of brass are moveable j they are fixed to a plate,
which is acted on by a spiral spring, that presses them
down, and confines the slider with the objects: this
plate, and the two upper pieces of brass, are lifted up
by the small nut m.
At the lower part of the stage, there is a semicircu¬
lar lump of glass zz, which is designed to receive the
light from the lamp, fig. 29. and to collect and throw
it on the concave mirror 0, whence it is to be reflected
on the object.
The upper part fg hs (fig. 26.) of the opaque stage
4
; ] MIC
takes out, that the stage for transparent objects may Micro¬
be inserted in its place. scope.
Fig. 28. represents the stage for transparent objects j ' j—y—
the two legs 5 and 6 fit into the top of the under part i8'
r s h z'of the stage for opaque objects j 7 is the part which
confines or holds the sliders, and through which they
are to be moved ; 9 and 10, a brass tube, which con¬
tains the lenses for condensing the light, and throwing
it upon the object; there is a second tube within that,
marked 9 and 10, which maybe placed at diflerent
distances from the object by the pin it.
When this stage is used as a single microscope, with¬
out any reference to the lucernal, the magnifiers or
object lenses, are to be screwed into the hole 12, and
to be adjusted to a proper focus by the nut 13.
N.B. At the end x4B (fig. 26.) of the wooden body
there is a slider, which is represented as partly drawn
out at A : when quite taken out, three grooves will be
perceived ; one of which contains a board that forms
the end of the box ; the next contains a frame with a
grayed glass ; and the third, or that farthest from the
end AB, two large convex lenses.
Fig. 29. represents one of Argand’s lamps, which Fig. 29.
are most suitable for microscopic purposes, on ac¬
count of the clearness, the intensity, and the steadiness
of the light. The following account of the method
of managing them, with other observations, is copied
from an account given by Mr Parker with those he
sells.
The principle on which the lamp acts, consists in
disposing the w ick in thin parts, so that the air may
come in contact with all the*burning fuel} by which
means, together with an increase of the current of air
occasioned by rarefaction in the glass tube, the whole «
of the fuel is converted into flame.
The wicks are circular j and, the more readily to
regulate the quantity of light, are fixed on a brass col¬
lar, w'ith a wire handle, by means of which they are
raised or depressed at pleasure.
To fix the wick on, a wooden mandril is contrived,
which is tapered at one end, anfl has a groove turned
at the other.
The wick has a selvage at one end, which is to be
put foremost on the mandril, and moved up to the
groove ; then putting the groove into the collar of
the wick-holder, the wick is easily pushed forward
upon it.
The wick-holder and wick being put quite down in
their place, the spare part of the wick should, while
dry, be set a-light, and suffered to burn to the edge
of the tubes 5 this will leave it more even than by cut¬
ting, and, being black by burning, will be much easier
lighted : for this reason, the black should never be
quite cut off.
The lamp should be filled an hour or two before it
is wanted, that the cotton may imbibe the oil and
draw the better.
The lamps which have a reservoir and valve, need
no other direction for filling than to do it with a pro¬
per trimming pot, carefully observing when they are
full; then pulling up the valve by the point, the re¬
servoir, being turned with the other hand, may be re¬
placed without spilling a drop.
Those lamps which fill in the front like a bird-foun¬
tain, must be reclined on the back to fill; and this
should
MIC [i
Micro- should be done gently, that the oil in the burner may
scope, return into the body when so placed and filled : if, by
~v being too full, and oil appears above the guard, only
move the lamp a little, and the oil will disappear j the
lamp may then be placed erect, and the oil will flow to
its proper level.
The oil must be of the spermaceti kind, commonly
called chamber oil, which may generally be distinguish¬
ed by its paleness, transparency, and inoffensive scent :
all those oils which are of a red and brown colour, and
of an offensive scent, should be carefully avoided, as
their glutinous parts clog the lamp, and the impurities
in such oil, not being inflammable, will accumulate and
remain in the form of a crust on the wick. Seal oil is
nearly as pale and sweet as chamber oil; but being ot
a heavy sluggish quality, is not proper for lamps with
fine wicks.
Whenever bad oil has been used, on changing it, the
w'ick must also be changed ", because, after having im¬
bibed the coarse particles in its capillary tubes, it will
not draw up the fine oil.
To obtain the greatest degree of light, the wick
should be trimmed exactly even, the flame will then be
completely equal.
There will be a great advantage in keeping the lamp
clean, especially the burner and air tubes 5 the neglect
of cleanliness in lamps is too common : a candlestick
is generally cleaned every time it is used, so should a
lamp •, and if a candlestick is not to be objected to be¬
cause it docs not give light after the candle is^ ex¬
hausted, so a lamp should not be thought ill of, if it
does net give light when it wants oil or cotton . but this
last has often happened, because the deficiency is less
* visible. .
The glass tubes are best cleaned with a piece ol wash
leather.
If a fountain lamp is left partly filled with oil, it may
be liable to overflow : this happens by the contraction
of the air when cold, and its expansion by the warmth
of a room, the rays of the sun, or the heat of the lamp
when re-lighted : this accident may be effectually pre¬
vented by keeping the reservoir filled, the oil not being
subject to expansion like air. On this account, those
with a common reservoir are best adapted for microsco¬
pic purposes.
To examine Opaque Objects, with the Lucernal Mu
rroscope. To render the use of this instiument easy, it
is usually packed with as many of the parts together as
possible : it occupies on this account rather more room,
but is much less embarrassing to the observer, who has
only three parts to put on after it is taken out of its
box, namely, the guide for the eye, the stage, and the
tube with its magnifier.
But to be more particular : Take out the wooden
glider A (fig. 26.), then lift out the cover and the
gray glass, from their respective grooves under the
slider A.
Put the end N of the guide for the eye LMN into
its place, so that it may stand in the position which is
represented in this figure.
Place the socket which is at the bottom of the
opaque stage, on the bar QXT, so that the concave
mirror 0 may be next the end DE of the wooden
body.
I ] MIC
Screw the tubes PO into the end DE. The mag- Micro-
nifier you intend to use is to be screwed on the end O t scope.
of these tubes.
The handle G b, or the milled nut, fig. 27. must he
placed on the square end of the pinion a.
Place the. lamp lighted before the glass lamp n,
and the object you intend to examine between the
spring plates ol the stage j and the instrument is ready
for use.
In all microscopes there are two circumstances which
must be particularly attended to: first, the modilica*-
tion of the light, or the proper quantity to illuminate
the object; secondly, the adjustment of the instrument
to the focus of the glass and eye of the observer. In
the use of the lucernal microscope there is a third cir¬
cumstance, which is, the regulation of the guide lor the
eye.
1. To throw the light upon the object. The flume
of the lamp is to be placed rather below the centre of
the glass lump n, and as near it as possible ; the con¬
cave mirror '. must be so inclined and turned as to re¬
ceive the light from the glass lump, and reflect it
thence upon the object j the best situation of the con¬
cave mirror and the flame of the lamp depends on a
combination of circumstances, which a little practice
will discover.
2. To regulate the guide for the eye, or to place the
centre of the eye-piece L so that it may coincide with
the focal point of the lenses and the axis of vision :
Lengthen and shorten the tubes MN, by drawing out
or pushing in the inner tube, and raising or depressing
the eye-piece ML, till you find the large lens (which
is placed at the end AB of the wooden body) filled by
an uniform field of light, without any prismatic colours
round the edge j for till this piece is properly fixed,
the circle of light will be very small, and only occupy
a part of the lens ; the eye must be kept at the centre
of the eye-piece L, during the whole of the opera¬
tion ; which may be rendered somewhat easier to the
observer, on the first use of the instrument, if he hold
a piece of white paper parallel to the large lens, re¬
moving it from or bringing it nearer to them till he
find the place where a lucid circle, which he will per¬
ceive on the paper, is brightest and most distinct ; then
he is to fix the centre of the eye-piece to coincide with
that spot *, after which a very small adjustment will set
it perfectly right.
3. To adjust the lenses to their focal distance. This
is effected by turning the pinion c, the eye being at
the same time at the eye-piece L. The gray glass
is often placed before the large lenses, while regulat¬
ing the guide for the eye, and adjusting for the focal
distance.
If the observer, in tbe process of his examination of
an object, advance rapidly from a shallow to a deep
magnifier, he will save himself some labour by pulling
out the internal tube at O.
The upper party*g r s oi the stage is to be raised or
lowered occasionally, in order to make the centre of the
object coincide with the centre of the lens at O.
To delineate objects, the gray glass must be placed
before tbe large lenses ; the picture of the object will
be formed on this glass, and the outline may be accu¬
rately taken by going over tbe picture with a pencil.
The
■ MIC [i
Micro- The opaque part may be used ifc the daytime without
scope, a lamp, provided the large lenses at AB are screened
from the light.
To use the Lucernal Microscope in the examination of
Transparent Objects.—The instrument is to remain as
before : the upper part f g s of the opaque stage must
be removed, and the stage for transparent objects, re¬
presented at figi 28. put in its place} the end 9 10
to be next the lamp.
Place the grayed glass in its groove at the end AB,
and the objects in the slider-holder at the front of the
stage } then transmit as strong a light as you are able
on the object, which you will easily do by raising or
lowering the lamp.
The object will be beautifully depicted on the gray
glass } it must be regulated to the focus of the magni¬
fier, by turning the pinion a.
The object may be viewed either with or without
the guide for the eye. A single observer will see an
object to the greatest advantage by using this guide,
which is to be adjusted as we have described above. If
two or three wish to examine the object at the same
time, the guide for the eye must be laid aside.
Take the large lens out of the groove, and receive
the image on the gray glass } in this case, the guide
for the eye is of no use : if the gray glass be taken
away, the image of the object may be received on a
paper screen.
Take out the gray glass, replace the large lenses,
and use the guide for the eye } attend to the forego¬
ing directions, and adjust the object to its proper fo¬
cus. You will then see the object in a blaze of light
almost too great for the eye, a circumstance that will
be found very useful in the examination of particular
objects. The edges of the object in this mode will be
somewhat coloured : but as it is only used in this full
light for occasional purposes, it has been thought bet¬
ter to leave this small imperfection, than, by remedying
it, to sacrifice greater advantages} the more so, as this
fault is easily corrected, a new and interesting view
of the object is obtained, by turning the instrument
out of the direct rays of light, and permitting them to
pass through only in an oblique direction, by which
the upper surface is in some degree illuminated, and
the object is seen partly as opaque, partly as transpar¬
ent. It has been already observed, that the transparent
objects might be placed between the slider-holders of
the stage for opaque objects, and then be examined as
if opaque.
Some transparent objects appear to the greatest ad¬
vantage when the lens at 9 1 o is taken away } as, by
giving too great a quantity of light, it renders the
edges less sharp.
The variety of views which may be taken of every
object by means of the improved lucernal microscope,
will be found to be of great use to an accurate observ¬
er : it will give him an opportunity of correcting or
Vol. XIV. Part I. +
7 ] MIC
confirming his discoveries, and investigating those parts ^Micro-
in one mode which are invisible in another. , sc0Pc-
To throw the image of transparent objects on a screen v~~“
as in the solar microscope.—It has been long a microsco¬
pical desideratum, to have an instrument by which
the image of transparent objects might be thrown on
a screen, as in the common solar microscope: and this
not only because the sun is so uncertain in this cli¬
mate, and the use of the solar microscope requires
confinement in the finest part of the day, when time
seldom hangs heavy on the mind} but as it also affords
an increase of pleasure, by displaying its wonders to
several persons at the same instant, without the least
fatigue to the eye.
This purpose is now effectually answered, by affix¬
ing the transparent stage of the lucernal to a lanthorn,
with one of Argand’s lamps.—The lamp is placed
within the lanthorn, and the end 9 10 of the trans¬
parent stage is screwed into a female screw, which is
rivetted in the sliding part of the front of the lan¬
thorn } the magnifying lenses are to be screwed into
the hole, represented at 12, and they are adjusted by
turning the milled nut. The quantity of light is to be
regulated by raising and lowering the sliding-plate or
the lamp,
Apparatus which usually accompanies the improved
Lucernal Microscope.—The stage for opaque objects,
with its semicircular lump of glass, and concave mirror.
The stage for transparent objects, which fits on the
upper part of the foregoing stage. The sliding tube,
to which the magnifiers are to be affixed : one end of
these is to be screwed on the end D of the wooden
body} the magnifier in use is to be screwed to the
other end of the inner tube. Eight magnifying
lenses : these are so constructed that they may be
combined together, and thus produce a very great
variety of magnifying powers. A fish-pan, such as
is represented at I. A steel wire L, with a pair of
nippers at one end, and a small cylinder of ivory / at
the other. A slider of brass N, containing a flat
glass slider, and a brass slider into which are fitted
some small concave glasses. A pair of forceps. Six
large and six small ivory sliders, with transparent
objects. Fourteen wooden sliders, with four opaque
objects in each slider} and twro spare sliders. Some
capillary tubes for viewing small animalcula.
Ingenious men seldom content themselves with an
instrument under one form; hence such a variety of
microscopes, hence many alterations in the Lucernal
Microscope. Mr Adams himself, we understand, has
fitted up this last in a great many different ways ; and
it is reasonable to think that no person was more likely
to give it every improvement of which it is susceptible.
Of the alterations by other hands we shall only parti¬
cularize one, made by Mr Jones of Holborn (b),
whose description is as follows :
A (fig. 30.) represents a portion of the top of the ma-Fig 30.
C hogany
(b) We trust the reader wall never consider any paragraph wherein the name of an instrument-maker or
other artist is inserted, as a recommendation of those artists by the editors of this work. In the course of a
pretty extensive correspondence, they have been favoured with very liberal communications from various ajrtists,
for which they are greatly indebted to them: the inserting their names in this wox*k is therefore to be considered
as
M I C
Micro- fiogany box in which it packs, to pi'eservc it steady 5 it
scope, slides in a dove-tail groove withinside, a similar groove
to which is cut in the top of the box A ; so that when
the instrument is to be used, it is sbpt out of the box
withinside, and then slipt into the groove at top ready
for use, almost instantly, as shown in the figure. The
adjustment of the objects is at the stage li •, for the
right focal distance is readily and conveniently made
by turning the long screw-rod BB, which goes through
the two pillars supporting the box, and w'orks in the
base of the brass stage E j which base is also dove¬
tailed, so as to have a regular and steady motion in an¬
other brass basis that supports it. In this instrument,
therefore, the nyramidical box does not move ; but
the stage part only, which, from its small weight,
moves in the most agreeable and steady manner. While
observing the image of the object upon the glass
through the sight-hole at G, the object may be moved
or changed by only turning the rack-work and pinion
applied to the stage by means ol the handle I), lor
that purpose. By this contrivance you have no occa¬
sion to change your position during the view of the
objects upon one of the sliders. T his motion changes
the objects horizontally only *, and as they are gene¬
rally placed exactly in one line, it answers all the pur¬
poses for which this motion is intended very well.
But it may sometimes happen that the observer would
wish to alter the vertical position of the object; to
perform which there is another plain rod at I, that
acts simply as a lever for this purpose, and moves the
sliding part of the stage E vertically either upwards
or downwards.
Thus, without altering his position, the observer
may investigate all parts of the objects in the most sa¬
tisfactory manner. Back-work and pinion might be
applied to the stage for the vertical motion also * but
as it would materially enhance the expence, it is seldom
applied. The brass work at the handle of D contains
a Hooke’s universal joint.
The brilliancy of the images of the objects shown
upon the large lenses at the end of the box, being very
frequently so great as to dazzle the eyes, Mr Jones ap¬
plies a slight tinge of blue, green, and other coloured
glass, to the sight-hole at G, which softens this glare,
and casts an agreeable hue upon the objects.
Description of those Parts of a Microscopical Appa¬
ratus, common to most Instruments, which are de¬
lineated at fig. 31.
A and B represent the brass cells which contain the
magnifiers belonging to the 'diflerent kinds of com¬
pound microscopes. The magnifiers are sometimes
contained in a slider like that which is delineated at S
(fig. 24.). The lenses of A and B are confined by a
small cap j on unscrewing this, the small lens may be
taken out and cleaned. The magnifiers A of the lu-
cernal microscope are so contrived, that any two of
M I C
them may be screwed together, by which means a con- Micro-
siderable variety of magnifying powers is obtained. scope
To get at the lenses in the slider S (fig. 24.) take ""
out the two screws winch hold on the cover.
C represents the general form of the slider-holder.
It consists of a cylindrical tube, in which an inner tuoe
is forced up by a spring. It is used to receive the
ivory or any other slider, 111 which the transparent ob¬
jects are placed j these are to be slid between the t'.vo
upper plates: the hollow part in one of the plates is de¬
signed for the glass tubes.
II, the condensing lens and its tube, which fits into
the slider-holder C, and may be moved up and down
in it. When this piece is pushed up as far as it will
go, it condenses the light of a candle, which is reflect¬
ed on it bv the plain mirror of the compound micro¬
scope, and spreads it uniformly over the object ; in
this case it is best adapted to the shallowest magnifiers.
If the deeper lenses are used, it should be drawn down,
or rather removed further from the object, that it may
concentrate the light in a small compass, and thus
render it more dense. The condensing lens is some¬
times fitted up differently *, but the principle being the
same, it will be easy to apply it to use notwithstanding
some variations in the mechanism.
E, a brass cone. It fixes under the slider-holder,
and is used to lessen occasionally the quantity of light
winch comes from the mirror to any object.
F, a box with two flat glasses, which may be placed
at different distances from each ether in order to con¬
fine a small living insect.
G, a small brass box to hold the silver speculum H.
H, a small silver concave speculum, designed to re¬
flect the light from the mirror on opaque objects y it
should only be used with the shallow magnifiers. It is
applied in different ways to the compound microscope y
sometimes to a tube similar to that represented at X,
which slides on the lower part of the body j sometimes
it is screwed into the ring of the jnece Q } the pin
of this generally fits into one of the holes in the stage.
When this speculum is used, the slider-holder should be
removed.
I, a fish-pan, whereon a small fish may be fastened,
in order to view the circulation of the blood : its tail
is to be spread across the oblong hole at the smallest
end, and tied fast by means of the ribbon fixed there¬
to, by shoving the knob which is on the back of it
through the slit made in the stage •, the tail of the fish
may be brought under the lens which is in use.
K, a cylindrical piece, intended for the solar opaque
microscope ; by pulling back the spiral spring, smaller
or larger objects may be confined in it. -»
k, A pair of triangular nippers for taking hold of
and confining a large object.
L, a long steel wire, with a small pair of pliers
at one end and a steel point at the other: the wire slips
backwards or forwards in a spring tube, which is af¬
fixed to a joint, at the bottom of which is a pin to fit
one
[ 18 3
as a grateful acknowledgment from the editors for favours conferred on them,—not as a testimonial of their opi¬
nion of the abilities of an individual, or as designed to insinuate any preference over others in the same line, where
such preference has not been already bestowed by the public.
MIC [ 19 ] MIC
one of the holes In the stage ; this piece is used to con¬
iine small objects.
/, A small ivoi ¥ cylinder that fits on the pointed end
of the steel wire L ; it is designed to receive opaque
objects. Light-coloured ones are to be stuck on the
dark side, and vice vet'sa.
M, a convex lens, which iits to the stage by means
of the long pin adhering to it. This piece is designed
to collect the light from the sun or a candle, and to
throw them on any object placed on the stage j but it
is very little used at present.
N, a brass slider, into which is fitted a flat piece of
glass, and a brass slider containing four small glasses,
one or two of them concave, the others flat; it is de¬
signed to coniine small living objects, and when used is
to be placed between the two upper plates of the slider-
holder.
O, a glass tube to receive a small fish, &c.
P, represents one of the ivory sliders, wherein ob¬
jects are placed between two pieces of talc, and con¬
fined by a brass ring.
Q, a piece to hold the speculum II : this piece is ge¬
nerally fitted to the microscope represented at fig. 12.
R, a pair of forceps, to take up any occasional ob-
jfet-
S, a camel’s hair pencil to brush the dust off the
glasses 5 the upper part of the quill is scooped out, to
take np a drop of any fluid, and place it on either of
the glasses for examination.
T, an instrument for cutting thin transverse sections
of wood. It consists of a wooden base, which supports
four brass pillars j on the top of the pillars is placed a
flat piece of brass, near the middle of which there is a
triangular hole.
A sharp knife, which moves in a diagonal direction,
is fixed on the upper side of the afore-mentioned plate,
and in such a iftanner that the edge always coincides
with the surface thereof.
The knife is moved backwards and forwards by
means of the handle a. The piece of wood is placed
in the triangular trough which is under the brass
plate, and is to be kept steady therein by a milled
screw which is fitted to the trough 5 the wood is
to be pressed forward for cutting by the micrometer
screw b.
The pieces of wood should be applied to this in¬
strument immediately on being taken out of the
ground, or else they should be soaked for some time in
Water, to soften them so that they may not hurt the
edge of the knife.
When the edge of the knife is brought in contact
with the piece of wood, a small quantity of spirits of
wine should be poured on the surface of the Wood, to
prevent its curling up ; it will also make it adhere to
the knife, from which it may be removed by pressing a
piece of blotting paper on it.
y, An appendage to the cutting engine, which is to
be used instead of the micrometer screw, being prefer¬
red to it by some. It is placed over the triangular
hole, and kept flat down upon the surface of the brass
plate, while the piece of wood is pressed against a cir¬
cular piece of brass which is on the under side of it.
This circular piece of brass is fixed to the screw, by
which its distance from the flat plate on which the knife
moves may be regulated.
2;, An ivory box, containing at one end spare talc Micro-
for the ivory slider, and at the other spare rings for scope,
pressing the talcs together and confining them to the
slider.
Fluid microscopes have been also proposed j the first,
it would appear, was suggested by Mr Grey. This was
formed of water, and an account of it will be found in
N° 221, 223, Phil. Trans. An improved microscope,
on a similar principle, has been invented by Mr Brew¬
ster-, of which the following is a description, taken
from a note by the translator of Haiiy’s Natural Phi¬
losophy.
“ A vertical bar (says Mr Gregory), is fixed upon
a horizontal pedestal; and from the top of this bar
proceeds a horizontal arm, which supports a circular
case containing the lenses } below this another horizon¬
tal arm slides up and down, capable of adjustment by
means of a screw, and carrying the usual sliders to hold
the object which it is proposed to examine j and upon
the pedestal is fixed the frame of a mirror, which has
both an inclined and a horizontal motion, in order to
illuminate any object upon the slider. The upper cir¬
cular case is hollow, and contains four or more plano¬
convex lenses, which are constituted each of a drop of
very pure and viscid turpentine varnish, taken Up by
the point of a piece of wood, and dropped upon a piece
of very thin and well polished glass. The lenses thus
formed may be made of any focal length by taking up
a greater or a less quantity of fluid. The lower surface
of the glass having been first smoked with a candle, the
black pigment immediately below the lenses is then to
be removed, so that no light may pass but through the
lenses. The piece of glass is then perforated at its
centre, and surrounded by a toothed wheel, which,
when the wheel is put in the upper circular screw, may
he turned by a common endless screw, so that the fluid
lenses shall be brought severally under an eye-aperture
properly disposed, and any object be successfully exa¬
mined with a variety of magnifying powers.” Note,
p. 365. Sec also Ferguson’s Lectures by Brewster,
vol. ii.
After what has been related of microscopes, they
cannot be said to be complete without the valuable ad¬
dition of a micrometer ; for the use and advantages of
which, see the article MICROMETER.
Having presented our readers with descriptions of
the various microscopes generally used, we think it tmr
duty to point out to them those which we conceive to
be best calculated to answer the purposes of science.
The first which presents itself to our mind is that of
Ellis : It is better adapted than any other portable mi¬
croscope, to the purpose of general observation $ simple
in its construction, and general in its application. To
those who prefer a double microscope, we should reccm-
mend that figured in Plate CCCXXXVIII. fig. 12.
If opaque objects, as insects, &c. be subjects of inves¬
tigation, the Lucernal Microscope claims the preference ;
hut if amusement alone guides the choice, the Solar
Microscope must be fixed upon.
We shall now proceed to explain some necessary par¬
ticulars respecting the method of using microscopes j
after which, we shall subjoin an enumeration of the prin-
C 2 cipa]
MIC [ 20 ] MIC
cipal objects discovered or elucidated by their means, contracted by dryness, or m any manner out of a na- Micro-
On this subject Mr Adams, in his Essaij on the Micro- tural state, without making suitable allowances. 1 ie t |SC(^‘-
scope, has been very copious ; with a view, as he in- true colour of objects cannot be properly determined
forms us, to remove the common complaint made by by very great magnifiers j for as the pores and interstices
Mr Baker, “ that many of those who purchase micro- of an object are enlarged according to the magnifying
scopes are so little acquainted with their general and power of the glasses made use of, the component parti-
extensive usefulness, and so much at a loss for objects cles of its substance will appear separated many tbou-
to examine by them, that after diverting their friends sand times farther asunder than they do to the naked
some few times with what they find in the sliders eye : hence the reflection of the light from these parti-
which generally accompany the instrument, or perhaps cles will be very different, and exhibit different colours,
with two or three common objects, the microscope is It is likewise somewhat difficult to observe opaque ob-
laid aside as of little further value : whereas no instru- jects ; and as the apertures of the larger magnifiers are
ment has yet appeared in the world capable of affording but small, they are not proper for the purpose. It an
so constant, various, and satisfactory an entertainment object be so very opaque, that no light will pass through
to the mind.” ^ as mucl1 as Poss*ble niust be tbro'vn uPon tbe UP"
I. In using the microscope, there are three things per surface of it. Some consideration is likewise ne-
necessary to be considered. (l.) The preparation and cessary in forming a judgment of the motion of living
adjustment of the instrument itself. (2.) The proper creatures, or even ot fluids, when seen through the
quantity of light, and the best method of directing microscope •, for as the moving body, and the spate
it to the object. (3.) The method of preparing the wherein it moves, are magnified, the motion will also
objects, so that their texture may be properly under- be increased.
s^of)t| 2. On the management of the light depends in a
I. With reo-ard to the microscope itself, the first great measure the distinctness of the vision : and as, in
thin'er necessary to be examined is, whether the glasses order to have this in the greatest perfection, we must
be clean or not : if they are not so, they must be wiped adapt the quantity of light to the nature of the object
with a piece of soft leather, taking care not to soil and the focus of the magnifier, it is therefore neces-
them afterwards with the fingers > and, in replacing sary to view it in various degrees of light. In some
them, care must be taken not to place them in an ob- objects, it is difficult to distinguish between a pronn-
lique situation. We must likewise be careful not to nence and a depression, a shadow or a black stain : or
let the breath fall upon the glasses, nor to hold that between a reflection of light and whiteness, which is
part of the body of the instrument where the glasses are particularly observable in the eye of the hbellula and
placed with a warm hand} because thus the moisture other flies : all of these appearing very different m one
expelled by the heat from the metal will condense upon position from what they do in another. The bright-
the glass, and prevent the object from being distinctly ness of an object likewise depends on the quantity of
seen. The object should be brought as near the centre light, the distinctness of vision, and on regulating the
of the field of view as possible; for there only it will quantity to the object; for some will be in a manner
be exhibited in the greatest perfection. The eye should lost in a quantity of light scarcely sufficient to render
be moved up and down from the eye-glass, of a com- another visible.
pound microscope, till the situation is found where the There are various ways in which a strong light may
largest field and most distinct view of the object are to be thrown upon objects 5 as by means of the sun and
be had : but every person ought to adjust the micro- a convex lens. For this purpose, the microscope is
scope to his own eye, and not "to depend upon the situa- to be placed about three feet from a southern window j
tion it was placed in by another. A small magnifying then take a deep convex lens, mounted on a semicircle
power should always be begun with ; by which means and stand, so that its position may easily be varied : .
the observer will best obtain an exq/ct idea of the situa- place this lens between the object and the window, so
tion and connexion of the whole 5 and will of conse- that it may collect a considerable number of solar rays,
quence be less liable to form any erroneous opinion and refract them on the object or the mirror of the
when the parts are viewed separately by a lens of greater microscope. If the light thus collected from the sun
power. Objects should also be examined first in their be too powerful, it may be lessened by placing a piece
most natural position : for if this be not attended to, we of oiled paper, or a piece of glass lightly grayed, be-
shall be apt to form very inadequate ideas of the struc- tween the object and lens. Thus a proper’ degree of
ture of the whole, as well as of the connexion and use light may be obtained, and diffused equally all over
of the parts. A living animal ought to be as little hurt the surface of an object: a circumstance which ought
or discomposed as possible. to be particularly attended to 5 for if the light be
From viewing an object properly, we may acquire a thrown irregularly upon it, no distinct view can be
knowledge of its nature: but this cannot be done with- obtained. If we mean to make use of the solar light,
out an extensive knowledge of the subject, much pa- it will be found convenient to darken the room, and
tience, and many experiments •, as in a great number to reflect the rays of the sun on the above-mentioned
of cases the images wall resemble each other, though lens by means of the mirror of a solar microscope fix-
derived from very different substances. Mr Baker ed to the window-shutter : for thus the observer will
therefore advises us not to form an opinion too suddenly be enabled to preserve the light on his subject, notwith-
after viewing a microscopical object *, nor to draw our standing the motion of the sun. But by- reason of this
inferences till after repeated experiments and examina- motion, and the variable state of the atmosphere, so-
tions of the object in many different lights and positions j lar-observations are rendered both tedious and incon-
t© pass no judgment upon things extended by force, or venient: whence it will be proper for the observer to
bs.-
MIC [2
Mlcro- be furnished with a large tin lauthorn, formed some-
scope. thing like the common magic lanthorn, capable ot
     containing one of Argand’s lamps. This, however,
ought not to be of the fountain kind, lest the rarefac¬
tion of the air in the lanthorn should force the oil over.
There ought to be an aperture in the front of the
lanthorn, which may be moved up and down, and be
capable of holding a lens ; by which means a pleasant
and uniform as well as strong light may easily be pro¬
cured. The lamp should likewise move on a rod, so
that it may be easily raised or depressed. 'Ibis lan¬
thorn may likewise be used for many other purposes ;
as viewing of pictures, exhibiting microscopic objects
on a screen, &c. A weak light, however, is best lor
viewing many transparent objects : among which we
may reckon the prepared eyes of flies, as well as the
animalcules in fluids. The quantity of light from a
lamp or candle may be lessened by removing the mi¬
croscope to a greater distance from them, or by dimi¬
nishing the strength of the light which falls upon the
objects. This may very conveniently be done by
pieces of black paper with circular apertures of diflei-
ent sizes, and placing a larger or smaller one upon the
reflecting mirror, as occasion may require. Tdiere is
an oblique situation of the mirrors, which makes like¬
wise an oblique reflection of the light easily discovered
by practice, (but for which no general rule can be giv¬
en in theory) } and which will exhibit an object more
distinctly than any other position, showing the surface,
as well as those parts through which the light is trans¬
mitted. The light of a lamp or candle is generally
better for viewing microscopic objects than day light j
it being more easy to modify the former than the lat¬
ter, and to throw it upon the objects with different de¬
grees of density.
3. Swammerdam has excelled in the preparation of
objects almost all other investigators. Neither difficulty
nor disappointment could make him abandon the pur¬
suit of any object until he had obtained a satisfactory
idea of it. But unhappily the methods he used in pre¬
paring his objects for the microscope are now entirely un¬
known. Boerhaave examined with the strictest atten¬
tion all the letters and manuscripts of Swammerdam
which he could find but his researches were far from
being successful. T-he following are all the particulars,
which have thus come to the knowledge of the pub¬
lic.
For dissecting small insects, Swammerdam had a
brass table made by S. Muschenbroeck, to which were
affixed two brass arms moveable at pleasure to any part
of it. The upper part of these vertical arms was con¬
structed in such a manner as to have a slow vertical
motion ; by which means the operator could readily
alter their height as he saw convenient. One of these
arms was to hold the minute objects, and the other to
apply the microscope.
The lenses of Swammerdam’s microscopes were of
various sizes as well as foci: but all of them the best
that could be procured, both for the transparency of
the glass and the fineness of the workmanship. His
observations were always begun with the smallest mag¬
nifiers, from which he proceeded to the greatest 5 but
in the use of them, he was so exceedingly dexterous,
that he made every observation subservient to that which
succeeded it, aud all of them to the coiffinnation of,
i ] M I C
each other, and to the completing of the description. Micro-
His chief art seems to have been in constructing scis- scope,
sars of an exquisite fineness, and making them very
sharp. Thus he was enabled to cut very minute ob¬
jects to much more advantage than could be done by
knives and lancets j for these, though ever so sharp and
fine, are apt to disorder delicate substances by dis¬
placing some of the filaments, and drawing them af¬
ter them as they pass through tlie bodies ; but the
scissars cut them all equally. 1 he knives, lancets,
and styles he made use of in his dissections, were so
fine that he could not see to sharpen them without
the assistance of a magnifying glass; but with these
he could dissect the intestines of bees with the same ac¬
curacy that the best anatomists can do those of large
animals. He made use also of very small glass tubes
no thicker than a bristle, and drawn to a very fine
point at one end, but thicker at the other. These
M'ere for the purpose of blowing up, and thus render¬
ing visible, the smallest vessels which could be discover¬
ed by the microscope ; to trace their courses and com¬
munications, or sometimes to inject them with coloured
liquors.
Swammerdam sometimes made use of spirit of wine,
water, or oil of turpentine, for suffocating the insects
he wished to examine 5 and would preserve them for
a time in these liquids. Thus he kept the parts from
putrefying, and gave them besides such additional
strength and firmness, as rendered the dissections much
more easy than they would otherwise have been. Hav¬
ing then divided ’ the body transversely with the
scissars, and made what observations he could with¬
out farther dissection, he proceeded to extract the
intestines carefully with very fine instruments, to
wash away the fat m the like careful manner j and
thus to put the parts into such a state as would
best expose them to view ; but these operations are
best performed while the insects are in their nympha ;
state.
Sometimes the delicate viscera of the insects, after
having been suffocated as above mentioned, were put
into water: after which, having shaken them gently,
he procured an opportunity of examining them, espe¬
cially the air vessels, which last he could thus separate
entire from all the other parts, to the admiration of
all who beheld them: as these vessels cannot be di¬
stinctly seen in any other manner, or indeed in any
way whatever, without injuring them. Frequently al¬
so he injected water with a syringe to cleanse the parts
thoroughly, alter which he blewr them up with air and
dried them •, thus rendering them durable, and fit for
examination at a proper opportunity. Sometimes he
made very important discoveries* by examining insects
which he had preserved for several years in balsam.
Other insects he punctured with a very fine needle }
and after squeezing out all their moisture through the
holes made in this manner, he filled them with air,
by means of very slender glass tubes j then dried them
in the shade 5 and lastly, anointed them with oil of spike
in which a little rosin had been dissolved j and by
which means they for a long time retained their pro¬
per forms. He was likewise in possession of a singular
secret, by which he could preserve the limbs of insects
as limber and perspicuous as ever they had been. He
used to make a small puncture or incision in the tails of
worms j
MIC [2
worms •, and after having with great caution squeezed
out all the humours, as well as great part, of the viscera,
he injected them with wax in such a manner as to give
them the appearance of living creatures in perfect
heath. He found that the fat of all insects was entire¬
ly dissolvable in oil of turpentine by which means he
was enabled plainly to discern the viscera; though,
after this dissolution, it was necessary to cleanse and
wash them frequently in clean water. In this manner
he would frequently have spent whole days in the prepara¬
tion of a single caterpillar, and cleansing it from its fat,
in order to discover the true situation of the insect’s
heart. He had a singular dexterity in stripping oil the
skins of caterpillars that were on the point of spinning
their cones. This was done by letting them drop by
their threads into scalding water, and then suddenly
withdrawing them. Thus the epidermis peeled off
very easily 5 and, when this was done, he put them
into distilled vinegar and spirit of wihe mixed together
in equal proportions 5 Which, by giving a due degree
of firmness to the parts, gave him an opportunity of
separating them with very little trouble from the exu¬
viae, without any danger to the internal parts. Thus
the nympha could be shown to be wrapped up in the
caterpillar and the butterfly in the nympha; and there
is little doubt that those who look into the works of
Swammerdam, will be amply recompensed, whether
they consider the unexampled labour or the piety of the
author.
M. Lyonet, an eminent naturalist, usually drotvned
the insects he designed to examine •, by which means he
was enabled to preserve both the softness and transparen¬
cy of the parts. According to him, the insect, if very
small, viz. one-tenth of an inch, or little more, in
length, should be dissected on a glass somewhat concave.
If it should he suspected that the insect will putrefy by
keeping for a few days, spirit of wine diluted with
w7ater must be substituted instead of pure Water. The
insect must be suffered to dry; after which it may
be fastened by a piece of soft Wax, and again covered
with water.—Larger objects should be placed in a
trough of thin wood ; and for this purpose the bottom
of a common chip box will answer very Well } only
surrounding the edge of it ■with soft wax, to keep in
the water or other fluid employed in preserving the in¬
sect. The body is then to be opened : and if the parts
are soft like those of a caterpillar, they should be turn¬
ed back, and fixed to the trough by small pins, which
ought to be set by a small pair of nippers. At the
same time, the skin being stretched by another pair of
finer forceps, the insect must be put into water, and
dissected therein, occasionally covering it with spirit
of wine. Thus the subject will be preserved in per¬
fection, so that its parts may be gradually unfolded, no
other change being perceived than that the soft elastic
parts become stiff and opaque, while seme others lose
their colour.
The following instruments were made use of by M.
Lyonet in his dissection of the Chenille tie Saule. A
pair of scissars as small as could be made, with long and
fine arms : A pair of forceps, with their ends so nicely
adjusted, that they could easily lay hold of a spider’s
thread, or a grain of sand : Two fine steel needles fixed
;n wooden handles, about two inches and three quarters
2 j MIC
in length j which were the most generally useful instiu- Mure,
ments he employed. scope.
Dr Hooke, who likewise made many microscopic '■“—v*—5-
ohse’-vations, takes notice, that the common ant or
pismire is much more troublesome to draw than other
insects, as it is extremely difficult to get the body in a
quiet natural posture. If its feet be fettered with wax
or glue, tvhile the animal remains alive, it so twists its
body, that there is no possibility of gaining a proper
view of it •, and if it be killed before any observation
is made, the shape is often spoiled before it can be exa¬
mined. The bodies of many minute insects, when their
life is destroyed, instantly shrivel up ; and this is ob¬
servable even in plants as well as insects, the surface
of these small bodies being affected by the least change
of airj which is particularly the case with the ant. If
this creature, however, be dropped into rectified spirit
of wine, it Will instantly be killed ; and when it is ta¬
ken out, the spirit of wine evaporates, leaving the ani¬
mal dry, and in its natural posture, or at least in such
a state, that it may easily be placed in whatever pos¬
ture we please.
Parts of Insects. The wings, in many insects, are so
transparent, that they require no previous preparation :
but some of those that are folded up under elytra or
cases, require a considerable share of dexterity to unfold
them ; for these wings are naturally endowed with such
a spring, that they immediately fold themselves again,
unless care he taken to prevent them. The wing of
the earwig, when expanded, is of a tolerable size, yet
is folded up under a case not one-eighth part of its
bulk 5 and the texture of this wing renders it difficult
to be unfolded. This is do tie with the least trouble
immediately after the insect is killed. Holding then
the creature by the thorax, between the finger and the
thumb, with a blunt-pointed pin endeavour gently to
open it, by spreading it over the forefinger, and at the
same time gradually sliding the thumb over it. W hen
the wing is sufficiently expanded, separate it from the
insect by a sharp knife or a pair of scissars. The wing
should be pressed for some time between the thumb and
finger before it be removed 5 it should then he placed
between two pieces of paper, and again pressed for at
least an hour, after which time, -as there will be no
danger of its folding up any more, it may he put
between the talcs, and applied to the microscope.
Similar care is requisite in displaying the wings of the
notonecta and other water insects, as well as most kinds
of grylli.
The minute scales or feathers, which cover the
wings of moths or butterflies, afford very beautiful ob¬
jects for the microscope. Those from one part of the
wing frequently difl’er in shape from such as are taken
from other parts *, and near the thorax, shoulder, and
on the fringes of the wings, wre generally meet with
hair instead of scales. The whole may be brushed
off the wing, upon a piece of paper, by means of
a camel’s hair pencil ; after which the hairs can be
separated with the assistance of a common magnifying
glass.
It is likewise a matter of considerable difficulty to
dissect properly the pi'oboscis of insects, such as the
gnat, tabanus, &c. and the experiment must be repeat¬
ed a great number of times before the structure and si¬
tuation
M I C T 23 ] MIC
■Mirro- tuation of the parts can he thoroughly Investigated, as
scope- ^,e observer will frequently discover in one what he
could not in another. The collector of the bee, which
forms a very curious object, ought to be first carefully
washed in spirit of turpentine j by which means it will
be freed from the unctuous matter adhering to it :
when dry, it is again to he washed with a camel’s hair-
pencil to disengage and bring forward the small hairs
which form part of this microscopic beauty. The best
method of managing the stings of insects, which are in
danger of being broken by reason of their hardness, is
to soak the case and the rest of the apparatus for some
time in spirit of wine or turpentine ; then lay them on
a piece of paper, and with a blunt knife draw out the
sting, holding the sheath with the nail of the finger or
any blunt instrument; but great cai*e is necessary to pre¬
serve the feelers, which when cleaned add much to the
beauty of the object. The beard of the lepas anatifera
is to he soaked in clean soft water, frequently brushing
it while wet with a camel’s hair pencil : after it is
dried, the brushing must be repeated with a dry pencil
to disengage and separate the hairs, which are apt to
adhere together.
To view to advantage the, fat, brains, and other si¬
milar substances, Dr Hooke advises to render the sur¬
face smooth, by pressing it between two plates of thin
glass, by which mean's the matter will be rendered
much thinner and more transparent: without this pre¬
caution, it appears confused, by reason of the parts
lying too thick upon one another. Yov muscular fibres,
take a piece of the flesh, thin and dry ; moisten it with
warm water, and after this is evaporated the vessels
will appear more plain and distinct; and by repeated
macerations they appear still more so. The exuviae of
insects aft’ord a pleasing object, and require hut little
preparation. If bent or cux-led up, they will become so
relaxed by being kept a few hours in a moist atmosphere,
that you may easily extend them to their natural po¬
sitions ; or the steam of warm water will answer the
purpose very well.
The-eyes of insects in general form very curious and
I beautiful objects. Those of the libellula and other flies,
as well as of the lobster, &c. must first be cleaned from
L the blood, &c. after which they should he soaked in
water for some days : one or two skins are then to be
separated from the eye, which would be otherwise too
opaque and confused; but some care is requisite in this
operation; for if the skin he rendered too thin, it is
impossible to form a proper idea of the organization of
the part. In some substances, however, the organiza¬
tion is such, that by altering the texture of the part, we
destroy the objects which we wish to observe. Of this
sort are the nerves, tendons, muscular fibres, many of
which are viewed to most advantage when floating in
some transparent fluid. Thus very few of the muscular
fibres can be discovered when we attempt to view them
in the open air, though great numbers may be seen
if they be placed in water or oil. By viewing the
I thread of a ligament in this manner, we find it com¬
posed of a vast number of smooth round threads lying
close together. Elastic objects should be pulled or
stretched out while they are under the microscope, that
the texture and nature of those parts, the figure of
which is altered by being thus pulled out, may be more
fully discovered.
Other objects. To examine tawes by the microscope, Micro-
they should first be viewed as opaque objects : hut af- scope,
tevwards, by procuring thin slices of them, they may *—~v—
be viewed as transparent. The sections should be cut
in all directions, and be well washed and cleaned; and
in some cases maceration will be useful, or the bones
may he heated red hot in a clear fire, and then taken
out; by which means the bony cells will appear more
conspicuous. The pores of the skin may be examined In-
cutting oft’ a thin slice of the upper skin with a razor,
and then a second from the same place ; applying the
latter to the microscope. The lizard, guana, &c. have
two skins, one very transparent, the other thicker and
more opaque ; and, separating these two, you obtain
very beautiful objects.
To view the scales of fish to advantage, they ought
to be soaked in water for a few days, and then care¬
fully rubbed to clean them from the skin and dirt
which may adhere to them. The scales of the eel are
a great curiosity; and the more so, as this creature
was not known to have any scales till they were disco¬
vered by the microscope. The method of discovering
them is this. Take a piece of the skin of an eel from
oil’ its side,- and spread it while moist on a piece of
glass, that it may dry very smooth : when thus dried,
the surface will appear all over dimpled or pitted by
the scales, which lie under a sort of cuticle or thin
skin ; which may be raised with the sharp point of a
penknife, together with the scales, which will then
easily slip out; and thus we may procure as many as
we please.
The leaves of many trees, as well as of some plants,
when dissected, form a very agreeable object. In or¬
der to dissect them, take a few of the most perfect
leaves you can find, and place them in a pan with clean
water. Let them remain there three weeks, or a
month, without changing the water: then take them
up ; and if they feel very soft, and almost rotten, they
are sufficiently soaked. They must then be laid on a
flat hoard, and holding them by the stalk, draw the
edge of a knife over the upper side of the leaf, which
will take off most of the skin. Then turn the leaf, and
do the same with the under side ; and when the skin is
taken off on both sides, wash out the pulpy matter, and
the fibres will be exhibited in a very beautiful man¬
ner. The leaf may be slit into two parts, by split¬
ting the stalk ; and the skins peeled from the fibres
will also make a good object. This operation is best
performed in the autumn; the fibres of the leaves are
much stronger at that season, and less liable to be
broken The internal structure of shells may be ob¬
served by grinding them down on a hone : and all ores
and minerals should he carefully washed and brushed
with a small brush, to remove any sordes that may ad¬
here to them.
To view the circulation of the blood, we must ob¬
serve living animals of the most transparent kind.—
A small eel is sometimes used for this purpose ; in
which case it must be cleansed from the slime naturally
adhering to it; after which it may be put into a tube
filled with water, were it can he viewed in a satis¬
factory manner. The tail of any other small fish may
he viewed in the same manner, or put upon a slip oi
flat glass, and thus laid before the microscope. By
filling the tube with water when an eel is made use oi,
we
MIC [
Micro- we prevent in a great measure the sliminess ot the
scope, animal from soiling the glass,
v  The particles of the blood form a very curious ob¬
ject, and have been carefully viewed by different phi¬
losophers } \vho, nevertheless, differ from one another
Very much in their accounts of them. Ibe best
method of viewing these is to take a small drop of
blood when warm, and spread it as thin as possible
upon a flat piece ot glass. By diluting it a little
with warm water, some of the large globules will be
■separated from the smaller, and many of them subdivid¬
ed j or a small drop of blood may be put into a ca¬
pillary glass tube, and then placed before the micro-
■scope. Mr Baker advises warm milk as proper to be
mixed with the blood j but Mr Hewson diluted the
blood with its own serum: and by this method he could
preserve the small particles entire, and view them di¬
stinctly *, arid thus he found that they were not globular,
as had been imagined by other anatomists, but flat. Ha¬
ving shaken a piece of the crassamentum of the blood
in serum till the latter became a little coloured, he
spread it with a soft hair pencil on a piece of thin glass,
which he placed under the microscope, in such a man¬
ner as not to be quite horizontal, but rather higher
at one end than the other. Thus the serum flows
from the higher to the lower part; and, as it flows,
some of the particles will he found to swim on their
flat sides, and will appear to have a dark spot in the
middle , while others will turn over from one side to
the other as they roll down the glass. Many cruel
experiments have been tried in order to observe the
circulation of the blood in living creatures, and an
apparatus had been invented for viewing the circula¬
tion in the mesentery of a frog ; but as this can an¬
swer no useful purpose, and will never be put in
practice by persons of humanity, we ferbear to men¬
tion it.
II. Besides the objects for the microscope already
mentioned, there are innumerable others, some hardly
visible, and others totally invisible, to the naked eye j
and which therefore, in a more peculiar sense, are de¬
nominated.
Microscopic Animals. They are the animalcules or
moving bodies in water, in which certain substances
have been infused ; and of which there are a great
many different kinds. These animalcula are sometimes
found in water which we would call pare, did not the
microscope discover its minute inhabitants ; but not
equally in all kinds of water, or even in all parts of the
same kind of it. The surfaces of infusions are general¬
ly covered with a scum which is easily broken, but ac¬
quires thickness by standing. In this scum the great¬
est number of animalcules are usually found. Some¬
times it is necessary to dilute the infusions j but this
ought always to be done with water, not only distill¬
ed, but viewed through a microscope, lest it should
also have animalcules in it, and thus prove a source of
deception. It is, however, most proper to observe
those minute objects after the water is a little evapo¬
rated ; the attention being less diverted by a few ob¬
jects than when they appear in great number. One
or two of the animalcules may be separated from the
rest by placing a small drop of water on the glass near
that of the infusion •, join them together by making a
small connexion between them with a pin j and as
3
24 ] » MIC
soon as you perceive that an animalcule has entered the
clear drop, cut off the connexion again. (
Eels in paste are obtained by boiling a little flour
and water into the consistence of bookbinders paste \
then exposing it to the air in an open vessel, and beat¬
ing it frequently together to keep the surface from
growing mouldy or hard. In a few days it will be
found peopled with myriads of little animals visible to
the naked eye, which are the eels in question. They
may be preserved for a whole year by keeping the
paste moistened with water 5 and while this is done,
the motion of the animals will keep the surface from
growing mouldy. Mr Baker directs a drop or two
of vinegar to be put into the paste now and then.
When they are applied to the microscope, the paste
must be diluted in a piece of water for them to swim
Micro¬
scope.
JL1J*
Numberless animalcules are observed by the micro¬
scope in infusions of pepper. To make an infusion for
this purpose, bruise as much common black pepper as
will cover the bottom of an open jar, and lay it there¬
on about half an inch thick: pour as much soft water
into the vessel as will rise about an inch above the
pepper. Shake the whole well together : after which
they must not be stirred, but be left exposed to the
air for a few days ; in which time a thin pellicle will
be formed on the surface, in which innumerable ani¬
mals are to be observed by the microscope.
The microscopic animals are so different from those
of the larger kinds, that scarce any sort of analogy
seems to exist between them 5 and one would almost
be tempted to think that they lived in consequence of
laws directly opposite to those which preserve ourselves
and other visible animals in existence. ^hey have
been systematically arranged by O. F. Muller 5 though
it is by no means probable that all the different classes
have yet been discovered. Such as have been observ¬
ed, however, are by this author divided in the following
manner:
I. Such as have no external organs.
1. Monas : Punctiforme. A mere point.
2. Proteus : Mutabilis. Mutable.
3. Volvox : Sphsericum. Spherical.
4. Enchelis : Cylindracea. Cylindrical.
5. Vibrio ; Elongatum. Long.
* Membranaceous.
6. Cyclidium : Ovale. Oval.
7. Paramecium : Oblongum. Oblong.
8. Kolpoda : Sinuatum. Sinuous.
9. Gonium : Angulatum. With angles.
10. Bursaria. Hollow like a purse.
II. Those that have external organs,
* Naked, or not enclosed in a shell.
1. Cercaria : Caudatum. With a tail.
2. Trichoda : Crinitum. Hairy.
3. Kerona : Corniculatum. With horns.
4. Himantopus ; Cirratum. Cirrated.
5. Leucophra : Ciliatum undique. Every part cili¬
ated.
6. Vorticella : Ciliatum apice. The apex ciliated.
* Covered with a shell.
7. Brachionus : Ciliatum apice. The apex ciliated.
In
MIC [ 25 ] MIC
Micro- In the treatise on Helminthology under the fifth
scope, order of the class vermes, viz. Infusoria, the genera
*—n " 1 here enumerated have already been noticed according
to an arrangement somewhat different, and a few of the
species have been described. For the sake of those
who wish to prosecute microscopical inquiries, we shall
introduce descriptions of a few more, and particularly
those whose habitats are known.
I. Monas.
This is by our author defined to be “ an invisible
(to the naked eye), pellucid, simple, punctiform
worm but of which, small as it is, there are several
species.
The monas tcrma or gelatinosa, is a small jelly-
like point, which can be but imperfectly seen by the
single microscope, and not at all by the compound one.
In a full light they totally disappear, by reason of
their transparency. Some infusions are so full of them
that scarce the least empty space can be perceived j
the water itself appearing composed of innumerable
globular points, in which a motion may be perceived
somewhat similar to that which is observed when the
sun’s rays shine on the water •, the whole multitude of
animals appearing in commotion like a hive of bees.
This animal is very common in ditch-water, and in
almost all infusions either of animal or vegetable sub¬
stances.
Monas atomus or albida; white monas with a variable
point. This appears like a white point, which through
a high magnifier appears somewhat egg-shaped. The
smaller end is generally marked with a black point,
the situation of which is variable ; sometimes it ap¬
pears on the large end, and sometimes there are two
black spots in the middle. This species was found in
sea water, which had been kept through the whole
winter, but was not very fetid. No other kind of ani¬
malcule was found in it.
II. The Troteus.
An invisible, very simple, pellucid worm, of a variable
form.
The tenax, running out into a fine point. This is a
pellucid gelatinous body, stored with black molecules,
and likewise changing its figure, but in a more regular
order than the former. It first extends itself in a
straight line, the lower part terminating in a bright
acute point. It appears to have no intestines \ and
when the globules are all collected in the upper part,
it next draws the pointed end up toward the middle of
the body, which assumes a round form. It goes
through a number of different shapes, part of which
are described under the article Animalcule. It is
found in some kinds of river water, and appears con¬
fined almost entirely to one place, only bending side-
wise.
III. Volvox.
An invisible, very simple, pellucid, spherical worm.
The punctum; of a black colour, with a lucid point.
'Jins is a small globule, with one hemisphere opaque
and black, the other having a crystalline appearance j
'Mid a vehement motion is observed in the black part.
Vol. XIV. Part I. ’ f
It moves as on an axis, frequently passing through tire Micro
drop in this manner. Many are often seen joined to- scope
gether in their passage through the water 5 sometimes v
moving as in a little whirlpool, and then separating.
They are found in grest numbers on the surface of
fetid sea water.
The globulus, with the hinder part somewhat ob¬
scure, sometimes verges a little towards the oval in its
shape, having a slow fluttering kind of motion, but
more quick when disturbed. The intestines are but
just visible. It is found in most vegetable infusions,
and is ten times large than the monas lens.
The lunula, with lunular molecules, is a small
roundish transparent body, consisting of an innumerable
multitude of homogeneous molecules of the shape of a
crescent, without any common margin. It moves con¬
tinually in a twofold manner, viz. of the molecules
among one another, and the whole mass turning slowly
round. It is found in marshy places in the beginning
of spiing.
IV. Enchelis.
A simple, invisible, cylindric worm.
The viiidis, or green enchelis, has an obtuse tail,
the fore part terminating in an acute truncated angle;
the intestines are obscure and indistinct. It continually
varies its motion, turning from right to left.
The punctifera, having the fore part obtuse, the
hinder part pointed. It is opaque, and of a green co¬
lour, with a small pellucid spot in the fore part, in which
two black points may be seen ; and a kind of double
band crosses the middle of the body. The hinder part
is pellucid and pointed, with an incision supposed to be
the mouth, at the apex of the fore part. It is found in
marshes.
The pupula, with the fore part papillary, is found in
dunghill water in November and December : it has a
rotatory motion on a longitudinal axis, and moves in an
oblique direction through the water. Both ends are
obtuse} and the hinder part is marked with a trans¬
parent circle, or circular aperture.
V. Vibrio.
A very simple, invisible, round, and rather long worm.
The lineola is found in most vegetable infusions in
such numbers, that it seems to fill up almost the whole
of their substance. It is so small, that with the best
magnifiers we can discern little more than an obscure
tremulous motion among them. It is more slender than
the monas terma.
The serpens, with obtuse windings or flexures, is
found in river water, but ■seldom. It is slender and ge¬
latinous, resembling a serpentine line, with an intestine
down the middle.
The spirillum is exceedingly minute, and twisted in
a spiral form, which seems to be its natural shape, as it
never untwists itself, but moves forward in a straight
line, vibrating the hind and fore parts. It was found
in 1782 in an infusion of the sonchus arvensis.
The vcrmiculus has a milky appearance, with an ob¬
tuse apex, and a languid undulatory motion, like that of
the common worm. It is found in marshy water in
D November,
MIC [ 26 ] MIC
Micro- November, but seldom. It is thought to be the animal
scoi)e- i mentioned by Leeuwenhoeck as found in the dung ol
J,”_ v the frog and spawn of the male libellula.
The sagitta, with a setaceous tail, has a long and
flexible body ; broadest about the middle, and filled
there also with gray molecules $ the fore part being
drawn out into a thin and transparent neck, and the
upper end thick and black. It is found in salt water,
and seems to move by contracting and extending its
neck.
VI. Cyclidium.
A simple, invisible, flat, pellucid, orbicular or oval
worm.
The bulla, or orbicular bright cyclidium. This is
found occasionally in an infusion of hay. It is very
pellucid and white, but the edges somewhat darker
than the rest. It moves slowly, and in a semicircular
direction.
The millium is very pellucid, and splendid like cry¬
stal $ and of an elliptical figure, with a line through
the whole length of it. The motion is swift, interrupt¬
ed, and fluttering.
VII. Yaramcecium.
An invisible, membranaceous, flat, and pellucid worm.
The chrxjsalis is found in salt water, and differs very
little from the former, only the ends are more obtuse,
and the margins are filled with black globules.
The versutum is found in ditches, and has an oblong,
green, and gelatinous body, filled with molecules *, the
lower part thicker than the other; and both ends ob¬
tuse. It propagates by division.
VIII. Kolpoda.
An invisible, pellucid, flat, and crooked worm.
The lamella is very seldom met with. It resembles
a long, narrow, and pellucid membrane, with the hind
part obtuse, narrower, and curved towards the top. It
has a vacillatory and very singular motion j going upon
the sharp edge, not on the flat side as is usual with mi¬
croscopic animals.
The gallinula is found in fetid salt water j and has
the apex somewhat bent, the belly oval, convex, and
striated.
The rostrum is found, though seldom, in water
where the lemna grows } and has a slow and horizontal
motion. The fore part is bent into a kind of hook j
the hind part obtuse, and quite filled with black mole¬
cules.
The triquetra was found in salt water, and appears
to consist of two membranes } the upper side flattened,
the lower convex, with the apex bent into a kind of
shoulder.
The assimilis is found on the sea-coast, and has an
elliptic mass in the middle, but is not folded like the
^former. The margin of the fore part is notched from
the top to the middle j the lower part swells out, and
contracts again into a small point.
The cucullulus is found in an infusion of the sonchus
arvensis. It is very pellucid and crystalline, with se¬
veral globules, and has an oblique incision a little below Micro-
the apex. scope.
The ren, or crassa, is found in an infusion of hay, ' v
commonly about 13 hours after the infusion is made,
and has a quick and vacillatory motion. Its body is yel¬
low, thick, and somewhat opaque j curved a little in
the middle, so that it resembles a kidney; and lull of
molecules. When the Water in which it swims is about
to fail, it takes an oval form, is compressed, and at last
bursts.
IX. Gojiium.
An invisible, simple, smooth, and angular worm.
The pulvinatum is found in dunghills j and appears
like a little quadrangular membrane, plain on both
sides } but with a large magnifier it appears like a bol¬
ster formed of three or four cylindric pillows sunk here
and there.
The enrrugatum is found in various kinds of infu¬
sions *, and is somewhat of a square shape, very small,
and in some positions appears as streaked.
The truncatum is found chiefly in pure wi^er, and
then but seldom. It has a languid motion, and is much
larger than the foregoing. The fore part is a straight
line, with which the sides form obtuse angles, the end
of the sides being united by a curved line. The inter¬
nal molecules are of a dark green, and there are two
little bright vesicles in the middle.
X. Bursaria.
A very simple, hollow, membranaceous worm.
The truncate/la is visible to the naked eye 5 white,
oval, and truncated at the top, where there is a large
aperture descending towards the base. Most of them
have four or five yellow eggs, at the bottom. They
move from left to right, and from right to left; ascend¬
ing to the surface in a straight line, and sometimes roll¬
ing about while they descend.
The bullina is pellucid and crystalline, having splen¬
did globules of different sizes swimming about with it.
The under side is convex, the upper hollow, with the
fore part forming a kind of lip.
The hirundinella has two small projecting wings,
which give it somewhat of the appearance of a bird :
and it moves something like a swallow. It is invisible
to the naked eye j but by the microscope appears a
pellucid hollow membrane.
The duplella was found among duckweed, and ap¬
pears like a crystalline membrane folded up, without
any visible intestines except a small congeries of points
under one of the folds.
XI. Cercaria.
An invisible transparent worm with a tail.
The gyrinus greatly resembles the spermatic animal¬
cules. It has a white gelatinous body j the fore part
somewhat globular 5 the hind part round, Jong, and
pointed. Sometimes it appears a little compressed on
each side. When swimming it keeps its tail in conti- .
nual vibration like a tadpole.
The gibba is found in the infusions of hay and other
vegetables ^
MIC r 27 ] MIC
vegetables j and is small, opaque, gelatinous, white,
scope, and without any visible intestines.
“ v 1 The incjuieta is found in salt water, and is remarkable
for changing the shape of its body: sometimes it ap¬
pears spherical, sometimes like a long cylinder, and
sometimes oval. It is white and gelatinous, the tail fi¬
liform and flexible, the upper part vibrating violently.
A pellucid globule may be observed at the base, and
two very small black points near the top.
The tui'bo, with a tail like a bristle, is found among
duckweed. It is of a talcy appearance, partly oval and
^partly spherical •, and seems to be composed of two glo¬
bular bodies, the lowermost of which is the smallest,
and it has two little black points like eyes on the upper
part. The tail is sometimes straight, sometimes turned
kack on the body.
The poduria is found in November and December,
in marshy places covered with lemna. It is pellucid 5
■and seems to consist of a head, trunk, and tail : the
head resembles that of a herring ; the trunk is ventri-
cose and full of intestines, of a spiral form and black
eolour. The tail most commonly appears to be divided
into two bristles. The intestines are in a continual
motion when the body moves, and by reason of their
various shades make it appear very rough. There are
likewise some hairs to be perceived. It turns round as
upon an axis when it moves.
The viridis is found in the spring in ditches of stand¬
ing water ; and in some of its states has a considerable
resemblance to the last, but has a much greater power
of changing its shape. It is naturally cylindrical, the
lower end sharp, and divided into two parts \ but some¬
times contracts the head ami tail so as to assume a sphe¬
rical figure.
The setffera is found in salt w’ater, but seldom.
It is small, the body rather opaque, and of a round fi¬
gure. The upper part is bright, and smaller than the
rest: the trunk is more opaque ; the tail sharp, and
near it a little row of short hairs. It has a slow rotato¬
ry motion.
The hirta was likewise found in salt W'ater. It is
opaque and cylindrical ; and when in motion, the body
appears to be surrounded with rows of small hairs sepa¬
rated from each other.
The pleuronectes is found in water which has been
kept for several months. It is membranaceous, round¬
ish, and white, with two blackish points in the fore
part, the hinder part being furnished with a slender
sharp tail. It has orbicular intestines of different sizes
in the middle ; the larger of them bright. The mo¬
tion is vacillatory $ and in swimming it keeps one
edge of the lateral membrane upwards, the other folded
down..
The tripos is flat, pellucid, triangular, having each
angle of the base or fore part bent down into two linear
arms, the apex of the triangle prolonged into a tail. It
is found in salt water.
XII. Leucophra.
An invisible, pellucid, and ciliated worm.
The Mantilla is of a dark colour, and filled with glo¬
bular molecules $ short hairs are curved inwards ; u,nd
it occasionally projects and draws in a little white pro¬
tuberance. It is pretty common in marshy water.
The vircscens is a large, pear-shaped, greenish-co- Micru-
1 cured animalcule, filled with opaque molecules, and co- s.cop<v
vered with short hairs ; generally moving in a straight—v*-~
line. It is found in salt water.
The bursata is found in salt water, and is similar in
many respects to the former. It is of a long oval shape,
bulging in the middle, and filled with green molecules,
everywhere ciliated except at the apex, which is trun¬
cated and shaped somewhat like a purse j the hairs are
sometimes collected into little fascicles.
The posthuma is globular, and covered as it were
with a pellucid net $ is found in fetid salt water.
The signata is common in salt Water in the months of
November and December. It is oblong and subdepres¬
sed, with a black margin filled with little molecules,
but more particularly distinguished by a curved line in
the middle somewhat in the shape of the letter S ; one
end of which is sometimes bent into the form of a small
spiral.
XIII, Trkhoda.
An invisible, pellucid, hairy worm.
The gyrinus is one of the smallest of this genus, and
is found in salt water. It is smooth and free from hairs,
except at the fore part, where there are a few.
The 7iigra was found in salt water, and has an opaque
body} but when at rest one side appears pellucid.
When in violent motion, it seems entirely black.
The pubes is found in water where-duckweed grows,
chiefly in the month of December. It has a bunch
above the hind part marked with black spots, depressed
towards the top, a little folded, and somewhat convex
on the under part. The apex is furnished with hairs,
but they are seldom visible till the creature is in the
agonies of death, when it extends and moves them ve¬
hemently, and attempting as it were to draw in the very
last drop of water.
The patens is found in salt water j and is of a long
cylindrical shape, filled with molecules, the fore part
bright and clear, with a long opening near the top which
tapers to a point, and is beset with hairs.
The striata is found in the month of December in
river water. It is a beautiful animalcule, of a fox co¬
lour. It is of an oblong shape, the lower end some¬
what larger than the other. It has a set of streaks
running from one end to the other, and at the abdo¬
men a double row of little eggs lying in a transverse di¬
rection.
The uvula is found in the infusion of hay and other
vegetables. It is six times longer than broad, round,
fiexuous, of an equal size, the greater part filled with
obscure molecules5 the fore part rather empty, with
an alimentary canal and lucid globules near the middle.
The margin of the fore part is covered with short
hairs.
The lintcr is found in an infusion of old grass. It is
egg-shaped, oblong, with both extremities raised so that
the bottom becomes convex, and the upper part de¬
pressed like a boat; it is of different shapes at different
ages, and sometimes has a rotatory motion.
The paxillus is found in salt water j and is long, full
of gray molecules j the fore part truncated and hairy,
and rather smaller than the other.
The vermiadaris is found in river water $ and is pel-
D 2 lucid
M I C
Mim)- lucid ia the fore part, with the hind part full of mole-
scope. cules.
' The melitcea is found in salt water, but very rarely.
It is oblong, ciliated, with a globular apex, a dilatable
neck, and a kind of peristaltic motion perceivable with¬
in it.
The per ilium is frequently found in marshes. It is
cylindrical, pellucid, muscular, and capable of being
folded up. It appears double; the interior part full of
molecules, with an orbicular muscular appendage, which
it can open and shut, and which forms the mouth. The
external part is membranaceous, pellucid, dilated, and
marked with transverse streaks $ and it can protrude or
draw in the orbicular membrane at pleasure. Some
have four articulations in the tail, others five; and it
has two pairs of bristles, one placed at the second joint,
the other at the last.
The delphis is found in river water. It is smooth,
pellucid, having the fore part dilated into a semicircle,
gradually decreasing in breadth towards the tail. The
front is hairy, the hairs standing as rays from the se¬
micircular edge : one of the edges is sometimes con¬
tracted.
The delphinus is found in hay that has been infused
for some months. It is pellucid, smooth, and egg-sha¬
ped ; the hinder part terminating in a tail about half
the length of the body, dilated at the upper end, trun¬
cated, and always bent upwards. It moves sometimes
on its belly and sometimes on its side.
The rostrata is found in water where duckweed has
Been kept. It is depressed, capable of changing its
shape, yellow, with long ciliated hairs j it has four feet
tapering to a point, one of them longer than the rest.
Both feet and hairs are within the margin. The shape
of the body is generally triangular; the apex formed
into an obtuse beak, which the creature sometimes
draws in so that it appears quite round.
The charon was found in salt water. It is oval, and
resembles a boat as well in its motion as shape \ the up¬
per part is hollowed, the under part furrowed and con¬
vex } the stern round, with several hairs proceeding
from it-
XIV. Kerona.
An invisible worm with horns.
The rastellum is found in river water. It has three
rows of horns on the back, which occupy almost the
whole of it.
The cypris is found in water covered with lemna. It
is somewhat of a pear shape, compressed, with a broad
and blunt fore part *, the front furnished with hairs, or
little vibrating points inserted under the edge, shorter
in the hind part, partly extended straight, and partly
bent down, having a retrograde motion.
The calvitium is found in the infusion of vegetables.
The body is broad and flat, both sides obtuse, filled
with black molecules, and there is a black spot near
the hinder pax-t, where there are likewise a few short
bristles.
The pmtulata is found in salt water. It is oval, con¬
vex ", one edge of the hinder part sinuated, both ends
set with hairs, and some horns on the fore part.
M I C
XV. Himantopus.
A pellucid, invisible, and cirrated worm.
The acarus is lively, conical, ventricose, full of
black molecules, with a bright and transparent fore
part. The lower part of the apex has rows of long
hairs on the under part set like rays. Four locks of
long crooked hair or feet proceed from the belly, and
it is continually moving these and other hairs in various
directions.
The ludio is a lively diverting animalcule, smooth,
pellucid, full of small points, the fore part clubbed and
a little bent, the hinder part narrow 5 the base oblique¬
ly truncated, and terminating in a tail stretched out
transversely. The top of the head and middle of the
back are furnished with long and vibrating hairs ; three
moveable and flexible curls hang down from the side
of the head at a distance from each other. When the
creature is at rest, its tail is curled 5 but when in mo¬
tion, it is drawn tight and extended upwards.
The sannio is found, though seldom, in water where
the lemna grows. The cilia are longer than the hairs,
and are continually vibrating: it has two moveable
curls hanging on the side of the head.
The charon is found in sea water, but rarely. It is
oval, pellucid, and membranous, with longitudinal fur¬
rows and several bent diverging rows of hair below the
middle, but none on the hinder part.
XVI. Vorticella.
A naked worm with rotatory cilia, capable of contract¬
ing and extending itself.
The lunifera, is found in salt water j has the fore part
obtuse, the base bi'oad, and hollowed away like a cres*-
cent, with a short pi’otuberance in the middle of the
concave part: the fore part is ciliated.
The hursata is found in salt water, and is ventri¬
cose, crammed with molecules; the fore pai’t truncat¬
ed, and both sides of it pellucid : there is a prominent
papilla in the middle, which when the animalcule is at
rest appears notched, the edge of the aperture being
ciliated; the hairs are capable of moving in various di¬
rections.
The sputarium is found in October, with the lesser
lemna, and is one of the most singular of the microsco¬
pic animalcules. When viewed sidewise, it is sometimes
nearly cylindrical, only tapering a little towards the
hinder part, and having a broad pellucid edge. Viewed
from the top, it has sometimes a broad face or disk,
furnished with radiating hairs, the under part contract¬
ed into a globular shape, of a dark green colour, and
filled with small grains.
The multiformis is found in salt water, and very much
resembles the former.
The nigra is found in August in meadows covered
with water. It may be seen with the naked eye, ap¬
pearing like a black point swimming on the surface.
Through the microscope it appears as a small conical
body, obtuse and ventricose at one end, and acute at
the other. When the extremities are extended, two
small white hooks become visible, by the assistance of
which
[ 28 ]
MIC
winch it moves in the water, and it probably has a ro¬
tatory organ: it moves continually in a vacillating
manner on the top of the water.
The ocreata is met with in rivers, though very sel¬
dom, and in shape somewhat resembles the lower part
of a boot. The apex of the upper part is truncated and
ciliated, the heel pointed, and the foot round.
The val^'a is as broad as long, and the apex trunca¬
ted and ciliated j both angles ol the base projecting out¬
wards, one somewhat like a wart, the other like a finger.
It is found in marshy waters.
The papillaris is likewise found in marshes where the
conserva nitida grows. It is ventricose } the fore part
truncated, with a papillary tail, and a beautiful papil¬
lary excrescence on the side.
The cratcegaria is found in the month of April, both
in the mud and on the tail of the rnonoculus quadricor-
nis. They are generally heaped together in a spherical
form, and united to one common stalk. They are like¬
wise often to be found without a pedicle, the body ra¬
ther contracted, the aperture circular, and surrounded
with a marked margin. It has two small arms 5 and
with a powerful magnifier a violent rotatory motion may
be observed. Sometimes an individual will separate
from the community, and move in a kind of spiral line
for a little time, and then go back to the rest.
The rotatoria is the wheel animal described by Mr
Baker 5 and of which an account is given under the
article ANIMALCULE.
The furcala is commonly found in water, and has
a cylindric body with a rotatory organ, consisting of a
row of hairs at the apex : the tail is divided into two
parts, turning a little inwards. When at rest it joins
the segments of the tail, but opens them when in mo¬
tion.
The citrina is found in stagnant waterthe head
full of molecules, round, everywhere of an equal size,
and very transparent. Both sides of the orifice are ci¬
liated, and each has a rotatory motion, appearing some¬
times without and sometimes within the edge of the
mouth.
The convallaria is the same with the bell-animal
mentioned by Mr Baker. See the article Animal-
CULE.
The acinosa inhabits^ that whitish substance which
often entirely covers plants, wood, shells, &c. W hen
this substance is examined by a microscope, it appears
to be wholly composed of living animals of the polype
kind. See Polype.
The pyraria. 1
The anastatica > See the article Polype.
The digitalis. J
XVII. Brackionus.
A contractile worm, covered with a shell, and furnished
with rotatory cilia.
The patella is found in marshy water in the winter¬
time. It is univalve, the shell oval, plain, crystal¬
line, with the anterior part terminating in two acute
points on both sides, though the intervening space is
commonly filled up with the head of the animal. By
these points it fastens itself, and whirls about the body
erect. The rotatory cilia are perceived with great dif¬
ficulty.
c
already said on this subject, under Micro-
shall here add the follow- scope,
ing observations from Mr Adams.—“ How many kinds' ^
of these invisibles there may be (says he), is yet un¬
known } as they are discerned of all sizes, from those
which are barely invisible to the naiced eye, to such as
resist the force of the microscope as the fixed stars do
that of the telescope, and with the greatest powers hi¬
therto invented appear only as so many moving points.
The smallest living creatures our instruments can show,
are those which inhabit the waters j for though animal-
cula equally minute may fly in the air, or creep upon
the earth, it is scarcely possible to get a view of them j
but as water is transparent, by confining the creatures
within it we can easily observe them by applying a drop-
of it to the glasses.
“ Animalcules in general are observed to move in
all directions with equal ease and rapidity, sometimes
obliquely, sometimes straight forward ; sometimes mov¬
ing in a circular direction, or rolling upon one another,
running backwards and forwards through the whole ex¬
tent of the drop, as if diverting themselves 5 at other
times greedily attacking the little parcels of matter they
meet with. Notwithstanding their extreme minuteness,
they know how to avoid obstacles, or to prevent any in¬
terference with one another in their motions : sometimes
they will suddenly change the direction in which they
move, and take an opposite one j and, by inclining the
glass on which the drop of water is, as it can be made
to move in any direction, so the animalcules appear to
move as easily against the stream as with it. When the
water begins to evaporate, they flock towards the place
where the fluid is, and show a great anxiety and un¬
common agitation of the organs with which they draw
in the water. These motions grow languid as the wa¬
ter fails, and at last cease altogether, without a possibi¬
lity of renewal if they be left dry for a short time.
They sustain a great degree of cold as well as insects,
and will perish in much the same degree of heat that
destroys insects. Some animalcules are produced in wa¬
ter at the freezing point, and some insects live in snow.
 By mixing the least drop of urine with the water' in
which they swim, they instantly fall into convulsions
and die. u
“ The same rule seems to hold good in those minute
creatures, which is observable in the larger animals,
viz.'that the larger kinds are less numerous than such
as are smaller, while the smallest of all are found in
such multitudes, that there seem to be myriads for one
of the others. They increase in size, like other animals,
from their birth until they have attained their full
growth 5 and when deprived ol proper nourishment,
they in like manner grow thin and perish.”
The modes of propagation among these animalcules
are various, and the observation of them is extremely
curious. Some multiply by a transverse division, as is
observed under the article Animalcule . and it is re¬
markable, that though in general they avoid one an¬
other, it is not uncommon, when one is nearly divided,
to see another push itself upon the small neck which
joins the two bodies in order to accelerate the separa¬
tion.—Others, when about to multiply, fix themselves
to the bottom of the water j then becoming first ob¬
long, and afterwards round, turn rapidly as on a centre,
but perpetually varying the direction of their rotatory
motion.-
[ 29 1
M I
To what has been
ortlrlp AmTIUAT.CULE. WC
M I C
^Uoro- t:notion. In a little time, two lines to lining a cross are
scope, perceived ; after which the spherule divides into four,
■* v" ' which grow, and are again divided as before. A third
kind multiply by a longitudinal division, which in some
begins in the fore part, in others in the hind part} and
from others a small fragment detaches itself, which in a
short time assumes the shape of the parent animalcule.
Lastly, others propagate in the same manner as the
more perfect animals.
In our observations under the ai’ticle Animalcule,
we suggested some doubts whether all those minute bo¬
dies which go under the name of animalcules really do
enjoy animal life j or whether they are not in many
cases to be accounted only inanimate and exceedingly
minute points of matter actuated by the internal motion
of the fluid. This has also been the opinion of others :
hut to all hypotheses of this kind Mr Adams makes
the following reply : “ From what has he^n said, it
clearly appears, that their motions are not purely me¬
chanical, hut are produced by an internal spontaneous
principle ; and that they must therefore be placed
among the class of living animals, for they possess the
strongest marks and the most decided characters of ani¬
mation ; and, consequently, that there is no foundation
for the supposition of a chaotic and neutral kingdom,
which can only have derived its origin from a very
transient and superficial view of these animalcules.—It
i may also be further observed, that as we see that the
motions of the limbs, &c. of the larger animals, are
produced by the' mechanical construction of the body,
and the action of the soul thereon, and are forced by
the ocular demonstration which arises from anatomical
dissection to acknowledge this mechanism which is
adapted to produce the various motions necessary to the
animal j and as, when we have recourse to the micro¬
scope, we find those pieces which had appeared to the
naked eye as the primary mechanical causes of particu¬
lar motions, to consist themselves of lesser parts, which
are the causes of motion, extension, &c. in the larger 5
when the structure therefore can be traced no farther
by the eye, or by the glasses, we have no right to con¬
clude that the parts which are invisible are not equally
the subject of mechanism : for this would be only to as¬
sert in other words, that a thing may exist because we
see and feel it, and have no existence when it is not the
object of our senses.—The same train of reasoning may
be applied to microscopic insects and animalcula : we
see them move 5 but because the muscles and members
which occasion these motions are invisible, shall we in¬
fer that they have not muscles, with organs appropri¬
ated to the motion of the whole and its parts ? To say
that they exist not because we cannot perceive them,
would not be a rational conclusion. Our senses are
indeed given us that we may comprehend some effects ;
but then we have also a mind, with reason, bestowed
upon us, that, from the things which we do perceive
with our senses, we may deduce the nature of those
causes and effects which are imperceptible to the cor¬
poreal eye.”
Leaving these speculations, however, we shall now
proceed to give a particular
Explanation of the figures of the various animals,
Plate ^ieir Partsi ovai represented in the plates.
CCCXLII. Fig* 32. 33. represent the eggs of the phalsena
3i* 33- neustria, as they are taken from the tree to which
M I C
they adh, rt, and magnified b_y the microscope. The ]yijcfd,
strong ground-work visible in many places shows scope,
the gum by which they are fastei ed together j —v--—
and this connexion is strengthened by a very te¬
nacious substance interposed between the eggs, and
filling up the vacant spaces. Fig. 34. shows a vertical Fig. 34.
section of the eggs, exhibiting their oval shape.—
Fig. 35. is an horizontal section through the middle Fig. 35.
of the egg. These eggs make a beautiful appearance
through the microscope. The small figures o, b, c, re¬
present the objects in their natural state, without being
magnified.
Fig. 36. shows the larva of the musca chameleon, an Fig 36,
aquatic insect. When viewed by the naked eye, it ap¬
pears (as here represented) to be composed of twelve
annular divisions, separating it into an head, thorax,
and abdomen ; but it is not easy to distinguish the two
last parts from each other, as the intestines lie equally
both in the thorax and abdomen. The tail is furnished
with a fine crown or circle of hair b, disposed in the
form of a ring, and by this means it is supported on
the surface of the water, the head and body hanging
down dowards the bottom, in which posture it will
sometimes remain for a considerable time without any
motion.—When it has a mind to sink to the bottom, it
closes the hairs of the ring, as in fag. 37. Thus an hoi-pig. 37,
low space is formed, including a small bubble of air j
by enlarging or diminishing which, it can rise or sink
in the water at pleasure. When the bubble escapes, the
insect can replace it from the pulmonary tubes, and
sometimes considerable ^quantities of-air maybe seen
to escape from the tail of the-worm into the common
atmosphere ; which operation may easily be observed
when the worm is placed in a glass of water, and af¬
fords an interesting spectacle. The snout of this in¬
sect is divided into three parts, of which that in the
middle is immoveable 5 the other two, which grow
from the sides of the middle one, are moveable, and
vibrate like the tongues of lizards or serpents. In these
lateral parts lies most of the creature’s strength j for it
walks upon them when out of the water, appearing to
'walk on its mouth, and to use it as the parrot does its
beak to assist it in climbing.
The larva is shown, fig. 38. as it appears through a pjo
microscope. It grows narrower towards the head, is 0
largest about that part which we may call the thorax,
converges all along the abdomen, and terminates at
length in a sharp tail surrounded with hairs, as has al¬
ready been mentioned. The twelve annular divisions
are now extremely visible, and are marked by numbers
in the plate. The skin appears somewhat hard, and
resembling shagreen, being thick set with grains pret¬
ty equally distributed. It has nine holes, or spiracula,
probably for the purpose of breathing, on each side j
but it has none of these on the tail division a, nor any
easily visible on the third from the head. In the lat¬
ter, indeed, it has some very small holes concealed un¬
der the skin, near the place where the embryo wings
of the future fly are hid. “ It is remarkable says Mr
Adams) that caterpillars, in general, have two rings
without these spiracula, perhaps because they change
into flies with lour wings, whereas this worm produces
a fly with only two.” The skin of the larva is adorn¬
ed with oblong black furrows, spots of alight colour,
and orbicular rings, from which there generally springs
L 30 1
MIG t 3
Micro- a hair j hut only those hairs which grow on the insect’s
scope, sides are represented in the figure. There are also some
■"—v larger hairs here and there, as at c c. The difference
of colour, however, in this worm arises only from the
quantity of grains in the same space 5 for where they
are in very great numbers, the furrows are darker, and
paler where they are less plentiful.
The head d is divided into three parts, and covered
with a skin which has hardly any discernible grains.—
The eyes are rather protuberant, and lie near the snout;
on which last are two small horns at i i. It is crooked,
and ends in a sharp point as at f The legs are placed
near the snout between the sinuses in which the eyes
are fixed. Each of these legs consists of three joints,
the outermost of which is covered with stiff hairs like
bristles g g. From the next joint there spi'ings a horny
bone h h, used by the insect as a kind of thumb 5 the
joint is also composed of a black substance of an inter¬
mediate hardness between bone and horn 5 and the third
joint is of the same nature. In order to distinguish
these parts, those that form the upper sides of the mouth
and eyes must be separated by means of a small knife;
after which, by the assistance of the microscope, we
may perceive that the leg is articulated by some parti¬
cular ligaments, with the portion of the insect’s mouth
which answers to the lower jaw in the human frame.
We may then also discern the muscles which serve to
move the legs, and draw them up into a cavity that
lies between the snout and those parts of the mouth
which are near the horns i t. The insect walks upon
these legs, not only in the water, but on the land also.
It likewise makes use of them in swimming, keeping its
tail on the surface contiguous to the air, and hanging
downward with the rest of die body in the water. In
this situation, the only perceptible motion it has is in
its legs, which it moves in a most elegant manner, from
whence it is reasonable to conclude, that the most of
this creature’s strength lies in its legs, as we have al¬
ready observed.
The snout of this larva is black and hard : the back
part quite solid, and somewhat of a globular form •, the
front f sharp and hollow. Three membranaceous di¬
visions may be perceived on the back part; by means
of which, and the muscles contained in the snout, the
creature can contract or expand it at pleasure.
The extremity of the tail is surrounded with thirty"
hairs, and the sides adorned with others that are small¬
er ; and here and there the large hairs branch out into
smaller ones, which may be reckoned single hairs. All
these have their roots in the outer skin, which in this
place is covered with rough grains, as mav be observ¬
ed by cutting it oft' and holding it against the light’
upon a slip of glass. Thus also we find, that at the ex¬
tremities of the hairs there are grains like those on the
skin •, and in the middle of the tail there is a small open¬
ing, within which are minute holes, by which the insect
takes in and lets out the air it breathes. These hairs,
however, are seldom disposed in such a regular order as
is represented in fig. 38. unless when the insect floats
with the body in the water, and the tail with its hairs a
little lower than the surface, in which case they are dis¬
posed exactly in the order delineated in the plate. The
least motion of the tail downwards produces a concavity
in the vrater j and it then assumes the figure of a wine
glass, wide at the top and narrow at the bottom. The
i j MIC
tail answers the double purpose of swimming and breath- Micro
ing, and through it the insect receives what is the prin- scope,
ciple of life and motion to all animals. By means of v“"-v——
these hairs also it can stop its motion when swimming,
and remain suspended quietly without motion for any
length of time. Its motions in swimming are very
beautiful, especially when it advances with its whole
body floating on the surface of the water, after filling
itself with air by the tail.—To set out, it first bends
the body to the right or left, and then contracts it
in the form of the letter S, and again stretches it out
in a straight line : by thus contracting and then ex¬
tending the body alternately, it moves on the surface
of the water. It is very quiet, and is not disturbed by
handling.
These creatures are commonly found in shallow
standing waters in the beginning of June : but some
years much more plentifully than others. They crawl
on the grass and other plants which grow in such wa¬
ters, and are often met with in ditches, floating on the
surface of the water by means of their tail, the head
and thorax at the same time hanging down 5 and in
this posture they turn over the clay and dirt with their
snout and feet in search of food, which is commonly
a viscous matter met with in small ponds and ditches.
It is very harmless, though its appearance would seem
to indicate the contrary. It is most easily killed for
dissection by spirit of turpentine.
Fig. 39. shows in its natural size a beautiful insect, yjg, ^
described by Linnaeus under the name of Leircopsis dor-
sigera, and which appears to be a kind of intermedi¬
ate genus between a sphex and a wasp. The antennae
are black and cylindrical, increasing in thickness to¬
wards the extremity 5 the joint nearest the head is
yellow ; the head and thorax are black, encompassed
with a yellow line, and furnished with a cross line of the
same colour near the head. The scutellum is yellow,
the abdomen black, with two yellow bands, and a
deep spot of the same colour on each side between the
bands. A deep polished groove extends down the
back from the thorax to the anus, into which the'
sting turns and is deposited, leaving the anus very cir¬
cular j a yellow line runs on each side of the sting.—
The anus and whole body, when viewed with a small
magnifier, appear punctuated; but when these points
are seen through a large magnifier, they appear hexa¬
gonal. Fig. 40. shows the insect very much magni- j^ ^
fied. Fig. 41. gives a side view of it magnified in a 0 ^
smaller degree. ^
Fig. 42. shows an insect discovered by Mr John Plate
Adams of Edmonton, as he happened to be at an CCCXLHX.
inn. It was first seen by some labouring people 4--
who were there at the time, by whom it was conjec¬
tured to be a louse with unusually long horns, a mite,
&c. Mr Adams hearing the debate, procured the
insect; and having viewed it through a microscope, it
presented' the appearance exhibited in fig. 42. The
insect seems to be quite distinct from the phalangium
caocroides of Linnceus. The latter has been described
by several authors, but none of their descriptions agree
with this. The abdomen of this insect is more ex¬
tended, the claws larger, and much more obtuse ; the
body of the other being nearly orbicular, the claws
slender, and almost terminating in a point, more trans-
parentj ajid of a paler colour. Mr Marsham has one*
Micro¬
scope.
I'ig- 43-
Fig. 44.
45-
-Fig. 46.
MIC [3
ih his possession not to be distinguished from that re¬
presented in fig. 42. excepting only that it wants the
break or dent in the claws, which is so conspicuous
in this. He found that insect firmly fixed by its claws
to the thigh of a large fly, which he caught on a
flower in Essex in the first week of August, and from
which he could not disengage it without great difficul¬
ty, and tearing olf the leg of the fly. This was done
upon a piece of writing paper j and he was surprised
to see the little creature spring forward a quarter of
an inch, and again seize the thigh with its claws, so
that he. had great difficulty in disengaging it. The na¬
tural size of this creature, which Mr Adams calls the
lobstct'-insect, is exhibited at a.
Fig. 43. shows the insect named by M. de Geer
Physapus, on account of the bladders at its feet,
(Thrips physapus, Lin.). This insect is to be found in
great plenty upon the flowers of dandelion, &c. in
the spring and summer. It has four wings, two up¬
per and two under ones (represented fig. 44.) 5 but
the two undermost are not to be perceived without
great difficulty. They are very long; and fixed to the
upper part of the breast, lying horizontally. Both of
them are rather pointed towards the edges, and have
a strong nerve running round them, which is set with
a hair fringe tufted at the extremity. The colour of
these wings is whitish : the body of the insect is black ;
the head small, with two large reticular eyes. The an¬
tennae are of an equal size throughout, and divided in¬
to six oval pieces, which are articulated together.—
The extremities of the feet are furnished with a mem¬
branaceous and flexible bladder, which it can throw
out or draw in At pleasure. It presses this bladder
against the substances on which it walks, and thus
seems to fix itself to them ; the bladder sometimes ap¬
pears concave towards the bottom, the concavity dimi¬
nishing as it is less pressed. The insect is represented
of its natural size at b.
Fig. 45. represents the cimex striatus of Linnaeus,
remarkable for very bright and elegantly disposed
colours, though few in number. The head, pro¬
boscis, and thorax, are black : the thorax orna¬
mented with yellow spots ; the middle one large,
and occupying almost one-third of the posterior part;
the other two are oft each side, and triangular.
The scutellum has two yellow oblong spots, pointed
at each end. The ground of the elytra is a bright
yellow; spotted and striped with black. The nerves
are yellow; and there is a brilliant triangular spot of
orange, which unites the crustaceous and membrana¬
ceous parts ; the latter are brown, and clouded. It is
found in the elm tree in June. It is represented of its
natural size at c.
Fig. 46. shows the chrysomela asparagi of Linnteus,
so called from the larva of the insect feeding upon that
plant. It is a common insect, and very beautiful. It
is of 'an oblong figure, with black antennae, composed
of many joints, nearly oval. The head is a deep and
bright blue ; the thorax red and cylindrical: the elytra
are blue, with a yellow margin, and having three spots
of the same colour on each; one at the base, of an
oblong form, and two united with the margin : the
legs are black ; but the under side of the belly is of
the same blue colour with the elytra and head. This
little animal, when viewed by the naked eye, scarcely
3
! ] MIC
appears to deserve any notice ; but when examined by Micro-
the microscope, is one of the most pleasing opaque ob-1 scope. f
jects we have. It is found in June on the asparagus T~v_
after it has run to seed ; and it is shown of its natural
size at r/. He Geer says that it is very scarce in Swe¬
den.
Fig. 47. shows an insect of a shape so remarkable, Fjg 47.
that naturalists have been at a loss to determine the
genus to which it belongs. In the I auna Suecica,
Linnaeus makes it an attelabus: but in the last edition
of the Systema Naturae, it is ranged as a meloe, un¬
der the title of the Meloe monoccros ; though of this
also there seems to be some doubt. The true figure of
it can only be discovered by a very good microscope.
The head is black, and appears to be hid or buried
under the thorax, which projects forward like a horn :
the antennae are composed of many joints, and are of
a dirtv yellow colour, as well as the feet: the hinder
part of the thorax is reddish, the fore part black.—
The elytra are yellow, with a black longitudinal line
down the suture ; there is a band of the same colour
near the apex, and also a black point near the base, the
whole animal being curiously covered with hair. The
natural size of it is shown at e. It was found in
May. Geoffroy says that it lives upon umbelliferous
plants.
Fig. 48.—54. exhibit the anatomy of the cossus ca- Plate
terpillar, which lives on the willow. The egg from CCCXLIII,
which it proceeds is attached to the trunk of the “S’48 '-54»
tree by a kind of viscous juice, which soon becomes
so hard that the rain cannot dissolve it. The egg it¬
self is very small and spheroidical, and, when examined
by the microscope, appears to have broad weaving fur¬
rows running through the w hole length of it, which are
again crossed by close streaks, giving it the appearance
of a wicker basket. It is not exactly known what
time they are hatched ; but as the small caterpillars
appear in September, it is probable that the eggs are
hatched some time ii» August. When small, they are
generally met wuth under the bark ol the tree to which
the eggs were affixed ; and an aqueous moisture, oozing
from the hole through which they got under the bark,
is frequently, though not always, a direction for find¬
ing them. These caterpillars change their colour but
very little, being nearly the same when young as when
old. Like many others, they are capable of spinning
as soon as they come from the egg. They also change
their skin several times; but as it is almost impossible
to rear them under a glass, so it is very difficult to
know exactly how often this moulting takes place.—
Mr Adams conjectures that it is more frequently than
the generality of caterpillars do, some having been
observed to change more than nine times.
The cossus generally fasts for some days previous to
the moulting ; during which time the fleshy and other
interior parts of the head are detached from the old
skull, and retire as it were within the neck. Ihe new
coverings soon grow on, but are at first very soft.—
When the new skin and the other parts are formed,
the old skin is to be opened, and all the members with¬
drawn from it; an operation naturally difficult, but
which must be rendered more so from the soft and weak
state of the creature at that time. It is always much
larger after each change.
From Mr Lyonet’s experiments, it appears, that the
cossus
MIC [ 33 ] MIC
Micro- cossus generally passes at least two winters, if not
scope three, before it assumes the pupa state. At the ap-
v ~ proach of winter, it forms a little case, the inside of
which is lined with silk, and the outside covered with
wood ground like vei’y line saw-dust. During the
whole season it neither moves nor eats.
This caterpillar, at its first appearance, is not above
one-twelfth of an inch long} but at last attains the
length of two, and sometimes of three inches. In the
month of May it prepares for the pupa state } the first
care being to find a hole in the tree sufficient to allow
the moth to issue forth j and if this cannot be found,
it makes one equal in size to the future pupa. It then
begins to form of 'wood a case or cone } uniting the
bits, which are very thin, together by silk, into the
form of an ellipsoid, the outside being formed of small
bits of wood joined together in all directions } taking
care, however, that the pointed end of the case may
always be opposite to the mouth of the hole : having
finished the outside of the case, it lines the inside with
a silken tapestry of a close texture in all its parts, ex¬
cept the pointed end, where the texture is looser, in
order to facilitate its escape at the proper time. The
caterpillar then places itself in such a posture, that the
head may always lie towards the opening of the hole
in the tree or pointed end of its case. Thus it re¬
mains at rest for some time: the colour of the skin fii’st
becomes pale, and afterwards brown} the interior
parts of the head are detached from the skull } the
legs withdraw themselves from the exterior case ; the
body shortens } the posterior part grows small, while
the anterior part swells so much, that the skin at last
bursts j and, by a variety of motions, is pushed down
to the tail } and thus the pupa is exhibited, in which
the parts of the future moth may be easily traced.—
The covering of the pupa, though at first soft, hu¬
mid, and white, soon dries and hardens, and becomes
of a dark purple colour } the posterior part is move-
able } but not the fore part, which contains the rudi¬
ments of the head, legs, and wings. The fore-part of
the pupa is furnished with two horns, one above and
the other under the eyes. It has also several rows of
points on its back. It remains for some weeks in the
case *, after which the moth begins to agitate itself, and
the points are then of essential service, by acting as a
fulcrum, upon which it may rest in its endeavours to
proceed forward, and not slip back by its efforts for
that purpose.
The moth generally continues its endeavours to open
the case for a quarter of an hour: after which, by re¬
doubled efforts, it enlarges the hole, and presses for¬
ward until it arrives at the edge, where it makes a full
stop, lest by advancing further it should fall to the
ground. After having in this manner reposed itself
for some time, it begins to disengage itself entirely;
and having rested for some hours with its head up¬
wards, it becomes fit for action. Mr Marsham says,
that it generally pushes one-third of the case out of
the hole before it halts.
The body of the caterpillar is divided into twelve
rings, marked i, 2, 3, &c. as represented in fig. 48,
49, 50, 51. each of which is distinguished from that
which precedes, and that which follows, by a kind of
neck or hollow} and, by forming boundaries to the
rings, we make twelve other divisions, likewise expres-
Vol. XIV. Part I. ' f
sed in the figures ; but to the first of these the word Micro-
ring is affixed, and to the second, division. To facili- scope
tate the description of this animal, M. Lyouet supposed 1
a line to pass down through the middle of the back,
which he called the superior line, because it marked
the most elevated part of the back of the caterpillar}
and another, passing from the head down the belly to
the tail, he called the inferior line.
All caterpillars have a small organ, resembling an
elliptic spot, on the right and left of each ring, ex¬
cepting the second, third, and last *, and by these we
are furnished with a further subdivision of this caterpil¬
lar, viz. by lines.passing through the spiracula, the one
on the right side, the other on the left of the caterpil¬
lar. These four lines, which divide the caterpillar
longitudinally into four equal parts, mark each the
place under the skin which is occupied by a consider¬
able viscus. Under the superior line lies the heart, or
rather thread of hearts *, over the inferior line, the spi¬
nal marrow •, and the two tracheal arteries follow the
course of the lateral lines. At equal distances from
the superior and two lateral lines, we may suppose
four intermediate lines. The two between the supe¬
rior and lateral lines are called the intermediate supe¬
rior } the twm others opposite to them, and between
the lateral and inferior lines, are called the interme¬
diate inferior.
Fig. 48, 49. show the muscles of the caterpillar, ar- Fig. 48.
ranged with the most wonderful symmetry and order, and 49*
especially when taken off by equal strata on both sides,
which exhibits an astonishing and exact form and cor¬
respondence in them. The figures show the muscles
of two difterent caterpillars opened at the belly, and
supposed to be joined together at the superior lines.
The muscles of the back are marked by capitals ; the
gastric muscles by Roman letters} the lateral ones by
Greek characters. Those marked 6 are called, by M.
Lyonet, dividing muscles, on account of their situa¬
tion.
The caterpillar was prepared for dissection by being
emptied, and the muscles, nerves, &c. freed from the
fat in the manner formerly directed: after which the
following observations were made.
The muscle A in the first ring is double ; the ante¬
rior one being thick at top, and being apparently di¬
vided into different muscles on the upper side, but
without any appearance of this kind on the under side.
One insertion is at the skin of the neck towards the
head } the other is a little above ; and that of the se¬
cond muscle A is a little below the first spiraculum,
near which they are fixed to the skin.
The muscle marked « is long and slender, fixed by
its anterior extremity under the gastric muscles a and
6 of the first ring, to the circumflex scale of the base
of the lower lip. It communicates with the muscle
c of the second ring, after having passed under some
of the arteries, and introduced itself belowr the
muscle 0. ,
The muscle /3 is so tender, that it is scarcely possible
to open the belly of the caterpillar without breaking
it. It is sometimes double, and sometimes triple.—
Anteriorly it is fixed to the posterior edge of the side
of the parietal scale, the lower fixture being at the mid¬
dle of the ring near the inferior line.
There are three muscles marked | *, the first affixed
E ' at
MIC L 34 ] MIC
Micro- at one extremity near the lower edge of the upper
scope. part 0f the parietal scale ; the other end divides itself
”' v ' into three or four tails, fixed to the skin of the cater¬
pillar under the muscle The anterior part of the
second is fixed near the first } the anterior part of the
third a little under the first and second, at the skin of
the neck under the muscle A. These two last passing
over the cavity of the fii’st pair of limbs, are fixed by
several tails to the edge opposite to this cavity. In
this subject there are two muscles marked but some¬
times there is only one anteriorly j they are fixed to
the lower edge of the parietal scale, the other ends be¬
ing inserted in the first fold of the skin of the neck on
the belly-side. Fig. 50. best represents the muscles /3
and 5 5 as in that figure they do not appear injured by
any unnatural connection.
In the second and four following rings, we dis¬
cern two large dorsal muscles A and B. In the 7th,
9th and 10th rings are three, A, B, and C j in
the nth are four, A, B, C, and D ; and in the an¬
terior part of the 12th ring are five, A, B, C, D,
and E. All these ranges of muscles, however, as
well as the gastric muscles o, &, c, d, appear at first
sight only as a single muscle, running nearly the whole
length of the caterpillar; but when this is detached
from the animal, it is found to consist of so many di¬
stinct muscles, each consisting only of the length of
one of the rings, their extremities being fixed to the
division of each ring, excepting the middle muscle u,
which, at the 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th rings, has its in¬
sertions rather beyond the division. Each row of
muscles appears as one, because they are closely con¬
nected at top by some of the fibres which pass from one
ring to the other.
The muscles A, which are 12 in number, gradually
diminish in breadth to the lower part of the last ring:
at the 8th and three following divisions they communi¬
cate with the muscles B, and at the nth with D. In
the lower part of the last ring, A is much broader than
it was in the preceding ring; one extremity of it is
contracted, and communicates with B •, the lower in¬
sertion being at the membrane I, which is the exterior
skin of the fecal bag. The muscles A and B, on the
lower part of the last ring, cannot be seen until a
large muscle is removed, which on one side is fixed to
the subdivision of the ring, and on the other to the fecal
bag.
The right muscles B, which are also 1 2 in number,
begin at the second ring, and grow larger from thence
to "the seventh. They are usually narrower from thence
to the 1 2th *, the deficiency in width being supplied by
the six muscles C, which accompany it from the 7th to
the subdivision of the 12th ring. The muscles B and C
communicate laterally with the 8th, nth, and 12th di¬
visions. C is wanting at the subdivision of the 1 2th
its place being here supplied by B, which becomes
broader at this part.
The first of the three floating muscles V originates
at the first ring, from whence it introduces itself under
N, where it is fixed, and then subdivides, and hides it¬
self under other parts. The second begins at the second
division, being fixed to the anterior extremity B of the
second ring •, from thence directing itself towards the
stomach 5 and, after communicating with the case of
the corpus crassum, it divides, and spreads into eight
muscles which run along the belly. The third begins Micro-
at the third division, originating partly at the skin, and i scope.
partly at the junction of the muscles B of the second
and third ring. It directs itself obli([uely towards the
belly, meeting it near the third spiraculum; and branch¬
ing from thence, it iorms the oblique muscles of some
of the viscera.
The thin long muscle 6, which is at the subdivision
of the last ringj and covers the anterior insertion of the
muscle («) where the ring terminates, is ‘■ingle. It be¬
gins at one extremity of the muscle (c) ; at the fore
part of the ring runs along the subdivision round the
belly of the caterpillar, and finishes, on the other side,
at the extremity of a similar muscle C. ^
Fig. 49. shows the dorsal muscles of the cossus. lo
view which in an advantageous manner, we must use
the following mode of preparation.
1. All the dorsal muscles, 35 in number, must be
taken out, as well as the seven lateral ones already de¬
scribed.
2. All the straight muscles of the belly must be taken
array, as well as the muscular roots (c), and the ends
of the gastric muscles (e), which are at the third and
fourth divisions.
3. At the second division the muscle 6 must be re¬
moved ; only the extremities being left to show where
it was inserted.
The parts being thus prepared, we begin at the third
ring 5 where there are found four dorsal muscles C, II,
E, and F. The first one C, is inserted at the third di¬
vision, under the muscles & and oc, where it communi¬
cates by means of some fibres with the muscle /" of the
second ring } proceeding from thence obliquely towards
the intermediate superior line, and is fixed at the fourth
division. As soon as C is retrenched, the muscle D is
seen ; which grows wider from the anterior extremity:
it lies in a contrary direction to the muscle C, and is
inserted into the third and fourth divisions. The muscle
E lies in the same direction as the middle C, but not so
obliquely : the lower insertion is at the fourth division ;
the other at the third, immediately under C. I he
muscle F is nearly parallel to D which joins it ; the
first insertion is visible, but the other is hid under the
muscles E and G at the fourth division.
In the eight following rings, there are only two dor¬
sal muscles 5 and of these D is the only one that is com¬
pletely seen. It is very large, and diminishes gradually
in breadth from one ring to the other, till it comes to
the last, sending oft’ branches in some places.—E is
one of the strait muscles of the back ; and is inserted
under the dividing muscles 6, at the divisions of its own
ring.
On the anterior part of the 12th ring there are three
dorsal muscles, I), E, and F. I) is similar to that of
the preceding ring, marked also I), only that it is no
more than half the length •, terminating at the subdivi¬
sion of its orvn ring. E is of the same length, and
differs from the muscle E of the preceding ring only
in its direction. F is parallel to E, and shorter than
it; its anterior end does not reach the twelfth divi¬
sion.
On the posterior part there is only one dorsal
muscle, fastened by some short ones to the subdivi¬
sion of the last ring, traversing the muscles « ; and be¬
ing fixed there as if designed to strengthen them, and
to
M 1 C [ 55
to vary tlieiv direction.—at Ls a single muscle, of which
scops- the anterior insertion is visible, the other end being
-*v ■1 ' fixed to the bottom of the foot of the last leg ; its
use is to move the foot. The anterior part of the
muscle /3 branches into three or four heads, which
cross the superior line obliquely, and are fixed to the
skin a little above it. The other end is fastened to the
.membrane T.
Jig. 50.51. Fig. 50. and 51. show the muscles of the caterpillar
when it is opened at the back. The preparation for
this view is to disengage the fat and other extraneous
.matter, as before directed.
The first ring has only two gastric -muscles (c) and
(r/) : the former is broad, and has three or four little
tails : the first fixture is at the base of the lower lip,
from whence it descends obliquely, and is fixed be¬
tween the inferior and lateral line. The small muscle
((/) is fastened on one side to the first spiraculum *, on
the other, a little lower, to the intermediate inferior
and lateral line ■, and seems to be an antagonist to the
muscle F, which opens the spiracula. The posterior
fixture of ^ is under the muscle C, near the skin of the
neck ; /3 is fixed a little on the other side of C, at the
middle of the ring.
In the second ring there are three gastric muscles,
.g, h, and i: g and h are fixed at the folds which termi¬
nate the ring 5 but only the anterior part of i is fixed
there. The muscle h is triple, and in one of the divi¬
sions separated into two parts 5 that marked i comes
nearer the inferior line, and is fixed a little beyond the
middle of the ring, where the corresponding muscle of
the opposite side is forked to receive it.
In the third ring, the muscle //, which was triple in
the foregoing ring, is only double here, that part which
is nearest the inferior line being broadest: it has three
.tails, of which only two are visible in the figure. It is
exactly similar to that of the pi’eceding ring ; and is
crossed in the same manner by the muscle from the op-
yposite side of the ring.
Throughout the eight following rings, the muscle f
which runs through them all is very broad and strong.
The anterior part of it is fixed at the intermediate in-
-ferior line, on the fold of the first division of the ring :
,-the other part is fixed beyond the lower division \ with
this difference, that at the 10th and 1 ith rings it is^fix¬
ed at the last fold of its ring •, whereas, in the others it
passes over that ring, and is inserted into the skin of
the following one. In all these, the first extremity of
the muscle g is fastened to the fold which separates the
ring from the preceding one, and is parallel to f, and
placed at the side of it. The first six muscles marked g,
are forked ; that of the fourth ring being more so than
-the rest, nor does it unite till near its anterior insertion.
The longest tail lays hold of the following, and is
inserted near the inferior line ; the other inserts itself
near the same line, at about the middle of its own
-ring 5 the two last do not branch out; but termi¬
nate at the divisions, without reaching the following
ring. The muscle h, placed at the side of f lias
nearly the same direction, and finishes at the folds of
the ring.
The anterior part of the 12th ring has only one gas¬
tric muscle, marked e: it is placed on the intermediate
inferior line ; and is inserted at the folds of the upper
division, and at the subdivision of this ring. The lower
] M I C
part has a larger muscle marked c, with several divj- Micro-
sioas 5 one placed under with one extremity fixed scope,
near the lateral line, at the subdivision of its ring 5'“■—"v'"*
the other to the fecal bag, a little lower than the
muscle b.
In fig. 51. all the gastric muscles described in fig.
50. disappear, as well as those lateral and dorsal
ones of which the letters are not to be found in this
figure.
In the first ring are the gastric muscles, e, f g,
which are best seen here : the first is narrow and long,
passing under and crossing /'; one of its insertions is at
the lower line, the other at the lateral, between the spi¬
raculum and neck : f\s> short, broad, and nearly sti’aight,
placed along the intermediate line 5 but between it and
the lateral it passes under e, and is fixed to the fold of
the skin which goes from the one bag to the other j the
lower insertion is near the second division. There are
sometimes three muscles of those marked g, and some¬
times four : the lower parts of them are fixed alxout tlx*
middle of the ring, and the anterior paxts at the fold
of the skin near the neck. The muscles i and h are
fixed to the same fold ; the other end of Ji being fixed
under the muscle II, near the spiraculum. Above the
upper end of /j a muscular hotly, g, may be seen. Ft
is formed by the separation of two floating muscles.
The second ring has six gastric muscles, /, m, n,
0, p. The first is a large oblique muscle, with three or
four divisions placed at the antei'ior part of the ring :
the head is fixed between the inferior line and its intei*-
medixite one, at the fold of the second division; from
whence it crosses the inferior line and its coricsponding
muscle, terminating to the right and left of the line.
I is a narrow muscle, whose head is fixed to the fold of
the second division ; the tail of it lying under n, and
fastened to the edge of the skin that forms the cavity
for the leg. The two muscles marked m have the same
obliquity, and are placed the one on the other ; the
head is inserted in the skin under the muscle /3, and
communicates by a number of filn-es with the tail of
the muscle y; the other end is fixed to the intei’mediate
inferior line at the fold of the third division. The large
and broad muscle covers the lower edge of the cavi¬
ty of the limb, and the extremity of the tail of /. It
is fixed first at the skin, near the intermediate line,
from whence it goes in a perpendicular direction to¬
wards m, and introduces itself under 0 and m, where it
is fixed. The muscle 0 is narrow and bent, and covex-s
the edge of the cavity of the leg for a little way ; one
end terminating there, and the other finishing at the
third division near m. That marked p is also bent: it
runs near the anterior edge of the cavity of the leg ;
one end meets the head of 0, the other end terminates
at a raised fold near the infei’ior line. There is a trian¬
gular muscle on the side of the lateral muscle 0, similar
to that marked g in the following ring; in this figure
it is entirely concealed by the muscle nu
The third x-ing has no muscle similar to m ; that
max-ked k differs only from that of the second i-ing
in being crossed by the opposite muscle. Those mark¬
ed /, «, 0, p, are similar to those of the preceding one.
The muscle q is triangular; the base is fastened to the
last fold of the ring ; on the lower side it is fixed to
the muscle 0, the top to the skin at the edge of the ca¬
vity for the leg.
E 2
The
MIC [ 36 I MIC
Micro- The eight following rings have the gastric muscles,
scope. A:, /, and w. The muscle i is quite straight, and
i"1 y ' placed at some distance from the inferior line : it is
broad at the fourth ring, but diminishes gradually in
breadth to the nth. In the fourth it is united j but
divides into two heads, which divaricate in the follow¬
ing rings. In the six next rings these heads are fixed
nearly at the same place with a and f; and in the other
two it terminates at the fold of the ring. The anterior
insertion of the first and last is at the fold where the
ring begins j that of the six others is somewhat lower
under the place where the muscle i terminates. The
lower part of the oblique muscle A: is inserted in the skin
near i; the upper part at the intermediate inferior
muscle upon the fold which separates the following
ring, but is wanting in the nth. The muscle / is
large, and co-ojjerates with M: in the opening and
shutting the spiraculum, one of its fixtures iss near the
intermediate inferior line, at about the same height as
z. The tail terminates a little below' the spiracu¬
lum.
The twelfth ring has only the single gastric muscle
d, which is a bundle of six, seven, or eight muscles :
the first fixture of these is at the subdivision of the ring
near the inferior line : one or two cross this, and at the
same time the similar muscles of the opposite side.
Their fixture is at the bottom of the foot; and their
office is to assist the muscle a in bringing back the foot,
and to loosen the claw from what it lays hold of. One
of the insertions of this muscle a is observed in this
figure near c?, the other near the subdivision of the
ring.
Fig. S2} S3- J ig* antl 53- show the organization of the head
of the cossus, though in a very imperfect manner, as
M. Lyonet found it necessary to employ twenty figures
to explain it fully. The head is represented as it ap¬
pears when separated from the fat, and disengaged from
the neck. HH are the tw'o palpi. The truncated
muscles D belong to the lower lip, and assist moving it.
K shows the two ganglions of the neck united. II are
the two vessels which assist in spinning the silk. L, the
oesophagus. M, the two dissolving vessels. The He¬
brew characters JOiT show the continuation of the four
cephalic arteries. In fig. 52. the ten abductor muscles
of the jaw are represented by SS, TT, VV, and Z.
Four occipital muscles are seen in fig. 53. under e e and
f f At a k is represented a nerve of the first pair be¬
longing to the ganglion of the neck-, & is a branch of
this nerve.
j'jg_ 24. Tig. 54. exhibits the nerves as seen from the under
part; but excepting in two or three nerves, which may
be easily distinguished, only one of each pair is drawn,
in order to avoid confusion. The nerves of the first
ganglion of the neck are marked by capital letters,
those of the ganglion (a) of the head by Roman let¬
ters •, the nerves of the small ganglion by Greek cha¬
racters. Those of the frontal ganglion, except one, by
numbers.
The muscles of the cossus have neither the colour
nor form of those of larger animals. In their natu¬
ral state they are soft, and of the consistence of a jelly.
Their colour is a grayish blue, which, with the silver-
coloured appearance of the pulmonary vessels, form a
glorious spectacle. After the caterpillar has been
soaked for some time in spirit of wine, they lose then-
elasticity and transparency, becoming firm, opaque, Micro
and white, and the air-vessels totally disappear. The , Sf Qpe-
number of muscles in a caterpillar is very great. The
greatest part of the head is composed of them, and
there is a vast number about the oesophagus, intes¬
tines, &c. the skin is, as it were, lined by different
beds of them, placed the one under the other, and
ranged with great symmetry. M. Lyonet has been
able to distinguish 228 in the head, 1647 ^ie
body, and 2066 in the intestinal tube, making in all
3941*
At first sight the muscles might be taken for ten¬
dons, as being of the same colour, and having nearly
the same lustre. They are generally flat, and of an
equal size throughout 5 the middle seldom differing
either in colour or size from either of the extremities.
If they are separated, however, by means of very fine
needles, in a drop of some fluid, we find them com¬
posed not only of fibres, membranes, and air-vessels,
but likewise of nerves; and, from the drops of oil
that may be seen floating on the fluid, they appear al¬
so to be furnished with many unctuous particles. Their
ends are fixed to the skin, but the rest of the muscle
is generally free and floating. Several of them branch
out considerably; and the branches sometimes extend
so far, that it is not easy to discover whether they
are distinct and separate muscles or parts of another.
They are moderately strong j and those which have
been soaked in spirit of wine, when examined by the
microscope, are found to be covered with a membrane
which may be separated from them ; and they appear
then to consist of several parallel bands lying longi¬
tudinally along the muscle, which, when divided by
means of fine needles, appear to be composed of still
smaller bundles of fibres lying in the same direction ;
which, when examined by a powerful magnifier, and
in a favonrable light, appear twisted like a small cord.
The muscular fibres of the spider, which are much lar¬
ger than those of the caterpillar, consist of two different
substances, one soft and the other hard 5 the latter be¬
ing twisted round the former spirally, and thus giving
it the twisted appearance just mentioned.
There is nothing in the caterpillar similar to the
brain in man. We find indeed in the head of this
insect a part from which all the nerves seem to pro¬
ceed but this part is entirely unprotected, and so
small, that it does not occupy mie-fifth part of the
head; the surface is smooth, and has neither lobes
nor any anfractuosity like the human brain. But if
we call this a brain in the caterpillar, we must say
that it has thirteen: for there are twelve other such
parts following each other in a straight line, all of
them of the same substance with that in the head, and
nearly of the same size; and from them, as well as
from that in the head, the nerves are distributed through
the body.
The spinal marrow in the cossus goes along the
belly \ is very small, forking out at intervals, nearly
of the same thickness throughout, except at the gan¬
glions, and is not enclosed in any ca'e. It is by no
means so tender as in man ; but has a great degree
of tenacity, and does not break without a consider¬
able degree of tension. The substance of the gan¬
glion differs from that of the spinal marrow, as no
vessels can be discovered in the latter j but the for¬
mer
MIC [ 37 ] MIC
Micro- mer are full of very delicate ones. There are 94
scope, principal nerves, which divide into inumerable ramifi-
v cations.
The cossus has two large tracheal arteries, creeping
under the skin close to the spiracula: one at the right
and the other at the left side of the insect, each of
them communicating with the air by means ol nine
spiracula. They are nearly as long as the whole ca¬
terpillar •, beginning at the first spiraculum, and ex¬
tending somewhat farther than the last •, some branches
also extending quite to the extremity of the body.
Hound each spiraculum the trachea pushes forth a
great number of branches, which are again divided
into smaller ones, and these further subdivided and
spread through the whole body of the caterpillar. The
tracheal artery, with all its numerous ramifications, are
open elastic vessels, which may be pressed close toge¬
ther, or drawn out considerably, but return imme¬
diately to their usual size when the tension ceases.
They are naturally of a silver colour, and make a
beautiful appearance. This vessel, with its principal
branches, is composed of three coats, which may be
separated from one another. The outmost is a thick
membrane furnished with a great variety of fibres,
which describe a vast number of circles round it, com¬
municating with each other by numerous shoots. 'I he
second is very thin and transparent, without any par¬
ticular vessel being distinguishable in it. The third is
composed of scaly threads, generally ol a spiral form ;
and so near each other as scarcely to leave any inter¬
val. They are curiously united with the membrane
which occupies the intervals ; and form a tube which
is always open, notwithstanding the flexure of the ves¬
sel. There are also many other peculiarities in its struc¬
ture. The principal tracheal vessels divide into 1326
different branches.
The heart of the cossus is very different from that of
larger animals, being almost as long as the animal it¬
self. It lies immediately under the skin at the top of
the back, entering the head, and terminating near the
mouth. Towards the last rings of the body it is large
and capacious, diminishing very much as it approaches
the head, from the fourth to the twelfth division. On
both sides, at each division, it has an appendage, which
partly covers the muscles of the back, but which,
growing narrower as it approaches the lateral line, it
forms a number of irregular lozenge-shaped bodies.—
This tube, however, seems to perform none of the func¬
tions of the heart in larger animals, as we find no ves¬
sel opening into it which answers either to the aorta or
vena cava. It is called the heart, because it is general¬
ly filled with a kind of lymph, which naturalists have
supposed to be the blood of the caterpillar; and because
in all caterpillars which have a transparent skin, we may
perceive alternate regular contractions and dilatations
along the superior line, beginning at the eleventh ring,
and proceeding from ring to ring, from the fourth ;
whence this vessel is thought to be a string or row of
hearts. There are two white oblong bodies which join
the heart near the eighth division ; and these have been
called reiiiform bodies, from their having somewhat of
the shape of a kidney.
The most considerable part of the whole caterpillar
with regard to bulk is the corpus crassum. It is the
first and only substance that is seen on opening it.. It
forms a kind of sheath which envelopes and covers all Micfo-
the entrails, and, introducing itself into the head, enters scope,
all the muscles of the body, filling the greatest part of’ "V—-J
the empty spaces in the caterpillar. It very much re¬
sembles the configuration ol the human brain, and is of
a milk-white colour.
The oesophagus descends from the bottom of the
mouth to about the fourth division. The fore part,
which is in the head, is fleshy, narrow, and fixed by
different muscles to the crustaceous parts ot it; the
lower part, which passes into the body, is wider, and
forms a kind of membranaceous bag, covered with
very small muscles y near the stomach it is narrower,
and, as it were, confined by a strong nerve fixed to it
at distant intervals. The ventricle begins a little above
the fourth division, where the oesophagus ends, and
finishes at the tenth. It is about seven times as long
as broad ; and the anterior part, which is broadest, is ge¬
nerally folded. These folds diminish with the bulk as
it approaches the intestines ; the surface is covered with
a great number of aerial vessels, and opens into a tube,
which M. Lyonet calls the large intestine.—There are
three of these large tubes, each of which difters so much
from the rest, as to require a particular name to distin¬
guish it from them.
The two vessels from which the cossus spins its silk
are often above three inches long, and are distinguished
into three parts ; the anterior, intermediate, and poste¬
rior. It has likewise two other vessels, which are sup¬
posed to prepare and contain the liquor lor dissolving
the wood on which it feeds.
Fig. 55. shows the wing of an earwig magnified; plate
a represents it of the natural size. The wings ol thisCCCXLIV.
insect are so artificially folded up under short cases, fiS- 55-
that few people imagine they have any. Indeed, they
very rarely make use of their wings. The cases under
which they are concealed are not more than a sixth part
of the size of one wing, though a small part of the
wing may be discovered, on a careful inspection, pro¬
jecting from under them. The upper part ol the wing
is crustaceous and opaque, but the under part is beau¬
tifully transparent. In putting up their wings, they
first fold back the parts AB, and then shut up the
ribs like a fan; the strong muscles used for this purpose
being seen at the upper part ol the figure. Some of
the ribs are extended from the centre to the outer edge;
others only from the edge about half wTay : but they
are all united by a kind of baud, at a small but equal
distance from the edge ; the whole evidently contrived
to strengthen the wing, and facilitate its various mo¬
tions. The insect itself differs very little in appearance
in its three different states. De Geer asserts, that the
female hatches eggs like a hen, and broods over her
young ones as a.hen does.
Fig. 56. represents a wing of the hemerobms pcrla Fig.
magnified. It is an insect which seldom lives more
than two or three days.—The wings are nearly of a
length, and exactly similar to one another. They are
composed of fine delicate nerves, regularly and elegant¬
ly disposed as in the figure, beautifully adorned with
hairs, and lightly tinged with green. The body is of a
fine green colour ; and its eyes appear like two bur¬
nished beads of gold, whence it has obtained the name
of golden eye. This insect lays its eggs on the leaves
of the plum or the rose tree; the eggs are of a white
colour,
MIC C 58 ] MID
Micro- colour, a-ul each of them fixed to a little jtcdicle or it. These parts are drawn separately at 1’. C, 1), It- '
(scttjie. foot-stalk, by which means they stand oil a little from De Geer observes, that only the females suck the blood
Sn v 1 .1 the leaf, appearing like the fructification of some of of animals •, and Reaumur informs us, that having made
the mosses. The larva proceeding from these eggs re- one, that had sucked its fill, disgorge itseif, the blood
sembles that of the coccinella or lady-cow, hut is much it threw up appeared to him to be more than the "hole
more handsome. Like that, it feeds upon aphides or body of the insect could have contained. ILe natural
pucerons, sucking their blood, and forming itself a case size of this apparatus is shown aty.
with their dried bodies j in which it changes into the l ig- 61. shows a hit of the skin of a lump-fish (cy-Fig. gj,
..pupa state, from whence they afterwards emerge in the clopterus) magnified AY hen a good specimen of this
form of a fly. can he procured, it forms a most beautiful object. I he
Fig. E, F, I, represent the dust of a. moth’s wing tubercles exhibited in the figure probably secrete an
magnified. This is of different figures in different unctuous juice.
moths. The natural size of these small plumes is re- Fig. 62. shows the scale of a sea perch found on the Fig. Si.
presented at H. English coast •, the natural size is exhibited at h.
I'ig. 57. Fig. 57. shows a part of the cornea of the libellula Fig. 63. the scale of an haddock magnified ; its na-Fig. 53. i
•magnified. In some positions of the light, the sides of tural size as within the circle.
the hexagons appear of a fine gold colour, and divided ^4* ^lfc: scuie a parrot fish from the YV est In-Fig. 6_j.,
by three parallel lines. The natural size of the part dies magnified ; l the natural size of it.
magnified is shown at b. Fig. 65. the scale of a kind of perch in the AY est In-Fig. 53. 11
Fig. 58. Fig. 58. shows the part c of a lobster’s cornea mag- dies magnified ; k the natural size of the scale.
nlfied. Fig. 66. part of the skin of a sole fish, as viewed Fig. 65.
Fig. 59. Fig. 59. shows one of the arms or horns of the lepas through an opaque miscroscope j the magnified part in
anatifera, or barnacle, magnified j its natural size being its real size, shown at l.
represented at d. Each horn consists of several joints, The scales of fishes afford a great variety of beauti-
and each joint is furnished on the concave side of the ful objects for the microscope, borne are long j others
arm with long hairs. AATen viewed in the microscope, round, square, &c. varying considerably not only in
the arms appear rather opaque ; hut they may he ren- different fishes, but even in different parts of the same
dered transparent, and become a most beautiful object, fish. Leemvenhoeck supposed them to consist of an
by extracting out of the interior cavity a bundle of infinite number of small scales or strata, of which those
longitudinal fibres, which runs the whole length of the next to the body of the fish are ihe largest. AA hen
arm. Mr Needham thinks that the motion and use of viewed by the microscope, we find some of them or-
these arms may illustrate the nature of the rotatory mo- namented with a prodigious number of concentric flu-
tion in the wheel-animal. In the .midst of the arms is tings, too near each other, and too fine, to be easily
an hollow trunk, consisting of a jointed hairy tube, enumerated. These flutings are frequently traversed by
which encloses a long round tongue that can be push- others diverging from the centre of the scale, and ge-
ed occasionally out of the tube or sheath, and retract- nerally proceeding from thence in a straight line to the
ed occasionally. The mouth of the animal consists of circumference.
six laminae, which go off with abend, indented like a lor more full information concerning these and
saw on the convex edge, and by their circular disposi- other microscopical objects, the reader may consult
tion are so ranged, that the teeth, in the alternate ele- Mr Adams’s Essays on the Microscope, who has made
vation and depression of each plate, act against what- the most valuable collection that has yet appeared on
ever comes between them. The plates are placed to- the subject. See also the articles Animalcule, Cry-
gether in such a manner, that to the naked <ye they stallization, Polype, Plants, and AA ood, in the
form an aperture not much unlike the mouth of a con- present work.
tracted purse. MIDAS, in fabulous history, a famous king of
r Plate Fig. 60. shows the apparatus of the tabanus or gad- Phrygia, who having received Bacchus with great
CCCXJLV. by which it pierces the skin of horses and oxen, in magnificence, that god, out of gratitude, offered to
''s-60. order to suck the blood. The whole is contained in a grant him whatever he should ask. Midas desired that
fleshy case, not expressed in the figure. The feelers a a every thing he touched should be changed into gold,
are of a spongy texture and gray coloured, covered with Bacchus consented ; and Midas, with extreme pleasure,
short hairs. They are united to the head by a small everywhere found the effects of his touch. But he had
joint of the same substance. They defend the other soon reason to repent of his folly : for wanting to eat
parts of the apparatus, being laid upon it side by side and drink, the aliments no sooner entered his mouth
whenever the animal stings, and thus preserve it from than they were changed into gold. This obliged him to
external injury. The wound is made by the twTo lan- have recourse to Bacchus again, to beseech him to re-
cets b b and B, which are of a delicate structux-e, but store him to his former state; on which the god ordered
very sharp, formed like the dissecting knife of an ana- him to bathe in the river Pactolus, which from thence-
tomist, growing gradually thicker to the back.—The forward had golden sands. Some time after, being
two instruments c c and C, appear as if intended to en- chosen judge between Pan and Apollo, he gave an-
large the wound, by irritating the parts round if; for other instance of his folly and bad taste, in preferring
which they are jagged or toothed. They may also Pan’s music to Apollo’s; on which the latter being
serve, from their hard and horny texture, to defend the enraged, gave him a pair of asses ears. This Midas
tube e E, which is of a softer nature, and tubular to ad- attempted to conceal from the knowledge of his sub¬
mit the blood, and convey it to the stomach. This part jects : but one of his servants saw the length of his ears,
is totally enclosed in a line d D, which entirely covers and being unable to keep the secret, yet afraid to re-
2 veal
-Fig. /.
Microscope.
flats rrrxmz/.
E.AfMAA/ scu /p /
MICROSCOPE
PLATE CCCXXX1X
£77tj rave, i frj'W&’Zl Zizars Adoiiurgh.
micros con-;
/y, in: t ■< v xi.
//y. ?/.
///{.•nrMi /-/ ;r.i-//./.A.. /;> /.'•///}T
MICROSCOPIC
MIC R O S C O r IC OBJE C TS
PLATE CCCXLIIL
Fig. 44.
Fio. 46
ITT
Fio 4 8.
Fiff. 49.
J)LVi»>iou l
Division 1
jL.TCih-cn Sculp?
PLATE CCCXLIV.
MICROSCOPIC OBJECTS,
tyi/y. ‘33.
^■'37
J>y^iliQQL
HC-bWn'liiL/ Snify.'
Jo
MID l 39 1 MID
Midas veal it from apprehension of the king’s resentment, he
j| opened a hole in the earth, and after he had whispered
Middle- there that Midas had the ears of an ass, he covered the
bui'»' , place as before, as if he had buried his words in the
ground. On that place, as the poets mention, grew a
number of reeds, which when agitated by the wind ut¬
tered the same sound that had been buried beneath, and
published to the wrorld that Midas had the ears of an
ass. Some explain the fable of the ears of Midas, by
the supposition that he kept a number of informers and
spies, who were continually employed in gathering
every seditious word that might drop from the mouths
of his subjects. Midas, according to Strabo, died of
drinking bull’s hot blood. This he did, as Plutarch
mentions, to free himself from the numerous ill dreams
which continually tormented him. Midas, according
to some, was son of Cybcle. He built a town which he
called Ancijrce.
Midas, Ear-shell. See Haliotis, Conchology
Index.
MID-heaven, the point of the ecliptic that culmi¬
nates, or in which it cuts the meridian.
MIDDLEBURG, one of the Friendly islands in
the South sea. The island was first discovered by
Tasman, a Dutch navigator, in January 1642-3 ; and
is called by the natives Ea-Oo-whe: it is about 16
miles from north to south, and in the widest part about
8 miles from east to west. The skirts are chiefly laid
out in plantations, the south-west and north-west sides
especially. The interior parts are but little cultiva¬
ted, though very capable of it : but this neglect adds
greatly to the beauty of the island ; for here are agree¬
ably dispersed groves of cocoa-nuts and other trees,
lawns covered with thick grass, here and there planta¬
tions and paths leading to every part of the island, in
such beautiful disorder, as greatly to enliven the pro¬
spect. The hills are low 5 the air is delightful 5 but
unfortunately water is denied to this charming spot.
Yams, with other roots, bananas, and bread fruit, are
the principal articles of food ; but the latter appeared
to be scarce. Here is the pepper-tree, or ava ava,
with which they make an intoxicating liquor, in the
same disgusting manner as is practised in the Society
islands. Here are several odoriferous trees and shrubs,
particularly a species of the lemon tribe; and the bo¬
tanical gentlemen met with various new species of plants.
Here also are a few hogs and fowls.
There are no towns or villages } most of the houses
are built in plantations, which are laid out in different
parts, with no other order than what convenience re¬
quires. They are neatly constructed, but are less
roomy and convenient than those in the Society isles.
The floors are a little raised, and covered with thick
•strong mats. The same sort of matting serves to enclose
them on the windward side, the others being open.
They have little areas before most of them, which are
planted round with trees or ornamental shrubs, whose
fragrance perfumes the air. Their household furniture
consists of a few wooden platters, cocoa-nut shells, and
pillows made of wood, and shaped like four-footed
stools or forms : their common clothing, with the addi¬
tion of a mat, serves them for bedding.
The natives are of a clear mahogany or ehesnut
brown, with black hair, in short frizzled curls, which
seems to be burnt at the tips j their beards are cut or
shaven. The general stature of the men is equal to
our middle size, from five feet three to five feet ten
inches; the proportions of the body are very fine, and
the contours of the limbs extremely elegant, though
something more muscular than at Otaheite, which
may be owing to a greater and more constant exertion
of strength in their agriculture and domestic economy.
Their features are extremely mild and pleasing j and
differ from the old Otaheitan faces in being more ob¬
long than round, the nose sharper, and the lips rather
thinner. The women are, in general, a few inches
shorter than the men, but not so small as the lower
class of women at the Society islands. The practice
of puncturing the skin, and blacking it, which is
called tattoiving, is in full force among the men here,
for their belly and loins are very strongly marked in
configurations more compounded than those at Ota¬
heite. The tenderest parts of the body were not free
from these punctures ; the application of which, besides
being very painful, must be extremely dangerous on
glandulous extremities.
The men in general go almost naked, having only
a-small piece of cloth round the loins, but some wrap
it in great abundance round them from their waist :
this cloth is manufactured much like that at Ota¬
heite, but overspread with a strong glue, which makes
it stiff, and fit to resist the wet. The women are
likewise covered from the waist downwards : they often
have loose necklaces, consisting of several strings of
small shells, seeds, teeth of fishes ; and in the middle
of all, the round operculum, or cover of a shell as large
as a crown-piece. The men frequently wear a string
round their necks, from which a mother-of-pearl shell
hangs down on the breast j both the ears of the wo¬
men were perforated with two holes, and a cylinder
cut out of tortoise-shell or bone was stuck through
both the holes. The most remarkable circumstance
observed of this people was, that most of them wanted
the little finger on one, and sometimes on both hands:
the difference of sex or age did not exempt them from
this amputation ; for even among the few children
that were seen running about naked, the greater part
had already suffered such loss. This circumstance was-
observed by Tasman. Another singularity which was
observed to be very general among these people, was
a round spot on each cheek-bone, which appeared to
have been burnt or blistered. On some it seemed to
have been recently made, on others it was covered
with scurf, and many had only a slight mark of its
former existence: how, or for what purpose it was
made, could not be learnt. The women here, in ge¬
neral, were reserved ; and turned, with disgust, from
the immodest behaviour of ungovernable seamen : there
were not, however, wanting some who appeared to be
of easy virtue, and invited their lovers with lascivious
gestures. The language spoken here is soft, and not
unpleasing; and whatever they said was spoken in a
kind of singing tone. Onvai and Mahine, who wrere
both passengers on board the ship, at first declared that
the language was totally new and unintelligible to
them; however the affinity of several words being
pointed out, they soon caught the particular modifica¬
tion of this dialect, and conversed much better with
the natives than any on board the ships could have-
done, after a long intercourse. They have the neat¬
est.
Middlc-
btirg,
Middle-
ham.
MID [40
est ornaments imaginable, consisting of a number of
little flat sticks, about five inches long, of a yellow
wood like box, firmly and elegantly connected toge¬
ther at the bottom by a tissue of the fibres of cocoa-
nut, some of which were of their natural colour, and
others dyed black ; the same fibres w'ere likewise used
in the making of baskets, the taste of which was high¬
ly elegant, and varied into different forms and pat¬
terns. Their clubs are of a great variety of shapes,
and many of them so ponderous as scarcely to be ma¬
naged with one hand. The most common form was
quadrangular, so as to make a rhomboid at the broad
end, and gradually tapering into a round handle at the
other. Far the greater part were carved all over in
itiany chequered patterns, which seemed to have re¬
quired a long space of time, and incredible patience,
to work up ; as a sharp stone, or a piece of coral, are
the only tools made use of: the whole surface of the
plain clubs was as highly polished as if an European
workman had made them with the best instruments:
Besides clubs, they have spears of the same wood,
which were sometimes plain sharp-pointed sticks, and
sometimes barbed with a sting-ray’s tail. They haya
likewise hows and arrows of a peculiar construction j
the bow, which is six feet long, is about the thick¬
ness of a little finger, and when slack, forms a slight
curve ; its convex part is channelled with a single
deep groove, in which the bow-string is lodged. The
arrow is made of reed, near six feet long, and pointed
with hard wood: when the bowT is to be bent, instead
of drawing it so as to increase the natural curvature,
they draw it the contrary way, make it perfectly
straight, and then form the curve on the other side.
Most of their canoes have outriggers, made of poles ;
and their workmanship is very admirable : two of
these canoes are joined together with a surprising ex¬
actness, and the whole surface receives a very cu¬
rious polish. Their paddles have short broad blades,
something like those at Otaheite, but more neatly
wrought and of better wood.
They keep their dead above ground, after the man¬
ner of the Society islands j as a corpse was seen depo¬
sited on a lowr hut.
Here were seen several men and women afflicted
with leprous diseases, in some of whom the disorder
had risen to a high degree of virulence : one man in
particular had his back and shoulders covered with a
large cancerous ulcer, which was perfectly livid with¬
in, and of a bright yellow all round the edges. A
woman was likewise unfortunate enough to have her
face destroyed by it in the most shocking manner j
there was only a hole left in the place of her nose 5 her
cheek was swelled up, and continually oozing out a
purulent matter : and her eyes seemed ready to fall out
of her head, being bloody and sore. Though these were
some of the most miserable objects that could possibly
he seen, yet they seemed to be quite unconcerned about
their misfortunes, and traded as briskly as any of the rest.
MIDDLEHAM, a town in the north riding of
Yorkshire, situated on the river Ure, 255 miles from
London. It had once a castle, where was born Ed¬
ward prince of Wales, only son of Richard HI; and
is noted for a woollen manufactory and frequent horse¬
races. Its market is on Monday; and fairs Nov. 6.
and 7. The town stands on a rising ground ; and the
] MID
castle was formerly moated round by the help oi a middle-
spring conveyed in pipes from the higher grounds. The ham
population in 1811 was 714. _
MIDDLESEX, a county of England, which de- ;v K ^
rives its name from its situation amidst the three king¬
doms of the. East, West, and South Saxons. It is
bounded on the north by Hertfordshire ; on the south
by the river Thames, which divides it from Surry j on
the west by the river Colne, which separates it from
Buckinghamshire ; and on the east by the river Lea,
which divides it from Essex. It extends about 23
miles in length, but hardly 14 in breadth, and is not
more than 115 in circumference j but as it compre¬
hends the two vast cities of London and Westminster,
which are situated in the south-east part of the coun¬
ty, it is by far the wealthiest and most populous
county in England. It is divided into 602 liberties,
containing 200 parishes, besides a vast number of cha¬
pels of ease, and 5 market towns, exclusive of the cities
of London and Westminister. The air is very pleasant
and healthy. The soil, which is gravelly, produces plen-
ty of corn, and the county abounds with fertile meadows
and gardeners grounds. In a word, the greater part of
the county is so prodigiously assisted by the rich com¬
post from London, that the whole of the cultivated part
may be considered as a garden. The natural produc?
tions are cattle, corn, and fruit; but its manufactures
are too many to be enumerated here, there being hard¬
ly a single manufacture practised in Great Britain but
what is also established in this county.—Though Lon¬
don is the chief city, Brentford is the county town
where the members of parliament are elected. In 1811
it contained 126,269 houses, and 904,358 inhabitants
in towns, and 8670 houses, and 48,918 inhabitants in
the country, making altogether 953,276 inhabitants.
See Middlesex, Supplement.
Middlesex is also the name of four different coun¬
ties in the United States of America 5 one of them is
in Massachussets, another in Connecticut, a third in
New Jersey, and the fourth in Virginia.
MIDDLETON, Du Conyers, a very celebrated
English divine, the son of a clergyman in Yorkshire,
was born at Richmond in 1683. He distinguished him¬
self, while fellow of Trinity college, Cambridge, by
his controversy with Dr Bentley lus master, relating to
some mercenary conduct ol the latter in that station.
He afterwards had a controversy with the whole body
of physicians on the dignity of the medical profession }
concerning which he published Dt mediiorum apud ve~
teresRomcmos degentium conditione dissertatio; qua, con¬
tra viros celebernmos Jacobitm Spomum et Richardarn
Meadium, servilem atquc ignolnlem earn fuisst ostevdi-
tnr: and in the course of this dispute much resentment
and many pamphlets appeared. Hitherto he had •
stood well with his clerical brethren} but he drew the
resentment of the church on him in iq2g, by writing
“ A Letter from Rome, showing an exact conformity
between Popery and Paganism,” &c. ; as this letter,
though politely written, yet attackedPopish miracles with
a gaiety that appeared dangerous to the cause of miracles
in general. Nor were his Objections to Dr Water-
land’s manner of vindicating Scripture against Tindal’s
“ Christianity as old as the Creation,” looked on in a
more favourable point of view. In 1741, came out his
great work, “ The history of the life of M. Tullius
Cicero,”
Midship-
frame.
MID [41
Middleton Cicero,” .2 vols 4to : which is indeed a fine perform-
I! ance, and will probably be read as long as taste and
polite literature subsist among us: the author has ne¬
vertheless fallen into the common error of biographers,
who often give panegyrics instead of history. In
J748, he published, “ A free inquiry into the miracul¬
ous powers which are supposed to have subsisted in the
Christian church from the earliest ages, through several
successive centuries.” He was now attacked from all
quarters j but before he took any notice of his anta¬
gonists, he supplied them with another subject, in “ An
examination of the Lord Bishop of London’s discourses
concerning the use and extent of prophecy,” &c.
Thus Dr Middleton continued to display talents and
learning, which are highly esteemed by men of a free
turn of mind, but by no means in a method calculated
to invite promotion in the clerical line. He was in
1723 chosen principal librarian of the public library at
Cambridge ; and if he rose not to dignities in the
church, he was in easy circumstances, which permitted
him to assert a dignity of mind often forgotten in the
career of preferment. He died in I75°» at Hildersham
in Cambridgeshire, an estate of his own purchasing }
and in J752, all his works, except the life of Cicero,
were collected in 4 vols 4to.
MIDDLEVYICH, a town of Cheshire, 167 miles
from London. It stands near the conflux of the Croke
and Dan, where are two salt water springs, from which
are made great quantities of salt, the brine being said
to be so strong as to produce a full fourth part salt. It
is an ancient borough, governed by burgesses 5 and its
parish extends into many adjacent townships. It has a
spacious church. By means of inland navigation, it has
communication with the rivers Mersey, Dee, Kibble,
Ouse, Trent, Darwent, Severn, Humber,Thames, Avon,
&c.; which navigation, including its windings, extends
above 500 miles, in the counties of Lincoln, Notting¬
ham, York, Lancaster, Westmoreland, Stafford, War¬
wick, Leicester, Oxford, Worcester, &c. The river
Wheelock, after a course of about 12 miles from Mow-
cop-hill, runs into the Dan a little above this town. Its
population in 1811 was 1232.
MIDHURST, a town of Sussex, 52 miles from
London, has been represented in parliament ever since
the 4th of Edward II. It is a neat small town, on a
hill surrounded with others, having the river Arun at
the bottom j and is a borough by prescription, govern¬
ed by a bailiff, chosen annually by a jury at a court-
leet of the lord of the manor.
MIDIAN, or Madian, in Ancient Geography, a
town on the south side of Arabia Petrsea, so called
from one of the sons of Abraham by Keturah.—Ano¬
ther Midian, near the Arnon and iEoplis, in ruins in
Jerome’s time. With the daughters of these Midianites
the Israelites committed fornication, and were guilty of
idolatry. A branch of the Midianites dwelt on the
Arabian gulf, and were called Kenites: some of whom
turned proselytes, and dwelt with the Israelites in the
land of Canaan.
MID-LOTHIAN. See Lothian and Edinburgh¬
shire.
MIDSHIP-frame, a name given to that timber,
or combination of pieces formed into one timber,
which determines the extreme breadth of the ship,
i/Yol. XIV. Part I. f
] MID
as well as the figure and dimension of ail the inferior
timbers.
In the article SmP-Building, the reader will find a
full explanation of what is meant by a frame of tim¬
bers. He will also perceive the outlines of all the
principal frames, with their gradual dimensions, Irom
the midship-frame, delineated in the plane of projection
annexed to that article.
MIDSHIPMAN, a sort of naval cadet, appointed
by the captain of a ship of war, to second the orders of
the superior officers, and assist in the necessary busi¬
ness of the vessel, either aboard or ashore.
The number of midshipmen, like that of several other
officers, is always in proportion to the size of the ship
to which they belong. Thus a first-rate man of war
has 24, and the inferior rates a suitable number in pro¬
portion. No person can be appointed lieutenant with¬
out having previously served two years in the royal navy
in this capacity, or in that of mate, besides having been
at least four years in actual service at sea, either in
merchant ships or in the royal navy.
Midshipman is accordingly the station in which a
young volunteer is trained in the several exercises ne¬
cessary to attain a sufficient knowledge of the machi¬
nery, movements, and military operations of a ship, to
qualify him for a sea officer.
On his first entrance in a ship of war, every midship¬
man has several disadvantageous circumstances to en¬
counter. These are partly occasioned by the nature
of the sea service 5 and partly by the mistaken preju¬
dices of people in general respecting naval discipline,
and the genius of sailors and their officers. No cha¬
racter, in their opinion, is more excellent than that of
the common sailor, whom they generally suppose to
be treated with great severity by his officers, drawing
a comparison between them not very advantageous to
the latter. The midshipman usually comes aboard tinc¬
tured with these prejudices, especially if his education
has been amongst the higher rank of people ; and if
the officers happen to answer his opinion, he conceives
an early disgust to the service, from a very partial and
incompetent view of its operations. Blinded by these
prepossessions, he is thrown off his guard, and very
soon surprised to find, amongst those honest sailors, a
crew of abandoned miscreants, ripe for any mischief
or villany. Perhaps, after a little observation, many
of them will appear to him equally destitute of grati¬
tude, shame, or justice, and only deterred from the
commission of any crimes by the terror of severe pu¬
nishment. He will discover, that the pernicious ex¬
ample of a few of the vilest in a ship of war is too
often apt to poison the principles of the greatest num¬
ber, especially if the reins of discipline are too much
relaxed, so as to foster that idleness and dissipation,
which engender sloth, diseases, and an utter profligacy
of manners. If the midshipman on many occasions is
obliged to mix with these, particularly in the exercises
of extending or reducing the sails in the tops, he ought
resolutely to guard against this contagion, with which
the morals of his inferiors may be infected. He should,
however, avail himself of their knowledge, and acquire
their expertness in managing and fixing the sails and
rigging, and never suft'er himself to be excelled by an
inferior. He will probably find a virtue in almost
F every
Midship-
frame
MID [ 42 ] MID
Midship- every private sailor, which is entirely unknown to
man. many of his officers: that virtue is emulation, which
1 ' v is not indeed mentioned amongst their qualities by the
gentlemen of terra firina, by whom their characters are
often copiously described with very little judgment.
There is hardly a common tar who is not envious of
superior skill in his fellows, and jealous on all occa¬
sions to be outdone in what he considers as a branch
of his duty: nor is he more afraid of the dreadful con¬
sequences of whistling in a storm, than of being stig¬
matized with the opprobrious epithet of lubber. For¬
tified against this scandal, by a thorough knowledge
of his business, the sailor will sometimes sneer in pri¬
vate at the execution of orders which to him appear
awkward, improper, or unlike a seaman. Nay, he
will perhaps be malicious enough to suppress his own
judgment, and, by a punctual obedience to command,
execute whatever is to he performed in a manner
which he knows to be improper, in order to expose
the person commanding to disgrace and ridicule. Little
skilled in the method of the schools, he considers the
officer who cons his lesson by rote as very ill qualified
for his station, because particular situations might ren¬
der it necessary for the said officer to assist at putting
his own orders in practice. An ignorance in this prac¬
tical knowledge will therefore necessarily he thought
an unpardonable deficiency by those who are to tollow
his dix-ections. Hence the midshipman who associates
with these sailors in the tops, till he has acquired a
competent skill in the service of extending or reducing
the sails, &c. will be often entertained with a number
of scurrilous jests, at the expence of his superiors.
Hence also he will learn, that a timely application to
those exercises can only prevent him from appearing
in the same despicable point of view, which must cer¬
tainly be a cruel mortification to a man of the smallest
sensibility.
If the midshipman is not employed in these services,
which are undoubtedly necessary to give him a clearer
idea of the different parts of his occupation, a variety
of other objects present themselves to his attention.
Without presuming to dictate the studies which are
most essential to his improvement, we could wish to
recommend such as are most suitable to the bent of his
inclination. Astronomy, geometry, and mechanics,
which are in the first rank of science, are the mate¬
rials which form the skilful pilot and the superior ma- Midship-
riner. The theory of navigation is entirely derived man,
from the two former, and all the machinery and move-, M'dwxfc.
ments of a ship are founded upon the latter. I he ac¬
tion of the wind upon the sails, and the resistance of
the water at the stem, naturally dictate an inquiry into
the property of solids and fluids \ and the state of the
ship, floating on the water, seems to direct his appli¬
cation to the study of hydrostatics, and the effects of
gravity. A proficiency in these branches of science
will equally enlarge his views, with regard to the ope¬
rations of naval war, as directed by the efforts of
powder and the knowledge of pi-ojectiles. The most
effectual method to excite his application to those stu¬
dies, is, perhaps, by looking round the navy, to ob¬
serve the characters of individuals. By this inquiry
lie will probably discover, that the officer who is emi¬
nently skilled in the sciences, will command universal
respect and approbation ; and that whoever is satisfied
with the despicable ambition of shining the hero of an
assembly, will be the object of universal contempt.
The attention of the former will be engaged in those
studies which ai'e highly useful to himself in particular,
and to the sei'vice in general. The employment of
the latter is to acquire those superficial accomplishments
that unbend the mind from every useful science, emas¬
culate the judgment, and render the hero infinitely
more dexterous at falling into his station in the dance
than in the line of battle.
Unless the midshipman has an unconquerable aver¬
sion to the acquisition of those qualifications which
are so essential to his improvement, he will very rare¬
ly want opportunities of making a progress therein.
Kvery step he advances in those meritorious employ¬
ments will facilitate his accession to the next in order.
If the dunces, who are his officers or messmates, are
rattling the dice, roaring bad vex-ses, hissing on the flute,
or scraping discoi’d from the fiddle, his attention to more
noble studies will sweeten the hours of relaxation. He
should recollect, that no example from fools ought to in¬
fluence his conduct, or seduce him from that laudable
ambition which his honour and advantage are equally
concerned to pursue.
MIDWIFE, one whose profession is to deliver wo*
men in labour. See Midwifery.
MIDWIFERY,
Definition. rT'HE art of assisting women in labour. In a more
-I- extended sense, it is understood to comprehend al¬
so the treatment of the diseases of women and children.
In this work we shall consider it in the former limited
sense, viz. as relating to the birth of the offspring of
man.
a History of Midwifery.—It must be very obvious that
this art must have been almost coeval with mankind:
but in Europe it continued in a very rude state till the
17th century, and even after physic and surgery had
become distinct professions, it remained almost totally
uncultivated.
It is a curious fact, that in the empire of China
the very reverse of this has taken pb.ee. In that em¬
pire, according to the latest accounts, both physic and
surgery are still in a state of the utmost degradation,
even more so than among the savages of America j
but for some hundred years, the art of midwifery has
been practised by a set of men destined to the purpose
by order of government. These men, rvho hold in so¬
ciety the same rank which lithotomists did in this coun¬
try about the beginning of last century, are called in
whenever a woman has been above a certain number of
hours in labour, and employ a mechanical contrivance
for
M I D W
rt»stofy for completing the delivery without injury to the in-
— fant. A certain number of such individuals is allotted
to each district of a certain population.
It is said, that the Chinese government was led to
make this provision for alleviating the sufferings of
child-bearing women, in consequence of a representa¬
tion, that annually many women died undelivered, and
that in the majority of cases the cause of obstruction
might have been removed by very simple mechanical
expedients*
Both Sir George Staunton and Mr Barrow were
ignorant of this fact ', and the latter in particular ex¬
pressly mentions, that there are no men-midwives in
China. But the writer of this article had his informa¬
tion from a more authentic source than the works of
gentlemen who were only a few months in that coun¬
try, and were in a great measure treated as state pri¬
soners. He has it, through the medium of a friend,
from a gentleman who resided upwards of twenty years
as surgeon to the British factory at Canton, and who
had both the ability and the inclination to learn, during
the course ef so long a residence, all the customs and
prejudices of the natives relating to the preservation of
human health.
4 Towards the end of the 17th century, the same
causes which had so long before led to the cultivation
of midwifery in China produced the same effect in
Europe. The dangers to which women are sometimes
exposed during labour excited the compassion of the be¬
nevolent ; so that a considerable part of the first hos¬
pital which w^as established for the reception ot the in¬
digent sick, the Hotel Dieu of Paris was appropriated
to lying-in women.
The opportunities of practice which that hospital af¬
forded, directed the attention of medical men to the
numerous accidents which happen during laboui, and
to the various diseases which occur after delivery. Pu¬
blic teaching followed, and soon after the custom of
-employing men in the practice of midwifery began.
From this period the art became rapidly improved j
and it is now in many parts of Europe, and particular¬
ly in Great Britain, in as great a state of perfection
as physic or surgery.
5 In the year 1725, a professorship of midwifery was
established in the university of Edinburgh j and the
town-council at the same time ordained, that no
woman should be allowed to practise midwifery within
the liberties of the city, without having previously ob¬
tained a certificate from the professor of her being pro¬
perly qualified. This salutary regulation has fallen in¬
to desuetude.
There can be no doubt that the improvement of the
art of midwifery was chiefly in consequence of medical
men directing their attention to the subject j but the
propriety of men being employed in such a profession is
much questioned by many individuals of considerable
respectability.
« Dr John Gregory, in his Comparative View, p. 22.
says, “ every other animal brings forth its-young with¬
out any assistance, but we think a midwife understands
it better.” Had this eminent philosopher said, “ other
animals content themselves with the clothing which
providence has bestowed, but we think it necessary to
cover our bodies with the workmanship of weavers,
very few in this northern climate would have attended
I F E ft Y.
4:5
to the sneer. His son, the present professor, has im¬
proved upon the idea. He seems to suppose that women
without any instruction, and of course without any
knowledge of the subject, are capable of assisting one
another while in labour; and in the sportiveness of
his lively imagination, he compares men-midwives to
that species of frog, in which, according to the allega¬
tion of Reaumur, the male draws out the ova from the
female, or, to use the naturalist’s words, “ accouche
la femcllc.''1
It appears to us that this question, on which much
declamation has been employed by the parties who
have agitated it, may be brought within a very narrow
compass. It may be assumed as a fact established be¬
yond the reach of controversy, that sometimes dangers
and difficulties occur during labour (from causes to be
explained in a subsequent part of this essay), which can
be lessened or removed by those only who have an inti¬
mate knowledge of the structure of the human body
and of the practice of physic. On such occasions, it
must be admitted, medical men alone can be useful.
But as such labours occur only in the proportion of twt»
or three in the hundred, the general practice might be
confided to midwives, if they could he taught to manage
ordinary cases, and to foresee and distinguish difficulties
or dangers, so as to procure in sufficient time additional
assistance. It is on this point that the decision of the
question must depend. It consists with the knowledge
of the writer of this article, that women may be taught
all this. But there are many who allege, that a little
knoAvledge being a dangerous thing, midwives acquire
a self-sufficiency which renders them averse from call¬
ing in superiar assistance, and that, in consequence, they
often ocoasion the mest deplorable accidents both to
mother and child. In England this is the popular opi¬
nion, so that there women are almost entirely exclud¬
ed from the practice of midwifery. A similar prejudice
against midwives has, it is believed, begun in some parts
of Scotland ; but it is presumed this will gradually
cease, when it is considered that, in general, the Scotch
mjdwives are regularly instructed, and are at the same
time both virtuous and industrious. If they attend
strictly to their duty, and invariably prefer their pa¬
tients safety to their own feelings or supposed interest,
they will deservedly retain the public confidence. But
if in cases of difficulty or danger they trust to their own
exertions, or from disinterested motives decline the as¬
sistance of able practitioners, and if they interfere in
the treatment of the diseases of women and children,
they will in a few years be excluded from practice.
Division of the subject. In order to exhibit an ac¬
curate view of what relates to the birth of man, we shall
consider, in the first place, conception ; secondly, the
effects of impregnation ; thirdly, the act of childbear¬
ing ; and lastly, the deviations from the ordinary course
which sometimes happen. These topics will form the
subjects of the following chapters.
or
Concpption.
7
Chap. I. Of Conception.
Three circumstances are required for conception in s
the human race, viz. puberty ; a healthy, vigorous, and
natural state of the parts subservient to the operation
in both sexes ; and successful sexual intercourse.
I. The age of puberty in women differs considerably
F 2 '
44
M I D W I
or Con-
ce prion.
9
Id
IX
in different climates. In Europe it takes place com¬
monly between the fourteenth and sixteenth year. This
important era is marked by certain changes both in
the mind and body. The girl feels sensations to which
she had been formerly unaccustomed. She loses a relish
for her former amusements, and even for her youthful
companions. She seeks solitude, indulges in the de¬
pressing passions, and these are excited by the most ap¬
parently trifling causes. She feels occasionally certain
desires which modesty represses j and it is by degrees
only that she regains her former tranquillity.
The changes in her body are even more strongly
marked than those in her mind. Her breasts assume
that form which adds to the beauty of her person, and
renders them fit for nourishing her infant j and every
part of the genital system is enlarged. A periodi¬
cal discharge from the uterus renders the woman
perfect.
In young men the same causes produce very different
effects. The lad, about fifteen or sixteen, feels a great
increase of strength j his features expand, his voice be¬
comes rough, his step firm, his body athletic j and he
engages voluntarily in exercises which require an exer¬
tion of strength and activity. The changes in his
mind are as strongly marked as those in his body. He
loses that restless puerility which had distinguished his
early years, and becomes capable of attending steadily
to one object. His behaviour to the fair sex is sudden¬
ly altered. He no longer shows that contempt for wo¬
men, which he had formerly betrayed. He is softened,
approaches them with deference, and experiences a de¬
gree of pleasure in their company, for which he can
scarcely account. In him too there is an important
change in the condition of the genital organs.
2. Unless the parts which constitute peculiarity of sex
be in a healthy, vigorous, and natural state, conception
cannot take place.
In women, conception is prevented if the organs be
too much relaxed; if there be obstruction between the
external and internal parts j if any preternatural dis¬
charge take place from the internal parts } if the men¬
strual evacuation be not natural in every respect, and if
the appendages of the uterus, called fallopian tubes, and
ovaria, be not of the natural structure.
In men, the same circumstance happens if the organs
lie too much relaxed ; if the orifice of the urethra be
in an improper situation •, if the urethra be diseased j if
the testes be not in a natural healthy state ; and if there
be any defect in the erectores penis, which prevents the
proper erection of that organ.
3. The sexual intercourse cannot be successful unless
somewhat necessary for conception be furnished by both
sexes. This consists in the male of a fluid secreted by
the testes} and in the female, of a detachment of a
substance, supposed to resemble a very minute vesicle
situated in the ovarium, and called by physiologists
ovum. Each ovarium contains a number of these vesi¬
cles. After every conception, certain marks of the
detachment of the ovum remain in the respective
ovarium.
When the circumstances required for conception con¬
cur, a being is produced which generally resembles
both parents. This resemblance is most strikingly
marked in the human subject, when one of the parents
3
F E R Y. Chap. I.
is an European, and the other an African. What is of Con-
called a mulatto is produced. ception.
The human race possesses the power of propagation
in common with all the other species of the animal
kingdom, and also, it has been said, with the vegetable
kingdom.
As generation then, as it has been styled, is common
to two of the kingdoms of nature, it has been imagined
by ingenious men, that this wonderful operation is
regulated in both by a certain general law. But they
have differed much in their account of this law. The
question at issue between the two parties is whether
the embryos of animals be prepared by the sexual in¬
tercourse out of inorganic materials, or whether they
pre-exist in the bodies of animals, and are only deve¬
loped as it were by that intercourse. The former of
these opinions is called the doctrine of epigenesis, the
latter that of evolution.
Both doctrines have been maintained with much in¬
genuity by equally respectable authorities. Negative
arguments have been adduced in favour of the one,
positive in support of the other, and it must be confess¬
ed that the balance between them seems nearly equal.
The pre-existence of ova in the oviparous animals ap¬
pears a positive argument in favour of evolution ; but
the satirical remark of a late witty author, * that, were * Blumen-
this theory true, every individual of the human race&«cA.
must have been lodged in the ovaria of our first parent,
by affording a negative argument in favour of epigenesis,
restores the balance.
The various arguments advanced on each side by the
opposite parties in this dispute are so very numerous,
that we cannot attempt to detail them in this work ;
and on a subject which has divided the opinions of so
many able physiologists, it would be presumption to de¬
cide peremptorily.
If generation be regarded as an animal operation,
one is led to inquire whether the product be the result
of the combined influence of both sexes, or whether it
be produced by either sex alone.
The first opinion was generally adopted by physiolo- ^
gists, till about the end of the J7th century, when an
accidental discovery convinced many that the embryo
was produced by the male parent alone j and another
discovery some years afterwards again overturned that
opinion, and rendered it believed by not a fewr that
the embryo is furnished exclusively by the female
parent.
Several circumstances concurred to render the first
opinion probable *, the structure of the organs which con¬
stitute peculiarity of sex in both parents, the circum¬
stances necessary for successful impregnation, and the
similitude of children to both parents, appear very strong
arguments in its favour.
The second theory, although first brought into vogue i4
about the end of the 17th century by the discoveries of
Leeuwenhoeck, had been formerly proposed by the fol¬
lowers of Pythagoras. Their argument was analogy:
the seed, said they, is sown in the earth, nourished
and evolved there j so the male semen is sown in
the uterus, and in the same manner nourished and
evolved.
Leeuwenhoeck’s discovery seemed a more conclusive
argument in favour of the theory than vague analogy.
He
iChap. I.
M I D W I F E K Y.
45
is
Of Con- He observed innumerable animalcula in the seminal
coption. 0f j|ie raales 0f many animals. These he imagined
^ to be embryos.
But as animalcula of apparently the same nature have
been observed in many animal fluids besides the semen
masculinum, the' opinion of Leeuwenhoeck and the
theory itself are overturned.
It tvas owing principally to the labours, industry, and
ingenuity of Baron Haller, that the third theory, that
of the pre-existing germ, became fashionable.
His observations seem to contain a demonstration of
the fact.
Those Avho have adopted this theory, imagine that
the semen masculinum possesses the power of stimulating
the various parts of the pre-existing embryo. And
hence they attribute the similitude to both parents, and
particularly the appearance of the hybrid productions, to
that fluid nourishing certain parts, and new-arranging
others. But if this \yere true, then the semen masculi¬
num of all animals should possess the power of stimulat¬
ing the germs of all female animals 5 and besides, in each
class of animals it should possess certain specific powers
of giving a direction to the growth of parts. Experi¬
ence, however, has not proved this to be the case, for
the hybrid productions are very limited j and we may
be permitted perhaps, without the imputation of arro¬
gance in pretending to search into the intentions of the
Author of nature, to observe, that had the semen mas¬
culinum been possessed of such poAvers, the whole spe¬
cies of animals Avould have been soon confounded, and
the Avhole animal kingdom Avould soon have returned to
that chaos from Avhich it has been allegorically said it
originated.
Yet avc are reduced to the alternative of either re¬
jecting the theory, or of believing that the semen does
possess the poAvers alluded to. If we examine attentive¬
ly the anatomical discovery on Avhich this theory is
built, avc shall perhaps be inclined to believe that the
foundation of the whole is very insufficient; and hence
to conclude that the great superstructure is in a very
tottering condition. If it be possible that the attach¬
ment of the chick to the yolk of the egg should be in
consequence of inosculation, the theory must fall to the
ground. Haller has endeavoured to obviate this objec¬
tion, but not Avith his usual judgment.
Tavo circumstances, hoAvever, seem to sIioav that the
attachment is really by inosculation : 1. That vessels
are seen in the membrane of the yolk evidently con¬
taining blood before the heart of the chick begins to
beat •, yet these vessels afterwards appear to depend on
the vascular system of the chick. And, 2. That in
many animals, as in the human subject, the umbilical
cord seems to be attached to the abdomen by inoscula¬
tion } for there is a circle round the root of the cord
Avhich resembles a cicatrix, and within a I’cav days af¬
ter birth, the cord uniformly drops oft’ at that very
circle, Avhatever portion may have been retained after
delivery.
There is one objection equally applicable to all the
three theories, viz. the difficulty of explaining the steps
of the process. A variety of explanations have been
offered by ingenious men. Spallanzani and Mi- John
Hunter lately, Haller and Bonnet formerly, have ren¬
dered themselves conspicuous on this subject. Spallan¬
zani, in particular, appears to many to have produced,
\6
by his artificial impregnation, the most convincing Effects of
proofs of the pre-existence of the germ. But to what Impregna-
do his celebrated experiments amount? They show, that, tlon' ,
in all animals it is necessary that the semen masculinum ''
should be applied to the someAvhat expelled by the fe¬
male during the coitus, otherwise impregnation cannot
take place. But was not this universally acknoAvledged
before the abbe Avas born ? In the unfortunate frogs
who were the subjects of his experiments, the whole
operation of generation was completed except the ap¬
plication ol the male semen to the substances expelled
by the female. Nature, by establishing that the busi¬
ness should be carried on in water, sIioavs that the se¬
men must be diluted, otherwise it cannot fecundate.
The abbe only imitated nature. He left the question
in the state in which he found it. His experiment on
the bitch may appear more conclusive; hut alas ! it has
never succeeded Avith any person but himself.
On the whole, since the process of generation is so
obscure that no rational explanation of it has yet been
ofl’ered, are Ave not entitled to conclude that the gene¬
ral theory which accounts most satisfactorily for the
various phenomena which impregnation exhibits is the
best 5 and consequently, that the product of genera¬
tion cannot pre-exist in the body of either parent exclu¬
sively ?
Chap. II. Effects of Impregnation.
18
In consequence of impregnation, certain important
changes take place in the uterine system of the human
subject. We shall consider the natural changes only.
On some occasions, there are morbid changes •, but avc
shall not notice them, except in so far as some of them
serve to illustrate the nature of the usual ones.
The first visible change is on the ovarium. One of
those organs swells out at one point like a small papilla,
then hursts, and someAvhat is discharged.
A substance is found in the ovarium after this, which k,
is called corpus luteum. Rosderer has described very
accurately its appearance a feAV hours after delivery.
He says “ corpus luteum locatur in rotundo apice. To-
tam ovarii crassitiem occupat, immediate pone ovarii
membranam ilia sede tenuiorem locatum ; ab ovario
cum quo cellulosse ope cohceret separari sine laesione
potest ; nulli peculiar! OArarii rimse respondet: neque
canalis in illo excavatus, sed totum solidum est. Lu-
teus color est, substantia acinosa, acims admodum com-
pactis et ad sese pressis ambitus rotundus. Potest aliquo
modo, velut in glandulis suprarenalibus, duplex substantia
distingui, corticalis et medullaris; quarum ilia insequa-
lis crassitiei 1—2 lin. lutea comprehendit banc medul-
larern albam, quee tenuis et membrana quasi callosa, ali-
um nucleum flavum includit cassiorem It is \cry * Roederer
large soon after conception, and then gradually be- leones,
comes smaller; but never totally disappears. Roederer
observes, “ post puerperium eo magis contrahi et indu-serm? p
rari ilia corpora videntur, quo remotior fit partus $ to. p. 42.
qualia videlicet observantur in feminis quae nuper par-
tum non ediderunt.
“ Lutea corpora quo serius a partu observantur cuncta
glandulis suprarenalibus similia esse videntur, dupliqe
nempe substantia, exteriore corticali, solida seu flava
lutea et nucleo fusco: velut etiam illae glandulae com-x .
pressa sunt j-.” In cases where there is a plurality oE °ld'
children,
p. 30.
tion.
80
46 M I I) W
Effects of cliildren, there is evidently a corpus krtoum to each
Impregua- child. In some, quadrupeds, as in the bitch or cat, the
| number of young in the uterus may be generally know 21
by the corresponding Corpora lutea in the ovaria.
The next change in the human uterine system which
deserves notice is that in the fallopian tubes. 1 hey
swell out towards the fimbriated extremity, and form a
cavity which has been called antrum, lioederer was
the first who observed and accurately delineated this
change.
He says, p. 14. loco citato, “ In hoc etiam ntero an ¬
trum tuba; dextrae apparet, c.f. tab. i. not. 5. ubi qui-
dem in utraque tuba adest, in hujus iconis uteio ad so-
lam tubam dextram antrum pertinet. Ad uterum le-
mina; octiduum puerperse non longe a fimbria in istius-
modi antrum tuba sinistra prominet; dextra quidem
sine antro est, sed versus fimbriam ita flectitur ut ultima
flexura dimidium pollicem ultra reliquam tubam eflera-
tur. Tuba; feminse quae mox a mature partu mortua
est, et alterius tres dies puerperse antris quidem carent,
sed multum versus sitnbrias dilatantur. An est factu
conceptione ista antra nascuntur ?
“ In uteri, tab. iv. ovario dextro luteutn corpus latet
in uteri feminae octiduum pucrperae ovario sinistro j in
uteri, tab. i. ovario sinistro.” He adds, “ ulteriori inda-
gine ista antra non indigna esse mihi videntur. Licebit
forsan conjectare aliquid liquoris ex vesicula graanana
in tubam lapsum et ad introitum morans illam dila-
atiut the most astonishing changes arc those produced
in the uterus itself. Its parietes separate, a cavity is
formed which becomes tilled with a fluid, and the os
uteri is closed up. The matter contained within the
cavity soon assumes an organized form. . It is said that
some time after conception, a small vesicle is observed
attached at one point to the internal surface of the
uterus : that the rest of the parietes is covered with a
gelatinous fluid ; and that the whole internal surface as¬
sumes a flocculent appearance. By degrees the vesicle,
which is in fact the ovum containing the embryo, in¬
creases so much in size that it nearly fills the whole
cavity in which it is contained, and then its structure
becomes the bhject of our senses.
The increase of size ill the Uterus is very gradual.
It is at first confined almost entirely to the fundus, and
it proceeds so slowly that it does not leave the cavity of
the pelvis till nearly the fourth month. ' The principal
change in the cervix for the first five months is the Com¬
plete closure of the orifice, which is effected by a ge¬
latinous fluid : afterwards the cervix is gradually ex¬
tended, and at last its form is obliterated, the whole
uterus becoming like an oval pouch.
After the fifth month the increase of size in the ute-
, rus is very rapid; The fundus can be just felt above the
pubes about the fifth month, but at the end of the ninth
month it extends to the scrobiculus cordis.
Some authors have alleged that the changes in the
cervix and in the situation of the fundus are so uni¬
formly regular in every case, that by attending to them
it is possible to ascertain the exact period of impregna¬
tion. But in this respect they are much mistaken •, the
changes being not only different in different women,
but also in the same woman in different pregnancies.
The texture of the parietes of the uterus seems much
s
I F E R Y.
22
23
24
25
Chap. If.
altered after itnpregnation. It becomes spongy and Effects of
fibrous. The fibres run in very different directions, and Improgn*.
from their power and appearance are certainly muscu- , .
lar. The blood-vessels become much enlarged, but are
still in a tortuous direction. They arc paiticularly
large at one part of the uterus.
The lymphatic vessels, which in the unimpregnated
uterus cannot be demonstrated by anatomists, become,
as well as the blood-vessels, remarkably large.
The ovum is not often expelled entire till after the
eighth or twelfth week after conception. It is shaped
somewhat like an egg, and is about the latter period
about four inches iu length. When cut into, it is
found to consist of four layers or membranes, and to
contain a foetus surrounded by a certain quantity ot
water, and connected to one part of the parietes (which
is considerably thicker than the rest) by a vascular
-cord. f
The external membrane covers the whole ovum. It
is thick, spongy, and very vascular, the vessels evident¬
ly deriving their blood from the uterus ; it has three
perforations which correspond with the openings of the
os tin cm and fallopian tubes. It has been called decidua,
tunica filamcntosa, &c. hut its most ordinary appella¬
tion is spongy chorion*
The second membrane proceeds from the edges 01
4that part into which the vascular rope which connects
the foetus i* attached. It was first pointed out to ana¬
tomists by Dr William Hunter, and called by him
decidua refiexa. The nante unfortunately records to
posterity the absurd idea respecting its origin which
-was entertained by Dr Hunter. It is not so thick and
spongy as the former membrane, nor so vascular. It
lies loosely between the external membrane and that to
be next described ; but it appears only for a short time,
as it soon becomes blended with the others.
The third membrane is thin and transparent, but
■strong. It is lined with the fourth membrane, and lies
in the same situation with it. It contains no vessels at
this period of impregnation conveying red blood in the
human subject, but in the cow the vessels are very di¬
stinct at every period. This membrane however 111 the
early period of impregnation is very vascular, and its
vessels are derived from the foetus. The history ot a
case of morbid impregnation, where the foetus was ex-
tra-Uterine, detailed by Dr Clarke in the r:!ns~
actions of a Society for the Improvement of Medical
and Chirurgical Knowledge,” proves this circumstance
very clearly. He says, p. 220. “ a laceration was found
to be in the fallopian tube about an inch and a hall m
length, each extremity of which was about an equal
distance from the respective termination of the tube in
the fimbriae and in the uterus. The distension ot
the tube at this part was nearly of the size of a large
walnut, forming a kind of pouch. More ol t.ie coagu¬
lated blood being removed from the lacerated pait, t ie
sheurp-y vessels of the chorion' immediately appeared, in¬
terspersed with small coagula, and lying in contact with
the internal surface of 4he pouch formed by the fallo¬
pian tube} these being separated, and the chorion di¬
vided, the amnios shewed itself, containing a foetus per¬
fectly formed of above six or seven weeks growth,” &c.
This membrane is called the true chorion.
The fourth membrane is even thinner and more trans¬
parent
26
27
Jhap. II.
[Effects of parent than the former. It lines the whole internal
ilmpregna- surface of the ovum, and together with the chorion is
t1011' , continued along the vascular cord which connects tlie
v ovum and foetus. Between this membrane and the
chorion, near the insertion of the vascular cord, a small
white vesicle appears very distinct at this period } it was
first described and delineated by Dr W. Hunter, and
was called by him vesicula umbilicalis. At the full
period of utero-gestation it is no longer visible, being
then quite transparent.
The foetus at this period is between two and three
inches in le’hgth, and its external conformation is near¬
ly complete.
The fluid contained in the ovum is in such quantity
as to prevent the foetus from touching the parietes of
the covering in which it is included. It is a clear wa¬
tery fluid, of greater specific gravity than water, and
of a saltish taste. When examined chemically it is
found not coagulable by heat or alcohol, and to contain
a proportion of ammoniacal and sea salt. This fluid is
called liquor amnii.
The connection of the parts thus enumerated with the
uterus cannot be explained, unless the appearance of the
ovum at the full period of gestation be described.
sS The ovum then consists ot thi’ee membranes *, a spongy
vascular substance called placenta, to which the foe¬
tus is connected by a vascular rope, and the liquor
amnii.
The three membranes consist of the spongy chorion,
the true chorion, and the amnios.
The spongy chorion covers the whole. Its vessels
are numerous, and they can be filled by throwing hot
wrax into the vessels of the uterus.
The true chorion and amnios are in the same situa¬
tion as in the early months, being continued along the
navel-string. They are quite transparent, and contain
no visible vessels of any description.
The placenta is a large vascular spongy mass, of va¬
rious forms in different cases, most generally approaching
to a round one, placed on the outside of the true chorion,
between it and the spongy chorion. Its external surface
is lobulated} its internal or that towards the foetus is
smooth, except from the rising of the blood-vessels.
It is not attached to the uterus at any regular place,
being sometimes at the cervix or side, but most gene¬
rally about the fundus. On the one side it receives
blood from the mother, and on the other from the
child. Mr John Hunter was the first who clearly tra¬
ced the insertion of the blood-vessels in the uterus into
the placenta. He describes it thus (d) : “ The late
indefatigable Dr M‘Kenzie, about the month of May
1754, when assistant to Dr Smellie, having procured
the body of a pregnant woman who had died undeliver¬
ed at the full term, had injected both the veins and ar¬
teries with particular success 5 the veins being filled
with yellow, the arteries with red.
u Having opened the abdomen, and exposed the ute¬
rus, he made an incision into the fore part, quite
through its substance, and came to somewhat having
the appearance of an irregular mass of injected matter,
which afterwards proved to be the placenta. rlhis ap-
47
pearance being new, he stopped, and greatly obliged Effects of
me by desiring my attendance to examine the parts, in Impregna-
which there appeared something so uncommon. , t~^n' .
“ I first raised, with great care, part of the uterus
from the irregular mass above mentioned j in doing
which, I. observed regular pieces of tvax, passing ob¬
liquely between it and the uterus, which broke off,
leaving part upon this mass j and when they were at¬
tentively examined, towards the uterus, plainly appear¬
ed to be a continuation of the veins passing from it to
this substance or placenta.
“ I likewise perceived other vessels, about the size of
a crow quill, passing in the same manner, although not
so obliquely : these also broke upon separating the pla¬
centa and uterus, leaving a small portion on the surface
of the placenta j and, on examination, they were dis¬
covered to be continuations of the arteries of the uterus.
My next step was to trace these vessels into the sub¬
stance of what appeared placenta, which I first at¬
tempted in a vein j but that soon lost the regularity of
a vessel, by terminating at once upon the surface of the
placenta, in a very fine spongy substance, the interstices ■>
of which were filled with the yellow injected matter.
This termination being new, I repeated the same kind
of examination on other veins, which always led me to
the same terminations, never entering the substance of
the placenta in the form of a vessel. I next examined
the arteries, and, tracing them in the same manner to-
ward the placenta, found that they made a twdst, or
close spiral turn upon themselves, and then were lost on
its surface. On a more attentive view, I perceived that
they terminated in the same way as the veins ; for op¬
posite to the mouth of the artery, the spongy substance
of the placenta was readily observed, and was inter-'
mixed with the red injection.
“ Upon cutting into the placenta, I discovered, in
many places of its substance, yellow injection •, in others
red, and in many others these two colours mixed. This
substance pf the placenta, now filled with injection, had
nothing of the vascular appearance, nor that of extra¬
vasation, but had a regularity in its form, which shew¬
ed it to be a natural cellular structure fitted for a re¬
servoir for blood.
“ In some of the vessels leading from the placenta
to the uterus, I perceived that the red injection of the
arteries (which had been first injected) had passed into
them out of the substance of the placenta, mixing itself
with the yellow injection. I also observed, that the
spongy chorion, called the decidua by Dr Hunter, was
very vascular, its vessels coming from, and returning to,
the uterus, being filled with the different coloured in¬
jections.”
It appears then that the placenta has a cellular struc-
ture, which receives blood from the arteries of the mo¬
ther, and that there are veins by which that blood is’
returned, so that not a drop passes into the foetus. Of
this practitioners of midwifery have a very familiar
proof. When the placenta is retained attached to the
uterus, after the birth of the child, not a drop of blood
passes from the umbilical cord, except what wras con¬
tained in the ramifications of the foetal vessels when the
child
M I D W I F E R Y.
(d) Observations on certain parts of the Animal Oeconomy, by John Hunter, p. 127*
48
Effects of child: was separated. Yet, if a small portion of the
Impregna- edge of the placenta be detached, such a quantity ot
tion- blood escapes from the uterine vessels of the mother, as
v sometimes proves fatal to life : a circumstance which
clearly shews that the blood is still conveyed into the
< cellular part of the placenta.
It has been said, that the placenta on one side re¬
ceives blood from the foetus. In fact, the greatest part
of the placenta seems to be made up of ramifications ot
the foetal vessels. The internal iliacs of the foetus are
conveyed, through the vascular rope which connects the
placenta and child, into the placenta ■ they then ramify
into as many minute branches as the pulmonary arteries
do in the lungs of the adult ; they then terminate in
various branches, which, uniting, form one large trunk
that is conveyed along the vascular rope, and returns
all the blood which had been distributed by the ar¬
teries.
As Mr Hunter remarks, “ the arteries from the foe¬
tus pass out to a considerable length, under the name
of the umbilical cord ; and when they arrive at the pla¬
centa, ramify upon its surface, sending into its substance
branches which pass through it, and divide into smaller
and smaller, till at last they terminate in veins : these
uniting, become larger and larger, and end in one
which at last terminates in the proper circulation of the
foetus. This course of vessels, and the blood’s motion
in them, is similar to the course of the vessels, and the
* r nun- niotion of the blood, in other parts of the body*.”
ter,'\oc. cit. The foetus, at the full period, weighs from between
p. 135. 6 and 7, to between 10 and 11 pounds, and measures
3° from 18 to 22 inches. It is placed within the ovum in
such a manner as to occupy the least possible space.
This position has been beautifully described by Harvey.
“ Infans in utero utplurimum reperitur, adductis ad
abdomen genibus, flexis retrorsum cruribus, pedibus de-
cussatis, manibusque ad caput sublatis, quarum alteram
circa tempora vel auriculas, alteram ad genam detinet,
ubi maculae albse, tanquam confricationis vestigia, in
cute cernunturspina in orbem flectitur, caput ad ge¬
nua incurvato collo propendet. T^ali membrorum situ
qualem in sommo per quietem quaerimust.”
f Harvey The foetus is distinguished from the adult by a great
Exercit. de many peculiarities in structure : these the limits of this
Partu. do not permit us to enumerate. We shall there-
31 fore notice only one peculiarity, which distinguishes the
foetus not only from the adult, but even from the na-
tus, viz. the distribution of the blood through its
body.
It is well known, that, in the adult and in the natus,
all the blood of the body, brought by the two cavae into
the anterior auricle ol the heart, and from that into the
corresponding ventricle, is distributed by the pulmonary
artery over the whole substance of the lungs, by means
of the most minute ramifications 5 from whence it is re¬
turned by the pulmonary veins into the posterior auricle,
and being then sent into the posterior ventricle, is, by
its action, transmitted to every part of the body, through
the aorta and its ramifications.
But in the foetus the blood follows another course.
All the blood of the foetus is returned from the placen¬
ta by the umbilical vein, which, penetrating the abdo¬
men, passes between the lohes of the liver, and thence
at right angles divides into two branches nearly, by one
Chap. II,
of which, called ductuS venosus, a considerable quantity Effects of
of blood is carried into the vena cava j by the other the Impregna
remainder ot the blood is sent to the vena portarum j i ^
and, after having circulated through the liver, it too is
brought by two short venous trunks, the venae cavse he-
paticEe, just above the diaphragm, into the vena cava.
All the blood thus received into the vena cava, is car¬
ried to the anterior auricle *, but a part only is transmit¬
ted to the corresponding ventricle, for by a particular
apparatus, a quantity is at once sent into the posterior
or left auricle. Anatomists have differed in opinion
concerning the apparatus by which this is accomplished.
As there is a small oval hole of communication between
the auricles of the foetus, called foramen ovale, having
a valve placed in such a manner as to prevent any fluid
from passing from the left into the right, but to admit
it from the right into the left, it has been generally
imagined that the blood passed through that opening.
But the simultaneous action of the auricles in the natus
seemed to contradict this opinion. A discovery made
by Dr Wolfe of Petersburgh appears to solve the riddle.
He observed, that in the calf, before birth, the vena
cava, at its entry into the heart, divides into two
branches, by the one of which it sends blood to the
right, and by the other to the left auricle. It is pro¬
bable that a similar effect is produced in the human
fetus by a different structure.
Of the blood sent by the right ventricle into the pul¬
monary artery, a small quantity only is carried to the
lungs j for near the point at which that artery is di¬
vided into the two branches that go into the lobes of the
lungs, a large branch is sent off, which joining the aorta
and pulmonary artery, carries a great proportion of the
blood immediately into it. What is circulated through
the lungs is conveyed by the pulmonary veins into the
left auricle, &c.
All the blood thus received into the aorta is distributed
through the several parts of the system, and a large
part of it is sent out by the internal iliacs, which, pas¬
sing out at the abdomen, constitute the umbilical arte¬
ries, and distribute the blood in the manner already
mentioned over the placenta, from which it is returned
by the veins.——The great difference then between the
fetus and natus in the circulation of the blood, consists
in the quantity distributed through the lungs.
To complete the description of the ovum at the full 33
period of gestation, it only remains that we should say
something on the vascular rope, which connects the pla¬
centa and fetus, and on the liquor amnii.
This rope is called the funis umbilicalis. It termi¬
nates by one end at the placenta, and by the other at
the centre of the abdomen of the fetus. Its length
and thickness differ materially in different cases. It is
longer in the human subject than in any other animal.
It is found generally to be from eighteen to twenty-six
inches in length, and in thickness about the size of the
little finger. Externally it is formed of the chorion
and amnios, together with cellular substance. Inter¬
nally it is found to be composed of three blood-vessels,
and a quantity of gelatinous matter. The vessels con¬
sist of two arteries and one vein: the vein being as
large as both arteries united. These go in a spiral di¬
rection, and often form knots by their coils or twistings.
A very small artery and vein are likewise perceived to
* g°
midwifery.
Chap. II.
Effects of go along the cord between the two layers of chorion and
Impregna- amnios, which cover it, into the vesicula umbilicalis.
tion. These are called omphalo-mesenteric.
' ^ In quadrupeds, a canal, called urachus, is continued
^ from the urinary bladder, along the umbilical cord, and
communicates with a membrane, which, like this canal,
docs not exist in the human subject, called allantois.
The urine of the young animal is collected in that mem¬
brane.
Some anatomists, as Albinus, have imagined, that
the urachus and allantois do exist in the human subject.
They were deceived by the appearance of the vesicula
umbilicalis and omphalo-mensenteric vessels.
The liquor amnii is never in such proportion to the
foetus in the latter, as in the early periods of pregnan¬
cy. It is less pure too at that period, being often pol¬
luted with the stools of the foetus. Except in this cir¬
cumstance, its chemical qualities are the same.
We shall now offer a few observations on the changes
which have been described.
34 i. The cause of the increase of growth in the uterus
is very obscure. The accession of fluids will account
for the phenomenon 5 but a strong objection occurs
against considering that as the cause, i. e. that the ute¬
rus increases to a certain degree in size, even although
the direction of fluids be to another part, as where the
foetus is extra-uterine. Boehmerus has marked this very
accurately in a case of extra-utei’ine conception, which
he has detailed (a). The developement of its fibres
seems to prove, that the increase of size depends on a
certain energy of the uterus itself; perhaps this may
appear a very ambiguous mode »f expression, yet we can
offer no other explanation of this curious phenome¬
non.
35 2. The great bulk of the uterus during the latter
months, sufficiently explains the cause of the various
complaints which occur at that period. Van Doeveren
has described this very accurately. He says, “ uteri
gravidi incrementum, adscensus e pelvis cavo, et imma-
nis expansio, innumeros excitat gravidarum morbos j
primo quidem arctando abdomen, et mechanice compri-
mendo viscera quae in eo continentur, hepar, lienem,
ventriculum, intestina, omentum, nec minus partes iis vi-
cinas, nempe, renes, ureteres, aortam, venam cavam, ar-
terias et venas iliacas, nervosque e medulla spinali pro-
deuntes inferiores-, accidit pectoris coarctatio,similesque
effectus inde excitati in corde, pulmonibus vasisque ma-
joribus j ex quibus multiplici modo circulatio, digestio,
chylificatio et respiratio laeduntur, inque tota corporis
oeconomia, ejusque functionibus ingentis, solent produci
turbae variaquevitia topicaexcitari, inter quae, tensiones,
spasmi, dolores, stupores, obturationes, obstructiones, in-
flammationes, congestiones, prae caeteris memorabiles
sunt $ unde nascitur magna series morborum abdominis,
pectoris, ipsiusque capitis j nec non artuum inferiorum
Vol. XIV. Part I. t
49
torpores, dolores, crampi, oedemata, erysipelata, varices, Effects of
haemorrhagiae, ulcera, labiorum vulvae inflationes, varia- Impregua-
que vitia partium genitalium, et alia multa pro diversa bon,
partium compressarum aut distentarum actione, variis v
nominibus insignienda (b).”
3. The origin of the membrane, which appears about 36
the third month, called by Hr Hunter membrana dc.
cidua reflexa, has afforded matter of dispute among
physiologists. Hr Hunter imagined, that the decidua
vera consisted of two lavers, and that the ovum, enve¬
loped in chorion and amnios, got somehow between
these : but this is a very unsatisfactory opinion. The
more probable opinion is, that the decidua vera and de¬
cidua reflexa are distinct membranes, although both
formed in the same manner. If, as we have already
stated, the uterus, soon after conception, be filled with
a gelatinous fluid, and if the ovum be in contact with
that organ at one point only, then it is probable that
the vessels of the internal surface of the uterus, by
shooting into the fluid with which it is covered, will
form one membrane, the decidua vera ; while the ves¬
sels on the external surface of the chorion, will shoot
into the fluid with which the ovum must have been co¬
vered in its descent, and form another membrane, the
decidua reflexa.
In proof that both membranes are formed in this
way, it may be observed, that where the foetus is extra-
uterine, the uterus is lined with the decidua vera, and
there is no decidua reflexa.—Boehmer is the first who
demonstrated this j and not Hr Hunter, as has been al¬
leged. He says, “ Quumvero uterus magnitudine gra-
vido unius circiter mensis similis videretur, eundem po~
sterius longitudinaliter, etsuperius ti’ansversaliter disse-
cuimus, inque ejus cavo, intuitu baud impregnati satis
magno, nihil prteter tenacem et flavescentem mucum,
mollemque poroso-villosam et valvulosam quasi turges-
centem membranam undique uteri parietes et tubas in-
vestentem, hinc inde inflammatam et erosam, structuram
autem uteri satis compactam invenimus * Boehintr
4. The formation of the placenta is a curious subject loc. cit.
of inquiry. That it depends principally on the foetus, P- -!•
is proved by the appearances in extra-uterine concep- 37
tions. In the case of ventral conception, published by
Mr Turnbull of London, this circumstance is very clear¬
ly pointed out (c).
5. The origin of the liquor amnii has been explained '’
very differently by different physiologists. Some ima¬
gine that it is furnished by the mother j others by the
child. Baron Haller adopts the former opinion.
“ Ergo (he says) ab utero est, et a matre, siquidem a
foetu esse non potest. Non ausim experimentum produ-
cere, in quo crocus, quam mater sumserat, liquorem
amnii tinxitf.” But if this were the case, How could f Ilalleri
the liquor amnii exist when the foetus is extra uterine ?
Yet it cannot be a secretion from the foetus itself, he-^^^"
G cause 14,. Xxix.
   sect. 3. § 9.
M I D W I F E R Y.
(a) H. Philippi Boehmeri Observationum Anatomicarum variarum fasciculus notabilia circa uterum humanum
continens, p. 52.
(b) Primae linete de cognoscendis mulierum morbis, in usus academicos, ductae a Gualth. van Hoeveren, M. H.
et Prof. p. 16.
(c) Vid. A Case of Extra-Uterine Gestation of the ventral kind, by William Turnbull, A. M. F. M. S»
Lond. 1791. Plate 1st.
50
tion.
39
40
Effects of cause it is in rery large preportion ulien the foetus is
Impregna- scarcely visible. From what source then does it pro¬
ceed P Most probably from the coats of the amnios.
6. Since from the situation of the foetus it has no
direct communication with the atmospheric air, two
questions occur on the subject ; first, whether it be ne¬
cessary that the foetus should receive the vivifying some¬
what which the natus receives from the atmosphere,
idly, If this be answered in the affirmative, by what
means is this somewhat furnished ?
1. On looking into the works of Nature, we find that
there is a class of animals placed in a similar situation
with the foetus, viz. the locomotive fishes. These re¬
ceive the vivifying somewhat furnished by the atmo¬
sphere through the medium of the fluid in which they
are immersed ; for their blood is always distributed by
the smallest ramifications over a substance in constant
contact with the water, before it return into the arte¬
rial system to serve for the purposes of nutrition.
From analogy therefore it must be allowed, that the
foetus does receive, through some means or other, the
vivifying principle of the atmosphere.
2. ’By what means then is this furnished? Many cir¬
cumstances concur to prove that it is by means of the
placenta. For,
1st, The structure of the placenta resembles much
that of the lungs. It is cellular, and has the whole
blood of the foetus distributed in the smallest branches
over its substance. See Anatomy, Animal, Chap. 4.
Supplement.
2dly, The blood returning from the placenta is sent
by the nearest possible means to the left side of the
heart. And, 3dly, Compression of the umbilical cord to
such a degree as to interrupt the circulation through it,
destroys the foetus as soon as compression of the trachea
does the natus.
It appears therefore that the placenta serves to the
foetus the same purpose which lungs do to the natus.
The celebrated Haller has objected to this probable
use of the placenta in the following words. “ Non
pauci etiam auctores secundis pulmonis officium trihue-
runt, cum in vena umbilicali sanguis ruber sit et flori-
dus, si cum sanguinis sodalis arterise comparetur. Idex-
perimentum mea non confirmant. In pullo arteria fere
coccinea, vena violacea est. In foetu humano nunquam
floridum sanguinem vidi 5 neque intelligo ut placenta,
in qua certissime nulla sint aerece mutabiles vesiculse
* Haller, possit pulmonis munere fungi
ioc. cit. lib. later observations have contradicted the assertions
xxix sect 3. j|ayer on occasion. In particular, Dr Jeffray,
professor of anatomy in the university of Glasgow, in
an inaugural dissertation published here in the year
1786, relates an experiment made by him which is
completely opposite to the opinion of Haller. “ Puero
“ he says” in obstetricatoris sinu jacenti, funiculus
tribus vinculis circumjectis, et simul in arefum tractis
colligatus est ; quo dein juxta umbilicum inciso, in
arterris umbilicalibus et venis, inter duo vincula pla-
centum proxime, sanguinis copia interceptum est. In-
tercepti spatii vasa, gelatinosa funiculi parte cultro
dempta, in conspectum venerunt; et arteria,quae sangui-
M I D W I F E R Y. . Chap. HI.
nem jam ante in parte circumlatum, acl placentum per- Natural
fere bat, puncta est; quam prope arterise puncturam Parturition,
vena quoque umbilicalis similiter puncta est. Quo fac- ^
to ex vena sanguis effluens, cum eo qui ex arteria ef-
fluebat facile comparari poterat. Ille, venosi sanguinis
instar, nigricabat; hie, sanguinis in adulta arteriis mox
vivide florebat (d).”
7. The means by which the foetus is nourished haw
hitherto escaped the investigation of physiologists.
That the stomach and intestines do not serve this pur¬
pose is obvious from many concurrent testimonies ; but
particularly from these organs being on some occasions
entirely wanting, while other parts of the system of the
foetus were complete. It is probable that the placenta
supplies nourishment, as well as the vivifying principle,
of the air to the foetus iii utero.
4*
42
43
Chap. III. Natural Parturition. 44
Human parturition, where every thing is natural, is
perhaps one of the most beautiful and interesting opera¬
tions in nature ; for what can be more beautiful than a
process accomplished by the combined action of a num¬
ber of powers admirably well adapted to the intended
purpose ; and what can be more interesting than the con¬
tinuation of our species which depends on the operation ?
In treating of this subject, we shall first consider the
term of gestation ; 2dly, the phenomena of natural par¬
turition ; and, 3dly, the causes of those phenomena.
Sect. I. Term of Gestation. 4-
The ancients imagined that although nine kalendar
months be the most usual pei'iod of human pregnancy, yet
on some occasions that period may be, and actually is, pro¬
tracted even beyond ten calendar months. Accordingly,
it was laid down as a maxim in ancient jurisprudence,
that children born within eleven months after the death
of their supposed father should be declared legitimate.
In modern times the question has been often agitated,
both among medical practitioners and among lawyers.
Practitioners of midwifery however have had most fre¬
quent occasion to investigate this subject, and they have
differed materially in their conclusions.
Koederer says, “ Hunc terminum, finem nempe tri- ^
gesimae nonse et nonnunquum quadragesimae hebdoma-
dis partui mature natura, uti accuratior observatio do-
cet constituit, ultraque eum non facile differtur. Ni¬
hil hie valet energia seminis deficiens, morbosa vel
debilis patris constitutio, matris dispositio phthisica,
hectica, qua foetus sufficient! alimento privatur; nihil,
status matris cachecticus, fluxus menstruus tempore
gestationis contingens, diarrhoea aliusve morbus ; nihil
nimia uteri amplitudo; nihil aflectus matris vehemen-
tior, qualis tristitia ; nihil dioeta matris extraordinaria,
vel inedia ; nihil foetus debilitas et dispositio morbosa ;
nihil plures foetus in utero detenti.
“ Tantum enim abest ut hae causae foetus moram in
utero retardent, ut potius accelerent. Viduse quidem
vanis hisce speciebus, illicitam venerem defendere at-
que hereclitates aucupari, quin in eo medicos nimis cre-
dulos,
(d) Tentamen medicum iuaugurale, quaedam de placenta proponens, auctore Jacobo Jeffray, &c. F,dinburgh
1786, p. 41*
Natural
Parturition.
47
* Outlines
of. Mid-
nifery,
p. 192.
48
Chap. m. . M I D W
dulos, vel lucri cupidos in suas partes trahere student,
sed mera haec sunt ludibria, prtetereaque nihil (e).”
But many eminent teachers of midwifery believe
that in some cases human pregnancy is protracted for
two or three weeks beyond the more common period.
Dr Hamilton especially says, “ In the human spe¬
cies nine kalendar months seem necessary for the per¬
fection of the foetus ; that is, nearly thirty-nine weeks,
or two hundred and seventy-three days from concep¬
tion. The term does not, however, appear to be so
arbitrarily established, but that nature may transgress
her usual laws j and as many circumstances frequently
concur to anticipate delivery, it certainly may in some
instances be protracted. Individuals in the same class
of quadrupeds, it is well known, vary in their periods
of pregnancy. May we not, therefore, from analogy
reasonably infer, that ■women sometimes exceed the
more ordinary period ? In several tolerably well attest¬
ed cases, the birth appears to have been protracted se¬
veral weeks beyond the common term of delivery. If
the character of the woman be unexceptionable, a fa¬
vourable report may be given for the mother, though
the child should not be produced till nearly ten ka¬
lendar months after the absence or sudden death of her
husband
Sect. II. 'Phenomena of Natural Labour.
The sufferings of a woman during labour having been
compared to the fatigues of a person on a journey, the
phenomena of labour have been divided into three stages.
The first stage consists of the opening of the mouth of
the womb 5 the second, of the actual passage of the child j
and the third, of the separation and expulsion of the
secundines.
Phenomena of the First Stage.—In most instances
the hulk of the belly subsides for a day or two before
labour begins; but the first evidence of the actual
commencement of that process is the occurrence of
pains in the belly affecting the loins, and striking
down the thighs, occasioning considerable irritation of
the bladder and bowels. These pains, &c. however,
often take place during some hours of the night, for
days, or even weeks, before true labour begins, and
are then styled spurious pains. It is not easy on many
occasions to distinguish true labour throes from spu¬
rious pains, unless the state of the mouth of the womb
be examined, so very nearly do they resemble each
other. But in general spurious pains recur at irregular
Intervals, and do not increase in force according to their
duration *, whereas true pains gradually recur at shorter
intervals, and become more and more violent.
Spurious pains are sometimes attended with an occur¬
rence which was first publicly noticed and described by
the present professor of midwifery in the university of
Edinburgh (f), viz. the protrusion of the urinary blad¬
der. This resembles, to a superficial observer, the bag
formed by the membranes which inclose the child, and
in consequence has repeatedly been burst by the fingers
of the operator. Incurable incontinence of urine, inflam¬
mation of the passages, &e. have followed this accident.
49
I F E R Y. St
Protrusion of the urinary bladder may be readily Natural
distinguished from that of the membranes which in- Parturition,
elude the infant by two circumstances. First, the bag v '
recedes completely during the interval oi the pain j
and secondly, when pushed down, the finger cannot be
passed round it at the fore part of the pelvis j it seems
as if fixed to the pubis. True labour-pains arise from
the contractions of the womb by which that organ is
shortened and thickened j and, at the same time, its
contents are forced through its orifice. When they
become regular and forcing, they have the effect ol open¬
ing the mouth of the womb, so that a practitioner can
readily ascertain the difference between them and spuri¬
ous pains. The opening of the mouth of the womb, ia
most instances, is accompanied by the discharge of a
slimy, bloody-like matter, termed shews j, but in many
women there is no such circumstance.
This process is generally gradual, the pains in¬
creasing in frequency and force j and eight, ten, or
twelve hours, commonly elapse before they complete
the opening of the womb. In some cases the dilatation
takes place to a considerable extent before pains occurr
so that a few pains accomplish this stage. But these
exceptions are not so frequent as those of an opppsite
description, where one or two complete days are requi¬
red to open the womb, though the pains be unremitting.
In proportion as the first stage advances, the mem¬
branous bag containing the child is pushed through
the mouth of the womb, and forced gradually into the
vagina. During the pain it is tense, and during the in¬
terval it becomes relaxed. When this happens, the
head of the infant can be distinctly felt behind it. At
last, the passages being sufficiently opened, the pains
having become stronger and more frequent, the mem¬
branes give way, and the water contained within them
is discharged j which finishes the first stage. Shivering,
vomiting, headach, thii’st, and pain in the back, take
place in many instances during this stage.
Phenomena of the Second (Stage.—Sometimes an inter- 50
val of ease of some minutes duration succeeds the dis¬
charge of the waters. The pains then become much
more violent and forcing, and the head, by the con¬
tractions of the uterus thus becoming more powerful,
is pushed through the brim of the pelvis into the va¬
gina. For this purpose the vertex is forced foremost,
and the brow is turned to one sacro-iliac synchondrosis,
so that the largest part of the head is applied to the
widest part of the bason ; for as the head is oval, and
the opening through which it is to pass is of the same
form, this is absolutely necessary.
After the head is in the vagina, the pains still con¬
tinuing, the vertex is turned into the arch of the pubis,
and the face into the hollow of the sacrum, by which
the largest part of the head is brought into the direc¬
tion of the widest part at the outlet. All the soft parts
arc now protruded in the form of a tumour, a portion
of the vertex is pushed through the orifice of the vagi¬
na, and every pain advances the progress of the infant,
till at last the head is expelled. An interval of a mi¬
nute or two now ensues, after which another pain ta-
G 2 king
(e) Boedereri Elementa Artis Obstetricae. Goettingse, 1766. page 98.
(f) Select Cases in Midwifery, by James Hamilton, M. D. 1795. page 16.
M I D W I F E R Y. Chap. Ill
Natural king piace, the face is turned to one thigh, and the
Parturition shoulders of the child being placed towards pubis and
' ■ sacrum, the whole of the body is born. During this
process the patient generally adds voluntary efforts to the
contractions of the uterus.
This stage is in many instances extremely tedious j
but after the woman has had one child, it often is com¬
pleted within the time of six or eight pains.
-x Phejiojnena of the Third Stage.—Whenever the in¬
fant is born, if there be no other in the womb, the pa-
rietes of the abdomen become relaxed, and the womb
can be perceived through them, contracted almost into
the size of a child’s head. An interval of ease of some
minutes duration now elapses, after which pains again
recur, commonly attended with the discharge of some
clots of blood) occasioning a kind of gurgling noise,
and the placenta and membranes are thrown off, and
the womb remains quite contracted or nearly so, with
a cavity scarcely capable of containing a hen’s egg.
In some cases a single pain accomplishes this, and in
others several pains are required ; but, generally speak¬
ing, this stage is completed within an hour after the
birth of the child.
It sometimes, however, happens that the natural ef¬
forts are inadequate to the expulsion of the secundines.
The causes are, want of sufficient contractile power in
the uterus, irregular contraction of that organ, and in¬
durated state of the placenta itself.
From the above description it is obvious that all the
three stages of labour are completed by one simple
power, viz. the contraction of the womb.
52 Sect. III. Causes of the Phenomena of Labour.
I. The first phenomenon which requires explanation is
the action of the uterus. Why does that organ gene¬
rally act at a certain period, after having remained in
a quiescent state for so long a time ?
This question has puzzled physiologists strangely.
Some have attributed the circumstance to a stimulus
communicated by the foetus: but their opinion is over¬
turned by a well-known fact, that the same phenomena
occur though the foetus be dead. Others have imagin¬
ed that the uterus is excited to act in consequence of
previous distension. But were this the case, women
should never have the uterus of a larger bulk in one
pregnancy than in another j whereas, on the contrary,
it is well known that women who have twins or triplets
often have the womb distended to fully double the
usual size.
Physiologists as well as physicians have fallen into
very great errors from referring complex phenomena to
a single cause. A variety of facts concur to prove,
that in the present instance it is absurd to impute the
action of the uterus to any single cause.
To what then should we attribute it ? To a variety
of circumstances.
1st, To the structure of the uterus. From the ap¬
pearance of that organ in its unimpregnated state, it
would seem that nature had laid up in store a certain
proportion of fibres to be developed during pregnancy.
When these fibres are evolved, if the uterus be distend- Natural
ed farther, the edges of the os tincse must be separated, Parturition,
in consequence of which part of the uterine contents '"
passing through it, the contraction of the uterus follows.
A fact very familiar to practitioners of midwifery af¬
fords apparently a complete confirmation of this hypo¬
thesis, viz. that in some women labour occurs as regu¬
larly and naturally, in the seventh or eighth month of
gestation, as in others it does at the end of the ninth,,
the cervix uteri having become quite obliterated.
2d, It is probable, however, that in ordinary cases
this store of muscular fibres is seldom entirely exhausted,
from the circumstance of women having sometimes
twins or triplets ) some other cause therefore must con¬
cur in exciting the action of the uterus. Ihe contents
of the uterus perhaps furnish this cause.
In the latter months of gestation, some parts of the
foetus come in contact with the parietes of the uterus,
in consequence of the decrease in proportion of the li¬
quor amnii. This is principally the case with respect
to the head, which presses on the cervix, and that part
of the uterus, it is probable, is more irritable than any
other ; for we find that the entrance or exit of all hol¬
low muscular organs is more irritable than the other
parts, as we see exemplified in the cardia of the stomach,
and in the cervix of the urinary bladder.
3d, It is not improbable too, that the pressure of the
neighbouring parts contributes somewhat to induce the
action of the uterus ) for it is remarked by practitioners
of midwifery, that women seldom arrive at the full pe¬
riod of gestation in a first pregnancy, and the parietes
of the abdomen yield with difficulty at first, as is ob¬
served in cases of dropsy. Besides all farmers know
well, that in every succeeding pregnancy, cows exceed
their former period of gestation.
II. The next phenomenon worthy of notice is the S3
manner in which the child’s head enters the pelvis.
Two circumstances contribute towards this, first the
connection of the head of the child with the neck $ and
2dly, The form of the brim of the pelvis.
The first of these circumstances has been accurately
pointed out by Dr Osborn. He says, “ after the os
uteri has been first opened by the membranes and con¬
tained waters, forming a wedge-like bag, the next
operation and effect of the labour-pains or contractions
of the uterus (for they are convertible terms) must be
on the body of the child, which being united to the basis
of the cranium at the great foramen and nearer the oc¬
ciput than forehead, the greater pressure will be applied
to the occiput, which being likewise smaller, and ma¬
king less resistance, will be the first part squeezed into
the cavity of the pelvis (e).”
The latter circumstance has been clearly explained
by Professor Saxtorph. He remarks, “ causa hujus di-
rectionis capitis, concurrente toto mechanismo perfect!
partus, potissimum hseret in pelvi. Nam agente utero
in foetum, in axi pelvis locatum, caput ejus hucusque
liberum, in humore amnii fluctuans, propter molam
suam majorem in introitum ipso pelvis magnam resisten-
tiam patitur a prominentia? ossis sacri, quae in posteriori
parte segmenti inferioris uteri ita impressa est, ut pro-
montorii
(e) Essays on the Practice of Midwifery, &c. by William Osborn, M. D.
Chap. III. M I D W
Natural montoril Instar foetus frontem glabram, rotundam, unico
Parturition, puncto tantummodo illam tangentem et satis mobilem,
—V— blando motu ad iatus dirigat, in spatium ei exacts re-
spondens inter protuberantiam ipsam et marginem in¬
ternum acutum ilii excavatum, quam ob rem, sincipitis
praevii sutura sagittalis cadit necessario in diametrurn
obliquum aperture superioris pelvis (f).”
It is remarkable, that neither of these celebrated au¬
thors discovered that a combination of both the circum¬
stances just enumerated, is necessary to occasion the
I
phenomenon.
Two advantages result from this position of the head
of the child •, for, ist, The largest part of the head is
applied to the widest part of the superior apertm-e; and,
2dlv, The head, when the occiput is forced foremost,
occupies the least possible space.
HI. The phenomenon which next strikes us, is that
change in the position of the head by which the face is
turned into the hollow of the sacrum.
Although the advantage, and even necessity, of this
change in the position of the head, has been long known
to practitioners; yet Dr Osborn is, perhaps, the first
author who has clearly explained the efficient cause of
this. His remarks are these : “ As it (viz. the head)
descends obliquely through the pelvis, the pressure ol
the two converging ischia will not be exactly opposite
to each other on the two parietal bones; but one is¬
chium acting or pressing on the part of that bone con¬
tiguous to the occiput, and the other on the opposite
side next to the face, the head being made up of dif¬
ferent bones, united by membranes, and forming va¬
rious sutures and fontanels, which permit the shape to
be changed, and the volume to be lessened, it necessa¬
rily follows, that the head, thus compressed, will take
a shape nearly resembling the cavity through which it
passes; and, as from the convergency of the ischia, the
cavity of the pelvis somewhat approaches the form of a
cone, the child’s head is moulded into that shape, the
shape of all others best adapted to open the soft parts,
and make its way through the os externum. This un¬
equal pressure of the two ischia upon the head, will, in
the first instance, direct the occiput, or apex of the
cone, to turn under the arch of the pubis, where there
is little or no resistance j while the pressure ol the other
ischium, in its further descent, will have the same ef¬
fect on the other side, and direct or compel the face to
* Dr Os- turn into the hollow of the sacrum
bom, loc. This change of position is productive of three advan-
-h- p. 30. tages>
ist, The largest part of the head is again adapted to
the widest part of the pelvis.
2dly, The smallest possible surface of the head is ap¬
plied to the surface of the bones of the pubes. And,
3dly, As Dr Osborn, in the passage quoted, very
justly observes, the head is moulded into that shape
which is best calculated to pass without doing harm,
through the soft parts.
55 IV. The phenomena which occur when the head
passes through the external parts, are easily explained.
After the head has made that turn, by which the
face is placed in the hollow of the sacrum, the coccyx
F
h
and perinaeum resist its further descent in that direc- Natural
tion, and by forcing the nape of the neck against the Parturition.
inferior edge of the symphysis pubis, every successive ' * ’
pain contributes to make the occiput rise up towards
the abdomen, bv which the chin leaves the top of the
thorax, on which it had rested during the preceding,
process of delivery.
By this simple mechanism, the soft parts are gradu¬
ally prepared for the passage of the child, while, at the
same time, the shoulders are brought into the most la-
vourable position for passing through the pelvis.
V. The phenomena of the third stage of labour ob- 56
viously originate from the contraction of the uterus,
which both separates and expels the secundines. Some
authors have imagined that nature has provided for this-
purpose a particular apparatus, placed at the fundus
uteri j but as the placenta, when attached to the cer¬
vix uteri, is thrown oil' as readily as when it is attach¬
ed to the fundus, it is very evident that these authors
have been deceived by a seeming regularity of fibres,
which is sometimes observed.
Lastly, The obstacles which nature has opposed to 57
the passage of the child, occasion all the difficulties of
human parturition. These obstacles are formed by the
situation and shape of the pelvis, and the structure of
the soft parts concerned in parturition.
The pelvis is situated in such a direction, that its
axis forms an obtuse angle with that ol the hod}’ y con¬
sequently, it is not placed perpendicularly, but oblique¬
ly to the horizon; and hence nothing can pass through
it by the force of gravity.
The shape of the pelvis, too, is such, that the head
of the child cannot pass through the outlet in the same
direction in which it entered the brim j and, from the
structure of the soft parts concerned in parturition, they
yield with considerable difficulty.
By these means, the Author of our existence has
guarded against the effects of the erect posture of the
body, and has prevented the premature expulsion of
the child and the sudden laceration of the soft parts.
Sect. IV. Treatment of Natural Labour.
First stage.—When this stage proceeds naturally and
regularly, there is very little else to be done, after
having ascertained that labour has really begun, and
that the child is in the ordinary position, than taking
care that the bowels be open, and palliating any un¬
pleasant symptoms, such as shivering or vomiting, &c.
which may occur.
But if after the pains have become so regular as, by
their continuance, to disturb the ordinary functions of
life, that is, most commonly, after they have been quite
regular for twelve or fifteen hours} if this stage be not
completed, it is necessary to interfere, and to endea¬
vour, by art, to effect the dilatation. The reason for
this rule is abundantly evident. If this stage of suffer¬
ing be longer protracted, the strength of the patient
must be exhausted by the long-continued exertion, and,
of course, the remaining process of labour cannot be
completed. Hence the child may be lost, or alarming
discharges
(f) Dissertatio inauguralis de Diverso Partu, 8tc. Auctore Matthia Saxtorph, Hafnise, 1771, P* ,9*
54
Natural discharges of blood may follow the birth of the in-
Parturition. fant.
rpjjjg very 0|JV;oug effect of the protraction, beyond
certain limits, of the first stage ol labour, was iiist pub¬
licly insisted on by the present professor ol midwifery in
the university of Edinburgh.
The means to be adopted for completing the dilata¬
tion, when that assistance becomes necessary, are vene¬
section or opiates, or supporting the os uteri, according
to circumstances.
When the resistance to the opening of the. womb
arises from the premature discharge ot the water, 01
from natural rigidity of the womb, copious blood-let¬
ting affords the adequate remedy. But it the patient
be already reduced by previous disease, so that she can¬
not safely be bled, an opiate, in the form of glyster,
ought to be administered.
And when, on the recurrence of every pain, the
mouth of the womb is forced down upon the external
passages before the child, its edges ought to be support¬
ed, in situ, by the lingers cautiously applied to each
side.
59 Second stage.—When it is found that the head has be¬
gun fairly to enter the pelvis in the natural direction,
no assistance is necessary till the perineal tumour be
formed 5 and then such support must be given to the
protruded parts as shall both relieve the distressing feel¬
ings of the patient, and, at the same time, prevent any
laceration from happening. Of course, the precise
manner of supporting the perinoeum must he a aried ac¬
cording to the circumstances ot the case. Inattention
to this has very frequently occasioned the most deplor¬
able accidents. .
After the head is born, it must be ascertained whether
there be any portion of the navel-string round the neck
of the infant, and if there be, it must be slackened or
dyawn over the head, otherwise the infant will be
Io5t.
If possible, time should be allowed for the accommo¬
dation of the shoulders, and the expulsion of the body
of the infant ; and, at any rate, the utmost attention
should be paid to supporting the perinceum during that
part of the process. . . 1 • •
Third stage.—WThen the child is born, and it is as¬
certained that there is no other infant remaining in the
tvomb, the patient should be allowed to rest for a little,
unless pains again come on, by which the secundmes
are separated. In that case, the cord is to be firmly
ptasped, and pulled gently, till the placenta be brought
down to the external parts, when it is to be drawn out
carefully, in such a manner as to bring oft at the same
time the complete membranous bag.
Should pains not recur at the distance ol an hour al¬
ter the birth of the infant, it becomes necessary, for se¬
veral reasons, to introduce the hand into the womb to
separate and extract the secundines.
First, If the cord were pulled by before the
womb had contracted, or the after-birth had be¬
come separated, the womb must inevitably be turned
inside out j an accident that has occasionally bap-
^ Secondly, If a longer period than an hour were suf¬
fered to elapse, the passages would become so much
contracted, thai the force* required again to dilate
4
midwifery. ChaP- rv.
them, would produce inflammation, with ail its alarm
Natural
Parturition.
■Go
mg consequences. . ^
Thirdly, If the after-birth were allowed to remain
longer than an hour, excessive flooding might take
place, which would soon prove latal.
Fourthly, Were the patient to escape the danger ol
flooding, she would incur that of putrefaction of the
placenta, which is equally, though not so rapidly, pro¬
ductive of mortal event.
In thus introducing the hand to separate the placen¬
ta, the two groat cautions to be attended to, are to ap¬
ply the Augers to the substance of the placenta, not tit
insinuate them between its surface and that of the ute
rus, and to bring off only that portion of the pla¬
centa which can be separated from the uterus without
force.
When any alarming circumstance happens after the
birth of the infant, requiring the extraction of the pla¬
centa, the practitioner is not to delay for an hour,
indeed not for a minute, giving the requisite assist¬
ance.
Chap. IV. Of the Deviations from Nature in Hu¬
man Parturition.
From the view thus given of human parturition, un¬
der the most favourable circumstances, it must be ob¬
vious that many deviations from nature may occur.
These deviations may proceed", first, from the pro¬
pelling powers concerned in parturition j secondly, f 10m
the state of the secundines ; thirdly, from the state of
the child itself j or, fourthly, from the state of the pas¬
sages through which the child is forced. I here may al¬
so be a combination of these causes. We shall consider
each of these causes of deviation in the order just enu¬
merated. But as a minute investigation of the subject
would far exceed the necessary limits of this work, we
shall treat each of these causes as shortly as possible,
and notice only the most striking circumstances.
Sect. I. Of the Deviations from Natural Labour, ^
which proceed from the Propelling Powers.
The propelling powers concerned in parturition con¬
sist of voluntary and involuntary muscular action. The
diaphragm and abdominal muscles furnish the foimei,
and the uterus the latter.
An excess or diminution of the action of those powers
must interrupt the ordinary progress of labour.
a. The violent action of the diaphragm and abdomi- <j-
nal muscles, if exerted at the beginning of labour, tends
to exhaust the patient and to retard delivery, and if in¬
duced when the head is within the vagina, may, pro¬
vided proper precautions be not taken, lacerate the
perinteum, and render the future life of the patient
miserable.
The action of these muscles being quite voluntary,
may be readily prevented by the patient submitting to
proper advice. . .
b. Impaired action of the diaphragm and abdominal ^
muscles, generally originates from the improper exer¬
tion of those muscles at tffe beginning of labour, or
from passions of the mind. It always retards delivery,
and consequently protracts the sufferings of the patient.
u e. Violent
Chap.
IV. M I D W
Pretema- c' Violent action of the uterus at the beginning of
tural Par- labour, is frequently productive of much mischief. It
turition. exhausts the patient, and renders the subsequent process
of delivery exceedingly tedious and difficult. It al-
5 so sometimes occasions an accident which generally
proves almost immediately fatal, viz. rupture of the
uterus.
This accident has been described by authors under
the title of spontaneous rupture of the uterus. The lacera¬
tion in the uterus in those cases is sometimes transverse
and sometimes longitudinal. When the accident happens
from this cause, the laceration is most frequently in the
cervix. The accident is preceded by excruciating pain,
especially during the action of the uterus, at one part,
as in the loins or towards the pubes y and it is announ¬
ced by a most agonizing increase of the pain, succeeded
by violent vomiting, the discharge of a little blood, a
total cessation of the labour throes, very great irregulari¬
ty and feebleness of the pulse, cold sweat, coldness of
the extremities, difficulty of breathing, inability to lie in
the horizontal posture, and sometimes delirium. Along
with these symptoms, it often happpens that the present¬
ing part of the child recedes entirely, and the limbs of
the infant may be readily distinguished through the pa-
rietes of the abdomen. But this circumstance does
not always take place, for sometimes the head of the
child is so firmly wedged within the pelvis, that it does
not recede although the other parts be in the cavity of
the abdomen.
The rupture of the uterus is generally fatal. A few
cases, however, are on record, where, by prudent ma¬
nagement, the patient, even under such dangerous cir¬
cumstances has been saved. Such are the cases record¬
ed by Dr Hamilton (h), by Dr Douglas (i), and Dr
Hamilton, junior (k). But the injuries which must ensue
from loss of blood, acute pain, the presence of the child
in the cavity of the abdomen, and the probable protru¬
sion and strangulation of the intestines, are such, that it
cannot be expected that many patients can survive the
accident.
The cause of violent action of the uterus at the be¬
ginning of labour, is obviously the premature discharge
of the liquor amnii. By this circumstance, the body
of the child comes in contact with the parietes of the
uterus, by which the action of that organ is imme¬
diately and violently excited. How much mischief
then may the rash interference of an ignorant operator
produce P
The cause of rupture of the uterus from its own vio¬
lent action, is the resistance to the passage of the child,
either from undilated os uteri, or from deformities of the
pelvis, or from wrong position of the child. When¬
ever, therefore, the rupture is threatened, means must
be instantly adopted to remove the resistance, or to sus¬
pend the action of the uterus. The former is in general
the more easily accomplished.
When the uterus has actually burst, the only chance
which can be afforded to the patient, is instant delivery ;
jjer vias naturales, where that is practicable j and where
I F E E Y. 55
there is extreme narrowness of the pelvis, by an incision Preterna-
through the parietes of the abdomen. A case where tural Par-
tins latter practice was successfully had recourse to oc-1 fedition. ^
eurred a few years ago in Lancashire.
Violent action of the uterus during the latter stage
of labour, although not productive of the same dangers
which ensue from it at the beginning, is by no means
exempt from hazard ; for if the soft parts be rigid or
not sufficiently relaxed, the woman may be miserably
torn.
The violent action of the uterus towards the termi¬
nation of labour proceeds from some power of that or¬
gan itself, or from the stimulus communicated by the
position of the child.
This circumstance, however, is sometimes beneficial;
as, for instance, when the child is in an unfavourable
position. Dr Denman was the first who discovered
this effect of violent uterine action, and published it
in the fifth volume of the London Medical Journal,
page 64.
d. Impaired action of the uterus during the first 66
stage of labour is in many instances productive of no
other inconvenience than the protraction of labour ; but
if it exhausts the strength of the patient, it influences
materially the subsequent process, as already stated.
When it occurs during the second stage, it occasions the
most dangerous symptoms. First, if the head of the
child continue to press for a considerable time on the
soft parts within the pelvis, these parts must necessarily
from the impeded circulation become swelled, and con¬
sequently the action of the uterus, though it should re¬
turn, would then be totally insufficient for the expul¬
sion of the child. This effect of the protraction of the
second stage was first pointed out to the public in Dr
Hamilton’s letters to Dr Osborn. It merits most par¬
ticular attention •, not only as it is one of the most fre¬
quent causes of the loss of the infant during labour, and
of considerable danger to the parent, hut also as it may
he very readily prevented by an attentive practitioner.
Previous to this swelling becoming so considerable as
to impede the progress of the infant, there is a tender¬
ness and heat, and dryness in the passage, which an¬
nounces the actual commencement of the inflammation.
Immediate delivery ought then to he had recourse to.
Many disagreeable symptoms also proceed from the
same cause, such as suppression of urine, and violent
cramps in the lower extremities.
When it is ascertained, that, in consequence of the
deficiency of action of the uterus, the child is detained"
so long in the passage as to endanger the health or life of
the mother, it becomes necessary to extract the infaaf,
by mechanical means. Two contrivances have been
thought of for this purpose, viz. the vectisor lever, and
the forceps,
Roonhuysen, a Dutch practitioner, who flourished 6?
about the beginning of the 18th century, contrived the
vectis, and from the great success which attended its
use in his hands, an edict was issued by the states-ge-
neral, that no surgeon should practise midwifery' With¬
out
(h) Outlines of Midwifery, p. 348.
(1) Observations on the rupture of the gravid uterus, &c. by A. Douglas, M. D. &c. 8vo, London 178ft.
(K) Select Cases of Midwifery, p. 138.
S6 M I D W I
rreterna- out being possessed of the Roonhuysen secret, for the in-
tural Par- strument was not publicly known. In the year 17.56,
turition. however, the secret having been purchased by twTo li¬
beral-minded physicians, Vischer and Van de Roll, was
published by them for the benefit ol mankind. Since
that time, the instrument has undergone a variety of al¬
terations in its form •, for a particular account ot which,
the reader is referred to Mulder’s Historia Forcipis.
There can be no doubt that Roonhuysen and his
successors employed the vectis as a lever of the first spe¬
cies, the head of the infant being the resistance, the
parts of the woman the fulcrum, and the hand of the
operator forming the moving power. The injuries ari¬
sing from this practice have been well explained by Dr
Osborn in his Essays on Laborious Labours. Al¬
though Dr Bland and Dr Denman still recommend the
same practice, there can be no doubt that wheuever the
use of the vectis proves successful according to their
directions, the fortunate termination is to be attributed
to the action of the uterus being excited by the pressure
of the instrument 5 or, in other words, the ^delivery
might have been completed without any mechanical in¬
terference at all. On the other hand, whenever the
action of the uterus is either quite suspended or much
weakened, both mother and child suffer from the appli¬
cation of the vectis.
08 The late Dr Dease, in altering the shape of the vec¬
tis, wished to impress upon the profession the necessity
for changing the mode of employing it j and according¬
ly he called his instrument an extractor. This power,
however, seems to be possessed in a superior degree by
Dr Lowder’s instrument, of which a description is con¬
tained in the eighth volume, 'second decade, of Dr Dun¬
can’s Medical Commentaries, p. 400. As this instru¬
ment may be used with perfect safety, both to mother and
child, and as in some cases it is superior to the forceps,
>we have represented its form in otie of the plates, and
now add the description and an account of the manner
of applying it from the Avork already referred to.
69 The instrument “ consists of a blade and handle
(between which there is a hinge, that renders it por¬
table), measuring in length Ii4 inches. Its length,
before it be curved, is 124- inches. The curve be¬
gins about half an inch from the hinge. It describes,
reckoning an inch from its first curvature, as nearly as
can be estimated, an arc of 87 degrees of a circle, the
radius of Avhich is four inches. The breadth of the
blade, at the beginning of the carve, is half an inch,
and is gradually increased, till within three quarters
of an inch of the extremity, where it measures an
inch and three-fourths. Its extremity is semicir¬
cular. Within 24- inches of the extremity there is an
oval opening, measuring 24 inches in length, and I-J
- at its greatest breadth. By this opening, the depth of
the curve is considerably increased, without rendering
the instrument inconvenient in its introduction.”
“ Let us suppose that it is found necessary to use Low¬
der’s lever, when the head of the child has just begun to
enter the cavity of the pelvis. The patient is to be placed
in the ordinary position, on the left side, in bed. rl he oc¬
ciput of the child is to be carefully distinguished, and
the curve of the instrument is to be applied, with all
the necessary precautions, over it. The extremity of
the blade should be within a very little of the nape of
the neck. To accomplish this part of the operation
I
r E R Y. Chap. IV,
with facility, it is necessary that the operator be Avell Pretema-
acquainted ivith the shape ot the pelvis, and that he turai Pat-
have accustomed himselt to apply the instrument over a , turi^0H' ,
round substance.
“ When the instrument is applied in this manner, the
operator will find, that he can exert very considerable
poAver in drawing doAvn, without pressing on any other
part than the occiput ot the child, ibe mother can¬
not possibly feel the instrument •, while, at the same
time, the many points of the foetal cranium. On Avhich
it rests, prevent any injury AvhateA er to the infant.
“ If there be any pains, however slight they may be,
the operator should draw down only during the pain :
in the intervals, a soft ivarm cloth should be Avrapped
round the handle. If there be no pains, he must draw
down from time to time, imitating, as nearly as he can,
the natural efforts. It is astonishing, of what use even
the most trifling pains are, on such occasions. With¬
out pains, a long time is required before the head be
made to advance in a perceptible degree (though,
after it has advanced a little, it soon yields entirely) •,
Avhile, Avith them, the progress is often rapid.
“ The operator should continue to draw dotvn in the
same manner, till the head be completely in the ca¬
vity of the pelvis. Should any circumstance, as danger¬
ous uterine hsemorrhagy, or convulsions, require that
-the delivery be expeditiously finished, after the head is
brought into this position, the forceps must be applied j
for it is in the poAver of the operator, by means of
them, to accomplish the extraction of the head Avithin a
very short space of time, or at least, within a much
shorter space than Avould be required, Avere the use of
Lowder’s lever continued.
“ But if there be no dangerous symptom, the opera¬
tion may be completed by the first instrument, without
any assistance from the forceps.
“ For this purpose, the operator should continue to
dratv down, by pressing on the occiput, as already
directed, until the face shall have turned into the hol¬
low of the sacrum. The direction of the instrument
must then be changed. The reason of this is very ob¬
vious. After the face is in the hollow of the sacrum,,
the occiput becomes engaged in the arch of the pubis,
and rises under it, while, at the same time, the chin
leaves the top of the breast, on which it had rested
during the preceding process of labour, and describes
a course equal to a full quarter of a circle, which is
the consequence of the occiput describing a similar
course under the arch of the pubis. W ere the practi¬
tioner then to continue to press in the same direction
as he did while the head Avas passing through the brim,
he would counteract this natural process, and hence
would retard delivery, and injure the parts against
Avhich he Avould necessarily press the child.
“ The instrument must, therefore, be Avithdrawn from
the occiput, and applied Avith the proper precautions over
the chin, when the operator is to imitate the process
of nature, by disengaging the chin from the breast,
and making the occiput rise under the arch ot the pu¬
bis, while, Avith his left hand, he protects the perinseum
from injury.”
“ From these observations it is obvious, that the instru¬
ment introduced into practice by Dr LoAvder, affords
exactly the assistance, in the first order of laborious la¬
bour, which is required; for it supplies the place of the
propelling
Chap
71
p. iv. M I D \V I
Pr.-tpraa- propelling powers, or increases their efficacy, by acting
tuml Par- on the body of the child, without injuring any part of
nuition. f|ie mother.
“ This property renders it of great use in certain cases
of deformed pelvis, viz. where the short diameter of the
brim is about three inches. In such cases, the long
continued strong action of the uterus, often eventually
forces the head into the pelvis ; hut the strength of the
patient is in consequence so much reduced, that after
it has proceeded so far, the pains are er.tii'ely suspended,
and the delivery must necessarily be finished by the use
of mechanical expedients ; but the child’s life is com¬
monly previously destroyed, by the compression of the
brain.
“ If, in such cases, it be possible to increase with
safety the vis a tergo, the child would then be forced
through the brim of the pelvis before the woman’s
strength were exhausted, and before its life were en¬
dangered ; consequently, many children, commonly
doomed to inevitable destruction, would be preserved.
“ Lowder’s lever, I apprehend, possesses this power.
It may be calculated, that, by its use, the efficacy of
the labour throes is at least doubled. Hence the child,
in cases of slight deformity of the pelvis, is forced
through die opposing part within one half of the time
which would be otherwise required •, and this is ac¬
complished without injury either to the mother or in¬
fant *, for the instrument presses on no part of the for¬
mer •, and it rests on such parts of the latter, that no
harm can possibly be done.
“ In face-cases, too, where the interference of the
practitioner is necessary (which, indeed, is a rare occur¬
rence), this instrument may be employed with much
advantage. The great aim should be, to draw down
the occiput.
“ As it appears, therefore, that Lowder’s lever is ap¬
plicable in many cas'es where the forceps are inadmissi¬
ble, and that its use is not productive of so much ha¬
zard to the mother as that of the forceps, it might per¬
haps be inferred, that the latter instrument may be
banished from practice, as unnecessary and dangerous.
Accordingly, many practitioners of midwifery have
adopted an opinion of this kind 5 and, indeed, there are
very few who do not employ one or other of these in¬
struments exclusively.
“ But however desirable it may he to lessen the num¬
ber of mechanical expedients, and to simplify practice, I
apprehend, that many lives would be lost if we possessed
or employed no such instrument as the forceps. As
they have the property of a lever, delivery can in many
cases be accomplished much more expeditiously by them
than by Dr Lowder’s instrument. This seems to be
the sole advantage which they possess over it j and that
is counterbalanced by several great disadvantages.
Many authors, indeed, have alleged, that the forceps
have exclusively the power of diminishing the size of
the foetal cranium, by the pressure of their blades, and
hence have attributed a degree of pre-eminence to them,
which in fact is not their due; for as the size of the
child’s head is, in natural cases, diminished as far as is
necessary, by the contractions of the uterus forcing it
forward through the bones of the pelvis, an increase of
the. vis a tergo will of course increase that diminution,
if the shape of the passage require it. While Lowder’s
lever, therefore, possesses the power of compressing the
Vol. XIV. Part I. « f
72
F E R it . D /
cranium in common with the forceps, it has a decided Preterna-
superiority over them in this, that it accomplishes that tural Par-
end by similar means with nature. v luntlon-
“ The great disadvantages of the forceps are, that they
are inapplicable when the child’s head is situated high
in the pelvis ) that their application is often difficult to
the operator, and painful to the patient ; and that, as
their centre of action is on the parts of the patient, they
must injure her in proportion to the resistance opposed
to the delivery.
“ On the whole, then, in cases of the first order of
laborious labours, both instruments must be occasionally
had recourse to. When the head is not completely
within the cavity of the pelvis, Lowder’s lever must be
employed; and even when it is in that position, the
same means may be used, if there be pains. But, when
the labour throes are entirely suspended, or when any
circumstance renders it necessary to terminate the de¬
livery with expedition, the forceps ought to be em¬
ployed in preference to every other instrument, if the
head of the child be within their reach.”
The forceps are supposed to have been invented by
Dr Hugh Chamberlain, ivho was physician to King
Charles II. ; but their form has been greatly altered
since his time. The most approved form ;s that repre¬
sented in the plate.
This instrument is only applicable in presentations of
the head } but it was formerly, by Dr Smellie and others,
recommended in face cases.
In order that this instrument be applicable, it is ne¬
cessary that the head be completely^ or nearly so, in
the cavity of the pelvis} but sometimes a lengthened
pair is used for cases where the head is situated high.
The employment of long forceps, however, being ex¬
tremely dangerous, is seldom justifiable ; and there¬
fore we shall limit our directions to the use oi the com¬
mon short forceps.
There are three principal cases in which that instru¬
ment may be had recourse to, viz. I. where the face is
in the hollow of the sacrum j 2. where the lace is
wedged under tlie pubis j and, 3. where it is on one side
of the pelvis.
In whatever situation the head is, the instrument is
to be applied over the ears, otherwise there could be
no safe and secure hold. In the process of extracting
the child with this instrument too, it is to be observed,
that the convex edge of the blades is to be brought
along the hollow of the sacrum.
The instrument being applied so cautiously oyer the
ears of the infant that no part of the woman be injured
by their introduction, the locking parts are to be
brought together, and secured by a ligature ; after
which the operator, supporting carefully the perinreum
with one hand, is to draw gently in a direction of from
blade to blade during a pain, or now and then to imi¬
tate labour throes, while he at the same time favours
the mechanism of labour by accommodating the child’s
head to the passage so as to make it take up the least
possible room. If this be done with suitable caution
and gentleness, no part of the woman should be injur¬
ed, and the parts of the infant on which the instrument
had rested should not even be marked. But as there
can be no doubt, that in the process of using the for¬
ceps, the parts of the woman are pressed upon by the
blades, if much force be exerted, or if-due attention be
H
not
53
Pretenia- not paid to the adaptation of the head of the infant to
f tm'ithn ^1C apertures through which it is to be brought, the
i. . > most dreadful effects result from the operation.
Sect. IT. Of the Deviations from Natural Labour,
which, 'proceed from the state of the Secundives.
74 The membranes which envelope the foetus are in
some cases more tender, and in others more rigid, than
in general they are found; circumstances which have a
considerable effect on the process of parturition. Be¬
sides this, the placenta is on some occasions attached to
the cervix or os uteri, by which not only is the order
of labour interrupted, the placenta being expelled be¬
fore the child, but also is the patient’s life exposed to
much danger.
75 a. Where the membranes are too tender, the liquor
amnii is discharged at the beginning of labour before
the os tincte be dilated, and then all the bad conse¬
quences detailed under the article b. Sect. I. necessarily
ensue.
b. Where the membranes are too rigid, the labour
may be protracted to such a period as shall injure the
mother most materially, and at last, as the whole ovum
may be expelled entire, the life of the child may be
endangered.
After the os uteri is completely dilated, if the child
included in the membranes do not advance into the ca¬
vity of the pelvis, the membranes should be ruptured.
But if it do, they ought not to be broken till they press
on the external parts.
c. But the most alarming deviation from nature,
which can proceed from the state of the secundines, is
that which originates from the attachment of the pla¬
centa over the cervix or os uteri. As there can be no
doubt that the uterine vessels dip into the substance of
the placenta, and that they are lacerated when the pla¬
centa is separated from its attachment, it is obvious
that in such a situation haemorrhagy to a most danger¬
ous extent must unavoidably ensue during the process
of the labour.
Mr Rigby of Norwich was the first British practi¬
tioner who publicly explained this cause of haemor¬
rhagy. In the first edition of his work j viz. that pu¬
blished in 1775, he expresses himself in the following
words. “ But from the uncertainty with which (as
before observed) nature fixes the placenta to the ute¬
rus, it may happen to be so situated, that when the full
term of pregnancy is arrived, and labour begins, a
flooding necessarily accompanies it, and without the in¬
tervention of any of the above accidental circumstances;
that is, when it is fixed to that part of the womb which
always dilates as labour advances, namely, the collum
and os uteri, in which case it is very certain that the
placenta cannot, as before described, remain secure till
the expulsion of the child, but must of necesssity be se¬
parated from it, in proportion as the uterus opens, and
by that means an haemorrhage must unavoidably be pro¬
duced.
“ That floodings, which arise from these two different
Chap. IV.
causes, which I will distinguish by the names of oca- Pretema-
dental and unavoidable, though they may appear exact- tural Par.
ly similar in their first symptoms, should terminate very . tuntion.
differently, if left to nature, assisted only by the palli-
ative means before mentioned, cannot seem strange j nor
can it be a doubt, that of these two kinds of floodings,
only one of them, namely, that which is produced by
an accidental separation of the placenta, can be relieved
by the use of these palliatives ; and that the other, in
which the placenta is fixed to the os uteri, and the
flooding is therefore unavoidable, cannot possibly b«
suppressed by any other method whatever than the time¬
ly removal of the contents of the womb •, for supposing
the discharge to be for a while restrained by bleeding,
medicine, cool air, &c. it will inevitably return, when
nature is so far recovered as again to bring on labour:
in the first case, if the haemorrhage have been checked
by the use of the above means, it is not impossible but
labour may come on, and the child be safely expelled
by the natural pains before it returns j or if it should
return, it may not increase in quantity j as in this case
very probably the separated part of the placenta which
occasions the discharge remains nearly the same j where¬
as in the other case, in which the dilatation of the os
uteri produces the separation of the placenta, every re¬
turn of pain must be a return of the bleeding, and it
must become greater and greater as the uterus opens
more and more, and the placenta is in proportion de¬
tached, till it increases to a degree that exhausts the pa¬
tient, and she dies before nature has been able to expel
the child. That such must inevitably be the progress
and event of floodings arising from such a cause, if left
to nature, is too obvious further to be insisted on.
“ That this attachment of the placenta to the os
uteri is much oftener a cause of floodings than authors
and practitioners are aware of, I am from experience
fully satisfied, and so far am I convinced of its frequent
occurrence, that I am ready to believe that most, if
not all of those cases which require turning the child
are produced by this unfortunate original situation of
No case in practice requires more decision and more 77
attention than this. It must be obvious that no inter¬
nal remedy can be of any avail in flooding from such a
cause, and that the life of the patient can be saved by
immediate delivery alone, whenever considerable hae¬
morrhagy takes place. But it is to be recollected that
the discharge in many instances threatens for days or
even weeks before it becomes serious, and that for the
sake of the child, the patient should be allowed to ad¬
vance as near as her own safety will permit to the full
period. These threatenings may often be removed by
astringent injections, per vaginam, while at the same
time every means of moderating the circulation of the
blood should be suggested.
But whenever the discharge becomes profuse, de¬
livery by art is to be had recourse to. The rule of Air
Rigby, and of some other eminent practitioners, “ to
watch from time to time the dilatability of the os
uteri,” and take advantage of that state, sounds well ;
but
MIDWIFERY.
(l) Essay on the Uterine Hcemorrhagy which precedes the delivery of the full-grown Foetus, illustrated by
cases by Fd, Rigby, Lendoa J775, p. 14. A^idq also 3d edition 1784, same page.
MIDWIFERY.
59
i*
79
So
but if followed in practice, must either give such a
shock to the woman’s constitution, as shall end in
dropsy or marasmus* or must prove immediately fatal.
In all those cases the os uteri may be forced, and al¬
though it be not more open than barely to admit the
introduction of the linger, it may in a very few minutes,
if the operator have steadiness and perseverance, be ren¬
dered capable of allowing the hand to pass.
If possible, the hand should be carried forward at
one side of the placenta, for if that part be torn (which
it must be admitted is sometimes inevitable) the infant
must be destroyed. After the feet are brought down,
the child is to be extracted as expeditiously as regard to
its safety will permit, and the hand is then to be again
passed into the uterus for the purpose not merely of de¬
taching completely the secundines, but chiefly of se¬
curing the contraction of that organ which is the great
object of the delivery.
Sect. III. Of the Deviations from Natural Labour,
which proceed from the state of the Child.
The regular process of parturition may be inter¬
rupted, in consequence of the position and of the shape
of the child.
i. Position of the child. The most natural po¬
sition of the child, at the beginning of labour, is
with the head placed at the brim of the pelvis,
the face towards the sacro-iliac synchondrosis of one
side, and the occiput towards the groin of the opposite
side. But there are many deviations from this natural
position.
a. Although the head be applied to the brim of the
pelvis, it may be forced with the sinciput towards the
promontoi'y of the sacrum, and the occipit towards the
symphysis pubis. In this situation the largest diameter
of the head is opposed to the smallest of the pelvis, con¬
sequently the head remains firmly fixed in that position,
for as the sinciput cannot advance a point beyond the
promontory of the sacrum, the occiput is forced just so
much below the brim at the pubis as to wedge the
head firmly between the sacrum and pubis. By the
long-continued pressure the soft parts become much
swelled, and at last the head is found so immoveably
fixed, that it can neither be made to recede, nor can it
advance in the same direction. This constitutes what
has been styled the caput incuneatum, or, as it is called
by French practitioners, la tete enclavee. This case
most commonly is the effect of mismanagement j for if
a very little pressure be made on the head when it pre¬
sents at the brim of the pelvis in this unfavourable po¬
sition, the pains will readily force it into the passage in
the proper direction.
When the locked head has actually taken place, the
practice must be varied according to the circumstances
of the individual case } hence the long forceps, and
sometimes even the crotchet, are required. Turning is
quite inadmissible, and the three-bladed forceps so
strenuously recommended by Dr Leake, in this case are
totally inapplicable.
b. The long diameter of the head may also be applied
to the short diameter at the brim, in a different manner,
viz. with the face towards the pubis, and the occiput
to the base of the sacrum. The obstacles to the pro¬
gress of the head are not in this case so great as in the
former (a) $ for as the occiput is round, and its sur- pxeterna-
face inconsiderable, while at the same time the promon- tural Par
tory of the sacrum is round, the labour throes, after , turitlon-
some time, force the occiput either a little to one side,
or at least past the promontory. The case, however, is
tedious, painful, and even dangerous to the patient-, for
as the face presents a larger surface to the pubis than
the occiput, it must require longer time to pass, and
as there are many inequalities on the face, the patient
must suffer much pain from their pressure, and from the
same circumstance must incur the hazard of having the
urinary bladder or the urethra irreparably injured.
In this case Professor Saxtorph remarks, “ vel occi- 83
put prime descendit, quod cum accidit, frons ab ossibus
pubis sustentata elevatur, mentumque pectori infantis
imprimitur, urgentibus porro doloribus, versus anum
et perinaeum, adagitur acuminatum occiput, et nullo
modo sub arcu ossium pubis extorqueri potest inflexile
sinciput, bine partus in exitu pelvis impossibilisredditur.”
That this is a mistake, the observation of other prac¬
titioners has sufficiently demonstrated; for it is well
known that in such cases, after the perinaeum has been
much stretched the occiput is forced through the parts,
and immediately slips back towards the anus, while
the nape of the neck being applied to the anterior
edge of the perinaeum, moves on it as on an axis, so that
the sinciput and face emerge from under the symphysis
pubis, the chin leaving the top of the thorax in the
same manner as if the face were situated naturally in
the hollow of the sacrum.
Although in this case the natural efforts most ordi¬
narily complete the process, yet in many instances the
injury which threatens the urinary bladder renders
the application of the forceps expedients
c. Although the head may have entered the pelvis in 83
the most natural position, yet it may not make those
changes in situation which are required to accommodate
it to the outlet *, for the face may turn under the sym¬
physis pubis instead of into the hollow of the sacrum.
When this happens the phenomena already described (&)
take place.
d. It sometimes happens, that instead of the smooth 84
part of the cranium being forced first into the pelvis,
the face presents. In this case it may be situated in
three positions, viz. with the chin to the sacrum, or
pubis, or side.
a a. The first case is esteemed the most dangerous
both for the mother and child. For the mother,
because the child in this position requires more room
than the pelvis affords, consequently the seft parts in
contact with the chin and smooth part of the cranium
are much compressed, and hence if the delivery be not
speedily accomplished, much injury to those parts will
ensue. As the chin too must pass along a curved line
formed by the sacrum and coccyx, the obstacles to de*
livery are very great -, and even after the face has been
forced so low as to press on the perinaeum, that part is
in much hazard of being torn by the violent distension
which it undergoes. The delivery in such cases is very
rarely accomplished naturally.
This species of labour is equally dangerous to the
child as to the mother, not only on account of the long-
continued pressure on the brain, but also from the occi¬
put being forced so strongly on the superior dorsal ver¬
tebra that the free return of the blood from the head is
H 2 interrupted,
6o
MIDWIFERY.
Chap. IV.
tuntion.
Freterna- interrupted, and hence apoplexy ensues ; a circumstance
tural Par- which is proved even by the appearance of children
who in such cases are horn alive, for the face of such
children is perfectly livid. Jacobs has’ pointed out
these dangers pretty accurately. “ II est dangereux
pour I’enfant, (he says), parce que la tete etant pen-
chee et portant sur son cou, elle comprime les vaisseaux
sanguins au point que le sang ne pouvant plus circuler,
il meure d’une apoplexie pour pen que I’on tarde a I’ex-
traire.” Ecole pratique des Accouchement, par le Pro-
fesseur J. B. Jacobs. A Paris, 17B5. p. 366.
b b. The second case, viz. where the chin is placed
towards the pubis and the sinciput to the sacrum, is
neither so dangerous for the mother nor child. For if
by the force of the pains the face be pushed so far for¬
ward that the chin becomes engaged within the arch of
the pubis, then the inferior edge of the symphysis pubis
forms a fulcrum on which the inferior jaw moves, by
which the sinciput and occiput pass readily and easily
along the hollow of the sacrum, their surface being
well adapted to that of the sacrum, and the several parts
of the face pass in succession through the_-vulva.
cc. The third case, viz. where the chin is to one side,
is still more favourable than the second ; for the face
passes readily through the oblique diameter of the pel¬
vis till stopt by the tuberosities of the ischia, when the
chin turns into the arch of the pubis, and then the same
phenomena which occur in the second case take place.
The cause most generally assigned for face-cases is
the ill directed exertion of the propelling powers. May
it not also depend in many cases on the original posi¬
tion of the foetus ?
When any extraordinary difficulty occurs in face-cases,
Lowder’s lever is the instrument to which recourse
ought to be had. The forceps, as recommended by
Smellie and others, being quite insufficient to afford a
safe and secure hold of the infant.
e. On some rare occasions the side of the head pre¬
sents, so that one ear is in the centre of the pelvis. In
such a case, the strongest contractions of the uterus
cannot make the head enter the pelvis, and the woman
would generally die undelivered were it not for the in¬
terference of art. Cases of this kind are remarkably
rare.
The hand of the operator must be carried up in such
cases, and moderate pressure must be made in such a
direction as shall allow the contractions of the uterus to
push the smooth part of the cranium into the cavity of
the pelvis.
f The head of the child is not the part always ap¬
plied to the pelvis } for sometimes the head passes last.
Whenever any other part than the head presents, the
labour is styled by authors preternatural.
All preternatural labours have been divided into two
orders. A. Presentations of the inferior extremities $
and B. Presentations of the superior extremities.
A. Presentations of the lower extremities compre¬
hend cases where one or both feet, one or both knees,
and the breech present.
g. Cases where both feet present are more frequent
than those where one only presents. It has been cal-
*5
86
culated that the feet present once in 105 cases of la- p,etcrna-
bour. tural Par-
Some authors have divided labours of this kind into tuntion.
a great variety of species. There is, however, no ne- v_ J
cessitv for such divisions, and they tend to mislead and
embarrass practitioners. All the varieties may be re¬
duced under three beads j for the toes must be either
towards the side of the pelvis, or towards the sacrum
or pubes.
dd. Where the toes are towards the side of the pel¬
vis, the child is generally placed in such a manner that
the abdomen, breast, and face pass in succession along
the sacro-iliac synchondrosis of that side. This is the
most favourable situation in which the child under such
circumstances can be placed j for the largest parts of
its body pass through the largest aperture of the pelvis.
In this case, then, the action of the uterus forcing
forward the child, the feet are by degrees excluded
through the external parts, the toes being situated be¬
tween the point of the coccyx and the tuberosity of the
ischium j the thighs follow, then the abdomen and
thorax ; but the farther progress of the child is for some
time interrupted by the arms passing up along each side
of the head, which add considerably to its bulk ; at
last, however, the repeated contractions of the uterus
force the face into the hollow of the ^acrum, and then
the nape of the neck turning on the inferior edge of the
symphysis pubis as on a pivot, the face is excluded, fol-
loAved by the sinciput and occiput.
Where the efforts of nature in this process are sole¬
ly trusted, the child, unless it be small and the pelvis
be very capacious, while the soft parts are much relax¬
ed, is generally still-born ; for before the obstacles to
the delivery of the head be overcome, the long-conti¬
nued compression of the funis umbilicalis, by intercept¬
ing the course of the blood, proves fatal.
e e. Authors have generally considered that to be the
most favourable position in which the feet can present,
where the toes are towards the sacrum. Boederer for
example says, “ pedum tunc digiti si ossi sacro obver-
tantur, foetus abdomini jncumbens recte situs est (l.)”
But two disadvantages attend this position : First, the
largest part of the child’s body is forced through the
smallest part of the outlet of the pelvis j and idly, The
longest diameter of the head is applied to the shortest
diameter of the brim of the pelvis. In such cases, there¬
fore, the patient commonly suffers much pain, and the
child’s life is destroyed.
ff. When the toes are turned to the pubes, it has
been universally acknowledged, that the feet are in the
worst possible position. Indeed not only do the disad¬
vantages stated as resulting from the last position (c e)
equally take place in this one, but another cause of
difficulty and danger is added, viz. that the face being
applied to the pubes, the progress of the child must be
impeded in no inconsiderable degree. Hence in such
a case the patient may be very much injured, and the
child must be almost inevitably lost.
The management of footling cases was first explain¬
ed, in as far as wre know, in Dr Hamilton’s Select
Cases in Midwifery, p. 89.
“It
(l) Boederer Eiementa Artis-Obstetricae, p. 2-I9.
2
IV. MIDWIFERY.
Preterna- “ It is a curious circumstance that the best mode of
iChap.
61
88
S9
tural Par- delivery in footling cases has not yet been explicitly
tarition. pointed out by any author. This must appear surpri¬
sing when it is considered that such presentations fre¬
quently occur } that the life of the child depends upon
the practice adopted j and that the management ol every
preternatural labour must be influenced by the rules ap¬
plicable to footling cases.
“ When the feet present, the infant’s situation rela¬
tively to the mother must be with its belly placed to¬
wards her back, her belly, her side, or some interme¬
diate point. The first of those positions has been
generally considered as the most favourable, and the last
as the reverse. But alittle reflection must convince evei y
practitioner that the infant occupies the least possible
space, when its belly is towards the side ol the mother,
or, to speak more accurately, towards the sacro-iliac
synchondrosis ; for then the largest part of its body is
within the largest diameter of the pelvis at the brim,
while in its progress through the pelvis, the breech is
not forced through the shortest diameter at the outlet,
viz. that between the tuberosities ot the Ischia.
“ In every case therefore where the feet are hi ought
down, the toes should in the process ot extraction be
turned into such a position, that the belly, the breast,
and the face, shall be made to pass in succession along
the nearest sacro-iiiac synchondrosis. Alter the arms
are disengaged, the face can be readily turned into the
hollow of the sacrum.” _ ,
h. One foot may present in the same variety of direc¬
tions as both feet. Where one foot presents naturally,
if the pains be regular and strong, the case is attended
with less pain to the mother and less danger to the child,
than where under similar circumstances both teet present.
It is less painful to the mother, because the child is
formed into the shape of a cone, and the apex passes first
through the pelvis, by which the parts are gradually
prepared, and not suddenly forced open ; and it is less
dangerous for the child, because the one leg being fold¬
ed along the belly and breast, the umbilical cord is pro¬
tected from compression.
From these circumstances, a very erroneous inference
has been deduced by some celebrated authors, viz. that
in cases where it is necessary to perform the operation
styled turning, the one foot should be broughi down
in preference to both. But as on such occasions the
operator cannot be assisted by pains, it is obvious that
he could not have a sufficient hold of the child by a
single foot.
With the exceptions just stated, the phenomena where
one foot presents are the same with those which occur
in cases where both feet are in the passage.
*. Wffien the knees present, all the inconveniences of
footling cases take place, with this additional danger to
the child, that if the legs be crossed, one or both may be
fractured before the knees be expelled.
The management of knee presentations must depend
on the advance which these parts may have at the
time assistance is procured. If they be still at the brim
of the pelvis, the feet should be hooked down. But if
they be fairly within the cavity of the pelvis, or in the
vagina, they must be allowed to protrude without the
parts until the feet be expelled.
k. Breech cases occur more frequently than footling
90
ones. It has been calculated that they happen once in Pretema-
, , tural Paf-
52 cases of labour. > . turition.
The breech may present in the same variety of po- ^ j
sitions as the feet, viz. with the belly of the child to
the back, to the belly, or to the side of the mother.
Certain advantages and disadvantages attend each of
those positions.
When the belly is to the back of the mother, the
thigh bones being straight, pass with difficulty along the
curved line of the sacrum \ after that obstacle is sur¬
mounted, the largest part of the child is applied to the
smallest diameter at the brim of the pelvis ; and after
the body is delivered, the head is situated in such a di¬
rection that it cannot enter the brim j for the sinciput
is opposite to the promontory of sacrum and the occiput
to the symphysis pubis.
If the belly of the child be to the belly of the
mother, then the thigh bones pass very readily along,
the bones of the pubes, while the spine bending, accom¬
modates itself admirably to the hollow of the sacrum,
consequently at first the labour proceeds speedily and
safely 5 but after the breech has passed through the ca¬
vity of the pelvis, it is applied with its largest diameter
to the shortest diameter at the outlet, and after it has at
last overcome the resistance occasioned by that circum¬
stance, and the body is expelled, the face, being towards
the symphysis pubis, subjects the patient to all the pain,
and the child to all the dangers, already enumerated ).
When the belly of the child is placed towards the
side of the mother in breech cases, then the same advan¬
tages attend the situation which have been enumerated
under the first footling case {dd^) ,* for the largest part
of the child is uniformly applied to the largest aper¬
ture of the pelvis. Besides this, the child incurs Jess
hazard in this position than where the feet originally pre¬
sent ; for the legs being folded on the belly protect the
funis umbilicalis from compression.
Breech cases, where the pains are powerful, are to be
left entirely to nature, taking care to support the pe-
rinseum, till the infant be expelled ; the navel-string
is then to be taken off the stretch, and the child accom¬
modated to the passage on the same principle as footling
cases.
When the pains prove inadequate to the expulsion of
the breech, various methods have been recommended,
such as hooking the fingeV in the groin, first on the one
side, and then on the other 5 employing a blunt hook
for the same purpose •, fixing a garter or piece of tape
over one or both thighs, and applying the forceps.
The first of these methods are useful where there are
slight pains, and the infant is not large. The second
and third methods are injurious both to the mother and
child, for they add to the vis a tergo, without dimi¬
nishing the resistance. But the fourth method, that is,
applying the forceps, is invariably both safe and success¬
ful j because, while it enables the practitioner to draw
forward the child without any uterine action, it at the
same time puts it in his power to accommodate it to the
passage by turning it round in the proper direction.
B. The second division of preternatural labours, in¬
cludes all cases where any other part than the head
or lower extremities presents j such as the neck, the
arm or shoulder, the breast, the back, the belly, or the
side.
It
#
62 M I D W I
Pretema- It is obvious, that a full-grown child cannot possibly
tural Partu-be expelled through the natural passages in such posi-
1^*on- tions, and consequently, unless nature perform the ope-
' ' " ration first described by Dr Denman, both mother and
child must be destroyed 5 for the unavailing contrac¬
tions of the uterus will first operate in impeding the
circulation of the child j and then by pushing forward
its body with great 'forte on the soft parts ot the mo¬
ther, will induce such a degree of pain and inflamma¬
tion, that she must at last sink exhausted.
93 The practice of turning, as it is called, that is, of
bringing down the feet in cases belonging to this divi¬
sion of preternatural labours, originally suggested by
Pierre Franco, but first properly established by Am¬
brose Parre, has been the means of saving many valu¬
able lives. Indeed the superiority of this practice to
that of making the present under such circumstances
must be very obvious j for after the operator has got
hold of the infant’s feet, he cart complete the delivery
without requiring the assistance of pains.
The dangers to be dreaded in performing the opera¬
tion of turning are rupture of the uterus, or subsequent
inflammation of the passages, and loss rtf the child.
The first of these, is to bfe guarded against, by pur¬
suing such means as shall suspend the labour-pains, and
remove the uterine stricture, when the opportunity of
turning before the discharge of the water which sur¬
rounds the infant has been lost. These are blood-let¬
ting and opiates in large doses, singly or combined, ac¬
cording to circumstances.
Great gentleness and caution, on the part of the ope¬
rator, are indispensably requisite to prevent both rup¬
ture of the uterus and the subsequent inflammation of
the passages. When it is added, that a perseverance
for several hours is sometimes necessary for accomplish¬
ing this operation, it must be obvious, that it demands
in many instances a greater degree of patience, as well
as dexterity, on the part of the operator, than most
cases of surgery.
The safety of the infant can only be secured, by at¬
tending very accurately to the rules for the manage¬
ment of footling cases.
y4 Dr Denman, whose discovery of the spontaneous evo¬
lution has been already mentioned, at one time suppos¬
ed that in the cases under consideration, the operation
of turning might be dispensed with, and that the pa¬
tient might be saved much hazard, and the practitioner
great anxiety and trouble, by waiting for that change.
But although in the later editions of his valuable
work (Introduction to Midwifery), he has relinquished
this idea, his observations on the management of pre¬
ternatural labour of the second order, are evidently in¬
fluenced by his former opinion.
He says (vol. ii. p. 249.), “ Yet the knowledge of
this fact, however unquestionably proved, does not free
us from the necessity and propriety of turning children
presenting with the superior extremities, in every case
in which that operation can be performed with safety to
the mother, or give us a better chance of saving the
child. Under such circumstances, the instructions given
by former writers, and the observations we have before
made, must still be considered as proper to guide our
conduct. But when we are called to a patient with a
preternatural labour, in which there is no room to
hope for the preservation of the child, or in which we
3
F E R Y. Chap. IV.
are assured of its death, or when the operation of turn- Pretema-
ing cannot be performed without violence and some tin a) Par.
danger to the mother, then the knowledge of this pio- tuntion,^
babihty of a spontaneous evolution, will set our minds
at ease, and disengage us from the consideration of ma¬
king any hasty attempts to perform a hazardous ope¬
ration, from which no possible good can be derived,
except that of extracting a dead child, and which at all
events might be efiecled by a method much more safe
to the mother.
“ The time required for the spontaneous evolution of
the child, and the facility with which it may be made,
will depend upon a variety ot circumstances, but chief¬
ly upon the size of the child, the aptitude of its posi¬
tion, the dimensions of the pelvis, and the power ex¬
erted by the uterus. If the child be very large or
much below the common size, the slower I believe will
be the evolution, nor can it be made at all without a
strong action of the uterus. It is possible, therefore,
when we have conducted ourselves on the ground of
expectation that the evolution would be made, that the
pains may fall off or be unequal to the eftect, and we
may be disappointed. It might then be apprehended,
that the difficulty of extracting the child would be in¬
finitely increased. But though the evolution was not
perfected, I have not found this consequence j for the
child, though not expelled, has been brought into such
a state that I could afterwards pass my hand with
ease, and bring down its feet, though in an attempt to
do this at the beginning of the labour I had been foiled.
In one case in which the evolution did net take place,
I could not bring down the inferior extremities, but I
had no difficulty in fixing an instrument upon the cur¬
ved part of the body of the child, or in bringing it
away with entire safety to the mother. It was before
presumed that the child was dead, and the sole object
was to free the mother from her danger r, and with her
safety no appearances of the child* however disagree¬
able, are to be put in competition. In cases oi this
kind another mode of practice has been recommend¬
ed, that of separating the head from the body with a
blunt hook or other convenient safe instrument j but as
I have never practised the method, I give the descrip¬
tion of it in a note.”
There are two points in the above observations, in 95
which it appears that Dr Denman has erred. In tire
first place, in sanctioning delay in having recourse to
the operation of turning where the superior extremity
presents. In many such cases, if the pains be not
speedily suspended, or the position of the child altered,
the uterus would burst •, an accident which has repeat¬
edly fallen under the observation of the writer of this
article.
The second error is, the supposition that, after it has
been found by experience in any given case, that the
spontaneous evolution is not to happen, it is easy to ex¬
tract the child either by the feet or by some instru¬
ment. But it will be found in the majority of such
cases, that the infant is impacted into so close a body,
while the parts are all in a state of swelling and in¬
flammation, that immense difficulty and great danger
attend the attempt.
The following observations on this subject cannot be
too strongly impressed on the minds of, especially young*
practitioners.
t( Several
Chap. IV.
9$
M I D W I
Preterna- “ Several years ago it was discovered by Dr Den-
tural Partu-man, that in presentations, such as that in the above
case, the position of the child is sometimes altered, and
J its expulsion accomplished, by the natural contractions
of the uterus. Although the doctor, with his usual
candour, has allowed, that this favourable event, under
such alarming circumstances, is rather to be wished than
expected j yet he has oft’ered it as his opinion, that if
all interference of art were avoided, “ the woman would
not, in this case, die undelivered.”
“ The preceding history, however, affords a melan¬
choly contradiction to this opinion. The midwife, who
attended from the beginning, did nothing to interrupt
the natural process, as far as could be learned. Her
fatal error was having only looked on, and having nei¬
ther given that assistance which was necessary, nor
sent for others who could do so.
“ The spontaneous evolution, as Dr Denman has call¬
ed it, can only take place where the child lies in a par¬
ticular situation, viz. where the action of the uterus
cannot be exerted on the presenting part, or where that
part is so shaped that it cannot be wedged within the
pelvis. A practitioner may, therefore, by a careful
examination, be able to decide whether the evolution
will happen or not. This observation is by no means a
matter of speculation, being, on the contrary, of much
practical utility ; for, if there be signs which indicate
the event alluded to, it follows, as a consequence, not
only that the natural process is not to be counteracted,
but also, that it is to he assisted. Two cases occurred
during one year, where the author of these remarks had
an opportunity of prognosticating and assisting the evo¬
lution, in presence of two gentlemen then attending
the professor of midwifery, as annual pupils.
“ That the uterus should continue rigidly contracted
on the body of the child, while the strength of the wo¬
man was so much exhausted that no pulse could be felt,
and that ?he appeared sinking very fast, is a singular
and an instructive fact. It will, it is to be hoped,
teach practitioners the fallacy of the assertion, that the
longer the operation of turning is delayed, the more
easily it will be accomplished.
“ It may seem astonishing, that the body of the child
could not be drawn down with the crotchet, since it
was in a state of great putridity : But when it is con¬
sidered, that the long-continued action of the uterus had
wedged it very strongly within the pelvis, while, at the
same time, the pressure on the soft parts lining that ca¬
vity had swelled them much, the circumstance will be
readily understood (n).”
Authors have endeavoured to ascertain the causes of
preternatural labours \ but little sactisfaction has been
derived from their researches. It is probable, that
some cases depend on different causes from others. For
example, in some women preternatural labour occurs
more than once. Such cases seem to depend on some
peculiarity in the uterus or ovum. Again, it is well
known to practitioners of midwifery, that, on some oc¬
casions, where the child had been found to present na¬
turally at the commencement of labour, the position is
97
F E R Y. 63
perceived to be preternatural after the first stage is com- pretcrna-
pleted (o). In these cases the change of position may turalPartu-
perhaps be justly attributed to irregularity of action of rkion.
the uterus. Besides, there can he little doubt that some v
cases of preternatural labours originate from the prema¬
ture rupture of the membranes.
2. The bulk of the foetus also occasions considerable 98
deviations from nature in labour j for it may be either
too small or too large.
/. The fcetus, at the full period of gestation, is never
of so small size as to occasion any deviation from na¬
ture, unless it have been for some time dead. It is in¬
deed, a very remarkable fact, that women often carry to
the full time a foetus which had died about the fifth or
sixth month.
In such cases, the child is sometimes expelled so ra¬
pidly, the passages opposing little or no resistance, that
the uterus is suddenly emptied of its contents j and
hence, from the irregularity of its contraction, the
placenta is retained, or uterine hcemorrhagy takes
place.
m. The patient, however, is exposed to more dangers p0
from the increased than the diminished bulk of the
fcetus. The foetus may exceed the ordinary size, either
from a natural increase of bulk, or from monstrosity, or
from disease.
k k. It has been already stated that the fcetus at the
full term of gestation, generally weighs from seven to
nine pounds j but on some rare occasions it is found to
exceed ten or twelve pounds, or even thirteen. Al¬
though, however, the process of delivery is not so rapid
where the child is so large, yet if no other circumstance
occurs to impede labour, it will be eventually termi¬
nated with safety both to mother and child in most cases.
Where indeed, under such circumstances, the patient
has not formerly had a child, there is always reason to
apprehend that the infant may be destroyed by apo¬
plexy, or the mother may be very much bruised. In
some cases of this kind, it becomes necessary to open
the head of the infant.
II. When the child is monstrous, from the redundan¬
cy of some large parts, as from two heads or two bo¬
dies, it is sufficiently obvious that if the mother be at
the full term of gestation, the obstacles to delivery will
be insurmountable by the natural powers. Fortunately,
however, in by far the greatest number of cases of mon¬
sters of that kind, the action of the uterus is excited
before the ordinary period.
m m. The most frequent disease of children, which
proves an obstacle to labour, is the enlargement of the
head from hydrocephalus. On some occasions the head
is enlarged to an extraordinary size.
Sometimes too, the thorax or abdomen is distended ico
and enlarged by a watery fluid. Professor Saxtorph
has recorded the following example of an obstacle to
delivery from a very uncommon disease. “ D. 18. Sept.
1775. in domo obstetricia regia, mox paritura admitte-
batur gravida. Instante partus principio dolores partus
veri debito modo alternantes, sed solita proportione ve-
hementia, duratione et celeriori recursu infligebant. Rite
tendebatur
(n) Select Cases in Midwifery, p. no.
(o) Vide Denman’s Introduction, vol. ii. p. 254.
64
Preterna¬
tural Par¬
turition.
ioi
M I D W 1
tendebatur orlftclum posteriora versus inclinans *, justa,
erant capitis situs, directio et aquarum formatio } pelvis
partesque molliores, viam partus constituentes, nullo la-
borabant vitio •, quibus omnibus accessit adhuc sanus et
robustus corporis feminei babitus, et partus aliquoties
antea perpessi felix eventus, qute indubie ominabantur
incceptum hocce negotium partus feliciter quoque fimen-
dum fore. In progressive rite procedebat partus. .
“ In fine vero capite sponte nato, truncus solita facili¬
tate sequi nolebat, quare obstetrix in arte adhuc novitia
constitutam domns obstetricem expertem satis sociam
sibi advocabat. . .
“ Corpore foetus ad latus revoluto, ut bunien in ma-
jore diametro aperturre pelvis inferiori minorem fa-
cerent resistentiam, brachiisque eductis, junctis vin-
bus truncum ad axin pelvis extrahere moliebanturj
attamen obstabat abdomen nulla illarum vi ulterius
cedens.
“ In auxilium tunc accedens, qui domum isto tem¬
pore artem addiscendi gratia habitabat studiosus, manum
sub abdomine prudenter intulit, quod tensum atquc
complanatum sine omni obstaculo inyeniebat j ulterius
vero manum protrndens pedes tetigit, interque crura
tumorem ingentem tensum fluidoque contento plenum
reperiebat.
“ Compressa hocce tumore, dum adstantes omni vi
truncum simul attrahebant, disrumpebatur subito, in-
signisque aquse copia effluxit j superato sic obstacu¬
lo, facillime extrahebatur foetus, vitam per biduum
trahens.
“ Foetus postea examinatus fsemellus erat, ingentem
saccum inter femora gerens, qui ex elongatione integu-
mentorum universalium corporis a tergo versus anteriora
ita protractorum, ut orificium am ex facie antenone
corporis prope 'vulvam eonspiceretur, ortum habebat.
In ipso sacco post effluxionem humoris, aquse fere lib.
iv. capiente, nihil prater hydatides- parvas observatu
dignum erat. Os sacro veto, ad angulum rectum ver¬
sus posteriora -curvatum caudse instar prommebat
Sect. III. Of the Deviations from Natural Labour,
which depend on the State of the Passages through
which the Child is forced.
The deviations from natural labour occasioned by the
state of the passages, originate either from the soft parts,
or the bones. .
The obstacles from the soft parts are tumours within
the womb, thickening and induration of the neck and
mouth of the womb, enlargement of the ovary, cicatrix
in the vagina, collection of fseces within the rectum,
swelling of the parts lining the pelvis, malformation
and extreme rigidity of the external parts.
It is a curious fact, not only that conception ^some¬
times takes place when there is a tumour within the
womb, but also that pregnancy goes on to the full pe¬
riod. When this has happened, the tumour has been
pushed down before the infant, and has filled up the
passages. • i r
If this obstacle be ascertained at an early period oi
the labour, which it must be if the practitioner be in
F E R Y. Chap. IV.
any ordinary degree skiltul and attentive, the tumour Preterna.
may be pushed back, and the feet of the child may be tural Par.
brought down. In a case of this kind, where the wri-, tumiony
ter of this article was called in after the tumour had 'v '
become wedged within the pelvis, and the head had
been opened, the delivery was accomplished with ex¬
treme difficulty, and the poor woman survived only a
few hours.
The following singular case of an excrescence on the
os uteri, is stated by Dr Denman, vol. ii. p. 65.
“ In June 1770, "! was desired to see a patient in the I0*
eighth month of her pregnancy, who in the preceding
night had a profuse hemorrhage. Her countenance
shelved the effects of the great loss of blood she had
sustained j and from the representation of the case given
me by the gentleman who was first called in, I con¬
cluded that the placenta was fixed over the os uteri.
On examination I felt a very large fleshy tumour at
the extremity of the vagina, representing and nearly
equalling in size the placenta, which I judged it to be.
Had this been the case, there could not be a doubt of
the propi’iety and necessity of delivering the patient
speedily 5 and with that intention I passed my finger
round the tumour, to discover the state of the os uteri.
But this I could not find, and on a more accurate exa¬
mination, I was convinced that this tumour was an ex¬
crescence growing from the os uteri, with a very ex¬
tended and broad basis. I then concluded that the
patient was not with child, notwithstanding the disten¬
tion of the abdomen, but that she laboured under some
disease which resembled pregnancy, and that the he¬
morrhage was the consequence of the disease. A mo¬
tion which was very evidently perceived when I ap¬
plied my hand to the abdomen, did not prevail with
me to alter this opinion.
“ It was of all others a case in which a consultation
was desirable, both to decide upon the disease, and the
measures which it might be necessary to pursue ; and
several gentlemen of eminence were called in. That
she was actually pregnant, was afterwards proved to
the satisfaction of every one j and it was then conclud¬
ed, that such means should be used as might prevent or
lessen the hemorrhage, and that we should wait and see
what efforts might be naturally made for accomplishing
the delivery.
“ No very urgent symptom occurred till the latter
-end of July, when the hemorrhage returned in a very
„ alarming way, and it was thought necessary that the
patient should be delivered. There was not a possibili¬
ty of extirpating the tumour, and yet it was of such a
size, as to prevent the child from being born in any
other way than by lessening the head. This was per¬
formed •, but after many attempts to extract the child,
the patient was so exhausted, that it became necessary
to leave her to her repose, and very soon after our leav¬
ing her, she expired. '
“ We were permitted to examine the body. There
was no appearance of disease in any of the abdominal
viscera, or on the external surface of the uterus, which
was of its regular form; and when a large oval piece
was taken out of the anterior part, the child, which
had
(l) Vide Societatis medicse Haumensis Collectanea, vol. ii. p. 23.
Chap. IV. . MID W I F E R Y. 6
Preterna- had no marks of putrefaction, was found in a natural po-
tmal Par- sition. An incision was made on each side of the cer-
turition- < v|x t0 t]ie vagina, and tl)en a large cauliflower excres-
~v cence was found growing to the whole anterior part of
the os uteri. The placenta adhered with its whole sur¬
face ; so that the blood which she had lost must have
been wholly discharged from the tumour (m).”
103 In two cases, where a great thickening and indura¬
tion of the neck and mouth of the womb, approaching
to the nature of schirrosity, had takeu place previous to
conception, the natural action of the uterus, though al¬
ter a very considerable time indeed, assisted by copious
blood-letting, eventually overcame the resistance. One
of the patients died ten months after, with all the symp¬
toms of real cancer uteri. The other was restored to
perfect health after lying-in.
,04 Dr Denman has recorded (vol. ii. p. 73.) two cases,
where the enlarged ovarium impeded the progress ol
the child. In the one case the head of the infant was
opened, and the delivery completed by the crotchet;
but the patient died at the distance of three weeks. In
the other, a trocar was passed into the tumour, and a
living child was born. The patient recovered from her
lying-in ; but died hectic at the end of six months. In
such cases, the ovary may be pushed hack, if the cir¬
cumstance be discovered early enough.
rc^ Cicatrix of the vagina, in consequence of former in¬
jury, may appear at first to impede the progress of
the infant ; hut it will always be found to yield to the
pains, if the strength of the patient be supported, and
proper means be adopted to counteract the effects of the
long continued labour throes. A case occurred some
time ago to Dr Hamilton, where a substance, of the
hardness of gristle, as thick as an ordinary sized finger
placed between the vagina and rectum, and apparently
extending from the ramus of one ischium to that of the
other, presented an unsurrnountable obstacle to the pas¬
sage of the child. He was called in after an unsuccess¬
ful attempt had been made to tear away the infant, and
found the woman in a state of extreme danger. He
was informed, that five years before that period, she
had had a very severe tedious labour, followed by great
inflammation and suppuration of the external parts.
The indurated part was cut through without the patient
making any complaint, and the child was very easily
extracted } but she survived the delivery only two
days. The relations would not permit the body to be
opened.
*26 A collection of faces within the rectum has been
known to occasion such resistance to the passage of the
child, that the woman has died undelivered. In ge¬
neral, however, it is in the power of an active practi¬
tioner to empty the gut at the beginning of labour.
But if, from neglect, the head of the child be jammed
in the pelvis, and immoveably Avedged in consequence
of an accumulation of faces, it then becomes necessary
to open the head.
Perhaps the most frequent affection of the soft parts
which impedes the process of the infant is, swelling ot
the parts lining the pelvis. This circumstance has been
Vol. XIV. Part I. t
already hinted at. It can never happen where the prac- p.Tterna-
titioner is ordinarily attentive ; for the tenderness, heat, tural Par-
and dryness of the passages, which precede the actual turit:on.
swelling, cannot be overlooked by one at all aware of ~ v"""*
the possibility of such an event. When it has actually
happened, nothing can save the mother but opening the
head of the infant. After this most unpleasant opera¬
tion is completed, the extraction of the child is seldom
a matter of much difficulty.
Malformation of the external parts in some cases does 10S
not prevent conception. Two cases have fallen within
the knowledge of the writer of this article, rvhere the
woman had conceived though the orifice of the vagina
had not been capable of permitting the introduction of
even the little finger. And it consists with his know¬
ledge, that about thirty years ago a woman under simi¬
lar circumstances, was brought into the Royal Infirmary
of this place, and was delivered by the Caesarean opera¬
tion. She died within two days.
It is sufficiently obvious that the safe practice under
such circumstances is to enlarge the natural opening, by
making an incision in the direction of the perinaeum,
taking care not to wound the sphincter ani.
Extreme rigidity of the external parts is one of the IOp
most frequent causes of deviation which depends on the
state of the soft parts. It takes place, in a greater or less
degree, in the greatest number of women who lie in for
the first time 5 and generally in all women who are con¬
siderably advanced in life before they have children.
It is seldom that the resistance opposed by the exter¬
na! parts is so very great as to proVe an invincible ob¬
stacle to labour. But, on many occasions, the long-
continued pressure of the child on those parts produces
the most disagreeable consequences, as inflammation of
all these parts and of the bladder. Inflammation in
those parts is always dangerous, for there seems to he a
remarkable tendency to gangrene. Cases are on re¬
cord where the whole parts have sloughed oil', and where
the rectum, vagina, and bladder, have formed one ca¬
nal. Perhaps death is much preferable to life under
such circumstances.
Copious blood-letting, and the liberal use of some
unctuous application, with time and patience, in gene¬
ral overcome the rigidity of the external parts. Pla¬
cing the patient over the steams of hot water was for¬
merly recommended in such cases, but this practice is
now exploded. *
B. Many deviations from natural labour occur from II0
the state of the bones of the pelvis, for they may be so
much altered in shape as either to increase or diminish
considerably the aperture of that part.
d. When the apertures of the pelvis are too large,
the mother incurs much danger, and the child is not
totally exempt from hazard.
aa. The danger incurred by the mother arises from
there being no resistance to the passage of the child, so
that when the action of the uterus begins, the child
may be pushed by the force of the pains through the
passage before the soft parts be dilated; hence the ute¬
rus may be ruptured, or the soft parts lacerated. If,
I oa
(m) Were such a case again to occur, there could be doubt respecting the propriety of fixing a ligature round
the neck of the tumour.
66
M 1 D W I F E li Y.
Chap. IV.
Pretema- on the other hand, the external parts he soft and
tural Par- yielding, a considerable portion of the uterus may he
( tunuon- excluded without the parts. There is a very wonder¬
ful history of a case of this kind alluded to hy Saxtorph
in the following words. “ Memorabilius adhuc exem-
plum est illud a cel. Wolfg. Mullnero allatum, ubi totus
uterus una cum foetu extra genitalia dilapsus, foetusque
vivus extra pelvim versione extractus fuit, matre post
rcductionem uteri superstite. Vide ejus Bahrnehmung
von einer saint dem Rinde ausgefallenen Debahrmutter,
, Numberg 1771 (l).
111 bb. The hazard which the child undergoes is that of
being suddenly expelled, included within the entire
qvum, so that it may be lost before proper assistance
can be afforded. Another danger is, that the mem¬
branes having given way, it may he dashed with vio¬
lence upon the floor on -which the patient walks.
Whenever from the great width of the hips, there is
reason to suspect that the pelvis is too large, the practi¬
tioner should continue in constant attendance from the
very commencement of labour, and should carefully
adopt the appropriate and obvious means to prevent the
hazards just enumerated,
112 But deficiency of space in the apertures-of the pel¬
vis occurs much more frequently than increase. The
apertures of the pelvis may be diminished from natural
small size or malformation of the bones, from exostosis,
or from altered shape in consequence of mollities os-,
slum.
Cases where the sacrum and ilia are of an uncommon
small shape are not frequent. Narrowness of the. base
of the sacrum is sometimes met with ; and in a few cases
it has been found that the apex of the sacrum has ap¬
proached too nearly to the anterior part of the pelvis,
so as to diminish the apertures at the outlet
113 Exostoses seldom prove an obstacle to delivery, but
one exception to this rule fell under the observation of
the writer of this article several years ago. The exos¬
tosis extended along the whole extent of the symphysis
pubis, and was fully as thick as an ordinary sized fin¬
ger. The woman had been delivered previous to his
being called in, but the exhaustion which followed,
(for she had been allowed to continue five days and
nights in constant hard labour) occasioned her sinking
a very short time after delivery. In this instance both
mother and child were lost from the self-sufficiency and
ignorance of the midwife.
The deficiency may exist in the brim, the outlet, or
the cavity singly or combined.
The brim is much more frequently affected by mol¬
lities ossium than the outlet j and, as was long ago re¬
marked by Levret, it generally happens, that when
the brim is narrowed from this cause, the outlet is wid¬
ened.
-14 The brim may be diminished in size hy the projection
of the promontory of the sacrum, or hy the flattening
of the pubes, or hy the approximation of the bones
where the pubes and ilia unite, or by a combination of
some of these circumstances. The projection of the
promontory of the sacrum, however, is by far the most
common. When this happens, the projection sometimes Pretpma-
renders one side of the pelvis wider than the other, and tural Par-
this constitutes what authors call the distorted pelvis. t tul‘tion. ^
Sometimes, however, it leaves both sides of an equal
width, and this is called the deformed pelvis.
The deficiency in the brim produced by these causes
is very various j most frequently slight, but sometimes
so great that there is not an inch between pubes and
sacrum.
The outlet may he diminished by the approximation 115
of the tuberosities and rami of the ischia, or by the
apex of the sacrum and coccyx projecting more than
usually forward, while they are at the same time hook¬
ed up.
When both the brim and outlet are diminished in 11G
aperture, the cavity of the pelvis is generally affected
also •, but when the deficiency of space is confined to
either, the cavity is commonly more shallow than na¬
tural, hy which both the resistance and the danger are
considerably lessened. Melancholy are the cases where
the cavity is rendered deeper than usual.
As t.ie practice in cases of extreme deficiency in the
apertures of the pelvis is to be regulated hy the degree
of narrowness, it is a matter of the first importance to
be able to ascertain the dimensions in any given case
with tolerable precision.
For this purpose, instruments called pelvimetres have 117:
been invented. M. Coutuoli has proposed one for in¬
ternal use, and M. Baudelocque has recommended one
for external application. But however plausible in
theory the use of such contrivances may appear, it is
now well known that no dependence can be placed
upon them in actual practice, and therefore the hand
of the operator must he had recourse to for determining
both the shape and the extent of the apertures of the
pelvis, wherever there is any narrowness. The follow¬
ing directions for this purpose given by Dr Wallace
Johnson are extremely judicious.
“ On passing the finger along the vagina, if the coc- X13
cyx, or any part of the sacrum, be felt unusually forwards
or near at hand j or if the symphysis, or any other part
of the pubes, is found projecting rather inwards than
outwards, it is evident that the pelvis is distorted. In
which case, as well as in those where it is not distorted,
but only very small, the principal part of the child’s
head (allowing the presentation right) remains high,
the vertex making only a little round tumor within the
brim : so that when the os uteri is opened, and come a
little forwards towards the pubes, the capacity of the
pelvis may be found out by moving the end of the fin¬
ger round that part of the head which has entered the
upper strait. This method is used by several practi¬
tioners m London. However, should the finger not be
lojng enough to effect it properly, as sometimes is the
case, there is then another method, which, being more
certain, may be used, provided it be done with tender¬
ness and caution, and when the orifices are so well open¬
ed as to admit of it with safety. But previous to it,
the operator must be well acquainted with the dimen¬
sions of bis own hand, viz*
“ First,
(i.) Dissertatio InauguralLs de Diverso Partu, &c. Auctore Matth. Saxtorph, p. 46.
MIDWIFERY.
“9
“ First, The fingers of a middle-sized hand (as we
may suppose the operator’s to be) being gathered toge¬
ther equally into the palm, and the thumb extended
and applied closely along the second or middle joint of
the finger ; the distance between the end of the thumb,
and outer edge of the middle joint of the little finger,
is usually four inches.
“ Secondly, Whilst they are in the above position,
the distance from the thumb, at the root of the nail, in
a straight line to the outside of the middle joint of the
little finger, is full three inches and a half.
“ Thirdly, the fingers being still in the same situa¬
tion, and the thumb laid obliquely along the joints next
the nails of the first two fingers, and bent down upon
them 5 the distance between the outside of the middle
joint of the fore finger, and the outside of that of the
little finger is three inches and a quarter.
“ Fourthly, The hand being opened, and the tops of
the four fingers being a little bent, so as to come near¬
ly in a straight line their whole breadth, across the
joint next the nails, is two inches and a half.
“ Fifthly, when the first three fingers are thus bent,
their breadth across the same joint is twro inches.
“ Sixthly, The breadth of the first two, across the
nail of the first finger, is one inch and a quarter.
“ And, seventhly, The fingers being gathered into a
conical torm, the thumb lying obliquely upon the palm
of the hand, with its point' upon the first joint of the
ring finger, reckoning downwards, will measure in
thickness, between its back and the fore part of the
thumb, two inches and two-eighths.
“ Now, as hands are extremely various, the operator
ought always to know how much the size of his dif-
fereth from the above dimensions ; and this being
rightly understood, the application may be made as
fellows:
“ The patient, being in the position as for natural
delivery, and the operator’s left hand being well anoint¬
ed, and the fingers and thumb gathered into a cone,
it must he gently passed into the vagina, and then
through the os uteri, unless in this part there is still a
rigidity to forbid it 5 if so, the fingers only must be pas¬
sed, their extremities formed into the fourth dimension,
and then placed edgeways in the strait j which being
done, if the fore finger touch the angle of the sacrum,
and the little one the symphysis of the pubes, the width
is then manifestly no more than two inches and a half j
a space through which a mature child can neither pass
alive, nor be brought so by art, unless it happens to be
preternaturally small indeed.”
Three methods of practice have been adopted in
cases of such narrowness of the pelvis as renders it
impossible for the child to be protruded alive, viz.
the operation of embryulcia or embryotomy, the
Caesarean section, and the division of the symphysis
pubis.
I. Embryotomy. The case's requiring this most
shocking operation are those where the infant cannot
be extracted alive through the natural passages; while
there is, nevertheless, such space that it may be torn
67
away piece-meal without injury to the mother. Of Prcteraa-
course, in these cases the life of the woman can be saved tura) Par-
only at the expence of her infant. ( turitlon
Hut although authors and practitioners in modern
times adopt in general this principle, they differ ma¬
terially in their account of the precise cases requiring
the operation.
Dr Osborn alleges, that, as the head of the infant
at the lull time of utero-gestation cannot be diminish¬
ed to less than three inches between the parietal pro¬
tuberances by the natural contractions of the uterus
forcing it against the bones of the pelvis ; wherever the
aperture at the brim or outlet falls under three inches,
the operator ought to proceed as soon as possible to
open the head of the infant.
But on so very serious an operation as that by which
one life is destroyed, it becomes a practitioner to adopt
no rule which can be at all liable to error ; and it is
evident, that there are three very strong objections to
this precept of Dr Osborn.
first, It is impossible in any ease at the beginning
of labour, to ascertain that the infant is at the full
term of utero-gestation ; but it is well known, that a
child at the age of between seven and eight months, if
born alive, may he reared to maturity, and that such
a child is capable of being expelled without injury,
through an aperture incapable of permitting the pass¬
age 0:' a full-grown foetus.
Secondly, The heads of children, even at the full
time, are sometimes so small and so yielding as to ad¬
mit readily of their short diameter being diminished
below three inches.
Thirdly, every candid practitioner must allow, that
it is quite impossible to ascertain with geometrical ac¬
curacy the precise dimensions of the pelvis ; and con¬
sequently what in any given case may appear to the
operator to be less than three inches, may in fact he
above these dimensions.
I or these reasons, wherever the narrowness is not
obviously very considerable, the prudent rule is to as¬
certain the efiect of the labour-throes, supporting the
strength of the patient, and palliating distressing symp¬
toms. By adopting this rule, the practitioner will not
only have the consciousness of not having destroyed life
unnecessarily, where he is eventually forced to open
the head, by the conviction that it is too large to pass
unopened, but also the innate satisfaction of sometimes
saving a life, which under less cautious management
must have been sacrificed. Great care indeed is ne¬
cessary in such cases not to be deceived in the estimate
of the progress of the child, for the swelling of the scalp
may mislead a young practitioner.
There has been a variety of opinion too, respecting
the lowest dimensions of the pelvis which permit the
operation of embryulcia with safety to the mother ; and
it is surely unnecessary to state, that unless there be a
moral probability of saving the life of the mother by
this operation, it ought never to he had recourse to.
Dr Kellie, of London (p), and Dr Osborn (q), have
recorded some cases where this operation was performed,
I 2 although
tar
(p) Dr Wallace Johnson.
(q.) Dr Osborn’s Essays,
68 M I D W I
1’re tern a- although the narrowness was very great; and the latter
tural Par- gentleman, founding on a single case, assumes the prin-
tuj-ition ' cjple) that whenever there is a space equal to an inch
and a half between pubes and sacrum, the operation
of embryulcia is practicable. But a careful perusal ot
the case alluded to (a) must satisfy any unprejudiced
person that there must have been some mistake, most
probably, from the swelling of the solt parts lining the
pelvis having added to the apparent narrowness, and
having, after the head had been opened above 36
hours, subsided. And at any rate, since experience has
now fully established the fact, that the danger resulting
from this operation is always in proportion to the de¬
gree of resistance, it may be concluded that the opera¬
tion of embryulcia cannot prove safe to the mother, un¬
less, first, there be an aperture equal to about two inches
bv four; and, secondly, the narrowness be chiefly, if not
altogether, confined either to the brim or the outlet.
When both brim and outlet are deficient, and the cavity
is deeper than usual, even although the several apertures
be quite sufficient to allow the diminished head to be ex¬
tracted, the injury that must accrue from the violent
pressure on all the parts within the pelvis would de¬
ter any prudent practitioner from hazarding such an
operation.
When it is determined to have recourse to the opera¬
tion of embryotomy, the instruments required are the
perforator, the crotchet, and the embryotomy Itrrceps
delineated in the plate.
122 The operation is to consist of two diflerent processes j
first, the diminution of the head 5 and, secondly, the
extraction of the mangled child. In many cases the
latter should be performed immediately alter the former
is accomplished ; hut whenever the resistance is very
considerable, an interval should be interposed between
the two. The advantages resulting from this practice
were first publicly noticed by Dr Osborn, though there
can be little doubt that the practice itself was the eftect
of necessity. Bv waiting after the head has been open¬
ed, the woman’s strength will be restored, so that the
assistance of the pains in the expulsion of the child may
be obtained 3 the swelling of the soft parts will subside,
by which the resistance may be greatly lessened, as well
as the danger of inflammation removed, and the child’s
body will become putrid, by which its extraction may
be greatly facilitated.
123 In opening the head, which is to be done by means
of the perforator, the two great points to be aimed at
are to avoid injuring any part of the woman, and to
make a sufficiently large opening of the head. On the
complete accomplishment of the latter, the eventual
success of the operation must depend in all cases of ex¬
treme deficiency of space.
Should it be found expedient to delay the extraction
of the infant after the head has been opened and its
contents evacuated, the teguments are to be cai’elully
brought over the ragged edges of the bones, so that in
the event of labour throes recurring, there shall be no
risk of the parts within the pelvis being injured.
F E B Y. Chap. IV.
When it has been found proper to proceed to the ex- Vmmm.
traction of the infant, the first thing to be attempted is turaf Par.
to diminish the bulk of the cranium as much as possible. ( turition.
This may be done by means ol the embryulcia forceps, ^ ~ u
delineated in the plates, and contrived it is believed by
Dr Lyon of Liverpool. It is an instrument far supe¬
rior to the almisdach of the Arabians, in use even
within these fifty years among the practitioners of this
island (b).
After the head has been sufficiently reduced in bulk,
the crotchet is to be fixed at first on the inside of the
cranium 3 and while two fingers ot the left hand are to
be kept constantly so applied that if the instrument
should slip in the process of extraction, it shall be re¬
ceived on the fingers, and cannot possibly touch any
part of the mother, the operator is to draw down with
a suitable exertion of force, in such a direction that the
largest part of the head shall be brought through the
widest part of the pelvis.
In some cases, much time and very violent exertions
are required to accomplish the delivery 3 but, it the
proper precautions to prevent any injury to the passages
be adopted, and if at the same time the operator imi¬
tate nature by working only from time to time, and in¬
crease the force employed gradually as may be required,
and persevere patiently, notwithstanding the resistance,
taking care to support by nourishment and cordials
the strength of the woman, the delivery at last will be
completed.
The dangers to be dreaded from this most shocking i2j
operation, are injuries of the passages, from the instru¬
ment’s slipping through the embarrassment of the prac¬
titioner 3 or violent inflammation ot all the contents of
the pelvis extending to the abdomen, in consequence
of the parts through which the child must be so forci¬
bly extracted being severely bruised. Accordingly, a
greater number of women die from the effects of this
operation than practitioners are willing to admit 3 and
indeed, in every case of extreme deficiency of space,
where embryotomy is performed, the recovery is to be
regarded as doubtful.
This operation is sometimes had recourse to in cases
where the forceps should have been used had the child
been alive. But such cases are very rare, because the
evidence of the infant in utero being dead, is seldom so
complete as to justify the practitioner proceeding on
the principle that it is so.
II. By the Ccesarean section is meant the extraction 1J(5
of the infant through the parietes of the abdomen by an
incision into the uterus.
This bold operation was perhaps never performed by
the ancients on the living subject, and certainly was
first recommended to practitioners by M. Rousset in his
Traite nouvelle de PHysterotomie, &c. 1581. Since
that time it has been often performed on the continent,
and about twenty times in Great Britain. The success
of this operation recorded in the early works has cer¬
tainly been exaggerated 3 but it appears by an elabo¬
rate memoir by M. Baudelocque, translated into English
(a) Osborn’s Essay, p. 240. _ .
(b) For an account of the ancient instruments employed in the practice of midwifery, see bculteti Arma¬
ment, Chir,
IV,-
M I D W I F E 11 V.
On
117
ri8
np
by Dr Hull of Mancliester, that (hiving the 50 years
preceding 1802, the operation has been had recourse
to on the continent 95 times, and that 37 of these cases
proved successful. In Great Britain, on the contrary,
this operation has never yet succeeded, a circumstance
to be attributed partly to the delay which has always
taken place after the necessity for such an expedient
had been determined, and hence the patient, at the time
the operation wras performed, must have been in a state
of exhaustion 5 and partly, perhaps chiefly, to the pre¬
vious very alarming state ot health of the subjects of
the operation in this island. It is at any rate certain
that all over the continent practitioners have less horror
at performing the Caesarean section than British practi¬
tioners have commonly shewn; and it is deemed necessary
in cases where the operation of embryulcia is preferred
in this country, and where of course the women are
not in such a precarious state of health as those com¬
monly are who have extreme narrowness of the pelvis.
In consequence of the fatality of the Caesarean sec¬
tion in Great Britain, several eminent practitioners
have regarded it as unjustifiable. Dr Osborn has ren¬
dered himself particularly conspicuous on this subject,
and uses very strong language in reprobation of it. His
arguments are, its acknowledged fatality •, the capability
of completing the delivery by means of the crotchet,
in cases of such deformity of the pelvis, that there is
no more than one and a half inch between the pubis
and sacrum, or to one side of the projecting sacrum •,
and the impossibility of impregnation taking place in
cases of greater deficiency of space. We shall notice
these arguments in their turn.
1st, The acknowledged fatality of the operation.—
This relates only to the result of the operation in Great
Britain ; for, as already mentioned, a great proportion
of the patients has been saved on the continent. But
in insisting on this argument Dr Osborn has over¬
looked that the object of the operation is to save, if
possible, two lives, and at any rate one. Now ii it can
be-satisfactorily proved, that on some occasions the
operation of embryotomy is absolutely impracticable, it
becomes the duty of the practitioner to save one life
at least; and it is well known that the Caesarean opera¬
tion is far less painful to the woman than that ot em¬
bryotomy, even where that latter operation is eventually
successful. In such cases of extreme deformity, either
an attempt should be made to deliver the woman and
save the child, or both must be allowed to perish ; for
the operation of embryotomy, if attempted, must be re¬
garded as wilful murder.
2dly, The practicability of tearing away the child in
pieces by means of the perforation and crotchet, in cases
where there is no more than an inch and a halt be¬
tween the pubis and sacrum, or to one side of the pro¬
jecting sacrum, is alleged by the doctor on the founda¬
tion of a single case, that of Elizabeth Sherwood al¬
ready referred to. But any person who shall take the
trouble to have the aperture of Sherwood’s pelvis, as
stated by Dr Osborn, cut out in wood, and to compare
this with the basis of an infant’s skull as much diminish¬
ed as possible by the crotchet (which is done in the
turition.
130
course of his lectures by the prf-« .'ssor of midwifery in preterna -
this university), must be convinced, that there was rural Par-
some mistake in the supposed dimensions ot that wo- (
man’s pelvis. And it is quite obvious, that unless there
be the space already stated, viz. three and a half or
four inches bv two, it is unsafe to extract the mangled
child through the natural passages.
3dly, The allegation that where there is a greater de¬
gree of narrowness ot the pelvis than that which was
supposed to have happened in the case of Sherwood, im¬
pregnation cannot take place, is quite inconsistent with
facts. One of the most remarkable cases of extreme de¬
formity is that of Elizabeth Thompson, on whom the
Caesarean operation was performed at Manchester in
1802. The description as given by Dr Hull (g) is as
follows : “ The pelvis of this patient was not nearly so
soft as has sometimes been observed. It still had a con¬
siderable degree of bony firmness. The ossa innominata
at their sacro-iliac synchondroses, and at the symphysis
pubis, before the pelvis was dried, admitted of a slight
degree of motion.—The distance from the crista ot one
os ilium to the other, at their most remote points, mea¬
sures ten inches and a half.
“ The alse of both ossa ilia are very much bent •, and
on the left side the curvature is so great, that it mea¬
sures only two inches from the anterior and inferior
spinous process to the opposite posterior point. The
lumbar vertebrae project forwards or inwards, and make
a considerable curve to the left side ot the pelvis.
The distance from the lower part of the second lum¬
bar vertebra to the anterior part of the spine of the os
ilium, on the left side, is two inches. 'I he distance
from the lowest part of the second lumbar vertebra to
the anterior part of the spine of the os ilium, on tho
right side, is five inches.
“ Superior aperture. The conjugate or antero-pos-
terior diameter, from the symphysis pubis to the upper
edge of the last lumbar vertebra is one inch and a half.
—This diameter is not taken from the os sacrum, or its
junction with the last lumbar vertebra, because the point
of their junction is so much sunk into the pelvis, that
the place it should have occupied, is represented by the
junction of the fourth and fifth lumbar vertebra.
The tranverse diameter measures four inches and five-
eighths. It is taken from one sacro-iliac symphysis to
the other. The distance of the point of this aperture,
which is opposite to the anterior part of the right aceta¬
bulum, from the lumbar vertebra, is only half an inch.
The distance from that part of this aperture, which
corresponds with the posterior part of the right aceta¬
bulum, to the os sacrum, is three-fourths of an inch.
The distance of the point, corresponding with the an¬
terior part of the left acetabulum, from the lumbar
vertebra, is five-eighths of an inch. The distance
of the point of this aperture, opposite to the poste¬
rior part of the left acetabulum, from the os sa¬
crum, is three-fourths of an inch. The distance of
one os pubis from the other, in the points marked
in the plate, is seven-eighths of an inch. The dis¬
tance from the right sacro-iliac symphysis to the sym¬
physis pubis is three inches and three-fourths. The di¬
stance
131
(g) Observations on Mr Simmons’s Detection, &c. p. ipi'
133
M I D W I
stance from the right * aero-iliac symphysis to the left os
pubis is three inches ami three-eighths. The distance
from the left sacro iliac symphysis to the symphysis
pubis is three inches and five-eighths. The distance
from the left sacro-iliac symphysis to the right os pubis
is three inches and one- fourth. The largest circle, that
can be formed in any part of the superior aperture,
does not exceed in diameter one inch.
“ Inferior aperture. The distance from one ramus
ossis ischii to tiie other, where they are united with the
rami ossium pubis, measures only half an inch. Ihe
distance from the tuberosity of one os ischium to the
other measures one inch and two-tenths. The conju
gate or antero-posterior diameter, taken from the sym¬
physis pubis to the point of the os coccygis is three
inches.
“ The angle, included by the rami of the ossa pubis,
is very acute, viz. an angle of about 20 degrees. The
perpendicular height from the tubera of the ossa ischia
to the inferior margin of the symphysis pubis is two
inches and a half. The perpendicular height of the
symphysis pubis is one inch and a hall. The tuberosity
of the left os ischium advances forwards, beyond that
of the right, about six-tenths of an inch, and the
whole of the rami ossis pubis and ischii on the left side
projects beyond those ol the right. The perpendicular
height of the os sacrum and coccyx is two inches and
one-fourth only, the os sacrum being bent so as to form
a very acute ■ angle. The acetabula, at their nearest
points, are only three inches distant. I he symphysis
pubis is much more prominent than natural. 'Ihe up¬
per margin of the symphysis pubis is situated as high as
the bottom of the fourth lumbar vertebra.”
It appears then that Dr Osborn’s arguments are fal¬
lacious, and that cases occur where the operation of
embryotomy is neither safe nor practicable. Under
such circumstances, the Caesarean section must be had
recourse to •, and it is therefore to be regarded as an
operation of necessity, not one of choice. If this rule
be adopted, the cases requiring so formidable an expe¬
dient will happily be very seldom met with.
Mr Simmons of Manchester, observing that Dr
Osborn’s third argument is untenable, has proposed in
the following words, another substitute for the Caesarean
operation.
“ When a case shall arise in wlfich the child cannot
be delivered by the crochet, from the brim of the pel¬
vis being no more than one inch in diameter I propose
to combine the two operations, and to divide the sym¬
physis pubis to make way for the crotchet. Dr Osborn
has urged several objections against this proposal, al¬
though he admits that the operation at the symphysis is
not so certainly fatal as the Caesarean section. Weighty
objections doubtless press against it \ but while there
are no other means for preserving life, bad as the
chance is, it becomes a question whether it be worth
risking } and, after maturely considering the case,
should an attempt for saving the life of the mother be
judged expedient, as the last resource it may be adopted.
“ The space gained has been differently stated at from
three to eight or nine lines in the diameter 5—the me¬
dium distance would probably be sufficient to accom¬
plish the delivery by the crotchet.
“ The objections urged against this mode of delivery,
when the head is of the full size, will not apply to its
4
F E li Y. Chap. IV.
reduced bulk ; and it should be remembered, that the Preterna.
symphysis is formed of cartilage and ligament } so that rural Par-
whatever pressure shall be made against the ffivi- ,
ded edges, will not be made against the sharp angles
of bone. That much injury may be done anteriorly
will not be denied ; but does the continued pressure
of the child’s head never produce mischief in other
cases'* By the introduction of a female sound tor a guide,
a cautious and steady operator will avoid wounding the
urethra ; and, as the base of the skull will probably be
turned sideways, it will suffer less in extraction than in
other casts of the crotchet j in which it must in general
be injured from pressure against the pubis. If the sepa¬
ration, however, be carried beyond a certain length,
laceration will probably ensue 5 and, should this acci¬
dent occur, I see no reason to apprehend more danger
from it than follows the extraction of a large stone
from the bladder through a small opening, which will
induce a lacerated wound, but which we know will
not uncommonly heal. The sacro-iliac ligaments would
certainly not be injured bv choice, but the consequences,
1 believe, are not generally fatal 5 and, should it be
urged that great pain and lameness will afflict the pa¬
tient for a long time after, a reply will readily occur,
that life was at stake j and surely there are tew who
would not compound, for the prospect of temporary
pain and inconvenience, to have it preserved to them.
“ A spontaneous separation sometimes occurs, both
there and at the pubis; and yet the patient has been
again restored to health.
“ 1 do not see, in other respects, in what this com¬
pound operation differs from the most difficult crotchet
case—the Caesarean section is certainly fatal to the mo¬
ther in this country—the life of the child, it is agreed,
shall not be put in competition with the parent’s life—
the section of the symphysis is neither so formidable nor
so fatal as the Caesarean section—and the crochet has
been successfully applied in dimensions which will pro¬
bably be thus acquired.
“ Upon the whole, then, in that supposed case of dis¬
tortion (which I hope will never happen) in which the
mother must be doomed to death, from the impossibi¬
lity of delivering the child by the crotchet, the com¬
pound operation I have recommended will furnish a re¬
source, approved by reason and sanctioned by experience j
inasmuch as the section of the symphysis pubis has been
made, and the crotchet has been used, though separate¬
ly, yet with safety. Such a case will be attended, un¬
questionably, with additional hazard •, hut it oilers the
only chance to the mother, to the preservation of whose
life our chief care should be directed : and 1 hope that
in future all trace of the Caesarean operation will be
banished from professional books ; for it can never be
justifiable during the parent’s life, and stands recorded
only to disgrace the art.”
He himself lias afforded the most sat isfactory evidence :34
of the absurdity of his own proposal } for be had not
published it many months when the very case he had
described as ideal actually occurred in his neigbourhood,
and he had the opportunity of making the experiment of
his own plan. But he shrunk from it, and no wonder 3
for the woman was Elizabeth Thompson, whose pelvis
has just been described. It is unfortunate that Mr
Simmons has not had the candour to confess his error,
and to retract his opinions, more especially since his re¬
flections
hap. IV. M I D W
re tern a- flections against the Caesarean operation, were couched
iral Par- in language peculiarly bitter and invective,
untion. ^ yv^th respect to the mode of performing the Ccesarean
section, there has been considerable variety of opinion.
1,35 On theoretical principles, the external incision, viz.
that through the parietes abdominis, ought to be in the
direction of the linea alba, because there is less chance
of any considerable retraction of muscular fibres, or of
interfering with the intestines, than if it were made in
any other direction. Bat the result of the practice
seems at variance with the theory. According to the
testimony of Baudelocqne, of 35 operations, where the
incision was made on th * side of the abdomen, eighteen
proved successful ; of thirty in the direction of the linea
alba, ten only succeeded ; and of eight in the manner
recommended by Lauverjat, that is, by a transverse in¬
cision between the recti muscles and spina dorsi, three
succeeded. But it may he remarked, that the event,
in many of those cases, may have been influenced by a
variety of circumstances, totally independent of the line
of direction of the external incision.
In whatever part of the abdomen the external inci¬
sion be made, it ought to be extended to six inches •, and,
previous to cutting into the uterus, any active arterial
branch, which may have been divided, must be secured -r
and the liquor amnii, if not already discharged, must
be drawn olf. The opening into the uterus need not
be above five inches in length, and should he made as
much towards the fundus as possible. Means are to be
employed to prevent the protrusion of the intestines at
the time the uterus is emptied. Both foetus and secun-
dines are to be quickly extracted ; after which, the
hand is to be passed into the uterus, to clear out any
coagula which may have formed within its cavity, to
prevent the os tincce being plugged up, and, at the
same time, to promote the contraction of the uterus.
The wound in the uterus is to be left to nature; but
that of the parietes of the abdomen is to be carefully
closed by means of the interrupted suture and adhesive
straps ; and the whole belly is to be properly supported
by a suitable bandage or waistcoat. In the after treat¬
ment of the patient, the great objects to be held in
view, are to support the strength and moderate the de¬
gree of local inflammation.
136 III. Division of the symphysis pubis.—This was ori¬
ginally proposed and performed by M. Sigault of Paris.
His proposal was made in 1768 ; but he had no oppor¬
tunity of making the actual experiment till September
1777.—The success of his first case was such, that a
medal was struck to commemorate the event ; and the
operation was admired and recommended, with all the
extravagance of French enthusiasm.
The operation consists of the division of the symphysis
pubis and separation of the innominata. For this pur¬
pose, a catheter is to be introduced into the urethra,
and, with a common scalpel, the articulation is to be
cut through from the upper edge of the symphysis, to
within a quarter of an inch of the inferior edge. By
Separating the thighs, the divided bones are forced
asunder. After this, the operator is either to turn the
F E R Y. 71
child, or to extract it by the forceps, according to the Preteina-
circumstances of the case. tural I’ar-
This expedient was proposed as a substitute, both lor tuntIon-
the operation of embryulcia, and for the Caesarean sec- v
tion, as it was alleged to be perfectly consistent with
the safety both of mother and child.
It is quite unnecessary for us to offer any theoretical
objections to this operation, because we can now reason
on the event of thirty-six cases, which have been publish¬
ed.—But those who may wish to investigate this subject,
may consult Baudelocque, par 1994. and 2091. inclu¬
sive j and X)r Osborn, p. 271. To that latter practition¬
er’s professional zeal and ability is chiefly to be ascrib¬
ed the total rejection of this operation in Great Britain.
Of the thirty-five subjects of the published cases (for 07
in one woman it was performed twice), fourteen women
and eighteen children died.— Of the twenty-one avo-
men Avho survived, nine had either had living chil¬
dren before the Sigaultian operation, or had such at a
subsequent period. Most of the remainder suffered
much from the operation. Some had incurable incon¬
tinence of urine, others lameness, &.c. But the most
important fact is, that whenever the bones of the pelvis
Avere separated from each other above an inch (and no
space of any consequence could be added to the brim,
unless they Avere so), the sacro-iliac synchondroses Avere
torn, and no A\oman survived that accident.
These facts have at last convinced foreign practition¬
ers of the futility of this expedient) and, accordingly,
for above ten years, it has not been performed on the
continent by any practitioners of respectability.
When a woman, Avith a narrow pelvis, Avho has had 138
the good fortune to recover after the operation of em¬
bryotomy, again falls with child, she should not incur
the hazard of a repetition of so horrible an operation ;
but ought to have premature labour induced betAveen
the seventh and the eighth month. Under the direc¬
tion of an intelligent practitioner this operation is easily
performed ; and, while it affords the only chance of
saving the infant, which it is the duty of the mother
and of the practitioner to attempt, it at the same time,.
by lessening the resistance, diminishes both the suffer¬
ing and the risk of the patient (n).
For a further account of the practice in cases of ex¬
treme deformity of the pelvis, the reader is referred to
Osborn’s Essays; Hamilton’s Letters to Osborn ; Sim¬
mons’s Reflections, and Hull’s Detection of Simmons.
Sect. IV. Of the Deviations from Natural Labour j ^
which happen from anomalous circumstances*
Certain circumstances besides those already enume¬
rated occasion deviations in the process of labour.
Some of these respect the child, and others the Avoman.
a. The child’s life is endangered if the navel-string 14«
be so strongly convoluted round its neck, that after the
head is born the remainder cannot be expelled Avithout
the cord being drawn so tight as to interrupt the circu¬
lation through it. Dr Denman, vol. ii. p. 16. has
stated this as a cause of protracted labour, and has ad¬
vised
(n) See a paper on this subject, in the 18th volume of the Medical Facts and Observations, by Mr Barlow.
I4I
142
72 M I D W I
Preterna- vised certain modes of practice in consequence. But
turn] Par- if there be pains, there cannot be any material prctrac-
turition. tion 0f the labour from this cause.
'   1 A\\ risk 0f the infant may be prevented by slacken¬
ing the cord, and waiting for the action of the uterus,
if the operator find thut he cannot draw the loop of
cord which surrounds the child’s neck easily over its
head. But this in most cases can be readily done.
b. The cord is sometimes pushed down before the
presenting part of the child.
If this happen before the membranes are burst, the
only certain method of saving the child is to perform
the* operation of turning as soon as the state of the pas¬
sages will permit.
When the cord is pushed down along with some
other part, as the head, after the waters are discharg¬
ed, a variety of practice is required according to the
circumstances of the particular case} hence merely
keeping the cord for a little time beyond the present¬
ing part by means of the fingers, or wrapping it up in
a piece of soft rag, and pushing it above the presenting
point, or the application wf the forceps, are severally
found useful in different cases.
c. Sometimes one or both arms of the child are for¬
ced down along with the head, where proper assistance
is not had at the beginning of labour. If the pelvis
be roomy, and the woman have formerly had children,
the delivery may be at last completed by the natural
powers, notwithstanding this increased degree of resist¬
ance. But in many cases of tiffs kind an experienced
practitioner is not called in till the strength ot the wo¬
man be very much exhausted, and then it becomes ne¬
cessary to use the forceps, or even on some occasions to
have recourse to the operation of embryulcia.
d. It is well known, that sometimes there is more
than one child in the womb. Instances where there
are twins are not unfrequent} cases of triplets aie al¬
leged to happen once in between three or four thou¬
sand births 5 four at a birth have not occurred in this
city for the last twenty-seven years} and there are on¬
ly two, or at most three, well-authenticated cases of
five at a birth having happened within a hundred years
in this island.
All the signs by which the existence of more than
one child in utero can be ascertained, previous to the
actual commencement of labour, are fallacious } and in
general it is not till after the birth of one child that it
can be determined that ^ another remains in the womb }
and, unless under very particular circumstances, it is
of no importance. Ihe circumstances alluded to are
where different parts of both children are foiced in¬
to the passage at the same time. Of this a veiy re¬
markable case is recorded in the book of Genesis, verse
27. chap, xxxviii.
When the womb appears to remain bulky and hard
after the birth of one child, there is reason to suppose
that it contains a second. But if there be any doubt
on the subject, the practitioner has it in his power to
ascertain the point by examination. When there is
no second child in the uterus, the further the fingers
are carried up within the passages, the more contract¬
ed do they feel } whereas, if there be a second child,
the more open are they found.
When it is ascertained that another infant remains,
the woman’s belly should be immediately compressed by
l
F E R Y.
Chap. IV.
*43
*45
*44
means of a roller, in order to prevent faintisbness from Pretern,..
the sudden relaxation of the parietes abdominis, and tural Par.
the portion of the navel-string remaining attached, tnn^UIR-_
to the after-birth of the first born should be care- v J
fully secured, let the vessels of the placenta anasto¬
mose.
In regard to the subsequent treatment, there has
been much variety ot opinion among practitioners.
Some have proposed waiting1 tih the action of the
uterus expel the second as it had done the first in¬
fant. Others urge strongly the necessity for imme¬
diate delivery.
Against the former of these practices it is to be ob¬
jected } first, that in some cases, days or even weeks
have been known to intervene between the birth of one
child and the action of the uterus which expelled the
second. Secondly, that if this happen, the passages
must become contracted and their subsequent dilatation
may be productive of inflammatory symptoms. Third¬
ly, that during the time the uterine action is suspend¬
ed, internal haemorrhagy may take place, and may de¬
stroy the patient. And, fourthly, the second child may
be suddenly forced down in such a position, as may en¬
danger its life, and at the same time occasion great
pain to the mother.
For these reasons it is now an established rule among
judicious practitioners, to examine the situation of the
second infant, as soon as the patient shall have reco¬
vered from the shock of the birth of the first child }
and, if its position be natural and the patient have not
been exhausted by the previous labour, and pains come
on, to rupture the membranes, and allow the natural
powers to complete the delivery. But if the infant
present any other part than the head, or though the
head do present, if the woman be exhausted, or if there
be no appearance of the return of pains within an noui
after the birth of the first, then the hand is to he passed
up to bring down the feet of the second child, and the
delivery is to be expedited. The extraction of the pla¬
centae is to be conducted with great care, and cveiy
possible precaution is to be adopted against the occur¬
rence of flooding, which is always to be dreaded as the
consequence of plurality of children.
The same principles apply to the management of tri¬
plets, &c.
d. Umbilical hernia, to which women are perhaps
more subject than to any other species ot ruptuie, may
influence the labour materially.
If it be reducible, it disappears after the fifth month
of pregnancy •, hut immediately after the expulsion of
the child it returns, and occasions frightful faintings
and floodings. This may he prevented by the simple
expedient of having the belly compressed by a roller 111
such a manner, that in proportion as the infant advan¬
ces, the compression may be increased.
Should it be irreducible, if the hernia be aflected by
the continuance of labour, as may he known by the
colour, &c. the operation of turning must be had re¬
course to.
e. Convulsions sometimes happen during labour, and
occasion great danger botli to the mother and the child.
The woman is quite insensible during the fit, which
consists of violent convulsions ot the muscles which
move the body, and of those of the eyes, the face, and
the lower jaw } it lasts in some cases only a few teconds,
and
i4<»
147
M I D W
) ’)r Dm-
! nn’s An-
;t!s, vol. V,
‘ 3l9-
149
150
,151
and in others for several minutes. After the fit has
ceased, it sometimes happens that the patient remains in
a comatose state ; in other cases the sensibility returns.
The circumstances which distinguish this disease from
epilepsy were first stated explicitly by Dr Hamilton in the
following words : “ The old distinction between eclamp¬
sia and epilepsia has been rejected by Dr Cullen, without
sufficient reason. The convulsions that occur during preg¬
nancy and labour, should be distinguished by the former
name, for the disease is always an acute one, and it never,
as far as my experience goes, lays the foundation for ha¬
bitual epilepsy. To an inattentive practitioner, indeed,
the phenomena appear similar to those of epilepsy •, but,
independent of its violence and fatality, there are many
circumstances peculiar to it. This has been remarked
by several authors, particularly Dr Denman 5 but those
circumstances have never been accurately pointed out
in any publication which has fallen into my hands.
“ The eclampsia, peculiar to pregnancy and labour,
differs from epilepsy in the following respects.
“ 1. The symptoms which precede the attack are
well marked, announcing to an experienced practitioner
the approach of the disease.
“ 2. If the first fit do not prove fatal, and if no
means of cure be attempted, it is within a few hours
followed by other paroxyms, provided delivery do not
take place.
“ 3. After the paroxysms, even where they have
been very severe, the patient in many cases continues
quite sensible during the intervals, and the sensibility
returns the moment the fit is off.
“ 4. What may appear still more extraordinary is,
that in some cases there is a remarkably increased sus¬
ceptibility of impression of the external senses j and this
supersensation is not confined to patients in whom the
convulsions are slight.
“ The aura epileptica never occurs in the cases al¬
luded to.
“ 6. The pulse is, in every case, affected in some
degree during the remissions of the fits. It is slow, or
oppressed, or intermitting, or frequent and rapid. Eut
it is most commonly slow and oppressed, becoming ful¬
ler and more frequent after blood-letting.
The symptoms above hinted at as preceding the fits
are, violent headach, or sudden delirium, or violent
tremors during the second stage of labour. Impaired
or depraved vision commonly prove the immediate har¬
bingers of the fit. The event of this occurrenbe is al¬
ways precarious, for a single fit may destroy the pa¬
tient. Death happens in such cases in two ways, viz.
either by rupture of some of the vessels within the head,
or by the rupture of the womb itself.
The cause of the disease is evidently an overload in
the vessels within the cranium, and this may be occa¬
sioned from a variety of causes, as violent labour throes,
passions of the mind, irritations in the primee via;, &c.
In cases of so very alarming a nature, it is not won¬
derful that practitioners have differed much respecting
the practice to be adopted. The following is what has
been recommended by Dr Hamilton in the volume of
Dr Duncan’s annals already referred to.
“ TV hen fits have actually occurred during the latter
months of pregnancy, the first remedy to be employed,
after having adopted the suitable means for protecting
the tongue, is blood-letting, both general and topical.
Vol. XIV. Part I. +
I F E R Y. 73
Opening the external jugular might answer both pur- Pretema-
poses, but the restlessness of the patient in many cases tural Par-
makes the surgeon or attendants dread this operation, turition.
A quantity of blood, therefore, adapted to the exigency '"““'v™--'
of the case, is to be drawn from the arm, and cither a
branch of the temporal artery is to be divided, or seve¬
ral leeches are to be applied to the temples. After the
bleeding, a powerful laxative glyster ought to he exhi¬
bited. And if there he any evidence of disordered primse
vise, an emetic must, if possible, be given. The state
of the os uteri is then to be ascertained j and if labour
have not commenced, no attempts whatever are to be
made to promote that process. In some rare cases
however, where the bulk of the gravid uterus is enor¬
mous, it may be necessary to remove a part of its con¬
tents j but such cases cannot happen once in a thousand
instances of the disease. 1
“ Should the fits still continue, the head must he shav¬
ed, and covered with a large blister ; and if the oppres¬
sion or fulness, or hardness of the pulse, be not removed,
the blood-letting is to be repeated.
“ As soon as the patient becomes capable of swallow¬
ing, the camphor, in doses of ten grains, ought to be
given every three or four hours. The most efficacious
and palatable form in which this medicine can he pre¬
scribed, is by suspending it in boiling water, through
the medium of alcohol, sugar and magnesia. Its use
must be persevered in for several days, gradually lessen¬
ing the number of doses.
“ V here the eclampsia has been preceded by oedema,
the digitalis may be employed with much success.
“ Convulsions during labour are to be treated upon
the same principles, with these additional precautions,
that delivery is to be accomplished by the most expedi¬
tious possible means, and that if the delivery he fol¬
lowed by uterine haemorrhagy, the discharge is for some
time to be rather encouraged than checked. 1 knew two
instances of the fits, which had been suspended for some
hours, recurring, in consequence of the flooding being-
stopped, and in both cases the convulsions were remov¬
ed, by allowing the discharge to return'.
“ When the symptoms that precede eclampsia, take
place in the latter months of pregnancy, the most
certain method of guarding against the threatening ac¬
cident is, having recourse to immediate blood-letting,
and afterwards prescribing camphor, attention to the
state of the bowels, and a spare diet.
“ When the same symptoms occur during labour, a
copious bleeding should he instantly ordered, and the
appropriate means of terminating the delivery should be
adopted with as much expedition as may be consistent
with the safety both of mother and child.
“ In these concise practical suggestions, practitioners
will observe circumstances omitted, which have been
recommended by gentlemen of deserved professional
eminence, and novelties of practice proposed, which I
believe have not hitherto been explicitly advised. Some
explanation, therefore, of the plan above recommended
may perhaps be expected.
“ The most obvious remedy apparently omitted is
opium. This powerful medicine was not prescribed, as
far as we have reason to know, by the practitioners who
lived at the end of the 17th and beginning of the 18th
centuries. The first author who, in strong terms, asserts
the efficacy of opium in such cases, appeals to be the
K translator
74 M I D W
Pretenva- translator of Astruc’s Midwifery (a-) •, and his opinion
has been adopted by Dr Denman (b), and by Dr
Bland (c). But in every case ol true eclampsia, during
pregnancy or labour, opiates do irreparable mischief,
where a copious bleeding has not been premised 5 and
even where that precaution has been attended to, they
have been found useless, it not hurtful. Melancholy
experience has completely established in my mind this
practical precept} and I consider it to be a matter of
very great moment, that it should be universally known j
for general practitioners, who are often first called to
those cases w here the fits happen during pregnancy, are
extremely apt to prescribe opium: I can solemnly de¬
clare, that no patient to whose assistance I have been
called, who had taken a dose of opium previous to my
arrival, has recovered, and I have known that medi¬
cine given in almost every variety ot dose. My father,
Dr A. Hamilton, of whose judgment and practical
knowledge it does not become me to speak in the terms
they so justly merit, prevented my ever employing
opium under such circumstances.
“ A second remedy extolled by Dr Denman, and
now, after a fair trial, rejected in my practice, is vo¬
miting. This seems to have been a very common pre¬
scription in the time of Mauriceau, as he takes great
pains to point out its hurtfulness in several parts of his
•works (d). Where there are unequivocal marks of
disordered stomach, an emetic may be prescribed with
advantage after blood-letting, but it should be avoided
under all other circumstances.
“ With regard to the warm-bath, which is a favou¬
rite remedy among foreign practitioners, and has been
advised by several British authors, I have never had an
opportunity of trying its effects. Upon theoretical
principles I should reject it j but my chief reason for
never having directed its use, has been the impossibility,
in ordinary cases of practice, of commanding a warm bath
into which a woman in such a situation could be put.
“ Dashing cold water by surprise upon the face is a
practice suggested by Dr Denman, and on which he
had much dependence at one period. Experience les¬
sened his hopes, and, many years ago, prevented my
ever indulging any. I gave it several fair trials, (once
or twice in public in the lying-in-ward of the Royal
Infirmary), and had even reason to be convinced, that
it rather aggravated than diminished the violence of the
paroxysms.”
In addition to these observations it may be pro¬
per to remark, that a much larger quantity of blood
should be drawn in those cases than has commonly
been done. Dr H. advises forty ounces to be taken
at this first bleeding, and the same quantity to be again
drawn within an hour, if the symptoms be not mitiga¬
ted ; and he talks with the utmost confidence of the
utility of this practice.
3 ^ J'. Although the woman be delivered safely both of
F E R Y. Chap. IV.
the child and afterbirth, she may sink very soon af- Pretcma-
ter in consequence of internal flooding. This is to turalPar.
be suspected if the patient suddenly complain of giddi-
ness or sickness, or singing in the ears, or impaiied vi¬
sion j or if she become delirious, with a pallid face and
cold limbs. The state of the pulse at the wrist too
should lead a judicious practitioner to suspect the exist¬
ence of internal flooding. Positive certainty of this ac¬
cident may be obtained by feeling through the belly
the condition of the uterus j or, more, certainly, still, by
feeling the state of the vagina, for if its panetes ap¬
proach, there is not much probability of there being
any considerable internal hsemorrhagy j whereas, if it
he found filled with coagulated blood, there is a certain¬
ty, that the womb too is distended from the same cause.
This accident is entirely owing to the womb not
having contracted with sufficient energy. It very often
proves the cause of sudden and unexpected death.
The boldest and apparently most violent measures
are required to save the patient in many of those cases.
The womb and vagina must be immediately emptied,
and such pressure must he made on the inside of the
uterus with the hand, as shall force it into contraction.
In some cases cold water in great quantity must be
dashed from a height on the naked belly at the same
time j and in the mean while the strength of the pa¬
tient must be supported with large doses of opium. If
there be vomiting, which is a frequent symptom in such
cases, five grains of solid opium should be gi\en at first,
and afterwards three grains every three or four hours,
till the pulse becomes steady and the strength recruit¬
ed, when the opiates are to be withdrawn and lessen¬
ed by degrees. The writer ol this article cannot avoid
this opportunity of paying a just tribute ot respect
to the practical discernment of the able editor of the
New London Medical Dictionary, who seems the first
author who has mentioned this practice ot giving large
doses of opium j a practice by which many valuable
lives have been saved.
Conclusion.—In the preceding account of the devia¬
tions, which sometimes happen in the process of human
parturition, although we have endeavoured to give a
full view of the subject, we have not pursued the beaten
tract. But as this article may rather he consulted by
many as a dictionary, than pursued regularly as a trea¬
tise,* we shall add the ordinary arrangement of labours,
with the reference to the numerical articles, under
which the several varieties may be found.
Labours are divided into four classes 5 viz. natural,
laborious, preternatural, and complex.
Natural labour comprehends all cases where the head
of the infant is forced foremost j and the whole process
is completed with safety, both to mother and child,
within twenty-four hours from the commencement. It
is described under articles 48. to 60.
Laborious
fA'l The Art of Midwifery, &c. 8vo. London, printed for J. Nourse 1767. Appendix, p. 295.
(B)Vol.ii. p.418. (c) Loco citato, page 136.
(d) Particularly in Aphorism 232. “ L’emetique est permcieux aux femmes grosses, on nouvellement a.-
couchees, qui sont surprises des convulsions.” And Levret, page 451. of his L’Art ues Aceom^roens say ^
in reference to that aphorism, “ Cette sentence est de$ mieux fondees, et elle doit etre ngoureusement oKerv .
dans tons ses points.”
1 CoA
-"vV
11
hap. IV.
MIDWIFERY.
75
inclusion. Laborious labour is that where, although the head
I—y—Jof the infant be forced foremost, the process is pro¬
tracted beyond twenty-four hours from the commence¬
ment. It is divided into three orders : First, where the
natural powers at last, gfter much suffering on the part
of the mother, complete the delivery. See article 64.
Secondly, Where, although the action of the uterus
be inadequate to the expulsion of the infant, it is prac¬
ticable to extract the child through the natural passages,
without injury either to it or to the mother. See ar¬
ticles 66. to 74-82. and 84.
Thirdly, Where it is impossible to extract the child
alive through the natural passages. See articles 80.
and 99. to 133.
Preternatural labours comprehend all cases where
any other part of the child than the head is forced fore¬
most •, and consist of two orders :
' First, Presentations of the lower extremities, viz.
footling cases, article 87. Breech cases, article 91.
Cases where one foot presents, article 89. and knee-
cases, article 90.
Plates.
Secondly, Presentations of the superior extremities Explana-
or other parts than the head or lower extremities, ar- tioiyof the
tides 192. to 196.
Complex labours include all cases where any other "
circumstances than those enumerated under the former
three classes take place, viz.
Cases where the pelvis is too large, articles no. and
ill.
Cases where haemorrhagy occurs at the beginning of
labour, article 76. or at the conclusion of that process,
articles 152. and 153.
Cases where there is more than one child, articles
143, 144, 145.
Cases where the patient had previously been affected
with umbilical hernias, article 146.
Cases where convulsions happen, articles I47> 148.
Cases where the navel-string is twisted round the
neck of the infant, article 140. or where it is forced
down along with some part of the child, article 141.
And cases of rupture of the uterus, article 65.
EXPLANATION of the PLATES.
Plate CCCXLVI.
Fig. 1. A front view of the uterus in the unirapreg-
nated state, in situ, suspended in the vagina j the an¬
terior parts of the ossa ischia, with the ossa pubis, pu¬
denda, perineum, and anus being removed, in order to
show the internal parts.
A, The last lumbar vertebra.
B, B, The ossa ilia.
C, C, The acetabula.
D, D. The inferior and posterior parts of the ossa
ischia.
E, The part covering the extremity of the coccyx.
F, The inferior part of the rectum.
G, G, The vagina cut open longitudinally, and
stretched on each side of the cervex uteri, in order to
show the manner in which the uterus is suspended in it.
H, H, Part of the urinary bladder stretched on each
side of the vagina and inferior part of the fundus uteri.
I, The cervix uteri.
K, The fundus uteri.
L, L, The fallopian tubes.
M, M, The ovaria.
N, N, The broad ligaments.
O, O, The superior part of the rectum.
Fig. 2. A view of the internal parts as seen from the
right groin, the pelvis having been divided vertically.
A, The lowest vertebra of the loins.
B, C, The os sacrum and coccyx with the integu¬
ments.
D, The left os ilium.
E, The inferior part of the os ischium,
F, The os pubis of the same side.
G, The foramen magnum.
H, The acetabulum.
I, The inferior part of the rectum.
K, The os externum and vagina, the os uteri lying
loosely in the latter.
L, The vesica urinaria.
M, N, The cervix and fundus uteri, with a view of
the cavity of the uterus. The attachment of the vagi¬
na to the uterus, and the situation of the uterus when
pressed down by the intestines and bladder into the
concave part of the os sacrum, are likewise shown.
O, The broad ligament of the left side.
P, P, The left fallopian tube.
Q, The left ovarium.
R, R, The superior part of the rectum and inferior
part of the colon.
Fig. 3. Is a sketch taken from Dr Hunter’s magni¬
ficent plate, N° 6. of the gravid uterus. All the fore
part of the uterus and secundines (which included the
placenta) is removed. The navel-string is cut, tied,
and turned to the left side over the edge of the womb.
At the fundus the investing membranes are likewise
turned over the edge of the womb, that they might be
more apparent. The head of the child is lodged in the
lower part of the womb, or in the cavity of the pelvis,
and its body lies principally in the right side. Its po¬
sition is diagonal or oblique, so that its posterior parts
are turned forwards, and to the right side of the mo¬
ther, and its fore parts are directed backwards, and to
the left side. Its right foot appears between its left
thigh and leg. Every part is stated by Dr Hunter to
have been represented just as it was found.
Fig. 4. A front view of the gravid uterus in the first
stage of labour ; the anterior parts are removed, but
the membranes not being ruptured, form a large bag
containing the foetus and the liquor amnii.
A, x\, The substance of the uterus.
B, B, C, C, D, D, E, E, The bones of the pelvis.
G, G, The vagina.
H, H, The os uteri dilated during a pain j with
I, The membranes containing the liquor amnii pro¬
truding through it.
K, The chorion.
K 2 Lp
76 MIDWIFERY.
Explana- L, The chorion dissected off at the hack of the ute-
tion of the riis, to show the head of the child through the amnios.
M, The placenta ; the lohulated surface, or that
which is attached to the uterus, being shown.
Chap. IV.
Plate CCCXLVIII.
Plates.
Plate CCCXLVII.
Fig. i. Represents a well-formed pelvis.
A, A, The ossa ilia, properly so called.
o, ft, The iliac fossas.
b, b, The linea innominata, making part of the brim
of the pelvis.
c, c, The crista of the ossa ilia.
c, e, Their superior anterior spinous processes.
B, B, The os ischium.
f,f, Its tuberosities.
h, h, Its branches.
C, C, The body of the os pubis.
i, i, The crista pubis.
k, k, Its descending branch uniting with that of the
ischium.
/, The symphysis pubis.
D, D, The os sacrum.
t?z, m, Its base.
n, n, The gacro-iliac synchondrosis.
o, Its internal surface called hollow.
jo, Its apex to which the coccyx is joined.
E, The coccyx.
Fig. 2. Represents a vertical section of the pelvis.
A, The promontory of the sacrum.
B, The point of the coccyx.
The distance from these two points marks the depth
of the pelvis behind, which in the majority of cases is
six inches.
C, The spinous process of the ischium.
D, The tuberosity of the ischium.
E, The crista pubis, the distance which two points
marks the depth of the pelvis at the sides, and is ordi¬
narily about four inches.
F, The foramen thyroideum.
G, The surface by which the two ossa pubis are join¬
ed to form the symphysis pubis, and by which junction
the depth of the pelvis at the front is reduced to about
one and a half inch.
Fig. 3. Represents the brim of a well-formed pelvis.
A, B, The short or conjugate diameter between pu¬
bis and sacrum, which measures commonly a little less
than four inches.
C, D, The long diameter in the skeleton, which,
however, in the living subject, is rendered almost as
short as the former, in consequence of the bellies of the
psose muscles being lodged in the lower cav^y of the
tunica innominata.
E, F, The diagonal diameter in the skeleton, which,
in fact, is the long diameter in the living body, and
measures somewhat less than five inches.
Fig. 4. Represents the outlet of a well-formed pelvis.
A, B, The short diameter, extending from one tu¬
berosity of the ischium to the other, and measuring less
than four inches.
C, D, The long diameter, extending from the lower
edge of the symphysis pubis to the point of the coccyx,
and measuring nearly five inches.
Fig. 5. Represents the brim of a distorted pelvis.
Fig. 6. Represents the outlet of a deformed pelvis.
Fig. 1. The foetal heart.
n, The right ventricle.
6, The right auricle.
c, The left auricle.
ft', Branches of the pulmonary veins of the right lobe
of the lungs, those of the left being cut off short.
r, Arteries of the left lobe of the lungs.
f\ The vena cava descendens.
g, The aorta descedens.
The trunk of the arteria pulmonalis.
The ductus arteriosus.
Fig. 2. Represents the first stage of natural labour^
towards its termination.
A, The membranes of the ovum distending the cer¬
vix uteri, while the head of the child is just entering
the brim of the pelvis.
B, B, The os uteri nearly dilated.
C, The vagina.
D, The orificium externum.
Fig. 3. Represents the second stage of natural la¬
bour, when the head has descended into the cavity of
the pelvis, while the face is still towards the sacro-iliac
synchondrosis.
Fig. 4. Represents the second stage of natural labour,
after the head has advanced so far that the face is in
the hollow of the sacrum, and the vertex in the arch of
the pubis.
Plate CCCXLIX.
Fig. I. A view of a deformed pelvis when the defi¬
ciency of space is not very considerable.
Fig. 2. The child’s skull.
«, The vertex, or posterior fontanelle.
b. The anterior fontanelle.
Fig. 3. and 4. The common short forceps, reduced
to one-fourth of the natural size.
The instrument, when of the proper size, is in length
11 inches. The length of each handle is four inches
and a half. If a straight line be drawn through the
plane surface of one handle, and be produced to the
extremity of the instrument (which forms the axis of
the handles when both are joined), the convex edge of
the blade, at the greatest distance from this line, is di¬
stant 1^ inch ; and the extreme distance of the point
on the opposite edge is -j-^ths of an inch. hen both
blades are joined, their greatest width is 2^ inches. The
right-hand blade has a hinge between the handle and
blade, by which it is easily introduced, while the pa¬
tient lies on the left side.
Fig. 5. and 6. Views of Lowder’s lever $ for a par¬
ticular description of which, see art. 69.
Fig. 7. Orme’s perforator reduced to one-fourth the
natural size.
Fig. 8. Embryotomy forceps, one-fourth the natural
size.
Fig. 9. The crotchet, one-fourth the natural size.
Plate CCCL.
%
Fig. I. Represents an ordinary sized child forced
against the brim of a deformed pelvis.
Fig. 2. Represents the child when the feet had pre¬
sented, turned into that direction by which its head is
best
Explana¬
tion of the.
Plates.
UTArr/ttA*/// Srufys.'
V
t
77
iap. IV. MID W
best brought through the brim and cavity of the pelvis,
viz. with the face towards the sacro-ilxac synchondrosis
of one side.
Fig. 3. Represents the ordinary situation of the in¬
fant in breech presentations j from which it is evident,
that unless the infant be very small, the natural action
I F E li Y.
of the uterus cannot force it through the pelvis in this
direction.
Fig. 4. Represents an arm presentation, and commu¬
nicates an idea of the difficulty of bringing down the
feet, and turning the infant in that position.
M I E
edniki MIEDNIKI, or Medniki, or JFarmiCy a town of
|| Samogitia, and the residence of the bishop. It is 28
dieris. miles N. E. from Konigsberg, and 60 miles S.S.W.
from Mittau.
MIEKOW, a town of Austrian Poland, in the pa¬
latinate of Cracow. The founder of this town is said
to have been Gripsius Jana, who built it after the mo¬
del of Jerusalem, when he returned from a pilgrimage
to that city. It is 12 miles north from Cracow.
M1EL, Jan, called Giovanni della Vile, a most
eminent painter, was born in Flanders in 1590. He
was at first a disciple of Gerard Seghers, in whose
school he made a distinguished figure 5 but he quitted
that artist, and went to Italy, to improve himself in
design, and to obtain a more extensive knowledge of
the several branches of his art. At Rome he parti¬
cularly studied and copied the works of the Caracci
and Corregio *, and was admitted into the academy of
Andrea Sacchi, w'here he gave such evident proofs of
extraordinary merit and genius, that he W’as invited by
Andrea to assist him in a grand design which he had
already begun. But Miel, through some disgust, re¬
jected those elevated subjects which at first had enga¬
ged his attention, refused the friendly proposal of
Sacchi, and chose to imitate the style of Bamboccio,
as having more of that nature which pleased his own
imagination. His general subjects were huntings, car¬
nivals, gypsies, beggars, pastoral scenes, and conver¬
sations j of those he composed his easel pictures, which
are the finest of his performances. But he also paint¬
ed history in a large size in fresco, and in oil; which,
though they seem to want elevation of design, and a
greater degree of grace in the heads, yet appear supe¬
rior to what might be expected from a painter of such
low subjects as he generally was fond ol representing.
His pictures of huntings are pai'ticularly admired : the
figures and animals of every species being designed with
uncommon spirit, nature, and truth. The transparence
of his colouring, and the clear tints of his skies, enliven
his compositions j nor are his paintings in any degree
inferior to those of Bamboccio either in their force or
lustre. His large works are not so much to be com¬
mended for the goodness of the design as for the ex¬
pression and colouring 5 but it is in his small pieces
that the pencil of Miel appears in its greatest delicacy
and beauty. The singular merit of this master recom¬
mended him to the favour of Charles Emanuel duke of
Savoy, who invited him to his court, where he ap¬
pointed Miel his principal painter, and afterwards
honoured him with the order of St Mauritius, and
made him a present of a cross set with diamonds ot
great value, as a particular mark of his esteem. He
died in 1664.
MIERIS, Francis, the Old, a justly celebrated
painter, was born at Leyden in 163 5 j and w'as
at first placed under the direction of Abraham
M I E
Toorne Vliet, one of the best designers, of the Low jvjierp
Countries, and afterwards entered himself as a disciple .
with Gerard Douw. In a short time he far surpassed
all his companions, and was by his master called the
prince of his disciples. His manner of painting silks,
velvets, stuffs, or carpets, was so singular, that the
different kinds and fabric of any of them might easily
be distinguished. His pictures are rarely to be seen,
and as rarely to be sold; and when they are, the pur¬
chase is extremely high, their intrinsic value being so
incontestably great. Besides portraits, his general sub¬
jects were conversations, persons performing on musical
instruments, patients attended by the apothecary or
doctor, chemists at work, mercers shops, and such like j
and the usual valuation he set on his pictures was esti¬
mated at the rate of a ducat an hour. The finest por¬
trait of this master’s band is that which he painted for
the wife of Cornelius Plants, which is said to be still
preserved in the family, although very great sums have
been offered for it. In the possession of the same gentle¬
man was another picture of Mieris, representing a lady
fainting, and a physician applying the remedies to relieve
her. For that performance he wras paid (at his usual
rate of a ducat an hour) so much money as amounted to
fifteen hundred florins when the picture was finished.
The grand duke of Tuscany wished to purchase it, and
offered three thousand florins for it; but the offer was
not accepted. However, that prince procured several
of his pictures, and they are at this day an ornament to
the Florentine collection. One of the most curious of
them is a girl holding a candle in her hand, and it is
accounted inestimable. This painter died in 1681.
Mieuis, William, called the Young Mieris, was son
of the former, and born at Leyden in 1662. During
the life of his father, he made a remarkable pro¬
gress : but, by being deprived of his director when
he wras only arrived at the age of nineteen, he had re¬
course to nature, as the most instructive guide j and by
studying with diligence and judgment to imitate her,
he approached near to the merit of his father. At
first he took his subjects from private life, in the man¬
ner of Francis ; such as tradesmen in their shops, or a
peasant selling vegetables and fruit, and sometimes a
woman looking out at a window ; all which he copied
minutely after nature, nor did he paint a single object
without his model. As Mieris had observed the com¬
position of Gerard Lairesse, and other great historical
painters, with singular delight, he attempted to design
subjects in that style ; and began with the story of Ri-
naldo sleeping, on the lap of Armida, surrounded with
the Loves and Graces, the fore ground being enriched
with plants and flowers ; a work which added greatly
to his fame, and was sold for a very high price. This
master also painted landscapes and animals with equal
truth and neatness ; and modelled in clay and wax, in
so sharp and accurate a manner, that he might justly
M I G
be ranked among the most eminent sculptors,
delicate finishing of his works, he imitated his father ;
as he likewise did in the lustre, harmony, and truth,
of his paintings, which makes them to be almost as
highly prized j but they are not equal in respect ot de¬
sign, or of the striking effect, nor is his touch so very
exquisite as that of the father. The works of the old
Mieris are better composed, the figures are better
grouped, and they have less confusion 5 yet the younger
Mieris is acknowledged to be an artist of extraordinary
merit, although inferior to him, who had scarcely Ins
equal. He died in 1747. _
Mieris, Francis, called the Young Francis, was
the son of William, and the grandson of the celebrated
Francis Mieris j and was born at Leyden in 1689. He
learned the art of painting from his father, whose
manner and style he always imitated j he chose the
same subjects, and endeavoured to resemble him in his
colouring and pencil. But with all his industry ie
proved far inferior to him : and most of those pictures
which at the public sales are said to be ol the young
Mieris, and many also in private collections ascribed to
the elder Francis, or William, are perhaps originally
painted by this master, who was far inferior to both j
or are only his copies after the works of those excellent
painters, as he spent abundance of his time in copying
their performances. „,, ,
MIEZA, in Ancient Geography, a town ot Macedo¬
nia, which was anciently called Strymonium, situated
near Stagira. Here, Plutarch informs us, the stone
seats and shady walks of Aristotle were shown. Of tins
place was Peucestas, one of Alexander’s generals, and
therefore surnamed Miezceus, (Arrian).
MIGDOL, or Magdol, in Ancient Geography, a
place in the Lower Egypt, on this side Pihahiroth or
between it and the Red sea, towards its extremity. 1 ie
term denotes a tower or fortress. It is probably the
Magdoluni of Herodotus, seeing the Septuagint render
it by the same name. .
MIGNARD, Nicholas, an ingenious irench
painter born at Troyes in 1628 j but, settling at Avig¬
non, is generally distinguished from his brother Peter
by the appellation of Mignard of Avignon. He was
afterwards employed at court and at 1 aris,. where he
became rector of the royal academy ot painting.
There is a great number of his historical piecesand por¬
traits in the palace of the Tbuilleries. He died in 1690.
Mignard, Peter, the brother of Nicholas, was born
at Troyes in 1610 5 and acquired so much of the taste
of the Italian school, as to be known by the name of
the Roman. He was generally allowed to have a su¬
perior genius to his brother Nicholas 3 and had the
honour of painting the popes Alexander VII. and Ur¬
ban VIII. besides many of the nobility at Rome, and
several of the Italian princes: his patron, Louis, sat
ten times to him for his portrait, and respected his ta¬
lents so much as to ennoble him, make him his princi¬
pal painter after the death of Le Brun, and appointed
him director of the manufactories. He died in 1695,
and many of his pieces are to be seen at St Cloud.
M1GNON, or Minjon, Abraham, a celebrated
painter of flowers and still life, was born at Francfort
in 1639 3 and his father having been deprived of the
greatest part of his substance by a series of losses in
, trade, left him in very necessitous circumstances when
3
[ 78 ] MIG
In the he was only seven years of age. From that melan- Mignon,
choly situation he was rescued by the friendship of Migration
James Murel, a flower painter in that city 3 who took * —'
Mignon into his own house, and instructed him in
the art till he was 17 years old. Murel had often
observed an uncommon genius in Mignon : he there¬
fore took him along with him to Holland, where he
placed him as a disciple with David de Heem 3 and
while he was under the direction of that master he la¬
boured with incessant application to imitate the man¬
ner of De Heem, and ever afterwards adhered to it 3
only adding daily to his improvement, by studying
nature with a most exact and cuiious obser\ ation.
“ When we consider the paintings of Mignon, one is
at a loss (Mr Pilkington observes) whether more to
admire the freshness and beauty ol his colouring, the
truth in every part, the bloom on his objects, or the
perfect resemblance of nature visible in all his perform¬
ances. He always shows a beautiful choice in those
flowers and fruits from which his subjects are compos¬
ed : and he groups them with uncommon elegance.
His touch is exquisitely neat, though apparently easy
and unlaboured 3 and he was fond of introducing in¬
sects among .the fruits and flowers, wonderfully finished,
so that even the drops of dew appear as round and as
translucent as nature itself.” He had the good for¬
tune to be highly paid for his works in his lifetime ;
and he certainly would have been accounted the best
in his profession even to this day, if John Van Huy-
sum had not appeared. Weyerman, who had ssen
many admired pictures of Mignon, mentions one of a
most capital kind. The subject of it is a cat, which
had thrown down a pot of flowers, and they lie scatter¬
ed on a marble table. That picture is in every re¬
spect so wonderfully natural, that the spectator can
scarce persuade himself that the water which is spilled
from the vessel is not really running down from the
marble. This picture is distinguished by the title of
Mignon's Cat. This painter died in 1679, aged only 40.
MIGRATION, the passage or a removal of a thing
out of one place into another. r.
Migration of Birds.—It has been generally be-M^01
lieved, that many different kinds of birds annually passj^™/
from one country to another, and spend the summer or
the winter where it is most agreeable to them 3 and
that even the birds of our own island will seek the most
distant southern regions of Africa, when directed by
a peculiar instinct to l^ave their own country. It has
long been an opinion pretty generally received, that
swallows reside during the winter season in the warm
southern regions 3 and Mr Adanson particularly relates
his having seen them at Senegal when they were obli¬
ged to leave this country. But besides the swallow,
Mr Pennant enumerates many other birds which mi¬
grate from Britain at different times of the year, and
are then to be found in other countries 3 after which
they again leave these countries, and return to Britain.
The reason of these migrations he supposes to be a de¬
fect of food at certain seasons of the year, or the want ■
of a secure asylum from the persecution of man during
the time of courtship, incubation, and nutrition. Hie
following is his list of the migrating species. . 2
1. Crows. Of this genus, the hooded crow migrates Birds tin
regularly with the woodcock. It inhabits North Bri-
tain the whole year : a few are said annually to breed
• on
Aft
MIG L 79 ] MIG
. tjon<'on Dartrtioor, in Devonshire. It breeds also in Swe-
den and Austria : in some of the Swedish provinces it
only shifts its quarters, in others it resides throughout
the year. Our author is at a loss for the summer re¬
treat of those which visit us in such numbers in winter,
and quit our country in the spring; and for the reason
why a bird, whose food is such that it may be found at
all seasons in this country, should leave us.
2. Cuckoo. Disappears early in autumn ; the retreat
of this and the following bird is quite unknown to us.
3. Wryneck. Is a bird that leaves us in the winter.
If its diet be ants alone, as several assert, the cause of
its migration is very evident. This bird disappears be¬
fore winter, and revisits us in the spring a little earlier
than the cuckoo.
4. Hoopoe. Comes to England but by accident ;
Mr Pennant once indeed heard of a pair that attempt¬
ed to make their nest in a meadow at Selborne, Hamp¬
shire, butwere frightened away by the curiosity of people.
It breeds in Germany.
3. Grous. The whole tribe, except the quail, lives
here all the year round : that bird either leaves us, or
else retires towards the sea coasts.
6. Pigeons. Some few of the ring doves breed
here ; but the multitude that appears in the winter is
so disproportioned to what continue here the whole
Tear, as to make it certain that the greatest part quit
the country in the spring It is most probable they
go to Sweden to breed, and return from thence in au¬
tumn; as Mr Ekmark informs us they entirely quit
that country before winter. Multitudes of tbe com¬
mon wild pigeons also make the northern retreat, and
visit us in winter; not but numbers breed in the high
cliffs in all parts of this island. The turtle also pro¬
bably leaves us in the winter, at least changes its place,
removing to the southern countries.
7. Stare. Breeds here. Possibly several remove to
other countries for that purpose, since the produce of
those that continue here seems unequal to the clouds
of them that appear in winter. It is not unlikely that
many migrate into Sweden, where Mr Berger observes
they return in spring.
8. Thrushes. The fieldfare and the redwing breed
and pass their summers in Norway and other cold coun¬
tries ; their food is berries, which abounding in our
kingdoms, tempts them here in the winter. These two
and the Royston crow’ are the only land birds that re¬
gularly and constantly migrate into England, and do
not breed here. The hawfinch and crossbill come here
at such uncertain times as not to deserve the name of
! birds of passage.
9. Chatterer. The chatterer appears annually about
Edinburgh in flocks during winter; and feeds on the
berries of the mountain asln In South Britain it is an
accidental visitant.
10. Grosbeaks. The grosbeak and crossbill come
here but seldom ; they breed in Austria. The pine
grosbeak probably breeds in the forests of the IligliT
lands of Scotland.
11. Buntings. All the genus inhabits England
throughout the year ; except the greater brambling, which
is forced here from the north in very severe seasons.
12. Finches. All continue in some parts of these
kingdoms, except the fiskin, which is an irregular visi¬
tant, said to come from Russia. The linnets shift
their quarters, breeding in one part of this island, and Migration.,
remove with their young to others. All finches feed 1 ■ - v—
on the seeds of plants.
13. Larks,fly-catchers^ wag-tails, and uiarblers. All
of these feed on insects and worms; yet only part of
them quit these kingdoms ; though the reason of mi¬
gration is the same to all. The nightingale, black¬
cap, fly-catcher, willow-wren, wheat-ear, and white-
throat, leave us before winter, while the same and de¬
licate golden-crested wuen braves our severest frosts.
The migrants of this genus continue longest in Great
Britain in the southern counties, tbe winter in those
parts being later than in those of the north; Mr
Stillingfleet having observed several wheat-ears in the
isle of Purbeck on tbe 18th of November. As these
birds are incapable of very distant flights, Spain,
or the south of France, is probably their winter asy¬
lum.
14. Swallows and goatsucker. Every species disap¬
pears at the approach of winter.
Water-Fowl.
On the vast variety of w7ater fowl that frequent Water-
Great Britain, it is amazing to reflect how’ few are fowl-
known to breed here : the cause that principally urges
them to leave this country, seems to be not merely the
want of food, but the desire of a secure retreat. Our
country is too populous for birds so shy and timid as
the bulk of these are : when great part of our island
was a mere waste, a tract of woods and fen, doubt¬
less many species of birds (which at this time mi¬
grate) remained in security throughout the year.—
Egrets, a species of heron now scarcely known in
this island, were in former times in prodigious plen¬
ty ; and the crane, that has totally forsaken this coun¬
try, bred familiarly in our marshes: their place of
incubation, as well as of all other cloven footed wa¬
ter-fowl (the heron excepted), being on the ground,
and exposed to every one. As rural economy increased
in this country, these animals were more and more di¬
sturbed ; at length, by a series of alarms, they were ne¬
cessitated to seek, during the summer, some lonely safe
habitation.
On the contrary, those that build or lay in tbe al¬
most inaccessible rocks that impend over the British
seas, breed there still in vast numbers, having little to
fear from the approach of mankind : the only disturb¬
ance they meet with in general being from the despe¬
rate attempts of some few to get their eggs.
Cloven-footed Water-fowl.
15. Herons. The white heron is an uncommon
bird, and visits us at uncertain seasons; the common
kind and the bittern never leave us.
16. Curlews. The curlew breeds sometimes on our
mountains: but, considering the vast flights that ap^
pear in winter, it is probable that the greater part
retire to other countries : the whimbrel breeds on the
Grampian hills, in the neighbourhood of Invercauld,
17. Snipes. The woodcock breeds in the moist
woods of Sweden, and other cold countries. Some
snipes breed here, but the greatest part retire else¬
where : as do every other species of this genus.
18 Sandpipers. The lapwing continues here the
whole year; the ruff breeds here, but retires in winter;
the
M I G
[ 80 ]
•ulion. the redshank ami sandpiper breed m tins country, and
 1 reside here. All the others absent themselves during
summer. , , ,
in. Plovers and oyster-catcher. The long-legged
plover and sanderling visit us only in winter; the dot¬
trel appears in spring and in autumn ; yet, what is very
singular, we do not find it breeds in South Britain.
The oyster-catcher lives with us the whole year, ihe
Norfolk plover and sea-lark breed in England. Ihe
preen plover breeds on the mountains ot the north ot
England, and on the Grampian hills.
We must here remark, that every species of the ge¬
nera of curlews, woodcocks, sandpipers, and plovers,
that forsakes us in the spring, retires to Sweden, l o-
land, Prussia, Norway, and Lapland, to breed : as soon
as the young can ily, they return to us again, because
the frosts which set in early in those countries totally
deprive them of the means of subsisting ; as the dry¬
ness and hardness of the ground, in general, during our
summer, prevent them from penetrating the earth with
their bills, in search of worms, which are the natural
food of these birds. Mr Ekmark speaks thus of the
yetreat of the whole tribe of cloven-footed water-fowl
out of his country (Sweden) at the approach of win¬
ter ; and Mr Klein gives much the same account of
those ef Poland and Prussia.
20. Rails andgallimdes. Every species of these two
genera continues with us the whole year; the land-rail
excepted, which is not seen here in winter. It likewise
continues in Ireland only during the summer months,
w/hen they are very numerous, as Mr Smith tells us m
the History of Waterford, p. 336. Great numbers ap¬
pear in Anglesea the latter end ot May ; it is supposed
that they pass over from Ireland, the passage between
the two islands being but small. As we have instances
of these birds lighting on ships in the Channel and the
bay of Biscay, we may conjecture their winter quarters
to be in Spain.
Finned-footed Water Birds.
21. Phalaropes. Visit us but seldom ; their breeding
place is Lapland, and other arctic regions.
22. Grebes. The great crested grebe, the black and
white grebe, and little grebe, breed with us, and never
migrate; the others visit us accidentally, and breed in
Lapland.
. Web-footed Birds.
23. Avoset. Breed near Fossdike in Lincolnshire,
but quit their quarters in winter. They are then shot
in different parts of the kingdom, which they visit, not
regularly, but accidentally.
24. Auks and guillemots. The great auk or pinguin
sometimes breeds in St Kilda. I he auk, the guillemot,
and puffin, inhabit most of the maritime cliffs of Great
Britain, in amazing numbers, during summer. The
black guillemot breeds in the Bass isle, and in St Kilda,
and sometimes in Llandidno rocks. We are at a loss
for the breeding place of the other species ; neither can
we be very certain of the winter residence of any of
them excepting of the lesser guillemot and black-billed
auk, which, during winter, visit in vast flocks the frith
of Forth.
25. Divers. These chiefly breed m the lakes of
Sweden and Lapland, and in some countries near the
2
M I G
pole; but some of the red-throated divers, the northern MEratian
and the imber, may breed in the north of Scotland and
its isles.
26. Demis. Every species breeds here ; but leaves
us in the winter.
27. Petrels. The fulmar breeds in the isle of St
Kilda, and continues there the whole year except Sep¬
tember and part of October : the shearwater visits the
isle of Man in April; breeds there ; and, leaving it in
August or the beginning of September, disperses over
all parts of the Atlantic ocean. The stormfinch is
seen at all distances from land on the same vast Watery
ti'act; nor is ever found near the shore except by some
very rare accident unless in the breeding season. Mr
Pennant found it on some little rocky isles ofl the north
of Skye. It also breeds in St Kilda. He also suspects
that it nestles on the Blasquet isles oft- Kerry, and that
it is the gourder of Mr Smith.
28. Mergansers. This whole genus is mentioned
among the birds that fill the Lapland lakes during sum¬
mer. Mr Pennant has seen the young of the red-breast¬
ed in the north of Scotland : a lew ol these, and perhaps
of the goosanders, may breed there.
2Q. Ducks. Of the numerous species that form this
genus, we know ol few that breed here: J he swan and
goose, the shield duck, the eider duck, a few shovelers,
garganieS; - and teals, and a very small portion of the
wild ducks.
The rest contribute to form that amazing multi¬
tude of water-fowl that annually repair from most parts
of Europe to the woods and lakes of Lapland and
other arctic regions, there to perform the functions of
incubation and nutrition in full security. They and
their young quit their retreat in September, and dis¬
perse themselves over Europe. With us they make
their appearance the beginning of October ; circulate
first round our shores ; and, when compelled by severe
frost, betake themselves to our lakes and rivers. 01
the web-footed fowl there are some of hardier consti¬
tutions than others : these endure the ordinary winters
of the more northern countries ; but when the cold
reigns there with more than common rigour, they repair
for shelter to these kingdoms : this regulates the ap¬
pearance of some of the diver kind, as also of the wild
swans, the sWallow-tailed shield duck, and the different
sorts of goosanders winch then visit our coasts. Larenta
found the barnacles with their nests in great numbers
in Nova Zembla. (Collect. Roy. Dutch East~India
Company, 8vo, 1703, p. 19.). Clusius, in his AToG 368.
also observes, that the Dutch discovered them on the
rocks of that country and in Waygate straits. They,
as well as the other species of wild geese, go very far
north to breed, as appears from the histories of Green¬
land and Spitzbergen, by Egede and Crantz. These
birds seem to make Iceland a resting place, as Horre-
bow observes : few continue there to breed, but only
visit that island in the spring, and after a short stay re¬
tire still further north.
30. Corvorants. The corvorant and shag breed on
most of our high rocks: the gannet in some ol the
Scotch isles and on the coast of Kerry : the two first
continue on our shores the whole year. The gannet
disperses itself all round the seas of Great Britain, in
pursuit of the herring and pilchard, and even as far as
the Tagus to prey on the sardina.
But
;i> ration
S
;uments
inst mi-
i tion.
MIG [8
But of the numerous species of fowl here enumerat¬
ed, it may be observed how very few intrust them¬
selves to us in the breeding season, and what a distant
flight they make to perform the first great dictate ot na¬
ture.
There seems to be scarcely any but what we have
traced to Lapland, a country of lakes, rivers, swamps,
and alps, covered with thick and gloomy forests, that
afibrd shelter during summer to these fowls, which in
winter disperse over the greatest part of Europe. In
those arctic regions, by reason of the thickness of the
woods, the ground remains moist and penetrable to the
woodcocks, and other slender-billed fowl: and for the
web-footed birds, the waters afford larvae innumerable
of the tormenting gnat. The days there are long •, and
the beautiful meteorous nights indulge them with every
opportunity of collecting so minute a food : whilst man¬
kind is very sparingly scattered over that vast northern
waste.
Why then should Linnaeus, the great explorer of
these rude deserts, be ama/.ed at the myriads of water-
fowl that migrated with him out of Lapland ? which
exceeded in multitude the army of Xerxes $ covering,
for eight whole days and nights, the surface of the river
Calix ! His partial observation as a botanist, would
confine their food to the vegetable kingdom, almost
denied to the Lapland waters $ inattentive to a more
plenteous table of insect food, which the all-bountiful
Creator had -spread for them in the wilderness. It may
be remarked, that the lakes of mountainous rocky
countries in general are destitute of plants : few or
none are seen on those of Switzerland j and Linnaeus
makes the same observation in respect to those of Lap-
land *, having, during his whole tour, discovered only
a single specimen of a lemma trisculca, or “ ivy-leaved
duck’s meat,” Flora Lap. N° 470. •, a few of the scir-
pus lacustris, or “ bulrush,” N° 18. •, the alopecurus
geniculatus, or “ flote foxtail-grass,” N® 38.; and the
ranunculus aquatilis, N° 234. j which are all he enu¬
merates in his Prolegomena to that excellent perform¬
ance.
We shall afterwards state the principal arguments for
and against the migration of swallows ; but here we
shall give a short abstract of the arguments used by the
Hon. Daines Barrington against the migration of birds
in general, from a paper published by him in the 62d
volume of the Philosophical Transactions. This gen¬
tleman denies that any well-attested instances can be
produced of this supposed migration ; which, he thinks,
if there were any such periodical flight, could not possi¬
bly have escaped the frequent observation of seamen.
It has indeed been asserted that birds of passage become
invisible in their flight, because they rise too high in the
air to be perceived, and because they choose the night
for their passage. The author, however, expresses his
doubts “ whether any bird was ever seen to rise to a
greater height than perhaps twice that of St Paul’s
cross and he further endeavours to show, that the
extent of some of these supposed migrations (from the
northern parts of Europe, for instance, to the line) is
too great to be accounted for, by having recourse to the
argument founded on a nocturnal passage.
The author next recites, in a chronological order,
all the instances that he has been able to collect,' of
birds having been actually seen by mariners when they
Vol. XIV. Part I. t
I ] MIG
were crossing a large extent of sea j and he endeavours Migration,
to show that no stress can be laid on the few casual1'
observations of this kind that have been produced in
support of the doctrine of a regular and periodical mi¬
gration.
Mr Barrington afterwards proceeds to invalidate M.
Adanson’s celebrated observation with respect to the
migration of the swallow in particular, and which has
been considered by many as perfectly decisive of the
present question. He endeavours to show that the four
swallows which that naturalist caught, on their settling
upon his ship, on the 6th of October, at about the dis¬
tance of 50 leagues from the coast of Senegal, and
which he supposes to have been then proceeding from
Europe to pass the winter in Africa, could not be true
European swallows j or, if they were, could not have
been on their return from Europe to Africa. His ob¬
jections are founded principally on some proofs which
he produces of M. Adanson’s want of accuracy on this
subject, which has led him, in the present instance, to
mistake two African species of the swallow tribe, de¬
scribed and engraved by Brisson, for European swallows,
to which they bear a general resemblance j or grant¬
ing even that they were European swallows, he con¬
tends that they were flitting from the Cape de Verd
islands to the coast of Africa; “ to which short flight,
however, they were unequal, and accordingly fell into * NaUira*
the sailors hands.”—We shall here only add, in oppo- History of
sition to the remarks of Mr Barrington, the following
observations of the Rev. Mr White* in a letter to Mr^1^1*'
Pennant on this subject. 6
“ We must not (says he) deny migration in general ; Arguments
because migration certainly does subsist in some places,111, .sllPPort
as my brother in Andalusia has fully informed me. Of01
the motions of these birds he has ocular demonstration,
for many weeks together, both spring and fall: during
which periods myriads of the swallow kind traverse the
Straits from north to south, and from south to north,
according to the season. And these vast migrations
consist not only of hiimndines, but of bee-birds, hoo¬
poes, oro pendolos or golden thrushes, &.c. &c. and
also of many of our soft-billed summer birds of passage j
and moreover of birds which never leave us, such as all
the various sorts of hawks and kites. Old Belon, 200
years ago, gives a curious account of the incredible
armies of hawks and kites which he saw in the spring
time traversing the Thracian Bosphorus from Asia to
Europe. Besides the above mentioned, he remarks
that the procession is swelled by whole troops of eagles
and vultures.
“ Now it is no wonder that birds residing in Africa
should retreat before the sun as it advances, and retire
to milder regions, and especially birds of prey, whose
blood being heated writh hot animal food, are more im¬
patient of a sultry climate : but then I cannot help
wondering why kites and hawks, and such hardy birds
as are known to defy all the severity of England, and
even of Sweden and all northern Europe, should want to
migrate from the south of Europe, and be dissatisfied
with the winters of Andalusia.
“ It does not appear to me that much stress may be
laid on the difficulty and hazard that birds must run in
their migrations, by reason of vast oceans, cross winds,
&c. ; because, if we reflect, a bird may travel fr-om
England to the equator without launching out and ex-
L posing
MIG [82
Migration, posing itself to boundless seas j and that by crossing the
* —-y— '■' water at Dover and again at Gibraltar. And l with
the more confidence advance this obvious remark, be¬
cause my brother has always found that some of his
birds, and particularly the swallow kind, are very spa¬
ring of their pains in crossing the Mediterranean : for
■when arrived at Gibraltar, they do not,
]
rang’d in figure, wedge their way,
-“ and set forth
“ Their airy caravan high over seas
“ Flying, and over lands with mutual wing
Easing their flight1
Milton.
tiucstioii,
What be¬
comes of
hut scout and hurry along in little detached parties of
six or seven in a company ; and sweeping low, just over
the surface of the land and water, direct their course to
the opposite continent at the narrowest passage they can
find. They usually slope across the bay to the south¬
west, and so pass over opposite to Tangier, which it
seems is the narrowest space.
“ In former letters we have considered whether it
was probable that woodcocks in moon-shiny nights
cross the German ocean from Scandinavia. As a proof
that birds of less speed may pass that sea, considerable
as it is, I shall relate the following incident, which,
though mentioned to have happened so many years
ago, was strictly matter of fact:—As some people
were shooting in the parish of Trotton, in the county
of Sussex, they killed a duck in that dreadful winter
1708-9, with a silver collar about its neck (1 have
read a like anecdote of a swan), on which were en¬
graven the arms of the king of Denmark. This anec¬
dote the rector of Trotton at that time has often told
to a near relation of mine ; and, to the best of my re¬
membrance, the collar was in the possession of the rec¬
tor.
“ At present I do not know any body near the sea
side that will take the trouble to remark at what time
of the moon woodcocks first come. One thing I used
to observe when I was a sportsman, that there were
times in which woodcocks were so sluggish and sleepy
that they would drop again w'hen flushed just before
the spaniels, nay, just at the muzzle of a gun that had
been fired at them: whether this strange laziness was
the effect of a recent fatiguing journey, I shall not pre¬
sume to say.
“ Nightingales not only never reach Northumber¬
land and Scotland, but also, as I have been always told,
Devonshire and Cornwall. In those two last counties
wre cannot attribute the failure of them to the want of
warmth : the defect in the west is rather a presumptive
argument that these birds come over to us from the
continent at the narrowest passage, and do not stimuli so
far westward.”
Upon the subject of the migration of the swallow
there are three opinions. Some say that it migrates to
,1 • a warmer climate : some, that it retires to hollow trees
swallows in . 7 . .. , . .
winter? ant* caverns, where it lies in a torpid state } and others
have affirmed, that it lies in the same state in the bot¬
tom of lakes and under the ice. The first opinion is
supported by Marsigli, Kay, W illoughby, Catesby,
Reaumur, Adanson, Bufl’on, &c. The first and second
opinion are both adopted by Pennant and White. The
third is sanctioned by Schaeffer, Hevelius, Derham,
Klein, Ellis, Linnaeus, Kalm : and the second and
MIG
third have been strongly defended by the honourable Migotld
Daines Barrington. ^ 'j
Though we cannot help giving a preference to that
opinion which appears the most probable, yet we do not
think that any one of them is established upon such evi¬
dence as so curious a subject requires, and as the advan¬
ced state of natural history would lead us to expect.
We shall therefore state the arguments upon which each
opinion is founded as fairly and distinctly as we can,
and as often as possible in the very words of their re¬
spective advocates. By doing so, we shall place the
whole subject before the eyes of our readers, who will
thus have an opportunity of examining it attentively,
and of making such observations and experiments as may
lead to the truth. g
Those who assert that the swallow migrates to a war- First oy
mer country in winter, argue in this manner: Tim' monst;.-#
many birds migrate, is a fact fully proved by the ob-er- ‘ tiu‘
vations of natural historians. Is it not more probable, '
therefore, that swallows, which disappear regularly mates.
every season, retire to some other country, than that
they lie in a state of torpor in caverns or lakes ? But
this opinion does not rest on probability, it is founded
on facts.
We often see them collected in great flocks on chur¬
ches, rocks, and trees, about the time when they an¬
nually disappear. The direction of their flight has been
observed to be southward. Mr White, the ingenious
historian of Selborne, travelling near the coast of the
British Channel one morning early, saw a flock ofp
swallows take their departure. At the beginning of his
journey he was environed with a thick fog •, but on a
large wild heath the mist began to break, and discover¬
ed to him numberless swallows, clustered on the stand¬
ing bushes, as if they had roosted there : as soon as the
sun burst out, they were instantly on wing, and with an
easy and placid flight proceeded towards the sea. After
this he saw no more flocks, only now and then a straggler.
Mr Laskey of Exeter observed attentively the direc¬
tion which a flock of swallows took in the autumn of
1793. On the 22d of Sept, about seven o’clock in the
morning, the wind being easterly, accompanied with a
cold drizzling rain, Mr Laskey’s house was entirely
covered with house-sw’allows. At intervals large flocks
arrived and joined the main body, and at their ar¬
rival an unusual chirping commenced. The appear¬
ance of the whole company was so lethargic, that he
found it an easy matter to catch a considerable numberM |
of them, which he kept in a room all that day.
heating the room they all revived : he opened four of
them, and found their stomachs quite full. The main
body occupied the house top all day, except for two
hours. About halt an hour after nine in the morning
of the 23d, there was a great commotion, with very
loud chirping, and within a few minutes after, the
whole multitude took their flight, in a direct south-east
direction, having ascended to a great height in the at¬
mosphere. He let go the birds wh.ch he had caught,
at certain intervals till four o’clock, and they all flew
toward the same quarter.
Not only has the direction of their flight been obser¬
ved, but they have also been found on their passage at
a great distance from land. Mr Adanson informs us,
that about 50 leagues from the coast of Senegal four
swallows settled upon the ship on the 6th of October j
that
MIG [ 83 J MIG
Lotation that those birds were taken j and that he knew them to
< be European swallows, which, he conjectures, were
returning to the coast of Africa. Sir Charles Wager’s
lUosophi authority may also be appealed to : “ Returning homo
; Trans, (says he) in the spring of the year, as I came into
'ions, soundings in our channel, a great flock of swallows
'• hd- came and settled on all my rigging j every rope was
covered, they hung on one another like a swarm of
bees j the decks and carving were filled with them.
They seemed almost famished and spent, and were only
feathers and bones ; but, being recruited with a night’s
rest, took their flight in the morning.” This vast fa¬
tigue proves that their journey must have been very great,
considering the amazing swiftness of these birds : in all
probability they had crossed the Atlantic ocean, and
were returning from the shores of Senegal, or other parts
of Africa ; so that this account from that most able and
honest seaman, confirms the later information of Mr
Adanson.
Mr Kalm, who is an advocate for the opinion that
swallows lie immersed in lakes during winter, acknow¬
ledges that in crossing the Atlantic from Europe a
swallow lighted on the ship on the 2d September, when
■aim's it had passed only two-thirds of the ocean. Since,
oyage, therefore, swallows have been seen assembled in great
'!• i- P'^-flocks in autumn flying off in company towards southern
climes, since they have been found both in their passage
: condopi-
1 3n that
.ne lie
I caverns
a torpid
te.
nnant's
■itish
)ologv,
1. ii,
25°*
from Europe and returning again, can there be any
doubt of their annual migration?—Mr Barrington’s
objections to this opinion have been noticed above in
Nb 5.
The second notion (says Mr Pennant) has great anti¬
quity on its side. Aristotle and Pliny give it as their
belief, that swallows do not remove very far from their
summer habitation, but winter in the hollows of rocks,
and during that time lose their feathers. The former
part of their opinion has been adopted by several inge¬
nious men ; and of late several proofs have been brought
of some species, at least, having been discovered in a
torpid state. Mr Collinson favoured us with the evi¬
dence of three gentlemen, eye-witnesses to numbers of
sand martins being drawn out ot a cliff on the Rhine,
in the month of March 1762. And the honourable
Daines Barrington communicated to us the following
fact, on the authority of Lord Belhaven, That numbers
of swallows have been found in old dry walls and in
sand-hills near his Lordship’s seat in East Lothian ; not
once only, but from year to year j and that when they
were exposed to the warmth of a fire, they revived.
We have also heard of the same annual discoveries near
Morpeth in Northumberland, but cannot speak of them
with the same assurance as the two former : neither in
the two last instances are we certain of the particular
species.
“ Other witnesses crowd on us to prove the residence
of those birds in a torpid state during the severe season.
First, in the chalky cliffs of Sussex *, as was seen on the
fall of a great fragment some years ago. Secondly, In
a decayed hollow tree that was cut down, near Dolgel-
ii, in Merionethshire. Thirdly, In a cliff near Whitby,
Yorkshire j where, on digging out a fox, whole bushels
of swallows were found in a torpid condition. And,
lastly, The reverend Air Conway of Sychton, I lint-
shire, was so obliging as to communicate the following
fact: A few years ago, on looking down an old lead-
mine in that county, he observed numbers of swallows Migration.
clinging to the timbers of the shaft, seemingly, asleep ;' v—
and on flinging some gravel on them, they just moved,
but never attempted to fly or-change their place : this
Avas between All Saints and Christmas.
“ These are doubtless the lurking places of the later
hatches, or of those young birds which are incapable ot
distant migrations. There they continue insensible and
rigid j hut like flies may sometimes he reanimated' by
an unseasonable hot day in the midst of winter : lor very
near Christmas a few appeared on the moulding ot a
window of Merton college, Oxford, in a remarkably
warm nook, which prematurely set their blood in mo¬
tion, having the same effect as laying them before a
fire at the same time of year. Others have been known
to make this premature appearance ■, but as soon as the
cold natural to the season returns, they withdraw again
to their former retreats.
“ The above are circumstances we cannot but assent
to, though seemingly contradictory to the common course,
of nature in regard to other bii’ds. We must, therefore,
divide our belief relating to these two so different opi¬
nions $ and conclude, that one part of the swallow tribe
migrate, and that others have their winter quarters
near home. If it should he demanded, why swallows
alone are found in a torpid state, and not the other
many species of soft-billed birds, which likewise dis¬
appear about the same time ? reasons might be assign¬
ed.” 4 10
The third opinion we shall state and support in the Third opw
words of Air Kalm. “ Natural history (says he), asni°n, that
all other histories, depends not always upon the intrin-?”^b^
sic degree of probability, but upon facts founded on thein water,
testimony of people of noted .veracity.—Swallows are
seldom seen sinking down into water j swallows have
not such organs as frogs or lizards, which are torpid
during winter $ ergo, swallows live not, and cannot
live, under water'.—This way of arguing, I believe,
would carry us, in a great many cases, too far : for
though it is not clear to every one, it may however be
true j and lizards and frogs are animals of a class widely
different from that of birds, and must therefore of course
have a different structure ; hence it is they arc classed
separately. The bear and marmot are in winter in a
torpid state, and have, however, not such organs as
lizards and frogs; and nobody doubts of their being,
during some time, in the most rigid climates, in a tor¬
pid state : for the Alpine nations hunt the marmots
frequently by digging their holes up; and find them so
torpid, that they cut their throats, without their reviv¬
ing or giving the least sign of life during the operation;
but when the torpid marmot is brought into a warm
room, and placed before the fire, it revives from its
lethargy. The question must therefore be decided by
facts , nor are these wanting here. Dr AYallerius, the
celebrated Swedish chemist, informs us, That he has
seen, more than once, swallows assembling on a reed,
till they were all immersed and went to the bottom ;
this being preceded by a dirge of a quarter of an hour’s
length. He attests likewise, that he had seen a swallow
caught during winter out of a lake with a net, drawn,
as is common in northern countries, under the ice; this
bird was brought into a warm room, revived, fluttered
about, and soon after died.
“ Air Klein applied to many farraers-general of the
L 2 king
M I G
[ «4 J
M I G
Migration, king of Prussia’s domains, who had great lakes in their
1 “v districts, the fishery in them being a part ot the revenue.
In winter the fishery thereon is the most considerable
under the ice, with nets spreading more than 200 or
300 fathoms, and they are often wound by screws and
engines on account of their weight. All the people
that were questioned made affidavits upon oath betore
the magistrates. First, The mother of the countess
Lehndorf said, that she had seen a bundle of swallows
brought from the Fnshe-Haff ^a lake communicating
with the Baltic at Pillaw), which, when brought into
a moderately warm room, revived and fluttered about.
Secondly, Count Schileben gave an instrument on
stamped paper, importing, that by fishing on the lake
belonging to his estate of Gerdauen in winter, he saw
several swallows caught in the net, one of which he
took up in his hand, brought it into a warm room,
where it lay about an hour, when it began to stir, and
half an hour after, it flew about in the room. Thirdly,
Farmer-general (Amtman) Witkouski made affidavit,
that, in the year 1740, three swallows were brought
up with the net in the great pond at Didlacken j in the
year 1741, he got two swallows from another part of
the pond, and took them home (they being all caught
in his presence) 5 after an hour’s space they revived
all in a warm room, fluttered about, and died in tlnee
hours after. Fourthly, Amtman Bonke says, that
having had the estate of Kleskow in farm, he had seen
nine swallows brought up in the net from under the ice,
all which he took into a warm room, where he distinct¬
ly observed how they gradually revived j but a few
hours after they all died. Another time his people got
likewise some swallows in a net, but he ordered them
to be again thrown into the water. Fifthly, Andrew
Rutta, a master fisherman at Oletsko, made affidavit,
in 1747, that 22 years ago, two swallows were taken
up by him in a net, under the ice, and, being brought
into a warm room, they flew about. Sixthly, Jacob
Kosiulo, a master fisherman at Stradauen made affidavit,
that, in 1736, he brought up in winter, in a, net, from
under the ice of the lake at Raski, a seemingly dead
swallow, which revived in half an hour’s time in a
warm room; and he saw, in a quarter of an hour alter,
the bird grow weaker, and soon after dying. Seventh¬
ly, I can reckon myself (says our author) among the
eye-witnesses of this paradox of natural history. In the
year 1735, being a little boy, I saw several swallows
brought in winter by the fishermen from the river
Vistula to my father’s house; where two of them were
brought into a warm room, revived, and flew about. I
saw them several times settling on the warm stove
(which the northern nations have in their rooms); and
t recollect well, that the same forenoon they died, and
I had them, when dead, in my hand. In the year
1754, after the death of my uncle Godefroy VVolf,
captain in the Polish regiment of foot guards, being
myself one of his heirs, I administered for my co-heirs
several estates called the Starosty oj'Dischau, in Polish
Prussia, which my late uncle farmed under the king.
In January, the lake of Lybshaw, belonging to these
estates, being covered with ice, I ordered the fishermen
to fish therein, and in my presence several swallows
were taken, which the fishermen threw in again ; but
one I took up myself, brought it home, which was five
miles from thence, and it revived, but died about an Migmid
hour after its reviving. v*'
“ These are facts attested hy people of the highest
quality, by some in public offices, and by others who,
though of a low rank, however, made these affidavits
upon oath. It is impossible to suppose indiscriminately
that they were prompted, by views of interest, to assert
as a fact a thing which had no truth in it. It is there¬
fore highly probable, or rather incontestably true, that
swallows retire in the northern countries, during winter,
into the water, and stay there in a torpid state till the
return of warmth revives them again in spring. The
question therefore, I believe, ought for the future to
be thus stated : The swallows in Spain, Italy, France,
and perhaps some from England, remove' to warmer
climates ; some English ones, and some in Germany
and other mild countries, retire into clefts and holes in
rocks, and remain there in a torpid state. In the cold¬
er northern countries the swallows immerse in the sea,
in lakes, and rivers ; and remain in a torpid state,
under ice, during winter. There are still some objec¬
tions to this latter assertion, which we must remove.
It is said, Why do not rapacious fish, and aquatic qua¬
drupeds and birds, devour these swallows ? The answer
is obvious, swallows choose only such places in the
water for their winter retreat as are near reeds and
rushes ; so that sinking down there between them and
their roots, they are by them secured against the rapa¬
ciousness of their enemies. But others object, Why are
not these birds caught in such fresh waters as are con¬
tinually harassed by nets ? I believe the same answer
which has been made to the first objection will serve
for this likewise. Fishermen take care to keep oil' with
their nets from places filled with reeds and rushes, for
fear of entangling and tearing their net; and thus the
situation of swallows under water, is the reason that
they are seldom disturbed in their silent winter retreats.
What confirms this opinion still more is, that swallows
were never caught in Prussia according to the above-
mentioned affidavits, but with those parts of the net
which passed near to the reeds and rushes ; and some¬
times the swallows were yet fastened with their feet to
a reed, when they were drawn up by the net. As to
the argument taken from their being so long under
water without corruption, I believe there is a real
difference between animals suffocated in wrater and
animals being torpid therein. We have examples of
things being a long time under water ; to which we
may add the intense cold of these northern regions,
which preserves them. Who would have thought that
snails and polypes might be dissected, and could repro¬
duce the parts severed from their bodies, if it was not a
fact ? Natural history ought to be studied as a collec¬
tion of facts, not as the history of our guesses or opi¬
nions. Nature varies in an infinite manner ; and Pro¬
vidence has diversified the instinct of animals and their
economy, and adapted it to the various seasons and
climates.” „
With Mr Kahn’s concluding observations we hearti- This quo
ly concur. Natural history ought to be studied as a tion pughj
collection of facts; and it was from this very notiont0 be.^e:
that we have stated the above-mentioned opinions so
fully, and brought together the facts which the best s01,ing, bj
advocates for each opinion have judged most proper for by experi
supporting
Migration
:ntle-
an’s Ma-
izine,
ty n96'
12
Ir Hun-
r's expe-
nent in-
nious:
13
t not
cisive
th re-
?ct to
1 them
mates.
MIG [
supporting them. We are sensible of the great impro¬
bability of the third opinion, and know that many ar¬
guments have been used to prove its absurdity: such as
these, The swallow is lighter than water, and therefore
cannot sink 5 if it moults at all, it must moult under
water during its torpid state, which is very improbable j
there is no instance of land animals living so long un¬
der water without respiration. Many other arguments
of the same sort have been advanced, and certainly af¬
ford a short way of deciding the question ; but unless
they were sufficient to prove the immersion of swallows
a physical impossibility, they are of no force when op¬
posed to the evidence of testimony, if there be no cause
to suspect the witnesses of inaccuracy or design. The
true way to refute such an opinion is by accurate obser¬
vation and experiment. We have not heard of any ac¬
curate inquiries being made by philosophers in those
northern countries where swallows are said to pass the
winter under w'ater. The count de Buft’on, indeed,
shut up some swallows in an ice-house by way of experi¬
ment, which died in a few days; but as he does not tell
us what precautions he took to make the experiment
succeed, it is not entitled to any attention.
Mr John Hunter made a very judicious experi¬
ment on the banks of the Thames, which is describ¬
ed by a correspondent in the Gentleman’s Maga¬
zine, who asserts that he had it from Mr Hunter him¬
self.
One year in the month of September, he prepared a
room, with every accommodation and convenience which
he could contrive, to serve as a dormitory for swallows,
if they were disposed to sleep in winter. He placed in
the centre a large tub of water with twigs and reeds,
&c. which reached to the bottom. In the corners of
the room he contrived artificial caverns and holes, into
which they might retire 5 and he laid on the floor, or
suspended in the air, different lengths of old wooden
pipes, which had formerly been employed in conveying
water through the streets, See.
When the receptacle was rendered as complete as
possible, he then engaged some watermen to take by
night a large quantity of the swallows that hang upon
the reeds in the Thames about the time of their depar¬
ture. They brought him, in a hamper, a considerable
number j and had so nicely hit the time of their cap¬
ture, that on the very day following there were none to
be seen.
He put the swallows into the room so prepared,
where they continued to fly about, and occasionally
perch on the twigs, Sic. But not one ever retired into
the water, the caverns, holes, or wooden pipes, or shewed
the least disposition to grow torpid, Sic. In this situa¬
tion he let them remain till they all died but one.
This appearing to retain some vigour, was set at liber¬
ty when it mounted out of sight, and flew away. All
the birds lay dead scattered about the room ; but not
one was found asleep or torpid, or had, if the corres¬
pondent remembers, so much as crept into any of the
receptacles he had so provided.
This experiment was ingenious, and certainly does
render the doctrine of immersion much more improba¬
ble ; but it is not decisive 5 for it may still be urged
by the advocates for that doctrine, as Mr Kalm has
done, that it may only be in the colder countries where
swallows retire into the water. We formerly said that
85 J
M 1 G
none of the three opinions is supported by such evi- Migration,
dence as to satisfy the mind completely. Opinions *-•—v—
respecting events which happen every year ought to
be confirmed by a great number of observations, and
not by a few instances divested of almost all their con¬
comitant circumstances. Can no better proofs be
brought to prove the migration of swallows than those
of Adanson and Sir Charier Wager, or the circumstan¬
ces mentioned by Mr White and Mr Taskey respecting
their disappearing ? We ought not merely to know that
some swallows have taken a southerly flight in autumn,
that some have been found at a great distance from land
in the spring, or in harvest; but we ought to know to
what countries they actually retire. Before we can
rest satisfied, too, that it is a general fact that swallows
remain in a torpid state during winter, either in ca¬
verns or in the bottom of lakes, &c. w’e must have
more proofs j we must know what species of swallows
they are said to be, in what countries this event takes
place, and several other circumstances of the same
kind.
We cannot help being of opinion that much remains Many
to be done in order properly to ascertain what becomes thins8 yet
of the swallows in Europe during winter. It would be ’emain h0
• 10 done in
necessary, in the first place, to know accurately what order to
are the countries in which swallows are found. 2. Ho determine
they remain visible the whole year P or, if they disap-this point,
pear, at what season does this- happen, and when do
they appear again ? 3. Ho they ever appear while a
strong north wind blows, or do they only come in
great numbers with a south wind ? We will endeavour
to answer some of these questions in part; but must re¬
gret, that all the information on this subject which we
have been able to cull from the best writers in natural
history is very scanty j and we merely give it by way
of specimen, hoping that future observations will render
it more complete. 1 -
There are five species which visit Britain during the A few im-
summer months ; the common or chimney swallow, the Portant
martin, sand martin, swift, and goat-sucker, j facts
chimney swallow frequents almost every part of the
old continent; being known (says Hr Latham) from
Norway to the Cape of Good Hope on the one side,
and from Kamtschatka to India and Japan on the other.
It is also found in all parts of North America, and in
several of the West Indian islands. In Europe it dis¬
appears during the winter months. It appears general¬
ly a little after the vernal equinox ; but rather earlier
in the southern, and later in the northern latitudes. It
adheres to the usual seasons with much regularity ; for
though the months of February and March should be
uncommonly mild, and April and May remarkably
cold, it never deviates from its ordinary time. In the
cold spring of 1740 some appeared in France before
the insects on which they feed had become numerous
enough to support them, and great numbers died f. f Buff'o/i's
In the mild and even warm spring of 1774 they ap- ^aturul
peared no earlier than usual. They remain in some°
warm countries the whole year. Kolben assures usvol. vi.
that this is the case at the Cape of Good Hope; butp- S27-
(he says) they are more numerous in winter. Some
birds of this species live, during winter, even in Eu¬
rope ; for example on the coast of Genoa, where they
spend the night in the open country on the orange
shrubs.
2. The
MIG [86
Migiatisu. 2. The martins are also widely diffused through the
u——V“—' old continent; but the countries where they reside or
visit have not been marked by naturalists with much
attention. 3. The sand martins are found in every part
t Ibid. 527. of Europe, and frequently spend the winter in Malta
Two birds of this species wrere seen in Perigord in
France, on the 27th December 1775, when there was
jj 484.a southerly wind, attended with a little rain ||. 4. The
swift visits the whole continent of Europe •, has also
been observed at the Cape of Good Hope, and in Ca¬
rolina in North America. , The goat suckers are not
very common birds, yet are widely scattered. They
are found in every country between Sweden and Afri¬
ca : they are found also in India. In April the south¬
west wind brings them to Malta, and in autumn they
repass in great numbers.
Trunsac- Mr Markwick of Catsfield, near Battle in Sussex,
tiomofthe |ias drawn up an accurate table, expressing the day of
^nr?pt!!>l ^ie month on which the birds, commonly called migra¬
tory, appeared in spring, and disappeared in autumn,
for 16 years, from 1768 to 1783 inclusive. The ob¬
servations were made at Catsfield. From this table we
shall extract the dates for five years, and add the very
few observations which we have been able to collect re¬
specting the time when the swallow appears and disap¬
pears in other countries.
Society,
vol. i.
Chimney Swallow
Martins
Sand Martin
Swift
Chimney Swallow
Martins
Sand Martin
Swift
Chimney Swallow
Martins
Sand Martin
Swift
Chimney Swallow
Martins
Sand Martin
Swift
Chimney Swallow
Martins
Sand Martin
Swift
First seen,
1779.
April 14.
I4-
May 7.
9-
1780.
April 29.
8.
May 6.
1781.
April 8.
May 1 2.
April 26.
May 12.
1782.
April 22.
26.
May 15.
18.
April 1 3.
May 1.
July 25.
May 13.
Last seen.
October 29.
I5*
November 3.
3-
September 8.
8.
October 15.
September 7.
September 1.
1.
September 1.
November 2.
August 28.
28.
November 6.
6.
September 1.
November 6.
Cluai. Swal.
Swifts Martins.
Appear about
Ap. 9.
Ap 24. Ap 30.
S Mart.
Ap. 12.
f Buff on, In Burgundy f
ibid In Selborne, Hampshire | Ap. 4.
f White s In South Zele, Devonshire [ 25.' May 1. May
Natural In Blackburn, Lane a-hi re ; 29. Ap. 28.
History of In Upsal in Sweden § May 9.
Selborne.
Were tables of the same kind made in every different
country, particularly within the torrid zone, it would
be easy to determine the question which we have been
considering. To many, perhips, it may not appear a
matter of such importance as to be worth the labour.
4
§ Buffon,
ibid.
] ,M I G
We acknowledge it to be rather a curious than an im- Migration,
portant inquiryyet it is one which must be highly Miguel,
gratifying to every mind that can admire the wisdom
of the Great Architect of nature. The instinct of the
swallow is indeed wonderful: it appears among us just
at the time when insects become numerous j and it con¬
tinues with us during the hot weather, in order to pre¬
vent them from multiplying too much. It disappears
when these insects are no longer troublesome. It-is ne¬
ver found in solitude ; it is the friend of man, and al¬
ways takes up its residence with us, that it may pro¬
tect our houses and our streets from being annoyed with
swarms of flies.
Migration of Fishes. See Clupea.
St MIGUEL, or St Michael, one of the Azorc
islands, situated in W. Long. 25. 45. N. Lat. 38. 10.
This island appears to be entirely volcanic. The best
account we have of it hath been published in the 68th
volume of the Philosophical Transactions by Mr Fran¬
cis Masson. According to him, the productions differ
greatly from those of Madeira, insomuch that none of
the trees of the latter are found here, except the faya :
it has a nearer affinity to Europe than Africa The
mountains are covered with the erica vulgaris, and an
elegant evergreen shrub very like a pbillyrea, which
gives them a most beautiful appearance.
It is one of the principal and most fertile of the Azo¬
rian islands, lying nearly east and west. Its length is
about 18 or 20 leagues ; its breadth unequal, not ex¬
ceeding five leagues, and in some places not more than
two. It contains about 80,^00 inhabitants.
Its capital, the city of Ponta del Guda, which con¬
tains about 12,000 inhabitants, is situated on the south
side of the island, on a fine fertile plain country, pretty
regularly built 5 the streets straight, and of a good
breadth. It is supplied with good water, which is
brought about the distance of three leagues from the
neighbouring mountains. The churches and other
religious edifices ai-e elegant and well built for such an
island. There is a large convent of Franciscan friars
and one of the order of St Augustine, four convents
for professed nuns, and three Ricolhimentos for young
women and widows who are not professed. The ves¬
sels anchor in an open road ; but it is not dangerous,
as no wind can prevent their going to sea in case of
stormy weather.
The country round the city is plain for several
miles, well cultivated, and laid out with good taste in¬
to spacious fields, which are sown with wheat, barley,
Indian corn, pulse, &c. and commonly produce an¬
nually two crops ; for as soon as one is taken off, an¬
other is immediately sown in its place. The soil is
remarkably gentle and easy to work, being for the
most part composed of pulverized pumice stone. There
are in the plains a number of pleasant count!y seats,
with orchards of orange trees, wdiich are esteemed the
best in Europe.
The second town is Ribeira Grande, situated on the
north side of the island, containing about as many inha¬
bitants as the city 5 a large convent of Franciscan
friars, and one of nuns. It gives title to a count, cal¬
led the Conde Ribeira Grande, who first instituted
linen and woollen manufactories in the island.
The third town is Villa Franca, on the south side
of the island, about six leagues east of Ponta del Guda.
It
MIG L 87 ] MIG
It has a convent of Franciscan friars and one of nuns,
which contains about 300. Here, about half a mile
from the shore, lies a small island (Ilhao), which is
hollow in the middle, and contains a fine bason with
only one entrance into it, fit to hold 50 sail of vessels
secure from all weather ; at present it wants cleaning
out, as the winter rain washes down great quantities
of earth into it, which has greatly diminished its depth.
But vessels frequently anchor between this island and
the main.
Besides these towns are several smaller, viz. Alagao,
Agoa de Pao, Brelanha, Fanaes de Ajuda, and a num¬
ber of hamlets, called h/gars or places.
About four leagues north-east from Villa Franca,
lies a place called the Furnas, being a round deep valley
in the middle of the east part of the island, surrounded
with high mountains, which, though steep, may be
easily ascended on horseback, by two roads. The
valley is about five or six leagues in circuit. The face
of the mountains, which are very steep, is entirely co¬
vered with beautiful evergreens, viz. myrtles, laurels, a
large species of bilberry called uva de serra, &c. and
numberless rivulets of the purest water run down their
sides. The valley below is well cultivated, producing
Wheat, Indian corn, flax, Stc. The fields are planted
round with a beautiful sort of poplars, which grow into
pyramidal forms, and by their careless in-egular disposi¬
tion, together with multitude of rivulets, which run
in all directions through the valley, a number of boil¬
ing fountains throwing up clouds of steam, a fine lake
in the south-west part about two leagues round, compose
a prospect the finest that can be imagined. In the bot¬
tom of the valley the roads are smoot h and easy, there
being no rocks, but a fine pulverized pumice stone that
the earth is composed of.
There are numerous hot fountains in different parts
of the valley, and also on the sides of the moun¬
tains : but the most remarkable is that called the c/?al-
deira, situated in the eastern part of the valley, on a
small eminence by the side of a river, on which is a
bason about 30 feet diameter, where the water conti¬
nually boils with prodigious fury. A few yards di¬
stant from it is a cavern in the side of the bank, in
which the water boils in a dreadful manner, throwing
out a thick, muddy, unctuous water, several yards from
its mouth with a hideous noise. In the middle of the
river are several places where the water boils up so hot,
that a person cannot dip his finger into it without being
scalded 5 also along its banks are several apertures, out
of which the steam rises to a considerable height, so
hot that there is no approaching it with one’s hand : in
other places, a person would think that too smiths
bellows were blowing altogether, and sulphureous
steams issuing out in thousands of places; so that na¬
tive sulphur is found in every chink, and the ground
covered with it like hoar frost ; even the hushes that
happen to lie near these places are covered with pure
brimstone, condensing from the steam that issues out
of the ground, which in many places is covered over
with a substance like burnt alum. In these small ca¬
verns from which the steam issues, the people often boil
their yams.
Near these boiling fountains are several mineral
springs ; two in particular, whose waters have a very
strong quality, of an acid taste, and bitter to the
tongue.
About half a mile to the westward, and close by the
river side, are several hot springs, which are used by
sick people with great success. Also, on the side of a
hill west of St Anne’s church, are many others, with
three bathing houses, which are most commonly used.
These waters are very warm, although not boiling hot ;
but at the same place issue several streams of cold mine¬
ral water, by which they are tempered, according to
every one’s liking.
About a mile south of this place, and over a low
ridge of hills lies a fine lake about two leagues in cir¬
cumference, and very deep, the water thick, and of a
greenish colour. At the north end is a plain piece of
ground, where the sulphureous steams issue out in many
places, attended with a surprising blowing noise. Our
author could observe strong springs in the lake, but
could not determine whether they were hot or cold : this
lake seems to have no visible evacuation The other
springs immediately form a considerable river, called.
Ribeira Quente, which runs a course about two or three
leagues, through a deep rent in the mountains, on each
side of which are several places where the smoke issues
out. It discharges itself into the sea on the south side,
near which are some places where the water boils up at
some distance in the sea.
This wonderful place had been taken little notice
of until very lately : so little curiosity had the gentle¬
men of the island, that scarcely any of them had seen
it, until of late some persons, afflicted with very viru¬
lent disorders, were persuaded to try its waters, and
found immediate relief from them. Since that time it
has become more and more frequented; several per¬
sons who had lost the use of their limbs by the dead
palsy have been cured •, and also others who were
troubled with eruptions on their bodies.
A clergyman, who was greatly afflicted with the
gout, tried the said waters, ami was in a short time per¬
fectly cured, and has had no return of it since. AYhen
Mr Masson was there, several old gentlemen, who were
quite worn out with the said disorder, were using the
waters, and had rceived incredible benefit from them;
in particular, an old gentleman about 60 years of age,
who had been tormented with that disorder more than
20 years, and often confined to his bed for six months
together: he had used these waters for about three
weeks, had quite recovered the use of his limbs, and
walked about in the greatest spirits imaginable. A
friar also who bad been troubled with the said disorder
about 12 years and reduced to a cripple, by using them
a short time was quite well, and went a-hunting every
day.
1'here are several other hot springs in the island,
particularly at Ribeira Grand ; but they do not pos¬
sess the same virtues, at least not in so great a de¬
gree.
The east and west part of the island rises into high
mountains', but the middle is low, interspersed with
round conic hills, all of which have very recent marks
of fire *, all the parts below the surface consisting of
melted lava lying very hollow.
Most of the mountains to the westward have their
tops hollowed out like a punch bowl, and contain wa¬
ter.
Miguel,
Milan.
MIL [ 88 ]
ter. Near the west end is an immense deep valley
like the Furnas, called the Sete Cidades. 'I bis valley
' is surrounded with very abrupt mountains, about se\ en
or eight leagues round j in the bottom is a deep lake
of water about three leagues in circuit, furnished
with great numbers of water fowls. Ibis water has
no mineral quality j neither are there any hot springs
in the valley. All these mountains are composed of a
white crumbly pumice stone, which is so loose, that
if a person thrust a stick into the banks, whole wag¬
gon loads of it will tumble down. The inhabitants
of the island relate a story, that he who first discovered
it observed an extraordinary high peak near the west
end} but the second time he visited it, no such peak
was to be seen, which he supposed must have certainly
sunk j but, however improbable this story may be, at
some period or other it must have certainly been the
case. See Azores, Supplement.
MILAN, or the duchy of the Milanese, a coun¬
try of Italy, bounded on the west by Savoy, Pied¬
mont, and Montferrat j by Switzerland on the north j
by the territories of Venice, the duchies of Mantua,
Parma, and Placentia on the east 5 and by the ter¬
ritories of Genoa on the south. It is 150 miles long,
and 78 broad. ...
Anciently this duchy, containing the north part
of the old Liguria, was called Insubria, from its
inhabitants the Insubres; who were conquered by
the Romans, as these were by the Goths-, who in
their turn were subdued by the Lombards. . Di-
dier, the last king of the Lombards, was taken prisoner
by Charlemagne, who put an end to the Longobardic
empire, and appointed governors of Milan. These go¬
vernors being at a distance from their masters, soon
began to assume an independency, which brought a
dreadful calamity on the country j for, in 1152, the
capital itself was levelled with the ground by the em¬
peror Frederic Barbarossa, who committed great de¬
vastations otherwise throughout the duchy. Undei
this emperor lived one Galvian, a nobleman who was
descended from Otho a Milanese. Galvian, along
with William prince of Montferrat, served m the
crusade, when Godfrey of Boulogne took Jerusalem .
he killed in single combat the Saracen general, whom
he stripped of his helmet, which was adorned with the
image of a serpent swrallowing a youth ; and this ever
afterwards was the badge of that family. His giand-
son Galvian, having opposed the emperor, was taken
prisoner, and carried in irons into Germany, from
whence he made his escape, and returning to Milan,
died in the service of his country. From him descend¬
ed another Otho, at the time that Otho IV. was em¬
peror of Germany, and who soon distinguished him¬
self by the accomplishments both of his mind and bo¬
dy. When he grew up, he was received into the
family of Cardinal Octavian Ubaldini at Rome. This
prelate, who was himself aspiring at the popedom,
was in a short time greatly taken with the address and
accomplishments of young Otho, and predicted his
future greatness. In the mean time, one Torres, or
Torriano, a Milanese nobleman of unbounded ambi¬
tion, was attempting to make himself master of Mi¬
lan/ The popular faction had some time before been
caballing against the nobility j and at last, Torriano
putting himself at their head, expelled the bishop, and
M I L
put to death or banished all the nobility ; by which Miter..
means the popular government was fully established ;-y—
and Torriano, under this pretence, ruled every thing
as he pleased. He was, however, soon opposed by
one Francisco Scpri, who formed a great party, pre¬
tending to deliver the city from Torriano’s haughti¬
ness a'nd cruelty. But while the two parties were
collecting their forces against each other, Caidinal
Ubaldini was projecting the destruction of both, by
means of his favourite Otho. This prelate had for
some time borne an implacable fiatied to Xomano,
because he had been by him prevented from carrying
out of the treasury of St Ambrose’s church at Mi¬
lan, a carbuncle or jewel of great value, which he pre¬
tended to reserve for adorning the papal tiara j for which
reason he now determined to oppose his ambition.
Ubaldini began with naming Otho archbishop of
Milan -, which, as the pope’s legate, he had a right to
do. This nomination was confirmed by Pope Ur¬
ban IV. j and the party of the nobility having now
got a head from the pope himself, began to gather
strength. Otho in the mean time employed himself
in collecting troops ; and had no sooner procured a show
of an army than he advanced towards Lago Mag-
giore, and took possession of Arena, a strong post
near that lake: but Torriano, marching immediately
against him with all his troops, obliged him to aban¬
don the place, and leave his party to make the best
terms they could with the conqueror. This was fol¬
lowed by the destruction of the castles of Arona,
Ano-hiari, and Brebia: soon after which Torriano
died, and was succeeded by his brother Philip, who
had sufficient interest to get himself elected podesta, or
praetor of Milan, for ten years. During his lifetime,
however, the party of the nobility increased consider¬
ably under Otho, notwithstanding the check they had
received. Philip died in 1265, having lost ground con¬
siderably in the aftections of the people, though he ob¬
tained a great reputation for his courage and conduct.
His successor Napi rendered himself terrible to the
nobility, whom he proscribed, and put to death as of¬
ten as he could get them into his power. He pro¬
ceeded such lengths, and acted with such fury against
that unfortunate party, that Pope Clement IV. who
had succeeded Urban, at last interdicted Milan, and
excommunicated Napi and all his party. By this
Napi began to lose his popularity, and the public dis¬
affection towards him was much heightened by the
natural cruelty of his temper. But in the mean time,
the party of the nobility was in the utmost distress.
Otho himself and his friends, having spent all their
substance, wandered about from place to place 5 the
pope not being in a capacity of giving them any as¬
sistance. Otho, however, was not discouraged by his
bad success, but found means still to keep up the spirits
of his party, who now chose for their general Squar-
cini Burii, a man of great eminence and courage, whose
daughter was married to Matthew Visconti, afterwards
called Matthew the Great. At the same time they re¬
newed their confederacy with the marquis of Mont¬
ferrat, who was son-in-law to the king of Spain. Ihe
marquis agreed to this confederacy chiefly with a view
to become master of the Milanese.
The nobility now again began to make head j anil
having collected an army, which was joined by 600
Snanish
MIL [ 89 ] MIL
Spanish cavalry and a body of foot, gained some ad¬
vantages. But in the mean time Napi, having gather¬
ed together a superior army, suddenly attacked Otho
and Burri, and defeated them. After this disaster
Otho applied to the pope ; from whom, however, he
did not obtain the assistance he desired ; and in the
mean time Napi invited the emperor Rodolph into
Italy, with the promise of being crowned at Milan.
This invitation was accepted of with great readiness
by Rodolph j who constituted Napi his governor and
vicar-general in Lombardy, sending to him at the same
time a fine body of German horse, the command of
which was given to Cassoni, Napi’s nephew. On this
Otho again applied to the pope (Gregory X.) but he
was so far from granting him any assistance, that he
is said to have entered into a scheme of assassinating
him privately } hut Otho escaped the danger, and in 1276
began to recover his affairs. The reason of Pope Gre¬
gory’s enmity to him was, that he and his party were
thought to be Gibelines, and were opposed by great
numbers of the nobility themselves j but after that pope’s
death, the Milanese exiles being united under one
head, soon became formidable. They now chose for
their general Godfrey count of Langusio, a noble Pa-
vian, and an inveterate enemy of the Torriano family.
This nobleman being rich and powerful, enlisted many
German and other mercenaries, at whose head he mar¬
ched towards the Lago Maggiore. All the towns in
that country opened their gates to him, through the in¬
terest of the Visconti family, who resided in these parts.
But this success soon met with a severe check in an un¬
fortunate engagement, where Godfrey was defeated and
taken pi'isoner ; after which he and 34 nobles had their
heads struck otf, and sent from the field of battle piled
up in a common waggon.
This defeat greatly affected Otho j but having in a
short time recovered himself, he again attacked his
enemies, and defeated them j but, suffering his troops
to grow remiss after their victory, the fugitives rallied,
and entirely defeated him. The next year, however,
Otho had better success, and totally defeated and took
prisoner Napi himself. After this victory Cassoni was
obliged to abandon Milan to his competitor, who kept
possession of it till his death, which happened in 1295,
in the 87th year of his age.
Otho was succeeded by Matthew Visconti above
mentioned; and Milan continued in subjection to that
family without any very memorable occurrence till the
year 1378, when, by the death of Galeazzo II. his
brother Barnabo became sovereign of Milan. He was
of a brave and active disposition ; but excessively pro-
iuse in his expenses, as his brother Galeazzo had also
been *, and to procure money to supply his extra¬
vagancies, was obliged to oppress his subjects. Ga¬
leazzo had engaged in an enterprize against Bologna,
and the siege of it was continued by Barnabo. It
lasted for nine years 5 and during this time is said to
have cost 300 millions of gold, a prodigious sum in
those days, near 40 millions sterling, the lowest gold
coin being in value somewhat more than half a crown
English. Both the brothers were excessively fond of
building. Barnabo erected a bridge over the Adda,
consisting of three stories *, the lowest for chariots and
heavy carriages, the middle for horses, and the up¬
permost for foot passengers. He built also another
Vol. XIV. Part I. f
bridge which was carried over houses without touching Milan,
them. To accomplish these, and many other expensive —\r—-
schemes, he became one of the greatest tyrants imagi¬
nable, and every day produced fresh instances of his ra¬
pacity and cruelty. He instituted a chamber of inquiry,
for punishing all those who had for five years before
been guilty of killing boars, or even of eating them at
the table of another. They who could not redeem
themselves by money were hanged, and above 100
wretches perished in that manner. Those who had any
thing to lose were stripped of all their substance, and
obliged to labour at the fortifications and other pub¬
lic works. He obliged his subjects to maintain a great
many hunting dogs, and each district was taxed a
certain number. The overseers of his dogs were at.
the same time the instruments of his rapacity. When
the dogs were poor and slender, the owners were al¬
ways fined ; but when the dogs were fat, the owners were
also fined for sufi'ering them to live without exercise.
The extravagant behaviour of Barnabo soon rendered
public affairs ready for a revolution, which was at last
accomplished by his nephew John Galeazzo. He af¬
fected a solitary life, void of ambition, and even inclin¬
ing to devotion 5 but at the same time took care to have
his uncle’s court filled with spies, who gave him infor¬
mation of all that passed. He reduced his table and
manner of living, pretending that he took these steps
as preparatives to a retirement from the world, which
was soon to take place after he had paid a religious
vow. In short, he acted his part so well, that even
Barnabo, though abundantly cautious, had no suspicion
of his having any designs against him ; and so entirely
did he conceal his ambition, that he several times made
application to his uncle for his interest to procure him a
quiet retreat as soon as his religious vows were perform¬
ed. One of these was to pay a visit to the church of
the blessed Virgin upon Mount Varezzio. This was to
be done with so much secrecy that all kinds of eye wit¬
nesses were to be excluded j and it was with difficulty
that Barnabo himself and two of his sons were allowed
to accompany our devotee. But, in the mean time,
the hypocritical Galeazzo had soldiers advancing from
all quarters ; so that Barnabo and his sons were imme¬
diately seized, and the houses of those who had sided
with them given up to be plundered. The booty in
plate, money, and all kinds of rich furniture, was im¬
mense. The ministers of the late government were
dragged from their hiding places, and put to death j
and at last the citadel itself fell into the hands of Ga¬
leazzo, who found in it an immense sum of money.
Barnabo was carried prisoner to Tritici, a castle of
his own building, where he had the happiness to find
one person still faithful to him. This was his mistress,
named Doninia Porra ; who, when he was abandoned
by all the world, shut herself up a voluntary prisoner
in his chamber, and remained with him as long as he
lived, which was only seven months after his degrada-
dation.
John Galeazzo was the first who took upon him the
title of the Duke of Milan, and was a prince of great
policy and no less ambition. He made war with the
Florentines, became master of Pisa and Bologna, and
entirely defeated the emperor in 1401, so that he en¬
tertained hopes of becoming master of all Lombardy,
and cutting off all possibility of invading it either from
M France
Milan.
MIL [ go
France or Germany; but bis designs were frustrated
by death, which happened in 1402, in the 55th year
of his age. After his decease the Milanese govern¬
ment fell into the most violent distractions, so that it
could not be supported, even in time of peace, with¬
out an army of 20,000 foot and as many horse. In the
year 1421, however, Philip duke of Milan became ma¬
ster of Genoa ; but though he gained great advantages
in all parts of Italy, the different states still found
means to counterbalance his successes, and prevent him
from enslaving them : so that Milan never became the
capital of any extensive empire ; and in 1437 Genoa re¬
volted, and was never afterwards reduced.
Philip died in 1448, and by his death the male line
of the Visconti family was at an end. The next law¬
ful heir was Valentina his sister, who had married the
duke of Orleans, son to Charles V. of France. By the
contract of that marriage, the lawful progeny of it
was to succeed to the duchy of Milan in failure of the
heirs male of the Visconti family', but this succession
was disputed by Sforza, who had married Philip’s na¬
tural daughter. It is certain, however, that the right¬
ful succession was vested in the house of Orleans and
the kings of France ; and therefore though the Slor-
7.a family got possession of the duchy for the present,
Louis XII. afterwards put in his claim, being a grand¬
son to John Galeazzo. For some time he was success¬
ful ; but the French behaved in such an insolent man¬
ner, that they were driven out of the Milanese by the
Swiss and Maximilian Sforza. The Swiss and Mila¬
nese were in their turn expelled by Francis I. who
obliged the Sforza family to relinquish the government
for a pension of 30,000 ducats a-year. Francis Sforza,
the son of Maximilian, however, being assisted by the
emperor and the pope, regained the possession of the
Milanese about the year 1521 $ and, eight years after,
the French king, by the treaty of Cambray, gave up
his claim on the duchy.
But, in fact, the emperors of Germany seem to have
had the fairest title to the Milanese in right of their be¬
ing for a long time sovereigns of Italy. On the death
of Francis Sforza, therefore, in the year I53^> em“
peror Charles V. declared the Milanese to be an impe¬
rial fief, and granted the investiture of it to his son
Philip II. king of Spain. In his family it continued
till the year 1706, when the French and Spaniards
were driven out by the Imperialists, and the emperor
again took possession of it as a fief. It was confirmed
to his house by the treaty of Baden in 1714, by the
quadruple alliance in 1718, and by the treaty of Aix-la-
Chapelle in 1748.
The duchy of Milan is one of the finest provinces
in Italy. It is hounded on the south by the Apen-
nine mountains, and the territory of Genoa; on the
north by Switzerland; on the east by the Venetian
territories, and the duchies of Mantua, Parma, and
Placentia ;. and on the west by Savoy, Piedmont, and
Montferrat; extending from north to south about 100
miles, and from east to west about 108. It is well
watered by the Tessino, the Sesia, the Adda, the Po,
the Oglio, the Lombro, Serio, &c. and also by se¬
veral canals and lakes. Of the latter, the Lago Mag-
giore is between 30 and 40 miles in. length, and in
some places six or seven miles broad. In it lie the
JSoromcan islands, as they are called, viz.. Isola Bella
] MIL
and Isola Madre, the beauty of which almost exceeds
imagination ; art and nature seem to have vied with
one another in embellishing them. In each ol them
is a palace with delicious gardens, belonging^ to the
Boromean family. Jhe water 01 the lake is clear
and of a greenish colour, and abounds with fish. Ihe
hills with which it is surrounded present a most charm¬
ing landscape, being planted with vines and chesnut
trees, interspersed with summer houses. There is a
canal running from it towards Switzerland, with which
the city of Milan has a communication. It was an¬
ciently called Lacus Verbanus. 1 he Lago de Como,
which was called bv the Latin poets Lacus Lavius, hut
had its modern name from the city near which it lies,
extends itself about 30 miles northward from Como,
but its greatest breadth is not above five miles. From
the Lago Maggiore issues the Tessino ; and from that
of Como the Adda. Of the other lakes, that of Lugano
and Guarda are the chief: that of Guarda was ancient¬
ly called Benacus.
The trade and manufactures of this duchy consist
principally in silk stuffs, stockings, gloves, and hand¬
kerchiefs, linen and woollen cloth, hardware, curious
W’orks of crystal, agate, hyacinths, and other gems ,
but their exports are usually far short ol their imports.
It produces also abundance of rice, corn, fruit, wine,
and hemp. Great quantities of cheese are also made
here.
In the year 1767, the Austrian government of Milan
published a law, by which all the rights which the pope-
or the bishops had till then exercised over ecclesiastics,
either with regard to their effects or persons, was trans¬
ferred to a council established for that purpose at Mi¬
lan. By the same edict, all ecclesiastics were obliged
to sell the estates which they had become possessed o£
since the year 1722 ; and no subject, whether ecclesi¬
astic or. secular, was to go to Borne to solicit any fa¬
vour, except letters of indulgence, without the consent
of the said council.
This duchy was subdued by the French in the year-
1796, when it formed a part of the Cisalpine republic.
When hostilities recommenced in 1799, it was again
taken by the allies, hut afterwards reconquered by>
Bonaparte in 1800. From this period it formed a part
of the kingdom of Italy, till the overthrow of Bonaparte’s
government in 1814, when it was restored to Austria
with the rest of Lombardy.
Milan, the capital of the duchy of that name, in
Latin Mediolanum, is a large city, and has a wall
and rampart round it, with a citadel; yet is thought
to be incapable of making any great resistance.
The gardens within the city take up a great deal oi
ground. In the citadel is a foundery for cannon, and
an arsenal furnished with arms lor 12,000 men.
Milan hath experienced a great variety of fortune,
having been subject sometimes to the French, some¬
times to the Spaniards, and sometimes to the Germans.
A great number of persons of rank and fortune live
in it, especially during the winter. The ladies in
France are not allowed more liberty than those of this
city : even the austerities of the monastic life are so
far mitigated here, that gentlemen have not only the
liberty of talking with the nuns, and of rallying and
laughing at the grate, but also of joining with them
in concerts of music, and of spending whole afternoons
in
Milan.
MIL [91
Milan, i'1 tlleii4 company. The place where the beau monde
take the air, either in their coaches or on foot, is the
rampart betwixt the Porta Orientale and the Porta
Tosa, where it is straight and broad, and extremely
pleasant, being planted with white mulberry trees, and
commanding a prospect on one side of the open country,
and on the other of the gardens and vineyards between
the ramparts and the city. Milan, which is said to
have been built by the Gauls about 200 years after
the foundation of Rome, contains a great number of
stately edifices, as churches, convents, palaces, ami
hospitals. The cathedral is a vast pile, all of marble j
and is the largest in Italy, except that of St Peters at
Rome. It is 449 feet in length, 275 in breadth, and
238 in height, under the cupola. Though founded in
1386, the fagade was only completed a few years ago
by order of Bcnaparte. Of the great number of sta¬
tues about it, that of St Bartholomew, just flead alive,
with his skin hanging over his shoulders ; and of Adam
and Eve, over the main portal, are the finest. The
pillars supporting the roof of the church are all of
marble, and the windows finely painted. This church
contains a treasure of great value, particularly a shrine
of rock crystal, in which the body of St Charles Bo-
romseo is deposited. The other churches most worthy
a stranger’s notice are those of St Alexander, St Je¬
rome, St Giovanni di Casarotti della Passione, that of
the Jesuits, and of St Ambrose, in which lie the bo¬
dies of the saint and of the kings Pepin and Bernard.
In the Ambrosian college, founded by Frederic Bo-
romaeo, 16 professors teach gratis. In the same col¬
lege is also an academy of painting, with a museum,
and a library containing about 45,000 printed books
and manuscripts; among the last of which is a transla¬
tion of Josephus’s History of the Jews, done by Rufi-
tms about 1200 years ago, and written on the bark of
a tree ; St Ambrose’s works on vellum, finely illumi¬
nated $ the orations of Gregory Nazianzen, and the
works of Virgil, in folio, with Petrarch’s note?. In
the museum are Leonard! da Vinci’s mathematical
and mechanical drawings, in 12 large volumes. The
seminary for sciences, the college of the nobles, the
Helvetian college, and the mathematical academy, are
noble foundations, and stately buildings. Of the hos¬
pitals, the most remarkable are the Lazaretto, and
that called the great hospital; the latter of which re¬
ceives sick persons, foundlings, and lunatics, and has
six smaller hospitals depending on it, with a revenue
of 100,000 rix dollars.
The number of the inhabitants of this city is said
to be about 130,00c. It has been 40 times besieged,
taken 20 times, and four times almost entirely demo¬
lished *, yet it hath alwavs recovered itself. It is said
that gunpov/der is sold here only by one person, and
in one place. The houses of entertainment, and the
ordinaries here, are represented as very indifferent.—
Mr Keysler says, it is not unusual for young travellers,
when they go to any of the taverns in Milan, to be
asked, “ whether they choose a lettofornito, or female
bedfellow,” who continues masked till she enters the
bedchamber. Milan is described as inferior to Turin
both in beauty and conveniency, many of the streets
being crooked and narrow, and paper windows much
more frequent than in that city ; even in grand pa¬
laces, the windows are often composed promiscuously
] M I L
of glass and pa pel’. There are four theatres in the Milan,
city : the great theatre Della Scala, built in 1778 ; that "y—-
of the Canobiana, the theatre Re j and the Careano. On
the right of the Place d’Armes is a magnificent am¬
phitheatre, appropriated to horsemanship and games,
erected during the French rule. Two large canals
extend from hence, the one to the Tessino, and the
other to the Adda } the Tessino having a communica¬
tion with the Lago Maggiore, and, by a canal, with
the Sesia; and the Adda issuing from the Lago di Co¬
mo, and having a communication by canals with the
Lombro and Serio. In a void space in one of the
streets of Milan, where stood the house of a barber who
had conspired with the commissary of health to poison
his fellow citizens, is erected a pillar called Colonna In-
fame, with an inscription to perpetuate the memory
of the execrable design. The environs of this city
are very pleasant, being adorned with beautiful seats,
gardens, orchards, &c. About two Italian miles
from it, at the seat of the Simonetti family, is a build
ing, that would have been a masterpiece of its kind
had the architect designed it for an artificial echo. It
will return or repeat the report of a pistol above 60
times; and any single musical instrument well touched
will have the same effect as a great number of instru¬
ments, and produce a most surprising and delightful
concert.
Bonaparte was crowned king of Italy in this city in
May 1 805, and it was visited by the emperor of Au¬
stria in 1816. It is now the capital of the kingdom of
Venetian Lombardy.
According to Dr Moore, “ there is no place in Italy,
perhaps in Europe, where strangers are received in
such an easy hospitable manner as at Milan. For¬
merly the Milanese nobility displayed a degree of
splendour and magnificence, not only in their enter¬
tainments, but in their usual style of living, unknown
in any other country of Europe. They are under a
necessity at present of living at less expence, but they
still show the same obliging and hospitable disposition.
This country having, not very long since, been pos¬
sessed by the French, from whom it devolved to the
Spaniards, and from them to the Germans, the.
troops of those nations have, at different periods, had
their residence here, and in the course of these vi¬
cissitudes, produced a style of manners, and stamped a
character on the inhabitants of this duchy, difl’erent
from what prevails in any other part of Italy ; and
nice observers imagine they perceive in Milanese man¬
ners, the politeness, formality, and honesty imputed to
those three nations, blended with the ingenuity na¬
tural to Italians. In Italy, the ladies have no notion of
quitting their carriages at the public walks, and using
their own legs as in England and France. On see¬
ing the number of servants, and the splendour of the
equipages which appear every evening at the Corso or
the ramparts, one would not suspect that degree of
depopulation, and diminution of wealth, which we.
are assured has taken place within these few years all
over the Milanese *, and which proceeds from the bur¬
densome nature of some late taxes, and the insolent
and oppressive manner in which they are gathered.”—
Milan is situated 29 leagues N. E. of Turin, no
N. W. of Rome, and 143 S. E. of Paris.—E. Long.
9. 11. N. Lat. 45. 28.
M 2
MILBORN -PORT.;
Milan
.11
Mildew.
MIL [
MILBORN-port, a town of Somersetshire in
England, seated on a branch of the river Parret, 115
(miles from London. Though represented in parlia¬
ment, it is no market town nor corporation ; but it
appears in Eomesday-book to have had a market once,
and 56 burgesses. It is in a manner surrounded by
Dorsetshire. Here are nine capital burgesses, who
yearly choose two bailifis, that have the government
of the borough under them, and jointly return the
members to parliament with the two stewards, who
are chosen yearly out of nine commonalty stewards,
and have the custody of the corporation-seal. These
two stewards also distribute the profits of the lands
given to the poor here, of which the said commonalty
stewards are trustees. The number of inhabitants in
1811 was 1000, of houses 230. W. Long. 2. 37. N.
Lat. 50. 50.
MILBROOK, a town of Cornwall, on the west
side of Plymouth haven. It has a good fishing trade,
and has formerly furnished our fleet with many able
hands.
MILDENHALL, a town of Suffolk, seven miles
from Newmarket, 12 from Bury, and 70 from Lon¬
don. It is situated on the river Lark, a branch of the
Ouse, with a harbour for boats, and contained in 1811,
2493 inhabitants. It has a well frequented market
on Fridays. Its church has a tower or steeple 120
feet high. E. Long. o. 33. N. Lat. 52. 24.
MILDE W, is said to be a kind of thick, clammy’
sweet juice, exhaled from, or falling down upon, the
leaves and blossoms of plants. By its thickness and
clamminess it prevents perspiration, and hinders the
growth of the plant. It sometimes rests on the leaves
of trees in form of a fatty juice, and sometimes on the
ears of corn. It is naturally very tough and viscous,
and becomes still more so by the sun’s heat exhaling
its more fluid parts ; by which means the young ears
of corn are so daubed over, that they can never arrive
at their full growth. Bearded wheat is less subject to
the mildew than the common sort •, and it is observed
that newly dunged lands are more liable to mildew
than others. The best remedy is a smart shower of
rain, and immediately afterwards a brisk wind. If
the mildew is seen before the sun has much power,
it has been recommended to send two men into the
field with a long cord, each holding one end j and
drawing this along the field through the ears, the
dew will be dislodged from them, before the heat of
the sun is able to dry it to that viscous state in which
it does the mischief. Some also say, that lands which
have for many years been subject to mildews, have
been cured of it by sowing soot along with the corn,
or immediately after it.
Mr J. S. Segar, the author of a treatise upon this
subject, observes, that the mildew is of such a sharp
corrosive nature, that it raises blisters on the feet of
the shepherds who go barefoot, and even consumes the
hoofs of the cattle. He suspects that it possesses some
arsenical qualities, though he does not pretend to
affirm this positively. Its pernicious influence, ac¬
cording to him, is rendered still more powerful by a
variety of circumstances ; such as sending the cattle into
the fields too early in the spring j their drinking water
mixed with ice, or but lately thawed j their being
92 ] MIL
i kept in stables that are too,close and filthy, and which
are not sufficiently aired. 1 he same author considers
the mildew as a principal cause of epidemical distem- ^
pers among the cattle. The mildew producing these
diseases, he says, is that which dries and burns the
grass and leaves. It falls usually in the morning,
particularly after a thunder storm. Its poisonous qua¬
lity (which does not continue above 24 hours) never
operates but when it has been swallowed immediately
after its falling. The disorder attacks the stomach,
is accompanied with pimples on the tongue, loss ot
appetite, a desiccation of the aliments in the stomach,
a cough, and difficulty of respiration. As a preserva¬
tive, the author prescribes purging in spring and in
winter. The medicine he advises is composed of 30
grains of sulphur of antimony, and 60 grains of resin of
jalap. He is against vomiting, and every thing that is
of a heating nature.
MILE, a measure of length or distance, containing
eight furlongs. The English statute mile is 80 chains,
or 1760 yards j that is, 5280 feet.
We shall here give a table of the miles in use among
the principal nations of Europe, in geometrical paces,
60,ooo of which make a degree ol the equator.
Mildew
.11
Miletuii
Mile of Russia
of Italy
of England
of Scotland and Ireland
Old league of France
The small league, ibid.
The mean league, ibid.
The great league, ibid.
Mile of Poland
of Spain
of Germany
of Sweden
of Denmark
of Hungary
Geometrical paces.
750
1000
1200
I5OO
1500
2000
25OO
3000
3000
3428
4OOO
5oo°
5o°o
6000
MILETUS, in Ancient Geography, a town of Crete
mentioned by Homer 5 but where situated does not ap¬
pear. It is said to be the mother town of Miletus in
Caria, whither a colony was led by Sarpedon, Minos’s
brother, (Ephorus, quoted by Strabo). Milesii, the
people, (Ovid).
Miletus, in Ancient Geography, a celebrated town
of Asia Minor, on the confines of Ionia and Caria. It
was the capital city of all Ionia, and famous both for
the arts of war and peace. It was situated about 10
stadia south of the mouth of the river Mseamier, near
the sea coast. It was founded by a Cretan colony under
Miletus, the companion of Bacchus j or (according to
others) by Neleus the son of Codrus •, or by Sarpedon-
a son of Jupiter. It has successively been called
Lelegeis, Pithyusa, and Anactoria. The inhabitants^
called Milem, were very powerful, and long maintain¬
ed an obstinate war against the kings of Lydia.
They early applied themselves to navigation j and
planted no less than 80 colonies, or (according to
Seneca^ 380, in different parts of the world. It was
the only town that made head against Alexander, and
was with much difficulty taken. It gave birth to
Thales,
Miletus
I! ,
Milford.
MIL t 93 J MIL
Thales, one of the seven wise men, and the first who
applied himself to the study of nature. It was also
the country of Anaximander, the scholar and succes¬
sor of Thales, the inventor of sun dials and the gno¬
mon, and. the first that published a geographical map ;
of Anaximenes, scholar and successor to the forego¬
ing 5 and of other great men. It was noted for its
excellent wool, according to Virgil ; and was also ce¬
lebrated for a temple and oracle of Apollo Didy-
mseus. This famous people, from being powerful,
becoming afterwards opulent and abandoned to plea¬
sures, lost both their riches and their power.—At pre¬
sent it is called by the Turks Melas, and not far distant
from it runs the river Mseander. St Paul going from
Corinth to Jerusalem passed by Miletus, and as he went
by sea, and could not take Ephesus in his way, be caused
the bishops and priests of the church of Ephesus to
come to Miletus (Acts xx. 15. &c.), which was about
12 leagues from them.
MILFOIL, or Yarrow. See Achillea, Botany
Index.
MILFORD, a town of North America, in Sussex
county, in the Delaware state, is situated at the source
of a small river, 15 miles from Delaware bay, and 150
southward of Philadelphia. This town, which contains
about 80 houses, has been built, except one house, since
the revolution. It is laid out with much taste, and is
by no means disagreeable. The inhabitants are Epis¬
copalians, Quakers, and Methodists.
Milford Haven, one of the finest harbours in
Europe, and indisputably the best in Britain, is situ¬
ated in Pembrokeshire in South Wales, and lies on
the north side of the Bristol channel. It is very large,
safe, and deep ; there is no danger of going in or out
with the tide, or almost with any wind. If a ship
comes in without a cable or anchor, she may run
ashore on the ooze, and there lie safe till she is refitted j
and in an hour’s time she may get out of the harbour
into the open sea. It lies extremely convenient for
ships bound from the English or Bristol channels
to Ireland, or farther west, and from thence to the
channels. It is said, that icoo sail of any size may
ride secure in this haven. It has 16 deep and safe
creeks, five bays, and 13 roads, all distinguished by
their several names. The spring tide rises 36 feet,
so that ships may at any time be laid ashore. Dale
harbour is a ready outlet for small vessels, where they
mav ride in two or three fathoms at low water.—In
the reign of Queen Elizabeth, before the Spanish inva¬
sion, two forts wrere begun at the entrance of Mil¬
ford Haven, one on each side, called Nangle and
Dale blockhouses j but they were not then finished.—
The Stack rock rises here above water, lying near the
middle of the entrance between Nangle and Dale.
Penermouth is the opening of that branch of the ha¬
ven on which the town of Pembroke is seated, and
where the customhouse of Milford is kept. J he
breadth of the entrance between rock and rock is
but 200 yards at high water, and 112 at low water.
There is a ridge of rocky ground that has the name
of Carrs, which runs almost across Milford Haven,
from Peter church towards Llandstadwell, where it
renders the landing place difficult to strangers, from
its not appearing at low water. The great conveni¬
ence of this harbour is, that in an hour’s time a ship
may be in or out of it, and in the way between the Milford
Land’s End and Ireland. As it lies near the mouth |{
of the Severn, a ship in eight or ten hours may be i Mlbtary-
over on the coast of Ireland, or off the Land’s End v"”'_
in the English channel and a vessel may get out
hence to the west much sooner than from either Ply¬
mouth or Falmouth. This harbour has been greatly
improved by new works, at the expence of the go¬
vernment. The parliament on April 14. 1759 granted
lO,OOOl. for fortifying the harbour of Milford, all of
which was expended on the fort at Neyland, which,
however, still remains unfinished.
MILIARY, in general, something resembling millet
seed.
Miliary Fever. See Medicine Index.
MILITANT, or Church-militant, denotes the
body of Christians while here on earth.
MILITARY, something belonging to the soldiery
or militia.
Military Discipline, the training of soldiers, and the
due enforcement of the laws and regulations instituted
by authority for their conduct.
Next to the forming of troops, military discipline is
the first object that presents itself to our notice ; it is
the soul of all armies ; and unless it be established
amongst them with great prudence, and supported writh
unshaken resolution, they are no better than so many
contemptible heaps of rabble, which are more dangerous
to the very state that maintains them than even its de¬
clared enemies.
Military Execution, the ravaging or destroying of
a country, or town, that refuses to pay the contribution
inflicted upon them.
Military Exercise. See Exercise and Words
of Command.
Military State, in British polity, one of the three
divisions of the laity. See Laity.
This state includes the wdiole of the soldiery, or
such persons as are peculiarly appointed among the
rest of the people for the safeguard and defence of the
realm.
In a land of liberty, it is extremely dangerous to
make a distinct order of the profession of arms. In ab¬
solute monarchies, this is necessary for the safety of the
prince 5 and arises from the main principle of their
constitution, which is that of governing by fear ; but,
in free states, the profession of a soldier, taken singly
and merely as a profession, is justly an object of jea¬
lousy. In these no man should take up arms but with
a view to defend his country and its laws : he puts not
off the citizen when he enters the camp ; but it is be¬
cause he is a citizen, and would wish to continue so,
that he makes himself for a while a soldier. The laws
therefore, and constitution of these kingdoms, know no
such state as that of a perpetual standing soldier, bred
up to no other profession than that of war j and it
was not till the i*eign of Henry VII. that the kings
of England had so much as a guard about their per¬
sons.
In the time of the Anglo-Saxons, as appears from
Edward the Confessor’s laws, the military force of
England was in the hands of the dukes or heretochs,
who were constituted through every province and
county in the kingdom ; being taken out of the princi¬
pal nobility, and such as were most remarkable for be-
MIL [ 94 ] MIL
Military, ing sapie)itcs,fideles% ctanimosi. Their duty was to lead
“* v ‘ and regulate the English armies with a very unlimited
power •, prout eis visum fuel'it, ad honorem coronce et uti-
litatem regni. And because of this great power they
were elected by the people in their full assembly, or
folkmote, in the same manner as sheriffs were elected'
following still that old fundamental maxim of the Saxon
constitution, that where any officer tvas entrusted with
such power, as, if abused, might tend to the oppression
of the people, that power was delegated to him by the
vote of the people themselves. So too, among the an¬
cient Germans, the ancestors of our Saxon forefathers,
they had their dukes, as well as kings, wdth an inde¬
pendent power over the military, as the kings had over
the civil state. The dukes wrere elective, the kings he¬
reditary : for so only can be consistently understood
that passage of Tacitus, lieges ex nobilitate, duces ex
virtute summit. In constituting their kings, the fa¬
mily or blood royal was regarded *, in choosing their
dukes or leaders, rvarlike merit: just as Caesar relates
of their ancestors in his time, that whenever they went
to war, by way either of attack or defence, they elect¬
ed leaders to command them. This large share of
power, thus conferred by the people, though intended
to preserve the liberty of the subject, wras perhaps un¬
reasonably detrimental to the prerogative of the crown :
and accordingly we find a Very ill use made of it by
Edric duke of Mercia, in the reign of King Edmund
Ironside *, who, by his office of duke or heretoch, was
entitled to a large command in the king’s army, and
by his repeated treacheries at last transferred the crown
to Canute the Dane.
It seems universally agreed by all historians, that
King Alfred first settled a national militia in this king¬
dom, and by his prudent discipline made all the sub¬
jects of his dominions soldiers : but we are unfortu¬
nately left in the dark as to the particulars of this his
so celebrated regulation j though, from what was last
observed, the dukes seem to have been left in possession
of too large and independent a power: which enabled
Duke Harold, on the death of Edward the Confessor,
though a stranger to the royal blood, to mount for a
short space the throne of this kingdom, in prejudice of
Edgar Ethel ing the rightful heir.
Upon the Norman conquest, the feodal law was in¬
troduced here in all its rigour, the whole of which is
built on a military plan. In consequence thereof, all
the lands in the kingdom were divided into what were
called knight's fees, in number above 60,000 ; and for
every knight’s fee, a knight or soldier, miles, was
bound to attend the king in his wars, for 40 days in a
year ; in which space of time, before war was reduced
to a science, the campaign was generally finished, and
a kingdom either conquered or victorious. By this
means the king had, without any expence, an army of
60,000 men always ready at his command. And ac¬
cordingly we find one, among the laws of William the
Conqueror, which in the king’s name commands and
firmly enjoins the personal attendance of all knights and
others 5 <juod habeant et teneant se semper in armis et
equis, ut decet et oportet: et quod semper sint prompti et
parati ad servitium suum integrum nobis explendum et
peragendum, cum opus adfuerit, secundum quod debent
de feodis et tenementis suis de jure nobis facere. This
personal service in process of time degenerated into
3
pecuniary commutations or aids j and at last the mi-
litary part of the feodal system was abolished at tlie —yJ
Restoration, by stat. 12 Car. II. c. 24. See Feodal
System.
In the mean time, we are not to imagine that the
kingdom was left wholly without defence in case of
-domestic insurrections, or the prospect of foreign in¬
vasions. Besides those who by their military tenures
were bound to perform 40 days service in the field, first
the assize of arms, enacted 27 Hen. II. and afterwards
the statute of Winchester, under Edward I. obliged
every man, according to his estate and degree, to pro¬
vide a determinate quantity of such arms as were then
in use, in order to keep the peace ; and constables were
appointed in all hundreds by the latter statute, to see
that such arms were provided. These weapons vTere
changed, by the statute 4 and 5 Ph. and M. c. 2. into
others of more modern service $ but both this and the
former provisions were repealed in the reign of James I.
While these continued in force, it wras usual from time
to time for our princes to issue commissions of array,
and send into every county officers in whom they could
confide, to muster and array (or set in military order)
the inhabitants of every district; and the form of the
commission of array was settled in parliament in the
5 Hen. IV. But at the same time it was provided, that
no man should be compelled to go out of the kingdom
at any rate, nor out of his shire, but in cases of urgent
necessity j nor should provide soldiers unless by consent
of parliament. About the reign of King Henry VIIR
and his children, lord-lieutenants began to be introdu¬
ced, as standing representatives of the crown, to keep
the counties in military order; for we find them men¬
tioned as known officers in the statute 4 and 5 Ph. and
M. c. 3. though they had not been then long in use;
for Camden speaks of them in the time of Queen Eliza¬
beth as extraordinary magistrates, constituted only in
times of difficulty and danger.
In this state things continued till the repeal of the
statutes of armour in the reign of King James I.; after
which, when King Charles I. had, during his northern
expeditions, issued commissions of lieutenancy, and ex¬
erted some military powers which, having been long ex¬
ercised, were thought to belong to the crown, it be¬
came a question in the long parliament, how far the
power of the militia did inherently reside in the king;
being now unsupported by any statute, and founded
only upon immemorial usage. This question, long agi¬
tated with great heat and resentment on both sides, be¬
came at length the immediate cause of the fatal rupture
between the king and his parliament: the two houses
not only denying this prerogative of the crown, the le¬
gality of which claim perhaps might be somewhat doubt¬
ful 5 but also seizing into their hands the entire power
of the militia, the illegality of which step could never
be any doubt at all.
Soon after the restoration of King Charles II. when
the military tenures were abolished, it was thought pro¬
per to ascertain the power of the militia, to recognize
the sole right of the crown to govern and command
them, and to put the whole into a more regular method
of military subordination: and the order in which the
militia now' stands by law, is principally built upon the
statutes which were then enacted. It is true, the two
last of them are apparently repealed ; but many of their
provisions
MIL L 95 ] MIL
Jitary provisions are re-enacted, with the addition of some new
regulations, by the present militia laws 5 the general
scheme of which is to discipline a certain number of the
inhabitants of every county, chosen by lot for three
years, and officered by the lord-lieutenant, the deputy
lieutenants, and other principal landholders, under a
commission from the crown. They are not compellable
to inarch out of their counties, unless in case of invasion
or actual rebellion, nor in any case compellable to
march out of the kingdom. They are to be exercised
at stated times .* and their discipline in general is libe¬
ral and easy but, when drawn out into actual service,
they are subject to the rigours of martial law, as neces¬
sary to keep them in order. This is the constitutional
security which our laws have provided for the public
peace, and for protecting the realm against foreign or
domestic violence ; and which the statutes declare as
essentially necessary to the safety and prosperity of the
kingdom.
When the nation was engaged in war, more veteran
troops and more regular discipline were esteemed to be
necessary, than could be expected from a mere militia j
and therefore at such times more rigorous methods were
put in use for the raising of armies and the due regula¬
tion and discipline of the soldiery, which are to be
looked upon only as temporary excrescences bred out of
the distemper of the state, and not as any part of the
permanent and perpetual laws of the kingdom. For
martial law, which is built upon no settled principles,
but is entirely arbitrary in its decisions, is, as Sir Mat¬
thew Hale observes, in truth and reality no law, but.
something indulged rather than allowed as a law. The
necessity of order and discipline in an army is the only
thing which can give it countenance •, and therefore it
ought not to be permitted in time of peace, when the
king’s courts are open for all persons to receive justice
according to the laws of the land. Wherefore, Thomas
earl of Lancaster being convicted at Pontefract, 15 Ed¬
ward II. by martial law, his attainder was reversed
1 Edward III. because it was done in time of peace.
And it is laid down, that if a lieutenant, or other, that
hath commission of martial authority, doth in time of
peace hang or otherwise execute any man by colour of
martial law, this is murder •, for it is against magna
charta. And the petition of right enacts, that no sol¬
dier shall be quartered on the subject without his own
consent; and that no commission shall issue to proceed
within this land according to martial law. And where¬
as, after the Restoration, King Charles II. kept up
about 5000 regular troops, by his own authority, for
guards and garrisons, which King James II. by degrees
increased to no less than 30,000, all paid from his own
civil list j it was made one of the articles of the bill of
rights, that the raising or keeping a standing army with¬
in the kingdom in time of peace, unless it be with con¬
sent of parliament, is against law.
But as the fashion of keeping standing armies (which
was first introduced by Charles VII. in France 1445)
has of late years universally prevailed over Europe
(though some of its potentates, being unable themselves
to.maintain them, are obliged to have recourse to richer
powers, and receive subsidiary pensions for that pur¬
pose), it has also for many years .past been annually
judged necessary by our legislature for the safety of the
kingdom, the defence of the possessions of the crown of
Great Britain, and the preservation of the balance of Military,
power in Europe, to maintain even in time of peace a —v—~
standing body of troops, under the command of the
crown ; who are however ipsofacto disbanded at the ex¬
piration of every year, unless continued by parliament.
And it was enacted by statute 10 William III. c. 1.
that not more than 12,000 regular forces should be kept
on foot in Ireland, though paid at the charge of that
kingdom: which permission is extended by statute
8 Geo. III. c. 13. to 16,235 men in time of peace.
To prevent the executive power from being able to
oppress, says Baron Montesquieu, it is requisite that
the armies with which it is intrusted should consist of
the people, and have the same spirit with the people :
as was the case at Rome, till Marius new-modelled the
legions by enlisting the rabble of Italy, and laid the
foundation of all the military tyranny that ensued.
Nothing then, according to these principles, ought to
be more guarded against in a free state, than making
the military power, when such a one is necessary to be
kept on foot, a body too distinct from the people.
Like ours, therefore, it should wholly be composed of
natural subjects j it ought only to be enlisted for a short
and limited time } the soldiers also should live inter¬
mixed with the people 5 no separate camp, no barracks,
no inland fortresses should be allowed. And perhaps it
might be still better, if, by dismissing a stated number,
and enlisting others at every renewal of their term, a
circulation could be kept up between the army and the
people, and the citizen and the soldier be more inti¬
mately connected together.
To keep this body of troops in order, an annual act
of parliament likewise passes, “ to punish mutiny and
desertion, and for the better payment of the army and
their quarters.” This regulates the manner in which
they are to be dispersed among the several inn-keepers
and victuallers throughout the kingdom j and establishes
a law martial for their government. By this, among
other things, it is enacted, that if any officer or soldier
shall excite, or join any mutiny, or, knowing of it,
shall not give notice to the commanding officer, or shall
desert, or list in any other regiment, or sleep upon his
post, or leave it before he is relieved, or hold corres¬
pondence with a rebel or enemy, or strike or use vio¬
lence to his superior officei1, or shall disobey his lawful
commands; such offender shall suffer such punishment
as a court martial shall inflict, though it extend to death
itself.
However expedient the most strict regulations may ’
be in time of actual war, yet in times of profound
peace, a little relaxation of military rigour would not,
one should hope, be productive of much inconvenience.
And, upon this principle, though by our standing laws
(still remaining in force, though not attended to) de-.
sertiou in time of war is made felony without benefit
of clergy, and the offence is triable by a jury, and be¬
fore the judges of the common law ; yet, by our mi¬
litia laws before mentioned, a much lighter punishment
is inflicted for desertion in time of peace. So, by the
Roman law also, desertion in time of war was punish¬
ed with death, but more mildly in time of tranquil¬
lity. But our mutiny act makes no such distinction :
for any of the faults above mentioned, axe equally at
all times, punishable with death itself, if a court mar¬
tial, shall think proper. This discretionary power of
the
M I L
Military, the court martial is indeed to be guided
w v ■ i tions of the crown : which, with regard to military
offences, has almost an absolute legislative power. ** His
Majesty (says the act) may form articles ot war, and
constitute courts martial, with power to try any crime
by such articles, and inflict such penalties as the articles
direct.” A vast and most important trust! an unlimit¬
ed power to create crimes, and annex to them any pu¬
nishments not extending to life or limb ! These are in¬
deed forbidden to be inflicted, except for crimes decla¬
red to be so punishable by this act; which crimes we
have just enumerated, and among which, we may ob-
serve, that any disobedience to lawful ccmmands is one.
Perhaps in some future revision of this act, which is
in many repects hastily penned, it may be thought
worthy the wisdom of parliament to ascertain the li¬
mits of military subjection, and to enact express articles
of war for the government of the army, as is done for
the government of the navy *, especially as, by our pre¬
sent constitution, the nobility and gentry of the king¬
dom, who serve their country as militia officers, are an¬
nually subjected to the same arbitrary rule during their
time of exercise.
One of the greatest advantages of our law is, that
not only the crimes themselves which it punishes, but
also the penalties which it inflicts, are ascertained and
notorious : nothing is left to arbitrary discretion : the
king by his judges dispenses what the law has previ¬
ously ordained, but is not himself the legislator. How
much, therefore, is it to be regretted, that a set of
men, whose bravery has so often preserved the liberties
of their country, should be reduced to a state of servi¬
tude in the midst of a nation of freemen ^ for Sir Ed¬
ward Coke will inform us, that it is one of the ge-
Blackst. nuine marks of servitude, to have the law, which is
Comment. 0ur rule of action, either concealed or precarious ,
Misera est servitus, ubi jus est vagum out incognitum.
Nor is this state of servitude quite consistent with the
maxims of sound policy observed by other free na¬
tions. For the greater the general liberty is which
any state enjoys, the more cautious has it usually been
in introducing slavery in any particular order or pro¬
fession. These men, as Baron Montesquieu observes,
seeing the liberty which others possess, and which they
themselves are excluded from, are apt (like eunuchs
in the eastern seraglios) to live in a state of .perpetual
envy and hatred towards the rest of the community,
and indulge a malignant pleasure in contributing to de¬
stroy those privileges to which they can never be ad¬
mitted. Hence have many free states, by departing
from this rule, been endangered by the revolt of their
slaves ) while, in absolute and despotic governments,
where no real liberty exists^ and consequently no invi¬
dious comparisons can he formed, such incidents are ex¬
tremely rare. Two precautions are therefore advised to
be observed in all prudent and free governments: I. To
prevent the introduction of slavery at all : or, 2. If it
be already introduced, not to intrust those slaves with
arms who will then find themselves an overmatch for
the freemen. Much less ought the soldiery to be an
exception to the people in general, and the only state
of servitude in the nation.
But as soldiers, by this annual act, are thus put in
a worse condition than any other subjects j so, by the
humanity of our standing laws, they are in some cases
[ 96 j MIL
by the direc- put in a much better. By' statute 43 Eliz. c. 3.. a Militarr!
weekly allowance is to be raised in every county for
the relief of soldiers that are sick, hurt, and maimed : ^
not forgetting the roy'ul hospital at CJheiSca for suci: as
are worn out in their duty. Officers and soldiers,
that have been in the king’s service, are by several sta¬
tutes, enacted at the close of several wars, at liberty
to use any trade or occupation they are fit for, in any
town in the kingdom (except the two universities),
notwithstanding any statute, custom, or charter to the
contrary. And soldiers in actual military service may
make nuncupative wills, and dispose ot their goods,
wages, and other personal chattels, without these
forms, solemnities, and expences, which the law re¬
quires in other cases. Our law does not indeed extend
this privilege so far as the civil law, which carried
it to an extreme that borders upon the ridiculous :
for if a soldier, in the article of death, wrote any
thing in bloody letters on his shield, or in the dust of
the field with bis sword, it was a very good military
testament.
Military Court. See Chivalry, Court of.
Military Tenures. See Tenure, Floral Sys¬
tem, and Knight.
Military Wmjs {vice mililarcs'), are the large Ro¬
man roads which Agrippa procured to be made through
the empire in the time of Augustus, for the more con¬
venient marching of troops and conveyance of carriages.
N. Bergier has written the history of the origin, pro¬
gress, and amazing extent, of these military roads, which
were paved from tbe gates of Rome to the extreme
parts of the empire. See Way.
MILITIA, in general, denotes the body of soldiers,
or ih.’v. who make profession of arms.
In a more restrained sense, militia denotes the train¬
ed bands of a town 01 country, who arm themselves,
upon a short warning, for their own defence. So that,
in this sense, militia is opposed to regular or stated
troops. See Military State, and Floral System.
MILIUM, Millet, a genus of plants, belonging to
the triandria class 5 and in the natural method ranking
under the 4th order, Gramma. See Botany Index.
MILK, a well known fluid, prepared by nature in
the breasts of women, and the udders oi other ani¬
mals, for the nourishment of their young.—ilecording
to Hr Cullen*, milk is a connecting and intermediate
substance between animals and vegetables. It seems
immediately to be secreted from the chyle, both being
a white liquor of the same consistence : it is most co¬
piously secreted after meals, and of an acescent nature.
In most animals who live on vegetables, the milk is
acescent j and it is uncertain, though at the same time
no observation proves the contrary, whether it is not
so likewise in carnivoi’ous animals. But, whatever be
in this, it is certain, that the milk of all animals who
live on vegetables is acescent. Milk being derived
from the chyle, we thence conclude its vegetable na¬
ture } for in those who live on both promiscuously,
more milk is got, and more quickly, from the vege¬
table than the animal food. Milk, however, is not
purely vegetable j though wre have a vegetable liquor
that resembles its taste, consistence, colour, acescency,
and the separability of the oily part, viz. an emulsion
of the nuces oleosEe and farinaceous substances. But
these want the coagulable part of milk, which seems
to
Milk.
* Led, o
Mat. Mt
MIL L 97 ] MIL
Milk, to be of animal nature, approaching to that of the
coagulable lymph of the blood. Milk, then, seems
to be of an intermediate nature, between chyle taken
up from the intestines and the fully elaborated animal
fluid.
Its contents are of three kinds : ist, An oily part,
which, whatever may be said concerning the origin of
other oils in the body, is certainly immediately derived
from the oil of the vegetables taken in ; as with these
it agrees very exactly in its nature, and would entirely,
if we could separate it fully from the coagulable part.
Another mark of their agreement is the separability,
which proves that the mixture has been lately attempt¬
ed, but not fully performed. 2dly, Besides this oily,
there is a proper coagulable part : And, 3dly, Much
water accompanies both, in which there is dissolved
a saline saccharine substance. These three can be got
separate in cheese, butter, and whey •, but never per¬
fectly so, a part of each being always blended with
every other part.
Nothing is more common, from what has been said
■of its immediate nature, than to suppose that it re¬
quires no assimilation 5 and hence has been deduced the
reason of its exhibition in the most weakly state of the
human body. But wherever we can examine milk,
we always find that it coagulates, suffers a decompo¬
sition, and becomes acescent. Again, Infants, -who
feed entirely on milk, are always troubled with eruc¬
tations, which every body observes are not of the same
quality with the food taken j and therefore it appears,
that, like all other food, milk turns naturally acescent
in the stomach, and only enters the chyle and blood in
consequence of a new recomposition. It approaches then
to the nature of vegetable aliment, but is not capable
of its noxious vinous fermentation, and therefore has
an advantage over it j neither from this quality, like
animal food, is it heating in the stomach, and produc¬
tive of fever j though at the same time, from its quan¬
tity of coagulable matter, it is more nourishing than
vegetables.
Milk is the food most universally suited to all ages
and states of the body } but it seems chiefly designed by
nature as the food of infants. When animals are in
^ the foetus state, their solids are a perfect jelly, inca¬
pable of an assimilatory power. In such state nature
has perfectly assimilated food, as the albumen ovi in
the oviparous, and in the viviparous animals certainly
somewhat of the same kind, as it was necessary the
vessels should be filled with such a fluid as would make
way for an after assimilation. When the infant has
attained a considerable degree of firmness, as when it
is separated from the mother, yet such a degree of
weakness still remains as makes somewhat of the same
indication necessary; it behoves the infant to have an
alkalescent food ready prepared, and at the same time
its noxious tendency to be avoided. Milk then is
given, which is alkalescent, and, at the same time,
has a sufficient quantity of acidity to correct that alka-
lescency. As the body advances in growth, and the
alkalescent tendency is greater, the animal, to obviate
that tendency, is led to take vegetable food, as more
suited to its strength of assimilation.
Dr Cullen observes, that milk is suited to almost all
temperaments •, and it is even so to stomachs disposed
Vox.. XIV. Part I. t
to acescency, more than those substances which have Milk,
undergone the vinous fermentation j nay, it even cures \-~
the heartburn, checks vinous fermentation j and pre¬
cipitates the lees, when, by renewal of fermentation,
the wine happens to be fouled. It therefore vex-y pro¬
perly accompanies a great deal of vegetable aliment :
although sometimes its acescency is troublesome, ei¬
ther from a large proportion taken in, or from the de¬
gree of it; for, according to certain unaccountable cii’-
cumstances, different acids are formed in the stomach
in different states of the body ; in a healthy body e. g.
a mild one; in the hypochondriac disease sometimes,
one of a very acrid quality. When the acidity of
milk is carried to a great degree, it may prove re¬
markably refrigerant, and occasion cold crudities, and
the recurrence of intermittent fevei-s. To take the
common notion of its passing unchanged into the
blood, it can suffer no solution. But if we admit its
coagulum in the stomach, then it may be reckoned
among soluble or insoluble foods, according as that
coagulum is more or less tenacious. Formeidy rennet,
which is employed to coagulate milk, was thought an
acid; but, from late observations, it appears, that, if
it be an acid, it is very different from other acids, and
that its coagulum is stronger than that produced by acids.
It has been imagined, that a rennet is to be found in
the stomachs of all animals, which causes coagulation of
milk ; but according to Dr Cullen the coagulation of
milk seems to be owing to a weak acid in the stomach,
the relics of our vegetable food, inducing, in healthy
persons, a weak and soluble coagulum : but in different
stomachs this may be very different, in these becoming
heavy and less soluble food, and sometimes even eva¬
cuated in a coagulated undissolved state both by sto¬
mach and stool.
As milk is ascescent, it may be rendered sometimes
purgative by mixing with the bile j and some examples
of this have been remarked. More commonly, how¬
ever, it is reckoned among those foods which occasion
costiveness.
Hoffman, in his experiments on milk, found that
all kinds of it contained much water 5 and when this
was dissipated, found the residuums very different in
their solubility. But we must not thence conclude,
that the same insolubility takes place in the stomach j
for extracts made from vegetables with water are often
very insoluble substances, and hardly diffusible through
water itself: therefore, in Hoffman’s extracts, if we
may so call them, of milk, somewhat of the same kind
might have appeared j and these substances, which in
their natural state were not so, might appear very in¬
soluble. However, we may allow that milk is always
somehow insoluble in the intestines, as it is of a drying
nature, and as cheese, &c. is very costive. And this
effect shows that milk is always coagulated in the sto¬
mach j for if it remained fluid, no faeces would be
produced, whereas sometimes very hard ones are ob¬
served. In the blood vessels, from its animal nature,
it may be considered as nutritious j but when we con¬
sider its vegetable contents, and acescency in the primse
vise, we find that, like animal food, it does not excite
that degree of fever in the time of digestion, and that
from its acescency it will resist putrefaction. Hence
its use in hectic fevers, which, whatever be their cause,
N appeaj
M I L
[ 98 ]
M 1 L
Milk. appear only to be exacerbations of natural feverish pa-
-—v~ ——roxysnls, which occur twice every day, commonly af¬
ter meals, and at night. To obviate these, therefore,
we give such an aliment as produces the least exacer¬
bation of these fevers : and of this nature is milk, on
account of its acescent vegetable nature.
There appeax-s also somewhat peculiar to milk, which
requires only a small exertion of the animal powers in
order to its assimilation j and besides, in hectic com¬
plaints there is wanted an oily, bland food, approach¬
ing to the animal nature 5 so that on all these accounts
milk is a diet peculiax-ly adapted to them, and, in ge¬
neral, to most convalescents, and to those of mflam-
matory temperaments. So far of milk in general. We
shall now speak of the particular kinds which are in
common use.
The milks of women, mares, and asses, agree very
much in their qualities, being very dilute, having little
solid contents, and, when evaporated to dryness, having
these very soluble, containing much saccharine mattex*,
of a very ready acescency, and, when coagulated, their
coagulum being tender and easily bx*oke down. ITom
this view they have less oil, and seem to have less coa-
gulable matter than the rest.
The milks of cows, sheep, and goats, agree in op¬
posite qualities to the three just mentioned ; but here
there is somewhat more of gradation. Cows milk
comes nearest to the former milk : goats milk is less
fluid, less sweet, less flatulent, has the largest propor¬
tion of insoluble part after coagulation, and indeed the
largest proportion of coagulable part j its oily and co-
agulable parts are not spontaneously separable, never
throwing out a cream, or allowing butter to be rea¬
dily extracted from it. Hence the virtues of these
milks are obvious, being more nourishing, though at the
same time less easily soluble in weak stomachs, than the
three first, less acescent than these, and so more rarely
laxative, and peculiarly fitted for the diet of conva¬
lescents without fever. The three first again are less
nourishing, more soluble, moi'e laxative, as more aces¬
cent, and adapted to the convalescents with fever.
These qualities, in particular milks, are considerably
diversified by different chxumstances. First, Diflerent
animals, living on the same diet, give a considerably
different milk ; for there seems to be something in the
constitution, absti'acting from the aliment, which con¬
stitutes a considerable diversity of milk, not only in the
same species of animals, but also in the some animal,
at different ages, and at different distances after deli¬
very : this applies to the choice of nurses. Secondly,
Milk follows the nature of the aliment moi'e than any
other iuice in the human body, being moi'e or less fluid
and dilute, more or less solid and nourishing, in pro¬
portion as these qualities are more or less in the ali¬
ment. The nature of the aliment differs according to
its time of growth, e. g. old grass being always found
more nourishing than young. Aliment, too, is always
varied according to the season, as that is warm or dry,
moist or cloudy.
The milk of each particular kind of animal is fitter
for particular purposes, when fed on proper food.—
Thus the cow delights in the succulent herbage of the
vale : if the sheep be fed there he certainly rots, but
on the higher and more dry side of the mountain be
feeds pleasantly and healthy j while the goat never Mi!k
stops near the bottom, but ascends to the craggy sum-1 
nut: and certainly the milks of these animals are al¬
ways best on their proper soil, and that of goats is best
on a mountainous country. From a dissertation oi
Linnteus, we have many observations concerning the
diversity of plants on ■which each animal chooses to
feed. All the Swedish plants which could be collect¬
ed together, were presented alternately to domestic
animals, and then it appeared that the goat lived on
the greatest variety, and even on many which were poi¬
sonous to the rest j that the cow chose the first succu¬
lent shoots of the plant, and neglected the fructifica¬
tion j which last was preferred by the goat. Hence
may be deduced rules concerning the pasturage of dif¬
ferent animals •, e. g. I armers find, that, in a pasture
which Was only fit to feed a certain number of sheep,
an equal number of goats may be introduced, while
the sheep are no less nourished than before.
It is not easy to assign the difference between milk
fresh drawn and that detained in the open air for some
time : but certainly there is some material one, other¬
wise nature universally would not have directed infants
to sucking 5 and indeed it seems better than the other,
fitted for digestion and nourishment. Physicians have
supposed that this depended on the evaporation of some
spt. rector : but our author cannot conceive any such,
except common water here \ and besides, these volatile
parts can hardly be nutritious. A more plausible ac¬
count seems deducible from mixture : milk new drawn
has been but lately mixed, and is exposed to sponta¬
neous separation, a circumstance hurtful to digestion }
none of the parts being, by themselves, so easily assi¬
milated as when they are all taken together. Hence,
then, milk new drawn is more intimately blended, and
therefore then is most proper to the weakly and in¬
fants.
Another difference in the use of milk exposed for
some time to the air, is taking it boiled or unboiled.
Physicians have generally recommended the former j.
but the reason is not easily assigned. Perhaps it is
this : Milk kept for some time exposed to the air has
gone so far to a spontaneous separation j whereas the
heat thoroughly blends the whole, and hence its reso¬
lution is not so easv in the stomach 5 and thus boiled
milk is more costive than raw, and gives more faeces.
Again, When milk is boiled, a considerable quantity of
air is detached, as appears from the froth on the sur¬
face ; and air is the chief instrument of fermentation
in bodies ; so that after this process it is not liable ta
acescency : for these reasons it is proper for the robust
and vigorous.
Another difference of milk is, according as it is fluid
or coagulated. The coagulated is of two kinds, as
induced by rennet, or the natural acescency of the
milk. The former preparation makes the firmer and
less easily soluble coagulum ; though, when taken with
the whey unseparated, it is less difficult of solution,
though more so than any other coagulum in the same
case. Many nations use the latter form, which is easier
soluble, but very much acescent, and therefore, in point
of solution, should, be confined to the vigorous, in point
of acescency, to those who live on alkalescent food
and in the last case, the Laplanders use it as their chief
acescent
MIL [ 99 ] MIL
jlilk. acescent condiment. From the same considerations it
—is more cooling, and in its other eflects like all other
acescent vegetables.
Milk by evaporation yields a sweet saline matter, of
which Dr Lewis gives the following proportion :
Twelve
ounces of
Left of dry
matter
From which water extract¬
ed a svveetsaline substance
amounting to
Cows milk
Goats milk
Human milk
Asses milk
13 drachms.
8
8
li drachms.
14
6
6
The saline substance extracted from asses milk was
white, and sweet as sugar; those of the others brown
or yellow, and considerably less sweet j that from cows
milk had the least sweetness of any.
On distilling 12 quarts of milk in balneo marice, at
least nine quarts of pure phlegm were obtained ; the
liquor which afterwards arose was acidulous, and by
degrees grew sensibly more and more acid as the di¬
stillation was continued. After this came over a little
spirit, and at last, the empyreumatic oil. The remain¬
ing solid matter adhered to the bottom of the retort,
in the form of elegant shining black flowers, which be¬
ing calcined and elixated yielded a portion of fixed al¬
kaline salt.
Milk set in a warm place, throws up to the surface
an unctuous cream, from which, by agitation, the but¬
ter is easily separated. The addition of alkaline salts
prevents this separation, not (as some have supposed) by
absorbing an acid from the milk, but by virtue of their
property of intimately uniting oily bodies with watery
liquors. Sugar, another grand intermedium betwixt
oils and water, has this effect in a greater degree,
though that concrete is by no means alkaline, or an ab¬
sorbent of acids.
The sweet saccharine part of the milk remains dis¬
solved in the whey after the separation of the curd or
cheesy matter, and may be collected from it in a white
crystalline form, by boiling the whey till all remains
of the curdled substance have fallen to the bottom ;
then filtering, evaporating it to a due consistence, set¬
ting it to shoot, and purifying the crystals by solution in
water and a second crystallization. Much has been
said of the medicinal virtues of this sugar of milk, but
it does not seem to have any considerable ones : It is
from cows milk that it has been generally prepared ;
and the crystals obtained fx-om this kind of milk have
but little sweetness.
When milk is‘suffered to coagulate spontaneously,
the whey proves acid, and on standing grows more
and more so till the putrefactive state commences.
Sour whey is used as an acid, preferable to the directly
vegetable or the mineral acids, in some of the che¬
mical arts *, as for dissolving ii'on in order to the stain¬
ing of linen and leather. This acid was commonly
made use of in the bleaching of linen, for dissolving
and extracting the eai'thy particles left in the cloth by
the alkaline salts and lime employed for cleansing and
whitening it. Butter milk is preferred to plain sour
milk or sour whey: This last is supposed to give the
cloth a yellow colom\ Dr Home, in his ingenious
treatise on this subject, recommends water acidulated
with sulphuric acid (in the proportion of about half an
ounce, or at most three quax-ters of an ounce, to a gal¬
lon), as prefei’able in many respects to the acid of milk,
or of the more directly vegetable substances.
He observes, that the latter are often difficultly pi-o-
curable, abound with oleaginous particles, and hasten
to corx-uption ; whilst the vitriolic acid is cheap, and
pux-e, and indisposed to putrefy: That milk takes five
days to perform its office, whilst the vitriolic acid
does it in as many houx-s, peihaps in as many minutes :
That this acid contributes also to whiten the cloth, ami
does not make it weaker though the cloth be kept in it
for months. He finds, that acid, as well as alkalies,
extract an oily matter from the cloth, and lose their
acidity and alkalicity. Since this tx-eatise appeared,
the use of sour milk is very generally superseded by
oil of vitriol.
It is observable, that asses milk is greatly disposed,
on standing for a little time, to become thick and ropy.
In the Breslaw collection for the year 1720, thei'e is a
remarkable account of milk (which probably was that
of the ass) grown so thick and tenacious as to be drawn
out into long strings, which, when dried, wei'e quite
bx-ittle.
New cows milk, suffered to stand for some days on
the leaves of butterwort or sun-dew, becomes uniformly
thick, slippery, and coherent, and of an agreeable sweet
taste, without any separation of its pai'ts. Fresh milk,
added to this, is thickened in the same manner, and
this successively. In some parts of Sweden, as we arc
informed in the Swedish Memoirs, milk is thus prepa¬
red for food.
New milk has a degree of glutinous quality, so as to
be used for joining broken stone ware. There is a far
gx-eater tenacity in cheese properly prepared.
Milk, when examined by a microscope, appears
composed of numerous globules swimming in a trans¬
parent fluid. It boils in nearly the same degree of
heat with common water j some sorts rather sooner,
and some a little later : after boiling, it is less dis¬
posed to grow sour than in its natural state. It is
coagulated by acids both mineral and vegetable, and by
alkalies both fixed and volatile. The coagulum made
by acids falls to the bottom of the serum ; that made
by alkalies swims on the surface, commonly forming
(especially with volatile alkalies) a thick coidaceous
skin. The serum, with alkalies, proves green or sa«
nious; with acids, it differs little in appearance from
the whey that sepax-ates spontaneously. The coagulum
formed by acids is dissolved by alkalies, and that
formed by alkalies is x’edissolved by acids ; but the
milk does not iu either case x'esume its original pro¬
perties. It is coagulated by most of the middle salts,
whose basis is an earth or a metallic body 5 as solution
of alum, fixed sal ammoniac, sugar of lead, green and
blue vitriol •, but not by the chalybeate or purging
mineral waters, nor by the bitter salt extracted from
the purging waters. Among the neutral salts that
have been tried, there is not one that produces any
coagulation. They all dilute the milk, and make it
less disposed to coagulate with acids or alkalies : Nitre
seems to have this effect in a greater degree than the
other neutral salts. It is instantly coagulated by highly
N 2 rectified
Milk.
MIL [ioo
Milk, rectified spirit of wine, but scarcely by a phlegmatic
v"~" ' spirit. It does not mingle with expressed oils. x\-U
the coagula are dissolved by gall.
It has generally been supposed by medical authors,
that the milk of animals is of the same nature with
chyle, and that the human milk always coagulates in
the stomach of infants •, but in a late dissertation upon
the subject by Mr Clarke, member of the Royal Irish
Academy, we find both these positions controverted.
According to him, women’s milk, in a healthy state, con¬
tains no coagulable, mucilaginous, or cheesy principle,
in its composition } or it contains so little, that it can¬
not admit of any sensible proof. Ur Rutty states, that
it does not afford even a sixth part of the curd which
is yielded by cows milk } and Dr Young denies that
jrish it is at all coagulable either by rennets or acids. This
Trans, for js confirmed by Dr Ferris, who in 1782 gained the Har-
1'S8, veian prize medal at Edinburgh by a dissertation up¬
on milk. Mr Clarke informs us, that he has made a
vast number of experiments upon women’s milk with
a view to determine this point. He made use of ar¬
dent spirits, all the different acids, infusions of infants
stomachs, and procured the milk of a great many dif¬
ferent women ; but in no instance, excepting one or
two, did he perceive any thing like curd. Ihis took
place in consequence of a spontaneous acescency; and
only a small quantity of soft flaky matter was formed,
which floated in the serum. This he looked upon to be
a morbid appearance.
The general opinion that women’s milk is. coagu¬
lable has arisen from a single circumstance, viz. that
infants frequently vomit the milk they suck in a state
of apparent coagulation. This greatly perplexed Dr
Young ; who, after having tried in vain to coagulate
human milk artificially, concluded, that the process
took place spontaneously in the stomach ; and that it
would always do so if the milk were allowed to re¬
main in a degree of heat equal to about p6 degrees of
Fahrenheit. Mr Clarke took equal quantities of three
different kinds of milk, and put them into bottles
slightly corked, and these bottles into water, the tem¬
perature of which was kept up by a spirit of wine
lamp as near as possible to 96° of ! ahrenheit: but af¬
ter frequently examining each bottle during the course
of the experiment, at the expiration of several hours
there was not the smallest tendency towards coagula¬
tion to be perceived in any of them •, the cream was
only thrown to the surface in a thick and adhesive
form, and entirely separated from the fluid below,
which had something of a gray and wheyish appear¬
ance. As the matter vomited by infants is sometimes
more adhesive than we can suppose cream to be, Mr
Clarke supposed that the curd might be so entangled
with the cream, as to be with difficulty separated from
it ; but having collected a quantity of rich cream from
the milk of different women, he repeated the experi¬
ment with precisely the same event, not being able in
any one instance to produce the smallest quantity of
curd. To determine, however, what effects might be
produced upon milk by the stomach of an infant, Mr
Clarke made the following experiment: Having taken
out the stomach of a foetus which had been deprived
of life by the use of instruments, he infused it in a
small quantity of hot water, so as to make a strong
infusion. He added a tea-spoonful of this infusion to
] MIL
equal quantities of cows and human milk \ the conse¬
quence of which was, that the cow s milk was fiimly v—
coagulated in a short time, but the human milk was
not altered in the least} neither was the least coagula¬
tion produced by adding a second and third spoonful
to the human milk. “ Upon the whole, then, (says
Mr Clarke), I am persuaded it will be found, that hu¬
man milk, in an healthy state, contains little or no curd,
and that the general opinion of its nature and proper¬
ties is founded upon fallacious analogy and superficial
observations made on the matter vomited by infants.
We may presume, that the cream of women’s milk,
by its inferior specific gravity, will swim on the surface
of the contents of the stomach; and being of an oily
nature, that it will be of more difficult digestion than
any other constituent part of milk. W hen an infant
then sucks very plentifully, so as to over-distend the
stomach, or labours under any weakness in the powers
of digestion, it cannot appear unreasonable to suppose,
that the cream shall be first rejected by vomiting.
Analogous to this, we know that adults affected with
dyspepsia often bring up greasy fluids from the sto¬
mach by eructation, and this especially after eating fat
meat. We have, in some instances, known this to blaze
when thrown into the fire like spirit of wine or oil.”
Our author derives a confirmation of his opinion from
the following observation, viz. that curds vomited by
infants of a few days old are yellow, while they become
white in a fortnight or three weeks. This he accounts
for from the yellow colour of the cream thrown up by
the milk of women during the first four or five days af¬
ter delivery.
Mr Clarke likewise controverts that common opi¬
nion of the human milk being so prone to acidity, that
a great number of the diseases of children are to be
accounted for from that principle. “ Whoever (says
he) takes the trouble of attentively comparing human
milk with that of ruminant animals, will soon find it
to be much less prone to run into the acescent or acid
process. I have very often exposed equal quantities
of human and cows milk in degrees of temperature,
varying from the common summer heat, or 650, to I00°j
and I have constantly found that cows milk acquires a
greater degree of acidity in 36 hours than the human
did in many days : cows milk becomes offensively pu¬
trid in four or five days a change which healthy hu¬
man milk, exposed in the same manner, will not un¬
dergo in many weeks, nay, sometimes in many months.
I once kept a few ounces of a nurse’s milk, delivered
about six or seven days, for more than two years in a
bottle moderately corked. It stood on the chimney-
piece, and was frequently opened to be examined. At
the end of this period it showed evident marks of mo¬
derate acidity, whether examined by the taste, smell,
or paper stained with vegetable blues or purples \ the
latter it changed to a florid red colour, whereas cows
milk kept a few days changed the colour of the same
paper to a green, thereby clearly showing its putrescent
tendency.”
Our author next goes on to consider of the pro¬
bability there is of milk becoming so frequently and
strongly acid as to occasion most of the diseases of in¬
fants. He begins with an attempt to show that the
phenomena commonly looked upon to be indications
of acrimony are by no means certain. Curdled milk
MIL [ i
has already been shown to be no sign of acidity; and
the other appearance, which has commonly been
thought to be so certain, viz. green faeces, is, in the
opinion of Mr Clarke, equally fallacious. In support
of this he quotes a letter from Dr Sydenham to Dr
Cole; in which he says, that the green matter vomited
by hysterical women is not any proof of acrid humours
being the cause of that disease, for sea-sick people do
the same. The opinion of green feces being an effect
of acidity, proceeds upon the supposition that a mixture
of bile with an acid produces a green colour: but it is
found, that the vegetable acid, which only can exist in
the human body, is unable to produce this change of co¬
lour, though it can be effected by the strong mineral
acids. As nothing equivalent to any of these acids can
be supposed to exist in the bowels of infants, we must
therefore take some other method of accounting for the
green feces frequently evacuated by them. “ Why
should sour milk, granting its existence, give rise to
them in infants and not in adults ? Have butter milk,
summer fruits of the most acescent kind, lemon or
orange juice, always this effect in adults by their a-d-
mixture Avith bile ? This is a question which, I be¬
lieve, cannot be answered in the affirmative.”
On the whole, Dr Clarke considers the disease of aci¬
dity in the bowels, though so frequently mentioned, to
be by no means common. He oavus indeed, that it
may sometimes occur in infancy as well as in adults,
from weakness of the stomach, costiveness, or improper
food; and an indubitable evidence is afforded by feces
Avhich stain the blue or purple colour of vegetables to a
red, though nothing can be inferred with certainty from
the colour or smell.
The doctor next proceeds to state seA^eral reasons
for his opinion, that the greater number of infantile
diseases are not owing to acidity: i. Women’s milk
in a healthy state contains little or no coagulable
matter or curd. 2. It shows less tendency out of the
body to become acescent than many other kinds of
milk. 3. The appearances which have been generally
supposed to characterize its acidity do not afford satis¬
factory evidence of such a morbid cause. 4. Granting
this to be the case, Ave have plenty of mild absorbents,
capable of destroying all the acid Avhich can be suppos¬
ed to be generated in the bowels of an infant; yet
many children are observed to die in consequence of
these diseases supposed to arise from acidity. 5. Though
the milk of all ruminant animals is of a much more
acescent nature than that of the human species, yet
the young of these animals never suffer any thing like
the diseases attributed to acidity in infants. 6. His¬
tory informs us that whole nations use sour curdled
milk as a considerable part of their food, without feel¬
ing any inconvenience ; which, however, must have
been the case, if acidity in the stomach were pro¬
ductive of such deleterious effect as has been sup¬
posed.
The reasoning of Dr Clarke seems here to be very
plausible, and nothing has as yet been offered to con¬
tradict it. The reviewers in taking notice of the trea¬
tise only observe, that the doctor’s positions are sup¬
ported by great probability; yet “ they have seen
them, or think they have seen them, contradicted by
the appearance of diseases and the effects of medi-
;r ] MIL
cines so that they must leave the subject to farther
examination.
In a memoir by Messrs Parmentier and Deyeux,
members of the royal college of pharmacy, &e. in Pa¬
ris, avc have a great number of experiments on the
milk of asses, coavs, goats, sheep, and mares, as Avell
as women. The experiments on cows milk, were made
Avith a view to determine whether any change Avas
made in the milk by the different kinds of food eaten
by the animal. For this purpose some were fed with
the leaves of momc or Turkey wheat; some Avith cab¬
bage ; others with small potatoes; and others with
common grass. The milk of those fed with the maize
or Turkey Avheat Avas extremely SA\Teet; that from the
potatoes and common grass much more serous and in¬
sipid ; and that from the cabbages the most disagreeable
of all. By distillation only eight ounces of a colour¬
less fluid Avere obtained from as many pounds of each
of these milks ; which from those Avho fed upon grass
had an aromatic flavour; a disagreeable one from cab¬
bage ; and none at all from the potatoes and Turkey
Avheat. This liquid became fetid in the space of a
month, Avhatever substance the animal had been fed
Avith, acquiring at the same time a viscidity and be¬
coming turbid ; that from cabbage generally, but not al-
Avays, becoming first putrid. All of them separated a
filamentous matter, and became clear on being exposed
to the heat of 250 of Reaumur’s thermometer. In the
residuums of the distillation no difference whatever
could be perceived. As the only difl’erence therefore
existing in coavs milk lies in the volatile part, our au¬
thors conclude, that it is improper to boil milk either
for common or medicinal purposes. They observed al¬
so that any sudden change of food, even from a Averse
to a better kind Avas attended by a very remarkable di¬
minution in the quantity of milk. All the residuums
of the distillations yielded, in a strong fire, a yellow oil
and acid, a thick and black empyreumatic oil, a volatile
alkali, and towards the end a quantity of inflammable
air, and at last a coal remained containing some fixed
alkali Avith muriatic acid.
On agitating in long bottles the creams from the milk
of coavs fed with different substances, all of them were
formed into a kind of half-made butter; of which that
formed from the milk from maize Avas white, firm,
and insipid ; that from potatoes Avas softer and more
pinguedinous; but that from common grass Avas the
best of all. Cabbage, as in other cases, gave a strong
taste.
In the course of their experiments, it was endeavour¬
ed to determine whether butter is actually contained in
the cream, or Avhether it be a chemical production of
the operation of churning. They could not find any
reason absolutely satisfactory on either side, but incline
to the latter opinion ; because when cream is allowed to
remain among the milk, and the whole curdled promis¬
cuously, only fat cheese, without any butter, is produ¬
ced. The oily parts cannot be separated into butter ei¬
ther by acids or any other means than churning: even
the artificial mixture of oil with the cream is insufficient
for the purpose.
The serum of milk Avas reduced by filtration to a
clear and pellucid liquor; and, by mixture with fixed
alkali, deposited a portion of cheesy matter which had
been
M 1 L [ 102
Milk. been dissolved in the whey. The sugar of milk was al-
*—v'~—so found in this liquor.
In their experiments upon the milk of various ani-
malsj it was found that the milk of asses yielded by
distillation an insipid liquor, and deposited a liquor
similar to the lymph of cows milk. It is coagulated
by all the acids, but not into an uniform mass ; ex¬
hibiting only the appearance of distinct flocculi. It
affords but little cream, which is converted with dif¬
ficulty into a soft butter that soon becomes rancid. It
has but a small quantity of saccharine particles, and
these are often mixed with muriatic selenite and com¬
mon salt. Goats milk has a thick cream, and agree¬
able to the taste-, and the milk itself may he preserved
longer in a sound state than any other species, the
scum on its surface being naturally convertible into
palatable cheese. It is easily made into firm butter,
which does not soon become rancid, and has a good
flavour. The butter milk contains a large quantity of
cheesy matter, which readily coagulates but has still
less saccharine matter than that of asses. Sheeps milk
can scarce be distinguished from that of a cow, and ea¬
sily parts with its cream by standing. It is of a yellow
colour, an agreeable flavour, and yields a great propor¬
tion of butter j but this is not solid, and soon becomes
rancid. Mares milk is the most insipid and least nutri¬
tious of any } notwithstanding which it has been much
recommended for weak and consumptive patients : in
which cases it is probable that it proves efficacious by
being more consonant than any other to the debilitated
powers of digestion. It boils with a smaller fire than
any other kind of milk, is easily coagulated, and the
distilled water does not soon change its nature. It has
but a small quantity of cheesy matter, and very few
oilv particles : the cream cannot he made into butter 5
and the whey contains about as much sugar as cows or
goats milk. t
In this memoir our authors remark, that in order to
augment the quantity, as well as to improve the qua-
litv, of the milk of animals, they should he well fed,
their stalls kept clean, and their litter frequently renew¬
ed: they should be milked at stated hours, but not
drained : great attention should also be paid to the
breed-, because inferior cattle are maintained at as
great expence as the most valuable kinds. No change
ought to be made in the food; though if the milk
be employed for medicinal purposes, it may be improv-
ed by a proper mixture of herbs, &c.
In their experiments on women’s milk, Messrs Par-
inentier and Deyeux differ somewhat from Dr Clarke.
They first tried the milk of a woman who had been
delivered four months: and observed, that alter the
cream had been separated the other part appeared of
a more perfect white, and that it could not be coa¬
gulated either by vinegar or mineral acids ; which
they attributed to a superabundance of serum. But
they found that in proportion to the age of the milk
it was found to be more easily coagulable ; and this
w-as confirmed by experiments made upon the milk of
20 nurses. Its coagulability was not increased by
heat. The cream, by agitation, formed a viscid unc¬
tuous matter, but could not be changed into perfect
butter but they found that it was extremely difficult
to determine the proportions of the various compo¬
nent parts in human milk, as it differs remarkably,
4
] MIL
not only in different subjects, but in the same subject j
at different times. In a nurse aged about 32 years,
who was extremely subject to nervous affections, tne
lYulb was one day found almost quite colouiless and
transparent. In two hours after, a second quantity
drawn from the breast was viscid like the white of an
ggg# It became whiter in a shoit time, but did not
recover its natural colour before the evening. It was
afterwards found that these changes were occasioned
by her having some violent hysteric fits in the mean
time.
Sugar of Milk. Difterent methods have been pro¬
posed'for obtaining the sugar of milk. The following
is an account of a method used by some of the Tartar
nations of preserving their milk by means of frost: in
which operation great quantities of the sugar of milk
are accidentally formed. The account was given by-
Mr Fahrig of Petersburgh, who undertook a journey,
by order of the academy of Petershurgh, among the
Mogul tribes who inhabit the country beyond the lake
Baikal, on the banks of the river Salenga. These peo¬
ple allow their milk to freeze in large quantity in iron
kettles j and, when it is perfectly congealed, they
place them over a gentle fire to soften the edges of
the cake, after which it may be taken out with a
wooden spatula. They commence these operations
at the beginning of the cold, when they have milk
in the greatest abundance 5 after which it may be pre¬
served with great ease throughout the whole winter.
Mr Fabrig having frequent opportunities of seeing
these cakes, soon observed, that the surface of them
was covered to a considerable depth with a farinaceous
powder ; and having established a dairy upon the same
plan with those of the Moguls, he found the same
thing take place with himself. This powder was ex¬
tremely sweet, and he received platefuls of it from the
natives, who used it in their food, and sweetened their
other victuals with it. Having caused a number of
cakes of frozen milk to be conveyed to the top of his
house, where they were directly exposed to the violent
cold, he found that the separation of the saccharine
powder was greatly promoted by this means. He
scraped the cakes every week to the depth of two
inches, and afterwards spread out the powder upon an
earthen plate in order to destroy the remains of mois¬
ture which might have prevented it from keeping for
any length of time. W hen exposed in this manner it had
a very agreeable and strong saccharine taste", dissolved
in warm water j and when strongly stirred by means of
a chocolate.stick, would at all times produce an excel¬
lent and well tasted milk. Raw milk affords a much
larger quantity of this saccharine matter than such as
has been boiled, or which has had the cream taken oft
it. Neither must the milk be suddenly exposed to the
cold before it has lost its natural heat ; for the sudden
contact of the cold drives all the cheesy and fat part
towards the middle, while the external parts consist of
little else than water. In order to allow the parts
of the milk to be all properly- mixed together, Mr
Fahrig allowed the milk when newly taken from the
cows to cool, and then poured it out into shallow
kettles.
Our author is of opinion that this method of making
milk would be of great service to navigators to sup¬
ply themselves with milk during long sea voyages: and
he
MIL [ 103 ] MIL
lie assures us, from his own experience, that it will
always succeed, if proper attention be paid to it. He
is of opinion, however, that all countries are not
equally proper for the preparation of this saccharine
matter: and indeed this seems very evidently to be
the case, as the process appears to be a crystallization
of the saccharine parts of the milk, and a separation
of them from the aqueous ones by means of extreme
cold. The country in which he made the experiments
is one of the most elevated in all Asia j and so cold,
that, though it lies only in the 50th degree of north
latitude, its rivers are frozen up for six months of the
year. A very dry cold wind also prevails throughout
almost the whole year •, and the dry winds generally
come from the north, being almost always preceded
by a warm wind from the south, which blows for
some time. The dry rarefied air increases the eva¬
poration from the ice cakes, and leaves nothing but
the saccharine or pure constituent parts of the milk,
which with the addition of water can always recompose
the fluid.
Milk, in the wine trade. The coopers know very
well the use of skimmed milk, which makes an inno¬
cent and efficacious forcing for the fining down of all
white wines, arracks, and small spirits ; but it is by no
means to be used for red wines, because it discharges
their colour. Thus, if a few quarts of well skimmed
milk be put into a hogshead of red wine, it will soon
precipitate the greater part of the colour, and leave
the whole nearly white : and this is of known use
in the turning of red wines, when pricked, into white ;
in which a small degree of acidity is not so much per¬
ceived.
Milk is, from this quality of discharging colour from
wines, of use also to the wine coopers, for the whiten¬
ing of wines that have acquired a brown colour from
the cask, or from having been hastily boiled before
fermenting; for the addition of a little skimmed milk,
in these cases, precipitates the brown colour, and leaves
the wines almost limpid, or of what they call a water
whiteness, which is much coveted abroad in wines as
well as in brandies.
Milk of Lime; Milk of Sulphur. The name of milk
is given to substances very different from milk properly
so called, and which resemble milk only in colour.
Such is water in which quicklime has been slaked,
which acquires a whiteness from the small particles of
the lime being suspended in it, and has hence been
called the milk of lime. Such also is the solution of
liver of sulphur, when an acid is mixed with it, by
which white particles of sulphur are made to float in the
liquor.
Milk of Vegetables. For the same reason that milk
of animals may be considered as a true animal emul¬
sion, the emulsive liquors of vegetables may be called
vegetable milks. Accordingly emulsions made with al¬
monds are commonly called milk of almonds. But be¬
sides this vegetable milk, which is in some measure ar¬
tificial, many plants and trees contain naturally a large
quantity of emulsive or milky juices. Such are lettuce,
spurge, fig tree, and the tree which furnishes the elas¬
tic American resin. The milky juices obtained from
all these vegetables derive their whiteness from an oily
matter, mixed and undissolved in a watery or mucila¬
ginous liquor. Most resinous gums were originally
such milky juices, which afterwards become solid by the Milk,
evaporation of their more fluid and volatile parts. Mill.
MiLK-Fever. See Medicine Index. "
MiLKY-Hedge, the English name of a shrub growing
on the coast of Coromandel, where it is used for hedg¬
ing. The whole shrub grows very bushy, with numer¬
ous erect branches, which are composed of cylindrical
joints as thick as a tobacco pipe, of a green colour,
and from three to six inches long : the joints are thick¬
er than the other parts, but always give way first on any
accidental violence offered to the plant. When broken
it yields a milk of an excessively caustic quality, which
blisters any part of the skin it touches. When the
joints are broken off at each end, the tube then contains
but very little milk. In this state Mr Ives ventured to
touch it with his tongue, and found it a little sweet.
In the hedges it is seldom very wmody ; but when it is,
the wood is very solid, and the bark gray and cracked.
This plant, he informs us, has acquired great reputation
in curing the venereal disease, on the following account:
A poor Portuguese woman, the eldest female of her
family, had wrought surprising cures in the most inve¬
terate venereal disorders, even such as the European
physicians had pronounced incurable. These facts be¬
came so notorious, that the servants of the Company,
and especially their surgeons, were induced to offer her
a very considerable premium for a discovery of the me- •
dicine ; but she always refused to comply, giving for a
reason, that while it remained a secret, it was a cer¬
tain provision for the maintenance of the family in the
present as well as in future generations. On account
of this denial the English surgeons were sometimes at
the pains to have her motions without doors carefully
watched ; and as they were not able to discover that
she ever gathered of any other plant or tree but this,
they conjectured that the milk of this tree was the spe¬
cific employed. Mr Ives inquired at the black doc¬
tors concerning the virtues of this plant; who all a-
greed, that it will cure the lues venerea, but differed as
to the manner of administering it; some saying that a
joint of it should be eaten every morning ; others that
the milk only should be dropped upon sugar; and then >
put into milk, oil, &.c. and given daily to the pa¬
tient.
MiLKY-JFay. See Astronomy Index.
MILL, a machine for grinding corn, &c. of which
there are various kinds, according to the different me¬
thods of applying the moving power; as water-mills,
wind-mills, mills worked by horses, &c. See Mecha¬
nics Index.
The first obvious method of reducing corn into flour
for bread would be by the simple expedient of pound¬
ing. And that was for ages the only one which was
practised by the various descendants of Adam, and ac¬
tually continued in use among the Romans below the
reign of Vespasian. But the process was very early
improved by the application of a grinding power, and
the introduction of millstones. rIhis, like most of
the common refinements in domestic life, was pro¬
bably the invention of the antediluvian world, and cer¬
tainly practised in some of the eaidiest ages after it;
and, like most of them, it was equally known in the east
and west. Hence the Gauls and Britons appear lamiliar-
ly acquainted with the use of hand-mills before the time
of their submission to the Romans ; the Britons particu-
Mill.
MIL [ 104 ]
larly distinguishing them, as the Highlanders and we original Britons.
distinguish them at present, by the simple appellations of
querns, comes, or stones. And to these the Romans
added the very useful invention of water mills, for
this discovery the world is pretty certainly indebted to
the genius of Italy ; and the machine was not uncom¬
mon in the country at the conquest of Lancashire.
This, therefore, the Romans would necessarily intro¬
duce with their many other refinements among us.
And that they actually did, the British appellation of a
water-mill fully suggests of itself} the mehn of the
Welsh and Cornish, the mull, meill, and mehn of the
Armoricans, and the Irish muilean and muihnd, being
all evidently derived from the Roman mola and molen-
dinum. The subject Britons universally adopted the
Roman name, but applied it, as we their successors do,
only to the Roman mill; and one of these was proba¬
bly erected at every stationary city in the kingdom.
Whitaker's One plainly was at Manchester, serving equally the
Hist of pUrposes of the town and the accommodation of the
Munches- .  a„j „„„ Timulrl snfliripnt. as the
fer.
garrison.—And one alone would be sufficient, as the
use of handmills remained very common in both, many
having been found about the site of the station particu¬
larly ", and the general practice having descended a-
mong us nearly to the present period. Such it would
be peculiarly necessary to have in the camp, that the
garrison might be provided against a siege. And the
water-mill at Manchester was fixed immediately below
the Castlefield and the town, and on the channel of the
Medlock. There, a little above the ancient ford, the
sluice of it was accidentally discovered about 30 years
ago. On the margin of Dyer’s croft, and opposite to
some new constructions, the current of the river, acci¬
dentally swelled with the rains, and obstructed by a
dam, broke down the northern bank, swept away a
large oak upon the edge of it, and disclosed a long tun¬
nel in the rock below. This has been since laid open
in part with a spade. It appeared entirely uncovered
at the top, was about a yard in width, and another in
depth, but gradually narrowed to the bottom. The
sides showed everywhere the marks of the tool on the
rock, and the course of it was parallel with the channel.
It was bared by the flood about 25 yards only in length,
but was evidently continued for several further } hav¬
ing originally begun, as the nature of the ground evin¬
ces, just above the large curve in the channel of the
Medlock.
For the first five or six centuries of the Roman state,
there were no public bread bakers in the city of Rome.
They were first introduced into it from the east, at the
conclusion of the war with Perseus, and about the year
167 before Christ. And, towards the close of the
first century, the Roman families were supplied by
them every morning with fresh loaves for breakfast.—
But the same custom, which prevailed originally among
the Romans and many other nations, has continued
nearly to the present time among the Mancunians. The
providing of bread for every family was left entirely
to the attention of the women in it *, and it was
baked upon stones, which the Welsh denominate grei-
diols and we gredles. It appears, however, from the
kiln-burnt pottery which has been discovered in the
British sepulchres, and from the British appellation of
an odijn or oven remaining among us at present, that
furnaces for baking were generally known among the
S
M I L
An odyn would, thereiore, be erect-
ed at the mansion of each British baron, for the use MiUstom
of himself and his retainers. And, when he and they' v^*
removed into the vicinity of a Roman station, the oven
would be rebuilt with the mansion, and the public
bakehouses of our towns commence at the first foun¬
dation of them. One bakehouse would be constructed,
as we have previously shown one mill to have been set
up, for the public service of all the Mancunian families.
One oven and one mill appear to. have been equally
established in the town. And the inhabitants of it ap¬
pear immemorially accustomed to bake at the one and
grind at the other. Both, therefore, were in all pro¬
bability constructed at the first introduction of water¬
mills and ovens into the country. The great similarity
of the appointments refers the consideration directly
to one and the same origin for them. And the gene¬
ral nature of all such institutions points immediately to
the first and actual introduction of both. And, as the
same establishments prevailed equally in other parts of
the north, and pretty certainly obtained over all the ex¬
tent of Roman Britain, the same erections were as
certainly made at every stationary town in the king¬
dom.
Mill, John, a very learned divine, was born at
Shap in Westmoreland, about the year 1645 ", and be¬
came a servitor of Queen’s college, Oxford. On his
entering into orders he became an eminent preacher,
and was made prebendary of Exeter. In 1681, he
■was created doctor of divinity ; about the same time he
was made chaplain in ordinary to King Charles II. and
in 1685 he was elected principal of St Edmund’s hall
Oxford. His edition of the Greek Testament,
which will ever render his name memorable, was pub¬
lished about a fortnight before his death, which hap¬
pened in June jqo*]. Dr Mills was employed 30 years
in preparing this edition.
MILLSTONE, the stone by which corn is ground.
 The millstones which wc find preserved from ancient
times are all small, and very different from those in
use at present. Thoresby mentions two or three such
found in England, among other Roman antiquities,
which were but 20 inches broad 5 and there is great
reason to believe that the Romans, as well as the
Egyptians of old, and the ancient Jews, did not em¬
ploy horses, or wind, or water, as we do, to turn
their mills, but made their slaves and captives of war
do this laborious work : they were in this service
placed behind these millstones, and pushed them on
with all their force. Sampson, when a prisoner to
the Philistines, was treated no better, but was con¬
demned to the millstone in his prison. The runner or
loose millstone, in this sort of grinding, was usually
very heavy for its size, being as thick as broad. I his
is the millstone which is expressly prohibited in Scrip¬
ture to take in pledge, as lying loose it was more
easily removed. The Talmudists have a story, that
the Chaldeans made the young men of the captivity
carry millstones with them to Babylon, where there
seems to have been a scarcity at that time ; and hence,
probably, their paraphrase renders the text “ have
borne the mills or millstones j” which might thus be
true in a literal sense. They have also a proverbial
expression of a man with a millstone about his neck j
which they use to express a man under the severest
weierht
MIL [ !
Millstone weight of affliction. This also plainly refers to this
|| small sort of stones.
(Millen- Rhenish Millstone, a stone which has been clas-
nium' , sed among volcanic products, on account of its appear¬
ance, which is a blackish gray, porous, and very much
resembling a lava of Mount Vesuvius.
MILLEDGEVILLE, a town in the state of Geor¬
gia in North America, situated on the river Occonee,
about 150 miles from the sea. Its population in 1810
was 1257. W. Long. 83. 10. N. Lat. 32. 40.
MILLENARIANS, or Chiliasts, a name given
to those in the primitive ages, who believed that the
saints will reign on earth with Christ 1000 years. See
Millenium.
MILLENER, or MILLINER, one who sells ribbands
and, dresses, particularly head dresses for women ; and
who makes up those dresses. Of this word difi’erent
etymologies have been given. It is not derived from
the French. The French cannot express the notion of
milliner, otherwise than by the circumlocution marchand
or marchande des modes. Neither is it derived from
the Low Dutch language, the great, but neglected,
magazine, of the Anglo-Saxon. For Sewel, in his
Dictionary English and Dutch, I7°8> describes mil-
lener to be “ a pedlar who sells ribbands and other
trimmings or ornaments j a French pedlar.”
Littleton, in his English and Latin Dictionary, pub¬
lished 1677, defines millener, “ a jack of all trades
q. d. millenarius, or mille mercium venditor; that is,
“ one who sells a thousand different sorts of things.”
From this etymology, which seems fanciful, we must
hold, that it then implied what is now termed “ a ha¬
berdasher of small wares.”
Before Littleton’s time, however, a somewhat nicer
characteristic than seems compatible with his notion,
appears to have belonged to them j for Shakespeare, in
his Henry IV. makes Hotspur, when complaining of
the daintiness of a courtier, say,
“ He was ’perfumed like a milliner.
The fact seems to be, that there were milleners of
several kinds : as, horse milleners, (for so those persons
were called who make ornaments of coloured worsted
for horses) j haberdashers of small wares, the milleners
of Littleton j and milleners such as those now pecu¬
liarly known by that name, whether male or female,
and to whom Shakespeare’s allusion seems most appro¬
priate.
Lastly, Dr Johnson, in his dictionary, derives the
word from milaner, an inhabitant of Milan, from
whence people of this profession first came, as a Lom¬
bard is a banker.
MILLE passes, or Millia Passvnm; a very com¬
mon expression among the ancient Romans for a mea¬
sure of distance, commonly called a mile. Milliarium,
rarely used. Which Hesychius made to consist of seven
st.adia 5 Plutarch, little short of eight; but many others,
as Strabo and Polybius, make it just eight stadia. The
reason of this difference seems to be, that the former
had a regard to the Grecian foot, which is greater than
the Roman or Italic. This distance is oftentimes cal¬
led lapis, which see. Each passus consisted of five
feet (Columella).
MILLENNIUM, w a thousand years j” generally
Vol. XIV. Part I. t
05 ] MIL
employed to denote the thousand years, during which, Milieu,
according to an ancient tradition in the church, ground- nium.
ed on some doubtful texts in the Apocalypse and other ''■•■“V-'
Scriptures, our blessed Saviour shall reign with the
faithful upon earth after the first resurrection, before
the final completion of beatitude.
Though there has been no age of the church in
which the millennium was not admitted by individual
divines of the first eminence, it is yet evident from the
writings of Eusebius, Irenaeus, Origen, and others
among the ancients, as well as from the histories of
Dupin, Mosheim, and all the moderns, that it was
never adopted by the whole church, or made an article
of the established creed in any nation.
About the middle of the fourth century the Millen-
nians held the following tenets :
1st, That the city of Jerusalem should be rebuilt,
and that the land of Judea should be the habitation of
those who were to reign on earth 1000 years.
2dly, That the first resurrection was not to be con¬
fined to the martyrs j but that after the fall of Anti¬
christ all the just were to rise, and all that were on the
earth were to continue for that space of time.
3dly, That Christ shall then come down from hea¬
ven, and be seen on earth, and reign there with his
servants.
4thly, That the saints during this period shall enjoy
all the delights of a terrestrial paradise.
These opinions rvere founded upon several passa¬
ges of Scripture, -which the Millenarians among the
fathers understood in no other than a literal sense,
but which the moderns, who hold that opinion, con¬
sider as partly literal and partly metaphorical. Of
these passages, that upon which the greatest stress has
been laid, we believe to be the following:—“ And
I saw an angel come down from heaven, having the
key of the bottomless pit, and a great chain in his
hand. And he laid hold on the dx*agon, that old ser¬
pent, which is the devil and Satan, and bound him a
thousand years, and cast him into the bottomless pit,
and shut him up, and set a seal upon him, that he
should deceive the nations no more till the thousand years
should be fulfilled ; and after that lie must be loosed
a little season. And I saw thrones, and they sat up¬
on them, and judgment was given unto them: and
I saw the souls of them that were beheaded for the
witness of Jesus, and for the word of God, and which
had not worshipped the beast, neither his image, nei¬
ther had received his mark upon their foreheads, or in
their hands j and they lived and reigned with Christ
a thousand years. But the rest of the dead lived not
again till the thousand years were finished. This is
the first resurrection*.” This passage all the ancient* Rora. xx
Millenarians took in a sense grossly literal j and taught, 1—5.
that during the millennium the saints on earth were
to enjoy every bodily delight. The moderns, on the
other hand, consider the power and pleasure of this
kingdom as wholly spiritual ; and they represent them
as not to commence till after the conflagration of the
present earth. But that this last supposition is a mis¬
take, the very next verse except one assures us : for
we are there told, that “ when the thousand years are
expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison, and
shall go out to deceive the nations which are in the
four quarters of the earth;'''1 and we have no reason to
O believe
* Rom. vi,
I3-
j- Eph. v.
14.
$ 1 Cor.
xv. 23.
M I L [
believe that he will have such power or such liberty in
“ the new heavens and the nexv earth wherein dwelleth
righteousness.”
For this and other reasons, which our limits will not
permit us to enumerate, the most judicious critics con¬
tend, that the prophesies ol the millennium point, not
to a resurrection of martyrs and other just men to reign
with Christ a thousand years in a visible kingdom upon
earth, but to that state of the Christian church, which,
for a thousand years before the general judgment, will
be so pure and so widely extended, that, when compa¬
red with the state of the world in the ages preceding,
it may, in the language of Scripture, be called a resur¬
rection from the dead. In support ot this interpretation
they quote two passages from St Paul, in which a con¬
version from Paganism to Christianity, and a reforma¬
tion of life, is called a resurrection from*the dead:—
“ Neither yield ye your members as instruments of un¬
righteousness into sin ; but yield yourselves unto God
as those that are alive from the dead*And again,
“ Wherefore he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and
arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light f.”
It is likewise to be observed, that in all the descriptions
of the resurrection and future judgment which are
given us at such length in the gospels and epistles, there
is no mention made of a first and second resurrection at
the distance of a thousand years from each other.
There is indeed an order in the resurrection: for we
are told J, that “ every man shall rise in his own order j
Christ the first fruits, afterwards they that are Christ’s
at his coming,” &c. But were the millennarian hypo¬
thesis well founded, the words should rather have run
thus: “ Christ the first fruits, then the martyrs at his
coming, and a thousand years afterwards the residue of
mankind. Then cometh the end,” &c.
These arguments strongly incline us to believe, that
by the reign of Christ and the saints for a thousand
years upon earth, nothing more is meant, than that
before the general judgment the Jews should be con¬
verted, genuine Christianity be diffused through all na¬
tions, and mankind enjoy that peace and happiness
which the faith and precepts of the gospel are calcu¬
lated to confer on all by whom they are sincerely em¬
braced.
Our Saviour’s own account of his religion is, that
from a small beginning it will increase to the full
harvest. The millennium therefore is to be considered
as the full effect of the Christian principles in the hearts
of men, and over the whole world j and the divines
who have treated of this subject endeavour to prove,
that this is to be expected from the facts which have
already existed, and from the importance of the Chris¬
tian doctrine.
1. The gradual progress of Christianity is no objec¬
tion to this fact. This is similar to the progress and
advancement from less to greater perfection in every
thing which possesses vegetable or animal life. The
same thing is observed in the arts, in civiliz.ation, in
societies, and 111 individuals—and why should it not be
admitted to have place in religion ? There is, indeed, a
general principle on which a gradual progression, both
in the natural and moral world, is founded. The
Almighty never employs supernatural means where the
thi.ig can be accomplished by those which are natural.
This idea is of the most general extent through the
3
106 ] MIL
whole of the present system of nature. The possibility MilleiJ
of another plan could easily be admitted ) but in this case nium:
there would be a total alteration of every part of the v H
works of God or of man that we are acquainted with.
In the same manner, if the religion of Christ had been
irresistible, it would have totally altered its natural con¬
sequences. It was necessary, therefore, from the pre¬
sent condition of man, as an active, intelligent, and ac¬
countable being, that means should be employed 5 and
wherever means are employed, the effects produced
must be gradual, and not instantaneous.
2. Though the progress of a divine revelation be gra¬
dual, yet it is to be expected, from the wisdom and
compassion of God, that it will still be advancing in the
hearts of men, and over the world. In the first stage of
the church, the word of God, supported by miracles,
ami by the animated zeal of men who spake what
they saw and heard, grew and prevailed. In this case
supernatural means were necessary, because the pre¬
judices of the world could not be subdued without them.
It was the first watering of a plant which you after¬
wards leave to the dew of heaven. Miracles at the
same time were employed only as the means of convic¬
tion j and they were not continued, because in this
case they would have become a constant and irresistible
principle, incompatible with the condition of man as a
reasonable agent. After this power was withdrawn,
there were many ages of ignorance and superstition
in the Christian church. But what is necessary to be
established on this subject is, not that the progress of
Christianity has never been interrupted, but that on
the whole it has been advancing. The effects of this
religion on mankind, in proportion as it was received,
were immediate and visible: It destroyed the gross su¬
perstition of idol worship j it abolished the practice,
which was general in the heathen world, of reducing
to the lowest state of servitude the greatest part of our
brethren j it softened the horrors of war, even when the
vices of mankind made defence necessary ; it entered
into social and private life, and taught men benevolence,
humanity, and mercy. It is in these blessed effects that
we can observe the progress of Christianity even to this
day. Superstition and idolatry were soon engrafted on
the stem which our Saviour planted in the world; hut
the simplicity of the gospel has been gradually under¬
mining the fabric of superstition 5 and the men who are
most nearly interested in the deceit are now almost
ashamed to show their faces in the cause. The practice
of slavery has, generally speaking, been extinguished in
the Christian world •, yet the remains of^t have been a
disgrace to the Christian name, and the professors of
that religion have now begun to see the inconsistency.
War is not only carried on with less animosity, and less
havock of the human species j but men begin to culti¬
vate more generally, and to delight in, the arts of
peace. The increasing spirit of charity and benevo¬
lence, of which it were easy to give unexampled instan¬
ces in the present age, is a decided proof of the increa¬
sing influence of Christianity. At the same time, if*
instead of these general principles, we were to descend
to private examples of infidelity or of wickedness, ;t
would be easy to bring proots in support ot an opposite
opinion: but the reasoning would by no means be
equally conclusive j for if the general principles by
which society is regulated be more liberal and merciful,
it
MIL [ 107 ] MIL
kfiilen- it is evident that there is more goodness in a greater
nium. number of the human race. Society is nothing more
|.j*—v-—than a collection of individuals j and the general tone,
especially when it is on the side of virtue, which almost
in every instance opposes the designs of leading and in¬
terested men, is a certain evidence of the private spirit.
To show that this reformation is connected with Chri¬
stianity, it is unnecessary to state any comparison be¬
tween the influence of heathen, and the influence of
Christian principles : between civilization as depending
en the powers of the human understanding, and on the
efficacy of the word of God. The whole of this conti'o-
versy may be appealed to an obvious fact, viz. that as
any nation has come nearer to the simplicity of the
gospel in the standard of its worship, it has been more
possessed of those national virtues which we have
ascribed to the influence of Christianity. This fact is
worth a thousand volumes of speculation on this sub-
ject.
3. A revelation sanctioned by God, for a benevolent
purpose, will be expected to produce eft'ects correspond¬
ing to the wisdom which gave it, and to the purpose
for which it is employed. It may be gradual but it
will be increasing, and it jnust increase, to the full har¬
vest. He that has begun the good work will also finish
it. It is reasonable to expect this illustrious success of
the gospel, both from the nature of the thing, and
from the prophecies contained in the sacred scriptures.
The precepts of the gospel, in their genuine sense, are
admirably calculated for the peace and welfare both of
individuals and society. The greatest liberality of mind,
the greatest generosity of temper, the most unbounded
love, and the greatest indifl’erence to the accumulation
of this world’s property, if they glowed from breast
to breast, and operated with equal force on all men,
would be productive of equal good and happiness to all.
We are scarcely able to perceive the force of this at
first view, because the deceit and imposition which yet
exist in the world, prevent the operation of the best
principles even in the best hearts. But in proportion
to the improvement of mankind, what is their real in¬
terest, and what are the real objects of happiness, will
gradually untold. The contempt of vice Avill be great¬
er in proportion to the scarcity of it: for one villain
gives countenance and support to another, just as iron
sharpeneth iron. This opens to our view another fact
connected with the practice of Christianity, namely,
that the nearer it arrives to its perfect state, it will be
the more rapid in its progress. The beauty of holiness
wi 11 be more visible ; and, in the strong language of
the prophet, “ the earth shall bring forth in one day,
Pp. Ini. 8. and a nation shall be born at once*.” This future
perfection of the gospel is consistent with its nature and
importance.—-We can scarcely believe that means so
admirably adapted to the reformation of mankind
should be without their effect; and if the most difficult
part be already accomplished, we have no reason to ap¬
prehend that the scheme will not be completed. This
tact is also clearly the subject of ancient prophecy. For
s “ I'’ “thus saith the Lordt, t will extend peace to her like
a river, and the glory of the Gentiles like a flowing
stream. And it shall come to pass, from one sabbath
to another, and from one new moon to another, shall
all flesh come to worship before me, saith the Lord.”—
“ Violence shall be no more heard in thy land, wasting
nor destruction within thy border ; but thou shalt call Millcn-
thy walls salvation, and thy gates praise.” (Is. lx. 18.). nium
Without entering more minutely on the prophecy Mdlepora.
already quoted from chap. xx. of the book of the Re-
velation, it is sufficient to observe, that Dr Whitby, in
his treatise on the millennium at the end of his commen¬
tary, proves, in the clearest manner, from the spirit of
the passage and the similarity of the expressions with
those of other prophets, that it refers to a state of the
church for a thousand years, which shall he like life
from the dead. The commencement of this period is
connected with two events : the fall of antichrist, and
the conversion of the Jews. The latter of these events
must be considered as a key to all the prophecies con¬
cerning the millennium. As the Jews were the ancient
people of God, and as their conversion is to be the pre¬
vious step to the general knowledge of Christianity, the
prophecies of the millennium have a chief relation to this
important event. We have already observed, that God
never interposes with miraculous power to produce what
can be effected by natural means; and from what we
know of human nature, we cannot but perceive that the
conversion of the Jews will powerfully operate to the
general conversion of mankind. Freed from those pre¬
judices which now make them the objects of hatred in
all nations, and fired with that zeal by which new con¬
verts are always actuated, they will preach the gospel
with a fervour of which we, who have long been bles¬
sed with its rays, can hardly form a conception; and,
by their present dispersion over the whole earth, they
will be enabled to adapt their instructions to every in¬
dividual of the human race in the language of his fa¬
thers. Indeed, if they are not at some future period to
be employed by Providence for this purpose, it is diffi¬
cult, if not impossible, to give any reason for their dis¬
persed state and political existence. Just now it must be
confessed that they are the most implacable enemies of
the Christian name; but their conversion is not on that
account more unlikely or improbable than were events
which have taken place of nearly equal importance a
very few years ago. On the whole, the perfection of
Christianity is a doctrine of reasonable expectation to
the church; and it is impossible for the advocates for
natural religion to deny, that unlimited obedience to
its precepts is consistent with the purest state of liberty'
and of happiness. This is the only millennium which
the prophets and apostles, as we understand them, pro¬
mise to the saints ; but as men figuring in the very first
ranks of learning have thought otherwise, we Avould not
be too confident that our interpretation is just.—Such
of our readers as wish for further information, will find
it in the works of Mr Mede, Bishop Newton, Dr Whit¬
by and Dr Gill; and to those masterly writers We refer
them for that satisfaction which in such an article as
this cannot be given.
MILLEPES, or Wood-louse ; a species of Onis-
eus. See Entomology Index.
MILLEPORA, in Hatural History, a name by
which Linnaeus distinguishes that genus of lithophytes,
of a hard structure and full of holes, which are not stel¬
lated or radiated, and whose animal is the hydra, in
which it differs from the madrepora, and comprehend¬
ing 14 different species.
In the millepora, the animal which forms and inha¬
bits it occupies the substance ; and it is observed that
O Z the
MIL [108] MIL
Millepora the milleporae grow upon one another •, their little ani-
11 mals produce their spawn *, which attaching itself either
, billot, to the extremity of the body already formed, or un-
v derneath it, gives a different form to this produc¬
tion. Hence the various shapes of the millepora,
which is composed of an infinite number of the cells
of those little insects, which all together exbibit differ¬
ent figures, though every particular cellula has its essen¬
tial form, and the same dimensions, according to its
own species.
MILLET. See Milium, Botany Index.
MILLIARE, or Milliarium, a Roman mile,
which consisted of 1000 paces, mille passus, whence the
name.
MILLIARIUM AUREUM, was a gilded pillar in
the forum of Rome, at which all the highways of Italy
met, as one common centre. From this pillar the miles
were counted, and at the end of every mile a stone was
put down. The milliary column was erected by Au¬
gustus Csesar, and, as we are informed by travellers,
is still to be seen.
MILLING of Cloth. See Fulling.
MILLION, in Arithmetic, the sum of ten hundred
thousand, or a thousand times a thousand. See Arith¬
metic.
MILLO, a part of Mount Zion at its extremity •,
and therefore called Millo of the city of David
(2 Chron. xxxii.), taken in with the wall that encom¬
passed Mount Zion. Uncertain whether Beth Millo,
('Judges ix. 20.) denotes a place ; if it did, it lay near
Sechem.
MILLOT, Claude Francis Xavier, of the
French academy, was born at Besan^on, March 1726,
and was for some time a Jesuit, He was consecrated
for the pulpit, and continued to preach after he left the
society : But the weakness of his voice, his timidity, and
the awkwardness of his manner, not permitting him to
continue in this profession, he relinquished it, although
he had preached Advent sermons at Versailles, and
Lent sermons at Luneville. The marquis de Felino,
minister of Parma, instituted an historical class for the
benefit of the young nobility ; and, at the desire of
M. le Due de Nivernois, he gave the charge of it to
the abbe Millot. The minister having occasioned a
kind of rebellion among the people by some innovations
which he had made in the state, the abbe continued at¬
tached to the interests of his patron, and would not de¬
sert him till the storm was blown over. When he was
told that he would lose his place by this conduct, he re¬
plied, “ My place is with a virtuous persecuted man
who has been my benefactor and that I shall never
lose.” At length, having filled the historical chair
with great approbation, he returned to France, and was
appointed preceptor to M. le Due d’Enghien. In this
situation he died, A. D. 1785, aged 59. The abbd
Millot did not shine in company; he was cold and re¬
served in his manner} but every thing he said was ju¬
dicious, and exactly in point.— D’Alembert said, that
of all his acquaintance the abbe Millot had the fewest
prejudices and the least pretension. He composed seve¬
ral works, which are digested with great care, and
written in a pure, simple, and natural style. The prin¬
cipal are,. 1. Elemens de PHistoire de France, depuis
Clovis jusqu"' a Louis XIV. 3 vols. in i2mo. The au¬
thor, selecting the most curious and important facts, has
suppressed every thing foreign to the subject j and has Millot,
not only Arranged the materials in their proper order, Milo.’
but chosen them with the greatest judgment. Querlon ’ r—
thought this the best abridgement which we have of the
history of France, and preferred it to that of the presi¬
dent Henault. 2. Elemens de PHistoire d'Angleterre
depuis son origine sous les Remains, jusqu1 a George II.
3 vols. i2mo. In this valuable abridgement, the au¬
thor satisfies, without tiring, his readers. It is all that
is necessary for those who wish to gain a general know¬
ledge of the English history, without entering minute¬
ly into its particular parts.—3. Elemens de PHistoire
Universelle, 9 vols. i2mo. A certain critic maintains,
that this work is merely a counterfeit of Voltaire’s ge¬
neral history. But this censure is altogether unjust.
The ancient history in this work is wholly composed by
the abbe Millot; and, no less than the modern part,
discovers his abilities in the choice of facts, in divesting
them of useless circumstances, in relating them without
prejudice, and in adorning them with judicious reflec¬
tions. 4. LlHistoire des Troubadours, 3 vols. 12mo,
compiled from the manuscripts of M. de Saint Palaie.
This work appears rather tedious, because it treats of
men almost unknown, and most of them deserving to be
so. What is there quoted from the Provencal poets is
not at all interesting 5 and, according to the observation
of a man of wit, “ it serves no purpose to search curi¬
ously into a heap of old ruins while wre have modern
palaces to engage our attention.” 5. Menioires Poli-
tiques et Militairespour servir a PHistoire deLomsXIV,
et de Louis XV. composed from original papers collect¬
ed by Adrian Maurice due de Noailles, marshal of
France, in 6 vols. i2mo. 6. The abbe Millot pub¬
lished also several Discourses, in which he discusses a
variety of philosophical questions, with more ingenuity
of argument than fire of expression *, and a translation
of the most select harangues in the Latin historians } of
which it has been remarked, as w7ell as of the orations
of the abbe d’Olivet, that they are coldly correct, and
elegantly insipid. The character of the author, more
prudent and circumspect than lively and animated, sel¬
dom elevated his imagination above a noble simplicity
without warmth, and a pure style without ostentation.
Some of the critics, however, have accused him of.de-
clamation in some parts of his histories, particularly in
those parts which concern the clergy. But, in our opi¬
nion, the word declamation is totally inapplicable to the
writings of the abbe Millot. He flatters, it is true,
neither priests nor statesmen •, and he relates more in¬
stances of vicious than virtuous actions, because the one
are infinitely more common than the other: But he re¬
lates them coldly •, and he appears to be guided more
by sincerity and a love of truth, than by that partial
philosophy which blames the Christian religion for those
evils which it condemns.
MILO, a celebrated athlete of Crotona in Italy.
H is father’s name was Diotimus. He early accustomed
himself to carry the greatest burdens, and by degrees^
became a prodigy of strength. It is said that he car¬
ried on his shoulders a young bullock, four years old,
for above forty yards 5 and afterwards killed it with one
blow of his fist, and eat it up in one day. He was se¬
ven times crowned at the Pythian games, and six at the
Olympian. He presented himself a seventh time y but
no one had the courage or boldness to enter the lists-
against
M I L
j)0, against him. He was one of the disciples of Pythago¬
ras ; and to his uncommon strength, it is said, the
learned preceptor and his pupils owed their life: The
pillar which supported the roof of the school suddenly
gave way ; but Milo supported the whole weight of the
building, and gave the philosopher and his auditors time
to escape. In his old age, Milo attempted to pull up a
tree by the roots, and break it. He partly eft’ected it 5
but his strength being gradually exhausted, the tree
when half cleft re-united, and his hands remained pinch¬
ed in the body of the tree. He was then alone j and,
being unable to disentangle himself, he was devoured
by the wild beasts of the place, about 500 years before
the Christian era.
Milo, T. Annius, a native of Lanuvium, who at¬
tempted to obtain the consulship at Rome by intrigue
and seditious tumults. Clodius the tribune opposed
bis views *, yet Milo would have succeeded but for the
following event: As he was going into the country, at¬
tended by his wife and a numerous retinue of gladiators
and servants, he met on the Appian road his enemy
Clodius, who was returning to Rome with three of his
friends and some domestics completely armed.—A
quarrel arose between the servants. Milo supported his
attendants, and the dispute became general.—Clodius
received many severe wounds, and was obliged to re¬
tire to a neighbouring cottage. Milo pursued his ene¬
my in his retreat, and ordered-his servants to despatch
him. The body of the murdered tribune was carried
to Rome, and exposed to public view. The enemies
of Milo inveighed bitterly against the violence and bar¬
barity with which the sacred person of a tribune had
been treated. Cicero undertook the defence of Milo j
but the continual clamours of the friends of Glodius,
aad the sight of an armed soldiery, which surrounded
the seat of judgment, so terrified the orator, that he
forgot the greatest part of his arguments, and the de¬
fence be made was weak and injudicious.—Milo was
condemned, and banished to Massilia. Cicero soon af¬
ter sent his exiled friend a copy of the oration which
he had prepared for his defence, in the form in which
we have it now ; and Milo, after he had read it, ex¬
claimed, 0 Cicero, hadst thou spoken before my accusers
in these terms, Milo would not be now eating Jigs at
Marseilles. The friendship and cordiality of Cicero and
Milo were the fruits of long intimacy and familiar in¬
tercourse. It was to the successful labours of Milo that
the orator was recalled from banishment, and restored
to his friends.
Milo, (anciently Melds), an island in the Archipe¬
lago, about 50 miles in circumference, with a harbour,
which is one of the largest in the Mediterranean. The
principal town is of the same name as the island, and
was prettily built, but abominably nasty: the houses
are two stories high, with flat roofs j and are built with
a sort of pumice stone, which is hard, blackish, and yet
very light.
This island was formerly rich and populous. From
the earliest times of antiquity it enjoyed pure liberty.
M I L
The Athenians, not being able to persuade the Melians mp0.
to declare in their favour in the Peloponnesian war, l—y——
made a descent upon the island, and attacked them vi¬
gorously. In two different expeditions they failed of
their purpose : but returning with more numerous
forces, they laid siege to Melos ; and obliging the
besieged to surrender at discretion, put to the sword
all the men who were able to bear arms. They spared
only the women and children, and these they carried
into captivity. This act of cruelty puts humanity to
the blush, and disgraces the Athenian name. But war
was then carried on with a degree of wild rage, unex¬
ampled in the present times. Republics know not
how to pardon, and always carry their vengeance to
an extravagant height. When Lysander, the Lacedae¬
monian general, came to give law to the Athenians,
he expelled the colony which they had sent to Melos,
and re-established the unfortunate remains of its origi¬
nal inhabitants.
This island lost its liberty when Rome, aspiring to
the empire of the world, conquered all the isles of the
Archipelago. In the partition of the empire, it fell
to the share of the eastern emperors, was governed bv
particular dukes, and was at last conquered by Soli-
man If. Since that period, it has groaned under the
yoke of Turkish despotism, and has lost its opulence
and splendour. At the commencement of the present
century, it boasted of 17 churches and 11 chapels, and
contained more than 20,000 inhabitants. It was very
fertile in corn, wine, and fruits ; and the ivhole space
from the town to the harbour, which is nearly two
miles, was laid out in beautiful gardens. M. Tourne-
fort, who visited it in the year 1700, gives a fine de¬
scription of it. “ The earth, being constantly warmed
by subterraneous fires, produced almost without inter¬
ruption plenteous crops of corn, barley, cotton, ex¬
quisite wines, and delicious melons. St Elias, the finest
monastery in the island, and situated on the most ele¬
vated spot, is encircled with orange, citron, cedar, and
fig trees. Its gardens are watered by a copious spring.
Olive trees, of which there are but few in the other
parts of the island, grow in great numbers around this
monastery. The adjacent vineyards afford excellent
rvine. In a word, all the productions of the island are
the very best of their kinds ; its partridges, quails, kids,
and lambs, are highly valued, and yet may be bought
at a very cheap price.”
Were M. Tournefort to return to Milo, M. Savary * * Letters
assures us, he would no longer see the fine island which
he has described. “ He might still see alum, in the
form of feathers, and fringed with silver thread, hang¬
ing from the arches of the caverns 5 pieces of pure
sulphur filling the cliffs of the rocks ; a variety of mi¬
neral springs •, hot baths (though these are now only
a set of small- dirty caves) ; the same subterraneous
fires which in his days warmed the bosom of the
earth, and were the cause of its extraordinary fertility :
but instead of 5000 Greeks* all paying the capitation
tax (a), he would now find no more than about 700
inhabitants
[ 109 ]
(a) Grown up men are the only persons who pay the capitation tax. Therefore, by adding to the number of
cooo who paid the tax, the women, boys, and girls, we find that Melos, in the days of Tournefort, contained at
feast 20,000 souls.
MIL [ii
Milo. inhabitants on an island 18 leagues in circumference.
He would sigh to behold the finest lands lying unculti¬
vated, and the most fertile valleys converted into mo¬
rasses ; of the gardens scarcely a vestige is left j three-
fourths of the town in ruins, and the inhabitants daily
decreasing. In short, during the last 50 years, Melos
has assumed a quite different appearance. The plague,
which the Turks propagate everywhere, has cut oft
one part of its inhabitants $ the injudicious admini¬
stration of the Porte, and the oppressive extortions of
the captain pacha, have destroyed the rest. At pre¬
sent, for want of hands, they cannot cut out a tree
channel for their waters, which stagnate in the valleys,
corrupt, and infect the air with their putrid exhala¬
tions. The salt marshes, of which there are numbers
in the island, being equally neglected, produce the
same effects. Add to these inconveniences, those sul¬
phureous exhalations which arise all over the island,
and by which the inhabitants of Melos are afflicted
with dangerous fevers during three-fourths of the year.
Perhaps they may be obliged to forsake their coun¬
try. Every countenance is yellow, pale, and livid ;
and none bears any marks of good health. Ihe pru¬
dent traveller will be careful to spend but a very short
time in this unwholesome country, unless he chooses
to expose himself to the danger of catching a fever.
To sleep over night, or to spend but one day in the
island, is often enough to occasion his being attacked
with that distemper.
“ Yet (continues our author) a judicious and en¬
lightened government might expel those evils which
ravage Melos. Its first care wmuld be to establish a la¬
zaret, and to prohibit vessels whose crews or cargoes
are infected with the plague from landing. Canals
might next be cut, to drain the marshes whose exhala¬
tions are so pernicious. The island w'ould then be re¬
peopled. The sulphureous vapours are not the most
noxious. These prevailed equally in ancient times, yet
the island was then very populous. M. Tournefort,
. who travelled through it at a time less distant from the
period when it was conquered by the Turks, and when
-they had not yet had time to lay it waste, reckons the
number of its inhabitants (as we have said) at about
20,000. The depopulation of Melos is therefore to be
ascribed to the despotism of the Porte, and its detestable
police.”
The women of Milo, once so celebrated for their
Tour beauty, are now sallow, unhealthy, and disgustingly
up the ugly i an(l render themselves still more hideous by their
Straits, dress, which is a kind of loose jkcket, with a white coat
:p. 146. and petticoat, that scarcely covers two-thirds of their
thighs, barely meeting the stocking above the knee.
Their hind hair hangs down the back in a number of
plaits ; that on the fore part of the head is combed
down each side of the face, and terminated by a small
stiff curl, which is even with the lower part of the
cheek. All the inhabitants are Greeks, for the Turks
are not fond of trusting themselves in the small islands $
but every summer the captain bashaw goes round with
a squadron to keep them in subjection, and to collect
the revenue. When the Russians made themselves mas¬
ters of the Archipelago, many of the islands declared
in their favour •, but being abandoned by the peace,
they were so severely mulcted by the grand signior, that
they have professed a determination to remain perfectly
o ] MIL /
quiet in future. As the Turks, however, do not think Wite
them 'worth a garrison, and will not trust them with ||
arms and ammunition, all those which the Russians may Mhtiadei.
choose to invade will be obliged to submit. The two
points which form the entrance of the harbour, cros¬
sing each other, render it imperceptible until you are
close to it. Thus, while you are perfectly secure
within it, you find great difficulty in getting out, par¬
ticularly in a northerly wund } and as no trade is car¬
ried on except a little in corn and salt, Milo would
scarcely ever be visited, were it not that, being the
first island which one makes in the Archipelago, the
pilots have chosen it for their residence. They live in
a little toivn on the top of a high rock, which, from its
situation and appearance, is called the Par¬
tridges still abound in this island ; and are so cheap,
that you may buy one for a charge of powder only.
The peasants get them by standing behind a portable
screen, with a small aperture in the centre, in which
they place the muzzle of their piece, and then draw
the partridges by a call. When a sufficient number are
collected, they fire among them, and generally kill
from four to seven at a shot; but even this method of
getting them is so expensive, from the scarcity of am¬
munition, that the people can never afford to shoot
them, except when there are gentlemen in the island,
from whom they can beg a little powder and shot.
Milo is 60 miles north of Candia ; and the town is
situated in E. Long. 25. 15. N. Lat. 36. 27.
MILSTONE. See Millstone.
- MILT, in Anatomy, a popular name for the
Spleen.
Milt, or Melt, in Natural History, the soft roe in
fishes j thus called from its yielding, by expression, a
whitish juice resembling milk. See Roe.
The milt is properly the seed or spermatic part of the
male fish. The milt of a carp is reckoned a choice bit.
It consists of two long whitish irregular bodies, each in¬
cluded in a very thin fine membrane. M. Petit consi¬
ders them as the testicles of the fish wherein the seed is
preserved j the lower part next the anus, he supposes
to be the vesiculcB seminales.
MILTHORP, a port town of Westmoreland, at the
mouth of the Can, eight miles south from Kendal. It
is the only sea port in the county } and goods are
brought hither in small vessels from Grange in Lan¬
cashire. Here are two paper mills. It has a market
on Friday, and a fair on Old Maji day j and there is a
good stone bridge over the river Betha, which runs
through the town. Population 1016 in 1811.
MILTIADES, an Athenian captain, son of Cyp-
selus. He obtained a victory in a chariot race at the
Olympic games. He led a colony of Athenians to
the Chersonesus. The causes of this appointment are
striking and singular. The Thracian Holonci, ha¬
rassed by a long war with the Absynthians, were di¬
rected by the oracle of Delphi to take for their king
the first man they met in their return home, who in¬
vited them to come under his roof and partake his
entertainments. This was Miltiades, whom the ap¬
pearance of the Dolonci, with their strange arms and
garments, had struck. He invited them to his house,
and was made acquainted with the commands of the
oracle. He obeyed $ and when the oracle of Delphi
had approved a second time the choice of the Do¬
lonci,
MIL [ i
jades, lonci, he departed for the Chersonesus, and was in-
vested by the inhabitants with sovereign power. The
first measures he took, were to stop the further incur¬
sions of the Absynthians, by building a strong wall
across the isthmus. When he had established himself
at home, and fortified his dominions against foreign
invasion, he turned his arms against Lampsacus. His
expedition was unsuccessful j he was taken in an am¬
buscade, and made prisoner. His friend Croesus king
of Lydia was informed of his captivity, and procured
his release. He lived a few years after he had reco¬
vered his liberty. As he had no issue, he left his
kingdom and possessions to Stefagoras the son of Ci-
mon, who was his brother by the same mother. The
memory of Miltiades was greatly honoured by the
Dolonci, and they regularly celebrated festivals and
exhibited shows in commemoration of a man to whom
they owed their greatness and preservation.
Miltiades, the son of Cimon, and brother of Ste¬
fagoras mentioned in the preceding article, was some
time after the death of the latter, who died without
issue, sent by the Athenians with one ship to take
possession of the Chersonesus. At his arrival Mil¬
tiades appeared mournful, as if lamenting the recent
death of his bi-other. The principal inhabitants of
the country visited the new governor to condole with
him j but their confidence in his sincerity proved fa¬
tal to them. Miltiades seized their persons, and made
himself absolute in Chersonesus. To strengthen him¬
self, he married Hegesipyla, the daughter of Olorus
the king of the Thracians. His triumph was short.
Jn the third year of his government, his dominions
were threatened by an invasion of the Scythian No-
mades, whom Darius had some time before irritated
by entering their country. He fled before them y
but as their hostilities were of short duration, he was
soon restored to his kingdom. Three years after, he
left Chersonesus; and set sail for Athens, where he
was received with great applause. He was present
at the celebrated battle of Marathon ; in which all
the chief officers ceded their power to him, and left
the event of the battle to depend upon his superior
abilities. He obtained an important victory over the
more numerous forces of his adversaries. Some time
after, Miltiades was intrusted with a fleet of 70 ships,
and ordered to punish those islands which had revolt¬
ed to the Persians. He was successful at first, but
a sudden report that the Persian fleet was coming to
attack him, changed his operations as he was besieging
Paros. He raised the siege, and returned to Athens.
He was accused of treason, and particularly of hold¬
ing correspondence with the enemy. The falsity of
these accusations might have appeared, if Miltiades
had been able to come into the assembly. But a
wound which he had received before Paros detained
him at home j and his enemies, taking advantage of
his absence, became more eager in their accusations,
and louder in their clamours. He was condemned
to death ; but the rigour of his sentence was retract¬
ed on the recollection of his great services to the A-
thenians, and he was put into prison till he had paid a
fine of 50 talents to the state. His inability to dis¬
charge so great a sum detained him in confinement j
and his wounds becoming incurable, he died a pri¬
soner about 489 years before the Christian era. His
11] MIL
body was ransomed by his son Cimon 5 who was obli- Miltiades,
ged to borrow and pay the 50 talents, to give his father Milton,
a decent burial.—The accusations against Miltiades v
were probably the more readily believed by his coun¬
trymen, when they remembered how he made him¬
self absolute in Chersonesus 5 and in condemning the
barbarity of the Athenians towards a general, who
was the source of their military prosperity, we must
remember the jealousy which ever reigns among a
free and independent people, and how watchful they
are in defence of the natural rights which they sec
wrested from others by violence. Cornelius Nepos
has written the life of Miltiades the son of Cimon ;
but his history is incongruous and unintelligible, from
his confounding the actions of the son of Cimon with,
these of the son of Cypselus. Greater reliance is to
be placed on the narration of Herodotus, whose ve¬
racity is confirmed, and who was indisputably better
informed and more capable of giving an account of
the life and exploits of men who flourished in his age,
and ot which he could see the living monuments.
Herodotus was born about six years after the famous
battle of Marathon : and C. Nepos, as a writer of the
Augustan age, flourished about 450 years after the age
of the fa ther of history.
MILTON, John, the most illustrious of the Eng¬
lish poets, was descended of a genteel family, seated
at a place of their own name, viz. Milton, in Oxford¬
shire. He was born December 9. 1608, and received
his first rudiments of education under the care of his
parents, assisted by a private tutor. He afterwarda
passed some time at St Paul’s school, London j in which
city his father had settled, being engaged in the busi¬
ness of a scrivener. At the age of 17, he was sent to
Christ’s college, Cambridge; where he made great
progress in all parts of academical learning; but his
chief delight was in poetry. In 1628, he proceeded
bachelor of arts, having performed his exercise for it
with great applause. His father designed him for the
church; but the young gentleman’s attachment to the
Muses was so strong, that it became impossible to engage
him in any other pursuits. In 1632, he took the de¬
gree of master of arts ; and having now spent as much
time in the university as became a person who deter¬
mined not to engage in any of the three professions,
he left the college, greatly regretted by his acquain¬
tance, but highly displeased with the usual method of
training up youth there for the study of divinity; and
being much out of humour with the public administra¬
tion of ecclesiastical affairs, he grew dissatisfied with
the established form of church government, and disliked
the whole plan of education practised in the university.
His parents, who now dwelt at Horton, near Coin-
brook, in Buckinghamshire, received him with una¬
bated affection, notwithstanding he had thwarted their
views of providing for him in the church, and they
amply indulged him in his love of retirement; wherein
he enriched his mind with the choicest stores of Gre¬
cian and Roman literature; and his poems of Comus,
PAllegro, Jl Penseroso, and Lycidus, all wrote at this
time, would have been sufficient, had he never produ¬
ced any thing more considerable, to have transmitted
his fame to the latest posterity. However, he was net
so absorbed in his studies as not to make frequent ex¬
cursions to London; neither did so much excellence
, pass
Mi! ton.
M I L t n
pass unnoticed among bis neighbours in the country,
with the most distinguished of whom he sometimes
chose to relax his mind, and improve his acquaintance
with the world as well as with books.—After five
years spent in this manner, he obtained his father’s
permission to travel for farther improvement. At Paris
he became acquainted with the celebrated Hugo Gro-
tius ; and from thence travelling into Italy, he was
everywhere caressed by persons of the most eminent
quality and learning.
Upon his return home, he set up a genteel academy
ig Aldersgate street.—In 1641, he began to draw his
pen in defence of the Presbyterian party ; and the next
year he married the daughter of Richard Powell, Esq.
of Forest Hill in Oxfordshire. This, lady, however,
whether from a dift'erence on account of party, her
father being a zealous royalist, or some other cause,
soon thought proper to return to her relations; which
so incensed her husband, that he resolved never to take
her again, and wrote and published several tracts in
defence of the doctrine and discipline of divorce. He
even made his addresses to another lady ; but this in¬
cident proved the means of a reconciliation with Mrs
Milton.
In 1644, he wrote his Tract upon Education ;
and the restraint on the liberty of the press being
continued by act of parliament, he wrote boldly and
nobly against that restraint. In 1645, he published
his juvenile poems j and about two years, after, on the
death of his father, he took a smaller house in High
Holborn, the hack of which opened into Lincoln’s-
Inn Fields.-r-Here he quietly prosecuted his studies,
till the fatal catastrophe and death of Charles I. ; on
which occasion he published his Tenure of Kings and
Magistrates, in justification of the fact. He was now
taken into the service of the commonwealth, and made
Latin secretary to the council of state, who resolved
neither to write to others abroad, nor to receive any
answers, except in the Latin tongue, which was com¬
mon to them all. The famous Eucav BxcnAtxr, coming
out about the same time, our author, by command,
Avrote and published his Iconoclastes the same year.
It was also by order of his masters, backed by the re¬
ward of 1000I. that in 1651 he published his cele¬
brated piece, entitled Pro Popula Anglicano T)efen-
sio; “ A. Defence of the people of England,” in an¬
swer to Salmasius’s Defence of the King; which per¬
formance spread his fame over all Europe. He now
dwelt in a pleasant house with a garden, in Petty
France, Westminster, opening into St James’s Park.
In 1652 he buried his wife, who died not long after
the delivery of her fourth child ; and about the same
time he also lost his eye-sight, by a gu-lta serena, which
had been growing upon him many years.
Cromwell took the reins of government into his own
> hand in the year 1-653 ; but Milton still held his of¬
fice. His leisure hours he employed in prosecuting his
studies; wherein he was so far from being discouraged
by the loss of his sight, that he even conceived hopes
this misfortune would add new vigour to his genius ;
which in fact seems to have been the case.—■Thus
animated, he again ventured upon matrimony : his se¬
cond lady was the daughter of Captain Woodstock of
Hackney : she died in childbed about a year after.
, On the deposition of the protector, Richard Crom-
, 2
2 ] MIL
well, and on the return of the long parliament, Milton Milton
being still continued secretary, he appeared again in —H
print ; pleading for a farther reformation of the laws
relating to religion; and, during the anarchy that en¬
sued, he drew up several schemes for re-establishing the
commonwealth, exerting all his faculties to prevent
the return of Charles IL England’s destiny, however,
and Charles’s good fortune prevailing, our author chose
to consult his safety, and retired to a friend’s house in
Bartholomew Close. A particular prosecution was in¬
tended against him; but the just esteem to which his
admirable genius and extraordinary accomplishments
entitled him, bad raised him so many friends, even among
those of the opposite party, that he was included in the
general amnesty.
This storm being over, he married a third wife, Eli¬
zabeth, daughter of Mr Minshall a Cheshire gentleman ;
and not long after he took a house in the Artillery
Walk, leading toBunhill Fields. This was his last stage:
here he sat down for a longer continuance than he had
been able to do anywhere ;, and though he had lost
his fortune (for every thing belonging to him went to
wreck at the Restoration), he did not lose his taste for
literature, but continued his studies with almost as much
ardour as ever.; and applied himself particularly to the
finishing his grand work, the Paradise Lost; one of the
noblest poems that ever was produced bv human genius.
—It was published in 1667, and his Paradise Regained
came out in 1670.—This latter work fell short of the
excellence of the former production ; although, were
it not for the transcendent merit of Paradise Lost, the
second composition would doubtless have stood fore¬
most in the rank,of English epic poems. After this he '
published many pieces in prose ; for which we refer our
readers to the edition of his Historical, Poetical, and
Miscellaneous Works, printed by Millar, in 2. vols^to,
ia-1753.
In 1674, this great man paid the last debt to na¬
ture at his house in Bunhill Fields, in the 66th year
of his age; and was interred on the 12th of Novem¬
ber, in the chancel of St Giles’s, Cripplegate.—A de¬
cent monument was erected to his memory, in 1737> '
in Westminster Abbey, by Mr Benson, one of the audi¬
tors of the imprest.—Milton was remarkably handsome
ir) his person ; but his constitution was tender, and by
no meana equal to his incessant application to hisstudies.
 Though greatly reduced in his circumstances, yet he
died worth 1500I. in money, besides his household >
goods.—He had. no son.; hut left behind him three
daughters, whom he had by his first wife.
Milton, the name of several places in England;
particularly,
Milton, or Middleton, in Dorsetshire, south-west
of Blandford, near the road to Dorchester, 114 miles
from London. It is chiefly noted for its abbey, built
by King Athelstan. The church stands, near the south
side of the abbey. It is a large and magnificent pile
of Gothic architecture, and contains several ancient
monuments. Here is an almshouse for. six people, who
have 12s. a-week, and three yards of cloth for a gown,
one pair of shoes and stockings, and 10s. each on St
Thomas’s day yearly. Here is a free school, and a
market on Tuesdays.
Milton, in Kent, near Sittingbourn and the Isle of
Sheppey, 6 miles north-west of Feversham, and 40
from
M I M [ i
Milton fr°m I-l011^on- It is also called Middleton from its si¬
ll tnation near the middle of the county, i. e. from Dept-
tlimncr- foril to the Downs. The kings of Kent had a palace
mils- here, which was castellated, and stood below the church j
jjUj was |jUrnt down in Edward the Confessor’s time
by Earl Goodwin, &c. Its church stands near a mile
off. On approaching the town up the Thames, by
the East Swale, it seems hid among the creeks: yet it
is a large town j and has a considerable market on Sa¬
turdays, and a fair on J uly 24. The oysters taken here
are the most famous of any in Kent. This town is
governed by a portreeve, chosen yearly on St James’s
day, who supervises the weights and measures all over
the hundred. Population 2470 in 1811.
Milton, in Kent, a mile on the east side of Graves¬
end, was incorporated with it in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, by the name of the portreeve, jurats, and
inhabitants of the towns of Gra%resend and Milton.
King Henry VIII. raised a platform or blockhouse
here, for the defence both of this town and Graves¬
end, and the command of the river. It has a fair, Ja¬
nuary 25.
MILVIUS, Molvius, or Mulvius, Pons; a
bridge on the Tiber, built by TEmilius Scaurus the
censor, in the time of Sylla, at two miles distance from
the city, on the Via Flaminia, and repaired by Augus¬
tus. From this bridge the ambassadors of the Allobro-
ges were brought back to Rome, by Cicero’s manage¬
ment, and made a discovery of Catiline’s conspiracy
(Sallust). Near it Maxentius was defeated by Con¬
stantine (Eutropius). Now called Ponte Mode.
Milvius, a species of Falco. See Falco, Or¬
nithology Index.
MIMI, Mimes, in the ancient comedy, were buf¬
foons or mimics, who entertained the people by taking
off certain characters, using such gestures as suited the
persons or subjects they represented. There were on
the Roman stage female performers of this kind, called
mimee. The word is derived from pipiapcu, I imitate.
Some of the mimi acted their parts to the sound of the
tibia ; these they called mimauH.
Mimi were also a kind of farces or ludicrous come¬
dies, generally performed by one person.. They had
no acts, nor any exordium.—The mimi were, introduced
upon the Roman stage long after comedv and tragedy
had arrived at their full perfection. The actor wore
no mask, but smeared his face with soot, was dressed in
lambskin, wore garlands of ivy, and carried a basket
of flowers and herbs, in honour of Bacchus, and di¬
verted the audience with apish tricks and ridiculous
dances. This was the state of the mimi soon after their
first introduction j but they underwent lYiany altera¬
tions, which it would take up too much room to relate,
and which are not of sufficient importance to justify a
detailed account. See PANTOMIMES.
MIMESIS, in Rhetoric, the imitating the voice
and gestures of another person.
MIMNERMUS, an ancient poet and musician,
flourished about the beginning of the sixth century B. C.
He was of Smyrna, and cotemporary with Solon. A-
thenaeus gives him the invention of pentameter verse.
His elegies, of which only a few fragments are pre-
§ served, were so much admired in antiquity, that Ho¬
race preferred them to those of Callimachus. He com¬
posed a poem of this kind, as we learn from Pausanias,
Vol. XIV. Part I.
3 ] MIN
upon the battle fought between the people of Smyrna, Mirauer
and the Lydians under Gyges. He likewise was au- mus
thor of a poem in elegiac verse, quoted by Strabo, Mina||lls,]u
which he entitled Nanno, and in which we may sup- ‘1 nim '
pose he chiefly celebrated a young and beautiful girl of
that name, who, according to Athenaius, was a player
on the flute, with whom he was enamoured in his old
age. With respect to love matters, according to Pro¬
pertius, his verses were more valuable than all the
writings of Homer.
Plus in amore valet Mimnermi versus Homero.
Lib. I. Eleg. ix. v. ir.
And Horace bears testimony to his abilities in describ¬
ing that seducing passion :
Si Mimnermus uti ccnset, sine amoi'e jocisque
Nil est juciindum, vivas in amore jocisque.
Lib. I. Epist. vi. v. <5.5-
If, as wise Mimnermus said,
Life unblest with love and joy
Ranks us with the senseless dead,
Let these gifts each hour employ.
Alluding to some much admired lines of the Greek
poet, which have been preserved by Stobaeus.
Ti? $e fites, ti riQTrvov atrjjg XZv<rr‘; 'A^ge^rrssy, &C.
What is life and all its pride,
If love and pleasure be denied ?
Snatch, snatch me hence, ye Fates, whene’er
The am’rous bliss I cease to share.
Oh let us crop each fragrant flow’r
While youth and vigour give us pow’r;
For frozen age will soon destroy
The force to give or take a joy)
And then, a prey to pain and care,
Detested by the young and lair,
The sun’s best beams will hateful grow,
And only shine on scenes of wo.
MIMOSA, the Sensitive Plant; a genus qf plant-
belonging to the moncecia class *, and in the natural
method ranking under the 33d order, Lomcntacca. See
Botany and Materia Medica Index.
The name mimosa, signifying “ mimic,” is given to
this genus on account of the sensibility oi the leaves,
which, by their motion, mimic or imitate, as it were,
the motion of animals.
MINA, or Maneh, a species of money which pro¬
perly signifies o?ie part or ounce. It is observed that
this word occurs only in the books Af Kings, Chro¬
nicles, Ezra, and Ezekiel. Ibis prophet (xlv. 12.)
tells us, that the mina or maneh was valued at 6c?
shekels, which in gold make of our English money
about 54^ pounds, and in silver almost seven pounds.
Thus for the Hebrew maneh. But the Greek 01-
Attic mina, which is probably that mentioned in the
hooks of the Maccabees and in the New Testament,
is valued at 100 drachmae, or about 2I. 17s. sterling.
There was also a lesser mina, which was valued at 75
drachmae.
MINACNGHINIM, a pulsative instrument of
music, arming the Hebrews, which was a square table
of wood, fitted with a handle; over this table was
-{- P stretched
MIN [ 11
Minagn- stretched an iron chain, or hempen cord, passing through
ghiniin balls of wood or brass, which struck against the table,
11 when the instrument was shaken, and occasioned a clear
TV!imlanao goun(j^ ^vhich might be heard at a great distance.
' v MiNCHA, in the Jewish customs, offerings of
meal, cakes, or biscuits, made in the temple of the
Lord. The Seventy have sometimes preserved tins
Avord in their translation ; but instead of mincha they
'read manaa, which doubtless was the received pronun¬
ciation in their time. We find manaa in the same
sense, m Baruch i. ic. Levit. ii. 3- See the
Creek of Jerem. xvii. 26. Dan. ii. 46. 2 Kings yiii. 5.
9. xvii. 7. xx. 12. 2 Chron. vii. 7. Nehem. xiii. 5. 9.
&c.
MIN CHIN G-H AM PTON, a town of Gloucestershire,
20 miles from Bath and Bristol, and near 90 from Lon¬
don, with a market on Tuesdays, and two fairs. The
parish is pretty large, being bounded on the north by
the Stroud, and on the south by the brook Avcning }
and has 12 hamlets belonging to it, with a common
called Amberley. Here is a good large rectory church,
built in form of a cross. In 1811 the inhabitants
amounted to 3246, many of whom are employed in
the woollen manufacture. W. Long. 2. 14. N. Lat.
51. 58. • T 1
MINCIUS, a river <jf the Transpadana in Italy 5
running from, or rather transmitted through, the Lacus
Benacus, from north to south, into the Padus •, but ori¬
ginal! v rising in the Rhetian Alps. Now Mincio or
Menzo, running through the duchy of Mantua into
the Po. . , •
MIND, a thinking intelligent being, otherwise call¬
ed spirit, in opposition to matter or body. See Me¬
taphysics, Part III.
MINDANAO, or MaGINDANAO, a large island
of Asia in the East Indies, and one of the Philippines 5
160 miles in length, and 120 in breadth. The inte¬
rior parts contain several chains of lofty mountains,
between which are extensive plains, where vast herds
of cattle roam at large in the mast delicious pastures.
Several deep valleys also intersect, as it were, certain
parts of the country, through which, during the rainy
seasons, vast torrents pour from the mountains, and
force their impetuous way to the sea. I he lams and
vapours which lodge in the plains diffuse themselves into
meandering rivulets, and, collecting a variety of small
streams in their course, approach the sea in the form of
considerable rivers.—The sovereign of Magindanao is
a powerful prince, and has several inferior chiefs, who
acknowledge him as their head. Nevertheless, there
are others of them who refuse submission to him, and
are consequently in a continual state 01 wary so that
peace, at least, does not appear to be one of the bles¬
sings’of this island. The Spaniards, indeed, assert
their right to the entire dominion of Magindanao •,
but it is mere assei’tion •, for though they have forts,
&c. on the island, it is by no means in a state of sub¬
jection to their nation.
The air is esteemed salubrious, particularly in the
vicinity of the sea. The heat there is not, in any de¬
gree, so intense as might be expected in a country
which is situated on the very verge of the torrid zone.
The prevalence of the easterly winds, in that part of
the coasts which is washed by the 1 acilic ocean, ten¬
ders the air cool and pleasant, the trade wind blowing
4 ] MI N
incessantly on its shores. It acts, indeed, with ao ^lindan;!
much power as to sweep the whole breadth of the j ,
island ; and though in its passage it loses much of its Mmdod
strength, it retains a sufficient degree of lorce to at- |
ford refreshing breezes to the inhabitants ot the western
shore. The interior parts are much colder, from a
very cloudy atmosphere, which frequently hangs over
the summits of the mountains in thick and humid va¬
pours. The soil, which is very exuberant, is suited
to the cultivation of the whole vegetable tribes, luce
is produced in the greatest abundance j a pec.ul, or 1^3
pounds, may be purchased for a Spanish dollar. Lcei )
part of the island abounds with buffaloes, cows, hogs,
goats, &.c. It affords also great variety of fowls, and
a species of duck, whose head is of a fine scarlet colour.
Here is also a small breed of horses, remarkable for
their spirit. The natives, however, principally employ
buffaloes in the various branches of husbandry and agri¬
culture.
The city of Magindanao is situated on tne south¬
east side of the island, has a river capable of admitting
small vessels, and carries on a considerable trade with
Manilla, Sooloo, Borneo and the Moluccas.^ Their
exports are rice, tobacco, bees wax, and spices j in
return for which they receive coarse cloths of Coro¬
mandel, China ware, and opium. Ihe village or
of Samboingan is situated on the banks ol a small
rivulet, which empties itself immediately into the sea,
and is agreeably shaded by groves of cocoa trees. I he
number of its inhabitants is about 1000, among
which are included the officers, soldiers, and their re¬
spective families. In its environs there are several
small look-out houses, erected on posts of twelve feet
high, in all of which a constant guard is kepty so
that it appears as if the Spaniards were in a continual
state of enmity with the natives, ihe houses are built
of those simple materials which are of very general use
in the eastern seas. They are erected on posts, anu
built of bamboo, covered with mats j the lower apart¬
ments serve for their hogs, cattle, and poultry, anti
the upper ones are occupied by the family.
MINDELHEIM, a town of Germany, in the
circle of Suabia, and in Algow, with a castle.
is capital of a small territory between the rivers lller
and Lech, subject to the house of Bavaria. It was
taken by the Imperialists after the battle of Hoch-
stet, who erected it into a principality in favour of
the duke of Marlborough j hut it returned back to
the house of Bavaria by the treaty of Rastadt. It is
33 miles south-east of Ulm. E. Long. 10. 40. N.
Lat 48. 5. . c , . .
MiNDELHEIM, a district of Germany, m ouabia, ly¬
ing between the bisboprick of Augsburg and the ab¬
bacy of Kempten, which is 20 miles in length and 16
in breadth.
- MINDEN, a considerable town of Germany, in the
circle of Westphalia *, and capital of a territory ol the
same name j seated on the river W eser, which renders^
it a trading place. It formerly belonged to the kingot
Prussia, who secularized the bishoprick. It is 27 miies
east by south of Osnaburg, and 37 west of Hanover.
E. Long. 9. 5. N. Lat. 52. 22. .
Minden (the principality of), in Germany, lies m
the circle of Westphalia, to the north ot the county
of Ravensburg, and along each side of the river Weser.
MIN [ i
Mintkn ^ a^ou^ 22 nsiles square, and Minden and Peters-
jj hagen are the principal places. It was formerly a
Mi'ie bishopric, but is now secularized j was afterwards ceded
to the elector of Brandenburg, and is now annexed to
the new kingdom of Westphalia.
MINDORA, an island of Asia, in the East Indies,
and one of the Philippines, 50 miles in circumference,
and separated from Luconia by a narrow channel. It
is full of mountains, which abound in palm trees and
all sorts of fruits. The inhabitants are idolaters,
and pay tribute to the Spaniards, to whom this island
belongs.
MINE, in Natural History, a deep pit under ground,
from whence various kinds of minerals are dug out;
but the term is more particularly applied to those
which yield metals. Where stones only are procured,
the appellation of quarries is universally bestowed upon
the places from which they are dug out, however deep
they may be.
The internal parts of the earth, as far as they have
been yet investigated, do not consist of one uniform
substance, but of various strata or beds of substances,
extremely different in their appearances, specific gra¬
vities, and chemical qualities, from one another. Nei¬
ther are these strata similar to one another either in
their nature or appearance in different countries j so
that even in the short extent of half a mile, the strata
will be found quite different from what they are in
another place. As little are they the same either
in depth or solidity. Innumerable cracks and fissures,
by the miners called lodes, are found in every one of
them ; but these are so entirely different in size and
shape, that it is impossible to form any inference from
their size in one place to that in another. In these
lodes or fissures the metallic ore is met with; and,
considering the great uncertainty of the dimensions
of the lodes, it is evident that the business of mining,
which depends on that size, must in like manner be
quite uncertain and precarious. Mr Price, in his
treatise on the Cornish mines, observes, that “ the
comparative smallness of the largest fissures to the bulk
of the whole earth is really wonderful. In the finest
pottery we can make, by a microscopic view, we may
discover numerous cracks and fissures, so small as to
be impenetrable by any fluid, and impervious to the
naked eye ; as, by the laws of nature originally im¬
posed by the Creator, it happens that matter cannot
contract itself into solid large masses, without leaving
fissures between them, and yet the very fissures are as
necessary and useful as the strata through which they
pass. They are the drains that carry off the redun¬
dant moisture from the earth 5 which, but for them,
would be too full of fens and bogs for animals
to live or plants to thrive on. In these fissures,
the several ingredients which form lodes, by the conti¬
nual passing of waters, and the menstrua of metals, are
brought out of the adjacent strata, collected and con¬
veniently lodged in a narrow channel, much to the
advantage of those who search for and pursue them;
for if metals and minerals were more dispersed, and
scattered thinly in the body of the strata, the trouble
of finding and getting at them would be .endless, and
the expence of procuring them exceed the value of the
.acquisition.
The insides of the fissures are commonly coated
5 1 MI N
over with a hard, crystalline, earthy substance or Mine,
rind, which very often, in the breaking of hard ore, l——
comes oft along with it, and is commonly called the
capels or walls of the lode : but Mr Price is of opi¬
nion, that the proper walls of the lode are the sides
of the fissure itself, and not the coat just mentioned,
which is the natural plaster upon those walls, furnished
perhaps by the contents of the fissures, or from oozings
of the surrounding strata.
The breadth of a lode is easily known by the di¬
stance betwixt the two incrusted sides of the stones of
ore; and if a lode yields any kind of ore, it is a bet¬
ter sign that the walls be regular and smooth, or at
least that one of them be so, than otherwise; but
there are not many of these fissures which have regu¬
lar walls until they have been sunk down some fa¬
thoms.
Thus the inner part of the fissure in which the ore
lies, is all the way bounded by two walls of stone,
which are generally parallel to one another, and in¬
clude the breadth of the vein or lode. Whatever
angle of inclination some fissures make in the solid
strata at their beginning, they generally continue to
do the same all alone. Some are very uncertain in
their breadth, as they may be small at their upper
part and wide underneath, and vice versa. Their re¬
gular breadth, as well as their depth, is subject to
great variation j for though a fissure may he many
fathoms wide in one particular place, yet a little fur¬
ther east or west it may not perhaps be one inch
wide. This excessive variation happens generally in
very compact strata, when the vein or fissure is squeez¬
ed, as it were, through hard rocks which seem to
compress and straiten it. A true vein or fissure, how¬
ever, is never entirely obliterated, but always shows a
string of metallic ore or of a veiny substance j which
often serves as a leader for the miners to follow, until
it sometimes leads them to a large and richly im¬
pregnated part. Their length is in a great measure
unlimited, though not the space best fitted for yield¬
ing metal. The richest state for copper, according
to Mr Brice, is from 40 to 80 fathoms deep ; for tin,
from 20 to 60 : and though a great quantity of either
may be raised at 80 or 100 fathoms, yet, “ the quality
(says our author) is often too much decayed and dry
for metal.”
Mr Pi ■ice informs us, that the fissures or veins of
the Cornish mines extend from east to west j or, more
properly, one end of the fissure points west and by
south, or west and by north 5 while the other tends
east and by south, or east and by north. Thus they
frequently pass through a considerable tract of coun¬
try with very few variations in their directions, un¬
less they be interrupted by some intervening cause. 
But, besides this east and west direction, we are to
consider what the miners call the underlying or hade
of the vein or lode j viz. the deflection or deviation
of the fissure from its perpendicular line, as it is follow¬
ed in depth like the slope of the roof of a house, or
the descent of the steep side of a hill. This slope is
generally to the north or south 5 but varies much in
different veins, or sometimes even in the same vein ;
for it will frequently slope or underlie a small space
in different ways, as it may appear to be forced by
hard strata on either side.—Some of the fissures do
J* 2 not
MIN [ II
Mine noi vary much from a perpendicular, while some devi-
—aie move than a fathom j that is, for every fathom they
descend in perpendicular height, they deviate likewise
as much to the south or north. Others differ so much
from the perpendicular, that they assume a position
almost horizontal j whence they are also called hori¬
zontal or fiat lodes, and sometimes lode plots. Ano¬
ther kind of these has an irregular position with re¬
gard to the rest-, widening horizontally for a little
way, and then descending perpendicularly almost like
stairs, with only a small string or leader to follow af¬
ter ; and thus they alternately vary and yield ore in
several flat or horizontal fissures. This, by the Cor¬
nish tinners, is called (but in Mr Price’s opinion erro¬
neously) a fioor or squat; which, properly speaking,
is a hole or chasm impregnated with metal, making
no continued line of direction or regular Avails. ^ei"
ther docs a floor of ore descend to any considerable
depth ; for underneath it there appears no sign of a
vein or fissure, either leading directly down or any
other way. This kind of vein is very rare in Britain.
The fissures most common in Britain are the perpendi¬
cular and inclined, whether their direction be north or
south, east or west.
The perpendicular and horizontal fissures (accord¬
ing to our author) probably remain little altered from
their first position, when they were formed at the in¬
duration of the strata immediately after the Avaters
left the land. The perpendicular fissures are found
more commonly situated in level ground, at a distance
from hills, and from the sea shore but Avith regard
to the latter, we find that the upper and under masses
of strata differ in their solidity and other properties.
“ Hence, (says our author) it is very plain, that in¬
clined fissures owe their deflection or underlie to some
secondary cause, violence, or subsidence, of the earth :
for though perpendicular fissures are seldom to be seen,
vet sueh’as are inclined at very considerable depths, be¬
come more and more perpendicular, as the more central
strata by reason of the vast superincumbent weight, do
not seem so likely to be driven out of their position as
those Avbich lie nearer the surface.”
The fissures are often met Avith fractured as avcII
as inclined; the reason of Avhich, in Mr Price’s opi¬
nion, has been a subsidence of the earth fiom some
extraordinary cause. “ The original position (says
be) must have been horizontal, or parallel to the sur¬
face of the earth : but Ave often find these strata very
sensibly declined from that first position -, nay, some¬
times quite reversed, and changed into perpendicular.
When avc see a Avail lean, we immediately conclude
that the foundation has given \yay, according to the
angles which the walls make with the horizon ; and
Avhen we find the like declination in strata, we may
conclude, by parity of reason, that there has been a
like failure of what supported them, in proportion to
that declination •, or that whatever made the strata to
fall so much awry, must also cause ever thing includ¬
ed in those strata to fall proportionally. Wherever
the a-reatest subsidence is to the north, the top of the
lode or fissure will point to the north, and of conse¬
quence underlie to the south, and vice versa: the
slide or heave of the lode manifests the greater subsi¬
dence of the strata but the same lode is frequently
fractured and heaved in several places, all of which,
6 ] MIN
by due observation, Avill show us they were occasioned Mine,
by so many several shocks or subsidencies, and that the 'r“
strata Avere not unfooted, shaken, or^brought to fall on¬
ly once or tAvice, but several times.
Mr Price, in the course of his Avork, observes, that,
though the metallic veins generally run from east to
west, they are frequently intersected by veins or lodes,
as he calls them, of other matters, Ayhich lun from
north to south. Some of these cross veins contain lead
or antimony, but never tin or copper. Sometimes
one of these unmetallic veins intersects the true one
at right angles, sometimes obliquely ; and sometimes
the mixture of both is so intimate, that the most ex¬
pert miners are at a loss to discover the sepaiated pait
of the true vein. W hen this last is intercepted at
right angles, it is moved either north or south, a
very little Avay, perhaps not more than one fathom ,
in vvhich case, the miners haying Ayorked to a small
distance in one of these directions, if they find them¬
selves disappointed, turn to the other hand, and seldom
fail of meeting Avitli Avhat they expected. Sometimes
they are directed in their search by the pointing of a
rili or string of the true vein 5 but when the intei lup-
tion happens in an oblique direction, the difficulty of
finding the vein again is much greater.
W hen two metallic veins in the neighbourhood of
each other run in an oblique direction, and of conse¬
quence meet together, they commonly produce a body
of ore at the place where they intersect and it both
are rich, the quantity will be considerable j but if one
be poor and the other rich, then both are either en¬
riched or impoverished by the meeting. After some
time they separate again, and each Avill continue its for¬
mer direction near to the other ; but sometimes, though
rarely, they continue united.
It is a sign of a poor vein Avhen it separates 01 divei-
ges into strings *, but on the contrary, Avhen several of
them are found running into one, it is accounted a pro¬
mising sign. Sometimes there are branches without the
walls of the vein in the adjacent strata, Avhich often
come either obliquely or transversely into it. ft these
branches are impregnated with ore, or if they underlie
faster than the true vein, that is, if they dip deeper into
the ground, then they are said to overtake or come into
the lode, and to enrich it or if they do not, then they
are said to go off from it, and to impoverish it. But
neither these nor any other marks either ot the richness
or poverty of a mine are to be entirely depended upon 5
for many mines, which have a very bad appearance at
first, do nevertheless turn out extremely well after¬
wards -, while others, which in the beginning seemed
very rich, turn gradually worse and worse : but in ge¬
neral, where a vein has a had appearance at first, it
will be imprudent to be at much expence with it.
Veins of metal, as has been already observed, are fre¬
quently, as it were, so compressed betwixt hard strata,
that they are not an inch wide : nevertheless, if they
have a string of good ore, it will generally be worth
while to pursue them : and they frequently turn out
well at last, after they have come into softer ground.
In like manner, it is an encouragement to go on it
the branches or leaders of ore enlarge either in width
or depth as'they are worked; but it is a bad sign it
they continue horizontal without inclining downwards ;
though it is not proper always to discontinue the work-
iline.
MIN [u
ing of a vein 'which has an unfavourable aspect at first.
Veins of tin are worth working when only three inches
wide, provided the ore he good ; and copper ores when
six inches w'ide will pay very well for the working.
Some of the great mines, however, have very large
veins, with a number of other small ones very near each
other. There are also veins, crossing one another some¬
times met with, which are called contras, vulgarly
counters. Sometimes two veins run down into the
pround in such a manner that they meet in the direc¬
tion of their depth j in which case the same observa¬
tions apply to them which are applicable to those that
meet in a horizontal direction. Sometimes a vein will
suddenly disappear without giving any warning, by be¬
coming narrower, or of worse quality; which by the
miners is called a start or leap, and is very common in
the mines of Cornwall. In one day’s time they may
thus be disappointed in the Avorking of a rich vein of
tin, and have no further sign of any thing to work
upon. At the fractured extremity of their vein they
perceive a bodv of clay or other matter 5 and the me¬
thod of recovering their \'ein is to drive on the work in
the direction of the former part, so that their new Avork
shall make the same angle Avith the clay that the other
part of the vein does. Sometimes they sink a shaft
dmvn from the surface •, but it is generally a matter of
difficulty to recover a vein A\rhen thus lost.
The method of discovering mines is a matter of so
much difficulty, that it seems surprising Iioav those who
Avere totally unacquainted Avith the nature of metals
first came to think of digging them out of the earth.
According to Lucretius, the discovery Avas made by the
conflagration of certain Avoods, which melted the veins
of metal in the earth beneath them ; but this seems ra¬
ther to be improbable. Aristotle, however, is of the
same opinion Avith Lucretius, and tells us, that some
shepherds of Spain having set fire to the Avoods, the
earth was thus heated to such a degree that the silver
near the surface of it melted and flowed into a mass;
and that in a short time the metallic mass Avas discover¬
ed by the rending of the earth in the time of an earth¬
quake : and the same story is told by Strabo, Avho as¬
cribes the discovery of the mines of Andalusia to this
accident. Cadmus is said by some to have been the
first Avho discovered gold : Avhile others ascribe this to
Thoas the Thracian, to Mercury the son of Jupiter, or
to Pisus king of Italy } Avho having left his own coun¬
try, Avent into Egypt, Avhere he Avas elected king after
the death of Mizraim the son of Ham: and, on ac¬
count of his discovery, Avas called the Golden God.
Others say, that Eaclis or Caeacus the son of Jupiter,
or Sol the son of Oceanus, Avas the first discoverer 5 but
yEschylus attributes the discovery not only of gold, but
of all other metals, to Prometheus. The brass and
copper mines in Cyprus Avere first discovered by Cinyra
the son of Agryopa *, and Hesiod ascribes the discovery
of the iron mines of Crete to the Cretan Dactyli Idaei.
The extraction of lead or tin from its ore in the island of
Cassiteris, according to several ancient authors, Avas
discovered by Midacritus.—The Scripture, however,
ascribes the invention of brass and iron, or at least of
the methods of working them, to Tubal Cain before the
flood.
In mere modern times, avc knoAV that mines have
been frequently discovered by accident; as in sea cliffs,
7 ]
MIN
among broken craggy rocks, by the washing of the
tide or floods, also "by irruptions and torrents of Ava-v-
ter issuing out of hills and mountains, and sometimes
bv the Avearing of high roads. Mr Price mentions
another way by which mines have been discovered, viz.
by fiery coruscations j which, he says, he has heard
from persons Avhose veracity lie is umvilling to ques¬
tion. “ The tinners (says he) generally compare
these effluvia to blazing stars or other whimsical like¬
nesses, as their fears or hopes suggest •, and search Avith
uncommon eagerness the ground over Avhich the.se
jack-a-lanterns have appeared and pointed out. We
have heard but lAtle of these phenomena for many
years : Avhether it be, that the present age is less cre¬
dulous than the foregoing, or that the ground, being
more perforated by innumerable new pits sunk every
year, some of which, by the stannary laws, are prevent¬
ed from being filled up, has given these vapours a more
gradual vent, it is not necessary to inquire, as the fact
itself is not generally believed.”
Mines, however, are noiv most commonly disccA’ered
by investigating the nature ot such A'eins, ores, and
stones as may seem most likely to turn to account :
but there is a particular sagacity, or habit ot judging
from particular signs, which can be acquired only by
long practice. Mines, especially those ot copper, may
also be discovered by the harsh and disagreeable taste
of the Avaters which issue from them though it is pro¬
bable that this only happens Avhen the ore lies above
the level of the Avater Avhich breaks out; for it does
not seem likely that the taste ot the ore could ascend,
unless Ave Avere to suppose a pond or lake of Avater
standing abo\Te it. The presence of copper in any wa¬
ter is easily discoArered by immerging in it a bit ot po¬
lished iron, Avhich Avill thus instantly be turned of a
copper colour, by reason of the precipitation ot the me¬
tal upon it. A candle, or piece of tallow put into Avater
of this kind, Avill in a short time he tinged ot a green
colour. .
Another and still more remarkable method of dis-
covering mines is said to be by the virgula divinatorui,
or divining rod 5” Avhich, hoAAtwer incredible the sto¬
ries related concerning it may be, is still relied on
by some, and among others by Mr Trice. It is net
knoAvn who Avas the inventor ot this method \ but A-
gricola supposes that it took its rise from the magi¬
cians, who pretended to discover mines by enchantment.
No mention is made of it, however, before the nth
century, since which time it has been in tiequent use j
and the Corpuscular Philosophy has eAeii been called
in to account for it. But betore avc pretend to account
for phenomena so very extraordinary as those reported
of the virgula divinatoria, it is necessary, in the first
place, to determine Avhether or not they exist. Mr
Price, as has been already hinted,believes in it, though
he owns that by reason of his constitution ol mind
and body, he is almost incapable of co-operating with
its influence. Phe folloAVing account, however, he
gives from Mr William GookA\Torthy of 3 lymouth, a
gentleman of known veracity and great chemical abi-
lities. . 1 . ,
He had the first information concerning this rod
from one Captain Ribeira, Avho deserted from the
Spanish service in Queen Anne’s reign, and became
captain-commandant in the garrison of Plymouth
1 AA’hjicii
Mine.
M I N i i
Mine, 'which town he satisfied several intelligent persons of
—v ■ the virtues of the rod, by many experiments on pieces
of metal hid in the earth, and by an actual discovery of
a copper mine near Oakhampton, which was wrought
for some years. This captain very readily showed the
method of using the rod in general, but would not by
any means discover the secret of distinguishing the dif¬
ferent metals by it: though, by a constant attention
to his practice, Mr Cookworthy discovered it. Cap¬
tain Itibeira was of opinion, that the only proper rods
for this purpose were those cut from the nut or fruit
trees j and that the virtue was confined to certain per¬
sons, and those, comparatively spoking, but few :
but Mr Price says, that the virtue resides in all per¬
sons and in all rods under certain circumstances.
“ The rod (says he) is attracted by all the metals, by
coals, limestone, and springs of water, in the follow¬
ing order : x. Gold ; 2. Copper j 3. Iron ; 4. Silver 5
5. Tin ; 6. Lead 5 7. Coals •, 8. Limestone and springs
of water. One method of determining the different
attractions of the rod is this : Stand, holding the rod
with one foot advanced j put a guinea under that foot,
and an halfpenny under the other, and the rod will be
drawn down j shift the pieces of money, and the rod
will be drawn towards the face, or backwards to the
gold, which proves the gold to have the stronger at¬
traction.
“ The rods formerly used were shoots of one year’s
growth that grew forked 5 but it is found, that two
separate shoots tied together with packthread or other
vegetable substance answer rather better than such as
are naturally forked, as the shoots of the latter are
seldom of an equal size. They are to be tied together
by the greater ends, the small ones being held in the
hands. Hazle rods cut in the winter, such as are used
for fishing rods, and kept till they are dry, do best;
though, where these are not at hand, apple-tree suck¬
ers, rods from peach trees, currants, or the oak, though
green, will answer tolerably well.”
Our author next proceeds to describe the manner of
bolding the rod ; of which he gives a figure, as he says
it is difficult to be described. The small ends being
crooked, are to be held in the hands in a position flat
or parallel to the horizon, and the upper part in an
elevation not perpendicular to it, hut at an angle of
about 70 degrees. “ The rod (says he) being pro¬
perly held by those with whom it will answer, when
the toe of the right foot is within the semidiameter of
the piece of metal or other subject of the rod, it will
be repelled towards the face, and continue to be so
while the foot is kept from touching or being directly
over the subject} in which case it will be sensibly and
strongly attracted, and be drawn quite down. The
rod should be firmly and steadily grasped } for if, when
it has begun to be attracted, there be the least ima¬
ginable jerk or opposition to its attraction, it will not
move any more till the hands are opened, and a fresh
grasp taken. The stronger the grasp the livelier the
rod moves, provided the grasp be steady and of an
equal strength. This observation is very necessary,
as the operation of the rod in many hands is defeated
purely by a jerk or counteraction ", and it is from
thence concluded, that there is no real efficacy in the
rod, or that the person who holds it wants the virtue ;
1
18] MIN
whereas, by a proper attention to this ch-etimstance in
using it, five persons in six have the virtue, as it is
called *, that is, the nut or fruit-bearing rod will an¬
swer in their hands. If a rod, or the least piece of
one of the nut-bearing or fruit kind, be put under the
arm, it will totally destroy the operation of the vtrgula
(h'vinatoria, in regard to all the subjects of it, except
water, in those hands in which the rod naturally ope¬
rates. If the least animal thread, as silk, or w'orsted,
or hair, be tied round or fixed on the top of the rod,
it will in like manner binder its operation j but the
same rod placed under the arm, or the same animal sub¬
stances tied round or fixed ort the top of the rod, will
make it work in those hands, in which without these
additions it is not attracted.”
Such are the accounts of this extraordinary rod, to
which it is probable that few will assent j avid we believe
the instances of mines having been discovered by it are
but very rare. Another and very ancient mode of dis¬
covering mines, less uncertain than the divining rod,
hut extremely difficult and precarious, is that called
shading; that is, tracing them by loose stones, frag¬
ments, or shades, which may have been separated or
carried oft' to a considerable distance from the vein, and
are found by chance in running waters, on the superficies
of the ground, or a little under.—“ When the tinners
(says Mr Price) meet with a loose single stone of tin
ore, either in a valley or in ploughing or hedging,
though at 100 fathoms distance from the vein it came
from, those who are accustomed to this work will not
fail to find it out. They consider, that a metallic stone
must originally have appertained to some vein, from
which it was severed and cast at a distance by some vio¬
lent means. The deluge, they suppose, moved most of
the loose earthy coat of the globe, and in many places
washed it off from the upper towards the lower grounds,
with such a force, that most of the hacks or lodes of
veins which protruded themselves above the fast were
hurried downwards with the common mass : whence
the skill in this part of their business lies much in direc¬
ting their measures according to the situation of the sur¬
face.” Afterwards, however, our author complains that
this art of shading, as he calls it, is in a great measure
lost.
The following account of a method of finding silver
mines by Alonzo Barba seems to be similar to that of
shoding just now mentioned. “ The veins of metal
(says he) are sometimes found by great stones above
ground ; and if the veins be covered, they hunt them
out after this manner; viz. taking in their hands a
sort of mattock, which has a steel point at one end
to dig with, and a blunt head at the other wherewith to
break stones, they go to the hollows of the mountains,
where the current of rain water descends, or to some
other part of the skirts of the mountains, and there
observe what stones they meet with, breaking in pieces
those that seem to have any metal in them ; whereof
they find many times both middling sort of stones ami
small ones also of metal. Then they consider the situa¬
tion of that place, and w'hence these stones can tumble,
which of necessity must be from higher ground, and
follow the track of them up the hill as long as they can
find any of them,” &c.
“ Another way (says Mr Price) of discovering lodes
is
Mine.
M IN f i
is by working drifts across the country, as we call it,
that is, from north to south, and vice versa. I tried
the experiment in an adventure under my management,
ndiere I drove all open at grass about two feet in the
shelf, very much like a level to convey water upon a
mill wheel 5 by so doing I was sure of cutting all lodes
in my way: and I did accordingly discover live courses,
one of which has produced above 180 tons of copper
ore, hut the others were never wrought upon. This
method of discovering lodes is equally cheap and cer¬
tain ; for 100 fathoms in shallow ground may be driven
at 50s. expence.”
In that kind of ground called by our author fea¬
sible, and which he explains by the phrase tenderstand¬
ing, he tells us, that “ a very effectual, proving, and con¬
sequential way is, by driving an adit from the lowest
ground, either north or south \ whereby there is a cer¬
tainty to cut all lodes at 20, 30, or 40 fathoms deep,
if the level admits of it. In driving adits or levels
across, north or south, to unwater mines already found,
there are many fresh veins discovered, which frequently
prove better than those they w?ere driving to.”
After the mine is found, the next thing to be consi¬
dered is, whether it may be dug to advantage. In or¬
der to determine this, we are duly to weigh the nature
of the place, and its situation, as to wood, water, car¬
riage, healthiness, and the like ; and compare the result
with the richness of the ore, the charge of digging,
stamping, washing, and smelting.
Particularly the form and situation of the spot
should be well considered. A mine must either hap¬
pen, 1. In a mountain j 2. In a hill 3 3. In a valley 5
or, 4. In a flat. But mountains and hills are dug with
much greater ease and convenience, chiefly because the
drains and burrows, that is, the adits or avenues, may
he here readily cut, both to drain the water and to
form gangways for bringing out the lead, &c. In
all the four cases, we are to look out for the veins
which the rains or other accidental thing may have
laid bare; and if such a vein be found, it may often
be proper to open the mine at that place, especially if
the vein prove tolerably large and rich 3 otherwise the
most commodious place for situation is to be chosen for
the purpose, viz. neither on a flat, nor on the tops of
mountains, but on the sides. The best situation for
a mine is a mountainous, woody, w'holesome spot 3 of
a safe easy ascent, and bordering on a navigable river.
The places abounding with mines are generally healthy 3
as standing high, and everywhere exposed to the air 3
yet some places where mines are found prove poison¬
ous, and can upon no account be dug, though ever so
rich. The way of examining a suspected place of this
kind, is to make experiments upon brutes, by expos¬
ing them to the effluvia or exhalations, to find the ef¬
fects.
Devonshire and Cornwall, where there are a great
many mines of copper and tin, is a very mountainous
country, which gives an opportunity in many places
to make adits or subterraneous drains to some valley
at a distance, by which to carry oft the water from
the mine, which otherwise would drown them out
Irom getting the ore. These adits are sometimes car¬
ried a mile or twro, and dug at a vast expence, as from
2000I. to 4000I. especially where the ground is rocky 3
19] MIN
and yet they find this cheaper than to draw up the
water out of the mine quite to the top, when the
water runs in plenty, and the mine is deep. Some¬
times, indeed, they cannot find a level near enough to
which an adit may be carried from the very bottom of
the mine 3 yet they find it worth w'hile to make an adit
at half the height to which the water is to be raised,
thereby saving half the expence.
Mr Costar, considering that sometimes fx-om small
streams, and sometimes from little springs or collections
of rain w'ater, one might have a good deal of water
above ground, though not a sufficient quantity to turn
an overshot wheel, thought that if a sufficient fall might
be had, this collection of water might be made useful in
raising the water in a mine to the adit, where it may
be carried off.
But now the most general method of draining mines
is by the steam engine. See STEAM-Engine.
Mine, in the military art, denotes a subterraneous
canal or passage, dug under the wall or rampart
of a fortification, intended to be blown up bv gun¬
powder.
The alley or passage of a mine is commonly about
four feet squai'e 3 at the end of this is the chamber of
the mine, which is a cavity of about five feet in width
and in length, and about six feet in height 3 and here
the gunpowder is stowed. The saucisse of the mine
is the train, for which there is always a little aperture
left.
Two ounces of powder have been found, by experi¬
ment, capable of raising two cubic feet of earth ; con¬
sequently 200 ounces, that is, 12 pounds 8 ounces, will
raise 2D0 cubic feet, which is only 16 feet short of a
cubic toise, because 200 ounces, joined together, have
proportionably a greater force than two ounces, as being
an united force.
All the turnings a miner uses to cai’ry on his mines,
and through which he conducts the saucisse, should be
well filled with earth and dung 3 and the masonry in
proportion to the earth to be blown up, as 3 to 2.
The entrance of the chamber of the mine ought to be
firmly shut with thick planks, in the form of a St An¬
drew’s cross, so that the enclosure be secure, and the
void spaces shut up with dung or tempered earth. If
a gallery be made below or on the side of the chamber,
it must absolutely be filled up with the strongest ma¬
sonry, half as long again as the height of the earth 3
for this gallery will not only burst, but likewise ob¬
struct the effect of the mine. The powder should al¬
ways be kept in sacks, which are opened when the
mine is charged, and some of the powder strewed
about: the greater the quantity of earth to be raised
is, the greater is the effect of the mine, supposing it
to have the due proportion of powder. Powder has
the same effect upon masonry as upon earth, that is,
it will proportionably raise either with the same velo¬
city.
The branches which are carried into the solidity of
walls do not exceed three feet in depth, and two feet
six inches in width nearly : this soil of mine is most ex¬
cellent to blow up the stxongest walls.
The weight of a cubic foot of powder should be
8olb. 3 I foot 1 inch cube will weigh loolb. and 1 foot
2 inches and xt i 5olb. 3 and 200lb. of powder will
be
M I N
[ i
Mine, be I foot 5 inches cube *, however, there is a diveisity
v-—' m this, according to the quantity oi saltpetre in the
gunpowder.
If, when the mines are made, water be found at the
bottom of the chamber, planks are laid there, on
which the powulev is placed cither in sacks or barrels
of loolb. each. The saucisse must have a clear passage
to the powder, and be laid in an auget or wooden
trough, through all the branches. When the powder
is placed in the chamber, the planks are laid to cover
it, and others again across these-, then one is placed
over the top of the chamber, which is shaped for that
purpose } between that and those which cover the
powder, props are placed, which shore it up ; some
inclining towards the outside others to the inside of
the wall; all the void spaces being filled with earth,
dung, brick, and rough stones. Afterwards planks
are placed at the entrance of the chamber, with one
across the top, whereon they buttress three strong
props, whose other ends are likewise propped against
another plank situated on the side of the earth in the
branch -, which props being well fixed between the
planks with wedges, the branch should then be filled
up to its entrance, with the forementioned materials.
The saucisses which pass through the side branches
must be exactly the same length with that in the mid¬
dle, to which they join : the part which reaches beyond
the entrance of the mine is that which conveys the file
to the other three ; the saucisses being of equal length,
will spring together.
From a great number of experiments, it appears,
1. That the force of a mine is always towards the
weakest side ; so that the disposition of the chamber
of a mine does not at all contribute to determine this
effect. 2. That the quantity of powder must be greater
or less in proportion to the greater or less weight of
the bodies to be raised, and to their greater or less
cohesion; so that you are to allow for each cubic
fathom
Of loose earth, - - 9 or lolb.
Firm earth and strong sand, 11 or 12
Flat clayey earth, - - 15 or 16
New masonry, not strongly bound, 15 or 20
Old masonry, well bound, - 25 or 30
3. That the aperture, entonnoir of a mine, if rightly
charged, is a cone, the diameter of whose base is double
the height taken from the centre of the mine. 4. That
when the mine has been overcharged, its entonnoir is
nearly cylindrical, the diameter of the upper extreme
not much exceeding that of the chamber. 5. That be¬
sides the shock of the powder against the bodies it takes
up, it likewise crushes all the earth that borders upon
it, both underneath and sidewise.
To charge a mine so as to have the most advantage¬
ous effect, the weight of the matter to be carried must
be known *, that is, the solidity of a right cone, whose
base is double the height of the earth oyer the centre
of the mine : thus, having found the solidity of the cone
in cubic fathoms, multiply the number of fathoms by
the number of pounds of powder necessary for raising
the matter it contains , and if the cone contains mat¬
ters of different weights, take a mean weight between
4
20 ] MIN
them all, always having a regard to their degree of co- M J
hesion. . ^ I
As to the disposition of mines, there is hut one gene-,
ral rule which is, That the side towards which one ^ H
. 1 .1 1- -J. . 1--.X xl-*
would determine the effect be the weakest; but this
varies uccordin^ to occusioos 3.11 cl circuinst^iiccs#
The calculation of mines is generally built upon tins
hypothesis, That the entonnoir of a mine is the frustum
of an inverted cone, whose altitude is equal to the radius
of the excavation of the mine, and the diameter of the
whole lesser base is equal to the line of least resistance ;
and though these suppositions are not quite exact, yet
the calculations of mines deduced from them have
proved successful in practice -, for which reason this cal¬
culation should be followed till a better and more simple
be found out.
M. de Valliere found that the entonnoir of a mine
was a paraboloid, which is a solid generated by the
rotation of a semiparabola about its axis ; but as
the difference between these two is very insignifi¬
cant in practice, that of the frustum of a cone may be
used.
MINEHEAD, a town of Somersetshire, 166 miles
from London. It is an ancient borough, with a har¬
bour in the Bristol channel, near Dunster castle, much
frequented by passengers to and from Ireland. It was
incorporated by Queen Elizabeth, with great privileges,
on condition the corporation should keep the quay in ic-
pair; but its trade falling off, the quay was neglected,
and they lost their privileges. A statute was obtained
in the reign of King William, for recovering the port,
and keeping it in repair, by which they were to have
the profits of the quay and pier for 36 years, which
have been computed at about 2Col. a year ; and they
were at the expence of new-building the quay. In pur¬
suance of another act, confirming the former ; a new
head has been built to the quay, the beach cleared, &c.
so that the biggest ship may enter, and ride sate in the
harbour. The town in 1811 contained 1037 inha¬
bitants. It was formerly governed by a portreeve,
and now by two constables chosen yearly at a court leet
held by the lord of the manor. Its chief trade is with
Ireland, from whence about 40 vessels used to come
hither in a year with wool ; and about 400 chaldrons
of coals are yearly imported at this place, Watchet,
and Poriock, from South Wales, which lies directly
opposite to it about seven leagues over, the common
breadth of this channel all the way from Holmes to the
Land’s End. Here are several rich merchants, who
have some trade also to Virginia and the West Indies ;
and they correspond much with the merchants of Barne-
staple and Bristol in their foreign commerce. Three
or four thousand barrels of herrings, which come up the
Severn in great shoals about Michaelmas, are caught,
cured, and shipped off here every year, for the Medi¬
terranean, &c. The market here is on Wednesday,
and fair on Whitsun-Wednesday.
MINERAL, in Natural History, is used in general
for all fossil bodies, whether simple or compound, dug
out of a mine ; from Avhcnce it takes its denomination.
See Minkralogy.
Mineral Waters. All waters naturally impregnat¬
ed with any heterogeneous matter which they have dis¬
solved within the earth may be called mineral waters,
in
MIN [ i
Mineral, in tlie most general and extensive meaning of that name ;
„—y——' in which are therefore comprehended almost all those that
flow within or upon the surface of the earth, for almost
all these contain some earthy or saline matter. But,
strictly speaking, those waters only which hold in solu¬
tion such a quantity of foreign ingredients as to give
them properties which are easily recognised by the taste
i ] MIN
or smell come under the denomination of mineral wa- Mineral
ters. For the methods of analyzing mineral waters, see  y 
Chemistry Index in this work, and Decomposition
Chemical, Supplement.
Here we shall give a tabular view of the more e-
markable mineral waters which have been discovered
and examined.
An Alphabetical Table of the most noted Mineral Waters in Europe, exhibiting their
Medicinal Properties and Contents.
Names of
Springs.
Abcourt,
Countries in which
they are found.
Near St Germains
in France.
A-berbrothick, County of Forfar in
Scotland.
Acton, Middlesex county,
England.
Aghaloo, Tyrone, Ireland.
Aix-Ja-Cha-
pelle,
Juliers in Germs
any.
Alford or ‘Aw- Somersetshire, Eug-
ford,
Askeron,
Antrim,
Baden,
land.
Yorkshire, in Eng¬
land.
Ireland.
Swabia in Germany.
Bagnigge,
Middlesex, near
London.
Balimore,
Worcestershire in
England.
Ball or Baud- Lincolnshire in Eng-
well,
Balaruc,
land.
Languedoc in
.France.
Ballycastle, Antrim in Ireland.
Ballynahinch, Down in Ireland.
Ballyspellan Near Kilkenny in
Ireland.
Vol. XIV. Part I.
Contents and Quality of the
IFiter.
A cold chalybeate water,
containing besides the iron
a small quantity of fossil
alkali saturated with fixed
air.
A cold chalybeate. Con¬
tains iron dissolved infix¬
ed air.
Contains Epsom and sea salt.
Cold.
Sulphur, fossil alkali, and
some purging salt. Cold.
Sulphureous and hot. Con¬
tain aerated calcareous
earth, sea salt, fossil al¬
kali, and sulphur.
A purging salt along with
sea salt. Cold.
Contains Epsom salt, aerat¬
ed calcareous earth, and
sulphur. Cold.
Hot and sulphureous springs
and baths, resembling
those of Aix-la-Chapelle.
Epsom salt and muriated
magnesia. Cold. Ano¬
ther spring contains iron
and fixed air.
A fine cold chalybeate, con¬
taining iron rendered so¬
luble by fixed air, along
with some other salt sup¬
posed to be fossil alkali.
A cold petrifying -water;
contains aerated calcare¬
ous earth or magnesia.
Hot, and contain some pur¬
ging salts.
Chalybeate and sulphureous.
Cold.
Iron, fixed «.ir, and sulphur.
Cold.
Iron, fixed air, and proba¬
bly fossil alkali.
Medicinal Virtues.
Diuretic and purgative. Internally used
in dropsies, jaundice, and obstructions
of the viscera $ externally in scorbutic
eruptions, ulcers, &c.
Diuretic and corroborative. Used in
indigestions, nervous disorders, &c.
Strongly purgative, and causes a soreness
in the fundament.
Alterative and corroborant. Useful in
scrofulous disorders, worms, and cu¬
taneous diseases.
Diaphoretic, purgative, and diuretic.
Used as baths as well as taken in¬
ternally. Useful iu rheumatisms, and
all diseases proceeding from a debility
of the system.
Strongly purgative.
Diuretic. Useful when drunk in leprosy,
and other cutaneous diseases.
Similar to Borrowdale water, hut weak¬
er.
See Aix-la-Chapelle, and Baden, in
the order of the Alphabet. r.
Strongly purgative, three half pints be¬
ing a dose. The chalybeate spring
also proves purgative when the bowels
contain any vitiated matter.
Corroborative, and good in obstructions
of the viscera. Drank from two to
three pints in a morning.
Corroborative and astringent. Drunk
to the quantity of two pints, or two
and a half.
Drank as purgatives, and used as hot
baths. Useful in scrofulous and cuta¬
neous disorders.
Resembles that of Balimore in virtue.
Useful in scorbutic disorders and diseases
of indigestion.
Similar in virtue to that of Balimore*
Q Bagneres,
Names of
Springs.
Bagneres,
Bareges,
Barnet and
North-hall,
Bath,
Bandola,
Borrowdale,
Brentwood,
Bristol,
Bromley,
Broughton,
Buxton,
Caroline baths,
Carlton,
Carrickfergus,
Carrickmore,
Cash more,
Gastle-Connel,
€astle-Leod,
3
M I N
Countries in which
they are found.
Bigorre in France.
Bigorre in France.
Hertfordshire in^
England.
Somersetshire in
England.
Italy.
Cumberland in Eng¬
land.
Essex in England.
Somersetshire fri
England.
Kent in England.
Yorkshire in Eng¬
land.
Derbyshire in Eng¬
land.
Bohemia.
Nottinghamshire in
England.
Antrim in Ireland.
Cavan in Ireland.
Waterford in Ire¬
land.
Limerick in Ireland.
Boss^shire in Scot¬
land.
[ 122 ]
Contents and (Quality of the
Water.
Earth and sulphur. Hot.
Sea salt, fossil alkali, calca¬
reous earth, selenites, sul¬
phur, and a line bitumi¬
nous oil. Plot.
Epsom salt, and aerated cal¬
careous earth.
Iron, aerated calcareous
earth, selenite, Glauber’s
salt, and sea salt. Hot.
Iron, fixed air, lossil alkali,
and a little sulphur.—
Cold.
A great quantity of sea salt,
aerated calcareous earth,
and some bittern. Cold.
Epsom salt, and aerated cal-
MIN
Medicinal Virtues.
The waters used in baths, like those of
Aix-ia-Chapelle. Some of the springs
purgative, others diuretic.
Diuretic qnd diaphoretic. Useful in ner¬
vous as well as cutaneous disorders, in
old wounds and some venereal com¬
plaints. Used as baths, as well as taken
internally to the quantity of a quart or
three pints.
Purgative.
Powerfully corroborative, and very use¬
ful in all kinds of weaknesses. Used
as a bath, and taken internally.
Gently laxative, diuretic, and diaphore¬
tic.
Strongly emetic and cathartic. Some¬
times useful in the jaundice and
dropsy, scorbutic disorders, and chro¬
nic obstructions. Used likewise as
a bath in cutaneous diseases. Taken
in the dose of a pint, containing
only about seven drachms and a half
of sea salt j so that a great part of the
virtue must reside in the aerated calca¬
reous earth.
Pnrirative.
careous earth.
Calcareous earth, sea salt, Used as a bath ; and drank from four to
Epsom salt, Glauber’s salt, eight ounces at a time, to two quarts
and selenites. Hot. per day. Useful in consumptions, dia¬
betes, fluor albus, Sec.
Iron and fixed air. Cold. Diuretic and corroborative. - *
Sulphur, sea salt, Epsom Similar to Haxrowgate.
salt, and aerated earth. »
Cold.
A small quantity of sea
salt, fossil alkali, Epsom
salt, and aerated calcare¬
ous earth. Hot. Here
is also a fine cold chaly¬
beate spring.
Iron, fixed air, aerated earth,
sea salt, fossil alkali, Ep¬
som salt, and Glauber’s
salt. Hot.
Iron dissolved in fixed air,
along with a bituminous
oil, which gives it the
smell of horse dung.—
Cold. •
Seems from its bluish colour
to contain a very small
quantity of copper. Cold.
Fossil alkali, fixed air, and
some purging salt. Cold.
Green vitriol.
Iron dissolved in fixed air,
&c. Cold.
Aerated earth, selenites,
Glauber’s salt, and sul¬
phur. Cold,
Useful in gout, rheumatism, and other
disorders in which tepid baths ai’e
serviceable. Used as baths, and drank
to the quantity of five or six pints per
day.
Purgative, and used as baths. Of ser¬
vice in disorders of the stomach and
bowels, scrofula, &x.
Diuretic and corroborative.
Weakly purgative.
Purgative and diuretic.
Purgative, diuretic, and sometimes eme
tic.
Resembles the German Spaw, and is in
considerable repute.
Diuretic, diaphoretic, and corroborant j
useful in cutaneous diseases.
Castlemain,
Names of
Springs.
Castlemain,
Cawley,
Cawthorp,
Chadlington,
Chaude Fon¬
taine,
Cheltenham,
Chippenham,
Cleves,
Clifton,
Cobhani,
Codsalwood,
Colchester,
Colurian,
Comner, or
Cumner,
Coolauran,
Corstorphine,
Coventry,
Crickle Spaw,
Croft,
Crosstown,
Cunley-house,
Das Wild Bad,
D’ ax en Foix,
Deddington,
Derby,
Derry inch,
Derrindaff,
M I N
Countries in which
they are found.
Kerry in Ireland.
Derbyshire in Eng¬
land.
Lincolnshire in Eng¬
land.
Oxfordshire in Eng¬
land.
Liege in Germany.
Gloucestershire in
England.
[ 123 ]
Contents and Quaiity of the
Water.
Iron, sulphur, and fixed air.
Cold.
Epsom salt, aerated calca¬
reous earth, and sulphur.
Cold.
Iron, fixed air, and proba¬
bly fossil alkali. Cold.
Fossil alkali, sea salt, and
sulphur. Cold.
Aerated earth, fossil alkali,
and fixed air. Hot.
Calcareous earth, iron, Ep¬
som salt, and common salt.
Cold.
Wiltshire in Eng¬
land.
Germany.
Oxfordshire in Eng¬
land.
Surry in England.
Staffordshire in Eng¬
land.
Essex in England.
Cornwall in Eng¬
land.
Berkshire in Eng¬
land.
Fermanagh in Ire¬
land.
Mid Lothian in Scot¬
land.
Warwickshire in
England.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Yorkshire in Eng¬
land.
Waterford in Ire¬
land.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Nuremberg in Ger¬
many.
1 jleagues fromThou-
louse in France.
Oxford in England.
Iron dissolved in fixed air.
Don, fixed air, and other
ingredients of Pyrmont
water.
Fossil alkali and aerated cal¬
careous earth or selenite.
Cold.
Iron, and some purging
salt.
Sulphur, fixed air, and ae¬
rated earth.
Epsom salt, and aerated cal¬
careous earth.
Iron, fixed air, and aerated
earth.
Some purging salt, and pro¬
bably aerated earth ; the
water is of a whitish co¬
lour.
Iron, fixed air, and aerated
earth.
Sulphur, sea salt, clay, and
Epsom salt. Cold.
Iron, fixed air, and some
purging salt.
Sulphur, sea salt, and aerated
earth.
Aerated earth, vitriolated
magnesia, and sea salt.
Martial vitriol.
Sulphur, aerated earth, and
fixed air.
Iron, fixed air, and some sa¬
line matter.
Similar to Aix-ia-Chapelle.
Hot.
Iron, sulphur, aerated earth,
sea salt, or fossil alkali.
Near the capital of
Derbyshire in
England.
Fermanagh in Ire¬
land.
Cavan in Ireland,
Iron dissolved by fixed air.
?
Sulphur and fossil alkali.
Sulphur and purging salt.
M I N
Medicinal Virtues..
Corroborant and diuretic.
Gently purgative.
Purgative, and corrects acidities.
Purgative.
Besembles those of Aix-la-Chapelle and
Buxton.
Purgative and corroborant; taken in
the quantity of from one to three or
four pints. It is useful in cases of in¬
digestion and scorbutic disorders j also
in the gravel.
Diuretic and corroborative.
Diuretic and corroborant.
Gently laxative, and used as a bath for
cutaneous disorders.
Purgative, diuretic, and corroborant.
Resembles the Askeron water.
Strongly purgative.
Corroborative and diuretic.
Purgative, in the quantity of one, twOj,
or three quarts.
Diuretic.
Diuretic and laxative.
Purgative, diuretic, and corroborant.
Purgative, and resembling Harrowgate
water.
Purgative, and resembling Askeron wa¬
ter.
Diuretic, purgative, and sometimes eme¬
tic.
Purgative, and resembling the Askeron
water.
Corroborant. Useful in obstructions of
the viscera, and female complaints.
Used as a bath, and also drank, like the
Aix-la-Chapelle waters.
Alterative, purgative in large quantity,
and useful in scorbutic and cutaneous
disorders.
Corroborant.
Diuretic and diaphoretic.
Similar to the Askeron water.
Q % Derrylester^
Names of
Springs.
Derrylester,
Dog and
Duck,
Dortshill,
Drigwell,
Dropping-
well,
Drumas-nave,
Drumgoon,
Dublin salt
springs,
Dulwich,
Dunnard,
Dunse,
\ '
Durham,
Egra,
Epsom,
Fairburn,
Felstead,
Filah,
Frankfort,
Gainsborough,
Galway,
Gian mile,
Glastonbury,
Glendy,
Granshaw,
Haigh,
Hampstead,
Hanbridge,
M I N
Countries in which
they are found.
Cavan in Ireland.
St George’s Fields,
London.
Staffordshire in Eng¬
land.
Cumberland in Eng¬
land.
Yorkshire in Eng¬
land.
Leitrim in Ireland.
Fermanagh in Ire¬
land.
Ireland.
[ 124 ]
Contents and Quality of the
Water.
Similar to Swadlingbar wa¬
ter.
Aerated magnesia, Epsom
salt, and sea salt.
Iron dissolved in fixed air.
Similar to Deddington.
Aerated earth.
Sulphur, fossil alkali, with,
some purging salt.
Similar to the former.
Sea salt and Epsom salt.
M I N
Medicinal Virtues*
Cooling and purgative, but apt to bring
on or increase the fluor albus in wo¬
men.
Corroborant.
Astringent and corroborant.
Powerfully diuretic and anthelmintic, and
of use in cutaneous and scrofulous dis¬
orders.
Purgative.
Kent in England.
18 miles from Dub¬
lin.
Scotland.
England.
Bohemia. *
Surry in England.
Boss-shire in Scot¬
land.
Essex in England.
Yorkshire in Eng¬
land.
Germany.
Lincolnshire in Eng¬
land.
Ireland.
Ireland.
Somersetshire in
England.
Merns county in
Scotland.
Down in Ireland.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
England
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Sea salt and Epsom salt.
Iron dissolved in fixed air.
Iron dissolved in fixed air,
with a little sea salt and
bittern.
Sulphur, sea salt, and a little
aerated earth. In the mid¬
dle of the river is a salt
spring.
Similar to Cheltenham wa¬
ter.
Vitriolated and muriated
magnesia, with a small
quantity of aerated calca¬
reous earth.
Sulphur, aerated earth, and
Glauber’s salts.
Similar to Islington.
Sea salt and aerated earth.
Sulphur and sea salt.
Sulphur, iron, aerated earth,
and Epsom salt.
Similar to Tunbridge wa¬
ter.
Similar to Peterhead water.
Similar to Clifton water.
Similar to Peterhead wrater.
Iron } similar to the German
Spaw.
Green vitriol, iron dissolved
by fixed air, with some
aerated earth.
Green vitriol, iron dissol¬
ved by fixed air, and a
small quantity of aerated
earth.
Similar to Scarborough wa¬
ter.
Purgative and diuretic. Useful in ner¬
vous cases and diseases proceeding from
debility.
Diuretic and corroborant.
Similar to the former.
Similar to the Harrowgate water.-—
That of the salt spring used as a pur¬
gative.
Purgative,, and of use in w'ashing old
sores.
Alterative, and useful in cutaneous dis¬
eases.
Powerfully diuretic and purgative.
Similar to Harrowgate.
Diuretic and laxative.
Emetic and cathartic.
Alterative and corroborant. The water
is taken from half a pint to several
pints } is better in the morning than
in the middle of the day, and in cold
than hot weather.
Less purgative than the Scarborough
water.
Hanlys
Names of
Springs.
Hanlys,
Harrowgate,
Hartfell,
Hartlepool,
Holt,
Joseph’s well,
Ilmington,
Inglewhite,
Islington,
Kantnrk,
Kedlestone,
Kensington,
Kilbrew,
Kilburn,
Killasher,
Killingshanval-
Kilroot,
Kinalton,
Kincardine,
Kingscliff,
Kirby,
Knaresborougb,
Knowsley,
Knka,
Lancaster,
Latham,
M I N
Countries in which
they are found.
Shropshire in Eng¬
land.
Yorkshire in Eng¬
land.
[ 125 1
Contents and Quality of the
Water.
Epsom, or other purging
salt.
Sulphur, sea salt and some
purging salt. Some cha¬
lybeate springs here also.
Annandale in Scot¬
land.
Green vitriol, alum, and
azotic gas.
Durham in England.
Wiltshire in Eng¬
land.
Stock Common near
Cobham in Surry.
Sulphur, iron dissolved by
fixed air, with some pur¬
ging salt.
Purging salt, with a large
quantity of aerated earth.
A very large proportion of
Epsom salt, and possibly a
little sea salt.
Warwickshire in
England.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Near London.
Aerated fossil alkali, with
some iron dissolved by fix¬
ed air.
Sulphur, and iron dissolved
by fixed air.
Iron dissolved by fixed air.
Cork in Ireland.
Derbyshire in Eng¬
land.
Near London.
Meath in Ireland.
Near London.
Fermanagh in Ire¬
land.
Fermanagh, Ireland.
Antrim in Ireland.
Nottinghamshire in
England.
Merns in Scotland.
Northamptonshire in
England.
Westmoreland in
England.
See Dropping-well.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Bohemia.
Similar to the water at Pe¬
terhead.
Sulphur, sea salt, and aera¬
ted earth.
Similar to Acton water.
A large quantity of green
vitriol.
Fixed air, hepatic air, Ep¬
som salt, Glauber’s salt $
muriated magnesia, sea
salt, aerated earth, and
iron.
Sulphur and fossil alkali.
Similar to Hanlys chalybeate
water.
Nature of Borrowdale water,
but weaker.
A purging salt.
Similar to the water of Pe¬
terhead.
Similar to Cheltenham wa¬
ters.
Iron, fixed air, and probably
some fossil alkali.
Similar to Scarborough wa¬
ter.
Aerated fixed alkali.
England.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Similar to Tunbridge water.
Similar to the former.
M I N
Medicinal Virtues,
Purgative.
Alterative, purgative, and anthelmintic j,
useful in scurvy, scrofula, and cuta¬
neous diseases. Used externally for
strains and paralytic weaknesses.
Astringent and corroborant. Useful
in all kinds of imvard discharges of
blood.
Diuretic and laxative.
Mildly purgative. Useful in old ulcers'
and cutaneous disorders.
Alterative, purgative, and diuretic.
Drank to about a quart, it passes
briskly without griping : taken in
less doses as an alterative, it is
good antiscorbutic.
Diuretic and laxative.
Alterative. Useful in scorbutic and cu¬
taneous diseases.
Corroborant. Useful in lowness of spi¬
rits and nervous diseases. Operates
by urine, and may be drank in large
quantity.
Similar to Harrowgate ; but intolerably
fetid.
Emetic and cathartic, in the dose of half
a pint.
Similar to Swadlingbar water.
Purgative,
Laxative, and useful in correcting acidi^
ties.
Operates by insensible perspiration, some¬
times by spitting, sweat or urine.
Llandrindod,
Names of
Springs.
Llandrindod,
Llangybi,
Leamington,
Leez,
Lincomb,
Lisbeak,
Lis done-
Vurna,
Loansbury,
Maccroomp,
Mahereberge,
Mallow,
Mai ton,
Malvern,
MIN [ 126 ]
Countries in 'which Contents and Quality of the
they are found. Water.
Radnor in' South Three springs j a purgative,
Wales. a sulphureous, and chaly¬
beate.
Caernarvonshire in
North W ales.
Warwickshire in Sea salt and aerated calcare-
England. oils earth
Essex in England. Similar to Islington water.
Somersetshire m Aerated iron, tossil alkali,
England. and a little Epsom salt.
Fermanagh in Ire- Sulphur, &c.
land.
Clare in Ireland. Fossil alkali, with much
iron,
Yorkshire in Eng- Sulphur, and some purging
land. salt.
Cork in Ireland. Similar to Ilmingtcn water.
Kerry in Ireland. Similar to Borvowdale wa¬
ter.
Cork in Ireland. A hot water, similar to that
of Bristol.
Yorkshire in Eng- Iron and fixed air in con-
land. siderable quantity.
Gloucestershire in Iron. Two springs.
England.
M I N
Medicinal Virtues.
Useful in the scurvy, leprosy, cutaneous
disorders, &c.
Useful in disorders of the eyes, scrofula,
&c.
Emetic and cathartic. Useful in old
sores, and cures mangy dogs.
Similar to Swadlingbar water.
Emetic, cathartic, and diuretic.
Used only for washing mangy dogs and
scabby horses.
Similar to Scarborough water, but is
sometimes apt to vomit.
Diuretic and cathartic 5 used also ex¬
ternally. Recommended as excel¬
lent in diseases of tlje skin j in lepro¬
sies, scorbutic complaints, scrofula,
old sores, &c. Also serviceable in in¬
flammations and other diseases of the
eyes j in the gout and stone, in bi¬
lious and paralytic cases, and in fe¬
male obstructions. The external use
is by washing the part at the spout
several times a-day, and afterwards
covering it with cloths dipt in the
water and kept constantly moist 5 also
by general bathing.
Markshall,
Matlock,
Maudsley,
Meehan,
Miller’s Spaw,
Moffat,
Essex in England.
Derbyshire in Eng¬
land.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Fermanagh in Ire¬
land.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Annandale in Scot¬
land.
Similar to Islington.
Warm springs, of the na¬
ture of the Bristol water,
except that they are very
slightly impregnated with
iron, but contain a great
quantity of aerated earth.
They ai'e colder than the
Buxton ; but their vir¬
tues similar to those of
the two places mentioned.
Sulphur and sea salt.
Sulphur and fossil alkali.
Similar to Tunbridge.
Sulphurated hydrogen, car¬
bonic acid and azotic ga¬
ses, with common salt.
Moss-house,
Moreton,
Lancashire in Eng- Similar to Islington water,
land.
Shropshire in Eng- Similar to Holt water,
land.
Similar to Harrowgate.
Similar to the waters of Drumgoon.
Alterant, diuretic, and sometimes pur¬
gative. Is used as a bath, and the
steam of the hot water has been found
serviceable in relaxing hard tumors
and stiff joints.
Purges strongly.
Mount
Names of
Springs.
Mount D’Or,
Nevil Holt,
New Cartmall,
Newnham Re-
gIs»
Newtondale,
Newton-Stew-
art,
Nezdenice,
Nobber,
Norman by,
Nottington,
Orston,
Oulton,
Owen Breun,
Pancras,
Passy,
Peterhead,
Pettigoe,
Pitkeathly,
Plombiers,
Pontgibault,
Pougues,
Pyrmont,
Queen Camel,
Richmond,
Rippon,
MIN
Countries in which
they are found.
France.
Leicestershire in
England.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
Warwickshire in
England.
Yorkshire in Eng¬
land.
Tyrone in Ireland.
C I27 ]
Contents and Quality of the
Water.
Warm, and similar to the
waters of Aix-la-Cha-
pelle.
Selenite or aerated earth,
and Epsom salt.
Sea salt and aerated earth.
M I N
Medicinal Virtues.
Diuretic, purgative, and diaphoretic.
Purgative, diuretic, and diaphoretic.—
Powerfully antiseptic in putrid dis¬
eases, and excellent in diarrhoea, dy¬
senteries, &.C.
Purgative.
Similar to Scarborough w-a-
ter.
Aerated calcareous earth or Astringent or tonic,
magnesia.
Similar to Tunbridge.
Germany.
Meath in Ireland.
Yorkshire in Eng¬
land.
Dorsetshire, Eng¬
land.
Nottingham, Eng¬
land.
Norfolk, England.
Cavan, Ireland.
Near London.
Near Paris.
Aberdeen county,
Scotland.
Donnegal, Ireland.
Perthshire,Scotland.
Lorraine, France.
Auvergne, France.
Nivernois, France.
Westphalia, Genua-
ny-
Fixed air, fossil alkali, iron,
and earth.
Martial vitriol.
Sulphur, much fixed air,
some sea salt, and Epsom
salt.
Sulphur, fossil alkali, and
earth.
Much fixed air, Epsom salt,
and a little sea salt, with
some iron.
Similar to Islington.
Sulphur, Epsom salt, and
fossil alkali.
Epsom salt, and aerated
earth.
Similar to Pyrmont water.
A strong chalybeate, but of
which no analysis has been
published.
Sulphur and purging salt.
Sea salt, a small quantity of
miniated and likewise of
aerated earth.
Saline matter, probably fos-
sile alkali, with a small
portion of oil.—Warm.
Fossil alkali and calcareous
earth.
Calcareous earth, magnesia,
fossil alkali, sea salt, earth
of alum, and siliceous
earth.
Aerated iron, calcareous
earth, magnesia, Epsom
salt, and common salt.
Somersetshire, Eng- Sulphur, sea salt, fossil al-
land. kali, calcareous earth, and
bituminous oil.
Surry in England. Similar to Acton water.
Yorkshire, England. Sulphur, sea salt, and aerat¬
ed earth.
Diuretic, diaphoretic, and tonic.
Similar to Hartfell.
Similar to Askeron water.
Useful in cutaneous diseases.
Purgative.—It intoxicates by reason of
the great quantity of air contained in.
it.
Similar to Askeron water.
Diuretic and purgative.
Similar to Islington, but more power¬
ful.
Similar to Askeron water.
Gently purgative. Very useful in scrofu¬
lous and scorbutic habits.
Used as a bath, and for washing ulcers.
Inwardly taken it cures complaints
from acidity, hemorrhagies, &c.
Diuretic and laxative.
Diuretic and laxative.
Diuretic, diaphoretic, and laxative. Re¬
commended in cases where the con¬
stitution is relaxed j in female com¬
plaints, in cutaneous diseases, in ner¬
vous disorders, in the gravel and uri¬
nary obstructions •, and considered as
among the best restoratives in decayed
and broken constitutions.
Used in scrofulous and cutaneous disor¬
ders.
Diaphoretic and alterant.
Road,
Names of
Springs.
Road,
St Bartholo¬
mew’s well,
St Bernard’s
- well,
St Erasmus’s
well,
Scarborough,
Scolliensis,
Seidlitz,
Seltzer,
Sene, or Send,
Seydschutz,
Shad well,
Shapmoor,
Shettlewood,
Shipton,
Somersham,
Spaw,
Stanger,
Stenfield,
Streatham,
Suchaloza,
Sutton hog,
Swadlingbar,
Swansey,
Sydenham,
Tarleton,
Tewksbury,
Thetford,
Thoroton,
Thursk,
Tibshelf,
\ •
M T N [ 128 ] MIN
. Countries in which Contents and Quality of the Medicinal Tirtues.
they are found. Water.
Wiltshire, England, Sulphur, iron, fossil alkali, Useful in scrofula, scurvy, and cutaneous
and fixed air. disorders.—Acts as a laxative.
Cork in Ireland. Fossil alkali, iron, and fixed Similar to Tilbury water,
air.
Near Edinburgh. Similar to the waters of Somewhat congenial with Moffat and
Moffat. Harrowgate. In nervous and sto¬
machic cases, analeptic and restora¬
tive j in scorbutic, 'scrofulous, and
most dropsical cases, reckoned a spe¬
cific.
Staffordshire, Eng- Similar to Borrowdale water,
land.
Yorkshire, England. Aerated calcareous earth, Diuretic and purgative.
Epsom salt, sea salt, and
Switzerland.
Bohemia.
Germany.
Wiltshire, England.
Germany.
Near London.
Westmoreland, Eng¬
land.
Derbyshire, Eng-
c land.
Yorkshire, England.
Huntingdonshire,
England.
•; Liege in Germany.
Cumberland, Eng¬
land.
Lincolnshire, Eng¬
land.
■Surry, England.
Hungary.
Oxfordshire, Eng¬
land.
Cavan in Ireland.
Glamorganshire in
North Wales.
Kent in England.
iron.
-Iron, fossil alkali, and a
great quantity .of fixed
air.
Epsom salt.
Calcareous earth, magnesia,
fossil alkali, and fixed air.
Similar to Islington.
Similar to Seidlitz.
Green vitriol.
Sulphur and purging salt.
Sulphur, sea salt, and pur¬
ging salt.
Green vitriol, alum, and fix¬
ed air.
Fossil alkali, iron, aerated
earth, Epsom salt, and sea
salt.
Green vitriol.
Similar to Orston.
Aerated earth, Epsom salt,
sea salt, and muriated
magnesia.
Sulphur, fossil alkali, and sea
salt.
Sulphur, earth, sea salt, and
fossil alkali.
Green vitriol.
Similar to Epsom, but weak-
Excellent in colic pains, both as a cure
and preventive.
Strongly purgative.
Diuretic. Useful in the gravel, rheuma¬
tism, scurvy, scrofula, &c.
Emetic and cathartic.
Similar to Askeron water.
Similar to Harrowgate water.
Similar to Harrowgate.
Corroborant and alterative. Useful for
washing foul ulcers and cancers.
Diuretic and purgative. Serviceable in
many disorders. See the article
Spaw.
Emetic and cathartic.
Purgative.
Similar to Nezdenice.
Alterative and laxative.
Alterative and diaphoretic.
Similar to Shadwell.
er.
Lancashire in Eng- Similar to Scarborough wa-
land. ter.
Gloucestershire in Similar to Acton.
England.
Norfolk in England. Fossil alkali, fixed air, and Purgative and diuretic,
iron.
Nottinghamshire in Similar to Orston.
England. -
Yorkshire in Eng- Similar to-Scarborough,
land.
Derbyshire in Eng- Iron dissolved in fixed air. Similar to Spaw water,
land.
a
Tilbury,
M I M
Names of Countries in which
Springs. they are found.
Tilbury, Essex in England.
Tober Bony, Near Dublin in Ire¬
land.
Tonstein, Cologne in Germany.
Tralee, Kerry in Ireland.
Tunbridge, Kent in England.
Upminster,
Essex in England.
Vahls,
Wardrew,
Weatherstack,
Wallenfrow,
West Ashton,
Westwood,
Wexford,
Whiteacre,
Wigglesworth,
Dauphiny in France.
Northumberland.
Westmoreland in
England.
Northamptonshire in
England.
Wiltshire in Eng¬
land.
Derbyshire in Eng¬
land.
Ireland.
Lancashire in Eng¬
land.
S. orkshire in Eng¬
land.
Wildungan, Waldech in Germa-
Windgate
Spaw,
Witham,
W’irks worth,
Zahorovice,
ny.
Northumberland.
Essex in England.
Derbyshire in Eng¬
land.
Germany.
[ 129 j
Contents and Quality of the
Water.
Fossil alkali.
I ossil alkali, earth, and bi¬
tuminous oil.
Fossil alkali.
Similar to Castle Connel.
Iron, some sea salt, with a
little selenites and calca¬
reous earth.
Sulphur, fossil alkali, and
purging salt.
Fossil alkali.
Sulphur, earth, and sea salt.
Iron, sea salt, and a small
quantity of hepatic gas.
Similar to Islington water.
Similar to Islington.
Green vitriol.
Similar to Islintiton.
Aerated iron, and probably
calcareous earth.
Sulphur, earth, and common
salt.
Similar to the waters of
Bath.
Carbonate of iron, green vi¬
triol, alum, common salt,
calcareous earth.
Aerated iron, and common
salt.
Sulphur, purging salt, and
aerated iron.
Similar to Nezdenice wrater.
M I N
Medicinal Virtues.
Diuretic and diaphoretic.
Similar to Tilbury.
Similar to Seltzer, but more purgative.
An excellent chalybeate, useful in all .
diseases for which the Spaw is recom
mended.
Purgative and diuretic.
Diuretic and laxative.
Similar to Harrowgate water.
Purgative.
Similar to Shadwell. Used for washing
ulcers of the legs.
Somewhat astringent.
Emetic in the quantity of two quarts, and
said to be cathartic in the quantity of
three ; a singular circumstance if true.
Useful in scorbutic and gouty diseases.
Corroborant and diuretic ; and useful in
stomach complaints and scrofula.
Diuretic, alterative, and corroborant.
Useful in scrofulousand cutaneous disease®.
Much esteemed in scrofulous cases.
MINERALOGY.
TyTINERALOGY is that branch of natural history
which has for its object the description and dis¬
crimination of inorganized or mineral substances, as
they are found in the earth or on its surface.
The knowledge of some mineral bodies may be con¬
sidered as coeval with the earliest ages of the world.
.The rudest and most barbarous nations could not be
ignorant of some of the properties of the substances
which were most familiar to their observation } and
mankind have made little progress in civilization, when
they are entirely unacquainted with the nature of
those matters from which some of the metals are extrac¬
ted.
I recious stones, it seems not at all improbable, first
attracted the notice of mankind. The richness of
colour, brilliancy, lustre, and durability of these bodies,
could not fail to excite admiration, and make them be
sought after as ornaments, even by the least civilized
people, and in countries where they are most abundant.
I bey were well known, it would appear from the sacred
Vol. XIV. Part I. f
writings, among the Jews and Egyptians in the time of
Moses. At this period, how'ever, both the Jews and
Egyptians had advanced far in refinement.
But this knowledge was too limited to be dignified
with the name of Mineralogy. It wanted that compre¬
hensive, connected, and scientific view which could
entitle it to that denomination. And indeed it may be
said to be only of modern date that the knowledge of
minerals rose to the rank of science, and assumed any
thing like a regular and connected form.
Dioscorides and Theophrastus among the Greeks, and Writers on
Pliny among the Romans, have, it is true, described a minerals,
few mineral bodies ; and Avicenna, an Arabian philo¬
sopher and physician, who flourished in the end of the
loth and beginning of the nth century, arranged those
objects into four great classes, viz. 1. Stony bodies. 2.
Saline bodies. 3. Inflammable bodies ; and, 4. Metals
—au arrangement which, it is curious to remark, must
be well founded 5 for it has been adopted, sometimes in¬
deed with slight deviations, by almost all mineralogical
R writers
4
Agricola.
Beecher.
6
.Linnaeus.
Walleriu
MINER
writers since that period. But still the knowledge ol
minerals was bounded by very narrow limits.
The variety and value of mineral productions in Ger¬
many have excited more attention to these studies, and
have thus rendered this knowledge of more interest and
importance than in any other country. To Germany
indeed it must be acknowledged that mineralogy is in¬
debted in a great measure for its origin, and for a very
ample share of its progressive improvement. George
Agricola, a native of Misnia, in which country he set¬
tled as a physician, lived during the first half of the
16th century. Being strongly attached by inclination
to the study of minerals, he removed to Chemnitz, in
Hungary, where he might have an opportunity of pro¬
secuting his favourite studies ; and there, by the most
unwearied application to mineralogy, and particularly to
the various operations on the metals, he became the most
celebrated metallurgist of his time. He is supposed to
be the first German author who professedly wrote on
mineral substances. The following titles chiefly com¬
prehend the various heads into which his works on me¬
tallurgy and mineralogy are divided, De Ortuet Causis
Sub ter rancor um ; De Natura eorum quai affluunt ex
Terra; De Natura Fossilium ; de Medicatis Fontibus;
De Subterrancis Animantibua ; De Vetenbus et Novis
Metallis ; and De Be Metallica. His arrangement of
minerals is into two great divisions. J. Simple or Ho¬
mogeneous Minerals -, and, 2. Heterogeneous Minerals.
The first, or simple minerals, includes lour subdivisions,
viz. i. Terra 5 2. Succus Concretus j 3. Lapis *, 4. Me-
tallnm. The second great division, the heterogeneous
minerals, comprehends two subdivisions, viz. 1. Com¬
pound minerals ; 2. Mixed minerals.
Several writers on mineralogy appeared in the course
of the 17th century; and about the beginning ol the
1 Sth Beecher proposed an arrangement of bodies on
chemical principles, or according to their constituent
parts. In the year 1736, Linnaeus published a system
of mineralogy, in which mineral bodies ai'e divided in¬
to three classes, viz. I. Fetrce ; z. Minerce ; 3. Fos¬
sil t a. These are subdivided into orders : the first con¬
taining three, Vitrescentes, Calc area, Apyree ; the se¬
cond containing three, Saha, Sidphurea, Mercuriaha ;
and the third also containing three, Concreta, Petn-
facta, Terrce. Three years afterwards the system of
Cramer appeared, according to which all mineral sub¬
stances are arranged into seven classes, of which the
following are the titles. 1. Metals ; 2. Semimetals ;
3. Salts; 4. Inflammable substances; 5. Stones; 6.
Earths; and, 7. Waters. About 10 years after the
first publication of the mineral system of Linnaeus, Wal-
lerius professor of mineralogy at Upsal, and his cotem-
porary, communicated to tire world a more enlarged and
improved arrangement oi mineral bodies than any which
had hitherto appeared. According to the system of
Wallerius, all minerals are distributed into four classes,
each of which is subdivided into four orders. FI he first
class, Terrce, includes the orders Macro;, Pingues,
Minerales, and Arenaceo ; to the second class, Lapides,
belong the orders Calcarei, Vitrescentes, Apyri, Sa.va ;
the third class, \Unero, comprehends the orders Saha,
Sidphurea, Semimetalla and Metalla ; and the fourth,
Concreta, is composed of the orders Pori, Petrifacta,
Figurata, and Calculi.
Of the systematic writers on mineralogy from the
4
Ilistor
A L O G Y.
time of Linnaeus, which have now been mentioned, and
of others which the limits of this historical sketch do
not permit us to notice, it is to be observed, that by all
of them, although the general arrangement of Avi¬
cenna was not followed, yet in the subordinate divisions
his classes were adopted, and constituted some of their
orders. The classes of Avicenna were not restored till
the time of Cronstedt, a Swedish mineralogist, in whose Cronste
system, which was published in the year i*]5%, they re¬
sumed the place which they formerly held. The system
of Cronstedt is divided into four classes, Terro, Salia,
Phlogistica, and Metalla. The first class, Terro, in¬
cludes 9 orders, Calcarco, Siliceo, Granatino, Argil-
laceo, Micaceo, Vluores, Asbestino, /bcohtico, and
Magnesto• rlo the second class, Salia, belong two
orders, Acida and Alkalina. The third class, Phlogis¬
tica, consists only of one order; and the fourth class,
Metalla, is composed of two orders, Metalla perfecta
and Semimetalla. The system of Cronstedt, the most
complete which had yet been offered to the world, and
which, by comparing" it with the systems accounted by
some the most perfect of the present day, will be found
not much different in its arrangement, continued to be
read and studied for more than twenty years, and was
translated into diflerent languages. This arrangement
is founded on chemical principles. Ihe first class, foi
instance, is divided into nine orders already enumeiat-
ed, and corresponding, as he supposed, to nine earths,
of one of which the stones included in each order are
chiefly composed. But as the improvements in chemi¬
cal analysis led to greater accuracy of investigation,
the earths which Cronstedt supposed to be simple were
found to be compound. The number of simple or pri¬
mitive earths was then diminished to five ; and thus the
number of genera, as they appeared in the Sciagraphia
Begni Mineralis of Bergman, published in 1782, was Be
also five. At that period five earths only were known.
The same method of constructing the genera is still
followed, so that the number of genera has increased in
proportion to the number of earths which have been
since discovered.
In the year 1780, a translation of Cronstedt’s mineral
system appeared in Germany, accompanied with notes
by Werner, the celebrated professor of mineralogy at Werne
Ereyberg m Saxony. Six years before this time Werner
had published a separate treatise on the classification of
minerals, in which he exhibited his method of describing
them by means of external characters. The notes on
Cronstedt’s system are to be considered as a farther illus¬
tration of this method, as well as a catalogue of minerals
belonging to Eabst Aon Ohain, which was drawn up by
the same naturalist and published in 1791* I*1 G^rR^JW
the method of Werner, we believe, is almost exclusively
adopted ; and it is chiefly followed in most other coun¬
tries, France excepted, where mineralogical knowledge
is also greatly cultivated. _ n
Mr Kirwan first introduced the knowledge of thisKirwa
system into Britain, in his treatise on mineralogy pub¬
lished in 1784; and about ten years afterwards it was
still farther elucidated by the same author in an impro*-
ved and enlarged edition of that work. In preparing
the latter edition, Mr Kirwan enjoyed the peculiar ad¬
vantage of consulting one of the compietest and best j
arranged collections of minerals which had yet beenLeske
made in any country. This is the Leskean collection
MINER
-i^tory. of fossils, which Mr K invan pronounces to he the most
perfect monument of mineralogical ability now extant.
“ That the possession of this cabinet, Mr Kinvan pro-
ceeds4;o state, should escape the vigilance of the most
learned nations, and fall to the lot of Ireland, hitherto
so inattentive to matters of this nature, was little to he
expected. Through the active zeal, however, of two
of its most enlightened patriots (a), and the influence
secured to them by fox-mer services of the most essen¬
tial nature, the sums requisite for its purchase, and
Weface for building a repository to receive it, were obtained
Vine- This splendid and extensive collection, we are farther
^ informed, was made by Lesko, whose name it now
bears, and who was one of the earliest and most emi¬
nent of the disciples of Werner. It was arranged be¬
tween the years 1782 and 1787, accoi'ding to the prin¬
ciples of Werner, and with his assistance. After the
death of Mr Leske, a catalogue was drawn up by Kar-
sten, another of Werner’s disciples. This catalogue in
its arrangement corresponds to the arrangement of the
cabinet, which is divided into five parts.
The first pai’t, which is denominated the character¬
istic part, consists of 580 specimens. These are in¬
tended for the illustration of the external characters,
or the principles of the classification.
The second, which is the systematic or oryctognos-
tic part, comprehends all simple minerals distributed
according to their genera and species agreeable to the
method then followed by Werner. This part contains
3268 specimens.
The third part, which is called the p;eognostic or geo¬
logical, includes the substances found in the difl’erent
kinds of rocks, as they are divided into primitive,
transition, Stratiform, alluvial, and volcanic mountains.
This part of the collection is peculiarly rich in petri¬
factions } and the whole number of specimens which it
contains extends to 1100.
The fourth part is intended to illustrate the minera¬
logy of every country on the globe, by exhibiting its
mineral productions. The order of arrangement of
this part is from America to ilsia, Europe, and Africa.
As there are many countries yet unexpWed, it is the
most imperfect division of the whole collection ; and,
indeed, as Mr Kirwan observes, it can only be com¬
pleted by national opulence.
The fifth part is called the economical collection. It
is formed of 474 specimens of minerals which are em¬
ployed in arts and manufactures, as in architecture,
sculpture, agriculture, jewellery, colouring, dyeing,
clothing, pottery, glazing, enamelling, polishing of
metals, furnace-building, medicine, metallurgy, &c.
The whole cabinet consists of 7331 specimens.
Such is the valuable source from which Mr Kirwan
derived the information detailed in his system of mine¬
ralogy. And here we are led to throw out a hint that
the friends of this science could not more effectually
promote its knowledge, and encourage its progress,
than by establishing similar collections wherever it is
taught and studied. But patriotism and power are un-
A L O G Y. 15
fortunately oftener directed to deeds of splendour and History.
magnificence, than they are occupied in forming and —-v 
accomplishing the humbler and more permanent plans
of national utility.
But to resume our narrative of the history of mine
ralogy, we cannot help expressing our regret that Mr
Kirwan has never found it convenient to revise and
improve his system as he might have done, aided bv
the immense stock of mineralogical knowledge which
has been accumulated since its fii:st publication. This
is the more to be i-egretted, because, notwithstanding
the rapid progress of the science, and the great im¬
provements which the system of Werner has received,
no good or even tolerable account of it has yet appear¬
ed in the English language.
France, whex*e many branches of natural history have
long flourished, has contributed largely to the science
of mineralogy. Even the pei’iod of war, which at first
sight would appear to be extremely adverse to the tran¬
quil pursuits of knowledge, has in this case proved pe¬
culiarly favourable to the study of mineralogy in that
kingdom. The knowledge of minerals has not only-
been encouraged and promoted in Fi’ance, by being for¬
ced to direct her attention to her own x-esources, while
her intercourse with other countries from which she
derived various commodities indispensably necessary
for economical purposes was interrupted j but also by
the subjugation to her overgrown power, of those parts
of Europe where mineralogy has been most cultivated
and improved, thus affording every facility of corre¬
spondence, and rendering accessible those mineral trea¬
sures which exhibit the best and fullest illustration of
the science. The French government, indeed, what¬
ever form it may have assumed, has invariably been
impressed with the importance of mineralogy ; and
even during the horrors of revolution, has never failed
to promote its progress, by forming and supporting ex¬
tensive collections, and establishing able and enligliten-
ed teachers at the expence of the nation.
Ot the woi’ks on mineralogy which have appeared in
Fi’ance, we shall only mention the treatises of Brochant,
Hauy, and Brongniart. They are the sources from
which the information in the following treatise is chiefly
dexived, and they may be recommended as the best
guides to the study of this department of natural history-. r
The system of Brochant is formed entirely on the prin-Brochant.
ciples of Werner’s classification, and is undoubtedly the
most pei’spicuous account of the system of the German
mineralogist which has yet been published. The prin¬
ciples on which the elaborate and ingenious method of
arrangement pi-oposed by the celebrated Hauy have
been already detailed. (See Crystallization).
Here we shall only remark that the study of the regu¬
lar forms of minerals with a view to methodical ar¬
rangement, was successfully px-osecuted by Bergman
and Rome de Lisle ; but has been extended and carried
to the highest degree of perfection by the sagacity, pro¬
found physical knowledge, and mathematical address of
the Abbe Hauy. But although the mineral system offiau/4
R 2 this
(a) The Right Honourable John Forster, late Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, and the Right Ho¬
nourable W. B. Cunningham.
T32 i MINER
History, this distinguished philosopher be founded on characters
' ' the most certain and the most uniformly permanent, yet
it may he doubted whether the previous knowledge
necessary to understand it, and in some cases the diffi¬
culty of applying its principles in ascertaining some of
the most essential characters, may not preclude tins
work from being so generally and practically useful as
other systems. The scientific mineralogist, however,
will always regard it as a monument of indefatigable
industry and patient research which has rarely been
equalled, and w7ill derive from it the most material aid
in his studies.
The system of Hauy consists of four classes. I. The
first class consists of substances which are composed ol
an acid united to an earth or an alkali, and sometimes
to both *, and it contains three orders : i. Earths com¬
bined with an acid 3 2. Alkalies combined with an
acid 3 and, 3. Earths and alkalies combined with an
acid. II. This class includes only earthy substances,
but sometimes combined with an alkali. It constitutes
the siliceous genus of other systems. III. The third
class comprehends combustible Substances which are not
metals. It is divided into two orders 3 the first con¬
taining simple, and the second compound combustibles.
IV. The metals form the fourth class. It is divided
into three orders, which are characterized by different
degrees of oxidation. Besides these classes there are
three appendices. The first contains those substances
•whose nature is not sufficiently know'n to have their
places accurately assigned in the system. The second
appendix includes aggregates of different mineral sub¬
stances. It is divided into three oixlers. The first
treats of primitive rocks 3 the second of secondary
and tertiary rocks 3 and the third of breccias. The
third appendix is devoted to the consideration of volca¬
nic products. This is divided into six classes 3 but it is
A L O G Y.
to be observed, that the volcanic products of this mine- History,
ralogist comprehend, not only such substances as are 11 v"“*
universally allowed to have a volcanic origin, but also
basalts, traps, and other minerals, the origin of which
is still questioned. 15
The system of Brongniart takes a wider range than Brongmai
other systems, including substances which aie not treat¬
ed of by writers on mineralogy. It is divided into five
classes. The first contains those substances, excluding
the metals, which are combined with oxygen. It con¬
tains two orders 3 the first including air and water,
and the second the acids. The second class, which
treats of saline bodies, is divided into two orders : the
first comprehends the alkaline salts, and the second the
earthy salts. The third class, containing the stones, is
divided into three orders : the first, hard stones 5 the
second magnesian ; and the third argillaceous. The
fourth class contains the combustible substances, which
are divided into two orders 3 first compound, and se¬
cond, simple combustibles. The fifth class includes
the metals, which are divided into twro orders 3 first,
the brittle, and second the ductile metals. The trea¬
tise of Brongniart, notwithstanding some peculiarities
in the classification which are not quite familiar to us,
will be found one of the most useful that has hitherto
appeared, not only on account of the accuracy of the
descriptions, which are divested of every kind of re¬
dundancy, but also on account of the interesting geo¬
logical discussions which are introduced, as well as nu¬
merous and important practical details in metallurgy
and other useful arts.
The following treatise will be divided into two parts.
The first part will contain the classification and de¬
scription of minerals ; and the second part will be des¬
tined to the analysis of minerals and to metallurgy, or
the method of extracting metals from their ores.
PART I. OF THE CLASSIFICATION OF MINERALS.
THE method to be followed in this treatise is near¬
ly that of Werner, all the material parts of which we
shall freely borrow from the work of Brochant already
noticed, as the best on the subject which we have had
an opportunity of consulting. We shall, however, oc¬
casionally avail ourselves of any useful information
which may be derived from the mineralogy of Kirvvan,
Brongniart, and Hauy 3 and in particular we shall in¬
sert the essential characters of the species given by the
latter.
The universal characters employed by Werner in
the description of minerals are seven in number:
1. Colour; 2. Cohesion 3 3. Unctuosity 3 4. Coldness 3
5. Weight 3 6. Smell 3 7. Taste. The table and the
illustrations which follow are chiefly taken from
Weaver’s translation of Werner’s treatise on that sub-
ject* . • , • •
In the following table is exhibited the arrangement
of the generic external characters of fossils.
Common
Art I.
assifica-
tion-
MINERALOGY.
)
Common Generic External Characters.
I. The Colour.
II. The Cohesion of the particles, in relation to -which Fossils are distinguished
into
    ■ ■■■  
Solid
and
Solid
and Friable,
External Appearance
1
Particular generic charac¬
ters of solid Fossils.
The external Form.
The external Surface.
The external Lustre.
Characters
for the <
Sight.
. r ,, CThe internal Lustre.
Appearance ot the 1 ta.
V. < 1 he r racture.
(.The form of the Fragments
Appearance of the
stinct Concretions
General Appearance
fThe ]
the di- J Coi
ions, i The £
LThe ]
1
Form of the distinct
Concretions.
Surface of Separation.
Lustre of Separation.
The Transparency.
The Streak.
The Stain.
fThe Hardness.
I The Solidity.
Characters for the Touch. <{ rj^ Flexibility^"
j The Adhesion to the
Characters for the 7 The SouncL
Hearing.
f Tongue.
CThe Ringing,
•c The Creaking.
(.The Rustling.
Particular generic
characters of fri¬
able Fossils.
The external Form
The Lustre.
The appearance of
the particles.
The Stain.
The Friability.
Fluid.
Particular generic
characters of fluid
fossils.
The external Form,
The Lustre.
The Transparency.
The Fluidity.
Wetting of the
fingers.
Remaining Common Generic External Characters.
f f III. The Unctuosity.
| Touch. < IV. The Coldness.
Characters for the (.V. The Weight.
I Smell. VI. The Smell.
Taste. VII, The Taste9.
External Characters of Minerals arranged according to their respective generic cha-^
racters, and illustrated by appropriate examples.
Common Generic External Characters.
I. THE COLOUR.
The most obvious of the external characters of mine¬
rals, is colour j it is also one of the most certain charac¬
ters, and often serves as the principal distinguishing
mark of many mineral substances. In deriving the
characters of minerals from colour, three things are con¬
sidered : r. The several principal colours, with their
varieties. 2. The shade of colour. 3. The tarnished
colours.
I. Principal Colours.
The several principal colours are not derived front
the division of the solar ray by means of the prism, but
are such as ate considered simple in common life. The
principal colours are the eight following; viz. white,
gray, black, blue, green, yellow, red, and brown.
A. White is the first principal colour, and it in¬
cludes the following eight varieties.
1. Snow white, as snow white quartz, white lead
ore, Carrara marble.
2. Reddish
134 MINER
Classifica- 2. Reddish while, as porcelain earth, reddish white
tinn. quartz.
' ,r~v- 1 Yellowish white, as white amber, zeplite, chalk.
4. Silver white, as native silver, native bismuth, and
arsenical pyrites.
5. Grayish white, as several kinds of gypsum, quartz,
and foliated granular limestone.
6. Greenish white, as white amianthus, talc, and cal¬
careous spar.
7. Milk white, as calcedony, opal, and milk white
quartz.
8. Tin white, as native quicksilver, native antimony,
and white cobalt ore.
B. Gray is the second principal colour, and its va¬
rieties are the following.
1. Lead gray, as in common galena, compact galena,
gray antimonial ore, and vitreous copper ore.
2. Bluish gray, as in bluish gray clay, bluish gray
marble, and bluish gray limestone.
3. Pearl gray, as in quartz, calcedony, and porcelain
jasper.
4. Reddish gray, as in granular limestone and feld¬
spar.
5. Smoke gray, as in gray hornstone, and in dark
gray flint.
6. Greenish gray, as in cat’s eye, prehnite, and some
varieties of argillaceous schistus.
7. Yellowish gray, as in yellowish gray calcedony,
yellowish gray tripoli.
8. Steel gray, as in specular iron ore, gray copper
ore, striated gray ore of manganese.
9. Ash gray, as in quartz, wacken, and some vaxae-
ties of argillaceous schistus.
C. Black, which is the third principal colour, is di¬
vided into the six following varieties.
1. Grayish black, as in basalt, black limestone, and
black flint.
2. Brownish black, as in black blende, tin-stone
crystals, black cobalt ore, and bituminous shale.
3. Dark black, or velvet black, as in Iceland agate
or obsidian, schorl, and jet.
4. It •on black, as in micaceous iron ere, magnetic
iron stone, and sometimes in antimoniated silver ore.
5. Greenish black, as in pitchstone, hornblende, and
serpentine.
6. Bluish black, as in aluminous shale, black cobalt
ore, dull black lead ore.
D. Blue is the fourth principal colour, including
seven varieties.
1. Indigo blue, as in blue martial earth.
2. Prussian blue, as in the sapphire and blue rock
salt.
3. Azure blue, as in lapis lazuli, and azure copper
ore.
4. Viiolet blue, as in fluor spar, amethyst, and in rock
salt.
5. Lavender blue, as in a variety of porcelain, jasper,
and lithomarga.
6. Smalt blue, as in light azuie copper ore, and blue
martial earth.
7. Sky blue, as in light azure copper ore, blue native
vitriol, and sky blue fluor spar.
E. Green is the fifth principal colour, of which
there are the following varieties.
A L O G Y. Parti
1. Verdigrease green, as in green copper ore, green Classifi-
fluor spar.
2. Celadon green, as in the Brasilian beryl, and in
pure green earth.
3. Mountain green, as in actynolite, hornstone, and
in most beryls.
4. Emerald green, as in fibrous malachite and fluor
spar.
5. Leek green, as in actynolite, jade, and prasium.
6. Apple green, as in chrysolite, prehnite, and nickel
ore.
7. Grass green, as in some varieties of chrysoprase
and some green lead ores.
8. Pistachio green, as in chrysolite, iron shot green
copper ore.
9. Asparagus green, as in chryso beryl, and some
varietes of green lead ore.
10. Olive green, as in green lead ore, serpentine,
pitchstone, and garnet.
11. Blackish green, as in dark green serpentine.
12. Canary green, as in green lead ore, micaceous
viranitic ore, and green steatites.
F. Yellow is the sixth of the principal colours. It
includes 12 varieties, which are the following.
1. Sulphur yellow, as in native sulphur and some va¬
rieties of serpentine.
2. Lemon yellow, as in yelloxv orpiment, and some
yellow lead ores.
3. Gold yellow, as in native gold.
4. Bell metal yellow, as in iron pyrites.
5. Straw yellow, as in calamine and bismuth ochre.
6. Wine yellow, as in Saxon topaz and yellow calca¬
reous spar.
7. Isabella yellow, as in calamine and sparry iron ore.
8. Ochre yellow, as in iron ochre, yellow jasper, and
calamine.
9. Orange yellow, as in red orpiment and red lead ore.
10. Money yellow, as in amber fluor spar and calce¬
dony.
11. Wax yellow, as in yellow lead ore, common
opal, and calcedony.
12. Brass yellow, as in copper pyrites, and native
gold-
G. Red is the seventh principal colour, and it in¬
cludes the following 15 varieties.
1. Morning or aurora red, as in red lead ore, red or¬
piment.
2. Hyacinth red, as in the hyacinth, and a variety of
brown blende.
3. Brick red, as in porcelain jasper.
4. Scarlet red, as in light red cinnabar.
5. Copper red, as in native copper.
6. Blood red, as in Bohemian garnet, and red car-
nelian.
7. Carmine red, as in red copper ore, and clear red
cinnabar.
8. Cochineal red, as in cinnabar, sometimes jasper,
and red quartz.
9. Crimson red, as in ruby, oriental garnet, and red
cobalt ore.
10. Columbine red, as in precious garnet, and red
cobalt ore.
11. Flesh red, as in feldspar, red gypsum, red quartz,
.and flesh red barytes.
12. Rose
art I. MINER
kssifica* 12. Rose red, as in red zeolite, rose red quartz, and
tion. ruby.
—13. Peach blossom red, as in striated and earthy red
cobalt ores.
14. Cherry red, as in red antimony ore and ruby.
15. Brownish red, as in red argillaceous iron stone,
and red earthy iron stone.
H. Brown is the eighth and last of the principal
colours. It is divided into the eight following varie¬
ties.
I. Reddish brown, as in brown tin stone, and brown
blende.
2. Clove brown, as in rock crystal, brown iron ore,
and thumerstone.
3. Hair brown, as in wood tin ore from Cornwall.
4. Yellowish brown, as in brown iron ochre and
jasper.
5. Tombac brown, or pinchbeck brown, as in brown
mica.
6. Wlod brown, as in bituminous wood, a variety of
asbestus.
7. Liver brown, as in brown cobalt ore, and brown
jasper.
8. Blackish brown, as in lowland argillaceous iron
ore, mineral pitch, and bituminous wood.
II. Shade or Intensity of Colour.
Colours may be determined by the relation in which
they stand to each other with regard to intensity or
shade. Thus among the principal colours, there are
some which are light, as white and yellow j and some
which are dark, as blue and black ; and besides, the
varieties of the principal colours differ from each other in
respect to shade. Thus among the blue colours, indigo
blue is dark, azure blue clear, and sky blue light; and
even the varieties may afford a diversity of shade, as,
for instance, clear canary green, light canary green.
Here it ought to be remarked, that the peculiar shade
of colour in a mineral is frequently owing to its greater
or less transparency, the paleness being in proportion to
the degree of transparency, and the darkness to the de¬
gree of opacity. The degree of lustre also in minerals
produces great variety in the shade of colour.
In discriminating the shade or intensity of colour,
four degrees have only in general been adopted. These
are the following. 1. Dark. 2. Clear. 3. Light. 4.
Pale.
1. Dark, as in Bohemian garnet, which is dark
blood red.
2. Clear, as in green hcrnstone, which is clear moun¬
tain green.
3. Light, as in red caraeiian, which is light blood
red.
4. Pale, as in aquamarine, which is pale mountain
green.
III. Tarnished Colours.
Tarnished colours afford peculiar characteristic marks
ol many minerals. By tarnishing, is meant a difference
m the colour of the surface after exposure to the air
from what the fresh fracture of the mineral exhibits.
Some minerals are always found tarnished in their
natural position in the earth, as in common galena,
gray ore of antimony and blende: some tarnish on every
fresh fracture being made, as in native arsenic and cop-
A L O G Y. 13,
per pyrites j while others are tarnished in both cases, Classifica-
as in native arsenic, and purple copper ore. tion.
The colours of tarnished minerals are divided into,v-"—v'-—1
1. Simple, and 2. Variegated.
1. Simple Tarnished colours afford five varieties.
a. Gray is the tarnished colour of white cobalt ore,
and steel gray of brown hematites.
b. Black is the tarnished colour of native arsenic,
brown hematites, and gray cobalt ore.
c. Brown is the tarnished colour of native silver,
which is white.
d. Reddish, of native bismuth, the fresh fracture of
which is silver white.
e. Yellowish, of white cobalt ore, and argentiferous
arsenical pyrites.
2. Variegated tarnished colours include four
varieties.
a. Pavonine tarnished, as in copper pyrites, purple
copper ore and common pyrites.
b. Iridescent tarnished, as in gray antimonial ore,
galena, specular iron ore.
c. Columbine tarnished, as in copper pyrites.
d. Steel-coloured tarnished, as in gray cobalt ore.
IV. The Play of Colour.
The play of colour in a mineral can only be observ
ed in sunshine or in a strong light. By this is under¬
stood tlmt property which some minerals possess of re¬
fracting from particular spots the different rays ©flight.
Phis ellect is produced by the peculiar association of the
molecules of the mineral, and the various degrees of
its transparency. Accidental causes, however, produce
a similar effect, such as slight rifts, cracks, &c.
The play of colour is remarkable in the diamond and
in the opal, and sometimes in rock crystal.
V. The Mutable Ref ection of Colour.
This is distinguished from the play of colour by the
mineral exhibiting in the same spot a change of colour
according to the position of its surface being varied,
producing a different angle with the incident rays of
light. This change takes place, 1. On the surface;
2. Internally.
1. The superficial mutable reflection is finely exem¬
plified in Labrador stone, and in a variety of marble
which contains petrified shells.
2. The internal mutable reflection of colour appears
in cat’s eye, precious opal, and moonstone.
VI. The Mutation of Colour.
This is. distinguished from the tarnish j in which lat¬
ter the surface only undergoes a change of colour, but
in the mutation of colour, the effect penetrates the mi¬
neral, and; sometimes pervades the whole. This affords
two varieties.
1. The fading of colour.—By this is meant that the
colour of a mineral becomes paler when it is exposed to
the light, heat, or is undergoing decomposition. Ex¬
amples of these changes may be observed in striated
red cobalt ore, which exposed to the air becomes pale
brownish blue fluor spar becomes green j chrysoprase
becomes light green 5 pearl gray silver ore becomes
clear brown.
2. The perfect change of colour is often the conse¬
quence of fading, when one colour is lost, and a new
one
136
Ckssifica- one appears, as in light-coloured sparry iron ore j ear-
tion. thy gray .ore of manganese, and argdlaceous iron stone.
VII. Delineations of Colours.
The delineations of colours are observed on simple
minerals, the same specimen containing several colours,
which pass through its interior, according to certain de¬
lineations. Of these delineations the following nine va¬
rieties are described.
1. Dotted, when fine points of another colour are dis¬
persed over the surface, as in serpentine, and some va¬
rieties of jasper.
2. Spotted, when the points or spots are of the size of
a lentil to that of a sixpence, or from one-fourth to one
inch in diameter. The spots are round and regular, or
irregular.
a. Regular, as in some varieties of serpentine, and in
argillaceous schistus*
b. Irregular, as in a variety of marble from Bay¬
reuth.
3. Nebulous or cloudy, when the spots ai-e large and
irregular, forming with the ground colour the appear¬
ance of clouds, as in calcedony and jasper.
4. Flamy, when the spots are large, and drawn m
one direction to a sharp point, as in striped jasper and
some marbles.
5. Striped, when large spots are drawn m the same
direction, and run parallel through the whole specimen.
There are two varieties.
a. Straight or curved striped, as in straight striped
jasper. .
b. Broad or linear, as in linear striped agate, calce¬
dony, &c.
6. Annular, when the stripes form concentric circles,
as in jasper, carnelian, and flints.
7. Dendritic, when the delineation resembles the
trunk of a tree separating into ramifications, as in stea¬
tites, some limestones, Egyptian marble, and calce¬
dony.
8. Ruinous, when the delineation presents the ap¬
pearance of ruins, as in I lorentine or landscape mar¬
ble. . . • r * 1
9. Veined, when the delineation consists ot variously
coloured narrow stripes, crossing each other in differ¬
ent directions, forming sometimes the appearance of a
net, as in marble, serpentine, and jasper.
II. THE COHESION OF THE PARTICLES.
The cohesion of the particles in minerals is the se¬
cond common generic character, which is observed by
the sight, and also by the touch. According to this
property, minerals are divided into solid, friable, and
fluid; but these properties also belong to the particular
wenerie characters of minerals, to be afterwards <ie-
O #
scribed.
Particular Generic External Characters of Solid Mi¬
nerals.
1. The External Appearance.
In the external appearance of a mineral, three things
are to be observed, the external form, the external sur¬
face, and the external lustre. .
The external form of a mineral is that figure or
1
MINERALOGY. Parti:
shape of the natural surface, which its primitive indivi- Classified
duals are found to possess. The external forms of solid ,
minerals are distinguished into common, particular, re-Y'--
gular or crystallized, and extraneous.
1. Common Extei'nal Shape.
When a mineral exhibits no resemblance to any-
known substances In common life, it is said to be of a
common form. Ot common forms there aie six kinds.
A. Massive, when a mineral is of an indeterminate
form, or amorphous, and ot nearly equal dimensions,
from the size of a hazel nut to the greatest magnitude,
and when it is incorporated with another solid mineral,
it is said to be massive. Solid minerals are most ire*
quently found of this external form, and some are never
found otherwise, as in steatites, common pit-coal, gale¬
na, and copper pyrites.
B. Disseminated, or interspersed, when a mineral,
without any particular form, is in small pieces not ex¬
ceeding the. size of a hazel nut, incorporated with ano¬
ther solid mineral. This affords three varieties.
<7. Coarsely interspersed, in size of a hazel nut to that
of a pea, as in copper pyrites.
b. Finely interspersed, from the size of a pea to
that of a grain of millet, as in tinstone, in granular
quartz. . . . e
c. Minutely interspersed, from the size of a grain ot
millet till it is scarcely perceptible to the eye, as in in¬
terspersed native gold.
C. In angular pieces, ol which there are two vari¬
eties.
a. Sharp-cornered, as in calcedony and in quartz.
b. Blunt-cornered, as in common opal.
D. In grains. Detached minerals, from the size of
a hazel nut to that which may be distinguished by the
eye, are said to be 111 grains. These are distinguished,
a. According to size, into
«. In gross grains from the size of a hazel nut to
that of a pea, as in lowland argillaceous iron ore.
yS. Large grains, from the size of a pea to that of
a hemp seed, as in precious garnet, magnetic iron sand.
y. Small grains, from the size of hemp seed to that
of millet, as in the above minerals,
2. In minute or fine grains, such as are smaller than
millet seeds, as platina, native gold, tinstone.
b. According to the form, which is in
<*. Angular grains, as in magnetic iron sand.
yS. Rounded grains, as in platina and native gold.
c. According as they inhere in other minerals. In
this respect they are, <e. Loose, /S. Partially, or y.
Wholly.
E. In plates, distinguished into
a. Thick plates, as in red silver ore.
b. Thin plates, as in vitreous silver ore.
F. In membranes or flakes, when the thickness does
not much exceed that ot paper, divided into
a. Thick, as in native silver.
b. Thin, as in iron pyrites.
c. Very thin, as in vitreous silver ore.
2. Particular External Forms.
The forms which come under this denomination ex¬
hibit a greater or less resemblance, both to natural
and artificial objects. They are called particular, be¬
cause, like the former, they are not usual or common.
There
irt I.
MINER
ssifoa fliere are five kinds of particular external forms, viz.
tion elongated, rounded, flattened, impressed, and confused.
A. Elongated. Of this there are eleven varieties.
a. Dentiform, as in native silver, and dentiform vi¬
treous silver ore.
b. Filiform, as in native silver, and vitreous silver
ore.
c. Capillary, resembling hairs, as in native gold and
.native silver.
d. Reticulated, as in native silver, native copper, and
a variety of galena.
e. Dendritic, which is either regular or irregular, as
in native silver and native copper.
f Coralhform, as in calcareous stalactites, commonly
known by the name oifosferri, and brown haematites.
g. Stalactitiform, as in calcareous sinter, brown iron
stone, and calcedony.
//. Tubuliform, as in compact brown iron stone, and
galena.
z. Fisttdiform, as in martial pyrites.
k. Fmtescent, or arbustiform, as in black iron stone,
and compact gray ore of manganese.
l. Matrasiform, having the figure of a chemical ma¬
trass, as in black haematites, and gray ore of manganese.
B. Rounded, of which there are five varieties,
a. Botruform, resembling a bunch of grapes, as in
black cobalt ore, malachite, and copper pyrites.
b. Globular, of which there are five varieties.
«. Perfectly globular, as in pisolite, and white cobalt
ere.
/3. Elliptical, as in quartz and flint.
_<y. Amygdaloid, as in zeolite and green earth.
Spheroidal, as in Egyptian jasper and calcedony.
t. Imperfectly globular, as in earnelian and calcedony.
c. Kidncyform, as in red haematites, native arsenic,
and malachite.
d. Bulbous ov nodular, as in nodular flint and martial
pyrites.
e. Liquiform, as in a singular variety of galena, from
Frey berg.
C. Flattened. Of the particular forms of this
denomination there are three kinds.
a. Specular, as in compact galena, and compact red
iron stone.
b. In lamina: or leaves, which form is peculiar to me¬
tals, as in native gold and silver.
c. Pectinated, as in quartz from Schemnitz.
D. Impressed. Particular forms of these afford
six varieties.
a. Cellular, of which there are several kinds, as,
a. . Straight cellular, which presents two varieties.
1. Hexahedral, as in quartz 5 2. Polyhedral, as in cel¬
lular quartz and calcareous spar.
/3. Round cellular, as, 1. Parallel round, as in quartz j
2. Spongiform, as also in quartz ; 3. Indeterminate,
as in brown iron stone 3 4. Double, as in quartz and
hepatic pyrites ; 5. Veiny, as in white cobalt ore.
b. With impressions, which are,
a. Cubical, as in quartz and?fluor spar.
/3. Pyramidal, as in quartz, fluor spar, and vitreous
silver ore.
y. Conical, as in native arsenic and quartz.
J. Tabular ox prismatic, as in quart z.
t. Globular, as in vitreous silver ore.
Vol. XIV. Part I.
f
A L O G Y.
c. Perforated, as in lowland argillaceous iron ore.
d. Corroded,as in quartz, galena, and vitreous silver ore.
e. Heteromorphous, as in native iron, swampy iron
ore, and native arsenic.
f. Vesicular, as in lavas, pumice stones, basalt, and
wacken.
13
**»
/
Classifica
tion.
E. Confused, of which there is only one variety.
a. Ramose, as in native iron, sometimes native coppef,
and vitreous silver ore.
3. Regular External Forms or Crystallizations.
In describing crystallizations or regular forms of mi¬
nerals, four things are to be considered 5 the essential
quality of the crystals ; the form, aggregation, and mag¬
nitude.
A. The essential quality of crystals, which
IS EITHER GENUINE OR SPURIOUS.
a. Genuine or true crystals, which are the most com¬
mon, as in calcareous and fluor spars.
b. Spurious or after crystals, which are distinguished
from true crystals by being hollow, having a rough or
drusy surface, and the solid angles or edges never sharp
or well defined. Examples are found in quartz of the
spurious crystals of the cube, and of the octahedron of
fluor spar.
B. Form of CRYSTALS. This is the most conspicu¬
ous property of crystals, and commonly serves as a di¬
stinctive character of those minerals which have regular
forms. The form of crystals is composed of planes ; of
edges formed liy the junction of two planes •, of deter¬
minate angles, and of solid angles formed by the union
of three or more planes in one point.
«. In the form of crystals, the primary or fundamen¬
tal forms are first to be considered, and then the varia¬
tions or modifications of these forms.
I. The PARTS OF THE primary form are,
1. Planes, which are either
a. Lateral planes, forming the confines of the body
towards its smallest extent; or, b. Extreme or terminal
planes, which form the confines of the body toivards its
greatest extent.
2. Edges, which are,
,0. Lateral edges, or, b. Extreme edges.
3. Solid angles, which have been defined above.
II. Kinds of primary forms, which are the sewn
following.
1. The Icosahedron, which is composed of 20 equila¬
teral triangular planes, united under equal angles, as in
iron pyrites.
2. The Dodecahedron, which is composed of twelve
regular, pentangular planes, united under equal obtuse
angles, as in iron pyrites, and white cobalt ore.
3. The Hexahedron, including the cube and the
rhomb, is composed of six quadrilateral planes, as in cal¬
careous spar, fluor spar, iron pyrites, galena, &c.
4. The Prism, which is one of the most common
crystallizations among minerals, is composed of an in¬
determinate number of quadrangular lateral planes, ha¬
ving the same direction, and all terminating in two ex¬
treme planes, each of which has as many sides as the
crystallization possesses lateral planes *, as in various
lead ores, rock crystal, topaz, and shorl.
5. IVie Pyramid is composed of an indeterminate
number of triangular lateral planes, converging to a
S point,
i38 MINER
Classilica- point, and of a base having as many sides as the cry-
tion stallization has lateral planes j as in quartz, calcareous
v spar, and amethyst.
6. The Table, which is composed of two parallel la¬
teral planes, much larger in comparison than the other
planes ; the extreme planes being indeterminate in num¬
ber, small, and narrow ; as in tabular crystallized spe-
. cular iron ore, calcareous spar, and heavy spar.
7. The Lem, consists of two lateral planes only, dif
fering according as the lateral planes are difterently
curved. Of this there are two kinds : 1. The common
lens, composed of two convex lateral planes j and,
2. The selliform, consisting of one convex and one la¬
teral plane, somewhat resembling a saddle. Crystals of
both kinds are observed in sparry iron ore and calcare¬
ous spar.
III. Differences
IN EACH KIND OF PRIMARY
FORMS.
These primary forms differ from each other according
to simplicity, position, number of planes, size of the
planes, angles under which they meet, direction of the
planes, and fulness of the crystal.
1. Simplicity. This distinction is confined to the py¬
ramid, which is either,
A. Simple, as in light red silver ore, gray copper ore,
quartz, amethyst $ and
B. Double, in which those of the one pyramid are
either,
a. Set on the lateral planes of the other, and this
a. directly, or /3 obliquely •, or b. on the lateral edges of
the other. Examples of this are observed in double py¬
ramidal vitreous silver ore, galena, rock crystal, ruby,
and diamond.
2. Position, which is either,
A. Erect, which is very common or, B. Inverted,
which has only been observed in simple hexahedral py¬
ramidal crystals of calcareous spar.
3. Number of Planes, in the primary form, is in
some determinate, and in the others variable. Here
are to be considered,
A. The kind of planes, as
a. In the prism and pyramid, in which the lateral
planes vary } and, b. In the table, in which the ex¬
treme planes vary.
B. The number of planes, which in the prism and
pyramid are found,
a. Trihedral, having three planes, as in the trihe¬
dral prism of shorl, and the trihedral pyramid of gray
copper ore.
b. Tetrahedral, having four planes, as in the tetra¬
hedral prism of arsenical pyrites, and in the double te¬
trahedral pyramid of ruby and galena.
c. Hexahedral, as in the hexahedral prism and pyra¬
mid of calcareous spar.
d. Octahedral, as in the octahedral prism of topaz ;
and in the double octahedral pyramid of garnet and
zeolite.
The table occurs,
a. Qvadragonal, having four extreme planes, as in
heavy spar, yellow lead ore, and calamine.
b. Hexagonal, having six extreme planes, as in mica
and heavy spar.
c. Octagonal, or with eight extreme planes, as in
yellow lead ore and heavy spar.
A L O G Y. Part
4. The si%e of the planes, in relation to each other, Classifies
which are said to be, tion.
A. Equal, or ■y.
B. Unequal} and this latter is either indeterminate,
or determinate.
a. Indeterminate, which is observed in the lateral
planes of the hexahedral prism of rock crystal.
b. Determinately unequal, as in prismatic white lead
ore, and hexahedral prismatic calcareous spar. In this
latter the following varieties are observed.
«. Alternately broad and narrow. /3. The two op¬
posite broader j and, y. The two opposite narrower.
5. Angles under which the planes are associated.
These are angles of the lateral edges, of the extreme
edges, and of the summit.
A. Angles of the lateral edges. These are,
a. Equiangular, as in the icosahedral crystals of iron
pyrites.
b. Rectangular, as in cubical flu or spar.
c. Oblique angular, as in rhomboidal calcareous spar.
d. Unequiangular, as in the hexahedral prism of rock
crystal, and in the octahedral prism of topaz.
A. Angles of the extreme edges are,
a. Equiangular, as in the hexagonal table of mica.
b. Rectangular, as in the quadragonal table of heavy
spar.
c. Oblique angular, which is either, *. Parallel, as
in the tetrahedral prism of feldspar $ or, g>. Alternate
oblique angular, as in copper pyrites.
d. Unequiangular, as in the hexagonal table of preh-
nite.
C. Angles of the summit, which are confined to the
pyramid, and present the following varieties.
a. Very obtuse, when the angle is from 150° to 130°,
as in tourmalin.
b. Obtuse, when the angle is from 130° to no0, as
in calcareous spar.
c. Rather obtuse, from no0 to 90°, as in honey
stone.
d. Rectangular, as in zircon.
e. Rather acute, from 90®, to 70°, as in quartz.
f. Acute, from 70° to 5©0, as in calcareous spar.
g. Very acute, from 50° to 30°, as in sapphire.
6. The direction of the lateral planes. These are ei¬
ther straight or curvated.
A. Straight planes are even surfaces, and are the most
common.
B. Curvated planes are distinguished according to
position and form.
a. Position, which is, u. Inwardly curvated or con¬
cave $ or, |S. Outwardly curvated or convex j and, y.
Inwardly and outwardly curvated, or concave and con¬
vex. The first is observed in fluor spar, the second in
diamond, and the third in sparry iron stone.
b. The form is either, <*. Spherical, as in broivn
spar; /3. Cylindrical, in which the curvature runs,
1. Parallel to the sides, as in iron pyrites, or, 2. Pa¬
rallel to the diagonal, as in fluor spar $ and, y. Conical,
as in gypsum.
7. The fulness of the crystal. Crystals are either full
and perfect, or hollowed at the extremity, or through¬
out.
A. Full or perfect crystals, which is most commonly
the case.
B. Hollowed
'art I.
lassifica-
tisn.
MINERALOGY.
B. Hollowed at the extremity, as in calcareous spar,
green lead ore, &c.
C. Hollow through the whole crystal, as in prisma¬
tic beryl.
/3. Modifications of the primary form.
The changes or alterations which take place on the
principal or fundamental form, are three j truncation,
bevelling, and acumination.
I. Truncation. In the truncation are to he con¬
sidered the parts and the determination.
1. The parts of the truncation are the planes, the
edges, and the angles.
2. The determination of the truncation relates to,
a. The situation as it occurs at the angles or edges
of the primary form.
b. Its magnitude, which, in relation to the planes of
the primary form, is small or large : in the one case
the angles or edges are said to be slightly, in the other
deeply truncated.
c. The application of the truncation, which is either
direct or oblique. The edges of cubical iron pyrites
afford an example of oblique truncation.
d. The direction of the truncation, which presents
either an even or a curvated surface.
Cubical galena, with truncated angles j tetrahedral
prismatic tin stone crystals, with truncated edges j
double tetrahedral pyramidal tin stone crystals, with
truncated edges, are instances of truncation.
II. Bevelling, in which the parts and determina-*
tion are also to be considered.
1. The parts of the bevelling are, the planes, the
edges, and the angles. The bevelling edges are di¬
stinguished into the proper bevelling edge, which is
formed by the conjunction of the bevelling planes, and
the bevelling edges formed by the junction of the bevel¬
ling planes with the lateral planes of the primary form.
2. The determination of the bevelling, in which is
to be observed,
A. Its situation as it takes place, a. At the extreme
planes, which is confined to the prism and table j b. At
the edges, which is met with in the hexahedron, prism,
pyramid, and table: and, c. At the angles, which is a
very rare occurrence.
B. Its magnitude, which is said to be slight or deep.
C. The angle under which the bevelling planes con¬
join, which is said to be, a. Acutely, b. Rectangularly,
or, c. Obtusely bevelled.
I). The continuation of the bevelling, which is ei¬
ther uninterrupted, or interrupted. Of the latter case
there are two varieties, when it is once or twice inter¬
rupted. The lateral edges of double trihedral pyrami¬
dal calcareous spar are once interruptedly bevelled ; and
the obtuse extreme edges of quadrangular tabular heavy
spar, are twice interruptedly bevelled.
E, The application, a. Of the bevelling itself, which
is either direct or oblique (the former is the most com¬
mon, and the latter occurs in prismatic basaltic horn¬
blende) j and, b. Of the bevelling planes, which are set,
either on the lateral planes, or on the lateral edges.
III. The acumination, in which are also to be
considered the parts of the acumination and the deter¬
mination.
i. The parts of the acumination consist of,
A. The acuminating planes. B. The acuminating
edges *, which are distinguished into, a. Proper edges of
acumination, formed by the junction of the acuminat¬
ing planes $ b. The extreme edges of acumination •,
c. The edges between the acuminating and lateral
planes. C. The angles of acumination.
2. The determination of the acumination relating to,
A. Its situation, as it occurs at a. The solid angles;
or, b. At the extreme planes of the primary form. The
acumination of the prism is always at the extreme
planes j of the cube usually at the angles, and of the
pyramid generally at the summit.
B. The planes themselves, in which are to be ob¬
served,
c. Their number, which is either equal to, or fewer
than those of the primary form. In the hexahedral
prism of calcareous spar and garnet, and in the trihedral
prism of tourmaline, the acumination is by three planes \
in the tetrahedral prism of jargon and hyacinth, by four
planes j in the hexahedral prism of calcareous spar and
rock crystal, by six planes j and in tetrahedral prisma¬
tic topaz,, by eight planes.
b. Their relative size, which is either equal or un¬
equal. In quartz and rock crystal, the planes of acu¬
mination are generally indeterminately unequal j and in
heavy spar they are determinately equal.
c. Their form, which is determinate, as in hyacinth
and calcareous spar } or indeterminate, as in jargon and
Wolfram.
d. Their application, which is either on the lateral
planes of the primary form, as in jargon and hyacinth,
or on the lateral edges, as in calcareous spar and
garnet.
C. The summit of the acumination, which is, a. Ob¬
tuse, as in hexahedral prismatic garnet $ b. Rectangu¬
lar, as in tetrahedral prismatic jargon j or, c. Acute,
as in hexahedral prismatic calcareous spar.
D. The magnitude of the acumination, which is said
to be, a. Slightly acuminated, as in gray copper ore
and copper pyrites 5 or, b. Deeply, as in fiuor spar,
with the angles acuminated by 6 planes.
E. Determination of the acumination ; which is ei¬
ther a point or a line. The first is the most common ;
and the last is met with in prismatic white lead ore and
heavy spar.
y. Manifold modifications of the primary form.
In these modifications crystals are either, I. Situated
beside each other j or, 2. Placed the one above the
other.
But in describing a crystallization, the number of its
planes in general, and of each kind in particular, and
their figure, if determinate, may be noticed, to render
the description more accurate. As, for instance, cubi¬
cal galena, with truncated angles, consist of 6 octan¬
gular and 4 triangular planes.
And still farther, in explaining the form of crystal¬
lizations, by way of addition may be mentioned,
i. The different modes of determination of which
they are capable. Two different modes may in some
cases be adopted.
a. The representative, by which is understood the
description of a crystallization according to its apparent
form 5 or,
b. The derivative, which is founded on the conside¬
ration of its derivation, and its relation to the other
crystals of the same mineral. The prismatic crystalli¬
zation of the tourmaline is representatively anenneahe-
S 2 dral
MINERALOGY. Part
dral prism, and derivatively a trihedral prism, with the
three lateral sides bevelled.
But, in general, the chief or essential form of a cry¬
stallization is determined by, a. The largest planes ;
b. The greatest regularity; c. The most frequent oc¬
currence of the crystallizations 5 d. The affinity to the
other primary forms ; e. The suitableness and peculia¬
rity of its modifications •, and,yi The greatest simplici¬
ty in the mode of determination.
2. The transitions from one primary form into an¬
other. These arise,
a. From the gradually increased extent of the mo¬
difying planes, and the decreased extent of the primary
planes 5 or,
b. From a change in the relative size of the planes}
®r>
c. From a change in the angles under which the
planes are associated ; or,
d. From the convexity of the planes ; or,
e. From the aggregation of crystals.
3. The difficulties which are opposed to the exact de¬
termination of crystals. These proceed, a. From their
compression, some planes being uncommonly large or
small; or, b. From their penetrating each other, as in
tin-stone crystals 5 or, c. From their partial conceal¬
ment, as in feldspar, hornblende, and garnet} or,
d. From their being broken, as often happens in the
crystallization of precious stones j or, e. From their
extreme minuteness.
C. The aggregation of crystals. According to this,
crystals are either,
a. Single, in which case they are, <*. Loose or de¬
tached, as in precious stones, cubical iron pyrites, &c.;
/3. Inhering or inlaying in another mineral, as feld¬
spar in porphyry 3 or, y. Adhering, as in quartz cry¬
stals 3 or,
b. Aggregated, which are either regular or irregu¬
lar.
<*. Regular or detei*minate 5 such are, 1. Twin cry¬
stals, as in staurolite or cross stone ; and, 2. Triple
crystals, as in calcareous spar and ruby : but this is very
rare.
/3. Many singly aggregated crystals, are such crystals
as are, 1. Heaped upon one another, as in calcareous
and fluor spars 3 2. Adhering laterally, as in amethyst
crystals 3 and, 3. Implicated one in the other, as in
gray antimonial ore, and in the hexahedral prisms of
calcareous spar.
y. Many doubly aggregated crystals are distributed
according to the form they assume 5 such as the follow¬
ing, are enumerated.
1. Scopiform, when aggregated, needle-like, and ca-
pilliform crystals diverge from a common centre, as in
zeolite, striated red cobalt ore, and capilliform py¬
rites.
2. Fasciform, which is composed of double scopiform,
with a common centre, as in calcareous spar, zeolite,
and prehnite.
3. Acicular or columnar. Elongated, equally thick
prisms adhering laterally together, are of this descrip¬
tion, as in acicular heavy spar, and a variety of white
lead ore.
4. In a row, like a string of pearls, as in pyramidal
crystals of quartz.
y. Bud-like, in simple pyramids whose bases are con¬
nected, and whose joints are directed towards each Classifier
other, as in bud-like drusen of quartz. tion.
6. Globular, a casual aggregation, consisting mostly w“~v—'
of tables or cubes, arranged in a globular form, as in
octahedral iron pyrites.
7. Amygdaloid, when tbe tables are externally ac¬
cumulated, smaller upon smaller, as in heavy spar.
8. Pyramidal, which takes place chiefly m prisms
nearly parallel, the summits inclining to each other 3
the central prism being the highest, as in calcareous
spar.
9. Rosc-like, composed of thin tables, on whose late¬
ral planes others are assembled, and arranged in a rose¬
like appearance.
D. The magnitude of crystals, which is deter¬
mined,
a. According to the greatest dimension, as a. Of an
uncommon size, in crystals which exceed two feet, as
in quartz and rock crystal 3 /3. Very large, from two
feet to six inches, as in rock crystal and calcareous
spar 3 y. Large, from six to two inches, as in iron py¬
rites, fluor spar, and garnet 3 S. Of a middling size,
from two inches to half an inch, which are very com¬
mon 3 s. Small, from half an inch to one-eighth of an
inch, also very common 5 £. Very small, from one-eighth
of an inch to such as may be distinguished by the na¬
ked eye, as in corneous silver ore, and very small tin
stone crystals 3 »). Minute, whose form cannot be di¬
stinguished by the naked eye, as in native gold and
green lead ore.
h. According to relative dimensions, when compared
with others 3 and this is distinguished into «. Short or
low, and long or high 3 Broad and narrow, or lon-
gated 5 y. Thick and thin, or slender; $. Needle-like
and capilliform 3 8. Spicular, and £. Globular ortessular.
4. Extraneous external forms, or petrifactions, which
are divided into petrifactions of animals, and petrifac¬
tions of vegetables.
A. Petrifactions of animals, or zeolites, as
a. Of the class mammalia, the parts of which com¬
monly found are the bones, the teeth, horns, and skele¬
tons. Such are the bones of the elephant and the rhino¬
ceros, which are found in Siberia, and the bones of the
mammoth from North America.
b. Of birds, petrifactions of which are very rare.
Some skeletons of aquatic birds have been met with in
limestone near Oening.
c. Of amphibious animals, such as those of the tor¬
toise, found in the same vicinity as the bones of the ele¬
phant 3 of frogs and toads, in the swine stone of Oen¬
ing 3 and of an animal resembling a crocodile in alumi¬
nous shale near Whitby in Yorkshire.
d. Of fishes, of which whole fishes, skeletons, and im¬
pressions, have been found in different places.
e. Of insects, petrifactions of which are not very
common, excepting insects, such as crabs, which have
been frequently observed.
f Of vermes, of which numerous petrifactions are
found belonging to the orders testacea, Crustacea, and
corallina or corals.
B. Petrifactions of vegetables, which are less nume¬
rous in the mineral kingdom than those of animals.
These are distinguished into,
a. Petrified tvood, the most usual of which are pe¬
trifactions of the trunk, branches, or roots of trees, and
commonly
irt I. M I N E B
assifica- commonly consisting of siliceous substances, as wood¬
men. stone, jasper, horn stone.
; b. Impressions of leaves and plants, which are not
uncommon in the strata of coal countries, particularly
in the shale, sand stone, the argillaceous iron stone, and
the coal itself.
II. The external surface, which is the. second
particular generic character of solid minerals ; and
this is,
x. Uneven, having irregular elevations and depres¬
sions, as in calcedony.
2. Granular, when the elevations are small, round,
and nearly equal, as in stalactitical brown haematites.
3. Dr'usy, having minute, prominent, equal cry¬
stals on the surface, as in iron pyrites and quartz
crystals.
4. Rough, when the elevations are minute and almost
imperceptible, as in cellular quartz.
5. Scaly, when the surface is composed of slender
splinters like scales, as in chrysolite.
6. Smooth, as in haematites and fluor spar.
7. Streaked, which is either singly or doubly
streaked.
A. Singly streaked surfaces are,
a. Transversely, as in rock crystals; b. Longitudi¬
nally, as in topaz and prismatic sborl j c. Diagonally, as
in specular iron ore } and d. Alternately, as in iron
pyrites.
B. Doubly streaked, which is,
a. Plumiformly, or like a feather, as in native silver
and native bismuth 5 and,
b. Rctifa'mly, as in gray cohalt ore.
8. Rugose. Of slight linear elevations, as in calce¬
dony.
III. The external lustre, in which are to he
determined,
1. The intensity of the lustre, which is distinguished
into different degrees, as
A. Resplendent, which is the strongest kind of lustre,
as in native quicksilver, galena, and rock crystal.
B. Shining, as in gray copper ore, heavy spar, and
pitch-stone.
C. Weakly shining, as in iron pyrites, fibrous gypsum,
and garnet.
D. Glimmering, as in earthy talc, in the fracture of
flint, and of steatites.
E. Dull, as in most friable minerals, as in earthy
lead ore, mountain-cork, chalk, &c.
2. The kind of lustre, which is either common or
metallic.
A. The common lustre belongs chiefly to earthy stones
and salts. It is distinguished into
a. Glassy, as in quartz and rock crystal.
b. Waxy or greasy, as in opal, and in yellow and
green lead ores.
c. Pearly, as in zeolite.
d. Diamond, as in white lead ore and diamond.
c. Semimetallic, as in mica and haematites.
B. Metallic lustre, which is peculiar to metals and
most of their ores, as native gold and native silver, cop¬
per pyrites, and galena.
Appearance of the fracture..
Here, as in the external appearance, three kinds of
A L O G Y.
characters present themselves ; I. The internal lustre j
II. The fracture ; III. The form of the fragment.
I. The interned lustre, the characters of which are
to be determined in the same manner as the external
lustre.
II. The fracture, which is either compact or jointed.
1. The compact fracture, which is distinguished into
splintery, conchoidal, uneven, earthy, and hackly.
A. Splintery, which is either
a. Coarse splintery, as in quartz, prase, and jade ; or
b. Fine splintery, as in hornstone and fine splintery
limestone.
B. Even, which happens in minerals that are usually
opake, and have only a glimmering lustre, as in com¬
pact galena, calcedony, and yellow carnelian.
C. Conchoidal, which is distinguished,
a. According to the size, into large and small.
b. According to the appearance, into perfect and
imperfect; and
c. According to the depth, into deep and flat.
Flint, opal, jasper, and obsidian, afford examples of
the conchoidal fracture.
D. Uneven, which is either,
a. Of a coarse grain, as in copper pyrites.
b. Of a small grain, as in gray copper ore, and
c. Of a fine grain, as in arsenical pyrites.
E. Earthy, which is the common fracture in earths
and stones, as in marl, chalk, limestone.
F. Havkly, in which the fracture exhibits sharp points,
which is peculiar to the metals, as in native gold and
native copper.
2. The jointed fracture. This is divided into the
fibrous, striated, foliated, and slaty.
A. The fibrous fracture, in which are to be ob¬
served,
a. The thickness of the fibres, as they are coarse, fine,
or delicate, as gypsum, fine fibrous malachite, and in
wood-tin-ore.
b. The direction of the fibres, which are straight, As
in red haematites, and gray antimonial ore ; or curved,
as in black haematites, and fibrous rock salt.
c. The position of the fibres, which is x. Parallel, as
in rock salt and amianthus: /3. Diverging, which is, 1.
Stelliform, as in black haematites, and fibi’ous zeolite ;
or, 2. Scopiform, as in fibrous malachite : or y. Promis¬
cuous, as in gray antimonial ore.
d. The length of the fibres, which is x. Long, as in
gypsum and amianthus 5 or g. Short, as in red haema¬
tites.
B. Striated, in which are to be considered,
a. The breadth of the striae, which are, x. Narrow,
as in azure copper ore ; g. Broad, as in actynolite and
hornblende ; or y. Very broad, as in sapphire and zeo¬
lite.
b. The direction of the striae, which is either,«. Straight,
as in gray ore of manganese 5 or, g. Curved, as in zeolite
and actynolite.
c. The position of the striae, which is x. Parallel, as
in asbestus and hornblende ; g. Diverging, which is dis¬
tinguished into stelliform, as in iron pyrites and zeo¬
lite, or scopiform, as in actynolite and limestone; or y.
Promiscuous, as in gray antimonial ore and actynolite.
d. Length of the strive, as being x. Long striated, as in
asbestus and gray antimonial ore j mg. Short striated,
as in actvnolite.
C, The
142 miner
Classifica- C. The foliated fracture, in which arc to be deter-
tion. mined,
a. The magnitude of the folia, as being Large fo¬
liated, as in mica and specular gypsum. /3. Scaly foli¬
ated, which is distinguished into I. Coarse, 2. Small,
and 3. Fine scaly foliated, as in micaceous iron ore
and gypsum, y. Granularly foliated, which is distin¬
guished into 1. Gross, 2. Coarse, 3. Small, and 4. Fine
granularly foliated, as in sparry iron ore, blende, and
calcareous spar.
h. The perfectness of the folia, as being a. Perfectly
foliated, as in feldspar •, /3. Imperfectly foliated, as in
topaz *, or, y. Concealed foliated, as in emerald.
c. The direction of the folia, which is «. Straight, as
in large foliated blende 5 or /3. Curved foliated. T he
latter is distinguished into 1. Spherically curved, as in
heavy spar ; 2. Undularly curved, as in talc ; 3. Peta-
loidally curved, as in galena j or, 4. Indeterminately
curved, as in mica and specular gypsum.
d. The passage or cleavage of the folia, which is,
«. According to the angle which one passage forms
with another ; and this is either, 1. Rectangular, or, 2.
oblique angular j or,
/3. According to the number of the cleavages, and is
•either,
1. A single cleavage, as in mica and talc j 2. A
double cleavage, as in feldspar and hornblende } 3. A
triple cleavage, as in calcareous spar and sparry iron
ore *, 4. A quadruple cleavage, as in fluor spar •, 5.
A sextuple cleavage, as in yellow, brown, and black
blende.
D. The slaty fracture, in which are to be deter¬
mined the thickness and direction of the lamellae.
a. The thickness of the lamellae, which is either,
«. Thick, or £. Thin slaty.
b. The direction of the lamellae, as being either,
•t. Straight, or /3. Curved slaty j the latter being dis¬
tinguished into 1. Undularly, or 2. Indeterminately
curved.
In some minerals -which possess distinct parts, two
kinds of fracture may be observed. Thus, in fibrous
gypsum, and in red and brown haematites, both the
fibrous and foliated fracture appear j the fibres are then
intersected by the folia under a certain angle. In to¬
paz, the transverse fracture is foliated, and the longitu¬
dinal fracture is concboidal.
III. The form of the fragments, which is either re¬
gular or irregular.
1. Regular fragments, as when they are,
A. Cubical, as in galena and rock salt.
R. Rhomboidal, in which case the fragments are
a. Specular on all the planes, as in heavy spar $
b. On four planes, as in feldspar and hornblende j
and,
r. On two planes, as in specular gypsum.
C. Trapezoidal fragments, &c.
D. Trihedral pyramidal fragments are rarely to be
seen distinctly, excepting in fluor spar.
D. Dodecahedral fragments, as in blende.
2. Irregular fragments, as when they are,
a. Cuneiform, as in wood-tin-ore, and malachite.
B. Specular, as in amianthus.
C. Tabular, as in mica and talc.
D. Indeterminate, which are the most common
among solid minerals, and are distinguished into
3
A L O G Y. Part
a. Very sharp edged, as in obsidian, common opal, classifk
and rock crystal. bon.
b. Sharp edged, as in hornstone and quartz.
c. Moderately sharp edged, as in limestone.
d. Rather blunt edged, as in steatites ; and
e. Blunt edged, as in chalk and fullers earth.
3. The appearance of the distinct concretions.
In determining this character, the form of the dis¬
tinct concretions, the surface of separation, and the
lustre of separation, are to be considered.
I. The form of the distinct concretions, which is
either granular, lamellar, columnar, or pyramidal.
1. Granular, distinct concretions are distinguished,
A. With respect to the form, into
a. Round granular, which is either «e. Spherically
round, as in roe stone and pisolite ; or f3. Lenticularly
granular, as in argillaceous iron stone ; or y. Elongated
round granular, as in quartz : and,
b. Angularly granular, which is either «. Common,
as in galena and calcareous spar *, or 0. Elongated an-
nularly granular, as in hornblende and granular lime¬
stone.
B. With regard to the size of the concretions. These
are,
a. Gross granular, as in zeolite and blende.
b. Coarse granular, as in mica, galena, and piso¬
lite.
c. Small granular, as in roe stone and garnet; and
d. Fine granular distinct concretions, as in granular
limestone and galena.
2. Lamellar distinct concretions. The differences to
be observed here are, with respect to the direction or
form, and the thickness.
A. With respect to the direction or form, they are
either,
a. Straight lamellar : and again either quite straight,
as in some galena and heavy spar 5 or foi'tification-like,
as in some amethyst and calcedony.
b. Curved lamellar, which is either indeterminate, as
in galena and specular iron ore; reniform, as in fibrous
malachite and native arsenic ; or concentric, which is
either spherical concentric, as in calcedony and piso¬
lite, or conically concentric, as in some stalactites and
haematites.
B. With regard to the thickness, as being
a. Very thick, the concretions exceeding one-half
inch, as in amethyst and heavy spar.
b. Thick, the concretions being between one-half
and one-fourth inch, as in heavy spar and native ar¬
senic.
c. Thin, between one-fourth and one-half inch, as in
calcedony.
d. Very thin, from a line to a thickness just percep¬
tible to the naked eye, as in specular iron.
3. Columnar distinct concretions, which are distin¬
guished with regard to the direction, thickness, form,
and position.
A. The direction, which is either,
a. Straight columnar, as in schorl and calcareous spar,
and,
b. Curved columnar, as in argillaceous iron stone, and
specular iron ore.
B. The thickness is distinguished into,
a. Very thick, when the diameter exceeds two inches,
as in basalt and quartz.
b. Thick
lit I.
ssifica- Thick columnar, from two inches to one-fourth
|j:ion. inch, as in amethyst and calcareous spar.
'Hf""""' c. Thin, from one-fourth to onerhalf inch, as in cal¬
careous spar and argillaceous iron stone.
d. Very thin, the thickness being less than a line, as
in schorl and columnar argillaceous iron stone.
C. The form of the concretions being either
a. Perfectly columnar, as in argillaceous iron stone.
b. Imperfectly, as in amethyst.
c. Cuneiform columnar, as in calcai’eous spar and
arsenical pyrites.
D. The position of the concretions, which is either
a. Parallel columnar, as in schorlite, or
b. Diverging or promiscuous columnar, as in schorl
and arsenical pyrites.
4. Pyramidal distinct concretions. This form of con¬
cretion is very rare, and has been observed only in the
basalt of Iceland, Faro, and Bohemia.
II. The surface of separation, which is distinguished
into
1. Smooth, as in wood tin ore.
2. Bough, as in native arsenic.
3. Uneven, as in galena and blende j and '
4. Streaked, which is either,
A. Longitudinally streaked, as in schorl and schoidite.
B. Transversely and fortification-like, as in amethyst
and specular iron ore.
III. The lustre of separation. This character is to
be determined in the same manner as the external
lustre.
4. The General Appearance.
This comprehends three particular generic characters,
the transparency, the streak, and the stain.
1. The transparency, which is distinguished into the
following five degrees.
1. Transparent, which is either,
A. Common, as when objects appear single thi'ough
a transparent mineral j or,
B. Doubling, when objects appear double, as in cal¬
careous spar, or double refracting spar, jargon, and
chrysolite.
2. Semitransparent, as in opal and calcedony.
3. Translucent, as in flint, cat’s eye, and fluor spar.
4. Translucent at the edges, as in hornstone and fo¬
liated gypsum.
5. Opake, which is peculiar to minerals of a metayic
lustre, as in malachite and jasper.
II. The streak, which is either,
1. Of the same colour, or,
2. Different from that of the mineral, and whose lus¬
tre is the same j or,
B. More or less different.
In red silver ore the streak is a dark crimson red j
in cinnabar, scarlet red ; in green lead ore, greenish-
white ; in red lead ore, clear lemon yellow.
III. The stain. With respect to this character, mi¬
nerals are distinguished into such as,
1. Simply stain, and this either strongly or weakly,
as gray oi’e of manganese, and red scaly iron ox-e j and
into such as
2. Both stain and mark, as chalk and plumbago j and
3. Such as do not stain.
Characters for the Touch.
Characters of this description are, hardness, soli-
143
dity, frangibility, flexibility, and adhesion to the Classifica-
tongue. tion.
I. The hardness, which is determined by the follow- v 
ing degrees.
1. Hard, as when a mineral gives fii’e with steel,
but cannot be scraped with the knife. This character
is distinguished into,
A. Hard, when the file makes a considerable impres¬
sion, as in feldspar and schorl.
B. Very hard, on which it makes a weak impression,
as in rock crystal and topaz.
C. Extremely hard, on which the file makes no im¬
pression, as diamond and emery.
2. Semihard may be slightly scraped with a knife,
but gives no fire with steel, as red copper ore, blende,
limestone.
3. Soft, easily scraped with the knife, as in galena,
mica, asbestus.
4. \ ex-y soft, which receives an impression from the
nail, as in gypsum, chalk, talc.
H. The solidity, according to which solid minerals
-are distinguished into,
I. Brittle, when the particles are in the highest de¬
gree coherent and immoveable, as in quartz, gray cop¬
per ore, and copper pyrites-
2. Sectile, when the particles are coherent but not
perfectly immoveable among one another, as in plum¬
bago and galena.
3. Malleable, when the integrant particles are cohe¬
rent and also more or less moveable among one another,
as in the most of the native metals.
III. The frangibility, with regard to which solid
minerals are either,
1. Very difficultly frangible, as native metals, and
massive common hornblende.
2. Difficultly frangible, as in prase, massive quartz,
and asbestus.
3. Rather easily frangible, as iron pyrites, vitreous
copper ore.
4. Easily frangible, as in galena, opal, and heavy spar.
5. Very easily frangible, as in amber and pitcoal.
IV. The flexibility, according to which solid mine¬
rals are,
1. Flexible, which is distinguished into,
A. Common, as in malleable minerals, amianthus,
gold ore.
B. Elastic, as in mica, elastic mineral pitch from
Derbyshire.
2. Inflexible, such minerals as break when the direc¬
tion of the fibres is changed.
V. The adhesion to the tongue, according to which
some minerals possess this property
1. Strongly, as in hydrophane.
2. Rather strongly, as in bole and lithomai’ga.
3. Weakly, as talc.
4. Very weakly, as in clay.
5. No adhesion at all, as is the case with most mi¬
nerals.
Characters for the Hearing.
I. The sound, which is distinguished into
1. Ringing or sounding, as in native ax-senic and com¬
mon slate.
2. Creaking, as in native amalgam when pressed with
the finger.
3. Rustling,
mineralogy.
[44 MINER
Classifies.- 3. Rustling, as in passing the finger over mountain
tiou. cork and farinaceous zeolite.
' r- * Particular generic characters of friable nunerals.
The characters included under this title are the ex¬
ternal form, the lustre, the appearance of the particles,
the stain and the friability.
I. The external form, which is either massive, as in
porcelain earth } interspersed, as in black silver ore j as
a thick or thin crust, as in black copper ore ; spuvni-
form, as in red and brown scaly iron ores 5 dendritic,
as gray ore of manganese *, or rcniform, as pure clay and
earthy talc. . •
II. The lustre, which is determined as in solid mine¬
rals ; but here it is distinguished,
1. With regard to intensity, as
A. Glimmering, as in earthy talc and scaly iron ore $ and,
13. Dull, as in earthy lead ore and lithomarga.
2. With regard to the kind, as it is common or me-
10 HI. The appearance of the particles, which is either,
1. Dusty, as in black copper ore, iron ochres.
2. Scaly, as in earthy talc.
IV. The stain is distinguished in friable minerals as
being either
1. Strong, as in scaly iron ore.
2. Weak, as in earthy lead ores.
V. The friability, with regard to which friable mi¬
nerals are either,
1. Pulverulent, as earthy lead ores, and blue martial
earth. .
2. Loosely coherent, as scaly iron ore and clays.
3. Particular generic characters of fluid minerals.
These characters relate to the external form, the lustre,
the transparency, the fluidity, and the wetting of the
fingers. . . . ,
I. The external form, which is eitner,
I. In globules j and, 2. Liquiform > both which cha¬
racters belong to native mercury.
II. The lustre, which is determined as formerly ex¬
plained, and is either, 1. Common ; or, 2. Metallic, as
in native mercury.
III. The transparency, of which three degrees are
distinguished in fluid minerals: 1. Transparent, as in
naphtha ; 2. Turbid, as in petroleum 5 3. Opake, as in
native mercury. .
IV. The fluidity, which is characterised by being,
I. Perfectly fluid, as mercury, and, 2. Cohesive, as in
mineral tar. .
V. The wetting of the fingers. 1. Some fluid minerals
wet the fingers, as mineral tar j and, 2. Some do not,
as native mercury.
Remaining Common Generic Rxternal Characters.
The remaining common generic characters are the
unctuosity } the coldness 5 the weight 5 the smell j and
til6 tjtst.0*
- III. The unctuosity, of which there are four degrees,
j. Meagre, as is the case with most minerals.
2. Rather greasy, as pipe clay.
3. Greasy, as fullers earth and steatites.
4. Very greasy, as talk and plumbago.
_ IV. The coldness, which includes three degrees.
1. Cold, having the coldness of quartz, as hornstone,
jasper, marble.
2. Rather cold, as serpentine, gypsum,
A L O G Y. Part
3. Slightly cold, as amber, pitcoal, and chalk. _ Classifier
jjy tilts character cut andpolished stones may be dis- tion.
tinguished, where some of the other characters are lost;' v~
and bv it also natural gems may be distinguished from
those which are artificial.
V. The weight.—This character is most accurately
discovered by taking the specific gravity of a mineral
by means of a hydrostatic balance. See Hydrodyna¬
mics. But when this cannot be had recourse to, a mi¬
neral is examined by lifting it in the hand, and compar¬
ing its weight, thus estimated by the feeling, with its
volume, by which means an approximation may be
made to its specific gravity. Five degrees of this
mode of estimating the weight of minerals have been
assumed.
1. Supernatant, such minerals as swim in water, as
naphtha, mountain cork.
2. Light, such minerals as have a specific gravity be¬
tween 1.000 and 2.epo, (taking wrater at 1.000) as am¬
ber, mineral pitch, and pitcoal.
3. Rather heavy, are-such minerals as have a specific
gravity between 2.0OQ and which is the case
with most kinds of stones, as amianthus, rock crystal,
mica, fluor spar, diamond.
4. Heavy, when the specific gravity is from 4.000 to
6.000, as in most metallic ores, such as gray copper ore,
red haematites, white lead ore, and in some others as
heavy-spar.
5. Extremely heavy, when the specific gravity ex¬
ceeds 6.000, which includes the native metals, as native
gold, native copper, and native silver, and some others,
as galena, tinstone crystals, sulphurated bismuth, and vi¬
treous silver ore.
VI. The smell is characteristic of only a small num-
.. her of minerals. It is observed either,
1. Of itself without addition, and is,
A. Bituminous, as mineral pitch and naphtha.
B. Slightly sulphureous, as in native sulphur and gray
antimonial ore.
C. Bitterish, as in ochre kept dose shut up for some
time.
D. Clayey, as in yellow chalk.
2. After breathing on a mineral, which should be cold
and breathed upon strongly and quickly, when the smell
perceived is,
A. Clayey hitter, as in hornblende and some sie-
nites.
3. After rubbing or striking, when the smell emit¬
ted is,
A. Urinous, as in swinestone after rubbing.
B. Sulphureous, as in pyrites.
C. Garlic, as in arsenical pyrites and white cobalt ore.
D. Empyreumatic, as in quartz and pitcoal.
VII. The taste, which is characteristic of one class of
minerals, only, viz. the salts; and it is eithei,
1. Sweetish saline, as rock salt.
2. Sweetish astringent, as native alum.
3. Sourish astringent, as native vitriol.
4. Bitter saline, as native Epsom salt.
3. Cooling saline, as native nitre.
6. Lixivious, as native alkali.
7. Urinous, as native sal ammoniac.
Beside the characters which we have now illustrated,
some others are occasionally and successfully employed
in the description of minerals. These have been brought
under
art I.
MINER
under the denomination of physical, chemical, and em¬
pirical characters.
1. Physical. The most common of the physical cha¬
racters is the property which some minerals possess of
exhibiting signs of electricity and magnetism. Some
minerals become electric by being heated, and others
by friction ; and the electricity thus excited is* in some
vitreous or positive, and in others resinous or negative.
Some minerals, too, and particularly some varieties of
iron ore, are distinguished by being attracted by the
magnet. Such are magnetic pyrites, and magnetic iron
sand. By filing a mineral so line that the particles
shall swim on water, and then applying a magnet, the
slightest degree of magnetic effect may be observed.
Among the physical properties of minerals also, may be
reckoned the phosphorescence, which is produced by-
friction, as in some varieties of blende ; or by exposure
to heat, as fluor spar, and some calcareous spars. To
these characters also belongs the peculiar property of
Lemnian earth and some other boles, which being
thrown into water split into pieces with a crackling
noise j and the property of some opals and other stones,
of acquiring a higher degree of transparency when they
are immersed in water, hence called hydrophanes.
2. Chemical characters.—By some simple experi¬
ments, the nature of many mineral substances may be
easily and quickly ascertained, and particularly by
means of acids. Thus, the nitrous acid is employed to
discover whether a mineral effervesces, from which cha¬
racter the nature of the mineral can be more certainly
known than by any other. Ammonia, or the volatile
alkali, dissolves copper, and assumes a blue colour. A-
tetic acid is successfully employed as a test of lead,
which communicates to the acid a sweetish taste. By
means of heat, and particularly by the use of the blow¬
pipe, much knowledge may be obtained of the nature of
minerals. Some are volatilized; in others the colour
is changed j and while some are nearly fused at dif¬
ferent temperatures, others burn with a flame of pecu¬
liar colours.
3. Empirical characters.—Among these characters,
the most common is the peculiar efflorescence which
takes place in some ores. In copper ores the efflores¬
cence is green or blue •, in iron ores, brown, yellow,
or red j in cobalt, peach blossom red } and in arsensic,
white.
Characters for the distinction of minerals may be ob¬
tained from the circumstance of certain minerals being
found generally accompanying others 5 as native arsenic
with orpiment 5 gray copper ore with copper pyrites,
A L O G Y.
H5
and gray silver ore ; red copper ere with native copper : ciassifica
white cobalt ore is rarely found without nickel • and tion
by attending to this circumstance, it will not be mis-' V 
taken for arsenical pyrites.
For the sake of brevity, Mr Kirwan, and others
after him, have adopted a method of expressing some of
the characters by means of numbers. The following
table exhibits some of these characters and correspon¬
ding numbers.
Resplendent, denoted by the number 4
Shining ^
Weakly shining 2
Glimmering; T
Dull 0
Fragments, when the form is indeterminate.
Very sharp-edged 4.
Sharp-edged
Bather sharp-edged
Rather blunt
Perfectly blunt
Transparency.
Transparent
Semitransparent
Translucent
Translucent at the edges
Opake
Hardness.
Of chalk, denoted by
Yielding to the nail
May be sci’aped with a knife
Y ields more difficultly to the knife
Scarcely yields to the knife
Does not give fire with steel
Gives feeble sparks with steel
Gives lively sparks
4-
3-
2.
x.
o.
But it is obvious that this abridged mode of expres¬
sing these characters, by means of numbers, can only be
advantageously employed by those who have made them¬
selves quite familiar with the different numbers corres¬
ponding to the different shades of character, and who
can thus recollect them with facility and px-ecision. To
others tins method of description, by requiring constant
lefeience to the explanation, may prove rather embar¬
rassing, so that what is gained in brevity may be lost in
perspicuity. We propose, therefore, still to retain the
verbal mode of expression in preference to the numerical.
Table of Minerals arranged in the order of their Genera and Species, each Genus beino;
divided into Families or Groupes, the characters of which latter are derived from their
external properties according to the method of Werner.
First Class.
EARTHS & STONES-
I. Diamond Genus.
Diamond.
II. Zircon Genus.
Zircon.
Hyacinth.
Vol. XIV. Part I.
III. Siliceous Genus.
Chrysolite Family.
Chrysoberyl.
Chrysolite.
Olivine.
Coccolite.
Augite.
Vesuvian.
t
Garnet Family.
Leucite.
Melanite.
Garnet.
a. Precious.
b. Common.
c. Bohemian or Pyrope.
Grenatite or Staurolite.
T
Ruby Family,
Ceylanite.
Spindle.
Sapphire.
Corundum.
Adamantine spar,
Emery.
RchorL
146
Classifica- Schorl Family,
tion. Topaz,
v ■ ' Pyrophysalite.
Fuel ase.
Emerald.
Beryl.
Schorlite,
Schorl.
a. Common.
b. Electric or Tourma¬
line.
Pistazite.
Zoisite.
Axinite or Thumerstone.
Quart* Family.
Quartz.
a. Amethyst.
Common.
Fibrous.
b. Rock crystal.
c. Rose-coloured or milk
. quartz.
d. Common quartz.
e. Prase.
f Ferruginous quartz,
or iron flint.
Hornstone.
a. Splintery.
b. Conchoidal.
c. Ligniform.
Flinty slate.
a. Common.
b. Lydian stone.
Flint.
Calcedony.
a. Common.
b. Carnelian.
Opal.
a. Precious.
b. Common.
d. Ligniform.
Menilite.
Jasper.
a. Egyptian.
b. Ribband.
c. Porcelain.
d. Common.
e. Agate.
f. Opal.
Heliotrope or Bloodstone.
Chrysoprase.
Plasma.
Cats eye.
Pitchstone Family.
Obsidian.
Pitchstone.
Pearlstone.
Pumice.
Zeolite Family.
Prehnite.
a. Fibrous.
b. Foliated.
Zeolite.
L Ss}
MINERALOGY.
Fart I
1 Stilbite.
c. Radiated
d. Foliated
Cubizite, Chabasie or A-
nalcime.
Cross-stone, Staurolite.
Laumonite.
Hipyre.
Natrolite.
Azurite.
Lazulite.
Hydrargillite.
Feldspar Family.
Andalusite.
Feldspar.
e. Adularia.
b. Labradore stone.
c. Common feldspar.
d. Compact.
e. Hollow spar, chiasto-
lite.
Scapolite.
Arctizite or Wernerite.
Diaspore.
Spodumene.
Meionite.
Sommite.
Ichthyophthalmite.
IV. Argillaceous Gen.
Clay Family.
Native alumina.
Porcelain earth.
Common clay.
a. Loam.
b. Pipe clay.
c. Potters clay.
d. Variegated clay.
c. Slaty clay.
Claystone.
Adhesive slate.
Polishing slate.
Tripoli.
Floatstone.
Alum stone.
Clay Slate Family.
Aluminous schistus.
a. Common.
b. Shining.
Bituminous sehistus.
Drawing slate.
Whet slate.
Clay slate.
Mica Family.
Lepidolite.
Mica.
Finite.
Potstone.
Chlorite.
a. Earthy.
b. Common.
c. Foliated.
d. Schistose.
Trap Family.
Hornblende.
a. Common.
v b. Basaltic.
c. Labradore.
d. Schistose.
Basalt.
Wacken.
Phonolite or Clinkstone.
Lava.
Lithomarga Family.
Green earth.
Lithomarga.
a. Friable.
b. Indurated.
Rock soap.
Umber.
Yellow earth.
V. Magnesian Genus.
Soap Stone Family.
Native magnesia.
Bole.
Sea froth.
Fullters earth.
Steatites.
Figure stone.
Tale Family.
Nephrite.
a. Common.
b. Axe-stone.
Serpentine.
a. Common.
b. Precious.
Schillerstone.
Talc.
a. Earthy.
b. Common.
c. Indurated.
Asbestus.
a. Mountain cork.
b. Amianthus.
c. Common asbestus.
d. Ligniform asbestus.
Actynolite Family.
Cyanite.
Actynolite.
a. Asbestous.
b. Common.
c. Glassy.
Tremolite.
a. Asbestous.
b. Common.
c. Glassy.
Smaragdite.
Sahlite.
Schalstone.
VI. Calcareous Genus.
Family of Carbonates.
Agaric mineral.
Chalk.
Limestone.
a. Compact.
a'. Common.
, b'. Oolite or roe-stone.
b. Foliated.
a!. Granular.
b'. Calcareous spar.
c. Fibrous.
a'. Common. Classify
b'. Calcareous sinter. tion.
d. Pisolite or pea-stone,
Calcareous tufa.
Foam earth.
Slaty spar.
Arragonite.
Brown spar.
Dolomite.
Rhomb or bitter spar.
Swinestone.
Marl.
a. Earthy:
b. Indurated.
Bituminous marl slate.
Family of Phosphates.
Apatite.
Asparagus stone.
Phosphorite.
Family of Fluatcs.
Fluor.
a. Earthy.
b. Compact.
c. Fluor spar.
Family of Sulphates.
Gypsum.
a. Earthy.
b. Compact.
c. Foliated.
d. Fibrous.
Selenite.
Anhydrite.
Cube spar.
VII. Barytic Genus.
Family of Carbonates.
Witherite.
Family of Sulphates.
Heavy spar.
a. Earthy.
b. Compact.
c. Granular.
d. Foliated.
e. Common.
f. Columnar.
g. Fibrous.
h. Bolognian.
VIII. Strontian Genus.
Family of Carbonates.
Strontites.
Family of Sulphates.
Celestine.
a. Fibrous.
b. Foliated.
Second Class.
SALTS.
I. Genus Sulphates,
Native vitriol.
Native alum.
Mountain butter.
Capillary salt.
Native Epsom salt.
Native Glauber salt.
II,
irt I.
Lata. ,JT: Gem* Nitrates.
j tion. Native nitre.
j-r-1^ III. Genus Muriates.
Rock salt.
a. Foliated.
b. Fibrous.
Sea salt.
Native sal ammoniac.
IV. Genus Carbonates.
Native soda.
Native magnesia.
V. Genus Borates.
Boracite.
VI. Genus Fluates.
Cryolite.
Third Class.
COMBUSTIBLES.
I. Genus Sulphur.
Native sulphur.
a. Common.
b. Volcanic.
II. Bituminous Genus.
Petroleum, or mineral oil.
Mineral pitch.
a. Elastic.
b. Earthy.
c. Slaggy.
Amber.
a. White.
b. Yellow.
Brown coal.
a. Common.
b. Bituminous wood.
c. Earth coal.
d. Alum earth.
e. Moor coal.
Black coal.
a. Pitch coal.
b. Columnar coal.
c. Slaty coal.
d. Cannel coal.
e. Foliated coal.
Coarse coal.
Coal blende.
a. Conchoidal.
b. Slaty.
III. Graphite Genus.
Graphite.
a. Scaly.
b. Compact.
Mineral charcoal.
Fourth Class.
METALLIC ORES.
I. Platina Genus.
Native platina.
II. Gold Genus.
Native gold.
a. Golden yellow.
b. Brass yellow.
c. Grayish yellow.
III. Mercury Genus.
Native mercury.
Native amalgam.
Corneous ore of mercury.
mineralogy
Liver ore of mercury.
a. Compact.
b. Slaty.
Cinnabar.
a. Common.
b. Fibrous.
IV. Silver Genus.
Native silver.
a. Common.
b. Auriferous.
Antimonial silver ore.
Arsenical silver ore.
Corneous silver ore.
Sooty silver ore.
Vitreous silver ore.
Brittle vitreous silver ore.
Red silver ore.
a. Dark red.
b. Bright red.
White silver ore.
Black silver ore.
V. Copper Genus.
Native copper.
Vitreous coppe^pre.
a. Compact.
b. Foliated.
Variegated copper ore.
Copper pyrites.
White copper ore.
Gray copper ore.
Black copper ore.
Red copper ore.
c. Compact.
b. Foliated.
c. Capillary.
Brick red copper ore.
a. Earthy.
b. Indurated.
Emerald copper ore.
Azure copper ore.
a. Earthy.
b. Indurated.
Malachite.
c. Fibrous.
b. Compact.
Green copper ore.
Ferruginous green copper
ore.
a. Earthy.
b. Slaggy.
Micaceous copper ore.
a. Foliated.
b. Lenticular.
Muriate of copper.
VI. Iron Genus.
Native iron.
Iron pyrites.
a. Common.
b. Radiated.
c. Capillary.
d. Hepatic.
Magnetic pyrites.
Magnetic iron ore.
a. Common.
b. Arenaceous.
Specular iron ore.
a. Common.
d. Compact.
b'. Foliated.
b. Micaceous iron ore.
Red iron ore.
a. Red iron froth.
b. Compact.
e. Red haematites.
d. Red ochre.
Brown iron ore.
a. Brown iron froth.
b. Compact.
c. Brown haematites.
d. Brown ochre.
Sparry iron ore.
Black iron ore.
a. Compact.
b. Black haematites.
Argillaceous iron stone.
a. Red chalk.
b. Columnar argillace
ous iron stone.
c. Granular.
d. Common.
e. Reniform.
f. Pisiform.
Bog iron stone.
a. Morassy.
b. Swampy.
c. Meadow.
Blue earthy iron stone.
Green earthy iron stone.
VII. Lead Genus.
Galena.
a. Common.
b. Compact.
Blue lead ore.
Brown lead ore.
Black lead ore.
White l\ead ore.
Green lead ore.
Red lead ore.
Yellow lead ore.
Native sulphate of lead.
Earthy lead ore.
a. Friable.
b. Indurated.
VIII. Tin Genus.
Tin pyrites.
Common tinstone.
Grained tin ore.
IX. Bismuth Genus.
Native bismuth.
Vitreous bismuth.
Ochre of bismuth.
X. Zinc Genus.
Blende.
a. Yellow.
b. Brown.
c. Black.
Calamine.
a. Compact.
b. Foliated.
XI. Antimony.
Native antimony.
Gray ore of antimony.
T a
a. Compact.
b. Foliated.
c. Radiated.
d. Plumose.
Red ore of antimony.
White ore of antimony.
Ochre of antimony.
XII. Cobalt Genus.
White cobalt ore.
Gray cobalt ore.
Shining cobalt ore.
Black cobalt ochre.
a. Friable.
b. Indurated.
Brown cobalt ochre.
Yellow cobalt ochre.
Red cobalt ochre.
a. Earthy.
b. Radiated.
XIII. Nickel Genus.
Copper-coloured nickel.
Nickel ochre.
XIV. Manganese Genus.
Gray ore of manganese,
a. Radiated.
b. Foliated,
r. Compact.
d. Earthy.
Black ore of manganese.
Red ore of manganese.
XV. MolybdenaGenus,
Sulphuret of molybdena.
XVI. Arsenic Genus.
Native arsenic.
Arsenical pyrites.
a. Common.
b. Argentiferous.
Orpiment.
a. Yellow.
b. Red.
Native oxide of arsenic.
XVII. Tungsten Genus.
Wolfram.
Tungstate of lime.
XVIII.Titanium Genus,
Menachanite,
Octahedrite.
Titanite.
Nigrine.
Brown ore.
Iserine.
XIX. Uranium Genus.
Pitchy ore.
Micaceous uranite.
Uranite ochre.
XX. Tellurium Genus*
Native tellurium.
Graphic ore.
Yellow ore.
Black or foliated ore.
XXI. Chromium Genus.
Needle ore.
Ochre of chromium.
XXII. Columbium Gen.
XXIII. Tantalium Gen.
XXIV. Cerium Genus.
I. Genus,
14-8 MINEKALOG Y. Parti
Diamond
, ^e“us- . L Genus. DIAMOND.
One Species. Diamond.
Id. Kirwin, I. 393. Ze Diamant, Brochant, II. 153.
Haiiy, III. 287.
Essential character.—Scratches all other minerals.
External characters.—Its most common colours are
grayish white and yellowish white j smoke gray and
yellowish gray j clove brown; sometimes asparagus
green, passing to pistachio green and apple green j
sometimes a wine yellow and citron yellow, and also
blue and rose red.
When the diamond is cut, it presents a splendid and
varied play of colours, which is one of its most striking
characters.
It is found sometimes in rounded grains, which are
supposed to have been crystals with the edges worn 5
but it is most frequently met with crystallized.
The primitive form is a regular octahedron, the in¬
tegrant molecule a regular tetrahedron j but the form
which it commonly assumes is the spheroidal, with 48
curvilineal faces, six of which correspond to the same
face of the primitive octahedron. Besides this form
there are various others, as the double three-sided py¬
ramid, the dodecahedron, &c. All the modifications
of the crystals of the diamond, Hauy observes, seem to
be the effects of its tendency to crystallize in a regular
figure of 48 plane faces, which, if it ever has existed,
has not yet been discovered; and it is easy to conceive
that this form would be produced by intermediate decre¬
ments on all the angles of the nucleus j but the devia¬
tions from this form seem to have been occasioned by
its precipitate formation.
The external lustre is from four to one 5 internal
four. The fracture is straight foliated, with a fourfold
cleavage, parallel to the faces of the octahedron 5 trans¬
parency four to three 5 hardness ten; brittle; specific
gravity 3.518 to 3.600. Becomes positively electric
by friction, even before it is polished.
Chemical character.—When exposed to a sufficient
temperature, it is entirely consumed. This has been
fully ascertained by the experiments of modern che¬
mists, from which it is concluded, that the diamond is
entirely composed of pure carbone. See Chemistry.
Mr Boyle was the first, according to Henckel, who
subjected the diamond to the action of heat, and in his
experiments he found that it exhaled very copious and
acrid vapours. This was about the year 1673 ; but
in the year 1694 the experiment was repeated .by the
order of Cosmo III. grand duke ofTuscany. Diamonds
were exposed to the heat of the powerful burning glass
of Tschirnhausen, the action of which was even aided
by means of another burning glass ; and about the end
of 30 seconds a diamond of 20 grains lost its trans¬
parency, separated into small pieces, and was at last
entirely dissipated. The same experiment was repeated
on other diamonds, always with the same result, and
without exhibiting the least sign of fusion. Newton,
in his treatise on Optics, has placed the diamond among
combustibles, supposing that it is a coagulated unctu¬
ous substance. He had been led to this by observing
its extraordinary refractive power, which in combusti¬
ble bodies he found to be in a ratio considerably higher
I
than their density. According to this general law he classifies
concluded, that the diamond as well as water contained tion.
an inflammable principle, both oi which have since w
been verified. Newton’s treatise was not published
till 1704 ; but it appears that part of it was composed
and read to the Royal Society in the year 1675* nearly
20 years before the Florentine experiments were made.
But nearly 70 years before this latter period, Boetius
de Boodt, in his History of Stones, appears to have
been perfectly satisfied, from an experiment which he
describes, that the diamond was of an inflammable na¬
ture. This document, which we presume will gratify
the curiosity of many of our readers, is too singular to
be omitted. “ Mastix deinde calefieri par urn, quemad-
modum et adamas debet, idque, ut impositus ac supra
positus mastici statim illi unione vera uniatui;, ac vivos
undique radios a se jaceat. Hanc umonem respuunt
aliae omnes gemmae diaphanae—cur vero legitimus ada¬
mas solus tincturam illam recipiat, aliae gemmae non,
difficile est scire. Existimo mutuum ilium et amicum
amplexum propter similitudinem aliquam quam habent
in materia et qualitatibus; hoc est, tota utriusque na-
tura fieri, quod itaque mastix quceignece natures est ada-
manti facile jungi possit, signum est; id propter ma-
teriae similitudinem fieri, ac adamantis materiam ig-
?iea?n, et sulphuream esse, atque ipsius humidum intrin-
sicum ec primogenium cujus beneficio coagulatus est,
plane fuisse oleosum et igneum, aliarum vero gemmarum
aqueum.—Non mirum itaque si pinguis, oleosa, et ignea
masticis substantia illi absque visus termino adpingi et
applicari, aliis vero gemmis non possit.” Boetius de
Boodt, Gem. et Lapid. Hist. Hanoviae, 1609. 4to. lib.
ii. cap. I-
For the sake of the English reader we shall translate
this curious document. “ It mastich and the diamond
be exposed to heat, and brought into contact, they
enter into perfect union, and emit a very lively flame,
which does not take place in any other gem. But what
is the reason that the diamond alone possesses this pro¬
perty P I am of opinion that this mutual combination
arises from a certain resemblance which each of the
substances possesses in its nature and properties : on this
account, therefore, the mastich, which is of a combusti¬
ble nature, may be united to the diamond from a simi¬
larity in their nature, w'hich shows that the diamond is
composed of combustible and sulphureous matter; and
that the humid and original particles of its composition,
by means of which it was coagulated, or assumed a so¬
lid form, have been decidedly of an oily and inflamma¬
ble nature, while those of other gems have been of an
aqueous nature. It is not, therefore, surprising that the
fat, oily, and combustible substance of mastich may
enter into intimate union with the diamond, but cannot
be combined with other gems.”
Localities, &c.—The diamond is found in various
places of the East Indies, as in the provinces of Gol-
conda and Visapour, in the peninsula of Hither India;
and in the kingdoms of Pegu and Siam, in the penin¬
sula of Farther India, and nearly, it is observed, in the
same degree of latitude. In 1728 the diamond was
discovered in Brasil, in the district of Serro-do-Frio,
which is situated in the same southern latitude as the
countries which produce the diamond on the north side
of the equator. The native repository of the diamond,
so far as is known, is a ferruginous soil, but whether it
trt I. M I N E R
Lssifica- be produced on the spot where it is discovered, or have
.’lion. been transported from the place of its origin, has not
  ' been ascertained. It is found also in veins filled with
soil of a similar nature. We shall here add a short his-
^ tory of the diamond mines.
mond The diamond mines are found only in the kingdoms
its. of Golconda, Visapour, Bengal, the islandof Borneo, and
Brasil. There are four or five mines, or rather three
mines and two rivers, whence diamonds are obtained.
The mines are, I. That of Raolconda, in the province of
Carnatica, five days journey from Golconda, and eight
from Visapour. It has been discovered about 200 years.
2. That of Gani, or Coulour, seven days journey from
Golconda eastward. It was discovered 150 years ago
by a peasant, who digging in the ground found a na¬
tural fragment of 25 carats. 3. That of Soumelpour,
a large town in the kingdom of Bengal, near the Dia¬
mond-mine. This is the most ancient of all: it should
rather be called that of Goual, which is the name of
the river, in the sand whereof these stones are found.
4. The fourth mine, or rather the second river, is that
of Succudan, in the island of Borneo j and, 5. That of
Serro-do-Frio in Brasil.
Diamond-mine of Raolconda.—In the neighbour¬
hood of this mine the earth is sandy, and full of rocks
and copse-wood. In these rocks are found several lit¬
tle veins of half and sometimes a whole inch broad, out
of which the miners, with a kind of hooked irons,
draw the sand or earth wherein the diamonds are j
breaking the rocks when the vein terminates, that the
track may be found again, and continued. When a
sufficient quantity of earth or sand is drawn forth, they
wash it two or three times, to separate the stones. The
miners work quite naked, except a thin linen cloth
before them ; and besides this precaution, have likewise
inspectors, to prevent their concealing diamonds, which,
however, they frequently find means to do, by watching
opportunities when they are not observed, and swallow¬
ing them.
Diamond-mine of Gani or Coulour.—In this mine are
found a great number of diamonds from 10 to 40 ca¬
rats, and even more. It was here that the famous dia¬
mond of the Great Mogul, which before it was cut
weighed 793 carats, was found. The diamonds of this
mine are not very clear: their water is usually tinged
with the quality of the soil *, being black where that is
marshy, red where it partakes of red, sometimes green
and yellow, if the ground happen to be of those colours.
Another defect of some consequence is a kind of greasi¬
ness appearing on the diamond, when cut, which takes
off part of its lustre.—There are usually no less than
60,000 persons employed in this mine.
When the miners have found a place where they in¬
tend to dig, they level another somewhat bigger in the
neighbourhood thereof, and inclose it with walls about
two feet high, only leaving apertures from space to
space, to give passage to the water. After a few su¬
perstitious ceremonies, and a kind of feast which the
master of the mine makes for the workmen, to encou¬
rage them, every one goes to his business, the men
digging the earth in the place first discovered, and the
women and children carrying it off into the other
walled round. They dig a few feet deep, and till
such time as they find water. Then they cease dig¬
ging; and the water thus found serves to wash the
A L O G Y. 149
earth two or three times, after which it is let out at Diamond
an aperture reserved for that end. This earth being genus,
well washed, and well dried, they sift it in a kind of ^
open sieve, and lastly, search it well with the hands to
find the diamonds. This mine is in a plain of about
one league and a half in extent, bounded on one side
by a river, and on the other by a range of lofty moun¬
tains, which form a semicircle. It is said that the nearer
the digging is carried to the mountains, the diamonds
are the larger.
Diamond-mine of Soumelpour, or river Gouah—
Soumelpour is a considerable town near the river Goual,
which runs into the Ganges. It is from this river that
all our fine diamond points, or sparks, called natural
sparks, are brought. They never begin to seek for
diamonds in this river till after the great rains are over,
that is, after the month of December ; and they usually
even wait till the water is grown clear, which is not be¬
fore January. The season at hand, eight or ten thou¬
sand persons, of all ages and sexes, come out of SoumeL-
pour and the neighbouring villages. The most expe¬
rienced among them search and examine the sand of
the river, and particularly where it is mixed with py¬
rites, going from Soumelpour to the very mountain
whence it springs. When all the sand of the river,
which at that time is very low, has been well examin¬
ed, they proceed to take up that wherein they judge
diamonds likely to be found ; which is done after the
following manner: They dam the place round with
stones, earth, and fascines, and throwing out the water, /
dig about two feet deep: the sand thus got is carried
into a place walled round on the bank of the river.
The rest is performed after the same manner as at other
mines.
Diamond-mint in the island of Borneo, or river of
Succudan.— We are but little acquainted with this
mine ; strangers being prohibited from having access to
it: though very fine diamonds have been brought to Ba¬
tavia by stealth. They were formerly imagined to be
softer than those of the other mines ; but experience
shows they are in no respect inferior.
Diamond-mine of Serro-do-Frio.'—A description of
this mine was given by D’Andrada in J792> t^ie ■^a~
tural History Society of Paris. The mine is situated
to the north of Villa Rica, in the 18th degree of south
latitude. The whole country in which the diamonds
are found abounds with ores of iron ; and the stratum
of soil, immediately under the vegetable soil, contains
diamonds disseminated in it, and attached to a gaugue
or matrix which is more or less ferruginous ; but they
are never found in veins.
When this mine was first discovered, the searching for
diamonds was so successful, that the Portuguese fleet
which arrived from Rio de Janeiro in 1730 brought no
less than 1146 ounces of diamonds. This unusual quan¬
tity introduced into the market immediately reduced the
price ; and to prevent this circumstance recurring, the
Portuguese government determined to limit the number
of men employed in the mines. ^
As the diamond is the hardest of all substances, it Method of
can only be cut and polished by itself. To bring it cutting and
to that perfection which augments its price so consi-Phishing
derably, the lapidaries begin by rubbing several against (1*amond3‘
each other, while rough; after having first glued them
to the ends of two wooden blocks, thick enough to be
held
,lSi
150
Diamond held ill the hand. It is this powder thus rubbed off
genus the stones, and received in a little box for the purpose,
i'" y“"~' ‘ that serves to grind and polish them.
Diamonds are cut and polished by means of a mill,
which turns a wheel of soft iron sprinkled over with
diamond-dust mixed with oil of olives. The same
dust, well ground, and diluted with water and vine¬
gar, is used in the sawing of diamonds j which is
performed with an iron or brass wire, as fine as a hair.
Sometimes, in lieu of sawing the diamonds, they cleave
them, especially if there be any large shivers in them.
The method of cutting and polishing the diamond
was not discovered till the 15th century. The dia¬
monds which were employed as ornaments before that
period, were in their rough and natural state. The
invention is ascribed to Louis Berguen, a native of
Bruges, who in the year 1476, cut the line diamond of
Charles the Bald, duke of Burgundy, which he lost the
same year at the battle of Morat. This diamond was
then sold for a crown, but afterwards came into the
possession of the duke of Florence.
The first water in diamonds means the greatest pu¬
rity and perfection of their complexion, which ought to
be that of the purest water. When diamonds fall short
of this perfection, they are said to be of the second or
third water, &c. till the stone may be properly called a
17 coloured one.
Of estimat- The value of diamonds is estimated by Mr Jefferies
ins- by the following rule. He first supposes the value of
a rough diamond to be settled at 2l. per carat, at a
medium j then to find the value of diamonds of
greater weights, multiply the square of their weight
by 2, and the product is the value required. E. g. to-
find the value of a rough diamond of two carats :
2 X 2=4, the square of the weight 5 which, multiplied
by two, gives 81. the true value of a rough diamond
of two carats. For finding the value of manufactured
diamonds, he supposes half their weight to be lost in
manufacturing them ; and therefore, to find their value,
we must multiply the square of double their weight
by 2, which will give their true value in pounds. Thus,
to find the value of a wrought diamond weighing two
carats ) we first find the square of double the weight,
viz. 4x4—16', then 16x2—32. So that the true
value of a wrought diamond of two carats is 32I. On
these principles Mr Jefferies has constructed tables of
the price of diamonds from 1 to 100 carats.
Celebrated The greatest diamond ever known in the world is
diamonds, one belonging to the king of Portugal, which was
found in Brasil. It is still uncut : and Mr Magellan
informs us, that it was of a larger size } but a piece
was cleaved or broken off’ by the ignorant countryman,
who chanced to find this great gem, and tried its hard¬
ness by the stroke of a large hammer upon the anvil.
Tb is prodigious diamond weighs 1680 carats : and
although it is uncut, Mr Rome de I’Isle says, that it is
valued at 224 millions sterling; which gives the esti¬
mation of 79,36 or about 80 pounds sterling for each
carat: viz. for the multiplicand of the square of its
whole w-eight. But even in case of any error of the
press in this valuation, if we employ the general rule
above mentioned, this great gem must be worth at least
5,644,800 pounds sterling, which are the product of
1680 by two pounds, viz. much above five millions
Part
and a half sterling. But this gem is supposed by some classify
to be a white topaz. tion j
The famous diamond which adorns the sceptre of'~~v^*i
the empress of Russia under the eagle at the top of it
weighs 779 carats, and is worth at least 4,854,728
pounds sterling, although it hardly cost 135,417 gui¬
neas. This diamond was one of the eyes of a Mala-
barian idol, named Scharingham. A French grenadier,
who had deserted from the Indian service, contrived
so w'ell as to become one of the priests of that idol,
from which he had the opportunity to steal its eye : he
run away to the English at Trichinopoly, and thence
to Madras. A ship-captain bought it for twenty
thousand rupees : afterwards a Jew gave seventeen or
eighteen thousand pounds sterling for it : at last a
Greek merchant named Gregory Suffras, offered it to
sale at Amsterdam in the year 1766 : and Prince Or-
loff made this acquisition for his sovereign the empress
of Russia. This diamond is of a flattened oval form and
of the size of a pigeon’s egg.
The diamond of the Great Mogul is cut in rose ;
weighs 279/0 carats, and it is worth 380,000 guineas.
This diamond has a small flaw underneath near the
bottom : and Tavernier, page 389, who examined it,
valued the carat at 150 French livres. Before this
diamond was cut, it weighed 7934 carats, according to
Rome de I’Isle : but Tavernier, page 339, of his se¬
cond volume, says that it weighed 900 carats before
it was cut. If this be the very same diamond, its loss
by being cut was very extraordinary.
Another diamond of the king of Portugal, -which
weighs 215 carats, is extremely fine, and is worth at
least 369,800 guineas.
The diamond of the grand duke of Tuscany, now
of the emperor of Germany, weighs 1394- carats ; and
is worth at least 109,520 guineas. Tavernier says,
that this diamond has a little hue of a citron colour j
and he valued it at 135 livres iournoises the carat.
Robert de Berquen says, that this diamond was cut
into two : that the grand Turk had another of the
same size : and that there were at Bisnagar two large
diamonds, one of 250 and another of 140 carats.
The diamond of the late king of France, called the
Eitt or Regent, weighs 1364 carats : this gem is worth
at least 208,333 guineas, although it did not cost above
the half of this sum. Patrin says, that it is believed to
be at Berlin, (I. 226.) and we may add, that it has pro¬
bably been carried back to France among other spoils.
The other diamond of the same monarch, call¬
ed the Sancy, weighs 55 carats ; it cost 25,000 gui¬
neas : and Mr Duten says, that it is worth much above
that price.
Brilliant Diamond, is that cut in faces both at top
and bottom ; and whose table, or principal face at top,
is flat. To make a complete square brilliant, if the
rough diamond be not found of a square figure, it must
be made so; and if the work is perfectly executed, the
length of the axis will be equal to the side of the square
base of the pyramid.—Jewellers then form the table
and collet by dividing the block, or length of the axis,
into 18 parts. They take Ts-g- from the upper part, and
t1^ from the lower. This gives a plane at T\ distance
from the girdle for the table; and a smaller plane at
-rg- distance from the collet; the breadth of which will
be
MINERALOGY.
irt I.
ssifica-
MINERALOGY.
be J- of the breadth of the table. In this state the stone
is said to be a complete square table diamond.—The
brilliant is an improvement on the table-diamond, and
was introduced within the 17th century according to
Mr Jefferies.
has been found in Norway, in a rock composed of feld¬
spar and hornblende.
Uses.—The zircon is employed as a precious stone,
and particularly as an ornament in mourning.
2. Species. Hyacinth.
II. Genus. ZIRCON.
1. Species. Zircon.
Jargon^ Kirw. I. 257. Zircon, Haiiy. II. 465. Id,
Brochant, I. 159.
Essen. Char.—Its specific gravity about 4.4 ; the
joints natural, some of which are parallel, and others
are oblique to the axis of the crystals.
E.vter. Char —Colours reddish and yellowish, green¬
ish, greenish yellow, and whitish. The colour in gene¬
ral varies from green to gray, and is most commonly
pale; and the polished stone exhibits in some degree
the play of colours of the diamond. >
It is found in rounded, angular, or flattened grains,
or in small angular fragments with notched edges, and
also crystallized. The primitive form is an octahedron
with isosceles triangles, and the integrant molecule is
an irregular tetrahedron. The following are the most
common forms of its crystals.
1. A prism with four rectangular faces, each base of
which has a pyramid with four faces placed on the four
lateral faces, which terminates sometimes in a line, but
most frequently in a point.
2. The preceding crystal, in which the opposite late¬
ral edges of the prism are truncated.
3. The crystal (1.) in which the edges of the faces
of the pyramid are bevelled.
4. The crystal (1.) having the lateral edges of
the prism, and the summit of the pyramid trun¬
cated.
5. The crystal (1.) in which the angles between the
prism and the pyramid are bevelled.
6. A prism with four faces, having the two opposite
narrow, and the two others broad.
7. A double pyramid with four faces, with the edges
of the common base truncated.
8. The perfect octahedron with obtuse angles.
The crystals are commonly small 5 the surface smooth,
but that of the angular fragments is rough. Lustre, 3
and 4 j internal lustre 4 and 3 ; somewhat vitreous, or
approaching to that of the diamond. Fracture imper¬
fect or flat conchoidal; fragments, 3. Transparency, 4,
3. Causes double refraction. Hardness, 9 j brittle.
Spec. grav. 4 416 to 4.4700.
Chem. Char.—Infusible by the blow-pipe without ad¬
dition, but with borax it forms a transparent colourless
glass. The following are its constituent parts.
Zirconia,
Silica,
Iron,
Loss,
Localities.—The zircon was first found in Ceylon, ac¬
companied with crystals of spinelle and tourmaline, in a
river near the middle of the island ; and more lately it
70
26
1
3
100
Id. Kirw. I. 257. Zircon, Hairy, II. 465. DHyacinthc,
Brochant, I. 163.
Essen. Char.—Uhs same as the first species.
Exter Char.—The most common colour is what is
called hyacinth red, blood red, and yellowish brown.
It is found in rounded grains, and frequently in cry¬
stals, the primitive form of which is the same as the first
species. The crystals are,
1. A prism with four faces.
2. The same slightly truncated on its edges.
3. The double pyramid with four faces, or a very ob¬
tuse octahedron, which is a rare variety.
4. A prism with six faces, each base of which is ter¬
minated by an acumination with three faces, placed al¬
ternately on the three lateral edges, forming the rhom-
boidal dodecahedron.
The crystals are commonly small, the surface smooth j
external lustre, 3, 4; internal, 44 greasy, fracture
straight foliated j cleavage double, rectangular ; frag¬
ments, 3 5 transparency, 4, 2; causes double refraction;
hard and brittle; unctuous to the touch when cut;
spec grav. 4.385 to 4.620.
Chem. Char.—By the action of the blow-pipe the
hyacinth loses its colour, but retains its transparency.
It is infusible without borax, which converts it into a
transparent colourless glass.
Constituent Parts.
From Ceylon.
Zirconia, 70
Silica, 25
Oxide of iron, 0.5
Loss,. 4.5
From Expailly.
64.5 66
32 31
2 2
1‘S 1
100 Klap. iooVauq. JOoVauq,.
Localities.—It is found in Ceylon in similar situations
with the former; in Brazil, Bohemia, and in the rivulet
Expailly, in Velay in France ; and also in the neigh¬
bourhood of Pisa in Italy.
Uses.—As it is susceptible of a fine polish, the hya¬
cinth has been ranked among precious stones.
Remarks.— I he analogy between the crystalline
forms of the zircon and hyacinth; their double refrac¬
tion ; the similarity of their other characters, and parti¬
cularly the results of chemical analysis, have led Haiiy
to form them into one species.
A variety, under the name of cinnamon stone, has
been considered as a distinct species ; but the differences
are so very slight, that it may be included in.the descrip¬
tion of the preceding.
III. Genus. SILICEOUS.
1. Species. Chrysoberyl.
Id. Emm. Wid. Lenz. Kirw. Chrysopale, Lara. Cy~
mophane, Hairy.
Exter. Char.—’The colour is an asparagus green;
passing
Zircon
genus.
I V.
Siliceous passing sometimes to a greenish white, and sometimes to
genus. an olive green } sometimes bright brown and yellowish
“v brown, passing to yellowish gray } affords a feeble
change of colour from bluish to milky white.
It is found in angular or rounded grains, which ap¬
pear to have been water worn •, and in crystals, exhi¬
biting, l. A table with six faces, elongated, of various
thickness, truncated on the terminal edges. 2. A prism
with four rectangular faces. 3. A prism with six faces,
of which four are broader and two are narrower oppo¬
site to each other.
The grains are slightly rough, and have a consider¬
able external lustre. The crystals are striated length¬
wise on their lateral faces 5 the other faces are smooth *,
lustre external very shining—internal the same, inter¬
mediate between that of the diamond and the vitreous
lustre.
The fracture is in all directions perfectly conchoidal;
the fragments are indeterminate with sharp edges. It
has little transparency, but a considerable degree of
hardness. Spec. grav. 3.698 to 3.719 Wern. 3.710
Klap. 3.796 Hauy.
Chan. Char.—It is infusible without addition by the
action of the blow-pipe. By Klapi'oth’s analysis, the
following are its constituent parts.
MINERALOGY. Part
In another variety the summit of the pyramid is ctasnfie
Alumina,
Silica,
Lime,
Oxide of iron,
Loss,
71-5
18
6
*•5
3
truncated by a convex cylindrical plane, the convexity
of which passes from one of the small opposite lateral ~
planes towards the other.
4. In some instances the crystals are so small, that
the same lateral faces almost entirely disappear, while
the two larger assume a curved form, giving such crys¬
tals a tabular appearance.
The external surface of the angular fragments and
of the rounded crystals is scaly, which affords an essen¬
tial character to this mineral. The small lateral planes
are smooth, the broad ones are distinctly striated length¬
wise. Externally the surface is shining j internally
shining and vitreous.
The fracture in all directions is perfectly conchoidal •,
the form of the fragments is indeterminate, with very
sharp edges. It is almost always transparent, and re¬
fracts double} it is not so hard as quartz. Brittle.
Spec. grav. 3.340 to 3.420 Wern. 3.428 Hauy.
Chem. Char.—By the action of the blow-pipe it is
fused with borax without effervescence, and affords a
greenish, transparent glass.
tiou.
Constituent parts.
Crystallised.
Silica, 38
Magnesia, 39*5
Oxide of iron, 19.
Loss, 3.5
Cut.
39
43-5
J9
Crystallised.
'38
5°-5
9*5
2.
IOO Klap. 100.5 Vtmff. 100 Vauq.
IOO
■Localities.—Brazil, Ceylon, Siberia.
Uses.—The hardness of the chrysoberyl, and change
of colour which it exhibits, have procured it a place
among precious stones of inferior value. It is known in
commerce under the name of changeable opal or oriental
chrysolite.
2. Species. Chrysolite.
Id. Emm. Wid. Lenz, Mus. L'esk. Kirw. Peridot,
Daub. Hauy.
Exter. Char.—The most common colour is a bright
pistachio green, passing to an olive green ; sometimes
of a bright asparagus or clear meadow green ; rarely
the green approaches to brown and almost to a cherry
red.
It is found in angular fragments with the edges a
little notched, or in rounded grains, or in crystals hav¬
ing the angles and edges a little notched. The forms
of its crystals are, 1. A large rectangular prism having
its lateral edges truncated and sometimes bevelled, and
terminated by a six-sided prism, of which two opposite
sides are placed on the small lateral faces of the prism.
The four others on the lateral truncated faces, the
latter forming a more acute angle than the two for¬
Localities, &c.—This mineral is brought from the
Levant, but it is not known whether it is found in Asia
or Africa. It has been discovered in Bohemia j and
crystallised specimens included in a kind of lava have
been brought from the isle of Bourbon. As it is
usually found in rounded fragments, in the midst
of earthy substances, its relative situation is scarcely
known.
Uses.—The chrysolite has been often employed for
various purposes as a precious stone, but as it possesses
no great degree of hardness, it is not much esteemed.
Substances of a very different nature have been, at
different times, described under the name of Chrysolite.
It appears that the yellow chrysolite of the ancients is
the same with our topaz, and that their green topaz is
our chrysolite. Plin. lib. xxxvii. cap. 8.
3. Species. Olivine.
Id. Emm. "Wid. Lenz. Kirw. Lameth. Chrysolite
en grains irreguliers, De Born. Peridot Granuh-
formc, Hauy. Chrysolith des Volcans, of many mi¬
neralogists.
Exter. Char.—The most common colour is a bright
olive green, sometimes of an apple green, pistachio, or
mountain green j a wine, honey, or orange yellow,
and sometimes also a reddish brown, and brownish
mer.
2. The next form varies from the preceding, in hav¬
ing tw’o additional terminating faces, placed on the
broad faces of the prism, each of which is consequently
situated between two of the planes corresponding to the-
truncated planes.
black ; but these latter varieties are rare. It is found
in rounded pieces, from the size of the head to that
of a grain of millet, most commonly included, and
disseminated in basalt. It has been found crystal¬
lized.
Internally,
art I. MINERALOGY.
ilassifica- Internally, this mineral varies in its lustre between
tion. shining and weakly shining; in the yellow varieties the
lustre is between vitreous and resinous.
The fracture is more or less conchoidal ; sometimes
uneven 5 the shape of the fragments is indeterminate,
with sharp edges. The rounded pieces of a certain
size are composed of distinct granular concretions,
with small grains.
It is sometimes transparent, and varies to semitrans¬
parent and translucent. It. is brittle, and not so hard
as quartz. Spec. gray. 3.225 to 3.265.
Chem. Char.—Olivine is infusible by the action of
the blow-pipe ; in nitric acid it loses its colour, giving
to the liquid a pale yellow colour.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 48 to 52.O 52
Magnesia, 37 38.5 37.75
Lime, 00.25 00.25 0.25
Oxide of iron, 1^.5 12. IC).75
Loss, 2-25 —
100.00—102.75 100.75
Localities, &c.—Olivine is found in different coun¬
tries, as in Bohemia and Saxony, and in Vivarais in
France, and most commonly in rounded pieces in the
cavities of basalt. Brochant says that it has not been
discovered in the basalts of Ireland, England, Sweden,
Norway, and Italy. We have, however, collected
specimens of olivine among the basaltic rocks of the
Giant’s Causeway in Ireland.
Olivine and chrysolite are considered by Hauy as
one species, and described under the name peridot.
4. Species. Coccolite.
Coccolithe, Brochant, ii. 504. Hally, iv. 355. D’An-
drada. Nich. 4to. Jour. v. 495.
Exter. Char.—Colour, meadow green, olive, or
blackish green. It is found in masses which are com¬
posed of separate pieces, granular, in small grains,
which may be easily separated j these grains are angu¬
lar, and discover some appearance of tendency to cry¬
stallization.
Lustre, resplendent, vitreous; fracture foliated 5
cleavage double, as examined by Haiiy, but single ac¬
cording to D’Andrada : it is hard, scratches glass j the
grains are often -translucent. Spec. grav. 3.316 to
3*373-  
Chem Char.—Coccolite is infusible without addition
before the blow-pipe. With borax it melts into a pale
yellow transparent glass, and with carbonate of potash
into an olive green vesicular glass.
Constituent Parts.
Silica, 50.0
Lime, 24.O
Magnesia, 10.0
Oxide of iron, 7.0
Oxide of manganese, 3.0
\Alumina, 1.5
Loss, 4.5
100
Vou XIV. Part L
Localities.—It is found in the iron mines of Hel-
lesta and Assebo in Sudermania, at Nerica in Sweden,
and near Arendal in Norway.
5. Species. Augite.
Octahedral Basaltine, Kirw. i. 219. VAugite, Bro¬
chant, i. 179. Pyroxene, Haiiy, iii. 80.
Essen. Char.—Divisible, parallel to the sides of an
oblique rhomboidal prism, of about 920 and 88°, whicli
is subdivided in the direction of the great diagonals of
the bases.
Exter. Char.—Colour, olive green, black, white, and
gray. It is found sometimes in rounded pieces, and in
grains, but most frequently crystallized. The primi¬
tive form is an oblique-angled prism, the bases of which
are rhombs : the integrant molecule is an oblique tri¬
angular prism. The form of the crystals is generally a
six and eight-sided prism, which is terminated by a
two-sided summit. The crystals are commonly small,
smooth, and brilliant, sometimes a little shining. In¬
ternal lustre shining, and almost resplendent, resinous.
Fracture perfectly foliated ; cleavage double j trans¬
lucent at the edges j harder than olivine ; gives lively
sparks with steel, and scratches glass 5 rather brittle ;
spec. grav. 3.226 to 3.777.
Chem. Char.—Fusible before the Wow-pipe with dif¬
ficulty, and only in small fragments, .which melt into a
black enamel.
Constituent Parts.
From _<?Etna. Vauquelin.
Silica, 52
Lime, I3"20
Alumina, 3.33
Magnesia, 10
Oxide of iron, 14.66
Oxide .of mangaijese, 2
Loss, 4.81
From Arendal, Hour.
45
30*5
3
16
5
•5
100.00 100
Localities, &c.—Augite is found in basalt along with
olivine and hornblende, in Bohemia, Hungary, and
Transylyania j in the basalt of Arthur’s seat near
Edinburgh.
6. Species. Vesuyian.
La Vesuvicnne, Brochant, i. 184. Idocrase. Haiiy, ii,
574*
Essen. Char.—Divisible parallel to the faces and
diagonals of a rectangular prism, with square bases $
melts into a yellow glass.
Extcr. C/mr.—Colour brown, orange, dark green,
and yellowish green.
This mineral is found massive, disseminated, or cry¬
stallized. Primitive form, a rectangular prism, little
different from a cube; integrant molecule a triangular
prism. The forms of its crystals are, a rectangular
prism, with four sides, truncated on all its edges, or
truncated on its lateral edges; or a six-sided prism
truncated on all its edges. The crystals are usually
small, single sometimes, and sometimes in groups.
Lateral planes longitudinally streaked. Some are
U smooth 5
1 S3
Siliceous
genus.
t
154
Siliceous
geuus.
MINER
smooth } lustre resplendent, vitreous •, internal lustre
shining, resinous. Fracture imperfectly conchoiclal, some¬
times uneven, often also foliated. Fragments indetei'-
nxinate, with rather sharp edges. Translucent, and al¬
most semitransparent j hard, brittle ; specific gravity
3.365 to 3.420.
Chem. C'/ia/'.—Fusible without addition into a yellow
glass.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
From Vesuvius. From Siberia.
Silica 35-5° 42
In me, 33* 34
Alumina, 22.2$ !6.25
Oxide of iron, 7*5 5*5°
Oxide of manganese, .25 an atom.
A L O G Y. Parti,
rocks of Bohemia, and also, it is said, in a granitic Classifica.
rock in the Pyrenees.
tion.
8. Species. Melanite, or Black Garnett
La Mclanite, Brochant, i. 191.
Exter. Char.—Colour velvet black, or brownish or
grayish black. It is most commonly found crystal¬
lized, in six-sided prisms, terminated at each extremity
by an obtuse aenmination, with three planes placed al^
ternately on three of the lateral edges ; the prisms are
sometimes truncated on all the edges, and sometimes
only the lateral edges. The surface is smooth and
shining. Internal lustre shining. Fracture imperfect,
flat,conchoidal. Fragments indeterminate, sharp-edged,
opaque, hard, and rather brittle. Spec. grav. 3 691 to
3.800.
LocalitieSy &c.—It is found in the neighboux-hood of
Vesuvius, accompanied by limestone in small grains,
feldspar, mica, hornblende, and calcareous spar j and it
is supposed to have been thrown out of the volcano un¬
changed. In Siberia it is found in steatites, sometimes
mixed w ith crystals of magnetic iron.
Uses.—At Naples it is employed as a precious stone.
Constituent Parts., Vauquelin.
Silica, 35-
Alumina, 6
Lime, 32
Oxide of iron and of manganese, 25
Loss, 2
7. Species. Leucite.
La Leucite, Brochant, i. 188. Vesuvian, Kirwan, i.
285. Amphigene, Haiiy, ii. 559.
Essen. C/iflr.—Divisible, parallel to the faces of a
cube, and at the same time to those of a rhomboidal
dodecahedron.
Exter. Char.—Colour grayish or yellow white.
It is rarely found massive or in grains, but most fre¬
quently crystallized. The primitive form of its crystals is
the cube •, the integrant molecule an irregular tetrahe¬
dron 5 the most common form of the crystals is a short
double pyramid with eight faces opposed base to base,,
each summit of which is surmounted by an obtuse a-
cumination with four faces, corresponding alternately to
the four lateral edges of the pyramid, and thus producing
a figure of twenty-four trapezoidal faces $ the crystals
are commonly small, the surface rough and dull, or at
most feebly shining. Internal lustre shining, vitreous.
Fracture foliated, sometimes conchoidal. Fragments
indeterminate with sharp edges. Semitransparent or
translucent. Scai’cely scratches glass. Brittle. Spec,
grav. 2.4.55 to 2.490.
Chem. Chair.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, but with
borax, gives a, transparent glass.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth. Vanquelin,
Silica, 54 56
Alumina, 24 20
Potash, 21 20
Lime, — 2
Loss, 1 2
100 100
Localities, &c.—-Leucite is found in the lavas of Ve¬
suvius, and in the basalts of Italy } in basalts and other
100
Localities.—It has been found only at Frescati and
St Albano near Rome.
9. Species. Garnet.
Le Grenat, Brochant, i. 193. Garwcf, Kirwan, i. 238.
Grcnat, Haiiy, ii. 54°-
Essen. Char.—Specific gx-avity at least 3.5. The
forms derived from the rhomboidal dodecahedron.
The primitive form is a rhomboidal dodecahedron.
The inclination of each rbqmb to the two adjacent is
120°, the plain angles 109° 28' and 70° 31' 44".
The integrant molecule is the tetrahedron, whose faces
are isosceles triangles equal and similar.
The garnet is divided into three subspecies, the pre¬
cious, common, and Bohemian garnet.
Subspecies 1. Precious Garnet.
Exter. Char.— Colour red, of which there are seve¬
ral varieties, as blood i'ed, cherry red, hyacinth red,
sometimes brown and even black.
The garnet is rarely found massive or disseminated,
but sometimes in rounded grains, and most frequently
crystallized, of which the following are the forms.
1. A prism with six sides terminated by a double
obtuse summit with three faces, cori’esponding alternate¬
ly to the three lateral edges at each end of the prism,
and thus forming a rhomboid of twelve faces.
2. The same crystal truncated on all its edges, form¬
ing a figure of 36 faces. The faces of the truncations
are elongated hexagons.
3. A short double pyramid, with eight faces oppo¬
sed base to base, the summits of each of which are sur¬
mounted by an obtuse acumination, corresponding al¬
ternately to the four lateral edges of one of the pyra¬
mids,
art I.'
assifica- micls, forming a crystal of 24 sides, which are pretty
tion. equal trapezoids.
■ »- 4. The preceding form Math twelve truncations ;
eight on the eight acute alternating angles of the two
summits, and four on the obtuse angles of the common
base of the two pyramids, making in all 36 faces.
The surface is a little unequal in the grains, smooth
in the crystals, and almost always streaked diagonally.
The lustre varies from shining to resplendent, and is vi¬
treous. Fracture more or less perfectly conchoidal, some¬
times uneven or splintery, and sometimes foliated. Frag¬
ments indeterminate with sharp edges. Transparent
or translucent. Scratches quartz. Refraction simple.
Brittle. Spec. grav. 4.08^ to 4.352.
Chan Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is fusible into
a dark enamel.
Constituent Parts.
*55
caceous schistus, gneis, serpentine, and other primitive Siliceous
rocks, in Saxony, Bohemia, France, Sweden. gtinus.
Uses.-~\t is rarely employed as a precious stone, but ’-“-v—
frequently as a flux for iron ores.
Subspecies 3. Pyrope, or Bohemian Garnet.
Pyrope, Brochant, ii. 498.
Essen. Char.—The same as the garnet.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in small, round
angular fragments: it is never crystallized.
Colour dark blood red, which, by holding it between
the eye and the light, becomes yellow. Lustre re¬
splendent, vitreous. Fracture conchoidal. Fragments
indeterminate and sharp-edged. Perfectly transparent.
Scratches quartz. Spec. grav. 3.718 to 3.941.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
MINERALOGY.
Klaproth.
Silica, 35.75
Alumina, 27*25
Lime, —
Oxide of iron, 36
Oxide of manganese, .25
Loss, .75
100.00
Vatiquelin.
36
22
3
41
102
Silica, 40
Alumina, 28.5
Lime, _ 3.5
Magnesia, 10
Oxide of iron, 16.5
Oxide of manganese, .25
Loss, 1.25
ICO
Localities, See.—The garnet is not uncommon in
most countries of the world, and it is usually found in
primitive rocks.
Uses.—It is employed as a precious stone.
The precious garnet is supposed to be the carbuncle
of the ancients.
Subspecies 2. Common Garnet.
Essen. The same as the precious garnet.
Exter. Char.—It is found massive and disseminated,
and also sometimes crystallized. The forms of the
crystals are the same as those of precious garnet. The
surface of the crystals is diagonally streaked.
Colour brown, green, greenish black, brownish red,
and orange yellow. Lustre shining, resinous, or vi¬
treous. Fracture uneven, sometimes splintery. Frag¬
ments sharp-edged. Rarely transparent, sometimes
translucent, and commonly at the edges •, not so hard as
the precious garnet. Brittle. Spec. grav. from 3.668
to 3.757.
Chem. Char.—Melts before the blow-pipe into a
dark enamel, and easier than the former.
Constituent Parts. VauqueKn.
Black Garnet. Yellowish Garnet.
Silica, 43 38
Alumina, 16 20
Lime, 20 31
Oxide of iron, 16 10
Water, 4 —
Loss, 1 1
100 100
Localities, &c.—-The common garnet is found in mi-
Localities, &c,—This mineral is found in serpentine in
Saxony } the most beautiful are from Bohemia, where
it is found in alluvial land.
Uses.—It is employed in jewellery. The small
grains are used as a substitute for emery in polishing.
This mineral is formed into a separate species by
some, and is distinguished from the garnet by its colour.
Want of crystallization, and transparency j but these
differences in the external characters Hauy considers as
insufficient to constitute a different species of two mi¬
nerals which agree in a greater number of other cha¬
racters. Magnesia indeed has been detected in the lat¬
ter as one of its constituents, no trace of which has been
yet discovered in the former.
10. Species. Grenatite.
Grenatite, Brochant, ii. 496. Id. Saussure, § 190c.
Staurotide, Hauy, iii. 93. Pierre de Croix, De Lisle,
ii. 434.
Essen. Char.—Divisible parallel to the sides of a.
rhomboidal prism, whose angles are equal to 1290 30',
and 50° 30', which may be subdivided in the direction
of the short diagonals of the bases.
Exter. Char.—Grenatite is always found crystallized.
The primitive form is a rectangular prism with rhom¬
boidal bases, having the angled inclined, as mentioned
in the essential character. The integrant molecule is a
triangular prism. It is frequently met with in double
crystals, crossing each other in the form of a cross, from
which the name is derived, sometimes at right angles,
and sometimes obliquely •, sometimes also there are ob¬
lique triple crossings. The surface is smooth and shin¬
ing, or uneven and dull.
The colour is reddish or blackish brown; internal
lustre shining, between vitreous and resinous. Fracture
U 2 imperfectly
,S6 MINER
Siliceous imperfectly foliated, in the direction of the axis; in
genus, other directions uneven, small grained, or sometimes a
'■““■■V-'--' little coachoidal *, often opaque, sometimes translucent.
Scratches quartz, feebly; specific gravity 3.2861.
Chem. Char.—Before thqjdow-pipe it becomes brown
without fusion, and is then Converted into, a fritty sub¬
stance.
Constituent Parts.
Silica
Alumina,
Lime,
Oxide of iron.
Oxide of manganese, 1.
Loss, 5-i6
Vauquelin.
33-
44.
3-84
J3*
100
Localities, &c.—It is found is small crystals in mi¬
caceous schistus, at St Gothard in Switzerland, in Brit¬
tany in France,, and in Spain, in primitive rocks.
A L O G Y. Part I
Exter. Char.—Spinelle is found in rounded grains, or classifies
crystallized : the primitive form of the crystals is a regu- tio
lar octahedron ; the integrant molecule the regular tetra- v“""V
hedron. Its usual forms are a double pyramid with
four faces applied base to base, constituting a perfect
octahedron ; or it is truncated on all its edges, or only
on those of the common base of the two pyramids. It
is met with also in the form of a double crystal, com¬
posed of two octahedrons, which *»re often flattened.
Colour usually red, of various shades, from carmine
red to rose red ; sometimes reddish white, and orange
yellow. Faces of the octahedron smooth, those of the
truncations longitudinally streaked. Lustre resplendent,
vitreous; fracture conchoidal; the longitudinal fracture
is foliated; fragments indeterminate, sharp-edged; se¬
mitransparent, and sometimes transparent. Scratches
quartz ; is scratched by sapphire. Spec. grav. 3.570 to
3-645-   
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is iniusible ;
but with borax it melts, and without frothing up.
11. Species.
Pleonaste, Hauy, iii. 17.
niart, i. 438.
Ceylanite.
Spinelle Pleonaste, Brong-
Essen. Char.—Scratches glass slightly,and is divisible
into a regular octahedron.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in rounded mas¬
ses, and also crystallized. Primitive form of the crys¬
tals, a regular octahedron. The integrant molecule a
regular tetrahedron. The edges of the octahedron are
sometimes truncated, and form a regular 1 2-sided rhom¬
boid. The crystals are small; the fracture is conchoi¬
dal ; the lustre shining and vitreous.
The colour is sometimes perfectly black, brown,
bright blue, purplish red, or dark green. It is hard,
but not very brittle. Spec. grav. 3.76 to 3.79.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts. Descotils.
Alumina,
Magnesia,
Silica,
Oxide of iron,
Loss,
68
12
2
16
2
ioo
Constituent Parts.
Alumina,
Silica,
Magnesia
Oxide of iron,
Lime,
Chromic acid,
Loss,
Klaproth.
74*50
8.25
1.50
•75
Vauquelinv
82.47
8.78
6.18
2*57
100.5
100
Localities, &.c.—Crystals of spinelle are found in Cey¬
lon, in a river which comes from the high mountains in
the middle of that island : they are accompanied with
zircon, tourmaline, and diflerent other stones. It is
found also in Pegu.
Uses.—Spinelle is ranked among precious stones, and
is greatly esteemed when it is of a certain size. It is
said that a fine spinelle ruby, whose weight exceeds four
carats, is worth half the price of a diamond of the same
weight.
13. Species. Sapphire.
Oriental Ruby, Sapphire, and Topo%, Kirwan, i. 250.
Le Saphir, Brochant, i. 207. Telesie, Hauy, ii. 480.
Localities,^.—This mineral is met with in the island
of Ceylon, along with tourmaline and other crystallized
substances, which have been carried from their native
repositories by means of water. It has been found also in
disseminated crystals in thf: cavities of the lava of Vesu¬
vius ; and very small blue crystals of ceylanite have been
observed in the volcanic (basaltic) rocks at Closterlach
on. the banks of the Rhine.
12. Species. SPINELLE.
Spinel scnA. Balas Ruby, Kirw. i. 253. Le Spinel, Bro¬
chant, i. 202. Spinelle, Hauy, ii. 496.
Essen. Char.—Scratches quartz strongly; the primi¬
tive and common form, a regular octahedron.
Essen. Char.—Specific gravity about 4 ; natural
joints very distinct, and perpendicular to the axis of the
crystals.
Exter. Char.—Sapphire is found in fragments, in
rounded pieces, and also crystallized. The primitive
form of the crystal, according to Hauy, is a regular
six-sided prism, and the integrant molecule is a triangu¬
lar, equilateral prism; but, according to Bournon, the
primitive form is a rhomboid, whose angles are 96° and
84°. The usual forms of the crystals are, 1. A small
six-sided prism. 2. A pyramid with six faces, very sharp,
double, the two pyramids applied base to base. 3. The
same crystal with the summit truncated. 4. A pyramid
with six faces, double; the two pyramids applied base
to base, but less sharp than the second form. The sur¬
face of the crystals is smooth, and often streaked trans¬
versely.
The
MINERALOGY.
157
The principal colour is blue, varying between Prus¬
sian and indigo blue ; other varieties are of a deep vio¬
let blue. Sapphires are also found red, yellowish, and
greenish. Two or three colours appear in the same
crystal, sometimes in bands and sometimes in concentric
circles. Externally, the lustre of the sapphire is shin¬
ing 5 internally, resplendent and vitreous. Fracture
perfectly conchoidal. Fragments sharp-edged j trans¬
parent or semitransparent, sometimes only translucent.
Scratches all other earthy substances. Brittle. Spec,
grav. 3.991 to 4.283.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe. Melts
with borax without intumescence. The blue variety,
exposed to a strong heat, loses its colour, Haiiy.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth. Bergman.
Alumina, 98.5 58.
Silica, 35.
Lime, 00*5 5*
Oxide of iron. 1. 2.
100 100
Sapphire.
Alumina, 92
Silica, 5.25
Oxide of iron, 1
Loss, 1.75
Oriental Ruby.
90
7
1.2
i.8
100 100
Localities, &c.—The finest sapphires are brought
from Pegu and the island of Ceylon. The sapphire is
also found in Bohemia, accompanied with zircon, Bo¬
hemian garnet, and magnetic iron; and in the river
Expailly in France.
Uses.—The sapphire, next to the diamond, is the
most highly valued of precious stones.
14. Species. Corundum.
Corindon, Ha'uy, iii. 1. Adamantine Spar, Kirw. i. 335.
Le Spath Adamantin, Broch. i. 356.
Essen. Char.—Scratches quartz ; divisible into a
rhomboid somewhat acute.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, disse¬
minated, and crystallized ; 1. In six-sided prisms, ha¬
ving the extremities broken, and the faces sometimes
unequal. 2. A six-sided prism, terminated by a six-
sided pyramid. 3. A pyramid with six short faces,
whose summit is strongly truncated •, and, 4. The pre¬
ceding crystal terminated by a three-sided pyramid.
From the investigations of Count de Bournon and Mr
Greville, it appears that the crystallization of corundum
is similar to that of the sapphire*. Lustre, which is
intermediate between resinous and vitreous, shining or
weakly shining •, cross fracture uneven, or splintery,
sometimes foliated j fragments rhomboidal, sometimes
sharp-edged.
The colour is greenish white, greenish gray, and aspa¬
ragus green, translucent at the edges ; refraction double.
Extremely hard. Spec. grav. 3.710 to 3.873*
Chem. Char.—Entirely infusible before the blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
From China. From Bengal.
Silica, 6.5 5.50
Alumina, 84. 89.50
Oxide of iron, 7*5 I,25
Loss, 2. 3.75
Siliceous
genus.
100 100
According to Chenevix.
From the Carnatic.
Silica, 5
Alumina, 91
Oxide of iron, 1.5
Loss, 2.5
From Malabar.
7
86.5
4
2*5
100
100
Localities.—Corundum is found in a hard rock near
the river Cavery, south of Madras; on the Malabar
coast j in the island of Ceylon ; in the kingdom of Ava;
and in China.
15. Species. Adamantine Spar.
Exter. Char.—This mineral, which ought undoubt¬
edly to be considered as a variety of corundum, is found
massive, in rolled pieces, and crystallized in six-sided
prisms, and six-sided acute pyramids with truncated ex¬
tremities. Internal lustre splendent j fracture foliated j
fragments rhomboidal.
Colour dark hair brown j very hard. Spec. grav.
3.98!.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth. -
From China.
Silica, 6.5
Alumina, 84.
Oxide of iron, 7*5
Loss, 2.
ICO
Localities.—This mineral has been only met with irf
China.
16. Species. Emery.
Per Oxyde Quartzifere, Hauy, iv. 112. Emery, Kirw.
ii. 193. L'Emeril, Broch. ii. 292.
Essen. Char.—The powder scratches all bodies ex¬
cept the diamond.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive and dis¬
seminated. The lustre is glimmering or weak shining,-
and adamantine. Fracture fine-grained, uneven 5 frag-,
ments a little blunt-edged.
Colour grayish black, bluish, smoke or steel gray y
generally opaque, but sometimes translucent at the
edges : extremely hard. Spec. grav. about 4.
Chem. Char.—Becomes black under the blow-pipe,
but is infusible. Colours borax of a dirty yellow.
Constituent
M I N E R A L O G “Y.
topaz heated in a crucible assumes a rose ted colour,
Constituent Parts.
Alumina,
Silica,
Oxide of iron,
Loss,
* Thu.
Trans.
1802.
p. 400.
IOO
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in Saxony,
disseminated in a bed of indurated steatites, mixed with
common talc $ also in the island of Naxos in the Ar¬
chipelago ; and in Italy, Spain, and Peru.
Uses.—Emery, as well as the two former species, is
employed, when reduced to powder, in cutting and po¬
lishing hard stones, glass, and metals.
Not only the external characters, hut also the near
approach in the proportion of their constituent parts, of
the three species last described, would lead to consider
them as the same species, or at least as varieties. Emery
is by some mineralogists arranged among the ores of
iron.
17. Species. Topaz.
Occidental Topa%, Kirw. i. 254. La Topceze, Broch.
i. 212. Topaze, Hauy, ii. 504.
when it is called by the jewellers ruhy of Brazil. The
Saxon topaz becomes white when exposed to heat j and *■
thus deprived of colour, is sold for the diamond. Ac¬
cording to Vauquelin, all the varieties of topaz reduced
to powder, and added to syrup of violets, at the end of
two or three hours communicate a green colour.
Constituent Parts.
According to Klaproth and Vauquelin.
Alumina, 47 to 50
Silica, 28 to 30
Fluoric acid, 17 to 20
Iron, o to 4
Localities, &c.—The topaz is found in different parts
of Saxony, particularly in the mountain Schneecken-
•stein, which is denominated topaz rock, and is arranged
with the primitive mountains. In this rock the topaz,
is mixed with quartz, schorl, mica, and lithomarga.
Near Zinnwald it is found in granite. It is also found
mixed with ores of tin. In Siberia tlfe topaz is found
in graphic granite, accompanied with beryl, quartz,
and garnet. Topaz is also met with in Brazil and Asia
Minor.
Uses.—The topaz is employed for the purposes of
jewellery as a precious stone, but it is not considered of
very great value.
Part
Classify
tioa.
Essen. C/mr.—-Refraction double*; joints very dis¬
tinct ; perpendicular only to the axis of the crystals.
Enter.Char.—The topaz is sometimes found massive,
sometimes disseminated, and sometimes in rounded frag¬
ments ; but it is most commonly crystallized. The
primitive form of its crystals is a right-angled prism,
whose bases are rhombs, and having the large angle
1240 22'; the integrant molecule is the same. The
•most common forms of the topaz are,
1. A prism with eight sides, terminated at the one
end by a four-sided summit, and at the other (which
but rarely happens), by one of a different form. In a
-variety of the Brazilian topaz, the one summit presents
six sides, and the other ten ; and the electricity exhi¬
bited by the latter by means of heat, is negative, while
that of the former is positive. This difference in the
two opposite summits of a crystal, as has been observed
hy Hauy, is a peculiarity in all crystals which acquire
by means of heat two kinds of electricity.
2. The next common form of the topaz is an eight¬
sided prism, whose base is horizontal, and bordered
with a roiv cf six oblique faces. This variety, which
is found in the mines of Saxony, becomes readily elec¬
tric by friction, but not by heat.
The prevailing colour of the topaz is yellow of va¬
rious shades. The crystals are of middling size ; their
lateral faces are sometimes convex and cylindrical ; the
surface of the same face is longitudinally striated, while
that of the other faces is smooth. Lustre vitreous;
cross fracture perfectly foliated; longitudinal fracture
conchoidal; fragments indeterminate ; transparent;
sometimes semitransparent or translucent; refraction
double; scratches rock-crystal. Spec. grav. 3.464 to
,3-5$4.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, hut
melts with borax without intumescence. The Brazilian
3
18. Species. Pyrophysalite.
This mineral which was described and analysed by
Hisenger and Berzelius, is of a greenish white colour.
When thrown on hot coals it becomes phosphorescent,
and gives out a greenish flame. When it is strongly
heated by the action of the blow-pipe, the surface Js
covered with Small vesicles which explode. These phe¬
nomena are ascribed to the fluate of lime which forms
one of its constituent parts, and which sometimes ap¬
pears surrounding it with a crust.
Localities, &c.—Gahn found this stone at Finbo near
Fahlun in Sweden, in nodules imbedded in a granite,
composed of white quartz, feldspar, and silvery mica.
The nodules are separated from the rock by a greenish
yellow talc f. f Brongni ,
art, ii. 401
19. Species. EucLASE.
Id. Hauy, ii. 531. Id. Brochant, ii. 508.
Essen. Char.—Divisible by two longitudinal lines
perpendicular to each other.
Enter. Char.—This mineral has only been found cry¬
stallized. The primitive form of the crystals is a rect¬
angular prism with square bases, and that of the inte¬
grant molecule is the same. The most common form
under which it appears is an oblique four-sided prism,
with the edges truncated in various ways. The cry¬
stals are streaked longitudinally. The lustre is resplen¬
dent and vitreous. Longitudinal fracture foliated; cross
fracture conchoidal.
Colour, bright sea green. Transparent, and refracts
double. Scratches quartz. Very frangible ; hence it$
name signifying easily broken. Spec. grav. 3.062.
Chem. Char.—Loses its transparency before the
blow-pipe, and melts into a white enamel.
Constituent
iiissifica-
:ion.
MINERALOGY.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
21. Species. Beryl.
Silica, 35 to 36
Alumina, 18 19
Glucina, 14 1 r
Iron, 2 3
Loss, 31 27
IOO 100
Localities.—This mineral was brought from Peru,
and has never been found any where else. It was in
single crystals, so that its repository is unknown. It is
by some mineralogists arranged among the ores of iron.
20. Species. Emerald.
Id. Kirw. i. 247. L'Emeraudej Brochant, i. 217.
Emeraude, Hauy. ii. 516.
Essen. Cha?'.—Scratches glass easily 5 divisible, paral¬
lel to the faces, and to the bases of a regular hexahe-
dral prism.
Exter. Char.—The emerald is only found crystal¬
lized, and the primitive form of its crystals is a regular
six-sided prism} the integrant molecule is a triangular
prism, the sides square, and the bases equilateral tri¬
angles. The usual forms are, 1. A perfect six-sided
prism ; 2. Truncated on its lateral edges j 3. Trun¬
cated on its terminal edges 5 4. Truncated on its ter¬
minal angles; and, 5. Having the terminal edges be¬
velled. The crystals are seldom large. Their surface
is smooth and shining ; internal lustre shining and re¬
splendent; vitreous j fracture conchoidal or unequal,
sometimes transversely foliated ; fragments indetermi¬
nate, sharp edged.
Colour emerald green of all shades; most commonly
transparent, sometimes only translucent: refraction dou¬
ble ; with difficulty scratches quartz. Spec. grav. 2.600
to 2.775.
Chon. Char.—lusible before the b]ov/-pipe, but with
difficulty ; melts readily with borax.
Constituent Parts.
Vauquelm.
Silica, 64.50
Alumina, 16.
G1 ucina, 13.
Oxide of chromium, 3.25
Lime, I.60
Oxide of iron,
Water, 2.
Klaproth.
68.50
1 2.50
.30
.25
I.
IOO.35 98.3
Localities, &e.—Thefinest emeralds are brought from
Peru, where they are found in veins or cavities of the
granite mountains. They are also found in Upper
Egypt, Ethiopia, and in the island of Ceylon. The
emerald is accompanied by calcareous substances, as
carbonate of lime and gypsum.
Uses.—The rich green of the emerald has obtained
for it a high rank among precious stones, and it is em¬
ployed for similar purposes.
Aqita Marina et Samaragdus, Beryllus, Wallerius, i.
254. Aigue Marine de Siberie, Rome de Lisle,’ ii.
252. Id. De Born, i. 71. Bet'yl, Kirw. i. 248.
Le Beril Noble, Brochant, i. 220. Etneraude Lim-
pide, vert-bleuatre,jaune-verdatre, 8tc. Hauy, ii. 521.
Essen. Char.—The same as the emerald.
Exter. Char.— The beryl is sometimes found in round¬
ed fragments, but most commonly crystallized, and the
forms of its crystal are the same'as the emerald. The
lateral faces of the crystals are deeply striated.
The colours of the beryl are usually a pale or yel¬
lowish green ; external lustre shining; internal resplen¬
dent, vitreous; longitudinal fracture conchoidal, or fo¬
liated. Cleavage fourfold. Fragments indeterminate
and sharp-edged; often transparent, sometimes semi¬
transparent, and translucent. The latter variety is di¬
stinguished by transverse rents. Refraction in a slight,
degree double ; nearly as hard as topaz ; brittle ; spec,
grav. 2.65 to 2.75- Becomes electric by friction.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is fusible, but
with difficulty, and yields a white, scarcely translucent
glass.
Constituent Parts.
Vauquelin.
Silica, 68
Alumina, 15
Glucina, 14
Lime, 2
Oxide of iron, 1
100
Localities, Sac.—The beryl is brought from the East
Indies, and from Brazil; but the finest and purest are
found in Daouria, on the frontiers of China, in the
neighbourhood of Nertschink ; and the matrix of these
beryls is said to be an indurated clay, resembling jas¬
per. 1 he beryl is also found in Siberia, where it is
usually accompanied with quartz, feldspar, garnets, tour¬
maline, mica, and fluor spar, in the veins of primitive
mountains. The beryls from Siberia are almost all
found in graphic granite. Beryl is also found in Saxony,
and lately in France, in a large vein of quartz traversing
graphic granite. Dolomieu found the beryl perfectly
transparent and colourless, in the granite of the island
of Elba.
Uses.—The beryl is employed as a precious stone, but
is not greatly esteemed.
Remarks.—The emerald and the precious beryl ap¬
proach so nearly to each other, not only in the forms
of their crystals, which are almost the same, and in
their constituent parts, which afford but slight varia¬
tions, but also in their other charactei-s, that they ought
to be considered, as has been done by Hauy, as varieties
of the same species. The only differences which exist
between them seem.to be accidental. These are chiefly
in the colour, and in the crystallization ; the former of
which is a finer green, and the latter is more perfect in
the emerald than in the beryl. The colouring matter of
the emerald is oxide of chromium, while that of the be*
rvf
Hose.
69
H
98
159
Siliceous
genus.
MINER
r;l is oxide of iron. In all the other characters they
are nearly the same.
22. Species. Schorlite, or Schorhus BeyrL
Schorlite, Kitw. i. 286. Le Beril Schorliformc, Bro-
chant i. 224. Leucolite and Pycmte, Hauy, 111.
236.
Essen. C/ia?-.—Infusible. Original form of the crys¬
tals a regular hexahedral prism.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is usually found crys¬
tallized, in longish masses, mixed with other substances,
and generally imbedded in granite j the form ot the
crystals, when they are regular, is a six-sided prism,
which is sometimes truncated on its terminal edges, and
sometimes the form disappears from its being deeply
and longitudinally striated. The crystals are generally
large. .
Colour white, straw yellow, or reddish. Translucent
or nearly opaque. External lustre shining between vi¬
treous and resinous. Cross facture imperfectly foliated,
longitudinal, imperfectly conchoidal. Scratches quartz
slightly. Brittle. Spec. grav. 3.514 to 3.530.
'Chem. Char.—Infusible with the blow-pipe; with
borax yields a transparent glass.
A L O G Y. Part ]
the integrant molecule is a tetrahedron. Its usual forms Classifies
are, x. A three-sided prism, with the lateral edges don.
either truncated or bevelled j 2. The same prism having
a three-sided -obtuse summit, the sides coi responding to
the lateral edges. The truncations and bevelments of
the lateral edges vary in the size of the faces, thus pi0-
ducing prisms ot six and nine sides. The lateral faces
of the three-sided prism are often convex. The lateral
surfaces are longitudinally and deeply striated. The
lustre, both external and internal, which is vitreous,
varies between shining and weakly shining. Ihe frac¬
ture is imperfectly conchoidal or uneven cioss frac¬
ture is sometimes convex on the one side, and concave
on the other. When black schorl is massive, it is tound
in separate pieces, thin, and apparently fibrous, paiallel,
or interwoven and. divergent. T-be faces of these se¬
parate pieces are striated lengthwise. I he iiagments
are .indeterminate.
Colour velvet black of various shades. Commonly
opaque, rarely translucent, except in small crystals.
Streak gray. Inferior to quartz in hardness. Specific
gravity 3.092 to 3.212.
Chan. Char.—Under the blow pipe it froths up, and
melts into a grayish white enamel.
t ..Constituent Parts. Wiegleb.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth.
Silica, 5°
Alumina, 5°
Jjime, —
Water, .
Fluoric acid, —
Foss, ”“
100
Localities, &c.—This mineral is generally found im¬
bedded in granite j sometimes it is met with in gneis,
accompanied with lepidolite. It enters . into the com¬
position of a rock formed of quartz and gray mica at
Altenberg in Saxony. A. red variety of this mineral
was formerly considered hy mineralogists as a crystal¬
lized lepidolite. Sdiorioirs beryl has been arranged as a
subspecies of beryl 5 but its specific gravity, different
degree of hardness, and especially its composition, are
characters sufficiently distinct to constitute a separate
species.
23. Species. Schorl.
-■ This species is divided into two subspecies 5 I. Black
or common schorl, and 2. ’lourmaline.
Subspecies 1. Black Schorl.
Schorl,YCivvi. i. 265. Le Schorl Noir, Brochant, i. 226.
, Tourmaline, Hauy, iii. 31.
Esse7i. Char.—Electric by heat in the two opposite
extremities; forms of the crystals derived from a
rhomboid. . , . . , . ,
Exter. Char.—This, mineral is found m masses, and
disseminated, but most frequently crystallized. The
primitive form of its crystals is an obtuse rhomboid 5
YTauquelin.
36.8
52.6
3-3
51
Vauquclin,
another analysis.
3°
60
2
1
, 6
1
ICO
loo
Alumina, 40,^3
Silica, SS’SS
Iron, 20.41
‘Manganese, 3:33
Physical f A«r.—Blaek schorl becomes electric by
heat; and the electricity of one extremity of the crystal
is positive, while that of the other is negative 5 but
when it cools, it is said, that the nature of the electri¬
city is reversed ; the positive extremity becomes nega¬
tive, and the negative becomes positive.
Localities, &.c.—Black schorl is usually found in gra¬
nite, gneis, and the other primitive rocks j in veins of tin
and ores of iron •, in the topaz rock of Schneeckenstein
in Saxony, of which it constitutes a part. It is also met
with in Switzerland, Spain, Hungary, and Britain.
Subspecies 2. Tourmaline.
Id. Ivvrw. i. 271. Le Schorl Electrique, Brochant, i.
229. Tourmaline Verity Hauy, iii. 41.
Essen. Char.—The same as black schorl.
Exter. Char.—The tourmaline is found sometimes in
masses and grains, but most commonly crystallized.
The form of its crystals is a regular three-sided prism,
with the edges, 1. Either truncated or bevelled. 2. A
regular three-sided prism with the lateral faces convex,
and terminating in an obtuse, three-sided prism, the
sides of which correspond to the lateral faces at one
extremity, and to the lateral edges at the other. 3. An
obtuse, double, three-sided pyramid, the faces of the
one corresponding to the edges of the other. 4. A
six-sided prism with equal angles. 5. A six-sided
prism, the sides meeting two and two alternately under
three obtuse angles. 6. A nine-sided prism, having
three lateral angles acute, and six obtuse alternately.
7. The same crystal having the three acute lateral
edges truncated, and thus forming a twelve-sided prism.
The surface of the crystals is sometimes smooth, hut
most
irt I.
MINE R
issifica-
tioa.
most frequently striated longitudinally. Lustre shining
and vitreous. Longitudinal fracture conchoidal j cross
fracture foliated. The direction of the plates is inclin¬
ed to the axis of the prism. Fragments indeterminate ;
the crystals are usually opaque, ivhen seen laterally.
The-colour of the tourmaline is greenish, of various
shades, yellowish brown, and very rarely indigo blue.
The colours are usually very deep, and at first sight ap¬
pear black. It is usually translucent, and sometimes
approaching to transparent, particularly when it is seen
in a direction perpendicular to the axis of the prism j
but it appears opaque when it is seen in a direction per¬
pendicular to the basis of the prism, even when the
height of the prism is less than its thickness. It is
harder than quartz. Brittle. Spec. grav. 3.086 to
S-363-
Chem. Char.—With the blow-pipe the tourmaline
melts into a grayish white, porous enamel.
Constituent Parts.
Bergman.
Silica, 37
Alumina, 39
Lime, 15
Oxide of iron, 9
manganese,
100
Vauquelin.
40.
39-
3-84
12.50
2.
97-34
Bergman’s analysis is of the tourmaline of Ceylon,
Vauquelin’s is that of the green tourmaline of Brazil.
Physical Char.—The property of the tourmaline, of
becoming electric by heat, has been already noticed as
one of its distinctive characters. This physical proper¬
ty has occupied the attention of philosophers for a long
time. It was observed by Lemery in 1719, and exa¬
mined by Epinus in 1770. Pliny indeed mentions a
reddish or purple-coloured stone, which being heated or
rubbed, attracts light bodies. This is supposed to have
been the tourmaline. This property is susceptible of
various modifications. The electx-icity of the tourma¬
line may be conveniently exhibited by heating two
crystals, suspending the one by a thread, and present¬
ing successively to its extremities the extremities of the
other crystal. The extremities winch possess the same
kind of electricity will be repelled, while those which
possess a different kind will be attracted. If a crystal
of tourmaline be broken while it is electrified, the frag¬
ments immediately present electrical poles, situated in
the same direction as those of the entire crystal.
The extremity of the crystals of tourmaline which has
the greatest number of faces, exhibits positive electrici¬
ty, while the extremity having the smaller number of
faces exhibits negative electricity. The proper degree
of heat for exciting the electricity of tourmaline is from
iooc to the boiling point of Fahrenheit. When heat¬
ed beyond this point, it is deprived of its electricity,
and recovers it only in cooling; but if the temperature
be increased still more, the crystal becomes again elec¬
tric, but the poles are reversed. The electric poles
may be also reversed, by heating a crystal of tourma¬
line unequally, by means of a burning glass.
Localities, &c.—The tourmaline is found in almost
all primitive mountains 5 the finest crystals are brought
from Ceylon, Madagascar, Saxony, the Tyrol, Spain,
Yol, XIV. Part I. t
A L O G Y. 161
and Brazil. The tourmaline of the Tyrol is found iti Siliceous
a talcky rock, mixed with chlorite, mica, and horn- geuus.
blende. Those of Saxony and Spain are found imbed- '“"’“"v J
ed in gneis, but those of Brazil and Ceylon are in se¬
parate crystals. In Bohemia they are found in mines.
The tourmaline is also a native of France, Sweden,
Norway, and Britain.
24. Species. PlSTAZITE.
Glassy actynolite, Kirwan, i. 168. Delphinite, Saussure
Voyages, N° 1918. Acanticotie, Arendalite, D’An-
drada, Nich. Jour. qto. v. 193. La Rayonnante Vi~
treuse, Brochant, i. 310. Epidote, Hauy, iii. 10 2.
Essen. Char.—Divisible parallel to the faces of a
rhomboidal prism of 114^°, and 65 Jr0.
Exter. Char.—Pistazite is found massive or crystal¬
lized in flattened four-sided prisms, terminated by four¬
sided pyramids, and also sometimes in regular six-sided
prisms 5 the summit of the pyramid almost always trun¬
cated, as well as the lateral edges. The crystals are
sometimes acicular and streaked longitudinally. Inter¬
nal lustre shining. Fracture foliated or radiated. Frag¬
ments wedge-shaped and splintery.
Colour deep green, olive green, or greenish yellow.
Translucent, sometimes transparent. Hard, eas ily
scratches glass, and is brittle. Spec. grav. 3.45.
Powder greenish yellow or whitish.
Chcm Char.—Fusible by the blow-pipe, and is con¬
verted into a brown slag, which blackens by continuing
the heat.
Constituent Parts.
Silica,
Alumina,
Lime,
Oxide of iron,
■ ■ ' manganese,
Loss,
Vauquelin.
37
21
15
24
i-5
100.0
100.0
Localities, &c.—Pistazite is found in Dauphiny, on
the surface and in the fissures of an argillaceous rock,
accompanied by quartz, amianthus, and feldspar, and
in the Pyrenees in limestone ; near Arendal in Nor¬
way } and in argillaceous schistus, north end of the
island of Arran in Scotland.
25. Species. Zoysite.
This mineral, which was discovered by Baron de
Zoys, and therefore bears his name, is considered by
Hauy as a variety of Epidote,
It appears in prisms which are deeply furrowed or
rhomboidal, and very much flattened. They are of a
gray colour, or grayish yellow, with a pearly lustre.
Localities.—Zoysite is found particularly in Carin-
thia, and also in the Tyrol and in the Valais*. * Brongni*
art, ii. 400.
26. Species. Axinite, or Thumerstone.
Id. Kirw. i. 273. La Pierre de Thmn, Brochant, i.
236. Axinite, Hauy, iii. 22.
Essen. Char.—Divisible parallel to the faces of a
rhomboidal prism of I0i4°, and 78jp.
X Exter.
MINERALOGY.
Rtrl I
Kxtcr. Char.—Thumerstone found in masses, dis¬
seminated ami crystallized. The primitive form of its
crystals is a right-angled prism, whose bases are ob¬
lique-angled parallelograms, having their angles of loi°
32^ and 78° 28'. The integrant molecule is an ob¬
lique triangular prism. The most common form of its
crystals is a quadrangular prism, so oblique and flatten¬
ed, that its angles become as sharp as the cutting part
of a hatchet. The faces of the crystals are longitudi¬
nally striated, but the truncated faces are smooth. Ex¬
ternally lustre splendent \ internal shining and vitre¬
ous. Fracture vitreous, sometimes rough and splintery.
Fragments indeterminate, sharp edged. Massive tlm-
merstone is composed of separate testaceous, thin, and
slightly curved concretions, with a smooth surface,
which is somewhat irregularly striated.
The colour is clove brown, varying to violet blue,
yellowish, and greenish gray. Massive thumerstone is
only translucent. The crystals are semitransparent,
and sometimes transparent. It is harder than feldspar,
but less so than quartz j gives fire with steel, and dif¬
fuses an odour similar to what is produced by flint.
Brittle. Spec. grav. 3.213 to 3.30c.
Chem. Char.—Thumerstone froths up under the blow¬
pipe, and is converted into a grayish enamel, and with
borax into a fine olive green enamel.
Constituent Farts.
Klaproth. Vauquelin.
Silica, 52-7° 44
Alumina, 25*79 ^
Lime, 9.39 19
Oxide of iron, 8^3
  manganese, I. 4
Loss, 2.49 t
100.00 10a
Localities, Stc.—Thumerstone, which is hitherto a
rare mineral, has been only found in veins and fissures
of primitive rocks, and chiefly in rocks with a base of
serpentine. It is usually accompanied with asbestus,
rock crystal, and sometimes calcareous spar. It was
first discovered at Thum in Saxony, from which it de¬
rives its name j but has been since found in the Pyre¬
nees, in France, at Mount Atlas in Africa, in Nor¬
way, and in Cornwall in Britain.
27. Species. Quartz.
Essen. Char.—Divisible into a rhomboid, which is
slightly obtuse.
Quartz, which is found, either massive, crystallized,
or in rounded pieces, is one of the most abundant mi¬
neral substances. The primitive form of its crystals
is a slightly obtuse rhomboid, of 940 4', and 85° 56'.
The integrant molecule is a regular tetrahedron.
On account of the variety of forms and appearances,
quartz has been divided into subspecies j into five by
Werner *, by others only into two, viz. rock-crystal
and common quartz. We shall nearly follow the for¬
mer subdivisions, which are, amethyst, rock-crystal,
milk-quartz, common quartz, and prase, including al¬
so ferruginous quartz.
Subspecies 1. Amethyst,
Jd. Kirw. i. 264. VAmethyste, Quartz-hyalm
Violet, Hauy, ii. 417.
Exter. Char.—The amethyst is found frequently cry- classifies,
stallized, but it is also found massive and in rounded tion.
pieces. 1. The form of its crystals is a regular six-sided —■'
prism, terminated by a six-sided pyramid, the sides of
which correspond to those of the prism. 2. A double
six-sided pyramid. Fracture conchoidal, rarely splin¬
tery or fibrous. Fragments indeterminate, sometimes
wedge-shaped. Massive amethyst is composed of sepa¬
rate pieces, which are sometimes granulated, sometimes
scopiform when the crystals are combined together.
The colour is commonly violet blue of various shades,
blackish brown and greenish white. External lustre
resplendent j internal resplendent and shining vitreous.
It varies between transparent and translucent. Scratches
glass. Brittle. Spec. grav. 2.653 to 2.750.
Chem. Char.—Entirely infusible under the action of
the blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts. Rose.
Silica, 97.50
Alumina, .25
Oxide of iron and manganese, .50
98.25
Localities, &c.—Amethyst is found in Bohemia,
Saxony, Siberia, very abundant in the Uralian moun¬
tains, Hungary, and Auvergne in France. It is usual¬
ly met with in the veins of metalliferous mountains^
very rarely in granitic mountains. It is frequently met
with crystallized, lining the cavities of balls of agate 5
in amygdaloid and porphyry rocks.
Uses.—When the amethyst is cut and polished, it
assumes an agreeable colour and lustre, so that it is
employed in jewellery.
Werner has divided the amethyst into two varieties,
the common and fibrous j the latter being chiefly cha¬
racterized by its fibrous fracture and resinous lustre.
This latter variety too, is only found massive.
Subspecies 2. Rock Crystal.
Mountain Crystal, Kirw. i. 241. Le Cristal ele roche,
Brochant. i. 243. QuarlK-hyalin Limpidc, Hauy,
ii. 417.
Exter. Char.—Rock crystal is usually found crystal¬
lized, sometimes in rounded pieces, but rarely massive.
The form of its crystals is, 1. A six-sided prism, having
one of its bases or both surmounted by a sharp pointed
pyramid j the sides of the pyramid and prism corres¬
ponding. This is its most usual form j but it exhibits
many apparent varieties, arising from modifications in
the magnitude of one or several of the faces at the ex¬
pence of the others, 2. A double six-sided pyramid,
which is sometimes perfect, and sometimes truncated
on the edges of the common base ; and sometimes too,
three alternating faces on each pyramid are larger than
the others, giving to the crystal the appearance of a
cube. 3. A simple, very acute pyramid with six sides,
having its summit, and often also its base, acuminated
with six faces: but this is rather an irregularity in the
crystallization than a new form.
The crystals of this mineral are sometimes very large,
and they are also found very small. In the rounded
pieces the external surface is rough, but in the perfect
crystals
It I.
MINER
crystals the faces of the prism are striated transversely j
but those of the pyramids and acuminations are smooth.
The lustre is resplendent and vitreous ; fracture perfect¬
ly conchoidal, sometimes, however, foliated ; fragments
indeterminate, very sharp edged.
Colours of rock-crystals are grayish white, yellowish
white, pearl gray, yellowish and blackish brown. In¬
ternally it is sometimes iridescent. It is transparent,
sometimes semitransparent. By looking across one of
the faces of the pyramid, and the opposite face of the
prism, double refraction is produced. Scratches glass,
and gives sparks with steel. Somewhat frangible j
spec. grav. 2.650 to 2.888.
Chem. Char.—Entirely infusible before the blow-
pipe.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Silica,
Alumina,
Lime,
93
6
100
Physical Char.—It is sometimes phosphorescent j two
crystals, by being rubbed together, exhibit a little light
in the dark, and give out a peculiar odour, which is
somew'hat empyreumatic.
Localities, &e.—Rock-crystal is most commonlyfound
in veins of primitive rocks, and particularly in granite }
in druses lining the cavities of these rocks. The finest
crystals are now brought from Madagascar, but it is a
very frequent mineral in most countries, as in the
mountains of Switzerland, where it was formerly dug
out of the faces of lofty precipices by the inhabitants.
It is also found in Bohemia, Saxony, Hungary, and in
Cornwall in England, and different parts of Scotland,
as in the island of Arran, in the cavities of the granite
mountains, and in Cairngorm in Aberdeenshire, the
two latter, which are well known by the name of Ar¬
ran stones and Cairngorms, are usually of a smoky co¬
lour, owing, it is supposed, to iron or manganese j pro¬
bably to the latter, for from some experiments which
we have made, the colour entirely disappears by expo¬
sing the crystal to a strong heat, and from other obser¬
vations it appears that the colouring matter is also de¬
stroyed by the action of light.
Rock crystal sometimes contains schorl, amianthus,
actynolite, mica, and titanium. Crystals are also some¬
times met with in cavities containing a drop of water,
and a small quantity of air.
Uses.—Rock crystal, on account of its lustre and
transparency, is employed in jewellery, and particularly
when it is coloured, as those from Cairngorm in the
north of Scotland, many of which are held in high esti¬
mation.
Subspecies 3. Rosy Red or Milky Quartz.
Piosy Red Quartz,, Kirw. i. 245. Quartz, laiteux, Bro-
chant, i. 246. Quartz-hyalin laiteux, Hauy, ii. 420.
Exter. Char—This mineral in always found massive.
It is indeed said by Emmerling, that it has been found
crystallized, in small six-sided prisms, terminated by a
six-sided pyramid, at Rabenstein in Bavaria. Internally,
its lustre is shining, rarely resplendent j resinous 5 frac-
A L O G Y. 163
ture perfectly conchoidal, and fragments indeterminate. Siliceous
It varies between semitransparent and translucent. genus.
The colour is sometimes milk white ) but its principal'
colour, it is said, is pale rose red. In its other charac¬
ters it agrees with rock crystal.
It is suspected that this mineral is composed of silica
and oxide of manganese, to the latter of which the co-
lottr is owing.
Localities, &c.—Milk quartz forms beds in primitive'
mountains j at Rabenstein in Bavaria it is met with in
a large grained granite. It is also found in Finland,
Greenland, Saxony, Siberia, and the western part of
In verness-shire in Scotland.
Uses.—The semitransparence, the fine colour, and the
polish of which it is susceptible, have introduced this
mineral to be employed in jewellery.
Subspecies 4. Common Quartz.
Quartz, Kirw. i. 242. Le Quartz conunune, Brochant,
i. 248. Quartz hyalin amorphe,PLz\\y, ii. 425.
Exter. Char.—Common quartz is found in various
forms, massive, disseminated, in grains, and rounded
pieces. It is sometimes stalactitical, globular, kidney-
form, tuberculated, cellular, perforated, and corroded j
sometimes also it is crystallized, and the crystals are
either true or supposititious. The true crystals are
grouped together in reniform, rounded, or radiated
masses; the form is the same as that of rock crystal.
The pseudo crystals derive their figure from the substan¬
ces on which they are formed, as the cube from fluor
spar, the octahedron from the same, the six-sided table
from barytes, the acute six-sided pyramid from calca¬
reous spar. The surface of the true crystals is similar
to that of rock crystal, but that of the pseudo Crystals
is rough, and the lustre is dull. Fracture of common
quartz is small, conchoidal j sometimes large, splintery,
and sometimes imperfectly foliated, or fibrous, with
large parallel fibres. Fragments indeterminate, with
sharp edges, very rarely rhomboidal. It is commonly
translucent, rarely semitransparent. The colour is milk
■white, snow white, reddish white, and blood and flesh
fed, with many shades of these colours. Scratches
glass. Spec. grav. 2.C40 to 2.654.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow pipe. Silica
forms the principal constituent part •, but among the
numerous varieties of common quartz, there are no
doubt slight diflerences in the nature and quantity of
the materials which enter into its composition. The
different shades of colour are owing to different portions
and difl’erent states of metallic substances.
Localities, &c.—.Common quartz is one of the sub¬
stances of most frequent occurrence in all kinds of rocks,
forming one of the chief component parts of primitive
mountains, sometimes in entire beds, or whole moun¬
tains, as in the islands of Isla and Jura in Scotland. It
is also frequent in veins, very common in stratiform
rocks, where it constitutes the base of sandstone: in
alluvial rocks it is met with in rounded pieces, or in the
form of sand.
Fk.s.-—Common quartz is employed in the manufac¬
ture of glass instead of sand ; in the fabrication of smalt,
and as a flux for calcareous ores of iron.
A variety of this, called aventurine, is sometimes held
in considerable estimation. It is the quartz hyalin
X 2 aventurine
MINE R A L O G Y.
aventurln^ of Hauy, and the natural avcnturine of
De Lisle. It is of a deep red, gray, green, or blackish
colour, marked with spots sometimes of a yellowish,
and sometimes of a silvery appearance, which proceed
from very thin pieces of pure quartz disseminated in the
mass. It ought not to be confounded with quartz mix¬
ed with mica, or micaceous quartz, which is a com¬
pound rock. On the contrary, the diversity of colours
seems to be owing to numerous fissures which are arran¬
ged nearly in the same direction.
Aventurine is found near Vasles, in the department
of Deux Sevres in France, in the form of rounded stones,
which are reddish j at Cape de Gates in Spain, of a
whitish colour, with silvery spots •, in Arragon, which
affords several varieties ; near Madrid, among rounded
fragments of granite', at Facebay in Transylvania, where
it is of a black colour, with very small golden spots j
and in the neighbourhood of Catharineburg in Siberia.
The name aventurine is derived from the following
circumstance. A workman having dropped by chance,
yjc/' aventure, some brass filings into a vitreous matter in
the state of fusion, gave the mixture this name, of which
was afterwards made vases and other ornamental objects.
Mineralogists gave the same name to natural substances
which have a striking resemblance to this artificial
production. Hauy, ii. 422.
Subspecies 5. Prase.
Prasium, Kirw. i. 249. La Prase, Brochant, i. 252.
Quartz Hyalin Vert obscure, ii. 419. Quartz Prase,
Brongniart, i. 280.
Exter. Char.—This mineral possesses all the charac¬
ters of quartz in general. It is most commonly found
massive, and very rarely crystallized. The crystals,
which are usually small, have the form of rock crystal.
The colour is usually leek green •, the external surface
is rough and glistening j the internal shining and vitreous •,
it is translucent ; the fracture imperfectly conchoidal,
and sometimes coarse splintery 5 fragments sharp-edged.
When it is massive, it is composed of distinct concre¬
tions, which are granulated prismatic, or cuneiform, the
surface of which is rough and transversely striated.
Localities, &c.—Prase is found at Brietenbrunn near
Schwartzenberg in Saxony, in a metallic vein, accom¬
panied with magnetic pyrites, galena, blende, calca¬
reous spar, and actynolite. It is also found in Bohemia,
in Finland, near lake Onega, and in Siberia.
Uses.—As it is susceptible of a fine polish, prase is
employed in jewellery.
Th is mineral ought not to be confounded with quartz
coloured by means of chlorite, which latter is of a
brighter green, but opaque.
Subspecies 6. Ferruginous Quartz, or Iron Flint,
Le Caillou Ferrugineux, Brocbant, i. 248. Quartz
Rubigineux, Brongniart, i. 281. Quartz Hyalin he-
matoide, Hauy, ii. 420. Eisenkiesel of the Germans.
Exter. Char.—The peculiar character of this mineral
seems to be owing to a large proportion of oxide of
iron, which renders it opaque. It is usually found
massive, but it sometimes also assumes a crystalline form,
which is a prism with six equal sides, acuminated at
each extremity with three planes. The colour is of a
Part i
yellowish brown, sometimes of a brownish red, and of classifies, I
a bright blood red. It is usually opaque, or only trans- tion.
parent at the edges. External lustre resplendent j inter- v""~
nal shining and vitreous. Fracture imperfectly conchoi¬
dal j fragments angular, but not very sharp-edged.
Concretions small grained and distinct. It is harder
than common jasper. Not very brittle.
Localities.—This mineral is found in veins of iron¬
stone in Saxonv, and in England, where it is accom¬
panied with sulphate of barytes.
Ferruginous quartz is distinguished from jasper, to
the red variety of which it has a striking resemblance,
by its shhung fracture, which is also vitreous and con¬
choidal 5 its property of crystallizing ’, and according
to Brongniart, by having no alumina in its composi¬
tion, which he properly considers as an essential charac¬
teristic.
28, Species. Hornstone.
Hornstone, Kirw. i. 303. La Pierre de Cornc, Bro¬
chant, i. 254. Petrosi/ex, Hauy, iv. 385.
This mineral is met with in masses and also in rounded
balls. The colour is usually gray it is translucent at
the edges, the fracture splintery or conchoidal ; it has
little lustre 5 is so hard as to scratch glass, and give fire
with steel; and its spec. grav. is from 2.699 2'70^*
The diversity of fracture which has been observed in
hornstone, has led to the subdivision of this species into
three subspecies, viz. splintery hornstone, conchoidal
homstone, and woodstone.
Subspecies 1. Splintery Hornstone.
Hornstone Ecailleux, Brochant, i. 255. Petrosilcx
Sqvainosus, Wallerius, i. 280.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, or in
rounded pieces. It has scarcely any lustre j the frac¬
ture is fine, splintery j fragments sharp-edged j trans¬
lucent at the edges. It is scarcely so hard as quartz}
it is brittle.
The colour is bluish gray, smoke and pearl gray,
sometimes greenish and yellowish gray, more rarely
olive and mountain green. Sometimes there is a mix¬
ture of these colours, arranged in spots and stripes.
Spec. grav. 2.654. Kirw.
Chem. Char.—According to some mineralogists, this
variety of hornstone is fusible before the blow-pipe, but
according to others it is infusible without the addition of
borax.
The following are the constituent parts of a horn
stone analyzed by Kirwan.
Silica, 72
Alumina, 22
Carbonate of Lime, 6
IOO
Localities, &c.—This variety of hornstone is chiefly
found in veins in primitive mountains. It is also found in
rounded pieces in alluvial rocks, and it constitutes the
chief basis of hornstone porphyry, as at Dannemora and
Garpenberg in Sweden. It is met with in veins at
Freyberg, Schneeberg, Johann-Georgenstadt, and Gers-
dorfin Saxony.
Subspecies
lit I. MINER
issifica- Subspeoies 2. CONCHOIDAL HoRNSTONE,
l1'"1' i Petrosilex Eqnabilis, Walkrius, i. 281. Le Hornstein
Cojichoide, Brochant, i. 258.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is always found massive,
and seems to approach in its characters very nearly to
the preceding variety or subspecies, excepting in the
fracture, which is perfectly conchoidal.
Localities, &c.—This subspecies is found in beds and
veins, when it is sometimes accompanied with agate.
It has been found accompanying gneis at Goldberg in
Saxony, and fine specimens of both subspecies are met
with in the island of Bona near Sky in Scotland, where
it seems to form a considerable vein, traversing a gneis
rock.
Subspecies 3. Woodstone, or Petrified Wood.
Wood stone, Kirw. i. 215. Le Holzstein, Brochant, i.
259. Quart* Agathe Hijloide, Hauy, ii. 439.
This subspecies possesses more distinctive characters
than the former j and as it seems to be wood, retaining
its original texture, converted into hornstone by some
petrifying process, it is usually found in insulated masses,
or in rounded pieces. It has the external appearance
of wood, for the surface is rough and uneven, or longi¬
tudinally striated $ internally it is glistening, but some¬
times dull, having a vitreous lustre. The fracture most
frequently exhibits the fibrous texture of the wood.
The cross fracture is sometimes splintery or imperfectly
conchoidal. The fragments are indeterminate, andslight-
ly sharp-edged. The most common colour is dark gray,
ash gray, grayish white, and sometimes cochineal and
blood red. Different colours appear in the same mine¬
ral, forming spots, clouds, or stripes. It is commonly,
translucent at the edges, sometimes entirely translucent,
and sometimes opaque. It is hard and brittle.
Localities.—Woodstone is met with in Bohemia,
Saxony, and Siberia, and on the banks of Loch Neagh
in the north of Ireland, particularly, as we have been
informed, near places where some of the rivers dis¬
charge their waters into the lake.
Uses.—This mineral is generally susceptible of a fine
polish, and is therefore employed in jewellery.
29. Species. Flinty Slate, or Siliceous Schistus.
This species is divided into two subspecies or varieties,
viz. common siliceous schistus, and Lydian stone.
Subspecies r. Common Siliceous Schistus.
Siliceous schistus, Kirw. i. 306. Schiste silicieux com-
mun, Brochant, i. 283.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found' in masses or
rounded pieces, and it is frequently transversed by veins
of quartz of a grayish white, or coloured red by means
of iron. This, it is said, is a distinguishing charac¬
teristic of siliceous schistus which it rarely wants (Bro¬
chant). Internally it is dull, very rarely a little glim¬
mering. The fracture in the small is compact, some¬
times splintery, and sometimes imperfectly conchoidal •,
but in the great or large masses it is slaty, a character
which almost always disappears in the small fragments.
The fragments are sharp edged. The colour is black¬
ish, greenish, or smoke gray. It is commonly opaque,
rarely translucent at the edges. It is hard and brittle.
A L O G Y.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe, gray siliceous
schistus becomes white and friable ; the black assumes
a darker colour, and is a little vitrified at the edges.
Constituent Parts. Wiegleb.
Silica,
Magnesia, 4.58
Lime, jo.
Iron, 3.54
Inflammable matters, 5*02
Loss, 1.86
100.00
Localities, &c.—Siliceous schistus is met with in Bo¬
hemia, Saxony, Switzerland, and Siberia ; at Leadhills
in Scotland, and also at Carlops near the termination of
the great coal field to the south of Edinburgh.
The geological position of this stone is not pre¬
cisely determined. In Scotland it is connected with
those rocks which come under the denomination of tran¬
sition rocks ; hut according to different descriptions it
seems to have been confounded with argillaceous schis¬
tus, with which indeed it possesses some common pro¬
perties ; and some mineralogists regard it as an argil¬
laceous schistus, having a larger proportion of siliceous
earth. In support of this opinion, siliceous schistus has
been found in situations where it is subordinate to ar¬
gillaceous schistus.
Subspecies 2. Lydian Stone.
Basanite, Kirw. i. 307. La Pierre de Lydie, Bro¬
chant, i. 286. Roche Corneenne, Hauy, iv. 434.
This stone, which is of a grayish, bluish, or velvet
black, is found in masses, and in rounded pieces of a
trapezoidal form, which are also traversed with veins of
whitish quartz. The external surface is smooth and
weakly shining j the internal is glimmering. The frac¬
ture is even, sometimes slightly conchoidal or uneven,
rarely splintery j in large masses it is slaty. The frag¬
ments are sharp-edged, and sometimes assume a cubical
form. It is commonly opaque, and rarely translucent
at the edges. It is scratched by quartz j brittle. Spec,
grav. 2.415 to 2.880.
Localities.—Lydian stone is found in similar places
with the former variety.
Uses.—This stone has been long known under the
name of touchstone, because it is employed to ascertain
the purity of gold. From this use it obtained the name
of £«ccr<eyej or the trier, and it was called Lydian stone,
because it was found in Lydia. When it is employed
as a touchstone, the gold to be tried is rubbed on its
polished surface j on the metallic trace which remains
nitric acid is poured, and the quantity of alloy is judged
of by the degree of change which takes place, this
being compared with traces made and treated in the
same Avay with needles differently alloyed and prepared
for the purpose. This test, it is to be observed^ is not
perfectly accurate, but is sufficiently so for those who
are much employed in the use of it. The property
which renders this mineral fit for the above purpose de¬
pends on its degree of hardness, while it presents at the
same time a smooth and even fracture without being per¬
fectly smooth. Other stones possessing similar proper¬
ties,
166
mineralogy.
Part i
Siliceous ties, sudi as several varieties of basalt, are convenient-
K'-nus. ]y employed for the same purpose.
30. Spceies, Flint.
Flint, Kirw. i. 301. Pierre a fusil, Brochant, i. 263.
L Quari'Z-Agathe Pyromaquc, Hauy, ii. 427*
Extcr. Char.—Flint is found massive, disseminated,
in angular fragments, in globular masses, tubeiculated,
and perforated. The surface is sometimes rough,
sometimes uneven, and sometimes smooth. The white
crust with' which it is often covered, is considered by
some mineralogists as an incipient decomposition. Ihe
external lustre is duller a little glimmering ; the inter¬
nal is weakly shining j the fracture is perfectly conchoi-
dal, the fragments sharp edged. The colour is usually
gray, smoke gray, sometimes perfectly black. Various
colours appear in the same mineral, presenting spots,
stripes, and clouds. Commonly' translucent at the
edges j scratches quartz: spec. grav. 2.58 to 2.99.
CJiem. Char.—Entirely infusible before the blow-
pipe.
Constituent Parts.
Silica,
Lime,
Alumina,
Oxide of iron,
Klaproth.
98.
.50
Vauquelin.
97
•25
99.00
P8
ip.
formation
of flints,
Physical Char.—Two pieces of flint rubbed together
in the dark, give out, like quartz, a phosphoric light.
Localities, &c.—Flint is never found in primitive
mountains, excepting in very small quantity, and very
rarely, in some veins 5 in alluvial rocks it is sometimes
met with in rounded pieces j but it is most abundant in
stratified mountains, particularly in beds of limestone,
marl and chalk, in which it is disposed in parallel layers.
It is met with in Saxony, Denmark, Sweden, Poland,
and Spain, and is very abundant in chalk beds in the
north of France, and also in different parts of England.
It is also met with distributed in layers in the white
limestone rocks, on the north coast of Ireland. In the
department of Jura in France, globular masses of flint
have been found with cavities containing sulphur.
The singular geological relations of this mineral have
greatly puzzled naturalists, who are fond of such spe¬
culations, and are never satisfied till they have accounted
for every thine-, however scanty and defective the data
may be on which their hypotheses are formed. It is
on this account that the theories which have been pro¬
posed, to explain the formation of flint, offer nothing
more than the silliest and most groundless conjectures 5
and indeed the same remark is equally applicable to
theories of the earth in general. It has been already
observed that flint is regularly disposed in layers, in the
beds of chalk or limestone in which it is found. In
an insulated mass of white limestone near Port Rush on
the north coa%t of Ireland, which we had an opportunity
of examining, the balls of flint were disposed in this
way with great regularity. When the bed of lime¬
stone is of no great thickness, it contains only one layer
of flints, but in thicker beds there are two layers of
4
flints, the one near the top, and the other near the bot- ciassific,
tom of the bed. I hose layers of flint, too, it is to be tion.
observed, have exactly the same inclination as the strata '■——v—*
of limestone. According to one set of theorists, the ^
flint being in a state of fusion, was ejected from the )y Ie'
bowels of the earth, and deposited in the places where
it is now found. This opinion carries along with it its
own absurdity ; for admitting that the flinty matter has
been in a state of fusion, it is impossible to suppose that
it could be deposited with so much uniformity and re¬
gularity, by being projected according to the conjec¬
ture 0! the philosophers who maintain this opinion.
Had this been the mode of its formation, masses of flint
would have been found throughout every part of the
chalk or limestone beds, and not in regular layers, as is
really the case. 2I
According to another opinion, by which the forma- by water
tion of flint is proposed to be accounted for, cavities
were produced, while the chalk and limestone were
yet in a soft state, in consequence of the air extricated
during the evaporation of the water j and the flinty mat¬
ter in solution was introduced into these cavities by in¬
filtration from above. But the same argument is equally
forcible against this opinion. It is impossible to con¬
ceive that the cavities could be so regularly and tmi-
formly produced by the extrication of the air. They
would have been found through every part of the beds
of chalk and limestone where flint is met with. And
besides, even allowing that this flinty matter was held
in solution by water, it might naturally be asked, why
the greatest proportion of it was not deposited near the
surface, when it first came in contact with the chalk
or limestone, rather than to have continued to pass
through the different beds, and form masses of solid
flints at the greatest depths, in as great quantity as near
the surface. n
A third opinion, which some imagine to be less im-bymarm?
probable than either of the former, supposes that flints animals,
have been entirely produced by marine anhnals deposited
during the formation of the strata in which they are
contained. This opinion seems to derive some support
from the remains of marine animals, which are not un-
frequently found included in nodules of flint. It is no
rare occurrence to meet with shells thus attached to
these nodules, and converted into flinty matter, but at
tbe same time retaining their original form and appear¬
ance in the most perfect manner.
Uses.—The extensive use of this mineral, in conse¬
quence of its property of striking fire with steel, as
gun flints, is well known. Flints are employed also
as a substitute for quartz in the manufacture of glass
and porcelain, and in the fabrication of smalt. Hie
coarser kinds, or such as are perforated and carious, are
applied to the purposes of building and millstones.
Sometimes the colours and the polish of flint are so
fine as to have brought it into use in jewellery. 23
As flints are found in greatest abundance in France Manufac-
and England, the principal manufactures of gun flints time oi gt
are carried on in these countries. A particular account
of this manufacture in France has been given by Do-
lomieu and Salivet, Jour, eles Mwes, N° 33, pp. 693
and 713. The whole process, which according to the
description of Dolomieu is divided into four stages, is
very simple.
1. After having fixed upon a mass of stone fit
for
irt I. MINER
ssifica- for tlie purpose, the first part of the operation is to break
ion. the stone into pieces of convenient size. With this
view the workman, seated on the ground, places the
stone on his left thigh, and strikes it with small strokes,
to divide it into pieces of a pound or a pound and a half
weight, having large surfaces and smooth fractures, and
at the same time he avoids splitting or shaking the stone
by too feeble or too violent strokes.
2. In the next part of the operation the nicest
management and dexterity of hand are required j for
by repeated strokes splinters of the proper size to form
gun flints are detached j one is separated at every stroke.
During this operation he holds the mass of stone in bis
left hand. The splinters are about i-J inch broad,
2-5- long, and two lines thick in the middle. They are
slightly convex above, and concave below ? thick at
one edge, and thin at the opposite edge.
3. The flint is brought to a regular shape during this
part of the operation ; and,
4. The edge of the gun flint which strikes fire, is
brought to a straight line by placing it on a sharp iron
instrument, and giving it five or six small strokes with
a circular hammer (roulette). This finishes the opera¬
tion, and the whole time of making a flint is not equal
to a minute. With masses of stone that work easily, an
expert workman will prepare 1000 good splinters in a
day. It requires another day to bring to the proper
shape 500 ; so that in three days he can split oil from,
the mass and completely finish 1000 gun flints.
31. Species. Calcedony.
This species has been divided into two subspecies or
varieties ; common calcedony and carnelian.
Subspecies r. Common Calcedony.
U. Kirw. i. 298. La Calcedoine Commune, Brochant,
i. 268. Quarto Agathe Calcedoine, Hauy, ii. 423.
E.vter Char.—This mineral is found massive, in
rounded pieces, which are globular, reniform, botryoi-
dal, stalactitical, cellular ; and sometimes also it is cry¬
stallized' in the form ol a cube, rhomboid, a simple py¬
ramid with three and six faces j but these are supposed
to be pseudo crystals, or merely a crust of ealcedony on
the crystals ot other substances. The external surface
is most commonly uneven, sometimes rough, and rarely
smooth. External lustre is accidental *, internal glim¬
mering, rarely a little shining y fracture even, some-
-imes imperfectly conchoidal or splintery ; fragments
sharp edged. . r .7 > &
Colour white, grayish or bluish white, yellowish or
blackish: various colours appear in spots, clouds, stripes,
and veins. Sometimes when it is cut it is iridescent j
commonly translucent, rarely semitransparent. Harder
-han flint. Brittle. Spec. grav. 2.600 to 2.700.
C/iem. Crtar.—Before the blow-pipe it is infusible.
Constituent Farts.
Bergman.
Silica, 84
Alumina, 16
A trace of iron, —
loo
A L O G Y. 1(5
Localities, &c.—Calcedony is most usually met with Siliceous
in globular masses in amygdaloid, as at Oberstein, in genus
the duchy of .Deux Pouts. It is found also in Saxony, v——
Silesia, and Siberia, in Iceland and the Faro islands •,
in the north of Ireland ; and in several of the western
islands of Scotland. The cavities of the balls of calce-<
dony are often lined with crystals of quartz and ame¬
thyst.
Uses.—Calcedony takes a fine polish, and is therefore
employed in jewellery.
2. Subspecies. Carnehan.
Id. Kirw. i. 300. La Cornaline, Brochant, i. 272;
Quarto-Agathe Cornaline, Hauy, ii. 425.
This mineral is found in masses, or disseminated, hut
most frequently in rounded pieces of a globular, kidney
form, or stalactitical shape. External surface rough and
uneven j internal lustre glimmering, or slightly shining j
fracture perfectly conchoidal ; fragments very sharp-
edged 5 most common colour blood red of various shades,
and sometimes reddish brown or wax and honey yel¬
low ; semitransparent, hard, and brittle. Spec. grav.
2.59 to 2.73.
Chem. Char.—Carnelian is infusible before the blow-
pijie, but loses its colour, and becomes white.
Localities, &c.—Carnelian is found in similar cir¬
cumstances, and in similar places with common calce¬
dony, but is of less frequent occurrence. The finest
carnelians are brought from the east, and thence they
are denominated oriental.
Uses.—The carnelian is employed for the same pur¬
poses as common ealcedony.
Observations on Agate.—As common calcedony and
earnelian, along with jasper, constitute the base of the
greater number of agates, it may be here proper to in¬
troduce a few remarks on the mineral substances which
are included under this name, and on the theories of
their formation.
The term agate is of very general application, com- Varieties-.
prebending numerous varieties, which are chiefly distin- of agate,
guished by the arrangement and disposition of the co¬
lours with which they are marked, and from which
they have derived particular names. The following are
seme of the principal varieties of agate. 1. Fortification-
agate, in which the different coloured stripes are ar¬
ranged in a zigzag manner, presenting something of
the appearance of a fortified town. 2. Landscape agate,
in which the colours and shades are so arranged as to
exhibit the appearance of a landscape. 3. Band or
ribbon agate, in which the various colours are disposed
in stripes or zones, which are usually in straight lines,
but sometimes concentric. To this variety of agate,
when the zones or stripes are arranged parallel to each
other, and distinctly marked, the name of onyx was gi¬
ven by the ancients. The name onyx, which signifies
the nail of the finger, is derived from the whitish co¬
lour resembling that part of the body. They also gave
the name of sarde to a variety of the same stone, of a
flesh colour, and afterwards the compound name sardo^
nyx was given to another variety, in which a whitish
layer of the onyx, having some degree of transparency,
covered another layer of a flesh red, the colour of winch
latter appeared through the former in the same manner
33 the colour of the flesh appears through the nail. But
*68
MINERALOGY.
Part
in the end, the name of onyx seems to have been ap¬
plied to all stones formed of layers of different colours.
1 4. Moss agate. In some varieties of agate filaments of
a greenish or other colour, having the appearance of
some species of confervae or musci, are observed, and
these have been denominated moss agates, borne have
supposed that these filaments have been real mosses or
confervse, enveloped by the siliceous matter. In some
also delineations of a brown or black colour, exhibit
the appearance of trees or shrubs. This dendritical ap¬
pearance is ascribed by some to the infiltration of iron
or manganese into the natural fissures of the stone. 1 he
finest-agates of this variety, it is said, are brought from
Arabia, by the way of Mocha, on the coast of the Red
and hence they are known by the name of Mocha
26
by fusion,
sea, dun v..^ — j
stones. Besides these varieties, there are several others,
as tubular agate, Avhen it is composed of calcedony,
which seems to have been in the form of stalactites, and
afterwards filled up with a different mineral substance,
or at least of a different colour j clouded agate, pre¬
senting the appearance of clouds ; radiated or stellated,
when the different colours are arranged in rays; breccia
agate, composed of fragments of different kinds of agate,
and cemented together by siliceous matter, and consti¬
tuting a real breccia j spotted agate, when the colours
are disposed in points or spots •, petrified agate, which
seems to have been wood penetrated with the matter of
agate j -coral agate, having the appearance of eoralloid;
jasper agate, in which the predominant part of its com¬
position is jasper. .
'Formation The formation of agate has been the subject of muck
of a^ate, controversy among contending theorists j for while one
party conceives that it affords the strongest proofs of
being produced by means of heat, or from a state °‘^u'
sion, another party seems to be equally convinced that
it supplies them with the most certain evidence of hav-
ing been formed from an aqueous solution.
^Besides other strong objections that might be urged a-
gainst the opinion of agate being formed from a state of
fusion, the uniformity and regularity in the arrangement
of the different kinds of matter of which it is composed,
seem quite hostile to it, and, excepting to those who are
previously prepossessed with such an opinion, will, we
presume,' appear altogether insurmountable *, for it is
inconceivable, that a mass of melted matter, whether
it have been in a state of fusion in the place where it is
now found, or projected from the bowels of the earth
into the strata which are now its repository, while m a
soft state, could arwnge itself into layers, some of them
often extremely thin, and disposed in stripes, concentric
circles, spots, while these various kinds of matter exhi¬
bit very slight shades of difference in their constituent
parts. ; It cannot even be imagined that all this could
have been effected, even by the slowest and most gra¬
dual process of cooling. . , 1 . •
In accounting for the formation of agate by solution
nfiltratiop. in water, it is said that the cavities in the rocks which
contain agate, were formed 111 consequence ol the evo¬
lution and extrication of air, while those rocks were in
a state of softness j and that the matter of which agate
is composed, was introduced In the state of an aqueous
solution by means of infiltration. But objections, equal¬
ly insurmountable, might easily be adduced against this
theory : and one of the first that presents itself is de¬
sired from the diversity of matter deposited in masses of
Z
27
^by aqueous
agate. This objection, indeed, is attempted to be ob- ckssiiio
viated by supposing that the agate composed of different lion,
kinds of matter was derived from different kinds of sue-u—“v-
cessive solutions : but this is only removing the diffi¬
culty a step farther j for, can it easily be conceived, that
a very thin layer of one kind of matter being deposited,
and this, let it be supposed, of a white colour, the solu¬
tion was changed, from which proceeded another thin
layer; that the solution was again changed, and depo¬
sited a third kind of matter ; and after another change,
a fourth kind, or perhaps that the deposition of the first
kind of matter again commenced. But if infiltration
from an aqueous solution have really been the mode of
formation of this mineral, how comes it, it may be fairly
asked, that the depositions from the different kinds of
solution have not been arranged, at least in the larger
cavities, in strata or zones parallel to the horizon ; be¬
cause it seems natural to suppose that the deposition of
stony matter, from a state of solution in water, would
be influenced by gravitation, and thus be horizontally
arranged ? We are arvare, indeed, of an objection
which may be made to this observation. It will be
said that the influence of gravity has in this case been
counteracted by the action of affinity between the stony
matter in solution, and the sides of the cavity in which
the agate is formed ; but whatever effect this might
have in the smaller cavities, its influence would be di¬
minished in those of larger capacity.
To what we have now said on this subject, which, it
must be acknowledged, is more curious than useful, we
shall only add a circumstance which, so far as we know,
has not been noticed by geologists ; but it seems to be
of considerable importance to the establishment or sub¬
version of the theory of the formation of agate by means
of infiltration in the state of aqueous solution, it will
be allowed, we presume, that all agates found in the
same horizontal position, or at the same depth from
the surface, from which the aqueous solution is under¬
stood to have proceeded, were formed from the same so¬
lutions ; at least those agates which are contiguous to
each other, that is, within the space of a few yards, or
even of a single yard. Now, if this be admitted, all
the agates which have derived their materials from the
same solutions, ought to be exactly of the same kind,
because their origin is cotemporaneous, and it is derived
from the same solutions. To ascertain this point with
precision, it will be necessary to examine agates in their
native repositories; and although we shall not pretend
confidently to decide the question, because our observa¬
tions with this view have not been sufficiently varied
and extensive, yet wre strongly suspect, that it will ap¬
pear, from future investigations, that agates, and even
such as are almost contiguous to each other, have been
formed of very different materials, or of similar mate¬
rials arranged in a very different manner. To those
who are fond of such speculations we recommend this
as a subject of investigation.
Localities.—Agates are found in great abundance in
different parts of the w'orld. They are sometimes di¬
stributed indiscriminately with the rocks which contain
them, sometimes in beds or layers, in interrupted masses,
and sometimes in thin beds, where there is scarcely any
interruption of continuity. This last mode of arrange¬
ment, however is rare. Agates are sometimes found
in metallic veins, or are mixed with metallic substances,
.as
rt I. MINER
,ssiflca- as the sulphurets of leail and silver. It would appear,
Lion. too, that agates also exist in primitive rocks. Saus-
"v —JJsiire has observed them in granite, containing no¬
dules of the same granite, and penetrated with iron py¬
rites. He has observed also at the same place, near
Vienne, in the department of Iserc, thin layers of cai-
cedony alternating .with gneis ; but porphyries and
similar rocks are the usual repositories of agate. These
stones are found in great variety and abundance at
Oberstein, in the department of 'Mont-Tonerre, in
France, in a rock of amygdaloid of a peculiar nature,
and lull ol cavities o.f all sizes. Tins rock is considered
by Dolomieu as a volcanic tufa •, but according to other
mineralogists, and particularly Faujas de St Fond, who
'lum 1)!1S gIvcn a m*nute description of it*, it is considered
as a porphyry or amygdaloid, with a basis of trap,
pi. which is very subject to decomposition. The globular
masses of agate are disposed in this rock without any or¬
der, and are usually enveloped with a peculiar greenish
earth, but which contains no copper. In the geodes of
agate found at Oberstein, jasper, amethyst, carbonate of
lime in crystals, chabasie, a species of zeolite, and some
portion of titanium, have been observed ; but not the
least trace of any organized body. Digging, polishing,
and forming into a great variety of ornamental objects,
constitute the chief employment of tire inhabitants of
Oberstein.
Agates are found in abundance in different parts of
Scotland : but the largest and finest are met with in the
neighbourhood of Montrose and Stonehaven; in the
rocks near Dunbar on the east coast, and in the rocks
about Dunure, on the shore of Carrick in Ayrshire.
32. Species. Hyalite.
Itl. Kirw. i. 296. Muller'1 s glass of the Germans. La¬
va glass of many,
Exter, Char.—1 his substance is found in grains or
masses, or in thin layers on other minerals. It has
much the appearance of gum, and is usually cracked.
The lustre is shining and vitreous; fracture conchoidal,
sometimes foliated ; fragments sharp-edged.
Colour gi-ayish white or yellowish; and, according
to Kirwan, pure white. Translucent, sometimes semi-
transpai’ent; has considerable hardness, and is brittle.
Spec. grav. 2.no.
Chem. C/iar.-—Infusible at 150° Wedgwood, but melts
with soda.
Constituent Parts.
Silica, 57
Alumina, 18
Lime, I ij
With some traces of iron.
Localities, &c.—Hyalite is found in rocks of amyg¬
daloid, or wacken, near Franckfort on the Maine.
33. Species. Opal,
This species is divided into four subspecies or varie¬
ties.
Subspecies 1. Precious Opal.
Opal, Kirw. i. 289. L'Opale Noble, Brochant, i.
341. Quartz-resinite Opalin, Hauy, ii. 434.
Vol. XIV. Part I. i
A L O G Y. 1
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive or disse- rsiliceous
rnmated, and sometimes in veins ; internal lustre splen- genus,
dent and vitreous; fracture perfectly conehoidal; lVa«--~~y—
njents sharp-edged.
Colour milk-white, clear or pale, and sometimes .bluish
gray; and by holding it in different lights, a very brigi:!;
and varied play of colours, the principal of wbieh ate
golden yellow, scarlet red, bright blue, green and gray,
is seen. It is commonly translucent, rarely semitrans¬
parent; pretty hard and brittle. Spec. grav. 2.114
Chan. Char.—The precious opal treated with the*
blow-pipe splits and cracks, and loses its transparency,
but is not melted.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 90
Water, 10
100
Localities.—The finest .opals are found at Czerwenitza
net far from Caschau in Upper Hungary, in an argilla¬
ceous decomposed porphyry, which according to some
mineralogists is a gray stone (graustein of the Germans),
and are disposed in veins, nests, and grains. When
the opal adheres in small particles ctosely together
in the stone, it forms what is called mother of opal. It
is found in the same manner in a kind of breccia of
this decomposed porphyry. (Townson’s Travels in Hun-
gary, p. 307.). It is found also at Eibenstock, Johann-
Georgenstadt, and Freyberg in Saxony. At this latter
place the repository of the opal is porphyry. The opal
also is met with in Iceland.
The opal mines described by Dr Townson are situat¬
ed in a hill of some miles in extent not far from the
village of Czerwenitza. This hill has been opened in
several places, but in three with the greatest success.
Guards are placed upon it to prevent any person from
digging this precious stone ; for as it is situated in part
of the royal domain, the peasants who were formerly
permitted to search for it on their own account are now
prohibited by tlie emperor. But even at the time Dr
Townson visited the mines the work had been disconti¬
nued for three or four years as unprofitable. The usual
mode of conducting the operations in searching-for the
opal is by quarrying to the depth of three or four yards,
rarely deeper. The rock is thus thrown out, broken
to pieces, and afterwards examined. In one place the
search had been made by mining; but the gallery was
only a few yards in length. From this account it ap¬
pears that the rock containing the opal lies near the
surface, and seldom, it is said, extends deeper than a
few fathoms. The opals denominated oriental by the
lapidaries, a term expressive of their value rather than
of their origin, are supposed to be from these mines, in
which, according to records still in existence, 300 men
were employed not less than 400 years ago.
Uses.—On account of the fine play of colours, the
opal is held in great estimation for the purposes of
jewellery, and the opals which reflect green colours in
most abundance are most highly valued. The finest
opals are called oriental; but this epithet is given by
the lapidaries to the more perfect precious stones, and
is not to be understood as denoting that they have been
brought from eastern countries.
Y
The
MINER
The ancients, it would appear from the account of
Pliny, attached an immense value to this stone } tor he
informs us that a senator called Nonius rather submit¬
ted to banishment than give up an opal which he had
in his possession to Mark Anthony. I his opal was es¬
timated at 20,000 sesterces. Lib. xxxvii. cap. 6.
Subspecies 2. Common Opal.
Semi-opal, Kirwan, i. 290. L'Opale Commune, Bro-
chant. i. 344. Quartz resinite Hydrophone et
Quartz rcsinite Girasol, Hauy, ii. 433.
Exter. Char.—Common opal is found in masses, or
disseminated, sometimes in rounded or angular pieces,
and sometimes kidney-shaped or botryoidal. Internal
lustre splendent, and intermediate between vitreous and
resinous. Fracture conchoidal, but sometimes uneven.
Fragments sharp-edged.
Colour milk-white, and varieties of this colour held
in certain directions appear ol a wine yellow. The other
shades of colour are yellowish or reddish white, and wax
or honey yellow. Semitransparent and sometimes trans¬
parent. Specific gravity from 1.958 to 2.015. In other
characters the same as the precious opal.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, but
melts with borax, and without swelling up.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
From Kozemutz.
Silica, 98.75
Alumina, 0.10
Oxide of iron, 0.10
Loss, 1.05
100.00
From Telkobanya.
Silica, 93.50
Oxide of iron, 1.00
Water 5.00
Loss
100.00
Localities, &c.—The common opal is found in veins,,
chiefly in amygdaloid rocks, and sometimes also, it is
said, in granites and porphyries. It is of most frequent
occurrence in Bohemia ; in Saxony, as at Freyberg,
Eibenstock, &c. j in Hungary, in Poland, in Scotland,
and the Faroe islands. The amygdaloid rocks in the
vicinity of the Giants Causeway in the north of Ireland
also afford a repository for this mineral.
Uses.—It is employed as well as the former for
the purposes of jewellery, but is esteemed of inferior
value.
It has been observed of some varieties of common
opal that they are hydrophanous, that is, they possess
the property of becoming transparent when immersed
in water, a. property which it is supposed depends on
the absorption of the water in the pores of the opal.
When similar varieties of opal are dipped in melted
wax, they are impregnated with it, and become in like
manner transparent, but on cooling resume their opaci¬
ty. To such varieties He Born has given the name of
Pyrophane.
Subspecies 3. Semi-opal.
Id. Kirwan, i. 290. La Demi-opale, Brochant, i.
347. Quartz Resinite Commune, et Menilite, Hauy,
»i- 433-
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in masses or
disseminated, in angular fragments, stalactitical, botry-
A L O G Y. Parti
oidal, or in superficial layers. Lustre glimmering or Classifica.,
shining, and intermediate between vitreous and resi- tion.
nous. Fracture conchoidal, and frequently even. Frag- 'r^'
ments sharp-edged.
Colours extremely various, but in general duller and
less vivid than common opal. The most predominant
are yellowish, grayish and reddish white, more rarely
milk white. Various colours are sometimes disposed in
spots, stripes, and clouds. Translucent at the edges, and
sometimes, but rarely, semitransparent. Pretty hard
and brittle. Spec. grav. 2.540.
Chan. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, but
melts with borax and without frothing up.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 43.50
Oxide of iron, 47.00
Water, 7*5°
Loss, 2.00
100.00
Localities, &c.—-The semi-opal is found in the same
places and in similar rocks with the common opal, as
in basalt and amygdaloid, but chiefly in granite and
porphyry, and particularly in the veins of such rocks
containing silver.
Some varieties of pitch stone have been ranked with
semi-opal by mineralogists ; and menilite, a mineral to
be afterwards described, has been also considered mere¬
ly as a variety of it.
' Subspecies 4. Wood Opal.
Ligniform Opal, Kirwan, i. 295. Opale Ligniforme,
Brochant, i. 350. Quartz resinite Xijloide, Hauy, ii.
439*
Exter. C/mr.—This variety of opal is found in masses
of dift’erent sizes, retaining the form and texture of the
wrood which is supposed to be penetrated with the stony
opaline matter. Lustre interally weakly shining, be¬
tween vitreous and resinous. Transverse fracture con¬
choidal, longitudinal fracture shows the woody texture. -
Fragments sharp-edged.
Colours grayish and yellowish white, yellowish brown
and ochre yellow. Different colours are sometimes ar¬
ranged in concentric circles, in spots, and stripes. Of¬
ten opake, but rarely translucent except at the edges.
Intermediate between hard and semi-hard. Brittle.
Spec. grav. 2.600.
Localities, &tc.—The wood opal is found at Pornick
near Sehemnitz in Hungary, and at Telkobanya in the.
same country.
34. Species. Menilite.
Pifchstone, Kirwan, i. 292. Variety of Jlint of some,
and Semi-opal of Klaproth.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in tuberose mas¬
ses, which have a smooth ribbed surface, and are some¬
times covered with a whitish, crust. Internal lustre weak¬
ly shining. Transverse fracture flat, conchoidal; lon¬
gitudinal, coarse, splintery. Fragments sharp-edged.
Chesnut brown colour, and marked with alternating
stripes of pearl gray and reddish brown. Translucent.
Pretty hard and brittle. Spec. grav. 2.185.
Constituent
art I.
jassifica-
tion.
MINERALOGY.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 85.50
Alumina, 1.
Oxide of iron, .50
Lime, .50
Water and carbonaceous matter, 11.50
Loss, 1.
Localities, &c.—This variety of jasper abounds in Si¬
beria : it is found also in Saxony, in the Hartz, where
it reposes on gray wacken j in Sicily j and in the hills
in the vicinity of Edinburgh.
Subspecies 3. Porcelain Jasper.
Porcellanne, Kirw. i. 313. Le Jaspe Porcelaine, Broch,
' 336- I'hermantide Porcellanite, Hauy, iv. 510.
171
Siliceous
, genus.
100.00
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found at Menil-
Montant, from which it derives its name, near Paris,
in nodules disposed in interrupted strata, in the middle
of a foliated, argillaceous schistus, which is interposed
between the beds of gypsum.
35. Species. Jasper.
Jasper has been divided into six subspecies, 1. Egyp¬
tian ; 2. Striped j 3. Porcelain j 4. Common j 5. Agate j
and, 6. Opal.
Subspecies 1. Egyptian Jasper.
Egyptian Pebble, Kirwan, i. 312. Le Jaspe Egyptien,
Brochant, i. 332.
Exter. Char.—This variety of jasper is found in
rounded pieces, which are generally spherical, and
have a rough surface. External lustre glimmering or
weakly shining; internal weakly shining. Fracture per¬
fect conchoidal j fragments sharp-edged.
The colours of this variety are disposed in zones or
irregular stripes, which are nearly concentric. These
colours are yellowish brown on a ground of chesnut
brown •, usually opaque, or slightly translucent at the
edges. Spec. grav. 2.56 to 2.6.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe.
Localities, &c.—-This mineral, as its name imports,
is brought from Egypt, where, as was observed by Cor-
dier, it constitutes part of a breccia which is entirely
composed of fragments of siliceous stones, immense stra¬
ta of which abound in that country, and the deserts
of Africa in the vicinity. The masses of jasper are
found among the sand which has been derived from the
decomposition of this breccia, and particularly near
Suez.
Uses.—This variety, on account of its hardness and
beautiful colours, is in considerable estimation for orna¬
mental purposes.
Subspecies 2. Striped Jasper.
U Kii ’W. i. 312. Le Jaspe Rubane, Broch. i. 334.
Quai'tx-Jaspe Onyx, Hauy, ii. 436.
Exter. Char.—This variety of jasper is found massive,
and sometimes forms entire beds. It has no lustre, ex¬
cept from the mixture of extraneous substances. Frac¬
ture conchoidal, sometimes splintery or earthy. Frag¬
ments sharp-edged.
To the variety of colours of this mineral it owes its
name. These are pearl gray, yellowish and greenish
gray, with shades of red and blue, and these different
colours are arranged in straight or curved lines ; gene¬
rally opaque, translucent only at the edges.
. Exter. Char.—Usually found in masses or angular
pieces, in which rents or fissures are often observed, and
also in whole beds. Internal lustre glimmering or
weakly shining $ resinous. Fracture imperfect conchoi¬
dal or uneven. Fragments sharp-edged.
The colour exhibits great variety j pearl, ash, yel¬
lowish and bluish gray, with shades of yellow, red, and
rarely green. The colour is generally uniformly the
same, but sometimes it is striped and dotted, flamed and
clouded; impressions of vegetables of a red colour are
observed on the blue varieties, and the rents or fissures
are of a red colour in the grayish specimens ; is entire¬
ly opaque $ pretty hard, and easily frangible.
Chem. F/ir/r.—-Melts before the blow-pipe into a
black slag.
Constituent Parts. Rose.
Silica, 60.7 5;
Alumina, 27-27
Magnesia, 3.
Fotash, 3.66
Oxide of iron, 2.50
T 97’o8
.Loss, 2.82
100.00
Localities, &c.—This mineral is abundant in different
parts of Bohemia ; it is met with also in Saxony, in the
rocks in the vicinity of Edinburgh, and on the coast of
Fife near Dysart in Scotland.
This jasper derives its name from its fracture, which
resembles that of porcelain $ and as it is frequently
found in places where subterraneous fires have existed,
such as beds of coal which have been kindled by ac¬
cident, it is ascribed to their action j and according to
Werner, it is nothing more than a slaty clay altered by
fire,
Subspecies 4. Common Jasper.
Id. Kirw. i. 310. Jaspe Commun, Broch. i. 338.
Exter. Char.—This variety is usually found massive,
sometimes disseminated, or alternating in thin layers
with other stones. Lustre glimmering or shining, be¬
tween vitreous and resinous. Fracture more or less per¬
fectly conchoidal, sometimes splintery or earthy. Frag¬
ments sharp-edged.
Colours extremely various, exhibiting different shades
of red, yellow, and black $ and several of these are
united together, presenting clouds, spots, and stripes.
Usually opaque, or slightly translucent at the edges.
Is scratched by quartz. Easily frangible. Spec. grav.
2.3 to 2.7.
Chem. Char.— Entirely infusible before the blow-
Y 2 pipe.
172
Siliceous
genus.
MINERALOGY.
Part
pipe. Its constituent parts are extremely variable. The
following were obtained by the analysis of Kirwan.
Silica, 7 5
Alumina, 20
Oxide of iron, 5
100
Localities, &c.—This jasper is very common in diffe¬
rent parts of the world ; in Saxony, Bohemia, Hungary,
France, Spain, Italy, Siberia, and also in Scotland, as
among the basaltic rocks in the vicinity of Edinburgh,
and at Dunbar. It is usually found in veins, especially
such as contain ores of iron. It is often traversed with
veins of quartz, or mixed with pyrites, lithomarga, semi¬
opal, brown spar, native and vitreous silver. It has
been taken for the basis of some porphyries, but these
turn out to be indurated clay, pitch stone, and horn stone.
Subspecies 5. Jasper Agate.
Exter. Char.—Heliotrope is found massive or in an- C]assii.
gular pieces j external lustre glimmering er shining, tion.
and resinous } fracture conchoidal, sometimes uneven.
Fragments very sharp-edged.
Colour chiefly deep green, but of various shades, with
spots of olive and yellow, but most frequently scarlet or
blood red : translucent at the edges : hard, easily fran¬
gible. Spec. grav. 2.62 to 2.7.
Chcm. Char.—Entirely infusible before the blow-pipe.
Localities, &c.—This mineral was originally brought
from the east, but it has since been found in Siberia,
in Bohemia, where it is met with in a vein, and in Ice¬
land.
Uses.—It is employed for similar purposes with jasper
or agate.
By many mineralogists this mineral is considered as
a variety of jasper ; hence it has been called oriental
jasper j and it is supposed by some to be a calcedony
penetrated with green earth.
Exter. Char.—This variety seems to be the same as
that already mentioned under the name of agate jasper,
in speaking of agates at the end of the description of
calcedony. It is found massive, and possesses no lustre.
Fracture conchoidal, generally opaque, pretty hard,
and sometimes adheres to the tongue. The colours are
yellowish or reddish white, which are disposed in stripes
and circles.
Localities, &c.—It is met with in many places in
agate balls, in amygdaloid rocks.
Subspecies 6. Opal Jasper.
Exter. Char.—This variety of jasper seems to possess
many common characters with some varieties of opal.
It is found massive. Internal lustre between vitreous
and resinous, is shining or resplendent. Fracture con¬
choidal. Fragments very sharp-edged.
Colours scarlet red, blood red, brownish red, more
rarely yellow. Colours disposed in veins, spots, and
clouds. Opaque, or translucent at the edges. Brittle,
and easily frangible.
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in Hungary,
in Siberia, and other places, and is usually in nests in
porphyry.
Beside the localities of the different varieties of jasper
already mentioned, we may notice that it is met with
in Siberia of a white and bluish colour. The hill on
which the fortress of Orskaia stands on the left bank of
the river Jaik, in the government of Orembourg, is en¬
tirely composed of a pale green and deep red jasper,
disposed in inclined beds ; and on the most elevated
parts of the Altaian mountains, near the source of the
river Korgou, a jasper has been discovered of an ivory
white colour, which is remarkable for being penetrated
with black dendrites.
Uses of Jasper.—It is valued according to its hard¬
ness, the degree of polish of which it is susceptible, and
the beauty and variety of its colours ; and it is employ¬
ed in foi-ming vases, handles for swords and knives, and
other smaller ornamental purposes.
36. Species. Heliotrope, or Bloodstone.
lleliotropium, Kirw. i. 3I4* L'Heliotrope, Broch. i.
276. 0'iiart‘Z jaspc Sanguin, Hauy, ii 436.
37. Species. Chrysoprase.
Chrysoprasmm, Kirw. i. 284. La Chrysoprase, Broch.
i. 280. Quart'z Agathc Prase, Hauy, ii. 426.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, or in
angular fragments : internal lustre rarely glimmering ~r
fracture even, sometimes splintery ; fragments sharp-
edged.
Colour apple-green, greenish gray, or leek-green ;
translucent, sometimes semitransparent; less hard than
calcedony and flint. Spec. grav. 2.25.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow pipe, but
loses its transparency, and becomes white.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 96.16
Alumina, .08
Lime, .82
Oxide of iron, .08
Oxide of nickel, 1.00
Loss, 1.86
loc.ca
Localities, &c.—Chrysoprase is found at Kosemufz,
in Upper Silesia, in a mountain composed of serpentine,
asbestus, indurated talc, and lithomarga.
Uses.—It is employed for similar purposes as jasper,
and it is greatly esteemed when it is of a fine apple-
green colour. It is said that some varieties of this mi¬
neral lose their colour by being exposed to moisture, so
that the jewellers, before using them, put them to tire
test, by keeping them for some time in a moist place.
38. Species. Plasma.
Id. Broch. i. 278. Silcx Plasmc, Brongniart, ii. 398.
Exter Char.—This mineral is found disseminated,
in rounded pieces, and also in angular pieces. Internal
lustre glimmering or weakly shining; resinous. Fracture
conchoidal, even, and sometimes splintery. Translu¬
cent, and sometimes even transparent in thin pieces.
Colour various shades of green ; and sometimes dif¬
ferent colours are disposed in spots, stripes, and points.
Nearly
art I. MINER
assifica- Nearly equally hard with ealcedony. Brittle, and easily
tion. frangible.
'-y—* Chem. Char.—It is infusible before the blow-pipe,
but becomes white.
Localities, Sec.—It is said by some, that this mineral
has only been found among the ruins of Rome, but ac¬
cording to Brougniart and others, it has been found in
the Levant, in Upper Hungary, and in Moravia, in a
mountain of serpentine, where it is accompanied with
hint.
Uses—It appears that this mineral was much em¬
ployed by the ancients for ornamental purposes.
39. Species. Cat’s Eye.
Id. Kirw. i. 30t. VOcil dc Chat, Brochant, i. 292.
Quarto-Agathe Chatoyant, Hauy, ii. 427.
Exter. Char.—This mineral, as it is brought from its
native country, is usually cut and polished,, so that its
natural form is unknown j but it is supposed that itrs
met with in grains or rounded pieces. A mass describ¬
ed by Klapx-oth, which seemed to be in its natural state,
had a quadrangular form, a rough surface, and consider¬
able brilliancy. The lustre is resplendent and resinous.
The cross fracture is uneven, the longitudinal fracture
imperfectly foliated. Fragments more or less sharp-
edged.
The colour is greenish yellow and smoke gray, of
various shades, and sometimes, but rarely, grayish or
silvery white. It is translucent, rarely semitransparent.
When it is cut, it reflects different rays of light by
changing its position, a character by which it is easily
known. This is ascribed to small parallel fibres which
appear in the interior of the stone. It is hard, easily
frangible. Spec. grav. 2.625 to 2.660.
Chem. Char.—It melts with great difficulty by the
action of the blow-pipe. Klaproth subjected it to the
heat of a porcelain furnace, but it was not melted 5 it
only lost its hardness, lustre, and transparency, and the
colour became of a pale gray.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 95.00 94.50
Alumina, 1.75 2.00
Lime, 1.50 1.50
Oxide of iron, 0.25 0.25
Loss, 1.5a 1.75
100.00 100.00
Localities.—Cat’s eye is brought from Ceylon and
the Malabar coast, and also, it is said, from Egypt and
Arabia $ but always in the polished state. The only
one known in its natural state was that above mention¬
ed, which was presented to Klaproth by Mr Greville of
London.
Uses. —This mineral is in great estimation as a pre¬
cious stone, and it is usually cut for ring-stones.
The name is derived from its possessing th» property
of reflecting the light similar to the eye of the cat, and
hence the term chatoyant among jewellers, which is ex¬
pressive of that effect.
49. Species. Obsidian.
Id. K irwan, i. 265. Iceland agate vulgo. Z’ Obsidienne,
A L O G Y.
Brochant, i. 288. Lave vitreuse Obsidienne, Hauy,
iv. 594-
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in masses, and
sometimes in rounded pieces. Lustre resplendent, vi¬
treous j fracture perfectly conchoidal j fragments very
sharp-edged.
The most common colour of obsidian is perfectly
black, sometimes greenish and grayish, black, blueish,
greenish and smoke gray, and yellow and red, accord¬
ing to Humboldt: most commonly opaque, but some¬
times translucent on the edges. It is hard and easily
frangible. Spec. grav. 2.348.
Chon. Char.—Before the blow-pipe obsidian melts
into an opaque porous glass, of a grayish white co¬
lour.
'73
Siliceous
genus.
Silica,
Alumina,
Oxide of iron,
Constituent Parts.
Bergman. Abilgaard.
69
22
9
74
12
I4
Silica,
Alumina,
Lime,
Oxide of iron
and manganese,
Potash and soda,
Loss,
100
Descotils.
72.O
12.5
100
}
2.0
10.0
3-J
Drappier.
74-
14.
1.2
3- 3
4- 5
71.0
i3-4
1.6
4.0
4.0
6.0
100.0
100.0
100.0-
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in Iceland,
in Siberia, in the Lipari islands, in Hungary, in Ma¬
dagascar, the island of Teneriffe, in Mexico, Peru, a>nd
some of the South sea islands. Humboldt discovered a
variety of obsidian in New Spain, which was chatoyant
in a considerable degree. The obsidian from Hungary
is found in insulated pieces among detached masses of
granite, gneiss, and decomposed porphyry. Obsidian
was long supposed to have a volcanic origin ; but it ap¬
pears, from the accounts of those who have visited Ice¬
land, that it is not only found in the vicinity of Hecla,
but everywhere, distributed like quartz and flint j and
besides it is not unfrequent in countries where volcanoes
were never known to exist.
Uses.—The fine colour and hardness of this stone
have brought it into use for ornamental purposes.
Among the ancient Mexicans and Peruvians it was em¬
ployed as mirrors, some of which, it is said are some¬
times still found in the tombs of their ancient sovereigns
{Faujas Miner, des Volcans, p. 308.) j and also for cut¬
ting instruments as knives and even razors. Hernan¬
dez saw the Mexican cutlers make a hundred knives of
obsidian in the course of an hour. Obsidian, it is said,
has also been used as mirrors for telescopes.
41. Species. PlTCKSTONE.
Id. Kirwan, i. 292. La pierre depoix. Brochant, i.
353. Petrosilcx rcsiniformc, Hauy, iv. 386.
Exter. Char.—Pitchstone, which has received its
name
MINER
name from its resemblance to pitch, is found massive
sometimes in extensive beds and veins, and also forming
entire mountains. Internal lustre shining and resin¬
ous. Fragments sharp-edged. In coarse and frequent¬
ly small granular distinct concretions which have a
smooth surface.
The colours are various shades of black, green,
brown, red, and gray. Translucent, but commonly at
the edges only. Brittle, and rather easily frangible.
Spec. grav. of pitchstone from Saxony, 2.314 j of black
pitchstone from Arran, 2.338 j of pitchstone from Meis¬
sen 1.645, Klaproth.
Chem. Char.—Fusible by the blow-pipe, and is con¬
verted into a white porous ■enamel.
Constituent Parts of pitchstone from Meissen of an
olive green colour.
Klaproth, Transl. ii. -207-
Silica, 73
Alumina, I4*5°
Xime, 1
Oxide of iron, I
Oxide of manganese, 0.10
Soda, ‘I*75
Water, 8.50
Loss, 1.5
100.00
Silica,
Alumina,
Oxide of iron,
Lime,
Potash,
Water,
Loss,
75*25
12.
i.6o
•50
4*5°
4-50
1*65
100.00
tion.
A L O G Y. Part
Localities, &c.—Pearlstone is found near Tokay in Classif;t;
Hungary, in strata alternating with those of argilla¬
ceous porphyry, and containing in its vesicles nodulesv
of obsidian ; it is also met with in Iceland, and in the
north of Ireland.
43. Species. Pumice.
Id. Kirwan, i. 415. La Pierre ponce, Brochant, i.
443. Ponce, Brongniart, i. 332. Lave vitreuse
pumicec, Hauy, iv. 495.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive or dis¬
seminated, and it is always of a porous or vesicular
'texture.
Lustre glimmering, or a little shining and silky.
Fracture fibrous $ fragments blunt-edged.
Colour grayish white, bluish, or yellowish gray.
Opaque, rarely translucent at the edges, sometimes se-
mihard, but generally soft, very brittle, and very
easily frangible. Spec. grav. 0.914.
Chem. Char.—Fusible before the blow-pipe, and is
converted into a white glass.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth, ii. 208.
Localities, &c.—-Pitchstone is found in great abun¬
dance in Saxony, in Hungary, and also in Siberia. It
abounds also in Scotland, particularly in the island of
Arran, where it is met with in beds, but chiefly in veins
traversing the strata in the less elevated parts of the
island. Pitchstone also forms the basis of a porphyry.
42. Species. Pearlstone.
•Obsidienne Perlee, Brongniart, ii. 340. Lave Vitreuse
Perlee, Hauy, iv. 495. Volcanic Zeolite, Fichtel.
Zeolitic Pitchstone of others. See Klaproth, Transl.
ii. 263.
Exter. Char.—Pearlstone almost always forms the
.ground or basis of a species of porphyry which contains
roundish or longish vesicular cavities. Lustre pearly.
Fracture seems imperfectly conchoidal j but is not very
perceptible. Fragments blunt-edged.
Colour bluish, ash, greenish gray. Translucent at
the edges. When breathed upon, gives out the argilla¬
ceous odour. Not brittle, but easily frangible. Soft.
•Spec. grav. 2.340 to 2.548.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe froths up like
zeolite, but is not fused.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth, ii. 267.
Silica,
Alumina,
Oxide of iron,
Soda of potash.
Loss,
77*50
n-s°
*‘15
3*
.25
100.00
Localities, Stc.—Pumicestone has been supposed ia
be a volcanic production, because it is found in the vi¬
cinity of volcanoes; the Lipari islands are almost en¬
tirely composed of it, and there it is accompanied with
obsidian. It is also found in Iceland and Tenerifie;
in Hungary $ and on the banks of the Rhine between
Andernach and Coblentz..
Uses.—Pumice is very much employed in polishing
stones, metals, glass, ivory, and in the preparation of
parchment.
A rare variety of pumice is described by Brongniart
in the form of vitreous filaments as fine as hair ; the
colour is a deep bottle green, and it melts by heat into
a white enamel. This pumice is supposed to be pro¬
jected from the volcano in the isle of Bourbon.
44. Species. Prehnite.
Id. Kirwan, i. 274. La Prehnite, Brochant, i. 295.
Prehnite, Hauy, iii. 67.
Essen. Char.—Divisible by one distinct line only,
and pretty clean j electric by heat.
Exter. Char.—Prehnite is found either massive or
crystallized. The principal form of its crystals is a
four-sided rhomboidal table, which is either perfect
or truncated on all its edges, or a table with six faces,
and an equal angle, or a large rectangular prism termi¬
nated by a bevelment which is somewhat obtuse. The
crystals are usually grouped together, and united by
their lateral faces j face of the crystals smooth ; exter¬
nal lustre shining j internal weakly shining and pearly j
principal fracture foliated, cross fracture fine-grained
uneven j fragments but little sharp-edged.
Colour
:rt I. MINER
;sifica- Colour green, olive green, mountain green, and
ion. greenish white ; semitransparent, and sometimes trans-
''•V"-"' parent. Scratches glass slightly. Brittle, and easily
frangible. Spec. grav. 2.609 to 2.696.
Chem. C/zar.—Fusible before the blow-pipe, into a
white porous enamel.
Constituent Parts.
Silica,
Alumina,
Lime,
Oxide of iron,
Water,
Magnesia,
Loss,
Hassenfratz.
5°*
20.4
23-3
4.9
•9
•5
Klaproth.
43*83
3°-33
J8*33
5.66
1.83
0.02
xoo.o
100.00
Localities.—Prehnite was brought first from the Cape
of Good Hope, by Colonel Prehn, whose name it now
bears. It is also found in France, as in Dauphiny,
where it exists in veins. It is not unfrequent in dif¬
ferent parts of Scotland, as among the porphyry rocks
six miles to the south oLPaisley; in the neighbourhood
of Dunbarton j and in the rocks round Edinburgh.
45. Species. Zeolite.
This species has been divided into four subspecies.
Subspecies 1. Mealy Zeolite.
Zeolite, Kirwan, i. 278. La Zjeolite Farineuse, Bro-
chant, i. 298. Mesotype, Hauy, iii. 151.
Fxter. Char.—This variety is found massive or dis¬
seminated, and sometimes it is branched or coralloidal,
and sometimes also it envelopes other zeolites with a
thin crust. It is dull j fracture earthy $ fragments
blunt-edged.
Colour usually reddish or yellowish white, or flesh
red, opaque, very brittle $ does not adhere to the
tongue. When scratched with the finger nail it gives
out a dull sound.
Constituent Parts. Pelletier*
Silica, 56
Alumina, 20
Lime, 8
Water, 22
100
Localities, Sic.—This variety of zeolite is found xn
Ireland, the Faro islands, and Sweden. It is frequent
in different parts of Scotland, as at Dunbar, and seve¬
ral of the Western islands.
Subspecies 2. Fibrous Zeolite.
Zeolithc Fibreuse, Brochant, i. 299. Mesotype, Hauy*
i. 151.
Fxter. Char.—This variety is found massive, and
sometimes in rounded pieces, composed of capillary cry¬
stals, divergent and radiating; internal lustre glimmer-
3
A L O G Y. 17-5
ing, or weakly shining, pearly or silky £ fraciure fi- Siliceous
brous 5 fibres divergent; fragments wedge-shaped. genus.
Colour yellowish white, yellowish brown, snow white,1"
and sometimes honey yellow, translucent $ semihard,
brittle, and easily frangible. Light.
Constituent Parts. Meyer,
Silica, 41
Alumina, 31
Lime, 11
W'ater, 1 y
Loss, 2
100
Subspecies 3. Radiated Zeolite.
Zeolithc Payonnee, Brochant, i. 301. Mesotype, Hauy,
iii. iji.
Essen. Chart'.—Divisible parallel to the faces of a
rectangular prism ; electric by heat in two opposite
points.
Exter. Char.—This variety is found massive, but
most frequently crystallized : the primitive form is a
rectangular prism with square bases ; its common forms
are a rectangular prism, truncated at each extremity by
a four-sided pyramid, corresponding to the lateral faces $
a four-sided rectangular prism with two broad and two
narrow sides, and also tei-minated by four-sided pyra¬
mids, or a four-sided prism, nearly rhomboidal, the
two sharp lateral edges of which, as well as the two ob¬
tuse terminal angles, are truncated. The crystals are
united together in bundles ; so that the acuminations
only can be seen ; the crystals are commonly smooth
and shining y the internal lustre is weakly shining and
pearly ; fracture radiated : the rays broad or narrow $
fragments wedge-shaped.
Colour yellowish, grayish, reddish, and snow-white 5
translucent,sometimes transparent5 semihard; scratches
calcareous spar; brittle, and easily frangible. Spec,
grav. 2.0833.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it froths up,
gives out a phosphorescent light, and is converted into
a porous enamel. With acids it forms a gelatinous sub¬
stance.
Constituent Parts.
Silica,
Alumina,
Lime,
Water,
Loss,
Vauquelin.
50.24
29.30
946
10.
100.00
Subspecies 4. Foliated Zeolite.
Zeolithe Lamelleuse, Brochant, i. 302. Stilbite, Hauy
in. 161.
Essen. Char.—Fusible into a spongy enamel, but not
electric by heat.
Exter. Char.—This variety of zeolite is usually found
in amygdaloidal or globular pieces, and also crystalliz¬
ed ; primitive form of its crystals is a rectangular prism
with rectangular bases: the usual forms of its crystals
are,
T 76
Siliceous
genus.
MINER
are, a short equiangular six-sided prism with two broad,
two narrower, and two very narrow laces ; a table with
six equal faces, and a rhomboidal prism. Surface of the
crystal smooth and shining j internal lustre shining and
pearly 5 fracture foliated 5 the plates most frequently
curved with a simple cleavage.
Colour similar to the former ; it is translucent or
semitransparent j semihard, and easily frangible. Spec,
grav. 2.5.
Chon. Char.—Froths up and phosphoresces, under
the blow-pipe ; placed on hot coals, it becomes white and
is easily reduced to powder. It is not converted into a
jelly by acids.
Constituent Tarts. Vauquelim
' Silica, 52
Alumina, 17.5
Lime, 9
Water, 18.5
’ Loss, 3
100
A L Q G Y.
By many mineralogists cbabasie and analcime are
considered as one species ; but more nearly investigated,
as has been done by Hauy and others, they must ap¬
pear very difierent. The preceding description refers
chio#y;to.ana]cime. We shall shortly state the princi¬
pal characters of chabasie from Hauy, iii. 176.
Essen. Char.—Divisible into a rhomboid slightly ob¬
tuse, and easily fusible by heat.
Exter. Char.-—Chabasie is commonly crystallized.
Primitive form of the crystals is a slightly obtuse rhom¬
boid, whose, plane angle at the summit is about 93Y,
so that it approaches nearly to the cube; integrant mo¬
lecule is the same. Six of the edges are truncated, the
truncations uniting three and three at the two opposite
angles, and the remaining six angles are also truncated.
It appears also in the form of double six-sided pyramids
applied base to base, having the six angles at the base,
and the three acute edges of each pyramid truncated.
Colour whitish, sometimes reddish, but this seems to
be owing to a superficial crust. Lustre shining or re¬
splendent and vitreous. Transparent or translucent.
Chcm. Char.—Vs easily fusible before the blow-pipe,
and melts into a whitish spongy mass.
Part
Ctftisifie,
tion.
Localities, &c.—The different varieties of zeolite are
usually found in amygdaloid rocksj basalts, porphyry,
slate, wacken, and green stone. I hey olten line the
sides of fissures passing through these rocks, and are
accompanied with calcareous t spar, calcedony, some¬
times with native copper and native sil\ei, as in Ice¬
land. The finest zeolites are brought from the islands
of Faroe, Iceland,, iEdelfors in Sweden. The differ¬
ent varieties, are, not unfrequent in Scotland. 'I he
fibrous and radiated kinds are met with extremely
beautiful in the islands of Cannay and Skye ; the toh-
ated oi’ sjtdbite- in the island of Staffa, m Skye, and in
the lead yeins at Strontian.
46. Species. Cubizite.
; La 7.eolithe Cubiquc, Brochant, i. 304. Analcime, S)-
Chabasie, Hauy. iii. 180.
Essen. Char.—Original forms of the cube, fusible
into a glass.
Foxier. r-This-mineral is found massive or cry¬
stallized j the form of the crystals is a perfect cube,
■which is its primitive form. This is sometimes truncat¬
ed on all its angles by three small triangular faces, or
with twenty-four equal and similar trape/.ouls like the
garnet. The external lustre is resplendent, vitreous, or
pearly. Internal shining or weakly shining. Fracture
imperfectly foliated, almost uneven. Fragments im¬
perfect cubes. _ _ ...
Colour white, yellowish, grayish, or reddish white.
It is translucent or opaque. Semihard. Spec. grav.
about 2 (Hauy). Difficult to produce any signs of
electricity j hence the name analcime, signifying want
of power, given to it by Hauy.
< Chem. Char.—Froths up before the blow-pipe, and
melts into a porous glass. . _
Localities, &c.—Cubizite is found in Skye, in Staffa,
and in the Salisbury rocks near Edinburgh. Fine spe¬
cimens of cubizite are abundant at the Giants cause¬
way in the north of Ireland. Chabasie is found also
at Oberstein in Germany.
47. Species. Cross-stone.
Stauroiite, Kirwan, i. 282. Pierre Cruciforme, Bro¬
chant, i. 311. Harmolome, Hauy, iii. 191.
Essen. Char.—Divisible into a rectangular octahe¬
dron, which maybe subdivided on the angles contiguous
to the summits.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is always crystallized.
Its usual forms are, a double crystal composed oi two
broad prisms, with four rectangular faces, and terminat¬
ed at each extremity by a four-sided obtuse pyramid
placed on the lateral edges. These two prisms cross
each other -by their broader faces, so that the laces of
the acumination meet together, and the double crystal
thus formed having four right-angb d re-entering angles,
resembles a cross. The crystals are obliquely streaked.
External lustre shining and resplendent, vitreous. In¬
ternal weakly shining. Fracture foliated.
Colour grayish or milky white, translucent, some¬
times semi-transparent. Semi-hard, scratches glass
slightly. Spec. grav. 2.333 to 3.61. _
Chcm. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is fusible, and
froths up. The powder thrown on hot coals is phos¬
phorescent, giving out a greenish yellow light.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth. Tassaert.
Silica, 49 47-5
Barytes, 18 16
Alumina, 16 19.5
Water, IJ I3-S
Loss, a 3*5
100 100
Localities.—This mineral has been found in veins at
Andreasberg in the Hartz, accompanied by carbonate
of lime, from which it is sometimes called andreolite.
It is also found in the lead veins at Strontian in Scot¬
land, and in balls of agate at Oberstein. In the latter
place, crystals are single.
48. Species
2
MINERALOGY.
rt I.
ijsiiica-
:ion.
48. Species. Laumonite.
Zcvlithc Effloj'escente, Hauy, iv. 410. Id. RrocJicinty
n. 530.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in masses which
are composed of irregular groups of crystals crossing
each other in all directions. Form of the crystals is a
four-sided prism, nearly rectangular, and terminated by
a base inclined to one of the lateral edges under an
angle of 1330; frequently the acute angle is truncated,
and thus terminating in a bevelment placed on the acute
lateral edges. The lateral faces are longitudinally streak¬
ed, and the lustre is shining. The faces of the summit
are also shining, but smooth. Fracture foliated, and
parallel to the lateral faces.
Colour grayish white, somewhat pearly. Is translu¬
cent, rather soft $ sectile, and easily frangible.
But all these characters are considerably different by
the action of the air. The whole mass is gradually se¬
parated, and the crystals become opaque, falling into
friable folia, which are in a short time reduced to a
snow-white powder, from which it derives the name
given to it by Hauy.
Chcm. Char.—Fusible before the blow-pipe, without
frothing up, into a white enamel, and forms a jelly
with acids.
Localities.—This mineral W'as found in 1788 by
Gillet Laumont, in the lead mines of Iluelgoet in
Brittany in France, and from him it derives its name.
It forms a small vein contiguous to the vein of galena.
We have collected specimens of a mineral, whose cha¬
racters correspond with laumonite, in a vein traversing a
basaltic rock in the island of Skye. After being kept
for some years it appeared equally liable to disintegra¬
tion by exposure to the air.
49. Species. Dipyre.
Id. Brochant, ik 508. Id. Hauy, iii. 242.
Essen. Char.—Divisible parallel to the faces of a re¬
gular 6-sided prism. Fusible with intumescence.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in small fasci¬
cular masses or crystals. Lustre shining, vitreous.
Longitudinal fracture foliated.
Colour grayish or reddish white, and sometimes pale
rose red. Semi-hard j scratches glass, and is easily'
frangible. Spec. grav. 2.630.
Chem. Char.—Fusible. The powder thrown on hot
coals produces phosphorescence.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Silica, 60
Alumina, 24
Lime, 1 o
Water, 2
Loss, 4
10O
Localities, &c.—This mineral has only been found
at Mauleon, in the Pyrenees, in a rock of steatites. It
was discovered by Lelievre and Gillet Laumont, in
1786.
Vol. XIV. Part I. f
50. Species. Natrolite.
Id. Klaproth. Id. Brongniart, i. 370.
'I77
Siliceous
genus.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in masses, in a
rock of amygdaloid. External surface somewhat rough j
internal lustre glimmering j fracture fibrous and radia¬
ted.
Colour browmish yellow, inclining to olive, and dif¬
ferent colours appear in parallel and w'aved zones; is
translucent at the edges ; scarcely scratches glass $ is
easily frangible. Sp. grav. 2.16.
Chcm. Char.—Is reduced by the blow-pipe to a white
glass. Nitric acid produces no efiervescence, but con¬
verts it in a few hours to a thick jelly.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 48
Alumina, 24
Soda, j 6
Water, 9
Oxide of iron, 1.73
Loss, 1.73
100.00
Localities, &c.—Natrolite has been found only at
Boegau, near the lake of Constance in Switzerland, in
the cavities of an amygdaloid rock. The name is de¬
rived from natron or soda, of which it contains so large
a proportion.
51. Species. Azurite.
La%ulite, Klaproth, Analyt. Essays, i. 170. Le La-zu-
lithe, Broch. i. 313.
Exter. Char.—This mineral has been found dissemi¬
nated, massive, and crystallized in rectangular four¬
sided prisms. Lustre glimmering and shining. Frac¬
ture imperfectly conchoidal.
Colour indigo, Prussian, or deep smalt blue ; streak
lighter blue ; nearly opaque, or translucent at the
edges $ hardness, nearly that of quartz. Brittle and
easily frangible.
Chcm. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, but
loses its colour, becomes earthy, and of a clear gray.
With borax it produces a bright yellow glass. Acids
have a very feeble action upon it. Klaproth ascertained
that it is composed of silica, alumina, and oxide of iron j
but the quantity which he operated on was too small to
ascertain the proportions.
Localities, See.—This mineral lias been found at
Vorau in Styria, in a rock of micaceous schistus, w here
it forms, along with grayish quartz and silvery white
mica, a vein of about half an inch thick.
52. Species. Lazulite.
Lapis Lazuli, Kirw. i. 283. La Pierre d'Azurc,
Broch. i. 313. Lazulite, Hauy. iii. 143.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, dissemi¬
nated, and in rounded fragments ; internally dull, and
rarely glimmering. Fracture earthy, or fine-grained
uneven ; fragments sharp-edged.
C61 oar
/
l78
Siliceous
genus.
MINER
epaque, or translucent on the
Colour azure blue j     -
edges j hard, or semihard $ brittle and easily frangible.
Spec. grav. 2.76 to 2.94-
Chem. Char.—It retains its colour at the temperature
of ioo° Wedgewood j but with a stronger heat froths
up into a yellowish hard coloured mass. By increasing
the heat, it changes to a white enamel; with acids
after calcination, forms a jelly.
A L G G Y.
Constituent Parts
Davy, Isich. Jour. xi. 153
Part
Classitic
Constituent Parts.
Alumina,
Silica,
Lime,
Oxide of iron, —
Water, 26.2
A portion of fluoric acid,
70.
1.4
Gregor, ibid. xiii. 24“
58.7°
tion.
•30
12
37
l9
75
Klaproth. Analyt. Ess i. 169.
Silica, 46
Alumina, 14.5
Carbonate of lime, 28
Sulphate of lime, 6.5
Oxide of iron, 3
Water, 2
Localities, &c.—This mineral was first discovered
by Dr Wavell, in a quarry near Barnstaple. Mr
Hatchett found it, in 1796, filling the cavities and
veins of a soft argillaceous schistus. It has since been
found in Stenna-Gwyn mine, in the parish of St Ste¬
phen’s, Cornwall, where it is accompanied with sulphu¬
r'd of tin, copper, and iron.
100.0
Localities, &c.—-This mineral is found in Persia,
Natolia, and China, and it is supposed that its re¬
pository is among granite. It has been found also in
Siberia, near the lake Baikal, where it forms a vein
along with garnets, feldspar, and pyrites. It is fre-
quentlv mixed with pyrites, and a grayish white feld-
spar.
Uses.—This stone, when it is of a fine blue colour,
and free from white spots, is held in great estimation
for various ornamental purposes •, but it derives its
greatest value from its use in painting. The colour
which it furnishes is called ultramarine. To prepare
it, the stone is first calcined, and then reduced to an
impalpable powder, which is mixed with a paste com¬
posed of resinous matters, of wax and linseed oil.
f rom this mixture a powder is obtained by washing,
which being dried affords the colouring matter. Ilns^
colour, when used in painting, is not susceptible of
change.
53. Species. Hydrargillite.
Wavellite of Dr Babington and others.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found crystallized.
The crystals are very minute, and are attached to
quartz, in tufts or bundles, which diverge from a com-
,mon centre. It is also found closely compacted to¬
gether, in the form of mammillary protuberances ot the
size of small peas, and adhering to each other. The
crystals, when magnified, appear to be four-sided, and,
when broken, the section seems to be rhomboidal.
The crystals have sometimes the appearance ot fine
down, and sometimes are of the size ot a hair. Lustre
silky.
The colour is white, with a shade of gray or
green j usually opaque, and sometimes semitranspa¬
rent. The texture is loose but the small fragments
are so hard as to scratch agate. Spec. grav. 2.25 to
2.7°.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe j but
the crystals, exposed suddenly to strong heat, decrepi¬
tate.
54. Species. Andalusite.
Adamantine Spar, Kirwan, i. 337. Spath Adamantin,
Bournon, Jour, de Phys. 1789. Feldspath Apyre,
Hauy, iv. 362.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, and
crystallized in rectangular four-sided prisms, the sum¬
mits of which are obliterated. Lustre weakly shining
and resinous. Longitudinal fracture foliated. Cross
fracture a little splintery. Colour reddish brown or
violet j translucent at the edges. Very hard ; scratches
quartz, and sometimes even spinelle. Difficultly fran¬
gible. Spec. grav. 3.165.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe.
Localities, &c.—This mineral was first discovered by
Bournon in the granitic rocks of f orez, where it occu¬
pies a vein of common feldspar. It has been found al¬
so in Spain, where it enters into the composition of a
ranite. It is also met with in Aberdeenshire. When
rst discovered it was supposed to be a variety of ada¬
mantine spar, or corundum 5 but its inferior spec. grav.
and the difference in the structure of its crystals, afford
sufficient characteristic differences.
V
55. Species. Feldspar.
This species is divided into the five following subspe¬
cies : 1. Adularia. 2. Labradore stone. 3. Common
feldspar. 4. Compact feldspar. 5. Hollow spar.
Subspecies 1. Adularia.
Moonstone, Kirwan, i. 322. UAdulaire, Brochant, i.
371. Eeldspath Nacre, Hauy, ii. 606.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive or cry¬
stallized. The forms of its crystals are, 1. A four-sided
rhomboidal prism. 2. A perfect rhomb, more or less
oblique. 3. A rectangular four-sided table, with ob¬
lique terminal faces. 4. A six-sided prism. 5. A six-
sided table. Surface of the crystals smooth or longitu¬
dinally streaked. Lustre shining or resplendent. Inter¬
nal lustre resplendent, vitreous, or pearly. Fracture
foliated. Cleavage double. Fragments rhomboidal.
Colour yellowish, greenish, or milk-white : is some¬
times
|rt I.
MINERALOGY.
s;gca. times chatoyant. Is always translucent; sometime^ sc¬
on. mitransparent. Hard ; scratches common feldspar,
'•■v'—*'Brittle, and easily frangible. Spec. grav. 2.500 to
2.561.
Chem. Chat\—Adularia before the blow-pipe cracks
and splits, and then melts into a white glass.
Constituent Parts.
Silica,
Alumina,
Lime,
Potash,
Magnesia,
Oxide of iron.
Sulphate of barytes,
Water,
Loss,
Yauquelin.
64
20
2
14
Westrurab.
62. CO
17.50
6.5®
6.
1.40
2.
•25
3.85
100.00
Subspecies 3. Common Feldspar.
JTt/. Kirwan, i. 316. Le Feldspath Commuti, Brochant,
i. 362. Feldspath, Hauy, ii. 590.
Fxter. Char.—Feldspar is found massive, disseminat¬
ed, in rounded pieces, or crystallized. Its forms are,
1. A broad six-sided prism with unequal angles, termi¬
nated at each extremity by an obtuse bevelment, whose
faces are placed on the two lateral edges. 2. A four¬
sided rhomboidal prism. 3. A four-sided rectangular
prism, having the lateral edges sometimes truncated ;
and, 4. A six-sided table. Double crystals are some¬
times met with. Lustre shining; internal lustre also
shining; sometimes resplendent, vitreous or pearly.
Fracture perfectly foliated ; fragments rhomboidal.
Colours milk-white, yellowish, grayish, reddish, ami
greenish. Translucent; scratches glass ; brittle, ami
easily frangible. Spec. grav. 2.437 to 2.704.
Chem, Char.'—Before the blow-pipe melts into a
white glass.
179
Siliceous
genus.
Localities, &c.—This mineral was first found by Pi-
Mi in one of the summits of St Gothard in Switzerland ;
this summit is called Adula, and from this it takes its
name. It is said that it forms particular beds, inter¬
posed between micaceous schistus and gneis. It is ac¬
companied with quartz, mica, and common feldspar.
Subspecies 2. Labradore Stone.
Id. Kirwan, i. 324. La Piet're de Labrador, Bro¬
chant, i. 369. Feldspath Opalin, Hauy, ii. 607.
Extcr. Char.—This mineral is found massive, and in
rounded pieces. Internal lustre shining, sometimes re¬
splendent; pearly, or vitreous. Fracture perfectly fo¬
liated, with a double cleavage.
Colour most commonly dark or deep ash gray; but
by varying its position it reflects dift’erent colours, as
blue, green, yellow, brown, and red ; and these colours
exhibit stripes, spots, and dots. It is strongly translu¬
cent. Spec. grav. 2.6 to 2.7.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe fusible into a
white enamel.
Constituent Parts. Bindheim.
Constituent Parts.
Vauqueliu.
Silica, 62.83
Alumina, 17.2
Lime, 3.
Oxide of iron, x.
Potash, 13.
Barytes, —
Magnesia, —
Loss, 3.15
1-00.00
Kirwan. Chenevix.
67 64.
14 24.
6.25
2.
II
8
3-75
100 100.00
Localities, Sac.—Feldspar is one of the most common
substances, and the most universally distributed in na¬
ture. It does not exist, however, in large masses. It
forms one of the component parts of granite, gneis, sye¬
nite and porphyry.
When exposed to the action of the air, it is very li¬
able to decomposition, and then it is converted into a
white earthy mass, which is employed in the manu¬
facture of porcelain. This is the kaolin of the Chi
nese.
Silica,
Alumina,
Sulphate of lime,
Oxide of copper,
Oxide of iron,
Loss,
100.00
Localities, &c.—This stone was first brought from the
island of St Paul, near the coast of Labradore, whence
its name. It has been since found in Bohemia, and
near the lake Baikal in Siberia. It is rarely found in
its native repository, but it is supposed to belong to pri¬
mitive rock ; for it is accompanied with schorl, mica,
and hornblende.
Uses.—The brilliancy of its colours, and particularly
its chatoyant property, have brought it into use in jewel¬
lery.
Subspecies 4. Compact Feldspar.
Continuous Feldspar. Kirw. i. 323. Le Feldspath Com-
pacte, Broch. i. 367. Feldspath Compacta Bleu,
Hauy, ii. 605.
Ester. Char.—This variety is found massive, and ak
so in rounded pieces. Lustre weakly shining, or only
glimmering. Fracture imperfectly foliated, sometimes
splintery. Fragments not very sharp edged.
Colour bluish white, greenish or yellowish ; translu¬
cent, but sometimes only at the edges. Streak white ;
is scratched by quartz.
Chem. Char.—Fusible before the blow-pipe.
Localities, &c.—Compact feldspar is found in Sax¬
ony, and in the Tyrol. It is not uncommon in Scot¬
land, as in the Grampian mountains, and on the Pent-
land hi'ls in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. The
crystals of feldspar observed in antique green porphyry,
are supposed to belong to this variety.
Z 2 Subspecies
69 5
13.6
•3
3-90
MINE fl A L O G Y.
1B0
Siliceous
genus. Subspecies 5. Hollow Spar, or Chiastolite.
Made, Broch. 11. 514. Id. Hauy, Hi. 267.
Essen. Chav.—Divisions parallel to the faces of a
prism, slightly rhomboulal. A. black, substance sui*
rounded by another of a whitish colour.
Exter. Char.—This mineral lias been found only cry¬
stallized in four-sided, nearly rectangular prisms. The
summit is always broken, by which the arrangement of
the two substances is observed. The white part is the
outermost; the black matter forms in the centre a small
prism, whose sides correspond with those of the outer
crystal. From the angles of the central prism proceed
four narrow lines, which extend to each ot the angles
of the outer prism 5 and sometimes this black substance
forms at the extremity of these lines, or in the angles
of the large prism, a similar small prism of black mat¬
ter. The black matter is an argillaceous schistus, simi¬
lar to the repository of the crystals. The white part
is sometimes weakly shining ; internal lustre glimmer¬
ing, resinous. The black part is'nearly dull. Fracture
foliated ; the black part earthy.
The colour of the white part, yellowish, or grayish
white ; that of the black part, grayish, or bluish black.
Opaque, or translucent, Semihard: scratching glass
when foliated. Streak white. Brittle ; not very fran¬
gible. Spec. grav. 2.944. Communicates to sealing
wax, negative electricity by friction.
Chart. Char.—Before the blow'-pipe, the white part
melts into a whiter glass ; the black part into a black
glass.
localities, &c.—This mineral has been found in
Brittany in France, imbedded in argillaceous schistus j
in the Pyrenees, in a similar rock, lying immediately
on granite, near St Jacques de Compostella in Spain j
and in the mountains of Cumberland, also imbedded in
argillaceous schistus.
The name chiastolite is derived from the appearance
of the section of the crystal, which is supposed to have
some resemblance to the Greek letter %.
56. Species. Scafolite.
Scapolithe, Brochant, ii. 526. Id. Hauy, iv. 493. Rapi-
dolithe, Abilgaard.
Exter. Char.—This mineral has been found massive,
but most frequently crystallized in rectangular, four-
sided prisms, having the lateral, edges truncated. The
crystals are small, sometimes acicular, commonly elon¬
gated and aggregated. Their surface is longitudinally
streaked and glimmering. Internal lustre weakly shin¬
ing,, vitreous or resinous. Fracture foliated.
Colour grayish white 5 translucent, or rarely transpa¬
rent. Scratches glass, and is brittle. Spec. grav. 3.68
to 3.70.
Chem Char.—Froths up before the blow-pipe, and
melts into a white enamel.
Localities, &c.—This mineral has been found in the
mines of iron ore near Arendal in Norway. The cry¬
stals are mixed with mica and calcareous spar.
Part!
57. Species. Arctizite.
Ckssific;
tion.
Wernerite, Hauy, Hi. 119. Id. Brochant, ii. 529.
Essen. C/wr.—Spec. grav. 3.6. Phosphorescent by
heat, but not by percussion.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, or cry¬
stallized in four-sided rectangular prisms, terminated by
an obtuse four-sided pyramid. The lateral^ edges are
truncated, so that the prism appears to be eight-sided.
Crystals small j lustre resplendent, sometimes weakly
shining, and pearly or resinous. I racture foliated. 10-
lia curved in two directions.
Colour between pistachio green and isabella yellow.
Translucent. Scratches glass, and strikes fire with steel.
The powder thrown on hot coals phosphoresces in the
dark.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it froths up, and
easily melts into an imperfect white, and opaque ena¬
mel. Insoluble in nitric acid.
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in the iron
mines of Northo and Ulrica in Sweden. Bouoen
near Arendal in Norway, and at Campo Longo in
Switzerland.
38. Species. Diasporet.
Id. Brochant, ii. 507. Id. Hauy, iv. 358.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is of a gray colour.
Lustre shining, pearly. I racture foliated, with the
folia a, little curved ; separates into rhomboids, with'
angles about 130° and 50°; scratches glass. Spec,
grav. 3.432.
Chem. Char.—A fragment of this stone heated for a
little in the flame of a candle decrepitates and disper¬
ses in all directions ; from this property is obtained its
name, which signifies to disperse. Heated in a close
crucible to prevent the fragments from flying off, they
were reduced to white shining particles, somewhat re
sembling boracie acid.
Constituent Parts. Yauquelin.
Alumina, 80
Oxide of iron, 3
Water, 17
100
Localities^ &c.—The repository of this mineral is
unknown. It was connected with an argillaceous,
ochrey rock. -
This mineral approaches nearly to hydrargillite or
wavellite, described above, in its constituent parts } but
the proportions and some of the external characters
are different.
59. Species. SPODUMENE.
Id. D’Andrada, Jour, de Phys. an 8. p. 240. Triphane,
Hauy, iv. 407. Id. Brochant, ii. 528.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in small masses,
which present some appearances of crystallization. Lus¬
ter shining, pearly. Fracture in the mass radiated, 01
singb
irt I. MINER
assifica- single crystals foliated and divisible in three directions,
tion. which sometimes afford an oblique angled prism of
about ioo° and 8o°. Cross fracture dull, rough, and
splintery. In larger masses the fracture is radiated.
Lustre shining pearly. Scratches glass.
Colour greenish white or leek green. Translucent at
the edges. Brittle. Spec. grav. 3.192 to 3.218.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it separates at
first into small yellowish plates, and then melts into a
grayish white transparent glass.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Silica, 56.5
Alumina, 24
Lime, _ 5
Oxide of iron, 5
Loss, 9.5
100.0
Localities, &c.— This mineral has been found in the
mines of Utoe near Dalero in Sweden. Its repository
seems to be a vein, where it is accompanied with quartz,
and black mica.
The name triphane has been given to this mineral
by Hauy from its peculiar three-fold natural divisions.
It received the name spodumene, which signifies covered
with ashes from iJ’Andrada.
60. Species. Meionite.
Id. Hauy, ii. 586. Id. Brochant, ii. 519.
Essen. Char.—Divisible parallel to the faces of a
prism with square bases. Easily fusible into a spongy
white glass.
Exter. Char.—It is found crystallized in four-sided
rectangular prisms whose lateral edges are always trun¬
cated. It is terminated by an obtuse tour-sided pyramid
set on the lateral edges. Sometimes the lateral edges
are doubly truncated, thus forming a sixteen-sided
prism. The crystals are small, adhering laterally and
arranged in rows to the matrix. Lustre shining, vitreous.
Longitudinal fracture foliated, and parallel to the four
faces of the prism. Cross fracture slightly conchoidal.
Colour grayish white. Semi-transparent. Scratches
glass.
Chcm. Char.—IVIelts very easily before the blow-pipe
with considerable intumescence accompanied with a
hissing noise.
Localities, &c.—This mineral has only been found on
’Vesuvius near Mount Somma. The crystals are usual¬
ly attached to fragments of foliated limestone.
61. Species. SoMMITE.
Hephehnc, Hauy, iii. 186. Id. Brochant, ii. 522.
Essen. Char.—Divisible parallel to the sides and bases
of a regular six-sided prism. With difficulty scratches
glass.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found disseminated in
grains or in small crystals, which are commonly perfect
six-sided prisms. '1 he lateral faces are smooth and
shining with a vitreous lustre. Longitudinal fracture
foliated. Cross fracture conchoidal and shining. Co¬
lour grayish white. Translucent, rarely semitranspa-
A L O G Y. 181
rent. The sharp points scratch glass, the others leave Siliceous
only a white trace. Easily frangible. Specific gravi- genus
ty 3.2441. _ t  '
Chem. Char.—Fusible into a glass by long continued
heat. Becomes opake in nitric acid, hence the name
nepheline, signifying cloudy, given to it by Hauy.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Silica, 46
Alumina, 49
Lime, 2
Oxide of iron, 1
Loss, 2
IOO
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found lining the-
cavities of rocks on Mount Somma, from whence its
name sommite. It is accompanied with vesuvian and
black schorl, all which are supposed by some to be ejec¬
ted matters from Vesuvius.
62. Species. Ichthyophthalmite.
Id. D’Andrada. Ichthyophthalme, Brochant, ii. 552.
Apophyllite, Hauy. Id. Brongniart, i. 385.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, and
crystallized in rhomboids which approach nearly to
the cube 3 in thick six-sided tables, and in rectangular
four-sided tables, with truncated edges. Lustre shin-
ing, pearly. Fracture foliated j cleavage single; cross'
fracture fine grained uneven, and weakly shining.
Colour yellowish or greenish white; translucent or
semitransparent. Scratches glass; not easily frangible.
Spec. grav. 2.46.
Chem. Char.—Exposed to the blow-pipe, is with
difficulty reduced to a white enamel. In nitric and
muriatic acids it forms a jelly.
Constituent Parts.
Silica,
Lime,
Potash,
Water,
Fourcroy and Vauquelin.
5r
28
4
*7
100
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in the iron
mine of Utoe in Sweden, imbedded in a violet-colour¬
ed limestone, and accompanied with greenish hornblende
and oxide of iron.
IV. ARGILLACEOUS Genus.
1. Species. Native Alumina.
Native Argil, Kirw. i. 175. VAlumine Pure, Bro¬
chant, i. 318.
Exter Char.—This mineral is found in kidney-form
masses ; it has no lustre ; fracture earthy ; fragments
blunt edged.
Colours snow or yellowish white ; opaque; stains a
little ; tender or triable; adheres a little to the tongue,
feels meagre ; gives out an earthy smell when breathed
on. Spec. grav. 1.305 to 1.66..
Client.
i82
MINER
Argillacc- Ehcm. Char.—Before the hlow-pipe is absolutely in-
oiis genus, fusible, but dissolves almost entirely in acids.
Constituent Parts. Fourcroy.
Alumina, 45
Sulphate of lime, 24
Water, 27
Lime and silica, 4
100
But according to the analysis of others, it is composed
almost entirely of pure alumina, "mixed only with a
small proportion of lime and silica.
Localities, &c.—It is found at Halle in Saxony, in
part of the garden belonging to the college, immediate¬
ly under the soil; but being only in small quantity, and
in the neighbourhood of a large laboratory, has led to
the supposition that it is an artificial production. It
is said that it has been also found at Magdeburg
in Lower Saxony, in Silesia, near Verona, and in
England.
2. Species. Porcelain Earth.
Porcelain Clay, Kirw. i. 178. La Terra Porcelaine,
Brochant, i. 320. Argile Kaolin, et Feldspath Ar~
gillifarme, Hauy, ii. 616.
Extcr. Char.—This mineral is found massive, or dis¬
seminated j has no lustre ; stains strongly ; has little co¬
herence ; adheres a little to the tongue.
Colour reddish, yellowish, or grayish white.
Chan. Char.—Infusible in the strongest heat of a
furnace.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Silica, 55. 71-15
Alumina, 27-
Lime, 2. 1-92
Oxide of iron, .5
Water 14. 6.73
Loss, 1.5 4-34
100.0 100.00
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in consider¬
able abundance in beds and veins, in granite and gneis,
especially when the proportion of feldspar is consider¬
able. It abounds in China and Japan, where it is
known by the name of kaolin ; in Bohemia, Saxony,
Denmark, and particularly in many places of France,
as at Limoges and Bayonne, and in Cornwall in Eng¬
land. In many cases it seems to be owing to the de¬
composition of granite.
Uses.—Porcelain earth, as its name imports, is em¬
ployed either as it is found nati ve, or mixed in certain
proportions with other earths, in the manufacture of por¬
celain. That from Limoges in France is employed
without any addition.
3. Species. Common Clay.
This species is divided into five subspecies : 1. loam;
2. pipe clay ; 3. potters clay ; 4. variegated clay ; and^
5. slaty clay.
A L O G Y. Part
,, , T Classific
Subspecies 1. Loam. iion
Exter Char.—This mineral is found massive and in ^
great abundance ; has no lustre ; fracture uneven or
fine earthy; fragments very blunt-edged ; has little
coherence ; stains.
Colour yellowish-gray, or spotted -with yellow and
brown, feels somewhat greasy, and adheres strongly to
the tongue.
Localities, &c.—Loam is found in great abundance
every where, and perhaps it ought to be considered as
a mixture of different substances, rather than as a sim¬
ple mineral.
Subspecies 2. Pipe Clay.
Exter. Char.—This variety is found in great masses;
has scarcely any lustre ; fracture fine earthy, or fine
grained uneven j fragments sharp-edged ; has some co¬
herence.
Colour grayish or yellowish white; streak shining ;
feels greasy, adheres strongly to the tongue, and is easily
frangible.
Localities, &c.—It is very abundant in most countries,
and is usually found in alluvial land.
Subspecies 3. Potters Clay.
Id. Kirw. i. 180. Argile a Poticr, Brochant, i. 322.
Exter. Char.—This variety is also found massive, and
in great abundance. It is intermediate between solid
and friable ; has no lustre j fracture fine grained ear¬
thy, sometimes coarse grained uneven; fragments blnnt-
edged.
Colour yellowish, greenish, or grayish white ; some¬
times reddish or ochrey yellow of various shades. It
is opaque, stains a little ; streak a little shining ; very
brittle, and easily frangible ; is somewhat ductile ; ad¬
heres a little to the tongue, and feels greasy.
Chan. Char.—Is differently affected by the blow¬
pipe, according to the proportion of the different sub¬
stances of which it is composed ; but in general is diffi¬
cult of fusion. Effervesces with acids when the pro¬
portion of lime is considerable.
Constituent Pai'ts. Vauquelin.
Silica, 43.5
Alumina, 33*2
Lime, 3.5
Oxide of iron, 1.
Water, 18.
Loss, .8
100.0
The proportions of silica and lime vary consider¬
ably ; the silica is very often the predominant ingredi¬
ent. Kirwin examined a potters clay, in which. he
found 63 parts of silica.
Localities, &c.—Potters clay is found in great abun¬
dance in most countries, and in similar situations with
the former. It often forms thick beds in alluvial land,
alternating with beds of sand.
Subspecies 4. Variegated Clay.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive. Has
an
4
art I. MINER
assifica- an earthy fracture, a shining streak, and is soft or fri-
tion. able.
—v——* The colour is white, red, or yellow, and these dif¬
ferent colours are sometimes in stripes, veins and spots.
Adheres a little to the tongue, and feels somewhat
greasy. It is sectile and light.
As this variety of clay forms with water a less tena¬
cious mass than some of the other varieties, it probably
contains a greater proportion of siliceous earth.
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in Upper Lu-
satia.
Subspecies 5. Slaty Clay,
Slate Clay, Shale, Kirwan, i. 182. L'Argile Schis-
teuse, Brochant, i. 327. Argile Schisteuse Impres-
sionSe, Hauy, iv. 448.
Exter Char.—This subspecies is found massive j in¬
ternally dull, when free from mica ; fracture slaty or
earthy ; fragments in tables.
Colour grayish, yellowish, or blackish, sometimes
reddish or brownish 5 opaque 5 soft, sectile, and easily
frangible. Adheres to the tongue j feels meagre. Sp.
grav. 2.6 to 2.68.
Localities, &c.—Usually accompanies coal, so that
it abounds in all coal countries. It is sometimes mix¬
ed with sand, mica, and iron pyrites. It is known in
this country under the name of shale, and in Scotland
particularly by that of till, or described under the more
general denomination of one of the coal metals. Slaty
clay is still farther distinguished by impressions of ferns,
reeds, or grasses. When it is of a black colour, it seems
to be owing to a greater proportion of coaly matter.
4. Species. Clay Stone, or Indurated Clay'.
Indurated Clay, Kirwan, i. 181. DArgile Endurcie,
Brochant, i. 3 25.
A L O G Y.
5. Species. Adhesive Slate.
Lc Schiste a Polir, Brochant i. 376. Schiste a Polir,
Hauy, iv. 449. Polishing Slate, Klaproth, i. 455.
Analyt. Ess. Transl.
Exter. Char,—This mineral is found massive j is al¬
ways internally dull j has a slaty or fine earthy frac¬
ture j fragments slaty or in tables.
Colour clear gray, whitish or reddish j opaque or
slightly translucent at the-edges j gives a shining
streak 5 is sectile, soft, and very easily frangible j ad¬
heres strongly to the tongue: feels meagre. Specific
gravity 2.08.
Chem. Char.—Immersed in water, adhesive slate ab¬
sorbs it greedily, air bubbles being rapidly disengaged
and with noise j but does not become tenacious. When
reduced to powder and calcined, it loses about one-fifth
of its weight. Exposed to strong heat, it is converted in¬
to a dark gray or yellowish and porous slag. (Brochant).
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
66.5
I.
Silica,
Alumina,
Magnesia,
Lime,
Oxide of iron,
Carbone,
Water and air,
Loss,
62.5
7
8
1.25
2-5
22.
19.
2.25
100.00
100.0
Localities, &c.—Adhesive slate forms considerable
beds at Menil-Montant near Paris. In these beds me-
nilite already described is found.
183
Argillace¬
ous genus.
Exter. Char.—Indurated clay is always found mas¬
sive j it is dull j fracture compact, or fine earthy; but
sometimes splintery or even, and also sometimes slaty.
Fragments more or less sharp edged, and sometimes in
tables.
Colour usually bluish, yellowish, or greenish gray,
and sometimes pearl gray, grayish red, whitish, and
brownish. These colours are often mixed, and are ar¬
ranged in spots and stripes. Opaque, soft, rather
brittle ; easily frangible ; adheres slightly to the tongue ;
feels greasy. Spec. grav. inconsiderable. Gradually
sails to pieces in the water, or crumbles into powder.
Has but little ductility.
Localities, &c.—Indurated clay is very common. It
as found in veins, and sometimes in very extensive beds.
It constitutes the basis of many porphyries, especially in
Saxony, where it is abundant. It is found in many
parts of Scotland, as on the Pentland hills in the neigh¬
bourhood of Edinburgh.
Stourbridge clay, according to Mr Kirwan, may be
included under this variety. It is of a gray colour ;
does not adhere to the tongue ; part is soon diffused in
water, and another part falls into powder. Mr Kiir-
wan found it to contain 12.5 of moisture, 12 of a
coarse white sand, 30 of a fine brownish sand, and
even the remaining or argillaceous part was not entire¬
ly freed from sand but by boiling in acids.
6. Species. Polishing Slate.
Le Polierschicfer, Brochant, i. 376.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive ; inter¬
nally it is dull. Fracture slaty, but in some directions
earthy. Fragments slaty or in tables.
Colour yellowish gray or white; and different co¬
lours appear disposed in stripes ; is soft; adheres to
the tongue ; feels meagre, and is rather light.
Localities, &c.—This mineral has been found only, it
is said, in Bohemia, near pseudo volcanoes, and it is sup¬
posed, that it is nothing more than indurated coal-ashes.
It approaches so near in the characters that are given
of it to the following, that it might be included under
the same species, or considered as a variety of it.
7. Species. Tripoli.
Id. Kirw. ii. 202. Le Tripoli, Broch. i. 379. Quartz,
Aluminifete Tripoleen, Hauy, iv. 467.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive; is
dull internally ; has a coarse earthy fracture, sometimes
slaty; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour yellowish gray, and sometimes brownish red.
Is soft and somewhat friable ; meagre to the feel, but
does not adhere to the tongue.
Chem. Char.~—\t is almost infusible before the blow-
pipe.
134
MINE
Argillace- pipe- I<- melts with borax without frothing up.
ousgetms. does not form a paste with water.
K
■it
Constituent Parts. Haasse.
A L O G Y. Part:!
been supposed that the excellence of the alum is owing Ciassificaji
to the mineral containing within itself all the ingredients [ lion
necessary in the formation of that triple salt.
Silica,
Alumina,
Oxide of iron,
90
7
3
10. Species. Aluminous Schistus.
This is divided into tv/o varieties or subspecies 5 1,
common *, and, a. shining.
100
Localities,&c.—This substance Was formerly brodght
to Europe from Tripoli 5 hence tne name j but it Iras
since been found in many other places, as in Bavaria,
Saxony, and Bohemia ‘y in B.ussia and in England.. It
is found in the neighbourhood of basalts, sometimes
forming veins j at Potschappel it is disposed in beds
among the strata of coal, and neat those places where
strata of coal have been on fire.
Uses.—Tripoli is employed in polishing metals, pre¬
cious stones, and glasses for optical instruments.
8. Species. FloatstonE.
Exter. r/iar.-^-This mineral has been found in tu¬
berose porOus masses ; it is dull, has an earthy fracture,
and blunt-edged fragments.
The colour is yellowish gray or grayish white. It is
soft and brittle 5 rough to the feel, and gives out a
creaking sound. It is very light, from which it has its
it name.
Localities, &c.—Has been only found at St Omcrs
near Paris.
9. Species. Alum Stone.
'La Pierre Alumineuse, Broch. i. 381.
Exter. Char.—This stone is found massive ; is ge¬
nerally dull, rarely a little glimmering 5 fracture un¬
even, sometimes splintery } fragments not very sharp-
edged.
Colour grayish or yellowish white : it is soft, and
Sometimes semihard 5 stains a little, and adheres to the
tongue.
Chem. Char.—This mineral does not effervesce With
acids 5 but after being heated and dissolved in water, it
affords alum. According to Bergman it contains 43
of sulphur, 35 of alumina, and 22 of silica ; but the fol¬
lowing is the result ot Vauquelin’s analysis.
Constituent Parts.
Alumina, 43‘92
Silica, 24.
Sulphureous acid, 25.
Sulphate of potash, 3.08
'Water, 4
100.00
Localities, See.—This mineral has been long known
under the name of the stone of Tolfa, from the name of
the place where it is found near Borne, and where it forms
a mountain which is traversed by veins of whitish gray
quartz. It is from this stone that the Roman alum, so
celebrated in commerce, is manufactured 5 and it has
Subspecies 1. Common Aluminous Schistus*
Lc Schiste Alumineux, Broch. i. 386.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in masses, which
often contain pieces of a globular form4 It is some¬
times glimmering, amd sometimes dull} fracture com¬
monly slaty, and sometimes a little earthy •, fragments
in tables j streak the same as the colour ot the mineral,
a little shining.
Colour grayish black or brownish } is soft 5 meagre
to the feel, and easily frangible.
Chem. Char.—When exposed to the air for some time
it separates and 'yields alum by lixiviation.
Localities, Sec.—Aluminous schistus is abundant in
Saxony, Bohemia, France, England, and some parts of
Scotland. It is disposed in beds among stratiform rocks,
and in transition rocks, and it is often traversed by
veins of quartz. Being mixed with pyrites, the decom¬
position is thus promoted when exposed to the air.
Uses.—This mineral is dug out lor the purpose of ex¬
tracting alum, first by exposing it to the air or heat,
and then by lixiviation.
Subspecies. 1. Shining Aluminous Schistus.
Lc Schiste Alumineux Eclatant, Broch. i. 388.
Exter. Char.—This mineral approaches very nearly
to the former in most of its characters, but in the di¬
rection of its principal fracture the external surface is
smooth 5 lustre shining, or resplendent, resinCuS, and
even sorUewhat metallic ; in the opposite directions it is
dull. Fracture commonly slaty, and somewhat curved j
fragments in tables.
Colour intermediate between bluish and grayish
black, and sometimes iron black. Colours in the rents
iridescent.
In other characters and circumstances it resembles
the fdrmer.
11. Species. Bituminous Sckistus.
Lc Schiste Bitumineux, Broch. i. 289. Bituminous
Shale, Kirw. 183.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive 5 lustre
glimmering j fracture most commonly thin, raxely
thick j fragments in the form of tables, sonietitnes tra¬
pezoidal. .
Colour brownish black, sometimes gray or blackish
brown j soft and easily frangible ; adheres slightly to
the tongue •, streak shining ; feels greasy.
Chem. Char.—When placed on burning coals it gives
out a pale flame with a sulphureous odour, becomes
white, and loses a good deal of its weight.
Localities, Sec.—This mineral is peculiar to coal
countries, which it always accompanies, and alternates
With
MINE R A L O G Y.
rt I.
ssifica- with slaty clay and coal. It is not unfrequent in Bohe-
kion. mia, Poland, England, and Scotland.
12. Species. Drawing Slate.
Black Chalk, Kirwan, i. 195. Le Schiste a Dcssincr,
Broch. i. 391. Argile Schisieuse Graphique, Hauy,
iv. 447.
Extcr. Char.—This mineral is found massive, usually
dull 5 but in the direction of the principal fracture a
little glimmering j fracture in certain directions curved
slaty; in others fine grained earthy j fragments splin¬
tery or tabular.
Colour grayish or bluish black; opaque ; stains black;
soft ; meagre to the feel.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it becomes co¬
vered with a kind of varnish.
Constituent Parts. Wiegleb.
Silica, 64.50
Alumina, 11'25
Carbone, 11
Oxide of iron, 2.75
Water, 7.50
Loss, 3
100.00
Localities, &c.—Drawing slate frequently accompa¬
nies aluminous schistus. It forms along with it beds
which are subordinate to clay slate. It is found in Ita¬
ly, where it is an object of commerce. It is also found
in Spain, France, and some parts of Scotland.
Uses.—As its name indicates, it is employed like
black chalk in drawing.
13. Species. Whet Slate.
Novaculite, Kirw. i. 238. Le Schiste a Aiguiser, Bro-
chant, i. 393. Argile Schisteuse Novaculaire, Hauy,
iv. 448.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive ; is
scarcely glimmering ; fracture in large masses slaty, in
small pieces splintery ; fragments tabular.
Colour commonly greenish gray, or smoke gray.
Sometimes mountain green : translucent at the edges :
semihard, but varying between hard and soft; rather
easily frangible; streak grayish white ; feels greasy;
does not adhere to the tongue. Specific gravity
2.722.
Chem. Char.—Does not effervesce with acids, and is
infusible before the blow-pipe.
Localities, &c.—Whet slate is found in primitive
mountains, where it forms beds which are subordinate
to clay slate. It was originally brought from the Le¬
vant ; but has since been discovered in Bohemia, Saxo¬
ny, in Bayreuth, where it is wrought, and in Siberia.
An efflorescence has been observed on the surface,
which is found to be sulphate of magnesia ; from which
at is naturally supposed that the base of that salt forms
one of its constituent parts.
Uses.—Whet slate, as its name imports, is cut and
polished for the purpose of sharpening knives and other
Vol. XIV. Part r. f
instruments; and, reduced to powder, is employed in Argillacc-
polishing steel. ous genus.
14. Species. Clay Slate.
Argillite, or Argillaceous Schistus, or Slate, Kirwan, i.
234. L.e Schiste Argilleux, Brochant, i. 395. Ar¬
gile Schisteuse Tegulaire, Hauy, iv. 447.
Extcr. Char.—Clay slate is found massive, or disse¬
minated, or in rounded pieces ; internally it is a little
shining or glimmering ; rarely dull ; the more the struc¬
ture fs foliated, the greater is its lustre. Lustre some¬
times silky, pearly, or semiinetallic. Fracture more or
less slaty, sometimes curved and waved, sometimes ear¬
thy or splintery ; fragments tabular, rarely splintery ;
sometimes cubic or rhomboidal.
Colour chiefly gray of various shades ; but sometimes
it is reddish, brownish, or yellowish, or reddish brown.
Different colours are so disposed as to appear striped,
waved, spotted, or dendritic. It is in general soft;
sometimes semihard, sectile, and easily frangible. Gives
a grayish white streak ; feels greasy. Spec. grav. 2.6'"
to 2.88.
According to Kirwan, clay slate is composed of silica,
alumina, lime, magnesia, and iron, with some bitumi¬
nous particles.
Localities, &c.—Clay slate belongs equally to the
primitive, transition, and stratiform rocks, and frequent¬
ly forms entire mountains. Primitive clay slate is some¬
times mixed with quartz, mica, hornblende, garnets,
limestone, pyrites, cinnabar as at Idria; in general
it abounds with metallic ores, either in veins or in
beds.
Clay slate is very abundant in most countries;
it is not uufrequent in many parts of Scotland ;
but the slate of Easdale, and the contiguous islands
on the west coast, has long maintained a decided
superiority and preference to all others in this coun¬
try.
Uses.—Clay slate is in extensive use for covering-
houses, and then it is known in this country by the
single word slate. It is also employed in large plates
for writing on, or tracing characters that are afterwards
to be effaced.
15. Species. Lepidolite.
Id. Kirwan, i. 208. Id. Hauy, iv. 375. La Lepido-
lithe, Brochant, i. 399.
Exter. Char.—Lepidolite is found massive, and disse¬
minated in small plates, which might be taken for mi¬
ca. It is usually glimmering, rarely shityng. Lustre
semimetallic. Fracture fine grained uneven, rarely fo¬
liated. Fragments blunt edged.
Colour lilac blue, grayish and reddish brown ; trans¬
lucent. Semihard; sometimes soft; easily frangible;
and feels meagre. It is easily scraped with the knife;
but is with difficulty reduced to powder by trituration.
The powder rubbed between the fingers has a greasv
feel. Spec. grav. 2.816 to 2.854.
Chem. Char.—Froths up under the blow-pipe,
and melts into a transparent colourless globule ; but
writh the addition of a little nitre it becomes vio¬
let.
A a
Constituent
186
Argillace¬
ous genus.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth.
54*5
38*25
4*
Silica,
Alumina,
Potash,
Fluate of lime,
Oxide of iron and manganese, .75
"Water and loss, 2.5
100.00
Localities, &c.—This mineral was first discovered in
the mountain Gradisko near Rosena in Moravia, where
it is found in considerable masses included in blocks of
granite. It is found also in Sweden. Sometimes it is
disseminated in quartz rock.
The name, from terns, “ a scale,” is derived from its
scaly structure. Lepidolite was at first taken for fiuate
of lime or zeolite. A red coloured variety of sehorlite
was also supposed to be crystallized lepidolite.
16. Species. Mica.
Id. Kirw. i. 21. Id. Broch, i. 402. Id. Hauy, iii.
208.
Exter. Char.—Mica is most commonly disseminated
in thin tables, rarely massive or crystallized. The pri¬
mitive form of its crystals is a rectangular prism,
whose bases are rhombs with angles of 120° and 60
the integrant molecule is the same. The usual forms
of its crystals are, a six-sided table with equal angles,
sometimes very thick, which produces a six-sided prism,
and the want of two of the faces produces the table
with four rhomboidal faces j but the most common
form of mica is in thin plates or scales of no determi¬
nate figure. The lateral faces of the basis of the ta¬
llies are smooth and resplendent *, lustre metallic ; frac¬
ture foliated, sometimes curved or waved, and sometimes
radiated 5 fragments in the form of plates.
Colour usually gray, ash, yellowish, greenish, and
blackish gray 5 in thin plates semitransparent, or even
transparent 5 otherwise, only translucent on the edges*,
semihard, very easily frangible j flexible and elastic.
Spec. grav. 2.79 to 2.93.
Physical Char.—Mica rubbed on Spanish wax com¬
municates to it negative electricity. 
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is with dif¬
ficulty fusible into a whitish gray or green enamel.
Black mica yields a black enamel, which is attracted
by the magnet.
MINERALOGY. Part
Localities, See.—Mica is one of the most common Classify
minerals, forming one of the constituent parts of gra- tion.
nite, gneis, micaceous sclnstus, and other pi inntive locks, .
and in some of them sometimes forms particular small
veins. Mica also enters into the composition of strati¬
form rocks, as green stone, basalt, wacken.
Cat gold and cat silver are varieties of mica of a gold
or silver colour, which have a considerable lustre, but
inferior to that of these metals. It may be easily di¬
stinguished by the streak, which in the mica affoids a
whitish powder without any lustre.
Uses.—When mica is obtained in large and thin
plates, it is employed as a substitute lor glass, and for
this purpose it has been used for windows of men of
war, as on account of its elasticity it is less subject
to be broken from the concussion produced by the firing
of cannon.
too
Silica,
Alumina,
Lime,
Magnesia,
Oxide of iron,
Loss,
Constituent Parts.
Bergman.
Muscovy Glass.
40
45
Vauquelin.
50.
35*
i*33
i*35
7*
5*32
100.00
JOO
17. Species. Finite.
Micarelle, Kirw. i. 212. La Finite, Broch. i. 456.
Exter. Char.—This mineral has been usually found
crystallized in six-sided prisms, having all the lateral
edges truncated, or only three alternating edges, or in
four-sided rhomboidal prisms, xhe sen faces of the cry¬
stals smooth and a little glimmering 5 internally it is
dull, sometimes a little shining in the cross fracture 5
the fracture is fine grained, uneven, or small conchoidal)
fragments blunt-edged.
Colour reddish or blackish brown $ opaque 5 the
brown variety is slightly transparent 5 so soft as to be
cut with a knife, when it becomes of a bluish black *,
powder bright grav 5 adheres a little to the tongue j
feels greasy ; sp. grav. 2.98.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth..
Alumina,
Silica,
Oxide of iron,
63-75
29.50
6*75
100.00
Kirwan.
Colourless Mica.
38
28
20
J4
100
Localities, Sec.—Finite is found only near Schnee-
berg in Saxony, in the mine called Pim ; hence its name.
It is accompanied by quartz, feldspar and mica, which
constitute a small grained granite.
18. Species. Fotstone.
Id. Kirw. i. 155. La Pierre Ollaire, Broch. i. 405.
Talc Ollaire, Hauy, iii. 257.
Exter. Char.—Potstone is found'massive j internally
it is dull, sometimes glimmering or a little shining,
pearly -, fracture curved slaty, rarely foliated or wa¬
ved ; fragments blunt edged, in the form of tables or
scales.
Colour greenish gray, sometimes reddish or yellow¬
ish j opaque, rarely translucent on the edges y soft, sec-
tile, and mild -, feels greasy y by being breathed upon
it emits the argillaceous smell. Spec. grav. 2.76 to
2.86.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe y some
varieties absorb a little water.
Constituent
Constituent Pai'ts.
Silica,
Magnesia,
Alumina,
Lime,
Oxide of iron,
Fluoric acid ?
Loss,
MINER
Wiegleb.
3S.12
38-54
6.66
.41
I5.Q2
.41
.84
100.00
Localities, &e.—Potstone is found at Cliiayenna, in
the Valteline, from which the specimen above analyzed
was obtained ; at Como, in Switzerland, hence called
Como stone. It is also found in Saxony, Hungary, and
on the banks of Loch Fine opposite to Inverary in Scot¬
land. Potstone forms entire beds, and is usually ac¬
companied by serpentine, or it is in nests ; it is rarely
pure, but mixed with chlorite, talc, asbestus, &c.
Vses.—On account of the refractory nature of this
stone, it is employed in the construction of furnaces
where great heat is required $ and as it may be cut or
turned on the lathe, it has been formed into utensils for
the kitchen, and hence the name, potstone.
19. Species. Chlorite.
Id. Kirw. i. 147. La Chlorite, Broch. i. 408. Talc
Chlorite, Hauy, iii. 257.
Chlorite is divided into four subspecies : 1. earthy j
2. common 5 3. foliated j 4. schistose or slaty.
Subspecies 1. Earthy Chlorite.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is composed of small,
scaly, thin, and slightly glimmering particles, cohering
together, rarely in the form of powder.
Colour intermediate between mountain green and
dark leek green ; sometimes brownish ; does not stain;
feels greasy, but does not adhere to the tongue; gives
an earthy smell by breathing on it.
Chem. Char.—-Melts before the blow-pipe into a gray
or black enamel.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Silica, 26.
Alumina, 18.50
Magnesia, 8.
Muriate of soda, 2.
Oxide of iron, 43.
Water, 2.
.Loss, .50
100.00
Localities, &c.—Earthy chlorite is always found in
primitive mountains, forming beds which are subordi¬
nate to clay slate. It is found in Saxony, Switzerland,
Savoy, and in Scotland.
Subspecies 2. Common Chlorite.
Exter. Char.—This is found massive and disseminated,
or in thin superficial layers on other stones j internal
lustre slightly glimmering, resinous ; fracture earthy, or
A L O G Y. 187
foliated j fragments blunt-edged j soft, sometimes semi- Argillace-
hard. ous genus.
Colour similar to the former, and sometimes gravish
white j is opaque, easily frangible ; gives a light green
streak without lustre.
Constituent Parts. Hoepfner.
Silica, 41
Magnesia, 39
Alumina, 6
Lime, 1
Oxide of iron, 10
Loss, 3
100
Localities, &c.—Common chlorite is found in tint
same places with the former, and indeed it is supposed
to be earthy chlorite indurated. At Altenberg in
Saxony, it is mixed with pyrites of copper and arsenic,
and common hornblende.
Subspecies 3. Foliated Chlorite.
Exter. Char.—This variety is found massive, dissemi¬
nated, and crystallized in the form of a six-sided table
somewhat elongated j several of these tables being uni¬
ted together, frequently form globular, kidney-form,
or hotryoidai groups. External lustre glimmering or
weakly shining; internal shining, resinous, or pearly ;
fracture foliated $ folia curved j cleavage simple 5 frag¬
ments in tables.
Colour intermediate between leek and dark green j
opaque, or translucent at the edges ; streak light green 5
is soft, sectile, easily frangible, and feels a little greasy.
Constituent Parts. Lampadius.
Silica, . 35.
Magnesia, 29.9
Alumina, 18.
Oxide of iron, 9.7
Water, 2.7
Loss, 4.7
100.0
Localities, &C,-—This mineral has been only found
on St Gothard in Switzerland; it lines the sides of a
vein which traverses micaceous schistus. It is accom¬
panied by crystals of green mica, adularia, and quartz.
Brochant suggests that foliated chlorite may perhaps
be nothing else than a crystallized mica.
Subspecies 4. Schistose Chlorite.
Exter. Char.—This variety is found massive j inter-
pal lustre weakly shining, sometimes shining, resinous $
fracture curved slaty, sometimes waved, or a little
splintery; fragments tabular,
Colour green j is soft, sectile, and easily frangible $
streak light green } feels a little greasy j gives the earthy
smell by breathing.
Localities, &c._—Slaty chlorite is found in Norway,
Sweden, Switzerland, in different parts of Scotland, as
on the banks of Loch Lomond, and in the islands of
A a 2 Bute
MINE li
illace- Bute and Arran. Sometimes it forms very extensive
genus, beds in mountains of clay slate, to which it is subordi-
nate j and it is frequently accompanied by garnets and
magnetic iron, crystallized in octahedrons. The name
is derived from the Greek word which signifies green.
20. Species. Hornblende.
This is divided into four subspecies*, I. common 5
2. basaltic ; 3.1abradore ; and, 4. schistose.
Subspecies 1. Common Hornblende.
.Hornblende, Kirw. i. 163' Hornblende Commune,
Broch. i. 415. Amphibole, Hauy, iii. 58.
Exter. Char.—Hornblende is found massive or disse¬
minated, and sometimes crystallized. The forms are a
four-sided prism, of which the acute opposite lateral
edges are strongly truncated j a six-sided prism with
four broad and two narrow faces, slightly truncated on
the lateral edges 5 a similar six-sided prism, shorthand
having the extremities bevelled 5 an eight-sided prism,
having at its extremities, a convex bevelment. _ Some-
times the crystals are acicular and in groups *, internal
lustre shining, vitreous, or pearly ; fracture foliated,^
sometimes radiated, and sometimes fibrous j surlace or
the fracture longitudinally streaked ; fragments sharp-
edged, sometimes rhomboidal.
Colour deep black, greenish black, or greenish gray *,
usually opaque. The green varieties translucent at the
edges. Soft or semihard j not easily frangible ; streak
greenish gray* j gives an earthy smell by breathing on
it: sp. grav. 3.6 to 3-88.
Chan. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it melts easily
into a grayish black glass.
Constituent Parts.
Kirwan. Hermann.
Silica, 37 37
Alumina, 22 27
Magnesia, 16 3
.Lime, 2 5
Oxide of iron, 23 25
Loss, 3
100 100
Localities, See.—Hornblende is one of the constitu
ent parts of primitive rocks, as in sienite; and it seems
also to be an accidental substance, as in gneiss, primi¬
tive limestone, porphyries, and micaceous schistus. It
is found also in masses or entire beds, as in Saxony ;
and is very common in most countries, as in Norway,
Hungary, and Britain.
Uses.—Sometimes employed as a flux for ores of iron.
Subspecies 2. Basaltic Hornblende.
Basal tine, Kirw. i. 219. Hornblende Basal tique, Iloeli.
i. 424.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is most frequently found
crystallized in equal six-sided prisms, variously modified
or with equal sides *, having two narrow and four broad ;
or four narrow and two broad 5 or three broad and
three narrow alternately. The crystals are imbedded,
insulated, or grouped. Surface smooth, shining •, in¬
ternal lustre resplendent, in the cross fracture weakly
A L O G Y. _ part
shining, vitreous*, fracture foliated*, cross fracture Clarsifk
small grained, uneven, or concboidal. Fragments near-1
ly rhomboidal.
Colour velvet black, and sometimes with a shade
of green *, opaque 5 streak grayish white ; semihard j
earthy smell by expiration. Spec. grav. 3.22 to 3.33.
Chan. Char.—Before the blow-pipe melts less easily
than the preceding, into a black glass.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Silica, 58
Alumina, 27
Lime, 4
Magnesia, 1
Oxide of iron, 9
Loss, 1
ICO
Localities, &c.—This mineral, as its name imports,
is usually found in basalt. It is also met with in
wacken, and in the lava of Vesuvius, it is not un¬
common in the basaltic rocks ol Silesia, Saxony, and
Bohemia, as well as in those of this country. As it is
less liable to decomposition than the rocks which con¬
tain it, detached crystals are frequently found among
decayed basalt.
Subspecies 3. Labradore Hornblende.
La Hornblende du Labrador, Broch. i. 419.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, disse¬
minated, in rounded pieces, and very rarely crystallized
in four-sided rectangular prisms. Internal lustre shin¬
ing, somewhat metallic j fracture toliated, sometimes
curved.
Colour blackish green, or greenish black j sometimes
bronze yellow j scarcely translucent at the edges j se¬
mihard j not difficultly frangible j streak greenish.
Spec. grav. 3.38.
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in the island
of St Paul on the Labradore coast, but nothing is known
of the nature of its repository.
Subspecies 4. Schistose Hornblende.
Id. Kirw. i. 222. La Hornblende Schisteuse, Broch. i.
428.
Exter. Char.—This variety is found massive; inter¬
nal lustre weakly shining ; fracture in masses slaty ; in
small pieces radiated, sometimes fibrous ; fragments in
plates.
Colour greenish, or grayish black; opaque *, semi¬
hard ; streak greenish gray ; rather difficultly fran¬
gible ; breathed on, gives the earthy smell.
Localities, &c.—Schistose hornblende forms exten¬
sive beds in primitive mountains, to which it is subordi¬
nate. It seems to be common hornblende more or less
mixed with quartz. It is found in Bohemia, Norway,
Sweden, in the isle of Skye, and other places of Scot¬
land.
21. Species. Basalt.
Figurate Trap, Trap, Whinstone, &c. Kirw. 1. 2.25*
—233. Le Basalte, Broch. i. 430. La Lithbide
Prismatique, Hauy, iv. 474.
Exter.
rtl, MINERALOGY. i8g
ssifica- Exter. C/icr.—-Basalt forms entire monntains, in the
ion. neighbourhood of which it is found in rounded pieces,
-v—; or in large globular masses; internally it is dull; some¬
times glimmering from a mixture of hornblende ; frac¬
ture uneven, sometimes fine splintery or conchoidal ;
fragments not very sharp-edged. It is most frequently
in distinct concretions, which are prismatic or columnar,
more or less regular; sometimes also in globular distinct
concretions.
Colour grayish or bluish black, sometimes brownish
on the surface ; opaque ; semihard ; brittle, and very
difficultly frangible ; streak light ash gray; gives a
ringing sound under the hammer. Spec. grav. 2.86
to 3.
Chcm. Char.—Melts very easily before the blow¬
pipe into an opaque black glass which acts on the
magnet.
Physical Char.—Many basalts affect the magnetic
needle, reversing the poles when it is brought near
them. This is ascribed to the great proportion of iron
which enters into their composition.
Localities, &c. Basalt is not uncommon in every
part of the globe, and in many places it is very abun¬
dant. It is found in regular columns in several of the
Hebrides on the west coast of Scotland, as in Cannay,
Eigg, the Schant isles, but particularly beautiful in Staf-
fa. Pretty regular columns are observed also at Dunbar,
and on the south-wrest side of Arthur’s seat near Edin¬
burgh ; but the Giant’s causeway and the rocks about
Fairhead on the north coast of Ireland, exhibit the
finest and most extensive ranges of columnar basalt in
the world.
Basalt, besides being in the columnar form, is of¬
ten disposed in beds and veins; both of which are very
common in different places in Scotland, particularly on
the western coast, and in the western islands. See Dr
Millar’s edition of Williams's Mineral Kingdom.
No subject, in geological speculation, has produced
more controversial discussion than the origin of basalt;
one party asserting that it is the effect of fusion, while
another contends that it must have been deposited from
an aqueous solution. Our limits preclude us even from
barely stating the arguments which have been proposed
by naturalists in support of the theories which different
parties have embraced. For an account of some of
them, see Geology Index; and for the constituent
parts of basalt, and some other facts connected with its
natural history, see Basalt.
Uses.—Basalt is sometimes employed as a touchstone,
as a flux for ores of iron, and in the manufacture of
common bottles. It is also employed for millstones.
The ancients employed it in sculpture, for it would ap¬
pear that some of their vases and statues were formed
of it.
22. Species. Wacken.
Id. Kirw. i. 223. La Wahke, Broch. i. 434-
Exter. Char.—Wacken is found massive ; it is fre¬
quently vesicular, and the cavities are often filled with
other minerals; internal appearance dull; fracture even
or earthy; fragments rather blunt-edged.
Colour grayish green, grayish black, reddish, or
brownish ; opaque ; streak a little shining ; soft or se¬
mihard ; easily frangible; feels a little greasy. Spec. Argillace-
grav. 2.35 to”2.89. yas genus.
Chan. Char.— Fusible like basalt. Vj"“"v J
Localities, &c.—Wacken belongs to the stratiform
rocks. It contains sometimes petrified wood, and the
bones of animals. It constitutes beds sometimes in the
middle of basalt, but is oftener in the form of veins,
and is the basis of amygdaloid, the cavities of wdiich
are filled with green edrth, calcareous spar, &c. Wack¬
en is met with in Saxony, Bohemia, Sweden, and many
places of Scotland.
23. Species. Phonolite, or Clinkstone.
Id. Daubuisson, Jour, de Phys. lx. 74. La Pierre Son-
nante, Broch. i. 437. Klingstein and Porphyrschic-
fer of the Germans.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is always found massive;
internal lustre glimmering ; fracture slaty, sometimes
uneven or conchoidal; fragments sharp-edged ; compo¬
sed of distinct concretions, which are either in the form
of tables, or are columnar, and somewhat regularly
grouped together.
Colour gray, ash, greenish, or bluish gray; the co¬
lours sometimes have a dendritical appearance; opaque,
or translucent at the edges ; semihard, or hard ; not
difficultly frangible ; in thin plates it emits a sound
when struck with a hammer, and hence its name.
Spec. grav. 2.575. # .
Chan. Char.—Melts before the blow-pipe into a co¬
lourless glass.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth. Bergman.
Silica, 57-25 58-
Alumina, 23.5 24.5
Lime, 2.75 3-5
Oxide of iron, 3.25 4.5
  manganese, .25 —
Soda, ~ 8.1 6.
Water, 3- 2-
Loss, *-9 I-5
100.00 100.o
The stone analyzed above by Bergman, was from
Puy in Velay, in France, and is considered by Dolo-
mieu as volcanic. The other by Klaproth, is from
Bohemia. Excepting the small proportion of manga¬
nese detected in the latter, the coincidence of the two
analyses is very striking.
Tnrnlities &c.—Phonolite is not uncommon in many
parts of the’world. It is met with in Scotland, in the
island of Lamlasb near Arran ; and it constitutes the
greater part of Traprene Law in East Lothian ; in both
places it is columnar.
24. Species. Lava.
Id. Kirw. i. 400. La Lave, Broch. i. 440. La Scon-
jiee, Hauy, iv. 497.
Exter. CAar.—This mineral is generally of a porous
texture, with cavities of different sizes; lustre glimmer-
mineralogy.
ing or a little sinning, vitreous j fracture imperfectly
coRchoidal; fragments not very sharpredged.
Colour blackish gray, perfect black, or brownish
black, sometimes greenish, and rarely white.j opague}
semihard j brittle"; not difficultly frangible; light.
Chem. Char.—Lava is very fusible, and yields a com¬
pact black glass.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Silica, 49
Alumina, 35
Lime, 4
Oxide-of iron, 12
lOO
Localities, &c.—Lava being a volcanic product, is
only found in the vicinity of volcanoes.
t/ses.—Lavas are employed for the purposes of build¬
ing ; their lightness, arising from the numerous cavities,
renders them proper for the construction of vaults.
25. Species. Green Earth.
Id. Kirw. i. 196. La Terre Verte, Epoch ant, i. 445*
Talc Chlorite Zographiqms,,Hauy, iii. 257.
Exter. Char.—-Green earth is found massive, or dis¬
seminated, or in superficial crusts on balls of agate;
internally it is dull; fracture earthy; fragments blunt-
edged.
Colour celadon green, or blackish green ; opaque;
soft; feels slightly greasy; adheres a little to the tongue;
streaks weakly shining.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it becomes black,
but is infusible. It is not acted on by acids, and ab¬
sorbs water.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 53.
Alumina, 12.
Lime, ✓ . 2.5
Magnesia, 3*5
Oxide of iron, 17*
Water, 12.
Loss, 1.
, 100.00
Localities, &c.—Green earth is found at Verona,
where it is wrought, and constitutes an article of com¬
merce ; and it is met with in all amygdaloid rocks.
Uses.—Green earth is employed as a colouring mat¬
ter in painting.
26. Species. Lithomarga.
Id. Kirw. i. 187. La Moelle de Pierre, Brochant, i.
447. Argile Lithomarge, Hauy, iv. 444.
This is divided into two subspecies, chiefly distin¬
guished by their cohesion. These are, 1. friable j 2.
indurated.
Subspecies 1. Friable ' Lithomarga.
Exter. CAar.—This is found massive or disseminat¬
ed; is slightly glimmering ; adheres strongly to . the
tongue) feels greasy.
Colour yellowish white, snow' white, sometimes red¬
dish the particles have very little cohesion.
Subspecies 2. Indurated Lithomarca.
Exter. Char.—This is also found massive or disse¬
minated; is dull; has a fine grained earthy fracture,
sometimes conchoidal ; blunt-edged.
Colour white, yellowish, or reddish white ; brownish
red, and several shades of yellow. Different colours
are disposed in spots, veins, dots, stripes; or clouds ;
opaque ; very soft ; streak shining; adheres to tire
tongue; feels greasy.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blowr-pipe ; falls
to pieces in water without forming a paste. Accord¬
ing to some analyses, it contains a large proportion of
magnesia.
Physical Char.—Some varieties when rubbed with .a
feather in the dark, give a little light.
Localities, &e.—Lithomarga or stone marrow, de¬
rives its name from its being found in nodules in amyg¬
daloid rocks ; it occupies veins or small fissures in por¬
phyry, gneis, and serpentine. It is found in Bohemia,
Saxony, France, England, and at the Giant’s causeway
in Ireland. A variety of lithomarga, which exhibits
many fine colours, particularly violet or lavender blue,
is found in beds reposing on coal at Planitz, near
Zivickau in Saxony. It has been called, from its
beautiful appearance, wonder earth of Saxony (Terra
miraculosa).
27. Species. Mountain or Bock Soap.
Le Savon de Montague, Brocbant, i. 453.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive; is dull
internally ; has an earthy, and sometimes an imper¬
fectly conchoidal fracture ; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour brownish black, spotted ochrey yellow. O-
paque; very soft; easily frangible ; streak shining,
and resinous ; stains and writes on paper; feels greasy,
and adheres strongly to the tongue.
Localities, &c.—This mineral is rare ; has been
found at Olkutsch in Poland, and also, it is said, in
England.
28. Species. Umber.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive ; frac¬
ture conchoidal; fragments blunt-tedged.
Colour brownish, of various shades ; soft; adheres a
little to the tongue, and has a meagre feel.
Localities, &c.—Umber is found disposed in beds,
in the island of Cyprus ; and it is employed as a pig¬
ment.
29. Species. Yellow Earth.
Id. Kirw. i. 194. La Terre Jow«e, Broch. i. 455.
Exter. Char.—Yellow earth is found massive; itis
dull, or in the principal fracture, which is slaty, glim¬
mering ; cross fracture earthy; fragments very blunt-
edged.
Colour ochrey yellow; very soft; streak shining;
feels greasy, and adheres a little to the tongue.
Localities, &c.—It has only been found in small
beds in, stratified mountains, at Wehraw in Upper Lu-
satia,
rt I. MINER
iSgifica. satxa, and it is said, in the cavities of gray wacken, and
rion. in the fissures of a sandstone rock.
•'V—,J Uses.—It is employed in the arts as a pigment.
V. MAGNESIAN Genus,
i. Species. Native Magnesia.
Magnesie Native, Brochant, ii. 449.
Extcr. Char.—Native magnesia is found massive, tu¬
berous or carious. Surface uneven and dull. Fracture
flat, conchoidal, splintery or earthy. Fragments sharp-
edged.
Colour yellowish gray, with spots and dendritic deli¬
neations of black or blackish brown. Opaque, soft and
easily frangible. Feels greasy; adheres to the tongue,
and is rather light.
Constituent Parts.
A L O G Y. 191
Colour yellowish brown or reddish, with spots and Magnesian
dendritical figures of black ; opaque, rarely translucent genus,
at the edges ; very soft; easily frangible 3 adheres to
the tongue; feels greasy 3 streak shining : sp. grav.
1.4 to 2.
Chan. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it becomes
black or gray, and melts into a greenish gray slag.
Falls to pieces in water with a crackling noise, and
without forming a paste.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Silica,
Alumina,
Magnesia,
Lime,
Oxide of iron,
Water,
47*
19.
6.2
5-4
54
I7-
100.0
Carbonic acid, 51.
Magnesia, 474
A trace of iron,
Loss, i4>-
100.0
Localities, Sec.—This mineral was discovered by Dr
Mitchell in a serpentine rock at Roubschitz in Mora-
via.
Ihur.de A mineral in many respects similar to this has
|h. Is. been analyzed by Giobert*. It was long known un¬
der the name of porcelain earth, and was successfully
employed in that manufacture. Giobert supposes that
the external characters, and particularly the colours, of
the mineral found in Moravia, seem to indicate the ex¬
istence of other substances beside those detected by Dr
Mitchell’s analysis.
Exter. Char.—The mineral described by Giobert is
found massive or in mammillary fragments, some of
which are tuberculated. Surface dull. Fracture con¬
choidal or uneven.
Colour pure white. Opaque. Spec. grav.. variable.
Hard, sometimes soft. Feels greasy ; adheres slightly
to the tongue. The softer varieties absorb water greedi¬
ly and with a hissing noise.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow pipe.
Constituent Parts.
Magnesia, 68;
Carbonic acid, 12.
Silica, 15-6
Sulphate of lime, 1.6
Water, 3*
100.2
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found at BaudiSsero,
in a vein which traverses a steatitic rock of which the
mountain is composed.
2. Species. Bole.
Id. Kirw. i. 190. Le Bol, Broch. i. 459. Argile
Ochi'eusc, Hauy, 445.
Exter. Char.—Found massive and disseminated 3
surface dull, sometimes a little glimmering 3 fracture
conchoidal 3 fragments sharp-edged.
2
Localities, &c.—The chief places which yield bole
are tire island of Lemnos, hence called Lemnian earth ;
Sienna in Italy, and Strigau in Silesia, in which latter
place it is deposited on indurated clay 3 in Upper Lu-
satia it forms nests in basalt.
Uses.—Bole and similar earths were formerly em¬
ployed in medicine 3 it is now only used in the prepara¬
tion of colours.
ClMOLXTE.
This is a mineral which in many of its characters is
closely connected with the preceding.
Exter. Char.—It is found massive 3 fracture earthy
uneven, or slaty 3 colour grayish white, pearl gray, and
exposed for some time to the air, reddish 3 opaque 3
does not stain 3 adheres strongly to the tongue 3 is soft,
and difficultly frangible : sp. grav. 2.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it becomes at
first of a deep gray colour, but afterwards white.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica, 63.
Alumina^ 23.
Oxide of iron, 1.25
Water, 12.
Loss, .73
100.00
Localities, Sec.—This mineral was brought by Mr
Hawkins from the island of Argentiers, formerly Ci-
molo, from whence it has its name. Olivier found a
similar substance in the island of Milo, but which was
very friable.
Uses.—This substance is employed in whitening
woollen stuffs. It is described by Pliny under the
name Cimolia, as being applied to the same purpose,
and also as a medicine in his time.
It is to be observed that cimolite contains, according
to the above analysis, no magnesia.
3. Species. Sea Froth.
Keffekill, Kirw. i. 144. VEcume de Mer, Brcch. i.
462. Argile glaisc, Hauy, iv. 433. Meerschaum
of the Germans.
. ■ ' Exter*
192
Magnesian
genus.
MINERALOGY. Part
Extcr. Char.— ’This mineral is found massive, disse¬
minated, or in superficial layers. Surface dull. 1 racture
fine earthy, sometimes slaty. Fragments sharp edged.
Colour yellowish white. Opaque. \ery soft. Easily
frangible. Streak shining. 1 eels greasy 5 and adheres
to the tongue. Sp. gr. 1.6.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silica,
Magnesia,
Lime,
Water,
Carbonic acid,
Loss,
50-5
I7,25
•5
1:}
'-IS
41.
18.25
•5
39-
1.25
Enter. Char.—Steatites is found massive, dissemina- classicJ
ted, and crystallized. Forms of the crystals, a six-sided tion. |
prism terminated by a six-sided pyramid } a rectangular
and rhomboidal four-sided prism; and a double six-sided
pyramid. The crystals are small, generally imbedded
in the massive variety ; but they are very rare ; and it
is supposed, with some probability, that they are pseudo¬
crystals. Surface of the crystals smooth and shining.
Internally dull; fracture coarse splintery, rarely earthy
or slaty. Fragments blunt-edged.
Colour greenish, yellowish, reddish or grayish. Co¬
lours sometimes mixed, and spotted or dendritical.
Translucent at the edges. Soft, sometimes friable.
Streak shining. Feels greasy. Sp. gr. 2.614.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe ; hut
becomes white and very hard.
100.00 100.00
Localities, &c.—Sea froth is found in Natolia, in the
Crimea, in Spain and some other places. It appears to
be distributed in hnv grounds in thin beds ; and it is
said to be in the state of soft paste which hardens in
the air.
Uses.—It is employed in Turkey, in the manufacture
of the heads of tobacco pipes ; and as a detersive sub¬
stance, like fullers earth, by the Tartars.
4. Species. Fullers Earth.
Id. Kirw. i. 184. La Terre a Toulon, Broch. i. 464.
Argile Smectique, Hauy, iv. 443.
Extcr. Char.—Found massive. Surface dull. Frac¬
ture fine grained earthy, conchoidal or slaty. Frag¬
ments blunt edged.
Colour olive green, yellowish or reddish. Colours
sometimes mixed and disposed in spots or stripes; opake;
soft or friable. Streak somewhat shining. Sometimes
adheres to the tongue ; feels greasy,
Chem. Char.—Does not effervesce with acids ; melts
into a brown spongy clay ; falls to pieces in water with¬
out forming a paste, and does not froth up like soap.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Silica,
Alumina, 25.
Lime, _ 3.3
Magnesia, .7
Oxide of iron, 3.7
Water, 15.5
Constituent Parts.
From Cornwall.
Silica, 48.
Magnesia, 20.5
Alumina, 14.
Oxide of iron, 1.
Water, 15.5
Loss, 1.
Klaproth.
From Bayreuth.
59-5
3°'5
2-5
5-5
2.
100,0
100.0
Localities, &c.—Steatites is found in primitive moun¬
tains, forming beds and veins in serpentine rocks ; some¬
times in metallic veins, as in the tin mines near Frey-
berg. It is also imbedded in wacken, as in the island
of Skye, and in veins of serpentine at Portsoy in Scot¬
land. Steatites is also found in Cornwall in England,
and in Sweden, Norway, Saxony, and France.
Uses.—Steatites is sometimes employed in the manu¬
facture of porcelain, and some varieties of it answer for
the same purpose as fullers earth.
6. Species. Figure Stone.
La Pierre a Sculpture, Broch. i. 451. LePildstein of
the Germans.
E.vter. Char.—This mineral is found massive. Inter¬
nal lustre sometimes glimmering, sometimes dull, greasy.
Fracture slaty ; cross fracture splintery.
Colour olive green, greenish gray, yellowish brown,
sometimes reddish, and veined. Semitransparent, or
translucent at the edges, and sometimes opake. Soft;
sectile ; feels greasy. Sp. gr. 2.78 to 2.81.
100.00
Localities, &c.—Fullers earth is found in Sweden,
Saxony, and France, forming beds ; but the best fullers
earth is found between strata of sandstone in Hampshire
and some other places of England.
Uses.—Fullers earth is of great importance in woollen
manufactures, on account of its detersive properties. It
is extensively employed in the process of fulling or clean¬
sing woollen stuffs from greasy matters.
5. Species. Steatites.
La Pierre de Lard, ou Steatite, Broch. i. 474. Semi-
indurated and Foliated Steatites, YUivvi.i. 151, and
154. Talc Steatite, Hauy, iii. 256.
I
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Translucent,
Silica,
Alumina,
Lime,
Oxide of iron,
Water,
Loss,
54-
36-
•75
5-5
3-75
100.00
Opaque Figure Stone.
62.
24.
I.
10.
2-5
100.0
Localities, &c.—This mineral is brought from Chi¬
na, and is always cut into various, often singular, figures;
and hence the name bildstein, or sculpture stone.
7. Species.
it I. MIN
sifica-
on. 7. Species. NEPHRITE, or Jade.
Jade, Kirw. i. 171. Le Nephrite, Broch. i. 467.
Hauy, iv. 368.
E R A L O G Y.
Jade,
cutting instruments by the natives of those countries
where iron is little known.
8. Species. SERPENTINE.
I93
M agnesiau
genus.
This species is divided into two subspecies.
Subspecies 1. Common Nephrite.
Exter. Char.—This variety is found massive, disse¬
minated, or in rounded pieces. The surface is smooth,
glimmering, and unctuous j internally it is dull 5 frac¬
ture slaty or coarse splintery, rarely fibrous j fragments
sharp-edged.
Colour leek green, sometimes inclining to blue, green¬
ish or yellowish white ; translucent, sometimes only at
the edges j hard j very difficultly frangible $ feels grea-
sy. Sp. grav. 2.97 to 4.38.
QJiem. Char.—t usible before the blow-pipe, and melts
into a semitransparent white glass.
Constituent Parts.
Silica,
Magnesia,
Alumina,
Lime,
Oxide of iron,
Hoepfner.
IOO
Id. Kirw. i. 156. La Serpentine, Brochant, i. 481.
Roche Serpentineuse, Hauy, iv. 436.
This species is divided into two subspecies.
Subspecies 1. Common Serpentine.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, very
rarely disseminated ; internal lustre slightly glimmering,
or only dull 5 fracture splintery, or fine grained uneven,
rarely conchoidal; fragments sharp-edged.
Colour blackish green, leek green, grayish, greenish,
or bluish gray j in some varieties, red of various shades.
These colours are mixed and disposed in spots, stripes,
veins, and dots. Translucent at the edges, or opaque j
semihard ; not difficultly frangible ; feels greasy. Spec,
grav. 2.57 to 2.7.
Chetn. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts. Kir wan.
Silica, 4^
Alumina, 18
Magnesia, 22
Oxide of iron, o
Water, 12
Localities, &c.—The repository of nephrite is un¬
known. It was originally brought from the Levant,
East Indies, and China. It is found also iu the Alps,
in Switzerland, and in Piedmont. The water-worn
pebbles which are collected on the banks of the lake
of Geneva often contain this mineral. It is found also
in a similar form at a particular place on the shores of
Iona, one of the Hebrides, in Scotland.
Uses.—Oriental nephrite, long known under the
1 name of Jade, is held m considerable estimation on ac-
| count of its hardness and tenacity. It is employed
by the Turks for the handles of knives and sabres,
and frequently by others for various ornamental pur¬
poses.
The property of curing diseases of the kidneys is as¬
cribed to this mineral by ancient authors, and hence the
name nephritic stone, or nephrite.
Subspecies 2. Axe Stone.
La Pierre de hache, Brochant, i. 470. Beilstein of the
Germans.
Exter Char.—This is also found massive, but most
frequently in rounded pieces j lustre glimmering, or
weakly shining ; fracture in large masses, slaty 5 in
small, splintery 5 fragments in the form of plates.
Colour deep meadow-green, sometimes olive green ;
translucent 5 semihard, and sometimes hard 5 not very
brittle 5 more difficultly frangible than the preceding
variety.
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in China,
the East Indies, and South America, on the banks of
the river Amazons. It is found also in some of the
islands in the South Sea, as well as in Corsica, Switzer¬
land and Saxony.
kJscs. Axe stone is employed as hatchets and other
Vol. XIV. Part I. f
100
Localities, &c.—Serpentine belongs to the class of
primitive rocks, and it constitutes entire mountains.
It is found in Saxony, Bohemia, Italy, Corsica, and
Siberia 5 in Cornwall in England, where it contains
native copper, and at Portsoy in the north of Scotland,
where it is known by the name of Portsoy marble.
Common serpentine is frequently mixed with steatites,
talc, asbestus, garnets, and magnetic iron, but never
contains limestone. I his variety, in the language of
Werner, is of a newer formation than the following sub¬
species.
Uses.—Serpentine is susceptible of a fine polish j on
account of which, and its beautiful colours, it is em¬
ployed for various ornamental purposes.
Subspecies 2. Precious Serpentine.
Exter. Char.—This also is found massive or disse¬
minated ; internal lustre glimmering, rarely weakly
shining, resinous j fracture conchoidal, even or splintery j
fragments sharp-edged.
Colour dark leek green of various shades j trans¬
lucent ; semi-hard ; easily frangible j feels slightly
greasy.
Localities, &c.—This subspecies is found in similar
places with the preceding. It is distinguished from it
by being always connected with limestone. The stones
known in Italy by the name of verde di Prop verde
Antico, verde de Suza, which are very often accompa¬
nied by limestone, may be included under precious ser¬
pentine.
9. Species. Schiller Stone.
Schillerspath, or Spath Chatoyant, Brochant, i. 421.
Schiller Spat ', Kirw. 221.
B b
Exter.
IJ4-
Magnesian
genus.
MINERALOGY. Part
Extcr. C/mr.—This mineral is found disseminated in
thin plates, which assume a crystallized form, as in that
of a table with six sides,or a short six-sided prism ; lustre
shining, sometimes resplendent, and semi-metallic frac¬
ture foliated. '
Colour olive green, bronze yellow, or silvery white j
soft} easily frangible j somewhat elastic j feels greasy.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it melts with
borax, into a glass which becomes opaque on cooling.
Constituent Parts. Heyer.
Silica, 52
Alumina, 23*33
Magnesia, 6
Lime, 7
Oxide of iron, 11.67
100.00
Localities, &c.—Schiller stone is found at Basta in
the Hartz, in Moravia, the Tyrol, in Corsica, and in
Cornwall. It is usually imbedded in serpentine, and is
accompanied by quartz, mica, and copper pyrites. It is
supposed by some to be crystallized serpentine.
10. Species. Talc.
Localities, &c.—Common talc is always found in ciassifii
serpentine rocks, where it accompanies actynohte, stea- tion.
tites, and indurated talc. \Y hat is called \ enetian talc r*
is brought from the mountains ol Saltzburg and the
Tyrol.
Uses.—Talc is sometimes employed as a substitute for
chalk, enters into the composition of crayons, and is
mixed with some kinds of paint.
Subspecies 3. INDURATED Talc.
Le Talc Endurci, Broch. i. 489.
Extcr. Char.—This is found massive, and sometimes,
it is said, crystallized j lustre shining and resplendent,
resinous or pearly fracture curved foliated, or slaty y
fragments blunt-edged, tabular.
Colour greenish white, snow white, or apple green j
translucent j in thin plates semitransparent j very soft j
smooth, and greasy to the feel.
Localities, &c.—Indurated talc forms beds in moun¬
tains of argillaceous schistus, gneis, and serpentine, in
the Tyrol. Italy, and Switzerland, and also in the wes¬
tern parts of Scotland.
Uses.—It is applied to the same purposes as the pre¬
ceding.
This species is divided into three subspecies j 1. earthy,
2. common, and 3. indurated talc.
Subspecies i. Earthy Talc.
Talcite, Kirw. i. 149. Le Talc Tcrrcux, Broch. i. 486.
Talc Granukuv, Hauy, iii. 255.
Exter. Char.—Earthy talc is found disseminated in
kidney-form masses, or in superficial layers j lustre glim¬
mering, pearly •, friable y the particles scaly, pulveru¬
lent, or slightly cohering.
Colour greenish, reddish, or silvery white; stains y
feels greasy, and is light.
Localities, &e.—This mineral is found in Piedmont,
Saxony, Bohemia, and in the western parts of Inverness-
shire in Scotland, where it exists in veins or cavities of
primitive rocks.
Subspecies 2. Common Talc.
Id. or Venetian Talc, Kirw. i. 150. Le Talc Commun,
Broch. i. 487. Talc Luminaire, Hauy, iii. 255.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, dis¬
seminated, and rarely crystallized in very small six-sid¬
ed tables ; lustre shining or resplendent, pearly or me¬
tallic *, fracture straight or curved foliated y fragments
wedge-shaped.
Colour greenish white, pale apple green, reddish or
yellowish white j translucent or semitransparent, in thin
plates transparent, soft, flexible, but not elastic y feels
greasy. Spec. grav. 2.7 to 2.8.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, which,
distinguishes it from chlorite y does not effervesce with
acids.
11. Species. Asbestos.
This is divided into four subspecies: 1. mountain
cork y 2. amianthus y 3. common ashestus y and, 4. lig-
niform asbestus.
Subspecies 1. Mountain Cork.
Suher Montanum, Kirw. i. 163. Le Liege de Mon¬
tague, Broch. i. 492. Asheste Tresse, Hauy, iii. 247.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, often,
in small plates, which are sometimes thin, and are then
denominated mineral paper ; sometimes thick, and then
called mineral leather ; more rarely in porous or cellular
pieces, when they are denominated mineralJlesh ; some¬
times it is marked with impressions y the lustre is weak¬
ly glimmering or dull j fracture to appearance compact
and uneven, but it is fibrous, and the fibres are some¬
times parallel, and sometimes interwoven y fragments
very blunt-edged.
Colour yellowish or grayish white y opaque y very
soft, extremely difficult to break y in thin plates flexi¬
ble and elastic y creaks when handled y feels meagre..
Spec. grav. 0.68 to 0.993.
Chem. Char.—Melts before the blow-pipe with dif¬
ficulty.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Silica, 56.2
Magnesia,. 26.1
Alumina, 2
Lime, 12.7
Oxide of iron, 3
Constituent Parts.
Silica,
Magnesia,
Alumina,
Hoepfner.
50
44
6
500
100.0
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in thin veins
in serpentine rocks : it is often mixed with quartz, talc,
and silver ores, as in Saxony. It is also found in Swe¬
den, Norway, Siberia, Hungary, and in the lead veins
at Leadhills in Scotland.
Subspecies
irt I.
:;;sifica-
MINERALOGY.
195
Subspecies 2. Amianthus.
Id. Kirw. i. 161. VAmianthe, Broch. i. 494.
Flexible, Ilauy, iii. 247.
Asbeste
Localities.—Yi is found in similar situations with the Magnesian
preceding, in Saxony, Russia, Sweden, and in the west- genus,
ern parts of Scotland. ’V~“"
Exter. Char.—This variety is also found massive,
more rarely disseminated, and in small detached bundles;
lustre glimmering, or a little shining and silky ; fracture
fibrous straight or parallel.
Colour greenish or silvery white, yellowish white, or
greenish gray ; opaque ; rarely translucent at the edges ;
very flexible, and even elastic in thin fibres; feels greasy.
Chern. Char.—Melts with difficulty before the blow¬
pipe, into a white, gray, yellow, and sometimes black
enamel.
Constituent Parts.
Silica, 64
Magnesia, 17.2
Alumina, 2.7
Lime, 13.9
Barytes,
Oxide of iron, -2.2
Loss,
100.0
Bergman. Chenevix.
64 59-
18.6 25.
3-3 3*
6.9 9.25
6.
1.2 2.25
r.50
100.0 100.00
Localities, &c.—Amianthus is usually found in pri¬
mitive rocks, but particularly those of serpentine. It
is found in Saxony, Bohemia, Italy, Spain, France,
Sweden, and in the western parts of Scotland; but the
finest specimens of amianthus are brought from the
island of Corsica.
Uses.—On account of the flexibility of this substance
it is spun into threads; for this purpose it is mixed with
lint, to render the threads less brittle in working them
into cloth, which is afterwards passed through the fire
that the vegetable matter may be consumed, and the
amianthus, which is infusible, remains ; and thus an
incombustible cloth is obtained. The ancients manu¬
factured this cloth for the purpose of wrapping round
their dead bodies, that their ashes might be preserved
unmixed with the wood employed in burning them.
Subspecies 3. Common Asbestos.
Asbestus, Kirw. i. 159. L1 Asbeste Commune, Brochant,
i. 497. Asbeste T)ur, Hauy, iii. 247.
Exter. Char.—This also is fouud massive ; lustre
shining and weakly shining, silky or resinous ; surface
fibrous, the fibres being parallel, straight, or curved ;
the fibres are more strongly united than in amianthus,
and hence sometimes a splintery fracture.
Colour leek green, greenish, or yellowish gray ; trans¬
lucent at the edges ; soft, or semihard; rather easily
frangible ; little flexible ; feels greasy ; spec. grav. 2.54
to 2.99.
Chetn. Char.—Melts with difficulty before the blow¬
pipe, into a dark gray slag.
Constituent Parts. Wiegleb.
Silica, 46.66
Magnesia, 48-45
Oxide of iron, 4-79
Loss, .1
100.00
Subspecies 4. Ligniform Asbestus.
Id. Kirw. i. 161. Le Bois de Montague, Brochant i.
499. Asbeste Ligniforme, Hauy, iii. 248.
E.rter. C/zar.—This also is found massive ; lustre
glimmering, silky ; fracture in large masses, curved
slaty; in small pieces fibrous, and having the ap¬
pearance of a woody texture; fragments in elongated
plates.
Colour yellowish brown of different shades; opaque ;
soft; not difficultly frangible ; in thin fragments a little
flexible, but not elastic ; feels meagre ; adheres to the
tongue ; streak shining.
Chan. Char.—Before the blow pipe is only fusible
at the edges.
Localities, &c.—This variety is found in the Tyrol,
where it is accompanied by galena, black blende, and
a grayish white quartz.
12. Species. Cyanite.
Id. Kirw. i. 209. La Cyanite, Broch. i. 501. Sappare,
Sauss. § 1900. Disthene, Hauy, iii. 220.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, disse¬
minated, or crystallized, in four-sided prisms, of which
two are broad and two narrow, and having the four la¬
teral edges, or only the two opposite edges, truncated.
This prism is often so flattened, as to have the appear¬
ance of a table. The broad faces of the crystals are
smooth and shining, the narrow faces streaked and only
glimmering, almost dull. Internal lustre shining and
pearly; fracture curved radiated ; that of the crystals
foliated ; fragments tabular, sometimes splintery, or im¬
perfectly rhomboidal.
Colour blue of various shades, sometimes bluish and
pearl gray; and different colours are arranged in stripes,
spots, or clouds; translucent, or when crystallized se¬
mitransparent, or transparent; semihard, and some ¬
times soft; easily frangible ; feels greasy. Spec. grav.
3.51 to S-62*
Chem. Char.—Entirely infusible before the blow-pipe,
on which account this mineral was employed by Saussure
as a support for other substances in experiments with
that instrument.
Constituent Parts. Saussurc.
Silica, 29.2
Alumina, 55.
Lime, 2.25
Magnesia, 2.
Oxide of iron, 6.65
Water and loss, 4.9
100.03
Localities, &c.—-Cyanite is found on St Gothard m
Switzerland, in crystals mixed with quartz, garnets, and
granite, and imbedded in indurated talc. It is also
found in Spain, France, Carinthia, Bavaria, Siberia,
and in the north of Scotland, and always in primitive,
mountains.
13. Species.
B b 2
i96 M I N E K
Magnesia
genus. Species. Actynolite.
This is divided into three species j I. asbestous,
2. common, and 3. glassy.
Subspecies 1. Asbestous Actynolite.
Amianthinite, Kirw. i. 164. and MetaUiform Asbestoul,
ibid. 167. La Rayonnante Asbestiforme, Broch. i.
504. Actinote Aciculaire, Hauy, iii. 75.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, and
rarely crystallized in rhomboidal six-sided prisms, two
of which are about 1240 30', and four about 1170 45^ j
lustre glimmering 5 internal lustre weakly shining, some¬
times shining, pearly} fracture radiated 5 fragments
wedge-shaped.
Colour white, or greenish, reddish, or yellowish
gray $ commonly opaque ; sometimes translucent at the
edges ; streak greenish white \ soft, rarely semi-hard 5
rather difficultly frangible. Specific gravity 2.58 to
3-33- . . .
Chan Char.—Fusible before the blow-pipe into a
black slag, or grayish white enamel.
Localities, &c.—Found in the neighbourhood of
Bayreuth and the Bannat, in beds of serpentine and
steatites.
Subspecies 2. Common Actynolite.
Asbcstinitc, Common, Asbestoid, and Schorlaceons Achjno-
lite, Kirw. i. 165—168. La Rayonnante Commune,
Broch. i. 507. Actinote Hexaedre, Hauy. iii. 74.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, crystallized
in elongated, very oblique, six-sided prisms, having the
acute lateral edges truncated. The crystals are acicu-
lar, and longitudinally streaked j lustre shining and
vitreous ; fracture radiated, parallel or divergent, stel¬
lated ; fragments rather blunt-edged.
Colour olive green, pistachio green, reddish brown
crystals translucent or semitransparent j semihard ; dif¬
ficultly frangible j rarely feels greasy. Spec. grav. 3,
to 3-31-
Chem. Char.—Fusible before the blow-pipe into a
black slag, a white transparent glass, or a grayish white
enamel,
Constituent Parts. Bergman,
Silica, 64
Magnesia, 20
Alumina, 2.7
Lime, 9.3
Oxide of iron, 4
100*0
Localities, Sic.—It is found in Saxony, Switzerland,
Norway, and west side of Inverness-shire in Scotland.
Its repository is in primitive mountains, where it is ac¬
companied with ores of lead and iron, as well as with
quartz and brown blende.
Subspecies 3. Glassy Actynolite.
Id. Kirw. i. 168. La Rayonnante Vifreuse, Broch, i.
A L O G Y. Part
510. Thallitc, Lametherie, ii. 319. Epidote, Hauy, ciassif,
iii. 102. tion,
Exter. Char.—Found massive or crystallized in thin
six-sided prisms, whose surface is smooth and re¬
splendent •, internal lustre shining, vitreous 5 fracture
radiated or wedge-shaped, fibrous 5 fragments splin¬
tery.
Colour olive green, leek green, and asparagus green;
translucent, or semitransparent •, semihard, or hard j very
brittle, and very easily frangible. Spec. grav. 2.95 to
3'49- ... . „ ..."
Localities, See.—This variety is found in similar rer
positories, and in similar places with the preceding.
14. Species. Tremolite.
This is also divided into three subspecies j 1. asbes¬
tous, 2. common,, and 3. glassy.
Subspecies 1. Asbestous Tremolite.
La Tremolithe Asbestiforme, Broch. i. 514. Gramma-
tite. Hauy, 227.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, and
crystallized ; and the crystals are capillary or acicu-
larj lustre weakly shining, silky or pearly j fracture
radiated or fibrous 5 fragments splintery and wedge-
shaped.
Colour yellowish white, reddish, greenish, or gray¬
ish j opaque, translucent at the edges j very soft j
easily frangible.
Subspecies 2. Common Tremolite.
La Tremolithe Commune, Broch. i. 515.
Exter. Char.—Massive, or crystallized in rhomboidal
prisms, with angles of 126° 52' 12", and 530 7' 48".
The crystals are deeply striated longitudinally •, exter¬
nal lustre resplendent j internal shining, pearly; frac¬
ture radiated, either parallel, divergent, or promiscu¬
ous ; surfaces of the fracture longitudinally streaked;
fragments splintery.
Colour greenish white, reddish, or yellowish ; rarely
pearl gray ; always translucent; in crystals semitrans¬
parent; semihard; brittle; easily frangible; meagre
to the feel.
Subspecies 3. Glassy Tremolite.
La Tremolithe Vitreuse, Broch. i. 516.
Exter. Char.—Massive, or crystallized in long needle
or awi-shaped prisms ; internal lustre shining, and
sometimes resplendent; vitreous or pearly ; fracture
radiated ; cross fracture even, and a little oblique ;
fragments splintery.
Colour greenish or yellowish white ; translucent;
crystals sometimes transparent; semibard ; brittle;
easily frangible ; feels meagre. Spec. grav. 2.90 to
3-2, Hauy.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it melts into a
porous white slag.
Constituent
irt I.
MINERALOGY.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth.
Silica*
Lime,
Magnesia,
Oxide of iron,
Carbonic acid 1
and water, j
XjOSS,
65.
18.
10.33
.16
6.5
.01
Kaugier.
White.
35-5
26.5
16.5
23-
Gray Tremolite.
50
18
25
5
2
100.00 101.5 IOO-
Physical Char.—By percussion or friction in the
dark, a reddish phosphorescent light appears ; and the
powder thrown on burning coals yields a greenish
Localities, &c,—Tremolite is found imbedded in
limestone, in primitive mountains. It was first discover¬
ed in the valley of Tremola by Pini, and hence its
name* It is also found in Hungary, Bohemia, and Ca-
rinthia, and in the mountains six miles south of Pais¬
ley in Scotland, where it is accompanied with, prehr
nite.
15. Species. Smaragdite.
Id. Saussure Voy. § 1313. Diallage, Hauy, iii. 125*
Id. Brochant, i. 423. and ii. 506.
Exter. Char.—Smaragdite has been found massive
and disseminated. Internal lustre shining. Fracture
foliated. Cleavage single. Fragments rather sharp
edged.
Colour, grass or emerald green. Slightly translu¬
cent. Semi-hard or soft. Brittle. Spec. grav. 3.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe melts into a gray
w greenish enamel.
Constituent Parts. Vauqnelin.
Silica, 50.
Alumina, II.
Lime, 13.
Magnesia, 6.
Oxide of iron, 5.5
■  chromium, 7.5
 —copper, 1.5
Loss, 5.5
ed. Lustre slightly glimmering, resinous. Fracture
foliated. Cleavage threefold. Fragments sometimes
rhomboidal.
Colour grayish green or bluish gray. In thin plates
translucent. Scarcely scratches glass. Very soft to the
touch, from which it has the name malacolite. Spec,
grav. 3.2307 to 3.2368.
Chem. Char.—Fusible before the blow-pipe into a
porous glass.
Constituent Parts. Van quel in.
Silica,
Lime, 20
Magnesia, 1 q
Alumina, 3
Iron and manganese, 4
Loss, 1
100
Localities, &c.—This mineral was discovered by
D’Andrada in the silver mines of Sahla in Sweden, and
hence it derived its name. It was found by the same
naturalist at Busen in Norway. It appears from the
observations of Hauy that sahlite and augite are very
closely allied, not only in structure and external cha¬
racters in general, but also in their constituent princi¬
ples ; the only difference in their composition is in the
proportions of the lime and magnesia, which are small¬
er in augite than in sahlite; but the proportion of iron
in the former is considerably greater than in the lat¬
ter.
17. Species. Schalstone, or Tabular Spar.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive j lustre
shining and pearly ; fracture foliated or splintery, and
coarse fibrous ; consists of separate large-grained pieces
implicated in each other; and according to Karsten,
are very regular.
Colour milk white, yellowish or reddish white;.
translucent; semi-hard ; brittle.
Constituent Parts.
Silica, 50
Lime, 45
Water, 5
100
100.0
Localities, &c.—This mineral was found by Saus¬
sure in the vicinity of Turin, imbedded in nephrite
clouded white and blue. It has also been found near
the lake of Geneva among the rounded pebbles, and in
Corsica in primitive rocks. In Italy, tables and orna¬
mental pieces of furniture are made of smaragdite; and
the Italian marble-cutters call it verde di Corsica.
16. Species. Sahute.
It/. D’Andrada, Jour, de Phys. An. 8. p. 241. Mala-
colithe, Hauy, iv. 379. Id. Brochant, ii. 518.
Exter. C/kw.-—Found massive or crystallized in six-
sided prisms, having two opposite lateral edges truncat-
Localities, &c.—This mineral was fii’st noticed by
Stutz. It is found in the bannat of Temeswar, and
is accompanied by crystallized garnets and calcareous
spar.
VI. CALCAREOUS Genus.
1. Species. Agaric Mineral, or Mountain Milk.
Id. Kirwan, i. 76. Id. Brochant, i. 519. Chaux Car¬
bonate Spongieuse, Hauy, ii. 167.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is composed of fine pul¬
verulent particles* slightly united together, and nearly
friable.
Colour yellowish white, or snow white ; stains strong-
iy;
i93 * * * * 8
Calcareous
genus.
MINERALOGY. Part ]
K- • feels ir.erigvc; does not adhere to the tongue $ near- larly alumina and silica. The following are the const!- Classifies
ly floats on water. tue«t parts of magnesian limestone examined by Mr tion.
Chcm. Char.—Effervesces with acids, and is entirely Tennant. 'r|
dissolved, so that it is chiefly composed of lime and car¬
bonic acid.
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in the fis¬
sures and cavities of calcareous mountains, and it is
supposed that it originates from the destruction of the
rocks, the particles of which are carried down to the
fissures and cavities by rain water. Abundant in Swit¬
zerland.
2. Species. Chalk.
Id. Kinvan, i. 71. La Craie, Brochaut, i. 521. Chaux
Carbonate Cray ease, Hauy, ii. 166.
Exter. Char.—Found massive; has a dull appear¬
ance ", fracture earthy, and fragments blunt-edged.
Colour usually snow or yellowish white, sometimes
gray or brown j opaque j stains and writes j very soft,
and easily frangible ; feels meagre j adheres a little to
the tongue. Spec. grav. 2.31 to 2.65.
Chem. Char.—Effervesces with -acids *, before the
blow-pipe is calcined, and converted to quicklime. It
is almost entirely composed of lime and carbonic acid,
with a mixture of a little oxide of iron and some other-
substances.
Localities, &c.—Chalk forms peculiar stratiform
mountains which contain many petrifactions, the mat¬
ter of which is almost always siliceous. They contain
also flints arranged in regular strata. No metallic sub¬
stances are found in chalk. A great body of chalk
traverses France from south to north, extending from
Champaghy to Calais, and continued to England, in
the south of which it forms extensive beds. Chalk is
also found in the island of Zealand, in the Baltic, in
•Poland and many other places.
3. Species. XlMESTONE.
This is divided into four subspecies, which arc,
I. compact, 2. foliated, 3. fibrous, and 4. pea stone.
Subspecies 1. Compact Limestone.
This subspecies is again divided into two sections j
the first including common compact limestone, and the
second roe-stone.
Lime, 29.5
Magnesia, 20.3
Carbonic acid, ff?’2
Alumina and oxide of iron, .8
Loss, 2.2
100.0
Localities, &c.—Forms veiy extensive stratiform
mountains, and is usually met with along with coal and
sandstone. It is very abundant in Saxony, Bohemia,
Sweden, France, Switzerland, and Britain. The mag¬
nesian limestone is abundant in Yorkshire and Notting¬
hamshire.
Uses.—The uses of limestone for the purposes of
building, and when reduced to the state of quicklime,
to form the basis of mortar, as wrell as in various arts,
are well known.
This variety of limestone, when susceptible of a po¬
lish, furnishes marbles ; which name, although it be ap¬
plied to very different stones which are susceptible of a
polish, and are fit for sculpture, or ornamental archi¬
tecture, is frequently applied to limestone of this de¬
scription.
B. Oolite, or Roe Stoke.
Id. Brochant, i. 529. Oviform Limestone, Kirw. i. 91.
Chaux Carbonate Globuliforme, Flauy, ih 171.
Exter. Char.—This is found massive; internally
dull; fracture compact; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour yellowush, smoke gray, hair, or reddish brown;
opaque ; rarely translucent at the edges; semihard;
consists of small globular, distinct concretions : the
size of the concretions are very various. Spec. grav.
2.4 to 2.5.
Localities, &c.—Roe stone is found in Sweden, Swit¬
zerland, Saxony, and in the south of England.
The ketton stone of England, and the celebrated
Portland stone, belong to this variety. Of the latter
some of the principal public buildings in England and
Ireland are constructed.
Uses.—It is employed as a building stone ; and when
of a fine grain, it is polished and employed as marble.
A. Common Compact Limestone.
Id. Kirw. i. 82. Id. Broch. i. 523. Chaux Carbonate
Compacte, &c. Hauy, ii. 164.
Exter. Char.—Found massive ; external form fre¬
quently figured from the numerous petrifactions which
it contains ; internally dull; rarely glimmering; frac¬
ture compact, splintery, uneven or earthy ; fragments
not very sharp-edged.
Colour usually gray, sometimes reddish or yellowish;
different colours exhibit spots, stripes, veins, and den-
dritical figures; translucent at the edges ; semihard ;
brittle ; easily frangible ; feels meagre; gives a grayish
white streak. Spec. grav. 2.6 to 2.7.
Chem. Char.—Dissolves in acids with effervescence.
The constituents of limestone are carbonate of lime,
with variable proportions of other earths, and particu-
Subspecies 2. Foliated Limestone.
Of this there are two varieties, granularly foliated,
and calcareous spar.
A. Granularly Foliated Limestone.
Rierre Calc air e Grenue, Broch. i. 531. Chaux Carlo-
nate Sacchardide, Hauy, ii. 164.
Exter. Char.—Found only massive; lustre shining,
or strongly glimmering ; between pearly and vitreous;
fracture straight foliated ; fragments rather blunt-
edged ; in granular, distinct concretions, small or fine
grained.
Colour usually snow white, grayish, yellowish, green¬
ish, and rarely reddish white, and sometimes it is spot¬
ted, veined, or striped ; usually translucent; semihard;
feels meagre^ brittle, and easily frangible. Spec. grav.
2.7 to 2.8.
Chem.
’art I. MINER
Irissifica- Chem. Char.—Effervesces with acitls, and is almost
tion. entirely dissolved. Some varieties, however, from an
''■'v ' admixture of other substances, are very slowly acted on
by acids.
Localities, &c.—Granularly foliated limestone be¬
longs almost exclusively to the primitive and transition
mountains, reposing on gneis, micaceous schistus, and
clay slate, containing, beside other mineral substances,
various metallic ores.
It is found in Italy, Saxony, Bohemia, Sweden,
Norway, France, and Britain.
Uses.—This variety of limestone is applied to the
same purposes as the former.
Oj Marbles.—In the language of the architect
and statuary, all stones come under the name of marble
which are harder than gypsum, are found in large masses,
and are susceptible of a good polish.
On this principle many varieties of limestone, granite
\lso and porphyry, serpentine, and even fine-grained
basalts, are denominated marbles. But the word among
mineralogists is taken in a more restricted sense, and
confined to such varieties of dolomite, swinstone, and
compact and granularly foliated limestone, as are capable
of receiving a good polish. The most valuable of the
calcareous marbles, for hardness, durability and colour,
are brought from Italy, the Greek islands, and from
Syria. When the ancient Homans were at the height
of their civilized luxury, they obtained some varieties of
marble from Numidia and other countries, which w'ere
very much esteemed.
The sculptors of ancient Greece and modern Europe
have always held the white grannlarly foliated limestone
in the highest estimation, both on account of its pure
colour, delicate translucence, and granular texture,
which make it much easier to work than compact
limestone. The species called dolomite is softer and
of a finer grain, so that it is even more manageable
under the chissel, and therefore many of the smaller
works of the Greek sculptors are of this stone *, but
Paros and Carrara furnish Europe with the greatest
quantity of statuary marble. The Parian marble, which
consists almost entirely of carbonate of lime, is the
purest, softest, and has some degree of transparency;
that of Carrara is often mixed with granular quartz in
considerable proportion. The following are the archi¬
tectural marbles which are held in greatest estimation.
1. Phe marble called bai'diglio, from Carrara, is of
a deep blue colour, and seems to be the same with the
white statuary marble of that place, with the addition
of some colouring matter.
2. That variety of marble called cipolin, is statuary
marble traversed by veins of mica.
3. Lvmachella marble. This is a compact limestone of
a brownish gray colour, containing shells which often
retain the original pearly lustre. To this variety belongs
the fire marble ol Bleyberg in Carinthia, in which the
imbedded shells are beautifully iridescent.
4. Florentine marble. This is a grayish, compact,
argillaceous limestone, exhibiting designs of a yellowish
brown colour, and resembling the ruins of houses : hence
it is called ruin marble.
5. The marbles of Syria, Sienna, and Arragon, are
ol a yellow colour, and are in considerable estimation.
6. Brocatello marble. This is a breccia limestone,
composed of fragments of a yellowish red and purple
4
A L O G Y.
colour which are cemented by semitransparent, white
calcareous spar.
7. The marbles known by the names of vcrde antic he,
vcrde di Corsica, are composed of limestone, calcareous
spar, serpentine, and asbestus.
8. The British islands afford many fine marbles, of
which that of Tiree is the finest and most beautiful. It
has often a delicate flesh-coloured ground, spotted with
green ; but its colours, it is said, are apt to fade.
Marbles have also been found in the island of Skye,
and in the counties of Ross and Sutherland. For a
particular account ol these, see Williamses Mineral
Kingdom. Marble is not uncommon in different parts
of England 5 and in particular Devonshire and Derby¬
shire afford varieties which are held in considerable es¬
timation on account of their beauty.
Elastic marble. Some varieties of granular limestone,
when cut into thin plates, possess a certain degree of
elasticity. I he marble in which this property was
observed, was in the Borghese palace at Rome. It was
got flora an a„ncient building. Dolomieu supposed that
ni'11 ble acquired this property by bcmi^ deprived of
moisture, and Fleuriau de Bellevue confirmed this
opinion, by subjecting certain marbles to heat. He
found also a natural elastic marble in Mount St Got-
hard.
*99
Calcareous
genus.
B. Calcareous Spar.
Common Spar, Kirw. i. 86. Le Spat/i Calcaire, Broch.
i. 536. Chaux Carbonates, Hauy, ii. 127.
Essen. Char.—Divisible into a rhomboid of
and 785°: soluble with effervescence in nitric acid.
F.xter. Char.—Calcareous spar is found massive, or
disseminated in various forms, as globular, kidneyform,
cellular, and stalactitical j but it is most frequently cry¬
stallized. The primitive form of its crystals is an obtuse
rhomboid, whose angles are ioi° 32' 13,' and 78°
47 1 ? integrant molecule the 'same. The variety of
forms of calcareous spar is very great. Werner reduces
them to three principal or prevailing forms, and from
these he deduces the variations and modifications which
take place. His principal forms are, 1. The six-sided
pyramid; 2. The six-sided prism ^ and, 3. The three-
sided pyramid. But according to others following the
same method, the principal forms are the five follow¬
ing: 1. The six-sided pyramid ; 2. The six-sided prism j
3. 1 he six-sided table; 4. The three-sided pyramid; and,
5. The hexahedron, including the rhomboid and cube.
1. The six-sided pyramid is either simple or double.
A. Simple. Simple pyramids are the summits of
other pyramids, or of prisms, and they are variously
modified in being equal sided, acute, or obtuse, having
the angles at the base truncated, or having an obtuse
three-sided summit slightly convex.
B. Double ; in which two pyramids are obliquely
united, and variously modified, by having the angles at
the base truncated, or the faces of the summit a little
convex.
2* I he six-sided prism, is also variously modified, by
having at each extremity a six-sided acute summit, or a
second obtuse summit of three sides, placed alternately
on three edges of the first.
3. A six-sided table, which is either perfect with
equal or unequal sides, or rounded, or lenticular.
4. The
200
mineralogy.
Part I
Calcareous 4- The three-sided pyramid, which is either simple
genus, or double, and is also variously modified.
' " v ' 1 -' The hexahedron, which includes the rhomboid,
and this is either perfect, or has convex faces, or has six
obtuse edges truncated j and the cube, which is some¬
what rhomboidal. But for a full account of all the va¬
rieties and modifications in the crystallization of calca¬
reous spar, the reader is referred to the treatises of
Ilauy and Brochant.
The crystals of calcareous spar exhibit also a simi¬
larity of arrangement. The simple six-sided pyramids
are frequently disposed in a globular, fascicular, or
stellated form. The six-sided pyramids are disposed in
rows; the six-sided prisms are often disposed like steps
of stairs, or . are fascicular, or kidney-form $ some acute
three-sided pyramids of calcareous spar have been found
hollow, and in some prisms the centre has been observ¬
ed of another colour. The surface of the crystals com¬
monly smooth ) lustre shining or resplendent 5 internal
lustre resplendent or shining, vitreous, and sometimes
pearly j fracture foliated ; cleavage threefold j frag¬
ments always rhomboidal.
Colour usually white, grayish, reddish, greenish, or
yellowish, white, rarely violet blue, or yellowish brown.
Various degrees of transparency y when perfectly trans¬
parent, refraction is double. It was in this substance
that the property of double refraction was first observed,
and hence it was called double spar. T-his singular pro¬
perty engaged the attention and mathematical skill of
Newton, Huygens, Buffon, and more lately the cele¬
brated Hauy. Calcareous spar is semihard, brittle, and
easily frangible. Sp. grav. about 2.7-
Chem. Char.—Soluble with effervescence in nitric
acid, and reduced by calcination to quicklime.
* VHl
Mag. xiv.
apo.
Constituent Parts.
Lime,
Carbonic acid,
Water,
Bergman.
55
33
11
100
Phillips*.
55-5
44.
•5
100.0
Physical Char.—Some varieties of calcareous spar,
and particularly those from Derbyshire, give out, when
heated, a phosphorescent light.
Localities, &.C.-—Calcareous spar is very common in
all kinds of rocks, in veins and cavities, and particularly
in mineral veins, accompanied with quartz, fluor spar,
heavy spar, and metallic ore. The finest specimens of
rhomboidal spar are brought from Iceland, Derbyshire,
the Hartz, as well as Saxony, France, and Spain.
The crystallized sandstones of Fontainebleau are real
rhomboidal crystals of calcareous spar, which, during
the process of crystallization, have been penetrated with
particles of sand.
Subspecies 3. Fibrous Limestone.
Id. Kirw. i. 88. La Pierre Calcaire Fibreuse, ou la
Stalactite Calcaire, Broch. i. 549. C/taux Carbonatee
Conoretionnee, Hauy, ii. 168.
Of this subspecies two varieties have been formed,
’Common fibrous, and calcareous sinter.
3
A. Common Fibrous Limestone:. ciassifica,
tien.
Fxter. Char.—Found massive-, lustre weakly shining Y i
and pearly ; fracture fibrous, sometimes coarse and deli¬
cate, straight or parallel, and sometimes radiated j frag¬
ments splintery.
Colour usually grayish, reddish, and yellowish white j
generally translucent rarely semitransparent.
Localities, &c.—This variety is found in veins -, and
some of it is susceptible of a fine polish, and was known
to the ancients under the name of calcareous alabaster,
to distinguish it from gypseous alabaster.
Sat tin spar, a beautiful mineral, which is also sus¬
ceptible of a fine polish, and has a sickly lustre, from
which it derives its name, belongs to this variety. It
was first discovered in Cumberland, and is but rarely
met with in other places.
B. Calcareous Sinter.
This variety is usually found stalactitical or tuberose,
and also sometimes kidney-shaped, botryoidal, tubular,
and coralloidal. Surface uSually rough, or drusy, rare¬
ly smooth j internal lustre glimmering, sometimes weak¬
ly shining, silky, or pearly ; fracture fibrous, which is
either straight, scopiform, or stellular; fragments
wedge-shaped and splintery.
Colour snow white, grayish green, or yellowish white,
and these are sometimes arranged in stripes or veins j
translucent, sometimes only at the edges j rarely semi¬
transparent 5 between semihard and soft j brittle and
easily frangible. Sp. grav. 2.728.
Localities, &c.—This mineral seems to be a depo¬
sition of calcareous particles, formed by the gradual in¬
filtration of water into the cavities and fissures of lime¬
stone mountains. They are either deposited in layers
on the floor, or suspended from the roof of those grottoes,
and in this latter case they assume a great variety of
imitative forms. It is found therefore in the celebrat¬
ed grottoes of Auxelles, Arcy, and Antiparos, and in
the cavities of mineral veins at Leadhills.
The singular mineral substance, known by the name
oijlos Jerri, belongs to this variety. This is found in
the cavities of veins of spathose iron ore, from which it
has derived its name. It is of a branched or coralloidal
form.
Subspecies 4. Pisolite or Pea-stone.
Oviform Limestone, var. Kdnv. i. 91. La Pierre depots,
Broch. i. 555. Chaux Carbonatee Globidiforme,
Hauy, ii. 171.
Fxter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, and in
the cavities in which it is formed, the surface is kidney¬
shaped ; internally dull; fracture difficult to determine,
but appears even j fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour white, snow white, grayish, reddish or yel¬
lowish white j opaque 5 rarely translucent at the edges j
soft, and brittle.
Localities, &.c.—Pisolite is found at Carlsbad in
Bohemia, where it has been long known, and where
an entire bed was discovered in digging the foundations
for a church. Each of the grains of pisolite contains
for a nucleus a particle of sand. These have been in-
crusted with the carbonate of lime held in solution by
water,
irt I.
tssifica- water, and particularly by the warm springs of Carls-
tion. bad. New concentric layers being deposited, they at
-y-““,/last fall to the bottom, and are there united into larger
masses by new depositions of the same calcareous matter.
Pisolites are also found in Hungary and in Silesia.
4. Species. Calcareous Tufa.
Extet\ Char.—This mineral has usually the form of
the substance on which the calcareous matter has
been deposited, as that of moss which is most com¬
mon, grass or leaves ; internally dull, or weakly glim¬
mering ; fracture uneven or earthy; fragments blunt-
edged.
Colour yellowish gray of various shades ; opaque, or
translucent at the edges 5 soft, sectile, and easily fran¬
gible j light; almost swims on water.
Localities, &c.—This substance is found in all lime-
stQue countries, through the strata of which water passes,
thus forming springs impregnated with carbonate of
lime, which is aftei*wards deposited on plants or other
substances. This mineral, therefore, is found in alluvial
land, and the process of its formation is constantly rm-
ing on.
5. Species. Foam Earth.
Silvery Chalk, K_irw. i. 78. L'Ecumede Terre, Broch.
*• SSI-
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, dis¬
seminated, or in scaly particles, which are somewhat
friable; internal lustre shining or semimetallic; the
solid varieties have a curved foliated fracture ; frag¬
ments blunt-edged. 5
Colour yellowish or greenish white, sometimes silvery
white ; opaque ; stains ; very soft or friable ; feels a
little greasy or silky.
Chem. Char.—Effervesces and dissolves in acids.
MINERALOGY.
Chem. Char.—Effervesces briskly with acids.
Constituent Parts.
Lime,
Carbonic acid
Silica,
Oxide of iron,
Water,
S'-S
39-
5-7
3-2
1.
Constituent Parts.
201
Calcareous
genus.
Carbonate of lime,
Silica,
Oxide of iron,
Loss,
98.11
•05
.8
1.04
100.00
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in Saxony, in
a bed of limestone, where it is accompanied with ga¬
lena ; in Norway; and in Cornwall in England.
7. Species. Arragonite.
Arragon Spar, Kirw. i. 87.
576. Id. Haiiy, iv. 337.
VArragonite, Broch. i.
100.5
Exter. Char.—^Ihis mineral is always found crystal¬
lized in six-sided equiangular prisms, or with two op¬
posite laces broader, to which correspond the two faces
01 an acute bevelment, which terminates the prism.
I he edges of the bevelment are also truncated. The
crystals are variously grouped, and commonly in tire
form of a cross; crystals streaked longitudinally; lustre
shining or resplendent, vitreous ; fracture foliated.
Colour grayish or greenish white; translucent and
semitransparent; refraction double; hard, scratches
calcareous spar ; brittle, and easily frangible. Speci¬
fic gravity 2.946.
Chem. Char.-—Effervesces with acids, and is entire¬
ly dissolved. The constituent parts, according to nu¬
merous and accurate analysis, are the same as those
of calcareous spar; but its superior hardness, diver¬
sity of form, and other external characters, have long
puzzled chemical philosophers ; and it still remains un¬
determined to what that diversity is owing in this mi¬
neral.
Localities, &c.—Arragonite was first found imbed¬
ded in foliated and fibrous gypsum, in the province of
Arragon in Spain, from which it derives its name.
It has been also found in France, the Pyrenees, in
Saltzburg, sometimes in an argillaceous schistus, and
sometimes in quartz, accompanied by calcareous spar
and pyrites.
localities, &c.—This mineral has been found in
mountains of stratified limestone at Jena in Misnia, and
at Eisleben in Thuringia.
^ This is considered by some as belonging to the fol-
-owing species, and by others as merely a variety of a-
garic mineral.
6. Species. Slaty Spar.
Argentine, Kirw. i. 105. Le Spathe Sc hist tux, Broch.
]- SS*‘ Schiefer Spath of the Germans. Id. Phillips,
I hil. Mag. xiv. 289. and 293.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated ; in-
ternal lustre shining, pearly ; fracture curved foliated;
uagments wedge-shaped, or blunt-edged.
, 7lour grayish, reddish, or yellowish white ; translu-
6 VolS°XIV 11paert’ /Cels £reasy* Sljec- £rav* 2.723.
8. Species. Brown Spar.
Sutcro-Calcite, Kirw. i. 105. Le Spath Erunissant,
Broch. i. 563. Chaux Carbonates Ferrifere Perlee,
Hauy, ii. 179.
, Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, or in
kidney-shaped, globular, or carious pieces ; very often
crystallized. The forms are lenses or rhomboids, which
latter have either convex or concave faces ; double
pyramids composed of two pyramids with three obtuse
faces: simple three-sided pyramids, and oblique six-
sidca pyramids. I lie surface of the crystals drusy,
laiely smooth ; lustre weakly shining or shining ; in¬
ternal lustre shining, pearly, or vitreous; fracture fo¬
liated ; fragments rhomboidal.
Colour milk-white, grayish, yellowish, or reddish
■white; bright or brownish rod; translucent at the
€ c edges;
20 2
Calcareous
genus.
MINER
edges j semihard; brittle, easily frangible j streak grayish
white. Spec. grav. 2.83.
Chem. Char.—Becomes black and hard berore the
blow-pipe, and unless reduced to powder, effervesces
slowly with acids.
A L O G Y. , Pan
blow-pipe without splitting or fusion. Effervesces a class
little with acids.
tied
Constituent Parts.
Carbonate of lime,
Oxide of iron,
Oxide of manganese,
Bergman.
50
22
28
100
Localities, &c.—Brown spar is found in Bohemia,
Saxony, France, Sweden, and Britain. It is usually
found in metallic veins.
9. Species. Dolomite.
Id. Kirw. i. Hi. Dolomie, Brochant, i. 334. Chaux
Carbonatee Aluminifere, Hauy, ii. 173.
Ex ter. Char.—Found massive y fracture appears to
be foliated ; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour grayish or yellowish white, translucent on the
edges j semihard y rather difficultly frangible , ieels
meagre. Spec. grav. 2.85.
Constituent Parts. Saussure.
Lime,
Alumina,
Magnesia,
Oxide of iron,
Carbonic acid,
Loss,
44.29
5.86
I-4
•74
46.
I*7I
100.00
10. Species. Rhomb or Bitter-Spar.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Carbonate of lime, . 52 73
magnesia, 45 25
Oxide of iron and manganese, 3
100
100
Localities, &c.—Found in the Tyrol and Saltzburg,
and in Sweden. It is always accompanied with asbestus,
talc, and tremolite, and imbedded in chlorite schistus*
serpentine, and indurated talc.
11. Species. Swine Stone.
Id. Kirw. i. 89. La Pierre Puante, Brochant, i. 567.
Chaux Carbonatee Fvctide, Hauy, ii. 288.
Exter. Char.—Found massive ; internal lustre glim¬
mering or dull ; fracture splintery, sometimes earthy or
foliated ; fragments splintery.
Colour grayish black, or blackish brown ; opaque,
rarely translucent at the edges} streak grayish white y
semihard, sometimes soft j easily frangible. Spec. grav.
2.71.
Phys. Char.—When rubbed with a hard body, it
gives out a very foetid odour of rotten eggs.
& Chem. Char.—Soluble with effervescence in nitric
acid •, before the blow-pipe is deprived of its odour,
which is supposed to be owing to sulphurated hydro¬
gen.
Localities, &c.—Forms entire beds in stratiform
limestone rocks, as in trance, Saxony, and Sweden.
12. Species. Marl.
Chem. Char.—Effervesces slowly in nitric acid.
Phijs. Char.—Phosphoresces in the dark by the per¬
cussion of a hard bodv.
Localities, &c.—This stone was first observed by
Dolomieu, among the ancient monuments of Rome and
afterwards he discovered similar stones in the mountains
of the Tyrol and the Alps. It is found abundantly on
St Gothard and other primitive mountains. Dolo-
mieu’s attention was first attracted to it by its supe¬
rior hardness and slow effervescence in acids, and ana¬
lysis shews that it is different from limestone in its com¬
position.
This is divided into two subspecies 5 1 earthy 5 and,
2 indurated.
Subspecies 1. Earthy Marl.
Id. Kirw. i. 74. La Marne Terreuse, Brochant, i.
569. Argile Calcariferc, Hauy, iv. 455.
Crystallised Muricalcite, Kirw. i. 92. Le Spath Mag-
nesien, Brochant, i. 560, Chaux Carbonatee Mag-
nesifere, Hauy, ii. 187.
Exter. Char.—This variety is composed of loose or
slightly coherent particles ; stains a little ; feels meagre
and rough ; is light; almost swims on water.
Colour yellowish gray, or grayish white.
Localities, &c—lound m many places of Iiance
and Germany, as well as in different places of England
and Scotland, forming beds in limestone countries, and
often immediately under the soil.
Uses.—It is sometimes employed in the manufacture
of pottery, but its principal use is for the purposes of
agriculture.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated in
rhomboidal pieces, which have a crystallized appear¬
ance lustre shining or resplendent, and vitreous or
pearly *, fracture foliated } cleavage threefold 5 frag¬
ments rhomboidal.
Colour grayish white, yellowish or reddish brown •,
translucent at the edges •, semibard 5 brittle ; streak
snow-white. Spec. grav. 2.48.
Chem. Char.—Becomes gray or brown before the
Subspecies 2. Indurated Marl.
Id. Kirw. i. 95. La Marne Endurcie, Brochant, i. 571
Exter. Char.—Found massive, dull, or slightly glim
mering*, fracture earthy, splintery, or slaty ; fragments
blunt-edged.
Colour yellowish, or smoke gray *, opaque} streaK
grayish white } soft 5 not very brittle ; easily frangible.
Spec. grav. 1.6 to 2.8. ^
lift I.
i'siilca-
ton.
r
Chan. Char.—-Melts before the blow-pipe into a
grayish black slag; effervesces briskly with acids.
Marl is considered as a mixture of carbonate of lime
and alumina j and according to the different proportions
of these ingredients, it is denominated calcareous marl
or clay marl, and sometimes it is known in agriculture
by the names of soft and hard marl.
Localities, &c.—Found in Bohemia, Saxony, Swe¬
den, Italy, France, and Britain, in stratiform mountains,
sometimes in extensive beds, frequently accompanying
limestone, coal, and basalt.
Uses.—It is employed in agricultui’e for improving
the soil, sometimes for building, and sometimes as a
limestone. It serves also as a flux for some ox-es of iron.
13. Species. Bituminous Marl Slate.
Marno-bituniineux, Brochant, i. 574. Chaux Carbonatee
JSituminifere, Hauy, ii. 189.
Exter. Char.—Found massive j surface rough, dull,
rarely glimmerings or when divided into curved plates,
smooth and shining 5 fracture slaty 5 straight or waved j
fragments tabular.
Colour grayish or brownish black j opaque ; streak
shining j soft; easily frangible ; feels rather meagre.
Chan. Char.—Effervesces with acids j inflames be¬
fore the blow-pipe 5 gives out a bituminous odour, and
then melts into a black slag.
Localities, &c.—Foilnd in diffei'ent places of Thu¬
ringia, in mountains of stratiform limestone, forming
particular beds, which repose frequently on a species of
sandstone. It is frequently mixed with different ores of
copper, so that it is sometimes wrought as a copper ore.
In this bituminous schistus, petrified fishes and marine
plants are frequently found, disposed in regular order,
from which some have conjectured that they must have
died a violent death j or, according to others, that
they have been poisoned by the copper with which it
abounds.
14. Species. Apatite.
Phospholite, Kirw. i. 128. L'Apatite Commune, Bro¬
chant, i. 580. Chaux Phosphate'e, Hauy, ii. 234.
Exter. Char.—Found almost always crystallized, rare¬
ly disseminated. The forms of its crystals are, 1. A
regular six-sided prism 5 2. The same prism truncated on
its lateral edges j 3. Also on its angles and terminal
edges j 4. Bevelled on each of the lateral cdges ; 5.
V\ ith an obtuse and regular six-sided pyramid, and one
or both extremities, the summit being slightly truncated j
6. A three-sided prism with the lateral edges bevelled,
and the terminal edges truncated ; 7. A six-sided table,
having its terminal edges strongly, and the lateral edges
slightly truncated. Lateral faces of the prisms longitu¬
dinally streaked ; faces of the pyramid smooth \ lustre
shining and resplendent; internal lustx-e shining, be¬
tween resinous and vitreous. Cross fracture foliated ; in
other directions fine gx-ained, uneven,' or conchoidal.
Fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour green of various shades, blue, sometimes
pearl gray, and greenish gray 5 semitransparent, some¬
times transparent, or only translucent; semihard 5 is
scratched by fluor spar; brittle, and easily frangible.
Spec. grav. 2.8 to 3.2.
MINERALOGY.
203
Chem, Char.—Thrown on hot coals it gives out a Calcareous
greenish phosphorescent light $ infusible before the blow- genus,
pipe, but loses its coloux*. It is almost entirely soluble '——v—
in nitric acid.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
. . 55
i hosphoric acid, 45
IOO
Phys. Char.—Becomes electric by friction, but not
by heat.
Localities, &e.—Apatite is found in diffei'ent places
of Germany, chiefly in tin mines, where it is accom¬
panied by fluor spar, quartz, and metallic ores. It is
also found in Cornwall in similar circumstances.
15. Species. Asparagus Stone.
LaPierre (TAsperge, Broch. i. 586. Chaux Phosphate'e,
Hauy, ii. 234.
Exter. Char.—This mineral has been only found
crystallized in equiangular six-sided prisms, terminated
by a slightly obtuse six-sided pyramid ; lateral edges
sometimes truncated j lateral faces longitudinally streak¬
ed, the others smooth ; external lustre shining or re¬
splendent 5 internal, resplendent and resinous; fractux-e
foliated, cross fractux-e imperfectly conchoidal j frag¬
ments not very sharp-edged.
Colour asparagus green, greenish white 3 commonly
transparent, often only semitransparent, or even trans¬
lucent; semihard. Spec. grav. 3.09.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe; solu¬
ble with effervescence in nitric acid, but thrown on hot
coals does not phosphoi'esce.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Lime,
Phosphoric acid,
Loss.
53-32
45-72
.96
100.00
Localities, &c.-—This stone has been found at Ca-
prera, near Cape de Gates in Spain, and also, it is said,
near Arendal in Norway.
16. Species. Phosphorite.
L*Apatite Terreuse, Broch. i. 584. Chaux Phosphate?
Terrcilse, Hauy, ii. 239.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, and having little co-
hex*ence ; dull; fracture earthy, or fine grained uneven;
fragments blunt-edged, sometimes wedge shaped.
Colour yellowish or grayish white; opaque; semi¬
hard ; often friable ; easily frangible ; feels meagre.
Spec. grav. 2.82.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it phosphoresces,
and according to some, melts into a white glass, but
according to others, infusible. Soluble in acids, and
with sulphuric acid gives out white vapours.
C c 2 Constituent
204
Calcnreous
genus.
MINERALOGY. Part
Constituent Pa?'ts. Pelletier.
Jjime, 59-
Silica, 2.
Phosphoric acid, 34.
Fluoric acid, 2.5
Carbonic acid, I.
Muriatic acid, .5
Oxide of iron, 1.
100.0
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in the north
of Scotland, and in the province of Estremadura in
Spain, where it forms an entire mountain. It is mixed
with quartz 5 has been long known by the inhabitants
of the country for its property of phosphorescing when
thrown on hot coals.
17. Species. Fluor.
This has been divided into three subspecies ; 1.
earthy j 2. compact j and, 3. fluor spar.
Subspecies 1. Earthy Fluor.
Sandy or Earthy Fluor, Eirw. i. 126. Le Fluor Ler-
reu.v, Broch. i. 593. Chaux Fluatee Amorphe, Hauy,
ii. 260.
Exter. Char.—Is composed of particles which are
slightly cohering *, dull, or scarcely glimmering.
Colour greenish white, sometimes bluish green j stains
a little ; feels rough.
Chem. Char.—Thrown on hot coals, it gives out a
bluish green light.
Localities, &c.—Has been found in Hungary, in a
vein accompanied with quartz.
Subspecies 2. Compact Fluor.
Id. Kirw. 127. Id. Broch. i. 594.
Exter Char.—Is found massive j dull, lustre some¬
times glimmeiing, vitreous ; fracture even, conchoidal,
and rarely splintery fragments sharp-edged.
Colour greenish gray, or greenish white } sometimes
different colours are disposed in spots j translucent 3
streak shining j hard, and brittle.
Chem. Char.—Phosphoresces on hot coals.
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in the Hartz,
in Sweden, and Siberia, always accompanying fluor
its angles a three-sided pyramid, corresponding to the Classi{.
faces of the cube. 2. The octahedron, which is either tioiuj
perfect, or has its angles or its edges, or both, trunca- 'T'
ted. Surface of the crystals smooth, shining or re¬
splendent, sometimes drusy 3 internal lustre shining, re¬
splendent, and vitreous or pearly 3 fracture foliated,
straight or curved 3 cleavage fourfold, in the direction
of the faces of the regular octahedron 3 fragments te¬
trahedral, or rhomboidal.
Colours of fluor spar extremely various and beautiful.
The principal are, greenish white, grayish, or yellow¬
ish 3 blue, green, brown, and red, of various shades 5
and different colours are sometimes arranged in stripes
and spots. Most commonly translucent, sometimes
transparent, or only translucent at the edges. Semi-
hard 3 brittle 3 easily frangible. Spec. grav. 3.09 to
Chem. Char.—Fusible before the blow-pipe into a
transparent glass 3 decrepitates when heated. I he powr-
der thrown on hot coals gives out a bluish or greenish
phosphorescent light 3 and two pieces rubbed against
each other, shine in the dark.
Constituent Parts. Scheele.
Lime, 57
Fluoric acid, 16
Water, 27
100
Localities, &c.—Fluor spar is sometimes found in
beds, but most frequently in mineral veins. It is very
common in many places of the world, particularly in
Cornwall and Derbyshire, and also in the counties of
Durham and Cumberland in England 3 at Chamouni in
Savoy, the octahedral variety of a rose red colour is
found. Fluor spar is found also in the interior part of
Aberdeenshire in Scotland.
Uses.—This mineral is successfully employed as a
flux for different metallic ores. As it is susceptible ot
a fine polish, it is cut and formed into a great variety oi
ornamental objects, as pyramids, vases, &c. which, on
account of the beauty of the colours, are greatly es¬
teemed.
18. Species. Gypsum.
This species is divided into four subspecies: I.
earthy 3 2. compact 3 3. foliated 3 and, 4. fibrous.
spar.
Subspecies 3. Fluor Spar.
Foliated or Sparry Fluor, Kirw. i. 127. Le Spath
Fluor, Broch. i. 595. Chaux Fluatee, Hauy, ii. 247.
Essen. Char.—Insoluble in water, and divisible into
3 regular octahedron.
Exter. Char.—Fluor spar is found massive or dissemi¬
nated, but most frequently crystallized. Primitive form
a regular octahedron, which is easily obtained by me¬
chanical division 3 integrant molecule a regular tetra¬
hedron. The usual forms are, 1. The cube, which is
sither perfect, or with truncated edges or truncated
angles, or with the edges bevelled, having on each- of
Subspecies 1. Earthy Gypsum.
Farinaceous Gypsum, Kirw. i. 120. Le Gypse Ter-
reux, Broch. i. 601. Chaux Sulphatee Terreuse,
Hauy, ii. 278.
Exter. Char.—This is composed of particles which
are more or less cohering 3 dull, in some places weakly
glimmering ; feels meagre and rough.
Colour white, gray, or yellowish.
Localities, &c.—This substance is rare ; it is only
found in the fissures and cavities of gypsum rocks, and
is supposed to be a deposition of loose particles of gyp¬
sum, carried along by water. Found in Saxony, and
Monte Martre near Paris.
Subspecies
MINE BALOG Y.
j t I.
jiiifiea-
on. Subspecies 2. Compact Gypsum.
L-—' ,
Id. Kirw. i. 121. Id. Broch. i. 602. Id. llauy, ii.
278.
Extei\ Char.—Found massive } lustre weakly glim¬
mering, almost dull ; fracture compact, even, or splin¬
tery ; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour yellowish and grayish white, sometimes red¬
dish 5 and different colours exhibit stripes ; translucent
at the edges j solt, and easily frangible. Spec. grav.
about 2.3.
Localities, &c.——Found in Italy, Germany, France,
Spain, and England.
Subspecies 3. Foliated Gypsum.
Granularly Foliated Gypsum, Kirw. i. 123. Id. Broch.
'i. 606.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, and
sometimes, it is said, crystallized in six-sided prisms,
obtusely bevelled at each extremity ; lustre glimmering
or shining, between vitreous and pearly j fracture fo¬
liated, sometimes radiated ; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour usually snow white, grayish, yellowish, or
reddish white ; and several colours are arranged in spots,
stripes, and veins. Translucent, rarely semitransparent j
refraction double 5 very soft j easily frangible. Spec,
grav. 2.27 to 2.31.
Foliated gypsum has some resemblance to granular
limestone, but may be readily distinguished from it by
its softness.
Subspecies 4. Fibrous Gypsum.
Id. Kirw. i. 122. Id. Broch. i. 604. Id. Hauy, ii.
278.
Exter. Char.—This is found massive, but in thin
layers j lustre shining, or weakly shining, pearly ; frac¬
ture fibrous j in some varieties the longitudinal fracture
is loliated 5 cross fracture fibrous j fragments long,
splintery.
Colour snow white, grayish, yellowish, or reddish
white ; translucent j very soft; easily frangible.
Chem. Char.— T.he different varieties ot gypsum pos¬
sess nearly the same chemical characters. When pure,
there is no effervescence with acids. Before the blow-
PlPe gypsum immediately becomes white, is converted
into a white enamel, which, at the end of 24 hours,
falls into powder.
Localities, &c.—Gypsum, in general, constitutes
mountains or beds, which are subordinate to sandstone,
or limestone. It is found in all kinds of rocks. Gyp¬
sum is lound in great abundance in the neighbourhood
of Paris, in several parts of England, but sparingly in
•Scotland.
Uses.—Gypsum is employed along with lime as a ce¬
ment. It is also very extensively employed under the
name of plaster of Paris, for .Laking casts and models.
With this view it is exposed to a strong heat, to drive
('ff the water of crystallization. It is then in the state
of powder, which being again mixed with water, is put
snto the mould in the form ot paste ; and, from its
strong affinity for water, it soon becomes solid..
20
c . - Calcareous
Ip. DpecieS. OELENITE. genus.
Broad Foliated Gypsum, Kirw. i. 123. La Selenite, v ' " '
Broch. i. 609. Chaux Sulfatee, Hauy, ii. 266.
Essen. Char.—Divisible into smooth plates, which
break under angles of 1130 and 67°.
Exter.Char.—Seleniteisfoundmassive; andfrequent-
ly also crystallized. The primitive form of its crystals
is a four-sided prism, whose bases are obliquely parallelo¬
grams ; the integrant molecule is the same. The usual
ioims are, a six-sided prism, having two broad and two
nanow faces, and terminated by an oblique bevelment,
whose sides correspond to the broad sides of the prism ;
a similar prism terminated by a four-sided pyramid ;
double crystals composed of two of the former united
by their smaller lateral faces, so that the summits united
form on one side a salient angle, and on the other a re¬
entering angle ; another form is a spheroidal or conic
lens. 1 hese crystals arc often grouped, divergent, fas-
cicular, or stellated ; and of the six sides of the prism,
the two opposite are smooth, and the four others longi¬
tudinally streaked ; lustre resplendent or shining, be¬
tween vitreous and pearly ; fracture foliated, straight
or curved ; cleavage threefold ; fragments rhomboidal,
with two faces smooth and shining, and two others
streaked.
Colour usually white, grayish, yellowish, or snow
white, sometimes iridescent ; transparent, sometimes
only translucent; very soft; in thin plates, flexible,
but not elastic ; easily frangible. Spec. grav. 2.32.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe more easily fusi¬
ble than gypsum, and splits into thin plates.
Constituent Parts.
Lime,
Sulphuric acid,
Water,
Bergman.
32
46
22
100
Localities, &c—Selenite is found among beds of
gypsum, and particularly among those which alternate
with clay and sand-stone. It is also found in nests in
clay. It is not uncommon in many places, as among
the gypsum rocks near Paris, in different parts of Eng¬
land, and at Lord Glasgow’s coal works in Scotland,
where it is found among clay, and in the cavities or
on the surface of the limestone which reposes on the
strata of coal.
Uses.—Selenite also, after calcination, is employed
in modelling; but it is said that it possesses less solidity
than what is obtained from gypsum.
20. Species. Anhydrite.
Chaux SulfatSe Anhydre, Hauy, iv. 348.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive ; lustre
shining or weakly shining, and pearly ; fracture curved
foliated, sometimes radiated, and fine splintery : frao--
ments sharp-edged; translucent; semihard; not very
brittle, rather easily frangible. Spec. grav. 2.964.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it neither exfoli¬
ates nor becomes white, like selenite.
Constituent
:o6
mineralogy.
Fart I
Constituent Parts,
Yauquelin. Klaproth.
Lirr.e, 4°
Sulphuric acid, 60 57*
Oxide of iron, — 'l
Silica, “
Loss, — *65
100 100.CO
Localities, &c—This mineral has been found in
Switzerland, in the salt pits in the canton of Berne.
2i. Species. Cube Spar.
Chaux Sulfatee Anhjdre, Hauy, iv. 348. Saude Muri-
atee Gypsifere, Id. ii. 3^5* Munacite, Klaproth.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found massive, and al¬
so crystallized, in four-sided prisms, which are nearly
cubical •, two of the opposite lateral faces are broader
than the other two. The lateral edges are sometimes
truncated, and hence arises an eight-sided prism : some¬
times also the truncations are so great as to destroy the
narrow lateral faces, and form again a six-sided prism.
External lustre of the broad faces resplendent and pear¬
ly ; of the narrow, shining. Internal lustre shining
and pearly j fracture foliated cleavage threefold j
fragments cubical.
Colour milk-white, grayish, yellowish, and reddish
white 5 sometimes pearl gray } translucent 5 semihard.
Spec. grav. 2.92 to 2.96.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Sulphate of lime,
Carbonate of lime, 11.
Muriate of soda, 31,2
100.0
Localities, &c.——1 ound in the salt pits at Halle in
the Tyrol, where it is called splintery gypsum.
22. Species. Datholite.
Localities, &c.~—Found near Arendal 10 -Norway, Classifica.
and some specimens are accompanied by greenish-co- t don,
loured, foliated talc.
VII. BARYTIC Genus.
I. Species. Witherite, or Carbonate of Barytes.
Barolite, or Aerated Barytes, Kirw. i. 134, La Iff
therite, Brochant, i. 613. Baryte Carbonatee, Haiiy,
ii. 308.
Essen. Char.—Forming a white precipitate in weak
nitric acid before solution.
Exter. Char.—Found massive,or disseminated, rarely
crystallized *, forms of its crystals are, a six-sided prism,
with a six-sided pyramid set on the lateral faces ; the
same prism having all the angles truncated j a double
six-sided pyramid. The crystals, which are small, are
usually imbedded in the mineral itself; sometimes group¬
ed in bundles, or crossing each other. Surface smooth;
lustre of the principal fracture shining,orweaklyshining,
resinous ; fracture between radiated and foliated; cross
fracture fine grained uneven ; fragments wedge-shaped.
Colour yellowish gray, grayish, or yellowish white }
translucent, or semitransparent; semihard, or soft;
brittle ; easily frangible. Spec. grav. 4.3 to 4.33.
Chem. Char.—Infusible according to Hany before
the blow-pipe ; but according to Brochant, melts before
the blow-pipe to a white enamel.
Constituent Parts.
Pelletier. Vauquelin.
Barytes, 62 74*5
Carbonic acid, 22 25-5
Water, 16 —
100 100.0
Constituent Parts according to Elaproth.
Carbonate of barytes, 98.246
Carbonate of strontites, I-703
Alumina iron, *043
Carbonate of copper, .008
Chaux Datholite, Brochant, ii. 397. Chaux Boratee Si-
liceuse, Haiiy.
Exter. Char.—This mineral has only been found
crystallized ; the primitive form is a rectangular prism,
with rhomboidal bases, whose angles are 109° 18' and
70° 42'; lustre shining, vitreous ; fragments conchoi-
dal.
Colour grayish or greenish white ; translucent ;
scratches fluor spar. Spec. grav. 2.98.
Chem. Char.-—In the flame of a candle it becomes
dull white, and is easily reduced to powder. Before
the blow-pipe it melts into a glass ol a pale rose-red
‘Colour,
100.000
Localities, &c.—This mineral was discovered by Dr
Withering at Anglesark in Lancashire, in lead veins,
which traverse the coal strata, and it is accompanied
with heavy spar and blende.
Uses.—Barytes acts as a strong poison on the animal
economy. It has been long employed at Anglesark
for the purpose of destroying rats. It has also been
tried as a medicine in scrofula, hut seemingly with little
effect ; and it ought to he had recoui'se to with extreme
caution.
2. Species. Heavy Spar, or Sulphate of Barytes.
Constituent Par ts. Klaproth,
Lime, 35.5
Silica, 36.5
Boracic acid, 24.
Water, 4.
100.0
This species has been divided into eight subspecies;
earthy, compact, granulw, foliated, common, columnar,
prismatic, and bolognian.
Subspecies 1. Earthy Heavy Spar.
Earthy Baroselenite, Kirwan, i. 138. Le Spath Pesant
Terreux, Brochant, i. 617.
4 Exter.
irt I.
issiiica- Ex ter. CAar.—-Found massive j lustre scarcely glim-
ition. mering, or dull j consists of earthy pai’ticles, which are
slightly cohering j stains a little j feels meagre.
Colour snow white, grayish, yellowish, or reddish
white.
Localities, &.c.—This a rare mineral. It has been
found in Saxony, covering masses of heavy spar, and al¬
so in Derbyshire and Staffordshire in England.
Subspecies 2. Compact Heavy Spar.
Compacts Baroselenite, Kirw. i. 138. Baryte Sulfatce
Compacts, Hauy, ii. 303. Id. Broch. i. 618.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, sometimes in kidney-
form or globular pieces, with cubical impressions 5 lustre
glimmering, sometimes dull, and sometimes weakly
shining y fracture coarse earthy, sometimes uneven ;
fragments not very sharp-edged.
Colour yellowish, grayish white, sometimes pale flesh
red } opaque, or translucent at the edges j soft j not
very brittle ; easily frangible 5 feels meagre.
Localities, &c.—Found in mineral veins in Saxony,
and in England ; in clay slate, in Savoy; and we have
found it in sand stone in Northumberland.
207
four-sided prism, rectangular or oblique ; 3. A four- Barytic
sided table, rectangular or oblique ; 4. A six-sided genus,
prism ; 5. A six-sided table ; and, 6. A long eight- v-—y-—^
sided table. These forms are variously modified by
truncations and bevelments, and they are differently
grouped together ; the prisms cross one another $ the
tables are attached by their lateral faces, and form glo¬
bular or kidney-shaped groups $ surfaces smooth, some¬
times rough and drusy. Lustre resplendent, shining,
glimmering, or only dull : internal lustre shining or re¬
splendent, between pearly and resinous : fracture
straight foliated 5 cleavage threefold ; fragments some¬
what rhomboidal.
Colour commonly white, snow-white, milk-white,
grayish, yellowish, or reddish ; in masses translucent y
in crystals transparent or semitransparent y refraction
double; soft 5 brittle. Spec. grav. 4.29 to 4.47, and
4-5-
Chcm. Char.—Fusible before the blow-pipe into a
solid white enamel, which being moistened, gives out
the odour of sulphurated hydrogen. Does not effer¬
vesce with acids.
Constituent Barts.
MINERALOGY.
Subspecies 3. Granular Heavy Spar.
Exter. Char.—This also is found massive y lustre
glimmering, nearly shining, and pearly 5 fracture foli¬
ated, or splintery y fragments blunt-edged.
Colour snow-white, milk-white, yellowish, or red¬
dish •, translucent y soft y not very brittle j easily fran¬
gible. Spec. grav. 3.8.
Constituent Parts.
Barytes,
Sulphuric acid,
Silica,
Klaproth.
60
3°
16
100
Withering. Bergmans
Barytes, 67.2 84
Sulphuric acid, 32.8 13
Water, — 3
100.0 100
Localities, 8zc.-—This is a very common mineral,,
and particularly in metallic veins that traverse primi¬
tive mountains. It accompanies ores of silver, copper,
lead, and cobalt, as well as fluor spar, calcareous spar,
and quartz.
Subspecies 6. Columnar Heavy Spar.
Le Spath Pesant en Barrcs, Broch. i. 631. Baryte
Sulphates Bacillaire, Hauy, ii. 302.
Localities, &o.—Found in mineral veins in Saxony,
along with galena, and in-Siberia, accompanied by cop¬
per and silver ores.
Subspecies 4. Foliated Heavy Spar.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, and in kidney-shaped,
globular, and cellular pieces, composed of four-sided
tables, or lenses, with a drusy surface; lustre glimmer¬
ing or shining, between pearly and vitreous ; fracture
curved foliated, sometimes splintery; fragments not
very sharp-edged, sometimes wedge-shaped.
Colour yellowish, reddish, or grayish white, some¬
times flesh or brownish red ; translucent; soft ; not
very brittle ; easily frangible.
Localities, &c.—Is not uncommon in mineral veins ;
sometimes also in beds, in many countries. It is also
found in Britain.
Subspecies 5. Common Heavy Spar.
Foliated Baroselenite, Kirw. i. 140. Broch. i. 624.
Exter. Char.—This mineral is found in masses, or
disseminated, and very often crystallized. Its princi¬
pal forms are, 1. A double four-sided pyramid; 2. A
Exter. Char.—Found always crystallized : 1. In ob¬
lique four-sided prisms; 2. The same prism terminated
by an acute bevelment; 3. The same prism terminated
by a four-sided pyramid placed on the lateral edges;
and, 4. A six-sided prism bevelled at the extremity. The
crystals are acicular, and are grouped together in bun¬
dles; surface shining, or weakly shining ; internal lustre
shining ; longitudinal fracture radiated ; cross fracture
even. Fragments rhomboidal.
Colour silvery, grayish or greenish white ; translu¬
cent ; soft, and brittle.
Localities, &c.—Found in Saxony, and Derbyshire
in England, accompanied by other varieties of heavy
spar, quartz, and fluor spar.
Subspecies 7. Prismatic Heavy Spar.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, and frequently cry¬
stallized. The usual forms are, 1. An oblique four-si¬
ded prism, bevelled at the extremities; 2. An oblique
four-sided prism, terminated by a four-sided pyramid
placed on the lateral edges ; 3. An elongated octahe¬
dron; and, 4. A six-sided prism. Lustre shining or re¬
splendent, between resinous and pearly; fracture folia¬
ted ; cleavage threefold.
Colour
208
Strontian
genus.
mineralogy.
Colour yellowish, greenish, or pearl gray, sometimes
pale blue, and rarely flesh red ; translucent ^ when cry¬
stallized, transparent j soft, and not very brittle j very
easily frangible. ....
Localities, &c.—‘■Sometimes found in mineral veins,
as in Saxony.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth.
Strontites, 69.5
Carbonic acid, 30.
Water, .5
Pelletier.
62
3°
fi-
'
Subspecies 8. Bolognian Heavy Spar.
Le Spat/i de Bologne, Brochant, i. 633. Striated or
fibrous heavy spar, Kirwan, i. 141. Baryte sulfatee
radiee, Hauy, ii. 302.
Exter. Char.—This is found in rounded pieces; ex¬
ternal surface uneven, dull, or glimmering j internal
lustre shining, or weakly shining, between adamantine
and pearly •, fracture radiated, parallel, diverging, or
fibrous, sometimes foliated ; fragments splintery, some¬
times rhomboidal.
Colour, smoke or yellowish gray 5 translucent, soft,
very brittle, and easily frangible.
Chem. Char.—This mineral has been long known
by its property of shining in the dark, after being
heated. Other heavy spars, indeed, have a similar pro¬
perty.
Constituent Parts. Arvidson.
Sulphate of barytes, 62.
Silica, 15^
Alumina, *4*75
Gypsum, 6.
Oxide of iron, .25
Water, 2.
100.00
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found at Monte
Paterno near Bologna in Italy, in rounded masses,
which have an uneven surface : they are imbedded in
an argillaceous or marly rock, which is a kind of amyg¬
daloid, and from which they are detached by the action
of the waters.
100.0 100
Localities, &c.—This mineral has been hitherto
found only at Strontian in Scotland, in a lead vein
which traverses a gneiss rock. It is said also to have
been found at Leadhills. .
2. Species. Celestine, Sulphate of Strontites.
La Celestine, Brochant, i. 640. Strontiane sulfatee,
Hauy, ii 313.
Essen. Char.—Divisible into a rhomboidal prism,
with angles of about 105° and 7 50; gives a light red
colour to the blue part of the flame produced by the
blow-pipe.
Exter. Char.—Primitive form of its crystals a rect¬
angular prism, whose bases are rhombs } integrant mole¬
cule a triangular prism with square bases. The forms
under which it generally appears are four or six-sided
prisms, which are terminated by a two-sided bevelment,
a four-sided, or an eight-sided pyramid.
This species has been divided into two subspecies :
1. fibrous j and, 2. foliated.
Subspecies 1. Fibrous Celestine.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or crystallized 5 lustre
of the longitudinal fracture shining 5 that of the cross
fracture, weakly shining between pearly and resinous.
Longitudinal fracture foliated j cross fracture fibrous,
curved j fragments splintery j rather blunt-edged.
Colour indigo blue, bluish gray, and sometimes with
whitish bands, or with yellowish brown spots 5 translu¬
cent j soft, and easily frangible. Spec. grav. 3.83.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
VIII. STRONTIAN Genus.
1. Species. Strontites, Carbonate.
La Strontianitc, Brochant, i, 637. Id. Kirw. i. 332.
Strontiane Carbonatee, Hauy, ii. 327.
Essen. Char.—Soluble in nitric acid with efferves¬
cence j paper dipped in the solution, and dried, burns
with a purple flame.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, and sometimes cry¬
stallized in needles, which are grouped together j form
of the crystals a regular six-sided prism j lustre weak¬
ly shining, or only glimmering j internal lustre shin¬
ing, and weakly shining, between resinous and pearly j
fracture radiated, straight, diverging, or fibrous ; cross
fracture fine grained, uneven, or splintery 5 fragments
wedge-shaped, or sharp-edged.
Colour asparagus green, greenish, whitish, or yel¬
lowish gray ; translucent; semihard, brittle and easily
frangible j feels a little greasy. Spec. grav. 3.4 to
3-67-
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe whitens without
fusion, and afterwards exposed to the air, falls to
powder.
Strontites, 58
Sulphuric acid and oxide of iron, 42
100
Localities, &c.—Has been found in Pennsylvania in
America, and near Toul in France.
Subspecies 2. Foliated Celestine.
Extern Char.—This is also found massive and crystal¬
lized j lustre weakly shining, or shining j that of the
crystals resplendent; fracture foliated, straight, or radi¬
ated •, cleavage threefold.
Colour milk-white, grayish, and bluish-white : semi¬
transparent, or translucent j semi-hard j very easily fran¬
gible.
The following are the constituent parts of a variety
of sulphate of strontites, which is found at Mont Mar-
tre near Paris.
Sulphate of strontites, 91.42
Carbonate of lime, 8.33 * pauqu*-
Oxide of iron, .25 lin,Jonr‘
    de
i 00.00* _ s3.
Localities f
|r. I. MINER
. I'ca- Localities, &C.—This variety is found in great abun-
n dance near Bristol in England, where the sulphate of
• ' strontites was first discovered by Mr Clayfield. It has
been since found in Sicily, where it is accompanied
*,rith fibrous gypsum and native sulphur.
SECOND CLASS. SALTS.
I. Genus. SULPHATES.
1. Species. Native Vitriol.
Mixed vitriol, or sulphate of iron, copper and zinc,
Kirwan, ii. 24. Vitriol Natif, Brochant, ii. 2.
E.vter. Char.—This mineral is found massive or dis¬
seminated, and also in a stalactitical, cylindrical, and
capillary form ; internal lustre shining, or weakly shin¬
ing, between silky and vitreous ; external surface rough
and* uneven ; fracture usually fibrous, sometimes foliat¬
ed.
Colour grayish, or yellowish white, sometimes differ¬
ent shades of sky blue ; the colour varies by exposure to
the air. Soft 5 semi-transparent or translucent 5 taste
sour and astringent.
Chon. Char.—’1 hese are different, according to the
proportions of the constituent parts. Before the blow¬
pipe, sulphurated hydrogen gas is given out; the iron
is detected by giving a black colour to the solution of
nut galls *, the copper, by immersing a plate of iron j
and the zinc, by a white efflorescence, which appears
when the native salt is exposed to the air.
This substance is a mixed salt, composed of the sul¬
phates of iron, zinc and copper, in variable propor¬
tions, so that its appearance and characters must also be
Variable.
Localities, &c.—Native vitriol is not uncommon in
mountains of clay slate which contain metallic ores, and
particularly those of copper and iron pyrites, and
blende; by the decomposition of which it’is formed.
It is found in Bohemia, Saxony, and Hungary, as well
as in the mines of Britain, where such metallic ores
abound.
1 he native sulphate of iron is common in coal mines
which contain iron pyrites, as in many of the coal
mines of Britain. I he substance is very abundant
in the earl of Glasgow’s coal mines near Paisley,
where the manufacture of copperas, by purifying
and crystallizing the native salt, has been long car¬
ried on.
Uses.—1 he mixed substance, native vitriol, can only
e,nP'°ye(i to any useful purpose, by obtaining the
dmerent salts in a separate form. The uses of these
salts are well known in various arts, but particularly in
dyeing, and some of them in medicine.
2. Species. Native Alum.
Ahim, Kirwan, ii. 13. VAlun Natif, Brochant, ii. 6.
Alumvne Sulfatee alkaline, Hauy, ii. 387, 388.
Lxter. Char.—Native alum is usually found in small
capillary crystals, sometimes adhering to other minerals,
and veiy rarely in stalactitical masses. The form of
. ie crystal of alum is the regular octahedron, which is
usually obtained artificially. Externally it is dull, or
slightly glimmering, but internally shining, with a
VOL. XIV. Part I. ' f
A L O G Y.
silky or vitreous lustre, fracture fibrous; very soft;
taste astringent.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe melts easily in
its water of crystallization, then froths up, and becomes
a white spongy mass.
Alum is a triple salt, a sulphate of alumina and pot¬
ash. It rarely happens that all the three ingredients
exist together in nature. The potash is usually added
during the preparation of artificial alum.
According to the examination of native alum by
Klaproth, from the alum cavern at Cape Miseno near
Naples, it appears that from 1000 lbs. of the material
furnished by nature, 470 lbs. may be obtained, having
the requisite quantity of potash ; and by an addition of
potash to promote the crystallization, 290 lbs. more may
be obtained. Analyt. Ess. i. 268. The following is
the analysis of the aluminous schistusfrom Freyenwaldr
by the same chemist.
Alumina, IS-2S
Oxide of iron, 7-5°
Potash,
Sulphuric acid and water of crystallization, 77.
IOO.OO* * Analyt.
Localities, &c.—Native alum is found in those pla¬
ces where the aluminous stones, already described, a-
bound, as in the neighbourhood of volcanoes, and in
Coal mines. An extensive alum manufactory has been
carried on for several years with great skill and success,
at Lord Glasgow’s coal work near Paisley, mentioned
above. The materials are obtained from the rubbish in
the old wastes, which consists of the aluminous schistus
from the roof and pavement of the coal. These mines
also abound with iron pyrites ; and from the decompo¬
sition of all these substances the native vitriol and na¬
tive alum are obtained.
Uses.—The uses of alum in various arts a*e too well
known to require any enumeration.
3. Species. Mountain Butter.
La Bear re de Montague, Broch. ii. 10.
Exter. U/iar.—Found massive; internal lustre strong¬
ly glimmering, waxy; fracture foliated; fragments
blunt-edged.
Colour grayish white, sulphur yellow, or yellowish
brown ; translucent at the edges ; feels greasy; taste
astringent.
Localities, &c.— This species is found in similar situ¬
ations with the former. In its native repository it is
nearly as soft as butter, and has something of the ap¬
pearance, from which it has its name. Perhaps it ought
to be considered merely as a variety of the former. The
same remark may be applied to another variety called
plumose alum.
4. Species. Capillary Salt. Sulphate of Magnesia.
Le Sel Capillaire, Broch. ii. 8. Haar Salz, or Hair
Salt, of the Germans.
Exter. Char.—This salt is always found in fine capil¬
lary crystals, so closely united together as to form a
compact mass ; lustre shining, or weakly shining, silky ;
fracture fibrous.
D d
Colouf
?\/f T M V. R A L n G Y,
Colour white, sometimes greenish, grayish, or yellow¬
ish 5 translucent, friable 5 taste astringent.
Constituent Parts.—This salt was supposed to be a
plumose or native alum j but it appears from the analysis
of Klaproth, to be a sulphate of magnesia, with a small
proportion of iron. We have examined a similar ca¬
pillary salt from the coal mines near Paisley, which also
appeared to be a sulphate of magnesia, but with a
'rreater proportion of sulphate of non.
° Localities, &c.—This native salt is found in similar
situations with the former species.
5. Species. Native Epsom Salt, or Sulphate of
Magnesia.
Le Sel amerNatif Broch. ii. 1 t . Epsom Salt, Kir. ii. 12.
Exter. Char.—The characters already given of the
former species are equally applicable to this, except¬
ing that it is said to exist sometimes in an earthy form,
when it has a dull appearance.
Localities, &c.—Found in a state of efflorescence on
limestone, porphyry, sandstones *, and it exists in solu¬
tion in many mineral wTaters, as in that of Epsom in
England, from which it has its name. This salt also
constitutes part of the efflorescence which is observed
on walls built with lime.
6. Species. Native Glauber Salt, or Sulphate
of Soda.
Glauber Salt, Kirw. ii. 9. Le Sel de Glauber Nat if,
Broch. ii. 14.
Exter. Char.—This salt is sometimes found massive
or earthy,rarelystalactitical or crystallized. The crystals
are often acicular, or in irregular, six-sided prisms, ter¬
minated by a three-sided pyramid, placed on the lateral
edges or sides. Lustre shining, vitreous j but exposed
to the air becomes dull. Fracture uneven 5 that of the
crystals conchoidal. Fragments blunt-edged.
Colour yellowish or grayish white ; opaque or trans¬
parent brittle taste cooling or bitter.
localities, &c.—This salt is usually found in the
neighbourhood of mineral springs which hold common
salt in solution, from the decomposition of which, and
the combination of its base with sulphuric acid, it is ob¬
tained. It is not unfrequent on the banks of salt lakes,
and in a state of efflorescence on sandstone, marl, some¬
times on the surface of the ground, and sometimes on
walls built with stone and mortar. It is found in most
countries in the world.
II. Genus. NITRATES.
Parti J;
lucent $ soft; easily frangible or friable j taste saline, ciassiftC;
cooling. tion. IP
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Nitrate of potash, 42>55
Muriate of potash, .20
Sulphate of lime, 25-45
Carbonate of lime, 30.40
Loss, 1.40
j 00.00* *AmlJ
Ess. i,. ■ I
Exter. Char. See.—Native nitre is found in Italy
near Molfetta, in Naples, from which that analyzed
by Klaproth was obtained, and which is disposed in
small beds, or more rarely in veins, on limestone. Na¬
tive nitre is also not uncommon in Hungary, Spain,
France, and Peru, in which latter country, and in the
East Indies, where it is very abundant, it is found ef¬
florescent on the surface of the ground at certain seasons
of the year.
Uses.—The uses of nitre for some economical pur¬
poses, in various arts, in medicine, but particularly ia
the manufacture of gunpowder, are well known.
III. Genus. MURIATES.
1. Species. Rock Salt.
Common Salt, Sal Gem, Kirw. ii. 31. Le Sel de Cui¬
sine, Broch. ii. 20. Soude Muriatee, Hauy, ii. 356.
Essen. Char.—Soluble in water, and divisible into
cubes.
This species is divided into two subspecies:. 1. folia¬
ted, and 2. fibrous rock salt.
Subspecies 1. Foliated Rock Salt.
Le Sel Gemme Lamelleux, Broch. ii. 21. Lamellar Sal
Gem, Kirw. ii. 32. Soude Muriatee, Amorphe,
Hauy, ii. 359.
Exter. Char.—Usually found massive in considerable
beds, sometimes disseminated in large masses, or kidney-
form, stalactitical, or crystallized in perfect cubes ; sur¬
face of the crystals smooth 5 lustre shining, vitreous;
fracture foliated ; cleavage threefold and rectangular *,
fragments cubic.
Colour grayish, yellowish, or reddish white, flesh or
brownish red j transparent or translucent 5 soft; streak
grayish white ; taste saline.
Chem. Char.—This salt decrepitates violently when
thrown on burning coals.
Constituent Parts.
1. Species. Native Nitre, or Nitrate of Potash.
Nitre, Kirw. ii. 25. Le Nitre Natif Broch. ii. 17. Po-
tasse Nitratee, Hauy, ii. 346. Saltpetre.
Essen. Char.—Does not deliquesce, and detonates
with a combustible body.
Exter. Char.—This salt is commonly found superficial,
i,n acicular crystals, rarely massive, and more rarely cry¬
stallized in six-sided prisms-, lustre shining, vitreous j
fracture conchoidal y fragments sharp-edged.
Colour snow white, grayish or yellowish white 3 trans-
Kirwan. Bergman.
Soda, 35 42
Muriatic acid, 40 52
Water, 25 6
100 100
The above are the analyses of pure salt; for as it is
found in nature, it contains several other ingredients.
Localities, &c.—Foliated rock salt constitutes a pe¬
culiar kind of stratiform mountain, in which it usu¬
ally
ft I.
MINER
silica- a^ernates of clay, which are more or
pn less penetrated with salt. It is also accompanied with
y—- gypsum, sandstone, limestone. It is sometimes also found
in veins.
Rock salt is found in most countries of the world j
the most celebrated mines are those of Wiliezka, which
have been wrought for 500 years. There are mines of
this mineral in Poland, Silesia, and in Bavaria and Si¬
beria j at Cordova in Spain it constitutes an entire
mountain, four or five hundred feet high. Rock salt is
also found in abundance in Cheshire in England. It
is found also in Africa, Asia, as well as in North and
South America.
Subspecies 2. Fibrous Rock Salt.
Fibrous Sal Gem, Kirw. ii. 32. Le Sel Gemme Fi-
breux, Broch. ii. 25. Soucle Muriatee Fibreuse,
Hauy, ii. 379.
Exter. Char.—This variety is found massive, in small
wedge-shaped veins j lustre glimmering, rarely weakly
shining j fracture fibrous, curved parallel or divergent}
fragments wedge-shaped, with sharp edges.
Colour grayish white, yellowish or pearl gray, la¬
vender blue, violet blue, or flesh red } varies between
translucent and semitransparent. The other characters
of fibrous rock salt correspond with those of the pre¬
ceding subspecies, and it is found in similar situations
accompanying it.
2. Species. Sea Salt.
Ihis salt can perhaps scarcely be considered as a se¬
parate species. It is found on the shores of the ocean,
or of salt lakes during the dry seasons of the year, in
consequence of the evaporation and diminution of the
water which holds it in solution.
Uses.— file various uses of salt in domestic economy
and many of the arts are well known.
3. Species. Native Sal Ammoniac.
Sal Ammoniac, Kirw. ii. 33. Le Sel Ammoniac ~Na-
tif, Broch. ii. 27* Ammoniaque Muriate'e, Hauy, ii.
380.
^ Essen. Char.—Entirely volatile by the application of
Exter. Char.—Most commonly found in superficial
layers, or efflorescent} sometimes also massive or sta-
lactitical, and rarely crystallized. Primitive form of
ib crystals a regular octahedron ; integrant molecule a
regular tetrahedron. rIhe crystals are described to be in
t ic form of cubes, six-sided pyramids, and dodecahedral}
ustre shining, often only glimmering or dull and vitre-
ousl Fracture even 5 fragments sharp-edged.
Colour white, grayish, or yellowish} soft, and often
triable } taste saline, pungent, and bitter.
Chem, Char.—Very soluble in water, producing a
considerable degiee of cold ; rubbed with lime, gives
a pungent odour of ammonia.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Muriate of ammonia,
Sulphate of ammonia,
A L O G Y.
Localities, &c,——T. his salt is a voicanic production,
and found deposited in the cavities-of lava, as on Ve-
suvius and iEtna, and in the Lipari islands. It is also
met with in Iceland, 111 Persia, and different places of
Asia. The substance analyzed by Klaproth was from
Paitary. This salt has also been discovered in the
neighbourhood of coal mines in Britain, which have
been accidentally on fire. Sal ammoniac from Egypt
may be considered rather as an artificial production.
IV. Genus. CARBONATES.
I. Species. Native Soda, ot Carbonate of Soda.
Natron, Kirw. ii. 6. VAlkali Mineral, Broch. ii. 30.
Soude Carbonatee, Hauy, ii. 373.
. Essen. C/^or.—Soluble in water, and effervesces with
nitric acid.
Exter. Char.—Found in small particles, which are
usually in the state of pow'der} is dull and meagre to
the touch.
Colour grayish white, or yellowish gray} taste sharp
alkaline. 1
them. Char.—A ery fusible before the blow-pipe} the
solution renders vegetable blues green.
'Ihe following are the constituent parts of Egyptian
natron or soda, analysed by Klaproth.
1 1
Carbonate of soda,
Sulphate of soda,
Muriate of soda,
Water,
32.6
20.8
I5*
31.6
100.0
Localities, &c.—-Native soda is found on the surface
of the soil, or on the borders of lakes which evaporate
during the summer, in Egypt, where it has been long
collected, and known under the name of natron. In the
neighbourhood of Debreczin in Hungary, it is found
efflorescent on a heathy soil} in Bohemia, in decom¬
posed gneiss rock, where it is annually collected in con¬
siderable quantity in the spring of the year. Natron
is also found near Naples, in Persia, Bengal, and
China. It exists also in solution in many mineral
waters.
Uses.—This salt is very extensively employed in
many arts.
Another variety of native soda has been described.
This is in the form of radiated masses, which are com¬
posed of acicular crystals. It seems to be a purer car¬
bonate of soda. I he following are the constituent parts
according to the analysis of Klaproth.
Soda,
Carbonic acid,
W ater,
Sulphate of soda,
37-
38.
22.5
2-5
100.0
100.0
2. Species. Native Magnesia, or Carbonate of
Magnesia.
\fvXty Pure carbonate of magnesia, discovered by
Hr Mitchell 5 and another which contains an admixture
D d 2 of
Salts.
212
Salts.
of silica discovered by Giobert, has been already^de¬
scribed under the magnesian genus, species I. 'vvluch
jVI INK 1^ A LOGY.
Constituent Paj-ts. Westrumb.
Part fJ
Classing
lion.
V. Genus. BORATES.
i. Species. Borax.
Id. Kirw. ii. 37- Borax Notify Broch. ii. 33. Soude
Boratec, Hauy, ii. 366.
Essen. Char.—Taste sweetish j fusible with consider¬
able intumescence into a vitreous globule.
Extcr. Char.—This salt is found massive and disse¬
minated, but most frequently crystallized ; the forms are
a six-sided prism with the two opposite taces broader j
the same prism having its lateral edges truncated, or
having its too narrow terminal edges truncated ; the
crystals are usually imbedded in an earthy mass ; sur¬
face a little rough, sometimes smooth, and usually co¬
vered with a white earthy crust 5 lustre shining, waxy j
fracture foliated. ...
Colour grayish white, yellowish or greenish ; semi¬
transparent, or only translucent; refraction double ; soft j
brittle •, greasy to’the feel. Spec. grav. 1.740. _ _
Constituent Parts.—When borax is purified, it is a
compound of soda and boracic acid} but in its na¬
tive state it is always contaminated with earthy mat-
ters.
Localities, &c.—Borax is brought from Persia and
Thibet. According to some travellers, it is got from
the waters of a lake by evaporation in the open air j
but according to others it is ready formed on the
borders of the lake, where common salt is also col-
, lectcd*
Uses.—Borax is still farther purified after it is
brought to Europe, for the purposes of employing it in
the arts, particularly as a flux in metallurgical opera¬
tions.
2. Species. Boracite, or Borate of Magnesia.
Boraeitc, Kirw. i. 1^2. Id. Brochant, i. 389.
Magnesia,
Lime,
Silica,
Alumina,
Oxide of iron,
Boracic acid,
Loss,
'3-S
11.
2.
1.
•7
68.
3-8
100.0
Phys. Char.— Boracite has the property of becoming
electric by heat, and exhibiting both kinds oi electri¬
city by opposite points. These electric poles are the
extremities of the axes of the cube, each axis giving
out at one extremity positive, and at the other negative
electricity.
Localities, &c.—This mineral has been only found
at Lunebourg in Lower Saxony, in a mountain compo¬
sed almost entirely of foliated gypsum, in which the de¬
tached crystals are imbedded.
VI. Genus. ELUATES.
Species. Cryolite, or Fluate of Soda and Alumina.
Id. Brochant, ii. 505. Alumine Fluate'e Alkaline, Hauy,
ii. 398.
Exter. Char—Found massive $ lustre shining, vitre¬
ous 5 fracture foliated j fragments cubical.
Colour grayish white translucent; immersed in wa¬
ter, transparent; semihard ; streak snow-white. Spec,
grav. 2.94.
Chem. Char.—Melts in the flame of a candle, and
from its easy fusibility it derives its name. It then be¬
comes hard, and is changed into a slag, which is some¬
what elastic. Soluble with effervescence in sulphuric
acid, and gives out white vapours that corrode glass.
Constituent Parts.
Exter. Char.—Always found crystallized .. 1. In
cubes, having the edges and four of the angles trunca¬
ted 5 2. The cube, having all the edges and angles
truncated. When these truncations are increased on
the edges, a dodecahedron is nearly formed, or when
they increase on the angles, the resulting form is an oc¬
tahedron. Surface of the crystals smooth, sometimes
rough } lustre shining or resplendent •, internal lustre
shining, resinous 5 fracture conchoidalj fragments shaip-
edged.
Colour ash or yellowish gray, grayish or greenish
white ; semitransparent or translucent, oftener opaque
semihard y rather easily frangible. Spec. grav. 2.56.
Chem Char.—Melts before the blow-pipe, froths up,
and yields a yellowish enamel, on which small rough
points appear, and are thrown off like sparks by conti¬
nuing the heat.
Klaproth.
Soda, 36.
Alumina, 23.5
Fluoric acid and water, 40.5
Vauquelin.
32
21
47
100.0
100
Localities, &c.—Cryolite was brought to Copenha¬
gen from Greenland, but nothing is known of its re¬
pository (b).
THIRD CLASS. COMBUSTIBLES.
I. Genus. SULPHUR.
1. Species. Native Sulphur.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 69. Le Sotifre Fiatif, Brochant, ii. 37;
This species is divided into two subspecies } 1. Com¬
mon ; 2. Volcanic native sulphur.
Subspecies
(b) Boracite and cryolite do not certainly possess all the characters that entitle them to a place among the
salts; but as magnesia is the predominant base of. the one and soda of the other, it was thought better to m ro~
duce them here than to multiply divisions.
it I. MINER
issifiea- Subspecies i. Common Native Sulphur.
Ion.
'••v 1 Essen. Chav.—The sulphurous odour when heated j
colour yellow.
Extcr. Char.—Sulphur is found massive,disseminated
in superficial layers, or crystallized. Primitive form of
its crystals is an octahedron,’whose sides are scalene tri¬
angles 5 the integrant molecule is an irregular tetrahe¬
dron. The usual forms of the crystals are, i. That of
the primitive form, in which two four-sided oblique-
angled pyramids arc joined base to base, of which the
common base is a rhomb, whose two diagonals are as
5 to 4 ; 2. The same form having its summits truncat¬
ed ; 3. The first form having its summit surmounted by
an obtuse fbur-sided aeumination, set on the lateral
faces j 4. Or, having the common case truncated; or,
5. Having its obtuse lateral edges truncated j or, 6.
Having the obtuse angles of the common base truncat-
ed.v The crystals are of various sizes, most frequently
grouped: surface smooth •, lustre resplendent j internal
lustre shining, or weakly shining, between resinous and
adamantine $ fracture fine grained, uneven, sometimes
conchoidal or splintery ; fragments sharp-edged.
Colour yellow, greenish, or grayish yellow j translu¬
cent or semitransparent; refraction double ; soft; brit¬
tle, and very easily frangible j gives out by rubbing a
sulphureous smell. Spec. grav. 19 9 to 2.03.
Chon. Char.—Burns with a peculiar blue flame, and
gives out a pungent odour, which is well known.
Native sulphur is not always pure ; it is often conta¬
minated with earthy matters.
Phys. Char.—Sulphur becomes electric by friction,
and its electricity is negative.
Localities, &c.—Native sulphur is most commonly
found in stratiform mountains, chiefly in those of gyp¬
sum, marl, and compact limestone, and there it exists
in the form of nodules. Found also, but rarely, and
in. small quantity, in the veins of primitive moun¬
tains. Sulphur is found in many countries of the
world, as in Poland, Hungary, Switzerland, Spain,
and Sicily, where the finest crystals yet known are
found.
Subspecies 2. Native Volcanic Sulphur.
Extcr. Char.—Found massive, in rounded pieces,
stalactitical, cellular, or in thin sublimed layers, some¬
times also crystallized in confused groups j internal
lustre weakly shining or shining j fracture uneven }
fragments blunt-edged.
Colour the same as the former, but inclining sometimes
a little towards gray •, translucent ; in other characters
it resembles the preceding.
Localities, &c.—As its name imports, this variety is
found near volcanoes, where it is sublimed among the
lava. The sulphur of iEtna and Vesuvius chiefly, and
also that of Iceland, and of some of the islands in the
West Indies, is collected, and forms a very important
article in commerce.
Uses—Sulphur is one of the most valuable substances
in various arts. It is employed in the bleaching of
woollen stufts and silks ; it forms an essential ingredient
m gunpowder, and it is the base of sulphureous and sul¬
phuric acid, which are so extensively employed in tan¬
ning, hat-making, dyeing, and other arts and manu¬
factures.
3
A L O G Y.
II. BITUMINOUS Genus.
I. Species. Petroleum, or Mineral Oil.
Le Naphte, and L'fL/nle Minerale Commune, Broch.
i*. 59’ and 60. Naphtha and Pctrole, Kirwan, ii.
42 and 43. Bitume Liquide Prune, ou Noiratrc,
Many, iii. 312.
Lxtcr. Char.—Found fluid and somewhat viscid.
Colour blackish or reddish brown j almost opaque j
feels very greasy.j exhales a strong bituminous odour :
taste pungent, acid. Spec. grav. 0.708 to 0.854.
Chem. Char.—Burns easily with a dense smoke, and
leaves some earthy residue. When exposed to the air
it becomes thicker and less fluid.
its constituent parts are carbone, hydrogen, and a
small portion of oxygen.
. Localities, &c.—Petroleum is generally found in the
vicinity of coal, rising to the surface of the water which
flows from coal strata. It is not uncommon in different
parts of the world. It is found in Lancashire in Eng*
land,.and at St Catharine’s well near Libberton, in the
vicinity of Edinburgh.
Naptha, which is considered merely as a purer kind
of mineral oil, is found in. considerable abundance in
different parts of Persia, on the shores of the Caspian
sea, in Calabria, Sicily, and America. In 1802, a
spi ing of naphtha of a topaz yellow colour, burning
easily, and leaving little residue, with a specific gravity
of 0.83, was discovered in the state of Parma in Italy,
and afforded such a quantity as to be sufficient to illu¬
minate the streets of Genoa.
Uses.—Naphtha has been sometimes employed in the
composition of varnish, in that of fire-works, for the
purpose of heating rooms, when it is mixed with a smaU
quantity of earth ; and in Persia and other countries it
is burnt in lamps as a substitute for oil. Formerlv it
was employed in medicine as a vermifuge.
2. Species. Mineral Pitch.
This is divided into three subspecies j 1. elastic;
2. earthy j and, 3. slaggy.
Subspecies 1. Elastic Mineral Pitch.
Mineral Caoutchouc, Kirw. ii. 48. Jxi Poiv Minerale
Elastique, Broch. ii. 64. Bitume Elastique, Hauy,
iii- 313.
Exter. Chur.—Found in masses of different sizes, dis¬
seminated, sometimes superficial, or stalactitical; lustre
dull, rarely glimmering ; internal lustre shining, resin¬
ous.
Colour brownish black, hair-brown, often veined yel¬
low translucent at the edges 5 soft consistence like
elastic gum, and also elastic. It gives odt the smell of
leather. Spec. gfav. 0.902 to 1.23.
I^oculities, &c.—Ibis mineral was discovered in
1785 in the mine of Odin in Derbyshire in England,
where it is accompanied with galena, calcareous spar’
heavy spar, fluor spar, and blende. *
rhis substance effaces the marks of black lead on
paper, like elastic gum \ but stains the paper.
Subspecies
213
Combus¬
tibles.
< i
214
Combus-
tiblrs
Subspecies 2. ^EARTHY MINERAL PITCH.
Semicompact Mineral Pitch, or Maltha, K iivv. ii. 46.
La Pout Minerals Terreuse, Br ch. 11. 65.
Exter. Char.—Found massive •, internally dull j frac¬
ture earthy, sometimes uneven •, fragments blunt-edge .
Colour blackish brown, sometimes clove brown j
streak shining, and darker coloured j very soft j feels
greasy \ smell bituminous.
Chem. Char.—Burns with much flame and smoke;
exhales a strong odour, and leaves carbonaceous and
earthy matter. .... r xr r
Localities, &c.—Found in the principality of JNem-
'chatel in Switzerland.
mineralogy. Patt
Colour yellowish white, or straw-yellow J slightly classifti
translucent; soft; easily frangible ; by friction, or re-
ducing to powder, it gives out an agreeable odour.
Spec. grav. 1.07 to 1.08.
Chem. Char.—Burns with a yellow flame, without
melting, giving out at the same time a peculiar odour;
leaves very little residue.
Subspecies 3 Slaggy Mineral Pitch.
Compact Mineral Pitch, Kirw. ii. 46. La Poix Minerals
Scoriacee, Broch. ii. 66. Bitumc Solicfe, Hauy 111.
313. Asphaltum, or Jews Pitch, of others.
Exter. Char.—Found massive and disseminated, su¬
perficial or stalactitical ; lustre resplendent, resinous)
fracture conchoidal ; fragments sharp-edged.
Colour perfectly black, sometimes brownish black;
Opaque, rarely translucent at the edges ; lustre remains
in the streak ; soft; feels greasy ; by rubbing gives out
a bituminous odour. Spec. grav. 1.07 to 1.6.
Localities, &c.—This variety frequently accom¬
panies the preceding. It is found at Morsfeld in t le
Palatinate, at Neufchatel in Switzerland It isTound
floating on the surface of the lake Asphaltum in Judea,
from which it derives its name of Jews pitch. It is
there collected by the inhabitants of the country as an
object of commerce, and at the same time, it is said to
diminish the quantity of noxious vapours which it ex¬
hales—so noxious that birds flying over it drop down
dead, whence it has the name of Dead sea. Ibis va¬
riety of mineral pitch is found in other places, some¬
times connected with coal and limestone strata, and
sometimes with mineral veins. But the island of 11-
nidad furnishes the greatest quantity of this substance.
In that island there is a pitch lake of about four miles
in circumference ; but it appears from the information
of Mr Spon, in a letter to Mr Tobin of Bristol, by
whom this information was communicated, along with
a number of specimens to Mr Hatchett, that the sub¬
stance formerly supposed to be mineral pitch, is nothing
more than a porous stone impregnated with that sub¬
stance ; so that what was supposed to be an immense
lake of mineral pitch or asphaltum, is only the stone of
the country impregnated with bitumen. Mr Hatchett
thinks this stone may be arranged in the argillaceous
tun. genus*.
Trans, viii.
3. Species* Amber.
Subspecies 2. Yellow Amber.
Extcr. Char.—Also found in rounded pieces of vari¬
ous sizes ; surface rough and uneven ; dull, sometimes
glimmering; internal lustre resplendent, resinous; some¬
times transparent. In its other external and chemical
characters, it resembles the preceding.
Phys. Char.—Amber becomes strongly electric by
friction, a property known to the ancients. 110m the
Greek and Latin word electrnm, the term electricity is
derived. . . f .
Constituent Parts.—Amber is composed of a large
proportion of oil, and of a peculiar acid, the succinic,
which is obtained by distillation. . ...
Localities, &.c.—Amber is found in the vicinity of
bituminous wood, but most commonly in the sand on
the shores of the ocean, and chiefly on the shores of the
Baltic. It is found also in Sweden, 1 ranee, Italy, and
on the east coast of England. Amber frequently co*}~
tains small parts of vegetables, and entire insects. Of
the origin of this substance nothing certain is yet known.
Uses. The uses of amber for ornamental purposes,
are well known. In this country it was formally in
higher estimation than at present. It still forms an im¬
portant article of commerce in eastern countries.
Species. Mellite, or Honey Stone.
Id. Hauy, iii. 335. La Pierre de Mief, Broch. ii. 73.
Mcllilite, Kirw. ii. 68.
Exter. Char.—Found usually crystallized, in double
four-sided pyramids ; the surface smooth and shining;
internal lustre resplendent, between resinous and vitre¬
ous ; fracture conchoidal ; fragments rather sharp-
edged. # . , ,
Colour honey yellow, sometimes hyacinth red ; trans¬
parent or translucent; refraction double ; soft; brittle.
Spec grav. 1. 58 to 1.66.
Chem. Char.—Becomes white before the blow-pipe,
and is reduced to ashes, without flame.
Constituent Parts.
Alumina,
Mellitic acid,
Water,
Klaproth.
16
46
38
IOO
Id. Kirw. ii. 65. Le Succin, Broch. ii- 69. Id. Hauy,
ii. 327.
This is divided into two subspecies.
Subspecies 1. White Amber.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, and in rounded pieces;
•lustre shining or weakly shining ; fracture conchoidal;
fragments sharp-edged.
4
Phys. Char.’—Becomes slightly electric by friction.
Localities, &.c—This mineral is hitherto rare. It
has been found only in Switzerland, accompanied
with mineral pitch, and at Arten in Thuringia, attach¬
ed to bituminous wood.
3. Species. Brown Coal.
This is divided into five subspecies; n common;
2. bituminous wood ; 3. earthy coal; 4. alum eaiti;
c. moor coal. „ , .
0 Subspecies
,rt I.
mine e a l o g y.
215
issifica-r
■ion- Subspecies 1. Common Brown Coal.
La Houille Brune, Broch. ii. 47.
Exter. Char.—Found massive; lustre shining, resin¬
ous ; fracture conchoidal; longitudinal fracture slaty ;
fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour brownish black, or blackish brown ; streak
shining : soft ; not very brittle.
Chem. Char.—Burns with a blue-coloured flame, and
gives out an odour like that of bituminous wood.
•'ll/,
m-
A-
99-
Constituent Parts. Hatchett*.
Grains.
Water which soon came over acid, and aftenvards
turbid by the mixture of bitumen, 60
Thick brown, oily bitumen, 21
Charcoal, 90
Hydrogen, carbonated hydrogen, and carbonic acid
gases, 29
and from certain varieties which contain pyrites, alum Combus-
is extracted. tibles.
Subspecies 4. Alum Earth.
This has been already described under the name of
aluminous schistus, in the argillaceous genus.
Subspecies 5. Moor Coal.
La Houille Limonei/se, Brochant, ii. 48.
Exter. Char.—This variety is found massive, and in
extensive beds ; internally glimmering ; cross fracture
even, sometimes flat conchoidal ; longitudinal fracture
slaty ; fragments trapezoidal or rhomboidal.
Colour blackish brown, and brownish black ; streak-
shining ; soft,-very easily frangible.
Localities, &c.—-Moor coal is abundant in Bohemia ;
it is found also in Transylvania, and chiefly among sand¬
stone, limestone, and trap rocks. It seems to approach
nearly to earth coal.
200
The above is the analysis of 200 grains of Bovey
coal by distillation.
Localities, &c.—This variety is not uncommon in
many places of Germany. It is found also at Bovey
near Exeter in England, from which it is called Bovey
coal.
Subspecies 2. Bituminous Wood.
Carbonated Wood, Kirw. ii. 60. Le Bois Bitumineux,
Broch. ii. 44.
Exter. Char.—Has a ligneous form, and even some*-
times the appearance of branches and roots of trees;
glimmering in the principal fracture, in the cross frac¬
ture, eoncheidal ; fragments splintery, wedge-shaped,
or tabular.
Colour commonly light blackish brown, sometimes
wood brown ; opaque streak shining; soft, and easily
frangible.
Chem. Char.—Burns with a bright flame, and gives
out a sweetish, bituminous smell.
Localities, &c.—This variety is found in the same
places with the other varieties of coal, and also in places
where the more common kinds of coal are rare, or in
small quantity, as in the island of Iceland, where it is
known by the name of surturbrand; and in the island
of Skye in Scotland. It is found also in the coal fields
round Edinburgh, and also at Bovey near. Exeter, and
in various places on the continent.
Subspecies 3. Earthy Coal.
Bois Bitumineux Tierreux, Brochant, ii. 43.
Exter. Char—The consistence of this variety is in¬
termediate between solid and friable; dull, rarely
glimmering ; fracture earthy.
Colour blackish brown, or liver brown ; streak shin¬
ing ; stains ; very soft.
Localities, &c.—-This is found in Saxony, Bohemia,
France, and particularly iii the vicinity of Cologne,
where it is known by the name of umber or Cologne
earth, which is employed in the fabrication of colours;
6. Species. Black Goal.
This species is divided into six subspecies; pitch, co¬
lumnar, slaty, cannel, foliated, and coarse coal.
Subspecies 1. Pitch Coal.
Jm Hoicille Biciforme, Brochant, ii. 49.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated ; and
sometimes parts of vegetables, such as the branches of
trees, are observed. Lustre shining, resplendent, resi¬
nous ; fracture conchoidal ; fragments sharp-edged.
Colour perfect black, and the longitiKlinal fracture
sometimes brownish ; soft; easily frangible. Specific
gravity 1.3.
Localities, Sec.—This is one of the most common
varieties of coal, and therefore is found in all coal
countries.
Uses.—As it is susceptible of a fine polish, it is em¬
ployed for various ornamental purposes. The sub¬
stance known by the name of jet, belongs to this va¬
riety.
Subspecies 2. Columnar Coal.
La Houille Scapiforme, Brochant, ii. 15.
Exter. -Found massive; in its fracture shin¬
ing or weakly shining, resinous ; fracture more or less
perfectly conchoidal ; fragments indeterminate.
Colour perfect black, or brownish black. It is com¬
posed of distinct concretions, which are columnar, pa¬
rallel, slightly curved, whose surfaces are smooth and
shining; is soft, and easily frangible.
Localities, &c.—This is a very rare variety of coal.
It is found in the Meisner, near Almerode, in Hessia,
in a basaltic mountain.
Subspecies 3. Slaty Coal.
La Houille Schisteuse, Brochant, ii. 52.
Exter. Char.—Found massive in entire beds; lustre
shining, sometimes only weakly shining or glimmering,
resinous; principal fracture slaty; cross fracture imper¬
fect conchoidal ; fragments in the form of tables ; not
very sharp-edged.
Colour
mineralogy.
216
Combus- Colour perfect black, often also grayish, rarely browh-
tibles. isli black •, streak shining j soft, or semi-hard j easily
* frangible. Specific gravity 1.25 to 1.37*
Localities, &c.—This is the prevailing coal in Bri¬
tain, as at Newcastle and Whitehaven in England, and
in the coal country both in the east and west of Scot¬
land.
^ Subspecies 4. CaNNEL Coae.
La Houitte de Kilkenny, Brochant, ii. 55. Id. Kirwart,
ii. 52.
Exter. Char.—Found massive j lustre-weakly shin¬
ing, resinous j fracture commonly conchoidal, sometimes
even and foliated j fragments sometimes rhomboidal or
cubical.
Colour grayish black j streak shining j soft', easily
frangible. Spec. grav. 1.23 to 1.27.
Localities, &c.—This coal accompanies the former
in many places of England and Scotland, as at White¬
haven and Wigan in Lancashire in England j in the
neighbourhood of Edinburgh \ and at Muirkirk, and
other places in Ayrshire in Scotland. The coal at
Kilkenny in Ireland belongs also to this variety 5 and
from the places where it is found, is called Wigan or
Kilkenny coal.
Uses.—Beside being employed as fuel with other
kinds of coal, this variety, being susceptible of a fine
polish, is cut and formed into various useful and orna¬
mental purposes. It is said that the choir of the cathe-
di’al church of Litchfield is covered with plates of this
coal alternating with black marble.
Subspecies 3* Foliated Coal.
Le Charhon Lamcllciix, Brochant, ii. 54.
Exter. Char.—Found massive j principal fracture
resplendentcross fracture shining *, principal fracture
more or less foliated ; cross fracture somewhat uneven >
fragments rhomboidal.
Colour perfect black, and on the sides of the fis¬
sures superficial colours appear, like the colours of
tempered steel, or those of the peacock’s tail j easily
frangible.
Localities, &c.—This coal is found at Liege, in
Saxony, near Dresden, and in some parts of France.
Subspecies 6. Coarse Coal.
La Houille Grossierc, Brochant, ii. 55.
Exter. Char.—Found massive j is weakly sinning,
resinous ; fracture uneven, or more or less slaty j frag¬
ments blunt-edged.
Colour grayish black, sometimes brownish black ;
streak shining *, soft j easily frangible.
Localities, &c.—Accompanies the other kinds of
coal, whose localities have been already mentioned.
7. Species. Coal BLENDE.
This is divided into two subspecies, conchoidal and
slaty.
Subspecies 1. Conchoidal Coal Blende.
La JLouille Eclatantc, Brochant, ii. 50. Glanx-kohlc
of the Germans.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, rarely disseminated ; Classili,
lustre shining of resplendent, approaching to metallic j tion
fracture .perfectly conchoidal •, fragments not very sharp- 'r*‘
edged.
Colour iron black, inclining to brown, or exhibiting
the superficial colours like tempered steel j soft j easily
frangible.
Chcm. Char.—Burns without any flame, leaving a
white ash.
Localities, &c.—This variety of coal is very rare.
It is found at Newcastle, and at Meissiner in tlessia,
along with the other varieties of coal.
Subspecies 2. Slaty Coal Blende.
Native Mineral Carbone, Kirw. ii. 49. La Blendt
Charbonncvse, Brochant, ii. 57. Anthracite, Hatiy,
ii. 307.
Exter. Char.—Found massive and disseminated j in¬
ternal lustre shining, or resplendent, and between me¬
tallic and vitreous 5 fracture more or less perfectly
slaty j cross fracture flat conchoidal 5 fragments some¬
times cubic, and sometimes in tables.
Colour perfect black, approaching more or less to
iron black, or grayish or bluish black •, opaque •, stains,
but does not write $ soft 5 rather brittle ; very easily
frangible. Spec. grav. 1.3 to 1.8.
Chem. Char.—Reduced to powder, and heated in a
crucible, this coal gives neither a sulphureous nor bitu¬
minous smell, and neither sulphur nor bitumen can be
obtained from it. After being long exposed to heat, it
consumes slowly without flame, and loses during the
process about two-thirds of its weight. rlhe residue is
of a blackish gray colour, which shows that the combus¬
tion has not been complete.
Constituent Parts.
Panzenberg. Loloimeu.
Fure Carbone, 90
Silica, 2 13.19
Alumina, 5 3,29
Oxide of iron, 3 3-47
Loss, 8.
100 100.00
Localities, ike.—This variety has been found in a
vein at Schemnitz in Hungary, in Pais de Yaud, in a
transported rock, which seems to be intermediate be¬
tween granite and breccia •, at Konigsberg in Norway,
where it is accompanied with native silver j in Saxony
it forms an entire bed in a mountain of clay slate; also
found in the island of Arran, and near Kilmarnock in
Scotland.
III. GRAPHITE Genus.
1. Species. Graphite, or Black Lead.
Plumbago, Kirw. ii. 58. Ze Graphite, Broch. ii. 76.
Fer Carbure, Hauy, iv. 98.
This species is divided into two subspecies, scaly and
compact.
Subspecies 1. Scaly Graphite.
Exter.Chan—Found massive and disseminated; lustre
glimmering or shining, metallic *, fracture foliated, con¬
choidal,
iirt I. MINERALOGY.
choidal, sometimes uneven or slaty j fragments blunt-
edged, sometimes trapezoidal j commonly appears in
distinct granular concretions, which are small or fine
grained, with a splintery aspect.
Colour intermediate between bluish black and light
iron black j sometimes steel gray, or brownish black j
opaque ; streak shining ; stains and writes j soft; easily
frangible j feels greasy.
217
FOURTH CLASS. METALLIC ORES.
I. PLATINA Genus.
Metallic
Ores.
Species. Native Platina.
Id. Kirw. ii. 103. Le Platine Natif Broch. ii. 86.
Platine Natif Ferriferc, Hauy, iii. 368.
Subspecies 2. Compact Graphite.
Exter. Char.—This subspecies approaches so near
to the former in its characters, that it seems diffi¬
cult to distinguish it. The following characters and
circumstances connected with the natural history of
graphite, refer to both. Specific gravity 1.987 to
2.456.
Chem. Char.—When exposed to heat in a furnace,
it^gives out, during combustion, a great proportion of
carbonic acid, leaving a residuum of red oxide of
iron.
•bar. Acs Carbone,
fo, N° Iron,
I?. 16. Silica,
Alumina,
Constituent Parts.
JBerthollet.
9°-9
9.1
Scheele.
90
10
Vauquelin.
23*
2
38
37
100.0
100
100
Of the above analysis it must be observed, that the
two first by Berthollet and Scheele must have been
very pure specimens of graphite 5 and, on the contrary,
the specimens analyzed by Vauquelin must have been
very impure, containing so large a proportion of earthy
matters, and so small a proportion of the proper ingre¬
dients of that mineral.
Localities, &c.—This mineral, which is not very
common, is found chiefly in primitive mountains. It
is met with in Spain, France, Bavaria, and Hungary.
In England at Borrowdale near Keswick in Cum¬
berland ; and at Craigman, near New Cumnock, in
Ayrshire in Scotland, where it is found in detached
masses among rocks nearly similar to those which ac¬
company coal.
Uses.—Graphite or black lead is employed for ma¬
king pencils. The coarser parts are employed in ma¬
king crucibles. It is also employed for covering cast
iron, such as grates, to defend them from rust j and on
account of its unctuous property, it is applied to those
parts of machines which are subject to friction, for the
purpose of diminishing it.
2. Species. Mineral Charcoal.
This substance, which accompanies the other varie¬
ties of coal already described, is of a woody texture,
and has therefore a fibrous fracture, with somewhat of
a shining and silky lustre. It is usually found in thin
layers with the other varieties of coal, and perhaps it
might be considered as coal less perfectly formed;
but in its characters it agrees so much with the va¬
rieties of coal blende, that it seems quite unnecessary
to make it a separate species.'
Vol. XIV. Part I. ‘ +
Essen. Char.—Of a silver white colour, and infusible*
Exter. Char.—Platina is found in the form of small
flat or rounded grains ; surface smooth, with shining
metallic lustre ; streak resplendent.
Colour light steel gray, or silver white ; semi-hard 5
ductile ; flexible in thin plates. Spec. grav. 15.601
to 17.7; but when purified, and hammered, 23, and
according to some, 24.
Chem. Char.—Is almost infusible without addition,
in the focus of a burning glass, or exposed to the action
of oxygen gas. It does not amalgamate with mercury,
and is only soluble in nitro-muriatic acid.
Localities, &c.—Platina was first brought to Europe
by Don Ulloa in 1748. The repository of this metal
is not known, and it has been found only in South Ame¬
rica, till lately that it was discovered in gray silver ore
from the mine of Guadalcanal in Spain. In the ana¬
lysis of this ore, Vauquelin found the platina to be in
the proportion of
Uses.—Platina is one of the most valuable mineral
substances, as, on account of its hardness and infusibi-
lity, it may be applied to many of the purposes of
gold and iron ; and from its properties of being less
liable to change when exposed to the air, or to the ac¬
tion of other chemical agents, it answers those purposes
in a superior degree.
Platina in its crude state is alloyed with other me¬
tallic substances. It has been long known that it is
accompanied with particles of iron, gold, and some
other substances. It contains also an ore of one of the
new metals. This is iridium, which is alloyed with
osmium, another new metal, both which were discover¬
ed by Mr Tennant. This ore is composed of plates j it
is not malleable ; its specific gravity is 19.5, and it is
not acted on by nitro-muriatic acid, which dissolves pla¬
tina. Rhodium and palladium, two other new metals,
are alloyed with platina.
II. GOLD Genus.
Species. Native Gold.
This species is divided into three subspecies; 1. gol¬
den yellowj 2. brass yellow; and, 3. grayish yellow.
Subspecies 1. Golden-yellow Gold.
VOr Natif, Jaune r/’ Or, Broch. ii. 89. Native Gold,
Kirw. i. 93.
Exter. Char.—Gold is found most frequently disse¬
minated, superficial, or in grains ; reticulated, dendri-
tical, capillary, or cellular, often in small plates, more
rarely crystallized. The forms of its crystals which
have been observed, are small perfect cubes, regular
octahedrons, dodecahedrons, double eight^sided pyra¬
mids, terminated by four-sided summits, placed on the
E e • four
2 I 8
mineralogy.
Part
Metallic
Ores.
four lateral edges of the pyramids alternately ■, but
the crystals are small and ill defined ; the surface is
smooth and resplendent 5 that ot the small plates drusy
and shining j that of the grains only strongly glimmer¬
ings internal lustre weakly shining, metallic j fracture
hackly. _
This variety presents the perfect colour ot gold^ It
is soft; perfectly ductile, flexible, but not elastic 5
streak resplendent. Spec. grav. of pure gold
19.64.
Subspecies 2. Brass-yellow Gold.
i’Or Natif cPunjaune de laiton, Broch. ii. 91.
Exter. Char.—This variety is almost always found
disseminated in small particles, or superficial} some¬
times also capillary, in small plates, or crystallized in
thin six-sided tables.
The colour is that of brass of various shades, accord¬
ing to the proportion of alloy. In other characters it
resembles the former, excepting in the specific gravity,
which is inferior, owing to the greater proportion of
other metals with which it is alloyed.
Subspecies 3. GRAYISH-YELLOW GOLD.
/2 Or Natif d'unjaun grisatre, Broch. ii. 92.
Exter. Char.—This variety is also found disseminated
in small flattened grains •, surface is not very smooth ;
almost uneven, and weakly shining.
Colour steel gray, approaching to that of brass :
spec. grav. of this variety is greater than the last, but
inferior to the first. In other external characters they
are the same.
Chem. Char.—Native gold is only soluble in nitro-
muriatic acid , platina is also soluble in the same acid,
but it is not, like gold, precipitated from its solution by
sulphate of iron.
Constituent Parts.—Native gold is not always found
pure. It is frequently alloyed with silver or copper, or
with both, and sometimes also, it is said, with platina.
To these alloys the difference ot colour, which is .the
foundation of the division into three varieties, is owing.
The first variety is the purest, containing only a small
proportion of silver or copper-, the second has a greater
proportion of these metals $ and the third, it is supposed,
is alloyed with a small portion of platina.
Uses.—Gold (on account of its indestructible nature,
and its remarkable malleability and ductility), is one
of the most important and valuable ol the metals for
many purposes; but its uses, whether as money, or ar¬
ticles of luxury, are too well known to require enume¬
ration. As pure gold has no great degree of hardness,
it is necessary to alloy it with a portion of copper. Ihis
is not less than and never more than -J.
Localities, &c.—Gold is chiefly found in primitive
mountains, and there it is usually in veins, sometimes
disseminated in the rock itself. The accompanying
substances are quartz, feldspar, limestone, heavy spar,
pyrites, red silver, vitreous silver, and galena. Gold
is also mixed with manganese, gray cobalt, nickel, and
malachite. Gold has also been found, it is said, in
fossil substances, as in petrified wood, penetrated with
siliceous earth, a mass of which was dug out at the
depth of 50 fathoms, in an. argillaceous breccia, or, as
4
is supposed by some, a porphyry with an argillaceous Classific;
basis, in Transylvania. This is considered as a proof tion.
of the more recent formation of gold, as well as the dis¬
covery of Patrin, who found native gold surrounded by
muriate of silver, in the mine of Zmeof in Siberia.
Muriate of silver is supposed to be comparatively a late
production.
But gold is perhaps more common to alluvial soil j
there it is disseminated in grains, along with siliceous,
argillaceous, and ferruginous sand, of which ceitam
soils are composed j and also in the sand of many rivers:
and it is observed that the gold is most abundant when
the waters are at the lowest, and especially soon after
floods, which shews that the gold is carried down along
with the earthy matters which are swept away by the
violence of the current. It has been supposed too, that
the gold found in the bed of rivers, has been detached,
by the force of the waters, from the veins and primitive
rocks traversed by these currents j and according to this
opinion, attempts have been made to trace the source
of these auriferous sands, in the hope of discovering the
native repository of this precious metal j but these at¬
tempts have usually failed, for it has been found that
the gold is peculiar to the alluvial soil through which
the stream is carried, and in which the gold is collected.
This point seems to be established by the observations
of naturalists. 1. The soil of those plains frequently
contains, to a certain depth, and in particular places,
particles of gold, which may be separated by washing.
2. The bed of the rivers and auriferous streams yields
a greater proportion of gold, after the plains which are
traversed by those rivers have been flooded, than in
any other circumstances. 3. It has always been obser¬
ved, that gold is found in the sand of rivers in a very
limited space. By examining the sand of these, rivers
higher up, and nearer to their source, no gold is found j
so that if this metal were derived from the rocks, which
are swept by the currents, the quantity would be great¬
est nearest to their sources but observation has proved
the contrary. Thus the river Oreo contains no gold,
but from Pont to the place where it joins the Po. 11'C
Tesin affords no gold till it has traversed Lake Major,
where its course must have been retarded, and where
all the heavy particles of matter which it carried along
with it from the primitive mountains, must have been
deposited. The quantity of the gold collected on the
Rhine near Strasburg, is greater than what is found
near Basle, which is more in the vicinity of the moun¬
tains. No gold has been discovered in the sands of the
Danube during the first part of its course. Those sands
become only auriferous below Efferding, *1 he same
remark may be applied to the Lms. The sands of the
upper part of this river, which traverses the mountains
of Stiria, contain no gold *, but from the pjace where
it enters the plain at Steyer, till it joins the Danube,
its sands are auriferous, and sufficiently rich to be wash¬
ed with advantage.
The most of the auriferous sands in all parts of the
world, are of a black or reddish colour, and consequent¬
ly ferruginous. From this circumstance, connected with
the gold of alluvial land, some naturalists have inferred,
that it is owing to the decomposition of auriferous
pyrites. It was observed by Reaumur, that the sand
which accompanies gold in most of the rivers, and par¬
ticularly in the Rhone and the Rhine, is like that of
J Ceylon
MINERALOGY.
29
(Trance.
Ceylon and Expailly, composed of iron and small grains
of rabies, corundum, hyacinth. Titanium also has been
discovered. It has been observed besides, that the gold
of alluvial soil is purer than that which is immediately
obtained from rocks, from which it is supposed that
it has a different origin. It does not appear to be
certainly ascertained, that gold is found in volcanic
soil.
Such are the general facts relative to the repositories
of gold. We shall now briefly mention the more re¬
markable places where gold has been found and collec-
g ed, beginning with those of Europe,
id mines Spain formerly had mines of gold 'y the richest wras
pain, in the province of Asturias, where it was dug out from
regular veins. These mines, according to ancient histo¬
rians, were wrought by the Phoenicians, and afterwards
by the Romans •, but they have been totally abandoned
since the discovery of America, and the mineral riches
ofdhat country. The rivers of Spain, as w'ell as the
Tagus in Portugal, contain auriferous sand.
The only mine of gold which in modern times has
been wrought in France, was discovered in 1781, at
Gardette, in the valley of Oysans, department of Isere.
This was a regular vein of quartz, traversing a moun¬
tain of gneiss, and containing auriferous sulphuret of
iron, and some fine specimens of native gold 5 but it was
not sufficiently rich to defray the expence of the opera¬
tions. Many of the rivers of that country contain au¬
riferous sand, as the Rhone, the Rhine, the Garonne,
and others of smaller note ; and it is said that gold is
also found among the black sand, and particles of mo-
rassy iron ore, in the neighbourhood of Paris.
In Piedmont there are some mines of gold. At the
foot of Mount Rosa, veins of auriferous sulphuret of
iron have been discovered, traversing gneiss 5 and al¬
though these pyrites do not yield more than 10 or II
grains of gold in the quintal, it has been found worth
while to continue the operations. On the south side of
the Apennine mountains, there are several auriferous
rivers and soils.
Some of the rivers of Switzerland also contain auri¬
ferous sands. Such are those of the Reuss and the
Aar.
In Germany the only gold mine which is wrought is
in Saltsburg, in the chain of mountains which traverses
that country from east to west, and which separates it
from the Tyrol and Carinthia.
But Schemnitz and Cremnitz are the most remark¬
able places in Europe for mines of gold and auriferous
sands. The gold of Schemnitz is accompanied by sil¬
ver, lead, and iron pyrites, and the matrix is quartz.
Auriferous sand is found not only in the bed of the
river Neva, but this sand is still richer in the plain
through which the river flows. According to De Born,
this is a ferruginous sand, lying below a bed of chalk.
In Transylvania the celebrated gold mine of’Nagyag
is remarkable for having the gold combined with na¬
tive tellurium. There is also another mine at Felso-
banya, the ore of which is an auriferous sulphuret of
silver, in a vein of a kind of jasper. The rivers of this
country also contain gold. The plain on the banks of
the river Moros contains an auriferous sand, which is
deposited between two beds, neither of which yields a
particle of gold. The upper stratum is vegetable soil,
and the lower is composed of schistus.
2Uj
13°
ffied-
The mines of Hungary are the only gold mines in Metallic
Europe which are of any importance. Ores.
In Sweden gold is obtained from the mine of Edel- 1 "■ v-—
fors in the province of Smoland. This mine yields na-gwe^
tive gold, and auriferous iron pyrites. The veins are
composed of brown quartz, traversing a mountain of
schistose hornstone. The gold is sometimes disseminated
in the rock itself.
In Greece, the island of Thasos in the Archipelago Greece.
was celebrated in antiquity for its rich mines of gold.
The ancients also, it is said, found abundance of gold
in Thrace and Macedonia.
The alluvial soil in several places of the British IreIa^
islands, have also furnished gold. Not many years ago,
a considerable quantity of gold was collected in a sandy
soil, on the mountains of Wicklow in Ireland. Several
masses of native gold, exceeding an ounce in weight,
wrere found in that soil j one weighing 22 ounces was
found, w hich is said to be the largest specimen of native
gold found in Europe.
It would appear that gold was collected at a very scot]and
early period in Scotland, and particularly in the mine
field oi Leadhills ; but the most extensive operations
were carried on by Buhner an Englishman, in the
time of Queen Elizabeth. The trenches, heaps of soil
that had been turned up, and other marks of these ope¬
rations, yet visible between Leadhills and Elvanfoot,
still retain the name of Buhner's Workings, and the place
where the gold was washed, is still called the gold scour.
At that time, it is said, an immense quantity of gold
was collected. Not many years ago, similar operations
were resumed by the advice of a German ; 'but so far
as we understand, the quantity of gold collected was
scarcely equal to the expence. The operations during
the last attempt were carried on under the superinten¬
dance of the late Mr John Taylor, manager of the mines
at Wanlockhead j a man of no common sagacity, bv
which he was enabled to collect many curious facts with
regard to the natural history of gold. The gold was
found in that country immediately under the vegetable
soil ; and the method of conducting the operation was,
to direct a small stream of water so as to carry this
soil along with it, to basons or hollow places, where
the water might deposit the matters which had been
carried along by its current. Tire matter deposited
was repeatedly washed, till the whole of the earthy
substances were carried off’. The gold being heaviest,
sunk to the bottom, and remained behind. Among
other facts which Mr Taylor communicated to us, and
which he observed during the progress of these opera¬
tions he found, that the gold wras always most abundant
near the top of the lead veins which traverse that coun¬
try. He was so satisfied of this fact, that he could tell,
merely by the quantity of gold increasing, when they
approached to a vein •, and on the other hand the quan¬
tity diminishing as they receded from the vein. This
fact show's that there is some connection between me
tallic veins and the formation or deposition of gold.
Gold is still found in the soil of that country 5 but
whether the quantity be less than formerly, or the ex¬
pence of collecting it, from the difference in the price
of labour, greater, the produce is by no means equal
to the expences, and therefore searching for gold is now
only the employment of the leisure hours of some of the
miners.
, E e 2 The
2 20
Metallic
Ores.
36
Asia.
.37
Africa.
3S
America.
MINER
The whole extent of the continent of Asia furnishes
gold, in greater or smaller quantity. Gold is found in
several of the mines of Siberia, and particularly in that
of Beresof, which yields auriferous pyrites partially de¬
composed. and disseminated in a vein ot quartz. In
the southern parts of Asia, many mines, and particu¬
larly the sands of the rivers, contain gold. I he I ac-
tolus, a small river of Lydia, was celebrated m anti¬
quity for the quantity of gold which it yielded, and it
was supposed to be the source of the riches ot Croesus.
Japan, Formoso, Ceylon, Java, Sumatra, Borneo, the
Philippines, and other islands ot the Indian Archipe¬
lago, are supposed to be rich in gold at this day. .
'The greatest quantity of gold which the ancients
possessed, beside what was obtained from Spain, was
brought from Africa. The gold ot Africa, which stil
forms an important article of commerce, is always m the
state of gold dust; a circumstance which shews that it
is chiefly extracted from alluvial soil by washing. Lit¬
tle gold is found in the northern parts of Africa; three
or four places are remarkable for the quantity of gold
which they yield. The first is that part of the countiy
between Darfour and Abyssinia. The gold collected
there is brought by the Negroes for sale in quills of the
ostrich and of the vulture. It would appear that this
country was known to the ancients, who regarded
Ethiopia as a country rich in gold; and Herodotus
mentions that the king of that country exhibited to the
ambassadors ot Cambyses, all the prisoners bound with
chains of gold. .
The second great source of gold dust in Africa is to
the south ot the great desert Zara, in the western part
of that country. The gold is collected in that exten¬
sive flat which stretches along the toot of the lofty
mountains, among which the rivers Senegal, Gambia,
and Niger, have their origin. Gold is found in the
sands of all these rivers. Bambouk, which lies to the
north-west of these mountains, supplies the greatest
part of the gold which is sold on the western coast
of Africa; at Morocco, Fez, and Algiers, as well
as that which is brought to Cairo and Alexandria in
Egypt. • i •
A third region of Africa where gold is abundant, is
on the south-east coast, opposite to Madagascar ; and it
is said that the gold brought from Ophir, in the time of
Solomon, wras from that part of Africa.
America is the richest country of the world, in mo¬
dern times, in this precious metal. There it is collect¬
ed in the alluvial soil, and in the beds ol rivers, and
sometimes, but more rarely, in veins. In Mexico,
gold is chiefly found in the numerous silver veins ot that
country. All the rivers in the province of the Carac-
cas, about io° north of the equator, furnish gold. In
the Spanish part of America, Chili furnishes gold from
the alluvial soil, as well as the province of Choco,
where it is more abundant; while that of Peru is ob¬
tained from veins of quartz, marked with ferruginous
spots.
But the greatest quantity of gold of commerce pomes
from Brazil, where it is collected in the alluvial soil,
and in the sand of rivers, and extracted by washing.
Gold is found almost everywhere in that country, at
the foot of the immense chain of mountains which is
nearly parallel with the coast,, and which stretches from
the 50 to the 30° of S. Lat.
A L O G Y.
HI. MERCURY Genus.
j. Species. Native Mercury.
Mercury, Kirw. ii. 223. Meroure Natif, Broth, ii.
241. JTtf. Hauy, iii. 423.
Essen. Char.—Remains liquid till the temperature be
reduced to 40° below o Fahrenheit.
Exter. Char.—Native mercury exists disseminated, in
globules of different sizes, in small cavities of other ores
of mercury ; lustre resplendent, metallic.
Colour shining white, or tin white ; opaque ; perfect¬
ly fluid ; does not wet the finger ; feels very cold. Sp.
gr. 13.568 to 13.581.
Chem. Char.—Volatile before the blow-pipe, without
diffusing any perceptible odour.
Native mercury is understood to be pure, and haying
all the properties ot that metal; but it is sometimes
ama Igamated with a little silver, which destroys its flui¬
dity in a slight degree, and renders it somewhat vis-
cous.
Localities, &e.—Native mercury is usually found
along with the other ores of that metal, as at Idua, 111
Friouli, and. at Almaden in Spain; but the great pro¬
portion of the mercury of commerce is obtained by dis¬
tillation from native cinnabar. There is also it is said,
a rich mine of native mercury near Guan^a \ elica in
Peru.
(9.__For many purposes mercury is one of the most
important of metallic substances. It is extensively em
ployed in metallurgy, in extracting gold and silver
from their ores, by the process to he afterwards descri¬
bed, called amalgamation. The uses of mercury in gild¬
ing, in silvering the backs of mirrors, and in medicine,
are well known.
2. Species. Native Amalgam.
Natural Amalgam, Kirw. ii. 223. L'Amalgam Natift
Broch. ii. 99. Mercure Argental, Hauy, iii. 432.
Essen. Char.—Communicating to copper a silvery
colour by friction.
Exter. Char.—This species is rarely found massive,
but usually disseminated, or superficial, sometimes im¬
perfectly crystallized. The form of its crystals is the
octahedron, dodecahedron, but it is usually found in
thin plates or leaves ; lustre resplendent, or shining;
fracture conchoidal.
Colour between shining or tin white, and silvery
white, according to the predominance of the mercury
or silver; soft, and partially fluid ; brittle, and easily
frangible.
Chem. C/zar.—Exposed to heat the mercury is driven
off, and the silver remains behind.
Mercury,
Silver,
Constituent Parts.
Heyer. Cordier.
75 73
25 27
100
100
100
Localities, Sec.—This mineral is rare, and is met
with, according to De Born, in the mines of mercury
:rt 1.
MINER
!isiiica- whose veins are crossed by veins of silver ores. It is
non. found chiefly at Rosenau in Hungary, in Moersfeld,
' and Moschellansberg, in the duchy of Deux Fonts, and
at Sahlberg in Sweden. It is usually found in a yel¬
lowish or reddish ferruginous clay, and accompanied by
other ores of mercury.
3. Species. Corneous Ore of Mercury.
Mercury mineralised by the vitriolic and murine acids,
Kirw. ii. 229. Le Mine de Mercure corner, Broch.
ii. 101. Mercure muriate, Hauy, iii. 447.
Essen. Char.—Colour pearl gray, volatilized by the
blow-pipe.
Exter. Char.—Rarely found massive or disseminated,
but usually in thin crusts, or in small globules, com¬
posed of an assemblage of small crystals, which are
either perfect cubes, or six-sided prisms, terminated by
a four-sided pyramid j a six-sided prism bevelled at the
extremity ; or an eight-sided prism with four broad and
four narrow alternating faces. Crystals shining, some¬
times resplendent j internal lustre shining and adaman¬
tine •, fracture foliated.
Colour smoke gray, ash gray, or grayish white 5
translucent; tender, and easily frangible.
Client. Char.—Entirely volatilized before the blow¬
pipe, w ithout leaving any residuum, and without decom¬
position.
The constituent parts are about 70 of mercury, 29
of muriatic acid, and a small portion of sulphuric acid.
Localities, &c.—This mineral has only been knorvn
about 13 years, and it is hitherto but rare. It was dis¬
covered in the mercury mines of the duchy of Deux
Fonts by Woulfe, and has been since found at Almaden
in Spain, and at Horsowitz in Bohemia. The repo¬
sitory is in the cavities of a ferruginous clay, which is
mixed with malachite and gray copper ore.
4. Species. Liver or Hepatic Ore of Mercury.
Mine de Mercure hepatiquc, Broch. ii. 104. Hepatic
mercurial ore, Kirw. ii. 224. Mercure sulfure hilu-
minifere, Hauy, iii. 446.
This is divided into two subspecies, 1. compact, and
2. slaty.
Subspecies 1. Compact Liver Ore of Mercury.
Exter. C/wzr.—Found massive or disseminated 5 lus¬
tre glimmering, metallic j fracture even, sometimes
fine-grained uneven j fragments blunt-edged.
Colour betw een lead gray, and cochineal red 5 colour
of the streak deep cochineal red, and shining 5 tender,
and easily frangible. Sp. gr. 7.18 to 7.93.
Subspecies 2. Slaty Liver Ore of Mercury.
Exter. Char.—Found massive; lustre shining, and
resplendent’, in the cross fracture glimmeringj lustre
in general metallic, but sometimes vitreous ; principal
.tracture slaty, in curved thick leaves; cross fracture
compact and even ; fragments in plates.
Colour ot the preceding, but somewhat darker, and
approaching to that of iron ; opaque 5 streak shining ',
powder between cochineal and scarlet red j tender, and
very easily frangible.
Localities, &c.—This is the most common ore of
A L O G Y.
mercury in Idria, where it forms considerable beds,
and yields about 60 per cent of mercury. It is found
also, along with other ores of mercury, in Spain and
Siberia.
MctalJic
Ores.
Liver ore of mercury consists of cinnabar, or th*>
sulphuret of mercury, mixed with a portion of indura¬
ted bituminous clay. At Idria it is called branders,
or coaly earth, on account of the predominance of the
bitumen.
5. Species. Cinnabar.
This species is also divided into two subspecies, con-
mon and fibrous.
Subspecies 1. Common Cinnabar.
Le Cinnabre Commun, Broch. ii. 107. Hark Red Cin¬
nabar, Kirw. ii. 223. Mercure Sulfure compacts,
Hauy, iii. 440.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, or in
superficial layers, or cellular and kidney-form, and also
crystallized. Forms of the crystals are, a double four¬
sided pyramid with truncated summits; a cube having
its opposite diagonal angles truncated ; a rhomboidal
prism j a three-sided prism terminated by a three-sided
pyramid, which also is truncated. The crystals, which
are usually small, are confusedly grouped together :
surface of the rhomboidal prism transversely streaked,
of the others smooth ; external lustre shining or resplen¬
dent internal the same, or only glimmering, vitreous,
or adamantine} fracture foliated, uneven, or rarely
splintery; fragments sharp-edged.
Colour cochineal red, carmine red, and in some va¬
rieties lead-gray 5 opaque, rarely translucent at the
edges •, crystals translucent, or semitransparent; streak
shining, scarlet red 5 tender, and easily frangible. Spec,
grav. 6.902 to 7.86.
Chem. Char.—Before the blowr-pipe common cinna¬
bar is entirely volatilized with a blue flame, and a sul
phureous odour.
Constituent Parts.
Mercury,
Sulphur,
Iron,
Lampadfus.
81
*5
4
100
Localities, &c.—This is the most common ore of
mercury, and may be considered as the gangue or ma¬
trix of the other ores. Found not only in primitive
mountains, where it forms beds in clay and chlorite
slate, but also in stratiform mountains, and even in al¬
luvial rocks. The mines of Almaden in Spain, of Idria
in Friouli, and those of the duchy of Deux Fonts, have
furnished the greatest quantity of common cinnabar.
It is also found in Bohemia, Saxony, and Hungary, and
in small quantity in Fi'ance,
Subspecies 2. Fibrous Cinnabar.
Le Cinnabre d'un Rouge vif, Brochant, ii. m. Bright
red Cinnabar, Kirwan, ii. 229. Mercure sulfure fi-
breux, Hauy, iii. 440.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or super¬
ficial j
222
Metallic ficial •, lustre glimmering, silky, often also entl^ ‘
Ores. fracture fine grained ear tin’, or fibrous j fragme
  ' edged.
Colour bright scarlet red, sometimes crimson or au¬
rora red ; opaque } streak shining scarlet red j stains 5
very tender or friable, and very easily frangible.
localities, &c.—This variety is wry rare in a-state
of purity. According to Hauy, most of the specimens
owe their texture to an admixture of radiated sulphuret
of iron. It has been found chiefly at Wolfstem in the
Palatinate, where it is accompanied by brown iron ore
and hematites.
Uses.—Cinnabar is dug out chiefly for the purpose ot
extracting the metallic mercury. It is employed also
as a colouring matter in painting-, but the cinnabar used
for this purpose is chiefly artificial.
Some other varieties of cinnabar, or sulphuret of mer¬
cury, have been noticed by mineralogists, as a native
ethiops mineral. This is of a black colour, a loose
consistence, and it stains the fingers. It appears to be
some bituminous substance penetrated with cinnabar. It
is found at Idria.
Alkaline cinnabar of De Born is found at the same
place ; is of a bright red colour, foliated fracture, with
yhomboidal fragments ; and supposed to be cinnabai
penetrated with an alkaline sulphuret, the odour of
which it gives out by friction. Another variety ot
cinnabar, usually called native vermilion, is in the
form of powder. This substance is very rare, but is
also sometimes found at Idria.
IV. SILVER Genus.
mineralogy.
I. Species. Native Silver.
per in the solution of nitrate ot silver, tiie silver is re-
-duced, and appears in the metallic state.
Localities, &c.-—Native silver is not uncommon in
most of the mines which furnish the other ores of that
metal. The accompanying substances are usually heavy
spar, quartz, calcareous spar, fluor spar, pyrites, blende,
cobalt, and tralena. Native silver is very abundant in
Mexico and Peru, and it is also not uncommon in Si¬
beria, in Germany, France, and was lately discovered
in the Herland mine in Cornwall.
Subspecies 2. Auriferous Silver.
Exter. Char.—This variety is rarely found massive,
but is usually disseminated in small particles, or superfi¬
cial, or reticulated, or in thin plates j lustre shining or
resplendent 5 fracture hackly.
Colour between silver white and brass yellow, some¬
times approaching to gold yellow j it is soft, peifectly
ductile j flexible without being elastic, and its specific
gravity is greater than common native silver in pro¬
portion to the quantity of gold with which it is al¬
loyed.
Constituent Parts.—Auriferous silver is a compound
of silver alloyed with gold, the latter sometimes in very
considerable proportion. <
Localities, &c.—This mineral is very rare. It is
found at Konigsberg in Norway, disseminated in massive
calcareous spar, fluor spar, and rock crystal, accompa¬
nied by blende, galena, and pyrites, in a vein which
traverses a rock ot slaty hornblende. It is also found 111
Siberia, in granular heavy spar accompanied by vitreous
silver ore, vitreous copper ore, and pyrites.
2. Species. Antimonial Silver Ore.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 108. iJ. Brochant, ii. 114. if/. .Hauy,
iii. 384.
This is divided into two subspecies, common and
auriferous.
Subspecies 1. Common Native Silver.
Exter. Char.—Common native silver is usually found
disseminated or superficial, under different imitative
forms, as dentiform, filiform, capillary, dendritic, reti¬
culated, veined, or in thin plates; and sometimes crys¬
tallized, in cubes, octahedrons, rectangular four-sided
prisms, double six-sided pyramids with truncated extre¬
mities, double three-sided pyramids with truncated
angles, and hollow four-sided pyramids. The crystals
are small and grouped together in rows, or dendritical,
or reticulated j surface smooth; that of the platee drusy,
that of dentiform, filiform, and capillary silver longi¬
tudinally streaked j external lustre glimmering or re¬
splendent; internal always glimmering, metallic; frac¬
ture hackly ; fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour silvery white, but sometimes on the surface
yellowish brown, or grayish black ; opaque; soft; per¬
fectly ductile; flexible, but not elastic; streak shining,
metallic. Spec. grav. 10 to 10.47.
Chem.Char.—Native silver is soluble in nitric acid, and
may be precipitated by muriatic acid, the muriate of
silver being insoluble; or by immersing a plate of cop-
Argent Antimonial, Brochant, ii. 119* Jd. Ha.uy, iii.
391. Antimoniated Native Silver, Kirwan, ii. no.
Essen. Char.—Colour silvery white ; brittle.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, kidney-
form ; or crystallized in four-sided oblique prisms, in
six-sided prisms, sometimes with the lateral edges trun¬
cated, in six-sided tables, and in cubes, having some
of the angles truncated. Surface of the crystals longi¬
tudinally streaked; lustre weakly shining, or only glim¬
mering ; internal lustre shining or resplendent; fracture
foliated. . c . . ,
Colour silvery white, sometimes a superhcial colour
between yellow, black, and gray, or the colour of tem¬
pered steel; streak shining; semihard. Spec. grav.
0.44.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is easily re¬
duced ; the antimony is driven off and gives out its pe¬
culiar odour, while the pure silver remains behind in-
crusted with a brown slag, which communicates to bo¬
rax a green colour. .....
When antimonial silver is dissolved in nitric acid, a
whitish crust, which is the oxide of antimony, soon ap¬
pears on the surface.
This mineral, as its name imports, is an alloy of sil¬
ver and antimony, in which sometimes a small portion
of iron is observed. The proportions of the two metals
seem to be very variable.
Constituent
1.
mineralogy.
ifica
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth.
Silver,
Antimony,
76
24
100
84
16
100
Yauquelin.
78
22
IOO
Silver,
Arsenic,
Iron,
Antimony,
Loss,
I2-75-
35*
44*25
4-
4*
100.00
Localities, &c.—This is a rare mineral, which has
been found at Andreasberg in the Hartz, accompanied
by native arsenic, red silver ore, galena, brown blende,
and calcareous spar.
4. Species. Corneous' Silver Ore.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 113* La Mine Come, Broch. ii. 127.
Argent Muriate, Hauy, iii. 418.
Kssen. Char.—The colour of horn } fusible like wax.
Exter. Char.—Barely found massive; sometimes dis¬
seminated in globular pieces, often ia superficial layers,
and very often crystallized. The forms are, the per¬
fect cube, capillary or needle-formed crystals •, ,the cry¬
stals are always small, and commonly grouped together.
Surface smooth, shining or weakly shining *, internal
lustre the same} resinous} fracture uneven, or flat con-
choidal} fragments blunt edged.
Colour light pearl gray, violet blue, or lead gray}
becomes brown or blackish in the air} translucent}
sometimes only at the edges} very soft} receives the
impression of the nail} ductile, and in thin plates, flexi¬
ble. Spec. grav. 4.748 to 4.804.
Chem. C/iar.—-Corneous siver ore melts very easily
before the blow-pipe, giving out a disagreeable smell,
and the globule of silver remains.
Localities, See.—This ore of silver is accompanied by
calcareous spar, heavy spar, native silver, galena, and
quartz, in a vein near the duchy of Furstenburg in
Swabia. It has also been found in carbonate of lime
and heavy spar near Guadalcanal in Spain.
3. Species. Arsenical Silver Ore.
Ld. Kirw. ii. in. Argent Antimonial Arsenifere, et
ferrifere, Hauy, iii. 398.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, kid¬
ney-form or globular, and also crystallized in perfect
six-sided prisms ; in similar prisms a little flattened, and
having the lateral edges rounded} and in acute six-sided
pyramids with truncated summits. Lustre weakly shin¬
ing, sometimes shining; internal lustre shining or re¬
splendent } fracture foliated *, fragments sharp-edged.
Colour tin-white, or lead gray, but exposed to the
air yellowish, or steel gray} streak shining} soft}
brittle.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe the arsenic is
driven oil in fumes, diffusing the smell of. garlic.} there
remains behind an impure globule of silver.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Constituent Parts.
Silver,
Muriatic acid,
Sulphuric acid,
Oxide of iron,
Alumina,
Lime,
Loss,
Klaproth.
67*75
21.
•25
6.
J-75
■25
3*
100.00
Silver,
Muriatic acid,
Alumina,
With a trace of copper,
25
8
67
100
This variety is found at Andreasberg in the Hartz*
Another variety has been described under the name of
alkaline silver ore, which is nothing more than the mu¬
riate of silver combined with carbonate of lime.
5. Species. Sooty Silver Ore.
Id. Kirw; ii. 117. L1 Argent Noir, Broch. ii. 132.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, perfo¬
rated or corroded ; in superficial layers upon other mi¬
nerals, or in rounded pieces, covered by muriate of sil¬
ver} consistence intermediate between solid and friable}
dull} fracture fine grained earthy }: fragments blun.t-
edged.
Colour bluish black, or blackish gray} streak shin¬
ing, metallic ; stains a little} easily frangible.
Chem. Char.—Melts easily before the blow-pipe into
a slaggy mass, which, by continuing the heat, is par¬
tially volatilized, and the globule of silver remains.
Its
Localities, &c.—Muriate of silver is always found at
the upper part of the vein, and it is said that it some¬
times accompanies organized substances. Leaves of na¬
tive silver have been found attached to petrifactions, at
Frankenburg in Hessia} it is supposed that this metallic
silver is the result of the decomposition of the muriate
of silver. Corneous silver ore is almost always accom¬
panied by vitreous silver, sooty silver, brown iron ore}
more rarely by native silver, red silver, galena, quartz,
and heavy spar. It is found in Peru and Mexico, in
the mines of Freyberg in Saxony, at Allemont in France,
and in Siberia.
Another variety of muriate of silver has been de¬
scribed by some mineralogists under the name of earthy
corneous silver ore} or, according to the fanciful Ger¬
man name, butter-milk earth. This variety has an
earthy fracture, owing to a portion of alumina which is
combined with it. It is almost friable } ttie lustre of
the streak is resinous, and it feels somewhat greasy.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is slightly
agglutinated without melting, and small globules of
silver exude from the mass.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
224
Metallic
Ores.
miner
Its constituent parts are still unknown ; as it is usual¬
ly accompanied by vitreous, corneous, and some other
silver ores, it is supposed to be a mixture of those ores
in different proportions. .
Localities, &c.—Found in Saxony, in France, and
in Hungary.
6. Species. Vitreous Silver Ore.
Sulphurated Silver Ore, Kirw. ii. 115* L'Argent Vi-
tra&v, Brochant, ii. 134* Argent Sulphure, Hauy,
iii. 398.
Exter. Char.-—Commonly found massive, dissemina¬
ted, or superficial ; sometimes dentitorm, filiform, ca¬
pillary, dendritic, or reticulated, with other forms and
impressions. It is also crystallized in cubes, which are
either perfect or truncated on the angles or edges *, 111
octahedrons, which are either perfect, or truncated on
the angles ; in flat, double, three-sided pyramids, the
edges of the one corresponding to the laces ot the
other ) in rectangular lour-sided prisms, terminated by
a four-sided pyramid j in equiangular six-sided prisms,
terminated at the two extremities by a three-sided py¬
ramid •, corresponding alternately to three ol the lateral
edges, forming the garnet dodecahedron, of which all
the lateral edges are sometimes slightly truncated in
broad and flat six-sided prisms bevelled at the extremity,
and having the angles at the acute lateral edges turn-
cated. The crystals are commonly small, and grouped
together in rows, or in knots, like the steps of a stair ",
the cube and the octahedron are the most common,
and the cube is sometimes hollow. The surface ol the
crystal is usually smooth, sometimes rough or drusy •,
lustre between shining and weakly glimmering } internal
lustre shining, metallic ; fracture conchoidal, sometimes
foliated *, fragments blunt-edged.
Colour dark lead-gray, steel-gray, or blackish gray,
varying hy exposure to the air •, streak shining } soft}
ductile •, may be cut with a knife j flexible without be¬
ing elastic. Spec. grav. 6.909 to 7.215.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe vitreous silver is
reduced to the metallic state, and the sulphur is driven
off. By gradually heating it in a furnace, the sulphur
may be dissipated without fusion, and the silver is redu¬
ced to the metallic state in a dendritical or capillary
form, exactly resembling native silver.
A L O G Y.
cial, or crystallized in equiangular six-sided prisms, he
terminal faces being sometimes plane, and sometimes
convex or concave the same prism truncated on its
terminal edges, or terminated by a six-sided pyramid set
on the lateral faces, and having its summit truncated ;
in equiangular six-sided tables, or in very flat rhom¬
boids. Crystals small, and grouped together 5 surface
smooth, sometimes drusy m, prisms longitudinally streak¬
ed ; lustre shining or resplendent j internal lustre shin¬
ing, or weakly shining; fracture conchoidal, sometimes
uneven $ fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour iron-black, or steel or lead gray 5 soft j brit¬
tle. Spec. grav. 7.208.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it melts with dif¬
ficulty ; sulphur, antimony, and arsenic, are partially
driven off, and there remains a button of metallic sil¬
ver, which is not very ductile, accompanied by a brown
Constituent Parts.
Silver
Sulphur,
Klaproth.
85
J5
100
100
100
Pari!,
Classifoi
tionJ
'—V-i
slag.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Silver, 66.5
Sulphur, 12.
Antimony,
Iron,
Cupper and arsenic,
Earthy matters,
Loss,
10
5
100.0
Localities, &c.—Vitreous silver is one of the most
common silver ores. It is usually accompanied by
heavy spar, calcareous spar, and fluor spar ; along with
the other ores of silver and lead, cobalt and blende.
It is found in Bohemia, Saxony, Norway, Siberia, and
South America.
7. Species. Brittle Vitreous Silver Ore.
VArgent Vitreux Aigre, Brochant, ii. 138.
Eivfer.CAor.-—Found massive, disseminated, superfi-
Localities, &c.—This is one of the richest silver ores;
and it is usually accompanied by red silver ore, vitreous
silver ore, some other metallic ores, and various earthy
spars. It is pretty common in Saxony and Hungary,
but less abundant than vitreous silver ore. It is also
occasionally met with in most other silver mines.
8. Species. Red Silver Ore.
Id. Kirw. ii. 122. Id. Broch. ii. 143. Argent Anti-
monie Sulphurt, Hauy, iii. ^02.
This is divided into two subspecies 5 dark red, and
bright red silver ore.
Subspecies 1. Dark Red Silver Ore.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, super¬
ficial, dendritical, or crystallized in equiangularsix-sided
prisms, which is either terminated by a three-sided pyra¬
mid set on the lateral edges, or has its terminal edges
truncated, or is terminated by an obtuse six-sided pyra¬
mid set on the lateral faces, and having the summit and
lateral edges of the pyramid truncated 5 sometimes the
summit of the pyramid is terminated by a second three-
sided pyramid, and sometimes the lateral edges of t ic
prism are bevelled. The crystals are small, and 'van
ously grouped together, commonly smooth and resplen
ent, rarely streaked •, intern al lustre weakly shining, 01
only glimmering, adamantine, often semimetallic j frac¬
ture usually uneven, sometimes conchoidal 5 fragments
rather blunt-edged. ,
Colour between cochineal red and lead-gray, a'1
sometimes iron black } crystals' translucent $ in m asses
opaque •, streak but weakly shining, between cochi nea^
mineralogy.
lit I.
jssifiea- red and crimson red; soft; brittle, and easily fran-
<m, gible. Spec. grav. 5.56 to 5.58.
r—1 Chem. Chat\—Before the blow-pipe it decrepitates
and flies off before becoming red, and then melts with
frothing up 5 part is volatilized and sublimes in the
form of a yellowish white powder, and leaves a button
of metallic silver.
Its constituent parts are supposed to be nearly the
same as the following.
Localities, &c.—-Found in almost all silver mines,
and is usually accompanied by other silver ores, as well
as different metallic ores.
hxter. Char .—Found massive and disseminated *,
lustre strongly glimmering j fracture even ; fragments
blunt-edged.
Colour bright lead-gray, or steel-gray; soft j streak
sinning. Spec. grav. 5.322.
Constituent -Ports.——According to some, ting mineral
is composed of silver, antimony, and sulphur j but ac¬
cording to others, minerals which have been reckoned
white silver ores, contain a very considerable propor¬
tion of lead, and therefore ought to be arranged among
the ores of that metal. Such are the following analy¬
ses by Klaproth.
22
r*
3
Metallic
Ores.
Subspecies 2. Bright Red Silver Ore.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or su¬
perficial, and very often crystallized. The forms of
its crystals resemble some of those of the former, or are
simple six-sided pyramids, or acute six-sided pyramids,
having the lateral angles alternately acute and obtuse,
with the summit surmounted by a three-sided pyramid
placed on the obtuse edges of the first; or surmounted
by a six-sided pyramid set on the lateral faces. The
crystals are sometimes acicular, and are combined to¬
gether in a fascicular or reticulated form. Surface of
the crystals sometimes smooth, sometimes drusyj streak¬
ed longitudinally, but the pyramids are streaked trans¬
versely or obliquely 5 lustre resplendent or shining ; in¬
ternal lustre shining or weakly shining and adaman¬
tine ; fracture conchoidal, or fine grained uneven ; frag¬
ments rather blunt-edged.
Colour blood red, or light cochineal red, sometimes
bluish on the surface; crystals semitransparent 5 in
masses translucent, often opaque ^ streak aurora red }
soft, easily frangible. Spec. grav. 5.44 to 5.59.
Chem. Char.—Melts before the blow-pipe 5 blackens,
and burns with a bluish flame, giving out white fumes
with the odour of garlic. A button of nearly pure
silver remains behind.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth. Vauquelin.
Sliver, 62. 56.67
Antimony, 18.5 16.13
Sulphur, 11. 15.07
Sulphuric acid and water, 8.5 —
Oxygen, — 12.13
100.0 100.00
The garlic smell, which was formerly supposed to be
owing to arsenic, arises from the antimony, which is
volatilized by the action of the blow-pipe ; although,
according to Proust, there are ores of red silver which
contain sometimes arsenic and sometimes antimony se¬
parately, and sometimes the two metals combined. The
red colour of this ore is by Thenard ascribed to the an¬
timony in the state of purple oxide.
Localities, &c.—Red silver ore is usually accompa¬
nied by native arsenic, other ores of silver, as well as
ot iei metallic ores j and it is found in Bohemia, Sax-
ony, France, Spain, and Hungary.
Silver,
Lead,
Antimony',
Iron,
Sulphur,
Alumina,
Silica,
Loss,
Light coloured. Dark coloured;
20.40
48.06
7.88
2.2C
12.25
/•
•25
I.91
100.00
9-25
41.
21.5
I*75
22.
*•75
2.25
100.00
Localities, &c.—The real white silver ore has been
chiefly found in the mine of Himmelfurst, near Frey-
berg in Saxony, in a gangue of quartz, and accompa¬
nied by galena, red silver, and blende.
10. Species. Black Silver Ore.
Exter. Char—This ore of silver is of a cellular tex¬
ture 5 the streak is shining and metallic ; it is brittle,
and of a black colour ; but it can only be known to be
a silver ore by obtaining globules of silver under the
blow-pipe. It is usually accompanied by vitreous
red silver ores. It is supposed that it is some of the
other species of silver ores that may have undergone
some change from chemical agents. The silver it con¬
tains is in very variable proportions.
Localities, &c.— found in some of the silver mines
at Freyberg in Saxony, and Allemont in France. It
is common in Peru and Mexico, and it is called by the
Spaniards, negrillo.
Beside the silver ores already described, other species
have been mentioned by mineralogists, the existence of
which has not been distinctly ascertained } as the car¬
bonate of silver of Widenmann and Kirwan, composed
0 72-5 Parts of silver, 12 of carbonic acid, and 15.5
of carbonate of antimony and oxide of copper * : the * u
reddish and greenish black silver ore, also described by
Kirwan, which is supposed to be a mixture of native
and sulphurated silver t. Light lamellar silver ore J, f ibid t2,
composed of alumina, sulphuret of silver, oxide of iron t Ibid. 116.
and manganese;
V. COPPER Genus.
Id. Kirw. ii. 128. Id. Broch. ii. 158. Id. Hauy iii.
518. ^
9. Species. White Silver Ore,
lit/. Broch. ii. 150. Light Gray Silver Ore, Kirw.
ii. 119.
Vol. XIV. Part I.
Essen. Char.—Colour reddish yellow’, and malleable.
Exter. Char. Native copper is found massive, dis-
seminated, superficial, or in rounded pieces 5 also den-
dritical and capillary, and very often crystallized in per-
F f feet
t
226
Metallic
Ores.
miner
feet cubes, or with truncated edges or angles ; double
four-sided pyramids ; simple and acute three-sided pyra¬
mids. Crystals small, and grouped m a dendntical or
hotryoidal form ; lustre shining or weakly shining ; in¬
ternal lustre glimmering or weakly shining} tracture
hackly j fragments blunt-edged. . .
Colour light copper-red, hut exposed to the air, yel¬
lowish, blackish, or greenish : streak shining} sott, or
semihard ; ductile, and flexible, but not elastic. Spec.
grav. 7.72 to 8.58. . .
Chcm. Char.—Copper immersed for some time in a
solution of ammonia, or volatile alkali, changes it to a
beautiful blue colour.
Localities, &c.—Native copper is not a very rare
mineral ; it is found in many copper mines accom¬
panied by the other ores of copper, as in the copper
mines of Siberia, Saxony, Hungary, Sweden, and Corn¬
wall in England.
2. Species. Vitreous Coffer Ore.
hi Kirw. ii. 144. hi. Broch. ii. 162. Cuivre Sulfure'
Hauyr iii. 551-
This is divided into two subspecies •, compact and fo¬
liated.
& L O G Y. Parti
blow-pipe, and yields a button of copper enveloped in classic
a blackish slag } heated with borax, gives it a green co- lion,
lour, and digested in a solution of ammonia, changes it V—
to a fine blue.
Localities, &c.—Vitreous copper ore is accompanied
by quartz, calcareous spar, heavy spar, and the other
ores of copper j and is common in Sibeiia, Hungary,
Norway, Germany, and Cornwall in England.
3. Species. Variegated Copper Ore.
Purple Copper Ore,Kirwan, ii. 142. La Mine tie Cuivre
Panachee, Brochant, ii. 166. Cuivre Pyriteux He-
patique, Hauy, iii. 536.
Extcr. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or super¬
ficial, and sometimes, it is said, crystallized in octahe¬
drons 5 internal lustre shining 5 fracture conehoidal, 01
somewhat uneven ; fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour reddish yellow, violet blue, azure blue, and
greenish 5 several colours exist on the same specimen,
giving it a variegated appearance, from which it has
the name ; streak shining; powder reddish; soft, and
easily frangible.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Subspecies 1. Compact Vitreous Copper Ore.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, some¬
times superficial, and rarely crystallized in perfect cubes
with convex faces } in perfect octahedrons, 01 in six sid¬
ed prisms, terminated by a three-sided pyramid, set on
three of the lateral edges. Crystals small; surface
smooth and shining; internal lustre strongly glimmer¬
ing or shining ; fracture rhomboidal or even, fiagments
rather sharp-edged.
Colour lead-gray, iron gray, or yellowish, but some¬
times the colour of tempered steel when tarnished ; streak
shining or resplendent; soft, and easily frangible. Spec,
grav. 4.81 to 5.338.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Copper, 78*5
Sulphur, 18.5
Iron, 2.25
Silica, *75
100.00
Subspecies 2. Foliated Vitreous Copper Ore.
Exter. Char.—Always found massive or disseminat¬
ed, rarely superficial; fracture foliated ; fragments blunt
edged.
Colour similar to the former, approaching a little
more to fawn or yellowish bi'own.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Copper, 50
Sulphur, 20
Iron, 25
Loss, 5
100
Che?n. Char.—Vitreous copper ore is often fusible
in the flame of a candle, and it melts easily before tbe
Copper,
Iron,
Sulphur
Oxygen,
Loss,
63-7
12.7
19.
4-5
.1
58
18
5
100.0
100
Localities, &c.—Variegated copper ore is accompa¬
nied by quartz, calcareous spar, bituminous marly schis-
tus, and other copper ores ; and is found in Saxony,
Hungary, Sweden, Siberia, and England.
4. Species. Copper Pyrites.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 140. Id. Brochant. ii. 169. /e/. Hauy,
iii. 529.
Exter. Char—Found massive, disseminated, some¬
times superficial, more rarely in imitative forms, asden-
dritical, &c. but often crystallized. Forms are, the te¬
trahedron, which is either perfect, or with its four angles
truncated, giving it the appearance of a six-sided table;
the perfect octahedron, the summit terminated by a
line ; a double crystal formed of two tetrahedrons base
to base, the angles of the bases being slightly truncated,
produce three re-entexing angles, and the lateral faces
three salient angles. Crystals are small ; surface smooth,
shining; internal lustre shining or resplendent; fracture
often uneven, sometimes conchoidal, fragments rather
sharp-edged.
Colour in the fresh fracture, brass yellow, sometimes
gold yellow, and steel gray; sometimes with varie¬
gated colours ; soft or semi-hard ; brittle. Spec. gvav.
4.08 to 4.3.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it decrepitates;
gives out a sulphureous odour ; fuses into a black glo¬
bule, and the heat being continued, metallic copper ap¬
pears. Borax heated with it acquires a green co-
11. MINER
siiioa- This ore of copper is composed of sulphur, copper,
ion. and iron in variable proportions, and sometimes also a
•v ' small admixture of gold or silver.
Localities, &c.—This is a very common copper ore.
It is equally found in primitive and stratiform moun¬
tains, either in veins or in beds, and sometimes in
great abundance j in Saxony, Hungary, Sweden,
France, and England.
5. Species. White Copper Ore.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 152. Id. Brochaiit, ii. 173.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated *, in¬
ternal lustre weakly shining; fracture fine grained,
uneven \ fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour between silver white and brass yellow ; semi-
hard ; brittle. Spec. grav. 4,3.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it gives out a
white fume, with the smell of arsenic, and melts into
a grayish black slag.
This ore is said to be composed of copper, iron, ar¬
senic, and sulphur.
A L O G Y. 22'
7. Species. Brack Copper Ore. Metallic
Ores.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 143. Id. Brochant, ii. 180. ' 
Exter. Char.—Found in the state of powder, with a
dull appearance, and little coherence, sometimes in-
crusting other ores of copper; usually friable : stains :
feels meagre.
Colour brownish black, sometimes deep brown.
Chem. Char.—Gives out before the blow pipe a sul¬
phureous smell, and melts with borax into a greenish
slag.
It is supposed to arise from the decomposition of vi¬
treous copper ore and copper pyrites, and contains
sometimes from 40 to 50 per cent, of copper.
8. Species. Red Copper Ore.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 135. Id. Brochant, ii. i8r.
This is divided into three subspecies ; compact, folia¬
ted and capillary.
Subspecies 1. Compact Red Copper Ore.
6. Species. Gray Copper Ore.
Jd. Kirwan, ii. 146. Id. Brochant, ii. 175. Id. flauy,
537-
Exter. Found massive or disseminated, super¬
ficial, and often crystallized in regular tetrahedrons,
which are rare j or having all the edges truncated, or
bevelled, sometimes slightly, and sometimes strongly j
or having each of its angles surmounted by a three-sid¬
ed pyramid, set on the lateral faces, with some other
modifications. Crystals pf various sizes j surface
smooth, shining j internal lustre between glimmering
and resplendent; fracture uneven, or conchoidal j frag¬
ments rather sharp-edged.
Colour steel gray of various shades, lead gray, and
the tarnished colours are often variegated j streak black
or brown j semi-hard ; brittle. Specific gravity 4.44
to 4.86.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it decrepitates,
and melts into a brittle metallic globule of a grayish
colour, giving out a white fume, and communicating to
.borax a yellowish red colour.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Copper,
Sulphur,
Antimony,
Silver,
Iron,
Lead,
Silica,
Alumina,
Loss,
16.25
IQ.
16.
2.25
'IIS
34-5
2*5
4-75
100.00
3I-36
ir-5
34-09
14.77
3*3
0.3
4.68
100.00
Localities, See.— This mineral is most frequently
lound in veins in primitive mountains, accompanied
by other ores of copper, as in Germany, France,
Sweden, Siberia, and in England. *
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or su¬
perficial; lustre glimmering, semi-metallic; fracture
even, or slightly, conchoidal ; fragments rather sharp-
edged.
Colour cochineal red, or lead gray; opaque; streak
shining, of a brick red colour; semi-hard, and brittle.
Subspecies 2. Foliated Red Copper Ore.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or.su-
perficial, often crystallized in octahedrons, which are
either truncated on the angles or edges;,in perfect
cubes, which are sometimes truncated on the angles,
and sometimes on the edges. Crystals small, usually
aggregated ; surface smooth, shining ; internally shin-
ing, or weakly shining, between metallic and adaman¬
tine; fracture imperfectly foliated; fragments rather
sharp-edged.
Colour similar to the former; opaque, translucent.at
the edges ; crystals semi-transparent.
Subspecies 3. Capillary Red Copper Ore.
Fibrous Bed Copper Ore, Kirwan, ii. 137. Lc Cuivre
Oxide, Rouge Capillaire, Brochant, ii. 184.
Exter. Char.—Found in small capillary crystals,
which are disseminated in small bundles, or sometimes
form a superficial incrustation ; lustre shining and ada¬
mantine.
Colour carmine red, cochineal or scarlet red ; crys¬
tals translucent.
Chem. Char.—Red copper ore is easily reduced be¬
fore the blow-pipe without any odour; entirely soluble
in muriatic acid without effervescence, but effervesces
in nitric acid; by which means it may be distinguished
from cinnabar, which is insoluble, and from red silver
ore, which dissolves with effervescence.
I he constituent parts of red copper ore are supposed
to be copper and oxygen, and not a carbonate of cop¬
per, as was formerly conjectured.
Localities, &c.—Red copper ore is found in various
places accompanying the other ores of the same metal,
F f 2 and
223
Metallic
Ores.
and particularly native copper,
ties are rare.
MINERALOGY.
The crystallized varie-
Part
This species is divided into two subspecies, earthy Classifies »
and indurated. , tion ]
9. Species. Brick-bed Copper Ore.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 127. Brochant, ii. 1S7.
Of this also there are two subspecies, earthy and in¬
durated.
Subspecies 1. Earthy Brick-red Copper Ore.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, or su¬
perficial, in the fissures of other copper ores, composed
of fine earthy particles slightly cohering •, dull, triable,
and staining. . , ,
Colour hyacinth red, reddish brown, brownish red,
or yellow.
Subspecies 2. Indurated Brick-red Copper Ore.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or su¬
perficial', lustre glimmering, or weakly shining j frac¬
ture imperfectly conchoidal, even or earthy fragments
rather sharp-edged. ,
Colour deep hyacinth red, brownish red, or deep
brown', streak shiningsoft, or semihard', brittle.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is infusibm
and blackens.
The constituent parts of this ore are supposed to be a
mixture of red copper ore, or oxide of copper, and
brown oxide of iron, in variable proportions.
Localities, &c.—This ore is usually found accompa¬
nying red copper ore.
10. Species. Emerald Copper Ore.
Hauy, iii. 13^* Brochant, ii. 51I*
Essen. Char.—Divisible into an obtuse rhomboid,
whose plain angles are in0 and 69°.
Exter. Char.—Found crystallized in six-sided prisms,
terminated by a three-sided summit, placed on the three
alternate lateral edges j lustre shining, vitreous 5 frac-
tore foliated ^ cleavage threefold, parallel to the lateral
edges of the summit.
Colour emerald green ; translucent, or semi-transpa¬
rent 5 semi-hard. Spec. grav. 3.3.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, but
becomes brown, and tinges the flame of a candle yel¬
lowish green.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Oxide of copper, 28.57
Silica, 28.57
Carbonate of lime, 42,85
Loss, "O1
100.00
Localities, &c.—This mineral is found in Siberia, in
a matrix covered with malachite.
Subspecies 1. Earthy Azure Copper Ore.
Exter. Char.—Rarely found massive, usually dissemi¬
nated or superficial; composed of fine particles which
are dull and somewhat coherent', fracture earthy.
Colour smalt blue, sometimes sky blue j opaque j
stains a little } soft or friable.
Subspecies 2. Indurated or Radiated Azure Cop¬
per Ore.
Exter. Char.—Rarely found massive, sometimes dis¬
seminated, often superficial, or in imitative forms,
as stalactitical, botryoidal, &c. and also crystallized in
rectangular four-sided prisms, terminated by four-sided
acute pyramids set on the lateral edges j in oblique
four-sided prisms, with two broad and two narrow faces,
with a four-sided pyramid set on the lateral faces j some¬
times the lateral edges are truncated, and the termina¬
tion is by a six-sided pyramid. Crystals usually small,
and variously aggregated} broad faces of the prisms
transversely streaked j narrow faces longitudinally j
lustre shining or resplendent, vitreous } fracture radiat¬
ed ; fragments blunt-edged, or wedge-shaped.
Colour light azure blue, Prussian or indigo blue ;
translucent or semi-transparent j streak sky blue > soft j
brittle. Spec. grav. 3.4 to 3.608.
Chem. Char.—Soluble with effervescence in nitric
acid', nearly infusible before the blow-pipe, but is ea¬
sily reduced with borax, which assumes a fine green co¬
lour.
Constituent Parts. Pelletier.
Copper, 66
Carbonic acid, 18
Oxygen, 8
Water, 2
Loss, 6
100
Localities, &c.—This variety of copper ore is not
very abundant •, but it accompanies the other ores of
copper, and other metallic ores, as those of lead, zinc,
and iron. It is found in Bohemia, Norway, Siberia,
and in the different mines of lead and copper in Bri¬
tain.
The earthy variety is found in superficial layers on a
slaty marl in Hessia, and it is also found superficial on
sandstone in Thuringia. Sometimes the whole of the
sandstone is impregnated with this earthy carbonate of
copper, there called copper sand earth, or copper sand¬
stone. A similar sandstone, at Gourock near Green¬
ock in Scotland, was a few years ago dug out for the
purpose of extracting copper.j
11. Species. Azure Copper Ore, or Carbonate of
Copper.
Bhie Calciform Copper Ore, Kirwan, ii. 129. L'A-
%ur de Cuivre, Brochant, ii. 190. Cuivre Carbonate
Bleu, Hauy, iii. 562.
12. Species. Malachite.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 131. Id. Brochant, ii. ip?*
This species is divided into two subspecies, fibrous
and compact.
Subspecies
rt I.
ssifica-
wn. Subspecies i. Fibrous Malachite.
Cuivrc Carbonate Vert Soyeux. Hauy, iii. 573,
Exter. Char.—Rarely massive, sometimes disseminat¬
ed, but often superficial, and in the form of small ca¬
pillary or acicular crystals grouped together in different
forms j lustre shining, or when massive glimmering ;
internal lustre weakly shining, silky j fracture fibrous,
straight, or radiated ; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour, emerald or apple green $ opaque j streak of
a lighter colour j soft 5 brittle,
Subspecies 2. Compact Malachite.
Exter. Char.—Sometimes found massive, dissemi¬
nated or superficial, but most frequently globular, bo-
tryoidal, stalactitical, &c. ; surface rough or drusy,
sometimes smooth, almost always dull, and rarely shin¬
ing } internal lustre dull or weakly shining ; fracture
conchoidal 5 fragments rather sharp-edged or wedge-
shaped.
Colour emerald green, apple green, and blackish
green; opaque j soft j brittle. Spec. grav. 3.57 to
3.64.
Chem. Char.—Decrepitates before the blow-pipe, and
blackens without fusion ; effervesces with acids j co¬
lours borax green, and communicates a blue colour to
the solution of ammonia.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Compact Malachite.
Copper, 58
Carbonic acid, 18
Oxygen, 12.5
Water, 11.3
lao.o
Localities, &c.—Both the fibrous and compact ma¬
lachites are^usually found in the same repository, and ac¬
companied with other ores of copper. They are found
in Germany, but the finest specimens are brought from
Siberia. Scotland affords fibrous malachite in small
quantity, as at Leadhills and in Shetland. Mala¬
chite is also met with in Cornwall and Derbyshire in
England.
-Malachite, when pure, is sometimes employ¬
ed as a pigment. The compact variety is susceptible
of a fine polish ; which, with its beautiful and delicate
colours, has brought it into much estimation lor various
ornamental purposes.
The largest and finest specimen of compact malachite
known, is in the cabinet of Dr Guthrie at Petersburgh.
It is 32 inches long, 17 broad, and two inches thick.
It is estimated, according to the account of Patrin, who
describes it, at 20,000 francs, above 800I. sterling. If
we are rightly informed, this splendid mass of malachite
was once offered to sale in Britain, but, having found
no purchaser, was carried back to Russia.
13. Species. Green Copper Ore.
■Mountain Green, Kirw. ii. 134. Id. Broch. ii. 203.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, but
229
usually superficial on other ores j dull 5 fracture con- Metallic
choidal or uneven ; fragments blunt-edged. ores.
Colour verdigris green, emerald green, sometimes' 
sky blue, opaque, or translucent at the edges j soft, or
friable j brittle.
Chem. Char.—Becomes black before the blow-pipe
without fusion. Colours borax green.
Constituent Parts.—Supposed to be a mixture of oxide
of copper, or according to others, a carbonate, with alu¬
mina and lime.
Localities, &c—It is usually accompanied by gray
copper ore, and some other copper ores, particular¬
ly with malachite, and sometimes with iron ochre,
alumina, and quartz. Found in Saxony, Hungary’
and Siberia. 6 Jr
14. Species. Ferruginous Green Copper Ore.
This is divided into two subspecies j 1. earthy ; and,
2. slaggy.
Subspecies 1. Earthy Ferruginous Green Copper
Ore.
Iron-shot Mountain Green, Kirw. ii. 155. Id. Broch.
ii. 205.
Exter. Char.— Found massive, but most frequently-
disseminated ; dull, with an earthy fracture j fragments
bhmt-edged.
Colour light olive green ; soft, friable ; brittle j mea¬
gre to the feel..
Subspecies 2. Slaggy Ferruginous Green Copper
Ore.
Glassy Iron-shot Mountain Green, Kirw. ii. 152.
Exter. Char.—Massive, or disseminated 5 lustre shin-
^nl?> vitreous j fracture conchoidal 5 fragments sharp-
edged.
Colour deep olive green, sometimes black ; soft:
brittle.
Constituent -Seems to be a mixture of oxide
of copper with iron ochre, in variable proportions.
Localities, &c.—Found along with other copper
ores, and is accompanied by iron ochre, heavy spar and
quartz. It is a rare mineral. Has been found in Sax¬
ony, and it is said in the Hartz.
15. Species. Micaceous Copper Ore, or Arseniate of
Copper.
Olive Copper Ore, Kirw. ii. 151. Le Cuivre Arsenical,
Broch. ii. 208. Cuivre Arseni atl, Hauy, iii. 575. Ar-
seniatcof Copper, Bournon, Phil. Trans. 1801. p. 193.
This species is divided into two subspecies, foliated
and lenticular.
Subspecies 1. Foliated Micaceous Copper Ore.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or cry¬
stallized in oblique four-sided prisms, in six-sided prisms,
in acute rhomboids, or in very small cubes. These cry¬
stals are also variously modified j lateral faces streaked
longitudinally ; lustre resplendent, pearly, or adaman¬
tine ; fracture foliated, sometimes conchoidal.
Colour olive green, sometimes emerald green, or ver¬
digris
MINERALOGY.
mineralogy.
3 3° -
Metallic digris green •, translucent j crystals semitransparent $
Ores. soft. Spec. grav. 2.54.
* Subspecies 2. Lenticular Micaceous Copper Ore.
Extcr. Char.—This variety is found crystallized in
octahedrons, composed of two four-sided pyramids, with
isosceles triangular faces 5 crystals small 5 extei nal
lustre shining; fracture foliated.
Colour sky blue, or verdigris green ; scratches calca¬
reous spar; brittle ; easily frangible. Spec. grav. 2.88.
Chem. Char.—The crystals of these varieties decre¬
pitate before the blow-pipe, and give out the odour ot
arsenic. They melt into a grayish globule, which being
treated with borax, yields a button of copper.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Oxide of copper,
Arsenic acid,
s Water,
Loss,
39
43
i7
i
100
100
-TOO
IOO
Oxide of iron,
  — copper,
Arsenic acid,
Silica,
Water,
Loss,
Chenevix.
27.5
22.5
33-5
3*
12.
i*5
100.0
Part iL
lateral edges ; surface of the crystals suiooth and re- C!assi£?Jf*
splendent; lustre adamantine ; fracture foliated ; frag- tion. 1 1
ments rather sharp-edged.
Colour between emerald and leek green ; opaque;
crystals a little transparent; soft; streak pale apple
green. Spec. grav. 3.57 to 4.43.
Chem. Chai'.—-Thrown on burning coals, it commu¬
nicates a green colour to the flame ; soluble in nitric
acid without effervescence.
Constituent Paris.
Proust.
Oxide of copper,
Muriatic acid,
Water,
76.6
10.6
12.8
100.0
70.6
11.4
18.1
100.0
Klaproth
73*
10.1
16.9
100.0
Localities, &c.—These varieties of copper ores are
very rare ; and have been hitherto discovered only in
the Carrarach mine, Cornwall, accompanied by brown
iron ore and other copper ores.
Other arseniates ol copper have been described by
Bournon. In many respects they resemble the prece¬
ding varieties. The spec. grav. which is 4.28, is consi¬
derably greater, and yet the proportions of the constitu¬
ent parts approach very near.
Constituent Parts. Chenevix.
Haematitiform. Capillary. Foliated.
' Oxide of copper, 50 51 54
Arsenic acid, 29 - 29 30
Water, 21 18 16
Loss, —• 2 —
Localities, &c.—This mineral has been found in the
sand of rivers, accompanied by quaTtz, schorl, copper
and iron ores, near Itemolinos in Chili. It has also
been found in a similar situation in Peru.
Phosphate of Copper.—This mineral has been
found massive, or crystallized in oblique six-sided prisms,
with convex faces, lining cavities; lustre resplendent,
between vitreous and adamantine ; internal lustre silky ;
fracture fibrous.
Colour grayish black, but internally emerald green ;
opaque ; streak apple green ; soft, or semihard.
. Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Oxide of copper,
Phosphoric acid,
Loss,
68.13
3°*95
.92
100.00
Count de Bournon has described another, under the
name of oupromartial arseniate, which is also crystal¬
lized, has a spec. grav. 3.3, and the following are its
constituent parts.
16. Species. Muriate of Copper, or Green Sand of
Peru.
Id. Broch. ii. 149. Id. Broch. ii. 545.
Char. Exter.—Found massive, or crystallized in very
small six-sided prisms, bevelled at the extremities, or in
small oblique four-sided prisms, also bevelled at the
extremities, but the sides corresponding to the obtuse
Localities, &c.—This mineral has been found
near Bologne, along with malachite, in a white drusy
quartz.
Copper Mines.—In addition to the history of copper
ores now given, we shall just name some of the more
celebrated copper mines in the world. The copper
mines of Spain are situated on the frontiers of Portugal,
and yield from veins of considerable thickness, yellow
pyrites. France possesses copper mines in the Pyrenees,
near Lyons, in Vosges, and in the neighbourhood of
Savoy, in the department of Mont Blanc. There are
extensive copper mines in Piedmont, which have been
wrought to a very considerable depth.
The copper mines of Cornwall in England, which
are in primitive rocks, have been long celebrated. Ihe
most abundant ores are copper pyrites, accompanied by
native copper, which latter, it is observed, is most usu¬
ally found near the surface. The same mines yield all
the varieties of arseniate of copper. The Acton copper
mines on the borders of the counties of Derby and Staf¬
ford are situated in limestone, in very declining or near¬
ly perpendicular beds ; but the richest copper mines in
England are those of the island of Angleeea, where is
a mass of pyritous copper ore of immense thickness,
yielding from 16 to 40 per cent, of copper. Native
copper is also found near the surface, and immediately
under the turf.
Ihe
art I.
M I N E E
The mines of Cronebane, in the county of Wicklow
in Ireland, are very considerable. They are situated
in a primitive mountain, composed of llinty slate and
argillaceous schistus, which alternate with beds of stea¬
tites.
In Germany, Hungary, Sweden, Norway, and Sibe¬
ria, there are many extensive and valuable copper mines.
In the eastern parts of the Asiatic continent, in the island
of Japan, in China, and in some of the islands of the
Indian ocean, rich copper ores are abundant.
Africa, in various places of that extensive region,
abounds with ores of copper, as in the mountains to
the north of the Cape of Good Hope. On the western
coast of Africa, the natives dig out copper ore, and are
acquainted with the mode of extracting it.
In North America masses of native copper have been
found, near Hudson’s Bay ; but the richest copper mines
in the world are those of South America, and particu¬
larly in Chili, from which masses of native copper of
immense magnitude have been obtained. The cop¬
per mines of Peru and Mexico are also wrought to great
advantage.
VI. IBQN Genus.
i. Species. Native Iron.
Li Kirw. ii. 156. Id. Brochant, ii. 215. Id. Hauy,
iv. 1.
Exter. Char.—Found massive or branched *, surface
smooth, shining $ internal lustre shining, metallic j frac¬
ture hackly 5 fragments rather sharp-edged.
Clour light steel gray, or silvery white j semi-
hard j streak shining j perfectly ductile j flexible j but
not elastic.
Localities, &c.—The existence of native iron as a
terrestrial production still remains doubtful. It is said
that it has been found along with other ores of iron, in
Saxonyand in France. Theonlyinstanccs fully establish¬
ed of the discovery of native iron, are those of the im¬
mense mass found by Pallas in Siberia, which amounted
to no less than i68olb. or 15 cwt. and another of 3 cwt.
which was discovered by Rubin de Celis in South Ame¬
rica 5 but theSe masses correspond so nearly with the
substances which are certainly known to have fallen
from the atmosphere, in their constituent parts, that
it seems extremely probable they have had a similar ori¬
gin. But for a full account of this curious subject, see
Meteorolite.
2. Species. Iron Pyrites.
Martial Pyrites, Kirwan ii. '76. Id. Brochant, ii. 221.
Fcr sulfure, Hauy, iv. 65.
Subspecies i. Common Iron Pyrites.
Exter. Char.—I ound massive or disseminated, super¬
ficial, or in imitative forms, and frequently crystallized..
I he torms are, a perfect cube with plane or convex
faces j or with truncated angles, or edges 5 or having a
three-sided pyramid on each angle \ the perfect octa¬
hedron, or truncated on all its angles 5 the dodecahe¬
dron with pentagonal faces, or wuth six opposite and pa¬
rallel edges truncated, or truncated on eight of its an¬
gles 5 or the perfect icosahedron, which is rare.
A L O G Y.
Crystals small, excepting the cube, and grouped to¬
gether j surface smooth or streaked; lustre shining, re¬
splendent j internal lustre shining, metallic j fracture1
uneven j sometimes conchoidal 5 fragments rather sharp-
edged.
Colour bronze yellow, golden yellow, sometimes steel
gray 5 opaque j hard ; brittle 5 rather easily frangible.
Spec. grav. 4.6 to 4.83.
Chetn. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it gives out a
strong sulphureous smell, and burns with a bluish flame j
a brownish globule is then obtained, which is attracted-
by the magnet.
Constituent Parts. Hatchett.
Sulphur,
Iron,
47-85
100.00
52.5
47-5
100.0
Some varieties of common iron pyrites contain a mix¬
ture of gold, which is supposed to be accidental, as the
external characters are not aflected by it, and it is only
recognized by chemical analysis. These varieties are
called auriferous pyrites.
Subspecies 2. Radiated Iron Pyrites.
Exter. Chur.—Found massive, or in different imita¬
tive forms, and also crystallized in small cubes or oc¬
tahedrons } surface smooth or drusy j lustre shining
or resplendent j fracture radiated j. fragments wedge-
shaped.
Colour bronze yellow, lighter than the former ; some¬
times steel gray, and sometimes tarnished 5 hard 5 brit¬
tle, and easily frangible.
Subspecies 3. Capillary Iron Pyrites.
Exter. Char.—Found in small, capillary, or aciculai
crystals, having the appearance of flocks of wool; some¬
times the crystals are acicular or in a stellated form $
lustre shining or weakly shining, metallic.
Colour bronze yellow, approaching to steel gray.
Subspecies 4. Hepatic Iron Pyrites.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, or in diffe¬
rent imitative forms, as stalactitical,cellular,&c. 5 some¬
times crystallized in perfect six-sid|d prisms or in six-
sided tables, which are either perfect or bevelled on the
terminal faces. Crystals small, sometimes smooth y
sometimes drusy 5 internal lustre glimmering, or weakly
shining; fracture even, or imperfectly conchoidal 5 frag¬
ments sharp-edged.
Colour bronze yellow, steel-gray, sometimes brownish
or tarnished ; streak shining; hard; brittle.
Physical Char.—By rubbing gives out a sulphureous
odour, and, according to some, the smell of arsenic.
Constituent Parts.—According to some mineralogists
this variety is composed of sulphur and iron, with a por¬
tion of arsenic.
Localities, See.—The first variety is universally dif¬
fused j it is found in every kind of rock, and often in
great abundance.
The second is rarer; but is not uncommon in veins
of lead and silver, and sometimes in nests in indurated
marl. It is found in Saxony and Bohemia, in Derby¬
shire.
231
Metallic
Ores.
232
mineralogy.
Part II
shire in England, and at Eeadhills and the island of
Islay in Scotland.
This variety is more subject than the hrst to decom¬
position.
Capillary pyrites is only found in small quantity, as
in Saxony, and Andreasberg in the Hartz.
Hepatic pyrites is only found in veins, particularly
those of silver and lead, accompanied with quartz, cal¬
careous spar, and heavy spar, as in Germany and Sibe¬
ria, and at Wanlockhead in Scotland.
Exposed to the air, this variety is extremely liable
to decomposition.
3. Species. Magnetic Pyrites.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 79* Brochant, ii. 232.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated; internal lus¬
tre shining or weakly shining; fracture uneven, rarely
conchoidal ; fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour between copper red and bronze yellow; when
exposed to the air it becomes brownish or tarnished ;
hard, or semihard ; brittle. Spec. grav. 4.5I*
Phys. Char.—This variety of pyrites acts on the
magnetic needle, but not very powerfully.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it gives out a
slight odour of sulphur, and melts easily into a grayish
black globule, which is attracted by the magnet.
Constituent Parts. Hatchett.
Iron, 63.5
Sulphur, 36*5
100.0
Localities, &c.—Magnetic pyrites has been only
found in primitive rocks, as in micaceous schistus; and
is usually disposed in beds, along with other ores of
iron, and accompanied by quartz, hornblende, and gar¬
nets. It is found in Saxony, Bavaria, Bohemia, and
in Caernarvonshire in Wales.
Uses.—This, as well as the former species, is em¬
ployed for the purpose of extracting sulphur, or of ma¬
nufacturing copperas, or sulphate of iron.
Colour iron-black, perfect black, or steel-gray; streak Classifies
brownish black ; semihard, or hard ; brittle.; more or tion.
less easily frangible. Spec. grav. 4.2 to 4.93. \r->
Subspecies 2. Arenaceous Magnetic Iron Ore.
Exter. Char.—Found in rounded grains, from the
size of millet to that of a nut, and sometimes in small
octahedral crystals ; external surface rough or weakly
glimmering; internal shining or resplendent; fracture
conchoidal; fragments sharp-edged.
Colour deep iron black, sometimes ash-gray.
P/it/s. Char.—Magnetic iron ore, as the name im¬
ports, strongly attracts the magnetic needle, and iron
filings; to the compact varieties of this ore, in which
this property was first discovered, the name of natural
magnet is given.
Chem. Char.—Magnetic iron ore becomes brown be¬
fore the blow-pipe, and colours borax dark green.
Constituent Parts.—This is supposed to be an oxide
of iron in considerable purity, as it yields from 80 to
90 per cent, of metallic iron.
Localities, &c.—Common magnetic iron ore is very
common in primitive mountains, particularly in those of
gneiss and micaceous sebistus, where it forms very
powerful beds, and even entire mountains. It is dis¬
seminated in crystals in chlorite schistus, as in Corsica,
and in basalt and greenstone, at Taberg in Sweden.
Found in Saxony, Bohemia, and Italy, and particular¬
ly in the island of Elba in the Mediterranean ; and in¬
deed is very universally distributed over every part of
the globe.
The second variety, or magnetic sand, is found in
the beds of rivers, in a loose state, and sometimes im¬
bedded in basalt and wacken. It is found in those
countries where the other ores of iron abound ; and
also in the sand of many of the rivers within the torrid
zone, as in Jamaica, St Domingo, &c.
Uses.—Magnetic iron is wrought for the purpose of
obtaining metallic iron. Most of the Swedish iron ores
belong to this variety, and furnish the iron which is so
celebrated on account of its superior qualities, through¬
out Europe.
Magnetic sand, where it is abundant, is also smelted
as an iron ore.
4. Species. Magnetic Iron Ore. ^ Species. Specular Iron Ore.
Magnetic Ironstone, Kirwan, ii. 158. Id Brochant, Broch. ii. 242. Id. Kirw. ii. 162. Micaceous Iron
ii. 235. Fer Oxidule, Haiiy, iv. 10. Ore, ibid. 284. Fer Oligiste, Hauy, iv. 38.
'Ihis is divided into two subspecies, common and are- This species is divided into two subspecies, common
naceous. an<j micaceous.
Subspecies 1. Common Magnetic Iron Ore.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, and often
also crystallized in six-sided prisms, having a three-sided
pyramid at each extremity, set on three alternate late¬
ral edges ; an oblique four-sided prism; a double four¬
sided pyramid, or perfect octahedron, which is some¬
times truncated on all its edges. Crystals of various
sizes ; faces sometimes smooth ; those of the four-sided
prism streaked transversely ; lustre shining ; internal
lustre resplendent, or weakly glimmering; fracture un¬
even, sometimes conchoidal or foliated ; fragments ra¬
ther blunt-edged.
Subspecies 1. Common Specular Iron Ore.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, but most
frequently crystallized in double three-sided pyramids,
flattened, and the lateral faces of the one set on the la¬
teral edges of the other; the same pyramid with the
angles at the common base truncated ; in perfect cubes,
having the angles truncated ; or the cube considered as
a double three-sided pyramid ; or as a rhomboid, in
which the summits are surmounted by an obtuse three-
sided pyramid, set on the lateral faces; the same cube
bevelled at each of the angles of the common base ;
in six-sided tables variously modified, or in perfect lenses.
Surface
art I.
tioa.
miner
kssifica- Surface of the crystals smooth, resplendent j inter¬
nal lustre weakly shining or resplendent; fracture un-
J even, sometimes conchoidal or foliated ; fragments sharp-
edged.
Colour steel-gray, bluish or reddish ; sometimes with
tarnished colours 5 which are iridescent j streak dark
cherry-red ; hard ; opaque 5 brittle. Spec. gray. 4.79
to 5.21.
C/iem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is infusible;
but heated on charcoal becomes white, and melts with
borax into a dirty yellow slag.
Phys. Char.—Affects the magnetic needle, but does
not attract iron filings.
Constituent Parts.—This variety is supposed to be
a pretty pure oxide of iron, yielding from 60 to 80 per
cent, of iron.
01 this subspecies two varieties have been formed,
compact and foliated, depending probably on the ap¬
pearance of the fracture.
A L O G Y.
Subspecies 2. Micaceous Iron Ore.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, or in thin
six-sided tables, so grouped together as to appear cellu¬
lar-, surface smooth, resplendent 5 internal lustre re¬
splendent ; fracture foliated j fragments in tables.
Colour iron-black, steel-gray, or dark red ; in thin
plates slightly translucent j streak dark cherry-red $ se-
mihard -, brittle. Spec. grav. 4.5 to 5.
Localities, &c.—These varieties are found in primi¬
tive mountains, in beds or veins, accompanied by other
ores of iron, and in such quantity in many places as to
be dug out for the purpose of manufacture, as in Ger¬
many, I ranee, Russia, Sweden,Siberia, and particularly
m the islands of Corsica and Elba, which furnish the
finest specimens of specular iron ore for the cabinet.
The latter variety is found in England, and some
parts of Scotland.
6. Species. Red Iron Ore.
This is divided into four subspecies j 1. red iron
froth j 2. compact 5 3. red haematites j and, 4. red
ochre.
Subspecies 1. Red Iron Froth.
Id. Broch. ii. 249. Red Scaly Iron Ore, Kirw. ii. 172.
Exter. Char.—Sometimes massive, and frequently
superficial 3 lustre glimmering or shining, usually com¬
posed of scaly friable particles which stain strongly :
ieels greasy.
Colour dark cherry-red, blood-red, brownish-red, or
steel-gray.
Chem. Char.—Blackens before the blow-pipe.
Subspecies 2. Compact Red Iron Ore.
Id. Broch. ii. 251. Id. Kinv. ii. 170.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, in imitative
forms, as cellular, &c. or crystallized in perfect cubes,
or tour-sided pyramids with truncated summits. Sur-
taces °t the cube smooth 3 that of the pyramids rough
and dull 3 internal lustre glimmering 3 fracture even,
sometimes uneven or conchoidal 3 fragments rather
blunt-edged.
Colour brownish-red, dark steel-gray, sometimes
blood-red 3 semihard 3 brittle, streak blood-red 3 stains,
opec. grav. 3.4 to 3.8.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts. Eampadius.
Oxide of iron, 65.4
Silica, 20.7
Alumina,
Oxide of manganese, 2.7
Loss, jp
100.0
Localities, &c.—Found along with other iron ores
abundant in Cumberland and Lancashire, and various
places of the world.
Subspecies 3. Red Hematites.
Id. Kirw. ii. 168. Id. Broch. ii. 254.
Exter. Char.—Massive, and in various imitative
forms ; surface smooth or drusy 3 internal lustre shining,
or only glimmering 3 fracture fibrous 3 fragments wedge-
shaped. b
Colour brownish-red, steel-gray, or blood-red 3 streak
fight ulood-red 3 hard or semihard 3 brittle 3 stains.
Spec. grav. 4.7 to 5.
Constituent Parts.—It yields from 60 to 70 per cent,
of iron, and contains, it is supposed, a portion of alu¬
mina, silica, and manganese.
Localities, &c.—This ore of iron is not very com¬
mon, although in some places it is very abundant, as in
the west of England. It is disposed in veins and beds,
accompanied by the former variety.
Constituent Parts. Hauy.
Iron> 66.
Oxygen, 28.5
Silica, 4*25
Alumina, j.gy
Subspecies 4. Red Ochre.
Id. Kirw. ii. 171. Id. Broch. ii. 256.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or su¬
perficial 3 dull 3 fracture earthy.
Colour between blood-red and brownish-red 3 stains
much ; soft; often friable.
Localities, &c.—This variety usually accompanies
the former, and is a very fusible iron ore.(
100.00*
f0' localities, &c.—A rare mineral, usually incrusting
'• other ores of iron. Found in Germany, and in Corn¬
wall and at Ulverstone in Lancashire in England.
^OL. XIV. Parti. s t
7. Species. Brown Iron Ore.
This is divided into four subspecies 5 1. brown iron
froth 5 2. compact; 3. brown haematites; and, 4. brown
ochre.
Subspecies 1. Broivn Iron Froth.
Brown Scaly Iron Ore, Kirw. ii. 166. Le Eisenrahm
brun, Broch. ii. 258.
C g Exter,
233
Metallic
Ores.
234
Metallic
Ores.
miner
Ex ter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, often super¬
ficial, or spumiform j strongly glimmering or shining }
fracture foliated or compact.
Colour between brown and dull gray very sott 5 al¬
most friable; stains j feels greasy j nearly swims on
W£CW Char.—Blackens before the blow-pipe with¬
out fusion. ...
Localities, &c.—Accompanies other iron ores, as m
Saxony, but is rare.
A L O G Y. Part
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it blackens with- Classifies
out fusion. *1 • • > t‘°n'
Constituent Ports.—According to Bergman, this mi-'
neral contains equal parts of carbonate of lime and of
iron, with about one-fourth of manganese.
Localities, &x.—Found equally in primitive a.nd stra¬
tiform rocks, and always accompanied by calcareous
spar, and other ores of iron, as in Saxony, France, Bri¬
tain and Ireland.
p. Species. Black Iron Ore.
Subspecies 2. Compact Brown Iron Ore.
E.vter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, sometimes in
different imitative forms 5 dull, or rarely glimmering j
fracture smooth, earthy, or conchoidal.
Colour clove brown, or brownish yellow $ streak yel¬
lowish brown j semihard j-brittle. Spec. grav. 3.07 to
^Localities, &c.—In veins or beds, accompanied by
other iron ores, in various parts of the woild.
Subspecies 3. BROWN HAEMATITES.
Id. Kirw. ii. 167. Id- Broch. ii. 268.
This species is divided into two subspecies : I. com¬
pact j and 2. black haematites.
Subspecies 1. Compact Black Iron Ore.
Evter. Char.—Massive, orinvarious imitative forms;
surface rough or dull; internal lustre glimmering ; frac¬
ture flat conchoidal ; fragments sharp-edged.
Colour between steel gray and bluish-black ; semi¬
hard ; brittle.
Id. Kirw. ii. 163- Id’ Broch. ii. 261.
Exter. Char.—Massive, but most frequently in dif¬
ferent imitative forms; surface smooth, granulated,
rough or drusy •, lustre shining; internal lustre glim¬
mering or weakly shining ; fracture fibrous ; fragments
splintery or wedge-shaped. .
Colour clove brown ; blackish brown, sometimes yel¬
low, and sometimes with tarnished colours -, opaque ;
streak yellowish brown ; semihard ; brittle. Spec. giav.
3.78 to 4s02. . .
Localities, Sec.—Always accompanies the preceding
variety, but in smaller quantity.
Subspecies 2. Black Haematites.
Exter. Char.—Massive or kidney-form ; internal
lustre glimmering and shining ; fracture fibrous, some¬
times even ; fragments wedge-shaped.
Colour steel gray. .
Constituent Parts.—This ore is supposed to contain a
larger proportion of manganese, with alumina and lime,
than other ores of iron. # ...
Localities, &c.—Found in veins in primitive moun¬
tains, and sometimes also in stratiform mountains, ac¬
companied by brown and sparry iron ore.
Subspecies 4. Brown Ochre.
Id. Kirw. ii. 167* Id- Broch. ii. 263.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated ; dull ; frac¬
ture earthy •, fragments blunt-edged.
Colour yellowish brown, or ochre yellow ; so t ;
sometimes friable ; stains more or less.
Localities, &c.—Always accompanies compact brown
iron ore, and is therefore found in similar places.
8. Species. Sparry Iron Ore.
Id. Brochant, ii. 264. Id. Kirw. ii. 190.
Exter.Char.—Massive, disseminated, sometimes w’ith
impressions, and often crystallized. Its forms are,
the rhomboid with plane or convex faces, or having two
opposite angles strongly truncated; and the lens, the
equiangular six-sided prism, or the simple or double
four-sided pyramid. Crystals, small; surface smooth,
sometimes drusy, sometimes a little rough ; lustre shin¬
ing and somewhat metallic ; internal lustre shining, rare¬
ly resplendent, between pearly and vitreous ; fracture
foliated; fragments rhomboidal.
Colour yellowish gray, grayish white, and exposed to
ihe air, blackish brown, or with tarnished colours;
sometimes translucent at the edges ; those of a dark co¬
lour, opaque ; semihard, or soft; brittle. Spec. grav.
3.6 to 4.
10. Species. Argillaceous Iron Stone.
This is divided into six subspecies: 1. red chalk;
2. columnar argillaceous iron stone; 3. granular; 4.
common ; 5. reniform ; and, 6. pisiform.
Subspecies 1. Red Chalk.
Id. Broch. ii. 271.
Exter. Char.—Massive ; fracture slaty; lustre glim¬
mering ; cross fracture earthy, dull; fragments in plates,
01 Colour ^brownish red, black or blood red ; streak
blood red; writes and stains ; soft; adheres to e
tongue ; feels meagre. Spec. grav. 3.13 to 3-93'
Ghent.Char.—Decrepitates, and becomes black when
exposed to a red heat. . , . •
Localities, &c.—Usually accompanies clay slate, ei¬
ther in thin beds, or in masses, as at Tbalitter m «<-
sia, where it is dug out in considerable quantity,
also found in Bohemia and Saxony. < - _
Uses.—Employed as crayons in drawing, amt ior
this purpose it is dug out, rather than as an ore
U<lied chalk, on account of the quantity of alu"’,n*
and other earths which it contains, was former y ai
ged in the argillaceous genus. Subspecies
'it I.
MINERALOGY.
ion. Subspecies 2. Columnar IRON STONE.
^ Id. Kirw. ii. 176. Id. Brocli. ii. 273.
E.rta'. Char.—Found in angular or rounded pieces j
surface rough and dull ; fracture dull and earthy ; com¬
posed of columnar distinct concretions, which are often
a little curved, sometimes straight and articulated, and
very easily separated j surface of the concretions rough
and dull.
Colour cherry red, blood or brownish red j streak
blood red, sometimes yellowish brown; soft 5 adheres
lo the tongue j feels meagre, and is a little rough.
Localities, &c.—Usually met with in beds of clay,
in stratiform mountains, and particularly in the neigh¬
bourhood of subterranean fires, by the effects of which,
as it is supposed, it may have been produced. It is
found in Bohemia and some other places, where it is
wrought as an ore of iron.
Subspecies 3. Granular Iron Stone.
Id. Broch. ii. 274. Acinose Iron Ore, Kirw. ii. 177.
Exter. Char.—Massive, or constituting the base of
petrifactions ; strongly glimmering or weakly shining;
fracture uneven, sometimes slaty; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour reddish and yellowish brown, or grayish
black; streak blood red, or varying according to the
colour of the ore, usually soft or semihard. Specific
gravity 2.673.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of iron,
Alumina,
Silica,
"Water,
Loss,
Localities, &c.—Is found only in stratiform moun¬
tains, as in Bohemia, Bavaria, and Switzerland.
Subspecies 4. Common Iron Stone.
Id. Kirw. ii. 173. Id. Broch. ii. 276.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, sometimes
cellular or botryoidal; dull; fracture earthy ; frag¬
ments rather sharp-edged.
Colour yellowish or bluish gray; yellowish brown, or
brownish red; streak varies with the colour ; soft;
brittle ; adheres to the tongue ; feels meagre.
Localities, &c.—A common ore of iron in many
places of Saxony and Bohemia, in Norway, and in
England. It is connected with stratiform mountains,
alternating with beds of clay slate.
Lampadius.
64.
23*
>5
5-
•5
100.0
brittle; adheres to the tongue ; feels meagre. Specific
gravity 2.57.
Localities, &c.—Found in Bohemia, Saxony, Silesia,
and Poland, and in the coal countries of England and
Scotland, and almost always in clay beds, sometimes
accompanied with bituminous wood, in stratiform moun¬
tains.
Phis variety was formerly called cetites or eagle-stone,
as it was supposed that the eagle carried it to its nest.
Subspecies 6. Pisiform Iron Stone.
Id. Kirw. ii. 178. Id. Broch. ii. 280.
Exter. Char.—In spherical or flattened particles,
which are generally small; surface rough, dull; internal
lustre glimmering or weakly shining ; fracture smooth.
Colour between brown and red ; streak yellowish
brown ; semihard ; brittle. Spec. grav. J.2.
Constituent Pat'ts. Vauquelin.
Iron, 30
Oxygen, 18
Alumina, 31
Silica, ij
Water, 6
100
Localities, &c.—-This variety is found in consider¬
able, beds in stratiform mountains. It is abundant in
France, Switzerland, and some parts of Germany.
11. Species. Bog Iron Ore.
This is divided into three subspecies : r. morassy;
2. swampy; and 3. meadow.
Subspecies 1. Morassy Bog Iron Ore.
Id. Kirw. ii. 183. Id. Broch. ii. 283.
Exter Char.—Sometimes earthy, sometimes in amor¬
phous, tuberculated,or corroded masses; fracture earthy.
Colour yellnwish-brown ; stains; soft; friable; feels
meagre.
Subspecies 2. SWAMPY IRON Ore.
Id. Kirw. ii. 138.
Exter. Char.—In amorphous masses, which are tu¬
berose or corroded ; dull or slightly glimmering ; frac¬
ture earthy ; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour dark yellowish-brown, blackish brown, or
steel-gray ; streak light yellowish brown; very soft;
brittle ; heavier than the former.
Subspecies 3. Meadow Iron Ore.
235
Metallic
Ores.
Subspecies 5. Keniform Iron Stone.
Id. Broch. ii. 278. Nodular Iron Ore, Kirw. ii. 178.
, Enter. Char.—Found in rounded or tuberculated
pieces, of a kidney-form figure ; surface rough, covered
wita earthy particles ; internal lustre glimmeiing; frac-
"ture smooth or earthy ; fragments rather sharp-edged;
composed of lamellar and concentric distinct concretions,
including a nodule which is usually moveable.
Colour yellowish brown ; streak the same; soft;
Id. Kirvv. ii. 182. Id. Broch. ii. 284.
Exter, Char.—In kidney-form, tuberose, often cor¬
roded masses ; externally dull or rough ; internal lustre
shining, resinous ; fracture conchoidal, or earthy when
it is dull; fragments rather blunt-edged.
Colour dark blackish-brown, or yellowish-brown;
streak yellowish-brown ; soft and brittle.
Constituent Parts.—Bog iron ore is an oxide of iron,
combined with the phosphate of iron, with some earthy
matters, as alumina and silica.
G g 2 Localities,
23<J
Metallic
Ores.
%
MINERALOGY. Pm
Localities, &c.—Bog iron ore is more abundant in
the northern than in the southern parts of Europe. It
is not uncommon in Poland, Prussia, Sweden, and in
the Western islands of Scotland, as Jura and Islay. It
is sometimes found in extensive beds, alternating with
sandstone and clay.
i2. Species. Blue Earthy Ore.
Id. Broch. ii. 288. Blue Martial Earth, Kirw. ii. 185.
Native Prussiate of Iron, of others.
Exier. Char.—Usually found slightly cohering, or
loose, or friable j particles dull; stains, and feels
Exter. Char.—Massive *, surface earthy and dull; in* Classi
ternal lustre weakly shining, resinous j fracture compact tkc
or foliated. '“""N
Colour dark reddish-brown, or black ; opaque 5 se-
mihard j brittle; streak dark red. Spec. grav. 3.956.
Chem. Char.—Melts before the blow-pipe into a.
black enamel.
Constituent Parts. Vauquelin.
Oxide of iron, 31
Oxide of manganese, 42
Phosphoric acid, 27
meagre.
Colour grayish-white, indigo blue, rarely smalt-blue.
Chem. Char.—Becomes reddish-brown before the
blow-pipe; melts into a black globule ; easily soluble
in acids.
Constituent Parts.—It was suspected by Bergman,
that this was a native Prusian blue; but according to
Klaproth, it is composed of iron and phosphoric acid,
with a mixture of alumina.
Localities, See.—Found in small nests in beds of clay,
or bog iron ore, as in Saxony, Russia, a,nd Siberia.
13. Species. Green Earthy Iron Ore.
Green Martial Earth, Kirw. ii. 188.
Exter. Char.—Found friable and superficial, rarely
massive ; internally dull; fracture earthy.
Colour yellowish or olive-green ; stains ; soft; feels
meagre.
Chem. Char.—Becomes red before the blow-pipe, and
then dark-brown, but without fusion.
Constituent Parts.—It is conjectured to be a com¬
pound similar to the former, but in different proportions.
Localities, Stc.—Found in Saxony, in veins, and ac¬
companied with quartz and pyrites.
14. Species. Phosphate of Iron.
Id. Jour, de Physique, Iviii. 259. Ann. de Chim. 1. 200.
Exter. Char.—Found in rounded pieces, composed
of capillary crystals, which seem to be four-sided prisms;
fracture radiated and divergent.
Colour blue, from a blue powder coating the cry¬
stals, which are otherwise colourless ; semitransparent.
Spec. grav. 2.5 to 2.6.
Constituent Parts.
100
Localities, &c.—Found near Limoges.
16. Species. Cube Ore, or Arseniate of Iron.
Id. Phil. Trans. 1801. p. 190.
Exter. Char.—Found crystallized in small cubes,
grouped together in a drusy form ; crystals sometimes
truncated on their angles ; surface smooth, shining ;
lustre between resinous and adamantine ; fracture con-
choidal.
Colour olive-green, yellow, or brown ; translucent ;
semihard ; powder yellow. Spec grav. 3.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe froths up with
the smell of arsenic, and melts into a yellowish-gray me¬
tallic globule.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of ii-on,
Oxide of copper,
Arsenic acid,
Silica,
Lime,
Water,
Vauquelin,
48
18
2
32
IOO
Chenevix.
45-5
9-
31-
4-
10*5
100.0
Localities, &c.—-Found in the copper mines in Corn¬
wall.
17. Species. Arseniate of iron and Copper.
Id. Phil. Trans. 1801. p. 219.
Cadet. Tangier.
Oxide of iron-, 42.1 4?*25
Phosphoric acid, 26.9 19'25
Silica, 3. I-25
Alumina, J«8 5.
Lime, 9.1 —
Water, 13.1 31.25
Loss, — 2.
100.0 100.00
Localities, &c.—.This mineral is found imbedded in
clay in the isle of France, and in Brazil.
35. Species. Pitchy Iron Ore, or Phosphate of Iron
and Manganese.
Id. Broch. ii. 533. Jour, de Mines, N° 64. p. 295.
Exter. Char.—Crystallized in four-sided rhomboidal
prisms, with two edges very obtuse, and two very acute,
terminated by an acute four-sided pyramid ; edges of
the prism are sometimes truncated.
Colour bluish-white ; crystals semitransparent; semi¬
hard. Spec. grav. 3.4.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of iron, 27.5
Oxide of copper,. 22.5
Arsenic acid, 33.5
Silica, 3.
Water, 12.
, Loss, 1.5
300.0
Localities)
rt L MINERALOGY.
ssifica- Localities, &c.—Found In Cornwall, in Siberia, and
i tion Spain.
18. Species. Chromate of Iron.
Id. Broch. ii. 534. Id. Hauy, iv. 129.
E.rter. Char.—Massive; glimmering or weakly shin¬
ing ; fracture compact and uneven, or imperfectly fo-
237
Hated.
Colour grayish or blackish brown ; opaque ; streak
ash-gray; smell earthy when breathed on; hard. Spec,
grav. 4.032.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe; melts
with borax, and colours it of a beautiful green.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of iron,
Chromic acid,
Alumina,
Silica,
35
43
20
2
100
Localities, &c.—Discovered by Pontier in France,
in the department of Var, and found in considerable
abundance in veins and nodules, in beds of serpentine;
found also in Siberia.
VII. LEAD Genus.
1. Species. Galena.
This is divided into two subspecies ; common and
compact galena.
Subspecies 1. Common Galena,
Id. Kirw. ii. 216. Id. Broch. ii. 294. Plomh Sulfure,
Hauy, iii. 456.
E.rter. Gfat/*.—-Massive, disseminated, superficial, in
imitative forms, or crystallized in cubes, octahedrons,
six-sided prisms, and six-sided tables; all which are va¬
riously modified by truncations and bevelments on the
edges and angles. Crystals grouped or imbedded ; sur¬
face smooth, or drusy ; lustre from glimmering to re¬
splendent ; internal the same; fracture foliated ; frag¬
ments cubic, excepting the fine-grained galena.
Colour lead-gray, sometimes tarnished, or iridescent;
soft; easily frangible; stains a little. Spec. grav. 7.22
to 7.58.
Chem. Char.—Decrepitates before the blow-pipe, and
fuses, giving out a sulphureous odour.
Constituent Parts.—Composed of sulphur and lead in
variable proportions, and generally a little silver, some¬
times antimony. The proportion of lead is from 50 to
80 per cent.
Localities, &c.—This is the most common ore of
mad, and exists in all kinds of rocks, either in beds or
veins. In many countries this lead ore is dug out to a
great extent, as in Germany, France, and Britain.
Subspecies 2. Compact Galena.
Ld. Kirw. ii. 218. Id. Broch. ii. 301.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, kidney-form,
w specular; lustre of the specular variety resplendent;
the others only glimmering; internal lustre glimmer- Metallic
ing; Iracture even or conchoidal; fragments rather Ores,
sharp-edged. —y—.
Colour lead or steel gray; streak shining ; stains;
soft. Spec. grav. 7.44.
Localities, &c.—This is a rare mineral. It is found
along with common galena, in Saxony, and other
parts ot Germany ; in Derbyshire, where it is known
by the name of slichenside, and in the county of Dur¬
ham, where it is known by the name of lookin^-slass
ore. 0 °
2. Species. Blue Lead Ore.
Id. Kirw. ii. 220. Id. Broch. ii. 203.
Exter. Char.—Rarely massive, most commonly erv-
stalhzed in regular six-sided prisms, which are often"a
iittie curved, and sometimes fascicularly grouped; sur¬
face rough; longitudinally streaked; lustre glimmering:
fracture even.
Colour between lead-gray and indigo blue; opaque ;
streak shining; soft, easily frangible. Specific gravity
Chem.' Char.—Melts easily before the blow-pipe ;
burns with a bluish flame, and a sulphureous odour,
leaving a globule of lead.
Its constituent parts have not been exactly ascertain¬
ed. Supposed to be a green lead ore, which has under¬
gone some change, but retaining its original form.
^ Localities, &c.—This ore has only been found in
Saxony, and also, it is said, in France and Hungary.
3. Species. Brown Lead Ore.
Id. Kirw. ii. 222. Id. Broch. ii. 305.
Exter. Char.—Rarely massive, commonly crystallized
m equal six-sided prisms, or the crystals are acicular or
capillary; lustre glimmering; internal shining; frac¬
ture uneven.
Colour reddish or clove-brown; translucent at the
edges ; streak white ; soft; brittle. Spec. grav. 6.6
to 6.97.
Chtm. Char.—No effervescence with acids; fuses
readily before the blow-pipe, but is not reduced; cry¬
stallizes in small needles on cooling.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Oxide of lead, 78.58
Phosphoric acid, l9'h!3
Muriatic acid, 1.65
Loss. .04
100.00
Localities, &c.—Found along with white lead ore,
quartz, and heavy spar, in France and Germany.
4. Species. Black Lead Ore.
Id. Kirw. ii. 221. Id. Broch. ii. 307.
Exter. Char—Massive, disseminated, cellular, but
most frequently crystallized in six-sided prisms, with
equal or unequal sides, or bevelled at the extremity.
Crystals small, irregularly grouped; smooth, and some¬
times longitudinally streaked ; lustre shining; fracture
uneven.
Colour
238
Metallic
Ores.
Colour grayish black 5 opaque j streak grayish black ;
soft j brittle. Spec. grav. 5.7.
Chem. Char.—Decrepitates before the blow-pipe j and
is then reduced to the metallic state.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of lead,
Carbonic acid,
Carbone,
Water,
MINERALOGY. ‘ Part]
cent, or only at the edges ; streak greenish white 5 Classify
brittle. Spec. grav. 6.909 to 6.941. tion.
Chejn. Char.—Melts easily before the blow-pipe, into ' V'—
a grayish polyhedral globule, but without being redu¬
ced j soluble in acids, without efiervescenee, but some¬
times with difficulty.
Lampadius.
78-5
18.
*•5
2.
100.0
Localities, &c—Found in Saxony, England, and
Scotland, frequently accompanying white lead ore.
\
5. Species. White Lead Ore, or Carbonate of Lead.
Id. Kirw. ii. 203. Id. Broch. ii. 309. Plomb Car¬
bonate, Hauy, iii. 475.
Exter. Char.—Rarely massive, commonly dissemi¬
nated, superficial, or crystallized in six-sided prisms ; in
four-sided prisms 5 in double crystals, composed of two
four-sided prisms j in oblique four-sided prisms, and in
double six-sided praymids. These are variously modi¬
fied by truncations and acuminations on the edges and
angles. They are also of various sizes, and variously
grouped together : surface usually smooth, resplendent,
sometimes rough or streaked j lustre shining, adaman¬
tine ; fragments conchoidal, splintery, or fibrous.
Colour white, yellowish, or grayish white j transpa¬
rent or translucent j refraction double. Specific gravity
6.48 to 7.23.
Chem. Char.—Decrepitates before the blow-pipe, be¬
comes yellowish or reddish, and melts into a metallic
globule) effervesces strongly with acids.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of lead,
Carbonic acid,
Water,
Klaproth.
82
16
2
ICO
IOO
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of lead,
Phosphoric acid,
Muriatic acid,
Oxide of iron,
Loss,
77.10
19.
.10
2.26
Klaproth.
80.
18.
1.62
"s8
100.00
100.00
Localities, &c.—Found in veins along with other
lead ores, and generally near the top of the vein, in
Germany, France, and Leadhills in Scotland.
7. Species. Red Lead Ore, or Chromate of Lead.
Id. Broch. ii. 318. Bed Lead Spar, Kirw. ii. 214.
Exter. Char.—Rarely massive, sometimes disseminat¬
ed or superficial, but most frequently crystallized in
oblique four-sided prisms with the extremity bevelled,
or the lateral edges truncated ; and in six-sided prisms,
with two broad and two narrow faces; lateral faces
longitudinally streaked j external surface smooth, shin¬
ing ; fracture even.
. Colour aurora red, or hyacinth red j translucent or
semitransparent 5 streak orange yellow j soft j brittle.
Spec. grav. 5.75 to 6.02.
Chem. Char.—No effervescence with acids j decrepi¬
tates a little before the blow-pipe, and melts into a
black slag.
Constituent Paris.
Oxide of lead,
Chromic acid,
Vauquelin.
64
36
100
Some carbonates of; lead, are also combined with a
small portion of iron and earthy matters.
Localities, &c.—Found in veins, accompanied by
galena and other lead ores, in Germany, France, and
Britain.
6. Species. Green Lead Ore, or Phosphate of Lead.
Plomb Phosphate, Hauy, iii. 490. Id. Broch. ii. 314.
Phosphorated Lead Ore, Kirw. ii. 207.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, botryoidal or
reniform, and often crystallized in six-sided prisms, trun¬
cated on all the edges, or on the terminal edges, or
terminated by a six-sided pyramid j in six-sided prisms
with the lateral faces converging towards one of the
extremities j and in six-sided pyramids ; but this last is
rare. Surface smooth, shining j internal lustre weakly
shining and resinous •, fracture uneven.
Colour olive green, emerald green, yellow or
brown y grayish, greenish, or yellowish white y translu-
..2
Localities, &c.—Found in veins at Beresof in Sibe
ria, accompanied by other ores of lead, some ores of
iron, and native gold.
A. similar ore of lead, but of a brown colour, was
brought from Mexico by Humboldt.
8. Species. Yellow Lead Ore, or Molybdate of
Lead.
Id. Broch. ii. 322. ,Yellow Lead Spar, Kirw. ii. 212.
Hauy, iii. 498.
Exter. Chat'.—Rarely massive, usually crystallized
in rectangular four-sided tables y in perfect cubes, with
plane or convex faces, or truncated on the terminal
faces, in obtuse octahedrons, truncated on the summit,
the lateral angles, or lateral edges. Crystals small y
surface smooth and shining y internally .shining y lustre
waxy y fracture conchoidal.
Colour Avax yellow, or honey yellow y translucent,
or. only at the edges y soft y brittle. Spec. grav. 5-48
t“ ” Chen,.
art I. MINER
iassifica- Chtm. Char.—Be fare the blow-pipe it decrepitates
tion. strongly, and then melts into a blackish-gray globule,
'in which are seen particles 'of lead,
acid, and in fixed alkalies.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of lead,
Molybdic acid,
Oxide of iron,
Silica,
Carbonate of lime,
Loss,
Macquart.
63*5
28.
4-
4-5
Soluble in nitric
Hatchett.
58-4
38.
2.1
.28
1.22
100.0
100.00
A L O G Y.
be a mixture of oxide of lead, with a little oxide of Meullic
iron, and some earthy matters. Ores.
Localities, &c.—Found on the surface, or in the ca- l—-y——
vities of other lead ores, in Saxony, France, Siberia,
and at Leadhills and Wanlockhead in Scotland.
11. Species. Muriate of Lead.
. Exter. Char.—Massive, or crystallized in cubes, or
flat six-sided prisms j external surface shining 5 inter¬
nal lustre resplendent, adamantine j fracture foliated.
Colour between- asparagus green and wine yellow j
semitransparent ; soft; not brittle; streak dull, whiteo
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
-£oc(z/^7d?.y, &c.—This ore of lead was first discover¬
ed at Bleyberg in Carinthia; it has been since found
in Saxony and France.
9. Species. Native Sulphate of Lead.
Id. Kirw. ii. 211. Broch. ii. 325. Hauy, iii. 503.
Exter. Char.—Crystallized in irregular octahedrons,
which are variously truncated and bevelled. Crystals
smooth and shining ; lustre shining and vitreous ; frac¬
ture compact.
Colour snow white, grayish or yellowish white;
translucent; semihard. Spec. grav. 6.3.
Chern. Char.—Reduced even in the flame of a can¬
dle ;. insoluble in nitric acid.
Constituent Parts.
Klaproth.
Oxide of lead,
Sulphuric acid,
Water,
Loss,
7°-5
25-75
2.25
'S'
100.00
Localities, &c.—Found on brown iron ore in the
island of Anglesea, and on galena in the veins at Lead-
hills and Wanlockhead in Scotland.
Oxide of lead,
Muriatic acid,
55
45
100
, Localities, &zc.—Found in Derbyshire, and also, it
is said, in the mountains of Bavaria, but not crystal¬
lized. J
12. Species. Murio-Carbonate of Lead.
Id. Bournon and Chenevix, Nich. Jour. 4to. p. 219.
Exter. Char.—Crystallized in cubes, which are va¬
riously modified ; lustre shining, adamantine ; fracture
foliated ; cross fracture conchoidal.
Colour straw yellow, or clear white ; semitranspa¬
rent ; streak dull, snow white ; easily scratched by
carbonate of lead. Spec. grav. 6.065.
Constituent Parts. Chenevix.
Oxide of lead, 51
Muriatic acid, 8
Oxide of lead, 34
Carbonic acid, 6
Loss, 1
100
Muriate of lead,
Carbonate of lead,
59
40.
100
10. Species. Earthy Lead Ore.
Id. Broch. ii. 327. Id. Kirwan, ii. 105.
This is divided into two subspecies: 1. friable; and,
2. indurated.
Subspecies 2. Indurated Lead Ore.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated ; dull; frac¬
ture uneven or earthy.
Colour of the former; opaque ; streak lighter co¬
lour ; very soft and friable.
. Chem. Char.—Easily reduced before the blew-pipe,
into a black slag; effervesces a little with acids.
Purtfs,——Earthy lead ©re is supposed to
Localities, &c.—Found in Derbyshire.
13. Species. Arseniate of Lead.
Id. Broch. ii. 546.
Exter. Char.—Disseminated sometimes in an earthy
state, sometimes in silky filaments, and crystallized in
small, double, six-sided pyramids. Dull, or weakly
glimmering; lustre silky.
Colour citron or greenish yellow; very soft; friable;
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe is melts easily
into a globule of lead, and gives out the smell of gar¬
lic.
Const. PflrA?.—Composed of oxide of lead and of ar¬
senic, with some oxide of iron and earthy matters.
VIII. TIN Genus.
1. Species. Tin Pyrites.
M. Kirw. ii. 200. Id. Broch. ii. 332.
Exter. Char.-—Found-massive or disseminated; lustre
shining
Subspecies 1. Friable Lead Ore.
Exter. Char.— This is composed of fine earthy par¬
ticles, which are dull, and have little coherence.
Colour sulphur or ochre yellow, yellowish or smoke
gray ; stains ; feels meagre.
240
MeUillio sliming or weakly shining j fracture uneven; fragments
Ores, rather blunt-edged.
1-1,1 J Colour steel sometimes brass or bronze yellow j
semihardj brittle. Spec. grav. 4.3 to 4.7-
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it melts easily
into a black slag, but without being reduced, and gi\et>
out a sulphureous smell.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Part [j
Chem. Char.— Becomes brownish red before the Classifier
blow-pipe, then decrepitates strongly, but is infusible. tion.
Const. Parts.—According to Klaproth, it is compo- '“•“V"'
sed of 63 of tin in the 100, with a little iron and
arsenic.
Localities, See.—Found in Cornwall, in alluvial land,
where it seems to have been deposited in a stalactitical
form, accompanied by common tin.
mineralogy.
Tin,
Copper,
Iron,
Sulphur,
Earthy substances,
34
36
3
25
2
IX. BISMUTH Genus.
1. Species. Native Bismuth.
Id. Kirw. ii. 264. Id. Broch. ii. 343. Id. Hauy, iv,
184.
100
Localities, &c.—This is a rare mineral, found on¬
ly in Cornwall, in a vein along with copper pyrites.
2. Species. Common Tinstone, or Oxide of Tin.
Id. Kirw. ii. 197. Id. Brock, ii. 334. Hauy, iv. 137.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, in rounded
pieces or grains, and often crystallized in rectangular
four-sided prisms, which are variously modilied by trun¬
cations and bevelments j m octahedrons, which aie
rare j in eight-sided prisms, or in double octahedrons,
which are so united by one of their summits as to form
a re-entering angle. Crystals of various sizes, always
grouped together j surface smooth 5 lustre shining or
resplendent $ internal lustre shining, between vitreous
and resinous 5 fracture uneven.
Colour brownish black, blackish brown, yellowish
gray, or grayish white j opaque, or semitransparent 5
streak light gray \ hard 5 brittle. Specific gravity 6.3
to 6.9.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it decrepitates,
loses its colour, and is partially reduced to the metal¬
lic state.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Tin,
Iron,
Oxygen,
Silica,
77-5
•25
21.5
•75
100.00
Localities, See.—Found in Germany, in the East
Indies, and particularly in Cornwall in England. It
is not very universally distributed j but where it exists,
it is deposited in granite, gneiss, micaceous schistus,
and porphyry *, and either in masses, veins, or disse¬
minated in the rocks.
Exter. Char.—Barely massive, bnt usually dissemi¬
nated in a plumose or reticulated form, and rarely crys¬
tallized, in small four sided tables or cubes ; lustre shin¬
ing or resplendent; frac ure foliated.
Colour silvery white, inclining to red ; colours com¬
monly tarnished j soft j almost ductile. Specific gravity
9.02 to 9.82.
Chem. Char.—Fusible almost in the flame of a
candle; by increasing the heat it is volatilized j solu¬
ble with effervescence in nitric acid, and precipitated
by water in the form of a white powder.
Localities, &c.—Bismuth is a rare metal, found in
veins in primitive mountains, accompanied by calcare¬
ous spar, heavy spar, and quartz, and commonly with
gray cobalt, sometimes also with black blende and na¬
tive silver. Found in Saxony, Bohemia, France, and
Sweden.
2. Species. Vitreous Bismuth Ore.
Sulphurated Bismuth, Kirwan, ii. 266. Id. Brochant,
ii. 346.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, rarely crys¬
tallized in small imbedded capillary prisms; lustre
shining or resplendent; fracture radiated or foliated.
Colour between lead gray and tin white; stains a
little; soft; easily frangible. Specific gravity 6.13
to 6.46.
Chem. Char.—Easily fusible before the blow-pipe,
with a sulphureous odour.
Const. Parts.—Composed of bismuth about 60 per
cent, and sulphur with a little iron.
Localities, Sec.—Found in Bohemia, Saxony, and
Sweden, and is usually accompanied by native bis¬
muth.
3. Species. Ochre of Bismuth.
3. Species. Grained Tin Ore, or Wood Tin.
Id. Broch. ii. 340. Id. Kirw. ii. 298.
E.vter. Char.—Found only in small pieces, rounded
or angular; surface rough ; weakly shining; internal
lustre glimmering; a little silky; fracture fibrous;
fragments wedge-shaped.
Colour hair brown of various shades ; streak yellow¬
ish gray; hard and brittle. Spec. grav. 5.8 to 6.4.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 265. Id. Brochant, ii. 348.
Exter. Char.—Rarely massive, commonly dissemi¬
nated on the surface of other minerals ; internally glim¬
mering ; fracture uneven or earthy.
Colour yellowish gray, ash gray, or straw yellow,
opaque; soft; sometimes even friable. Spec. grav.
4.37.
Chem Char.—Very easily reduced before the blow¬
pipe to the metallic state; effervesces with acids.
Constituent
M I N E E
Constituent Parts. Lampadius.
Oxide of bismuth, 86.3
 — iron, 5.2
Carbonic acid, 4.1
Water, 0.4
Loss, \ ^
100.0
Localities, &c.—This mineral is very rare, and chief¬
ly found near Schneeberg in Saxony, along with native
bismuth; and also in Bohemia and Suabia.
X. ZINC Genus.
1. Species. Blende.
Id. Brochant, ii. 350. Id. Kirwan, ii. 237. Zinc
Sul fur d. Hauv, iv. 167.
Tins species is divided into three subspecies ; yellow,
brown, and black.
Subspecies 1. Yellow Blende.
Exter.C/iar.—Massive or disseminated, or sometimes
crystallized in cubes or octabedrons, but they are so
confused as to prevent the form beintr easily discovered.
Surface smooth, resplendent; internal lustre resplen¬
dent, between adamantine and vitreous; fracture foli¬
ated ; cleavage six-fold ; fragments rather sharp-edged,
or assume sometimes a dodecahedral form, which is the
result of the complete cleavage.
Colour dark sulphur yellow, olive green, or brown¬
ish red ; translucent, sometimes semitransparent; streak
yellowish gray ; semi-hard ; brittle. Spec. grav. 4.04
to 4,16. e -t
Chcm. Char.—Decrepitates before the blow-pine,
and becomes gray, but is infusible.
A L O G Y,
parent; streak yellowish gray; semi-hard;
Spec. grav. 4.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Zinc, 44
Sulphur, 17
Iron, ^
Silica, 24
Alumina,
Water,
brittle.
241
Metallic
Ores.
IOO
Localities, &c.—\'ery common in veins of lead ore,
in most parts of the world.
Subspecies 3. Black Blende.
Exter. Char.—Massive, or disseminated, or crystal¬
lized like the former, which it resembles in most of its
characters.
Colour perfect black, brownish black, or blood red ;
often iridescent.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Zinc, 45
Sulphur, 29
Iron, ^
Lead, 5
Silica, 4
Water, 6
Arsenic, 1
100
Localities, Sic.—-Found in the same places with the
former.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Zinc, 64
Sulphur, 20
Iron, (j
Fluoric acid, 4
Water, 6
Silica, 1
100
Physical Char.—Most of the varieties of yellow
Olende become phosphorescent by friction in the dark.
Localities, &c.—Found in Saxony, Bohemia, Hun¬
gary and Norway, accompanied by lead, copper, and
non ores. It is rather a rare mineral.
Subspecies 2. Brown Blende.
Exter. Char.—-Massive, disseminated, and sometimes
crystallized in simple three-sided pyramids, octahe¬
drons, and four-sided prisms, which are variously modi-
• External lustre shining or resplendent; surface
sometimes drusy; internal lustre shining, between vi-
-r<jjUS resinous ; fracture foliated; cleavage six-
^ Colour reddish, or yellowish brown ; colour some-
1 Vora^jy ^p trai11 cenor °Paque ; crystals trans-
2. Species. Calamine.
This is divided into two subspecies, compact and fo¬
liated.
Subspecies 1. Compact Calamine.
Id. Kirvvan, ii. 234. Id. Brochant, ii. 361.
Extei\ Char. -Massive or disseminated, cellular, or
stalactitical, dull j fracture compact or earthy.
Colour grayish white, yellowish, or reddish, or milk
white; opaque; semi-hard or friable; brittle; stains
sometimes. Spec. grav. 3.52, to 4.1.
Chem. Char.—Decrepitates before the blow-pipe
when suddenly heated ; is infusible. Forms a jelly
with acids, and sometimes effervesces.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of zinc,
Silica,
Iron,
Alumina,
WTater,
Loss,
Benmian.
84
12
3 •
Tennant.
68.3
’ 25
4-4
2.3
+
109
dlh
100.0
Oxide
242
MINERALOGY. _ Parti
1748, in limestone j and at Allemont in France, where Classifies
Tennant. it is accompanied by other ores of antimony and co- tion.
■ — * bait.
Oxide of zinc,
Carbonic acid,
64.8
35-2
100.0
6c.2
34-8
100.0
Another variety examined by the same chemist con¬
tained,
2. Species. Gray Ore of Antimony.
Id. Brochant, ii. 371. Kirwan, ii. 246. Hauy, iv.
64.
This is divided into four subspecies; compact, fo¬
liated, radiated, and plumose.
Oxide of zinc, 71.4
Carbonic acid, I3,5
Water, I5’1
100.0
From these analyses it appears, that calamines ate
very different in their composition, consisting sometimes
of oxide of zinc, silica, and water, and this variety
forms a jelly with acids j others are composed of car¬
bonic acid and oxide of zinc, vyhich effervesce in sul¬
phuric acid, but do not form a jelly ) a third variety is
composed of oxide of zinc, carbonic acid, and water,
constituting a hydro-carbonate of zinc, which is soluble
with effervescence in sulphuric acid. _ 4
Localities, &.C.—Usually accompanied with iron
ochre, and very often with galena, white lead, and
other metallic ores. Found in Bohemia, Bavaria,
France, and Britain, in some places in considerable a-
bundance.
Subspecies 2. Foliated Calamine.
Id, Brochant, ii. 364. Kirwan, ii. 236. Hauy, iv.
161.
E.vter. Char.—Found massive or disseminated, sta-
lactitical, incrusted, or crystallized, in small four-sided
tables, or in very small cubes with plane or convex
faces, shining, or glimmering-, lustre between pearly
and vitreous ; fracture radiated.
Colour yellowish, or smoke gray ; grayish, or yel¬
lowish white translucent or semitransparent; semi-
hard-, brittle. Specific gravity 3.52.
Chem. Char.—Becomes white before the blow-pipe,
but is infusible, and does not eflervesce with acids.
Phys. Char.—Becomes electric by heat.
Localities, &c.—This variety accompanies the for¬
mer, lining its cavities, but is less common. Jt is found
in the same places.
Subspecies 1. Compact Gray Ore of Antimony.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated j shining j
fracture uneven.
Colour lead gray, or steel gray j soft j not very
brittle -, stains a" little ; streak shining. Spec. grav.
4.36. ... , ,
Localities, &c.——rlhis variety is rarer than the
others, but is met with in Saxony, Hungary, and
France.
Subspecies 2. Foliated Ore of Antimony.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated j fracture fo¬
liated. In other characters it resembles the other va¬
rieties, and is usually accompanied by the following.
Subspecies 3. Radiated Ore of Antimony.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, and very often
crystallized in acicular, often in capillary crystals, and
in six and four-sided prisms variously modified } surface
streaked longitudinally *, internal lustre resplendent $
fracture radiated, straight, parallel, or divergent.
Colour similar to the preceding 5 soft; not very
brittle. Spec. grav. 4.1 to 4.5.
Constituent Parts. Bergman.
Antimony, 74
Sulphur, 26
100
Localities, See.—This is the most common ore of an¬
timony, and is found in Germany, France, and Swe¬
den. There is only one mine of antimony in Britain,
which is in the south of Scotland, near Westerhall, in
the neighbourhood of Langholm.
Subspecies 4. Plumose Ore of Antimony.
XI. ANTIMONY Genus.
I. Species. Native Antimony.
7J. Brochant, ii. 369. Jc?. Kirwan, ii. 245. Tf/. Hauy,
iv. 252.
Exter. CAar.—Found massive, disseminated, or reni-
form -, resplendent fracture foliated.
Colour tin white j but exposed to the air, grayish or
yellowish ; soft j easily frangible. Spec. grav. 6.7.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it is very easily
fusible into a metallic globule, which gives out fumes
with the odour of garlic.
Const. Parts.—Native antimony sometimes contains
a small proportion of arsenic.
Localities, &c.—Has only been found in two places:
at Sahlberg in Sweden, where it was discovered in
I
Exter. Char.—Usually found in capillary crystals,
so interwoven, that they form a superficial covering to
other minerals: these groups are externally weakly
shining; internal lustre glimmering j fracture fibrous.
Colour similar to the former, and sometimes tarnish¬
ed brown or like tempered steel j opaque j soft; some¬
times almost friable; brittle.
Const. Parts.—Plumose antimony is composed of sul-
phuret of antimony combined with arsenic, iron, and
accidentally a little silver.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe this and the
other varieties of gray antimony give out white fumes,
with a sulphureous smell, and are almost entirely vola¬
tilized, or changed into a black slag.
Localities, &c.—Plumose antimony is found at
Freyberg in Saxony, in the Hartz, and in Hungary.
3. Species.
MINERALOGY.
urt I.
issifica- 3* Species. Black Ore of Antimony.
t‘Qlt' . Exter. Char.—Found crystallized in rectangular
four-sided tables, truncated on the edges or angles j
crystals smooth ; lustre shining j fracture conchoidal.
Colour iron black j soft.
Localities, &c.—This species, which is also a sul-
phuret of antimony, combined probably with some
other ingredients, is found in Cornwall.
4. Species. Red Ore of Antimony.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 250. Id. Brochant, ii. 379. Antimoine
Hydrosulfurd, iv. 276.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, but most
commonly in capillary crystals ; lustre weakly shining,
vitreous 5 fracture fibrous.
Colour cherry red, brown, reddish, or bluish ; soft,
almost friable j brittle. Specific gravity 3.7 to 4.
Chem.' Char.—Before the blow-pipe it melts easily,
and in nitric acid a white powder is deposited.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Oxide of antimony, 78.3
Sulphur, ip.y
Loss, 2.
100.0
Localities, &c.—Found in Saxony and France, usu¬
ally accompanying gray or native antimony.
5. Species. White Ore of Antimony.
Muriated Antimony, Kirwan, it. 151. Antimoine Oxide,
Hauy, iv. 273.
Exter. Char—Rarely massive, usually superficial, in
divergent fibres, or crystallized in rectangular four¬
sided tables, cubes, or four-sided prisms. Crystals ag¬
gregated j smooth; streaked longitudinally; resplen¬
dent ; internal lustre shining, between adamantine and
pearly ; fracture foliated.
Colour snow white, yellowish white, or grayish;
translucent; soft; brittle.
> Chem. Char.—Crystals decrepitate before the blow¬
pipe, but in powder is easily fusible.
Const. Paj'ts.—Was formerly supposed to be a mu¬
riate of antimony, but according to Klaproth, it is a
pure oxide. The white ore of France, according to
Vauquelin, contains,
Oxide of antimony, 86
• — lead, 3
Silica, 8
.Loss, 3
100
6. Species. Ochre of Antimony.
Id. Brochant, ii. 383. Id. Kirwan, ii. 252.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, or in superfi¬
cial crusts, on gray antimony ; dull; fracture earthy.
Colour straw yellow’, or yellowish gray; soft; friable.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe ; be¬
comes white, and emits white fumes. Its constituents
are unknown.
Localities, &c.—In Saxony and Hungary, accom¬
panying gray and red antimony, and in the antimony
mine near Westerhall, in the south of Scotland.
XII. COBALT Genus.
1. Species. White Cobalt Ore.
Id. Kirw. ii. 382. Id. Broch. ii. 386.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, reniform, and
rarely crystallized in small four-sided tables, or in small
cubes or octahedrons. Lustre weakly shining, or shin¬
ing ; fracture uneven.
Colour tin white, but on the surface variable, and
tarnished ; streak shining; hard ; brittle.
Chem. Char.—Easily fusible before the blow-pipe,
emitting a dense vapour, with a smell of arsenic, and
leaves a white metallic globule ; colours borax-blue.
Localities, &c.—Found in Norway, Sweden, and
Saxony, in beds of micaceous schistus, along with red
cobalt ore, quartz, and hornblende. Its composition is
not known, but supposed to be alloyed with some other
metals.
2. Species. Gray Cobalt Ore.
Id. Kirw. ii. 271. Id. Broch. ii. 388.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, reniform, and
botryoidal ; lustre shining; fracture even.
Colour light steel gray, or tin white; surface steel
tarnished ; streak shining ; semi-hard ; brittle.
Chem. C/iar.—Infusible before the blow-pipe ; emit¬
ting fumes and the smell of arsenic.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Cobalt, 20
Arsenic, 3 3
Iron, 24'
Loss, 23
100
It contains also sometimes nickel and silver.
Localities, &c.—Found in Saxony, France, Norway,
and Cornwall in England, with other ores of cobalt.
3. Species. Shining Cobalt Ore.
Id. Broch. ii. 390. Kirw. ii. 273.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, superficial, in
various imitative forms, and crystallized in cubes and
octahedrons, which are variously modified ; crystals
small, smooth, and resplendent, rarely drusy; lustre
shining; fracture uneven, radiated, or fibrous.
Colour tin white, commonly grayish, or yellowish
tarnished; hard; brittle. Spec. grav. 6.3 to 6.4.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it burns with a
small white flame, and a white vapour, smelling strong¬
ly of garlic ; then blackens, and is almost infusible;
soluble in nitric acid.
Constituent Parts of crystallized shining cobalt from
Tunaberg in Sweden.
Klaproth. Tassaert.
Cobalt, 44. 36.66
Arsenic, 55.5 49.
Sulphur, 5 6.5
Iron, 5.66
Loss, 2.18
100.0 JCO.O©
H h 2
243
Metallic
Ores.
Localities,
244
miner
Localities, &c.—This is the most common ore of
cobalt j and it is usually accompanied by the other
ores, and sometimes also by vitreous, red, and native
silver. It is found in Bohemia, Saxony, Sweden, and
Cornwall in England, and usually m beds m primitive
mountains. , c
Uses, This ore of cobalt is commonly wrought tor
the purpose of employing it in the preparation of the
line blue colour known by the name of smalt, which is
used in the manufacture of porcelain, glass, and as a
pigment.
4. Species. Black Cobalt Ochbe.
Id. Broch. ii. 396. Kirw. ii. 273. Hauy, iv. 214.
This is divided into two subspecies, friable and indu¬
rated.
Subspecies 1. Friable Cobalt Ochre.
Exter. Char.—Composed of particles which are
more or less cohering j stains a little.
Colour brownish, bluish, or grayish black j streak
shining; feels meagre. In other characters it agiees
with the following.
Subspecies 2. Indurated Cobalt Ochre.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, in imitative
forms, or marked with impressions ; dull, or weakly
glimmering ; fracture earthy.
Colour bluish black ; streak shining, resinous ; soft;
semihard ; rather brittle. Spec. grav. 2.01 to 2.42.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it gives out an
arsenical odour, but is infusible.
Its constituent parts are supposed to be oxide of co¬
balt, with some iron and arsenic.
Localities, &c.— Both varieties are found together,
and accompanied by ores of silver, copper, iron, in
Saxony, Suabia, and the Tyrol, as well as in Iiance
and Spain.
5. Species. Brown Cobalt Ochre.
Id. Broch. ii. 400.
Exter. Char.—Massive, or disseminated; always
dull ; fracture earthy ; streak shining, resinous.
Colour light or dark liver brown; soft, almost fri¬
able ; very easily frangible.
Constituent Parts.— Supposed to be composed of
oxide of cobalt and iron.
Localities, &c.—Found at Saalfeld in Thuringia,
in stratiform mountains, and in Wirtemberg, in pri¬
mitive mountains, accompanied by other varieties of
cobalt ochre.
6. Species. Yellow Cobalt Ochre.
Id. Kirw. ii. 277. Broch. ii. 401.
Exter. Char.—Massive, or disseminated, or adhering
to the surfaces of other minerals ; dull; fracture earthy;
streak shining, resinous.
Colour dirty straw yellow, or yellowish gray ; very
soft or friable.
Chem Char.—Before the blow-pipe it gives out an
»dour of arsenic, and is infusible.
4
A L O G Y. Part
Its constituents are supposed to be oxide of cobalt, Classify
and a little arsenic. , don,
Localities, &.c.—Found in the same places with the^’"'r“
former, but is rare.
7. Species. Bed Cobalt Ochre, or Arseniate of Co¬
balt.
Id. Kirw. ii. 278. Broch. ii. Cobalt Arseniate, Hauy,
iv. 216.
This is divided into two subspecies ; earthy and ra¬
diated.
Subspecies 1. Earthy Red Cobalt Ochre.
Exter. Char.—In thin superficial layers, or crusts;
dull, or weakly glimmering ; fracture earthy.
Colour peach-blossom red, rose red, or reddish white;
streak a little shining; very soft, friable.
Localities, &c.—Found in Bohemia, Saxony, France,
and Norway.
Subspecies 2. Radiated Red Cobalt Ochre, or
Cobalt Bloom, or Flowers oj Cobalt.
Exter. Char.—Massive, or disseminated, rarely bo-
tryoidal or reniform ; often superficial, and in small dru-
sy crystals, whose forms are rectangular four-sided ta¬
bles, four-sided prisms, double six-sided pyramids, with
different modifications. Crystals small and variously
aggregated, smooth and shining, sometimes resplen¬
dent ; fracture radiated ; fragments wedge-shaped, or
splintery.
Colour peach blossom red, crimson red, or, exposed
to the air, brownish, grayish, or whitish ; translucent;
crystals semitransparent; soft; brittle.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe becomes black¬
ish gray, giving out a feeble odour of arsenic, with¬
out any fumes, but is infusible. Colours borax a fine
blue.
This species has not been particularly analysed,
but is considered as a compound of cobalt and arsenic
acid.
Localities, &c.—The same as the former, and also in
Cornwall in England, and along with copper ores at
Alva in Scotland.
8. Species. Sulphate of Cobalt.
A saline substance in a stalactirical form, of a pale
rose red colour and translucent, is found at Herren-
grund near Newsohl in Hungary, which was at first sup¬
posed to be a sulphate of manganese, and afterwards a
sulphate of cobalt.
This substance has been examined by Klaproth, who
dissolved it in water, added an alkali, and obtained a
bluish precipitate, which coloured borax of a beautiful
sapphire blue ; and with muriatic acid he obtained from
it a sympathetic ink.
XIII. NICKEL Genus.
1. Species. Copper coloured Nickel.
Id. Brochant, ii. 408. Sulphurated Nickel, Kirw. ii*
286. Nickel Arsenical, Hauy, iii. 518. Kvpfer-
nickel of the Germans.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated,rarelyreticu-
lated;
lated; shining, or weakly shining ; fracture uneven,
sometimes conchoidal; fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour pale copper red, whitish, or grayish j semi-
hard ; brittle. Spec. grav. 6.64 to 7.56.
Chcm. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it gives out the
fumes and odour of arsenic ; melts with difficulty into a
slag, mixed with metallic particles. Solution in acids,
green,
Constituent Parts. Sage.
mineralogy.
24s
Nickel,
Arsenic,
Sulphur,
Loss,
75
22
2
I
IOO
Localities, &c.—Found in veins, in primitive and
stratiform mountains, almost always accompanied with
ores of cobalt, and often with rich silver ores. It is
found in Bohemia, Saxony, France, Spain, and Corn¬
wall in England.
Colour steel gray, or iron black $ streak black, with- Metallic'
out lustre j stains 3 soft 3 brittle. Specific gravity 3.7 Ores.
Constituent Parts. Cordier and Beaunier *.
Oxide of manganese,
Brown oxide of iron,
Carbone,
Carbonate of lime,
Barytes,
Silica,
Loss,
From France.
83*5
2.
7-5
5-5
* Jow. de$
Mines,
Germany. Piedmont. No. Iviii*
82.
7-5
3-
7-
•5
86.
3*
J-5
5-
4-5
p. 778.
100.0
100.0 100.0
Of purer specimens by Klaproth.
Oxide of manganese,
Water,
Loss,
99-2J
•25
•5
92-75
7-
•25
100.0
100.00
2. Species. Nickel Ochre, or Oxide of Nickel.
Id. Kirw. ii. 283. Broch. ii. 411. Hauy, iii. 516.
Exter. Char.—Usually disseminated and efflorescent
on other minerals ; composed of friable, loose, and slight¬
ly agglutinated particles.
Colour apple-green of different shades 3 stains 3 feels
meagre.
Chem. Char.—Remains unchanged before the blow¬
pipe ; colours borax yellowish red, and is insoluble in
nitric acid.
Constituent Parts. Lampadius.
Oxide of nickel, 67.
 iron, 23.2
Water, i.5
Loss, 8.3
Subspecies 2. Foliated Gray Ore of Manganese,
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or cry¬
stallized in small, rectangular, four-sided tables, fasci-
cularly grouped 3 lustre shining 3 fracture foliated.
Colour similar to the former 3 streak black and dull 3
stains 3 soft, and brittle. Spec. grav. 3.74.
Subspecies 3. Compact Gray Ore of Manganese.
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated, in angular,
01 botryoidal, or dendntical forms 3 lustre glimmerings
fracture uneven, sometimes even or conchoidal.
Colour steel gray, or bluish black 5 stains 5 semihard,
or soft 5 brittle.
Const. Parts—approach pretty nearly to those of the
radiated variety.
Subspecies 4. Earthy Gray Ore of Manganese.
100.0
Localities, &c.—Found in similar situations with the
preceding species.
XIV. MANGANESE Genus.
1. Species. Gray Ore of Manganese, or Oxide of
Manganese.
Id. Brochant, ii. 414. Id. Kirwan, ii. 291. Id. Hauy,
iv. 243.
This species is divided into four subspecies : 1. radi¬
ated ; 2. foliated 3 3. compact 3 and, 4. earthy.
Subspecies 1. Radiated Gray Ore of Manganese.
Essen Char.—Colours borax violet.
Exter. Char—Massive or disseminated, or crystalli¬
sed in oblique four-sided prisms, or in acicular prisms
aseicularly grouped together 3 the crystals are variously
modified. Faces streaked longitudinally ; shining or re¬
splendent 3 fracture radiated 3 fragments wedge-shaped.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, some¬
times superficial and dendritical 3 dull 3 sometimes a
little glimmering; fracture earthy.
Colour between steel gray and bluish black 3 stains
very much ; very soft, often even friable ; feels
meagre.
Constituent Parts—supposed to be the same as the
former, but with a larger proportion of oxide of iron.
them. Char.—Gray ore of manganese is infusible
before the blow pipe, but becomes of a blackish brown
colour; gives a blue colour to borax.
Localities, Sec.——All the varieties of this species are
usually found together, and chiefly in primitive moun¬
tains. The earthy ore of manganese almost always ac¬
companies sparry iron ore, and other ores of iron. Man¬
ganese is found in considerable abundance in Saxony,
Bohemia, France, near Exeter in England, and in A-
berdeenshire in Scotland.
2. Species. Black Ore of Manganese.
Exter. Char.—Found massive, disseminated, or cry¬
stallized in small four-sided double pyramids, arranged
111
246
Metallic
Ores
fcm»,w» ■ , / -
mineralogy.
iii rows j sufface shining j internal lustre weakly glim¬
mering j fracture imperfectly foliated.
Colour grayish black, and brownish black j streak
dull, brownish red $ soft j brittle.
Localities, &c.—This species is of rare occurrence.
It has been found in Thuringia, forming a crust on
gray ore of manganese, and also, it is said, in 1 led-
mont.
found in Bohemia, Saxony, Sweden, France, and Eng- ciassifiii
land. don'
XVI. ARSENIC Genus. ’ H
1, Species. Native Arsenic.
Id. Broch. ii. 435. Id. Kirw. ii. 255. Id. Hauy, iv.
220.
3. Species. Red Ore of Manganese, or Carbonate of
Manganese.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, botryoidal, &c.
or crystallized in flat rhomboids, or in very small pyra¬
mids or lenses. Surface of the crystals smooth j dull,
or weakly glimmering; fracture uneven or splintery.
Colour rose red, or brownish white $ translucent at
the edges 5 semihard $ brittle. Spec. grav. 3.23.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow pipe; be¬
comes grayish black, and colours borax violet blue, or
crimson red.
Constituent Parts. Lampadius.
Oxide of manganese, 48
■ •— iron, 2.1
Carbonic acid, 49
-Silica, *9
Exter. C/jor.—Massive, disseminated, in imitative
forms, or with impressions j surface rough or granula¬
ted-, dull, or weakly glimmering 5 internal lustre weak¬
ly shining j fracture uneven, sometimes imperfectly fo¬
liated ; fragments rather blunt-edged in plates.
Colour light lead gray, tin-white or grayish black
when tarnished 5 streak shining; semihard 5 very easily
frangible. Spec. grav. 5.72 to 5-7^*
Chem. Char.—Melts readily before the blow-pipe,
giving out white vapour, with the smell of garlic j then
burns with a bluish flame, and is dissipated, leaving on¬
ly a whitish pow-der, which is the oxide of arsenic.
Constituent Pcrte.—Native arsenic is usually alloyed
with a small portion of iron, and sometimes also with a
little gold or silver.
Localities, &c.—Found in veins in primitive moun¬
tains, accompanied by ores of silver, lead, copper, quartz,
and earthy spars, in Bohemia, Saxony, and France.
. 2. Species. Arsenical Pyrites.
100.0 r
Localities, &c.—This species of manganese, which
is rare, is found in I ransylvania at Offenbanya, and
particularly at Nagyag, where it constitutes part of the
masses of an auriferous vein, from which the gold ore of
Nagyag is obtained.
Id. Broch. ii. 438. Id. Kirw. ii. 256. Fer Arseni¬
cal, Hauy, iv. 56.
This is divided into two subspecies, common and ar¬
gentiferous.
Subspecies 1. Common Arsenical Pyrites.
XV. MOL YB DEN A Genus.
1. Species. Sulphuret of Molybdena.
Id. Brochant, ii. 432. Id. KirWan, ii. 322. Id. Hauy,
iv. 289.
E.vter. C/wr.-—Massive or disseminated, sometimes in
plates, and rarely crystallized in equal six-sided tables}
crystals small, imbedded, the lateral faces shining 5 in¬
ternal lustre shining; fracture foliated ; fragments ra¬
ther blunt-edged, sometimes in plates.
Colour lead gray j opaque stains, and writes ; very
soft, and easily frangible 5 flexible in thin plates, but
not elastic feels greasy. Spec. grav. 4.56 to 4.73.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe •, gives
out a sulphureous smell nitric acid converts it to a
white oxide, which is the molybdic acid.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, often crystal¬
lized in oblique four-sided prisms, acute octahedrons,
and lenses} the prisms being variously modified on their
angles, faces, and extremities. Crystals small ■, lateral
faces smooth, shining •, bevelled faces streaked trans¬
versely j lustre shining 5 fracture uneven.
Colour silvery white, but usually tarnished yellow, or
bluish, and iridescent j hard 5 brittle. Specific gravi¬
ty 5.75 to 6.52.
Phys. Char.—By friction gives out the odour of gar¬
lic.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe gives out a white
vapour with the odour of arsenic, the fumes depositing
a white powder on cold bodies j a reddish brown mat¬
ter, which is infusible, remains.
Constituent Parts.—Composed of arsenic, iron, and
sulphur.
Constituent Parts.
Pelletier. Klaproth.
Molybdic acid, 45 60
Sulphur, 55 40
ICO IOO
Localities, &c.—Always found in primitive moun¬
tains, in nests or nodules, and very commonly in the
neighbourhood of tin ores. It is also accompanied by
wolfram, quartz, native arsenic, and fluor spar. It is
Subspecies 2. Argentiferous Arsenical Pyrites.
Exter. Char.—Rarely massive, often disseminated,
and crystallized in small, acicular, four-sided prisms j
lustre shining, or weakly shining ; fracture uneven.
Colour tin-white, or silvery-white, usually tarnished.
Localities, &c.-—Arsenical pyrites is found in Bo¬
hemia, Saxony, and Silesia, in veins of primitive moun¬
tains, or disseminated in the rocks.
The second variety is found in similar places, and dif¬
fers only from the first, in being combined with a small
quantity of silver, which varies from 1 to 10 per cent.
3. Species.
rt I.
MINER
issifica* 0 , _
ion. 3* Species. Orpiment.
Id. Kir. ii. 260. Id. Broch. ii. 444. Hauy, iv. 234.
This species is divided into two subspecies, yellow and
red.
Subspecies 1. Yellow Orpiment.
Exter. Char.—Massive,disseminated,superficial, and
crystallized in oblique four-sided prisms, bevelled at
the extremity, or terminated by a four-sided pyramid,
or in acute octahedrons. Crystals small, and confusedly
aggregated; surface smooth; that of the bevelment
and pyramids finely streaked 5 internal lustre resplend¬
ent, between resinous and adamantine } fracture foliat¬
ed ; fragments in plates.
Colour citron-yellow, gol den-yellow, or aurora-red ;
translucent; in thin plates, semitransparent; soft; flex¬
ible in thin plates. Spec. grav. 3.31 to 3.45.
Chem. Char.—Gives out a blue flame before the
blow-pipe, with white vapour, and the smell of arsenic
and sulphur.
Constituent Parts.
Kirwan.
Arsenic, 84
Sulphur, 16
100
Westnimb.
80
20
100
Localities, &c.—Usually found in stratiform moun¬
tains, accompanied by clay, quartz, and sometimes by
red orpiment, in Transylvania, Hungary, and other
places.
Ores.
A L O G Y. 247
greenish white j opaque > cryotals translucent $ soft, or Metallic
friable. Spec. grav. 3.706.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe it gives out a
white fume and a garlic odour ; burns with a bluish
flame, and is entirely dissipated j soluble in water and
acids.
Constituent Parts.—This is a pure oxide of arsenic,
with an accidental mixture of earth.
Localities, &C.—A rare mineral, but is found in small
quantity, along with native arsenic, and ores of cobalt,
in Bohemia and Hungary.
5. Species. Pharmacolite, or Arseniate of Lime.
Id. Broch. ii. 523* Chaux Arseniate, Hauy, ii. 293.
Exter. Char.—PonnA. in small capillary crystals j
lustre glimmering, silky 5 fracture fibrous or radiated.
Colour snow-white j translucent; very soft. Specific
gravity 2.53 to 2.64.
Chem. Char. —Soluble in nitric acid with efferves¬
cence, and gives out the odour of arsenic before the
blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Arsenic acid,
Lime,
Water,
50-54
25-
24.46
100.00*
Localities, &c.—Found in a vein in primitive rocks,
accompanied by heavy spar and gypsum, near Wittichen
in Suabia. It has also been found in France.
* Analyl.
Ess. ii. 33.
Subspecies 2. Red Orpiment.
Eocter. Char.—Rarely massive, usually disseminated,
qr superficial, and often crystallized in oblique four¬
sided prisms, with obtuse lateral edges, truncated, or
bevelled : crystals small, streaked longitudinally; shin¬
ing or resplendent ; internal lustre shining between vi¬
treous and resinous j fracture uneven, or conchoidal.
Colour light aurora-red, scarlet-red, orange yellow;
translucent or semitransparent, often opaque ; streak
orange, or citron-yellow j very soft: somewhat brittle.
Spec. grav. 3.2.
Chem. Char.—Similar to the former.
Constituent Parts.—According to some, the same as
the preceding, but with the addition of iron and silica,
with a smaller proportion of sulphur.
Localities, &c.—Chiefly found in primitive moun¬
tains, as in Saxony, Hungary, France, and in the neigh¬
bourhood of’HUtna and Vesuvius.
4. Species. Native Oxide of Arsenic.
Id. Kirw. ii. 258. Id. Broch. ii. 450. Id. Hauy, iv.
225.
Exter. Char.—Found superficial in an earthy form,
and friable, on other minerals ; rarely indurated, some¬
times botryoidal, or crystallized in capillary crystals,
very small octahedrons, or four-sided tables; lustre
glimmering or dull; fracture earthy or fibrous.
Colour snow-white, yellowish white, reddish or
XVII. TUNGSTEN Genus.
I. Species. Wolfram.
Id. Kirw. ii. 316. Id. Broch. ii. 456. Scheelin Per-
rugine, Hauy, iv. 314. *
Exter. C/zar.-—Found massive, disseminated, or cry¬
stallized in six-sided prisms, and in rectangular four¬
sided tables, which are variously modified. Crystals
not very small, usually grouped; internal lustre shin¬
ing or resplendent; longitudinal fracture foliated ; cross
fracture uneven.
Colour brownish black, or perfect black, sometimes
tarnished; opaque; streak dark reddish brown; soft;
brittle. Spec. grav. 7.11 to 7.33.
Chem. 67z«r.—Before the blow-pipe it decrepitates,
but is infusible.
Constituent Parts.
Delhuyart. Wiegleb. Klaproth. Vauquelin.
Tungstic acid, 63 35.75
Oxide of manganese, 22 ' 32.
Oxide of iron, 13 u.
Silica, ~ _
Loss, - 21.25
100 100.00 100.00 100.00
Localities, &c.—-AY olfram, which is a rare mineral,
is found in primitive mountains, accompanied by quartz,
and
46.9 67.
- 6.25
31.2 18.
I-5
21.9 7.25
248
Metallic
Ores.
and tin ores, in Bohemia, France,
England.
2. Species. Tungstate of Lime.
Tungsten, Kirvv. ii. 314* Broch. ii. 453. Scheehn
Calcairc, Hauy, iv. 320.
fixter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, sometimes cry¬
stallized in regular octahedrons, which are sometimes
slightly bevelled on the edges of the common base.
Crystals usually small } surface smooth, resplendent;
bevelled surface streaked transversely j internal lustre
shining or resplendent, resinous or adamantine 5 fracture
foliated.
Colour grayish or yellowish white j translucent j senu-
bard •, brittle. Spec. grav. 6.06.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow-pipe decrepitates, and
loses its transparency, but is intusible. Reduced to
powder, and digested with nitric or muriatic acid, it
leaves a citron yellow residuum, which is tungstic
acid.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Part
2. Species. Octahedrite. Cla^1:
Anatase, Hauy, iii. 1 29. Id. Brochant, ii. 548. Oc- "1" ^
tahedrite, Saussure, Voyages, § 1901.
Exter. Char.—Found only crystallized, in elongated
octahedrons with square bases, and truncated or acu¬
minated *, crystals small and imbedded ; lateral faces
streake'd transversely j lustre resplendent, vitreous j
fracture foliated.
Colour steel gray, sometimes light indigo blue j trans¬
lucent j semi-hard ; brittle. Spec. gray. 3.85.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, but
melts with borax, which it colours green, and in cool¬
ing, crystallizes in needles.
Const. Parts.—It is chiefly composed of oxide of ti¬
tanium.
Localities, &c.—Has been found lining the cavities
of a vein, accompanied by quartz and feldspar, in a
primitive rock, in Dauphine in France.
3. Species. TitaNITE.
mineralogy,
and Cornwall in
Oxide of tungsten,
   iron,
manganese,
Lime,
Silica,
Loss,
77*75 75*25
1.25
•75
17.6 18.7
3* J*5
1.65 2.55
100.00 100.00
Localities, &c.—This is a rare mineral, usually
found in primitive mountains, accompanied by ores of
tin, some iron ores, quartz, fluor spar, &c. in Sweden,
Saxony, and Cornwall in England.
XVIII. TITANIUM Genus,
i. Species. Menachanite.
Id. Brochant, ii. 468. Id. Kirwan, ii. 326. Hauy, iv.
Id. Kirwan, ii. 329. Le Puthile, Brochant, ii. 470.
Titane Oxide, Hauy, iv. 296. Rtd St norl of many.
Exter. Char.—Found crystallized in oblique four¬
sided prisms, the lateral edges truncated 5 sometimes
these crystals are double, being united obliquely j also
in acicular and capillary crystals, imbedded and group¬
ed together \ surface longitudinally streaked, shining j
internal lustre .shining, adamantine ; fracture foliated.
Colour blood-red or reddish brown *, opaque, or trans¬
lucent *, hard *, brittle. Spec. grav. 4.1 to 4.24.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, but
loses its transparency, and becomes gray.
Const. Parts.—Composed chiefly of oxide of tita¬
nium.
Localities, &c.—Found in Hungary, in gneiss, and
imbedded in quartz. It has been found also in Switzer¬
land, Spain, and France.
3°5*
Exter. Char.—Found in small, detached, rounded
grains *, surface rough, or weakly glimmering; lustre
shining, semi-metallic ; fracture imperfectly foliated.
Colour grayish or iron black 5 soft or semi-hard j
brittle. Spec. grav. 4.4.
Chem. C/mr.-—Infusible before the blow-pipe *, co¬
lours borax greenish brown.
Constituent Parts.
Chenevix. Klaproth.
Oxide of titanium, 45 25 40
 iron, 51. 49
Silica, 3.5 11
Oxide of manganese, 2.5 «=
100.00 100
Localities, 8>cc.—-This mineral was first discovered by
Mr Gregor, among sand, in the bed of a rivulet, in
the valley of Menachan in Cornwall *, hence its name.
It has since been found in the island of Providence, one
of the Bahamas, and at Botany Bay in New Hol¬
land.
4. Species. NlGRINE.
Kirwan, ii. 331. Brochant, ii. 474. Hauy, iv. 307.
Exter. Char.—Disseminated, sometimes amorphous,
often crystallized in oblique four-sided prisms, variously
modified by truncations and bevelments. Surface smooth j
lustre shining, or resplendent, between resinous and vi¬
treous 5 fracture foliated.
Colour dark brownish black, yellowish white or vio¬
let brown ; opaque, or translucent j semi-hard. Spec,
grav. 3.51 to 4.6.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of titanium,
Silica,
Lime,
Klaproth.
33
35
32
Abilgaard.
58
22
20
74
8
18
Localities,
in Norway.
100 100
gtc.—-Found in Bavaria, and at Arendat
5. Species.
lift I.
assificft-
ition. 5. Species. Erown Ore of Titanium.
^ This species in its characters so nearly resembles the
preceding, that it may be considered merely as a varie¬
ty, as has been done by Brochant and Hauy.
6. Species. Iserine.
Id. Brochant, ii. 478.
Exter. Char.—Found in rounded or angular grains,
having a rough and glimmering surface j internally
shining \ fracture conchoidal.
Colour iron black, or brownish ; hard j brittle. Spec,
grav. 4.5.
Chan. Char—Melts before the blow-pipe into a dark
brown slag.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Oxide of titanium, $g.i
     iron, 30.1
   uranium, 10.2
Loss,
100.0
Localities, &c—Found in the sand of a river in Bo¬
hemia, called Iscr, whence the name is derived.
XIX. URANIUM Genus.
1. Species. Pitchy Ore of Uranium.
Id. Brochant, ii. 460. Kirw. ii. 305. Hauy, iv.
280.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, sometimes
cellular ; shining or glimmering •, fracture imperfectly
conehoidal 5 fragments rather sharp-edged.
Colour velvet black, iron black, or bluish, some¬
times steel-tarnished j streak black ; opaque j semi-
hard ; brittle. Spec. grav. 6.5 to 7.5.
Ghent. Chat'.—Infusible before the blow-pipe 5 solu-
able in nitric acid.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Uranium a little oxidated, 86.5
Sulphuret of lead, 6.
Oxide of iron, 2.5
Silica, 5.
100.0
Localities, See.—Found in Bohemia and Saxony, ac¬
companying galena, copper pyrites, iron ochre, and some
ores of silver and cobalt.
2. Species. Micaceous Uranite.
Id. Brochant, ii. 463. Kirwan, ii. 304.
Exter. Char.—Sometimes in thin layers, but often
crystallized in rectangular four-sided tables ; in cubes,
and six-sided prisms variously modified. Crystals small,
and grouped together ; lustre shining, pearly; fracture
foliated.
Vol, XIV. Part L f
Colour emerald or grass green of various shades, Metallic
rarely wax yellow j translucent; streak greenish white j Ores,
soft; not very brittle. Spec. grav. 3.12.
Chcm. Char.—Soluble, without effervescence, in ni¬
tric acid, which it colours citron yellow.
Const. Part.?.—.This species is an oxide of Uranium,
with a small portion of copper.
Localities, Sec.—Found in Saxony, France, and Corn¬
wall in England, accompanied by some ores of iron,
sometimes by cobalt.
3. Species. Uranite Ochre.
Id. Broch. ii. 466. Id. Kirw. ii. 303.
Exter. Char.—I ound massive, but usually dissemi¬
nated, or superficial; is dull, or rarely shining; frac¬
ture earthy, or foliated ; fragments blunt-edged.
Colour citron yellow, aurora red, or sulphur yellow;
opaque ; soft and friable ; brittle ; stains a little ; feels
meagre. Spec. grav. 3.15 to 3.24.
Constituent Parts.—Compost'd of oxide of uranium,
with a portion of iron.
Localities, Sec.—Found in similar places with the
former.
xx. tellurium Genus.
1. Species. Native Tellurium.
Id. Broch. ii. 480. Sylvanitc, Kirw, ii. 324. Hauy,
iv* 325-
Exter. Char.—Massive or disseminated; shinimrt
fracture foliated.
Colour between tin and silvery white ; soft; not very
brittle. Spec. grav. 5.7 to 6.1.
Client. Char.—Melts easily before the blow-pipe.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Tellurium, 92.6
Iron, 7.2
Gold, .2
I 00.0
Localities, Sec.—Has been only found at Fatzelay
in Transylvania, where it exists in veins, in mountains
ot gray wacken and transition limestone. The ore is
dug out for the purpose of extracting the gold.
It was called aurum paradoxum, and aurumprohle
viaticum, because its external appearance did not indi¬
cate that it contained gold,
2. Species. Graphic Ore of Tellurium.
Id. Broch. ii. 482. ,Hauy. iv. 327.
Exter. Char.—Massive and crystallized in fiat four
or six-sided prisms, which are arranged in rows, ex¬
hibiting something of the appearance of written cha¬
racters, and hence the name graphic ore. Surface
smooth, shining; longitudinal fracture foliated and re¬
splendent ; cross fracture uneven.
Colour tin white, yellowish, or lead gray ; soft and
brittle. Spec. grav. 5.72.
Chem. Char.—Burns with a greenish flame before
the blow-pipe.
I i Constituent
mineralogy.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Tellurium, 60
Gold, 30
Silver, 10
Localities, Has only been found at Offenbanya
in Transylvania, in veins traversing porphyry and gra¬
nular limestone accompanied by iron pyrites and copper
It is wrought for the sake of the gold.
MINERALOGY. Part
Colour steel gray, and usually covered with a greenish Classify
efflorescence j soft, or semihard ; not very brittle. tion.
Constituent Parts.—This is supposed to be an alloy of T-
chromium.
Exter. Char. &c.—Found in the gold mine of Rud-
nick near Schlangenberg in Suabia, in a matrix of white
quartz, containing gold and galena.
100
ore.
3. Species. Yellow Ore of Tellurium.
Id. Broch. ii. 484. Hauy, iv. 327.
Exter. Char.—Disseminated, and crystallized in small
four-sided prisms } shining, or weakly shining 3 fracture
foliated ; cross fracture uneven.
Colour silver white, brass yellow, or gray.
Chem. Char.—Soluble in nitric acid.
Co?istituent Parts. Klaproth.
Tellurium,
Gold,
Dead,
Silver,
Sulphur,
44-75
26.75
I9-5
8-5
•5
100.00
2. Species. Ochre OF Chromium.
Exter. Char.—Massive, disseminated, and in thin,
plates dull ; fracture uneven or earthy.
Colour verdigris green, or yellowish 5 soft.
Localities, &c.—Found only in the same place, ac¬
companying the former.
The chromates of lead and iron have been already
described among the ores of those metals.
XXII. COLUMBIUM Genus.
Exter. Char.—Massive; fracture uneven, or foliated s
lustre shining.
Colour dark gray; opaque 5 not very hard 5 brittle.
Spec. grav. 5.918.
Constituent Parts.
Oxide of Columbian), 78
———— iron, 21
Loss, 1
Localities, &c.—Found only at Nagyag in Transyl¬
vania.
4. Species. Black or Foliated Ore of Tellurium.
Id. Broch. ii. 486. Hauy, iv. 327.
Exter. Char.—Found-in plates, which are united in¬
to masses, or disseminated, rarely crystallized in six-
sided tables; surface smooth, shining ; external lustre
resplendent 5 fracture foliated.
Colour between lead gray and iron black j stains j
soft*, flexible in thin plates. Spec. grav. 8.91.
Chem. Char.—Before the blow pipe the sulphur and
tellurium are dissipated in white fumes, and a metallic
globule remains, surrounded by a black slag.
Constituent Parts. Klaproth.
Tellurium, 33.
Lead, 50.
Gold, « 8.5
Siver and copper, 1.
Sulphur, 7.5
100.0
Localities, &c.—Found only in the same place with
tbe preceding.
XXI. CHROMIUM Genus.
1. Species. Needle Ore of Chromium.
Exter. Char.—I ound in small crystals, which are
imbedded -, lustre shining ; fracture uneven or conchoi-
dal.
100
Localities, &c.—This mineral, of which the only
specimen known is in the British Museum, was brought
from Massachussets in America j it was analyzed by
Mr Hatchett, and found to contain a new metal, which
he denominated columbium.
XXIII. TANTALIUM Genus.
Two species of this mineral have been discovered j
tantalite, and yttrio-tantalite.
1. Species. Tantalite.
Exter. Char.—Crystallized in octahedrons} surface
smooth fracture compact.
Colour bluish gray, or black. Spec. grav. 7-95-
Constituent Parts.—Composed of tantalium, iron, and
manganese.
Localities, Sec.—Found in Finland, in globular pieces,
it) a vein of red feldspar, traversing a gneiss rock.
2. Species. Yttrio-Tantalite.
Exter. Char.—Disseminated, in pieces of the size ol
a nut; fracture even; lustre metallic.
Colour dark gray j may be scratched with a knife
powder gray. Spec. grav. 5.13.
Constituent Parts.—Composed of iron, manganese,
tantalium, and the new earth yttria.
Localities, &c.—Found at Ytterby in Sweden, in the
same place with gadolinite.
These minerals were analyzed by Eckeherg, who dis¬
covered in them the new metal tantalium, which is
now supposed to be the same with columbium.
XXIT; c
art I.
MINER
assifica-
tion.
XXIV. CERIUM Genus,
i. Species. Cerite.
Exter.Char.—Found massive or disseminated; lustre
weakly glimmering ; fracture fine grained, even.
Colour pale rose red ; opaque ; powder grayish;
scratches glass. Spec. grav. 4.5 to 4.9.
Chem. Char.—Infusible before the blow-pipe, and
does not colour borax.
Constituent Parts.
Vauquelin.
Oxide of cerium, 67.
 iron, .02
Silica, 17.
Lime, .02
Water and carbonic acid, .12
Loss, i5*84
Klaproth.
54-5
4-
34-
5-
2-5
100.00 100.0
Localities, &c.—This mineral has been found in the
copper mines of Bastnaes, at Riddarhytta, in Sweden,
accompanied by copper, molybdena, bismuth, mica,
and hornblende.
The new metal contained in this mineral was dis¬
covered by Hisinger and Berzelius, chemists at Stock¬
holm.
A L O G Y.
Exter. Char.—Found massive ; shining, vitreous :
fracture conchoidal.
Colour velvet black, or brownish black ; opaque ;
hard ; scratches quartz ; brittle. Spec. grav. 4.04.
Chem. Char.—Reduced to powder, and heated in
diluted nitric acid, it is converted into a thick yel¬
lowish gray jelly. Before the blow-pipe it decrepi¬
tates and becomes whitish red, but remains infusible.
25*
Metallic
Ores.
Constituent Pa?'ts.
Yttria,
Silica,
Lime,
Alumina,
Oxide of iron,
Eckeberg.
47-5
25-
4*5
18.
   manganese,
Water and carbonic acid,
Loss,
Vauquelin.
35-
25-5
2.
25-
2.
IO.J
Klaproth.
59-75
21.25
•5
I7-5
•5
•5
100.0 100.0 100.00
Localities, $x.c.—This mineral was examined by Pro¬
fessor Gadolin of Sweden, whose name it bears, and
found to contain a peculiar earth. It was found near
Ytterby in Sweden, and hence the new earth was call¬
ed Yttria.
APPENDIX.
IX. YTTRIAN Genus.
To follow Strontian Genus, p. 209.
Species. Gadolinite.
Id. Brochant, ii. 512. Id. Hauy, iii. 141.
EXPLANATION
Plate CCCLI.
Fig. 1. Represents the goniometer or graphometer,
an instrument invented by Carangeau for measuring the
angles of crystals. MTN is a graduated semicircle of
brass or silver, furnished with two arms or rulers AB,
IG, one of which, FG, has a slit from a to R, except¬
ing the cross bar at fv, which strengthens the instru¬
ment. This arm is fixed to a brass ruler at R and c
placed behind, and which makes part of the semicircle.
I he arm FG is connected with the ruler behind by nails
which enter the slit and are furnished with nuts. The
other arm has also a slit or opening from x to c, where
it is fixed to the first by the screw nail which passes
through both. By slackening the screws, the two parts
c G and c B may be shortened at pleasure. The arm
AB being only fixed at c, which is the centre of the
circle, moves round this centre, while the arm GF re¬
mains constantly fixed in the direction of the diameter
■which passes through the points o and 1800. The up¬
per part of the arm AB should be brought to a thin
edge from 25 to s, and the line of this edge should pass
through the centre c; because it is by this edge that the
The unavoidable length to which the first part of this
treatise has extended, and some other circumstances
render it necessary for us to introduce in a different
part of the work, what we propose to lay before our
readers in the second part relative to the analysis of
stones and metallurgical operations. See Ores, Pc-.'
duction of, and Stones, Analysis of.
of the PLATES.
measure of the angle on the graduated circumference is
indicated.
To discover the measure of any angle of a crystal,
the two arms c B, c G are brought into contact with the
sides containing the angle, and the degree indicated by
the line z s on the circumference denotes the measure
of that angle. The instrument is so contrived that the
arms may be shortened for the convenience of applying
it in different cases. But it might happen that it could
not be applied in cases where the crystals are aggregat
ed or attached to the matrix. This difficulty is obviated
by another contrivance. The semicircle is furnished
with a hinge at 90°, by which means it may be dimi-
mshed at pleasure to a quadrant, by folding back one
half. I here is a small bar of steel, one end of which
is fixed behind the immoveable arm FG, and the other
is attached by a notch and screw nail at O. When
this nail is unscrewed, the bar e O falls behind the rulei-
which supports FG, and thus one half of the semicircle
folds back, and any angle not exceeding 90° may be
measured; but when the angle is greater, it must be re¬
placed.
Fig. 2. rs an apparatus by which small degrees of
I i 2 electricity
MI N E 71
Explans-
rion of ihc
Plates
\
ejcctrieUy mav-'bc oLserved r.i ir.moruls. A is a small
brass needle with knobs a b, and moveable on the pivot
at the middle- The mineral whose electricity is to he
tried, is rubbed on silk or woollen, and then presented
to one of the knobs \ and by the distance at which the
knob begins to be attracted, the strength of the electri¬
city may be, in some degree, estimated. In the same
way substances which become electric by heat, such as
the tourmaline, are to be tried j the same apparatus may
be employed. To ascertain in what part of the mi¬
neral the different electricities exist, take a stick of
sealing wax, at the extremity of which a silk thread has
been attached, and having rubbed the wax, bring alter¬
nately the opposite extremities of the substance, for ex¬
ample, each of the summits of a tourmaline, within a
small distance of the silk thread. If the extremity which
is brought near the thread possess negative electricity,
the thread will be repelled ; on the conti’ary, it will be
attracted. Or the expeiument may be made in another
way, particularly when the electrical body is small, or
its electricity feeble. At B, fig. 2. the tourmaline 11*
is held by a pair of pincers in such a way that the pole
i is at a small distance from the knob a of the needle.
C c is the stick of wax, one of whose extremities is placed
on a tube of glass U w, and which acts by its extremity C,
on the knob o, to excite in it positive electricity. In
this case the wax, after the extremity which has been
rubbed is placed in the position described, communi¬
cates to the knob of the needle to which it is present¬
ed, an electricity contrary to its own ; so that the ex¬
tremity of the tourmaline acted on by positive electri¬
city, repels the needle to which it is presented, and the
other extremity, possessing negative electricity, attracts
the needle.
Fig. 3. is a spirit of wine blow-pipe, nearly on the
plan of that invented by Mr Paul. It is made of brass,
and consists of the following parts.
a Is a hollow oval frame about five inches in its
longest dimension, which supports the pillar d and the
two lamps be, which may burn either oil or alcohol,
but the latter is the best. The rim ee slips upon the
pillar d as low as the shoulder of the latter will permit,
but the rim may be raised at pleasure and kept fast by
the scretv peg /i The rim supports the boiler g', which
is a single hollow piece of thick brass containing
about an ounce of alcohol, and has four openings, viz.
three at top b, /, k, and one at bottom to receive the
tube 0. This latter is long enough to reach the level
of the outside of the top of the boiler, and consequent¬
ly the alcohol within the boiler cannot readily boil
over into the tube, and the opening k which corres¬
ponds with it, is closely shut by a screw stopper, hol¬
lowed out a little beneath, to allow the free passage of
the vapour down the tube. Here the vaporized alcohol
is prevented from condensing at the point 0 by the con¬
tiguity of the flame of the lamp b, and as it passes on
through the hollow pq into the jet tube r, it is imme¬
diately kindled by the flame of the lamp c, and the
united flames are compelled sideways with such vio¬
lence as to form a long pencil of blue flame, attended
with a considerable roaring noise- This continues as
long as any alcohol is left in the boiler, which allows
ample time for most blow-pipe operations. The boiler
is filled at the opening /i. The centre hole i is nicely
5
A L O G Y.
Parti
fitted with a small brass plug kept down by a thin slip ExplJ
of iron /, the other end of which slips over the top ol‘ Utm 01
the upright pillar d, and is confined between two flat
screw-plates m n. The use of this is as a safety valve v~’
to take away all danger of the boiler bursting by the
confined vapour not being able to escape fast enough
through the jet-pipe r, for when the internal pressure is
great, the elasticity of the iron spring / allows the valve
t to rise sufficiently to let out part of the enclosed va¬
pour. The screw stoppers /i and k are made still tight¬
er by collars of leather, as is the part where the tube 0
joins the boiler. The jet-pipe r has a complete rota¬
tory motion, so that the flame may be impelled in any
direction. This is effected by turning in the form of a
ball that part of the pipe which is inclosed in the hol¬
low p q.
But this blow-pipe, although an elegant philosophi¬
cal apparatus, will not be found to answer where a great
degree of heat is required to be kept up for a consider¬
able time. Other contrivances, therefore, of a simpler
nature, have been proposed ; and perhaps the best of
these is the blowT-pipe which is used by the mouth.
The following is a description of a blow-pipe ot this
kind.
Fig. 4. represents this blow-pipe, Is a brass tube,
having a circular enlargement c, lor the purpose of con¬
densing the moisture which is blown from the lungs $
the smaller end d is moveable round the centre r, so that
any degree of obliquity may be given to the flame.
Fig. 5. is a separate jet-pipe with a small opening,
which is screwed on the blow-pipe at d; and it may he
convenient to have two or three jet-pipes of different
sizes, according as a larger and more moderate, or a
smaller and more intense flame is wanted. Is a piece
of ivory which slips on the larger end, for the purpose
of being applied to the mouth, as being more agree¬
able.
The best kind of flame for blowing through with the
common blow-pipe is a wax or tallow candle with a
very large wick, which should he kept snuffed mode¬
rately low, and the wick turned a little aside from the
pipe. A spirit lamp is sometimes used, which makes a
perfectly clear flame without smoke, but weak when
used in this way. There is a kind of knack in blowing
with the mouth, which is not easily described, and re¬
quires a little practice to be performed with ease. As
the flame must often be kept for several minutes, the act
of respiration must he carried on through the nostrils
without interruption, and the stress of blowing must be
performed merely by compression of the cheeks upon the
air in the mouth.
The substance to be heated is placed either on a piece
of charcoal or a metallic support. When the former
is used, a large close well-burnt piece of charcoal must
he chosen, a small shallow hole scooped out with a knife,
and the substance laid upon it. The charcoal itself
kindles all round the hole, and the hole is thus gradual¬
ly enlarged ; and the heat too is kept up round the sub¬
stance much more uniformly than when a metal support
is used. At the same time however the chemical effect
produced by heated charcoal should not be lorgotten,
particularly the reduction of metallic oxides, and the
deoxygenation of the fixed acids j so that, lor example,
a small heap of minium or litharge heated red-hot on
charcoal
Irrt I.
M I N E R A L O G Y.
pl-vna- charcoal by.the blow-pipe, is spfecdily reduced to a glo-
ot tiie bule of metallic lead j the phosphates are partially re-
t>' duccd to phospluirets, &c.
For a metallic support, platina is in general by far
the best material. A small spoon of this metal, the
shank of which may be stuck in a cork when held, and
a small silver cup, the shank of which is fixed into a
wooden handle, may be used in fusions with borax or
alkaline fluxes’. A small forceps lately brought into use,
and made entirely of two thin pieces of platina joined
by rivets, and bent, will be useful in bolding any small
hard substance in the blow-pipe flame for any length of
time, without danger of the points of the forceps melt¬
ing j and it is also found that this metal is so much
worse a conductor of heat than any other, that the fox-
ceps never gets too hot for the naked fingers to touch at
the bend *.
Fig. 6. represents a portable pocket blow-pipe, in-
* \ikiris
11 of _ . .
(\nistry, vented by Dr Wollaston, and of its actual size. The
&yjp- interior tube is longer than the exterioi-, that it may he
Mtr' readily withdrawn •, and the upper edge of the large
end is turned outward, to diminish the effort of the lips
requisite for retaining it in the mouth.
Fig. 7. represents the -whole apparatus, one half of
its real dimensions, and connected for use. The small
exti’emity a is placed obliquely at an angle of about
120°, that the flame impelled by it may be cai’ried to a
more convenient distance from the eye, and thus an¬
swering the purpose of a longer blow-pipe. This oblique
piece a is composed of three parts, the largest of which
is made stronger, that it may not be injured by use.
One end is closed, and into the other is inserted a small
peg of wood, perforated so as to receive the tip which
is intended to he occasionally separated, for the pur¬
pose of passing a fine needle into it, to remove obstruc¬
tions f.
h.
i XV.
Plates CCCLII. and CCCLIII.
Fig. 1. Diamond,—spheroidal, with 48 convex faces.
Fig. 2. Tsircon,—the pi’imitive form an octahedron
with isosceles triangles.
Fig. 3. Zircon,—rectangular foui’-sided prism termi¬
nated by a four-sided pyramid set on the lateral faces.
Fig. 4. Hyacinth,—a dodecahedron formed from a
rectangular four sided prism terminated by a four-sided
pyramid set on the lateral edges.
Fig. 5. Chrysoberyl,—double six-sided pyramid flat¬
tened, having the summits truncated.
Fig. 6. Chrysolite,—a compressed eight-sided prism,
terminated by an eight-sided pyramid, whose sides cox--
respond to those of the prism, and whose summit is
truncated by a convex surface.
lig. 7. Augite,—the primitive form, an oblique four-
sided prism with rhomboidal bases.
Fig. 8. Commonform of augite,—a short, eight-sided,
compressed prism, terminated by two oblique faces.
f ig. 9. Pistao&itc,— a six-sided prism with two broad
and four narrow faces, and bevelled at the extremi¬
ties.
Fig. 10. and 11. other forms in which the prisms are
terminated by several oblique faces with a truncated
summit.
Fig. 12. V1"suvian,—a four-sided prism with the edges
truncated, and terminated by four oblique and one ho-
rixental face.
Fig. 13. Garnet,—•primitive form, a rhomboidal do¬
decahedron.
Fig. 14. Trapezoidal garnet,—composed of 24 faces,
which ai’e equal and similar trapezoids.
Fig. 15. Grcnatite,—a six-sided prism with the
greater angles at each base truncated.
1‘ ig. 16. Two crystals of the same crossing each other
obliquely. Staurotide, oblique angle, of Hauy.
I ig'. 17’ Comndum,—two six-sided-pyramids united
by the bases, with the summits and angles truncated.
i ig. 18. A six-sided prism, having the alternate
angles at each base truncated.
fig. 19. Topaz,—an eight-sided prism terminated by
an obtuse four-sided pyramid at one extremity, and by
a different one at the other.
Fig. 20. A similar prism with six of the terminal
edges truncated.
Fig. 22. Tourmaline,—primitive form, which is a->
obtuse rhomboid.
Fig. 23. A nine-sided prism, terminated at one ex¬
tremity by a six-sided summit, and by a three-sided
summit at the other.
Fig. 24. Same prism, with a three and a seven-sided
summit at the extremities.
Fig. 25. Axinite or Thumerstone,—primitive form,
which is a rectangular four-sided pi’ism, whose bases am
oblique-angled parallelograms.
Fig. 26. A secondary form, same prism, having the
alternate lateral and terminal edges truncated.
Fig. 27. Rock-crystal.—A double six-sided pyramid.
Fig. 28. A six-sided prism, terminated at each extre¬
mity by a six. sided- pyramid, having the altenxate an¬
gles at the opposite bases slightly truncated.
Fig. 29. Feldspar,—the primitive form, which is an.
oblique-angled parallelepiped.
Fig. 30. An oblique four-sided prism.
Fig. 31. A six-sided prism with four of the angles-
truncated, and the two extremities bevelled.
Fig. 32. The same prism, with four of the terminal
edges truncated.
Fig 33. An oblique four-sided prism, bevelled and
truncated at the extremities.
Fig. 34, Chiastolitc,—the outer rhomboid marked,
with black lines parallel to the sides of the black inter¬
nal rhomboid.
Fig. 35, Foliated Zeolite, or Stilbite,—compressed
four-sided prism, terminated by a four-sided summit set
on the lateral edges.
Fig. 36. A six-sided prism with two solid angles at.
each extremity, truncated.
Fig. 37. Cubic Zeolite, or Analcime,—the cube with
all the solid angles truncated.
Fig. 38. Cubic Zeolite,, or Chabasie,—composed of
three rhomboids.
Fig. 39. Cross-stone,—a double crystal composed of
two dodecahedrons crossing each other at right angles..
Fig. 40. Hornblende,—primitive form, an oblique
four-sided prism, whose base is a rhomboid.
Fig. 41. Basaltic Hornblende,—a six-sided prism ter¬
minated at one extremity by four trapezoidal planes j
and at the other by a bevelment, the planes of which
are pentagons.
Fig. 42. Tremolite,—an oblique four-sided prism,
having the acute angles truncated and terminated by a
dihedral summit,.
Fig,.
253
Explana¬
tion of tiie
Plates
254
MINER
Plates.
Explana- Fig. 43. Calcareous Spar, or Carbonate of Lwie,—
tion of the primitive form a rhomboid.
Fig. 44. A very obtuse rhomboid.
Fig. 45. An acute rhomboid.
Fig. 46. Approaching to the cube.
Fig. 47. Double six-sided prism, known by the name
of Dog-tooth spar.
Fig. 48. A six-sided prism, terminated at each extre¬
mity by a trihedral summit whose faces are pentagons.
Fig. 49. Also a six-sided prism with trihedral summits j
but the bases of the terminal pentagons are enlarged in
consequence of the inclination of the lateral faces.
Figs. 50, 51, 52. Other forms of calcareous spar.
Fig. 53. Sulphate of Lime,—primitive form.
Figs. 54, 55. Common forms.
Fig. 56. Sulphate of Barytes,—primitive form.
Figs* 57, 58, 59- Common forms of sulphate of ba¬
rytes.
Fig. 60. Sulphate of Strontites,—primitive form.
Fig. 61. Common form.
Fig. 62. Borate of Soda,—primitive form.
Fig. 63. One of the common forms.
Fig. 64. Carbonate of Soda,—primitive form, an a-
cute octahedron.
Fig. 65. One of the common forms, having two
angles at the base truncated.
A L O G Y.
Fig. 66. Nitrate of Potash,—primitive form, a rect¬
angular octahedron.
Figs. 67, 68. Common forms.
Fig. 69. Sulphate of Magnesia,—the common form..
Fig. 70. Borate of Magnesia.
Fig. 71. Sulphur,—primitive form.
Fig. 72. Common form.
Fig. 73. Mercury, Native Amalgam.
Fig. 74. Cinnabar.
Figs. 75, 76, 77. Bed Silver Ore.
Figs. 78, 79, 80, 81, 82. Crystals of Copper Ore.
Figs. 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 91, 92, 93. Cry¬
stals of the Ores of Iron.
Fig. 94. Carbonate of Lead.
Fig. 95. Sulphate oj Lead.
Figs. 96, 97. Molybdate of Lead.
Figs. 98, 99, IOO. Crystals of Tin.
Fig. 101. Oxide of Thine.
Fig. 102. Sulphuret of Zinc.
Fig. 103. Sulphuret of Antimony.
Figs. 104, 105. Crystals of Cobalt.
Fig. 106. Manganese.
Fig. 107. Sulphuret of Arsenic.
Fig. 108. Tellurium,—primitive form.
Fig. 109. Common form.
Figs, no, in, 112, 113. Crystals of Titanium
Part;
•Explajj
tiou of} j
Plate
INDEX.
A.
Acanticone. See Pistazite, p
Actynolite,
Adamantine spar,
Adhesive slate,
Adularia.
Agaric mineral,
Agate, varieties of,
formation of,
Alum stone.
Alumina, native,
Aluminous schistus,
Amber,
Amethyst,
Amianthus,
Analcime. See Cubizite,
Andalusite,
Anhydrite,
Antimony, ores of, 242,
Apatite,
Arragonite,
Arctizitc,
Arendalite. See Pistazite,
Argillaceous genus,
Arsenic, ores of,
Asbestus,
Asparagus stone,
Augite,
Axe-stone,
Axinite,
Azurite,
B
Barytes, carbonate of,
Barytes, sulphate of,
161 Barytic gtxms,
196 Basalt,
157 Beryl,
183 Bismuth, ores of,
178 Bitter spar,
197 Bituminous marl slate,
167 Black lead. See Graphite.
168 Black schorl,
184 Blende,
181 Bole,
184 Bolognian spar,
Boracite,
162 Borax,
195 Brown spar,
176 C.
178 Calamine,
205 Calcareous genus,
243 spar,
203 sinter,
201 tufa,
180 Calcedony,
161 Capillary salt.
181 Cornelian,
246 Cads eye,
194 Celestine,
203 Cerite,
153 Cerium, ores of,
193 Chobasie. See Cubizite,
161 Chalk,
177 Chiastolite. See Hollow spar,
Chlorite,
206 Chromate of iron,
p. 206 Chromium, ores of,
ib. Chrysoberyl,
188 Chrysolite,
159 Chrysoprase,
240 Cimolite,
202 Cinnabar. See Mercury,
203 Clay, common,
216 pipe,
160 potters,
241 variegated,
191 slaty,
208 indurated,
212 slate,
ib. Clinkstone. See Phonolitc,
201 Coal,
Cobalt, ores of,
241 Columbium, ores of,
197 Combustibles, class of,
199 Copper, ores of,
200 mines of,
201 Corundum,
167 Crossstone,
209 Cryolite,
167 Cube spar,
173 Cubizite,
208 Cyanite,
251 D.
ib. Datholite,
178 Diamond,
198 mines of,
180 method of valuing,
187 Diamonds, celebrated,
237 Dipyre,
3
p.2
I
I
r
220, 2:
l!
2;
225—2;
23°,2:
I!
K
21
2C
r
2C
n
iJ
j ;
4
1 i
1.5
Dolomit
\
ntlex.
)olomite,
)rawing slate,
merald,
mery,
ipsom salt,
Inclose,
E.
F.
'delspar,
common,
compact,
'inure stone,
lint,
lints, formation of,
theories of,
gun, manufacture of,
iinty slate,
hat stone,
tuor,
spar,
,am earth,
tlkrs earth,
G.
idolinite, appendix,
irnet,
precious,
common,
Bohemian,
black,
mber salt, native.
Id, ores of,
mines of,
ophite,
ven earth,
1 enatite,
1 « flints, manufacture of,
i mm,
H.
j mahtes. See Iro?i ores,
■i wy spar,
t iotrope,
1 low spar,
f 'nstone,
1'nstone,
splintery,-
conchoidal,
* f inth,
i-lite,
&«rargillite,
/(e r,
Egyptian,
striped,
porcelain,
common,
agate,
opa!,
"Wpht/ialmite,
{ um' ore °f See Platina,
ores of,
]>. 202
*59
157
210
158
178
n 179
ib.
192
166
ib.
ib.
ib.
165
184
204
ib.
201
192
251
*54
ib.
ib.
154
210
217
219, 220
216
190
155
166
204
237
Hf/ore stone,
"ionite,
L
233» 234
206
172
180
188
164
ib.
*6 5
169
118
171
ib.
ib.
ib.
ib.
172
ib.
181
217
231
179
177
mineralog
Lava,
Lazulite,
Lead, ores of,
Lcpidolite,
Leucite,
Limestone,
Lithomarga,
Loam,
Lydian stone,
M.
245,
Magnesia, native,
Magnesian genus,
Magnetic iron ores,
Malachite ore of copper.
Manganese, ores of,
Marbles, varieties of,
Marl,
Meoinite,
Melanite,
Mellite,
Menachanite,
Menilite,
Mercury, ores of,
Mcsotype. See Fibrous Zeolite,
Mica,
Mineral oil. See Petroleum,
pitch,
Mineralogy, history of, 129
Minerals, classification of,
external characters of,
table of,
Mountain butter,
cork,
soap,
Muriate of copper,
N.
Native vitrol,
alum,
Glauber salt,
nitre,
Y.
p.189
177
—239
i85
Ji4
198
190
182
*65
191
ib.
232
228
246
199
202
181
■T54
214
248
170
220, 221
I75
186
213
ib.
-132
132
133
145—147
209
T94
190
228
Natrolite,
Nephrite,
Nickel, ores of,
Nigrine,
244:
O.
Obsidian,
Olivine,
Oolite,
Opal,
mines of,
common,
wood,
Orpiment,
Osmium. See Platina,
P.
Palladium.
Pearl-stone,
Peastone,
Petroleum,
Phonolite,
Phosphorite,
Finite,
Pisolite,
Pistazite,
Pitch-stone,
See Platina,
209
ib.
210
ib.
177
193
245
248
J73
152
198
169
ib.
170
ib.
247
217
217
174
200
213
189
203
186
200
161
*73
Plasma,
Platina, ore of,
Plumbago. See Graphite,
Polishing slate,
Porcelain-earth,
Pot-stone,
Prase,
Prehnite,
Pumice,
Pyrites, copper,
iron,
Pyrope,
Pyrophysalite,
Q.
Gfuartz,
common,
rosy red,
ferruginous,
R.
Rhodium. See Platina,
Rhomb spar,
Rock crystal,
salt,
s.
Sahlite,
Sal ammoniac,
Salts, class of.
Sapphire,
Scapolite,
Schiller-stone,
Schorl,
Schorlite,
Schorlous beryl,
Sea-froth,
Selenite,
Semi-opal,
Serpentine,
Siliceous genus,
Siliceous schistus,
Silver ores,
Sinter, calcareous,
' Slaty spar,
Smaragdite,
Soda,
Sommite,
Specular iron ore.
Spindle,
Spodumene,
Steatites,
Strontian genus,
Strontites, carbonate of,
sulphate of,
Stilbite. See Foliated Zeolitey
Sulphur,
Swine-stone,
T.
Talc,
Tantalium, ores of,
Tellurium, ores of,
Thinner-stone. See Axinite,
Tin, ores of,
Titanium, ores of,
Topaz,
Tourmaline,
255
p.172
217
216
*83
182
186
164
J74
ib.
226
231
*55
158
162
163
ib.
ib.
217
202
162
210
i97
211
2®9
156
180
*93
260
ib.
ib.
191
20C
170
*93
*65
222—225
200
201
197
211
181
232
*56
180
192
208
ib.
ib
*75
212
202
194
2 co
249
161
239, 248
248
158
160
Tremolite,
256
Trcmolite,
Tripoli^
Tu/nrstau ores of,
" U.
Umber,
Uranium, ores of,
V.
Ycfiuvian.
W.
'bracken.
p. 196
i83
247
190
249
153
1.89
M I N E R A L O
Wavellite. See Hy dr argillite,
Wernerite. See Arcti%itc,
Whet slate,
Withe rite.
Wolfram,
Wood opal,
Wood stone,
Y.
Yellow earth,
Yttrian genus, appendix,
G Y.
p- *78
180 Zeolite,
185 mealy,
206 fibrous,
247 radiated,
1 •jo foliated,
165 Zinc, ores of,
Zircon,
190 Zoy%ite,
251
Z.
Indej
p. !■
i:
i
ii
ii
11
))
coSBSBSSSI
M I N
Hi in cry a MINERVA, or Pallas, in Pagan worship, the
II goddess of sciences and of wisdom, spiung completely
.Mm-rcl,:l- armed from Jupiter’s brain : and on the day ot her na-
v tivity it rained gold at Rhodes. She disputed with
Neptune the honour of giving a name to the city of
Athens *, when they agreed that whosoever of them
should produce what was most useful to mankind,
should have that advantage. Neptune, with a stroke
of his trident, formed a horse ; and Minerva caused an
olive to spring from the ground, which was judged to
be most useful, from its being the symbol of peace.
Minerva changed Arachne into a spider, lor pretend-
in <>- to excel her in making tapestry. She fought the
giants; favoured Cadmus, Ulysses, and other heroes 5
and refused to marry Vulcan, choosing rather to live
in a state of celibacy. She also deprived Tiresias ot
sight, turned Medusa’s locks into snakes, and perfoim-
ed several other exploits.
Minerva is usually represented by the poets, paint-
ers and sculptors, completely armed, with a composed
but agreeable countenance, bearing a golden breastplate,
a spear in her right hand, and her aegis or shield in the
left, on which is represented Medusa’s head encircled
with snakes, and her helmet was usually entwined with
.olives. .
Minerva had several temples both in Greece and
Italy. The usual victim offered her was a white hei-
never yoked. rlhe animals sacred to her were the
*cock, the owl, and the basilisk.
AIinervm Cast rum, Arx Minervce, iSlmcrvium, or
Templum Minerva:, in Ancient Geography, a citadel,
temple, and town on the Ionian sea, beyond Hydrus 5
seen a great way out at sea. Now Castro, a town of
Otranto in Naples. E. Long. 19* 25- N. Lat. 46. 8.
Minervje Promontarium, in Ancient Geography, the
•seat of the Sirens, a promontory in the Sinus Paestanus,
the south boundary of Campania on the luscan coast*,
so called from a temple of Minerva on it j situated to
the south of Surrentum, and therefore called Surrentunn.
Now Capo della Minerva, on the west coast of Naples,
over against the island Capri.
MINER VALIA, in Roman antiquity, festivals ce¬
lebrated in honour of Minerva, in the month of March *,
at which time the scholars had a vacation, and usually
made a present to their masters, called from this festival
Minerval.
MINGRELIA, anciently Colchis, a part of
Western Georgia, in Asia } bounded on the east by
Iberia, or Georgia properly so -called j on the west, by
M I N
the Euxine sea } on the south, by Armenia, and part Miagreq
of Pontus ; and on the north, by Mount Caucasus. u—^
Colchis, or Mingrelia, is watered by a great many
rivers •, as the Corax, the Hippus, the Cyaneus, the
Charistus, the Phasis, where the Argonauts landed, the
Absarus, the Cissa, and the Ophis, all emptying them¬
selves into the Euxine sea. The Phasis does not spring
from the mountains in Armenia, near the sources of the
Euphrates, the Araxes, and the ligris, as Strabo, Pliny,
Ptolemy, Dionysius, and after them Arrian, Reland,
Calmet, and Sanson, have falsely asserted; but rises in
Mount Caucasus *, and flows not from south to north,
but from north to south, as appears from the map of Col¬
chis or Mingrelia in Thevenot’s collection, and the ac¬
count which Sir John Chardin gives of that country.
This river forms in its course a small island called also
Phasis: whence the pheasants, if Isidorus is to be cre¬
dited, were first brought to Europe, and thence called
by the Greeks Phasiani. The other rivers of Colchis
are considerable.
The whole kingdom of Colchis ivas in ancient times
very pleasant and fruitful, as it is still where duly cul¬
tivated *, abounded in all necessaries of life ; and was
enriched with many mines of gold, which gave occasion
to the fable of the Golden Fleece and the Argonautic
expedition, so much celebrated by the ancients.
Sir John Chardin tells us, that this country extends
above 100 miles in length and 60 in breadth ; being
not near so extensive as the ancient Colchis, which
reached from the frontiers of Iberia or Geoigia Pro¬
per, westward to the Palus Mteotis : that it is beau¬
tifully diversified with hills, mountains, valleys, woods,
and plains, but badly cultivated: that there are all
the kinds of fruits which are found in England, grow¬
ing wild, but tasteless and insipid for want of cul¬
ture: that, if the natives understood the art of ma¬
king wines, those of this country would be the finest
in the world : that there are many rivers which have
their source in Mount Caucasus, particularly the Pha¬
sis, now called the Rionc: that the country abounds
in beeves, hogs, wild boars, stags, and other icnisonj
and in partridges, pheasants, and quails : that falcons,
eagles, pelicans, lions, leopards, tygers, wolves, and
jackals, breed on Mount Caucasus, and sometimes
greatly annoy the country : that the people are gene¬
rally handsome, the men strong and well made, and the
women very beautiful *, but both sexes very vicious and
debauched : that they marry their nieces, aunts, or
other relations, indifferently; and take two or three
wives
MIN C 257 ] MIN
Ingrelia. Wives if they please, and as many concubines as they
Y—' will: that they not only make a common practice of
selling their children, but even murder them, or bury
them alive, when they find it difficult to bring them
up: that the common people use a sort of paste, made
of a plant called gom, instead of bread ; hut that of the
better sort consists of wheat, barley, or rice : that the
gentry have an absolute power over their vassals, which
extends to life, liberty, and estate : that their arms are
the bow and arrow, the lance, the sabre or broad¬
sword, and the buckler : that they are very nasty, and
eat sitting cross-legged upon a carpet, like the Persians j
but the poorer sort upon a mat or bench, in the same
posture : that the country is very thin of inhabitants,
no less than 12,000 being supposed to be sold yearly to
the lurks and Persians : that the principal commodities
exported from it are, honey, wax, hides, castor, martens
skins, flax seed, thread, silk, and linen cloth j but that
there are no gold or silver mines now, and very little
money: that the revenue of the prince or viceroy
amounts to about 20,000 crowns per annum : that the
inhabitants calls themselves Christians ; but that both
they and their priests are altogether illiterate, and igno¬
rant of the doctrines and precepts of Christianity: that
their bishops are rich, have a great number of vassals, Mingrelia
and are clothed in scarlet and velvet; and that their |]
service is according to the rites of the Greek church, Miniature.
with a mixture of Judaism and Paganism. v
I he cities of most note in this country in ancient
times were Pityus 5 Dioscurias, or Dioscorias, which
was so called from Castor and Pollux, two of the Ar¬
gonauts, by whom it is supposed to have been found¬
ed, and who in Greek are styled Dioscuroi, at present
known by the name of Savatapoli; Aea on the Phasis,
supposed to be the same as Hupolis •, P/iasis, so called
from the river on which it stood 5 Cyta, at the mouth
of the river Cyaneus, the birth place ef the famous
Medea, called from thence, by the poets, Cytais i Sa-
racse, Zadris, Surium, Madia, and Zolissa. As for
modern cities, it does not appear that there are any
here considerable enough to merit a description ; or,
if there are, they seem to be little, if at all, known to
Europeans.
MINHO, a great river in Spain, which taking its
rise in Galicia, divides that province from Portugal,,
and falls into the Atlantic at Caminha.
MINIATURE, in a general sense, signifies repre¬
sentation in a small compass, or less than the reality.
MINIATURE PAINTING,
A DELICATE kind of painting, consisting of
•*- •*- little points or dots 5 usually done on vellum, ivo¬
ry, or paper, wiflh very thin, simple, water colours.—
The word comes from the Latin minium, “ red lead
that being a colour much used in this kind of painting.
The French frequently call it mignature, from mignon,
“ fine, pretty,” on account of its smallness and deli¬
cacy : and it may be ultimately derived from umpos,
“ small.”
Miniature is distinguished from other kinds of paint¬
ing by the smallness and delicacy of its figures and
faintness of the colouring; on which account it re¬
quires to be viewed very near.
Sect. I. Of Drawing and Designing.
lo succeed in this art, a man should be perfectly
skilled in the art oi designing or drawing: but as most
people who affect the one, know little or nothing of
the other, and would have the pleasure of painting
without giving themselves the trouble of learning to
design (which is indeed an art that is not acquired
without a great deal of time, and continual applica¬
tion), inventions have been found out to supply the
place of it; by means of which a man designs or draws
without knowing how to design.
Hie first is chalking : that is, if you have a mind to
do a print or design in miniature, the backside of it,
on another paper, must be blackened with small coal,
and then rubbed very hard with the finger wrapped in
a linen cloth : afterwards the cloth must be lightly
drawn over the side so blackened that no black grains
may remain upon it to soil the vellum you would paint
upon j and the print or draught must be fastened upon
the vellum with four pins, to keep it from shifting.
^ OL. XIV, Part I. +
And if it he another paper that is blackened, it must
be put between the vellum and the print, or draught,
with the blackened side upon the vellum. Then, with
a blunted pin or needle, you must pass over the princi¬
pal lines or strokes of the print, or draught, the con¬
tours, the plaits of the drapery, and over every thing
else that must be distinguished 5 pressing so hard, that,
the strokes may be fairly marked upon the vellum un¬
derneath.
Copying by squares is another convenient method
for such as are but little skilled in the art of designing,
and would copy pictures, or other things, that cannot
be chalked. The method is this : The piece must be
divided into many equal parts by little squares, mark¬
ed out with charcoal, if the piece be clear and whitish,
and the black can be fairly seen upon it; or with white
chalk, if it be too brown and dusky. After which, as
many squares of equal dimensions must be made on
white paper, upon which the piece must he designed j
because, if this be done immediately upon vellum, (as
one is apt to miscarry in the first attempt), the vellum
may he soiled with false touches. But when it is neatly
done upon paper, it must be chalked upon the vellum
in the manner before described. When the original and
the paper are thus ordered, observe what is in each,
square of the piece to be designed j as a head, an arm,
a hand, and so forth •, and place it in the correspond¬
ing part of the paper. And thus finding where to
place all the parts of the piece, you have nothing to
do but to form them well, and to join them together.
By this method you may reduce or enlarge a piece to
what compass you please, making the squares of your
paper greater or less than those of the original 5 but
they must always he of an equal number.
To copy a picture, or other thing, in the same size
K k and
Drawing and proportion, another method is, to make use
and varnished paper, or of the skin of a hog s bladder, \e
MINIATURE
of
— viiiinoucu paper, or ot tne sain or a uu^ o i'ery
Designing, transparent, such as is to be had at the gold-beaters.
" y ^ TaJc or is;ngiass will likewise do as well. Lay any one
of those things upon your piece; through it you will
see all the strokes and touches, which are to be drawn
upon it with a crayon or pencil. Then take it oft j
and fastening it under paper or vellum, set up botu
against the light in the manner of a window ; and with
a°crayon, or "a silver needle, mark out upon the paper
or vellum you have put uppermost, all the lines and
touches you shall see drawn upon the varnished paper,
bladder, talc, or isinglass, you have made use of, and
which will plainly appear through this window.
After this manner, making use of the window, or ot
glass exposed to the light, you may copy all sorts of
prints, designs, and other pieces on paper or vellum :
laying and fastening them under the paper or vellum
upon which you would draw them. And it is a very
dood and a very easy contrivance for doing pieces oi
the same size and proportion.
If you have a mind to make pieces look another way,
there is nothing to be done but to turn them; laying
the printed or drawn side upon the glass, and fastening
the paper or vellum upon the back of it j remembering
to let your lights fall on the left side.
A good method likewise to take a true copy of a
picture in oil, is to give a touch of the pencil upon all
the principal strokes, with lake tempered with oil; and
to clap upon the whole a paper of the same size. then
passing the hand over it, the touches of the lake will
stick and leave the design of your piece expressed upon
the paper, which may be chalked like other things.
But you must remember to take off with the crumb of
bread what remains of the lake upon the picture be¬
fore it he dry.
You must likewise make use of pounce, made ot
powdered charcoal put in a linen rag ; with which the
piece you would copy must be rubbed, after you have
pricked all the principal strokes or touches, and fasten¬
ed white paper or vellum underneath.
When the piece is marked out upon the vellum,
you must pass with a pencil of very clear carmine over
all the traces, that they may not be effaced as you
work : then clepi your vellum with the crumb of bread,
that no black may remain upon it.
The vellum must he pasted upon a plate of brass or
wood, of the size you would make your piece, to keep it
firm and tight. But this pasting must be on the edges
of your vellum only, and behind the plate, for which
purpose your vellum must exceed your plate above an
inch on every side •, for the part you paint upon must
never be pasted •, because it would not only give it an
ill look, but you could not take it off if you would.
Cut off the little shags and locks of the vellum *, and
wetting the fair side with a linen cloth dipped in water,
clap the other upon the plate with a clean paper be¬
tween them : so much as hangs over must be pasted
Upon the back of the plate, drawing it equally on all
sides, and hard enough to stretch it well.
Sect. II. O f Materials.
The chief colours made use of for painting in minia¬
ture are, '
PAINTING.
Carmine.
Venice and Florence lake.
Rose pink.
Vermilion.
Red lead.
Brown red.
Red orpiment.
Ultramarine.
Verditer.
Indigo.
Gall stone.
Yellow ochre.
Dutch pink.
Gamboge.
Naples yellow.
Pale masticot.
Deep yellow masticot.
Ivory black.
Lamp black.
True Indian ink.
Bistre, or wood soot.
Raw umber.
Burnt umber.
Sap green.
Verdigris.
Flake white.
Crayons of all colours.
Gold and silver shells.
Leaf gold and leaf silver.
The seven transparent colours, which are used where
writing is seen through the colour.
'Lake.
Blue.
Yellow.
Liquid <{ Grass-green.
Dark-green.
Purple colour.
Brown.
Most of these colours necessary for miniature paint¬
ing may easily be prepared by attending to the direc¬
tions given under the article Colour-Making.
As colours taken from earth and other heavy mat¬
ter are always too coarse be they never so well ground,
especially for delicate work, because of a certain sand
remaining in them } the finest parts may be drawn out
by diluting them with the finger in a cup of water.
When they are well steeped, let them settle a while :
then pour out the clearest, which will he at top, into
another vessel. This will be the finest, ami must be
let dry *, and when it is used, must he diluted with gum
water.
If you mix a little of the gall of an ox, a carp, or
an eel, particularly of the last, in green, black, gray,
yellow, and brown, colours, it will not only take away
their u reasy nature, hut also give them a lustre and bright¬
ness they have not of themselves. The gall of eels must
be taken out when they are skinned, and hung upon a
nail to dry} and when you would use it, it must be di¬
luted with brandy ; add a little of it mixed with the
colour you have diluted already. This likewise makes*
the colour stick better to the vellum, which it hardly
does when it is greasy: moreover, this gall hinders it
from scaling.
vSect. ]|
Colour;
&c.
Some
jiCt. IT.
MINIATURE PAINTING.
Jours,
|:&C
Some colours are made clearer by fire ; as yellow,
ochre, brown red, ultramarine, and umber: all others
are darkened by it. But if you heat the said colours
with a sharp fire, they change j for the brown red be¬
comes yellow •> yellow ochre becomes red ; umber red¬
dens also. Ceruss by fire takes the colour of citron,
and is often called masticot. Observe, that yellow ochre
heated, becomes more tender than it was, and softer
than brown red. Likewise brown red heated becomes
softer than fine yellow ochre. Both are very proper.
The finest and truest ultramarine, heated upon a red-
hot iron, becomes more glittering j but it wastes, and
is coarser and harder to work with in miniature.
All these colours are diluted in little cups of ivory,
made on purpose, or in sea shells, with water in which
gum arabic and sugar candy are put. For instance,
in a glass of water put a piece of gum as big as a wal¬
nut, and half that quantity of sugarcandy. This last
hinders the colours from scaling when they are laid on,
which they generally do when they want it, or the vel¬
lum is greasy.
This gum water must be kept in a neat bottle cork¬
ed ) and you never must take any out of it with a pen¬
cil that has colour upon it, but with a quill or some
such thing.
Some of this water is put in the shell with the co¬
lour you would temper, and diluted with the huger
till it be very fine. If it be too hard, you must let it
soften in the shell with the said water before you dilute
it. Afterwards let it dry j and do thus with every co¬
lour, except lily-green, sap-green, and gamboge, which
must be tempered with fair water only. But ultrama¬
rine, lake, and bistre, are to be more gummed than
other colours.
If you make use of sea shells, you must let them
steep two or three days beforehand in water: then
cleanse them in boiling hot water, mixed with vinegar,
in order to carry oft’ a certain salt, which otherwise
sticks to them, and spoils the colours that are put to
them.
To know whether colours are sufficiently gummed,
you have nothing to do but to give a stroke of the pen¬
cil upon your hand when they are diluted, which dines
immediately : if they chap and scale, there is too much
gum ; if they rub out by passing the finger over them,
there is too little. It may be seen likewise when the
colours are laid on the vellum, by passing the finger
over them. If they stick to it like a powder, it is a
sign there is not gum enough, and more must be put
to the water with which you temper them : but take
care you do not put too much; for that makes the co¬
lour extremely hard and dry. It may be known like¬
wise by their glueiness and brightness: so the more
they are gummed, the darker they paint ; and when
you have a mind to give a greater strength to a colour
fhan it has of itself, you have nothing to do but to give
it a great deal of gum.
Provide yourself with an ivory pallet, very smooth,
as big as your hand ; on one side of which the colours
tor the carnation, or naked parts of a picture, are to
be ranged in the following manner. In the middle put
R great deal of white, pretty largely spread } because
it is the colour most made use of: and upon the edge,
from the left to the right, place the following colours at
a little distance from the white.
Masticot.
Dutch pink.
Orpiment.
Y ellow ochre.
Green ; composed of verditer, Dutch pink, and
white, in equal quantities.
Blue; made of ultramarine, indigo, and white,
to a great degree of paleness.
Vermilion.
Carmine.
Bistre, and
Black.
On the other side of the pallet, spread some white
in the same manner as for the carnation. And when
you have a mind to paint draperies, or other things,
place near the white the colour you would make them
of, in order to work, as shall be shown hereafter.
The use of good pencils is a great matter. In or¬
der to make a good choice, wet them a little j and if
the hairs keep close together as you turn them upon
the finger, and make but one point, they are good :
but if they close not together, but make several points,
and some are longer than others, they are good for
nothing. When they are too sharp pointed, with only
four or five hairs longer than the rest, yet closing all
together, they are, notwithstanding, good; but they
must be blunted with a pair of scissars, taking care at
the same time you do not clip away too much. It is
proper to have two or three sorts of them ; the lai'gest
for laying the grounds and dead colouring, and the
smallest for finishing.
To bring the hairs of your pencil to join close to¬
gether and make a good point, you must often put the
pencil just between your lips when you are at rvork ;
moistening and pressing it close with the tongue, even
when there is colour upon it; for if there be too much,
some of it is taken oft’ by this means, and enough left
for giving fine and equal touches. You need not ap¬
prehend this will do you any harm. None of the co¬
lours for miniature, except orpiment, when they are
prepared, have either ill taste or ill quality. This ex¬
pedient must especially be used for dotting, and for fi¬
nishing, particularly the naked parts of a picture, that
the touches may be neat and fair, and not too much
charged with colour. As for draperies and other
things, as w'ell in dead colouring as in finishing, it is
sufficient, in order to make the hairs of your pencil
join well, and to unload it when it has too much co¬
lour, to draw it upon the edge of the shell, or upon
the paper you must put upon your work to rest your
hand on, giving some strokes upon it before you work
upon your piece.
To work well in miniature, you must do it in a room
that has but one window, and fix yourself very near it,
with a table and desk almost as high as the window;
placing yourself in such a manner, that the light may
always come in on the left side, and never forward or
on the right.
When you would lay a colour on all parts equally
strong, as for a ground, you must make your mixtures
in shells, and put in enough for the thing you design
to paint; for it there be not enough, it is a great chance
but the colour you mix afterwards is too dark or too
light.
:59
Colours,
&c.
K k 2
Sect.
26c MINIATURE
Of
Work-njr. Sect. III. Of Working.
After having spoke of vellum, pencils, and colours,
let us now show how they are to be employed. In the
first place, then, when you would paint a piece, be it
carnation, drapery, or any thing else, you must begin
by dead-colouring j that is to say, by laying your co¬
lours on with liberal strokes of the pencil, in the
smoothest manner you can, as the painters do in oil j
not giving it all the force it is to have for a finishing j
that is, make the lights a little brighter, and the shades
less dark, than they ought to be ; because in dotting
upon them, as you must do after dead-colouring, the
colour is always fortified, and would at last be too
dark.
There are several ways of dotting; and every painter
has his own. Some make their dots perfectly round ;
others make them a little longish •, others hatch by
little strokes that cross each other every way, till the
work appears as if it had been wrought with dots.
This last method is the best, the boldest, and the soon¬
est done : wherefore such as would paint in miniature
ought to use it, and to inure themselves from the first
to dot in the plump and the solt way j that is to say,
where the dots are lost, in a manner, in the ground
upon which you work, and only so much appears as is
sufficient to make the work seem dotted. The hard
and the dry way is quite the reverse, and always to be
avoided. This is done by dotting with a colour much
darker than your ground, and when the pencil is not
moistened enough with the colour, which makes the
work seem rough and uneven.
Study likewise carefully to lose and drowu your co¬
lours one in another, so that it may not appear where
they disjoin j and to this end, soften or allay your
touches with colours that partake ot both, in such sort
that it may not appear to be your touches which cut
and disjoin them. By the word cut, we are to under¬
stand what manifestly separates and divides, and does
not run in and blend itself with the neighbouring co¬
lours } which is rarely practised but upon the borders of
drapery.
When your pieces are finished, to heighten them a
little, give them a fine air ; that is to say, give, upon
the extremity of the lights, small touches with a co¬
lour yet lighter, which must be lost and drowned with
the rest.
When the colours are dry upon your pallet or in
vour shells, in order to use them they must be diluted
with water. And when you perceive they want gum,
which is seen when they easily rub off the hand or the
vellum if you give a touch with them upon either, they
must be tempered with gum water instead of pure wa¬
ter, till they are in condition.
There are several sorts of grounds for pictures and
portraitures. Some are wholly dark, composed of
bistre, umbre, and Cologn earth, with a little black
and white \ others more yellow, in which is mixed a
great deal of ochre \ others grayer, which partake of
indigo. In order to paint a ground, make a wash of
the colour or mixture you would have it, or according
to that of the picture or portraiture you would copy y
that is to say, a very light lay, in which there is hardly
any thing but water, in order to soak the vellum.
PAINTING. Sect I
Then pass another lay over that, someivliat thicker, and or
strike it on very smoothly with large strokes as quick Work
as you can, not touching twice in the same place before' v-j
it lie dry; because the second stroke carries off what
has been laid on at the first, especially when you lean
a little too light upon the pencil.
Other dark grounds are likewise made of a colour
a little greenish and those are most in use, and the pro-
perest to lay under all sorts of figures and portraitures;
because they make the carnation, or naked parts of a
picture, appear very fine ; are laid on very easily, and
there is no occasion to dot them, as one is often obliged
to do the others, which are rarely made smooth and
even at the first; whereas in these one seldom fails of
success at the first bout. Io make them, you must
mix black, Dutch pink, and white, all together : more
or less of each colour, according as you would have
them darker or lighter. Aon are to make one lay very
light, and then a thicker, as of the first grounds. lrou
may also make them of other colours, if you please ;
hot these are the most common.
When you paint a holy person upon one of these
grounds, and would paint a small glory round the
head of your figure, you must not lay the colour too
thick in that part, or you may even lay none at all,
especially where this glory is to be very bright; but
lay for the first time with white and a little ochre
mixed together, of a sufficient thickness ; and in pro¬
portion as you go from the place of the head, put a
little more ochre ; and to make it lose itself, and die
away with the colour of the ground, hatch with a free
stroke of the pencil, following the round of the glory
sometimes with the colour of which it is made, and
sometimes with that of the ground, mixing a little
white or ochre with the last when it paints too daik to
work with : and do this till one be insensibly lost in
another, and nothing can be seen to disjoin them.
To fill an entire ground with a glory, the brightest
part is laid on with a little ochre and white, adding
more of the first in proportion as you come nearer the.
edges of the picture: and when the ochre is not strong
enough (for you must always paint darker and darker),
add gall stone, afterwards a little carmine, and lastly
bistre. This first laying, or dead colouring, is to be
made as soft as possible; that is to say, let these sha¬
dowings lose themselves in one another without gap or
intersection. Then the way is to dot upon them with
the same colours, in order to drown the whole toge¬
ther ; which is pretty tedious, and a little difficult,
especially when there are clouds of glory on the
ground. Their lights must be fortified in proportion
as you remove from the figure, and finished as the
rest, by dotting and rounding the clouds ; the bright
and obscure parts of which must run insensibly into one
another.
For a day sky, take ultramarine and a good deal of
white, and mix them together. With this make a lay,
as smooth as you can, with a large pencil and liberal
strokes, as for grounds ; applying it paler and paler
as you descend towards the horizon ; which must be
done with vermilion or red lead, and with white of
the same strength with that where the sky ends, or
something less ; making this blue lose itself in the red,
which you bring down to the skirts of the earth, or
tops of houses; mixing towards the end gall stone and.
!Ct. IV. MINIATURE
a good deal of white, in such a manner that the mix¬
ture he still paler than the former, without any visible
intersection or parting between all these colours of the
sky.
When there are clouds in the sky, you may spare
the places where they are to be ; that is to say, you
need not lay on any blue there, but form them, if they
are reddish, with vermilion gall stone and white, with
a little indigo ; and if they are more upon the black,
put in a good deal of the last ; painting the lights
of one and the other with masticot, vermilion, and
white, more or less of any of these colours, according
to the strength you would give them, or according to
that of the original you copy 5 rounding the whole as
you dot •, for it is a difficult matter to lay them very
smooth at the first painting: and if the sky is not even
enough, you must dot it also.
It is at your pleasure to exempt the places of the
clouds, for you may lay them upon the ground of the
sky; heightening the bright parts by putting a good
deal of white, and fortifying the shadows by using less.
This is the shortest way.
A night or stormy sky, is done with indigo, black,
and white, mixed together j which is laid as for a
day sky. To this mixture must be added ochre, vermi¬
lion, or brown red, for the clouds the lights of which
are to be of masticot or red lead, and a little white,
now redder, now yellower, at discretion. And when
it is a tempestuous sky, and lightning appears in
some places, be it blue or red, it is to be done as in
a day sky, drowning and losing the whole together
at the first forming or dead colouring, and at the
finishing.
Sect. IV. Of Draperies.
the
To paint a.blue drapery, put ultramarine near
white upon your pallet; and mix a part of the one
with the other, till it makes a fine pale, and has a body.
With this mixture you must form the brightest parts ;
and then adding more ultramarine, form such as are
darker ; and go on after this manner till you come to
the deepest plaits and the thickest shades, where you
must lay pure ultramarine : and all this must be done
as for a first forming or dead colouring*, that is to say,
laying the colour on with free strokes of the pencil,
yet as smooth as you can 5 losing the lights in the sha¬
dows with a colour neither so pale as the light nor
so dark as the shades. Then dot with the same colour
as in the first forming, but a small matter deeper j
that the dots may be fairly seen. All the parts must
be drowned one in another, and the plaits appear with¬
out intersection. When the ultramarine is not dark
enough to make the deeper shadows, how well soever
it be gummed, mix a little indigo with it to finish
them. And when the extremities of the lights are not
bright enough, heighten them with white and a very
little ultramarine.
A drapery of carmine is done in the same manner
as the blue y except that in the darkest places there
is to be a lay of pure vermilion, before you dead
colour with carmine, which must be applied at top j
and in the strongest shades, it must be gummed very
much; To deepen it the more, mix a little bistre with
it.
PAINTING. 261
There is likewise made another red drapery, which Of
is first drawn with vermilion, mixing white with it Draperies,
to dead colour the bright places, laying it pure and v
unmixed for those that are darker, and adding car¬
mine for the grand shades. It is finished afterwards,
like other draperies, with the same colours. And when
the carmine with the vermilion do not darken enough,
work with the first alone, but only in the deepest of the
shades.
A drapery of lake is made in the same manner with
that of carmine ; mixing a good deal of white with it
for the bright places, and very little for those that are
dark. It is finished likewise with dotting } but you
have nothing to do with vermilion in it.
Violet draperies are likewise done after this manner j
after making a mixture of carmine and ultramarine,
putting always white for the bright parts. If you-
would have your violet be columbine or dove colour,
there must be more carmine than ultramarine : but if
you would have it bluer and deeper, put more ultra-
marine than carmine.
A drapery is made of a flesh colour, beginning
with a lay made of white, vermilion, and very pale,
lake \ and making the shades with the same colours,
using less white in them. This drapery must be very
pale and tender, because the stufl of this colour is
thin and light} and even the shades of it ought not to
be deep.
To make a yellow drapery, put a lay of masticot
over all 5 then one of gamboge upon that, excepting
the brightest places, where the masticot must be left
entire 5 the dead colour with ochre, mixed with a
little gamboge and masticot, putting more or less of
the last according to the strength of the shades. And
when these colours do not darken enough, add gall
stone. And gall stone pure and unmixed is used for.
the thickest shades 5 mixing a little bistre with it, if
there be occasion to make them still darker. You
finish by dotting with the same colours you dead-co¬
loured with, and losing the lights and the shades in one
another. . ,
If you put Naples yellow, or Dutch pink, in lieu of
masticot and gamboge, you will make another sort of
yellow.
The green drapery is made by a general lay of ver-
diter; with which, if you find it too blue, mix masti¬
cot for the lights, and gamboge for the shades. After¬
wards add to this mixture lily-green or sap-green, to
shadow with j and as the shades are thicker, put moie
of these last greens, and even work with them pure and
unmixed where they are to be extremely dark. A ou
finish with the same colours, a little darker..
By putting more yellow, or more blue, in these co¬
lours, you may make different sorts of green as you
please.
To make a black drapery, you dead colour with
black and white, and finish with the same colour, put¬
ting more black as the shades are thicker } and for
the darkest, mix indigo with it, especially when you
would have the drapery appear like velvet. You may
always give some touches with a brighter colour, to
heighten the lights of any drapery whatsoever.
A white woollen drapery is made by a lay of white,
in which there must be a very small matter of ochre,
orpiment, or gall stone, that it may look a little yel¬
lowish.
’0 2
miniature
Of lowislt. Then dead-colour, and finish the shades with
Draperies, blue, a little black, white, and bistre $ putting a great
deal 0f the last in the darkest.
The light gray is begun with black and white, and
finished with the same colour deeper.
For a brown drapery, make a lay of bistre, white,
and a little brown red ; and shadow with this mixture,
made a little darker.
There are other draperies called variable, because
the lights are of a difterent colour from the shades.
These are mostly used for the vestments of angels, for
young and gay people, for scarfs and other airy attire,
admitting of a great many folds, and flowing at the
pleasure of the wind. The most common are the
violets : of which they make two sorts j one, where
the lights are blue ; and the other, where they are
yellow.
For the first, put a lay of ultramarine and very pale
white upon the lights j and shadow with carmine, ul¬
tramarine, and white, as for a drajpery wholly violet *,
so that only the grand lights appeal* blue. \et they
must lie dotted with violet, in which there is a great
deal of white, and lost insensibly in the shades.
The other is done by putting upon the lights only,
instead of blue, a lay of masticot j working the rest
as in the drapery all violet, excepting that it must
be dotted, and the light parts blended with the sha¬
dowy, that is, the yellow with the violet, with a little
gamboge.
The carmine red is done like the last j that is, let
the lights be done with masticot, and the shades with
carmine} and to lose the one in the other, make use of
gamboge.
The lake red is done like that of carmine.
The green is done as the lake : always mixing ver-
diter with lily or sap green, to make the shades } which
are not very dark.
Several other sorts of draperies may be made at dis¬
cretion, always taking care to preserve the union of
the colours, not only in one sort of cloth cr so, but
also in a group of several figures *, avoiding, as much
as the subject will allow, the putting of blue near the
colour of fire, of green against black } and so of other
colours which cut and disjoin, and whose union is not
kind enough.
Several other draperies are made of foul colours, as
brown red, bistre, indigo, &c. and all in the same
manner. Likewise of other colours, simple and com¬
pound •, the agreement between which is always to be
minded, that the mixture may produce nothing harsh
and disagreeable to the eye. No certain rule can be
laid down for this. The force and effect of your co¬
lours are only to be known from use and experience,
and you must work according to that knowledge.
Linen cloths are done thus : After drawing the
plaits or folds, as is done in a drapery, put a lay
of white over all j then dead colour, and finish the
shades with a mixture of ultramarine, black, and
white, using more or less of the last, according to
their strength or tenderness •, and in the greatest
deepenings put bistre, mixed with a little "white ;
giving only some touches of this mixture, and even
of pure bistre, upon the extremities of the greatest
shadows, where the folds must be drawn, and lost with
the rest.
PAINTING. Sect, rj
They may be done in another manner, by making o-
a general lay of this mixture of ultramarine, black, Draper
and very pale white 5 and dead colour (as has been said
before) with the same colour, hut a little deeper. And
when the shades are dotted and finished, heighten the
lights with pure white, and lose them w'ith the deep¬
enings of the linen. But of whatever sort you make
them, w’hen they are finished, you must give a yellowish
teint of orpiment and white to certain places ; laying it
lightly on, and as it were in water ; so that what is
underneath may, notwithstanding, plainly appear, as
well the shadows as the dotting.
Yellow linen cloth is done by putting a lay of ■white,
mixed with a little ochre. Then form and finish the
shades with bistre, mixed with white and ochre •, and
in the thickest shades use pure bistre j and before you
finish, give some teints here and there of ochre and
white, and others of white and ultramarine, as well
upon the shades as the lights j but let them be very
bright: and drown the whole together in dotting, and
it will look finely. As you finish, heighten the extre¬
mities of the lights with masticot and white. You may
add to this sort of linen, as well as to the white, cer¬
tain bars from space to space, as in Turkey mantuas j
that is, small stripes blue and red with ultramarine and
Carmine 5 one of red between two of blue, very bright
and clear upon the lights, and deeper upon the shades.
Virgins are pretty often dressed with veils of this sort
(by Popish painters), and scarfs of this kind are put
about necks that are bare } because they become the
teint mighty well.
If you would have both these sorts of linen transpa¬
rent, and the stuff or other thing that is beneath ap¬
pear through them, make the first lay for them very
light and clear, and mix in the colour to shadow with,
a little of that which is underneath, especially towards
the end of the shades *, and only do the extremities of
the lights, for the yellow, with masticot and white;
and for the white, with pure white.
They may be done in another manner, especially
when you would have them altogether as clear as mus¬
lin, lawn, or gauze. To this end form and finish what
is to be beneath, as if nothing was to be put over it.
Then mark out the light and clear folds with white or
masticot; and a shadowy with bistre and white, or with
black, blue, and white, according to the colour you
would make them ofl j making the rest somewhat faint¬
er : yet this is not necessary hut for the parts that are
not to be so cleai\
Crape is done the same way ; excepting that the
folds of the shades and the lights, and the borders too,
are to be marked out with little filaments of black up¬
on what is underneath } which is likewise to be finished
beforehand.
When you would make a stufl' like a watered
tabby, make the waves upon it with a colour a lit¬
tle lighter, or a little darker, in the lights and the
shades.
There is a manner of touching draperies which di¬
stinguishes the silken from the woollen. The last are
more terrestrial and sensible ; the others more light
and fading. But it must be observed, that this is an
effect which depends partly upon the stuff and partly
upon the colour ; and for the employing these in a
manner suitable to the subjects and the deepenings of
painting,
jict. IV. MINIATURE
Of painting, we shall here touch upon their different quali-
iperies. ties.
We liave no colour which partakes more of light,
nor which comes nearer the air, than white $ which
shows it to he fickle and fleeting. It may, nevertheless,
be held and brought to by some neighbouring co¬
lour, more heavy and sensible, or by mixing them toge¬
ther.
Blue is a most fleeting colour: and so we see, that
the sky and the remotest views of a picture are of this
colour } but it will become lighter and fickler in propor¬
tion as it is mixed w'ith white.
Pure black is the heaviest and most terrestrial of all
colours j and the more of it you mix with others, the
nearer you bring them to the eye.
Nevertheless, the different dispositions of black and
white make also their effects different: for white often
makes black disappear, and black brings white more
into view j as in the reflection of globes, or other fi¬
gures to be made round, where there are always parts
that fly as it were from the eye, and deceive it by the
cratt of art: and under the white are here comprehend¬
ed all the light colours; as under the black, all the
heavy colours.
Ultramarine is then soft and light.
Ochre is not so much so.
Masticot is very light; and so is verditer.
Vermilion and carmine come near this quality.
Orpiment and gamboge not so near.
Lake holds a certain mean, rather soft than rough.
Dutch pink is an indifferent colour, easily taking
the quality of others. So it is made terrestrial by
mixing it with colours that are so ; and, on the con¬
trary, the most light and fleeting by joining it with
white or blue.
Brown red, umber, dark greens, and bistre, are the
heaviest and most terrestrial, next to black.
Skilful painters, who understand perspective, and
the harmony of colours, always observe to place the
dark and sensible colours on the fore parts of their
pictures 5 and the most light and fleeting they use for
the distances and remote views. And as for the union
of colours, the different mixtures that may be made of
them will learn you the friendship or antipathy they
have to one another. And upon this you must take
your measures for placing them with such agreement
as shall please the eye.
For the doing of lace, French points, or other things
of that natm-e, put over all a lay of blue, black, and
white, as for linen ; then heighten the flowerwork with
pure white : afterwards make the shades above with the
first colour, and finish them with the same. When they
are upon the carnation or naked parts of a picture, or
upon any thing else that you would show through an¬
other, finish what is beneath, as if nothing was to be
put over it : and at top, make the points or lace with
pure white, shadowing and finishing them with the other
mixture.
If you would paint a fur, yon must begin with a kind
of drapery, done, if it be dark, with bistre and white,
making the shadowings of the same colour, with less
white. If the fur be white, do it with blue, white,
and a little bistre. And when this beginning, or first
forming, is done, instead of dotting, draw small strokes,
turning, now in one manner, now in another, accord-
4
PAINTING. 263
mg to the course and flatting of the hair. Heighten of
the lights of dark furs with ochre and white, and of the Carnations,
other with white and a little blue.
. F°r doing a building, if it be of stone, take indigo,
bistre and white, with which make the beginning or
first form of it} and for shadowing it, put less of this
last} and more bistre than indigo, according to the co¬
lour of the stone you would paint. To these you may
likewise add a little ochre, both for the forming and
the finishing. But to make it finer, you must give,
here and there, especially for old fabrics, blue and
yellow teints, some with ochre, others with ultramarine,
mixing always white with them, whether before the first
forming, provided they appear through the draught, or
whether upon it, losing or drowning them with the rest
when you finish.
When the building is of wood, as there are marfy
sorts, it is done at discretion ; but the most ordinary
way is to begin or first form with ochre, bistre, and
white, and finish without white, or with very little 5
and if the shades are deep, with pure bistre. In the
other they add sometimes vermilion, sometimes green
or black ; in a word, just according to the colour thev
would give it -, and they finish with dotting, as in dra¬
peries and every thing else.
Sect. V. Of Carnations, or the naked parts of &
Painting.
There are in carnation so many different colour¬
ings, that it would be a difficult thing to give general
rules upon so variable a subject. Nor are they mind¬
ed, when one has got, by custom and practice, some
habit of working easily: and such as are arrived to
this degree, employ themselves in copying their ori¬
ginals, or else they work upon their "ideas, without
knowing how : insomuch that the most skilful, who
do it with less reflection and pains than others, would
likewise be more put to it to give an account of their
maxims and knowledge in the matter of painting, if
they were to be asked what colours they made use of
for such and such a colouring, a teint here, and another
there.
Nevertheless, as beginners want some instruction at
the first, we wull show in general after what manner se¬
veral carnations are to be done.
In the first place, After having drawn your figure
with carmine, and ordered your piece, apply for wo¬
men and children, and generally for all tender colour¬
ings, a lay of white, mixed w’ith a very little of the
blue made for faces, of which we have told the compo¬
sition •, but let it hardly be seen.
And for men, instead of blue, they put in this first
lay a little vermilion; and when they are old, a little
ochre is mixed with it.
Afterwards follow all the traces with vermilion,
carmine, and white, mixed together $ and begin all
the shades with this mixture, adding white in propor¬
tion as they are weaker; and putting but little in the
darkest, and none, in a manner, in certain places
where strong touches are to be given : for instance, in
the corner of the eye j under the nose ; at the ears j
under the chin ; in the separations of the fingers; in
all joints j at the corners of the nails j and generally
ia every part where you would mark out separations
264-
miniature
Of in shades that are obscure. Neither need y»“
Carr.ations.gire to those places all the force and strength they
■ - 1 ought to have as soon as you beg,n or Erst fom 'hem^
hecause in working at top w.th green, the red you
ntThavtrb^oriret formed or dead-co.onr-
ed with red, make blue temts with u tramarine and a
great deal of white, upon the parts which fly from tl e
eve; that is to say, upon the temples j under and in
the corners of the eyes •, on both sides the mouth, above
and below 5 a little upon the middle of the forehead-;
between the nose and the eyes j on the side of the
cheeks j on the neck and other places where he flesli
assumes a bluish cast. Yellowish teints are likewise
made with ochre or orpiment, and a httle vermilio
mixed with white, under the eyebrows, on the sides ot
the nose towards the bottom, a little underneath the
•cheeks, and upon the other parts which rise and come
nearer the eye. It is especially from these teints tha
the natural complexion is to lie observed, m order to
catch it', for painting being an imitation of nature,
the perfection of the art consists in the justness and
simplicity of the representation, especially in face paint¬
ing
When, therefore, you have done your first lay, your
dead-colouring* and your teints, you must work upon
the shades, dotting with green for the carnations or
naked parts, mixing, according to the rule we have
given for the tSints, a little blue for the parts which
fly from the eyeand, on the other hand, making it
a little yellower for those that are more sensible * that
is to say, which rise, and come nearer the eye: and
at the end of the shades, on the side of the light, you
must blend and lose your colour insensibly m the
ground of the carnation with blue, and then with red,
according to the places where you pamt. If this mix¬
ture of green does not work dark enough at first, pass
over the shades several times, now with red, and now
with green ; always dotting : and this do till they are
as they should be. ,..111
And if you cannot with these colours give the shades
all the force they ought to have, finish, in the darkest,
with bistre mixed with orpiment, ochre, or vermilion,
and sometimes with pure bistre, according to the co¬
louring you would make, but lightly, laying on jour
colour very clear. . .
You must dot upon the clear and bright places with
a little vermilion or carmine, mixed with much white,
and a very small matter of ochre, in order to lose them
with the shadowy, and to make the teints die away in¬
sensibly into one another taking care, as you dot, or
hatch, to make your strokes follow the turnings and
windings of the fleshy parts. I or though the rule be
to cross always, this dotting or hatching ought to ap¬
pear a little • more here, because it rounds the parts.
And as this mixture might make a colouring too red,
.if it was always to be used, they work likewise in
every part, to blend the teints and the shades with
blue and a little green, and much white, so mixed as
to be very pale j excepting, nevertheless, that this
colour must not be put upon the cheeks, nor upon the
extremities of the clear parts, no more than the other
mixture upon these last, which must be left with all
their light *, as certain places of the chin, of the nose,
and of the forehead, and upon the cheeks •, which, and
1. 3
PAINTING. Sect!
the cheeks, ought nevertheless to be redder than the 0f
rest, as well as the feet, the hollows of the hands, and Carnatkl
the fingers of both.
Observe, that these two last mixtures ought to be so
pale, that the work shall hardly be visiblefor they
serve only to soften it j to unite the teints with one
another, and the shades with the lights, and to drown
the traces. Care must likewise be taken that you work
not too much with the red mixture upon the blue
teints, nor with the blue upon the others •, but
change the colour from time to time, when you per¬
ceive it works too blue or too red, till the work be fi-
nished. . , , .
The white of the eyes must be shadowed with this
same blue, and a little flesh colour ^ and the coiners, on
the side of the nose, with vermilion and white giving
them a little touch of carmine. The whole is softened
with this mixture of vermilion, carmine, white, and a
very small matter of ochre.
The apples or halls of the eyes are dime with the
mixture of ultramarine and white ; the last prevailing
a little *, adding a little bistre, if they are yellowish ; or
a little black, if they are gray. Make the little black
circle in the middle, called the crystal of the eye ; and
shadow the balls with indigo, bistre, or black, accord¬
ing to the colour they are of', giving to each a small
touch of pure vermilion round the crystal ; which must
be lost with the rest at the finishing. This gives viva¬
city to the eye.
The round or circumference of the eye is done with
bistre and carmine 5 that is to say, the slits or partings,
and the eyelids, when they are large and bold ', espe¬
cially the upper ones ', which must afterwards be soft¬
ened with the red or blue mixtures we ha\e mention¬
ed before, to the end they may be lost in one another,
and nothing seem intersected. When this is done, give
a little touch of pure white upon the crystal, on the side
of the lights. This makes the eye shine, and gives life
to it. 4 • j
The mouth is dead coloured witu vermilion, mixed
with white', and finished with carmine, which is soft¬
ened as the rest. And when the carmine does not work
dark enough, mix a little bistre with it. This is to ne
understood of the corners in the separation of the lips
and particularly, of certain mouths half open.
The hands, and all the other parts of carnation, are
done in the same manner as the faces ', observing, that
the ends of the fingers he a little redder than the rest.
When your whole work is formed and dotted, mark
the separations of all the parts with little touches of
carmine and orpiment mixed together, as well in the
shadowy as the light places ; but a little deeper and
stronger in the first, and lose them in the rest of the
carnation.
The eyebrows and the beard are dead-coloured, as
are the shades of carnations ; and finished with bistre,
ochre, or black, according to the colour they are of.
drawing them by little strokes the way they ought to
go j that is to say, give them all the nature of hair.
The lights of them must he heightened with ochre and
bistre, a little vermilion, and much white.
For the hair of the head, make a lay of bistre, ochre,
and white, and a little vermilion. When it is very
dark coloured, use black instead of ochre. Afterwards
form the shadowy parts with the same colours, putting
less
:t. VI.
0f less white in them ; and finish with pure bistre, or mix-
mtions. ed witli ochre or black, by small strokes very fine, and
close to each other, waving and buckling them accord¬
ing to the curling of the hair. The light parts must
also be heightened by little strokes with ochre or or-
piment, white, and a little vermilion. After which, lose
the lights and the shades in each other, by working
sometimes with a dark and sometimes with a light co¬
lour.
And for the hair about the forehead, through which
the skin is seen, it must be first formed with the co¬
lour thereof, and that of the carnation, working and
shadowing with one and the other, as if you designed
to paint none. ri hen form it, and finish with bistre.
The lights are to be heightened as the other. Gray
hair is dead-coloured with white, black, and bistre,
and finished with the same colour, but deeper ; height¬
ening the bright and clear parts of the hair, as well as
those of the eyebrows and the beard, with white and
very pale blue, after having formed them as the others,
with the colour of the flesh or skin 5 and finish with
bistre.
But the most important thing is to soften one’s
work; to blend the teints in one another, as well as the
beard and the hair about the forehead, with the other
hair and the carnation j taking especial care not to
work rough and dry j and that the traces, turnings,
and windings of the carnation or naked parts, be not
intersected. You must likewise accustom yourself to
put white in your colours only in proportion as you
work lighter or darker; for the colour you use the se¬
cond time must be always a little stronger and deeper
than the first, unless it be for softening.
Different colourings are easily made, by putting
more or less of red, or blue, or yellow, or bistre, whe¬
ther for the dead-colouring, or for the finishing. 
That for women ought to be bluish; that for child¬
ren a little red ; and both fresh and florid. That
for men ought to be yellower; especially when they
are old.
To make a colouring of death, there must be a first
lay of white and orpiment, or a very pale ochre : dead-
colour with vermilion, and lake, instead of carmine,
and a good deal of white ; and afterwards work over
it with a green mixture, in which there is more blue
than any other colour, to the end the flesh may be li¬
vid and of a purple colour. The tints are done the
same way as in another colouring ; but there must be
a great many more blue than yellow ones, especially
upon the parts which fly from the sight, and about the
eyes ; and the last are only to be upon the parts which
rise and come nearer the eye. They are made to die
away in one another, according to the ordinary man¬
ner ; sometimes with very pale blue, and sometimes
with ochre and white, and a little vermilion; soft¬
ening the whole together. The parts and contours
must be rounded with the same colours. The mouth
13 t° be, in a manner, of a quite violet. It is dead-
coloured, however, with a little vermilion, ochre, and
white; but finished with lake and blue ; and to give
it the deep strokes, they take bistre and lake, with
which they likewise do the same to the eyes, the nose,
nn the ears. If it be a crucifix, or some martyr, up¬
on whom blood is to he seen, after the finishing the
Vol. XIV. Part I. h f
2^5
carnation, form it with vermilion, and finish it with of Land"
carmine, making in the drops of blood a little bright scapes.
reflecting spark, to round them. For the crown of' —
thorns, make a lay of sea-green and masticot; shadow
it with bistre and green ; and heighten the clear and
light parts with masticot.
Iron is formed, or first laid, with indigo, a little
black and white; and finished with puie indigo, height¬
ening it with white.
I or painting fire and flames, the lights are done with
masticot and orpiment; and for the shades, they mix
vermilion and carmine.
A smoke is done with black, indigo, and white, and
sometimes with bistre; one may likewise add vermilion
or ochre, according to the colour it is to be of.
Pearls are painted by putting a lay of white, and a
little blue: they are shadowed and rounded with the
same colour, deeper; a small white dot is made almost
in the middle on the side of the light; and on the other
side, between the shadow and the edge of the pearl,
they give a touch with masticot, to make the reflection ;
and under the pearls is made a little shadow of the co¬
lour of the ground they are upon.
Diamonds are made with pure black; then they
heighten them with little touches of white on the side
of the light. It is the same thing for any other jewels
you have a mind to paint: there is nothing to be done
but to change the colour.
For making a figure of gold, put a lay of shell-gold,
and shadow it with gallstone. Silver is done the
same way; excepting that it must be shadowed with
indigo.
One great means of acquiring a perfection in the art,
is to copy excellent originals. We enjoy with pleasure
and tranquillity the labour and pains of others. But a
man must copy a great number before he is able to pro¬
duce as fine eflects ; and it is better to be a good copier
than a bad author.
Sect. VI. Of Landscapes.
Ix the first place, After having ordered the economy
of your landscape as of your ether pieces, you must form
the nearest grounds or lands, when they are to appear
dark, with sap or lily-green, bistre, and a little-verditer,
to give a body to your colour; then dot with this mix¬
ture, but a little darker, adding sometimes a little black
to it.
For such pieces of ground as the light falls upon, and
which are therefore clear and bright, make a lay of
ochre and white, then shadow and finish with bistre.
In some they mix a little green, particularly for sha¬
dowing and finishing.
There are sometimes upon the fore part certain red¬
dish lands ; which are dead-coloured with brown-red,
white, and a little green ; and finished with the same,
putting a little more green in them.
For the making of grass and leaves upon the fore¬
ground, you must, when that is finished, form with sea-
green, or verditer, and a little white : and for those
that are yellowish, mix masticot. Afterwards shadow
them with lily-green, or bistre and gallstone, if you
would have them appear withered.
The grounds or lands at a little distance are formed
L 1 with
M INIATUHE PAINTING.
miniature
■with venliter, and shadowed and finished with sap-
green, adding bistre for some of the touches here and
Such as are at a greater distance, are done with
sea-green and a little blue j and shadowed with ver-
^ In a word, the farther they go, the more bluish they
are to be made ; and the farthest distance ought to be
of ultramarine and white } mixing in some places small
touches of vermilion.
Water is painted with indigo and white, and shadow¬
ed with the same colour, but deeper •, and to finish it,
instead of dotting, they do nothing but make strokes
and traces without crossing giving them the same turn
with the waves, when there are any. Sometimes a little
green must be mixed in certain places, and the light
and clear parts heightened with pure white, particularly
where the water loams.
Rocks are dead-coloured like buildings ol stone ;
excepting that a little green is mixed for forming and
shadowing them. Blue and yellow teints are made
upon them, and lost with the rest in finishing. And
when there are small branches, with leaves, moss, or
grass, when all is finished, they are to be raised at
top with green and masticot. Ihey may be made yel¬
low, green, and reddish, for appearing dry in the same
manner as on the ground. Rocks are dotted as the
rest j and the farther they are off the more grayish they
are made. , P i
Castles, old houses, and other buildings of stone and
wood, are done in the manner above mentioned •, speak¬
ing of those things, when they are upon the first lines.
But when you would have them appear at a distance,
vou must mix brown-red and vermilion, with much
white ; and shadow very tenderly with this mixture;
and the farther they are off, the weaker are the strokes
to be for the separations. If they are covered with
slate, it is to be made bluer than the rest.
Trees are not done till the sky be finished •, one may,
nevertheless, spare the places of them when they con¬
tain a good number} and however it be, such as come
near the eye, are to be dead-coloured with verditer,
mixing sometimes ochre j and shadowed with the same
colours, adding lily-green. Afterwards you must work
leaves upon them by dotting without crossing : for
this must be done with small longish dots, of a darker
colour, and pretty full of it, which must be conducted
cn the side the branches go, by little tufts of a little
darker colour. Then heighten the light? with verditer
or sea-green, and masticot, making leaves in the same
manner *, and when there are dry branches or leaves,
they are dead-coloured with brown-red or gallstone,
with white ; and finished with gallstone, without white,
or with bistre.
The trunks of trees are to be dead-coloured with
ochre, white, and a little green, for the light and
clear parts •, and for the dark they mix black, adding
bistre and green for shadowing one and the other.—
Blue and yellow tints are likewise made upon them,
and little touches given here and there with white and
masticot j such as you ordinarily see upon the bark of
trees.
The branches which appear among the leaves are
done with ochre, verditer, and white j or with bistre
PAINTING. Sect. 'H
and white j according to the light they are placed in. f
They must be shadowed with bistre and lily-green. IS®,
Trees, which are at a little distance, are dead-co- ^
loured with verditer and sea-green j and are shadowed
and finished with the same colours, mixed with lily-
green. When there are some which appear yellowish,
lay with ochre and white, and finish with gallstone.
For such as are in the distances and remote views,
you must dead-colour with sea-green } with which, for
finishing, you must mix ultramarine. Heighten the
lights of one and the other with masticot, by small dis¬
joined leaves.
It is the most difficult part of landscape, in manner
of miniature, to leaf a tree well. To learn, and break
one’s hand to it a little, the way is to copy good ones 5
for the manner of touching them is singular, and can¬
not be acquired but by working upon trees themselves j
about which you must observe to make little boughs,
which must be leafed, especially such as are below and
towrard the sky.
And generally, let your landscapes be coloured in a
handsome manner, and full of nature and truth •, for it
is that which gives them all their beauty.
Sect. VII. Of Flowers.
It is an agreeable thing to paint flowers, not only
on account of the splendour of their different colours,
but also by reason of the little time and pains that are
bestoAved in trimming them. Tlhere is nothing but de¬
light in it j and, in a manner, no application. Aon
maim and bungle a face, if you make one eye higher
than another ^ a small nose with a large mouth j and so
of other parts. But the fears of these disproportions
constrain not the mind at all in flower painting j for
unless they be very remarkable, they spoil nothing.
For this reason, most persons of quality, who divert
themselves with painting, keep to flowers. Neverthe¬
less, you must apply yourself to copy justly •, and for
this part of miniature, as for the rest, we refer you to
nature, for she is your best model. Work, then, after
natural flowers j and look for- the tints and different
colours of them upon your pallet: a little use will
make you find them easily 5 and to facilitate this to
vou at the first, we shall, in the continuance of our
design, show the manner of painting some j for natu¬
ral flowers are not always to be had *, and one is often
obliged to work after prints, where nothing is seen but
^ It is a general rule, that flowers are designed and
laid like other figures; but the manner of forming
and finishing them is different: for they are first formed
only by large strokes and traces, which you must turn
at the first the way the small ones are to go, with which
you finish: this turning aiding much thereto. And
for finishing them, instead of hatching or dotting, you
draw small strokes very fine, and very close to one an¬
other, without crossing 5 repassing several times, till
your dark and your clear parts have all the force you
would give them. , ,
Of Roses.—After making your first sketch, draw
with carmine the red rose, and apply a very pale ay
of carmine and white. Then form the shades with the
same colour, putting less white in it: and lastly, wi 1
. VII. MINIATURE PAINTING.
>f
n'ers.
pure carmine, but very bright and clear at the first ;
fortifying it more and more as you proceed in your
J work, and according to the darkness of the shades.
This is done by large strokes. Then finish *, working
Open it with the same colour by little strokes, which
you must make go the same way with those of the
graving, if it be a print you copy ; or the way the
leaves of the rose turn, if you copy after a painting,
or after nature *, losing the dark in the clear parts,
and heightening the greatest lights, and the brightest
or most lightsome leaves, with white and a little car¬
mine. You must always make the hearts of roses, and
the side of the shadow darker than the rest; and mix a
little indigo for shadowing the first leaves, particu¬
larly when the roses are blown, to make them seem
faded. The seed is dead-coloured with gamboge j
with which a little sap-green is mixed for shadowing.
Roses streaked with several colours, ought to be paler
than others, that the mixture of colours may be better
seen ; which are done with carmine ; a little darker in
the shades, and very clear in the lights j always hatch¬
ing by strokes. For white roses you must put a lay of
white, ajid form and finish them as the red ; but with
black, white, and a little bistre j and make the seed a
little yellower. Yellow roses are done by putting in
every part a lay of masticot, and shadowing them with
gamboge, gallstone, and bistre j heightening the clear
and light places with masticot and white.
The stiles, the leaves, and the buds of all sorts of
roses are formed with verditer, with which is mixed a
little masticot and gamboge 5 and for shadowing them,
they add sap green, putting less of the other colours
when the shades are deep. The outside of the leaves
ought to be bluer than the inside ; wherefore it must
be dead-coloured with sea green, and sap green mixed
with that for shadowing, making the veins or fibres on
this side clearer than the ground, and those on the
other side darker. The prickles which are upon the
stiles and buds of roses, are done with little touches of
carmine, which are made to go every way ; and for
those that are upon the stalks, they are formed with
Verditer and carmine, and shadowed with carmine and
bistre: making the bottom of the stalks more reddish
than the top, i. e. you must mix with the greeu car¬
mine and pui'e bistre.
Of Tulips.—As there is an infinity of tulips, dif¬
ferent from one another, one cannot pretend to men¬
tion the colours with which they are all done. We
will only touch upon the handsomest, called streaked;
and these streaks are dead-coloured with very clear car¬
mine in some places, and with darker in others ; fi¬
nishing with the same colour by little strokes, which
must be carried the same way with the streaks. And
in others is put first a lay of vermilion. Then they
form them by mixing carmine, and finish them with
pure carmine. In some they put Florence lake over
th? vermilion instead of carmine. Some are done
with lake and carmine mixed together, and with lake
alone, or with white and lake for the first forming}
whether it be rest pink or Florence lake. There are
some of a purple colour, which arc formed with ultra¬
marine, carmine, or lake, sometimes bluer and some¬
times redder. The manner of doing both one and
the other is the same $ there is no difference hut in
the colours. You must, in certain places, as between
the streaks of vermilion, carmine, or lake, sometimes
put blue made of ultramarine and white, and some¬
times a very bright purple, which is finished by strokes
as tbe rest, and lost with the streaks. ri here are some
likewise that have sallow tints, that are made with
lake, bistre, and ochre, according as they are : but
this is only in fine and rare tulips, and not in th>.
common ones. For shadowing the bottom of them,
they ordinarily take indigo and white lor such whose
streaks are of carmine. For such as are of lake, they
take black and white ; with which, in some, bistre is
mixed, and in others green. Some are likewise to he
shadowed with gamboge and umber, and always by
strokes and traces, that turn as the leaves turn. Other
tulips are likewise done, called bordered; that is to say,
the tulip is not stteaked but on the edges of the leaves,
where there is a border. It is white in the pm pie j
red in the yellow; yellow in the red 5 and red in the
white. The purple is laid with ultramarine, carmine,
and white 5 shadowing and finishing it with this mix¬
ture. The border is spared ; that is to say, let only a
light lay of white he put there, and let it be shadowed
w'ith very bright indigo. The yellow is formed with
gamboge, and shadowed with the same colour, mixing
ochre and umber or bistre with it. The border is
laid with vermilion, and finished with a very small
matter of carmine. The red is formed with vermi¬
lion, and finished with the same colour, mixing car¬
mine or lake with it. The bottom and the border
are done with gamboge j and for finishing, they add
gallstone and umber, or bistre. The white is sha¬
dowed with black, blue, and white. Indian ink is
very proper for this. The shadowings ot it are very
tender. It produces alone the effect of blue and
white, mixed with the other black. The border ot
this white tulip is done with carmine. In all these
sorts of tulips, they leave a nerve or sinew in the
middle of the leaves that are brighter than the rest;
and the borders are drowned at the bottom by small
traces, turning crosswise 5 for they must not appear
cut and separated, as the streaked or party-coloured.
They make them likewise of several other colours.
When they happen to be such whose bottoms on the in¬
side are black, as it were, they form and finish them
with indigo, as also the seed about tbe nozzle or stalk0
And if tbe bottom is yellow, it is formed with gam¬
boge, and finished by adding umber or bistre. The
leaves and the stalks of tulips are ordinarily formed
with sea green, and shadowed and finished with lily
green, by large traces all along the leaves. Some may
likewise be done with verditer, mixing masticot with
it, and shadowed with sap green, that the green of the
shades may be yellower.
The Anemony, or Wind-flower.—There are several
sorts of them, as well double as single. The last are
ordinarily without streaks. Some are made of a purple
colour, with purple and white, shadowing them with
the same colour; some redder, others bluer; some¬
times very pale, and sometimes very dark. Others
are formed with lake and white, and finished with
the same, putting less white \ some without any white
at all. Others are formed with vermilion, and sha¬
dowed with the same colour j adding carmine. Yi e
see likewise white ones, and some ol a citron colour.
The last are laid with masticot $ and one and the other
L 1 2 shadowed
26
Of
Flowers.
MINIATURE
shadowed and finished sometimes with vermilion, and
sometimes with very brown lake, especially near the
seed, at the bottom} which is often likewise ot a
blackish colour, that is done with indigo, or black and
blue, mixing for some a little bistre ; and always
working by very fine strokes and traces, and losing
the lights in the shades. There are others that are
brighter and clearer at the bottom than anywhere
else j and sometimes they are perfectly white there,
though the rest of the flower be dark. The seed ot
all these anemonies is done with indigo and black, with
a very little white, and shadowed with indigo ; and
in some it is raised with masticot. The double ane¬
monies are of several colours. The handsomest have
their large leaves streaked. Some are done, that is,
the streaked or party coloured, with vermilion, to
which carmine is added for the finishing ; shadowing
the rest of the leaves with indigo 5 and lor the small
leaves within, a lay is put of vermilion and white,
and they are shadowed with vermilion mixed with
carmine, mixing here and there some stronger touches,
especially in the heart of the flower, next the great
leaves on the side of the shadow. They finish with
carmine, by little strokes and traces, turning the same
way with the mixed or party colours, and the leaves.
They form and finish the streaks or party colours of
some others, as well as the tmail leaves, with puie
carmine j leaving, nevertheless, in the middle of the
last, a little circle, in which is laid dark purple, which
is lost with the rest. And when ail is finished, they
give some touches with this same colour round about
the small leaves, especially on the side of the shadow,
drowning them with the large ones, the remainder of
which is shadowed either with indigo or black. In
some, the small leaves are done with lake or purple,
thou oh the party colours of the large ones be done
with carmine. There are others, whose mixed colours
are done with carmine, in the middle of most of the
large leaves *, putting in some places vermilion under¬
neath, and losing these colours with the shadows of
the bottom *, which are done with indigo and white.
The small leaves are laid with masticot, and shadowed
with very dark carmine on the side of the shade, and
with very clear on the side of the light, leaving there
in a manner pure masticot, and giving only some little
touches with orpiment and carmine, to separate the
leaves, which may be shadowed sometimes with a very
little pale green. There are double anemonies painted
all red, and all purple. The first are formed with ver¬
milion and carmine, in a manner without white, and
shadowed with pure carmine, well gummed, that they
may be very dark. Purple anemonies are laid with
purple, and white, and finished with white. In a word,
there are double anemonies as there are single ones, of
all colours j and they are done in the same manner.
The green of one and the other is verditer j with which
masticot is mixed for forming. It is shadowed and fi¬
nished with sap green. The stiles of them are a little
reddish •, wherefore they are shadowred with carmine
mixed with bistre, and sometimes with green, after ha¬
ving laid them with masticot.
The Carnation and the Pink.—It is with pinks
and carnations as with anemonies and tulips •, that is,
there are some mixt-coloured, and others of one single
colour. The first are streaked and diversified some-
PAINTING. Sitt. v;
times with vermilion and carmine } sometimes with of
pure lake, or with white •, some streaks very dark, and Flower!
others very pale j sometimes by little streaks and di-
versifications, and sometimes by large ones. Their
bottoms are ordinarily shadowed with indigo and white.
There are pinks of a very pale flesh colour, ami streaked
and diversified with another, a little deeper, made with
vermilion and lake. Others, which are of lake and
white, are shadowed and streaked without white. Others
all x’ed, which are done with vermilion and carmine as
dark as possible. Others all of lake. And, lastly, there
are others, wherein nature or fancy is the rule. The
green of one and the other is sea green, shadowed with
lily green or sap green.
The Red Lidy.—It is laid with red lead, formed
with vermilion, and in the deepest of the shades with
carmine ; and finished with the same colour by strokes
and traces, turning as the leaves turn. The clear and
light parts are heightened with red lead and white.
The seed is done with vermilion and carmine. The
green parts are done with verditer, shadowed with lily
or sap green.
The Day Lily.—There are three sorts of them :
1. The gridelin, a little red 5
2. The gridelin, very pale 5 and,
3. The white.
For the first they put a lay of lake and white, and
shadow and finish with the same colour deeper j mix¬
ing a little black to deaden it, especially in the darkest
places.
The second are laid with white, mixed with a very
little lake and vermilion, in such a manner that these
two last colours are hardly seen. Afterwards they
shadow with black and a little lake, working redder
in the middle of the leaves, next the stalks j which
ought to be, as also the seed, of the same colour, parti¬
cularly towards the top 5 and at the bottom a little
greener.
The stile of the seed is laid with masticot, and sha¬
dowed with sap green.
The other day lilies are done by putting a lay of
pure white, and shadowing and finishing with black and
white.
The stalks of these last, and the greens of them
all, are done with sea green, and shadowed with sap
green.
The Hyacinth, or Purple-flower.—There are four
sorts of them :
The blue, a little dark ;
Others paler ;
The gridelin 5
And the white.
The first are laid with ultramarine and white; and
shadowed and finished with less white. Others are
laid and shadowed with pale blue. The gridelines
are formed with lake and white, and a very small mat¬
ter of ultramarine j and finished with the same colour
a little deeper. For the last they put a lay ol white j
then they shadow them with black, with a little white j
and finish them all by strokes and traces, following
the turnings and windings of the leaves. The green
and the stalks of such as are blue, are done with sea
and lily green very dark : and in the stalks of the
first may be mixed a little carmine, to make them red¬
dish. The stalks of the two others, as also the green,
VII.
MI NIA T U R
are formed with Verditer and masticot, and shadoAved
with sap green.
The Piony.—A lay of Venice lake and white must
be put on all parts, pretty strong : then shadow with
less white, and with none at all in the darkest places:
after which finish with the same colour by traces,
turning them as for the rose} gumming it very much
in the deepest of the shades ; and x-aising the lights and
the edges of the most lightsome leaves with white and
a little lake. Little veins ax-e likewise made, which
go like the strokes in hatching, but are more visible.
The green of this flower is done with sea green, and
shadowed with sap green.
Cowslips.—They are of four or five coloui’s.
There are some of a very pale purple.
The gridelin. The white and the yellow.
The purple is done with ultramarine, carmine, and
white $ putting less white for shadowing. The gride¬
lin is laid with Venice lake, and a very small matter
of ultramarine, with much white ; and shadorved with
the same colour deeper. For the white a lay of
white must he put 5 and they must be shadowed with
black and white ; and finished, as the others, by traces
or strokes. The heart of these cowslips is done with
masticot in the shape of a stai*, which is shadowed with
gamboge, making a little circle in the middle with sap
green. iThe yellow ax-e laid with nxasticot, and shadow¬
ed with gamboge and umber. The stiles, the leaves,
and the buds, ax-e formed with verditer, mixed with a
little masticot, and finished with sap gx-een ; making
the fibres or veins, which appear upon the leaves, with
this same colour; and heightening the lights of the
largest with nxasticot.
The IIanunculus, or Crow-foot.—Thex-e are se¬
veral sorts of them : the finest are the orange-coloured.
For the first, they put a lay of vermilion, with a very
small matter of gamboge; and add carmine for sha¬
dowing ; finishing it with this last colour, and a little
gallstone. In the others may be put Venice lake in¬
stead of carmine, especially in the heart of the flower.
The orange-coloured are laid w-ith gamboge, and finish¬
ed with gallstone, vermilion, and a little carmine $ leav¬
ing some little yellow streaks. The gi’een of the stalks
is done with vex-diter and very pale masticot; mixing
lily green to shadow them. That of the leaves is a
little darker.
The Crocus.—These are of two colours :
Yellow and purple. The yellow are formed with
masticot and gallstone, and shadowed with gamboge
and gallstone: after which, upon each leaf, on the
outside, are made three streaks, separate from one
another, with bistre and pure lake ; which are lost,
by little tx-aces, in the bottom. The outside of the
leaves is left all yellow.—The purple is laid with cai--
nxine, mixed with a little ultramarine, and very pale
white. They are formed and finished with less white ;
making likewise, in some, purple stripes or sti-eaks,
very dark, as in the yellow } and in others only small
veins. The seed of both is yellow, and is done with
orpiment and gallstone. For the stiles, they put a
lay of white, and shadow with black, mixed with a
little green. The green of this flower is formed with
very pale verditer, and shadowed with sap-green.
The Iris.—The Persian iris is done by putting,
for the inside leaves, a lay of white, and shadowing
E PAINTING. 269
them with indigo and green together, leaving a little Of
white separation in the middle of each leaf j and for Flowers,
those on the outside, they put in the same place a lay
of masticot, which is shadowed with gallstone and
orpiment j making little dark and longish dots over all
the leaf, at a small distance from one another. And
at the end of each ai-e made large stains, with bistre
and lake in some, and in others with pure indigo, but
very black. The rest, and the outside of the leaves,
are shadowed with black. The green is formed with
sea green, and very pale masticot, and shadowed with
sap green. The Susian iris is laid with purple and
white, putting a little more carmine than ultramarine ;
and for the shades, especially in the middle leaves,
they put less white ; and, on the contrary, mox-e
ultramarine than carmine ; making the veins of this
very colour, and leaving in the middle of the inside
leaves a little yellow sinew. There are others which
have this very sinew in the first leaves -, the end of
which only is bluer than the xest. Others are sha¬
dowed and finished with the same purple, redder:
They have also the middle sinew on the outside leaves j
but white and shadowed with indigo. There are like¬
wise yellow ones ; which are done by putting a lay of
masticot and orpiment j shadowing them with gallstone,
and making the veins upon the leaves with bistx-e. The
gx-een of one and the other is done with sea green, mix¬
ing a little masticot for the stiles. They are shadowed
with sap green.
The Jasmine.—It is done with a lay of white, and
shadowed with black and white ; and for the outside
of the leaves, they mix a little bistre j making the half
of each, on this side, a little reddish with carmine.
The Tuberose.—For the doing of this, they make
a lay of white, and shadow with black, with a little
bistre in some places ; and for the outside of the leaves
they mix a little carmine, to give them a i*eddish teint,
particularly upon the extremities. The seed is done with
masticot, and shadowed with sap green. The green of
it is laid with verditer, and shadowed with sap green.
The Hellebore.—The flower of hellebox-e is done
almost in the same manner ; that is, let it be laid with
white, and shadowed with black and bistre, making
the outside of the leaves a little reddish here and there.
The seed is laid with dax-k green, and raised with
masticot. The green of it is foul and rxxsty, and is
formed with verditer, masticot, and bistre ; and finish¬
ed with sap green and bistre.
The White Lily.—It is laid with white, and sha¬
dowed with black and white. The seed is done with
orpiment and gallstone. And the green is done as in
the tubex-ose.
The Snow-drop.—It is formed and finished as the
white lily. The seed is laid with masticot, and sha¬
dowed with gallstone. And the green is done with sea
and sap green.
The Jonquil.—It is laid with masticot and gall¬
stone, and finished with gamboge and gallstone. The
green is formed with sea green, and shadowed with sap
green.
The Daffodil.—All daffodils, the yellow, the
double, and the single, are done by putting a lay of
masticot : they are formed with gamboge, and finished
by adding umber and bistre ; excepting the bell in the
middle, which is done with orpiment and gallstone,
bordered
MINIATURE PAINTING.
Of bordered or edged with vermilion and carmine. The
Flowers, white are laid with white, and shadowed with black
v   and white } excepting the cop or bell, which is done
with masticot and gamboge. The green is sea green,
shadowed with sap green.
The Marigold.—It is done by putting a lay of
masticot, and then one of gamboge •, shadowing it with
this very colour, after vermilion is mixed with it : and
for finishing, they add gallstone and a little carmine.
The green is done with verditer, shadowed with sap
green.
The Austrian Rose.—For making the Austrian
rose, they put a lay of masticot, and another of gam¬
boge. Then they form it, mixing gallstone 5 and finish
it with the last colour, adding bistre and a very small
matter of carmine in the deepest shades.
The Indian Pink, or French Marigold.—It is done
by putting a lay of gamboge ; shadowing it with this
colour, after you have mixed a good deal of carmine
and gallstone with it j and leaving about the leaves a
little yellow border of gamboge, very clear in the
lights, and darker in the shades. The seed is shadow¬
ed with bistre. The green, as well of the rose as the
pink, is formed with verditer, and finished with sap-
green.
The Sun-FLOWER.—It is formed with masticot and
gamboge, and finished with gallstone and bistre. The
green is laid with verditer and masticot, and shadowed
with sap green.
The Passion flower.—It is done as the rose, and
the green of the leaves likewise j but the veins are done
with a darker green.
Poetical Pinks and Sweet WilliAM.-^They are
done by putting a lay of lake and white ; shadowing
them with pure lake, with a little carmine for the last;
which are afterwards dotted on all parts with little
round dots, separate from one another •, and the threads
in the middle are raised with white. The green of
them is sea green, which is finished with sap green.
The Scabious.—There are two sorts of scabious,
the red and the purple. The leaves of the first are laid
with Florentine lake in which there is a little white ;
and shadowed without white. 5 and for the middle,
which is a great boss or husk in which the seed lies, it
is formed and finished with pure lake, with a little
ultramarine or indigo to make it darker. Then they
make little white longish dots over it, at a pretty
distance from one another, clearer in the light than in
the shade, making them go every way. The other is
done by putting a lay of very pale purple, as well upon
the leaves as the boss in the middle ; shadowing both
with the same colour, a little deeper : and instead of
little white touches for the seed, they make them pur¬
ple ; and about each grain they make out a little circle,
and this over the whole boss or husk in the middle.
The green is formed with verditer and masticot, and
shadowed with sap green.
The Sword or Day Lily.—It is laid with Florence
lake and very pale white •, formed and finished with
pure lake, very clear and bright in some places, and
very dark in others •, mixing even bistre in the thickest
of the shades. The green is verditer, shadow'ed with
sap green.
Hepatica, or Liverwort.—There is red and blue.
The last is done by putting on all parts a lay of ultra-
Sect.
marine, white, and a little carmine or hike: shadow¬
ing the inside of the leaves with the mixture, but F
deeper 5 excepting those of the first rank •, for which,
and for the outside of every one of them, they add indi¬
go and white, that the colour may be paler, and not so
fine. The red is laid with lake columbine and very
pale white *, and finished with less white. The green
is done with verditer, masticot, and a little bistre j and
shadowed with sap green, and a little bistre, especially
on the outside of the leaves.
The Pomegranate.—The flower of the pomegra¬
nate is laid with red lead *, shadowed with vermilion
and carmine > and finished with this last colour. The
green is laid with verditer and masticot, and shadowed
with sap green.
The flower of the Indian Bean.—It is done with
a lay of Levant lake and white ; shadowing the middle
leaves with pure lake ; and adding a little ultramarine
for the others. The green is verditer, shadowed with
sap green.
The Columbine.—There are columbines of several
colours : the most common are the purple, the gridelin,
and the red. For the purple, they lay with ultrama¬
rine, carmine, and white } and shadow with this mix¬
ture deeper. The gridelin are done the same way,
putting a great deal less ultramarine than carmine.
The red are done with lake and white, finishing with
less white. There are some mixed flowers of this kind,
of several colours ; which must he formed and finished
as the others, but paler, making the mixtures of a little
darker colour.
The Lark’s Heel.—These are of different colours,
and of mixed colours : the most common are the pur¬
ple, the gridelin, and the red 5 which are done as the
columbines.
Violets and Pansies.—Violets and pansies are
done the same way ; excepting that in the last the two
middle leaves are bluer than the others ; that is, the
borders or edges j for the inside of them is yellow : and
there little back veins are made, which take their be¬
ginning from the heart of the flower, and die away to-
W’ards the middle.
The Muscipula, or Catch-fly.—There are two
sorts of it, the white and the red j the last is laid with
lake and white, with a little vermilion, and finished
with pure lake. As for the knot or nozzle of the
leaves, it is formed with white and a very small matter
of vermilion, mixing bistre or gallstone to finish it.
The leaves of the white are laid with white j adding
bistre and masticot upon the knots which are shadowed
with pure bistre, and the leaves with black and white.
The green of all these flowers is done with verditer and
masticot, and shadowed with sap green.
The Crown Imperial,—which is of two colours,
the yellow and the red. The first is done by putting
a lay of orpiment, and shadowing it with gallstone and
orpiment with a little vermilion. The other is laid
with orpiment and vermilion, and shadowed with
gallstone and vermilion , making the beginning of
the leaves next the stile, with lake and bistre, very
dark 5 and veins with this mixture both in one and
the other, all along the leaves. T he green is done with
verditer and masticot, shadowed with sap green and
gamboge.
The Cyclamen, or Sowbread.—The red is laid
with
tot. VII. MINIATURE PAINTING.
Of with carmine, a little ultramarine, anil much white ;
owers. and finished with the same colour, deeper; putting, in
a manner, only carmine in the middle of the leaves,
next the heart, and in the rest add a little more ultra-
marine. The other is laid with white, and shadowed
with black. The stalks of one and the other ought to
he a little reddish 5 and the green, verditer and sap green.
The GlLLlFLOWER.—There are several sorts of gil-
liflowers *, the white, the yellow, the purple, the red,
and the mixed of various colours. The white are laid
with white, and shadowed with black, and with a little
indigo in the heart of the leaves. The yellow, with
masticot, gamboge, and gallstone. The purple are form¬
ed w'ith purple and white ; and finished with less white j
making the colour brighter in the heart, and even a lit¬
tle yellowish. The red with lake and white j finishing
them with white. The mixed coloured are laid with
white, and the mixtures are sometimes made with pur¬
ple, in which there is much ultramarine ; others again,
in which there is more carmine. Sometimes they are
of lake, and sometimes of carmine. Some are done
with white, and others without white ; shadowing the
rest of the leaves with indigo. The seed of all is form¬
ed with verditer and masticot, and finished with sap
green. The leaves and stiles are laid with the same
green, mixing sap green to finish them.
Fruits, fishes, serpents, and all sorts of reptiles, are
to be touched in the same manner as the figures of men
are; that is, hatched or dotted.
Birds and all other animals are done like flowers, by
strokes or traces.
Never make use, for any of these things, of white
lead. It is only proper in oil. It blackens like ink
when only tempered with gum $ especially if you set
your work in a moist place, or where perfumes are.
Ceruss of Venice is as fine, and of as pure a white.
Be not sparing in the use of this, especially in forming
or dead-colouring} and let it enter into all your mix¬
tures, in order to give them a certain body, which will
render your work gluish, and make it appear soft, of
plump, and strong. Flowers.
The taste of painters is, nevertheless, different in this ’ ”"v
point. Some use a little of it, and others none at all.
But the manner of the last is meagre and dry. Others
use a great deal j and doubtless it is the best method,
and most followed among skilful persons 5 for besides that
it is speedy, one may by the use of it copy all sorts of
pictures •, which would be almost impossible otherwise ;
notwithstanding the contrary opinion of seme, who say,
that in miniature avc cannot give the force and all the
different teints we see in pieces in oil. But this is not
true, at least of good painters; and effects prove it pretty
plainly: forwe see figures, landscapes,pictures,andeveiy
thing else in miniature, touched in as grand, as true,
and as noble a manner (though more tender and deli¬
cate), as they are in oil.
Howrever, painting in oil has its advantages j were
they only these, that it exhibits more work, and takes
up less time. It is better defended likewise against the
injuries of time} and the right of birth must be granted
it, and the glory of antiquity.
But miniature likewise has its advantages 5 and with¬
out repeating such as have been mentioned already, it
is neater and more commodious. You may easily carry
all your implements in your pockets, and work when
and wherever you please, without such a number of
preparations. You may quit and resume it when and
as often as you will } which is not done in the other}
in which one is rarely to work dry.
To conclude : In the art of painting, excellence
does not depend upnn the greatness of the subject, but
upon the manner in which it is handled. Some catch
the airs of a face well} others succeed better in land¬
scapes : some work in little, who cannot do it in large t
some are skilled in colours, who know little of design :
others, lastly, have only a genius for flowers : and even,
the Bassans got themselves a fame for animals} which
they touched in a very fine manner, and better than any.
thing else.
M I N
linim MINIM, in Music, a note equal to two crotchets,
1.1 or half a semibreve. See Music.
rter;. MINIMS, a religious order in the church of Rome,
* founded by St Francis de Faula, towards the end of
the 15th century. Their habit is a coarse black wool¬
len stuff, with a woollen girdle, of the same colour,
tied in five knots. They are not permitted to quit
their habit and girdle night nor day. Formerly they
went barefooted, but are now allowed the use of
shoes.
MINIMUM, in the higher geometry, the least
quantity attainable in a given case.
MINISTER, a person who preaches, performs re¬
ligious worship in public, administers the sacraments,
&c.
MimsTEn of State, a person to whom the prince in¬
trusts the administration of government. See CouN-
CJL.
M I N
Foreign Minister, is a person sent into a foreign Minister
country, to manage the affairs of his province or of II .
the state to which he belongs. Of these there are two 1 m
kinds : those of the first rank are ambassadors and en¬
voys extraordinary, who represent the persons of their
sovereigns*, the ministers of the second rank are the or¬
dinary residents.
MINIUM, or Red-lead. See Chemistry In¬
dex.
MINNIN, a stringed instrument of music among
the ancient Hebrews, having three or four chords to
it, although there is reason to question the antiquity of
this instrument} both because it requires a hair bow,
which was a kind of plectrum not known to the an¬
cients, and because it so much resembles the modern
viol. Kircher took the figures of this, the machul,
chinnor, and psaltery, from an old book in the Vatican
library.
MINOR,
MIN
[ 272 ]
M I N
Minor,
Minorca.
MINOR, a Latin term, literally denoting less ;
used in opposition to major, greater.
1 Minor, in Law, denotes a person under age •, or
who, by the laws of the country, is not yet arrived
at the power of administering his own affairs, or the
posession of his estate. Among us, a person is a mi¬
nor till the age of twenty-one, before which time his
acts are invalid. See Age, and Infant.
It is a maxim in the common law, that in the king
there is no minority, and therefore he hath no legal
guardian', and his royal grants and assents to acts of
parliament are good, though he has not in his natural
capacity attained the legal age ot twenty-one. It is
also provided by the custom and law ot parliament,
that no one shall sit or vote in either house unless he
be twenty-one years of age. This is likewise expressly
declared by stat. 7 ancl ^ Will. III. cap. 25. with re¬
gard to the house of commons.
Minor in Logic, is the second proposition of a for¬
mal or regular syllogism, called also the assumption.
Minor, in Music, is applied to certain concords,
which difter from or are lower than others of the same
denomination by a lesser semitone or four commas.—
Thus we say, a third minor, or lesser third, or a sixth
major and minor. Concords that admit of major and
minor, 1. e. greater and less, are said to be imperfect
concords.
MINORCA, an island of the Mediterranean, si¬
tuated between 39 and 40 degrees of north latitude,
and near four degrees of east longitude. It is about
33 miles in length from north-west to south-east, in
breadth from eight to twelve, but in general about ten
miles •, so that in size it may nearly equal the county of
Huntingdon or Bedfordshire. The form is very irregu¬
lar ; and the coasts are much indented by the sea, which
forms a great number of little creeks and inlets, some
of which might be very advantageous.
This island is one of those called by the ancient Ro¬
mans JBaleares, which arose from the dexterity ot the
inhabitants in using the sling. It fell under the power
of the Romans, and afterwards of the northern barba¬
rians. From them it was taken by the Arabs *, w’ho
were subdued by the king of Majorca, and he by the
king of Spain. The English subdued it in 1708 5 it
was afterw’ards retaken by the French in i75^>
restored to Britain by the treaty of Paris in 1763. The
Spaniards took it in 1782 j the British regained it in
1798; but it was given up in 1802, and continues in the
possession of Spain.
The air of this island is much more clear and pure
than in Britain •, being seldom darkened with thick fogs ;
yet the low valleys are not free from mists and un¬
wholesome vapours ^ and in windy weather the spray of
the sea is driven over the whole island. Hence it hap¬
pens that utensils of brass or iron are extremely suscep¬
tible of rust, in spite of all endeavours to preserve them ;
and household furniture becomes mouldy. The sum¬
mers are dry, clear, calm, and excessively hot •, the au¬
tumns moist, warm, and unequal $ at one time perfectly
serene, at another cloudy and tempestuous. During the
winter there are sometimes violent storms, though nei¬
ther frequent nor of long continuance; and whenever
they cease, the weather returns to its usual serenity.
The spring is always variable, but resembles the winter
score than the summer. The changes of heat and cold
are neither so great nor so sudden in this climate as in ]\,jjnf)rcSt
many others. In the compass of a year, the thermo--v—
meter seldom rises much above the 8oth, or falls be¬
low the 48th degree. In summer there is scarcely ever
a difference of four or five degrees between the heat of
the air at noon and at night; and in winter the varia¬
tion is still less considerable. But this must be under¬
stood of a thermometer shaded from the influence of
the solar beams : for if exposed to them it will often
rise 12, 14, or 16 degrees higher than what we have
mentioned ; and in other seasons the difference between
the heat of the air in the sun and the shade is much
greater. Yet even in the dog-days, the heat ot the
atmosphere, at least in open places, seldom surpasses that
of human blood. The winds are very boisterous about
the equinoxes, and sometimes during the winter. At
other times they are generally moderate, and, according
to the observations of seamen, they rarely blow in the
same direction near the islands adjacent to the gulf of
Lyons as in the open sea. During the summer there is
commonly a perfect calm in the mornings and even¬
ings ; but the middle of the day is cooled by refreshing
breezes which come from the east, and following the
course of the sun, increase gradually till two or three
in the afternoon, after which they insensibly die away
as night approaches. This renders the heat of the sun
less dangerous and inconvenient ; and if these breezes
intermit for a day or two, the natives grow languid
and inactive from the heat. The northerly winds in
general are clear and healthy, dispel the mists, and
make a clear blue sky ; whilst those which blow from
the opposite quarter, render the air warm, moist, and
unhealthy. The north wind is superior in power to all
the rest; which appears from hence, that the tops of all
the trees incline to the south, and the brandies on the
north side are bare and blasted. „_The next to it in
force is the north-west. Both are frequent towards the
close of winter and in the spring; and, being dry and
cold, they shrivel up the leaves of the vegetables, de¬
stroy their tender shoots, and are often excessively de¬
trimental to the vineyards and rising corn. The pier¬
cing blasts at that season from the north-east, as they
are more moist, and more frequently attended with
rain, are less prejudicial. The south and south-east
winds are by much the most unhealthy. In whatever
seasons they blow, the air is foggy, and affects the
breathing; but in the summer season they are sultry
and suffocating. An excessive dejection of spirits is
then a universal complaint; and on exposing the ther¬
mometer to the rays of the sun, the mercury has fre¬
quently risen above the 100th degree. rIhe west wind
is usually drier than the south : the east is cold and
blustering in the spring, and sultry in the summer.
The weather in Minorca is generally fair and dry ;
hut when it rains, the shoivers are heavy, though of
short continuance, and they fall most commonly in the
night. The sky in summer is clear, and of a beautiful
azure, without clouds or rain ; but moderate dews de¬
scend regularly after sunset. In autumn the weather
becomes less serene ; whirlwinds and thunder become
frequent; and in the night time lightning, and those
meteors called falling stars, are very common. Water
spouts also are often seen at that season, and frequently
break upon the shore. A sudden alteration in the wea¬
ther takes place about the autumnal equinox ; the skies
are
M 1 IN [2
. are darkened with clouds, and the rains fall in such
quantities, that the torrents thereby occasioned, pour¬
ing down from the hills, tear up trees by the root, car¬
ry away cattle, break dowm fences, and do considerable
mischief to the gardens and vineyards. But these anni¬
versary rains arc much more violent than lasting ; al¬
ways falling in sudden and heavy shou'ers, rvith inter¬
vals of fair weather. They are accompanied with
thunder, lightning, and squalls of wind, most common¬
ly from the north. Hail and snow are often intermix¬
ed with the rains which fall in winter and in spring ;
but tile snow, for the most part, dissolves immediately j
and ice is here an uncommon appearance.
The whole coast of Minorca lies low 5 and there are
only a few hills near the centre, of which the most con¬
siderable, named Toro by the inhabitants, may be seen
at the distance of 12 or 14 leagues from the land. The
surface of the island is rough and unequal 5 and in many
places divided by long narrow vales of a considerable
depth, called barancoes by the natives. They begin
towards the middle of the island, and after several
windings terminate at the sea. The south west side is
more plain and regular than towards the north-east;
where the hills are higher, with low marshy valleys be¬
twixt them, the soil less fruitful, and the whole tract
unhealthy to man and beast. Near the towns and vil¬
lages the fields are well cultivated, and enclosed with
stone walls ; but the rest for the most part are rocky',
or covered with woods and thickets. There are some
pools of standing water, but very few rivulets, which
is the greatest defect about the island, as the inhabi¬
tants have scarcely any wholesome water excepting
what is saved from the clouds.
The soil is light, thin, and very stony, with a good
deal of sea salt, and, in some places, of calcareous nitre
intermixed. In most places there is so little earth, that
the island appears to be but one large irregular rock, co¬
vered here and there with mould, and an infinite variety
of stones. Notwithstanding this, however, it is not
only extremely proper for vineyards, but produces more
wheat and barley than could at first sight be imagined j
and if the peasants may be credited, it would always
yield a quantity of corn and wine sufficient for the na¬
tives, did not the violence of the winds, and the exces¬
sive drought of the weather, frequently spoil their crops.
The fields commonly lie fallow for two years, and are
sown the third. About the latter end of winter, or the
beginning of spring, they are first broke up : and next
autumn, as soon as the rains fall, they are again plough¬
ed and prepared for receiving the proper seeds. The
tillage is very easily performed ; for a plough so light
as to be transported from place to place on the plough¬
man’s shoulder, and to be drawn by a heifer, or an ass
sometimes assisted by an hog, is sufficient for opening
so thin a soil. The later the harvest happens, the more
plentiful it proves. The barley is usually cut down
about the 20th of May and the wheat is reaped in
June, so that the whole harvest is commonly got in
by Midsummer day. The grain is not thrashed with
flails as in this country, but trodden out ou a smooth
piece of rock by oxen and asses, according to the cus¬
tom of the eastern nations.
The natives of Minorca are commonly lean, thin,
and well-built, of a middle stature, and olive com-
Vol. XIV. Part I. j-
73 J MIN
plexion ; but their character is by no means agree- Minorca.
able. Such is the natural impetuosity of their temper, ' /-—
that the slightest cause provokes them to anger, and
they seem to be incapable of forgiving or forgetting
any injury. Hence quarrels break out daily, even among
neighbours and relations: and family disputes are trans¬
mitted from father to son j and thus, though lawyers
and pettifoggers are very numerous in this country,
lucre are stilt too few for the clients. Both sexes are,
by constitution, extremely amorous : they are often be¬
trothed to each other w’hile children, and marry at the
age of 14. I he w omen have easy labours, and com¬
monly return in a few days to their usual dorfiestic bu¬
siness j but, lest the family should become too numer¬
ous for their income, it is a practice among the poorer
sort to keep their children at the breast for two or
three years, that by this means the mothers may be
hindered from breeding.
Bread of the finest wheat flour, well fermented and
well baked, is more than half the diet of people of all
ranks. Rice, pulse, vermicelli, herbs and roots from
the garden, summer fruits, pickled olives and pods of
the Guinea pepper, make up almost all the other half,
so that scarce a fifth of their whole food is furnished
from the animal kingdom, and of tins fish makes
by much the most considerable portion. On Fridays,
and other fast days, they abstain entirely from flesh ;
and during Lent they live altogether on vegetables and
fi^h, excepting Sundays, when they are permitted the
use of eggs, cheese, and milk. Most of their dishes
are high-seasoned with pepper, cloves, cinnamon, and
other spices; and garlic, onions, or leeks, are almost
constant ingredients. They eat a great deal of oil,
and that none of the sweetest or best flavoured j using
it not only with salads, but also with boiled and fried
fish, greens, pulse, &c. instead of butter. A slice of
bread soaked in boiled water, with a little oil and salt,
is the common breakfast of the peasants, well known
by the name of o/eagua. Their ordinary meals are
very frugal, and consist of very little variety ; but on
festivals and other solemn occasions their entertainments
are to the last degree profuse and extravagant, inso¬
much that the bill of fare of a country farmer’s wedding
dinner would scarce be credited.
M ith regard to other matters, the Minorquins are
accused of prodigious indolence in the wTay of business,
and neglect ol the natural advantages they possess. In
the bowels of the earth are iron, copper, and lead ores,
of none of which any use has been made except the
last. A lead mine was worked to advantage some time
ago, and the ore sent into France and Spain for the
use of the potteries in those countries. The proprie¬
tor discontinued his work on some small discourage¬
ment ; and indeed it is said, that these people are of
all mankind the most easily put out of conceit with an
undertaking that does not bring them in mountains of
present gain, or that admits of the slightest probabili¬
ty of disappointing their most sanguine expectations :
nor will their purse admit of many disappointments $
and thus their poverty co-operating with their natural
despondence and love of ease, is the principal cause of
their backwardness to engage in projects, though ever
so promising lor the improvement of their private for¬
tune, and the advantage of the commerce of their
M m country.
MIN [ 274
country. This lend ore went under the name of vernu
among the natives, as it was wholly used by the potters
in varnishing and glazing their earthen vessels.
There are few "exports of any account, and they
are obliged to their neighbours for near one-third ol
their corn, all their oil, and such a variety of articles
of less consideration, that nothing could preserve them
from a total bankruptcy, but the English money circu¬
lated by the troops, which is exchanged for the daily
supplies of provisions, increased by the multiplication of
vineyards, the breeding of poultry, and the production
of vegetables, in a proportion of at least live to one
since the island has been in our possession. It will not
require many words to enumerate their exports: they
make a sort of cheese, little liked by the English, which
sells in Italy at a very great price •, this, perhaps, to
the amount of 800I. per annum.—The wool they send
abroad may produce pool. more.—Some wine is expor¬
ted 5 and, if we add to its value that of the home con¬
sumption, which has every merit of an export, being
nine parts in ten taken off by the troops for ready
money, it may well be estimated at 16,oool. a-year. In
honey, wax, and salt, their yearly exports may be
about 4C0I. and this comes pretty near the sum ot their
exports, which we estimate together at i8,iool. steiling
per annum.
A vast balance lies against them, if vve consider the
variety and importance of the articles they fetch from
other countries, for which they must pay ready cash.
Here it may be necessary to withdraw some things
from the heap, such as their cattle, sheep, and lowls,
on which they get a profit j for the country does not
produce them in a sufficient abundance to supply them,
especially when we have a fleet ol men of war stationed
there.
Their imports are, corn, cattle, sheep, fowls, to¬
bacco, oil, rice, sugar, spices, hardware, and tools
of all kinds ^ gold and silver lace j chocolate, or co¬
coa to make it; tobacco, timber, plank, boards, mill¬
stones, tobacco pipes, playing cards, turnery ware,
seeds, soap, saddles; all manner of cabinetmakers
work, iron spikes, nails, fine earthen ware, glass
lamps, brasiery } paper, and other stationary wares j
copperas, galls, dye stuffs, painters brushes and co¬
lours-, musical instruments, music, and strings j watches,
wine, fruit, all manner of fine and printed linens,
muslins, cambrics, and laces bottles, corks, starch,
indigo, fans, trinkets, toys, ribbands, tape, needles,
pins, silk, mohair, lanthorns, cordage, tar, pitch, ro¬
sin, drugs, gloves, fire-arms, gunpowder, shot, and
lead; hats, caps, velvet, cotton stuffs, woollen cloths,
stockings, capes, medals, vestments, lustres, pictures,
images, agnus dei’s, books, pardons, bulls, relicks, and
'indulgences.
The island is divided into what they style terminos,
of which there were anciently five, now reduced to four,
and resemble our counties. The tennino of Ciudadella,
at the north-western extremity of the island, is so styled
from this place, which was once a city, and the capital
of Minorca. It makes a venerable and majestic figure,
even in its present state of decay, having in it a large
Gothic cathedral, some other churches and convents,
the governor’s palace, and an exchange, which is no
contemptible pile.—There are in it 600 houses, which,
before the seat of government and the courts of justjce
]
MIN
were removed to Mahon, were fully inhabited; and Minor,
there are still more gentlemen’s families here than in'—-v*
all the rest of the island. It hath a port commodious
enough for the vessels employed in the trade of this
country, which, though in the possession of a maritime
power, is less than it formerly rvas. It is still, in the
style of our officers, the best quarters (and there aie
none bad} in the country} and if there was a crvii go¬
vernment, and the place made a free port, the best jud¬
ges are of opinion it would very soon become a flouiish-
ing place again ^ and the fortifications, it it should be
found necessary, might then also be easily restored and
improved.
The termino of Fererias is the next, a narrow slip
reaching cross from sea to sea, and the country little
cultivated ; it is therefore united to Mercandal. In this
last termino stands Mont-toro in the very centre of the
isle, and the highest ground, some say the only moun¬
tain in it} on the summit of which there is a Convent,
where even in the hottest months the monks enjoy a
cool air, and at all times a most delightful prospect.
About six miles north from Mont-toro stands the castle
that covers Port-Fornelles, which is a very spacious
harbour on the east side of the island. Iheie aie in it
shoals and foul ground, which, to those who are unac¬
quainted with them, render it difficult and dangerous -,
yet the packets bound Iron) Mahon to Marseilles fie-
quently take shelter therein j and while the Spaniards
were m possession of the isle, large ships and men ol war
frequented it. At a small distance from this lies an¬
other harbour called A (ha, which runs far into the land y
but being reputed unsafe, and being so near 1 ornelies,
is at present useless. The country about it is, however,
said to be the pleasantest and wholesomest spot in the
island, and almost the only one plentifully supplied with
excellent spring water-, so that the gardens are well
laid out, and the richest and finest fruits grow here in
the highest perfection. Alaior is the next teimino, in^
which there is nothing remarkable but the capital of
the same name, well situated on an eminence, in a plea¬
sant and tolerably cultivated country.
The termino of Mahon, at the south-east end of the
island, is at present the most considerable of them all,
containing about 60,000 English acres, and nearly o116*
half of the inhabitants in Minorca. The town of
Mahon derives its name from the Carthaginian general
Mago, who is universally allowed to be its founder.—
It stands on an eminence on the west side ol the har¬
bour, the ascent pretty steep. There are in it a large
church, three convents, the governor’s palace, and
some other public edifices. It is large, but the sheets
are winding, narrow, and ill paved. The fortress (f
St Philip stands near the entrance of the harbour, which
it covers-, is very spacious, of great strength, with sub¬
terranean works to protect the garrison from bombs,
large magazines, and whatever else is necessary to render
it a complete fortification, and hath a numerous and
well disposed artillery. Port Mahon is allowed to be
the finest harbour in the Mediterranean, about 90 fa¬
thoms wide at its entrance, but within very large and
safe, stretching a league or more into the land. Beneath
the town of Mahon there is a very fine quay, one end
of which is reserved for the ships of war, and furnished
with alt the accommodations necessary lor careening
and refitting them ; the other serves for merchantmen.
MIN [ 275 ] MIN
irca On the oilier side of the harbour is Cape Mola, where
j] it 19 generally agreed a fortress might he constructed
j.Uaur. which would he impregnable, as the castle of St Philip
Tfi' was esteemed before we took it, and bestowed so much
money upon it, that though some works were erected
at Cape Mola, it was not judged proper to proceed in
the fortifications there at a fresh expence ; at least this
is the only reason that hath been assigned. Minorca
was taken by the Spaniards during the American war,
and is now in their possession.
MINORS, or Friars Minor, an appellation which
the Franciscans assume, out of show of humility ; calling
themselves fratres minore,s\ i. e. lesser brothers, and
sometimes minorites. There is also an order of regular
minors at Naples, which was established in the year
1388, and confirmed by Sixtus V.
MINOS, in Fabulous History, a king of Crete, son
of Jupiter and Europa. He flourished about 1432
years before the Christian era. Fie gave laws to his
subjects, which still remained in full force in the age of
the philosopher Plato, about 1000 years after the death
ol the legislator. His justice and moderation procured
him the appellation of the favourite of the gods, the
confidant of Jupiter, and the wise legislator, in every
city of Greece *, and, according to the poets, he was
rewarded for his equity after death with the office of
supreme and absolute judge in the infernal regions. In
this capacity he is represented sitting in the middle of
the shades, and holding a sceptre in his hand. The
dead plead their different causes before him ; and the
impartial judge shakes the fatal urn, which is filled
with the destinies of mankind. He married Ithona,
by whom he had Lycastes, who was the father of
Minos II.
Minos II. was a son of I/ycastes, the son of Mi¬
nos I. and king of Crete. He married Pasiphae, the
daughter of Sol and Perseis, and by her he had many
children. He increased his paternal dominions by the
conquest of the neighbouring islands ; but showed him¬
self cruel in the war which he carried on against the
Athenians, who had put to death his son Androgeus.
He took Megara by the treachery of Scylla J and not
satisfied with victory, he obliged the vanquished to
bring him yearly to Crete seven chosen boys and the
same number of virgins to be devoured by the Mino¬
taur. This bloody tribute was at last abolished when
Theseus had destroyed the monster. When Daedalus,
whose industry and invention had fabricated the laby¬
rinth, and whose imprudence in assisting Pasiphae in
the gratification of her unnatural desires, had offended
Minos, fled from the place of his confinement with
wings, and arrived safe in Sicily ; the incensed monarch
pursued the offender, resolved to punish his infidelity.
Cocalus, king ot Sicily, who had hospitably received
I Daedalus, entertained his royal guest with dissembled
friendship $ and, that he might not deliver to him a
man whose ingenuity and abilities he so well knew, he
put Minos to death. Minos died about 35 years before
the Frojan war. He was father of Androgeus, Glau-
cus, and Deucalion; and two daughters Pfuedra, and
Ariadne. Many authors have confounded the two
Minoses, the grandfather and the grandson 5 but Homer,
Plutarch, and Diodorus, prove plainly that they were
two different persons.
MINOTAUR, in Fabulous History, a celebrated
monster, half a man and half a bull, according to this Minotaur
verse of Ovid, |j
. . . . Minstrel.
oemibovQmmte virum, semivirumque bovem.
It was the fruit of Pasiphae’s amour with a bull. Mi¬
nos refused to sacrifice a white bull to Neptune, an
animal which he had received from the god for that
purpose. This offended Neptune, and he made Pa¬
siphae the wife of Minos enamoured of this fine bull,
which had been refused to his altars. Daedalus prosti¬
tuted his talents in being subservient to the queen’s
unnatural desires; and by his means, Pasiphae’s hor¬
rible passions were gratified, and the Minotaur came
into the world. Minos confined in the labyrinth this
monster, which convinced the world of his wife’s las¬
civiousness, and reflected disgrace upon his family.
The Minotaur usually devoured the chosen young men
and maidens which the tyranny of Minos yearly ex¬
acted from the Athenians. Theseus delivered his
country from this tribute, when it had fallen to his
lot to be sacrificed to the voracity of the Minotaur ;
and by means of Ariadne, the king’s daughter, he de¬
stroyed the monster, and made his escape from the
windings of the labyrinth.—The fabulous tradition of
the Minotaur, and of the infamous commerce of Pasi¬
phae with a favourite bull, has been often explained.
Some suppose that Pasiphae was enamoured of one of
her husband’s courtiers called Taurus ; and that Dae¬
dalus favoured the passions of the queen, by suffering
his house to become the retreat of the two lovers.
Pasiphae some time after brought twins into the world,
one of whom greatly resembled Minos and the other
Taurus j and in the natural resemblance of their coun¬
tenance with that of their supposed fathers, originated
their name, and consequently the fable of the Mino¬
taur.
MINOW, a very small species of cyprinus. See
Ichthyology Index.
MINSTER, (Saxon, My ns ter or Mynstre'), ancient¬
ly signified the church of a monastery or convent. J
MINSTREL, an ancient term for a singer and in¬
strumental performer.
The word minstrel is derived from the French mcnc-
strier, and was not in use here before the Norman con¬
quest. It is remarkable that our old monkish histo¬
rians do not use the words cithareedus, cantator or the
like, to express a minstrel\n Latin j but either mimus,
histrio,joculator, orsome otherword that impliesgwtom
Flence it should seem that the minstrels set oft’ their
singing by mimicry or action 5 or, according to Dr
Brown’s hypothesis, united the powers of melody, poem,
and dance.
The Saxons as well as the ancient Danes, had been
accustomed to hold men of this profession in the high¬
est reverence. Their skill was considered as something
divine, their persons were deemed sacred, their atten¬
dance was solicited by kings, and they were every¬
where loaded with honours and rewards. In short,
poets and their art were held among them in that rude
admiration which is ever shown by an ignorant people
to such as excel them in intellectual accomplishments.
When the Saxons were converted to Christianity, in
proportion as letters prevailed among them this rude
admiration began to abate, and poetry wras no longer
a peculiar profession. The poet and the minstrel be-
M m 2 came
MIN
Minstrel, came two persons. Poetry was cultivated by men of
v-"1 ■ letters indiscriminately, and many of the most popular
' rhymes were composed amidst the leisure and retire¬
ment of monasteries. But the minstrels continued a
distinct order of men, and got their livelihood by sing¬
ing verses to the harp at the houses of the great.
There they were still hospitably and respectfully re¬
ceived, and retained many of the honours shown to
their predecessors the Bards and Scalds. And in¬
deed, though some of them only recited the composi¬
tions of others, many of them still composed songs
themselves : and all of them could probably invent a
few stanzas on occasion. There is no doubt but most
of the old heroic ballads were produced by this order
of men. For although some of the larger metrical
romances might come from the pen of the monks or
others, yet the smaller narratives were probably com¬
posed by the minstrels who sung them. From the
amazing variations which occur in different copies of
these old pieces, it is evident they made no scruple to
alter each other’s productions, and the reciter added
or omitted whole stanzas according to his own fancy or
convenience.
In the early ages, as is hinted above, this profession
was held in great reverence among the Saxon tribes,
as well as among their Danish brethren. This appears
from two remarkable facts in history, which show that
the same arts of music and song were equally admired
among both nations, and that the privileges and honours
conferred upon the professors of them were, common
to both 5 as it is well known their customs, manners,
and even language, were not in those times very dis¬
similar.
When King Alfred the Great was desirous to learn
the true situation of the Danish army, which had in¬
vaded his realm, he assumed the dress and character of
a minstrel; and taking his harp, and only one attend¬
ant (for in the earliest times it was not unusual for a
minstrel to have a servant to carry his harp), he went
with the utmost security into the Danish camp. And
though he could not hut be known to he a Saxon, the
character he had assumed procured him an hospitable
reception •, he was admitted to entertain the king at
table, and staid among them long enough to contrive
that assault which afterwards destroyed them. This
was in the year 878.
About 60 years after, a Danish king made use of
the same disguise to explore the camp of King Athel-
stan. With his harp in his hand, and dressed like a
minstrel, Ardaff king of the Danes went among the
Saxon tents, and taking his stand near the king’s pa¬
vilion, began to play, and was immediately admitted.
There he entertained Athelstan and his lords with his
singing and his music; and was at length dismissed
with an honourable reward, though his songs must
have discovered him to have been a Dane. Athel¬
stan was saved from the consequences of this stratagem
by a soldier, who had observed Anlaff bury the money
which had been given him, from some scruple of ho¬
nour or motive of superstition. This occasioned a dis¬
covery.
From the uniform procedure of both these kings, it
is plain that the same mode of entertainment prevailed
among both peoples, and that the minstrel was a pri¬
vileged character among both. Even as late as the
M 1 N
reign of Edward II. the minstrels were easily admitted Jibuti
into the royal presence, as appears from a passage ift ——y
Stow, which also shows the splendour of their appear¬
ance.
“ In the year 1316, Edward II. did solemnize his
feast of Pentecost at Westminster, in the great hail y
where sitting x-oyally at the table with his peers about
him, there entered a woman adorned like a minstrel,
sitting on a great horse trapped, as minstrels then used,
who rode round about the tables, showing pastime ; and
at length came up to the king’s table and laid before
him a letter, and forthwith turning her horse, saluted
every one, and departed.”—The subject of this letter
was a remonstrance to the king on the favours heaped
by him on his minions, to the neglect of his knights and
faithful servants.
The messenger was sent in a minstrel’s habit, as what
would gain an easy admission ; and was a woman con¬
cealed under that habit, probably to disarm the king’s
resentment; for we do not find that any of the real
minstrels were of the female sex ; and therefore con¬
clude this was only an artful contrivance peculiar to
that occasion.
In the 4th year of Richard II. John of Gaunt
erected at Tetbury in Staffordshire a court of minstrels,
with a full power to receive suit and service from the
men of that profession within five neighbouring coun¬
ties, to enact laws, and determine their controversies $
and to apprehend and arrest such of them as should re¬
fuse to appear at the said court, annually held on the
16th of August. For this they had a charter, by which
they were empowered to appoint a king of the min¬
strels with four officers to preside over them. These
were every year elected with great ceremony j the
whole form of which is described by Dr Plott; in
whose time, however, they seem to have become mere
musicians.
Even so late as the reign of King Henry VIII. the
reciters of verses or moral speeches learnt by heart, in¬
truded without ceremony into all companies j not only
in taverns, but in the houses of the nobility themselves.
This we learn from Erasmus, whose argument led him
only to describe a species of these men who did not sing
their compositions j but the others that did, enjoyed
without doubt the same privileges.
We find that the minstrels continued down to the
reign of Elizabeth j in w hose time they had lost much
of their dignity, and were sinking into contempt and
neglect. Yet still they sustained a character far superior
to any thing we can conceive at present of the singers
of old ballads.
When Queen Elizabeth xvas entertained at Killing-
worth castle by the earl of Leicester in 1575, among
the many devices and pageants which were exhibited
for her entertainment, one of the personages introduced
was that of an ancient minstrel, whose appearance and
dress are so minutely described by a writer there pre¬
sent, and gives us so distinct an idea of the character,
that we shall quote the passage at large.
“ A person very meet seemed he for the purpose,
of a xlv. years old, apparelled partly as he would
himself. His cap oft : his head seemingly rounded
tonsterwise : fair kembed, that, with a sponge daintly
dipt in a little capon’s grease, was finely smoothed, to
make it shine like a mallard’s wing. His beard snugly
shaven ;
[ 276 1
iistrel,
ilint.
MIN [2
sliaven : and yet his shirt after the new trink, with ruffs
fair starched, sleeked, and glistex-ing like a pair of new
1 shoes, marshalled in good order with a setting stick,
and strut, ‘ that’ every ruff stood up like a wafer. A
side [i. e. long] gown of Kendale green, after the fresh¬
ness of the year now, gathered at the neck with a nar¬
row gorget, fastened afore with a white clasp and a
keeper close up to the chin ; but easily, for heat, to
undo when he list. Seemingly begirt in a red caddis
girdle : from that a pair of capped Sheffield knives
hanging a’ two sides. Out of his bosom drawn from
a lappet of his napkin edged with a blue lace, and
marked with a D for Damian j for he was but a bache¬
lor yet.
“ His gown had side [i. e. long] sleeves down to
midleg, slit from the shoulder to the hand, and lined
with white cotton. His doublet sleeves of black wor¬
sted : upon them a pair of points of tawny chamlet
laced along the wrist with blue threaden pointes. A
weak towards the hands of fustian-a-napes. A pair
of red neather stocks. A pair of pumps on his feet,
with a cross cut at his toes for corns j not new indeed,
yet cleanly blackt with soot, and shining as a slicing
horn.
“ About his neck a i-ed ribband suitable to his girdle.
His harp in good grace dependent before him. His
wrest tyed to a green lace and hanging by : under the
gorget of his gown a fair flaggon chain (pewter for)
silver, as a Squire Minstrel of Middlesex, that travelled
the country this summer season, unto fair and worship¬
ful men’s houses. From his chain hung a scutcheon,
with metal and colour, resplendent upon his breast, of
the ancient arms of Islington.”
—This minstrel is described as belonging to that
village. We suppose such as wei’e retained by noble
families wmre their arms hanging down by a silver chain
as a kind of badge. From the expression of Squire
Minstrel above, w'e may conclude there were other in¬
ferior orders, as Yeomen Minstrels or the like.
This minstrel, the author tells us a little belowr,
“ after three lowly courtesies, cleared his voice with a
hem . .. and wiped his lips with the hollow of his hand
for ’filing his napkin 5 tempered a string or two with
his wrist; and, after a little warbling on his harp for
a prelude, came forth with a solemn song, warranted
for stoi-y out of King Arthur’s acts, &.c.”
Towards the end of the 16th century, this class of
men had lost all credit, and were sunk so low in the
public opinion, that in the 39th year of Elizabeth a
statute was passed by which “ minstrels,” wandering
abroad, were included among “ rogues, vagabonds, and
sturdy beggars,” and were adjudged to be punished as
such. This act seems to have put an end to the pro¬
fession, for after this time they are no longer mentioned.
MINT, the place in which the king’s money is
coined. See Coinage.
There were anciently mints in almost every county
in England ; but the only mint at present in the Bri¬
tish dominions is that in the Tower of London. The
officers of the mint are, 1. The warden of the mint,
who is the chief; he oversees the other officers, and
receives the bullion. 2. The master worker, who re¬
ceives bullion from the wardens, causes it to be melted,
delivers it to the moneyers, and, when it is coined,
receives it again. 3. The comptroller, who is the
77 ] MIN
overseer of all the inferior officers, and sees that all the
money is made to the just assize. 4. The assay master,
who weighs the gold and silver, and sees that it is
according to the standard. 5. The two auditors who
take the accounts. 6. The surveyor of the melting 5
who, after the assay master has made trial of the bul¬
lion, sees that it is cast out, and not altered after it is
delivered to the meltei’. 7. The engraver ; who en¬
graves the stamps and dies for the coinage of the mo¬
ney. 8. The clerk of the irons } who sees that the
irons ai’e clean and fit to work with. 9. The melter,
who melts the bullion before it be coined. 10. The
provost of the mint; who provides for and oversees
all the moneyers. 11. The blanchers, who anneal
and cleanse the money. 12. The moneyers j some of
whom forge the money, some share it, some round and
mill it, and some stamp and coin it. 13. The porters
who keep the gate of the mint.
Mint was also a pretended place of privilege, in
Southwark, near the King’s Bench, put down by-
statute. If any persons, within the limits of the mint,
shall obstruct any officer in the serving of any writ or
process, &c. or assault any person therein, so as he
receive any bodily hurt, the offender shall be guilty
of felony, and be ti-ansported to the plantations, &c.
Stat. 9. Geo. I.
Mint Marks. It hath been usual, fx-om old time,
to oblige the masters and workers of the mint, in the
indentures made with them, “ to make a privy mai’k
in all the money that they made, as well of gold as of
silver, so that another time they might know, if need
were, and witte which moneys of gold and silver
among other of the same moneys, were of their owm
making, and which not.” And whereas, after every
trial of the pix at Westminster, the masters and work¬
ers of the mint, having there proved their moneys to
be lawful and good, were immediately entitled to x-e-
ceive their quietus under the great seal, and to be dis¬
charged from all suits or actions concerning those
moneys, it wras then usual for the said masters and
workers to change the privy mark befoi’e used for ano¬
ther, that so the moneys from which they were not yet
discharged might be distinguished from those for which
they had already received their quietus : which new
mark they then continued to stamp upon all their mo¬
neys, until another trial of the pix gave them also their
quietus concerning those.
The pix is a strong box with three lock?, whose
keys are respectively kept by the warden, master, and
comptroller of the mint 5 and in which are deposited,
sealed up in several pax-cels, certain pieces taken at
random out of e\evy journey as it is called j that is,
out of every 15 pounds weight of gold, or 60 pounds
weight of silver, before tiie same is delivered to the
proprietors. And this pix is, from time to time, by
the king’s command, opened at Westminster, in the
presence of the loi-d chancellor, the lords of the coun¬
cil, the lords commissioners of the treasury, the ju¬
stices of the several benches, and the barons of the
exchequer 5 before whom a trial is made, by a jury
of goldsmiths impannelled and sworn for that purpose,
of the collective weights of certain parcels of the se¬
veral pieces of gold and silver taken at random from
those contained in the pix 5 after which those parcels
being severally melted, assays are then made of the
bullion
Mint.
M I N [ 278 ] MIR
Mint bullion of gold and silver so produced, by the melt-
11 ing certain small quantities of the same against equal
Minuet, ■weights taken from the respective trial pieces ot gold
and silver that are deposited and kept in the exchequer
for that use. This is called the trial of the plv ; the
report made by the jury upon that trial is called the
Verdict of the pix for that time } and tue indented trial
pieces just above mentioned, are certain plates of stand¬
ard gold and standard silver, made with the greatest
care, and delivered in upon oath, from time to time
as there is occasion, by a jury of the most able and
experienced goldsmiths, summoned by virtue of a war¬
rant from the lords of the treasury to the wardens ot
the mystery of goldsmiths ot the city of London tor
that purpose 5 and which plates being so delivered in,
are divided each, at this time, into seven parts by in¬
dentures, one of which parts is kept in his majesty s
court of exchequer at Westminster, another by the
said company of goldsmiths, and two more by the ot-
ficers of his majesty’s mint in the Tower ; the remain¬
ing three being for the use of the mint, &c. in Scot¬
land. The pix has sometimes been tried every year,
or even oftener, but sometimes not moi’e than once
in several years : and from hence is understood how it
comes to pass, that, among the pieces that arc dated
as well as marked, three or more different dates are
sometimes found upon pieces impressed with the same
mark : and again, that different marks are found upon
pieces bearing the same date. These marks are first
observable upon the coins of King Edward III.-, the
words above quoted concerning those marks are from
the indentures made with the lord liastings, master
and worker to King Edward- IV j and the marks
themselves continued to be stamped very conspicuously
upon the moneys, till the coinage by the, mill and
screw was introduced and settled after the Restoration,
in the year 1662 since which time, the moneys being
made with far greater regularity and exactness than
before, these marks have either been totally laid aside,
or such only have been used as are of a more secret
nature, and only known to the officers and engravers
concerned in the coinage : and indeed the constant
practice that has ever since prevailed, of dating all the
several pieces, has rendered all such marks of much less
consequence than before.
Mint. See Mentha, Botany and Materia
Medic a Index.
MINTURNiE, a town of Campania, between Si-
nuessa and Formiae. It was in the marshes in this neigh¬
bourhood that Marius concealed himself in the mud to
avoid the pavtizans of Sylla. The people condemned
him to death ; but when his voice alone had terrified
the executioner, they showed themselves compassionate
and favoured his escape.
MINUET, a very graceful kind of dance, consisting
of a coupee, a high step, and a balance: it begins with
a beat, and its motion is triple.
The invention of the minuet seems generally to he
ascribed to the French, and particularly to the inha¬
bitants of the province of Poictou. The word is said
by Menage and Furetiere to be derived from the
French menue or menu, “ small or little and in
strictness signifies a small space. The melody of this
dance consists of two strains, which, as being repeated,
are called reprises, each having eight or more bars, but
2
never an odd number. The measure is three crotchets M;nw
in a bar, and is thus marked though it is commonly ||
performed in the time Walther speaks of a minuet i,Mira('i,|
in Lully’s opera of Roland, each strain of which con- 1
tains ten bars, the sectional number being 5 5 which
renders it very difficult to dance.
MINUTE, in Geometry, the 60th part of a degree
of a circle.
Minute of Time, the 60th part of an hour.
Minute, in Architecture, usually denotes the 6othf
sometimes the 30th, part of a module. See Archi¬
tecture.
Minute is also used for a short memoir, or sketch of
a thing taken in writing.
Ml NUT] US Felix. See Felix.
MINYiE, a name given to the inhabitants of Or-
chomenos in Bceotia, from Minyas king of the coun¬
try. Orchomenos the son of Minyas gave his name
to the capital of the country ”, and the inhabitants
still retained their original appellation, in contradis¬
tinction to the Oidhomenians of Arcadia. A colony
of Orchomenians passed into Thessaly and settled in
lolchos ; from which, circumstance the people of the
place, and particularly the Argonauts, were called
Minycc. This name they received, according to the
opinion of some, not because a number of Orchomem-
ans had uled among them, but because the chiet
and noble?;; of them were descended from the daughters
of Minyas. Part of the Orchomenians accompanied
the sons of Codms when they migrated to Ionia. The
descendants of the Argonauts, as well as the Argo¬
nauts themselves, received the name of Minyce. They
first inhabited Lemnos, where they had been born from
the Lemnian women who had murdered their husbands.
They were driven from Lemnos by the Pelasgi, about
1160 before the Christian era, and come to settle in
Laconia, from whence they passed into Calliste with a
colony of Lacedaemonians.
MIQUELF/fS, a name given to the Spaniards who
inhabit the Pyrenean mountains on the frontiers of
Arragon and Catalonia, and live by robbing.
MIQUELON, a small desert island to the south¬
west of Cape May in Newfoundland, ceded to the
French by the peace of ^or drying and curing
their fish. W. Long. 54. 30. N. Lat. 47. 22.
MIRABILIS, Marvel of Peru ; a genus of
plants belonging to the pentandria class j and in the
natural method ranking with those of which the order
is doubtful. See Botany Index.
MIRACLE, in its original sense, is a word of the
same import with wonder ; but in its usual and more
appropriate signification, it denotes “ an eftect contrary
to the established constitution and course ot things, or a
sensible deviation from the known laws of nature.”
That the visible world is governed by stated gene¬
ral rules, or that there is an order of causes and ef¬
fects established in every part of the system of nature
which falls under our observation, is a fact which
cannot be controverted. If the Supreme Being, as
some have supposed, be the only real agent in the
universe, we have the evidence ot experience, that, in
the particular system to which we belong, he acts by
stated rules. If he employs inferior agents to con¬
duct the various motions from which the phenomena
result, we have the same evidence that he has subject-
MIR [ 279 ] MIR
ed those agents to cex'tain fixed laws, commonly called
the laivs of nature. On either hypothesis, effects
which are produced by the regular operation of these
laws, or which are conformable to the established
course of events, are properly called natural; and every
contradiction to this constitution of the natural system,
and the correspondent course of events in it, is called a
miracle.
If this definition of a miracle be just, no event can
be deemed miraculous merely because it is strange,
or even to us unaccountable 5 since it may be nothing
more than a regular effect of some unknown law of
nature. In this country earthquakes are rare 5 and
for monstrous births perhaps no particular and satis¬
factory account can be given: yet an earthquake is
as regular an effect of the established law's of nature
as any of those with which we are most intimately
acquainted ; and under circumstances in which there
would always be the same kind of production, the
monster is nature’s genuine issue. It is therefore ne¬
cessary, before we can pronounce any effect to be a true
miracle, that the circumstances under which it is pro¬
duced be known, and that the common course of na¬
ture be in some degree understood j for in all those
cases in which we are totally ignorant of nature, it
is impossible to determine what is, or what is not, a
deviation from its course. Miracles, therefore, are
not, as some have represented them, appeals to our ig¬
norance. They suppose some antecedent knowledge
of the course of nature, without which no proper judge¬
ment can be formed concerning them $ though with it
their reality may be so apparent as to prevent all possi¬
bility of a dispute.
Thus, were a physician to cure a blind man of a ca¬
taract, by anointing his eyes with a chemical prepa¬
ration which we had never before seen, and to the na¬
ture and effects of which we are absolute stx-angers, the
cure would undoubtedly be wonderful; but we could
not pronounce it miraculous, because, for any thing
known to us, it might be the natural effect of the
operation of the unguent on the eye. But were he to
recover his patient merely by commanding him to see,
or by anointing his eyes with spittle, we should with
the utmost confidence pronounce the cure to be a mi¬
racle j because we know perfectly that neither the hu¬
man voice nor human spittle have, by the established
constitution of things, any such power over the diseases
of the eye. No one is now ignorant, that pei-sons ap¬
parently dead axe often restored to their families and
iriends, by being treated in the manner recommended
by the Humane Society. To the vulgar, and some¬
times even to men of science, these effects appear very
wonderful •, but as they ai’e known to be produced by
physical agency, they can never be considexed as mi¬
raculous deviations from the laws of nature. On the
other hand, no one could doubt of his having witnessed
a real miracle who had seen a person that had been four
days dead come alive out of his grave at the call of an¬
other, or who had even beheld a person exhibiting all
the symptoins of death instantly x’esuscitated merely by
being desired to live.
Thus easy is it, in all cases in which the course of
nature is understood, to determine whether any parti¬
cular event be really a miracle ; whilst in cix-cumstances
where w'e know nothing of nature and its course, even
a true miracle, were it performed, could not be admit¬
ted as such, or carry any conviction to the mind of a
philosopher.
II mii-acles be effects contrax-y to the established con¬
stitution of things, we are certain that they will never
be perfoi'med on trivial occasions. The constitution of
things was established by the Creator and Governor of
the universe, and is undoubtedly the offspring of infinite
wisdom pursuing a plan for the best of purposes. From
this plan no deviation can be made but by God himself,
or by some powerful being acting with his permission.
I he plans devised by wisdom are steady in proportion
to their perfection, and the plans of infinite wisdom
must be absolutely perfect. From this consideration,
some men have ventured to conclude, that no miracle
was ever wrought, or can rationally be expected; but
nxaturer reflection must soon satisfy us that all such con¬
clusions are hasty.
Man is unquestionably the principal creature in this
world, and apparently the only one in it who is ca¬
pable of being made acquainted with the relation in
which he stands to his Creator. We cannot, therefore,
doubt, but that such of the laws of nature as extend
not their operation beyond the limits of this earth were
established chiefly, if not solely, for the good of man¬
kind j and if, in any particular circumstances, that good
can be mox-e effectually promoted by an occasional de¬
viation from those laws, such a deviation may be rea¬
sonably expected. Were man, in the exercise of his
mental and corporeal powers, subjected to the laws of
physical necessity, the circumstances supposed would in¬
deed never occur, and of course no miracle could be ad¬
mitted. But such is not the nature of man.
Mithout repeating what has been said elsewhere
(See Metaphysics, Part III. Chap. V.) of necessity
and liberty, we shall here take it for granted, that the
relation between motives and actions is different from
that between cause and effect in physics 5 and that,
mankind have such command over themselves, as that
by their voluntary conduct, they can make themselves
in a great degree either happy or miserable. We know
likewise from history, that, by some means or other, al¬
most all mankind were once sunk into the grossest igno-
i-ance of the most important truths ; that they knew not
the Being by whom they were created and supported ;
that they paid divine adoration to stocks, stones, and
the vilest reptiles $ and that they were slaves to the
most impious, cruel, and degi’ading superstitions.
From this depraved state it was surely not unworthy
of the common “ Father of all” to rescue his helpless
creatures, to enlighten their understandings that they
might perceive what is light, and to present to them
motives of sufficient force to engage them in the prac¬
tice of it. But the understandings of ignox-ant bar¬
barians cannot be enlightened by arguments j because
of the force of such arguments as regard moral science
they are not qualified to judge. The philosophers of
Athens and Rome inculcated, indeed, many excellent
moral precepts, and they sometimes ventured to ex¬
pose the absurdities of the reigning superstition : but
their lectures had no influence upon the multitude >.
and they had themselves imbibed such erroneous no¬
tions respecting the attributes of the Supreme Being,
and the nature of the human soul, and converted those
notions into first principles, of which they would not
permit
MIR [
Miracle, permit an examination, that even among them a tho-
rough reformation was not to be expected from the
powers of reasoning. It is likewise to oe observed,
that there are many truths of the utmost importance to
mankind, which unassisted reason could never have dis¬
covered. Amongst these we may confidently reckon
the immortality of the soul, the terms upon which God
will be reconciled to sinners, and the manner in which
that all-perfect Being may be acceptably worshipped;
about all of which philosophers were in such uncer¬
tainty, that, according to Plato, “ Whatever is set
right, and as it should be, in the present evil state of
the world, can be so only by the particular interposition
, of God (a).
An immediate revelation from Heaven, therefore,
was the only method by which infinite wisdom and
perfect goodness could reform a bewildered and vicious
race. But this revelation, at whatever time we suppose
it given, must have been made directly either to some
chosen individuals commissioned to instruct others, or to
every man and woman for whose benefit it was ulti¬
mately intended. Were every person instructed in the
knowledge of his duty by immediate inspiration, and
were the motives to practise it brought home to his
mind by God himself, human natilre Would be wholly
changed: men would not be masters of their own ac¬
tions : they would not be moral agents, nor by con¬
sequence be capable either of reward or of punishment.
It remains, therefore, that if God has been graciously
pleased to enlighten and reform mankind, without
destroying that moral nature which is essential to vir¬
tue, he can have done it only by revealing his truth to
certain chosen instruments, who were the immediate
instructors of their contemporaries, and through them
have been the instructors of succeeding ages.
Let us suppose this to have been actually the case,
and consider how those inspired teachers could commu¬
nicate to others every truth which had been revealed to
themselves. They might easily, if it was part of their
duty, deliver a sublime system of natural and moral
science, and establish it upon the common basis of ex¬
periment and demonstration; but what foundation
could they lay for those truths which unassisted reason
cannot discover, and which, when they are revealed,
appear to have no necessary relation to any thing pre¬
viously known ? To a bare affirmation that they had
been immediately received from God, no rational be¬
ing could be expected to assent. The teachers might
be men of known veracity, whose simple assertion
would he admitted as sufficient evidence for any fact
in conformity with the laws of nature; but as every
man has the evidence of his own consciousness and ex¬
perience that revelations from heaven are deviations
from these laws, an assertion so apparently extravagant
would be rejected as false, unless supported by some
better proof than the mere affirmation of the teacher.
In this state of things, we can conceive no evidence
sufficient to make such doctrines be received as the
truths of God, but the power of working miracles
committed to him who taught them. This would,
280 ] MIR
indeed, he fully adequate to the purpose. For if there MifacH
were nothing in the doctrines themselves impious, im-' 
moral, or contrary to truths already known, the only
thing which could render the teacher’s assertion incre¬
dible, would be its implying such an intimate commu¬
nion with God as is contrary to the established course
nf things, by which men are left to acquire all their
knowledge by the exercise of their own faculties.—»■
Let us now suppose one of those inspired teachers to
tell his countrymen, that he did not desire them, on
his ipse dixit, to believe that he had any preternatural
communion with the Deity, but. that for the truth of
his assertion he would give them the evidence of their
own senses; and after this declaration let us suppose
him immediately to raise a person from the dead itl
their presence, merely by calling upon him to come
out of his grave. W ould not the only possible objec¬
tion to the man’s veracity be removed by this miracle P
and his assertions that he had received such and such
doctrines from God be as fully credited, as if it related
to the most common occurrence P Undoubtedly it
would ; for when so much preternatural power was vi¬
sibly communicated to this person, no one could have
reason to question his having received an equal portion
of preternatural knowledge, A palpable deviation from
the known laws of nature, in one instance, is a sensible
proof that such a deviation is possible in another ; and
in such a case as this, it is the witness of God to the
truth of a man.
Miracles, then, under which we include prophecy,
are the only direct evidence which can be given of di¬
vine inspiration. When a religion, or any religious
truth, is to be revealed from heaven, they appear to be
absolutely necessary to enforce its reception among men;
and this is the only case in which we can suppose them
necessary, or believe for a moment that they ever have
been or will be performed.
The history of almost every religion abounds, with
relations of prodigies and wonders, and of the inter¬
course of men with the gods 5 but we know of no re¬
ligious system, those of the Jews and Christians ex¬
cepted, which appealed to miracles as the sole evidence
of its truth and divinity. The pretended miracles
mentioned by Pagan historians and poets are not said
to have been publicly wrought to enforce the truth of
a new religion contrary to the reigning idolatry. Many
of them may be clearly shown to have been mere natu¬
ral events; (see Magic). Others of them are re¬
presented as having been performed in secret on the most
trivial occasions, and in obscure and fabulous ages long
prior to the era of the writers by whom they are re¬
corded. And such of them as at first view appear to be
best attested, are evidently tricks contrived for interest¬
ed purposes 5 to flatter power, or to promote the pre¬
vailing superstitions. lor these reasons, as well as on
account of the immoral character of the divinities by
whom they are said to have been wrought, they are al¬
together unworthy of examination, and carry in the
very nature of them the completest proofs of lalsehood
and imposture.
1 But
(a) Ev xt* nSjMtv, e r/ wfg r*>6r) n xxt yivnlcti o<ev hi, in roixvlti xxlxcrlttrti 7r»Xirii#v. ©wo peigxt xv\o crwr«‘
De Itepub. lib. vi.
M IK [2
rack. But the miracles recorded of Moses and of Christ
•y——' bear a very different character. None of them is re¬
presented as wrought on trivial occasions. The writers
who mention them were eye witnesses of the facts ; which
they affirm to have been performed publicly, in attesta¬
tion of the truth of their respective systems. They are
indeed so incorporated with these systems, that the mi¬
racles cannot be separated from the doctrines; and if
the miracles were not really performed, the doctrines
cannot possibly be true. Besides all this, they were
wrought in support of revelations which opposed all
the religious systems, superstitions, and prejudices, of
the age in which they were given: a circumstance
which of itself sets them, in point of authority, infinite¬
ly above the Pagan prodigies, as well as the lying
wonders of the Romish church.
It is indeed, we believe, universally admitted, that
the miracles mentioned in the book of Exodus and in
the four Gospels, might, to those who saw them per¬
formed, be sufficient evidence of the divine inspiration
of Moses and of Christ ; but to us it may be thought
that they are no evidence whatever, as we must be¬
lieve in the miracles themselves, if we believe in them
at all, upon the bare authority of human testimony.
Why, it has been sometimes asked, are not miracles
wrought in all ages and countries P If the religion of
Christ was to be of perpetual duration, every genera¬
tion of men ought to have complete evidence of its
truth and divinity.
To the performance of miracles in every age and
in every country, perhaps the same objections lie as
to the immediate inspiration of every individual. Were
those miracles universally received as such, men would
be so overwhelmed with the number rather than with
the force of their authority, as hardly to remain ma¬
sters of their own conduct; and in that case the very
end of all miracles would be defeated by their frequen¬
cy. The truth, however, seems to be, that miracles
so frequently repeated would not be received as such,
and of course would have no authority j because it
would be difficult, and in many cases impossible, to di¬
stinguish them from natural events. If they recurred
regularly at certain intervals, we could not prove them
to be deviations from the known laws of nature, be¬
cause we should have the same experience for the one
series of events as for the other; for the regular suc¬
cession of preternatural eftects, as for the established
constitution and course of things.
Be this, however, as it may, we shall take the li¬
berty to affirm, that for the reality of the Gospel mi¬
racles we have evidence as convincing to the reflecting
mind, though not so striking to vulgar apprehension,
as those had who were contemporary with Christ and
his apostles, and actually saw the mighty works which
he performed. To the admirers of Mr Hume’s phi¬
losophy this assertion will appear an extravagant para¬
dox ; but we hope to demonstrate its truth from prin¬
ciples which, consistently with himself, that author
could not have denied. He has indeed endeavoured
2- t0 Prove *’ <4 no testimony is sufficient to esta¬
blish a miracle j” and the reasoning employed for this
purpose is, that “ a miracle being a violation of the
laws of nature which a firm and unalterable experi¬
ence has established, the proof against a miracle, from
the very nature of the fact, is as entire as any arru-
Vol. XIV. Part I. +
h ] MIR
ment from experience can be ; whereas our experience Miraek.
of human veracity, which (according to him) is the ' 
sole foundation of the evidence of testimony, is far
from being uniform, and can therefore never prepon¬
derate against that experience which admits of no ex¬
ception.” This boasted and plausible argument has
with equal candour and acuteness been examined by
Hr Campbell*, who justly observes, that so far is* Disserts
experience from being the sole foundation of the e\i.tionon
deuce ol testimony, that, on the contrary, testimony '^’aeles.
is the sole foundation of by far the greater part of what
Mr Hume calls firm and unalterable experience ; and
that if in certain circumstances we did not give an
implicit faith to testimony, our knowledge of events
would be confined to those which had fallen under the
immediate observation of our own senses. For a short
view of this celebrated controversy in which the Chris¬
tian so completely vanquishes the philosopher, see the
word Abridgment.
But though Hr Campbell lias exposed the sophistry
of his opponent’s reasoning, and overturned the prin¬
ciples from which he reasons, we are persuaded that
he might saiely have joined issue with him upon those
very principles. To us, at least, it appears that the
testimony upon which we receive the Gospel miracles
is precisely of that kind which Mr Hume has acknow¬
ledged sufficient to establish even a miracle. “ No
testimony (says he) is sufficient to establish a miracle,
unless the testimony be of such a kind that its false¬
hood would be more miraculous than the fact which
it endeavours to establish. When one tells me that he
saw a dead man restored to life, I immediately consi¬
der with myself whether it he more probable that this
person should either deceive or be deceived, or that
the fact which he relates should really have happened.
I weigh the one miracle against the other *, and ac¬
cording to the superiority which I discover, I pronounce
my decision, and always reject the greater miracle.”
In this passage every reader may remark what did not
escape the perspicacious eye of Hr Campbell, a strange
confusion of terms ; but as all miracles are equally easy
to the Almighty j and as Mr Hume has elsewhere ob¬
served, that “ the raising of a feather, when the wind
wants ever so little of a force requisite for that pur¬
pose, is as real a miracle as the raising of a house or
a ship into the aircandour obliges us to suppose,
that by talking of greater and less miracles and of
always rejecting the greater, he meant nothing more,
but that of two deviations from the known laws of
nature he always rejects that which in itself is least
probable.
If, then, wTe can show that the testimony given by
tbe apostles and other first preachers of Christianity to
the miracles of their Master would, upon their supposi¬
tion that those miracles were not really performed, have
been as great a deviation from the known laws of nature
as the miracles themselves, the balance must be consi¬
dered as evenly poised by opposite miracles ; and whilst
it continues so, the nidgment must remain in a state of
suspense. But if it shall appear, that in this case the
false testimony would have been a deviation from the
laws of nature less probable in itself than the miracles
recorded in tbe Go-pels, the balance will be instantly de¬
stroyed ; and by Mr Hume’s maxim we shall be obliged
to reject the supposition of falsehood in the testimony
N n of
MIR [282
Miracle, of the apostles, and admit the miracles of Christ to
»•' "y ..-1 have been really performed.
In this argument we need not waste time in proving
that those miracles, as they are represented in the writ¬
ings of the New Testament, were of such a nature, and
performed before so many witnesses, that no imposition
could possibly be practised on the senses of those who
affirm that they were present. From every page of
the Gospels this is so evident, that the philosophical ad¬
versaries of the Christian faith never suppose the apo¬
stles to have been themselves deceived, hut boldly ac¬
cuse them of bearing false witness. But it this accusa¬
tion be well founded, their testimony itself is as great a
miracle as any which they record of themselves or of
their Master.
It has been shown elsewhere (see Metaphysics,
N° 138.), that by the law of association, which is one
of the laws of nature, mankind, in the very process of
learning to speak, necessarily learn to speak the truth j
that ideas and relations are in the mind of every man so
closely associated with the words by which they are ex¬
pressed in his native tongue, and in every other lan¬
guage of which he is master, that the one cannot be en¬
tirely separated from the other} that therefore no man
can on anv occasion speak falsehood without some ej-
fort; that by no effort can a man give consistency to an
unpremeditated detail of falsehood, if it be of any length,
and include a number of particulars $ and that it is still
less possible for several men to agree in such a detail,
when at a distance from each other, and cross question¬
ed by their enemies.
This being the case, it follows, if the testimony of
the apostles to their own and their Master’s miracles
be false, either that they must have concerted a con¬
sistent scheme of falsehood, and agreed to publish it at
every hazard; or that God, or some powerful agent
appointed by him, must have dissolved all the associa¬
tions formed in their minds between ideas of sense and
the words of language, and arbitrarily formed new as¬
sociations, all in exact conformity to each other, but all
in direct contradiction to truth. One or other of these
events must have taken place j because, upon the sup¬
position of falsehood, there is no other alternative. But
such a dissolution and formation of associations as the
latter implies, must, to every man who shall attentively
consider it, appear to be as real a miracle, and to re¬
quire as great an exertion of power, as the resurrection
of the dead. Nor is the supposed voluntary agreement
of the apostles in a scheme of falsehood an event less mi¬
raculous. Wlien they sat down to fabricate their pre¬
tended revelation, and to contrive a series of miracles
to which they were unanimously to appeal for its truth,
it is plain, since they proved successful in their daring
enterprise, that they must have clearly foreseen every
possible circumstance in which they could be placed,
and have prepared consistent answers to every question
that could be put to them by their most inveterate and
most enlightened enemies j by the statesman, the lawyer,
the philosopher, and the priest. That such foreknow¬
ledge as this would have been miraculous, will not sure¬
ly be denied ; since it forms the very attribute which
we find it most difficult to allow even to God himself.
It is not, however, the only miracle which this supposi¬
tion would compel us to swallow. The very resolution
of the apostles to propagate the belief of false miracles
]
MIR
in support of such a religion as that which is taught in Mjrac
the New Testament, is as great a miracle as human   
imagination can easily conceive.
When they formed this design, either they must have
hoped to succeed, or they must have foreseen that they
should fail in their undertaking j and in either case,
they chose evil for its own sake. They could not, if
they foresaw that they should fail, look for any thing
but that contempt, disgrace, and persecution, which
were then the inevitable consequences of an unsuccess¬
ful endeavour to overthrow the established religion.
Nor could their prospects be brighter upon the supposi¬
tion of their success. As they knew themselves to be
false witnesses and impious deceivers, they could have
no hopes beyond the grave; and by determining to op¬
pose all the religious systems, superstitions, and preju¬
dices of the age in which they lived, they wilfully ex¬
posed themselves to inevitable misery in the present life,
to insult, and imprisonment, to stripes and death. Nor
can it be said that they might look forward to power
and affluence when they should, through sufferings, have
converted their countrymen 5 for so desirous were they
of obtaining nothing but misery, as the end of their
mission, that they made their own persecution a test of
the truth of their doctrines. They introduced the Ma¬
ster from whom they pretended to have received these
doctrines as telling them, “ that they were sent forth as
sheep in the midst of wolves; that they should be deli¬
vered up to councils, and scourged in synagogues } that
they should be hated of all men for his name’s sake j
that the brother should deliver up the brother to death,
and the father the child ; and that he who took not up
his cross and followed after him was not worthy of
him.” The very system of religion, therefore, which
they invented and resolved to impose upon mankind,
was so contrived, that the worldly prosperity of its first
preachers, and even their exemption from persecution,
was incompatible with its success. Had these clear pre¬
dictions of the Author of that religion, under whom the
apostles acted only as ministers, not been verified, all
mankind must have instantly perceived that their pre¬
tence to inspiration was false, and that Christianity was
a scandalous and impudent imposture. All this the
apostles could not but foresee when they formed their
plan for deluding the world. Whence it follows, that
when they resolved to support their pretended revela¬
tion by an appeal to forged miracles, they wilfully, and
with their eyes open, exposed themselves to inevitable
misery, whether they should succeed or fail in their en¬
terprise } and that they concerted their measures so as
not to admit of a possibility of recompense to themselves,
either in this life or in that which is to come. But if
there be a law of nature, for the reality of which we
have better evidence than we have for others, it is, that
“ no man can choose misery for its own sake,'n or make
the acquisition of it the ultimate end of his pursuit.
The existence of other laws of nature we know by tes¬
timony and our own observation of the regularity of
their effects; The existence of this law is made known
to us not only by these means, but also by the still
clearer and more conclusive evidence of our own con¬
sciousness.
Thus, then, do miracles force themselves upon our
assent in every possible view which we can take of this
interesting subject. If the testimony of the first
preachers
MIR [ 283 1 MIS
,lc]e preachers of Christianity was true, the miracles record-
j || td in the Gospel were certainly performed, and the doc-
Indola. trines of our religion are derived from heaven. On the
'v'"""”' other hand, if that testimony was false, either God must
have miraculously eft’aced from the minds of those by
whom it was given all the associations formed between
their sensible ideas and the words of language, or he
must have endowed those men with the gift of presci-"
ence, and have impelled them to fabricate a pretended
revelation for the purpose of deceiving the world,
and involving themselves in certain and foreseen de¬
struction.
The power necessary to perform the one series of
these miracles may, for any thing known to us, be as
great as that which Would be requisite for the perform¬
ance of the other j and, considered merely as exertions
of preternatural power, they may seem to balance each
other, and to hold the mind in a state of suspense. But
when we take into consideration the different purposes
for which these opposite and contending miracles were
wrought, the balance is instantly destroyed. The mi¬
racles recorded in the Gospels, if real, were wrought in
support of a revelation which, in the opinion of all by
whom it is received, has brought to light many import¬
ant truths which could not otherwise have been made
known to men 5 and which, by the confession of its ad¬
versaries, contains the purest moral precepts by which
the conduct of mankind was ever directed. The oppo¬
site series of miracles, if real, was performed to enable,
and even to compel, a company of Jews, of the lowest
rank and of the narrowest education, to fabricate, with
the view of inevitable destruction to themselves, a con¬
sistent scheme of falsehood, and by an appeal to forged
miracles to impose it upon the world as a revelation
from heaven. The object of the former miracles is
worthy of a God of infinite wisdom, goodness, and
power. The object of the latter is absolutely inconsist¬
ent with wisdom and goodness, which are demonstrably
attributes of that Being by whom alone miracles can be
performed. W hence it follows, that the supposition of
the apostles bearingyfi/.ye testimony to the miracles of
their Master, implies a series of deviations from the laws
of nature, infinitely less probable in themselves than
those miracles: and therefore by Mr Hume’s maxim,
we must necessarily x-eject the supposition of falsehood in
the testimony, and admit the reality of the miracles.
So true it is, that for the reality of the Gospel miracles
we have evidence as convincing to the reflecting mind,
as those had who were contemporary with Christ and
his apostles, and were actual witnesses to their mighty
works.
MIRANDA-DE-Ebro, a town of Spain, in Old
Castile, with a strong castle; seated in a country that
produces excellent wine. W. Long. 3. 10. N. Lat.
42. 52.
MIRANDO-de-Douro, or Duero, a strong town
of Portugal, and capital of the province of Tra-los-
Montes, with a bishop’s see. It is well fortified, and
seated on a rock near the confluence of the rivers Douro
and Fresna. W. Long. 5. 40. N. Lat. 41. 30.
MIRANDOLA, a town of Italy, and capital of a
duchy of the same name, situated between the duchies
ol Mantua and Modena j is well fortified, and has also
a strong citadel and fort. It has been several times ta¬
ken and retakep. E. Long. 11. 5. N. Lat. 44. 52.
MIRIAM, sister of Aaron and Moses, makes two Mitiam
or three remarkable appearances in Scripture. It was 11
owing to her that her mother was employed by Pha- Mbadvcn
raoh’s daughter as nurse to Moses. She put herself lure'
at the head of the women of Israel after their passage
through the Red sea, in order to sing the song which
the men had sung before. She joined with her bro¬
ther Aaron in murmuring against Moses, and was se¬
verely chastised for that action ; for she became leprous,
and continued separate from the rest without the camp
for seven days. She died before her brothers, though
in the same year with them, and was buried at the pub¬
lic expence.
MIRROR, a name for a looking glass, or any po¬
lished body, whose use is to form the images of distant
objects, by reflection of the rays of light. See Reflec¬
tion.
Mirrors are either plane, convex, or concave. The
first reflect the rays of light in a direction exactly simi¬
lar to that in which they fall upon them, and therefore
represent bodies of their natural magnitude. The con¬
vex ones make the rays diverge much more than before
reflection, and therefore greatly diminish the images of
those objects which they show: while the concave ones,
by collecting the rays into a focus, not only magnify
the objects they show, but will burn very fiercely when
exposed to the rays of the sun ; and hence they are
commonly known by the name of burning mirrors. See
Burning Mirrors.
In ancient times the mirrors were made of some kind
of metal j and from a passage of the Mosaic writings we
learn that the mirrors used by the Jewish women were
made of brass. The Jewrs certainly had been taught to
use that kind of mirrors by the Egyptians j from whence
it is probable that braz.cn mirrors were the first kind
used in the world. Any kind of metal, indeed, when
well polished, will reflect very powerfully 3 but of all
others silver reflects the most, though it has been in all
countries too expensive a material for common use.
Gold also is very powerful 3 and metals, or even wood,
gilded and polished, wdll act very powerfully as burn¬
ing mirrors. Even polished ivory, or straw nicely plait¬
ed together, will form mirrors capable of burning, if on
a large scale.
Since the invention of glass, and the application of
quicksilver to it, became generally known, it hath been
universally employed for those plane mirrors used as or¬
naments to houses 3 but in making reflecting telescopes,
they have been found much inferior to metallic ones.
It does not appear that the same superiority belongs to
the metalline burning mirrors, considered merely as
burning glasses 3 since the mirror with which M. Mac-
quer melted platina, though only 22 inches diameter, and
which was made of quicksilvered glass, produced much
greater effects than M. Vilette’s metalline speculum,
which considerably exceeded it in size. It is very pro¬
bable, however, that this mirror of M. Vilette’s was
by no means so well polished as it ought to have been 3
as the art of preparing the metal for taking the finest
polish has but lately been discovered and published in
the Philosophical Transactions by Mr Mudge. See
Glass- Grinding.
MIRE-CROW, Sea-crow, or Pewit. See Larus,
Ornithology Index.
MISADVENTURE, in common language, signi-
N n 2 lies
Misadven¬
ture
Mischna.
MIS [ 284 ] MIS
fies any unlucky accident which takes place without be¬
ing foreseen.
Misadventure, in Law, has an especial significa¬
tion for the killing a man partly by negligence, and
partly by chance. See Homicide.
MISANTHROPY (from pia-of, hatred, and «v-
a man) ; a general dislike or aversion to man,
and mankind. In which sense it stands opposed to phi¬
lanthropy, or the love of mankind.
MISCARRIAGE. See Abortion and Midwife¬
ry.
MISCHNA, or Misna, (from rm*, iteravit), a part
of the Jewish Talmud.
The Mischna contains the text *, and the Gemara,
which is the second part of the Talmud, contains the
commentaries: so that the Gemara is, as it were, a
glossary on the Mischna.
The Mischna consists of various traditions of the
Jews, and of explanations of several passages of Scrip¬
ture : these traditions serving as an explication of the
written law, and supplement to it, are said to have
been delivered to Moses during the time of his abode
on the Mount; which he afterwards communicated to
Aaron, Eleazar, and bis servant Joshua. By these they
were transmitted to the 70 elders, by them to the pro¬
phets, who communicated them to the men of the great
sanhedrim, from whom the wise men of Jerusalem and
Babylon received them. According to Prideaux’s ac¬
count, they passed from Jeremiah to Baruch, from him
to Ezra, and from Ezra to the men of the great syna¬
gogue, the last of whom was Simon the Just j who de¬
livered them to Antigonus of Socho 5 and from him
they came down in regular succession to Simeon, who
took our Saviour in his arms j to Gamaliel, at whose
feet Paul was educated j and last of all to Rabbi Judah
the Holy, who committed them to writing in the
Mischna. But DrPrideaux, rejecting this Jewish fic¬
tion, observes, that after the death of Simon the Just,
about 299 years before Christ, the Mischnical doctors
arose, who, by their comments and conclusions, added
to the number of those traditions which had been re¬
ceived and allowed by Ezra and the men of the great
synagogue *, so that towards the middle of the second
century after Christ, under the empire of Antoninus
Pius, it was found necessary to commit these traditions
to writing ; more especially, as their country had con¬
siderably sufi'ered under Adrian, and many of their
schools had been dissolved, and their learned men cut
off-, and therefore the usual method of preserving their
traditions had failed. Rabbi Judah on this occasion be¬
ing rector of the school at Tiberias, and president of the
sanhedrim in that place, undertook the work, and com¬
piled it in six books, each consisting of several tracts,
which altogether make up the number of 63. Pnd.
Connex. vol. ii. p. 468, &c. edit. 9. This learned au¬
thor computes, that the Mischna was composed about
the 150th year of our Lord -, but Dr Lightfoot says,
that Rabbi Judah compiled the Mischna about the year
of Christ 190, in the latter end of the reign of Corn-
modus *, or, as some compute, in the year of Christ 220.
Dr Lardner is of opinion, that this work could not
have been finished before the year 190, or later. Col¬
lect. of Jewish and Heathen Testimonies, &c. vol. i.
p. 178. Thus the book called the Misehna was form¬
ed 5 a book which the Jews have generally received
with the greatest veneration. The original has been Mischs
published with a Latin translation by Surenhusius, with ||
notes of his own, and others from the learned Maimo-1 Misenm
nides, &c. in 6 vol. fol. Amsterd. A. D. 1698—1703.' "" ^
(See Talmud). It is written in a much purer style,
and is not near so full of dreams and visions as the Ge¬
mara.
MISDEMEANOUR, in Law, signifies a crime.
Every crime is a misdemeanour j yet the law has made
a distinction between crimes of a higher and a lower
nature", the latter being denominated misdemeanours,
the former felonies, &c. For the understanding of which
distinction, we shall give the following definition from
Blackstone’s Commentaries, vol. iv. 5.
“ A crime, or misdemeanour, is an act committed
or omitted, in violation of a public law, either forbid¬
ding or commanding it. This general definition com¬
prehends both crimes and misdemeanours ; which, pro¬
perly speaking, are mere synonymous terms j though,
in common usage, the word crime is made to denote
such offences as are of a deeper and more atrocious dye j
while smaller faults, and omissions of less consequence,
are comprised under the gentler name of misdemeanours
only.” .
MISE, in law books, is used in various senses :
thus it sometimes signifies costs or expences j in which
sense it is commonly used in entering of judgments in
actions personal. It is also used for the issue to be
tried on the grand assize-, in which case, joining of the
mise upon the mere right, is putting in issue between
the tenant and demandant, Mho has the best or clear¬
est right.
Mise, also signifies a tax or tallage, &c. An ho¬
norary gift, or customary present from the people of
Wales to every new king or prince of Wales, anciently
given in cattle, wine, and corn, but now in money,
being 5000I. or more, is denominated a mise: so was
the usual tribute or fine of 3000 merks paid by the in¬
habitants of the county palatine of Chester at the change
of every owner of the said earldom, for enjoying their
liberties. And at Chester they have a mise-book,
wherein every town and village in the county is rated
what to pay towards the mise. The 27 Hen. VIII. c.
26. ordains that lords shall have all such mises and pro¬
fits of their lands as they had in times past, &c.
Mise, is sometimes also corruptly used for mease, in
law French mees, “ a messuage j” as a mise place, in
some manors, is such a messuage or tenement as an¬
swers the lord a heriot at the death of its owner.—
2 Inst. 528.
MISENUM, or MlSENUS, in Ancient Geography;
a promontory, port, and town in Campania, situated to
the south-west of Baiae, in the Sinus Puteolanus, on the
north side. Here Augustus had a fleet, called Classis
Misenensis, for guarding the Mare Inferum j as he had
another at Ravenna for the Superum.
On this peninsula a villa was built by Cains Marius,
with a degree of elegance that gave great offence to the
most austere among the Romans, who thought it ill
suited to the character of so rough a soldier. Upon the
same foundation Lucullus the plunderer of the eastern
world, erected an edifice, in comparison of which the
former house was a cottage ; but even his magnificence
was eclipsed by the splendour of the palace which the
emperors raised upon the same spot. To these proud
abodes
:
:
M IS [2
I enum, abodes of heroes and monarchs, which have long been
iser. levelled to the ground, a few fishing huts, as Mr Swin-
-v 1 burne informs us, and a lonely public house, have suc¬
ceeded : hither boatmen resort to tipple perhaps on the
identical site where the voluptuous masters of the world
quaffed Chian and Falernian wines.
MISER, a parsimonious person who is at the same
time rich ; or a wretch covetous to extremity, whom
avarice has divested of all the charities of human na¬
ture, and made even an enemy to himself.
Of this most unaccountable of all characters, many
instances occur •, some of them so extraordinary as al¬
most to surpass belief. The following are here select¬
ed, as being of recent date, perfectly authentic, and the
last of them in particular exhibiting an assemblage of
qualities the most singula* perhaps that ever existed in
the same person. Too little dignified to merit a place
in regular biography, yet too curious a variety of human
character to pass unnoticed in this work, the present
seemed the only title under which it could with pro¬
priety be introduced.
1. In December 1790, died at Paris, literally of
want, Mr Ostervald, a well known banker. This man,
originally of Neufchatel, felt the violence of the dis¬
ease of avarice (for surely it is rather a disease than a
passion of the mind) so strongly, that within a few days
of his death, no importunities could induce him to buy
a few pounds of meat for the purpose of making a little
soup for him. “ ’Tis true (said he), I should not dis¬
like the soup, but I have no appetite for the meat j
what then is to become of that ?” At the time that he
refused this nourishment, for fear of being obliged to
give away two or three pounds of meat, there was tied
round his neck a silken bag, which contained 800 as¬
signat's of 1000 livres each. At his outset in life, he
drank a pint of beer which served him for supper, every
night at a house much frequented, from which he car¬
ried home all the bottle corks he could come at. Of
these, in the course of eight years, he had collected as
many as sold for 12 louis d’or, a sum that had laid the
foundation of his future fortune, the superstructure of
which was rapidly raised by his uncommon success in
stock jobbing. He died possessed of three millions of
livres (125,000!. sterling.)
2. The late John Ehves, Esq. wras member for Berk¬
shire in three successive parliaments. His family name
was Meggot; and his father wras a brewer of great
eminence, and distinguished by no peculiarity of cha¬
racter : but his mother, though she was left nearly
loo,oool. by her husband, starved herself to death !
At an early period of life he was sent to Westminster
school, w’here he remained for 10 or 12 years. D ur-
ing that time he certainly had not misapplied his ta¬
lents ; for he was a good classical scholar to the last:
and it is a circumstance not a little remarkable, though
well authenticated, that he never read afterwards, nor
had he ever any knowledge in accounts 5 to which
may in some measure be attributed the total ignorance
he was always in as to his affairs. From Westminster
school Mr Meggot removed to Geneva, where he soon
entered upon pursuits more agreeable to him than study.
I he riding master of the academy there had then to
boast perhaps of three of the best riders in Europe, Mr
Worsley, Mr Elwes, and Sir Sidney Meadows. Of
the three, Elwes wTas reckoned the most desperate j the
85 ] MIS
young horses were always put into his hands, and he Miser,
was the rough rider to the other two. v——y—.
On his return to England, after an absence of two
or three years, he was to be introduced to his uncle the
late Sir Harvey Elwes, who was then living at Stoke
in Suffolk, perhaps the most perfect picture of human
penury that ever existed. The attempts at saving mo¬
ney were in him so extraordinary, that Mr Elwes per¬
haps never quite reached them, even at the last period
ol his life.—01 what temperance can do, Sir Harvey
wras an instance. At an early period of life he was gi¬
ven over for a consumption, and he lived till betwixt
80 and 9s years of age. On his death, his fortune,
which w'as at least 250,000!. fell to his nephew Mr
Meggot, who by will was ordered to assume the name
and arms of Elwes. To this uncle, and this property,
Mr Elwes succeeded when he had advanced beyond
the 40th yrear of his age. For 15 years previous to this
period, he was well known in the more fashionable cir¬
cles ol London. He had always a turn for play; and
it was only late in life, and from paying always and not
always being paid, that he conceived disgust at it. The
theory which he professed, “ that it was impossible to
ask a gentleman for money,” he perfectly confirmed by
the practice ; and he never violated this feeling to the
latest hour of his life.
I he manners of Mr Elw'es were such—so gentle, so
attentive, so gentlemanly, and so engaging—that rude¬
ness could not ruffle them, or strong ingratitude break
their observance. He retained this peculiar feature of
the old court to the last 5 but he had a praise beyond
this : He had the most gallant disregard of his own per¬
son, and all care about himself that can be imagined.
The instances in younger life, in the most imminent
personal hazard, are innumerable ; but when age had
despoiled him of his activity, and might have rendered
care and attention about himself natural, he knew not
what they were: He w'ished no one to assist him:
“ He w'as as young as ever 5 he could walk; he could
ride, and he could dance 5 and he hoped he should not
give trouble even when he was old He was at that
time 75.
It is curious to remark how he contrived to mingle
small attempts at saving with objects of the most un¬
bounded dissipation. After sitting up a whole night
at play for thousands with the most fashionable and pro¬
fligate men of the time, amidst splendid rooms, gilt sofas,
wax. lights, and waiters attendant on his call, he would
walk out about four in the morning, not towards home,
but into Smithfield, to meet his own cattle, which were
coming to market from Thaydonhall, a farm of his in
Essex ! There would this same man, forgetful of th®
scenes he had just left, stand in the cold or rain, bar¬
tering with a carcass butcher for a shilling ! Sometimes
when the cattle did not arrive at the hour he expected,
he would walk on in the mire to meet them; and more
than once has gone on foot the whole way to his farm
without stopping, which w'as 17 miles from London,
after sitting up the whole night. Had every man been
of the mind of Mr Elwes, the race of innkeepers must
have perished, and post-chaises have been returned back
to those who made them j for it ivas the business of his
life to avoid both. He always travelled on horseback.
I o see him setting out on a journey, was a matter truly
curious j his first care was to put two or three eggs,
boiled.
Miser.
M I ■ S [ 286 ]
Wed lard, into his srcat coat pocket, or any scraps voters resided.
' of bread which he found 5 baggage he never took 5 then
mounting one of his hunters, his next attention was to
get out of London into that road where turnpikes were
the fewest •, then stopping under any hedge where grass
presented itself for his horse, and a little water for him¬
self, he would sit down and refresh himself and his horse
t0^Th^ chief residence of Mr Elwes at this period of his
life was in Berkshire, at his own seat at Marcham. Here
it was he had two natural sons born, who inherit the
greatest part of his property by a will made about the
year 1785. The keeping of fox hounds vyas the only
instance in the whole life of Mr Elwes oi his ever sacri¬
ficing money to pleasure j and may be selected as the
only period when he forgot the cares, the perplexities,
and the regret, which his wealth occasioned. But
even here every thing was done in the most frugal man¬
ner. Scrub, in the Beaux Stratagem, when compared
with Mr Elwes’s huntsman, had an idle life ol it. This
famous huntsman might have fixed an epoch in the
history of servants: for in a morning, getting up at
four o’clock, he milked the cows •, he then prepared
breakfast for Mr Elwes or any friends he might have
with him: then slipping on a green coat, he hurried
into the stable, saddled the horses, got the hounds out
of the kennel, and away they went into the field. After
the fatigues of hunting, he refreshed himself by rubbing
down two or three horses as quickly as he could •, then
running into the house to lay the cloth, and wait at
dinner; then hurrying again into the stable to feed the
borses diversified with an interlude of the cows again
to milk, the dogs to feed, and eight hunters to litter
M I S
At the different assemblies he would
dance among the youngest to the last, after riding over'
on horseback, and* frequently in the rain, to the place
of meeting. A gentleman who was one night stand¬
ing by, observed on the extraordinary agility of so old
a man.—O! that is nothing (replied another)-, for
Mr Elwes, to do this, rode 20 miles in the rain, with
his shoes stuck into his boots and his bag-wig in his
pocket.”
The honour of parliament made no alteration in
the dress of Mr Elwes : on the contrary, it seemed
at this time to have attained additional meanness ;
and nearly to have reached that happy climax of po¬
verty, which has more than once drawn on him the
compassion of those who passed by him in the street.
For the speaker’s dinners, however, he had one suit,
with which the speaker in the course of the sessions
became very familiar. The minister likewise was well
acquainted with it; and at any dinner of opposition
still was his apparel the same. ’Ihe wits of the mino¬
rity used to say, “ that they had full as much reason
Mf$e
down for the night.
In the penury of Mr Elwes there Avas something that
seemed like a judgment from heaven. All earthly
comforts he voluntarily denied himself: he would walk
home in the rain in London rather than pay a shilling
for a coach ; he would sit in wet clothes sooner than
have a fire to dry them j he would eat his provisions in
the last stage of putrefaction sooner than have a fresh
joint from the butchers j and he Avore a Avig for above
* Mr Top- a fortnigi,t^ wl,ich his biographer * sa\y him pick up out
whose Life of a rut in a lane Avhere they Avere riding. This Avas
of John the last extremity of laudable economy; for to all ap-
Xlwes, Esq. pearance it Avas the cast-off’ Avig of some beggar !
.1 ]y|r Elwes had now resided about 13 years in Suffolk,
Avhen the contest for Berkshire presented itself on the
the particu
lars of this
article are . . , .. , . , ,
extracted, dissolution of the parliament 5 and when, to preserve
the peace of that county, he was nominated by Lord Cra¬
ven. Mr Ehves, though he had retired from public
business for some years, had still left about him some of
the seeds of more active life, and he agreed to the pro¬
posal. It came farther enhanced to him, by the agree¬
ment, that he Avas to be brought in by the freeholders
for nothing. All he did on the occasion was dining at
the ordinary at Reading j and he got into parliament
for 18 pence !
Though a new man, Mr Elwes could not be called a
young member for he Avas at this time nearly 60
years old Avhen he thus entered on public life. But he
was in possession of all his activity and, preparatory
to his appearance on the boards of St Stephen’s Chapel,
he used to attend constantly during the races and
other public meetings all the great towns where his
as the minister to be satisfied with Mr Elwes, as he
had the same habit with every body.” At this period
of his life Mr Elwes wore a wig. Much about the time
when his parliamentary life ceased, that wug Avas worn
out ; ao then, being older and Aviser as to expence, he
Avore his own hair, which like his expences Avas A'ery
small.
All this time the income of Mr Ehves was increa¬
sing hourly, and his present expenditure was next to
nothing; for the little pleasures he had once engaged
in he had mnv given up. He kept no house, and only
one old servant and a couple of horses : he resided Avith
his nephew : his two sons he had stationed in Sullolk
and Berkshire, to look after his respective estates: and
his dress certainly Avas no expence to him ; for had not
other people been more careful than himself, he Aveuld
not have had it even mended.
When he left London, he went on horseback to his
country seats with his couple of hard eggs, and Avith-
out once stopping upon the road at any house. He
always took the most unfrequented road, and used
every shift to avoid turnpikes. Marcham Avas the seat
he noAv chiefly visited which had some reason to be
flattered Avith the preference, as his journey into Suf¬
folk cost him only twopence-halfpenny, while that into
Berkshire amounted to fourpence !
As Mr Ehves came into parliament Avithout ex¬
pence, he performed his duty as a member would have
done in the pure days of our constitution. What
he had not bought he never attempted to sell; and
he Avent fonvard in that straight and direct path,
which can alone satisfy a reflecting mind. Amongst
the smaller memorials of the parliamentary life of Mr
Elwes may be noted, that he did not folloAV the cus¬
tom of members in general by sitting on any particular
side of the house, but sat as occasion presented itself
on either indiscriminately 5 and he voted much in
the same manner, but never rose to speak. In his at¬
tendance at the house, he was always early and late j
and he never left it for dinner, as he had accustomed
himself to fasting, sometimes for 24 hours in continu¬
ance.
When he quitted parliament, he was, in the com¬
mon phrase, “ a fish out of water!” The style of Mr
MIS [ 287 ] MIS
El wes’s life had left him no domestic scenes to which
1 he could retire—his home was dreary and poor—his
rooms received no cheerfulness from fire •, and while
the outside had all the appearance of a “ House to be
Let,” the inside was a desert •, but he had his penury
alone to thank for this, and for the want of all the
little consolations which should attend old age, and
smooth the passage of declining life. At the close of
the spring of 1785, he wished again to visit, which
he had not done for some years, his seat at Stoke.
But then the journey was a most serious object to him.
The famous old servant was dead; all the horses that
remained with him were a couple of worn-out brood
mares j and he himself was not in that vigour of body
in which he could ride 60 or 70 miles on the suste¬
nance of two boiled eggs. The mention of a post chaise
would have been a crime—“ He aft’ord a post chaise,
indeed! where was he to get the money?” would
have been his exclamation. At length he was carried
into the country as he was carried into parliament, free
of expence, by a gentleman who was certainly not quite
so rich as Mr Elwes. When he reached Stoke—the
seat of more active scenes, of somewhat resembling hos¬
pitality, and where his fox hounds had spread somewhat
like vivacity around—he remarked, “ he had expended
a great deal of money once very foolishly ; but that a
man grew wiser by time.”
The rooms at this seat, which were now much out of
repair, and would have all fallen in but for his son John
Elwes, Esq. who had resided there, he thought too
expensively furnished, as worse things might have
served. If a window was broken, there was to be no
repair but that of a little brown paper, or that of
piecing in a bit of broken glass; which had at length
been done so frequently, and in so many shapes, that
it would have puzzled a mathematician to say “ what
figure they described.” To save fire, he would walk
about the remains of an old greenhouse, or sit with a
servant in the kitchen. During the harvest he would
amuse himself with going into the fields to glean the
corn on the grounds of his own tenants j and they
used to leave a little more than common to please the
old gentleman, who was as eager after it as any pau¬
per in the parish. In the advance of the season, his
morning employment was to pick up any stray chip,
bones, or other things, to carry to the fire, in his
pocket—and he was one day surprised by a neighbour¬
ing gentleman in the act of pulling down, with some
difficulty, a crow’s nest for this purpose. On the
gentleman wondering why he gave himself this trou¬
ble—“ Ob, Sir, (replied old Elwes), it is really a shame
that these creatures should do so. Do but see what
waste they make ! They don’t care how extravagant
they are !”
As no gleam of favourite passion, or any ray of
amusement, broke through this gloom of penury, his
insatiable desire of saving was now become uniform
and systematic. He used still to ride about the coun¬
try on one of these mares—but then he rode her very
economically, on the soft turf, adjoining the road,
without putting himself to the expence of shoes, as he
observed, “ The turf was so pleasant to a horse’s foot!”
And when any gentleman called to pay him a visit,
and the boy who attended in the stables, was profuse
enough to put a little hay before his horse, old Elwes
would slily steal back into the stable, and take the
hay very carefully away. That very strong appetite
which Mr Elwes had in some measure restrained dur¬
ing the long sitting of parliament, he now indulged
most voraciously, and on every thing he could find.
To save, as he thought, the expence of going to a
butcher, he would have a whole sheep killed, and so
eat mutton to the—end of the chapter. When he oc¬
casionally had his river drawn, though sometimes horse
loads of small fish were taken, not one would he suf¬
fer to be thrown in again j for he observed, “ He
should never see them again !” Game in the last state
of putrefaction, and meat that walked about his platey
would he continue to eat, rather than have new things
killed before the old provision was finished. With this
diet—the charnel house of sustenance—his dress kept
pace—equally in the last stage of absolute dissolution.
Sometimes he would walk about in a tattered brown-
coloured hat, and sometimes in a red and white wool¬
len cap, like a prisoner confined for debt. His
shoes he never would suffer to be cleaned, lest they
should be worn out the sooner. But still, with all
this self-denial—that penury of life to which the in¬
habitant of an alms house is not doomed—still did
he think he was profuse, and frequently say, “ He
must be a little more careful of his property.” His
disquietude on the subject of money was now conti¬
nual. When he went to bed, he would put five or
ten guineas into a bureau; and then, full of his mo¬
ney, alter he had retired to rest, and sometimes in the
middle of the night, he would come down to see if it
was there.
The scene of mortification at which Mr Elwes was
now arrived was all but a denial of the common ne¬
cessaries of life } and indeed it might have admitted a
doubt, whether or not, if his manors, his fish ponds,
and some grounds in his own hands, had not furnished
a subsistence, where he had not any thing actually to
buy, he would not, rather than have bought any thing,
have starved. Strange as this may appear, it is not ex¬
aggerated.—He one day, during this period, dined upon
the remaining part of a moor hen, which had been
brought out of the river by a rat! and at another ate
an undigested part of a pike which a larger one had
swallowed, but had not finished, and which were taken
in this state in a net. At the time this last circumstance
happened, he discovered a strange kind of satisfaction 5
for he said to a friend, “ Aye ! this was killing two
birds with one stone !” In the room of all comment—
of all moral—let it be remarked, that at this time Mr
Elwes was perhaps worth nearly eight hmidred thousand
pounds.' and, at this period, he had not made his will,
of course was not saving from any sentiment of affection
for any person
The summer of 1788 Mr Elwes passed at his house
in Welbeck street, London; and he passed that sum¬
mer without any other society than that of two maid
servants j for he had now given up the expence of
keeping any male domestic. His chief employment used
to be that of getting up early in a morning to visit some
of his houses in Mary-le-bone, which during the sum¬
mer were repairing. As he was there generally at
four o’clock in a morning, he was of course on the
spot before the workmen; and he used contentedly
to sit down on the steps before the door, to scold
them
M I
Miser, them when they did come.   a .
 v to see him appear thus regularly every morning, and
who concluded, from his apparel, that he was one ot
the workmen, observed, “ there never was so punctual
a man as the old carpenter.” During the whole morn¬
ing he would continue to run up and down stairs to see
the men were not idle for an instant, with the same an¬
xiety as if his whole happiness in life had been centered
in the finishing of this house, regardless of the greater
property he had at stake in various places, and for
ever employed in the minutiae only of affairs. Indeed
such was his anxiety about this house, the rent of which
was not above 50I. a-year, that it brought on a fever
which nearly cost him his life : but the fate which drag¬
ged him on thus strangely to bury him under the load
of his own wealth, seemed as resistless as it was unac¬
countable.
In the muscular and unencumbered frame ot Mr
Elwes there was every thing that promised extreme
length of life ; and he lived to above 70 years of age
without any natural disorder attacking him . but, as
Lord Bacon has well observed, “ the minds of some
men are a lamp that is continually burning;” and such
was the mind of Mr Elwes. Removed from those
occasional public avocations which had once engaged
his attention, money was now his only thought. He
rose upon money—upon money he lay down to rest;
and as his. capacity sunk away from him by degrees,
he dwindled from the real cares of his property into
the puerile concealment of a few guineas. This little
store he would carefully wrap up in various papers,
and depositing them in different corners, would amuse
himself with running from one to the other, to see whe¬
ther they were all safe. Then forgetting, perhaps,
where he had concealed some ot them, he would be¬
come as seriously afflicted as a man might be who had
lost all his property. Nor was the day alone thus
spent—he would frequently rise in the middle of the
night, and be heard walking about different parts of
the house, looking after what he had thus hidden and
forgotten.
During the winter of 1789, the last winter Mr El¬
wes was fated to see, his memory visibly weakened every
day ; and from the unceasing wish to save money, he
now began to fear he should die in want of it. Mx
Gibson had been appointed his builder in the room of
Mr Adams ; and one day, when this gentleman wait¬
ed upon him, he said with apparent concern, “ Sir,
pray consider in what a wretched state I am : you see
in what a good house I am living ; and here are five
guineas, which is all I have at present; and how I
shall go on with such a sum of money puzzles me to
death. I dare say you thought I was rich ; now you
see how it is !”
Mr George Elwes having now settled at his seat at
Marcham in Berkshire, he was naturally desirous that,
in the assiduities of his wife, his father might at length
find a comfortable home. In London he was certainly
most uncomfortable : but still, with these tempta¬
tions before and behind him, a journey with any ex¬
pence annexed to it was insurmountable. This, how¬
ever, was luckily obviated by an offer from Mr Partis,
a gentleman of the law, to take him to his ancient
seat in Berkshire with his purse perfectly whole. But
there was one circumstance still very distressing—the
1
S [ 288 ] MIS
Tlie neighbours who used old gentleman had now nearly worn out his last coat,
’ and he would not buy a new one ; bis son, theretore,
with a pious fraud, contrived to get Mr Partis to buy
Miscfl
him a coat and make him a present ot it. Thus for¬
merly having had a good coat, then a bad one, and at
last no coat at all, he was kind enough to accept one
from a neighbour.
Mr Elwes carried with him into Berkshire five gui¬
neas and a half, and half a crown. Lest the mention
of this sum may appear singular, it should be said,
that previous to his journey he had carefully wrapped
it up in various folds of paper, that no part ot it
might be lost. On the arrival of the old gentleman,
Mr George Elwes and his wife did every thing they
could to ^make the country a scene of quiet to him.
But “ he had that within” which baffled every effort
of this kind. Of his heart it might be said, “ there
was no peace in Israel.” His mind, cast away upon
the vast and troubled ocean of his property, extend¬
ing beyond the hounds ot his calculation, icturned to
amuse itself with fetching and carrying about a few
cruineas, which in that ocean was indeed a drop. But
nature bad now carried on life nearly as far as she wTas
able, and the sand was almost run out. 1 he first symp¬
tom of more immediate decay was his inability to enjoy
his rest at night, frequently wouid be be heard at
midnight as if struggling with some one in his cham¬
ber, and crying out, “ I will keep my money, 1 will;
nobody shall rob me of my property.” On any one
of the family going into his room, he would start
from this fever of anxiety, and, as if waking from a
troubled dream, again hurry into bed, and seem uncon¬
scious of what had happened. At length, on the 26th
November 1789, expired this miserably rich man,
whose property, nearly reaching to a million, extended
itself almost through every county in England.
MISERICORDIA, in Law, is an arbitrary fine
imposed on any person for an offence; this is called
misericordia, because the amercement ought to be but
small, and less than that required by magna charta.
If a person be outrageously amerced in a court that is
not of record, the wri t called moderata misericordia lies
for moderating the amercement according to the nature
of the fault.
MISFORTUNE. An unlucky accident.
MISFORTUNE, or chance, in Larv, a deficiency of
the will; or committing of an unlawful act by misfor¬
tune or chance, and not by design. In such case, tie
will observes a total neutrality, and does not co-operate
with the deed; which therefore wants one main ingie-
dient of a crime. See Crime.
Of this, when it affects the life of another, vye ha\e
spoken under the article Homicide; and in this place
have only occasion to observe, that it any accidental
mischief' happens to follow from the performance ot a
lawful act, the party stands excused from all guilt: but
if a man be doing any thing unlawful, and a conse¬
quence ensues which he did not foresee or intend, as t e
death of a man or the like, his want of foresight shall
be no excuse ; for, being guilty of one offence, in doing
antecedently what is in itself unlawful, he is criminal y
guilty of whatever consequence may follow the nrs
misbehaviour. . .r
MISFEASANCE, in law books, signifies a tres-
P358, MTSLETOE.
MIS [ 289 J M 1 S
isletoe MISLETOE. See ViSGUM, Botaky Index.
|| MISNOMER, in Zrm', a misnaming or mistaking
pnsions. a perSon’s name. The Christian name of a person
should always be perfect but the law is not so strict in
regard to surnames, a small mistake in which will be
dispensed with to make good a contract, and support
the act of the party. See Plea to Indictment.
MISPRISIONS, (a term derived from the old
French, mespris, a neglect or contempt), are, in the
acceptation of our law, generally understood to be all
such high offences as are under the degree of capital,
but nearly bordering thereon : and it is said, that a
misprision is contained in every treason and felony what¬
soever j and that, if the king so please, the offender may
be proceeded against for the misprision only. And upon
the same principle, while the jurisdiction of the star-
chamber subsisted, it was held that the king might re¬
mit a prosecution for treason, and cause the delinquent
to be censured in that court, merely for a high misde¬
meanor ; as happened in the case of Roger earl of Rut¬
land, in 43 Eliz. who was concerned in the earl of
Essex’s rebellion. Misprisions are generally divided
into two sorts j negative, which consist in the conceal¬
ment of something which ought to be revealed 5 and
positive, which consist in the Commission of something
which ought not to be done.
I. Of the first, or negative kind, is what is called
misprision of treason; consisting in the bare knowledge
and concealment of treason, without any d(^ree of as¬
sent thereto •, for any assent makes the party a princi¬
pal traitor j as indeed the concealment, which was
construed aiding and abetting, did at the common
law, in like manner as the knowledge of a plot against
the state, and not revealing it, was a capital crime at
Florence, and other states of Italy. But it is now en¬
acted by the statute I & 2 Ph & Mar. c. 10. that a
bare concealment of treason shall be only held a mis¬
prision. This concealment becomes criminal, if the
party apprised of the treason does not, as soon as con¬
veniently may be, reveal it to some judge of assize or
justice of the peace. But if there be any probable cir¬
cumstances of assent, as if one goes to a treasonable
meeting, knowing beforehand that a conspiracy is in¬
tended against the king ; or, being in such company
once by accident, and having heard such treasonable
conspiracy, meets the same company again, and hears
more of it, but conceals it $ this is an implied assent
in law, and makes the concealer guilty of actual high
treason.
Misprision of felony is also the concealment of a fe¬
lony which a man knows, but never assented to ; for,
if he assented, this makes him either principal or ac¬
cessory. And the punishment of this, in a public of¬
ficer, by the statute Westm. 1. 3 Edw. I. c. 9. is im¬
prisonment for a year and a day; in a common person,
imprisonment for a less discretionary time ; and, in
both, fine and ransom at the king’s pleasure : which
pleasure of the king must be observed, once for all, not
to signify any extrajudicial will of the sovereign, but
such as is declared by his representatives, the judges
m his courts of justice ; voluntas regis in curia, non
in camera.
2. Misprisions, which are merely positive, are gene¬
rally denominated contempt or high misdemeanours ; of
Vol. XIV. Part I. t
which the principal is the mal-administraiion of such Misprisions
high officers as are in public trust and employment. II
This is usually punished by the method of parliamen- Mississippi,
tary impeachment; wherein such penalties, short of1 ' v
death, are inflicted, as to the wisdom of the house of
peers shall seem proper; consisting usually of banish¬
ment, imprisonment, fines, or perpetual disability.
Hither also may be referred the offence of embezzling
the public money, called among the Romans pcculatus ;
which the Julian law punished with death in a magi¬
strate, and with deportation, or banishment, in a pri¬
vate person. With us it is not a capital crime, but
subjects the committer of it to a discretionary fine and
imprisonment.—Other misprisions are, in general, such
contempts of the executive magistrate as demonstrate
themselves by some arrogant and undutiful behaviour
towards the king and government: for a detail of
which, vide Blackstone’s Comment, iv. 22.
MISSAL, the Romish mass-book, containing the
several masses to be said on particular days. It is de¬
rived from the Latin word missa, which, in the ancient
Christian church, signified every part of divine service.
MISSEL-bird, a species of Turdus. See Tur-
dus, Ornithology Index.
MISSIO, among the Romans, was a full discharge
given to a soldier after 20 years service, and differed
from the exauctoratio, which was a discharge from
duty after 17 years service. Every soldier had a right
to claim his missio at the end of 20 years.
MISSION, in Theology, denotes a power or com¬
mission to preach the gospel. Jesus Christ gave his
disciples their mission in these words, Go and teach all
nations, &c. The Romanists reproach the Protestants
that their ministers have no mission, as not being au¬
thorized in the exercise of their ministry, either by an
uninterrupted succession from the apostles, or by mira-
racles, or by any extraordinary proof of a vocation.
Many among us deny any other mission necessary for
the ministry than the talents necessary to discharge it.
Mission is also used for an establishment of people
zealous for the glory of God and the salvation of souls ;
who go and preach the gospel in remote countries and
among infidels.
MISSIONARY, an ecclesiastic who devotes him¬
self and his labours to some mission, either for the in ¬
struction of the orthodox, the conviction of heretics, or
the conversion of infidels. See Jesuits.
MISSISSIPPI, a river of North America, and one
of the largest in the world. It rises in some lakes
about the latitude of 48°, and runs in a direction near¬
ly south to the gulf of Mexico. Its course, including
windings, is about 2500 miles in length, and it is na¬
vigable from the sea to the falls of St Anthony in-lati¬
tude 440 50'. Its width is from 800 yards to a mile
and a half. Its depth above New Orleans has been
found to be 150 feet; but there is only from 1 2 to 17
feet water on the bars at its mouth. Its current is
from three to four miles an hour, but varies with the
rise and fall of the waters. In low water a boat will
float down at the rate of 45 or 50 miles a day, and in
high water at 90 or 100. Towards the mouth the cur¬
rent is much less rapid than farther up. The usual
progress of a boat up the river is about 15 miles a-day ;
but the steam-boats, x»f which there are now great num-
O o - hers
MIS [290
Mississippi, liers on this river, go against the stream at the rate of
Missouri. 60 miles a-day. This river has an annual swell, which
‘-“V—'begins in November, and increases till May, from
which period it again diminishes till October. The
greatest rise from the mouth of the Ohio to Natchez is
about 50 feet j but at New Orleans is only about 12
feet. During this annual flood a part ol the waters
pass over the western banks, inundate the country to
a considerable extent, and never return into the bed ol
the river, but either form marshes, or pass off to the
sea by different channels. In the lower part of its
course the banks are higher than the surrounding
country, and, besides the waters that overflow duimg
the floods, a part always escapes by lateral branches,
which intersect the country towards its mouth in va¬
rious directions, and lorm a delta about 200 miles long
by too broad. This tract, inclosed within the bran¬
ches of the river, is, for the greater part, a morass
nearly on a level with high water. It has evidently been
formed by alluvial matter brought down and deposited
by the river, and it is observed to be continually en¬
larging. _ . .
The Mississippi receives m its course a great many
very large rivers , the Illinois and Ohio on the east j
the Missouri, Arkansaw, Red River, &c. on the west.
Including all its branches, Mr Bradbury computes
that it waters a country eleven times as large as C*reat
Britain and Ireland.
Mississippi, one of the United States of North
America, is situated on the east side of the river of the
same name, between 30° and 350 N. Lat. and 87° and
910 W. Long. It is about 350 miles long, and 150
broad, and has an area of about 45,000 square miles.
The southern parts on the gulf of Mexico are low,
sandy, or marshy, and unhealthy j but the middle and
northern parts are pretty well watered, and very fer¬
tile. The great articles of culture are cotton and In
]
M I S
dian corn} rice and sugar, however, are also raised.
Lemons and other fruits thrive well. Horned cattle
are raised in great numbers, but are sometimes de¬
stroyed by the wolf and cougouar. Labour is gene¬
rally performed by slaves. Natchez, the principal
town, and the only place of trade, is about 300 miles
above New Orleans. There are some tanneries in the
state, and some domestic manufactures of woollen, cot¬
ton, flax, and hemp. The principal rivers are the
Tombigbee, Pascagoula, Pearl, and ^ azoo. Ihis
state was admitted into the Union in 1817. Its po¬
pulation the year before was 44,206, of whom 20,567
were slaves, and 19* free blacks. The Choctaws,
Cherokees, and some other of the Indian tribes vvho
have made considerable advances in civilization, reside
in this state. The legislative power of this state is
vested in a house of representatives and a senate, cho¬
sen by all free white males of 21 years of age.
MISSOURI, a river in Louisania, which falls into
the Mississippi from the west, 195 miles above the
mouth of the Ohio, and about 1160 miles from the
Balize in the gulf of Mexico. Though the united
rivers take the name of the Mississippi, the Missouri
is much the largest branch. It was first explored by
this almost to its source at the distance of 3096 miles Missou
from the Mississippi, making the total extent of navi- ||
gation from the sea in one line above 4000 miles. Its,
width varies from 200 yards to a mile. Its velocity ^
was found by the log to be about five miles an hour.
It receives many large streams, the Yellowstone, Kan¬
sas, Platte, &c. chiefly on its south side 5 and it is
computed that, including these branches, it affords an
inland navigation of 15,000 miles. It carries down
great quantities of earth, and has an annual swell like,
the Mississippi. Its sources in the Stony mountains
are not far from those of the Columbia, which flows in¬
to the Pacific ocean. The distance to the South sea
from the Mississippi by this route is 3555 miles,
Missouri, a territory of the United States of North
America, including the greater part of the country
formerly known under the name of Louisiana. It ex¬
tends from the Mississippi to the Rocky mountains,
and from the gulf of Mexico to Canada. Its length
from north to south is about 1400 miles, and its breadth
from east to west 886, comprising an area of 985,250
square miles. It is watered by the Missouri river and
its numerous tributary streams, and by some other
branches of the Mississippi. The surface is generally
uneven, but not mountainous. The soil is rich and
well watered ; but, unlike that of the eastern parts of
America, it produces little natural wood, except on the
banks of the rivers. Lime is abundant in this vast
region 5 coal and iron ore were observed in many
places •, and salt is found in great quantities. Near
St Louis lead ore abounds, and is wrought to a great
extent. As the country extends through 20 degrees of
latitude, the climate is various ; warm and unhealthy
in the south j colder and more salubrious towards the
north. There are as yet hut a small number of white
settlers in this country, the greater part of which is
still occupied by savage tribes.
MISSUS, in the Circensian games, were the matches
in horse or chariot races. The usual number of missus
or matches in one day was 24though the emperor
Domitian presented the people with 100. The last
match was generally made at the expence of the people,
who made a collection for the purpose 5 hence it was
called missus cerarws, a subscription plate.
MIST, or Fog. See Fog.
MISTAKE, any wrong action committed, not
through an evil design, but through an error of judg¬
ment.
MISUSER, in Law, is an abuse of any liberty or
benefit •, as “ He shall make fine for his MISUSER.”
Old. Nat. Br. 149. By misuser a charter of a corpo¬
ration may be forfeited ; so also an office, &.c.
M1TCHELSTOWN, a post town of Ireland, m
the county of Cork and province of Munster in Ireland,
where there is a college founded by the earl of King¬
ston for the support of 12 decayed gentlemen and J 2
decayed gentlewomen, who have 40I. yearly, and hand¬
some apartments. #
MITE, a small piece of money mentioned Luke xn.
59. and xxi. 2. In the Greek it is ypbytfm, i- e. q'aa-
drans, or a quarter of the Roman denarius ; so that the
mite was worth about seven farthings, or twopence of
Captains Lewis and Clerk in 1804, 1805, and 1806 - ••
It is navigable for boats to the great falls 2848 miles our money,
from its junction with the Mississippi, and even beyond Mite. See Acarus, Entomology
M I T [ 2q t ] MIT
:u.|]a MITELLA, Bastard American Sanicee j a
II genus of plants belonging to the decandria class, ami in
itlui- the natural method ranking under the 13th order, Sue-
itcs cu!cnta’. See Botany b/dex.
P MITHKA, feasts of, in antiquity, were feasts cele¬
brated among the Homans in honour of Mithras or the
sun. The most ancient instance of this Mithras among
the Romans occurs in an inscription dated in the third
consulate of Trajan, or about the year of Christ 101.
This is the dedication of an altar to the sun under the
above name, thus inscribed, Deo Soli Mithree. But the
worship of Mithras was not known in Egypt and Syria
in the time of Origen, who died about the year of
Christ 263 ; though it was common at Borne for more
than a century before this time. The worship of Mi¬
thras was proscribed at Rome in the year 378, by or¬
der of Gracchus, prefect of the prsetorium. According
to M. Ereret, the feasts of Mithras were derived from
Chaldea, where they had been instituted for celebrating
the entrance of the sun into the sign Taurus.
MITHRAS, or Mithra, a god of Persia and Chal¬
dea, supposed to be the sun. His worship was intro¬
duced at Rome. He is generally represented as a young
man, whose head is covered with a turban after the
manner of the Persians. He supports his knee upon
a bull that lies on the ground, and one of whose horns
he holds in one hand, while with the other he plunges
a dagger in his neck.
MITHRID ATE, an old term, in Pharmacy; an
antidote or composition, in form of an electuary, sup¬
posed to serve either as a remedy or a preservative
against poisons •, so named from the inventor, Mithri-
dates, king of Pontus, who is said to have so fortified
his body against poisons with antidotes and preserva¬
tives, that when he had a mind to dispatch himself he
could not find any poison that would take effect.
MITHRIDATES, the name of several kings of
Pontus. See Pontus.
AIithridates \ II. surnamed Eupator and the
Great, succeeded to the throne at the age of 11 years,
about 123 years before the Christian era. The begin¬
ning of his reign was marked by ambition, cruelty, and
artifice. He murdered his own mother, who had been
left by his father co-heiress of the kingdom ; and he
fortified his constitution by drinking antidotes against
the poison with which his enemies at court attempted
to destroy him. He early inured his body to hardship,
and employed himself in the most manly exercises, of¬
ten remaining whole months in the country, and mak¬
ing frozen snow and the earth the place of his repose.
Naturally ambitious and cruel, he spared no pains to
acquire himself pow’er and dominion. He murdered
the two sons whom his sister Laodice had by Aria-
ratbes king of Cappadocia, and placed one of his own
children, only eight years old, on the vacant throne.
These violent proceedings alarmed Nicomedes king of
Bithynia, who had married Laodice the widow of Ari-
aratbes, and ultimately involved Mithridates in a quar¬
rel with the Romans. Mithridates never lost an op¬
portunity by which he might lessen the influence of his
adversaries ; and the more effectually to destroy their
power in Asia, he ordered all the Romans that were
m his dominions to be massacred. This was done in
one night, and no less than 150,000, according to
I lutarch, or 80,000 Romans, as Appian mentions, were
made the victims of his cruelty. This called aloud for jwhh
vengeance. Aquilius, and soon after Sylla, marched <l»t<
against Mithridates with a large army. The former
was made prisoner ; but Sylla obtained a victory over
the king’s generals ; and another decisive engagement
rendered him master of all Greece, Macedonia, Ionia,
and Asia Minor. This ill fortune was aggravated by
the loss of about 200,000 men, who were killed in the
several engagements that had been fought; and Mi ¬
thridates, weakened by repeated ill success by sea and
land, sued for peace from the conqueror, which he ob¬
tained on hard terms. But he soon took the field again
with an army of 140,000 infantry, and 16,000 horse,
consisting of his own forces and those of his son-in-law
I igranes king of Armenia. With this army he made
himself master of the Roman provinces in Asia ; none
dared to oppose his conquests ; and the Romans, rely¬
ing on his fidelity, had withdrawn the greatest part of
their armies from the country. The news of his war¬
like preparations were no sooner heard, than Lucullus
the consul marched into Asia *, and without delay lie
blocked up the camp of Mithridates who was then be
sieging Cyzicus. The Asiatic monarch escaped from
him, and fled into the heart of his kingdom. Lucullus
pursued him with the utmost celerity ■, and would have
taken him prisoner after a battle, had not the avidity
of his soldiers preferred the plundering of a mule load¬
ed with gold to the taking of a monarch who had exer¬
cised such cruelties against their countrymen. The
appointment of Glabrio to the command of the Roman
forces, instead of Lucullus, was favourable to Mithri¬
dates, who recovered the greatest part of his domi¬
nions. The sudden arrival of Pompey, however, soon
put an end to his victories. A battle in the night was
fought near the Euphrates. An universal overthrow
ensued, and Mithridates, bold in his misfortunes, rush¬
ed through the thick ranks of the enemy at the head
of 800 horsemen, 500 of whom perished in the at¬
tempt to follow him. He fled to Tigranes *, but that
monarch refused an asylum to his father-in-law, whom
he had before supported with all the collected forces of
his kingdom. Mithridates found a safe retreat among
the Scythians $ and though destitute of power, friends,
and resources, yet he meditated the overthrow of the
Roman empire, by penetrating into the heart of Italy
by land. These wild projects were rejected by his fol¬
lowers, and he sued for peace. It was denied to his
ambassadors ; and the victorious Pompey declared, that,
to obtain it, Mithridates must ask it in person. He
scorned to trust himself in the hands of his enemy, and
resolved to conquer or to die. His subjects refused to
follow him any longer $ and revolting from him, made
his son Pharnaces king. The son showed himself un¬
grateful to his father ; and even, according to some
writers, he ordered him to he put to death. Tins un¬
natural treatment broke the heart of Mithridates ; he
obliged his wife to poison herself, and attempted to do
the same himself. It was in vain : the frequent anti¬
dotes he had taken in the early part of his life, strength¬
ened his constitution against the poison ; and when this
was unavailing, he attempted to stab himself. The
blow was not mortal $ and a Gaul who was then pre¬
sent, at his own request, gave him the fatal stroke, a-
bout 64 years before the Christian era. Such were the
misfortunes, abilities, and miserable end, of a man, who
O 0 2 supported
Mitliri-
dates
II
Mittimus.
M IT [ 292 | M O A
. ,1 .f T}nm„ paoltv or keeuev of sonic jn isoB, ior the receiving and
supported himself so long against the power of , .= , f un oflViuier charged with any crime,
and who, according to the declarations of he Konian due course of law.
authors, proved a more powerful and indefa iga . MlTYLFNE or Mv'J Kni.NK, m Ancient Gcogra-
, versary to the capital of Italy than the grea Hanmba , ^ and affluent city, capital of
' Pyrrhus, Perseus, or Antiochus It is sard that Mitlm- u^ved its name from 3%/^,
dates conquered 24 nations, whose difieien anguag ^ c|au,f|1ter of Macareus, a king of the country. It is
he knew and spoke with the same ease and fluency a. > . commended by the ancients for the stateliness
As a man of letters he also deserves attention. He greatly commenaeu oy t r .w.
was acquainted with the Greek language, and even wrote
in that dialect a treatise on botany. His skill m physic
is well known ; and even now there is a celebrated an¬
tidote which hears his name, and is called mithndate.
M1TRA, was a cap or covering ior the head, worn
by the Roman ladies, and sometimes by the. men j but
it was looked upon as a mark of efleminacy in the last,
especially when it was tied upon their heads.
MITRE, a sacerdotal ornament worn on the head,
by bishops and certain abbots on solemn occasions; be¬
ing a sort of cap, pointed and cleft at top. Ihe high
priest among the Jews wore a mitre or bonnet on his
head. The inferior priests of the same nation bad like¬
wise their mitres j but in what respect they diftered
from that of the high priest, is uncertain. Some con¬
tend that the ancient bishops wore mitres} but this is
hv no means certain.
Mitre, in Architecture, is the workmen s term lor
an angle that is just 45 degrees, or half a right one.
If the angle be a quarter of a right angle, they call it
a hxilf mitre.
To describe such angles, they have an instrument
called the mitre square; with this they strike mitre
lines on their quarters or battens j and for despatch,
they have a mitre box, as they call it, which is made
of two pieces of wood, each about an inch thick, one
nailed upright on the edge of the other } the uppei
piece hath the mitre lines struck upon it on both sides,
and a kerf to direct the saw in cutting the mitre joints
readily, by only applying the piece into this box.
Mitre is used by the writers of the Irish histoiy lor
a sort of base money, which was very common there
about the year 1270, and for 30 years belore and as
many after.
There were besides the mitre several other pieces,
called, according to the figures impressed upon them,
rosaries, lionades, eagles, and by the like names. They
were imported from France and other countries, and
were so much below the proper currency of the king¬
dom, that they were not worth so much as a halfpenny
each. They were at length decryed in the year 1300,
and good coins struck in their place. These were the
first Irish coins in which the sceptre was left out. They
were struck in the reign of Edward, the son of our
Henry HI. and are still found among the other anti¬
quities of that country. They have the king’s head in
a triangle full faced. The penny, when well preserved,
weighs 22 grains ; the halfpenny 10-J- grains.
MITTAU, the capital of the duchy of Courland.
It is strongly fortified } but was taken by the Swedes
in 1701, and by the Muscovites in 1706. E. Long.
2,3. 51. N. Lat. 56. 44.
MITTIMUS, as generally used, hath two signifi¬
cations. 1. It signifies a writ for removing or trans¬
ferring of records from one court to another. 2. It
signifies a precept, or command in writing, under the
hand and seal of a justice of the peace, directed to the
of its buildings and the fruitfulness ol its soil, but
more particularly for the great men it produced : Fit-
tacus, Alcaeus, Sappho, Terpander, iheophanes, e-
lanicus, &c. were all natives of M.tylene. ^ was long
a seat of learning; and, with Rhodes and Athens, it
had the honour of having educated many ol the great
men of Rome and Greece. In the Peloponnesian war,
the Mitylenians suffered greatly for their revolt from
the power of Athens; and in the Mitlindatic wars,
they had the boldness to resist the Romans, and disdain
the treaties which had been made between Mithndates
and Sylla. See Metelin. _ . .1 .. 1 • 1 •
M1XT, or Mixt Body, m Chemistry, that which is
compounded of different elements or principles.
MIXTURE, a compound or assemblage ot several
different bodies in the same mass. Chemical mixture is
attended with many phenomena which are never observ¬
ed in simple mixtures ; such as heat, effervescence, &c.
To chemical mixture belong the union of acids amt
alkalies, the amalgamation of metals, solution of gums,
&e. and upon it depend many of the principal opera¬
tions of Chemistry. See that article, passim.
Mixture, in Pharmacy, a medicine which diiiers
from a julep in this respect, that it receives into its
composition not only salts, extracts, and othei su -
stances dissoluble in water; but also earths, powders,
and such substances as cannot be dissolved.
MIZEN, in the sea language, is a particular mast
or sail. The mizen mast stands in the sternmost part
of the ship. In some great ships there are two ot
these; when that next the main-mast is called the
main-mixen, and that next the poop the bonaventure
nrixen. , , , r t- .
MIZRAIM, or Misraim, the dual name ot Egypt,
used in Scripture to denote the Higher and Lower
Egypt, which see. It sometimes occurs singular, Ma-
%or: 2 Kings xix. Isaiah xix. Micah vn.
MNFMOSYNE, in fabulous history, a daughter ot
Coelus and Terra. She married Jupiter, by whom she
had the nine Muses. The word mnemosyne signifies
“ memory and therefore the poets have rightly call¬
ed Memory the mother of the Muses, because it is to
that mental endowment that mankind are indebted tor
their progress in science. ,
MNIUM, Marshmoss ; a genus of the natural or¬
der of musci, belonging to the cryptoganna class ot
plants. See Botany Index.
MOAB, in Ancient Geography, a country ot Arabia
Petrsea ; so called from Moab the son of Lot, to whose
posterity this country was allotted by divine appoint¬
ment, Heut. xi. 9. It was originally occupied by the
Emim, a race of giants extirpated by the Moabites, ibid.
Moab anciently lay to the south of Ammon, belore
Sihon the Amorite stripped both nations ot a P^t 0
their territory, afterwards occupied by the Israeli es.
Numb. xxi. ; and then Moab was bounded by the river
Arnon to the north, the Lacus Asphaltites to the wes ,
M O C [ 293 ] MOD
the brook Zaml to the south, ami the mountains Abarim
to the east.
MOAT, or Ditch, in Fortification, a deep trench
dug round the rampart of a fortified place, to prevent
surprises.
The brink of the moat, next the rampart, is called
the Scai'pe ; and the opposite one, the counterscaipe.
A dry moat round a large place, with a strong gar¬
rison, is preferable to one full of water 5 because the
passage may he disputed inch by inch, and the be¬
siegers, when lodged in it, are continually exposed to
the bombs, grenades, and other fire works, which are
thrown incessantly from the rampart into their works.
In the middle of dry moats, there is sometimes another
small one, called cunettc; which is generally dug so
deep till they find water to fill it.
The deepest and broadest moats are accounted the
best) hut a deep one is preferable to a broad one : the
ordinary breadth is about 20 fathoms, and the depth
about 16.
To drain a moat that is full of w ater, they dig a
trench deeper than the level of the water, to let it run
off; and then throw hurdles upon the mud and slime,
covering them with earth or bundles of rushes, to make
a sure and firm passage.
MOATAZALITES, or Separatists, a religious
sect among the Turks, who deny all forms and quali¬
ties in the Divine Being; or who divest God of his at¬
tributes.
There are two opinions among the Turkish divines
concerning God. The first admits metaphysical forms
or attributes; as, that God has wisdom, by which he
is wise; power, by which he is powerful ; eternity,
by which he is eternal, &c. The second allmvs God
to he w’ise, powerful, eternal ; hut will not allow' any
form or quality in God, for fear of admitting a mul¬
tiplicity. Those who follow this latter opinion are
called Moata%alites i they who follow the former, Se-
phalites.
This sect is said to have first invented the scholastic
divinity, and is subdivided into no less than 20 inferior
sects, which mutually brand one another with in¬
fidelity.
MOBILE, a town in the United States, in the ter¬
ritory of Alabama, situated on a bay of the same name
in the gulf of Mexico. It has but an indifferent port.
Its population in 1817, was from 1000 to 1500 per¬
sons.
Mobile, Moveable, any thing susceptible of mo¬
tion, or that is disposed to he moved either by itself
or by some other prior mobile or mover.
Primum Mobile, in the ancient astronomy, was a
ninth heaven or sphere, imagined above those of the
planets and fixed stars. This was supposed to he the
first mover, and to carry all the lower spheres round
along with it; by its rapidity communicating to them
a motion u'hereby they revolved in 24 hours. But the
diurnal revolution of the planets is now accounted for
without the assistance of any such primum mobile.
Perpetuum Mobile. See Perpetual Motion.
MOCHO, Moco, or Mokha ; by some supposed to
he the Musa or Muza of Ptolemy, is a port and towm
on the Red Sea, of considerable trade ; contains about
10,000 inhabitants, Jews, Armenians, and Moham¬
medans ; and it gives name to a kingdom extending
along the most southern coast of Arabia ; of which that Moeho
part which lies next the sea is a dry barren desert, in 11
some places 10 or 12 leagues over; but hounded by, R]ode-
mountains, which being well watered, enjoy an al¬
most perpetual spring; and besides coffee, the peculiar
produce of this country, yields corn, grapes, myrrh,
fiankincense, cassia, halm, gums of several sorts, man¬
gos, dates, pomegranates, &.c. The weather here is so
hot and sultry in summer, especially when the south
wind blows, that it would he insupportable, if it was not
mitigated by the cool breezes that generally blow from
the mountains on the north, or the Bed and /Arabic seas
on the west and east. The heat in winter is equal to
that ol our warmest summers ; and it is very seldom
that either clouds or rain are seen. The city of Mocho
is now the emporium for the trade of all India to the
Bed sea. The trade was removed hither from Aden,
in consequence of the prophecy of a sheik, much rever¬
ed by the people, who foretold that it would soon be¬
come a place of extensive commerce notwithstanding its
disadvantageous situation. The buildings here are lof¬
ty, and tolerably regular, having a pleasant aspect from
M ecca. The steeples of several mosques are very high,
presenting themselves to view at a great distance. -Their
markets are well stored with beef, mutton, lamb, kid,
camels and antelopes flesh, common fowls, Guinea
hens, partridges, and pigeons. The sea affords plenty
of fish, hut not savoury; which some think proceeds
from the extreme saltness of the yvater and the nature
of their aliment. The markets are also stocked with
fruit, such as grapes, peaches, apricots, quinces, and1
nectarines; although neither shrub nor tree is to he
seen near the town, except a few date trees. Frequent¬
ly no rain falls here in two or three years, and seldom
more than a shower or two in a year; hut in the
mountains, at the distance of about 20 miles from
Mocha, the earth is watered with a gentle shower
every morning, which makes the valleys fertile in corn
and the fruits natural to the climate. The Arab in¬
habitants, though remarkably grave and superstitious,
are said to he extremely covetous and hypocritical;
robbing, thieving, and committing piracy, without the
least scruple or remorse. The English and Dutch com¬
panies have handsome houses here, and carry on a
great trade in coffee, olibanum, myrrh, aloes, liquid
storax, white and yellow arsenic, gum arabic, mum¬
my, balm of Gilead, and other drugs. One inconve¬
nience, however, they sustain from the violence and
exactions of the Arabian princes ; but the king’s cu¬
stoms are easy, being fixed at three per cent, to Euro¬
peans. Of the coins at Mocha, the most current is
thecamassie, which rises and falls in value at the bank¬
er’s discretion : they are from 30 to 80 for a current
dollar, which is but an imaginary species, being ahvays
reckoned one and a half per Cent, lower than Spanish
dollars.
MOCKING Bird. See Turdus, Ornithology
Index.
MOCOCO. See Lemur, Mammalia Index.
MODE, which is a word of the same general im¬
port with manner, is used as a technical term in gram¬
mar, metaphysics, and music. For its import in Gram¬
mar, see that article, N° 80.
Mode, in Metaphysics, seems properly to denote
the manner of a thing’s existence : but Locke, whose
language
M O D [ 294 ] M O D
Mode, language in that science is generally adopted, uses the
Model, word in a sense somewhat diiterent from its ordinary
v ' and proper signification. “ Such complex ideas, which,
however compounded, contain not in them the suppo¬
sition of subsisting by themselves, but are considered as
dependencies on, or affections of, substances, ’ he calls
modes. Of these modes, there are, according to him,
two sorts, which deserve distinct consideration. First,
There arc some “ which are only variations, or differ¬
ent combinations of the same simple idea, without the
mixture of any other, as a do%en or a score ; which are
nothing but the ideas of so many distinct units added
togetherand these he calls simple modes. Secondly,
“ There are others compounded of simple ideas of se¬
veral kinds put together to make one complex one ;
v. g. beavty, consisting of a certain composition of co¬
lour and figure, causing delight in the beholder; theft,
which being the concealed change of the possession ot
any thing without the consent of the proprietor, con¬
tains, as is visible, a combination of several ideas of se¬
veral kinds and these he calls mixed ??iodes. For
the just distinction between ideas and notions, as well as
between ideas and the qualities of external objects,
which in this account of modes are all conlounded to¬
gether, see Metaphysics.
Mode, in Music, a regular disposition of the air
and accompaniments, relative to certain principal sounds
upon which a piece of music is formed, and which are
called the essential sounds of the mode.
Our modes are. not, like those of the ancients, cha¬
racterized by any sentiment which they tend to excite,
but result from our system of harmony alone. The
sounds essential to the mode are in number three, and
form together one perfect chord. 1. The tonic or key,
which is the fundamental note both of the tone and ot
the mode. 1. The dominant, which is a fifth from the
tonic. 3. The mediant, which properly constitutes
the mode, and which is a third from the same tonic.
As this third may be of two kinds, there are of conse¬
quence two different modes. When the mediant forms
a greater third with the tonic, the mode is major ;
when the third is lesser, it is minor. See Music.
MODEL, in a general sense, an original pattern,
proposed for any one to copy or imitate.
Diffeient This word is particularly used, in building, for an
kinds of artificial pattern made in wood, stone, plaster, or other
models. matter, with all its parts and proportions, in order for
the better conducting and executing some great work,
and to give an idea of the effect it will have in large.
In all great buildings, it is much the surest way to
make a model in relievo, and not to trust to a bare
design or draught. There are also models for the
building of ships, &c. and for extraordinary staircases,
&c.
They also use models in painting and sculpture;
whence, in the academies, they give the term model to
a naked man or woman, disposed in several postures, to
afford an opportunity to the scholars to design them in
^ various views and attitudes.
General Models in imitation of any natural or artificial sub-
method of stance, are most usually made by means of moulds
making composed of plaster of Paris. For the purpose of
models. niaking these moulds, this kind of plaster is much
more fit than any other substance, on account of the
power it,has of absorbing water, and soon condensing
into a hard substance, even after it has been rendered ]\r0£|
so thin as to be of the consistence of cream. This
happens in a shorter or longer time as the plaster is
of a better or worse quality ; and its good or bad pro¬
perties depend very much upon its age, to which,
therefore, particular regard ought to be had. It ia
sold in the shops at very different prices ; the finest be¬
ing made use of for casts, and the middling sort for
moulds. It may be very easily coloured by means of
almost any kind of powder excepting what contains an
alkaline salt; for this would chemically decompose the
substance of it, and render it unfit for use. A very
considerable quantity of chalk would also render it
soft and useless, hut lime hardens it to a great degree.
The addition of common size will likewise render it
much harder than if mere water is made use of. In
making either moulds or models, however, we must
he careful not to make the mixture too thick at first;
for if this is done, and more water added to thin it,
the composition must always prove brittle aud of a bad
quality.
The particular manner of making models (or casts,
as they are also called) depends on the form of the
subject to be taken. The process is easy, where the
parts arc elevated only in a slight degree, or where
they form only a right or obtuse angle with the prin¬
cipal surface from which they project ; but where the
parts project in smaller angles, or form curves inclined
towards the principal surface, the work is more diffi¬
cult. This observation, however, holds good only
with regard to hard and inflexible bodies ; for such as
are soft may often be freed from the mould, even
though they have the shape last mentioned. But
though this he the case with the soft original substance,
it is not so with the inflexible model when once it is
cast.
The moulds are to be made of various degrees of
thickness, according to the size of the model to be
cast; and may be from half an inch to an inch, or, if
very large, an inch and a half. Where a number of
models are to be taken from one mould, it will like¬
wise be necessary to have it of a stronger contexture
than where only a few are required, for very obvious
reasons. 3
It is much more easy to make a mould for any soft Anatom
substance than a rigid One, as in any of the viscera ot nio^els-
the animal body ; for the fluidity of the mixture makes
it easily accommodate itself to the projecting parts of
the substance ; and as it is necessary to inflate these sub¬
stances, they may be very readily extracted again by
letting out the air which distended them.
When a model is to be taken, the surface of the
original is first to be greased, in order to prevent the
plaster from sticking to it; but if the substance itseli
is slippery, as is the case with the internal parts ot the
human body, this need not be done : when necessary,
it may be laid over with lintseed oil by means of a
painter’s brush. The original is then to be laid on
smooth table, previously greased or covered with a
cloth, to prevent the plaster sticking to it; then sur¬
round the original with a frame or ridge of glaziers
putty, at such a distance from it as will admit the
plaster to rest upon the table on all sides of the subject
for about an inch, or as much as is sufficient to give
the proper degree of strength to the mould. A suffi¬
cient
MOD [ 295 ]
MOD
cient quantity of plaster is then to be poured as uni-
J formly as possible over the whole substance, until it be
everywhere covered to such a thickness as to give a
proper substance to the mould, which may vary in
proportion to the size. The whole must then be suf¬
fered to remain in this condition till the plaster has
attained its hardness j when the frame is taken away,
the mould may be inverted, and the subject removed
from it: and when the plaster is thoroughly dry let it
be well seasoned.
Having formed and seasoned the moulds, they must
next be prepared for the casts by greasing the inside
of them with a mixture of olive oil and lard in equal
parts, and then filed with fine fluid plaster, and the
plane of the mould formed by its resting on the surface
of the table covered to a sufficient thickness with
coarse plaster, to form a strong basis or support for the
cast where this support is requisite, as is particularly
the case where the thin and membranous parts of the
body are to be represented. After the plaster is pour¬
ed into the mould, it must be suffered to stand until
it has acquired the greatest degree of hardness it will
receive j after which the mould must be removed :
but this will be attended with some difficulty when the
shape of the subject is unfavourable ; and in some cases
the mould must be separated by means of a small mallet
and chissel. If by these instruments any parts of the
model should be broken off, they may be cemented by
making the two surfaces to be applied to each other
quite wet •, then interposing betwixt them a little li¬
quid plaster*, and lastly, the joint smoothed after being
thoroughly dry. Any small holes that may be made
in the mould can be filled up with liquid plaster, after
the sides of them have been thoroughly wetted, and
smoothed over with the edge of a knife.
In many cases it is altogether impracticable to pre¬
pare a mould of one piece for a whole subject j and
therefore it must be considered how this can be done
in such a manner as to divide the mould into the fewest
pieces. This may be effected by making every piece
cover as much of the pattern as possible, without sur¬
rounding such projecting parts, or running into such
hollows as would not admit a separation of the mould.
It is impossible, however, to give any particular direc¬
tions in this matter which can hold good in every in¬
stance, the number of pieces of which the mould is to
consist being always determined from the shape of the
pattern. 'Ihus the mould of the human calculus will
J'equire no more than three pieces, but that of an os
Jemoris could scarce have fewer than ten or tAvelve.~
Where any internal pieces are required, they are first
to be made, and then the outer pieces after the former
have become hard.
lo make a mould upon a hard and dry substance,
we must, in the first place, rub the surface of it
smoothly over with the mixture of oil and lard above
mentioned. Such hollows as require internal pieces
are then to be filled up with fluid plaster; and while
it continues in this state, a wire loop must be intro¬
duced into it, by which, when hardened, it can be
pulled off. The plaster should be somewhat raised
in a pyramidal form around this wire, and afterwards
cut smooth with a knife while yet in its soft state ;
preserving two or three angular ridges from the loop
to the outer edge, that it may fix the more steadily
in the outer piece of the mould to be afterwards made
upon it. Let the outer piece then be well greased,
to prevent the second piece from adhering; the loop
being enclosed with some glaziers putty, both to pre¬
vent the second piece from adhering and to preserve a
hollow’ place for the cord.
To form the second or outside piece, mix a quan¬
tity of plaster proportioned to the extent of surface
it is to cover and the intended thickness of the
mould : when it is just beginning to thicken, or as¬
sumes such a consistence as not to run off very easily,
spread it over the internal piece or pieces as well as
the pattern, taking care at the same time not to
go too far lest it should not deliver safely j and'as the
plaster becomes more tenacious, add more upon the
pattern until it has become sufficiently thick, keeping
the edges square and smooth like the edge of a board.
The plaster should be spread equally upon all parts,
which is best done by a painter’s pallet knife or apothe¬
cary’s bolus knife : but for this the instrument should
be somewhat less pliable than it is commonly made.
When the outside piece is hardened, the edges are
to he pared smooth, and nearly made square with a
small pointed knife. Little holes of a conical shape
are to be made with the point of a knife about an inch
distant from one another, according to the size of the
piece. These are designed to receive the fluid pla¬
ster in forming the adjacent parts of the mould, and
occasion points corresponding to the hollows ; and are
intended to preserve the edges of the different pieces
steadily in their proper relative situations. The third
piece is then to be formed in a manner similar to the
second; greasing the edges of the former plentifully
with hog’s lard and oil, to prevent the pieces from ad¬
hering to each other. Thus the pattern is to be
wholly enclosed, only leaving a proper orifice for
pouring in the plaster to form thd model ; small holes
being also bored in the mould opposite to the wire-
loops fixed in the inside pieces, through which a cord
is to be conveyed from the loop to confine such pieces
during the time of casting. In some cases, however,
it is not necessary that the mould should totally en¬
close the pattern ; for instance, where a model "is to
be made of a pedestal, or a bust of any part of the hu¬
man body. The bottom of such moulds being left
open, there is accordingly ample room for pouring in
the plaster.
After the mould is completely formed, it is next
to be dried either naturally or by a gentle artificial
heat, and then seasoned in the following manner -
Having been made thoroughly dry, which, if the
mould is large, will require two or three weeks, it is
to he brushed over plentifully with linseed oil boiled
with sugar of lead, finely levigated litharge, or oil of-
vitriol. The inside and joints of the mould should be-
particularly well supplied with it. If the mould be
large, it is needless to-attend to the outside ; but when
the moulds are small, it will not be improper to boil
them in the oil ; by which means their pores are more
exactly filled than could otherwise be done. After
the moulds have undergone this operation, they are
again set by to dry, when, being greased with olive
oil and hog’s lard, they are fit for use. If linseed oil
be used for greasing the moulds, it will in a short time
impart a disagreeable yellow colour to the easts.
The
MOD
[ 296 ]
MOD
Model.
4
Models
The mould being properly prepared and seasoned,
nothing more is requisite to form the model than to
pour the finest liquid plaster of Paris into it. After a
layer of this, about half an inch in thickness, has been
formed all round the mould, we may use the coarser
kind to fill it up entirely, or to give to the model
what thickness we please.
ivioueis Besides the models which are taken from inanimate
from living bodies, it has been frequently attempted to take the
subjects. exact resemblance of people while living, by using
their face as the original of a model, from whence to
take a mould ; and the operation, however disagree¬
able, has been submitted to by persons of the highest
ranks in life. A considerable difficulty occurs in this,
however, by reason of the person’s being apt to shrink
and distort his features when the liquid is poured up¬
on him; neither is he altogether without danger ot
suffocation, unless the operator well understands his
business.
To avoid the former inconvenience, it will he pro¬
per to mix the plaster with warm instead of cold wa¬
ter, by which means the person will he under no temp¬
tation to shrink 5 and to prevent any danger of a fa¬
tal accident, the following method is to be practised:
Having laid the person horizontally on his back, the
head must first be raised by means of a pillow to the
exact position in which it is naturally carried when
the body is erect •, then the parts to be represented
must be very thinly covered over with fine od of al¬
monds by means of a painter’s brush } the face is then
to be first covered with fine fluid plaster, beginning at
the upper part of the forehead, and spreading it over
the eyes, which are to be kept close, that the plaster
may not come in contact with the globe ; yet not closed
so strongly as to cause any unnatural wrinkles. Cover
then the nose and ears, plugging first up the meatus
auditorily with cotton, and the nostrils with a small
quantity of tow rolled up, of a proper size, to exclude
the plaster. During the time that the nose is thus
stopped, the person is to breathe through the mouth :
in this state the fluid plaster is to be brought down low
t?nough to cover the upper lip, observing to leave the
rolls of tow projecting out of the plaster. W hen the
operation is thus far carried on, the plaster must be
suffered to harden ; after which the tow may be with¬
drawn, and the nostrils left free and open for breathing.
The mouth is then to be closed in its natural position,
and the plaster brought down to the extremity of the
chin. Begin then to cover that part of the breast
which is to be represented, and spread the plaster to the
outsides of the arms and upwards, in such a manner as
to meet and join that which is previously laid on the
face : when the whole of the mass has acquired its due
hardness, it is to be cautiously lifted, without breaking,
or giving pain to the person. After the mould is
constructed, it must be seasoned in the manner already
directed \ and when the mould is cast, it is to be sepa¬
rated from the mould by means of a small mallet and
chissel. The eyes, which are necessarily shown closed,
are to be carved, so that the ejelids may be represent¬
ed in an elevated posture *, the nostrils hollowed out, and
the back part of the head, from which, on account of
the hair, no mould can be taken, must be finished ac-
acerding to the skill of the artist. The edges of the
I
model are then to he neatly smoothed oft', and the bust ’vf0ll
fixed on its pedestal.  
The method of making models in the plaster ofr S
Paris is undoubtedly the most easy way of obtaining
them. When models, however, are made of such ^
large objects that the model itself must be of consi¬
derable size, it is vain to attempt making it in the
way above described. Such models must be construc¬
ted by the hand with some soft substance, as wax,
clay, putty, &c. and it being necessary to keep all the
proportions with mathematical exactness, the construe-
tion of a single model of this kind must be a work of
great labour and expence as well as of time. Of all
those which have been undertaken by human industry,
however, perhaps the most remarkable is that con¬
structed by General Psifter, to represent the moun¬
tainous parts of Switzerland, ft is composed of 142
compartments, of different sizes and forms, respec¬
tively numbered, and so artfully put together, that
they can be separated and replaced with the greatest
ease. The model itself is 2Qi feet long and 12 broad,
and formed on a scale which represents two English
miles and a quarter by an English foot: comprehend¬
ing part of the cantons of Zug, Zurich, Schweitz,
Underwalden, Lucern, Berne, and a small part ot
the mountains of Glams ; in all, an extent of country of
184- leagues in length and 12 in breadth, The highest
point of the model, from the level of the centre (which
is the lake of Lucerne), is about ten inches; and as
the most elevated mountain represented therein rises
I475 t°ises or 9440 feet above the lake of Lucerne, at
a gross calculation, the height of an inch in the model
is about 900 feet. The whole is painted of different
colours, in such a manner as to represent objects as
they exist in nature •, and so exactly is this done, that
not only the woods of oak, beech, pine, and other
trees, are distinguished, but even the strata of the se¬
veral rocks are marked, each being shaped upon the
spot, and formed of granite, gravel, or such other sub¬
stances as compose the natural mountain. So minute
also is the accuracy of the plan, that it comprises not
only all the mountains, lakes, rivers, towns, villages,
and forests, but every cottage, bridge, torrent, road,
and even every path is distinctly marked.
The principal material employed in the construc¬
tion of this extraordinary model, is a mixture of char¬
coal, lime, clay, a little pitch, with a thin coat of
wax ; and is so hard that it may be trod upon without
any damage. It rvas begun in the year 1766, at
which time the general was about 50 years of age,
and it employed him till the month of August 1785;
during all which long space of time he was employ¬
ed in the most laborious and even dangerous tasks.—•
He raised the plans with his own hands on the spot,
took the elevation of mountains, and laid them down
in their several proportions. In the prosecution ot
this laborious employment, he was twice arrested for
a spv •, and in the popular cantons was frequently
forced to work by moon light, in order to avoid the
jealousy of the peasants, who imagined that their li¬
berty would be endangered should a plan ot then-
country be taken with such minute exactness. Be¬
ing obliged frequently to remain on the tops of some
of the Alps, where no provisions could be procured,
be
M O D
lodel,
odena.
he took along with him a few milk goats, who sup
plied him with nourishment. When any part was
— finished, he sent for the people residing near the spot,
and desired them to examine each mountain with ac¬
curacy, whether it corresponded, as far as the smallness
of the scale would admit, with its natural appearance j
and then, by frequently retouching, corrected the de¬
ficiencies. Even after the model was finished, he
continued his Alpine expeditions with the same ardour
as ever, and with a degree of vigour that would fatigue
a much younger person. All his elevations were taken
from the level of the lake Lucerne 5 which, according
to M. Saussure, is 1408 feet above the level of the Me¬
diterranean.
MODENA, a duchy of Italy, bounded on the
south by Tuscany and the republic of Lucca, on the
north by the duchy of Mantua, on the east by the
Bolognese and the territories of the Church, and
on the west by the duchy of Parma; extending in
length from south to north about 56 English miles,
and in breadth between 24 and 36, and yielding-
plenty of corn, wine, and fruits, with mineral waters.
In some places also petroleum is skimmed oil the sur¬
face ol the ivater of deep wells made on purpose ; and
in others is found a kind of earth or tophus, which,
when pulverized, is said to be an excellent reinedv
against poison, fevers, dysenteries, and hypochondriac
disorders. The country ef La Salsa afiords several
kinds ol petrifactions. The principal rivers are the
Crostolo, Secchia, and Panaro. The family of Este,
dukes of Modena, is very ancient. They had their
name from Est£, a small city in the district of Pa¬
dua. They retained the sovereignty of this duchy till
it was conquered by the French in 1795. After this
it formed a part ol the Cisalpine republic, and latterly
of the kingdom of Italy. But since the peace of Paris
in 1814 it has regained its independence. The duke,
though a vassal of the empire, has an unlimited power
v/ithin his own dominions.
Modena, an ancient city, in Latin Mutina, which
gives name to a duchy of Italy, and is its capital. It
stands in a rich plain 28 miles east of Parma, 44 al¬
most south of Mantua, and 20 west of Bologna; and
is a pretty large, but not a handsome city, with a po¬
pulation of 23,000. It is much celebrated by Roman
authors lor its grandeur and opulence ; but was a great
sufferer by the siege it underwent during the troubles
of tlie triumvirate. Mr Keysler says, that when De-
cius Brutus was besieged here by Mark Antony, Hir-
tius the consul made use of carrier pigeons ; and that,
even at this day, pigeons are trained up at Modena to
carry letters and bring back answers. This city hath
given birth to several celebrated persons, particularly
Jasso the poet, Corregio the great painter, Sigonius
the civilian and historian, Da Vignola the architect,
and Montecuculi the imperial general. The tutelary
saint ol it is named Gemintanus, The ducal palace is
a very noble edifice ; but the collection of pictures and
curiosities it formerly contained is no longer there.
I he only manufacture for which this city is noted, is
that ol masks, of which great numbers are exported.
he women have a singular costume; they cover the
bead and body with a large silk cloak or veil, which
gives them-the appearance of old women or masked
dominos. The churches , of the Jesuits, of the Thea-
Vol. XIV. Part I.
1 2 97 ]
MOD
tines, and of St Dominic, are well worth viewing. The Modejia
university, now called the Lyceum, has produced seve- [|
ral good scholars in the belles lettres, sciences, and po- Modesty,
litics. There is also a neat theatre here, and an ex-
cellent library. St Beatrix, who was of the family of
Este, is said to knpek always at the gate of the palace
three days before any of the family dies. Before most
of the houses are covered walks or porticoes, as at Bo¬
logna. The city is fortified, and on its south side
stands the citadel. E. Long. 11. o. N. Lat. 44. 34.
MODERATION, in Ethics, is a virtue consist¬
ing in the proper government of our appetites, pas¬
sions, and pursuits, with respect to honours, riches,
and pleasures ; and in this sense it is synonymous with
temperance: it is also often used to denote candour.
MODERATOR, in the schools, the person who
presides at a dispute, or in a public assembly : tlms the
president of the annual assembly of the church of Scot¬
land is styled moderator.
MODERN, something new, or of our time^ in op¬
position to what is antique or ancient.
Modern Authors, according to Naudc, are all those
who have wrote since Boethius. The modern philo¬
sophy commences with Galileo; the modern astronomy
with Copernicus.
MODESTY, in Ethics, is sometimes used to de¬
note humility ; and sometimes to express chastity, or
purity of sentiments and manners.—Modesty, in this
last sense, and as particularly applied to women, is de¬
fined by the authors of the Encyclopedic Mef/iodique, as
a natural, chary, and honest shame ; a secret fear; a
feeling on account of what may be accompanied with
disgrace. Women who possess only the remains of a
suspicious modesty, make but feeble efforts to resist:
those who have obliterated every trace of modesty from
their countenance, soon extinguish it completely in their
soul, and throw aside for ever the veil of decency. She,
on the contrary, who truly possesses modesty, passes
over in silence attempts against her honour, and forbears
speaking of those from whom she has received an out¬
rage, when in doing so she must reveal actions and ex¬
pressions that might give alarm to virtue.
The idea of modesty is not a chimera, a popular
prejudice, or an illusion arising from laws and educa¬
tion. Nature, which speaks the same language to all
men, has, with the unanimous consent of nations, an¬
nexed contempt to female incontinence. To resist and
to attack are laws of her appointment : and while she
bestows desires on both parties, they are in the one
accompanied with boldness, in the other with shame.
To individuals she has allotted long spaces of time for
the purposes of self-preservation, and but moments for
the propagation of their species. What arms more gen¬
tle than Modesty could she have put into the hands of
that sex which she designed to make resistance.
If it were the custom for both sexes to make and
receive advances indiscriminately, vain importunity
would not be prevented : the fire of passion would ne¬
ver be stirred up, but languish in tedious liberty ; thq
most amiable of all feelings would scarcely warm the
human breast; its object would with difficulty beat-:
tained. That obstacle which seems to remove this ob¬
ject to a distance, in fact brings it nearer. The veil
of shame only makes the desires more attractive. Mo¬
desty kindles that flame which it endeavours to sbp*
P p press ;
I
MOD
press : its fears, its evasions,
avowals, its pleasing and affecting finesses, speak moie
plainly what it wishes to conceal, than passion can do
without it : it is Modesty, in short, which enhances
the value of a favour, and mitigates the pain of a re¬
fusal. „ „ . . ,
Since modesty is the secret fear of ignominy j and
since all nations, ancient or modern, have confessed
tin obligation of its laws } it must be absurd to violate
them in’ the punishment of crimes, which should al¬
ways have for its object the re-establishment of order.
Was it the intention of those oriental nations, who
exposed women to elephants, trained for an abominable
species of punishment, to violate one law by the ob¬
servance of another ? By an ancient practice among
the Romans a girl could not he put to death befoie
she was marriageable. rI iberius found means to evade
this law, by ordering them to be violated by the
executioner previous to the infliction of punishment}
the refinement of a cruel tyrant, who sacrificed the
morals to the customs of his people ! When the
legislature of Japan caused women to be exposed na¬
ked in the market places, and obliged them to walk on
all fours like brutes, modesty was shocked : but when
it wanted to force a mother—when it wanted to com¬
pel a son—nature received an outrage.
Such is the influence of climate in other countries,
that the physical partof love possesses an almost irresist¬
ible force. The resistance is feeble j the attack is ac¬
companied with a certainty of success. This is the
case at Fatana, at Bantam, and in the small kingdoms
on the coast of Guinea. When the women in these
countries (says Mr Smith) meet with a man, they lay
hold of him and threaten to inform their husbands if
he despises their favours. But here the sexes seem to
have abolished the laws peculiar to each. It is fortu¬
nate to live in a temperate climate like ours, where that
sex which possesses the most powerful charms exerts
them to embellish society 5 and where modest women,
while they reserve themselves for the pleasures of one,
contribute to the amusement of all.
MODIFICATION, in Philosophy, that which mo¬
difies a thing, or gives it this or that manner of being.
Quantity and quality are accidents which modify all
bodies. .or
Decree of Modification* in Scots Law, a decree
ascertaining the extent of a ministers stipend, with¬
out proportioning it among the persons liable in payment.
MODILLIONS, in Architecture, ornaments in the
corniche of the Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite co-
lumns. .
MODIUS, a Roman dry measure for all sorts of
grain, containing 32 heminte, or 16 sextani, or one-
third of the amphora •, amounting to an English peck.
See Measure.
MODULATION, the art of forming any thing to
certain proportion.
Modulation, in reading or speaking. See Read-
1NC. .
Modulation, in Music, derived from the Latin
modulari. This word, in our language, is susceptible
of several different significations. It frequently means
no more than an air, or a number of musical sounds
properly connected and arranged. Thus it answers.
Moduli
tion
[ 298 ] M O G
its caution, its timid to what Mr Malcolm understands by the word tune,
when he does not expressly treat concerning the tun¬
ing of instruments. Thus likewise it expresses the ^ n
French word chant; for which reason, in the article ^
Music, we have frequently expressed the one word by
the other. But the precise and technical acceptation
to which it ought to be confined, is the art of composing
melody or harmony agreeably to the laws prescribed by
any particular key, that of changing the key, or of re¬
gularly and legitimately passing from one key to an¬
other. See Music.
MODULE, in Architecture, a certain measure, or
bigness, taken at pleasure, for regulating the propor¬
tions of columns, and the symmetry or disposition of
the whole building. Architects generally choose the
semidiameter of the bottom of the column for their
module, and this they subdivide into parts or mi¬
nutes.
MOEONIA, or M/eonia. See Maconia and Ly¬
dia.
MOESIA, or Mysta, in Ancient Geography, * coun¬
try of Europe, extending from the confluence of the Sa-
vus and the Danube to the shores of the Euxine. It was
divided into Upper and Lower Moesia. Lower Mcesia
was on the borders of the Euxine, and comprehended
that tract of country which received the name of Pontus
from its vicinity to the sea. Upper Moesia lay beyond
the other in the inland country.
MOFFAT, a village of Scotland, in Annandale, in
the county of Dumfries, 50 miles south-wTest of Edin¬
burgh famous for its sulphureous well, which has been
in just estimation for near 150 years as a remedy in all
cutaneous and scrofulous complaints 5 and for its chaly¬
beate spring, called Flartfell spaw, which was disco¬
vered above 50 years ago, and is of a very bracing qua¬
lity. The place is chiefly supported by the company
who resort thither for the benefit of its waters and air *,
but it has also a manufacture of coarse woollen stuffs. It
is a well-built clean village 5 and contains many good
and even elegant lodgings, a tolerable assembly room, a
bowling green and walks, and a good inn. I he popula¬
tion of the parish in 1811 amounted to 1834.
MOFFETTA. See Ampsancti.
MOGODORE, or Magadore, a large, uniform,
and well built town in the kingdom of Morocco, situat¬
ed about 350 miles from Tangier on the Atlantic ocean,
and surrounded on the land side by deep and heavy sands.
The European factory here consists of about a dozen
mercantile houses of different nations, whose owners,
from the protection granted them by the emperor, live
in full security from the Moors, whom indeed they keep
at a rigid distance. They export, to America, mules *,
to Europe, Morocco leather, hides, gum arabic, gum
sandaric, ostrich feathers, copper, wax, wool, elephants
teeth, fine mats, beautiful carpeting, dates, figs, raisins,
olives, almonds, oil, &c. In return, they import tim¬
ber, artillery of all kinds, gunpowder, woollen cloths,
linens, lead, iron in bars, all kinds of hardware an
trinkets, such as looking glasses, snuff boxes, watches,
small knives, &c. tea, sugar, spices, and most of the use¬
ful articles which are not otherwise to be procured m
this empire. The town is regularly fortified on the
sea side and on the land, batteries are so placed a to
prevent any incursion from the southern Arabs, who
M O G [2
I a^odore, are of a turbulent disposition, and wbo, from the great
Moguls, wealth which is known to be always in Mogodore,
| v ‘ would gladly avail themselves of any opportunity that
offered to pillage the town. The entrance, both by
sea and land, consists of elegant stone arch-ways, with
double gates. 1 he market place is handsomely built,
with piazzas of the same materials ; and at the wa¬
ter port there is a customhouse and powder maga¬
zine, both of which are neat stone buildings. Be¬
sides these public edifices, the emperor has a small but
handsome palace for his occasional residence. The
streets of the town, though very narrow, are all in
straight lines; and the houses, contrary to what we
meet with in the other towns of the empire, are lofty
and regular. The bay, which is a little better than a
road, and is very much exposed when the wind is at
north west, is formed by a curve in the land, and a
small island about a quarter of a mile from the shore.
—Its entrance is defended by a fort well furnished
with guns.
MOGULS, a celebrated nation of Asia, whose
conquests formerly were the most rapid and extensive
x of any people recorded in history. They themselves
agulsde- deduce their origin from Japhet, or, as they cal! him,
■mied Japhis, the son of Noah. His son Turk, they say,
"lJa- was the first king, or khan, of those nations who are
now known by the separate names of Turks, Tartars,
and Moguls; and the Tartars especially assert, that their
proper designation is Turks. To this prince is attributed
many of those inventions which barbarous nations com¬
monly ascribe to their first sovereigns. He was succeed¬
ed by Taunak ; in whose reign the whole posterity of
Turk were divided into four large tribes, denominated
the orda's of Erlat, Gialair, Kaugin, Berks or Perks;
of which last came the famous Timur Beg, or Tamer¬
lane.—From this time to that of Aknza Khan, we meet
with nothing remarkable. In his reign the Turks
being immersed in all kinds of luxury, universally
apostatized into idolatry. Having two sons, Tartar
and Mogul, he divided his dominions among them, and
thus gave rise to the two empires of the Tartars and
Moguls.
The two nations had not long existed before they
began to make war upon each other; and after long
contention, the event at last was, that 11 Khan, efnpe-
2 ror of the Moguls, was totally overthrown by Sittntz
i Sited Kl)an’ ernPeror of the Tartars; and so great was the
defeat, that the Mogul nation seems to have been al¬
most exterminated. Only two of 11 Khan’s family sur¬
vived this disaster. These were Kajan his youngest
son, and Nagos his nephew, who were both of an age,
and had both been married the same year. These two
princes, with their wives, had been taken prisoners by
Siuntz Khan, but found means to make their escape to
their own country. Here they seized upon all the cattle
which had not been carried off by the Tartars ; which
was easily done, as having none to dispute the property
with them ; then stripping some of the skin, they took
their clothes, and retired into the mountains. They
passed Several mountains without much difficulty ; but
at last advanced to the foot of one exceedingly high,
which had no way over it but a very small path made
by certain animals, called in the Tartar language dr-
rrnra. This path they found themselves obliged to
99 ] ■ M O G
make use of, though it was so strait, that only one Moguls,
could pass at a time, and he was in the most imminentl—■■ v—■
danger of breaking his neck at the least false step.
Having ascended the mountain on one side by this-™ 3
path, they descended by the same on the other side; rive
and were agreeably surprised to find themselves in a delightful
most delightful tract, interspersed with rivulets andvalle)r-
charming meadows, abounding with a vast variety of
delicious fruits, and enclosed on all sides by inaccessible
mountains, in such a manner as to shelter them from all
future pursuits of the Tartars. Here they lived some
time, and gave this beautiful country the name of Ir-
gana-kon, in allusion to its situation ; Irgana signifying,
in the old language of the Moguls, a “ valley,” and
Ko?i a “ steep height.”
In process ol time these two families very much in¬
creased. Kajan, whose posterity was the most nume¬
rous, called his descendants Kajath; but the people
springing from Nagos were divided into two tribes;
one of which received the appellation of Nagosler, and
the other that of Durlagan.
Ihese two Mogul princes and their descendants lived
in this place for more than 400 years ; but the latter
then finding it too narrow for them, meditated a return
to the country from which their forefathers had been
driven. For some time, however, they found this im¬
practicable, as the path that conducted their ancestors
had been long since destroyed. At last they discovered,
that one part of the high mountain above mentioned
was not very thick in a certain place ; and also, that
it consisted entirely of iron ore. To this, having before
set fire to a layer of wood, and another of charcoal,
kid along the foot of the mountain, they applied 70
large bellows, and at last melted the mountain in such
a manner, that an opening was made large enough for
a loaded camel to pass; and through this passage they
all marched out with great jov.
The Moguls having thus 'issued as it were from a prom4
new world, overthrew the Tartars in their turn; and whence
continued to be a very considerable nation till the timetbey at last
of their great hero Temujin, afterwards called Jenghixissue and
Khan, whom they extol in the most extravagant man-the
ner. It is difficult, however, to say, at the time Te-
mujin made his appearance, how far the dominions of
the Moguls extended, or in what estimation they were
held by their neighbours. It seems to be pretty cer¬
tain that great part of the vast region, now known by
the name of Tartary, was then in a state of consider¬
able civilization, and likewise extremely populous, as
wre find mention made of many cities which the Mo¬
guls destroyed ; and the incredible multitudes whom
they slaughtered, abundantly show the populousness of
the country. On the east, the country of the Moguls
and Tartars had the great desert which divides Tartary
from China ; on the west, it had the empire of Karazm, St t -S f A
founded by Mahmud Gazni; and on the south were sia at the
the countries now known by the name of Indostan, time of
Siam, Pegu, Tonquin, and Cochin China. Thus it com- Jenghiz
prehended the eastern part of modern Tartary, andKlian*
ail -Sibeiia. I bis whole region was divided among
a great number of Ay macks, or tribes; who had each
one 01 more khans, according as it was more or less
numerous, or divided into branches. Among these
that of the Tcdra-its was the most powerful:: their
T* p 2 piinee
M O G
[ 3°° 1
M O G
Mass's, pi iuce assumexl the title of Grand Kfian, anil nmcni.
1 ^ ; the rest the Moguls were tributary to him } but, ac-
corcling to the Chinese historians, both the one anil
the other were tributary to the emperor oi K.tay or
Katay. China was divided into two parts : the mne
southern provinces were m the hands ot the Chinese
emperors of the Song dynasty, who kept then com t
at Hang-chew, the capital of the province ot Chek-
vm«- • the live northern provinces, excepting part ot
Shensi, were possessed by the Kin, a people ot Eastern
Tartary, from whom are descended the Manchew J ar-
tars, at present masters of China. This vast domi¬
nion was named Kitaj/ or Katay, and was divided in o
two parts : that which belonged to China, was proper¬
ly called Kitay; and the part which belonged to 1 ar¬
tary was called Karakitay, in which some even include
the territories of the Moguls, Karaits, and other tribes
which are the subject of the present history, the
western part of the empire of Kitay was possessed by a
Turkish prince, who had lately founded a new king¬
dom there called Hya; whose capital city was Hya-
chew, now Ninghya in Shensi, from whence the king¬
dom took its name. To the west of Hya lay langut,
a country of great extent, and formerly very powerful j
but at that time reduced to a low state, and divide
among many princes j some of whom were subject to
the emperor of Hya, and others to the emperor of
China. All Tartary to the westward as far as the
Caspian sea, with the greater part of Little Buckhana,
which then passed under the general name of lurkcstav,
was subject to Ghurkhan, Khurkhan, or Kayer Khan *,
to whom even the Gazni monarch* are said to have
been tributary. This Ghurkhan had been prince of the
Western Kitan or Lyau j who, driven out ot Kitay by
the king, settled in Little Buckharia, and the country
to the north, where they founded a powerful state about
f. the year 1124. „ , , 1 1 ^
Descent Thus the Moguls, properly so called, had but a very
and birth small extent of empire which could be called then own,
of Tenmjin. ;f ln(jee(j they had any, when Temujin made 1ns appear-
and the khan was kept in possession of his throne : soon
after which Temujin subdued the tribes which had le-
volted from himself, treating them at the same time
with the utmost barbarity. 8 11
This happened in the year 1201 j hut > ang Khan, who be-
instead of continuing the friend of Temujin, now became comes j« |
jealous, and resolved to destroy him by treachery. Witb Ions and
this view he proposed a marriage between iemujin s son ^
Juji and his own daughter, and another between lemu-^^
jin’s daughter and his own son. i emujin was invited to
the camp of Vang Khan, in order to celebrate this dou¬
ble marriage *, but receiving intelligence of some evil
intention against him, he excused himself to ang
Khan’s messengers, and desired that the ceremony might
be put off to some other time.
A few days after the departure of these messengers,
Badu and Kishlik, two brothers, who kept the horses
of one of Vang Khan’s chief domestics, came and in¬
formed Temujin, that the grand Khan finding he had
missed his aim, was resolved to set out instantly, and
surprise him next morning, belore he could suspect any
danger. Temujin, alarmed at this intelligence, quit¬
ted liis camp, in the night time, and retired with all Ins
people to some distance. He was scarce gone when
Vang Khan’s troops arrived, and discharged an incre¬
dible’ number of arrows among the empty tents 5 but
finding nobody there, they pursued Temujin m such
haste that they fell into great disorder. In this eon-
dition they were suddenly attacked and routed by e-
mujin •> after which an open war with Vang Khan
took place. .
By this quarrel almost all the princes ot 1 artarv
were put in motion, some siding with I emujin, overC0|,,
others with Vang Khan. But at last fortune declared ali Mse
in favour of the former: Vang Khan was overthrownmies,
in a battle, where he lost 40,000 men, and obliged to
fly For refuge to a prince named Tayyan Khan, who
was Temujin’s father-in-law, and his own enemy, and
by whom he was ungenerously put to death. 1 emu¬
jin immediately began to seize on his dominions, great
if indeed they had any, wfien lemujm maue 11 s api - - 8ubmitted : but a confederacy
nnce. This hero is Jartais to have beenol ^ ^ a number 0f Vang Khan’s
it.v.ne orunn. since his family couli „ , tributaries, at the head of whom was Jamuka, a prince
who had already distinguished himself by his enmity to
Temujin and even Tayyan Khan himself was drawn
into the plot, through jealousy of his son-in-law’s good
fortune. But Temujin was well prepared ; and m the
vear 1204 attacked Tayyan Khan, entirely routed his
army, killed himself, and took Jamuka prisoner, whose
head he caused instantly to be struck off-, after which
he marched against the other tribes who had conspired
against him. Them he quickly reduced 5 took a city
called Kashin, where he put all to the sword who had
borne arms against him j and reduced all the Mogul
tribes in 1205.
Temujin now, having none to oppose him, called a
general diet, which he appointed to be held on the nr#t
day of the spring 1206 5 that is, on the day in which
the sun entered Aries. To this diet were summoned
all the great lords both Moguls and Tartars j and in
the mean time, to establish good order in the army,
he divided his soldiers into bodies of 10,000, 1000,
Vans among the Europeans. This prince took Temujin un- 100, and 10 men, with their respective ” ,
Khan. j bjs protection ; and a rebellion being afterwards subordinate to the generals, or those w 10 c .
flisca agCt Delf, Temujin was madeVs general, the bodies of .0,000; and these were to act under bs
4
divine origin, since his family -
ther hack than ten generations, the mother of whom
was got with child by a spirit. The names and trans¬
actions of his predecessors are equally uncertain and un¬
important : he himself, however, was born m the year
1163, and is said to have come into the world with con¬
gealed blood in his hands *, from whence it was progno¬
sticated that he would be a great warrior, and obtain
the victory over all his enemies.
This prediction, if any such there was, 1 emujin
most literally fulfilled. At the time of his father’s de¬
cease, his subjects amounted to between 30,000 and
40,000 families y but of these two-thirds quickly de-
. serted, and Temujin was left almost without subjects.
When only 13 years of age, he fought a bloody battle
against these revoltersy but either was defeated, or gain¬
ed an indecisive victory y so that he remained in obscu-
7 rity for 27 years longer. His good fortune at last be
Subdues his mv;e(j to tbe friendship of Vang Khan, who ruled over
revolted ^ at number of Tartar tribes to the north of Kitay,
meins of Y and has been heard of under the name of Prester John
M O G [ 301 ]
On the day of holding the diet, the princes
M O G
to
nimes
- title of
. ighiz
mu.
11
} ades
11, Chi-
! &C.
own sons
of the blood and great lords appeared dressed in white.
Temujin dressed in the same manner, with his crown
on his head, sat down on his throne, and was compli¬
mented by the whole assembly, who wished him the
continuance of his health and px-osperity. After this
they confirmed the Mogul empire to him and his
successors, adding all those kingdoms which he had
subdued, the descendants of whose vanquished khans
Were deprived of all right or title to them ; and after
this he was px-oclaimed emperor with much ceremony.
During this inauguration, a pretended prophet declared
that he came from Cod to tell the assembly, that from
thenceforth Temujin should assume the name of Jet/ghiz
K/ian, or t/ie most Great Khan of khans; prophesying
also, that all his posterity should be khans from genera¬
tion to generation. This prophecy, which was no doubt
owing to Temujin himself, had a surprising effect on
his subjects, who from that time concluded that all the
world belonged of right to them, and even thought it a
crime against heaven for any body to pretend to resist
them.
Jenghiz Khan having now reduced under his subjec¬
tion all the wandering tribes of Moguls and Tartars,
began to think of reducing those countries to the south
and south-west of his own, where the inhabitants were
much more civilized than his own subjects: and the
countries being full of fortified cities, he must of course
expect to meet with more resistance, lie began with
the emperor of Hya, whose dominions he invaded in
1209, who at last submitted to become his tributary.
But in the mean time Jenghiz Khan himself was sup¬
posed to be tributary to the emperor of Kitay': who, in
1210, sent him an officer demanding the customary tri¬
bute. This was refused with the utmost indignation,
and a war commenced, which ended not but with the
dissolution of the empire of Kitay, as mentioned under
the article China.
In the year 1216, Jenghiz Khan resolved to carry
his arms westward, and therefore left his general
Muchuli to pursue his conquests in Kitay. In his
journey westward he overthrew an army of 300,000
Tartars who had revolted against him $ and, in 1218,
sent ambassadors desiring an alliance with Mohammed.
Karazm Shah, emperor of Gazna. His ambassador'
was haughtily treated : however, the alliance was con*
eluded ; but soon after broken, through the treachery,.
as it is said, of the Karazmian monarch’s subjects. This
brought on a war attended with the most dreadful de¬
vastations, and which ended with the entire destruction
of the empire of Karazm or Gazna, as related under
the ax ticle Gazna.
After the reduction of Karazm, part of the Moguls
broke into Iran or Persia, where also they made large
conquests, while others of their armies invaded Georgia
and the countries to the west 5 all this time committing
such enormities, that the Chinese historians say both
men and spirits burst with indignation. In 1225,
Jenghiz Khan returned to Hya, where he made war on
the emperor for having sheltered some of his enemies.
The event was, that the emperor was slain, and his
kingdom conquered, or rather destroyed j which, how¬
ever, was the last exploit of this most cruel conqueror,
who died in 1227, as he marched to complete the de¬
struction of the Chinese.
The Mogul empire, at the death of Jenghiz Khan, Moguls,
extended over a px-odigious tract of country; being ——v——J
more than 1800 leagues in length from east to west, and 12
upwards of 1000 in breadth from north to south. nt
princes, however, were still insatiable, and pushed on pjre
their conquests on all sides. Oktay was acknowledged
emperor after Jenghiz Khan j and had under his imme¬
diate government Mogulestan (the countx-y of the Mo¬
guls properly so called), Kitay, and the countries eas-
ward to the Tartarian sea. Jagaty his brother govern¬
ed under him a great part of the western conquests.
The country of the Kipjacks, and others to the east
and north-east, north and north-west, were governed
by Batu or Patu the son of Juji, wlxo had been killed
in the wars *, while Tuli or Toley, another son of Jen¬
ghiz Khan, had Khorassan, Persia, and what part of
India w as conquered. On the east side the Mogul arms
were still attended with success ; not only the empire of
Kitay, but the southern part of China, was conquered,
as already related under that article, N° 24—42. On
the west side matters continued much in the same way
till the year 1254, when Magu, or Menkho, the fourth
khan of the Moguls, (the same who was afterwards
killed at the siege in China*), raised \ great army, * See Chi-
which he gave to his brother Hulaku or Hulagu, to ex-wa, N° 3S.
tend his dominions westward. In 1255, he entered
Iran, where he suppressed the Ismaelians or Assassins,
of whom an account is given under the article Assas¬
sins, and two years afterwards he advanced to Bagdad,
which he took, and cruelly put the caliph to death,
treating the city, with no more lenity than the Moguls
usually treated those which fell into their hands. Every Jtagdad re-
thing was put to fire and sword j and in the city and‘luced.
its neighbourhood the number of slain, it is said,
amounted to 1,600,000. The next year he invaded
Syria; the city of Damascus w*as delivered up, and, as
it made no resistance, the inhabitants were spared ; but
Aleppo being taken by storm, a greater slaughter ensued
there than had taken place at Bagdad, not even the.
children in their ci’adles being spared. Some cities or
this country revolted the next year, or the year after ;
but falling again into the hands of the Moguls, they
were plundered, and the inhabitants butchered without
mercy, or carried into slavery.
Hulaku died in 1264, and at his death V’e may fiN:
the gx-eatest extent of the Mogul empii'e. It now com¬
prehended the whole of the continent of Asia, except¬
ing part of Indostan, Siam, Pegu, Cochin China, and
a few of the countries of Lesser Asia, which had not
been attacked by them j and during ail these vast con¬
quests no Mogul army had ever been conquered, ex¬
cept one by Jaloloddin, as mentioned under the article 14
Gazna.—From this period, however, the empire be-begins te
gan to decline. The ambition of the khans havingdecline*
prompted them to invade the kingdoms of Japan and
Cochin China, they were miserably disappointed in their
attempts, and lost a great number of men. The same
bad success attended them in Indostan 5 and in a short
time this mighty empire broke into several smaller ones.
The governors of Persia being of the family of Jenghiz
Khan, owned no allegiance to any superior; those of
Tartary did the same. The Chinese threw off the
yoke 5 and thus the continent of Asia wore much the
same face that it had done before Jenghiz Khan began
his conquests.
The
Moguls
M O G L j
The successors of Ilulaku reigned in Persia till the
i-»——v' year 1335 » hut that year Abusaid Khan, the eighth
from Hulaku, dying, the affairs of that country fell
into confusion for want of a prince of the race of
Jenghiz Khan to succeed to the throne. The empire,
therefore, was divided among a great number ot petty
princes who fought against each other almost without
,5 intermission, till in the year 1369 Timur Bek, or Ta-
Tamerlane merlane, one of these princes, having conquered a num-
crowned ljer 0f others, was crowned at Balkh, with the pom-
emperor of pou. tjt]e 0f Saheb Karan ; that is, “ the emperor of
*>a ' the age, and the conqueror of the world.” As he had
just before taken that city, and destroyed one of his
most formidable rivals who had shut himself up in it,
the new emperor began his reign with beheading some
of the inhabitants, imprisoning others, burning their
bouses, and selling the women and children for slaves.
In 1370 he crossed the Sihun, made war on the Getes,
and attacked Karazm. Next year he granted a peace
to his enemies •, but two years after, he again invaded
the country of the Getes, and by the year 1379
fully conquered that country as well as Korazan ; and
from that time he continued to extend his conquests in
much the same manner as Jenghiz Khan had done,
though with less cruelty.—In 1387 he had reduced Ar¬
menia, Georgia, and all Persia} the conquest of which
last was completed by the reduction of Ispahan, 70,000
of the inhabitants of which were slaughtered on ac¬
count of a sedition raised by some rash or evil disposed
persons.
After the reduction of Persia, Timur turned his
arms northward and westward, subduing all the coun¬
tries to the Euphrates. He took the city of Bagdad *,
subdued Syria *, and having ravaged great part of Rus¬
sia, returned to Persia in 1396, where he splendidly
feasted his whole army. In 1398 he invaded Indos-
M O G
16
Becomes a
great con¬
queror.
17
Invades
and con
quers Indo-tan, crossed the Indus on the 17th of September, redu-
stan. ced several fortresses, and made a vast number of cap¬
tives. However, as he was afraid that, in case of any
emergency, these prisoners might take part with the
enemy, he gave orders to his soldiers to put all their In¬
dian slaves to death ; and in consequence of this inhu¬
man order, more than 100,000 of these poor wretches
were slaughtered in less than an hour.
In the beginning of the year 1399 Timur was met
by the Indian army •, whom, after a desperate battle, he
defeated with great slaughter, and soon after took the
city of Delhi the capital of the country. Here he seat¬
ed himself on the throne of the Indian emperors, and
here the snarifs, kadis, the principal inhabitants of the
city, came to make their submission, and begged for
mercy. The tame elephants and rhinoceroses likewise
were brought to kneel before him as they had been ac¬
customed to do to the Indian emperors, and made a
great cry as if they implored his clemency. These war
elephants, 120 in number, were, at his return, sent to
Samarcand, and to the province where his sons resided.
After this, at the request of the lords of the court, Ti¬
mur made a great feast; at which he distributed pre-
xS sents to the princes and principal officers.
The city of Delhi at this time consisted of three cities, called
strayed^” ^ryrh O/c? Delhi, and Jehan Venuh. Seyri was sur-
and the in rounded with a wall in form of a circle. Old Delhi
habitants was the same, but much larger, lying south-west of the
slaughter- other. These two parts were joined on each side by
ed- 3
02 ]
a wall : and the third, lying between them, was called ]
Jchaji P(71 ah, which was larger than Old Delhi. Pe-
nah had ten gates ; Seyri had seven, three of which
looked towards Jehan Penah ; this last had 13 gates,
six to the north-west, and seven to the south-east. Every
thing seemed to be in a quiet posture; w'hen, on the
12th of January J399, the soldiers of Timur being as¬
sembled at one of the gates of Delhi, insulted the inha¬
bitants ol the suburbs. The great emirs were ordered
to put a stop to these disorders ; but their endeavours
were not effectual. The sultanas having a curiosity to
see the rarities ol Delhi, and particularly a famous pa¬
lace adorned with 1000 pillars, built by an ancient
king of India, went in with all the court ; and the gate
being on that occasion left open for every body, above
1 ;,ooo oidlers got in unperceived. But there was a
far greater number of troops in a large piace between
Delhi, Sey ri, and Johan Penah, who committed great
disorders in the two last cities This made the inhabi¬
tants in despair fall on them ; and many, setting^ fire to
their houses, burnt their wives and children. The sol¬
diers seeing this confusion, did nothing but pillage the
houses ; while the disorder was increased by the admis¬
sion of more troops, who seized the inhabitants of the
neighbouring places who had fled thither for shelter.
The emirs, to put a stop to this mischief, caused the
gates to be shut: but they were quickly opened by the
soldiers within, who rose in arms against their officers;
so that by the morning of the 13th the whole army was
entered, and this great city was totally destroyed. Some
soldiers carried out 150 slaves, men, women, and chil¬
dren ; nay, some of their boys had 20 slaves a piece to
their share. The other spoils, in jewels, plate, and ma¬
nufactures, were immense ; for the Indian women and
girls were adorned with precious stones, and had brace¬
lets and rings on their hands, feet, and even toes, so
that the soldiers were loaded with them. On the 15th,
in Old Delhi, the Indians retired into the great mosque
to defend themselves ; but being attacked by the Tar¬
tars they were all slaughtered, and towers erected with
their heads. A dreadful carnage now ensued through¬
out the whole city, and several days were employed be¬
fore the inhabitants could be made to quit it entirely;
and as they went, the emirs took a number of them for
their service. The artisans were also distributed among
the princes and commanders ; all but the masons, who
were reserved for the emperor, in order to build him a
spacious stone mosque at Samarcand.
After this terrible devastation, Timur marched into
the different provinces of Indostan, everywhere defeat¬
ing the Indians who opposed him, and slaughtering the
Ghebrs or worshippers of fire. On the 25th of March
he set out on his return, and on the 9th of May ar¬
rived at Samarcand. In a few months after his arrival,
he was obliged to undertake an expedition into Persia,
where affairs were in the utmost disorder on account of
the misconduct of his son, whom he had appointed so¬
vereign of that empire. Here Timur soon settled mat¬
ters ; after which he again set out on an expedition
westward, reduced many places in Georgia which had
not submitted before, and invaded and conquen d Sy-rfliriur
ria. At the same time he quarrelled with Bajazet thequ^re,
Turkish sultan, then busied in an enterprise against
Constantinople, in which he would probably have sue- Turkis!
ceeded had not Timur interposed. The cause of this ltan
quarrel
n
><ru!s.
B;etde
and
M O G [ 303
quarrel at first was, that Bajazet had demanded tribute
-'from a prince who was under Timur’s protection, and
is said to have returned an insulting answer to the Tar¬
tar ambassadors who were sent to him on that account.
Timur, however, who was an enthusiast in the cause of
Mahometanism, and considered Bajazet as engaged in
the cause of heaven when besieging a Christian city,
was very unwilling to disturb him in so pious a work 3
and therefore undertook several expeditions against the
princes of Syria and Georgia, in order to give the
Turkish monarch time to cool and return to reason.
Among other places, he again invested the city of Bag¬
dad, which had cast oft’ its allegiance to him 3 and hav¬
ing taken it by storm, made such a dreadful massacre of
the inhabitants, that 1 20 towers were erected with the
heads of the slain. In the mean time Bajazet conti¬
nued to give fresh provocation, by protecting one Kara
Yusef a robber, who had even insulted the caravan of
Mecca 3 so that Timur at length resolved to make war
upon him. The sultan, however, foreseeing the dan¬
ger of bringing such a formidable enemy against him¬
self, thought proper to ask pardon, by a letter, for what
was past, and promise obedience to Timur’s will for the
future. This embassy was graciously received 3 and Ti¬
mur returned for answer, that be would forbear hostili¬
ties, provided Bajazet would either put Kara Yusef to
death, send him to the Tartar camp, or expel him out
of his dominions. Along with the Turkish ambassadors
he sent one of his own 5 telling Bajazet that he would
march into the confines of Anatolia, and there wait his
final answer.
Though Bajazet had seemed at first willing to come
to an agreement with Timur, and to dread his superior
power ; yet he now behaved in such an unsatisfactory
manner, that the Tartar monarch desired him to pre¬
pare for war 3 upon which he raised the siege of Con ¬
stantinople, and having met Timur with an army great¬
ly inferior to the Tartars, was utterly defeated and ta¬
ken prisoner. According to some accounts, he was
treated with great humanity and honour 3 while others
inform us, that he was shut up in an iron cage, against
which he dashed out his brains the following year. At
any rate, it is certain that he was not restored to liberty,
but died in confinement.
This victory was followed by the submission of many
places of the Lesser Asia to Timur 3 the Greek em¬
peror owned himself his tributary, as did also the sultan
of Egypt. After this Timur once more returned to
Georgia, which he cruelly ravaged ; after which he
marched to Samarcand, where he arrived in the year
I4°5- Here, being now an old man, this mighty con-
tjueror began to look forward to that state which at one
time or other is the dread of all living creatures 3 and
Timur, in order to quiet the remorses of his own con¬
science, came to the following curious resolution, which
he communicated to his intimate friends 3 namely, that
“ as the vast conquests he had made were not obtained
without some violence, which had occasioned the de¬
struction of a great number of God’s creatures, he was
resolved, by way of atonement for his past crimes, to
perform some good action 3 namely, to make war on
’die infidels, and exterminate the idolaters of China.”
-This atonement, however, he did not live to accom¬
plish 3 for he died the same year of a burning fever, in
the 71st year of Ins age and 36th of bis reign.
] M O H
On tlie dentil of Timur, Ills empire fell immediately Moguls
into great disorder, and the civil wars continued for it
five or six years 3 hut at last peace was restored, by the
settlement of Shah Rukh, Timur’s son, on the throne.
He did not, however, enjoy the empire in its full ex¬
tent, or indeed much above one half of it 3 having only
Karazm, Khorassan, Kandahar, Persia, and part of
Hindostan. Neither was he able, though a brave and
warlike prince, to extend his dominions, though he
tiansrmtted them to his son Plug Beg. He proved a
wise and learned monarch 3 and is famous for the astro¬
nomical tables which he caused to be composed, and
which are well known at this day. He was killed in
1448 by his son Abdollatif, who six months after was
put to death by bis own soldiers. After the death of
Abdollatif, Abdollah, a grandson of Shah Rukh, sei¬
zed the throne 5 but, after reigning one year, was ex¬
pelled by Abusaid Mirza, the grandson of Miran Shah
the son of Timur. His reign was one continued scene
of wars and tumults 3 till at last he was defeated and
taken prisoner by one Hassan Beg, who put him to
death in 1468. From this time we may look upon the
empire of Timur as entirely dissolved, though his de¬
scendants still reigned in Persia and Indostan, the lat¬
ter of which is still known by the name of the Mogul's
empire.
Gn the death of the above-mentioned monarch, his History of
son Babr or Babor succeeded him, but was soon driven Hindostan,
out by the Usbeck Tartars 3 after which he resided some
time in Gazna, whence he made incursions into Hindo¬
stan, and at length became master of the whole empire,
excepting the kingdoms of Dekan, Guzerat, and Ben¬
gal.—For the transactions subsequent to this period, see
Hindostan and India.
MOHAIR, in commerce, the hair of a kind of goat
frequent about Angora in Turkey 3 the inhabitants of
which city are all employed in the manufacture of cam-
blets made of this hair.
Some give the name mohair to the camblets or stuffs
made of this hair 3 of these there are two kinds 5 the
one smooth and plain, the other watered like tabbies :
the difference between the two only consists in this, that
the latter is callendered, the other not. There are also
mohairs both plain and watered, whose ivoof is of wool,
cotton, or thread.
Mohair Shell, in Conchology, a name given to a
species of vointa, which seems of a closely and finely
reticulated texture, and resembles on the surface a piece
of mohair or a very close silkworm’s web.
MOHAWK, a river of North America, Avhich rises
near lake Oneida, and runs a south-east course of about
130 miles to its junction with the Hudson, 8 miles abo\7e
Abany, in the state of New York..
Mohawks. See Muck.
MOH1LA, or Moelia, one of the Gomora islands
in the Indian sea, between the north end of Madagascar
and the continent of Africa. The inland parts are
mountainous and Avoody ; but the lands adjoining to the
sea are watered by several fine streams. The island
abounds Avith provisions of all kinds 3 and the East In¬
dia ships of different nations sometimes touch here for
refreshment.
MOHILOF, a large and strong city of Russian
Poland, in the province of Lithuania. It is well built,
populous, and has a considerable trade. Near this
place
M O I
[ .3°+ 1
MOL
Moliilof
I!
Moivre.
place tlic Swedes obtained a great victory over the
llussians in 1707* Lat. 53. 50. Long. 30. 14.
MOIDOIIE, a Portuguese gold coin, value ll. 7s.
' sterling.
MOIETY {Medietas), the halt of any thing.
MOIRA, a town of Ireland, in the county of Down
and province of Ulster, 69 miles from Dublin } noted
for its linen manufacture. It gives title of earl to the
family ot Rawdon.
MOISTURE. See Humidity.
The moisture of the air has considerable effects on
the human body. For the quantity and quality of the
food, and the proportion of the meat to the drink, be¬
ing given, the weight of a human body is less, and con¬
sequently its discharges greater in dry weather than in
wet weather; which may be thus accounted tor: the
moisture of the air moistens the fibres of the skin and
lessens perspiration by lessening their vibratory motion.
When perspiration is thus lessened by the moisture of
the air, urine indeed is by degrees increased, but not
equally. Hence, according to Dr Bryan Robinson,
we learn, that to keep a body of the same weight in
wet weather as in dry, either the quantity ot food
must be lessened, or the proportion of the meat to the
drink increased ; and both these may be done by les¬
sening the drink without making any change in the
meat.
The instrument used for determining the degree of
moisture in the air, is called an hygrometer. See Hy¬
grometer.
MOIVRE, Abraham, a learned mathematician,
was born at Vitri in Champagne, in France, 1667,
where his father was a surgeon. At the revocation
of the edict of Nantes, he came to England. Before
he left France, he had begun the study of mathema¬
tics ; and having perfected himself in that science in
Loudon, he was obliged, by necessity, to teach it. New¬
ton’s Principia, which accidentally fell into his hands,
showed him how little progress he had made in a science
of which he thought himsell master. Irom this work
he acquired a knowledge of the geometry ol infinites
with as great facility as he had learned the elementary
geometry 5 and in a short time he was fit to be ranked
with the most celebrated mathematicians. His success
in these studies procured him a seat in the Royal Society
of London and in the Academy of Sciences at Paris.
His merit was so well understood in the former, that he
was thought capable of deciding in the famous dispute
between Leibnitz and Newton concerning the differen¬
tial calculus.—He published a Treatise on Chances in
1738, and another on Annuities in 1752 j both ex¬
tremely accurate. The Philosophical Transactions con¬
tain many interesting memoirs of his composition.——
Some of them treat of the method of fluxions j others
are on the lunula of Hippocrates 5 others on physical
astronomy, in which he x’esolvcd many important pro¬
blems } and others, in short, on the analysis ot the
games of chance, in which he followed a diflerent
course from that of Montmort. Towards the close of
his life he lost his sight and hearing j and the demand
for sleep became so great that he required 20 hours of
it in a day. He died at London, 1754, aged 87.
His knowledge was not confined, to mathematics j but
he retained to the last a taste for polite literature. He
was intimately acquainted with the best authors of anti¬
quity j and he was frequently consulted about difficult M0;v,j
passages in their works. Rabelais and Moliere were ||
his favourite French authors : he had them by iieart; Moll;
and he one day observed to one ot his acquaintance,
“ that he would rather have been Moliere than New¬
ton.” He recited whole scenes of the Misanthrope, with
that delicacy and force with which he remembered to
have heard them recited at Paris 70 years before, by
Moliere’s own company. The character indeed was
somewhat similar to his own. He judged severely of
mankind 5 and could never conceal his disgust at the
conversation of a fool, or his aversion to cunning and
dissimulation. He was free from the affectation oi sci¬
ence, and no one could -know him to be a mathemati¬
cian but from the accuracy of his thoughts. His con¬
versation was general and instructive. Whatever he
said was well digested and clearly expressed. His style
possessed more strength and solidity than ornament and
animation j but he was always correct, and he bestowed
as much pains on his sentences as on his calculations.
He could never endure any bold assertions or indecent
witticisms against religion.
MOLA, an ancient town of Italy, in the kingdom
of Naples, and in the Terra di Lavoro, where they pre¬
tend to show the ruins ol Cicero’s house. It is seated
on the gull ol \ enice, in E. Long. 17* 5®*
41. 3.
Mola Salsa (Salt Cake), in antiquity, was barley
parched, and afterwards ground to meal or flour, then
mixed with salt and frankincense, with the addition ol
a little water. Thus prepared, it was sprinkled be¬
tween the horns of the victim before it was killed in
sacrifice. This act was called immolatio, and was com¬
mon to the Greeks as well as Romans; with this dif¬
ference, that the mola of the Romans was of wheat.
The Greeks called it vM or
MOLARES, or Dentes Molares, in Anatomy,
the large teeth, called in English the grinders. See
Anatomy Index.
MOLASSES, or Molosses. See Molosses.
MOLDAVIA, a province of Turkey in Europe,
bounded on the north-east by the river Niester, which
divides it from Russia } on the east, by Bessarabia j
on the south, bv Walachia 5 and on the west, by Tran¬
sylvania. It is'240 miles in length, and 150 in breadth.
It has a good air and fruitful soil, producing corn, wine,
rich pastures, a good breed of horses, oxen, sheep, plen¬
ty of game, fish, fowl, honey, wax, and all European
fruits. Its principal rivers are the Danube, Niester,
Pruth, Bardalach, and Sereth. The inhabitants are
Christians of the Greek church, and Jassy is the prin¬
cipal town. It has been tributary to the Turks since
the year 1574 j who appoint a prince who is a native
of the country, but have no regard to Ins being ot the
principal families. The prince is called Hospodar.
The province pays a large yearly tribute to the Juik-
ish government; besides raising a great body of horse
at its own expence.
MOLE, a river in Surry, which has taken its name
from running under ground. It first disappears at Box-
hill, near Darking, in the county of Surry, and emerges
again near Leatherhead.
MeLE. See Talpa, Mammalia Index; and tor
methods of destroying, see Vermin, Destruction oj.
Mole, in Midwifery, a mass of fleshy matter, 0^ a.
Mole,
Holiere
MOL [ 3°S ]
spherical figure, generated in the uterus, and sometimes profession.
M O L
mistaken for a child. See Midwifery
Mole, or Mark. See Ntevus.
Mole, in Architecture, a massive work formed of
large stones laid in the sea by means of coffer dams, ex¬
tended either in a right line or an arch of a circle, be¬
fore a port, which it serves to close } to defend the ves¬
sels in it from the impetuosity of the waves, and to pre¬
vent the passage of ships without leave. Thus we say
the mole of the harbour of Messina, &c.
Mole is sometimes also used to signify the harbour
itself.
Mole, {moles), among the Romans, was also used
for a kind of mausoleum, built in manner of a round
tower on a square base, insulate, encompassed with
columns, and covered with a dome.—The mole of the
emperor Adrian, now the castle of St Angelo, was the
greatest and most stately of all the moles. It was
crowned with a brazen pine apple, wherein was a gold¬
en urn containing the ashes of the emperor.
Mole Cricket, See Gryllotalpa, Entomology
Index.
Mole Hills. These little hillocks of earth are a very
great prejudice to the pasture lands, not only in wasting
so much of the land as they cover, but in obstructing
the scythe in mowing. In the west of England they
use a peculiar instrument for the breaking up of these.
It is a flat board, very thick, and of about eight inches
in diameter, into»which there is fastened a perpendicu¬
lar handle of three or four feet long. It has four broad
and sharp iron .teeth at the front, which readily cut
through the hill, and spread the earth it consists of j
and behind there is a large knob proper for breaking
the clods with, if there are any. Some use a spade, or
other common instrument, in the place of this, but not
so well. There is, however, a much better instrument
even than this, for destroying these hills, where they
are in very great numbers. This is a kind of horse ma¬
chine $ it has a sharp iron about three feet over, and
with a strong back.—It is about four or five inches
broad, and has two long handles for a horse to be har¬
nessed to, and a cross bar of iron to strengthen it at the
bottom of the handles, reaching from the one handle to
the other. The middle of this cross bar is furnished
with one, two, or more sharp pieces of iron like small
ploughshares, to cut the mole hills into two, three, or
more parts. The iron behind is of a semicircular fi¬
gure. A single horse is harnessed to this machine, and
a boy must be employed to drive it, and a man to hold
and guide it; the sharp irons or shares are the first
things that meet the hill, they run through it, break
its texture, and cut it into several parts ; and the circu¬
lar iron following immediately behind them, cuts up the
whole by the roots, and leaves the land level. This
instrument will destroy as many mole hills in one day
as a common labourer can do in eight, and would be of
very great advantage to the kingdom if brought into
general use.
MOLIERE, John Baptist, a celebrated French
comedian and dramatic writer, whose true name was
Pocquelin, which for some reason he changed to that of
Moliere. He was the son of a valet de chambre, and was
born at Paris about the year 1620. He went through
the study of the classics under the Jesuits in the college
of Clermont, and was designed for the bar •, but at his
quitting the law schools, he made choice of the actor’s
Vol. XIV. Part I.
From a strong attachment to the drama, Moliere
his whole study and application were directed to the |]
stage, and he continued till his death to exhibit plays, Mollugo.
which were greatly applauded. It is said the first mo-
live of his going upon the stage was to enjoy the com¬
pany of an actress for whom he had contracted a vio¬
lent fondness. His comedies are highly esteemed. And
it is no wonder he so justly represented domestic feuds,
and the torments of jealous husbands, or of those who
have reason to be so j for it is asserted that no man ever
experienced this more than Moliere. His last comedy
was Le Malade Imaginaire, which was brought on the
stage in 1673 ? and Moliere died on the fourth night
of its representation j some say in acting the very part,
of the pretended dead man, which gave some exercise
tor the wits of the time ; but according to others he
died in his bed that night, from the bursting of a vein
in his lungs by coughing. The king, as a last mark
of his favour, prevailed with the archbishop of Paris to
suffer him to be buried in consecrated ground ; though
he had irritated the clergy by his Tartujf. The most
esteemed editions of his works arc that of Amsterdam,
5 vols. i2mo, 1699 ; and that of Paris, 6 vols. qto, 1724.
MOL1NISTS, in ecclesiastical history, a sect in the
Romish church, who follow the doctrine and sentiments
of the Jesuit Molina, relating to sufficient and efficaci¬
ous grace. He taught that the operations of divine
grace were entirely consistent with the freedom of hu¬
man will $ and he introduced a new kind of hypothesis
to remove the difficulties attending the doctrines of
predestination and liberty, and to reconcile the jarring
opinions of Augustines, Thomists, Semi-Pelagians, and
other contentious divines. He affirmed that the de¬
cree of predestination to eternal glory was founded up¬
on a previous knowledge and consideration of the merits
of the elect 5 that the grace, from whose operations these
merits are derived, is not efficacious by its own intrinsic
power only, but also by the consent of our own will, and
because it is administered in those circumstances, in which
the Deity, by that branch of his knowledge which is
called scientia media, foresees that it will be efficacious.
The kind of prescience, denominated in the schools sci¬
entia media, is that foreknowledge of future contingents
that arises from an acquaintance with the nature and
faculties of rational beings, of the circumstances in
which they shall be placed, of the objects that shall
be presented to them, and of the influence which
their circumstances and objects must have on their ac¬
tions.
MOL INOSISTS, a sect among the Romanists, who
adhere to the doctrine of Molinos. These are the same
with what are otherwise called Quictests, whose chief
principle was, that men ought to annihilate themselves
in order to be united to God, and aftei’wards remain in
quietness of mind, without being troubled for what
shall happen to the body. Molinos, the author of those
opinions, was a Spanish priest, and was born in 1627.
His 68 propositions were examined in 1687 by the
pope and inquisitors, who decreed that his doctrine was
false and pernicious, and that his books should be burn¬
ed. He was forced to recant his errors publicly in the
Dominican church, and was condemned to perpetual
imprisonment. He was then 60 years old, and had
been spreading his doctrine 22 years before. He died
in prison in 1692.
MOLLUGO, African Chickwf.ed $ a genus of
f Q q v plants
MOL
Mo' ir'o plants belonging to the triamlria class, and in _
II tural method ranking under the 22d order, Caryop uj iei.
Molosser. gee RoTAKY Index.
* ^ 1 MOLLUSCA, in the Linnsean system, one ot the
orders of vermes or worms. These are simple naked
animals, not included in a shell, but furnished with
limbs. See Helminthology Index.
MOLOCH, a false god of the Ammonites, who ae-
dicated their children to him, by making them “ pass
through the fire,” as the Scriptures express it. ^ There
are various opinions concerning this method ol conse¬
cration. Some think, the children leaped over a fire
sacred to Moloch 5 others, that they passed between
two fires 3 and others, that they were really burnt in
the fire, by way of sacrifice to this god. There is foun¬
dation for each of these opinions. For, first, it was usual
among the pagans to lustrate or purify with fire ; and,
in the next place, it is expressly said, that the inha¬
bitants of Sepharvaim burnt their children in the fire
to Anamelech and Adramelech ; much such deities as
Moloch of the Ammonites.
Moses, in several places, forbids the Israelites to t»c-
dicate their children to this god as the Ammonites did,
and threatens death and utter extirpation to such per¬
sons as were guilty of this abominable idolatry. And
there is great probability that the Hebrews were much
addicted to the worship of this deity : since Amos, and
after him St Stephen, reproaches them with having
carried along with them into the wilderness the taber¬
nacle of their god Moloch.
Solomon built a temple to Moloch upon the mount
of Olives ; and Manasseh, a long time after, imitated
his impiety, by making his son pass through the fire
in honour of Moloch. It was chiefly in the valley of
Topbet and Hinnom, to the east of Jerusalem, that the
Israelites paid their idolatrous worship to this false god
of the Ammonites.
There are various sentiments concerning the relation
which Moloch had to the other pagan divinities. Some
belieYe he was the same with Saturn, to whom it is
well known that human sacrifices were offered. Others
suppose lam to be Mercury *, others, Mars •, others, Mi¬
thras j and others, Venus. Lastly, Others take Moloch
to be the sun, or the king of heaven. Moloch was
likewise called AhIcom ,■ as appears from what is said
of Solomon, that he went after Ashtaroth the abomina¬
tion of the Zidonians, and Milcom the abomination of
the Ammonites.
MO LOSS FS, Molasses, or Melasses, that gross
fluid matter remaining of sugar after refining, and which
no boiling will bring to a consistence more solid than
that of syrup •, hence also called syrup of sugar.
Properly, molosses are only the sediment of one kind
of sugar* called chypre, or brown sugar, which is the re¬
fuse of other sugars not to be whitened or reduced into
loaves.
Molosses are much used in Holland for the prepara¬
tion of tobacco, and also among poor people instead of
sugar. There is a kind of brandy or spirit made of
m©!osses j but by some held exceedingly unwholesome.
See below7.
Artificial Molosses. There has been found a me ¬
thod of making molosses from apples without the ad¬
dition of sugar. The apple that succeeds best in this
operation is a summer sweeting of a middle size, plea*
[ 306 ] MOL
the na- sant to the taste, and so full of juice that seven bushels
will yield a barrel of cyder.
The manner of making it is this: the apples are to
iVToiOfi
boiled
be ground and pressed, then the juice is. to he
in a large copper, till three quarters ot it be evapora¬
ted : this will he done with a moderate fire in about six
hours, with the quantity of juice above mentioned ; by
this time it will he of the consistence and taste as well
as of the colour of molosses.
This new molosses serves all the purposes of the ^ui-
mon kind, and is of great use in preserving cyder. Two
quarts of it put into a barrel of racked cyder, will pie-
serve it, and give it an agreeable colour.
The invention of this kind of molosses w7as owing to
Mr Chandler of Woodstock in New England, who liv¬
ing at a distance from the sea, and where the com¬
mon molosses was very dear and scarce, provided this
for the supply of his own family, and introduced the
practice among people of the neighbourhood. It is
to be observed, that this sort of apple, the sweeting, is
of great use in making cyder 5 one of the veiy best
kinds we know being made of it. I he people in New
England also feed their hogs with the fallings of jheii
orchards of these apples 5 and the consequence of tins
is, that their pork is the finest in the world.
Molosses Spirit; a very clean and pure spirit, much
used in England, and made from molosses or common
treacle dissolved in water, and fermented in the same
manner as malt or the common malt, spirit. See Hi-*
STILLATION. ,
MOLOSSI, a people of Epirus, who inhabited
that part of the country which was called Molossia, or
Molossus, from King Molossus, a son of Pynhus and
Andromache. This country had the hay of Ambracia
on the south, and the country of the Perrhaebeans on
the east. The dogs of the place were famous, and re¬
ceived the name of Mdossi among the Romans. Do-
dona was the capital of the country, according to some
writers. Others, however, reckon it as the chief city
of Thesprotia.
MOLOSSUS, in the Greek and Latin poetry, a
foot consisting of three long syllables. As audiri, can-
tabant, virtutem.
It takes its name either from a dance m use among
the people called MolossiovEpirotce; or from the temple
of Jupiter Molossus, where odes were sung, in which
this foot had a great share *, or else because the march
of the Molossi, when they W'ent to the combat, was
composed of these feet, or had the cadence thereof.
The same foot was also called among the ancients,
Vertu.mnus, extensipes, hippius, et cannius. .
MOLUCILLA, a genus of plants belonging to the
didynarnia class, and in the natural method ranking
under the 42d order, Verticillatce. See Botany Index.
MOLTEN-grkase. See Farriery, N 499.
MOLUCCA Islands, be in the East Indian sea
under the line j of which there are five principal, name¬
ly, Ternate, Tydor, Machian, Motyr, and Bachian,
The largest of them is hardly 30 miles in circumfe¬
rence. They produce neither corn, rice, nor cattle,
except goats : but they have oranges, lemons, and
other fruits j and are most remarkable for spices, espe¬
cially cloves. They have large snakes, which are not
venomous, and very dangerous land crocodiles,
present they have three kings j and the Dutch,
Molmi
Islam
MOM [ 307 ] MON
Uclosscs are very strong here, keep out all other European na¬
il tions, being jealous of their spice trade. The religion
jlVlomus. js idolatry; but there are many Mahometans. They
v were discovered by the Portuguese in ijix, who settled
upon the coast; but the Dutch drove them away, and
are now the ma ters of all these islands.
MOL WITZ, a town of Silesia, in the province of
Grotska, remarkable for a battle gained by the Prus¬
sians over the Austrians in 1741. E. Long. 16. 45.
Nb Lat. 50. 26.
MOLY. The name of this plant is rendered fa¬
mous by Homer : and hence has been much inquired
into, as to its true sense, by the botanists of almost all
times. The old interpreters of Homer explain this
word by the “ wild rue 5” and the only reason for
this is, that at some time, probably long after the
days of Homer, the people of Cappadocia called the
wild rue mohj. But this plant is wholly different from
the moly of Homer, which Theophrastus affirms
grew in his time in Arcadia in great plenty, and had
a round bulbous root like an onion, and long and
grassy leaves like the squill. On the whole, the moly
of Homer seems to have been a species of allium or
garlic.
MOLYBDENA, a metal. See Chemistry and
Mineralogy Index.
MOMBAZA, or Monbaza, a town of Africa, in
an island of the same name, with a castle and a fort;
seated on the eastern coast, opposite to the country of
Mombaza in Zangyebar, 75 miles south of Melinda, and
subject to Portugal. E. Long. 39. 30. S. Lat. 3. 13.
Mombaza, a country of Africa in Zanguebar, sub¬
ject to the Portugese, from whence they export slaves,
gold, ivory, rice, flesh, and other provisions, with
which they supply the settlements in Brasil. The king
of this country being a Christian, had a quarrel with the
Portuguese governor, took the castle by assault in 1631,
turned Mahometan, and murdered all the Christians; but
in 1729 they became masters of the territory again.
MOMENT, in the doctrine of time, an instant, or
the most minute and indivisible part of duration.
. MOMENTUM, in Mechanics, signifies the same
with impetus, or the quantity of motion in a moving
body ; which is always equal to the quantity of matter
multiplied into the velocity; or, which is the same
thing, it may be considered as a rectangle under the
quantity of matter and velocity. See MECHANICS.
MOMORDICA, Male Balsam Apple; a genus
of plants belonging to the monoecia class ; and in the
natural method ranking under the 34th order, Cucurbi-
taccce. See Botany Index.
MOMUS, in fabulous history, the god of raillery,
or the jester of the celestial assembly, and who ridi¬
culed both gods and men. Being chosen by Vulcan,
Neptune, and Minerva, to give his judgment concern¬
ing their works, he blamed them all : Neptune for not
making his bull with horns before his eyes, in order
that lie might give a surer blow; Minerva for building
a house that could not be removed in case of bad
neighbours; and Vulcan, for making a man without
a window in his breast, that his treacheries might be
seen. lor his free reflections upon the gods, Momus
was driven from heaven. He is generally represented
raising a mask from his face, and holding a small figure
in his hand.
MONA, in Ancient Geography, two islands of this
name in the sea lying between Britain and Ireland. j|
The one described by Caesar, as situated in the middle Monarchy,
passage between both islands, called Monaeeda (Ptole- ''" "
my) ; Monapia, or Monabia (Pliny), is supposed to be
the isle of Man.—Another Mona (Tacitus) ; an island
more to the south, separated from the coast of the Or-
dovices by a narrow strait. The ancient seat of the
Druids. Now called Anglesey, the island of the An¬
gles or English.
Mona, an island of the Baltic sea, south-west of the
island of Zealand, subject to Denmark. E. Long. 12.
30. N. Lat. 55. 20.
Mona. See Inchcolm.
MONACA, a small but handsome and strong town
of Italy, in the territory of Genoa, with a castle, cita
del, and a good harbour. It is seated on a craggy rock,
and had its own prince, under the protection of France.
It was united to France early in the Revolution, hut
its independence was restored by the peace of Paris in
1814. E. Long. 7. 33. N. Lat. 43. 48.
MONAD. See Leibnitzian Philosophy.
MONADELPHIA, (from peves, alone, and
a brotherhood;) a “ single brotherhoodThe name
of t he 16th class in Linnaeus’s sexual system,consisting of
plants with hermaphrodite flowers; in which all the sta¬
mina are united below into one body or cylinder, through
which passes the pistillum. See Botany Index.
MONAGHAN, a county of Ireland, situated in
the province of Ulster, is bounded by Tyrone on the
north, Armagh on the east, Cavan and Louth on the
south, and Fermanagh on the west. It is a mountain¬
ous tract, but in some places is well improved. It con¬
tains 170,090 Irish plantation acres, and is about 30
miles long and 22 broad. It has a considerable linen
trade, and sends two membeis to parliament.
Monaghan, the capital town of the county of that
name, is distant 62 miles from Dublin, and gives title
of baron to the family of Blayney. It was anciently
called Muinechan. An abbey was founded here in a
very early age, of which Moelodius the son of Aodh
was abbot. In 1462, a monastery for conventual Fran¬
ciscans was erected on the site of this abbey, which was
granted on the general suppression of monasteries to
Edward M'ithe, and a castle has been since erected on
the site by Edward Lord Blayney.
MONANDRIA, (from ptvsg, alone, and a man.
or husband), the name of the first class in Linnaeus’s
sexual system ; consisting of plants with hermaphrodite
flowers, which have only one stamen.
MONARCHY, a large state governed by one; or
a state where the supreme power is lodged in the hands
of a sing’e person. The word comes from the Greek
“ one who governs alone ;” formed of msvoj,
solus, and oigyji, imperium, “ government.” Of the three
forms of government, viz. de mocracy, aristocracy, and
monarchy, the last is the most powerful, all the
sinews of government being knit together, and united
in the hand of the prince ; but then there is imminent
danger of his employing that strength to improvident
or oppressive purposes. As a democracy is the best cal¬
culated to direct the end of a law, and an aristocracy to
invent the means by which that end shall be obtained,
a monarchy is most fit for carrying those means into exe¬
cution.
Q q 2 - The
MON C 3°^ ]
The most ancient monarchy was' that of the Assy- kingdom;
j jans, which was founded soon alter the deluge. e
usually reckon four grand or universal monarchies tic
Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, and Roman ; though bt
Augustine makes them but two *, viz. t lost o a y
Ion and Rome. Belus is placed at the head oi tae
series of Assyrian kings who reigned at Babylon, and
is by profane authors esteemed the founder of it, and
by some the same whom the Scriptures call Nimrod.
The principal Assyrian kings after Belus were Nmus,
who built Nineveh, and removed the seat oi empire to
it : Semiramis, who disguising her sex, took posses¬
sion of the kingdom instead oi her son, and was killed
and succeeded by her son Ninyas *, and Sardanapalus,
the last of the Assyrian monarchs, and more eifennnate
than a woman. After his death the Assyrian empire
was split into three separate kingdoms, viz. the Median,
Assyrian, and Babylonian. The first king oi the Me¬
dian kingdom was Arbaces *, and this kingdom lasted
till the time of Astyages, who was subdued and divested
of his kingdom by Cyrus.
In the time of Cyrus there arose a new and second
monarchy called the Persian, which stood upwards oi
200 years from Cyrus, whose reign began A. M. 340S,
to Darius Codomannus, who was conquered by Alex¬
ander, and the empire translated to the Greeks A. JV .
067-4. The first monarch was Cyrus, founder ot the
empire. 2. Cambyses, the son ot Cyrus. 3. bmer-
dis. 4. Darius, the son of Hystaspis, who reigned
c2i years before Christ. 5. Xerxes, who reigned 485
years before Christ. 6. Artaxerxes Longimanus, who
reigned 464 years before Christ. 7. Xerxes, the se¬
cond. 8. Ochus, or Darius, called Nothus, 424
years before Christ. 9. Artaxerxes Mnemon, 405
years before Christ. 10. Artaxerxes Ochus, 359 years
before Christ. it. Arses, 338 years before Christ.
12. Darius Codomannus, 336 years before Christ, who
was defeated by Alexander the Great, and deprived
of his kingdom and life about 331 years before Christ:
the dominion of Persia after his death was translated to
the Greeks. , . * ai
The third monarchy was the Grecian. As Alex¬
ander, when he died, did not declare who should suc¬
ceed him, there started up as many kings as there were
commanders. At first they governed the provinces
that were divided among them under the title of vice¬
roys ; hut when the family of Alexander the Great
was extinct, they took upon them the name of kings.
Hence, in process of time, the vyhole empire of Alex¬
ander produced lour distinct kingdoms, viz. I. Ihe
Macedonian; the kings of which, after Alexander,
were Antipater, Cassander, Demetrius Poliorcetes, be-
leucus Nicanor, Meleager, Antigonus Doson, 1 hilip,
and Perseus, under whom the Macedonian kingdom
was reduced to the form of a Roman province. 2. The
Asiatic kingdom, which upon the death of Alexander
fell to Antigonus, comprehending that country now
called Natolia, together with some other regions be¬
yond Mount Taurus. From this kingdom proceeded
two lesser ones, viz. that of Pergamus, whose last king,
Attalus, appointed the Roman people to be his heir;
and Pontus, reduced by the Romans into the form of a
province, when they had subdued the last king, Mith-
ridates. ’ 3. The Syrian, of whose twenty-two kings the
most celebrated were, Seleucus Nicanor, founder of
4
MON
Antiochus Dens j Antiochus the Great;
Antiochus Epiphanes ; and Tigranes, who was con¬
quered by the Romans under Pompey, and Syrm re¬
duced into the form of a Roman province. 4. The
Egyptian, which was formed by the Greeks in Egypt,
and tlourished near 240 years under 1 2 kings, the prin¬
cipal of whom were, Ptolemy Lagus, its founder; Pto¬
lemy Philadelphus, founder of the Alexandrian library;
and Queen Cleopatra, ivho was overcome by Augustus,
in consequence ol which Egypt was added to the domi¬
nion of the Romans.
The fourth monarchy was the Roman, which lasted
244 years, from the building of the city until the time
when the royal power was abrogated. The kings of
Rome were Romulus, its founder; Nutria 1 ompilius ;
Tullus Hostilius; Ancus Martins; Tarquinius Pris-
cus; Servnis Tullius; and larquin the 1 loud, who
was banished, and with whom terminated the regal
power.
There seems in reality no necessity to make the
Medes, Persians, and Greeks, succeed to the whole
power of the Assyrians, to multiply the number of
the monarchies. It was the same empire still; and
the several changes that happened in it did not consti¬
tute did'erent monarchies. Thus the Roman empire
was successively governed by princes of different na¬
tions, yet without any new monarchy being formed
thereby. Rome, therefore, may be said to have imme¬
diately succeeded Babylon in the empire of the world.
See Empire.
Of monarchies some are absolute and despotic, where
the will of the monarch is uncontroulable; others are
limited, where the prince’s authority is restrained by
laws, and part of the supreme power lodged in other
hands, as in Britain. See Government.
Some monarchies again are hereditary, where the
succession devolves immediately from father to son ;
and others are elective, where, on the death of the
monarch, his successor is appointed by election, as m
Poland. . . .
Fifth-MoNARCHY Men, in the ecclesiastical history
of England, were a set of wronged-headed and turbu¬
lent enthusiasts who arose in the time of Cromwell, and
who expected Christ’s sudden appearance upon earth to.
establish a new kingdom; and, acting in consequence
of this illusion, aimed at the subversion of all human
government.
MONARDA, Indian Horehound, a genus ot
plants belonging to the diandria class; and in the natu¬
ral method ranking under the 42d order, Verticillata:.
See Botany Index. . T , , .
MONASTEREVAN, a post town of Ireland, 111
the county of Kildare and province of Leinster, 36
miles from Dublin, so called from a magnificent abbey
which was founded here, in which St Evan in the be¬
ginning of the 7th century placed a number ot monks
from South Munster, and which had the privilege ot
being a sanctuary. The consecrated bell, which be¬
longed to tliis saint, was on solemn trials sworn upon
by the whole tribe of the Eoganachts, and was always
committed to the care of the Mac Evans, hereditary
chief justices of Munster. The abbot of this house sat as
a baron in parliament.—At the general suppression oi
monasteries, this abbey was granted to Lord Andley,
who assigned it to Viscount Ely. It afterwards came
MonarclJ
11 ,
Monastoi,
into
MON [ 309 ] MON
iastere-into the family of Moor, earls of Drogheda, and has
an> been beautifully repaired by the present Lord Drogheda,
astery- g^j| wear;ng the venerable appearance of an abbey.
' Xliere is a nursery at Monasterevan for the charter
schools of the province of Leinster j and the grand ca¬
nal has been carried up to this town from Dublin, since
which it has been much improved and enlarged with
several new buildings.
MONASTERY, a convent or house built for the
reception of religious 5 whether it. be abbey, priory,
gunnery, or the like.
Monastery is only properly applied to the houses
of monks, mendicant friars, and nuns. The rest are
more properly called religious houses. For the origin
of monasteries, see Monastic and Monk.
The bouses belonging to the several religious orders
which obtained in England and Wales were, cathe¬
drals, colleges, abbeys, priories, preceptories, com-
mandries, hospitals, friaries, hermitages, chantries,
and free chapels. These were under the direction and
management of various officers. The dissolution of
houses of this kind began so early as the year 1312,
when the Templars were suppressed ; and in 1323 their
lands, churches, advowsons, and liberties, here in Eng¬
land, were given by 17 Ed. II. st. 3. to the prior and
brethren of the hospital of St John at Jerusalem. In the
years 1390, 1437, 1441, 1459, 1497, 1505, 1508, and
1315, several other houses rvere dissolved, and their
revenues settled on difi’erent colleges in Oxford and
Cambridge. Soon after the last period, Cardinal Wolr
sey, by license of the king and pope, obtained a dis¬
solution of above 30 religious houses for the founding
and endowing his colleges at Oxford and Ipswich.
About the same time a bull was granted by the same
pope to Cardinal Wolsey to suppress monasteries, where
there were not above six monks, to the value of 8coo
ducats a-year, for endowing Windsor and King’s Col¬
lege in Cambridge ; and two other bulls were granted
to-Cardinals Wolsey and Campeius, where there were
less than twelve monks, and to annex them to the
greater monasteries j and another bull to the same car¬
dinals to inquire about abbeys to be suppressed in or¬
der to be made cathedrals. Although nothing ap¬
pears to have been done in consequence of these bulls,
the motives which induced Wolsey and many others
to suppress these houses was the desire of promoting
learning; and Archbishop Cranmer engaged in it with
a view of carrying on the Reformation. There were
other causes that concurred to bring on their ruin :
many of the religious were loose and vicious •, the
monks were generally thought to be in their hearts
attached to the pope’s supremacy j their revenues
Were not employed according to the intent of the do¬
nors j many cheats in images, feigned miracles, and
counterfeit relicks, had been discovered, which brought
the monks into disgrace j the Observant friars had op¬
posed the king’s divorce from Queen Catharine ; and
these circumstances operated, in concurrence with the
king’s want of a supply and the people’s desire to save
their money, to forward a'motion in parliament, that
in order to support the king’s state and supply, his
wants, all the religious houses might be conferred up¬
on the crown which were not able to spend above 200I.
a-year j and an act was passed for that purpose 27
Hen. VIII. c. 28. By this act about 380 houses were Mona.-rfev*.
dissolved, and a revenue of 30,000!. or 32,000!. a-year —
came to the crown j besides about 100,0001. in plate
and jewels. The suppression of these houses occasion¬
ed discontent, and at length an open rebellion : when
this was appeased, the king resolved to suppress the
rest of the monasteries, and appointed a new visita- ,
tion : which caused the greater abbeys to be surren¬
dered apace j and it was enacted by 31 Henry VIII.
c. 13. that all monasteries, &c. which have been sur¬
rendered since the 4th of February, in the 27th year
of his majesty’s reign, and which hereafter shall be sur¬
rendered, shall be vested in the king. The knights of
St John of Jerusalem were also suppressed by the 32
Henry VIII. c. 24. The suppression of these greater'
houses by these two acts produced a revenue to the
king of above ioo,ocol. a-year, besides a large sum in
plate and jewels. The last act of dissolution in this
king’s reign was the act of 37 Henry VIII. c. 4.
for dissolving colleges, free chapels, chantries, &c.
which act was farther enforced by I Edw. VI. c. 14.
By this act were suppressed 90 colleges, no hospitals,
and 2374 chantries and free chapels. The number of
houses and places suppressed from first to last, so far as
any calculations appear to have been made, seems to be
as follow :
Of lesser monasteries, of which wTe have the va¬
luation, - - - 374
Of greater monasteries, - - 186
Belonging to the hospitallers, - - 48
Colleges, - - - 90
Hospitals, - - - no
Chantries and free chapels, - 2374
Total 3182
Besides the friars houses and those suppressed by Wol¬
sey, and many small houses of which we have no parti¬
cular account.
The sum total of the clear yearly revenue of the,
several houses at the time of their dissolution, of which
we have any account, seems to be as follow.:
Of the greater monasteries, L.104,919 13 3I-
Of all those of the lesser monasteries
of which we have the, valuation, 29,702 I io£
Knights hospitallers head house in
London, 23^5 12 8
We have the valuation of only 28 of
their houses in the country, 3026. 9 c
Friars houses of which we have the
valuation, 751 2 o|-
Total L. 140,784 19 3^
If proper allowances are made for the lesser monaste¬
ries and houses not included in this estimate, and for
the plate, &c. which came into the hands of the king
by the dissolution, and for the value of money at that
time, which was at least six times as much as at pre¬
sent, and also consider that the estimate of the lands
was generally supposed to be much under the real worth,
we must conclude their whole revenues to have been
immense.
It does not appear that any computation hath been
made of the number of persons contained in the religi¬
ous houses.
Those?.
10,000
5347
MON [31
Monastery, Those of the lesser monasteries dissolved by 27
Monastic. Hen. VIII. were reckoned at about
  v J If we suppose the colleges and hospitals to have
contained a proportionable number, these will
make about -
If we reckon the number in the greater mona¬
steries, according to the proportion of their
revenues, they will be about 35,000 *, but
as probably they had larger allowances in
proportion to their number than those of
the lesser monasteries, if we abate upon that
account 5000, they will then be - 30,000
One for each chantry and free chapel, - 2374
r *
Total, 47,721
But as there were probably more than one person to
officiate in several of the free chapels, and there were
other houses which are not included within this calcu¬
lation, perhaps they may he computed in one general
estimate at about 50,000. As there were pensions
-paid to almost all those of the greater monasteries, the
king did not immediately come into the full enjoy¬
ment of their whole revenues: however, by means of
what he did receive, he founded six new bishoprics,
viz. those of Westminster (which was changed by
Queen Elizabeth into a deanery, with twelve prebends
and a school), Peterborough, Chester, Gloucester,
Bristol, and Oxford. And in eight other sees he
founded deaneries and chapters, by converting the
priors and monks into deans and prebendaries, viz.
Canterbury, Winchester, Durham, Worcester, Roche¬
ster, Norwich, Ely, and Carlisle. He founded also the
colleges of Christ-church in Oxford and Trinity in
Cambridge, and finished King’s college there. He
likewise founded professorships of divinity, law, physic,
and of the Hebrew and Greek tongues, in both the
said universities. He gave the house of Greyfriars and
St Bartholomew’s hospital to the city of London, and a
perpetual pension to the poor knights of Windsor, and
laid out great sums in building and fortifying many
ports in the channel. It is observable, upon the whole,
that the dissolution of these houses was an act, not of
the church, but of the state •, in the period preceding
the Reformation, by a king and parliament of the
Roman catholic communion in all points except the
king’s supremacy 5 to which the pope himself, by his
bulls and licenses, had led the way.
MONASTIC, something belonging to monks, or
the monkish life. The monastic profession is a kind
of civil death, which in all worldly matters has the
same effect with the natural death. The council of
Trent, &c. fix sixteen years for the age at which a
person may be admitted into the monastical state.
St Anthony is the person who, in the fourth century,
first instituted the monastic life j as St Pachomius,
in the same century, is said to have first set on foot the
coenobitic life, i. e. regular communities of religious.
In a short time the deserts of Egypt became inhabited
with a set of solitaries, who took upon them the monastic
profession. St Basil carried the monkish humour into
the east, where he composed a rule which afterwards
„ obtained through a great part of the west.
In the nth century the monastic discipline was
grown very remiss. St Odo first began to retrieve it
3
o ] MO N
in the monastery of Clunyy that monastery, by the Mon; ,
conditions of its erection, was put under the immediate ||
protection of the holy see •, with a prohibition to all Monyk
powers, both secular and ecclesiastical, to disturb the .
monks in the possession of their effects or the election of
their abbot. In virtue hereof they pleaded an exemp¬
tion from the jurisdiction of the bishop, and extended
this privilege to all the houses dependent on Cluny.
This made the first congregation of several houses,
under one chief immediately subject to the pope, so
as to constitute one body, or, as they now call it, one
religious order. Till then, each monastery was indc-*
pendent and subject to the bishop. See Monk.
MONDA, or Munda, in Ancient Geography, a
river of Lusitania, running mid-way from east to west
into the Atlantic, between the Durius and Tagus, and
Avashing Conimbrica. Now the Monde go, a river of
Portugal, which running by Coimbra, falls into the
Atlantic, 30 miles below it.
MONDAY, (he second day of the week, so called
as being anciently sacred to the moon •, <7. d. moon-day.
MONDOVI, a considerable town of Italy, in
Piedmont \ \tith a citadel, university, and bishop’s
see. It belongs to the king of Sardinia, is large and
populous, and is seated in E. Long. 7. 4c. N. Lat.
44- 33- ... , ,,.
MONEMUGI, an empire in the south of Africa,
has Zanguebar on the east, Monomotapa on the south,
Motamba and Makoko on the west, and Abyssinia on
the north and partly to the east, though its boundaries
that way cannot be ascertained. It is divided into the
kingdoms of Mujaco, Makoko or Ansiko, Gingiro,
Cambate, Alaba, and Monemugi Proper. This last
lies in the middle of the torrid zone, and aboOt the
equinoctial line, south of Makoko, west of Zanguebar,
north of Monomotapa, and east of Congo and of the
northern parts of Monomotapa. The country known,
abounds with gold, silver, copper mines, and elephants.
The natives clothe themselves in silks and cottons, which
they buy of strangers, and wear collars of transparent
amber beads, brought them from Cambaya : which beads
serve also instead of money ; gold and silver being too
common, and of little value among them.
Their monarch always endeavours to be at peace
with the princes round about him, and to keep an
open trade tvith Quitoa, Melinda, and Mombaza, on
the east, and with Congo on the west: from all which
places the black merchants resort thither for gold.
The Portuguese merchants report, that on the east
side of Monemugi there is a great lake full of small
islands, abounding with all sorts of fowl and cattle, and
inhabited by negroes. They relate also, that on the
main land eastward they heard sometimes the ringing oi
bells, and that one could observe buildings very much
like churches j and that from these parts came men of
a brown and tawney complexion, who traded with those
islanders, and with the people of Monemugi. This
country abounds in palm wine, oil, and honey.
MONETARIUS, or Moneyer, a name which
antiquaries and medallists give to those who struck the
ancient coins or moneys.
Many of the old Roman, &c. coins have the name
of the moneteerius, either written at length, or at least
the initial letters of it. See Medal.
MONEY.
[ 3'i ]
M O N E Y.
TV/TONEY, a piece of matter, commonly metal, to
which public authority has affixed a certain value
and weight to serve as a medium in commerce. See
Coin, Commerce, Medals, and Bank ) also the ar¬
ticles Banking, Coinage, and Exchange, in the
Supplement.
Money is usually divided into real or effective, and
imaginary or money of account,
I. Real Money.
r. History of real money. Real money includes all
coins, or species of gold, silver, copper, and the like;
which have course in common, and do really exist.
Such are guineas, pistoles, pieces of eight, ducats, &c.
Real money, civilians observe, has three essential
qualities, viz. matter, form, and weight or value.
For the matter, copper is that thought to have been
first coined 5 afterwards silver; and lastly gold, as be¬
ing the most beautiful, scarce, cleanly, divisible, and
pure of all metals.
The degrees of goodness are expressed in gold by
carats ; and in silver by pennyweights, &.c. For there
are several reasons for not coining them pure and with¬
out alloy, viz. the great loss and expence in refining
them, the necessity of hardening them to make them
more durable, and the scarcity of gold and silver in
most countries. See Alloy.
Among the ancient Britons, iron rings, or, as some
say, iron plates, were used for money ; among the Lace-
damionians, iron bars quenched with vinegar, that they
might not serve for any other use. Seneca observes,
that there was anciently stamped money of leather, cori-
nm forma publica impressum. And the same thing was
put in practice by F rederic II. at the siege of Milan ; to
say nothing ot an old tradition among ourselves, that in
the contused times of the barons wars the like was
done in Fmgland : but the Hollanders, we know, coined
great quantities of pasteboard in the year 1574*
As to the form of money', it has been more various
than the matter. Under this are comprehended the
weight, figure, impression, and value.
For the impression, the Jews, though they detested
images, yet stamped on the one side of their shekel the
golden pet which held the manna, and on the other
Aaron’s rod. The Dardans stamped two cocks fight¬
ing. The Athenians stamped their coins with an owl,
or an ox; whence the proverb on bribed lawyers, Ros
in lingua. They of iEgina, with a tortoise ; whence,
t^at other saying, Virtutem et sapientiam vincunt testa-
dines. Among the Romans, the monetarii sometimes
impressed the images of men that had been eminent in
tueir families on the coins : but no living man’s head
was ever stamped on a Roman coin til! after the fall of
the commonwealth. From that time they bore the em-
peror-’s head on one side. From this time the practice
of stamping the prince’s image on coins has obtained
among all civilized nations ; the Turks and other Ma¬
hometans alone excepted, who, in detestation of images,
inscribe only the prince’s name, with the year of the
transmigration of their prophet.
As to the-figure, it is either round as in Britain ;
multangular or irregular, as in Spain; square, as in
some parts of the Indies; or nearly globular, as in Money,
most of the rest. 1—^
After the arrival of the Romans in this island, the
Britons imitated them, coining both gold and silver
with the images of their kings stamped on them. When
tne Romans had subdued the kings of the Britons, they
also suppressed their coins, and brought in their own ;
which were current here from the time of Claudius to
that of ^ alentinian the T: ounger, about the space of
500 years.
Mr Camden observes, that the most ancient English
coin he had known was that of Ethelbert king of Kent,
the first C hristian king in the island ; in whose time all
money accounts begin to pass by the names of pounds,
shiHmgs, pence, and mancuscs. Pence seems borrowed
from the Latin pecunia, or rather from pendo, on account
of its just weight, which was about threepence of our
money. These were coarsely stamped with the king’s
image on the one side, and either the mint master’s, or
the city’s where it was coined, on the other. Five of
these pence made their schilling, probably so called
from scilingus, which the Romans used for the fourth
part of an ounce. F'orty of these schillings made their
pound ; and 400 of these pounds were a legacy, or por¬
tion lor a king’s daughter, as appears by the last will
of King Alfred. By these names they translated all
sums of money in their Old English testament; talents by
pundes; Judas’s thirty pieces of silver by thirtig scillin-
ga; tribute money, bypennining; the mite by feorthling.
But it must be observed, they had no other real mo-
ney, but pence only ; the rest being imaginary moneys, i.
e. names of numbers or weights. Thirty of these pence
made a mancus, which some take to be the same with a
mark: manca, as appears by an old MS. was quinta
pars uncict. These mancas or mancuses were reckoned
both in gold and silver. F'or in the year 680 we read
that Ina king of the Mest Saxons obliged the Kentish-
men to buy their peace at the price of 30,000 mancas of
gold. In the notes on King Canute’s laws, avc find this
distinction, \\\vitmancusa was as much as a mark of silver,
and manca, a square piece of gold, valued at 30 pence.
The Danes introduced a way of reckoning money by
ores, per oras, mentioned in Domesday book ; but whe¬
ther they were a several coin, ora certain sum, does not
plainly appear. This, hoAvever, may be gathered from
the Abbey book of Burton, that 20 ores rvere equival¬
ent to tA\o marks. They had also a gold coin called by-
%antmc, or bezant, as being coined at Constantinople,
then called Byzantium. The value of Avhieh coin is not
only uoav lost, but was so entirely forgot even in the
time of King Edward III. that whereas the bishop of
Norwich avus fined a byzantine of gold to be paid the
abbot of St Edmund’s Bury for infringing his liberties
(as it had been enacted by parliament in the time of the
Conqueror), no man then living could tell Iioav much it
was ; so it Avas referred to the king to rate Iioav much
he should pay. Which is the more unaccountable, be¬
cause but 100 years before, 200,000 bezants Avere ex¬
acted by the soldan for the ransom of St Louis of
France : Avhich yvere then valued at 100,000 livres.
Though the coining of money be a special preroga-
tire
tlve of t!io king1, yet the ancient Saxon princes com¬
municated it to their subjects ; insomuch that in every
good town there was at least one mint} but at Lion-
don eight} at Canterbury four ior the king, two ior
the archbishop, one for the abbot at Winchester, six at
Rochester, at Hastings two, &c.
The Norman kings continued the same custom of
doming only pence, with the prince’s image on one
side, and on the other the name of the city where it
was coined, with a cross so deeply impressed, that it
might be easily parted and broke into two halves, which,
so broken, they called halfpence; or into four parts,
which they czWqA fmn'i/rivgs or farthings.
In the time of King Richard I. money coined in the
cast parts of Germany came in special request in Eng¬
land on account of its purity, and was called easterhng
money, as all the inhabitants of those parts were called
Easterlings. And shortly after, some of those people
skilled in coining were sent for hither, to bring the coin
to perfection } which since has been called sterling for
Easterling. See STERLING.
King Edward 1. who first adjusted the measure of
an ell by the length of his arm, herein imitating Charles
the Great, was the first also who established a certain
standard for the coin, which is expressed to this effect
by Greg. Rockley, mayor of London, and mint ma¬
ster.—“ A pound of money containeth twelve ounces :
in a pound there ought to he eleven ounces, two east-
erlings, and one farthing; the rest alloy. The said
pound ought to weigh twenty shillings and thx-ee pence
in account and weight. The ounce ought to weigh
twenty pence, and a penny twenty-four grains and a
half. Note, That eleven ounces two pence sterling
ought to he of pure silver, called leaf silver} and the
rninter must add of other weight seventeen pence half¬
penny farthing, if the silver be so pure.”
About the year 13 20, the states of Europe first began
to coin gold } and among the rest, our King Edward
III. The first pieces he coined were cnWcft. Jlorcnces,
as being coined by Florentines : afterwards be coined
moliles } then rose-nobles, current at 6s. 8d. half nobles
called half pennies, at 3s. qd. of gold} and quarters at
20(1. called farthings of gold. The succeeding kings
coined rose-nobles, and double rose-nobles, great so¬
vereigns, and half Henry nobles, angels, and shillings.
King James I. coined units, double crowns, Britain
crowns : then crowns, half-crowns, &c.
2. Comparative value of Money and Commodities at
different periods. The English money, though the same
names do by no means correspond with the same quan¬
tity of precious metal as formerly, has not changed so
much as the money of most other countries. From the
time of William the Conqueror, the proportion between
the pound, the shilling, and the penny, seems to have
been uniformly the same as at present.
Edward III. as already mentioned, was the first of
our kings that coined any gold} and no copper was
coined by authority before Janies I. These pieces
were not called farthings, but farthing tokens, and all
people were at liberty to take or refuse them. Before
the time of Edward III. gold was exchanged, like
any other commodity, by its weight} and before the
time of James I. copper was stamped by any one person
who chose to do it.
Jn the years 712 and 727, a ewe and lamb were
rated at is. Saxon money till a fortnight after Easter. MJ
Between the years 900 and 1000, two hydes of land,
each containing about 120 acres, were sold for 100
shillings. In 1000, by King Ethelred’slaws, a horse was
rated at 30s. a mare or a colt of a year old, at 20s. a
mule or young ass, at 12s. an ox at 30s. a cow at 24s. a
swine at 8d. a sheep at is. In 1043, a <luarter
wheat was sold for 6od. Hence it is computed, that
in the Saxon times there was ten times less money,
in proportion to commodities, than at present. I.heir
nominal specie, therefore, being about three times high¬
er than ours, the price of every thing, according to our
present language, must be reckoned thirty times cheap¬
er than it is now.
In the reign of William the Conqueror, commodi¬
ties were ten times cheaper than they are at present}
from which we cannot help forming a very high idea
of the wealth and power of that king : for his revenue
was 400,000!. per annum, every pound being equal
to that weight of silver, consequently the whole may
be estimated at 1,200,000!. of the present computa¬
tion } a sum which, considering the different value ot
money between that period and the present, was equi¬
valent to 12,000,000!. of modern estimation.
The most necessary commodities do not seem to
have advanced their price from William the Conqueror
to Richard I.
The price of corn inf the reign of Henry III. was
near half the mean price in our times. Bishop Fleet-
wood has shown, that in the year 1240, which was in
this reign, 4I. 13s. pd. was worth about 50I. of our pre¬
sent money. About the latter end of this reign, Robert
de Hay, rector of Souldern, agreed to receive 100s. to
purchase to himself and successor the annual rents ol
5s. in full compensation of an acre of corn.
Butchers meat, in the time of the great scarcity in
the reign of Edward II. was, by a parliamentary or¬
dinance, sold three times cheaper than our mean price
at present} poultry somewhat low'er, because being now
considered as a delicacy, it has risen beyond its propor¬
tion. The mean price of corn at this period was half the
present value, and the mean price of cattle one-eighth.
In the next reign, which was that of Edward HI.
the most necessary commodities wrere in general about
three or four times cheaper than they are at present.
In these times, knights, who served on horseback in
the army, had 2s. a-day, and a foot archer 6d. which
last would now be equal to a crown a-day. Ihis pay
has continued nearly the same nominally (only that in
the time of the commonwealth the pay of the horse
w-as advanced" to 2s. 6d. and that of the foot is. though
it wras reduced again at the Restoration), but soldiers
wrere proportionably of a better rank formerly.
In the time of Henry VI. corn wras about half its
•present value, other commodities much cheaper. Bi¬
shop Fleetwood has determined, from a most accurate
consideration of every circumstance, that 3I. in this
reign was equivalent to 28I. or 30I. now.
In the time of Henry VH. many commodities
wrere three times as cheap here, and in all Europe,
as they are at present, there having been a great in-*
crease of gold and silver in Europe since his time oc¬
casioned by the discovery of America.
The commodities whose price has risen the most
since before the time of Henry VII. are butchers meat,
fowls,
oney.
M O
fowls, and fish, especially the latter. And the reason
why corn was always much dearer in proportion to
other eatables, according to their prices at present, is,
that in early times agriculture was little understood.
It required more labour and expence, and was more
precarious than it is at present. Indeed, notwith¬
standing the high price of corn in the times we are
speaking of, the raising of it^so little answered the ex¬
pence, that agriculture was almost universally quitted
for grazing 5 which was more profitable, notwithstand¬
ing the low price of butchers meat. So that there was
constant occasion for statutes to restrain grazing, and to
promote agriculture 5 and no effectual remedy' was found
till the bounty upon the exportation of corn ; since
which, above ten times more corn has been raised in
this country than before.
The price of corn in the time of James I. and con¬
sequently that of other necessaries of life, was not
•lower, but rather higher, than at present: wool is not
two thirds of the value it was then 5 the finer manu¬
factures having sunk in price by the progress of art
and industry, notwithstanding the increase of money.
Butchers meat was higher than at present. Prince
Henry made an allowance of near qd. per pound for
all the beef and mutton used in his family. This may
be true with respect to London ; hut the price of
butchers meat in the country, which does not even
now much exceed this price at a medium, has certainly
greatly increased of late years, and particularly in the
northern counties.
The prices of commodities are higher in England
than in France j besides that the poor people of France
live upon much less than the poor in England, and
their armies are maintained at less expence. It is
computed by Mr Hume, that a British army of 20,coo
men is maintained at near as great an expence as
60,000 in France, and that the English fleet, in the
war of 1741, required as much money to support it
as all the Roman legions in the time of the emperors.
However, all that we can conclude from this is, that
money is much more plentiful in Europe at present
than it was in the Roman empire.
In the 13th century, the common interest which the
Jews had for their money, Voltaire says, was 20 per
cent. But with regard to this, we must consider the
great contempt that nation was always held in, the
large contributions they were frequently obliged to
pay, the risk they ran of never receiving the princi¬
pal, the frequent confiscations of all their effects, and
the violent persecutions to which they were exposed ;
m which circumstances it was impossible for them to
iend money at all, unless for most extravagant interest,
and much disproportioned to its real value. Before
the discovery of America, and the plantation of our
colonies, the interest of money was generally 12 per
cent, all over Europe •, and it has been growing gra¬
dually less since that time, till it is now generally about
four or five.
VNhen sums of money are said to be raised by a
whole people, in order to form a just estimate of it,
we must take into consideration not only the quantity
of the precious metal according to the standard of the
coin, and the proportion of the quantity of coin to
4he commodities, hut also the number and riches of
the people who raise it ; for populous and rich coun-
Voj-. XIV. Part I. f
N E Y.
tries will much more easily raise any certain sum of
money than one that is thinly inhabited, and chiefly
by poor people. This circumstance greatly adds to
our sux-prise at the vast sums of money raised by Wil¬
liam the Conqueror, who had a revenue nearly in value
equal to i2,ooo,oool. of our money (allowance being
made lor the standard of coin and the proportion it
bore to the commodities), from a country not near so
populous or rich as England is at present. Indeed,
the accounts historians give us of the revenues of this
pi’ince, and the treasure he left behind him, are barely
credible.
II. Imaginary Money, or Money of Account, is that
which has never existed, or at least which does not
exist in real specie, but is a denomination invented or
retained to facilitate the stating of accounts, by keep¬
ing them still on a fixed footing, not to be changed,
like current coins, which the authority of the sovereign
raises or lowers according to the exigencies of the state.
Of which kind are pounds, livres, marks, maravedies,
&c. See the annexed Table, where the fictitious mo¬
ney is distinguished by a dagger (+).
Moneys of Account among the Ancients.—The Gre
cians reckoned their sums of money by drachma, mina;,
and talenta. The drachma was equal to y^d. sterling j
100 drachma; made the raina, equal to 3I. 4s. 7d. ster¬
ling*, 60 mina; made the talent, equal to 193I. 15s.
sterling; hence too talents amounted to 19,375!. ster¬
ling. The mina and talentum, indeed, were different in
different provinces : their proportions in Attic drachms
are as follow; The Syrian mina contained 25 Attic
drachms; the Ptolemaic 33I-; the Antiochic and Eu-
boean 100; the Babylonic 116 ; the greater Attic and
Tyrian 133-f-; the iEginean and Rhodian i66j. The
Syrian talent contained 15 Attic minae ; the Ptolemaic
20 ; the Antiochic 60 ; the Eubcean 60 ; the Babylo¬
nic 70; the greater Attic and Tyrian 80; the iEgi-
nean and Rhodian 100.
2. Roman moneys of account were the sester tius and
sestertium. The sestertius was equal to id. 3^q. ster¬
ling. One thousand of these made the sestertium,
equal to 81. is. yd. 2q. sterling. One thousand of
these sestertia made the decies sestertium (the adverb
centres being always understood) equal 108072!. 18s. 4d.
sterling. The decies sestertiura they also called dccics
centena milha minimum. Centies sestertium, or centies
HS, were equal to 80,729!. 3s. 4d. Millies HS to
807,291!. 13s. 4d. Millies centies HS to 888,02oL
16s. 8d.
Theory of Money.
I. Of Artificial or Material Money.
I. As far back as our accounts of the transactions
of mankind reach, we find they had adopted the pre¬
cious metals, that is, silver and gold, as the common
measure of value, and as the adequate equivalent for
every thing alienable.
The metals are admirably adapted for this purpose :
they are perfectly homogeneous : when pure, their
masses, or bulks, are exactly in proportion to their
weights; no physical difference can be found between
two pounds of gold, or silver, let them be the produc¬
tion of the mines of Europe, Asia, Africa, or Ame¬
rica : they are perfectly malleable, fusible, and. suffer
R r the
3X4
Money.
•4
M O N
the most exact division which human art is capable to
give them : they are capable of being mixed with one
another, as well as with metals of a basei, that is, of
a less homogeneous nature, such as copper . by this
mixture they spread themselves uniformly through
the whole mass of the composed lump, so that every
atom of it becomes proportionally possessed of a share
of this noble mixture 5 by which means the subdi¬
vision of the precious metals is rendered very exten-
sive. ,
Their physical qualities are invariable : they lose no¬
thing by keeping; they are solid and durable *, and
though their parts are separated by friction, like every
other thing, yet still they are of the number of those
which suffer least by it.
If money, therefore, can he made of any thing, that
js, if the proportional value of things vendible can be
measured by any thing material, it may he measured by
the metals.
XL The two metals being pitched upon as the most
proper substances for realizing the ideal scale of money,
those who undertake the operation of adjusting a stand¬
ard, must constantly keep in their eye the nature and
qualities of a scale, as well as the principles upon which
it is formed.
The unit of the scale must constantly be the same,
although realized in the metals, or the whole operation
fails in the most essential part. This realizing the unit
is like adjusting a pair of compasses to a geometrical
scale, where the smallest deviation from the exact open¬
ing once given must occasion an incorrect measure. 'I he
metals, therefore, are to money what a pair of compas¬
ses is to a geometrical scale.
This operation of adjusting the metals to the money
of account implies an exact and determinate propor¬
tion of both metals to the money unit, realized in all
the species and denominations of coin, adjusted to that
standard.
The smallest particle of either metal added to, or
taken away from, any coins, which represent certain
determinate parts of the scale, overturns the whole
system of material money. And if, notwithstanding
such variation, these coins continue to bear the same
denominations as before, this will as eflectually de¬
stroy their usefulness in measuring the value of things,
as it would overturn the usefulness of a pair of com¬
passes, to suffer the opening to vary, after it is adjust¬
ed to the scale representing feet, toises, miles, or leagues,
by which the distances upon the plan are to be mea¬
sured.
III. Debasing the standard is a good term, be¬
cause it conveys a clear and distinct idea. It is dimi¬
nishing the weight ol the pure metal contained in
that denomination by which a nation reckons, and
which we have called the money unit. Raising the
standard requires no farther definition, being the direct
contrary.
IV. Altering the standard (that is, raising or debas¬
ing the value of the money unit) is like altering the
national measures or weights. This is best discovered
by comparing the thing altered with things ot the
same nature which have suffered no alteration. Thus,
if the foot of measure was altered at once over all Eng¬
land, by adding to it, or taking from it, any propor¬
tional part of its standard length, the alteration would jjon]:
be best discovered by comparing the new foot withy')
that of Paris, or of any other country, which had suf¬
fered no alteration. Just so, if the pound sterling,
which is the English unit, shall be found anyhow
changed, and if the variation it has met with be diffi¬
cult to ascertain because of a complication of circum¬
stances, the best way to discover it, -will be to compare
the former and the present value of it with the money
of other nations which has suffered no variation. This
the course of exchange will perform with the greatest
exactness.
V. Artists pretend, that the precious metals, when
absolutely pure from any mixture, are not of sufficient
hardness to constitute a solid and lasting coin. They
are found also in the mines mixed with other metals of
a baser nature} and the bringing them to a state of
perfect purity occasions an unnecessary expence. To
avoid, therefore, the inconvenience of employing them
in all their purity, people have adopted the expedient
of mixing them with a determinate proportion of other
metals, which hurts neither their fusibility, malleabili¬
ty, beauty, nor lustre. This metal is called ct/loy : and,
being considered only as a support to the principal me¬
tal, is accounted of no value in itself. So that eleven
ounces of gold, when mixed with one ounce of silver,
acquires by that addition no augmentation of value
whatever.
This being the case, we shall, as much as possible,
overlook the existence of alloy, in speaking of money,
in order to render language less subject to ambiguity.
2. Incapacities of the metals to perform the office of an
invariable Measure oj Value.
I. Were there but one species of such a substance as
we have represented gold and silver to be ; were there
but one metal possessing the qualities of purity, divisi¬
bility, and durability ; the inconveniences in the use of
it for money -would be few'er by far than they are found
to be as matters stand.
Such a metal might then, by an unlimited division
into parts exactly equal, be made to serve as a toler¬
ably steady and universal measure. But the rivalship
between the metals, and the perfect equality which is
found between all their physical qualities, so far as
regards purity and divisibility, render them so equally
well adapted to serve as the common measure of value,
that they are universally admitted to pass current as
money.
What is the consequence of this ? that the one mea¬
sures the value of the other, as well as that of etery
other thing. Now the moment any measure begins to
be measured by another, whose proportion to it is not
physically, perpetually, and invariably the same, all the
usefulness of such a measure is lost. An example will
make this plain.
A foot of measure is a determinate length. An
English foot may he compared with the Baris foot, or
Avith that of the Rhine ; that is to say, it may be mea¬
sured by them : and the proportion between their
lengths may be expressed in numbers, Avhich pro¬
portion will be the same perpetually. The measur¬
ing the one by the other will occasion no uncertain¬
ty j and we may speak of length by Paris feet, ana
4
M O N E Y.
be perfectly well umlerstood by others who are used
ly—' to measure by the English foot, or by the foot of the
Rhine.
But suppose that a youth of 12 years old takes it
into his head to measure from time to time, as he ad¬
vances in age, by the length of his own foot, and that
he divides this growing foot into inches and decimals :
what can be learned from his account of measures ? As
he increases in years, his foot, inches, and subdivisions,
will be gradually lengthening •, and were every man to
follow his example, and measure by his own foot, then
the foot of a measure now established would totally cease
to be of any utility.
This is just the case with the two metals. There is
no determinate invariable proportion between their va¬
lue ; and the consequence of this is, that when they are
both taken for measuring the value of other things, the
things to be measured, like lengths to be measured by
the young man’s foot, without changing their relative
proportion between themselves, change, however, with
respect to the denominations of both their measures.
An example will make this plain.
Let us suppose an ox to be worth 3000 pounds
weight of wheat, and the one and the other to be worth
an ounce of gold, and an ounce of gold to be worth ex¬
actly 15 ounces of silver: if the case should happen,
that the proportional value between gold and silver
should come to be as 14 is to T, would not the ox, and
consequently the wheat, be estimated at less in silver,
and move in gold, than formerly ? Farther, Would it be
in the power of any state to prevent this variation in
the measure of the value of oxen and wheat, without
putting into the unit of their money less silver ai>d more
gold than formerly ?
If therefore any particular state should fix the stand¬
ard of the unit of their money to one species of the
metals, while in fact both the one and the other are
actually employed iu measuring value} does not such
a state resemble the young man who measures all by
bis growing foot ? Fc: if silver, for example, be re¬
tained as the standard, while it is gaining upon gold
one-fifteenth additional value : and if gold continue
all the while to determine the value of things as well
as silver; it is plain, that, to all intents and purposes,
this silver measure is lengthening daily like the young
man’s foot, since the same weight of it must become
every day equivalent to more and more of the same
commodity $ notwithstanding that we suppose the same
proportion to subsist, without the least variation, be¬
tween that commodity and every other species of things
vdienable.
Buying and selling are purely conventional, and no
man is obliged to give his merchandise at what may be
supposed to be the proportion of its worth. The use,
therefore, of an universal measure, is to mark, not only
the relative value of the things to which it is applied
as a measure, but to discover in an instant the propor¬
tion between the value of those, and of every other
commodity valued by a determinate measure in all the
countries of the world.
Were pounds sterling, livres, florins, piastres, &c.
which are all money of account, invariable in their
values, what a facility would it produce in all con¬
versions ! what an assistance to trade ! But as they are
^11 limited or fixed to coins, and consequently vary from
time to time, this example' shows the utility oi the in- Money,
variable measure which we have described. —
There is another circumstance which incapacitates
the metals from performing the office of money; the
substance of which the coin is made, is a commodity
which r.ses and sinks in its value with respect to other
commodities, according to the wants, competition, and
caprices ot mankind. The advantage, therefore, found
in putting an intrinsic value into that substance which
performs the function of money of account, is compen¬
sated by the instability ot that intrinsic value ; and the
advantage obtained by the stability ot paper, or sym¬
bolical money, is compensated by the defect it common¬
ly has of not being at all times susceptible of realization
into solid property or intrinsic value.
In order, therefore, to render material money more
perfect, this quality of metal, that is, of a commodity,
should be taken from it; and in order to render paper
money more perfect, it ought to be made to circulate
upon metallic or land security.
II. There are several smaller inconveniences accom¬
panying the use of the metals, which we shall here
shortly enumerate.
I/720, No money made of gold or silver can circulate
long, without losing its weight, although it all along
preserves the same denomination. This represents the
contracting a pair of compasses which had been rightly
adjusted to the scale.
2cIo, Another inconvenience proceeds from the fa¬
brication of money. Supposing the faith of princes
who coin money to be inviolable, and the probity as
well as capacity of those to whom they commit the in¬
spection of the business of the metals to be sufficient, it
is hardly possible for workmen to render every piece
exactly of a proper weight, or to preserve the due pro¬
portion between pieces of different denominations, that
is to say, to make every ten sixpences exactly of the
same weight with every crown piece and every five
shillings struck in a coinage. In proportion to such in¬
accuracies, the parts of the scale become unequal.
Another inconvenience, and far from being
inconsiderable, flows from the expence requisite for
the coining of money. This expence adds to its va¬
lue as a manufacture, without adding any thing to its
weight.
4^0, The last inconvenience is, that by fixing the
money of account entirely to the coin, without having
any independent common measure, (to mark and con-
troul these deviations from mathematical exactness,
which are either inseparable from the metals them¬
selves, or from the fabrication of them), the whole
measure of value, and all the relative interests of debt¬
ors and creditors, become at the disposal not only of
workmen in the mint, of Jews who deal in money, of
clippers and washers in coin ; but they are also entire¬
ly at the mercy of princes who have the x-ight of
coinage, and who have frequently also the right of
raising or debasing the standard of the coin, according
as they find it most for their present and temporary in¬
terest.
3. Methods which may be proposed for lessening the se¬
veral Inconveniences to which Material Money is li¬
able.
The inconveniences from the variation in the relative
R r 2 value
;io
Money.
M O N
value of the metals to one another, may in some mea¬
sure be obviated by the following expedients.
\mo. By considering one only as the standard, and
leaving the other to seek its own value like any other
commodity.
2f/o, Bv considering one only as the standard, and
fixing* the" value of the other from time to time by au¬
thority, according as the market price of the metals
shall vary.
3^0, By fixing the standard of the unit according
to the mean proportion of the metals, attaching it to
neither; regulating the coin accordingly j and upon
every considerable variation in the proportion between
them, either to make a new coinage, or to raise the
denomination of one of the species, and lower it in the
other in order to preserve the unit exactly in the mean
proportion between the gold and silver.
^to, To have two units and two standards, one oi
gold and one of silver, and to allow every body to sti¬
pulate in either.
yto, Or last of all, To oblige all debtors to pay one '
half in gold, and one half in the silver standard.
4. Variations to which the Value of the Money unit is
exposed from every Disorder in the Coin.
Let us suppose, at present, the only disorder to con¬
sist in a want of the due proportion between the gold
and silver in the coin.
This proportion can only be established by the mar¬
ket price of the metals j because an augmentation and
rise in the demand for gold or silver has the effect of
augmenting the value of the metal demanded. Let us
suppose, that to-day one pound of gold may buy fif¬
teen pounds of silver: if to-morrrow there be a high
demand for silver, a competition among merchants to
have silver for gold will ensue 1 they will contend who
shall get the silver at the rate of 15 pounds for one of
gold: this will raise the price of it; and in propor¬
tion to their views of profit, some will accept of less
than the 15 pounds. This is plainly a rise in the
silver, more properly than a fall in the gold ; because
it is the competition for the silver which has occasion¬
ed the variation in the former proportion between the
metals.
Let us now suppose, that a state, having with great
exactness examined the proportion of the metals in the
market, and having determined the precise quantity of
each for realizing or representing the money unit,
shall execute a most exact coinage of gold and silver
coin. As long as that proportion continues unvaried
in the market, no inconvenience can result from that
quarter in making use of metals for money of ac¬
count,
But let us suppose the proportion to change ; that the
silver, for example, shall rise in its value with regard to
gold : will it not follow, from that moment, that the
unit realized in the silver, will become of more value
than the unit realized in the gold coin ?
But as the law has ordered them to pass as equiva¬
lents for one another, and as debtors have always the
option of paying in what legal coin they think fit,
will they not all choose to pay in gold ; and will not
then the silver coin be melted down and exported, in
order to be sold as bullion, above the value it bears
when it circulates in coin? Will not this paying in
E Y.
gold also really dimmish the value of the money unit,
since upon this variation every thing must sell tor more
gold than before, as we have already observed.
Consequently, merchandises, which have not varied
in their relative value to any other thing but to gold
and silver, must be measured by the mean proportion
of the metals : and the application of any other measure
to them is altering the standard. If they are measured
by the gold, the standard is debased ; if by silver, it is
raised.
If, to prevent the inconvenience of melting down
the silver, the state shall give up affixing the value of
their unit to both species at once, and shall fix it to
one, leaving the other to seek its price as any other
commodity ; in that case, no doubt, the melting down
of the coin will be prevented : but will this ever re¬
store the value of the money unit to its former stand¬
ard ? Would it, for example, in the foregoing sup¬
position, raise the debased value of the money unit in
the gold coin, if that species were declared to be the
standard ? It would, indeed, render silver coin purely a
merchandise, and, by allowing it to seek its value,
would certainly prevent it from being melted down as
before ; because the pieces would rise conventionally in
their denomination ; or an agio, as it is called, would
be taken in payments made in silver; but the gold
would not, on that account, rise in its value, or be¬
gin to purchase any more merchandise than before.
Were therefore the standard fixed to the gold, would
not this be an arbitrary and a violent revolution in the
value of the money unit, and a debasement of the stand¬
ard ?
If, on the other hand, the state should fix the stand¬
ard to the silver, which we suppose to have risen in its
value, would that ever sink the advanced value which
the silver coin had gained above the worth of the form¬
er standard unit ? and would not this be a violent and
an arbitrary revolution in the value of the money unit,
and a raising of the standard ?
The only expedient, therefore, is, in such a case, to
fix the numerary unit to neither of the metals, but to
contrive a way to make it fluctuate in a mean propor¬
tion between them ; which is in effect the introduction
of a pure ideal money of account.
The regulation of fixing the unit by the mean pro¬
portion, ought to take place at the instant the stand¬
ard unit is fixed with exactness both to the gold and
silver. If it be introduced long after the market pro¬
portion between the metals has deviated from the pro¬
portion established in the coin ; and if the new regula¬
tion is made to have a retrospect, with regard to the
acquitting of permanent contracts entered into while
the value of the money unit had attached itself to the
loivest currency in consequence of the principle above
laid down : then the restoring the money unit to that
standard where it ought to have remained (to wit, to
the mean proportion) is an injury to all debtors, who
have contracted since the time that the proportion of
the metals began to vary.
This is clear from the former reasoning. The mo¬
ment the market price of the metals differs from that
in the coin, every one who has payments to make,
pays in that species which is the highest rated in the
coin; consequently, he who lends, lends in that spe¬
cies. If after the contract, therefore, the unit is ear¬
ned
Monf
MON
i^oney. rled up to the mean proportion, this must be a loss to
j,im vvho had borrowed.
From this we may perceive, why there is less incon¬
venience from the varying of the proportion of the
metals, where the standard is fixed to one of them,
than when it is fixed to both. In the first case, it is at
least uncertain whether the standard or the merchan¬
dise species is to rise ; consequently, it is uncertain
whether the debtors or the creditors are to gain by a
variation. If the standard species should rise, the
creditors will gain ; if the merchandise species rises,
the debtors will gain j but when the unit is attached
to both species, then the creditors never can gain, let
the metals vary as they will j if silver rises, then
debtors will pay in gold ; if gold rises, the debtors
will pay in silver. But whether the unit be attached
to one or to both species, the infallible consequence of
a variation is, that one half of the difference is either
gained or lost by debtors and creditors. The invari¬
able unit is constantly the mean proportional between
the two measures.
y. How the Variations of the intrinsic value of the
Unit of Money must affect all the domestic Interests
of' a Nation.
If the changing the content of the bushel by which
grain is measured, would affect the interest of those
who are obliged to pay, or who are entitled to receive,
a certain number of bushels of grain for the rent of
lands j in the same manner must every variation in the
value of the unit of account affect all persons who, in
permanent contracts, are obliged to make payments,
or who are obliged to receive sums of money sti¬
pulated in multiples or in fractions of that money
unit.
Every variation, therefore, upon the intrinsic value
of the money unit, has the effect of benefiting the
«lass of creditors at the expence of debtors, or rice
versa.
This consequence is deduced from an obvious prin¬
ciple. Money is more or less valuable in proportion
as it can purchase more or less of every kind of
merchandise. Now, without entering anew into the
causes of the rise and fall of prices, it is agreed upon
all hands, that whether an augmentation of the gene¬
ral mass of money in circulation has the effect of raising
prices in general or not, any augmentation of the quan¬
tity of the metals appointed to be put into the money
unit, must at least affect the value of that money unit,
and make it purchase more of any commodity than be¬
fore : that is to say, 113 grains of fine gold, the present
weight of a pound sterling in gold, can buy 113 pounds
of flour $ were the pound sterling raised to 114 grains
of the same metal, it would buy 114 pounds of flour j
consequently, were the pound sterling augmented by
one grain of gold, every miller who paid a rent of ten
pounds a-year, would be obliged to sell 1140 pounds of
his flour, in order to procure ten pounds to pay his rent,
in place of 1130 pounds of flour, which he sold former¬
ly to procure the same sum j consequently, by this in¬
novation, the miller must lose yearly ten pounds of
flour, which his master consequently must gain. From
this example, it is plain, that every augmentation of
metals put into the pound sterling, either of silver or Money,
gold, must imply an advantage to the whole class of"V—■
creditors vvho are paid in pounds sterling, and conse¬
quently must he a proportional loss to all debtors who
must pay by the same denomination.
6. Of the Disorder in the British Coin, so far as it oc~
casions the inciting down or the exporting of the
Specie.
The defects in the British coin are three.
imo, The proportion between the gold and silver in
it is found to be as 1 to I5tV> whereas the market price
may he supposed to be nearly as 1 to 14^.
2cfo, Great part of the current money is worn and
light.
3^0, From the second defect proceeds the third, to
wit, that there are several currencies in circulation
which pass for the same value, without being of the
same weight.
4<o, From all these defects results the last and greatest
inconvenience, to wit, that some innovation must be
made, in order to set matters on a right footing.
The English, besides the unit of their money which
they call the pound sterling, have also the unit of their
weight for weighing the precious metals. '
This is called the pound troy, and consists of 12
ounces, every ounce of 20 pennyweights, and every
pennyweight of 24 grains. The pound troy, therefore,
consists of 240 pennyweights and 5760 grains.
The fineness of the silver is reckoned by the number
of ounces and pennyweights of the pure metal in the
pound troy of the composed mass ; or, in other words,
the pound troy, which contains 5760 grains of standard
silver, contains 5328 grains of fine silver, and 432
grains of copper, called alloy.
Thus standard silver is 11 ounces 2 pennyweights of
fine silver in the pound troy to 18 penny weights copper,
or nr parts fine silver to nine parts alloy.
Standard gold is 11 ounces fine to 1 ounce silver or
copper employed for alloy, which together make the
pound troy ; consequently, the pound troy of standard
gold contains 5280 grains fine, and 480 grains alloy,
which alloy is reckoned of no value.
This pound of standard silver is ordered, by statute
of the 43d of Elizabeth, to he coined into 62 shillings,
20 of which make the pound sterling ; consequently,
the 20 shillings contain 1718.7 grains of fine silver, and
1858.06 standard silver.
The pound troy of standard gold, fJIie> is order¬
ed, by an act of King Charles II. to he cut into 444
guineas : that is to say, every guinea contains 129.43
grains of standard gold, and 118.644 f,ne g0^ 5 and
the pound sterling, which is ££ of the guinea, con¬
tains 112.994, which we may state at 113 grains of
fine gold.
The coinage in England is entirely defrayed at the
expence of the state. The mint price for the metals is
the very same with the price of the coin. Whoever
carries to the mint an ounce of standard silver, receives
for it in silver coin 5s. 2d. or 62d.: whoever carries an
ounce of standard gold receives in gold coin 31.17s. lo^d.
the one and the other making exactly an ounce of the
same fineness yyith the bullion. Coin, therefore, can
have
18
Money.
M O N E Y.
Iiavc no value in the market above bullion; conse¬
quently, no loss can be incurred by those who melt it
down.
When the guinea was first struck, the government
(not inclining to fix the pound sterling to the gold coin
of the nation) fixed the guinea at 20 shillings, (which
was then below its proportion to the silver), leaving it
to seek its own price above that value, according to the
course of the market.
By this regulation no harm was done to the English
silver standard } because the guinea, or 118.644 grains
fine gold, being worth more, at that time, than 20
shillings, or 1718.7 grains fine silver, no debtor would
pay with gold at its standard value} and whatever it
was received for above that price was purely conven¬
tional.
Accordingly guineas sought their own price until
the year 1728, that they were fixed a-new, not below
their value as at first, but at what was then reckoned
their exact value, according to the proportion of the
metals, viz. at 21 shillings*, and at this they were or¬
dered to pass current in all payments.
This operation had the efi’ect of making the gold a
standard as well as the silver. Debtors then paid in¬
differently in gold as well as in silver, because both
were supposed to be of the same intrinsic as well as
current value j in which case no inconvenience could
follow upon this regulation. But in time silver came
to be more demanded 5 the making of plate began to
prevail more than formerly, and the exportation of sil¬
ver to the East Indies increasing yearly, made the de¬
mand for it greater, or perhaps brought its quantity
to be proportionally less than before. This*changed
the proportion of the metals $ and by slow degrees they
have come from that of 1 to 15.2 (the proportion they
were supposed to have when the guineas were fixed and
made a lawful money at 21 shillings) to that of 14.5,
the present supposed proportion.
The consequence of this has been, that the same gui¬
nea which rvas worth 1804.6 grains fine silver, at the
time it was fixed at 2is. is now worth no more than
17I9*9 grains °f fine silver according to the proportion
of 144 to 1.
Consequently debtors, who have always the option of
the legal species in paying their debts, will pay pounds
sterling no more in silver but in gold ; and as the gold
pounds they pay in are not intrinsically worth the silver
pounds they paid in formerly according to the sta¬
tute of Elizabeth, it follows that the pound sterling in
silver is really no more, the standard, since nobody will
pay at that rate, and since nobody can be compelled to
do it.
Besides this want of proportion between the metals,
the silver coined before the reign of George I. is now
become light by circulation ; and the guineas coined
by all the princes since Charles II. pass by tale, though
many of them are considerably diminished in their
weight.
Let us now examine what profit the want of propor¬
tion and the want of weight in the coin can afford to the
money-jobbers in melting it down or exporting it.
Did every body consider coin only as the measure for
reckoning value, without attending to its value as a me¬
tal, the deviations of gold and silver coin from perfect
exactness, either as to proportion or wei
casion little inconvenience.
Great numbers, indeed, in every modern society,
consider coin in no other light than that of money of
account j and have great difficulty to comprehend what
difference any one can find between a light shilling and
a heavy one, or what inconvenience there can possibly
result from a guinea’s being some grains of fine gold too
light to be worth 21 shillings standard weight. And
did every one think in the same way, there would be
no occasion for coin of the precious metals at all; lea¬
ther, copper, iron, or paper, would keep the reckoning
as well as gold and silver.
But although there be many who look no farther
than at the stamp on the coin, there are others whose
sole business it is to examine its intrinsic worth as a
commodity, and to profit of every irregularity in the
weight and proportion of metals.
By the very institution of coinage, it is implied, that
every piece of the same metal, and same denomination
with regard to the money-unit, shall pass current for
the same value.
It is, therefore, the employment of money-jobbers,
to examine, with a scrupulous exactness, the precise
weight of every piece of coin which comes into their
hands.
The first object of their attention is, the price of the
metals in the market : a jobber finds, at present, that
with 14.5 pounds of fine silver bullion, he can buy one
pound of fine gold bullion.
He therefore buys up with gold coin all the new sil¬
ver as fast as it is coined, of which he can get at the
rate of 15.2 pounds for one in gold ; these 15.2 pounds
silver coin he melts down into bullion, and converts
that back into gold bullion, giving at the rate of only
14.5 pounds for one.
By this operation he remains with the value of Tg-
of one pound weight of silver bullion clear profit upon
the 154 pounds he bought*, which is is really lost by
the man who inadvertently coined silver at the mint,
and gave it to the money-jobber for his gold. Thus
the state loses the expence of the coinage, and the pub¬
lic the convenience of change for their guineas.
But here it may be asked, Why should the money-
jobber melt down the silver coin ? can he not buy gold
Avith it as well without melting it down ? He cannot j
because when it is in coin he cannot avail himself of its
being new and weighty. Coin goes by tale, not by
weight; therefore, were • he to come to market with
his new silver coin, gold bullion being sold at the mint,
price, we shall suppose, viz. at 3I. 17s. ic-Jd. sterling-
money per ounce, he would be obliged to pay the price
of what he bought with heavy money, which he can
do with light.
Pie therefore melts down the new silver coin, and
sells it for bullion, at so many pence an ounce j the
price of which bullion is, in the English market, always
above the price of silver at the mint, for the reasons
now to be given.
When you sell standard silver bullion at the mint,
you are to be paid in weighty money j that is, you re¬
ceive for your bullion the very same weight in stand¬
ard coin j the coinage costs nothing: but when you
sell bullion in the market you are paid in worn-out
silver,
ght, would oc- Mon« !
M O
silver, in gold, in bank notes, in short, in every spe¬
cies of lawful current money. Now all these pay¬
ments have some defect: the silver you are paid with
is worn and light; the gold you are paid with is over¬
rated, and perhaps also light j and the bank notes
must have the same value with the specie with which
the bank pays them ; that is, with light silver or over¬
rated gold.
It is for these reasons, that silver bullion, which is
bought by the mint at 5s. 2d. per ounce of heavy silver
money, may be bought at market at 65 pence the
ounce in light silver, overrated gold, or bank notes,
which is the same thing.
Further, We have seen how the imposition of coin¬
age has the effect of raising coin above the value of
bullion, by adding a value to it which it had not as a
metal.
Just so, when the unit is once affixed to certain de¬
termined quantities of both metals, if one of the metals
should afterwards rise in value in the market, the coin
made of that metal must lose a part of its value as coin,
although it retains it as a metal. Consequently, as in
the first case it acquired an additional value by being
coined, it must now acquire an additional value by be¬
ing melted down. From this we may conclude that
when the standard is affixed to both the metals in the
coin, and when the proportion of that value is not made
to follow the price of the market, that species which
rises in the market is melted down, and the bullion is
sold for a price as much exceeding the mint price as
the metal has risen in its value.
If, therefore, in England, the price of silver bullion
is found to be at 65 pence the ounce, while at the mint
it is rated at 62; this proves that silver has risen
above the proportion observed in the coin, and that all
coin of standard weight may consequently be melted
down with a profit of ^r. But as there'are several
other circumstances to be attended to which regulate
and influence the price of bullion, we shall here pass
them in review, the better to discover the nature of this
disorder in the English coin, and the advantages which
money-jobbers may draw from it.
The price of bullion, like that of every other mer¬
chandise, is regulated by the value of the money it is
paid with.
If bullion, therefore, sells in England for 65 pence
an ounce paid in silver coin, it must sell for 65 shillings
the pound troy; that is to say, the shillings it is com¬
monly paid with do not exceed the weight of 7rT of a
pound troy; for if the 65 shillings with which the
Pound of bullion is paid weigh more than a pound
troy, it will be a shorter and better way for him who
wants bullion to melt down the shillings and make use
of the metal, than to go to market with them in order
to get less.
e may, therefore, be very certain, that no man
will buy silver bullion at 65 pence an ounce, with any
shilling which weighs above of a pound troy.
We have gone upon the supposition that the ordi¬
nary price of bullion in the English market is 65 pence
per ounce. I his has been done upon the authority of
some late writers on this subject: it is now proper to
point out the causes which may make it deviate from
that value.
N E N Y.
I. It may, and certainly will vary, in the price, ac¬
cording as the currency is better or worse. When
the expence of a war, or a wrong balance of trade,
have carried off a great many heavy guineas, it is na¬
tural that bullion should rise j because then it will be
paid for more commonly in light gold and silver j that
is to say, with pounds sterling, below the value of 113
grains fine gold, the worth of the pound sterling in new
guineas.
It. This wrong balance of trade, or a demand for
bullion abroad, becoming very great, may occasion a
scarcity of the metals in the market, as well as a
scarcity of the coin j consequently, an advanced price
must be given for it in proportion to the greatness and
height of the demand. In this case, both the specie
and the bullion must be bought with paper. But the
rise in the price of bullion proceeds from the demand
for the metals and the competition between merchants
to procure them, and not because the paper given as
the price is at all of inferior value to the specie. The
least discredit of this kind would not tend to dimmish
the value of the paper 5 it would annihilate it at once.
Therefore, since the metals must be had, and that the
paper cannot supply the want of them when they are to
be exported, the price rises in proportion to the difficul¬
ties in finding metals elsewhere than in the English
market.
III. A sudden call for bullion, for the making of
plate. A goldsmith can well afford to give 67 pence
for an ounce of silver, that is to say, he can afford to
give one pound of gold for 14 pounds of silver, and per¬
haps for less, notwithstanding that what he gives be
more than the ordinary proportion between the metals,
because he indemnifies himself amply by the price of his
workmanship j just as a tavern keeper will pay any price
for a fine fish, because, like the goldsmith, he buys for
other people.
1A . The mint price has as great an effect in bring¬
ing down the price of bullion, as exchange has in rais¬
ing it. In countries where the metals in the coin are
justly proportioned, where all the currencies are of le¬
gal weight, and where coinage is imposed, the opera¬
tions of trade make the price of bullion constantly to
fluctuate between the value of the coin and the mint
price of the metals.
Now let us suppose that the current price of silver
bullion in the market is 65 pence the ounce, paid in
lawful money, no matter of what freight or of what
metal. Upon this the money-jobber falls to work. All
shillings which are above of a pound troy, he throws
into his melting pot, and sells them as bullion for
per ounce ; all those which are below that weight he
carries to market, and buys bullion with them at 6^.
per ounce.
What is the consequence of this ?
That those who sell the bullion, finding the shillings
which the money-jobber pays with perhaps not above
^ ol a pound troy, they on their side raise the price
of the bullion to 66d. the ounce.
This makes new work for the money-jobber j for
he must always gain. He now weighs all shillings as
they come to hand ; and as formerly he threw into his
melting pot those only wffiich were worth more than
of a pound troy, he now throws in all that are in va¬
lue
320
Money.
M O N
hie above He then sells the melted shillings at
66d. the ounce, and buys bullion with the light ones at
the same price. . .
This is the consequence of ever permitting any spe¬
cies of coin to pass by the authority of the stamp, with¬
out controlling it at the same time by the weight: and
this is the manner in which money-jobbers gain by the
currency ol light money. _
It is no argument against this exposition ol the matter
to say, that silver bullion is seldom bought with silver
coin 5 because the pence in new guineas are worth no
more than the pence oi shillings of 65 in the ^loy ‘
that is to say, that 240 pence contained m -*4 ol a new
guinea, and 240 pence contained in 28 shillings ol 05
to the pound troy, differ no more in the intrinsic value
than 0.83 of a grain of fine silver upon the whole, which
k a mere trifle.
Whenever, therefore, shillings come below the
weight of 3-4 of a pound troy, then there is an advan¬
tage in changing them for new guineas ; and when that
is the case, the new guineas will be melted down, and
profit will be found in selling them for bullion, upon
the principles we have just been explaining.
We have already given a specimen of the domestic
operations of the money-jobbers*, but these are not the
most prejudicial to national concerns. The jobbers may
be supposed to be Englishmen ; and in that case the
profit they make remains at home : but whenever there
is a call for bullion to pay the balance of trade, it is
evident that this will be paid in silver coin *, never in
gold, if heavy silver can be got*, and this again carries
away the silver coin, and renders it at home so rare,
that great inconveniences are found for want ol the les¬
ser denominations of it. The loss, however, here is
confined to an inconvenience *, because the balance ol
trade being a debt which must be paid, we do not con¬
sider the exportation ol the silver for that purpose as
any consequence of the disorder of the coin. But be¬
sides this exportation which is necessary, there are others
which are arbitrary, and which are made only with a
view to profit of the wrong proportion.
When the money-jobbers find difficulty in carrying
on the traffic we have described, in the English market,
because of the competition among themselves, .they
carry the silver coin ol the country, and sell it a-
broad for gold, upon the same principles that the East
India Company send silver to China in order to pur¬
chase gold. ,
It may be demanded, What hurt this trade can do
to Britain, since those who export silver bring back the
same value in gold ? Were this trade carried on bj na¬
tives, there would be no loss j because they would bring
home gold for the whole intrinsic value ot the silver.
But if we suppose foreigners sending over gold to be
coined at the English mint, and changing the gold in¬
to English silver coin, and then carrying oft this coin,
it is plain that they must gain the difterence, as well as
the money-jobbers. But it may be answered, rIhat
having given gold for silver at the rate ol the mint,
they have given value for what they have received.
Very right *, but so did Sir Hans Sloane, when he paid
five guineas for an overgrown toad : he got value for
his money J but it was value only to himself. Just so,
whenever the English government shall be obliged to
restore the proportion of the metals (as they must do),
E Y.
this operation will annihilate that imaginary value which
they have hitherto set upon gold j which imagination is
the only thing which renders the exchange of their sil¬
ver against the foreign gold equal.
But it is farther objected, that foreigners cannot
carry oft the heavy silver j because thcie is none tv
cary off. Very true *, but then they have carried off
a great quantity already: or if the English Jews have
been too sharp to allow such a profit to fall to strangers,
(which may or may not have been the case), then this
disorder is an effectual stop to any more coinage of sil-
vpr for circulation.
Mone?
7. Of the Disorder in theBritish Coin, sofar as it affects
the Value of the Found Sterling Currency.
Erom what has been said, it is evident, that there
must be found in England .two legal pounds sterling,
of different values j the one worth 113 grains of fine
gold, the other worth 1718.7 grains of fine silver.
We call them different : because these two portions of
the precious metals are of different values all over
Europe.
But besides these two different pounds sterling, which
the change in the proportion of the metals has created,
the other defects of the circulating coin produce similar
effects. The guineas coined by all the princes since
King Charles II. have been of the same standard weight
and fineness, 44! in a pound troy of standard gold 44
fine : these have been constantly wearing ever since they
have been coined *, and in proportion to their wearing
they are of less value.
If, therefore, the new guineas are below the value
of a pound sterling in silver, standard weight, the old
must be of less value still. Here then is another cur¬
rency, that is, another pound sterlings or indeed, moie
properly speaking, there are as many different pounds
sterling as there are guineas of different weights. This
is not all j the money-jobbers having carried off all the
weighty silver, that which is worn with use, and redu¬
ced even below the standard of gold, forms one cuiren-
ey more, and totally destroys all determinate proportion
between the money unit and the currencies which are
supposed to represent it.
It may be asked, how, at this rate, any silvei has
remained-' in England ? It is answered, that the few
weighty shillings which still remain in circulation, have
marvellously escaped the hands of the money-jobbers:
and as to the rest, the rubbing and wearing of these
pieces has done what the state might have done \ that
is to say, it has reduced them to their due proportion
with the lightest gold.
The disorder, therefore, of the English coin has ren¬
dered the standard of a pound sterling quite uncertain.
To say that it is 1718.7 grains of fine silver, is quite
ideal. Who are paid in such pounds P To say that it
is 113 grains of pure gold, may also not be true j be¬
cause there are many currencies worse than the new
guineas. . ?
What then is the consequence of all this disorder .
What effect has it upon the current value of a pound
sterling ? And which way can the value of that be de¬
termined ? .
The operations of trade bring value to an equation,
notwithstanding the greatest irregularities possible j amt
M O
.joUey. value over all tlie world by tbe means of foreign ex-
—-y——> change. Tliis is a kind of ideal scale for measuring the
British coin, although it has not all the properties of
that described above.
Exchange considers the pound sterling as a value
determined according to the combination of the va¬
lues of all the different currencies, in proportion as
payments are made in the one or the other ; and as
debtors generally take care to pay in the worst species
they can, it consequently follows, that the value of
the pound sterling should fall to that of the lowest cur¬
rency.
Were there a sufficient quantity of worn gold and
silver to acquit all bills of exchange, tbe pound sterling
would come down to the value of them ; but if the new
gold be also necessary for that purpose, the value of it
must be proportionably greater.
All these combinations are liquidated and compen¬
sated with one another, by the operations of trade and
exchange *, and the pound sterling, which is so different
in itself, becomes thereby, in the eyes of commerce, a
determinate unit; subject, however to variations, from
which it never can be exempted.
Exchange, therefore, is one of the best measures for
valuing a pound sterling, present currency. Here oc¬
curs a question :
Does the great quantity of paper money in England
tend to diminish the value of the pound sterling?
We answer in the negative. Paper money is just as
good as gold or silver money, and no better. The va¬
riation of the standard, as We have already said, must
influence the interest of debtors and creditors propor¬
tionally everywhere. From this it follows, that all aug¬
mentation of the rdne of the money unit in the specie
must hurt the debtors in the paper money ; and all
diminutions, on the other hand, must hurt the creditors
in the paper money as well as everywhere else. The
payments, therefore, made in paper money, never can
contribute to the regulation of the standard of the
pound sterling; it is the specie received in liquidation
of that paper money which alone can contribute to
mark the value of the British unit; because it is affixed
to nothing else.
From this we may draw a principle, “ That in
countries where the money unit is entirely affixed to
the coin, the actual value of it is not according to the
legal standard of that coin, but according to the mean
proportion of the actual worth of those currencies in
Which debts are paid.
From this we see the reason why the exchange be¬
tween England and all other trading towns in Europe
has long appeared so unfavourable. People calculate
the real par, upon the supposition that a pound ster¬
ling is worth 1718.7 grains troy of fine silver, when in
fact the currency is not perhaps worth 1638, the va¬
lue of a new guinea in silver, at the market proportion
nf x to 14.5 ; that is to say, the currency is but 95.3
per cent, of the silver standard of the 43d of Elizabeth.
No wonder then if the exchange be thought unfavour¬
able.
From the principle we have just laid dowm, w'e may
gather a confirmation of what w'e advanced concerning
the cause of the advanced price of bullion in the English
market.
When people buy bulliofi with current money at a
Vox,. XIV. Part I. f
N E Y.
determinate price, that operation, in Conjunction with
the course of exchange, ought naturally to mark the
actual value of the pound sterling with great exact¬
ness.
If therefore the price of standard bullion in the Eng¬
lish market, when no demand is found for the exporta¬
tion of the metals, that is to say, when paper is
found for paper upon exchange, and when merchants
versed in these matters judge exchange (that is re¬
mittances) to be at par, if then silver bullion can¬
not be bought at a lower price than 65 pence the
ounce, it is evident that this bullion might be bought
with 65 pence in shillings, of which 65 might be coin¬
ed out of the pound troy English standard silver; since
63 per ounce implies 65 shillings for the 12 ounces 01*
pound troy.
This plainly shows how standard silver bullion should
sell for 65 pence the ounce, in a country where the
ounce of standard silver in the coin is worth no more
than 62; and were the market price of bullion to
stand uniformly at 65 pence per ounce, that would
show the value of the pound sterling to be tolerably
fixed. All the heavy silver coin is now carried off; be¬
cause it was intrinsically worth more than tbe gold it
passed for in currency. The silver therefore which re¬
mains is worn down to the market proportion of the
metals, as has been said; that is to say, 20 shillings
in silver currency are worth 113 grains of fine gold,
at the proportion of 1 to 14.5 between gold and silver.
Now,
as I is to 14.5, so is 113 to 1638:
so the 20 shillings current weigh but 1638 grains fine
silver, instead of 1718.7, which they ought to do ac¬
cording to the standard.
Now let ns speak of standard silver, since we are
examining how far the English coin must be worn by
use.
The pound troy contains 5760 grains. This, ac¬
cording the standard, is coined into 62 shillings;
consequently, every shilling ought to weigh 92.9 grains.
W such shillings it is impossible that ever standard
bullion should sell at above 62 pence per ounce.
If therefore such bullion sells for 65 pence, the shil¬
lings with which it is bought must weigh no more
than 88.64 grains standard silver; that is* they must'
lose 4.29 grains, and are reduced to -£r of a pound
troy.
But it is not necessary that bullion be bought with
shillings : no stipulation of price is evlp’ made farther,
than at so many pence sterling per ounce. Does not
this virtually determine the value of such currency
with regard to all the currencies in Europe ? Did a
Spaniard, a Frenchman, or a Dutchman, know the
exact quantity of silver bullion which can be bought
in the London market for a pound sterling, would he
inform himself any farther as to the intrinsic value of
that money unit ? would he not understand the value
of it far better from that circumstance than by the
course of any exchange, since exchange ■ does not
mark the intrinsic value of money, hut only the va¬
lue of that money transported from one place to an¬
other ?
I he price of bullion, therefore, when it is not in¬
fluenced by extraordinary demand, (such as for the
payment of a balance of trade, or for making an ex-
S s traordinary
traordinary provision of plate), but when it stands at
what every body knows to be meant by the common
market price, is a very tolerable measure of the value
of the actual money standard in any country.
If it be therefore true, that a pound sterling cannot
purchase above 1638 grains of line silver bullion it
will require not a little logic to prove that it is really,
or has been for these many years, worth any more ;
notwithstanding that the standard weight of it in Eng¬
land is regulated by the laws of the kingdom at 171S.7
grains of line silver. ,
If to this valuation of the pound sterling drawn
from the price of bullion, we add the other <i™wn
from the course of exchange 5 and by this we hnd
that when paper is found for paper upon exchange, a
pound sterling cannot purchase above 1638 grains ot
fine silver in any country in Europe : upon these two
authorities we may very safely conclude (as to the mat¬
ter of fact at least) that the pound sterling is not worth
more, either in London or in any other trading city *,
and if this be the case, it is just worth 20 shillings ot
65 to the pound troy. . .
If therefore the mint were to coin shillings at that
rate and pay for silver bullion at the market price,
that’is, at the rate of 65 pence per ounce in those new
coined shillings, they would be in proportion to the
gold ; silver would be carried to the mint equally with
gold, and would be as little subject to be exported or
melted down.
It may be inquired in this place, how far the coming
the pound troy into 65 shillings is contrary to the laws
of England ? . .
The moment a state pronounces a certain quantity
of gold to be worth a certain quantity pf silver, and
orders these respective quantities of each metal to be
received as equivalents of each other, and as lawiul
money in payments, that moment gold is made a stand¬
ard as much as silver. If theretore too small a quan¬
tity of gold be ordered or permitted to be considered
as an equivalent for the unit, the silver standard is from
that moment debased •, or indeed, more properly speak¬
ing, all silver money is from that moment proscribed }
for’who, from that time, will ever pay in silver, when
he can pay cheaper in gold ? Gold, therefore, by such
a law, is made the standard, and all declarations to the
contrary are against the matter of fact.
Were the king, therefore, to coin silver at 65 shil¬
lings in the pound, it is demonstration, that by such an
act he would commit no adulteration upon the stand¬
ard: the adulteration is already committed. i he
standard has descended to where it is by slow de¬
grees, and by the operation of political causes onlyj
and nothing prevents it from falling lower but the
standard of the gold coin. Let guineas be now left
to seek their value as they did formerly, and let light
silver continue to go by tale, we shall see the guineas
up at 30 shillings in 20 years time, as was the case in
l6L is as absurd to say that the standard of Queen
Elizabeth has not been debased by enacting that the
English unit shall be acquitted with 113 grains ot fine
gold, as it would be to affirm that it would not be de¬
based from what it is at present by enacting that a
pound of butter should everywhere be received m pay-
MONEY.
ment for a pound sterling; although the pound ster¬
ling should continue to consist of three ounces, 17 pen-'*
ny-weights, and 10 grains of standard silver, according
to the statute of the 43d of Elizabeth. In that case,
most debtors would pay in butter and silver would, as
at present, acquire a conventional value as a metal, but
would be looked upon no longer as a standard, or as
money. •
If therefore, by the law of England, a pound sterling
must consist of 1718.7 grains troy of fine silver-, by the
law of England also, 113 grains of gold must be of the
same value : but no law can establish that proportion 5
consequently, in which ever way a reformation be
brought about, some law must be reversed *, consequent¬
ly, expediency, and not compliance with law', must be
the motive in reforming the abuse. _ .
From what lias been said, it is not at all surprising
that the pound sterling should in fact be reduced near¬
ly to the value of the gold. Whether it ought to be
kept at that value is another question. All that we
here decide is, that coining the pound troy into 65
shillings would restore the proportion of the metals,
and render both species common in circulation. But
restoring the weight and proportion of the coin is not
the difficulty which prevents a reformation ot the Eng¬
lish coinage.
Monet
8. Circumstances to be attended to in a New Regulation
of the British Coin.
To people who do not understand the nature of such
operations, it may have an air of justice to support
the unit at what is commonly believed to be the stand¬
ard of Queen Elizabeth, viz. at 1718.7 grains of fine
Sl1 The regulating the standard of both silver and gold
to 'I fine, and the pound sterling to four ounces
standard silver, as it stood during the reign of Queen
Mary I. has also its advantages, as Mr Harris has ob¬
served. It makes the crown-piece to weigh just one
ounce, the shilling four pennyweights, and the penny
eight grains: consequently, were the new statute to
bear, that the weight of the coin should regulate its
currency upon certain occasions, the having the pieces
adiusted to certain aliquot parts of weight would make
weighing easy, and would accustom the common people
to judge of the value of money by its weight, and not
by the stamp. . ■ .
In that case, there might be a convemency in strik¬
ing the gold coins of the same weight with the silver*,
because the proportion of their values would then con¬
stantly he the same with the propoition ot the metals.
The gold crowns would be worth at present, 3I. 12s.
6d. the half-crowns ll. 16s. 3d. the gold shillings 14s.
6d. and the half 7s. 3d. This was anciently the prac¬
tice in the Spanish mints. .
The interests within the state can be nowise perfect¬
ly protected, but by permitting conversions ol value
from the old to the now standard, whatever it be, an
by regulating the footing of such conversions by act 01
parliament, according to circumstances.
* For this purpose, we shall examine those interests
which will chiefly merit the attention of government,
when they form a regulation for the future of act£
M O N E Y.
ting permanent contracts already entered into. Such
-'3,3 may be contracted afterwards will naturally follow
the new standard.
The landed interest is no doubt the most consider¬
able in the nation. Let us therefore examine, in the
first place, what regulations it may be proper to make,
in order to do justice to this great class, with respect to
the land tax on one hand, and with respect to their les¬
sees on the other.
The valuation of the lands of England was made
many years ago, and reasonably ought to be supported
at the real value of the pound sterling at that time,
.according to the principles already laid down. The
general valuation, therefore, - of the whole kingdom
will rise according to this scheme. This will be con¬
sidered as an injustice •, and no doubt it would be so, if
for the future, the land tax be imposed as heretofore,
without attending to this circumstance ; but as that im¬
position is annual, as it is laid on by the landed interest
itself, who compose the paidiament, it is to be supposed
that this great class will at least take care of their own
interest. ' ^
Were the valuation of the lands to be stated accord¬
ing to the valuation of the pound sterling of 1718.7
grains of silver, which is commonly supposed to be the
standard of Elizabeth, there would be no great injury
done 5 this would raise the valuation only 5 per cent,
and the land tax in proportion.
There is no class of inhabitants in all England so
much at their ease, and so free from taxes, as the class
of farmers. By living in the country, and by consum¬
ing the fruits of the earth without their suftering any
alienation, they avoid the effect of many excises,
which, by those who live in corporations, are felt upon
many articles of their consumption, as well as on those
which are immediately loaded with these impositions.
For this reason it will not, perhaps, appear unreason¬
able, if the additional 5 per cent, on the land tax
were thrown upon this class, and not upon the land¬
lords.
With respect to leases, it may be observed, that we
have gone upon the supposition that the pound sterling
in the year 1728 was worth 1718.7 grains of fine silver,
and 113 grains of fine gold.
There would be no injustice done the lessees of all the
lands in the kingdom, were their rents to be fixed at
the mean proportion of these values. We have observed
how the pound sterling has been gradually diminishing
in its worth from that time by the gradual rise of the
silver. This mean proportion, therefore, will nearly
answer to what the value of the pound sterling was in
1743 i supposing the rise of the silver to have been uni¬
form.
It may be farther alleged in favour of the landlords,
that the gradual debasement pf the standard has been
more prejudicial to their interest in letting their lands,
than to the farmers in disposing of the fruits of them.
Proprietors cannot so easily raise their rents upon new
leases, as farmers can raise the prices of their grain
according to the debasement of the value of the cur¬
rency.
The pound sterling, thus regulated at the mean pro¬
portion of its worth, as it stands at present, and as it
stood in 1728, may be realized in 1678.6 grains of fine
fidver, and 115.76 grains fine gold j which is 2.4 per
cent, above the value of the present currency. No in¬
jury, therefore, would be done to lessees, ami no un¬
reasonable gain would accrue to the landed interest, in
appointing conversions of all laud rents at 2^ per cent,
above the value of the present currency.
Without a thorough knowledge of every circumstance
relating to Great Britain, it is impossible to lay down
any plan. It is sufficient here briefly to point out the
principles upon which it must be regulated.
The next interest to be considered is that of the na¬
tion’s creditors. The right regulation of their concerns
will have a considerable influence in establishing public
credit upon a solid basis, by making it appear to all the
world, that no political operation upon the money of
Great Britain can in any respect either benefit or pre¬
judice the interest of those who lend their money upo-n
the faith of the nation. ,The regulating also the inte¬
rest of so great a body, will serve as a rule for all cre¬
ditors who are in the same circumstances, and will upon
other accounts be productive of greater advantages to
the nation in time coming.
In 1749, a new regulation was made with the pub¬
lic creditors, when the interest of the whole redeemable
national debt was reduced to 3 per cent. This cir¬
cumstance infinitely facilitates the matter with respect
to this class, since by this innovation of all former con¬
tracts, -the whole national debt may be considered as
contracted at, or posterior to, the 25th December
1749.
Were the state, by an arbitrary operation upon
money (which every reformation must be), to diminish
the value of the pound sterling in which the parlia¬
ment at that time bound the nation to acquit those
capitals and the interest upon them, would not all Eu¬
rope say, That the British parliament had defrauded
their creditors P If therefore the operation proposed to
be performed should have a contrary tendency, viz. to
augment the value of the pound sterling with which
the parliament at that time hound the nation to ac¬
quit those capitals and interests, must not all Europe
also agree, that lire British parliament had defraudeJ
the nation ?
The convention with the ancient creditors of tire
state, who, in consequence of the -debasement of the
standard, might have justly claimed an indemnification
for the loss upon their capitals, lent at a time when
the pound sterling was at the value of the heavy sil¬
ver, removes all causes of complaint from that quarter.
There was in the year 1749 an innovation in all
their contracts $ and they are now to be considered
as creditors only from the 25th of December of that
year.
Let tlie value of the pound sterling he inquired in¬
to during one year preceding and one posterior to the
transaction of the month of December 1749. The
great sums borrowed and paid back' by the nation dur¬
ing that period, will furnish data sufficient for that
calculation. Let this value of the pound be specified
in troy grains of fine silver and fine gold bullion, with¬
out mentioning any denomination of money according
to the exact proportion of the metals at that time.
And let this pound be called the pound of national
credit.
This first operation-being determined, let it be enact¬
ed, that the pound sterling, by which the state is to
S s a borrow
Money.
money.
borrow for the future, and that in which the creditors
are to be paid, shall be the exact mean proportion be¬
tween the quantities of gold and silver above specified
according to the actual proportion of the mf ^ ^
time such payments shall be made: or that the
shall be borrowed or acquitted, one half m g«ld
one half in silver, at the respective requisitmns of the
creditors or of the state, when borrowing AH debts
contracted posterior to 1749 maY be made liable t0
The consequence of this regulation will be the insen¬
sible establishment of a bank money. _ Nothing would
be more difficult to establish, by a positive revolution,
than such an invariable measure *, and nothing will be
found so easy as to let it establish itself by its own ad¬
vantages. This bank money will be liable to much
fewer inconveniences than that ot Am&teidam. ieie
the persons transacting must be upon the spot •, here,
the sterling currency may, every quarter ot a year,
lie adjusted by the exchequer to this invariable stand¬
ard, for the benefit of all debtors and creditors who
incline to profit of the stability of this measure ot va-
1U This scheme is liable to no inconvenience from
the variation of the metals, let them be ever so fre¬
quent or hard to be determined •, because upon every
occasion where there is the smallest doubt as to the
actual proportion, the option competent ^ credi¬
tors to be paid half in silver and half m gold will
Tt Sudi a regulation will also have this good effect,
that it will give the nation more just ideas of the na¬
ture of money, and consequently of the influence it
ought to have upon prices. , „ , f 1
If the value of the pound sterling shall be found
to have been by accident less in December 1749 than
it is at present 5 or if at present the currency be found
below what it has commonly been since 1749 ; »n jus'
tice to the creditors, and to prevent all complaints, he
nation may grant them the mean proportion ot the
value of the pound sterling from 1749 to tJ60’ or
any other which may to parliament appear reason,
^This regulation must appear equitable in the eyes
of all Europe *, and the strongest proof of it will be,
that it will not produce the smallest effect prejudicial
to the interest of the foreign creditors. 1 he course
of exchange with regard to them will stand precisely
before* • •
‘ A Dutch, French, or German creditor, will receive
the same value for his interest in the English stocks as
heretofore. This must silence all clamours at home,
being the most convincing proof, that the new regu¬
lation of the coin will have made no alteration upon
the real value of any man’s property, let him be debtor
or creditor. . . r
The interest of every other denomination ot credi¬
tors, whose contracts are of a fresh date, may be regu¬
lated upon the same principles. But where debts aie
of an old standing, justice demands, that attention be
had to the value of money at the time ot contracting.
Nothing but the stability of the English coin, when
compared with that of other nations, can make such a
proposal appear extraordinary. Nothing is better
known in France than this stipulation added to obli¬
gations, Argent au eours de ce jour ; that is to say, That .
the sum shall be paid in coin of the same intrinsic value ^
with what has been lent. Why should such a clause
be thought reasonable for guarding people against ar¬
bitrary operations upon the numerary value ot the coin,
and not be found just upon every occasion where the
numerary value of it is found to be changed, let the
cause be what it will ? . . f ,
The next interest we shall examine is that ot trade..
When men have attained the age of 21, they have no
more occasion for guardians. This may be applied to
traders 5 they can parry with their pen every ^inconve¬
nience which may result to other people from the
changes upon money, provided only the laws permit
them to do themselves justice with respect to their en¬
gagements. This class demands no more than a right
to convert all reciprocal obligations into denominations
of coin of the same intrinsic value with those they have
contracted in. ,
The next interest is that of buyers and sellers; that
is of manufacturers with regard to consumers, and of
servants with respect: to those who hire their personal
service. . . , , • ,
The interest of this class requires a most particular
attention. They must, literally speaking, be put to
school, and taught the first principles of their trade,
which is buying and selling. They must learn to judge
of price by the grains of silver and gold they receive :
they are children of a mercantile mother, however war¬
like the father’s disposition. If it be the interest of the
state that their bodies he rendered robust and active,
it is no less the interest of the state that their minds be
instructed in the first principles of the trade they exer-
C1SFor this purpose, tables of conversion from the old
standard to the new must be made, and ordered to be
put up in every market, in every shop. All duties, all
excises, must be converted in the same manner. Uni¬
formity must be made to appear everywhere. I he
smallest deviation from this will be a stumbling block
to the multitude. a
Not only the interest of the individuals of the class
we are at present considering, demands the nation s
care and attention in this particular 5 but the prospe¬
rity of trade, and the wellbeing of the nation, are also
deeply interested in the execution, . e
The whole delicacy of the intricate combinations of
commerce depends upon a just and equable vibration
of prices, according as circumstances demand it. Iht
more, therefore, the industrious classes are instructed in
the principles which influence prices, tne more easily ,
will the machine move. A workman then learns 0
sink his price without regret, and can raise ,t without
avidity. When principles are not understood, prices
cannot gently tall, the, must.be pulled down: and mer-
chants dare not suffer them to rise, for fear of abuse,
even although the perfection of an infant manufactu
ShlterSt.erest Is that of the hank of England,
which naturally must regulate that of every othtr- f
Had this great company followed the examp
other banks, and established a bank-money of an inva¬
riable standard as the measure of all their deb _
credits, they would not have been liable to any
venience upon a variation of the standard.
I
M O
The bank of England was projected about the year
J 1694, at a time when the current money of the nation
was in the greatest disorder, and government in the
greatest distress both for money and for credit. Com-
jnerce was then at a very low ebb j and the only, or
at least the most profitable, trade of any, was jobbing
in coin, and carrying backwards and forwards the pre¬
cious metals from Holland to England. Merchants
profited also greatly from the effects which the utter
disorder of the coin produced upon the price of mer¬
chandise.
At such a juncture the resolution was taken to make
a new coinage j and upon the prospect of this, a com.
pany was found, who, for an exclusive charter to hold
a bank for 13 years, willingly lent the government
upwards of a million sterling at 8 per cent, (in light
money we suppose), with a prospect of being repaid
both interest and capital in heavy. This was not all :
part of the money lent was to be applied for the esta¬
blishment of the bank j and no less than 4000I. a-year
was allowed to the company, above the full interest,
for defraying the charge of the management.
Under such circumstances the introduction of hank-
money was very superfluous, and would have been very
impolitic. That invention is calculated against the
raising of the standard : but here the bank profited of
that rise in its quality of creditor for money lent •, and
took care not to commence debtor by circulating their
paper until the effect of the new regulation took place
in 16955 that is, after the general re-coinage of all
the clipped silver.
From that time till now, the bank of England has
been the basis of the nation’s credit, and with great
reason has been constantly under the most intimate pro-
tection of every minister.
The value of the pound sterling, as we have seen, has
been declining ever since the year 1601, the standard
being fixed to silver during all that century, while the
gold was constantly rising. No sooner had the pro¬
portion taken another turn, and silver begun to rise,
than the government of England threw the standard
virtually upon the gold, by, regulating the value of the
guineas at the exact proportion of the market. By
these operations, however, the bank has constantly
been a gainer (in its quality of debtor) upon all the
paper in circulation 5 and therefore has lost nothing by
not having established a bank-money.
The interest of this great company being established
upon the principles we have endeavoured to explain, it
is very evident, that the government of England never
will take any step in the reformation of the coin which
-n its consequences can prove hurtful to the bank.
Such a step would be contrary both to justice and to
common sense. To make a regulation which, by rais¬
ing the standard, would prove beneficial to the public
creditors, to the prejudice of the bank (which we may
call the public debtor}, would be an operation upon
public credit like that of a person who is at great pains
to support his house by props on all sides, and who at
the same time blows up the foundation of it with gun¬
powder.
We may therefore conclude, that with regard to the
bank of England, as well as every other private bank¬
er, the notes which are constantly payable upon de¬
mand must be made liable to a conversion at the actual
N E Y.
value of the pound sterling at the time of the new re¬
gulation.
That the hank will gain by this, is very certain ; hut
the circulation of their notes is so swift, that it would
be absurd to allow to the then possessors of them that
indemnification which naturally should be shared by all
those through whose hands they have passed, in pro¬
portion to the debasement of the standard during the
time of their respective possession.
Besides these considerations, which are in common to
all states, the government of Great Britain has one pe¬
culiar to itself. The interest of the hank, and that of
the creditors, are diametrically opposite •, every thing
which raises the standard Kurts the bank; every thing
which can sink it hurts the creditors : and upon the
right management of the one and the other, depends
the solidity of public credit. For these reasons, with¬
out the most certain prospect of conducting a restitution
of the standard to the general advantage as well as ap¬
probation of the nation, no minister will probably ever
undertake so dangerous an operation.
We shall now propose an expedient which may re¬
move at least some of the inconveniences which would
result from so extensive an undertaking as that of regu¬
lating the respective interests in Great Britain by a po¬
sitive law, upon a change in the value of their money
of account.
Suppose then, that, before any change is made in the
coin, government should enter into a transaction with
the public creditors, and ascertain a permanent value
for the pound sterling for the future, specified in a de¬
termined proportion of the fine metals in common bul¬
lion, without any regard to money of account, or to any
coin whatever.
This preliminary step being taken, let the intended
alteration of the standard. be proclaimed a certain time
before it is to commence. Let the nature of the
change be clearly explained, and let all such as are en¬
gaged in contracts which are dissolvable at will upon
the prestations stipulated, be acquitted between the
parties, or innovated as they shall think proper j with
certification, that, postei’ior to a certain day, the stipu¬
lations formerly entered into shall be binding according
to the denominations of the money of account in the
new standard.
As to permanent contracts, which cannot at once
be fulfilled and dissolved, such as leases, the parliament
may either prescribe the methods and terms of conver¬
sion 5 or a liberty may be given to the parties to annul
the contract, upon the debtor’s refusing to perform his
agreement according to the new standard. Contracts,
on the other hand, might remain stable, with respect to
creditors who would be satisfied with payments made
on the footing of the old standard. If the rise intended
should not be very considerable, no great injustice can
follow such a regulation.
Annuities are now thoroughly understood, and the
value of them is brought to so nice a calculation,
that nothing will fie easier than to regulate these
upon the footing of the value paid for them, or of
the subject affected by them. If by the regulation,
land rents are made to rise in denomination, the an¬
nuities charged upon them ought to rise in propor¬
tion 5 if in intrinsicjvalue, the annuity should remain
as it was.
3
9. Regulations
*
326
M O N
Money.
9. Regulations which the Principles of this Inquiry
point out ds expedient to be made by a new Sta¬
tute for regulating the British Com.
Let us now examine -wbat regulations it may be
proper to make by a new statute concerning the coin
pf Great Britain, in order to preserve always the same
exact value of the pound sterling realized in gold and
in silver, in spite of all the incapacities inherent in
the metals to perform the functions of an invariable
scale or measure of value.
r. The first point is to determine the exact number
of grains of fine gold and fine silver which arc to com¬
pose it, according to the then proportion of the metals
in the London market.
2. To determine the proportion of these metals
with the pound troy 5 and in regard that the standard of
gold and silver is different, let the mint price of both
metals be regulated according to the pound troy fine.
3. To fix the mint price within certain limits j that
is to say, to leave to the king and council, by procla¬
mation, to carry the mint price of bullion up to the va->
lue of the coin, as is the present regulation, or to sink
it to per cent, below that price, according as go¬
vernment shall incline to impose a duty upon coinage.
4. To order, that silver and gold coin shall be struck
of such denominations as the king shall think fit to ap¬
point j in which the proportion of the metals above
determined shall be constantly observed through every
denomination of the coin, until necessity shall make a
new general coinage unavoidable.
5. To have the number of grains of the fine metal
in every piece marked upon the exergue, or upon the
legend of the coin, in place of some initial letters of
titles, which not one person in a thousand can decy¬
pher ; and to make the coin of as compact a form as
possible, diminishing the surface of it as much as is
consistent with beauty.
6. That it shall be lawful for all contracting parties
to stipulate their payments either in gold or silver
coin, or to leave the option of the species to one of
the parties.
7. That where no particular stipulation is made, cre¬
ditors shall have power to demand payment, half in one
species, half in the other ; and when the sum cannot
fall equally into gold and silver coins, the fractions to
be paid in silver.
8. That in buying and selling, when no particular
species has been Stipulated, and when no act in writing
has intervened, the option of the species shall be com¬
petent to the buyer.
9. That all sums paid or received by the king’s re¬
ceivers, or by bankers, shall be delivered by weight,
if demanded.
10. That all money which shall be found under the
legal weight, from whatever cause it may proceed, may
be rejected in every payment whatsoever 5 dr if offered
in payment of a debt above a certain sum, may be ta¬
ken according to its weight, at the then mint pi'ice, in
the option of the creditor.
it. That no penalty shall be incurred by those who
melt down or export the nation’s coin •, but that wash-
tug, clipping, or diminishing the weight of any part
2
E Y.
of it shall be deemed felony, as much as any other ^0R(,
theft, if the person so degrading the coin shall after-—y"
wards make it circulate for lawful money.
To prevent the inconveniences proceeding from the
variation in the proportion between the metals, it may
be provided,
12. That upon every variation of proportion in the
market price of the metals, the price of both shall be
changed, according to the following rule :
Let the price of the pound troy fine gold in the coin
be called G.
Let the price of ditto in the silver be called S.
Let the new proportion between the market price of
the metals be called P.
Then state this formula :
G S
2P
tency.
S G
+ P + -—= to a pound troy fine gold, in sterling
-j to a pound troy fine silver, in sterling cur-
currency.
This will be a rule for the mint to keep the price
of the metals constantly at par with the price of the
market 5 and coinage may be imposed, as has been
described, by fixing, the mint price of them at a
certain rate below the value of the fine metals in the
.coin.
13. As long as the variation of the market price of
the metals shall not carry the price of the rising metal
so high as the advanced price of the coin above the
bullion, no alteration need be made on the denomina-
tion of either species.
14. So soon as the variation of the market price of
the metals shall give a value to the rising species, above
the difference between the coin and the bullion j then
the king shall alter the denominations of all the coin,
silver and gold, adding to the coins of the rising metal
exactly what is taken from those of the other. An ex¬
ample will make this plain :
Let us suppose that the coinage has been made ac¬
cording to the proportion of 14.5 to 1 y that 20 shil-.
lings, or 4 crown-pieces, shall contain, in fine silver,
14.5 times as many grains as the guinea, or the gold
pound, shall contain grains of fine gold. Let the new
proportion of the metals be supposed to be 14 to 1.
In that case, the 20 shillings, or the 4 crowns, will
contain ^ more value than the guinea. Now since
there is no question of making a new general coinage
upon every variation, in order to adjust the proportion
of the metals in the weight of the coins, that propor¬
tion might be adjusted by changing their respective de¬
nominations according to this formula :
Let the 20 shillings, or 4 crowns, in coin, be called
S. Let the guinea be called G. Let the difference
between the old proportion and the new, which is -/j
be called P. Then say.
=r a pound sterling, and G -f- — =
a pound
sterling.
By this it appears that all the silver coin must be
raised in its denomination and all the gold coin
must be lowered in its denomination ^ ; yet still S-j-G
will be equal to two pounds sterling, as before, whe-
MONEY.
i oney-
ivy-—'
ther they be considered according to the old or ac¬
cording to the new denominations.
But it may be observed, that the imposition of coin¬
age rendering the value of the coin greater than the
value of the bullion, that circumstance gives a certain
latitude in fixing the new denominations of the coin,
so as to avoid minute fractions. For, providing the
deviation from the exact proportion shall fall within
the advanced price of the coin, no advantage can be
taken by melting down one species preferably to an¬
other 5 since, in either case, the loss incurred by melting
the coin must be greater than the profit made upon
selling the bullion. The mint pidce of the metals,
however, may be fixed exactly, that is, within the value
of a farthing upon a pound of fine silver or gold. This
is easily reckoned at the mint; although upon every
piece in common circulation the fractions of farthings
would be inconvenient.
15. That notwithstanding of the temporary varia¬
tions made upon the denomination of the gold and
silver coins, all contracts formerly entered into, and all
stipulations in pounds, shillings, and pence, may con¬
tinue to be acquitted according to the old denomina¬
tions of the coins, paying one half in gold and one-
half in silver : unless in the case where a particular
species has been stipulated ; in which case, the sums
must be paid according to the new regulation made
Upon the denomination of that species, to the end
that neither profit or loss may result to an^ of the
parties.
16. That notwithstanding the alterations on the
mint price of the metals, and in the denomination of
the coins, no change shall be made upon the weight
of the particular pieces of the latter, except in the
case of a general re-coinage of one denomination at
least: that is to say, the mint must not coin new gui¬
neas, crowns, &c. of a different weight from those al¬
ready in currency, although by so doing the fractions
might be avoided. This would occasion confusion,
and the remedy would cease to be of any use upon a
new change in the proportion of the metals. But it
may be found convenient, for removing the small frac¬
tions in shillings and sixpences, to recoin such deno¬
minations altogether, and to put them to their in¬
teger numbers of twelve and of six pence, without
changing in any respect their proportion of value to
all other denominations of the coin : this will be no
great expence, when the bulk of the silver coin is put
into 5 shilling pieces.
By this method of changing the denomination of
the coin, there never can result any alteration in the
value of the pound sterling, and although fractions
of value may now and then be introduced, in order to
prevent the abuses to which the coin would otherwise '■
be exposed by the artifice of those who melt it down,
yet still the inconvenience of such fractions may be
avoided in paying, according to the old denomina¬
tions, in both species, by equal parts. This will
also prove demonstratively, that no change is there¬
by made in the true value of the national unit of
money.
17. That it be ordered, that shillings and sixpences
shall only be current for 20 years j and all other coins,
both gold and silver, for 40 years, or more. For as¬
certaining which term, there may be marked, upon
the exergue of the coin, the last year of their cur¬
rency, in place of the date of their fabrication. This
term elapsed, or the date effaced, that they shall have-
no more currency whatsoever; and, when offered in
payment, may be received as bullion at the actual
price of the mint, or refused, at the option of the cre¬
ditor.
18. That no foreign coin shall have any legal cur¬
rency', except as bullion at the mint price.
By these and the like regulations may be pre¬
vented, imO) The melting or exporting of the coin in
general. 2(lo, The melting or exporting one species,
in order to sell it as bullion at an advanced price.
3^0, The profit in acquitting obligations preferably
in one species to another. 4/0, The degradation of the
standard, by the wearing of the coin, or a change*
in the proportion between the metals, jfo, The circu¬
lation of the coin below the legal weight. 6fo, The
profit that other nations reap by paying their debts
more cheaply to Great Britain than Great Britain can
pay her’s to them.
And the great advantage of it is, that it is an uni- '
form plan, and may serve as a perpetual regulation,
compatible with all kinds of denominations of coins,
variations in the proportion of the metals, and with the
imposition of a duty upon coinage, or with the pre¬
serving it free j and further, that it may in time be
adopted by other nations, who will find the advantage
of having their money of account preserved perpetually
at the same value, with respect to the denominations of
all foreign money of account established on the same
principles. But for a fuller discussion of this subject
we must refer our readers to the articles Banking anck-
Exchange in the Supplement, and to Mr Wheatley’s
Essay on the Theory of Money and Principles of Com¬
merce, London 1807 5 ant^ to a Treatise on the Coin»
of the Realm, in a letter to the king, rby the Earl of
Liverpool, London i8oy.
327
Money.
“~V—'
A TABLE
2 A Florin in Silver
Dutch Coins. German Coins.
Q\^n 4^. Oi to m
o ^ O O ^ O 3
E 5* o o 5“ s
3 § c | o a
Si. 3* a: pa 3* P _
g. 3 £ H 3 —
^ fJ O O O O OQ
2‘ C l-fj i-»j *-f3 P
5-'§ >< § § « S
re ft 3“ ^
«. i 1 p g § g
P ^-qq
r-*-
S' o' a*
3 3 rt
3- «
« p:
O
‘W
O
>1
ft-
o’
4^
toj V
cr
CD
C5 o
E p
2-3
s' 5*
I!
\o
I o
3
4^
to
?r
M O
French Coins.
OO'-J ON^i ^ ko
^ g S! tr1 M ^ ^
P-, t-*l H-( ~ E. M H
p ps p 2 o o
O O o ™ ^
o o o
c« rD
p-
o
t-*-j ^ >-t-j
S.crq M
2- p w
ft >-“ M. w
2.3 2.'
3 ft cw’
ft »? S'
tfc
“ 2. «=
o i-T. at „.
< 3 3
ft ft
A ^Crq ^
^ I ®.T
tg.gr ®
>*+ M , K!
s o ^
sn s >■*
o o
I
11
N E Y.
English Coins.
m Uj to ^ o 'O OO'J 0\Vi -4^ f>-> to i-i
£ O O £ ? Q g g £ £ £ £ O
g g.S.Sl |-r^lr< .= 1 I-
3 3 2
- 3 _ _
3“ p-AABa-L^t^p-j'-;
co3^23*23
'->• p tfSi.3’Aa'c22S?vS
p- a re 3- ft
<1 >-t
3“
_ _ _ a-^
_ __332v^cn
^3 tr. ^^.g-^p-^p
o cc GO ^ p
C 2 3 3
3“
►I >-3
M S
re
3 Oq
ri p
a CZX¥ ~ cp S- s
O 11
§2-^0
S o ^
S 3 SE ^3
re re .
3*. h 3 a~. p.
3 a*. 3". 3 3*
p-crq 3 3 Oq r3
re .. oq oq ^.crq
3 g- p 3“
re
l-rt — o w
5* 2 ►a
'S-S'^
g- w f" H 0
“ 40 p “ ~
re
P
p *12
3 2
CT. ^
re
_ _ 3
re 1-3 ^2
o ^1
cc
CN
O !T“ 'i'll M 7\
^ -|M 3\®. 5''oJ« 00 o
H)
5'cr5*
O CJ-
I ^ •
CfQ H-3
11 1|i111 111111i1 1is1
B‘ B"
qg §
2_ ^
g w S'
a- ^ 2
^ O 34
3' W ^
|-s
I I
n
o
>tJ3
p re
n o
1-0
3 *-l
S' E.
- s'
p 05
3- re
f *>
< p"
re ^
II II I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
re ^
t^N
H
Ui
00
4-*
O
Cfq
4i.
ON
•^-1
ON
OJ
On
Crq
a
a
I
k-.OQ
a ^
^ 3
-. O
5 |-re
rt 3^
Z 3
3. 03
5 p
On
NO
a
'Tj ft
•-t <
o n>
3^
S- o
p a.
rt 3
^ a
n>
C/i
■- • Cft
Crq o
a * a
Crq
a- P'
a> o
Cl
o a’
a ^
< r+
ft pr'
^ A
ft t-f
P- ^
-.crq
a £
o g
o n
f- 2-
1 |.
o
^Oq
-g ^
2 5"
r4 ^
I'e
re a.
p
3
p-
3 <1,
Crq a"
UNIVERSAlf
A TABLE OF COINS,
Showing the Quantity of Fine Metal contained in them.
[ 329 ]
UNIVERSAL TABLE
Of the present State of the Real and Imaginary Moneys of the'Wok tx-,
f Tins mark is prefixed to the Imaginary Money, or Money of Account.
All Fractions in the Value English are Parts of a Penny.
= This mark signifies is, make, or equal to.
ENGLAND and SCOTLAND.
London, Bristol, Liverpool, &c.
Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen, &c.
L.
A Farthing
2 Farthings
2 Halfpence
4 Pence
6 Pence
12 Pence
5 Shillings
20 Shillings
21 Shillings
O
a Halfpenny - o
a Penny - o
a Groat - O
a Half Shilling o
a Shilling - o
a Crown - o
f a Pound Sterling I
a Guinea - I
d.
OF
Of
I
4
6
o
o
o
o
IRELAND.
Dublin, Cork, Londonderry, &c.
A Farthing - - - O O
2 Farthings r= a Halfpenny - o o
2 Halfpence a Penny - o o
6f Pence a Half Shilling o o
12 Pence f a Shilling Irish o o
13 Pence a Shilling - 01
65 Pence a Crown - ° 5
20 Shillings fa Pound Irish o 18
22j Shillings a Guinea - 1 1
OtV
o/t
ofif
6
o
o
cx
J2
o
FLANDERS and BRABANT.
Ghent, Ostend, &c. Antwerp, Brussels, &c.
f A Pening
4 Peningens = an Urche
8 Peningens f a Grote
2 Grotes
6 Petards
7 Petards
40 Grotes
171" Scaling
240 Grotes
a Petard
f a Scalin
a Scalin
f a Florin
a Ducat
f a Pound Flem.
60
o-g%-
O-Ar
St
6
3
o
HOLLAND and ZEALAND.
Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Middleburg, Flushing, &c.
f A Pening
8 Peningcns =fa Grote
2 Grotes a Stiver
6 Stivers a Scalin
20 Stivers ,. a Guilder
5° Stivers a Rixdollar
Vol. XIV. Part I. f
/-s 2 r
off
I Vo
6-i3o
9
44
60 Stivers
105 Stivers
6 Guilders
HOLLAND, &c.
=: a Dry Guilder
a Ducat
f a Pound Flem.
£. s, if.
0 5 3
0 9 3
o 10 6
HAMBURG. Altona, Lubec, Bremen, &c.
f A Tryling
2 Trylings
2 Sexlings
12 Fenings
16 Shillings
2 Marcs
3 Marcs
Marcs
120 Shillings
f a Sexling
a Fening
a Shilling Lub.
f a Marc
a Slet Dollar
a Rixdollar
a Ducat
f a Pound Flem.
0
o
0
O
I
3
4
9
11
Ojr I $■
O'oV
0-‘
V
6
o
6
4#
3
HANOVER,
f A Fening
3 Fenings
8 Fenings
12 Fenings
8 Groshen
16 Groshen
24 Groshen
32 Groshen
4 Guldens
Lunenburg, Zell, &c.
- - - - o
a Dreyer - o
a Marien - o
a Grosh - o
a Half Gulden o
a Gulden - o
t a Rixdollar - o
a Double Gulden o
a Ducat - o
UTS-
O-r^r
Of
o|
2
4
6
8
2
SAXONY and HOLSTEIN.
Dresden, Leipsic, ,&c. Wismar, Keil, &c,
f An Heller ~ - 0
2 Hellers a Fening . - o
6 Hellers a Dreyer - o
16 Hellers a Marien - o
12 Fenings a Gresh - o
16 Groshen a Gould - o
24 Groshen, -f a Rixdolkr - o
32 Groshen a Specie Dollar o
4 Goulds a Ducat - o
O^V
°T^
If
BRANDENBURG andPOMERANIA.
Berlin, Potsdam, &c. Stetin, &c.
t A Denier rr - -
9 Deniers a Polchen
18 Deniers a Grosh
3 Polchens an Abrass
20 Groshen fa Marc
T t 30 Groshen
°TS
Ott
Ots-
9i
EUROPE, Northern Parts.
MONEY.
30 Groshen
90 Groshen
108 Groshen
8 Florins
BRANDENBURG, &c.
a Florin
fa Rixdollar
an Albertus
a Ducat
L.
o
o
o
o
d.
2
6
2
4
COLOGN. Mentz, Triers, Liege, Munich, Munster,
Paderbourn, &c.
A Dute
3 Dates —
2 Cruitzers
8 Dates
3 Stiver’s
4 Plaperts
40 Stivers
2 Guilders
4 Guilders
a Cruitzer
an Albus
a Stiver
a Plapert
a Copstuck
a Guilder
a Hard Dollar
a Ducat
o
o
o
o
o
o
2
4
9
°To
Ow
°To
2to
BOHEMIA, SILESIA, and HUNGARY.
Prague, Breslaw, Presburg, &c.
A Fening - - -
2 Fenings = a Dreyer
3 Fenings a Grosh
4 Feuings a Cruitzer
2 Cruitzers a White Grosh
60 Cruitzers a Gould
90 Cruitzers fa Rixdollar
2 Goulds a Hard Dollar
4 Goulds a Ducat
°'5o'
O^o-
Ott
4
6
8
4
AUSTRIA and SWABIA.
Vienna, Trieste, &c. Augsburg, Blenheim, &c.
A Fening
2 Fenings
4 Fenings
14 Fenings
4 Cruitz.ers
15 Batzen
90 Cruitzers
30 Batzen
60 Batzen
a Dreyer
a Cruitzer
a Grosh
a Batzen
a Gould
fa Rixdollar
a Specie Dollar
a Ducat
°no
0To
°tV
Ofo-
i-rr
4
6
8*
4
FRANCONIA. Framfort,Nuremburg,Dettingen, &C.
A Fening
4 Fenings
3 Cruitzers
4 Cruitzers
13 Cruitzers
16 Cruitzers
90 Cruitzers
2 Goulds
^240 Cruitzers
a Cruitzer
a Keyser Grosh
a Batzen
an Ort Gould
a Gould
fa Rixdollar
a Hard Dollar
a Ducat
o
o
o
o
o
2
3
4
9
7
4
6
8
4
POLAND and PRUSSIA.
Cracow, Warsaw, &c. Dantxic, Koningsberg, &c.
A Shelon - - . _ 00 o^j-
3 Shelons n a Grosh - 00 0Tj
5 Groshen a Coustic - o o 2y
3 Coustics a Tinse - 007
18 Groshen =
30 Groshen
90 Groshen
8 Florins
5 Rixdollars
POLAND, &c.
an Ort
a Florin
fa Rixdollar
a Ducat
a Frederic d’Or
L. s. d.
o o
O I i
036
094
0176
LIVONIA.
Biga, Revel, Narva, &c.
A Blacken - - - - 00
6 Blackens = a Grosh - ‘ 00
9 Blackens a Vording - 00
2 Groshen a Whiten - 00
6 Groshen a Marc - 0 0
30 Groshen a Florin - 01
90 Groshen fa Rixdollar - 0 3
108 Groshen an Albertus - 0 4
64 Whitens a Copperplate Dollar o 5
o-l
°V
°r-
Ofl
2f !
6
2/.
0
DENMARK, ZEALAND, and NORWAY.
Copenhagen, Sound, &c. Bergen, Dronthcim, &c.
A Skilling - - - 00
6 Skillings — a Duggen - 00
16 Skillings fa Marc - - 00
20 Skillings . a.Rixmarc - 00
24 Skillings a Rixort - - 01
4 Marcs a Crown - - 0 3
6 Marcs a Rixdollar - 04
11 Marcs a Ducat - - 083
14 Marcs a Hatt Ducat - o 10 6
CA
3l
9
U
0
6
SWEDEN and LAPLAND.
Stockholm, Upsal, &c. Thorn, &c.
f A Runstick - - - o o o-p
2 Runsticks ~ a Stiver - <0 0 of
8 Runsticks a Copper Marc o o i|
3 Copper Marcs a Silver Marc 004^
4 Copper Marcs a Copper Dollar o o
9 Copper Marcs a Caroline - 012
3 Copper Dollars a Silver Dollar o 1 6|
Silver Dollars a Rixdoljar - 048
2 Rixdollars a Ducat - 094
RUSSIA AND MUSCOVY^
Petersburg, Archangel, &c. Moscow, &c.
A Polusca - - . - 0 9
2 Poluscas = a Denusca - o o
2 Denuscas ta Copec - 00
3 Copecs an Altin - 00
10 Copecs a Grievener - 00
25 Copecs a Polpotin - 01
50 Copecs a Poltin - 0 2
100 Copecs a Ruble - 04
2 Rubles a Xervonitz o 9
0-!To:
of
Ofs
5t
3
6
0
BASIL. Zurich, Zug, &c.
A Rap - - _ .
3 Rapen a Fening
4 Fenings a Cruitzer
12 Fenings fa Sol
0
o
0
0
Fenic
.TL i?- .9.
15 Fenings
18 Fenings
20 Sols
6o Cruitzers
108 Cruitzers
BASIL, &c.
a Coarse Batzen
a Good Batzen
f a Livre
a Gulden
a Rixdollar
M ONE
L.
o
o
o
o
o
s. d.
O
o 2|
2 6
2 6
4 6
A Heller
2 Hellers
4 Fenings
12 Fenings
4 Cruitzers
5 Cruitzers
20 Sols
6o Cruitzers
102 Cruitzers
St GALL. Apensal, &c.
o
~ a Fening - o
a Cruiteer - o
t a Sol - o
a Coarse Batzen o
a Good Batzen o
f a Livre - o
a Gould - o
a Rixdollar - o
OxB-
°|-
2
2?-
6
6
3
BERN.
A Denier
4 Deniers =
3 Cruitzers
4 Cruitzers
5 Cruitzers
6 Cruitzers
20 Sols
75 Cruitzers
135 Cruitzers
Lucern, Neufchatel, &c.
a Cruitzer
i a Sol
a Plapert
a Gros
a Batzen
f a Livre
a Gulden
a CroWn
Ot'o
Of
If
If
2
2f
O
6
6
GENEVA. Pekay, Bonne, &c.
A Denier
2 Demers ~ a Denier current
12 Deniers a Small Sol
12 Deniers current a Sol current
12 Small Sols •j- a Florin
20 Sols current f a Livre current
1 of Florins a Patacon
ijf Florins a Croisade
. 24 Florins a Ducat
Orr
°tV
of
of
4f
3
3 Hi
5 iof
9 o
Lisle, Cambi'ay, Valenciennes, &c.
A Denier
12 Deniers ~ a Sol
15 Deniers t a Patard
15 Patards j- a Pietle
2o Sols a Livre Tournois
2o Patards a Florin
60 Sols an Ecu of Ex.
1 of Livres a Ducat
24 Livres a Louis d’Or
O-Q-g;
Of
°f
9f
10
of
6
3
o
Dunkirk, St Omens, St Quint in, &c.
A Denier
12 Deniers = a Sol
15 Deniers ' f a Patard
15 f a Piette
20 f a Livre Tournois
3 Livres an Ecu of Ex.
24 Livres a Louis d’Or
25f Livres a Guinea
3 2f Livers a Moeda
o
of
of
7f
10
6
o
o
o
p
O
05
O
Y- . 331
Paris, Lyons, Marseilles,&c. Bourdeaux, Bayonne,&c.
A Denier
3 Deniers
2 Liards
12 Deniers
20 Sols
60 Sols
6 Livres
10 Livres
„ 24 Livres
a Liard
a Dardene
a Sol
f a Livre Tournois
an Ecu of Ex.
an Ecu
f a Pistole
a Louis d’Or
Z.
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
I
d.
o /i
Off
Of
Of
10
6
o
4
o
PORTUGAL. Lisbon, Oporto, &c.
t A Re
10 Rez ~ a Half Vintin
20 Rez a Vintin
5 Vintins a Testoon
4 Testoons a Crusade of Ex.
a New Crusade
t a Milre
a Moeda
a Joanese
24 Vintins
10 Testoons
48 Testoons
64 Testoons
o
o
o
o
2
2
5
7
16
n 1 7
n2 7
OffW
T *7
1^'o'
6f
3
8f
7f
o .
o
Madrid, Cadiz, Seville, &c. Af’re P/cr^.
A Maravedie - - o
= a Quartil - o
a Rial - o
a Pistarine - o
t a Piastre of Ex. o
a Dollar - o
t a Ducat of Ex. o
f a Pistole of Ex. o
a Pistole - o
2 Maravedies
34 Maravedies
2 Rials
8 Rials
10 Rials
375 Maravedies
32 Rials
36 Rials
O
o
o
o
3
4
4
14
16
OfrV
°TT5
5ff
I of
7
6
iif •
4
9
Gibraltar,
t A Maravedie
2 Maravedies :
4 Maravedies
34 Maravedies
15 Rials
512 Maravedies
60 Rials
2048 Maravedies
78 Rials
Malaga, Denia, &c. Velon.
— an Ochavo
f a Quartil
t a Rial Velon
a Piastre of Ex.
f a Piastre
t a Pistole of Ex.
a Pistole of Ex.
a Pistole
o 14
o 16
o 16
Off'S
2ff
7
7
4
9
9
Barcelona, Saragossa, Valencia, &c. Old Plate.
A Maravedie
16 Maravedies
2 Soldos
20 Soldos
24 Soldos
16 Soldos
22 Soldos
21 Soldos
60 Soldos
: a Soldo
a Rial Old Plate
f a Libra
t a Ducat
f a Dollar
f a Ducat
f a Ducat
a Pistole
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
6 i6
o
3ff
6f
71
9
6
2f
5 iof
z 7
'Tryff
1
GENOA. JSovt, &c. CORSICA. Bastia, &c.
Orffs'
O—'Ll-.
'-'1
Iff
8f
A Denari
12 Denari
4 Soldi
20 Soldi
30 Soldi
: a Soldi
a Chevalet
t a Lire
a Testocn
Tt 2
5 Lircs
EUROPE, Southern Farts.
Italy.
322
M O N E
12 Denari
12 Soldi
20 Soldi
6 Florins
7 Florins
13 Lires
16 Lires
GENOA, &c.
5 Lires :
15 Soldi
6 Testoons
20 Lires
a Croisade
f a Pezzo of Ex.
a Genouine
a Pistole
£. s. d.
0 3 7
042
062
o 14 4
PIEDMONT, SAVOY, and SARDINIA.
Turin, Chambernj, Cagliari, &c.
A Denari
3 Denari
a Quatrini
a Soldi
f a Florin
i a Lire
a Send!
a Ducatoon
a Pistole
a Louis d’Or
OtV
16
o
Milan, Modena, Parma, Pavia, &c.
A Denari - -
: a. Quatrini
a Soldi
-f- a Lire
a Scudi current
f a Scudi of Ex.
a Philip
a Pistole
a Spanish Pistole
3 Denari
12 Denari
20 Soldi
115 Soldi
117 Soldi
6 Lires
22 Lires
23 Lires
o
o
o
o
4
4
4
16
16
°3'V
°T(9t
Oi-r
8-4X
2-g-
3
4^
o
A
Denari
Denari
Denari
Quatrini
Cracas
Soldi
Leghorn, Florence, &c.
4
12
5
8
20
6
7v,
22 Lires
Lires
Lires
a Quatrini
a Soldi
a Craca
a Quilo
-f- a Lire
a Piastre of Ex.
a Ducat
a Pistole
o
o
o
o
o
o
4
5
Ot7
2 S
T"8"
S
5#
8
2
6
ROME. Civita Vecchia, Ancona.
A Quatrini
5 Quatrini
8 Bayocs
10 Bayocs
24 Bayocs
10 Julios
12 Julios
18 Julios
31 Julios
a Bayoc
a Julio
a Stampt Julio
a Testoon
a Crown current
f a Crown stampt
a Chequin
a Pistole
O O
O O
CT5
6
6
o
° 15
A
3 Quatrini
10 Grains
NAPLES. Gaeta, Capua, &c.
Quatrini
a Grain
a Carlin
a Paultf
a Tarin
a Testoon
a Ducat of Ex.
a Pistole
a-Spanish Pistole
40 Quatrini
20 Grains
40 Grains
100 Grains
23 Tarins
25 Tarins
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
1 16
o
o
o
o
o
I
3
*5
4
5t
8
4
4
4
9
Cl
3
o
CO
W
O
w
0t4'J
°fV
Y.
SICILY AND MALTA.
Palermo, Messina, &c.
A Pichila
6 Pichili
8 Pichili
10 Grains
20 Grains
6 Tarins
13 Tarins
60 Carlins
2 Ounces
a Grain
a Ponti
a Carlin
a Tarin
f a Florin of Ex.
a Ducat of Ex.
f an Ounce
a Pistole
L.
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
d.
JT§-
JTT
Of?
ltt
3tt
7tt
8 4
0XT
Bologna, Ravenna, &c.
A Quatrini
6 Quatrini
10 Bayocs
20 Bayocs
3 Julios
80 Bayocs
105 Bayocs
100 Bayocs
31 Julios
a Bayoc
t a Julio
a Lire
a Testoon
a Schudi of Ex.
a Ducatoon
a Crown
a Pistole
o 0^
o o-l
o 6
1 6
4 3
5 3
5 0
J5 6
VENICE. Bvrgham, &c.
A Picoli
12 Picoli
61 Soldi
18 Soldi
20 Soldi
3 Jules
I 24 Soldi
24 Gros
17 Lires
a Soldi
f a Gros
a Jule
t a Lire
a Testocn
a Ducat current
t a Ducat of Ex.
t a Chequin
TK
1
l
TURKEY.
A Man gar
4 Mangars
3 Aspers
5 Aspers
10 Aspers
20 Aspers
80 Aspers
100 Aspers
10 Solotas
Morea, Candia, Cyprus, &c.
t an Asper
a Parac
a Bestic
an Ostic
a Solota
t a Piastre
a Caragrouch
a Xeriff
o
o
0
o
o-
I
4
5
10
ARABIA. Medina, Mecca, Mocha, &c.
of
of
3
6
0
0
0
0
A Garret
y-J Garrets
7 Garrets
80 Garrets
18 Comashees
60 Comashees
80 Careers
100 Comashees
80 Larins
o 0}
a Caveer
a Comashee
a Larin
an Abyss
4 a Piastre
a Dollar
a Sequin
f a Tomond
PERSIA.
A Coz
4 Coz
Ispahan, Ormus, Gombroon, &c.
10 Coz
20 Coz
25 Coz
4 Shahees
a Bisti
a Shahee
a Mamooda
a Larin
an Abashee
M
5 Abashees
12 Abashees
50 Abashees
~ an Or
a Botello
t a Tomond
o
L. s.
o 8
o 16
3 6
N E Y.
GUZZERAT. Surat, Cambay, &c.
A Eecka o o
2 Peckas == a Pice - 00
4 Pices a Fanam - 0 0
5 Pices a Viz - 00
10 Pices an Ana - 00
4 Anas a Rupee - o 2
2 Rupees an English Crown o 5
14 Anas a Pagoda - 08
4 Pagodas a Gold Rupee - 1 15
\ 1 s
>6?
■‘T
74
6
o
9
o
Bombay, Dabal, &.c.
t A Budgrook
2 Budgrooks =
5
16 Pices
20 Pices
240 Rez
4 Quarters
14 Quarters
60 Quarters
a Re
a Pice
a Laree
a Quarter
a Xeraphim
a Rupee
a Pagoda
a Gold Rupee
o
o
o
o
o
1
2
8
r5
n 2 7
n 2 7
uTo"5'
°1r4
5t
64
4f
3
o
a
D
0
o
f A Re
2 Rez =
2 Bazaracos
20 Rez
4 Vintins
3 Larees
42 Vintins
4 Tangus
8 Tangus
Goa, T'isapour, &c.
= a Bazaraco
a Peck a
a Vintin
a Laree
a Xeraphini
a Tangu
a Paru
a Gold Rupee
o
o
o
o
o
o
o 4
o 18
1
O'So o
°^2oV
n-?JL
o o
5x
4f
6
o
COROMANDEL. JHadrass, Pondicherry, &c.
A Cash
5 Cash
2 Viz
6 Pices
8 Pices
10 Fanam s
2 Rupees
36 Fanams
4 Pagodas
a Viz
a Pice
a Pical
a Fanam
a Rupee
an English Crown
a Pagoda
a Gold Rup ee
o
o
o
o
o
2
5
8
0fV
°tV
o|-
24
3
o
9
o
BENGAL. Callicut, Calcutta, &c.
A Pice - 0
4 Pices rr a Fanam - o
6 Pices a Viz - 0
12 Pices an Ana - o
10 Anas a Fiano - o
16 Anas a Rupee - o
2 Rupees a French Ecu o
2 Rupees an English Crown o
56 Anas a Pagoda. - o
'fV
n1 5
H
6|
6
o
o
9
CO
“<1
<1
c->
t-H
Pd
P-l
SIAM. Peg-//, Malacca, Cambodia,
Borneo, &c
333
Sumatra, Java,
A Cori
800 Cori
125 Fettees
250 Fettees
500 Fettees
900 Fettees
2 Ticals
4 Soocos
8 Sateleers
a Fette
a Sateleer
a Sooco
a Tical
a Dollar
a Rial
an Ecu
a Crown
CHINA. Pekin, Canton,
A Caxa
10 Caxa —
Z. s. d.
o o
o
o
1
2
4
5
5
5
°5'o'4s^
°Xo
74
3
6
6
o
o
o
&c.
10 Candereens
35 Candereens
2 Rupees
70 Candereens
7 Maces
2 Rupees
10 Maces
a Candereen
a Mace
a Rupee
a Dollar
a Rixdollar
an Ecu
a Crown
t a Tale
c 2
o 4
8
6
6
44
o
o
81
JAPAN. Jeddo, Meaco, &c.
A Piti
20 Pitis ~
15 Maces
20 Maces
30 Maces
13 Ounces Silver
2 Ounces Gold
2 Japaneses
21 Ounces Gold
a Mace
an Ounce Silver
a Tale
an Ingot
an Ounce Gold
a Japanese
a Double
t a Cattee
9
3 3
6 6
12 12
66 3
4
1*
8j
o
o
o
o
EGYI 1. Old and Mew Cairo, Alexandria, Sayde, &c.
An Asper
3 Aspers
24 Medins
80 Aspers
30 Medins
96 Aspers
32 Medins
200 Aspers
70 Medins
a Medin
an Italian Ducat
f a Piastre
a Dollar
an Ecu
a Crown
a Sultanin
a Pargo Dollar
O
O
3
4
4
5
S
10
10
4
o
6
o
a
o
o
BARBARY. Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli, Una, &c.
An Asper
3 AsP
10 Aspi
2 Rials
4 Doubles
24 Medins
30 Medins
180 Aspers
13 Doubles
ters nr
pers
a Medin
a Rial old Plate
a Double
a Dollar
a Silver Chequin
a Dollar
a Zequin
a Pistole
O
o
o
o
o
o
o
o 8 10
0169
°4
*T
64
14
6
4
6
MOROCCO. Santa Cruz-, Mequinez, Fez, Tangicrs,
Sallee, &c.
/ 7
A FJuce o o oTV
24 Fluces ~ a Blanquin - 002
4 Blanquils
o
t—I
ps
Im
<1
4
7
J4
2
28
54
IOO
Blanquils
Blanquils
Blanquils
Quartos
Blanquils
Blanquils
Blanquins
M O N
MOROCCO, &c,
zz an Ounce
an Octavo
a Quarto
a Medio
a Dollar
a Xequin
a Pistole
[ 334- J
Z. 5. d.
o o 8
o i
O 2
o 4
o 4
o 9
o 16
o
v-i
PP
1/3 i
w
5
z
ENGLISH. Jamaica, Barbadoes, &c
t Halfpenny
2 Halfpence r= f a Penny
y*- Pence - tj.*
12 Pence
75 Pence
7 Shillings
20 Shillings
24 Shillings
30 Shillings
a Bit
t a Shilling
a Dollar
a Crown
-J- a Pound
a Pistole
a Guinea
o 14
o 16
n S 7
OxTTo
5'B'
6“
o
3
9
o
Q
I—^
PS
w
<1
FRENCH. ^ Domingo, Martinico, &c.
t A Half Sol
2 Half Sols =
74 Sols
15 Sols
20 Sols
7 Livres
8 Livres
26 Livres
^32 Livres
a Sol
a Half Scalin
a Scalin
a Livre
a Dollar
an Ecu
a Pistole
a Louis d’Or
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
o 16
117
<570-
I I 7
3 a o
II
O'
O'
5-1
7-T6-
4 I0i
9
o
Money,
Monk.
H
Zo
o
MON
ENGLISH. Nova Scotia, Virginia, New England,&
L. s.
- _ - o 0
t a Shilling - o 1
f a Pound - - 1 0
t A Penny
12 Pence
20 Shillings
2 Pounds
3 Pounds
4 Pounds
5 Pounds
6 Pounds
7 Pounds
8 Pounds
9 Pounds
10 Pounds
The value of the Currency^
ters according to the Plenty 1
Scarcity of Gold and Silver Cu!j
that are imported.
Canada, Florida, Cayenne, &c.
f A Denier
- t a Sol.
t a Livre.
12 Deniers
20 Sols
2 Livres
3 Livres
4 Livres
5 Livres
6 Livres
7 Livres
8 Livres
9 Livres
10 Livres
The value of the Currency e
ters according to the Plenty
Scarcity of Gold and Silver Col
that are imported.
Note. For all the Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, and Dm.
Dominions, either on the Continent or in the West Indies,st
the Moneys of the respective nations.
Ancient Money. See Coins and Medals.
Paper Money. See the article Bank.
MONK anciently denoted, “ a person who retired
from the world to give himself up wholly to God, and
to live in solitude and abstinence.” The word is de¬
rived from the Latin monachus, and that from the Greek
jwevue^ss, “ solitary 5” of povo^, solus, “ alone.”
The origin of monks seems to have been this : The
persecutions which attended the first ages of the Gospel
forced some Christians to retire from the world, and
live in deserts and places most private and unfrequent¬
ed, in hopes of finding that peace and comfort among
beasts which were denied them among men. And this
being the case of some very extraordinary persons, their
example gave so much reputation to retirement, that
the practice was continued when the reason of its com¬
mencement ceased. After the empire became Christian,
instances of this kind were numerous j and those whose
security had obliged them to live separately and apart,
became afterwards united into societies. We may also
add, that the mystic theology, which gained ground
towards the close of the third century, contributed to
produce the same effect, and to drive men into solitude
for the purposes of enthusiastic devotion.
The monks, at least the ancient ones, were distin¬
guished into solitaries, coenobites, and sarabaites.
The. solitary are those who live alone, in places re¬
mote from all towns and habitations of men, as do still
3
some of the hermits. The coenobites are those who live
in community with several others in the same house,
and under the same superiors. The sarabaites were
strolling monks, having no fixed rule or residence.
The houses of monks again wei’e of two kinds, viz.
monasteries and laurce. See Monastery and Laura.
Those we call monks now a-days are coenobites, who
live together in a convent or monastery, who make
vows of living according to a certain rule established
by the founder, and wear a habit which distinguishes
their order.
Those that are endowed, or have a fixed revenue, are
most properly called monks, monachi; as the Chartreux,
Benedictines, Bernardines, &.c. The Mendicants, or
those that beg, as the Capuchins and Franciscans, are
more properly called religious and friars; though the
names are frequently confounded.
The first monks were those of St Anthony j who, to¬
wards the close of the fourth century, formed them
into a regular body, engaged them to live in society
with each other, and prescribed to them fixed rules for
the direction of their conduct. These regulations, which
Anthony had made in Egypt, were soon introduced into
Palestine and Syria by his disciple Hilarion. Almost
about the same time, Aones or Eugenius, with their
companions Gaddanas and Azyzas, instituted the mo¬
nastic order in Mesopotamia and the adjacent countries j
and their example wms followed wrtu sucn rapid success,
that
M O N
.nlj. that in a short time the whole east was filled with a lazy
set of mortals, who, abandoning all human connexions,
advantages, pleasures, and concerns, wore out a lan¬
guishing and miserable life amidst the hardships of want,
and various kinds of suffering, in order to arrive at a
more close and rapturous communication with God and
angels.
From the east this gloomy institution passed into the
west, and first into Italy and its neighbouring islands 5
though it is uncertain who transplanted it thither.
St Martin, the celebrated bishop of Tours, erected the
first monasteries in Gaul, and recommended this religi¬
ous solitude with such power and efficacy, both by his
instructions and his example, that his funeral is said to
have been attended by no less than 2000 monks. From
hence the monastic discipline extended gradually its
progress through the other provinces and countries of
Europe. There were besides the monks of St Basil
(called in the East Calogcri, from xctZoj ysg&iv, “ good old
man”) and those of St Jerome, the hermits of St Au¬
gustine, and afterwards those of St Benedict and St
Bernard ; at length came those of St Francis and St
Dominic, with a legion of others ; all which see under
their proper heads, Benedictines, &c.
Towards the close of the fifth century, the monks,
who had formerly lived only for themselves in solitary
retreats, and had never thought of assuming any rank
among the sacerdotal order, were now gradually di¬
stinguished from the populace, and endowed with such
opulence and honourable privileges that they found
themselves in a condition to claim an eminent station
among the supports and pillars of the Christian com¬
munity. The fame of their piety and sanctity w'as so
great, that bishops and presbyters were often chosen
out of their order 5 and the passion of erecting edifices
and convents, in which the monks and holy virgins
might serve God in the most commodious manner, was
at this time carried beyond all bounds. However their
licentiousness, even in this century, was become a pro¬
verb ; and they ave said to have excited the most
dreadful tumults and seditions in various places. The
monastic orders were at first under the immediate juris¬
diction of the bishops, from which they were exempted
by the Roman pontiff about the end of the 7th century ;
and the monks, in return, devoted themselves wdiolly to
advance the interests and to maintain the dignity of the
bishop of Rome. This immunity which they obtain¬
ed, was a fruitful source of licentiousness and disorder,
and occasioned the greatest part of the vices with which
they were afterwards so justly charged. In the 8th
century the monastic discipline was extremely relaxed
both in the, eastern and western provinces, and all
efforts to restore it were ineffectual. Nevertheless, this
kind of institution was in the highest esteem, and no¬
thing could equal the veneration that was paid about
the close of the 9th century to such as devoted them¬
selves to the sacred gloom and indolence of a convent.
This veneration induced several kings and emperors to
call them to their courts, and to employ them in civil
affairs of the greatest moment. Their reformation was
attempted by Louis the Meek, but the effect was of
short duration. In the 1 ith century they were exempt¬
ed by the popes from the authority of their sovereigns,
and new orders of monks were continually established ;
insomuch that in the council of Latcran that was held
MON
in the year 1215, a decree was passed, by the advice Monk,
of Innocent III. to prevent any new monastic institu- ~v-“
tions ; and several were entirely suppressed. In the
15th and 16th centuries, it appears, from the testimonies
of the best writers, that the monks were generally lazy,
illiterate, profligate, and licentious epicures, whose
views in life were confined to opulence, idleness, and
pleasure. However, the Reformation had a manifest
influence in restraining their excesses, and rendering
them more circumspect and cautious in their external
conduct.
Monks are distinguished by the colour of their ha¬
bits into black, tvhitc, gray, &c. Among the monks,
some are called monks of the choir, others professed
monks, and others lay monks; which last are destined
for the service of the convent, and have neither cleri-
cate nor* literal are.
Cloistered Monks, are those who actually reside in
the house : in opposition to e-rtra-monks, who have
benefices depending on the monastery.
Monks are also distinguished into reformed, whom
the civil and ecclesiastical authority have made masters
of ancient convents, and put in their power to retrieve
the ancient discipline, which had been relaxed ; and
ancient, who remain in the convent, to live in it ac¬
cording to its establishment at the time when they
made their vows, without obliging themselves to any
new reform.
Anciently the monks were all laymen, and were only *
distinguished from the rest of the people by a particular
habit and an extraordinary devotion. Not only the
monks were prohibited the priesthood, but even priests
were expressly prohibited from becoming monks, as ap¬
pears from the letters of St Gregory. Pope Syricins
was the first who called them to the clericate, on oc¬
casion of some great scarcity of priests, that the church
was then supposed to labour under : and since that
time, the priesthood has been usually united to the
monastical profession.
Monk, George, a personage memorable for having
been the principal agent in restoring Charles II. to his
crown, wras descended from a very ancient family, and
born in Devonshire in 1608. Being an unprovided
younger sou, he dedicated himself to aims from his
youth, and obtained a pair of colours in the expedition
to the Isle of. Rhee : he served afterwards in the Low
Countries with reputation, in both King Charles’s nor¬
thern expeditions ; and did such service in quelling the
Irish rebellion, that he was appointed governor of
Dublin, but was superseded by parliamentary authority.
Being made major-general of the Irish brigade employ¬
ed in the siege of Nantwich in Cheshire, he ivas taken
prisoner by Sir Thomas Fairfax, >and remained confined
in the Tower of London until the year 1646; when,
as the means of obtaining liberty, he took the covenant,
and accepted a command in the Irish service under the
parliament. He obtained the command in chief of all
the parliamentary forces in the north of Ireland, where
he did signal services, until he was called to account
for a treaty made with the Irish rebels ; a circumstance
which was only obliterated by his future good fortune.
He served in Scotland under Oliver Cromwell with
such success, that he was left there as commander in
chief; and he was one of the commissioners for uniting
that kingdom with the new erected commonwealth.
He
[ 355 ]
MON [ 33
Monk He served at sea also against the Dutch; and was treat-
|j ed so kindly on his return, that Oliver is said to have
Monmouth, g-ro^n jealous of him. He was, however, again sent to
v Scotland as commander in chief, and continued there
five years ; when he dissembled so well, and improved
circumstances so dexterously, that he aided the desires
of a wearied people, and restored the king without any
disturbance: for which he was immediately rewarded
both with honours and profit ; (See 13ntain, Iv 194?
&c.). He was created duke of Albemarle, with a
grant of 7000I. per annum estate, beside other emo¬
luments ; and enjoyed the confidence of his master
without forfeiting that of the people. After his death
in 1670, there was published a treatise composed by
him while he remained prisoner in the Tower, en¬
titled, “ Observations on Military and Political Af¬
fairs,” a small folio.
MosK-Fish. See Squalus, Ichthyology Index.
Monk's Head, or Wolfs bane. See Aconitum, Bo¬
tany Index.
MONKEY. See Simia, Mammalia Index.
MONMOUTH, James, Duke of, son to Charles
II. by Mrs Lucy Walters, was born at Rotterdam in
1649. Upon the Restoration, he was called over to
England, where the king received him with all ima¬
ginable joy, created him earl of Orkney (which was
changed into that of Monmouth), and he took his seat
in the house of peers in the ensuing session of parliament.
He married Anne, the heiress of Erancis earl of Buc-
cleugh •, and hence it came to pass that he had also the
title of Buccleugh, and took the surname of Scot, ac¬
cording to the custom of Scotland. In i&SS his father
made him captain of his life-guard of horse; and in
1672 he attended the French king in the Netherlands,
and gave proofs of bravery and conduct. In itJ73 the
king of France made him lieutenant-general of his
army, with which lie came before Maestricht, and be¬
haved himself with incredible gallantry, being the first
who entered it himself. He returned to England, was
received with all possible respect, and was received
chancellor of the university of Cambridge. After this
he went to assist the prince of Orange to raise the siege
of Mons, and did not a little contribute towards it.
He returned to England ; and was sent in quality of
his father’s general, to quell an insurrection in Scot¬
land, which he effected; but soon after he fell into
disgrace; for, being a Protestant, he was deluded into
ambitious schemes, upon the hopes of the exclusion of
the duke of York : he conspired against his father and
the duke ; and when the latter came to the throne by
the title of lames II. he openly appeared in arms, en¬
couraged by the Protestant army; but coming to a de¬
cisive battle before he had sufficient forces to oppose the
royal army, he was defeated, taken soon after concealed
in a ditch, tried for high treason, condemned, and be¬
headed in 1685, aged 36. See Britain, N° 242, 249
—265.
Monmouth, the capital of the county of Monmouth¬
shire in England, 129 miles from London, and 33 miles
from Bristol. It has its name from its situation at the
conflux of the Monow or Mynwy, and the Wye, over
each of which it has a bridge, and a third over the
Frothy. Here was a castle in William the Conqueror’s
time which Henry HI. took from John baron of Mon¬
mouth. It afterwards came to the bouse of Lan-
6 ] MON
caster, who bestowed many privileges upon the town. Moiimov
Here Henry V. surnamed of Monmouth, was born. . ||
The famous historian Geoffrey was also bern at this t
place. Formerly it gave the title of ecrl to the ta-
mily of Carey, and of duke to King Charles the Se¬
cond’s eldest natural son ; but now of carl to the
Mordaunts, who are also earls of Peterborough. It
contained 3503 inhabitants in 1811, is well built, car¬
ries on a considerable trade with Bristol by means of
the Wye, and has a weekly market, and three fairs.
MONMOUTHSHIRE, a county of England; an¬
ciently reckoned a part of Wales, but in Charles II.’s
time taken into the Oxford circuit, and made an English
county. It is bounded on the north by Herefordshire,
on the east by Gloucestershire, on the south by the river
Severn, and on the west by the Welsh counties of
Brecknock and Glamorgan. ’ Its extent from north to
south is about 30 miles, from east to west 26, and in
circumference 110. It is subdivided into six hundreds,
and 127 parishes. In 1811, this county contained
12,127 houses, and 62,127 inhabitants. It sends only
three members to parliament, that is, one lor Mon¬
mouth, and two for the county, i he air is temperate
and healthy ; and the soil fruitful, though mountain¬
ous and woody on the western side. 'Ihe hills feed
sheep, goats, and horned cattle ; and the valleys pio-
duce plenty of grass and corn. This county is ex¬
tremely Well watered by several fine rivers ; for, be¬
sides the Wye, which parts it from Gloucestershire,
the Mynow, which runs between it and Herefordshire,
and the Rumney, which divides it from Glamorgan¬
shire, it has, peculiar to itself, the Usk, which enters
this county a little above Abergavenny, runs mostly
southward, and falls into the Severn by the mouth of
the Ebwith ; which last river runs from north to south,
in the western side of the county. All these rivers, es¬
pecially the Wye and Usk, abound with fish, particu¬
larly salmon and trout.
MONOCEROS, Unicorn, in Astronomy, a south¬
ern constellation formed by Hevelius, containing in his
catalogue 19 stars, and in the Britannic Catalogue 31*
Monoceros. See Monodon, Cetology Index.
MONOCHORD ; an instrument by which the se¬
veral proportions of musical sounds and intervals, as
well in the natural as in tempered scales are tried.
Originally it had, as its name implies, only one string
but it is better constructed with two ; for, by means of
this additional string, we have an opportunity of judg¬
ing of the harmony of two tempered notes in every pos¬
sible variety of temperament.
The reader who may wish for further information re¬
specting the construction and use of monochords, may
consult the appendix to Mr Atwood’s Ireatise on Rec¬
tilinear Motion, and Mr Jones’s observations on the
scale of music, monochord, &c. in his Physiological
Disquisitions.
Monochord is also used for any musical instru¬
ment that consists of only one string or chord ; m tins
sense the trumpet marine may properly be called a mo¬
nochord. ~
MONOCULUS, a genus of insects of the order ot
aptera. See Entomology Index.
MONODON, a genus of fishes belonging to the or¬
der of cete. See Cetology Index. -
MONODY, in ancient poetrv, a mournful kind 01
song,
M O N
|ono;)hy
sites.
I'^onody song, sung by a person all alone, to give vent to bi.5
" grief. The word is derived from ^otaj, “ alone,” and
u I sing.”
MONOECIA, from alone, and a/Ka?, a house ;
the name ot the 2ist class in Linnaeus’s sexual method.
See Botany.
MONOGAMY, compounded of ^ova?, solus, and
V^ej, “ marriage,” -the state or condition of those who
have only married once, or are restrained to a single
wife. See Polygamy.
MONOGLOSSUM, in Ancient Geography, a mart
town of the Hither India, situated on the Sinus Canthi,
into which the Indus empties itself. Said to be Man-
galor on the coast of Malabar. E. Long. 740, N. Lat.
I3°‘
MONOGRAM, a character or cypher, composed of
one, two, or more letters interwoven ; being a kind of
abbreviation of a name, anciently used as a seal, badge,
arms, &c.
MONOG1 NIA, from (aovc;, alone, and yvvu, a wo¬
man; the name ot the first order or subdivision in the
first 13 classes ot Linnaeus’s sexual method; consisting
ot plants which, besides their agreement in their classic
character, generally derived from the number of their
stamina, have only one style.
MONO MO PAPA, a country of Southern Africa,
If mg north-eastward ot the Cape ot Good Hope. The
air ot this country is very temperate ; the land fertile
in pastures and all the necessaries ot life, being water¬
ed by several rivers. The inhabitants are rich in black
cattle, which they value more than gold. They have
a vast number of elephants, as appears from the great
quantity ot ivory that is exported. There is also a
considerable trade in gold dust. This country is,divid¬
ed into seven provinces or petty kingdoms, vassals to
the king; viz. Monomotapa Proper, Quiteve, Manica,
Inhambana, Inhemior, Sabia, and Sofala.
MONONGAHELA, a river of North America,
which rises in the Laurel mountains in Virginia, and
after a course of about 200 miles, joins the Alleghany
at Pittsburg. The two rivers united then form the
Ohio. The Monongahela is navigable for boats about
IOO miles.
MONOPETALOUS, in Botany, a term applied to
flowers that have only one petal or flower-leaf.
MONOPHYSIT ES, (from pwos, solus, and (fivo-is,
natuid), a general name given to all those sectaries in
the Levant who only own one nature in Jesus Christ;
and who maintain, that the divine and human natures
of Christ were so united as to form only one nature, yet,
without any change, confusion, or mixture of the two
natures.
The Monophysttes, however, properly so called, are
the followers of Severus, a learned monk of Palestine,
who was created patriarch of Antioch in ci?, and Pe¬
trus Fullensis. J
Hie Monophysites were encouraged by the emperor
Anastasius, but depressed by Justin and succeeding em¬
perors. However, this sect w'as restored by Jacob Ba-
radaeus an obscure monk, insomuch that when he died
is hop of Edessa, A.D. 588, he left it in a most flou-
1 ishmg state in Syria, Mesopotamia, Armenia, Egypt,
•Nubia. AhvfifiiniQ oiwl t.l . • 
i 337 j
MON
-mibia, Abyssinia, and other countries. The laborious
c lorts of Jacob were seconded in Egypt and the adja¬
cent countries, by Theodosius bishop of Alexandria ;
Vol. XIV. Part I. +
and he became so famous that all the Monophysites of
the east considered him as their second parent and found¬
er, and are to this day called Jacobites, in honour of
their new chief. The Monophysites are divided into
two sects or parties, the one African, the other Asia¬
tic ; at the head ot the latter is the patriarch of An¬
tioch, who resides for the most part in the monastery of
t)l Ananias, near the city of Mcrdin : the former arc
under the jurisdiction of the patriarch of Alexandria,
who generally resides at Grand Cairo, and are subdi-
'ulid into Coplits and Abyssinians, From the 15th
century downwards, all the patriarchs of the Monophy¬
sites have taken the name of Ig?iatius, in order to show
that they are the lineal successors of Ignatius, who was
bishop of Antioch in the first century, and consequent¬
ly the lawful patriarch ol Antioch. In the xytli cen¬
tury, a small body of the Monophysites in Asia aban¬
doned for some time the doctrine and institution of their
ancestors, and embraced the communion of Rome : but
the African Monophysites, notwithstanding that pover¬
ty and ignorance which exposed them to the seductions
of sophistry and gain, stood firm in their principles, and
made an obstinate resistance.to the promises, presents
and attempts employed by the papal missionaries to
bring them under the Roman yoke : and in the i8th
century, those of Asia and Africa have persisted in their
refusal to enter .into the communion of the Romish
church, notrvitstanding the earnest entreaties and allu¬
ring offers that have been made from time to time by
the pope’s legates, to conquer their inflexible constancy.
The Monophysites propagate their doctrine in Asia with
zt^al and assiduity, and have not long ago gained over
to their communion a part of the Nestorians, who inha¬
bit the maritime coast of India.
MONOPOLY, one or more persons making them¬
selves the sole masters of the whole of a commodity,
manufacture, and the like, in order to make private ad-
Mmtage of it, by selling it again at a very advanced
price. Or it is a license or privilege allowed by the
king for the sole buying and selling, making, working,
or using any thing whatsoever.—Monopolies had been
carried to an enormous height during the reign of
Queen Elizabeth ; and were heavily complained of by
Sir Edward Coke, in the beginning of the reign of
King James I.: but were in great measure remedied
by statute 21 Jac. I. c. 3* which declares such monopo¬
lies to be contrary to law, and void ; (except as to pa¬
tents, not exceeding the grant of 14 years, to the au¬
thors ot new inventions; and except also patents con¬
cerning printing, saltpetre, gunpowder, great ordnance,
am] shot) ; and monopolists are punished with the for¬
feiture of treble damages and double costs, to those
whom they attempt to disturb ; and if they procure any
action, brought against them for these damages, to be
stayed by any extrajudicial order, other than of the
court wherein it is brought, they incur the penalties of
prannunire. Combinations also among victuallers or ar-
tificeis, to raise the price of provisions, or any commo¬
dities, 01 the rate ol labour, are in many cases severely
Punished by particular statutes ; and, in general, by sta¬
tute 2 and 3 Edward VI. c. 15. with the forfeiture of
10I. or 20 days imprisonment, with an allowance of on¬
ly bread and w ater, for the first offence; 20I. or the
pillory for the second; and 40I. for the third, or else
the pillory, loss ol one ear, and perpetual infamy.
U u By
Monophy
sites,
Monopoly,
M o N r 338 j M
M„o1,o,y By » constitution of the emperor Zeno nil monopolies public lectures on botany.
|| ' and combinations to keep up the price ot merchandise,
Monro, provisions, or workmanship, were prohibited, upon pain
' r •. l-  .i„ ramr-r»p(nnl banishment, oee
of forfeiture of goods and perpetual banishment
Commerce and Corn Laws, Supplement.
MONOSYLLABLE, in Grammar, a word that
consists only of one syllable, and is composed either ot
one or more letters pronounced at the same time.
The too frequent use of monosyllables has a very bad
effect in English poetry, as Mr Pope both intimates and
exemplifies in the same verse, viz.
“ And ten slow words oft creep in one dull line.”
MONOTHELITES, (compounded of fiovnc, “ sin¬
gle,’, and 'hMy.ct, “ will,” of .W, volo, “ I will”)
an ancient sect, which sprung out of the Eutychians,
thus called, as only allowing of one will m Jesus
Christ. . , , . . .
The opinion of the Monothehtes had its rise in 630,
and had the emperor Heraclius for an adherent: it was
the same with that of the Acephalous Severrans. ihey
allowed of two wills in Christ, considered with regard
to the two natures; but reduced them to one, by
reason of the union of the two natures j thinking it ab¬
surd there should be two free wills in one and the same
person. They were condemned by the sixth general
council in 680, as being supposed to destroy the per¬
fection of the humanity of Jesus Christ, depriving it ot
will and operation. Their sentiments were aftenvards
embraced by the Maronites. >
MONOTONY, an uniformity of sound, or a lault
in pronunciation, when a long series of words is de¬
livered in one unvaried tone. See Reading.
MONOTROPA, Bird’s-nest •, a genus ot plants
belonging to the monandria class 5 and in the natural
method ranking with those of which the order is doubt-
ful. See Botany Index.
MONREAL. See Montreal. n .
MONRO, Dr Alexander, senior, a celebrated
physician and anatomist, was the son of Mr John Monro,
who was for some years a surgeon in the army under
King William in Flanders, and who afterwards settled
as a°surgeon in Edinburgh. The subject of this bio-
graphical sketch was born in London in 1697.
He showed an early inclination to the study ot phy¬
sic ; and the father, after giving him the best educa¬
tion that Edinburgh then afforded, sent him successive¬
ly to London, Paris, and Leyden, to improve himsell
further in his profession. At London, he attended the
lectures of Messrs Hawksbee and Whiston on expen-
... 1 1 1 I   ~I /11 r\ ^ a w f x* o t 1 (111
O N
puuuu icecuiua vu Accordingly, in the begin- Monro,
ning of the winter 1720,' these two young professors be-' r-
gan to give regular courses ot lectures, the one on the
materia medica and botany, the other on anatomy and
surgery which were the first regular courses ot lectures
on any of the branches of medicine that had ever been
read at Edinburgh, and maybe looked upon as the
opening of that medical school which has since acquired
such great reputation all over Euiope.
In summer 1721 and 1722, Dr Monro, by the per¬
suasion of his father, read some lectures on chirurgical
subjects, particularly on wounds and tumours, which he
never would publish, having written them in a hurry
and before he had much experience j but inserted ironi
time to time the improvements he thought might be
made in surgery, in the volumes of Medical Essays am
Observations to be hereafter mentioned.
About the year 1720, his father communicated to
the physicians and surgeons at Edinburgh, a plan which
he had long formed in his own mind, of having the dif¬
ferent branches of physic and surgery regularly taught
at Edinburgh y which was highly approved of by them,
and by their interest regular professorships of anatomy
and medicine were instituted in the university. His son,
Dr Monro, was first made university professor of ana-
tomv ; and two or three years afterwards, Drs Sinclair,
Rutherford, limes, and Plummer, were made professors
of medicine *, the professorship of materia medica ami
botany, which Dr Alston then held, having been added
to the university many years before. Immediately after
these gentlemen were'elected professors, they began to
deliver regular courses of lectures on the different
branches of medicine, and they and their successors have
uniformly continued so to do every winter.
The plan for a medical education at Edinburgh was
still incomplete without an hospital, where students cou.u
see the practice of physic and surgery, as well as hear
the lectures of the professors. A scheme was therefore
proposed by Dr Monro’s father, and others, particular¬
ly the members of the Royal College of Physicians and
Board of Surgeons, for raising by subscription a fund
for building and supporting an hospita for the reception
of diseased poor j and our author published a pamphlet
setting forth the advantages that would attend such an
institution. In a short time a considerable sum of money
was raised, a small house was fitted up, and patients
were admitted into it, and regularly attended by many
of the physicians and surgeons in town. 1 he fund for
this charity increasing very considerably, in a great
measure from the _ activity and influence ot tha very
lectures of Messrs Hawksbee and M histon on experi- ^^ecitizen and magistrate George Drummond, Esq
rnenul philosophy, and ^thc Juudatiou was laid of the present large cummodr
ef Mr Cheselden" ’ At Paris he attended the hospitals,
ami the lectures on the different branches ol physic and
RHU'fery *, and towards the end of autumn I7Iy» ”c
went to Leyden, and studied under the great Boer-
haave.
On his return to Edinburgh in autumn 1719,
Messrs Drummond and Macgill, who were then con-
iUnct nominal professors and demonstrators ol anatomy
♦0 the Surgeons Company, having resigned in his fa¬
vour his father prevailed on him to read some public
. *    niiictT'atP> tTipm liv sliowincr
wortny cuiz.en aim * &  7
the foundation was laid of the present large, com mod. -
ous, anti useful hospital, the Itor/al Infirmary; m the
planning of which Dr Monro suggested many usefu
hints, and in particular the elegant room for chirurgical
operations was designed and executed under h.s direc¬
tion. Provost Drummond and he were nominated the
building committee j and the fabric was entirely com¬
pleted in a short space of time It has since been so
largely endowed, as to be capable of receiving a great
mnrfljer cf fliscased poor, ^ cases- .he s.uden s
vour, his father prevailed on him to read some public m n ^ ^ tunity 0f seeing daily
lectures ou anatomy, and to illustrate them by showing physm I g ^ care by pl C1.
the curious anatomical preparations which he had made ^edteysuro.eobs0emlnent in their profession j and a re-
and sent home when abroad. He at the same time per- tbe’narticulars of all the cases which have been
suaded Dr Alston, then a young man, to give some g.ster of the particulars ot received
4
MON
Monro received into the Iiouse since its first opening has been
—-v 1 kept, in hooks appropriated for that purpose, for the
use of the students.
In order to make the hospital of still farther use to
the students, Dr Monro frequently, while he continued
professor of anatomy, gave lectures on the chirurgical
cases •, and Dr Rutherford, then professor of the prac¬
tice of physic, began, in the year 1748, to deliver cli¬
nical lectures, to be continued every winter, on the
most remarkable cases in the hospital.
Dr Monro, though he was elected professor of anatomy
in the year 1721, was not received into the university
till the year 1725, when he was inducted along with
that great mathematician the late Mr Colin Maclaurin,
with whom he ever lived in the strictest friendship.
From this time he regularly every winter gave a course
of lectures on anatomy and surgery, from October to
May, upon a most judicious and comprehensive plan :
A task in which he persevered with the greatest assidu¬
ity, and without the least interruption, for near 40
years j and so great was the reputation he had acquired,
that students flocked to him from the most distant cor¬
ners of his majesty’s dominions.
In 1759, our professor entirely relinquished the bu¬
siness of the anatomical theatre to his son Dr Alexan¬
der, who had returned from abroad, and had assisted him
in the course of lectures the preceding year. But after
this resignation, he still endeavoured to render his la¬
bours useful to makind, by reading clinical lectures at
the hospital for the improvement of the students ; of
which Dr Duncan, who was one of his pupils, has gi¬
ven the following account. “ There I had mvself the
happiness of being a pupil, who profited by the judici¬
ous conduct of his practice, and was improved by the
wisdom and acuteness of his remarks. I have indeed to
regret that I attended only the last course of lectures in
which he had ever a share, and at a time when he was
subjected to a disease which proved at length fatal.
Still, however, from what I saw and from what I
heard, I can venture to assert, that it is hardly possible
to conceive a physician more attentive to practice, or a
preceptor more anxious to communicate instructions.
His humanity, in the former of these characters, led
him to bestow the most anxious care on his patients
while they were alive; and his zeal in the latter indu¬
ced him to make them the subject of useful lessons
when they happened to die.—In the difl'erent stations
ot physician, of lecturer, and of manager in the hospital,
he took every measure for inquiring into the causes
of diseases by dissection.—He personally attended the
opening of every body ; and he not only dictated to the
students an accurate report of the dissection, but with
nice discrimination contrasted the diseased and sound
state ot every organ. Thus, in his own person he af-
forded to the students a conspicuous example of the ad¬
vantages of early anatomical pursuits, as the happiest
foundation for a medical superstructure. His being at
once engaged in two departments, the anatomical thea¬
tre and clinical chair, furnished him with opportuni¬
ties both on the dead and living body, and placed
him in the most favourable situation for the improve-
xnent ot medicine; and from these opportunities he
derived every possible advantage which they could af¬
ford.”
His father, old Mr Monro, lived to an advanced age ;
[ 339 ]
MON
and enjoyed the unspeakable pleasure of beholdinn- a
son, esteemed and regarded by mankind, the principal
actor in the execution of his favourite plan, the great
object of his life, the founding a seminary of medical
education in his native country: The son, who surviv¬
ed him near 30 tears, had the satisfaction to behold this
seminary of medical education frequented yearly by 309
or 400 students, many of whom came from the most
distant corners ot his majesty’s dominions, and to see it
arrive to a degree of reputation far beyond his most san¬
guine hopes, being equalled by few, and inferior to none,
in Europe.
Dr Monro was not only very active in the line of his
own profession, but as a citizen and general member of
the community; for, after he had resigned the anato¬
mical chair to his son, he executed with the strictest
punctuality the duties of several engagements both of a
civil and political nature : He was a director of the
Bank of Scotland, a justice of the peace, a commission¬
er of high roads, &c. At length, after a life spent in
the most active industry, he became afflicted with a te¬
dious and painful disease, which he bore with equal
courage and resignation till his death, which happened
on July 10. 1767* i*1 the 70th year of his age.
Of his works, the first in order is his Osteology,
which was written for the use of students, but is capa¬
ble also of affording instruction to the oldest and mast
experienced practitioner ; as, besides a minute descrip¬
tion of the parts copied from nature, it everywhere a-
bounds with new and important observations immedi¬
ately applicable to practice. It has been translated in¬
to many different languages ; has passed through nume¬
rous editions; and has been reprinted in foreign coun¬
tries in the most superb manner, accompanied with ele¬
gant and masterly engravings. His description of the
Lacteal Sac and Thoracic Duct contains the most accu¬
rate account of that important part of the body which
has been yet published ; and his Anatomy of the Nerves
will transmit to posterity an excellent example of accu¬
rate dissection, faithful description, and ingenious rea¬
soning. The six volumes of Medical Essays and Obser¬
vations, published by a society in Edinburgh, are uni¬
versally known and esteemed. To that society he was
appointed secretary ; but, after the publication of the
first volume, to which he had largely contributed, the
members growing remiss in their attendance, lie be¬
came the sole collector and publisher of the work : To
him we are therefore in a great measure indebted for
those numerous and important discoveries with which
this publication lias enriched every department of medi¬
cal knowledge. In the two first volumes of the Physi¬
cal and Literary Essays, published by the physical so¬
ciety of Edinburgh, in which he had the rank of one
of the presidents, yve find several papers written by him,
which are not the least ornaments of that collection.
Ilis account of the Success of Inoculation in Scotland
may he considered as his last publication : It demon¬
strates his extensive correspondence and indefatigable
industry, and has had great influence in promoting that
salutary practice. Besides these, he was also the author
of several other elegant and masterly productions, which
were cither never published, or were published without
his knowledge and from incorrect copies. A collec¬
tion ot all his works, properly arranged, corrected, and
illustrated with copperplates, has been published by Dr
U u 2 Alexander
Monro.
MON
[ 34° ]
MON
Monro
nnnes.
Alexander Monro, his son and successor in the anato¬
mical chair, in a splendid quarto volume, printed lor
Monsele- Elliot, Edinburgh, 1781-, to which is prefixed a hie
of the author, by another of his sons, Dr Donald, phy¬
sician in London. The observation ol an excellent
iudge, the illustrious Haller, concerning our author s
Medical Essays and Observations, which now form a
part of this collection, may with no less justice be ap¬
plied to the whole: “ It is a book which ought to he
in the possession of every medical practitioner.”
MONS, an ancient, large, handsome, rich, and very
strong city of the Netherlands. It is situated on an un¬
even and marshy soil on the river 1 rouille. In the
neighbourhood are extensive coal mines which are
worked. It has several manufactures, and a good
trade. It rvas taken by the allies in 1709, and by
the French in July 1746; but rendered back by the
treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, after the fortifications were
demolished. It was taken by the French in 1794,
and while in their possession was chief town of the de¬
partment of Jemappe. It was separated from I ranee
at the peace of Paris in 1814, and annexed to the
kingdom of the Netherlands. The population in 1800
Avas 18,291. E. Long. 3. 51. N. Lat. 50. 25. _
Moxs Saccr, in Ancient Geography, a mountain ol
the Sabines beyond the Anio, to the east ol Koine ;
whither the common people retired once and again to
avoid the tyranny of the Patricians. From this seces¬
sion, and the altar of Jupiter Terribilis erected there,
the mountain took its name.
MONSEIGNEUR, in the plural Messcigneurs,. a
title of honour and respect used by the French in writ¬
ing to persons of superior rank or quality.
Dukes, peers, archbishops, bishops, and presidents a
la mortier, AVt“re complimented av 11h the title ol Mon-
seign&uy. In the petitions presented to the sovereign
courts, they used the term Messcigncurs.
Monseigneur, absolutely used, Avas a title restrain¬
ed to the dauphin of France. This custom was un¬
known till the time of Louis XIV. before which the
dauphin avrs styled Monsieur Ic Dauphin.
MONSELEMINES, a people inhabiting that part
of Biledulgerid, which borders on the territories of the
emperor of Morocco. I hey are a mixed race, de¬
scended from the ancient Arabs and fugitive Moors.
Their country extends from about 90 miles beyond
Cape Non, to the distance of 60 miles from St Croix.
It is mostly fertile ; and, with little cultivation, pro¬
duces the necessaries of life. A number of streams wa¬
ter the plains, Avhich abound rvith fig, date, palm, and
almond trees. The gardens produce excellent grapes,
which the Jcavs convert into brandy after they have
been dried by the Arabs.
The Monselemine territory is very populous, and
would be much more so, were it not lor the almost
continual Avars in Avhich the people are engaged against
the emperor of Morocco 5 for, as this country is the re¬
treat of the rich Moors, avIio wish to fly trom the ty¬
ranny of the emperor, they are too Avell acquainted
with the Moorish customs to be surprised by that prince.
As soon as a Moorish army takes the field, the inhabi¬
tants mount their horses, and occupy the passes of the
mountains \ while the Avovnen and slaves retire to the
interior parts of the country, or to the desert, if they
are hard pressed. Their horses, which they break in
Monsoo' 1
an admirable manner, are said to be the best in the Moused
Avorld 5 obedient to the Aroiee of their master, and al- mines
loAving no stranger to mount them.
The people derive their name and origin from one _
Moseilama, Avho Avas contemporary with Mahomet.
They respect the prophet, as do other Mahometans;
but neither believ^e that he Avas infallible, nor that his
descendants are all inspired by God, nor that their Avill
should be a law, nor that such faith is necessary in or¬
der to be a good Mahometan. The influence of their
high priest is nearly despotic } for though he has no
troops, he may command the nation, and peace and
Avar depend upon his Avill. He has no property, yet
every thing is at his disposal •, he requires nothing Irora
any, yet all are disposed to give him.
The Monselemines, on Friday, meet in their mosques
for prayer, and the same is likeAvise the day of their
principal market, when their goods are exposed to sale
in the public squares. They never attempt to make
proselytes •, and they treat their Christian slaves with
humanity, Avhich may perhaps be owing to the avarice
of their masters. The Jews are allowed among them
the free exercise ol their religion. Polygamy is per¬
mitted among them; but the situation ot the Avomen is
more respectable, and they are not so much secluded as
among the Moors, mingling more in society, walking
at large, and visiting their friends. The Monselemine
children are brought up with great care, and are not
obliged to exhibit proofs ot their courage till they can
be considered as men.
MONSIEUR, in the plural Messieurs, vl term or
title of civility, used by the French in speaking to their
equals, or those a little below them, answering to Mr or
Sir among the English.
Monsieur, absolutely used, was a title appropriated
to the second son ol I ranee, or the king’s brother. Ihe
king Avas also called Monsieur, but that only by the
children of France.
MONSONIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
polyadelphia class. See Botany Index.
MONSOON, a regular or periodical Avind, in the
East Indies, blowing constantly the same way, during
six months of the year, and the contrary Avay the re¬
maining six. _ ,
In the Indian ocean, the winds are partly general,
and blow all the year round the same way, as in the
Ethiopic ocean; and partly periodical, i. e. half the
year IiIoav one Avay, and the other half year on the op¬
posite points : and those points and times ol shifting
differ in different parts of this ocean. rIhese latter are
what we call monsoons.
The shifting of these monsoons is not all at once ;
and in some places the time of the change is attended
with calms, in others Avith variable winds, and paiti
cularly those of China, at ceasing to be Avesterly, are
A'ery subject to be tempestuous ; and such is their vio¬
lence, that they seem to be ol the nature ol the West
India hurricanes, and render the navigation of those
seas \rery unsafe at that time of the year. I ese
tempests the seamen call the breaking up oj the mon¬
soons. __ .
Monsoons, then, are a species of Avhat we otheiwise
call trade winds. They take the denomination mon¬
soon from an ancient pilot, Avho first crossed the ncian
sea by means hereol. Though others derive t.ie name
MON t 341 ] M O N
I (ns00n, from a Portuguese word signifying motion or change
)nster. of wind and sea.
Lucretius and Apollonius make mention of annual
winds which arise every year, etesiajlabria, which seem
to be the same with what in the East Indies we ndw call
monsoons. For the physical cause of these winds, see
Meteorology.
MONSTER j a birth or production of a living be¬
ing, degenerating from the proper and usual disposition
of parts in the species to which it belongs: As, when
there are too many members, or too few j or some of
them are extravagantly out of proportion, either on the
side of defect or excess. The word comes from the
Latin monstrum, oi.monstrando, “showing.” Whence
also the box wherein relicks were anciently kept to be
shown, wras called monstrum. Dugdale mentions an
inventory of the church of York with this article, Item
unum monstrum cum ossibus sancti Petri in beryl, ct
crucijixo in summitate.
Aristotle defines a monster to be a defect of nature,
when, acting towards some end, it cannot attain to it,
from some of its principles being corrupted.
Monsters do not propagate their kind; for which
reason some rank mules among the number of monsters,
as also hermaphrodites.
Females which bring forth twins, are found most li¬
able to produce monsters. The reason, probably, is
owing to this 5 that though the twins-are covered with
one common chorion, yet they have each their separate
amnios, which by their contiguity may chance to grow
together, and so occasion a confusion or blending of the
parts. Hence so many double creatures.
Various theories have been proposed by philosophers
and physiologists to account for the production of mon¬
sters. But after all, it must be confessed, that we are
, very little acquainted with those deviations from the or¬
dinary course of nature. For each organized being
there appears to exist a primitive germ or model of the
different species drawn by the Creator, determined by
forms and sexes, and realized in the individuals of both
sexes, which must unite in order to their reproduction.
From this model nature never departs, unless when
competed by circumstances which derange the primi¬
tive organization common to the species, and produce
what are called monsters.
With respect to structure, monsters are of various
kinds. Some have an excess or defect in certain parts ;
such as those which are called acephalous, or who want
the head ; those which have two heads, two arms, two
legs, and one body, or which have two bodies and one
bead, or which have three legs ; and those which want
the arms or the legs. Others err through an extraor¬
dinary and deformed conformation, through an unna¬
tural union of certain parts or viscera, through a great
derangement in one or more of their members,, and
through the extraordinary place which these often oc¬
cupy in consequence of this derangement oT transposi¬
tion. The monster described by Hr Eller of the aca¬
demy of Berlin was of this kind. It was a foetus of nine
months, 28 inches long, with an enormous head and
frightlul countenance $ and in the middle of a broad
and vast forehead it had a reddish eye, without either
eyebrows or eyelids, and sunk deep into a square hole.
Immediately below this eye was an excrescence which
strongly resembled a penis with a glans, a prepuce, and
an urethra : the part covered with hair was likewise be- Monster,
low the nape of the neck. In other monsters we meet-—v—“*•
with the unnatural union of some parts, which from
their destination and functions, ought always to be se¬
parate ; and the separation of other parts, which, for
the same reasons, ought constantly to be united. The
reader may see the different wrays in which the forma¬
tion ot monsters takes place, in four memoirs by M.
Lemery, inserted in VHistoire de PAcademic des
Sciences, 1738 and I739- M. du Verney has likewise
published a memoir on the same subject/
In the volume published by the Academy of Sciences
in 1724, mention is made by M. Geoffrey of a monster
torn in Barrois 1722. This monstrous production
consisted of two children without the inferior extremi¬
ties, joined together by a common navel : each of
them had a nurse, sucked, and eat pap ; and the one
sucked while dig other slept. The reader may like¬
wise consult the second part of Winslow’s Memoirs on
Monsters, inserted in the volume published by the Aca¬
demy of Sciences in 1734, where he will find the histo¬
ry ol two very extraordinary twin monsters, w ho evi¬
denced during their life a great difference in their mo¬
ral and physical qualities. We are obliged simply to
refer to these Memoirs, as they are too long for abridge¬
ment.
It is observed by Haller, that in some monsters the
natural structure is changed by some shock or passion t
in others the structure, independent of any accident, is
originally monstrous ; such as when all the members
are reversed from left to right, when the person has
six fingers, and in many other instances. M. de Mau-
pertuis mentions, that there is at Berlin a family who
have had six’ fingers on each hand for several genera¬
tions. M. de Riville saw an instance of this at Malta,
of which he has given a description. M. Renou, sur¬
geon at Pommeraye in Anjou, has published an ac¬
count of some families with six fingers, which are t©
be found in several parishes of the Lower Anjou, and
which have existed there from time immemorial. This
deformity is perpetuated in these families even when
they intermarry with persons who are free from it,
Whether the propagation of these supernumerary or¬
gans, which are not only useless but inconvenient and
even disagreeable, be owing to the father or mother,
their children of both sexes are subject to it indiserr-
minately. A father and mother with six fingers fre¬
quently have a part, and sometimes the whole of their
children, free from this deformity ; but it again makes
its appearance, and in a very great degree, in the third
generation. From this it appears, that this fault in
the conformation is hereditary. M. Reaumur has like¬
wise published the history of a family in the island of
Malta, the children of which are born with six fingers
and six toes. But it deserves to be inquired, Whether
these supernumerary fingers are real fingers ? The rea¬
der may here consult the Journal de Physique for No¬
vember 1774, p. 37 2. This variety oise.vdigitary hands
and feet is not comprehended in the Researches sur
quelques conformations monstrueuses des doigts dans
Phomme, which is inserted in the Memoirs of the Aca¬
demy of Sciences for 1771. In \\\(t Journal de Physique
for August 1776, we find a description of a double ute¬
rus and vagina observed in a woman who died in child¬
bed, by Hr Purcell of Dublin ; and in that for June
1788,
M O N [ 342 ] MO N
Monster. J 788, ^-c liavc an account of a man with seven fmgers
—y~—' on each hand, by Baron Dietrich.
Several monstrous productions are to be seen in the
cabinet at Chantilly. 1. Two calves joined together
m the body, with each a separate head and neck, and
four legs in whole. 2. Two calves united only by the
pelvis, with only one anus and one tail: the whole is
supported by six legs, four before and two behind.
3. A lamb with six legs, four of which are behind.
4. The skeleton of a ram, which has likewise six legs.
5. A hermaphrodite deer. 6. The head of a foal,
which has only one eye in the middle of the forehead.
7. Some leverets with six and eight legs. 8. A puppy,
the lips of which are divided four-fold. 9. Some foe¬
tuses of a hog which have a kind of tube upon their
forehead one or two inches long} and another, the
hinder part of which is double in every thing. 10. Two
double human foetuses joined by the belly, with four
arms and three legs. 11. A young chicken with two
bodies and one head. 12. A pigeon and a duck, each
with tvro bills. 13. A duck with two heads. 14. A.
pigeon with four feet. 15. A capon with three feet j
the third being fixed to the anus. 16. Two heads of
a calf joined together, each of them with two ears:
these two heads were both fixed to one neck. 17. In
the Menagerie at Chantilly there was formerly to be
seen a cow with five feet, the fifth of which was con¬
nected with the dug. 18. A rabbit without ears.
19. Two cats, each having two heads. 20. Two leve¬
rets newly brought forth, well shaped in the body and
legs, but connected together by means of only one
head. 21. Several eggs, in the figure of which there
occur some monstrous appearances and extraordinary
deformities, sufficient to show that they are contrary to
the established form of nature.
Mr Home, surgeon, some time ago presented to Mr
John Hunter, the double skull of a child, born at Cal¬
cutta in May 1783 of poor parents aged 30 and 35,
and which lived to be nearly two years old. The
body of this child was naturally formed : but the head
had the phenomenon of appearing double ; another
bead of the same size, and almost equally perfect, be¬
ing attached to its upper part. In this extraneous and
■preternatural head no pulsation could he felt in the ar¬
teries of the temples ; but the superficial veins were
very evident. One of the eyes had been hurt by the fire,
upon which the midwife, in her first alarm, threw the
child: the other moved readily j but the iris was not
affected by the approach of any thing to it. The ex¬
ternal ears of this head were very imperfect ; the
tongue adhered to the lower jaw, except for about half
an inch at the lip, which was loose ; the jaw was ca¬
pable of motion, but there were no teeth. The child
was shown about the streets of Calcutta for a curiosity,
but was rendered unhealthy by confinement, and died
at last of a bite of the cobra de eupello. It was
dug up by the East India Company’s agent for salt
at Tumlock, and the skull is now in the museum of
Mr Hunter.
Among the monstrous productions of the animal
kingdom, we may rank those individuals which ought
only to possess one sex, but in which we observe the
union or the appearance of two. See the articles An¬
drogynes and Hermaphrodite.
M. Fabri arranges mutilations of the members, dis¬
tortions, gibbosites, tumors, divisions of the lips or Umr
of the palate, compressions of the cranium, and many '“•“V'
other deformities of this kind, in the class of morbific
monstruosities. In that which he calls connatural
(connaturelle) monstruosities, are placed the plurality,
transposition, and insertion of the parts. To explain
these facts, a great many writers have had recourse to
the effect of the imagination of pregnant women.—
The causes of the first class of monstruosities are dis¬
cussed by M. Fabri, who observes, that some of them
are internal with regard to the mother, and others ex-
teriial. By an internal cause he here means all those
depravations or morbific principles which can affect
the fluids, and which vitiate the form and structure of
the solids ; in particular the uterus, in which such de¬
pravations have often been found to occur. To these
he adds violent affections of the mind, spasmodic con¬
tractions, hysteric convulsions, and the many inconve¬
niences of this kind to which women are extremely
subject. External causes comprehend every thing
which can act externally upon the foetus contained in
the uterus, such as the pressure of the clothes 5 and in
short every thing which prevents the free dilatation of
the belly in women that are pregnant, violent mo¬
tions, falls, blows, and all accidents of this kind. These
external causes, and especially the first, compress the
foetus in the womb, and oblige it to remain in a very
confined situation. This according to the observation
of Hippocrates, produces those embryos which are born
with some entire part wounded. M. Fabri maintains,
that all deformities of the foetus proceed from some me¬
chanical and accidental causes.
The name of monsters is likewise given to animals
enormous for bulk j such as the elephant among ter¬
restrial quadrupeds, and the shark and the whale
among sea animals 5 to other animals remarkable for
fierceness and cruelty; and to animals of an extraordi¬
nary species, which, we are told, arises from the
copulation of one animal with another of a different
genus. According to the report of travellers, Africa
abounds with monsters of this kind } and accounts of
the East are full of descriptions of sea monsters, which,
however, are seldom to be seen, such as sea men, mer¬
maids, &fC.
Monsters are more common and more extraordinary
in the vegetable than iu the animal kingdom, because
the different juices are more easily deranged and con¬
founded together. Leaves are often seen, from the in¬
ternal parts of which other leaves spring forth, and it
is not uncommon to see flowers of the ranunculus from
the middle of which issues a stalk bearing another
flower. M. Bonnet informs us, that in certain warm
and rainy years he has frequently met with monsters
of this kind in rose trees. This observer saw a rose,
from the centre of which issued a square stalk of a
whitish colour, tender, and without prickles, which at
its top bore two flower buds opposite to each other,
and totally destitute of a calyx; a little above the
buds issued a petal of a very irregular shape. Upon
the prickly stalk which supported the rose, a leaf was
observed which had the shape of a trefoil, together with
a broad flat pedicle. In the memoirs of the Academy
of Sciences for 1707, p. 448, mention is made of a
rose from the centre of the leaves of which issued a
rose branch two or three inches long, and furnished
MON [ 343 j MON
instcr with leaves. See the same Memoirs for 1749, p. 44.
y ami for 1724» P- 20* In the Memoirs for 1775, a
Hague, very singular instance is mentioned of a monstruosity
observed by M. Duhamel, in an apple-tree ingrafted
with clay. At the place of the insertion, there ap¬
peared a bud which produced a stalk and some leaves;
the stalk and the pedicle of the leaves were of a pulpy
substance, and had the most perfect resemblance both
in taste and smell to the pulp of a green apple. An
extraordinary chamcemehim is mentioned in the Acta
Helvetica. M. Bonnet, in his Recherches sur Pusage
desfeuilleSy mentions likewise some monstrous produc-
tions which have been found in fruits with kernels,
analogous in their nature to those which occur in the
flo wers of the ranunculus and of the rose tree. He has
seen a pear, from the eye of which issued a tuft of
13 or 14 leaves, very well shaped, and many of them
of the natural size. He has seen another pear which
gave rise to a ligneous and knotty stalk, on which
grew another pear somewhat larger than the first.—
The stalk had probably flourished, and the fruit had
formed. The lilium album poly ant has, observed some
years ago at Breslaw, which bore on its top a bundle
of flowers, consisting of 102 lilies all of the common
shape, is well known. M. Keynier has mentioned
some individuals monstrous with respect to the flower,
in the Journal dc Physique et r/’Histoire Naturellc, for
November 1785' He has likewise mentioned a mon¬
strous tulip which is seen in the gardens of some ama¬
teurs 5 juniper berries with horns j a balsamine with
three spurs, &c.
These vegetable productions which are so extra¬
ordinary, and so contrary to the common course of
things, do nevertheless present deviations subject to
particular laws, and reducible to certain principles, by
distinguishing such as are perpetuated either by seed
or by transplanting, from those which seem to be only
accidental. Monstruosities which are perpetuated exist
in the original organization of the seed of the plant,
such as marked or curled leaves, &c. The word mon¬
ster is more properly applied to those irregularities in
plants, which arise from frequent transplantation, and
from a particular culture, such as double flowers, &c.:
but those monstruosities which are not perpetuated, and
wnich arise from accidental and transient causes deran¬
ging the primitive organization of the plant when it
comes to be unfolded, as is the effect of diseases, of heat
or cold, of a superfluity or scarcity of juices, of a de¬
pravation of the vessels contributing to nutrition, of the
sting of insects, of contusions and natural grafis, retain
also the name of monsters. Of this kind are knobs
or swellings, stunting, gall nuts, certain streaks, and
other similar defects.
MONT-blanc. See AIoNT-Rlanc.
MONTAGUE, Lady Mary WoRTLEY, accom¬
panied her husband who was sent on an embassy to Con¬
stantinople in the beginning of the 18th century. On
her return she introduced the practice of inoculation
into England, and thence acquired great celebrity. She
cultivated the belles lettres j and at one period of her
life she was the friend of Pope, and at another his
enemy. While they were at enmity with each other,
jady Mary Montague embraced every opportunity of
defaming the poet, who well knew how to take re¬
venge. Both of them carried theil* animosity to so
great a height, that they became the subject of public Montagu©.
conversation. After a long life, full of singular and 
romantic adventures, she died about the year 1760..
I rom her we have Letters, written during her travels
from the year 1716 to the year 1718. They have been
translated into French, and published at Botterdam
•I7^4» and at Paris 1783* one vol. 121110. They are
composed in a lively, interesting, and agreeable style, '
and contain many curious facts relating to the manners
and government of the Turks, which are nowhere else
to be found. The Baron de Tott, who lived many
years at Constantinople, attacked them with great se¬
verity 5 but they have been defended with equal zeal
by M. Guis of Marseilles, who has published a valuable
work on luikey. It need not appear extraordinary,
that persons who have visited the same country should
not see things in the same light. How few travellers
agree in their accounts of the same objects, which they
nevertheless pretend to have seen and to bave examined
with attention.
Montague, Edward Worthy, son of the former,
passed through such variegated scenes, that a bare re¬
cital of them would savour of the marvellous. From
Westminster school, where he was placed for education,
he ran away three several times. He exchanged
clothes with a chimney-sweeper, and he followed for
some time that sooty occupation. He next joined
himself to a fisherman, and cried flounders in Kother-
luthe. He then sailed as a cabin boy to Spain; where
he had no sooner arrived, than he ran away from the
vessel, and hired himself to a driver of mules. After
thus vagabondizing it for some time, he was discovered
by the consul, who returned him to his friends in Eng¬
land. They received him with a joy equal to that of
the fatner ot the prodigal son in the gospel. A private
tutor was employed to recover those rudiments of learn¬
ing which a life of dissipation, of blackguardism, and
of vulgarity, might have obliterated. Wortley was
sent to the \\est Indies, where he remained some time4
then returned to England, acted according to the dig¬
nity ot his birth, was chosen a member, and served in
two successive parliaments. His expences exceeding his
income, he became involved in debt, quitted his native
country, and commenced that wandering traveller he
continued to the time ot his death. Having visited
most of the eastern countries, he contracted a partiali¬
ty for their manners. He drank little wine, a grea
deal of coffee ; wore a long beard ; smoked much :
and, even whilst at Venice, he was habited in the east¬
ern style. He sat cross-legged in the Turkish fashion
through choice. With the Hebrew, the Arabic, the
Chaldaic, and the Persian languages, he was as well ac¬
quainted as with his native tongue. He published se¬
veral pieces. One on the “ Rise and Fall of the Ro¬
man Empire.” Another an exploration of “ The
Causes of Earthquakes.” As this gentleman was
remarkable for the uncommon incidents which at¬
tended his life, the close of that life was no less
marked with singularity. He had been early mar¬
ried to a woman who aspired to no higher a cha-
racter than that of an industrious washerwoman. As
the marriage was solemnized in a frolic, Wortley ne¬
ver deemed her sufficiently the wife of his bosom to
cohabit with her. She was allowed a maintenance.
She lived contented, and was too submissive to be
troublesome
MON [ 3
Montague troublesome on account of the conjugal l iteu Mr Mon-
tague, on the other hand, was a periect patriarch in his
manners. He had wives of almost every nation. ^\ hen
he was with All Bey in Egypt, he had his household
of Egyptian females, each striving who should he the
happy she who could gain the greatest ascendency
over this Anglo-Eastern bashaw. At Constantinople,
the Grecian women had charms to captivate this un¬
settled wanderer. In Spain a Spanish brunette, in
Italy the olive-complexioned female, were solicited to
partake the honours of the bridal bed. It may be
asked what became of this group of wives P Mr Mon¬
tague was continually shifting the place, and conse¬
quently varying the scene. Did he travel with his
wives as the patriarch did with their flocks and herds ?
No such thing. Wortley, considering his wives as
had travelling companions, generally left them behind
him. It happened, however, that news reached his
ears of the death of the original Mrs Montague the
washerwoman. Wortley had no issue by her ; and
without issue male, a very large estate would revert to
the second son of Lord Bute. Wortley owing the fa¬
mily no obligations, was determined, if possible, to
defeat their expectations. He resolved to return to
England ami marry. He acquainted a friend with his
intentions-, and he commissioned that friend to adver¬
tise for any young decent woman who might he in a
pregnant state. Several ladies answered it. One out
of the number was selected, as being the most eligible
object. She waited with eagerness for the arrival of
her expected bridegroom; but, behold, whilst he was
on his journey, death very impertinently arrested him
in his career.
Montague Island, one of the Hebrides, in the South
sea near Sandwich island. E. Long. i63. 37. S. Lat.
17. 26.
MONTAIGNE, Michel de, a French gentleman,
■was born in Perigord in 1533* His father educated
him with great care, and made him learn Latin aa
other children learn their mother tongue. His tutors
'Were Nicholas Gronchi, who wrote De Conntns Ronm-
norum; William Guerenti, who wrote on Aristotle ;
George Buchanan } and M. Anthony Muret. He was
•also taught Greek by way of recreation 5 and because
some think that starting children out of their sleep
spoils their understanding, he was awakened every
morning with the sound of music. He was counsellor
for a while in the parliament of Bourdeaux j after¬
wards made mayor of Bourdeaux. He published Ins
Essays, so much known in the world, in 1580. Mon¬
taigne had a, great deal of wit and subtlety, but no small
share of conceit and vanity. The learned and ingenious
are much divided .in their opinion about his works.
He died in 1592.
MONTALCINO, a small populous town of Italy
in Tuscany, and in the territory of Sienna, with a bi¬
shop’s see. . It is seated on a mountain, 17 miles south¬
east of Sienna, and 44 south-east of Florence. E. Long.
11. 30. N. Lat. 43- 7- . „ T 1 . .
MONTALTO, an episcopal town of Italy, in the
Marca of Ancona} seated on the river Monacio, 1 o
miles north of Ascoli, and 45 south of Ancona. E.
Long. 13* 3°* 42.‘ 5.4*
MONTANISTS, Christian heretics, who sprang
.sip-about the year 171, in the reign of the emperor
44 ] MON
Marcus Aurelius. They were so called from theirMontan:
leader, the heresiarch Montanus, a Phrygian by birth •,
whence they are sometimes styled P/mygians and Cata-
phn/gians.
Montanus, it is said, embraced Christianity in hopes
of rising to the dignities of the church. He pretended
to inspiration j and gave out, that the Holy Ghost had
instructed him in several points, which had not been
r evealed to the apostles. Priscilla and Maximilla, two
enthusiastic women of Phrygia, presently became his
disciples j and in a short time he had a great number
of followers.. The bishops of Asia being assembled
together, condemned his prophecies, and excommuni¬
cated those who dispersed them.
The Montanists, finding themselves exposed to the
censure of the whole church, formed a schism, and set
up a distinct society under the direction of those who
called themselves 'prophets. Montanus, in conjunction
with Priscilla and Maximilla, was at the head of the
sect.
These sectaries made no alteration in the creed.
They only held that the Holy Spirit made Montanus
his organ for delivering a more perfect form of disci¬
pline than what was delivered by the apostles. I hey
refused communion for ever to those who were guilty
of notorious crimes, and believed that the bishops had
no authority to reconcile them. They held it unlaw¬
ful to fly in time of persecution. They condemned se¬
cond marriages, allowed the dissolution of marriage,
and observed three lents.
The Montanists became separated into trvo branches,
one of which were the disciples of Proclus and the
other of iEschines, The latter are charged with fol¬
lowing the heterodoxy of Praxes and ■Sabellius con¬
cerning the Trinity.
MONTABGIS, a considerable town of France, in
the department of Loiret, situated on the river Long,
at the junction of the two canals which connect the
Seine and the Loire. It is 62 miles south of Paris,
has some manufactories of paper and woollen, and is a
place of considerable trade. E. Long. 2. 36. N. Lat.
48. 1.
MONTAUB AN, a considerable town of I ranee,
in the department ot Let, seated on the river lame,
20 miles north of Toulouse. L. Long. 1. 27- N. Lat.
43. 56.
MONTBAZON, a town of France, in the depart¬
ment of Indre and Loire, 135 miles south-west of I aris,
E. Long. o. 45. N. Lat. 47. 17-
MONTBELLIABD, a strong town of France, in
the department of Haut Rhine, seated near the river
Doubs, 45 miles north-east of Bez.an$on. Its popula¬
tion in 1800 was 4000. E. Long. 6. -50. N. Lat.
47. 31.
MONTBLANC, a town of Spain in the province
of Catalonia, 15 miles north of Tarragon. E. Long. 1.
5. N. Lat. 41. 20.
MONTBRISON, a considerable town of France,
in the department of Loire, seated on the river Veziz,a,
250 miles south by east of Paris. It contained 47°3
inhabitants in 1800. E. Long. 4* 27. N. Lat. 45- 33*
MONTECCHIO, a considerable town of Italy, m
the duchy of Reggio, 10 miles south-east of, Parma,
and eight north-west of Reggio. E. Long. 15. 54*
N. Lat. 38. 8.
MONTE-falco,
MON
!Monte-
Falco
II
SHontes-
quieu.
MONTE-Faixo, a town of Italy, in the territory
of the Church and duchy of Spolet’to 5 seated on a
mountain near the river Clitunno, 12 miles west of
Spoletto. E. Long. 12. 40. N. Lat. 42. 58.
Lj MoNTE-Falconc, a town of Italy, in Friuli, with
a castle, near the river Ponzano, 12 miles north¬
west of Trieste. It is in the Lombardo-Venetian
territories of Austria. E. Long. 13. 20. N. Lat. 45.
50-
MoNTE-Fiascone, a small hut populous town of Italy,
in the territory of the Church, with a bishop’s see ;
seated on a mountain, near the lake Bolsena, in a coun¬
try abounding with excellent wine, 12 miles south-west
of Orvieto, and 45 north-west of Rome. E. Long.
12. 4. N. Lat. 42. 26.
MoNTE-Marajio, a populous town of Italy, in the
kingdom of Naples, and in the Farther Principato $
seated on the river Calore, 18 miles south of Bene-
vento. E. Long. 15. o. N. Lat. 40. 48.
MoNTE-Mor-o-novo, or Monte-major-el-novo, a con¬
siderable town of Portugal, on the road from Lisbon
to Badajoz. W. Long. 9. 35. N. Lat. 38. 42.
Monte~Mor-o-velho, or Monte-major el-velho, a town
of Portugal in the province of Beira, with a very large
castle, seated in a fertile country, 10 miles south-west
of Coimbra, and 83 north of Lisbon. W. Long. 8 o
N. Lat. 40. 5. b y‘
MoNTE-Peloso, an episcopal town of Italy, in the
kingdom of Naples, and in the Basilicata ; seated on a
mountain near the river Basiento, 14 miles east of Ci-
renza. E. Long. 16. 28. N. Lat. 40. 46.
Monte-Pulsi'ano, a town of Italy, in Tuscany, with a
bishop’s see 5 seated on a high mountain, near the river
Chiana, in a country noted for excellent wine, 25 miles
south-east of Sienna, and 50 south by east of Florence.
E. Long. 11. 49. N. Lat. 43. 10.
MoNTE-Sancto, formerly called Mount At/ios, a moun¬
tain of Turkey in Europe, on the gulf of Contessa. It
is called Monte-Sancto, or the Iloly Mount, because
there are 22 monasteries thereon, in which are 4000
monks, who never sufter a woman to come near them.
It is 17 miles south of Salonichi. E. Long. 24. 9.
N. Lat. 40. 10.
MoNTE-Verde, a town of Italy, in the kingdom of
Naples, and in the Farther Principato, with a bishop’s
see : 60 miles east of Naples. E. Long. 15. 42. N. Lat.
4°‘ 5I'
MONTEGO bay, a flourishing town on the north
>ide of Jamaica. It has a very considerable commerce j
150 vessels clear out annually. The harbour is capaci¬
ous 5 but exposed to north winds, which at certain times
in the year blow with great violence. In June 179?, a
lire consumed an immense quantity of stores, and great
part of the town. W. Long. 77. 50. N. Lat. 18. 29.
MON EES A, a very strong town ot Spain, in the
kingdom of ^ alencia. It is the seat of an order of
knighthood of the same name ; and is five miles from
Xativa. W. Long. o. 30. N. Lat. 39. o.
MONTESQUIEU, Charles de Secondat, Ba¬
ron, a most illustrious Frenchman, descended from an
ancient and noble family of Guienne, was born at the
castle of La Brede, near Bourdcaux, in 1689. The
greatest care was taken of his education ; and at the
age of 20 he had actually prepared materials for his
*. pirit of Laws, by well digested extracts from those
Vol. XIV. Part I. f
1 345 ]
MON
immense volumes of civil law which he had studied, Montes
not barely as a civilian, but as a philosopher. He be- quid''
came a counsellor of the parliament of Bourdeaux in '—-v—»J
1714, and was received president a mortier two years
after. In 1721 he published his Persian Letters j in
which, under the screen of Oriental manners, he satiri¬
zed those of France, and treated of several important
subjects by delicate transient glances: he did not avow
this publication ; but was no sooner pointed out as the
author, than zeal without knowledge, and envy under
the mask of it, united at once against the Persian
Letters. He was received into the French academy in
1728; and having previously quitted his civil employ¬
ments, he entirely devoted himself to his genius, and
was no longer a magistrate, but a man of letters.
Having thus set himself at liberty, he travelled through
Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Holland, and England,
in which last country he resided three vears, and con¬
tracted intimacies with the greatest men'then alive; for
Locke and Newton were dead. The result of his ob¬
servations was, “ that Germany was fit to travel in,
Italy to sojourn in, England to think in, and France
to live in.” On his return he retired for two years to
his estate at La Brede, where he finished his work
On the Causes of the Grandeur and Declension of the
Romans; which appeared in 1734. The reputation
acquired by this last work only cleared the way for his
gi eater undertaking, the Spirit of Laws, which was
printed at Geneva in 2 vols. 410, 1750. This was
immediately attacked by the adversaries of his Persian
Letters, in a multitude of anonymous pamphlets ; con¬
taining all the reproaches to which a liberal mind is
exposed from craft and ignorance, M. Montesquieu
drew up a defence of this work; which for truth, mo¬
deration, and delicacy of ridicule, may be regarded as
a model in its way. This great man was peaceably
enjoying that fulness of esteem which his great merits
had procured him, when he fell sick at Paris, and
died on the 10th of February 1755.—The following
character of this great man is drawn by Lord Chester-
field. “ His virtues did honour to human nature, his
writings justice. A friend to mankind, he asserted their
undoubted and unalienable rights with freedom, even
in Ins own country; whose prejudices in matters of
religion and government he had long lamented, and
endeavoured, not without some success, to remove. He
well knew, and justly admired, the happy constitution
of this country, where fixed and known laws equally
restrain monarchy from tyranny, and liberty from li¬
centiousness. His works will illustrate his name, and
survive him, as long as right reason, moral obligation,
and the true spirit of laws, shall be understood, re¬
spected, and maintained.” As to his personal qualities,
we are told by his eulogist, M. d’Alembert, that “ he
was of a sweet, gay, and even temper. His conversation
was spirited, agreeable, and instructive. Nobody told a
story in a more lively manner, or with more grace and
less affectation. He had frequent absence of mind;
but always awaked from it by some unexpected stroke
that re-animated the languishing conversation. Though
he lived with the great, he retired whenever he could
to his estate in the country, and there met his books, »
his philosophy, and his repose. Surrounded at his
leisure hours with peasants, after having studied man
in the commerce of the world, he studied them in those
X x simple
Montes -
quieu
MON
simple people solely instructed by nature
he cheerfully conversed j he endeavoured,like Socrates,
to find out their genius, and appeared as happy with
them as in the most brilliant assemblies-, especially
when he reconciled their differences, and by his bene¬
ficence relieved them from their distresses.
Besides the works already mentioned, M. Montes¬
quieu wrote several small pieces, as the lemple of C<ni¬
dus, Lysimachus, and an Essay upon Taste, which is
left unfinished. His works have been collected since
his death, and printed at Paris in a splendid edition, in
quarto. They have likewise all of them been translated
into English.
MONTEZUMA, or M0CTE9UMA, was emperor
or king of Mexico when Cortez invaded that coun¬
try in 1518, invited thither, as he pretended, by the
inhabitants, whose children Montezuma,_ in the blind¬
ness of his superstition, had sacrificed to his idols. I be
warlike animals on which the Spanish ^ officers were
mounted, the artificial thunder with which they were
armed, the wooden castles on which they had crossed
the ocean, the armour with which they were covered,
the victories which they gained wherever they went $
all these circumstances, added to that foolish disposition
to wonder which always characterizes a simple people,
so operated upon the minds of the Mexicans, that when
Cortez arrived at the city cf Mexico, he was received
by Montezuma as his master, and by the inhabitants
as a god. At first they fell down in the streets when
a Spanish valet passed by but by degrees the court of
Montezuma grew familiar with the strangers, and ven¬
tured to treat them as men. Montezuma, unable to
expel them by force, endeavoured to inspire them with
confidence at Mexico by expressions of friendship,
while he employed secret means to weaken their power
in other quarters. With this view, one of his generals,
who had private orders to that purpose, attacked a
party of the Spaniards who were stationed at v era
Cruz j and, although his troops were unsuccessful, yet
three or four of the Spaniards were killed. 'J he head of
one of them was carried to Montezuma. In consequence
of this, Cortez did what has been reckoned one of the
boldest political strokes that ever was performed. He
ran to the palace, followed by fifty of his troops j and,
by persuasion and threats, carried the emperor prisoner
into the Spanish quarters. He afterwards obliged him
to deliver up those who had attacked his troops at
Vera Cruz: and, like a general who punishes a com¬
mon soldier, he loaded Montezuma with chains. He
next obliged him to acknowledge himself in public the
vassal of Charles V. j and, in name of tribute for his
homage, Cortez received 600,000 merks of pure gold.
Montezuma soon afterwards fell a sacrifice to his sub¬
mission to the Spaniards. He and Alvaro, the lieu¬
tenant of Cortez, were besieged in the palace by
200,000 Mexicans. The emperor proposed to show
himself to his subjects, that he might persuade them
to desist from the attack : but the Mexicans no longer^
considered him in any other light but as the slave of
foreign conquerors. In the midst of his speech, he
received a blow with a stone which wounded him mor¬
tally, and he expired soon after, A. D. 1520.—See
Cortez. This unfortunate prince left two sons and
three daughters, who embraced the Christian faith.
The eldest received baptism, and obtained from Charles
[ 346 ] M O N
’With them V. lands, revenues, and the title of count de Montezu- Monte*:
ma. He died in 1608 j and his family is one of the ma
most powerful in Spain. _ Mn,Jri,„
MONTFE11RAT, a province of Italy, with the title , ^
of a duchy bounded on the east by the duchy of Milan,
and part of the territory of Genoa -, on the north, by
the Vercellese and Canavese ) on the west, by Pied¬
mont properly so called -, and on the south by the terri¬
tory of Genoa, from whence it is separated by the Apen-
nine mountains. It contains 200 towns and castles 5
and is very fertile and well cultivated, abounding in
corn, wine, oil, and silk. It belongs to the king of
Sardinia, and Casal is the capital town.
MONTFORT, a town of France, in the department
of Ule and Vilaine, seated on the river Mene, 12 miles
from Rennes. W. Fong. 1. 58- N. Eat. 48. 8.
MoNTFORT, a handsome and strong town of the
Netherlands, in the United Provinces, with an ancient
castle ) seated on the river Yssel, seven miles from
Utrecht. E. Long. 5. o. N. Eat. 52. 4.
MoNTFORT, a town of Germany, in the circle of
Suabia, on the confines of Tirol, 16 miles south of
Lindow, and the lake of Constance. It is capital of a
country of the same name, which has been almost all
purchased by the house of Austria. E. Long. 9. 51.
N. Eat. 47* 22. . r c -
Montfort-de-lemos, an ancient town ot opain,
in the kingdom of Galicia, with a magnificent castle,
where the Comarca ot Eemos resides. It is seated in
a fertile country, 25 miles north-east of Orensa, and 55
south-east of Compostella. TV. Long. 7. 9. N. Eat.
42'. 28. .
Montfort-l’amuly, a town of France, in the de¬
partment of Seine and Oise, 25 miles from Paris. E.
Long. 2. 50. N. Eat. 48. 45. .
MONTGATZ, a town of Lower Hungary, m the
county of Pereczas, with a strong fortress. It is en¬
compassed with a great morass, and art and nature have
rendered it almost impregnable. It was defended by the
princess Ragotsky, wife of Count Tekeli, when besieged
by an army of the imperialists, who were obliged to raise
the siege in 1688. E. Long. 21. 55- Lat. 46. 26.
MONTGERON, Louis-Basile Carre de, was
horn at Paris in 1686: his father was master of re¬
quests. He was scarcely 25 years of age when he pur¬
chased the place of counsellor in parliament, where by
his wit and external qualifications he gained consider¬
able reputation. Deeply engaged in all the vices
which flow from irreligion, he was converfed by an
extraordinary circumstance. He went on the 7th of
September 1751 to the tomb of Deacon Paris, with
an intention to examine, with the rigour of the severest
critic, the miracles which were reported to be per¬
formed there. But, according to his own account, he
felt himself suddenly beat to the earth by innumerable
flashes of light with which he was surrounded. EEs
incredulity was converted into flaming zeal, and he
became the apostle of the saint whom he formerly ri¬
diculed. From that moment he devoted himself to
the fanaticism of convulsions, with the same impetuo¬
sity of character with which he had run into the most
shameful excesses. He had not long been the disciple
of Jansenism when he suffered persecution. When
the chamber of inquests was banished in 1732, he
was sent into the mountains of Auvergne 5 which, m-
M O N
[ont^eron. stead of cooling, tended rather to inflame his zeal.
II During his exile, he formed the plan of collecting the
:[on^ome’proofs of the miracles wrought at the tomb of the
i abbe Paris, and of composing what he called a De¬
monstration of them. On his return to Paris, he pre¬
pared to execute this plan j and on the 29th of July
1737, he actually presented to the king at Versailles
a volume in quarto superbly bound. This work he
accompanied with a speech, which is a mixture of
zeal and argument in a tolerable style. In conse¬
quence of this work, which some consider as a master¬
piece of eloquence, and others as a mass of absurdi¬
ties, he was committed to the Bastile. After a few
months confinement, he was sent to an abbey of Bene¬
dictine monks in the diocese of Avignon 3 whence he
was in a short time carried to Viviers. He was after¬
wards confined in the citadel of Valence, where he
died, A. D. 1574, aged 68. The work which he
presented to the king was entitled La verite des Mira¬
cles operees par Vintercession de M. Paris, &c. &c.—
The critics, even to this day, seem to be guided in
their opinion concerning this book either by hatred or
by enthusiasm. “ It would be extremely rash (says
the abbe de St Pierre, in the second volume of his
Annates, p. 593-) to maintain with the Molinists, that
no miraculous cure was ever performed at the tomb
of the abbe Paris ; and to say with the Jarisenists, that
these cures were performed by a supernatural power,
would be the height of fanaticism. The truth is, (adds
the same author), that no miracle appears ever to have
been performed at this tomb except in the cure of the
human body; in all other cases, there would have been
the want of that imagination on which the whole mi¬
racle depended.” Thus, although Montgeron ventured
to compare these prodigies with the miracles of Jesus
Christ and his apostles, yet we find no person raised
from the dead, no multiplication of loaves, no command
obeyed by the elements, and no blind or deaf restored
to their sight or hearing. It belongs to the Author of
nature alone, or to those who have derived power from
him, to work such miracles as are recorded by the evan¬
gelists, or in the history of the apostles. Montgeron
added a second and third volume on the same subject :
he left also in manuscript a work which he composed
in prison contre les Incredules. Religion, it must be
confessed, has had much more powerfnl advocates. For¬
tunately Pascal and Bossuet are among the number; and
it could well have wanted both Paris and Montgeron,
whatever virtues they might possess in other respects.
MONTGOMERY, the capital of a county of the
same name in North Wales, 138 miles from London,
took its name from Roger de Montgomery earl of
Shrewsbury, who built the castle. It is called by the
Welsh Tre Valdin, that is, Baldwin’s town ; having
been built by Baldwin, lieutenant of the marches of
Wales, in the reign of William I. The Welsh, after
having put the garrison to the sword, demolished it in
1095 ; but Henry JH. rebuilt it, and granted it the
privileges of a free borough, with other liberties. It is
a tolerably well built town, in a healthful situation and
fertile soil, with 932 inhabitants in 181 X.
MONTGOMERYSHIRE, a county of North
Wales, 40 miles in length and 37 in breadth ; bounded
«n the north by Merionethshire and Denbighshire, on
Ihe north-east and east by Shropshire, on the south by
[ 347 J
M O N
Radnorshire and Cardiganshire, and on the west by Momgome-
the last-mentioned county and part of Merionethshire, ryshirc,
It is divided into six hundreds ; has five market Mondh.
towms and 47 parishes, and in 1811 contained 51,931 ' 
inhabitants. It lies in the three several dioceses of St
Asaph, Bangor, and Hereford ; but sends only two
members to parliament, one for the county, and one for
the town ot Montgomery. The air is pleasant and sa¬
lubrious ; but this county, being extremely moun¬
tainous, is not very fertile, except in the valleys, which
afl'ord some corn and plenty of pasture , but the south,
south-east, and north-east parts, being more level, are
extremely fruitful, especially a pleasant vale, watered
by the Severn.
MONTH, the twelfth part of a year. See Chro¬
nology, N° 17.
Month, in its proper acceptation, is that space of
time which the moon takes up in passing from any
certain point to the same again, which is called a pe¬
riodical month; or it is the space of time between two
conjunctions of the moon with the sun, which is called
a synodical month. That space of time which the sun
takes up in passing through one sign or 12th part of the
zodiac, is also called (but improperly) a month. So that
there are two sorts of months; lunar, which are mea¬
sured by the moon ; and solar, which are measured by
the sun. The lunar periodical month consists of 27
days 7 hours 43 minutes 5 seconds : The lunar synodi¬
cal month is 29 days 12 hours 44 minutes 3 seconds
and x 1 thirds. A solar month contains, upon a mean
calculation, 30 days 10 hours 29 minutes 5 seconds.
The Jews, Greeks, and Romans, made use of lunar
synodical months ; but, to avoid fractions, they con¬
sisted alternately of 29 and 30 days. The former, the
Romans called cavi, and the Greeks x,otXoi-, the latter
were termed pleni and
1. The Hebrew months were ranged differently in
their sacred and in their civil year.
Order of the Sacred Year.
Nisan
1
2 Jair
3 Sivan
4 Thammuz
5 Ab
6 Elul
7 Tisri
8 Marschevan
9 Caslea
10 Thebct
11 Sebat
12 Adar
Answering
to our
f March.
April.
May.
June.
July.
August.
September.
October.
November
December.
January.
February.
Order of the Civil Year.
1 Tisri
2 Marschevan
3 Casleu
4 Thebet
5 Sebat
6 Adar
7 Nisatt
8 Jair
9 Sivan
10 Thammv%
11 Ab
12 Plul
Answering
to our
X X 2
September.
October.
November.
December.
January.
February.
March.
April.
May.
June.
July.
August.
These
Month.
MON [ 34« J
These months being lunar cannot exactly answer to days alternately, fell
M O N
1 our solar months j but every Jewish month must be con¬
ceived to answer to two of ours, and partake ol both.
As these 12 lunar months consisted only ot 354 days,
the Jews, in order to bring it nearer to the true year,
took care every three years to intercalate a r 3th month
into the number, which they called Ve-adar, or the
second Adar. The new moon was always the beginning
of the month; and it is said the Jews had people post¬
ed on elevated places, to give notice to the Sanhedrim
as soon as she made her appearance: After this, pro¬
clamation was made by sound of trumpet, and “ the
feast of the new moon, the feast of the new moon,”
resounded amongst the people.
The ancient Hebrew months were of 30 days each,
excepting the last, which consisted ol 35 j so that the
year contained 365 days, with an intercalary month
at the end of 120 years, which, by absorbing the odd
hours which remained at the conclusion of each year,
brought it back nearly to its proper place. This
regulation of the year was borrowed from the Egyp¬
tians.
2. The months of the Athenian year, as we have be¬
fore observed, consisted alternately ot 29 and 30 uays.
The fii’st month, according to Melon’s reformation of
the kalendar, began with the first new moon after the
the summer solstice, and was called hecatomba’07i, an¬
swering to the latter half ol June, and the former half
of July. The order of the months, with the number
of days in each, are as lollow :
1 Hecatomb aeon,
2 Metageitnion,
3 Bocdromion,
4 Mcemacterion,
5 Panepsion,
6 Amthcstei'ion,
3°
29
3°
29
3®
29
y Posid/'on,
8 Game lion,
9 FJaphebolion,
10 Mi/nichion,
11 Thargelion,
12 Scirrophorion,
30
29
3°
29
3®
29
Each month was divided into three decades of days
called The first was called ottyopsvx or
treepivv, or the decade of the beginning of the month j
the second was Msiv#? piravlog or the decade ot the
middle 5 and the third was Mjivss cp&ivoylog, Trotvopivv or
Myoflos, the decade of the expiring month.
The first day of the first decade was termed vMfuwet,
because the first month began with the new moon }
the second day was divlegx Wup-nM ; the third Tg/ta
&c. The first day of the second decade was pi-
o-vilof, the second hvligx pemfles, &c.—the days ol this
decade were also called irgalrj siri hxx, detflegit dixu, &c.
The first day of the third decade was TTgalv stt } the
second was fotflegx fTr’ tixxdi, &c. i. e. the first, second,
&c. after 20, because the last decade began on the
20th day. This decade was also counted by inversion
thus j <p$<vov]os &xxli) the 2ist, (p&vovles mxlti the 22d,
ipSiiovlog oy^otj the 23d, and so of the rest to the last day
of the month, which was called m kxi nx, the old and
the new, because one part of that day belonged to
the old and the other to the new moon ; but after the
time of Demetrius, the last day of the month was
called from him A>ip)lg»«s; it sometimes was named
T^tXXXS.
The Grecian months, thus consisting of 29 and 30
short of the solar year 11 days ryioni;-
„ hours. To remedy this defect, the cycle ot four -y~*
years, called rflgxilngis, was invented.-—In this cycle,
after the first two years, they added an intercalated
month called tuZtXipos, consisting ol 22 days j and
again, after the expiration ol two years more, they
inserted another month ol 23 days, the fourth part ol
a day having in the space ol lour years amounted to a
whole day. See Year.
3. The Roman year under Romulus consisted of 10
months only, and began with March, which contained
31 days 5 then followed April which had 30, May 31,
June 30, Quinti/is 31, Sextilis 30, September 30, Oc¬
tober 31, November 30, December 30. These 10
months containing no more than 304 days, this ac¬
count was in a short time found to be deficient. Numa
Pompilius, therefore, took away one day from each of
these six months, April, June, Sextihs, September, No¬
vember, December ; and to the six days thus obtained
he added 51, which was the number that Romulus’s
year, in his opinion, wanted to make it perfect. Numa
had now 57 days to dispose of; he therefore divided
them, and constituted two other months, January and
February ; the former consisting ol 29 and the latter of
28 days." The month of January, which he placed at
the winter solstice, he made instead of March to begin
the year. Thus Numa’s year consisted ol 355 days:
but this being found 10 days 6 hours short ol the solar
year, he made use of the intercalation of 90 days at
the expiration of eight years perpetually ; which num¬
ber, being made up ol the 11 days and a quarter,
kept the year pretty well to its place. The beginning
of the year in Julius Caesar’s time had anticipated its
true place 67 whole days : these he intercalated be¬
twixt November and December : so that the year con¬
sisted, for this one time, of 15 months or 445 days.
This reformation was called the Julian correction, and
this year the year of confusion. At the end of 12
years, by the ignorance ot priests, who did not under¬
stand intercalation, 12 days had been intercalated for
nine. This was observed by Augustus Caesar, and rec¬
tified, by ordering 12 years to pass without any interca¬
lary days. The order and succession of months was
the same as that of Numa : But January, March, May',
Quintilis, Sextilis, October, and December, had each
31 days; April, June, September 30, and February,
in common years, 28 ; but every fourth year or bissex¬
tile 29. This, with a very little difference, is the ac¬
count observed at present. Quintilis, in compliment to
Julius Csesar was called July, because in this month he
was born; and Sextilis, in honour of Augustus, was
called August; both which names are still continued.
See Year.
Each month by the Romans was divided into ka¬
lends, nones, and ides, all of which were reckoned back¬
wards. The kalends were the first day of the month.
The nones fell on the seventh, and the ides on the 15th,
of March, May, July, October—but in all other
months the nones were on the fifth, and the ides on
the 13th. For the more easy comprehension of the
Roman manner of dating, according to this division ot
the months, here follows a table.
March
MON
[ 349 ] MON
March
May
July
October
Kale/iclai
6
5
4
3 .
Prid. Non.
Nonce
8
7
6
5
4
3 .
Prid. Idus
Idus
T7
16
*5
r4
J3
1 2
11
IO
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
Prid. Kal.
January
August
December
Kalendce
4
3
Prid. Non.
Nonce
8
7
6
5
4
3 .
Prid. Idus
Idas
*9
18
J7
16
IS
H
J3
12
II
IO
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
Prid. Kcd.
April
June
September
November
Kalendce
4
3
Prid. Non.
Nonce
8
7
6
5
4
3 .
Prid. Idus
Idus
18
T7
16
J4
J3
12
11
10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
Pnt/. ivt?/.
February.
Kalendce
4
3 .
Prid. Non
Nonce
8
7
6
5
4
3 .
Prid. Idus
Idus
16
I5
H
J3
12
II
10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3.
Prid. Kal.
N. B. Every leap year, February consisting of 29
<lays, the 24th and 25th of that month are written sexto
Kal. Mart.; hence leap year is called Bissextilis.
MONTIA, a genus of plants belonging to the tri-
andria class, and in the natural method ranking with
those of which the order is doubtful. See Botany
Index.
MONTINIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
dioecia class. See Botany Index.
MONTMEDI, a small but strong town of France,
in the department of the Meuse, seated on the river
Chire, which divides it into the upper and lower towns.
It is 22 miles south-east of Sedan, 27 south-west of
Luxemburg, and 135 north-east of Paris. E. Long. 5.
23. N. Lat. 49. 32.
MONTMORENCI, Francois Henry de. See
Luxemburg.
MONTMORENCY, a town of France, in the de¬
partment of Seine and Oise, remarkable for the tombs
of the dukes of this name. It is seated on a hill, near
a large valley, fertile in fruits, especially excellent cher¬
ries. E. Long. 2. 24. N. Lat. 48. 59.
MONTPELIER, one of the finest towns of Fr ance,
and the most considerable in the department of Herault,
excepting Thoulouse, is situated in E. Long. 3. 58. N.
Lat. 43. 37. This town has been long famous for its
salubrious air, and on this account has been the frequent
resort of invalids.^ But the climate, according to some Montpelier
travellers, is considerably changed, having at times con- Montreal. ’
stant rains for three months together, and often very-v——'
thick fogs. Its situation, though on an eminence, never
could be healthy 5 for between it and the Mediter-
ranean (which is about two leagues distant) it is one
continued marsh, covered with noxious vapours, which
when the sea breeze sets in, blows directly on the town
and the country adjacent; of the sad effects of which,
its unhealthy inhabitants, with their meagre looks, are
the most convincing proofs.
1 his city stands upon a rising ground fronting the
Mediterranean ; on the other side is an agreeable plain,
extending about the same distance towards the moun¬
tains of the Cevennes. It is reckoned well built, yet
the streets are in general narrow and the houses dark.
The city contained 33,913 inhabitants in 1800, many
of whom are Protestants, and are sociable, gay, and
good tempered. The trade of Montpelier is very ex¬
tensive in wine, cordials, oil, verdigris, and saltpetre j—
and the manufactures in silk and woollen goods are con¬
siderable. 1 he markets are well supplied with fish, poul¬
try, butcher’s meat, and game, at reasonable rates. The
wine of the country is strong and harsh : Burgundy
is dear, and so is sweet wine of Frontignan, though
made in the neighbourhood of Cette. Liquors of
various sorts are compounded and distilled at Mont¬
pelier. The environs are extremely pleasant, having on
one side La Place de Peyrou, which forms a fine ter¬
race. From thence on a clear day, may be seen to the
eastward the Alps, which form the frontiers of Italy j
to the south-west, the Pyrenean mountains, which form
those of Spain, both at about 50 leagues distant; and
to the southward a most extensive view of the Mediter¬
ranean. Not far from thence is a noble aqueduct, with
a double tier of arches ; by this, water is brought from
a mountain at three leagues distance, into two basons
in a small elegant temple at the west end of the town.
Here also is a royal garden, where on certain days
public lectures were formerly held on botany. On the
other side of the town is the esplanade, a beautiful walk,
bordered on each side by olive trees, from whence
there is a pleasing prospect of the sea and the country
adjacent to the town. Previous to the revolution,
Montpelier had an university, an academy of sciences,
and it was the see of a bishop.
MONIREAL, an island of North America, in the
river St Lawrence, ten leagues in length, and four
leagues broad, and about 60 miles above Quebec. It
was taken from the French by generals Amherst and
Murray on the 8th of September 1760. The soil of
the island is exceedingly rich and good, producing all
kinds of European fruits and vegetables in great abun¬
dance, with variety of garden fruits. The south side
is the most inhabited, and of course best cultivated j
and besides the settlements, which are numerous, the
island is adorned with villas, for the retirement of the
more wealthy merchants during the summer season.
The town of Montreal, situated on this island, and
formerly called Ville Marie, is the second place in Ca¬
nada for extent, buildings, and strength j and besides
posessing the advantage of a less rigorous climate, for
delightfulness of situation is infinitely preferable to
Quebec. It stands on the side of a hill, sloping to the
south, with many agreeable villas upon it, which with
tho
Montreal
MON C 350 ]
the island of St Helen, and the river (which is here level with the plain.
M O N
about two miles broad), form a most charming land¬
scape. It was formerly enclosed with walls, to protect
it from the Indians, but these were levelled some years
aco. Though the city is not very broad from north to
south, it covers a great length of ground from east to
west, and is fully as large and populous as Quebec.
The streets are regular, forming an oblong square the
houses well built, and in particular the public edifices,
which far exceed those of the capital in beauty and
commodiousness ; the residence of the knights hospital¬
lers being extremely magnificent.—There are several
gardens, in which, however, the proprietors have con¬
sulted use more than elegance, particularly those ot the
Sisters of the Congregation, the Nunnery Hospital, the
Recollets, Jesuit Seminary, and Governor. The num¬
ber of inhabitants in 1807 was about 10,000. The
gardens produce peaches, apricots, plums, currants,
&c. By the situation of the place, the inhabitants
are well supplied with all kinds of river fish, some ot
which are unknown to Europeans. They have likewise
plenty of black cattle, horses, hogs, and poultry. The
neighbouring shores supply them with a great variety
of game in the difterent seasons j and the island abounds
with springs of good water and numerous rivulets.
The trade in furs is considerable, and vessels of 200
tons can come up to the town. See Canada, Supple¬
ment.
Montreal, a town of Spain, in the kingdom of Ar-
ragon, with a castle, seated on the river Xiloca, 25
miles north-west of Terville, and 40 south-east ol Ca-
lataud. W. Long. I. 2. N. Lat. 41. 9.
Montreal, a town of Sicily, and in the valley of
Mazara, with an archbishop’s see j seated on a rivulet,
five miles west of Palermo, and 50 north-east of Ma¬
zara. E. Long. 13. 31. N. Lat. 38. 14.
Montreal, or Mount Royal, a fortress of Ger¬
many, in the circle of the Lower Rhine, in the Prus¬
sian territories, seated on the river Moselle, 22 miles
north-east of Triers. E. Long. 7. 6. N. Lat. 49. 59.
MONTROSE, a handsome town of North Britain,
in the shire of Angus, situated at the mouth ot the ri¬
ver Esk, on the German ocean, 46 miles north-east ot
Edinburgh. The houses are neat, and many of them
in the modern taste. The most remarkable public
buildings are, the town-house, the church, and an ele¬
gant episcopal chapel.—Montrose is a royal burgh, and
a dukedom in the family of Graham. It stands between
two rivers, the south and north Esks, over the latter
of which there is a handsome stone bridge, and over the
former there is one of wood. I he salmon fisheries on
these rivers are very extensive, and form a considerable
branch of commerce. The harbour is a fine semicircu¬
lar bason defended by a handsome stone pier. A great
number of trading vessels belong to this port. I he po¬
pulation of Montrose in 1811 amounted to 8955. M-
Long. 2. 32. N. Lat. 36. 40.
Montrose, Marquis of. See Graham j and Bri¬
tain, N° 137, 138, 143, 265. _ .
MONTSERRAT, a mountain of Spain, in Catalo¬
nia, one of the most singular in the world for situation,
shape, and composition. It stands single, towering over
a hillv country like a pile of grotto work or Gothic
spires } and its height so great, that to a beholder on the
top the neighbouring mountains appear to be sunk to a
t  It is composed of steep rocks, Monts
which at a distance seem indented} whence it is said t rat
to have received the name Montserrat from the Latin ^
word serra, a “ saw.” It is impossible to describe the
beauty, richness, and variety, of the landscapes disco¬
vered from the most elevated point: but the extensive¬
ness ot the prospect may be conceived byr the reader,
upon being told that the islands of Minorca and Major¬
ca, which are at the distance of 60 leagues, are disco¬
vered from this elevation.
Montserrat is particularly famous lor the adoiation
that is paid to an image of the Virgin, which according
to tradition was found in a cave in this mountain by
some shepherds in the year 880. Over this image,
Guthred earl of Barcelona caused a monastery and cha¬
pel to be erected ; but after remaining in this recepta¬
cle upwards of qoo years, Philip IL and 1 hilip HI.
built a magnificent church for its reception. Innume¬
rable and astonishing miracles are ascribed to this holy
image. The convent or monastery is situated in a nook
of the mountain •, it seems as if vast torrents of water,
or some violent convulsion of natuie, had split the east¬
ern face of Montserrat, and formed in the cleft a suffi¬
cient platform to build the monastery upon. _ The river
Llobregat roars at the bottom, and perpendicular walls
of rock of prodigious height, rise from the water edge
near half way up the mountain. Upon these masses of
white stone rests the small piece of level ground which
the monks inhabit. Close behind the abbey, and in
some parts impending over it, huge cliffs, shoot up in a
semicircle to a stupendous elevation : their summits are
split into sharp cones, pillars, pipes, and other odd
shapes, blanched and bare; but the interstices are filled
up with forests of evergreen and deciduous trees and
plants. Fifteen hermitages are placed among the
woods; nay, some of them on the very pinnacles of
the rock, and in cavities hewn out of the loftiest ot
these pyramids.
The monastery is one of the 45 religious houses ot
the Spanish congregation ot the order of St Benedict;
their general chapter is held every fourth year at Val¬
ladolid, where the deputies choose abbots and other
dignitaries for the ensuing quadrennium. In this mo¬
nastery, they elect for abbot a Catalan and a Castilian
alternately. Their possessions are great, consisting of
nine villages lying to the south of the mountain ; but
the king has latefy curtailed their income about 6000
livres a-year, by appropriating to bis own use the best
house in each village, some of which, with their
tythes, are worth 200 dollars per annum. Their ori¬
ginal foundation, in 866, gave them nothing but the
mountain ; and to donations and economy owe
the great increase of their landed property. They are
bound to feed and harbour for three days all poor pil¬
grims that come up and pay their homage to the vir¬
gin ; and the allowance is a luncheon of bread m the
morning, as much more, with broth at noan, and
bread again at night. Sometimes, on particular festi¬
vals, 7000 persons arrive in one day ; but people 0
condition pay a reasonable price for what they eat.--
The number of professed monks, according t0 iV^
Swinburne, is 76 (according to M. Bourgoannc 60),
of lay brothers, 28 ; and of singing boys 25 ; besides
physician, surgeon, and servants. Ihe churcli is a
gloomy edifice; and the gilding is much sullied wit
M O N [ 351 ] MOO
r- the smoke of 85 lamps of silver, of various forms and
sizes, that hang round the cornice of the sanctuary.
-'Funds have been bequeathed by different devotees for
furnishing them with oil. The choir above stairs is de¬
corated with the life of Christ, in good wooden carv¬
ing. A gallery runs on each side of the chancel, for
the convenience of the monks. A large iron grate di¬
vides the church from the chapel of the Virgin, where
the image stands in a niche over the altar, before which
burn four tapers in large silver candlesticks, the pre¬
sent of the duke of Medina Cell. In the sacristy, and
passages leading to it, are presses and cupboards full
of relicks and ornaments of gold, silver, and precious
stones 5 they point out, as the most remarkable, two
crowns for the virgin and her son, of inestimable va¬
lue ; some large diamond rings ; an excellent cameo
of Medusa’s head 5 the Roman emperors in alabaster 5
and the sword of St Ignatius. But as no offerings to
this miraculous statue can be rejected or otherwise dis¬
posed of, the shelves are crowded with most whimsical
cx votos, viz. silver legs, fingers, breasts, ear-rings,
watches, two-wheeled chaises, boats, carts, and such
like trumpery.
On different parts of the mountain, as already noti¬
ced, are a number of hermitages. Each of these so¬
litary retreats, which at a distance seem destitute of
every thing, has a chapel, a cell, a well in the rock,
and a little garden. The inhabitant of one of them,
which is dedicated to St Beneto, has the privilege of
making an annual entertainment on a certain day ; on
which day all the other hermits are invited, when they
receive the sacrament from the hands of the mountain
vicar, and after divine service dine together. They
meet also at this hermitage, on the days of the saints
to which their several hermitages are dedicated, to say
mass and commune with each other. But at other
times they live in a very solitary and recluse manner,
perform various penances, and adhere to very rigid
rules of abstinence ; nor do they ever eat flesh ; nor
are they allowed to keep within their walls either
dog, cat, bird, or any living thing, lest their attention
should be withdrawn from heavenly to earthly aflec-
tions. Most of these hermits are said to be persons of
fortune and family, disgusted with the world, who have
retired thither to devote themselves to meditation, self-
denial, and contrition.
Montserrat, one of the Caribbee isles, belonging
to Great Britain. It is a very small, but very plea¬
sant island, so called by Columbus from its resemblance
to the famous mountain near Barcelona in Catalonia.
It lies in AV. Eong. 61. o. N. Eat. 16. 50. having
Antigua to the north-east, St Christopher’s and Nevis
to the north-west, and Guadaloupe lying south-south-
east at the distance of about nine leagues. It is about
nine miles in diameter, and is supposed to contain about
40,000 or 50,000 acres. The climate is warm, but
less so than Antigua, and is esteemed very healthy.
The surface is mountainous, but with pleasant, rich, and
fertile valleys ; the hills are covered with cedars and
other fine trees. Here are all the animals as well as
vegetables and fruits that are to be found in the other
islands. The inhabitants raised formerly a considerable
quantity of indigo. The produce now is chiefly cotton,
rum, and sugar. There is no good harbour, but three to¬
lerable roads, at Plymouth, Old Harbour, and K er’sBav.
MONUMENT, in Architechtrc, a building destined
to preserve the memory, See. of the person who raised
it, or the person lor whom it was raised ; such are a
mausoleum, a triumphal arch, a pyramid, Sic.
MOOD, or Mode. See Mode.
Moods of Syl/ogism. See Eogic, N° 85.
Mood, or Alocle^ in Grcwitnciv^ the different manner
of conjugating verbs. See Grammar.
MOON, {Luna D ), in Astronomy, one of the hea¬
venly bodies, usually ranked among the planets 5 but
with more propriety accounted a satellite, or secondary
planet.
Among the ancients, the moon was an object of prime
regard.—By the Hebrews she was more regarded than
the sun, and they were more inclined to worship her as
a deity. rlhe new moons, or first days of every month,
’were kept as festivals among them, which were cele¬
brated with sound of trumpets, entertainments, and sa¬
crifice. (See Numb, xviii. 11. x. 16. 1 Sam. xx. 5—
18.). People were not obliged on these days to rest.
'I be feasts of new moons were a miniature representa¬
tion of the feast of trumpets, which was held on the first
of the month Tisri, which was the beginning of the civil
year. rI he Jews not being acquainted with the physical
causes of eclipses, looked upon them, whether of sun or
moon, as signs of the divine displeasure. The Grecians
looked upon the moon as favourable to marriage ; and
the lull moons, or the times of conjunction of sun and
moon, were held the most lucky seasons for celebrating
marriages , because they imagined the moon to have
great influence over generation. The full moon was
held favourable for any undertakings by the Spartans ;
And no motive could induce them to enter upon an ex¬
pedition, march an army, or attack an enemy, till the
full of the moon. The moon was supposed both by
Greeks and Romans to preside over child-birth. The
patricians at Rome wore a crescent on their shoes, to
distinguish them from the other orders of men. This
crescent was called Lunula. Some say it was of ivory,
others that it was worked upon the shoe, and others
that it was only a particular kind of fibula or buckle.
For the astronomical phenomena connected with the
moon, see Astronomy Index.
Harvest-Moon.—It is remarkable, that the moon,
during the week in which she is full in harvest, rises
sooner after sunsetting than she does in any other full
moon week in the year. By doing so, she affords an
immediate supply of light after sunset, which is very
beneficial to the farmers for reaping and gathering iu
the fruits of the earth : and therefore they distinguish
this full moon from all the others in the year, by call¬
ing it the harvest-moon.
Influence of the Moon on the Human Body.—The
famous Dr Mead was a believer in the influence of the
sun and moon on the human body, and published a book
to this purpose, entitled He Imperio Solis ac Jounce in
Corpore humano : but this opinion has been exploded by
most philosophers, as equally unreasonable in itself, and
contrary to fact. As the most accurate and sensible
barometer is not affected by the various positions of the
moon, it is not thought likely that the human body
should be affected by them. Several learned and in¬
genious men, however, still consider Hr Mead’s doc¬
trine as far from being unfounded.
Moon, Influence of, on the Earth'1 s Atmosphere.—It
has
Moon.
* See As¬
tronomy,
~S° go.
MOO [ 35
has been the opinion of the vulgar in almost all ages
and countries, that the changes which take place in
the state of our atmosphere, or the changes of the wea¬
ther, depend in a great measure on certain situations of
the moon. This particular opinion is alluded to by
Virgil (a), and is applied, in the shepherd of Ban¬
bury’s rules for judging of the weather (b). We have,
under Meteorology, N° 90 to 92, given the result
of some observations on the connection between the
changes of the moon and those of the weather.
It can scarcely be doubted that an opinion so gene¬
rally received must be founded on something more than
fancy or prejudice } and indeed the observations of se¬
veral eminent meteorologists within the last thirty
years have contributed materially to favour this opinion.
Independent of actual observation, it appears reason¬
able to infer, that a body so large, and so near the
earth, as the moon, whose gravitating influence on the
earth’s surface in producing the Jlt/.v and reflux of the
sea, cannot be altogether inactive with respect to the air,
a fluid much more susceptible of changes than the sea.
We have already noticed (Meteorology, N° 14.)
the theory of Mr Luke Howard, on the moon’s influ¬
ence on the mercury of the barometer, and we are now
to give a short account of what has been advanced on
her general influence by the philosophers of the conti¬
nent. Among these, Signior Toaldo may be said to
have led the way.
From observations made at Padua, during fifty years,
on the state of the weather that corresponded to certain
changes of the moon, he found that these changes were
always accompanied by good or bad weather •, and he
at length became enabled to foretel with some degree of
certainty what would be the state of the atmosphere
that should follow any situation of the moon. There
are ten situations of the moon, which, according to
Toaldo, are capable of producing a sensible effect on
the earth’s atmosphere. These are the syxigies * or
new and full moon ; the quadratures ; the apsides, or
apogee and perigee 5 the lunistices, or these points
when the moon is nearest to our zenith and at the
greatest distance from it j and the moon’s equinoxes.
There are three different relations of the moon’s mo¬
tion producing a corresponding number of revolutions,
each having a certain duration, and each coirespond¬
ing to some of the above ten situations, as it will be
seen by the following table.
Revolutions.
1. Synodical, in regard to
the sun *, continues 29 days -
12 hours 44 minutes.
2. Anomalistic, in regard to
the moon’s course j continues ^ Apogeum.
27 days 13 hours 43 mi- Perigeum.
nutes.
Situations.
New moon.
First quarter
Full moon.
Last quarter.
That a change
will take
place at
2 ] MOO
3. Periodical, in regard to f*Ascending equinoxes. Moair
tlie moon’s passing the equa-\ Northern lunistices. y—
tor •, continues 27 days, 7 "I Descending equinoxes,
hours, 43 minutes. (_Southern lunistices.
Sig. Toaldo has calculated a series of probabilities
that a change of weather will take place on the ap¬
proach of any one of these ten situations, and these he
has expressed in a tabular form as follows,
New moon ") f 6:1
First quarter S'2
Full moon S:2
Last quarter 5'4
Perigeum is \ 7:I
Apogeum 4:1
Aseending equinox 13:4
Northern lunistice U'-4
< Descending equinox 11:4
Southern lunistice J l 3:I
In general, each of the ten situations changes the
weather that prevailed under the preceding situation,
and it seldom happens that a change of weather takes
place without a corresponding change in the lunar situ¬
ations. From the inequality of their revolutions, these
situations are often combined, and by this union their
effect in producing changes of the atmosphere is great¬
ly increased, especially when a union takes place be¬
tween the syzigies and apsides. Thus,
That a change
will follow
TNew moon ivith perigee
Ditto with apogee
) Full moon with perigee
Ditto with apogee
Ml
These combined situations are generally accompanied
or followed by storms and tempests, especially when
they take place near the moon’s passage over the equa¬
tor. This is more particularly the case in the months
of March and September, and we find that at the new
and full moon in these months, the weather takes a
certain character, by which it is distinguished for the
succeeding three or six months. The same takes place
at the solstices, especially at the winter solstice. The
new moon does not always, however, produce a change
of weather ^ and this want of effect is most likely to
happen at those new moons which are most distant from
the apsides. .
Though Toaldo considers it as perfectly ascertained
that each succeeding situation of the moon alters that
state of the atmosphere which had been produced by
the preceding situation •, it must, however, be observed
that some situations of the moon favour good and others
bad weather. Thus the perigee, the new and full
moon, the passage over the equator, and the northern
lunistice are favourable to bad weather, while the apo-
gee
(a)   “ lunasque sequentes
Ordine respicies •, nunquam te crastina fallet
Hora, neque insidiis noctis capiere sereme.
Georg. I. 424.
(b) I. Horns of the moon obscure—
2. tVhen the moon is red—Wind.
3. On the fourth day of the new moon, if bright,
with sharp horns—No winds nor rain till the month
be finished.
MOO
Moon, gee, quadratures and southern lunisticc, are more fu-
vourable to good weather.
> The changes produced hy tiie influence of the lunar
situations, seldom take place on the exact days on which
these situations happen, but either precede or follow
them ; and Toaldo has found that, in the six winter
months, the changes of weather commonly precede the
lunar situations, whereas in the six summer months they
more commonly follow them.
There are certain days before and after new and full
moon, which deserve particular attention in formin'!-
our judgments of the weather, especially the octants or
the lourth day before new and full moon, as at these
times the weather is inclined to change, and it may be
pretty certainly predicted, that a change will follow at
the next lunar situation. ^ irgil has particularly noti¬
ced this fourth day as a sure mark of the succeeding
weather (c.) If the weather continues unchanged on
the fourth, fifth, and sixth day of the moon, it proves
that the lunar influence is at that time very weak, and
we are to expect no change till the full moon, or per¬
haps till the next new moon.
Sig. Toaldo compared a diary which he had kept
for many years of the state of the barometer with the
ten situations of the moon, and from the comparison de¬
duced the following conclusions, viz.
1. That at the time of the moon’s apogee, the mer¬
cury rises higher by the sixth part of a line than at the
perigee.
2. lhat at the time of the quadratures it is higher
by the tenth of a line than at the time of the syzigies.
3. That it is higher by a fourth of a line at the
southern than at the northern luuistice. This corre¬
spondence of the lunar situations with the ascent of the
mercury in the barometer does not hold at the time of
the moon’s passage through her equinoctial points.
The mercury is then higher, especially when she is pas¬
sing in Libra; and as such situations of the moon ge¬
nerally indicate bad weather, this circumstance is not
conformable to meteorological observations.
In this case Toaldo thinks that we must be guided
in our judgment of the weather, rather by the moon
than by the barometer.
The case is similar during the coincidence of the
equinoctial points with the perigee, at which time the
mercury is unusually high j but this coincidence is a
sign of great regularity.
According to Toaldo, the rising and setting of the
moon, as well as its superior and inferior passage of the
meridian, all which situations he calls the moon’s angles,
may serve for foretelling rain. The seasons most expo¬
sed to rain, are the rising and setting of the moon ; while
Us passage over the meridian is most favourable to good
weather. It has ever been observed that during rainy
<ays, the sky always clears a little while the moon is
passing the meridian. An exception to this rule must,
icwever, be made when the moon’s angle does not coin¬
cide with that of the sun.
Vol. XIV. Part I. -I-
f 353 ]
M O 6
Lad years take place when the apsides of the moon Moon,
fall in the four cardinal points of the zodiac. Their
intervals, therefore, are as four to five, eight to nine,
&c. or as the intervals of the passage of the apsides
through the four cardinal points of the zodiac. Thus
the year 1777 was, in general, a bad year 5 and in that
year the apsides of the moon were 111 the equinoctial
signs ; and it is probable that the years in which the
apsides fall in the signs i aurus, Leo, Virgo and Aqua¬
rius, will be good and moderate years, as the year
17/6 really was $ and in that year the apsides of the
moon were in Taurus and Virgo.
Leery 18th year must be similar. V. e, however,
cannot depend upon a return altogether the same, on
account of the three diflerent revolutions of the moon j
and therefore it may happen, that the epoch of this ex¬
traordinary year may be retarded a year or perhaps
two. Though approximations only are here given, this
does not prevent their being useful to farmers, if they
only pay attention to circumstances. Besides, various
exceptions must he made for different parts of the earth j
and it is difficult to determine these before-band, as
what regards this system is applicable to the whole
globe 5 but when the result of the system has been im¬
proved by local observations, the conjectures for each
country will be attended with more certainty.
The 54th year must have a greater similarity to the
first than to all the rest j because, at this period, the
situations of the moon, in regard to the sun and the
earth, are again found in the same points.
J he quantity of the rain which falls in nine successive
years, is almost equal to that which falls in tire next
following nine. But this is not the case when wc com¬
pare in like manner the quantity of rain which falls in
six, eight, or ten years *. 0 See T>hiL
1 he observations of M. Lamarck, though they eon- Mag. vol.
firm the opinion of the moon’s general influence on the
atmosphere, do not agree with those of Toaldo, as to
the situations of that luminary which correspond to the
changes of the weather. He could not find that agree¬
ment between the syzigies and quadratures of the moon
ami a change of weather, which has been so much
dwelt on by Toaldo; but he is of opinion, that we are
to consider the declination of the moon as the principal
cause of her influence on the atmosphere.
Lalande had conceived the idea that when the moon
entered the northern hemisphere, or had north declina¬
tion, the weather was most likely to be cold and dry,
and that when she passed to the south of the equator,
it was likely to be rainy. The observations of La¬
marck, however, tend to establish the contrary opinion.
Lamarck considers the two following principles as
established hy his observations ; viz.
J. That it is in the elevation of the moon above, and
her depression heloiv the equator, that we are to search
for those regularly varied effects which she produces on
our atmosphere.
2. Thai the determinable circumstances, which eon-
^ y spire
! C-' ^una revertentes cum primum colligit ignes,
Si nigrum obscuro comprenderit acra cornu ;
Maximus agricolis pelagoque parabitur imber.
At, si virgineum suffuderit ore ruborem,
Acntus erit ; vento semper rubet aurea Phoebe.
•Sin ortu in quarto (namque is certissimus auctorj
J ura, neque obtusis jjer coelum cornibus ibit;
1 otus et iile dies, et qui nasccntur ab illo
T-xactum ad mensem, piuvia ventisque earebunt.
See Note (b).. Georg. I. 427.
MOO
[ 354 ]
MOO
Moon.
spire to increase or diminish the moon's influence in her
t different declinations, are her apogees and perigees, her
conjunctions with and oppositions to the sun ; and last-
hr the solar solstices and equinoxes.
J Considering that every lunar month, or every revolu¬
tion of the moon in the zodiac, may be divided into two
distinct portions, each containing about fourteen days,
and each giving occasion to a particular atmospheric
constitution, we may assume these as two circumstances
of importance in meteorology, and we may call one the
boreal or northern constitution, viz. that in which the
moon passes through the six northern signs of the
zodiac, and the other, the austral or southern constitu¬
tion, viz. that in which she traverses the six southern
Lamarck is convinced by observation, that in these
climates, during a boreal constitution, theie chiefly pre
vail southerly, south-westerly, and westerly winds, though
sometimes, in the summer, the winds pass to the south¬
east. In general, during this constitution, the barome¬
ter exhibits only moderate elevations of the mercury j
most commonly the season is rainy or moist, and the air
loaded with clouds. And, lastly, it is particularly
during this constitution that we observe the ettects ot
storms and tempests, when the causes which occasion
them become active. . . ,
On the contrary, during an austral constitution, the
winds which chiefly predominate blow from the north
and north-west, and in the summer north-east, and even
easterly winds. In general during this constitution, the
barometer exhibits considerable elevations in the column
of mercury, at least if the wind is not very strong *, the
weather is then most usually clear, cold and dry, and
in the summer it is seldom (we might almost say never)
during this constitution that storms are formed.
These atmospheric constitutions are not, however, so
permanently characterised as to render it easy to distin¬
guish them at all times by the state of the atmosphere.
The atmospheric air is a moveable fluid, and so easily
displaced, that it is not surprising that in the temperate
zones, where the influence of the heavenly bodies acts
less strongly than between the tropics, froin various
causes, that counteract very often the regular influence
of the moon, and tend to mask and even change its et-
iects*
The perturbations which these variable causes pro¬
duce on the regular effects of the influence of the moon
on the atmosphere, occasion in fact many variations in
the two atmospheric constitutions which we have been
describing j and this is doubtless the reason why they
have been hitherto disregarded. M. Lamarck positive¬
ly asserts, that these perturbations, though frequent, and
sometimes very considerable, do not prevent the cha¬
racter of each of these constitutions from being remark¬
ed in the greatest number of cases.
The probability that he finds, according to his ob¬
servations, is estimated at five out of eight 5 that is to
say, out of 48 atmospheric constitutions comprehended
in the lunar year, he estimates there will be found at
least 30 agreeing with the principles pointed out in his
memoir j and he adds, that among the disturbing causes
which modify the before-mentioned effects, several may
be foreseen, and perhaps even appreciated as to their
quantity of effect.
He considers what is here pointed out as a fact; as an
2
4t3
order of things which any one may prove by observa- Moon
tl0Lamarck has also endeavoured to ascertain what truth * See A
there may be in the periodical return of the vaiiations vqj
of the atmosphere at the end of nineteen years j and he ^ichol.
has found, by compai’ing meteorological observations, Jour,
that this return is far from being so correct as is gene- vol h
rally believed. . .
Astronomers also know well, that the cycle ol nine-
teen years is not exact within an hour and a half; an
error which amounts to a whole day in the course of
308 years+. .
M. Cotte has also bestowed much attention on this
subject of the moon’s influence j but appears to think v-
that our observations are not sufficiently numerous or
accurate, to deduce any thing like a correct theory, and
he is not disposed to go so far as M. Lamarck.
M. Cotte agrees in general with Mr Luke Howard s
observations on the moon’s influence. (See Meteoro¬
logy). He noted, during the space of 34 years ana
five months, from the Jst of January 1768, to the
22d of May 1802), the ascending and descending di¬
rection of the barometer in each of the syzigies and
quarters of the moon which have occurred through that
period of time. He states the total sum of the elevations
and depressions of the mercury at each of the phases as
follows.
For 34I. Years. New moon. 1st Quar.
Sum of elevations 218 296
 ^-depressions 281
Full moon, ad Quar.
Differences
63
229
67
199
279
290 times.
ic6
80 84
These results, of nearly 35 years observations, con¬
firm, as will be seen, the conclusions drawn by Mr How¬
ard, both from his observations of one year at Plais-
tow, and those made for 10 years in the Royal Society s
It is to be remarked, 1st, That the four numbers
which express the differences between the elevations and
depressions are nearly in an exact proportion, since
63 : 67 :: 80 : 85^. . _
2dly, That the two latter phases, viz. the full moon
and last quarter, have more effect than the two first.
adly, He examined what phases of the moon corre¬
sponded to the greatest and least height of the mercury
for each month during ten years, and obtained the tot-
lowing results.
For 10 Years. New Moon.
}26
}
1st Quar. Full Moon, ad Quar.
26 28 times.
40
3° 34
29 27
Greatest elevation
occurred at
Greatest depres¬
sion occurred at
Differences 4^3
The science may be therefore said to have advanced
one step farther on this occasion ; and it is to be bopea
that, by multiplying observations, and combining them m
various ways to obtain their results, its progress may
still accelerated. The useful purposes which maybe
thereby answered in philosophy, agriculture, an
cine, may be properly urged to observers as the niea^
M ° ° [ 355 ] MOO
Aon of supporting their ardour, and indemnifying them for
|| those sarcasms and reflections which even some learned
oore- men have been pleased to bestow upon observations of
this sort, together with their authors *. See Meteor-
vol. ology, Supplement.
MoON-Ei/es, among horses, when the weakness of
the eye increases or decreases according to the course
of the moon ; so that in the wane of the moon his eyes
are muddy and troubled, and at new moon they clear
up. This observation is probably inaccurate.
Moonstone, or Aduluria. See Adularia, Mine¬
ralogy Index.
MooN-JFort. SeeLuNARiA, Botany Index.
MOOR, in country affairs, denotes a tract of land,
usually overrun with heath.
Moem-Cock, or Gor-Cock. See Tetrao, Ornitho¬
logy Index.
Moor Land, or Moory Soil, in Agriculture, is a
black, light, and soft earth, very loose, and without
any admixture of stones j and with very little clay or
sand.
MOORE, or More, Edward, an ingenious writ¬
er, was bred a linen-draper, but quitted business to join
the retinue of the Muses j and he certainly had a very
happy and pleasing talent for poetry. In his Trial of
’Selim the Persian, he complimented Lord Lyttelton in
an elegant kind ol panegyric, couched under the ap¬
pearance of accusation : and his Fables for the Female
Sex, for easy versification, poignant satire, and striking
morals, approach nearer to the manner of Gay than
any other of the numerous imitations of that author.
He wrote also three dramatic pieces; the Gamester, a
tragedy; The Foundling, and Gil Bias, comedies.
The success of these was not such as they merited, the
first of them having met with a cold reception, for no
other apparent reason but because it too nearly touched
a favourite and fashionable vice ; and the second hav¬
ing been condemned for its supposed resemblance to Sir
Richard Steele’s Conscious Lovers, but to which good
judges have been inclined to give it greatly the prefe¬
rence. Mr Moore married a lady of the name of Ha¬
milton, daughter to Mr Hamilton table-decker to the
princesses, who had herself a very poetical turn, and
has been said to have assisted him in the writing of his
tragedy. One specimen of her poetry, however, was
handed about before their marriage, and has since ap¬
peared in print in different collections of songs. It was
addressed to a daughter of the famous Stephen Duck }
and begins with the following stanza :
Would you think it, my Duck ? (for the fault I must
own),
Tour Jenny at last is quite covetous grown :
Though millions if Fortune should lavishly pour,
I still would be wretched if I had not More.
And after half a dozen stanzas more, in which, with
great ingenuity and delicacy, and yet in a manner that
expresses a great affection, she has quibbled on our au¬
thor’s name, she concludes with the following lines :
You may wonder, my girl, who this dear one can be,
Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me :
But you shan’t know his name, tho’ I told you be¬
fore,
It begins with an M, but I dare not say More.
.In the year 1753, Mr Moore commenced a weekly Moore
miscellaneous paper, entitled, The World, by Adam " ||
ht^-Adam, in which undertaking he was assisted by'/5ooi'liUUb-
Loid Chesterfield with some Essays. Ibis paper was v_~
collected into two volumes, and Mr Moore died soon
after.
Moore, Dr John. See Supplement.
MOORING, the act of confining and securing a
ship in a particular station, by chains or cables, which
are either fastened to the adjacent shore, or to anchors
in the bottom.
A ship may be either moored by the head, or by the
head and stern j that is to say, she may be secured by
anchors before her, without any behind 5 or she may
have anchors out, both before and behind her j or her
cables may be attached to posts, rings, or moorino’s,
which answer the same purpose.
When a ship is moored by the head with her own
anchors, they are disposed according to the circum¬
stances of the place where she lies and the time she is
to continue therein. Thus, wherever the tide ebbs and
flows, it is usual to carry one anchor out towards the
flood, and another towards the ebb, particularly where
there is little room to range about; and the anchors
are laid in the same manner, if the vessel is moored
head and stern in the same place. The situation of the
anchors, in a road or bay, is usually opposed to the
reigning winds, or those which are most dangerous ; so
that the ship rides therein with the effort of both her
cables. Ihus if she rides in a bay, or road, which is
exposed to a northerly wind and heavy sea from the
same quarter, the anchors passing from the opposite
bows ought to lie east and west from each other:
hence both the cables will retain the ship in her station
with equal effort against the action of the wind and sea.
Moorings, in sea language, are usually an assem¬
blage of anchors, chains, and bridles, laid athwart the
bottom of a river or haven, to ride the shipping con¬
tained therein. The anchors employed on this occa¬
sion have rarely more than one fluke, which is sunk in
the water near low-water mark. Two anchors being-
fixed in this manner on the opposite side of the river,
are furnished with a chain extending across from one to
the other. In the middle of the chain is a large square
link, whose lower end terminates in a sivivel, which
turns round in the chain as about an axis, whenever
the ship veers about with the change of the tide. To
this swivel link are attached the bridles, which are short
pieces of cable, well served, whose upper ends are
drawn into the ship at the mooring ports, and after¬
wards fastened to the masts or cable bolts. A great
number of moorings of this sort are fixed in the har¬
bours adjacent to the king’s dock-yards, as Deptford
Chatham, Portsmouth, Plymouth, &c. ? ’
MOORLANDS, a tract so called, in the north
part of Staffordshire, where the land rises gradually in¬
to small hills, which run through the midst of England
in one continued ridge, rising higher and higher to
Scotland, and sending forth many rivers. The soil here
is so foul and cold, that the snows lie almost all the
year on the tops of the hills ; and it is withal very rug¬
ged and barren : it, however, yields plenty of coal,
lead, copper, rance-marble, and millstones ; and some
of the limestone hills bear such a sweet though short
grass, as is very grateful to the oxen, of which here is
M O P
Moorlands a very good breed. It is observed here, that the west
|j wind always brings rain, and the east and south lair
tvlopsus. weather ; that though this tract is full of bogs, it is as
V'" ^ healthy as any other part ol the county , and that it
produces the same plants as the Peak oi Derby.
MOORS. See Morocco.
Moors, in the Isle of Man, those who summon the
courts for the several sheadings ; such as the lords bai¬
liffs. Every moor has the like office with our bailitf of
the hundred.
MOOSE, or Elk. See Cervus, Mammalia
Index.
MOOT, a difficult case argued by the young bar¬
risters and students at the inns of court, by way of
exercise, the better to qualify them for practice, and
to defend the causes of their clients. This, which is
called mooting, is the chief exercise of the mns^ of
court. Particular times are appointed for the arguing
moot cases : the place where this exercise is performed
was anciently called moot-hall; and there is a bailiff,
or surveyor of the moots, annually chosen by the
bench to appoint the moot men for the inns of chan¬
cery, and to keen an account of the performance of
exercises. rIhe word is formed either iiom the Saxon
metan, gone Ian, “ meeting” ; or from the I rench mot,
** a word.”
MOPSUS, in fabulous history, a celebrated pro¬
phet, son of Manto and Apollo, during the 1 rojan war.
Pie was consulted by Amphimachus, king of Colophon,
who w ished to know what success would attend his arms
hi a war which he was going to undertake. He pie-
dieted the greatest calamities $ but Calchas, who had
been a soothsayer of the Greeks during the 1 rojan war,
promised the greatest successes. Amphimachus follow¬
ed the opinion of Calchas ; but ffie prediction of Mop-
sus was fully verified. 'I his had such an eflect upon
Calchas, that he died soon after. His death is attri¬
buted by some to another mortification of the same na¬
ture. The two soothsayers, jealous of each other’s
fame, came to a trial of their skill in divination. Cal-
chas first asked his antagonist, how many figs a neigh¬
bouring tree bore? 10,000 except one, replied Mopsus,
and one single vessel can contain them all. '1 he figs
were gathered, and his conjectures were true. Mopsus
now to try his adversary, asked him how many young
ones a certain pregnant sow would bring forth ? Cal-
ehas confessed his ignorance *, and Mopsus immediately
said that the-sow would bring forth on the morrow ten
young, ones, of which only one should be a male, all
black, and that the females should all be known by
their white streaks. The morrow proved the veracity
M O R
of his prediction and Calchas died by the excels cf j^opxj
grief which Ins defeat produced. Mopsus after dtath Jj
was ranked among the gods, and bad an oracle at Ma- t
lia, celebrated for the true and decisive answers which Hj
it gave. Another Alopsus, son ot Ampyx and Chloris,
born at Titarcsia in Ihessaiy. He was the piophet
and soothsayer of the Argonauts, and died at his re¬
turn from Colchis by the bite of a serpent 111 Libya,
Jason erected him a monument on the seashore, where
afterwards the Africans built him a temple, where lie
gave oracles. He has often been confounded with the
son of Manto, us their professions and their names weie
alike. . .
MORiEA, a genus of plants belonging to the tn-
andria class •, and in the natural method ranking under
the 6th order, Ensata. See BoTANY Index.
MORAI, is the name given at Otaheite in the
South sea to the burying grounds, which are also places
of worship. This is a pile of stone raised pyramidically
upon an oblong base or square 267 feet long and 87
wide. On each side is a flight of steps •, those at the
sides being broader than those at the ends 5 so that it
terminated not in a square oi the same figure with the
base, but in a ridge like the roof of a house. Jlieie.
were 11 of these steps to one of these morais, each of
which was 4 feet high, so that the height of the pile
was 44 feet, each step was formed of one course ci
white coral stone, which was neatly squared and polish¬
ed the rest of the mass (for there was no hollow with¬
in)’ consisted of round pebbles, which, from the regula¬
rity of their figure, seemed to have been wrought. 1 he
foundation was ot rock stones, which were also squared.
In the middle of the top stood an image of a bird carved
in wood, and near it lay the broken one of a fish carved
in stone. The whole of this pyramid made part of one
side of a spacious area or square 360 feet by 354, which
was walled in with stone, and paved with flat stones in
its whole extent. About 100 yards to the west of this
building was another paved area or court, in which
were several small stages raised on wooden pillars about
seven feet high, which are called by the Indians eivat-
tas and seem to be a kind of altars, as upon these are
placed provisions of all kinds, as offerings to their gods.
On some of them were seen whole hogs, and on others
the skulls of above 30, besides the skulls of many dogs.
The principal object of ambition among the natives is
to have a magnificent moral. The male deities (for
they have them of both sexes) are worshipped by the
men, and the female by the women ; and each have
morais, to which the other sex is not admitted, though
they have also morais common to both.
[ 350 1
MORAL PHILOSOPHY, ok MORALS.
Moral philosophy is, “ The science of
MANNERS, or duty *, which it traces from man’s
nature and condition, and shows to terminate in his
happiness.” In other words, it is, “ The knowledge
©four duty and felicity j” or, w The art of being
VJRruous and happy.”
It is denominated an art, as it contains a system of
Inks for becoming virtuous and happy. Whoever.
practises these rules, attains an habitual power or fa¬
cility of becoming virtuous and happy. It is likewise
called a science, as it deduces those rules itom the
principles and connexions of our nature, and proves
that the observance of them is productive of our bappi-
neSS# t t •
It is an art, and a science of the highest dignity, im¬
portance, and use. Its object is man’s duty, or his con-
Ilsbry.
M 011A L P H
v.
♦ns
‘•ning
!vir-
c.
duct in the several moral capacities and connexions
which he sustains. Its office is to direct that conduct;
to show whence our obligations arise, and where they
terminate. Its use, or end, is the attainment of hap¬
piness ; and the means it employs are rules for the right
conduct of our moral powers.
Moral Philosophy has this in common with Natural
Philosophy, that it appeals to nature or fact •, depends
on observation ; and builds its reasonings on plain un¬
controverted experiments, or upon the fullest induction
of particulars of which the subject will admit. We
must observe, in both these sciences, how nature is af¬
fected, and what her conduct is in such and such cir¬
cumstances : Or, in other words, we muse collect the
appearances ol nature in any given instance ; trace these
to some general principles or laws of operation ; and
then apply these principles or laws to the explaining of
other phenomena.
Therefore Moral Phi! osopliy inquires, not how man
might have been, but how he is, constituted: not into
vnat principles or dispositions his actions may be art¬
fully resolved, but from what principles and disposi¬
tions tney actually flow : not what he may, by educa¬
tion, habit, or foreign influence, come to be or do, but
what, by Ins nature, or original constituent principles,
he is formed to be and do. We discover the office, use,
or destination of any woik, whether natural or artificial,
by observing its structure, the parts of which it consists,
their connexion or joint action. It is thus we under¬
stand the office and use of a watch, a plant, an eye, or
hand. It is the .same with a living creature of the ra¬
tional or brute kind. Therefore, to determine the of¬
fice, duty, or destination of man or, in other words,
what his business is, or what conduct he is obliged to
pursue ; we must inspect his constitution, take every
part to pieces, examine their mutual relations one to
the other, and the common effort or tendency of the
whole.
It has not been thus, however, that the science has
always been taught. The earliest moralists did not
erect systems upon a just analysis of the powers of the
human mind ; nor have all those who thought such a
foundation necessary to be laid, deduced their theories
from the very same principles. As moral truths are
not capable of rigid demonstration, it appears to us,
that we cannot more properly introduce the system
which we have adopted, than by giving our readers a
short view of the most celebrated systems that have been
maintained by others. They will thus have an oppor¬
tunity of judging for themselves of the respective me¬
rits of the different theories, and of adopting that which
shall appear to them to place practical virtue on the
firmest basis.
History of the Science of Morals.
Whilst there has been a remarkable agreement
among the writers on morality, as to the particular
actions which are virtuous and those which are vici¬
ous j and whilst they have uniformly taught, that it
is our duty and our interest to perform the one and
to avoid the other ; they have yet differed exceedingly
concerning the test or criterion of virtue, as well as con¬
cerning the principle or motive by which men are in¬
duced to pursue it. One cause of this difference in
5
3-57
ILOSOPH Y.
opinion respecting matters of such universal importance
may perhaps be traced to the mistakes into which phi¬
losophers are apt to fall concerning the original state
of man. a
It is very generally taken for granted, that the first Probable
men were savages of the lowest rank, and that the race ca.usc of
gradually civi!i/.td itself during the course of many^'.7^
succeeding ages. Without mutual intercourse, the
pi ogress of civilization could never have commenced ;
and as the practice of justice is absolutely necessary to
every species of friendly intercourse, those original sa-
' afies> '*• is.supposed, must, have been just in their deal-
mgs, and just upon some principle which has its foun¬
dation in human nature. But to develope the prin¬
ciple by which savages are influenced in their conduct,
no tedious or intricate process of reasoning can be ne¬
cessary. It must have a place in every mind, and be
instantaneous in all its decisions. Hence it has been
supposed, that the principle to which modern philo¬
sophers have given the name of the moral sense, is in¬
stinctive \ that it is the sole judge of virtue and vice ;
and that its admonitions have such authority, as to en-
inrce obedience without regard to the consequences of
any action.
Other philosophers, who deny that the moral sense
is instinctive, and who yet suppose that the original'1
Si.itc of man was savage, are forced to pile hypothesis
upon hypothesis, each unnatural in itself, and all con¬
tradictory to one another, in order to account for the
commencement of civilization and the formation of so¬
ciety. It h as been supposed, that the desire of self-
preservation and the love" of power are the governing
principles in human nature ; that in the savage state-
eveiy man had a right to every thing which he could
seize by fraud or force ; that all had an innate propen¬
sity to invade each other’s property y and that hence
war, rapine, and bloodshed, prevailed universally, till
the savages discovered the expediency of uniting under
some form of government for tlieir mutual protection.
But before the original state of man had been made
the basis of such opposite theories as these, it would"
surely have been proper to inquire upon what grounds*
that state has been supposed to be savage. To us these
grounds appear to be nothing better than mere ima¬
ginations ; the dreams of poets, and of such philoso--
phers as bend facts to their own systems. In the au¬
thentic history of our species, there is no evidence, in¬
deed there can be no evidence, that the first men were,
savages 5 and every thing which we know of human
nature leads us to believe, that had they been so, the
race could never have been civilized but by the mira¬
culous interposition of some superior being. The only
record of the earliest ages of the world to which the
smallest credit is due, represents all’the nations of the
earth as having sprung from one pair, and that pair as
having been instructed in their duty by their beneficent-
Creator. If this be the fact, and no consistent theist
can controvert it, the precepts of morality would be
originally conveyed from one generation to another j
not in a systematical or scientific form, but as the laws 40cieS cf«
of the Universal Sovereign, whose authority demand-'communi-
ed implicit obedience. Accordingly we find, that calinSin-
the first teachers of morals were men of superior rank .
as Avell as of eminent talents, who formed collections ]jtst
of maxims derived from their ancestors, “ with the lists.
vieit.
,5g MORAL PH
* Bruce's view of perfecting subordination *, polishing manneis.
Elements of and educating youth. Such were t ic P|®'er ,s
thf Science o_i  nf Afrur. and the Wisdom ot
luiemenisoj and educaung youm.  * ,r. ,
theSckncc Solomon, the Words of Agur, and the Wisdom ot
of Ethics. tbe gon of sirach.” These instructors did
did not -analyze
the human mind into its various facu ties, and build a
system of morals either upon a particular instinct point¬
ing to the supreme good, or upon the fitness ot things
discovered by reason. Short isolated sentences were the
mode in which they conveyed their precepts j which
they prefaced by observing, that “ the tear ot the
Lord is the beginning of knowledge ; and enforced
by the assurance, that “ length ot days, and long hte,
and peace, should they add to those who obeyed them.
The sayings of the celebrated wise men of Greece were
collections of apophthegms, made in the same manner,
and delivered with similar views. Thales and 1 ytha-
, goras +, who founded the one the Ionic and the other
\^Znts the Italic school, made collections of precepts for the
and En-' conduct as well ot a state as ot private life. _ ei ^
field's Hi- tiie crimes nor the thoughts ot bad men (said ThalesJ
if °/ are concealed from the gods. The only method ot be-
Philosojphy..„ • is t0 avoid doing that which we blame in
P J   Uv Vnrr hvrv and
iHff Is to &\vj *3 .
others.” Of Pythagoras it is related by Porpnyry and
Laertius, that from Samos he repaired to Delos, and
. rr • Annlln. there
JLaeruus, tiicit iium ± 4111.1
after presenting an offering of cakes to Apollo, there
received, or pretended to receive, moral dogmas from
the priestess •, which he afterwards delivered to his
disciples under the character of divine precepts. A-
mongst these were the following: That, next to
gods and demons, the highest reverence is due to pa¬
rents and legislators; and that the laws and customs of
our country are to be religiously observed.
To these maxims or apophthegms, which, tor tlie
sake of delighting the ear and aiding the memory,
were sometimes delivered in verse, succeeded as has
been supposed, the mode of instruction by table or al-
letrory. t1'6 truth seems to he, that tins method
of communicating moral and political wisdom was as
ancient as the other 1 for we have a beautiful specimen
of it in the ninth chapter of the hook which relates the
t ransactions of the Judges of Israel. The tables ot Lsop,
too, which were written at a very early period, remain
lasting modes of this species of art among the Greeks.
When the instructors of mankind had proceeded thus
far as to give an artificial form to their precepts, they
soon advanced a step farther, and reduced their obser¬
vations into classes or predicaments Pythagoras, who
visited Egypt, has been supposed to have learned from
its priests the method of arranging the virtues into dis¬
tinct classes. But it is the opinion of an excellent
i\Ir Bruce writer J, founded on the previous aspects of ethics and
' on the comprehensive talents of the Samian philosopher,
that the honour of the invention ought to be ascribed
to himself. Be this as it may, it was observed by
the inventor, that “ all the maxims of morality might
he referred to the duties which men owe to them¬
selves, and the duties which they owe to each other.
Hence the four cardinal virtues ol the ancients, PRU¬
DENCE, TEMPERANCE, FORTITUDE, ami JUSTICE ; ot
which the first three refer to the individual, and the
fourth to society.
4 Hitherto lessons in morality had not taken a syste-
ptinciplesofmalic form; but they were graduaUy approaching to
ISe'. it. Socrates was perhaps the first Pagan philosopher
who established all bis precepts on one sure and steady
I L O S 0 P H Y. History;
basis. In his lectures and discourses, he seeing to have
had one great object in view t, to connect the moral f Bruec',
maxims which were fitted to regulate the conduct
of mankind, with sublime conceptions respecting the Tj
character and government of a supreme Being. slon/.&e.
first principles of virtuous conduct which are common
to all mankind, are according to this excellent moral¬
ist, laws of God : and the conclusive argument by
which he supports this opinion is, that no man departs
from these principles with impunity. “ It is fre¬
quently possible (says he) for men to screen themselves
from the penalty of human laws, but no man can be
unjust or ungrateful without suffering for Ins crime ;
hence I conclude, that these laws must have proceed¬
ed from a more excellent legislator than man. ^ Irom
this it would appear, that in the opinion of Socrates,
Conscience, or the moral seiise, approving ot any ac¬
tion, is the criterion by which it is known to be vir¬
tuous, and the will of God that which obliges men to
perform it. . .s 1
Socrates himself left no writings behind him, nor, asOngmof
far as we know, offered any regular and complete theory the Greek
of ethics. His disciples, however, who were numeroussec«-
and distinguished, became the founders of the celebrat¬
ed Greek sects. Among them the first great question
was, “ what are the foundations of virtue?” and the
second, “ what are the distinctions betwixt good and
evil, happiness and misery ?” The answers given to
these important questions divided the philosophers and
their disciples into distinct orders. * 6.
In answer to the former question, Plato taught *Tl™
that “ virtue is to be pursued for its own sake ;
that being a divine attainment, it cannot be taught,
hut is the gift of God.” This seems to differ in no¬
thing, but the name, from the doctrine ot those mo¬
derns who place the sole foundation of virtue in the
approbation of the moral sense. The founder ot the
academy indeed has no such phrase as mom. sense in
any of his writings with which we are acquainted ;
but if virtue cannot be taught, and if it is to be Pur'
sued for its own sake, it must in itself be good, and
tbe object of some feeling, whether called sense, in¬
stinct, or passion. His solution of the second question
agitated among the sects is not indeed very consistent
-with this necessary inference from Ins answer to the
first; but for his inconsistencies we are not account¬
able. “ Our highest good (he says) consists in the
contemplation and knowledge of the first good, winch
is mind or God; and all those things winch are called
good by men, are in reality such only so far as they are
derived from the first and highest good. Hie only
power in human nature which can acquire a resem¬
blance to the supreme good, is reason; and this re¬
semblance consists in prudence, justice, sanctity, ana
‘“SotTefthe founder of the Peripatetic school, itasArhtl
the pupil of Plato ; but of the two great moral ques¬
tions he gives solutions somewhat different irom 05 -,
of his master. “ Virtue (according to him t) isei
tber theoretical or practical. Theoretical virtue con¬
sists in the due exercise of the understanding ;
in the pursuit of what island good. P^ica
tue is acquired by habit and exercise Th s themyr
seems to differ little from that adopted by Cud ortl ,
Clarke, and Price, which shall be considered afterwards.
359
history.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
8
the
pies,
Enfield.
f v. Leg.
<2 loses.
rml
•mmw-
Mo
\
9
istip.
)emo-
'ril;> and
Pi- go.
ft!
With respect to happiness cr good, the doctrine of
Aristotle is very rational. “ Pleasures (he says) are
essentially different in kind. Disgraceful pleasures are
wholly unworthy of the name. The purest and noblest
pleasure is that which a good man derives from virtu¬
ous actions. Happiness, which consists in a conduct
conformable to virtue, is either contemplative or ac¬
tive. Contemplative happiness, which consists in the
pursuits of knowledge and wisdom, is superior to active
happiness, because the understanding is the higher part
of human nature, and the objects on which it is em¬
ployed are of the noblest kind. The happiness which
arises from external possessions is inferior to that which
arises from virtuous actions; but both are necessary to
produce perfect felicity.”
The Stoics, another celebrated sect of Greek phi-
losophei’s, maintained *, that “ nature impels every
man to pursue whatever appears to him to be good.”
According to them, “ self-preservation and defence is
the first law of animated nature. All animals neces¬
sarily derive pleasure from those things which are suit¬
ed to them 5 but the first object of pursuit is, not plea¬
sure, but conformity to nature. Every one, therefore,
who lias a right discernment of what is good, will be
chiefly concerned to conform to nature in all his ac¬
tions and pursuits. This is the origin of moral obliga¬
tion.” With respect to happiness or good, the Stoical
doctrine was altogether extravagant: They taught,
that “ all external things are indifferent, and cannot
affect the happiness of man ; that pain which does not
belong to the mind, is no evil ; and that a wise man
will be happy in the midst of torture, because virtue
itself is happiness (a).”
As the Stoics held that there is hut one substance,
partly active and partly passive, in the universe (see
Metaphysics, N° 261, 262), and as they called the
active principle God, their doctrine, which makes vir¬
tue consist in a conformity to nature, bears no small
resemblance to that of those moderns who rest moral
obligation on the Divine will. It was therefore on
better grounds than has been sometimes supposed, that
Warburton, when characterizing the founders of the
three principal sects in Greece, represented t Plato,
as the patron of the moral sense ; Aristotle of the essen¬
tial differences', and Zeno of arbitrary will. These
principles, when separated from each other, and treat¬
ed in the manner of the ancients, may not each be able
to bear the superstructure which wras raised upon it;
but the principles of most of the other sects were much
less pure, and infinitely more dangerous.
Cudworth whose testimony when relating the
doctrines of antiquity is entitled to the fullest credit,
affirms, that Aristippus the founder of the Cyrenaic
school, Democritus, and Protogoras, with their follow¬
ers among the atomists, taught, that “ the distinction
between virtue and vice is merely arbitrary j that no¬
thing is just or unjust, sacred or profane, but as it is
agreeable or contrary to established laws and customs 5
that what is just to-day, human authority may make
unjust to-morrow ; and that present pleasure is the so¬
vereign good of man.”
With these impieties, the moral docti'ines of Epi¬
curus have very unjustly been confounded. The phy¬
sical and metaphysical systems of that philosopher are
indeed strange compositions of ingenuity and absurdity,
truth and falsehood j and the moral precepts of many
of his folloAvers were in the highest degree licentious
and impure. Eut his own life was exemplary; and
his ethical system, if candidly interpreted, is much
more rational than that of the Stoics j though it must
be confesseel, that no sect produced men of more deter¬
mined virtue than the school of Zeno. According to
Epicurus *, “ the end of living, or the ultimate good
which is to be sought for its own sake, is happiness.
The happiness which belongs to man, is that state in
which he enjoys as many of the good things, and suf¬
fers as few of the evils incident to human nature as
possible ; passing his days in a smooth course of tran¬
quillity. Pleasure is in its own nature good, as pain is
in its nature evil. The one is therefore to be pursued,
and the other to be avoided, for its own sake. Plea¬
sure and pain are not only good and evil in themselves,
but they are the measures of what is good or evil in
every object of desire and aversion 5 for the ultimate
reason why we pursue one thing and avoid another is,
because Ave expect pleasure from the former, and ap¬
prehend pain from the latter.—That pleasure, hoAvever,
which prevents the enjoyment of a greater pleasure, or
produces a greater pain, is to be shunnedj and that
pain Avhich either removes a greater pain, or procures
a greater pleasure, is to be endured.”
Upon these self-evident maxims, Epicurus builds his
system of ethics; and proves, Avith great force of ar¬
gument, “ that a steady course of virtue produces the
greatest quantity of happiness of Avbich human nature
is capable.” Without a pinident c&re of the body, and
a steady government of the mind, to guard the one from
diseases and the other from the clouds of prejudice,
happiness is unattainable. By temperance avc enjoy
pleasure, Avithout suffering any consequent inconveni¬
ence. Sobriety enables us to content ourselves with
simple and frugal fare. Gentleness, as opposed to an
irascible temper, greatly contributes to the tranquillity
and happiness of life, by preserving the mind from
perturbation, and arming it against the assaults of ca¬
lumny and malice. Fortitude enables us to bear those
pains which prudence cannot shun, and banishes fear
from the mind \ and the practice of justice is absolute¬
ly necessary to the existence of society, and by conse¬
quence to the happiness of every individual.” These
reasonings come home to every man’s bosom: and had
not this philosopher, by denying the providence, if
not the being, of God, most unhappily excluded from
his system the very possibility of a future state of re¬
tribution, his moral philosophy would have been the
most rational, and of course the most useful, of any
that <■
(a) Since this short history was written, a very pleasing view of Stoicism has been gi\ren to the public in Fer¬
guson’s Principles of Moral and Political Science j a work wrhich the student of ethics will do well to consult.
Perhaps the amiable author may unintentionally have softened the austere dogmas of the Porch, by transfusing
into them something of the mild spirit of the gospel; but, if so, he has much improved the system of Zeno.
10
and of Epi-
curus.
* JZnfield's’
History.
?6o
moral philosophy.
tliat \vas tatlglit in tlic schools of Greece, ihis enor¬
mous defect, however, laid it open to the grossest cor¬
ruptions 5 and by his followers it was in fact couuptcd
so as to countenance the most impure and criminal plca-
ii sures of sense.
The edec- These several systems of ethics continued to be cul-
tie piiiloso- tivate(} wlth more or less purity through all the revo-
Ak'x-nif lotions of the Grecian states, and they were adopted
flria!111' by the Homans after Greece itself became a province
of the empire. They had been introduced into Egypt
during the reigns of the Ptolemies, and were taught
Avith much celebrity in the schools of Alexandria.—
The philosophy which was most cultivated in those
schools was that of Plato j but from a desire of uni¬
formity which tooh possession of the Alexandiian 1 la~
tonists, many of the dogmas of Aristotle and Z.cno,
as well as the extravagant fictions of the east, were in¬
corporated with the principles of the old academy.—
The patrons of this heterogeneous mass have been cal¬
led eclectic philosophers, because they professed to select
from each system those doctrines which were rational
and important, and to reject every thing which uas
false or futile •, but they added nothing to the purity of
Plato’s ethics, and they increased the obscurity and my¬
sticism of bis physics and metaphysics.
Extinction After the subversion of the Homan empire, every
and revival species of philosophy, H syllogistic wrangling deserve
ot moral not that name, ivas banished for ages from the schools
science in 0f £ur0pe •, and ethics, properly so called, gave place to
iEnrope. ecclesiastical casuistry, and to the study of the civil and
canon law. When the Greeks, whom the fury and
fanaticism of Mahomet II. had driven from Constanti¬
nople, introduced into Italy the knowledge of their
own language, the cabinets of ancient philosophy were
again unlocked j the systems of the different sects weie
adopted with the utmost avidity ; and, without ac¬
curate investigation of their respective merits, men be¬
came Platonists, Peripatetics, or Stoics, as fancy or
caprice prompted them to choose their leaders. The
£?» of Aristotle, in particular, had not less autho¬
rity over his modern admirers than it had of old in the
Ejceum at Athens. At length the spirit of Luther
and the genius of Bacon broke these fetters, and taught
men to think for themselves as well in science as in
religion. In physics, the effects produced by the writ¬
ings of Bacon were great and rapid j for in physics the
ancient theories were totally and radically wrong.—
With respect to morals, however, the case was differ¬
ent. Each of the celebrated schools of antiquity was
in possession of much moral truth, blended indeed with
error: and long after the Stagyrite and his rivals had
lost all influence in physical science, philosophers of
eminence followed them implicitly in the science of
ethics.
Theories At this day, indeed, there is hardly a theory of mo-
«f Hobbes, rals at all distinguished, to which something very simi¬
lar may not be found in the writings of the ancients.
—Hobbes adopted the principles of Democritus and
Protagoras, and taught expressly that “ there is no
Histor
criterion of justice or injustice, good or evil, besides the
laws of each state j and that it is absurd to inquire at
any person except the established interpreters of the law,
whether an action be right or wrong, good or evil (b).”
These impious absurdities have been often confuted.
Cudworth, who composed his True Intellectual System
of the Universe, in order to trace the metaphysical athe¬
ism of Hobbes to its source, and to expose it to the
public in all its weakness, undertook likewise to over¬
throw his ethical system, in a treatise, entitled Of Eter¬
nal and Immutable Morality• J hat work was left un¬
finished-, but the theory of its great author was adopt¬
ed, illustrated, and very ably supported, by the doctors
Clarke and Price. . 14
According to these three admirable scholars, “weof Cud-
feel ourselves irresistibly determined to approve some"°jb>.
actions, and to disapprove others. Some actions anj
cannot but conceive of as right, and others as wrong;
and of all actions we are led to form some idea, as ei¬
ther fit to be performed, or unfit, or as neither fit nor
unfit to be performed, i. e. as indifferent. The power
within us which thus perceives and determines, they
declare to he the understanding; and they add, that it
perceives or determines immediately or by intuition,
because 1'ight and wrong denote simple ideas. As there
are some propositions, which when attended to neces¬
sarily determine all minds to believe them, so are there
some actions whose natures are such, that when observ¬
ed, all rational beings immediately and necessarily ap¬
prove them. He that can impartially attend, it is said,
to the nature of his own perceptions, and determine that
when he conceives gratitude or beneficence to be right,
he perceives nothing true of them, or understands no¬
thing, but only suffers from a sense, has a turn of mind
'which appears unaccountable: for the more we ex¬
amine, the more indisputable it ivill appear to us, that
we express necessary truth, when we say of some actions
that they are right, and of others that they are wrong.”
It is added, that “ we cannot perceive an action to be
right without approving it, cr approve it without being
conscious of some degree of satisfaction and compla¬
cency j that we cannot perceive an action to be wrong
without disapproving it, or disapprove it without being
displeased with it 5 and that first must be liked, the
last disliked the first loved, the /os* hated.” By the
patrons of this system, obligation to action, and rightness
of action, are held to be coincident or identical. “ Vir¬
tue, they affirm, has a real, full, obligatory power, an¬
tecedently to all laws, and independently of all will j
for obligation is involved in the very nature of it. To
affirm that the performance of that which to omit would
he wrong is not obligatory, unless conducive to private
good, or enjoined by a superior power, is a manifest con¬
tradiction * Price]
Few men have deserved better of letters and plnlo-£aw,
sophy than Cudworth, Clarke, and Price 5 and yet and
their theory of morals appears to us to be contrachc-™.^
tory and unintelligible. It is certainly romantic, and
founded upon principles which, if they be denied, no
man
ffij -Doctrinas de justo et injusto, bono et malo, praeter leges in unaquaque civitate constitutas, an ten 1
eese nnllus: et utrum aliqua actio justa vcl injusta, bona vel mala futura sit, h nemine inqunenc um esse, pice
•$uam at illis, quibus legum suarum interpretationcm civitas demandaverit, Me Give, p. 343.
T5
Lord
I’tes-
[istory. MORAL P
man by argument can be compelled to grant. There
is, say they, an absolute right and wrong, fitness and
unfitness, in actions ; but if so, the actions which are
right and fit must be right and fit for something, be¬
cause fitness, which respects no end, is wholly incon¬
ceivable. To say that any particular action \sfit, and
yet fit for no particular purpose, is just as absurd as to
say that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle
are equal but neither to one another, nor to any other
angles ; and we may with no less propriety talk of the
relation of equality attaching to a particular angle, and
to nothing else with which the angle is equal, than of the
absolute fitness or rightness of any action or course of
actions. If it be said that such actions are fit and
right, because they tend to. promote the harmony of
the world and the happiness of men, this may be grant¬
ed $ but it overturns the intellectual theory from its
very foundation. Actions which are fit and right only
for their consequences, are approved and liked for the
sake of those consequences j and the happiness of men,
among whom the virtuous person himself is certainly
to be included, is the motive or ultimate obligation to
their performance.
Similar to this theory, and liable to the same objec¬
tions, is that which resolves moral approbation into a
sense of propriety : for if actions be approved because
they are proper, it must be because they are proper for
some e?id or purpose, propriety in the abstract being a
word without meaning.
Many philosophers, feeling the force of these and
of similar objections to the intellectual theory of Cud-
cheson, W01*L Clarke, and Price, as well as to a sense oipro-
priety in the abstract, have had recourse to another hy¬
pothesis, apparently better founded. Observing that all
mankind decide on the morality of characters and ac¬
tions instantaneously, without weighing their conse¬
quences in the balance ot reason, they suppose that
such decisions are made by an instinct of our common
nature, implanted in the human breast by the hand
that formed it. To this instinct some of them give
the name ot conscience, and others that of moral sense,
in contradiction to external sense the other great and
universal inlet of human knowledge. By this moral sense
we intuitively discover an essential difference in the
quality of all thoughts and actions, and a general dis¬
tinction of them into good and evil, just as by the
tongue and palate we discover an essential difference in
the taste ot all objects, and a general distinction of
them into pleasant and unpleasant. The ablest advocates
for this instinctive system agree, that the moral sense
is the immediate and involuntary criterion of only a
few general truths, which in their joint operation up¬
on the mind, lay the basis of moral obligation. Others
have carried it to what we think a very dangerous ex¬
treme ; as by affirming that we cannot prove, in regard
to our moral feelings, that they are conformable to any
extrinsic and eternal relations of things, they seem to
wish that reason were banished from the science of e-
thics. Were this true, it would in many cases be im¬
possible to distinguish the prejudices of early education
from the pure dictates of original instinct, and the most
pernicious conduct might be sanctified with the appro¬
bation of what would be deemed the ultimate test of
'jrtue and vice.
To remedy the defects of the intellectual and in- t
Wol. XIV. Part L t
H I L O S O P H Y. 361
stinctive theories of morality, Mr Hume blended them
together; and, upon the broader basis of reason and
internal sense co-operating with each other, he reared a
system which, though different from those of all his
predecessors, he rendered plausible, and supported with
his usual ingenuity. , Jti
According to him, sentiment and reason concur in al-tOf Mi?
most all moral determinations j and he proves, that Punie-
for this purpose, “ there is implanted in the human
breast a disinterested principle of benevolence or sympathy *
which makes men take pleasure in each other’s happi¬
ness. Ihe merit or demerit of actions consists wholly
in their utility or natural tendency to add to the sum
of human happiness j and the same he holds to be true
of qualities whether bodily or mental. This utility
or natural tendency it is the office of reason to disco¬
ver $ for that faculty alone can trace relations and con¬
sequences. Such qualities or actions as reason disco¬
vers to be useful either to the individual or society*
the instinctive principle of benevolence makes us in¬
stantly approve, and this approbation constitutes their
morality. Thus temperance, fortitude, courage, in¬
dustry, &c. reason discovers to be useful to him who
possesses them j and upon this discovery they are ap¬
proved of by the sentiment of sympathy. They are
therefore moral qualities and the sources of the private
virtues. In like manner, generosity, cheerfulness of
temper, mercy, and justice, are discovered to he useful
to society, and are accompanied with the approbation
of that sentiment of sympathy which makes every man
feel a satisfaction in the felicity of all other men. They
therefore constitute the social virtues. Of every qua¬
lity and every action, the merit or demerit, and of con¬
sequence the degree of approbation or disapprobation
which is bestowed upon it, is in exact proportion to
its utility and the circumstances of the case in which
it occurs. The social virtues are therefore greater than
those which are private, and one social virtue is greater
than another 5 but every quality and every action which
is useful, either to society or to the individual, is more
or less virtuous, provided the good of the individual be
considered as subordinate to the good of the public.”
This theory is ingenious : and in placing the merit
of actions in their utility, it furnishes a criterion of
virtue which can be employed by reason ; but it seems
not to be wholly free from error, and it is obviously
defective. By pretending that the same sentiment of
approbation is given to useful actions voluntarily per¬
formed and to useful qualities which are merely con¬
stitutional, Mr Hume confounds the merit of virtuous
habits with the value of natural talents. Yet every
man’s consciousness will surely tell him, that the feel¬
ing or sentiment which attaches to deeds of justice,
clemency, and beneficence, is very different from that
which attaches to beauty of form, strength of body,
vigour of mind, and mere extent of capacity. All
these actions and qualities are useful 5 but when we ap¬
prove of the former, besides attending to their utility*
we consider them as in the man’s power, and attribute
the merit of them immediately to himself. When we
approve* or rather admire, the latter on account of their
utility, we know them to be not in the man’s power,
and wre attribute the merit of them immediately to the
Author of nature.
But the defects of this theory are in practice more
Z z pernicious
362
MORAL PH
pernicious than its errors. The author ■well observes
that the end of all moral speculations is to teach us our
duty, and. by proper representations ot the deformity
of vice and beauty of virtue, to beget correspondent ha¬
bits, and engage us to avoid the one and embrace the
other } but the theory under review holds out no mo¬
tive sufficient in all cases for this purpose.
It is indeed true, as Mr Hume affirms, that the vir¬
tues which are immediately useful or agreeable to the
person possessed of them, are desirable in a view to
self-interest, and that a regard to self-interest ought
to engage us in the pursuit. It is likewise tiue, that
the virtues which are useful and agreeable to others, are
generally more desirable than the contrary qualities •,
for as by the constitution of our nature no enjoyment
is sincere without some reference to company and so¬
ciety ; so no society can be agreeable, or even tolerable,
where a man feels his presence unwelcome, and disco¬
vers all around him symptoms of disgust and aversion.
These considerations he deems sufficient to enforce the
duties of humanity, clemency, and beneficence j but
he states a case himself in which they would certainly
fail to make a man abstain from his neighbour’s proper¬
ty. The greater part of property he considers, and
rightly considers, as having its foundation in human
laws, which are so calculated as to preserve the peace
and promote the general good of the society, at the un¬
avoidable expence sometimes of the individual. Now,
in particular incidents, a sensible knave, by secretly pm-
loining from the hoards of a worthless misei, might
make himself comfortable and independent for life, with¬
out causing any breach in the social union, and even
without hurting a single individual. \\ hat then should
hinder him from acting thus? His self-interest would
be promoted ; and if he possessed a generous spirit, he
might gratify his sentiment of benevolence or sympa¬
thy by doing good with his money to the poor, which
the miser never did. For enforcing the uniform prac¬
tice of justice in such cases as this, Mr Hume’s theory
of morals contains no adequate motive ; but a very
sufficient one is held out by the system which we are
17 now to consider.
A system That system, which seems to have been unknown to
of ethics tbe ancients, is built upon religion, of which indeed
huilt upon jt constitutes a very essential part 5 and those by whom
religion. ^ taUght, maintain that no other foundation
is sufficient to bear a regular superstructure of practical
ethics. The philosophers of this school (d) define vir¬
tue to be “ the doing good to mankind, in obedience
to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting hap¬
pinessSo that with them “the good of mankind”
is the subject, “ the will of God” the criterion or rule,
and “ everlasting happiness” the motive, of human vir¬
tue. The moral sense, supposing it real, they consi¬
der as a very inadequate rule of conduct, as being in
many cases difficult to be distinguished from prejudice ;
and many of them confidently deny its existence. 1 he
other rules, such as the fitness of things, abstract right,
the truth of things, the law of reason, &c. they consider
either as unintelligible, or as relative to some end by
I L O S O P H Y. Histon
which the rules must themselves be tried. Ihe two
great questions, which in the system of these I'eligious
philosophers demand solution, are : 1st, By what means
shall a man in every case discover precisely what is the
will of God ? and, idly. What evidence have we that
there will be a future state of retribution and of ever¬
lasting happiness ?
Of these two questions, the latter belongs wholly to
religion 5 and to solve it they call in the aid ot revela¬
tion, as w'ell as of that which is called the religion of
nature. The former question is in the province of mo¬
rality and to find answers to it which will apply to
every case, is the whole business of their system.
The will of God respecting human conduct may be
discovered by reasoning a prion from his existence and
attributes, or « posteriori from the tendency of his
works. Being himself independent and all perfect, it
is inconceivable that his view in creating the world
could be any thing else than to communicate some por¬
tion of his own felicity. (See Metaphysics, N° 312).
This conclusion is agreeable to what we’perceive of
his works, in which there are a thousand contrivances,
all tending to give happiness to man, and to all ani¬
mated nature } and of not one of which the natural ten¬
dency is to inflict pain, or prove ultimately injurious.
Mankind are linked together by various ties, and made
to depend in a great measure upon each other’s con¬
duct. That conduct, therefore, which is naturally
productive of the greatest sum of human happiness,
must be agreeable to the will of God j or, in other
words, virtuous conduct. That, of which the natural
tendency is the reverse, must be vicious j and that
conduct, if there be any such, which tends to produce
neither happiness nor misery, must be indifferent, i. e.
neither morally good nor morally evil. It is to be ob¬
served, however, that as, previous to their own obedi¬
ence or disobedience, all men stand in the same relation
to their Creator, it must be his will that an equal por¬
tion of the happiness of which human nature is ca¬
pable be communicated to all by whom that nature
is shared. W hence it follow's, that only such conduct
as, if universally pursued by all men in the same station
and circumstances, would be productive of the greatest
sum of human happiness on the whole, can be agreeable
to the will of the Creator $ and that, in judging of the
morality of actions, we are not to regard their immedi¬
ate consequences in a particular case, but their natural
and ultimate tendency if performed in all cases.
This is a criterion of virtue which differs widely
from the local or occasional utility set up by Mr
Hume : for the particular consequences of an action
and its general tendency may often be at variance, so-
that what might in certain circumstances be imme¬
diately useful, would yet be highly criminal and ul¬
timately pernicious. The general tendency of ac¬
tions, too, may be always known, and known with the
utmost certainty: the whole of their particular con¬
sequences can never be discovered. One thing, how¬
ever, is evident, that if all men in their respective sta¬
tions would regulate their conduct by the natural ten-
(d) Gastrel, Cumberland, Puffendorff, Norris, Berkeley, Gay, Law, Butherforth, Soame
Jenyns, Dr Johnson, Mr Paley, and Mr Gisborne, &c.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
History.
dency of every action, the particular and general conse¬
quences of their conduct would be the same, and the
greatest happiness would result from it of which hu¬
man nature is in this world capable. And therefore,
since it is only through the perverseness of some person
or persons concerned, that the particular consequences
of any action, of which the natural tendency is to pro¬
duce misery, can ever bring happiness to a single indi¬
vidual 5 it can no more be the will of God that we make
these occasional and distorted consequences the rule of
our conduct, than it can be his will that the vices of
other men should be the basis of our virtues. Accord¬
ing to this scheme of morals, which rests all obligation
on private happiness, the whole difference between an
act of pmtdence and an act of ditty, is this : That in the
former case we consider only what we shall gain or lose
in this world ; in the latter, what we shall gain or lose
in the world to come.
Although the patrons of this theory question the
reality of the moral sense as an instinct, they allow that
a sentiment of approbation or disapprobation of ac¬
tions, according as they are virtuous or vicious, is ge¬
nerated by the associating principle (see Instinct, and
Metaphysics, N° 97.); arid that this sentiment, though
factitious, operates instantaneously as if it were instinc¬
tive. They insist that our earliest actions are the re¬
sult of imitation ; that when we first begin to trace con¬
sequences, education and the desire of immediate enjoy-
tnent are our only guides j that as our mind expands
and our knowledge increases, the hopes and fears of
futurity become the motives, and the will of God the
rule of our conduct ; and that long practice in virtue,
upon these principles, produces habits by which we
go on with satisfaction in the same course, without
looking forward on every particular occasion, to the
ultimate consequences and first motives of our actions.
Thus do habits of justice, benevolence, clemency, and
moral approbation, spring through a proper course of
discipline, out of the selfish principle) and when these
habits are completely formed and deeply rooted, man
has attained the utmost perfection of which he is
capable in this state of probation, and is fitted for
another ot retribution and happiness. Ir)
That these philosophers have not a just view of hu- Defrctsand
man nature, when they deny that there are any innate excellency
principles ol benevolence in man, we shall endeavourol,tIle s?"
to show when we lay the foundation of that theory IUU‘
wh - h we think deserves to be preferred to all others )
hut we fully agree with a candid and able writer*, who * Stuart's
seems to consider them as under the same mistake, “ that Elements
then them y ot morals has no tendency to weaken the ^
foundations of virtue 5 and that by the account which
it gives ot the rise of the social affections, it obviates mind.
many 0f the arguments which had formerly been urged
against the selfish system.” Nay, we scruple not to
confess, that the mode of investigation which it employs
in all cases to discover the will of God, may in some
cases be necessary in any system which does not banish
the use of reason from the science of ethics. On this
account, as well as out ot respect to the first moralistf- err,,
of the age, who affirms, that “ it must be embraced by ' J° llUt0n‘
all who are willing to know why they act, or why they
forbear, to give any reason of their conduct to theni =
.selves or to others,” we shall apply it to one of those
cases of social duty which Mr Hume’s principle of uti¬
lity could not resolve. Such an example will enable the
meanest of our readers to decide between the merits of
it and of the theory which we shall adopt) or, as we
rather hope, it will show them that the two theories
lead to the same practical conclusions.
Having thus given our readers a short view of the most
celebrated systems of ethics which have prevailed from
the earliest ages of the world to the present day, we now
proceed, agreeably to our definition of the science, to
trace man’s duty from his nature and connexions, and
to show that the steady practice of virtue must terminate
in bis ultimate happiness.
PART I.
Chap. I. Of Man and his Connexions.
20
TsUle*. MAN is born a weak, helpless, delicate crea¬
ture, unprovided with food, clothing, and whatever
else is necessary for subsistence or defence. And yet,
exposed as the infant is to numberless wants and dan¬
gers, be is utterly incapable of supplying the former,
or securing himself against the latter. But, though
thus feeble and exposed, he finds immediate and sure
resources in the affection and care of his parents, who
refuse no labours, and forego no dangers, to nurse and
rear up the tender babe. By these powerful instincts,
as by some mighty chain, does nature link the patent
to the child, and form the strongest moral connexion
on his part, before the child has the least apprehension
of it. Hunger and thirst, with all the sensations that
accompany or are connected with them, explain them¬
selves by a language strongly expressive, and irresisti¬
bly moving. As the several senses bring in notices
and informations of surrounding objects, we may per¬
ceive in the young spectator early signs of a growing
wonder and admiration. Bright objects and striking
sounds are beheld and heard with a sort ol commotion
and surprise. But, without resting on any, he eager-
ly passes on from object to object, still pleased with
whatever is newest. Thus the loi'e of novelty is
formed, and the passion of wonder kept awake. By
degrees he becomes acquainted with the most familiar
objects, his parents, his brethren, and those of the
family who are most conversant with him. He con¬
tracts a fondness for them, is uneasy when they are
gone, and charmed to see them again. These feel¬
ings become the foundation of a moral attachment on
his side ; and by this reciprocal sympathy he forms the
domestic alliance with his parents, brethren, and other
members of the family. Hence he becomes interested
in their concerns ) and fe(, 1 s joy ov grief, h pc, ov fear,
on their account, as well as his own. As his affec¬
tions now point beyond himself to others, he is deno¬
minated a good or ill creature, as he stands well or ill
affected to them. These, then, are the first links of the
Z z 2 moraf
2 2
■His youth
53
His man
iioorh
MORAL PH
moral chain ; the early rudiments, or outlines, of Ins
character •, his first rude essays towards agency, free¬
dom, manhood. .
When he begins to make excursions from the nur¬
sery, and extends his acquaintance abroad, he forms
a little circle of companions, engages with them in
plav, or in quest of adventures ; and leads, or is led
bv them, as his genius is more or less aspiring. Though
this is properly the season in which appetite and pas¬
sion have the ascendant, yet his imagination and intel¬
lectual powers open apace ; and as the various images
of things pass before the mental eye, he forms variety
of tastes ; relishes some things, and dislikes others, as
his parents, companions, and a thousand other circum¬
stances, lead him to combine agreeable or disagreeable
sets of ideas, or represent to him objects in alluring or
odious lights.
As his views arc enlarged, his active and social
powers expand themselves in proportion j the love of
action, of imitation, and of praise, emulation, curiosity,
docility, a passion for command, -awA fondness of change.
His passions are quick, variable, and pliant to every
impression 5 his attachments and disgusts quickly suc¬
ceed each other. He compares things, distinguishes
actions, judges of characters, and loves or hates them,
as they appear well or ill affected to himself, or to those
he holds dear. Meanwhile he soon grows sensible of
the consequences of his own actions, as they attract ap¬
plause, or bring contempt: he triumphs in the former •,
and is ashamed of the latter, wants to hide them, and
blushes when they are discovered. By means of these
powers he becomes a fit subject of culture, the moral
tie is drawn closer, he feels that he is accountable for
his conduct to others as well as to himself, and thus is
gradually ripening for society and action.
As man advances from childhood to youth, his pas¬
sions as well as perceptions take a more extensive
range. New senses of pleasure invite him to new
pursuits } he grows sensible to the attractions of beauty,
feels a peculiar sympathy with the sex, and forms a
more tender kind of attachment than he has yet expe¬
rienced. This becomes the cement of a new moral
relation, and gives a softer turn to his passions and be¬
haviour. In this turbulent period he enters more
deeply into a relish of friendship, company, exercises,
and diversions; the love of truth, of imitation, and
of design, grows upon him j and as his connexions
spread among his neighbours, fellow citizens, and coun¬
trymen, his thirst of praise, emulation, and social af¬
fections grow more intense and active. Meanwhile,
it is impossible for him to have lived thus long without
•having become sensible of those more august signatures
of order, wisdom, and goodness, which are stamped
on the visible creation j and of those strong suggestions
.within himself of a parent mind, the source of all in¬
telligence and beauty j an object as well as source of
that activity, and those aspirations which sometimes
rouse his inmost frame, and carry him out of himself
to an almighty and all-governing power: Hence arise
those sentiments of reverence, and those affections of
gratitude, resignation, and love, which link the soul
with the Author of Nature, and form that most sublime
and godlike of all connexions.
Man having now reached his prime, either new
passions succeed, or the old set are wound up to a
IL O S O P H Y.
higher pitch. For, growing more sensible of his con¬
nexions with the public, and that particular commu¬
nity to which he more immediately belongs j and tak¬
ing withal a larger prospect of human life, and its
various wants and enjoyments j he forms more inti¬
mate friendship, grasps at power, courts honour, lays
down cooler plans of interest, and becomes moie at¬
tentive to the concerns of society : he enters into fa¬
mily connexions, and indulges those charities which
arise from thence. I he reigning passions of this pe¬
riod powerfully prompt him to provide for the decavs
of life : and in it compassion and gratitude exert their
influence in urging the man, now in full vigour, to re¬
quite the affection and care of his parents, by supply¬
ing their wants and alleviating their infirmities.
Part ]
^ T»w,nv~ —     0 2zj.
At length human life verges downwards; and old old agf.
age creeps on apace, with its anxiety, love of ease, in¬
terestedness, fearfulness, foresight, and love of offspring.
 The experience of the aged is formed to direct,
and their coolness to temper, the heat of youth : the
former teaches them to look hack on past follies ; and.
the latter to look forward into the consequences of
things, and provide against the worst. Thus every age
has its peculiar genius and set of passions corresponding
to that period, and most conducive to the prosperity of
the rest. And thus are the wants of one period sup¬
plied by the capacities of another, and the weaknesses
of one age tally to the passions of another. _ ( 25
Besides these, there are other passions and affections Passions
of a less ambulatory nature, not peculiar to one period, cveP »
but belonging to every age, and acting more or less in
every breast throughout life. Such are self-love, bene¬
volence, love of life, honour, shame, hope, feai, dtsiic,
aversion, joy, sorrow, anger, and the like. Ihe two
fivst are affections of a cooler strain ; one pointing to
the good of the individual, the other to that of the
species : joy and sorrow, hope and fear, seem to he
only modifications, or different exertions, of the same
original affections of love and hatred, desire and aver¬
sion, arising from the different circumstances or posi¬
tion of the object desired or abhorred, as it is present
or absent. From these likewise arise other secondary
or occasional pAsdxons, which depend, as to their exist¬
ence and several degrees, upon the original affections
being gratified or disappointed ; as anger, complacence,
confidence, jealousy, love, hatred, dejection, exultation-
contentment, disgust, which do not form leading pas
sions, but rather hold of them. . j
Bv these simple but powerful springs, whether pe- Thtu
riod'ical or fixed, the life of man, weak and indigent6 ;
as he is, is preserved and secured, and the creatuie is
prompted to a constant round of action, even to sup¬
ply his own numerous and ever-returning ivants, and
to guard against the various dangers and evils to which
he is obnoxious. By these links men are connected
with each other, formed into families, drawn into par¬
ticular communities, and all united as by a common
league into one system or body, whose members teel
and sympathise one with another. By this admirab e
adjustment of the constitution of man to his state, and
the gradual evolution of his powers, order is main¬
tained, society upheld, and human life filled with that
variety of passion and action which at once enliven
and diversify it. . . ,
This is a short sketch of the principal movements
the
26
.The dir
the human mind. Yet these
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
28
ejudg-
[ or ap-
ving
rers.
movements are not the
whole of man ; they impel to action, but do not direct
it: they need a regulator to guide their motions, to
measure and apply their forces 5 and accordingly they
have one that.naturally superintends and directs their
action. We are conscious of a principle within us,
which examines, compares, and weighs things; notes
the differences, observes the forces, and foresees the
consequences, of affections and actions. By this power
we look back on past times, and forward into futurity,
gather experiences, estimate the real and compara¬
tive value of objects, lay out schemes, contrive means
to execute them, and settle the whole order and eco¬
nomy of life. This power we commonly distinguish
by the name of reason or reflection, the business of
which is not to suggest any original notices or sen¬
sations, but to canvass, range, and make deductions
from them.
We are intimately conscious of another principle
within us, which approves of certain sentiments, pas¬
sions, and actions, and disapproves of their contraries.
In consequence of the decisions of this inward judge,
we denominate some actions and principles of conduct
right, honest, good; and others wrong, dishonest, ill.
The former excite our esteem, moral complacence, and
affection, immediately and originally of themselves,
without regard to their consequences, and whether
they affect our interest or not. The latter do as natu¬
rally and necessarily call forth our contempt, scorn, and
aversion. That power by which we perceive this dif¬
ference in affections and actions, and feel a conse¬
quent relish or dislike, is commonly called conscience or
the moral sense. *
That there is such a power as this in the mind of
every man of sound, understanding, is a fact which
cannot be controverted ; but whether it be an instinc¬
tive power, or the result of early and deep-rooted
associations, has been long and ably debated. The
question is of importance in the science of human na¬
ture, as well as in ascertaining the standard of practi¬
cal virtue ; but to us it appears that the contending
parties have carried their respective opinions to danger¬
ous extremes.
When it is affirmed, as it sometimes has been, that
reason has nothing to do in ethical science, but that in
every possible situation our duty is pointed out and
the performance of it enforced by mere sentiment, the
consequence seems to be, that virtue and vice are no¬
thing permanent in themselves, but change their na¬
ture according to local circumstances. Certain it is,
that sentiment has in similar situations approved of very
different practices in different ages and different na-
A ttemptfions. At present this sentiment in Europe approves of
tfW the universal practice of justice, and of parents protect¬
ing their children, whether well or ill formed, whether
strong or weak : but in Sparta we know that theft,
if dexterously practised, was approved, and not unfre-
quently rewarded j and that the exposition of lame and
deformed children was not only permitted, but abso¬
lutely enjoined. There is nothing which our conscience
or moral sense condemns with greater severity, or views
as a crime of a deeper dye, than children’s unkind
treatment of their aged parents ; yet there are savages,
among whom instincts of all kinds ought to prevail in
greater purity than in civilized nations, whose moral .
565
t.,
*9
tl I wt
h ■ from
Of Man
and his
Connex-
sense permits them, to put their aged and decrepid pa¬
rents to death. If this sense be instinctive, and the
sole judge of right and wrong, how comes it to decide
so differently on the same line of conduct in different
ages and distant countries ? The instinct of brutes, in
similar circumstances, prompt uniformly to similar ac¬
tions in every age and in every region where the spe¬
cies is found; and the external senses of man afford
m all nations the same unvaried evidence concerning
theii respective objects. To these observations we may
add, that instincts must be calculated for the state of
nature, whatever that state may be, and therefore can¬
not be supposed capable ol directing our steps through
all the labyrinths of polished society, in which duties
are to be performed that in a state of nature would
never have been thought of.
But though for these reasons it is apparent that
mere sentiment, whether called conscience or the mo¬
ral sense, would alone be a very unsafe guide to virtue
in every individual case that may occur, we think that
those who resolve all such sentiment into habit and
the effect of education, without giving any part of ic
to nature, advance an opinion which is equally ill-
founded and not less dangerous. There are, indeed,
men who affirm that all benevolence is hypocrisy,
friendship a cheat, public spirit a farce, fidelity a snare
to procure trust and confidence 3 and that while all of
us at bottom pursue only our private interest, we wear
those fair disguises, in order to put those off their
guard with whom we have to deal, and to expose
them the more to our wiles and machinations. Others
again, too virtuous to accuse themselves and all man¬
kind of direct knavery, yet insist, that whatever affec¬
tion one may feel, or imagine he feels, for others, no
passion is or can be disinterested 3 that the most gene¬
rous friendship, however sincere, is only a modification
of self-1 ove 3 and that even unknown to ourselves we
seek only our own gratification, while we ajipear the
most deeply engaged in schemes for the liberty and hap¬
piness of mankind.
Surely the mildest of these representations is an
exaggerated picture of the selfishness of man. Self-
love is indeed a very porverful as well as an essential
principle in human nature 3 but that we have likewise
an instinctive principle of benevolence, which, without
any particular regard to our own interest, makes us feel
pleasure in the happiness of other men, is a fact which
we think admits of very complete proof. For, as Mr
Hume well argues, “ when a man grieves for a friend
who could be of no service to him, but on the contrary
stood in need of his constant patronage and protec¬
tion, how is it possible to suppose that such passionate
tenderness arises from self-interest, which has no
foundation in nature ? What interest (asks the same Examined,
deep thinker) can a fond mother have in view, whoaPd shown
loses her health by her assiduous attendance on her sick
child, and afterwards languishes and dies of grief when
freed by its death from the slavery of attendance ? 
Have we no satisfaction (continues he) in one man’s
company above another’s, and no desire of the welfare
of our friend, even though absence or death should
prevent us from all participation in it ? Or what is
it commonly that gives us any participation in it, even
while alive and present, but our affection and regard to
him ?” Nor is it to contemporaries and individuals
alone
30
MORAL PH
alone, that, independent of all interest, we feel a.bene¬
volent attachment. We constantly bestow piaise on
actions calculated to promote the good ot mankind,
though performed in ages very distant and in countries
most remote •, and he who was the author of such ac¬
tions is the object of our esteem and attention. _ 1 here
is not perhaps a man alive, however selfish in his dispo¬
sition, who does not applaud the sentiment of that em¬
peror, who recollecting at supper that he had done
nothing in that day for any one, exxlaimed with regret,.
that the day had been lost 1 yet the utmost subtility ot
imagination can discover no appearance of interest that
we can have in the generosity of Titus, or find any con¬
nexion of our present happiness with a character remo¬
ved so far from us both in time and in place. But, as
Mr Hume justly observes, if we even feign a character
consisting of all the most generous and beneficent quali¬
ties, and give instances in which these display them¬
selves, after an eminent and most extraordinary manner,
for the good of mankind, we shall instantly engage the
esteem and approbation of all our audience, who will
never so much as inquire in W'hat age or country the ac
complished person lived.
These are facts which cannot be controverted j and
they are wholly unaccountable, if there he not in hu¬
man nature an instinctive sentiment ot benevolence or
sympathy which feels a disinterested pleasure in the
happiness of mankind. But an end in which we feel
pleasure we are naturally prompted to pursue j and
therefore the same sentiment impels every man, with
greater or less force, to promote the happiness of other
men, which by means of it becomes in reality his own
good, and is afterwards pursued from the combined
motives of benevolence and self-enjoyment. For m
obeying this sentiment we all feel an inward complacency,
self-approbation, or consciousness of worth, or merit ;
and in disobeying it, which cannot be done but with
reluctance, we feel remorse, or a consciousness of un¬
worthiness or dement. It appears, however, from his¬
tory, that the sentiment, as it is instinctive, points only
to the good of mankind, without informing us how
that good is to be promoted. The means proper for
this purpose must be discovered by reason j and when
they are brought into view, this sentiment, conscience, or
moral sense, instantly shows us that it is our duty to
pursue them.
to orwi- Hence we see how different lines of conduct may in
note in the similar circumstances be approved of as virtuous in dif-
objectov’s ferent nations. When the Spartan exposed his sickly
and deformed child, and when the savage put his aged
parents to death, neither of them erred from want of
sentiment, or from having sentiments originally differ¬
ent from ours. Their error's resulted fiom a delect in
reasoning. They both imagined that they were obey"
ing the law of benevolence by preventing misery: for
a weak and deformed person was very ill qualified to
exist with any degree of comfort under the militaiy
constitution of Sparta, where all were soldiers, and
under the necessity of enduring the greatest hard¬
ships and in a state where the people have no fixed
habitations, and where the chase supplies even the ne¬
cessaries of life, an aged and infirm person is in danger
of perishing through hunger, by one of the cruellest
Of Mi
and hiij
Connol
ions.:
31
to orijn
mistaking
the extent
of those
powers;
ILOSOPHY. Part
and most lingering of deaths. 'Ihe theft allowed in
Sparta, if theft it may be called, was a still less devia¬
tion from the instinctive law of benevolence. Boys
were taught to slip as cunningly as they could into the ^
gardens and public halls, in order to steal away herbs
or meat j and if they were caught in the fact, they were
punished for their want of dexterity. Ibis kinu ot
theft, since it was authorized by the law and the con¬
sent of the citizens, was no robbery ; and the intention
of the legislator in allowing it, rvas to inspire the Spar¬
tan youth, who were all designed tor war, with the
greater boldness, subtlety, and address to inure them
betimes to the life of a soldier; and to teach them to
shift for themselves, and to live upon little, lhat the
Spartan legislator did wrong in giving his countrymen
a constitution, of which successful war was the ulti¬
mate object j and that savages, rather than kill their
aged parents, or suffer them to die of hunger, ought
to cultivate the ground, and abandon the chase *, is
readily granted : but the faults of the one as well as
of the other arose not from any improper decision of
the moral sense, but from a defect in their reasoning-
powers, which were not able to estimate the advantages
and disadvantages of different modes of life. In moral
decisions, therefore, conscience and reason are aiding
to each other. The former principle, when separated
from the latter, is defective, enjoining only the good of
mankind, hut unable to point out the means by which it
can be most effectually promoted 5 and the latter prin¬
ciple, when separated from the former, only directs a
man to do what is most prudent, but cannot give him a
conception of duty. t 321
These two powers of reason and conscience are evi-whichl
dently principles different in nature and kind from thedifferd
passions and affections. For the passions are mere jorcc
or power, blind impulses, acting violently and without thepa
choice, and ultimately tending each to their respective sions a
objects, without regard to the interest of the others, aftccti*
or of the whole system. M hereas the directing and
judging powers distinguish and ascertain the ditterent
forces, mutual proportions and relations, which the
passions bear to each other, and to the whole 5 recog¬
nize their several degrees of merit, and judge of the
whole temper and conduct, as they respect either the
individual or the species 5 and are capable of directing
or restraining the blind impulses of passion in a due
consistency one with the other, and a regular subordi¬
nation to the whole system. 3
This is some account of the constituent principles ofDivkii
our nature, which, according to their different mix-V^J*
tures, degrees, and proportions, mould our character
and sway our conduct in life. In reviewing that large
train of affections which fill up the different stages of
human life, we perceive this obvious distinction among
them 5 that some of them respect the good ol the in¬
dividual, and others carry us beyond ourselves to the
good of the species or kind. The former have therefore
been cnWeA private, and the \^.tX.or public affections. Ot
the first sort are love of life, of pleasure, of power, zni.
the like. Of the last are compassion, gratitude, friend¬
ship, natural affection, and the like. Of the private pas¬
sions (d), some respect merely the security and defence,
of the creature, such as resentment and fear; whereas
others
(d) Here we use passions and affections without distinction. Their difference will be marked afterwards.
art I.
if Moral
iligation.
MORAL, PHILOSOPHY.
others <iin} dt some positicc cidviintti^re or^rood^ ns wealth
ease, Janie. 1 he former sort, therefore, because of this
difference of objects, may be termed defensive passions.
These answer to our dangers, and prompt us to avoid
them n we can, or boldly to encounter them when we
cannot.
The other class of private passions, which pursue
private positive good, may be called appetitive. How¬
ever, we shall still retain the name of private in con¬
tradistinction to the defensive passions. Man has a
great variety of wants to supply, and is canable nf
367
wrong, leaves us quite unguarded, and tends to sink Of Moral
Uie mind into a passive enervated tameness. There-Obturation
fore, “ to keep the defensive passions duly proper- '
tioned to our dangers, is their natural pitch and te¬
nor.”
The private passions lead us to pursue some positive Measure of
species 01 private good : that good therefore which is the private
the object and end of each must be the measure of theirpassions-
respective force, and direct their operation. If they
are too weak or sluggish to engage us in the pursuit of
their several objects, they are evidently deficient; but
Iblic pas.
as.
sions correspond, which engage him in the pursuit of
whatever is necessary for his subsistence or welfare.
Our public or social affections are adapted to the se¬
veral social connexions and relations which we bear to
such meannesses and little arts of popularity, as make
us torreit the honour w^e so anxiously court. On the
other hand, a total indifference about the esteem of man¬
kind. removes a strong guard and spur to virtue, and
othc,,, bv making us sensible of .heir danger,, and in- lays ’.he mind
,37
mea-
of
crs.
38
3i sure of
tl jlefen-
sy pas-
cure them against one and supply the other.
This is the first step then to discover the duty and
destination of man, the having analyzed the principles
ol which he is composed. It is necessary, in the next
place, to consider in what order, proportion, and mea-
suie, ol those inw’ard principles, virtue, or a sound mo¬
ral temper and right conduct, consists 3 that we may
discover w hence moral obligation arises.
Chap. II. Of Duty, or Moral Obligation.
It is by the end or design of any power or movement
that w7e must direct its motions, and estimate the degree
of force necessary to its just action. If it want the force
requisite for the obtaining its end, we reckon it defec¬
tive j if it has too much, so as to be carried beyond it,
we say it is overcharged ; and in either case it is im¬
perfect and ill contrived. If it has just enough to
reach the scope, we esteem it right and as it should be.
Let us apply this reasoning to the passions.
The dfence and security of the individual being the
aim of the defensive passions, that security and defence
must be the measure of their strength or indulgence. If
they are so weak as to prove insufficient for that end.
or if they carry us beyond it, i. e. raise unnecessary com¬
motions, or continue longer than is needful, they are
unfit to answer their original design, and therefore are
xn an unsound and unnatural state. The exercise of
fear or of resentment has nothing desirable in it, nor
can we give way to either without painful sensations.
Without a certain degree of them, we are naked and
exposed. W ith too high a proportion of them, we
are miserable, and often injurious to others. Thus
cowardice or timidity, which is the excess of fear, in¬
stead of saving us in danger, gives it too formidable an
appearance, makes us incapable of attending to the
best means of preservation, and disarms us of courage,
our natural armour. Fool hardiness, which is the want
ol a due measure of fear, leads us heedlessly into dan¬
ger, and lulls us into a pernicious security. Revenge,
1. e. excessive resentment, by the violence of its commo¬
tion, robs us ot that presence of mind which is often the
est guard against injury, and inclines us to pursue the
aggressor with more severity than self-defence requires.
pusillanimity, or the wrant of a just indignation against
proportioned to our wants, is the just measure and
pitch of this class of affections.”
Tim defensive and private passions do all agree in r 40
general, in their tendency or conduciveness to the in- tive^orce
terest or good of the individual. Therefore, when
there is a collision of interest, as may sometimes hap¬
pen, that aggregate of good or happiness, which is com¬
posed of the particular goods to which they respec¬
tively tend, must be the common standard by which
iatir comparative degrees of strength are to be measured:
that is to say, if any of them, in the degree in which
they prevail, are incompatible wdth the gi’eatest aggre¬
gate of good or most extensive interest of the indivi¬
dual, then are they unequal and disproportionate. For
in j udging of aparticular system or constitution of powers,
we cull that the supreme or principal end, in w hich the
aims of the several parts or powers coincide, and to
which they are subordinate ; and reckon them in due
proportion to each other, and right with regard to the
whole, when they maintain that subordination of sub-
seiviency. Iherefore, “ to proportion our defensive
and private passions 111 such measure to our dangers
and wants as best to secure the individual, and obtain
the greatest aggregate of private good or happiness, is
their just balance or comparative standard in case of
competition.”
In like manner as the public or social affections point Measure of
at the good of others, that good must be the measure the public
of their force. When a particular social affection, as affections^
gratitude, or friendship, which belongs to a particular
social connexion, viz. that of a benefactor, or of a friend,
is too feeble to make us act the grateful or friendly part,
that affection, being insufficient to answer its end, is
defective a.nd unsound. If on the other hand, a parti¬
cular passion of this class counteract or defeat the inte¬
rest it is designed to promote, by its violence or dis¬
proportion, then is that passion excessive and irregular.
I hus natural affection, if it degenerates into a passionate
fondness, not only hinders the parents from judging
coolly of the interest of their offspring, but often
leads them into a most partial and pernicious indul¬
gence.
As every kind affection points at the good of its Collision of
particular object, it is possible there may sometimes be social affec-
a collision of interests or goods. Thus the regard duerions,
to,
368
Of Moral
Obligation
43 ,
Balance of
aflection.
44 ,
1 jrilits of
private af
lections.
MORAL PH
to a friend may Interfere with that which we owe to
a community. In such a competition of interests it is
evident that the greatest is to be chosen j and that is
the greatest interest which contains the greatest sum or
aggregate of public good, greatest in quantity** well as
duration. This then is the common standard by which
the respective forces and subordinations of the social
affections must be adjusted. Therefore we conclude
that “ this class of affections are sound and regular
when they prompt us to pursue the interest of indivi¬
duals in an entire consistency with the public good ; or
in other words, “ when they are duly proportioned
to the dangers and wants of others, and to the va¬
rious relations in which we stand to individuals or to
^Thus we have found, by an induction of particulars
the natural pitch or tenor of the different orders of affec¬
tion, considered apart by themselves. Now, as the vir¬
tue or perfection of every creature lies in following its
nature; or acting suitably to the just proportion and
harmony of its several powers j therefore, the \
TUE of a creature endowed with such affections as man
must consist in observing or acting agreeably to their
natural pitch and tenor” . . .
But as there are no independent affections m the
fabric of the mind, no passion that stands by itself
without some relation to the rest, we cannot pronounce
of any one, considered apart, that it is either too strong
or too weak. Its strength and just proportion must be
measured not only by its subserviency to its own im¬
mediate end, but by the respect it bears to the whole
system of affections. Therefore we say a passion is too
strong, not only when it defeats its own end, but when
it impairs the force of other passions, which are equally
necessary to form a temper of mind suited to a certain
economy or state ; and too weak, not merely on account
of its insufficiency to answer its end, but because it
cannot sustain its part or office in the balance or the
whole system. Thus the love of life may be too strong
when it takes from the regard due to one s country,
and will not allow one bravely to encounter dangers
or even death, on its account. Again, Ihe love of
fame may be too weak when it throws down the
‘fences which render virthe more secure, or weakens
the incentives which make it more active and public
^If if'be asked, “ How far may the affections towards
private good or happiness be indulged ?” One limit
was before fixed for the particular indulgence of each,
viz. their subordination to the common aggregate of
good to the private system. In these therefore a due
regard is always supposed to be had to health, reputa¬
tion, fortune, the freedom of action, the unimpaired exer¬
cise of reason, the calm enjoyment of one's self, which
are all private goods. Another limit now results from
the balance of affection just named, viz. “ rI he security
and happiness of others j” or, to express it more gene¬
rally, “ a private affection may be safely indulged,
when, by that indulgence, we do not violate the obli¬
gations which result from our higher relations or public
connexions.” A just respect therefore being had to
these boundaries which nature has fixed in the breast
of every man, what should limit our pursuits of private
happiness ? Is nature sullen and penurious ? or, does
ILOSOPHY. Part
the God of nature envy the happiness of his off- Of Mon
• o Obligati*
spring r . . . .
Whether there is ever a real collision of interests ff*
between the public and private system of affections, or Co]]isi0!:i
the ends which each class has in view, will be after-intercstsi
wards considered ; but where there is no collision,
there is little or no danger of carrying either, but
especially the public affections, to excess, provided both
kinds are kept subordinate to a discreet and cool self-
love, and to a calm and universal benevolence, which
principles stand as guards at the head of each system.
This then is the conduct of the passions, considered Result,
as particular and separate forces, carrying us out to
their respective ends } and this is their balance or eco¬
nomy, considered as compound powers, or powers mu¬
tually related, acting in conjunction towards a common
end, and consequently as forming a system or whole. 47
Now, whatever adjusts or maintains this balance,
whatever in the human constitution is formed for di-
reding the passions so as to keep them from defeating
their own end or interfering with each other, must be
a principle of a superior nature to them, and ought to
direct their measures and govern their proportions.
But it was found that reason or reflection is such a
principle, which points out the tendency of our pas¬
sions, weighs their influence upon private and public
happiness, and shows the best means of attaining either.
It having been likewise found that there is another
directing or controlling principle, which we call con¬
science or the MORAL SENSE, which, by a native kind
of authority, judges of affections and actions, pronoun¬
cing sohie just and good, and others unjust and ill; it
follows, that the passions, which are mere impulse or
blind forces, arc principles inferior and subordinate to
this judging faculty. Therefore, if we would follow
the order of nature, l e. observe the mutual respects
and the subordination which the different parts of the
human constitution bear one to another, the passions
ought to be subjected to the direction and authority of
the leading or controlling principles. f.
We conclude, therefore, from this induction, that
the constitution or just economy of human nature con-coni,1Ss
sists in a regular subordination of the passions and affec¬
tions to the authority of conscience and the direction of
reason* .
That subordination is regular, when the proportion Ecomu
formerly mentioned is maintained j that is t0 . say>
“ when the defensive passions are kept proportioned^
to our dangers ; when the private passions are propor¬
tioned to our wants ; and when the public affections .
are adapted to our public connexions, and proportioned J
to the wants and dangers of others.'’ ^
But the natural state, or the sound and vigorous con-^
stitution of any creature, or the just economy of its ^
nzviMOVS- WP call its health and perfection; and the acting
Slliuciun ui *117  . ^ ^ •
powers, we call its health and perfection; and the acting
agreeably to these, its virtue or goodness. Therefore,
“ the heatlh and perfection of man must he in the
aforesaid supremacy of conscience and reason, and in the
subordination of the passions to their authority and di¬
rection. And his virtue or goodness must consist in act¬
ing; agreeably to that order or economy” 51
Tlfat sJ an ornament of tin mind, «<* »jH
conduct of its powers and passions, will stand the es ^ 1
of reason, cannot admit of any dispute, I' or, 'up*^ a
irtl- MORAL P
'.\foral examination into the consequences of things, or
'igation. the relations and aptitudes of means to ends, reason evi-
dently demonstiates, and experience confirms it, that
to have our defensive passions duly proportioned to
our dangers, is the surest way to avoid or get clear of
j them, and obtain the security we seek after. To pro¬
portion our private passions to our wants, is the best
means to supply them j—and, to adapt our public af¬
fections to our social relations, and the good of others is
the most effectual method of fulfilling the one, and pro¬
curing the other." In this sense, therefore, virtue may
be said to be a “ conduct conformable to reason,” as rea¬
son discovers an apparent aptitude, in such an order and
econoiny of powers and passions, to answer the end for
which they are naturally formed.
inexion ^ ^ie 't|ea of moral obligation is to be deduced mere-
Ueenaf-ly from this aptitude or connexion between certain pas-
i ions sions, or a certain order and balance of passions and
lithe idea ?ertam e,lds obtained or to be obtained by them, then
< ioral 18 reasof or reflection, which perceives that aptitude or
< gation. connexion, the proper judge of moral obligation ; and
on this supposition it may be defined, as hath been
done by some, the connexion between the affection and
the end, or, which is the same thing, between the ac¬
tion and the motive; for the end is the motive or the
final cause, and the affection is the action, or its imme¬
diate natural cause. A man, from mere self-love,
may be induced to fulfil that obligation which is found¬
ed on the connexion between the defensive passions and
their ends, or the private passions and their ends; be¬
cause in that case his own interest will prompt him to
indulge them in the due proportion required. But if
he has no affections which point beyond himself, no
principle but self-love, or some subtle modification of it,
what shall interest him in the happiness of others,
where there is no connexion between it and his own P
or what sense can he have of moral obligation to pro¬
mote it ? Upon this scheme, therefore, without public
01 social arlection, there could be no motive, and con¬
sequently no moral obligation, to a beneficent disinte¬
rested conduct.
But if the mere connexion between certain passions
or a certain order of passions, and certain ends, is
what constitutes or gives us the idea of moral obliga¬
tion, then why may not the appositeness of any temper
or conduct, nay, of any piece of machinery, to obtain
its end, form an equally strict moral obligation? for the
connexion and aptitude are as strong and invariable in
the latter instances as in the former. But as this is
confounding the most obvious differences of things, w'e
must trace the idea of moral obligation to another and a
more natural source.
Uet us appeal, therefore, to our inmost sense and
OVl ry ^ 1   . I /V» -• . . .
HILOSOPHY.
6o
Met
module, io our inmost sense and
pe' exPerjcnce, “ how we stand affected to those different
fit
fUL
tfen;
Ipro: 1.
sets of passions, in the just measure and balance of
which we found a right temper to consist.” For this is
en ire y a matter of experience, in which we must ex¬
amine, as in any other natural inquiry, “ what are the
genuine feelings and operations of nature, and whataf-
stance"”01" SymptomS of them aPPear 'm ^ given in-
The defensive passions, as anget' and fear, give us
ih.1Lr ^am ^lan pleasure, yet we cannot help feeling
em when provoked by injury, or exposed to harm,
e account the creature imperfect that wants them,
Vol. XIV. Part L
because they ate necessary to his defence. Nay, we Of Moral
should in some measure condemn ourselves, did we Obligation
want the necessary degree ol resentment and caution. ' v—-
But if our resentment exceeds the wrong received or
our caution the evil dreaded, we then blame ourselves
for having overacted our part. Therefore, while
we are in danger, to be totally destitute of them, we
reckon a blameable defect, and to feel them in a just,
i. e. necessary measure, we approve, as suited to the
nature and condition of such a creature as man. But
our security obtained, to continue to indulge them, we
not only disapprove as hurtful, but condemn as unmanlu,
unbecoming and mean-spirited: Nor will Such a conduct
afford any self-approving joy when we coolly reflect
upon it. J
,.rW,t.h re8artl to the private passions, such as love o/wh^the
hfe, pleasure, ease, and the like, as these aim at pri-private,
vate good, and are necessary to the perfection and
happiness of the individual, we should reckon any
creature defective, and even blameable, that was desti¬
tute of them. Thus, we condemn the man who impru¬
dently ruins his fortune, impairs his health, or exposes
Ins life; we not only pity him as an unfortunate crea-
ture, but feel a kind of moral indignation and contempt
ot him, for having made himself such. On the other
hand, though a discreet self-regard does not attract our
esteem and veneration, yet we approve of it in some
degree, m a higher and different degree from what
we would regard a well-contrived machine, as necessary
to constitute a finished creature, nay, to complete the
virtuous character, as exactly suited to our present in¬
digent state. 'I here are some passions respecting pri¬
vate good, towards which we feel higher degrees of
approbation, as the love of knowledge, of action, of ho-
«o«r, and the like. We esteem them as marks of an
ingenious mind; and cannot help thinking the charac¬
ter in which they are wanting remarkably stupid, and
in some degree immoral.
With regard to the social affections, as compassion, Wby^the
natural affection, friendship, benevolence, and the like, public,
we approve, admire, and love them in ourselves, and,
in all in whom we discover them, with an esteem and
approbation, if not different in kind, yet surely far su¬
perior in degree, to what we feel towards the other pas¬
sions. These we reckon necessary, just, and excellent
ly fitted to our structure and state ; and the creature *
which wants them we call defective, ill-constituted, a
kind of abortion. But the public affections we esteem
as self-worthy, originally and eternally amiable.
But among the social affections we make an obvious tv- ,-57 •
and constant distinction, viz. between those particular betweai ^
passions which urge us with a sudden violence, and un-vehement
easy kind of sensation, to pursue the good of their re-and ca^m
spective objects, as pity, natural affection, and the like ; aftectr°ae‘
and those calm dispassionate affections and desires which
piompt us moie steadily and uniformly to promote the
happiness of others. The former we generally call pas¬
sions, to distinguish them from the other sort, which go
more commonly by the name of affections, or calm de¬
sires. The first kind we approve indeed, and delight
in ; but we feel still higher degrees of approbation and
moral complacence towards the last, and towards all li¬
mitation nf the particular instincts, by the principle of
universal benevolence. The more objects the calm af¬
fections take in, and the worthier these, are, their dig-
f 3 A nity
57°
Of Moral
Obligation.
58 v
Moral obu
gation,
59
Moral
agent.
60
Moral ac¬
tion good
and bad.
MORAL PH
nitv rises in proportion, ami with this our approbation
keep, an exact pace. A character, on the other hand
which is quite divested of these publ.c affect.ons winch
feels no love for the species, but instead of it entertains
malice, rancour, and ill will, we reckon totally tmmo-
ral and unnatural. . . r i
Such then are the sentiments and dispositions we letl
,¥hen these several orders of affections pass before the
^^Thereforc, “ that state in which we feel ourselves
rooved, 'in the manner above described, towards those
affections and passions, as they come under the mind s
review, and in which we are, instantaneously and inde¬
pendently of our choice or volition prompted to a cor-
Tespondent conduct, we call a state of moral obligation.
Let us suppose, for instance, a parent, a friend, a
nefactor, reduced to a condition of the utmost indigence
and distress, and that it is in our power to give them
immediate relief. To what conduct are we oterf?
what duty does nature dictate and require m sue! a
case ? Attend to nature, and nature will tell, with a
voice irresistibly audible and commanding to the
hear t, with an authority which no man can silence w.th-
out being self-condemned, and which no man can elude
hut at his peril, “ that immediate relief ought to be
(riven.” Again, Let a friend, a neighbour, or even a
stranger, have lodged a deposite in our hands ami after
some time reclaim it; no sooner do these ideas ol the
confidence reposed in us, and of property not transfer¬
red, but deposited, occur, than we immediately and un¬
avoidably feel and recognize the obligation to restore i .
In both these cases we should condemn and even loathe
ourselves if we acted otherwise, as haying done, or
omitted doing, what we ought not, as having acted be¬
neath the dignity of our nature •,-contrary to our most
intimate sense of right and wrongwe should accuse
ourselves as guilty of ingratitude, injustice, and inhu¬
manity,—and be conscious of deserving the censure, and
therefore dread the resentment, of all rational beings.
Butin complying with the obligation, we feel joy and
self-approbation,—are conscious of an inviolable har¬
mony between our nature and duty, and think ourse ves
entitled to the applause of every impartial spectatoi ol
our conduct. , ,
. To describe, therefore, what we cannot perhaps de¬
fine, a state of moral obligation is “ that state in which
a creature, endued with such senses, P0™’8’,^de¬
fections as man, would condemn himself, and think
he deserved the condemnation of ad others, shoul
he refuse to fufil it; but would approve himself, and
expect the approbation of all others, upon complying
with it.” i • • i „
And we call him a MORAL AGENT, who is m such a
state, or is subject to moral obligation. _ therefore, as
man’s structure and connexions often subject him to such
a state of moral obligation, we conclude that he \s Amo¬
ral agent. But as man may sometimes act without
knowing what he does, as in cases oifrenzy or disease,
or in many natural functions; or, knowing what he
does he may act without choice or affection, as in cases
of necessity or compulsion ; therefore, to denominate an
action moral, i. e. approveable, or blame able, \t must be
done knowingly and willingly, ox from affection and
choice. “ A morally good action, then, is to tultil a
moral obligation knowingly willingly.” And a
I L O S G P H Y.
^   Part I.
morally bad action, or an immoral action, is, “ to vio- Of Moral
late a moral obligation knowingly and willingly.” Obligation.
As not an action, but a series of actions, constitute a
character; as not an affection, but a series off ajfections, Mora] cha>
constitute a temper ; and as we denominate things by racter and
the gross, fortiori, or by the qualities winch chiefly temper
® • i .  a i6 mnrallu froodS00^*1
fa
ITeS a “jnoraUy^^
character, in which a series of morally good actions pre¬
vail ;” and that a “ morally good temper, m which a
series of morally good affections have the ascendant.
A bad character and bad temper are the reverse. But
where the above mentioned order or proportion of pas¬
sions is maintained, there a series of morally good affec¬
tions and actions will prevail. Therefore, “ to maintain
that order and proportion, is to have a morally goo
temper and character.” But a “ morally good temper
and character is moral rectitude, integrity, virtue, or
the completion of duty.”
If it be asked, after all, “ how we come by the idea How we
“ 0( moral obligation or duty?” we may answer, Ihat come by
we come by it in the same way as by our other
and primary perceptions. We receive them all from gaUoDt
nature, or the great Author of nature. 1 or this idea
of moral obligation is not a creature of the mind, or de¬
pendent on any previous act of volition •, but arises on
certain occasions, or when certain other ideas are pre¬
sented to the mind, as necessarily, instantaneously, and
unavoidably, as pain does upon too near an approach to
the fire, or pleasure from the fruition of any good. It
does not, for instance, depend on our choice, whether
we shall feel the obligation to succour a distressed parent,
or to restore a deposite intrusted to us when it is recal¬
led We cannot call this a compound idea made up of
one or more simple ideas. We may indeed, nay we
must, have some ideas antecedent to it, e. g. that of a
parent in distress-of a child-able to rcl,eve-of the
relation of one to the other-of a trust-of r.ght, &c.
But none of these ideas constitute the perception of
obligation. This is an idea quite distinct from, and
something superadded to, the ideas of the correlatives,
or the relation subsisting between them. These indeed,
by a law of our nature, are the occasion of suggesting
it^ but they are as totally different from it as colours
are from sounds. By sense of reflection we perceive the
correlatives; our memory recals the favours or deposit
we received ; the various circumstances of the case are
matters of fact or experience ; but some delicate inward
organ or power, or call it what we please, does by a
certain instantaneous sympathy, antecedent to the cool
deductions of reason, and independent «f Prevl«l’s 1 ^
struction, or volition, perceive the moral harmony,
living, irresistible charms of moral obligation, which
immediately interests the correspondent passions,
•m-mrints us to fulfil its lawful dictates. 63
P We need not apprehend any danger from the 4»ck-Tb..«|
ness of Its decisions, nor be fnghtened-bMansc i •
like instinct, and has been called so. ^ the Jt-
pvove one for deliberating long, or reasoning the nmk
fer much at leisure, whether he shonld «Ue;e » ^
tressed parent, feed a starving neighbour, or restore
the tni committed to him? should we not suspe t
the reasoner of knavery, or of very weak affections
virtue ? We employ reason, and wortln y elJjP ^ ’
in examining the condition, re ations and other
cumstances of the agent or patient, or whom
'Part I.
MORAL PH1LOSOPHY.
Aflection.
Of Percep- whom either of them are connected, or, in other words,
tiou and the state of the case : and in complicated cases, where
the circumstances are many, it may require no small
attention to find the true state of the case ; but when
the relations of the agent or patient, and the circum¬
stances of the action are obvious, or come out such
after a fair trial, we should scarcely approve him who
demurs on the obligation to that conduct which the case
suggests.
From what has been said, it is evident, that it is not
the pleasure or agreeable sensations, which accompany
the exercise of the several affections, nor those con¬
sequent to the actions, that constitute moral obliga¬
tion, or excite in us the idea of it. That pleasure is
posterior to the idea of obligation 5 and frequently we
are obliged, and acknowledge ourselves under an obli¬
gation, to such affections and actions as are attended
with pain j as in the trials of virtue, where we are obli¬
ged to sacrifice private to public good, or a present
pleasure to a future interest. We have pleasure in serv¬
ing an aged parent, but it is neither the perception nor
prospect of that pleasure which gives us the idea of ob¬
ligation to that conduct.
64
Pleasure
not the
idea of ob
ligation.
Chap. III. The Final Carnes of our moral Faculties
o/1 Perception and Affection.
The survey
proposed.
We have now taken a general prospect of man and
of his moral powers and connexions, and on these erect¬
ed a scheme of duty or moral obligation, which seems
to be confirmed by experience, consonant to reason, and
approved by his most inward and most sacred senses. It
may be proper, in the next place, to take a more par¬
ticular view of the final causes of those del icate springs
by which fie is impelled to action, and of those clogs by
which he is restrained from it. By this detail we shall
be able to judge of their aptitude to answer their end,
in a creature endued with his capacities, subject to his
wants, exposed to his dangers, and susceptible of his
enjoyments ; and from thence we shall be in a condition
to pronounce concerning the end of bis whole structure,
its harmony with its state, and consequently its subservi¬
ency to answer the great and benevolent intentions of
its Author.
The supreme Being has seen fit to blend in the whole
anatomy of of things a prodigious variety of discordant and contra-
66
Inward
the system
cf the
mind.
ry principles, light and darkness, pleasure and pain,
good and evil. There are multifarious natures, higher
and lower, and many intermediate ones between the
wide-distant extremes. These are differently situated,
variously adjusted, and subjected to each other, and
all of them subordinate to the order and perfection
of the whole. We may suppose man placed as in a
centre amidst those innumerable orders of beings, by
his outward frame drawing to the material system, and
by his inward connected with the intellectual or
moral, and of course affected by the laws which go¬
vern both, or affected by that good and that ill which
result from those laws. In this infinite variety of rela¬
tions with which he is surrounded, and of contingencies
to which he is liable, he feels strong attractions to
the good, and violent repulsions or aversions to the ill.
But as good and ill are often blended, and wonder¬
fully complicated or.e with the other ; as they some¬
times immediately produce and run up into each other,
' 37r
and at other times lie at great distances, yet by means Of Percei)-
of intervening links introduce one another; and as tion and
these effects are often brought about in consequence of Aiicction.^
hidden relations and general laws, of the energy of
which he is an incompetent judge 5 it is easy for him
to mistake good for evil, and evil for good, and con¬
sequently he may be frequently attracted by such
things as are destructive or repel such as are salutary.
Thus, by the tender and complicated frame of his
body, he is subjected to a great variety of ills, to sick¬
ness, cold, heat, fatigue, and innumerable wants. Yet
his knowledge is so narrow withal, and his reason so
weak, that in many cases he cannot judge, in the way
ol investigation or reasoning, of the connexions of
those effects with their respective causes, or of the
various latent energies of natural things, tie is there¬
fore informed of this connexion by the experience
of certain senses or oi'gans of perception, which, by a
mechanical instantaneous motion, feel the good and
the ill, receiving pleasure from one, and pain from the
other. By these, without anv reasoning, he is taught
to attract or choose what tends to his welfare, and to
repel and avoid what tends to his ruin. Thus, bv
bis senses of taste and smell, or by the pleasure be re¬
ceives from certain kinds of food, he is admonished
which agree with his constitution j and by an oppo¬
site sense of pain he is informed which sort disagree,
or are destructive of it; but is not by means of this
instructed in the inward natures and constitutions df
things. ( 61
Some of those senses are armed with strong degrees Use of ap-
of uneasiness or pain, in order to urge him to seek after petites and
such objects as are suited to them. And these re- Passions>
spect his more immediate and pressing wants; as the
sense of hunger, thirst, cold, and the like 5 which, by
their painful importunities, compel him to provide
food, drink, raiment, shelter. Those instincts by which
we are thus prompted with some kind of commotion
or violence to attract and pursue good, or to repel and
avoid ill, we call appetites and passions. By our senses
then we are informed of what is good or ill to the pri¬
vate system, or the individual; and by our private appe¬
tites and passions we are impelled to one, and restrained
from the other.
In consequence of this machinery, and the great Man’s oaf-
train of wants to which our nature subjects us, we are ward state,
engaged in a continued series of occupations, which
often require much application of thought, 01* great
bodily labour, or both. The necessaries of life, food,
clothes, shelter, and the like, must be provided ; con-
Veniencies must be acquired to render life still more
easy and comfortable. In order to obtain these, arts,
industry, manufactures, and trade are necessary And
to secure to us the peaceable enjoyment of their fruits,
civil government, policy, and laws, must he contrived,
and the various business of public life carried on : thus,
while man is concerned and busied in making provision,
or obtaining security for himself, he is by degrees en¬
gaged in connexions with a family, friends, neighbours,
a community, or a commonwealth. Hence arise new
wants, new interests, new cares, and new employments.
The passions of one man interfere with those of another.
Interests are opposed. Competitions arise, contrary
courses are taken. Disappointments happen, distinct
tions are made, and parties formed. This opens a vast
3 A 2 scene
->72 MORAL
,3 7 ^ ,
)f Pevcpp- scene of distraction and embarrassment, and introduces
lion and a mighty train of good and ill, both public and private.
Affection. Yet amidst all this confusion and hurry, plans ot action
'  musj- })f. laid, consequences foreseen or guarded against,
inconveniences provided for •, and Irequently particular
resolutions must be taken, and schemes executed, with¬
out reasoning or delay.
Now what provision has the Author ol our nature
made for this necessitous condition ? how has he fitted
the actor, man, for playing his part in this perplexed
and busy scene ?
Our supreme Parent, watchful for the whole, has not
senses and left himself without a witness here neither, and hath
passions. 1Tiatle nothing imperfect, but all things are double one
against the other. He has not left man to be informed,
only by the cool notices of reason, of the good or ?//,
the happiness or misery of his fellow creatures. He has
made him sensible of their good and happiness, but es¬
pecially of their ill and misery, by an immediate sym¬
pathy, or quick feeling of pleasure and of pain.
The latter we call pity or compassion. For the
former, though every one, who is not quite divested of
humanity, feels it in some degree, we have not got a
Provisions
for it.
7°,.
By public
Pity.
71
7*2 IlLlIJJO'UXi/j j    O ' 'Cl
Congratu- name, unless we call it congratulation or joyful
SYMPATHY, or that good humour which arises on seeing
others pleased or happy. Both these feelings have been
called in general the public or COMMON SENSE, xo<v»
(.tvYiuor-jn, by which we feel for others, and are interest¬
ed in their concerns as really, though perhaps less sen¬
sibly, than in our own.
When we see our fellow creatures unhappy through
the fault or injury of others, we feel resentment or in¬
dignation against the unjust causers of that misery.—if
we are conscious that it has happened through our fault
or injurious conduct, we feel shame; and both these
classes of senses and passions, regarding misery and
i * i 1   —1,*-%■**» r> 4" ■* o i nnt rt. si
lation
73
B.esent-
ment.
PHILOSOPHY. Parti
and affections should he prompted with as quick sen- Of Perce
sations of pain, not only to counteract the strength of hon and!
theit antagonists, but to engage us in a virtuous acti- Affection:
vity for our relations, families, friends, neighbours, 'r“1j
country. Indeed our sense of right and wi ong will ad¬
monish us that it is our duty, and reason and experience
farther assure us that it is both our interest and best
security, to promote the happiness of others ; but that
sense, that reason, and that experience, woulu fi equent-
ly prove but weak and ineffectual prompters to such
a conduct, especially in cases of danger and hard¬
ship, and amidst all the importunities of nature, and
that constant hurry in which the private passions in¬
volve us, without tbe aid of those particular kind affec¬
tions which mark out to us particular spheres of duty,
and with an agreeable violence engage and fix us down
to them. cn ^
It is evident, therefore, that those two classes of Contest:
affection, the private and public, are set one against the
other, and designed to controul and limit each other’s
influence, and "thereby to produce a just balance in
the whole*. In general, the violent sensations of * Vid.Ffel
pain and uneasiness which accompany hunger, thirst, ctoffs
and the other private appetites, or too great fatigue ^pf |
of mind as well as of body, prevent the individual slows,Tre|
from running to great excesses in the exercise of the I# | 2.
higher functions of the mind, as too intense thought
in the search of truth, violent application to business
of any kind, and different degrees of romantic heroism.
On the other hand, the finer senses of perception, and
those generous desires and affections which are connec-
ted with them, the love of action, of imitation, of
truth, honour, public virtue, and the like, are wisely
placed in the opposite scale, in order to prevent us
from sinking into the dregs of the animal Xdie, and de¬
basing the dignity of man below the condition of brutes.
So that, by the mutual reaction of those opposite
nrilyFOve'a powerM guard
Compassion draws us out of ourselves to bear a part of ed to produce
1 _  nc ha +h#^ir X Ilf! SJHT1C 1
l6
The same wholesome opposition appears likewise m Contrast
the particular counter-workings of the private
 .7.7.V. ..dte.t'inrw nnp noainst the other. 1 bus compos- . .
the misfortunes of others, powerfully solicits us m their
favour, melts us at the sight of their distress, and
makes us in some degree unhappy till they are relieved
from it. It is peculiarly well adapted to the condition
of human life, because it is mudh more and oftener in
our power to do mischief than good, and to prevent or
lessen misery than to communicate positive happiness j
and therefore it is an admirable restraint upon the
more selfish passions, or those violent impulses that
_, carry us to the hurt of others. . "'"T i- ^articular virtue, are frequently more
PablicV There are other particular instincts or ^ a maJh V(or the whole train of selfish passions.
lections, interest us m the concerns ol others, ev ^ ^ ^ ^ ^nd, without that intimate over-
rnling passion of self-love, and those private desires
which are connected with it, the social and tender in¬
stincts of the human heart would degenerate into the
wildest dotage, the most torturing anxiety, and down- ^
But not only are the different orders or classes of Contra:
public affections one against the other. I bus compos- ^rivale
sion is adapted to counterpoise the love of ease, ot plea- passi0nsj
sure, and of life, and to disarm or to set bounds to re¬
sentment; and resentment of injury done to ourselves,
or to our friends who are dearer than ourselves, pre¬
vents an effeminate compassion or consternation, and
•rives us a noble contempt of labour, pain, and death.
Natural affection, friendship, love of one's country, nay
are most busy about our own, anti which Are stiongly
attractive of good, and repulsive ol ill to them. Such
are natural affection, friendship, lave, gratitude, desire
of fame, love of society, of one's country, and others
that might be named. Now as the private appetites
and passions were found to be armed with strong sen¬
sations of desire and uneasiness, to prompt man the
more effectually to sustain labours, and to encounter
dangers in pursuit of those goods that are necessary to
the preservation and welfare of the individual, and to
avoid those ills which tend to his destruction; in like
manner it was necessary, that this other class of desires
i 4
out not oniy die tnc ——— ----- . ,i,pamong
affection checks one upon another, but passions ot tee ^ o
same classes are mutual clogs. Thus, how many are the sar
withheld from the violent outrages of resentment by classes
fear! and how easily is/car controlled m its turn,
while mighty wrongs awaken a mighty resentment -
'art I.
MORAL PH
78
articular
Percep- The private passions often interfere, anil therefore mo-
I ion and derate the violence of each other; anil a calm self-
affection. iove is placed at their head, to direct, influence, and
COntroul their particular attractions and repulsions.
The public affections likewise restrain one another ;
and all of them are put under the controul of a calm
dispassionate benevolence, which ought in like manner
to direct and limit their particular motions. Thus
most part, if not all the passions, have a twofold aspect,
and serve a twofold end. In one view they may be
considered as ppiuers, impelling mankind to a certain
course, with a force proportioned to the apprehended
moment of the good they aim at. In another view they
appear as weights, balancing the action of the powers,
and controlling the violence of their impulses. By
means of these powers and weights a natural poise is
settled in the human breast by its all-wise Author, by
which the creature is kept tolerably steady and regular
in his course, amidst that variety of stages through
which he must pass.
But this is not all the provision which God has made
-rceptions for the hurry and perplexity of the scene in which
■ instincts man is destined to act. Amidstthoseinfiniteattrac-
' approba-tjons an(] repulsions towards private and public good
0D' and ill, mankind either cannot often foresee the conse¬
quences or tendencies of all their actions towards one
or other of these, especially where those tendencies
are intricate and point different ways, or those conse¬
quences remote and complicated ; or though, by care¬
ful and cool inquiry, and a due improvement of their
rational powers, they might find them out, yet, di¬
stracted as they are with business, amused with trifles,
dissipated by pleasure, and disturbed by passion, they
either have or can find no leisure to attend to those
consequences, or to examine how far this or that con¬
duct is productive of private or public good on the
whole. Therefore, were it left entirely to the slow
and sober deductions of reason to trace those tenden¬
cies, and make out those consequences, it is evident,
that in many particular instances the business of life
must stand still, and many important occasions of ac¬
tion be lost, or perhaps the grossest blunders be com¬
mitted. On this account, the Deity, besides that ge¬
neral approbation which we bestow on every degree
of kind affection, has moreover implanted in man
many particular perceptions or determinations to ap¬
prove of certain qualities or actions, which, in effect,
tend to the advantage of society, and are connected
with private good, though he does not always see that
tendency, nor mind that connexion. And these per¬
ceptions or determinations do, without reasoning, point
out, and, antecedent to views of interest, prompt to a
conduct beneficial to the public, and useful to the pri¬
vate system. Such is that sense of candour and veracity,,
that abhorrence of fraud and falsehood, that sense of fide¬
lity, justice, gratitude, greatness of mind, fortitude, cle¬
mency, decorum, and that disapprobation of knavery, in¬
justice, ingratitude, meanness of spirit, cowardice, c uel-
ty, and indecorum, which are natural to the human
mind. The former of those dispositions, and the ac¬
tions flowing from them, are approved, and those of
the latter kind disapproved by us, even abstracted from
the view of their tendency or conduciveness, to the hap¬
piness or misery of others, or of ourselves. In one we
discern a beauty, a superior excellency, a congruity to the
ILOSOPHY. 373
dignity of man ; in the other a deformity, a littleness, a of Pcrcep-
debasement, of human nature. tion and
There are other principles also connected with the Afl’ectioa- <
good of society, or the happiness and perfection of the ^
individual, though that connexion is not immediately others of
apparent, which we behold with real complacency and an inferior
approbation, though perhaps inferior in degree, if not01^er-
in kind, such as gravity, modesty, simplicity of deport¬
ment, temperance, prudent economy; and we feel some
degree of contempt and dislike where they are want¬
ing, or where the opposite qualities prevail. These
and the like perceptions or feelings are either diflerent
modifications of the moral sense, or subordinate to it, anil
plainly serve the same important purpose, being expedi¬
tious monitors, in the several emergencies of a various
and distracted life, of what is right, what is ivrong,
what is to be pursued, and what avoided; and, by the
pleasant or painful consequences which attend them,
exerting their influence as powerful prompters to a suit¬
able conduct. So
From a slight inspection of the above-named prin-Theirgene-
ciples, it is evident they all carry a friendly aspect toral tenden-
society and the individual, and have a more immediate cies'
or a more remote tendency to promote the, perfection
or good of both. This tendency cannot be always
foreseen, and would be often mistaken, or seldom at¬
tended to by a iveak, busy, short-sighted creature like
man, both rash and variable in his opinions, a dupe to
his own passions, or to the designs of others, liable to
sickness, to want, and to error. Principles, therefore,
which are so nearly linked with private security and
public good, by directing him, without operose reason¬
ing, where to find the one, and how to promote the other;
and, by prompting him to a conduct conducive to both,
are admirably adapted to the exigencies of his present
state, and wisely calculated to obtain the ends of uni¬
versal benevolence. Sr
It were easy, by considering the subject in another Passions fit* .
light, to show, in a curious detail of particulars, how ^tt0 ^
wonderfully the inside of man, or that astonishing train tr-aj
of moral powers and affections with which he is en¬
dued, is fitted to the several stages of that progressive
and probationary state through which he is destined
to pass. As our faculties are narrow and limited, anil
rise from very small and imperfect beginnings, they
must be improved by exercise, by attention, and re¬
peated trials. And this holds true not only of our in¬
tellectual but of our moral and active powers. The for¬
mer are liable to errors in speculation, the latter to
blunders in practice, and both often terminate in mis¬
fortunes and pains. And those errors and blunders
are generally owing to our passions, or to our too fox1-
ward and warm admiration of those partial goods they
naturally pursue, or to our fear of those partial ills they
naturally repel. Those misfortunes, therefore, lead us
back to consider where our misconduct lay, and whence
our errors flowed -, and consequently are salutary pieces
of trial, which tend to enlarge our views, to correct
and refine our passions, and consequently improve both
our intellectual and moral powers. Our passions then
are the rude materials of our virtue, which Heaven has
given us to work up, to refine and polish into a harmo¬
nious and divine pieceof workmanship. They furnish out
the whole machinery, the calms and storms, the lights
and shades of human life. They show mankind in every
attitude
374
Of Duty or
Virtue.
To a pro¬
gressive
state.
83
Harmony
•of our
structure
and state.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Part I
attitude and variety of character, and give virtue both
its struggles and its triumphs. Io conduct them wcl
in every state, is merit j to abuse or misapply them, is
demerit.
The different sets of senses, powers, and passions,
which unfold themselves in those successive stages, are
both necessary and adapted to that rising progressive
state. Enlarging views and growing connexions re¬
quire new passions and new habits } and thus the mind,
by these continually expanding and finding a progres¬
sive exercise, rises to higher improvements, and pushes
forward to maturity and perfection.
In this beautiful economy and harmony of our struc¬
ture, both outward and inward, with that state, we
may at once discern the great lines of our duty traced
out in the fairest and brightest characters, and con¬
template with admiration a more august and marvellous
scene of divine wisdom and goodness laid in the hu¬
man breast, than we shall perhaps find in the whole
•compass of nature. _ . .
From this detail it appears, that man, by his original
frame, is made for a temperate, compassionate, benevo- of Duty
lent, active, and progressive state. He is strongly at- Virtue!
tractive of the good, and repulsive of the ills which be- v—
fal others as well as himself. He feels the highest ap- In H
probation and moral complacence in those affections, andcconom.J
in those actions, which immediately and directly respect virtue d
the good of others, and the highest disapprobation, and^-
abhorrence of the contrary. Besides these, he has many
particular perceptions or instincts of approbation, which,
though perhaps not of the same kind with the others,
yet are accompanied with correspondent degrees of af¬
fection, proportioned to their respective tendencies to
the public good. Therefore, by acting agreeably to these
principles, man acts agreeably to his structure, and ful¬
fils the benevolent intentions of its Author. But we
call a thing good when it answers its end, and a crea¬
ture good, when he acts in a conformity to his constitu¬
tion. Consequently, man must be denominated good or
virtuous when he acts suitably to the principles and de¬
stination of his nature.
PART II.
Chap. I. The principal "Distinctions of Duty or
Virtue.
WE have now considered the constitution and con¬
nexions of man, and on those erected a general system of
duty or moral obligation, consonant to reason, approved
by his most sacred and intimate sense, suitable to his
mixed condition, and confirmed by the experience of
mankind. We have also traced the final causes of his
moral faculties and affections to those noble purposes
they answer, with regard both to the private and the
g - public system.
•General di- From this induction it is evident, that there is one
vision of order or class of duties which man owes to himself: an-
duty- other to soaety : and a third to Got/.
: ^ The duties he owes to himself are founded chiefly on
self, the defensive and private passions, which prompt him to
pursue whatever tends to private good or happiness, and
to avoid or ward off whatever tends to private ill or mi¬
sery. Among the various goods which allure and soli¬
cit him, and the various ills which attack or threaten
him, “ to be intelligent and accurate in selecting one,
and rejecting the other, or in preferring the most excel¬
lent goods, and avoiding the most terrible ills,^ when
there" is a competition among either, and to be discreet
in using the best means to attain the goods and avoid
the ills, is what we call prudence. 'I his, in our in¬
ward frame, corresponds to sagacity, or quickness of
sense, in our outward.—“ To proportion our defensive
passions to our dangers, we cv\\ fortitude; which always
implies “ a just mixture of calm resentment or animosi¬
ty, and well governed caution.” And this firmness oj
mind answers to the strength and muscling of the body.
And “ duly to adjust our private passions to our wants,
or to the respective moment of the good we affect or
pursue, we call temperance ; which does therefore al¬
ways imply, in this large sense of the word, “ a just
balance or command of the passions.”
. , ^ .87
The second class of duties arises from the public or Duties
social affections, “ the just harmony or proportion of50^
which to the dangers and wants of others, and to the
several relations we bear, commonly goes by the name
of justice.'1'1 This includes the whole of our duty to
society, to our parents, and the general polity of nature-,
^zviicuXjiYXy gratitude,friendship,sincerity,naturalcffec-
tion, benevolence, and the other social virtues ; This, be¬
ing the noblest temper, and fairest complexion of the soul,
corresponds to the beauty and fine proportion of the per¬
son. The virtues comprehended under the former
class, especially and fortitude, may likewise be
transferred to this 5 and according to the various cir¬
cumstances in which they are placed, and the more
confined or more extensive sphere in which they ope¬
rate, may be denominated private, economical, or civil
prudence, fortitude, &c. These direct our conduct with
regard to the wants and dangers of those lesser or ^
greater circles with which they are connected. s|
The third class of duties respects the Deity, and "
arises from the public afft ctions, and the several glorious
relations, which he sustains to us as our Creator, Bene¬
factor, Lawgiver, Judge, &c. ,8j
We choose to consider this set of duties in the last
place j because, though prior in dignity and exceljency,
they seem to be last in order of time, as thinking it
the most simple and easy method to follow the gradual
progress of nature, as it takes its rise from individuals,
and spreads through the social system, and still ascends
upwards, till at length it stretches to its almighty Pa¬
rent andJHead, and so terminates in those duties which
are highest and best. '
The duties resulting from these relations, are reve-rw
rence, gratitude, love, resignation, dependence, obedience,
worship, praise : which, according to the model of our
fine capacities, must maintain some sort of proportion
to the grandeur and perfection of the object whom
we venerate, love, and obey. “ '1 his proportion or
harmony is expressed by tfie general name oipiety f
J c devotion*
at II. MORAL PHILOSOPHY
Man's devotion” \v!i ich is always stronger or weaker according
liuty to
timself.
91
.science.
divt-
to the greater or less apprehended excellency of its ob¬
ject. This sublime principle of virtue is the enlivening
soul which animates the moral sijstem, and that cement
which binds and sustains the other duties which man
owes to himself or to society.
This then is the general temper and constitution of
virtue, and these are the principal lines or divisions of
duty. To those good dispositions which respect the
several objects of our duty, and to all actions which
flow from such dispositions, the mind gives its sanc¬
tion or testimony. And this sanction or judgment
concerning the moral quality, or the goodness of ac¬
tions or dispositions, moralists call conscience. When
it judges of an action that is to be performed, it is cal¬
led an co/ZM-v'cttce ; and when it passes sen¬
tence on an action which is performed, it is called a
subsequent conscience. The tendency of an action to
produce happiness, or its external conformity to a law,
is termed its material goodness. But the good disposi¬
tions from which an action proceeds, or its conformi¬
ty to law in every respect, constitutes its formal good¬
ness.
When the mind is ignorant or uncertain about the
moment of an action or its tendency to private or
public good ; or when there are several circumstances
in the case, some of which, being doubtful, render the
mind dubious concerning the morality of the action •,
that is called a doubtful or scrupulous conscience; if it
mistakes concerning these, it is called an erroneous
conscience. If the error or ignorance is involuntary or
invincible, the action proceeding from that error, or
from that ignorance, is reckoned innocent, or not im¬
putable. If the error or ignorance is supine or affect¬
ed, i. e. the effect of negligence, or of affectation and
wilful inadvertence, the conduct flowing from such
error, or such ignorance, is criminal and imputable.—
Not to follow one’s conscience, though erroneous and
ill-informed, is criminal, as it is the guide of life \ and
to counteract it, shows a depraved and incorrigible spi¬
rit. Yet to follow an erroneous conscience is likewise
criminal, if that error which misled the conscience was
the effect of inattention, or any criminal passion *.
If it be asked, “ How an erroneous conscience shall
u'c' 3- be rectified, since it is supposed to be the only guide
of life, and judge of morals ? we answer, In the very
same way that we would rectify reason if at any time
it should judge wrong, as it often does, viz. by giving
it proper and sufficient materials for judging right,
i. e. by inquiring into the whole state of the case, the
relations, connexions, and several obligations of the ac¬
tor, the consequences and other circumstances of the
action, or the surplusage of private or public good
which results, or is likely to result, from the action br
from the omission of it. If those circumstances are fair¬
ly and fully stated, the conscience will be just and im¬
partial in its decision ; for, by a necessary law of our
nature, it approves and is well affected to the moral
form ; and if it seems to approve of vice or immorality,
it is always under the notion or mask of some virtue.
So that, strictly speaking, it is not conscience which
errs ; for its sentence is always conformable to the
Ynew of the case which lies before it j and vs, just, upon
the supposition that the case is truly such as it is repre-
ssnted to it. All the fault is to be imputed to the
Metis,
•ml Inst.
93
w con-
ace is
>e rec-
id.
375
agent, who neglects to be better informed, or who, of Man's
through weakness or wickedness, hastens to pass sen- duty to
tence from an imperfect evidence. ^ Himself. ^
Chap. II. Of Man's Duty to Himself. Of the
Nature of Good, and the Chief Good.
Tvery creature, by the constitution ofliis nature is Divisions of
determined to love himself; to pursue whatever tendsSood-
to his preservation and happiness, and to avoid what¬
ever tends to his hurt and misery. Being endued with
sense and perception, he must necessarily receive plea¬
sure from some objects, and pain from others. Those
objects which give pleasure are called good; and those
which give pain, evil. To the former he feels that
attraction or motion we call desire or love; to the lat¬
ter, that impulse we call aversion or hatred.—To ob¬
jects which suggest neither pleasure nor pain, and are-
apprehended cl no use to procure one or ward oft' the
other, we feel neither desire nor aversion ; and such ob¬
jects are called indifferent. Those objects which do not-
of themselves produce pleasure or pain, but are the
means of procuring either, we call useful or noxious.
lowards them we are affected in a subordinate manner,
or with an indirect and reflective rather than a direct
and immediate affection. All the original and particu¬
lar affections of our nature lead us out to and ultimate¬
ly rest in the first kind of objects, viz. those which give
immediate pleasure, and which we therefore call good
directly so. 'I he calm affection of self-love alone is
conversanta bout such objects as are only consequentially
good, or merely useful to ourselves.
But, besides those sorts of objects which we call Moral'
good, merely and solely as they give pleasure, or arc good-
means of procuring it, there is a higher and nobler
species of good, towards which we feel that peculiar
movement we call approbation or moral complacency;
and which we therefore denominate moral good. Such
are our affections, and the consequent actions to them.
The perception of this is, as lias been already observ¬
ed, quite distinct in kind from the perception of other,
species ; and though it may be connected with plea¬
sure or advantage by the benevolent constitution of
nature, yet it constitutes a good independent of that
pleasure and that advantage, and far superior not in
degree only but in dignity to both. The other, viz.
the natural good, consists in obtaining those pleasures
which are adapted to the peculiar senses and passions,
susceptible of them, and is as various as are those
senses and passions. This, vita, the moral good, lies
in the right conduct of the several senses and passions,
or their just proportion and accommodation to their
respective objects and relations, and this is of a more
simple and invariable kind. ^
By our several senses we are capable of a great va-Human
riety of pleasing sensations. These constitute distinct^PP*116815*
ends or objects ultimately pursuable for their own
sake. To these ends, or ultimate objects, correspond
peculiar appetites or affections, which prompt the
mind to pursue them. When these ends are attained,
there it rests, and looks no farther. Whatever there¬
fore is pursuable, not on its own account, but as sub¬
servient or necessary to the attainment of something
else that is intrinsically valuable for its own sake, be
that value ever so great or ever so small, we call a
mean.
97.
Gradation
of goods.
9S
Goods of
the body.
99
Good
health;
MORAL PH
mean, and not an end. So that ends and means con¬
stitute the materials or the very essence ot our happi¬
ness. Consequently happiness, i. e. human happiness,
cannot be one simple uniform thing m creatures con¬
stituted as we are, with such various senses of plea¬
sure, or such different capacities ot enjoyment. JNow
the same principle, or law of our nature, which de-
termines us to pursue any one end or species ot good
prompts us to pursue every other end or bPecies °
good of which we are susceptible, or to which our
Maker has adapted an original propension. But
amidst the great multiplicity ot ends or goods which
form the various ingredients of our happiness, we
perceive an evident gradation or subordination suit¬
ed to that gradation of senses, powers, and passions,
which prevails in our mixed and various constitution,
and to that ascending series of connexions which
open upon us in the different stages ot our progressive
St Thus the goods of the body, or of the external senses,
seem to hold the lowest rank in this gradation or scale
of goods. These we have in common with the brutes ,
and though many men are brutish enough to pursue
the goods of the body with a more than brutal tury,
vet, when at any time they come in competition with
goods of an higher order, the unanimous verdict ot
mankind, hy giving the last the preference, condemns
the first to the meanest place. Goods consisting
exterior social connexions, as fame, fortune, power,
civil authority, seem to succeed next, and are chietiy
valuable as the means of procuring or moral
good, but principally the latter. Goods ot the intel¬
lect are still superior, as taste, knowledge, memory,
judgment, &c. The highest are moral goods ot the
mind, directly and ultimately regarding ourselves, as
command of the appetites and passions, prudence, forti¬
tude, benevolence, &c. These are the great objects ot
our pursuit, and the principal ingredients ot our hap¬
piness. Let us consider each of them as they rise one
above the other in this natural series or scale, and touch
briefly on our obligations to pursue them.
Those of the bodly are health, strength, agility, har¬
diness, and patience of change, neatness, and decency.
Good health, and a regular easy flow ot spirits, are
in themselves sweet natural enjoyments, a great tund
of pleasure, and indeed the proper seasoning which
gives a flavour and poignancy to every other pleasure.
The want of health unfits us tor most duties ot hie,
and is especially an enemy to the social and humane af¬
fections, as it 'generally renders the unhappy sufterer
peevish and sullen, disgusted at the allotments of 1 ro-
vidence, and consequently apt to entertain suspicious
and gloomy sentiments of its Author. It obstructs the
free exercise and full improvement of our reason,
makes us a burden to our friends, and useless to so¬
ciety. Whereas the uninterrupted enjoyment ot good
health is a constant source of good humour, and good
humour is a great friend to openness and benignity ot
heart, enables us to encounter the various ills and dis¬
appointments of life with more courage, or to sustain
them with more patience •, and, in short, conduces
much, if we are otherwise duly qualified, to our acting
our part in every exigency of life with move firmness,
consistency, and dignity. Therefore it imports us
much to preserve and improve a habit or enjoyment,
I L G S O P H Y.
     Part Il|
without which every other external entertainment is ofManv
tasteless, and most other advantages of little avail.— duty to
And this is best done by a strict temperance in diet
and regimen, by regular exercise, and by keeping
ana leguncn, "  f J. j lco
the mind serene and unruffled by violent passions, and jjow
unsubdued by intense and constant labours, winch served, j
greatly impair and gradually destroy the strongest con¬
stitutions. . i°i
Strength, agility, hardiness, and patience oj change, Strength
suppose health, and are unattainable without it j butagrtity,
they imply something more, and are necessary to guard
it, to give us the perfect use ot life and limbs, and to
secure us against many otherwise unavoidable ills.—
The exercise of the necessary manual, and ot most of
the elegant arts of life, depends on strength and agiiity
of body personal dangers, private and public dangers,
the demands of our friends, our families, and country,
require them •, they are necessary in war, and ornamen¬
tal in peace •, fit for the employment of a counti) and a IQa
town life, and they exalt the entertainments and diver-How at-
sions of both. They are chiefly obtained by moderate tained.
and regular exercise. 103
Few are so much raised above want and dependence, Patience
or so exempted from business and care, as not to becliange;
often exposed to inequalities and changes ot diet, ex¬
ercise, air, climate, and other irregularities. Now, what
can be so effectual to secure one against the mischiefs
arising from such unavoidable alterations, as hardiness,
and a certain versatility of constitution which can bear
extraordinary labours, and submit to great changes,
without any sensible uneasiness or had consequences. I0^
This is best attained, not by an over great delicacy Row at-
and minute attention to forms, or by an invariable re-tamed
gularity in diet, hours, and way of living, but rather
bv a bold and discreet latitude of regimen. Besides,
deviations from established rules and forms of living, it
kept within the bounds of sobriety and reason, are
friendly to thought and original sentiments, animate the
dull scene of ordinary life and business, and agreeably
stir the passions, which stagnate or breed iff humour m
the calms of life. I05
Neatness, cleanliness, and decency, to which we may Neatness
add dignity of countenance demeanour, seem to have gene;
something refined and moral in them: at least wt ge¬
nerally esteem them indications ot an orderly, gen¬
teel, and well governed mind, conscious of an inward
worth, or the respect due to one’s nature. Whereas
nastiness, slovenliness, awkwardness, and indecency, are
shrewd symptoms of something mean, careless, and
deficient, and betray a mind untaught, illiberal, un¬
conscious of what is due to one’s self or to others.
How much cleanliness conduces to health, needs hard¬
ly to be mentioned j and how necessary it is to main¬
tain one’s character and rank in life, and to lencer us
agreeable to others as well as to ourselves, is as evi¬
dent. There are certain motions, airs and gestures,
which become the human countenance and form, m
which we perceive a comeliness, openness, simplicity,
(gracefulness; and there are others, which to our sense
of decorum appear uncomely, affected, disingenuous, m
awkward, quite unsuitable to the native dignity ot our
face and form. The first are in themselves the mos
easy, natural and commodious, give one boldness a
presence of mind, a modest assurance, an address gh
awful and alluring 3 they bespeak candour and gng-
art II. M O K A L P H
f Man’s ness mind, raise the most agreeable prejudices in
luty of
Himself.
106
bw at-
iued.
t°7
ods of
tenor so¬
il con-
ctions.
to8
jne.
one’s favour, render society engaging, command re
^pect, and often love, and give weight and authority
both in conversation and businessj in fine, they are the
colouring of virtue, which show it to the greatest ad¬
vantage in whomsoever it is ; and not only imitate,
but in some measure supply it where it is* wanting.
Whereas the last, vi%. rudeness, affectation, indecorum,
and the like, have all the contrary effects; they are
burdensome to one’s self, a dishonour to our nature, and
a nuisance in society. The former qualities or goods
are best attained by a liberal education, by preserving
a just sense of the dignity of our nature, by keeping
the best and politest company, but, above all, by acquir¬
ing those virtuous and ennobling habits of mind which
are decency in perfection, which will give an air of
unaffected grandeur, and spread a lustre truly engaging
over the whole form and deportment.
We are next to consider those goods which consist
in exterior social connexions, as fame, fortune, civil
authority, power.
The first has a twofold aspect, as a good pleasant
in itself, or gratifying to an original passion, and then
as expedient or useful towards a farther end. Honour
from the wise and good, on the account of a virtuous
conduct, is regaling to a good man ; for then his heart
re-echoes to the grateful sound. There are few quite
indifferent even to the commendation of the Vulgar.
1 hough we cannot approve that conduct which jiro-
ceeds entirely from this principle, and not from good
affection or love of the conduct itself, yet, as it is of¬
ten a guard and additional motive to virtue m creatures
imperfect as we are, and often distracted by interfer¬
ing passions, it might be dangerous to suppress it alto¬
gether, however.wise it maybe to restrain it within
due bounds, and however laudable to use it only as a
scaffolding to our virtue, which may be taken down
when that glorious structure is finished, but hardly till
then. _ To pursue fame for itself, is innocent 5 to re¬
gard it only as an auxiliary to virtue, is noble ; to seek
it chiefly as an engine of public usefulness is still more
noble, and highly praise-worthy. For though the opi¬
nion and breath of men are transient and fading things,
often obtained without merit, and lost without cause ;
yet as our business is with men, and as our capacity of
serving them is generally increased in proportion to
their esteem of us, therefore sound and well established
moral applause may and will be modestly, not ostenta¬
tiously, sought after by the good; not indeed as a soli¬
tary lefined sort of luxury, but as a public and proper
instrument to serve and bless mankind. At the same
time they will learn to despise that reputation which is
founded on rank, fortune, and any other circumstances
or accomplishments that are foreign to real merit, or to
useful services done to others, and think that praise of
ittle avail which is purchased without desert, and be¬
stowed without judgment.
p Lr ^ Fb; time, power, and civil authority, or whatever is
ca ed influence and weight among mankind, are goods
of the second division, that is, valuable and pursuable
only as they are useful, or as means to a farther end,
Vl?. piocuring or preserving the immediate objects of
enjoyment or happiness to ourselves or others. There-
°re to love such goods on their own account, and to
pursue them as ends, not the means of enjoyment,
Vol. XIV. Part I. J J >
i°9
'me,
ILO SO PHY. 377
must be highly preposterous and absurd. There can of Man's
he no measure, no limit, to such pursuit 5 all must be duty to
whim, caprice, extravagance. Accordingly, such ap- Himself,
petites, unlike all the natural ones, are increased by
possession, and whetted by enjoyment. They are al¬
ways precarious, and never without fears, because the
objects lie without one’s self j they are seldom without
sorrow and vexation, because no accession of wealth or no
power can satisfy them. Put if those goods are consi-How far
dered only as the materials or means of private or pnb-f)uisua^e'
lie happiness, then the same obligations which bind
us to pursue tbe latter, bind us likewise to pursue the
former. %Ve may, and no doubt we ought, to seek
such a measure of wealth as is necessary to supply all
our real wants, to raise us above servile dependence,
and provide us with such conveniences as are suited to
our rank and condition in life. To be regardless of
this measure of wealth, is to expose ourselves to all
the temptations of poverty and corruption : to forfeit
our natural independency and freedom ; to degrade,
and consequently to render the rank we hold, and the
character we sustain in society, useless, if not con¬
temptible. When these important ends are secured,
we ought not to murmur or repine that we possess no
more*, yet we are not secluded by any obligation,
moral or divine, from seeking more, in order to give
us that happiest and most godlike of all powers, the
power of doing good. A supine indolence in this re¬
spect is both absurd and criminal} absurd, as it robs
us of an inexhausted fund of the most refined and
durable enjoyments j and criminal, as it renders us so m
far useless to the society to which we belong. “ That Awirice
pursuit of wealth which goes beyond the former end,
viz. the obtaining the necessaries, or such convenien-
cies of life, as, in the estimation of reason, not of va¬
nity or passion, are suited to our rank and condition,
and yet is not directed to the latter, viz. the doing
good, is what we call avarice.'1'1 And “ that pursuit
of power, which after securing one’s self, i. e. having
attained the proper independence and liberty of a ra¬
tional social creature, is not directed to the good of 112
others, is what we call ambition, or the lust of poiver.'1'’ Arnbitior
To what extent the strict measures of virtue will allow
us to pursue either wealth or power, and civil authority,
is not perhaps possible precisely to determine. That
must be left to prudence, and tbe peculiar character,
condition, and other circumstances of each man. Only
thus far a limit may be set, that tbe pursuit of either
must encroach upon no other duty or obligation which
we owe to ourselves, to society, or to its parent and
head. The same reasoning is to be applied to potver
as to wealth. It is only valuable as an instrument of
our own security, and of the free enjoyment of those
original goods it may, and often does, administer to
us, and as an engine of more extensive happiness to our
friends, our country, and mankind. ir <
Now the best, and indeed the only way to obtain a How fame
solid and lasting fame, is an uniform inflexible coursean<* power
of virtue, the employing one’s ability and wealth inattain"
Supplying the wants, and using one’s power in pro-6 '
moting or securing tbe happiness, the rights and liber¬
ties of mankind, joined to an universal affability and
politeness of manners. And surely one will not mistake
the matter much, who thinks the same course condu¬
cive to the acquiring greater accessions both of wealth
3 ^ affl
37 8
Of Man's
duty to
Himself.
114
Goods of
the intel¬
lect.
Their mo¬
ment.
* Philos.
Sinic- Con-
fuc lib. i.
$ 3> 4> &-c
116
The plea¬
sures they
give.
“7
Part II
transfer the numbers of poetry to the harmony of the Of Man s
mind and of well-governed passions 5 horn admi-
ring the virtues of others in moral paintings, come to
approve and imitate them himself, therefore, to cul¬
tivate a true and correct taste must he both our inteiest
and our duty, when the circumstances of our station
give leisure and opportunity for it, and when the doing
it is not inconsistent with our higher obligations or en¬
gagements to society and mankind. 118
It is best attained by reading the best books, where How at,
good sense has more the ascendant than learning, and
which pertain more to practice than to speculation ; by
studying the best models, i. e. those which profess to
imitate nature most, and approach the nearest to it,
and by conversing with men of the most refined taste,
and the greatest experience in life. 119
As to the other intellectual goods, what a fund oi Other ir.
entertainment must it be to investigate the truth and telkcta
various relations of things, to trace the operations of8° s>
nature to general laws, to explain by these its mani¬
fold phenomena, to understand that order by which
the universe is upheld, and that economy by which it
is governed ! to be acquainted with the human mindj
the connexions, subordinations, and uses of its powers,,
and to mark their energy in life! how agreeable to.
the ingenious inquirer, to observe the manifold rela¬
tions and combinations of individual minds in society,
to discern the causes why they flourish or decay, and
from thence to ascend, through the vast scale of be¬
ings, to that general Mind which presides over all j
and operates unseen in every system and in every age,
through the whole compass and progression of nature .
Devoted to such entertainments as these, the contem¬
plative have abandoned every other pleasure, retired
from the body, so to speak, and sequestered themselves
from social intercourse: for these, the busy have often
preferred to the hurry and din of life the calm retreats
of contemplation j for these, when once they came to
taste them, even the gay and voluptuous have thrown
up the lawless pursuits of sense and appetite, and ac¬
knowledged these mental enjoyments to be the most
refined, and indeed the only luxury. Besides, by a just
and large knowledge of nature, we recognize the per¬
fections of its Author j and thus piety, and all those
pious affections which depend on just sentiments of
his character, are awakened and confirmed *, and a
thousand superstitious fears, that arise from partial
views of his nature and works, will of course be ex¬
cluded. An extensive prospect of human life, and 0
the periods and revolutions of human things, will con¬
duce much to the giving a certain greatness of mind,
ge<1, by .be greatest and "S “K.id Ihe bulk of mankind; and promote a calm endurance
of those inconveniencies and ills that are the common
appendages of humanity. Add to all, that a just know*
lede of human nature, and of those hinges upon whiclr
the business and fortunes of men turn, will prevent our
thinking either too highly or too meanly of our iei-
low creatures', give no small scope to the exercise ot
friendship, confidence, and good will, and at the sam
time brace the mind with a proper caution and distrust
(those nerves of prudence), and give a greater maste^
in the conduct of private as well as public life,
fore, by cultivating our intellectual abilities, we
moral philosophy.
and power j especially if he adds to those qualifications
a vigorous industry, a constant attention to the cha¬
racters and wants of men, to the conjunctures of times,
and continually varying genius of allairs 5 and a^steady
intrepid honesty, that wTill neither yield to the alluie-
ments, nor be overawed with the terrors, of that cor¬
rupt and corrupting scene in which we live. M e have
sometimes heard indeed of other ways and means, as
fraud, dissimulation, servility, and prostitution, and the
like ignoble arts, by which the men of the world (^as
they are called, shrewd politicians, and men of address.)
amass wealth, and procure power j but as we want ra¬
ther to form a man of virtue, an honest, contented,
happy man, we leave to the men of the world their
own ways, and permit them, unenvied and unimitated
by us, to reap the fruit of their doings.
The next species of objects in the scale of good, are
the goods of the intellect, as knowledge, memory, judge¬
ment, taste, sagacity, docility, and whatever else we call
intellectual virtues. Let us consider them a little, and
the means as well obligations to improve them.
As man is a rational creature, capable of knowing
the differences of things and actions j—as he not only
sees and feels what is present, but remembers what is
past, and often foresees what is future j—as he advances
from small beginnings by slow degrees, and with much
labour and difficulty, to knowledge and experience 5—
as his opinions sway his passions,— as his passions in¬
fluence his conduct,—and as his conduct draws conse¬
quences after it, which extend not only to the present
but to the future time, and therefore is the princi¬
pal source of his happiness or misery j it is evident,
that he Is formed for intellectual improvements, and
that it must be of the utmost consequence for him to
improve and cultivate his intellectual powers, on
which these opinions, those passions, and that conduct
But besides the future consequences and moment of
improving our intellectual powers, their immediate ex¬
ercise on their proper objects yields the most rational
and refined pleasures. Knowledge, and a right taste in
the arts of imitation and design,‘&s poetry,painting, sculp¬
ture, music, architecture, afford not only an innocent,
11 / but a most sensible and sublime entertainment. y
Knowledge h untjerstanding is instructed in ancient and
andtaSte; modern life, the history of men and things, the ener-
ffies and effects of the passions, the consequences ot
virtue and vice 5 by these the imagination is at once
entertained and nourished with the beauties of nature
and art, lighted up and spread out with the novelty,
grandeur, and harmony of the universe j a.nd, m fine,
n : _i-i  cmtiiVilv encra- ana a nuuic m   •,
honour, and wealth, which disturb and divide
can fill the human mind. He who has a taste formed
to those ingenious delights, and plenty of materials to
gratify it, can never want the most agreeable exercise
and entertainment, nor once have reason to make that
fashionable complaint of the tediousness of time. JNor
can he want a proper subject for the discipline and im¬
provement of his heart. Tor, being daily conversant
with beauty, order, and design, in inferior subjects, he
bids fair for growing in due time an admirer of what give a greater mastery
LM-tofUA’r»JS
exerted, in their highest subject. He will learn to
:,f Man’s
iluty to
Himself-
! no
jow at-
med.
nr
oral
ods.
jrtll- MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
best promote and secure our interest, and be qualified
for acting our part in society with more honour to our¬
selves, as well as advantage to mankind. Consequent¬
ly, to improve them to the utmost of our power is our
duty; they are talents committed to us by the Al¬
mighty Head of society, and we are accountable to
him for the use of them.
The intellectual virtues are best improved by accu¬
rate and impartial observation, extensive reading, and
unconfined converse with men of all characters, espe¬
cially with those who to private study, have joined the
widest acquaintance with the world, and greatest prac¬
tice in affairs ; but, above all, by being much in the
world, and having large dealings with mankind. Such
opportunities contribute much to divest one of preju¬
dices and a servile attachment to crude systems, to open
one’s views, and to give that experience on which the
most useful because the most practical knowledge is
built, and from which the surest maxims for the con¬
duct of life are deduced.
The highest goods which enter into the composition
of human happiness are moral goods of the mind, di¬
rectly and ultimately regarding ourselves ; as command
of the appetites and passions, prudence and caution, mag¬
nanimity, fortitude, humility, love of virtue, love of God,
resignation, and the like. These sublime goods are
goods by way of eminence, goods recommended and en¬
forced by the most intimate and awful sense and con¬
sciousness of our nature ; goods that constitute the
quintessence, the very temper of happiness, and form
that complexion of soul which renders us approveable
and lovely in the sight of God ; goods, in fine, which
are the elements of all our future perfection and felicity.
Most of the other goods we have considered depend
partly on ourselves, and partly on accidents which we
can neither foresee nor prevent, and result from causes
which we cannot influence or alter. They are such
goods as we may possess to-day and lose to-morrow,
and which require a felicity of constitution and talents
to attain them in full vigour and perfection, and a feli¬
city of conjunctures to secure the possession of them.
Therefore, did our happiness depend altogether or
chiefly on such transitory and precarious possessions, it
were itself most precarious, and the highest folly to be
anxious about it. But though creatures, constituted
as we are, cannot be indifferent about such goods, and
must suffer in some degree, and consequently have our
happiness incomplete without them, yet they weigh
but little in the scale when compared with moral goods.
By the benevolent constitution of our nature, these
are placed within the sphere of our activity, so that no
man can be destitute of them unless he is first want¬
ing to himself. Some of the wisest and best of man¬
kind have wanted most of the former goods, and all
the external kind, and felt most of the opposite ills,
such at least as arise from without; yet by possessing
the latter, viz. the moral goods, have declared they
were happy; and to the conviction of the most im¬
partial observers have appeared happy. The worst of
men have been surrounded with every outward good
;?9
m
eir ino-
Imt
and advantage of fortune, and have possessed great of Man’s
parts ; yet for want of moral rectitude, have been, and duty to
have confessed themselves, notoriously and exquisitely Himself,
miserable. The exercise of virtue has supported its vo¬
taries, and made them exult in the midst of tortures
almost intolerable ; nay, how often has some false form
or shadow of it sustained even the greatest (e) villains
and bigots under the same pressures ! But no external
goods, no goods of fortune, have been able to alleviate
the agonies or expel the fears of a guilty mind, consci¬
ous of the deserved hatred and reproach of mankind,
and the just displeasure of Almighty God.
As the present condition of human life is wonder- The mixed
fully chequered with good and ill, and as no height of condition
station, no affluence of fortune, can absolutely ensure 0/^luman
the good, or secure against the ill, it is evident that allle r.e<l'’ires
great part of the comfort and serenity of life must lie virtues. ^
in having our minds duly affected with regard to both,
i. e. rightly attempered to the loss of one and the suf¬
ferance of the other. For it is certain that outward
calamities derive their chief malignity and pressure
from the inward dispositions with which we receive
them. By managing these right, we may greatly abate
that malignity and pressure, and consequently diminish
the number, and weaken the force, of the ills of
life, if we should not have it in our power to obtain a
large share of its goods. There are particularly three
virtues which go to the forming this right temper to¬
wards ill, and which are of singular efficacy, if not to¬
tally to remove, yet wonderfully to alleviate, the cala¬
mities of life. These are fortitude or patience, humili¬
ty, and resignation. I2^
Fortitude is that calm and steady habit of mind Fortitude,
which either moderates our fears, and enables us
bravely to encounter the prospect of ill, or renders the
mind serene and invincible under its immediate pres¬
sure. It lies equally distant from rashness and cowar¬
dice : and though it does not hinder us from feeling,
yet prevents our complaining or shrinking under the
stroke. It always includes a generous contempt of,
or at least a noble superiority to, those precarious
goods of which we can ensure neither the possession
nor continuance. The man therefore who possesses
this virtue in this ample sense of it, stands upon an
eminence, and sees human things below him ; the
tempest indeed may reach him, but he stands secure
and collected against it upon the basis of conscious vir¬
tue, which the severest storms can seldom shake, and
never overthrow. T^ _
Humility is another virtue of high rank and dignity, Humility,
though often mistaken by proud mortals for meanness
and pusillanimity. It is opposed to pride, which com¬
monly includes in it a false or overrated estimation of
our own merit, an ascription of it to ourselves as its
only and original cause, an undue comparison of our¬
selves with others, and in consequence of that supposed
superiority, an arrogant preference of ourselves, and a
supercilious contempt of them. Humility, on the other
hand, seems to denote that modest and ingenuous
temper of mind, which arises from a just and equal
3 B 2 estimate
(e) As Ravaillac, who assassinated Henry IV, of France ; and Balthasar Geraerd, who murdered William I.
prince of Orange.
O.J
125
Hesigna-
tion.
8o MORAL PHI
Of Mans estimate of our own advantages compared with those
duty to of others, and from a sense of om denving a ongi
Himself. nai}y from the Author of our being. Its ordinary at-
tendants are mildness, a gentle forbearance, and an easy
unassuming humanity with regard to the imperfections
and faults of others ; virtues rare indeed, but of the
fairest complexion, the proper offspring of so lovely a
parent, the best ornaments of such imperfect creatures
as we are, precious in the sight of God, and which
sweetly allure the hearts of men. . „ . ,
Resignation is that mild and heroic temper of mind
which arises from a sense of an infinitely wise and
good providence, and enables one to acquiesce with a
cordial affection in its just appointments. J his virtue
has something very particular in its nature, and sublime
in its efficacy. For it teaches us to bear ill, not only
with patience, and as being unavoidable, but it trans¬
forms, as it were, ill into good, by leading us to con¬
sider it, and every event that has the least appearance
of ill, as a divine dispensation, a wise and benevolent
temperament of things, subservient to universal good,
and of course including that of every individual, espe¬
cially of such as calmly stoop to it. In this light, the
administration itself, nay every act of it, becomes an
obiect of affection, the evil disappears, or is converted
into it balm which both heals and nourisheth the mind.
For though the first unexpected access of ill may sur¬
prise the soul into grief, yet that grief, when the mint
calmly reviews its object, changes into contentment,
and is by degrees exalted into veneration and a divine
composure. Our private will is lost in that of the Al¬
mighty, and our security against every real ill rests on
the same bottom as the throne of him who lives and
reigns tor ever. _ # , - , ,
Chief good, Before we finish this section, it may be fit to observe,
abjective t]iat as t|ie Deity is the supreme and unexhausted
and for- source 0f „00d, on whom the happiness of the wtioie
maL creation depends j as he is the highest object in nature,
and the only object who is fully proportioned to the in¬
tellectual and moral powers of the mind, in whom they
ultimately rest, and find their most perfect exeixise and
completion j he is therefore termed the Chief good of
man, obiectively considered. And virtue, or the pro¬
portioned and vigorous exercise of the severa powers
and affections on their respective objects as above de¬
scribed, is, in the schools, termed the chief good, formal¬
ly considered, or its formal idea, being the inward tem¬
per and native constitution of human happiness.
From the detail we have gone through, the following
12S corollaries may he deduced. .
Corollaries, ft is evident, that the happiness of such a. pro¬
gressive creature as man can never be at a stand, or
continue a fixed invariable thing. His fin.te nature,
let it rise ever so high, admits still higher degrees of
improvement and perfection. And his progression in
improvement or virtue always makes way for a pro-
erression in happiness. So that no possible point can
be assigned in any period of his existence m which he
is perfectly happy, that is, so happy as to exclude high¬
er degrees of happiness. All bis perfection is only
comparative. 2. It appears that many things must
conspire to complete the happiness of so various a
creature as man, subject to so many wants, and sus¬
ceptible of such different pleasures. 3. As Ins capaci¬
ties of pleasure cannot be all gratified at the same
LO SOPHY. Part r|
time, and must often interfere with each othci in such j)uti(>Sri
a precarious and fleeting state as human life, 01 be Society;
frequently disappointed, perfect happiness, i. e. the '
undisturbed enjoyment of the several pleasures of
which we are capable, is unattainable in oui present
state. 4. That state is most to be sought after, in
which the fewest competitions and disappointments
can happen, which least of all impairs any sense of
pleasure, and opens an inexhausted source of the most
refined and lasting enjoyments. I hat state which
is attended with all those advantages, is a state or course
of virtue. 6. Therefore, a state of virtue, in which
the moral goods of the mind are attained, is the happiest
state.
Chap. III. Duties o/Society.
Sect. I. Filial and Fraternal Duty.
I27
As we have followed the order of nature in tracing
the history of man, and those duties which he owes to
himself, it seems reasonable to take the same method
with those he owes to society, which constitute the se¬
cond class of his obligations. _ _ 119 .
His parents are among the earliest objects of his at-Connexid
tent ion j he becomes soonest acquainted with them, of parent]
reposes a peculiar confidence in them, and seems to
regard them with a fond affection, the early prognos¬
tics of his future piety and gratitude. Thus does nature
dictate the first lines of filial duty, even before a just
sense of the connexion is formed. But when the child
is grown up, and has attained to such a degree of un¬
derstanding, as to comprehend the moral tie, and he
sensible of the obligations he is under to his parents j
when he looks back on their tender and disinterested
affection, their incessant cares and labours in nursing,
educating, and providing for him, during that state in
which he had neither prudence nor strength to care and
provide for himself, he must be conscious that he owes
to them these peculiar duties. .-jj
1. To reverence and honour them, as the instruments Duties a
of nature in introducing him to life, and to that state Par
of comfort and happiness which he enjoys •, and there¬
fore to esteem and imitate their good qualities, to alle¬
viate and bear with, and spread, as much as possible, a
decent veil over their faults and weaknesses.
2. To be highly grateful to them, for those favours
which it can hardly ever he in his power fully to re¬
pay ; to show this gratitude by a strict attention to
their wants, and a solicitous care to supply them j by
a submissive deference to their authority and advice,
especially by paying great regard to it in the choice 0
a wife, and of an occupation j by yielding to, rather
than peevishly contending with, their humours as re¬
membering how oft'they have been persecuted by us ,
and, in fine, by soothing their cares, lightening then
sorrows, supporting the infirmities of age, and making
the remainder of their life as comfortable and joyful as
possible
As his brethren and sisters are the next w ith whoin
the creature forms a social and moral connexion, to.ind si,r.>
them he owes a fraternal regard 5 and with them
ouabt he to enter into a strict league of friends!) p,
mutual sympathy, advice, assistance, and a generou
intercourse of kind offices, remembering their relation
art II.
ulies of to common parents, a
ociety. which unites them into a closer community of interest
-v*--' and affection.
.nnexioti
th the
pier sex.
133
;e
mnds
this
!34
al ends
liar.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 38t
ml that brotherhood of nature structing or impairing the decent and regular exer- Duties of
cise of the tender and generous feelings of the human Society,
heart, they in time become unqualified for, or averse ’
to, the forming a moral union of souls, which is the
cement of society, and the source of the purest do¬
mestic joys. Whereas a rational, undepraved lover
and its fair companion, marriage, collect a man’s views,
guide his heart to its proper object, and, by confining
bis affection to that object, do really enlarge its in¬
fluence and use. Besides, it is but too evident from
the conduct of mankind, that the common ties of hu¬
manity are too feeble to engage and interest the pas¬
sions of the generality in the affairs of society. The
connexions of neighbourhood, acquaintance, and gene¬
ral intercourse, are too wide a field of action for many,
and those of a public dr community are so for more j
and in which they either care not or know not how to
exert themselves. Therefore nature, ever wise and be¬
nevolent, by implanting that strong sympathy which
reigns between the individuals of each sex, and by-
urging them to form a particular moral connexion, the
spring of many domestic endearments, has measured out
to each pair a particular sphere of action, proportioned
to their views, and adapted to their respective capaci¬
ties. Besides, by interesting them deeply in the con¬
cerns of their own little circle, she has connected them
more closely with society, which is composed of parti¬
cular families, and bound them down to their good beha¬
viour in that particular community to which they be¬
long. 'This moral connexion is marriage, and this
sphere of action is a family. r,^
Of the conjugal alliance the following are the natu- Duties of
ral laws. First, Mutual fidelity to the marriage bed. mariia£e‘
Disloyalty defeats the very end of marriage 5 dissolves
the natural cement of the relation ; tveakens the moral
tie, the chief strength of which lies in the reciprocation
of affection j and by making the offspring uncertain,
diminishes the care and attachment necessary to their
education.
2. A conspiration of counsels and endeavours to pro¬
mote the common interest of the family, and to educate
their common offspring. In order to observe these
laws, it is necessary to cultivate, both before and during
the married state, the strictest decency and chastity of
manners, and a just sense of what becomes their respec¬
tive characters.
3. The union must be inviolable, and for life. The
nature of friendship, and particularly of this species of
it, the education of their offspring, and the order of
society and of successions, which would otherwise be
extremely perplexed, do all seem to require it. To
preserve this union, and render the matrimonial state
more harmonious and comfortable, a mutual esteem
and tenderness, a mutual deference and forbearance,
a communication of advice, and assistance and autho¬
rity, are absolutely necessary. If either party keep
within their proper departments, there need be no
disputes about power or superiority, and there will be
none. They have no opposite no separate interests, and
therefore there can be no just ground for opposition of
conduct.
Sect. II. Concerning Marriage.
When man arrives to a certain age, he becomes
sensible of a peculiar sympathy and tenderness towards
the other sex ; the charms of beauty engage his atten¬
tion, and call forth new and softer dispositions than
he has yet felt. The many amiable qualities exhibit¬
ed by a fair outside, or by the mild alurement of fe¬
male manners, or which the prejudiced spectator with¬
out much reasoning supposes those to include, with
several other circumstances both natural and accident¬
al, point his view and affection to a particular ob¬
ject, and of course contract that general rambling re¬
gard, which was lost and useless among the undistin¬
guished crowd, into a peculiar and permanent attach¬
ment to one woman, which ordinarily terminates in the
most important, venerable, and delightful connexion in
life.
The state of the brute creation is very different from
that of human creatures. The former are clothed
and generally armed by their structure, easily find
what is necessary to their subsistence, and soon attain
their vigour and maturity j so that they need the
care and aid of their parents but for a short while j
and therefore we see that nature has assigned to them
vagrant and transient amours. The connexion being
purely natural, and merely for propagating and rear¬
ing their offspring, no sooner is that end answered,,
than the connexion dissolves of course. But the hu¬
man race are of a more tender and defenceless consti¬
tution ; their infancy and non-age continue longer ;
they advance slowly to strength of body and maturity
of reason *, they need constant attention, and a long
series of cares and labours, to train them up to de¬
cency, virtue, and the various arts of life. Nature has,,
therefore, provided them with the most affectionate
and anxious tutors, to aid their weakness, to supply
their wants, and to accomplish them in those necessary
arts, even their own parents, on whom she has devolved
this mighty charge, rendered agreeable by the most al¬
luring and powerful of all ties, parental affection. But
unless both concur in this grateful task, and continue
their joint labours, till they have reared up and planted
out their young colony, it must become a prey to every
rude invader, and the purpose of nature in the original
union of the human pair be defeated. Therefore our
structure as well as condition is an evident indication,
that the human sexes are destined for a more intimate,
tor a moral and lasting union. It appears likewise,
that the principal end of marriage is not to propagate
and nurse up an offspring, but to educate and form minds
for the great duties and extensive destinations of life..
Society must be supplied from this original nursery
with useful members, and its fairest ornaments and
supports.
The mind is apt to be dissipated in its views and
acts of friendship and humanity j unless the former be
directed to a particular object, and the latter employ¬
ed in a particular province. When men once indulge
in this dissipation, there is no stopping their career j
they grow insensible to moral attractions j and, by ob-
Prom this detail, and the present state of things, in Polygansy,
which there is pretty near a parity of numbers of both
sexes, it is evident that polygamy is an unnatural state $
and though it should be granted to be more fruitful
oi
382 MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duties of of cliililren, which however it is not found to be, yet
Society, it is by no means so fit for rearing minds, which seems
' ■ v to be as much, if not more, the intention of nature than
the propagation of bodies.
Part If
Sect. III. Of Parental Duty.
I37.
Connexion
of parents
and chil¬
dren.
138
The autho-’
rity found¬
ed on that
connexion.
539
Duties of
parents.
140
Education
The connexion of parents with their children is a
natural consequence of the matrimonial connexion j
and the duties which they owe them result as natural¬
ly from that connexion. The feeble state of children,
subject to so many wants and dangers, requires their
incessant care and attention 5 their ignorant and uncul¬
tivated minds demand their continual instruction and
culture. Had human creatures come into the world
with the full strength of ?ne?i, and the weakness of rea¬
son and vehemence of passions which prevail in chil¬
dren, they would have been too strong or too stubborn
to have submitted to the government and instruction of
their parents. But as they were designed for a progres¬
sion in knowledge and virtue, it was proper that tlm
growth of their bodies should keep pace with that ot
their minds, lest the purposes of that progression should
have been defeated. Among other admirable purposes
which this gradual expansion of their outward as well
as inward structure serves, this is one, that it aflords
ample scope to the exercise of many tender and gene¬
rous affections, which fill up the domestic life with a
beautiful variety of duties and enjoyments j and are of
course a noble discipline for the heart, and a hardy kind
of education for the more honourable and important
duties of public life.
The above-mentioned weak and ignorant state of
children seems plainly to invest their parents with such
authority and power as is necessary to their support,
protection, and education j but that authority and
power can be construed to extend no farther than is
necessary to answer those ends, and to last no longer
than that weakness and ignorance continue j wherefore,
the foundation or reason ot the authority and power
ceasing, they cease of course. Whatever power or au¬
thority then it may be necessary or lawful for parents
to exercise during the non-age of their children, to as¬
sume or usurp the same when they have attained the ma¬
turity or full exercise of their strength and reason would
be tyrannical and unjust. From hence it is evident,
that parents have no right to punish the persons of their
children more severely than the nature of their ward¬
ship requires, much less to invade their lives, to en¬
croach upon their liberty, or transfer them as their pro¬
perty to any master whatsoever.
The first class of duties which parents owe their chil¬
dren respect their natural life j and these comprehend
protection, nurture, provision, introducing them into the
world in a manner suitable to their rank and fortune,
and the like.
The second order of duties regards the intellectual
and moral life of their children, or their education in
such arts and accomplishments as are necessary to qua¬
lify them for performing the duties they owe to them¬
selves and to others. As this was found to be the prin¬
cipal design of the matrimonial alliance, so the fulfil¬
ling that design is the most important and dignified of
all the parental duties. In order therefore to fit the
child for acting his part wisely and worthily as a
3
man, as a citi%en, and a crcataro of God, both parents
ought to combine their joint wisdom, authority, and
power, and each apart to employ those talents which
are the peculiar excellency and ornament of their re¬
spective sex. The lather ought to lay out and superin¬
tend their education, the mother to execute and ma¬
nage the detail ol which she is capable. Tdie former
should direct the manly exertion of the intellectual and
moral powers of his child. His imagination, and the
manner ol those exertions, are the peculiar province
of the latter. The former should advise, protect, com¬
mand, and, bv his experience, masculine vigour, and
that superior authority which is commonly ascribed
to his sex, brace and strengthen his pupil for active
life, for gravity, integrity, and firmness in suffering.
The business of the latter is to bend and soften her
male pupil, by the charms of her conversation, and
the softness and decency of her manners, for social lile,
for politeness of taste, and the elegant decorums and
enjoyments of humanity ', and to improve and reline
the tenderness and modesty of her female pupil, and
form her to all those mild domestic virtues which are
the peculiar characteristics and ornaments of her sex :
To conduct the opening minds of their sweet charge
through the several periods of their progress, to as¬
sist them in each period, in throwing out the latent
seeds of reason and ingenuity, and in gaining fresh ac¬
cessions of light and virtue and at length, with all
these advantages, to produce the young adventurers
upon the great theatre of human life, to play their
several parts in the sight of their friends, of society,
and mankind.
Duties (.
Society'
Sect. IV. tlcrile and Servile Duty.
141
In the natural course of human affairs, it must neces-The grot
sarily happen that some of mankind will live in P^e^ynexjon
and opulence, and others be reduced to a state of in¬
digence and poverty. The former need the labours
of the latter, and the latter provision and support of
the former. This mutual necessity is the foundation
of that connexion, whether we call it moral or civil,
which subsists between masters and servants. He who
feeds another has a right to some equivalent, the labour ^
of him whom he maintains, and the fruits of it. And The con
he who labours for another has a right to expect that tionsoL
he should support him. But as the labours of a man ofvlc
ordinary strength are certainly of greater value than
mere food and clothing j because they would actually
produce more, even the maintenance ot a family, were
the labourer to employ them in his own behalf there¬
fore he has an undoubted right to rate and dispose of
his service for certain wages above mere maintenance ",
and if he has incautiously disposed of it tor the latter
only, yet the contract being of the onerous kind, he
may equitably claim a supply of that deficiency,
the service be specified, the servant is bound to that
only ; if not, then he is to be construed as bound only
to such services as are consistent with the laws ot jus¬
tice and humanity. By the voluntary servitude to
which he subjects himself, he forfeits no rights but such
as are necessarily included in that servitude, and is
obnoxious to no punishment but such as a voluntary
failure in the service may be supposed reasonably to
require. The offspring of such servants have a right to
‘art II. MORAL PH
duties of that liberty which neither they nor their parents have
Society, forfeited.
— v As to those who, because of some heinous offence,
, 145 ,or for some notorious damage, for which they cannot
eat offcn-otherwise compensate, are condemned to perpetual ser-
s. vice, they do not, on that account, forfeit all the rights
of men j but those, the loss of which is necessary to se¬
cure society against the like offences for the future, or
to repair the damage they have done.
Iijcase of With regard to captives taken in war, it is barba-
:s. rous and inhuman to make perpetual slaves of them, un¬
less some peculiar and aggiavated circumstances of
guilt have attended their hostility. The bulk of the
subjects of any government engaged in war may be
fairly esteemed innocent enemies •, and therefore they
have a right to that clemency which is consistent with
the common safety of mankind, and the particular se¬
curity of that society against which they are engaged.
Though ordinary captives have a grant of their lives,
yet to pay their liberty as an equivalent is much too
high a price. There are other ways of acknowledging
or returning the favour, than by surrendering what is
Hutches, far dearer than life itself*. To those who, under pretext
{°.r‘ ^ie necessities of commerce, drive the unnatural trade
W'l‘b 1U' of bargaining for human flesh, and consigning their in¬
nocent but unfortunate fellow creatures to eternal ser¬
vitude and misery, we may address the words of a fine
writer $ “ Let avarice defend it as it will, there is an
honest reluctance in humanity against buying and sell¬
ing, and regarding those of our own species as our
wealth and possessions.”
Sect. V. Social Duties of the private Kind.
Hitherto we have considered only the domestic eco¬
nomical duties, because these are first in the progress of
nature. But as man passes beyond the little circle of
a family, he forms connexions with relations, friends,
neighbours, and others ; from whence results a new
train of duties of the more private social kind, as
“ friendship, chastity, courtesy, good neighbourhood,
j^. charity, forgiveness, hospitality.”
an’sapti- Mao is admirably formed for particular social at-
deforso-tachments and duties. There is a peculiar and strong
^ propensity in his nature to be affected with the senti¬
ments and dispositions of others Men, like certain
musical instruments, are set to each other, so that the
vibrations or notes excited in one raise correspondent
notes and vibrations in the others. The impulses of
pleasure or pain, joy or sori'ow, made on one mind, are
by an instantaneous sympathy of nature communicated
in some degree to all; especially when hearts are (as
a humane writer expresses it) in unison of kindness ;
the joy that vibrates in one communicates to the other
also. We may add, that though joy thus imparted
swells the harmony, yet grief vibrated to the heart of
a friend, and rebounding from thence in sympathetic
notes, melts as it were, and almost dies away. All
the passions, but especially those of the social kind,
are contagious ; and when the passions of one man
mingle with those of another, they increase and mul¬
tiply prodigiously. There is a most moving eloquence
m the human countenance, air, voice and gesture,
Wonderfully expressive of the most latent feelings and
jassions of the soul, which darts them like a subtle
ILOSOPHY. ^
flame into the hearts of others, and raises correspon- Duties of
dent feelings there : friendship, love, good humour, Society,
joy, spread through every feature, and particularly
shoot from the eyes their softer and fiercer fires with
an irresistible energy. And in like manner the oppo¬
site passions of hatred, enmity, ill humour, melancholy,
diffuse a sullen and saddening air over the face, and
flashing from eye to eye, kindle a train of similar pas¬
sions. By these, and other admirable pieces of ma¬
chinery, men are formed for society and the delightful
interchange of friendly sentiments and duties, to increase
the happiness of others by participation, and their'own
by rebound ; and to diminish, by dividing, the common
stock of their misery.
I he first emanations of the social principle beyond Duties avis,
the bounds of a family lead us to form a nearer con- sil!S frotn
junction of friendship or good will with those who are re"
anywise connected with us by blood or domestic al- 3 10n'
liance. '10 them our affection does commonly exert
itself in a greater or less degree, according to the
nearness or distance of the relation. And this pro¬
portion is admirably suited to the extent of our powers
and the indigence of our state ; for it is only within
those lesser circles of consanguinity or alliance that
the generality of mankind are able to display their
abilities or benevolence, and consequently to uphold
their connexion with society, and subserviency to a
public interest. Therefore it is our duty to regard
these closer connexions as the next department to that
of a family, in which nature has marked out for us a
sphere of activity and usefulness j and to cultivate the
kind affections which are the cement of these endear¬
ing alliances. I^-.
Frequently th% view of distinguishing moral quali-In£r.edicnt*
ties in some of our acquaintance may give birth to0/-*1*611^’
that more noble connexion we call friendship, which5
is far superior to the alliances of consanguinity. For
these are of a superficial, and often of a transitory na¬
ture, of which as they hold more of instinct than of rea¬
son, we cannot give such a rational account. But
friendship derives all its strength and beauty, and the
only existence which is durable, from the qualities of
the heart, or from virtuous and lovely dispositions.
Or, should these be wanting, they or some shadow of
them must be supposed present.—Therefore friendship
may be described to be, “ The union of two souls by
means of virtue, the common object and cement of
their mutual affection.” Without virtue, or the sup¬
position of it, friendship is only a mercenary league, an
alliance of interest, which must dissolve of course when
that interest decays or subsists no longer. It is not so
much any particular passion, as a composition of some
of the noblest feelings and passions of the mind. Good
sense, 21 just taste and love of virtue, a thorough candour
and benignity of heart, or what we usually call a good
temper, and a generous sympathy of sentiments and
affections, are the necessary ingredients of this virtuous
connexion. W7hen it is grafted on esteem, strengthen¬
ed by habit, and mellowed by time, it yields infinite
pleasure, ever new and ever growing; is a noble sup¬
port amidst the various trials and vicissitudes of life, and
a high seasoning to most of our other enjoyments.—
To form and cultivate virtuous friendship, must be
very improving to the temper, as its principal object
is virtue, set off witfi all the allurement of countenance,
MOKAL PHI
148
Tts duties.
*49
Love and
cliastity.
^ See Sect
ii. oi' this
chapter.
air, and manners, sinning forth in the native gtaces
of manly honest sentiments and afiections, anti ren¬
dered visible as it were to the friendly spectator in
a conduct unaffectedly great and good ; and as its
principal exercises are the very energies of virtue, or
its effect and emanations. So that wherever this
amiable attachment prevails, it will exalt our admiia-
tion and attachment to virtue, and unless impeded in
its course by unnatural prejudices, run out into a
friendship to the human race. For as no one can
merit, and none ought to usurp, the sacred name of
friend, who hates mankind : so whoever truly loves
them, possesses the most essential quality of a true
friend. .
The duties of friendship are a mutual esteem of each
other, unbribed by interest, and independent of it j a
generous confidence, as far distant from suspicion as
from reserve ; an inviolable harmony of sentiments and
dispositions, of designs and interests 5 a fidelity unsha¬
ken by the changes of fortune •, a constancy unalterable
by distance of time or place ; a resignation of one’s per¬
sonal interest to those of one’s friend, and a recipro¬
cal, unenvious, unreserved exchange of kind offices.—
But, amidst all the exertions of this moral connexion,
humane and generous as it is, we must remember that
it operates within a narrow sphere, and its immediate
operations respect only the individual 5 and therefore
its particular impulses must still be subordinate to a
more public interest, or be always directed and con¬
trolled by the more extensive connexions of our na-
ture. .
When our friendship terminates on any of the other
sex, in whom beauty or agreeableness of person and
external gracefulness of manners conspire to express
and heighten the moral charm of a tender honest heart,
and sweet, ingenuous, modest temper, lighted up by
good sense j it generally grows into a more soft and
endearing attachment. When this attachment is im¬
proved by a growing acquaintance with the worth of
its object, is conducted by discretion, and issues at
length, as it ought to do, in the moral connexion for¬
merly mentioned *, it becomes the source of many
amiable duties, of a communication of passions and in¬
terests, of the most refined decencies, and of a thou¬
sand nameless deep-felt joys of reciprocal tenderness
and love, flowing from every look, word, and action.
Here friendship acts with double energy, and (he na¬
tural conspires with the moral charms to strengthen
and secure the love of virtue. As the delicate natuie
of female honour and decorum, and the inexpressible
grace of a chaste and modest behaviour are the surest
and indeed the only means of kindling at first, and ever
after of keeping alive, this tender and elegant flame,
and of accomplishing the excellent ends designed by
it •, to attempt by fraud to violate one, or, under pre¬
tence of passion, to sully and comipt the other, and,
by so doing, to expose the too often credulous and un¬
guarded object, with a wanton cruelty, to the hatred
of her own sex and the scorn of ours, and to the
lowest infamy of both, is a conduct not only base and
criminal, but inconsistent with that truly rational and
refined enjoyment, the spirit and quintessence of which
are derived from the bashful and sacred charms of vir¬
tue kept untainted, and therefore ever alluring to the
lover’s heart.
LO SOPHY. Part III
Courtesy, good neighbourhood, affability, and the like Duties 1
duties, which are founded on our private social con-' Society
nexions, are no less necessary and obligatory to crea- ^
tures united to society, and supporting and support-CouriesJ
ed by each other in a chain ot mutual want and cie- jr00(j
pendence. They do not consist in a smooth address, neighbowi
an artificial or obsequious air, fawning adulations or^HM
a polite servility of manners *, but in a just and mo¬
dest sense of our own dignity and that oi others,
and of the reverence due to mankind, especially to
those who hold the higher links ol the social chain ;
in a discreet and manly accommodation of ourselves
to the foibles and humours of others •, in a strict ob¬
servance of the rules of decorum and civility •, but,
above all, in a frank obliging carriage, and generous
interchange of good deeds rather than words. Such a
conduct is of great use and advantage, as it is an excel¬
lent security against injury, and the best claim and re¬
commendation to the esteem, civility, and universal re¬
spect of mankind. This inferior order of virtues unites
the particular members ot society more closely, and
forms the lesser pillars of the civil fabric } which, m
many instances, supply the unavoidable defects of laws,
and maintain the harmony and decorum ot social inter¬
course, where the more important and essential lines
of virtue are wanting. . ISI
Charity and forgiveness are truly amiable and use- Chanty,
ful duties of the social kind. There is a twofold di- or8lvem
stinction of rights commonly taken notice ot by moral
writers, viz. perfect and imperfect, lo fulfil the for¬
mer, is necessary to the being and support of society *,
to fulfil the latter, is a duty equally sacred and obliga¬
tory, and tends to the improvement and prosperity ot
society ; but as the violation of them is not equally pre¬
judicial to the public good, the fulfilling them is not
subjected to the cognizance of law, but left to the can¬
dour, humanity, and gratitude of individuals. And by
this means ample scope is given to exercise all the ge¬
nerosity, and display the genuine merit and lustre of
virtue. Thus the wants and misfortunes of others call
for our charitable assistance and seasonable supplies.
And the good man, unconstrained by law, and uncon¬
trolled by human authority, will cheerfully acknow¬
ledge and generously satisfy this mournful and moving
claim ; a claim supported by the sanction of heaven,
of whose bounties he is honoured to be the .gratetul
trustee. If his own perfect rights are invaded by the
injustice of others, he will not therefore reject their
imperfect right to pity and forgiveness, unless his grant
of these should be inconsistent with the more exten¬
sive rights of society, or the public good. In that case
he will have recourse to public justice and the laws,
and even then he will prosecute the injury with no un¬
necessary severity, but rather with mildness and hu¬
manity. When the injury is merely personal, and 0!
such a nature as to admit of alleviations, and the for¬
giveness of which would be attended with no worse
consequences, especially of a public kind, the goo
man will generously forgive his oflending >ro
And it is his duty to do so, and not to take private re¬
venae. or retaliate evil for evil. For though resent-
re, or reiauaic cm w   V * 1 -a
t of injury is a natural passion, and implante , £
was observed f above, for wise and good ends; yeVhap.;;
considering the manifold partialities which most me d
have for themselves, was every one to act as judg
ment
was
4
’art II. MORALE
buties of in his own cause, and to execute the sentence dicta-
^Soc‘£ty' , ted by his own resentment, it is but too evident that
" ' mankind would pass all bounds in their fury, and the
last sufferer be provoked in his turn to make full re¬
prisals. So that evil, thus encountering with evil,
would produce one continued series of violence and
misery, and render society intolerable, if not imprac¬
ticable. Therefore, where the security of the indivi¬
dual, or the good of the public, does not require a
proportionable retaliation, it is agreeable to the general
law of benevolence, and to the particular end of the
passion (which is to prevent injury and the misery oc¬
casioned by it), to forgive personal injuries, or not to
return evil for evil. This duty is one of the noble re¬
finements which Christianity has made upon the gene¬
ral maxims and practice of mankind, and enforced,
with a peculiar strength and beauty, by sanctions no
less alluring than awful. And indeed the practice of it
is generally its own reward; by expelling from the mind
the most dreadful intruders upon its repose, those ran¬
corous passions which are begot and nursed by resent¬
ment, and by disarming and even subduing every enemy
one has, except such as have nothing left of men but the
152 outward form.
ospitah- The most enlarged and humane connexion of the
private kind seems to be the hospitable alliance, from
which flow the amiable and disinterested duties we
owe to strangers. If the exercise of passions of the
most private and instinctive kind is beheld with moral
appiobation and delight, how7 lovely and venerable
must those appear which result from a calm philan¬
thropy, are founded in the common rights and con¬
nexions of society, and embrace men, not of a par¬
ticular sect, party, or nation, but all in general without
distinction, and without any of the little partialities of
self-love.
Sect. VI. Social Duties of the Commercial Kind.
1 duties, c ^ie nex^ or^er connexions are those which arise
from the wants and weakness of mankind, and from the
various circumstances in which their different situations
place them. These we may call commercial connexions,
and the duties which result from them commercial du¬
ties, as justice, fair-dealing, sincerity, fidelity to com-
i*S4 pacts, and the like.
'ion. n, though nature is perfect in all her works, yet she
has observed a manifest and eminent distinction among
them. To all such as lie beyond the reach of human
skill and power, and are properly of her own depart¬
ment, she has given the finishing hand. These man
may design after and imitate, but be can never rival
them, nor add to their beauty or perfection. Such are
the forms and structure of vegetables, animals, and
many of their productions, as the honey comb, the
spider’s web, and the like. There are others of her
works which she has of design left unfinished, as it
were, in order to exercise the ingenuity and power
of man. She has presented to him a rich profusion of
materials of every kind for his conveniency and use j
but they are rude and unpolished, or not to be come
at without art and labour. These therefore he must
apply,.in order to adapt them to his use, and to enjoy
* em in perfection. Thus nature hath given him an
mfinite variety of herbs, grains, fossils, minerals, woods,
Vol. XIV. Part I. 1
‘HILOSOPHY. =
watei, earth, air, and a thousand other crude mate- Duties of
rials, to supply his numerous wants. But he must sow, Society,
plant, dig, refine, polish, build, and, in short, manrt- " '
facture the various produce of nature, in order to
obtain . even the necessaries, and much more the
conveniencies and elegancies of life. These then
are the price of his labour and industry, and, without
that, nature will sell him nothing. But as the wants
of mankind are many, and the single strength of indi¬
viduals small, they could hardly find the necessaries,
and much less the conveniencies of life, without unit¬
ing their ingenuity and strength in acquiring these, and
without a mutual intercourse of good offices. Some
men are better formed for some kinds of ingenuity
and labour, and others for other kinds j and differ¬
ent soils and climates are enriched with different pro¬
ductions 5 so that men, by exchanging the produce of
their respective labours, and supplying the wants of
one country with the superfluities of another, do in
effect diminish the labours of each, and increase the
abundance of all. This is the foundation of all com¬
merce, or exchange of commodities and goods, one
with another; in order to facilitate which, men
have contrived different species of coin, or. money, as
a common standard by which to estimate the com¬
parative values of their respective goods. But to
render commerce sure and efFectual, justice, fail'-deal-
mg, sincerity, and fidelity to compacts, are absolutely
necessary. J
Justice or fair-dealing, or, in other words, a dis-justicJ;
position to treat others as we would be treated by
them, is a virtue of the first importance, and insepa¬
rable from the virtuous character. It is the cement of
society, or that pervading spirit which connects its
members, inspires its various relations, and maintains
the order and subordination of each part of the whole.
Without it, society would become a den of thieves and
banditti, hating and hated, devouring and devoured, by
one another.
And here it may be proper to take a view of Mr
Hume’s supposed case of the sensible knave and the
worthless miser (N° 16), and consider what would be
the duty of the former according to the theory of those
moralists who hold the will ofi God to be the criterion
or rule, and everlasting happiness the motive of human
virtue.
It has been already observed, and the truth of theuniveiLlly
observation cannot be controverted, that, by secret!}7 a 011
purloining from the coffers of a miser, part of that1!16 pr.inci~
gold which there lies useless, a man might in parti-ft*
cular circumstances promote the good of society, the will of
without doing any injury to a single individual: and God lobe
it was hence inferred, that, in such circumstances inthe crlteri-
would be no duty to abstain from theft, were local uti-fi °f vir'
hty arising from particular consequences the real crite-
rion or standard of justice. Very different, however,
is the conclusion which must be drawn by those who
consider the natural tendency of actions, if universally
performed, as the criterion of their merit or demerit
in the sight of God. Such philosophers attend, not
to the particular consequences of a single action in
any given case, but to the general consequences of the
principle from which it flows, if that principle were
universally adopted. You cannot (say they) permit
one action and forbid another, without showing a dif-
3 ^ ference
3g6 M O R A L P H
Duties of lerence between them. The same sort of actions,
Society, therefore, must be generally permitted or generally
y—forbidden. But were every man allowed to ascertain
for himself the circumstances in which the good of so¬
ciety would be promoted, by secretly abstracting the
superfluous wealth of a worthless miser, it is plain that
no property could be secure j that all incitements to
industry would be at once removed ; and that, what¬
ever might be the immediate consequences of any par¬
ticular theft, the general and consequences of
the principle by which it was authorized must soon
prove fatal. Were one man to purloin part of the
riches of a real miser, and to consider his conduct as
vindicated by his intention to employ those riches m
acts of generosity, another might by the same sort of
casuistry think himself authorized to appropriate to
himself part of Iris wealth-, and thus theft would
spread through all orders of men, till society were dis¬
solved into separate, hostile, and savage families, mu¬
tually dreading and shunning each other. The general
consequences, therefore, of encroaching upon private
property tend evidently and violently to universal mi¬
sery. . , .
On the other hand, indeed, the particular and im¬
mediate consequences of that principle which considers
every man’s property as sacred, may in some . cases,
such as that supposed, be in a small degree injurious
to a few families in the neighlmurhood of the miser
and the knave. But that injury can never be of long
duration j and it is infinitely more than counterbalan¬
ced by the general good consequences of the principle
from which it accidentally results-, for these conse¬
quences extend to all nations and to all ages. With¬
out a sacred regard to property, there could neither
be arts nor industry nor confidence among men, and
happiness would be for ever banished from this world.
But the communication of happiness being the end
which God had m view when he created the world,
and all men standing in the same relation to him, it is
impossible to suppose that he does not approve, and will
not ultimately reward, those voluntary actions of which
the natural tendency is to increase the sum of human
happiness -, or that he does not disapprove, and will
not ultimately punish, those which naturally tend to
aggravate human misery. The conclusion is, that a
strict adherence to the principle of justice is universal¬
ly, and in all possible circumstances, a duty from which
we cannot deviate without offending our Creator, and
ultimately bringing misery upon ourselves.
Sincerity, or veracity, in our words and actions, is
another virtue or duty' of great importance to society,
being one of the great bands of mutual intercourse,
and the foundation of mutual trust. Without it, so¬
ciety would be the dominion of mistrust, jealousy, and
fraud, and conversation a traffic of lies and dissimula¬
tion. It includes in it a conformity of our words
with our sentiments, a correspondence between our
actions and dispositions, a strict regard to truth, and an
irreconcilable abhorrence of falsehood. It does not
indeed require, that we expose our sentiments indis¬
creetly, or tell all the truth in every case-, but certainly
it does not and cannot admit the least violation of
truth or contradiction to our sentiments For if these
bounds are once passed, no possible limit can be assigned
where the violation shall stop, and no pretence of pri-
ILOSOPHY.
   Part 11'
vate or public good can possibly counterbalance the ill i)ntiesol>
consequences of such a violation. _ Society.
Fidelity to promises, compacts, and engagements, is' r
likewise a duty of such importance to the security of
commerce and interchange of benevolence among promises, ,
kind, that society would soon grow intolerable with-ewnpacts j
out the strict observance of it. Hobbes, and others&e.
who follow the same track, have taken a wonderful
deal of pains to puzzle this subject, and to make all
the virtues of this sort merely artificial, and not at all
obligatory, antecedent to human conventions. No
doubt compacts suppose people who make them ", and
promises persons to whom they are made ; and there¬
fore both suppose some society, more or less, between
those who enter into those mutual engagements. But
is not a compact or promise binding, till men have
agreed that they shall be binding ? or are they only
binding, because it is our interest to be hound by them,
or to fulfil them ? Do not we highly approve the man
who fulfils them, even though they should prove to be
against his interest? and do not we condemn him as
a knave who violates them on that account ? A promise
is a voluntary declaration by words, or by an action
equally significant, ol our resolution to do something
in behalf of another, or for his service. When it is
made, the person who makes it is by all supposed un¬
der an obligation to perform it. And he to whom it
is made may demand the performance as Ins right.
That perception of obligation is a simple idea, and is
on the same footing as our other moral perceptions,
which mav be described by instances, but cannot be
defined. Whether we have a perception of such ob¬
ligation quite distinct from the interest, either public
or private, that may accompany the fulfilment of it,
must be referred to the conscience of every indivi¬
dual. And whether the mere sense of that obligation,
apart from its concomitants, is not a sufficient induce¬
ment or motive to keep one’s promise, without having
recourse to any selfish principle ol our nature, must
be likewise appealed to the conscience of every honest
"Ttmav, however, be not improper to remark, that Shown t|
in this, as in all other instances, our duel good iS»
*57
Sincerity.
ju mis, <*■& **> “■*      - . indepenq
combined with our duty. “Men act from expecta-^ofth
tion Expectation is in most cases determined by theal]tilorit)
assurances and engagements which vye receive from of then,
others. If no dependence could be placed upon these
assurances, it would be impossible to know what judge¬
ment to form of many future events, or how to regu¬
late our conduct with respect to them. Confidence,
therefore, in promises, is essential to the intercourse oi
human life, because without it, the greatest part of our
conduct would proceed upon chance. But there couk
he no confidence in promises, if men were not obliged
to perform them. Those, therefore, who allow not
to the perceptions of the moral sense all that autho¬
rity which we attribute to them, must still admit the
obligation to perform promises 5 because such perform¬
ance may be shown to be agreeable to the will of Co t,
infthe very same manner in which, upon then pniici
nles we have shown the uniform practice of justice to
i 5 1^°j
6 Fair dealing fidelity to compacts require ^
take no advantage of the ignorance, passion, 01 in^ uiie.
pacitv of others, from whatever cause that incapacity
art II.
ities of arises ;—that we he explicit and candid in making
iciety. bargains, just and faithful in fulfilling our part of them.
■'y—* And if the other party violates his engagements, re¬
dress is to be sought from the laws, or from those who
are intrusted with the execution of them. In fine, the
commercial virtues and duties require that we not only
"do not invade, but maintain the rights of others ;—
that we be fair and impartial in transferring, bartering,
or exchanging property, whether in goods or service *,
and be inviolably faithful to our word and our en¬
gagements, where the matter of them is not crimi¬
nal, and where they are not extorted by force. See
Promise.
Sect. VII. Social Duties of the Political Kind.
We are now arrived at the last and highest order of
duties respecting society, which result from the exer¬
cise of the most generous and heroic affections, and are
igi founded on our most enlarged connexions.
; itical The social principle in man is of such an expansive
« nec- nature, that it cannot be confined within the circuit
tIS< of a family, of friends, or a neighbourhood ; it spreads
into wider systems, and draws men into larger confe¬
deracies, communities, and commonwealths. It is in
those only that the higher powers of our nature attain
the highest improvement and perfection of which they
are capable. These principles hardly find objects in
the solitary state of nature. There the principle of
action rises no higher at farthest than natural affection
towards one’s offspring. There personal or family
wants entirely engross the creature’s attention and la¬
bour, and allow no leisure, or if they did, no exer¬
cise for views and affections of a more enlarged kind.
In solitude all are employed in the same way, in pro¬
viding for the animal life. And even after their ut¬
most labour and care, single and unaided by the in¬
dustry of others, they find but a sorry supply of their
wants, and a feeble precarious security against dan¬
gers from wild beasts 5 from inclement skies and sea¬
sons ; from the mistakes or petulant passions of their
fellow creatures 3 from their preference of themselves
to their neighbours ; and from all the little exorbi-
tancies of self-love. But in society, the mutual aids
which men give and receive shorten the labours of
each, and the combined strength and reason of indivi¬
duals give security and protection to the whole body.
There is both a variety and subordination of genius
among mankind. Some are formed to lead and direct
others, to contrive plans of happiness for individuals
and of government for communities, to take in a pu¬
blic interest, invent laws and arts, and superintend
their execution, and, in short, to refine and civilize
human life. Others, who have no such good heads,
may have as honest hearts, a truly public spirit, love
of liberty, hatred of corruption and tyranny, a gene¬
rous submission to laws, order, and public institutions,
and an extensive philanthropy. And others, who
have none of those capacities either of heart or head,
may be well formed for manual exercise and bodily
labour. The former of these principles have no scope
in solitude, where a man’s thoughts and concerns do
all either centre in himself or extend no farther than
a family 3 into which little circle all the duty and vir¬
tue of the solitary mortal is crowded. But society
387
finds proper objects and exercises for every genius, j}ul;cg of
and the noblest objects and exercises for the noblest Society,
geniuses, and for the highest principles in the human 1—~'v——'
constitution 3 particularly for that warmest and most
divine passion-which God hath kindled in our 1 “soms,
the inclination of doing good, and reverencing our
nature 5 which may find here both employment and
the most exquisite satisfaction. In society, a man has
not only more leisure, but better opportunities, of ap-
plying his talents with much greater perfection and
success, especially as he is furnished with the joint ad¬
vice and assistance of his fellow creatures, who are
now more closely united one with the other, and sus¬
tain a common relation to the same moral system or
community. This then is an object proportioned to
his most enlarged social affections 3 and in serving it
he finds scope for the exercise and refinement of his
highest intellectual and moral powers. Therefore so¬
ciety, or a state of civil government, rests on these two
principal pillars, “ That in it we find security against
those evils which are unavoidable in solitude,—and
obtain those goods, some of which cannot be obtain¬
ed at all, and others not so well, in that state where
men depend solely on their individual sagacity and in¬
dustry.”
From tliis short detail it appears, that man is a so¬
cial creature, and formed for a social state ; and that
society, being adapted to the higher principles and
destinations of his nature, must of necessity be his na¬
tural state. "
The duties suited to that state, and resulting from Political
those principles and destinations, or, in other words, duties,
from our social passions and social connexions, or re¬
lation to a public system, are, love of our country,
resignation and obedience to the laws, public spirit, love
of liberty, sacrifice of life and all to the public, and the
like. ,
r r . „ 16 3
Love Oj our country, is one of the noblest passions Love of
that can warm and animate the human breast. It in-one’s coun-
clndes all the limited and particular affections to ourtry'
parents, friends, neighbours, fellow citizens, country¬
men. It ought to direct and limit our more confined
and partial actions within their proper and natural
bounds, and never let them encroach on those sacred
and first regards we owe to the great public to which
we belong. Were we solitary creatures, detached
from the rest of mankind, and without any capacity
of comprehending a public interest, or without affec¬
tions leading us to desire and pursue it, it would not
be our duty to mind it, nor criminal to neglect it. But
as we are parts of the public system, and are not only
capable of taking in large views of its interests, but by
the strongest affections connected with it, and prompt¬
ed to take a share of its concerns, we are under the
most sacred ties to prosecute its security and welfare
with the utmost ardour, especially in times of public
trial. This love of our country does not import an at¬
tachment to any particular soil, climate, or spot of
earth, where perhaps we first drew our breath, though
those natural ideas are often associated with the moral
ones, and, like external signs or symbols, help to as¬
certain and bind them 3 but it 'imports an affection to
that moral system, or community, which is governed
by the same laws and magistrates, and whose several
parts are variously connected one with the other, and
3 C 2 all
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
38!
164
Resigna¬
tion and
obedience
1 o the law
&.C.
MORAL PH
all united upon the bottom of a common interest. Per¬
haps indeed evei'y member of the community cannot
comprehend so large an object, especially it it extends
through large provinces, and over vast tracts of land :
and stjll less can he form such an idea, it there is no
public, i. e. if all are subject to the caprice and unli¬
mited will of one man ; but the preference the gene¬
rality show to their native country, the concern and
longing after it which they express when they have
been long absent from it ■, the labours they undertake
and sufferings they endure to save or serve it, and
the peculiar attachment they have to their country¬
men, evidently demonstrate that the passion is natu¬
ral, and never fails to exert itself when it is fairly dis¬
engaged from foreign clogs, and is directed to its pro¬
per object. Wherever it prevails in its genuine vigour
and extent, it swallows up all sordid and selfish regards j
it conquers the love of ease, power, pleasure, and
wealth; nay, when the amiable partialities oi friend¬
ship, gratitude, private affection, or regards to a fami-
hj, come in competition with it, it will teach us bravely
to sacrifice all, in order to maintain the rights, and
promote or defend the honour and happiness, of our
country.
Resignation and obedience to the laws and orders 01
the society to which W'e belong, are political duties
necessary to its very being and security, without which
It must soon degenerate into a state of licentiousness and
anarchy. The welfare, nay, the nature of civil so¬
ciety, requires, that there should be a subordination of
orders, or diversity of ranks and conditions in it;—
that certain men, or orders of men, be appointed to
superintend and manage such affairs as concern the
public safety and happiness j—that all have their par¬
ticular provinces assigned them 5 that such a subordi¬
nation be settled among them as none of them may
interfere with another ; and finally, that certain rules
or common measures of action be agreed on, by which
each is to discharge his respective duty to govern or
be governed, and all may concur in securing the order,
and promoting the felicity, of the whole political
body. Those rules of action are the laws of the com¬
munity •, and those different orders are the several of¬
ficers or magistrates appointed by the public to explain
them, and superintend or assist in their execution. In
consequence of this settlement of things, it is the duty
of each individual to obey the laws enacted ; to submit
to the executors of them with all due deference and
homage, according to their respective ranks and dig¬
nity, as to the keepers of the public peace, and the
guardians of public liberty } to maintain his own rank,
and perform the functions of his own station, with di¬
ligence, fidelity, and incorruption. The superiority
of the higher orders, or the authority with which the
state has invested them, entitle them, especially if they
employ their authority well, to the obedience and sub¬
mission of the lower, and to a proportionable honour
and respect from all. The subordination of the lower
ranks claims protection, defence, and security from
the higher. And the laws, being superior to all, re¬
quire the obedience and submission of all, being the
last resort, beyond which there is no decision or ap¬
peal.
Public spirit, heroic •zeal, love of liberty, and the
other political duties, do, above all others, recommend
ILOSOPHY.
Part Id
those who practise them to the admiration and ho- Duties oi
mage of mankind ; because, as they are the offspring Society,
of the noblest minds, so are they the parents of the 1
greatest blessing to society. Yet, exalted as they are,
it is only in equal and free governments where they 0f public
can be exercised and have their due effect j for there spirit,lovd
only does a true public spirit prevail, and there only liberty j|
is the public good made the standard of the civil con-c c‘ I
stitution. As the end of society is the common inte¬
rest and welfare of the people associated, this end must
of necessity be the supreme law, or common standard, by
which the particular rules of action of the several
members of the society towards each other are to be
regulated. But a common interest can be no other than
that which is the result of the common reason or com
mon feelings of all. Private men, or a particular or¬
der of men, have interests and feelings peculiar to
themselves, and of which they may be good judges y
but these may be separate from, and often contrary to,
the interests and feelings of the rest of the society j
and therefore they can have no right to make, and
much less to impose, laws on their fellow' citizens, in¬
consistent with, and opposite to, those interests and
those feelings. Therefore, a society, a government, ov
real public, truly worthy the name, and not a confe¬
deracy of banditti, a clan of lawless savages, or a band
of slaves under the whip of a master, must be such a
one as consists of freemen, choosing or consenting to
laws themselves; or, since it often happens that they
cannot assemble and act in a collective body, delega¬
ting a sufficient number of representatives, i. e. such-
a number as shall most fully comprehend, and most e-
qually represent, their common feelings and common inte¬
rests, to digest and vote laws for the conduct and con-
troul of the whole body, the most agreeable to those
common feelings and common interests.
A society thus constituted by common reason, and Political
formed on the plan of a common interest, becomes im-d^l*s®.J
166
mediately an object of public attention, public venera ^ ^
tion, public obedience, a public and inviolable attach¬
ment, which ought neither to be seduced by bribes,
nor awed by terrors j an object, in fine, of all those
extensive and important duties which arise from so glo¬
rious a confederacy. To watch over such a system
to contribute all he can to promote its good by his
reason, his ingenuity, his strength, and every other
ability, whether natural or acquired y to resist, and,
to the utmost of his power, defeat every encroachment
upon it, whether carried on by a secret corruption or
open violence ; and to sacrifice his ease, his wealth, his
power, nay life itself, and, what is dearer, still, his fa¬
mily and friends, to defend or save it, is the duty, the
honour, the interest, and the happiness of every citi¬
zen y it will make him venerable and beloved while he
lives, be lamented and honoured if he falls in so glori¬
ous a cause, and transmit his name with immortal re¬
nown to the latest posterity. _ 167
As the People are the fountain of pmver and au- Of tU
thority, the original seat of majesty, the authors ofpt0PlC
laws, and the creators of officers to execute themif
they shall find the power they have conferred abused
by their trustees, their majesty violated by tyranny or
by usurpation, their authority prostituted to support
violence or screen corruption, the laws grown perni¬
cious through accidents unforeseen or unavoidable, or
rendered
i,r
t II. MORAL? H IL O S O P H Y.
rendered intlFectual through the infidelity and corrup¬
tion of the executors of them then it is their right,
and what is their right is their duty, to resume that
delegated power, and call their trustees to an account j
to resist the usurpation, and extirpate the tyranny ; to
restore their sullied majesty and prostituted authority ;
to suspend, alter, or abrogate those laws, and punish
their unfaithful and corrupt officers. Nor is it the duty
only of the united body j but every member of it ought,
according to his respective rank, power, and weight in
the community, to concur in advancing and supporting
these glorious designs.
Resistance, therefore, being undoubtedly lawful in
extraordinary emergencies, the question, among good
reasoners, can only be wdth regard to the degree of
necessity which can justify resistance, and render it ex¬
pedient or commendable. And here we must acknow¬
ledge, that, with Mr Hume *, “ we shall always in¬
cline to their side that draw the bond of allegiance
very close, and who consider an infringement of it as
the last refuge in desperate cases, when the public is
in the highest danger from violence and tyranny. For
besides the mischiefs of a civil war, which commonly
attends insurrection, it is certain, that where a dispo¬
sition to rebellion appears among any people, it is one
chief cause of tyranny in the rulers, and forces them
into many violent measures, which, had every one been
inclined to submission and obedience, they would never
have embraced. Thus the tyrannicide, or assassination
approved of by ancient maxims, instead of keeping
tyrants and usurpers in awe, made them ten times more
fierce and unrelenting 5 and is now justly abolished on
that account by the laws of nations, and universally con¬
demned, as a base and treacherous method of bringing
to justice those disturbers of society.”
389
, 16S
ine
: nex-
1169
i stence
•j lod.
Duty to
God.
Chap. IV. Duty to God.
Of all the 7'elations which the human mind sustains,
that which subsists between the Creator and his crea¬
tines, the supreme Lawgiver and his subjects, is the
highest and the best. This relation arises from the na¬
ture of a creature in general, and the constitution of
the human mind in particular j the noblest powers and
affections of which point to an universal Mind, and
would be imperfect and abortive without such a direc¬
tion. How lame then must that system of morals be,
which leaves a Deity out of the question ! How dis¬
consolate, and how destitute of its firmest support!
It does not appear, from any true history or expe¬
rience of the mind’s progress, that any man, by any
formal deduction of his discursive power, ever reason¬
ed himself into the belief of a God. Whether such a
belief is only some natural anticipation of soul, or is
derived from father to son, and from one man to ano¬
ther, in the way of tradition, or is suggested to us in
consequence of an immutable law of our nature, on be¬
holding the august aspect and beautiful order of the
universe, we will not pretend to determine. What
seems most agreeable to experience is, that a sense of
its beauty and grandeur, and the admirable fitness of one
thing to another in its vast apparatus, leads the mind
necessarily and unavoidably to a perception of a design,
or of a designing cause, the origin of all, by a progress
as simple and natural as that by which a beautiful pic¬
ture or a fine building suggests to us the idea of an ex¬
cellent artist. For it seems to hold universally true, that
wherever we discern a tendency or co-operation of things
towards a certain end, or producing a common effect,
there, by a necessary law of association, we apprehend
design, a designing energy or cause. No matter whether
the objects are natural or artificial, still that suggestion
is unavoidable, and the connexion\>t\.vwex\ the effect and
its adequate cause obtrudes itself on the mind, and it
requires no nice search or elaborate deduction of reason
to trace or prove that connexion. We are particu¬
larly satisfied of its truth in the subject before us by a
kind of direct intuition ; and we do not seem to attend
to the maxim we learn in schools, “ That there cannot
be an infinite series of causes and effects, producing
and produced by one another.” That maxim is fami¬
liar only to metaphysicians j but all men of sound un¬
derstanding are led to believe the existence of a God.
We are conscious of our existence, of thought, sentiment,
and passion, and sensible withal that these came not of
ourselves 5 therefore we immediately recognize & parent
mind, an original intelligence, from whom we borrowed
those little portions of thought and activity. And
while we not only feel kind affections in ourselves, and
discover them in others, but likewise behold round us
such a number and variety of ci’eatures, endued with
natures nicely adjusted to their several stations and
economies, supporting and supported by each other,
and all sustained by a common order of things, and shar¬
ing different degrees of happiness according to their
respective capacities, we are naturally and necessarily
led up to the Father of such a numerous offspring, the
fountain of such wide-spx-ead happiness. As we con¬
ceive this Being before all, above all, and greater than
all, we naturally, and without reasoning, ascribe to
him every kind of perfection, wisdom, power, and
goodness without hounds, existing through all time,
and pervading all space. We apply to him those glo- His rela-
rious epithets of our Creator, Preserver, Benefactor, the ^on t0
supreme Lord and Lawgiver of the whole society of ra-
tional and intelligent creatures. Not only the imper¬
fections and wants of our being and condition, but
some of the noblest instincts and affections of our
minds, connect us with this great and universal nature.
The mind, in its progress from object to object, from
one character and prospect of beauty to another, finds
some blemish or deficiency in each, and soon exhausts
or grows weary and dissatisfied with its subject j it
sees no character of excellency among men equal to
that pitch of esteem which it is capable of exerting j
no object within the compass of human things ade¬
quate to the strength of its affection : nor can it stay
anywhere in this self-expansive progress, or find repose
after its highest flights, till it arrives at a Being of
unbounded greatness and worth, on whom it may em¬
ploy its sublimest powers without exhausting the sub¬
ject, and give scope to the utmost force and fulness of
its love without satiety or disgust. So that the nature
of this Being corresponds to the nature of man; nor
can his intelligent and moral powers obtain their entire
end, hut on the supposition of such a Being, and with¬
out a real sympathy and communication with him.
The native propensity of the mind to reverence what¬
ever is great and wonderful in nature, finds a proper
object of homage in him who spread out the heavens
and
170
39°
Duty to
God.
I7I ,
Immorality
of impiety.
172
Flight opi¬
nions of
God.
*73
national
faith.
MORAL PH
and the earth, and who sustains and govern? the whole
of things. The admiratrm of beauty, the love ol or¬
der, and the complacency we feel in goodness, must rise
to the highest pitch, and attain, the full vigour and joy
of their operations, when they unite m him wno is tne
sum and source ol all perfection.
It is evident from the slightest survey of morals,
that how punctual soever one may he in performing
the duties which result from our relations to mankind,
yet to be quite deficient in performing those which
arise from our relation to the Almighty, must argue a
strange perversion of reason or depravity of heart. It
imperfect degrees of worth attract our veneration, and
if the want of it would imply an insensibility, or,
which is worse, an aversion to merit, what lameness
of affection or immorality of character must it be to
be unaffected with, and much more to be ill-affected
to, a Being of superlative worth ! To love society, or
particular members of it, and yet to have no sense of
our connexion with its Head, no affection to our com¬
mon Parent and Benefactor-, to be concerned about
the approbation or censure of our fellow creatures, and
yet to feel nothing of this kind towards him who sees
and weighs our actions with unerring wisdom and
justice, and can fully reward or punish them, betrays
equal madness and partiality of mind. It is plain,
therefore, beyond all doubt, that some regards are due
to the great Father of all, in whom every lovely and
adorable quality combines to inspire veneration and
homage.
As it has been observed already, that our affections
depend on our opinions of their objects, and generally
keep pace with them, it must be of the highest im¬
portance, and seems to be among the first duties we
owe to the Author of our being, “ to form the least
imperfect, since we cannot form perfect, conceptions
of his character and administration.'1'1 For such concep¬
tions, thoroughly imbibed, will render our religion ra¬
tional, and our dispositions refined. If our opinions are
diminutive and distorted, our religion will be super¬
stitious, and our temper abject. Thus, it we ascribe
to the Deity that false majesty which consists in the
unbenevolent and sullen exercise of mere will ax power,
or suppose him to delight in the prostrations of servile
fear, or as servile praise, he will be worshipped with
mean adulation ami a profusion of compliments. Far¬
ther, If he be looked upon as a stern and implacable
Being, delighting in vengeance, he will be adored with
pompous offerings, sacrifices, or whatever else may be
thought proper to soothe and mollify him. But it
we believe perfect goodness to be the character ot the
supreme Being, and that he loves those most who re¬
semble him most, the worship paid him will be rational
and sublime, and his worshippers will seek to please
him by imitating that goodness which they adore.
The foundation then of all true religion is a rational
faith. And of a rational faith these seem to be the
chief articles, to believe, “ that an infinite all-perfect
Mind exists, wdio has no opposite nor any separate in¬
terest from that of his creatures : that he superintends
and governs all creatures-, and things ;—that his good¬
ness extends to all his creatures, in different degrees
indeed, according to their respective natures, hut with¬
out any partiality or envy :—that he does every thing
for the best, or in a subserviency to the perfection and
2
175
I LO SOPHY. Parti!
happiness of the whole 5 particularly that he directs Dutvt(
and governs the affairs of men, inspects their actions, G'od.
distinguishes the good from the bad, loves and befriends w—v—<
the former, is displeased with and pities the latter in
this world, and will according to their respective de¬
serts reward one and punisn the other in the next j—
that, in fine, he is always carrying on a scheme of vir¬
tue and happiness through an unlimited duration ; and
is ever guiding the universe, through its successive
stages and periods, to higher degrees of perfection and
felicity.” This is true Theism, the glorious scheme
of divine faith a scheme exhibited in all the works
of God, and executed through his whole administra¬
tion. I74
This faith, well founded and deeply felt, is nearly Moralit
connected with a true moral taste, and hath a powerfultlieisnu
efficacy on the temper and manners of the theist. He
who admires goodness in others, and delights in the
practice of it, must be conscious of a reigning older
within, a rectitude and candour of heart, which dis¬
poses him to entertain favourable apprehensions of men,
and, from an impartial survey of things, to presume
that good order and goodmevning prevail in the universe j
and if good meaning and good order, then an order¬
ing, an intending mind, who is no enemy, no tyrant to
his creatures, but a friend, a benefactor, an indulgent
sovereign. On the other hand, a bad,man, having no- w
thing goodly or generous to contemplate within, no right
intentions, nor honesty of heart, suspects every person05 a Kl
and every thing ; and, beholding nature through the
gloom of a selfish and guilty mmd, is either averse to
the belief of a reigning order, or, if he cannot suppress
the unconquerable anticipations of a governing mind,
he is prone to tarnish the beauty ot nature, and to im¬
pute malevolence, or blindness and impotence at least,
to the Sovereign Ruler. He turns the universe into
a forlorn and horrid waste, and transfers his own cha¬
racter to the Deity, by ascribing to him that uncom¬
municative grandeur, that arbitrary or revengeful spi¬
rit, which he affects or admires in himself. As such
a temper of mind naturally leads to atheism, or to a su¬
perstition fully as bad; therefore, as far as that temper de¬
pends on the unhappy creature on whom it prevails, the
propensity to atheism or superstition consequent thereto
must be immoral. Farther, If it be true that the belief
or sense of a Deity is natural to the mind, and the evi¬
dence of his existence reflected from his works so full as
to strike even the most superficial observer with convic¬
tion, then the supplanting or corrupting that sense, or
the want of due attention to that evidence, and, in corf-
sequence of both, a supine ignorance or affected unbe¬
lief of a Deity, must argue a bad temper or an immoral
turn of mind. In the case of invincible ignorance, or a
very bad education, though nothing can be concluded
directly against the character; yet whenever ill passions
and habits pervert the judgment, and by perverting the
judgment terminate in atheism, then the case becomes
plainly criminal.
But let casuists determine this as they will, a trueTjiec0| \
faith in the divine character and administration is ge-nexion j
nerally the consequence of a virtuous state of mm -VJ*®
The man who is truly and habitually good, feels the
love of order, of beauty, and goodness, in the strongest
degree ; and therefore cannot be insensible to those ema¬
nations of them which appear in all the works of God,
nor
176
art II.
MORAL PH
177
uties of
iititude,
re, &c.
I/O
leraffec-
1
nor help loving their supreme source and model. He
cannot but think, that lie who has poured such beauty
and goodness over all bis works, must himself delight in
beauty and goodness, and what he delights in must be
both amiable and happy. Some indeed there are, and
it is pity there should lie any such, who, through the
unhappy influence of a wrong education, have entertain¬
ed dark and unfriendly thoughts of the Deity and his ad¬
ministration, though otherwise of a virtuous temper them¬
selves. However, it must be acknowledged, that such
sentiments have, for the most part, a bad effect on the
temper j and when they have not, it is because the un¬
depraved affections of an honest heart are more power¬
ful in their operation than the speculative opinions of an
ill-informed head.
But wherever right conceptions of the Deitv and his
providence prevail, when he is considered as the inex-
hausted source of light, and love, and joy, as acting
in the joint character of a Father and Governor, impart¬
ing an endless variety of capacities to his creatures,
and supplying them with every thing necessary to
their full completion and happiness j what veneration
and gratitude must such conceptions, thoroughly be¬
lieved, excite in the mind P How natural and delight¬
ful must it he to one whose heart is open to the per¬
ception of truth, and of every thing fair, great, and
wonderful in nature, to contemplate and adore him
who is the first /afr, the first great, and first wonderful;
in whom wisdom, power, and goodness, dwell vitally, es¬
sentially, originally, and act in perfect concert ? What
grandeur is here to fill the most enlarged capacity,
what beauty to engage the most ardent love, what a mass
of wonders in such exuberance of perfection to astonish
and delight the human mind through an unfailing du¬
ration !
If the Deity is considered as our supreme Guardian
and Benefactor, as the Father of Mercies, who loves
his creatures with infinite tenderness, and in a particu¬
lar manner all good men, nay all who delight in good¬
ness, even in its most imperfect degrees *, what resig¬
nation, what dependence, what generous confidence,
what hope in God and his all-wise providence, must
arise in the soul that is possessed of such amiable views
of him ! All those exercises of piety, and above all a
superlative esteem and love, are directed to God as to
their natural, their ultimate, and indeed their only ade-
yuate object •, and though the immense obligations we
have received from him may excite in us more lively
feelings of divine goodness than a general and abstract¬
ed contemplation of it, yet the affections of gratitude
and love are of themselves of the generous disinterested
kind, not the result of self-interest, or views of reward.
A perfect character, in which we always suppose infi¬
nite goodness, guided by unerring wisdom, and sup¬
ported by almighty power, is the proper object of per¬
fect love ; which, as such, we are forcibly drawn to
pursue and to aspire after. In the contemplation of the
divine nature and attributes, we find at last what the
ancient philosophers sought in vain, the supreme and
sovereign good } from which all other goods arise,
and in which they are all contained. The Deity there¬
fore challenges our supreme and sovereign love, a senti¬
ment which, whosoever indulges, must be confirmed in
the love of virtue, in a desire to imitate its all-perfect
pattern, and in a cheerful security that all his great
391
Duty to
God.
ILQSOPHY.
concerns, those of his friends and of the universe, shall
be absolutely safe under the conduct of unerring wis¬
dom and unbounded goodness. It is in his care and
providence alone that the good man, who is anxious for
the happiness of all, finds perfect serenity; a serenity
neither ruffled by partial ill nor soured by private dis¬
appointment. *
When we consider the unstained purity and absolute Repent-
perfection of the divine nature, and reflect withal 0n ance>
the imperfection and various blemishes of our own, we
must sink, or be convinced we ought to sink, into the
deepest humility and prostration of soul before him who
is so wonderfully great and holy. When, further, we
call to mind what low and languid feelings we have of
the divine presence and majesty, what insensibility of
his fatherly and universal goodness, nay, what un¬
grateful returns we have made to it, how far we
come short of the perfection of his law and the dignity
oi our own nature, how much we have indulged the sel¬
fish passions, and how little we have cherished the be¬
nevolent ones ; we must be conscious that it is our duty
to repent of a temper and conduct so unworthy our na¬
ture and unbecoming our obligations to its Author, and
to resolve and endeavour to act a wiser and better part
for the future. ^
Nevertheless, from the character which his works Hopes of'
exhibit of him, from those delays or alleviations of pu-Paidon-
nishment which offenders often experience, and from
the merciful tenor of his administration in many other
instances, the sincere penitent may entertain good hopes
that his Parent and Judge will not be strict to mark
iniquity, but will he propitious and favourable to him,
if he honestly endeavours to avoid his former practices,
and subdue his former habits, and to live in a greater
conformity to the divine will for the future. If any
doubts or fears should still remain, how far it may be
consistent with the rectitude and equity of the divine
government to let his iniquities pass unpunished, yet he
cannot think it unsuitable to his paternal clemency and
wisdom to contrive a method of retrieving the penitent
offender, that shall unite and reconcile the majesty and
mercy of his government. If reason cannot of itself
suggest such a scheme, it gives at least some ground to
expect it. But though natural religion cannot let in
moral light and assurance on so interesting a subject,
yet it will teach the humble theist to wait with great
submission for any farther intimations it may please the
supreme Governor to give of his will ; to examine with
candour and impartiality whatever evidence shall be
proposed to him of a divine revelation, whether that evi¬
dence is natural or supernatural; to embrace it with
veneration and cheerfulness, if the evidence is clear and
convincing; and, finally, if it bring to light any neiv
relations or connexions, natural religion will persuade its
sincere votary faithfully to comply with the obligations,
and perform the duties which result from those relations
and connexions. This is theism, piety, the completion
of morality !
We must farther observe, that all those affections WoJdL
which we supposed to regard the Deity as their irnmc- pi'^ise,
diatc and primary object, are vital energies of the soul tl.ianks-
and consequently exert themselves into' act, and, like§ivil,g’
all other energies, gain strength or greater activity by
that exertion. It is therefore our duty as well as high¬
est interest, otten at stated times, and bv decent and so¬
lemn
392
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duty to lenm acts, to contemplate and adore the great Original
God. of our existence, the Parent ot all beauty and of all
——y——1 g00d j to express our veneration and love by an awful
and devout recognition of his perfections 5 and to evi¬
dence our gratitude by celebrating his goodness, and
thankfully acknowledging all his benefits. It is like¬
wise our duty, by proper exercises of sorrow and humi¬
liation, to confess our ingratitude and folly > to signify
our dependence on God, and our confidence in his
goodness, by imploring his blessing and gracious con¬
currence in assisting the weakness and curing the cor¬
ruptions of our nature ; and, finally, to testify our sense
of his authority, and our faith in his government, by
devoting ourselves to do his will, and resigning ourselves
to his disposal. These duties are not therefore obliga¬
tory, because the Deity needs or can he profited by
them $ but as they are apparently decent and moral,
suitable to the relations he sustains of our Creator, Be¬
nefactor, Lawgiver, and Judge ; expressive of our state
and obligations $ and improving to our tempers, by
making us more rational, social, god-like, and conse¬
quently more happy.
We have now considered INTERNAL piety, or the
worship oj the mind, that which is in spirit and in
truth ’, we shall conclude the section with a short ac¬
count of that which is External. External worship
is founded on the same principles as internal, and of
as strict moral obligation. It is either private or pub¬
lic. Devotion that is inward or purely intellectual, is
too spiritual and abstracted an operation for the bulk
of mankind. The operations of their minds, such espe¬
cially as are employed on the most sublime, immateiial
objects, must be assisted by their outward organs, or by
182
External
worship.
Part II
some help from the imagination ; otherwise they will Duty to
soon he dissipated by sensible impressions, or grow tire- God.
some if too long continued. Ideas are such fleeting '■“""V—
things, that they must be fixed 5 and so subtle, that
they must be expressed and delineated, as it were, by
sensible marks and images^ otherwise we cannot attend
to them, nor be much affected by them. Therefore,
verbal adoration, prayer, praise, thanksgiving, and con¬
fession, are admirable aids to inward devotion, fix our
attention, compose and enliven our thoughts, impress
us more deeply with a sense ot the awful presence in
which we are, and, by a natural and mechanical sort of
influence, tend to heighten those devout feelings and af¬
fections which we ought to entertain, and after this
manner reduce into formal and explicit act.
This holds true in a higher degree in the case ofpuUicJ
public worship, where the presence of our fellow-crea-worship,
tures, and the powerful contagion of the social affec¬
tions, conspire to kindle and spread the devout flame
with greater warmth and energy. To conclude : As
God is the parent and head of the social system, as he
has formed us for a social state, as by one we find the
best security against the ills of life, and in the other
enjoy its greatest comforts, and as, by means of both,
our nature attains its highest improvement and perfec¬
tion ; and moreover, as there are public blessings and
crimes in which we all share in some degree, and pub¬
lic wants and dangers to which all are exposed—it is
therefore evident, that the various and solemn offices
of public religion are duties of indispensable moral ob¬
ligation, among the best cements of society, the firm¬
est prop of government, and the fairest ornament of
both.
PART III.
184
Dignity
and import¬
ance of the
subject.
185
Sensible
ideas and
sensible
taste.
Chap. I. 0/Practical Ethics, or the Culture
of the Mind.
WE have now gone through a particular detail of
the several duties we owe to Ourselves, to Society,
and to God. In considering the first order of duties,
we just touched on the methods of acquiring the differ¬
ent kinds of goods which we are led by nature to pur¬
sue *, only we left the consideration of the method of
acquiring the moi'al goods of the mind to a chapter by
itself, because of its singular importance. T-his chapter
then will contain a brief enumeration ot the arts of ac¬
quiring virtuous habits, and of eradicating vicious ones,
us far as is consistent with the brevity of such a work :
a subject of the utmost difficulty as well as importance
in morals ; to which, nevertheless, the least attention
has been generally given by moral writers. Ihis will
properly follow a detail of duty, as it will direct us to
such means or helps as are most necessary and conducive
to the practice of it.
In the first part of this inquiry w-e traced the order
in which the passions shoot up in the diflerent periods
of human life. That order is not accidental or depend¬
ent on the caprice of men, or the influence of custom
and education, but arises from the original constitution
and laws of our nature } of which this is one, viz.
I
« That sensible objects make the first and strongest inw
pressions on the mind.” These, by means of our out¬
ward organs, being conveyed to the mind, become ob¬
jects of its attention, on which it reflects when the out¬
ward objects are no longer present, or, in other words,
when the impressions upon the outward organs cease.
These objects of the mind’s reflection are called ideas
or notions. Towards these, by another law of our na¬
ture, we are not altogether indifferentbut correspond¬
ent movements of desire or aversion, love or hatred,
arise, according as the objects which they denote made
an agreeable or disagreeable impression on our organs.
Those ideas and affections which we experience in the
first period of life, we refer to the body, or to sense;
and the taste, which is formed towards them, we ca
a sensible, or a merely natural taste ; and the objects
corresponding to them we in general call good or plea-
sant. lh6
But as the mind moves forward in its course, it ex- Ideas of j
tends its views, and receives a new and more complex J
set of ideas, in which it observes uniformity, variety, ,
similitude, symmetry of parts, reference to an end, no¬
velty, grandeur. These compose a vast train and diver¬
sity of imageny, which the mind compounds, divides,
and moulds into a thousand forms, in the absence of
those objects which first introduced it. And this mor«
complicated imagery suggests a new train of desires
1 affections,
id
mo-
taste
irt III. MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
jlture of affections, full as sprightly and engaging as any which
e Mind, have yet appeared. This whole class oiperceptions or
-"v ' impressions is referred to the imagination, and forms a
higher taste than the sensible, and which has an imme¬
diate and mighty influence on the finer passions of our
nature, and is commonly termed a fine taste.
The objects which correspond to this taste we use to
call beautiful, great, harmonious, or wonderful, or in ge-
neral by the name of beauty.
ora!ideas The mind, still pushing onwards and increasing its
stock of ideas, ascends from those to a higher species of
objects, viz. the order and mutual relations of minds to
each other, their reciprocal affections, characters, ac¬
tions, and various aspects. In these it discovers a beau¬
ty, a grandeur, a decorum, more interesting and allur¬
ing than in any of the former kinds. These objects, or
the notions of them, passing in review before the mind,
do, by a necessary law of our nature, call forth ano¬
ther and nobler set of affections, as admiration, esteem,
love, honour, gratitude, benevolence, and others of the
like tribe. This class of perfections, and their corre¬
spondent affections, we refer, because of their objects
{manners'), to a moral sense, and call the taste or tem¬
per they excite, moral. And the objects which are
agreeable to this taste or temper we denominate by the
general name of moral beauty, in order to distinguish it
18S from the other, which is termed natural.
rceyof These different sets of ideas or notions are the ma-
oeia ion. terjajs abou(; which the mind employs itself, which it
blends, ranges, and diversifies ten thousand different
ways. It feels a strong propension to connect and as¬
sociate those ideas among which it observes any simili¬
tude or any aptitude, whether original and natural, or
customary and artificial, to suggest each other. See
Metaphysics.
But whatever the reasons are, whether similitude, co¬
existence, causality, or any other aptitude or relation, why
any two or more ideas are connected by the mind at
first, it is an established law of our nature, “ that when
two or more ideas have often started in company, they
form so strong an union, that it is very difficult ever af¬
ter to separate them.” Thus the lover cannot separate
the idea oimerit from his mistress ; the courtier that of
dignity from his title or ribbon; the miser that of hap¬
piness from his bags. It is these associations of worth
or happiness with any of the different sets of objects or
images before specified that form our taste or complex
idea of good. Byanother law of our nature, “ our affec¬
tions follow and are governed by this taste. And to
these affections our character and conduct are similar
and proportioned on the general tenor of which our hap¬
piness principally depends.”
1 ding ad our leading passions then depend on the dB
p ionsfol-rection which our taste takes, and as it is always of
the same strain with our leading associations, it is worth
while to inquire a little more particularly how these
are formed, in order to detect the secret sources from
whence our passions derive their principal strength,
their various rises and falls. For this will give us the
true key to their management, and let us into the
right method of correcting the bad and improving the
good.
•'ifi -i
189
}iVS Of
iciation.
190
taste.
F91
tij e hind of objects make so powerful an impression
Hr the on l,s as those which are immediately impressed on our
I'fna. senses, or strongly painted on our imaginations. Wbat-
Vol. XLV. Part I. . f
over is purely intellectual, as abstracted 01* scientific Culture of
truths, the subtle relations and differences of things, the Mind.
has a fainter sort of existence in the mind ; and though v——'
it may exercise and whet the memory, the judgment,
or the reasoning power, gives hardly any impulse at all
to the active powers, the passions, which are the main
springs of motion. On the other hand, were the mind
entirely under the direction of sense, and impressible on¬
ly by such objects as are present, and strike some of the
outward organs, we should then be precisely in the state
ot the brute creation, and be governed solely by instinct
or appetite, and have no power to controul whatever im¬
pressions are made upon us : Nature has therefore en¬
dued us with a middle faculty, wonderfully adapted to
our mixed state, which holds partly of sense and partly
of reason, being strongly allied to the former, and the
common receptacle in which all the notices that come
from that quarter are treasured up ; and yet greatly
subservient and ministerial to the latter, by giving a
body, a coherence, and beauty to its conceptions. This
middle faculty is called the imagination, one of the most
busy and fruitful powers of the mind. Into this com¬
mon storehouse are likewise carried all those moral
forms which are derived from our moral faculties of
perception 5 and there they often undergo new changes
and appearances, by being mixed and wrought up with
the ideas and forms of sensible or natural things. By
this coalition of imagery, natural beauty is dignified and
heightened by moral qualities and perfections, and mo¬
ral qualities are at once exhibited and set off' by natu¬
ral beauty. The sensible beauty, or good, is refined
from its dross by partaking of the moral; and the mo¬
ral receives a stamp, a visible character and currency,
from the sensible. l9 .
As wre are first of all accustomed to sensible impres- Its energy
sions vlx\&sensible enjoyments, we contract early a sensual van0lLS.
relish or love of pleasure, in the lower sense of the word,
In order, however, to justify this relish, the mind, as jng8sensib]e
it becomes open to higher perceptions of beauty and pleasures;
good, borrows from thence a noble set of images, as fine
taste, generosity, social affections, friendship, good fel¬
lowship, and the like j and, by dressing out the old
pursuits with these new ornaments, gives them an addi¬
tional dignity and lustre. By these ways the desire of a
table, love oj finery, intrigue, and pleasure, are vastly
increased beyond their natural pitch, having an impulse
combined of the force of the natural appetites, and of
the superadded strength of those passions which tend to.
the moral species. When the mind becomes more sen- ening^he"
sible to those objects or appearances in which it per- pleasures
ceives beauty, uniformity, grandeur, and harmony, as of beauty,
fine clothes, elegant furniture, plate, pictures, gardens, harmony,
houses, equipage, the beauty of animals, and particu-®10,
larly the attractions of the sex ; to these objects the
mind is led by nature or taught by custom, the opinion
and example of others, to annex certain ideas of moi-al
character, dignity, decorum, honour, liberality, tender¬
ness, and active or social enjoyment. The consequence
of this association is, that the objects to which these are
annexed must rise in their value, and be pursued with
proportionable ardour. The enjoyment of them is often
attended with pleasure; and the mere possession of them,
where that is wanting, frequently draws respect from
one’s fellow-creatures: This respect is, by many,
thought equivalent to the pleasure of enjoyment. Hence
3 » it
symbols,
&c.
u)4 MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Cultma of it happens that the idea of happiness Is connected with
tiie Mud. the mere possession, which is therefore eagerly sought at-
ter without any regard to the generous use or honourable
enjoyment. Thus the passion, resting on the means not
the end, i. e. losing sight ot its natural object, becomes
■wild and extravagant.
• In fine, any object, or external denomination, a stajj,
the value & garter, a cup, a crown, a title, mz.y become a moral
of external h^do-e or emblem of merit, magnificence, or honour, ac-
o„mK„]= Cor(iing as these have been found or thought, by the
possessors or admirers of them, to accompany them v
yet, by the deception formerly mentioned, the merit
or the conduct which entitled, or should entitle to those
marks ot distinction, shall be lorgot or neglected, and
the badges themselves be passionately adected or pm-
sued, as including every excellency. If these are at¬
tained by any means, all the concomitants which na¬
ture, custom, or accidents have joined to them, will be
supposed to follow ot course. Ihus, moral ends with
which the unhappy admirer is apt to colour ovei his
passion and views will, in his opinion, justify the most
immoral means, as prostitution, adulation, jraud, trea¬
chery, and every species of knavery, whether more open
or more disguised. . . i c i
in height- When men are once engaged m active hie, and hud
ening the t]iat wcalth and power, generally called INTEREST, are
value of tlie t avenues to every kind of enjoyment, they are
noweV’&c apt to throw in many engaging moral forms to the ob-
powe , 5cc v of the.r pursuitj iu order to justify their passion,
and varnish over the measures they take to gratily it, as
independency on the vices or passions of others, provision
and security to themselves and jriends, prudent economy
or well-placed charity, social communication, superiority
to their enemies, who are all villains, honourable service,
and many other ingredients ol merit, lo attain such
capacities of usefulness or enjoyment, what arts, nay
what meannesses, can he thought blameable by those,
cool pursuers of interest ?—Nor have they whom the
gay world is pleased, to indulge with the title ol men oj
i • • • a* i tiritl-i in nr a 1,
195
pleasure, their imaginations less pregnant with moral
images, with which they never fail to ennoble, or, it
they cannot do that, to palliate their gross pursuits.
Thus admiration of wit, of sentiments and merit,jnend-
ship, love, generous sympathy, mutual confidence, giving
and 'receivingpleasure, are the ordinary ingredients with
which they season their gallantry and pleasurable enter¬
tainments ; and by which they impose on themselves,
and endeavour to impose on others, that their amouis
are the joint issue of good sense and virtue.
196 These associations, variously combined and propor-
fts influ- tioned b the imagination, form the chief private pas-
Sepikslms, which govern the lives of the general,ty, as the
love of action, of pleasure, power, wealth, and fame,
they influence the defensive, and affect the public pas¬
sions, and raise joy or sorrow as they are gratified or
disappointed. So that in effect these associations of
good and evil, beauty and deformity, and the passions
they raise, are the main hinges of life and manners, and
the great sources of our happiness or misery. It is evi¬
dent^ therefore, that the whole of moral cidture must
depend on giving a right direction to the leading pas¬
sions, and duly proportioning them to the value of the
objects or goods pursued, under what name soever they
may appear. . . 7 7. . ,
Now, in order to give them this right direction and
Part nil
due proportion, it appears from the foiegomg detail, Culture oi!
that those associations ol ideas, upon which the passions the Mind,
depend, must be duly regelated •, that is to say, as an |
exorbitant passion for wealth, pleasure, or power, h0^ vioml ceI.]
from an association or opinion, that more beauty and ture! by
o-ood, whether natural or moral, enters into the enjoy-correcting
ment or possession of them, than really belongs to ei-ourteite :
ther ; therefore, in restoring those passions to their just ‘ |
proportion, we must begin with correcting the opinion,
or breaking the false association, or, in other words, we
must decompound the complex phantom of happiness or
(rood, which we fondly admire j disunite those ideas that
have no natural alliance j and separate the original idea
of wealth, power, or pleasure, from the foreign mix¬
tures, incorporated with it, which enhance its value, or
give it its chief power to enchant and seduce the mind.
For instance, let it be considered how poor and inconsi¬
derable a thing wealth is, if it be disjoined from real
use, or from ideas of capacity in the possessor to do good,
from independence, generosity, provision for a family ox
friends, and social communication with others. _ By this-
standard let its true value be fixed; let its misapplica¬
tion, or unbenevolent enjoyment, be accounted soidid
and infamous j. a,nd nothing worthy or estimable be as¬
cribed to the mere possession of it, which is not borrow¬
ed from its generous use. „ , , YL
If that complex form ot good which is called pleasure ^ ^
engage us, let it be analyzed into its constituent pnn- counter-
ciples, or those allurements it draws from the //iW'Vocess;
and imagination, in order to heighten the low part of
the indulgence ”, \nt \\\e separate and.,comparative mo¬
ment of each be distinctly ascertained and deduced from
that gross part, and this remainder of the accumulated
enjoyment will dwindle down into a poor, insipid, tian-
sitory thing. In proportion as the opinion oi the good
pursued abates, the admiration must decay, and thejoos-
sions lose strength of course. One effectual vvay to
lower the opinion, and consequently to weaken the ha¬
bit founded upon it, is to practise lesser pieces of self-
1 mtrli. from the Dur*
Dii louimeu ujjuu i .? 10 to ~ ~  r
denial, or to abstain, to a certain pitch, from the pur¬
suit or enjoyment of the favourite object j and, that tins
may be the more easily accomplished, one must avoid
those occasions, that company, those places, and the
other circumstances, that inflamed one and endeared the
other. And, as a counter-process, let higher or even
different enjoyments be brought in view, other passions
played upon the former, different places frequented,
other exercises tried, company kept with persons ol a
different qr more correct way of thinking both in natu¬
ral and moral subjects. . whvJSi
As much depends on our setting out well m fife, le^dnaUl
the youthful fancy, which is apt to he very florid ^ etlucaue
luxuriant, he early accustomed by instruction, example,
and significant moral exercises, nay, by looks, gestures,
and every other testimony of just approbation or blame,
to annex ideas of merit, honour, and happiness, not to
birth, dress, rank, beauty,fortune, power, popularity,
and the like outward things, but to moral and truly vir¬
tuous qualities, and to those enjoyments which spring from
a well-informed judgment and a regular conduct ol the
affections, especially those of the social ^disinterested
kind Such dignified forms ol beauty and good, olten
suggested, and; bv moving pictures and examples warm¬
ly recommended to the imagination, enforced by the au¬
thority of conscience, and demonstrated by reason to be
vt III.
lulture of the si,rest means °f enjoyment, and the only indepen
■Mind
200
| r rightly
udying
i rnts of
ferent
ods;
dent, undeprivalde, and durable goods, will be the best
counterbalance to meaner passions, and the firmest foun¬
dation and security of virtue.
It is of great importance to the forming vl just taste,
or pure and large conceptions of happiness, to study and
iinmna- understand human nature well, to remember what a
complicated system it is, particularly to have deeply
imprinted on our mind that gradation of senses, fa¬
culties, and powers of enjoyment formerly mentioned,
and the subordination of goods resulting from thence,
which nature points out, and the experience of man¬
kind confirms. Who, when they think seriously, and
are not under the immediate influence of some vio¬
lent prejudice or passion, prefer not the pleasures of rto
tion, contemplation, society, and most exercises and joys
of the moved kind, as friendship, natural affection, and
the like, to all semwe/gratifications whatsoever P Where,
the different species of pleasure are blended into one
complex form, let them be accurately distinguished, and
be referred each to its proper faculty and sense, and
examined apart what they have peculiar, what common
with others, and what foreign and adventitious. Let
compar- grandeur, luxury, love, fame, and the like, be
g the" tiaet^ by test, and their true alloy will be found out.
nment Let it be further considered, whether the mind may
td abate- not be easy and enjoy itself greatly, though it want
""Knf many of those elegancies and superfluities of life which
some possess, or that load of wealth and power which
others eagerly pursue, and under which they groan.
Let the difficulty of attaining, the precariousness of pos¬
sessing, and the many abatements in enjoying over¬
grown wealth and envied greatness, of which the weary
possessors so frequently complain, as the hurry of busi¬
ness, the burden of company, of paying attendance to
the fetv, and giving it to many, the cares of keeping,
the fears of losing, and the desires of increasing what
they have, and the other troubles which accompany
this pitiful drudgery and pompous servitude ; let these
and the like circumstances be often considered, that are
conducive to the removing or lessening the opinion of
such goods, and the attendant passion or set of passions
will decay of course.
observ- Let the peculiar bent of our nature and character be
tour own observed, whether we are most inclined to form associ-
iltan<i ations and relish objects of the sensible, intellectual, or
moral kind. Let that which has the ascendant be par¬
ticularly watched ; let it be directed to right objects,
be improved by proportioned exercises, and guarded by
proper checks from an opposite quarter. Thus the sen¬
sible turn may be exalted by the intellectual, and a taste
for the beauty of the fine arts, and both may be made
subservient to convey and rivet sentiments highly wore/
and public-spirited. rI bis inward survey must extend to
the strength and weaknesses of one’s nature, one’s condi¬
tions, connexions, habitudes, fortunes, studies, acquaint¬
ance, and the other circumstances of one’s life, from
which every man will form the justest estimate of bis
own dispositions and character, and the best rules for
correcting and improving them. And in order to do
this with more advantage, let those times or critical sea¬
sons be watched when the mind is best disposed towards
a change; and let them be improved by rigorous reso-
■ a lions, promises, or whatever else will engage the mind
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 395
to persevere in virture. Let the conduct, in fine, be of- Culture of
ten reviewed, and the causes of its corruption or im- the Mind.
provement he carefully observed.
aractcr.
It wall oreatly conduce to refine the moral taste and , .. 20^
, 0,. J. . . , by frequent
strengthen the virtuous temper, to accustom the mind tomora| exef_,
the frequent exercise of moral sentiments and deiermi- cises;
nations, by reading history, poetry, particularly of the
picturesque and dramatic kind, the study of the fine
ai'ts; by conversing with the most eminent for good
sense and virtue 5 but above all, by frequent and re¬
peated acts of humanity, compassion, friendship, polite¬
ness, and hospitality. It is exercise that gives health
and strength. He that reasons most frequently be¬
comes the wisest, and most enjoys the pleasures of
wisdom. He who is most often affected by objects of
compassion in poetry, history, or real life, will have his >
soul most open to pity, and its delightful pains and
duties. So he also who practices most diligently the
offices of kindness and charity, will by it cultivate
that disposition from whence all his pretensions to per¬
sonal merit must arise, his present and his future hap¬
piness. 2&4
An useful and honourable employment in life will by an ho-
administer a thousand opportunities of this kind, and n1est em‘
greatly strengthen a sense of virtue and good affections, ^ °jmen ’
■which must be nourished by light training, as well as
our understandings. For such an employment, by en¬
larging one’s experience, giving a habit of attention
and caution, or obliging one, from necessity or interest,
to keep a guard over the passions, and study the out¬
ward decencies and appearances of virtue, will by de¬
grees produce good habit, and at length insinuate the
love of virtue and honesty for its own sake. 20.
It is a great inducement to the exercise of benevo- by viewing
\e.x\c,o \.o x\o\s human nature in a favourable light, tonienanil
observe the characters and circumstances of mankind mauu^rs.in
on the fairest sides, to put the best constructions on dl ’
their actions they will bear, and to consider them as
the result of partial and mistaken rather than ill affec¬
tions, or, at worst, as the excesses of a pardonable self-
love, seldom or never the effect of pure malice. 206
Above all, the nature and consequences of virtue and by couside-
vice, their consequences being the law of our nature rat*on an<i
and will of heaven j the light in which they appear to |”'^s CKCl”
our supreme Parent and Lawgiver, and the reception
they will meet with from him, must be often attend¬
ed to. The exercises of piety, as adoration and praise
of the divine excellency, invocation of and dependence
on his aid, confession, thanksgiving, and resignation,
are habitually to he indulged, and frequently perform¬
ed, not only as medicinal, hut highly improving to the
temper. 207
To conclude: It will be of admirable efficacy to-by just
Wards eradicating bad habits, and implanting good vic'vs of'
ones, frequently to contemplate human life as the great j't"
nursery of ourfuture and immortal existence, as that state nexion
of probation in which we are to he educated for a divine with a fu-
life ; to remember, that our virtues or vices will be im-turei
mortal as ourselves, and influence our future as well as
our present happiness—and therefore, that every dispo¬
sition and action is to be regarded as pointing beyond
the present to an immortal duration.—An habitual atten¬
tion to this wide and important connexion will give a vast
compass and dignity to our sentiments and actions, a no-
3 1) 2 hie
396
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Motives to We superiority to the pleasures and pains of life, and a
Virtue, generous ambition to make our virtue as vnmoitul us
' our jjcino.
Chap. II. Motives to Virtue from Personal
Happiness.
20*3
Motives
from per¬
sonal hap¬
piness.
We have
practice of
* Vide
Part I.
chap. i. ii.
&c.
209
Happiness
of virtue
already considered our obligations to the
^  rirtuc, arising from the constitution of our
nature, by which we are led to approve a certain order
and economy of affections, and a certain course oj action
correspondent to it*. But, besides this, there are se¬
veral motives which strengthen and secure virtue,
though not themselves of a moral kind These are,
its tendency to personal happiness and the contrary ten¬
dency of vice. “ Personal happiness arises either from
the state of a man’s own mind, or from the state and
disposition of external causes towards him.”
We shall first examine the “ tendency of virtue to
happiness with respect to the state of a man’s own
from with- n,,ncl ” This is a point of the utmost consequence in
in
morals, because, unless we can convince ourselves, or
show to others, that, by doing our duly, or fulfilling
our moral obligations, we consult the greatest satisfac¬
tion of our own mind, or our highest interest on the
whole, it will raise strong and often unsurmountahle
prejudices against the practice of virtue, especially
whenever there arise any appearances of opposition be¬
tween our duty and our satisfaction or interest. To crea¬
tures so desirous of happiness, and averse to misery,
as we are., and often so oddly situated amidst contend¬
ing passions and interests, it is necessary that virtue
appear not only an honourable but a pleasing and benefi¬
cent form. And in order to justify our choice to our¬
selves as well as before others, we must ourselves feel
• and be able to avow in the face of the whole world,
that her ways are ways of pleasantness, and her paths
the paths of peace. This will show, beyond all con¬
tradiction, that we not only approve, but can give a
2io sufficient reason for what we do.
Influence of Bet any man in a cool hour, when he is disengaged
vice on the frotn business, and undisturbed by passion (as such cool
temper ot jlonrg vvj]j sometimes happen), sit down, and seriously
‘ae min ' reflect with himself what state or temper of mind he
would choose to feel and indulge, in order to be easy
and to enjov himself. Would he choose, for that pur¬
pose, to be in a constant dissipation and hurry of
thought; to be disturbed in the exercise of his rea¬
son •, to have various and often interfering phantoms
of vood playing before his imagination, soliciting and
distracting him by turns, now soothing him with amus¬
ing hopes, then torturing him with anxious fears } and
to approve this minute what he shall condemn the
next ? Would he choose to have a strong and painful
sense of every petty injury \ quick apprehensions of
every impendmtr evil j incessant and insatiable desires
of power, wealth, honour, pleasure ; an irreconcilable
antipathy against all competitors and rivals j insolent
and tyrannical dispositions to all below him *, fawning,
and at the same time envious, dispositions to all above
him; with dark suspicions and jealousies of every
' mortal ? Would he choose neither to love nor be belov¬
ed of any •, to have no friend in whom to confide, or
with whom to interchange his sentiments or designs ;
bo favourite, on whom to bestow his kindness, or vent
Part lit
his passions j in fine, to be conscious of no merit with grom Had
mankind, no esteem from any creature, no good affec- piness,
lion to his Maker, no concern for, nor hopes of, Ins v -|
approbation j but instead of all these, to hate, and
know that he is hated, to condemn, and know that be
is condemned by all ; by the good, because he is so un¬
like •, and by the bad because be is so like themselves j
to hate or to dread the very Being that made him *,
and, in short, to have his breast the seat of pride and
passion, petulance and revenge, deep melancholy, cool
malignity, and ail the other furies that ever possessed
and tortured mankind ?—-Would our calm inquirer af¬
ter happiness pitch on such a state, and such a temper
of mind, as the most iiktiy means to put him in pos¬
session of his desired case and self-enjoyment l an
Or would he rather choose a serene and easy flow offnfluencc
thought; a reason clear and composed; a judgment
unbiassed by prejudice, and undistracted by passion; a
sober and well-governed fancy, which presents the
images of things true, and unmixed with delusive and
unnatural charms, and therefore administers no impro¬
per or dangerous fuel to the passions, but leaves the
mind free to choose or reject, as becomes a reasonable
creature ; a sweet and sedate temper, not easily ruf¬
fled by hopes or fears, prone neither to suspicion nor
revenge, apt to view men and things in the fairest
lights, ami to bend gently to the humours of others
rather than obstinately to contend with them ? W ould
he choose such moderation and continence of mind, as
neither to be ambitious of power, fond of honours, co¬
vetous of wealth, nor a slave to pleasure; a mind of
course neither elated with success, nor dejected with
disappointment; sucli a modest and noble spirit as
supports power without insolence, wears honour with¬
out pride, uses wealth without profusion or parsimony;
and rejoices more in giving than in receiving pleasure;
such fortitude and equanimity as rises above misfor¬
tunes, or turns them into blessings; such integrity
and greatness of mind, as neither flatters the vices,
nor triumphs over the follies of men ; as equally spurns
servitude and tyranny, and will neither engage in low
designs,' nor abet them in others ? Would he choose,
in fine, such mildness and benignity of heart as takes
part in all the joys, and refuses none of the sorrows, of
others ; stands well affected to all mankind ; is consci¬
ous of meriting the esteem of all, and ot being beloved
by the best; a mind which delights in doing good
without any show, and yet arrogates nothing on that
account ; rejoices in loving and being beloved by its
Maker, acts ever under his eye, resigns itself to his
providence, and triumphs in his approbation ? Which
of these dispositions would be his choice in order to
be contented, serene, and happy ? 1 he forme) tem¬
per is vice, the latter virtue. W here one prevails,
there MISERY prevails, and by the generality is ac¬
knowledged to prevail. Where the other reigns, there
happiness reigns, and by the confession of mankind
is acknowledged to reign. The perfection of either
temper is misery or happiness in perfection.—There¬
fore, every approach to either extreme is an approach
to misery or to happiness ; i. e. every degree ot vice or
virtue is accompanied with a proportionable degree of
misery or happiness. _ al! .
The principal alleviations of a virtuous man s ca a’atjons0 s
mities are these;
212;
That though some of them may
have
III.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
397
ves to
rtue.
213
enjoy-
H
ii.
214
‘i me.
es-
and
1'atliy.
jftesb.
into
title
'k H
2i<;
notin-
nrc with
' joys
have been the effect of his imprudence or weakness,
yet few of them are sharpened by a sense of guilt, and
none them by a consciousness of wickedness, which
surely is their keenest sting j—that they are common
to him with the best of men ;—that they seldom or
never attack him quite unprepared, but rather guarded
with a consciousness of his own sincerity and virtue,
with a faith and trust in Providence, and a firm resig-
tion to its perfect orders 5—that they may be im¬
proved as means of correction, or materials to give
scope and stability to his virtues 5—and, to name no
more, they are considerably lessened, and often sweet¬
ened to him, by the general sympathy of the wise and
good.
His enjoyments are more numerous, or, if less nu¬
merous, yet more intense than those of the bad man :
for he shares in the joys of others hy rebound j and
every increase of generaiqtparticular happiness is a real
addition to his own. It is true, his friendly sympathy
with others subjects him to some pains which the hard¬
hearted wretch does not feel ; yet to give a loose to
it, is a kind of agreeable discharge. It is such a sor¬
row as he loves to indulge : a sort of pleasing anguish
that sweetly melts the mind, and terminates in a self-
approving joy. Though the good man may want
means to execute, or be disappointed in the success of,
his benevolent purposes; yet, as was formerlyf ob¬
served, he is still conscious of good affection, and that
consciousness is an enjoyment of a more delightful
savour than the greatest triumphs of successful vice.
If the ambitious, covetous, or voluptuous, are disappoint¬
ed, their passions recoil upon them with a fury propor¬
tioned to their opinion of the value of what they pur¬
sue, and their hope of success ; while they have no¬
thing within to balance the disappointment, unless it
is an useless fund of pride, which, however, frequently
turns mere accidents into mortifying affronts, and ex¬
alts grief into rage and frenzy. Whereas the meek,
humble, and benevolent temper, is its own reward, is
satisfied from within ; and, as it magnifies greatly the
pleasure of success, so it wonderfully alleviates, and in
a manner annihilates, all pain for the want of it.
As the good man is conscious of loving and wish¬
ing well to all mankind, he must be sensible of his de¬
serving the esteem and good-will of all ; and this sub¬
posed reciprocation of social feelings is, by the very
frame of our nature, made a source of very intense and
enlivening joys. By this sympathy of affections and
interests, he feels himself intimately united with the
human race ; and,, being sensibly alive over the whole
system, his heart receives and becomes responsive to
every touch given to any part. So that, as an eminent
philosopher* finely expresses it, he gathers contentment
and delight from the pleased and happy states of those
around him, from accounts and relations of such hap¬
piness, from the very countenances, gestures, voices,
and sounds, even of creatures foreign to our kind,
whose signs of joy and contentment he can any way
discern.
Nor do those generous affections stop any other na¬
tural source of joy whatever, or deaden his sense of
any innocent gratification. Thev rather keep the
several senses and powers of enjoyment open and disen¬
gaged, intense and uncorrupted by riot or abuse ; as
is evident to any one who considers the dissipated, un¬
feeling state of men of pleasure, ambition, or interest. From Hap-
and compares it with the serene and gentle state of a piness.
mind at peace with itself, and friendly to all mankind, ' ^ j
unruffled by any violent emotion, and sensible to every ,
good-natured and alluring joy. of excess in
It were easy, hy going through the different sets of the private
affections mentioned formerly f, to show, that it is only Passi°ns-
by maintaining the proportion settled there, that the *'
mind arrives at true repose and satisfaction. If fear
exceeds that proportion, it sinks into melancholy and
dejection. If anger passes just hounds, it ferments into
rage and revenge, or subsides into a sullen corroding
gloom, which embitters every good, and renders one
exquisitely sensible to every ill. The private passions,
the love of honour especially, whose impulses are more
generous, as its effects are more diffusive, are instru¬
ments of private pleasure ; hut if they are dispropor-
tioned to our wants, or to the value of their several
objects, or to the balance of other passions equally ne¬
cessary and more amiable, they become instruments of
intense pain and misery. For, being now destitute of
that counterpoise which held them at a due pitch,
they grow turbulent, peevish, and revengeful, the cause
of constant restlessness and torment, sometimes flying
out into a wild delirious joy, at other times settling
in a deep splenetic grief. The concert between rea¬
son and passion is then broke : all is dissonance and
distraction within. The mind is out of frame, and feels
an agony proportioned to the violence of the reigning
passion.
The case is much the same, or rather worse, when In the pu-
any of the particular kind affections are out of their k}*0 aftCCj
natural order and proportion; as happens in the casetlon'
of effeminate pity, exorbitant love, parental dotage, or
any party passion, where the just regards to society are
supplanted. The more social and disinterested the pas¬
sion is, it breaks out into the wilder excesses, and makes
the more dreadful havoek both within and abroad ; as
is hut too apparent in those cases where a false species
of religion, honour, •zeal, or party-rage, has seized on
the natural enthusiasm of the mind, and worked it up
to madness. It breaks through all ties natural and ci¬
vil, disregards the most sacred and solemn obligations,
silences every other affection whether public or private,
and transforms the most gentle natures into the most
savage and inhuman. 218
Whereas, the man who keeps the balance of affection Happiness,
even, is easy and serene in his motions ; mild, and yet °f weh pro-
affectionate; uniform and consistent with himself: isPortloned
not liable to disagreeable collisions of interests and pas- I)‘16slon'’
siohs ; gives always place to the most friendly and hu-
mano affections, and never to dispositions or acts of re¬
sentment, but on high occasions, when the security of
the private, or welfare of the public system, or the great
interests of mankind, necessarily require a noble indig¬
nation ; and even then he observes a just measure in
wrath ; and last of all, he proportions every passion to
the value of the object he affects, or to the importance
of the end he pursues. • 219
To sum up this part of the argument, the Sum of’tha
and good man has eminently the advantage of the knav- argument*
ish and selfish wretch in every respect. The pleasures
which the last enjoys flow chiefly from external ad¬
vantages and gratifications ; are superficial and transi¬
tory ; dashed with long intervals of satiety, and fre¬
quent
39®
Motives to
Virtue.
220
External
effects of
virtue.
221
On the
body.
222
On one’s
fortune, in
-t crest, &.C,
MORAL PH
fjtieni returns of remorse and fear ; dependent on fa¬
vourable accidents and conjunctures ; and subjected to
the humours of men. But the good man is satisfied
irom himself Ins principal possessions lie witnin, and
therefore beyond the reach of the caprice of men or
fortune j his enjoyments are exquisite and permanent;
accompanied with no inward checks to damp them,
and always with ideas of dignity and self-approbation ;
may he tasted at any time, and in any place. The
gratifications of vice are turbulent and unnatural, ge¬
nerally arising from the relief ot passions in themselves
intolerable, and issuing in tormenting reflection ; often
irritated by disappointment, always inflamed by en¬
joyment, and yet ever cloyed with repetition. The
pleasures of virtue are calm and natural $ flowing fiom
the exercise of kind affections, or delightful reflections
in consequence of them ; not only agreeable in the
prospect, but in the present feeling *, they never satiate
nor lose their relish •, nay, rather the admiration of vir¬
tue growrs stronger every day j and not only is the de¬
sire but the enjoyment heightened by every new grati¬
fication j and, unlike to most others, it is increased,
not diminished, by Sympathy and communication.—In
fine, the satisfactions of virtue may be purchased with¬
out a bribe, and possessed in the humblest as well as the
most triumphant fortune } they can bear the strictest
review, do not change with circumstances, nor grow
old with time. Force cannot rob, nor fraud cheat us
of them 5 and, to crown all, instead of abating, they
enhance every other pleasure.
But the happy consequences of virtue are seen not
only in the internal enjoyments it affords a man, but
“ in the favourable disposition of external causes to¬
wards him, to which it contributes.
As virtue gives the sober possession of one’s self,
and the command of one’s passions, the consequence
must be heart’s ease, and a fine natural flow of spirits,
which conduce more than any thing else to health and
long life. Violent passions, and the excesses they occa¬
sion, gradually impair and wear down the machine.
But the calm placid state of a temperate mind, and the
healthful exercises in which virtue engages her fakhful
votaries, preserve the natural functions in full vigour
and harmony, and exhilarate the spirits, which are the
chief instruments of action.
It may by some be thought odd to assert, that vit-
tuc is no enemy to a maw's fortune in the present state
of things. But if hy fortune be meant a moderate or
competent share of wealth, power, or credit, not over-
o-rown degrees of them *, what should hinder the vir¬
tuous man from obtaining that ? He cannot cringe or
fawn, it is true, but he can he civil and obliging as
well as the knave *, and surely his civility is more allu¬
ring, because it has more manliness and grace in it than
the mean adulation of the other : he cannot cheat or
undermine ; but he may be cautious, provident, watch¬
ful of occasions, and equally prompt with the rogue
in improving them '. lie scorns to prostitute himself as
a pander to the passions, or as a tool to the vices of
mankind j but he may have as sound an understanding
and as good capacities for promoting their real interests
as the veriest court slave: and then he is more faithful
and true to those who employ him. In the common
course of business, he has the same chances with the
knave of acquiring a fortune, and rjsing in the world.
ILOSOPH Y.
Part lit
He may have equal abilities, equal industry, equal at-prom
tention to business j and in other respects he has greatiy pines*,
the advantage of him. People love better to deal with v~'“'
him •, they can trust him more j they know he will not
impose on them, nor take advantage of them, and can
depend more on his word than on the oath or strongest
securities of others. Whereas what is commonly called
cunning, which is the offspring of ignorance, and con
stant companion of knavery, is not only a mean-spirited,
hut a very phort-sighted talent, and a fundamental ob¬
stacle in the road of business. It may indeed procure
immediate and petty gains } hut it is attended with
dreadful abatements, which do more than overbalance
them, both as it sinks a man’s credit when discovered,
and cramps that largeness of mind which extends to the
icmotest as well as the nearest interest, and takes in the
most durable equally with the most transient gains. It
is therefore easy to see how much a man’s credit and re¬
putation, and consequently his success, depend on his
honesty and virtue. _ 223 I
With regard to security and peace with his neigh-On one’*
hours, it may be thought, perhaps, that the man of a ffff'
quiet forgiving temper, and a flowing benevolence and
courtesy, is much exposed to injury and aflronts from
every proud or peevish mortal, who has the power or
will to do mischief* If we suppose, indeed, this quiet¬
ness and gentleness of nature accompanied with cowar¬
dice and pusillanimity, this may often be the casebut
in reality the good man is hold as a lion, and so much
the bolder for being the calmer. Such a person will
hardly be a butt to mankind. The ill natured will be
afraid to provoke him, and the good natured will not
incline to do it. Besides, true virtue, which is con¬
ducted by reason, and exerted gracefully and without
parade, is a most insinuating and commanding thing;
if it Cannot disarm malice and resentment at once, ii
will wear them out by degrees, and subdue them at
length. How many have, by favours and prudently
yielding, triumphed over an enemy, who would have
been inflamed into tenfold rage hy the fiercest opposi¬
tion ! In fine, goodness is the most universally popular
thing that can be. 0n
To conclude j the good man may have some ene-^^
mies, but he will have more friends; and, having given
so many marks of private friendship or public virtue,
he can hardly be destitute of a patron to protect, or a
sanctuary to entertain him, or to protect or entertain
his children when he is gone. Though he should have
little else to leave them, he bequeaths them the fairest,
and generally the most unenvied, inheritance of a good
name, which, like good seed sown in the field of futu¬
rity, will often raise up unsolicited friends, and yield
a benevolent harvest of unexpected charities. But
should the fragrance of the parent’s virtue prove offen¬
sive to a perverse or envious age, or even draw per¬
secution on the friendless orphans, there is one m
heaven who will be mofe than a father to them, an
recompense their parent’s virtues by showering down
blessings on them.
Chap. III. Motives to Virtue from the Being and
Providence of God.
Besides the interesting motive mentioned in
last Chapter, there are two great motives of virtu*
5
nit III. MORAL PH
I iws to strictly connected with human life, and resulting from
i irtue. the very constitution of the human mind. The first is
fs-v ' the Being and Providence of God ; the second is
the Immortality of the Soul, with future rewards
|,j2(j and punishments.
, jm. It appears from Chap. IV. of Part II. that man, by
j lance, the constitution of his nature, is designed to he a RELI¬
GIOUS Creature. He is intimately connected with
the Ideitij, and necessarily dependent on him. From that
connexion and necessary dependence result various obli¬
gations and duties, without fulfilling which, some of his
sublimest powers and affections would be incomplete
and abortive. If he be likewise an Immortal creature,
and if his present conduct shall affect his future happi¬
ness in another state as well as in daepresent, it is evi¬
dent that we take only a partial view of the creature,
if we leave out this important property of his nature ;
and make a. partial estimate of human life, if we strike
out of the account, or overlook, that part of his dura-
127 tion which runs out into eternity.
3 y, It is evident from the above-mentioned Chapter,
that “ to have a respect to the Deity in our temper
and conduct, to venerate and love his character, to
adore his goodness, to depend upon and resign ourselves
to his providence, to seek his approbation, and act under
a sense of his authority, is a fundamental part of moral
virtue, and the completion of the highest destination of
128 our nature.'1'1
suportlo But as piety is an essential part of virtue, so likewise
1ie’ it is a great support and enforcement to the practice of
it. To contemplate and admire a Being of such trans¬
cendent dignity and perfection as God, must naturally
and necessarily open and enlarge the mind, give a
freedom and ampleness to its powers, and a grandeur
and elevation to its aims. For, as an excellent divine.
observes, “ the greatness of an object, and the excel¬
lency of the act ol any agent about a transcendent
object, doth mightily tend to the enlargement and im¬
provement of his faeulties.,, Little objects, mean
company, mean cares, and mean business, cramp the
mind, contract its views, and give it a creeping air
and deportment. But when it soars above mortal cares
and mortal pursuits into the regions of divinity, and
converses , with the greatest and best of Beings, it
spreads itself into, a wider compass, takes higher flights
in reason and goodness, becomes godlike in its air and
manners. Virtue is, if one may say so, both the effect
and cause of largeness of mind. It requires that one
think freely, and act nobly. Now what can conduce
more to freedom of thought and dignity of action,
than to conceive worthily of God, to reverence and
adore his unrivalled excellency, ta imitate and tran¬
scribe that excellency into our own nature, to remember
our relation to him, and that we are the images and
representatives of his glory to the rest of the creation ?
Such feelings and exercises must and will make us
scorn all actions that are base, unhandsome, or un¬
worthy our state j and the relation we stand in to
God will irradiate the mind with the light of wis¬
dom, and ennoble it with the liberty and dominion of
:9 virtue.
i* Jr(f > riie influence and efficacy of religion may be con-
f° ^ent sidered in another light. We all know that the pre-
to tue. SRnce a friend, a neighbour, or any number of spec¬
tators, but especially an august assembly of them, uses
ILOSOPHY.
399
to he a considerable check upon the conduct of one From tbe
who is not lost to all sense of honour and shame, and Immortali-
contributes to restrain many irregular sallies of passion. j^e
In the same manner we may imagine, that the awe < ‘ ^
of some superior mind, who is supposed privy to our
secret conduct, and armed with full power to reward
or punish it, will impose a restraint on us in such ac¬
tions as fall not under the controul or animadversion of
others. If we go still higher, and suppose our inmost
thoughts and darkest designs, as well 21s our most se¬
cret actions, to lie open to the notice of the supreme
and universal Mind, who is both the spectator and judge
of human actions, it is evident that the belief of so au¬
gust a presence, and such awful inspection, must carry
a restraint and weight with it proportioned to the
strength of that belief, and he an additional n otive to
the practice of many duties which would not have been
performed without it. 330
It may be observed farther, that “ to live under an^xercises
habitual sense of the Deity and his great administration f} 3)iety
is to be conversant with wisdom, order, and beauty, in Virtue8’
the highest subjects, and to receive the delightful re¬
flexions and benign feelings which these excite while
they irradiate upon him from every scene of nature
and providence.” How improving must such views be
ta the mind, in dilating and exalting it above those
puny interests and competitions which agitate and in¬
flame the bulk of mankind against each other !
Chap. IV. Motive to Virtue from the Immorta¬
lity of the Soul, tdfe.
231
The other motive mentioned was the immortality
the soul, with future rewards and punishments. Tlie^^jF1'
metaphysical proofs-of the soul’s immortality are com-itsTmnior .
monly drawn from—its simple, 7incompounded, and indi- tality.
visible nature j from whence it is concluded, that it can¬
not be corrupted or extinguished by a dissolution or de¬
struction of its parts :—from its having a beginning of
motion within itself j whence it is inferred, that it can¬
not discontinue and lose its motion :—from the different
properties of matter and mindfaz sluggishness and inac¬
tivity of the one, and the immense activity of the other ;
its prodigious flight of thought and imagination ; its pe¬
netration, memory, foresight, and anticipations otfuturi¬
ty i from whence it is concluded, that a being of so di¬
vine a nature cannot be extinguished. But as these me¬
taphysical proofs depend on intricate reasonings concern¬
ing the nature, properties, and.distinctions of body anti
mind, with which we are not very well acquainted, they
are not obvious to ordinary understandings, and are sel¬
dom so convincing even to those of higher reach, as not
to leave some doubts behind them. Therefore perhaps
it is not so safe to rest the proof of such an important
article on what many may call the subtilities of school
learning. Those proofs which are brought from ana¬
logy, from the moi'al constitution and phenomena of the
human mind, the moral attributes of God, and the pre¬
sent course of things, and which therefore are called
the moral arguments, are the plainest and generally the
most satisfying, We shall select only one or two from
the rest.
In tracing the nature and destination of any being, Moral
we form the surest judgment from his powers of action, proot from
and the scope and limits of these, compared with his analogy.,
state ^
400
Motives to
Virtue.
* Vide Lu¬
ll ov. Viv.
de Relig
Christ.
Lib. II. de
vita Uteri,
&c.
MORAL PH
state, or with Hatfield in which they are exercised. 1 f
this being passes through different states, or nelds o
action, and we find a succession of powers adapted to
the different periods of his progress, we conclude that
he was destined for those successive states, and reckon
his nature progressive. Ii, besides the immediate set or
powers which fit him for action in his present state,
•we observe another set which appear superfluous it he
wrere to be confined to it, and which point to another
or higher one, we naturally conclude, that he is not
designed to remain in his present state, but to advance
to that for which those supernumerary powers are
adapted. Thus we argue, that the insect, which has
wings forming or formed, and all the apparatus pro
per for flight, is not destined always to creep on the
ground, or to continue in the torpid state of adhering
to a wall, but is designed in its season to take its flight
in air. Without this farther destination, the admi¬
rable mechanism of wings and the other apparatus
would be useless and absurd. The same kind ot rea¬
soning may be applied to man, while he lives only a
sort of vegetative life in the womb. He is furnished
even there with a beautiful apparatus of organs, eyes,
ears, and other delicate senses, which receive nourish¬
ment indeed, but are in a manner folded up, and have
no proper exercise or use in their present confine¬
ment *. Let us suppose some intelligent spectator,
who never had any connexion with man, nor the least
acquaintance with human affairs, to see this odd phe¬
nomenon, a creature formed after such a manner, and
placed in a situation apparently unsuitable to such ya-
rious machinery: must he not be strangely puzzled
about the use of his complicated structure, and rec¬
kon such a profusion of art and admirable workman¬
ship lost on the subject 5 or reason by way of anticipa¬
tion, that a creature endued with such various yet un¬
exerted capacities, was destined for a more enlarged
sphere of action, in which those latent capacities shall
have full play ? the vast variety and yet beautiful sym¬
metry and proportions of the several parts and organs
with which the creature is endued, and their apt cohe¬
sion with, and dependence on, the curious receptacle ol
their life and nourishment, would forbid his concluding
the whole to be the birth of chance, or the bungling
effort of an unskilful artist j at least would make him
demur a while at so harsh a sentence. But if, while
fie is in this state of uncertainty, we suppose him to
see the babe, after a few successful struggles, throw¬
ing off his fetters, breaking loose from his little dark
prison, and emerging into open day, then unfolding his
recluse and dormant powers, breathing in air, gazing at
light, admiring colours, sounds, and all the fair variety
of nature, immediately his doubts clear up, the proprie¬
ty and excellency of the workmanship dawn upon him
with full lustre, and the whole mystery of the first pe¬
riod is unravelled by the opening of this new scene.
Though in this second period the creature lives chiefly a
kind of animal life, i. e. of sense and appetite, yet by va¬
rious trials and observations fie gains experience, and by
the gradual evolution of the powers of imagination he
ripens apace for a higher life, for exercising the arts of
design and imitation, and of those in which strength or
dexterity are more requisite than acuteness or reach of
judgment. In the succeeding rational or intellectual
period, his understanding, which formerly crept in a
3
ILOSGPHY. Partffl
lower, mounts into a higher sphere, canvasses the na- From tkj
tures, judges of the relations of things, forms schemes, Immortal
deduces consequences from what is past, and from pre- 1}S°*tll(
sent as well as pa.-d collects future events. By this sue-,—
cession of states, and of correspondent culture, he grows
up at length into a moral, a social, and a political crea¬
ture. This is the last period at which we perceive him
to arrive in this his mortal career. Each period.is intro¬
ductory to the next succeeding one •, each life is a field
of exercise and improvement for the next higher one 5
the life of the foetus for that of the infant, the life of
the infant for that of the child, and all the lower for i See
the highest and best §.-But is this the last period of^le*
nature’s progression ? Is this the utmost extent of ^erpai.tl"
plot, where she winds up the drama, and dismisses the
actor into eternal oblivion ? Or does he appear to be
invested with supernumerary powers, which have not
full exercise and -cope even in the last scene, and each
not that maturity or perfection of which they are capa¬
ble •, and therefore point to some higher scene, where
he is to sustain another and more important character
than he has yet sustained ? It any such there are,
may we not conclude by analogy, or in the same way
of anticipation as before, that he is destined for that
after pa t, and is to be produced upon a more august
and solemn stage, where his sublimer powers shall have |
proportioned action, and his nature attain its comple¬
tion. . . 7 . f 533,!
If we attend to that curiosity, or prodigious thirst of Powers *
knowledge, which is natural to the mind in every pe-"^
riod of "its progress, and consider withal the endless ^ ^
round of business and care, and the various hardships to 234
which the bulk of mankind are chained down j it islntellec
evident, that in this present state it is impossible to ex-tua-
pect the gratification of an appetite at once so insa¬
tiable and so noble. Our senses, the ordinary organs by
which knowledge is let into the mind, are always im¬
perfect, and often fallacious •, the advantages of
ing or correcting them are possessed by few •, the diffi¬
culties of finding out truth amidst the various and con¬
tradictory opinions, interests, and passions ot mankind,
are many *, and the wants of the creature, and of those
with whom he is connected, numerous and urgent: so
that it may he said of most men, that their intellectual
organs are as much shut up and secluded from proper
nourishment and exercise in that little circle to winch
they are confined, as the bodily organs are m the
womb. Nay, those who to an aspiring genius have ad-
ded all the assistances of art, leisure, and the most liber-,
al education, what narrow prospects can even they take
of this unbounded scene of things from that little emi¬
nence on which they stand ? and how eagerly do they
still grasp at new discoveries, without any satisfaction
or limit to their ambition ? , .
But should it be said, that man is made for action, Moran
and not for speculation, or fruitless searches alter know-P
ledqe, we ask, For what kind of action ? Is it only tor
bodily exercises, or for moral, political, and religious
ones ? Of all these he is capable j yet, by the unavoid¬
able circumstances of his lot, he is tied down to the
former, and has hardly any leisure to think of the li¬
ter or, if he has, wants the proper instruments 0 ex¬
erting them. The love of virtue, of one's
country, the generous sympathy with mankind, am
xeal of doing good, which are all so natural to grea ^
&
art III. ^ MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
t0 good tninds, and sbme traces of wliich are found in the
lowest, are seldom united with proportioned means or
opportunities of exercising them : so that the moral
spring, the noble energies and impulses of the mind, can
hardly find proper scope even in the most fortunate con¬
dition ; but are much depressed in some, and almost en¬
tirely restrained in the generality, by the numerous
clogs of an indigent, sickly, or embarrassed life. Were
such mighty powers, such godlike affections, planted in
the human breast to be folded up in the narrow womb
of our present existence, never to be produced into a
more perfect life, nor to expatiate in the ample career
immortality ?
Let it be considered, at the same time, that no pos¬
session, no enjoyment, within the round of mortal things,
is commensurate to the desires, or adequate to the capa
401
a divine elasticity in the free air of heaven. He will From tlis
not then peep at the universe and its glorious Author lamiortiili.
through a dark grate or a gross medium, nor receive ty ot titc
the reflections of his glory through the strait openings S°a1'
of sensible organs : but will be all eye, all ear, all ethe¬
real and divine feelmg *. Let one part, however, of * Vide Re-
236
’.satisfied
sires of
istence
H7
refore
.6iiapi>1' cities of the mind. The most exalted condition has its
abatements ; the happiest conjuncture of fortune leaves
many wishes behind 5 and after the highest gratihca-
tions, the mind is carried forward in pursuit of new
ones without end. Add to all, the fond desire of im¬
mortality, the secret dread of non-existence, and the
high unremitting pidse of the soul beating for perfection,
joined to the improbability or the impossibility of attain¬
ing it here; and then judge whether this elaborate
structure, this magnificent apparatus of inward powers
and organs, does not plainly point out an hereafter', and
intimate eternity to man? Does nature give the finishing
touches to the lesser and ignoble instances of her skill,
and raise every other creature to the maturity and per¬
fection of his being 3 and shall she leave her principal
workmanship unfinished? Does she carry the vegetative
and animal life in man to their full vigour and highest
destination ; and shall she suffer his intellectual, his mo¬
ral, his divine life, to fade away, and be for ever extin¬
guished P Would such abortions in the moral world be
congruous to that perfection of wisdom and goodness
which upholds and adorns [he natural?
We must therefore conclude from this detail, that
the present state, even at its best, is only the WOMB of
man’s being, in which the noblest principles of his
nature are in a manner fettered, or secluded from a
correspondent sphere of action 3 and therefore destined
for a future and unbounded state, where they shall
emancipate themselves, and exert the fulness of their
strength. The most accomplished mortal, in this low
and dark apartment of nature, is only the rudiments
of what he shall be when he takes his ethereal flight,
and puts on immortality. Without a reference to
that state, man were a mere abortion, a rude unfinish¬
ed embryo, a monster in nature. But this being once
supposed, he still maintains his rank of the master¬
piece of the creation 3 his latent powers are all suitable
to the harmony and progression of nature 3 his noble as¬
pirations, and the pains of his dissolution, are his ef¬
forts towards a second birth, the pangs of his delivery
mto light, liberty, and perfectien 3 and death, his dis-
cnarge from gaol, his separation from his fellow pri¬
soners, and introduction into the assembly of those-he¬
roic spirits who are gone before him, and of their
great eternal Parent. The fetters or his mortal coil
being loosened, and his prison walls broke down, he
will be bare and open on every side to the admission of
truth and virtue, and their fair attendant happiness;
every vital and intellectual spring will evolve itself with
Vol, XIV. Part XL ~ f
*1 :al
the analogy be attended to : That as in the womb we flgi°n of
receive our original constitution, form, and the essen-Natlue>
X.\u\ stamina cl our being, which we carry along with ^
us into the light, and which greatly affect the suc¬
ceeding periods of our life 3 so cur temper and condi¬
tion in the juture life will depend on the conduct we
have observed, and the character we have formed, in
the present life. We are here in miniature what* we
shall be at/h// length hereafter. The first rude sketch
or outlines of reason and virtue must be drawn at pre¬
sent, to be afterwards enlarged to the stature and beauty
of angels. J
This, if duly attended to, must prove not only a TmimntaJb
guard, but an admirable to virtue. For he ^ a Kual'd
who faithfully and ardently follows the light of know-and im'en*'
ledge, and pants after higher improvements in virtue,^ ^ ^
will be wonderfully animated and inflamed in that pu*.
suit by a full conviction that the scene does not close
with life—that his struggles, arising from the weakness
of nature and the strength of habit, will be turned into
triumphs—-that his career in the track of wisdom and
goodness will be both swifter and smoother—and those
generous ardours with which he glows towards heaven,
i. e. the perfection and immortality of virtue, will find
their adequate object and exercise in a sphere propor-
tionably enlarged, incorruptible, immortal. On the
other hand, what an inexpressible damp must it be to
the good man, to dread the total extinction of that
light and virtue, without which life, nay, immortality
itself, were not worth a single wish P
Many writers draw their proofs of the immortality P Vf
of the soul, and of a future state of rewards and pu-thTinemki-
mshments, iiom the unequal distribution of these liere.lity ofpre-
It cannot be dissembled that wicked men often escapesent
the outward punishment due to their crimes, and do,'utlons-
not feci the inward in that measure their element seems
to require, partly from the callousness induced upon
their nature by die habits of vice, and partly from
the dissipation of their minds abroad by pleasure or
business—and sometimes good men do not reap all the
natural and genuine fruits of their virtue, through the
many unforeseen or unavoidable calamities in "which
they are involved. To the smallest reflection, how¬
ever, it is obvious that the natural tendency of virtue
is to produce happiness 3 that if it were universally
practised, it would, in fact, produce the greatest sum
of happiness of which human nature is capable 3 and
that this tendency is defeated only by numerous indi¬
viduals, who, forsaking the laws of virtue, injure and
oppress those who steadily adhere to them. But the
natural tendency of virtue is the result of that consti¬
tution of things which was established by Cod at the
creation of the world. This being the ease, we must
either conclude, that there will be a future state, in
which all the moral obliquities of the present shall be
made straight 3 or else admit, that the designs of infi¬
nite wisdom, goodness, and power, can be finally de¬
feated by the perverse conduct of human weakness 
But this last supposition is so extravagantly absurd,
3 ^ that
mokal phi
402
Motives to tliat tlie reality of a future state, the only other possi-
Virtue. hie alternative, may be pronounced to have the evi-
1' - v dence of perfect demostration.
24° Virtue has present rewards, and vice present pumsh-
hnniortali- meqts annexed to it 5 such rewards and punishments as
ty, &c. a make virtue, in most cases that happen, far more eh-
};icat sup- o-jble than vice: hut, in the infinite variety ot human
port amidst contingencies, it may sometimes fall out, that the m-
taills' flexible practice of virtue shall deprive a man of con¬
siderable advantages to himself, his family, or friends,
which he might gain by a well-timed piece of roguery;
suppose by betraying his trust, voting against his con¬
science, selling his country, or any other crime where
the security against discovery shall heighten the temp¬
tation. Or, it may happen, that a strict adherence to
his honour, to his religion, to the cause of liberty
and virtue, shall expose him, or his family, to the loss
of every thing, nay, to poverty, slavery, death itself
or to torments far more intolerable. Now what shall
secure a man’s virtue in circumstances of such trial .
What shall enforce the obligations of conscience against
the allurements of so many interests, the dread of so
many and so terrible evils, and the almost unsurmountable
aversion of human nature to excessive pain ! The con¬
flict is the greater, when the circumstances of the crime
are such as easily admit a variety of alleviations from
■necessity, natural affection, love to one'sfamily ox friends,
perhaps in indigence : these will give it even the airot
virtue. Add to all, that the crime may be thought to
have few bad consequences,—maybe easily concealed,
or imagined possible to be retrieved in a good measure
by future good conduct. It is obvious to which side
most men will lean in such a case j and how much need
there is of a balance in the opposite scale, from the con¬
sideration of a God, of a Providence, and of an wirnoi
tal state of retribution, to keep the mind firm and un¬
corrupted in those or like instances of singular trial or
distress. .
Tn ,11* But without supposing such peculiar instances^ a
neral eeurse sense of a governing Mind, and a persuasion teat vir-
of life. tue is not only befriended by him here, but will be
crowned by him hereafter with rewards suitable to its
nature, vast in themselves, and immortal in their du¬
ration, must be not only a mighty support and incen¬
tive to the practice of virtue, but a strong barnei
against vice. The thoughts of an Almighty Judge,
and of an impartial future reckoning, are often alarm¬
ing, inexpressibly so, even to the stoutest onenoers.
On the other hand, how supporting must it be to the
good man, to think that he acts under the eye of his
LOSOPHY. Partlll
friend, as well as judge ! HW improving, to consider From the
the present state as connected with a future one, and Immortali.
every relation in which he stands as a school of disci- e
pline for his affections j every trial as the exercise of ^
some virtue y and the virtuous deeds which result fiom
both, as introductory to higher scenes of action and
enjoyment l Finally, How transporting is it to \iew
death as his discharge from the warfare of mortality,
and a triumphant entry into a state of freedom, securi¬
ty, and perfection, in which knowledge and wisdom
shall break upon him from every quarter 5 where each
faculty shall have its proper object : and his virtue,
which was often damped or defeated here, shall be en¬
throned in undisturbed and eternal empire ? 242
On reviewing this short system of morals, and the^vanta-
motives which support and enforce it, and comparing ^)lr;stjan
both with the Christian scheme, what light and vigour scheme,
do they borrow from thence! How clearly and fully ami its cor:
do Christianity lay open the connexions of our na-nexionwai
ture, both material and immaterial, and future as well ligion or
as present! what an ample and beautiful detail does it moraiity,
present of the duties we owe to God, to society, and
ourselves, promulgated in the most simple, intelligible,
and popular manner ; divested of every partiality of
sect or nation ; and adapted to the general state of
mankind ! With what bright and aWurvng ex ample does
it illustrate and recommend the practice of those du¬
ties : and with what mighty sanctions does it enforce
that practice ! How strongly does it describe the cor¬
ruptions of our nature-, the deviations of our life liom
the rule of duty, and the causes of both ! How marvel¬
lous and benevolent a plan of redemption dot-s it un¬
fold, by which those corruptions may be remedied, and
our nature restored from its deviations to transcend¬
ent heights of virtue and piety! Finally, What a fan
and comprehensive prospect does it give us of the ad¬
ministration of God, of which it represents^ t ic present
state only as a small period, and a period of warfare
and trial! How solemn and unbounded are the scenes
which it opens beyond it ! the resurrection of the dead,
the general judgment, the equal distribution oi rewards
and punishments to the good and the bad ; and the full
completion of divine wisdom and goodness in the final
establishment of order, perfection, and happiness, ifow
glorious then is that Scheme of Religion, and how
worthy of affection as well as of admiration, whic , y
making such discoveries, and affording such assistances,
has disclosed the unfading fruits and triumphs ot VIR¬
TUE, and secured its interests beyond the power ot
TIME and CHANCE.
M O R
Moral Moral Sense, that whereby we perceive what is
11 good, virtuous, and beautiful, in actions, manners, and
Morass. c]iaracters. See Moral Philosophy.
v ' MORALITY. See Moral Philosophy.
MorANT Point, the most easterly point or promon¬
tory of the island of Jamaica, in America. W. Long.
75. q6- N. Lat. 17. 56- . . j ,
MORASS, a marsh, fen, or low moist ground, which
receives the waters from above without having any de¬
scent to carry them off again. Somner derives the
4
MOR
word from the Saxon merse, “ lake Salmasius from
mare, “ a collection of waters j” others from the Ler- (
man marast “ a muddy place *, and others from ma-
rese, of maricctum, a marisas, 1. e. rushes, bee URA
ing, Agriculture Index. , ,, , , ,
In Scotland, Ireland, and the north of England,
there is a particular kind of morasses called mosses,
ox peat-mosses, whence the country people dig then p
or turf for firing. See Moss.
MOKAT, or Murteh, a considerable^n^
Mora"-
Moral
M O II [ 403 T M O R
Uforat, Switzerland, capital ef a bailiwick of the same name,
Morata. belonging to the cantons of Bern and Friburg. It is
seated on the lake Morat, on the road from Avenche
to Bern, 10 miles west of Bern and 10 miles north-east
of Friburg. The lake is about six miles long and two
broad, and the country about it pleasant and well cul¬
tivated. The lakes of Morat and Neufchatel are
parallel to each other, but the latter is more elevated,
discharging itself by means of the river Broye into
the lake of Neufchatel. According to M. de Luc,
the former is 15 French feet above the level of Neuf¬
chatel lake *, and both these lakes, as well as that of
Bienne, seem formerly to have extended considerably
beyond their present limits, and from the position of
the country appear to have been once united. Former¬
ly the large fish named silurus glam's, or the saluth,
frequented these lakes, but has not been caught in them
for a long time past. The environs of this town and
lake were carefully examined by Mr Coxe, during his
residence in Switzerland, who made several excursions
acrpss the lake to a ridge of hills situated betwixt it
and Neufchatel. Here are many delightful prospects ;
particularly one from the top of Mount Vuilly, which,
he says, is perhaps the only central spot from which
the eye can at once comprehend the vast amphitheatre
formed on one side by the Jura stretching from the
environs of Geneva as far as Basle, and, on the other,
by that stupendous chain of snowy Alps which extend
from the frontiers of Italy to the confines of Germany,
and is lost at each extremity in the horizon. Morat is
celebrated for the obstinate defence it made against
Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy, and for the battle
which afterwards followed on the 22d of June 1476,
where the duke was defeated, and his army almost en-
^ tlrely flestr°yetl *• -Not far from the town, and ad-
mce. j°ining t° the high road, there still remains a monu¬
ment of this victory. It is a square building, filled
with the bones of Burgundian soldiers who were slain
at the siege and in the battle ; the number of which ap¬
pears to have been very considerable. There are seve¬
ral inscriptions in the Latin and German languages
commemorating the victory.
MORATA, Olympia Fulvia, an Italian lady,
distinguished for her learning, was born at Ferrara, in
1526. Her father, after teaching the belles lettres in
several cities of Italy, was made preceptor to the two
young princes of Ferrara, the sons of Alphonsus I.
The uncommon abilities he discovered in his daughter
determined him to give her all the advantages of edu¬
cation. Meanwhile the princess of Ferrara studying
polite literature, it wras judged expedient that she
should have a companion in the same pursuit; and Mo¬
rata being called, she was heard by the astonished
courtiers to declakn in Latin, to speak Greek, and
to explain the paradoxes of Cicero. Her father dying,
she was obliged to return home to take upon her the
management of family affairs, and the education of her
brother and three sisters ; both which she executed with
ihe greatest diligence and success. In the mean time
Andrew Grunthler, a young German physician, had
married her, and with him she went to Germany,
taking her brother along with her, whom she instructed
in the Latin and Greek tongues; and after staying a
short time at Augsburg, went to Schweinfort in Fran¬
conia, where her husband was born : but they had not
been there long before that town was unhappily besieged MoraL.
and burnt j however, escaping the flames, they fled in Moravia,
the utmost distress to Hammelburg. This place they —v——
were also obliged to quit, and were reduced to the last
extremities, when the elector Palatine invited Grunth¬
ler to be professor of physic at Heidelberg. He en¬
tered on his new office in 1554; but they no sooner
began to taste the sweets of repose, than a disease, oc¬
casioned by the distresses and hardships they had suf¬
fered, seized upon Morata, who died in 1555, in the
29th year of her age; and her husband and brother
did not long survive her. She composed several works,
great part of which were burnt with the town of
Schweinfort j the remainder, which consist of orations,
dialogues, letters, and translations, were collected and
published under the title of Olympics Fulvia' Moratce,
fcumince doctissima', et plavii divines, opera omnia cjucs
hactenus inveniripotucrint; quibus Ca-liisccundi curio-
nm epistolce ac orationes accesserunt.
MORAVIA, a river of Turkey in Europe, which
rises in Bulgaria, runs north through Servia by Nissa,
and falls into the Danube at Semendria, to the east¬
ward of Belgrade.
Mokavia, a marquisate of Germany, derives the
name or Alahern, as it is called by the Germans, and of
Morawa, as it is called by the natives, from the river
ol that name, which rises in the mountains of the coun¬
ty of Glatz, and passes through the middle of it. It is
bounded to the south by Austria, to the north by Silesia,
to the west by Bohemia, and to the east by Silesia and
Hungary; being about 120 miles in length and 100 in
breadth. Its surface is about 89,000 square miles. In
1775 its population, according to official returns, was ,
I, 134,674, of whom 23,382 were Jews ; but in 1801
has been computed to be 1,400,000 (MentelJe et Malte
Brun). Olmutz, formerly the chief town, contains
II, 000 inhabitants j Brunn, now the seat of govern¬
ment, contains 14,000 ; and there are several other con¬
siderable towns.
A great part of this country is overrun with woods
and mountains, where the air is very cold, but much
wholesomer than in the low grounds, which are full
of bogs and lakes. The mountains, in general, are
barren 5 but the more champaign parts tolerably fer¬
tile, yielding corn, with plenty of hemp and flax, good
saffron, and pasture. Nor is it altogether destitute of
wine, red.and white, fruits, and garden stuff’. Moravia
also abounds in horses, black cattle, sheep, and goats.
In the woods and about the lakes there is plenty of
wild fowl, game, venison, bees, honey, hares, foxes,
wolves, beavers, &c. This country affords marble,
alum, iron, sulphur, saltpetre, and vitriol, with mineral
waters, and warm springs j but salt is imported. Its
rivers, of which the March, Morawa, or Morau, are
the chief, abound with trout, crayfish, barbels, eels,
perch, and many other sorts of fish.
The language of the inhabitants is a dialect of the
Sclavonic, differing little from the Bohemian j but the
nobility and citizens speak German and French.
Moravia was anciently inhabited by the Quadi, who ,
■were driven out by the Sclavi. Its kings, who were
once powerful and independent, aftenvards became de¬
pendent on, and tributary to, the German emperors
and kings. At last, in the year 908, the Moravian
kingdom was parcelled out among the Germans, Poles,
3 E 2 and
M O R C 4° 4
Moravia Hungarians. In 1086, that part of it properly
|1 called Moravia was declared a marquisate by the Ger-
M01 bus. j-jia,!! king Henry IV. and united with Bohemia, to
whose dukes and kings it hath ever since been subject.
The states of the country consist of the clergy, lords,
knights, and burgesses •, and the diets, when summoned
by the regency, are held at Brunn. I he marquisate is
still governed by its own peculiar constitutions, under
the directoriwn inpublicis et earneralibus, and the su¬
preme judicatory at Vienna. It is divided into six
circles, each of which has its captain, and contributes
to its sovereign about one-third ot what is exacted ot
Bohemia. Towards the expences of the military esta¬
blishment of the whole Austrian hereditary countries,
its yearly quota is 1,856,490 &>even regiments
of foot, one,of cuirassiers, and one ot dragoons, are
usually quatered in it.
Christianity was introduced into this country in the
tjth century j and the inhabitants continued attached to
the church of Rome till the 15th, when they espoused
the doctrine of John Huss, and threw oil 1 opery . but
after the defeat of the elector Palatine, whom they had
chosen king, as well as the Bohemians, the emperor
^Ferdinand II. re-established Popery} though there aie
still some Protestants in Moravia. The bishop ol 01-
mutz, who stands immediately under the pope, is at
the head of the ecclesiastics in this country. The su¬
preme ecclesiastical jurisdiction, under the bishop, is
vested in a consistory.
The commerce of this country is inconsiderable. Of
what they have, Brunu enjoys the principal part. At
Iglau and Trebitx are manufactures oi cloth, paper,
gunpowder, &c. There are also some iron works and
glass houses in the country.
The inhabitants of Moravia in general are open-
hearted, not easy to be provoked or pacified, obedient
to their masters, and true to their promises ; but credu¬
lous of old prophecies, and much addicted to drinking,
though neither such sots or bigots as they are represent¬
ed by some geographers. The boors, indeed, upon tne
river Hank, are said to be a thievish, unpolished, brutal
race. The sciences now begin to lilt up their heads a
little among the Moravians, the university of Olmutz
having been put on a better footing} and a riding aca¬
demy, with a learned society, has been lately establish¬
ed there.
MORAVIAN brethren. See Hernhutters,
and Unitas Fratrum.
MORAW, or Morava, a large river of Germany,
which has its source on the confines ot Bohemia and
% Silesia. It traverses the whole of Moravia, waters Ol¬
mutz and Hradisch, and receiving the Taya from the
confines of Lower Hungary and Upper Austria, sepa¬
rates these two countries as far as the Danube, into
which it falls.
MORBID, among physicians, signifies “ diseased or
corrupt y” a term applied either to an unsound consti¬
tution, or to those parts or humours that are affected
by a disease.
MORBUS COMITIALIS, a name given to the epi¬
lepsy ; because if on any day when the people were as¬
sembled in comitia upon public business, any person
suddenly seized with this disorder should fall down,
the assembly was dissolved, and the business of the cotni-
ii'o, however important, was suspended. See Comitia.
} M O R
Morbus Regius, the same with the Jaundice. See
Medicine Index.
Morbus, or Disease, in Botany. Sec \arietas.
MORDAUNT, Charles, eail of Peterborough, a
celebrated commander both by sea and land, wws the
son of John Lord Mordaunt Viscount Avalon, and was
born about the year 1658. In 1675 he succeeded his
father in his honours and estate. While young he ser¬
ved under the admirals Torrington and Narborough in
the Mediterranean against the Algerines; and in 1680
embarked for Africa with the earl of Plymouth, and
distinguished himself at Tangier when it was besieged
by the Moors. In the reign of James II. he voted
against the repeal of the test act ; and disliking the
measures of the court, obtained leave to go to Hol¬
land to accept the command of a Dutch squadron in
the West Indies. He afterwards accompanied the
prince of Orange into this kingdom ; and upon his
advancement to the throne, was sworn of the privy-
council, made one of the lords ot the bedchamber to
his majesty, also first commissioner ot the treasury, and
advanced to the dignity of earl ot Monmouth. But
in November 1690 he was dismissed from his post in
the treasury. On the death of his uncle Henry earl
of Peterborough in 1697, he succeeded to that title;
and, upon the accession of Queen Anne, was invested
with the commission of captain-general and governor
of Jamaica. In 1705 he was sworn ot the privy-
council *, and the same year declared general and com¬
mander m chief ot the torces sent to Spain, and joint
admiral of the licet with Sir Gloudeslcy Shovel, ox
which the year following he had the sole command.
His taking Barcelona with a handful ot men, and af¬
terwards relieving it when greatly distressed hy the
enemy; his driving out ot Spam the duke ot Anjou,
and the French army, which consisted ot 25,000 men,
though his own troops never amounted to 10,000;
his gaining possession ot Catalonia, ot the kingdoms of
Valencia, Arragon, and the isle of Majorca, with part
of Murcia and Castile, and thereby giving the earl_ ot
Galway an opportunity of advancing to Madrid with¬
out a blow ; are astonishing instances of his bravery
and conduct. 1'or these important services his lord¬
ship was declared general in Spain by Charles HI.
afterwards emperor of Germany ; and on his return
to England he received the thanks of the house of
lords. ^His lordship was afterwards employed in several
embassies to foreign courts, installed knight of the Gar¬
ter, and made governor ot Minorca. In the reign oi
George I. he was general of all the marine forces in
Great Britain, in which post he was continued by King
George II. He died in his passage to Lisbon, where
lie was going for the recovery of his health, in 1735*
His lordship was distinguished by various shining
qualities: for, to the greatest personal courage and
resolution, he added all the arts and address of a ge¬
neral ; a lively and penetrating genius ; and a great
extent of knowledge upon almost every subject ot im¬
portance within the compass of ancient and modern li¬
terature.
MORDELLA, a genus of insects of the coleoptera
order. See Entomology Index.
MORE, Sir Thomas, lord high chancellor ol
England, the son of Sir John More, knight, one ot the
edges- of the King’s Bench, was born in the year I4»p»
M O R
t 4°5 ]
M O R
More, in Milk-street London. He was first sent to a school
i—Y”-*'1 at St Anthony’s in Threadneedle street j and after¬
ward introduced into the family of Cardinal Moreton,
who in 1497 sent him to Canterbury college in Ox¬
ford. During his residence at the university he con¬
stantly attended the lectures of Linacre and Grocinus,
on the Greek and Latin languages. Having in the
space of about two years made considerable proficiency
in academical learning, he came to New Inn in Lon¬
don, in order to study the law j whence, after some
time, he removed to Lincoln’s Inn, of which his father
was a member. Notwithstanding his application to
the law, however, being now about 20 years old, he
wras so bigotted to monkish discipline, that he wore a
hair shirt next his skin, frequently fasted, and often
slept on a bare plank. In the year 1503, being then
a burgess in parliament, he distinguished himself in the
house, in opposition to the motion for granting a
subsidy and three fifteenths for the marriage of Hen¬
ry YII.’s eldest daughter, Margaret, to the king of
Scotland. The motion wras rejected j and the king
was so highly offended at this opposition from a beard¬
less boy, that he revenged himself on Mr More’s father,
by sending him, on a frivolous pretence, to the Tower,
and obliging him to pay tool, for his liberty. Being
now called to the bar, he was appointed law reader at
Furnival’s inn, which place he held about three years ;
but about this time he also read a public lecture in
the church of St Lawrence, Old Jewry, upon St Au¬
stin’s treatise Civitate Dei, with great applause. He
had indeed formed a design of becoming a Franciscan
friar, but was dissuaded from it ; and, by the advice
of Dr Colet, married Jane, the eldest daughter of John
Colt, Esq. of Newhall in Essex. In 1508 he was ap¬
pointed judge of the sheriff’s court in the city of Lon¬
don, was made a justice of the peace, and became very
eminent at the bar. In 1516 he went to Flanders in
the retinue of Bishop Tonstal and Dr Knight, who
were sent by King Henry VIII. to renew the alliance
with the archduke of Austria, afterwards Charles V.
On his return, Cardinal Wolsey would have engaged
Mr More in the service of the crown, and offered him
a pension, which he refused. Nevertheless, it was
not long before he accepted the place of master of
the requests, was created a knight, admitted of the
privy council, and in 1520 made treasurer of the ex¬
chequer. About this time he built a house on the
bank of the Thames, at Chelsea, and married a second
wife. This wife, whose name was Middleton, and a
widow, was old, ill tempered, and covetous ; neverthe¬
less Erasmus says, he was as fond of her as if she were a
young maid.
In the 14th year of Henry VIII. Sir Thomas More
was made speaker of the house of commons 5 in which
capacity he had the resolution to oppose the then
powerful minister, Wolsey, in his demand of an op¬
pressive subsidy ; notwithstanding which, it was not long
before he was made chancellor of the duchy of Lanca¬
ster, and was treated by the king with singular familiari¬
ty. The king having once dined with Sir Thomas at
Chelsea, walked with him near an hour in the garden,
with his arm round his neck. After he was gone, Mr
Boper, Sir Thomas’s son-in-law, observed how happy
he was to be so familiarly treated by the king: to which
Cardinal Wolsey and
France, and in 1529
Sir Thomas replied, “ 1 thank our lord, son Boper, I
find his grace my very good lord indeed, and believe
he doth as singularly favour me as any subject within
this realm : howbeit, I must tell thee, I have no cause
to be proud thereof j for if my head would win him a
castle in France, it would not fail to go off.” From
this anecdote it appears, that Sir Thomas knew his
grace to be a villain.
In 1526 he was sent with
others, on a joint embassy to
with Bishop Tonstal to Cambray. The king, it seems,
was so wrell satisfied rvith his services on these occa¬
sions, that in the following year, M oisey being dis¬
graced, he made him chancellor; which st ems the
more extraordinary, when we are told that Sir Tho¬
mas had repeatedly declared his disapprobation of the
king’s divorce, on which the great defensor jidei w7as so
positively bent. Having executed the office of chan¬
cellor about three years, with equal wisdom and inte¬
grity, he resigned the seals in 1533, probably to avoid
the danger of his refusing to confirm the king’s di¬
vorce. He now retired to his house at Chelsea ; dis¬
missed many of his servants ; sent his children with,
their respective families to their own houses (for hi¬
therto, he had, it seems, maintained all his children,
with their families, in his own house, in the true style
of an ancient patriarch 5 and spent his time in study
and devotion : but the capricious tyrant would not suf¬
fer him to enjoy his tranquillity. Though now7 re¬
duced to a private station, and even to indigence, his
opinion of the legality of the king’s marriage with
Anne Bolcyn was deemed of so much importance, that
various means were tried to procure his approbation j
but all persuasion proving ineffectual, he was, with
some others, attainted in the house of lords of mispri¬
sion of treason, for encouraging Elizabeth Barton,
the nun of Kent, in her treasonable practices. His
innocence in this affair appeared so clearly, that they
were obliged to strike his name out of the bill. Fie
was then accused of other crimes, but with the same
effect; till, refusing to take the oath enjoined by the
act of supremacy, lie was committed to the Tower,
and, after 15 months imprisonment, was tried at the
bar of the king’s bench for high treason, in denying
the king’s supremacy. The proof rested on the sole
evidence of Rich the solicitor general, whom Sir Tho¬
mas, in his defence, sufficiently discredited 5 neverthe¬
less the jury brought him in guilty, and he w;as con¬
demned to suffer as a traitor. The merciful Harry,
however, indulged him with simple decollation; and
he was accordingly beheaded on Tower hill, on the
5th of July 1535. His body, which was first interred
in the Tower, wras begged by his daughter Margaret,
and deposited in the chancel of the church at Chelsea,
where a monument, with an inscription written by
himself, had been some time before erected. This mo¬
nument with the inscription is still to be seen in that
church. The same daughter, Margaret, also procured
his head after it had remained 14 days upon London
bridge, and placed it in a vault belonging to the
Roper family, under a chapel adjoining to St Dun-
stan’s church in Canterbury. Sir Thomas More was
a man of some learning, and an upright judge ; a very
priest in religion, yet cheerful, and even affectedly
witty-
More.
M O R
T 4°^ 3
M O R
More,
1V1 orel.
witty (a). He wanted not sagacity, where religion
was out of the question } but in that his faculties " ere
so enveloped, as to render him a weak, and credulous
enthusiast. He left one son and three daughters j of
whom Margaret, the eldest, was very remarkable for
her knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages. She
married a Mr Roper of Wellhall in Kent, whose life
of Sir Thomas More was published by Mr Heame at
Oxford in 1716. Mrs Roper died in 15445 and 'vas
buried in the vault of St Dunstan’s in Canterbury, with
her father’s head in her arms.
Sir Thomas was the author of various works, though
his Utopia is the only performance that has survived in
the esteem of the world ^ owing to the rest being chief¬
ly of a polemic nature : his answer to Luther has only
gained him the credit of having the best knack of any
man in Europe, at calling bad names in good Latin.
His English works were collected and published by
order of Queen Mary, in 1557 5 his Latin, at Basil, in
1563, and at Louvain, in 1566,
MORE A., formerly called the Peloponnesus, is a
peninsula to the south of Greece, to which it is joined
by the isthmus of Corinth. Its form resembles a mul¬
berry leaf, and its name is derived from the great num¬
ber of mulberry trees which it produces. It is about
140 miles in length, and no in breadth. The air is
temperate, and the land fertile, except in the middle,
where it is full of mountains, and is watered by a great
number of rivers. It is divided into three provinces;
Scania, Belvedera, and Brazzo-di-Maina. It was ta¬
ken from the Turks by the Venetians in 1687 5 but
they lost it again in 1715. The population of the
Morea is estimated by Dr Clarke at 300,000. See
Greece and Peloponnesus.
MOREL, the name of several celebrated printers to
the kings of France, who, like the Stephens, were also
men ®f great learning.
Frederic Morel, who was interpreter in the Greek
and Latin tongues, as well as printer to the king, was
heir to Vascosan, whose daughter he had married.—
He was born in Champagne, and he died in an ad¬
vanced age at Paris, 1583. His sons and grandsons
trode in his steps', they distinguished themselves in li¬
terature, and maintained also the reputation which he
had acquired by printing. The edition of St Gregory
of'Nyssa, by his son Claude Morel, is held in great
estimation by the learned.
Morel, Frederic, son of the preceding, and still
more celebrated than his father, was professor and in¬
terpreter to the king, and printer in ordinary for the
Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and French languages. He
was so devoted to study, that when he was told his
wife was at the point of death, he would not stir till
he had finished the sentence which he had begun. Be¬
fore it was finished, he was informed that she was ac¬
tually dead 5 I am sorry for it, (replied he coldly), she
was an excellent woman. This printer acquired great
reputation from the works which he published, which
were very numerous and beautifully executed. F rom
the manuscripts in the king’s library, he published se¬
veral treatises of St Basil, Theodoret, St Cyrille j and
he accompanied them with a translation. His edition
of the works of CEcumenius and Aretas, in 2 vols.
folio, is much esteemed. In short, after distinguishing
himself by his knowledge in the languages, he died
June 27. 1630, at the age of 78. His sons and grand¬
sons followed the same profession.
Morel, William, regius professor of Greek, and
director of the king’s planting house at Paris, died
1564. He composed a Dictionnaire Grec-Latu^f ran-
cois, which was published in quarto in \bTl, and
some other works which indicate very extensive learn¬
ing. His editions of the Greek authors are exceed¬
ingly beautiful. This great scholar, who was of a
different family from the preceding, had a brother
named, John, who died in prison (where he had been
confined for heresy) at the age of 20, and whose body
was dug out of the grave, and burnt, Feb. 27. 1559.
They were of the parish of Tilleul, in the county of
Mortein in Normandy.
MORENA, in Ancient Geography, a district or di¬
vision of Mysia, in the Hither Asia. A part of which
was occupied by Cleon, formerly at the head of a
band of robbers, but afterwards priest of Jupiter Ab-
rettenus, and enriched with possessions, first by Antony,
and then by Caesar.
MORESQUE, Moresk, or Morisko, a kind of
painting, carving, &c. done after the manner of the
Moors ; consisting of several grotesque pieces and com¬
partments promiscuously intermingled, not containing
any perfect figure of a man, or other animal, but a wild
resemblance of birds, beasts, trees, &c. These are also
called arabesques, and are particularly used in embroi¬
deries, damask work, &c.
Moresque Dances, vulgarly called Morrice dances,
are those altogether in imitation of the Moors, as sa¬
rabands, chacons, &c. and are usually performed with
castanets, tambours, &c.
There are few country places in England where the
morrice dance is not known. It was probably intro¬
duced about, or a little before, the reign of Henry VIII.
and is a dance of young men in their shirts, with bells
at their feet, and ribbands of various colours tied round
their arms and flung across their shoulders.
MORGAGNA. See Fata.
MORGAGNI, John Baptist, doctor of medicine,
first professor of anatomy in the university of Padua,
and member of several of the most eminent societies of
learned men in Europe, was born in the year 1682, at
Forli, a town in the district of La Bomagna in Italy.
His
(a) This last disposition, we are told, he could not restrain even at his execution. The day being come, ie
ascended the scaffold, which seemed so w^eak that it was ready to fall j whereupon, “ I pray (said he) see
me safe up, and for my coming down let me shift for mysell.” His prayers being ended, he turned to t ie
executioner, and with a cheerful countenance said, “ Pluck up thy spirits, man, and be not afraid to do tiy
office 5 my neck is very short, take heed therefore thou strike not awry for saving thy honesty.” Then laying
his head upon the block, he bade him stay until he had put aside his beard, saying, “ J hat had never conum -
ted any treason.”
M O R [ 407 ] M O R
rgagni. His parents, who were in easy circumstances, allowed
him to follow that course in life his genius dictated.
He began his studies at the place of his nativity ; but
soon after removed to Bologna, where he obtained the
degree of Doctor of Medicine, when he had but just
reached the 16th year of his age. Here his peculiar
taste for anatomy found an able preceptor in Valsalva,
who bestowed on him the utmost attention *, and such
was the progress he made under this excellent master,
that at the age of 20 he himself taught anatomy with
high reputation. Soon, however, the fame of his pre¬
lections, and the number of his pupils, excited the
jealousy of the public professors, and gave rise to in¬
vidious persecutions. But his abilities and prudence
gained him a complete triumph over his enemies; and
all opposition to him was finally terminated from his
being appointed by the senate of Bologna to fill a me¬
dical chair, which soon became vacant. But the du¬
ties of this office, although important, neither occu¬
pied the whole of his time, nor satisfied his anxious
desire to afford instruction. He still continued to la¬
bour in secret on his favourite subject, and soon after
communicated the fruits of these labours to the public
in his Adversaria Anatarnica, the first of which was pub¬
lished in the year 1706, the second and third in 1717,
and the three others in 1719. The publication of this
excellent work spread the fame of Morgagni far be¬
yond the limits of the state of Bologna. Such was his
reputation, that the wise republic of Venice had no
hesitation in making him an offer of the second chair
of the theory of medicine in the university of Padua j
then vacant by the death of M. Molinetti 5 and, to en¬
sure his acceptance, they doubled the emoluments of
that appointment. While he was in this department,
he published his treatise, entitled Nova Instit'Htionvm
mediearum idea, which first appeared at Padua in the
year 1712. From this work his former reputation suf¬
fered no diminution. And soon after he rose, by dif¬
ferent steps, to be first professor of anatomy in that
celebrated university. Although Morgagni was thus
finally settled at Padua, yet he gave evident proofs of
his gratitude and attachment to Bologna, which he
considered as his native country with respect to the
sciences. He exerted his utmost efforts in establishing
the academy of Bologna, of which he was one of the
first associates ; and he enriched their publications with
several valuable and curious papers. Soon after this,
the Royal Societies of London and Paris received him
among their number. Not long after the publication
of his Adversaria Anatomica, he began, much upon*
the same plan, his Epistolce Anatomica;, the first of
which is dated at Padua in the beginning of April
1726. The works of Morgagni which have already
been mentioned, are to be considered, in a great mea¬
sure, as strictly anatomical : but he was not more emi¬
nent as an anatomist, than as a learned and successful
physician. In the year 1760, when he was not far di¬
stant from the 80th year of his age, he published his
large and valuable work Lie causis et sedibus morbomni
per anatomen indagatis. This last and most important
of all his productions will afford convincing evidence
ol his industry and abilities to latest posterity. Besides
these works, he published, at different periods of his
life, several miscellaneous pieces, which were after¬
wards collected into one volume, agd printed under his
own eye at Padua, in the year 1765. It does not ap- Morgagni
pear that he had in view any future publications ; but [j
he intended to have favoured the world with a com- Morison,
plete edition of all his works, which would probably ," ’'w
have been augmented with many new observations. In.
this he was engaged when, on the 5th of December
1771, after he had nearly arrived at the 90th year of
his age, death put a period to his long and glorious
career in the learned world.
MORGANA, or Morgagna, Fata. See Fata.
MORGES, a town of Swisserland in the canton of
Berne, a place of some trade, and situated on the lake
of Geneva, five miles from Lausanne. E. Long. 6.42.
N. Lat. 46. 29.
MORGO, anciently Amorgos, an island in the Ar¬
chipelago, which produces wine, oil, and corn. It is
well cultivated, and the inhabitants are affable, and ge¬
nerally of the Greek church. The best parts belong,
to a monastery. The greatest inconvenience in this
island is the want of wood. It is 30 miles in circum¬
ference. E. Long. 26. 15. N. Lat. 36. 30.
MORIAH, one of the eminences of Jerusalem 5 on
which Abraham went to offer his son, and David
wanted to build the temple, which was afterwards exe¬
cuted by Solomon : The threshing floor of Araunah j
originally narrow, so as scarce to contain the temple,
but enlarged by means of ramparts ; and surrounded,
with a triple wall, so as to add great strength to the
temple, (Josephus). It may be considered as a part
of Mount Sion, to which it was joined by a bridge and
gallery, (Id.).
MGRILLES, a kind of mushroom, about the size
of a walnut, pierced with holes like a honey-comb, and
said to be good for creating an appetite. It is often
used in sauces and ragouts. x
MORINA, a genus of plants belonging to the diaiir
dria class ; and in the natural method ranking under
the 48th order, Aggreg&tce. See Botany Index.
MORINORUM Castellum, in Ancient Geogra¬
phy, simply Castellum (Antonine) ; situated on an emi¬
nence, with a spring of water on its top, in the terri¬
tory of the Morini. Notv Mont Cassel, in Flanders.
MORINDA, a genus of plants belonging to the
pentandria class, and in the natural method ranking
under the 48th order, Aggregate. See Botany hi¬
ded'.
MORISON, Robert, physician and professor of.
botany at Oxford, was born at Aberdeen in i620k
bred at the university there, and taught philosophy for
some time in it; but having a strong inclination to bo¬
tany, made great progress in that science. The civil
wars obliged him to leave his country j which, how¬
ever, he did not do till he had first signalized his zeal
for the interest of the king, and his courage, in a battle
fought between the inhabitants of Aberdeen and the
Presbyterian troops on the bridge of Aberdeen, in which,
he received a dangerous wound on the head. As soon,
as he was cured of it, he went into France; and fixing
at Paris, he applied assiduously to botany and anatomy.
He was introduced to the duke of Orleans, who gave
him the direction of the royal gardens at Blois. He
exercised the office till the death of that prince, and
afterwards went over to England in 1660. Charles II.
to whom the duke of Orleans had presented him at
Blois, sent for him to London, and gave him the title
of
M 0 ft l
of his physician, and that of professor royal of botany,
with a pension of 200I per annum. The l rcdudium
^orlacba. Botamcun Avll;ch he published in 1669, procured him
Me risen
slmuch’reputation, that the university of Oxford in¬
vited him to the professorship of botany in 1069 ,
which he accepted, and acquitted himself in it with
((•reat ability. He died at J^ondon m 1683, aged 63.
He published a second and third part ol Ins insiory
of Plants, in 2 vols. folio *, with this title, Plantarum
Historia Oxoniensis Universalis. 1 he first part of this
excellent work has not been printed j and it is not
known what has become ot it. _
MOlllSONIA, a genus of plants belonging to tbe
monadelphia class, and in the natural method rank¬
ing under the 25th order, Putaminece. bee Botany
9 Tpv -1
MOKLACHIA, a mountainous country ot JJal-
matia. The inhabitants are called Morlacks or Alor-
lacchi; they inhabit the pleasant valleys of Koter, along
the rivers Kerha, Cettina, Narenta, and among the
inland mountains of Dalmatia. The inhabitants are by
some said to be of Walachian extraction, as is indicated
hv their name •, Morlachia being a contraction ot
Maura Walachia, that is, Black Walachia : and the
Walachians are said to be descendants ot the ancient
Roman colonies planted in these countries. 11ns, how-
ever, is denied by the Abbd Fortis, who published a
volume of travels into that country. _ He informs us
that the origin of the Morlaccln is involved in the
darkness of barbarous ages, together with that ot many
other nations, resembling them so much m customs and
language, that they may be taken for one people, dis¬
persed in the vast tracts from the Adriatic sea to the
Frozen ocean. „ .
With regard to the etymology of the name, the
Abbe observes, that the Morlacchi generally call them¬
selves, in their own language, Vlassi; a national term,
of which no vestige is found in the records of Dal¬
matia till the 13th century. It signifies/Mwcy/w/ men,
or men of authority; and the denomination ot Mono
Vlassi, corruptly Morlacchi, as they are now called,
may perhaps point out the original of the nation. I his
word may possibly signify the conquerors that came from
the sea; moor, in all the dialects of the Sclavoman
language, signifying the sea.
With regard to the character of these people, we
are informed that they are much injured by their ma¬
ritime neighbours. The inhabitants of the sea coast of
Dalmatia tell many frightful stories of their avarice
and cruelty : but these, in our author’s opinion, are all
either of an ancient date, or if any have happened in
latter times, they ought rather to be ascribed to the
corruption of a few individuals, than to the bad dis¬
position of the nation in general j and though thievish
tricks are frequent among them, he informs us, that
a stranger may travel securely through their coun¬
try, where he is faithfully escorted, and hospitably
treated.
As to the Morlacchi themselves, they are repre¬
sented as open anti sincere to such a degree, tnat they
would be taken for simpletons in any other country j
and by means of this quality they have been so often
'duped by the Italians, that the faith of an Italian and
the faith of a deg, are synonymous among tbe Morlacchi.
They are very hospitable to strangers j and their hos-
408 ] M O R
pitality is equally conspicuous among the rich anti poor. Morladul
The rich prepares a roasted land) or sheep, and the v-"”-
poor with equal cordiality oilers whatever he has j nor
is this generosity confined to strangers, hut generally
extends itself to all who are in want. When a Mor-
lack is on a journey, and comes to lodge at a friend’s
house, the eldest daughter of the family, or the new
married bride, if there happen to he one, receives and
kisses him when he alights from his horse or at the
door of the house : but a foreigner is rarely favoured
with these female civilities j on the contrary the wo¬
men, if thev are young, hide themselves, and keep out
of his way. .
The Morlacchi in general have little notion ot do¬
mestic economy, and readily consume in a week as
much as would be sufficient for several months, when¬
ever any occasion of merriment presents itself. A mar¬
riage, tbe holiday of the saint protector of the family,
the arrival of relations or friends, or any other joyful
incident, consumes of course all that there is to eat
and to drink in the house. Yet the Morlack is a great
economist in the use of his wearing apparel j for
rather than spoil his new cap, he takes it off, let it
rain ever so hard, and goes bareheaded in the storm.
In the same manner he treats his shoes, if the road is
dirty and they are not very old. Nothing but an abso¬
lute impossibility hinders a Morlack from being punc¬
tual ; and if he cannot repay the money he borrowed at
the appointed time, he carries a small present to his
creditor, and requests a longer term. .
Friendship is lasting among the Morlacclu. Ihey
have even made it a kind of religious point, and tie
the sacred bond at the foot of the altar. The Sclavo-
nian ritual contains a particular benediction for the so.
lemn union of two male or two female friends m the
presence of the congregation. The male friends thus
united are called Pobratimi, and the female Posestreme,
which means half-brothers and half-sisters. From those
consecrated friendships among the Morlacchi and other
nations of the same origin, it should seem that the
sworn brothel's arose j a denomination frequent enough
among the common people of Italy and in many parts
of Europe. The difference between these and the
Pobratimi of Morlachia consists not only in the want
of the ritual ceremony, but in the design of the vimon
itself. For, among the Morlacchi, the sole view is
reciprocal service and advantage j hut such a brothei-
hood among the Italians is generally commenced by
bad men, to enable them the more to hurt and disturb
society*
But as the friendships of the Morlaccbi are strong
and sacred, so their quarrels are commonly unextin-
guishable. ' They pass from father to son 5 and the mo¬
thers fail not to put their children in mind of their
duty to revenge their father if he has had the mis¬
fortune to be killed, and to show them often the
bloody shirt and arms of the dead._ And so deeply
is revenge rooted in the minds of this nation, tiat a
the missionaries in the world would not be able
to eradicate it. A Morlack is naturally inclined to
do n-ood to his fellow creatures, and is full of gratitude
for the smallest benefit, but implacable it injured or
insulted. r 1
A Morlack who has killed another of a P™ei j"1
family, is commonly obliged to save himself >y ig*^
M O R [
orlacchi. an<l to keep out of the way for several years.
—v—' during that time he has been fortunate enough to
escape the search of his pursuers, and has got a small
sum of money, he endeavours to obtain pardon and
peace ; and, that he may treat about the conditions
in person, he asks and obtains a safe conduct, which
is faithfully maintained, though only verbally granted.
Then he finds mediators : and, on the appointed day,
the relations of the two hostile families are assembled
and the criminal is introduced, dragging himself along
on his hands and feet, the musket", pistol, or cutlass^
with which he committed the murder, hung about his
neck ; and while he continues in that humble posture,
one or more of the relations recites a panegyric on
the dead, which sometimes rekindles the flames of
revenge, and puts the poor prostrate in no small dan¬
ger.
The Morlacks, whether they happen to be of the
Homan or of the Greek church, have very singular
ideas about religion : and the ignorance of their teach¬
ers daily augments this monstrous evil. They are as
firmly persuaded of the reality of witches, fairies, en¬
chantments, nocturnal apparitions, and sortileges, as
if they had seen a thousand examples of them. Nor
do they make the least doubt about the existence of
vampires : and attribute to them, as in Transylvania,
the sucking the blood of infants. Therefore, when
a man dies suspected of becoming a vampire, or vu-
kodlak, as they call it, they cut his hams, and prick
his whole body with pins ; pretending, that after
this operation he cannot walk about. There are even
instances of Morlacchi, who, imagining that they may
possibly thirst for children’s blood after death, entreat
their heirs, and sometimes oblige them to promise, to
treat them as vampires when they die.
A most perfect discord reigns in Morlacchia, as it
generally does in other parts, between the Latin and
Greek communion, which their respective priests fail
not to foment, and tell a thousand little scandalous sto¬
ries of each other. The churches of the Latins are
poor, but not very dirty ; those of the Greeks are
equally poor, and shamefully ill kept. Our author
has seen the curate of a Morlack village sitting on the
ground in the churchyard, to hear the confession of
women on their knees by his side : a strange posture
indeed ! but a proof ol the innocent manners of those
good people, who have the most profound veneration
for their spiritual pastors, and a total dependence upon
them j who, on their part, frequently make use of a
discipline rather military, and correct the bodies of
their offending flock with the cudgel.
Innocence, and the natural liberty of pastoral ages,
are still preserved among the Morlacchi, or at least
many traces of them remain in the places farthest di¬
stant from our settlements. Pure cordiality of senti¬
ment is not there restrained by other regards, and dis¬
plays itself without any distinction of circumstances. A
young handsome Morlack girl, who meets a man of her
district on the road, kisses him affectionately, without
the least imputation of impropriety j and M. Portis
has seen all the women and girls, all the young men
and old, kissing one another as they came into the
churchyard on a holiday ; so that they looked as if
they all belonged to one family. He often observed
the same thing on the road, and at the fairs in the roa-
■ ^ OL. XIV. Part II, f
409 ] MO R
If ritime lowng, where the Morlacchi came to sell their Morlaceht
commodities. >, y— '
Ihe dress of the unmarried women is the most com¬
plex and whimsical, in respect to the ornaments of the
head j for when married they are not allowed to wear
any thing else but a handkerchief, either white or co¬
loured tied about it. The girls use a scarlet cap, to
which they commonly hang a veil falling down on the
shoulders, as a mark of their virginity. The better
sort adorn their caps with strings of silver coins, a-
mong which are frequently seen very ancient and va¬
luable ones } they have moreover ear ring* of very cu¬
rious work, and small silver chains with the figures of
half moons fastened to the ends of them. But the poor
aie forced to content themselves with plain caps ; or if
they have any ornaments, they consist only of small
exotic shells, round glass beads, or bits of tin. The
principal merit ol these caps, which constitute the
good taste as well as vanity of the Morlack young
ladies, is to attract and fix the eyes of all who are
near to them by the multitude of ornaments, and the
noise they make on the least motion of their heads.
Both old and young women wear about their necks
large strings of round glass beads, of various size and
colour ; and many rings of brass, tin, or silver, on
their fingers. Their bracelets are of leather covered
with wrought tin or silver ; and they embroider their
stomachers, or adorn them with beads or shells. But
the use of stays is unknown, nor do they put whale¬
bone or iron in the stomacher. A broad woollen
girdle surrounds their petticoat, which is commonly
decked with shells, and of blue colour, and therefore
called modrina. Their gown as well as petticoat, is
of a kind of serge j and both reach near to the ancle:
the gown is bordered with scarlet, and called sadak.
I hey use no modrina in summer, and only wear the
sadak without sleeves over a linen petticoat or shift. 
The girls always wear red stockings ; and their shoes
are like those of the men, called opanke. The sole is
ol undressed ox hide, and the upper part of sheep’s skin
thongs knotted, which they call epute ; and these they
fasten above the ancles, something like the ancient co¬
thurnus. The unmarried women, even of the richest
families, are not permitted to wear any other sort of
shoes j though after marriage, they may, if they will,
lay aside the opanke, and use the Turkish slippers.
Ihe girls keep their hair tressed under their caps, but
when married they let it fall dishevelled on the breast;
sometimes they tie it under the chin j and always have
medals, beads, or bored coins, in the Tartar or Ame¬
rican mode twisted amongst it.
Nothing is more common among the Morlacchi than
marriages concluded between the old people of the re¬
spective families, especially when the parties live at a
great distance, and neither see nor know each other;
and the ordinary motive of these alliances is the am¬
bition of being related to a numerous and powerful fa¬
mily, famous for having produced valiant men. A de¬
nial in such cases is very rare ; nor does the father of
the maid inquire much into the circumstances of the fa¬
mily that asks her. Sometimes a daughter of the master
is given in marriage to the servant or tenant, as was
usual in patriarchal times; so little are the women re¬
garded in this country. But on these occasions, the
Morlacchi girls enjoy the privilege of refusal. For he
3 F who
MOB [ 41
Morlacchi. who acts hy proxy, having obtained Ins suit, is obliged
M° »to o-o and bring the bridegroom : and, if on seeing
each other, the young people are reciprocally content,
the marriage is concluded, but not otherwise. In some
parts it is the custom for the bride to go to see the house
and family of the proposed husband, before she gives
a definitive answrer j and if the place or persons aie
disagreeable to her, she is at liberty to annul the con-
tiaThe bride is conducted to a church, veiled, and sur¬
rounded by the friends of the bridegroom, or svati, as
they are called, on horseback; and the sacred cere¬
mony is performed amidst the noise of muskets, pistols,
barbaric shouts and acclamations, which continue till
she return to her father’s house or to that of her hus¬
band, if not far off. The first day’s entertainment is
sometimes made at the bride’s house, but generally at
the bridegroom’s, whither the svati hasten immediately
after the nuptial benediction •, and at the same time three
or four men run on foot to tell the good news j the first
who gets to the house has a kind of a towel embroidered
at the ends, as a premium. The domachin, or head ot
the house, comes out to meet his daughter-in-lau •, am
a child is handed to her, before she alights, to caress it;
and if there happen to be none in the house, the child
is borrowed from one of the neighbours. When she
alights, she kneels down, and kisses the threshold.
Then the mother-in-law, or in her place some other
female relation, presents a corn sieve, full ot different
kinds of grain, nuts, almonds, and other small iruit,
which the bride scatters upon the svati, by handfuls,
behind her back. The bride does not sit at the great
table the first day, but has one apart for herseli, the
two diveri, and the stacheo. The bridegroom sits at
table with the svati; but in all that day, consecrated to
the matrimonial union, he must neither unloosen nor cut
any thing whatever. The knum carves his meat, and
cuts his bread. It is the domachin’s business to give
the toasts ; and the stari-svat is the first who pledges
him. Generally the bukkara, a very large wooden
cup, goes round, first to the saint protector of the fa¬
mily ; next to the prosperity of the holy faith ; and
sometimes to a name the most sublime and venerable.
The most extravagant abundance reigns at these feasts;
and each of the svati contributes, by sending a share
of provisions. The dinner begins with fruit and
cheese; and the soup comes last, just contrary to our
custom. All sorts of domestic fowls, kid, lamb, and
sometimes venison, are heaped in prodigal quantities
upon their tables.
These nuptial feasts, called sdrave by the ancient
Huns, are by the Morlacchi called sdravize, from
whence the Italian word stravizzo is undoubtedly de¬
rived. They continue three, six, eight, or more days,
according to the ability or prodigal disposition of the
family where they are held. The new married wife
gets no inconsiderable profit in these days of joy: and
it usually amounts to much more than all the portion
She brings with her, which often consists of nothing
but her own clothes and perhaps a cow; nay, it hap¬
pens sometimes that the parents, instead,of giving
money with their daughter, get something from the
bridegroom by way of price. The bride carries water
every morning, to wash the hands of her guests as long
as the feasting lasts j and each of them throws a small
O ] M O ft
piece of money into the bason after performing that Morlacci
function, which is a very rare one among them, except- JVlorna^
ing on such occasions.
The Morlacchi pass their youth in the woods, at¬
tending their flocks and herds ; and in that life of quiet
and leisure they often become dexterous in carving with
a simple knife : they make wooden cups, and whistles
adorned with fanciful bas reliefs, which are not void
of merit, and at least show the genius of the people. _
MORNAY, Philippe he, seigneur du Plessis
Marly, was born at Buby or Bishuy in Upper Norman¬
dy in France, in 1549’ an^ was educated at Paris.
What was then thought a prodigy in a gentleman, he
made a rapid progress in the belles lettres, in the
learned languages, and in theology. He was at first
destined for the church; but the principles of Caivi-
which he had imbibed from his mother, etlec-
msm, wijiwn     .
tually excluded him from the ecclesiastical preferments
to which he was entitled by his interest, abilities,
and birth. After the horrible massacre of St Bartho¬
lomew, Philippe de Mornay made the tour of Italy,
Germany, England, and the Low Countries ; and be
was equally improved and delighted by his travel.--
Mornay afterwards joined the king of Navarre, at that
time leader of the Protestant party, and so well known
since by the name of Henry IV. This prince sent
Mornay, who employed his whole abilities, both as
a soldier and a writer, in defence of the Protestant
cause, to conduct a negociation with Elizabeth queen
of England ; and left him wholly to his own discretion
in the management of that business. He was success¬
ful in almost every negociation, because he conduct¬
ed it like an able ' politician, and not with a spirit of
intrigue. He tenderly loved Henry • and spone
to him on all occasions as to a friend. When he was
wounded at Aumale, he wrote to him in these words :
“ Sire, You have long enough acted the part of
Alexander, it is now time you should act that^ of
Csesar. It is our duty to die for your majesty, Sec.
It is glorious for you, Sire, that I dare venture to tell
you it is your duty to live for us.” 1 his ^faithful
subject did every thing in his power to raise Henry
to the throne. But when he deserted the Protestant
faith, he reproached him in the bitterest manner, and
retired from court. Henry still loved him ; and was
extremely affected with an insult which he received in
ICQ7 from one Saint Phal, who beat him with a
cudgel, and left him for dead. Mornay demanded
justice from the king, who gave him the following
answer, a proof as well of his spirit as ot his goodness
of heart. u Monsieur Duplessis, I am.exceedingly of¬
fended at the insult you have received ; and I sympa¬
thize with you both as your sovereign and your friend.
In the former capacity, I shall do justice to you and
to myself; and had I sustained only the character ct
your friend, there are few perhaps who would have
drawn their sword or sacrificed their life more cheer¬
fully in your cause. Be satisfied, then, that I will act
the part of a king, a master, and a friend,” &c. Mor-
nav’s knowledge, probity, and valour, made him the
soul of the Protestant party, and procured him the
contemptuous appellation of the Pope of the Huguenots-.
He defended their doctrines both by speech and writ¬
ing. One of his books on the Iniquity of the Mass,
having stirred up all the Catholic divines, he refused
M O R
Ma-nay ‘° m:l^c any reply to their censures ami criticisms
|| except in a public conference. This was accordingly
Moioc appointed to he held A. D. 1600, at Fountainbleau,
where the court then was. The two champions were,
Du Perron bishop of Evreux, and Mornay. After a
great many arguments and replies on both sides, the
victory was adjudged to Du Perron. He had boasted
that he would point out to the satisfaction of every
one five hundred errors in his adversary’s book, and
lie partly kept his rvord. The Calvinists did not fail
to claim the victory on this occasion, and they still
continue to do so. This conference, instead of putting
an end to the differences, was productive of new quarrels
among the controversialists, and of much profane wit
among the libertines. A Huguenot minister, who was
present at the conference, observed with great concern
to a captain of the same party,—“ The bishop of Evreux
has already driven Mornay from several strong holds.”
“ No matter (replied the soldier), provided he does not
drive him from Saumur.” This was an important
place on the river Loire, of which Duplessis was go¬
vernor. Hither he retired, his attention being con¬
stantly occupied in defending the Huguenots, and in
making himself formidable to the Catholics. When
Louis XtIL was making preparations against the Pro¬
testants, Duplessis wrote him a letter, dissuading him
from such a measure. After employing the most
plausible arguments, he concludes in the following
manner : “ To make war on the subject, is an indi-
-cation of weakness in the government. Authority
consists in the quiet submission of the people, and is
established by the prudence and justice of the governor.
Force of arms ought never to be employed except in re¬
pelling a foreign enemy. The late king would have sent
the new ministers of state to learn the first elements of
politics, who like unskilful surgeons would apply violent
remedies to every disease, and advise a man to cut off an
arm when his finger aches.” These remonstrances pro¬
duced no other effect than the loss of the government of
Saumur, of which he was deprived by Louis XIII. in
1621. He died two years after, November 11. 1623,
aged 74, in his barony de la Foret-sur-Seure in Poitou.
The Protestant cause never had an abler supporter, or
one who did it more credit by his virtues and abili¬
ties.
Ccnseur des courtisans, mais d la cour ahne ;
Fier ennemi de Rome, et de Rome estime,—Henriade.
The following is a list of his works: 1. Un Traite
de PFuchariste, 1604, in folio. 2. Un Traite de la
verite de la Religion Chretienne, 8vo. 3. A book en¬
titled La Mijstere di1 Iniquite, 410. 4. Un discours sur le
droit pretendu par ceux de la maison de Guise, 8vo.
5. Curious and interesting Memoirs from the year 1572
to 1629, 4 vo^s* 4t0- valuable. 6. Letters; which are
written with great spirit and good sense. David des
Liques has given us his life in quarto \ a book more in¬
teresting for the matter than the manner.
MORNE-garou, a very remarkable volcanic moun¬
tain on the island of St Vincent’s in the West Indies.
It was visited by Mr James Anderson surgeon in the
year 1764. See St Vincents.
MOROC, or Maroc, a beautiful bird of Abyssinia,
described by Mr Bruce, who thinks its name is derived
from mar, “ honey,” though he says that he never heard
M O R
it was further concerned in the honey than destroying Moroc
bees. It seems to pursue those insects out of enmity or li
diversion as well as for food, leaving great numbers dead , or,1*co
on the ground, besides those which it devours for food.
The moroc resembles the cuckoo in size and shape,
but differs in other respects. Its mouth is vex-y wide,
the opening reaching almost to its eyes 5 the inside of
the mouth and throat yellow, the tongue sharp-point¬
ed, and capable of being drawn almost half its length
out of the mouth beyond the point of its beak, and is
very flexible. The head and neck ax-e brown, without
any mixture of other colours : there are likewise a num¬
ber of very small and scarcely visible hairs at the root
of the beak.
This seems to be the bird mentioned bv Sparman
under the name of cuculus indicator, which (he says)
has the singular property of discovering the nests of wild
bees, and leading travellers by a certain cry to the place
where the treasui'e is deposited. According to Spax--
man’s account, it makes known these discoveries by the
same cry to foxes as well as to the human species ; but
Jerome Lobo, who mentions the Abyssinian bird, takes
no notice of the foxes, though he mentions its singing
melodiously when it arrives at the place where the honey
is deposited. Both these accounts ai’e severely criticised
by Mr Bruce, who says, that honey is so abundant on
every hillock and every tree, that a bird possessing this
faculty could be of no use to man or to any other ani¬
mal in that country, and that having never heard of
such a bird in Abyssinia, he considers the account of it
as a fiction.
MORNING, the beginning of the day, or the time
of the sun rising. The astronomers reckon morning,
mane, from the time of midnight to that of mid-day.
Thus an eclipse is said to begin at 11 o’clock in the
moi'ning, &c.
Morning star, is the planet Venus, when a little to
the westward of the sun ; that is, when she rises a little
before. In this situation she is called by the Greeks
Phosphorus ; by the Latins Lucifer, &c. ,
MOROCCO, an empire of Africa, comprehending Situation
a considerable part of the ancient Mauritania, is bound- and bouu-
ed on the west by the Atlantic ocean 5 on the east by danes-
the river Mulvya, which separates it from Algiers; on
the north by the Mediterranean $ and on the south by
Mount Atlas, or rather by the river Sus, which di¬
vides it from the kingdom of Tafilet. Its greatest length
is from the north-east to the south-west, amounting to
above 590 miles; its breadth is not above 260 where
broadest, and in the narrowest places it is not above
half that breadth. 3
The ancient history of Morocco has been already History,
given under the article Mauritania. It continued
under the dominion of the Romans upwards of 400
years. On the decline of that empire it fell under
the Goths, who held it till about the year 600, when
the Goths were driven out by the Vandals, the Van¬
dals by the Greeks, and they in their turn by the
Saracens, who conquered not only this empire, but
we may say the whole continent of Africa j at least
their religion, one way or other, is to be found in all
parts of it. The Saracen empire did not continue
long united under one head, and many princes set up
for themselves in Africa as well as eisewrhere, through
whose dissensions the Almoravides were at length
3 F 2 raised
[ 4TI ]
M O It
[ 4t2 ]
M O II
Morocco.
3
Govern-
Account of
the black
troops.
raised to the sovereignty, as related under the article
Algiers, N° 2. Yusef, or Joseph, the second mo¬
narch of that line, built the city of Morocco, con¬
quered the kingdom of Fez, and the Moorish domi¬
nions in Spain } all which were lost by his grandson
Abbu Halli, who was defeated and killed by the Spa¬
niards. On this prince’s death the crown passed to
the Mohedians, or Almohedes, with whom it had not
continued above three generations, when Mohammed
the son of A1 Mansur lost the famous battle of Sierra
Morena, in which 200,000 Moors were slain, and in
consequence of which Alphonso X. retook a great
many of the Moorish conquests immediately after.
Mohammed died soon after this disgrace, and left
several sons, between whom a civil war ensued, during
which the viceroys of Fez, Tunis, and Tremesen, found
means to establish themselves as independent princes.
At length one of the princes of the royal blood of
Tremesen having defeated the Almohedes, made him¬
self master of the kingdoms of Morocco and Fez, and
entailed them on his own family. In a short time,
however, this family was expelled by the Merini, the
Merini by the Oatazes, and these by the Sharifs of
Ilascen, who have kept the government ever siuce.
Nothing can be conceived more unjust and despotic
than the government of Morocco, and nothing more de¬
generate than the character of the people. The em¬
peror is allowed to have not only an uncontrollable
power over the lives and fortunes of his subjects, but
in a great measure over their consciences, in as much as
he is the only person who, as the successor of the pro¬
phet, has a right to interpret the Koran j and appoints
all the judges under him, of whom those of Morocco
and Fez are the chief, whose business it is to explain
and dispense all matters relating to their religion j and
who, being his creatures and dependents, dare not steer
otherwise than as he directs, Whenever therefore the
laws are enacted by him, and proclaimed by his gover¬
nors in all the provinces, as is commonly done, that none
may plead ignorance, they are everywhere received
with an implicit and religious submission. On the
other hand, the subjects are bred up with a notion, that
those who die in the execution of his command are en¬
titled to an immediate admittance into paradise, and
those who have the honour to die by his hand to a still
greater degree of happiness in it. After this we need
not wonder at finding so much cruelty, oppression, and
tyranny on the one side, and so much submission, pas¬
siveness and misery on the other.
This latter, however, extends no farther than the
Moors : for as to the mountaineers, the subjection and
tribute they pay to those tyrants was always involun¬
tary ; and as for the negroes, their zeal and attachment
is mving merely to the great sway and power which
they have gained in the government, on various ac¬
counts. They were first introduced, or rather their im¬
portation increased, by the policy ol Muley Ishmael, a
late emperor, at a period when there was a great de¬
crease of population in the empire, occasioned in some
degree by the enormous cruelties exercised by its former
sovereigns, who have been known not unfrequently,
through a slight disgust, to abandon a whole town or
province to the sword. In the character of Muley Ish¬
mael were found the most singular inconsistencies } for
it is certain, that although a tyrant, yet in other re¬
spects, as if to repair the mischief which he committed, Morocco.
lie left nothing undone for the encouragement of popu-' 
lation.—He introduced large colonies of negroes from
Guinea j built towns for them, many of which are
still remaining, assigned them portions of land, and
encouraged their increase by every possible means.
He soon initiated them in the Mahometan faith ; aird
had his plan been followed, the country by this time
would have been populous, and probably flourishing.
As the negroes are of a more lively, active and enter¬
prising disposition than the Moors, they might scon
have been taught the arts of agriculture ; and their sin¬
gular ingenuity might have been directed to other use¬
ful purposes. It is true, Muley Ishmael, when he
adopted this plan, had more objects in view than that
of merely peopling his dominions. He saw plainly that
his own subjects were of too capricious a disposition to
form soldiers calculated for his tyrannical purposes.
They had uniformly manifested an inclination to change
their sovereign^, though more from the love of variety
than to reform the government, or restrain the abuses
of tyranny. Muley Isbmael had discernment ^enough
to see, that by forming an army of slaves, whose sole
dependence should rest upon their master, he could easily
train them in such a manner as to act in the strictest
conformity to his wishes. He soon learnt that the
great object with the negroes was plenty of money and
liberty of plunder ; in these he liberally indulged them,
and the plan fully answered his expectations. Though,
however, Muley Ishmael had no great merit in introdu¬
cing subjects for the purposes of tyranny, yet the good
effects of this new colonization were very generally ex¬
perienced. By intermarrying among themselves, and
intermixing among the Moors (for the Moors will keep
negro women as concubines, though they seldom marry
them), a new race of people started up, who became as
useful subjects as the native inhabitants, and brought the
empire into a much more flourishing state than it had
ever been in since their great revolution.
Sidi Mahomet, his grandson and successor, had dif¬
ferent views, and was actuated by different motives.
From his inordinate avarice, he ceased to act towards
his black troops in the generous manner which had di¬
stinguished his predecessor Muley Ishmael ; and they
soon showed themselves discontented with his conduct.
They offered to place his eldest son Muley Ali, on the
throne ; but this prince, not unmindful of the duty
which he owed his father and sovereign, declined their
ofler. They next applied to Muley ^ azid, who at first
accepted of the assistance they tendered, but in a short
time relinquished the plan. Sidi Mahomet, disgusted
with this conduct of the negroes, determined to curb
their growing power, by disbanding a considerable part
of these troops, and banishing them to distant parts of
the empire. 5 I
A most flagrant species of despotism, which renders Despotr-1
the emperors more formidable to their subjects, is their of diee"
making themselves their sole heirs, and, in virtue of that,Perors'
seizing upon all their effects, and making only such pro¬
vision for their families as they think proper} and often,
on some frivolous pretence, leaving them destitute of
any, according to the liking or dislike they bear- to the
deceased } so that, upon the whole, they are the only ma¬
kers, judges, and interpreters, and in many instances
likewise the executioners, of their own laws, which have
no
irocco
6
uni- •
dion of
:e.
7
il reve
M O Jft [
no other limits than their own arbitrary will. The
titles which the emperors of Morocco assume, are those
of J/ost gloria its, mighty, and noble emperor of Aj'ric ;
king ofFe% and Morocco, Tafilet, Suz, Dorha, and all
the Algarbe, and its territories in AJric; grand Sharif
(or, as others write it, Xarif that is, successor, or vice-
gerent), of the great Prophet Mohammed, <$r.
The judges or magistrates who act immediately under
the emperor are either spiritual or temporal, or rather
ecclesiastical and military. The mufti and the cadis are
judges of all religious and civil affairs j and the bashaws,
governors, alcaides, and other military officers, of those
that concern the state or the army : all of them the most
obsequious creatures and slaves of their prince, and no
less the rapacious tyrants of his subjects, and from whom
neither justice nor favour can be obtained but by mere
dint of money and extortionate bribery, from the high¬
est to the lotvest. Neither can it indeed be otherwise
in such an arbitrary government, where the highest
posts must not only be bought of the prince at a most
extravagant price, and kept only by as exorbitant a tri¬
bute, which is yearly paid to him, but where no one is
sure to continue longer than he can bribe some of the
courtiers to insinuate to the monarch that he pays to the
utmost of his power and much beyond wdiat w as expec¬
ted from him. There are instances of the sultan eleva¬
ting at once a common soldier to the rank of a bashaw,
or making him a confidential friend j the following day
he would perhaps imprison him, or reduce him again to
the station of private soldiex*. Yet such is the dispo¬
sition of these people, that they have an unbounded
thirst for rank and power with all their uncertainties ;
and what is more extraordinary, when they have ob¬
tained a high station, they seldom fail to afford their
sovereign a plea for ill treating them, by abusing in
some way or other their trust.
From what has been said, it may be reasonably con¬
cluded that the revenue arising to the emperor from the
last mentioned source, that of bribery, extortion, and
confiscation, must be very considerable, though there is
no possibility to make any other conjecture of its real
amount than that it must be an immense one. Another
considerable branch is the piratical trade, which brings
the greater income into his treasury, as he is not at any
expence either for fitting out of corsair vessels, or main¬
taining their men 5 and yet has the tenth of all the car¬
go and of all the captives ; besides which, he appropri¬
ates to himself all the rest of them, by paying the cap-
tors 50 crowns per head, by which means he engrosses
all the slaves to his own service and advantage. This
article is indeed a very considerable addition to his re¬
venue, not only as he sells their ransom at a very high
rate, but likewise as he has the profit of all their labour,
without allowing them any other maintenance than a
little bread and oil, or any other assistance when sick,
than what medicines a Spanish convent, which he tolera-
rates there, gives them gratis j and which, nevertheless
is forced to pay him an annual present for that tolera¬
tion, besides furnishing the court with medicines, and
the slaves with lodging and diet when they are not able
to work. Another branch of his revenue consists in the
tenth part of all cattle, corn, fruits, honey, wax, hides,
rice, and other products of the earth, which is exacted
of the Arabs and Brebes, as well as of the natives 5 and
these are levied) or rather farmed, by the bashaws, go-
413 1 MOB
vernors, alcaides, See. with all possible severity. The Morocco,
Jews and Christians likewise pay an income or capita- —y——'
tion, the former of six crowns per head on all males from
15 years and upwards, besides other arbitrary imposts,
fines, &c. That on the Christians, for the liberty of
trading in his dominions, rises and falls according to
their number, and the commerce they drive ; but which,
whatever it may bring yearly into his coffers, is yet de¬
trimental to trade in general, seeing it discourages
great numbers from settling there, notwithstanding the
artful invitations which the emperors and their ministers
make use of to invite them to it j for, besides those ar¬
bitrary exactions, there is still another great hardship
attending them, viz. that they cannot leave the country
without forfeiting all their debts and effects to the
crown. The duties on all imports and exports is ano¬
ther branch ot his income, the amount of which, it is
said, does not exceed 165,000!. per annum. §
The climate of the empire of Morocco is in general climate of
sufficiently temperate, healthy, and not so hot as its situ-Morocco,
ation might lead us to suppose. The chain of moun¬
tains which form Atlas, on the eastern side, defends
it from the east winds, that would scorch up the earth
were they frequent. The summit of these mountains
is always covered with snow; and their abundant de¬
scending streams spread verdure through the neigh¬
bourhood, make the winter more cold, and temper the
heats of summer. The sea on the west side, which ex¬
tends along the coast from north to south, also refreshes
the land with regular breezes, that seldom vary accord¬
ing to their seasons. At a distance from the sea, with¬
in land, the heat is so great, that the rivulets become
dry in summer; but as in hot countries dews are plen¬
tiful, the nights are there always cool. The rains are
tolerably regular in winter ; and are even abundant,
though the atmosphere is not loaded with clouds as in
northern latitudes. Those rains which fall by intervals
are favourable to the earth, and increase its fecundity.
In January the country is covered with verdure, and
enamelled with flowers. Barley is cut in March, but
the wheat harvest is in June. All fruits are early in this
climate 5 and in forward years the vintage is over in the
beginning of September. Though in general there is
more uniformity and less variation in hot than in north¬
ern climates, the first are nevertheless exposed to the
intemperance of weather: too heavy rains often impede
the harvest 5 and drought has still greater inconvenien¬
ces, for it ensures the propagation of locusts. ^
The soil of Morocco is exceedingly fertile. It is Soil, and
most so in the inland provinces. On the western coast
it is in general light and stony, and is better adapted to
the vine and olive than the culture of wheat. They an¬
nually burn, before the September rains, the stubble,
which is left rather long j and this and the dung of
cattle, every day turned to pasture, form the sole ma¬
nure the land receives. The soil requires but little
labour and the ploughing is so light that the furrows
are scarcely six inches deep; for which reason, in some
provinces, wooden ploughshares are used for cheap¬
ness. _ _ IO
The empire of Morocco might supply itself with allproduc-
necessaries, as well from the abundance and nature oftions-
its products, as from the few natural or artificial wants
of the Moors occasioned by climate or education. Its
wealth consists in the fruitfulness of its soil: its corn,
fruits.
M O R [ 4H ]
fruits, flocks, (lax, salt, gums, anti wax, would not only
supply itssncecssitics, but yield a superflux, winch might
become an object of immense trade and barter with
oHier nations. Such numerous exports might return an
inexhaustible treasure, were its government fixed and
secure, and did subjects enjoy the fruits ot their labour
and their property in safety. 'I he increase Oi corn in
Morocco is often as sixty to one, and thirty is held to
be but an indifferent harvest.
The Moors, naturally indolent, take little care of the
culture of their fruits. Oranges, lemons, and thick
skinned fruits, the trees of which require little nurture,
grow in the open fields j and there are very large plan¬
tations of them found, which they take the trouble to
water in order to increase their product. 1 heir vines,
which yield excellent grapes, are planted as far as the
- 3d degree, as in the southern provinces of France, and
'are equally vigorous. But at Morocco, where they
vield a large and delicious grape, they arc supported by
vine poles five and six feet above ground 5 and as they
. are obliged to be watered, the little wine made there is
seldom preserved. Figs are very' good in some parts of
the empire, but toward the south they are scarcely ripe
before they are full of worms*, the heats and night
dewTs may, perhaps, contribute to this speedy decay.
Melons, for the same reason, are rarely eatable ; they
have but a moment of maturity } which passes so rapidly
that it is with difficulty seized. Water melons are
everywhere reared, and in some provinces are excellent.
Apricots, apples, and pears, are in tolerable plenty in
the neighbourhood of Fez and Mequinez, where water
is less scarce and the climate more temperate. But in
the plain, which extends along the western coast, these
delicate fruits are very indifferent,have less juice or taste,
and the peaches there do not ripen. The tree called
the prickly pear, or the Barbary fig, is plentifully
found in the empire of Morocco $ and is planted round
vineyards and gardens, because its thick and thomy
leaves, which are wonderfully prolific, form impene¬
trable hedges. From these leaves a fruit is produced,
covered with a thorny skin, that must be taken oil with
care. This fruit is mild, and full of very hard, small
kernels. The olive is everywhere found along the coast,
but particularly to the south.
In the province of Suz, between the 25th and
degrees, the inhabitants have an almond harvest, which
varies little because of the mildness of the climate 5 but
the fruit is small, for which reason they take little care
of the trees, and they degenerate with time. The palm-
tree is common in the southern provinces of Morocco}
hut dates ripen there with difficulty, and few are good
except in the province of Suz and toward Tafilet. On
the coast of Sallee and Mamora there are forests of oak,
which produce acorns near two inches long. Fhey
taste like chesnuts, and are eaten raw and roasted. Salt
abounds in the empire, and in some places on the coast
requires only the trouble of gathering. Independent
of the salt pits formed by the evaporation of the soft
water, there are pits and lakes in the country whence
great quantities are obtained. It is carried even as
far as Tombut, whence it passes to the interior parts of
Africa.
The Moors cultivate their lands only in proportion
to their wants } hence two-thirds of the empire at least
He waste. Here the doum, that is, the fan or wild palm
2
IVi w ta
tree, grows in abundance: and trom which those people, 1\foroC(,
when necessity renders them industrious, find gi cat ad-
vantage. The shepherds, mule drivers, camel-drivers,
and travellers, gather the leaves, of which they make
mats, fringes, baskets, hats, shoaris or large wallets to
carry corn, twine, ropes, girths, and covers for their
pack saddles. This plant, with which also they heat
their ovens, produces a mild and resinous fruit that ri¬
pens in September and October. It is in form like the
raisin, contains a kernel, and is astringent and very pro¬
per to temper and counteract the eilects of the watery
and laxative fruits, of which these people in summer
make an immoderate use. # n
Unacquainted with the sources of wealth of which Mines,
their ancestors were possessed, the Moors pretend there
are gold and silver mines in the empire, which the em¬
perors will not permit to be worked, lest tueir subjects
should thus find means to shake ofl their yoke. It is
not improbable hut that the mountains oj Atlas may
contain unexplored riches} but there is no good proof
that they have ever yielded gold and silver. There are
known iron mines in the south } hut the working of
them has been found so expensive, that the natives would
rather use imported iron, notwithstanding the heavy
duty it pays, by which its price is doubled. There are
copper mines in the neighhoorhood of Santa Cruz,
which are not only sufficient for the small consumption
of the empire, where copper is little used, but are also
an object of exportation, and would become much moie
so were the duties less immoderate. _ r 1 12
Neither the elephant nor the rhinoceros is to be found Aniniais
either in this or the other states of Barbary} hut the
deserts abound with lions, tigers, leopards, hyaenas, and
monstrous serpents, lire Barbary horses weie foimerlj
very valuable, and thought equal to the Arabian.
Though the breed is now said to be decayed, yet
some very fine ones are occasionally imported into Img-
land. Camels and dromedaries, asses, mules, and kum-
rahs (a most serviceable creature, begot by an ass upon
a cow), are their beasts of burden. Their cows are
hut small, and barren of milk. Their sheep yield hut
indifferent fleeces, hut are very large, as are their goats.
Bears, porcupines, foxes, apes, hares, rabbits, ferrets,
weasels, moles, chameleons, and all kinds of reptiles, aie
found here. Partridges and quails, eagles, hawks, and
all kinds of wild fowl, are frequent on the coast. IT
The principal mountains form the chain which goesMount j,
under the name of Mount Atlas, and runs the whole
length of Barbary from east to west, passing through
Morocco, and abutting upon that ocean which separates
the eastern from the western continent, and is from tins
mountain called the Atlantic Ocean. See Atlas. e
principal rivers, besides the Malva or Mulvya above
mentioned, which rises in the deserts, and running from
south to north divides Morocco from the kingdom ot
Algiers, are the Suz, Ommirabih, Rabbata, Larache,
Darodt, Sebon, Gueron, and Tensift, which rise in
Mount Atlas, and fall into the Atlantic ocean. 14I
The traffic of the empire by land is either with Ara-inland
hia or Negroland: to Mecca, they send caravans, con-na&c.
sisting of several thousand camels, horses, and mules,
twice every year, partly for traffic, and part y on a
religious account} for numbers of pilgrims take th
opportunity of paying their devotions to their grea
prophet. The goods they carry to the ea^o*.
M O R
TS
affic.
16
•eio;n
iraercc
rei^
ume
manufactures, leather, indigo, cochineal, and ostrich
feathers ; and they bring back from thence, silk,
muslins, and drugs. By their caravans to Negroland,
they send salt, silk, and woollen manufactures, and
bring back gold and ivory in return, but chiefly ne¬
groes.
The caravans always go strong enough to defend them¬
selves against the wild Arabs in the deserts of Africa
and Asia ; though, notwithstanding all their vigilance,
some of the stragglers and baggage often fall into their
hands : they are also forced to load one-half of their
camels with water, to prevent their perishing with
drought and thirst in those inhospitable deserts. And
there is still a more dangerous enemy, which is the sand
itself: when the winds rise, the caravan is perfectly
blinded with dust; and there have been instances both
in Africa and Asia, where whole caravans, and even
armies, have been buried alive in the sands.
The natives have hardly any trading vessels, bot are
seldom without some corsairs. These, and European
merchant ships, bring them whatever they want from
abroad 5 as linen and woollen cloth, stuffs, iron wrought
and unwrought, arms, gunpowder, lead and the like :
for which they take in return, copper, wax, hides,
Morocco leather, wool (which is very fine), gums,
soap, dates, almonds and other fruits. The duties paid
by the English in the ports of Morocco are but half
those paid by other Europeans. It is a general obser¬
vation, that no nation is fond of trading with these
states, not only on account of their capricious despotism,
but the villany of their individuals, both natives and
Jews, many of whom take all opportunities of cheating,
and when detected are seldom punished.
The land forces of the emperor of Morocco consist
principally of black troops, and some few white 5
amounting altogether to an army of about 36,000 men
upon the establishment, two-thirds of which are cavalry.
This establishment, however, upon occasion, admits of a
considerable increase, as every man is supposed to be a
soldier, and when called upon is obliged to act in that
capacity. About 6000 of the standing forces form the
emperor’s body guard, and are always kept near his
person 5 the remainder are quartered in the difl'erent
towns of the empire, and are under the charge of the
bashaws of the provinces. They are all clothed by the
emperor, and receive a trifling pay j but their chief de¬
pendence is on plunder, which they have frequent op¬
portunities of acquiring.
I he black troops are naturally of a very fiery dispo¬
sition, capable of enduring great fatigue, hunger, thirst,
mid every difficulty to which a military life is exposed.
I hey appear well calculated for skirmishing parties, or
for the purpose ot harassing an enemy ; but were they
obliged to undergo a regular attack, from their total
want ot discipline they would soon be routed. In all
their manoeuvres they have no notion whatever of order
and regularity, but have altogether more the appear¬
ance ot a rabble than of an army.
The emperor’s navy consists of about 15 small fri¬
gates, a few xebecks, and between 20 and 30 row-gal¬
leys. The whole is commanded by one admiral j but
as these vessels are principally used for the purposes of
piracy, they seldom unite in a fleet. The number of
the seamen in service is computed at 6000.
r 415 i
M O R
The coins of this empire are a fluce, a blanquil, and Morocco,
ducat. The fluce is a small copper coin, 20 whereof—y—J
make a blanquil, of the value of twopence sterling. 19
J he blanquil is of silver, and the ducat of gold, not^0”15,
unlike that of Hungary, and worth about nine shillings.
Both these pieces are so liable to be clipped and filed
by the Jews, that the Moors always carry scales in their
pockets to weigh them $ and when they are found to be
much diminished m their weight, they are recoined by
the Jews, who are masters of the mint, by which they
gain a considerable profit j as they do also by exchan¬
ging the light pieces for those that are full weight.
Merchants accounts are kept in ounces, 10 ot which
make a ducat $ but in payments to the government, it
is said they reckon 17 one-half for a ducat. 2o
\ vith respect to religion, the inhabitants of Morocco Religion
are Mohammedans, of the sect of Ali 5 and have aanti
mufti or high-priest, who is also, the supreme civil ma¬
gistrate, and the last resort in all causes ecclesiastical
and civil. They have a great veneration for their her¬
mits, and for idiots and madmen ; as well as for those
who by their tricks have got the reputation of wiz- '
zards : all whom they look upon as inspired persons, \
and not only honour as saints while they live, but
build tombs and chapels over them when dead ; which
places are not only religiously visited by their devotees
far and near, but are esteemed inviolable sanctuaries
tor all sorts of criminals except in cases of treason.
Notwithstanding the natives are zealous Mohamme¬
dans, they allow foreigners the free and open profes¬
sion of their religion, and their very slaves have their
priests and chapels in the capital city 5 though it must
be owned that the Christian slaves are here treated , 2I
with the utmost cruelty. Here, as in all other Mo- Laws,
hammedan countries, the Alcoran and their comments
upon it are their only written laws ; and though in
some instances their cadis and other civil magistrates
are controlled by the arbitrary determinations of their
princes, bashaws, generals, and military officers, yet
the latter have generally a very great deference and ■-
regard for their laws. Murder, theft, and adultery,
are commonly punished with death : and their punish¬
ments for other crimes, particularly those against the
state, are very cruel; as impaling, dragging the prison¬
er through the streets at a mule’s heels till all his flesh
is torn ofl, throwing him from a high tower upon iron
hooks. 22
The inhabitants of the empire of Morocco, known Inhabitants
by the name of Moors, are a mixture of Arabian and the em-
African nations formed into tribes : with the oriffin?1’6 ofMc“
*1 ^ iocco»
ot whom we are but imperfectly acquainted. These
tribes, each strangers to the other, and ever divided by
traditional hatred or prejudice, seldom mingle. It seems
probable that most of the casts who occupy the provin¬
ces of Morocco have been repulsed from the eastern to
the western Africa, during those different revolutions
by which this part of the world has been agitated •, that
they have followed the standard of their chiefs, whose
names they have preserved ; and that by these they,
as well as the countries they inhabit, are distinguished.
At present these tribes are called cafiles or cabiles,
from the Arabic word kobeila ; and they are so nume¬
rous, that it is impossible to have a knowledge of them
all.
Th^
M O R.
f 4^ ]
M O R
Morocco.
*3
The
Brebcs,
or Moua
taineers.
The native subjects of the empire of Morocco may
be divided into two principal classes $ the Brebcs and
the Moores. . . f ,
The etymology of the name, and the origin ot the
people, of the first class, are equally unknown. Like
the Moors, at the time of the invasion by the Arabs,
they may have adopted the Mahometan religion, which
is consonant to their manners and principal usages-, but
they are an ignorant people, and observe none ot the
precepts of that religion, but the aversion it enjoins
against other modes of worship.
Confined to the mountains, the Brebes preserve great
animosity against the Moors, whom they confound with
the Arabs, and consider as usurpers.—They thus con¬
tract in their retreats a ferocity of mind, and a strength
of body, which makes them more fit for war and every
kind of labour than the Moors of the plain in general
are. The independence they boast of gives even a
greater degree of expression to their countenance. 1 he
prejudices of their religion make them submit to the
authority of the emperors of Morocco 5 but they throw
off the yoke at their pleasure, and retire into the moun¬
tains, where it is difficult to attack or overcome them.
The Brebes have a language of their own, and never
marry but among each other. They have tribes or ca¬
bles among them who are exceedingly powerful both
by their number and courage. .
The Moors of the plains may be distinguished into
those.who lead a pastoral life, and those who inhabit
the cities. ..
The Moors The former live in tents 5 and that they may allow
ofthecoun- their ground a year’s rest, they annually change t ic
t"v place of their encampments, and go in search ot iresh
pasturage; but they cannot take this step without ac¬
quainting their governor. Like the ancient Arabs,
they are entirely devoted to a pastoral life : then en¬
campments, which they call douchars, are composed ot
several tents, and form a crescent ^ or they are ranged
in two parallel lines, and their flocks, when they return
from pasture, occupy the centre. .
The tents of the Moors, viewed in front, are ot a
conical figure ; they are from 8 to 10 feet high, and
from 20 to 25 feet long *, like those of high antiquity,
they resemble a boat reversed. They are made ot
try,
inches in diameter, the uppermost having a handle, and Moroct
turning on an axis fixed in the under one : they make
bread likewise every day, which they bake between
two earthen plates, and often upon the ground after it
has been heated by fire. Their ordinary food is the ^
cooseoosoo *, which is a paste made with their meal in
the form of small grains like Italian paste. This coos-
coosoo is dressed in the vapour of boiling soup, in a hol¬
low dish perforated with many small holes in the bot¬
tom, and the dish is enclosed in a kettle where meat is
boiled j the cooscoosoo, which is in the hollow dish,
grows gradually soft by the vapour ot the hi oth,. with
which it is from time to time moistened. This simple
food is very nourishing, and even agreeable when one
has got the better of the prejudices which every nation
entertains for its own customs. Phe common people
eat it with milk or butter indifferently } but those of
higher rank, such as the governors of provinces and
lieutenants, who live in the centre of the encampments,
add to it some succulent broth, made with a mixture
of mutton, poultry, pigeons, or hedgehogs, and then
pour on it a sufficient quantity of fresh butter.
The women in their tents spin wool, and weave it
into cloth on looms suspended the whole length ot the
tent. Each piece is about five ells long, and one and
a half broad } it is neither dressed nor dyed, and it has
no seam ; they wash it when it is dirty ; and as it is the
only habit of the Moors, they wear it night ami day.
It is called haick, and is the true model of the ancient
draperies. . . . *7
The Moors of the plain wear nothing but their Dress,
woollen stuff} they have neither shirts nor drawers.
Linen among these people is a luxury known only to
those of the court or the city. Tdie whole wardrobe ot
a country Moor in easy circumstances consists in a haick
for winter, another for summer, a red cap, a hood, and
a pair of slippers. The common people both in the
country and in towns wear a kind of tunic ot woollen
cloth, white, gray, or striped, which reaches to the
middle of the leg, with great sleeves and a hood j it re¬
sembles the habit of the Carthusians. ^ # .
The women’s dress in the country is likewise confin¬
ed to a haick, which covers the neck and the shoul¬
ders, and is fastened with a silver clasp. The orna-
they resemble a boat reversed Ihey *re ™ j men;s th are fondest of are ear rings, which are ei-
bTSh they^re1 rendered impervi- thcr in the form of rings.or crescents, made of sdver,
i 1 -a. ~ Wlorb rnlnnr PTVei
ous to water j but at a distance their black colour gives
them a very disagreeable look.
Their sun- The Moors, when encamped, live m the greatest
pie way of simplicity, and exhibit a faithful picture of the inha n-
Tkeir sim-
life
tants of the earth in the first ages of the world. The
nature of their education, the temperature ot the cli¬
mate, and the rigour of the government, dimmish the
wants of the people, who find in their plains, in the
milk and wool of their flocks, every thing necessary for
food and clothing. Polygamy is allowed among them ;
a luxury so far from being injurious to a people who
have few wants, that it is a great convenience in the
economy of those societies, because the women are in¬
trusted with the whole care of the domestic manage-
ment. In their half-closed tents, they are employed in
lions oTthe milking the cows for daily use -, and when the milk
women, abounds, in making butter, in picking their corn, their
barley, and pulse, and grinding their meal, which they
do daily in a mill composed of two stones about 18
16
Occupa-
&c.
bracelets, and rings for the small of the leg ; they wear
these trinkets at their most ordinary occupations less
out of vanity than because they are unacquainted with
the use of caskets or cabinets lor keeping them, they
also wear necklaces made of coloured glass beads or
cloves strung on a cord of silk. < . f
The Moors consider their wives less in the light o*
companions than in that of slaves destined to labour.
Except in the business of tillage, they are employed
in every servile operation j nay, in some of the poorer
quarters a woman is often seen yoked m a plough along
with a mule, an ass, or some other animal. V\ hen tne
Moors remove their douchars, all the men seat them¬
selves in a circle on the ground* and with their elbows
resting on their knees, pass the time in conversation
while the women strike the tents, fold them up m o
bundles, and place them on the backs of their camels
or oxen. The old women are then each loaded with
a parcel, and the young carry the children on he.
forocco
28
Jirriages
»P
3 ertain
t of
;dlers.
M O il [ 4
shoulders suspended in a cloth girt round their bodies.
J In the more southern parts the women are likewise em¬
ployed in the care of the horses: the husband, who in
these climates is always a despot, issues his orders, and
seems only made to be obeyed.
, The marriage ceremonies of the Moors that live in
tents pretty much resemble those of the same people
that live in the cities. In the douchars they are gene¬
rally most brilliant and gay j the strangers that pass
along are invited, and made to contribute to the feast;
but this is done more irom politeness than from anv
mercenary motive.
The tribes ol the plain generally avoid mixing by
marriage with one another: the prejudices that divide
these people are commonly perpetuated; or, if they
are partially healed, they never fail to revive upon
ti iflmg occasions, such as a strayed camel, or the pre¬
ference of a pasture or a well. Marriages have some¬
times taken place among them, that, so far from ce¬
menting their differences, have occasioned the most tra¬
gical scenes. Husbands have been known to murder
their wives, and women their husbands, to revenge na¬
tional quarrels.
Parents are not encumbered with their children,
however numerous they may be, for they are very early
employed in domestic afiairs ; they tend the flocks,
they gather wood, and they assist in ploughing and
reaping. In the evening, when they return from the
field, all the children of the douchar assemble in a corn-
tent, where the iman, who himself can hardly
'30
;ets.
spell, makes them read a few sentences from the Koran
written on boards, and instructs them in their religion
by the light of a fire, made of straw, of bushes, and
cow dung dried in the sun. As the heat is very great
in the inland parts of the country, children of both sexes
go quite naked till the age of nine or ten.
Ihe douchars dispersed over the plains are always in
the neighbourhood of some rivulet or spring, and they
are a kind of inns for the reception of travellers. There
is generally a tent erected for their use, if they have
not brought one along with them, where they are ac¬
commodated with poultry, milk, and eggs, and with
whatever is necessary for their horses. Instead of wood
tor fuel, they have the cow dung, which, when mixed
with charcoal, makes a very brisk fire. A guard is
always set on the tents of travellers, especially if they
are Europeans, because the opinion of their wealth
might tempt the avidity of the Moors, who are natural¬
ly inclined to thieving.
. With respect to the roads, a very judicious policy
:s established, which is adapted to the character of the
Moors, and to their manner of life. The douchars are
responsible for robberies committed in their neighbour¬
hood and in sight ol their tents : they are not only
obliged to make restitution, but it gives the sovereign
a pretence for exacting a contribution proportioned to
the abilities of the douchar. In order to temper the
rigour oi this law, they are made responsible only ,for
such robberies as are committed during the day ; those
that happen after sunset are not imputed to them, as
they could neither see nor prevent them: on this ac¬
count, people here travel only from sunrising to sun-
setting.
, lo facilitate the exchange of necessaries, there is in
t e fields every day, except Friday, which is a day of
• Vol. XIV. Part IE ^ f
17 ] MO E
prayer, a public market in the different quarters of Morocco,
each province. The Moors of the neighbourhood as- —v—
semble to sell and buy cattle, corn, pulse, dried fruits,
carpets, haicks, and in short all the productions of
the country. This market, which is called Socy re¬
sembles our fairs. The bustle of the people who go and
come, gives a better idea of the manner of life of the
Moors than can be had in the cities. The alcaides,
who command in the neighbourhood, always attend
these markets wTith soldiers to keep the peace ; as it
frequently happens that the grudges which these tribes
harbour against one another break out upon such occa¬
sions into open violence. ^
The Moors who inhabit the cities differ from the Of the
others only in having a little more urbanity and a Moors w,,°
more easy department. Though they have the same m C1
origin with those of the plains, they affect to decline all 165
intercourse with them. Some writers, without any
foundation, have given the name of Arabs to the in¬
habitants of the towns, and that of Moors to those of
the plains. But the greater part of the cities of this
empire are more ancient than the invasion of the Arabs,
who themselves lived in tents.
ihe houses in most of the towns in this empire an-Their
pear at a little distance like vaulted tombs in a church- hous.es and
yard ; and the entrance into the best of them has butfurmture-
a mean appearance. The rooms are generally on the
ground floor, and whitened on the outside. As the
roofs are quite flat, they serve as verandas, where the
Moorish women commonly sit for the benefit of the
air ; and in some places it is possible to pass nearly over
the whole town without having occasion to descend in¬
to the street.
As the best apartments are all backwards, a stable,
or perhaps something worse, is the place to which visi¬
tors are first introduced. Upon entering the house,
the stranger is either detained in this place, or in the
street, till all the women are despatched out of the way ;
he is then allowed to enter a square court, into which
four narrow and long rooms open by means of large
folding doors, which, as they have no windows, serve
likewise to introduce light into the apartments. The
court has generally in its centre a fountain ; and if it
is the house of a Moor of property, it is floored with
blue and white chequered tiling. None of the cham¬
bers have fire places ; and their victuals are always
dressed in the court-yard in an earthen stove heated with
charcoal. When the visitor enters the room, where he
is received by the master of the house, he finds him sit¬
ting cross-legged and barefooted on a mattress, covered
with fine white linen, and placed on the floor or else on
a common mat. ’Ibis, with a narrow piece of carpet¬
ing, is in general the only furniture he will meet with
in Moorish houses, though they are not destitute of
other ornaments.
The wardrobe of the inhabitants of cities is but little Dress of the
different from that of those who live in tents.—Like the men.
latter, they have a haick, and a hood more or less fine,
and have also a hood of coarse European cloth of dark
blue for the winter. What farther distinguishes them
from the country Moors is, that they wear a shirt and
linen drawers, and an upper garment of cotton in sum¬
mer, and of cloth in winter, which they call a caftan*
1 he white or blue hood, the purpose of which seems to
be to guatd against bad weather, and which is called
3 . • bernvs,
M O R
[ 4i8 ]
M O R
Morocco.
34 ,
Dross of the
ladies.
35
Negroes.
36
Henega-
ttoes.
ber/nts, is Hketvise a ceremonial part of dress without
which, together with sabre and canjer (or dagger) worn
in a bandelier, persons of condition never appear before
the emperor.
The Moorish women who live in cities are, as m
other nations, more addicted to show and finery in dress
than those of the country •, but as they generally leave
the house only one day in the week, they seldom dress
themselves. Not allowed to receive male visitors, they
remain in their houses employed in their families, and
50 totally in deshabile that they often wear only a shift,
and another coarser shift over the first, tied round their
waist, with their hair plaited, and sometimes with,
though often without, a cap. When dressed, they
wear an ample and fine linen shift, the bosom embroid¬
ered in gold j a rich caftan of cloth, stuff, or velvet,
worked in gold j and one or two folds of gauze, streak¬
ed with gold and silk, round the head, and tied behind
so as that the fringes, intermingled with their tresses,
descend as low as the waist *, to which some add a rib¬
band of about two inches broad, worked in gold or
pearls, that encircles the forehead in form ot a diadem.
Their caftan is bound round their waist by a crimson
velvet girdle, embroidered in gold, with a buckle ot
gold or silver, or else a girdle of tamboured stuff, ma¬
nufactured at Fez.
The women have yellow slippers, and a custom ot
wearing a kind of stocking of fine cloth somewhat large,
which is tied below the knee and at the ankle, over
which it falls in folds. This stocking is less calculated
to show what we call a handsome leg, than to make it
appear thick *, for to lie fat is one of the rules ot beauty
among the Moorish women. To obtain this quality,
they take infinite pains, feed when they become thin on
a diet somewhat like forced meat balls, a certain quan¬
tity of which is given them daily ; and in fine, the same
care is taken among the Moors to fatten young women
as is in Europe to tatten fowls.
The Negroes, who constitute a large proportion ot
the emperor’s subjects, are better formed than the
Moors; and as they are more lively, daring, and ac¬
tive, they are intrusted with an important share in the
executive part of government. They constitute in fact
the most considerable part of the emperor’s army, and
are generally appointed to the command of provinces
and towns. This circumstance naturally creates a jea¬
lousy between them and the Moors, the latter consider¬
ing the negroes as usurpers of a power which they have
no right to assume. Besides those negroes which lorm
the emperor’s army, there are a great many others in
the country, who either are or have been slaves to pri¬
vate Moors : every Moor of consequence, indeed, has
bis proportion of them in his service. To the disgrace
of Europe, the Moors treat their slaves with humanity,
employing them in looking after their gardens, and in
the domestic duties of their houses. They allow them
to marry among themselves j and after a certain num¬
ber of years, spontaneously present them with the in¬
valuable boon of liberty. They soon are initiated in
the Mahometan persuasion, though they sometimes in¬
termix with it a few of their original superstitious cus¬
toms. In every other respect they copy the dress and
manners of the Moors.
Among the inhabitants of Morocco there is ano¬
ther class, of whom we must not omit to make men¬
tion. These are the Renegadoes, or foreigners, who Morocco;
have renounced their religion for the faith of Maho- '—y—.
met. Of these there are a great number who have
been originally Jews : they are held in little estimation
by the Moors; and would be held in abhorrence by
the Jews, if they durst freely express their aversion.
The families of these apostates are called Toornadis:
not having at any time married with the Moors, they
still preserve their ancient characteristics, and are
known almost at sight to be the progeny of those who
formerly embraced the Mahometan religion. The
Christian renegadoes are but few) and generally are fu¬
gitive peculators of Spain, or men fallen from power,
who because of their misconduct, or in despair, quit one
unfortunate situation for another much more deplorable. ^
The Jews were formerly very numerous in this em-Jews,
pire. After being proscribed in Spain and Portugal,
multitudes of them passed over to Morocco, and spread
themselves through the towns and over the country.
By the relations they themselves give, and by the ex¬
tent of the places assigned them to dwell in, it would
appear there were more than 30,000 families, of whom
at present there is scarcely a residue of one-twelfth ; the
remainder either having changed their religion, sunk
under their sufferings, or fled from the vexations they
endured, and the arbitrary taxes and tolls imposed upon
them. The Jews possess neither lands nor gardens, nor
can they enjoy their fruits in tranquillity : they must
wear only black *, and are obliged, when they pass near
mosques, or through streets in which there are sanc¬
tuaries, to walk barefoot. rlhe lowest among the Moors
imagines he has a right to ill-treat a Jew 5 nor dares
the latter defend himself, because the Koran and the
judge are always in favour ot the Mahometan. Not¬
withstanding this state of oppression, the Jews have ma¬
ny advantages over the Moors : they better understand
the spirit of trade j they act as agents and brokers, and
profit by their own cunning and the ignorance of the
Moors. . . 38
The Moots, who derive their language and religion state oi
from the Arabs, seem not in any manner to have par-knowl«
ticipated of their knowledge. United and confouhd-
ed as those of Morocco have been with the Moors ot
Spain, the latter of whom cultivated the arts and gave
birth to Averroes, and many other great men, the
Moors of this empire have preserved no traces of the
genius of their ancestors. They have no conception ot
the speculative sciences. Education consists merely in
learning to read and write *, and as the revenues ot the
learned are derived from these talents, the priests and
talbes among them are the sole depositories of thus much
knowledge : the children of the Moors are taught ia
their schools to read and repeat some sixty lessons, se¬
lected from the Koran, which for the sake of economy
are written upon small boards.
The Moors who formerly inhabited Spain gave great
application to physic and astronomy ; and they have
left manuscripts behind them which still remain monu¬
ments of their genius. The modern Moors are infinite¬
ly degenerate j they have not the least inclination to
the study of science j they know the properties o, some
simples ; but as they do not proceed upon principle, am
are ignorant of the causes and effects of diseases, they
generally make a wrong application of their remedies.
Their most useful physicians are theii; talbes, their a-
kirs,
r» Moors.
M O R
I'forocco
39
jnufac-
■es and
des.
klr.?, :irul tkeir saints, in whom they place a supersti
tions confidence.
Notwithstanding the Moors have occupied themselves
little in the study of astronomy, they have been eager
after astrology. This imaginary science, which made
■so rapid a progress at Rome in spite of the edicts of the
emperors, may be conceived to make still greater ad¬
vances among a people wholly stupid and ignorant, and
ever agitated by the dread of present evils, or the hope
of a more happy futurity. Magic, the companion of
astrology, has here also found its followers, and is par¬
ticularly studied by the talbes in the southern parts,
who successfully use it in imposing upon Moorish cre¬
dulity with strange dreams and ambiguous forebodings
•and prophecies.
The Moorish manufactures are—The haick, which
as was before observed, is a long garment composed of
white wool and cotton, or cotton and silk woven to¬
gether, and is used by the Moors for tire purpose of
covering their under uress when they go abroad, which
they do by totally wrapping themselves in it in a care¬
less but easy manner ; silk handkerchiefs of a particu¬
lar kind, prepared only at Fez; silks checquered with
cotton ; carpeting, little inferior to that of Turkey j
beautiful matting, made of the palmetto or wild palm
tree ; paper of a coarse kind j cordovan, commonly
called Morocco leather; gunpowder of an inferior na¬
ture 5 and long-barrelled muskets, made of Biscay
iron. The Moors are unacquainted with the mode
of casting cannon : and therefore those few which are
now in the country are obtained from Europeans.—
The manufacture of glass is likewise unknown to
them; as indeed they make great use of earthen ware,
and have few or no windows to their houses, this com¬
modity may be of less importance to them than many
others. They make butter, by putting the milk into
a goat skin, with its outward coat turned inwards, and
shaking it till the butter collects on the sides, when it
is taken out for use. From this operation it proves
always full of hairs, and has an insipid flavour. Their
cheese consists merely of curds hardened and dried, and
has uniformly a disagreeable taste. The bread in some
of the principal towns, particularly at Tangier and
Sallee, is remarkably good, but in many other places
it is coarse, black, and heavy.
Their looms, forges, ploughs, carpenters tools, &c.
are much upon the same construction with^the unim¬
proved instruments of the same kind which are used
at this time in some parts of Europe, only still more
clumsily finished. In their work, they attend more
to strength than neatness or convenience j and, like all
other ignorant people, they have no idea that what
they do is capable of improvement. It is probable,
indeed, that the Moors have undergone no very material
change since the revolution in their arts and sciences,
which took place soon after their expulsion from Spain.
Previous to that period, it is well known they were an
enlightened people, at a time when the greater part
of Europe was involved in ignorance and barbarism $
but owing to the weakness and tyranny of their princes,
they gradually sunk into the very opposite extreme,
and may now be considered as but a few degrees
removed from a savage state.
Their mosques or places of public worship are usually
large square buildings, composed of the same materials
1 4>9 ]
M O It
as the houses. The building consists of broad and Morocco,
lofty piazzas, opening into a square court, in a manner ' v—'
in some degree similar to the Royal Exchange of Lon- .4?
don. In the centre of the court is a large fountain;
arfd a small stream surrounds the piazzas, where the
Moors perform the ceremony of ablution. The court
and piazzas are floored with blue and Avlrite chequer¬
ed tiling } and the latter are covered with matting,
upon which the Moors kneel while repeating their
prayers. In the most conspicuous part of the mosque
fronting the east, stands a kind of pulpit, where the
talbe or priest occasionally preaches. The Moors al¬
ways enter this place of worship barefooted, leaving
their slippers at the door. On the top of the mosque,
is a square steeple wdth a flag staff, whither at stated
hours the talbe ascends, hoists a white flag, and calls
the people to prayers, for they have no bells. From
this high situation the voice is heard at a considerable
distance 5. and the talbes have a monotonous mode
of enunciation, the Voice sinking at the end of every
short sentence, which in some measure resembles the
sound of a bell. The moment the flag is displayed, every
person forsakes his employment, and goes to prayers.
If they are near a mosque, they perform their devo¬
tions within it, otherwise immediately on the spot
where they happen to be, and always with their faces
towards the east, in honour of their prophet Mahomet,
who it is well known was buried at Medina.
Their Sabbath is on our Friday, and commences
from six o’clock the preceding evening. On this day
they use a blue flag instead of the white one. As it
has been prophesied that they are to be conquered by
the Christians on the Sabbath day, the gates of all the
towns and of the emperor’s palaces are shut when at
divine service on that day, in order to avoid being sur¬
prised during that period. Their talbes are .not dis¬
tinguished by any particular dress.
The Moors have three solemn devotional periods in
the course of the year. The first, which is named Aid
de Cabicr, is held in commemoration of the birth of
Mahomet. It continues seven days 5 during which pe¬
riod, every person who can afford the expence kills a
sheep as a sacrifice, and divides it among his friends.
The second is the Ramadam. This is held at the sea¬
son when Mahomet disappeared in his flight from Mec¬
ca to Medina. Every man is obliged at that period
to fast (that is, to abstain from animal food from sun¬
rise to sunset each day) for 30 days; at the expiration
of which time a feast takes place, and continues a week.
The third is named Llashore, and is a day set apart,
by Mahomet for every person to compute the value of
his property, in order for the payment of xakut, that
is, one-tenth of their income to the poor, and other
pious uses. Although this feast only lasts a single dav,
yet it is celebrated with far greater magnificence than
either of the others.
The Moors compute time by lunar months, and
count the days of the week by the first, second, third,
&c, beginning from our Sunday. They use a common
reed for writing, and begin their manuscripts from right
to left.
The Moors of the empire of Morocco, as well as Lan4^.
those to the northern limits of Africa, speak Arabic; 0f
but this language is corrupted in proportion as we re- Meors.
tire farther from Asia, where it first took birth; the
3 Cl 2 intermixture
M O R [ 420 ] M 0 K
Morocco, intermixture which has happened among the African
v—' nations, and the frequent transmigrations of the Moors,
during a succession of ages, have occasioned them to
lose the purity of the Arabic language j its pronun¬
ciation has been vitiated, the use ot many words lost,
and other foreign words have been introduced without
thereby rendering it more copious j the pronunciation
of the Africans, however, is softer to the ear and less
guttural than that of the Egyptians. The language,
when written, is in effect much the same at Morocco
as at Cairo, except that there are letters and expressions
among the Moors which differ from those of the Orien¬
tal Arabs, who, however, understand the Moors in con¬
versation, notwithstanding their vitiated manner of pro¬
nouncing. They mutually read each others writings
2 with some difficulty.
Their tem- The Moors are naturally of a grave and pensive dis-
per and position, fervid in professions ol friendship, but very
disposition. jns;nccre in their attachments. They have no curio¬
sity, no ambition of knowledge j an indolent habit,
united to the want of mental cultivation, renders them
perhaps even more callous than other unenlightened
people to every delicate sensation j and they require
more than ordinary excitement to render them sensible
of pleasure or ol pain. rlhis languor of sentiment is,
however, unaccompanied with the smallest spark of
courage or fortitude. When in adversity, they mani¬
fest the most abject submission to their superiors; and
43 in prosperity their tyranny and pride are insupportable.
Mode of H- Personal cleanliness has been considered as one of
ring, man- ^])0se circumstances which serve to mark and deter-
ners, See. m‘ne ^je civilization of a people. It was in vain that
Mahomet enjoined the frequency of ablution as a re¬
ligious duty to the Moors. Their dress, which should
be white, is but seldom washed *, and their whole ap¬
pearance evinces that they perform this branch of their
religious ceremonies in but a slovenly manner. With
this degree of negligence as to their persons, we may be
justly surprised to find united a most scrupulous nicety
in their habitations and apartments. They enter tlrerr
chambers barefooted, and cannot bear the slightest de¬
gree of contamination near the place where they are
seated. This delicacy again is much confined to the
insides of their houses. The streets receive the whole
of their rubbish and filth } and by these means the
ground is so raised in most parts of the city of iVIorocco,
that the new buildings always stand considerably higher
than the old.
With respect to the hours for eating, the people ol
this country are remarkably regular. Very soon after
daybreak they take their breakfast, which is generally
a composition of flour and water boiled tlnn,^ together
with an herb which gives it a yellow tinge. The male
part of the family eat in one apartment and the ie-
male in another. The children are not permitted to
eat with their parents, but take their meals afterwards
with the servants ; indeed in most other respects they
are treated exactly as servants or slaves by their pa¬
rents. The mess is put into an earthen bowl, and
brought in upon a round wooden tray. It is placed
in the centre of the guests, who sit cross-legged either
on a mat or on the floor, and who form a circle for the
purpose. Having previously washed themselves, a
ceremony always performed before and after meals,
each person with his spoon attacks vigorously the
bowl, while they diversify the entertainment by eating
with it fruit or bread. At twelve o’clock they dine, '—--y'—.
performing the same ceremonies as at breakfast. lor
dinner, from the emperor down to the peasant, their
dish is universally cooscoo.soo, the mode of preparing
which has been already described. The dish is brought
in upon a round tray and placed on the floor, round
which the family sit as at breakfast, and with their fin¬
gers commit a violent assault on its contents : they are
at the same time, however, attended by a slave or do¬
mestic, who presents them with water and a towel oc¬
casionally to wash their hands. I rom the want ot the
simple and convenient invention of knives and forks,
it is not uncommon in this country to see three or lour
people pulling to pieces the same piece of meat, and
afterwards with their fingers stirring up the paste or
cooscoosoo, of which they often take a whole handful
at once into their mouth. At sunset they sup upon the
same dish } and indeed supper is their principal meal.
But the common people must content themselves with
a little bread and fruit instead of animal food, and sleep
in the open streets. This kind of existence seems ill
calculated to endure even in an inactive state j far more
severe must it therefore be to those who exercise the
laborious employment of couriers in this country, who
travel on foot a journey of three hundred or four
hundred miles, at the rate ot between thirty or forty
miles a-day, without taking any other nourishment than
a little bread, a few figs, and some water, and who
have no better shelter at night than a tree. It is
wonderful with what alacrity and perseverance these
people perform the most fatiguing journeys at all seasons
of the year. There is a regular company of them in
every town, who are ready to he dispatched at a mo¬
ment’s warning to any part of the country their em¬
ployers may have occasion to send them.
As the Moors are not fond of admitting men into
their houses, except upon particular occasions, if the
weather be fine they place a mat, and sometimes a
carpet, on the ground before the door, seat themselves
upon it cross-legged, and receive their friends, who
form a circle, sitting in the same manner, with their
attendants on the outside of the groupe. Upon these
occasions they either drink tea or smoke and converse.
The streets are sometimes crowded with parties ol this
kind •, some engaged in playing at an inferior kind of
chess or draughts, at which they are very expert j but
the majority in conversation. The people of this
country, indeed, are so decidedly averse to standing
up, or walking about, that if only two or three people
meet, they squat themselves down in the first clean
place they can find, if the conversation is to hold hut a
for a few minutes. 44 ,
The Moors have in general but few amusements; Their a-
the sedentary life they lead in cities is little variegatedrausem ^
except by the care they take of their gardens, which
are rather kept for profit than pleasure. Most of
these gardens are planted with the orange, the lemon
tree, and the cedar, in rows, and in such great quanti¬
ties, that the appearance is rather that of a forest than
that of a garden. The Moors sometimes, though rare¬
ly, have music in these retreats: a state of slavery but
ill agrees with the love of pleasure $ the people of Tex
alone, either from a difference in education, or be¬
cause their organs and sensibility are more delicate,
make
roeco
45
age-
of
.6
of
M O R
make music a part of their amusements. There are
- jh)| in Morocco, as in Turkey, public coffee-houses,
where people meet to inquire the news of the day ;
hut instead of these, the Moors go to the barbers
shops, which in all countries seem to be the rendezvous
of newsmongers. These shops are surrounded bv bench¬
es -y on which the customer, the inquisitive, and the
idle, seat themselves, and when there are no more places
vacant, they crouch on the ground like monkeys.
A common diversion in the towns where there are
soldiers, as well as in the country, is what the Moors
call the game of gunpowder a kind of military ex¬
ercise, that is the more pleasing to these people, in¬
asmuch as, by the nature of their government, they
all are, or are liable to become, soldiers, therefore all
have arms and horses. By explosions of powder, too,
they manifest their festivity on their holidays. Their
game of gunpowder consists in two bodies of horse,
each at a distance from the other, galloping in succes¬
sive parties of four and tour, and tiring their pieces
charged with powder. Their chief art is in galloping
up to the opposite detachment, suddenly stopping, tir¬
ing their muskets, facing about, charging, and return¬
ing to the attack ; all which manoeuvres are imitated
by their opponents. The Moors take great pleasure in
this amusement, which is only an imitation of their mi¬
litary evolutions.
The common topics for conversation among the
Moors, are the occurrences of the place, religion,
their women, but above all their horses. This last to¬
pic, indeed, appears to occupy by far the greatest por¬
tion of their attention. These animals are seldom kept
in stables in Morocco. They are watered and fed only
once a-day, the former at one o’clock at noon, and the
latter at sunset: and the only one mode which they use
to clean them is by washing them all over in a river
two or three times a-week, and suffering them to dry
themselves.
Like all barbarous nations, the Moors are passion¬
ately fond of music, and some few have a taste for poe¬
try. Their slow airs, for want of that variety which is
introduced when the science has attained a degree of
perfection, have a very melancholy sameness ; but some
of their quick tunes are beautiful and simple, and par¬
take in some degree of the characteristic melody of the
Scotch airs. The poetry of their songs, the constant
subject of which is love, though there are few nations
perhaps who are less sensible of that passion, has cer¬
tainly less merit than the music.
Their instruments are a kind of hautboy, which
differs from ours only in having no keys j the mando¬
line, which they have learnt to play upon from their
neighbours the Spaniards ; another instrument, bearing
some resemblance to a violin, and played upon in a si¬
milar manner, but with only two strings ; the large
drum, the common pipe, and the tabor. These united,
and accompanied with a certain number of voices? upon
many occasions form a band, though solo music is more
common in this unsocial country.
The Moors marry veiy young, many of their fe¬
males not being more than 12 years of age at their
nuptials. As Mahometans, it is well known that their
religion admits of polygamy to the extent of four
wives, and as many concubines as they please; but if
we except the very opulent, the people seldom avail
Mo.occo
47
421 ] MOB
themselves of this indulgence, since it entails on them
a vast additional expcnce in house-keeping, and in pro¬
viding for a large family. In contracting marriage,
the parents of both parties are the only agents j and
the intended bride and bridegroom never see eath other
till the ceremony is performed. The marriage settle- Mamage
meats are made before the cadi; and then the friends ceremo-
of the bride produce her portion, or if not, the hus-1”25,
hand agrees to settle a certain sum upon her in ease
he should die, or divorce her on account of barrenness,
or any other cause. The children of the wives have
all an equal claim to the effects of the father and
mother, but those of the concubines can each only claim
half a share.
When the marriage is finally agreed upon, the bride
is kept at home eight days, to receive her female
friends, who pay congratulatory visits every day. At
the same time a talbe attends upon her, to converse
with her relative to the solemn engagement on which
she is about to enter: on these occasions he commonly
accompanies his admonitions with singing a pious hymn,
which is adapted to the solemnity. The bridegroom,
on the other hand, receives visits from his male friends
in the morning, and in the evening rides through the
town accompanied by them, some playing on hautboys
and drums, while others are employed in firing volleys
of musketry. In all their festivals the discharge of
musketry indeed forms a principal part of the enter¬
tainment. Contrary to the European mode, which
particularly aims at firing with exactness, the Moors
discharge their pieces as irregularly as possible, so as
to have a continual succession of reports for a few mi
mites.
On the day of the marriage, the bride in the even¬
ing is put into a square or octagonal cage about twelve
feet in circumference, which is covered wdth fine white
linen, and sometimes with gauges and silks of various
colours. In this vehicle, which is placed on a mule,
she is paraded round the streets, accompanied by her
relations and friends, some carrying lighted torches,
others playing on the hautboys, and a third party
again firing volleys of musketry. In this manner she
is carried to the house of her intended husband, who
returns about the same time from performing similar
ceremonies. On her arrival, she is placed in an apart¬
ment by herself, and her husband is introduced to her
alone for the first time, who finds her sitting on a silk
or velvet cushion (supposing her to be a person of con¬
sequence), with a small table before her, upon which
are two wax candles lighted. Her shift, or more pro¬
perly shirt, hangs down like a train behind her, and
over it is a silk or velvet robe with close sleeves, which
at the breast and wrists is embroidered with gold ; this
dress reaches something lower than the calf of the leg.
Round her head is tied a black silk scarf, which hangs
behind as low as the ground. Thus attired, the bride
sits with her hands over her eyes, when her husband
appears, and receives her as his wife without any fur¬
ther ceremony : for the agreement made by the friends
before the cadi is the only specific contract which is
thought necessary.
If the husband should have any reason to suspect that
his wife lias not been strictly virtuous, he is at liberty
to divorce her and take another. For some time after
marriage, the family and the friends are engaged in
much
48 _
Circumci¬
sion.
49
5°
Funeral
rites.
M O B [ 42
Morocco, iriucli feasting, ami a variety of amusements, which last
.-ynW a longer or shorter time according to the circumstances
of the parties. It is usually customary for the man
to remain at home eight days and the ■woman eight
months after they are first married •, and the woman is
at liberty to divorce herself from her husband, if she
can prove that he does not provide her with a proper
subsistence. _ ...
Women suffer hut little inconvenience in this coun¬
try from child-bearingthey are frequently up the
next day, and go through all the duties ot the house
with the infant upon their hacks. In celebrating the
rite of circumcision, the child is dressed very sumptu¬
ously, and carried on a mule, or, if the parents are in
poor circumstances, on an ass, accompanied with flags
flying and musicians playing on hautboys and beating
drums. In this manner they proceed to the mosque,
Education ■where the ceremony is performed. Children, as soon
of children. ag t]iey can he made in the least degree useful, are put
to the various kinds of labour adapted to their age and
strength. Others, whose parents are in better circum¬
stances, are sometimes sent to school; and those who
are intended for the church, usually continue then*
studies till they have nearly learnt the Koran by rote.
In that case they ai-e enrolled among the tallies, or
learned men of the law j and upon leaving school are
paraded round the streets on a horse, accompanied by
music and a large concourse of people.
When any person dies, a certain number of women
are hired for the purpose of lamentation •, in the per¬
formance of which, nothing can be more grating to
the ear, or more unpleasant, than their frightful moans,
or rather bowlings : at the same time, these mercenary
mourners beat their heads and breasts, and tear their
cheeks with their nails. The bodies are usually buried
a few hours after death. Previous to interment, the
corpse is washed very clean, and sewed up in a shroud,
with the right hand under the head, which is pointed
towards Mecca : it is carried on a bier supported upon
men’s shoulders, to the burying place, which is always,
with great ^propriety, on the outside of the town, for
they never bury their dead in the mosques, or within
the bounds of an inhabited place.
Morocco, a city of the kingdom of Morocco in
Barbary, lying about 120 miles to the north of Tarudant,
90 to the east of Mogodore, and 350 to the south of
Tangier. It is situated in a beautiful valley, formed
by a chain of mountains on the northern side, and those
of Atlas, from which it is distant about 20 miles, on
the south and east. The country which immediately
surrounds it is a fertile plain, beautifully diversified
with clumps of palm trees and shrubs, and watered by
small and numerous streams which descend from Mount
Atlas. The emperor’s out gardens, which are situated
at the distance of about five miles to the south of the
city, and are large plantations of olives’walled in, add
considerably to the beauty of the scene.
Morocco, though one of tire capitals of the empire
(for there are three, Morocco, Mequinez, and Fez),
has nothing to recommend it but its great extent and
the royal palace. It is enclosed by remarkably strong
walls built of tabby, the circumference of which is
about eight miles. On these walls there are no guns
mounted •, but they are flanked with square towers,
and surrounded by a wide and deep ditch. The city
2
]
MOB
has a number of entrances, consisting of large double Worocc:
porches of tabby in the Gothic style, the gates of " v"*
which are regularly shut every night at certain hours.
As polygamy is allowed by the Mahometan religion,
and is supposed in some degree to affect population, it
would he difficult to form any computation near the
truth with respect to the number ot inhabitants which
this city may contain. The mosques, which are the
only public buildings except the palace worth noticing
at Morocco, are more numerous than magnificent;
one of them is ornamented with a very high and square
tower, built of cut stone, which is visible at a consider¬
able distance from the city. The streets are very nar¬
row, dirty, and irregular, and many of the houses are
uninhabited and falling to ruin. Those which are de¬
cent and respectable in their appearance are built of
tabby, and enclosed in gardens. That of the effendi
or prime minister (according to Mr Lempriere, from
whose Teur* this account is transcribed), was among
the best in Morocco. This house, which consisted ofm
two stories, had elegant apartments both above and be¬
low, furnished in a style far superior to any thing our
author ever saw in that country. The court, into
which the lower apartments opened, was very neatly
paved with glazed blue and white tiling, and had in
its centre a beautiful fountain. The upper apaitments
were connected together by a broad gallery, the bal-
lusters of which were painted of different colours.
The hot and cold baths were very large, and had every
Convenience which art could aftord. Into the garden,
which was laid out in a tolerably neat style, opened a
room adjoining to the house, which had a broad arched
entrance but no door, beautifully ornamented with
chequered tiling 5 an^ ends of the apartment
the walls were entirely covered with looking glass.
The flooring of all the rooms was covered with beau¬
tiful carpeting, the walls ornamented with large and
valuable looking glasses, intermixed with watches and
clocks in glass cases. The ceiling was carved wood¬
work, painted of different colours j and the whole was
in a superior style of Moorish grandeur. This and a
few others are the only decent habitations in Morocco.
The generality of them serve only to impress the tra¬
veller with the idea of a miserable and deserted City.
The Elcaisseria is a particular part Gf the town
where stuft's and other valuable articles are exposed to
sale. It consists of a number of small shops, formed m
the walls of the houses, about a yard from the ground,
of such a height within as just to admit a man to sit
in one of them cross-legged. The goods and drawers
are so arranged round him, that when he serves his-cu¬
stomers, who are standing all the time out in the street,
he can reach down any article he wants without be¬
ing under the necessity of moving. These shops, wlufh
are found in all the other towns of the empire, are suffi¬
cient to afford a striking example of the indolence of
the Moors. There are three daily markets m diflerent
parts of the town of Morocco where provisions are
sold, and two weekly fairs or markets for the disposal
of cattle. The city is supplied Avith water by means
of wooden pipes connected with the neighbouring
streams, which empty themselves into reservoirs placed
for the purpose in the suburbs, and some few m the
centre of the town. # ,
The castle is a large and ruinous building, the outer
M O R [ 423 ] M O R
walls of which enclose a space of ground about three
miles in circumference. It has a mosque, on the top of
which are three large balls, formed, as the Moors allege,
of solid gold. The castle is almost a town of itself j
it contains a number of inhabitants, who in some de¬
partment or other are in the service of the emperor,
and all under the direction of a particular alcaide, who
is quite independent of the governor of the town. On
the outside of the castle, between the Moorish town
and the Jewdry, are several small distinct pavilions, en¬
closed in gardens of orange trees, which are intended
as occasional places of residence for such of the empe¬
ror’s sons or brothers as happen to be at Morocco. As
they are covered with coloured tiling, they have at a
small distance rather a neat appearance j but upon ap¬
proaching or entering them, that effect in a great mea¬
sure ceases.
The Jews, who are at this place pretty numerous,
have a separate town to themselves, walled in, and un¬
der the charge of an alcaide, appointed by the empe¬
ror. It has two large gates, which are regularly shut
every evening about nine o’clock 5 after which time no
person whatever is permitted to enter or go out of the
Jewdry till they are opened again the following morn¬
ing. The Jews have a market of their own ; and
when they enter the Moorish town, castle, or palace,
they are always compelled to be barefooted.
The palace is an ancient building, surrounded by a
square wall, the height of which nearly excludes from
the view of the spectator the other buildings. Its
principal gates are constructed with Gothic arches,
composed of cut stone, which conduct to several open
and spacious courts •, through these it is necessary to
pass before we reach any of the buildings. These open
courts wrere used by the late emperor for the purposes
of transacting public business and exercising his troops.
The habitable part consists of several irregular square
pavilions, built of tabby, and whitened over 5 some of
which communicate with each other, others are distinct,
and most of them receive their names from the different
towns of the empire. The principal pavilion is named
by the Moors the Houhar, and is more properly the
palace or seraglio than any of the others. It consists of
the empexor’s place of residence and the harem, form¬
ing altogether a building of considerable extent. The
other pavilions are merely for the purposes of pleasux’e
or business, and are quite distinct from the douhar. The
Mogod'tre pavilion, so named from the late emperor’s
partiality to that town, has by far the fairest claim to
grandeur and magnificence. This apartment was the
work of Sidi Mahomet, and is lofty and square. It is
built of cut stone, handsomely ornamented with win¬
dows, and covered with varnislxed tiles of various co¬
lours j and its elegance and neatness, contrasted alto¬
gether with the simplicity and ix-regularity of the other
buildings, produce a most striking effect. In the in¬
side, besides several other apartments, we find in the pa¬
vilion a spacious room floored with blue and white
chequered tiling, its ceiling covered with curiously
carved and painted wood, and its stuccoed walls vari¬
ously ornamented with looking glasses and watches, re¬
gularly disposed in glass cases. To this pavilion the
late emperor manifested an exclusive preference, fre¬
quently retiring to it both for the purpose of business
and of recreation. The apartments of the emperor Morocco
have in general a much smaller complement of furniture ||
than those of the Moors in the inferior walks of life. Morpheus.
Handsome carpeting, a mattress on the ground covered
with fine linen, a couch, and a couple of European bed¬
steads, are the principal articles they contain. The
gardens within the walls of the palace, of which he
has several, are very neat j they contain orange and
olive trees, variously disposed and arranged, and inter¬
sected with streams of water, fountains, and reservoirs.
Those on the outside are nothing more than large tracts
of ground, irregularly planted with olives j having four
square walks, and surrounded by walls.
Morocco, or Marroquin, the skin of a goat, or
some other animal resembling it, dressed in sumach
or galls, and coloured at pleasure j much used in
bookbinding, &c. The name is commonly derived
from the kingdom of Morocco, whence it is supposed
the manner of preparing these skins was first borrow¬
ed. We have Morocco skins bi-ought from the Le¬
vant, Barbary, Spain, Flanders, and France j red,
black, yellow, blue, &c. For the manner of preparing
them see Leather.
MORON, a town of Spain, in Andalusia, seated
in a fertile plain about 30 miles south-east of Seville.
W. Long. 5. 20. N. Lat. 37. o.
MORPETH, a handsome town of Northumber¬
land, 14 miles from Newcastle, 286 miles from Lon¬
don, is an ancient borough by prescription, with a
bridge over the Wansbeck. It had once an abbey
and a castle, now in ruins, situated about a quarter of
a mile south of the town and river Wansbeck, on an <
eminence which overlooks both. The market-place is
conveniently situated near the centre of the town ; and •
an elegant tovvnhouse was built by the Carlisle family
in 1714, in which the quarter-sessions is held for the
county. It is built of hewn stone, with a piazza. The
church being a quarter of a mile distant frdm the town,
a tower containing a good ring of bells stands near the
marketplace. Near the bx-idge is the county gaol, a
modern structure. Hex*e are a ftise grammar school, a
chapel near the liver, on the site of a chantry that was
granted for the support of the foundation of the school, ♦
which was part of the old structure, and an hospital for
infirm people. In 1215, the towilsmen themselves
burnt their town, out of pure hatred to King John, that
he might find no shelter there. Here is a good maxket
on Saturday for coin, cattle, and all necessary provi¬
sions j and there is another on Wednesday, the greatest
in England except Smithfield, for live cattle. This
is a post town and a thoroughfare, with many good
inns, and plenty of fish j and here are several mills.—
The earl of Carlisle’s steward holds a court here twice
a-year, one of them the Monday after Michaelmas,
when four persons are chosen by the free burgesses,
who are about 107, and presented to the steward, who
names two of them to the bailiffs, who, with seven
aldermen, are its governors for the year ensuing. In
1811 the inhabitants amounted to nearly 3244. It has
several fairs, and sends two members to parliament.
W. Long. 1. 24. N. Lat. 55. 12.
MORPHEUS, in fabulous history, the god of
sleep, or, according to others, one of the ministers of
Somnus. He caused sleepiness, and represented the
forms
M O R f 424
Morpheus forms of dreams. Ovid styles him the kindest of the
,, deities j and he is usually described in a recumbent po-
Mortality. gture, and crowned with poppies.
^—y   MORRERI, Lewis, author of the Historical Dic¬
tionary, was born at Barge-mont in Provence, in 1643*
He learned rhetoric and philosophy at Aix, and di¬
vinity at Lyons. At 18 years of age he wrote a small
piece, ehtv\\e,di Le Pays cPAmoury and a collection of
the finest French poems entitled Doux plaisirs de la
Po£&it?$ He learned Spanish and Italian j and translated
out of Spanish into French the book entitled La Per¬
fection Chretienne de Rodriguez. He then refined the
Saints Lives to the purity of the French tongue. Be¬
ing ordained priest, he preached at Lyons, and under¬
took, when he was but 30 years of age, a new Histo¬
rical Dictionary, printed at Lyons in one vol. folio,
1673. But his continual labour impaired his health',
so that he died in 1680, aged 37. His second volume
was published after his death \ and four more volumes
have since been added. He left some other works be¬
hind him.
MORRHINA or Murrhina vasa, were a sort of
cups or vases made use of by the ancients for drinking
out of, and other purposes. Authors are not agreed as
to the substance of which they were made. Some say
it was a stone} some assert that it was a fluid condens¬
ed by being buried under ground. All that we know
concerning it is, that it was known by the name of mui -
rha, and that Heliogabalus’s chamber pot was made of
it. The word is sometimes written myrrhina.
MORRISE-dances. See MoREsauE-Dances.
MORS, Death, one of the infernal- deities, born
of Night without a father. She was worshipped by
the ancients with great solemnity. She was not repre¬
sented as an actually existing power, but as an imagi¬
nary being. Euripides introduces her in one of his
tragedies on the stage. The moderns represent her as
a skeleton armed with a scythe and a scimeter.
MORSE. See Trichecus, Mammalia Index.
MORTALITY, a term frequently used to signify
a contagious disease, which destroys great numbers of
either men or beasts.
Bills of Mortality, are accounts or registers spe¬
cifying the numbers born, married, and buiied in any
parish, town, or district. In general they contain
only these numbers j and, even when thus limited, are
of great use, by showing the degrees of healthiness and
prolifickness, and the progress of population in the
places where they are kept. It is therefore much to
be wished, that such accounts had been always cor¬
rectly kept in every kingdom, and regularly published
at the end of every year. We should then have had
under our inspection the comparative strength of every
kingdom, as far as it depends on the number of inha¬
bitants, and its increase or decrease at different periods.
But such accounts are rendered more useful, when they
include the ages of the dead, and the distempers of
which they have died. In this case they convey some
of the most important instructions, by furnishing us
with the means of ascertaining the law which governs
the waste of human life, the values ol annuities depend¬
ent on the continuance of any lives, or any survivor¬
ships between them, and the favourableness and unfa¬
vourableness of different situations to the duration of
human life. There are but few registers of this kind }
] MOB
nor has this subject, though so interesting to mankind, MortalJ
ever engaged much attention till lately. rIhe first bills
containing the ages of the dead were those for the
town of Breslaw in Silesia. It is well known what use
has been made of these by Dr Halley, and after him
by De Moivre. A table of the probabilities of the
duration of human life at every age, deduced from
them by Dr Halley, has been published in the Philo¬
sophical Transactions, (see the Abridgement, vol. iii.
p. 699.) and is the first table of that sort that has been
ever published. Since the publication of this table
similar bills have been established in a few towns of
this kingdom } and particularly in London, in the year
1728, and at Northampton in 1735'
Two improvements of these registers have been pro¬
posed : the first is, That the sexes of all that die in
every' period of lile should be specified in them, under
the denomination of boys, married men, widowers, and
bachelors; and of girls, married women, widows, and
I'irgins. The second is, That they should specify' the
number of both sexes dying of every distemper in
every month, and at every age. See the end of the 4th
essay in Dr Price’s Treatise on Reversionary Payments.
Registers of mortality thus improved, when compared
with records of the seasons, and with the circumstances
that discriminate difterent situations, might contribute
greatly to the increase of medical knowledge } and they
would afford the necessary data for determining the
difierence between the duration of human life among
males and females •, for such a difference there certain-
lyds much in favour of females, as will appear from the
following facts.
At Northampton, though more male^ are born than
females: and nearly the same number die j yet the
number of living females appeared, by an account ta¬
ken in 1746, to be greater than the number of males,
in the proportion of 2301 to 177°> or 39 30,
At Berlin it appeared, from an accurate account
which w’as taken of the inhabitants in I747> that the
number of female citizens exceeded the number of male
citizens in the proportion of 459 to 391. And yet
out of this smaller number of males, more had died for
20 years preceding 1751, in the proportion of 1910
17.
At Edinburgh, in 1743, the number of females w'as
to the number of males as 4 to 3* (^ee Maitland s
History of Edinburgh, p. 220). But the females that
died annually from 1749 to 1758, were to the males in
no higher proportion than 3^- to 3.
He that will take the pains to examine the accounts
in Phil. Trans. Abr. vol. vii. part iv. p. 46, &c. will
find, that though in the towns there enumerated, the
proportion of males and females born is no higher than
19 to 18, yet the proportion of boys and girls that
die is 8 to 7 ; and that, in particular, the still-bora
and chrysom males are to the still-born and chrysom
females as 3 to 2. . .
In 39 parishes of the district of Vaud in Switzer¬
land, the number of males that died during ten years
before 1766 was 8170', of females 8167 j of whom
the numbers that died under one year of age were 1817
males and 1305 females', and under ten years of age,
3099 males and 2598 females. In the beginning ot
life, therefore, and before any emigrations can
take
place,
the rate of mortality among males appears to
DC
M 0 R
tality. be greater than among females. Ami this is rendered
Y—^ yet more certain by the following accounts. At Ve-
vey, in the district of Vaud just mentioned, there died
in the course of 20 years, ending at 1764, in the first
month after birth, of males 135 to 89 females j and in
the first year 225 to 162. To the same efleet it ap¬
pears from a table given by Susmilch, in his Gottlithe
Ordnung, vol. in p. 317, that in Berlin 203 males die
in the first month, and but 168 females; and in the
first year, 489 to 395 ; and also, from a table of
Struyck’s, that in Holland 396 males die in the first
year to 306 females.
The authorities for the facts here mentioned, and
much more on this subject, may be found in the 4th
essay in Dr Price’s Treatise on Reversionary Pay¬
ments, and in the supplement at the end of that
treatise.
We shall here only add the following table, taken
from a memoir of Mr Wargentin’s, published in the
collection of the Memoirs of the Royal Academy of
Sciences at Stockholm, printed at Paris in 1772.
In all Sweden for nine years, ending in 1763, the
proportion of females to males that died cut of a given
number living, was
r 425 ]
M 0 fl
material
tinder the age of one yefitj
Prom I to 3 years of age,
3 5
5—10
10—1 e
15—20
20—25
25—
30—35
35—40
40—45
45—50
50—55
55—6o
60—65
65—70
70—80
80—go
Above go
icoo to 1099
tooo—1022
IO42
1074
1080
1097
1283
1161
993
IlS9
111 c
1340
J339
1292
Iir5
1080
1022
1046
1044
Registers of mortality on the improved plan before
mentioned, were established in 1772 at Chester, and
also in 1773 Warrington in Lancashire ; and they
are so Comprehensive and correct, that there is reason
to expect they will afford much instruction on the sub¬
ject of human mortality, and the values of lives.
But the country most distinguished in this respect
is Sweden : for in that kingdonv exact accounts arc
taken of the births, marriages, and burials, and of the
numbers of both sexes that die at all ages in every
town and district, and also at the end of every period
of five years, of the numbers living at eVery age :
and at Stockholm a society is established, whose bus!*
ness it is to superintend and regulate the enumerations,
and to collect from the different parts of the king¬
dom the registers, in order to digest them into tables
of observation. These regulations were begun in
Sweden in 1755 > and tables, containing the result of
|hem from 1755 1/63> have been published in Mr
''argentin’s memoir iust referred to; and the most
vol. XIVt Part IL f
parts of them may he found in an essay bV M'ditafity.
Dr Price on the Difference between the Duration of'——y—^
Human Life in Towns and in Country Parishes,
printed ill the 65th volume of the Pliilosopll. Trans.
Part H.
In the fourth essay in Dr Price’s Treatise on Re¬
versionary Payments and Life Annuities, the follow¬
ing account is given of the principles on which tables
of observation are formed from registers of mortality';
and of the proper method of fofrhing them, so as to
render them just representations of the number of in¬
habitants, and the probabilities of the duration of hu¬
man life in a town or country.
In every place which just supports itself in the num¬
ber of its inhabitants, without any recruits from other
places ; or where, for a course of years, there has
been no increase or decrease ; the number of persons
dying every year at any particular age, and above it,
must be equal to the number of the living at that
age. The number, for example, dying every year at
all ages from the beginning to the utmost extremity
of life, must, in such a situation, be just equal to the
whole number born every year. And for the same
1‘eason, the number dying every year at one year of
age and upwards, at two years of age and upwards,
at three and upwards, and so cri, must be equal to
the numbers that attain to those ages every year; or,
which is (he same, to the numbers of the living at
those ages. It is obvious, that unless this happens,
the number of inhabitants cannot remain the same. If
the former number is greater than the latter, the inha¬
bitants must decrease ; if less, they must increase.
I. roin this observation it follows, that in a town or
Country where there is no increase or decrease, bills of
mortality which give the ages at which all die, will
show the exact number of inhabitants, and also the ex¬
act law according to which human life wastes in that
town or country.
In order to find the number of inhabitants, the mean
numbers dying annually at every particular age and up¬
wards must be taken as given by the bills, and placed
under one another in the order of the second column of
the following tables. These numbers will, it has ap¬
peared, be the numbers of the living at 1, 2, 3, &e.
years of age ; and consequently the sum diminished by
half the number born annually will be the whole num¬
ber of inhabitants.
This subtraction is necessary, for the following rea¬
son. In a table formed in the manner here directed,
it is supposed that the numbers in the second column
are all living together at the beginning of every year.
Thus the number in the second column opposite to
o in the first column, the table supposes to be all just
born together on the first day of the year. The num¬
ber, likewise, opposite to 1, it supposes to attain to
one year of age just at the same time that the formei
number is born. And the like is true of every num¬
ber in the second column. During the course of the
year, as many will die at all ages as were born at the
beginning of the year, and consequently, there will
he an excess of the number alive at the beginning of
the year above the number alive at the end of the
year, equal to the whole number of the annual births
and the true number constantly alive together, is the
arithmetical mean between these two numbers; or k-
3 H greeably
/
MOB [ 426 ] MO R
., , sum of the rmm- 1754, the anmial medium of births was 1089^ and ot MoItali,
Mortality, greeab.y to the rule heie g » toide lessened by half burials 1256. This town, therefore, must have been' ^
— the second column <4 the table lessened by <>u 5 a „0^ber of yearly rccruiU from
“‘irSalTcsTf numbers, the excess of each num- other places, eq„al to about a seventh part of the yearly
ber above that which immediately follows it will ^ ^It^appears from the account in the Philosophical
number dying every year out of the mmd»r (Abridgcmmt> vol. vii. N° 33^.1>- 46,
auve at the beginning ol the year , tlie annua] medium ot
set down regularly as in the third column of the table &c , U at Irom 17 7 7 5,
to which we have referred, will show the different rates « the births died under
at which human life wastes through al its different pe- ‘hoat“”fF^m a table in Susmiloh’s works,
nods, and the different probabilities o 10 a . I v0\ i p appears that in reality the greater
t!tamuf.S'be remembered, that what has been now part oV all that die in this town are children under five
.said goes on the supposition, that the place \\hose ^ been now observed concerning the period
bills of mortality are given, suP^rtS. ^ ^ 1 ln of life at which people remove from the country to set-
creation only, m the number ol ^ ^rtants. ^In ^ ^ appear sufficiently probable were
towns tins very seldom happens, on ^ th(.m> there no such evidence for it as has been mentioned j lor
ury and debauchery wnich a y P t.onslant it might well be reckoned that these people m general
They are, therefore, ^ coun. mustlie single persons in the beginning of mature life,,
accession of strangers, who 1 clrcumstanCes, in who not having yet obtained settlements in the places.
try parishes and villages, i n - where they were born, migrate to towns in quest of em-
order to find the true number of inhabitants, and pio- ^neremey , b
babilities of life, from bills of mmtalityc<taining an 1 premised these observations, it will be pro-
account of the ages at winch al! die it is necessary .^tV endeavour to explain distinctly the effect
that the proportion of the annual bir >s 0 ie accessions to towns must have on tables
settlers should be known, utas otervtta formed from their bills of mortality.
"* at winch the latter remove. B t 1 a gub;ect proper to be insisted on, because
may be discovered in the following metho • mistakes have been committed about it; and because
if for a course "ofTnnnJ ^ discussion of it is necessary to show bow near
" bTe^l^VAe ex^et of the annual bn- to truth the value of lives comes as deduced from such
rials above the annual births. If there be an increase^ ta ^ folW general rule may be given on this
it will be greater than this excess. It ti subject. If a place lias for a course of years been
crease, it will be less. remove, maintained in a state nearly stationary, as to number
The period oi life at which these . Inhabitants bv recruits coming in every year, to
will appear in the biffs by an mcrease in ^num^. ^ ^ d’ecrease that would arise from the ex-
of deaths at that period a"d 20 and cess of burials above the births, a table formed on the
Tendon bills the number of dea _ nrinciple “ that the number dying annually alter
40 is generally above double, and be w 3 nvcrv narticular age is equal to the number living
40 near triple the number ot deaths e wcen 1 an ^ will'give the number of inhabitants,
^ ; and .he t, „e account of th.s «, ^w ^ ^ for
age of 18 or 20 to 35 or 40, the i1 preceding that at which the recruits cease: and at-
every year to London from the coun ly, tq;s -t wffi give them right. If the accessions are
sionJ aVeat increase in the number^ ^ants at ter^tnis Wwill gi^ ^ ^ ^ ^ , „
arab^e^^coiX^ above their due proportion table, will give the number of inhabitants *
when compared with the number of deaths be.ore 20.
This is observable in all the bills of mortality for towns
with which we are acquainted, not even excepting ie
Breslaw bills. Dr Halley takes notice, that these bills
o-ave the number of deaths between 10 and 20 too
small. This he considered as an irregularity in them
owing to chance-, and, therefore, m forming his table
of observations, be took the liberty so iar to correct it,
as to render the proportion of those who die to the liv¬
ing in this division of life nearly the same with tne pro-
portion which, he says, he had been informed die annu¬
ally of the young lads in Christ Church hospital. But
the truth is, that this irregularity m the bills was deri¬
ved from the cause we have just assigned. During the
five years for which the Breslaw bills are given by Dr
Halley, the births did indeed a little exceed the bu¬
rials ; but it appears that this was the effect of some
peculiar causes that happened to operate just at that
time > for during a complete century, irom 1633 to
4'
Lf the accessions are
such a
iauic, win give tiie numoer 01 and the
probabilities of life too little after the age at which
the accessions cease j and too great if there is a decrease.
Before that age it will in both cases give them too
great but most considerably so in the former case, or
when there is an increase. ....
Agreeably to these observations, if a place increases
not in consequence of accessions from other places,
but of a constant excess of the births above the deaths,
a table constructed on the principle that has been
mentioned will give the probabilities ol life too low
through the whole extent of life *, because m such
circumstances the number of deaths in the first stages
of life must be too great in comparison of the number
of deaths, in the latter stages and more or less so as
the increase is more or less rapid. Ihe contrary in a
respects takes place where there is a decrease arising
from the excess of the deaths above the births.
For example: Let us suppose that 244 of th
born in a town attain annually to 20 years ot age.
M O R
rtality. Ein^ ^ia<: 25° nlolxN likewise 20 years of age, come
into it annually from other places, in consequence of
which it has for a course of years been just maintained
in the number of its inhabitants, without any sensible
increase or decrease: in these circumstances, the num¬
ber of the living in the town of the age of 20 will
be always 244 natives, and 250 settlers, or 494 in all;
and since these are supposed all to die in the town,
and no more recruits are supposed to come in, 494
will be likewise the number dying annually at 20
and upwards. In the same manner it will appear, on
these suppositions, that the number of the living at e-
Very age subsequent to 20 will be equal to the number
dying annually at that age and above it; and con¬
sequently that the number of inhabitants and the de¬
crements of life, for every such age, will be given ex¬
actly by the table. But for all ages before 20, they
will be given much too great. For let 280 of all born
in the town teach ro; in this case, 280 will be the
true number of the living in the town at the age of to;
and the recruits not coming in till 20, the number
given by the bills as dying between 10 and 20 will be
the true number dying annually of the living in this
division of life. Let this number be 36 ; and it will
follow that the table ought to make the numbers of the
living at the ages between to and 20, a series of decrea¬
sing means between 280 and (280 diminished by 36, or)
244. But in forming the table on the principle just
mentioned, 250 (the number above 20 dying annually
in the town who were not born in it) will be added to
each number in this series ; and therefore the table will
give the numbers of the living, and the probabilities of
life in this division of life, almost twice as great as they
really are. This observation, it is manifest, may be ap¬
plied to all the ages under 20.
It is necessary to add, that such a table will give the
number of inhabitants and the probabilities of life
equally wrong before 20, whether the recruits all come
in at 20, agreeably to the supposition just made, or only
begin then to come in. In this last case, the table will
give the number of inhabitants and probabilities of
life too great throughout the whole extent of life, if the
recruits come in at all ages above 20. But if they
cease at any particular age, it will give them right only
from that age; and before, it will err all along on the
side of excess ; hut less considerably between 20 and
that age than before 20. For example : if, of the 230
supposed to come in at 20, only 150 then come in,
and the rest at 30 ; the number of the living will be
given 100 too high at every age between 20 and 30;
but, as just shown, they will be given 2i;o too high at
every age before 20. In general, therefore, the num¬
ber of the living at any particular age must be given by
the supposed table as many too great as there are annual
settlers after that age ; and if these settlers come in at
all ages indiscriminately, during any certain interval of
life, the number of inhabitants and the probabilities of
life will be continually growing less and less wrong, the
nearer any age is to the end of that interval. These
observations prove, that tables of observation formed in
the common way, from bills of mortality for places
where there is an excess of the burials above the births,
naust be erroneous for a great part of the duration of
life, in proportion to the degree of that excess. They
1 427 ]
M O It
show likewise at what parts of life the errors in such jyiorUijtv
tables are most considerable, and how they may be in a 1 v—1- ’
great measure corrected.
All this shall he exemplified in the particular case of
London.
Hie number of deaths between the ages of 10 and
20 is always so small in the London bills, that it seems
certain few recruits come to London under 20, or
at least not so many as before this age are sent out for
education to schools and universities. After 20 great
numbers come in till 30, and some perhaps till 40 or
50 : but at every age after 50, it is probable that more
retire from London than come to it. The London
tables of observation, therefore, being formed on the
principle already mentioned, cannot give the probabili¬
ties ol life right till 40. Between 30 and 40 they must
be a little too high ; but more so between 20 and 30,
and most of all so before 20. It follows also that these
tables must give the number of inhabitants in London
much too great.
The first of the following tables is formed in the
manner here explained, from the London bills for 10
years, from 1759 to 1768, and adapted to 1000 born,
as a radix. The sum of the numbers in the secqnd
column, diminished by half the number born, is 25.757.
According to this table, then, for every 1000 deaths in
London there are as many inhabitants; or, in
other words, the expectation of a child just born is
25^ ; and the inhabitants are to the annual burials as
25^ to 1. But it has appeared, that the numbers in
the second column, being given on the supposition that
all those who die in London were born there, must be
too great; and we have from hence a demonstration,
that the probabilities of life are given in the common
tables of London observations too high for at least the
first 30 years of life ; and also, that the number of in¬
habitants in London must be less that 25^ multiplied
by the annual burials. The common tables, therefore,
ot London observations undoubtedly need correction, as
Mr Simpson suggested, and in some measure performed;
though too imperfectly, and without going upon any
fixed principles, or showing particularly how tables of
observation ought to be formed, and how far in differ¬
ent circumstances, and in difierent ages, they are to be
depended on. The tvay of doing this, and in .general
the -right method of forming genuine tables of observa¬
tion for towns, may be learned from the following rule :
“ From the sum of all that die annually, after any
given age, subtract the number of annual settlers alter
that age; and the remainder will be the number of the
living at the given time.”
This rule can want no explication or proof after
what has been already said.
If, therefore, the number of annual settlers in a
town at every age could be ascertained, a perfect table
of observations might he formed for that town from
bills of mortality, containing an account of the ages
at w'hich ail die in it. But no more can be learned
in this instance from any hills, than the whole num¬
ber of annual settlers, and the general division of life
in which they enter. This, however, may be suffi¬
cient to enable us to form tables that shall be tolerably'
exact. For instance: Suppose the annual deaths in
a town which has not increased or decreased, to have
3 II 2 been
M O K [
Mortality, teen many years in the proportion of 4 to 3 to
W—y—-'the annual births. It will hence follow, that 7 ot
the persons who die in such a town are settlers, or
einiprants from other places, and not natives *, and the
sudden increase in the deaths after 20 will also show,
a'freeahIv to what svas before observed, that they enter
after this age. In forming, therefore, a table tor
such a town, a quarter of all that die at all ages
throughout the whole extent of life must be deduct¬
ed from the sum of all that die after every given age
before 20 *, and the remainder will be the true num¬
ber living at that given age. And it at 20, and
every age above it, the deduction is omitted, 01 the
number of the living at every such age is taken the
same with the sum of all that die after it, the result
will be (supposing most of the settlers to come in be¬
fore 30, and all before 40) a table exact till 20; too
high between 20 and 30 *, but nearly right for some
years before 4® > and after 4^ exact again. Such ^<1
table, it is evident, will be the same with the table
last described at all ages above 20, and different from it
only under 20. It is evident also, that on account of
its giving the probabilities of life too great for some
years after 20, the number ot inhabitants deduced
from it may be depended on as somewhat greater than
the truth", and more or less so, as the annual recruits
enter in general later or sooner after 20.
Let us now consider what the result of these re¬
marks will be, when applied particularly to the London
bills.
It must be. here first observed, that at least one quar¬
ter of all that die in London are supplies or settlers from
the country, and not natives. The medium of annual
burials for 10 years, from 1759 to 1768, was 22,956 ;
of births 15,710. The excess is 7246, or near a third
of the burials.. The same excess during 10 years before
1750 was 10,500, or near half the burials. London
was .then decreasing. lor the last 12 or 15 years it
has been increasing. This excess, therefore, agree¬
ably to the foregoing observations, was then greater
than the number of annual settlers, and it is now less.
It is however here supposed, that the number of an¬
nual settlers is now no more than a quarter of the an¬
nual burials, in order to allow for more omissions in
the births than the burials •, and also, in order to be
more sure of obtaining results that shall not exceed the
truth.
Of every 1-000 then who dio- in London only 750
are natives, apd 250 are recruits who come to it after
18 or 20 years of age-, and, consequently, in order to
obtain from the bills a more correct table than the first
of the following tables, 250 must be subtracted from
every one of the numbers in the second column till 20
and the numbers in the third column must he kept the
sauifi, the bills always giving these right. After 20,
• tfie table is to he continued unaltered j and the result
will be, a table which will give the numbers of the
living at all ages in London much nearer the truth
belt still somewhat too high. Such is the second ot
the following tables. The sum of all the numbers in
the second column of this table, diminished by 500, is
29,753. For every 1000 deaths, therefore, in London,
there are, according to this table, 20,750 living persons
it} or for every single death 20^ inhabitants. It
428 ] M O R
was before shown, that the number of inhabitants in Mortalib
l.nmlmi could not be so irreat as 211 times the deaths. ,
London could not be so great as 254 times the deaths.
It now appears (since the numbers in the second co¬
lumn of this table are too high) that the number of in¬
habitants of London cannot be so great as even 20-|-
times the deaths. And tliis is a conclusion which every
one, who will bestow due attention 011 what has been
said, will find himself forced to receive. It will not be
amiss, however, to confirm it by the following fact, the
knowledge of which is derived Irom the particular in¬
quiry and information of Mr Harris, the late ingenious
master of the royal mathematical school in Christ-
Church hospital. The average of lads in this school
has, for 30 years past, been 831. They are admitted
at all ages between 7 and I x ; and few stay beyond
16 : they are, therefore, in general, lads between the
age of 8"and 16. They have better accommodations than
it can be supposed children commonly have ; and about
300 of them have the particular advantage 01 being
educated in the country. In such circumstance.- it may
be well reckoned, that the proportion ot chiitnen eying
annually must be less than the general proportion of
children dying annually at the same ages in London.
The fact is, that for the last 30 years 1 if have died
annually, or one in 7°y*
According to Table II. one in 73 c^es between 10
and 20, and one in 70 between 8 anil 16. That table,
therefore, probably gives the decrements of life in Lon¬
don at these ages, too little, and the numbers of the
living too great: and if this is true of these ages, it
must be true of all other ages under 20 ) and it follows
demonstrably, in conformity to what was before shown,
that more people settle in London after 20 than the
fourth above supposed ; and that from 20 to at least 30
or 35, the numbers of the living are given too great, in
proportion to the decrements ot life.
In this table the numbers in the second column are
doubled at 20, agreeably to what really happens in
London ; and the sum of the numbers in this column,
diminished by half the whole number of deaths, gives
the expectation of life, not of a child just born, as in
other tallies, but of all the inhabitants of London at
the time they enter it, whether that be at birth or
at 20 years of age. The expectations, therefore, and
the values of London lives under 20, cannot be calcu¬
lated from this table. But it may be very easily fitted
for this purpose, by finding the number of births which,
according to the given decrements of life, will leave
494 alive at 20 j and then adapting the intermediate
numbers in such a manner to this radix, as to preserve
all along the number of tbe living in the same pro¬
portion to the numbers of the dead. This is done in
the third of the following tables j and this table may
be recommended a better adapted to the present state
of London than any other table. The values ot lives,
however, deduced from it, are in general nearly the
same with those deduced by Mr Simpson from the
London bills as they stood forty years ago *, the main
difference is, that after 52, ana in old age, this table
gives them somewhat lower than Mr Simpson’s table.
The fourth and fifth of the following tables, compared,
with the two last, will give a distinct and full view of
the difference between the rate of human mortality in
ureat towns and in country parishes and villages.
TABLE
^rtality.
M O R
TABLE I.
[ 429 ]
M O R
TABLE III.
Mortality.
Showing the Probabilities of Life in London, on the Showing the true Probabilities of Life in London for
sminnsitmn tbnt nil rlio in T.nnr^.,11 r,   . J X*   4.1., 13'11A* _ _ p
supposition that all who die in London were born
there. Formed from the Bills for 10 years, from
1759 to 1768.
all ages. Formed from the Bills for 10 years, from,
1759 to 1768.
Ages
O
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
1 r
12
13
14
15
16
i?
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
Deer,
of i.ite
IOOO
760
66 i
6J9
59°
569
5 58
548
54i
535
53°
526
522
518
5i5
512
509
co6
503
499
494
487
479
471
463
455
447
439
431
422
413
240
99
42
29
21
11
10
7
6
5
4
4
4
3
3
3
3
3
4
5
7
8
8
8
8
8
8
8
9
9
9
Ages
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
5.°
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
Persons
living.
404
395
386
377
368
359
35°
341
33 2
322
312
302
'9
282
272
262
252
242
233
224
215
206
198
190
183
176
169
162
I55
147
139
Jeer,
of Life
9
9
9
9
9
9
9
9
10
10
10
I -
IO
IO
10
IO
JO
9
9
9
9
8
8
7
7
7
7
7
8
8
Ages.
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
7;
76
77
/8
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
9°
Persons
living
132
125
Il8
111
104
97
90
83
76
70
64
58
53
48
43
38
33
29
25
22
*9
16
13
11
9
7
5
4
3
Deer
of Lift
Age s
O
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
x
12
*3
M
1 c
16
17
18
*9
20
2J
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Persons Deer
1'ving. of i ife
1518
JO32
832
747
688
646
623
60^
589
577
567
558
549
541
534
528
522
5*5
508
50i
494
487
479
471
463
455
447
439
431
422
4i3
Ages.
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
Persons
living.
Deei
of Life
404
395
386
377
368
359
35°
341
33 2
322
312
302
292
282
272
262
252
242
233
224
215
206
198
190
183
176
169
162
155
147
*39
9
9
9
9
9
9
9
9
10
10
10
10
ic
10
10
10
10
9
9
9
9
8
8
7
7
7
7
7
8
8
Ages
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
Persons
living.
132
125
118
111
104
97
90
83
76
70
64
58
53
48
43
38
33
29
25
22
*9
16
13
11
9
7
5
4
3
Deci
ofLife
TABLE II.
Showing the true probabilities of Life in London till
the age of 19.
Ages
Persons
living
750
510
411
369
34°
3J9
308
298
29 r
Ages.
9
10
11
12
!3
H
•5
16
}7
Persons
living
285
280
276
272
268
265
262
259
2 q6
Deer
ofLife
Ages
18
J9
20
21
&ic.
Person-
living.
253
249
494
487
&c.
Deer
ofLife
Tlie numbers in the
econd column to
be continued as in
the lust table
All the bills, from which the following tables are
formed, give the numbers dying under x as well as un¬
der 2 years ; and in the numbei'S dying under 1 are in¬
cluded, in the country parish in Brandenburg and at
Berlin, all the stillborns. AH the bills also give the
numbers dying in every period of five years.
For the probabilities of life at Carlisle, see Annui-,
ties, Supplement, .
ABLEf
M 0 E
L 430 1
M O
TABLE V.
Mortality.
TABLE IV.
Showing the Probabilities of Life in the District of
Vaiul, Switzerland, formed from the Registers ot 43
Parishes, given by Mr Muret, in the First Part ot
the Bern Memoirs for the Year 1766.
Age.
Living
Deer
JO
I I
12
13
*4
15
16
17
j8
*9
20
21
22
23
24
2;
26
27
28
29
1000
811
765
735
715
701
688
677
667
659
189
46
3°
20
653
648
643
639
635
631
626
622
618
614
6xo
606
602
597
592
587
582
577
572
567
13
11
10
Age
Living. Deer
31
S2
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
30 563
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
48
49
5°
51
52
53
54
55
5 6
57
58
59
60
61
5<8
553
548
544
539
533
527
520
5X3
506
500
494
448
482
476
469
461
45i
441
431
422
4r4
406
397
388
377
364
348
331
3J4
299
Age
7
8
10
10
10
11
13
16
17
*7
*5
L3
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
I.iving
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
286
274
262
250
236
220
202
184
Deer.
168
!53
140
129
119
109
98
85
71
58
46
36
29
24
20
*7
14
11
9
7
12
12
12
I4
16
18
18
6
15
T3
11
10
10
*3
14
l3
12
n
Moi-talit
Showing the Probabilities of Life in a Country Parish
in Brandenburg, formed from the Bills for 50 Years,
from 1710 to 1759, as given by Mr Susmilch, in his
Gottliche Ordnung.
Age
Li ving
Deer.
10
11
I 2
*3
!4
‘5
16
n
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
775
718
687
664
642
622
607
595
585
577
570
564
559
554
225
57
31
23
22
549
544
539
535
53i
527
522
5l7
512
597
C02
498
495
492
489
30 i 486
15
12
10
8
Age
Living
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
5°
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
Co
61
482
477
472
467
Deer.
462
456
450
444
438
432
427
422
417
41 2
4°7
400
394
388
38«
374
367
359
351
343
334
324
3J4
3°4
293
282
271
10
10
10
11
11
11
11
Age
62
63
64
Living. Deer
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
9T
92
260
248
236
12
j 2
12
224
213
202
190
178
166
x53
^38
122
107
93
80
68
59
51
44
38
32
25
21
15
11
8
6
4
11
11
12
12
12
!3
!5
16
x5
I4
I3
12
9
8
tabu:
MOB
[ 43i ]
MOB
ortalitv «
|| TABLE VI.
Showing the Probabilities of Life at Vienna, form¬
ed from the Bills for eight Years, as given by
Mr Susmilcii, in his Gottliche Ordnung, page 32,
Tables.
TABLE VII.
Showing the Probabilities of Life at Berlin, formed
from the Bills for Four Years, from 1752 to 17??,
given by Mr Susmilch in his Gottliche Ordnung, voL
P- 37> Tables.
Mortality
11
Mortar.
Ase.
IQ
11
12
13
16
17
18
*9
20
21
22
23-
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Livins;
I427
9°3
752
691
618
Deer. Age. Living. Deer. Age. Living Deer
524
*51
6l
73
45
573
552
536
523
5M
507
502
498
494
490
486
482
477
472
467
461
455
449
443
43<5
428
421
412
4°3
394
385
.376
21
J5
J3
9
7
5
4
4
4
4
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
5°
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
368
361
354
347
339
33°
320
310
300
290
281
274
266
259
2 c 2
245
238
231
224
217
210
203
*95
187
!79
171
163
*54
T45
J37
130
124
8
8
10
10
10
9
8
7
7
64
65
66
67
68
69
7°
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
118
112
106
99
92
86
80
74
68
62
57
52
47
42
37
32
28
24
21
J9
J7
*5
13
11
9
7
Brief of MO RTANC ESTRY, in Scots Law; an¬
ciently the ground of an action at the instance of an
heir, in the special case where he had been excluded
from the possession of his ancestor’s estate by the supe¬
rior, or other person pretending right.
MORTAR, a preparation of lime and sand mixed
with Avater, which serves as a cement, and is used by
masons and bricklayers in building walls of stone and
brick. See Lime, Chemisthy Index.
Mortar, a chemical utensil, very useful for the di¬
vision of bodies, partly by percussion and partly by
grinding. Mortars have the form of an inverted bell.
The matter intended to be pounded is to be put into,
them, and there it is to be struck and bruised by a
long instrument called a pestle. The motion given to
the pestle ought to vary according to the nature of the
substances to be pounded. Those which are easily
broken, or which are apt to fly out of the mortar, or
which are hardened by the stroke of the pestle, require
that this instrument should be moved circularly, rather
by grinding or bruising than by striking. Those sub¬
stances which are soltened by the heat occasioned by,
rubbing;
M O R
C 432 ]
M O R
Mortar, rubbing and percussion, require to be pounded very
 v ' slowly. Lastly, Those which are very hard, and which
are not capable of being soitened, are easily pounded
by repeated strokes of the pestle. I hey require no
bruising but when they are brought to a certain degree
► of fineness. But these things are better learned by ha¬
bit and practice than by any directions.
As mortars arc instruments which are constantly
’ used in chemistry, they ought to be kept of all sizes and
materials j as of marble, copper, glass, iron, gritstone,
and agate. The nature of the substance to be pounded
determines the choice of the kind of mortar. The
hardness and dissolving power of that substance are par¬
ticularly to be attended to. As copper is a metal,
■which is soluble by almost all menstrua, and hurtful to
health, this metal is rarely or never employed for the
purpose of making mortars.
One of the principal inconveniences of pulveriza¬
tion in a mortar proceeds from the fine powder which
rises abundantly from some substances during the ope¬
ration. If these substances be precious, the loss will
be considerable} and if they be injurious to health,
they may hurt the operator. These inconveniences
may be remedied, either by covering the mortar with
a skin, in the middle of which is a hole, through which
the pestle passes ; or by moistening the matter with a
little water when this addition does not injure it; or,
lastly, by covering the mouth and nose of the operator
with a fine cloth, to exclude this powder. Some sub¬
stances, as corrosive sublimate, arsenic, calces of lead,
cantharides, cuphovbium, &c. are so noxious, that all
these precautions ought to be used, particularly when
a large quantity is pounded.
Large mortars ought to be fixed upon a block of
Wood, so high, that the mortar shall he level with the
middle of the operator. When the pestle is large and
heavy, it ought to be suspended by a cord or chain
fixed to a moveable pole placed horizontally above the
mortar: this pole considerably relieves the operator,
because its elasticity assists the raising of the pestle.
Mortah-Pucc, in the military art, a short piece
of ordnance, thick and wide, proper for throwing
bombs, carcases, shells, stones, bags filled with giape-
shot, &c. See Gunnery, N° 5°- . ,
Land Mortars, are those used in sieges, and of late
in battles, mounted on beds made of solid timber, con¬
sisting generally of four pieces, those of the royal and
cohorn excepted, which are but one single block;
and both mortar and bed are transported on block-
carriages. There is likewise a kind of land mortars,
mounted on travelling carriages, invented by Count
Buckeburg, which may be elevated to any degree ;
whereas ours are fixed to an angle of 45 degrees, and
firmly lashed with ropes. The following table shows
the weight of land mortars and shells; together with
the quantity of powder the chambers hold when full ^
the weight of the shells, and powder for loading them.,
Mortar.
Diameter of mortars.
Mortar’s weight.
Shell’s weight.
Shell’s cont. of powder.
13-inch.
C. qr. 11,
25 o o
C. qr. lb.
IO 2 18
2 15
lb. oz. gr.
948
Chamber’s cont. of powder.
8
I o-inch.
2 25
lb. oz. gi
4 14 12
8-inch.
C qr. lb.
4 O 20
1
lb. oz. gr.
238
o 10
5,8-incll.
royal.
C. qr. lb
I I o
O 12
lb. oz. gr
I I 8
4.6-inch.
cohorn.
C. qr. lb
03°
o 7
lb. oz. gr
080
Sea Mortars, are those which are fixed in homb longer and much heavier than the l”n<! "’or'ar3m
vessels tor bombarding places by sea : and as they are following table exhibits the weig -
generally fired at a much greater distance than that and shells, and also of then f § ‘
which is required by land, they are made somewhat
Nature of the mortar.
Powder con¬
tained in the
chamber
when full.
1 o-inch howitzer.
13-inch mortar.
1 o-inch mortar.
lb. oz.
12 O
30 O
12 O
Weight of
the mortar.
C. qr. lb
31 2 26
8l2 I
34 2 11
Weight of
the shell
when fixed.
lb.
198
93
Weight of
power con
tained in
the shell-
lb. oz.
7 0
'To Charge or Load a Mortar, the proper quantity
-of gunpowder is put into the chamber, and if there be
any vacant space they fill it up with hay; some choose
a wooden plug: over this they lay a turf, some a wood¬
en tonjpion fitted to the bore of the piece; and lastly
5
the bomb; taking care that the fttse be in the axis
thereof, and the orifice he turned from the muzzle ol
the piece : what space remains is to be filled up with
hay, straw, turf, &c. so as the load may not be explod¬
ed without the utmost violence. ^
ortar.
MOB [ 433 ] m
. T!ie of gunpowder to be used is found by that the range of the piece,
O Pt
1 dividing the weight of the bomb by 30 j though this
rule is not always to be strictly observed.
When the proper quantity of powder necessary to
charge a sea mortar is put into the chamber, it is co¬
vered with a wad well beat down with the rammer.
After this the fixed shell is placed upon the wad, as
near the middle of the mortar as possible, with the
fuse hole uppermost, and another wad pressed down
close upon it, so as to keep the shell firm in its position.
1 he officer then points the mortar according to the
proposed inclination.—When the mortar is thus fixed,
the tuse is opened ; the priming iron is also thrust into
the touch-hole of the mortar to clear it, after which it
is primed with the finest powder. This done, two of
the matrosses or sailors, taking each one of the matches,
the- first light1- the fuse, and the other fires the mortar.
The bomb, thrown out by the explosion of the powder,
is carried to the place intended : and the fuse, which
ought to be exhausted at the instant of the shell’s fall¬
ing, inflames the powder contained in it, and bursts the
shell in splinters •, winch, flying off circularly, occasion
incredible mischief wheresoever they reach.
If the service of mortars should render it necessary to
use pound shots, 200 oi them with a wooden bottom are
to be put into the 13 inch mortar, and a quantity of
powder- not exceeding 5 pounds ; and 100 of the above
shot with 24 pounds of powder, for the 10 inch mortar,
or three pounds at most.
To Elevate the Mortar so as its axis may make any
given angle with the horizon, they apply the artillery
level or gunner’s quadrant. An elevation of 70 or 80
degrees is what is commonly chosen for rendering mor¬
tars most serviceable in casting shells into towns, forts,
&c. though the greatest range he at 45 degrees.
All the English mortars are fixed to an ancle of 45
degrees, and lashed strongly with ropes at that elevation.
Although in a siege there is only one case in which
shells should be thrown with an angle of 4 ? degrees;
that is, when the battery is so far off that they cannot
otherwise reach the works 5 for when shells are thrown
out of the trenches into the works of a fortification, or
from the town into the trenches, they should have as
little elevation as possible, in order to roll along, and
not bury themselves j whereby the damage they do,
and the terror they occasion, are much greater than
if they sink into the ground. On the contrary, when
shells are thrown upon magazines or any other build¬
ings, with an intention to destroy them, the mortars
should be elevated as high as possible, that the shells
may acquire a greater force in their fall, and conse¬
quently do greater execution.
If all mortar pieces were, as they ought to be, exact¬
ly similar, and their requisites of powder as the cubes
of the diameters of their several bores, and if their
shells, bombs, carcasses, &c. were also similar j then,
comparing like with like, their ranges on the plane
of the horizon, under the same degree of elevation,
would be equal ; and consequently one piece being well
proved, i. e. the range of the grenado, bomb, carcass,
&c. being found to any degree of elevation, the whole
work of the mortar piece would become very easy and
exact.
But since mortars are not thus similar, it is required,
Vol. XIV. Part II.
t some known degree of
elevation, be accurately found by measuring] and from '
hence all the other ranges may be determined.
Thus, to find the range of the piece at any other
elevation required ; say, As the sine of double the angle
under which the experiment was made, is to the sine of
double the angle proposed, so is the range known to the
range required.
Suppose, for instance, it he found, that the range of
a piece, elevated to 30°, is 2000 yards : to find the
range of the same piece with the same charge when
elevated to 450; take the sine of6o°, the double of 30°,
and make it the first term of the rule of three ; the
second term must be the sine of 90°, the double of 4 ]°,
and the third the given range 2000 j the fourth term
will be 2310, the range of the piece at 450. If the
elevation be greater than 450, instead of doubling it,
take the sine of double its complement to 90°. As
suppose the elevation of a piece be 5c0, take the sine of
8o°, the double of 40°. Again, If a determinate di¬
stance to which a shot is to be cast, be given, and the
angle of elevation to produce that effect be required j
the range known must he the first term in the rule of
three, which suppose 20C0 yards ; the range proposed,
which we suppose 1600 yards, the second term] and
the sine of 60 double of the elevation for the range of
2000 yards, the third term. The fourth term will
be found the sine of 430 52', whose half 210 56' is the
angle of elevation the piece must have to produce the
desired effect. And if 210 56' be taken from 90°, you
will have 68° 4' for the other elevation of the piece,
with which the same effect will likewise be produced.
Mote, lo avoid the trouble of finding sines of double
the angles of the proposed elevations, Galileo and Tor¬
ricelli give us the following table, wherein the sines of
the angles sought are had by inspection.
Decrees
90
89
88
87
86
85
84
83
82
81
80
79
78
77
76
75
74
73
72
71
70
69
68
67
Decrees
O
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
J3
*4
*5
16
n
18
J9
20
21
22
23
Ranges.
349
698
io45
1392
l736
2709
2419
2556
3090
3420
3746
4067
4384
4^95
5000
5299
5592
5870
6157
6428
6691
6947
7193
Degrees.
Degrees
o
66
65
64
63
62
61
60
59
58
57
56
55
54
53
52
51
50
49
48
47
46
45
24
25
26
27
28
29
3°
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
Rans
7431
7660
7880
8090
8290
8480
8660
8829
8988
9r35
9272
9397
9jn
9613
97°3
9781
9841
9903
9945
9976
9994
10000
3 l
Mortar.
Tin*
Mortar,,
Mortgage-
I 434 ]
Suppose, ior in- rvhole debt and
M O R‘
The nse of tlie table is obvious
stance, it be known by experiment, that a mortar ele¬
vated 150, charged with three pounds of powder, will
throw a bomb to the distance of 350, fathoms ; and it
be required, with the same charge, to throw a bomb
300 fathoms farther j, seek in the table the number am-
swering to 15 degrees, and you will find it 5000. Then
as 3 $0 is to 450, so is 5000 to a fourth number, which
is 6428. Find, this number, or the nearest to it, in the
table, and against it you will find 20 or 70 } the piOi*
per anirles of elevation.
MORTGAGE, in Law, {mortuum vadium, or dead
pledge), is where a man borrows of another a specific
sum (e. g. 200!.), and grants him an estate in tee, on
condition that if he, the mortgager, shall pay the mort¬
gagee the said sum of 200I. on a certain day mentioned
in the deed, that then the mortgager may re-enter on
the estate so granted in pledge } or, as is now the. more
usual way, that the mortgagee shall re-convey the estate
to the mortgager: in this case the land which is so put
in pledge, is bylaw, in case of nonpayment, at the
time limited, for ever dead and gone from the mortga¬
ger j and the mortgagee’s estate in the lands, is then
"no longer conditional, but absolute. But so long as it
continues conditional, that is, between the time 01
lending the money and the time allotted for payment,
the mortgagee is called tenant in mortgage. But as it
was formerly a doubt, whether, by taking such estate
in fee, it did not become liable to the wife’s dower, and
other’encumbrances of the mortgage (though that doubt
lias been long ago overruled by our courts of equity),
it therefore became usual, to grant only, a long term ol
vears, by way of mortgage; with condition to be void
on repayment of the mortgage money : which course
has been since continued, principally because on the
death of the mortgagee such term becomes vested 10
his personal representatives, who only are entitled m
equity to receive the money lent, of vyhatever nature,
the mortgage may happen to be.
As soon as the estate is created, the mortgagee may
immediately enter on the lands; but is liable to> be dis¬
possessed, upon performance of the condition by pay¬
ment of the mortgage money at the day limited. And
therefore the usual way is to agree that the mortgager
shall bold the land till the day assigned for payment-:
when, in case of failure, whereby the estate becomes
absolute, tlie mortgagee may enter upon it, and take
possession,, without any possibility.at, law oi being af¬
terwards evicted by the mortgager, to whom tjie laud
is now for ever dead. But bore again the cpuits of
equity interpose j and though a mortgage, be thus foi-
feited, and tire estate absolutely vested in the mortga¬
gee at the common law, yet they will consider the leal
value of the tenements compared with the sum borrow¬
ed. And if the estate be of greater value than the.sum
lent thereon, they will allow the mortgagey at any rea^
sonable time to recall or redeemdiis estate.: paying to
the mortgagee his principal, interest, aqd expei ;es: foi
otherwise, in strictness ot law, an estate worth xoool.
Bxight be forfeited for non payment of icpi. or a less
sum This reasonable advantage, allowed to mortga¬
gers, is called the equity of redemption , and this en¬
ables a mortgager to call on the mortgagee, who has
possession of his estate, to deliver it back, and account
% the rents and profits received on payment of Ins
M O R
interest, thereby turning the mortuum Mortgag[ ^
vivum vadium; (see Vadium). But, [|
into a kind ol   , v - . " . n
on the other hand, the mortgagee may either compel iiVlQrtmaw ;
the sale of the estate, in order to get the whole ol his 11 'jl
money immediately j or else call upon the moitgagei to
redeem Ins estate presently, or, in default theieol, to
be for ever foreclosed Irom redeeming the same j that
is, to lose his equity of redemption without possibility of
recal. And also, in some cases of fraudulent mortga¬
ges, the fraudulent mortgager forfeits all equity ol re¬
demption whatsoever. It is not, however, usual lor
mortgagees to take possession oi the mortgaged estate,
unless where the security is precarious, or small ; or
where the mortgager neglects even the payment ot in¬
terest : when the mortgagee is frequently obliged to
bring an ejectment, and take the land into bis own
hands, in the nature of a pledge, or the pipnns ol the
Roman law : whereas, while it remains in the hands of
the mortgager, it more resembles their hypotheca,
which was where the possession of the thing pledged
remained with the debtor. But by.statute 7. Geo. II.
c. 20. after payment or tender by the mortgager, of
principal, interest, and costs, the mortgagee can mam-
tain no ejectment •, but may. be compelled to re assign
bis securities. In Glanvii’s time, when the universal
method of conveyance was by livery of seisin or corpo¬
ral tradition of the lands, no gage or pledge of lands
was good unless possession was also delivered to the cre¬
ditor j si non sequatur ipsius vadu traditio, curia donum
regis kujusmodiprivatas conventiones tuen non solet:
for which the reason given is, to prevent subsequent and
fraudulent pledges of the same land; cum in tali casu
possit eadem res plurilm? aliis crcditonbus turn prnis
turn posterius invadiari. And the. frauds which have
arisen, since the exchange of these public and notorious
conveyances for more private and secret bargains, have
well evinced the wisdom of our ancient law.
MORTIER, an ensign of dignity, which was borne
by the chancellor and grand, presidents ol the parlia¬
ment of France. That borne by the chancellor was a
piece of cloth of gold,, edged and turned up with er¬
mine j and that of the first president was a piece ot
black velvet edged with a double row of gold
MORTIFICATION, or Gangrene. See Min
djcine, and Surgery Index..
Mortification, in religion, any severe penance
observed on a religious, account. See Fast.
MORTISE, or Mortoise, in carpentry, 5tc. a
kind of joint wherein a bole of a certain depth is made
in a.piece of timber, which is to receive another piece.
called a tenon. . . .
MORTMAIN, or Alienation in Mortmain (/«
■martini mpnu'), is an alienation ol lands or tenements to
any corporation, sole or aggregate, ecclesiastical or ttm- ^ ,
uoral* : but these purchases having been chiefly made rfltJ
by religious houses, in consequence whereof the lands
became perpetually inherent in one dead hand, this
hath occasioned the general, appellation oi mortmain to
be applied to such alienations, and the religious houses
themselves to be principally considered m forming t e
statutes of mortmain : in deducing the history of which
statutes, it wi.ll.be matter of curiosity to observe Uie
great address and subtle contrivance of the ecclesiastic?,
in eluding from time to time the laws in being, and ue
zeal with which successive parliaments have Pur^
5 .
M O R [ ,
brlniain. tiiem through all their finesses: how new remedies were
pT" still the parents of new evasions j till the legislature at
last, though with difficulty, hath obtained a decisive
victory.
By the common law any man might dispose of his
lands to any other private man at his own discretion,
especially when the feodal restraints of alienation were
worn away. Yet in consequence of these it was al¬
ways, and is still necessary, for corporations to have a
license of mortmain from the crown, to enable them to
ilckst. purchase lands : for as the king is the ultimate lord of
{ imerit, every fee, he ought not, unless by his own consent, to
lose his privilege of escheats and other feodal profits,
by the vesting of lands in tenants that can never be at¬
tainted or die. And such licenses of mortmain seem to
have been necessary among the Saxons above 60 years
before the Norman conquest. But, besides this gene¬
ral license from the king as lord paramount of the king¬
dom, it was also requisite, whenever there was a mesne
or intermediate lord between the king and the alienor,
to obtain his license also (upon the same feodal princi¬
ples) for the alienation of the specific land. And if no
such license was obtained, the king or other lord might
respectively enter on the land so alienated in mortmain,
as a forfeiture. The necessity of this licence from the
crown was acknowledged by the Constitutions of Cla¬
rendon, in respect of advowsons, which the monks al-
w'ays greatly coveted, as being the groundwork of sub¬
sequent appropriations. Yet such were the influence
and ingenuity of the clergy, that (notwithstanding this
fundamental principle) we find that the largest and
most considerable donations of religious houses happen¬
ed within less than turn centuries after the Conquest.
And (when a license could not be obtained) their con¬
trivance seems to have been this: That as the forfei¬
ture for such alienations accrued in the first place to the
immediate lord of the fee, the tenant who meant to
alienate first conveyed his lands to the religious house,
and instantly took them back again to hold as tenant
to the monastery : which kind of instantaneous seisin
was probably held not to occasion any forfeiture: and
then, by pretext of some other forfeiture, surrender, or
escheat the society entered into those lands in right of
such their newly acquired signiory, as immediate lords
of the fee. But when these donations began to grow
numerous, it was observed that the feodal services, or¬
dained for the defence of the kingdom, were every day
visibly withdrawn *, that the circulation of landed pro¬
perty from man to man began to stagnate : and that tire
lords were curtailed of the fruits of their signories, their
escheats, wardships, reliefs, and the like : and there¬
fore, in order to prevent this, it was ordained by the
second of King Henry JII.Vs great charters, and af¬
terwards by that printed in our common statute books,
that all such attempts should be Void, and the land for¬
feited to the lord of the fee.
But as this prohibition extended only to religious
houses, bishops and other sole corporations were not in¬
cluded therein; and the aggregate ecclesiastical bodies
(who, Sir Edward Coke observes, in this were to be
commended, that they ever had of their counsel the best
Earned men that they could get) found many means
to creep out of this statute, by buying in lands that
were bona fide holden of themselves as lords of the fee,
sud thereby evading the forfeiture ; or by taking long
35 1 MO 11
leases for jeafs, whifch first introduced those extensive '.rortimiri
terms, for a thousand or more years, which are now so -y—
frequent in conveyances. This produced the statute
dc religios/s, 7 Edw. I.; which provided, that no per¬
son, religious or other whatsoever, should buy, or sell,
or receive under pretence of a gift, or term of years, or
any other title whatsoever, nor should by any art or in¬
genuity appropriate to himself, any lands or tenements
in mortmain ; upon pain that the immediate lord of the
fee, or, on his default for one year, the lords para¬
mount, and in default of all of them, the king, might
enter thereon as a forfeiture.
This seemed to be a sufficient security against all
alienations in mortmain : but as these statutes extend¬
ed only to gifts and conveyances between the parties,
the religious houses now began to set up a fictitious
title to the land, which it was intended they should
have, and to bring an action to recover it against the
tenant; who, by fraud and collusion, made no defence,
and thereby judgment was given for the religious
house, which then recovered the land by a sentence of
law upon a supposed prior title. And thus they had the
honour of inventing those fictitious adjudications of
right, which are since become the great assurance of
the kingdom, under the name of common recoveriks.
But upon this the statute of Westminster the second,
13 Edw. J. c. 32. enacted, that in such cases a jury
shall try the true right of the demandants or plaintiffs
to the land ; and if the religious house or corporation
he found to have it, they shall still recover seisin; other¬
wise it shall be forfeited to the immediate lord of the
fee, or else to the next lord, and finally to the king,
upon the immediate or other lord’s default. And the
like provision was made by the succeeding chapter, in
case the tenants set up crosses upon their lands (the
badges of knights templars and hospitallers) in order to
protect them from the feudal demands of their lords,
by virtue of the privileges of those religious and mili¬
tary orders. And so careful was this provident prince
to prevent any future evasions, that tvhen the statute
of quia empt&res, 18 Edw. I. abolished all sub-infeuda-
tions, and gave liberty for all men to alienate their
lands to be holden of their next immediate lord, a pro¬
viso was inserted that this should not extend to autho¬
rize any kind of alienation in mortmain. And when
afterwards the method of obtaining the king’s license by
writ of ad quod damnum was marked out by the statute
27 Edw. I. st. 2. it was farther provided by statute
34 Edw. 1. st. 3. that no such license should be ef¬
fectual without the consent of the mesne or intermediate
lords.
Yet still it was found difficult to set bounds to ec¬
clesiastical ingenuity : for when they were driven out
of all their former holds, they devised n new method
of conveyance, by which the lands were granted, not
to themselves directly, but to nominal feoffees to the
use of the religious houses; thus distinguishing be¬
tween the possession and the use, and receiving the ac¬
tual profits, while the seisin of the land remained in
the nominal feoffee ; who was held by the courts
of equity (then under the direction of the clergy) to
be bound in conscience to account to his ccstvy que
use for the rents and emoluments of the estate. And
it is to these inventions that our practisers are indebt¬
ed for the introduction of uses and trusts, the founda-
3 1 2 tie®
M O R
[ ]
M O R
ilortraain. ticti of modern conveyancing. But unfortunately for
 w {|]e inventors themselves, they did not long enjoy the
advantage of their new device ; lor the statute 15 luch-
ard If. c. 5. enacts, that the lands which had been so
purchased to uses should be admortised by license from
the crown, or else be sold to private persons} and that,
for the future, uses shall be subject to the statutes of
mortmain, and forfeitable like the lands themselves.
And whereas the statutes had been eluded by purcha-
large tracts of land adjoining to churches, and con-
secrating them by the name of churchyards, such sub¬
tile imagination is also declared to be within the com¬
pass of the statutes of mortmain. And civil or lay cor¬
porations, as well as ecclesiastical, are also declared to
be within the mischief, and of course within the remedy
provided by those salutary laws. And lastly,. As during
the tiipes of popery lands were frequently given to su¬
perstitious uses, though not to any corporate bodies;
or were made liable in the hands of heirs and devisees
to the charge of obits, chantries, and the like, which
were equally pernicious in a well-governed state as ac¬
tual alienations in mortmain j therefore at the dawn of
the Reformation, the statute 23 Hen. VIII. c. 10. de¬
clares, that all future grants of lands for any of the
purposes aforesaid, if granted for any longer term than
20 years, shall he void.
But, during all this time, it was in the power of the
crown, by granting a license of mortmain, to remit
the forfeiture, so far as related to its own fights
and
to enable any spiritual or other corporation to purchase
and hold any lands or tenements in perpetuity: which
prerogative is declared and confirmed by the statute
18 Edw. III. st. 3. c. 3. But as doubts were conceived
at the time of the Revolution how far such license was
valid, since the king had no power to dispense with the
statutes of mortmain by a clause of no?i obstante, which
was the usual course, though it seems to have been un¬
necessary, and as, by the gradual declension of mesne
sioniories through the long operation of the statute ot
quia emptores, the rights of intermediate lords were re¬
duced to a very small compass •, it W'as therefore pio-
vided by the statute 7 & 8 W. III. c. 37. that the
crown for the future at its own discretion may grant li¬
censes to alienate or take in mortmain, of whomsoever
the tenements may be hoi den. . ^irr
After the dissolution of monasteries under Hen. V 111.
though the policy of the next popish successor affected
to grant a security to the possessors of abbey lands,
yet in order to regain so much of them as either the
Zeal or timidity of their owners might induce them to
part with, the statutes of mortmain were suspended for
20 years by the statute 1 & 2 P. & M. c. 8. and dur¬
ing" that time any lands or tenements were allowed
to be granted to any spiritual corporation without any
license whatsoever. And long afterwards, lor a much
better purpose, the augmentation of poor livings, it
was enacted by the statute 17 Car. II. c. 3. that ap-
propviators may annex the great tithes to the vicarages,
and that all benefices under 100I. per annum may be
augmented by the purchase of lands, without license
o f m or t in an in either case } and the like provision hath
been since made in favour of the governors of Queen
Anne’ bounty. It hath also been held, that the sta¬
tute 13 Hen. VIII. before-mentioned, did not extend
to any thing but superstitious uses 5 and that therefore
a man may give lands for the maintenance of a school, Mortnii.„
an hospital, or any other charitable uses. But as it Mortuarr
was apprehended from recent experience, that persons
on their deathbeds might make large and impievident
dispositions even lor these good purposes, and defeat
the political ends of the statutes of mortmain 5 it is
therefore enacted by the statute 9 Geo. II. c. 36. that
no lands or tenements, or money to he laid out thereon,
shall be given for or charged with any charitable uses
whatsoever, unless by deed indented, executed in the
presence of two witnesses 12 kalender months before the
death of the donor, and enrolled in the court of chan¬
cery within six months after its execution (except
stocks in the public funds, which may be transferred
within six months previous to th£ donor s death), and
unless such gift be made to take effect immediately,
and be without power of revocation ; and that all other
gifts shall be void. The two universities, their colleges,
and their scholars upon the foundation of the colleges
of Eton, Winchester, and Westminster, are excepted
out of this act: hut such exemption was granted with
this proviso, that no college shall be at libeity to pur¬
chase more advowsons than are equal in number to one
moiety of the fellows or students upon the respective
foundations. . ...
MORTUARY, in Law, is a sort of ecclesiastical he-
riot*, being a customary gift claimed by and due to# sce I
the minister in very many parishes on the death of hislfm’oi. I
parishioners. They seem originally to have been only
a voluntary bequest to the church j being intended, as
Lyndewode informs us frorti a constitution of Archbi¬
shop Langham, as a kind of expiation and amends to
the clergy for the personal tithes, and other ecclesias¬
tical duties, which the laity in their life time might
have neglected or forgotten to pay. I or this purpose,
after the lord’s heriot or best good was taken out, the
second best chattel was reserved to the chuich as a
mortuary. And therefore in the laws of King Canute,
this mortuary is called soul-scot or symbolum animee.
And, in pursuance of the same principle, by the laws
of Venice, where no personal tithes have been paid du¬
ring the life of the party, they are paid at his death
out of his merchandise, jewels, and other moveables.
So also, by a similar policy in France, every man that
died without bequeathing a part of his estate to the
church, which was called dying without confession, was
formerly deprived of Christian burial} or, if he died
intestate, the relations of the deceased, jointly with the
bishop, named proper arbitrators to determine what he
ought to have given to the church, in case he had
made a will. But the parliament, in 1409, redressed
this grievance.
It was anciently usual in England to bring the mor¬
tuary to church along with the corpse when it came
to be buried ; and thence it is sometimes called a corpse-
present : a term which bespeaks it to have been once
a voluntary donation However, in Bracton’s time, so
early as Henry III. we find it rivetted into an esta¬
blished custom *, in so much that the bequests of heriotS
and mortuaries were held to he necessary ingredients in
every testament of chattels. Imprimis autem debet qui-.
libet, quitestamentum fecerit, dominum suum de melton
re quam habuerit recognoscere; etpostea ecclestam deaha
meliore: the lord must have the best good left him as
a heriot; and the church the second best as a mor-
7 tuary.
M O R L 437 ] M O S
ll tnary< tuary. But yet this custom was different in different
U|Y—/ j)laces : in quibusdam locis habzt ecclesia melius animal
de consuetudine ; in quibusdam secundum, vel tertium
■melius ; ct in quibusdam nihil: et idea consideranda est
consuetude) loci. This custom still varies in different
places, not only as to the mortuary to he paid, but the
person to whom it is payable. In Wales a mortuary or
corse present was due upon the death of every clergy¬
man to the bishop of the diocese *, till abolished, upon
a recompense given to the bishop, by the statute, i 2
Ann. st. 2. c. 6. And in the archdeaconry of Che¬
ster a custom also prevailed, that the bishop, who is
also archdeacon, should have, at the death of every
clergyman dying therein, his best horse or mare, bridle,
saddle, and spurs} his best gown or cloak, hat, upper
garment under his gown, and tippet, and also his best
signet or ring. But by statute 28 Qeo. II. c. 6. this
mortuary is directed to cease, and the act has settled
upon the bishop an equivalent in its room. rlhe king’s
claim to many goods, on the death of all prelates in
England, seems to be of the same nature; though Sir
Edward Coke apprehends, that this is a duty upon
death, and not a mortuary : a distinction which seems
to he without a difference. For not only the king’s
ecclesiastical character, as supreme ordinary, but also
the species of the good claimed, which bear so near a
resemblance to those in the archdeaconry of Chester,
which was an acknowledged mortuary, puts the matter
out of dispute. The king, according to the record
vouched by Sir Edward Coke, is entitled to six things j
the bishop’s best horse or palfrey, with his furniture j
his cloak or gown, and tippet •, his cup and cover j his
bason and ewer } his gold ring j and lastly, his muta
canum, his mew or kennel of hounds.
This variety of customs with regard to mortuaries,
giving frequently a handle to exactions on the one side,
and frauds or expensive litigations on the other, it
was thought proper by statute 21 Henry V III. c 6.
to reduce them to some kind of certainty. For this
purpose it is enacted, that all mortuaries, or corse-
presents to parsons of any parish, shall be taken in the
following manner, unless where by custom less or none
at all is due; viz. for every person who does not leave
goods to the value of ten marks, nothing ; for every
person who leaves goods to the value of ten marks and
under 30 pounds, 3s. 4d. j if above 30 pounds, and un¬
der 40 pounds, 6s. 8(1.if above 40 pounds, of what
value soever they may be, 10s. and no more. And no
mortuary shall throughout the kingdom be paid lor
the death of any feme-covert 5 nor for any child j nor
for any one of full age, that is not a housekeeper ; nor Mortuary
for any wayfaring man ; hut such wayfaring man’s mor- 11
tuary shall be paid in the parish to which he belongs. ^saic
And upon this statute stands the law of mortuaries to ■ ' ‘
this day.
MORUS, the Mulberry Tree, a genus of plants
belonging to the monoecia class, and in the natural me¬
thod ranking under the 53d order, Scabt'idcc. See Bo¬
tany Index.
MOSA, in Ancient Geography, a river of Belgica,
rising in Mount Vogesus on the borders of the Lingones,
and which, after receiving a part of the Rhine called
Vahalis, forms the island of the Batavi, and passes off
into the sea, at the distance of 80 miles. Now called
the Maese, or Meuse; rising in Champagne, on the
borders of the county of Burgundy, or Franche
Compte, at a village called Meuse, whence the appella¬
tion ; and running north through Lorrain and Cham-
jiagne into the Netherlands : it afterwards directs its
course north-east and then west 5 and joining the Waal,
runs to Dort, and falls into the German sea, a little be¬
low the Briel.
M0si£ Pons, in Ancient Geography, supposed to bo
Maestricht, situated on the Maese. E. Long. 5. 40.
N. Lat. 50. 55.
MOSAIC Law, or the Law of Moses, is the most WlsonX
ancient that we know of in the world, and is of three
kinds 5 the moral law, the ceremonial law, and the
judicial law. The different manner in which each of
these was delivered, may perhaps suggest to us a right
idea of their different natures. The moral law, or
ten commandments, for instance, was delivered on the
top of the mountain, in the face of the whole world,
as being of universal influence, and obligatory on all
mankind. The ceremonial was received by Moses in
private in the tabernacle, as being of peculiar concern,
belonging to the Jews only, and destined to cease
when the tabernacle was down, and the vail of the temple
rent. As to the judicial law, it was neither so public¬
ly nor so audibly given as the moral law, nor yet so
privately as the ceremonial ; this kind of law being of
an indifferent nature, to be observed or not observed,
as its rites suit with the place and government under
which we live. The five books of Moses called the
Pentateuch, are frequently styled, by way of emphasis
the Law. This was held by the Jews in such vene¬
ration, that they would not allow it to be laid upon the
bed of any sick person, lest it should be polluted by
touching the dead.
A TABLE or HARMONY of the MOSAIC LAW, digested into proper Heads, with
References to the several Parts of the Pentateuch where the respective Laws occur.
Class I. The Moral Law written on the two Tables, containing
the Ten Commandments.
The first table, which includes
The first commandment
The second commandment,
The third commandment.
Exod.
chap.
20. 23.
20.23.34
20. 23.
Levitic.
chap.
19. 20. 26
Numb.
chap.
1
Deut.
chap.
v 6. 13
4.5.6.7.8.
10.11 12
I3-
5-
The
M O S
[ 438 ]
The fourth commandment, - ■*
The second table includes
The fifth commandment,
The sixth commandment,
The seventh commandment,
The eighth commandment,
The ninth commandment,
The tenth commandment,
The sum of both tables,
Class II. The Ceremonial Law may be fitly reduced to the
following heads, viz.
20. 23.31
34- 35-
20. 22.
20.
20.
20. 23.
20. 23.
20.
I
Kxod.
chap.
Of the holy place, - - -
Of the matter and structure of the tabernacle,
Of the instruments of the same, viz. *'
The laver of brass, - - - 30,
The altar of burnt offering, . - * 27.
The altar of incense, - - " 30,
The candlestick of pure gold, - - 25'
The table of shew-bread, _ - -
Of the priests and their vestments for glory and beauty,
Of the choosing of the Levites,
Of the priests office in general,
Of their office in teaching,
Of their office in blessing, - - “
Of their office in offerings which function largely spreading itself,
is divided into those heads, viz.
What the sacrifice ought to be,
Of the continual fire, - - *
Of the manner of the burnt offerings,
 the peace offerings, - -
Of the manner of the sacrifices according to their several kinds, viz
For sin committed through ignorance of the law,
For sin committed through ignorance of the tact,
For sin committed wittingly, yet not through impiety,
The special law of sacrifices for sin,
Of things belonging to the sacrifices,
Of the sbew-bread, -
Of the lamps, - - - “
Of the sweet incense, - - ”
Of the use of ordinary oblations, whereof there were several kinds
observed by the priests, - - -
Of the consecration of the high priests and other priests,
Of the consecration and office of the Levites,
Of the dwelling of the Levites, _ . -
Of the anointing the altar, and all the instrument? of the ta¬
bernacle,
Of the continual daily sacrifices, - - <
Of the continual Sabbath day’s sacrifices,
Of the solemn sacrifice for feast days, which were diverse, and had
peculiar rites, distinguished into these, viz.
Of trumpets, - - - -
Of beginning of months, _ - -
Of the three most solemn feasts in general,
Of the feast of passover, ^ s " ^
Of the feast of pentecost, - - -
Of the feast of tabernacles, ...
«Of the feast of blowing the trumpets, - ^
20.
2 c. 26.
27- 35-
25. 26.
28.
}
27.
3°-
29. 30.
29.
29.
3°-
34-
13*
34-
24.
34-
M O
Levitic.
chap.
19.23.26
19.
19.
18. 19.
19.
I9-
I9*
19. 10.
22.
6.
6. 7.
3- 7*
7-
6.
6. 7.
2. 6. 7.
24.
24.
6.8.
25
23-
}
23-
23-
23-
23-
s
Numb.
chap.
Dcut.
chap.
12.
23-
8. 3.8.
3.18,
6.
I5-
18.12.
17-31-
I5* I7*
Mosaic
Law.
35-
28.
28.
10.
28.
9. 28.
28.
29.
29.
16.
16.
16.
16.
Of
fosaic
LrtW.
M O S t 439 ]
Of the feast of expiation,
Of the first fruits, . .
Of tythes, -
Of fruits growing and not eaten of, • ►
Of the first born,
Of the sabbatical year, - ,
Of the year of jubilee,
Of vows in general,
AMiat persons ought not to make vows,
"What things cannot be vowed,
Of redemption of vows,
Ofthe vows of the Nazarites,
Of the laws proper for the priests, viz.
Of pollutions,
Of the high priest’s mourning,
Of his marriage, - -
Of the mourning of the ordinary priests,
Of their marriage,
Of their being forbidden the use of wine,. See.
Of sanctified meats,
Of the office of the Lcvites, viz.
Teaching^ -
Offering, - _
Ot' ,er promiscuous ceremonial laws, viz*.
Of uncleanness in general,
Of uncleanness in meats, viz.
Of blood, - . Gen. ix-
Of fat, - ...
Of dead carcases, - ' .
Other meats, and diverse living creatures,
Of uncleanness in the issue of seed and blood,
In the dead bodies of men,
In the leprosy, - « -
Of circumcision, - . Gen. xvii.
Of the water of expiation,
Of the mourning of the Israelites, - ~
Of mixtures, - _
Of their garments, and writing the law privately,
Of young birds not to be taken with the dam,
Of their paddle staves,
Class III. The Political Law,
.Ni B. The Magistrate is the keeper of the precepts of both
lables, and to have respect to human society j—therefore
the Political laws of the Israelites are referred to both the
Tables, and are to be reduced to the several precepts of the
Moral Law.
Laws referred to.the first table, namely,
1st, To the first and second commandments, viz.
Of idolaters and apostates, - -
Of abolishing idolatry^
Of diviners and false prophets,
Of covenants with other gods,
2d, To the third commandment, viz.
Of blasphemies,
3d, To the fourth commandment, viz. .
Of breaking the Sabbath,
iMitieal laws referred to the second tabic,
M 0 S
Exod.
chap.
30.
22.23.34
13.22.34,
23*
23*
22.
{
Levitic.
chap.
Numb.
chap.
22.
23. 24.
22.
23. 24.
3i 35-
l6. I :
2.
21.
19.
25.
25*
27*
27.
27*
22.
21.
21.
21.
21.
IO.
6. 17. 19,
20.
15. 19.
7. 17, 19
3- 7*
n-
IX. 20.
13. 14.
12.
!9-
i9.
20.
19. 20.
24.
29.
I5*
18.
3°*
3°-
6.
is.
3. 4. 18.
5-
i9-
,5*.
I9*
*5-
33-
Deut.
chap.
Mosaic
Law.
26.
I 2.14. 26
IJ-
12. 15.18,
!7.27.31
10.
12.
!
14.
14.
23*
I4*
I4*
6. 11. 22.
22.
23*
'3‘ 17-
7. 12.
18.
7-
1st, To
M O S
Mosaic
J^aw.
The fourth commandment,
The second table includes
The fifth commandment,
The sixth commandment,
The seventh commandment,
The eighth commandment,
The ninth commandment,
The tenth commandment,
The sum of both tables,
[ 438 1
\
M O S
Numb.
chap.
Dcut.
chap.
Class II. The Ceremonial Law may be fitly i
following heads, viz.
Of the holy place,
Of the matter and structure of the tabernacle,
Mosaic
Law,
Of the instruments of the same, viz. -
The laver of brass,
The altar of burnt offering,
The altar of incense,
The candlestick of pure gold,
The table of shew-bread,
Of the priests and their vestments for glory and 1
Of the choosing of the Levites,
Of the priests office in general,
Of their office in teaching,
Of their office in blessing,
Of their office in offering 5 which function larg
is divided into those heads, viz.
What the sacrifice ought to be,
Of the continual fire,
Of the manner of the burnt offerings,
•1 — 1 ■   the peace offerings,
Of the manner of the sacrifices according to the
For sin committed through ignorance of the law,
For sin committed through ignorance of the tact
For sin committed wittingly, yet not through in
The special law of sacrifices for sin,
Of things belonging to the sacrifices,
Of the shew-bread,
Of the lamps, -
Of the sweet incense,
Of the use of ordinary oblations, whereof ther<
observed by the priests,
Of the consecration of the high priests and othe
Of the consecration and office of the Levites,
Of the dwelling of the Levites,
Of the anointing the altar, and all the instr
bernacle,
Of the continual daily sacrifices,
Of the continual Sabbath day’s sacrifices,
Of the solemn sacrifice for feast days, which w
peculiar rites, distinguished into these, viz.
Of trumpets, _ _ _
Of beginning of months,
Of the three most solemn feasts in general.
Of the feast of passover, n s
Of the feast of pentecost,
Of the feast of tabernacles,
•JOf the feast of blowing the trumpets,
,
8\f
;.s.
8.
; qo
/•
5.7.
6. 8.
vt* i
; 8\T
t-
5* 25
,4-
24.
34-
I5*
8.
18. 12.
31*
I5* I7*
35*
28.
28.
10.
28.
23-
}
23-
23-
23*
23-
9. 28.
28.
29.
29.
16.
16.
16.
16.
Of
tosalc
ILhW.
M O S
Of the feast
Of the first f
Of tythes,
Of fruits g
Of the first
Of the sabb
Of the year
Of vows in
What per.--*—-
"VMiat thingsi
Of x’eclemptiG
Of the vows t
Of the laws pi
Of pollutions,  — 
Of the high prii-. . ,
Of his marriage?/©^ 3/9J4 each.
Of the mourning e
Of their marriage,
TES.
Of their being forbidt^ jQ
Of sanctified meats,
Of the office of the Levi
Teaching^ - r
Offering,
Other promiscuous ceremon 
Of uncleanness in general,
Of uncleanness in meats, vizf
Of blood,
Of fat, -
Of dead carcases,
Other meats, and diverse living
Of uncleanness in the issue of se
In the dead bodies of men, *
In the leprosy,
Of circumcision,
Of the water of expiation,
Of the mourning of the Israelites,
Of mixtures,
Of their garments, and writing the 1,
Of young birds not to be taken with |
Of their paddle staves,
47/6 doz.
4/II.14 up
5/11 up
t 439 3
DC
53:
*3
s
>
CO
CO
DC
O
3
1
Class III. The ~F\
If. B. The Magistrate is the kee
Tables, and to have respect tt
the Political laws of the Israeliti
Tables, and are to be reduced to
Moral Law. /105
Laws referred to.the first table, namely, 716
1st, To the first and second command^
Of idolaters and apostates, - ' A
Of abolishing idolatry,.
Of diviners and false prophets,
Of covenants with other gods,
2d, To the third commandment, viz.
Of blasphemies,
3d, To the fourth commandment, viz. .
Of breaking the Sabbath,
Political laws referred to the second tabler
\6
V
\
\
*<3
m
00
»=>
Rp
00
03
Exod.
chap.
M O S
Levitic.
chap.
30.
22.23.34
13.22.34
23-
-1
23‘
22.
22.
23. 24.
22.
23. 24.
3i 35-
16. 13.
2.
21.
I9-
25>
25*
27.
27.
27.
22.
21.
21.
21.
21.
10.
6. 17. 19
20.
15. 19.
7. 17. 19
3- 7*
x7*
n. 20.
15.12.
13. 14.
12.
I9-
I9-
20.
19. 20.
24.
Numb.
chap.
3°*
3°-
6.
]-5- 18.
?
3. 4. 18.
5-
I9*
,5-.
J9-
33-
1S-
Deut.
chap.
26.
I 2. 14. 26
I5-
Mosaic
Law.
12.15.18,
lj.2j.3i
IO.
12.
1
I4-
I4-
23-
14.
14.
6. 11. 22.
22.
23*.
3- 17-
7- 12.
18.
7-
1 st, To
M O S
[ 440 1
1st, To the fifth commandment, viz.
Of magistrates and their authority,
Of the power of fathers,
2d, To the sixth commandment, viz.
Of capital punishments,
Of manslaughter’unwittingly committed, and of the cities of re-7
fuge’ . . "
Of heinous injury, ,
Of punishments not capital,
Of the law of war,
3d, To the seventh commandment, viz.
Of unlawful marriages,
Of fornication, - "
Of whoredom, ~ _
Of adultery and jealousy,
Of copulation against nature, - _ _
Of divorcements,
Other matrimonial laws,
4th, To the eighth commandment, viz.
Of the punishment of thefts,
Of sacrilege, ' _
Of not injuring strangers, * " ”
Of not defrauding hirelings,
Of just weights, - ”
Of removing the land-mark,
Of lost goods, -
Of strayed cattle, " _
Of corrupted judgments,
Of fire breaking out by chance,
Of manstealing, “ ’
Of the fugitive servant,
Of gathering fruits,
Of contracts, viz. '
Borrowing, ' _
Of the pledge,
Of usury, - _
Of selling, "
Of the thing lent.
Of a thing committed to be kept,
Of heirs,
5th, To the ninth commandment, viz.
Of witnesses, " . . ”
The establishing the political law,
The establishing the divine law in general,
From the dignity of the lawgiver,
From the excellency of the laws,
From the promises,
Exod.
chap.
M O S
Levitic. j Numb. I Deut.
chap, j chap. | chap.
18. 30.
21.
21.
21.
From the threatenings,
MOSAIC, or Mosaic Work, an assemblage of
little pieces of glass, marble, precious stones, &c. ot
various colours, cut square, and cemented on a ground
22.
22.
21.
22.
22. 23.
22.
22. 23.
23-
22.
22.
22.
21.
22.
24.
24.
18. 20.
19.
21.
19. 20.
18. 22.
18. 20.
I9*
19.
19.
19.
11.
35-
33*
rlr.is. 17.
1;23.
21. 24
19.
19.21.22,
25*
25-
25.
7.2!.
23-
22.
-{
— 5
19. 23.
25.
25*
{
15.19.23.
24.
23-
19.20.22
18. 26.
26.
24.
21.22.24.
25-
10.
26. 25.
25-
19.
22.
16. 24.
24.
23-
23. 24.
I5*
24.
23.
15-
Mosaj
LSvi
‘ \r
•J
:1
-{
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of stucco, in such a manner as to imitate the
and gradations of painting. The cr.t.cs are divsieo
as to the origin and reason of the name. Some t ^
4
M ° S [ 44.1 ]
losaic. fioin niosaicum, a corruption of musaicum, as that is are to be
-v-—' of musivum, as. it waa called among the Romans.
Scaliger derives it from the Greek y,*™, and imagines
the name was given to this sort of works as being very
line and ingenious. Nebricensis is of opinion it was
so called, because ex ill is picturis ornabantur musca.
I. Method of performing mosaic work of glass is
this: They provide little pieces of glass, of as many
different colours and sizes as possible.
Now, in order to apply these several pieces, and out
of them to form a picture, they in the first place pro¬
cure a cartoon, or design to be drawn ; this is trans¬
ferred to the ground or plaster by chalking as in paint¬
ing in fresco. See Fresco.
As this plaster is to be laid thick on the wall, and
therefore will continue fresh and soft a considerable
time, so there may be enough prepared at once to serve
for as much work as will take up three or four days.
This plaster is composed of lime made of hard
stone, with brick dust very fine, gum tragacanth, and
whites of eggs j when this plaster has been thus pre¬
pared and laid on the wall, and made the design of
what is to be represented, they take out the little pieces
of glass with a pair of plyers, and range them one after
another, still keeping strictly to the light, shadow, dif¬
ferent teints and colours represented in the design be¬
fore •, pressing or flatting them down with a ruler,
which serves both to sink them within the ground and
to render the surface even.
Thus, in a long time, and with a great deal of la¬
bour, they finish the work, which is still the more
beautiful, as the pieces of glass are more uniform and
ranged at an even height.
Some of these pieces of mosaic work are performed
with that exactness, that they appear as smooth as a
table of marble, and as finished and masterly as a paint¬
ing in fresco; with this advantage, that they have a
fine lustre, and will last ages.
The finest works of this kind that have remained till
our time, and those by whom the moderns have retriev¬
ed the art, which was in a manner lost, are those in the
church of St Agnes, formerly the temple of Bacchus,
at Rome ; and some at Pisa, Florence, and other cities
of Italy. 'Ihe mdst esteemed among the works of the
moderns are those of Joseph Pine and the Chevalier
Lanfranc, in the church of St Peter at Rome : there are
also very good ones at Venice.
2. The method of performing mosaic work of marble
is this: The ground of mosaic works, wholly marble,
is usually a massive marble either white or black. On
this ground the design is cut with a chisel, after it has
been first chalked. After it has been cut of a consider¬
able depth, i. e. an inch or more, the cavities are filled
up with marble of a proper colour, first fashioned ac¬
cording to the design, and reduced to the thickness of
the indentures with various instruments. To make the
piece thus inserted into the indentures cleave fast, whose
several colours-are to imitate those of the design, they
use a stucco, composed of lime and marble dust 5 or a
kind of mastich, which is prepared by each workman,
after a different manner peculiar to himself. The
figures being marked out, the painter or sculptor him¬
self draws with a pencil the colours of the figures not
determined by the ground, and in the same manner
makes strokes or hatchings in the place where shadows
Voj,. XIV. Part II. t
M O S
and after he has engraven with the chisel
all the strokes thus drawn, he fills them up with a black
mastich, composed partly of Burgundy pitch poured on
hot; taking off afterwards what is superfluous with a
piece of soft stone or brick, which, together with water
and beaten cement, takes away the mastich, polishes the
marble, and renders the whole so even that one would
imagine it only consisted of one piece. This is the kind
of mosaic work that is seen in the church of the Invalids
at Paris, and the fine chapel at Versailles, with which
some entire apartments of that palace are incrustated.
3. .As for mosaic work of precious stones, other and
finer instruments are required than those used in marble j
as drills, wheels, &c. used by lapidaries and engravers
on stone. As none but the richest marbles and stones
enter this work, to make them go the farther, thev
are sawn into the thinnest leaves imaginable, scarcely
exceeding half a line in thickness ; the block to be sawn
is fastened firmly with cords on the bench, and only
raised a little on a piece of wood, one or two inches
high. Two iron pins, which are on one side the block,
and which serve to fasten it, are put into a vice con¬
trived for the purpose j and with a kind of saw or bow,
made of a fine brass wire, bent on a piece of spongy
wood, together with emery steeped in water, the leaf
is gradually fashioned by following the stroke of the
design made on paper, and glued on the piece. When
there are pieces enough fastened to form an entire
flower, or some other part of the design, they are ap¬
plied to the ground.
The ground which supports this mosaic work is us¬
ually of freestone. The matter with which the stones
are joined together is a mastich, or kind of stucco, laid
very thin on the leaves as they are fashioned 5 and this
being done, the leaves are applied with plyers.
If any contour, or side of a leaf, be not either squared
or rounded sufficiently, so as to fit the place exactly
into which it is to be inserted, when it is too large, it is
to be brought down with a brass file or rasp; and if it
he too little, it is managed with a drill and other instru¬
ments used by lapidaries.
Mosaic work of marble is used in large works, as in
pavements of churches and palaces; and in the incrus¬
tation and veneering of the walls of the same edifices.
As for that of precious stones, it is only used in small
works, as ornaments for altar pieces, tables for rich
cabinets, precious stones being so very dear.
4. Manner of performing mosaic work of gypsum.
Of this stone calcined in a kiln, beaten in a mortar and
sifted, the French wmrkmen make a sort of artificial
marbles, imitating precious stones *, and of these they
compose a kind of mosaic work, which does not come
far short either of the durableness or the vivacity of the
natural stones; and which besides has this advantage
that it admits of continued pieces or paintings of entire
compartments without any visible joining.
Some make the ground of plaster of Paris, others of
freestone. If it be of plaster of Paris, they spread it
iti a wooden frame, of the length and breadth of the
work intended, and in thickness about an inch and a
half. This frame is so contrived, that the tenons being-
only joined to the mortises by single pins, they may be
taken asunder, and the frame be dismounted when the
plaster is dry. The frame is covered on one side with
a strong linen cloth, nailed all round; which being
3 K placed
M ('Sale,
M O S
[ 442 ]
M O S
Mosaic, placed horizontally with the linen at the bottom, is
——■■■ > filled witK plaster passed through a wide sieve. When
the plaster is half dry, the frame is set up perpendicu¬
larly, and left till it is quite dry; then it is taken out,
by taking the frame to pieces.
' In this mosaic, the ground is the most important
part. Now in order to the preparation of this silted
gypsum, which is to be applied on this ground, it is
dissolved and boiled in the best English glue, and mixed
with the colour that it is to be of 5 then the whole is
worked up into the usual consistence of plaster, and then
taken and spread on the ground five or six inches thick.
If the work be such, as that mouldings are required,
they are formed with gouges and other instruments.
It is on this plaster, thus coloured like marble or
precious stone, and which is to serve as a ground to a
work, either of lapis, agate, alabaster, or the like,
that the design to be represented is drawn : having
been first pounced or chalked. To hollow or impress
the design, they use the same instruments that sculptors
do } the ground whereon they are to work not being
much less hard than the marble itself. The cavities
being thus made in the ground, are filled with the
same gypsum boiled in glue, only differently coloured,
and thus are the different colours of the original repre¬
sented. In order that the necessary colours and teints
may be ready at hand, the quantities of the gypsum
are tempered with the several colours in pots. After
the design has been thus filled and rendered visible, by
half polfshing it with brick and soft stone, they go over
it again, cutting such plates as are either to be weaker
or more shadowed, and filling them with gypsum *,
which work they repeat till all the colours being added
one after the other, represent the original to the life.
When the work is finished, they scour it with soft stone,
sand, and water ; after that with a pumice stone *, and
in the last place polish it with a wooden mullet and
emery. Lastly, they give it a lustre, by smearing it
over with oil, and rubbing it a long time with the palm
of the hand, which gives it a lustre nowise inferior to
that of natural marble.
5. In Clavigero’s history of Mexico is described a
curious kind of mosaic work, made by the ancient
Mexicans ©f the most delicate and he&at'tfuX feathers of
birds. They raised for this purpose various species ot
birds of fine plumage with which that country abounds,
not only in the palaces of the king, where there were
all sorts of animals, but likewise in private houses 5
and at certain seasons they carried off their feathers
to make use of them on this kind of work, or to
sell them at market. "I hey set a high value on the
feathers of those wonderful little birds which they
call Heitzitzilin, and the Spaniards Picaflore.t, on ac¬
count of the smallness, the fineness, and the various
colours of them. In these and other beautiful birds,
nature supplied them with all the colours which art
can produce, and also some which art cannot imitate.
At the undertaking of every mosaic work several ar¬
tists assembled : After having agreed upon a design,
and taken their measures and proportions, each artist
charged himself with the execution of a certain part
©f the image, and exerted himself so diligently in it,
with such patience and application, that he frequently
spent a whole day in adjusting a feather j first trying
one, then another, viewing it sometimes one way, then
another, until he found one which gave bis part that
ideal perfection proposed to be attained. W hen the
part which each artist undertook was done, they as- 
sembled again to form the entire image from them.—
If any part was accidentally the least deranged, it was
wrought again until it was perfectly finished. They
laid hold of the feathers with small pinchers, that they
might not do them the least injury, and pasted them
on the cloth with txauhtli, or some other glutinous mat¬
ter; then they united all the parts upon a little table,
or a plate of copper, and flattened them softly until they
left the surface of the image so equal and smooth that
it appeared to be the work of a pencil.
These were the images so much celebrated by the
Spaniards and other European nations. Whoever be¬
held them was at a loss whether he ought to have
praised most the life and beauty of the natural colours,
or the dexterity of the artist and the ingenious dispo¬
sition of art. “ These images (says Acosta) are deser¬
vedly admired; for it is wonderful how it was possible,
with the feathers of birds, to execute works so fine and
so equal, that they appear the performance of the pen¬
cil ; and, what neither the pencil nor the colours in
painting can effect, they have, when viewed from a
side, an appearance so beautiful, so lively, and animat¬
ed, that they give delight to the sight. Some Indians,,
who are able artists, copy whatever is painted with a
pencil so perfectly with plumage, that they rival the
best painters of Spain.” These works of feathers were
even so highly esteemed by the Mexicans as to be va¬
lued more than gold. Cortes, Bernal Diaz, _>omara,
Torquemada, and all the other historians who saw them,
were at a loss for expressions sufficient to praise their
perfection. Several works of this kind, our author
says, are still preserved in the museums of Europe,
and many in Mexico; but few, he apprehends, belong
to the 16th century, and still fewer, if any, are of those
made before the conquest. The mosaic works also
which the Mexicans made of broken shells vvere ex¬
tremely curious: this art is still practised in Gnatimala.
MOSAMBIQUE, a kingdom of Africa lying
south of Quiloa, and taking its name from the clnei
town, which is situated on an island, at the mouth of
a river of the same name, in 15 deg. S. Eat. I he
island is 30 miles in circumference, and very populous.
Though the air is said to be very hot, and the soil m
general dry, sandy, and barren ; yet they have most
of the tropical fruits, with black cattle, hogs, and
sheep. There is a kind of fowl here, both the feathers,
and flesh of which are black, insomuch that, when they
are boiled, the broth looks like ink ; and yet their
flesh is very delicate and good food. I he town ct
Mosambique is regularly fortified, and has a good har¬
bour, defended by a citadel, with several churches and
monasteries. The Eortuguese shipping to and from
India touch here for refreshments. As the island a-
bounds in cattle, the Portuguese slaughter and salt up
a great deal of beef, which they afterwards send to
ihe Brazils, or sell to the European shipping, ihey
also barter European goods with the natives for gold,
elephants teeth, and slaves. There is another town,
called Mon gala, situated also on an island, and garri¬
soned by the Portuguese, being their chief magazine
for European goods. The gold they receive from he
natives is found near the surface of the earth, or m
sands
Mosaicl
Mosan,
bique.!
M O S
lifosam- sands of rivers 5 no gold mines, or at least very few, be-
bique ing at present wrought in Africa.
II MOSCHION, the name of four different writers,
Moscow. w]I0Se compositions, cliaracter, and native place, are
unknown. Some fragments of their writings remain,
■some few verses, and a treatise Dc mulierum affectibus..
MOSCHUS, a Grecian poet of antiquity, usually
coupled with Bion ; and they were both of them co¬
temporaries with Theocritus. In the time of the latter
Grecians, all the ancient idylliums were collected
and attributed to Theocritus 5 but the claims of Mos-
Ichus and Bion have been admitted to some few little
pieces ; and this is sufficient to make us inquisitive
about their characters and story $ yet all that can be
known about them must be collected from their own
remains. Moschus, by composing his delicate elegy
on Bion, has given the best memorials of Bion’s life.
See Bion. Moschus and Theocritus have by some
critics been supposed the same person 5 but there are
irrefragable evidences against it: others will have him
as well as Bion to have lived later than Theocritus,
upon the authority of Suidas : while others again sup¬
pose him to have been the scholar of Bion, and pro¬
bably his successor in governing the poetic school j
which, from the elegy of Moschus, does not seem un¬
likely. Their remains are to be found in all the edi¬
tions of the Poetcp Minores.
Moschus, a genus of quadrupeds, of the order of pe-
cora, having no horns. See Mammalia Index.
MOSCOW, the chief province of the empire of
.Russia, deriving its name from the river Muscova, or
Moskva, on which the capital is situated. It was from
this duchy that the czars of old took the title of dukes
of Muscovy. The province is bounded on the north
by the duchies of Twere, Rostow, Susdal, and Wo-
lodimer; on the south by Rezan, from which it is se¬
parated by the river Occa } on the east by the princi¬
pality of Cachine, and the same river Occa parting it
from Nisi-Novogorod $ and on the west by the duchies
of Rzeva, Bielar and Smolensko. It extends about 150
miles in length, by 100 in breadth, and contains 1,139,000
inhabitants on a surface of 10,000 square miles. It is
watered by the Moskva, Occa, and Clesma, which fall
into the Wolga : nevertheless, the soil is not very fer¬
tile. The air, though sliarp, is salubrious; and this
consideration, with the advantage, of its being situated
in the midst of the best provinces in the empire, in¬
duced the czars to make it their chief residence. In
the western part of Moscow is a large forest, from
whence flows the celebrated river Dnieper, or Borys-
thenes, which, traversing the duchy of Smolensko, winds
in a serpentine course to Ukraine, Lithuania, and Poland.
Moscow, the capital of the above province, and till
the beginning of the last century the metropolis of
all Russia, is situated in a spacious plain on the banks
of the river Moskva. E. Long. 37. 31. N. Lat. 55. 45.
The Russian antiquaries differ considerably in their opi¬
nions concerning the first foundation of Moscow ; the
following relation, Mr Coxe says, is generally esteemed
by the best authors the most probable account.
Kiof was the metropolis, when George son of \ la-
dimir Monomaka ascended In 1154 the Russian throne.
That monarch, being insulted in a progress through
his dominions by a rich and powerful nobleman named
Stephen Kutchkq, put him to death, and confiscated
M O S
his domains, which consisted of the lands now occu- Jto^row,
pied by. the city of Moscow and the adjacent terri- l-—
tory. Pleased with the situation of the ground lying
at the conflux of the Moskva and Neglina, he laid the
foundation of a new town, which he called Moskva
from the river of that name. Upon the demise of
George, the new town was not neglected by his son
Andrew, who transferred the seat of empire from
Kiof to Vladimir ; but it fell into such decay under
his immediate successors, that when Daniel, son of
Alexander Nevski, received, in the division of the em¬
pire, the duchy of Muscovy as his portion, and fixed
his residence upon the conflux of the Moskva and Ne¬
glina, he may be said to have new founded the town.
The spot now occupied by the Kremlin was at that
time overspread with a thick wood and a morass, in
the midst whereof was a small island containing a single
wooden hut. Upon this part Daniel constructed
churches and monasteries, and various buildings, and
enclosed it with wooden fortifications: he first assumed
the title of duke of Moscow ; and was so attached to
this situation, that when in 1304 he succeeded his
brother Andrew Alexandi’ovich in the great duchy of
Vladimir, he did not remove his court to Vladimir,
but continued his residence at Moscow, which then be¬
came the capital of the Russian dominions. His suc¬
cessors followed his example ; among whom his son
Ivan considerably enlarged the new metropolis, and iu
1367 his grandson Demetrius Ivanovitch Donski sur¬
rounded the Kremlin with a brick wall. These new
fortifications, however, were not strong enough to pre¬
vent Tamerlane in 1382, from taking the town after a
short siege. Being soon evacuated by that desultory
conqueror, it again came into the possession of the
Russians ; but was frequently invaded and occupied
by the Tartars, who in the 14th and 15th centuries
overran the greatest part of Russia, and who even
maintained a garrison in Moscow until they were finally
expelled by Ivan Vassilievitch I. To him Moscow is
indebted for its principal splendour, and under him it
became the principal and most considerable city of thp
Russian empire.
Moscow continued the metropolis of Russia until the
beginning of the 18th century, when, to the great dis¬
satisfaction of the nobility, but with great advantage
probably to the state, the seat of empire .was transferred
to Petersburg!!.
Notwithstanding the predilection which Peter con¬
ceived for Petersburg!!, in which all the succeeding
sovereigns excepting Peter the II. have fixed their re¬
sidence, Moscow, according to Air Coxe, is still the
most populous city of the Russian empire. Here the
chief nobles who do not belong to the court reside:
they here support a large number of retainers; they
love to gratify their taste for a ruder and more expen¬
sive magnificence in the ancient style of feudal grandeur;
and are not, as at Petersburg!!, eclipsed by the superior
splendour of the court.
Moscow, before its destruction in 1812, was repre¬
sented as the largest town in Europe; its circumference
within the rampart, which encloses the suburbs, being
exactly 39 versts or 26 miles; but it was built in su
straggling and disjointed a manner, that its population
in no degree corresponded to its extent. According to
a computation, which Mr Coxe says may be depended
3 K 2 upon,
1 4+j ]
M O S
Moscow, upon, Moscow contains within the ramparts 250,000
—v"1 souls, and in the adjacent villages 50,000. The ground
is about 1730 feet above the level ot the sea, which
renders the atmosphere rather cold. The streets of
Moscow are in general exceedingly long and broad ;
some of them are paved; others, particularly those in
the suburbs, are formed with trunks of trees, or are
boarded with planks like the floor of a room *, wretched
hovels are blended with large palaces •, cottages of one
story stand next to the most superb and stately man¬
sions. Many brick structures are covered with wooden
tops *, some of the wooden houses are painted ; others
have iron doors and roofs. Numerous churches present
themselves in every quarter, built in a peculiar style of
architecture ; some with domes of copper, others of tin,
gilt or painted green, and many roofed with wood. In
a word, some parts of this vast city have the look of a
sequestered desert, other quarters of a populous town *,
some of a contemptible village, others of a great capital.
Moscow may be considered as a town built upon the
Asiatic model, but gradually becoming more and more
European, and exhibiting in its present state a motley
mixture of discordant architecture. It is distributed
into the following divisions. 1. The Kremlin. Ihis
stands in the central and highest part of the city ; is of
a triangular form, and about two miles in circumfe¬
rence : and is surrounded by high walls of stone and
brick-, which were constructed in the year 1491, un¬
der the reign of Ivan Vassilievitch I. It contains the
ancient palace of the czars, several churches, two
convents, the patriarchal palace, the arsenal now in
ruins, and one private house, which belonged to Boris
Godunof before he was raised to the throne. 2. Khi-
taigorod, or the Chinese town, is enclosed on one side
by that wall of the Kremlin which runs from the
Moskva to the Neglina; and on the other side by a
brick wall of inferior height. It is much larger than
the Kremlin, and contains the university, the printing-
house and many other public buildings, and all the
tradesmen’s shops. The edifices are mostly stuccoed or
white-washed, and it has the only street in Moscow in
which the houses stand close to one another without
any intervals between them. 3. The Bielgorod, or
White Town, which runs quite round the two pre¬
ceding divisions, is supposed to derive its name from
a white wall with which it was formerly enclosed, and
of which some remains are still to be seen. 4. Sem-
lainogorod, which environs all the three other quarters,
takes its denomination from a circular rampart of earth
with which it is encompassed. These two last mention¬
ed divisions exhibit a grotesque groupe of churches, con¬
vents, palaces, brick and wooden houses, and mean ho¬
vels, in no degree superior to peasants cottages. 5. The
Sloboda, or suburbs, form a vast exterior circle round all
the parts already described, and are invested with a low
rampart and ditch. These suburbs contain, beside build¬
ings of all kinds and denominations, corn fields, much
open pasture, and some small lakes, which give rise to
the Neglina. The river Moskva, from which the city
takes its name, flows through it in a winding channel -,
but excepting in spring is only navigable for rafts. It
receives the Yausa in the Semlainogorod, and the Ne-
glina at the western extremity of the Kremlin j the beds
of both these last-mentioned rivulets are in summer lit¬
tle better than dry channels.
M O S
The places of divine worship at Moscow arc exceed- Moscow
ingly numerous *, including chapels, they amount to above —v—-!
1000 : there are 484 public churches, of which 199 are
of brick 5 and the others of wood ; the former are com¬
monly stuccoed or white-washed, the latter painted of a
red colour. The most ancient churches of Moscow are
generally square buildings, with a cupola and four small
domes, some whereof are of copper or iron gilt others
of tin, either plain or painted green. These cupolas
and domes are for the most part ornamented with crosses
entwined with thin chains or wires. The church of the
Holy Trinity, sometimes called the church of Jerusalem,
which stands in the Khitaigorod, close to the gate lead¬
ing into the Kremlin, has a kind of high steeple and
nine or ten domes : it was built in the reign of Ivan Vas¬
silievitch II. The inside of the churches is mostly com¬
posed of three parts : that called by the Greeks
by the Russians trapeza j the body and the sanctuary
or shrine. Over the door of each church is the portrait
of the saint to whom it is dedicated, to which the com¬
mon people pay their homage as they pass along, by ta¬
king off their hats, crossing themselves, and occasionally
touching the ground with their heads. The bells, which
form no inconsiderable part of public worship in this
country, as the length or shortness of their peals ascer¬
tains the greater or lesser sanctity of the day, are hung
in belfrys detached from the church : they do not swing
like our bells ; but are fixed immoveably to the beams,
and are rung by a rope tied to the clapper and pulled
sidewise. Some of these bells are of a stupendous size \
one in the tower of St Ivan’s church weighs 3551 Rus¬
sian poods, or 127,836 English pounds. _ It has always
been esteemed a meritorious act of religion to present a
church with bells j and the piety of the donor has been
measured by their magnitude. According to this mode
of estimation, Boris Godunof, who gave, a bell of 288,000
pounds to the cathedral of Moscow, was the most pious
sovereign of Russia, until he was surpassed by the em¬
press Anne, at whose expence a bell was cast weighing
432,000 pounds, and which exceeded in bigness every
bell in the known world. The height of this enormous
bell is 19 feet, its circumference at the bottom 21 yards
11 inches 5 its greatest thickness 23 inches. The beam
to which this vast machine was fastened being acciden¬
tally burnt, the bell fell down, and a fragment was bro¬
ken off towards the bottom, which left an aperture large
enough to admit two persons abreast without stooping.
The palace, inhabited by the ancient czars, stands at
the extremity of the Kremlin. Part of this palace is old,
and remains in the same state in which it wras built un¬
der Ivan Vassilievitch I. The remainder has been suc¬
cessively added at different intervals, without any plan,
and in various styles of architecture, which has produced
a motley pile of building, remarkable for nothing but
the incongruity of the several structures. The top is
thickly set with numerous little gilded spires and globes;
and a large portion of the front is decorated with the arms
of all the provinces which compose the Russian empire.
The apartments are in general exceedingly small, ex¬
cepting one single roona called the council chamber, in
which the ancient czars used to give audience to foreign
ambassadors, and which has been repeatedly described
by several English travellers who visited Moscow before
the imperial residence was transferred to Petersburgh.
The room is large and vaulted, and has in the centre an
eqprmous
[ 444 ]
M O S
scow
, enormous pillar of stone which supports the ceiling. ]n
J this palace Peter the Great came into the world, in the
year 167 2. In that part called the treasui-y are deposited
the crown, jewels, and royal robes, used at the corona¬
tion of the sovereign, besides several curiosities relative
to the history of the country. Of the great number of
churches contained in this city, two in particular, name¬
ly, that of St Michael and that of the Assumption of the
Virgin Mary, are remarkable ; the one for being the
place where the sovereigns of Russia were formerly in¬
terred, and the other where they are crowned. These
edifices, which are situated in the Kremlin, are both in
the same style of architecture j and their exterior form,
though modelled according to the ancient style of the
country, is not absolutely inelegant. In the cathedral
of St Michael, which contains the tombs of the Russian
sovereigns, the bodies are not, as with us deposited in
vaults, or beneath the pavement, but are entombed in
raised sepulchres, mostly of brick, in the shape of a
coffin, and about two feet in height.
The cathedral of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary,
which has long been appropriated to the coronation of
the Russian sovereigns, is the most splendid and magni¬
ficent in Moscow. The screen is in many parts covered
with plates of solid silver and gold richly worked. From
the centre of the roof hangs an enermous chandelier of
massy silver, weighing 2940 pounds : it was made in
England, and was a present from Morosof, prime mini¬
ster and favourite of Alexey Michaelovitch. The sacred
utensils and episcopal vestments are extraordinarily rich,
hut the taste of the workmanship is in general rude, and
by no means equal to the materials. Many of the paint¬
ings which cover the inside walls are of a colossal size:
some are very ancient, and were executed so earlv as in
the latter end of the 15th century. It contains, amongst
the rest a head of the Virgin, supposed to have been de¬
lineated by St Luke, and greatly celebrated in this coun¬
try for its sanctity and the power of working miracles.
The place in the Khitaigorod, where the public ar¬
chives are deposited, is a strong brick building, contain¬
ing several vaulted apartments with iron floors. These
archives, consisting of a numerous collection of state pa¬
pers, were crowded into boxes and thrown aside like com¬
mon lumber, until the empress Catharine ordered them
to be revised and arranged. In conformity to this man¬
date, Mr Muller has disposed them in chronological or¬
der with such perfect regularity, that any single docu¬
ment may be inspected with little trouble.
The university of Moscow, all situated in the Khitai¬
gorod, was founded, at the instance of Count Shuvalof,
by the empress Elizabeth, for 600 students ; who are
clothed, boarded, and instructed, at the expence of
the crown. Besides this institution, there are two
gymnasia or seminaries for the education of youth, en¬
dowed also by Elizabeth •, in which are taught, by
twenty-three professors, divinity, classics, philosophy,
the Greek, Latin, Russian, German, French, Italian,
and Tartar languages 5 history, geography, mathema¬
tics, architecture, fortification, artillery, algebra, draw
iug and painting, music, fencing, dancing, reading and
writing.
Moscow is the centre of the inland commerce of
Russia, and particularly connects the trade between
Europe and Siberia. The only navigation to this city
is formed by the Moskva, which falling into the Occa
1 445 )
MGS
near Colmnna, communicates by means of that river Moscow,
with the Volga. But as the Moskva is only navigable '•——v-—
in spring upon the melting of the snows, the principal
merchandise is conveyed to and from Moscow upon
sledges in winter. The whole of the retail trade is car¬
ried on in the Khitaigorod 5 where according to a cus¬
tom common in Russia, as well as in most kingdoms of
the East, all the shops are collected together in one spot.
1 he place is like a kind of fair, consisting of many rows
of low brick buildings •, the intervals between them re¬
sembling alleys. These shops or booths occupy a con¬
siderable space 5 they do not, as with us, make part of
the hoises inhabited by the tradesmen, but are quite de¬
tached from their dwellings, which for the most part are
at some distance in another quarter of the town. The
tradesman comes to his shop in the morning, remains
there all day, and returns home to his family, in the af¬
ternoon. Every trade has its separate department; and
they who sell the same goods have booths adjoining to
each other. F urs and skins form the most considerable
article of commerce in Moscow ; and the shops which
vend those commodities occupy several streets.
Amongst the curiosities ot Moscow, the market for
the sale ol houses is not the least remarkable. It is
held in a large open space in one of the suburbs ; and
exhibits a great variety of ready-made houses, thickly
strewed upon the ground. The purchaser who wants
a dwelling, repairs to this spot, mentions the number
ol rooms he requix*es, examines the different timbers,
which are regularly numbered, and bargains for that
which suits him. The house is sometimes paid for
on the spot, and taken away by the purchaser j or
sometimes the vender contracts to* transport and erect it
upon the place where it is designed to stand. It may
appear incredible to assert, that a dwelling may be thus
bought, removed, raised and inhabited, within the space
of a week ; but we shall conceive it practicable by con¬
sidering that these ready-made houses are in general
merely collections of trunks of trees tenoned and mor¬
tised at each extremity into one another, so that nothing
more is required than the labour of transporting and ad¬
justing them. But this summary mode of building is
not always peculiar to the meaner hovels ; as wooden
structures of very large dimensions and handsome appear¬
ance are occasionally formed in Russia with an expedi¬
tion almost inconceivable to the inhabitants of other
countries. A remarkable instance of this dispatch was
displayed the last time the empress came to Moscow.
Her majesty proposed to reside in the mansion of Prince
Galitzin, which is esteemed the completest edifice in this
city *, but as it was not sufficiently spacious for her re¬
ception, a temporary addition of wood, larger than the
original house, and containing a magnificent suite of a-
partments, was begun and finished within the space of six
weeks. This meteor-like fabric was so handsome and
commodious, that the materials which were taken down
at her majesty’s departure, were to be re-constructed as a
kind of imperial villa upon an eminence near the city.
Mr Coxe mentions an admirable police in this city for
preventing riots, or for stopping the concourse of people
in case of fires, which are very frequent and violent in
those parts, where the houses are mostly of wood, and
the streets are laid with timber. At the entrance of
each street there is a chevaux-de-frize gate, one end
whereof turns upon a pivot, and the other rolls upon a
wheel;
M O S
[ 446 ]
M O S
wlieel j near it is a centry box in which a man is occa¬
sionally stationed. In times of riot or fire the centinel
shuts the gate, and all passage is immediately stopped.
Among the public institutions of Moscow, toe most
remarkable is the 1* oundlmg Hospital, endowed in 17^4
by the empress Catharine, and supported by voluntary
contributions and legacies, and other charitable gifts.
In order to encourage donations, her majesty granted to
all benefactors some valuable privileges, and a certain
degree of rank in proportion to the extent ol their libe¬
rality. Among the principal contributors must be men¬
tioned a private merchant named DinudoJ, a person ot
great wealth, who has expended m favour of tins chari¬
ty above iQ0,0C0l. The hospital, which is situated in
a very airy part of the town upon a gentle ascent near
the river Moskva, is an immense pile of building of a
quadrangular shape, part of which was only finished
when Mr Coxe (whose account we are transcribing) was
at Moscow. It contained, at that time, three thousand
foundlings ; and, when the whole is completed, will re¬
ceive eight thousand. The children are brought to the
porter’s lodge, and admitted without any recommenda¬
tion. The rooms are lofty and large j the dormitories,
which are separate from the work rooms, are very airy,
and the beds are not crowded : each foundling, even
each infant, has a separate bed. The children remain
two years in the nursery, when tjiey are admitted into
the lowest class ; the boys and girls continue together
until they are seven years of age, at which time they are
separated. They all learn to read, write, and cast ac¬
counts. The boys are taught to knit; they occasionally
card hemp, flax, and wool, and work in the different
manufactures. The girls learn to knit, net, anti a
kinds of needle work; they spin and weave lace ; they
are employed in cookery, baking, and house work of all
sorts. At the age of fourteen the foundlings enter into
the first class, when they have liberty of choosing
any particular branch of trade; and for this purpose
there are different species of manufactures established
in the hospital, of which the principal are embioideiy,
silk stockings, ribbands, lace, gloves, buttons, and cabi¬
net work. A separate room is appropriated to each trade.
Some boys, and girls are instructed in the French and
German languages, and a few hoys in the Tatin tongue;
others learn music, drawing, and dancing.^
Such was Moscow previous to 1812. Hie battle of
Borodino, on the 7th September, which was gained by the
French, though hardly contested, opened their way to
this ancient capital of the empire. They entered it on
the 15th September; but the governor Kostopchin had
previously taken measures for its destruction ; and the
French had hardly got possession, when they discovered
that the city was in flames in many different quarters.
The greater part of the inhabitants had withdrawn with
the governor. From the love of pillage, the French
soldiers, at first, rather aided the progress of the fire;
and when they afterwards endeavoured to stop its
course, their efforts were of little avail. The confla¬
gration began on the night of the 14th, and raged with
unceasing fury till the 19th ; about three-fourths or
the city were destroyed. Great and unprecedented as
this sacrifice was, it was justified by the happy result
it produced. It defeated Bonaparte’s purpose of re¬
maining there through the winter, compelled him to
make a disastrous retreat, which so completely broke
his strength as to lead to the final overthrow of his
power. Large sums were collected in Britain and
elsewhere in behalf of the suffering inhabitants; and, ^
according to late accounts, the city is rising rapufiy
from its ruins. Moscow was evacuated by the French
on the 23d October, after they had destroyed ^ some
parts of the town which had escaped the fire. Iheir
attempts to blow up the Kremlin were prevented by
the sudden arrival of a large Russian force.
MOSELLE, a river of Germany, which rises in the
mountains of Vosges in Lorraine, and falls into the
Rhine at Coblentz.
Moselle is also the name of a department of France,
which includes part of the late province of Lot rain.
Its population in 1800 was 353,788 upon a surface of
2525 square miles.
MOSES, the son of Amram and Jochebed, was
horn in the year 1571 before Christ. Pharaoh king
of Egypt, perceiving that the Hebrews were become
a formidable nation, issued forth an edict commanding
all the male children to be put to death, lo avoid
this cruel edict, Jochebed, the mother of Moses, having
concealed her son for three months, at length made an
.ark or basket of bulrushes, daubed it with pitch, laid
the child in it, and exposed him on the hanks ol the
Nile. Theramthis the king’s daughter, who happen¬
ed to he walking byr the river’s side, perceived the
floating cradle, commanded it to he brought to her,
and struck with the beauty of the child, detei mined
to preserve his life. In three years afterwards the
princess adopted him for her own son,. called his name
Moses, and caused him be diligently instructed in all
the learning of the Egyptians. But his father and
mother, to whom he was restored by a fortunate acci¬
dent, were at still greater pains to teach him the hi¬
story and religion of his fathers. Many things are
related by historians concerning the first period cf Mo¬
ses’s life, which are not to he found in the Old -Te¬
stament. According to Josephus and Eusebius, he
made war on the Ethiopians, and completely defeated
them. They add, that the city Saha, in which the
enemy had been forced to take refuge, was betrayed
into his hands by the king’s daughter, who became
deeply enamoured of him, when she beheld from the
top of the walls his valorous exploits at the head ot
the Egyptian army. But as the truth of this expedi¬
tion is more than doubtful, we shall therefore confine
ourselves to the narrative of sacred writ, which com¬
mences at the fortieth year of Mose’s Iffe.. He then
left the court of Pharaoh, and went to visit his coun¬
trymen the Hebrews, who groaned under the ill usage
and oppression of their unfeeling masters. Having
perceived an Egyptian smiting a Hebrew, he slew
the Egyptian, and buried him in the sand. But lie
was obliged, in consequence of this murder, to fly into
the land of Midian, where he married Zipporah, daugh¬
ter of the priest Jethro, by whom he had two sons,
Gershom and Eliezar. Here he lived 40 years; dur¬
ing; which time his employment was to tend the
flocks of his father-in-law. Having one day led his
flock towards Mount Horeb, God appeared to him
in the midst of a bush which burned with fire hut vva
not consumed, and commanded him to go and de ner
his brethren from their bondage. Moses at first re¬
fused to go ; but was at length prevailed on by two nn-
M O S [ 447
>es. rack's which the Almighty wrought for his convic-
tion. Upon his return to Egypt, he, together with
his brother Aaron, went to the court of Pharoah, and
told him that God commanded him to let the He¬
brews go to offer sacrifices in the desert of Arabia.
But the impious monarch disregarded this command,
and caused the labour of the Israelites to be doubled.
The messengers of the Almighty again returned to
the king, and wrought a miracle in his sight, that they
might move his heart, and induce him to let the people
depart. Aaron having cast down his miraculous rod,
it was immediately converted into a serpent: but the
same thing being performed by the magicians, the
king’s heart was hardened more and more ; and his
obstinacy at last drew down the judgments of the Al¬
mighty on his kingdom, which was afflicted with ten
dreadful plagues. The first was the changing of the
Waters of the Nile and of all the rivers into blood, so
that the Egyptians died of thirst. In consequence of
the second plague, the land was covered with innumer¬
able swarms of frogs, which entered even into Pha¬
raoh’s palace. By the third plague, the dust was con¬
verted into lice, which cruelly tormented both man
and beast. The fourth plague was a multitude of de¬
structive flies which spread throughout Egypt, and in¬
fested the whole country. The fifth was a sudden pe¬
stilence, which destroyed all the cattle of the Egypti¬
ans, without injuring those of the Israelites. The sixth
produced numberless ulcers and fiery boils upon man
and upon beast. The seventh was a dreadful storm of
hail, accompanied with thunder and lightning, which
destroyed every thing that was in the field, whether
man or beast, and spared only the land of Goshen,
where the children of Israel dwelt. By the eighth
plague swarms of locusts were brought into the country,
which devoured every green herb, the fruit of the trees
and the produce of the harvest. By the ninth plague
thick darkness covered all the land of Egypt, except
the dwellings of the children of Israel. The tenth and
last plague was the death of the firstborn in Egypt,
who were all in one night cut off by the destroying an¬
gel, from the firstborn of the king to the firstborn of
the slaves and of the cattle. This dreadful calamity
moved the heart of the hardened Pharaoh, and he at
length consented to allow the people of Israel to depart
from his kingdom.
Profane authors who have spoken of Moses, seem
to have been in part acquainted with these mighty
wonders. That he performed miracles, must have been
allowed by many, by whom he was considered as a fa¬
mous magician j and he could scarcely appear in any
other light to men who did not acknowledge him for
the messenger of the Almighty. Both Diodorus and
Herodotus mention the distressed state to which Egypt
was reduced by these terrible calamities. The Hebrew's,
amounting to the number of 600,000 men, without
reckoning women and children, left Egypt on the 15th
day of the month Nisan, which, in memory of this de¬
liverance, was thenceforth reckoned the first month of
their year. Scarcely had they reached the shore of the
Red sea when Pharaoh with a powerful army set out in
pursuit of them. On this occasion Moses stretched
forth his rod upon the sea ; and the waters thereof be¬
ing divided, remained suspended on both sides till the
Hebrews passed through dry-footed.—The Egyptians
] MGS
determined to follow the same course j but God caused
a violent wind to blow, which brought back the waters
to their bed, and the whole army of Pharaoh perished
in the waves.
After the miraculous passage of the Red sea, the
army proceeded towards Mount Sinai, and arrived at
Marah, where the waters wrere bitter ; but Moses, by
casting a tree into them, rendered them fit for drinking.
Their tenth encampment was at Rephidim, where Mo¬
ses drew water from the rock in Horeb, by smiting it
with his rod. Here likewise Amalek attacked Israel.
While Joshua fought against the Amalekites, Moses
stood on the top of a hill, and lifted up his hands ; in
consequence of which the Israelites prevailed, and cut
their enemies in pieces. They at length arrived at the
foot of Mount Sinai on the third day of the ninth
month after their departure from Egypt. Moses hav¬
ing ascended several times into the mount, received the
law from the hand of God himself in the midst of thun¬
ders and lightnings, and concluded the famous cove¬
nant betwixt the. Lord and the children of Israel.
Wh en he descended from Sinai, he found that the peo¬
ple had fallen into the idolatrous worship of the golden
calf. The messenger of God, shocked at such ingrati¬
tude, broke in pieces the tables of the law which he
carried in his hands, and put 23,000 of the transgres¬
sors to the sword. He afterwards reascended into the
mountain, and there obtained new tables of stone on
which the law w^as inscribed. When Moses descended,
his face shone so that the Israelites dared not to come
nigh unto him, and he was obliged to cover it with a
veil. The Israelites were here employed in constructing
the tabernacle according to a pattern shown them by
God. It w7as erected and consecrated at the foot of the
Mount Sinai on the first day of the first month of the
second year after their departure from Egypt; and it
served the Israelites instead of a temple till the time of
Solomon, who built a house for the Gsd of his fathers
after a model shown him by David.
Moses having dedicated the tabernacle, he consecrat¬
ed Aaron and his sons to be its ministers, and appoint¬
ed the Levites to its service. He likewise gave various
commandments concerning the worship of God and
the political government of the Jews. This was a
theocracy in the full extent of the word. God him¬
self governed them immediately by means of his ser¬
vant Moses, whom he had chosen to be the interpret¬
er of his will to the people 5 and he required all the
honours belonging to their king to be paid unto himself.
He dwelt in his tabernacle, which was situated in the
middle of the camp, like a monarch in his palace. He
gave answers to those who consulted him, and himself
denounced punishment against the transgressors of his
laws. This properly was the time of the theocracy, taken
in its full extent; for God was not only considered as
the divinity who was the object of their religious
worship, but as the sovereign to whom the honours of
supreme majesty were paid. The case was nearly the
same under Joshua; who, being filled with the spirit
of Moses, undertook nothing without consulting God.
Every measure, both of the leader and of the people,.,
was regulated by the direction of the Almighty, who
rewarded .their fidelity and obedience by a series of.
miracles, victories, and successes. After Moses had
regulated every thing regarding the civil administra-.
tion,
Moses.
M O S
Moses,
Mosheim
t 448
tion, and the marching of the troops, he led the Israel¬
ites to the confines of Canaan, to the foot of Mount
' Ncbo. Here the Lord commanded him to ascend
into the mountain j whence he showed him the pro¬
mised land, whereinto he was not permitted to enter.
He immediately after yielded up the ghost, without
sickness or pain, in the I20th year of his age, and
1451 years before Jesus Christ.
Moses is incontestably the author of the first five
books of the Old Testament, which go by the name of
the Pentateuch; and which are acknowledged to be
inspired, by the Jews and by Christians of every per¬
suasion. Some, however, have denied that Moses was
the author of these books j and have founded their opi¬
nion on this, that he always speaks of himself in the
third person. But this manner of writing is by no
means peculiar to Moses 5 it occurs also in several ancient
historians 5 such as Xenophon, Caesar, Josephus,&c. who
possessed of more modesty or good sense than some mo¬
dern historians, whose egotism is altogether disgusting,
have not like them left to posterity a spectacle of ridicu¬
lous vanity and self-conceit. After all, it is proper to ob¬
serve, that profane authors have related many falsehoods
and absurdities concerning Moses, and concerning the
origin and the religion of the Jews, with which they were
but little acquainted. Plutarch, in his book concerning
Isis and Osiris, says, that Judseus and Hierosolymus
were brothers, and descended from ’lyphon } and that
the former gave his name to the country and its inha¬
bitants, and the latter to the capital city. Others saj
that they came from Mount Ida in Phrygia. Strabo is
the only author w’ho speaks any thing like reason and
truth concerning them 5 though he too says that they
were descended from the Egyptians, and considers Mo¬
ses their legislator as an Egyptian priest. He acknow¬
ledges, however, that they were a people strictly just
and sincerely religious. Other authors by whom they
are mentioned, seem not to have had the smallest ac¬
quaintance either with their law's or their worship.
They frequently confound them with the Christians, as
is the case with Juvenal, Tacitus, and Quintilian.
MOSHEIM, J ohn Laurence, an illustrious Ger¬
man divine, was born in 1695, of a noble family, which
might seem to open to his ambition a fair path to civil
promotion j but his zeal for the interests of religion, his
thirst after knowledge, and particularly his taste for sa¬
cred literature, induced him to consecrate his talents to
the service of the church. The German universities
loaded him with literary honours 5 the king of Den¬
mark invited him to settle at Copenhagen j the duke of
Brunswick called him thence to Helmstadt, where he
filled the academical chair of divinity j was honoured
with the character of ecclesiastical counsellor to the
court; and presided over the seminaries of learning in
the duchy of Wolfenbuttle and the principality of
Blackenburgh. When a design was formed of giving
an uncommon degree of lustre to the universities of Got¬
tingen, by filling it with men of the first rank in let¬
ters, Dr Mosheim was deemed worthy to appear at the
head of it, in quality of chancellor j and here he died,
in 175 universally lamented. In depth of judgment,
in extent of learning, in purity of taste, in the powers
of eloquence, and in a laborious application to all the
various branches of erudition and philosophy, he had
certainly very few superiors. His Latin translation of
x
3
M O S
Cudworth’s Intellectual System, enriched with large
annotations, discovered a profound acquaintance with
ancient learning and philosophy. His illustrations of
the Scriptures, his labours in defence of Christianity,
and the light he cast upon religion and philosophy, ap¬
pear in many volumes of sacred and profane literature >
and the Ecclesiastical History, from the birth of Christ
to the beginning of the 18th century, is unquestionably
the best that is extant. This work, written in Latin,
has been translated into English, and accompanied
with notes and chronological tables by Archibald Mac¬
laine, D. D. and from this translator’s preface to the
second edition, i75^> 5 v0^s ^vo5 this short account
is taken.
MOSK1TO, or Mosquito country, is situated in
North America, between 85 and 88 degrees ol west
longitude, and between 13 and 15 degrees of north la¬
titude j having the North sea on the north and east,
Nicargua on the south, and Honduras on the west j
and indeed the Spaniards esteem it a part of the prin¬
cipality of Honduras, though they have no colonies in
the Moskito country. When the Spaniards first invad¬
ed this part of Mexico, they massacred the greatest part
of the natives, which gave those that escaped into the
inaccessible part of the country an insuperable aversion
to them j and they have always appeared ready to join
any Europeans that come upon their coasts against the
Spaniards, and particularly the English, who fre¬
quently come hither ; and the Moskito men being ex¬
cellent marksmen, the English employ them in striking
the manati fish, &c. and many of the Moskito In¬
dians come to Jamaica, and sail with the English in
their voyages.
These people are so situated between morasses and
inaccessible mountains, and a coast full ol rocks and
shoals, that no attempts against them by the Spa¬
niards, whom they mortally hate, could ever succeed.
Nevertheless, they are a mild inoffensive people, of
great morality and virtue, and will never trust a man
who has once deceived them. They have so great a
veneration towards the English, that they have spon¬
taneously put themselves and their lands under the
protection and dominion of the crown of England.
This was first done when the duke of Albermarle was
governor of Jamaica, and the king of the Moskitos re¬
ceived a commission from his grace, under the seal of
that island *, and since this time they have been steady
in their alliance with the English. But in the year
1786, this country was ceded to Spain, and consequent¬
ly became a Spanish province.
MOSQUE, a temple or place of religious worship
among the Mahometans.
All mosques are square buildings, generally construc¬
ted of stone. Before the chief gate there is a square
court paved with white marble •, and low galleries
round it, whose roof is supported by marble pillars.
In these galleries the Turks wash themselves before
they go into the mosque. In each mosque there is a
great number of lamps j and between these hang many
crystal rings, ostrich eggs, and other curiosities, which,
when the lamps are lighted, make a fine show. As it
itis not lawful to enter the mosque with stockings or shoes
on, the pavements are covered with pieces of stuff sew¬
ed together, each being wide enough to hold a row of
men kneeling, sitting, or prostrate. The women are
nat
Moshd
Mosq:
v»-
M O S [ 449 1 M O S
toss, not allowed to enter the mosque, but stay in the porches
without. About every mosque there are six high
towers, called minarets, each of which has three little
open galleries, one above another : these towers, as
well as the mosques, are covered with lead, and adorned
with gilding and other ornaments j and from thence,
instead of a bell, the people are called to prayers by
certain officers appointed for that purpose. Most of the
mosques have a kind of hospital belonging to them, in
which travellers of what religion soever, are entertained
three days. Each mosque has also a place called tarbe,
which is the burying-place of its founders 5 within which
is a tomb six or seven feet long, covered with green
velvet or satin j at the ends of which are two tapers,
and round it several ^eats for those who read the Koran
and pray for the souls of the deceased.
MOSS or Mosses. See Musci, Botany Index.
Moss on Trees, in gardening. The growth of large
quantities of moss on any kind of tree is a distemper of
very bad consequence to its increase, and much damages
the truit of the trees of our orchards.
The present remedy is the scraping it off from the
body and large branches by means of a kind of wooden
knife that will not hurt the bark, or with a piece of
rough hair cloth, which does very well after a soak¬
ing rain. But the most effectual cure is the taking
away the cause. This is to be done by draining off
all the superfluous moisture from about the roots of
the trees, and may be greatly guarded against in the
first planting of the trees, by not setting them too
deep.
If trees stand too thick in a cold ground, they will
always be covered with moss j and the best way to
remedy the fault is to thin them. When the young
branches of trees are covered with a long and shaggy
moss, it will utterly ruin them; and there is no way to
prevent it but to cut off the branches near the trunk,
and even to take off the head of the tree if necessary j
for it will sprout again 5 and if the cause be in the
mean time removed by thinning the plantation, or drain¬
ing the land and stirring the ground well, the young
shoots will continue clear after this.
If the trees be covered with moss in consequence of
the ground’s being too dry, as this will happen from
either extreme in the soil, then the proper remedy is
the laying mud from the bottom of a pond or river
pretty thick about the root, opening the ground to some
distance and depth to let it in; this will not only
cool it, and prevent its giving growth to any great
quantity of moss, but it will also prevent the other
great mischief which fruit-trees are liable to in dry
grounds, which is the falling off of the fruit too
early.
The mosses which cover the trunks of trees, as they
always are freshest and most vigorous on the side which
points to the north, if only produced on that, serve to
preserve the trunk of the tree from the severity of the
north winds, and direct the traveller in his way, by al¬
ways plainly pointing out that part of the compass.
Moss is also a name given to boggy ground in many
parts of England, otherwise called a. fen and bog.
In many of these grounds, as well in England and
Ireland as in other parts of the world, there are found
vast numbers of trees standing with their stumps erect,
and their roots piercing the ground in a natural po-
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
sture as when growing. Many of those trees are bro¬
ken or cut off near the roots, and lie along, and this
usually in a north-east direction. People who have
been willing to account for this, have usually resolved
it into the effect of the deluge in the days of Noah 5
but this is a very wild conjecture, and is proved false
by many unanswerable arguments. The waters of this
deluge might indeed have washed together a great
number of trees, and buried them under loads of
earth ; but then they would have lain irregularly and
at random j whereas they all lie lengthwise from south¬
west to north-east, and the roots all stand in their na¬
tural perpendicular posture, as close as the roots of
trees in a forest.
Besides, these trees are not all in their natural state,
but many of them have the evident marks of human
workmanship upon them, some being cut down with an
axe, some split, and the wedges still remaining in them ;
some burnt in different parts, and some bored through
with holes. These things are also proved to be of a
later date than the deluge, by other matters found
among them, such as utensils of ancient people, and
coins of the Roman emperors.
It appears from the whole, that all the trees which
we find in this fossil state, originally grew in the very
places where we now find them, and have only been
thrown down and buried there, not brought from else¬
where. It may appear indeed an objection to this opi¬
nion, that most of these fossil trees are of the fir kind ;
and that Cmsar says expressly, that no firs grew in Bri¬
tain in his time 5 but this is easily answered, by obser¬
ving, that these trees, though of the fir kind, yet are
not the species usually called the fir, but pitch-tree j
and Caesar has no where said that pitch-trees did not
grow in England. Norway and Sweden yet abound
with these trees $ and there are at this time whole
forests of them in many parts of Scotland, and a large
number of them wild upon a hill at Wareton in Staf¬
fordshire to this day.
In Hatfield marsh, where such vast numbers of the
fossil trees are now found, there has evidently once
been a whole forest of them growing. The last of
these was found alive, and growing in that place
within 70 years last past, and cut down for some com¬
mon use.
It is also objected by some to the system of the firs
growing where they are found fossil, that these coun-
ti'ies are all bogs and moors, whereas these sorts of
trees grow only in mountainous places. But this is
founded on an error 5 for though in Norway and Swe¬
den, and some other cold countries, the fir kinds all
grow upon barren and dry rocky mountains, yet in
warmer places they are found to thrive as well on wet
plains. Such are found plentifully in Pomerania, Li*
vonia, and Courland, &c. and in the west parts of New
England there are vast numbers of fine stately trees of
them in low grounds. The whole truth seems to be,
that these trees love a sandy soil ; and such as is found
at the bottoms of all the mosses where these trees are
found fossil. The roots of the fir kind are always
found fixed in these ; and those of oaks, where they
are found fossil in this manner, are usually found fixed
in clay ; so that each kind of tree is always found root¬
ed in the places where they stand in their proper soil 3
and there is no doubt to be made but that they ori-
3 L ginally
MoS3-
Moss.
M O s
oinaliy grew there. When we liave
all the fossil trees we meet with once grew m the places
where they are now buried, it is plain that in these
places there were once noble forests, which have been
destroyed at some time-, and the question only remains
how and by whom they were destroyed. 1 his we have
reason to'believe, by the Roman coins found among
them, was done by the people of that empire, and that
at the time when they were established or establishing
themselves here.
Their own historians tell us, that when their armies
pursued the wild Britons, these people always shelter¬
ed themselves in the miry woods and low watery fo¬
rests. Caesar expressly says this; and observes, that
Cassibelanus and his Britons, after their defeat, passed
the Thames, and fled into such low morasses and
woods, that there was no pursuing them : and we hnd
that the Silures secured themselves in the same man¬
ner when attacked by Ostorius and Agricola. Ihe
same thing is recorded of Venutius king o. the Bri-
gantes, who fled to secure himself into the boggy fo¬
rests of the midland part of this kingdom : and Hero-
dian expressly says, that in the time of the Romans
pushing their conquests in these islands, it was the cus¬
tom of the Britons to secure themselves in the thick
forests which grew in their boggy and wet places and
when opportunity offered, to issue out thence and tall
upon the Romans. The consequence of all this was
the destroying all these forests -, the Romans finding
themselves so plagued with parties of the natives issuing
out upon them at times from these forests, that they
gave orders for the cutting down and destroying all
the forests in Britain which grew on boggy and wet
grounds. These orders were punctually executed;
and to this it is owing that at this day we can hardly
be brought to believe that such forests ever grew with
us as are now found buried.
The Roman historians all agree, that when Sue¬
tonius Paulinus conquered Anglesea, he ordered all
the woods to he cut down there, in the manner of
the Roman generals in .England: and Galen tells us,
that the Romans, after their conquest in Britain, kept
their soldiers constantly employed in cutting down to-
[ 45° 1 M O S
thus found that tercepting their provisions, taking and destroying tWr Moss
carriages, killing their allies and passengers, and dis- y~
turbing their garrisons. TLhis at length so exaspeiated
the Romans, that they were determined to destroy it 5
and to do this safely and effectually, they marched
against it with a great army, and encamped on a great
moor not far from Finningly j this is evident from their
fortifications yet remaining.
There is a small town in the neighbourhood called
Osterfield; and as the termination field seems to have
been given only in remembrance of battles fought near
the towns whose names ended with it, it is not impro¬
bable that a battle was fought here between all the Bri¬
tons who inhabited this forest and the Roman tioops
under Ostorius. The Romans slew many of the Bri¬
tons, and drove the rest back into this forest, which at
that time overspread all this low country. On this the
conquerors taking advantage of a strong south-west
wind, set fire to the pitch-trees, of whicti this forest
was principally composed -, and when the greatei part
of the trees were thus destroyed, the Roman soldiers
and captive Britons cut down the remainder, except a
few large ones which they left standing as remembran¬
ces of the destruction of the rest. These single trees,
however, could not stand long against the winds, and
these falling into the rivers which run through the coun¬
try, interrupted their currents j and the water then
overspreading the level country, made one great lake,
and gave origin to the mosses or moory bogs, which
were afterwards formed there, by the workings of the
waters, the precipitation of earthy matter fiom them,
and the putrefaction of rotten houghs and branches of
trees, and the vast increase of water-moss and other
such plants which grow in prodigious abundance in all
these sorts of places. Thus were these burnt and fell¬
ed trees buried under a new-formed spongy and watery
earth, and afterwards found on the draining and dig¬
ging through this earth again. * |
Hence it is not strange that Roman weapons and
Roman coins are found among these buried trees; and
hence it is that among the buried trees some are found
burnt, some chopped and hewn ; and hence it is that
the bodies of the trees all lie by their proper roots, and
rests, draining of marshes, and paving of bogs. Not
only the Roman soldiers were employed in this man¬
ner, but all the native Britons made captives in the
wars were obliged to assist in it: and Dion Cassius tells
us, that the emperor Severus lost no less than 50,000
men in a few years time in cutting down the woods and
draining the bogs of this island. It is not to be won¬
dered at, that such numbers executed the immense de¬
struction which we find in these buried forests. One of
the greatest subterranean treasures of wood is that near
Hatfield ; and it is easy to prove, that these people, to
whom this havock is thus attributed, were upon the
spot where these trees now lie buried. The common
road of the Romans out of the south into the north,
was formerly from Lindum (Lincoln), to Segelochum
(Little Burrow upon Trent), and from thence to
Danum (Doncaster), where they kept a standing gar¬
rison of Crispinian horse. A little off on the east, and
Borth-east of their road, between the two last-named
towns, lay the borders of the greatest forest, which
swarmed with wild Britons, who were continually mak¬
ing their fialiies out, and their retreats into it again, in-
3
with their tops lying north-east, that is, in that di¬
rection in which a south-west wind would have blown
them down : hence also it is, that some of the trees
are found with their roots lying flat, these being not
cut or burned down, but blown up by the roots aftei-
wards when left single 5 and it is not wonderful, that
such trees as these should have continued to grow even
after their fall, and shoot up branches from their sides
which might easily grow into high trees. Phil. Irans.
N° 775- . , ,
By this system it is also easily explained why the
moor soil in "the country is in some places two or three
yards thicker than in others, or higher than it was for¬
merly, since the growing up of peat-earth or bog-
ground is well known, and the soil added by overflow¬
ing of waters is not a little.
As the Romans were the destroyeis of this great
and noble forest, so they were probably also of the se¬
veral other ancient forests-, the ruins of which fur¬
nish us with the bog-wood of Staffordshire, Lanca¬
shire, Yorkshire, and other counties. But as the ko-
mans were not much in Wales, in the Isle oi Mao, 0^
M O S [ 4
oss. in Ireland, it is not to be supposed that forests cut down
by these people gave origin to the fossil wood found
there ; but though they did not cut down these fo¬
rests, others did j and the origin of the bog-wood is
the same with them and with us. Holingshed informs
us, that Edward I. being not able to get at the Welsh
because of their hiding themselves in boggy woods,
gave orders at length that they should all be destroyed
by tire and by the axe ; and doubtless the roots and bo¬
dies of trees found in Pembrokeshire under ground, are
the remains of the execution of this order. The fossil
wood in the bogs of the island of Man is doubtless of
the same origin, though we have not any account ex¬
tant of the time or occasion of the forests there being
destroyed •, but as to the fossil trees of the bogs of Ire¬
land, we are expressly told that Henry II. when he
conquered that country, ordered all the woods to be
cut down that grew in the low parts of it, to secure his
conquests, by cutting away the places of resort of re¬
bels. For a fuller detail of the natural history of mos¬
ses, see Essays on this subject by the Eev. Mr Rennie
of Kilsyth.
Moving-MOSS. We have an account in the Phi¬
losophical Transactions of a moving moss near Church-
town in Lancashire, which greatly alarmed the neigh¬
bourhood as miraculous. The moss was observed to
rise to a surprising height, and soon after sunk as
much below the level, and moved slowly towards the
south.
A very surprising instance of a moving moss is that
of Solway in Scotland, which happened in the year
1771, after severe rains which had produced terrible
inundations of the rivers in many places. For the
better understanding of this event, we shall give the
following description of the spot of ground where it
happened. Along the side of the river Esk there is a
vale, about a mile broad, less or more in different
places. It is bounded on the south-east by the river
Esk, and on the north-west by a steep bank 30 feet
in height above the level of the vale. From the top
of the bank the ground rises in an easy ascent for
about a quarter of a mile, where it is terminated by the
moss ; which extends about two miles north and south,
and about a mile and a half east and west, and is
bounded on the north west by the river Sark. It is
probable that the solid ground from the top of the
bank above the vale was continued in the same direc¬
tion under the moss, before its eruption, for a consider¬
able space ; for the moss at the place where the erup¬
tion happened, was inclined towards the sloping
ground. From the edge of the moss there was a
gully or hollow, called by the country people the gap,
and said to be 30 yards deep where it entered the vale;
down which ran a small rill of water, which was often
dry in summer, having no supply but what filtered from
the moss. The eruption happened at the head of this
gap, on Saturday November 16. 1771, about ten or
eleven at night, when all the neighbouring rivers and
brooks were prodigiously swelled by the rains. A large
body of the moss was forced, partly by the great fall of
rain, and partly by some springs below it, into a small
beck or burn, which runs within a few yards of its bor¬
der to the south east. By the united pressure of the wa¬
ter behind it, and of this beck, which was then very
high, it was carried down a narrow glen between two
;i ] MOT
banks about 300 feet high, into a wide and spacious Mos.;
plain, over part of which it spread with great rapidity. 11
The moss continued for some time to send oft consider- Motion,
able quantities ; which being borne along by the tor- v
rent on the back of the first great body, kept it for
many hours in perpetual motion, and drove it still far¬
ther on. This night at least 400 acres of fine arable
land were covered with moss from 3 to 12 or 15 feet
deep. Several houses were destroyed, a good deal of
corn lost, &c. but all the inhabitants escaped. When
the waters subsided, the moss also ceased to flow ; but
two pretty considerable streams continued to run from
the heart of it, and carried oft some pieces of mossy
matter to the place where it burst. There they joined
the beck already mentioned ; which, with this addition,
resumed its former channel ; and, with a little assistance
from the people of the neighbourhood, made its way
to the Esk, through the midst of that great body of
moss which obstructed its course. Thus, in a great
measure drained, the new moss fell several feet, when
the fair weather came in the end of November, and
settled in a firmer and more solid body on the lands it
had overrun. By this inundation about 800 acres of
arable ground were overflowed before the moss stopped,
and the habitations of 27 families destroyed. Tradition
has preserved the memory of a similar inundation in
Monteith in Scotland. A moss there altered its course
in one night, and covered a great extent of ground.
Moss Troopers, a rebellious sort of people in the
north of England, who lived by robbery and rapine,
not unlike the tories in Ireland, the bueaniers in Ja¬
maica, or banditti of Italy. The counties of Northum¬
berland and Cumberland were formerly charged with
a yearly sum, and a command of men, to be appointed
by justices of the peace, to apprehend and suppress
them.
MOSTRA, in the Italian music, a mark at the end
of a line or space, to show that the first note of the next
line is in that place : and if this note be accompanied
with a sharp or flat, it is proper to place these charac¬
ters along with the mostra.
MOSUL, or Mousul. See Mousul.
MOTACILLA, the Wagtail and Warbler ;
a genus of birds of the order of passeres. See Orni¬
thology Index.
MOTE, in law books, signifies court or convention;
as w>ard mote, burgh mote, swain mote, &c.
Mote was also used for a fortress or castle; as mota
de Windsor, &c.
Mote also denoted a standing water to keep fish in ;
and sometimes a large ditch encompassing a castle or
dwelling house.
MoTE-Belt, or Mot-hell, the bell so called, which
was used by the English Saxons to call people together
to the court. See Folkmote.
MOTH. See Phal^ena, Entomology Index.
MOTHER, a term of relation, denoting a woman
who hath born a child.
MoTHER-of-Pearl. See Mytilus, Conchology
Index.
MOTION is now generally considered as incapable Motion-
of definition, being a simple idea or notion received by
the senses. The ancients, however, thought different¬
ly. Some of them defined it to be a passage out of
one state into another; which conveys no idea to him
3L2 who
M O T
[ 452 ]
MOT
Motion.
Several de¬
finitions of.
See An
Essay on
the Powers
and Me¬
chanism of
Nature, by
Robert
Young.
f See Dr
Reid’s ac¬
count of
Aristotle’s
logic, in
'Lord
Karnes's
Sketches
*>/■ Man.
Shown not
to declare
what the
tiring is,
and there-
ibre to be
no deiiiu-
Jtion.
who is ignorant of the nature of motion.—The Peripa¬
tetic definition has been mentioned elsewhere and shown
to be wholly unintelligible, as well as their celebrated
division of motion into four classes, belonging to the
three categories, quality, quantity, and where; (see
Metaphysics, N 188, 189, 190). Ihe Cartesians,
too, among the moderns, pretend to define motion, by
calling it a passage or removal of one part ot matter,
out of the neighbourhood of those parts to which it is
immediately contiguous, into the neighbourhood of
others. Borelli defines motion to be the successive
passage of a body from place to place. Others say
that it is the application of a body to different parts of
infinite and immoveable space 5 and a late writer ot
uncommon acuteness has given as a definition of mo¬
tion—change of place.
We have elsewhere offered our opinion of every pos¬
sible attempt to define motion : but as the author ot
the last quoted definition has endeavoured to obviate
such objections as ours, candour requires that he be
heard for himself. “ It is said (he observes) by some,
that change implies motion, and therefore cannot be a
part of its definition, being the very thing defined To
this J answer, We are speaking ot the sensible idea ot
motion, as it appears to our sight j now changes do ap¬
pear to our view, and to all our senses, which give us
no idea of motion. Changes in heat or cold j in co¬
lour, flavour, smell, sound, hardness, softness, pain,
pleasure*, in these, and many other ideas, changes do
not produce ideas like that produced by a ball rolling
or a stone falling. We may perhaps ultimately trace
them to motion, but to insensible motions *, to motions
which arise only in reflection, and constitute no part
of the actual idea of change. We can therefore con¬
ceive of change, without conceiving at the same time of
motion.—Change is a generic idea, including many
species *, motion, as a sensible idea, is a species of that
genus. Change is therefore a necessary part of the de¬
finition of motion j it marks the genus of the thing de¬
fined. Motion is a change j but as there are many
species of change, which of those species is motion?
The answer is, It is a change of place. This marks
the species j and distinguishes it from change of colour,
of temperament and figure.”
This is the ablest defence of an attempt to define mo¬
tion that we have ever seen *, and at first view the defi¬
nition itself appears to be perfect. Aristotle, the prince
of definers, “ considers a definition t as a speech declar¬
ing what a thing is. Every thing essential to the thing
defined, and nothing more, must be contained in the
definition. Now the essence of a thing consists of
these two parts 1 first, what is common to it with othei
things of the same kind ; and secondly, what distin¬
guishes it from other things ot the same kind. The
first is called the genus ot the thing j the second, its
specif c difference. rIhe definition, therefore, consists
of these two parts.”
In obedience tn this rule, the definition under con¬
sideration seems to consist of the genus, signified by the
word change ; and of the specif c difference, denoted by
the words of place. But does the speech change of place
reall\ declare what motion is ? We cannot admit that
it does j as, in our apprehension, a change of place is
the effect of motion, and not motion itself. Suppose a
bver of dialectic undertaking to define the stroke by
Motioi
which he saw his neighbour wounded with a bludgeon *,
what should we think of his art were he to call it a
contusion on the head ? He might say that contusion is
a general term, as contusions may be produced on the
arms, on the legs, and on various parts of the body j
and as there are many species of contusion, it be were
asked which of those species was the stroke to be de¬
fined, he might answer, “ a contusion on the head.”
Plere would be apparently the genus and specific differ'
ence; the former denoted bv contusion, and the latter
by the words on the head. But would this lie a defini¬
tion of a stroke ? No, surely ; a contusion on the head
may be the effect of a stroke *, but it can no more be
the stroke itself, than a blow can be a bludgeon, or a
flesh wound the point ot a sword. Equally evident it
is, that a change of place cannot be motion 5 be¬
cause every body must have been actually moved be¬
fore we can discern, or even conceive, a change of its
place.
The act of changing the place would perhaps come
nearer to a definition of motion \ but so far would it be
from “ a speech declaring what motion is,” that we are
confident a man who had never by any of his senses
perceived a body in actual motion, would acquire no
ideas whatever from the words “ act of changing
place.” He might have experienced changes in heat,
cold, smell, and sound; but he could not possibly com¬
bine the ideas of such changes with the signification of
the word place, were he even capable of understanding
that word, which to us appears to be more than doubt- -
fuk (See Metaphysics, N° 40, 41.). 4
The distinctions of motion into different kinds have The di
been no less various, and no less insignificant, than the t"1.
several definitions of it. The moderns who reject thed.fferen(
Peripatetic division of motion into four classes, yet con- kinds in
sider it themselves as either absolute or relative. Thusnificant
we are told, that “ absolute motion is the change of ab¬
solute place, and that its celerity must be measured by
the quantity of absolute space which the moving body
runs through in a.given time.” 44 Relative motion, on
the other hand, is a mutation of the relative or vulgar
place of the moving body, and has its celerity estimated,
by the quantity of relative space run through.”
Now it is obvious, that this distinction conveys no-
ideas without a farther explanation of the. terms by.
which it is expressed ; but that explanation is impossi¬
ble to be given. Thus, before we can understand what
absolute motion is, we must understand what is meant by
absolute place. But absolute place is a contradiction;
for all place is relative, and consists in the positions of
different bodies with regard to one another. Were a
globe in the regions of empty space to be put m mo¬
tion by Almighty Power, and all the rest of the corpo¬
real world to be soon afterwards annihilated, the mo¬
tion would undoubtedly continue unchanged; and yet,
according to this distinction, it would be at first rela¬
tive, and afterwards absolute. Ihat the beginning 0
such a motion would be perceptible, and the remain er ^
of it imperceptible, is readily granted.; but on this ac“«pje opi
count to consider it as of two kinds, is as absurd as tonions0f
suppose the motion of the minute hand of a clock to bethel'^
affected by our looking at it. . . of Newt
Leaving therefore these unintelligible distinctions,^
we now come to consider a question still of a very ab-t},esour
. •. i _ l.!l^^^*»No*rC ' <* ~'>nUCP9
we now come to c M  . .... ,
struse nature, but much agitated among philosophers,,0fmouo
7 X!VI.
MOT
j ion,
Ur-
L'SU ]±
»tk1 ic
rob] j
(HIM*:’
ttra.on
nd iiml-
ion.
ions
b
bt i
bs <
Jet,
viz. What is the original source of motion in the crea
- don : Is it natural to matter ? or are vve to ascribe it
to the immediate and continual agency of some imma¬
terial being P The former has been strenuously argued
by the Cartesians, and the latter by the Newtonians.
The arguments of the former, founded upon the chime¬
rical hypothesis of vortices and the original construc¬
tion of matter, were evidently inconclusive ; and the
hypothesis of Sir Isaac Newton, who asserted that it
was naturally incapable of motion, appeared more pro¬
bable. To account for the quantity of motion in the
universe, therefore, it became necessary to have recourse
either to the Deity, or to some subordinate spiritual
agent; and this became the more necessary, as the doc¬
trine of an absolute vacuum in the celestial spaces, that
is, throughout the incomparably greatest part of the
creation, was one of the fundamental maxims of the
system. As it was absolutely denied that matter exist¬
ed in these spaces, and it was plain that the celestial
bodies affected one another at immense distances, the
powers ot attraction and repulsion were naturally called
in as the sources of motion by their impulse upon inert
and sluggish matter. These being admitted, a specu-
lution ensued concerning their nature. Spiritual, it
was confessed, they were j but whether they were to
be accounted the immediate action of the divine Spirit
himself, or that ot some subordinate and inferior spirit,
was a matter of no little dispute. Sir Isaac Newton,
towards the latter part ot his life, began to relax some¬
what of the rigidity of his former doctrine ; and allow¬
ed that a very subtle medium, which he called (ether,
might be the cause ot attraction and repulsion, and
thus of the whole phenomena of nature. Since his
time the multitude of discoveries in electricity, the si¬
milarity of that fluid to fire and light, with the vast
influence it has on every part of the creation with
which we are acquainted, have rendered it very pro¬
bable that the aether mentioned by Sir Isaac is no other
than the element of fire, “ the most subtle f and ela¬
stic of all bodies, which seems to pervade and expand
itself throughout the whole universe. Electrical ex¬
periments show that this mighty agent is everywhere
present, ready to break forth into action, if not re¬
strained and governed with the greatest wisdom. Be¬
ing always restless and in motion, it actuates and en¬
livens the whole visible mass 5 is equally fitted to pro¬
duce and to destroy j distinguishes the various stages
of nature, and keeps up the perpetual round of gene¬
rations and corruptions, pregnant with forms which
it constantly sends forth and resorbs. So quick in its
motions, so subtle and penetrating in its nature, so ex¬
tensive in its effects, it seemeth no other than the vege¬
tative soul or vital spirit of the world.
“ The animal spirit in man is the instrument both
of sense and motion. To suppose sense in the corpo¬
real world would be gross and unwarranted j but loco¬
motive faculties are evident in all its parts. The Py¬
thagoreans, Platonists, and Stoics, held the world to
be an animal 5 though some of them have chosen to
consider it as a vegetable. However, the phenomena
do plainly show, that there is a spirit that moves, and
a mind or providence that presides. This providence,
Plutarch saith, was thought to be in regard to the
world what the soul is in regard to man. The order
and course of things, and the experiments we daily
1 453 J
M O T
make, show that there is a mind which governs and Motion,
actuates this mundane system as the proper and real
agent and cause ; and that the inferior instrumental
cause is pure sether, fire, or the substance of light,
which is applied and determined by an infinite mind
in the macrocosm or universe, with unlimited power,
and according to stated rules, as it is in the microcosm
with limited power and skill by the human mind. We
have no proof either from experiment or reason of any
other agent or efficient cause than the mind or spirit.
When, therefore, we speak of corporeal agents or cor¬
poreal causes, this is to be understood in a different,
subordinate, and improper sense j and such an agent
we know light or elementary fire to be.” 8
That this elementary fire, absorbed and fixed in all ExPeri-
bodies, may be the cause of the universal principle of
gravity, is made sufficiently evident by numberless ex-Tsubtle*
periments. Homberg having calcined in the focus offethermay
a burning glass some regulus of antimony, found thatl,e lbe im-
it had gained one-tenth in weight, though the regu-of
lus, during the whole time of the operation, sent up tli^plane-
a thick smoke, and thereby lost a considerable part oftary mo¬
lts own substance. It is-vain to allege that any he-tions>&Cj
terogeneous matter floating in the air, or that the air
itself, may have been hurried into the mass by the ac¬
tion of the fire, and that by this additional matter the
weight was increased j for it is known experimentally,
that if a quantity of metal be even hermetically secur¬
ed vyithin a vessel of glass to keep off the air and all
foreign matter, and the vessel be placed for some time
in a strong fire, it will exhibit the same effect. “ I have
seen the operation performed (says Mr Jonesf) on two t Essay on
ounces of pewter filings, hermetically sealed up in a^T^f
Florence flask, which in two hours gained 55 grains, of Matured
that is nearly one 17th. Had it remained longer in Philosophy,
the fire, it might probably have gained something
more 5 as, in one of Mr Boyle’s experiments, steel fil¬
ings were found to have gained a fourth.
“ Of accounting for these effects there are but two
possible ways : 1. If the quantity of matter be the
same, or, in the case of calcination, be somewhat less,
after being exposed to the action of the fire, while
the gravity of the whole is become greater; then
does it follow, that gravity is not according to the
quantity of matter, and of course is not one of its
properties. 2. If there be an increase of the mass,
it can be imputed to nothing but the matter of light
or fire entangled in its passage through the substance,
and so fixed in its pores, or combined with its solid
parts, as to gravitate together with it. Yet it is cer¬
tain, from the phenomenon of light darting from the
sun, that this elementary fire does not gravitate till it
is fixed in metal, or some other solid substance.—Here
then we have a fluid which gravitates, if it gravitate at
all, in some cases and not in others. So that which
way soever the experiment be interpreted, we are forced
to conclude that elementary or solar fire may be the
cause of the law of gravitation.”
That it is likewise in many cases the cause of repul¬
sion, is known to every one who has seen it fuse metals,
and convert water and mercury into elastic vapour.
But there is a fact recorded by Mr Jones, which seems
to evince that the same fluid, which as it issues from
the sun exhibits itself in the form of light and heat,,
is in other circumstances converted into a very fine air*
C»T».-v
M6tion.
MOT t 454 1
or cold sctlier, which rushes very forcibly towards the material
body of that luminary. “ As a sequel to what has
been observed (says he) concerning the impregnation
of solid substances with the particles of fire, give me
leave to subjoin an experiment of M. de Stair. He tells
us, that upon heating red lead in a glass whence the
air was exhausted by the rays of the sun collected in
a burning glass, the vessel in which the said red lead
was contained burst in pieces with a great noise. Now,
as all explosions in general must be ascribed either to
an admission of the air into a rarefied space, or to what
is called the generation of it} and as air was not admit¬
ted upon this occasion, it must have been generated
from the calx within the vessel; and certainly was so,
because Dr Hales has made it appear that this sub¬
stance, like crude tartar and many others, will yield
a considerable quantity of air in distillation. What
went into the metal therefore as fire, came out of it
again as air; which in a manner forces upon us con¬
clusions of inestimable value in natural philosophy, and
such as may carry us very far into the most sublime
part of it.”
One of the conclusions which the ingenious aiithor
thinks thus forced upon us, is, that the motion of the
planets round the sun, as well as round their own axes, is
to be attributed to the continual agency of this fluid,
under its two forms of elementary fire and pure air. As
fire and light, we know that it rushes with inconceiv¬
able rapidity from the body of the sun, and penetrates
every corporeal substance, exerting itself sometimes with
such force as nothing with which we are acquainted is
able to resist. If it be indeed a fact, that this ele¬
mentary fire, or principle of light and heat, afterwards
cools, and becomes pure air, there cannot be a doubt,
but that under such a form it will return with great
force, though surely in a somewhat different direction,
towards the sun, forming a vortex, in which the planets
are included, and by which they must of course be car¬
ried round the centre. Mr Jones does not suppose
that the air into which the principle of light and heat
is converted, is of so gross a nature as our atmosphere.
He rather considers it as cool tether, just as he repre¬
sents light to be aether heated: but he maintains, that
this aether, in its aerial form, though not fit for human
respiration, is a better 'pabulum of fire than the air
which we breathe.
This theory is exceedingly plausible j and the au¬
thor supports it by many experiments. He has not,
indeed, convinced us that the solar light is converted
or convertible into pure air •, but he has, by just reason¬
ing from undoubted facts, proved that the whole ex¬
panse of heaven, as far as comets wander, is filled not
only with light, which is indeed obvious to the senses,
but also with a fluid, which, whatever it may be called,
supplies the place of the air in feeding the fire of these
5 ignited bodies.
The exist- That the motion of the heavenly bodies should re-
ence o', such from the perpetual agency of snch a medium, ap-
however PcarS t0 us a much more rational hypothesis, than that
does not which makes them act upon each other at immense di-
completely stances through empty space, But the hypothesis is
by no means so complete a solution of the phenomena
as some of its fond admirers pretend to think it. This
Motio#
MOT
  7 and the question returns upon him who
imagines that it is sufficient to account for gravitation,
repulsion, magnetism, and cohesion, Stc. “ V, hat
moves the fluid itself, and makes the parts of which it
is composed cohere together?” However widely it
may be extended, it is incapable of positive infinity j
and therefore may he divided into parts separated from
each other so that it must be held together by a fo¬
reign force, as well as a ball of lead, or a piece of wax.
As matter is not essentially active, the motion of this
aether, under both its forms, must likewise be considered
as an effect, for which we do not think that anv pro¬
pelling power in the body of the sun can be admitted
as a sufficient cause. For how comes the sun to possess
that power, and what makes the fluid return to the
sun ? We have no notion of power, in the proper sense
of the word, but as intelligence and volition } and, by
the pious and excellent author of the Fssay on the first
Principles of Natural Philosophy, we are certain that
the sun was never supposed to be intelligent.
Bishop Berkeley, who admits of light or aether as It is thd
the instrumental cause of all corporeal motion, gets rid^ty
of this difficulty, by supposing, with the ancients, that
this powerful agent is animated. 44 According to the animatei
Pythagoreans and Platonists (says his Lordship
there is a life infused throughout all things j thewugN02??
ycsgoVj Tcvg TTSfevocoy, an intellectual and artificial fire, an
inward principle, animal spirit, or natural life, produ¬
cing and forming within, as art doth without j regulat¬
ing, moderating, and reconciling the various motions,
qualities, and parts of the mundane system By virtue
of this life, the great masses are held together in their
ordinary courses, as well as the minutest particles go¬
verned in their natural motions, according to the several
laws of attraction, gravity, electricity, magnetism, and
the rest. It is this gives instincts, teaches the spider her
web, and the bee her honey. This it is that directs the
roots of plants to draw forth juices from the earth, and
the leaves and cortical vessels to separate and attract
such particles of air and elementary fire as suit their
respective natures.”
This life or animal spirit seems to be the same thing
which Cudworth calls plastic nature, and which has
been considered elsewhere. (See Metaphysics, IS0
200, and Plastic Nature). We shall therefore di-miss
it at present, with just admitting the truth of the bi¬
shop’s position, “ that if nature be supposed the life
of the world, animated by one soul, compacted into
one frame, and directed or governed in all its parts by
one supreme and distinct intelligence, this system can¬
not be accused of atheism, though perhaps it may of
mistake or impropriety.” Mne"t
A theory of motion somewhat similar to that ot^^
Berkeley, though in several respects different from it,tl0D)
was not many years ago stated with great clearness,
and supported with much ingenuity, in An Essay on the
Powers and Mechanism of Nature, intend* d to improve,
and more firmly establish, the grand superstructure of
the Newtonian system. Mr Young, the author of the
essay, admits with most other philosophers of the present
age, that body is composed of atoms which are impeiie-
solve the
phenome¬
na.
trable to each other, and may be denominated solid.
fluid, whether called aether, heat, light, or air, is still
These atoms, however, he does not consider as primary
and simple elements, incapable of resolution into prin¬
ciples
su auce
esgitially
ac| e per*
vat' the
a:i ii'se.
.MOT [ 455
tion ciples ; but thinks that they .are formed by certain mo-
M*,r—' tious of the parts of a substance innnaterial and essen¬
tially active.
bjippos- As tliis notion is uncommon, and the offspring of
in aat a a vigorous mind, vve shall consider it more attentively
under the article Piasr/c iVatore. It is mentioned at
present as a necessary introduction to the author’s theory
of motion, of which he attributes both the origin and-
the continuance to the agency of this elementary sub¬
stance pervading the most solid atoms of the densest bo¬
dies. Of every body and every atom he holds the con¬
stituent principles to be essentially active : but those
principles act in such a manner as to conterbalance each
other; so that the atom or body considered as a whole
is inert, unless in so far as it resists the compression or
separation of its parts. No body or atom can of itself
begin to move, or continue in motion for a single in¬
stant : but being pervious to the active substance, and
coalescing with it, that substance, when it enters any
body, it carries it along with it, till, meeting some other
body in the way, either the whole of the active sub¬
stance lodged in the former body passes into the ob¬
stacle, in which case the impelling body instantly ceases
to move : or else part of that substance passes into the
obstacle, and part remains in the impelling body 5 and
in this case both bodies are moved with a velocity in
proportion to the quantity of matter which each con¬
tains, combined with the quantity of active substance
by which they are respectively penetrated.
In order to pave the way for his proof of the exist¬
ence of one uniform active substance, he observes, that
“ change being an essentially constituent part of mo¬
tion, and change implying action, it follows that all
motion implies action, and depend* on an. active cause.
Every motion (he continues) has a beginning, a mid¬
dle, and an end. The beginning is a change from rest
to motion \ the middle is a continuance in motion ;
the end is a change from motion to rest.” He then
proceeds to show, that the beginning of motion is by an
action begun 5 the continuance of motion by an ac¬
tion continued 5 and the end of motion by a cessation
of action.
“ The first of these positions is admitted by every
body. That the continuance of motion is by an action
continued, will be proved, if it shall be shown that the
continuance of a motion is nothing different from its
beginning, in regard to any point of time assumed in
]
M O T
Pro
the ist-
eurt t
of
sub-.
the continued motion. Now the beginning of mo¬
tion (he says) consists in the beginning of change of
place. But if any given portions of time and of space
are assumed, a body beginning to move in the com¬
mencement of that time, and in the first portion of
the space assumed, then and there begins that parti¬
cular motion : and whether before the body began to
move in that space it was moving in other spaces and
times, has no relation to the motion in question j for
this being in a space and time altogether distinct, is a
distinct motion from any which might have preceded it
immediately, as much as from a motion which preceded
it a thousand years before. It is therefore a new mo¬
tion begun j and so it may be said of every assumable
point in the continued motion. The term continued
serves only to connect any two distinct motions, the end
of one with the beginning of the other; but does not
destroy their distinctness.”
He then proceeds to combat, which he does very
successfully, the arguments by which the more rigid 1
Newtonians endeavour to prove that a body in mo¬
tion will continue to be moved by its own inertia, till
stopt by some opposite force. Having done this, he
establishes the contrary conclusion by the following syl¬
logisms :
“ I- Whatever requires an active force to stop its
motion, is disposed to move.
Every body in motion requires an active force to
stop its motion :
Iherefore every body in motion is disposed to
move.
“ II. Whatever is disposed to motion is possessed of
action.
But a body in motion is disposed to continue in
motion :
Therefore a body in motion is possessed of action.
fl bus it appears, that the middle part of any motion is
action equally with the beginning.
“ The last part of motion is its termination. It is
admitted that all motion is terminated by an action,
contrary to the direction of the motion. It is ad¬
mitted, too, that the moving body acts at the time its
motion is destroyed. Thus the beginning and the end
of any uniform motion are confessed to be actions; but
all the intermediate continuation which connects the
beginning with the end is denied to be action. What
can be more unaccountable than this denial P Is it not
more consonant to reason and analogy, to ascribe to the
whole continued motion one uninterrupted action ?
Such a conclusion true philosophy, we think, requires
us to make.
“ To move or act, is an attribute which cannot be
conceived to exist without a substance. The action of
a body in motion is indeed the attribute of the body,
and the body relatively to its own motion is truly a
substance, having the attribute or quality of motion.
But the body being a name signifying a combination
of certain ideas, which ideas are found to arise from
action (see Plastic Nature), that action w’hich is pro¬
ductive of those ideas whose combination we denomi¬
nate body, is of the nature of an attribute so long as it
is considered as constituted of action.—To this attribute
we must necessarily assign its substance. The actions
which constitute body must be actions of something, or
there must be something which acts. When then is
this active something, from whose agency we get
the idea of body, or whose actions constitute body ? Is
it not sufficient that it is something active ? A name
might he surely given it, but a name would not render
the idea more clear. Its description may be found in
every sensation ; it is colour to the eye, flavour to the
palate, odour to the nose, sound to the ear, and feeling
to the touch j for all our sensations are but so many ways
in which this active something is manifested to us.
A substratum of solidity philosophers have imagined to
exist, and have in vain sought to find. Our /CTIVE
substance is the substratum so long sought for, and
with so little success. We give it a quality by which
it may be perceived ; it acts. One modification of
action produces matter, another generates motion.
These modifications of action are modes of the active
substance, whose presence is action : matter and motion
constitute
Motion.
MOT [ 455 ] MOT
Motion, constitute the whole of nature. There IS THEREFORE
 V""* THROUGHOUT NATURE AN ACTIVE SUBSTANCE, THE
CONSTITUENT ESSENCE OF MATTER, AND IMMEDIATE
14 NATURAL AGENT IN ALL EFFECTS.”
Which is By an argument which we do not think very con-
unintelli- .elusive, our author determines this active substance
Sellt’ to be unintelligent. “ In our sensations individually,
not discovering (says he) the traces, not seeing the
characters of intelligence, hut finding only action pre¬
sent and necessary, our inferences go no farther than
our observations warrant us to do 5 and we conclude
in all these things an action only, and that action un¬
intelligent.” Having given our opinion of real agency
elsewhere (see Metaphysics, N° 118 ), we shall
'not here stop to examine this reasoning.—We may
however ask, Whether all our sensations individually
be not excited for a certain end ? If they be, accord¬
ing to our author’s mode of arguing in another place,
the exciting agent should be an intelligent being. By
this we are far from meaning to deny the reality of
a secondary or instrumental cause of sensation which
is destitute of intelligence. We are strongly inclined
to think that there is such a cause, though our per¬
suasion results not from this argument of our author’s.
In our opinion, he reasons better when he says, “ that
a subordinate agent constructed as the matter of crea¬
tion, invested with perpetual laws, and producing agree¬
ably to those laws all the forms of being, through the
varieties of which inferior intelligences can, by pro¬
gressive steps, arrive ultimately at the supreme con¬
triver, is more agreeable to our ideas of dignity,
and tends to impress us with more exalted senti¬
ments, than viewing the Diety directly in all the in¬
dividual impressions we receive, divided in the infi¬
nity of particular events, and unawful, by his conti¬
nual presence in operations to our view insignificant and
j, mean.”
and aei- This active substance, or secondary cause, our an¬
ther matter ti10r concludes to be neither matter nor mind. “ Mat-
uor mind. (says he) is a being, as a whole (juiescent and in¬
active, but constituted of active parts, which resist se¬
paration, or cohere, giving what is usually denomi¬
nated solidity to the mass. Mind is a substance which
thinks. A being which should answer to neither of
these definitions, would be neither matter nor mind ;
but an immaterial, and, it I may so say, an immental
substance.” Such is the active substance of Mr Young,
which, considered as the cause of motion, seems not to
differ greatly from the plastic nature, hylarchicalprin¬
ciple, or vis genitrix, of others. The manner in which
it operates is indeed much more minutely detailed by
our author than by any other philosopher, ancient or
modern, with whose writings we have any acquaint¬
ance.
“ Every thing (he says) must be in its own nature
either disposed to rest or motion consequently the
active substance must be considered as a being na¬
turally either quiescent or motive. But it cannot be
naturally quiescent; for then it could not be active, he¬
ld cause activity, which is a tendency to motion, cannot
The man- originate in a tendency to rest. Therefore the ACTIVE
ner in SUBSTANCE is by nature motive, that is, tending to mo-
which it is q'|ie ACXive substance is not solid, and does
Tverllt t0 not resist penetration. It is, therefore, incapable of
'P ' impelling or of sustaining impulse. Whence it follows,
that as it tends to move, and is incapable of having its Moti®
motion impeded by impulse, it must actually and conti- Y'v
nually move: in other words, MOTION IS ESSENTIAL
TO THE ACTIVE SUBSTANCE.
“ In order that this substance may act, some other
thing upon which it may produce a change is neces¬
sary 5“ for whatever suffers an action, receives some
change. The active substance, in acting on some other
thing, must impart and unite itself thereto for its ac¬
tion is communicating its activity. But it cannot com¬
municate its activity without imparting its substance :
because it is the substance alone which possesses activity,
and the quality cannot be separated from the substance.
Therefore the active substance acts by uni¬
ting ITSELF WITH THE SUBSTANCE ON WHICH IT
ACTS. The union of this substance with bodies, is not
to be conceived of as a junction of small parts intimate¬
ly blended together and attached at their surfaces} but
as an entire diffusion and incorporation of one substance
with another in perfect coalescence. As bodies are not
naturally active, whenever they become so, as they al¬
ways do in motion, it must be by the accession of
some part of the active substance. The active sub¬
stance being imparted to a body, penetrates the most
solid or resisting parts, and does not reside in the pores
without, and at the surfaces of the solid parts. For the
activity is imparted to the body itseh 5 and not to its
pores, which are no parts of the body : there I ore if the
active substance remained within the pores, the cause
would not be present with its effect 5 but the cause
would be in one place and the effect in another, which
is impossible.
“ Bodies by their impulse on others lose their acti¬
vity in proportion to the impulse. This is matter of
observation. Bodies which suffer impulse acquire ac¬
tivity in proportion to the impulse. Ibis also is mat¬
ter of observation. In impulse, therefore, the active
substance passes out of the impelling body into the
body impelled. For since bodies in motion are active,
and activity consists in the presence of the active sub¬
stance, and by impulse bodies lose their activity, there¬
fore they lose their active substance, and the loss is
proportional to the impulse. Bodies impelled acquire
activitv ", therefore acquire active substance, and the
acquisition is proportioned to the impulse. But the
active substance lost by the impelling body ought to
be concluded to be that found in the other ; because
there is no other receptacle than the impelled body to
which the substance parted from can.be traced, nor
any other source than the active body whence that
which is found can be derived. Therefore, in impulse,
the active substance ought to be concluded to pass from
the impelling body to the body impelled. The flow¬
ing of such a substance is a sufficient cause of the com¬
munication of activity, and no other rational cause can
be assigned.
“ The continued motion of a body depends not
upon its inertia, but upon the continuance of the ac¬
tive substance within the body. The motion ot a
body is produced by the motion of the active su
stance in union with the body. It being evident, that
since the active substance itself does always move, what¬
ever it is united to will be moved along with it, if no
obstacle prevent. In mere motion, the body moved
the patient, and the active substance the agent. Ip
impulse,
M O T
otion
pmces
ionise,
iod .uses
ttie )Uon
flftj hea-
»en|ou-
dieS:
. impulse, the body in motion may be considered as an
agent, as it is made active by its active substance 
While the active substance is flowing out of the active
body into the obstacle or impelled' body, the active
body will press or impel the obstacle. For while the
active substance is yet within the body, although flow¬
ing through it, it does not cease to impart to the body
its own nature, nor can the body cease to be active
because not yet deprived of the active substance. There¬
fore during its passing out of the body, such portion of
the active substance as is yet within, is urging and dis¬
posing the body to move, in like manner as"if the active
substance were continuing in the body ; and the body
being thus urged to move, but impeded from mo vino,
presses or impels the obstacle.
. “ We see here (says our author) an obvious explana¬
tion of impulse y it consists in the flowing of the motive
substance from a source into a receptacle j” and he
thinks, that although the existence of such a substance
had not been established on any previous grounds, the
communication of motion by impulse does alone afford
a sufficient proof of its reality.
He employs the agency of the same substance to ac¬
count for many other apparent activities in bodies,
such as those of fire, electricity, attraction, repulsion,
elasticity, &c. All the apparent origins of corporeal
activity serve, he says, to impart the active substance
to.bodies 5 “ and where activity is without any manifest
origin, the active substance is derived from an invisible
source.”
Our limits will not permit us to attend him in his
solution of all the apparent activities in bodies ; but the
orbicular motions of the planets have been accounted for
-m so many different ways by philosophers ancient and
modern, and each account has been so little satisfactory
to him who can think, and wishes to trace eftects from
adequate causes, that we consider it as our duty to fur¬
nish our readers with the account of this phenomenon
which is given by Mr Young.
J he question which has been so long agitated,
“ Whence is the origin of motion ?” our author con¬
siders as implying an absurdity. “ It supposes (says
he) that rest was the primitive state of matter, and
that motion was produced ^y a subsequent act. But
this supposition must ever be rejected, as it is giving
precedency to the inferior, and inverting the order of
nature.” The substance which he holds to be the
basis of matter is essentially active ; and its action is
motion. r] his motion, however, in the original ele¬
ment, was power without direction, agency without
order, activity to no end. To this power it was ne-
f 457 f
M O T
cessary that a Law should be superadded ; that its
agency should be guided to some regular purpose, and
its motion conspire to the production of some uniform
effects. Our author shows, or endeavours to show,
by a process of reasoning which shall be examined else¬
where, that the primary atoms of matter are produced
by the circular motion of the parts of this substance
round a centre \ and that a similar motion of a num¬
ber of these atoms around another centre common to
them all, produces what in common language is called
& solid body; a cannon ball, for instance, the terrestrial
globe, and the body of the sun, &c. In a word, he
labours to prove, and with no small success, that a prin-
V ol. XIV. Part II. +
ciple of union is implied in the revolving or circulating ;vjoliol1
movements of the active substance. ^ .
“ But we may also assume (he says) a priori, that a
principle of union is a general law of nature ; because
we see in fact all the component parts of the universe
are united systems, which successively combine into
larger unions, and ultimately form one whole.” Let
us then suppose the sun with all his planets, primary
and secondary, to be already formed for the purpose of
making one system, and the orbits of all of them, as
well as these great bodies themselves, to be pervaded
by the active substance, which necessarily exists in a
state of motion, and is the cause of the motion of every
thing corporeal. “ If to this motion a. principle of
union be added, the effect of such a principle would be
a determination of all the parts of the active substance,
and of course all the bodies to which it is united, to¬
wards a common centre, which would be at rest, and
void of any tendency in any direction. But this deter¬
mination of all the parts of the system towards a com¬
mon centre, tends to the destruction both of the motion
of the active substance and of the system j for should
all the parts continually approximate from a circum¬
ference towards a centre, the sun and planets would at
last meet, and form one solid and quiescent mass. But
to preserve existence, and consequently motion, is the
first law of the active substance, as of all being ; and
it cannot be doubted, that to preserve distinct the se-
v.iul parts of the solar system, is the first law given to
the substance actuating that system. The union of the
system is a subsequent law.
“ When the direct tendency of any inferior law is
obviated by a higher law, the inferior law will operate
indirectly in the manner the nearest to its direct ten¬
dency tnat the superior law will permit. If a body in
motion be obliquely obstructed, it will move on in a
direction oblique to its first motion. Now the law of
union, which pervades the solar system, being conti¬
nually obstructed by the law of self-preservation, the
motion of the active substance, and of the bodies to
w Iiicb it is united, can be no other than a revolving
motion about the common centre of approach, towards
which all the parts have a determination. But when
this revolution has actually taken place, it gives birth
to a new tendency, which supersedes the operation of
the law of self-preservation. It has been shown, that
the motion essential to the active substance, required to
be governed by some law to give being to an orderlv
state of things. Now, there are motions simple and
motions complex j the more simple is in all things first
in order, and out of the more simple the more complex
arises in order posterior. The most simple motion is
rectilineal ; therefore a rectilineal motion is to be con¬
sidered as that which is the original and natural state
of things, and consequently that to which all things
tend. It will follow from hence, that when any por¬
tion of active substance in which the law of union ope¬
rates, has m the manner above explained been com¬
pelled to assume a revolving motion, that is, a motion
in some curve 5 a tendency to a rectilineal motion will
continually exist in every part of the revolving por¬
tion, and in every point of the curve which it describes
during its revolution. And this rectilineal tendency
yvill be a tendency to recede from the centre in every
3 M - point
MOT
[ 458 ]
MOT
Mo lion.
. *9
Objections
to this
theory.
point of the revolving orbit, and to proceed in a tan¬
gent to the orbit at each point. These two tenden¬
cies, if not originally equal, must necessarily in all cases
arrive at an "equality. For the tendency towards the
centre, called the centripetal tendency, that is, the law
of union, operating first, if we suppose the motion ap¬
proaches the centre, the tendency to recede from it,
called the centrifugal tendency, will have its proportion
to the centripetal continually increased as the orbit of
revolution grows less, so as ultimately to equal the cen¬
tripetal tendency, and restrain the motion from its cen¬
tral course, at which point it will no longer seek the
centre but revolve round it.”
As our author holds that every atom of matter is
formed by the motion of parts of the active substance,
and every body formed by the motion of atoms ; so he
maintains, not only that the sun, moon, earth, planets,
and stars, are penetrated by the same substance, but
that each is the centre of a vortex of that substance,
and that of these vortices some are included within
others. “ The subtle revolving fluid, the centre of
whose vortex the earth occupies, not only surrounds
but pervades the earth, and other vortices their earths,
to their centres ; and the earth and planets are by its re¬
volutions carried around on their own axes. rI he earth
is an active mass, and all its component masses are se¬
verally as well as collectively inactive; but the earth
and all its parts have various collective and separate
movements, imparted from the fluid which surrounds,
pervades, and constitutes it. Being immersed together
with its proper surrounding sphere or vortex in the
larger sphere or vortex of the sun, it is carried thereby
in a larger orbit about the sun, at the same time that
by the revolution of its proper sphere it rotates on its
own axis.” # ,
Such is the most complete view which our limits
will permit us to give of Mr Young’s theory of mo¬
tion. To the philosopher who considers experiment
as the only test of truth, and who in all his inquiries
employs his hands more than his head, we are fully
aware that it will appear in no better light than as
“ the baseless fabric of a vision.” I.ven to the intel¬
lectual philosopher who is not frightened at the word
metaphysics, we are afraid that such an active substance
as the author contends for, will appear as inadequate
to the production of the phenomena of gravitation and
repulsion as the material sether of Mr Jones and his
followers. A being void of intelligence, whether it be
material or immaterial, quiescent or motive, cannot be
the subject of law, in the proper sense of the word.
The laws of which Mr Young speaks as necessary to
regulate the motions of the active substance, must be
mere forces, applied by some extrinsic and superior
power. And since <4 motion, as it is essential to the
active substance, is power without direction, agency
without order, activity to no end ; since it is of such a
nature, that from its unguided agitations there could
result neither connection, order, nor harmony j” it fol¬
lows that those extrinsic forces must be perpetually
applied, because what is essential to any substance can
never be destroyed or changed so long as the substance
itself remains.
Forces producing order out of confusion, can be ap¬
plied only by a being possessed of intelligence *, and if
the immediate and perpetual agency of an intelligent
Motion;
being be necessary to regulate the motions of the ac¬
tive "substance, that substance itself may be thought
superfluous, and its very existence be denied. Entm
non sunt multiplicanda absque necessitate, is a rule of
philosophizing which every man of science acknow¬
ledges to be "just. And it will hardly be denied that
the immediate and perpetual agency of an intelligent
being upon Mr Jones’s etherial fluid, or even upon the
matter of solid bodies themselves, would be capable of
producing every kind of motion without the instru¬
mentality of a substance which is neither mind nor
matter. . . . .
Such, we conceive, are the objections which our
metaphysical readers may make to this theory, i art
of their force, however, will perhaps be removed by
tbe ingenious manner in which our author analyzes
matter into an immaterial principle. . But so much of
it remains, that the writer of this article is inclined to
believe that no mechanical account can be given of tbe
motions of the heavenly bodies, the growth of plants,
and various other phenomena which are usually sdved
by attraction and repulsion. In the present age, phi-^ ^
losophers in general are strangely averse from admittingancjeilt:
on anv occasion the agency of mind 5 yet as every et-and rat
feet must have a cause, it is surely not irrational to at-al.
tribute such effects as mechanism cannot produce to
the operation either of intelligence or instinct, lo
suppose the Deity the immediate agent in die. great
motions of the universe, has been deemed impious;
and it must he confessed that very impious conclusions
have been deduced from that principle. But there is
surely no impiety in supposing, with the excellent bi¬
shop of Cloyne, that the fluid which is known to
pervade the solar system, and to operate with resistless
force, may be animated by a powerful mind, which
acts instinctively for ends of which itself knows no¬
thing. For the existence of such a mind, no other
evidence, indeed, can be brought than what is afford¬
ed bv a very ancient and very general tradition, amt
by the impossibility of accounting for the phenomena
upon principles of mere mechanism. Perhaps some ot
our more pious readers may he inclined to think that
the Supreme Being has committed the immediate go¬
vernment of the various planetary systems to powerful
intelligences, or ANGELS, who, as his ministers, direct
their motions with wisdom and foresight. ^ uc 1 an
opinion is certainly not absurd in itself; and jt see™s
to be countenanced by an ancient writer *, who, though Pml.
not known by the name of a philosopher, knew as
much of the matter as any founder of the most cele¬
brated school.
To object to either of these hypotheses, as has been
sometimes done, that it represents the government 0
the world as a perpetual miracle, betrays the grossest
ignorance ; for we might as well call the movemen s
of the bodies of men and brutes, winch are certainly
produced by minds, miraculous. We do not affirm
that either hypothesis is certainly true *, but they .11
both as probable and as satisfactory as the hypothesis
which attributes agency to attraction and repulsion, to
a subtle aether, or to a substance which is neither nun
nor matter. Were the immediate agency of intellect
to he admitted, there would be no room for many 0
those disputes which have been agitated among phi¬
losophers, about the increase or diminution of motion
in
MOT
otion
1 qaes-
ti Whe-
t! the
oi^nal
qi jitity of
hi i on in
th "orld
re ins un-
iniired ?
ariered
by
* iitng s
E / on
th'/owers
tiinMe-
in the universe ; because an intelligent agent, which
' could begin motion as well as carry it on, might in¬
crease or diminish it as he should judge proper. If in¬
stinctive agency, or something similar to it, be adopt¬
ed, there is the same room for investigation as upon
the principles of mechanism *, because instinct works
blindly, according to steady laws imposed by a superior
mind, which may be discovered by observation of their
effects. As we consider this as by much the most pro¬
bable hypothesis of the two, we find ourselves involved
in the following question : “ If a certain quantity of
motion was originally communicated to the matter of
the universe, how comes it to pass that the original
quantity still remains ?” Considering the many op¬
posite and contradictory motions which since the crea¬
tion have taken place in the universe, and which have
undoubtedly destroyed a great part of the original
quantity, by what means has that quantity been re¬
stored ?
If this question can be solved by natural means, it
must be upon the principles of Newton ; for, “ in every
f 459 ]
M O T
case* where quantities and relations of quantities are
Tli larte
siai and
by
■vton
required, it is the province of mathematics to supply
the information sought $ “ and all philosophers agree
that Sir Isaac’s doctrine of the composition and reso¬
lution of motion, though in what respects the heaven¬
ly bodies it may have no physical reality, is so mathe¬
matically just, as to be the only principle from which
the quantity of motion, or the force of powers, can
in any case be computed. If we choose to answer the
question, by saying that the motion left is restored by
the interposition of the Deity, then we might as wTell
have had recourse to him at first, and say that he alone
is the true principle of motion throughout the crea¬
tion.
- Before we are reduced to this dilemma, however,
it is necessary, in the first place, to inquire whether
there is or can be any real diminution of the quantity
ot motion throughout the universe ? In this question
the Cartesians take the negative side; and maintain,
that the Creator at the beginning impressed a certain
quantity of motion on bodies, and that under such
laws as that no part of it should be lost, but the same
portion of motion should be constantlv preserved in
matter : and hence they conclude, that if any moving
body strike on any other body, the former loses no
more of its motion than it communicates to the latter.
‘Sir Isaac Newton takes the contrary side, and argues
in the following manner: “ From the various com¬
positions ot two motions, it is manifest there is not al¬
ways the same quantity of motion in the world j for if
two halls, joined together by a slender wire, revolve
with an uniform motion about their common centre
of gravity, and at the same time that centre be carried
uniformly in a right line drawn in the plane of their
circular motion, the sum of the motions of the two
halls, as often as they are in a right line, drawn from
their common centre of gravity, will be greater than
the sum of their motions when they are in a line per¬
pendicular to that other. Whence it appears, that
motion may be both generated and lost. But by rea¬
son of the tenacity of fluid bodies, and the friction of
their parts, with the weakness of the elastic power in
solid bodies, nature seems to incline much rather to
the destruction than the production of motion j and
in reality, motion becomes continually less and less.-— M.mui,
lor bodies which are either so perfectly hard or so“-v'—“*
soft as to have no elastic power, will not rebound from
each other ; their impenetrability will only stop their
motion. And if two such bodies equal to one ano¬
ther be carried with equal hut opposite motions, so
as to meet in a void space, by the laws of motion they
must stop in the very place of concourse, lose all their
motion, and be at rest for ever, unless they have an elas¬
tic power to give them a new motion. If they have
elasticity enough to make them rebound with one-fourth,
one-half, or three-fourths, of the force they meet with,
they will lose three fourths, one-half, or one-fourth, of
their motion. And this is confirmed by experiments :
for if two equal pendulums be let fall from equal heights,
so as to strike full upon each other j if those pendulums
be of lead or soft clay, they will lose all, or almost all,
their motion ; and if they be of any elastic matter, they
will only retain so much motion as they receive from
their elastic power.”
Motion, therefore, being thus, in the opinion of out
celebrated author, lost, or absolutely destroyed, it is ne¬
cessary to find some cause by which it may be renewed.
Such renovation Sir Isaac attributes to active princi¬
ples ; for instance, “ the cause of gravity, wire re by the
planets and comets preserve their motions in their or¬
bits, and all bodies acquire a great degree of motion
in falling; and the cause of fermentation, whereby the
heart and blood of animals preserve a perpetual warmth
and motion, the inner parts of the earth are kept per¬
petually warmed; many bodies burn and shine, and
the sun himself burns and shines, and with his light
warms and cheers all things.”
I.lasticity is another cause of the renovation of mo¬
tion mentioned by Sir Isaac. “ We find but little mo¬
tion in the world (says he), except what plainly flows
cither from these active principles, or from the com¬
mand of the wilier.”
With regard to the destruction or positive loss of No power
motion, however, we must observe, that notwithstand-ot‘motion
ing the authority of Sir Isaac Newton, it is altogether j)ei .'°bt,or
impossible that any such thing can happen. All mov- LS l0'VC( ‘
ing bodies which come under the cognizance of our
senses are merely passive, and acted upon by some¬
thing which we call powers or fluids, and which are
to us totally invisible. Motion, therefore, cannot be
lost without a destruction or diminution of one of
these powers, which we have no reason to think can
ever happen. When two pendulums rush against each
other, the motion is the mere effect of the action of
gravity; and that action, which in this case is the
power, continues to he the very same whether the pen¬
dulum moves or moves not. Could motion, therefore,
be exhausted in this case, we must suppose, that by se¬
parating two pendulums to the same distance from each
other, and then letting them come together for a great
number of times, they would at last meet with less
force than before. But there is certainly not the least
foundation for this supposition ; and no rational person
will take it into his head, that supposing the whole
human race had employed themselves in nothing else
from the creation to the present day, but separating
pendulums and letting them stop each other’s motion,
they would now come together with less force than
they did at first. Power, therefore, which is the cause
3 M 2 of
M O 1' [ 460 ] M O T
Motion, of motion, is absolutely indestructible. Powers may
 v~~~ ‘ indeed counteract one another, or they may be made
to counteract themselves 5 but the moment that the
obstacle is removed, they show themselves in their pris¬
tine vigour, without the least symptom of abatement or
decay.
Whether, therefore, we reckon the ultimate source
of motion to be spiritual or material, it is plain that it
must be to our conceptions infinite; neither will the
phenomena of nature allow' us to give any other ex¬
planation than we have done: for no power whatever
can lose more than its own quantity •, and it seems ab¬
surd to think that the Deity would create the world
in such a manner that it would ultimately become im¬
moveable, and then have recourse to unknown prin¬
ciples to remedy the supposed defect. On the prin¬
ciple we have now just laid down, however, the mat¬
ter becomes exceedingly plain and obvious. The Crea¬
tor at first formed two opposite powers, the action of
which is varied according to the circumstances of the
bodies upon which they act •, and these circumstances
are again varied by the action of the powers themselves
in innumerable ways upon one another, and the ap¬
proach of one body to another, or their receding to
a greater distance. Where these powers happen to
oppose each other directly, the body on which they
act is at rest j when they act obliquely, it moves in
the diagonal ; or if the force acting upon one side is
by any means lessened, the body certainly must move
towards that side, as is evident from the case of the
atmosphere, the pressure of which, when removed from
one side of a body, will make it move very violently
towards that side 5 and if ive could continually keep
off the pressure in this manner, the motion would as¬
suredly be perpetual. We must not imagine that mo¬
tion is destroyed because it is counteracted; for it is im¬
possible to destroy motion by any means but removing
the cause 5 counteracting the effect is only a tempo¬
rary obstacle, and must cease whenever the obstacle is
removed. Nature, therefore, having in itself an infi¬
nite quantity of motion, produces greater or lesser mo¬
tions, according to the various action of the moving
powers upon different bodies or upon one another,
without a possibility of the general stock being either
augmented or diminished, unless one of the moving
poivers was to be withdrawn by the Creator j in which
case, the other would destroy the whole system in an
The nature instant. As to the nature of these great original
of the mov-powers, we must confess ourselves totally ignorant j
mg powers nor t{0 we perceive any data from which the nature
unknown. ^|iem can investigated. The elements of light,
air, ike. are the agents} but in what manner they act,
or in what manner they received their action, can be
known only to the Creator.
Perpetual Morion, in Mechanics, a motion which is
supplied and renewed from itself, without the interven¬
tion of any external cause ; or it is an uninterrupted
communication of the same degree of motion from one
part of matter to another, in a circle or other curve re¬
turning into itself, so that the same momentum still re¬
turns undiminished upon the first mover.
The celebrated problem of a perpetual motion con¬
sists in the inventing a machine, which has the prin¬
ciple of its motion within itself. M. de la Hire has de¬
monstrated the impossibility of any such machine, and Motiou, if
finds that it amounts to this, viz. to find a body which y—. <
is both heavier and lighter at the same time, or to find
a body which is heavier than itself.
Animal Morion, that which is performed by animals
at the command of the mind or will.
Though all the motions of animals, whether volun¬
tary or involuntary, are performed by means of the
muscles and nerves, yet neither these nor the subtile
fluid which resides in them are to be accounted the ul¬
timate sources of animal motion. They depend entire¬
ly upon the mind for those motions which are properly
to be accounted animal. All the involuntary motions,
such as those of the blood, the heart, muscles, organs
subservient to respiration and digestion, are to be
classed with those of vegetables j for though no vege¬
tables have them in such perfection as animals, there
are yet traces of them to be found evidently among ve¬
getables, and that so remarkable, that some have ima¬
gined the animal and vegetable kingdoms to approach
each other so nearly that they could scarce he distin¬
guished by a philosophic eye. See Muscle.
Though the motions of animals, however, depend on
the action of the mind or of the will, external objects
seem originally to have the command of the mind itself y
for unless an animal perceive something, it will not be
' inclined to act. By means of the ideas once received,
indeed, and retained in the memory, it acquires a self-
moving power, independent of any object present at the
time, which is not the case with vegetables j for how¬
ever they may act from a present impulse, their motions
never appear to be derived from any source which may
not be accounted strictly mechanical.
According to some, motion is the cause of sensation
itself j and indeed it seems very probable that the mo¬
tions of that subtle fluid, called light or electricity, in
our bodies always accompany our sensations 5 but whe¬
ther these be the cause, or only the medium, of sense,
cannot he discovered.
Though all animals are endowed with a power of vo¬
luntary motion, yet there is a very great variety in the
degrees of that power ; to determine which no certain
rules can assigned ; neither can we, from the situa¬
tion and manner of life of animals, derive any probable
reason why the motion of one should differ so very much
from that of another. This difference does not arise
from their size, their ferocity, their timidity, nor any
other property that we can imagine. The elephant,
though the strongest land animal, is by no means the
slowest in its motions 5 the horse is much swifter than
the bull, though there is not much difference in then-
size •, a greyhound is much swifter than a cat, though
the former be much larger, and though both live in the
same manner, viz. by hunting. Among insects the
same unaccountable diversity is observable. The louse
and flea are both vermine, are both nearly of the same
size, and both feed on the bodies of animals j yet there
is no comparison between the swiftness of their motions.
while the bug, which is much larger than either, seems
to have a kind of medium swiftness between both.—
This very remarkable circumstance seems not even to
depend on the range which animals are obliged to take
in order to procure food for themselves : the motion
of a snail is slower than that of an earth worm j while
MOT [ 46, ]
that of many caterpillars is much quicker than either ; the whole
though we can scarce determine which of the three has
the greatest or the least extensive range for its food.
Of all animals the shell fish move the slowest, inso¬
much that some have supposed them to be entirely de¬
stitute of locomotive powers 5 and muscles particular¬
ly are denied to have any faculty of this kind. Every
one knows that these animals can open and shut their
shells at pleasure j and it cannot escape observation, that
in every muscle there is a fleshy protuberance of a much
redder colour than the rest. This has been thought
to be a tongue or proboscis, by which the animal takes
in its food ; but is in reality the instrument of its mo¬
tion from place to place. This protuberance is divided
into two lobes, which perform the office of feet. When
the river muscle is inclined to remove from its station,
it opens its shells, thrusts out this protuberance, and
digs a furrow in the sand 5 and into this furrow, by the
action of the same protuberance, the shell is made to
fall in a vertical position. It is recovered out of this
into the former horizontal one, by pushing back the
sand with the same tentacula, lengthening the furrow,
and thus the animal continues its journey by a conti¬
nual turning topsy-turvy.—Marine muscles perform
their motions in the same manner, and by similar in¬
struments. In general they are firmly attached to rocks
or small stones by threads about two inches long, which
are spun from a glutinous substance in the protuberances
already mentioned.
Other animals which inhabit bivalved shells, per¬
form their motions by a kind of leg or foot; which,
however, they can alter into almost any figure they
please. By means of this leg they can not only sink
into the mud, or rise out of it at pleasure, but can
even leap from the place where they are j and this can
be done by the limpit, which people are apt to ima*
gine one of the most sluggish animals in nature When
this creature is about to make a spring, it sets its shell
on edge, as if to diminish friction ; then, stretching
out the leg as far as possible, it makes it embrace a
portion of the shell, and by a sudden movement, simi¬
lar to that of a spring let loose, it strikes the earth
with its leg, and actually leaps to a considerable dis¬
tance.
The spout, or razor-fish, is said to be incapable of
moving forward horizontally on the surface j but it
digs a hole sometimes two feet deep in the sand, in
which it can ascend or descend at pleasure. The leg,
by which it performs all its movements, is fleshy, cy¬
lindrical, and pretty long 5 and the animal can at plea¬
sure make it assume the form of a ball. When lying
on the surface of the sand, and about to sink into it,
the leg is extended from the inferior end of the shell,
and makes the extremity of it take on the form of a
shovel, sharp on each side, and terminating in a point.
With this instrument the animal makes a hole in the
sand j after which it advances the leg still farther into
it, makes it assume the form of a hook, and with this,
as a fulcrum, it obliges the shell to descend into the
hole. This operation is continued until the whole
shell be covered 5 and when the animal wishes to re¬
gain the surface, it makes the extremity of the leg to
assume the form of a ball, and makes an effort to ex¬
tend it. The ball, however, prevents any farther de¬
scent, and the reaction of the muscular effort raises up
MOT
hell, which operation is continued until it Motiow
reaches the surface j and it is surprising with what faci- u—v~~
lity these motions are accomplished by an animal seem¬
ingly so little qualified to move at all. Another parti¬
cularity in this fish is, that though it lives among salt
water, it abhors salt so much, that when a little is thrown
into its hole it instantly leaves it. But it is still more
remarkable, that if you once take hold of the spout-fish,
and then allow it to retire into its hole, it cannot then
be driven out by salt j though unless it be taken hold
of by the hand, the application of salt will make it come
to the surface as often as you please.
All other shell fish, even those apparently the most
sluggish and destitute of any apparatus for motion, are
found to be furnished with such instruments as enable
them to perform all those movements for which they
have any occasion. Thus the scallop, a well-known
animal inhabiting a bivalved shell, can both swim up¬
on the surface of w'ater and move upon land. When
it happens to be deserted by the tide, it opens its shell
to the full extent, and shutting it again with a sudden
jerk, the reaction of the ground gives such an impulse
to the whole, that it sometimes springs five or six
inches from the ground ; and by a continued repeti¬
tion of this action, it gradually tumbles forward until
it regains the wrater. Its method of sailing is still
more curious. Having attained the surface of the
water by means unknown to us, it opens the shell,
and puts one-half above water, the other with the body
of the animal in it remaining below. Great numbers
of them are thus frequently seen sailing in company
with their shells sticking up above water when the
weather is fine, and the wind acting upon them as sails j
but on the least alarm they instantly shut their shells,
and all sink to the bottom together.
The oyster has generally been supposed one of the
most sluggish animals in nature, and totally incapable
of voluntary motion j but from the researches of the
Abbe Dicquemarre, this opinion seems to be errone¬
ous. The oyster, like many other bivalved shell-fish,
has a power of squirting water out from its body ,
and this property may easily be observed by putting
some of them into a plate with as much sea water as
will cover them. The water is ejected with so much
force, as not only to repel the approach of ordinary
enemies, but to move the whole animal backwards or
sidewise, in a direction contrary to that in which the
water was ejected. It has been also supposed, that
oysters are destitute of sensation ; but M. Hicquemarie
has shown, that they not only possess sensation, but
that they are capable of deriving knowledge from ex¬
perience. When removed from such places as are en¬
tirely covered with the sea, when destitute of expe¬
rience, they open their shells and die in a few days j
but if they happen to escape this danger, and the wa¬
ter covers them again, they will not open their shells
again, but keep them shut, as if warned by experience
to avoid a danger similar to what they formerly under¬
went.
The motions of the sea-urchin are perhaps more cu¬
rious and complicated than those of any other animal.
It inhabits a beautiful multivalved shell, divided into
triangular compartments, and covered with great num¬
bers of prickles ; from which last circumstance it re¬
ceives the name of sea urchin or sea hedgehog. The
triangles
MOT [ 4^2
Motion, triangles are separated from one another by regular
belts, and perforated by a great number of boles, hom
every one of which issues a fleshy Jiorn similar to .that
of a snail, and capable of moving in a similar manner.
The principal use of these horns seems to be to fix the
animal to rocks or stones, though it likewise makes
use of them in its progressive motion. By means of
these horns and prickles, it is enabled to walk either
on its back or its belly} but it most commonly makes
use of those which are near the mouth. Occasionally
it has a progressive motion by turning round like a
wheel.
The animals called sea-nettles or medusa, though ex¬
tremely slow in their motions, are nevertheless evidently
capable of moving at pleasure from place to place. The
variety of their figure is such, that it is difficult to assign
them any determinate figure whatever. In general,
however, they resemble a truncated cone, the base ol
which is applied to the rock to which they adhere.
Their colours are various, whitish, brown, red or green¬
ish : the mouth is very large •, and when opened appears
surrounded with filaments resembling the horns ot snails,
which being disposed in three rows around it, give
the animal the appearance of a flower *, and through
every one of these the animal has the power ot squirting
the sea water. The structure of these animals is ex¬
tremely singular} they consisting all of one organ, viz.
a stomach. When searching for food, they extend
their filaments, and quickly entangle any small ani¬
mals that come within their reach. The prey is instant¬
ly swallowed, and the mouth shut close upon it like a
purse 5 in which state it remains for many days before
the nutritive parts are extracted. ) he animal, thougli
scarcely an inch or an inch and a half in diameter, is
nevertheless so dilatable, that it can swallow large
whelks and muscles, the shells of which are thrown out
by the mouth after the nutritive parts have been ex¬
hausted. Sometimes the shell is too large to be voided
this way 5 in which case the body of the animal splits,
and the shell is voided through the opening, which in a
short time heals up again. The progressive motion of
this creature is so slow, that it resembles that of the
hour hand of a clock, and is performed by means of in¬
numerable muscles placed on the outside of the body.
All these are tubular, and filled with a fluid, which
makes them project like prickles. On occasion it can
likewise loosen the base of the cone from the rock, and
inverting its body, move by means of the filaments al¬
ready mentioned, which surround the mouth •, hut even
the motion performed in this manner is almost as slow
as the other.
Some animals are capable of moving backwards, ap¬
parently with the same facility that they do forwards,
and that by means of the same instruments which move
them forward. The common house fly exhibits an
instance of this, and frequently employs this retrograde
motion in its ordinary courses; though we cannot
know the reason of its employing such an extraordinary
method. Another remarkable instance is given by Mr
Smellie in the mason-bee. This is one of the solitary
species, and has its name from the mode of constructing
its nest with mud or mortar. Externally this nest has
no regular appearance, but at first sight is taken for a
quantity of dirt adhering to the wall; though the inter¬
nal part be furnished with cells in the same regular
]
M O T
manner with the nests of other insects of the bee kind. Motion:
When this bee leaves its nest, another frequently' y—.
takes possession of it *, in which case a battle never fails
to ensue on the return of the real proprietor. The
dispute is decided in the air ; and each party endea¬
vours to get above the ether, as birds ,of prey are wont
to do in order to give a downward blow. The under¬
most one, to avoid the stroke, instead of flying forward
or laterally, always flies backward. The encounter is
so violent, that when they strike, both parties fall to the
ground.
Veg etable Motion. Though vegetables have not the
power of moving from one place to another like animals,
they are nevertheless capable of moving their different
parts in such a manner as would lead us to suspect that
they are actuated by a sort of instinct. Hence many
have been induced to suppose, that the animal and ve¬
getable kingdoms are in a manner indistinguishable from
one another ; and that the highest degree of vegetable
life can hardly be known from the lowest degree of ani¬
mal life. The essential and insuperable distinction how¬
ever between the twm, is the faculty od sensation, and
loco motion in consequence of it. Were it not, indeed,
for the manifestation of sense by moving from one place
to another, we should not he able to tell whether vege¬
tables were possessed of sensation or not j but whatever
motions they may be possessed of, it is certain that no
-vegetable has the faculty of moving from one place to
another. Some have endeavoured to distinguish the two
kingdoms by the digestion of lood 5 alleging that plants
have no proper organs, such as a stomach, &c. for tak¬
ing in and digesting their aliment. But to this it has
been replied, that the whole body of a vegetable is a
stomach, and absorbs its food at every pore. This,
however,, seems not to be a sufficient answer. All ani¬
mals take in their food at intervals, and there is not a
single instance of one which eats perpetually. The
food is also taken into the body of the animal, and
application of the parts made by means of the internal
organization of the viscus; but in vegetables, their
whole bodies are immersed in their food, and absorb
it by the surface, as animal bodies will sometimes ab¬
sorb liquids when put into them. rIhe roots of a tree
indeed will change their direction when they meet with
a stone, and will turn from barren into fertile ground •,
but this is evidently mere mechanism, without any
proof of will or sensation j for the nourishment of the
root comes not from the stone, but from the earth
around it; and the increase in size is not owing
to anv expansion of the matter which the root already
contains, but to the apposition of new matter j whence
the increase of size must always take place in the di¬
rection from whence the nourishment proceeds. On
this principle also we may explain the reason why the
roots of a tree, after having arrived at the edge of a
ditch, instead of shooting out into the air, will creep
down the one side, along the bottom, and up the
other.
In their other movements the vegetables discover no¬
thing like sensation or design. They will indeed uni¬
formly bend towards light, or towards water; but m
the one case we must attribute the phenomenon to the
action of the elements of light and air upon themj
and in the latter, the property seems to be the same j
with what in other cases we call attraction. Thus, u
a
MOT
t. a root be uncovered, and a wet sponge placed near it
—' in a direction different from that in which the root
was proceeding, it will soon alter its position, and
turn towards the sponge ; and thus we may vary the
direction of the root as often as we please. The ef¬
forts of a plant to turn from darkness or shade into sun¬
shine are very remarkable as in order to accomplish
this, not only the leaves will be inclined, hut even the
stems and branches twisted. When a wot sponge is
held under the leaves of a tree, they bend down in
\ order to touch it. If a vessel of water be put within
six inches of a growing cucumber, in less than 24
hours the latter will alter its direction ; the branches
will bend towards the water, and never alter their
course until they come in contact with it. The most
remarkable instance of this kind of motion, however,
is, that when a pole is brought near a vine, the latter
will turn towards it, and never cease extending its
branches till it lays hold of the support.
The motions of the sensitive plant, and others of
the same kind, have been considered as very wonder¬
ful 5 but it is doubtful if any of them be really more
so than that of the vine just mentioned. None of
these show any kind of propensity to move without an
actual touch. A very slight one, indeed, makes the
sensitive plant contract, and the whole branch, toge¬
ther with the leaves, bend down towards the earth.—
These phenomena are by some ascribed to electricity.
Even the motions of the hedysarum gyrans, which at
first sight seem so much more surprising than those of
the sensitive plant, may, it is supposed, admit of ex¬
planation upon the same principle. The American
plant called dioncea mmcipula, or Vemid's fly-trap, is
another example of very wonderful mechanism in ve¬
getables, though even this does not argue any degree
of sensation in this plant more than in others. The
leaves of the dionsea are jointed, and furnished with
two rows of prickles. A number of small p;lands upon
the surface secrete a sweet juice which entices flies to
come and settle upon it; but the moment these insects
touch the fatal spot, the leaves fold up, and squeeze
them to death between the prickles. The leaves fold
up in the same manner when the plant is touched with
a straw or pin. The droscra rotundifolia and longi-
folia, round and long-leafed sundew, plants of our own
country, not uncommon in boggy ground, possess a si¬
milar structure, and perform similar functions.
The folding up of the leaves of certain plants in the
absence of the sun’s light, called their sleep, affords
another very curious instance of vegetable motion.—
Almost all vegetables, indeed, undergo such a remark¬
able change in the night, that it is difficult to know
exactly how many kinds do really sleep. They fold up
their leaves in many different ways 5 but all agree in
disposing of them in such a manner as to afford the best
protection to the young stems, flower buds or fruit.
I'lie leaves of the tamarind tree contract round the
young fruit in order to protect it from nocturnal cold ;
and those of senna, glycina, and many other papiliona¬
ceous plants, dispose of their leaves in the same man¬
ner. The leaves of the chickweed, asclepias atriplex,
&c. are. disposed in opposite pairs. In the night time
they rise perpendicularly, and join so close at the top
that the flowers are concealed by them. In like man¬
ner do the leaves protect the flowers of the fid a or »1-
[ 463 ]
M O T
thaea theophrasti, Oenothera, solanum, and the Egyp- Motiou.
tian vetch. All these are erected during the night •, but v-""*
those ot the white lupine, in time of sleep, hang down.
The flowers of plants also have motions peculiar to
themselves. Many of them during the night are en¬
closed in their calyxes. Some, particularly those of
the German spurge, geranium striatum, and common
whitlow grass, when asleep, bend towards the earth j
by which means the noxious effects of rain or dew are
prevented. All these motions have been commonly
ascribed to the sun’s rays 5 and Mr Smellie informs us
that in some of the examples above mentioned the ef¬
fects were evidently to be ascribed to heat: but plants
kept in a hot-house, where the temperature of the
day and night are alike, contract their leaves, and sleep
in the same manner as if they were exposed to the open
air ; “ whence it appears (says he), that the sleep of
plants, is owing rather to a peculiar law, than to a
quicker or slower motion of the juices.” He suspects,
therefore, that as the sleep of plants is not owing to
the mere absence of heat, it may be occasioned by the
want of light ; and to ascertain this he proposes an
experiment of throwing upon them a strong artificial
light. “ If notwithstanding this light (says he), the
plants are not roused, but continue to sleep as usual,
then it may be presumed that their organs, like those
of animals, are not only irritable, but require the x-e-
paration of some invigorating influence which they
have lost while awake, by the agitations of the air and
of the sun’s rays, by the act of growing, or by some
other latent cause.” On this, however, we must re¬
mark, that the throwing of artificial light upon plants
cannot be attended with the same consequences as that
of the light of the sun, unless the former were as
strong as the latter, which is impossible; and even
granting that we could procure an artificial light as
strong as that of the sun, a difference might be occa¬
sioned by the different directions of the rays, those of
the sun being very nearly parallel, while the rays of
all artificial light diverge very greatly. If, therefore,
we are to make an experiment of this kind, the fays
should he rendered jm-allel by means of a burning
mirror. Here again we would be involved in a diffi¬
culty ; for the rays of the sun proceed all in one di-
rection , but as of necessity we must employ different
mirrors in our experiment, the light must fall upon the
plant in different directions, so that we could not rea¬
sonably expect the same result as when the plants are
directly exposed to the rays of the sun.
The motion of plants, not being deducible from
sensation, as in animals, must be ascribed to that pro¬
perty called irritability ; and this property is possessed
insensibly by the parts of animals in a greater degree
than even by the most mutable vegetable. The mus¬
cular fibres will contract on the application of any sti¬
mulating substance, even after they are detached from
the body to which they belonged. The heart of a frog
will continue to beat when pricked with a pin for seve¬
ral hours after it is taken out of the body. The heart
of a viper, or of a turtle, beats distinctly from 20 to
30 hours after the death of these animals. When the
intestines of a dog, or any other quadruped, are sud¬
denly cut into different portions, all of them crawl a-
bout like worms, and contract upon tli« slightest touch.
The heart, intestines, and diaphragm, are the most
irritabl©
Motion.
MOT [ 464 ] MOT
irritable parts of animal bodies and to discover whe- the greatest affinity tvith those of nmraals, are the conrse .
ther this quality resides in all plants, experiments should of the sap, the passage of the air rn the trachea, the
he made chiefly on leaves, flowers, buds, and the ten- difl'erent positions winch the flowers of certam plants
der fibres of the roots.
The motions of plants are universally ascribed by
tour author to imtubihty, to which also we have ascribed
them under the article Animal, fhe term, however,
requires an explanation j and to give this in an intelli¬
gible manner requires some attention. The most ob¬
vious comparison is that of an electrified thread } which
on the approach of any unelectrified substance, shows a
variety of motions, equally surprising with those of the
parts of plants or the muscular fibres cut out of the
body. Could we suppose that the electricity of a thread
might be preserved after it was cut oil from the electri¬
fying substance, it would show as much irritability as.
even the muscular fibres, or portions of the intestines ot
animals. We know, from the history of the torpedo,
electrical eel, &c. that there are animals in which the
electric fluid acts in such a manner as to produce a much
more powerful eftect than that of giving motion to the
leaves of plants. The readiness, therefore, with which
this fluid is thrown into agitations when any substance
in which it acts is touched, is without doubt the irrita¬
bility in question 5 but we have from thence no more
reason to ascribe sensation to these irritable bodies, than
to an electrified bottle when it discharges itsell, or
makes a cork ball play round it.
In a paper read before the Academy of Sciences at
Paris, by M. Broussonet, the author inclines to con¬
found irritability and sensibility together. The dif¬
ferent parts of plants (says he) enjoy the faculty of
motion } but the motions of a vegetable are very difie-
rent in their nature from those of an animal: the most
sensible, those that are produced with most rapidity in
plants, are always influenced by some stimulating cause.
Irritability, which is nothing hut sensibility made ma¬
nifest by motion, is a general law to which nature has
subjected all living beings j and it is this that conti¬
nually watches over their preservation. Being more
powerful in animals than in plants, it may be often
confounded in these last with phenomena that depend
on a quite different cause. In the vegetable it is only
the organ which is exposed to the action of the stimu¬
lating power that moves. Irritation in particular pla¬
ces never produces that prompt combination of sensa¬
tions which we observe in animals j in consequence ol
which certain parts are put in motion without being
directly affected, and which otherwise might have been
passive.
The more perfect the organization in the differ¬
ent parts of animals is, the more apparent are the signs
of irritability. The parts that come nearest to those
of vegetables, and in which of consequence the organi¬
zation is most imperfect, are the least irritable. The
game law holds with regard to plants } hut the result
is opposite : the signs of irritability are most sensible in
proportion to the analogy of the parts with those of
animals} and they are imperceptible in those that are
dissimilar. This assertion is proved by what we observe
in the organs destined in vegetables to perpetuate the
species. Those parts alone seem sensible to stimuli;
the hark, leaves, stalks, and roots showing no signs ot
irritability.
“ The motions essentially vital, which have in plants
I
take at certain hours of the day, &c. But if we attend
-to the manner in which all these motions in plants are
performed, we shall find that they present a greater
<numher of modifications than the analogous motions
that take place in animals. The temperature of the
atmosphere, its agitation, light, &c. haNe great influ¬
ence on the motions of plants, by acceleiating 01 re¬
tarding the course of their fluids , and, as they can~
not change their place, these variations produce in
them changes more obvious and more uniloi m than in
animals.”
Our author now proceeds to inform us, that some 01
the motions of plants are occasioned by the rarity of
the juices in plants, and others by their abundance.
Of the former kind are those by which the capsules of
some plants suddenly burst with a spring, and throw
their seeds to some distance. 01 the other kind are
the action of the stamina in the parietai ia, the inflec¬
tion of the peduncles of flowers, and ol the pistilla.
“ Those motions (says he) which are particularly ob¬
served in the organs destined to the reproduction of
the individual, not appearing except in cncumstances
that render them absolutely necessary, seem in some
measure to be the eftect of a particular combination.
they are, however, merely mechanical j for they are
always produced in the same way and in the same cir¬
cumstances. Thus the rose of Jericho, and the dry fruit
of several species of mesembryanthemum, do not open
hut when their vessels are full of water.
“ The sudden disengagement of fluids produces a
kind of motion. To this cause we must attribute a
great number of phenomena observable in the leaves
of several plants, and which do not depend on irrita¬
bility. The small glands in each leaf of the dionaa
are no sooner punctured by an insect, that it instantly
folds up and seizes the animal : the puncture seems to
operate a disengagement of the fluid which kept the
leaf expanded by filling its vessels. This explanation
is the more probable, that in the early state of the
vegetation of this plant, when the small glands are
hardly evolved, and when probably the juices do not
run in sufficient abundance, the leaves are iolded up
exactly as they appear when punctured by an insect at
a more advanced period. Y\e observe a phenomenon
similar to this in both species of the dvosera (sun-dew),
mentioned above. The mechanism here is veiy easily
observable : the leaves are at first lolded up } the juices
are not yet propelled into the fine hairs with which
they are covered ^ hut after they are expanded, the
presence of the fluid is manifest by a drop seen at the
extremity of each hair: it is by absorbing this fluid that
an insect empties the vessels ot the leaf, which then folds
up, and resumes its first state : the promptitude of the
action is proportioned to the number of hairs touched
by the insect. This motion in some degree resembles
that which takes place in the limb of an animal kept
in a state of flexion by a tumor in the joint} when the
matter which obstructed the motion is discharged, the
limb instantly resumes its former position. The phe¬
nomena that depend on the abundance of fluids are
particularly evident in plants which grow in wet soils*,
the drosera and dionaci are of this kind: and it is known
by
MOT
n by the experiments of Mess. Du Fay and Du Hamel,
oiialis sens^ve P^nts are particularly sensible when the
t ' sun obscured by clouds and the air warm and moist.
The influence of external causes sometimes so modifies
the vital motions in plants, that we would be tempted
to ascribe them to volition, like those that depend en*
tirely on that faculty in animals. If we set a pole in
the ground near a twining plant, it always lays hold of
the pole for support, in whatever place we put it. The
same thing occurs in the tendrils of the vine 5 which
always attach themselves to the support presented them,
on whatever side it may be placed, provided they can
reach it: but these motions are entirely vital: the
twining plants and the tendrils direct themselves to
every quarter, and consequently cannot fail of meet-
ing with the bodies within their reach. These mo¬
tions are performed as long as the parts continue to
grow; but when they cease to elongate, if they have
not been able to reach any body on which they can fix,
they bend back upon themselves. This and other ob¬
servations show how far the vital motions in plants may
be modified by external causes, and how essentially
they difler from those that are the effect of volition
in animals.
“ Some plants appear endowed with no sort of mo¬
tion: some have leaves that can move in different di¬
rections: their motions are generally modified by dif¬
ferent causes j but none appear so eminently possessed
of this quality as the hedysarum gyrans of Linnaeus.—
No part of this plant shows any signs of irritability upon
application of stimuli: and the motion of its foliola
ceases when the leafets are agitated by the wind —
When the sun is warm, the little leaves of the hedy¬
sarum are also immoveable; but when the weather is
warm and moist, or when it rains, they move very
freely. This motion seems indispensably necessary to
the plant; for it begins as soon as the first leaves un¬
fold, and continues even during the night; but in
time it grows weaker. In our stoves it is most consi¬
derable during the first year j in the second, it is not
very sensible : in its native place all the leaves have a
motion never observed here. The moving leafets are
most agitated while the plants are in full flower, and
the process of fructification goes on. The oscillatory
motion is so natural to it, that it not only remains for
three or four days in the leafets of a branch that has
been cut oft and put in water, but is even continued
though the branch be exposed to the air. The leaves
seem to perform the office of the heart in vegetables.
When a plant is stripped of its leaves, the progress of
vegetation is arrested 5 and such vegetables resemble
those animals which have a periodical sleep, induced by
a diminution of the action of the heart. Many plants
hardly show any signs of motion; many seem also whol¬
ly cataleptic ; which is rarely if ever found in animals.
Jjuf footstalks of the flowers of dracocephalum, a Vir¬
ginian plant, preserve themselves in whatever position
they are placed.
Muscidar Motion. See Muscle.
MOTIVE, is sometimes applied to that faculty of
the human mind, by which we pursue good and avoid
evil. Thus Hobbes distinguishes the faculties of the
mind into two sorts, the cognitive and motive.
MOTOUALIS, a small nation of Syria, inhabiting
to the east of the country of the Druses, in the valley
Vol. XIV. Part II. t
F 465 ]
MOT
which separates their mountains from those of Damas- M„t .uar
cus ; of which the following account is given by Vol- —\—■
ncy in his Travels, vol. ii.
The characteristic distinction between them and the
other inhabitants of Syria (says our author) is, that
they, like the Persians, are of the sect of Ali, while
all the Turks follow that of Omar or Moaouia. This
distinction, occasioned by the schism which in the
36th year of the Hegira arose among the Arabs, re¬
specting the successors of Mahomet, is the cause of an
irreconcilable hatred between the two parties. The
sectaries of Omar, who consider themselves as the onlj
orthodox, assume the title of Sonnites, which has that
signification, and term their adversaries Shiites, that is
“ sectaries of Ali.” The word Motouali has the same
meaning in the dialect of Syria. The followers of
Ali, dissatisfied with this name, substitute that of Adlia,
which means “ assertors of justice,” literally “ Justi-
ciarians:” a denomination which they have assumed
in consequence of a doctrinal point they advance in
opposition to the Sonnite faith. A small Arabic trea¬
tise, entitled Theological Fragments concerning the
Sects and Religions of the World, has the following
passage :
“ These sectaries who pretend that God acts only
on principles of justice, conformable to human reason,
are called Adlia or Justiciarians. God cannot (say
they) command an impracticable worship, nor ordain
impossible actions, nor enjoin men to perform what is
beyond their ability; but wherever he requires obedi¬
ence, will bestow the power to obey. He removes the
cause of evil, he allows us to reason, and imposes only
what is easy, not what is difficult ; he makes no man
responsible for the actions of another, nor punishes
him for that in which he has no part; he imputes not
as a crime what himself has created in man ; nor does
he require him to avoid what destiny has decreed.—
This would be injustice and tyranny, of which God
is incapable, from the perfection of his being.” To
this doctrine, which diametrically opposes the system
of the Sonnites, the Motoualis add certain ceremonies
which increase their mutual aversion. They curse
Omar and Moaouia as rebels and usurpers ; and cele¬
brate Ali and Hosain as saints and martyrs. They
begin their ablutions at the elbow, instead of the end
of the finger, as is customary with the Turks ; they
think themselves defiled by the touch of strangers; and,
contrary to the general practice of the East, neither eat
nor drink out of a vessel which has been used by a per¬
son not of their sect, nor will they even sit with such at
the same table.
These doctrines and customs, by separating the Mo¬
toualis from their neighbours, have rendered them a
distinct society. It is said they have long existed as
a nation in this country, though their name has never
been mentioned by any European writer before the
18th century ; it is not even to be found in the maps
of D’Anville : La Roque, who left their country not
a hundred years ago, gives them the name of Amc-
diens. Be this as it may, in the later times their wars,
robberies, successes, and various changes of fortune,
have rendered them of consequence in Syria. Till about
the middle of this century, they only possessed Balbec
their capital, and a few places in the valley, and Anti-
Lebanon, which seems to have been their original
3 N country.
Motoualis,
Motto.
MOT [
country. At that period we find them under a like
government with the Drnzes, that is to say, under
' a number of Shaiks, with one principal chief of the
family of Harfoush. After the year 1750 they esta-
blished themselves amoilg the heights oi Bekaa, and
got footing in Lebanon-, where they obtained lands
belonging to the IVtaronites, almost as far as Beshaiiai.
They even incommoded them so much by their ravages,
as to oblige the emir Yousef to attack them with open
force and expel them 5 but on the other side, they
advanced along the river even to the neighbourhood
of Sour (Tyre). In ibis situation, Shaik Daher had
the address, in 1760, to attach them to his party.
The pachas of Saide and Damascus claimed tributes,
which they bad neglected paying, and complained of
several robberies committed on their subjects by the
Motoualis; they were desirous of chastising them *,
but this vengeance was neither certain nor easy.
Daher interposed j and by becoming security lor. the
tribute, and promising to prevent any depredations,
acquired allies who were able, as it is said, to arm
10,000 horsemen, all resolute and formidable troops.
Shortly alter they took possession of Sour, and made
this village their principal sea port. In 1771 t|iey
were of great service to All Bey and Daher against
the Ottomans. But Emir Yousef having in their ab¬
sence armed the Druzes, ravaged their country. He
was besieging the castle of Djezin, when the MotoualT,
returning from Damascus, received intelligence of
this invasion. At the relation of the barbarities com¬
mitted by the Druzes, an advanced corps, of only
<;oo men, were so enraged, that they immediately
rushed forward against the enemy, determined to perish
in taking vengeance. But the surprise and contusion
they occasioned, and the discord which reigned be¬
tween the two factions of Mansour and Aousef, so
much favoured this desperate attack, that the whole
army, consisting of 25,000 men, was completely over¬
thrown. , r ^
In the following year, the affairs of Daher taking
a favourable turn, the zeal of the Motoualis cooled to¬
wards him, and they finally abandoned him in the ca¬
tastrophe in which he lost his life. But they have
suffered for their imprudence under the administration
of the pacha who succeeded him. Since the year
1777, Djezzar, master of Acre and Saide, has inces¬
santly laboured to destroy them. His persecution for¬
ced them in 1784 to a reconciliation with the Druzes,
and to enter into an alliance with the emir Y ousef.
Though reduced to less than 700 armed men, they
did more in that campaign than 15,000 or 20,000
Druzes and IVIaromtes assembled at Dair-el-Kamar.
They alone took the strong fortress of Mar-Djehaa,
and put to the sword 50 or 60 Epirots who defended
it. But the misunderstanding which prevailed among
the chiefs of the Druzes having rendered abortive all
their operations, the pacha has obtained possession of
the whole valley, and the city of Balbec itself. At
this period not moi-e than 500 families of the Motoualis
remained, who took refuge in Anti-Lebanon, and
the Lebanon of the Maronites j and, driven as they
now are from their native soil, it is probable they will
be totally annihilated, and even their very name become
extinct.
MOTTO, in armoury, a short sentence or phrase,
466 ] m o u
carried in a scroll, generally under, but sometimes over
the arms: sometimes alluding to the bearing, some¬
times to the name of the hearer, and sometimes con- ^
taining whatever pleases the fancy of the deviser.
MOVEABLE, in general, denotes any thing ca¬
pable of being moved.
Moveable Feasts, are such as are not always held
on the same day of the year or month j though they be
on the same day of the week. See I easts.
Thus, Easter is a moveable feast, being always held
on the Sunday which falls upon or next after the first
full moon following the 2lst of March.
All the other moveable feasts follow Easter, i. e. they
keep their distance from it j so that they are fixed with
respect thereto.
Such are Septuagesima, Sexagesima, Ash Wednes¬
day, Ascension day, Pentecost, ifrinity Sunday, &c.
which see under their proper articles, Septuagesima,
&c.
Moveable Subject, in Law, any thing that moves
itself, or can be moved *, in contradistinction to immove¬
able or heritable subjects, as lands, bouses, 8tc.
MOVEMENT, Motion, a term frequently used in
the same sense with automaton.
The most usual movements for keeping time are
watches and clocks : the first are such as show the paits
of time, and are portable in the pocket 5 the second,
such as publish it by sounds, and are fixed as furniture.
See Horology. .
Movement, in its popular use umong us, signifies
all the inner works of a watch, clock, or other engine,
which move, and by that motion carry on the design oi
the instrument. # .
The movement of a clock or watch is the inside, or
that part which measures the time, strikes, &c. exclu¬
sive of the frame, case, dial plate, &.c.
The parts common to both of these movements are,
the main-spring, with its appurtenances; lying in the
spring box, and in the middle thereof Japping about
the spring-arbor, to which one end of it is fastened.
A-top of the spring-arbor is the endless screw and its
wheel; but in spring-clocks, this is a ratchet-wheel with
its click, that stops it. That which the main-spring
draws, and round which the chain or string is wrapped,
is called the fusy; this is ordinarily taper ; in large
works, going with weights, it is cylindrical, and called
the barrel. The small teeth at the bottom of the fusy
or barrel, which stop it in winding up, is called the
ratchet-, and that which stops it when wound up, and
is for that end driven up by the spring, the garde-gut.
The wheels are various: the parts of a wheel are, the
hoop or rim, the teeth, the cross and the collet or
piece of brass soldered on the arbor or spindle whereon
the wheel is rivetted. The little wheels playing m the
teeth of the larger are called pttnons ; and their teeth,
which are 4, 5, 6, 8, &c. are called leves; the ends of
the spindle are called pivots, and the guttered wheel,
with iron spikes at bottom, wherein the line of ordi-
navv clocks runs, the pulley. We need not say any
thing of the hand, screws, wedges, stops, 6ic. kee
Wheel, Fusy, &c.
Perpetual Movement. See Perpetual Motion. _
MOUFET, Thomas, a celebrated English pliyai-
cian, was born at London, and practised medicine
with great reputation. Towards the latter end 0 ^ns
Motto
n
Moufet.
M O U [ 46y
Jonfct life he retired to the country, and died about the year
|| 1600. This physician is known by a work which was
begun by Edward Wotton, and printed at London in
1634, folio, with the title of Theat rum Insectoruni. A
translation of it into English was published at London
in 1658 folio. Martin Lister gives a very unfavour¬
able opinion of this book: “ As Moufet (says he)
made use of Wotton, Gesner, &c. an excellent work
might have been expected from him •, and yet his Thea-
trum is full of confusion, and lie has made a very bad
use of the materials with which these authors have fur¬
nished him. He is ignorant of the subject of which he
treats, and his manner of expression is altogether bar¬
barous. Besides this, he is extremely arrogant, to say
no worse ; for though he has copied Aldrovandus in in¬
numerable places, he never once mentions his name.”
But Lay thinks that Lister, by expressing himself in this
manner, has not done justice to Moufet; and he main¬
tains that the latter has rendered an essential service to
the republic of letters.
MOUG-DEN, or Chen-yang ; a city of Chinese
Tartary, and capital of the country of the Mantchews
or Eastern Tartars. These people have been at great
pains to ornament it with several public edifices, and
to provide it with magazines of arms and storehouses.
They consider it as the principal place of their nation ;
and since China has been under their dominion, they
' have established the same tribunals here as at Peking,
excepting that called Lii-pou : these tribunals are com¬
posed of Tartars only ; their determination is final 5
and in all their acts they use the Tartar characters and
language. The city is built on an eminence ; a num¬
ber of rivers add much to the fertility of the surround¬
ing country. It may be considered as a double city,
of which one is enclosed within the other : the interior
contains the emperor’s palace, hotels of the principal
mandarins, sovereign courts, and the different tribu¬
nals ; the exterior is inhabited by the common people,
tradesmen, and all those who by their employments
or professions are not obliged to lodge in the interior.
The latter is almost a league in circumference 5 and the
walls which enclose both are more than tlnfee leagues
round : these walls were entirely rebuilt in 1631, and
repaired several times under the reign of Kang-hi.
MOULD, or Mold, in the mechanic arts, &c. a
cavity artificially cut, with a design to give its form or
impression to some softer matter applied therein. Moulds
are implements of great use in sculpture, foundery, &c.
The workmen employed in melting the mineral or
metallic ore dug out of mines, have their several moulds
to receive the melted metal as it comes out of the fur¬
nace but these are different according to the diversity
of metals and works. In gold mines, they have moulds
for ingots; in silver mines, for bars ; in copper and
lead mines, for pigs or salmons j in tin mines, for pigs
and ingots; and in iron mines, for sows, chimney backs,
anvils, caldrons, pots, and other large utensils and mer¬
chandises of iron 5 which are here cast, as it were, at
first hand.
Moulds of founders of large works, as statues, bells,
guns, and other brazen works, are of wax, supported
within-side by what we call a core, and covered with-
outside with a cape or case. It is in the space which
the wax took up, which is afterwards melted away to
leave it free, that the liquid metal runs, and the work
]
M O U
is formed ; being carried thither through a great nurn- Moulds
ber of little canals, which cover the whole mould. See v—
Foundery.
Moulds of moneyers are frames full of sand, where¬
in the plates of metal are cast that are to serve for the
striking of species of gold and silver. See Coining.
A sort of concave moulds made of clay, having
wdthin them the figures and inscriptions of ancient
Homan coins, are found in many parts of England, and
supposed to have been used for the casting of money.
Mr Baker having been favoured with a sight of some
of these moulds found in Shropshire, bearing the same
types and inscriptions with some of the Roman coins,
gave an account of them to the Royal Society. They
were found in digging of sand, at a place called Ryton
in Shropshire, about a mile from the great Watling-
street road. They are all of the size of the Roman de¬
narius, and of little more than the thickness of our
halfpenny. They are made of a smooth pot or brick
clay, which seems to have been first w'ell cleansed from
dirt and sand, and well beaten or kneaded, to render it
fit for taking a fair impression. There were a great
many of them found together, and there are of them
not unfrequently found in Yorkshire 5 but they do not
seem to have been met with in any other kingdom, ex¬
cept that some have been said to be once found at
Lyons. They have been sometimes found in great
numbers joined together side by side, on one flat piece
ot clay, as if intended for the casting of a great num¬
ber of coins at once j and both these, and all the others
that have been found, seem to have been of fhe empe¬
ror Severus. They are sometimes found impressed on
both sides, and some have the head of Severus on one
side and some well known reverse of his on the other.
They seem plainly to have been intended for the coin¬
age of money, though it is not easy to say in what
manner they can have been employed for that purpose,
especially those which have impressions on both sides, •
unless it may be supposed that they coined two pieces
at the same time by the help of three moulds, of which
this was to be the middle one. If by disposing these
into some sort of iron frame or case, as our letter-
founders do the brass moulds for casting their types, the
melted metal could be easily poured into them, it would
certainly be a very easy method of coining, as such
moulds require little time or expence to make, and
therefore might be supplied with new ones as often as
they happen to break.
These moulds seem to have been burnt or baked
sufficiently to make them hard ; but not so as to ren¬
der them porous like our bricks, whereby they would
have lost their smooth and even surface, which in these
is plainly so close, that whatever metal should be form¬
ed in them would have no appearance like the sand-
holes by winch counterfeit coins and metals are usually
detected.
Moulds of founders of small wrorks are like the
frames of coiners: it is in these frames, which are
likewise filled with sand, that their several works are
fashioned ; into which, when the two frames of which
the mould is composed, are rejoined, the melted brass
Moulds of letter-founders are parly of steel and
partly of wood. The wood, properly speaking, serves
only to cover the real mould which is within, and to
3 N 2 prevent
M O U [ 468 ] M O U
Moulds prevent the woi'kman, who holds it in lus hand, from
 r—1 being incommoded by the heat ot the melted metal.
Only one letter or type can be formed at once in each
mould. See Letter Foundery.
Moulds, in the manufacture of paper, are little
frames composed of several brass or iron wires, fasten¬
ed together by another wire still liner. Each mould is
of the bigness of the sheet of paper to be made, and has
a rim or ledge of wood to which the wires are fastened.
These moulds are more usually called frames or forms.
See Paper-Making.
Moulds, with furnace and crucible makers,are made
of wood, of the same form with the crucibles ; that is,
in form of a truncated cone : they have handles of wood
to hold and turn them with, when being covered with
the earth, the workman has a mind to round or flatten
his vessel.
Moulds for leaden bullets are little iron pincers,
each of whose branches terminates in a hemispherical
concave, which when shut from an entire sphere. In
the lips or sides where the branches meet is a little jet
or hole, through which the melted lead is conveyed.
Laboratory Moulds are made of wood, for filling
and driving all sorts of rockets and cartridges, &c.
Glaziers Moulds. The glaziers have two kinds of
moulds, both serving to cast their lead: in the one they
cast the lead into long rods or canes fit to be drawn
through the vice, and the grooves formed therein ; this
they sometimes call ingot-mould. In the other, they
mould those little pieces of lead a line thick and two
lines broad, fastened to the iron bars. Ihese may he
also cast in the vice.
Goldsmiths Moulds. The goldsmiths use the bones
of the cuttle fish to make moulds for their small works j
which they do by pressing the pattern between two
bones, and leaving a jet or hole to convey the metal
through, after the pattern has been taken out.
Mould, among masons, is a piece of hard wood or
iron hollowed within side, answerable to the contours of
the mouldings or cornices, &c. to be formed. rlhis is
otherw'ise caliber.
Moulds, among plumbers, are the tables on which
they cast sheets of lead. These they sometimes call
simply tables. Besides which they have other real
moulds, wherewith they cast pipes without soldering.
See each described under Plumbery.
Moulds, among the glass grinders, are wooden
frames, whereon they make the tubes wherewith they
fit their perspectives, telescopes, and other optic ma¬
chines. These moulds are cylinders, of a length and
diameter according to the use they are to be applied to,
but always thicker at one end than the other, to facili¬
tate the sliding. The tubes made on these moulds are
of two kinds *, the one simply of pasteboard and paper 5
the other of thin leaves of wood joined to the paste¬
board. To make these tubes to draw out, only the last
or innermost is formed on the mould ; each tube made
. afterwards serving as a mould to that which is to go
over it, but without taking out the mould from the first.
See Grinding.
Moulds used in basket-making are very simple, con¬
sisting ordinarily of a willow or osier turned or bent in¬
to an oval, circle, square, or other figux-e, according to
the baskets, panniers, hampers, and other utensils in¬
tended. On these moulds they make, or more properly
measure all their work •, and accordingly they have Moibh ||i-
them of all siz§s, shapes, &c. II
Mould, in ship-building, a thin flexible piece of, uu^- ^
timber, used by shipwrights as a pattern whereby to
form the different curves of the timbers, and other com¬
passing pieces in a ship’s frame. I here are two sorts
of these, viz. the bend mould and hollow mould 5 the
former of these determines the convexity of the timbers,
and the latter their concavity on the outside, where they
approach the heel, particularly towards the extremities
of the vessel. The figure given to the timbers by this
pattern is called their bevelling.
Moulds, among tallow chandlers, are of two kinds :
the first for the common dipped candles, being the ves¬
sel wherein the melted tallow is disposed, and the wick
dipped. This is of wood, of a triangular form, and
supported on one of its angles : so that it has an open¬
ing of near a foot a-top : the other, used in the fabric
of mould candles, is of brass, pewter, or tin.—Here
each candle has its several mould. See Candle.
Mould, among gold-beaters, a certain number of
leaves of vellum or pieces of gut, cut square of a cer¬
tain size, and laid over one another, between which
they put the leaves of gold and silver which they beat
on the marble with the hammer. See Gold Leaf.
They have four kinds of moulds •, two whereof are of
vellum and two of gut; the smallest of those of vel¬
lum consists of 40 or 50 leaves j the largest contains'
100: for the others, each contains 500 leaves. The
moulds have all their several cases, consisting of two
pieces of parchment, serving to keep the leaves of the
mould in their place, and prevent their being disorder¬
ed in beating.
Mould, in Agriculture, a general name for the soft
earthy substance with which the dry land is generally
covered, and in which all kinds of vegetables take root
and grow. It is far from being an homogeneous sub¬
stance ; being composed of decayed animal and vege¬
table matters, along with calcareous, argillaceous, and
siliceous earths, mixed together in various proportions,
and with the different degrees of moisture, constituting
every variety of Soil.
MOULDINESS, is a white down or lanugo, which
is produced on the surface of animal or vegetable mat¬
ters in a state of putrefaction; and which viewed
through a microscope appears like a kind of meadow',
out of which arise herbs and flowers. See MucoR,
Botany Index.
MOULDING, any thing cast in a mould, or that
seems to have been so, though in reality it were cut
with a chisel or the axe.
Mouldings, in Architecture, projectures beyond the
naked wall, column, wainscot, &c. the assemblage of
which forms corniches, door cases, and other decora¬
tions of Architecture. See that article.
MOULINET is used in Mechanics, to signify a
roller, which being crossed with tw'o levers, is usually
applied to cranes, capstans, and other sorts of engines
of the like nature to draw ropes, heave up stones,
MouliNET is also a kind of turnstile or wooden
cross, which turns horizontally upon a stake fixed in
the ground ; usually placed in passages to keep out
horses, and to oblige passengers to go and come one by
one. These moulinets are often set near the outworks
I
M O U [ 469
ilinet of fortified places at the sides of the barriers, through
| which people pass on foot.
Uain,i MOULINS, a town of France, in the department
'' of AUier, and containing about 13,200 inhabitants in
1800. The houses of the Chartreux, and that of the
Visitation, are magnificent. It has a considerable trade
in cutlery ware, and is seated on the river Allier, in a
pleasant fertile plain, almost in the middle of France,
30 miles south of Nevers, and 55 north of Clermont.
E. Long. 3. 25. N. Lat. 46. 34. ,
MOULTON, North, a town of Devonshire, on the
river Moul.
Moulton, South, on the same stream, 182 miles
from London. This, as rvell as the former, was
anciently royal demesne. It sent members to parlia¬
ment in the reign of Edward I. consists of a mayor, 18
capital burgesses, a recorder, town clerk, and 2 Ser¬
jeants at mace. Its chief manufactures are serges
shalloons, and felts j and a considerable market for
wool.
MOULTING, or Molting, the falling off or
change of hair, feathers, skins, horns, or other parts of
animals, happening in some annually, in others only at
certain stages of life.
The generality of animals moult in the spring. The
moulting of a hawk is called mewing. The moulting
of a deer is the quitting of his horns in February or
March. The moulting of a serpent is the putting oft"
his skin. See Exuviae.
MOUND, a term used for a bank or rampart, or
other fence, particularly that of earth.
Mound, in Heraldry, a ball or globe with a cross
upon it, such as our kings are usually drawn with,
holding it in their left hand, as they do the sceptre in
the right.
MOUNT, an elevation of earth, called also moun¬
tain. See Mountain.
Mount Edgecumbe, a prodigious high peak, at the
entrance of Cook’s strait, in New Zealand, on the west
side. Its height is supposed not to be much inferior to
that of the Peak of Teneriffe.
Mount Sorrel, a town in Leicestershire, so named
from a high mount or solid rock adjoining to the town,
of a dusky red or sorrel-coloured stone, extremely hard.
Of rough stones hewn out of this rock the town is
built. It was noted formerly for its castle, and is seat¬
ed on the river Stour, over which there is a bridge. It
is 20 miles south-east by south of Derby, and 105
north-west by north of London. It contained 1502 in¬
habitants in 1811. W. Long. 1. 9. N. Lat. 52. 45.
Mounts ojPiety, certain funds or establishments in
Italy, where money is lent out on some small security.
There were also mounts of piety in England, raised by
contribution for the benefit of people ruined by the ex¬
tortions of the Jews.
MOUNTAIN {Mans'), a considerable eminence of
land, elevated above the surrounding country : It is
commonly full of inequalities, cavities more or less ex¬
posed, and strata uncovered. For the natural history
of mountains, see Mountain, Geology Index.
] M Q U
Attraction of Mountains. This is a late discovery, Mountain.
and a very considerable confirmation of Sir Isaac New-  v1- *
ton’s theory of universal gravity. According to the
Newtonian system, an attractive power is not only
exerted between those large masses of matter which
constitute the sun and planets, but likewise between
all comparatively smaller bodies, and even between the
smallest particles of which they are composed. A-
greeably to this hypothesis, a heavy body, which ought
to gravitate or tend toward the centre of the earth, in
a direction perpendicular to its surface, supposing the
said surface to be perfectly even and spherical, ought
likewise, though in a less degree, to be attracted and
tend towards a mountain placed on the earth’s sur¬
face ; so that a plumb line, for instance, of a quadrant,
hanging in the neighbourhood of such a mountain,
ought to be drawn from a perpendicular situation, in
consequence of the attractive power of the quantity of
matter of which it is composed acting in a direction dif¬
ferent from that exerted by the whole mass of matter in
the earth, and with a proportionably inferior degree of
force.
Though Sir Isaac Newton had long ago hinted at an
experiment of this kind, and had remarked, that “ a
mountain of an hemispherical figure, three miles high
and six broad, would not, by its attraction, draw the
plumb line two minutes out of the perpendicular (e)
yet no attempt to ascertain this matter by actual expe¬
riment was made till about the year 1738 •, when the
French academicians, particularly Messrs Bouguerand
Condamine, who were sent to Peru to measure a de¬
gree under the equator, attempted to discover the at¬
tractive power of Chimborazo, a mountain in the pro¬
vince of Quito. According to their observations, which
were however made under circumstances by no means
favourable to an accurate solution of so nice and dif¬
ficult a problem,' the mountain Chimborazo exerted an
attraction equal to eight seconds. Though this experi¬
ment was not perhaps sufficient to prove satisfactorily
even the reality of an attraction, much less the precise
quantity of it; yet it does not appear that any steps had
been since taken to repeat it.
Through the munificence of his Britannic majesty,
the Royal Society were enabled to undertake the exe¬
cution of this delicate and important experiment \ the
astronomer royal was chosen to conduct it. After va¬
rious inquiries, the mountain Schehallien, situated near¬
ly in the centre of Scotland, wras pitched upon as the
most proper for the purpose that could be found in this
island. The observations were made by taking the me¬
ridian zenith distances of dift’erent fixed stars, near the
zenith, by means of a zenith sector of ten feet radius 5
first on the south, and afterwards on the north side of
the hill, the greatest length of which extended in an
east and west direction.
It is evident, that if the mass of matter in the hill
exerted any sensible attraction, it would cause the
plumb-line of the sector, through which an observer
viewed a star in the meridian, to deviate from its per¬
pendicular situation, and would attract it contrariwise at
the
(e) By a very easy calculation it is found that such a mountain would attract the plumb line 1' iS'' from the
perpendicular.
M O U t 470 ] M O U
Mountains.tlie two stations, thereby doubling the effect. On the
''••• v"""1 1 south side the plummet would be. drawn to the north¬
ward by the attractive power ot the hill placed to the
northward of it: and on the north side, a contrary and
equal deflection of the plumb line would take place in
consequence of the attraction of the hill, now to tlm
southward of it. rI he apparent zenith distances of
the stars would be affected contrariwise ; those being-
increased at the one station which were diminished at
the other: and the correspondent quantities of the
deflection of the plumb line would give the observer
the sum of the contrary attractions of the hill, acting
on the plummet at the two stations 5 the halt ot which
will of course indicate the attractive power of the hill.
The various operations requisite for this experiment
lasted about four months •, and from them it appears
that the sum of the two contrary attractions of the
mountain Schehallien, in the two temporary observa¬
tions which were successively fixed halfway up the hill
(where the effect of its attraction would be greatest),
was equal to n".6.—From a rough computation,
founded on the known law of gravitation, and on an
assumption that the density of the hill is equal to the
mean density of the earth, it appears that the attraction
of the hill should amount to about the double of this
quantity. From thence it was inferred that the density
of the hill is only about half the mean density of the
earth. It does not appear, however, that the moun¬
tain Schehallien has ever been a volcano, or is hollow*,
as it is extremely solid and dense, and seemingly com¬
posed of an entire rock.
The inferences drawn from these experiments may
be reduced to the following:
“ 1. It appears, that the mountain Schehallien ex¬
erts a sensible attraction *, therefore, from the rules of
philosophizing, we are to conclude, that every moun¬
tain, and indeed every particle of the earth, is endued
with the same property, in proportion to its quantity of
matter.
“ 2. The law of the variation of this force, in the
inverse ratio of the squares of the distances, as laid
down by Sir Isaac Newton, is also confirmed by this
experiment. For if the force of attraction of the hill
had been only to that of the earth, as the matter in the
hill to that of the earth, and had not been greatly in¬
creased by the near approach to its centre, the attrac¬
tion thereof must have been wholly insensible. But
now, by only supposing the mean density of the earth
to be double to that of the hill, which seems very pro¬
bable from other considerations, the attraction of the
hill will be reconciled to the general law of the varia¬
tion of attraction in the inverse duplicate ratio of the
distances, as deduced by Sir Isaac Newton from the
comparison of the motion of the heavenly bodies with
the force of gravity at the surface of the earth j and the
analogy of nature will be preserved.
“ 3. We may now, therefore, be allowed to admit
ibis law, and to acknowledge, that the mean density of
the earth is at least double of that at the surface ;
and consequently that the density of the internal parts
of the earth is much greater than near the surface.
Hence also, the whole quantity of matter in the earth
will be at least as great again, as if it had been all com¬
posed of matter of the same density with that at the
surface } or will be about four or five times as great as
2
if it were all composed of water.—This conclusion, Mr \fe,
Maskelyne adds, is totally contrary to the hypothecs '—
of some naturalists, ‘who suppose the earth to be only
a great hollow shell of matter *, supporting itself from
the property of an arch, with an immense vacuity in the
midst of it.’ But were that the case, the attrac tion of
mountains, and even smaller inequalities in the earth’s
surface would be very great, contrary to experiment,
and w-ould affect the measures of the degrees of the me¬
ridian much more than we find they do} and the vari¬
ation of gravity, in difierent latitudes, in going from
the equator to the poles, as found by pendulums, would
not be near so regular as it has been found by experi¬
ment to be.
“ 4. As mountains are by these experiments found
capable of producing sensible deflections of the plumb
lines of astronomical instruments j it becomes a matter
of great importance, in the mensuration of degrees in
the meridian, either to choose places where the irregu¬
lar attraction of the elevated parts may be small ; or
where, by their situation, they may compensate or coun¬
teract the ellects of each other.” See Mountains, Sup-
PLEMKNT.
For measuring the heights of mountains, see Baro¬
meter.
Burning Mountains. See JEtna, Hecla, ^ tsu-
vius; see also Volcano, Geology Index.
Marble Mountains. Of these there are great num¬
bers in Egypt, from which, though immense quantities
have been carried oft' for the multitude of great works
erected by the ancient Egyptians 5 yet in the opinion
of Mr Bruce, who passed by them in his journey to A-
byssinia, there is still a sufficient supply to build Rome,
Athens, Corinth, Syracuse, Memphis, Alexandria, and
half a dozen more of such cities.
The first mountain of this kind mentioned by Mr
Bruce is one opposite to Terfowey, consisting partly of
green marble, partly of granite, with a red blush upon
a gray ground, and square oblong spots. Here he saw
a monstrous obelisk of marble very nearly square, bro¬
ken at the end, and nearly 30 feet long and 19 feet in
the face. Throughout the plain there were scattered
small pieces of jasper, with green, white, and red spots,
called in Italy diaspro sanguineo ; and all the moun¬
tains upon that side seemed to consist ot the same mate¬
rials. From Mr Bruce’s description of these mountains,
it would appear that they are composed ol serpentine,
and not of calcareous marble.
Written Mountain, Mountain of Inscriptions, ox h-
heLal-Mokatteb, a supposed mountain or chain of moun¬
tains, in the wilderness of Sinai j on which, for a
great extent of space, the marble of which the moun¬
tain consists is inscribed with innumerable characters,
reaching from the ground sometimes to the height ot
12 or 14 feet. These were mentioned by a Greek au¬
thor in the third century, and some of them have been
copied by Fococke and other late travellers ; but, after
all, there is still a very great uncertainty even of the
existence of such mountain or mountains, i he vast
number of these inscriptions, the desert place in which
they are found, and the length of time requisite for ex¬
ecuting the task, have induced a notion by no means
unnatural, that they are the work of the Israelites dur¬
ing their forty years wandering in the wilderness. 0-
thers are of opinion that they contain nothing of any
importance,
M O U [ 47
tains.importance, but consist merely of the names of travel-
' lers and the dates of their journeys.
M. Niebuhr, who visited this country during; his
travels in the east, made every attempt in his power,
though without success, to obtain a sight of this cele¬
brated mountain. On applying to some Greeks at Suez,
they all declared that they knew nothing of the written
mountain : they, however, directed him to an Arabian
sheik, who had passed all his lifetime in travelling be¬
tween Suez and Mount Sinai 5 but he knew no more
of it than the former. Understanding, however, that
a considerable reward would be given to any person
who would conduct them thither, this Arab directed
them to another 5 who pretended not only to know
that mountain, hut all others upon which there were
any inscriptipns throughout the desert. On inquiring
particularly, however, our travellers found that lie was
not to be depended upon 5 so that they were obliged to
have recourse to a fourth sheik, who by his conversa¬
tion convinced them that he had seen mountains with
inscriptions in unknown characters upon them. It does
not appear, however, that this person was very capable,
more than the rest, of leading them to the place they
so much wished tor j though he conducted them to
some rocks upon which there were inscriptions in un¬
known characters. They are most numerous in a nar¬
row pass between two mountains named Om-cr-ridstein;
and, says M. Niebuhr, “ the pretended Jibel-el-Mo-
katteb may possibly he in its neighbourhood,” Some
of these inscriptions were copied by our author; hut he
does not look upon them to he of any consequence.
” They seem (says he) to have been executed at idle
hours by travellers, who were satisfied with cutting the
unpolished rock with any pointed instrument, adding to
their names and the date of their journeys some rude
figures, which bespeak the hand of a people but little
skilled in the arts. When such inscriptions are execu¬
ted with the design of transmitting to posterity the me¬
mory of such events as might aftord instructive lessons,
greater care is generally taken in the preparation of the
stones, and the inscriptions are engraven with more re¬
gularity.”
W hen M. Niebuhr arrived at last at the mountain
to which the sheik had promised to conduct him, he
did not find any inscriptions; hut on climbing up to
the top, he found out an Egyptian cemetery, the stones
of which were covered with hieroglyphics. The tomb
stones are from five to seven feet in length, some stand¬
ing on end and others lying flat ; and “ the more care¬
fully they are examined (says he), the more certainly
do they appear to be sepulchral stones, having epitaphs
inscribed on tlmm. In the middle of the stones is a
building, of which only the walls now remain j and
within it are likewise a great many of the sepulchral
stones. At one end of the building seems to have been
a small chamber, of which the roof still remains. It
is supported upon square pillars j and these, as well as
the walls of the chamber, are covered with hierogly¬
phic inscriptions. Through the whole building are va¬
rious busts executed in the manner of the ancient E-
gyptians. The sepulchral stones and the busts are of
hard and fine grained sand stone.” M. Niebuhr is of
opinion that this cemetery was not the work of the E-
gyptians themselves, hut of some colony which came
from Egypt, and had adopted the manners and customs
i j MO U
of the people. He supposes that it might have been Mountains.
built by the Arabs, who had conquered Egypt under
the shepherd kings, and adopted the Egyptian manners
during their residence there. As it must have belong¬
ed to an opulent city, however, he owns that there is a
great difficulty in accounting for the existence of such
a city in the midst of a desert.
The translator of Volney’s travels ascribes these in¬
scriptions to the pilgrims who visit Mount Sinai. But
to this, as well as to every other conjecture, there is
this objection, that whether the inscriptions be well
executed or not, whether they contain matters of im¬
portance or not, they ought to have been written in a
language which somebody could understand ; but from
the copies that have been taken of them by Dr Po~
cocke and others, it does not appear that they could he
explained either by him or any other person.
When Dr Clayton, bishop of Clogher, visited this
pare of the world about the year 1723, he expressed
the greatest desire to have the matter concerning this
written mountain or mountains ascertained, and even
made an offer of sterling to any literary person
who would undertake the journey and endeavour to de¬
cypher the inscriptions 5 but no such person has appear¬
ed, and the existence of the mountains is testified only
by the superior of a convent at Cairo, who gave that
mentioned in the beginning of this article. Until that
part of the world, therefore, become more accessible to
travellers, there is but little hope that we can come to
any certainty in the matter. M. Niebuhr plainly,
from his own accounts, had not influence enough
with the Arabs to show him almost any thing, as they
refused to conduct him even to the summit of Mount
Sinai.
White Mountains'. See New Hampshire.
Mountains oj the Moon, a chain of mountains in
Africa, extending between Abyssinia and Monomota-
pa, and so called from their great height.
Mountains of the Lions, also in Africa, divide Ni-
gritia from Guinea, and extend as far as Ethiopia.
They were styled by the ancients the mountains of God,
on account of their being greatly subject to thunder and
lightning.
Mountain of Forty Days; a mountain of Judea, si¬
tuated in the plain of Jericho, to the north of that city.
According to the abbe Mariti’s description, the summit
of it is covered neither with shrubs, turf, nor earth ; it
consists of a solid mass of white marble, the surface of
which is become yellow by the injuries of the air.
“ The path by which you ascend to it (says our author)
fills one with terror, as it rises with a winding course
between two abysses, which the eye dares scarcely be¬
hold. This path is at first pretty broad, but it at
length becomes so confined, that one can with difficulty
place both feet upon it at the same time. When we
had ascended a little higher, we found an Arab stretch¬
ed out on the path, who made us pay a certain toll for
our passage. Here the traveller requires courage. One
of the parapets of the path being broke, we clung to
the part which remained until we had reached a small
grotto, situated very commodiously, as it gave us an op¬
portunity of recovering our breath. When we had
rested ourselves a little, we pursued our course, which
became still more dangerous. Suspended almost from
the reck, and having before our eyes all the horror of
UiQ
M O U
[ 4/2 ]
M O U
Mountain, the precipice, we could advance only by dragging one
Mourning, foot after the other j so that had the smallest fragments
*' ' v~' given way under us, we should have been hurried to
the bottom of this frightful abyss.
“ This mountain is one of the highest in the province,
and one of its most sacred places. It takes its name
from the rigorous fast which Christ observed here after
having triumphed over the vanities of the world and
the power of hell. In remembrance of this miracle, a
chapel was formerly constructed on the summit of the
mountain. It may be seen from the plain, but we
could not approach it, as the path was almost entirely
destroyed. It, however, may be accessible on the other
side of the mountain, which we did not visit. A
great many scattered grottos are seen here ; in one of
which, according to Quaresmius, were deposited the
bodies of several anchorets, which are still entire. I
have heard the same thing asserted in the country, but
I could never meet with any person who had seen them.
Here we enjoyed the most beautiful prospect imagina¬
ble. This part of the mountain of Forty Days over¬
looks the mountains of Arabia, the country of Gilead,
the country of the Ammonites, the plains of Moab, the
plain of Jericho, the river Jordan, and the whole extent
of the Dead sea. It was here that the devil said to
the Son of God, ‘ All these kingdoms will I give thee,
if thou wilt fall down and worship me.”
MOURNING, a particular dress or habit worn to
signify grief on some melancholy occasion, particulaidy
the death of friends or of great public characters.—
The modes of mourning are various in various coun¬
tries ; as also are the colours that obtain for that end.
In Europe, the ordinary colour for mourning is black j
in China, it is white } 'in Turkey, blue or violet ; in
Egypt, yellow j in Ethiopia, brown. White obtained
formerly in Castile on the death of their princes. Her¬
rera observes, that the last time it was used was in 1498,
at the death of Prince John. Each people pretend to
have their reasons for the particular colour of their
mourning 5 white is supposed to denote purity ; yellorv,
that death is the end of human hopes, in regard that
leaves when they fall, and flowers when they fade, be¬
come yellow : brown denotes the earth, whither the
dead return ; black, the privation of life, as being the
privation of light : blue expresses the happiness which
it is hoped the deceased does enjoy ; and purple or vio¬
lent, sorrow on the one side, and hope on the other, as
being a mixture of black and blue.
Mourning, among the ancients, was expressed va¬
rious ways.
Amongst the Jew’s, on the death of their relations
*or intimate friends, grief or mourning was signified
by weeping, tearing their clothes, smiting their breasts,
or tearing them with their nails, pulling or cutting off
their hair and beards, walking softly, i. e. bareloot,
lying upon the ground, fasting, or eating upon the
ground. They kept themselves close shut up in their
houses, covered their faces, and abstained from all
work, even reading the law, and saying their usual
prayers. They neither dressed themselves, nor made
the beds, nor shaved themselves, nor cut their nails,
nor went into the bath, nor saluted any body : so that
sulkiness seems to have been an indication of sorrow,
and dirtiness of distress. The time of mourning a-
jmong the Jews was generally seven days : though this
I
was lengthened or shortened according to eifeumstan- Moarninp
ces; but 30 days were thought sufficient upon the se- '"“T"
vercst occasions. The different periods of the time of
mourning required different degrees of grief, and difler-
ent tokens of it.
The Greeks, on the death of friends, showed their
sorrow by secluding themselves from all gaiety, en¬
tertainments, games, public solemnities, the enjoyment v
of wine, and the delights of music. They sat in gloomy
and solitary places, stripped themselves of all exter¬
nal ornaments, put on a coarse black stufl by way of
mourning, tore their hair, shaved their heads, rolled
themselves in the dust and mire, sprinkled ashes on their
heads, smote their breasts with their palms, tore their
faces, and frequently cried out with a lamentable voice
and drawling tone, reiterating the interjection e, e, e, e •,
hence funeral lamentations were called EAsyeo If they
appeared in public during the time of mourning, they
had a veil thrown over their faces and heads. During
the funeral procession, certain persons called &!«££«{
fyvwv, marched before, and sung melancholy strains
called tyotyv^/uoi IxMf&oi, Aiva, and Aitevoi. rI hese vocal
mourners sung thrice during the procession round the
pile and round the grave. Flutes were also used to
heighten the solemnity. At the funerals of soldiers,
their fellow soldiers w ho attended, as a testimony of
their affliction, held their shields, their spears, and the
rest of their armour, inverted.
The tokens of private grief among the Romans w’ere
the same as those already observed as customary among
the Greeks. Black or dark brown were the colours of
the mourning habits worn by the men; they were also
common to the women. The mourning of the emperors
at first was black. In the time of Augustus, the women
wore white veils, and the rest of their dress black. 1 rom
the time of Domitian they wore nothing but white ha¬
bits, without any ornaments of gold, jewels, or pearls.
The men let their hair and beards grow’, and wore no
wreaths of llow’ers on their heads while the days of
mourning continued. The longest time of mourning
was ten months: this was Numa’s establishment, and
took in his whole year, hor a widow to marry during
this time was infamous. Mourning was not used for
children who died under three years of age. From this
age to ten they mourned as many months as the child
was years old. A remarkable victory, or other happy
event, occasioned the shortening of the time of mourn¬
ing: The birth of a child, or the attainment of any
remarkable honour in the family, certain feasts in ho¬
nour of the gods, or the consecration of a temple, had
the same effect. After the battle of Cannae, the com¬
monwealth decreed that mourning should not be W’orn
for more than 30 days, that the loss might be forgotten
as soon as possible. \Vhen public magistrates died, or
persons of great note, also when any remarkable cala¬
mity happened, all public meetings were intermitted,
the schools of exercise, baths, shops, temples, and all
places of concourse were shut up, and the whole city put
on a face of sorrow’ j the senators laid aside the /ati-
clave, and the consuls sat in a low’er seat than ordinary.
This was the custom of Athens also, and was observed
upon the death of Socrates not long after he had been
sentenced to death by their judges.
Pra ficce, or mourning women, (by the Greeks called
went about the streets : this was custo¬
mary
M O U
mary among the Jews as well as thfc Greeks and Romans,
(Jerem. ix. 1J.)
MOUSE. See Mus, Mammalia Index.
MousE-Ear. See Hieracium, J t> r 7
Mouss-Tail. See Myosurus, j^'ANY Index.
Dor-MousE. See M yoxus, 7 at
Shrew-Mouse. See Sorex, J 1 a A! malt a Imhx.
MOUSELLE, the name ol' an East Indian tree,
Ivith white tubular flowers, which fall off every day in
great plenty. They are of a sweet agreeable smell,
and the Gentoos are very fond of wearing them,
stringing and hanging them about their necks and
arms. The fruit is a pale red cherry, of the shape and
size of our white heart cherry, but the footstalk is not
quite so long, llus fruit has a stone in it, containing
a bitter oily kernel. The Indians rub with this oil
any part stung by a scorpion or bitten by a centipede,
which it soon cures. The crows are very fond of the
fruit.
MOUSUL, or Mosul, a large city of Turkey in
Asia, and capital of a beglerbegate, stands on the west
bank of the J igris, in the latitude, according to Air
Ives’s observation, of 36° 30' north. It is surrounded
with stone walls, but has many of its streets lying waste.
Tavernier speaks of it as a ruined place, with only
two blind markets and a sorry castle 5 yet, he says,
that it is much frequented by merchants, and that its
basha commands 3000 men. There is a bridge of boats
over the 1 igris 5 and the city is a thoroughfare from
Persia to Syria, which makes it a place of trade, and
which is more augmented by a constant traffic from
this place to Bagdad. The country on this side the
river is sandy and barren; but on the opposite side
it is exceedingly fruitful, yielding good crops of corn
and fruit in abundance. Mr Ives says it was the best
built city he. had seen in Turkey ; but had nothing in
it to attract the notice of an European. It was be¬
sieged for near six months by Nadir Shah without suc¬
cess. Breaches were frequently made in the walls,
and assaults continued for three days successively j but
the assailants-were constantly repulsed, and the breaches
made in the day time repaired during the night. The
besieged had unanimously resolved to die rather than
to submit. The Turks declared, that should the place
be forced to surrender, they were determined to put
to death all their wives and daughters first, that they
might not fall into the vile hands of the abhorred Per¬
sians. The place wras therefore defended with uncom¬
mon bravery ; even the women and children exerted
themselves with the greatest alacrity. The Christians
behaved in such a manner as to gain the esteem and ad¬
miration of the other inhabitants ; and some of their
churches being demolished, they were afterwards repair¬
ed at the expence of government.
In this city there are a great many mosques, the
largest and most stately of which is ornamented on the
top with green tiles. At the doors of these houses
therfe are usually inscriptions in gilt letters, declaring
the awfulness of the building, as being the house of
God. One of them has a minaret which bends like
those of Bagdad. Some of the most bigotted Turks
say, that Mahomet saluted this minaret as he passed \
on which it bent its head in reverence to the prophet,
imd ever alter continued in that situation. The ma-
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
r 473 l
M O U
nufacturc of this city is mussolen (muslin), which is made
very strong and pretty fine. In the year 1757, this
city and the country adjacent were visited by a dread¬
ful famine, owing to the preceding hard winter, and
innumerable multitudes of locusts, by which the fruits
of the earth were destroyed. When Air Ives was
there in 1758, the country was comparatively depopu¬
lated. Almost all the brute creation had been de¬
stroyed tor the subsistence of man. During the famine,
the people bad eaten dogs, and every kind of animal
Much is held in abhorrence at any other time, not
sparing even their own children 5 and the dead bodies
lay in the streets for want of people to bury them-.
Their fruit trees were also destroyed by the frost; so
that when our author was there scarcely anv fruit could
be had. The neighbouring mountains afford silver
mines ; and they would yield much quicksilver if tha
Turks bad either the skill or inclination to work them
to advantage. Lanza says, that some time ago an
Englishman who travelled through this country got
two or three bottles of it, which lie presented to the
basha as a specimen of what might lie done in that
way : but no farther attempt was made. Here also
are some lead mines, which supply as much of that
metal as furnishes them with bullets and some necessary
utensils.
MOU-TAN or Peony Shrub of China : also call¬
ed hoa-ou:iJig, or “ the king of flowers,” and pclcang-
ki/t, “ an hundred ounces of gold,” in allusion to the
excessive price given formerly by some of the virtuosi
for certain species of this plant. The mon-tan seems
to claim pre-eminence, not only on account of the
splendour and number of its flowers, and of the sweet
odour which they difhise around, but also on account
of the multitude of leaves which compose them, and
of the beautiful golden spots with which they are in¬
terspersed. This plant, which is of a shrubby nature,
shoots forth a number of branches, which form a top
almost as large as those of the finest orange trees.
MOUTH, in Anatomy, a part of the face, consist¬
ing of the lips, the gums, the insides of the cheeks,
the palate, the salival glands, the os hyoides, the uvula,
and the tonsils ; which see under the article Ana¬
tomy.
Mr Derham observes, that the mouth in the several
species of animals is nicely adapted to the uses of such
a part, and well sized and shaped for the formation of
speech, the gathering and receiving of food, the catch¬
ing of prey, &c. In some creatures it is wide and
large, in others little and narrow : in some it is formed
with a deep incisure into the head, for the better catch¬
ing and holding of prey, and more easy comminution of
hard, large, and troublesome food ; and in others with
a shorter incisure, for the gathering and holding of her¬
baceous food. In birds it is neatly shaped for piercing
the air : hard and horny, to supply the want of teetii 9
hooked, in the rapacious kind, to catch and hold their
prey ; long and slender in those that have their food to
grope for in moorish places 5 and broad and long in those
that search for it in the mud. Nor is the mouth less
remarkable in insects 9 in some it is forcipated, to catch,
hold, and tear the prey 9 in others aculeated, to pierce
and wound animals, and suck their blood ; in others,
strongly rigid, with jaws and teeth, to gnaw and scrape
3 & out
R* dll? at
II
M U F [ 474 3 . M
out tlieir fooa, carry burdens, perforate the earth, nay which is a rectangular plane.
tlie hardest wood, and even stones themselves, for houses
and nests for their young.
MOWEE, one of the Sandwich islands, discovered
by Captain Cook, is 162 miles in circumference. A
low Isthmus divides it into two circular peninsulas,
of which the eastern is double the size of the western.
The mountains in both rise to a great height, and niay
be seen at the distance of more than 30 leagues. Ihe
northern shores, like those of Owhyhee, afford nosound-
ino-s, and the country presents the same appearance of
verdure and fertility. The number of inhabitants is
com puted at about 65,000. TV. Long. 175. 56. N. Lat.
2°MOXA, or Mugwort of China, is a soft lanngi-
nous substance, prepared in Japan from the young leaves
of a species of artemisia, by beating them together
when thoroughly dried, and rubbing them betwixt the
hands till only the fine fibres are left. The down on
the leaves of mullein, cotton, hemp, &c. answers the
Same purpose. _ . .
In the Eastern countries it is used by burning it on
the skin : a little cone of the moxa is laid upon the
part, previously moistened, and set on fire at the top 5
It burns down with a temperate glowing heat, and pro¬
duces a dark coloured spot, the exulceradon ot which
is promoted by applying a little garlic j the ulcer is left
U L
      it is a little oven that is
placed horizontally in assay and enamelling furnaces,
. » . • *1   A f K ! K r» /Irvrvr* tllf* T*P-
to discharge, or is soon healed, according to the inten¬
tion in using the moxa.
MOYRA. See Moira. . .
MUCILAGE, in Pharmacy, is in general any viscid
yr glutinous liquor. ...
Mucilage also imports the liquor which pnnci
so that its open side corresponds with the door ol the fire
place of the furnace. Under this arched oven smail
cupels or crucibles are placed 5 and the substances con¬
tained are thus exposed to intense heat without contact
of fuel, smoke, or ashes.
MUFTI, the chief of the ecclesiastical order, or
primate of the Mussulman religion. The authority of
the mufti is very great in the Ottoman empire ; for
even the sultan himself, if he would preserve any ap¬
pearance of religion, cannot, without hearing his opi¬
nion, put any person to death, or so much as inflict
any corporal punishment. In all actions, especially
criminal ones, his opinion is required, by giving him
a writing in which the case is stated under feigned
names 5 which he subscribes with the words, He shall,
or shall not, he punished. Such outward honour is paid
to the mufti, that the grand signior himself rises up to
him, and advances seven steps to meet him when he
comes into his presence. He alone has the honour of
kissing the sultan’s left shoulder, whilst the prime vizier
kisses only the hem of his garment. M hen the grand
signior addresses any writing to the mufti, he gives him
the following titles : To the Esad, the wisest oj the wise,
instructed in all knowledge, the most excellent of excel-
lents, abstaining from things unlawful, the spring oj vir¬
tue and of true 'science, heir of the prophetic doctrines,
resolver of the problems of faith, revealer oj the ortho¬
dox articles, key of the treasures of truth, the light to
the doubtful allegories, strengthened with the grace of
the supreme Legislator of mankind, may the Most Htg/i
God perpetuate thy virtues L The election of the multi
the articulations, and is supplied by the mucilaginous
glands.
MUCQR, in Botany, a genus of the order of fungi,
belonging to the cryptogamia class of plants. See Lo-
tany Index. /
MUCUS, a mucilaginous liquor secreted by certain
glands, and serving to lubricate many ot the internal
cavities of the body. In its natural state it is generally
limpid and colourless } but, from certain causes, assumes
iv thick consistence and a whitish colour like pus. For
tiie distinguishing characters between pus and mucus,
see Chemistry, N° 2769.
MUCK, or Running a Muck, is a practice that
has prevailed time immemorial in Batavia. lo run
a muck, in the original sense of the word, is to get
intoxicated with opium, and then rush into the street
with a drawn weapon, and kill any one that comes in
the way, till the party is himself either killed or taken
prisoner. If the officer take one of these amocks or
mohawks (as they have been called by an easy corrup-
fipn) alive, he has a considerable reward 5 and the un¬
happy wretch is always broken alive on the wheel :
but such is the fury of their desperation, that three
out of four are necessarily destroyed in attempting to
secure them.
MUD-iguana. See Murtena, Ichthyology
Index.
MUFFLE, in Chemistry, a vessel employed in some
metallurgic operations. In figure it represents an ob¬
long arch or vault, the hinder part of which is closed
by a semicircular plane, and the lower part or floor of
4
vest of rich sables, &c. If he is convicted of treason
or any great crime, he is put into a mortar kept for
that purpose in the Seven Towers at Constantinople, ant.
pounded to death.
MUGGLETONIANS, a religious sect which arose
in England about the year 1657 j so denominated from
their leader Lodowick Muggleton, a journeyman tay-
lot, who, with his associate Reeves, set up for great
prophets, pretending, as it is said, to have an absolute
power of saving and damning whom they pleased j and
giving out that they were the two last witnesses ot God
that should appear before the end of the world.
MUGIL, the Mullet, a genus of fishes belonging
to the order of abdominales. See Ichthyology Index.
MUGWORT, a species of Artemisia ; which see,
Botany Index.
MUID, a large measure in use among the French,
for things dry. The muid is no real vessel used as a
measure, but an estimation of several other measures;
as the septier, mine, minot, bushel, &c.
Muid, is also one of the nine casks, or regular ves
sels used in France, to put wine and other liquors m.
The muid of wine is divided into two demi-muuls, tour
quarter-muids, and eight half-quarter muids, containing
36]V1UIjATTO, a name given in the Indies to those who
are begotten by a negro man on an Indian or white wo¬
man, or by an Indian or white man on a negro woman.
MULBERRY. See Morus, Botany Index.
MuLBEimY-Cydcr, a name given by the peop c 0
Devonshire, and some other parts of England, to^
wherry
Til
! i lier.
M U L C 475
sort of cyder rentlerefl very palatable by an admixture heir
]
M U L-
of mulberry juice in the making 5 they choose for this
purpose the ripest and blackest mulberries, and pres¬
sing out their juice, and mixing it with a full bodied
cyder at the time of the grinding and pressing, give just
so much of it as adds a perceptible flavour. It is
very worthy the attention of people who live in other
countries, where strong and good cyder is made, that
this renders it a sort of wine much more agreeable than
any other English liquor, and might be"brought into
general use, to the great advantage of the dealer. The
colour of this liquor resembles that of the brightest red
wine, and the flavour of the mulberry never roes off.
Phil. Trans. N° 133.
MULCT, a fine of money laid upon a man who has
committed some fault or misdemeanour.
MULE, a mongrel kind of quadruped, usually ge¬
nerated between an ass and a mare, and sometimes
between a horse and a she ass ; but the signification of
the word is commonly extended to every kind of ani¬
mal produced by a mixture of two different species.
See Mammalia Index.
Mules, among gardeners, denote a sort of vege¬
table monsters produced by putting the farina fipecun-
dans of one species of plant into the pistil or utricle of
another.
Ihe carnation and sweet-william being somewhat
alike in their parts, particularly their flowers, the farina
of the one will impregnate the other, and the seed so
enlivened will produce a plant differing from either.
An instance of this we first had in Mr Fairchild’s gar¬
den at Hoxton ; where a plant is seen neither sweet-
william nor carnation, but resembling both equally :
this was raised from the seed of a carnation that had
been impregnated by the farina of the sweet-william.
These couplings being not unlike those of the mare
wuth the ass, which produce the mule, the same name is
given them ; and they are, like the others, incapable of
multiplying their species.
This furnishes a hint for altering the property and
taste of any fruit, by impregnating one tree with the
iarina of another of the same class 5 e. gr. a codlin with
a pear-main, which will occasion the codlin so impreg¬
nated to last a longer time than usual, and to be of a
sharper taste.
MULHAUSEN, an imperial and Hanseatic town
of Germany, in Upper Saxony, and in Thuringia, un¬
der the protection of the elector of Saxony ; seated in
a fertile country, on the river Unstrutht, 15 miles north¬
east of Eisenach, and 45 east by south of Cassel. E.
Long. 10. 49. N. Lat. 51. 13.
Mulhausen, a considerable town in Alsace, former¬
ly capital of a republic in alliance with the Swiss. It
is populous, and well built, seated in a pleasant fertile
country, on an island formed by the river 111, 1 5 miles
north-west of Basle. It was united to France in 1798,
and belongs to the department of the Upper Rhine.
E. Long. 7. 24. N. Lat. 47. 48.
MULIER, in Law, signifies the lawfful issue born
in wedlock, though begotten before. The mulier is
preferred to an older brother born out of matrimony;
as for instance, if a man has a son by a woman before
marriage, which issue is a bastard, and afterwards mar-
iies the mother of the bastard, and they have another
son, this second son is mulier and lawful, and shall be
of the father } but the other can be heir to no Mulier
person *. By the civil law, where a man has issue by [j
a woman, if after that he marries her, the issue is Mulling-ar.
mulier. 1 
MULL, one of the Western islands of Scotland, about ^tide^
25 miles long, and as much in breadth. It is in ge- Bastard.
neral. rocky and barren, not producing a sufficient
quantity of corn for the inhabitants j but a great num¬
ber of cattle are annually exported, which with the fish¬
ings and a considerable quantity of kelp are the only
articles of commerce. It is deeply indented with bays
and creeks, forming in several parts good natural har¬
bours. 1 here are no villages except Tobermorey, near
the northern point of the island, where a fishing station
has been fixed. Lhe island was originally part of (lie
dominions of the Lords of the Isles ^ but in after times
it became a part, of the possessions of the ancient family
of Macleans, who still retain a considerable part. The
duke of Argyll is also a considerable proprietor. The
ruins of several ancient castles are seen on this island.
The population of Mull, in 1795, amounted to about
8000 persons.
Mull of Cantyre. See Cantyre.
Mull of Galloway. See Galloway.
MULLEIN. See Verbascum, Botany Index.
MULLER, or Regiomontanus, John, a cele¬
brated astronomer of the 15th century, was born at
Koningshoven in Franconia in 1436, and acquired
great deputation by publishing an abridgement of Pto¬
lemy’s Almagest, which had been begun by Purback.
He went to Rome to perfect himself in the Greek
tongue, and to see the Cardinal Bassarion 5 but finding
some faults in the Latin translation of George de Tre-
bizond, that translator’s son assassinated him in a second
journey he made to Rome in 1476, where Pope Sixtus
H . had provided for him the archbishopric of Ratisbon,
and had sent for him to reform the calendar. Others
say that he died of the plague.
Muller, or Mu liar, denotes a stone flat and even at
bottom, but round a-top ; used for grinding of matters
on a marble.— J he apothecaries Use mullers to prepare
many of their testaceous powders 5 and painters for their
colours, either dry or in oil.
Muller is an instrument used by the glass-grinders 5
being a piece of wood, to one end whereof is cement¬
ed the glass to be ground, whether convex in a ba¬
son, or concave in a sphere or bowl.—The muller is
ordinarily about six inches long, turned round : the
cement used is composed of ashes and pitch. See
Grinding.
MULLERAS, a town of Germany, in the circle
of Upper Saxony, and marquisate of Brandenburg,
seated 38 miles south of Berlin, upon a canal which
joins the Oder and the Spree. This canal is 15 miles
in length, 10 yards in breadth, and seven feet in depth.
It was eight years in making; and since that time
the cities of Hamburg and Breslaw have carried on
great trade by water. E. Long. 14. 50. N. Lat. C2.
MULLET. See Mugil, Ichthyology Index.
Mullet, or Mollet, in Heraldry, a bearing in form
of the rowel of a spur, which it originally repre¬
sented.
MULLINGAR, the county town of Westmeath,
and province of Leinster, in'Ireland, 38 miles from
3 Q 2 Dublin.
M U M
[ 476 ]
MUM
■VvuiliBgsu'
Mum-
Dublin. N. Lat. 53. 30. W. Long. 7. 50. Within a
few miles of it are the ruins ot the church, and also those
of a castle. It is situated on the river leyle. It holds
a great wool fair, and is a place of good trade. In
1227, the priory of St Mary, formerly known by the
name of The House of God of Mullingar, was founded
here by Ralph de Pctjt bishop of Meath, for regular
canons of the order of St Augustin. A Dominican
friary was also founded here in 1237 by the family of
Nugent j some ruins of which still remain. In 1622,
the friars of Multifarnham began to erect a house there
for friars of the order of St Francis, but it was never
completed.
MULLUS, the Surmullet, a genus of fishes be¬
longing to the order of thoracici. See Ichthyology
Jjidex.
MULTIPLE, in Arithmetic, a number which com¬
prehends some other several times 5 thus 6 is a multiple
of 2, and 12 is a multiple of 6, 4, and 3 comprehend¬
ing the first twice, the second thrice, &c.
Action of MULTIPLEPOINDING, in Scots
Laic. See Law, N® clxxxiii. 24.
MULTIPLICAND, in Arithmetic, the number to
be multiplied by another. See Arithmetic.
MULTIPLICATION, in general, the act of in¬
creasing the number of any thing.
Multiplication, in Arithmetic, is a rule by which
any given number may be speedily increased, accord¬
ing to any proposed number of tim^s. See Arith¬
metic.
Multiplication, in Algebra. See Algebra.
MULTIPLICATOR, or Multiplier, in Arith¬
metic, the number by which any other is multiplied, or
the number of times it is supposed to be taken.
MULTIPLICATUS FLOS, a luxuriant flower,
whose petals are multiplied so as to exclude a part or
the whole of the stamina.
MULTIPLYING GLASS, in Optics, a glass where¬
with objects appear increased in number. See Optics.
MULTURE in Scots Late, a certain stipulated
quantity of meal given as payment to the proprietor
or tacksman of a mill for grinding the corn : and all
Corn ground on farms thirled to the mill is obliged to
pay multure whether the corn be ground at that mill or
elsewhere.
MULVIA, a river of Barbary in Africa, which
rises in the mountains of Atlas, and divides the em¬
pire of Morocco from that of Algiers, and then falls
into the Mediterranean, to the westward of Marsal-
qulver.
MUM, a kind of malt liquor much drunk in Ger¬
many, and chiefly brought from Brunswick, which is
the place of most note for making it. The process of
brewing mum, as recorded in the townhouse ol that
city, is as follows : Take 63 gallons of water that has
been boiled till one third part is consumed, and brew
it with seven bushels of wheaten malt, one bushel of
oat meal, and one bushel of ground beans. When it
is tunned, the hogshead must not be filled too full at
first: as soon as it begins to work, put into it three
pounds of the inner rind of fir, one pound of the tops
of fir and beech, three handfuls of earduus benedictus,
^ handful or two of the flower of rosa solis : add bur-
net, betony, marjoram, avens, pennyroyal, and wild
thyme, of each a handful and a half •, of elder flowers,
5
two handfuls or more ; seeds of cardamon bruised, 30 Mu®
ounces ; barberries bruised, one ounce : when the li- ||
quor has worked a while, put the herbs and seeds into Mmmv
the vessel 5 and, after they are added, let it work over ^
as little as possible ; then fill it up: lastly, when it is
stopped, put into the hogshead ten new-laid eggs un¬
broken ; stop it up close, and use it at two years end.
The English brewers, instead of the inner rind of fir,
use cardamom, ginger, and sassafras j and also add ele¬
campane, madder, and red Sanders.
MUMMIUS, L. a Roman consul sent against the
Achaeans, whom he conquered B. C. 147. He de¬
stroyed Corinth, Thebes, and Chalcis, by order of the
senate, and obtained the surname of Achaicus from bis
victories. He did not enrich himself with the spoils of
the enemy, hut returned home without any increase
of fortune. He was so little acquainted with the va¬
lue of the paintings and works of the most celebrated
artists of Greece which were found in the plunder of
Corinth, that he said to those who conveyed them to
Rome, that if they lost or injured them, they should
makes others in their stead.
MUMMY, a body embalmed or dried, in the man¬
ner used by the ancient Egyptians; or the composition
with which it is embalmed. There are two kinds of
bodies denominated mummies. The first are only car¬
cases dried by the heat of the sun, and by that means
kept from putrefaction : these are frequently found in
the sands of Libya. Some imagine, that these are
the bodies of deceased people buried there on purpose
to keep them entire without embalming j others think
they are the carcases of travellers who have been over¬
whelmed by the clouds of sand raised by the hurri¬
canes frequent in those deserts. The second kind of
mummies are bodies taken out of the catacombs near
Cairo, in which the Egyptians deposited their dead af¬
ter embalming. See Embalming.
We have two different substances preserved for me¬
dicinal use under the name of mummy, though both in
some degree of the same origin. The one is the dried
and preserved flesh of human bodies, embalmed with
myrrh and spices; the other is the liquor running
from such mummies, when newly prepared, or when
aflected by great heat or damps. The latter is some¬
times in a liquid, sometimes of a solid form, as it is
preserved in vials well stopped, or suffered to dry and
harden in the air. The first kind of mummy is brought
to us in large pieces, of a lax and friable texture,
light and spongy, of a blackish brown colour, and of¬
ten damp and clammy on the surface : it is of a strong
hut disagreeable smell. The second kind of mummy,
in its liquid state, is a thick, opaque, and viscous
fluid, of a blackish colour, but not disagreeable smell.
In its indurated state, it is a dry solid substance, or
a fine shining black colour, and close texture, easily
broken, and of a good smell j very inflammable, and
yielding a scent of myrrh and aromatic ingredients
while burning. This, if wv cannot be content with¬
out medicines from our own bodies, ought to be the
mummy used in the shops but it is very scarce and
dear j while the other is so cheap, that it will always
be most in use.
Ail these kinds of mummies are brought from E-
gypt. But we are not to imagine, that any body
breaks up the real Egyptian mummies, to sell them ih
gieccs
M U N
pieces to the druggists, as they make a much better
market of them in Europe whole, when they can con¬
trive to get them. What our druggists are supplied
with, is the flesh of executed criminals, or of any
other bodies the Jews can get, who fill them with the
common bitumen, so plentiful in that part of the
world ; and adding a little aloes, and two or three
other cheap ingredients, send them to be baked in an
oven, till the juices are exhaled, and the embalming
matter has penetrated so thoroughly that the flesh will
keep and bear transporting into Europe.. Mummy has
been esteemed resolvent and balsamic: but whatever
virtues have been attributed to it, seem to be such as
depend more upon the ingredients used in preparing
the flesh than in the flesh itself-, and it would surely
be better to give those ingredients without so shocking
an addition.
There are found in Poland a kind of natural mum¬
mies, or human bodies preserved without the assistance
of art. rIhese he in considerable numbers in some of
the vast caverns in that country. They are dried with
the flesh and skin shrunk up almost close to the bones,
and are of a blackish colour. In the wars which se¬
veral ages ago laid waste that country, it was com¬
mon for parties of the weaker side to retire into these
caves, where their enemies, if they found them out, suf¬
focated them by burning straw, &c. at the mouth of
the cavern, and then left the bodies; which, being out
of the way of injuries from common accidents, have lain
there ever since.
Mummy, among gardeners, a kind of wax used in
grafting and planting the roots of trees, made in the
following manner: Take one pound of black pitch,
and a quarter of a pound of turpentine; put them to¬
gether into an earthen pot, and set them on fire in the
open air, holding something in your hand to cover and
quench the mixture in time, which is to be alternately
lighted and quenched till all the nitrous and volatile
parts be evaporated. To this a little commoa wax is
to be added; and the composition is then to be set by
for use.
MUMPS. See Medicine Index.
MUNDA, an ancient town of Spain, in the king¬
dom of Granada, seated on the declivity of a bill, at
the bottom of which runs a river. W. Long. 4. 13*
N. Lat. 48. 15.
This city was anciently famous for a victory gained
by Caesar over the two sons of Pompey, wdio had col¬
lected an army in Spain after the defeat of their father
at Pharsalia. See (History of) Rome.
The Pompeys posted their army advantageously on
a rising ground, whereof one side w-as defended by the
city of Munda, and the other by a small river which
watered the plain, and by a marsh : so that the enemy
could not attack them but in front. Caesar likewise
drew up bis troops with great art, and having advan¬
ced a little way from In’s camp, ordered-- them to
halt, expecting the enemy would abandon their advan¬
tageous post, and come to meet him. But as they did
not stir, Caesar made as if he intended to fortify him¬
self in that post; which induced the young general, who
looked upon this as a sign of fear, to advance into the
plain, and attack the enemy before they could secure
themselves with any works. Pompey’s army was by
far, the most numerous : for it consisted of 13 legions,
C 477 ]
M U N
6000 horse, and an incredible number of auxiliaries, Munda.
among whom were all the forces of Bccchus king ofY“—■
Mauritania, commanded by his two sons, both youths
of great valour and bravery. Csesar had 80 cohorts,
three legions, to wit, the third, the fifth, and the tenth,
and a body of 8000 horse. As the enemy drew near,
Cassar betrayed a great deal of uneasiness and concern,
as if he were doubtful of the success, knowing he was
to engage men no way inferior in valour and experi¬
ence to his own, and commanded by officers who had
on many occasions given signal proofs of their bra¬
very and conduct. Cneius, the elder of the two brothers,
was generally looked upon as an able commander ; and
Labienus, avIio had revolted, esteemed scarce inferior to
himself.
However, the dictator, desirous to put an end to
the civil Avar, either by his OAvn death, or that of hid
rivals, gave the signal for the battle, and fell upon the
enemy Avith his usual vigour and resolution. At the
first onset, AA'liicli was dreadful, the auxiliaries on both
sides betook themselves to flight, leaving the Homans
to decide their quarrel by themselves. Then the le¬
gionaries engaged Avith a fury hardly to be expressed ;
Caesar’s men being encouraged by the hopes of putting
an end to all their labours by this battle; and those of
Pompey exerting themselves out of necessity and des¬
pair, since most of them expected no quarter, as Iuia--
ing been formerly pardoned. Never Avas victory more
obstinately disputed. Caesar’s men, Avho had been al-
Avays used to conquer, found themselves so vigorously
charged by the enemy’s legionaries, that they began
to give ground ; and though they did not turn their
backs, yet it was manifest that shame alone kept them
in their posts. All authors agree, that Caesar had never
been in so great danger; and he himself, Avhen he came
back to his camp, told his friends, that he had often
fought for victory, hut tins was the first time he had
ever fought for life. Thinking himself abandoned by
fortune, Avhich had hitherto favoured him, he had some
thoughts of stabbing himself Avith his OAvn SAvord, and
by a voluntary death preventing the disgrace of a de¬
feat: hut returning soon to himself, and concluding it
would be more to his reputation to fall by the enemy’s
hand at the head of his troops, than, in a fit of despair,
by his own, lie dismounted from his horse, and snatch¬
ing a buckler from one of his legionaries, he threAV him¬
self like a man in despair into the midst of the enemy;
crying out to his men, Are you not ashamed to deliver
your general into the hands of boys") At these Avords,
the soldiers of the tenth legion, animated by the ex¬
ample of their general, fell upon the enemy Avith fresh
vigour, and made a dreadful havock of them. But in
spite of their utmost efforts, Pompey’s men still kept
their ground, and, though greatly fatigued, return¬
ed to the charge Avith equal vigour. Then the Cae¬
sareans began to despair of victory ;.and the dictator, .
running through the ranks of his disheartened legion¬
aries, had much ado to keep them together. The
battle had already.lasted from the.rising to the setting
of the sun, Avithoutany considerable advantage on either
side.
At length a mere accident decided the dispute, in
favour of the dictator. Bogud, a petty king of Mau¬
ritania, had joined Cmsar soon after his arrival in Spain,
Avitiv some squadrons of Numidian horse; but in the
very
M U N [ 4?B ] M U N
Klmula very beginning of the battle, being terrified at the
11 shouting of the soldiers, intermingled with groans, and
Munich. t|ie clas|ung of their arms, he had abandoned his post,
v and retired with the auxiliaries under his command to
a rising ground at a small distance from the enemy s
camp. There he continued the whole day an idle
spectator of the battle that was fought in the plain.
But towards the evening, partly out of shame and
partly out of compassion for his triend Caesar, he re¬
solved to fall upon Pompey’s camp 5 and accordingly
flew thither with all the forces he had with him. Ba-
bienus, apprised of his design, hastened after him to the
defence of the camp ; which Caesar observing, cried to
iiis legionaries, Courage, Jcllow soldiers ! the victory at
length is ours ; Labienus flies. This artifice had the
desired effect: Caesar’s men, believing that Labienus
was truly fled, made a last effort, and charged the wing
lie commanded so briskly, that alter a most obstinate
dispute they put them to flight.
Though tire enemy’s left wing was thus entirely
defeated, the right wing, where the elder Pompey
commanded, still kept their ground for some time.
Pompey dismounting from his horse, fought on. foot
like a private man in the first line, till most of his le¬
gionaries being killed, lie was forced to save himself
by flight from falling into the enemy’s hands. 1 art
of his troops fled hack to their camp, and part took
shelter in the city of Munda. The camp was imme¬
diately attacked, and taken sword in hand 5 and as
for the city, Ctesar, without loss of time, drew a line
of circumvallation round it. This victory was gained
on the 16th of the kalends of April, i. e. according to
our way of counting, on the 1 7th day of March, when
the Dionysian festival, or the Liberalia, were celebrated
at Rome"} the very day, as Plutarch observes, in which
Pompey the Great, four years before, had set out for
the war. In this action Pompey lost 30,000 men }
among whom were the famous Labienus, Attius ^ a-
rus, and 3000 Roman knights. Seventeen officers of
distinction were taken, and all the enemy’s eagles and
■ ensigns, together with Pompey’s fasces, which he had
assumed as governor of Spain. On Caesar’s side, only
1000 men were killed and 500 wounded.
MUNDIC, or Marcasite, an old name for py¬
rites of copper or iron. See Ores of Copper and Iron,
.Mineralogy Index.
MUNDINGOES, the name of a people who live
on the sides of the river Gambia in Africa, and who
are of a jet black colour, strong, and well made. They
have a priest sent over every year from one of the Cape
de Verd islands to christen and marry.
MUNDUS PATENS, the open world, in Roman
antiquity, a solemnity performed in a small temple, of
a round form like the world, dedicated to Dis and the
rest of the infernal gods. This temple was opened but
three times in the year, viz. the 24th of August, the
4th of October, and the 7th of November. During
these days, the Romans believed hell was open } on
these days therefore they never offered battle, listed
soldiers, put to sea, or married.
MUNICH, a town of Germany, capital of the
duchy, now the kingdom, of Bavaria. It stands on
the Iser, 70 miles south of Ratisbon and 214 west of
Vienna, being one of the most pleasant and populous
cities of Germany for its bigness. The number of
the inhabitants in 1781 was 48,000. Having been Mnnici, !!:
built at first on a spot of ground belonging to a con- Munick ,
vent, it had from thence in German the name of Mun-
c/ien, i. e. Monk's town, and a monk for its arms.
The elector’s palace here is a very grand structure,
consisting of several courts, furnished and adorned in
the most magnificent manner, with tapestry, gilding, ]
sculpture, statues, and paintings. It contains an
amazing collection of jewels, antiquities, and curiosi¬
ties. The great hall is 118 feet long and 52 broad}
and the staircase leading to it, from top to bottom of
marble and gold. In the hall of antiquities are 354
busts and statues of jasper and porphyry, brass and
marble. In this palace is a library, containing a vast
collection of books, and many valuable manuscripts, in
most languages ancient and modern ; and a chamber
of rarities, among which is the picture of a bravo or
assassin, who is said to have committed 345 murders
with his own hand, and to have been accomplice in, or
privy to, 400 more. The treasury in the chapel con¬
tains also a vast number of pictures, precious stones,
medals, vessels of gold and silver, &c. Among other
curiosities, here is a cherry stone with 140 heads dis¬
tinctly engraved upon it, The gardens of the palace
are also very fine, and it is said a secret passage leads
from it to all the churches and convents in the town.
There is a great number of other fine buildings in this
city, public and private, particularly the riding house,
town house, opera room, the Jesuits college, the large
edifice for tournaments, the churches, convents, foun¬
tains, &c. Its manufactures are those of silk, particu¬
larly velvet, woollen cloths, and tapestry } and it has
two annual fairs, at which great quantities of salt, wine,
&c. are sold. The streets are broad and regular} and
most of the houses well built, and painted on the out¬
side. The market place is extremely beautiful. Not
far from Munich are four other palaces, with fine gar¬
dens, belonging to the elector, viz. those of Sleisheim,
Nymphenburg, Dauehau, and Starenberg. The first
and last are about three leagues from the capital } the
second about half a league } and the third about two
leagues. It was unsuccessfully attacked by the French
in 1796. See Bavaria, Supplement.
Munich, Count de, was the favourite of the cza¬
rina Ann, and was concerned in all the events of her
reign. Being appointed general of her armies, he
gained great advantages over the Grim Tartars, beat
the Turks, A. D. 1739, in an engagement near Choc-
zim, and took that city together with Jassi the capital
of Moldavia. He was afterwards prime minister to
the czar Iwan VI. but in a short time after he was
accused of employing the power which his office con¬
ferred on him to gratify his own ambition and pri¬
vate resentment. The empress Elizabeth brought
him to trial, and he was condemned to lose his life,
A. D. 1742. This sentence was mitigated to banish¬
ment into Siberia, whither many of the victims of his
power had been exiled. He was recalled by Peter HI.
A. D. 1762, and declared field marshal. Upon the
death of this prince, the empress Catharine II. ap¬
pointed him director general of the ports of the Baltic.
He died on the 8th of October 1767, at the age of 84.
MUNICIPAL, in the Roman civil law, an epithet
which signifies invested with the rights and privileges
of Roman citizens. See Municipium.
Municipal,
L'lp'il
M U N [ 479
Municipal, among us, is applied to the laws that
j
M U R
obtain in any particular city or province. And those
are called municipal ojjicers who are elected to defend
’ the interests of cities, to maintain their rights and pri¬
vileges, and to preserve order and harmony among the
citizens 5 such as mayors, sheritFs, consuls, &c.
MUNI Cl FES, an appellation given by the Romans
to the inhabitants of the municipia or municipal cities.
See Municipium.
MUNICIPiUM, in Roman antiquity, a corporation
borough, or enfranchised city or town, where the inha¬
bitants enjoyed their own laws and customs, and at the
same time were honoured with the privileges of Roman
citizens ; but then this privilege generally reached no
further than the bare title. Some indeed, by parti¬
cular merit, obtained the liberty of votes, which occa¬
sioned that distinction ot muncipium sine sajfragio, and
municipium cum suffragio.—The inhabitants of the mu-
nicipium sine suffragio were called barely Romani, but
those of the municipium cum suffragio were called decs
Romani.
The difference between proper citizens of Rome
and the inhabitants of the municipium may be thus ex¬
pressed. The proper citizens of Rome were, 1. Re¬
gistered in the census ; 2. Had the right of suffrage
and of bearing honours 5 3. Were assessed in the poll-
tax ; 4. Served in the legions 5 5. Used the Roman
laws and religion ; 6. Were called Qm'rites and jio-
■pulus Romanus; Whereas the municipes enjoyed the
three first oi these privileges, but were denied the three
last.
MUNITION, the provisions with which a place is
furnished in order for defence j or that which follows a
camp for its subsistence.
Munition Ships, are those that have stores on board
in order to supply a fleet of men of war at sea. In an
engagement, all the munition ships and victuallers at¬
tending the fleet take their station in the rear of all
the rest; they are not to engage in the fight, but to
attend to such directions as are sent to them by the
admiral.
MUNSTER, in Latin Monomia, and in Irish Moun,
the most southerly province of Ireland 5 bounded on
the north by Leinster and Connaught, and on the east,
west, and south, by the ocean. It contains the coun¬
ties of Cork, Clare, Kerry, Limerick, Tipperary, and
Waterford ; atid 3,289,932 Irish plantation acres, 740
parishes, 63 baronies, and 26 boroughs. It is about
125 miles long and 120 broad j and its principal town
is Cork. Its ancient name w7as Mumhan ; and in lat¬
ter ages it was divided into Desmond or South Munster,
Ormond qy East Munster, and T/iomond or North Mun¬
ster. It lies between 51. 15. and 53.0. N. Lat. and
7- 10. and 10. 40. W. Long.
Munster, a bishopric of Germany in the circle of
Westphalia, and territories of Prussia j bounded on the
north by Embden and Oldenburg, on the south by the
county of Mark and duchy of Westphalia, on the west
by the county of Bentheim and the United Provinces,
and on the east by the bishoprics of Osnaburgh and
Paderborn together with the county of Ravensberg. It
xs the largest of all the Westphalian bishoprics, being
in length about 80 miles, and in breadth from 20 to
60, and contains 350,000 inhabitants. It is divided
into 13 bailiwicks ; and though in general but, a bar¬
ren country, has some fruitful plains, with woods, and
quarries of stone. The inhabitants, excepting a few of
the nobility and gentry, are all Roman Catholics;
though Lutheranism had once a considerable footing’’
here. The bishop, who w'as generally also elector of
Cologne, lias a revenue of about 70,000 pounds, and
can maintain 8000 men. By an unjust custom, un.- .
known in the rest of the empire, he is heir to all stran¬
gers who die in the country without children. In the
matricula he is rated at 30 loot and 118 horse j or 832
florins monthly in lieu of them. His chapter consists
of 40 canons, who are all noble.
Munster, a city of Germany, capital of a bishopric
of the same name, and of all Westphalia, stands at the
conflux of the river Aa with the Ems, in E. Long. 7.
49. N. Lat. 52. o. It is of a circular form, large, and
had strong fortifications which have been thrown down.
I he citadel, called the Rrille, has been converted into a
residence lor the bishop. The dean and chapter now
elect the bishop 5 but till the beginning of the 13th
century lie was nominated by the emperor. This city
has been rendered famous by three remarkable trans¬
actions. 1. By the peace concluded here in 1648,
which put an end to the war of 30 years; occasion¬
ed by the persecuting spirit of bigotted Papists, who
chose rather to plunge their country into all the cala¬
mities of war than allow liberty of conscience to the
Protestants. By this peace, however, they consented,
much against their inclinations, to grant them a tolera¬
tion. 2. By the disorders and disturbances occasioned .
herein 1553, by a parcel of enthusiasts, headed by a..
taylor, called John of Leyden from the place of his
birth, who turned out the magistrates, and took pos¬
session of the city, where they perpetrated the most hox7-
rid villanxes and cruelties. 3. For the noble, though
unsuccessful, efforts it made in defence of its liberties
against the tyranny and oppression of the above men¬
tioned turbulent and bloody-minded bishop, Bernard
van Galen. In this city are a great number of con¬
vents and other religious houses, many of them stately
piles, and surrounded with beautiful gardens.
MUNYCHIA, or Munichtus Port us, in Ancient
Geography, a village and port of Athens, nearer to the
city, fortified in the same manner as the Pineus, to the
east of which it lay, or between it and the promontory
Sunium, at the mouth of the Ilissus. Strabo says it was
an eminence in form of a peninsula, at the foot of
which stood three harbours, anciently encompassed with
a wall, taking within its extent the Piraeus and other
harbours full of docks, with the temple of Diana Mu-
nychia; taking its name from Mynichus, the founder of
the temple.
Munychia, an anniversary solemnity observed at
Athens, in honour of Diana, on the 16th of the month
Munychion. Cakes were offered on the occasion, called
CCfitpapWIITi?.
MUNYCHION, the tenth month of the Athenian
year, containing 29 days, and answering to the latter-
part of our March and the beginning of April. It
was so called from the festival Munychia, which wras
observed in this month. See Month and Muny¬
chia.
MUPHTI. See Mufti.
MURAlNA, or Eel ; a genus of fishes, belong¬
ing to the order of apodes. See Ichthyology Index,
MURAL,
Mm
Mui
M U li [ 4S0 ] MUR
Murat MURAL, scmr;tb!ng belonging to a wall, wliich
1! . the Latins cal! munis.
hllycia‘ , Mural Crcwn, among the ancient Romans. See
Crown.
Mural Arch, is a wall, or walled arcb, placed ex¬
actly in the plane of the meridian, i. e. upon the meri¬
dian line, for the fixing of a large quadrant, sextant,
br other instrument, to observe the meridian altitudes,
•&c. of the heavenly bodies.
Tycho Brahe was the first whtj used a mural arch
in his observations j after him Ilevelius, Mr Flam-
stead, De la Hire, &c. used the same means. See
Astronomy.
MURANUM, in Ancient Geography, a town of
•the confines of Lucania. Now Morano ; a citadel in
•Calabria Citra, at the springs of the Sybaris, midway
between the Sinus Tarentinus to the east, and the Tus¬
can sea to the west. Supposed to have risen from
the ruins of Syphaum, a town of the Bruttii mentioned
by Livy.
MUilATORI, Lewis, Anthony, a learned and
celebrated Italian Writer, born at Vignoles, in tbe ter¬
ritory of Bologna, in 1671. He early discovered an ex¬
treme fondness for the learned languages and sciences 5
and this was seconded by an excellent education.
After having completed his first studies, he embraced
the state of an ecclesiastic } and applied himself to
polite literature, philosophy, theology, civil law, an¬
tiquities, and other sciences 5 by which means he be¬
came in a manner universally learned. He was scarcely
22 years of age when he was made librarian of the
Ambrosian library at Milan. It 1700 the duke of
Modena, his sovereign, recalled him, and made him
his librarian, and keeper of the archives of his duchy.
Muratori discharged this double employment during
the rest of his life, and had no other benefice than the
provostship of Santa Maria del Pomposa. The princi¬
pal of his works are,— 1. Anecdota, or a collection of
pieces taken from the Ambrosian library, 2 vols 4to,
with learned notes and dissertations. 2. A treatise on
the perfection of the Italian poetry, 2 vols 4to.
3. Anecdota Greece, 3 vols 4to. 4. A genealogical
history of the house of Modena, 2 vols folio. 5. An
excellent collection of the writers of the Italian history,
27 vols folio, with learned notes. 6. Another collec¬
tion, under the title of Antiquitatcs Italic ex;. 7. A
collection of ancient inscriptions, under the title of
Novus Thesaurus, 6 vols folio. 8. The annals of Italy,
12 vols 4to, in Italian, &c. 9. Letters, dissertations,
Italian poems, &c.
MURCIA, the Pagan goddess of idleness. The
name is taken from murcus or murcidus, an obsolete
"word, signifying a dull, slothful, or lazy person.—
The statues of this goddess were always covered with
dust and moss, to express her idleness and negligence.
She bad a temple at Rome, at the foot of the Aven-
tine mount.
Murcia, a kingdom in Spain, bounded on the
north by New Castile, on the east by the kingdom of
Valencia, on the west by Andalusia and Granada, and
'on the south by the Mediterranean sea. It is about
62 miles in length, and 58 in bi’eadth 5 and its prin¬
cipal river is the Segura. The soil is dry, because it sel¬
dom rains, and therefore it produces little corn or
wine j but there is of oranges, citrons, lemons,
olives, almonds, mulberries, l ice, pulse, and sugar. It
lias also a great deal of silk. It was taken from the
Moors in 1265. The air is very healthful.
Murcia, a large, handsome, and populous town of
Spain, capital of a kingdom of the same name. It is
a bishop’s see, and contains six parishes. The cathe¬
dral is a most superb edifice, with tbe stairs of the
steeple so contrived that a man may ride up to the
top, either on horseback or in a coach. It is situated
in a pleasant plain, which abounds in fine gardens about
tbe city, and in which are the best fruits in Spain. It
is seated on the river Segura, in W. Long. 8. 36. N.
Lat. 37. 48.
MURDER, or Murther, the act of killing ano¬
ther with violence and injustice. The word, comes
from the Saxon inorth, “ death which some will have
to signify a violent death 5 whence the barbarous La¬
tin murdrum and modrum.
Among the number of popular errors, is tbe notion
which has obtained, that the dead body would bleed
in the presence or upon the touch ot the murderer.
The crime of murder is punished with death in al¬
most all nations.
Murder, or Murther, in Law, is thus defined, or
rather described, by Sir Edward Coke : “ V> hen a
person, of sound memory and discretion, unlawfully
killeth any reasonable creature in being, and under the
king’s peace, with malice aforethought, either express
or implied.” The best way of examining the nature
of this crime will be by considering the several branches
of this definition.
1. It must be committed by a person of sound me*
mory and discretion : for lunatics or infants are inca¬
pable of committing any crime ; unless in such cases
where they show a consciousness of doing wrong, and
of course a discretion or disternment between good and
evil.
2. Next, it happens when a person of such sound
discretion unlawfully killcth. The unlawfulness arises
from the killing without warrant or excuse : and there
must also he an actual killing to constitute murder',
for a bare assault, with intent to kill, is only a great
misdemeanour, though formerly it was held to be murder.
The killing may be by poisoning, striking, starving,
drowning, and a thousand other forms of death, by
which human nature may be overcome. Of these the
most detestable of all is poison ; because it can of all
others be the least prevented, either by manhood or
forethought. And therefore, by tbe stat. 22 Hen. VHl.
c. ’9. it was made treason, and a more grievous and
lingering kind of death wras inflicted on it than the
common law allowed j namely, boiling to death : but this
act did not live long, being repealed by 1 Edw. VI. c.
12. There was also, by the ancient common law, one
species of killing held to be murder, which may be du¬
bious at this day, as there hath not been an instance
wherein it has been held to be murder for many ages
past, viz. hearing false witness against another, with an
express premeditated design to take away his life, so as
the innocent person be condemned and executed. He
Gothic laws punished in this case both the judge, the
witnesses, and the prosecutor; and, among the Romans,
the lex Cornelia de sicariis, punished the false witnesses
with death, as being guilty of a species of assassination.
And there is no doubt but this is equally murder injoro
conscicntux
MUR [ 48i
urder. con&cienticE as killing with a sword ; though the modern
-v law (to avoid the danger of deterring witnesses from
giving evidence upon capital prosecutions, if it must be
at the peril of their own lives) has not yet punished it
as such. If a man, however, do such an act, of which
the probable consequence may he, and eventually is,
death j such killing may be murder, although no stroke
be stiuck by himself, and no killing may be primarily
intended : as was the case of the unnatural son who
exposed his sick father to the air against his will, by
reason whereof he died 5 and of the harlot, who laid
her child under leaves in an orchard, where a kite
struck and killed it. So too, if a man have a beast
that is used- to do mischief ^ and he, knowing it,
suffers it to go abroad, and it kills a man} even this
is manslaughter in the owner j but if he have purposely
turned it loose, though barely to frighten people, and
make what is called sport, it is with us (as in the
Jewish law) as much murder as if he had incited a
bear or dog to worry them. If a physician or sur¬
geon give his patient a potion or plaster to cure him,
which, contrary to expectation, kills him, this is nei¬
ther murder nor manslaughter, but misadventure ; and
he shall not be punished criminally, however liable he
might formerly have been to a civil action for neglect
or ignorance; but it hath been holden, that if it be
not a regular physician or surgeon who administers the
medicine, or performs the operation, it is manslaughter
at the least. Yet Sir Matthew Hale very justly^ que¬
stions the law of this determination j since physic and
Salves were in use before licensed physicians and sur¬
geons : wherefore he treats this doctrine as apocry¬
phal, and fitted only to gratify and flatter licenciates
and doctors in physic ; though it may be of use to make
people cautious and wary how they meddle too much in
so dangerous an employment. In order also to make
the killing murder, it is requisite that the party die
within a year and a day after the stroke received, or
Cause of death administered ; in the computation of
which the whole day upon which the hurt was done
shall be reckoned the first.
3. Farther: The person killed must be “treason¬
able creature in being, and under the king's peace,” at
the time of the killing. Therefore to kill an alien, a
Jew, or an outlaw, who are all under the king’s peace
or protection, is as much murder as to kill the most
regular-born Englishman •, except he be an alien -enemy,
in the time of war. To kill a child in its mother’s
Womb, is now no murder, but a great misprision ; but
if the child be born alive, and dieth by reason of the
potion or bruises it received in the womb, it seems, by
the better opinion, to be murder in such as administer¬
ed or gave them. As to the murder of bastard chil¬
dren, see Bastard.
4. Lastly, The killing must be committed “ with
malice aforethought” to make it the crime of murder.
I his is the grand criterion which now distinguishes
murder from other killing : and this malice prepense,
mahtia prwcogitata, is not so properly spite or malevo¬
lence to the deceased in particular, as any evil design
in general 5 the dictate of a wicked, depraved, and ma¬
lignant heart; un disposition a faire une nial chose: and
it may be either express, or implied, in law. Express
malice is when one, with a sedate deliberate mind and
formed design, doth kill another, which formed de-
Vql. XIV. Part II. f
]
MUR
sign is evidenced by external circumstances discovering
that inward intention; as lying in wait, antecedent
menaces, former grudges, and concerted schemes to
do him some bodily harm. This takes in the case of
deliberate duelling, where 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 ei-
thci divine or human, but in direct contradiction to
the laws of both Cod and man; and therefore the law
has justly fixed the crime and punishment of murder on
them, and on their seconds also. Yet it requires such
a degree of passive valour to combat the dread of even
undeserved contempt, arising from the false notions of
honour too generally received in Europe, that the
strongest prohibitions and penalties of the law will ne¬
ver be entirely effectual to eradicate this unhappy cu¬
stom, till a method be found out of compellino- the
original aggressor to make some other satisfaction to
the affronted party, which the world shall esteem
equally reputable as that which is now given at the
hazard of the life and fortune, as well of the person
insulted, as of him who has given the insult. Also,
if even upon a sudden provocation one beats another,
in a cruel and unusual manner, so that he dies, though
he did not intend his death, yet he is guilty of murder
by express malice ; i. e. by an express evil design, the
genuine sense of malitia: As when a park-keeper tied
a boy that was stealing wood to a horse’s tail, and
dragged him along the park : when a master corrected
his servant with an iron bar, and a schoolmaster stamp¬
ed on his scholar’s belly, so that each of the sufferers
died; these were justly held to be murders, because
the correction being excessive, and such as could not
proceed but from a bad heart, it was equivalent to a
deliberate act of slaughter. Neither shall he be guilty
of a less crime who kills another in consequence cf
such a wilful act as shows him to be an enemy to all
mankind in general; as going deliberately, and with
an intent to do mischief, upon a horse used to strike,
or coolly discharging a gun among a multitude of
people. So if a man resolves to kill the next man he
meets, and does kill him, it is murder, although he
knew him not; for this is universal malice. And if
two or more come together to do an unlawful act.
against the king’s peace, of which the probable con¬
sequence might be bloodshed ; as to beat a man, to
commit a riot, or to rob a park, and one of them kills
a man; it is murder in them all, because of the un¬
lawful act, the malitia prcecogitata, or evil intended
beforehand. ,
Also in many cases where no malice is expressed
the law will imply it: as, where a man wilfully poisons'
another, in such a deliberate act the law presumes ma¬
lice, though no particular enmity can be proved. And
if a man kills another suddenly, without any, or with¬
out a considerable provocation, the law implies malice ;
for no person, unless of an abandoned heart, would be
guilty oi such an act upon a slight or no apparent cause.
No affront, by words or gestures only, is a sufficient
provocation, so as excuse or extenuate such acts of
violence as manifestly endanger the life of another.
But if the person so provoked had unfortunately killed
the other, by beating him in such a manner as showed*
3 ^ only
Murder.
MUR [ 482 ] MUR
only an intent to chastise and not to kill him, the law
so tar considers the provocation ot contumelious beha¬
viour, as to adjudge it only manslaughter, and not mur¬
der. In like manner, it one kills an officer ot justice,
either civil or criminal, in the execution of his duty, or
any of his assistants endeavouring to conserve the peace,
or any private person endeavouring to suppress an affi ay
or apprehend a felon, knowing his authority or the m-
tention with which he interposes, the law will imply
malice, and the killer shall he guilty of murder. And
if one intends to do another felony, and undesignedly
kills a man, this is also murder. Thus it one shoots at
A, and misses him, but kills B, this is murder; because
of the previous felonious intent, which the law transfers
from one to the other. The same is the case, where
one lays poison tor A, and B, against whom the pri¬
soner had no malicious intent, takes it, and it kills him,
this is likewise murder. So also, if one give a woman
Avith child a medicine to procure abortion, and it oper¬
ates so violently as to kill the woman, this is murder
in the person who gave it. It were endless to go
through all the cases of homicide, which have been ad¬
judged, either expressly or impliedly, malicious : these
therefore may suffice as a specimen ; and we may take
it for a general rule, that all homicide is malicious, and
of course amounts to murder, unless where justified by
the command or permission of the law; excused on a
principle of accident or self-preservation ; or alleviated
into manslaughter, by being either the involuntary con¬
sequence of some act, not strictly lawful^, or (if volun¬
tary) occasioned by some sudden and sufficiently violent
provocation. And all these circumstances of justifica¬
tion, excuse, or alleviation, it is incumbent upon the
prisoner to make out, to the satisfaction of the court
and jury, the latter of whom are to decide whether the
circumstances alleged are proved to have actually ex¬
isted ; the former, how far they extend to take away
or mitigate the guilt. For all homicide is presumed
to be malicious, "until the contrary appeareth upon evi-
dence.
The punishment of murder, and that of man-slaugh¬
ter, were formerly one and the same ; both having the
benefit of clergy ; so that none but unlearned persons,
who least knew the guilt of it, were put to death for
this enormous crime. But now, by several statutes,
the benefit of clergy is taken away from murderers
through malice prepense, their abettois, piocuieis,
and counsellors. In atrocious cases it was frequently
usual for the court to direct the murderer, alter exe¬
cution, to be hung upon a gibbet in chains near the
place where the fact was committed; but this was no
part of the legal judgment; and the like is still some¬
times practised in the case of notorious thieves. -This,
being quite contrary to the express command of the
Mosaical law, seems to have been borrowed from the
civil law ; which, besides the terror of the example,
gives also another reason for this practice, viz. that it
is a comfortable sight to the relations and friends ot
the deceased. But now, in England, it is enacted
by statute 25 Geo. IT. c. 37. that the judges, before
whom any person is found guilty of wilful murder,
shall pronounce sentence immediately after conviction,
unless he sees cause to postpone it; and shall in pas¬
sing sentence direct him to be executed on the next
day but cne (unless the same shall be Sunday, and
then on the Monday following), and that his body Miir4e
be delivered to the surgeons to be dissected and anato- || |i!
mized ; and that the judge may direct his body to be
afterwards hung in chains, but in nowise to be buried ' '
without dissection. And, during the short but awful
interval between sentence and execution, the prisoner
shall be kept alone, and sustained with only bread and
water. But a power is allowed to the judge, upon
good and sufficient cause, to respite the execution, and
relax the other restraints of this act. See farther, Par¬
ricide, and Petit Treasori.
Murderers, or Murdering Pieces, in a ship, are
small pieces of ordnance, either of brass or iron, which
have chambers put in at their breeches. They are
used at the bulk-heads of the fore-castle, half-deck, or
steerage, in order to clear the deck, on the ship’s being,
boarded by an enemy.
MURENA. See Murjena, Ichthyology In¬
dex.
MURENGERS, two officers of great antiquity in
the city of Chester, annually chosen out of the alder¬
men, to see the walls kept in repair, and to receive a
certain toll for that purpose.
MUREX, a genus of animals belonging to the order
of vermes testacea. See Conchology Index.
Murex, a caltrap or iron instrument, with sharp
points projecting in every direction, used by the Ro¬
mans as a defence against the enemy’s horse ; so cal¬
led, probably from some resemblance to the spines on
the shell of the murex.
MURGI, or Murgis, in Ancient Geography, the
last town of Bcetica, next the Tarraconensis; the Urce
of Ptolemy. Now Muxara, a port-town of Granada, on
the Mediterranean. W. Long. i° 50'. N. Lat. 370 6'.
MURIA, the Latin name of common salt. See So¬
da, Muriate of. Chemistry Index.
MURIATIC acid. See Chemistry Index. This
acid, according to the views of Sir H. Davy, is com¬
posed of chlorine (the oxymuriatic acid of all chemists
formerly, and of some still) and hydrogen.
MURINA, or Murines, a delicious sweet wine,,
medicated with spices, and the usual drink of the ladies
of antiquity.
MURRAIN, or Gargle, a contagious disease a-
mong cattle. See Farriery Index.
MURRAY, or Moray, the name of a district in
the north of Scotland, which, in a former division of the
kingdom, was denominated a province. This district
includes the counties of Banff, Elgin and Nairn. The
county of Elgin, the middle division of this district, is
still known by the name of Morayshire.
MURRH1NE, Murrhinus, M«gg<v«s, in antiquity,
an appellation given to a delicate sort of ware brought
from the east, whereof cups and vases were made, which
added not a little to the splendour of the Roman ban¬
quets. Critics ai’e divided concerning the matter of the
pocula or vasa murrhina, murrina, or murrea. Some will
have them to have been the same with our porcelain or
china ware. The generality held them to have been made
of some precious kind of stone, which was found chiefly,
as Pliny tells us, in Parthia, but more especially in Car-
mania. Arrian tells us, that there was a great quantity
of them made at Diospolis in Egypt. This he calls
another sort of murrhina work ; and it is evident, from
all accounts, that the murrhina of Diospolis was a sort
of
ill
Mf
ilr.c g'ass ware, made in imitation of the porcelain or
j murrha of India. There is some difference in the ac-
,;us- , counts given by Pliny and Martial of the murrhina vasa.
The first author says, that they would not bear hot li¬
quors, but that only cold ones were drank out of them.
The latter, on the other hand, tells us, that they bore
hot liquors very well. If we credit Pliny’s account,
their porcelain wras much inferior to our’s in this parti¬
cular. Some conjecture them to have been of agate,
others onyx, others of coral. Baronins, doubtless,
was farthest out of the way, when he took them to be
made of myrrh, congealed and hardened. Some have
supposed these vessels to be made of crystal, but this is
contrary to the account of all the ancients. The Greeks
had the words for crystal, and for
myrrh, very common among them ; and therefore if
these vessels had been made of either of these substances,
they would in some places have called them Smyrna or
crystalline. On the contrary, the most correct among
them call them murrhina or morrina. The cups made
of crystal, which were also in use at those times were
called crystallina, and these murrhina or murrhtea, by
way of keeping up the distinction ; and Martial tells us
that the stone they were made of was spotted or varie¬
gated, calling them pocula maculosae murrae. And
Statius mentions the crystalline and murrhine cups in
the same sentence, but as different things, not the same.
Arrian mentions also the XtQog ; which his inter¬
preters censure as an error of the copies, and would alter
into myrrha, the name of the gum myrrh.
Pompey is recorded as the first who brought these
murrhine vessels out of the east, which he exhibited
in his triumph, and dedicated to Jupiter Capitolinus.
But private persons were not long without them. So
fond in effect did the Roman gentry grow of them,
that a cup which held three sextaries was sold for 'yo
talents. T. Petronius, before his death, to spite Nero
(or as Pliny expresses it, ut mensavi ejus exheeredaret,
to disinherit his table), broke a bason, trulla murrhina,
valued at 300 talents, on which that emperor had set
his heart.
MUS, a genus of quadrupeds belonging to the order
of Glires. See Mammalia Index.
MUSA, the Plantain-tree j a genus of plants be-
iOnging to the polyandria class, and in the natural me¬
thod ranking under the eighth order, Scitaminece. See
Botany Index.
MUS^EUS, an ancient Greek poet, was, according
to Plato and Diodorus Siculus, an Athenian, the son of
Orpheus, and chief of the Eleusinian mysteries institut¬
ed at Athens in honour of Ceres: or, according to
others, he was only the disciple of Orpheus ; but from
the great resemblance which there was between his
character and talents and those of his master, by giving
a stronger outline to the figure he was called his son, as
those were styled the children of Apollo who cultivated
the arts of which he was the tutelar god.
Musaeus is allowed to have been one of the first poets
who versified the oracles. He is placed in the Arun-
delian marbles, epoch 15. 1426 B. C. at which time
his hymns are there said to have been received in the
celebration of the Eleusinian mysteries. Laertius tells
us, that Musaeus not only composed a theogony, but
formed a sphere for the use of his companions j yet as
Bus honour is generally given to Chiron, it is more na-
M U S
tural to suppose, with Sir Isaac Newton, that he enlar- Musa-u
ged it with the addition of several constellations after ||
the conquest of the golden fleece. The sphere itself Muschen.
shows that it was delineated after the Argonautic expe- broeck.
dition, which is described in the asterisms, together Burney's
with several other more ancient histories of the Greeks, History of
a.nd without any thing later j for the ship Argo was the ^Jusie.
first long vessel which they had built: hitherto they
had used round ships ot burden, and kept within sight
of the shore; but now, by the dictates of the oracle,
and consent of the princes of Greece, the flower of that
country sail rapidly through the deep, and guide their
ship by the stars.
Musaeus is celebrated by Virgil in the character of
hierophant, or priest of Ceres, at the head of the most
illustrious mortals who have merited a place in Elysium.
Here he is made the conductor of iEneas to the recess
where he meets the shade of his father Anchises.
A hill near the citadel of Athens was called Mu-
sceum, according to Pausanias, from Musaeus, who used
to retire thither to meditate and compose his religious
hymns; at which place he was afterwards buried. The
works which went under his name, like those of Or¬
pheus, were by many attributed to Onomacritus. No¬
thing remains of this poet now, nor were any of his
writings extant in the time of Pausanias, except a
hymn to Ceres, which he made for the Lycomides.
And as these hymns were likewise set to music, and
sung in the mysteries by Musseus himself in the cha¬
racter of priest, he thence perhaps acquired from fu¬
ture times the title of musician, as well as of poet; the
performance of sacred music being probably at first con¬
fined to the priesthood in these celebrations, as it had
been before in Egypt, whence they originated. How¬
ever, he is not enumerated among ancient musicians by
Plutarch ; nor does it appear that he merited the title
of son and successor to Orpheus for his musical abilities,
so much as for his poetry, piety, and profound know¬
ledge in religious mysteries.
MUSCA, the Fly j a genus of insects belonging to
the order of diptera. See Entomology Index.
Musca, a name given to such persons among the
Romans as officiously thrust themselves into the compa¬
ny of their superiors and those who despised them, by
finding means of getting admittance to entertainments
without invitation, and without a welcome : So that
musece were the same as parasites, who were frequently
by the Greeks termed l&mcu. See Parasite.
MUSCADINE, a rich wine, of the growth of
Provence, Languedoc, Cividad, &c.—The word is
supposed to be derived from musk ; the wine being sup¬
posed to have a little of the smell of that perfume ;
others from musca, “ a fly,” because the flies are ex¬
tremely fond of its grapes; as the Latins had their vi-
num apianum, so called ah apibus, from the bees which
fed on it.
The process for making muscadine at Frontignac, is
the following: The muscadine grapes are allowed to be
half dried on the vine : and as soon as they are gathered,
they are trode and pressed, and the liquor is tunned,
without letting it stand to ferment in the fat ; the lee
which remains is supposed to produce the peculiar fla¬
vour of this wine.
MUSCHENBROECK, Peter de, a very distin¬
guished natural philosopher and mathematician, was
3 I* 2 ■ bom
bioeck
Muses.
M U S L '484
Mus hen* born at Utrecht a little before J 700. He was first pro¬
fessor in his own university, and afterwards invited to
the diair at Leyden, where he died full of reputation
and honours in 1761. He was a member of several
academies ; particularly the Academy of Sciences at
Paris. He was the author of several works in Latin,
which are frequently referred to, and all of which dis¬
cover great penetration and exactness of the subjects
of which he treats. He was also consummate in the
knowledge of law.
MUSC1, Mosses, one of the orders of the class
cryptogamia *, which see, Botany Index.—The an¬
cients took the moss of trees to he the effect of a disor¬
der or discomposure of the texture of the bark; or at
most a kind of little filaments arising from the bark ;
but the moderns find, by more accurate observation,
that mosses are real distinct plants, whose seed, being
extremely small, is enclosed in little capsules j which
bursting of themselves, the seed is carried oil’ by the
winds ; till, falling into the inequalities of the bark of
trees, it is there stopped, takes root, and feeds at the
ex pence of the tree, as mouldiness does on broad, &c.
MUSCLE, or Mussel. See Mytulus, Concho-
logy Index.
MUSCOVY. See Russia.
Muscovy Glass, or Glimmer, See Mica, Mine¬
ralogy Index.
MUSCULUS, a military machine, made use of by
the Romans to cover and protect the soldiers while
they approached and undermined the walls of besieged
places, or filled the ditches. It seems to have resem¬
bled the testudo in form, but was smaller in size. See
Testudo;
MUSEIA, were Grecian festivals in honour of the
Muses, celebrated with games every fifth year, parti-
larly by the Thespians. The Macedonians also ob¬
served a festival of the same name in honour of Jupi¬
ter and the Muses, which lasted for nine days, and
was celebrated with stage plays, songs, and poetical,
compositions.
MUSES, certain fabulous deities among the Pa-?,
gans, supposed to preside over the arts and sciences:
for this reason it is usual for the poets, at the be¬
ginning of a poem, to invoke these goddesses to their
aid.
The Muses were originally only singers and musicians
in the service of Osiris, or the great Egy ptian Bacchus,
under the instruction and guidance of his son Orus j
but in succeeding times they were called the daughters
of Jupiter and Mnemosyne or Memory.
These are the only pagan divinities whose worship
has been continued through all succeeding changes in
the religion and sentiments of mankind. Professors of
every liberal art in all the countries of.Europe still re¬
vere them ; part-cularly the poets, who seldom under¬
take the slightest work without invoking their aid.
Sir Isaac Newton tells us, that the singing women
of Osiris were celebrated in Thrace by the name of
the Muses ; and that the daughters of Pierius, a Tina-,
] M U S
imitating them, were celebrated by the
cian, imitating mem, were ceicoraieu uy iue same jjuscs
name.
Diodorus Siculus informs us, that Aleman of Mes-
sene, a lyric poet who flourished in the 27th Olympiad,
670 years B. C. makes them the daughters of Uranus,
and Terra. It has been asserted by some ancient writ¬
ers, that at first they were only three in number: but
Homer, Hesiod, and other profound mythologists, ad¬
mit of nine (a).
In his hymn to Apollo, Homer sayrs,
—By turns the nine delight to sing.
And Hesiod, in his Theogony, names them all.—They
are, said severally to preside over some art or science, as
music, poetry, dancing, astronomy. By some they are
called virgins, because the virtues of education appear
unalterable : they are called muses from a Greek word Burney .
which signifies to explain mysteries, because they have. ^ V
taught things the most curious and important to know, ‘
and which are above the comprehension of vulgar
minds. Each of their names is said to include some
particular allegory j Clio, for instance, has been thus
called, because those who are praised in verse acquire,
immortal fame j Euterpe, on account of the pleasure
accruing to those who hear learned poetry j Thalia, im¬
plies for ever flourishing; Melpomene, that her melody
insinuates itself into the inmost recesses of the soul;
Terpsichore marks the pleasure which those receive who
are versed in the liberal arts; Erato seems to indicate,
that the learned command the esteem and friendship of
all mankind ; Polyhymnia, that many poets are become
immortal by the number of hymns which they have ad¬
dressed to the gods ; Crania, that those whom she in¬
structs elevate their contemplations and celebrity to the
heavens and the stars ; and lastly, the exquisite voice of
Calliope has acquired her that appellation, as the inven-
tress and guardian of eloquence and rhetoric.
An epigram of Callimachus gives the attributes of
the Muses in as many lines.
Calliope the deeds of heroes sings ;
Great Clio sweeps to history the strings;
Euterpe teaches mimes their silent show;
Melpomene presides o’er scenes of wo ;
Terpsichore the flute’s soft pow’r displays;
And Erato gives hymns the gods to praise ;
Eolymnuds skill inspires melodious strains ;
Crania wise, the starry course explains ;
And gay T/Wza’.y glass points out where folly reigns.
This epigram does not, however, exactly correspond,
with the ideas of other poets, or of the ancient painters, ,
in characterizing the attributes of the Muses.- The an¬
cients had numberless ingenious and fanciful.ideas con¬
cerning the muses, which we have not room to recite.
—“ ft seems (says the abbe Barthelemi 1") as it the first| Travels
poets, enchanted with the beauties of nature, occasion-
ally were led to invoke the nymphs of the woods, hills,
and fountains ; and that yielding to the pi evading taste p '6It
for allegory, they gave them names relative to the in¬
fluence
(a) It has been said, that when the citizens of Sicyon directed three skilful statuaries to make each of them
statues of the three Muses, they were all so well executed, that they did not know which to choose, but erecte-.
all the nine, and that Hesiod and Homer only gave them names.
M u S [ 485 1 M U S
5eS) flaence they might he supposed to have over tlie pro-
•um ductions of the mind. At first three Muses only were
admitted, Melete, Mneme, and Aoede : that is to say,
the meditation or reflection necessary to study 5 memo¬
ry, which records illustrious deeds; and song, which
accompanies their recital. In proportion as improve¬
ment was made in the art of versification, its characters
and effects were personified, the number of the Muses
increased, and the names they now received referred to
the charms of poetry, its celestial origin, the beauty of
its language, the pleasure and gaiety it inspires, the
song and dance which add to it new charms, and the
glory with which it is crowned. Afterwards were as¬
sociated with them the Graces, whose employment it is
to embellish poetry, and Love who is so frequently its
object. These ideas took birth in a barbarous country,
in Thrace, where Orpheus, Linus, and their disciples,
suddenly appeared in the midst of ignorance. The
Muses, were honoured there on the Pierian mount; and
extending their dominion, successively took their sta¬
tions on Pindus, Parnassus, Helicon, and all those so¬
litary places where the painters of nature, surrounded .
by the most pleasing images, experience the divine
glow of inspiration.”
Pythagoras, and afterwards Plato, make the Muses
the soul of the planets in our system ; from whence the
imaginary music of the spheres.
MUSEUM, a name which originally signified a
part of the palace of Alexandria, which took up at
least one-fourth of the city. This quarter was called
the museum, on account of its being set apart for the
Muses and the study of the sciences. Here were
lodged and entertained the men of learning ; who were ,
divided into many companies or colleges, according to Museum,
the sciences of which they were the professors ; and to Mushroom,
each of these houses or colleges was allotted a handsome
revenue. The foundation of this establishment is attri¬
buted to Ptolemy Philadelphus, who here placed his
library. Hence the word museum is now applied to
any place set apart as a repository for things that have
an immediate relation to the arts.
Tlie museum at Oxford, called the Ashmolean mu¬
seum, is a noble pile of building, erected at the expence
of the university, at the west end of the theatre, at
which side it has a magnificent portal, sustained by pil¬
lars of the Corinthian order. The front, which is to
the street, extends about 60 feet, where there is this
inscription over the entrance in gilt characters. Museum
Ashmoleanum, schola naturalis historicv, qfficina c/iymi*
ca. It was begun in 1679, and finished in 1683,
when a valuable collection of curiosities was presented
to the university by Elias Ashmole, Esq. which were
the same day reposited there : several accessions have
been since made to the museum ; among which are hie-
roglyphics, and other Egyptian antiquities, an entire
mummy, Roman antiquities, altars, medals, lamps, &c.
and a variety of natural curiosities.
For an account of the British museum, see London,
N° 146.
MUSHROOM. See Fungi, Botany Index.
To try the quality of mushrooms :—Take an onion,
and strip the outer skin, and boil it with your mush¬
rooms : if the onion become blue or black, there are
certainly dangerous ones amongst them ; if it rema?a_
white, they are good.
M U S I C;
too. nPHE art of combining sounds in a manner agree-
able to the ear This combination may he either
simultaneous or successive : in the first case, it consti¬
tutes harmony in the last, melody. But though the
same sounds, or intervals of sound, which give plea¬
sure when heard in succession, will not always produce
the same effect in harmony ; yet the principles which
constitute the simpler and more perfect kinds of har¬
mony, are almost, if not entirely, the same with those
of melody. By perfect harmony, we do not here mean,
that plenitude, those complex modifications of harmo¬
nic sound, which are admired in practice ; but that har¬
mony which is perfect by theoricians and artists ;
that harmony which results from the coalescence of
simultaneous sounds produced by vibrations in the pro¬
portions of thirds, fifths, and octaves, or their dupli¬
cates.
The principles upon which these various combina¬
tions of sound are founded, and by which they are-re¬
gulated, constitute a science, which is not only exten¬
sive but profound, when we would investigate the prin¬
ciples from whence these happy modifications of sound
result, and by which they are determined ; or when we
would explore the sensations, whether mental or cor¬
poreal, with which they affect us. The ancient defini¬
tions of music are not proportioned in their extent
to our present ideas of that art ; but M. Rouseau be- Detuiition.
trays a temerity highly inconsistent with the philoso¬
phical character, when from thence he infers, that their
ideas were vague and undetermined. Every soul sus¬
ceptible of refinement and delicacy in taste or senti¬
ment, must be conscious that there is a music in action
as well as in sound ; and that the ideas of beauty and
decorum, of harmony and symmetry, are, if we may
use the expression, equally constituent of visible as of
audible music. Those illustrious minds, whose com¬
prehensive prospects in every science where taste and
propriety prevail took in nature at a single glance,
would behold with contempt and ridicule those narrow
and microscopic views of which alone their successors
in philosophy have discovered themselves capacious.
With these definitions, however, we are less concexmed,
as they bear no proportion to the ideas which are now
entertained of music. Nor can we follow M. Rousseau,
from whatever venerable sources his, authority may be
derived, in adopting his Egyptian etymology for the
word music. The established derivation from Musa
could only be questioned by a paradoxical genius.
That music had been practised in Egypt before it was
known as an art in Greece, is indeed a fact which can¬
not be questioned; but it does not thence follow that
the Greeks had borrowed the name as well as the art
fxonx
486
MUSIC.
from Egypt: If tlie art of music be so natural to mail
that vocal melody is practised wherever articulate
sounds are used, there can be little reason for deducing
the idea of music from the whistling of winds through
the reeds that grew on the river Nile. And indeed,
when we reflect with how easy a transition we may pass
from the accents of speaking to diatonic sounds 5 when
we observe how early children adapt the language of
their amusements to measure and melody, however rude 5
when we consider how early and universally these prac¬
tices take place—there is no avoiding the conclusion,
that the idea of music is connatural to man, and im¬
plied in the original principles of his constitution. We
have already said, that the principles on which it is
founded, and the rules by which it is conducted, con¬
stitute a science. The same maxims when applied to
practice form an art: hence its first and most capital
division is into speculative and practical music.
Speculative music is, if we may be permitted to use
the expression, the knowledge of the nature and use of
those materials which compose it, or, in other words,
of all the difl’erent relations between the high and low,
between the harsh and the swreet, between the swift and
the slow, between the strong and the weak, of which
sounds are susceptible : relations which, comprehend¬
ing all the possible combinations of music and sounds,
seem likewise to comprehend all the causes of the im¬
pressions which their succession can make upon the ear
and upon the soul.
Practical music is the ait of applying and reducing
to practice those principles which result from the theory
of agreeable sounds, whether simultaneous or succes¬
sive ; or, in other words, to conduct and arrange sounds
according to the proportions resulting from consonance,
from duration and succession, in such a manner as to
produce upon the ear the effect which the composer
# See Com- intends. 1 his is the art which we call composition *.
position. With respect to the actual production of sounds by
voices or instruments, which is called execution, this
department is merely mechanical and operative : which,
only presupposing the powers of sounding the intervals
true, of exactly proportioning their degrees of dura¬
tion, of elevating or depressing sounds according to
those gradations which are prescribed by the tone, and
to the value required by the time, demands no other
knowledge but a familiar acquaintance with the charac¬
ters used in music, and a habit of expressing them with
promptitude and facility.
Speculative music is likewise divided into two de¬
partments 5 viz. the knowledge of the proportions of
sounds or their intervals, and that of their relative du¬
rations •, that is to say, of measure and of time.
The first is what among the ancients seems to have
been called karmonical music. It shows in what the
nature of air or melody consists } and discovers what
is consonant or discordant, agreeable or disagreeable, in
the modulation. It discovers, in a word, the effects
which sounds produce on the ear by their nature, by
their force, and by their intervals j which is equally
applicable to their consonance and their succession.
The second has been called rhythmical, because it
treats of sound-, with regard to their time and quantity.
It contains the explication ol their continuance, of their
proportions, of their measures, whether long or short,
quick or slow, of the different modes of time and the
3
parts into which they are divided, that to these the suc¬
cession of sounds may be conformed.
Practical music is likewise divided into two depart¬
ments, which correspond to the two preceding.
That which answers to karmonical music, and which
the ancients called melopee, teaches the rules for com¬
bining and varying the intervals, whether consonant or
dissonant, in an agreeable and harmonious manner.
The second, which answers to the rhythmh al music,
and which they called rhythmopee, contains the rules
for applying the different modes of time, for under¬
standing the feet by which verses were scanned, and
the diversities of measure j in a word, for the practice
of the rhythmus.
Music is at present divided more simply into melody
and harmony ; for, since the introduction of harmony,
the proportion between the length and shortness of
sounds, or even that between the distance of returning
cadences, are of less consequence amongst us. For it
often happens in modern languages, that the verses as¬
sume their measures from the musical air, and almost
entirely lose the small share of proportion and quantity
which in themselves they possess.
By melody the successions of sound are regulated in
such a manner as to produce pleasing airs. See Me¬
lody.
Harmony consists in uniting to each of the sounds,
in a regular succession, two or more different sounds,
which simultaneously striking the ear soothe it by their
concurrence. See Harmony.
Music, according to Rousseau, may be, and perhaps
likewise ought to be, divided into the physical and the
imitative. The first is limited to the mere mechanism
of sounds, and reaches no farther than the external
senses, without carrying its impressions to the heart,
and can produce nothing but corporeal sensations more
or less agreeable. Such is the music of songs, of hymns,
of all the airs which only consist in combinations of me¬
lodious sounds, and in general all music which is mere¬
ly harmonious.
It may, however, be questioned, whether every sound,
even to the most simple, is not either by nature or by
early and confirmed association, imitative. If we may
trust our own feelings, there is no such thing in nature
as music which gives mechanical pleasure alone. For
if so, it must give such pleasure as we receive from
tastes, from odours, or from other grateful titillations j
but we absolutely deny that there are any musical sen¬
sations or pleasures in the smallest degree analogous to
these. Let any piece of music be resolved into its ele¬
mentary parts and their proportions, it will then easily
appear from this analysis, that sense is no more than
the vehicle of such perceptions, and that mind alone
can be susceptible of them. It may indeed happen,
from the number of the performers and the complica¬
tion of the harmony, that meaning and sentiment may
be lost in the multiplicity of sounds ; but this, though
it may be harmony, loses the name of music.
The second department of this division, by lively and
accentuated inflections, and by sounds which may'be
said to speak, expresses all the passions, paints every
possible picture, reflects every object, subjects the
whole of nature to its skilful imitations, and impresses
even on the heart and soul of man sentiments proper to
affect them in the most sensible manner. This, conti¬
nues
M U
uues he, which Is the genuine lyric and theatrical mu¬
sic, was what gave double charms and energy to ancient
poetry ; this is what, in our days, we exert ourselves in
applying to the drama, and what our singers execute
on the stage. It is in this music alone, and not in har¬
monics or the resonance of nature, that we must expect
to find accounts of those prodigious effects which it for¬
merly produced.
But, with M. Rousseau’s permission, all music which
is not in some degree characterised by these pathetic
and imitative powers, deserves no better name than that
of a musical jargon, and can only be effectuated by such
a complication and intricacy of harmony, as may con¬
found, but cannot entertain the audience. This cha¬
racter, therefore, ought to be added as essential to the
definition of music; and it must be attributed to our
neglect of this alone, whilst our whole attention is be¬
stowed on harmony and execution, that the best per¬
formances of our artists and composers are heard with
listless indifference and oscitation, nor ever can conci¬
liate any admirers, but such as are induced, by pedan¬
try «iud affectation, to pretend what they do not feel.
Still may the curse of indifference and inattention pur¬
sue and harrow up the souls of every composer or per¬
former, who pretends to regale our ears with this mu¬
sical legerdemain, till the grin of scorn, or the hiss of
infamy, teach them to correct this depravity of taste,
and entertain us with the voice of nature !
Whilst moral effects are sought in the natural effects
of sound alone, the scrutiny will be vain, and disputes
will be maintained without being understood : but
sounds as representatives of objects, whether by nature
or association, introduce new scenes to the fancy and
new feelings to the heart; not from their mechanical
powers, but from the connection established by the Au¬
thor of our frame between sounds and the object which
either by natural resemblance or unavoidable association,
they are made to represent.
It would seem that music was one of those arts
which were first discovered : and that vocal was prior
to instrumental music, if in the earliest ages there
was any music which could be said to be purely instru¬
mental. For it is more than probable, that music was
originally formed to be the vehicle of poetry ; and of
consequence, though the voice might he supported and
accompanied by instruments, yet music was never in¬
tended for instruments alone.
We are told by ancient authors, that all the, laws,
whether human or divine, exhortations to virtue, the
knowledge of the characters and actions of gods and
heroes, the lives and atchievements of illustrious men,
were written in verse, and sung publicly by a quire to
the sound ol instruments; and it appears from the
Scriptures, that such from the earliest times was the
custom among the Israelites. Nor was it possible to
find means more efficacious for impressing on the mind
of man the principles of morals, and inspiring the
love of virtue. Perhaps, however, this was not the re¬
sult ol a premeditated plan; but inspired by sublime
sentiments and elevation of thought, which in accents
that were suited and proportioned to their celestial na¬
ture endeavoured to find a language worthy of them¬
selves and expressive of their grandeur.
It merits attention, that the ancients were duly sen¬
sible of the value and importance of this divine art,
S 1 c.
not only as a symbol of that universal order and sym¬
metry which prevails through the whole frame of ma¬
terial and intelligent nature, but as productive of the
most momentous effects both in moral and political
ife. 1 lato and Aristotle, who disagreed almost in
every other maxim of politics, are unanimous in their
approbation of music, as an efficacious instrument in
the formation of the public character and in conduct-
mg the state; and it was the general opinion, that
whilst the gymnastic exercises rendered the constitution
robust and hardy, music humanised the character, and
softened those habits of roughness and ferocity by
which men might otherwise have degenerated into sa¬
vages. I he gradations by which voices were exerted
and tuned, by which the invention of one instrument
succeeded to another, or by which the principles of
music were collected and methodised in such a manner
as to give it the form of an art and the dignity of a
science, are topics so fruitful of conjecture and so void
of certainty, that we must leave them to employ minds
more speculative and inventions more prolific than
ours, or transfer them to the History of music as a more
proper place for such disquisitions. For the amuse¬
ment ol the curious, Rousseau in his Musical Dictionary,
lates C and N, has transcribed some fragments of
Grecian, Persian, American, Chinese, and Swiss music,
with which performers may entertain themselves at
leisure. Vi hen they have tried the pieces, it is imagin¬
ed they will be less sanguinely fond than that author of
ascribing the power of music to its affinity with the na¬
tional accents where it is composed. This may doubt¬
less have its influence ; but there are other causes more
permanent and less arbitrary to which it owes its most
powerful and universal charms.
. The music now most generally celebrated and prac¬
tised is that of the Italians, or their successful imita¬
tors. I he Fnglisb, from the invasion of the Saxons,
to that more late though lucid era in which they im¬
bibed the art and copied the manner of the Italians,
had a music which neither pleased the soul nor charm¬
ed the ear. The primitive music of the French de¬
serves no higher panegyric. Of all the barbarous na¬
tions, the Scots and Irish seem to have possessed the
most affecting original music. The first consists of a
melody characterised by tenderness : It melts the soul
to a pleasing pensive languor. The other is the na¬
tive expression of grief and melancholy. Tassoni in¬
forms us, that in his time a prince from Scotland had
imported into Italy a lamentable kind of music from
his own country ; and that he himself had composed
pieces in the same spirit. From this expressive though-
laconic description, we learn that the character of our
national music was even then established ; yet so gross
is-our ignorance and credulity, that we ascribe the
best and most impassioned airs which are extant among
us to David Rizzio ; as if an Italian lutanist who
had lived so short a time in Scotland, could, at once, as
it were, by inspiration, have imbibed a spirit and com¬
posed in a manner so different from bis own. It is
yet more surprising that Geminiani should have enter¬
tained and published the same prejudice, upon the mi¬
serable authority of popular tradition alone ; for the
fact is authenticated by no better credentials. The pri¬
mitive music of the Scots may be divided into the mar-
Ualy the pastoral) and <the festive. The jirst consists
either
488
MUSIC.
cither in marches, which were played before the chief¬
tains, in imitation of the battles which they fought,
or in lamentations for the catastrophes of war and the
extinction of families. These wild effusions of natural
melody preserve several of the rules prescribed for com¬
position. The strains, though rude and untutored, ale
frequently terrible or mournful in a very high degree.
The port or march is sometimes in common, sometimes
in treble time; regular in its measures, and exact in
the distance between its returning cadences ; most fre¬
quently, though not always, loud and brisk. I he pi¬
broch, or imitation of battles, is wild and abrupt in
its transitions from interval to interval and from key
to key 5 various and desultory in its movements , le
quently irregular in the return of its cadences-, and
in short, through the whole, seems inspired with such
fury and enthusiasm, that the hearer is irresistibly in¬
fected with all the rage of precipitate courage, not¬
withstanding the rudeness of the accents by which it is
kindled. To this the pastoral forms a striking contrast.
Its accents are plaintive, yet soothing; its harmony
generally flat j its modulations natural and agreeable J
its rhythmus simple and regularits returning caden¬
ces at equal distance; its transitions from one concin-
nous interval to another, at least for the mostpait j its
movements slow, and may be either in common or
treble time. It scarcely admits of any other harmony
than that of a simple bass. A greater number of parts
would cover the air, and destroy the melody. To this
we shall add what has been said upon the same subject
by Dr Franklin. Writing to Lord K , he
proceeds thus: _
“ Give me leave, on this occasion, to extend a little
the sense of your position, ‘ That melody and harmony
are separately agreeable, and in union delightful
and 'to give as my opihion, that the reason why the
Scotch tunes have lived so long, and will probably live
for ever (if they escape being stifled in modern affect-
ed ornament), is merely this, that they are really com¬
positions of melody and harmony united, or rather
that their melody is harmony. I mean, the simple
tunes sung by a single voice. As this will appear pa¬
radoxical, I must explain my meaning. In common
acceptation, indeed, only an agreeable succession of
sounds is called melody; and only the coexistence of
agreeable sounds harmony. But since the memory is
capable of retaining for some moments a perfect idea
of the pitch of a past sound, so as to compare it with
the pitch of a succeeding sound, and judge truly of
their agreement or diagreement, there may and does
arise from thence a sense of harmony between the pre¬
sent and past sounds, equally pleasing with that between
two present sounds. Now the construction of the old
Scotch tunes is this, that almost every succeeding em-
phatical note is a third, a fifth, an octave, or in short
some note that is in concord with the preceding note.
Thirds are chiefly used, which are very pleasing con¬
cords. I use the word emphatical, to distinguish those
notes which have a stress laid on them in singing the
tune, from the lighter connecting notes that serve
merely, like grammar-articles in common speech, to
tack the whole together.
“ That we have a most perfect idea of a sound just
past, I might appeal to all acquainted with music, who
know how easy it is to repeat a sound in the same
3
pitch with one just heard. In tuning an instrument, a
good ear can as easily determine that two strings are
in unison by sounding them separately, as by sounding
them together , their disagreement is also as easily, I
believe I may say more easily and better distinguished
when sounded separately $ for when sounded together,
though you know by the beating that one is higher
than the other, you cannot tell which it is. I have
ascribed to memory the ability of comparing the pitch
of a present tone with that of one past. But if theie
should be, as possibly there may be, something in the
ear similar to what we find in the eye, that ability
would not be entirely owing to memory. Possibly the
vibrations given to the auditory nerves by a particular
sound may actually continue for some time atter the
cause of these vibrations is past, and the agreement or
disagreement of a subsequent sound become by compari¬
son with them more discernible. For the impression
made on the visual nerves by a luminous object will
continue for 20 or 30 seconds.”
After some experiments to prove the permanency of
visible impressions, he continues thus :
“ Farther, when we consider by whom these ancient
tunes were composed, and how they were first per¬
formed, w-e shall see that such harmonical succession
of sounds was natural, and even necessary in their con¬
struction. They were composed by the minstrels of
those days, to be played on the harp accompanied by
the voice. The harp wus strung with wire, which
gives a sound of long continuance; and had no con¬
trivance like that of the modern harpsichord, by
which the sound of the preceding note can be stopt
the moment a succeeding note begins, lo avoid
actual discord, it was therefore necessary that the suc¬
ceeding emphatic note should be a chord with the pre¬
ceding, as their sounds must exist at the same time.
Hence arose that beauty in those tunes that has so
long pleased, and will please for ever, though men
scarce know why. That they were originally com¬
posed for the harp, and of the most simple kind, I
mean a harp without any half notes but those in the
natural scale, and with no more than two octaves.of
strings, from C to C, I conjecture from another cir¬
cumstance , which is, that not one of these tunes really
ancient, has a single artificial half-note in it j and that
in tunes where it is most convenient for the voice to use
the middle notes of the harp, and place the key m I,
there the B, which if used should be a B flat, is al¬
ways omitted, by passing over it with a third. The
connoisseurs in modern music will say I have no taste j
but I cannot help adding, that I believe our ancestors,
in having a good song, distinctly articulated, sung to
one of those tunes, aqd accompanied by the harp, felt
more real pleasure than is communicated by the gene¬
rality of modern operas, exclusive of that arising from
the scenery and dancing. IVIost tunes of late compo¬
sition, not having this natural harmony united with
their melody, have recourse to the artificial harmony
of a bass, and other accompanying parts. This sup¬
port, in my opinion, the old tunes do not need, and
are rather confused than aided by it. Whoever has
heard James Oswald play them on his violincello, will
be less inclined to dispute this with me. I have more
than once seen tears of pleasure in the eyes of his
auditors : and yet I think, even his playing those tunes
4»9
story. M U S
would please more if lie gave them less modern orna¬
ment.”
As these observations are for the most part true, and
always ingenious, we need no other apology for quot¬
ing them at length. It is only proper to remark, that
the transition in Scots music by consonant intervals,
does not seem, as Dr Franklin imagines, to arise from
the nature of the instruments upon which they played.
It is more than probable, that the ancient British harp
was not strung with wire, but with the same materials
as the Welsh harps at present. These strings have not
the same permanency of jtone as metal ; so that the
sound oi a preceding emphatic note must have expired
before the subsequent accented note could be introdu¬
ced. Besides, they who are acquainted with the ma¬
noeuvre of the Irish harp, know well that there is a
method ot discontinuing sounds no less easy and effec¬
tual than upon the harpsichord. When the performer
I c.
finds it proper to interrupt a note, he has no more to do
but return his finger gently upon the string immediate'
ly struck, which effectually stops its vibration.
That species of Scots music which we have distin¬
guished by the name of festive seems now limited to reels
and country-dances. These may he either in common
or treble time. They most frequently consist of two
strains: each of these contains eight or twelve bars.
They are truly rhythmical 5 but the mirth which they
excite seems rather to be inspired by the vivacity of the
movement, than either by the force or variety of the me¬
lody. They possess a manoeuvre and expression pecu¬
liar to themselves, which it is impossible to describe,
and which can only be exhibited by good performers.
Having thus far pursued the general idea of music,
we shall, after the history, give a more particular detail
of the science.
HISTORY OF MUSIC.
•Wiccu- MUSIC is capable of so infinite a variety, so greatly
c«»tsC*of d°eS tlie- m.°St slmPle r from the most complex, and
thltate of80 roohiplied are the degrees between these two ex-
mi in trenies, that 111 no age could the incidents respecting
phtarlier that fascinating art have been lew or uninteresting,
ag.oithe But, that accounts of these incidents should have been
F handed down to us, scanty and imperfect, is no matter
of surprise, when we recollect that the history of music
is the history only of sounds, of which writing is a very
inadequate medium ; and that men would long employ
themselves in the pleasing exercise of cultivating music
before they possessed either the ability or the inclination
to record their exertions.
No accurate traces, therefore, of the actual state of
music, in the earlier ages of the world, can be discern¬
ed. Our ideas on the subject have no foundation firm¬
er than conjecture and analogy.
It is probable, that among all barbarous nations
some degree of similarity is discernible in the style of
their music. Neither will much difference appear du¬
ring the first dawnings of civilization. But in the
more advanced periods of society, when the powers
of the human mind are permitted without obstacle to
exert their native activity and tendency to invention,
and are at the same time affected by the infinite variety
of circumstances and situations which before had no ex¬
istence, and which in one case accelerate, and in ano¬
ther retard 5 then that similarity, once so distinguishable,
gives place to the endless diversity of which the subject
1 is capable.
The practice of music being universal in all ages and
all nations, it would be absurd to attribute the invention
ot the art to any one man. It must have suffered a re¬
gular progression, through infancy, childhood, and
youth, before it could arrive at maturity. TJie first
attempts must have been rude and artless. Perhaps the
first flute was a reed of the lake.
No nation has been able to produce proofs of anti¬
quity so indisputable as the Egyptians. It would be
vain, therefore, to attempt tracing music higher than
the history of Egypt.
By comparing the accounts of Diodorus Siculus
Vol. XIV. Part. II. +
Mu
the
tior I'
not
Iven-
’any
tn.
Ejry
UlliSj:
and of Plato, there is reason to suppose, that in very
ancient times the study of music in Egypt was con¬
fined to the priesthood, who used it only on religious
and solemn occasions ; that, as well as sculpture, it
was circumscribed by law ; that it was esteemed sa¬
cred, and forbidden to be employed on light or com-
nion occasions, and that innovation in it was prohi¬
bited : But what the style or relative excellence of
this very ancient music was, there are no traces by
which we can form an accurate judgment. After the
reigns of the Pharaohs, the Egyptians fell by turns
under the dominion of the Ethiopians,- the Persians,
the Gieeks, and the Homans. By such revolutions,
the manners and amusements of the people, as well as
their form of government, must have been changed.
In the age of the Ptolemies, the musical games and
contests instituted by those monarchs were of Greek
origin, and the musicians who performed were chiefly
Greek.
The most ancient monuments of human art and in ¬
dustry, at present extant at Borne, are the obelisks
brought thither from Egypt, two of which are said to
have been erected by besostris at Heliopolis, about 400
years before the siege of Troy. These were by the or¬
der ot Augustus brought to Rome after the Conquest
ot Egypt. One of them, called guglia rotta, or the
broken pillar, which during the sacking of the city in
1527 was thrown clown and broken, still lies in the
Campus Martins. On it is seen the figure of a musi-An E»yp.
cal instrument ot two strings, and with a. neck. It re-tian musical
semhles much the calascione still used in tbe kingdom iustnirhent.
of Naples. 0
This curious relick of antiquity is mentioned, be¬
cause it affords better evidence than, on the subject
of ancient music, is usually to be met with, that'the
Egyptians, at so very early a period of their history,
had advanced to a considerable degree of excellence
in the cultivation of the arts. By means of its neck
this instiument was capable, with only twu strings,
ot producing a great number of notes. These two
strings, if tuned fourths to each other, would furnish
that series of sounds called by the ancients heptachord,
3 Q which
490
The Egyp
tian Her
M U
which consists of a conjunct tetrachonl as B, C, D,
E } E, F, G, A; if tuned fifths, they would pro¬
duce an octave, or two disjunct tetrachords. The
calascione is tuned in this last manner. The annals
of no nation other than Egypt, lor many ages after
the period of the obelisk at Heliopolis, exhibit the
vestige of any contrivance to shorten strings during
performance by a neck or finger-board. Father Mont-
faucon observes, that after examining 500 ancient lyres,
harps, and citharas, he could discover no such thing.
Egypt indeed seems to have been the source ot hu¬
man intelligence, and the favourite residence ol genius
and invention. From that celebrated country did the
Greeks derive their knowledge of the first elements of
those arts and sciences in which they afterwards so emi¬
nently excelled. From Greece again did the Homans
borrow their attainments in the same pursuits. And
from the records of those different nations have the
moderns been enabled to accomplish so wonderful an
improvement in literature.
The Hermes or Mercury of the Egyptians, sirnamed
uaunci- ’ Trismegistus, or thrice illustrious, who was, according
mes the in- to Sir Isaac Newton, the secretary of Osins, is cele-
ventor of brated as the inventor of music. It has already been
the lyre. 0b5erved, that no one person ought strictly to be call¬
ed the inventor of an art which seems to be natural to,
and coeval with, the human species ; but the Egyptian
Mercury is without doubt entitled to the praise ot ha¬
ving made striking improvements in music, as well as
of having advanced in various respects the civilization
of the people, whose government was chiefly committed
to his charge. The account given by Apollodorus of
the manner in which he accidentally invented the lyre,
is at once entertaining and probable. “ The Nile
(says Apollodorus), after having overflowed the whole
country of Egypt, when it returned within its natural
bounds, left on the shore a great number of dead ani¬
mals of various kinds, and among the rest a tortoise
the flesh of which being dried and wasted by the sun,
nothing remained within the shell but nerves and car¬
tilages, and these being braced and contracted by the
drying heat became sonorous. Mercury walking along
the banks of the Nile, happened to strike his foot a-
gainst this shell and was so pleased with the sound pro¬
duced, that the idea of a lyre started into his imagina¬
tion. He constructed the instrument 'in the form of a
tortoise, and strung it with the dried sinews of dead
animals.”
How beautiful to conceive the energetic powers of
the human mind in the early ages of the world, ex¬
ploring the yet undiscovered capabilities of nature, and
directed to the inexhaustible store by the finger of God
in the form of accident!
The single The monaulos, or single flute, called by the Egyp-
flute of the tians photinx, was probably one of the ( most ancient
Egyptians instruments used either by them or any other nation.
From various remains of ancient sculpture, it appears
to have been shaped like a bull’s horn, and was at lust,
it may be supposed, no other than the horn itself.—
Before the invention of flutes, as no other instrument
except those of percussion were known, music must
have been little more than metrical. When the art of
refining and lengthening sounds was first discovered,
the power of music over mankind, from the agreeable
surprise occasioned by soft and extended notes, was
S I c.
History.
probably irresistible. At a time when all the rest of
the world wras involved in savage ignorance, the Egyp¬
tians were possessed of musical instruments capable of
much variety and expression.—Of this the astonishing
remains of the city Thebes still subsisting afford ample
evidence. In a letter from Mr Bruce, ingrossed in Dr
Burney’s history of Music, there is given a particular
description of the Theban harp, an instrument of ex- The The-
tensive compass, and exquisite elegance of form. It is^n harpi
accompanied with a drawing taken from the ruins of an
ancient sepulchre at Thebes, supposed by Mr Bruce
to be that of the father of Sesostris.
On the subject of this harp, Mr Bruce makes the
following striking observation. It overturns all the
accounts of the earliest state of ancient music and in¬
struments in Egypt, and is altogether, in its form, or¬
naments, and compass, an incontestable proof, stronger
than a thousand Greek quotations, that geometry,
drawing, mechanics, and music, were at the greatest
perfection when this harp was made; and that what
we think in Egypt was the invention of arts was only
the beginning of the sera of their restoration.”
Indeed, when the beauty and powers of this harp,
along with the very great antiquity of the painting
which represents it, are considered, such an opinion as
that which Mr Bruce hints at, does not seem to be de¬
void of probability.
It cannot be doubted that during the reigns of the
Ptolemies, who were voluptuous princes, music must
have been much cultivated and encouraged. The fa¬
ther of Cleopatra, who was the last ot that race ot
kings, derived his title of auletes, or flute-player, trom
his excessive attachment to the flute. Like Nero, he
used to array himself in the dress of a tibicen, and exhi¬
bit his performance in the public musical contests.
Some authors, particularly Am. Marcellinus and M.
Pau, refuse to the Egyptians, at any period of their
history, any musical genius, or any excellence in the
art •, but the arguments used to support this opinion seem
to be inconclusive, and the evidences of the opposite de¬
cision appear to be incontestable.
The sacred Scriptures afford almost the only mate-Hebrew
rials from which any knowdedge of Hebrew music can^us<:
be drawn. In the rapid sketch, therefore, of ancient
music which we mean to exhibit, a very few' observa¬
tions are all which can properly be given to that de¬
partment of our subject.
Moses, who led the Israelites out of Egypt, was
educated by Pharaoh’s daughter in all the literature
and elegant arts cultivated in that country. It is pro¬
bable, therefore, that the taste and style of Egyptian
music would be infused in some degree into that of the
Hebrews. Music appears to have been interwoven
through the whole tissue of religious ceremony in Pa¬
lestine. The priesthood seem to have been musicians
hereditary and by office. The prophets appear to
have accompanied their inspired effusions with music j
and every prophet, like the present improvisatori of
Italy, seems to have been accompanied by a musical in¬
strument.
Music, vocal and instrumental, constituted a great
part of the funeral ceremonies of the Jews. The pomp
and expence used on these occasions advanced by de¬
grees to an excessive extent. The number of flute-
players in the processions amounted sometimes to several
1 J hundreds,
{v
History. M U
hundreds, and t!ie attendance of the guests continued
Josephus, frequently for 30 days *.
m. e p. ru Hebrew language abounds with consonants,
and has so few vowels, that in the original alphabet
they had no characters. It must, therefore, have been
harsh and unfavourable to music. Their instruments
of music were chiefly those ot percussion ; so that,
both on account of the language and the instruments,
irse a»J the music must have been coarse and noisy. The vast
s I c.
491
< tcian
ni,ic.
1 numbers ot performers too, whom it was the taste of
the Hebrews to collect together, could with such a lan¬
guage and such instruments produce nothing but cla¬
mour and jargon. According to Josephus, there were
200,000 musicians at the dedication of Solomon’s
temple. Such are the circumstances from which only
an idea of Hebrew music can be formed ; for the Jews,
neither ancient nor modern, have ever had any charac¬
ters peculiar to music 5 and the melodies used in their
religious ceremonies have at all times been entirely tra¬
ditional.
Cadmus, with the Phoenician colony which he led
into Greece, imported at the same time various arts
into that country. By the assistance of his Phoenician
artificers, that chief discovered gold 111 Thrace and
copper at Thebes. At Thebes that metal is still term¬
ed cadmia. Of these materials, and of iron, they
formed to themselves armour and instruments of war.
I hese they struck against each other during their
dances at sacrifices, by which they first obtained the
idea of music. Such is the account given of the ori-
■ gin of that species of music in Greece produced by
instruments of percussion. The invention of wind in¬
struments in Greece is attributed to Minerva j and to
the Grecian Mercury is assigned, by the poets and
historians of that country, the honour of many disco¬
veries probably due to the Egyptian Hermes, particu¬
larly the invention of stringed instruments. The lyre
of the Egyptian Mercury had only three strings; that
ot the Grecian seven : i he last was perhaps no more
than an improvement on the other. When the Greeks
deified a prince or hero of their own country, they
usually assigned him an Egyptian name, and with the
name bestowed on their new divinity all the actions,
attributes, and rites of the original.
1 he. Grecian lyre, although sakl to have been in¬
vented by Mercury, was cultivated principally by
Apollo, who first played upon it with method, and
accompanied it with the voice. The celebrated con¬
test between him and Marsyas is mentioned by various
authors; in which, by conjoining the voice with his
lyre (a combination never before attempted), his music
Pd ess ofWaS ^eC^are^ superior to the flute of Marsyas. The
tliei ecjan progress of the lyre, according to Diodorus Siculus,
is the following. “ The muses added to the Grecian
lyre the string called mese; Linus that of lichanos ;
and Orpheus and Thamyras those strings which are
named hypate and parbypate.” It has been already
mentioned, that the lyre invented by the Egyptian
Mercury had but three strings. By putting these cir¬
cumstances together, we may perhaps acquire some
knowledge of the progress of music, or at least of the
extension of its scale in the highest antiquity. Mese,
in the Greek music, is the fourth sound of the second
tetrachord of the great system, and first tetrachord in¬
vented by the ancients,* answering to our A, on the
fifth line in the base. If this sound then was added to
the former three, it proves that the most ancient te¬
trachord was that from E in the base to A ; and that
the three original strings in the Mercurian and Apol¬
lonian lyre were tuned E, F, G, which the Greeks call
/u/pcite meson, parhrjate meson, and meson diatoms:
The addition, therefore, of mese to these, completed the
first and most ancient tetrachord E, F, G, A. The
string lichanos again being added to these, and answer¬
ing to our D on the third line in the base, extended the
compass downwards, and gave the ancient lyre a regu¬
lar series of five sounds. The two strings hypate and
parhypate, corresponding with our B and C in the base,
completed the heptachord or seven sounds b, c, d, e, f
g, a ; a compass which received no addition till after
the days of Pindar.
It might perhaps be expected, that in a history of
Greek music something ought to be said concerning
the muses, Apollo, Bacchus, and the other gods and
demi-gods, who in the mythology of that country ap¬
pear to have promoted and improved the art. But
such a discussion would be too diffusive, and involve too
much foreign matter for the plan we have chosen to
adopt. We cannot avoid, however, making a few
observations on the poems of Homer, in so far as con¬
nected with our subject. It has been imagined, with
much appearance of probability, that the occupation Occupation
of the first poets and musicians of Greece resembledof tllc fils*
that of the Celtic and German bards and the scalds !>oet.s .ant*
of Iceland and Scandinavia. They sung their poemsi^Grcece.
in the streets of the cities and in the palaces of princes*
They were treated with high respect, and regarded as
inspired persons. Such was the employment of Ho¬
mer. His poems, so justly celebrated, exhibit the
most authentic picture that can be found in the annals
of antiquity, although perhaps somewhat highly co¬
loured, of the times of which lie ■wrote and in which
he lived. Music is always named throughout the Iliad
and Odyssey with rapture ; but as in these poems no
mention is made of instrumental music unaccompanied
with poetry and singing, a considerable share no doubt
of the poet’s praises is to be attributed to the poetry.
Jhe instruments most frequently named are the lyre,
the flute, and the syrinx. The trumpet appears not
to have been known at the siege of Troy, although
it had come to be in use in the days of Homer him¬
self. From the time of Homer till that of Sappho,
there is almost a total blank in literature. Only a few
fragments remain of the works of those poets and mu¬
sicians whose names are preserved as having flourished
between those periods (a). During the century which
■elapsed between the days of Sappho and those of Ana¬
creon, no literary productions are preserved entire. 
3 Q 2 From
(a) Hesmd lived so near to Homer, that it has been disputed which of them is the most ancient It is now
Cb flrrLw hThc'sametrl!'1’ ^ ^ ^ ^ Hma > b"' « ^
49-
M U f
From Anacreon to f'liuiar there js another chasm ol
near a century. Subsequent to this time, the works
still extant of the three great tragic poets, iEschylus,
Sophocles, and Euripides, together with those ot Plato,
Aristotle, Aristoxenus, Euclid, Theocritus, Callima¬
chus, Polybius, and many others, produced all within
a space less than 300 years, distinguish this illustrious
and uncommon period as that in which the whole
powers of genius seem to have been exerted to illumi¬
nate and instruct mankind in future ages. 'I hen it
was that eloquence, poetry, music, architecture, history,
painting, sculpture, like the spontaneous blossoms of na-^
ture, flourished without the appearance of labour or ot
art.
The poets, as well epic as lyric and elegiac, were ad
likewise musicians', so strictly connected were music and
poetry for many ages. It would afford amusement to
collect the biographical anecdotes of these favourites of
genius, and to assign to each the respective improvements
made by him in music and poetry j but our limits do
not admit of so extensive a disquisition ; for which,
therefore, reference must be made to the editors and
commentators of these authors, and to the voluminous
histories of music lately published.
The inven- The invention of notation and musical characters
tion of mu- marked a distinguished sera in the progress of music,
sical cha- rgj]ere are a diversity of accounts respecting t
raciers. - - * • • *
   respecting the person
to whom the honour of that invention is due j but the
evidences seem to preponderate in favour of 1 erpandei,
a celebrated poet and musician, to whose genius music
is much indebted. He flourished about the 27th O.jm-
piad, or 671 years before Christ.
Before that valuable discovery, music being entirely
traditional, must have depended much on the memory
and taste of the performer.
There is an incident mentioned in the accounts
handed down to us of the Olympic games, which may
serve in some degree to mark the character oi music
at the time in which it happened. Lucian relates that
a young flute-player named Harmonides, at his first
public appearance in these games, began a solo with so
violent a blast, on purpose to surprise and elevate the
audience, that he breathed his last breath into his flute,
Vociferous and died on the spot. When to this anecdote, won-
music of derful to us, and almost incredible, is added that cir-
the Greeks. cumstance) tiiat the trumpet-players at these public ex¬
hibitions expressed an excess of joy when they found
their exertions had neither rent their cheeks nor hurst
their blood-vessels, some idea may be formed of the
noisy and vociferous style of music which then pleased j
and from such facts only can any opinion be obtained
of the actual state of ancient music.
In whatever the flute was played on, there
is no doubt that it was long in Greece an instrument
of high favour, and that the flute-players were held
in much estimation. The flute used by Ismenias, a
celebrated Theban musician, cost at Corinth three ta¬
lents, or ySxl. 5s. If, says Xenophon, a bad flute-
player would pass for a good one, he must, like the
great flute-players, expend large sums on rich furniture,
and appear in public with a great retinue oj servants.
I I C. History, ' ft
The ancients, it appears, were not less extravagant Extras,
in gratifying the ministers of their pleasures than our- ^ance of
selves. Amoebieus, a harper, was paid an Attic talent, ^eancieoi!
or 193I. 15s. per day for his performance (b).. . ^pecUo
It is proper to add, that the celebrated musicians ofums;c
Greece who performed in public were of both sexes ;
and that tbe beautiful Lamia, who was taken captive
by Demetrius, in the sea engagement in which he van¬
quished Ptolemy Soter, and who herself captivated her
conqueror, was a public performer, as well as were
many other elevated female spirits, who are recorded
by ancient authors in terms of admiration, and ot whom,
did our limits here admit of biography, we would treat
with pleasure. The philosophers of Greece, whose capa¬
cious minds grasped every other object of human intel¬
ligence, were not inattentive to the theory of music, or
the philosophy of sound. This department of science be¬
came the source of various sects, and of much diversity
of opinion.—Die founders of the most distinguished
sects were Pythagoras and Aristoxenus.
Like every other people, the Komans, from their
first origin as a nation, were possessed of a species of
music which might be distinguished as their own. It
appears to have been rude and coarse, and probably
was a variation of the music in use among the Etrus¬
cans and other tribes around them in Italy } but as
soon as they began to open a communication with
Greece, from that country, with their arts and philo¬
sophy, they borrowed also their music and musical in¬
struments. No account, therefore, of Koman music
is to be expected that would not l>& a repetition
cf what has been said on the subject of the music of
Greece. .
The excessive vanity of Nero with respect to music, Vamty of
displayed in his public contentions for superiority with
the most celebrated professors of the art in Greece musie-
and Rome, is known to every one conversant in the
history of Rome. The solicitude with which that
detestable tyrant attended to his voice is curious, and
will throw some light on the practices of singers in
ancient times. He was in use to lie on his back, with
a thin plate of lead on his stomach. He took frequent
emetics and cathartics, abstained from all kinds of
fruits and such meats as were held to be prejudicial to
singing. Apprehensive of injuring his voice, he at
length desisted from haranguing the soldiery and the
senate ; and after his return from Greece established
an officer (Phonascus) to regulate his tones in speak-
m-
mg
t. Q rtd
Most nations have consented in introducing music Sac^
into their religious ceremonies. That art was early
admitted into the rites of the Egyptians and Hebrews 5
and that it constituted a considerable part ot the Gre¬
cian and Roman religious service, appears from the
writings of many ancient authors. The same pleasing
art soon obtained an introduction into the Christian
church, as the Acts of the Apostles discover in many
passages. There remain no specimens of the music
employed in the worship of the primitive Christians J
but probably it was at first the same with that used m
the Ragan rites of the Greeks and Romans. i he
^ practice
(b) Roscias gained 500 sestertia, or 4036I. 9s. 2d. sterling.
493
i ory. M u
practice of chanting the psalms was introduced into
the western churches by St Ambrose, about 3 50 years
after Christ. In the year 600, the method of chant¬
ing was improved by St Gregory the Great. The
Ambrosian chant contained four modes. In the Gre¬
gorian the number was doubled. So early as the age
of Constantine the Great, prior to either cf the pe¬
riods last mentioned, when the Christian religion first
obtained the countenance of power, instrumental mu¬
sic came to be introduced into the service of the church.
itiVced England, according to Bishop Stillingfleet, music
itcie was employed in the church service, first by St Augus-
Inj li tine, and afterwards much improved by St Dunstan,
tuiu. was himself an eminent musician, and who is said
~ to have first furnished the English churches and con¬
vents with the organ. The organ, the most majestic
ot all instruments, seems to have been an improvement
of the hydraulican or water organ of the Greeks.—
The first organ seen in France was sent from Constan¬
tinople in 757, as a present to fifing Pepin from the
emperor Constantine Copronymus VI. In Italy, Ger¬
many, and England, that instrument became frequent
during the 10th century.
During the dark ages no work of genius or taste'in
any department of science seems to have been jirodu-
ced in any part of Europe ; and except in Italy,
where the cultivation of music wras rather more the
object of attention, that art was neglected equally with
all others. I here has always been observed a corre¬
spondence in every country between the progress of
music and the cultivation of other arts and sciences.
In the middle ages, therefore, when the most fertile
provinces of Europe were occupied by the Goths,
Huns, Vandals, and other barbarous tribes, whose
language was as harsh as their manners were savage,
little perfection and no improvement of music is to
be looked for. Literature, arts, and refinements,
'he :at were encouraged more early at the courts of the Ko-
npm:- man pontiffs than in any other country } and owing to
rasiW tll^t circumstance it is, that the scale, the counter-
ieirj iginP0^11*’ best: melodies, the dramas religious and se-
cular, the chief graces and elegancies of modern mu¬
sic, have derived their origin from Italy. In modern
times, Italy has been to the rest of Europe what an¬
cient Greece was to Rome. The Italians have aided
the civilization of their conquerors, and enlightened
the minds of those whose superior prowess had enslaved
them.
Having mentioned counterpoint, it would be im¬
proper not to make one or two observations on an in¬
vention which is supposed to have been the source of
great innovation in the practice of music. Counter¬
point, or music in parts, seem to be an invention
purely modern. The term harmony meant in the
language ot antiquity what is now understood by me-
om. lody. Guido, a monk of Arezzo in Tuscany, is, in
anti. t]Je generai opinion, supposed to have entertained the
first idea of counterpoint about the year 1022 : an art
which, since his time, has experienced gradual and im¬
perceptible improvements, far exceeding the powers
or comprehension of any one individual. The term
counterpoint, or contra punctum, denotes its own ety¬
mology and import, Musical notation was at one time
performed by small points j and the present mode is
S I c.
only an improvement of that practice. Counterpoint,
therefore, denotes the notation of harmony or music
in parts, by points opposite to each other. The im¬
provements of this important acquisition to the art of
music kept pace at first with those of the organ j an in¬
strument admirably adapted to harmony : And both
the one and the other were till the 13th century em¬
ployed chiefly in sacred music. It was at this period
that sacred music began to be cultivated.
Before the invention of characters for time, music
in parts must have consisted entirely of simple counter¬
point, or note against note, as is still practised in psal¬
mody. But the happy discovery of a time-table ex¬
tended infinitely the powers of combined sounds. The
ancients had no other resource to denote time and
movement in music except tw'o characters ( 
equivalent to a long and a short syllable. But time
is of such importance in music, that it can impart
meaning and energy to the repetition of the same
sound. Without it variety of tones has no effect with
respect to gravity and acuteness. The invention of The inven-
the time-table is attributed by almost all the writers tion efthe
on music of the last and present century to John de1™6"1^6"
Muris, who flourished about the year 1330. But in
a manuscript of John de Muris himself, bequeathed
to the Vatican library by the Queen of Sweden, that
honour seems to be yielded to Magister Franco, who
appears to have been alive as late at least as 1083.
John de Muris, however, who there is some cause to
believe was an Englishman, though not the inventor of
the cantus mensurabilis, did certainly by his numerous
writings greatly improve it. His tract on the Art of
Counterpoint is the most clear and useful essay on the
subject of which those times can boast.
In the nth century, during the first crusade, Eu¬
rope began to emerge from the barbarous stupidity
and ignorance which had long overwhelmed it. While
its inhabitants were exercising in Asia every species of
rapine and pious cruelty, art, ingenuity, and reason,
insensibly civilized and softened their minds. Then it
wras that the poets and songsters, known by the name
of Troubadours, who first appeared in Provence, insti-Trouba-
tuted a new profession j which obtained the patronage clours,
of the count of Poictou, and many other princes and
baron^, who had themselves cultivated music and po¬
etry with success. At the courts of their munificent
patrons the troubadours were treated with respect.
The ladies, whose charms they celebrated, gave them
the most generous and flattering reception. The suc¬
cess of some inspired others with hopes, and excited
exertions in the exercise of their art; impelling them
towards perfection with a rapiditt which the united
force alone of emulation and emolument could occa¬
sion. These founders of modern versification, con¬
structing their songs on plans of their own, classical au¬
thority, either through ignorance or design, was en¬
tirely disregarded. It does not appear, however, du¬
ring the cultivation and favour of Provencal literature,
that any one troubadour so far outstripped the rest as
to become a model of imitation. Tire progress of taste
must ever be impeded by the ignorance and caprice of
those who cultivate an art without science or princi¬
ples.
During almost two centuries after the arrangement
of
494
M U
of the scale attributed to Guido, and the invention of
the time-table ascribed to Franco, no remains of secu¬
lar music can be discovered, except those ot the trou¬
badours or Provencal poets. In the simple tunes of
these bards no time indeed is marked, and but little
variety of notation appears : It is not difficult, how¬
ever, to discover in them the germs of the future me¬
lodies, as well as the poetry of France and Italy. Had
the poetry and music of the troubadours been treated
of in an agreeable manner by the writers who have cho¬
sen that subject, it would hitve been discovered to be
worthy of attention ; the poetry, as interesting to li¬
terature j the melody to which it was sung, as curious
to the musical historian.
Almost every species of Italian poetry is derived
from the Provencals. Air, the most captivating part
of secular vocal music, seems to have had the same ori¬
gin. The most ancient strains that have been spared
by time, are such as were set to the songs of the trouba¬
dours. The Provencal language began to be in. favour
with poets about the end of the loth century. In the
12th it became the general vehicle, not only of poetry,
but of prose, to all who were ignorant of Tatin. And
these were not the laity only. At this period violars,
or performers on the vielle or viol, juglars, or flute-
players, musars or players on other instruments, and
comics or comedians, abounded all over Europe. This
svvarm of. poet-musicians, who were formerly compre-
- bended in France-under the general title of jongleurs,
travelled from province to province, singing their verses
at the courts of princes. They were rewarded, with
clothes, horses, arms, and money. Joligleurs or musi¬
cians were employed often to sing the verses of trouba¬
dours, who themselves happened to be deficient in voice
. or ignorant of music. The term troubadour, therefore,
vimplies, poetry as well as«music. The jongleurs, mene-
. triers, strollers, or minstrels, were frequently musicians,
without any pretensions to poetry. These last have
been common at all times ; but the troubadour or bard
has distinguished a particular profession, either in an¬
cient or modern times, only during the early dawnings
of literature.
In the 13th century the songs were on various sub-
, jects 5 moral, merry, amorous: and at that time me¬
lody seems to have been little more than plain song or
-chanting. The noteswere square, and written on
four lines only like those of the Romish church in the
clifi" C, and without any marks for time. The move¬
ment and embellishments of the air depended on the
abilities of the singer. Since that time, by the culti¬
vation of the voice modern music has been much ex¬
tended, for it was not till towards the end of St Lewis’s
reign that the fifth line began to be added to the
stave. The singer always accompanied himself with
an instrument in unison.
The harp As the lyre is the favourite instrument in Grecian
the favour- poetry, so the harp held the same place in the estima-
ite instru- ^jon ^ ^jie p0e^s w]10 flourished in the period of which
the Trou- we at Present speak. A poet of the 14th century,
badours. Machau, wrote a poem on the subject of the harp
alone j in which he assigns to each of its 25 strings an
allegorical name j calling one liberality, another xvealth,
&c.
The viol The instrument which frequently accompanied, and
•r violin- indeed disputed the pre-eminence with the harp, was
2
S I C.' HistJ
the viol. Till the 16th century this instrument was
furnished with frets 5 after that period it was reduced
to four strings: and still under the denomination of
violin holds the first place among the treble instruments.
The viol was played with a bow, and differed entirely
from the vielle, the tones of which were produced by
the friction of awheel: The wheel performed the pait
.of,a bow. ,
British harpers were famous long before the con¬
quest. The bounty of William of Normandy to his
joculator or bard is recorded in the Doomsday book.
The harp seems to have been the favourite instrument
Jn Britain for many ages, under the British, Saxon,
Danish, and Norman kings. The fiddle, however, is
mentioned so early as 1 200 in the legendary life of St
Christopher. The ancient privileges of the minstrels
at the fairs of Chester are well known in the history of
-England.
The extirpation of the bards of Wales by Edward I.
is likewise too familiar an incident to be particularly
mentioned here. His persecuting spirit, however, seems
to have been limited to.that principality 5 for we learn,
that at the ceremony of knighting his son, a multitude
of minstrels attended.
In 1315, during the reign of Edward II. such ex¬
tensive privileges were claimed hy the minstrels, and
so many dissolute persons assumed that character, that
it became necessary to restrain:them.by express laws.
The father of our genuine poetry, who in the 14th
century enlarged our vocabulary, polished our num¬
bers, and with acquisitions from France and Italy aug¬
mented our store of knowledge (Chaucer), entitles one
of his poems The History of St Cecilia ; and the ce-StCeci
lebrated patroness of music must no doubt be men¬
tioned in a history of the art. Neither in Chau¬
cer, however, nor in any of the histories or legendary
accounts of this saint, does any thing appear to au¬
thorize the religious veneration paid to her by the vo¬
taries of music } nor is it easy to discover whence it has
arisen.
As an incident relative to the period of which we
-speak, it may be mentioned, that, according to Spel-
man, the appellation of Doctor was not among the de-Origin
grees granted , to graduates in England sooner than d®
the reign of King John, about 1207; although, in0* 18
Wood’s history of Oxford, that degree is said to have
been conferred, even in music, in the reign of Hen¬
ry II. It is known that the title w^as created on the
-continent in the I2th century j and as, during the
middle ages, music was always ranked among the
seven liberal arts, it is likely that the degree was ex¬
tended to it.
After the invention of printing, an art which has
-tended to disseminate knowledge with wonderful ra¬
pidity among mankind, music, and particularly coun¬
terpoint, became an object of high importance. The
names of the most eminent composers who flourished
in England, from that time to the Reformation, were,
Fairfax, William of Newark, Sheryngham, Turges,
Banister, Tudor, Taverner, Tye, Johnson, Parsons j
to whom may be added John Marbeck, who set the
whole English cathedral service to music.
Before this period Scottish music had advanced to Scottish
a high degree of perfection. James I. was a greatn>Ujlc'
composer of airs to his own verses } and may be consi¬
dered
terl <n
m t
Scot
Eftory. M U
dered as the father of that plaintive melody which in
Scotch tunes is so pleasing to a taste not vitiated by
modern affectation. Besides the testimony of Fordiin
and Major, who may be suspected of being under the
influence of national prejudice, we have that of Ales¬
sandro Tessani, to the musical skill of that accomplish¬
ed prince. “ Among us moderns (says this foreigner)
we may reckon James king of Scotland, who not onlv
composed many sacred pieces of vocal music, but also
of himself invented a new kind of music, plaintive and
melancholy, different from all others ; in which he has
been imitated by Carlo Gesueldo prince of Venosa, who
in our age has improved music with new and admirable
inventions.”
Under such a genius in poetry and music as King
James I. it cannot be doubted that the national music
must have been greatly improved. We have seen that
he composed several anthems,' or vocal pieces of sa¬
cred music, which shows that his knowledge of the sci¬
ence must have been very considerable. It is likewise
known, that organs were by him introduced into the
cathedrals and abbeys of Scotland, and choir-service
brought to such a degree of perfection, as to fall little
short of that established in any country of Europe.—
*S Tyt- By an able and ingenious antiquary * the great
Wms- era of music, as of poetry, in Scotland, is supposed to
have been from the beginning of the reign of James I.
Mu-down to the end of the reign of James V. During
»c, i ofthat period flourished Gavin Douglas bishop of Dun-
Jie ms- held, Ballenden archdeacon of Murray, Dunbar, Hen-
'k i< t riJson' Scott, Montgomery, Sir David Lindsey r and many
)fVquIot5iers’ '"’hose fine poems have been preserved in Ba¬
les kot-natyne’s Collection, and of which several have been
published by Allan Ramsay in his Evergreen.
Before the Reformation, as there was but one re¬
ligion, there was but one kind of sacred music in
Europe, plain chant, and the descant built upon it.—
That music likewise was applied to one language only,
the Latin. On that account, the compositions of Italy,
France, Spain, Germany, Flanders, and England,
kept pace in a great degree with each other in style
and excellence. All the arts seem to have been the
companions, if not the produce, of successful commerce:
they appeared first in Italy, then in the Hanseatic
towns, next in the Netherlands j and during the 16th
century, when commerce became general in every part
of Europe.
In the 16th century music was an indispensable part
of polite education : All the princes of Europe were
instructed in that art. There is a collection preserved
in manuscript called Queen Elizabeth''s Virginal Book4
If her majesty vras able to execute any of the pieces in
that book, she must have been a great player j a month’s
practice would not be sufficient for any master now in
Europe to enable him to play one of them to the end.
Talks, singularly profound in musical composition, and
Bird his admirable scholar, were tivo of the authors of
this famous collection.
During the reign of Elizabeth, the genius and learn¬
ing of the British musicians were not inferior to any
on the continent} an observation scarcely applicable at
any other period of the history of this country. Sa¬
cred music was the principal object to study all over
Europe.
The most eminent musical theorists of Italy, who
itid
6th
I# dll:
lent -
imisiin
indis n-
sablc art
of Ma¬
tron.
5 1 u ' 495
flourished in tho 16th century, were, Franchinus Ga-Eminent
fierius, or Gaflorio of Lode, Pietro Aaron of Flo-musicians
rence, Lodovico Fogliano, Giov. Spatro, Giov. Ma,jf1
ria da Terentio Lanfranco, Steffano Uanneo, Anton,
Francisco Done, Luigi Dentice, Nicolo Vicentino,tiUy!tCn*
and Gioseffo Zarlino, the most general, voluminous,
and celebrated theorist of that period, Vincentio Gali¬
lei, a Florentine nobleman, and father of the great Ga¬
lileo Galilei, Maria Artuse of Bologna, Oraseo Te-
grini, Pietro Pontio, and Lodovico Zacconi.
The principal Roman authors were, Giovanni An-
muccia, Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, justly cele¬
brated, Ruggiero Giovanelli, Luca Marenzio, who
brought to perfection madrigals, the most cheerful-
species of secular music.
Of the Venetians, Adrian Willaeri is allowed to be
at the head.
At the head of the Neapolitans is deservedly placed.
Rocco Rodio.
At Naples, too, the illustrious dilettante, Don Carlo -
Gesualdo prince of Venosa, is highly celebrated. He-
seems, however, to have owed much of his fame to his
high rank.
Lombardy might also furnish an ample list of eminent ~
musicians during the, 16th century, of whom, however,
our limits will not admit of a particular enumeration : —
The chief of them were, Constanzo Porta, Gastoldi,
Bissi, Cima, Vocchi, and Monteverde. ,
At Bologna, besides Artusi already mentioned, An¬
drea Rota of the same city appears to have been an ad¬
mirable contrapunctist.
Francisco Corteccia, a celebrated organist and com¬
poser, and Alessandro StriggKo, a lutanist and volu¬
minous composer, were the most eminent Florentines.
The inhabitants of the extensive empire of Germany jn ^crni-,
have long made music a part of general education.— ny.
They hold the place, next to Italy, among the most
successful cultivators of the art. During the 16th cen¬
tury, their most eminent composers of music and wri¬
ters on the subject were, Geo. Reischius, Michael Ros-
wick, Andreas Ornithorparchus, Paul Hofhaimer,
Luspeinius, Henry Loris or Lorit, Faber, Fink, Hos-
man, and many others whom it would be tedious to
mention 5 and for a particular account of whose trea¬
tises and compositions we must refer to more volumi¬
nous histories of music.
In France, during the 16th century, no art except In Franct!
the art of war made much progress in improvement.—
Ronsard, Baif, Goudimel, Claud le Jeune, Caurroy,
and Maudit, are the chief French musicians of that
period.
In Spain, music was early received into the circle of Spain,
sciences in the universities. The musical professorship
at Salamanca was founded and endowed by Alfonzo the
Wise, king of Castile.
One of the most celebrated of the Spanish musicians
was Francis Salinas, who had been blind from his in¬
fancy. - He was a native of Burgos.
D. Cristofero Morales, and Tomaso Lodovico da
Vittorio, deserve likewise to be mentioned 5 and to
mention them is all we can attempt $ the purpose of
which is, to excite more minute inquiry by those who
may choose to investigate the subject particularly.
The Netherlands, likewise, during the period of which, The Ne-
we have been speaking, produced eminent composers ; dierlands
of
490'
MUSIC.
Hist
of whom we may mention Verletot, Gcmbert, Arka-
delt, Bercheni, Richefort or Ricciafort, Crequilon Le
Cock or Le Coq, Canis, Jacob Clemens Non Papa,
Pierre Manchicourt, Baston, Kerl, Rore, Orlandi di
Lasso, and bis sons Ferdinand and Rodolpli.
Musical In the 17th century,-the musical writers and com-
composers posers who acquired fame in Lngland, were, Dr Na-
in England [jianae] Giles, Thomas Tomkins, and his son of the
i-thceV-6 same name j Elway Bevin, Orlando Gibbons, Dr Wil-
tury. liam Child, Adrian Batten, Martin Pierson, William
Lawes, Henry Lawes, Dr John Wilson, John Hilton,
John Playford, Captain Henry Cook, Pelham Hum¬
phrey, John Blow, William Turner, Dr Christopher
Gibbons, Benjamin Rogers, and Henry Purcell. Of
these, Orlando Gibbons, Pelham Humphrey, and Hen¬
ry Purcell, far excelled the rest.
About the end of the reign of James I. a music-lec¬
ture or professorship was founded in the university ol
Oxford by Dr William Hychin.
In the reign of Charles I. a charter was granted to
the musicians of Westminster, incorporating them, as
the king’s musicians, into a body politic, with powers
to prosecute and fine all who, except themselves, should
“ attempt to make any benefit or advantage of music in
England or Wales j” powers which in the subsequent
reign were put in execution.
About the end of the reign of Charles II. a pas¬
sion seems to have been excited in England for the
violin, and for pieces expressly composed for it, in
the Italian manner (b). Prior to 1600, there was
little other music except masses and madrigals, the two
principal divisions of sacred and secular music 5 but from
that time to the present, dramatic music becomes the
chief object of attention. The music of the church
and of the chamber continued indeed to be cultivated
in Italy with diligence, and in a learned and elaborate
style, till near the middle of the century ; yet a revo¬
lution in favour of melody and expression was prepar¬
ing, even in sacred music, by the success of dramatic
composition, consisting of recitation and melodies for
a single voice. Such melodies began now to be pre¬
ferred to music of many parts ; in which canons, fugues,
and full harmony, had been the productions which
chiefly employed the master’s study and the hearer s
attention.
Mean state So late as the beginning of the 18th century, ac-
of the opera cording to Riccoboni, the performers in the operas
in thebe- 0f Germany, particularly at Hamburg, “ were all
ginning °f trac[esrnen or handicrafts’ Your shoemaker (says he)
century. was often the first performer on the stage ; and you
might have bought fruit and sweetmeats of the same
girls, whom the night before you had seen in the cha¬
racters of Armida or Semiramis. Soon, however, the
German opera arose to a more respectable situation ,
and even during the 17th century many eminent com-
State of posers flourished in that country.”
music in The list of great musicians which France produced
France in during the early part of the same century is not nu-
the 17th
century.
merous. Music seems to have been but little culti¬
vated in that country, till the operas of Lvlli, under
the powerful patronage of Louis XIV. excited public
attention.
The favourite singing-master and composer of France,
about the middle of the 17th century, was Michael
Lambert. John Baptist Lulli, soon after this time,
rose from the rank of a menial servant to fame, opu¬
lence, and nobility, by his skill in musical compositions.
The celebrated singer La Rochois was taught singing
and acting by Lulli.
La Maupin the successor of La Rochois, on ac-Curi
count of her extraordinary character and romantic ad-anee
ventures, deserves to be mentioned. She eloped from °fa
her husband with a fencing master, of whom she learntsin8
the small sword. She became an excellent fencer. At
Marseilles she entertained a strange attachment to a
voung lady, who was seized with a whimsical fondness
in return, on account of which the latter was confined
in a convent. La Maupin obtained admission into the
same convent as a novice. She set fire to the building,
and in the confusion carried off her favourite. At Paris
when she appeared on the stage in 16951 Dumeni a
singer having affronted her, she put on men’s clothes,
and insisted on his drawing his sword and fighting her.
When he refused, she caned him, and took from him
his watch and snuff-box as trophies of her victory. At
a ball given by Monsieur brother of Louis XlV. she
again put on men’s clothes j and having behaved im¬
pertinently to a lady, three of the lady’s friends, suppo¬
sing La Maupin to be a man, called her out. She
killed them all ; and returning coolly to the ball, told
the story to Monsieur, who obtained her pardon. She
became afterwards mistress to the elector of Bavaria.
This prince quitting her for the countess of Arcos,
sent her by the count, husband of that lady, a purse of
40,000 livres. She threw it at the count’s head, tell-
ing him, it was a recompense worthy of such meanness
as he displayed. At last, seized with a fit of devotion,
she recalled her husband, and spent the remainder of
her life in piety. She died in 1707 at the age only of
34. . I
The English musician whom we last mentioned wasChiel
the celebrated Purcell. After his time the chief com-F6C1
posers for the church were Clarke, Dr Holden, Dr^jJ
Creyghton, Tucker, Aldrich, Golwin, Weldon, Dr
Crofts, Dr Greene, Boyce, and Nares ; to whom may
be added John Stanley, who attained high proficiency
in music, although from two years old totally deprived
of sight. .
The annals of modern music have hitherto furnish¬
ed no event so important to the progress of the art as
the invention of recitative or dramatic melody ; a style
of music which resembles the manner of the ancient
rhapsodists.
The Orfeo of Politian was the first attempt at mu-First 1
sical drama. It was afterwards perfected by Metasta-cald
sio. No musical dramas similar to those afterwards
known
(B) The most celebrated violin players of Italy, from the 16th century to tfie present time, have been Faima,
M./Angelo Rossi, Bassani the violin-master of Corelli, the admirable Angelico Corelli himself, I orelli, Albert,
Albenoni, Tcssarini, Vivaldi, Geminiani, one of the most distinguished of Corelli’s scholars, lartim, Veracim,
Barbella, Locatelli, Ferrari, Martini, Boccherini, and Giardini.
Hi t sing-
i leu-
i; !js.
dk'a of
istory. MU
known by the names of opera and oratorio, had exist¬
ence in Italy before the beginning of the 17th cen¬
tury. It was about the 1600, or a little before that
time, that eunuchs wei’e first employed for singimr In
Italy.
There seem to have been no singing eunuchs in an¬
cient times, unless the galli or archigalli, priests of
Cybele, were such. Castration has, however, at all
times been practised in eastern countries, for the pur¬
pose of furnishing to tyrannic jealousy guards of fe¬
male chastity j but never, so far as modern writers on
the subject; have discovered, merely to preserve the
voice, till about the end of the 16th century.
At Rome, the first public theatre opened for the ex¬
hibition of musical dramas, in modern times, was il
Torre de Nona, where in 1671 Giasone was perform¬
ed. In 1679, the opera of Dou e Amorc, set by the
famous organist Bernardo Pasquini, was represented at
Nilla Sola de Signori Capranica; a theatre which still
subsists. In theye&v \6%o, L'OnestanegP Amorew&s
exhibited j the first dramatic composition of the eleo-ant,
profound, and original Alessandro Scarlatti.
I he inhabitants of \ enice have cultivated and en¬
couraged the musical drama with more zeal and di¬
ligence than the rest of Italy, during the end of the
last and beginning of the present century ; yet the
opera was not established in Venice before the year
i637- In that year the first regular drama was per¬
formed. It was Andromeda.
! , . I'1 1680 the opera of Berenice wras exhibited at
Blnice, Padua with such astonishing splendour as to merit
notice. There were choruses of 100 virgins, 100
soldiers, ico horsemen in iron armour, 40 cornets of
; horse, 6 trumpeters on horseback, 6 drummers, 6 en¬
signs, 6 sackbuts, 6 great flutes, 6 minstrels playing
on I urkish instruments, 6 others on octave flutes, 6
pages, 3 sergeants, 6 cymbalists. There were 12
huntsmen, 12 grooms, 6 coachmen for the triumph;
6 others for the procession; 2 lions led by two Turks, 2
elephants by two others, Berenice’s triumphal car drawn
by 4 horses, 6 other cars with prisoners and spoils
drawn by 12 horses, 6 coaches. Among the scenes
and representations in the first act were, a vast plain
with two triumphal arches, another plain with pavilions
and tents, and a forest for the chase. In act third,
the royal dressing room completely furnished, stables
with 100 live horses, portico adorned with tapestry,
nnd a stupendous palace in perspective. At the end
ol the first act were representations of every kind of
chase, wild boar, stag, deer, bears. At the end of
tlie third act, an enormous globe, descending as from
the sky, divided itself into other globes suspended in the
air, and ornamented with emblematical figures of time,
| I fame, honour, &c.
Early in the last century, machinery and decoration
usurped the importance due to poetry and music in such
exhibitions.
lew instances occur of musical dramas at Naples
till the beginning of the present century. Before the
time of the elder Scarlatti, it seems as if Naples had
been less fertile in great contrapuntists, and less di¬
ligent in the cultivation of dramatic music, than any
other state of Italy. Since that time all the rest of
Europe has been furnished with composers and perfor-
suers from that city.
^ OL. XIV. Part II.
s
J c* * 497
I he word opera seems to have been familiar to French
English poets from the beginning of the last century. ^‘1
.C7,7„ • • .... ' lisli op«ia.
Stilo recitativo, a recent innovation even in Italy, is
mentioned by Ben Johnson so early as 1617. From
this time it was used in masques, occasionally in plays,
and in cantatas, before a regular drama wholly set to
music was attempted. By the united abilities of Qui-.
nault and Lulli, the opera in France had risen to
high favour. This circumstance afforded encourage¬
ment to several attempts at dramatic music in Eng¬
land by Sir William I)’Avonant and others, before
the music, language, or performers of Italy were em¬
ployed on our stage. Pieces, styled dramatic operas,
pit ceded the Italian opera on the stage of England.
'Ihese were written in English, and exhibited with a
profuse decoration of scenery and habits, and with
the best singers and dancers'that could be procured r
Psyche and Circe are entertainments of this kind:
The Tempest and Macbeth were acted with the same
accompaniments.
During the 17th century, whatever attempts were
made in musical drama, the language sung was always
English. About the end of that century, however, Ita¬
lian singing began to be encouraged, and vocal as well
as instrumental musicians from that country began to
appear in London.
I he first musical drama, performed wholly after the
Italian manner in recitative for the dialogue or narra¬
tive parts, and measured melody for the airs, was Ar-
sinoe Queen of Cyprus, translated from an Italian opera
of the same name, written by Stanzani of Bologna.
I he English version of this opera was set to music by
f ho mas Clayton, one of the royal band, in the reign of
Vvilliam and Mary. The singers were all English,
Messrs Hughes, Leveredge, and Cook ; Mrs Tofts,
Mrs Cross, and Mrs Lyndsey. The translation of Ar-
smoe, and the music to which it is set, are execrable ;
yet such is the charm of novelty, that this miserable
performance, deserving neither the name of a drama by
its poetry, nor of an opera by its music, sustained 24 re¬
presentations, and the second year 11.
Operas, notwithstanding their deficiencies in poetry,
music and performance (no foreign composer or emi¬
nent singer having yet arrived), bepame so formidable
to our actors at the theatres, that it appears from the
Daily Courant, 14th January 1707, a subscription was
opened “ for the encouragement of the comedians act¬
ing in the Haymarket, and to enable them to keep
the diversion of plays under a separate interest from
operas.”
Mr Addison’s opera of Rosamond appeared about
this time ; but the music set by Clayton is so contemp¬
tible, that the merit of the poetry, however great,
could not of itself long support the piece. The choice
of so mean a composer as Clayton, and Mr Addison’s
partiality to his abilities, betray a want of musical taste
in that elegant author.
Ihe first truly great singer who appeared on the
stage of Britain was Cavalier Nicolino Grimaldi, com¬
monly known by the name of Nicolini. Lie was a
Neapolitan ; and though a beautiful singer indeed,
was still more eminent as an actor- In the Tatler, *Se
N 1x5* the elegance and propriety of his action are Spectator
particularly described*. Recently before his appear-vo'. i,
ance, Valcntini Urban/, and a female singer called TZu:l$‘
3 E Baroness,
49«
M U S
Arrival of
Hamlel in
England.
Baroness, arrived. iVIargaiita deI’Epini, Vvlio afterwards
married Dr Pepusch, had been in this country some
time before.
The first opera performed wholly in Italian, and by
Italian singers, was Almahide. As at present so at
that time, operas were generally performed twice a
week.
The year 1710 is distinguished in the annals of mu¬
sic by the arrival in Britain of George Frederic Han¬
del. Handel had been in the service of the elector of
planover, and came first to England on a visit of cu¬
riosity. The fame of this gyeat musician had pene¬
trated into this country beforejhe himself arrived in it;
and Aaron Hill, then in the direction of the Haymar-
ket theatre, instantly applied to him to compose an
opera. It was Rinaldo ; the admirable music of which
he produced entirely in a fortnight. Soon alter this
period appeared, for the first time as an opera singer,
the celebrated Mrs Anastasia Robinson. Mrs Robin¬
son, who was the daughter of a portrait painter, made
her first public exhibitions in the concerts at T ork-
buildings 5 and acquired so much the public favour,
that her father was encouraged to take a house in Gol¬
den Square, for the purpose of establishing weekly
concerts and assemblies, in the manner of Conversa¬
zioni, which became the resort of the most polite audi¬
ences.
Soon after Mrs Robinson accepted an engagement
at the Opera, where her salary is said to have been
1000I. and her other emoluments equal to that sum.
She quitted the stage in consequence of her marriage
with the gallant earl of Peterborough, the friend of
Pope and Swift. The eminent virtues and accomplish¬
ments of this lady, who died at the age of 88, entitled
her to be mentioned even in a compend too short for
biography.
The conducting the opera having been found to be
more expensive than profitable, it was entirely suspend¬
ed from 1717 till 1720, when a fund of 50,000b for
supporting and carrying it on was subscribed by the
Pro ress of personages of the kingdom. The subscribers, of
ike oner a whom King George I. was one for locol. were for¬
med into a society, and named The Royal Academy
of Music. Handel was commissioned to engage the
performers: For that purpose he went to Dresden,
where Italian operas were at that time performed in
the most splendid manner at the court of Augustus
elector of Saxony, then king of Poland. Here Flan-
del engaged Senesino-Berenstadt, Boschi, and the Du-
ranstanti.
In the 1723, the celebrated Francesca Cuzzoni ap¬
peared as a first rate singer \ and two years afterwards
arrived her distinguished rival Signora F austina Bor-
doni.
In a cantabile air, though the notes Cuzzoni added
were few, she never lost an opportunity of enriching
the cantilena with the most beautiful embellishments.
Her shake was perfect. She possessed a creative fancy *,
and she enjoyed the powrer of occasionally accelerating
and retarding the measure in the most artificial and
able manner, by Avhat is in Italy called tempo rubato.
Fler high notes were unrivalled in clearness and sweet¬
ness. Her intonations were so just and so fixed, that
it seemed as if she had not the power to sing out of
tune.
the opera
under Ms
manage¬
ment.
I c.
Faustina Bordoni, wife of the celebrated Saxon
composer Hasse, invented a new kind of singing, by
running divisions, with a neatness and velocity which
astonished all who heard her. By taking her breath
imperceptibly, she had the art of sustaining a note ap¬
parently longer than any other singer. Her beats and
trills were strong and rapid ; her intonation perfect.
Her professional perfections were enhanced by a beau¬
tiful face, fine symmetry of figure, and a countenance
and gesture on the stage which indicated an entire intel¬
ligence and possession of the several parts allotted to
her.
These two angelic performers excited so signally thfe
attention of the public, that a party spirit between the
abettors of the one and of the other was formed, as vio¬
lent and as inveterate almost as any of those that had
ever occurred relative to matters either theological or
political; yet so distinct Avere their styles of singing, so
difl'erent their talents, that the praise of the one was no
reproach to the other.
In less than seven years, the whole 50,000b subscri¬
bed by the Royal Academy, besides the produce of ad¬
mission to non-subscribers, A\as expended, and the go¬
vernor and directors of the society relinquished the
idea of continuing their engagements} consequently,
at the close of the season 1727, the Avhole band of
singers dispersed. The next year we find Senesino, Fau¬
stina, Balde, Cuzzoni, Nicolini, Farinelli, and Bosche,
at Venice*
Handel, hoAvever, at his OAyn risk, after a suspen¬
sion of about a tAvelvemonth, determined to recom-
History
mence the Opera j and accordingly engaged a band of
performers entirely new. These Avere Signior Bernac-
chi, Signora Merighi, Signora Strada, Signior Anibale
Pio Fabri, his Avife, Signora Bertoldi, and John God-
frid Rcimschneider.
The sacred musical drama, or oratorio, Avas invent-1’1™11101
■» 1 • 1 1 1% • t"'’ of the OB
ed early in the 14th century. JLvery nation in ^uropetori0) am
seems first to have had recourse to religious subjects for jts intro-
dramatic exhibitions. The oratorios had been common ductioni
in Italy during the last century. They had never beentob"?131
publicly introduced in Flngland, till Handel, stimulated
by the rivalship of other adventurers, exhibited in 1732
his oratorios of Esther, and of Acis and Galatea, the
last of which he had composed tAvelve years before for
the duke of Chandos’s chapel at Cannons. The most
formidable opposition Avbich Flandel met Avith in his
conduct of the Italian opera was a new theati'e for
exhibiting these operas, opened by subscription in Lin-
coln’s-inn Fields, under the conduct of Nicola Porpora,
a respectable composer. A difterence having occurred
between Handel and Senesino ; Senesino had for some
time deserted the Haymarket, Avhere Handel managed,
and Avas noxv engaged at the rival theatre of Lincoln’s-
inn Fields. To supply the place of Senesino, Handel
brought over Giovanni Carestini, a singer of the most
extensive powers. His voice Avas at first a poAverful
and clear soprano : Afterxvards it changed into the
fullest, finest, deepest counter-tenor that has perhaps
ever been heard. Carestini’s person Avas tall, beautiful,
and majestic. He rendered every thing he sung inte¬
resting by energy, taste, and judicious embellishment.
In the execution of difficult divisions from the chest,
his manner Avas articulate and admirable. It Avas the
opinion of Hasse, as Axell as other eminent professors,
I that
t;
?pe in
%>d
;ivc;: p.
;tory. ]V1 u
that whoever had not heard Carestini, was unacquaint¬
ed with the most perfect style of singing. The opera
unih-r the direction of Porpora was removed to the
Haymarket, which Handel had left. Handel occu¬
pied the theatre of Lmcoln’s-inn Fields 5 but his rivals
now acquired a vast advantage of attraction, by the
accession of Carlo Broschi detto Farinelli to their
part, who at this time arrived. This renowned singer
seems to have transcended the limit of all ante¬
rior vocal excellence. No vocal performer of the pre¬
sent century has been so unanimously allow'ed to possess
an uncommon power, sweetness, extent, and agility
of voice, as Farinelli. Nicolini, Senesino, and Ca-
restini, gratified the eye as much by the dignity, grace
and propriety of their action and deportment, as the
ear, by the judicious use of a few notes within the li¬
mits of a small compass of voice 5 but Farinelli, with¬
out the assistance of significant gestures or graceful at¬
titudes, enchanted and astonished his hearers, bv the
force, extent, and mellifluous tones of the mere organ,
when he had nothing to execute, articulate, or express.
hough during the time of singing he was as motion¬
less as a statue, his voice was so active that no inter¬
vals were too close, too wide, or too rapid, for his exe¬
cution.
Handel having lost a great part of his fortune by the
opera, was under the necessity of trying the public gra¬
titude in a benefit, which was not disgraced by the event.
The theatre, for the honour of the nation, was so crov/d-
ed, that he is said to have cleared 800I.
. After a fruitless attempt by Heidegger, the coad¬
jutor of Handel in the conduct of the opera, and pa¬
tentee ol the King’s Theatre in Haymarket, to procure
a subscription for continuing it, it was found necessary
to give up the undertaking.
It was about this time that the statue of Handel was
erected in Vauxball, at the expence of Mr Tyers, pro¬
prietor of those gardens.
The next year (1739) Handel carried on oratorios
at the Haymarket, as the opera there was suspended.
I he earl of Middlesex now undertook the troublesome
office of impresario of the Italian opera. He engaged
the King’s theatre, with a hand of singers from the
continent almost entirely new. Calluppi was his com¬
poser. Handel, almost ruined, retired at this time to
Ireland, where he remained a considerable time. In
1744 he again attempted oratorios at the King’s theatre,
which was then, and till I74^> unoccupied by the opera,
on account of the rebellion.
The arrival of Criardini in Bondon this year forms
a memorable sera in the history of instrumental music of
Fngland. His powers on the violin w^ere unequalled.
Y'e same yfar Croza, then manager of the opera,
eloped, leaving the performers, and innumerable trades
people, his creditors. This incident put an end to operas
ot all kinds for some time.
Tins year a comic opera, called II Filosofo di Cam-
pogno, composed by Calluppi, was exhibited, which
sui passed in musical merit all the comic operas per-
ormed in England till the Bicona Figlmla. Signora
aganini acquired such fame by the airs allotted to
ei m that piece, that the crowds at her benefit were
eyond example. Caps were lost, gowns torn in pieces,
ladies in full dress, without servants or carriages,
s I c.
4-99
were obliged to walk home, amidst the merriment of
the spectators on the streets.^
At this period the arrival of Giovanni Manzoli mark- 17<j4 ard
ed a splendid era in the annals of musical drama, by 1765,
conferring on serious opera a degree of importance to Manzcli.
which it had seldom yet arisen since its establishment in
England. Manzoli’s voice was the most powerful and
voluminous soprano that had been heard since the time
of Farinelli ; His manner of singing was grand, and
full of taste and dignity.
At this time Tenducci, who had been in EnglandTenduccf.
some time before, and was now returned much im¬
proved, performed in the station of second man to
Manzoli.
Gaetano Guadagni made a great figure at this time. 1769.
He had been in this country early in life (1748), asGuadagni.
serious man in a burletta troop of singers. His voice
was then a full and well-toned counter tenor ; hut he
sung wildly and carelessly. The excellence of his voice,
however, attracted the notice of Handel, who assign¬
ed him the parts in his oratorios, the Messiah and Sam¬
son, which had been originally composed for Mrs Cib-
ber. He quitted London for the first time about 1753.
I he highest expectations of his abilities were raised by
fame before his second arrival, at the time of which
we treat. As an actor he seems to have had no equal
on any stage in Europe. His figure was uneommonly
elegant and noble 3 his countenance replete with beau¬
ty, intelligence, and dignity; his attitudes were full
of grace and propriety. Those who remembered his
voice when formerly in England were now disappoint¬
ed : It was comparatively thin and feeble : He had now
changed it to a soprano, and extended its compass from
six or seven notes to fourteen or fifteen. The music
he sung was the most simple imaginable ; a few notes
with frequent pauses, and opportunities of being libe¬
rated from the composer and the hand, were alllie re¬
quired. In these effusions, seemingly extemporaneous,
he displayed the native power of melody unaided by
harmony or even by unisonous accompaniment: The
pleasure he communicated proceeded principally from
his artful manner of diminishing the tones of his voice,
like the dying notes of the ^Eolian harp. Most other
singers affect a swell, or messa de voce ; but Guadagni,
after beginning a note with force, attenuated it so deli¬
cately that it possessed all the effect of extreme distance.
During the season 1770 and 1771, Tenducci was the
immediate successor ot Guadagni. This performer,
who appeared in England first only as a singer of the
second or third class, was during his residence in Scot¬
land and Ireland so much improved as to he well re¬
ceived as first man, not only on the stage of London,
but in all the great theatres of Italy.
It was during this period that dancing seemed first
to gain the ascendant over music by the superior talents
of Mademoiselle Heintl, whose grace and execution
were so perfect as to eclipse all other excellence.
In the first opera performed this season (Liteco Fcro) i77 ?.
appeared Miss Cecilia Davies, known in Italy bv the Aliss L)a«
name of LTnglesina. Miss Davies had the honour ofvies>
being the first English woman who had ever been
thought worthy of singing on any stage in Italy. She
even performed with eclat the principal female charac¬
ters on many of the great theatres of that country.
3 2 Gabrielli
5 00
M U S
Gabrielli only on tbe Continent was salil to surpass her.
Her voice, though not oL great volume, was clear ami
perfectly in tune ; her shake was open and distinct, with¬
out the sluggishness of the French cadence. The flexi¬
bility of her throat rendered her execution equal to the
most rapid divisions.
Next season introduced Venanzio Ravygini, a beau¬
tiful and animated young man ; a composer as well as
a singer.—His voice was sweet, clear, flexible ; in com¬
pass more than two octaves.
Caterina The season 1775 and 1776 was rendered memorable
Gabrielli. jjy the arrival of the celebrated Cateriria Gabrieli/,
styled early in life La Cuochetina, being the daughter ot
a cardinal’s cook at Rome. She had, however, in her
countenance and deportment no indications of low birth.
Her manner and appearance depicted dignity and grace.
So ore at was her reputation before her arrival in Eng¬
land for singing and for caprice, that the public, ex¬
pecting perhaps in both too much, were unwilling to al¬
low her due praise for her performance, and were apt to
ascribe everything she did to pride and insolence. Her
voice, though exquisite, was not very powerful. Her
chief excellence having been tbe neatness and rapidity
of her execution, the surprise of the public must have
been much diminished on hearing her after Miss Davies,
who sun<r many of the same songs in the same style, and
with a neatness so nearly equal, that common hearers
could distinguish no difference. The discriminating cri¬
tic, however, might have discovered a superior sweetness
in the natural tone of Gabrielli’s voice, an elegance in
the finishing of her musical periods or passages, an ac¬
cent and precision in her divisions, superior not only to
Miss Davies, but to every other singer of her time. In
slow movements her pathetic powers, like those in ge¬
neral of performers most renowned for agility, were not
exquisitely touching.
ARTijari at About the time of which we have been treating, the
the Pan- proprietors of the Pantheon ventured to engage Agujari
theon. at t|,e enormous salary of tool, per night, tor singing
two songs only : Lucrc%ia Agujari was a truly wonder¬
ful performer. The lower part of her voice was full,
round, and of excellent quality ; its compass amazing.
She had two octaves of fair natural voice, from A on
the fifth line in the base to A on the sixth line in the
treble, and beyond that in alt she had in early youth
more than another octave. She has been heard to
ascend to B b in aftissimo. Her shake was open and
perfect: her intonation true ; her execution marked and
rapid ; the style of her singing, in the natural compass
of her voice, grand and majestic.
Anna In 1776 arrived Anna Pozzi, as successor to Gabriel-
Pozzi. };# S|1C possessed a voice clear, sweet, and powerful ;
but her inexperience, both as an actress and as a singer,
produced n contrast very unfavourable to her when com¬
pared with so celebrated a performer as Gabriclli. Af¬
ter that time, however, Pozzi, with more study and
knowledge, became one of the best and most admired
female singers in Italy.
Georgi. After the departure of Ajugari for the second and
last time, the managers of the Pantheon engaged Georgi
as her successor. Her voice was exquisitely fine, but
totally uncultivated. She was thereafter employed as
the first woman in the operas of the principal cities of
Italv.
I c.
Histoi
During the seasons 1777 an<^ J77^ ^’,c ])r>nc‘Pa^ Roncajj
singers at the opera in London were Francesco Ron-and I)a
caglia and Francesca Danze, afterwards Madame Le
Brim.
Roncaglia possessed a sweet toned voice •, hut ot the
three great requisites of a complete stage singer, pathos,
grace, and execution, which the Italians call cantabite,
gra’ziosa, and bravura, he could lay claim only to the
second. His voice, a voce de camera, when confined to
the greziosa in a room, left nothing to wish for.
Danze had a voice, well in tune, a good shake, great
execution, prodigious compass, with great knowledge
of music ; yet the pleasure her performance imparted
Avas not equal to these accomplishments. But her ob¬
ject was not so much pathos and grace, as to surprise
by the imitation of the tone and difficulties of instru¬
ments. _ . T 1
This year Gasparo Tacchierolti appeared in London, Pacchi
Avhither his high reputation had penetrated long before.roUl>
The natural tone ot his voice was interesting, sweet,
and pathetic. His compass downwards was great, Avith
an ascent up to B b, and sometimes to C m alt. He
possessed an unbounded fancy, and the power not only
of executing the most difficult and refined passages, but
of inventing embellishment entirely neAv. Ferdmando
Bertoni, a well known composer, came along Avith Pac-
chierotti to Britain.
About this time dancing became an important branch Danci
of the amusements of the opera house. Mademoiselle gains
Heinel,M. Vestris le Jeune,Mademoiselle Baccelli, had,
during some years, delighted the audience at the opera 5
but on the arrival of M. \ estris I’Aine, pleasure Avas rai10
exchanged for ecstasy. In the year 178I5 1 acchieiotti
had by this time been so frequently heard, that his sing¬
ing Avas no impediment to conversation ; but Avhile the
elder Yestris was on the stage, not a breathing Avas to
he heard. Those lovers of music who talked the loudest
Avhile Pacchierotti sung, Avere in agonies of terror lest
the graceful mo\rements of \ estris, le dieu de la. danse,
should be disturbed by audible approbation. After that
time, the most mute and respectful attention Avas paid
to the manly grace of Le Picq, and the light fantastic
toe of the younger Yestris j to the Rossis, the Iheo-
dores, the Coulons, the Hillingsburgs ; Avhile the slight¬
ed singers Avere disturbed, not by the violence ot ap¬
plause, but the clamour of inattention.
The year 1784 Avas rendered a memorable era in theconwl
annals of music by the splendid and magnificent man-moiaw*
ner in which the birth and genius of Handel were^i
celebrated in Westminster Abbey and the Pantheon, by^jl
five performances of pieces selected from his OAvn works,
and executed by a band of more than 500 voices and
instruments, in the presence and under the immediate
auspices of their majesties and the first personages of
the kingdom. The commemoration of Handel has
been since established as an annual musical festival for
charitable purposes ; in Avhich the number of per¬
formers and the perfection of the performances have
continued to increase. In 1785 the band, vocal and
instrumental, amounted to 616: in 1786 to 741 i *n
1787 to 806 j and in subsequent years to still greater
numbers. I
Dr Burney published An Account of the Musical
Performances in Commemoration of Handel, for the
benefit
5oi
Ji inelli.
:e by
Hnto-
Jibliesi.
story. M U
benefit of the Musical Fund. The members and guar¬
dians of that fund are now incorporated under the title
of Royal Society of Musicians. See Handel.
This year Pacchierotti and his friend Bertoni left
England. About the same time our country was de¬
prived of the eminent composer Sacchini, and Giar-
dini the greatest performer on the violin now in Eu¬
rope.
Jlj'cllcnce As a compensation for these losses, this memorable
o ladame year is distinguished by the arrival of Madame Mara,
l' 1 whose performance in the commemoration of Handel
in Westminster Abbey inspired an audience of 3000 of
the first people of the kingdom, not only with pleasure
but with ecstacy and rapture.
In 1786 arrived Giovanni Rubinelli. His voice was
a true and full contr’alto from C in the middle of the
scale to the octave above. His style was grand j his
execution neat and distinct j his taste and embellish¬
ments new, select, and masterly.
In 1788 a new dance, composed by the celebrated
M. Noverre, called Cupid and Psyche, was exhibited
along with the opera La Locandiera, which produced
an effect so uncommon as to deserve notice. So great
was the pleasure it afforded to the spectators, that
Noverre was unanimously brought on the stage and
crowned rvith laurel by the principal performers. This,
though common in France, rvas a new mark of appro¬
bation in England.
This year arrived Signior Luige Marchesi, a singer
whose talents have been the subject of praise and ad¬
miration on eveay great theatre of Europe. Marchesi’s
style of singing was not only elegant and refined in an
uncommon degree, but often grand and full of dignity,
particularly in his recitative and occasional low notes.
His variety of embellishment and facility of running
extempore divisions were wonderful. Many of his
graces were elegant and of his own invention.
The three greatest Italian singers of these times were
cha- certainly Pacchierotti, Rubinelli, and Marchesi. In
discriminating the several excellencies of these great
,'otiItubi- performers, a very respectable judge, Hr Burney, has
He and particularly praised the swreet and touching voice of
Pacchierotti j his fine shake, his exquisite taste, his
great fancy, and his’divine expression in pathetic songs :
Of Rubinelli’s voice, the fulness, steadiness, and ma¬
jesty, the accuracy of his intonations, his judicious
graces : Of Marchesi’s voice, the elegance and flexibi¬
lity, his grandeur in recitative, and his boundless fancy
and embellishments.— Having mentioned Hr Burney,
we are in justice bound to acknowledge the aid we have
derived from his history } a work which we greatly pre¬
fer to every other modern production on the subject.
Huring the latter part of the 18th century many
eminent composers flourished on the continent; such as
Jomelli, the family of the Bachs, Gluck, Haydn, and
many others, whose different styles and excellencies
would well deserve to be particularized, would our li-
, mits permit. With the same regard to brevity, we can
P*A's di- (]0 no more t]ian just mention the late king of Prussia,
11 the late elector of Bavaria, and Prince Lobkowitz, as
eminent dilettanti of modern times.
Besides the opera singers whom we have mentioned,
our theatres and public gardens have exhibited singers
Jic of considerable merit. In 173° Miss Rafter, after-
ns' wards the celebrated Mrs Clive, first appeared on the
I) imi-
ra|i rs of
Pi hie- I
M; iiesi.
'eign
Sii rs on
pub-
S I c.
stage at Brury-lane as a singer. The same year in¬
troduced Miss Cecilia Young, afterwards the wife of
Hr Arne. Her style of singing was infinitely superior
to that of any other English woman of her time.
Our favourite musicians at this time were, Bubourg, Favourite
Clegg, Clarke, and Testing, on the violin 5 Kytehmuslcians’
on the hautboy j Jack Testing on the German flute j
Baston on the common flute 5 Karba on the bassoon ;
Valentine Snow on the trumpet : and on the organ,
Roseingrave, Green, Robinson, Magnus, Jack James,
and the blind Stanley, who seems to have been prefer¬
red. The favourite playhouse singer was Salway j and,
at concerts Mountier of Chichester.
As composers for our national theatre, Pepusch and
Galliard seem to have been unrivalled till 1732 ; when
two competitors appeared, who were long in possession
of the public favour : We allude to John Frederick
Lampe and Thomas Augustus Arne.
In 1736 Mrs Cibber, who had captivated every
hearer of sensibility by her native sweetness of voice
and powers of expression as a singer, made her first
attempt as a tragic actress. The same year Beard be¬
came a favourite singer at Covent-garden. At this
time Miss Young, afterwards Mrs Arne, and her two
sisters Isabella and Esther, were the favourite English
female singers.
In 1738 was instituted the fund for the support of Fund for
decayed musicians and their families. decayed
It w?as in 1745 that Mr Tyers, proprietor of Vaux-nuu^ans‘
hall gardens, first added vocal music to the other enter¬
tainments of that place. A short time before Ranelagh
had become a place of public amusement.
In 1749 arrived Giardini, whose great taste, hand, Arrival of
and style in playing on the violin, procured him uni-^aU*in*'
versal admiration. A few years after his arrival he
formed a morning academia or concert at his house,
composed chiefly of his scholars.
About this time San Martini and Charles Avison
were eminent composers.
Of near 150 musical pieces brought on our national
theatres within 40 years, 38 of them at least were
set by Arne. The style of this composer, if ana-Style of
lyzed, would perhaps appear to be neither Italian Arne,
nor English j but an agreeable mixture of both and of
Scotch.
The late earl of Kelly, who died some years ago, The earl of;
deserves particular notice, as possessed of a very emi-Kelly,
nent degree of musical science, far superior to other di¬
lettanti, and perhaps not inferior to any professor of
his time. There was no part of theoretical or practical
music in which he was not thoroughly versed : He pos¬
sessed a strength of hand on the violin, and a genius
for composition, with which few professors are gifted.
Charles Frederick Abel was an admirable musician : Abel.
His performance on the viol da gamba was in every
particular complete and perfect. He had a hand which
no difficulties could embarrass ; a taste the most re¬
fined and delicate ; a judgment so correct and certain
as never to permit a single note to escape him with¬
out meaning. His compositions were easy and ele¬
gantly simple. In writing and playing an adagio he
was superior to all praise $ the most pleasing yet learn¬
ed modulation, the richest harmony, the most elegant,
and polished melody, were all expressed with the most
exquisite feeling, taste, and science. His manner of
playing
502
MUSI C.
Mrs Bil-
ling tou.
playing an adagio soon became the model of imitation
for all our young performers on bowed instruments.
Bartholemon Cervetto, Cramer, and Crosdil, were in
this respect to be ranked as of bis school.^ All lovers
of music must have lamented that Abel m youth had^
not attached himself to an instrument more worthy of
bis genius, taste, and learning, than the viol da gamba,
that remnant of the old chest of viols which during the
i^th century was a necessary appendage of a nobleman s
or gentleman’s family throughout Europe, previous to
the admission of violins, tenors, and basses, in private
houses or public concerts. Since the death of the late
elector of Bavaria, who was next to Abel the best
performer on the viol da gamba in Europe), the in¬
strument seems quite laid aside. It was used longer in
Germany than elsewhere *, but the place of gambist
seems now as much suppressed in the chapels of German
princes as that of lutanist. The celebrated performer
on the violin, Lolle, came to England in
was his caprice, that he was seldom heard $ and so ec¬
centric was his style and composition, that by many he
was regarded as a madman. He was, however, during
his lucid intervals a very great and expressive performer
in the serious style.
Mrs Billington, after distinguishing herself in child¬
hood as a neat and expressive performer on the piano¬
forte, appeared all at once in as a sweet and cap¬
tivating singer. In emulation of Mara and other great
bravura singers, she at first too frequently attempted
passages of difficulty afterward, however, so greatly
was she improved, that no song seemed too high or too
rapid for her execution. Now, at the distance of 20
years, she retains her high reputation. The natural
tone of her voice is so exquisitely sweet, her know¬
ledge of music so considerable, her shake so true, her
closes and embellishments so various, her expressions so
grateful, that envy only or apathy could hear her with¬
out delight.
The present composers, and performers of the first
-class, are so well known to the lovers of the art, that
it would be needless and improper to mention them
particularly.
The catch- The Catch-club at the Thatched House, instituted
club and jn I^62 by the earl of Eglinton, the duke of Queens-
and others; and the concert of ancient music,
suggested by the earl of Sandwich in 1776, have had a
beneficial effect in improving the art.
Two female performers have lately appeared of dis¬
tinguished eminence.
Madame Grassini had exhibited her vocal powers in
Paris with extraordinary applause, and arrived in Lon¬
don in 1805, where she excited uncommon admiration.
She appeared in Zaira, where the display of her powers
not only pleased, but she astonished, when it was con¬
sidered that the compass of her voice did not exceed
eight or ten notes.
The year following Madame Catalani divided the
public attention with Grassini.—This eminent perform¬
er is a native of Sinigaglia in Italy, where her father
was a singer of the comic order.
She was educated in a convent. The virtuous im-
tlie concert,
of ancient berlT
music.
Madame
Grassim.
Madame
Catalani.
pressions she there received, have continued ever since
invariably to influence her conduct.
Her father soon discovered the excellence and the
value of her vocal powers, which were first exhibited
on the provincial theatres of Italy.—He soon carried
her to Spain, where she attained very high celebrity.
It tvas there her husband, M. de Yalabregue, first paid
his addresses to her 5 and it was not till after a perse¬
verance of seven months that he at last obtained her con¬
sent to unite her fortunes with his. Her hesitation
proceeded from the reluctance of her father, at once to
be deprived of his daughter, and of the very great emo¬
lument which she brought him. M. de Yalabregue
had been an officer in the French army under General
Moreau.
From Spain Madame Catalani (for she has retained
her father’s name), proceeded to Portugal, where she
accepted an engagement to come to London. She tra¬
velled through France, and at Paris appeared at an o«-
casional concert, where her fame was so great, that the
usual price of admission was trebled. She particularly
attracted the attention of the singular man who bow
holds the imperial sceptre of the continent of Europe.
He ordered her a pension (its value is about 30I. per
annum) ; and it was with much difficulty, and only
through the interference of the British ambassador
(the earl of Lauderdale) then at Paris, that she was
permitted to leave that capital, and proceed on her
journey.
In the dramatic music of the opera, this singer is far
superior to any performer ever heard in this country.
Her merit in Semiramide, in particular, presents al¬
most the idea of perfection. Her voice is equal to the
most difficult execution, while her countenance is inte¬
resting, her gestures graceful, and her person elegant.
It has been reported that she does not sing in tune 5 but
it is an undeniable fact, vouched by the first musicians,
that she possesses a most accurate ear. Every vocal
performer occasionally emits a false sound in conse¬
quence of some temporary organic cause.
Catalani’s easy and clear articulation are particularly
striking, her tones are full and liquid. Her cadences
are appropriate and masterly. She has a practice of
rapidly descending in half notes, which has excited ad¬
miration chiefly by its entire novelty. The clearness
and rapidity displayed by her in chromatic passages ex¬
cite astonishmentand she combines mellowness with
distinctness, a high qualification, which Mara first
taught us to appreciate. In the course of summer
1807, Madame Catalan! visit, d the provincial theatres
of England, and appeared likewise in Dublin, Edin¬
burgh, and Glasgow. Her total receipts for that year
are said to have exceeded ,15.000I.
We have been somewhat particular in our account
of musical affairs in our own country during the 18th
century, as what would be most interesting to general
readers, and of which a well-informed gentleman would
not wish to be ignorant. The professor and connoisseur
will have recourse to disquisitions much more minute
than those of which our limits can be supposed to
admit.
History,
ELEMENTS.
Elements.
MUSIC.
503
ELEMENTS OF MUSIC,
Theoretical, and Practical (c).
the preceding history we have stated a few facts respect¬
ing the nature of ancient music, and the inventors of
the several musical instruments j but it were to be wish¬
ed, that, in order to elucidate, as much as possible, a
point so momentous in the history of the sciences, some
person of learning, equally skilled in the Greek lan¬
guage and in music, should exert himself to unite and The his-
discuss in the same work the most probable opinions tory°f
established or proposed by the learned, upon a subject
so difficult and curious. This philosophical history of jn Utera-
ancient music is a work which might highly embellish ture.
the literature of our times.
In the mean time, till an author can be found suffi¬
ciently instructed in the arts and in history to under¬
take such a labour with success, we shall content our¬
selves with considering the present state of music, and
limit our endeavours to the explication of those acces¬
sions which have accrued to the theory of music in these
latter times.
There are two departments in music, melody * and * ^ee Me-
harmonyf. Melody is the art of arranging several jjar
sounds in succession one to another in a manner agree- many.
able to the ear ; harmony is the art of pleasing that or¬
gan by the union of several sounds which are heard at
one and the same time. Melody has been known and
felt tbrought all ages: perhaps the same cannot be af¬
firmed of harmony (e) ; v>e know not whether the an¬
cients made any use of it or not, nor at what period it
began to be practised.
Not but that the ancients certainly employed in their
music
(c) To deliver the elementary principles of music, theoretical and practical, in a manner which may prove at
once entertaining and instructive, without protracting this article much beyond the limits prescribed in our plan,
appears to us no easy task. We therefore hestitated for some time whether to try our own strength, or to follow
some eminent author on the same subject. Of these the last seemed preferable. Amongst these authors, none
appeared to us to have wTritten any thing so fit for our purpose as M. d’Alembert, whose treatise on music is the
most methodical, perspicuous, concise, and elegant dissertation on that subject with which we are acquainted. As
it was unknown to most English readers before a former edition of this work, it ought to have all the merit of an
original. We have given a translation of it; and in the notes, we have added, from the works of succeeding au¬
thors, and from our own observations, such explanations as appeared necessary, to adapt the work to the pre¬
sent day.
(d) In this passage, and in the definitions of melody and harmony, our author seems to have adopted the vul¬
gar error, that the pleasures of music terminate in corporeal sense. He would have pronounced it absurd to as¬
sert the same thing of painting. Yet if the former be no more than a mere pleasure of corporeal sense, the lat¬
ter must likewise be ranked in the same predicament. We acknowledge that corporeal sense is the vehicle of
sound} but it is plain from our immediate feelings, that the results of sound arranged according to the princi¬
ples of melody, or combined and disposed according to the laws of harmony, are the objects of a reflex or inter¬
nal sense.
I or a more satisfactory discussion of this matter, the reader may consult that elegant and judicious treatise on
Musical Expression by Mr Avison. In the mean time it may be necessary to add, that, in order to shun the
appearance of affectation, we shall use the ordinary terms by which musical sensations, or the mediums by which
they are conveyed, are generally denominated.
(e) Though no certainty can be obtained what the ancients understood of harmony, nor in what manner and
in what period they practised it; yet it is not without probability, that, both in speculation and practice, they
were in possession of what we denominate counterpoint. Without supposing this, there are some passages in the
Greek authors which can admit of no satisfactory interpretation. See the Origin and Progress of Language, vol. ii.
Besides,
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE.
asic con- MUSIC may be considered, either as an art, which
do ble*1 ^aS ^°r °*,ject one t*)e greatest pleasures of which
^ our senses (d) are susceptible j or as a science, by which
that art is reduced to principles. This is the double
view in which we mean to treat of music in this work,
ogress It has been the case with music as with all the other
e thatof arts *nvented by man ; some facts were at first discover-
icr arts ky accident } soon afterwards reflection and observa-
1 scien- tion investigated others : and from these facts, proper¬
ly disposed and united, philosophers were not slow in
forming a body of science, which afterwards increased
by degrees.
The first theories of music were perhaps as ancient
as the earliest age which we know’ to have been distin¬
guished by philosophy, even as the age of Pythagoras 5
nor does history leave us any room to doubt, that from
the period when that philosopher taught, the ancients
cultivated music, both as an art and as a science, with
great assiduity. But there remains to us much uncer¬
tainty concerning the degree of perfection to which
they brought it. ^Almost every question which has
been proposed with respect to the music of the ancients
has divided the learned ; and probably may still conti¬
nue to divide them, for u’ant of monuments sufficient in
their number, and incontestable in their nature, from
whence we might be enabled to exhibit testimonies and
discoveries instead of suppositions and conjectures. In
M U S
press gra¬
dual.
504 .
Preliir.i- music those chords which were most ‘ ]t' .:u.U_S!’^ C-’
nary such as the octave, the fifth, and ^ 111 »
Discourse. ms doubtful whether they knew any ot the other t
 * ' sonances or not, or even whether in practice they could
deduce the same advantages from the simple chords
which were known to them, that have afterwards ac¬
crued from experience and combinations.
If that harmony which we now practise owes its ori¬
gin to the experience and reflection of the moderns,
there is the highest probability that the first essays ot
this art, as of all the others, were feeble, and the pio-
ffress of its efforts almost imperceptible: and that, 111
the course of time, improving by small gradations
the successive labours of several geniuses have elevated
it to that degree of perfection in which at present we
find it. . •
The origin The first inventor of harmony escapes our investiga¬
te arts of- tion from the same causes which leave us ignorant o.
ten acci. ^ grst invented each particular science 5 be-
cause the original inventors could only advance one step,
T a succeeding discoverer afterwards made a more sensible
improvement, and the first imperfect essays in every kind
were lost in the more extensive and striking views to
which they led. Thus the arts which we now enjoy,
are for the most part far from being due to any particu¬
lar man, or to any nation exclusively : they are produ¬
ced by the united and successive endeavours of man¬
kind ; they are the results of such continued and united
inflections, as have been formed by all men at all pe¬
riods and in all nations.
It might, however, he wished, that alter haying as¬
certained, with as much accuracy as possible, the state
of ancient music by the small number of Greek authors
which remain to us, the same application were imme¬
diately directed to investigate the first incontestable
traces of harmony which appear in the succeeding ages,
and to pursue those traces from period to period. I he
products of these researches would doubtless be very im¬
perfect, because the books and monuments ot the mid¬
dle ages are by far too few to enlighten that gloomy
and barbarous era 5 yet these discoveries would still he
precious to a philosopher, who delights to observe the
human mind in the gradual evolution of its powers,
and the progress of its attainments.
Delinca- 'fhe first compositions upon the laws of harmony
lions of the we knoWj are of no higher antiquity than two
inoiiy re-"11" ages prior to our own •, and they were followed by many
cent and others. But none of these essays was capable ot satis-
iniperfect. fyJno- the mind concerning the principles ot harmony :
they confined themselves almost entirely to the single
occupation of collecting rules, without endeavouring to
account for them-, neither had their analogies one with
another, nor their common source, been perceived j
a blind and unenlightened experience Was the only
compass by which the artist could direct and regulate
his course.
I c. Elements,
M. Kameau was the first who began to transfuse light Prelimi-
and order through this chaos. In the different tones nary
produced by the same sure sonorous body, he found the l__^^
most probable original harmony, and the cause of Biat Ils 1
pleasure which we receive from it. His principle he not dedu-
unfolded, and showed how the different phenomena ofeed from
music were produced by it: he reduced all the conso- ^ P™'
nances to a small number ot simple and fundamental ^
chords, of which the others are only combinations ornieau.
various arrangements. He has, in short, been able to
discover, and render sensible to others, the mutual de¬
pendence between melody and harmony.
Though these different topics may be contained in the The au-
writings of this celebrated artist, and in these writingsthorsmo
may be understood by philosophers who are likewise^®. °r
adepts in the art of music j still, however, such musicians these ek
as were not philosophers, and such philosophers as were ments.
not musicians, have long desired to see these objects
brought more within the reach ot their capacity. tSuch
is the intention of the present treatise-, in which we
claim no other merit than that of having developed,
elucidated, and perhaps in some respects improved, the
ideas of another (f).
The first edition of this essay, published in 1752, Improve-
having been favourably received, we have endeavoured ments of
to render this more perfect. I he detail which is meant
to be given of my labour, will present the leader Account:
a general idea of the principle of M. Rameau, of the the work
consequences deduced from it, of the manner in which general.
« * --7 .
I have disposed this principle and its consequences $ 111
short, of what is still wanting, and might be advanta¬
geous to the theory of this delightful art; of what still
remains for the learned to contribute towards the per¬
fection of this theory 5 of the rocks and quicksands
which they ought to avoid in this research, and
which could serve no other purpose than to retard their
progress.
Every sonorous body, besides its principal sound, piamcaufl
likewise exhibits to the ear the 12th and 17th major origin of ■
of that sound. This multiplicity of different yet con-hamon>||
cordant sounds, known for a considerable time, consti¬
tutes the basis of the whole theory of M. Rameau, and
the foundation upon which he builds the whole super¬
structure of a musical system*. In these our elements*^ I
maybe seen, how from this experiment one may de-to.^
duce, by an easy operation of reason, the chief points
melody and harmony} the perfect t chord, as well ^ See
of
Ul lliciuuy rviivi x   7 . + J
major as minor j the two t tetrachords employed in nn-trachord. ,
cient music -, the formation of our diatonic || scale ; the|jSeeDis
different values $ which the same sound may have intonlc-
!• . X   E* 1, * * ♦rx tlin
ui.iciciiL  — t || See Vu\
that scale, according to the turn which is given to the
' lue.
tlicit atvCllCj <VV-VyWi ~ ■ o # lac,
bass the alterations * which we observe m that Recite
scale, and the reason why they are totally impercepti-* See #
ble to the ear} the rules peculiar to the mode t major;
thfi difficulty in t intonation of forming three tones j| in] M
succession
the reason why two perfect chords are pro- natm.
scribed || See Ton
BMic!.., we can discover some vestiges of harmony, however rude and imperfect, in the history ‘h« G»tlnc
■ most barbarous people. This they could uot have derived from more cult,voted count™*
aoes and amonsrst the most barbarous people, aihs mey cumu nut,   
because it appears to be incorporated with their national music. The most rational account, therefore, w * -
be given, seems to be, that it was conveyed in a mechanical or traditionary manner through the Roman provme
from a more remote period ot antiquity.
j-p) j*jee 'M. Rameau’s letter upon this subject, Merc, dc Mai, i7S2-
leftrents. M U
climi- scribed in immediate succession in the diatonic order ;
iary the origin of the minor mode, its subordination to the
'c0iu'se'i mode major, and its variations ; the use of discord § ;
ti)e causes of such effects as are produced by different
| u kinds of music, whether diatonic, chromatic *, or en-
izcChro harmonic t j the principles and laws of temperament J.
i ic. In this discourse we can only point out those different
] °kjects> tiie subsequent essay being designed to explain
i -e Tem- them with the minuteness and precision which they re-
:irwnt.
quire.
One end which we have proposed in this treatise,
was not only to elucidate, hut to simplify the dicove-
ries of M. Rameau.—For instance, besides the funda¬
mental experiment mentioned above, that celebrated
musician, to facilitate the explication of certain phe¬
nomena, had recourse to another experiment 5 that
which shows that a sonorous body struck and put in
vibration, forces its 12th and 17th major in descending
to divide themselves and produce a tremulous sound.
The chief use which M. Rameau made of this second
experiment was to investigate the origin of the minor
mode, and to account for some other rules established
in harmony $ but we have found means to deduce from
the first experiment alone the formation of the minor
mode, and, besides, to disengage that formation from all
questions foreign to it.
In some other points also ; (as, the origin of the
*|te Stib- chord of the sub-dominant*, and the explication of the
idmnt. seventh in certain cases) it is imagined that we have
simplified, and perhaps in some measure extended the
principles of the celebrated artist.
We have likewise lianished every consideration of
geometrical, arithmetical, and harmonical proportions
and progressions, which have been sought in the mix¬
ture and protraction of tones produced by a sonorous
body ; persuaded as we are, that M. Rameau was under
no necessity of paying the least regard to these propor¬
tions, which we believe to be not only useless, but even,
if we may venture to say so, fallacious when applied to
the theory of music. In short, though the relations
produced by the octave, the fifth, and the third, &c.
were quite different from what they are j though in
these chords we should neither remark any progression
nor any law} though they should be incommensurable
one with another 5 the protracted tone of the sono¬
rous body, and the multiplied sounds which result
from it, are a sufficient foundation for the whole har¬
monic system*
Heretical But though this work is intended to explain the
M tans theory of music, and to reduce it to a system more
naj incd complete and more luminous than has hitherto been
t0 ■„ done, we ought to caution our readers against misap-
m ion of prehension either of the nature of our subject or of the
mj fcmati-purpose of our endeavours.
me- We must not here lookfor thatstriking evidence which
is peculiar to geometrical discoveries alone, and which
can be so rarely obtained in these mixed disquisitions,
where natural philosophy is likewise concerned. Into
the theory of musical phenomena there must always en¬
ter a particular kind of metaphysics, which these phe¬
nomena implicitly take for granted, and which brings
along with it its natural obscurity. In this subject,
therefore, it would be in vain to expect what is called
demonstration : it is much to have reduced the principal
facts to a consistent and connected system j to have de-
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
seal
tiples
1 sic.
SIC. . 505
duced them from one simple experiment; and to have prelimi-
established upon this foundation the most common and nary
essential rules of the musical art. But if the intimate Discourse,
and unalterable conviction which can only be produced ——
by the strongest evidence is not here to be required,
we must also doubt whether a clearer elucidation of our
subject be possible.
After this declaration, it will not excite surprise,
that, amongst the facts deduced from our fundamental
experiment, some should immediately appear to depend
upon that experiment, and others to result from it in a
way more remote and less direct. In disquisitions of
natural philosophy, where w'e are scarcely allowed (d
use any other arguments than those which arise from
analogy or congruity, it is natural that the analogy-
should be sometimes more and sometimes less sensible j
and we will venture to pronounce that mind very un-
philosophical, which cannot recognise and distinguish
this gradation and the different circumstances tm.
which it proceeds. It is not even surprising, that, in a,
subject where analogy alone can take place, this conduc¬
tress should desert us all at once in our attempts to ac¬
count for certain phenomena. This likewise happens
in the subject which we now treat j nor do wre conceal
the fact, however mortifying, that there are certain
points (though their number be but small) which ap¬
pear still in some degree unaccountable from our prin¬
ciple. Such, for instance, is the procedure of the dia¬
tonic scale of the minor mode in descending, the for¬
mation of the chord commonly termed the sixth re¬
dundant f or superfluous, and some other facts of less f See Hi -
importance, for which as yet we can scarcely offer any dundimi.
satisfactory account except from experience alone.
Thus, though the greatest number of the pheno¬
mena of music appear to be deducible in a simple and
easy manner from the protracted tone of sonorous bo¬
dies, it ought not perhaps with too much temerity to
be affirmed as yet that this mixed and protracted tone
is demonstratively the only original principle of harmo¬
ny. But in the mean time it would not be less unjtist ffameauV
to reject this principle, because certain phenomena ap- primary
pear to be deduced from it with less success than others. ^xl,en,nent
It is only necessary to Conclude from this, either that ^ as
by future scrutinies means may be found for reducing counted fot
these phenomena to this principle; or that harmony all the ph«-
has perhaps some other Unknown principle, more ge-nom_enaof
neral than that which results from the protracted and ™JS‘C-
compounded tone of sonorous bodies, and of which thissome other
is only a branch ; or, lastly, that we ought not perhaps may b« He*
to attempt the reduction of the whole science of music cessa'‘?*
to one and the same principle ; which, however, is
the natural effect of an impatience so frequent even
among philosophers themselves, which induces them to
take a part for the whole, and to judge of objects in
their full extent by the greatest number of their appear¬
ances.
In those sciences which are Called physico-mathcmati-
cal (and amongst this number perhaps the science of
sounds may be placed), there are some phenomena
which depend only upon one single principle and one
single experiment: there are others which necessarily
suppose a greater number both of experiments and
principles, whose combination is indispensable in form¬
ing an exact and complete system ; and music perhaps
is in this last case. It is for this reason, that whilst
3 S
rcfi M U E
PrpUmi we bestow on M. Rameau all due praise, we should
nary not at the same time neglect to stimulate the learned
Discourse. their endeavours to. carry them still to higher de-
v*—Y ' grees of perfection, by adding, if it is possible, such
improvements as may be wanting to consummate the
science.
Whatever the result of their efforts may be, the re¬
putation of this intelligent artist has nothing to fear :
he will still have the advantage of being the first who
rendered music a science worthy of philosophical atten¬
tion •, of having made the practice of it more simple
and easy; and of having taught musicians to employ
in this subject the light of reason and analogy.
We would the more willingly persuade those who
are skilled in theory and. eminent in practice to extend
and improve the views of him who betore them pur
sued and pointed out the career, because many amongst
them have already made laudable attempts, and lid's e
even been in some measure successful in diffusing new
light through the theory of, this enchanting art. It
was with this view that the celebrated Tartini has pre¬
sented us in 1754 with a treatise of harmony, founded
on a principle diflercnt from that of ^1. Rameau, fins
principle is the result of a most beautiful experi¬
ment (G). If at once two different sounds are produ¬
ced from two instruments of the same kind, these two
T C. Elements:
sounds generate* a-third different from both the Prelimi.
others. We have inserted in the Encyclopedic, under nary
Tartini’s
expeii-
meuU.
the article Fundamental, a detail of this experiment ac- nisc^
cording to M. Martini *, and we owe_to the public
information, of which in composing this article we \vcvera(e
ignorant: M. llomieu, a member of the Royal Socie-Its disco-
ty at Montpelier, had presented to that society in the very ori, -
year 1753, before the work of M. Tartini had appear-
ed, a memorial printed the same year, and where may
he found the same experiment displayed at full length.
In relating this fact, which it was neccssaiy for us to
do, it is by no means our intention to detract in any
degree from the reputation of M. Tartini j wc are
persuaded that he owes this discovery to his own re¬
searches alone: hut we think ourselves obliged in ho¬
nour to give public testimony in favour of him who
was the first in exhibiting this discovery. _
But whatever be the case, it is in this experiment
that M. Tartini attempts to find the origin of har¬
mony : his book, however, is written in a manner so
obscure, that it is impossible for us to form any judge¬
ment of it; and we are told that others distinguished
for their knowledge of the science are of the same opi¬
nion. It were to be wished that the author would
engage some man of letters, equally practised in music
and skilled in the art of writing, to unfold these ideas
which
fol Had the utility of the preliminary discourse in which we are now engaged been less important and ob¬
vious than it really we should not have given ourselves the trouble of translating or our readers that of
perusing it But i must he evident to every one, that the cautions here given and the advices offered, are no
ts applicable to students than to authors. The first question here decided is W hether pure e
successfully applied to the theory of music? The author is justly of a contrary opinion It may ce tamly he
doubted with great justice, whether the solid contents of sonorous bodies, and their degrees of cohesion or
elasticity, can be ascertained with sufficient accuracy to render them the subjects of musical speculation and to
determine their effects with such precision as may render the conclusions deduced from them geometrical y true.
It is admitted, that sound is a secondary quality of matter, and that secondary qualities have obvious con
nexion which we can trace with the sensations produced by them. Experience, therefore, anc no spec 1
is the grand criterion of musical phenomena. For the effects of geometry in illustrating the theory of music ( t
• any wifi still be so credulous as to pay them much attention), the English reader may consult Smith s Harmonics
Malcolm’s Dissertation on Music, and Pleydel’s Treatise on the same subject inserted in a former edition of this
work. Our author next treats of the famous discovery made by Signor Tartini, ot which the reader may accept
the following compendious account. , . , , „ r . . ,• .
If two sounds be produced at the same time properly tuned and with due force, from their conjunct .
third sound is generated, so much more distinctly to be perceived by delicate ears as the relation between th
generating sounds is more simple 5 yet from this rule we must except the unison am octave. rom 10 1
is produced a sound unison with its lowest generator ; from the fourth, one which is an octave lower than he
highest of its generators*, from the third major, one which is an octave lower than its lowest j and trom the-
sixth minor (whose highest note forms an octave with the lowest in the third formerly mentioned) will be pro¬
duced a sound lower by a double octave than the highest of the lesser sixth 5 from the third minor, one which
is double the distance of a greater third from its lowest*, but from the sixth major (whose highest note make,
an octave to the lowest in the third minor) will be produced a sound only lower by dou e t e quan i j c
greater third than the highest j from the second major, a sound lower by a double octave than the lowest,
from a second minor, a sound lower by triple the quantity of a third major than the highest *, 10m t e in erv
of a diatonic or greater semitone, a sound lower by a triple octave than the highest*, irom t lat o a minor
chromatic semitone, a sound lower by the quantity of a fifth four times multiplied than t le owest, c. •
. But that these musical phenomena may be tried by experiments proper to ascertain them, two mut oys une
with scrupulous exactness must be procured, whilst the musicians are placed at the distance of some paces 0
from the other, and the hearers in the middle. The violin will likewise give the same chords,, ut tiey wi
less distinctly perceived, and the experiment more fallacious, because the vibrations of other strings may e sup¬
posed to enter into it. . „ , -
If our English reader should he curious to examine these experiments and the deductions rnade rom p01
the theory of music, he will find them clearly explained and illustrated in a treatise called Principles an 0
ef Harmony, printed at London in the year 177*.
ements. M u
elimi- which he lias nol communicated with sufficient perspi-
inary cuity, and from whence tlie art might perhaps derive
course, considerable advantage if they were placed in a proper
Hglit. Of this we are so much the more persuaded,
that even though this experiment should not be regard¬
ed by others in the same view with M. Tartini as the
foundation of the musical art, it is nevertheless extreme¬
ly probable that one might use it with the greatest ad¬
vantage to enlighten and facilitate the practice of har¬
mony.
In exhorting philosophers and artists to make new
attempts for the advancement of the theory of music, we
ought at the same time to caution them against mistak¬
ing the real end ot their researches. Experience is the
only foundation upon which they can proceed 5 it is
alone by the observation ot tacts, by bringing them to¬
gether in one view, by showing their depemlency-npon
one, if possible, or at least upon a very small number of
primary facts, that they can reach the end to which
they so ardently aspire, the important end of establish¬
ing a theory of music, at once great, complete and lu¬
minous. The enlightened philosopher will* not attempt
the explanation of facts, because he knows how little
1 hani- such explanations are to be relied on. To estimate
VI shiade t*1Cm accort*,ng to ^K'ir proper value, it is only neces-
^|»xtotheSary to consider the attempts of natural philosophers
si ..lion ol who have discovered the greatest skill in their science,
miical to explain, for instance, the multiplicity of tones pro¬
duced by sonorous bodies. Some having remarked
(what is by no means difficult to conclude) that the
universal vibration of a musical string is a mixture of
several partial vibrations, infer that a sonorous body
ought to produce a multiplicity of tones, as it really
does. But why should this multiplied sound only ap¬
pear to contain three, and why these three preferable
to others ? Others pretend that there are particles in
the air, which, by their different degrees of tension, be¬
ing naturally susceptible of different oscillations, pro¬
duce the multiplicity of sound in question. But what
do we know of all this ? And though it should even he
granted, that there is such a diversity of tension in
these aerial particles, how should this diversity prevent
them from being all of them confounded in their vibra¬
tions by the motions of a sonorous body ? What then
should be the result when the vibrations arrive.at our
t jn. cai'S, but a confused and inappretiable * noise, where
«; Hi- one could not distinguish any particular sound ?
Ml
S I c.
p 10.
na.
507
Prelimi¬
nary
Discourse.
If philosophical musicians ought not to lose their
time in searching for mechanical explications of the
phenomena in music, explications which will always be
fond vague and unsatisfactory ; much less is it their v’ t.vT~^
province to exhaust their powers in vain attempts to Cal condu-
rise above their sphere into a region still more remote sions less
from the prospect of their faculties, and to lose them-^Q?*1**
selves in a labyrinth of metaphysical speculations upon
the causes of that pleasure which we feel from harmo¬
ny. In vain would they accumulate hypothesis on hy¬
pothesis, to find a reason why some chords should please
us more than others. The futility of these suppositi¬
tious accounts must be obvious to every one who has
the least penetration. Let us judge of the rest by the
most probable which has till now been invented for
that purpose. Some ascribe the different degrees of
pleasure which we feel from chords, to the more or
less frequent coincidence of vibrations; others to the
relations which these vibrations have among themselves
as they are more or less simple. But. why shodd this
coincidence of vibrations, that is to say, their simul¬
taneous impulse on the same organs of sensation, and
the accident of beginning frequently at the same time,
prove so great a source of pleasure ? Upon what is
this gratuitous supposition founded ? And though it
should he granted, would it not follow, tiiat the same
chord should successively and rapidly affect us with
contrary sensations,. since the vibrations are alternate¬
ly coincident and discrepant ? On the other hand,
how should the ear be so sensible to the simplicity
of relations, whilst for the most part these relations
are entirely unknown to him whose organs are not¬
withstanding sensibly affected with the charms of a-
greeable music P We may conceive without difficulty
how the eye judges of relations 5 but how does the ear
form similar judgments ? Besides, why should certain
chords which are extremely pleasing in themselves,
such as the fifth, lose almost nothing of the pleasure
which they give us, when they are altered, and of
consequence when the simplicity of their relations are
destroyed; whilst other chords, which are likewise ex¬
tremely agreeable, such as the third, become harsh al¬
most by the smallest alteration ; nay, whilst the most
perfect and the most agreeable of all chords, the
octave, cannot softer the most inconsiderable change ?
Let us in sincerity confess our ignorance concerning
the genuine causes of these effects (h). The meta-
3 S 2 physical
/h) We have as great an. aversion as our author to the explication of musical phenomena from mechanical
piinciples ; yet we fear the following observations, deduced from irresistible and universal experience, evidently
show that the latter necessarily depend on the former. It is, for instance, universally allowed, that dissonances
grate, and concords please a musical ear: It is likewise no less unanimously agreed, that in proportion as a
chord is perfect, the pleasure is increased ; now the perfection of a chord consists in the regularity and fre¬
quency of coincident oscillations between two sonorous bodies impelled to vibrate : thus the third is a chord
less perfect than the fifth, and the fifth than the octave. Of all these-consonances, therefore, the octave is most
pleasing to the ear; the fifth next, and the third last. In absolute discords, the vibrations are never coin¬
cident, and of consequence a perpetual pulsation or jarring is recognised between the protracted sounds, which
exceedingly hurts the ear ; hut in proportion as the vibrations coincide, those pulsations are superseded, and
a kindred formed betwixt the two continued sounds, which delights even the corporeal sense : that relation
therefore, without recognizing the aptitudes which produce it, must be the obvious cause of the pleasure which
chords give to the ear. What we mean by coincident-vibrations is, that while one sonorous body performs
a given number of vibrations, another performs a different number in the same time : so that the vibrations
the quickest must sometimes be simultaneous oivith those of the slowest, as will plainly appear from tie
following
5°S
MUSI C.
Prelirii- plnsical coniectures concerning the acoustic organs
oury are probably in the same predicament with those
Discourse, vvbicli are formed concerning the organs or vision,
 *   if one may speak so, in which philosophers have
even till now made such inconsiderable progress, and
in all likelihood will not be surpassed by their suc¬
cessors. . .
Since the theory of music, even to those who con¬
fine themselves within its. limits, implies questions from
which every wise musician will abstain} with much
greater reason should they avoid idle excursions beyond
the boundaries of that theory, and endeavours to inves¬
tigate between music and the other sciences chimerical
relations which have no foundation in nature. T-iie
singular opinions advanced upon this subject by some
even of the most celebrated musicians, deserve not to
be rescued from oblivion, nor refuted 5 and ought only
to be regarded as a new proof how far men of genius
may err, when they engage in subjects of which they
are ignorant.
The rules which we have attempted to establish con¬
cerning the track to he followed in the theory of the
musical art, may suffice to show our readers the end
which we haye proposed, and which we have endea¬
voured to attain in this Work. We have here (we
repeat it), nothing to do with the mechanical prin¬
ciples of protracted and harmonic tones produced by
sonorous bodies j principles which have hitherto been and
perhaps.may yet be long explored in vain : we have less
to do with the metaphysical causes of the sensations im¬
pressed on the mind by harmony, causes which are still
less discovered, and which, according to all appearances,
will remain latent in perpetual obscurity. We are
alone concerned to show how the principal laws of har-
followimr deduction: Between the extremes of a third, the vibrations of tne highest are as 5 to 4 of tie
lowest • ^those of the fifth as 3 to 2 *, those of the octave as 2 to 1. Thus it is obvious t.iat m proportion t
the frequent coincidence of periodical vibrations, the compound sensation is more agreeable to the ear. Noy
to inquire why that organ should be rather pleased with these than with the pulsation and tremulous motion
S encountering vibrathms which can never coalesce, would be to ask why the touch is rather pleased wiffi
polished than rough surfaces j or why the eye is rather pleased with the wav mg hne of Hogarth than wU
sharp angles and abrupt or irregular prominences ? No alteration of which any chord is susceptive will h 1
the ear unless it should violate or destroy the regular and periodical coincidence of vibrations. When altera¬
tions can be made without this disagreeable effect, they, form a pleasing diversity 5 but still tins fact
borates our argument, that in proportion as any chord is perfect it is impatien of the smallest altera 10^,
for this reason, even in temperament, the octave endures no alteration at all, and the fifth as little as
PPS( I’Jin our former editions, the French syllabic names of the notes ut, re mi, fa sol, la, si, were retained as be¬
ing thought to convey the idea of the relative sounds more distinctly than the seven letters used m Britain. It is 0
doubt true, that by constantly using the syllables, and considering each as representing one cefa,n *
scale a singer will in time associate the idea of each sound with its proper syllable so that he will habitually
give W the Ssound of the first or fundamental note, re that of a second, mi of a third, &c. bu“h‘‘’
time, and much application : and is, besides, useless in modulation or changes o le ey, an . , fif thev
1.^ Teachers of sol-fa'ing as it is called, or singing by the syllables, m Britain, have long diseased, (xf they
, . ■ . * i • i ,1   -1. .... a ..... cnnnrlpv nninwmis now. that a scholar
music. Teachers ol sol-Ja'rng as it is caneti, or singing uy , ,, , ' ' rn]'
ever used), the syllables ut, re, and si: and the prevalent, and we think, the sounder opinion is now, that .
will, by attending to the sounds themselves rather than to their names, soon learn their distinct characters and
relations to the key, and to each other, and be able of course to assign to each its piopei clegiec 11.
which he employs for the time, by whatever name the note representing t at t egree may e &
known. See Holden's Essay towards a Rational System of Music, Parti, chap. 1. y32’ 33 • ,
We have therefore, in our present edition, preferred to the Trench syllables the Britt 1 nomenc a ure y
letters C, D, E, F, G, A, B, as being more simple, more familiar to British musicians, and equally apphcab .
to instrumental as to vocal music.
Elements;
mony may be deduced from one single experiment j Prelinji.
for which, if we may speak so, preceding artists have nary
been under the necessity of groping in the dark. Uiscourw
With an intention to render this work as generally
useful as possible, we have endeavoured to adapt it to
the capacity even of those who are absolutely umnstiuct-
ed in music. To accomplish this design, it appeared
necessary to pursue the following plan.
To begin with a short introduction, in which are plan ofu]
defined the technical terms most frequently used in this treatise,
art j such as chord,harmony, key, third,fifth,octave, &.c.
Afterwards to enter into the theory of harmony,
which is explained according to M. Rameau, with all
possible perspicuity. This is the subject of the. First
Part; which, as well as the introduction, presupposes
no other knowledge of music than that oi the names oi
the notes, C, D, E, F, G, A, B, which all the world
knows (1).
The theory of harmony requires some arithmetical
calculations, necessary for comparing sounds one with
another. These calculations are short, simple, and may
be comprehended by every one j they demand no
operation but what is explained, and which eiery
school-boy may perform. Yet, that even the trouble of
this may be spared to such as are not disposed to take it,
these calculations are not inserted in tne text, but in the
notes, which the reader may omit, it he can take for
granted the propositions contained in the text which
will be found proved in the notes.
These calculations we have not endeavoured to mul¬
tiply ; we could even have wished to suppress them, it
it had been possible : so much did it appear to us to be
apprehended that our readers might be misled upon
this subject, and might either believe, or suspect us ox
believing,
foments. M U
-lirai- believing1, ail tins arithmetic necessary to form an artist,
iary Calculations may indeed facilitate the understanding of
1 .ourse. certain points in the theory, as of the relations between
/ tjie diirerent notes in the gammut and of the tempera¬
ment ; but the calculations necessary for treating of
these points are so simple, and of so little importance,
that nothing can require a less ostentatious display.
Let us not imitate those musicians, who believing them¬
selves geometers, or those geometers who, believing
themselves musicians, 1UI their writings with figures
upon figures ; imagining, perhaps, that this apparatus
is necessary to the art. The propensity of adorning
their works with a false air of science, can only impose
upon ignorance, and render their treatises more obscure
and less instructive.
IV hema- This abuse of geometry in music may be condemned
d ms not so. nuic!l niorc reason, that in this subject the
tr 'fer- foundations of those calculations are in some manner
a!, to sen-hypothetical, and can never arise to a degree of cer-
sis ob- tainty above hypothesis. The relation of the octave as
m lutioii.1 2’ t?iat °f t!ie ^ftl1 as 2 to 3’ tllat the third
major as 4 to 5, &c. are not perhaps tlie genuine re¬
lations established in nature 5 but only relations which
approach them, and such as experience can discover.
For are the results of experience any thing more but
mere approaches to truth ?
But happily these approximated relations are suffi¬
cient, though they should not be exactly agreeable to
truth, for giving a satisfactory account of those phe¬
nomena which depend on the relations of sound ; as
in the difference between the notes in the gammut, of
the alterations necessary in the fifth and third, of the
different manner in which instruments are tuned, and
other facts of the same kind. If the relations of the
octave, of the fifth and of the third, are not exactly
such as we have supposed them, at least no experiments
can prove that they are not so ; and since these rela¬
tions are signified by a simple expression, since they are
besides sufficient for all the purposes of theory, it would
be useless, and contrary to sound philosophy, to invent
other relations in order to form the basis of any system
of music less easy and simple than that which we have
delineated in this treatise.
The second part contains the most essential rules of
pjk Com- composition or in other words the practice of har-
M*8"’ mony. These rules are founded on the principles laid
down in the part; yet those who wish to understand
no more than is necessary for practice, without explor¬
ing the reasons why such practical rules are necessary,
may limit the objects of their study to the introduction*
and the second part. They who have read the first part,
will find at every rule contained in the second, a refer¬
ence to that passage in the first where the reasons for
establishing that rule are given.
That we may not present at once too great a num-
S I c.
509
ber of objects and precepts, we have transferred to the Prelimi-
notes in the second part several rules and observations nan*
which are less frequently put in practice, which perhaps Discourse,
it may be proper to omit till the treatise is read a se-^ V 'T "
cond time, when the reader is well acquainted with the 011 acc(),mt*
essential and fundamental rules explained in it. of their
This second part presupposes, no more than the first,intricacy,
any habit of singing, nor even any knowledge of music i ^notir
it only requires that one should know', not even the in¬
tonation, but merely the position of the notes in the
cleft F on the fourth line, and that of G upon the se¬
cond : and even this knowledge may be acquired from
the work itself 5 for in the beginning of the second part
we explain the position of the cleffs and of the notes.
Nothing is necessary but to render it a little familiar,
and any difficulty in it will disappear.
It would be wrong to expect here all the rules of AH the
composition, and especially those which direct theni^s of
composition of musie in several parts, and which, beingc.0mP0**"
less severe and indispensable, may be chiefly acquired be expceuA
by practice, by studying the most approved models,in an ele-
by the assistance of a proper master, but above all bymentary
the cultivation of the ear and of the taste. This trea-essa'
tise is properly nothing else, if the expression maybe
allowed, but the rudiments of music, intended for ex¬
plaining to beginners the fundamental principles, not
the practical detail of composition. Those who wish to
enter more deeply into this detail, will either find it in
M. Bameau’s treatise of harmony, or in the code of
music which he published more lately (k), or lastly in
the explication of the theory and practice of music by
M. Bethizi (l) j this last hook appears to us clear and
methodical (m).
Is it necessary to add, that in order to compose]sTaturc t]ie
music in a proper taste, it is by no means enough toessential
have familiarized with much application the principlesnustress of
explained in this treatise ? Here can only be learnedmuslcal.
the mechanism of the art ; it is the province of nature ^)^°S1
alone to accomplish the rest. Without her assistance, it
is no more possible to compose agreeable music by ha¬
ving read these elements, than to write verses in a pro¬
per manner with the Dictionary of Richelet. In one
word, it is the elements of music aione, and not the
principles of genius, that the reader may expect to find
in this treatise.
' DEFINITIONS.
I. What is meant by Melody, by Chord, by Harmony,
by Interval.
1. Melody is a series of sounds which succeed one to Melody
another in a manner agreeable to the ear. what.
2. A Chord is a combination of several sounds heard Chord and r
together j and Harmony is properly a series of chords harmony,
of which the succession pleases the ear. A single chordvvllat.
is
(k) From my general recommendation of this code, I except the reflections on the principle of sound which .
are at the end, and which I should not advise any one to read.
(l) Printed at Paris by Lambert in the year 1754.
(m) In addition to the works mentioned in the text, we recommend to our readers, Holden’s Essay, Glasgow
1770, E-din. 1805 J Kollmann’s Essay on Musical Harmony, 1796 ; his Essay on Musical Composition, fob 1799 :
Shield^ Introduction, 1800 3 and Dr Callcott’s Musical Grammar, 1806.
See Inter
val.
510 . M U
Definitions is likewise sometimes called harmony, to signify the coa-
y——1 lescence of the sounds which form the chord, and t ie
sensation produced in the ear by that coalescence. V\e
shall occasionally use the word harmony in this last
sense, but in such a manner as never to leave our mean¬
ing ambiguous. .
3. An Interval, in melody and harmony, is the di¬
stance, or difference in pitch, between one sound, and
another higher or lowrer than it.
4. That we may learn to distinguish the intervals,
and the manner of perceiving them, let us take the
ordinary scale C, D, E, i, G, A, B, c, which evciy
person whose ear or voice is not extremely false natural¬
ly modulates. The following observations will occur
to us in singing this scale.
The sound D is higher or sharper than the sound
Account of c the sound j hl her than the sound D, the sound
infer^. F higher than the sound E, &c. and so through the
whole octave j so that the interval, or the distance
from the sound C to the sound D, is less than the
interval or distance between the sound C and the
sound E, the interval from C to F is less than that
between C and F, &c. and in short that the inteival
from the first to the second C is the greatest of all.—
S I C.
Elements
To distinguish the first from the second C, we have Definition,
marked the last with a small letter (n). S" p*'
5. In general, the interval between two sounds is^a^
proportionably greater, as one ol these sounds is IU&^"))etween
er or lower with relation to the other : but it is neces-strong an,
sary to observe, that two sounds may be equally high faint, or
or low, though unequal in their force. The string of^eanc
a violin touched with a bow produces always a sound £ra'e’
equally bigh, whether strongly or faintly stiuck j the
sound will only have a greater or lesser degree of
strength. It is the same with vocal modulation j let
any one form a sound by gradually swelling the voice,
the sound may be perceived to increase in force, whilst
it continues always equally low or equally high.
6. We must likewise observe concerning the scale, Between
that the intervals between C and D, between D andtonkauc
E, between F and G, between G and A, between A jntemj.
and B, are equal, or at least nearly equal ; and that
the intervals between E and F, and between B and C,
are likewise equal among themselves, but consist almost
only of half the former. This fact is known and re¬
cognised by every one : the reason for it shall be given
in the sequel j in the mean time every one may ascer¬
tain its reality by the assistance of an experiment (o.)
7. It
fN') We shall afterwards find that three different series of the seven letters are used, which we have distinguish¬
ed bv^ capitals, small Roman, and Italic characters. When the notes represented by small Roman characters cc-
-cur Lthl treatise we shall, merely to distinguish them from the typography ol the text, p.ace them in inverted
C7TfhtUeXpCer:menfmay be easily trie,!. Let any one sing the scale C, D, E F, G, A, B V, it still be
immediately observed without difficulty, that the last four notes of the octave G A B, ‘c are quite similar tt
the first C, D, E, F 5 insomuch, that if, after having sung this scale, one would choose to repeat it, begin 1 &
with C in the same tone which was occupied by G in the former scale, the note D of the last scale would ha%e
the same sound with the note A in the first, the E with the B, and the F with the c .
Whence it follows, that the interval between C and D, is the same as between G and A; between D and 1,
as between A and B, and E and F, as between B and ‘c\ ^ . • 1 r ^nA
From D to E, from F to G, there is the same interval as from C to D. To be convinced of this, we nee
only sing the scale once more ; then sing it again, beginning with C, in this last scale, in the same tone w .ic .
was given to D in the first; and it will be perceived, that the D m the second scale will have he same sound,
at least as far as the ear can discover, with the E in the former scale j whence it follows, that the difference be¬
tween D and E is, at least as Air as the ear can perceive, equal to that between C and D. It will also be
found, that the interval between F and G is, so far as our sense can determine, the same with that between
"nThis experiment may perhaps he tried with some difficulty by those who are not inured to form the notes
and change the key *, but such may'very easily perform it by the assistance of a harpsichord, by means o. v uc
the performer will be saved the trouble of retaining the sounds in one intonation whilst he performs another. a
touching upon this harpsichord the keys G, A, B, ‘f\ and in performing with the voice at the same time
C, I), E, F, in such a manner that the same sound may be given to C m the voice with that of the key O
in the harpsichord, it will be found that D in the vocal intonation shall be the same with A upon the liarpsi-
It will be found likewise by the same harpsichord, that if one should sing the Scale beginning with € in the
same tone with E on the instrument, the 1), which ought to have followed C, v 1 ^ be ig ei iy an cxtirme y
perceptible degree than the F which follows E : thus it may he concluded, that t e interva etween
,F is less than between C and D ; and if one would rise from F to another sound which is at the same dis ance
from F, as F from E, he would find, in the same manner, that the interval from E to this new sound is almost
Ike same as that between C and D. The interval then from E to F is nearly half of that between L and V.
Since then, in the scale thus divided, q ^
the first division is perfectly like the last 5 and since the intervals betw'een C and D, between I) and E, and be
tween F and G, are equal; it follows, that the intervals between G and A, and between A and R> 1
equal to every one of the three intervals between C and D, between D and E, and between F and G j an a
the intervals between E and F and between B and ‘c’ are also equal, but that they only constitute one a
the others.
lements.
M U
lllate
)3LIV.
,nations. 7- for this reason that they have called the in-
—v ' terval from E to F, and from B to C, a semitone •,
whereas those between C and I), D and E, F and G,
G and xl, and A and B, are tones.
The tone is likewise called a second major *, and the
semitone a second minor i.
teInter- 8* To <!escen(1 or r^e diatonically, Is to descend or
rise from one sound to another by the interval of a
tone or of a semitone, or in general by seconds, whether
major or minor; as from D to C, or from C to I),
from F to E, or from E to F.
IT. T/te terms by winch the different Intervals of the
Scale are denominated.
cj. An interval composed of a tone and a. semitone,
as from E to G, from A to C, or from D to F, is cal¬
led a third minor.
An interval composed of two full tones, as from G
to E,. and from F to A, or from G to B, is called a
third major.
An interval composed of two tones and a semitone,
as from C to F, or from G to C, is called a fourth.
An interval consisting of three full tones, as from F
to B, is called a tritone or fourth redundant.
An interval consisting of three tones and a semitone,
as from C to G, from F to C, from D to A, or from
E to B, &c. is called a fifth.
An interval composed of three tones and two semi¬
tones, as from-'E to C, is called a sixth minor.
Aw xnterwal composed of four tones and a semitone,
as from C to A, is called a sixth major.
An interval consisting of four tones and two semi¬
tones, as from D to C, is called a seventh minor
An interval composed of five tones and a semitone,
as from C to B, is called a seventh major.
And in short, an interval consisting of five tones and
two semitones, as from C to ‘c1 is called an octave.
Several of the intervals now mentioned, are distin¬
guished by other names, as may be seen in the begin¬
ning of the second part j but those norv given are the
most common, and the only terms which our present
purpose demands.
10. Two sounds equally high, or equally low, how-
’J rd rai-
t what.
T rd raa-
ji what.
Jlirth,
v t.
T one,
w.t.
fl h, what
8 h mi¬
ni what.
S 'li ma-
j< 'what.
S'"nth
raw,
wu.
nth
Ir,
SIC 5 r r*
ever unequal in their force, are said to be in unison one Definitions,
with the other. > t
11. If two sounds form between them any interval,
whatever it be, we say, that the highest when ascend¬
ing is in that interval with relation to the lowest j and
when descending, we pronounce the lowest in the same
interval with relation to the highest. Thus in the third
minor, E, G, where E is the lowest and G the highest
sound, G is a third minor from E ascending, and E is
a third minor from G in descending.
12. In the same manner, if, speaking of two sono¬
rous bodies, we should say, that the one is a fifth above
the other in ascending ; this infers that the sound given
by the one is at the distance of a fifth ascending from
the sound given by the other.
HI. Of Intervals greater than the Octave.
13. If, after having sung the scale C, D, E, F, G,Fig. 2.
A, B, c, one would carry this scale still farther in
ascent, it would be discovered without difficulty that
a new scale would be formed, ‘c, d, e, f’, &c, entirely
similar to the former, and of which the sounds will be
an octave ascending, each to its correspondent note in *
the former scale 5 thus ‘d’, the second note of the se¬
cond scale, will be an octave in ascent to the D of the
first scale; in the same manner ‘e’ shall be the octave
to E, Sec. and so of the rest.
14; As there are nine notes from the first C to the Ninth*,
second ‘d’, the interval between these two sounds is what,x
called a ninth, and this ninth is composed of six full
tones and two semitones. For the same reason, the
interval from C to ‘P is called an eleventh, and the in¬
terval between C and.‘g’ a twelfth, &c.
It is plain that iha ninth is the octave of the .yeewzi/, Eleveilth
the eleventh of the fourth, and the twelfth of the fifth,
The octave above the octave of any sound is called a
double octave * ; the octave of the double octave is call- * See In-
ed a triple octave, and so of the rest. terval and
The double octave is likewise called w fifteenth : and lioub!e
for the same reason the double octave of the third is0ctavfU
called a seventeenth, the double octave of the fifth a
nineteenth, &c. (p),
IV.
. O) Let us suppose two vocal strings formed of the same matter, of the same thickness, and equal in their ten¬
sion, but unequal in their length ; it will be found by experience,
i^» That if the shortest is equal to half the longest, the sound which it will produce must he an octave above
the sound produced by the longest.
2dly, That if the shortest constitutes a third part of the longest, the sound Avhich it produces must he a twelfth
above the sound produced by the longest,
^dly, That if it constitutes the fifth part, its sound will be a seventeenth abbve.
Besides, it is a truth demonstrated and generally admitted, that in proportion as one musical string is less than
another, the vibrations of the least will be more frequent (that is to say, its departure^ and returns through the
same space) in the same time ; for instance, in an hour, a minute, a second, &c. in such a manner that one.,
string which constitutes a third part of another, forms three vibrations, whilst the largest has only accomplished
one. In the same manner, a string which is one half less than another, performs two vibrations, while the other
only completes one ; and a string which is only the fifth part of another, will perform five vibrations in the same
time which is occupied by the other in one.
From thence it follows, that the sound of a string is proportionally higher or lower, as the number of its vi¬
brations is greater or smaller in a given time ; for instance, in a second.
It is for that reason, that if we represent any sound whatever by 1, one may represent the octave above by 2,
that is to say, by the number of vibrations formed by the string which produces the octave, whilst the longest
string only vibrates once; in the same manner we may represent the twelfth above the somid 1 Ly 3, the seven¬
teenth
512
'Definitions.
M U
IV- What is meant by Sharps and Flats.
. vat.
Sharps and i C. It is plain that one may imagine the five tones
tints, what. which enter into the scale, as divided each into two
See Inter- sen,itones *, thus one may advance from G to D,
ing in his progress an intermediate sound, which shall
be higher by a semitone than C, and lower in the same
degree than D. A sound in the scale is called sharp,
when it is raised by a semitone 5 and it is marked with
this character « : thus C t signifies C sharp, that is to
say, C raised by a semitone above its pitch in the natu¬
ral scale. A sound in the scale depressed by a semitone
is called /Za/, and is marked thus, [; : thus A 1; signifies
A flat, or A depressed by a semitone.
V. What is meant by Consonances and Dissonances.
Conso- 16. A chord composed of sounds whose Union or
r,:1ince* coalescence pleases the ear is called consonance ; and
See CW the sounds which form this chord are said to be conso-
SIC. Elements
nant one with relation to the other. The reason of this DefinHiont
denomination is that a chord is found more perfect, as —y-^i
the sounds which form it coalesce more closely among
themselves. , . r
17. The octave of a sound is the most perfect of con¬
sonances of which that sound is susceptible j then the
fifth, afterwards the third, &c. This is a fact founded
on experiment. . . . ,
18. A number of sounds simultaneously produced Disso-
whose union is displeasing to the ear is called a disso-
nance, and the sounds which form it are said to be dis¬
sonant one with relation to the other. The second,
the tritone, and the seventh of a sound, are dissonants
with relation to it. Thus the sounds C D, C B, or
T B, &c. simultaneously heard, form a dissonance. See Dis-
The reason which renders dissonance disagreeable, is, corrf,
that the sounds which compose it, seem by no means
coalescent to the ear, and are heard each of them by
itself as distinct sounds, though produced at the same
time.
PART I. THEORY OF HARMONY.
Chap. I. Preliminary and Fundamental Expert-
ments.
Experiment I.
10. WHEN a sonorous body is struck till it gives
a sound, the ear, besides the principal sound and its
octave, perceives two other sounds very high, of which
one is the twelfth above the principal sound, that is to
say, the octave to the fifth of that sound j and the other
is the seventeenth major above the same sound, that is
to say, the double octave of its third major.
20. This experiment is peculiarly sensible upon the
thick strings of the violoncello, of which the sound be¬
ing extremely low, gives to an ear, though not very
much practised, an opportunity of distinguishing with
sufficient ease and clearness the twelfth and seventeenth
now in question (q).
minatc a sound, its octave above, its twelfth above, 6cc. s.gnny omy, uiat 11 a ^ -
of vibrations, for instance, in a second, the string which is in the octave above shall double the number m
time the string which is in the twelfth above shall triple it, &c. . . 1 nf
a Thus to’ compare sounds among themselves is nothing else to than compare among themselves the number 0
vibrations which are formed in a given time by the strings that produce these soum s. ^ . that
fa') Since the octave above the sound 1 is 2, the octave below the same sound shall be ^ , that J, _
the string which produces this octave shall have performed half its vibration, whilst the string w nc 1 P10t«
sound i fhall have completed one. To obtain therefore the octave above any sound, the operator ^
the quantity which expresses the sound by 2 j and to obtain the octave below, he must on the contrary
same quantity by 2
1
2
4
8
1
1
~E
T
3
- - “ I
T
5
- - - ~ *
T
I being the octave beneath the twelfth, shall he, as we have immediately^
5
It is for that reason that if any sound whatever, for instance G, is denominated
Its octave above will be
Its double octave above
Its triple octave above
In the same manner its octave below will be
Its double octave below
Its triple octave below -
And so of the rest.
Its twelfth above - ■
Its twelfth below --*■
Its 17th major above
Its 17th major below
The fifth then above the sound
»rt I- M U
icoiy of 21. The principal sound is called the generator * ;
irmony. and the two other sounds which it produces, and with
which it is accompanied, are, inclusive of its octave,
■ittar. caMe,l harmonics t.
merator,
:e liar- EXPERIMENT II.
22. There is no person insensible of the resemblance
which subsists between any sound and its octave, whe¬
ther above or below. These two sounds, when heard
together, almost entirely coalesce in the organ of sen¬
sation. We may besides be convinced (by two facts
which are extremely simple) of the facility with which
one of these sounds may be taken for the other.
Let it be supposed that any person has an inclina¬
tion to sing a tune, and having at first begun this air
V ol. XIV. Part II.
s i a
513
upon a pitch too high or too low for his voice, so that Theory of
ic is o iged, lest he should strain himself too much, Har mony
to sing the tune in question on a key higher or lower ‘ *—~
than the first j he will naturally, without being initiated
in the art of music, take his new key in the octave be¬
low or the octave above the first j and in order to take
tins key in any other interval except the octave, he will
find it necessary to exert a sensible degree of attention.
J bis is a fact of which we may easily be persuaded by
experience. ^ x j
Another fact. Let any person sing a tune an our
presence, and let it be sung in a tone too high or too
low tor our voice j if we wish to join in singing this
air, we naturally take the octave below or above, and
frequently, in taking this octave, we imagine it to be
the unison (q*).
* 3 T Chap II.
served, \ j which signifies that this string performs 4- vibrations • that is in b-jv •, .
a single vibration of the string which gives the sound 1. ’ ‘ ' y’ 'lblatlon and a lialf during
To obtain the fourth above the sound 1, we must take the twelfth below that sound and the ,1^11 *
above that twelfth. In effect, the twelfth below C, for instance is F of which the ,1 11 , " °.Ctave
above c. Since then the twelfth below i is it follows that the double octave above this twe m/ftnt' sb*0'1'
the fourth from the sound 1 in ascending, will be | multiplied by 4, or 4. ’ * 1 l° &ay’
In short, the third major being nothing else but the double octave beneath the seventeenth it f„li , ,
thin major above the sound 1 will be 5 divided by 4, or in other words 4 Se'cntee*ltb> * that the
the third major ot a sound, for instance the third major E, from the sound C and its Ml, f f ,
"r * ‘.V' l i'r'T1?’ G; “ 4. G b liy whi has’been
i to th’eAactt t m'“0r’ “ ",e mterval bet'ree,' E “nJ be expressed by the relation of the fraclion
same thing with ¥ : so that J shall he to i in the same relation to V “mtt to lly t f sL"'. f
tton as to to I 2, or as 5 to 6. It, then, two sounds form between themselves a third minor ' ’uul that the
Uic'sxcond^shalHje ex pressed S|iy4^e * 6 > ^ ^ <*« » -F«™ted‘ by *
I bus the thud minor, an harmonic sound which is even found in tbp umir-wio.] mv l i x a p
_?body between the sound E and G, an harmonic of 1 ^ ^
) J* 0nw may SCe by tbpS examP]e’ ,t!'at \n 01‘^er to compare two sounds one with another which are expressed
nLnr f ,!-neGeiSa,7 fi,‘St t0 mult,P1y the numerator of the fraction which expresses the first by the denomi
nator °f the fraction which expresses the second, which will give a primary number j as here the iiumerVtor of
.,1 fiactl™ multiplied by 2 of the fraction 4, has given 10. Afterwards may he multiplied the numerator of
the second fraction by the denominator of the first, which will give a secondary number, as here 12 isT product
f 4 mu tiphed by 3 , and the relation between these two numbers (which in the preceding example ure^o and
12), .will express the relation between these sounds, or, what is the same thing, the inteiwal which there L be
^ S: g^^i^lwifit: ^ the ^ thC ^ tb- -nds departs from'
Wod'111S the 1iann!l' ^ WhIch T maiV C°mpare tw° sounds one with another whose numerical value is known
.v| - ,h.a no,^ f10,W tbe manner how the numerical expression of a sound may be obtained, when the relation
'v "cb 11 ou^,t t0 ^iave Wit^ another sound is known whose numerical expression is given
Eet us suppose, for example, that the third major of the fifth * is sought. That third major ought to be hr
w has been shown above, the T of the filth ; for the third major of any sound whatever is the 4 of that so’un/
We must then look for a fraction which expresses the | of J; which is done by multiplying the numerators ami
c enominators of both fractions one by the other, from whence results the new fraction V ° It will HL-p • i
found that the fifth of the fifth is |, because the fifth of the fifth is the 4 of T * ' ^ bf'
1 bus far we have only treated of fifths, fourths, thirds major and minor, in ascending ; now it is extremely easv
to find by the same rules the fifths, fourths, thirds major and minor in descending. For suppose C eouA lo 7
we have seen that its fifth, ;its fourth, its third, its major and minor in ascending, are 4, -j, 4, « To find its
f^tioVs/which willand min°r “ deSCeading’.n°t1,ing m°re is necessary tllan to reverse these
rv^pM8 ^ In;agrd tbat Welcliange tbe value of a sound multiplying or dividing it by 2, by 4 or
/J] &C' ib.e number winch-expresses these sounds, since by these operations we do nothin^ but take the simple
ouble, or triple octave, &c. of the sound in question, and that a sound coalesces with its octave. d •
5*4
M U S
Harmony^ CHAP. II. » O^rVl of ^ ^
Minor; of the most natural Modulation, and the
most perfect Harmony.
Funda¬
mental and
harmonics,
what.
Harmony
reduced to
chords,
fifths, and
octaves.
Mode ma¬
jor, what.
See Mode
See like¬
wise Inter
vat.
Mode mi¬
nor, what.
To render our ideas still more precise and per¬
manent, we shall call the tone produced by the sono¬
rous body C; it is evident, by the first experimen ,
that this sound is always attended by its I2th and 17th
major ; that is so^ say, with the octave of G, ami t ie
double octave of L. ,
24. This octave of G then, and tins double octave
of E, produce the most perfect chord which can be
joined with C, since that chord is the work and choice
of nature (n). , ,
2 r For the same reason, the modulation formed by
C with the octave of G, and the double octave of E,
sun<r one after the other, would likewise be the most
simple and natural of all modulations which do not de¬
scend or ascend directly in the diatonic order, if our
voices had sufficient compass to form intervals so great
without difficulty: but the ease and freedom with
which we can substitute its octave to any sound, when
it is more convenient for the voice, afford us the means
of representing this modulation.
26. It is on this account that, after having sung the
tone C, we naturally modulate the third E, and the fifth
G instead of the double octave of E, and the octave
of G ; from whence we form, by joining the octave of
the sound G, this modulation, C, E, G, ‘c’, which in
effect is the simplest and easiest of them all j and which
likewise has its origin even in the protracted and com¬
pounded tones produced by a sonorous body.
27. The modulation C, E, G, V, m which the chord
C, E, is a third major, constitutes that kind of harmony
or melody which we call the mode major; from whence
it follows, that this mode results from the immediate
operation of nature. .
28. In the modulation C, E, G, of which we have
now been treating, the sounds E and G are so propor-
I C. Partlj
tioned one to the other, that the principal sound C Theory of
(art. 19.) causes both of them to resound ; but the se- Harmony,
cond tone E does not cause G to resound, which only ' v
forms the interval of a third mmoi.
29. Let us then imagine, that, instead of this sound
E, one should substitute between the sounds C and G,
another note which (as well as the sound C) has the
power of causing G to resound, and which is, however,
different from the sound C; the sound which we explore
ought to be such, by art. 19. that it may have for its
17th major G, or one of the octaves of G j of conse¬
quence the sound which we seek ought to be a 17th
major below G, or, what is the same thing, a third
major below the same G. Now' the sound E being a
third minor beneath G, and the third major being
(art. 9.) greater by a semitone than the third minoi, it
follows, that the sound of which we are in search shall
be a semitone beneath the natural E, and of conse¬
quence E tb r- 1? I r< • k’ u
20. This new arrangement, C, E p, G, in winch
the sounds C and E have both the power of causing
G to resound, though C does not cause E to icsound,
is not indeed equally perfect with the first arrangement
C, E, G 5 because in this the two sounds E and G are
both ’the one and the other generated by the principal
sound C •, whereas, in the other, the sound E tb ^ not
generated by the sound C j but this arrangement C,
E G, is likewise dictated by nature (art. 19.), though
less immediately than the former ; and accordingly ex¬
perience evinces that the ear accommodates itsell almost
as well to the latter as to the former. r origin of
31. In this modulation or chord C, E tb G» C,modemi.
it is evident that the third from C to E b is minor ;
and such is the origin of that mode which we call See Mol
"‘"L. The most perfect chords then are, 1. All chords
related one to another, as C, E, G, ‘c’, consisting 0 ^
any sound, of its third major, of its filth, and of 1fswhat’
octave. 2. All chords related one to another, as L,
E b, G, ‘c’, consisting of any sound, of its third
minor,
(r) The chord formed with the twelfth and seventeenth major united with the principa^^
conformed to that which is produced by nature, is likewise for that reason the most agreeable of all, especa ly
when the composer can proportion the voices and instruments together in a proper manner to give this chord its
full effect. M? Rameau has executed this with the greatest success in the opera of Pyg-waZ/ow, page 34- wh
Pygmalion sings with the chorus Humour triomphe, &c.: in this passage of the chorus, the two parts of the vo al
an^ instrumental basses give the principal sound and its octave *, the first part above, or treble, and that of the
counter-tenor, produce the seventeenth major, and its octave, in descending j and the second part, or tenor abo ,
gives the twelfth.
Ste fig- 3.
^s^The'origiii which we have here given of the mode minor, is the most simple and natural that ca?
be given. M. Rameau deduces it, more artificially, from the following experiment :--lf ^P^vlhraHon
musical string HI, and if there are at the same time contiguous to this two oth^ strings KN, RV,, of^wlncli
.. i* , 1 iii . iivi- 1 .i mmni" below the string HI, the stimgs 1X.1 ,
musical string Ml, amt 11 mere are ai me same mno i ‘ . Q kN T?W
the first shall be a twelfth, and the second a seventeenth major below the string HI, the stiings ,
vibrate without being struck as soon as the string HI shall give a sound, and dw.de themselves by a kind ot^n
dulation, the first into three, the last into five equal parts ; in such a manner, t a , in ic 1 i a r pour qub
KN, you may easily distinguish two points *t rest LM, and in the tremulous motion of the stung , 1
escenlf points S, T, XJ, V, all placed at equal distances from each other, and dividing he strings into hree^
five equal parts. In this experiment, says M. Rameau, if we represent by the note ic one o |ulation
the two other strings will represent the sounds F and A b i .and from thence M. Rameau deduces the modulati
F, A b, C, and of consequence the mode minor. The origin which we have assignee 0 ie minoi ’
pears more direct and more simple, because it presupposes no other experiment than t a 0 ^ * x9-a‘' foun(j
also the fundamental sound C is still retained in both the modes, without being obliged, as x .
himself, to change it into F.
ft L MU
port of minor, of its fiftl), and of its octave. In effect, these
lemony, two kinds of chords are exhibited by nature j but the
^ £rgt inore immediately than the second. The first are
called perfect chords major, the second perfect chords
I'i l amen¬
ta ass,
Chap. III. Of the Succession by Fifths^ and of the
Laws which it observes.
33* ^INCE the sound C causes the sound G to he
heard, and is itself heard in the sound F, which sounds
G and F are its two twelfths, we may imagine a modu¬
lation composed of that sound C and its two twelfths,
Or, which is the same thing (art. 22.) of its two fifths,
F and G, the one below, the other above 5 which gives
the modulation or series of fifths F, C, G, which tve call
the fundamental buss of C by fifths.
We shall find in the sequel (Chap. XVIII.), that
there may be some fundamental bass by thirds, de¬
duced from the two seventeenths, of which the one is
an attendant of the principal sound, and of which the
other includes that sound. But we must advance step
by step, and satisfy ourselves at present to consider im¬
mediately the fundamental bases by fifths.
34. Thus, from the sound C, one may make a tran¬
sition indifferently to the sourid G, or to the sound F.
35. One may, for the same reason, continue this
kind of fifths in ascending, and in descending, from C,
in this manner:
E[3, Bb, F, C, G, D, A, &c.
And from this series of fifths one may pass to any
sound which immediately precedes or follows it.
36. But it is not allowed in the same manner to pass
from one sound to another which is not immediately
contiguous to it $ for instance, from C to 13, or from
D to C : for this very simple reason, that the sound 13
is not contained in the sound C, nor the sound C in
that of 13 ; and thus these sounds have not any alliance
the one with the other, which may authorise the transi¬
tion from one to the other.
37. And as these sounds C and D, by the first ex¬
periment, naturally bring along with them the perfect
chords consisting of greater intervals C, E, G, ‘c’, and
13, F$, A, ‘d’; hence may be deduced this rule, That
two perfect chords, especially if they are major (t),
cannot succeed one another diatonically in a funda¬
mental bass j we mean, that in a fundamental basff two
sounds cannot be diatonically placed in succession, each
ol which, with its harmonics, forms a perfect chord,
especially if this perfect chord be major in both.
Chap. IV. Of Modes in General.
j 38. A mode, in music, is, the order of sounds pre¬
scribed, as well in harmony as melody, by the series of
Ex: 1 tion
to 1 rule,
fecj: lords
inges¬
tion -o.
serin.
S I €. 51
fifths. Thus the three sounds, F, €, G, and tire bar- Theory 01
monies of each of these three sounds, that is to say, Harmony,
their thirds major and their fifths, compose all the major ^
modes which are proper to C.
39. The series of fifths then, or the fimdamental bass Modes,
F, C, G, of which C holds the middle space, may be *10w rcI»re-
regarded as representing the mode of C. One may the belies
likewise take the series of fifths, or fundamental bass,0f gfths,
C, G, D, as representing the mode of G $ in the same
manner Bb, F, C, wrill represent the mode of F.
Thus the mode of G, or rather the fundamental bass
of that mode, has two sounds in common with the fun¬
damental bass of the mode of C. It is the same with
the fundamental bass of the mode F.
40. The mode of C (F, C, G) is called the principal Principal
mode with respect to the modes of these two fifths, which mode, and
are called its two adjuncts. adjuncts,
4T. It is then, in some measure, indifferent to theg^f^
ear whether a transition be made to the one or to thejuftet.
other of these adjuncts, since each of them has equally Modes re-
two sounds in common with the principal mode. Yet^s^e<^*a
the mode of G seems a little more eligible : for G is
heard amongst the harmonics of C, and of consequence sounds are
is implied and signified by Cj whereas C does not common,
cause F to be heard, though C is included in the same
sound F. It is hence that the ear, affected by the
mode of C, is a little more prepossessed for the mode
of G than for that of F. Nothing likewise is more
frequent, nor more natural, than to pass from the mode
of C to that of G.
42. It is for this reason, as well as to distinguish Dominant
the two fifths one from the other, that we call G the aIld sub-do-
fifth above the generator the dominant sound, and the™^”1’
fifth F, below the generator, the subdominant. gee j)0mi\
43. As in the series of fifths, we may indifferently
pass from one sound to that which is contiguous 1 so Transition
having passed from the mode of C to that of G, one16 cont'g’i-
may from thence proceed to the mode of D. And on to^c'
the other hand, having passed from the mode of C to managed,
that of F we may then pass to the mode of Bb- But it
is necessary, however, to observe, that the ear, which
has been immediately affected with the principal mode,
feels always a strong propensity to return to it. Thus
the further the mode to which we make a transition is
removed from the principal mode, the less time we ought
to dwell upon it; or rather, to speak in the terms of
the art, the less ought the phrase (u) of that mode to
be protracted.
Chap. V. Of the Formation of the Diatonic Scale as
used by the Greeks.
44. From this rule, that two sounds which are com-
tiguous may be placed in immediate succession in the
series of fifths, F, C; G, it follows, that one may
3T2
form
(t) We say especially if they are major] for in the major chord D, F$, A, ‘d’, besides that the sounds C and 13
have no common harmonical relation, and are even dissonant betw’een themselves (art 13*) it will likewise be
found, that F$ forms a dissonance with C. The minor chord D, I, A, ‘d’, would be more tolerable, because the
natural F, which occurs in this chord carries along with it its fifth C, or rather the octave of that fifth : It has
likewise been sometimes the practice of composers, though rather by a licence indulged them than strictly agree¬
able to their art, to place a minor in diatonic succession to a major chord.
(u) As the mere English reader, unacquainted with the technical phraseology of music, may be surprised at
the
*• tn
,,6 . , M U S
Theory of ^rh tills modulation, or this fundamental bass, by
Harmony, fifths, G, C, G, C, i', •
damental
hass.
 *  4v Each of the sounds which forms this modula
ike fig 4- tion brinirs necessarily along with itself its third major,
formation itg f]fth°anj its octave* insomuch that he who, for
tireek dia-instance, sings the note G, may be reckoned to sing at
tonic scale the same time the notes G, Jl, d, g • m t ic same
by the fun- manner the sound C in the fundamental hass brings
1 along with it this modulation, C, E, G, C ; and, m
short, the sound F brings along with it r, A, C, t .
This modulation then, or this fundamental bass,
G, C, G, C, F, C, F,
gives the following diatonic series,
B,‘c, d, e, f, g, a’j
which is precisely the diatonic scale of the Greeks. H e
are iemorant upon what principles they had formed this
scale”, hut it may be sensibly perceived, that that series
arises from the bass G, C, G, C, I, C, 1 * and that
of consequence this bass is justly cs\\e<\. fundamental, as
being the real primitive modulation, that which conducts
the ear, and which it feels to be implied in the diatonic
modulation, B, ‘c, d, e, f, g, a’ (x). _
46. We shall be still more convinced of this truth
by the following remarks.
1$ce fig. 4.
I c.
In the modulation B, 'c, d, e, f, g, a% the sounds ‘d’
and ‘f1 form between themselves a third, minor, which
is not so perfectly true as that between ‘e’ and ‘g’ (y).
Nevertheless, this alteration in the third minor between
‘d’ and ‘f’ gives the ear no pain, because that ‘d’ and that
‘f’ which do not form between themselves a true third
minor, form, each in particular, consonances perfectly
just with the sounds in the fundamental bass which cor¬
respond with them : for ‘d’ in the scale is the true fifth
of G, which answers to it in the fundamental bass* and
‘P in the scale is the true octave of F, which answers
to it in the same bass.
47. If, therefore, these sounds in the scale form con¬
sonances perfectly true with the notes which correspond
to them in the fundamental bass, the ear gives itself
little trouble to investigate the alterations which there
may be in the intervals which these sounds in the scale
form between themselves. This is a new proof that
the fundamental bass is the genuine guide of the ear,
and the true origin of the diatonic scale.
48. Moreover, this diatonic scale includes only seven
soun ds, and goes no higher than ‘b1, which would
be the octave of the first: a new singularity, for which
a reason may he given by the principles above establish¬
ed.
Patti,,
Theory
Harmony,,
Altered raj
tervals, n*
.objestion.
Reasons
why this
scale in¬
cludes on!
seven
sounds.
the use of the wovd phrase when transferred from language to that art, we have thought proper to insert the defini-
tl0A°/!wS,"according to him, is in melody a series of modulations, or in harmony a succession of chords, which
form without interruption a sense more or less complete, and which terminates in a repose by a cadence more or
leSf Nothing is easier than to find in this scale the value or proportions of each sound with relation to the sound
C, which we call 1 ; for the two sounds G and F in the bass are 4 antl \ * from whence it fo ows,
j. That ‘c’ in the scale is the octave of C in the bass * that is to say, 2.
2. That ‘b1 is the third major of G * that is to say of 4 (note ti), and of consequence ¥ .
■2. That ‘d’ is the fifth of G* that is to say 4 of 4» and of consequence £•
4. That ‘e’ is the third major of the octave of C, and of consequence the double of ^ * that is to say, v.
5. That ‘P is the double octave of F of the bass, and consequently 4*
6. That ‘g’ of the scale is the octave of G of the bass, and consequently 3. ^
7. That ‘a’ in the scale is the third major of ‘P of the scale * that is to say, of T, or T .
Hence then will result the following table, in which each sound has its numerical value above or below it.
Diatonic C V 2 f ^ f 3 't
Scale. \ B, c, d, e, i, g, a.
Fundamental V G, C, G, C, I, C, I-
Bass. 1 4 1, 4 I 4 1
this case
we shall
And if, for the conveniency of calculation, we choose to call the sound C of the scale I ; in
we have only to divide each of the numbers by 2, which represent the diatonic’ scale, and
have .
* 5 - 9 5 4 15
Tg- 1 IT T T "s’ T
B, c, d, e, f, g, a.
(y) In order to compare ‘d> with ‘P, we need only compare 4 with 4 ? relation between these fraction^ wi
be, (note c) that of 9 times 3 to 8 times 4 * that is to say, of 27 to 32: the third minor, then, from ‘d’ to ‘P, is
not true 5 because the proportion of 27 to 32 is not the same with that of 5 to 6, these two proportions being
between themselves as 27 times 6 is to 32 times 5, that is to say, as 162 to 160, or as the halves of these two
numbers, that is to say, as 81 to 80.
M. Rameau, when he published, in 1726, his New theoretical and practical System <f AIusic, had not as jet
found the true reason of the alteration in the consonance which is between ‘d’ and ‘1’, and of the little attention
which the ear pays to it. For he pretends, in the work now quoted, that there are two thirds minor, one in the
proportion of 5 to 6, the other in the proportion of 27 to 32. But the opinion which he has afterwards adopted|.
seems much preferable. In reality, the genuine third minor, is that which is produced by nature between ‘e ant
‘g’, in the continued tone of those sonorous bodies of which ‘e’ and ‘g1 are the two harmonics: and that third minor,
which is in the proportion of 5 to 6, is likewise that which takes place in the minor mode, and not that thir
minor which is false and different, being in the proportion of 27 to 32.
M U
ed. In reality, in oriler that the sound ‘b’ may succeed
immediately in the scale to the sound ‘a’, it is necessary
that the note ‘g’, which is the only one from whence
‘b’ as a harmonic may be deduced, should immediately
succeed to the sound ‘f’, in the fundamental bass, which
is the only one from whence ‘a’ can be harmonically de¬
duced. Now, the diatonic succession from F to G
cannot be admitted in the fundamental bass, according
to what we have remarked (art. 36.). The sounds ‘a’
and ‘b’, then, cannot immediately succeed one another
in the scale : we shall see in the sequel why this is not
the case in the scries ‘c, d, e, f, g, a, b’, c, which
begins upon C } whereas the scale in question here be¬
gins upon B.
49. The Greeks likewise, to form an entire octave,
added below the first B the note A, which they di¬
stinguished and separated from the rest of the scale,
which for that reason they called prostambanomene, that
is to say, a string or note subadded to the scale, and
put before B to form the entire octave.
30. The diatonic scale B, £c, d, e, f, g, a’, is composed
of two tetrachords, that is to say, of tw'o diatonic scales,
each consisting of four sounds, B, ‘c, d, e’, and ‘e, f,
g, a’. These two tetrachords are exactly similar j for
from ‘e’ to ‘f’ there is the same interval as from B
to ‘c’, from ‘f’ to ‘g’ the same as from ‘c’ to ‘d’, from
‘g’ to ‘a’ the same as from ‘d1 to ‘e’ (z.) : this is the
reason why the Greeks distinguished these two tetra¬
chords j yet they joined them by the note ‘a’ which is
common to both, and which gave them the name ol
conjunctive tetrachords.
51. Moreover, the intervals between any two sounds,
taken in each tetrachord in particular, are precisely
true : thus, in the first tetrachord, the intervals of C ‘e’,
and B ‘d’, are thirds, the one major and the other mi¬
nor, exactly true, as well as the fourth B ‘e’ (aa); it is
the same thing with the tetrachord ‘e, 1, g, a’, since this
tetrachord is exactly like the former.
52. But the case is not the same when we compare
two sounds taken each from a different tetrachord ; for
we have already seen, that the note ‘d’ in the first tetra¬
chord forms with the note ‘f’ in the second a third mi-
mrar, nor, which is not true. In like manner it will be
1 nple-
t: 1 of the
(leek oc-
1: e.
i : Pro-
!■ nbano-
1 ne.
' e scale
(1 iposed
1 ivo simi-
f eonjunc-
1 : tetra-
< fids.
thrvals in
liii tetra-
() rds
c il.
I' rvals
li ieeii
t notes of
d! rent
ichords
S I C. 517
found, that the fifth from ‘d’ to £a’ is not exactly true, Theory of
which is evident; for the third major from ‘f’ to ‘a’ is Harmony.^
true, and the third minor from ‘d’ to ‘f ’ is not so : now, * ‘
in order to form a true fifth, a third major and a
third minor, which are both exactly true, are neces¬
sary.
53. From thence it follows, that every consonance Anotber
is absolutely perfect in each tetracbord taken by it-r.<:as.on ^
self; but that there is some alteration in passing fromjno. tj,e
one tetrachord to the other. This is a new rea- scale into
son for distinguishing the scale into these two tetra-tvvo tetra¬
chords. chords.
54. It may be ascertained by calculation, that in the source
tetrachord B, ‘c’, d, e’, the interval, or the tone from ,
‘d’ to ‘e’, is a little less than the interval or tone from minor in-
‘c’ to ‘d’ (bb). In the same manner, in the second te-vestigated.
trachord ‘e, f, g, a’, which is, as wre have proved, per¬
fectly similar to the first, the note from ‘g’ to ‘a’ is a
little less than the note from ‘f’ to ‘g\ It is for this
reason that they distinguish two kinds of tones ; the
greater tone *, as from ‘c’ to ‘d’, from ‘f ’ to ‘g’, &c ; Greater
and the lesser+, from ‘d’ to ‘e’, from ‘g’ to ‘a’, Stc. tone- *See
1 b Interval.
Chap. VI. The formation of the Diatonic Scale among tone^'1
the Moderns, or the ordinary Gammut. f See Inter.
val.
55. We have just shown in the preceding chapter, The mo.
how the scale of the Greeks is formed, B, ‘e, d, e, g, a’,^1'11 sca,e«
by means of a fundamental bass composed of three torm*
sounds only, F, C, G ; but to form the scale ‘c, d, e,
f, g, a, b,’ c, which we use at present, we must neces¬
sarily add to the fundamental bass the note I), and form,
rvith these four sounds F, C, G, D, the following fun¬
damental bass :
C, G, C, F, C, G, D, G, C;
from whence we deduce the modulation or scale
‘c, d, e, f, g, a, b,’ c.
In effect (cc), ‘c’ in the scale belongs to the harmony
of C which corresponds with it in the bass; ‘d’, which.,
is the second note in the gammut, is included in the
harmony of G, the second note of the bass ; ‘e* the
third note of the gammut, is a natural harmonic of C,
which is the third sound in the bass, &c.
56. Hence
See fig. q.
See Scaie.
(z) The proportion of B to ‘c’ is as to 1, that is to say as 15 to 16 ; that between V and ‘f’ is as | to 4,
that is to say (note ti), as 5 times 3 to 4 times 4, or as 15 to 16 : these two proportions then are equal. In the
same manner, the proportion of ‘c’ to ‘d’ is as 1 to or as 8 to 9 ; that between ‘f’ and ‘g’ is as 4 to 4 ; that is
to say (note d), as 8 to 9. The proportion of ‘e’ to V is as to 1, or as 5 to 4 ; that between ‘f’ and ‘a’ is
as 4 to 4, or as 5 to 4 : the proportions here then are likewise equal.
(aa) The proportion of ‘e’ to ‘c’ is as 4 to 1, or as 5 to 4, which is a true third major ; that from ‘d’ to ‘b’ is
as 4 to 44 ; that is to say, as 9 times 16 to 15 times 8, or as 9 times 2 to 15, or as 6 to 5. In like manner we
shall find, that the proportion of ‘c’ to ‘b’ is as | to 44; that is to say, as 5 times 16 to 15 times 4, or as 4 to 3,
which is a true fourth.
(bb) The proportion of ‘d’ to ‘c’ is as 4 to 1, or as 9 to 8 ; that of ‘e’ to ‘d’ is as { to |, that is to say, as 40
to 36, or as 10 to 9 : now V5 ‘s less removed from unity than ; the interval then from ‘d’ to ‘e’ is a little less-
than that from ‘c’ to ‘d’.
If any one would wish to know the proportion which x-ij bear to he will find (note d) that it is as 8 times
10 to 9 times 9, that is to say, as 80 to 81. Thus the proportion of a lesser to a greater tone is as 80 to 81 ;
this difference between the greater and lesser tone is what the Greeks called a comma..
We may remark, that this difference of a comma is found between the third minor when true and harmonica!,
and the same chord when it suffers alteration ‘d\ ‘f\ of which we have taken notice in the scale (note y) ; for
we have seen, that this third minor thus altered is in the proportion of 80 to 81 with the true third minor.
(cc) The values or estimates of the notes shall be the same in this as in the former scale, excepting only the
' tone
5i8
MUSIC.
Part I,
diatonio
scale sim¬
pler than
ours, and
why.
The note
g twice
Theory of $6. Hence It follows, that the diatonic scale of the
Harmony. Greeks is, at least in some respects, more simple than
' v ' ours 5 since the scale of the Greeks (chap, v.) may
The Greek be f0'rme(i aione fr0ra the mode proper to O, whereas
',,'atnT’iQ ours is originally and primitively formed, not only from
the mode of C (F, C, G), but likewise from the mode
ofG, (C, G, D).
It will likewise appear, that this last scale consists ot
two parts j of which the one, ‘c, d, e, t, g is in the
mode of C ; and the other, ‘ g, a, b,’ c in thfet of G. _
57. For this reason the note ‘g’ is twice repeated m
s twice immediate succession in this scale ; once as the fifth of
repeated in C, which corresponds with it in the fundamental bass ;
the diatonic an(j again as the octave of G, which immediately iol-
scale from Jows q jn tjie same ^ss. These two consecutive ‘g’s’
nic re™0 are otherwise in perfect unison. lor this reason we
tions to the sing only one of them when we modulate the scale c,
fundameu- d, e, f, g, a, b,’ c ; but this does not prevent us from
employing a pause or repose, expressed or understood,
after the sound ‘f\ There is no person who does not
perceive this whilst he himself sings the scale.
The mo- 58. The scale of the moderns, then, may be const,
dern scale dered as consisting of twro tetrachords, disjunctive in-
composed but perfectly similar one to the other, ‘c, d, e, f’,
oftwo dis-^nd ai b, c,’ one in the mode of C, the other in that
trachords. of G. We shall see in the sequel, by what artifice one
®f different may cause the scale ‘c, d, e, f, g, a, b, c,’ to be regarded
modes. as belonging to the mode of C alone. For this pur¬
pose it is necessary to make some changes in the fun¬
damental bass, which we have already assigned : but
this shall be explained at large in chap. xiii.
The mode 59- The introduction of the mode proper to G in
of Gin- the fundamental bass has this happy effect, that the
troducedin notes ‘f, g, a, may immediately succeed each other in
the funda- agcen<Jing the scale, which cannot take place (art. 48.)
Toduttive*8 in the diatonic series of the Greeks, because that series
ofconve- is formed from the mode of C alone. Whence it
niences. follows:
tal bass.
1. That we change the mode at every time when Theory of
we modulate three whole tones in succession. Harmony.
2. That if these three tunes are sung in succession in ^
the scale ‘c, d, e, f, g, a, b,’ c, this cannot be done but
by the assistance of a pause expressed or understood af¬
ter the note ‘f’ j insomuch, that the three tones ‘fg,’ ‘ ga’,
‘ab’, are supposed to belong to two differont tetra¬
chords.
60. It ought not then any longer to surprise Us, Change of
that we feel some difficulty whilst we ascend the scale ^
in singing three tones in succession, because this is difficulty ii
impracticable without changing the mode 5 and if one tinging
pauses in the same mode, the fourth sound above the three con-
first note will never be higher than a semitone above
that which immediately precedes it j as may be seen by CCU(jjng
‘c, d, e, f,’ and by ‘g, a, b,’ c, where there is no more
than a semitone between ‘c and f’, and between ‘b’
and c.
61. We may likewise observe in the scale ‘c, d, e, f’, Intervals,
that the third minor from ‘d’ to ‘f\ is not true, for the
reasons which have been already given (art. 49.). It Uiemselves;
is the same case with the third minor from ‘a1 to c, and form true
with the third major from ‘f’ to ‘a’ $ but each of these consonan.
sounds forms otherwise consonances perfectly true, ^
with their corresponding sounds in the fundamental meilUl
bass. bass.
6 2. The thirds ‘a’, r, ‘fa’, which were true in the former
stale, are false in this *, because in the former scale ‘a’
Was the third of‘f’, and here it is the fifth of D, which
corresponds with it in the fundamental bass.
63. Tims it appears, that the scale of the Greeks Feweral-
contains fewer consonances that are altered than ours tered cob-
(dd) ; and this likewise happens from the introduc-?°n““ces
tion of the mode of G into the fundamental bas^^
(ee)-   scale than
We see likewise that the value of‘a’ in the diatonic in oars,
scale, a value which authors have been divided in ascer¬
taining, solely depends upon the fundamental bass, and
. that
tone ‘a’*, for ‘d’ being represented by f, its fifth will he expressed by -r^} so that the scale will he numerically
signified thus: TS)y4317xS2
1 ^ T YO' "S' z
c, d, e, f, g, a, b, c,
Where you may see, that the note ‘a’ of this scale is different from that in the scale of the Greeks ^ and that the
‘a’ in the modern series stands in proportion to that of the Greeks as -j-J to that is to say, as 81 to 80 j these
two ‘a’s’ then will likewise difler by a comma. ,
(dd) In the scale of the Greeks, the note ‘a’ being a third from ‘f\ there is an altered fifth between ‘a and d :
hut in ours, ‘a’ being a fifth to ‘d\ produces two altered thirds, ‘f a’ and ‘a’ c; and likewise a fifth altered, ‘a’ <?
as we shall see in the following chapter. Thus there are in our scale two intervals more than in the scale of the
Greeks which suffer alteration. ,
(ee) But here it may be with some colour objected: The scale of the Greeks, it may be said, has a fundamen¬
tal bass more simple than ours*, and, besides, in it there are fewer chords which will not be found exactly true:
why then, notwithstanding this, does ours appear more easy to he sung than that of the Greeks ? The Grecian
scale begins with a semitone, whereas the intonation prompted by nature seems to impel us to rise by a full tone
at once. This objection may be thus answered. The scale of the Greeks is indeed better disposed than ours for
the simplicity of the bass, but the arrangement of ours is more suitable to natural intonation. Our scale commen¬
ces by the fundamental sound c, and it is in reality from that sound that we ought to begin ; it is from this that
all the others naturally arise, and upon this that they depend j nay, if we speak so, in this they are included.
on the contrary, neither the scale of the Greeks, nor its fundamental bass, commences with C j but it is fioni
this C that Hve must depart, in order to regulate our intonation, whether in rising or descending; now, in as¬
cending from ‘c’, the intonation, even of the Greek scale, gives the series ‘c, d, e, f, g, a’: and so true is it that
the fundamental sound € is here the genuine guide of the ear, that if, before we modulate the sound ‘c% we
I irt I. M U
coryof that it must be different according as the note ‘a’ has
I rmony, ‘f ’ or ‘d’ for its bass. See the note (cc).
Chap. VII. Of Temperament.
’j'npera- 64. The alterations Avhich we have observed in the
! t, why intervals between particular sounds of the diatonic scale,
If essary. naturaj|y iea{j us to gpgaj^ 0f temperament. To give a
clear idea of this, and to render the necessity of it pal¬
pable, let us suppose that we have before us an instru¬
ment with keys, a harpsicord, for instance, consisting
of several octaves or scales, of which each includes its
twelve semitones.
S|fig. 6. Let us choose in that harpsicord one of the strings
which will sound the note C, and let us tune the string
G to a perfect fifth with C in ascending; let us after¬
wards tune to a perfect fifth with this G the ‘d’ which is
above it j we shall evidently perceive that this ‘d’ will
be in the scale above that from which we set out: but
it is also evident that this ‘d’ must have in the scale a D
which corresponds with it, and which must be tuned a
true octave below ‘d’ ; and between *d’ and G there
s I C. 515
should be the interval of a fifth ; so that the I) in the Theory of
first scale will be a true fourth below the G of the same Harmony,
scale. We may afterwards tune the note A of the first—v—^
scale to a just fifth with this last D j then the note ‘e*
in the highest scale to a true fifth with this new A, and
in consequence the L in the first scale to a true fourth
beneath this same A : Having finished this operation,
it will be found that the last E, thus tuned, will by no
means form a just third major from the sound C (ff) :
that is to say, that it is impossible for E to constitute
at the same time the third major of C and the true fifth
of A j or, what is the same thing, the true fourth of A
in descending.
65. If, after having successively and alternately tuned
the strings C, G, ‘d’, A, E, in perfect fifths and fourths
one from the other, we continue to tune successively by
true fifths and fourths the strings E, B, Flft, C)&, G)g<,
‘d^’, E)&, B)& *, we shall find, that, though B)&, being
a semitone higher than the natural note, should be equi¬
valent to ‘c’ natural, it will by no means form a just oc¬
tave to the first C in the scale, but be considerably
higher (gg) j yet this B)& upon the harpsichord ought
not
should attempt to rise to it by that note in the scale which is most immediately contiguous, wc cannot reach
it but by the note B, and by the semitone from B to ‘c\ Now to make a transition from B to ‘c’, by this se¬
mitone, the ear must ot necessity be predisposed for that modulation, and consequently preoccupied with the
mode of C: it this were not the case, we should naturally rise from B to 4c^C’, and by this operation pass into an¬
other mode.
1 he A considered as the fifth of D is and the fourth beneath this A will constitute ^ of that is to
It J It then shall be the value of E, considered as a true fourth from A in descending : now E, considered
as the third major of the sound C, is y, or : these two E’s then are between themselves in the proportion of
81 to 80 } thus it is impossible that E should be at the same time a perfect third major from C, and a true fourth
beneath B.
(gg) In effect, it you thus alternately tune the fifth above and the fourth below, in the same octave, you may
Here see what -will be the process of your operation.
C, G, a fifth $ D a fourth j A a filth ; E a fourth ; B a fifth; F)& a fourth j C)& a fifth ; G$ a fourth : ‘d^’ a
fifth ; a fourth ", ‘e$’ or ‘f t)’ a fifth j B)$C a fourth : now it will be found, by a very easy computation, that
the first C being represented by 1, G shall be D f, A E -*-y, 8tc. and so of the rest till you arrive at
B$, which will be found I his fraction is evidently greater than the number 2, which expresses the
perfect octave c to its correspondent C: and the octave below B/gC would be one half of the same fraction, that
is to say xt-ttI-s-j which is evidently greater than C represented by unity. This last fraction is compo¬
sed of two numbers j the numerator of the fraction is nothing else but the number 3 multiplied 11 times in suc¬
cession by itself, and the denominator is the number 2 multiplied 18 times in succession by itself. Now it is evi¬
dent, that this fraction which expresses the value of B$, is not equal to the unity which expresses the value of
the sound C, though upon the harpsichord, B $ and C are identical. This fraction rises above unity by
tItttt? is say, by about fy •, and this difference was called the comma of Pythagoras. It is palpable
that this comma is much more considerable than that which we have already mentioned (note Bb), and which is
only yV
We have already proved that the series of fifths produces a‘o’ different from B$, the series of thirds major gives
another still more different. For, let us suppose this series of thirds, C, E, G)ft, B$, we shall have E equal to
y, G% to F4, and B to whose octave below is 44! } from whence it appears, that this last B is less than
unity (that is to say than C), by -rl^, or by tV, °r near it: A new comma, much greater than the preceding,
and which the Greeks have called apotome major.
It may be observed, that this B)gt, deduced from the series of thirds, is to the B)& deduced from the series of
fifths, as 444 IS to 414144 : fbat is to say, in multiplying by 524288, as 125 multiplied by 4096 is to 531441,
or as 51200 to 531441, that is to say, nearly as 26 is to 27 : from whence it may be seen, that these two B’s)gC
are very considerably different one from the other, and even sufficiently different to make the ear sensible of
it 5 because the difference consists almost of a minor semitone, whose value, as will afterwards be seen (art. 139.)»
is 44.
Moreover, if, after having found the G$ equal to 44, we then tune by fifths and by fourths, G)^, ‘d#!’, A$,
B*, as we have done with respect to the first series of fifths, we find that the B)ft must be 4§f4> its differ-
rence, then, from unity, or, in other words, from C, is yyy-g, that is to say, about -yV ? a comma still less than
any of the preceding, and which the Greeks have called apotome minor.
Ib
$20
Theory of
Harmony.
Reasons
and rules
for tempe¬
rament.
M' U S
not to be different from the octave above C: for every
and every ‘c’ is the same sound, since the octave
er the scale only consists of twelve semitones.
66. From thence it necessarily follows, i- 1!iat lfc 13
impossible that all the octaves and all the filths should
be lust at the same time, particularly m instruments
which have keys, where no intervals less than a semi¬
tone are admitted. 2. That, of consequence, if the
fifths are justly tuned, some alteration must be made in
the octaves-, now the sympathy or sound which sub¬
sists between any note and its octave, does not permit
us to make such an alteration : this perfect coalescence
of sound is the cause why the octave should serve as li¬
mits to the other intervals, and that all the notes which
rise above or fall below the ordinary scale, are no more
than replications, i. e. repetitions, of all that have gone
before them. For this reason, if the octave were al¬
tered, there could be no longer any fixed point either in
•harmony or melody. It is then absolutely necessary to
tune the V or in a just octave with the firstfrom
whence it follows, that, in the progression of fifths, or,
what is the same thing, in the alternate senes of fifths
and fourths, C, G, D, A, E, B, F>&, ^’ A ’. ° ^ j
A$ ‘e^1, B^, it is necessary that all the filths should
be altered, or at least some of them. Now, since there
is no reason why one should rather be altered than an¬
other, it follows, that we ought to alter them all equal¬
ly. By these means, as the alteration is made to in¬
fluence all the fifths, it will be in each of them almost
I C. ?art L
imperceptible j and thus the filth, which, aftei the oc- "iheoryof j!
tave, is the most perfect of all consonances, and which Harmony,
we are under the necessity of altering, must only be al- ^ '
tered in the least degree possible.
67. It is true, that the thirds will be a little harsh :
hut as the interval of sounds which constitutes toe
third, produces a less perfect coalescence than that, of
the fifth, it is necessary, says M. Rameau, to sacrifice
the justice of that chord to the perfection of the fifth
for the more perfect a chord is in its own nature, the
more displeasing to the ear is any alteration which can
be made in it. In the octave the least alteration is in¬
supportable. _ .
68. This change in the intervals of instruments ps ,je£ni-_
which have, or even which have not, keys, is that which tion.
we call temperament.
69. It results then from all that we have now said, p,-;^
that the theory of temperament may be reduced to whence it
this question.—The alternate succession of fifths and theory mar
fourths having been given, (art. 66.), in which B«be dDce(l
or C is not the true octave of the first C ; it is propo¬
sed to alter all the fifths equally, in such a manner that
the two C’s may be in a perfect octave the one to the
other. . .
70. For a solution of this question, we must begin Praeticat
with tuning the two C’s in a perfect octave the one ^
the other j in consequence of which, we will render allrament‘
the semitones which compose the octave as equal as
possible. By this means (hh) the alteration made in
1 each
1 -r r. 1 ‘ fnnml F enual to 4 in the progression of thirds, we then tune by fifths and fourths
In a word, if, after having founds equal to 7 in in pg d whlch ,vill not differ from unity
ir R FS& C'9k foe we shall arrive at a new wtiicti snail oe jaTetfi ,1 ■
E, B, 1 ^ ; j an(1 smallest of all the commas j but it must be observed, that, in this case,
but by about jrr, which the extremely false, and greatly altered,
the thirds major from E to G«C, from G« to B>X, or F, foe. aie e.xut^u>> ’ • follows that the
\ .    i .n thp temnerament nroposed by Al. Rameau, it loiiows, utat me
fr<i) VI1 the'semitonesbeing equal in the temperament proposed by M. Rameau, it follows, that the twelve se-
nuLs C, C*. 1), m, E.E*, &C. shall fern, a c^tbued geometrical 1-^““ >
1 !1'/K r.. OGC. blJciJi 1VJ1 111 O- ° , r i
tVo Sfinerb0yncomputaHonl the‘value of each sound in the temperament, which is the present object of
ions, our scrutiny is limited to the investigation of eleven other numbers between I and 2 which may
fast. Thus
our speculations, uu. ov. j — — -- , ^
^HowevtT'uttleTn^one i^i^ctised^i^cak^ktionflitfwUreasily find each of these numbers, or at least a num¬
ber approaching to Us value! These are the characters by which they may be expressed, which mathematics
will easily understand, and which othei, may ire^ect. r ^ ^ G ’ ^
,1 12 12
I V2 \/23
A A« B
\/ 24 vX2
I 2
/oS
I 2
v/27 y/28
)i9 \/210 -v/11 V1*
It is obvious, that in this temperament all the fifths are equally altered. One may likewise prove that the al¬
teration of each in particular is very inconsiderable ; for it will be found, for instance, that the fifth horn o
which should be 1, ought to be diminished by about * of tt i tliat is to say> by a fiuantlty alm08t inC°U'
iatrumef!hat the thirds major will be a little more altered j for the third major from C to E for instance
shall be increased in its interval by about but it is better, according to M. Rameau, that ta
should fall upon the third than upon the fifth, which after the octave is the most perfect chord, and from the pci
fection of which we ought never to degenerate but as little as possible. , T,^ . vffo.-t.nt from
Besides, it has appeared from the series of thirds major C, E, G)jf(, B>&, that this last B* is very diileie
V (note GG) ; from whence it follows, that if we would tune this B* m unison with the octave of G, and al e
at the same time each of the thirds major by a degree as -small as possible, they must all be equahy altered. ^
Is what occurred in the temperament which we propose j and if in it the third be more altered than le ’
* consequence of the difference which we find between the degrees of perfection in these intervals j a differ
with which, if we may speak so, the temperament proposed conforms itself. I bus this diversity oi alt
rather advantageous than inconvenient. 4
it i. • mu:
T orv of pacli fiftli win be very considerable, but equal in all of
j. mmy. them,
Lh"v''T'* V- this, then, the theory of temperament con-
odof s'isls ' ^ut as rt Aveuld be difficult in practice to tune a
tXera- harpsichord or organ by .thus rendering all the semi-
iiiti pro- tones equal, M. Rameau, in his Generation Hannoniqae,
pul- has furnished us with the following method, to alter all
the fifths as equally as possible.
72. Take any key of the harpsichord which you
please ; but let it be towards the middle of the instru¬
ment j for instance, C : then tune the note G a fifth
above it, at first with as much accuracy as possible ;
this you may imperceptibly diminish : tune afterwards
the filth to this with equal accuracy, and diminish it in
the same manner; and thus proceed from one fifth to
another in ascent: and as the ear does not appreciate so
exactly sounds that are extremely sharp, it is necessary,
when by filths you have risen to notes extremely high,
that you should tune in the most perfect manner the oc¬
tave below the last fifth which you had immediately
Fol. XLV. Part II. -f
I C. 521
formed; then you may continue always in the same Theory of
manner; till in this process you arrive at the last fifth Harmony,
from to B$:, which should of themselves be in
tune; that is to say, they ought to be in such a state,
that B$, the highest note of the two which compose _
the fifth, may be identical with the sound C, with
■which you began, or at least the octave of that sound
perfectly just : it will he necessary the n to try if this
C, or its octave, forms a just fifth with the last
sound E$: or F, which has been already tuned. If
this be the case, we may be certain that the harpsi¬
chord is properly tuned. Rut if this last fifth be
not true, in this case it will be too sharp, and it is
an indication that the other fifths have been too
much diminished, or at least some of them ; or it will
he too flat, and consequently discover that they have
not been sufficiently diminished. We must then be¬
gin and proceed as formerly, till we find the last fifth
in tune of itself, a,nd without our immediate interposi¬
tion (11).
3 U By
(it) We have only to acknowledge, with M. Rameau, that this temperament is far remote from that
which is now in practice : it may here be seen in what this last temperament consists as applied to the organ or
harpsichord. They begin with C in the middle of the keys, and they flatten the four first fifths G, D, A, E, till
they form a true third major from E to.C; afterwards, setting out from this E, they tune the fifths B, E«,
C)ft, hut flattening them still less than the former, so that G)^ may almost form a true third major with E.
When they have arrived at G$, they stops they resume the first C,' and tune to it the fifth F in descending,
then tne fifth !>[}, &c. and they heighten a little all the fifths till they have arrived at Alg which ought to be tins
same with the G^C already tuned.
If, in-the temperament commonly practised, some thirds-are found to be less altered than in that prescribed by
M. Rameau, in return, the fifths in the first temperament are much more false, and many thirds are likewise so ;
insomuch, that upon a harpsichord tuned according to the temperament in common use, there are five or six modes
which the ear cannot endure, and in which it is impossible to execute any thing. On the contrary, in the tem¬
perament suggested by M. Rameau, all the modes are equally perfect; which is a new argument in its favour,
since the temperament is peculiarly necessary in passing from one mode to another, without shocking the ear;
for instance, from the mode of C to that of G, from the mode of G to that of E), &c. It is true, that this uni¬
formity of modulation will to the greatest number of musicians appear a defect: for they imagine, that, by tuning
the semitones of the scale unequal, they give each of the modes a peculiar character; so that, according to them,
the scale of C, '
€, D, E, F, G, A, B, C,
is net peitectly similar to the ganimut or diatonic scale of the mode of E,
E, F«, G#, A*, B, c«, e,
which in their judgment, renders the modes of C and E proper for different manners of expression. But af¬
ter all that we have said in this treatise on the formation of diatonic intervals, every one should be convinced,
that, according to the intention of nature, the diatonic scale ought to be perfectly the same in all its modes:
; ^lc contrary opinion, says ]\1. Rameau, is a mere prejudice of musicians. The character of an air arises chiefly
from the intermixture of the modes; from the greater or lesser degrees of vivacity in the movement; from the
tones, more or less grave, or more or less acute, which are assigned to the generator of the mode ; and from the
fholds more or less beautiful, as they are more or Jess deep, more or less flat, more or less sharp, which are found
in it.
sh°rt> tbc last advantage of this temperament is, that it will be found conformed with, or at least very little
diflerent from that which is practised upon instruments without keys; as the bass-viol, the violin, in which true
fifths and fourths are preferred to thirds and sixths tuned with equal accuracy; a temperament which appears
incompatible with that commonly used in tuning the harpsichord.
Yet M. Rameau, in his New System of Music, printed in 1726, adopted the ordinary temperament. In that
work, (as may be seen chap, xxiv.), he pretends that the alteration of the fifths is much more supportable
than that of the thirds major; and that this last interval can hardly suffer a greater alteration than the octave,
which, as we know, cannot suffer the slightest alteration. He says, that if three strings are tuned, one by an oc¬
tave, the other by a fifth, and the next by a third major to a fourth string, and if a sound he produced from the
last, the strings tuned by a fifth wifi vibrate, though a little less true than it ought to have been ; but that the
octave and the third major, if altered in the least degree, will not vibrate: and he adds, that the temperament
which is now practised, is founded upon that principle. M. Rameau goes still farther ; and as, in the ordinary
temperament,
522
Theory ol'
Ilarniony.
MUSIC.
Alterations
by either
method
hardly dis¬
agreeable.
By this method all the twelve sounds which compose
one of the scales shall be tuned: nothing is necessary
but to tune with the greatest possible exactness their
octaves in the other scales, and the harpsichord shall he
well tuned. . r xt
We have given this rule for temperament trom M.
Rameau; amfit belongs only to disinterested artists to
nidge of it. However this question be determined, and
whatever kind of temperament may be received, the
alteration which it produces in harmony will be but
very small, or not perceptible to the ear, whose attention
is entirely engrossed in attuning itself with the funda¬
mental bass, and which suffers, without uneasiness, these
alterations, or rather takes no notice of them, because
it supplies from itself what may he wanting to the truth
and perfection of the intervals.
Simple and daily experiments confirm what we now
advance. Listen to a voice which is accompanied, m
sinking, by different instruments ; though the tempera¬
ment of the voice, and the temperament of each ol the
instruments, are all different one from another, yet you
will not he in the least affected with the kind of caco¬
phony which ought to result from these diversities, be¬
cause the ear supposes these intervals true, of which it
does not appreciate differences.
We may give another experiment. Let the three
keys E, G, B be struck upon an organ, and the minor
perfect chord only will he heard ; though E, by the con¬
struction of that instrument, must cause G $ likewise
to be heard; though G should have the same effect
upon D, and B upon F % ; insomuch that the ear is
at once affected with all these sounds, D, E, F $, G,
G )& B : how many dissonances perceived at the same
time, and what a jarring multitude of discordant sensa¬
tions, would result from thence to the ear, if the per¬
fect chord with which it is preoccupied had not power
entirely to abstract its attention from such sound as
might offend !
Chap. VIII. Of Reposes or Cadences (kk).
73. In a fundamental bass whose procedure is byperfectati;j
fifths, there always is, or always may be, a repose,^ or imperfect,
crisis, in which the mind acquiesces in its transition what and
from one sound to another! but a 'repose may be more
or less distinctly signified, and of consequence more or^
less perfect. If one should rise by fifths; if, foi m-orCadenaI
stance, we pass from C to G; it is the generator which
passes to one of these fifths, and this fifth was already
pre-existent in its generator : but the generator exists
no longer in this fifth; and the ear, as this generator is
the principle of all harmony and of all melody, feels
a desire to return to it. Thus the transition from a
sound to its fifth in ascent, is termed an imperfect re-
pose, or imperfect cadence; but the transition from any
sound to its fifth in descent, is denominated a perfect
cadence, or an absolute repose: it is the offspring which
returns to its generator, and as it were recovers its ex¬
istence once more in that generator itself, with which
when sounding it resounds (chap. i.).
74. Amongst absolute reposes, there are some, if Perfect 1
we may be allowed the expression, more absolute, that^1^
.   TmiQ in tnp inn*.
is to say, more perfect, than others, l lius in the (un¬
less perfer.
and why,.
damental bass
C, G, C, F, C, G, D, G, C,
which forms, as we have seen, the diatonic scale of the
moderns, there is an absolute repose from D to G, as
from G to C; yet this last absolute repose is more per¬
fect than the preceding, because the ear, prepossessed
with the mode of C by the multiplied impression of the
sound C which it has already heard thrice before, feels
a desire to return to the generator C ; and it accord¬
ingly does so by the absolute repose G C. > ir j
75. We may still add, that what is commonly called Cadence
cadence in melody, ought not to be confounded fcren/fri
what we name cadence in harmony. what it i
In in har¬
mony.
temperament, there is a necessity for altering the last thirds major, and to make them a little more sliaip, that
ryP“tl,U return to theUave of the principal sound, he pretends that tins alteratton ts toleraWe o
only because it is almost insensible, hut because it is found m modulations not much in u8e» U"‘eSS
should choose it on purpose to render the expression stronger. “ For it is proper to remark (says), ^
receive different impressions from the intervals in proportion to their different alterations . foi instan ,
niafor which naturally elevates us to joy, in proportion as we feel it, heightens our feelings even to a kind of
fnrv when it is tuned too sharp ; and the third minor, which naturally inspires us with tenderness and serenity,
depresses us to melancholy wheu it is too flat.” A.II this is very differeut from what this cekWated mustetao af-
terwards exhibited in his Generation Harmonique, and m the performances which followed . . ,
lr„;,I, conclude, that the reasons which, aftlr him, we have urged for the new temperament, muat vrUho t
doubt hive appeared to him very strong, because in his mind they had superseded those which he had foi me y
adduced in favour of the ordinary temperament. „ . , _r t„mripraniprit each
We do not pretend to give any decision for either the one or the other of these method, of
of which appears to us to have its particular advantages. We shall only remark, that the ci this
the other must be left absolutely to the taste and inclination of the reader; without, however, g
choice to have any influence upon the principles of the system of music, which we have followed even till tins pe
riod, and which must always subsist, whatever temperament we adopt. , . f it
(kk) That the reader may have a clear idea of the term before he enters upon the subject of this chapter,
may be necessary to caution him against a mistake into which he may be too easi y ec y le or in ary g
tion of the word repose. In music, therefore, it is far from being synonymous with t le won res . ’ . j.
contrary, the termination of a musical phrase which ends in a cadence more 01 less empia ic, as i
implied in the phrase is more or less complete. Thus a repose in music answers the same purpose as p
tion in language. See Repose, in Rousseau’s Musical Dictionary.
C ences
jf ie fun-
(1 ental
b; neces-
gi in the
Sonic
m e, and
w :la the
m per-
DGnition
ait use of
a asible
u< -
blifote.
M U
In the first case, the word only signifies an agree¬
able and rapid alteration between two contiguous
sounds, called likewise a tri/l or shake ; in the second,
it signifies a repose or close. It is however true, that
this shake implies, or at least frequently enough pre¬
sages, a repose, either present or impending, in the fun¬
damental bass (ll).
76. Since there is a repose in passing from one sound
to another in the fundamental bass, there is also a
repose in passing from one note to another in the dia¬
tonic scale, which is formed from it, and which this
bass represents: and as the absolute repose G C is
of all others the most perfect in the fundamental bass,
the repose from B to ‘c’, which answers to it in the
scale, and which is likewise terminated by the genera¬
tor, is for that reason the most perfect of all others in
the diatonic scale ascending.
77. It is then a law dictated by nature itself that if
you would ascend diatonicaliy to the generator of a
mode, you can only do this by means of the third ma¬
jor, from the fifth of that very generator. This third
major, which with the generator forms a semitone, has
for that reason been called the sensible note or leading
note, as introducing the generator, and preparing us for
the most perfect repose.
We have already proved, that the fundamental bass
is the principle of melody. We shall besides make it
appear in the sequel, that the efiect ol a repose in me¬
lody arises solely from the fundamental bass.
Chap. IX. Of the Minor Mode and its Diatonic
Series.
T1 iiato- 78. In the second chapter, we have explained (art.
wuries of 20. 30. 31. and 32.) by what means, and upon what
ffi1 a'scer-prinC‘Ple? minor chord C, Efr, G, ‘c’ may be for-
taidby ncd, which is the characteristical chord of the minor
diijfcnt mode. Now what we have there said, taking C for
pks. the principal and fundamental sound, we might likewise
have said of any other note in the scale, assumed in the
same manner as the principal and fundamental sound :
but as in the minor chord, C, E[j, G, ‘c’ there occurs
an Eb which is not found in the ordinary diatonic scale,
we shall immediately substitute, for greater ease and
conveniency, another chord, which is likewise minor
and exactly similar to the former, of which all the notes
are found in the scale.
79. The scale affords us three chords of this kind, viz.
A, ‘d’ ; A, ‘c, e, a’ j and E, G, B, ‘e\ Among
these three we shall choose A, ‘c, e, a’ $ because this
chord, without including any sharp or flat, has two
sounds in common with the major chord C, E, G, ‘c’;
and besides, one of these two sounds is the very same ‘c’:
so that this chord appears to have the most immediate,
and at the same time the most simple, relation with the
chord C, E, G, ‘c.’ Concerning this we need only add,
that this preference of the chord A, ‘c, e, a’, to every
other minor chord, is by no means in itself necessary
for what we have to say in this chapter upon the dia-
S I C. 523
tonic scale of the minor mode. We might in the same Theory of
manner have chosen any other minor chord j and it is Harmony,
only, as we have said, for greater ease and conveniency v—*v“—
that we fix upon this.
80. In every mode, whether major or minor, the Tonic or
principal sound which implies the perfect chord, whe- key in har¬
dier major or minor, is called the tonic note or key; thus
C is the key in its proper mode, A in the mode of A, Sec Princi-
8tc. Having laid down this principle, pal.
81. We have shown how the three sounds, F, C, See Tonic.
G, which constitute (art. 38.) the mode of C, of which \ lle forma-
the first, E, and the last, G, are the two fifths of C, one
descending, the other rising, produce the scale, B, ‘c, d, sued!!>l "
e, f, g, a’, of the major mode, by means of the fun- See fig. 4.
damental bass G, C, G, C, F, C, F 5 let us in the
same manner take the three sounds 1), A, E, which
constitute the mode of A, for the same reason that the
sounds F, C, G, constitute the mode of C ; and of them
let us form this fundamental bass, perfectly like the pre¬
ceding E, A, F, A, D, A, D ; let us afterwards place See fig. 7,
below each of these sounds one of their harmonics, as
we have done (chap, v.), for the first scale of the major
mode ; with this difference, that we must suppose D, and
A as implying their thirds minor in the fundamental
bass to characterize the minor mode ; and we shall have
the diatonic scale of that mode,
G$, A, B, ‘c, d, e, f\
82. The G%, which corresponds with E in the fun¬
damental bass, forms a third major with that E, though
the mode be minor j for the same reason that a third
from the fifth of the fundamental sound ought to be ma¬
jor (art. 77.) when the third rises to the fundamental
sound A.
83. It is true, that, in causing E to imply its third See Imply
minor G, one might also rise to A by a diatonic pro- or Cariy.
gress. But that manner of rising to A would be less
perfect than the preceding •, for this reason (art. 76.),
that the absolute repose or perfect cadence E, A, in the
fundamental bass, ought to be represented in the most
perfect manner in the two notes of the diatonic scale
which answer to it, especially when one of these two
notes is A, the key itself upon which the repose is made.
From whence it follows, that the preceding note G
ought rather to be sharp than natural j because G$,
being included in E (art. 19.), much more perfectly
represents the note E in the bass, than the natural G
could do, which is not included in E.
84. We may remark this first difference between Diversities
the Scale in the scales
G$, A, B, ‘c, d, e, f’, of the nm-
and the scale which corresponds with it in the major ^or and
mode
B, ‘c, d, e, f, g, a’,
that from ‘e’ to ‘f’ which are the two last notes of the
former scale, there is only a semitone ; whereas from ‘g’
to ‘a’, which are the two last sounds of the latter series,
there is the interval of a complete tone ; but this not
the only discrimination which may be found between
the scales of the two modes.
3 U 2 85. To
nor mode.
(ll) M. Rousseau, in his letter on French music, has called this alternate undulation of different sounds a ^7/,
trom the Italian word trillo, which signifies the same thing ; and some French musicians already appear to have
adopted this expression.
524
MUSIC.
Investiga
tion of
these difi'cr
ences and
their rea¬
sons.
See fi
See fig. 8.
Theory of 85. To investigate these differences, and to discover
Harmony the reason for which they happen, we shall begin by
' forming a new diatonic scale of the minor mode, simi¬
lar to the second scale of the major mode,
‘c, d, e, f, g, g, a, b’, c.
That last series, as we have seen, was iormed by
means of the fundamental bass F, C, G, D, disposed in
this manner,
C, G, C, F, C, G, D, G, C.
Let us take in the same manner the lundamental bass
D A, E, B, and arrange it in the following order,
A, E, A, D, A, E, B, E, A,
and it will produce the scale immediately subjoined,
A, B, ‘c, d, e, e, f$, g$, a’,
in which ‘c’ forms a third minor with A, which in the
fundamental bass corresponds with it, which denomi¬
nates the minor mode j and, on the contrary, ‘g$ 101 ms
a third major with E in the fundamental bass, because
‘g^’ vises towards ‘a’ (art. 82. 83.).
86. We see besides an W, which does not occur in
the former,
G)&, A, B, ‘c, d,
where ‘f’ is natural. It is because, in the hrst scale, t
is a third minor from D in the bass j and in the second,
‘f$’ is the fifth from B in the bass (mm).
87. Thus the two scales of the minor mode are still
in this respect more different one from the other than
the two scales of the major mode ; for we do not re¬
mark this difference of a semitone between the two
mode great- scales of the major mode. We have only observed
er than Tart. 63.) some dillercTice in the value of A as it stands
those of the m eac|1 Gf t|iese scales, but this amounts to much less
than a semitone.
88. From thence it may be seen why ‘f’ and ‘g are
Difference
between
the two „
scales of
the minor
major.
sharpin the sharp when ascending in the minor mode ; besides the
minor ‘f’ jg only natural in the first scale G$, A, B, ‘c, d, e,
mode, and t,ecause this ‘f’ cannot rise to ‘g^C’, (art. 48.).
Th^ case 89. It is not the same case in descending. For E,
different in the fifth of the generator, ought not to imply the third
descending, major ‘g$\ but in the case when that E descends to
and why. tjic generator A to form a perfect repose (art. 77. and
83.)ft; and in this case the third major ‘g$’ rises to the
generator ‘a’: but the fundamental bass AE may, in
descending, give the scale ‘a, g’, natural, provided ‘g’
does not rise again to ‘a\
Explica- 90. It is much more difficult to explain how the ‘t
tion of the which ought to follow this ‘g’ in descending, is natural
descending an(j not sharp ; for the fundamental bass
scale in the A, E, B, E, A, D, A, E, A,
mode from produces m descending,
a funda ‘a, g, f^, e, e, d, c’, B, A.
mental bass ^11(J it Jg pia;n that the‘f’cannot be otherwise than
difficult.
Part l
sharp, since {f is the fifth of the note B of the fun- Theory (4
damental bass. Experience, however, evinces that the Harmony
«f’ is natural in descending in the diatonic scale of the' r—•
major mode of A, especially when the preceding ‘g1 is
natural: and it must be acknowledged, that here the
fundamental bass appears defective.
M. Bameau has attempted the following solution ofRamean’i
this difficulty. In the diatonic scale of the minor mode^lutl“n.
in descending, (‘a, g, f, e, d, c\ B, A,) ‘g’ may be re-J^-’l
garded simply as a note of passage, merely added to giveyCt unsau
sweetness to the modulation, and as a diatonic gradation factory,
by which we may descend to ‘f’ natural. This is easily
perceived, according to M. Rameau, by the fundamen¬
tal bass,
A, D, A, I), A, E, A,
which produces
‘a, f, e, d, c’, B, A ;
which may be regarded, as he says, as the real scale of
the minor mode in descending ; to which is added ‘g’ na¬
tural between ‘a’ and ‘f’, to preserve the diatonic order.
This appears the only possible answer to the difficulty
above proposed : but we know not whether it will fully
satisfy the reader; whether he will not see with regret,
that the fundamental bass does not produce, to speak
properly, the diatonic scale of the minor mode in des¬
cent, when at the same time this same bass so happily
produces the diatonic scale of that identical mode in as¬
cending, and the diatonic scale of the major mode whe¬
ther in rising or descending (nn).
Chap. X. Of Relative Modes,
91. Two modes of such a nature that we can pass
from the one to the other, are called relative modes.
Thus the major mode of C is relative to the majorlatitc,
mode of F and to that of G. It has also been seen
how many intimate connexions there are between the
major mode of C, and the minor mode of A. For,
I. The perfect chords, one major, C, E, G, ‘c’, the other
minor, A, ‘c, e, a’, which characterize each of those two* gee M
kinds of modulation * or harmony, have two sounds in dulation.
common, ‘c’ and ‘e\ 2. The scale of the minor mode of
A in descent, absolutely contains the same sounds with
the scale of the major mode of C.
Hence the transition is so natural and easy from the
major mode of C to the minor mode of A, or from the
minor mode of A to the major mode of C, as experience
proves.
92. In the minor mode of E, the minor perfect
chord E, G, B, ‘e’, which characterizes it, has likewise
two sounds, E, G, in common with the perfect chord
major C, E, G, ‘c’, which characterizes the major mode
J of
(mm) Besides, without appealing to the proof of the fundamental bass, obviously presents itself
note of this scale ; because the seventh note being necessarily ‘g*’ (art. 77.) if the sixth were not f * bu ,
there would be an interval of three semitones between the sixth and the seventh, consequently the scale would not
^(nn)0 When ‘g’ is said to be natural in descending the diatonic scale of the minor mode of A, it is only "\ea^
v V. _ . ° ... .1 i* A :.l • :  f™. .t mov Kp shavn. as mav be Droved uy
that this ‘g’ is not necessarily sharp in descending as it is in rising; for it may be. shaip, as may be P10'. J
h . « . • ■ *• 1 • « "•  It is true, that, when‘g’is found sharp in ties
numberless examples, of which all musical compositions are full. ^ ^ r> - , . r A . j +1.
cending to the minor mode of A, we are not sure that the mode is minor till the ‘f ’ or V natural is found both
of which impress a peculiar character on the minor mode, viz. ‘c’ natural, m using an in 1 escen 1
natural in descending.
rt I.
M U S 1 C.
:COry of of C. But the minor mode off', is not so closely re-
■rmony. lated nor allied to the major mode of C as the minor
mode of A j because the diatonic scale of the minor
mode of £ in descent, has not, like the series of the
minor mode of A, all these sounds in common with the
scale of C. In reality, this scale is ‘e, d, c’, B, A, G,
1'$:, E, where there occurs an ‘f’ sharp which is not in
the scale of C. Though the minor mode of E is thus
less relative to the major mode of C than that of A ;
yet the artist does not hesitate sometimes to pass imme¬
diately from the one to the other.
Wlicn we pass from one mode to another by the in¬
terval of a third, whether in descending or rising, as
from C to A, or from A to C, from C to E, or from
E to C, the major mode becomes minor, or the minor
mode becomes major.
93. There is still another minor mode, into which
an immediate transition may be made in issuing from
the major mode of C. It is the minor mode of €
itself in which the perfect minor chord C, Efr, G, ‘c’,
lias two sounds, C and G, in common with the per¬
fect major chord C, E, G, ‘c\ Nor is there any thing
more common than a transition from the major mode
of C to the minor mode, or from the minor to the
major (00).
Chap. XI. Of Dissonance.
94. We have already observed, that the mode of C
(F, C, G,) has two sounds in common with the mode
of G (C, G, D) ; and two sounds in common with the
mode of F (B[j, F, C) ; of consequence, this procedure
of the bass C G may belong to the mode of C, or to
the mode of G, as the procedure of the bass F C, or
C F, may belong to the mode of C or the mode of F.
When one therefore passes from C to F or to G in a
fundamental bass, he is still ignorant what mode he is
in. It would be, however, advantageous to know it,
and to be able by some means to distinguish the gene¬
rator from its fifths.
95. This advantage may be obtained by uniting at
the same time the sounds G and F in the same har¬
mony, that is to say, by joining to the harmony G, B,
‘d’ of the fifth G, the other fifth F in this manner,
G, Bj ‘d, f’ ; this ‘f’ which is added, forms a dissonance
with G (art. 18.). Hence the chord G, B, ‘d, f’, is
called a dissonant chord, or a chord of the seventh. It
serves to distinguish the fifth G from the generator C,
which ahvays implies, without mixture or alteration,
525
C; s in
w 1 !i the
»■: is UU-
cei.iii.
H1 we
ra. 1 nves.
1 the
■ator
anus
and
at
s de-
tc nethc
mi .
the perfect chord C, E, G, ‘c’ resulting from nature it- Theory of
self (art. 32.). By this we may see, that when we pass Harmony.
from C to G, one passes at the same time from C to F,1 
because ‘f’ is found to be comprehended in the chord
of G; and the mode of C by these means plainly ap¬
pears to be determined, because there is none but that
mode to which the sounds F and G at once belong.
96. Let us now see what may be added to the har-Manner of
mony F, A, C, of the fifth F below the generator, to^eat*nS
distinguish this harmony from that of the generator.
It seems probable at first, that we should add to it the
other fifth G, so that the generator C, in passing to
F, may at the same time pass to G, and that by this
the mode should be determined : but this introduction
of G, in the chord F, A, C, would produce two se¬
conds in succession, F G, G A, that is. to say, two
dissonances whose union would prove extremely harsh
to the ear; an inconvenience to be avoided. For if,
to distinguish the mode, we should alter the harmony
of the fifth F in the fundamental bass, it must only be
altered in the least degree possible.
97. For this reason, instead of G, w^e shall take its Chord of
fifth ‘d’, the sound that approaches it the nearest, and1}16 great'
we shall have, instead of the fifth F, the chord F, A,S1,alu
‘c, d’, which is called a chord of the great sixth.
One may here remark the analogy there is observed
between the harmony of the fifth G and that of the
fifth F.
98. The fifth G, in rising above the generator, gives The subject
a chord entirely consisting of thirds ascending from G,°fdissonan-
C, B, ‘d1, f ’ j now the fiftli F being below the genera-ces t onti-
tor G in descending, we shall find, as we go lower byIlucd*
thirds from ‘c’ towards E, the same sounds ‘c’. A, F,
I), which form the chord F, A, ‘c, d’, given to the
fifth F.
99. It appears besides, that the alteration of the har¬
mony in the two fifths consists only in the third minor
I), F, which was reciprocally added to the harmony of
these two fifths.
Chap. XII. Of the Double Use or Employment of
Dissonance.
100. It is evident by the resemblance of sounds to Account
their octaves, that the chord F, A, ‘c, d’, is in effect the double
the same as the chord D, F, A, ‘c’, taken inversely f, e,nPloy-
that the inverse of the chord C, A, F, D, has beenir
found (art. 98.) in descending by thirds, from the ge-verted.
nerator C (pp).
101. The
(00) There are likewise other minor modes, into which we may pass in our egress from the mode major of C j
as that of F minor, in which the perfect minor chord F, Ajy, ‘c’, includes the sound ‘c’, and whose scale in ascent
F, G, A[j, B[j, ‘c, d, e, f1, only includes the two sounds At?, Bfr, which do not occur in the scale of C. This
transition, however, is not frequent.
The minor mode of D has only in its scale ascending D, E, F, G, A, B, ‘c^, d’, one ‘c’ sharp which is not
found in the scale of C. For this reason a transition may likewise be made, without grating the ear, from the
mode of C major to the mode of 1) minor ; but this jjassage is less immediate than the former, because the chords
G, E, G, ‘c’, and D, F, A, ‘d’, not having a single sound in common, one cannot (art. 37.) pass immediately
from the one to the other.
(pp) M. Rameau, in several passages of his works (for instance, in p. no, ill, 112, and 113. of the Ge¬
neration Harmonic]uc), appears to consider the chord 13, F, A, C, as the primary chord and’generator of the chord
E, A, ‘c, d’, which is that chord reversed ; in other passages (particularly in p. 116. of the same performance),
he seems to consider the first of these chords as nothing else but the reverse of the second. It would seem that
this-
1
526
Difference
between
dominant
and tonic
dominant.
M U S
Theory of IOI. The chord D, F, A, ‘c’, is a chord of the
Harmony seventh like the chord G, B, ‘d, f ’with this only differ-
' v——' ence, that the latter in the third G, B, is major: where¬
as in the former, the third JD, t, is minor. It the I
were sharp, the chord D, F$, A, ‘c’, would be a ge¬
nuine chord of the dominant, like the chord G, B, D, ‘t’ j
and as the dominant G may descend to C in the Inn-
damental bass, the dominant D implying or carrying
with it the third major F#: might in the same manner
. descend to G-
102. Now if the F^ should be changed into F natu¬
ral, D, the fundamental tone of this chord D, F, A, ‘c\
might still descend to G ; for the change from F$ to
F natural will have no other effect, than to preserve
the impression of the mode of C, instead of that ot the
mode of G, which the F$ would have here introdu¬
ced. The note D will, however, preserve its cha¬
racter as a dominant, on account of the mode of
C, which forms a seventh. Thus in the chord ol which
we treat (D, F, A, ‘c’), D may be considered as an rm-
jjerfect dominant: we call it imperfect, because it carries
with it the third minor F, instead ot the third major
F$. It is for this reason that in the sequel we shall call
it simply the dominant, to distinguish it from the dominant
f See Do- G, which shall be named the tonic dominant j;.
minant. J03. Thus the sounds F and G, which cannot suc¬
ceed each other (art. 36.) in a diatonic bass,^ when
they only carry with them the perfect chords I A C,
G B ‘d’, may succeed one another, if ‘d’ be added to
the harmony of the first, and ‘f’ to the harmony of
the second j and if the first chord be inverted, that is
to say, if the two chords take this form, D, F, A, C,
G, B, ‘d, a’.
Seeming 104. Besides, the chord F, A, ‘c, d’, being allowed
eontradic- to succeed the perfect chord C, E, G, ‘c’, it follows for
tions recon-same reasons, that the chord C, E, G, C may be suc¬
ceeded by D, F, A, ‘c’ 5 which is not contradictory to
what we have above said (art. 37*)j ^ie sounds C
and D cannot succeed one another in the fundamental
bass : for in the passage quoted, we had supposed that
both C and D carried with them a perfect chord ma¬
jor j whereas, in the present case, D carries the third
minor E, and likewise the sound ‘c’, by which the
chord 1) F A ‘c’ is connected with that which precedes
it C E G ‘c’ j and in which the sound ‘c’ is found.
Besides, this chord, D F A ‘c’, is properly nothing else
but the chord F A ‘c d’ inverted, and if we may speak
so, disguised.
105. This manner of presenting the chord of the
I c.
Part L
ciled.
subdominant under two different forms, and of employ- Theory o{
ing it under these two different forms has been called Harmon),
by M. Rameau its double office or employment f. rl his Doub'^J
is the source of one of the finest varieties in harmony ; pi0yment 1
and we shall see in the following chapter the advantages what, and
which result from it. y w^y80
We may add, that as this double employment is a^hed.
kind of license, it ought not to be practised without
some precaution. We have lately seen that the chords pioymcnt,
F A ‘c’, considered as the inverse of l A ‘c d,’ may suc¬
ceed to C E G ‘c’, but this liberty is not reciprocal: and
though the chord F A ‘c d’ may be followed by the
chord C E G ‘c’, we have no right to conclude from
thence that the chord D F A ‘c\ considered as the in¬
verse of F A ‘c d\ may be followed by the chord C E G
‘c\ For this the reason shall be given in chap. xvi.
Chap. XIII. Concerning the Use of this Double Em¬
ployment, and its Rules.
106. We have shown (chap, xvi.) how the diatonic By ^
scale, or ordinary gammut, may be formed from the double use
fundamental bass F, C, G, D, by twice repeating the
note G in that series ; so that this gammut is primitive-tjoned
ly composed of two similar tetrachords, one in the th£
mode of C, the other in that of G. Now it is possible,impression
by means of this double employment, to preserve the
impression of the mode of C through the whole extent
of the scale, without twice repeating the note C, el¬
even without supposing this repetition. For this eflett
we form the following fundamental bass,
C, G, C, F, C, D, G, C :
in which C is understood to carry with it the perfect
chord C E G ‘c’ j G, the chord G B ‘d f’ 5 F the chord
F A ‘c d’ *, and D, the chord D F A ‘c\ It is plain
from what has been said in the preceding chapter, that in
this case C may ascend to 1) in the fundamental bass,
and D descend to G, and that the impression of the
mode of C is preserved by the ‘f’ natural, which forms
the third minor ‘d f’, instead of the third major which
D ought naturally to imply. ...
107. This fundamental bass will give, as it is evi¬
dent, the ordinary diatonic scale,
*c» d, e, f, g, a, b\ c,
which of consequence will be in the mode of C alone \
and if one should choose to have the second tetrachord
in the mode of G, it will be necessary to substitute
‘fij-fc’ instead of ‘fj)\ in the harmony of D (dd).
108. Thus the generator C may be followed accord¬
ing
this great artist has neither expressed himself upon this subject with so much uniformity nor with so much preci."
as is required. We think that there is some foundation for considering the chord r, A, c, <-* ’ as P ‘
mitive : 1. Because in this chord, the fundamental and principal note is the subdominant T, which ought in (
to be the fundamental and principal sound in the chord of the sub-dominant. . 2. Because t at w.t iou aV1 :
recourse, with M. Rameau, to harmonical and arithmetical progressions, of which the consideration appears
quite foreign to the question, we have found a probable and even a satisfactory reason foi ai c ing t ic note
the harmony of the fifth F (art. 96. and 97.). The origin thus assigned for the chord of the sub-dommant ap¬
pears to us the most natural, though M. Rameau does not appear to have felt its full value j 01 scaice y
been slightly insinuated by him.
art I. MU
icory of l»g to pleasure in ascending diatonically either by a
[irmony, tonic dominant (D A C), or by a simple dominant
  (D F A C).
log. In the minor mode of A, the tonic dominant
K ought always to imply its third major E G^, when
this dominant E descends to the generator A (art. 83.) j
and the chord of this dominant shall be E G$ B ‘d% en¬
tirely similar to G B ‘d f\ With respect to the sub-do¬
minant D, it will immediately imply the third minor
F, to denominate the minor mode ; and we may add
B above its chord D F A, in this manner I) F A B, a
chord similar to that of F A ‘c d’j and as we have de¬
duced from the chord F A ‘c d’ that of D F A ‘c’, we
may in the same manner deduce from the chord jD F A
B ‘a’ a new chord of the seventh B ‘d f a’, which will
exhibit the c/oui/e employment of dissonances in the mi¬
nor mode.
no. One may employ this chord B ‘dfa’, to pre¬
serve the impression of the mode of A in the diatonic
scale of the minor mode, and to prevent the necessity
of twice repeating the sound E; but in this case, the
F must be rendered sharp, and the chord changed to B
‘d f$ a , the fifth of B being as we have seen above.
This chord is then the inverse of D F^ A B, the sub¬
dominant implying the third major, which ought not
to surprise us; for in the minor mode of A, the second
tetrachord E F^C G)& A is exactly the same as it would
be in the major mode of A: Now, in the major mode
of A the subdominant D ought to imply the third ma¬
jor F$.
ill. Hence the minor mode is susceptible of a much
greater number of varieties than the major: the major
mode is found in nature alone •, whereas the minor is
in some measure the product of art. But, in return,
tl in the the major mode has received from nature, to which it
“ir- owes its immediate formation, a force and energy which
the minor cannot boast.
Chap. XIV. Of the different Kinds of Chords of the
Seventh.
Iij itiga- 112. The dissonance added to the chord of the do-
tj whe- minant and of the sub-dominant, though in some mea-
iaC. sure suggested by nature (chap, xi.), is nevertheless a
qlice of worlc art ? as it produces great beauties in har-
so sue- mony by the variety which it introduces into it, let us
H ul ad-
S I c.
527
Ebrsities
in.e mi¬
n' node
n» mi¬
ni 'US
discover whether, in consequence of this first advance, Theory of
art may not still be carried farther. Harmony.
113. We have already three different kinds of chords
of the seventh, viz.
1. The chord G B ‘d f’, composed of a third major
followed by two thirds minor.
2. The chord D F A ‘e’, or B ‘d f$ a’, a third major
between two minors.
3. The chord B‘d-f a’, two thirds minor followed
by a major.
114. There are still two other kinds of chords of the
seventh which are employed in harmony; one is com¬
posed of a third minor between two thirds major, C E G
B, or F A ‘c e’j the other is wholly composed of thirds
minor G$ B ‘d fThese two chords, which at first ap¬
pear as if they ought not to enter into harmony if we
rigorously keep to the preceding rules, are nevertheless
frequently practised with success in the fundamental
bass. The reason is this ;
115. According to what has been said above, if we The chords
would add a seventh to the chord C E G, to makelastdcscrib-
a dominant of C, one can add nothing but B^ ; anded admissi-
in this case C E G B[? would be the chord of the tonican^
dominant in the mode of F, as GB‘df’ is the chord " i)"
of the tonic dominant in the mode of C; but if we
would preserve the impression of the mode of C in the
harmony, we change this B[} into B natural, and the
chord C E G Bfo becomes C E G B. It is the same case
with the chord F A ‘ce’, which is nothing else but the
chord F A ‘c etF j in which one may substitute for ‘e^’,
‘e’ natural, to preserve the impression of the mode of
C, or that of F.
Besides, in such chords as C E G B, F A ‘c e’, the
founds B and ‘e’, though they form a dissonance with
C in the first case, and w ith F in the second, are neA'er-
theless supportable to the ear, because these sounds B
and ‘e’ (art. 19.) are already contained and understood,
the first in the note E of the chord € E G B, as like¬
wise in the note G of the same chord 5 the second in the
note A of the chord F A ‘c e’, as likewise in the note V
ol the same chord. All together then seem to allow the
artist to introduce the note B and ‘e’ into these two
chords (RR).
116. With respect to the chord of the seventh G$ chords of
B ‘d f’, wholly composed of thirds minor, it may be re-the seventh
garded as formed from the union of the two chords ofcontinued
.1 and ex¬
the
®*not be
Cl' ed far-
th
b rent
4;ts of
tile
vc |
plained.
.ass scale, c, ‘b, a, g, f, e, d, c’, in descent, we must either determine to invert the fundamental bass men-
lone in art. 55. in this manner, C, G, D, G, C, F, C, G, C, in which the second G and the second C answer
to the G alone in the scale j or otherwise we must form the fundamental bass C, G, D, G, C, G, C, in which all
e notes imply perfect chords major, except the second G, which implies the chord of the seventh G, B, £d, P,
^Wi'u answers to ^,e ^wo ri°les °1 the scale G, F, both comprehended in the chord G, B, ‘d, P.
hichever of these two basses we shall choose, it is obvious that neither the one nor the other shall be wholly
m the mode of C, but in the mode ol C and in that of G. Whence it follows, that the double employment which
gives to the scale a fundamental bass all in the same mode when ascending, cannot do the same in descending;
an that the fundamental bass of the scale in descending will be necessarily in two different modes.
(RR) On the contrary, a chord such as C E[j GB, in which E would be flat, could not be admitted in harmony,
Jecause in this chord the B is not included and understood in E^. It is the same case with several other chords,
sue i as B p I A;ft, B D$ F A, ike. It is true, that in the last of these chords, A is included in F, but it is not
contained in p$ ; and this I)$( likewise forms with F and with A a double dissonance, which, joined with the
issonance B I, would necessarily render this chord not very pleasing to the ear ; we shall vet, however, see in
lie second part, that this chord is sometimes used.
528
M U
Theory of the dominant and of the suh-dominaiit »n the minor
Harmony, mode. In effect, in the minor mode ot “istan< e’
‘ these two chords are E G* B, ‘d% and D E A B, whose
union produces E G% B, ‘d, f, ah Now, if we should
suffer this chord to remain thus, it would be. disagree¬
able to the ear, by its multiplicity of dissonances, 1J H,
E F, F G$, A B, I) G%, (art. 18.), so that, to avoid
this inconveniency, the generator A is immediately ex¬
punged, which, (art. 19.) is as it were understood in
I) and the fifth or dominant E, whose place the sensible
note is supposed to hold: thus there remains only
the chord G$ B ‘df, wholly composed of thirds mi¬
nor, and in which the dominant E is considered as un¬
derstood: in such a manner that the chord G^ B d t re¬
presents the chord of the tonic dominant E G$ B if, to
which we have, joined the chord of the sub-dominant
D F A B, but in which the dominant E is always rec¬
koned the principal, note (ss).
117. Since, then, from the chord E G$ B d , we may
pass to the perfect AC ‘ea\ and we may
in like manner pass from the chord G^ B d f to the
chord A C ‘e a’, and from this last to the chord
this remark will be very useful to us in
Gi& B ‘d P
the sequel.
^Dissonance,
what.
Manner of
Chap. XV. Of tfie Preparation of Discords.
Xi8. Ik every chord of the seventh, the highest
note, that is to say, the seventh above the fundamen¬
tal, is called a dissonance or discord; thus 1 is the
dissonance of the chord G B ‘d f’ j ‘c’ in the chon D
F A ‘c’ &c
119. When the chord G B‘d f’ follows the chord
nreparinff CFG ‘c% as often happens, it is obvious that we do not
§ " ’ ” nance ‘f’ in the preceding chord C E G c .
dissonances find the dissonance ‘P in the preceding
investigat- £J0r ought it indeed to be found in that chord*, 01
ed- dissonance is nothing else but the sub-dominant added
to the harmony of the dominant to determine the mode:
now, the sub-dominant is not found m the harmony ot
th(l2o?For°the same reason, when the chord of the sub-
. dominant F-A‘c d’ follows the chord C E G V, the
note ‘d’, which forms a dissonance with ‘c , is not found
in -the preceding, chord. , -r- * < , r 11 u
It is not- so when the chord D F A c follows the
chord CEGVj for ‘c’ which forms a dissonance in
the second chord, stands as a consonance in the pre-
l)iSSonanceCLS In general, dissonance being the production of
is only to- art (chap, xi.), especially in such chords as are not o
lerable to tonic dominant nor sub-dominant, the only means
tde ear j to prevent its displeasing the ear by appearing too hete-
rnhprneced rogencous to the chord, is, that it may be if we may
ing*chords, speak so, announced to the ear by being found m the
S I C. Part I.
preceding chord, and by that means connect the tvo Tbeoiyoi
chords. Hence follows this rule; _ _
122. In every chord of the seventh, which is not
the chord of the tonic dominant, that is to spy, (art.^'™0”
102.) which is not composed of a third major followed f'cs how
by two thirds, minor, the dissonance which this chordpeitornied.:
forms ought to stand as a consonance in the chord which
precedes it.
This is what we call a prepareddissonance. See Pr«-
123. Hence, in order to prepare a dissonance, ihcpamtion.
fundamental bass must necessarily ascend by the intei\al
of a second, as
C E G ‘c\ I> F A V;
or descend by a third, as
CFG ‘c’, A C E G j
or descend by a fifth, as
■ C E G ‘c’, FACE:
in every other case the dissonance cannot he prepared.
This may be easily ascertained. It, for instance, the fun¬
damental bass rises by a third, as C E G c , E G B <1 ,
the dissonance M’ is not found in. the chord C E G ‘c’.
The same might be said of C E G ‘c’, G 1> d f , and
C E G‘c’, B I) ‘fa’, in which the fundamental bass
rises by. a fifth or descends by. a second.
124. * When a tonic, .that is to say, a note which car¬
ries with it a perfect chord, is followed by a dominant
in the interval of a fifth or third, this succession may be
regarded as a process from that same tonic to another,
which has been rendered a dominant by the addition of
the dissonance.
Moreover, we have seen (art. 119. and 120.) that a
.dissonance does not require preparation in the chords ot
the tonic dominant and of the sub-dominant: whence
it follows, that every tonic carrying with it a perfect
chord, may be changed into a tonic dominant (if the
perfect chord be major), or into a sub-dominant (whe¬
ther the chord he major or minor) by adding the disso¬
nance all at once.
Chap. XVI. Of ifie Rules for resolving Disso¬
nances.
125. We have seen (chap. v. and vi.) how the DlssonaI1.
diatonic scale, so natural to the voice, is formed by theces tobe
harmonies of fundamental sounds ; from whence it fol-™“<
iiarmuii ico v/i    ' , „ . . , must, be
lows, that the most natural succession of harmomcal
— —_ disguised
To give a dissonance then, an(j ma(]e
sounds is to be diatonic. - - 0  
in some measure, as much the character of an barmo-to appear
nic sound as may be possible, it is necessary that this into cl
dissonance, in that part of the modulation where it is harmonie
found, should descend or rise diatomcally upon another
note, which may be one of the consonances of the sub¬
sequent chord. . . .
126. Now in the chord of the tonic dominant itjnthe
ought chord of
the tonic
■ dominant
the disso-
art I. , MU
iieory of ought rather to descend than to rise; for this reason,
sirmony. Let us take, for instance, the chord O B ‘d f’ followed
by the chord C E G ‘c’} the part which formed the dis¬
sonance ‘F ought to descend to ‘e’ rather than rise to ‘g’,
though both the sounds E and G are found in the sub¬
sequent chord C E G ‘c’ $ because it is more natural and
more conformed to the connexion which ought to be
found in every part of the music, that G should be found
in the same part where G has already been sounded,
whilst the other part Was sounding ‘P, as may be here
Seen (Parts First and Fourth).
First part,
Second,
Third,
Fourth,
Fundamental bass,
‘P ‘e’
b y c
G G
G C
i ssequen
i of the
I: ner
i '•
A sther
(, sc-
c nee.
1. is de-
ii ed from
t' former
pfcosi-
WJs.
T'onance
hived,
s Resolu¬
te
127. So, in the chord of the simple dominant DFA
‘c\ followed by G B ‘d f’, the dissonance ‘c’ ought ra¬
ther to descend to B than rise to ‘d\
128. And, for the same reason, in the chord of the
suh-dominant FA ‘cd’, the dissonance ‘d’ ought to rise
to ‘e’ of the following chord CFG ‘c, rather than
descend to ‘c’ j whence may be deduced the following
rules.
129. 1°, In evefy chord of the dominant, whether
tonic or simple, the note which constitutes the seventh,
that is to say the dissonance, ought diatonically to de¬
scend upon one of the notes which form a consonance ill
the subsequent chord.
2°, In every chord of the sub-dominant, the disso¬
nance ought to rise diatonically upon the third of the
subsequent chord.
130. A dissonance Which descends or rises diktoni-
cally according to these two rules, is called a dissonance
resolved.
From these rules it is a necessary result, that the
chord of the seventh DFA V, though it should even
be considered as the inverse of F A ‘c d’, cannot be suc¬
ceeded by the Chord CEG ‘c’, since there is not in this
last chord the note B, upon which the dissonance ‘c’ of
the chord D F A ‘c’ can descend.
One may besides find another reason for this rule,
in examining the nature of the double employment of
dissonances. In effect, in order to pass from DFA ‘c’,
to CEG ‘c’, it is necessary that DF A ‘c* should in this
case be understood as the inverse of F A ‘cd.’ Now the
chord DFA ‘c’ can only be conceived as the inverse of
FA ‘cd’, when this chord I)FA ‘c’ precedes or imme¬
diately follows the CEG ‘c’; in every othef case the
chord D F A ‘c’ is a primitive chord, formed from the
perfect minor chord DFA, to which the dissonance ‘e’
Was added, to take from D the character of a tonic.
Ihus the chord DFA ‘c’, could not be followed by the
chord CEG ‘c’, but after having been preceded by tile
same chord. Now, in this case, the double empkjyment
would be entirely a futile expedient, without producing
any agreeable effect: because, instead of this succession
of chords, CEG ‘c’, DFA ‘c’, CEG ‘c’, it would be
much more easy and natural to substitute this other, which
furnishes this natural succession CEG ‘c’, FA‘cd’,
C EG ‘c\ The proper use of the double employment is,
that, by means of inverting the chord of the sub-domi-
fiant, it may be able to pass from that chord thus inverted
VOL. XIV. Part II. f
S' I C. 529
to any other chord except that of the tonic, to which it Theory of
naturally leads.
Chap. XVII. Of the Broken or Interrupted
'Cadence.
Harmony.
131. In a fundamental bass which moves by fifths, The test of
there is always^ as we have formerly observed (chap, P-rWotion
viii.), a repose more or less perfect from one sound t(pn cad cnees
another ; and of consequence there rrtust likewise be a in the fun-
repose more or less perfect from one sound to another damcntal
in the diatonic scale, which results from that bass. baifS-
It may be demonstrated by a very simple experiment,
that the cause of a repose in melody is solely in the
fundamental bass expressed or understood. Let any
person sing these three notes ‘edg’, performing on the
‘d’ a shake, which is commonly called a cadence; the
modulation will appear to him to be finished after the
second ‘c’, in such a manner that the ear will neither
expect or wish any thing to follow. The case will be
the same if we accompany this modulation with its
natural fundamental bass C G C : but if, instead of
this bass, we should give it the following, CGA :
in this case the modulation ‘c d c’ would not ap¬
pear to be finished, and the ear would still expect and
desire something more. This experiment may easily
be made. ]
, I32* This passage GA, when the dominant G diato-Broken ca-
mcally ascends upon the note A instead of descendingdences-
by a filth upon the generator C, as it ought naturally to^Jjat’ and
do, is called a broken cadencei because the perfect ca-Se/cB-
dence G C, which the ear expected after the dominant dence.
G, is, il we may speak so, broken and suspended by the
transition from G to Ai
133. Hence it follows, that if the modulation ‘ede’
appeared finished when we supposed no bass to it at all,
it is because its natural fundamental bass C G C is im¬
plied 5 for the Car desires something to follow this mo
dulation, as soon as it is reduced to the necessity of
hearing another bass.
. I34- The broken cadence may be considered as ha-Origin of
ving its origin in the double employment of dissonances; brokc*T
since this cadence, like the double employment, only fudej1C
consists in a diatonic procedure of the bass ascending employ- *
(chap. xii.). In effect, nothing hinders us to descend ment of
from the chord GB ‘dP to the chord CEG A by con-d*ssonaa”
verting the tonic C into a sub-dominant, that is to say,ces’
by passing all at once from the mode of C to the mode
of G: now to descend from GB ‘dP to CEG A is
the same thing as to rise from the chord GB ‘dP to
the chord A ‘ceg’, in changing the chord of the
sub-dominant CEGA for the imperfect chord of the
dominant, according to the laws of the double employ¬
ment.
i35- In th*3 kind of cadence, the dissonance of the Manner of
first chofd is resolved by descending diatonically upon Performing
the fifth of the subsequent chord. For instance, in V118 ca~
the broken cadence GB ‘d P, A‘ceg’, the dissonancedenCe'
‘P is resolved by descending diatonically upon the
fifth ‘e\
I3^- There is another kind of cadence, called an interrupted
terrupted cadence, where the dominant descends by a CHdence»
third to another dominant, instead of descending by a Se^CV/-,
fifth upon the tonic, as in this succession of the bass dence^
3X GB ‘df’.
.L> o
M U
S
Tbeovv Of G B ‘d f E G B ‘d’; in the case of an interrupted ca-
Jlannony. dence, the dissonance of the former chord is resolved by
 descending diatonically upon the octave ot the tumla-
jnental note of the subsequent chord, as may be here
seen where ‘f1 is resolved upon the octave or E.
' 137. This kind of interrupted cadence has likewise
I c. Part I.
delation G, G[j, which would likewise give a minor Theory of
semitone (xx.) _ _ _ .
141. The minor semitone is hit by young Factl'An:Iltona.
tioners in intonation with more difficulty than the se-tion minor
mitone major. For which this reason may be assign- Keninone
ed: The semitone major which is found in the diato-diflicultto
©rigin of 137^ xui»  j”^n'knt nf dissonances For nic scale, as from E to F, results from a fundamcn-^
this kind of its origin in tne double employment 01 disso fifths C F, that is to say, by a succession y>
tnilence, these two chord, » soeccron, G B d t , W Um ^ fot this ka/on the easiest
to the ear. On the contrary, the minor semitone arises
from a succession by thirds, which is still less natural
than the former. Hence, that scholars may trul) hit
r.ant, according to the laws ot the douffie^mployinetd, the Be that they intend to
we shall have the interrupted cadence G L d 1 , L G ed.^ ^ ^ | tbey rise at first Q to A,
then descend from A to G$ by the interval cl a se¬
mitone major: for this G sharp, which is a semitone
major below A, proves a semitone minor above G. [>oce
the notes (tt) and (uu).]
j a 2 Every procedure of the fundamental bass byJbnorse-
^ J r . . .. .1 am one to
likewise in
the double
employ-
jueut.
G B ‘d e’ where G is successively a tonic dominant and
sub-dominant: that is to say, in which we pass from
the mode of C to the mode of D j if we should change
the second of these chords into the chord ot the donu-
B ‘d.’
Chap. XVIII. Of the Chromatic Species.
■Fundamen¬
tal bass
formed by
j birds ma¬
jor.
A- chroma¬
tic interval
or minor
semitone,
how found.
$ee fig. 10
138. The series or fundamental bass by fifths pro¬
ducts the diatonic species in common use (chap, vi.) 5
now the third major being one of the harmonics of a
fundamental sound as well as the filth, it follows,
that we may form fundamental basses by thirds ma¬
jor, as we have already formed fundamental basses by
139. If then we should form this base C, E, G^,
the two first sounds carrying eacli along with it then-
thirds major and fifths, it is evident that C will give
G, and that E will give : now the semitone wluca
is between this G and this G% is an interval much less
than the semitone which is found in the diatonic scale
betwee n E and F, or between B and ‘c\ This may
be ascertained by calculation (tt) : and for this reason
the semitone from E to F is called major, and the other
minor (uu). , ,, , ,
140. If the fundamental bass should proceed by
thirds minor in this manner, C, Ffr, a succession
which is allowed when we have investigated the origin
of the minor mode (chap, ix.), we shall find this mo-
■n+x. _ . . , i- : uiiioneto
thirds, whether major or minor, rising or descending,^
’ be fo’iiul ii
gives the minor semitone. Ibis we have already seenevu.y pro
from the succession of thirds in ascending. The senes^dure 0f
of thirds minor in descending, C A, gives, C, Cl<tkc funda-
(yy)-, and the series of thirds major m descending,
At?, gives C, Cb, (ZZ). _ . . tLiras.
143. The minor semitone constitutes tlie species,xheminor
called chromatic ; and with the species which moves by semitone,
diatonic intervals, resulting from the succession ol^npre-
fifths (chap. v. and vi.), it comprehends tne whole oiCOMtitllteS
melody. chromatic
Chap. XIX. Of the Enharmonic Species.
144. The two extremes, or highest and l0.west notes,
C G$, of the fundamental bass by thirds major Cl'iGp,^ jnter_
give this modulation ‘c’ B'^ j and these two sounds c Tai>what,
differ between themselves by a small interval which and how
is called the diesis, or enharmonic fourth* of a tone (3 a), formed.
which T,atL. ,
Fourth of
-xone.
(tt) In reality, C being supposed l, as „e Lave always supposed it, E is J and * Jj :
! to G as 4§■ Lo 4 that is
as 25 to 24, an interval much less than that
tbe'n shall be to G as H to 1 ; that is oonmtuto the LSene from'V to^fr front F
to E (note z).
10 rudri6 minor ioined to a major semitone will form a minor tone; that is to say, if one rises, for instance, from
(UU) A m nor joi c —"    .ntr-rwards from F to FA by the interval of a nunor semitone, the
amaior semitone win imm n hum. . c ■ .1
E 'to F, by the interval of a semitone major, and afterwards from F to ^ s’,1 ^
’ ' - " -U be a minor tone. For let us suppose E to be I, I will be fx, and i « will be ^ o
interval fn,m E to F* will be a minor tone. For let us suppose o ^ ^ ig to ,o the il!terval
cS • that is to say, 25 times 16 divided by 24 times 15, or ^ ^ U1CU 95
TT ?
wliieb constitutes the minor tone (note BB). ... -a T Ttvn semfinnes in
With respect to the tone major, it cannot be exactly formed by two semitones , fg’ V kT. s£ wS Is
immediate succession would produce more than a tone major. In t ec , tt. lrlu *P 1 )nr5)i gkdtone rnaior
. ,, * , ,  Crv.vip pr'i tbp mfiiov tone. 2. A semitone minor and a semitone majoi
greatortlnufirtfieTnterTaTwhid, constitutes (note bb) the major tone. 2. A semitone minor and a semitone major
would give less than a major tone, since they amount only to a true minor. 3. And, a for Ho? 1, two minor sen
tones would still give less. , n 5« .1  ’ tn iA
(xx) In effect, E\) being f, Gfe will he | of f j that is to say, (note <*) 4X: now the proportion of s
(note Q,) is that of 3 times 25 to 2 times 36 j that is to say, as 25 to 24. r , • ,j t
(yy)_A being -J C* is i of i ; that is to say, «, and C U x : the proportion then between C and C* is that
"f (Izz)4Ah0h'eing2the0thik major below C, will he 4 (uotee) i CD, then, is } of |; that is to sa, if. The proper-
lion, then, between C and Cfo, is as 25 to 24. n ^ 1 KpIgw
(3 a) G^( being 4|- and B$( being | of 4|, we shall have B^: equal (note d) to ^4 > an J ,
shall be TV ? an interval less than unity by about or Vp ^ P^am t^ien» ^rom ^1S ^iac lon,
ia question must be considerably lower than C. 5
art I.
M U
leory of which is the tlifici'encC between a semitone major ami a
umony semitone minor (3 b). This quarter tone is inappfe-
' tiable by the ear, and impracticable upon several of our
instruments. Yet have means been found to put it in
practice in the following manner, or rather to perform
what will have the same effect upon the ear.
inner of M1?- We have explained (art. 116.) in what man-
mingly ner the chord G$< B ‘d may be introduced into the
roduemg mJnor mode, entirely consisting of thirds minor perfect-
upon *-v trne’ or at ^east supposed such. This chord supply-
Unimentsittff the place of the chord of the dominant (art. 116.)
j. fixed from thence we may pass to that of the tonic or genera*
1 es- tor A (art. H70* we must remark,
r. That this chord B ‘d f’, entirely consisting of
thirds minor, may be inverted or modified according
to the three following arrangements, B hi f gi^’, 1)
£ G)& B, F G^ B ‘d’ 5 and that in all these three difle*-
rent states, it will still remain composed of thirds mi¬
nor •, or at least there will only he Wanting the enhar¬
monic fourth of a tone to render the third minor be¬
tween F and G$ entirely just 5 for a true third minor,
as that from E to G in the diatonic scale, is composed
of a semitone and a tone both major. Now from F to G
there is a tone major, and from G to G&< there is only a
minor semitone. There is then wanting (art. 144.) the
enharmonic fourth of a tone, to render the third F G^
exactly true.
2. But as this division of a tone cannot he found in
the gradations of any scale practicable upon most of our
S I c.
instruments, hor be appbetiated by the Car, the car
takes the different chords.
b ‘d’ ‘p ‘gr
J) F G« B
F G« B ‘d’,
which are absolutely the same, for chords composed
every one of thirds minor are exactly just.
Now the chord G>/; B ‘d F, belonging to the minor
mode of A, where G$ is the sensible note ; the chord
B ‘d f gJft’, or B ‘d f ajj’, wall, for the same reason, be¬
long to the minor mode of C, where B is the sensible
note. In like manner, the chord D F G)£< B, or
1) F A\) ‘c^’, will belong to the minor mode of Fjy.
find the chord F G/$ B ‘d’, orF A[? ‘cf? to the mi¬
nor mode of Gjj.
After having passed then by the mode of A to the *
chord G$ B ‘d f’ (art. 117.), one may by means of this
last chord, and by merely satisfying ourselves to invert
it, afterwards pass all at once to the modes of C minor,
of Eh minor, or of Gfr minor 5 that is to say, into th«
modes which have nothing, or almost nothing, in com¬
mon with the minor mode of A, and which arc entirely
foreign to it (3 c).
146. It must, however, he acknowledged, that a The alien
transition so abrupt, and so little expected, cannot de-thm, how
ceive nor elude the ear ; it is struck wi th a sensation e^r’|,)^t •
so unlooked-for, without being able to account for the
passage to itself. And this account has its foundation abrupt anJ
in the enharmonic fourth of a tone \ which is overlook- sensible,
3X2 "ed
This interval has been called the fourth of a tone, and this denomination is founded on reason. In effect, we
may distinguish in music four kinds of quarter tones.
1. The fourth of a tone major : now, a tone major being and its difference from unity being f, the differenett
of this quarter tone from unity will he almost the fourth of f ; that is to say, TV
2. The fourth of atone minor; and as a tone minor, which is r^, differs from unity by the fourtli of a mi¬
nor tone will differ from unity about
3. One half ot a semitone major ; and as tins semitone differs from unity by xy, one half of it will differ from
Unity about
4. Finally, One half of a semitone minor, which differs from unity by : it§ half then will be
The interval, then, which forms the enharmonic fourth of a tone, as it does not differ from unity but by
may justly he called t\\e fourth oj a tone, since it is less different from unity than the largest interval of a quartejr
tone, and more than the least.
We shall add, that since the enharmonic fourth of a tone is the difference between a semitone major, and a se*
mitone minor ; and since the tone minor is formed (note uu) of two semitones, one major and the other minor;
it follows, that two semitones major in succession form an interval larger than that of a tone by the enharmonic
fourth of a tone ; and that twro minor semitones in succession form an interval less than a tone by the same fourth
of a tone.
(3 b) That, is to say, that if you rise from E to F, for instance, by the interval of a semitone major, and after*
wards, returning to E, yon should rise by the interval of a semitone minor to another sound which is not in the
scale, and which I shall mark thus, F-f-, the two sounds F*f- and F will form the enharmonic fourth of a tone :
for E being j, F will he x^ > and F-f- -§4 : the proportion then between F-f- and F is that of to-rf (n°te qJ j
that is to say, as 25 times 15 to 16 times 24 ; or otherwise, as 25 times 5 to 16 times 8, or as 125 to 128.
Now this proportion is the same which is found, in the beginning of the preceding note, to express the enharmo*
nic fourth of a tone.
(3 c) As this method for obtaining or supplying enharmonic gradations cannot be practised on every occasioa
when the composer or practitioner would wish to find them, especially upon instruments where the scale is fixed
and invariable, except by a total alteration of their economy, and re-tuning the strings, Dr Smith in his Harmo¬
nics has proposed an expedient for redressing or qualifying this defect, by the addition of a greater number of keys
or strings, which may divide the tone or semitone into as many appretiable or sensible intervals as may be neces¬
sary. For this, as well as for the other advantageous improvements which he proposes in the structure of instru*
ments, we cannot with too much warmth recommend the perusal of his learned and ingenious book, to such of ouf
readers as aspire to the character of genuine adepts in the theory of musici
53 2
M U S I C.
Theory of ^ as nothing, because it is inappretiable by the ear 5
Jtlarniony. but of which, though its value is not ascertained, t e
v whole harshness is sensibly perceived. Ihe instant ol
surprise, however, immediately vanishes 5 and that asto¬
nishment is turned into admiration, when one ieels him¬
self transported as it were all at once, and almost im¬
perceptibly, from one mode to another, which is by no
means relative to it, and to which he never could have
immediately passed by the ordinary series ot fundamen¬
tal notes.
Chap. XX. Of the Diatonic Enharmonic Species.
147. If we form a fundamental bass, which rises al¬
ternately by fifths and thirds, as F, C, E, B, this bass
See fig. is-will give the following modulation ‘f, e, e, d$ j m
which the semitones from ‘f ’ to V, and from ‘e to ‘d* ,
are equal and major (3 !>)• . , . .
This species of modulation or of harmony, in which
See Enhar- all the semitones are major, is called the enharmonic
monk. diatonic species. The major semitones peculiar to this
species give it the name of diatonic, because major se¬
mitones"’belong to the diatonic species *, and the tones
which are greater than major by the excess of a fourth,
resulting from a succession of major semitones, give it
the name of enharmonic (note 3 A) •
Chap. XXL Of the Chromatic Enharmonic Species.
Chromatic
enharmo¬
nic inter¬
vals, Row
formed.
See fig. 13.
From this
species, the
effects of
harmony
and melo¬
dy appear
to he in the
fundamen¬
tal bass.
Diatonic
species
most agree¬
able, and
why.
The chro¬
matic next.
Dastly, the
enharmo¬
nic.
148. If we pass alternately from a third minor in
descending to a third major in rising, as C, C, A, C$,
we shall form this modulation <eb, e, e, e e$ , in
which all the semitones are minor (3 f).
This species is called the chromatic enharmonic spe¬
cies: the minor semitones peculiar t© this kind give it
the name ot chromatic, because minor semitones belong
to the chromatic species ; and the semitones which are
lesser by the diminution of a fourth resulting from a
succession of minor semitones, give it the name of, en¬
harmonic (note 3 f).
149. These new species confirm what we have alt
along said, that the whole effects of harmony and me¬
lody reside in the fundamental bass.
150. The diatonic species is the most agreeable, be¬
cause the fundamental bass which produces it is form-
’ ed from a succession of fifths alope, which is the most
natural of all others.
131. The chromatic being formed from a succession
of thirds, is the most natural after the preceding.
152. Finally, the enharmonic is the least agreeable
of all, because the fundamental bass which gives it is
Part I,
not immediately indicated by nature. Lhe fourth of Theory of
a tone which constitutes this species, and which is it- Harmony,
self inappretiable to the ear, neither produces nor can '““'V-
produce its effect, but in proportion as imagination
suggests the fundamental bass from whence it resnlts.j
a bass whose procedure is not agreeable to nature, since
it is formed of two sounds which are not contiguous one^
to the other in the series of thirds (art.
Chap. XXII. Showing that Melody is the Offspring
of Harmony.
153. All that we have hitherto said, as it seems to
me is more than sufficient to convince us, that melody t0 be inv<
has' its original principle in harmony ; and that it is mtigatedit
harmony, "expressed or understood, that we ought to”;.
look for the effects of melody. _ under-
154. If this should still appear doubtful, nothing more stood,
is mcessary than to pay due attention to the first ex¬
periment (art, 19.), where it may he seen that the prin¬
cipal sound is always the lowTeat, and that the sharper
sounds which it. generates are with relation to it what
the treble of an air is to its bass. _
155. Yet more, we have proved, in treating of the
broken cadence (chap, xvn.), that the diversification of
basses produces effects totally , different in a modulation
which, in other respects, remains the same.
156. Can it be still' necessary to. adduce more con¬
vincing proofs ? We have but to examine the difi'ereat
basses which may be given to this very simple modula¬
tion GC. It will be found susceptible of many, and
each will give a different character to the modulation
QC, though in itself it remains always the same.
We* may thus change the whole nature and effects of a
modulation, without any other alteration than that of
its fundamental bass. .
M. Rameau has shown, in his New System oj Music,
printed at Paris 1726, p. 44- tliat this modulation
G, C, is susceptible of 20 different fundamental basses.
Now’the same fundamental bass, as may be seen in our
second part, will afford several continued or thorough
basses. How many means, of consequence, may be prac¬
tised to vary the expression of the. same modulation : -
157. From these different observations it may be Conseql)t
concluded, 1. That an agreeable melody, naturally im-ces dedm
plies a bass extremely sweet and adapted for singing,} ble from
and that reciprocally, as musicians express it, a bass of
this kind generally prognosticates an agreeable me¬
lody (3 f). .
2. That the character of a just harmony is only to
form in some measure one system with the modulation,
so-
the
likewise f ot-*, or y 5 jo-w uie <>»*» « tr ”* “ mi iY-s s . C’then of the
major, approximated as much as possible to V in the scale by means of octaves, will be ^ of -g- • e 11 *
“ale will be to «4'* which follow, it, a, V. n to.« of V. that is to say, as I to if The sem,tones then front
to ‘e’ and from ‘e’ to ‘d’lft, are both major. , e
(3 E) It is evident that ‘e’b is f (note qJ, and that V is |: these two ‘e’s, then, are between themseWes as T
to 4 that is to say, as 6 times 4 to 3 times 3, or as 24 to 23, the interval which constitutes the minor semiton .
Moreover,1 the A of. the bass is and C *4 of -jt, or 4 ■ V* then is of the V in the scale is likewise t*
the ‘e’^ which follows it, as 24 to 23.. All the semitones therefore m this scale are minor.
(3 y) Many composers begin with determining and writing the bass} a method, however, whici aPPe^^
:rt II;
M U
aciples so ^at from ^ie whole taken together, the ear may on-
imposi- ly receive, if we may speak so, one simple and indivi-
sible impression.
'W'"-' 3. That the character of the same modulation may
he diversified, according to the character of the bass
which is joined with it.
But notwithstanding the dependency of melody up¬
on harmony, and the sensible influence which the lat¬
ter may exert upon the former-, we must not however
conclude, with some celebrated musicians, that the
effects of harmony are preferable to those of melo¬
dy. Experience proves the contrary. [See, on this
account, what is written on the license of music, print¬
ed in tom. iv. of D’Alembert’s Melanges de Literature.
p. 448.].
s 1 c.
533
General Remark.
The diatonic scale or gammut being composed of
twelve semitones, it is clear that each of these semi¬
tones taken by itself may be the generator of a mode 5
and that thus there must be twenty-four modes in all,
twelve major and twelve minor. We have assumed
the major mode ot C, to represent all the major modes
in general, and the minor mode of A to represent the
modes minor, to avoid the difficulties arising from sharps
and flats, of which we must have encountered either a
greater or lesser number in the other modes. But the
rules we have given for each mode are general, what¬
ever note of the gammut be taken for the generator of
a mode.
Principles
of Composi¬
tion.
PART II. PRINCIPLES AND RULES OF COMPOSITION.
Cioosi- 15^- COMPOSITION, called also counterpoint, is
tiu.in har-not on]^ tjie art 0f composing an agreeable air, but also
wj ’ thatof composingseveral airs in such a manner that when
Sc ompo- heard at the same time, they may unite in producing an
sit , effect agreeable and delightful to the ear 5 this is what
we call composing music in several parts.
The highest of these parts is called the treble, the
lowest is termed the bass; the other parts, when there
are any, are termed middle parts; and each in particur
lar is signified by a dift’erent name.
Ghap. I. Of the Different Names given to the same
Interval.
fa fifth,
uli.
159. In the introduction (art. 9.), we have seen a
detail of the most common names given to the different
intervals. But particular intervals have obtained dif¬
ferent names, according to circumstances ; which it is
proper to explain.
160. An interval composed of a ton© and a semi-
toae, which is commonly called a third minor, is like¬
wise sometimes called a second redundant; such is the
interval from C to D/& in ascending^ or that of A tOv
Gb descending.
This interval is so termed, because one of the sounds,
which form it is always either sharp or flat,, and that,
it that sharp or flat be taken away, the interval will be
that of a second (3 g).
161. An interval composed of two tones and two
semitones, as that from B to ‘f’, is called a false fifth.
This interval is the same with the tritone (art. 9,), since
two tones and two semitones are equivalent to thrc©
tones. There are, however, reasons for distinguishing
them, as will appear below.
162. As the. interval from C to D>& in ascending rg_
has been called a second redundant, we likewise calldundant,
the interval from C to G$ in ascending, a fifth re dun- what,
dant, or from B to Eb .in descending, each of which in¬
tervals is composed of four tones (3 h).
This interval is, in the main, the same with that ofDistin-
the sixth minor (art. 6 ) : but in the fifth redundant Suished
there is always a sharp or flat j insomuch, that if thisf!:om th?
sharp or flat were removed, the interval would becomeS1Xth nU'
a.true fifth. ne1''
163. For the same reason, an interval composed of Seventh di-
three tones and three semitones, as from G$ to ‘f ’ in finished,
ascending, is called a seventh diminished; because, ifwhat
we remove the sharp from G, the interval from G to
‘1’ will become that of an ordinary seventh. The in¬
terval of a seventh diminished is in other respects the
same with that of the sixth major (art. 9.J (3 1).
164. The major seventh is likewise sometimes called Seventh
a seventh redundant (3 k). major and
redundant
Chap. II. Comparison of the Different Intervals. comcidenU
165. If we sing ‘c’ B in descending by a second, Notes jn
and afterwards C B in ascending by a seventh, these different
two B’s shall be octaves one to the other} or, as weoctaves<>r
commonly express it, they will be replications one 0f sca!esrePli-
the other. each of the
166, On account then of the resemblance between other.
every
general more proper to produce a learned and harmonious music, titan a strain prompted by genius and animated
by enthusiasm.
(3 g) For the same reason, this interval is frequently termed by English musicians an extreme sharp second.
(3 h) This interval is usually termed by English theorists a sharp fifth.
(3 l) The material difference between the diminished seventh and the major sixth is, that the former always
implies a division of the interval into three minor thirds, whereas a division into a fourth and third major, or
into a second and major and minor third, is usually supposed in the latter.
(3 k) The chief use of these different denominations is therefore to distinguish chords: for instance, the.
chord of the redundant fifth and that of the diminished seventh are different from the chord of the sixth } the
chord of th,e seventh redundant, from that of the seventh major. This will be explained in the following,
chapters, 3
53t
Principles
of Composi¬
tion.
one rep xca-
tion, and
rise to ano
tlier, has
the same
efiect.
Detail of
replica¬
tions.
D samples
►of tliis.
every sound and its octave (art 22.), it follows, that
to rls by a seventh, or descend by a second, amount to
^j^In like manner, it is evident that the sixth des¬
cending is nothing but a replication of the third ascend¬
ing, nor the fourth descending bat a replication of the
fifth ascending. , ,
j 68. The following expressions either are or oufelit
to be regarded as synonymous.
To rise by a second.—‘To descend by a seventh.
To descend by a second.—To rise by a_seventh.
To rise by a third.—To descend by a sixth.
To descend by a third—To rise by a sixth.
To rise by a fourth—To descend by a fifth.
To descend by a fourth—To rise by a fifth.
M U S I C. . It
169. Thus, therefore, we shall employ them indifTer- FrmcipleS1
cntly the one for the other ; so that when we say, forof Compr
instance, to rise by a third, it may be said with equal
propriety to descend by o sixth, &c.
tion.
Chap. TIL Of the Clefs ; of the Value or Quantity s
of the Rhythm ; and of Syncopation.
There are three cleffs 1' in music j the h clefFf See Clef,
‘ < 11.1 ^ Clefts,
f): ; the C cliff ipj ; and the G cleff g) . what,
The F cleff is placed on the fourth line (3 l) or onand \mv
the third ; and the line on which this cleff is placed gives placed,
the name of F to all the notes on tnat line. _ CCCH V
The C cleft’ is placed on the fourth, the third, the ^
second, or the first line : and in these different positions F;g-
all
, , . , , „ • , „ . nf 1,:t snhiect with somewhat less perspicuity than usual. He has nei-
.,^3d^rd on whieUe deft «. pl.««d, ».r explained their reiation to earl.
tlieir duration, and the other qualities in en c . ^ s jt js termed, the pilch of sounds, are intended
to ^h= wee, in tlie'exercise of which, or the employment of instruments
Frorrf the6 lowest distinct note, urithoitt'^sti^iningt'of0 tlm'rna^culine^ '^i^^^nje^otes6^ n°^e ®eneK1^ produced
"Tt "«^ep;:s:^ •» ’•««" ^ ^tw ^ ^
according to their duration, but with this we hav,
at exteTof til tomtln rote, upoTthe”^ -presented as at
tising from the lowest ^
-cute thif note with gL,er
^•centra, note, then, being producible by every species ^ voice '.as Wn assumed - a^ndamrnta, or hey
Each staff is subdivided into Aw* and spaces. On
the its and in the spaces, the heads of the notes are placed. The lines and spaces are counted "pwardi, from
1 e owSt to the highest; he lowest line is termed tile first line; the space between . and the seend /me tsde
nominated the/rstW and so on. Both lines and spaces have the common name of degrees ; the stall thus
C0T”r;.tXtVt o^fg^s;tP"tmedhyaS(# one of the Jeffs mentioned in the text is
G or treble cleff distinguishes the line carrying ‘g’, the perfect filth above the tenor C. And F or ha..
“m^gnt‘rt,;" Go««o C, C, and D, and their
by the five highest lines of the general system 5 and that tlve stall which compiclients ie ass
The central line, which carries the tenor C, belongs neither to the treble nor the bass stales. But ns.^a
frequently occurs in composition written on these staves, a small portion of the tenor me is occasi a y
^uced below the treble cleff and above that of the bass (fig. 3-).
and
’art If. M U
all the notes on the same line with the clelF take the
name of C.
The G cletT is placet! on the second or first line j
and all the notes on the line of the clelf take the name
of G.
171. As the notes are placed on the lines, and in
the spaces between the lines, the name of any note may
be discovered fron the position of the cleft'. Thus, in
the F cleft', the note on the lowest line is G ; the note
on the space between the two first lines A; the note on
second line B, &c.
172. A note before which there is a sharp (marked
thus $) must be raised by a semitone 5 and if there be
a flat (marked b) before it, it must be depressed by a
semitone.
US-7
.'ames of
he notes to
e investi-
aled fro;u
ie posi-
jn of the
leffs.
arks and
iver of
irps, flats,
id natu-
S I C. r..
r i »? A >
Ine natural (marked thus 1]) restores to its natural Principles
value a note winch had been raised or depressed by a°fComposi-
semitone. lion.
173. When a sharp or a flat is placed at the clefF,   
all the notes upon the line or space on which this ''0
.>liai p 01 flat is marked, are sharp or flat. For instance,
if in the cleft of G a sharp be placed on the highest
line, which is the place of all the notes on that
line will he J }/\ —to restore them to the original va¬
lue of */ ’ natural, a t] must be placed before them.
In the same manner, if a flat be marked at the cleft', Fi,r f
all the notes on the same line or space with the flat will 9’
he flat ; to restore them to their natural state, a t) must
be placed before them (3 m).
I74- Fvery piece of music is divided into different ®ars and
1 Times.
equal
vvliat,
As notes still more remote from the staff in use are sometimes introduced, small portions of the lines to which
these lines belong are employed in the same manner. Thus, if in writing in the bass staff we want the note properly
placed on the lowest line of the treble staff, we draw two short lines above the bass staff, one representing the tenor
Ime^ and the other the lowest line of the treble staff, and on this last short line we place the note in question (ft- 4 )
On the other hand, if, in writing on the treble staff, we would employ a note properly belongino- to the bass
staff, we place it below the treble staff, and insert the requisite short lines, representing the correspondimr lines
ol the general system (fig. 5.). ^ s
The occasional short lines thus employed are termed leger lines.
The same expedient is used to represent notes beyond the limits of the general system. Thus, we write the F
which is one degree lower than the lowest G of the bass staff, on the space below that G ; the E immediately
lower, or on a leger line below the bass stall, and so on. Notes in this position are ttvmtA double ; thus the F
just mentioned is double F, or FF; the E, or double E, EE, &c. ’
Again, the ‘a’ above the highest ‘g' of the treble staff is placed on a leger line above that staff. The 7/ is
placed on the space above the leger line : The next note ‘c’ is set on a second leger line, and so on. These hi-h
notes are, in compositions for some instruments, carried more than an octave above the general system. Those In
the first octave are said to be in alt; those beyond it, to be in ultissimo.
The tenor or C cleff is employed to form different intermediate staves between the treble and bass according
to the compass of the voice or instrument for which the staff is wanted. ’ 0
Compositions for the gravest .masculine voices and instruments are written on the bass cleff, and those for fe
male voices and instruments highest in tone, on the treble staff'*.
For masculine voices next in depth to the bass, and for the higher octave of the violoncello and bassoon
a stall', called the tenor staff, is formed by adding to the tenor line the three highest lines of the bass staff and
the lowest line of the treble (fig. 6. 1.).
For the highest masculine voices, which are called counter tenor, and for the tenor violin, a staff is formed by
the tenor line, the two highest lines of the bass, and the two lowest of the treble staff (fig. 6. 2.). ^
For the gravest female voices, which are called me-zzo soprano, the tenor line and four lowest lines of the
treble form a staff (fig. 6. 3.)
The relation of all the staves to the general system, and to each other, will appear from fig. 6.
The bass cleff on the third line, the tenor cleff on the second, and the treble cleff on the first, rarely occur ex-
cept in old French music.
The tenor cleff, and the staves distinguished by it, are now less frequently used than the treble and bass cleft's.
Those who cultivate music only as an amusement find it irksome to learn so many modes of notation. The tenor
staves are accordingly banished from compositions for keyed instruments. Secular compositions for voices are like¬
wise now written in the treble and bass staves only j although in this there is some inaccuracy, as the tenor parts
now written in the treble staff, must often be sung an octave below that, in which they appear. The chief use of
the tenor cleft'is in choral music and compositions for the bassoon and tenor violin ; and its principal advantage,
the facility of reading ancient music, which is almost exclusively written in this cleff, has seldom been deemed*an
insufficient recompense for the labour of acquiring it.
(3 M.) The disposition of sharps or flats at the cleff, which is termed the signature, depends upon the mode or
tone assumed in the composition as a fundamental or key note, and will be afterwards explained.
The sharps or flats of the signature affect not only the notes placed on the same degree with themselves, as men¬
tioned in the text, but also all the notes of the same letter, in every octave throughout the movement.
The sharps or flats of the signature determine the scale in which the movement is composed, and are therefore said '
to be essential; those which occur in the course of the piece on an occasional change of the scale, are termed accidental.
* Compositions for French horns are written in the treble stair' although the tone of the instrument be very grave; but this is he-*
6ause the horn is borrowed from, and has the same natural intervals with the Trumpet, which is an acute instrument..
536
Principles equal times, called measures', and each measure is like-
of Composi-wise divided into different times.
tion. There are properly two kinds of measures or modes ot
m" time j the measure of two times, or common time, mark-
See 2 imc. ^ ^ f g 2 at the begmning of the time (fig. 10.) ,
and the measure of three times, or triple time, marked
by the figure 3 placed in the same manner (hg. li.J«
The different measures arc distinguished by perpen¬
dicular lines (3 N), called bars.
In a measure, we distinguish between the s/rowg and
the weak time : the strong time is that which is W;
the weak, that in which the hand or foot is raised. A
measure consisting of four times ought to be consider¬
ed as compounded of two measures, each consisting ot
two times : thus there are in this measure two strong
and two weak times. In general by the words strong
MUSIC. . Partt
and weak even the parts of the same time are distin- prindp],
guished j thus, the first note of each time is considered of (’omp.,
ip<j|
as strong and the others as weak.
175. The longest of all notes is a semibreve. A mi-
nhn is half its value that is to say, two minims are toofnoteS(
be performed in the time occupied by one semibreve, duration.
A minim in the same manner is equivalent to twoFi^. 12, J
crotchets, the crotchet to two quavers^ o).
176. A note which is divided into two parts by aSyncopa.
bar, that is, which begins at the end of a measure, and tion vvl: ;
terminates in the measure following, is called a sync°-
pated note (3 p)» # . .
177. A note followed by a point or dot is 10creased ya]l]C 0pi
half its value. Thus a dotted semibreve is equivalent a pointu
to a semibreve and a minim, a dotted minim, to a mi-note,
nim and a crotchet, &c. (Fig. 17.) (3 Q.)*
■ ri a ti
(3 n) All the notes, therefore, contained between two bars constitute one measure ; although in common lan.
^’Vhc0!!” tSXKS o7aa W and a stem, except the semibreve, which has a Won,,,
■^iie place of the’note in tipstaff is determined by the head, which must be placed o» the line, or m the space,
to two demi-semieptavers. In modern music
i1'Th7(iu7merlan'dethe Mtra of thorto duration may be grouped together by two, three or four, &c and jomed
bv as many black lines across the ends of the stem as there are hooks in the single note (fig. 12). 1 ^
rnpnf is convenient in writing, and assists the eye in performance. _ .
When quavers or the shorter notes, are to be repeated in the same degree for a time equal to the duration of
a longer note the’ iterations are, by a sort of musical short-hand, represented by writing the long note only, and
piacint^ovei*3or under It, as many short lines as the short note has hooks (fig, 13.) And the repetition of a sene
of short notes is represented by merely writing for each repetition as many short lines as there are hook
,hort notes aCmeasure is alsotaid to be syncopated when it begins on a rtnwg, and ends on a
weak part of the measure, (see fig. 15.) where D, C, and B are each of them syncopate . { d
A note which of itself occupies one, two, or more measures, is not said to be syncopated, but continued 0 p
Notes^have'sometimes in modern music a double dot after them, which makes them longer by three-
fburths. Thus a minim twice dotted is equal to three crotchets and a half, or seven quavers, &c.
Our author, in this chapter, has omitted the explanation of rests, and ol the particular modiheatmns of 6
Rests are characters indicating the temporary suspension of musical sounds. Ihere are as many t
as there are notes. Thus the semibreve rest indicates a pause of the duration of a semibreve , the minim rest,
a The semibreve8rest also denotes the silence of one entire measure, in triple as well as conimon time. The
silence of several measures is marked as in fig. 18. j but where the silence exceeds three bars, the number is usual¬
ly marked over the rests.
Common time is either of a semibreve, or of a minim to the measure.
Conimon time of a semibreve is indicated by the letter C at the cleft, fig. l» ’
meant to be somewhat quicker than usual, a perpendicular line is drawn through the C, (hg. 2.).
Common time of a minim to the measure, which is called half time, is indicated by the fraction *, that is, two-
fourths of a semibreve, or two crotchets equal to a minim, (fig. 3.)- . . , . •
In triple time the measure consists of three minims, three crotchets or three quavers, six crotchets or -
quavers, nine quavers or twelve quavers. „ ^ .
Triple time of three minims is marked at the cleff that is, three halves of a semibreve, ( g. 4.;
Triple time of three crotchets is indicated by tile fraction -i-, (three-fourths of a semibreve) ( g. 5O an
three quavers by 4 (three-eighths of a semibreve), (fig. 6.) . , , .
In the last three examples the measure is divided into three times, of which the first is strong, an t ie
The measure of six crotchets is marked (fig. 7*) j an^ that of six quavers f, (fig. 8.). In both there
two times, of which the first is strong, and the second weak. rp. .
The measure of nine quavers is marked £, (fig. 9.) j and is divided into one strong and two wea lines,
of twelve quavers is marked ^3. (fig. 10.) j and is accented as if it were two measures ol six quavers.
The measures of £ and ^ rarely occur. i • / /"fi 11.)
Three notes are often performed in the time of two of the same name, and are then termed t/ipcts, ( S^ere
’rinciples
Composi¬
tion.
;rfect
Lords,
'iiat.
’art II. M U
Chap. IV. Definition of the principal Chords.
ll%- (3R) The chord composed of a third, a fifth,
and an octave, as C, E, G, C, is called & perfect chord
(art. 32.).
If the third be major, as in C, E, G, C, the perfect
chord is denominated major: if the third be minor, as
in A, C, E, A, the perfect chord is minor. The per¬
fect chord major constitutes the major mode; and the
perfect chord minor, the minor mode (art. 31.).
179. A chord composed of a third, a fifth, and a
seventh, as G, B, D, F, or D, F, A, C, &c. is called
a chord of the seventh. Such a chord is wholly com¬
posed of thirds in ascending.
All chords of the seventh are practised in harmony,
save that which might carry the third minor and the
seventh major, as C Ej? G B j and that which might
carry a false fifth and a seventh major, B I) F A>&
(chap. xiv. Part I.).
180. As thirds are either major or minor, and as
they may be differently arranged, it is clear that there
are difterent kinds ot chords of the seventh ; there is
even one, B D I A, which is composed of a third, a
false fifth, and a seventh.
181. A chord composed of a third, a fifth, and a
sixth, as F A C D, D F A B, is called a chord of the
greater sixth.
182. Every note which carries a perfect chord is
called a tonic ; and a perfect chord is marked by an
by a 3, or by a 5, which is written above the note j
hut frequently these numbers are suppressed. Thus in
the example 1. the two C’s equally carry a perfect
chord.
. Every note which carries a chord of the seventh
is called a dominant (art. 102.) 5 and this chord is
marked by a 7 written above the note. Thus in the
example II. D carries the chord D F A C, and G the
chord G B D F.
It is necessary to remark, that among the chords
VOL. XIV. Part II.
S I c.
537
ord of
i so¬
uth,
mt, and
wto be
tctised.
ose of
erent
ds.
the
ter
] ’late
fLVII
lie,
}t, and
hords,
figur-
I inant,
, and
%ur-
of the seventh we do _ not reckon the chord of the Principles
seventh diminished, which is only improperly called aofComposi-
chord of the seventh ; and of which we shall say more bon.
. 184. Every note which carries the chord of the great Sub-domi-
sixtb, is called a subdominant, (art. 97. and 42.) and naut what,
is marked with a 6. 'I hus in the example Hi. Fan<^ bow
carries the chord of F A C D. The sixth should al-^Ure^’
ways be major, (art. 97. and 109.).
183. In every chord, whether perfect, or a chord ^undamen-
of the seventh, or of the great sixth, the note whichtal note>
cames this chord, and which is the flattest or lowest, what‘
is called the fundamental note. Thus C in the ex- See Fun.
ample 1. D and C in the example 11. and F in the ex- damental.
ample in. are fundamental notes.
186. In every chord of the seventh, and of the great Dissonance
sixth, the note which forms the seventh or sixth above ot a ehonl,
the fundamental, that is to say, the highest note of thewliat-
chord, is called a dissonance. Thus in the chords of
the seventh G B D F, I) F A C, F and C are the
dissonances, viz. F with relation to G in the first chord,
and C with relation to D in the second. In the chord
of the great sixth F A C D, D is the dissonance (art.
120.) ; but that D is only, properly speaking, a disson¬
ance with relation to C from which it is a second, and
not with respect to F from which it is a sixth major
(art. 17. and 18.).
187. V hen a chord of the seventh is composed of r^omc and
a third major followed by two thirds minor, the fun-si"lple do-
damental note of this chord is called the tonic domi-
nant. In every other chord of the seventh the funda¬
mental is called the simple dominant (art. 102.). Thus
in the chord G B D F, the fundamental G is the tonic
dominant; but in the other chords of the, seventh, as
C E G B, D I A C, &c. the fundamentals C and D
are simple dominants.
188. In every chord, whether perfect, or of theMaJor
seventh, or of the sixth, if it is meant that the third uhords’
above the fundamental note should be major thoughSerldmi*-
it be naturally minor, a sharp must be placed above the nor, and
f 3 Y fundamentalvice versa-
'Xe z°:X:?rare tr,Vets’ a"d each trif'ct occup!es tiic ,im° °f
Certain other characters will be with propriety explained here.
Sre 7:rrSni;r that 1-e regl,,laiI time is t0 be ^ »ote marked with the pause protracted
bee hg. 13. where the pause is on the last note of the second measure. P protracted.
See fig. iT^’ a Chara£te1' resemblinS an S> denotes, that the following part of the movement must be repeated.
staff is placed! ^ 150 ^ ^ ^ °f the ^ t0 she'V UJ)0n what degree the first note of the following
w Jd />/? JUnfr SldeS1 °f jW0 barS dotted’ the measures between them are to be repeated (fig. 16.). The
woi d tns is sometimes placed over such passages. 1 \ 6 /
1 lie double bar distinguishes the end of a movement or strain, (fig. t eA If the double bar he dotterl on
XXtrf: ,rr to b,e (fi*- i8d-,Ti- ^ ™ sb:s 11 z
tram terminates before the end of a measure, as is often the case, the double bar only marks the conclusion of
e strain, but the time is kept exactly as if it were not inserted. See fig. to
endosFrr °f ?X<!r‘:0n an<i eTeS!'°"S"cl.1 aS tl,e aI>l,08'aI|lre, the shake, the slur, the crescendo, the diminu-
“ t^CeTo “;esss s°„iKETfra,ion of the of music or jri”^ies -p--; tz;
"istZZTe ZmXg1n 2^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
MUSIC.
Principles fundamental note. For example, if %ve would mark the
ofComposi-perfect major chord D F$ A D, as the thin a o\e
ti°n. ]) is naturally minor, we place above D a sharp, as in
k-”'v ' Example iv. In the same manner, the chord ot the
seventh D F$ A C, and the chord of the great sixth
D F'^ A B, is marked with a $ above D, and above
the a 7 or a 6 (see v. and VI.). _
On the contrary, when the third is naturally major,
and if we would render it minor, we place above the
fundamental note a t>- ThuSthe example vn.vm.
ix. shew the chords G Bfr D G G B[j D F, G Bt> D E
(3 s)-
Chap. V. Of the Fundamental Bass.
Fund amen- l8o. Let a modulation be invented at pleasure ; and
tal bass under this modulation let there he set a bass composed
of different notes, of which some may carry a pertect
chord, others that of the seventh, and others that ot
the great sixth, in such a manner that each note ot the
modulation which answers to each of the bass, may be
one of those which enters into the chord of that note in
the bass *, this bass being composed according to the
rules which shall be immediately given, will be the
fundamental bass of the modulation proposed, bee
'Part I. where the nature and principles of the funda¬
mental bass are explained.
Thus (Exam, xvi.) it will be found that this modu¬
lation, CDEFGABC, has or may admit for its
fundamental bass, CGCFCDGC.
In reality, the first note C in the upper part is
found in the chord of the first note C in the bass,
which chord is G E G C 5 the second note D in the
treble is found in the chord G B D G •, which is the
chord of the second note in the bass, &c. and the bass
is composed only of notes which carry a perfect chord,
Part III
how form
ed.
See Funda¬
mental
bass.
or that of the seventh, or that of the great sixth. Principle:
Moreover it is formed according to the rules which we of Compos
are now about to give. ■ t’1“TI'_
Chap. VI. Rules for the Fundamental Bass.
190. All the notes of the fundamental bass being Rules fo;
only capable of carrying a perfect chord, or the chord the form
of the seventh, or that of the great sixth, are either^011 ’
tonics, or dominants, or sub-dominants j and the domi¬
nants may he either simple or tonic.
The fundamental bass ought always to begin with
a tonic, as much as it is practicable. And now follow
the rules for all the succeeding chords ; rules wdiich
are evidently derived from the principles established in
the First Fart of this treatise. To be convinced of
this we shall find it only necessary to review the articles
34, 91, 122, 124, 126, 127.
Rule I.
191. In every chord of the tonic, or ol the tonic
dominant, it is necessary that at least one of the notes
which form that chord should be found in the chord
that precedes it.
Rule II.
192. In every chord of the simple dominant, it is
necessary that the note which constitutes the seventh,
or dissonance, should likewise be found in the preceding
chord.
Rule III.
jp3. J11 every chord of the sub-dominant, at least
one of its consonances must be found in the preceding
chord. Thus, in the chord of the sub-dominant F A
C D, it is necessary that F, A, or C, which are the
consonances
r , We may only add, that there is no occasion for marking these sharps or flats when they are originally
p,a(c3edluheS. for bs.aoce, if the sharp he upon F which indicates the k^r oKl (see ExanwxO 't^is suf-
Lieut to write D, without a sharp, to mark the perfect chord major of U, F> I « ^ U. In the same manner,
tn the Example XI. where the flat is at the cleff upon B, which denotes the key of F, it is sufficient to write ,
^ButVhe^tWe uTsh^or a flat at the cleff, if we would render the chord minor which is major, or
vice versa, we must place above the fundamental note a 1} or natural. 1 bus the Example XII. marks the mi
chord D F A D, and Example Xlil. the major chord G B D G-Sometimes in lieu of a natural a flat 1
used to signify the minor choLl, and a sharp to signify the major. Thus Example XIV. m the key of G, marks
the minor chord DEAD, and Example xv. in F, the major chord G B D G.
When in a chord of the great sixth, the dissonance, that is to say, the sixth, ought to be sharp, and when the
sharp is not found at the cleff, we write before or after the 6 a $ i and if this sixth should be flat according
l1’In'the rLYmanner, if in a chord of the seventh of the tonic dominant, the dissonance, that is to say, the
seventh, ought to be flat or natural, we write by the side of the seventh a ^ or a ¥any 0f
seventh from the simple dominant ought to be altered by a sharp or anatura , uive 1 ewisewri en y
the seventh a $ or a 1} ; hut M. Rameau suppresses these characters. The reason shall be given ,
'VfTheVLtntip'T.he c«, and if we wouid ,nark the chord G B D F* or the chord A C E Ft|, we
Ifa: V: aA and if we weld mark the chord C E G E*. we ought
to place before the seventh a $ or a 1}; and so of the rest. . . „ . , 1 r •.;ncr the
All these intricate combinations of figuring shew the superior convenience 0. tie mo ern me. 1 ^mprit of
notes themselves instead of the figures, which has the farther advantage ot exhibiting t .e proper arrang
the chord, see Example II.
’art II. M U
rinciples consonances of the chord, should be found in the chord
Coraposi-preceding. The dissonance JD may either be found in
Rule IV.
194. Every simple or tonic dominant ought to de¬
scend by a fifth. In the first case, that is to say,
when the dominant is simple, the note which follows
can only be a dominant, in the second it may be any
one ; or, in other words, it may either be a tonic, a
tonic dominant, a simple dominant, or a sub-dominant.
It is necessary, however, that the conditions prescribed
in the second rule should be observed, if it be a simple
dominant.
I his last reflection is necessary, as will presently be
seen. For, let us assume the succession of the two
chords A (.’$ E G, D F A C (see Exam, xvil.), this
succession is by no means legitimate, though in it the
first dominant descends by a fifth ; because the C which
forms the dissonance in the second chord, and which
belongs to a simple dominant, is not in the preceding
chord. But the succession will be admissible, if, with¬
out meddling with the second chord, we take away the
sharp carried by the C in the first; or if, without
meddling with the first chord, we render C and F sharp
in the second (3T) ; or, if we simply render the I) of
the second chord a tonic dominant, in causing it to car¬
ry F:& instead of F^ (119. and 1 22.).
It is likewise by the same rule that we ought to re¬
ject the succession of the two following chords,
D F A C, G B D F« ;
£see Exam. XVIII.).
Rule V.
195. Every sub-dominant ought to rise by a fifth;
and the note which follows it may, at pleasure, be
either a tonic, a tonic dominant, or a sub-dominant.
Remark.
I errules Of the five fundamental rules which have now been
Htituted given, instead of the three first, one may substitute
the three following, which are consequences from
them.
Rule I.
If a note of the fundamental bass be a tonic, and
rise by a fifth or a third to another note, that second
SIC. . 539
note may be either a iomc (34. & 91.), see Examples Principles
xxx. and xx. (3 u) ; a tonic dominant (124.), see otConiposi-
XXI. and xxil. ; or a sub-dominant (124.), see xxm. ti011-
and xxiv ; or, to express the rule more simply, that '—v—J
second note may be any one, except a simple domi¬
nant.
Rule II.
If a note of the fundamental bass be a tonic, and
descend by a fifth or a third upon another note, this
second note may be either a tonic (34. &. 91.) see
Exam. xxv. and xxvi. ; or a tome dominant, or a
simple dominant, yet in such a manner that the rule of
art. 192. may be observed (,124.), see XXVII. XXVIII.
xxix. and xxx. ; or a sub-dominant (124.), see xxxi.
and xxxji.
I he succession of the bass C Eli G C, F A C E, is
excluded by art. 192.
Rule III.
If a note in the fundamental bass be a tonic, and
rise by a second to another note, that note ought to be
a tonic dominant, or a simple dominant (101. & 102.).
See XXXIV. and XXXV. (3 x).
We must here advertise our readers, that the exam¬
ples xxxvi. xxxvii. xxxviii. xxx Lx. belong to the
fourth rule above, art. 194. 5 and the examples XL.
xli. xlii. to the fifth rule above, art. 195. See the
articles 34, 35, 121, 123, 124.
Remark I.
196. The transition from a tonic dominant to a Perfect and
tonic is called an absolute vepose, or a perject cadence imperfect
(73.) ; and the transition from a sub-dominant to acadences-
tonic is called an imperfect or irregular cadence (73.) ; al‘d
the tonic falls upon the accented part of the bar. See
XLI1I. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. P }
Remark II.
. I97- We must avoid, as much as we can, syncopa-Syncopa¬
tions in the fundamental bass; that the ear may accu-tion only
rately distinguish the primarily accented part of a mea-!tdm'ssiWe
sure, by means of a harmony different from that which j" tlle fu.lu
it had before perceived in the last unaccented part of the ba^by3
preceding measure. Nevertheless syncopation may be license,
sometimes admitted in the fundamental bass, but it is
by a license (3 y).
3 Y 2 Chap.
(3 x) In this chord it is necessary that the C and F should be sharp at the same time ; for the chord D F A C «
m which C would be sharp without the F, is excluded by art. 179. s ’
(3 u) When the bass rises or descends from one tonic to another by the interval of a third, the mode is
commonly changed ; that is to say, from a major it becomes a minor. For instance, if we ascend from the
tonic E, the major mode of C, C E G C, will be changed into the minor mode of E
A. G B E. We must never ascend from one tonic- to another, when there is no sound common to both theirmodes:
for example, we cannot rise from the mode of C, C E G C, to the minor mode of E[j, Ejl G[i B[i E[j (91.1.
(3 x) Ihus all the intervals, viz. the third, the fifth, and second, may be admitted in the fundamental bass ex¬
cept that of a second in descending. Che rules now given for the fundamental bass, are not, however, without
exception, as approved compositions in music will certainly discover ; but these exceptions being in reality licences
and for the most part in opposition to the great principle of connection, which prescribes that there should be at
least one note in common between a preceding and a subsequent chord, it does not seem necessary to enter into a
minute detail of these licences in an elementary work, where the first and most essential rules of the art alone
ought to be expected. '
(3 y) There are notes which may be found several times in the fundamental bass in succession with a dif¬
ferent
54°
oT to nip os!- Chap. VII. Of the Rules which ought to be observed
tiou- in the Treble with relation to the Fundamental Bass.
MUSIC.
Part I
Definition
of treble.
108. The treble Is nothing else but a modulation
above the fundamental bass, and whose notes are found
in the chords of that bass which corresponds with it
(180.). Thus in Ex. XVl. the scale C D E F L,
is a treble with respect to the fundamental bass COL
jp 0 D Or C
One note - ^ye are about to give the rules for the treble j
in, the!:re‘ but first we think it necessary to make the two follow-
Obvious, .bat many notes of the treble may
respondent ansvver to one and the same note m the fund amenta
parts, and bass when these notes belong to the chord of the
y* same note in the fundamental bass. For example, this
modulation C E G E C, may have for its fundamental
bass the note C alone, because the chord of that note
comprehends the sounds C, E, G, which are found m
the treble.
2. In like manner, a single note in the treble may,
for the same reason, answer to several notes in the
bass. For instance, G alone may answer to these three
notes in the bass, C G C (3 z).
Rule I. For the Treble.
200. If the note which forms the seventh in a chord
of the simple dominant, is found in the treble, the note
which precedes it must be the very same. This is what
we call a discord prepared (122). For instance, let us
suppose that the note of the fundamental bass shall be
I), bearing the chord of the simple dominant D F A C ;
and that this C, which (art. r8. and 118.) is the dis¬
sonance, should be found in the treble } it is necessary
that the note which goes before it in the treble should
likewise be a C.
201. According to the rules which we have given
for the fundamental bass, C will always be found in the
chord of that note in the fundamental bass which pre¬
cedes the simple dominant D. See XLVIH. xlix. L.
In the first example the dissonance is C, in the second
G, and in the third E : and these notes are already in
the preceding chord (4 a).
Rule II.
202. If a note of the fundamental bass be a tonic
dominant, or a simple dominant, and il the dissonance
be found in the treble, this dissonance in the same
treble ought to descend diatonically. But if the note
of the bass be a sub-dominant, it ought to rise diatoni¬
cally. This dissonance, which rises or descends diatoni¬
cally, is what we have called a dissonance saved or re¬
solved (129, 130.). See LH. LIU. liv.
203. According to the rules for the fundamental bass
which we have given, the note upon which the disson¬
ance
Prlncip
of Compi.
tion
ferent harmony. For instance, the tonic C, after having carried the chord C E G C may be followed by ano¬
ther C which carries the chord of the seventh, provided that this chord be the chord of the tonic dommant C E
G Bb In the same manner, the tonic C may be followed by the same tonic C, which may be rendered a sub-
dominant. by causing it to carry the chord C E G A. # , . . . A f
\ dominant whether tonic or simple, sometimes descends or rises to another by the interval of a tritone 01
false fifth. For example, the dominant F carrying the chord F A C E, may be followed by another dominan
B carrying the chord B D F A.. This is a licence in which the musician indulges himself, that he may not be
obliged7toSdepart from the scale in which he is; for instance, from the scale of C to which I and B belong. If
one should descend from F to Bb by the interval of a just fifth, he would then depart from that scale, becau e
There are often in the treble several notes which may, if we choose, carry no chord, and be regarded
merely as notes of passage, serving only to connect between themselves the notes that do carry chords, and to
form a more agreeable modulation. These notes of passage are commonly quavers. be® Pxa"1 * * * * * 7Ple
fPlate CCCLVIII). in which this modulation C D E F G, may be regarded as equivalent to this other, LEG,
•as D and F are no more than notes of passage. So that the bass of this modulation may be simply C G.
When the notes are of equal duration, and arranged in a diatonic order, the notes which are accented ought
rath of them to carry chords. Those which are unaccented, are mere notes of passage. Sometimes, however,
the unaccented note may be made to carry harmony ; but the duration of this note is then commonly increase
by a point placed after it, which proportionably diminishes the continuance of the accented note, and makes 1
1 W hen the notes d6 not move diatonically, they ought generally all of them to enter into the chord which is
placed in the lower part correspondent with these notes. , r 1 • a
(a a) There is, however, one case in which the seventh of a simple dominant may be found m a modulati
without being prepared. It is when, having already employed that dominant in the fundamental bass, its seven 1
is afterwards heard in the modulation, while the dominant is still retained. For instance, let us imagine tins
modulation,
C I D C B C D;
7 7
and this fundamental bass, C j D G C G 5
(see example Li.) j the D of the fundamental bass answers to the two notes D C of the treble. The dissonance C
has no need of preparation, because the note D of the fundamental bass having already been employed for the D
which precedes C, the dissonance C is afterwards presented, below which the chord .D may e preserve ,
D F A C.
Part II.
M U
Principles ance ought to descend or rise will always be found in
ot'Comppsi- the subsequent chord (4 b).
tiou.
'—-—J Chap. VIII. Of the Continued Bass and its Rules
;(SeeConft-
medBass. 204. The continued \ bass is a fundamental bass
Continued whose-chords -Are inverted. We invert a chord when
oass, What. we c|iange the order of the notes which compose it.
For example, if, instead of the chord G B D F, we should
say B D I G or D ! G B, &c. the chord is inverted.
The ways in which a Perfect Chord may he In¬
verted.
Chord in¬
verted,
how.
205. The perfect chord C E G C may be inverted
in two different ways.
1. E G CE, which we call a chord of the sixth,
composed of a third, a sixth, and an octave j and in this
case the bass note E is marked with a 6. (See lvi.)
2. G C E G, which we call a chord of the sixth and
fourth, composed of a fourth, a sixth, and an octave 5
and it is marked with a See lvii.
The perfect minor chord is inverted in the same
manner.
The ways in which the Chord of the Seventh may be
Inverted.
206. In the chord of the tonic dominant, as G B D F,
the third major B above the fundamental note G is
called a sensible note (77.) ; and the inverted chord B
D F G composed of a third, a false fifth and a sixth, is
called the chord of the false fifth, and is marked as in
examples LViii. and BIX.
The chord D F G B, composed of a third, a fourth,
and a sixth, is called the chord of the sensible sixth, and
marked as in Example lx. (4 c). In this chord, the
third is minor, and the sixth major.
The chord I G B D, composed of a second, a tritone,
s I c. 54l
and a sixth, is called the chord of the tritone, and is Prinoinlpa
marked as in Example lxi. (4 D). olXomposi-
207. In the chord of the simple dominant D F A C fi°n>
we find, ’v—^
1. FA CD, a chord of the great sixth, which is
composed of a third, a fifth, and a sixth, and which is
figured with a f. See lxii. (4E).
2. A C D F, a chord of the lesser sixth, which is fi¬
gured with a 6. See LXIH. (4 f).
3. C D I A, a chord of the second, composed of a
second, a fourth, and a sixth, and which is marked with
a 2. See lxiv. (4 g).
I he ways in which the Chord of the sub-DOMiNANT
may be Inverted.
208. The chord of the suh-dominant, as F A C D,
may be inverted in three different manners; but the
method of inverting it which is most in practice is the
chord of the lesser sixth A C D F (lxiii.), and the
chord of the seventh D F A C. See lxv.
Pules for the Continued Pass.
209. The continued bass is a fundamental bass,
whose chords are only inverted in order to render it
more in the taste of singing, and suitable to the voice.
See lxvr. in which the fundamental bass which in it¬
self is monotonic and little suited for singing, C G C G C
G C, produces, by inverting its chords, this continued
bass highly proper to be sung, CBCDEFE, &c. (4h).
Hie continued bass then is properly a treble with
respect to the fundamental bass. Its rules immediately
follow, which are properly those already given for the
treble.
Rule I.
210. Every note which carries the chord of the false
fifth,
tl B') Wllen the tl’®ble syncoPa^s descending diatonically, it is common enough to make the second part of
the syncope carry a discord, and the first a concord. See Example lv. where the first part of the syncopated note
G, is m concord with the notes CEGC, which answers to it in the fundamental bass, and wheL the second
part is a dissonance in the subsequent chord A C E G. In the same manner, the first part of the syncopated note
Md theSe“"dpart —5—Ue-
^ This chord is called, by English musicians, the chord of the third and fourth, and generally figuredf.
r ^ w18 C lort .1S 111 England called the chord of the second and fourth, and is figured f" 3
(4 E) We are obliged to mark likewise, in the continued bass, the chord of the sub-dominant with a which
in the fundamental bass is figured with a 6 alone 3 and this to distinguish it from the chords of the sixth and of the
esser sixth (See examples lvi. and lxiii.). The chord of the great sixth in the fundamental bass carries al-
vays the sixth major, whereas m the continued bass it may carry the sixth minor. For instance, the chord of the
toC^mirmr0 ^ ^ Ch°ld ^ ^ ^ ^ E GBC’ thus imP™perly called, since the sixth from E
(4 F) M. Rameau has justly observed, that we ought rather to figure this lesser sixth with a * to distinguish
it from the sensible sixth which arises from the chord of the tonic dominant, and from the sixth which arises from
the perfect chord. In the mean time he figures in his works with a 6 alone, the lesser sixths which do not arise
tiom the tonic dominant; that is to say, he figures them as those which arise from the perfect chord: and we
have followed him in that notation, though we thought with him, that it would be better to mark this chord bv a
particular figure. ^
(4 G) The chord of the seventh B D F A gives, when inverted, the chord F A B D, composed of a third a
tritone, and a sixth. Ihe chord is commonly marked with a 6, as if the tritone were a just fourth. It is his
business who performs the accompaniment, to know whether the fourth above F be a tritone or a fourth redundant,
v^ne may ngure tins chord thus,
(4 H) The continued bass is proportionably adapted to singing, as the sounds which form it more scrupulously
observe
54^ . M U
Principles fifth, and which of consequence must be what we have
ofComposi-called a sensible note, ought {h]r]-) to rise diatonically
tion upon the note which follows it. 1 hus in example
lxiv. the note B, carrying the chord of the false fifth,
rises diatonically upon €(41).
Rule II.
S I c.
Part II.
mg, because these notes are dissonances which ought to Principles
be prepared and resolved (200. 302.). See the exam-of Compost
pie LXVtl. where the second C, which is syncopated, ^M1‘
and which descends afterwards upon B, carries the chord ^ ^
of the second (4K.).
2i 1. Every note carrying the chord of the tritone
should descend diatonically upon the subsequent note.
Thus in the same example lxvi. F, which carries the
.chord of the tritone figured with a 4+, descends diato¬
nically upon E (art. 202.).
Rule III.
Chap IX. Of some Licenses assumed in the Funda¬
mental Bass.
§i.O/Broken and Interrupted Cadences.
212. The chord of the second is commonly put in
practice upon notes which are syncopated in descend-
213. The broken cadence is executed by means of a Broken
dominant which rises diatonically upon another, or upon '
a tonic by a license. See, in the example LXXIV. G A, x<-cu e
(132. and 134O
214. The interrupted cadence is formed by a do-Interrupter
minant, cadence,
how form*
     ed.
observe the diatonic order, because this order is the most agreeable of all. /e “”st‘h“efote ^^"Vi/tte
serve it as much as possible. It is for this reason that the continued bass in Example LXV. much more
same ndes whh resect to that bass as the treble. Thus a uote, for instance D carrying a chord of the seventh
D F A C, to ivhieh the chord of the suh-dominant F A C D corresponds in the fundamental bass, ought to
of the continued bass ought to be the same with that of the
fundamental bass, (see Example I.XVIII.). In the closes which are found in the treble a an
cond and fourth), the notes in the fundamental and continued bass are the same viz. G lor the fust cadence, and
C tor the second. This rule ought above all to be observed in cadences which terminate a piece or a modu-
’it'is necessary, as much as possible, to prevent coincidences of the same notes in the treble and
unless the motion of the continued lias, should be contrary to that of the treble For example n toe first note „
the second measure in Example LXIX. D is found at the same time m the continued bass and n he treble , but
the treble rises from C to D, and from D to E, whilst the bass descends from E to D’.and fr^ ^ to^\ Q £
Two octaves, or two fifths, in succession, must likewise be avoided. For instance, in the sounds G E,
the bass must be prevented from sounding G E, C A, or D B-, because in the first case there aie two octaves m
succession, E against E, and G against G; and because in the second case there are two fifths m succession,
against E and A against G, or D against G, and B against E. This rule as well as the preceding, is found
ed upon this principle, that the continued bass ought not to be a copy of the treble, but to form a different
meEvJry time that several notes of the continued bass answer to one note alone of the fundamental, the composer
satisfies himself with figuring the first of them. Nay he does not even figure it 1 it e a onic , e
above the others a line, continued from the note upon which the chord is formed. See Example LX. . (
CCCLIX.) where the fundamental bass C gives the continued bass C E G E*, the two E s ought m this has
carry the chord 6, and G the chord £ : but as these chords are comprehended in the perfect choidL E G L,
which is the first of the continued bass, we place nothing above C, only we draw a line over G r. G G.
In like manner, in the second measure of the same example, the notes F and D of the continued bass, ar g
from the note G alone of the fundamental bass which carries the chord G B D F, we think it sufficient to hgu
F only, and to draw a line above F and D because the same harmony is used with both. , . f. cn
It should be remarked, that this F ought naturally to descend to E-, but this note is considered as subsisting so
long as the chord subsists j and when the chord changes, we ought necessarily to find the E, as may be seer y
In general, whilst the same chord subsists in passing through different notes, the choid is reckoned the same
if the first note of the chord had subsisted; in such a manner, that, if the first note of t ic cioic is, or m anc ,
the sensible note, we ought to find the tonic when the chord changes. See Example LXXi. w ere tns con inue
bass, C B D B G C, is reckoned the same with this, C, B C. (Example LXXii.). . . , . , , vf
If a single note of the continued bass answers to several notes of the fundamental bass, it is figurec wi 1 e 1
ferent chords which agree to it. For example, the note G in a continued bass may answer to t ns um amen
bass C G C, (see example lxxiii.); in this case we may regard the note G as divided into tluce pai s, 0
which the first carries the chord 1, the second the chord 7, and the third the chord 4*
We shall repeat here, with respect to the rules of the continued bass, what we have formerly sai concerning
the rules of the fundamental bass in the note upon the third rule, art. 193. Ibe rules of the continue ass
exceptions, which practice and the perusal of good authors will teach. I here are likewise several otier ru e
which might require a considerable detail, and which will be found in the Ireatise of Harmony, by . ame^|
I
art II.
rinciples niinant ^yhich descends by a third upon another (136.).
jComposi- See, in the example lxxv. G E (4 l).
tio_n’ . .These cadences ought to be permitted but rarely and
^ with precaution.
2. 0/* Supposition.
ordby 215. When a dominant is preceded by a tonic in
position, the fundamental bass, we add sometimes, in the con¬
tinued bass to the chord ot that dominant, a new note
which is a third or a fifth below ; and the chord which
results from it in this continued bass is called a chord
by supposition.
F01 example, let us suppose, that in the fundamental
bass we have a dominant G carrying the chord of the
seventh G B D F; let us add to this chord the note
C, which is a fifth below this dominant, and we shall
have the total chord C G B D F, or C D F G, which
is called a chord by supposition (4 m).
MUSIC.
543
Of the different kinds of Chords by Supposition.
Principles
of Composi¬
tion.
:■ Suppo-
216. Chords by supposition are of different kinds. '
For instance, the chord of the tonic dominant G B D F
gives,
1. By adding the fifth C, the chord C G B D F,These diffe-
called a chord of the seventh redundant, and composedlent chords
of a fifth, seventh, ninth, and eleventh. It is figured vv^at- iUK*
with a ^7 5 see lxxvi. (4 n). This chord is not prac-^W figUC'
tised but upon the tonic. They sometimes leave out the
sensible note, for reasons which w e shall give in the note
(4 °)> upon the art. 2195 it is then reduced to C F G T>,
and marked with | or 1.
2. By adding the third E, we shall have the chord
E G B D F, called a chord of the ninth, and composed
of a third, fifth, seventh, and ninth. And it is figured
with a 9. This third may be added to every third of
the dominant. See txxvii.
3- If
and elsewhere. These rules, which are proper for a complete dissertation, did not appear indispensably necessary
m an elementary essay on music, such as the present. The books which we have quoted at t^e end oY our S
mmary discourse will more particularly instruct the reader concerning this practical detail. P
(4 LJ) Une may sometimes, but very rarely, cause several tonics in succession to follow one another in ascending
ZtZT g dfTCally’, a8.CE G C’ D FAD, Bfr D F Bb ; but, besides that this succession Lhar'hk”!
necessary, in order to render it practicable, that the fifth below the first tonic should be found in the chord of the
o"f bJ (37.gand note T)! “ beI°W ^ ^ C’ " f°U"d 111 ^ ^ » F A D, and L fte chord S;
the^noite rs^wherTPP°"iti0n ^ a,kind °f 1IcenSe’. yet k is in Some measure founded on the experiment related in
* • rl (s)’ Yhere y?u ma? see.that every principal or fundamental sound causes its twelfth and seventeenth ma
jnr m descend,ng to Vibrate, whilst the twelfth and the seventeenth major ascending resonnd “which seem "to an
thorize us ,n certam cases to join with the fundamental harmony this twelfth and seventeenth hrTe eendVng or
which is the same thing, the filth or the third beneath the fundamental sound. descending , or,
tal Jnnimt l0Ut h!rg reC0,VrS® t0 this experiment, we may remark, that the note added beneath the fnndamen-
rtel 'r T-y fUndame"tal 80und ba l'card- For instance, C added beneath G, causes G to re-
sound. Ihus G is found in some measure to be implied at C.
the third bevatll- thu fuHdamental sound be minor, for example, if to the chord GB DF, we add
i , • Pposition is then no longer founded on the experiment, which only gives the seventeenth major
what is the same thing, the third major beneath the fundamental sound. In this^ase the addition of the third
minor must be considered as an extension of the rule, which in reality has no foundation in the chords emitted by
a sonorens body, but is authorized by the sanction of the ear and by practical experiment. 7
(4N) Many musicians figure this chord with a : M. Rameau suppresses this 2, and merely marks it to
be the seventh redundant by a 7^ or *7. But it may be said, how shall we distinguish this chord from the
eventh major which, as it would seem, ought to be marked wilh a 7* ? M. Rameaulnswers" that there k no
dimfT °r,miSta^e’,becauLse irJ the seventh major, as the seventh ought to be prepared, it is found in the prece-
g c °i , and thus the sharp subsisting already in the preceding chord, it would be useless to repeat it.
*
Thus D G, according to M. Rameau, would indicate D F$A C, G B D F«. If we would change F* of the
S:Zd,t°I?h,°Ft’ to write 1)G. lu notes such as C, whose natural seventh is
redundant C GB m? 7“ “,r ' “"i'1 “ shfi,rP Wl11 efficiently serve to distinguish the chord of the seventh
^“st and wdl fbu JeA " S'm"le Ch°rd ^ Se,e,,tb C E G B’ "bich “ ”^d ™*b » 7 alone. All this
clirdE p WP^Slti°n iIntr”duC,e1S f° a C,10"d disSonances which were not in it before. For instance, if to the
chord h. Lr B D, we should add the note of supposition C descending by a third it is nlain that tl r
sonance between E and D which was in the original chord, we havV ttvo , ew diloances C b’ and C D .W
ts to say, the seventh and the ninth. These dissonances, like the others, ’(t v
subseoue^rchord T*eysne3frd„’ and|reS°ired lles“"di."S Jiatonically upon one of the consonances of the
•i, fhe sensible note alone can be resolved in ascending : but it is even necessary that thk
eherd" they T dl 1° 1" Uie f i.01’11 °[ ^ ^ dofniinL As to the dissonances which are found in the primitive"
tcid, they should always follow the common rules. (See art. 202.). *
544
M U
Principles 3- If to a chord of the simple dominant, as D F AC,
of Composi- we should add the fifth G, we would have the chord G
tion. D F A C, called a chord of the eleventh, and which is
v figured with a 4 or (See lxxviii.)*
SIC. Part II.
note. For this chord we sometimes substitute GB$(DF, Principles
r - - _I1 minnv thirds: nflld ivlllch liaS Of ComDisi
noie. xor iui» vuuiu wv    — , • , '
(116), all composed of minor thirds; and winch has of Cbmposi-
for its* fundamental sound the sensible note G)&. This , tlon-
Observe.
Occasions
when re¬
trench¬
ments of
chords arc
proper.
Chord of
the fifth re
dundant
what, and
how figu¬
red.
217. When the dominant is not a tonic dominant,
we often take away some notes from the chord. lor
example, let us suppose that there is in the fundamen¬
tal bass this simple dominant E, carrying the chord L
G B D : if there should be added the third C beneath,
we shall have this chord of the continued bass C E G
B D ; but we suppress the seventh B, for reasons which
shall be explained in the note upon art. 210. In
this state the chord is simply composed of a third,
fifth, and ninth, and is marked with a 9. See lxxix.
^218. In the chord of the simple dominant, as D F
A C when the fifth G is added, we frequently oblite¬
rate the sounds F and A, that too great a number o
dissonances may be avoided, which reduces the chord
toGCD. This last is composed only of the fourth
and the fifth. It is called a chord of the fourth, and it
is figured with a 4 (44) (see LXXX.).
219. Sometimes we only remove the note A, and
then the chord ought to be figured with 47 or , ( W-.
220. Finally, in the minor mode, for example, in
■that of A, where the chord of the tonic dominant (109),
is E G$B D ; if we add to this chord the third C be¬
low^ we shall have E G« B D, called the chord of the
fifth redundant, and composed of a third, a fifth redun¬
dant, a seventh and a ninth. It is figured as in lxxxi.
(4 s)-
§ 3. Of the Chord of the Diminished Seventh.
221. In the minor mode, for instance, in that of A,
the°flat se- E a fifth from A is the tonic dominant (109), and
venthwhat, carries the chord E G$ B D, in which G is the sensible
and how
figured.
rur na      . . , 7
chord is called a chord of the fiat or diminished seventh,
and is figured with a ^ in the fundamental bass, (see
LXXXIv.) ; but it is always considered as representing
the chord of the tonic dominant.
222. This chord by inversion produces in the conti-Chords pn.
nued bass the following chords : coiirinucd
1. The chord B D F G*, composed of a third, false bass by thk
fifth, and sixth major. They call it the chord oj the wi,at) an(j
sixth sensible and false fifth ; and it is figured as in how figur-
Exam. LXXXV. (Plate CCCLX.).
2. The chord D F G$C B* composed of a third, a tn-
tone, and a sixth. It is called the choi'd oj the intone
and third minor ; and marked as in LXXXVI.
3. The chord F G* B D, composed of a second re¬
dundant, a tritone, and a sixth. It is called the chord
of the second redundant, and figured as in lxxxvii.
(4j2)j. Besides, since the chord G* B D F represents
the chord E G» B D, it follows, that if we operate by ^ ^
supposition upon the first of these chords, it must be per- they
formed as one would perform it upon E G^C B D; that produce,
is to say, that it will be necessary to add to the chord what, »J
G^BI)F, the notes C or A, which are the third or ^ S
fifth below E, and which will produce,
1. By adding C, the chord C G« B D F, composed
of a fifth redundant, a seventh, a ninth, and eleventh,
which is the octave of the fourth. It is called a chord
of the fifth redundant and fourth, and marked as in
LXXXVIII. 7 *rxv,T>
2. By adding A, we shall have the chord AO^
D F, composed of a seventh redundant, a ninth, an
eleventh, and a thirteenth minor, which is the octave
of the sixth minor. . It is called the chord of the
seventh redundant and sixth minor, and marked as m
lxxxix. It is of all chords the most harsh, and the
most rarely practised (4U)- Chap
r.p-i Several musicians call this last chord the chord of the ninth; and that which, 7* M; ®am£an, we
have simply called a chord of the ninth, they term a chord of the ninth and seventh. T iis as ^ noyem)r .
with a . : but the denomination and figure used by M. Kameau are moie simp e ant . already
SLse the chord of the ninth always includes the seventh, except m the cases of which we hate already
spoken. .... ,
(4 r) WeFoten remove fomeius'onances from chords of supposition, either to soften the harshness of the chord
or to remove discords which can neither be prepared nor resolved,
^M^rJ^nse inretainh**
it is usual to retrench from tills chord the sensible note B ; because, as the 0UB,0, t kcs place^in the
and the B to rise to it, the effect of the one would destroy that of the other. Fins above all takes place
suspension, concerning which we shall presently treat. Susuension consists
(4s) Supposition produces what we call suspension; and which is almost the same t g. p
in retaining as many as possible of the son,,,Is in a preceding chord, that they may ^tbf3ri.it
succeeds. For instance, in Example LXXXIl. the C bearing *17 is a supposition ; hut in E^P'j I-™!' ;
L a suspension, because it suspends or retards the perfect chord CEGC which the ear expects after the tonic
donmcint jfxiS^D F. ^ ^ seventh, and the three derived from it, are termed chords of substitution
They are in general harsh, and proper for imitating melancholy objects. . , • tt pTl D onW
(ju) As the chord of the diminished seventh G* BDF, and the chord of the tome dominant EG* BFMny
4
urt II.
incipies
MUSIC.
terC„1P- X' °/^ »«/ rn /fo TVvto w
—1/ i Continued Bass.
Sometimes in a (reble, the dissonance which
”'£rti° have b«n resolTC.‘l by descending diatonically
upon the succeeding note, instead of descending, on the
contrary rises diatonically: but in that case, the note
npon which it ought to have descended must be found
m some of the other parts. This license ought to be
rarely practised, h
• In ^manner, in a continued bass, the dissonance
J Arr ^ .sub-domlnant inverted, as A in the
chord A C E G, inverted from C E G A, may some-
imes descend diatonically instead of rising as It ought
o, ar . 129. N 2. j but in that case the note ought
0 be repeated m another part, that the dissonance may
lie there resolved m ascending. ^
^'d' 225- Sometimes likewise, to render a continued bass
more agreeable by causing it to proceed diatonically,
we place between two sounds of that bass a note which
belongs to the chord of neither. See Example xcir. in
which the fundamental bass G C produces the continu-
ed bass G A B G C, where A is added on account of
the diatonic modulation. This A has a line drawn
chord G^DFr ltS reS°luti0n ,jyPassi«g under the
In the same manner, (see xcm.) this fundamental
Vol XIV Pp°dtUCe the Continued bass C 1) E C F,
• art II.
545
chord6CEG^0, WhiCh ‘3 I>aSSC3 Under tl,e Princes
ofComposi-
tion.
rP', ' Co"ta!n>ng dx Method 'of find:,,, the ' T".
Fundamental Bass taken the continued Bass isS^Z,
figured. mental
_ bass when
226. As the continued bass alone appears in nracti- l.Ile coa-
eal compositions, it becomes necessaiy to know how to^urefl118 ^
ind the lundamental bass when the continued bass is^
ligured. Ibis problem may be easily solved by the fol¬
lowing rules. 3
22J. 1. Every note which has no figure in the con¬
tinued bass, ought to be the same, and without a figure
m the fundamental bass j it is either a tonic, or reckon-
ed such (4 x).
2. Every note which in the continued bass carries a
o, ought m the fundamental bass to give its third be-
low not figured *, or its fifth below marked with a 7. *See FL
e shall distinguish these two cases below. See I vi gw'cd-
and the note (4 y).
I SyEveiy note carrying | gives in the fundamental
bass its filth below not figured. See lvii
4- Every note figured with a 7, or a is the same
m both basses, and with the same figure (4 y).
5- Every note figured with a 2 gives in the funda¬
mental bass the diatonic note above figured with a 7
See lxiv. (4 z). '*
6. Every note marked with a 4 gives in' the funda-
3 ^ mental
differ one from the other by the notes F nml F . « ^ c
then the fundamental bass does nothing but pass’from tlw °-rmia diatonic 'modulation of these two notes, and
to the tonic dominant, till it arrives afthftS. (See xjTC t0 the SenSib,e and that note
rios th,’fi^B o^tUL'dii Et'r„iiimKffS',e? “1“* 9* B D F. »"d ^ d»rJ B D FA. which car
times, while the treble modulates G* a’gs'Vg* A t,,e Jon‘c one may some-
third above, provided one descend at last from thenrpY U \ in* Yndamenta] bass» ^om the bass note to the
XCf ^ 4,16 P-reCeding eXamples are ,icensefi* ° ^ 0mC 0minant’ an from thence to the tonic j (see
Wen removed. ^But in that cast’one ’knr,u'"tl‘a'.V”i>/ ,,C- “ d<™i"al,t fl'om wllic|i the dissonance has
instance, if the note G, carrying a nerfect chord , . j l?""":'"1 ll3' tl,e "otc "’■"ch jirecedes it. For
smrk dominanti “D’
figured with a 6 For I ■ 7 the continued bass, grees ,n the fundamental W its third above
note h~y thTaZZS&Z wilhttm^ttrhere St
figured with a 7, and in'twToSia^'wh^r’shLr'ft'ri^’^'h”1 C0,,c'r'""K whicl' we "0"’ treat, as in the chord
deficiency in the signs proper fctL chid be mentioned (art. a28. and 229.),’are caused hy a
*s inverted. 1 sub*donto*nt, and for the diflerent arrangements by whic’h it
His method is most sfmple foThose who'know'he ftnVament°f I “ "CW iT""6 • of- fiS“rinS the continued bass,
only signifying the fundamental sound with that Ltt« o( t1! . '“ht a- j “I’rissi"« rach chord by
0 7 « <, or a 6, in order to mark a,, the disco^.^^S^
by F " the :::: Ttre Ch0rd’ When U " i"Verted fr0m ",at °f the S“b-d-i"a"' F A C D, is Characterized
J) ■ ald „ 0, “ DFA> “Vert*d fi'om the dominilnt D F A C, is likewise represented by
- c same chord CDF A. inverted from that of the sub-dominant F A C D, is signified by F; the case is
the
5+6
Principles
of Composi¬
tion.
M U
mental bass the diatonic note above, figured with a 7.
(S7! Every note figured with a / gives its third below
figured with a 7. (See LVIH.)* . , ,
^8 Every note marked with a 0 gives the fifth b -
low marked with a 7 j (** LX.) and it is plain by
art. 187. that in the chord of the seventh, of which we
treat in these three last articles, the third ought to
major, and the seventh minor, this chord of the seventh
being the chord of the tonic dominant. (See art. 102. j
of Every note marked with a 9 gives its third abo\e
figured with a 7. (See LXXVIl. and LXXIX.).
10. Every note marked with a f gives the tilth a-
bove figured with a 7* (See lxxviii.) .
11. Every note marked with a $5, or with a +5,
gives the third above figured with a %. (See lxxxi.).
12. Every note marked with a $7 gives a fifth above
figured with a J, or with a (See LXXVI.). It is
S I c.
Part Hi
The first is that where the note of the continued bass Principle;
is figured with a 6. We now present the reason of the oftmnpos.
difficulty.
Suppose we should have the dominant D in the fun¬
damental bass, the note which answers to it in the con¬
tinued bass may be A carrying the figure 6 (see
LXIV.) j that is to say, the chord_ A C D 1 : now
if we should have the subdominant F in the fundamen¬
tal bass, the subdominant might produce in the conti¬
nued bass, the same note A figured with a 6. hen
therefore we find in the continued bass a note marked
with a 6, it appears at first uncertain whether we
should place in the fundamental bass the fifth below
marked with a 7, or the third below marked with
a 6.
229. The second case is that in which the conti-Another
nued bass is figured with a f. 1 or instance, if there
the same case with the notes marked jp, J,
5
or
which
shows a retrenchment, either in the complete chord of
the eleventh, or in that of the seventh redundant.
13. Every note marked with a 4 gives a filth above
figured with a 7? or a (SeeLXXX.)
14. Every note marked with aj&fi gives the third mi¬
nor below, figured with a i/. (See LXXXV.).
13, Every note marked with a [j gives the tritone a-
bove figured with a . (See lxxxvi.)..
16. Every note marked with a $2 gives the second
redundant above, figured with a (See lxxxvii.).
X'y. Every note marked with a gives the null
redundant above, figured with a jf. (See LXXXVIII.).
18. Every note marked with a gives the seventh
redundant above, figured with a (See lxxxix.).
(5 A)’
•Remark.
should be found F in the continued bass, we may be
ignorant whether we ought to insert in the funda¬
mental bass F marked with a 6, or D figured with
230. This difficulty may he removed by leaving for Solution,
an instant this uncertain note in suspense, and m exa¬
mining the succeeding note of the fundamental bass ;
for if" that note be in the present case a fifth above
that is to say, if it be C in this case, and ih this alone,
we may place F in the fundamentalbass' It is a con¬
sequence of this rule, that in the Mdamental bass every
sub-dqmiuant ought to rise by a fifth {19S’)’
ii
i
Chap. XII. What is meant by being in a Mode or
Tone.
i i
221. In the first part of this treatise (chap, vi.) we Method
have explained, how by the means of the note C,
have explained, now uy luc    / . in(rthe
of its two-fifths G and F, one in ascending, which
.. ■% • » • , rr ni f* n IS
A difficulty
in finding
the funda¬
mental
228. We have omitted two cases, which may cause
some uncertainty.
OI its UVO-nuns vj aim a, mm ...   ■ . model
called a totik dominant, the other in descending which 1S which
... 11 •  .  r T\ F V A K r mavarr.
called a stih«domtnanty the scale C D E r A li C may arc.
be found: the different sounds which form this scale
compose
bass.
the same when the chords are differently inverted. By this means it would he impossible to mistake either wit 1 re
spect to the fundamental bass of a chord, or with respect to the note which forms its dissonance, or wit resptc
to the nature and species of that discord. , , P(l
( c a) We may only add, that here, and in the preceding articles of the text, we suppose, that the con mu
bass is figured in the manner of M. Rameau. For it is proper to observe, that there are not, pei haps, two mu
sicians who characterize their chords with the same figures } which produce a great rneonveniency to t e person
who plays the accompaniments: but here we do not treat of accompaniments. We prefer the continue assts
of M. Rameau to all the others, as by them the fundamental bass will be most easily discovered.
M. Rameau only marks the lesser sixth by a 6 without a line, when this lesser sixth does not result
chord of the tonic dominant j in such a manner that the 6 renders it uncertain whether in the fundamen a as
we ought to choose the third or the fifth below ; but it will be easy to see whether the third or the fifth is sigm
by that figure. This may be distinguished, 1. In observing which of the two notes is excluded by the ru es 0 >
fundamental bass. 2. If the two notes may with equal propriety be placed in the fundamental bass, the pro eren
must be determined by the tone or mode of the treble in that particular passage. In the following c lap er
pball give rules for determining the mode (note 3 z). 1 j f h •'th
There is a chord of which we have not spoken in this enumeration, and which is called the choi oj t te.slx
redundant. This chord is composed of a note, of its third major, of its redundant fourth or tritone? an 1 s *
dundant sixth, as F A B D$>. It is marked with a 6$. It appears difficult to hud a fundamental bass or
chord *, nor is it indeed much in use amongst us. (See the note upon the art. 115O . , . , 1
This chord is called in England the chord of the extreme sharp sixth. When accompanied by the t 11 °.n ’
it is called the Italian sixth. When the fifth is substituted for the tritone, it has been called the German six
til.
rneiples
oinposi
sion.
II: e it
m,n
wl sharp,
aiuats
sbt; l be,
ph, l at
tin1 dT
in ma¬
jor->de of
A, :i whyl
the?, re
omi1 d in
thejtdnor
mo1 Inde-
scerng.
124
compose the major mode of C, because the third E
above C is major. If therefore we would have a mo-
j dulatiou in the major mode of C, no other sounds must
enter into it than those which compose this scale j in
such a manner that if, for instance, we should find
hi this modulation, this discovers to ns that we are
not in the mode of C, or at least that, if we have been
hi it, we are no longer so.
232. In the same manner, if we form this scale in as¬
cending A B C& D E A, which is exactly si¬
milar to the scale C DEFGABCof the major mode
of C, this scale, in which the third from A to C# is
major, shall be in the major mode of A ; and if we in¬
cline to be in the minor mode of A, we have only to
substitute for C sharp C natural j so that the major
third A C$ may become minor AC: we shall have
then
A E C D E F& G& A,
which is (85.) the scale of the minor mode of A in as-
cendingj and the scale of the minor mode of A in de¬
scending shall be (90.),
A G F E C D B A,
in which the G and F are no longer sharp. For it is a
singularity peculiar to the minor mode, that its scale is
not the same in rising as in descending (89.).
233- ^ his is the reason why, when we wish to be¬
gin a piece in the major mode of A, we place three
suaips at the clell upon I, C, and Gj and on the con-
ti.uy, m the mm or mode of A, we place none, because
the minor mode of A, in descending, has neither sharps
nor flats.
234. As the scale contains twelve sounds, each di¬
stant from the other by the interval of a semitone, it is
obvious that each of these sounds can produce both a
major and a minor mode, which constitute 24 modes
upon the whole. Of these we shall immediately give a
table, which may be very useful to discover the mode
in which we are.
A TABLE of the Different Modes.
Major Modes.
MUSIC.
of D;
of A j
of E ;
of B;
Of F«.
OfC*,
or D{j ;
OfG*,
or Afj
Of I)*,
or E{? 5
of A$:,
or B[? j
of E^,
or El] ;
of B$,
or CJj 5
D, E, G, A, B, c*, d.
A, B, c$(, d, e, f)&, g$4 a.
E, F«, G^, A B c*, d^, e.
c%, At, e, ft, g^, a^:, b.
F^, C*, At, B, ct, dt, et, it (5 b).
Dji, Et), F, Gfi, A\), B[), c, dj?.
Ah, Bt), c, d^, eh, f, g, ah.
Eh, F, G, Ah, Bh, c, d, e[?.
Bi?, C, D, Eh, F, G, A, Bh.
F, G, A, Bh, c, d, e, f.
C, D, E, F, G, A, B, c
(See Ex. xciv.).
Minor Modes.
547
Principles
of Composi¬
tion.
Mode.
ofCj C, D, E, F, G, A, B, c.
of G J G, A, B, c, d, e, f^, g.
In descending,
In rising.
In descending.
In rising.
In descending.
In rising.
In descending.
In rising.
In descending.
In rising.
In descending.
In rising.
In descending.
In rising.
In descending.
In rising.
Of A.
A G F E D C B A.
ABODE F$ G$ A.
Of E.
e d c B A G F^: E.
E F^: GAB ct dt e.
Of B.
BAG Ft E D B.
B C*: D E F)& G*: A« B.
Of F^.
f*C e d c& B A Gt E«.
F« A B Ct d^ ct ft.
OiCt.
C^: B A Gt Ft E D« C^.
Ct D* E Ft Gt A'$ Bt C%.
Of Gt or A[?.
gt it edtctB At Gt.
Ah Bt) Ct? dt? eh f g ah.
Of D$ or Eh^
eh dh ch Bh A[? Gh F Eh.
Et? F Gh Ah Bh c d eh-
Of At or Bh.
Bh At?, Gh F El? Dh C Bb.
Dh C Dh Et? F G A Bt?.
3 Z 2
Of
Cl B) The maior mode of F$, of C^, and of Gt, are not much practised.
When a piece begins upon Ct, there ought to be seven sharps placed at the cleff: but it is more convenient
only to place five flats, and to suppose the key D(?, winch is almost the same thing with Ct. For this reason we
substitute here the mode of Dh, for that of Ct. h or uns reason we
It U still much more necessary to substitute the mmle of Afc for that of C* ; for the scale of the major mode of
At, B)&, Ct, d$, e?^, g, gt,
in winch it appears that there are at the same time both a ‘gl;’ and a ‘g*’ : it would then be necessary, even at
the same time, that upon G there should and should not be a sharp at the cleff j which is inconsistent, ^t is true
that Ins inconvenience may be avoided by placing a sharp upon G at the cleff, and by marking the note G with
- he1C10,t,rSe 0f the mUS1° wherever it ought to be natural 5 but this would become troublesome
above al if there should be occasion to transpose. In the article 236. we shall give an account of transposition’
7™ ‘V ^T’ inStea,d ? natUra1’. Which is the note ^^diately before the last, substkuS
I M, that is to say, f twice sharp: which, however, is not absolutely the same sound with G natural esneriil-
jy upon instruments whose scales are fixed, or whose intervals are invariable. But in that case iwm lii, *
troubles ekded^ UP°n ^ WhIch WOuld Produce aHother inconvenience. But by substituting A[? for G^"uie
The double sharp however, is incidentally used, when in a composition in the key of F* there is an occasional
modulation into the dominant ol that key, and it is distinguished by the character X or
ill
548
T1. . 1(>c Of E«( or V\\ ^
ofComposi-In descending. fF eb db c Be Ab GF.
lion. Jn lising. I G Ab Bbci*e^*
In descending
In rising.
Of c.
cBb Ab GFFb DC.
C D Eb F G A B c.
Of G.
In descending, g f eb d C Bb A G»
In rising. G A Bb c d e g.
Of D.
In descending, d c Bb A G t E D.
In rising. DEI GAB c)^ d (5 c).
25 C These then are all the modes, as well major as
Stominor. Tho8e which are crowded with sharps and
ami flats flats are little practised, as being extremely, diflicult in
little prac- execution,
tised.
MUSIC. _
236. Hence, it follows, Principles,
1. That when there are neither sharps nor flats atofComposi.;
the cleff, the piece begins in the major mode of C, or, don,
in the minor mode of A.
2. That when there is one sharp, it will always be Results
placed upon F, and that the piece begins in the major
mode of G, or in the minor of E, in such a manner that
it may be sung as if there were no sharp, by singing B
instead of F>&, and in singing the tune as if it had been
in another cleff. Epr instance, let there be a sharp up
on F in the cleff of G upon the first line ; one may then
sing the tune as if there were no sharp ; and as if, in¬
stead of the cleff of G upon the first line, it were the.
cleff of C y for the F$, when changed into B, will re¬
quire that the cleil of G should be changed to the cleit
of C, as may be easily seen. This is what we call trans¬
position (5 d). . .
237. It is evident, that when is changed into§ee Trar&
1 - B, podtion.
Sit ! JZ in the m* of C, and in that of A, is calW a ^
doming ^ authOT,s account of this Jel;cate operation in music will b* found extremely just aud com-
in ft wm easily^ofcinfito'every "alt Uiat if each of the intervals through the whole diatonic series were equal,
in a mathematical sense, it wmdd be absolutely indifferent upon wbat note any air ''e« ^ be ides tte
rafurttfr::^^^^
fa ytler positions in the series of an octave, according as the note from whence whkh
I Lquently the best key for any tune whose natural series is most exactly corres^nw 4^
+Ivjt mfiinav or harmony requires. But in nstruments whose scales are fixed, notwithstanding tne letnperau
atd ofhtt pedtn” of treTamVkind, such a series is far from being easily found, and is indeed in common pra -
tice almost totally neglected. All tha’t can frequently be done is, to %£
shocked This, however, would be the case, if, in transposing any tune, the situati ’ . , , •
natural or artificial, were not exactly correspondent in the series to which your air must be transposed, "
positions in the scale from which you transpose it. Suppose, for instance, your air s ion ( egin upo ,
?h natural diatonic series througti the whole ganimut, in which the distance etwee^d^ ^
tween B and C, is only a semitone. Again, suppose it necessary for your voice 01 the instrument on wlii y_
play, that the same air' should be transposed to G, a fifth above its former key *, then \lfsamc inter¬
intervals between the third and the fourth, seventh and eighth notes, aie no more n ,
vals must take the same place in the octave to which yon transpose. Now, from G, the
pose to begin, the three tones immediately succeeding are full j but the fourth C is on y a . > ^
fore be kept in its place. But from F, the seventh note above, to G, the eigh h
which must consequently be redressed by raising the 1 a semitone highei. ms semitones in the oc-
intervals in both octaves will be correspondent 5 and thus by conforming he positions ^he &emitoi h ^
tave to which you transpose, with those in the octave in which the original ey 0 j
perform your operation with as much success as the nature ot fixed scales can ac mit. tj as.
v P The order to be. observed in these alterations of the intervals, ladedtjced.from the re **
cending and descending bear to the fundamental (art. 34, 35,) j mid therefore e t.u ie 1 ^
natural fundamental C by a series of fifths ascending or descending, the alterations, and consequently the number
sharps or flats indicating them, will be the greater. ir,.,i f «n 40.'),
Tims if G, which is the perfect fifth ascending from , therefore the note most neai y a ic i ■ l *
art IT
tinciples
Composi¬
tion.
M U S
B, G must be changed Into C, and E into A. Thus
by transposition, the air has the same melody as if it
were nt the major mode of C, or in the minor mode of
A. Ihe major mode then of G, and the minor of E
are by transposition reduced to those of C major, and
of A minor. It is the same case with all the other
modes (5 e).
I c.
549
Chap. XIII. To find the Fundamental Bast of a ofComposil
given Modulation. tion.
238. As we have reduced to a very small number Method of
the rules of the fundamental bass, and those which in findin#t a
the treble ought to be observed with relation to thisfu"damen'
tal bass to
bass, a given ajr
—*—       not diffi¬
cult, and
»hlkw°i;,a "■«<*, is the seventh of the scale of G, must be made sharp, that it mat be
Tc Aart! 770. “ Semit°ne from the G’ f th. ia* .f the Lie
11 1>i thC ,r',<jCt fillb ,astfn<1ing from G, and the second in the series of progressive fifths ascendin'*
rrom G, be nsed as a fundamental C, which is the seventh of the scale of D, must, it, render it the sendble o!
See S. xen-!* (j.)77' ^ made SWP “ a'ldltl0n t0 F; 80 ",at in the scalc of D- ‘here are two sharps, F and C.
If A, the perfect fifth above I), and the third in the series of fifths ascending from C, he the fundamental the'
Ssm"'“’ oMer Too ” I li ^ "ft ‘'T’ ^ ^ ^ ^ 5 and S° o” -h“'„’f E
S, and A (6.j! d ’ ^ C G’ an< D’ be sharp (j,): m that of B’ the sl,arPs mUst be F» €, g[
nei/TrA rr^ B f and in that scale F» C> G> D» and E, must be sharp (7.). And in the
next scale (.$ all the notes of the system are sharp (8.).' ^
sio™8f fiffl,:'‘aescr“eUti0ne'1 in the "°te Ci B)’ iS the li‘StSCak t0 "■hkk « aa" Ptoperiy go by ,he progres.
t fTT8 t0fth? 2rtil,r1aliSCaleT?f S jf insteaf1 °f assuming G> the perfect fifth above, for a fundamental, we
take I, the perfect fifth below; B winch is the fourth note above F, and forms a Intone or sharp fourth
flat 12T ’ beCOmC a PerfCtit W l’ aCC°rding t0 the lavvs of the diatonic scale, (art. 60.) be made
momTF* 'l!1 ther?leS 0f,fifths descending, if Bf?, which is the perfect fifth below F, be taken for a fnnda-
18 the tritonc or sharp fourth t0 B'’mu8t710 becomc the diatonic
If Eb, which is the perfect fifth below B-fj, and the third in the series of fifths descending from C, be made the
deff are^fif kfInd A )Urt ’ mUSt, ^ ^ dlat°n'lC ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ tbe ^ ™arked at the
To form the next scale in the series of fifths descending, which is that of A flat, D must be flattened ; and B
E, A, and D, are marked flat at the clef! (9.). ’ f
. The ne,xt sca,e’ tliat D flat, is formed by flattening G, and adding its flat to tire others at the cleff (8.). This
is the scale recommended to be used rather than that of C$. (See note 5 b).
We do not proceed farther with the series of fifths descending, since the next scale, that of Gb, would just or
very nearly exhibit the sounds already represented by the scale of F* (7.). This scale is, however, sometimes
Written in the key of G flat, and we even meet with tire scale of its fifth below, C flat, and, with an occasional
modulation from that key into its fifth below, F flat, where B being necessarily twice flattened, is distinguished by
this character ', or bt?, called a double flat.
We have thus seen, 1st, That each of the notes of die diatonic scale of C, and each of the semitones into which
the whole tones of that scale are divided, may be taken for the fundamental note of a diatonic scale, called the
scale oj that note. 2dly, lhat the notes of the natural scale are more or less altered, as the note assumed for a
fundamental is more or less distant from C, in a progression of fifths ascending or descending, adly, That in the
progression by fifths ascending, the notes are altered by sharps, and in the. progression by fifths descending, the
alterations are by flats. 4thly, That in the alteration by sharps, the last sharp is always on the seventh or * seti-
stole note of the scale; and wlipre there are more than one, is always on the fifth above the sharp immediately
preceding; and in the alteration by flats, the last flat is always on the fourth of the scale ; and where there are
more than one, is always on the fifth below the fiat immediately preceding.
lire signatures of sharps and flats at the clefts, belonging to the twelve major scales, are alsoused for their
relative minor scales. The occasional elevation and depression of the sixths and sevenths of the minor scales*
are denoted by occasional sharps and flats placed before these notes. f
(5 E) Many musicians, and amongst others the ancient musicians of France, as Lulli, Gampra, &c. place one
na.t less m the minor mode: so that in the minor mode of D, they place neither sharp nor flat at the cleff • in the
minor mode of G, one flat only ; in the minor mode of C, two flats, &c.
This practice in itself is sufficiently indifferent, and scarcely merits the trouble of a dispute. Yet the method
which vye have here described, according to M. Rameau, has the advantage of reducing all the modes to two •
and besides it is founded upon this simple and very general rule, That in the major mode, we must place as man|
sharps or flats at the cleft, as are contained in the diatonic scale of that mode in ascending; and iri the minor
mode, as many as are contained in that same scale in descending.
rcn M U S
"principles bass, It sliould no longer be clilticnlt to fmcl the fumla-
of Composi-mental bass of a given modulation, nay, frequent,y to
tion. fin(j several j for every fundamental bass will be legiti-
1-J » mate, when it is formed according to the rules winch
we have given (chap, vi.) ; and that, besides this, the
dissonances which the modulation may form with ins
bass, will both be prepared, if it is necessary that they
should be so, and always resolved (5 f).
difficulty of 239. ^ ^ of the greatest utility m searching for the
SfgSag fundamental bass, to know what is the tone or mode
of the melody to which that bass should correspond.—
But it is difficult in this matter to assign general rules,
and such as ate absolutely without exception, in which
nothing may be left that appears indifferent or discre¬
tionary 5 because sometimes we seem to have the tree
choice of referring a particular melody either to one
mode or another. For example, this melody G C may
belong to all the modes, as well major as minor, in
which G and C are found together 5 and each of these
two sounds may even be considered as belonging to. a
general
rules for
ascertain¬
ing the
inode of a
melody
whose fun¬
damental
base is
sought.
different mode.
240. We may sometimes,.'as it should seem, operate
whyTe without the knowledge of the mode, for two reasons •,
may pro- 1. Because, since the same sounds belong to several
cced with- different modes, the mode is sometimes considerably
out th.cA undetermined j above all, in the middle of a piece, and
knowledge during the time of one or two bars. 2. Without giving
mode, and ourselves much trouble about the mode, it is often suf-
how we heient to preserve us from deviating in composition, 11
may be wg observe ;n the simplest manner the rules above pre-
fromdevi- scribed (chap, vi.) for.the procedure of the fundamental
ating in bass. # . . n 1 •
composi- 241. In the mean time, it is above all things ne-
tion- cessary to know in what mode we operate at the be-
Knowledge winning of the piece, because it is indispensable that
of the mode fundamental bass should begm in the same mode,
IdngTp'iece and that the treble and bass should likewise end in it j
indfspen- nay, that they should even terminate in its fundamental
sable, and note, which in the mode ol C is C, and A in that of
why. ^ Besides, in those passages of the modulation
where there is a cadence, it is generally necessary that
the mode of the fundamental bass should be the same
with that of the, part to which it corresponds.
Investiga- 242. To know upon what mode dr in what key a
tion of the piece commences, our inquiry may be entirely reduced
mode con- to distinguish the major mode of C from the minor of A.
tinned. we jiave already seen (art. 236. and 237.), that all
the modes may be reduced to these two, at least in the
1 c. , 1>art n.
beginning of the piece. e shall now theicfoie gi^e a ] iincipics
detail offthe different means by which these two modes of tompoh.
may be distinguished. # . \ v 
1. From the principal and chavacteristical sounds of (VTcans ^
the mode, which are C E G in the one, and ACE in which the
the other ; so that if a piece should, for instance, begin modes may
thus, AGFA, it may be almost constantly concluded,
that the tone or mode is in A minor, although the notes
ACE belong to the mode of C.
2. From the sensible note, which is B in the one, and
G$ in the other so that if G$ appears in the hist
bars of a piece, we may be certain that we are in the
mode A.
3. From the adjuncts of the mode, that is to say,
the modes of its two-filths, which for C are F and G,.
and D and E for A- F'or example, if after having be-
ouii a melody by some of the notes which are common
to the modes of C and of A (as E F) E F E D C .B
C), we should afterwards find the mode of G, which we
ascertain by the F)$(, or that ol F which we ascertain
‘ by the Bfe or Ckj, we may conclude that we have begun
in the mode ol C 5 but il wc find the mode ot F), or
that of E, which we ascertain by Bj?, C$, or F))&, &c.
we conclude from thence that we have begun in the
mode of A. _
4. A mode is not visually changed, especially m
the beginning of a piece, unless in order to pass into
one or other of the modes most relative to it, which
are the mode of its fifth above, and that of its third
below, if the original mode be major, or of its third
above if it be minor. Thus, for instance, the modes
which are most intimately relative to the major mode
' of C, are the major mode of G, and that of A minor.
From the mode of C we commonly pass either into
the one or the other of these modes ; so that we may
sometimes judge ol the principal mode in which ve
are, by the relative mode which follows it, or which
goes before it, when these relative modes are decisively
marked. Besides these two relative modes, there are
likewise two others into which the principal mode may
pass, but less frequently, viz., the mode ol its fifth below,
and that of its third above, as F and E for the mode ol
C (5 g).
5. The modes may still be likewise distinguished by
the cadences of the melody. These cadences ought to
occur at the end of every two, or at most ol every four
bars, as in the fundamental bass: now the note ol
the fundamental bass which is most suitable to these
closes,
(5 f) We often say, that we are upon a particular key or scale, instead of saying that we are in a particular
mode. The following expressions therefore are synonymous ; such a piece is m C major, or in the mode oj C ma¬
jor, or in the key of C major, or in the scale of C major* _ 1 ,, „ ,
(5 g) It is certain that the minor mode of E has an extremely natural connection with the mode ot tv, as lias
been proven (art. 92.) both by arguments and by examples. It has likewise appeared in the note upon the art. 93.
that the minor mode of D may be joined to the major mode of C : and thus in a particular sense, this mode may
he considered as relative to the mode of C, but it is still less so than the major modes of G and F, or t an tiose
of A and E minor *, because we cannot immediately, and without licence, pass in a fundamental bass from ie
perfect minor chord of C to the perfect minor chord of D j and if you pass immediately from the major ukh e 0
Cl to the minor mode of D in a fundamental bass, it is by passing, for instance, from the tonic C, or Irom E » ,
to the tonic dominant of D, carrying the chord A C$ E G, in which there are two sounds, E G, wluci are
found in the preceding chord, (Ex. xcv.) or otherwise from C E G C to G Bi? D F., a chord of the sub- omi
nant in the minor mode of D, which chord has likewise two sounds, G and E, in common with that which wen
immediately before it. See Ex. xcvi.
2
Part II. M U
[Principles closes is always easy to be found. For the sounds
fComposi which occur in the treble, M. Rameau may be con-
, suited, p. 54. of his Nouveau Sif,stone de Musique t/ieo-
ri(i™€t Pra!i(iue (5 H>
since. “ ”e11 t'ie mode is ascertained, by the different
laving as-means which we have pointed out, the fundamental bass
enabled wiH cost little pains. For in each mode there are three
V furchl fundamental sounds.
lentalbass ^,e tonic of the mode, or its principal sound,
atdiffi- which carries always the perfect chord major or minor,
Jit according as the mode itself is major or minor.
Major mode of C, C E G ‘c\
Minor mode of A, ACE A.
2. The tonic dominant, which is a fifth above the
tonic, and which, whether in the major or minor mode,
always carries a/chord of the seventh, composed of a
third major followed by two thirds minor.
Tonic dominant.
Major mode of C, G B D 4fV
Tonic dominant.
Minor mode of A, E G^: B ‘d’.
3. The sub-dominant, which is a fifth below the
tonic, and which carries a chord composed of a third,
fifth, and sixth major, the third being either greater
or lesser, according as the mode is major or minor.
Sub-dominant.
Major mode of C, FAC ‘d’.
Minor mode of A, D F A B.
These three sounds, the tonic, the tonic dominant,
and the sub-dominant, contain in their chords all the
notes which enter into the scale of the mode ; so that
when a melody is given, it may almost always be
found which of these three sounds should be placed in
the fundamental bass, under any particular note of the
upper part. Yet it sometimes happens that not one
! of these notes can be used. For example, let it be
supposed that we are in the mode of C, and that we
find in the melody these two notes A B in succession ;
if we confine ourselves to place in the fundamental
bass one of the three sounds C G F, we shall find
nothing for the sounds A and B but this fundamental
7 . 6 1
bass F G ; now such a succession as F to G is pro¬
hibited by the fifth rule for the fundamental bass, accord¬
ing to which every sub-dominant, as F, shall rise by a
S I c.
551
fifth j so that F can only be followed by C hi the J^Composi
fundamental bass, and not by G. ' tion.
To remedy this, the chord of the sub-dominant F ' ' *
A C ‘d’ must be inverted into a fundamental chord of
the seventh, in this manner, D F A ‘c’^ which has been
called the double employment (art. 105.) because it is a
secondary manner of employing the chord of the sub¬
dominant. By these means we give to the modulation
7 7
A B this fundamental bass I) G j which procedure is
agreeable to rules. See Ex. xcvn.
Here then are four chords, C E G ‘c’, G B D ‘f’,
FAC ‘d’, D F A ‘c’, which may be employed in the
major mode of C. We shall find in like manner, for
the minor mode of A, four chords.
A C ‘e a’, E G$ B ‘d\
DFAB, BD ‘fa’.
And in this mode we sometimes change the last of
these chords into B D ‘f$ a’, substituting the ‘f^’ for
‘ft)’. For instance, if we have this melody in the minor
mode of A, E F^: G$ A, we would cause the first
note E to carry the perfect chord A C E A j the second
note F$ to carry the chord of the seventh B D F$ A;
the third note G$, the chord of the tonic dominant E
G)ft B D, and the last the perfect chord ACE A.—
See Ex. xcvm.
On the contrary, if this melody is given always in
the minor mode, A A G$: A, the second A being
syncopated, it might have the same bass as the modula¬
tion E I $ G$ A, with this difference alone, that Fjj
might be substituted for F$ in the chord B D F^i A,
the better to mark out the minor mode. See Exam,
xeix.
Besides these chords which we have just mentioned,
and which may be regarded as the principal chords of
the mode, there are still a great many others 5 for ex¬
ample, the series of dominants,
7 7 7-7 7 7 7 7 7 7
CADGCF BEADGC,
which are terminated equally in the tonic C, either
entirely belong, or at least may be reckoned as be¬
longing (51) to the mode of C} because none of these
dominants are tonic dominants, except G, which is
the tonic dominant of the mode of C; and besides, be¬
cause the chord of each of these dominants forms no
other
(5 h) All these different manners of distinguishing the modes ought, if we may speak so, to give mutual light
and assistance one to the other. But it often happens, that one of these signs alone is not sufficient to determine
the mode, and may even lead to error. For example, if a piece of music begins with these three notes, E C G,
we must not with too much precipitation conclude from thence that we are in the major mode of C, although
these three sounds, E C G, be the principal and characteristical sounds in the major mode of C : we may be in
the minor mode of E, especially if the note E should be long.
(jl)! have said, that they may be reckoned as belonging to this mode, for two reasons : 1. Because, properly
speaking, there are only three chords which essentially and primitively belong to the mode of C, viz. C car¬
rying the perfect chord, F carrying that of the sub-dominant, and G that of the tonic dominant, to which we
may join the chord of the seventh, D F A C (art-105.) : but we here as extended the series of dominants
rn question, as belonging to the mode of C, because it preserves in the ear the impression of that mode. 2. In a
senes of dominants, there are a great many of them which likewise belong to other modes $ for instance, the
simple dominant A belongs naturally to the mode of G, the simple dominant B to that of A, &c. Thus it is
only improperly, and by way of extension, as I have already said, that we regard here these dominants as belonp-
ing to the mode of C.
5S2 M U S I C.
-Principles other sounds than such as belong to the scale ot C. See
of Conjpo- Ex. c.
sition. But if we were to form this fundamental bassf
7 7 7 7i?
CADGC,
considering the last C as a tonic dominant in this man¬
ner, C E G B[> •, the mode would then be changed at
the second C, and we should enter into the mode of
E, because the chord C E G B^ indicates the tonic
dominant of the mode of F j besides, it is evident that
the mode is changed, because B[; does not belong to the
scale of C» See Ex. ci. . .
In the same manner, were we to form this funuamen-
tal bass
tins
C A I) G C,
considering the last C as a stkb-dominant in this man¬
ner, C E G A ; this last C would indicate the mode of
G, of which C is the sub-dominant. See Ex. cii.
In like maqner, still, if in the first series of domi¬
nants, wo caused the first D to carry the third major, in
this manner, A ‘ c’ j this D having become a to¬
nic dominant, would signify to us the major mode of G,
and the G which should follow it, carrying the chord
B I) ‘f% would relapse into the mode of C, from whence
-we had departed. See Ex. cm.
Finally, in the same manner, if in this series of do¬
minants, we should cause B to carry F^( in this man¬
ner, B D F>& A, this F would show that we had de¬
parted from the mode C, to enter into that of G. See
Ex. civ.
Hence it is easy to form this rule for discovering the
changes of mode in the fundamental bass.
i. When we find a tonic in the fundamental bass,
we are in the mode of that tonic j and the mode is ma-
^ jor or niinor} according as the perfect chord is major or
moadefS° minor*
A rule for
discover-
the
Part U.
2. When we find a sub-dominant, we are in the Principta
mode of the fifth above that sub-dominant* and the of Compo-
mode is major or minor, according as the third in the , Slt^°a'
chord of the sub-dominant is major or minor.
3. When we find a tonic dominant, we are in the
mode of the fifth below that tonic dominant. As the to¬
nic dominant cairies always the third major, it cannot be
ascertained from this dominant alone, whether the mode
be major or minor: but it is only necessary to examine
the following note, which must be the tonic ot the mode
in which he is * by the third of this tonic it will he dis¬
covered whether the mode be major or minor.
243. Every change of the mode supposes a cadence ;
and when the mode changes in the fundamental bass,
it is almost always either after the tonic ot the mode
in which we have been, or atter the tonic dominant of
'"that mode, considered then as a tonic by favour of a
close which ought necessarily to he tound in that place:
Whence it happens that cadences in a melody tor the
most part presage a change of mode which ought to fol ¬
low them.
244. All these rules, joined with the table of modes
which we have given (art. 2340> serve to discover
in what mode we are in the middle ot a piece, especial¬
ly in the most essential passages, as cadences (5K).
Chap. XIV. 0/the Chromatic and Enharmonic.
245. We call that melody chromatic which is com¬
posed of several notes in succession, whether rising or
descending by semitones. See cv. and CVI.
246. When an air is chromatic in descending, the
most natural and ordinary fundamental bass is a con¬
catenated series of tonic dominants * all of which fol¬
low one another in descending by a fifth, or, which
is the same thing, in rising by a fourth. See Ex. cv.
(5 l).
Chromatic,
what.
To an air
descending,
by chro- '
matic in¬
tervals,
fundamen¬
tal bass,
what.
(ck) Two modes are so much more intimately relative, as they contain a greater number of sounds common
To both * for example, the minor mode of C and the major of G, or the major mode ot A and the minor ot A:
on the contrary, two modes are less intimately relative as the number of sounds which they contain as common
to both is smaller * for instance, the major mode of C and the minor of B, &c. . ,. . ,
When the composer, led away by the current of the modulation, that is to say, by the manner m wnc 1 c
fundamental bass is constituted, into a mode remote from that i_n which the piece was begun, ic oug it to con
tinue in it but for a short time, because the ear is always impatient to return to the former mode.
( c l) We may likewise give to a chromatic melody in descending, a fundamental bass, into vv nc niay wi et
chords of the seventh and of the diminished seventh, which may succeed one another by the mterva s o ^ a
fifth and a fifth redundant : thus in the Example evil, where the continued bass descends chromatica y, 1 may
easily be seen that the fundamental bass carries successively the chords of the seventh and ot the seventii dimi¬
nished, and that in this bass there is a false fifth from D to G$(, and a filth redundant from G)& to .
The reason of this licence is, as it appears to us, because the chord of the diminished seventh diay e con¬
sidered as representing (art. 221.) the chord of the tonic dominant* in such a manner that this un amen
bass
- 7 . >•
7 7 7 7 *
A D G* C F« B E A
(see Example cvill.) may be considered as representing (art. 116.) that which is written below,
7* 7 7 7 *
ADECF&BEA. .
Now this last fundamental bass is formed according to the common rules, unless that there is a brokefi ca
7v •' . - >"
. . . . . V
dence from D to E, and au interrupted cadence from E to C, which are licfenses (art. 213* an“ ®i4v
3 " \ '
// '. ■« sr/*/ ■ 0 •//^!>. '
Music.
Fior.l.
Tenor .Line ^ n O P ^ —-Rnor Lint;.
^25
PLATE CCCLP
 Treble Cleff,
— Tenor Cleff
— Bass Cleff
3:
Fig- S-
Fi^r.v5. Fi^. 6^.
\J "O'Tenor C
g^=
Fi^. 4.
-Q-
c
3
£T
3^
Fipr. %
8l/
2.
!i
t~|r
3 O-
JT c
Fig. 8.
nffi
if Q-
3
i
Fig.
Fig lO.
g J ^
Fig. 11.
^ With two^Times. ^
Fig-
Semibreve, Minims. Crotchets. Quavers.
Fig. It3.
Semiquavers.
Demisemiquavers.
Fig. \5.
lut
Fig. 16.
equivalent to*
Fig. i;.
sc
Fig. 18. Rests.
Rests of several Bars.
m n ii-a
Semibreve ) Min.Rest Crot.Rest Quav.Rest Semiq.Rest Demis.Rest 2 Bar Rest 3 Bar Rest 4 Bar Rest 5 Bar Rest.
Kar Rest j
Music.
PLdTE ccc/j v.
FilO.
Fig. 11.
Fig. 1*3. Pause
Ipepip
Fig. l^. “c^Kepeat- • C' Fig. 1«3\
Direct
Music.
plate rc(/.r//
Ex. I
Key'F. Key G. Key F. Key G. Key F.
xvrr. . ^ XVIII. XIX. XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
Perfect Cadence. Imperfect Cadence.
Perf. Cad.
Imperf. Cad.
Music.
plate cccl/a :
Music.
LXXXV. LXXXV1. LX XXVII. LXXXVIII. LXXXIX.
PLATE CCCLX.
XC. Diatonic Modulation.
i i'i 'll
J| 4* tor J2 fortS ^or|7 jf
jl >: ^1>: c fl-) s --|| ): . H
I ^
5E
i
7 a ^ 7 u ^
D: lr: ||r>: tfn || ||,QTi^=j|f):-t ° || | ^ ^
I
XCI. XCII. XCIII.
XCIV. Major Scales,
l.of C.
fpspif
2.of G.
3. of D.
~ if4.of A. __
fe
• •
5. of F.
6. of B.
7. of F#.
8. of Db.
-■
xcv.
Music.
XCVI. XCVII. XCVIII,
Plate CCCLXI,
XCIX.
Part II.
Principles
of Compo¬
sition
Ascending,
what
MUSI
Enharmo -
nic little
practised.
247. When the dr is chromatic in ascending, one
may form a fundamental bass by a series of tonics and
ot tonic dominants, which succeed one another alter¬
nately by the interval of a third in descending, and of
a fourth m ascending, (see Ex. cvi.). There are many
other ways ol forming a chromatic air, whether in
rising or descending $ but these details in an elemen¬
tary essay are by no means necessary.
248. ihe enharmonic is very rarely put in practicej
and we have explained its formation in the first book
to which we refer our readers.
| See Design. Chap. XV. Of Design, Imitation, a,rdFugue.
Design,
what.
249. In music, the name of design, or subject, is ge¬
nerally given to a particular air or melody, which the
composer intends should prevail through the piece :
whether it is intended to express the meaning of words
to which it may be set, or merely inspired by the im¬
pulse of taste and fancy. In this last case, design is
distinguished into imitation and fugue.
250. Imitation consists in causing to be repeated the
melody of one or several measures in one single part
or in the whole harmony, and in any of the various
modes that may be chosen. When all the parts abso-
'i. ’ VePef lhf Sa"’,e-air* °r and beginning
iS. i,(W ,he ntber, tins .s called a camn ( jm).
Iirgue consists in alternately repeating that air in
treble, and in the bass, or even in all the parts, if there
are more than two.
Vol. XIV. Part II. +
See Imi¬
tation.
Imitation,
irhat.
C. ...
251. Imitation and fugue are sometimes conducted Principles
by rules merely deducible from taste, which may be of Compo¬
sed! in the 33 2d and following pages of M. Rameau’s, sition-
rJrealise on Harmony ; where will likewise be found a p,);,i '
detail of the rules for composition in several parts. ruleTfor*
I he chief rules for composition in several parts are, composing
that the discords should be found, as much as possible,*11 several
prepared and resolved in the same part j that a dis-Parts*
cord should not be heard at the same time in several
parts, because its harshness would disgust the ear;
and that in no particular part there should be found
two octaves or two filths in succession (5N) with re¬
spect to the bass. Musicians, however, do not hesitate
sometimes to violate this precept, when taste or occa¬
sion require. In music, as in all the other fine arts, it
is the business of the artist to assign and to observe
iiiles; and the province of men of taste and genius to
find exceptions.
APPENDIX.
The treatise of D’Alembert is well entitled to the me¬
rit of accuracy; hut perhaps a person who has not par¬
ticularly studied the subject, may find difficulty in fol¬
lowing the scientific deductions of that author.—We
subjoin, therefore, a few general observations on the
philosophy of musical sound, commonly called harmo¬
nics, which may perhaps convey the full portion of
knowledge of the theory of music, with which one in
4 A search
bound to repeat the very ssme subject ’ m'll'e repl/^s JJ 'j' •“ C',rU"‘ .s“bje0(; an‘l th<‘ "‘i'" P»rts are
sixth, and the dominant, suLep^b^ofan'added seventh'™ a'l-'U"CtSi the sublIom‘n»nt. susceptible of an added
nant' fundamental progression from the domi-
the subdominant, thus, 33> 3 v> ubdominant must follow the tonic, and the dominant
tr 7 07
C, Fj G F F G C Si
3. As the diatonic scale consists of two tetrachoifk • 1 1
mode of the sub-dominant, and the second the first tm.JLl 1 r l. * , fir?t 13 a 30 th.e secontl tetrachord of the
meant to be in the mode of the dominant the subieef n rT. *• <’ominant ’ so> in. canon, when the reply is
the corresponding first tetrachord of the dnn " ^ 1 • 1USi ° 10 * T tetrat'hord ol the tonic, by which means
truly in that mod^ On the 0ther hand If thTr nl ^ °f the tonic’ the P-e is
be in the second tetrachord of the tonic 5 tlie r ^ 'r ° ^ 111 ^ ?10fe ^ie sub-dominant, the subject must
chord of the Conic, a^mod'^ af S“b *1-i— b-g 6- teCra-
the4m„dTofthnuebTmT„’a»"'Tdttt7'[i%ln d?min“t’ tbe » only allowed to modulate into
dominant, theluyect ” “omite or'fn”! 2'”'^° f'^' °f ^ ,0nic' A,"d "'T ,h<' ^ is
into that of the tonic Were tbe contr 'V i , mode n! ,b‘' sub-dominant, the reply following of conrse
of the tonic "trary m0dula,10n Permitted, the reply would depart loo far from the mode
554
'fienend search only of general Information, an.l not a professed
Observa- student of this particular science, would choose to rest
tions on satisfied.
Harmonics. The tj)eory 0f musical sound, which only in the be-
' ' crinninff of the present century was ultimately establish¬
ed by mathematical demonstration, is no other than that
which distinguished the ancient musical sect who lol-
lowed the opinions of Pythagoras on that subject.
No part of natural philosophy has been more Iruit-
ful of hypothesis than that of which musical sound is the
object. The musical speculators of Greece arranged
themselves into a great number of sects, the chiet ot
whom were the Pythagoreans and the Anstoxemans.
Pythagoras supposed the air to be the vehicle ot
sound: and the agitation of that element, occasioned
by a similar agitation in the parts of the sounding body,
to be the cause it. The vibrations of a stung or
M U S I C. Appendix.
cities, vibrations, and proportions of Pythagoras, as General
foreign to the subject, in so far as they substituted Ob^rva-
abstract causes in the room of experience, and mat c Haniionics
music the object of intellect rather than ot sense. ^
Of late, however, as has been already mentioncu,
the opinions of Pythagoras have been confirmed by ab¬
solute demonstration ; and the following propositions, in
relation to musical sound, have passed from conjecture
to certainty. .
Sound is generated by the vibrations ot elastic bodies,
which communicate the like vibrations to the air, and
these again the like to our organs of hearing. This is
evident, because sounding bodies communicate tremors
to other bodies at a distance from them. The vibrating
motion, for instance, of a musical string, excites motion
in others, whose tension and quantity ot matter dispose
.1 • • i * • _ j i nrulnlnt ioilS Oi air
tbplr vibrations to keen time with the undulations of air
be .he cause of it. The vibrat.ens ol a smog or “e,rstri fir8t Mt motion).
other sonorous body, being communicate o e an , p ^ vibrations be isochronous, and the sound n
affected the auditory nerves with the sensation of sound j me pitch, i’t is said to be ac
and this sound, he argued, was acute or grave in pro¬
portion as the vibrations were quick or slow.—Me dis¬
covered by experiment, that ot two strings equal in
every thing but length, the shorter made the quicker
vibrations, and emitted the acuter sound : m other
words that the number of vibrations made in the same
time by two strings of different lengths, was inversely
as those lengths; that is, the greater the length the
smaller the number of vibrations in any given time.
Thus sound, considered in the vibrations that cause it,
and the dimensions of the vibrating body, came to be
reduced to quantity, and as such was the subject ot cal¬
culation, and expressible by numbers.—I or instance,
the two sounds that form an octave could be expressed
by the numbers I and 2, which would represent either
the number of vibrations in a given time, or the length
of the strings j and would mean that the acuter sound
vibrates twice, while the graver vibrates once *, or that
the string producing the lower sound is twice the
length of that which gives the higher. If the vibra¬
tions were considered, the higher sound was as 2, the
lower as i 5 the reverse, if the length was alluded to.
In the same manner, in the same sense, the 5th would
be expressed by the ratio of 2 to 3. an^ the 4th by that
of 3 4* a « « c "P
Arlstoxenes, in opposition to the calculations ot y
thagoras, held the ear to be the sole standard of musi¬
cal proportions. That sense he accounted sufficiently
accurate for musical, though not for mathematical pur¬
poses •, and it was in his opinion absurd to aim at an
artificial accuracy in gratifying the ear beyond its own
power of distinction. He, therefore, rejected the velo-
musi-
cal, continuing at the same pitch, it is said to be acuter,
sharper, or higher, than any other sound whose vibra¬
tions are slower; and graver, flatter, or lower, than
any other whose vibrations are quicker. lor while a
musical string vibrates, its vibrations become quicker
by increasing its tension or diminishing its length j its
sound at the same time will be more acute : and, on
the contrary, by diminishing its tension or increasing
its length, the vibrations will become slower and the
sound graver. The like alteration of the pitch of the
sound will follow, by applying, by means of a weight,
an equal degree of tension to a thicker or heavier and
to a smaller or lighter string, both of the same length,
as in the smaller string the mass of matter to be moved
by the same force is less. # .
If several strings, however, different m length, density,
and tension,vibrate altogether in equal times, their sounds
will have all one and the same pitch, however they may
differ in loudness or other qualities.—They are called
unisons. The vibrations of unisons are isochronous.
The vibrations of a musical string, whether wider or
narrower, are nearly isochronous. Otherwise, while
the vibrations decrease in breadth till they cease, the
pitch of the sound could not continue the same (which
we perceive by experience it does), unless where the
first vibrations are made very violently } in which case,
the sound is a little acuter at the beginning than aiter-
wards. .
Lastly, The word vibration is understood to mean
the time which passes between the depaiture of the vi
brating body from any assigned place and its return to
the same.
Music,
Musimon.
M U S
Glass-Music. See Harmonica.
MUSIMON, in Natural History, the name of an
' animal esteemed a species of sheep, described by the
ancients as common in Corsica, Sardinia, Barbary,
and the north-east parts of Asia. It has been doubted
•^kether the animal described under this name is now
any where to be found in the world $ and whether it
was not probably a spurious breed between two ani¬
mals of different species, perhaps the shee p and goat,
M U S
which, like the mule, not being able to propagate its Musim4
species, the production of them may have been disconti- v—v—
nUBuffon supposes it to be the sheep in a wild state 5
and it is described as such by Mr Pennant. Ihcse
animals live in the mountains, and run with great
swiftness among the rocks. Those of Kamtschatka
are so strong, that 10 men can scarce hold one 5 ami
the horns are so large as sometimes to weigh 30 pounds.
M U S [ :
iMasimon and so capacious that young foxes often shelter them-
|| selves in the hollow of such as by accident fall oil' in
|Hussulman. j|ie deserts.
v MUSIVUM aurum. ^ee Chemistry, N° 1806.
MUSK, a very strong scented substance, found in a
bag under the belly of a species of moschus. See
Moschcjs, Mammalia Index. And for an account
of the nature and properties of musk, see Materia
MEtUCA Index.
Musk Animat. See Moschus, 1
Musk Ox. See Bos, > Mammalia Index.
Musk Hat, See Castor, j
MUSKET, or Musquet, properly a fire-arm borne
on the shoulder, aud used in war 5 to be fired by the
application of a lighted match.
The length of the barrel is fixed to three feet eight
inches from the muzzle to the touch-pan, and its bore
is to be such as may receive a bullet of 14 in a pound,
and fits diameter differs not above one 50th part from
that of the bullet.
Muskets were anciently borne in the field by the
infantry, and were used in England so lately as the be¬
ginning of the civil wars. At present they are little
used, except in the defence of places; fusees or fire¬
locks having taken their place and name.
MUSKETOON, a kind of short thick musket,
whose bore is the 38-th part of its length ; it carries
five ounces of iron, or seven and a half of lead, with an
equal quantity of powder. This is the shortest kind
of blunderbusses.
MUSL IN, a fine sort of cotton cloth, which bears a
downy knot on its surface. There are several sorts of
muslins brought from the East Indies, and more parti¬
cularly from Bengal j such as doreas, betelles, mulmuls,
tanjeebs, &c. Muslin is now manufactured in Britain,
and brought to very great perfection.
MUSQUETOE. See Culex, Entomology Index.
MUSSULMAN, or Musylman, a title by which
the Mahometans distinguish themselves j signifying, in
the Turkish language, “ true believer, or orthodox.”
See Mahometanism.
In Arabic, the word is written Moslem, Mosleman,
or Mosolman. The appellation was first given to the
Saracens, as is observed by Leunclavius.—There are
two kinds of Mussulmans, very averse to each other j
the one called Sonnites, and the other Shiites.—The
Sonnites follow the interpretation of the Alcoran
given by Omar j the Shiites are the followers of Ali.
The subjects of the king of Persia are Shiites; and
those of the grand signior, Sonnites. See Sonna, and
Alcoran.
According to some authors the word Mussulman sig¬
nifies saved, that is, predestinated: and hence the Ma¬
hometans give themselves the appellation, as believ¬
ing they are all predestinated to salvation.—Marti-
nius is more particular as to the origin of the name ;
which he derives from the Arabic nboa musaleni,
“ saved, snatched out of danger:” the Mahometans,
he observes, establishing their religion by fire and
sword, massacred all those who would not embrace it,
and granted life to all that did, calling them Mussul¬
mans, q. d. erepti e periculo ; whence the word, in
course of time, became the distinguishing title of all
those of that sect, who have affixed to it the significa¬
tion of true believers.
55 ] M U T
MUST, Mustum, sweet wine newly pressed from Jiussuim!yi
the grape ; or the new liquor pressed from the fruit be- jj
fore it is fermented. See Wine. Mutilation.
MUSTARD. See Sinapi, Botany Index. ' 
Mustaud Seed. For an account of its medical qua¬
lities, see Materia Medica Index.
MUSTELA, the Otter and W easel *, a genus
of quadrupeds of the order of ferae. See Mammalia
Index.
MUSTER, in a military sense, a review of troops
under arms, to see if they be complete and in good
order 5 to take an account of their numbers, the con¬
dition they are in, viewing their arms and accoutre^
ments, &c.
Mus run-Master-general, or Commissary-general of
the Musters ; one who takes account of every regi¬
ment, their number, horses, arms, &c. reviews them,
sees the horses be well mounted, and all the men well
armed and accoutred, &c.
Muster-Rolls, lists of soldiers in each company,
troop, or regiment, by which they are paid, and the
strength of the army is known.
MUTABILITY is opposed to immutability. See
Immutability.
MU1ATION, the act of changing, or sometimes
the change itself.
Mutation, in the ancient music, is applied to the
changes or alterations that happen in the order of the
sounds which compose the melody.
MUTATIONES, among the Romans, post stages
or places where the public couriers were supplied with
fresh horses.—The mutationes were wholly designed
for the use of these couriers, or messengers of state j in
which respect they differ from mansiones.
MUTCHKIN, a liquid measure used in Scotland ;
it contains four gills, and is the fourth part of a Scotch
pint.
MU IE, in a general sense, signifies a person that
cannot speak, or has not the use of speech.
Mute, in Law, a person that stands dumb or speech¬
less when he ought to answer, or to plead. See Ar¬
raignment.
Mute, in Grammar, a letter which yields no sound
without the addition of a vowel. The simple conso¬
nants are distinguished into mutes and liquids, or
semivowels. See the articles Consonant, Liquid,
&c.
I he mutes in the Greek alphabet are nine, three of
which, viz. k, k, r, are termed tenues ', three $, y,
termed media}; and three <p, %, t, termed aspiratee.
See the article Aspirate, &c.
The mutes of the Latin alphabet are also nine, viz.
B, C, D, G, I, K, P, Q, T,
MUTILATION, the retrenching or cutting away
any member of the body.
This word is also extended to statues and buildings,
where any part is wanting, or the projecture of any
member, as a cornice or an impost, is broken oft'. It
is sometimes also used in a more immediate manner
for castration : (See Castration and Eunuch). The
practice of this sort of mutilation is of various kinds :
the Hottentots are said to cut away one testicle from
their children upon supposition that they are thereby
made lighter and more active for running. In other
countries, poor people completely mutilate their boys,
4 A 2 to
M U T
[ 556 ]
M U T
Mulilation to prevent the misery and want which would attend
II their offspring. Those who have nothing in view but
Mutina. t|le improvement of a vain talent, or the formation ot
    ' a voice which disfigures nature, as was the case for¬
merly in Italy, are contented with cutting away the
testicles. But in some countries of Asia, especially
among the Turks, and in a part of Africa, those whom
^ . . o.l 1 * . a.  1 J final *•
iglios who have not been cleuriveil of
all the external parts of generation .
Amputation is not the only means of accomplishing
this end. Formerly, the growth of the testicles was
prevented, and their organization destroyed by simple
rubbing, while the child was put into a warm bath
made of a decoction of plants. Some pretend that by
this species of castration the life is in no danger. Am¬
putation of the testicles is not attended with much
danger ; but complete amputation of the external parts
of generation is often fatal. This operation can only
be performed on children from seven to ten years ot
ao-e. Eunuchs of this kind, owing to the danger at¬
tending the operation, cost in Turkey five or six times
more than others. Chardin relates, that this operation
is so painful and dangerous after 15 years of age, that
hardly a fourth part of those by whom it is undergone
escape with life. Pietro della Valle, on the contrary
informs us, that in Persia those who suffer this cruel and
dangerous operation as a punishment for rapes and other
crimes of this kind, are easily cured though far ad¬
vanced in life j and that nothing but ashes is applied to
the wound. . ,
There are eunuchs at Constantinople, throughout
all Turkey, and in Persia, of a gray complexion : they
come for the most part from the kingdom of Col-
conda, the peninsula on this side the Ganges, the king¬
doms of Assan, Aracan, Pegu, and Malabar. I hose
from the gulf of Bengal are of an olive colour. Ihcre
are some white eunuchs who come irom Georgia and
Circassia, hut their number is small. The black eu¬
nuchs come from Africa, and especially from Ethiopia.
These, in proportion to their horrible appealance, aie
thf. mere esteemed and cost dearer. It appears that - ■ 7 - - " _ . ^ r 1 • „
a very considerable trade is carried on in this species of resolved to sacrifice himself for the saftey of his coun¬
men ^ for Tavernier informs us, that when he was in try 5 and boldly entering the enemy s camp, killed
tTe kingdom of Golconda, in the year 1657, 22,000 Porsenna’s secretary, whom he took for Porsenna him-
Parma, situated between the rivers Gabellns and Scul-
tenna, on the Via iEmilia. Here D. Brutus being be¬
sieged by Antony, was relieved by the consuls Hirtius
and Pansa. The Greeks called it Mutine; except Po- "
lybius, in whom it is Motine ; and in Ptolemy -Mutina,
after the Roman manner.—Nowr Modena, a city ot
Lombardy, and capital of a cognominal duchy. E.
Long. II. 20. N. Lat. 44 45.
MUTINY, in a military sense, to rise against autho¬
rity. “ Any officer or soldier who shall presume to use
traiterous or disrespectful words against the sacred per¬
son of his majesty, or ot the royal family, is guilty
of mutiny.
“ Any officer or soldier who shall behave himself
with contempt or disrespect towards the general or
other commander in chief ot our forces, or shall speak
words tending to their hurt or dishonour, is guilty of
mutiny.
“ Any officer or soldier who shall begin, excite, cause,
or join in, any mutiny or sedition, in the troop, com¬
pany, or regiment, to which he belongs, or in any other
troop or company in our service, or in any party, post,
detachment, or guard, on any pretence whatsoever, is
guilty of mutiny.
“ Any officer or sol&er who, being present at any
mutiny or sedition, does not use his utmost endeavours
to suppress the same, or coming to the knowledge oi
any mutiny, or intended mutiny, does not without de¬
lay give information to his commanding officer, is guilty
of mutiny.
“ Any officer or soldier, who shall strike his superior
officer, or draw, or offer to draw, or shall lift up any
weapon, or offer any violence against him, being in the
execution of his office, on any pretence whatsoever, 01
shall disobey any lawful command of his superior officer,
is guilty of mutiny.”
Mutiny Act. See Military State.
MUTIUS, Caius, surnamed Codrus, and afterwards
Scavola, was one of the illustrious Roman family of the
Mutii, and rendered his name famous in the war be¬
tween Porsenna king of Tuscany and the Romans.
That prince resolving to restore the family of Tarquin
the Proud, went to besiege Rome 507 B. C. Mutius
Mutina
u
Mutius.
eunuchs were made it it. In that country they are
sold at the fairs.
The object of improving the voice by means ot this
species of mutilation, it is said, often tails} toi ot 2000
victims to the luxury and extravagant caprices of the
art, hardly three are found who unite good talents with
good organs. The other languishing and inactive
wretches are, in some measure, outcasts from both sexes,
and paralytic members in the community. But let us
pay the tribute which is due to that virtuous pontiff
Pope Clement VIII. who, listening to the voice ot
modesty and humanity, proscribed and abolished this
detestable and infamous practice. Mutilation, he
declared was the most abominable and disgraceful ot
crimes.
MUTILLA, a genus of insects belonging to the or¬
der of hymenoptera. See Entomology Index.
MUTINA, in Ancient Gcogt'apfuj, a noble city of the
Cispadana, made a Roman colony in the same year with
self. Being seized and brought before Porsenna, he
told him boldly, that 300 young men like himself had
sworn to murder him 5 but since this hand has missed
thee, continued he, it must be punished; then putting
his right hand on the burning coals, he let it burn
with such constancy as astonished the beholders. Ihe
king, amazed at the intrepidity of this young Roman,
ordered that he should have his freedom and return to
Rome, and soon after concluded a peace with the Ro¬
mans. From this action Mutius obtained the surname
of Sccevola, “ or left-handed,” which was enjoyed by
his family.
Mutius Sccevola, Q. surnamed the Augur, was an
excellent civilian, and instructed Cicero in the laws.
He was made praetor in Asia *, was afterwards consul,
and performed very important services for the re¬
public. . ,
He ought not to be confounded with Quintus Mu-
tins Sccevola, another excellent civilian, who was prae¬
tor
M Y C [ :
Latins tor in Asia, tribune of the people, and at length con-
11 sal, 95 B. C. He governed Asia with such prudence
'cen:c- and equity, that his example was proposed to the go-
vernors who were sent into the provinces. Cicero says,
“ that he was the most eloquent orator of all the ci¬
vilians, and the most able civilian of all the orators.”
He was assassinated in the temple of Vesta, during the
wars of Marius and Sylla, 82 B. C.
MUTTON, the common name of the flesh of a
sheep after the animal has been killed. Mutton has
been commonly preferred to all the fleshes of quadru¬
peds. And indeed, besides its being more perfect, it
has the advantage over them of being more generally
suited to different climates : whereas beef, e. g. re¬
quires a very nice intermediate state, which it seems
to enjoy chiefly in England ; for although Scotland
supplies what are reckoned the best cattle, it is in the
rich English pastures that they are brought to perfec¬
tion. Now the sheep can be brought almost to the
same perfection in this bleak northern region as in the
southern countries.
MUTUAL, a relative term, denoting something
that is reciprocal between two or more persons.
Thus we say, mutual assistance, mutual aversion, &c.
There are mutual or reciprocal duties, oflices, &c. be¬
tween superiors and inferiors 5 as the king and his sub¬
jects, the master and his servants, &c.
Vaugelas makes a distinction between mutual and
reciprocal: mutual, according to him, is understood of
what is between two only j and reciprocal, of what is
between more than two : but this distinction is little
regarded in common use.
MUTULE, in Architecture, a kind of square mo-
dillion set under the cornice of the Doric order.
MUTUNUS, or Mutinus, in Fabulous History, a
deity among the Romans, similar to the Priapus of the
Greeks.
MUZZLE of a Gun or Mortar, the extremity at
which the powder and ball is put in ; and hence the
muzzle ring is the metalline circle or moulding that
surrounds the mouth of the piece.
MYA, the Gaper j a genus of shell fish. See Con-
chology Index.
MYAGRUM, Gold of Pleasure, a genus of
plants, belonging to the tetradynamia class 5 and in the
natural method ranking under the 39th order, Siliquo-
sce. See Botany Index.
MYCALE, a city and mountain of Caria ; also a
promontory of Asia opposite Samos, celebrated for a
battle which was fought there between the Greeks and
Persians about the year of Rome 275. The Persians
were about 100,000 men, who had just returned from
the unsuccessful expedition of Xerxes in Greece.—
They had dr-awn their ships to the shore, and fortified
themselves strongly, as if determined to support a siege.
They suft’ered the Greeks to disembark from their fleet
without the least molestation, and were soon obliged to
give way before the cool and resolute intrepidity of an
inferior number of men. The Greeks obtained com¬
plete victory, slaughtered some thousands of the enemy,
burned their camp, and sailed back to Samos with an
immense booty, in which were 70 chests of money.
MYCENiE, in Ancient Geography, a town of Ar-
golis, in Peloponnesus. The kingdom of the Argives
was divided into two portions by Acrisius and his bro-
>7 ] M Y G
ther Prcetus. Argos and Mycenae were their capitals. Mycenw
—These, as belonging to the same family, and distant ||
only about 50 stadia or six miles and a quarter from Mygmda^
each other, had one tutelary deity, Juno, and were v_""
jointly proprietors of her temple, the Herseum, which
was near Mycenae. It was here that Agamemnon
reigned. Pie enlarged his dominions by his valour and
good fortune, and possessed, besides Mycenae, the re¬
gion about Corinth and Sicyon, and that called after¬
words Achaea. On his return from Troy, he was slain
with his companions at a banquet. Mycenae then de¬
clined : and under the Heraclidae was made subject to
Argos. (See Argos and Argeia.) The Mycenaeans
sending 80 men, partook with the Lacedaemonians in
the glory acquired at Thermopylae. The jealousy of
the Argives produced the destruction of their city,
which was abandoned after a siege, and laid waste in
the first year ot the 78th Olympiad, or 466 years be¬
fore Christ. Some part of the wall remained in the
second century, with a gate on which were lions, a
fountain, the subterraneous edifices where Atreus and
his sons had deposited their treasures, and, among other
sepulchral monuments, one of Agamemnon, and one of
his fellow soldiers and suflerers.
MYCONE, an island of the Archipelago, situated
in E. Long. 25. 51. N. Lat. 37. 28. It is about 36
miles in circuit, and has a town of the same name,
containing about 3000 inhabitants. The people of
this island are said to be the best sailors in the Archi¬
pelago, and have about 150 vessels of different sizes.
The island yields a sufficient quantity of barley for the
inhabitants, and produces abundance of figs, and some
olives 5 but there is a scarcity of water, especially in
summer, there being but one well in the island.—
There are a great number of churches and chapels,
with some monasteries.
MYCQNUS, in Ancient Geography, one of the
islands called Cyclades, near Delos, under which the
last of the Centaurs slain by Hercules are feigned to lie
buried. Hence the proverb, Omnia sub unam Myconum
congerere, applied to an injudicious or unnatural far¬
rago. Myconii, the people, noted for baldness. Hence
Myconius, a bald person. According to Strabo, the
inhabitants became bald at the age of 20 or 25 ; and
Pliny says that the children were always born without
hair. The island was poor, and the inhabitants very
avaricious; whence Archilochus reproached a certain
Pericles, that he came to a feast like a Myconian j that
is without previous invitation. Now called Alycone,
which see.
MYCTERIA, the Jabiru, a genus of birds be¬
longing to the order of grallte. See Ornithology
Index.
MYGDONIA, in Ancient Geography, a district of
Macedonia, to the north of the Sinus Thermaicus, and
east of the river Axius, which separates it from Bot-
taeis, and west of the river Strymon (Pliny). Also a
district of Mesopotamia, which took its name from that
of Macedonia, running along the Euphrates, from
Zeugma down to Thapsacus, extending a great wray
east, because Nisibis w-as reckoned to it.
MYG1NDA, a genus of plants belonging to the
tetrandria class j and in the natural method ranking
with those of which the order is doubtful. See Botany
Index.
MYIAGRUS,
Mviasrus
Mvlasa.
M Y L
MYIAGRUS deus, in the lieatlipn
a name given sometimes to Jupiter, and sometimes to
Hercules, on occasion of their being sacrificed to for
the driving away the vast numbers of flies which in¬
fested the sacrifices on certain public occasions. The
word is usually spelt Mtjagrusi but this must bean
error, as this word does not express the fiy-dcstroycr,
hut the mouse-destroyer; and w e have it sufficiently testi¬
fied by the ancients, that Hies were the only crea¬
tures against whom this deity was invoked. Pliny
calls this deity -AsoMytodes; and tells us that the Hies
which used to pester the Olympic rites went away in
whole clouds on the sacrificing a bull to this god. We
find in Athenaeus also, that this sacrificing to the god
of flies at the Olympic games was a constant custom.
Some distinguish these two deities, and tell us that the
latter or Myiodes, used to visit the nations in ven¬
geance, with a vast multitude of flies : and that, on
paying him the due honours of a sacrifice, they all
went away again 5 and this seems to agree with what
Pliny tells us in some places.
At the time of the Olympic games, Jupiter w'as
worshipped under 'the name o( Apomyos or Myiagrus
Deus, to supplicate the destruction of those troublesome
creatures. This happened only once in many years,
when the sacrifices were performed there j but the
Elians worshipped him continually under this name, to
deprecate the vengeance of heaven, which usually sent,
as they expressed it, an army of flies and other insects,
toward J.he latter end of the summer, that infested the
whole country with sickness and pestilence.
MYIODES deus, in the heathen mythology, a
name sometimes given to Hercules, but more frequent¬
ly to Jupiter, to whom a bull*was sacrificed, in order
to make him propitious in driving away the flies that
infested the Olympic games.
MYLyE, in Ancient Geography, a Greek city situa¬
ted on an isthmus of a cognominal peninsula, on the
north-east side of the island. Mylaei, or Mylenses, the
people. A town built by those of Zancle (Strabo).
Myloeus, the epithet, as Mylaeus Campus, mentioned
by Polybius. Now called Mila%%o, a port town of
Sicily, in the Yal di Demona. E. Long. 15. 5. N.
Lat. 38. 36.
MYLASA, or Mylassa, in Ancient Geography, a
noble city of Caria in Asia Minor, situated about three
leagues from the Sinus Ceramicjis. It was the capital
of Hecatomnus king of Caria, and father of Mausolus.
Pliny speaks of Menander king of Caria, and says that
the Rhodians preserved with the greatest care his por¬
trait painted by Apelles: but it was not in honour of
this Menander that a Corinthian pillar was erected at
Myl asa, which still exists, and on which is to be seen
the following inscription : “ The people erected this
pillar in honour of Menander, the son of Uliades, and
grandson of Euthydemus, the benefactor of his country,
and whose ancestors rendered it great services also.”
Euthydemus, the grandfather of this Menander, lived
in the time ol Julius Caesar and Augustus. Caria was
taken by Mithridates, and afterwards by L&bienus,
whose father had been one of Caesar’s generals. Hy-
brias, whose eloquence and valour deservedly entitled
him to a distinguished rank among his countrymen, in
vam encouraged them to make a most obstinate defence
2
[ SSS ] M Y O
mythology, while it was besieged by the latter. He himself was
obliged to yield to necessity, and to take refuge at |j
Rhodes : but scarcely had the conqueror quitted the ^yontam
city, when Hybrias returned, and restored liberty .to **
his country.—Not content with rendering it this ser¬
vice, he also destroyed the power of a dangerous citi¬
zen, whose riches and talents rendered him a necessary
evil. Euthydemus, often banished, and as often re¬
called, always too powerful in a state the independence,
of which he threatened, saw his ambition checked bv
the zeal and activity of Hybrias. The Romans left to
Mylasa that liberty of which it rendered itself so worthy,
by the great efforts it made to preserve it. Pliny calls
it Mylasa libera. Strabo informs Us, that it was one of
the most magnificent cities of antiquity, and one of
those, the temples, porticoes, and other public menu*
ments of which were highly admired. A quarry of
white marble in the neighbourhood furnished it with
abundance of materials for erecting these edifices.—
The Mylasians had two temples dedicated to Jupiter,
one situated in the city, which was named Osogo, and
another built on a mountain, at the distance of 60
leagues. The latter was dedicated to Jupiter Stratius,
Jupiter the Warrior. His state, which was very an¬
cient, inspired great veneration 5 people came from all
quarters to implore his protection ; and for the greater
accommodation of his votaries a paved way was con¬
structed w’hich reached from Mylasa to this venerable
fabric. This city is now called Melasso, and, according
to Dr Chandler, is still a large place.—The houses are
numerous, hut chiefly of pilaster, and mean, with trees
interspersed. The air is accounted bad 5 and scorpions
abound as anciently, entering often at the doors and
windows, and lurking in the rooms. The plain is sur¬
rounded by lofty mountains, and cultivated. Round
the towns are ranges of broken columns, the remnants
of porticoes, now with rubbish bounding the vineyards.
A large portion of the plain is cowered with scattered
fragments, and with piers of ordinary aqueducts $ besides
inscriptions, mostly ruined and illegible. Some altars
dedicated to Hecatomnus have been discovered. Of
all the ancient temples which formerly ornamented this
city, one only escaped the power of time, the blind
zeal of the early Christians, and the barbarous super¬
stition of the Mahometans. This monument was dedica¬
ted to Augustus and the divinity of Rome. When Po-
cocke visited Melasso, it was perfect and entire ; but
at present no traces of it remain, except a few frag¬
ments, which have been employed to construct a Turk¬
ish mosque.
MYLOGLOSSUM, in Anatomy. See Anatomy,
Table of the Muscles.
MYLOHYOIDyEUS. Ibid.
MYOLOGY, (formed of pvs, pvof, “ a muscle,” and
Aayof, “ discourse”), in anatomy, a description of the
muscles; or the knowledge of what relates to the
muscles of the human body. Ibid.
MYOMANCY, a kind of divination, or method of
foretelling future events by means of mice.
Some authors hold myomancy to be one of the most
ancient kinds of divination ; and think it is on tins
account that Isaiah, Ixvi. 17. reckons mice among the
abominable things of the Idolaters. But, beside that,
it is not certain that the Hebrew word "PM used by
the
Y R
jmancy the prophet signifies a mouse, it is evident it is not the
|| divination by that animal, be it what it will, that is
nstica', spoken of, but the eating it.
’"v “ MYOPIA, Short-sightedness j a species of vi¬
sion wherein objects are seen only at small distances.
See Medicine, N° 361.
MYOSOTIS, Scorpion-grass j a genus of plants
i belonging to the pentandria class, and in the natural
method ranking under the 41st order, Asperifolice. See
Botany Index.
MYOSORUS, a genus of plants belonging to the
pentandria class, and in the natural method ranking
under the 26th order, Multisiliquce. See Botany In¬
dex.
MYOXUS, the Dormouse, a genus of quadrupeds
belonging to the order of glires. See Mammalia In¬
dex.
MYRIAD, a term sometimes used to denote ten
thousand.
MYRICA, Gale, or Sweet-willow, a genus of
plants belonging to the dioecia class, and in the natural
method ranking under the 5th order, Amcntacece. See
Botany Index.
MYRIOPHYLLUM, a genus of plants belonging
to the moncecia class, and in the natural method rank¬
ing under the 15th order, Inundatce. See Botany
Index.
MYRISTICA, the Nutmeg-tree, in Botany, a
genus of plants belonging to the class dioecia, and or¬
der syngenesia, and of the natural order, Lau?'L The
description of this genus having been omitted in its pro¬
per place under Botany, we shall here introduce a
^hort account of it.—The male calyx is monophyllous,
strong, and parted into three lacmice of an oval shape,
and ending in a point: it has no corolla. In the mid¬
dle of the receptacle rises a column of the height of the
calyx, to the upper part of which the antheroe are at¬
tached. They vary in number from three to twelve
or thirteen.—The female calyx and corolla as m the
male, on a distinct tree. The germen of an oval
shape •, the style short, with a bifid stigma, the laci-
nii of which are oval and spreading.—The fruit is of
that sort called drupa. It is fleshy, roundish, some¬
times unilocular, sometimes bivalved, and bursts when
ripe at the side. The seed is enveloped with a fleshy
and fatty membranous substance which divides into
filaments (this, in one of the species, is the mace of
the shops). The seed or nutmeg is round or oval
shaped, unilocular, and contains a small kernel, varie¬
gated on the surface by the fibres running in the form
of a screw.
Species.—There are five species of this genus ac¬
cording to some authors 5 but several of these being
only varieties, may be reduced into three, viz.
1. Myristica fatua, or wild nutmeg: this grows in
Tobago, and rises to the height of an apple-tree; has
oblong, lanceolated, downy leaves, and hairy fruit:—
the nutmeg of which is aromatic, but when given in¬
wardly is narcotic, and occasions drunkenness, delirium,
and madness, for a time.
2. The myristica sebifera, (Virola Sebifera Aublet,
page 904. tab. 345.) a tree frequent in Guiana, rising
to 40 or even to 60 feet high •, on wounding the trunk
of which, a thick, acrid, red juice runs out. Aublet
says nothing of the nutmegs being aromatic j he only
t 559 ]
M Y R
observes, that a yellow fat is obtained from them, which Myristica.
serves many economical and medical purposes, and thatv y"" J
the natives make candles of it.
3. I he myristica moschata, or nutmeg, rises to the
height of 30 feet, producing numerous branches 5 the
bark of the trunk is of a reddish brown, but that of the
young branches is of a bright green colour: the leaves
are nearly elliptical, pointed, undulated, obliquely
nerved, on the upper side of a bright green, on the
under whitish, and stand alternately upon footstalks :
the flowers are small, and hang upon slender pedun¬
cles, proceeding from the axillae of the leaves: they are
both male and female upon separate trees.
M. Schwartz, who has carefully examined'this as
well as the two first species, preserved in spirits, places
them among the monadelphia.
The nutmeg has been supposed to be the comacum
of 1 heophrastus, but there seems little foundation for
this opinion } nor can it with more probability be
thought to be the ckrysobalanos of Galen. Our first
knowledge of it was evidently derived from the Ara¬
bians ; by Avicenna it was called jiausiban, or jiausi-
band, which signifies nut of Banda. Rumphiiis both
fignred and described this tree 5 but the figure given
by him is so imperfect, and the description so confused,
that Linnaeus, who gave it the generic name myristica,
was unable to assign its proper characters. M. Lamarck
informs us, that he received several branches of the my¬
ristica, both in flower and fruit, from the isle of France,
where a nutmeg-tree, which was introduced by Mon¬
sieur Poivre in 1770, is now very large, and continu¬
ally producing flowers and fruit. From these branches,
which were sent from Mons. Cere, director of the king’s
garden in that island, Lamarck has been enabled to
describe and figure this and other species of the myris¬
tica. See Plate CXXIV. Botany.
Fig. a. A sprig with fructification. The drupa of
the natural size, and bursting open. Fig. b. The full-
grown fruit cut lengthwise. Fig. c. Another section
of the same. Fig. d. The nutmeg enveloped with its
covering, the mace. I ig. e. The fatty membrane or
mace spread out. Fig. f. The nutmeg of its natural
size. I ig. g. The same with its external tegument re¬
moved at one end. Fig. h. The same with its outer
tegument entirely removed. Fig. i. A transverse sec¬
tion of the nutmeg.
The seeds or kernels called nutmegs are well known,
as they have been long used both for culinary and me¬
dical purposes. Distilled with water, they yield a
large quantity of essential oil, resembling in flavour
the spice itself; after the distillation an insipid seba¬
ceous matter is found swimming on the water 5 the
decoction inspissated, gives an extract of an unctuous,
very lightly bitterish taste, and with little or no astrin-
gency. Rectified spirit extracts the whole virtue of
nutmegs by infusion, and elevates very little of it in
distillation : hence the spirituous extract possesses the
flavour of the spice in an eminent degree.
Nutmegs, when heated, yield to the press a consider¬
able quantity of limpid yellow oil, which on cooling
concretes into a sebaceous consistence. In the shops
we meet with three sorts of unctuous substances, called
oil of mace, though really expressed from the nutmeg.
The best is brought from the East Indies in stone
jars $ this is of a thick consistence, of the colour of
mace.
Myristiea.
M Y H t 5^o ]
mace, and has an agreeable fragrant smell ; the se- and sharp taste
cond sort, which is paler coloured, and much xnlenoi
in quality, comes from Holland in solid masses, gene-
raUv flatl and of a square figure : the third, which is
the worst of all, and usually called common oil of mace,
is an artificial composition of sevum, palm oil, and the
like, flavoured with a little genuine oil of nutmeg.
Method of gathering and preparing Nutmeg. VV hen
the fruit is ripe the natives ascend the trees, an ga¬
ther it by pulling the branches to them with long hooks.
Some are employed in opening them immediately, and
in taking off the green shell or first rind, which is laid
too-ether in a heap in the woods, where in time it pu-
trefies. As soon as the putrefaction has taken place,
there spring up a kind of mushrooms called mos-
chatyni, of a blackish colour, and much valued by the
natives who consider them as delicate eating. mn
the nuts are stripped of their first rind, they are carried
home, and the mace is carefully taken ofl with a smal
knife. The mace, which is of a beautiful red, but af¬
terwards assumes a darkish or reddish colour, is laid to
dry in the sun for the space of a day, and is then re¬
moved to a place less exposed to his rays, where it re¬
mains for eight days, that it may soften a little. Ihey
afterwards moisten it with sea water, to prevent it from
drying too much, or from losing its oil. Ibey are
careful, however, not to employ too much water, lest it
should become putrid, and be devoured by the worms.
It is last of all put into small bags, and squeezed very
Cl°Tlie nuts which are still covered with their ligne¬
ous shell, ate for three days exposed to the sun, and
afterwards dried before a fire till they emit a sound
when they are shaken j they then beat them with
small sticks in order to remove their shell, which Hies
off in pieces. These nuts are distributed into three
parcels, the first of which contains the largest and most
beautiful, which are destined to be brought to bu-
rope : the second contains such as are reserved for the
use of the inhabitants j and the third contains the small¬
est, which are irregular or unripe. Ihese are burnt 5
and part of the rest is employed for procuring oil by
pressure. A pound of them commonly gives tnee
ounces of oil, which has the consistence of tallow, and
has entirely the taste of nutmeg. Both the nut and
mace, when distilled, afford an essential, transparent,
and volatile oil, of an excellent flavour.
The nutmegs which have been thus selected would
soon corrupt if they were not watered, or rather
pickled, with lime-water made from calcined shell hsh,
which they dilute with salt water till it attain the
consistence of fluid pap. Into this mixture they
plunge the nutmegs, contained in small baskets, two
or three times, till they are completely covered over
with the liquor. They are afterwards laid in a heap,
where they heat, and lose their superfluous moisture
by evaporation. When they have sweated sufficient¬
ly, they are then properly prepared, and fit for a sea
voyage.
In the island of Banda, the fruit of the nutmeg tree
is preserved entire in the following manner : When it
is almost ripe, but previous to its opening, it is boiled
in water and pierced with a needle. They next lay
it in water to soak for ten days, till it has lost its sour
M Y R
They then boil it gently in a^syrup Martlet
of sugar, to which, if they wish it to be hard, a little
lime is added. This operation is repeated for eight
days, and each time the syrup is renewed. The fruit
when thus preserved is put for the last time into a
pretty thick syrup, and is kept in earthen pots closely
shut.
These nuts are likewise pickled with brine or with
vinegar} and when they intend to eat them, they
first steep them in fresh water, and afterwards boil them
in syrup of sugar, &c.
Uses.—Nutmegs preserved entire are presented as
desserts, and the inhabitants of India sometimes eat
them when they drink tea. Some of them use nothing
but the pulp j others likewise chew the mace 5 but they
generally throw away the kernel, which is really the
nutmeg. Many who perform sea voyages to the north
chew this fruit every morning.
The medicinal qualities of nutmeg are supposed to
he aromatic, anodyne, stomachic, and restringent; and
with a view to the last-mentioned effects, it has been
much used in diarrhoeas and dysenteries.
Remarks on the trade of Nutmegs.—Nutmeg trees
grow in several islands in the eastern ocean. Ihe wood
pigeon of the Moluccas is unintentionally a great plan¬
ter of these trees, and disseminates them in places where
a nation, powerful by its commerce, thinks it lor its in¬
terest that they should he rooted out and destroyed.
The Dutch, whose unwearied patience can surmount
the greatest obstacles, formerly appropriated to them¬
selves the crop of nutmeg, as well as that of cloves and
cinnamon, growing in the islands of Ternate, Ceylon,
&c. either by right of conquest or by paying subsidies to
the islanders, who find these much more profitable than
the former produce of their trees. It is nevertheless
true, that they have prevailed upon or compelled the
inhabitants of the Moluccas to cut down and root out
all the clove trees, which they have preserved only in
the islands of Amboyna and Ternate, which are in a
great measure subject to them. We know for certain,
that the Dutch pay 18,000 rixdollars yearly to the
king of Ternate by way of tribute or gift, in order
to recompense him for the loss of his clove trees in
the other Molucca islands ; and that they are moreover
bound by treaty to take at 3^. a pound, all the cloves
brought by the natives of Amboyna to their maga¬
zines.
The Dutch had formerly immense and very rich ma¬
gazines of these precious aromatics, both in India and
Europe. It is said, that they had actually by them the
produce of 16 years, and never supplied their neighbours
with the last, but always with the oldest crop: in 1760
they sold what was laid up in 1744 i ant^ wAen
had too great a quantity of cloves, nutmeg, &c. in
their magazines, they threw them into the sea, or de¬
stroyed them by burning. On the 10th of June x7d°>
M. Bomare saw at Amsterdam, near the Admiralty, a
fire, the fuel of which was valued at 8,000,000 0
livres ; and as much was to be burned on the day fol¬
lowing. The feet of the spectators were bathed in the
essential oil of these substances •, but no person was al¬
lowed to gather any of it, much less to take any of the
spices which were in the fire. Some years before,
unon a similar occasion, and at the same place, a pool
1 man
M Y H
r 561
man vvlio bad taken up some nutmegs which had rolled
out of the fire, was, as M. Bomare was informed, seized
and condemned to immediate execution.
But after all, although the spice trade is less exclu¬
sively limited to the Dutch of late years, it does not
appear that the price of East Indian spiceries is in any
degree reduced to the consumer. J
Ml RMECOPHAGA, or Ant-bear, a genus of
quadrupeds,- belonging to the order of bruta. See Maxi¬
ma El A Index.
MYRMELEON or Ant-lion, a genus of insects
0 “ie neuroptera order. See Entomology Index
Ml RMIDONS, Myrmidones, in antiquity j a
people m the southern borders of Thessaly, who ac¬
companied Achilles to the Trojan war. They re¬
ceived their name from Myrmidon, a son of Jupiter
and Eurymedusa, who married one of the daughters
s°n °[ Helen. His son Actor married
n?.,na> \l}e daughter of TEsopus. He gave his name
to lus subjects, who dwelt near the river Peneus in
ihe8*aly. . According to some, the Myrmidons re¬
ceived their name from their having arisen from ants
or pismires, upon a prayer put up for that purpose by
King YEaciis to Jupiter, after his kingdom had been
dispeopled by a severe pestilence. According to Strabo
they received it from their industry, because they imi¬
tated the diligence of the ants, and like them were in¬
defatigable, and were contkually employed in cultivat¬
ing the earth.
1 • ^ ^HLLONES were gladiators of a certain
kind at Rome, who fought against the Retiarii. Their
arms were a sword, head piece, and shield. On the
top of the head-piece they wore a fish embossed, called
M^pvps, whence their name is by some supposed to be
enved. . 1 he Retiarii, in their engagements, made use
of a net, in which they endeavoured to entangle their
adversaries j and sung during the fight, “ Non te peto
jnscem peto; quid me fugis, Gal/e?” “ I aim not at
r‘e\ “"L"1 “ i "I'y dost thou shun ",e, O
Gaul. The Myrmillones were called Galli, because
they wore Gallic armour. They were also named Se-
etttore.?. Tins kind of gladiators was suppressed by
Caligula, bee Gladiators, Retiarii, &c.
M\ ROB ALANS, a kind of medicinal fruit brought
from the Indies, of which there are five kinds. 1. The
citrine of a yellowish red colour, hard, oblong, and the
rtize of an olive. 2. The black or Indian myrobalan,
of the bigness of an acorn, wrinkled and without a
stone. 3. Chebulic myrobalans, which are of the size
of a date, pointed at the end, and of a yellowish brown.
4* Emblic, which are round, rough, the size of gall,
and of a dark brown. 5. Balleric, which are hard’
lound, of the size of an ordinary prune, less angular
than the rest, and yellow. They are all slightly pur¬
gative and astringent. The word comes from the
Greek “ ointment,” and fahun;, “ acorn,” as
being in the form of acorns, and used in medicine.
MYRON, an excellent Grecian statuary, flourished
442 B. C. The cow he represented in brass was an
admirable piece of workmanship, and was the occasion
of many fine epigrams in Greek.
MYROXYLON, a genus of plants belonging to
t-be decandria class. See Botany Index.
MYRRH, a gummy-i’esinous concrete juice, which
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
] M Y S
IS brought from the East Indies or from Abyssinia. See
Materia Medica Index. 1
It is affirmed by some, that the myrrh we have at
present is not equal in quality to that of the ancients
and has not that exquisite smell which all authors a!
don/ '° t lC T1’e^ aromatized their most deli*
loaf I Win£? Wlth ’ aTnd 11 was presented as a very va¬
luable perfume to our Lord while he Jay in the manger.
It was tins gum also which was mingled with the
t0 dnnkat his passion, to deaden his
pa ns, and produce a stupor. (See Mark xv. 32.). The
gal mentioned on the sW occasion by St Matthew is
piobably the same with myrrh 5 for any thing bitter
vas usually distinguished by the name of galk The
Hebrews were accustomed to give those that were exe¬
cuted some stupefying draught. The difficulty which
arises from the seeming difference betwixt the two evan-
gelists, by some is solved by saying, that St Matthew
wii mg in Syriac, made use of the word marra. which
signifies myrrh, bitterness, or gall j” but the Greek
translator has taken it for gall, and St Mark for myrrh.
heis think that our Saviour’s drink was mingled
wi 1 myrrh as a stupefying drug: but suppose that the
soldiers out of wanton cruelty and inhumanity, infused
bad L8*fl."refceYrrnk.ay t',ey’ ^
or Murrine. See Murrine.
Ml ItSir^ L, a genus of plants belonging to the pent-
amlna class and in the natural method ranking under
1 MYRTfFO866 Botany Ind™-
M YRTIFORM, m Anatomy, an appellation given
MYRTTI?8’ Q0r'\tteU’ reSembiinS mfrtle berries.
MvSfnnYr SeG Myrtus» Botany Index.
MltRTOUM mare a part of the YEgean sea, ly¬
ing between Euboea, Peloponnesus and Attica. It
receives this name from Myrto a woman, or from
lyrtos a small is and in the neighbourhood, or from
Myrtilus the son of Mercury who was drowned there,
MYR1 US, m Ancient Geographysmall island
near Larystus in Euboea, which gave name to the mare
Myrtoum. Others, according to Pausanias, derive the
appeHation from Myrto, the name of a woman. Strabo
extends this sea between Crete, Argia, and Attica
Pausanias beginning it at Euboea, joins it at Helena’
a desert island, with the iEgean sea. Ptolemy carries
it to the coast of Cana. Pliny says, that the Cyclades
and Sporades are bounded on the west by the Myrtoaa
coast of Attica. J
Myrtus, the Myrtle, a genus of plants belonging
to the icosandria class ; and in the natural method rank¬
ing under the 19th order, Hesperidece. See Botany
Index.
MYSIA, a country of Asia Minor, generally di¬
vided into Major and Minor. Mysia Minor was bound¬
ed on the north and west by the Propontis and Bithy-
nui, and Phrygia on the southern and eastern borders
Mysia Major had AEolia on the south, the ^Egean sea
on the west, and Phrygia on the north and east. Its
chief cities were Cyzicum, Lampsacus, &c. The inha¬
bitants were once very warlike j but they greatly dege¬
nerated, and the words Mysorvm nltimus were empha-
tically used to signify a person of no merit. The an¬
cients generally hired them to attend their funerals as
4 B •mourners.
Myrrh
Mysia*
M Y S
iVlysia,
Myson.
[ 56
mourners, because they were naturally melancholy and
inclined to shed tears. They were once governed by
f monarchs. They are supposed to be descended from
the Mysians of Europe, a nation who inhabited that
part of Thrace which was situated between Mount
Hsemus and the Danube.
MYSON, a native of Sparta, one of the seven wise
men of Greece. When Anacharsis consulted the ora-
ele of Apollo, to know which was the wisest man m
2 ] M Y S
Greece, he received for answer, he who is now plough¬
ing his Reids. This was Myson. (
MYSORE, or Mysorean Dominions, a kingdom'
of Asia, in the East Indies, including the territories
usurped or subdued by Hyder All, and transmitted to
his son Tippoo Saib, but now subject to the British go¬
vernment. For an account of the conquest oi which,
see India.
Mysua,
Mysore.
mysteries.
The gra¬
dual intro¬
duction of
mysteries
into reli¬
gion.
R
a-
"Etymo¬
logy and
import of
ihe term.
EEIGION, in its original form, was simple and
 , intelligible. It was intended for the instruction
and education of all ranks of men *, and of consequence
its doctrines were on a level with vulgar capacities. 1 lie
Jewish dispensation was openly practised nothing was
performed in secret 5 every article was plain, open, and
accessible. The divine Author of the Christian econo¬
my commanded his disciples to preach his doctrine in
the most public manner: “ What ye have heard m se¬
cret (says he) preach openly •, and what I have taught
you in private teach ye publicly, and proclaim it on the
house tops.” Such are the charms of truth, and such
the character of that religion which came down from
heaven, that they, as it were, “ delight, ami lift up
their voice in the streets, and cry in the chief places ot
concourse.” _
But such is the depravity of the nature of man, that
the noblest institutions degenerate in his hands. Reli¬
gion itself, originally pure, simple, and amiable, under
his management has olten been translormed into pollu¬
tion, perplexity, and deformity. I he ministers of re¬
ligion, whose province it was to guard the sacred de-
posite, and to secure it from foreign and spurious in¬
termixtures, have generally been the first innovators,
and the first and most industrious agents in corrupting
its integrity and tarnishing its beauty. Avarice and
ambition prompted that class of men to deviate from
the original plainness and simplicity of religious insti¬
tutions, and to introduce articles, rites, and usages,
which might furnish them with opportunities of grati¬
fying these unhallowed and insatiable passions. Hence
distinctions unknown to pure and undefiled religion
were fabricated j and that heavenly institution, hereto¬
fore, one, simple, indivisible, wag divided into two par¬
titions : the one popular and public } the other dark,
secret, and mysterious. I he latter of these we intend
as the subject of this article.
The English word mystery is derived from the Greek
\ and in its modern acceptation imports some¬
thing above human intelligence, something awfully ob-
sure and enigmatical; any thing artfully made difficult}
the secret of any business or profession. The vvord is
often used by the founder of the Christian religion, and
more frequently by his apostles, especially St Paul. In
these cases, it generally signifies those doctrines ol
Christianity which the Jews, prior to the advent of the
Messiah, either did not or could not understand. The
Trinity in Unity, and the Unity in Trinity } the in¬
carnation of the Sou of God ; the union cf two na
tures in one and the same person, &c. we generally
call mysteries, because they are infinitely above human
comprehension. All these significations are out ot the .
question at present. Our intention in this article is object of
to lay before our readers the fullest and fairest account this artic.
we have been able to collect, of those or secret
rites, of the Pagan superstition, which were carefully
concealed from "the-knowledge of the vulgar, and which
are universally known under the denomination of my¬
steries.
The word is evidently deduced from (avw? J
hut the origin of this last term is not altogether so ob¬
vious. The etymologies ol it exhibited by the learned
are various} some ol them absurd and inconsistent,
others foolish and futile. Instead of fatiguing our
readers with a detail of these, which would be equally
unentertaining and uninteresting, we shall only produce
one, which to us appears to come nearest the truth.
The mysteries under consideration at present were cer¬
tainly imported into Greece from the east. In those
regions, then, we ought of course to look for the etymo¬
logy of the word. Mistor or mistur, in Hebrew, signifies
“ any place or thing hidden or concealed.” As
this word implies a kind oi definition ot the natuie
of the thing intended, and as it is one of the excel¬
lencies of original languages to apply vocables with
this propriety, we find ourselves strongly inclined to
assign the word mistur as the root ol the term
my stir. % 4 !
We have already observed, that the avarice and am-Motives 1
hition of the Pagan priesthood probably gave birth to the intro j
the institution of the mysteries. To this observation1^
we may now add, that the ministers of that supersti-r:eS
tion might possibly imagine, that some articles ol their
ritual were too profound to be comprehended by the
vulgar } others, too sacred to be communicated to a
description of men, whom the institutions ol civil socie-
tv had placed in a situation not only subordinate but
even contemptible. It was imagined, that things sa¬
cred and venerable would have contracted a taint and
polIiE'on by an intercourse with sordid and untutored
souls. Tliese appear to us the most probable motives
for making that odious and pernicious distinction be¬
tween the popular religion and that conti ined in the
sacred and mysterious ritual.
The learned Bishop Warhurton is positive, that the
mysteries of the Pagan re’igion were the invention of^ ^ E
legislators * and other great personages, whom fortune^
or their < wn merit Iiad p.uixd at the head of tho e civil
societies which were formed in tlu earliest ages in dif¬
ferent parts of the world. It is with reluctance, and
incieed
M Y S T
, 5 indeed with difiideirce, ttaat wc presume to dilTer m
Ss of0 our sfltiment® from Kuc'!' respectable authority. What-
iifarbui ton e.Ver hypothesis this prelate had once adopted, so exten-
jlll founded. sive was Ids reading, and so exuberant his intellectual
resources, that he found little difficulty in defending
it by an appearance ol plausibility, if not of rational
argumentation. Ihe large quotations he has adduced
from Plato and Cicero, do indeed prove that the sages
and legislators of antiquity sometimes availed them¬
selves of the influence derived from the doctrines cf
the mysteries, and from the authority they acquired
by the opinion ol their having been initiated in them j
hut that those men were the inventors and fabricators
of them is a position for which his quotations do not
furnish the most slender presumption. At the same
time, we think d-not altogether certain, that the doc¬
trine ol a divine Providence, and a future state of re¬
wards and punishments, were revealed in the mysteries
With all the clearness and cogency which is pretended
by his lordship.
Put granting that the fabric was raised by the hands
of sages and legislators, we imagine it would be rather
difficult to discover what emolument that description
of men could propose to derive from the enterprise. 
Ihe institution was evidently, and indeed confessedly,
devised to conceal from the million those very doc¬
trines and maxims, which had they known and em¬
braced them, would have contributed most effectually
to dispose them to submit to those wise regulations
Which their governors and legislators wished most ar¬
dently to establish. Experience has taught, that no¬
thing has a more commanding influence on the minds
of the vulgar, than those very dogmas, which, accord¬
ing to the Bishop, were communicated to the initi¬
ated. A conviction of the unity of the Deity, of
his wisdom, power, goodness, omnipresence, &c. the
steady belief of the immortality of the human soul,
and ot a future state of rewards and punishments, have
in all ages, and in all countries, proved the firmest
supports of legal authority. The very same doctrines,
in the dawn of Christianity, contributed, of all other
methods, the most effectually to tame and civilize the
savage (a) inhabitants of the northern regions of Eu¬
rope. Supposing those principles to have been incul¬
cated by the mysteries, the most prudent plan legisla¬
tors could have adopted, would have been to publish
them to all mankind. They ought to have sent forth
apostles to preach them to the savages whom they had
undertaken to civilize. According to the learned
prelate, they pursued the opposite course, and deprived
themselves of those very arms by which they might
have encountered and overthrown all the armies of
6 savagism.
. ^”e.s Of all the legislators of antiquity, the Cretan alone
: l toTc was Prutlent enough to foresee and adopt this rational
i ;akd plan. Diodorus the Sicilian informs us +, that the
j licly in mysteries of Eleusis, Samothracia, &c. which were
• ib elsewhere buried in profound darkness, were among
' the Cretans taught publicly, and communicated to all
E K I E S.
the world. Minos, however, was a successful legisla-
56.
tor; and his intercourse with Jupiter Idseus extended
his influence and established his authority. He was
not under the necessity of calling in the mysteries to
his assistance : on the contrary, it is highly probable
that the universal knowledge of the doctrines of the
mysteries among his countrymen contributed in a con¬
siderable degree to facilitate his labour, and ensure his
success.
ihe divine Author of the Christian economy, view¬
ed in the light of a human legislator, saw the propriety
of this procedure. Nothing was concealed in his insti¬
tutions ; nothing was veiled with mystery, or buried
in darkness. The success was answerable to the wis¬
dom of the plan. The million flocked to the evangeli¬
cal standard: the gospel was preached to the poor, t®
the illiterate and the vulgar; and the meanest of man¬
kind eagerly embraced its maxims. 'WhereveV it pre¬
vailed, it produced civilization, morality, sobriety, loy¬
alty, and every other private and social virtue.—Upon
the supposition that the mysteries had contained and in¬
culcated the principles and practices which the prelate
supposes they did, the civilizers of mankind, legislators-^
magistrates, and princes, ought to have combined to
make them public for the sake of their own tranquilli¬
ty, and the more effectual support of their authority
and influence.
Upon the whole, we are inclined to believe that the Mysteries
mysteries were the offspring of Egyptian priestcraft, the off-
They were instituted with a view to aggrandize that sPr‘n£ °f
order of men, to extend their influence, and enlarge pjfes^craft -
their revenues. To accomplish those selfish projects* iut
they applied every engine towards besotting the mul¬
titude with superstition and enthusiasm. They taught
them to believe, that themselves were the distinguished
favourites of heaven ; and that celestial doctrines had
been revealed to them, too holy to be communicated
to the profane rabble* and too sublime to be compre¬
hended by vulgar capacities. It is, we confess, ex¬
ceedingly probable, that after the mysteries were in¬
stituted, and had acquired an exalted reputation in the
world, legislators, magistrates, judges, and potentates,
joined in the imposture, with the same views and from g
the same principles. Erinces and legislators, who adopted by
found their advantage in overawing and humbling the legislators,
multitude, readily adopted a plan which they found so
artfully fabricated to answrer these very purposes. They
had interest enough with the sacerdotal (b) mysta-
gogues, to induce them to allow them to participate in
those venerable rites which had already established the
authority of that description of men in whose hands
they were deposited. The views of both parties wrere
exactly congenial* The respect, the admiration, and
dependance on the million, were the ultimate objects
of their ambition respectively.—Priests and princes
Were actuated by the very same spirit. The combina¬
tion was advantageous, and of consequence harmoni¬
ous. For these reasons we have taken the liberty of
diflering from his Lordship of Gloucester with respect
4 B 2 to
(a) The Germans, Bussians, and Scandinavians, who were never thoroughly civilized till the gospel wa$‘
.^reached among them.
(b) The mystagognes were the ministers who acted the chief part in celebrating the mysteries;,
5(54
Hypothesis
of Mo-
sheim
singular
and inde¬
fensible.
ii
Our first
position
supported
by the cha¬
racter of
the priests
of Egypt.
* Diodor.
Sicul. lib. i.
M Y S T
to the persons tvho first instituted the secret mysteries of
the Pagan religion.
Another writer of considerable reputation in the
republic of letters, is of opinion, that the mysteries
were entirely commemorative } that they were institut¬
ed with a view to preserve the remembrance of heroes
and great men, who had been deified in consideration
of their martial exploits, useful inventions, public \ii-
tues, and especially in consequence of the benefits by
them conferred on their contemporaries.—According to
him, the (c) mysteries of Mithras were established for
this very purpose. It would be no difficult matter
to prove that the Persian deity of that name was the
sun, and that his name and insignia jointly ascertain
the truth of this assertion. The same writer extends
this observation to the mysteries ol the Egyptians,
Phoenicians, (ireeks, Metruscans j and in a word, to
all the institutions of that species throughout the world.
In opposition to this singular opinion, it may be argued,
we think with some show of reason, that the method
of preserving the memory of great and illustrious men
generally adopted, was the establishing festivals, cele¬
brating games, offering sacrifices, singing hymns,
dances, &c. We can recollect no secret mysteries in¬
stituted for that purpose at least in their original in¬
tention. If any usage of the commemorative kind was
admitted, it was superinduced at some period posterior
to the primary institution. At the same time, upon the
supposition that the orgia of Bacchus were the same with
those of the Egyptian Osiris, and that the mysteries of
Geres exhibited at Eleusis were copied from those of the
Egyptian Isis, and allowing that the former was the
sun", and the latter the moon; it will be difficult to
find out the human persons whose exploits, adventures,
inventions, &c. were intended to be immortalized by
those institutions. Upon the whole, the mysteries were
performed in secret; they were intended to be com¬
municated only to a few ; of course had they been in¬
stituted with a view to immortalize the memory of
heroes and great men, the authors would have acted the
most foolish and inconsistent part imaginable.—Instead
of transmitting the fame of their heroes with eclat to
posterity, they would by this procedure have consigned
it to eternal oblivion.
We must tlien recur to our first position. The my¬
steries were the offspring of bigotry and priestcraft;
they originated in Egypt, the native land of idola¬
try. In that country the priesthood ruled predomi¬
nant. The kings were engrafted into their body be¬
fore they could ascend the throne. They were pos¬
sessed of a third part* of all the land of Egypt. The
sacerdotal function was confined to one tribe, and was
transmitted unalienably from father to son. All the
orientals, but more especially the Egyptians, delight¬
ed in mysterious and allegorical doctrines. Every
maxim of morality, every tenet of theology, every
ERIE S.
dogma of philosophy, was wrapt up in a veil of alle-
o-orv and mysticism. This propensity, no doubt, con¬
spired with avarice and ambition to dispose them to a
dark and mysterious system of religion. Besides, the
Egyptians were a gloomy t race of men ; they delighted t Plutard
in darkness and solitude. Their sacred rites were ge¬
nerally celebrated with melancholy airs, weeping, and
lamentation. This gloomy and unsocial bias of mind
must have stimulated them to a congenial mode of wor¬
ship. In Egypt then we are to search for the origin
of the mysteries. Both the nature of the institution
and the genius of the people confirm this position ; and
historians, both ancient and modern, are agreed in ad¬
mitting the certainty of the fact. I2
The Osiris of Egypt, every body knows, was the The Osim
original Bacchus ; as the Isis ot the same country was and Isis o
the° Ceres of the Greeks. The rites of Osiris were Egypt the
performed with loud shrieks and lamentations when
he was put into the coffin; and with the most extra-0fGreece
vagant mirth, when he vTas in a manner raised from
the dead, or supposed to be found again. Their hymns
were upon the whole always composed in melancholy
affecting strains ; and consisted of lamentations for the
loss of Osiris, the mystic flight of Bacchus, the wan¬
derings of Isis, and the sufferings J of the gods.. The j PiuLh
Canaanites, who were a kindred tribe of the .Mizraim ct Osir.
or Egyptians, imitated them in their sacred rites. At § Ezekt
Byblus, Berytus, Sidon, and afterwards at Tyre, they chap. viii.
used particularly mournful dirges for the death of Ado-
nis or Tarnmuz §, who was the same w'ith the Egypti- lonHs-
an Osiris, i. e. the sun. ^
The Egyptians, then, naturally inclined to gloom of
and secrecy, instituted a mode of worship congenial Osiris and
with their natural disposition of mind. The recess of wandering
the sun towards the southern hemisphere, was the ° ^aml
death * of Osiris ; the wanderings of Isis in search of SatunL
her husband and brother, allegorically imported the
longing of the earth t for the return of the fructifying | pM.R
influence of the solar heat. et Osir
When that luminary returned towards the summer
solstice, and gram, trees, fruits, herbs, and flowers
adorned the face of nature, another festival was cele¬
brated of a very different complexion from that of the
former. In this season all Egypt was dissolved in the
most extravagant mirth and jollity. During the cele¬
bration of those festivals, the priests formed allegorical
representations of the sun and the earth (d). They
personified the one and the other, and allegorized their
motions, aspects, relations, sympathies, accesses, re¬
cesses, &c. into real adventures, peregrinations, suffer¬
ings, contests, battles, victories, defeats, and so foith.
These, in process of time, were held up to the vulgar
as real occurrences; and these in a few ages became
the most essential articles of the popular creed. From
this source were derived the conquests of Dionysus or
Bacchus, so beautifully exhibited by Nonnus in his
T'llnnvsiacs
(c) Principio hoc ego quidfem controversia vacare, arbitror, mysteria quae vocantur, ritus fuisse idcirco insti u
tos ne memoria periret veterum beneficiorum, inventorum, fatorum remm gestarum quibus primi populorum cop.
ditores, aut alii praeclari homines, decus nomen, et famam, inter suos sibi comparaverant. Neque tnec cuiquam
sententia mirabilis videri poterit. Cztd. Syst. Intellect, ed. Moxhemn, p 329‘
(d) Isis, among the Egyptians, sometimes signifies the moon, and sometimes the earth.
3
5*5
M Y S T
Dionysiacs j the wanderings of lo, wonderfully adorned
by /Eschylus j and the labours of Hercules, afterwards
I4 usurped by the Greeks.
teEgyp- Whether the Egyptians deified mortal men in the
l|ms dei- earliest ages has been much controverted. Jablonkskit
Zeroes'1 ^aS ta^en muc^ pains to prove the negative. Diodo-
^anth. rus t ai3sures us, that they paid their raonarchs a kind
rypt. of divine adoration, even in their lifetime. Plutarch
E ah. i. tells us plainly that some were of opinion that Isis,
p et Os ns, Horns, Anubis, ’I'yphon, were once mortal
persons, who were exalted into demons after their death.
The Sicilian, in his history of Isis and Osiris, Pan, Her¬
mes, &c. plainly represents them as human personages j
and informs us, that the Egyptians imagined, that after
their decease they transmigrated into particular stars.
From these authorities, we are inclined to believe that
the Egyptians, as well as the other Pagans, did actual¬
ly deify persons who had distinguished themselves in
their days of nature by prowess, wisdom, useful arts,
and inventions. This was a constant practice among
the Greeks, who probably learned it from the people in
question.
f rets re- The exploits of these heroes had been disguised by
f :tl°S allegorical traditions and hieroglyphical representations.
< rorsiy They been magnified beyond all dimensions, in or-
i alcd in der to astonish and intimidate the vulgar. They had
t myste- been interlarded with the most extravagant fables, in
order to gratify their propensity towards the marveE
lous. All these secrets were developed in the mysteries.
The catechumens (e) were informed of every particular
relating to the birth, the life, the exploits, the adven¬
tures, the misfortunes, and decease of those heroic per¬
sonages, and when, and by what means, they had at*
tained to the high rank of divinities. At the same
time we think it highly probable, that those demi-gods
were represented in their state of exaltation and heaven¬
ly splendour. The magicians of Egypt were abundant¬
ly qualified for exhibiting angels in machines. The
souls of virtuous men, who had not been eminent enough
to merit the honour of deification, were shown in ail
the perfection of Elysian felicity; and perhaps the souls
of tyrants, and of the children of (f) Typhon, were
shown in Tartarus, suffering all the extremes of infernal
punishment. From these exhibitions the mystagogues
might naturally enough take occasion to read their pu¬
pils suitable lectures on the happy tendency of a virtu¬
ous conduct, and the dishonour and misery consequent
upon a contrary course. They might set before them
P immortal renown, deification, and Elysium, on the one
, a^e 0f l,a,ul, and eternal infamy and misery on the other. This
tB UySte_ will probably be deemed the chief advantage accruing
ri from this institution.
Besides the communications above mentioned, the
catechumens were taught many secrets of physiology,
^ or the nature of the phenomena of the world. This
£ Pharnutus * every where affirms, especially in his last
m' book towards the end. Plutarch too informs us, that
E K I E S.
many of the Greek philosophers were of opinion, that
most of the Egyptian fables were allegorical details of
physical operations. Eusebius acquaints ust, that t Prop.
the physiology, not only of the Greeks, but likewise Evangel.
of the barbarians, was nothing else but a kind of
science ol nature, a concealed and dark theology, in¬
volved in fable and fiction, whose hidden mytseries
were so veiled over with enigmas and allegories, that
the ignorant million were as little capable of compre¬
hending what was said as what was suppressed in si¬
lence. Ibis, says he, is apparent from the poems of
Orpheus and the fable of the Phrygians and Egyp¬
tians. Dionysius of Halicarnassus likewise observes J, f Antiq.
that the tables of the Greeks detail the operations oiRom.
nature by allegories. Prod us § makes the same oh-§ In Tim.
servation concerning the people in question. The
Egyptians, says he, taught the latent operations of
nature by fables.
These physiological secrets were no doubt expounded Physiologi-
to the initiated; and that the Egyptian priests wereca^ secre^s
deeply skilled in physiological science, can scarce be ?xP?unded
questioned, if we believe that Jannes and Jambres ri- Series "of'
vailed Moses with their enchantments. The preceding Egypt,
detail comprehends all that was revealed to the Epoptie
m the original Egyptian mysteries. What articles
might have been introduced afterwards we cannot pre¬
tend to determine.
Be that as it may, one thing is certain, namely, that
the vulgar were excluded from all those choice secrets,
which were carefully reserved for the nobility and
sacerdotal tribes. To them it was given to know the
mysteries of the kingdom of darkness ; but to those
who were without, all was mystery and parable. While
the laity fed on husks, the clergy and the quality
feasted on royal dainties. The priests who had de¬
vised these allegories understood their original import,
and bequeathed it as an inestimable legacy to their
children. Here then we have the primary object of
the mysteries, namely, to develope to the initiated the
original and rational import of those allegorical and
mystical doctrines which were tendered to the uniniti¬
ated, wrapt up in impenetrable allegory and obscurity.
'Io the former, these were communicated and explain¬
ed: The latter were obliged to stand at an awful di¬
stance, and retire as the Procul, O procul esteprofam\
thundered in their ears.
These allegorical traditions originated in Egypt, (see
Mythyology.) It was the general bias of the orien¬
tal genius. The Egyptians, however, according to the
most authentic accounts (g), Avere the greatest profi¬
cients in that science. The ox-iginal subject of these
institutions were, we imagine, the articles we have spe¬
cified above: but in process of time, according to the
natural course of things, numerous improvements were
made, and many new rites, ceremonies, usages, and even
doctrines, were superinduced, which were utterly un¬
known to the original hierophants, (h). Simplicity is.
(Ej Cutechumens were pupils who were learning the elements of any science.
(F) Typhon was the evil genius, or devil, of the Egyptians.
(g) As early as the age of Joseph, the Egyptians were skilled in the interpretations of dreams, divinations,
&c. and in the age of Moses they were become wise men, magicians, &c.
(h) Hierophant imports a priest employed in explaining the doctrines, rites, &c. communicated to the initiated^
566
iS
Temples
where the
1 mysteries
were cele-
'bratcd.
j Korden,
Shaw, Po-
cocke, See.
ip
The Gre¬
cian infer¬
nal regions
copied
from the
Egyptian
•mysteries.
M Y S T
for the most part, one of the distinguishing characters of
a new institution ; but succeeding architects generally
imagine that something is still wanting to complete the
beauty, the regularity, the uniformity, the magnifi¬
cence, and perhaps the conveniency of the structure.
Hence, at length, it comes to be so overloaded with ad¬
ventitious drapery, that its primary elegance and sym¬
metry are altogether defaced. Hus was the case with
the earliest Egyptian mysteries. Their subject was at
first simple and easy to be comprehended j in time it
became complex, intricate, and unintelligible.
In order to celebrate those mysteries with the greater
secrecy, their temples were so constructed as to lavour
the artifice of the priests. The fanes, in which they
used to execute their sacred functions, and to perform
the rites and ceremonies of their religion, were sub¬
terraneous apartments, constructed with such wonder-
full skill and dexterity, that every thing that appeared
jn them breathed an air of solemn secrecy. Then-
walls were covered with hieroglyphic paintings and
sculpture, and the altar was situated in the centie ol
the apartment. Modern J travellers have of late years
discovered some vestiges of them, and bear witness to
the above description of those dark abodes (1). In
those subterraneous mansions, which the priests ol that
ingenious nation had planned with the most consum¬
mate skill, the kings, princes, and great men of the
state, encountered the dangers and hardships contrived
to prove their prudence, fortitude, patience, abstinence,
&c. These ivcre appointed to try their merit j and by
these the hierophants were enabled to decide whether or
not they were duly qualified for receiving that benefit.
Upon these occasions we may believe, abundance of
those magical tricks were exhibited, for which the ma¬
gicians of Egypt were so much celebrated among the
ancients. The strange and astonishing sights, the al¬
ternate successions of light and darkness, the hideous
spectres exposed to view, the frightful bowlings re*
'echoed by these infernal domes, the scenes of Tartarus
and Elysium, exhibited alternately and in quick succes¬
sion, must have made a deep and lasting impression on
the mind of the affrighted votary (k). These scenes
we shall describe more fully in the sequel.
From the scenes exhibited in celebrating the Egyp¬
tian mysteries, especially those of Isis and Osiris, the
Greeks seem to have copied their ideas of the infernal
regions, and the subterraneous mansions of departed
souls. Many colonies of Egyptians settled in Greece.
From these the *«<£<>< (l), or most early bards ot
Greece, learned them imperfectly. Of course, we
find Homer’s account of the infernal regions, and of
the state of departed souls, lame and incoherent. Suc¬
ceeding bards obtained more full and more distinct in*
E R I E S.
formation. Euripides arid Aristophanes seem to have
paved the way for the prince of Roman poets. Plato fj
and some of the other philosophers have shown by their
descriptions or allusions, that the whole apparatus of
Tartarus and Elysium had become a hackneyed topic
some centuries before Virgil was born. This incom¬
parable poet borrowed his ideas from Homer, Aristo¬
phanes, Euripides, Plato, &c. These, under his plas¬
tic hand, in the sixth AEneid, grew into a system beau¬
tiful, regular, uniform, and consistent. The materials
he has employed were created to his hand j he had
only to collect, polish, arrange, and connect them.—
The sentiments collected from the Platonic philosophy,
and the inimitable episode copied from the annals of
Rome, by the masterly skill which he has displayed in
the application of them, form the chief excellencies of
the piece. For the rest, he could well dispense with
going to Eleusis (m) : every old woman in Athens and
Rome could repeat them. 20
Egypt was then the native land of mysteries as well Mysterk
as of idolatry. Every god and goddess respectively^^
had their mysteries j but as those of Isis and OsirisintoP^
were the most celebrated, they of Course became prin- andGrec
cipal objects of pursuit as well as of imitation to the
neighbouring nations. These, as is generally believed,
were carried into Persia by Zoroastres, or Zerdusht,
by whom they were consecrated to Mithras. On these
We shall make some observations in the sequel.—Or¬
pheus imported them into Thrace Cadmus brought
them into Boeotia, where they were sacred to Bacchus.
Inaclnts established them at Argos in honour of Juno,
the same with Isis (n) $ Cyniras in Cyprus, where they
were dedicated to Venus. In Phrygia they were sacred
to Cybele, the mother of the gods.
Our learned readers, who will probably reflect
that the Egyptians were in ancient times inhospitable
to strangers, will perhaps be surprised that this fasti¬
dious and jealous people were so ready to communicate
the arcana of their religion to foreigners.—But they
will please recollect, that a great part of Greece was
planted with colonies from Egypt, Phoenicia, Palestine,
&c. This we could easily prove, did the bounds pre¬
scribed us admit such a degression. Orpheus, if not an
Egyptian, was at least of oriental extraction. Inachus,
Cadmus, and Melampus, are universally allowed to
have been Egyptians. Erechtheus, in whose reign the
Eleusinian mysteries Were established, was an Egyptian
by birth, or at least sprung from Egyptian ancestors.
The Egyptians, then, in those early ages, did not view
the Greeks in the light of aliens, but as a people
nearly related either to themselves or the Phoenicians,
who were their brethren. Upon this connexion we
imagine it Avas, that in later times most of the sages of
(1) See an excellent description of these subterraneous abodes, and of the process of probation canied on tnere,
in a French romance, entitled the Life of Sethos. # .
(k) Persons avHo had descended into Trophonius’s vault were said to have been so terrified Avitb shocking sig 1 s,
that they never laughed during the remainder of their lives. .
(l) These were strolling poets like our minstrels, Avho frequented the houses of the great men of Greece, an
•entertained the company upon public occasions with singing and tales ol other times.
(m) Bishop Warburton has, Avith much ingenuity, and a vast profusion of reading, endeavoured to prove tia
Virgil borroAved the Avhole scenery of the sixth TEneid from the sources mentioned in tire text.
(n) Isis Avas the moon, and the original Juno was the same planet.
5
5<57
M Y S T
Greece, especially of Athens, found so hospitable a
reception among that people. They probably viewed
them in the light of propagandi j apostles able and
willing to disseminate their idolatrous rites. This ob¬
servation, which might be supported by numberress au¬
thorities, did the nature of the present inquiry permit,
will, we think, go a great way towards obviating the
objection.
steiies Although, as has been observed, every particular
i Mithras deity had his own peculiar mysterious sacred rites, yet
ijcchus, of all others those of Mithras, Bacchus (o), and Ceres,
• ■ Ceres> were deemed the most august, and were most universal-
(Jy and most religiously celebrated. To these, therefore,
we shall in a good measure confine ourselves, upon this
occasion. If our readers shall become intimately ac¬
quainted with these, they may readily dispense with the
knowledge of the rest, which are, indeed, no more than
streams and emanations from these sources. We shall
then, in the first place, present to our readers a brief
sketch of the mysteries of Mithras.
Mithras, or, according to the Persian, Mi/ir, was
one of the great gods of the Asiatics. His worship
was for many ages confined to Persia. Afterwards,
however, it was propagated so far and wide, that some
have imagined they had discovered vestiges of it even
*klig. in Gaul. Mihr, according to Dr Hyde *, signifies
« Vena- love, and likewise the .smi. If we might presume to
difier from so a respectable an authority, we should con¬
jecture that it is a cognate of the Hebrew word muthir,
“ excellentia, prsestantia.” That there was an analogy
between the Hebrew and old Persian, is generally ad¬
mitted by the learned. Be that as it may, Mithras
was the sun (p) among the Persians ; and in honour
Aimintof ^la*; luminary this institution was established. Mi¬
tt nyste- thras, according to Plutarch (qJ, was the middle god
ribfMi- between Oramaz and Ariman, the two supreme divi*-
*1) • nities of Persia. But the fact is, the solar planet was
the visible emblem of Oramaz, the good genius of the
Persian tribes, and the same with the Osiris of the
Egyptians. From these people, some have imagined
that Zoroastres (ll), or Zerdusht, borrowed his my¬
steries of Mithras. To this opinion we cannot give
our assent, because the probationary trials to be under¬
gone by the candidates among the former were much
more savage and sanguinary than among the. latter.—
Both, however, were instituted in honour of the same
deity j and probably the scenes exhibited, and the in¬
formation communicated in both, were analogous j a
circumstance which perhaps gave birth to the opinion
above mentioned.
E It I E S.
The grand festival of Mithras was celebrated six
days, in the middle of the month Mihr (s). Upon
these days, it was lawful for the kings of Persia to get
drunk and dance. On this festival, we imagine, the
candidates for initiation, having duly proved their vo*
cation, were solemnly admitted to the participation of
the mysteries.
Zorcastres (t) worshipped Mithras, or the Sun, in a
certain natural cave, which he formed into a temple^
and fitted up in a manner exactly mathematical. There
Mithras was represented as presiding over the lower
Ivor Id with all the pomp of royal magnificence. In
it too were seen the symbols of Mithras and of the
world, philosophically and mathematically exhibited,
to be contemplated and worshipped. This deity wa*
sometimes represented as mounted on a bull, which he
is breaking, and which he kills with a sword. On:
some bas reliefs still existing, he appears as a young
man with his tiara turned upward, after the manner of
the Persian kings. He is clothed with a short tunic and
b! •eeches, alter the Persian fashion. Sometimes he wears
a small cloak. By his sides are seen other human figures,
with tiaras ol the same fashion on their heads, but with¬
out cloaks. One of these figures commonly holds in his
one hand a torch lifted up; in the other, one turned
downward. Sometimes over the cave are seen the cha¬
riots of the sun and moon, and divers constellations,
such as cancer, Scorpio, &c.
In one ot those caves the ceremonies of initiation pro[jatj0
were performed; but before the candidate could bearyexcr-
admitted, he was forced to undergo a course of pro-cises pre¬
bationary exercises, so numerous and so rigorous, thatP?ust0
very few had courage and fortitude enough to go throughlint*ation'
them. He was obliged to live a life of virtue and
abstinence for the space of seven years previous to the
period of his initiation. Some months before it, he was
obliged to submit to a long and austere fast, which
continued fifty days. He was to retire several days
to a deep and dark dungeon, where he was successively'
exposed to all the extremes of heat and cold. Mean¬
time he frequently underwent the bastinado, which
the priests applied without mercy. Some say this fu-
stigation continued two whole days, and was repeated
no less than 15 times. In the course of these proba¬
tionary exercises, the candidate was generally reduced
to a skeleton : and we are told, that there have been
several instances of persons who have perished in the
attempt.
Upon the eve of the initiation, the aspirant was^^^p.
obliged to* brace on his armour, in order to encoun-m;cus
ter-'
(o) Bacchus was the Osiris of the Egyptians, and Ceres wras Isis of the same people.
(v) Mosheim, in his note on Cudworth’s Intellectual System, p. 33c. has taken much pains to prove that
Mithras was a deified mortal; but we cannot agree with that learned man in this point.
(Q^) Isis and Osiris, p. 369. 1. 20. from the bottom. This philosopher makes Zoroaster, according to some,
5000 years prior to the Trojan war. This date is certainly extravagant. We cannot, however, agree, with
some moderns, who make him contemporary with Darius Hystaspes, the immediate successor of Cambyses, be¬
cause it contradicts all antiquity.
(r) M. Si lohwette, Disser. v. p. 17. asserts that Zoroastes was initiated among the Egyptians.
(S) The month Mehr began September 30. and ended October 30.
(t) See Dr Hyde de Rel. vet. Pers. pages 16, 17. Mr Bryant’s Anal. vol. i. p. 232. Porphyr. de Antro '
Nymph, p. 254. This philosopher often mentions the cave of Mithras, and always attributes the institution off
his rites to Zoroaster..
568
M Y S T E
ttr giants and savage monsters. In those spacious
subterraneous mansions a mock hunting was exhibited.
The priests and all the subordinate officers of the
temple, transformed into lions, tygers, leopards, boars,
wolves, and other savage creatures, assailed him with
loud bowlings, roaring, and yelling, and every instance
of ferine fury. In those mock combats, the hero was
often in danger of being really Worried, and always came
off with bruises and wounds. Lampridius informs us,
that when the emperor Commodus was initiated, he ac¬
tually carried the joke too far, and butchered one of the
priests who attacked him in the figure of a wild beast.
The Persians worshipped Mithras or the Sun by a per¬
petual fire •, hence the votary was obliged to undergo a
fiery trial j that is, to pass seven times through the
sacred fire, and each time to plunge himself into cold
water. Some have made these probationary penances
amount to 80 : others have thought that they were in
all only 8. As we find no good authority for either
of these numbers, we think ourselves at liberty to ha¬
zard the following conjecture : The number seven wras
deemed sacred over all the east. The Mithriac pe¬
nances we imagine were either seven, or if they ex¬
ceeded it, wrere regulated by seven repetitions of that
number. The candidate having undergone all these
torturing trials with becoming patience and fortitude,
was declared a proper subject for initiation. But be¬
fore his admission he was obliged to bind himself by
the most solemn oath, with horrible imprecations an¬
nexed, never to divulge any single article of all that
should be communicated to him in the course of his
initiation.
What or ineffable secrets were imparted to
tions in the j|ie initiated, it is impossible at this distance of time to
Mitlu-a^ °f discover with any tolerable degree of certainty. We
may, however, rest assured, that the most authentic
tradition concerning the origin of the universe j the na¬
ture, attributes, perfections, and operations, of Oro-
masd j the balefuk influences of Ariman j and the be¬
nign effects of the government of Mithras, were un¬
folded and inculcated. The secret phenomena of na¬
ture, as far as they had been discovered by the Magi,
Were likewise exhibited j and the application of their
effects, to astonish and delude the vulgar, were taught
both in theory and practice. The exercise of public
and private virtues was warmly recommended } and
vice represented in the most odious and frightful co¬
lours. Both these injunctions were, we may suppose,
enforced by a display of the pleasures of Elysium and
the pains of Tartarus, as has been observed above in de¬
scribing the mysteries of the Egyptians.
Those initiations are mentioned by Lampridius in
r Dial. CMJn^h0 life of Commodus, and likewise by Justin f and
Tryphone. Tertullian J, who both flourished in the second centu-
24
Oatli of
secrecy.
*5
Rcvcla-
X be pre¬
script ad-
vcr. Hce-
R I E S.
ry. The last of these two speaks of a kind of baptisht,
which washed from the souls of the initiated all the
stains which they had contracted during the course of
their lives prior to their initiation. He at the same
time mentions a particular mark which was imprinted
upon them (u), of an offering of bread, and an emblem
of the resurrection ; which particulars, however, he
does not describe in detail. In that offering, which
was accompanied with a certain form of prayer, a ves¬
sel of water was offered up with the bread. rlhe same
father elsewhere informs us, that there w as presented to
the initiated a crown suspended on the point of a sword;
but that they were taught to say, Mithras is my
crown. By this answer was intimated, that they look¬
ed upon the service of that deity as their chief honour
and ornament.
After that the Teletae (x) were finished, the pupil
was brought out of the cave or temple, and with great
solemnity proclaimed a lion of Mithras (y); a title
which imported strength and intrepid courage in the
service of the deity. They were now consecrated to
the god, and were supposed to be under his immediate
protection \ an idea which of course animated them to
the most daring and dangerous enterprises.
The worship of Mithras was introduced into the Bo-
man empire towards the end of the republic, where it
made very rapid progress. When Christianity began
to make a figure in the empire, the champions for Pa¬
ganism thought of proposing to men the worship of this
power of benevolence, in order to counterbalance or an¬
nihilate that worship which the Christians paid to Jesus
Christ the true Sun of righteousness. But this mode
was soon abolished, together with the other rites of Pa¬
ganism. The Persian grandees often affected names
compounded with Mithras ; hence Mithridates, Mi-
throbarzanes, &c. Hence, too, the precious stone
called Mithridat f, which by the reflection of the sun|50^iKS>
sparkled with a variety of colours. There is likewise cap, I0.
a certain pearl of many different colours, which they
call Mithras. It is found among the mountains near
the Bed sea; and when exposed to the sun, it sparkles
with a variety of dyes. We find likewise a king of
Egypt of that name, who reigned at Heliopolis ; who
being commanded in a dream to erect an obelisk to the
solar deity, reared a most prodigious one in the neigh¬
bourhood of that city.
The votaries of Mithras pretended that he was sprungjy]jt])rai
from a rock, and that therefore the place where the said to^
mysterious ceremonies were communicated to the ini-sprungfrj
tiated was always a cave Many different reasons have
been assigned for the origin of this rock-born deity,
most of which appear to us unsatisfactory. If our
readers will be obliging enough to accept of a simple
and obvious conjecture, they may take the following:
A
26 I,
, rock.
ret.
(u) In allusion to this practice of imprinting a sacred mark, probably on the forehead of the initiated, we find
the injunction to the angel, Ezek. chap. ix. ver. 4. and the Bevelation passim.
(x) The mysteries were called Telelce, which imports, “ the rites which confer perfection.”
(y) Tertull. adv. Marc. p. 55. The priests of Mithras were Called the lions of Mithras, and his priestesse-
honesses ; some say hycenas. The other inferior ministers were called eagles, hawks, ravens, &c. and on then
festivals they wore masks corresponding to their titles, after the Egyptian manner, where the priests appeared at
the ceremonies with masks resembling the heads of lions, apes, dogs, &c. a circumstance which furnishes a pre¬
sumption that the mysteries of Mithras were of Egyptian original.
*7.
J Iteries
ol iccims
iS
B 'hus
th anic
"i Osiris,
M Y' S T
A rock Is tlie symbol of strength and stability (z) 5 the
dominion of Mithras, in the Opinion of his votaries
"’as firm as a rock, and stable as the everlasting hills!
If oar readers should not admit the probability of this
conjecture, we would beg leave to remit them to the
learned Mr Bryant’s Analysis of Mythology, where they
will find this point discussed with deep research and
wonderful mgenuity. Whatever may have been the
origin of this opinion with relation to the birth of Mi¬
thras, it is certain that some reverence to rocks and
caves was kept up a long time even after the establish¬
ment of Christianity. Ilence the prohibition given to
some of the proselytes to that religion, that they should
no more presume to offer up their prayers adpetras, at
the rocks (a).
We shall conclude our account of the mysteries of
Mithras, with a passage from M. Anquetil, to whom
we are so much indebted for what knowledge we have
of the Persian theology, and in which the functions of
that deity are briefly and comprehensively delineated.
“ rhe peculiar functions of Mithras are to fight conti¬
nually against Ahriman and the impure army of evil
genii, whose constant employment is to scatter terror
and desolation over the universe 5 to protect the frame
ol nature from the demons and their productions. For
this purpose he is furnished with a thousand ears and a
thousand eyes, and traverses the space between heaven
and earth : his hands armed with a club or mace. Mi¬
thras gives to the earth light and sun : he traces a
course for the waters : he gives to men corn, pastures,
and children 5 to the world virtuous kings and war¬
riors •, maintains harmony upon earth, watches over the
law',” &c. As the history of Mithras, and the nature
of his mysteries, are not generally known, we imagined
it would be agreeable to many of our readers to have
the most important articles relating to that subject laid
before them as it w'ere in detail.
We now' proceed to the orgia or mysteries of Bac¬
chus, which we shall introduce with a brief history of
that deity. The original Dionysus or Bacchus w'as the
Osiris of the Egyptians, which last was the Sun (b).
Whether there was an Egyptian monarch of that name,
as Diodorus Siculus affirms *, has no manner of con¬
nexion with die present disquisition. The Greek
name of that deity is plainly oriental, being compound¬
ed of di, “ bright,” and nasta or nasa, in the /Eolic
dialect nusa, “ a prince.” This name w'as imported
from the east by Orpheus, Cadmus, or by whoever else
communicated the worship of Osiris to the Greeks.
I hat the Dionysus of the Greeks wTas the same with
the Osiris of the Egyptians, is universally allowed.
Herodotus tells us expressly-f-, that Osiris is Dionysus
in the Greek language : Martianus Capellus, quoted
above, expresses the very same idea J. The original
Osiris was then the sun j but the Dionysus or Bacchus
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
569
E R I E S.
of the Greeks was the same with the Osiris of the E-
gyptians 5 therefore the Bacchus or Dionysus of the
Greeks was likewise the same luminary.
Ihe name Osiris has much embarrassed critics and
etymologists. The learned Jablonski §, instead of de-§ Pant ft,.
Imeating the character, attributes, operations, adven- Egyp-
lures, exploits, and peculiar department assigned this
deity by his votaries, has spent much of his pains on
trying to investigate the etymology of his name. If
it be granted, which is highly probable, that the He¬
brew and Egyptian tongues are cognate dialects, we
should imagine that it is actually the Chosher or Oshir
of the former language, which imports, “ to make rich,
to become rich.” Indeed the words Osiris and Isis
were not the vulgar names of the sun and moon among
the Egyptians, but only epithets importing their quali-
t ics. The name of the sun among that people was Phriov
Phry, and that of the moon I0/1, whence the Greek Jo.
The term Osiris was applied both to the sun and to the*
river Nile ; both which by their influence contributed
respectively to enrich and fertilize the land of Egypt.
It was a general custom among the orientals to de¬
nominate their princes and great men from their gods,
demigods, heroes, &c. When the former were ad¬
vanced to divine honours, they wrere in process of time
confounded with their archetypes. The original di-
■\ unties were forgotten, and these upstart deities usurp¬
ed their place and prerogatives. In the earliest pe¬
riods of the Egyptian monarchy, there appeared two
illustrious personages, Osiris and Isis. These w'ere the
children of Cronus ; and being brother and sister, they
w'ere joined in matrimony, according to the custom 01
the Egyptians. As the brother and husband had as¬
sumed the name of the Sun, so the sister and consort
took that of Isis, that is, “ the woman I!,” a name whichn u n
the Egyptians applied both to the moon and to the Lp
earth, in consequence of the similarity of their na- ’
ture, their mutual sympathy, and congenial fecundity.
Osiris having left his consort Isis regent of the king- 29
dom, with Hermes as her prime minister, and Hercu-~x-p!oits of
les as general ofher armies, quitted Egypt with a nu- mS'
merous body of troops, attended by companies of
fauns (c), satyrs, singing women, musicians, &e. and
traversed all Asia to the eastern ocean. He then re¬
turned homeward through the Upper Asia, Thrace
Pontus, Asia IMinor, &yria, and Palestine. Wherever
he marched he conferred numberless benefits on the
savage inhabitants. He taught the art of cultivating
the ground, preserving the fruits of the earth, and d£
stinguishing the wholesome and nutritive from the un¬
wholesome and poisonous. He instructed them in the
culture of the vine ; and where vines could not be pro¬
duced, he communicated to them the method of pro¬
ducing a fermented liquor from barley, very little in¬
ferior to wine itself. He built many cities in different
4 E parts
(z) Our Saviour probably alludes to this emblem, when he talks of building his church on a rock; and adds,
that the gates of hell should not prevail against it.
(a) The Caledonian druids seem to have regarded certain stones with a superstitious veneration, in which the
Catholics imitated them. There are in several places of Scotland large stones, which the vulgar call lecre stones
i. e. we imagine, lecture. 0 *
(b) See Macrob. lib. i. cap. 21. p. 247. bottom. Diogenes Laert. in prooemio, par. 10. Martian. CapelJib. U.
Jablonski, vol. i. lib. ii. 415. par. 3. Pint. Isis et Osir. passim.
(c) Men and women dressed in the habits of those rural deities.
0/
MYSTERIES.
parts of the globe, planted numerous colonies (d), and
wherever he directed his course instituted just and
wholesome laws, and established the rites and ceremo¬
nies of religion, and left priests and catechists of his
train to teach and inculcate the observance ot them.
In short, he left everywhere lasting monuments of his
progress, and at the same time of his generosity and
beneficence. Where he found the people docile and
submissive, he treated them with kindness and huma¬
nity : if any showed themselves obstinate, he compel¬
led them to submit to his institutions by force of
arms.
At the end of three years, he returned to Egypt,
where his brother Typhon, a wicked unnatural mon-
30 ster, had been forming a conspiracy against his life.
His death. r['i1[s traiterous design he soon alter accomplished in
the following manner : He invited Osiris, with some
other persons whom he had gained over, to an enter¬
tainment. When the repast was finished, he produced
a beautiful coffer, highly finished, and adorned with
studs of gold ; promising to bestow it on the person
whom it should fit best. Osiris was tempted to make
the experiment. The conspirators nailed down the
cover upon him, and threw the coffer into the river.
This coffer, which was now become the coffin of Osiris,
was, they tell us, wafted by the winds and w'aves to
the neighbourhood of Byblus, a city of Phoenicia, where
it was cast on shore, and left by the waves at the foot
31 of a tamarind tree.
"Wander- Isis in the mean time, disconsolate and forlorn, at-
mgs of Isis tencjed by Anubis, wTas ransacking every quarter in
in search „ i ^ • a , i .1 i • •  
©f his body.
search of her beloved Osiris. At length being inform-
and M. Cour de Gebelin, where they will find matter
enough to gratify their curiosity. _
To commemorate those adventures, the mysteries of^®^®-
Isis and Osiris were instituted; and from them both and
those of Bacchus and Ceres, among the Greeks, were instituted
derived. Of the Egyptian solemnity, we have an ex-m comme-
act epitome in one of the fathers of the church, to the of
following purpose: “Here lollotvs (says he) an epi-YcnturcS<
tome of the mysteries of Isis and Osiris. They deplore
annually, with deep lamentations and shaved heads, the
catastrophe of Osiris over a buried statue of that mo¬
narch. They beat their breasts, mangle their arms
ed by her faithful attendant and guardian, that his bo¬
dy was lodged somewhere in the neighbourhood of By¬
blus, she repaired to that city. Thei’e, they say, she
was introduced to the queen, and after (e) a variety of
adventures she recovered the corpse of her husband,
which, of course, she carried back with her to Egypt :
but the mischievous Typhon, ever on the watch, found
her on the hanks of the Nile ; and having robbed her
of her charge, cut the body into 14 parts, and scatter¬
ed them up and down. Now, once more, according
to the fable, Isis set out in quest of those parts, all of
which, only one excepted, she found, and interred in
the place where she found them; and hence the many
tombs of Osiris in that country. These tombs were de¬
nominated taf osins by the natives. Many other fabu¬
lous adventures were ascribed to those two personages,
which it is not our province to enumerate at present.
If our readers should wish to be more minutely inform¬
ed on this subject, they may have recourse to the au¬
thors mentioned in the last-quoted author, or to the
learned Mr Bryant’s Analysis of Ancient Mythology,
tear open the scars of their former wounds ; that by an¬
nual lamentations the catastrophe of his miserable and
fatal death may be revived in their minds. When they
have practised these things a certain number of days,
then they pretend that they have found the remains of
his mangled body; and having found them, their sor¬
rows are lulled asleep, and they break out into immo¬
derate joy.” What maxims of morality, secrets of phy¬
siology, or phenomena of astronomy, were couched un¬
der this allegorical process, is not our business to inves¬
tigate in this place. We shall only observe, that, in
all probability, Osiris and Isis were sovereigns of Egypt
at a very early period ; that they had conferred many
signal benefits on their subjects, who, influenced by a
sense of gratitude, paid them divine honours after their
decease ; that in process of time they were confounded
with the sun and the moon ; and that their adventures
were at length magnified beyond all credibility, inter¬
larded with fables and allegories, and employed in the
mysteries as channels to convey a variety of instructions
to the initiated.
Be that as it may, it is certain that the very same Transfer-
mode of worship was established at Byblus, and in af-™^ t0
ter ages transferred to Tyre. The Mizraim and Cha-^“^n
naanim were nearly connected by blood, and their re-wjiere Qsi-
ligious ceremonies were derived from the very sameris was
source. By what medium the worship of Osiris atcailed^Wo-
Abydus and Tyre was connected, we shall leave to
others to explain ; we shall only observe, that among
the Phoenicians this deity obtained the names Adonis
and Bacchus. The former is rather an (f) epithet
than a name : the latter is evidently an allusion to
the weeping and lamentation (g) with which the rites
were performed. We find another name of that divi¬
nity mentioned in Scripture (h) ; hut that term is
plainly of Egyptian original : we shall now proceed to
the mysteries of Osiris as they were celebrated among
the Greeks and Thracians, under the name of the Or-
gia of Dionysus or Bacchus f. t ^y0^m
Orpheus, the celebrated Thracian philosopher, had ^
travelled into Egypt in quest of knowledge; and from
that
3.1
(d) Many have thought this expedition fabulous ; but the numberless monuments of Egyptian architecture,
sculpture, and statuary, lately discovered in the east, confirm it.
(e) For the conquests and adventures of Osiris and Isis, we must send our learned readers to J)iod. Sic.
Bibl. 1. i. and Pint. Isis et Osiris, p. 256. et seq. which we have been obliged to abridge, in consequence of the
narrow limits prescribed us.
(f) Adonis is evidently the Hebrew Adoni, “ my lord,” and imports the sovereignty of the deity.
(g) Bacchus is derived from the Phoenician word bahah, “ to weep.” This was the name embraced by the
Homans.
(h) Ezek. chap. viii. ver. 14. Tammuz, is the name of one of the months of the Egyptian year.
4
M Y S T
that country, according to the most authentic accounts,
lie imported the Bacchanalian rites and institutions^
Some have aflirmed that this same Orpheus being inti¬
mately acquainted with the family of Cadmus, commu¬
nicated these rites to them, and endeavoured to transfer
them to the grandson of that hero, which grandson be*
came afterwards the Grecian Bacchus. It is, however,
34 we think much more probable, that those rites were
d thence imported from Egypt or Phoenicia, by (i) Cadmus
^Cadmus ^'uself, who wras a native of the former country, and
oBoeo- thought to have spent some time in the latter, before
he emigrated in quest of a settlement in Boeotia. It is
said that Semele, the daughter of Cadmus, and the
mother of the Grecian Bacchus, was struck with light¬
ning at the very instant of his birth. The child was,
in all probability, denominated Bacchus (k), from the
sorrow and lamentation this melancholy accident had
occasioned in the family. Cadmus, in order to conceal
the dishonour of his daughter, might, we imagine, con¬
vey away his infant grandson to some of his relations in
Phoenicia or Egypt. There he was educated and in¬
structed in all the mysteries of Isis and Osiris, and at
the same time initiated in ail the magical or juggling
tricks of the Egyptian priests and hierophants. Thus
accomplished, when he arrived at manhood, he returned
to Thebes with the traditional retinue of the original
deity of the same namej and claimed divine honours
accordingly. This claim, however, was not admitted
without much opposition ; Pentheus, another grandson
of Cadmus, was torn to pieces by the frantic Baccha¬
nalians upon Mount Citheron, because he attempted to
interrupt them in celebrating the orgia. Some have
thought that Cadmus lost his kingdom for the same
reason ; but this we think is by no means probable :
we should rather imagine that the old prince was privy
to the whole process, and that it was originally planned
by him, with a view to attract the veneration of his
new subjects, by making them believe that there was a
155 divinity in his family.
Tbictions Be that as it may, the vain-glorious Greeks attribu-
ted all the actions of the Egyptian hero to their new
to . (jre_ Bacchus ; and according to their laudable practice, en-
tb;Sac- gaged him in numberless adventures in which his proto¬
type had no share. Most of those are futile and unen¬
tertaining (l). The Greeks commonly adopted some
oriental personage as the hero of their mythological
E R I E S. jvyi
rhapsodies. Him they naturalized and adopted into
some Grecian family, and so he became their own. To
him they ascribed all the adventures and exploits of the
oriental archetype from whom he was copied. Conse¬
quently in the orgia (m), every thing was collected
that had been imported from the east relating to Osiris;
and to that farrago was joined all that the Grecian
rhapsodists had thought fit to invent, in order to amuse
the credulous multitude. This, however, was not the
"'hole of the misfortune : The adventures of Osiris were
described by the Egyptian hierophants, veiled with al¬
legorical and hieroglyphical mysteries. These the per¬
sons who imported them into Greece did not thorough¬
ly comprehend, or, if they did, they were not inclined
to communicate them sound and unsophisticated. Be¬
sides, many oriental terms were retained, the import of
which was in process of time lost or distorted. Hence
the religious ceremonies of the Greeks became a med¬
ley of inconsistencies. The mysteries of Bacchus, in
particular, w^ere deeply tinctured with this meretricious
colouring; the adventures of the Theban pretender
were grafted upon those of the Egyptian archetype,
and out of tins combination was formed a tissue of’ad¬
ventures disgraceful to human nature, absurd, and in¬
consistent. Indeed the younger or Tbebati Bacchus
seems to have been a monster of debauchery ; where¬
as the Egyptian is represented as a person of an op¬
posite character. Ol course the mysteries of the
former were attended with the most shocking abomina->
tions. ^
Ihese mysteries, as has been observed above, were Mysteries
first celebrated at Thebes the capital of Boeotia, under °f Bacchus
the auspices of the family of Cadmus. From this sPread “n‘*
country they gradually found their way into Greece, t‘reece>Scc*
and all the neighbouring parts of Europe. They were
celebrated once every three years (n), because at the
end ot three years Osiris returned from his Indian ex¬
pedition. As the Greeks had impudently transferred
the actions of the Egyptian hero to their upstart divi¬
nity, the same period of time was observed for the cele¬
bration ol those rites in Greece that had been ordained
for the same purpose in Egypt.
Vv ben the day appointed for the celebration of the Process of
orgia (o) approached, the priests issued a proclama-their cele-
tion, enjoining all the initiated to equip themselvesbration-
according to the ritual, and attend the procession on
4 C 2 the
(i) Cadmus and Melampus, who were both Egyptians, introduced the Bacchanalia into Greece. The Egyp¬
tian or oriental name of Bacchus was Dinusi, that is, “ the prince of light.” Cadmus had learned the name
Bacchus from the Phoenicians.
(k) We have omitted the immense farrago of fable relating to the connexion between Jupiter and Semele as
of little importance to our readers.
(l) Nonnus, an Egyptian of Pentapolis, has collected all the fabulous adventures of Bacchus, and exhibited
them in a beautiful but irregular poem : To this we must refer our learned readers. Of the Dionysiacs we have
a most judicious sketch, Gehelin. Calend. p. 5?3* et seq.
(m) The orgia belonged to all the Mydones, but to those of Bacchus in a peculiar maimer.
(n) Hence these orgia were called 1'riteria.
(o) According to Clem. Alexand. Cohort, page 12. Pott, the word orgia is derived from orge, which sig¬
nifies “ anger,” and originated from the resentment of Ceres against Jupiter, in consequence of a most outra¬
geous insult he had offered her with success. We should rather imagine it derived from the Hebrew word
argoz, signifying a “ chest or coffer,” alluding to the casket which contained the sacred symbols of the god.—•
The Egyptians or Phoenicians might write and pronounce, argoz, orgoz, or in some manner nearly resembling
•&rgia.
572
M Y S T E
the day appointed. The votaries were to dress them¬
selves in coats of deer-skins, to loose the fillets of their
hair, to cover their legs with the same stuft with their
coats, and to arm themselves with thyrsi, which were a
kind of spears wholly of wood entwined with leaves
and twigs of the vine or ivy. It is said that the Bac¬
chanalians, especially the Thracians, used often to
quarrel and commit murder in their drunken revels;
and that in order to prevent those unlucky accidents,
a law was enacted, that the votaries, instead of real
spears, should arm themselves with those sham weapons
which were comparatively inoffensive. 1 he statue ot
the deity, which was always covered with vine or ivy-
leaves was now taken down from its pedestal, and
elevated on the shoulders of the piiests. 'ihe ca¬
valcade then proceeded nearly in the following man¬
s'8
The my¬
sterious
coffex*, w
Its con-
teatsv
E 1 E S.
ney, and cheese $ a child, a serpent (s), and a van (t).
Such was the furniture of the sacred coffer carried in
the solemn Bacchanalian procession. The inventory gi¬
ven by some of the fathers f of the church is somewhat j. ckm.
different. They mention the dye, the ball, the to]>, Alcxand.
First of all, hymns were chanted in honour ox Bac¬
chus, who was called the Power of dances, smiles, and
jests ; while at the same time he was deemed equally
qualified tor the exploits of war and heroism. Horace,
in some of his dithyrambic odes, has concisely pointed
out the subjects of those Bacchanalian songs. In the
collection of hymns fabulously attributed to Orpheus,
We find several addressed to this deity (p), each under
a different title, derived from the different appellations
of the god. All these names arc of oriental original,
and might easily be explained, did the bounds prescri¬
bed us admit of etymological disquisitions.
The- hymn being finished, the first division of the vo¬
taries proceeded, carrying a pitcher of wine, with a
bunch of the vine. Then followed the he-goat j an
animal odious to Bacchus, because he ravages the vines.
The chanting the hymns, the sacrificing the he-goat,
and the revels, games, and diversions, with which the
celebration of those rites was attended, gave birth to
the dramatic poetry of the Creeks •, as the persons ha¬
bited in the dress of Fauns, Sylvans, and Satyrs (q),
furnished the name of another species of poetry of a
coarser and more forbidding aspect.
Then appeared the mysterious coffer or basket, con¬
taining the secret symbols of the deity. These were the
phallus (r), some grains of sesama, heads of poppies,
pomegranates, dry stems, cakes baked of the meal of
different kinds of corn, salt, carded wool, rolls of ho-
39
Ilrnnan sa-
the wheel, the apples, the looking-glass, and the fleece.
The articles first mentioned seem to have been of E-
gyptian original •, the last were certainly superinduced
by the Greeks, in allusion to his being murdered and
torn in pieces when he was a child by the machinations
of Juno, who prevailed with the Titans to commit the
horrid deed. These last seem to have been memorials
of his boyish playthings j fox’, says Maternus, “ the
Cretans in celebrating the rites of the child Bacchus,| De Em-
acted every thing that the dying boy either said, or did, rs Erof. ,
or suffered. They likewise (says he) tore a live bull^1’^- Ijtl.
in pieces with their teeth, in order to commemorate the
dismembering of the boy.” For our part, we think, that
if such a beastly rite was practised, it was done in com¬
memoration of the savage manner of life which had pre¬
vailed among men prior to the more humane diet in¬
vented and introduced by Isis and Osiris. Be that
it may, we learn from Porphyry §, that in the island of crilices.
Chios they used to sacrifice a man to Bacchus, and that § Ve Absti-
they used to mangle and tear him limb from limb.
This was no doubt practised in commemoration of the
catastrophe mentioned above.
The orgia of this Pagan god were originally simple
enough j but this unsophisticated mode was of no long
continuance, for riches soon introduced luxury, which
quickly infected even the ceremonies of religion. On
the day set apart for this solemnity, men and women
crowned with ivy, their hair dishevelled, and their bo¬
dies almost naked, ran about the streets, roaring aloud
Kvohe (u) Bacche. In this rout were to he seen peo¬
ple intoxicated at once with wine and enthusiasm,
dressed like Satyrs, Fauns, and Sileni, in such scanda-
lous postures and attitudes, with so little regard to mo-Total ton
desty and even common decency, that we are persuaded tempt of
our readers will readily enough forgive our omitting to decency,
describe them. Next followed a company mounted up¬
on asses, attended by Fauns, Bacchanals, Thyades, Mi-
mallonides, Naiads, Tityri, &c. who made the adja¬
cent places echo to their frantic shrieks and bowlings.
Aften this tumultuous herd were carried the statues of
Victory
(p) These stand between the 41 and 52 j one to Lenaeus, or the presser j one to Libnites, or the winnower j
one to Bessareus, or the vintager 5 one to Sabazius the god of rest; to Myses, or the Mediator, &c.
(q.) Dacier, Casaubon, and other French critics, have puzzled and perplexed themselves to little purpose about
the origin of this word, without considering that it was coeval to dramatic poetry.
(r) The phallus was highly respected by the Egyptians, and was used as the emblem oi the fecundity of the
human race.
(s) That reptile was in high veneration among the Egyptians. See Euseb. Pnep. Evang. lib. i. page 26.
Steph. where we have a minute detail of the symbolical properties of that creature, according to 'laautos the great
legislator of that people.
(t) Servius in Georg. I. Virg. ver. 166. Mystica vannus lacchi. The van, says he, is an emblem of that
purifying influence of the mysteries, by which the initiated were cleansed from all their former pollutions, and
qualified for commencing a holy course of life.
(u) Clem. Alexand. Cohort, page 11. Pott, derives this word from Cheveh, the mother of mankind, who, first
Opened the gate to that and every other error j but we are rather inclined to believe that it comes from the orien¬
tal word Here', which signifies a “ serpent j” which among the Egyptians was sacred to the sun, and was like¬
wise the emblem of life ami immortality. It then imported a prayer to Bacchus for life, vigour, health, and
every other blessing.
573
* k'id.
JSf.
J 4.i
I> xines
inn cated
in e or-
g‘-
M Y S T
Victory and altars in form of vine-sets, crowned with
ivy, smoking with incense and other aromatics. Then
appeared several chariots loaded with thyrsi, arms, gar¬
lands, casks, pitchers, and other vases, tripods, and
vans. The chariots were followed hy young virgins of
quality, who carried the baskets and little boxes, which
in general contained the mysterious articles above enu¬
merated. These, from their office, were called cisto-
phorce. The phallophori (x) followed them, with a
chorus of itophallophori habited like Fauns, counter¬
feiting drunk persons, singing in honour of Bacchus
songs and catches suited to the occasion. The proces¬
sion was closed by a troop of Bacchanalians crowned
with ivy, interwoven with branches of yew and with
serpents '*. Upon some occasions, at those scandalous
festivals, naked women whipped themselves, and tore
their skin in a most barbarous manner. The procession
terminated on Mount Citheron, when it set out from
Thebes ; and in other places, in some distant unfre¬
quented desert, where the votaries practised every spe¬
cies of debauchery with secrecy and impunity. Or¬
pheus saw the degeneracy of those ceremonies ; and in
endeavouring to reform them he probably lost his life.
Pentheus suffered in the like attempt, being torn in
pieces by the Bacchanalians on Mount Citheron, a-
mong whom were his own mother and his aunts. The
Greeks, who were an airy jovial people, seem to have
paid little regard to the plaintive part of the orgia 5 or
rather, we believe, they acted with howling and frantic
exclamations, often enhanced by a combination of
drunkenness, ecstacy, and enthusiastic fury.
What secrets, religious, moral, political, or physi¬
cal, were communicated to the votaries, it is impos¬
sible to determine with any degree of certainty.—
One thing we may admit, namely, that the doctrines
discovered and inculcated in the orgia, were originally
the very same which the apostles of the sect had im¬
bibed in Egypt and Phoenicia; and of which we have
given a brief account near the beginning of this article.
It is, however, probable, that the spurious or Theban
Bacchus had superadded a great deal of his own inven¬
tion, which, we may believe, was not altogether so
sound and salubrious as the original doctrine. How¬
ever that may be, the initiated were made to believe
that they were to .‘rive wonderful advantages from the
participation of those rites, both in this life and that
which is to come. Of this, however, we shall talk
more at length by and bye, in our account of the Eleu-
sinian mysteries.
To detail the etymology of the names of this Pagan
deity, the fables relating to his birth, his education,
his transformations, his wTars, peregrinations, adven¬
tures, the various and multiform rii.es with which he
was worshipped, would swell this article to a most im¬
moderate size. If any of our readers should wish to
be more minutely and more accurately acquainted with
this subject, we must beg leave to remit them to Diod.
Sic. Apollod. Bibl. Euripid. Bacchse, Aristophanis Ra-
n&q Nonn. Dionys. 5 and among the moderns, to Ban.
E R I E S.
Mythol. Voss, de Orig. Idol. Mons. Fourmont, Re¬
flexions sur Porigine des anciens peoples, Mr Bryant’s
Analys. and especially to Mons. Cour de Gebelin, Ca-
lendries ou Almanach. That prince of etymologists,
in his account of the festival of Bacchus, has given a
most acute and ingenious explication of the names and
epithets of that deity. For our part, we have endea¬
voured to collect and exhibit such as we judged most
important, most entertaining, and most instructive, to
tbe less enlightened classes of our readers.
We nowiproceed to the Eleusinian mysteries, which, Elcusinian*
among the ancient Greeks and Romans, were treated mysteries
with a superior degree of awe and veneration. These just't-llt(-'d‘‘a
were instituted in honour of Ceres, the goddess of Ceres'1 0t
corn ; who, according to the most authentic accounts,
was tbe Isis of the Egyptians. The mysteries of Osi¬
ris and Isis have been hinted at in the preceding part
of this article. They were originally instituted in ho¬
nour of the sun and moon, and afterwards consecrated
to an Egyptian prince and princess ; who, in conse¬
quence of their merits, had been deified by that people.
We know of no more exact and brilliant description of
the ceremonies of that goddess, in the most polished ages
of the Egyptian superstition, than what we meet with in
the witty and florid Apuleius f, to which we must take f Gb. k,
the liberty to refer our more curious readers. Our busi¬
ness at present shall be to try to investigate by what
means, and upon what occasion, those mysteries were
introduced into Attica, and established at Eleusis. A
passage from Diodorus Siculus §, which avc shall here § Lib. i.
translate, will, we think, throw no inconsiderable light,
on that abstruse part of the subject.
“ In like manner with him (Cecrops), says that ju¬
dicious historian, they tell us, that Erechtheus, a prince
of Egyptian extraction, once reigned at Athens. Of0n ^liU
this fact they produce the following evidence: A scorch- occasion
ing drought, during the reign of this prince, prevailed introduced
over almost all the habitable world, except Egypt j *1110 Attica*,
which, in consequence of the humidity of its soil, was
not affected by that calamity. The fruits of the earth
were burnt up; and at the same time multitudes of people
perished by famine. Erechtheus, upon this occasion, as
he was connected with Egypt, imported a vast quan¬
tity of grain from that country to Athens. The peo¬
ple, who had been relieved by his munificence, unani¬
mously elected him king. Being invested with the go¬
vernment, be taught his subjects the mysteries of Ceres
at Eleusis, and the mode of celebrating the sacred ce¬
remonies, having transferred from Egypt the ritual for
that purpose. In those times the goddess is said to have
made her appearance at Athens three several times; be¬
cause, according to tradition, the fruits of the earth
which bear her name were then imported into Attica.
On this account the seeds and fruits of the earth were
said to be the invention of that deity. Now the Athe¬
nians themselves acknowledge, that, in tbe reign cf
Erechtheus, the fruits of the earth having perished for
want of rain, the arrival of Ceres in their country did
actually happen, and that along with her the blessing of
com
(x) The phallus was the syrabd of the fructifying power of Nature. The itophallus was the type of. that
power in act.
574
M Y S T
earn was restored to the earth. They tell us at the same
time, that the teletae and the mysteries of that goddess
were then received and instituted at Ideusis.”
Here then we have the whole mystery of the arrival
of Ceres in Attica, and the institution of her mysteries
•at Eleusis, unveiled. The whole is evidently an orien¬
tal allegory. The fruits of the earth had been destroy¬
ed by a long course of drought; Egypt, by its peculiar
situation, had been preserved from that dreadful cala¬
mity. ErechtheuS, in consequence of bis relation to the
Egyptians, imported from their country a quantity of
grain, not only sufficient for the consumption of his own
subjects, but also a great overplus to export toother
'.parts of Greece, Sicily, Italy, Spain, &c. Triptolemus,
another Egyptian, was appointed by Erechtheusto export
this superfluous store. That hero, according to Phere-
•cydes, was the son of Oceanus and Tellus, that is, of
the sea and the earth j because his parents were not
known, and because he came to Eleusis by sea. Ihe
ship in which he sailed, when he distributed his corn
to the western parts of the world, was decorated with
the figure of a winged dragon: therefore, in the alle¬
gorical style of his country, he was said to be wafted
•through the air in a chariot drawn by dragons. 1 hose
creatures, every body knows, were held sacred by the
Egyptians.
Wherever Triptolemus disposed of his corn, thither
were extended the wanderings of Ceres. In order to
elucidate this,point, we must observe, that along with
the grain imported from Egypt, Erechtheus, or Irip-
tolemus, or both, transported into Attica a cargo of
priests and priestesses from the temples of Busiris, a
* ITcro l city which lay i'1 the * centre of the Delta, where the
lib. i. goddess Isis had a number of chapels erected for her
worship. The presidents of these ceremonies, like all
other bigots, gladly laid hold on this opportunity of
propagating their religious rites, and disseminating
the worship of the deities of their country. That the
Egyptian priests were zealous in propagating the dog¬
mas of their superstition, is abundantly evident from
the extensive spreading of their rites and ceremonies
over almost all Asia and a considerable part of Europe.
The Greek and Roman idolatry is known to have ori¬
ginated from them 5 and numberless monuments of their
j Asiatic impious worship are still extant in Persia J, India, Ja-
Researchcs, pan, Tartary, &c. Our inference then is, that the
yol. i. and worship 0f Isis was introduced into every country where
Triptolemus sold or disposed of his commodities.—
Hence the wanderings of Ceres in search of her daugh¬
ter Proserpine who is generally called Core. The
E R I E S.
famine occasioned by tho drought destroying the fruits
of the ground, imports the loss of Proserpine. The
restoration of the corn in various parts of the earth, by
fresh supplies from Egypt from time to time, imports
the wanderings of Ceres in quest of Proserpine. T-he
whole process is an oriental allegory. Ihe disappear¬
ing of the fruits of the earth, of which Proserpine, or
Persephone t, or Peresephone (y), is the emblem, is ^
the allegorical rape of that goddess. She was seized
and carried off by Pluto, sovereign of the infernal re¬
gions. The seed committed to the earth in that dry sea¬
son appeared no more, and was, consequently, said to
dwell under ground with Pluto. It was then that Ceres,
that is, corn imported from Egypt, set out in quest of her
daughter. Again, when the earth recovered her pris¬
tine fertility, the Core, or maid, was found by her mother
Ceres, that is, the earth 5 for Isis, among the Egyptians,
frequently signified the earth. rlhe wanderings of Isis
in search of Osiris furnished the model for the peregri-
»
3 a'
ojies
nfC
:it-
nations of Ceres. 44
Ceres, the Roman name of the goddess of corn, was Different
unknown to the modern Greeks. They always deno-names
minated her Damatcr (z), which is rather an epithettere*’
than a proper name. The Greeks, who,always affect¬
ed to pass for originals, we think, suppressed the Egyp¬
tian name on purpose, to conceal the country of that
deity. As a proof of the probability of this conjec¬
ture, it may be observed, that they metamorphosed the
wanderings of Isis in search of Osiris into the peregri¬
nations of Ceres in quest of Proserpine. The Romans
who were less ambitious of the character of originality,
retained one of her oriental names (aaA Ceres, says
Diodorus, appeared thrice in Attica during the reign of
Erechtheus ; which seems to import, that fleets loaded
with corn had thrice arrived in that country from Egypt
during that period.
Cecrops, the first king of Attica, had established the
worship of the Saitic Athena or Minerva in that region,
and consecrated his capital to that deity. Erechtheus,
in his turn, introduced the worship of Isis, or Damater,
who in all appearance was the tutelar deity of Busiris 45
his native city. The subjects of Cecrops were a colony Conten- ||
of Suites, and readily embraced the worship of Miner-I®
va ; but the aborigines of that district being accus-reSpectjDg •
tomed to a maritime, perhaps to a piratical course of Minerva
fife, were more inclined to consecrate their city toandNep-
Neptune the god of the sea, and to constitute him their
guardian and protector. Cecrops by a stratagem se-cauj!e 0f
cured the preference to Minerva his favourite divinity.fixing the
Erechtheus, in order to give equal importance to bis mysteries
patroness, ^ £leuas-
(y) This word seems to be formed of two Hebrew tei ms, pheri “ fruit,” and ix-aphon, or l%epJioni “ abscondit,
recondidit.” . .
(z) Damater is compounded of the Chaldaic particle cla^ “ the,” and mater, “ mother.” As Isis often signihe
the earth, the Greeks naturally adopted that title because, according to them, that element is the mother of a
living. In the very same manner they discarded the word Jtitio, an original title of the moon, and substitute
Hera, which intimates “ mistress or lady.”
( aa) According to some of the Latin etymologists, Ceres, or rather Geres, is derived from gero, “ to bear, to
carry,” because the earth bears al! things ; or because that element is the general fruit-bearer. But as this term
xame to Italy immediately from the east, and not by' the mrdiun' of Greece, we would rather incline to adopt an
oriental etymology. The Hebrew word cheres fignifies arare, “ to plough ;” a name naturally applicable to tie
goddess of husbandry.
575
M Y S T
patroness, had the address to institute the Eleusinian
mysteries ; and to accomplish his design laid hold on
the opportunity above mentioned.
This appears to us the most probable account of the
origin and institution of the Eleusinian mysteries; for
which the Sicilian historian has indeed furnished the clue.
We shall now proceed to detail some other circumstances
which attended the original institution of these far-famed
ceremonies.
I he archpriestess who personated the newly import-
]*Lllod. was entertained by one Celeus *, who was
# lib. either viceroy of that petty district of which Eleusis
iiiiP*^* was the capital, or some considerable personage in that
L it C^ty °r *tS ”eigllbour,10od- Upon her immediate ar-
sh t at- rivai> according to the fabulous relations of the Greeks,
tei ig the a larce was acted not altogether suitable to the cha-
firmnpear-racter of a goddess whose mysteries were one day to
ail 'if Ce- |je deemed so sacred and austere. These coarse recep-
‘ ' tions and other indecencies attending the first ap¬
pearance of the goddess, that is, the Egyptian dame
who assumed her character, were copied from the like
unhallowed modes ot behaviour practised on occa¬
sion of the solemn processions of her native country.
These scommata, or coarse jokes, had an allegorical
signification in Egypt; and among the most ancient
Greeks the very same spirit was universally diffused by
the oriental colonists who from time to time arrived
and settled among them. In process of time they aban¬
doned the figurative and allegorical style, in consequence
of their acquaintance with philosophy and abstract
reasoning. In the ceremonies of religion, however,
the same allegorical and typical representations which
had been imported from the east were retained ; but
the Grecian hierophants in a short time lost every idea
of their latent import, and religious, moral, or physi¬
cal interpretation. Accordingly, this shameful ren¬
counter between Ceres and Banbo (bb), or Jambe, was
j retained in the mysteries, though we think it was co¬
pied from Egypt, as was said above, where even that
obscene action was probably an allegorical representa¬
tion of something very different from what appeared to
I, the Greeks.
Cerij md At the same time that Ceres arrived in Attica,
wM ®acc*,us likewise made his appearance in that country.
,cy was entertained by one Icarus ; whom, as a re¬
ward for his hospitality, he instructed in the art of cul¬
tivating the vine, and the method of manufacturing
wine. rI bus it appears that both agriculture and the
art of managing the vintage were introduced into A-
thens much about the same time. Ceres was no other
than a priestess of Isis ; Bacchus was no doubt a priest
of Osi ns. he arrival of those two personages from
Egypt, with a number of inferior priests in their train,
produced a memorable revolution in Athens, both with
respect to life, manners, and religion. The sacred rites
of Isis, afterwards so famous under the name of the
Eleusinian mysteries, date their institution from this
period.
E R I E S.
When this company of propagandi arrived at Eleu¬
sis, they were entertained by some of the most respect¬
able persons who then inhabited that district. Their
names, according to Clem. Alexand. were Banbo,
Dysaulis, Triptolemus, Eumolpus, and Eubulus. From
Eumolpus were descended a race of priests called Eu-
molpidae, who figured at Athens many ages after.
Triptolemus was an ox herd, Eumolpus a shepherd,
and Eubulus a swine herd. These were the first apostles
of the Eleusinian mysteries. They were instructed by
the Egyptian missionaries ; and they, in their turn, in¬
structed their successors. Erechtheus, or, as some say,
Pandion, countenanced the seminary, and built a small
temple for its accommodation in Eleusis, a city of At¬
tica, a few miles west from Athens, and originally one
of the twelve districts into which that territory was di¬
vided. Here then we have arrived at the. scene of those
renowned mysteries, which for the space of near 2000
years were the pride of Athens and the wonder of the
W’orld.
The mysteries were divided into the greater and les- Eleudnian
ser. The latter were celebrated at Agrae, a small town mysteries
on the river Ilyssus: the former were celebrated in the divided in¬
month which the Athenians called Boedromion (cc); thet0 8ieater
latter in the month Anthesterion (dd). The lesser mys-and lesser>
teries, according to the fabulous legends of the Greeks,
were instituted in favour of the celebrated Hercules.
That hero being commanded by Eurystheus to bring up
Cerberus from the infernal regions, was desirous of be¬
ing initiated in the Eleusinian mysteries before he en¬
gaged in that perilous undertaking. He addressed him¬
self to Eumolpus the hierophant for that purpose. There
was a law among the Eleusinians prohibiting the initia¬
tion ot foreigners. The priest not daripg to refuse the
benefit to Hercules, who was both a friend and bene¬
factor to the Athenians, advised the hero to get him¬
self adopted by a native of the place, and so to elude
the force of the law. He was accordingly adopted by
one Pyolius, and so was initiated in the lesser mysteries,
which were instituted for the first time upon that occa¬
sion. This account has all the air of a fable. The lesser
mysteries were instituted by way of preparation for the
greater.
The person who was to be initiated in the lesser Aust^t;es
mysteries, as w ell as in the greater, was obliged to and ritesC"
practise the virtue of chastity a considerable time be-P^vious to
fore his admission. Besides, he was to bind himself by initiati<m•
the most solemn vows not to divulge any part of the
mysteries. At the same time, he was, according to the
original institution, to be a person of unblemished mo¬
ral character. These were preliminaries indispensably
necessary in order to his admission. A bull was sacri¬
ficed to Jupiter, and the hide of that animal, called
by a peculiar name (Ai*? Kadiep) was carefully pre¬
served and carried to Eleusis, where it was spread un¬
der the feet of the initiated. The candidate was then
purified by bathing in the river Ilyssus, by aspersions
with salt water or salt, with laurel, barley, and passing
through•
(bb) Apollod. Bib. ubi supra. Clem. Alexand. Cohort, page 17. where the story is told with very little re¬
serve. J <
(cc) The third month of the Athenian year, answering to our September.
(dd) The eighth month, answering to our February; but Meursius makes it November;
576
MYSTERIES.
5°
into the
■lesser my¬
steries ; of
which
through the fire 5 all which rites were attended with
incantations and other usages equally insignificant and
ridiculous. Last of all, a young sow was sacrificed to
Ceres ; and this animal, according to the ritual, bo-
hoved to be with pigs: and before it was killed it was
to he washed in Cantharus, one of the three harbours
which formed the Piraeus.
All these ceremonies duly performed, the candidate
was carried into the hall appointed for the purpose ot
initiation. There he was taught the first elements ot
those arcana which were afterwards to be more fully
and more clearly revealed in the more august mysteries
of Eleusis. The pupils at Agree were called Mysttv^
which may intimate probationers j whereas those of
Eleusis were denominated Epoptce, importing that they
saw as they were seen.
lliere were The lesser mysteries were divided into several stages,
several and candidates were admitted to them accOrciing to
ho
e
years before they were admitted to the greater. A hose
who had partaken of the second kind underwent a no¬
viciate of three years •, these who had been admitted to
the third, one of two years j and those who had gone
through the fourth were admitted to the greater at the
end of one year j which was the shortest period of pro¬
bation a candidate for that honour could legally under¬
go. Such was the process generally observed in admi¬
nistering the lesser mysteries.
With respect to the greater mysteries, it is probable
that originally none but the natives of Attica, were ad-
several and candidates were admitted to them according <
stages,with t|iejr fjUality and capacity respectively. Those win
.hmg uner- ^vei,e in;t;atccl [n the lowest were obliged to wait fiv<
1 C i!   thp n-Tf'^tpr. TllOSI
tween
them.
52
None but
natives of
Athens ori- nlitted to partake of them. In process ot time, how-
ginally ad- t]ic p^g was extended so far and wide as to com-
All fo-
heart, and the knowledge of the
Sweater prebend all who spoke the Greek language
-mysteries, rcigners were debarred from those sacied utes. il.ey
tell ns, however, that Hercules, Bacchus, Castor, and
Pollux, JEsculapius, and Hippocrates, were initiated
in an extraordinary manner, from a regard to their
high character and heroic exploits. All barbarians,
too, were excluded j y'et Anacharsis the Scythian was
indulged that privilege, in consequence of his reputa¬
tion for science and philosophy. All persons guilty
of manslaughter, though even accidentally or invo¬
luntarily, all magicians, enchanters j in a word, all
impious and profane persons, were expressly prohibited
the benefit of this Pagan sacrament. At last, howreyer,
the <>ate became wider, and crowds oi people, ot all
nations, kindreds, and languages, provided their cha¬
racter was fair and irreproachable, rushed in by it.
In process of time the Athenians initiated even their
infants *, but this, we imagine, must have been a kind
of lustration or purification, from which it w as supposed
that they derived a kind of moral ablution from vice,
and wTere thought to he under the peculiar protection
53 of the goddess.
Celebration The celebration of the mysteries began on the 15th
lasted nine 0f the month Boedromion j and, according to
most ancient authors, lasted nine days. Meursius
has enumerated the transactions of each day, which
are much too numerous to fall within the compass of
this article ; we must therefore refer our curious reader
to the author just mentioned. Some days before the
commencement of the festival, the praecones, or public
criers, invited all the initiated, and all the pretenders
to that honour, to attend the festival, with clean
5
hands and a pure
Greek language. S4
On the evening of the 1 5th day of the month call-was pet-
ed Boedromiw the initiations commenced. Our read-
ers will observe, that all the most sacred and solemn
rites of the Pagan superstition were performed during
the night : they were indeed generally works of dark¬
ness. On this day there was a solemn cavalcade of
Athenian matrons from Athens to Eleusis, in carriages
drawn by oxen. In tins procession the ladies used to
rally one another in pretty loose terms, in imitation,
tve suppose, of the Isiac procession described by Hero- ^
dolus, which has been mentioned above. I he most The Mui
remarkable object in this procession was the Mundus.dus Cere
Cereris, contained in a small cofler or basket. Ibis
was carried by a select company of Athenian matrons,
who, from their office, were styled Camphora. In this
cofler were lodged the comb of Ceres, her mirror, a
serpentine figure, some wheat and barley, the pudenda
of the two sexes, and perhaps some other articles which
we have not been able to discover. The procession
ended at the temple, where this sacred charge was de¬
posited with the greatest solemnity.
We have no description of the temple of Eleusis
upon record. Pausanias intended to have described
it ■, but savs he was diverted from his design by a
dream*. Strabo informs us that the mystic sanctua-*Lib
ry was as large as a theatre, and that it was built by
Ictinus b* In the porch, or outer part of this temple,
the candidates were crowned with garlands of flowers, ^
which they called himera, or “ the desirable.” They Dress of
were at the same time dressed in new garments, which tbe can
they continued to wear till they were quite worn out. Jtc5,
They then washed their hands in a laver filled with
holy water j a ceremony which intimated the purity ot ^
their hearts and hands. Before the doors were locked,Care to
one of the officers of the temple proclaimed with akeepthe
loud voice a stern mandate, enjoining all the unini-j™!1'tiat
at a dis-
Aays; but
tiated to keep at a distance from the temple, and de-tanc£<
nouncing the most terrible menaces if any should dare
to disturb or pry into the holy mysteries. Nor were
these menaces without efiect: for if any person was
found to have crowded into the sanctuary even through
ignorance, he was put to death without mercy. Every
precaution having been taken to secure secrecy, the
initiatory ceremonies now began. But beiore we de¬
scribe these, we must lay before our readers a brief
account of the ministers and retainers of these secrets
of paganism. _ , v- .
The chief minister of these far-famed mysteries ^
was the hierophant. He was styled King, and enjoy¬
ed that dignity during life, and was always by. birth
an Athenian. He presided in the solemnity, as is evi¬
dent from his title. This personage, as we learn from
Eus bins, represented the Demiurgus, or Creator of
the world. “ Now in the mysteries of Eleusis (says
that father) the hierophant is dressed out in the figure
of the demiurgus.” What this demiurgus was, we
learn from the same writer. As this whole insti¬
tution was copied from the Egyptians, we may rest
assured that the figure of the Eleusinian Demiurgus
was borrowed from the same quarter. “ As for the
symbols of the Egyptians (says he, quoting from I or- ^
phyryj), they are of the following complexion. 1
Demiurgus, whom the Egyptians call Cnep/i, is figured
:
$9
TJdadu-
d.,
Tin jra-
te. .c.
M Y S T
as a man of an azure colour, shaded with black, hold¬
ing in his right hand a sceptre and in his left a girdle
and having on his head a royal wing or feather wreath¬
ed round.” Such, we imagine, w^as the equipment of
the Eleusinian hierophant. This person was likewise
styled Prophet. He was to be of the family of the
Eumolpidae 5 was obliged to make a vow of perpetual
chastity; and even his voice, hair, and attitude, were
adjusted to the ritual.
The next minister was the daduchus, or torch-
bearer ; who, according to the father above quoted,
was attired like the sun. This minister resembled the
sun, because that luminary was deemed the visible type
of the supreme Demiurgus, and his vicegerent in go-
0 vernmg and arranging the afthirs of this lower world.
Tpnests. The third was the person who officiated at the altar.
He was habited like the moon. His office was to im¬
plore the favour of the gods for all the initiated. We
should rather imagine, that the person at the altar, as
ie resembled the moon, was intended to represent the
goddess herself: for the Egyptian Isis, who was the
archetype of Ceres, was sometimes the moon and
r sometimes the earth.
Tbi, srald The sacred herald was another principal actor iu
this solemn exhibition. His province was to recite
every thing, that, according to the ritual, was to be
communicated to the novices; and he probably repre¬
sented Thyoth or Thoth, that is Hermes or Mercury,
the interpreter of the gods.
Besides these, there were five epimeletm or curators,
of whom the king was one, who jointly directed the
whole ceremonial. Lastly, There were ten priests to
ofler the sacrifices. There were no doubt many officers
of inferior note employed upon these occasions ; but
these were only insignificant appendages, whose depart¬
ments have not been transmitted to posterity.
After this detail of the ministers of this solemn ser¬
vice, we return to the mijstce, or candidates for initia¬
tion. Some of the fathers of the church i- mention a
mile llymn com,‘,osetl by the celebrated Orpheus, which was
I x’sung by the mystagogue or king upon that occasion.
This hymn appears to us one of those spurious com¬
positions which abounded in the first ages of Christi¬
anity, and which the pious apologists often adopt¬
ed without sufficient examination. That some sa¬
cred hymn was chanted upon that occasion, we
think highly probable ; but that the one in question
was either composed by Orpheus, or used at the open¬
ing of these ceremonies, to us appears somewhat pro¬
blematical.
Before the ceremony opened, a book was produced,
which contained every thing relating to the teletie.
This was read over in the ears of the mystse ; who
were ordered to write out a copy of it for themselves.
Ihis was book kept at Eleusis in a sacred repository,
formed by two stones exactly fitted to each other, and
of a very large size. This repository was called petroma.
At the annual celebration of the greater mysteries,
these stones were taken asunder, and the book taken
out; -which, after being read to the mystse, was repla¬
ced in the same casement.
UauL The initiations began with a representation of the
ytliejjg wanderings of Ceres, and her bitter and loud lamen-
tiitioj tations for the loss of her beloved daughter. Upon
this occasion, no doubt, a figure of that deitv -was
v ‘Vol. XIY. Part II.
Uk
Em
tom.
E B I E S.
577
displayed to the myst®, while loud lamentations echoed
irom every corner of the sanctuary. One of the com¬
pany having kindled a firebrand at the altar and
sprung to a certain place in the temple, waving
fhe torch with the utmost fury, a second snatched
it trom him, roaring and waving it in the same
frantic manner; and a third, fourth, &c. in the most
rapid succession. 1 his was done to imitate Ceres, who
wfih ?fld t? 1,erirStl?ted the SIobe of the earth
liaDd’ ',hich si,e ^ iishte‘i
M lien the pageant of the goddess was supposed to o ^
triflin';31 ,,<:US,S’ “ S1,lem” J’al,3e e"sue,i- afewp^ttT
trilling questions were put to the mystrn : What these
questions were, is evident from the answers. “ I have
asted; 1 have drunk the liquor; I have taken the con¬
tents out of the coffer; and having performed the cere¬
mony; have put them into the hamper: I have taken
,f>,Ut " the hamPer, and Put them again in the
colier _ 1 he meaning of these answers, we conjecture,
was this : I have fasted, as Ceres fasted while in
seaich 0 her daughter; I have drunk off the wort as
she drank when given her by Banbo ; I have perform¬
ed what Ceres taught her first disciples to perform
when she committed to them the sacred hamper and
colter. After these interrogatories, and the suitable
responses, the mundus Cereris was displayed before the
eyes of the mystic, and the mystagogue or hierophant,
or perhaps the sacred herald by his command, read a
lecture on the allegorical import of those sacred sym¬
bols. Hus was heard vvith the most profound atten¬
tion ; and a solemn silence prevailed throughout the
fane Such was the first act of this religious farce,
which perhaps consisted originally of nothing more.
. After tbe exposition of the mundus Cereris, and the -r f6-
import of her wanderings, many traditions were com-respecting
mumcated to the mystic concerning the origin of the the origin
universe and the nature of things. The doctrines deli-^Hbe uni-
vered in the greater mysteries, says Clem. Alex, “ re_ verse, &c.
late to the nature of the universe. Here all instruction,
ends. Hungs are seen as they are ; and nature, and
the things of nature, are given to be comprehended.”
lo the same purpose Cicero : “Which points being
explained and reduced to the standard of reason, the
nature of things, rather than that of the gods, is disco¬
vered.” 1 he father of the universe, or the supreme
demiurgus, was represented as forming the chaotic mass
into the four elements, and producing animals, vege¬
tables, and all kinds of organized beings, out of those
materials. They say that they were informed of the
secrets of the anomalies of the moon, and the eclipses of
the sun and moon ; and, according to Virgil,
Unde hominum genus, et pecudes, unde imber ct ignes.
What system of cosmogony those hierophants adopted,
is evident from the passage above quoted from Eusebius;
and from the account immediately preceding, it was
that of the most ancient Egyptians, and of the orientals
m general. This cosmogony is beautifully and energe¬
tically exhibited in Plato’s Timaeus, and in the genuine
spirit of poetry by Ovid in the beginning of his Meta¬
morphoses. ,
The next scene exhibited upon the stage, on this Expfwts
solemn occasion, consisted of the exploits and adventures the gods,
of the gods, demigods, and heroes, who had from timeaad
f to
578
68
then' ori¬
gin.
\ Div. Leg.
6q
Unity of
the su¬
preme Be¬
ing main¬
tained in
the mys¬
teries.
1°
Offices of
the other
godR
M Y S T
.0 time, being
were displayed as passmg belore bemy ^
fabricated ier that >mPor‘a .ul,| was no ,[(iubt
orit;inal mode among the i>gyp > rp. adventures
svere probab y g, at least they were exhi-
symbolical, ‘“^otab e poird view as to dispel
K absurdlties^and^nconsistencies wt.b winch they
those ab , , the poets and the vulgar.
° the origin of those factitious de.Ues,
it wa discovered that they bad been or.g.nally men
Z,T—S’ ^"
r.rsfwctssisi?-J •--
prelate las ■"^“them CnolLJ more thin
reut the latter predicament, is obvtous from another
tals in 1 g. | v the same prelate, winch
rSrt^seSas translated by him: “ What
think you of those who assert that valiant, oi famo ,
or powerful men, have obtained divine honours attei
death ; and that these are the very gods now become
the oh ects of our worship, our prayers and adoration^
Euhemerus tells us, when these gods died adhere
tliev lie buried. I forbear to speak of the satiec. and
au/ust rites of Eleusis. I pass by Samothrace and the
mysteries of Lemnos, whose hidden rites are celebrated
i/darkness, and amidst the thick shades ol groves and
forests ” If, then, those deified mortals were become
the objects of worship and prayers, there can he no
doubt of the belief of their deified existence. Hie allu¬
sion to the Eleusinian and other I agan mysteries to¬
wards the close of the quotation, places the question
beyond the reach of controversy. But though, accor¬
ding to this account, “ there were gods many and lords
many •” yet it is evident from the passage quoted from
Eusebius^in the preceding part ol this article, ^at the
unity of the Supreme Being was maintained, exhibited,
and inculcated. This was the original doctrine o the
hierophants of Egypt: It was maintained by Shales
and all the retainers of the Ionian school. It was tl e
doctrine of Pythagoras, who probably gleaned it up in
the country just mentioned, in connexion with many
other dogmas which he had the assurance to claim as
But however the unity, and perhaps,some ot the most
obvious attributes, of the Supreme Author of nature,
might be illustrated and inculcated, the tribute ol ho¬
mage and veneration due to the subordinate divinities
was by no means neglected. The initialed were taught
to look to the dti majorum gentium with a suptnor de¬
gree of awe and veneration, as beings endowed with an
ineffable measure of power, wisdom, purity, goodness,
&c. These were, if we may use the expression, the
prime favourites of the Monarch of the universe, who
were admitted into ins immediate presence, and who
E R I E S.
received his behests from his own mouth, and commu¬
nicated them to his subordinate officers, prefects, lieu¬
tenants, Sec. These they were exhorted to adore ; to
them they were to offer sacrifices, prayers, and every
other act of devotion, both on account of the excellency
of their nature and the high rank they bore at the
court ot heaven. They were instructed to look up to
hero gods and demigods, as being exalted to the lug i
rank of governors of different parts of nature, as the
immediate guardians and protectors ot the human race ,
in short, as gods near at hand, as prompters to a. virtu¬
ous course, and assistants in it *, as ready upon all occa¬
sions to confer blessings upon the virtuous and deserving.
Such were the doctrines taught in the teletae with ic-
spect to the nature of the Pagan JmiuUea, ami he
worship and devotion enjoined to be offered them by the
f 71
mysteries — ’ -
^As the two principal ends proposed, by these ini'
. •   hproic virtues m men. _ i.-
ilS Uie LYYU — r-~r # ^
tiations were the exercise of heroic virtues in men,‘omplisi!
and the practice of sincere and uniform piety by the j1)g the
candidates for immortal happiness, the “JSI
had adopted a plan of operations excellently accom-l^
modated to both these purposes. I he virtuous con¬
duct and heroic exploits of the great men and demi¬
gods of early antiquity, were magnified by the most.
pompous eulogiums, enforced with suitable, boita-
tions to animate the votaries to imitate so noble and
alluring an example. But this was not all: the he¬
roes and demigods themselves were displayed in pa¬
geants, or vehicles of celestial light. Their honours,
offices, habitations, attendants, and other appendages
in the capacity of demons, were exhibited with all
the pomp and splendour that the sacerdotal college were
able to advise. The sudden glare ot mimic hght, the
melting music stealing upon the ear, the artificial
thunders reverberated from the roof and walls of tl
temple, the appearance of fire and ethereal radiance,
the Vehicles of flame, the effigies of heroes and de¬
mons adorned with crowns of laurel emitting rays
from every sprig, the fragrant odours amlaromai
gales which breathed from every quarter, all dexter¬
ously counterfeited by sacerdotal mechanism, must
havJfilled the imagination ot the astonished votan
with pictures at once tremendous and transporting.
Add to this, that every thing was transacted in he
dead of night amidst a dismal gloom , whence e
most bright effulgence instantaneously, burst up<m ‘be
sight. By this arrangement the aspirants to
tion were1 wonderfully animated to the »f
virtue while they lived, and inspired with the hope
of a blessed immortality when they died. At tli
same time, their awe and veneration for the gods 0!
their country were wonderfully enhanced ^
on the annearances above described. Accormnjm
Strabo very judiciously observes, “ that th®
secrecy of the sacred rites preserves the majesty ot the
Deity, imitating its nature, which escapes our app
hension. For these reasons, in celebrating the tele
the demons were introduced in their deihed or g on e
^^nt as all the candidates for initiation I1Aa,lt "^
asnire to the rank of heroes and demigods, a mor
easy ami a more attainable mode .ot conduct, in o ^
to arrive at the palace of happiness, behoved t
nnened. Private virtues were inculcated, and
tie of a
7* . too were to meet a condign reward,
ir — -
s ineul-
M Y S T
But alas! this
ERIE S.
579
^te vlr-present life is too often a chequered scene, where
vir-
ed in the tue depressed and trodden under foot, and vice lifts
Series, up its head and rides triumphant. It is a dictate of
the doc- common sense, that virtue should sooner or later emerge,
and vice sink into contempt and misery. Here then
Lib. ii.
73
! iileras of
I sium
i farta
restate. t|ie (.otu{L,ctors t[,e mysteries, properly and natural¬
ly, adopted the doctrine of a future state of rewards
and punishments. The dogma of the immortality of
the human soul was elucidated, and carefully and pa¬
thetically inculcated. This doctrine was likewise im¬
ported from Egypt ; for Herodotus * informs us,
“ that the Egyptians were the first people who main¬
tained the immortality of the human soul.” The
Egyptian immortality, however, according to him, ivas
on!v the metempsychosis or transmigration of souls.
This was not the system of the ancient Egyptians, nor
indeed of the teletae. In these, a metempsychosis was
admitted; but that was carried forward to a very di¬
stant period, to wit, to the grand Egyptian period of
36,030 years.
As the mystagogues well knew that the human mind
is more powerfully affected by objects presented to the
eyes than by the most engaging instructions conveyed
by the ear, they made the emblems of Elysium and
Tartarus pass in review before the eyes of their no¬
vices. There the Elysian scenes, so nobly described
by the Roman poet, appeared in mimic splendour; and,
on the other hand, the gloom of Tartarus, Charon’s
boat, the dog of hell, the Furies with tresses of snakes,
the tribunal of Minos and Rhadamanthus, &c. were
displayed in all their terrific state. Tantalus, Ixion,
Sisyphus, the daughters of Danaus, &c. were repre¬
sented in pageants before their eyes. These exhibitions
W’ere accompanied with most horrible cries and bowl¬
ings, thunders, lightning, and other objects of terror
which we shall mention in their proper place.
No contrivance could be better accommodated to
animate the pupils to the practice of virtue on the one
hand, or to deter them from indulging vicious passions
on the other. It resembled opening heaven and hell
to a hardened sinner. The practices inculcated in ce¬
lebrating the mysteries are too numerous to be detail¬
ed in this imperfect sketch. The worship of the gods
was strictly enjoined, as has been shown above. The
three laws generally ascribed to Triptolemus were in¬
culcated, 1. To honour their parents; 2. To honour
the gods with the first fruits of the earth ; 3. Not to
treat brute animals with cruelty. These laws were
imported from Egypt, and were communicated to the
Eleusinians by the original missionaries. Cicero makes
the civilization of mankind one of the most beneficial
effects of the Eleusinian institutions : “ Nullum mihi,
cum multo eximia divinaque videntur Athence tuse pe-
perisse; turn nihil melius illis mysteriis, quibus ex
agresti immanique vita, exculti ad humanitatem, et mi-
tigati sumus ; initiaque, ut appellantur, ita revera prin-
cipia vitse cognovimus; neque solum cum lectitia vi-
vendi rationem accepimus, sed etiam cum spe meliore
moriendi.” Hence it is evident that the precepts of
humanity and morality were warmly recommended in
these institutions. The virtue of humanity was ex¬
tended, one may say, even to the brute creation, as
appears from the last of Triptolemus’s laws above
quoted. Some articles were enjoined in the teletae
T three
*of
Triole¬
in;
75
which may appear to us of-less importance, which,
however, in the symbolical style of the Egyptians, were
abundantly significant. The initiated were “ command¬
ed to abstain from the flesh of certain birds and fishes;
from beans, from pomegranates and apples, which
were deemed equally polluting. It was taught, that
to touch the plant of asparagus was as dangerous as
the most deadly poison. Now, says Porphyry, who¬
ever is versed in the history of the visions, knows for
what reason they were commanded to abstain from the
flesh of birds.”
The initiated then bound themselves by dreadful oaths The initia-
to observe most conscientiously and to practise every ted bound
precept tendered to them in the course of the teletae ;
and at the same time never to divulge one article of 0£senre the
all that had been heard or seen by them upon that oc-precepts of
casiou. In this they were so exceedingly jealous, that the myste-
./Eschylus the tragedian was in danger of capital pu-1^68*
nishnrent, for having only alluded to one of the Eleu¬
sinian arcana in a tragedy of his; and one of the ar¬
ticles of indictment against Diagoras the Melian was,
his having spoken disrespectfully of the mysteries, and
dissuaded people from partaking of them. It must
then be allowed, that the institution of the mysteries
was of infinite advantage to the Pagan world. They
were indeed a kind of sacraments, by which the initiat¬
ed bound themselves by a solemn vow to practise piety
towards the gods, justice and humanity towards (.heir
fellow men, and gentleness and tenderness towards the
inoffensive part of the brute creation. The Pagans
themselves were so thoroughly convinced of this tact,
that in their disputes with the apologists for Christiani¬
ty, they often appealed to the teletse, and contrasted
their maxims with the most sublime doctrines of that
heavenly institution.
In order to impress these maxims the more deeply
upon the minds of the novices, and to fix their atten¬
tion more stedfastly upon the lectures which were de¬
livered them by the mystagogue or the sacred herald,
a mechanical operation was played off at proper inter¬
vals during the course of the celebration. “ Towards
the end of the celebration (says Stobseus), the whole
scene is terrible ; all is trembling, shuddering, sweat, y6
and astonishment. Many horrible spectres are seen, Horrible
and strange cries and bowlings uttered. Light sue- spectres
ceeds darkness ; and again the blackest darkness the f"1'^ Pleas~
most glaring light. Now appear open plains, flowery "jftrnate-
meads, and waving groves; where are seen dances and [y exhibit-
choruses ; and various holy phantasies enchant the sight, ed.
Melodious notes are heard from Far, with all the sub¬
lime symphony of the sacred hymns. The pupil now
is completely perfect, is initiated, becomes free, re¬
leased, and walks about with a crown on his head,
and is admitted to hear a part in the sacred rites.” A-
ristides de Myst. Eleus. calls Eleusis “ a kind of temple
of the whole earth, and of all that man beholds done
in the most dreadful and the most exhilarating manner.
In what other place have the records of fable sung of
things more marvellous ? or in what region upon earth
have the objects presented to the eye borne a more ex¬
act resemblance to the sounds which strike the ear ?
What object of sight have the numberless generations
of men and women beheld comparable to these exhi¬
bited in the ineffable mysteries ?” To the same pur¬
pose, Pletho, in the oracles of Zoroastres, informs us,
4 D 2 “ that
M Y S TER I E S.
“ that frightful anct shocking apparitions, in a variety
of forms, used to be displayed to the mysta; in the
course of their initiation.11 And a little after, he adds,
that thunder and lightning and fire, and every thing
terrible which might be held symbolical of the divine
presence, were introduced.” Claudian, in his poem
JJe Rapta Proserpina, gives an elegant, though brief,
description of this phenomenon, which throws some light
on the passages above quoted.
Jam mihi cernuntur trcpidis dclabra moveri
Scdibus et clarum dis pergcre cuhnina lucem,
Adventum testata Dea, jam magnus ab imis
Auditur fremitus tcrris, templumque remugit
Cecropidum.
The sight of those appearances was called the Antopsia,
or “ the real presence hence those rites were some¬
times called Epoptica. The Epoptce were actually ini¬
tiated, and were admitted into the Sanctum Sanctorum,
and bore a part in the ceremonial: whereas the mystce,
who had only been initiated in the lesser mysteries at
Aorse, were’ obliged to take their station in the porch
A k'^d of ^ie temple. The candidates for initiation bathed
baptismal themselves in holy water, and put on nevy clothes, all
ablution in of linen, which they continued to wear till they were
the myste- qUite torn, and then they were consecrated to Ceres
riei’ and Proserpine. From the ceremony of bathing they
were denominated Hydrant; and this again was a kind
of baptismal ablution. Whether the phrases of washing
away sin, putting on the Lord Jesus Christ, putting off
the old man with his deeds, putting on a robe of right¬
eousness, being buried in baptism, the words mystery,
perfect, perfection, which occur so frequently in the
New Testament, especially in the writings of the apostle
St Paul, are borrowed from the Pagan mysteries, or
from usages current among the Jews, we leave to our
more learned readers to determine.
The Epoptae having sustained all those fiery trials,
heard and seen every thing requisite, taken upon them
the vows and engagements above narrated, and, in a
word, having shown themselves good soldiers of Ceres
78 and Proserpine, were now declared perfect men. 1 hey
The initi- might, like Cebes’s virtuous man, travel wherever they
ated dec la- cj10Se ■ those wild beasts (the human passions) which
red perfect tyrann[se over the rest of mankind, and often destroy
them, had no longer dominion over them. They were
now not only perfect but regenerated men. J hey were
now crowned with laurel, as was said above, and dis¬
missed with two barbarous words, Key| cpicaj, Konx
ompax, of which perhaps the hierophants themselves
did not comprehend the import. They had been in¬
troduced by the first Egyptian missionaries, and re¬
tained in the sacra after their signification was lost.
This was a common practice among the Greeks. In
the administration of their religious ceremonies, they
retained many names of persons, places, things, cu¬
stoms, &c. which had been introduced by the Phoeni¬
cians and Egyptians, from whom they borrowed their
system of idolatry. These terms constituted the lan¬
guage of the gods, so often mentioned by the prince
of poets. To us the words ift question appear to be
Syriac, and to signify, Be vigilant, be innocent.
Numerous and important were the advantages suppo¬
sed to redound to the initiated, from their being admit¬
ted to partake of the mysteries, both in tins life and
that which is to come. First, They were highly ho¬
noured, and even revered by their contemporaries. In¬
deed, they were looked up to as a kind ol sacred per¬
sons : they were, in reality, consecrated to Ceres and
Proserpine. Secondly, They were obliged by their oath
to practise every virtue, religious, moral, political, pub¬
lic, and private. Thirdly, They imagined, that sound
advice and happy measures of conduct were suggested
to the initiated by the Eleusinian goddesses. Accord¬
ingly, says Pericles the celebrated Athenian statesman,
“ I am convinced, that the deities of Fleusis inspired
me with this sentiment, and that this stratagem was
suggested by the principle of the mystic rites.” There
is a beautiful passage in Aristophanes’s t comedy of the t Act
Ranae to the very same purpose, ot which we shall sub¬
join the following periphrasis. It is sung by the chorus
of the initiated.
Let us to flow’ry meads repair,
With deathless roses blooming,
Whose balmy sweets impregn the air,
Both hills and dales perfuming.
Since fate benign our choir has join’d,
We’ll trip in mystic measure j
In sweetest harmony combin’d
We’ll quaff full draughts of pleasure*.
For us alone the pow’r of day
A milder light dispenses 5
And sheds benign a mellow’d ray
To cheer our ravish’d senses :
For we beheld the mystic show,
And brav’d Eleusis’ dangers.
We do and know the deeds we owe
To neighbours, friends, and strangers.
Euripides, in his Bacchse (e), introduces the cho¬
rus extolling the happiness of those who had been ac¬
quainted with God, by participating in the holy my¬
steries, and whose minds had been enlightened by the
mystical rites. They boast, “ that they had led a holy
and unblemished life, from the time that they had been
initiated in the sacred rites of Jupiter Idaeus, and from
the time that they had relinquished celebrating the
nocturnal rites of Bacchus, and the banquets of raw
flesh torn off living animals.” To this sanctity of life
they had no doubt engaged themselves, when they
were initiated in the mysteries of that god. The Eleu¬
sinian Epoptae derived the same advantages from their
sacramental engagements. Fourthly, The initiated
were imagined to be the peculiar wards of the Eleu¬
sinian goddesses. These deities were supposed to
watch over them, and often to avert impending dan¬
ger, and to rescue them when beset with troubles.
Our readers will not imagine that the initiated reaped
much benefit from the protection of bis Eleusinian
tutelary deities j but it was sufficient that they believ¬
ed
(e) Act I. jaear the beginning, and in many other places.
M Y S T
ed the fact, and -actually depended upon their inter¬
position. Fifthly, The happy influences of the teletae,
were supposed to administer consolation to the Epoptse
in the hour of dissolution; for, says Isocrates, “ Ceres
Ileus,
bestowed upon the Athenians two gifts of the greatest
importance j the fruits of the earth, which were the
cause of our no longer leading a savage course of life ;
and the teletae, for they who partake of these entertain
more pleasant hopes both at the end of life, and eterni-
Aristides, ty afterwards.” Another author* tells us, “ that the
MyA. initiated were not only often rescued from many hard¬
ships in their lifetime, but at death entertained hopes
that they should be raised to a more happy condition.”
Sixthly, After death, in the Elysian fields, they were
to enjoy superior degrees of felicity, and were to bask
in eternal sunshine, to quaff nectar, and feast upon
ambrosia, &c.
I lie priests were not altogether disinterested in this
salutary process. They made their disciples believe,
that the souls of the uninitiated, when they arrived in
the infernal regions, should roll in mire and dirt, and
with very great difficulty arrive at their destined man¬
sion. lienee Plato introduces Socrates t observing,
“ that the sages who introduced the teletae bad posi¬
tively affirmed, that whatever soul should arrive in the
infernal mansions unhousclVd and unanneal'd, should lie
there immersed in mire and filth.” And as to a future
state (says Aristides), “ the initiated shall not roll in
mire and grope in darkness ; a fate which awaits the
unholy and uninitiated.” It is not hard to conceive
with what a commanding influence such doctrines as
these must have operated on the generality of man¬
kind.
79
iterested-
-ss of the
tests.
Phcedo,
So
I ogencs°f When the Athenians advised Diogenes to get him-
Antis- se^ initiated, and enforced their arguments with the
)iog,
ert.
81
the
rid
wd to
;usis.
1
1 ;enera-
T»f the
'tones.
above considerations, “ It will be pretty enough (re¬
plied the philosopher) to see Agesilaus and Epaminon-
das wallowing in the mire, while the most contemptible
rascals who have been initiated are strutting in the
islands of bliss.”
When Antisthenes was to be initiated in the Or¬
phic mysteries, and the priest was boasting of the many
astonishing benefits which the initiated should enjoy
in a future state J, “ Why, forsooth, (says Antis¬
thenes), ’tis wonder your reverence don’t e’en hang
yourself in order to come at them the sooner.”
When such benefits were expected to be derived
from the mysteries, no wonder if all the world crowd¬
ed to the Eleusinian standard. After the Macedonian
conquests, the hierophants abated much of their ori¬
ginal strictness. By the age of Cicero, Eleusis was a
temple whither all nations resorted to partake of the
benefits of that institution. We find that almost all
the great men of Rome were initiated. The hiero¬
phants, however, would not admit Nero on account of
the profligacy of his character. Few others were re¬
fused that honour j even the children of the Athe¬
nians were admitted. But this, we think, was rather
a lustration or consecration, than an initiation. Per¬
haps it paved the way for the more august ceremony,
as the Christian baptism does among us for the other
sacrament.
That this institution gradually degenerated, can
hardly be questioned; but how much, and in what
points, we have not been able to investigate. The fa-
E R I E S*
thers of the church, from whom that charge is chiefly
to be collected, are not always to be trusted, espe¬
cially when they set themselves to arraign the institu^
tions of Paganism, There rvere indeed several an¬
cient authors, such as Melanthius, Menander, So-
tades, &c. who wrote purposely on the subject in
question ; but their works are long since irrecoverably
lost. lor this reason, modern writers, who have pro¬
fessedly handled it, have not always been successful in
their researches. The two who have laboured most
indefatigably, and perhaps most successfully, in this
field, are Meursius and Warburton. The former, in
his Libei' Singular™, has collected every thing that can
be gleaned from antiquity relating to the ceremonial
of these institutions, without, however, pointing out
their original, or elucidating the end and import of their
establishment. The latter has drawn them into the
vortex of a system which has in many instances led him
to ascribe to them a higher degree of merit than we
think they deserve. These instances we v’ould willing¬
ly have noticed in our progress, had the limits prescribed
us admitted such a discussion.
If we may believe Diodorus the Sicilian, these my¬
steries, which were celebrated with such wonderful se¬
crecy at Eleusis, wrere communicated to all mankind
among the Cretans. This, however, we think, is ra-.
ther problematical. We imagine that excellent histo¬
rian has confounded the mysteries of Cybele with those
of the Eleusinian Ceres. These two deities were un¬
doubtedly one and the same, that is, the mcon or the
earth. Hence it is probable, that there was a striking
resemblance between the sacred mysteries of the Cre¬
tans and Eleusinians.
This institution continued in high reputation to
the age of St Jerome, as appears from the following-
passage : “Hierophants; quoque Atheniensium legant
usque hodie cicutse sorbitione castrari.” The em¬
peror Valentinianus intended to have supressed them ;
but Zozimus * informs us, that he was diverted from * Advert,
his design by the proconsul of Greece. At length Jovin.
Theodosius the elder, by an imperial edict, prohibited
the celebration of these as well as of all the other sa- ])y ^
era of Paganism. These mysteries, instituted in theperorTheo-
reign of Erechtheus, maintained their ground to thedosius.
period just mentioned, that is, near 2000 yearsj dur¬
ing which space, the celebration of them never had
been interrupted but once. When Alexander the
Great massacred the Thebans and razed tbeir city,
the Athenians were so much affected with this melan¬
choly event, that they neglected the celebration of that
festival.
There were almost numberless other mysterious in- Other my-
stitutions among the ancient Pagans, of which these steries a-
sketched above were the most celebrated. The Sa- m°iig the
mothracian mysteries, instituted in honour of the Ca-
biri, were likewise of considerable celebrity, and were ty 0 6
supposed to confer much the same blessings with the
Eleusinian, but were not of equal celebrity. The
Cabiri were Phoenician and likewise Egyptian f dei-1 ganckom-
ties. The learned Bochart has explained their ori- athon and
gin, number, names, and some part of their worship. Herodotus.
The Orphic mysteries wrere likewise famous among
the Thracians. Orpheus learned them in Egypt, and
they were nearly the same with the sacra Bacchanalia
of the Greeks.. There were likewise the mysteries
of
582
MYSTERIES.
of Jupiter Idtfus in great request among the Cretans,
those of the Magna Mater or Cybele, celebrated m
Phrygia. To enumerate and detail all these would
require a complete volume. We hope our readers
will be fully satisfied with the specimen exhibited above.
We are convinced many things have been omitted which
might have been inserted, but we have collected the
most curious and the most important.—Every one of
the positions might have been authenticated by quota¬
tions from authors of the most undoubted credibility,
but that process would have swelled the article beyond
all proportion.
M Y S
Mystical, MYSTICAL, something mysterious or allegorical.
Mystics. Some of the commentators on the sacred writings, be-
 sides a literal find also a mystical meaning. The sense
of Scripture, say they, is either that immediately sig¬
nified by the words and expressions in the common use
of language *, or it is mediate, sublime, typical, and
mystical. The literal sense they again divide into pro¬
per literal, which is contained in the words taken
simply and properlyj and metaphorical literal, where
the words are to be taken in a figurative and meta¬
phorical sense. The mystical sense of scripture they
divide into three kinds : the first corresponding to
faith, and called allegorical; the second to hope,
called anagogical; and the third to charity, called the
tropological sense. And sometimes they take the same
word in Scripture in all the four senses ; thus the word
Jerusalem literally signifies the capital of Judea : al¬
legorically, the church militant: tropologically, a be¬
liever : and anagogically, heaven. So, that passage in
Genesis, let there be light, and there was light, literally
signifies corporeal light j by an allegory, the Messiah j
in the tropological sense, grace ; and anagogically,
beatitude, or the light of glory. _ .
MYSTICS, my slid, a kind of religious sect, distin¬
guished by their professing pure, sublime, ami perfect
devotion, with an entire disinterested love of God, free
from all selfish considerations.
The mystics, to excuse their fanatic ecstasies and
amorous extravagancies, allege that passage of St
Paul, The Spirit prays in us by sighs and groans that
are unutterable. Now’, if the spirit, say they, pray in
us, we must resign ourselves to its motions, and be
swayed and guided by its impulse, by remaining in a
state of mere inaction.
Passive contemplation is that state of perfection to
which the mystics all aspire.
The authors of this mystic science which, sprung
up towards the close of the third century, are not
known-, but the principles from which it was formed
are manifest. Its first promoters proceeded from the
known doctrine of the Platonic school, which ivas al¬
so adopted by Ongen and his disciples, that the di¬
vine nature was infused through all human souls, or
that the faculty of reason, from which proceed the
health and vigour of the mind, was an emanation from
God into the human soul, and comprehended in it the
principles and elements of all truth, human and divine.
They denied that men could by labour or study excite
this celestial flame in their breasts \ and therefore they
disapproved highly of the attempts of those, who hy
definitions, abstract theorems, and profound specula¬
tions, endeavoured to form distinct notions of truth,
and to discover its hidden nature. On the contrary,
they maintained that silence, tranquillity, repose, and
solitude, accompanied with such acts as might tend to
M Y T
extenuate and exhaust the body, were the means by Mystic,
which the hidden and internal word was excited to ^
produce its latent virtues, and to instruct men m the  ^
knowledge of divine lungs. For thus they reasoned j
those who behold with a noble contempt all human af¬
fairs, who turn away their eyes from terrestrial vani¬
ties, and shut all the avenues of the outward senses
against the contagious influences of a material world,
must necessarily return to God, when the spirit is thus
disengaged from the impediments that prevented that
happy union. And in this blessed frame they not on¬
ly enjoy inexpressible raptures from their communion
with the Supreme Being, but also are invested with
the inestimable privilege of contemplating truth undis¬
guised and uncorrupted in its native purity, while others
behold it in a vitiated and delusive form.
The number of the mystics increased in the fourth
century, under the influence of the Grecian fanatic,
who gave himself out for Dionysius the Areopagite,
disciple of St Paul, and probably lived about this pe¬
riod j and by pretending to higher degrees of perfec¬
tion than other Christians, and practising greater au¬
sterity, their cause gained ground, especially in the
eastern provinces, in the fifth century. A copy of the
pretended works of Dionysius was sent by Balbus to
Lewis the Meek, in the year 824, which kindled the
holy flame of mysticism in the western provinces, and
filled the Latins with the most enthusiastic admiration
of this new religion. _ ,
In the twelfth century, these mystics took the lead
in their method of expounding Scripture 5 and by
searching for mysteries and hidden meaning in the
plainest expressions, forced the word of God into a
conformity with their visionary doctrines, their enthu¬
siastic feelings, and the system of discipline which they
had drawn from the excursions of their irregular fan¬
cies. In the thirteenth century, they were the most
formidable antagonists of the schoolmen -, and towards
the close of the fourteenth, many of them resided and
propagated their tenets almost in every part of Europe.
They had, in the fifteenth century, many persons ot
distinguished merit in their number: and in the six¬
teenth century, previous to the Reformation, it any
sparks of real piety subsisted under the despotic em¬
pire of superstition, they were only to be found among
the mystics.
The principles of this sect were adopted by those
called Quietists in the seventeenth century, and under
different modifications, by the Quakers and Methodists.
MYSTRUM, a liquid measure among the ancients,
containing the fourth part of the cyathus, and weigh¬
ing two drachms and a half of oil, or two drachms
two scruples of water or wine. It nearly answers 0
our spoonful.
MYTELENE. See
t 583 J
MYTHOLOGY
)eflnition. T,c> ft term compounded of two Greek words, and in its
original import it signilies any kind of fabulous doc¬
trine : In its more appropriated sense, it means those
fabulous details concerning the objects of worship which
were invented and propagated by men who lived in the
early ages of the world, and by them transmitted to
succeeding generations, either by written records or by
oral tradition.
As the theology and mythology of the ancients are
almost inseparably connected, it will be impossible for
us to develope the latter, without often introducing
some observations relating to the former. We must
therefore entreat the indulgence of our readers, if up¬
on many occasions we would hazard a few strictures on
the names, characters, adventures, and functions of such
Pagan divinities as may have furnished materials for
those fabulous narrations which the nature of the sub-
2 ject may lead us to discuss,
igin of With respect to Jable, it may be observed in gene-
;le. ral, that it is a creature of the human imagination,
and derives its birth from that love of the viuvvelious
which is in a manner congenial to the soul of man. 
1 he appearances of nature which every day occur, ob¬
jects, actions, and events, which succeed each other
by a kind of routine, are too familiar, too obvious, and
uninteresting, either to gratify curiosity or to excite
admiration. On the other hand, when the most com¬
mon phenomena in nature or life are new-modelled by
the plastic power of a warm imagination j when they
are diversified, compounded, embellished ^ or even ar¬
ranged and moulded into forms which seldom or per¬
haps never occur in the ordinary course of things ;—
novelty generates admiration, a passion always attended
with delightful sensations. Here then we imagine we
have discovered the very source of fiction and fable.—
^hey originated from that powerful propensity in our
nature towards the new and surprising, animated by the
delight with which the contemplation of them is ge¬
nerally attended.
Many circumstances contributed to extend and esta¬
blish the empire of fable. The legislator laid hold on
this bias of human nature, and of course employed
fable and fiction as the most effectual means to civilize
a rude, unpolished world. The philosopher, the theo-
logist, the poet, the musician, each in his turn, made
use of this vehicle to convey his maxims and instruc¬
tions to the savage tribes. They knew that truth, sim¬
ple and unadorned, is not possessed of charms power¬
ful enough to captivate the heart of man in his present
corrupt and degenerate state. This consideration, which
did indeed result from the character of their audience,
naturally led them to employ fiction and allegory. From
this was derived the allegorical taste of the ancients,
and especially of the primary sages of the east.
Though almost every nation on the face of the globe,
2 however remote from the centre of population, how-
5 nesso ever savage and averse from cultivation, has fabricated
^ 'dcntdiand adopted its own system of mythology; the O-
l00o7' rientals, however, have distinguished themselves in a
peculiar manner, hy the boldness, the inconsistency,
and the extravagance of their mythology. The genial
warmth of those happy climes, the fertility of the soil,
which allorded every necessary, every conveniency,
and often every luxury of life, without depressing their
spirits by laborious exertions; the face of nature per¬
petually blooming around them, the skies smiling with
uninterrupted serenity ; all contributed to inspire the
Onentals with a glow of fancy and a vigour of ima¬
gination rarely to be met with in less happy regions.
Tience eveiy object was swelled beyond its natural di¬
mensions. Nothing was great or little in moderation,
but every sentiment was heightened with incredible hy¬
perbole. The magnificent, the sublime, the vast, the
enoimous, the marvellous, first sprung up, and were
brought to maturity, in those native regions of fable
and fairy land. As nature, in the ordinary course of
her operations, exhibited neither objects nor effects
adequate to the extent of their romantic imaginations,
they naturally deviated into the fields of fiction and fa¬
ble. Of consequence, the custom of detailing fabulous
adventures originated m the east, and was from thence
transplanted into the western countries.
As the allegorical taste of the eastern nations had
sprung from their propensity to fable, and as that pro¬
pensity had in its turn originated from the love of the
marvellous ; so did allegory in process of time contribute
its influence towards multiplying fables and fiction al¬
most in infinitum. The latent import of the allegorical
doctrines being in a few ages lost and obliteiated, what
was originally a moral or theological tenet, assumed the
air and habit of a personal adventure.
The propensity towards personification, almost uni- Propensity
versal among the orientals, was another fruitful source to personi-
of fable and allegory. That the people of the eastflcation ^
were strongly inclined to personify inanimate objects .
and abstract ideas, we imagine will be readily granted,thology"^
when it is considered, that in the formation of language &
they have generally annexed the affection of sex to
those objects. Hence the distinction of grammatical
genders, which is known to have originated in the -
eastern parts of the world. ’Ihe practice of personify¬
ing virtues, vices, religious and moral affections, was
necessary to support that allegorical style which univer¬
sally prevailed in those countries. This mode of writ¬
ing was m high reputation even 111 Europe some cen¬
turies ago ; and to it we are indebted for some of the
most noble poetical compositions now extant in our own
language. Those productions, however, are but faint
imitations of the original mode of writing still current
among the eastern nations. The Europeans derived
this species of composition from the Moorish inhabitants
of Spain, who imported it from Arabia, their original
country.
The general use of hieroglyphics in the east, mustThe Effects
have contributed largely towards extending the em-of hierogly-
pire of mythology. As the import of the figures pbic un¬
employed in this method of delineating the signs 0ft;nSonmy~
ideas was in a great measure arbitrary, mistakes must tlloi0S)’-
hav»
584 . ^
liave been frequently committed in ascertaining the
notions which they were at the first intended to re¬
present. When the developement of these arbitrary
signs happened to be attended with uncommon diiii-
culty, the expounders were obliged to have recourse
to conjecture. Those conjectural expositions were for
the most part tinctured with that bias towards the
marvellous which universally prevailed among the pii-
mitive men. ' This we find is the case even at this
day, when moderns attempt to develope the purport
of emblematical figures, preserved on ancient medals,
entaglions, &c.
The wise men of the east delighted in obscure enig¬
matical sentences. rlhey seem to have disdained eveiy
sentiment obvious to vulgar apprehension. The words
of the wise, and their dark sayings, often occur in the
most ancient records both sacred and profane. The
sages of antiquity used to vie with each othei foi the
prize of superior wisdom, by propounding riddles,
and dark and mysterious questions, as subjects of in¬
vestigation. The contest between Solomon and Hi¬
ram, and that between Amasis king of Egypt and
Polycrates tyrant of Samos, are universally known.
As the import of those enigmatical propositions was
often absolutely lost, in ages when the art of writing
was little known, and still less practised, nothing re¬
mained but fancy and conjecture, which always verged
towards the regions of fable. Ibis then, we think,
■r was another source of mythology.
The Pagan priests, especially in Egypt, were pro-
reduced to ba]jly the first who reduced mythology to a kind of
a kind of SyStem> The sacerdotal tribe^ among that people,
were the grand depositories of learning as well as of
religion. That order of men monopolized all the
arts and sciences. They seem to have formed a con¬
spiracy among themselves, to preclude the laity from
all the avenues of intellectual improvement. This
plan was adopted with a view to keep the laity in sub¬
jection, and to enhance their own importance. To
-accomplish this end, they contrived to perform all the
ministrations of their religion in an unknown tongue,
and to cover them with a thick veil of fable and alle-
irory. The language of Ethiopia became their sacred
dialect, and hieroglyphics their sacred character.—
Egypt, of course, became a kind of fairy land, where
all was jugglery, magic, and enchantment. The ini¬
tiated alone were admitted to the knowledge of the
occult mystical exhibitions, which, in their hands, con¬
stituted the essence of their religion. From these the
vulgar and profane were prohibited by the most rigo¬
rous penalties (see Mysteries). The Egyptians, and
indeed all the ancients without exception, deemed the
mysteries of religion too sacred and solemn to be com¬
municated to the herd of mankind, naked and unreserv¬
ed ; a mode by which they imagined those sacred and
sublime oracles would have been defiled and degrad¬
ed. “ Procul, 6 procul este profani—Odi profanum
vulgus et arceo.” Egypt was the land of graven
images.-, allegory and mythology wrere the veil which
concealed religion from the eyes of the vulgar ; fable
7 was the groundwork of that impenetrable covering.
In the ear- In the earliest and most unpolished stage of society
the1 world°f"we cannot suPPose fable to have existed among men.
mythology Fables are always tales of other times, but at this period
had no ex- other times did vnot. reach far. enough, backward to af-
d&tence. 4
Y T H O L O G Y.
Mythology
luced tc
land of
system in
Egypt-
ford those fruits of the imagination sufficient time to
arrive at maturity. Fable requires a considerable space
of time to acquire credibility, and to rise into repu- ^
tation. Accordingly, we find that both the Chinese
and Egyptians, the two most ancient nations whose
annals have reached our times, were altogether unac¬
quainted with fabulous details in the most early and
least improved periods of their respective monarchies.
It has been shown almost to a demonstration, by a va¬
riety of learned men, that both the one and the other
people, during some centuries after the general de¬
luge, retained and practised the primitive Noachic re¬
ligion, in which fable and fancy could find no place -,
all was genuine unsophisticated truth.
As soon as the authentic tradition concerning the
origin of the universe was either in a good measure
lost, or at least adulterated by the invention of men,
fable and fiction began to prevail. The Egyptian 8
Thoth or Thyoth, or Mercury Trismegistus, and Mos-Fabulous
chus the Phoenician, undertook to account for the for-cosmogo-
mation and arrangement of the universe, upon P™0'j;rs’t
ciples purely mechanical. Here fable began to usurp i0gjcaj ,je_
the place of genuine historical truth. Accordingly, tails,
we find that all the historians of antiquity, who have
undertaken to give a general detail of the aftairs ot
the world, have ushered in their narration with a fabu¬
lous cosmogony. Here imagination ranged unconfined
over the boundless extent of the primary chaos. To be
convinced of the truth of this assertion, we need only
look into Sanchoniathon’s Cosmogony, Euseb. I r<ep.
Evang. 1. 1. sub init. and Diodorus Sic. 1. 1. From
this we suppose it will follow, that the first race of
fables owed their birth to the erroneous opinions of
the formation of the universe. . .
Having now endeavoured to point out the oiigm 01
mythology, or fabulous traditions, we shall proceed to
lay before our readers a brief detail of the mythology
of the most respectable nations ot antiquity, following
the natural order of their situation. 9
The Chinese, if any credit be due to their own an-Chinese^
nals, or to the missionaries of the church of Rome, whomyt 0 e
pretend to have copied from them, were the first of the
nations. Their fabulous records reach upwards many
myriads of years before the Mosaic era of the creation.
The events during that period of time, if any had
been recorded, must have been fabulous as the peiiod
itself. These, however, are buried in eternal oblivion.
The missionaries, who are the only sources of our infor¬
mation with relation to the earliest periods of the Chinese
history, represent those people as having retained the
religion of Noah many centuries after the foundation
of their empire. Upon this supposition, their cosmo¬
gony must have been sound and genuine, without the
least tincture of those fabulous ingredients which have
both disguised and disgraced the cosmogonies of most
other nations. 10
According to the most authentic accounts, iV/f Birth and
or Fohi laid the foundation of that empire aboutinvenuoni
4000 years ago. This emperor, according to the Chi¬
nese, was conceived in a miraculous manner.. His mo
ther, say they, one day as she was walking in a desert
place, was surrounded by a rainbow-, and, being mi
pregnated by this meteor, was in due time dehvere
of that celebrated legislator. This personage, like the
Athenian Cecrops, was half a man and halt a serpen..
M Y T H
His intellectual powers were truly hyperbolical. In
one day he discovered 50 different species of poisonous
herhs. He taught his countrymen the whole art of
agriculture in the space of a very few years. He in¬
structed them how to sow five difterent sorts of grain.
He. invented boats, and nets for fishing, the art of fabri¬
cating porcelain, the management of silk worms, the
manufacturing of silk, See. In a word, that wonder¬
ful personage was inspired by Heaven with knowledge,
which qualified him for composing that incomparable
body of laws which are even at this day the wonder of
the world. Our readers will admit, that this whole
detail is fabulous and chimerical. The most learned
part of them will readily observe, that the Chinese in
ascribing the invention of all the useful arts to their
lohi, are perfectly agreed with almost all the other na¬
tions of antiquity. Ihe Indians ascribe every inven¬
tion to Budha, or J' iuhnou, or Foe; the Persians to Zcr-
dushty or Zoroaster ,• the Chaldeans to their man of the
sea, whom they call Oannes; the Egyptians to Thoth
or Thyothi the Phoenicians to Melicerta; the Greeks
to the family of the Fitans; and the Scandinavians to
Odin, &c.
th of0U!> 551 years before the Christian era, appeared
nfueius. ^,le famous Chinese philosopher Con-fu-tse ov Confucius.
Concerning the birth of this prince of philosophers, the
Chinese have propagated the following legendary tale.
His mother, walking in a solitary place,was impregnated
by the vivifying influence of the heavens. The babe,
thus produced, spake and reasoned as soon as it was
horn. Confucius, however, -wrought no miracles, per¬
formed no romantic exploits, but lived an austere ascetic
life, taught and inculcated the doctrines of pure mora¬
lity, and died, remarkable only for superior -wisdom, re-
12 ligious, moral, and political.
'his*11 About the year of Christ 601, flourished the sec-
trines. tary Lno-kiun. His mother carried him 30 years in
her womb, and -was at last delivered of him under a
plum-tree. This philosopher was the Epicurus of
the Chinese. His disciples, who -were denominated
lao-ssc, i. e. heavenly doctors, were the first rvho cor¬
rupted the religion of the Chinese. They were ad¬
dicted to magic, and introduced the worship of good
and bad demons. Their doctrine was embraced by a
long succession of emjierors. One of these princes,
called You-ti, had been deprived by death of a fa¬
vourite mistress, whom he loved with the most extra¬
vagant passion. The emperor, by the magical skill of
one of these doctors, obtained an interview with his
deceased mistress, a circumstance which ilvetted the
whole order in the affection and esteem of the deluded
prince. Here our readers will observe the exact coun¬
terpart of the fable of Eurydice, so famous in the my¬
thology of the Greeks and Romans. That such a sys¬
tem of religious principles must have abounded with
mythological adventures is highly probable ; but as the
missionaries, to whom we are chiefly indebted for our
Inj |yc information relating to the religion of the Chinese,
f the |lave n°t taken the pains to record them, we find it
*P of impossible to gratify the curiosity of our readers on
Jl ^ of that head.
tiii the ^ie worship °f the idol Fo, or Foe, was trans-
®^ipsy. Panted from India into China about the 56th year of
^ into the Christian era, upon the following occasion. One
of the doctors of the Fao-sse had promised a prince of
Vol. XIV. Part. II. t
O L O G Y.
the family of Tchou, and brother of the emperor
Mmg-ti, to make him enter into communion with the.
spirits. At his solicitation an ambassador was despatch¬
ed into India, in order to inquire where the true reli¬
gion was to be found. There had been a tradition,
say the missionaries, ever since the age of Confucius,
that the true religion was to be found in the west. 
Ihe ambassador stopt short in India £ and finding that
the god loe was in high reputation in that country,
he collected several images of that deity painted on
chintz, and with it 42 chapters of the canonical books
of the Hindoos, which, together with the images, he
laid on a white elephant, and transported into his na¬
tive country. At the same time he imported from the
same quarter the doctrine of the transmigration of
souls, which is firmly believed in China to this day.
Ihe doctrine and worship of Foe, thus introduced,
made a most rapid progress all over China, Japan’
biam, &c. The priests of Foe are called among the
Siamese Talapoins; by the Tartars, Lamas; by the
Chinese, Ha-chang; and by the people of Japan, Bon-
xes. Ry this last appellation they are generally known
in Europe.
An infinitude of fables w as invented and propagated The Wor.
by the disciples of Foe, concerning the life and adven-shipi'eis <rf
t«res of their master. If the earlier ages of the Chi- Foc Sreal
nese history are barren of mythological incidents, theSj'010"
later periods, after the introduction of the worship of5'4 *
Foe, furnish an inexhaustible store of miracles, mon¬
sters, fables, intrigue, exploits, and adventures, of the
most villanous complexion. Indeed, most of them are
so absurd, so ridiculous, and at the same time so impious
and profane, that we are convinced our readers will easi¬
ly dispense with a detail from which they could reap
neither entertainmentn6r instruefion. Such as may find
themselves disposed to rake into this abominable puddle,
we must refer to the reverend fathers Hu Halde, Cou¬
plet, Amiot, Kircher, and other members of the propa¬
ganda, in whose writings they will find wherewithal to
satisfy, and even to surfeit, their appetite.
Ihe Hindoos, like the other nations of the east, for Hindoo my-
a long time retained the worship of the true God. Atthol°gy
length, however, idolatry broke in, and, like ah im¬
petuous torrent, overwhelmed the country. First of
all, the genuine history of the origin of the universe
u'as either utterly lost, or disguised under a variety of
fictions and allegories. We are told that Brimha, the
supreme divinity of the Hindoos, after three several
efforts, at last succeeded in creating four persons, whom
he appointed to rule over all the inferior creatures.  
Afterwards Brimha joined his efficient power with Bi-
shon and Rulder 5 and by their united exertions they
produced ten men, whose general appellation is Mu-
nies, that is, the inspired. Ihe same being, accord¬
ing to another mythology, produced four other per¬
sons, as imaginary as the former ; one from his breast,
one from his back, one from his lip, and one from his’
heart. These children w'ere denominated Bangs; the
import of which word we cannot pretend t(f deter¬
mine. According to another tradition, Brimha - re¬
duced the Bramins from his mouth, to pray, to read
to instruct; the Chiltern from his arms, to draw the’
bow, to fight, to govern j the Bice from his belly or
thighs, to nourish, to provide the necessaries of life by
agriculture and commerce ; the Soder from his feet, for
4 E subjection)
;86
16
Hindoo
traditions
relating-to
tin deluge,
&c.
subjection, to serve, to labour,
will see at once, in these allegorical persons, the ioui
casts or septs into which the Hindoo nations have, time
immemorial, been divided. These are some of their
most celebrated mythological traditions with relation to
the origin of the universe.
The Hindoos have likewise some mythological opi¬
nions which seem to relate to the general deluge. They
tell us, that desiring the preservation of herds and of
brahmans, of genii and of virtuous men, of vecfas of
law, and of precious things, the Lord of the universe
assumes many bodily shapes 5 but though he pervades,
like the air, a variety of beings, yet he is himselt
unvaried, since he has no quality in him subject to
change. At the close of the last calpa, there was a
general destruction, occasioned by the sleep of Brah-
me, whence his creatures in different worlds were
drowned in a vast ocean. Brahme being inclined to
slumber after a lapse of so many ages, the strong de¬
mon Hijagri-va, came near him, and stole the vedos
which had flowed from his lips. When Heri, the pre¬
server of the universe, discovered this deed of the
prince of Dainavas, he took the shape of a minute, fish
called Sap-hari. After various transformations, and an
enormous increase of size in each of them, the Lord of
the universe loving the righteous man (a), who had
still adhered to him under all these various shapes, and
intending to preserve him from the sea of destruction
caused by the depravity of the age, thus told him how
lie was to act: “ In seven days from the present time,
O thou tamer of enemies ! the three worlds will be
plunged in an ocean of death 5 but in the midst of the
destroying waves a large vessel sent by me for thy use
shall stand before thee.” The remaining part of the
mythology so nearly resembles the Mosaic history of
Noah and the general deluge, that the former may he
a strong confirmation of the truth of the latter. To
dry up the waters of the deluge, the power of the
Deity descends in the form of a boar, the symbol of
strength, to draw up and support on his tusks the
whole earth, which had been sunk beneath the ocean.
Again, The same power is represented as a tortoise sus¬
taining the globe, which had been convulsed by the
violent assaults of demons, while the gods charmed the
sea with the mountain Mandar, and forced it to dis¬
gorge the sacred things and animals, together with the
water of life which it had swallowed. All these stories,
we think, relate to the same event, shadowed by a mo¬
ral, a metaphysical, and an astronomical allegory j and
all three seem connected with the hieroglyphical sculp¬
tures of the old Egyptians.
The Hindoos divide the duration of the world into
four yttgs or jugs, ox jogues, each consisting of a prodi-
gious number of years. In each of those periods, the
age and stature of the human race have been gradually
diminished and in each of them mankind has gradual¬
ly declined in virtue and piety, as well as in age and
stature. The present period they call the Collce, i. e.
the corrupt jogue, which they say is to last 400,000
years, of which near 5000 years are already past. In the
mytholog y.
to travel. The reader last part of the preceding jogue, width they call the rfttfa
paar, the age of man was contracted into xooo years, as
in the present it is confined to 100. From this propoiu
tional diminution of the length of the human life, our
readers will probably infer, that the two. last jogues .bear
a pretty near resemblance to the Mosaic history ot the
age of the antediluvian and postdiluvian patriarchs}
and that the two first are imaginary periods prior to
the creation of the world, like those of the Chinese,
Chaldeans, and Egyptians. 17
According to the mythology of the Hindoos, the The world
system of the world is subject to various dissolutions ^bjeet
and resuscitations. At the conclusion or the soiutjons
jogue, say they, a grand revolution will take place, an(jresilsc ^
when the solar system will be consumed by fire, and tations.
all the elements reduced to their original constituent
atoms. Upon the back of these revolutions, Brimha,
the supreme deity ot the Hindoos, is sometimes xepre-
sented as a new born infant, with his toe in his mouth,
floating on a camala or water flower, sometimes only
on a leaf of that plant, on the surface of the vast abyss.
At other times he is figured as coming forth. ot a
winding shell : and again as blowing up the mundane
foam with a pipe at his mouth. Some ot these emble¬
matical figures and attitudes, our learned readers will
probably" observe, nearly resemble those of the ancient
Egyptians.
But the vulgar religion of the ancient Hindoos was
of a very different complexion, and opens a large field
of mythological adventures. We have observed above,
that the Fo or Foe of the Chinese was imported from
India } and now we shall give a brief detail of the my- is
Biological origin of that divinity. We have no certain Birth, Sec,
account of the birth-place of this imaginary deity.—^ S
His followers relate, that he was born in one of the
kingdoms of India near the line, and that his father
was one of that country. His mother brought him
into the world by the left side, and expired soon after
her delivery. At the time of her conception, she
dreamed that she had swallowed a white elephant } a
circumstance which is supposed to have given birth to
the veneration which the kings of India have always
shown for a white animal of that species. As soon as
he was born, he had strength enough to stand erect with¬
out assistance. He walked abroad at seven, and, point¬
ing with one hand to the heavens, and with the other
to the earth, he cried out, “In the heavens, and on
the earth, there is no one but me who deserves to be
honoured.” At the age of 30, he felt himself all on
a sudden filled with the divinity } and now he was me¬
tamorphosed into Fo or Paged, according to the ex¬
pression of the Hindoos. He had no sooner declared
himself a divinity, than he thought of propagating his
doctrine, and proving his divine mission by miracles.
The number of his disciples was immense} and they soon
spread his dogmas over all India, and even to the high¬
er extremities of Asia. . I>? .
One of the principal doctrines which Fo and hisDectnnwl
disciples propagated, was the metempsychosis or trails- ^ Im¬
migration of souls. This doctrine, some imagine, has^ t<
- ° given
h
(a) He was Sovereign of the world.
rata, or Child of the Sun.
His name was Mam, or Statgavrata, his patronymic name was ftus-
M Y T H
given rise to tlie multitude of idols reverenced in every
country where the worship of Fo is established. Qua¬
drupeds, birds, reptiles, and the vilest animals, had
temples erected for them ; because, say they, the soul
of the god, in his numerous transmigrations, may have
at one time or other inhabited their bodies.
Both the doctrine of transmigration and of the
worship of animals seems, however, to have been im¬
ported from Egypt into India. If the intercourse be¬
tween these two countries was begun at so early a pe¬
riod as some very late writers have endeavoured to
prove, such a supposition is by no means improbable.
The doctrine of the transmigration of souls was ear¬
ly established among the Egyptians. It was, indeed,
the only idea they formed of the soul’s immortality.
The worship of animals among them seems to have
been still more ancient. If such an intercourse did ac¬
tually exist, we may naturally suppose that colonies of
priests found their way into India, as they
did afterwards into Asia Minor, Italy, and Greece.
That colonies of Egyptians did actually penetrate jjin-
to that country, and settle there, many centuries be¬
fore the Nativity, is a fact that cannot be called in
question, for reasons which the hounds prescribed us
in this article will not allow us to enumerate. We
shall only observe, that from the hieroglyphical repre¬
sentations of the Egyptian deities seem to have origi¬
nated those monstrous idols which from time immemo¬
rial have been worshipped in India, China, Japan,
Siam, and even in the remotest parts of Asiatic Tar-
20 tary.
ie incar- ^ Foe is often called Budha or Bydda, and sometimes
!hnou.°f Vishnou ’ Pei'iiaPs» indeed, he may be distinguished by
many other names, according to the variety of dialects
of the different nations among which his worship was
established. An infinitude of fables was propagated
by his disciples concerning him after his death. They
pretended that their master was still alive j that he had
been already born 8000 times, and that he had succes¬
sively appeared wilder the figure of an ape, a lion, a
dragon, an elephant, a boar, &c. These were called
the incarnations of Vishnou. At length he was con¬
founded with the supreme God ; and all the titles, at¬
tributes, operations, perfections, and ensigns of the
Most High were ascribed to him. Sometimes he is
called Amida, and represented with the head of a dog,
and worshipped as the guardian of mankind. He some¬
times appears as a princely personage, issuing from the
mouth of a fish. At other times, he wears a lunette on
his head, in which are seen cities, mountains, towers,
trees, in short, all that the world contains. These
transformations are evidently the children of allego¬
rical or hieroglyphical emblems, and form an exact
counterpart to the symbolical worship of the Egyp¬
tians
, The enormous mass of mythological traditions which
have in a manner deluged the vast continent of India,
would fill many volumes: We have selected the pre¬
ceding articles as a specimen only, by which our read¬
ers may be qualified to judge of the rest. If they find
themselves disposed to indulge their curiosity at greater
length, we must remit them to Thevenot’s and Hamil¬
ton’s Travels, to Mons. Anquetil in his Zond Avesta,
Halhed’s Introduction to his Translation of the Code
of Gentoo Laws, Col. How’s History of Hindostan,
587
O L O G Y.
Grose’s Voyage to the East Indies, Asiatic Researches,
vol. i. and ii.
The mythology of the Persians is, if possible, still Persian
more extravagant than that of the Hindoos. It sup-mythology
poses the world to have been repeatedly destroyed, and
repeopled by creatures of different’ formation, who
were successively annihilated or banished for their dis¬
obedience to the supreme Being. The monstrous
griffin Smerg/i tells the hero Cahcrman that she had
already lived to see the earth seven times filled with
creatures, and seven times a perfect void : that be¬
fore the creation of Adam, this globe was inhabited 22
by a race of beings called Peri and Dives, whose cha- ami
racters formed a perfect contrast. The Peri are de-
scribed as beautiful and benevolentthe Hives as de¬
formed, malevolent, and mischievous, differing from
infernal demons only in this, that they are not^as yet
confined to the pit of hell. They are for ever ranging
over the world, to scatter discord and misery among
the sons of men. The Peri nearly resemble the fairies
of Europe : and perhaps the Hives gave birth to the
giants and magicians of the middle ages. The Peri
and Hives wage incessant wars 5 and when the Hives
make any of the Peri prisoners, they shut them up in
iron cages, and hang them on the highest trees, tp
expose them to public view, and to the fury of every
chilling blast.
When the Peri are in danger of being overpowered
by their foes, they solicit the assistance of some mor¬
tal hero ; which produces a series of mythological ad¬
ventures highly ornamental to the strains of the Per¬
sian bards, and which, at the same time, furnishes an
inexhaustible fund of the most diversified machinery.
One of the most celebrated adventurers in the my¬
thology of Persia is Tahmuras, one of their most an¬
cient monarchs. This prince performs a variety of ex¬
ploits, while he endeavours to recover- the fairy Mer-
jan. He attacks the Hive Hemrush in his own cave ;
where having vanquished the giant or demon, he finds
vast piles of hoarded wealth ; these he carries off with
the fair captive. 7 he battles, labours, and adventures
of Rostan, another Persian worthy, who lived many
ages after the former, are celebrated by the Persian
bards with the same extravagance of hyperbole with
which the labours of Hercules have been sung by the
poets of Greece and Rome. 23
The adventures of the Persian heroes breathe all p.ersia the
the wildness of achievement recorded of the knights ,,|1.lt!1.,,lijce;
of Gothic romance. The doctrine of enchantments, and ro^
transformations, &c. exhibited in both, is a eharacte- mance. ’
nstic symptom of one common original. Persia is the
genuine classic ground of eastern mythology, and the
source of the ideas of chivalry and romance ; from which
they were propagated to the regions of Scandinavia,
and indeed to the remotest coiners of Europe towards
the west.
Perhaps our readers may he of our opinion, when we
offer it as a conjecture, that the tales of the war of the
Peri and Hives originated from a vague tradition con¬
cerning good and bad angels : nor is it, in our opinion,
improbable, that the fable of the wars between the gods
and giants, so famous in the mythology of Greece and
Italy, was imported into the former of these countries
from the same quarter. For a more particular account
of the Persian mythology, our readers may consult Hr
4 E a Hyde
588
MYTHOLOGY.
Hyde Relig. vet. Peis. Medor. &c. D'Herliclot’s Bibl.
Orlpnt. anil Mr Richardson’s introduction to his re
Onent7and Mr Richardson’s introduction to his Persian
and Arabic Dictionary. . ^ c ,,
ehaldtan The rajrthology of the Chaldeans, like that of the
nsiythology. other nations of the east, commences a a pe i _ y
riads of years prior to the era of the Mosaic creation.
Their cosmogony, exhibited by Berosus, who was a
priest of Belus, and deeply versed in the antiquities ot
his country, is a piece of mythology of the most extra¬
vagant nature. It has been copied by Eusebius (Chron.
lib i. p. 5.) ’■> it is likewise to be found in byncellus,
copied from Alexander Polyhistor. According to this
historian, there were at Babylon written records pre¬
served with the greatest care, comprehending a period
of fifteen myriads of years. Those writings likewise
contained a history of the heavens and the sea, of the
earth, and of the origin of mankind. “ In the begin¬
ning (says Berosus, copying from Cannes, of whom we
shall give a brief account below) there was nothing but
darkness and an abyss of water, wherein resided most
hideous beings produced from a twofold principle. Men
appeared with two wings •, some with two and some
with four faces. They had one body, but two heads *,
the one of a man, the other of a woman. _ Other hu¬
man figures were to be seen, furnished with the legs
and horns of goats. Some had the feet of horses be¬
hind, but before were fashioned like men, resembling
hippocentaurs.” The remaining part of this mythology
is much of the same complexion; indeed so extravagant,
that we imagine our readers will readily enough dis¬
pense with our translating the sequel. “ Of all these
(says the author) were preserved delineations in the
temple of Belus at Babylon. The person who was sup¬
posed to preside over them was called Omorea. T his
word, in the Chaldean language, is Thalath, which
the Greeks call but it more properly imports
the moon. Matters being in this situation, their god
(says Eusebius), the ged (says Syncelius) came and cut
the woman asunder'; and out of one halt of hei he form¬
ed the earth, and out of the other he made the heavens ;
and, at the same time, he destroyed the monsters of the
abyss.” This whole mythology is an allegorical history
copied from hieroglyphical representations, the real pur¬
port of which could not he deevphered by the author.
Such, in general, were the consequences of the hiero-
2- glyphical style of writing.
tfcir.nes the Oannex, the great civilizer and legislator of the Chal-
kgislatorofdeans, according to Apollodorus, who copied from Be-
the Chal- rosus, was an amphibious^animal of- a heterogeneous ap-
pearanee. He was endowed with reason and a very
uncommon acuteness of- parts. His whole body re¬
sembled a fish. Under the head of a fish he had also
another head, and feet below similar to those ol a man,
which were subjoined to the tail of the fish. His voice
and language were articulate and perfectly intelligible,
and there was a figure of him still extant in the days of
Berosus. He made his appearance in the Erythrean
or Red sea, where it borders upon Babylonia. This
monstrous being conversed with men by day; but at
night he plunged into the sea, and remained coucealed
in the water till next morning. He-taught the Baby¬
lonians the use of letters, and the knowledge of all the
arts and sciences. He instructed them in the method
of building houses, constructing temples, and all other
edifices. He taught them to compile laws and religious
ceremonies, and explained to them the principles ot
mathematics, geometry, and astronomy. In a word he
communicated to them every thing necessary, useful,
and ornamental: and so universal were his instructions,
that not one single article had ever been added to them
since the time they were first communicated. Hella-
dius is of opinion that this strange personage, whoever
he was, came to be represented under the figure of a
fish, not because he was actually believed to be such,
but because he was clothed with the skin of a seal.
By this account our readers will see that the Babylonian
Oannes is the exact counterpart of the Fohi of the Chi¬
nese, and the Thyoth or the Mercury Trismegistus
of the Egyptians. It is likewise apparent that the idea
of the monster compounded ot the man and the fish has
originated from some hieroglyphic of that term grafted
upon the appearance of man. Some modern mytho-
logists have been ot opinion, that Oannes was actually
Noah the great preacher of righteousness ; who, as
some think, settled in Shinar or Chaldea alter the de¬
luge, and who, m consequence of his connexion with
that event, might he properly represented under the
emblem of the Man of the Sea. 26
The nativity of Venus, the goddess of beauty and The
love, is another piece of mythology famous among the^Jd““^
Babylonians and Assyrians. An egg, say they, of a-bcauiyam
prodigious size, dropt from heaven into the river Eu-i0ve.
phrates. Some doves settled upon this egg, after that
the fishes had rolled it to the bank. In a short time
this ego- produced A enus, who was afterwards called
Dea Syria, the Syrian goddess. In consequence 0
this tradition (says Hyginus), pigeons and fishes became
sacred to this goddess among the Syrians, who always
abstained from eating the one or the other. Of this
imaginary being we have a very exact and entertaining
history m the treatise De Dea Syria, generally ascribed
to Lucian*
I11 this mythological tradition our readers will proba¬
bly discover an allusion to the celebrated Miindane egg;
and at the same time the story of the fishes will lead them
to anticipate the connexion between the sea and the
moon. This-same deity was the Atargatis of Ascalon,
described by Diodorus the Sicilian ; the one half of her
body a woman and the other a fish. I bis was no doubt
a hieroglyphic figure of the moon, importing the influ¬
ence of that planet upon the sea and the sex. T he ori¬
ental name of this deity evidently points to the moon ;
for it is eompounded of two Hebrew words (b), which
import “ the queen of the host of heaven.” 27
The fable of Semiramis is nearly connected withThe^*
the preceding one. Diodorus Siculus has preserved®.^
the mythological history of this deity, wiiich he and
all the writers of antiquity have confounded witn. the
Babylonian princess of the same name. That histo¬
rian informs us, that the word Semiramis, in the Sy¬
rian dialect, signifies “a wild pigeon ;” but we ap¬
prehend that this term was a name or epithet of the
moon.
(b) Aclar or lladar, “ magnijicus ;'n and Gad, “ exercitus turnup
MYTH
moon, as it is compounded of two words (c) of an
import naturally applicable to the lunar planet. It
was a general practice among the Orientals to denomi-
note their sacred animals from that deity to which they
were consecrated. Hence the moon being called Semi-
7'amis, and the pigeon being sacred to her divinity, the
latter was called by the name of the former.
As the bounds prescribed this article render it im¬
possible for us to do justice to this interesting piece
of mythology, we must beg leave to refer our readers for
farther information to Hiod. Sic. lib. ii. Hyginus Poet.
Astron. Fab. 197. Pharnutus de Nat. Deor. Ovid. Me-
tam. lib. iv. Athen. in Apol. Izetzes, Chil. ix. cap. 27 c.
Seld. de Diis Syr. Syrit. ii. p. 183.
tile should now proceed to the mythology of the
own of Arabians, the far greatest part of which is, however,
ibwn buried in the abyss of ages 5 though, when we reflect on
t oogy. tjle genius and character of that people, we must be con¬
vinced that they too, as well as the other nations of the
east abounded in fabulous relations and romantic com¬
positions. The natives of that country have always been
enthusiastically addicted to poetry, of which fable is the
essence. Wherever the Muses have erected their throne,
fables and miracles have always appeared in their train.
In the Koran we meet with frequent allusions to well-
known traditionary tables. These had been transmit¬
ted from genex-ation to generation by the bards and
rhapsodists for the entertainment of the vulgar. In
Arabia, from the earliest ages, it has always been one
of the favourite entertainments of the common people,
to assemble in the serene evenings around their tents,
or on the platforms with which their houses are gene¬
rally covered, or in large halls erected for the purpose,
in order to amuse themselves with traditional narrations
of the most distinguished actions of their most remote
ancestors. Oriental imagery always embellished them
romantic details. The glow of fancy, the love of the
marvellous, the propensity towards the hyperbolical and
the vast, which constitute the essence of oriental de^
scription, must ever have drawn the relation aside into
the devious regions of fiction and fairy land. The re¬
ligion of Mahomet beat down the original fabric of
idolatry and mythology together. The Arabian fables
current in modern times are borrowed or imitated from
Persian compositions j Persia being still the grand nurse-
ry of romance in the east.
mtian II1 Egypt we find idolatry, theology, and mytho-
f iology. logy, almost inseparably blended together. Tho inha¬
bitants of this region, to, as well as of others in the
vicinity of the centre of population, adhered for seve¬
ral centuries to the worship of the true God. At
last, however, conscious of their own ignorance, im¬
purity, imperfection, and total unfitness to approach
an infinitely perfect Being, distant, as they imagined^
and invisible, they began to cast about for some beings
moie exalted, and more perfect than themselves, by
whose mediation they might prefer their prayers to
the supreme Majesty of heaven. The luminaries of
heaven, which they imagined were animated bodies,
naturally presented themselves. These were splendid
and glorious beings. They were thought to partake
o L O G Y. s8
of the divine nature : they were revered as the satraps,
prefects, and representatives of the supreme Lord of the
universe. They were visible, they were beneficent;
t icy dwelt nearer to the gods, they were near at hand
and always accessible. These were, of course, em¬
ployed as mediators and intercessors between the su-
preme Divinity and his humble subjects of this lower
world. Thus employed, they might claim a subordi¬
nate share of worship, which was accordingly assigned
them. In process of time, however, that worship,
winch was originally addressed to the supreme Creator
by the mediation of the heavenly bodies, was in a
great measure forgotten, and the adoration of man-
uit ultimately terminated on those illustrious crea¬
tures. Io this circumstance, we think, we may ascribe
the origin of that species of idolatry called Zabiism, Origin of''
or the worship of the host of heaven, which overspread ZabiisnL
the world early and almost universally. In Egypt
this mode of worship was adopted in all its most ab¬
surd and most enthusiastic forms: and at the same
time the most heterogeneous mythology appeared in
its train. The mythology of the ancient Egyptians
was so various and multiform, so ^complicated and so
mysterious, that it would require many volumes even
to give a superficial account of its origin and progress,
not only m its mother country, but even in many
other parts of the eastern and western world. Besides,
the idolatry and mythology of that wonderful country
are so closely connected and so inseparably blended to¬
gether, that it is impossible to describe the latter with-
out at the same time developingJihe former. We hope,
therefore, our readers will not be disappointed, if, in a
work of this nature, we touch only upon some of the
leading or most interesting articles of this complicated
subject.
I be Egyptians coniounded the revolutions of tlie'Rei-j-nof
heavenly bodies with the reigns of their most early^ods and
monarchs. Hence the incredible number of years in-demig°dse¬
cluded in the reign of their eight superior gods, who, &c-inE’
according to them; filled the Egyptian throne succes-^*’
sively in the most early periods of time. To these,
according to their system, succeeded twelve demigods,
who likewise reigned an amazing number of years.
These imaginary reigns were no other than the perio¬
dical revolutions of the heavenly bodies preserved in
their almanacks, which" might be carried back; and'
actually were carried back, at pleasure. Hence the
fabulous antiquity-of that kingdom. The imaginary
exploits and adventures of these gods and demigods
furnished an inexhaustible fund of mythological ro¬
mances. To the demigods succeeded the kings of
the cynic cycle, personages equally chimerical with
the former. The import of this epithet has greatly
perplexed cutics and etymologists. We apprehend it
is. an oriental word importing royal dignity,- elevation ■
of rank. This appellation intimated, that the mo¬
narchs of that cycle, admitting that they actually ex¬
isted, were more powerful and more highly revered i
than their successors. After the princes of the cynic,
cycle comes another race, denominated Nekyes, a title
likewise, implying royal, splendid, glorious. These
cycles
(c) Shim ox Sem, “ a sign,” and rantah, “high.” '
59°
M Y T H O L O G Y.
cycles figure high in the mythological annals of the
EKVPtians, and have furnidied materials for a vane y
of learned and ingenious disquisitions. 1 he wars an
s, ami adventures of Osiris, Oris, Typhon, an otier a e
tnuasforma- -pjji personages who figure in the Egyptian rubric j
tionofthe ”, . j :„„a Tsis. tlie sister and wile ol Usins j
gods.
32
Birth, ex¬
ploits, and
33
rshi|
brute ani
mals, See
goncai peisouagco v.  r • 'o .
the wanderings of Isis, the sister and wife of Osins,
the transformation of the gods into divers kinds ol
animals; their birth, education, peregrinations, and
exploits compose a body of mythological fictions so
various, so complicated, so ridiculous, and often so
apparently absurd, that all attempts to deveiope and
explain them have hitherto proved unsuccessful. All,
or the greatest part, of those extravagant tables, aie
the offspring of hieroglyphical or allegorical emblems
devised by the priests and sages of that nation, with a
view to conceal the mysteries of their religion Irom that
class of men whom they stigmatised with the name ol
the uninitiated rabble.
Worship of The worship of brute animals and ot certain vege¬
tables, universal among the Egyptians, was another ex¬
uberant source of mythological adventuies. ie .
gyptian priests, many of whom were likewise proioumt
philosophers, observed, or pretended to observe, a kind
of analogy between the qualities of certain animals and
vegetables, and those of some of their subordinate di¬
vinities Such animals and vegetables they adopted,
and consecrated to the deities to whom they were sup¬
posed to bear this analogical resemblance •, and in pro¬
cess of time they considered them as the visible emblems
of those divinities to which they were consecrated, iiy
these the vulgar addressed their archetypes : m the same
manner, as in other countries, pictures and statues were
employed for the very same purpose. 1 be mol), in
process of time, forgetting the emblematical character
of those brutes and vegetables, addressed their devotion
immediately to them and of course these became the
ultimate objects of vulgar adoration. _ ..
After that these objects, animate or inanimate, were
consecrated as the visible symbols of the deities, it soon
became fashionable to make use of their figures to re¬
present those deities to which they were consecrated.
This practice was the natural consequence of the hie¬
roglyphical style which universally prevailed among the
ancient Egyptians. Hence Jupiter Ammon was re¬
presented under the figure of a ram, Apis, under that
of a cow, Osiris of a bull, Pan of a goat, Thoth or
Mercury of an ibis, Bubastis or Diana ol a cat, &c.
It was likewise a common practice among those deluded
people to dignify these objects, by giving them the
names of those deities which they represented. By this
mode of dignifying these sacred emblems, the venera¬
tion of the rabble was considerably enhanced, and the
ardour of their devotion inflamed in proportion. From
these two sources, we think, are derived the fabulous
transformation of the gods, so generally celebrated in
the Egyptian mythology, and irom it imported into
Greece and Italy. In consequence of this practice,
their mythological system was rendered at once enor-
, mous and unintelligible.
Mercury Their Thoth, or Mercury Trismegistus, was, in our
Trismegis- opinion, the inventor of this unhappy system. This
tusthe au- personage, according to the Egyptians, was the origi-
■E°r °'ane ;ial author of letters, geometry, astronomy, music, ar-
mythdogy. chitecture-, in a word", of all the elegant and useful
arts and of all the branches of science and philosophy.
1
Ele it was who first discovered the analogy between
the divine affections, influences, appearances, opera¬
tions, and the corresponding properties, qualities, and
instincts of certain animals, and the propriety ol t edi-
cating particular kinds of vegetables to the service of
particular deities.
The priests, whose province it was to expound the
mysteries of that allegorical hieroglyphical religion,
(see Mysteries), gradually lost all knowledge ol the
primary import of the symbolical characters. To sup¬
ply this defect, and at the same time to veil their own
ignorance, the sacerdotal instructors had recourse to
fable and fiction. They heaped fable upon fable, till
their religion became an accumulated chaos ot mytho¬
logical absurdities.
Two of the most learned and most acute of the an¬
cient philosophers have attempted a rational explica¬
tion of the latent import of the Egyptian mythology}
hut both have failed in the attempt} nor have the
moderns, who have laboured in the same department,
performed their part with much better success. In¬
stead, therefore, of prosecuting this inexplicable sub¬
ject, which would swell this article beyond all propor¬
tion, we must beg leave to refer those who are desirous
of further information to the following authors, where
they will find enough to gratify their curiosity, if not
to inform their judgment: Herodotus, lib. 11. Diodo¬
rus Siculus, lib/i. Pint. Isis et Osiris } Jambhchus de
Myst. Egypt. Horapollo Hieroglyph. Egypt. Macro!).
Sat. cap. 23. among the ancients } and among the mo¬
derns, Kircher’s Oedip. \ oss. de Orig. et ITog. Ido,.
Mr Bryant’s Analysis of Anc. Mythol. Mens. Gebelm
Monde Prim.} and above all, to the learned Jablonski s
Panth. Egyptiorum. 35.
The elements of Phoenician mythology have heenPh™
preserved by Eusebius, Prsep. Evang. sub. imt. In
the large extract which that learned lather had copied
from Philo Biblius’s translation of Sanchomathon s
History of Phoenicia, we are furnished with several'ar¬
ticles of mythology. Some of these throw considerable
light on several passages of the sacred history} and all
of them are strictly connected with the mythology of
the Greeks and Romans. There we have preserved
a brief hut entertaining detail ol the fabulous adven¬
tures of Uranus, Cronus, Dagon, Thyoth or Mercury,
probably the same with the Egyptian hero ot that
name. 'Here we find Muth or Pluto, ^Ephcestus or
Vulcan, iEsculapius, Nereus,Poscedon or Neptune, &c.
Astarte, or Venus Urania, makes a conspicuous figure
in the catalogue of Phoenician worthies } Pallas or Mi¬
nerva is planted on the territory of Attica } in a word,
all the branches of the family of the Iitans, who in
after ages figured in the rubric ol the Greeks, are
brought upon the stage, and their exploits and adven- ^
tures briefly detailed. f
By comparing this fragment with the mythoioy of G I
the Atlantidae and that of the Cretans preserved bv^
Diodorus the Sicilian, lib. v. we think there is gooi from Es
reason to conclude, that the. family of the htans theandPb^
several branches of which seem to have been both the mcia.
authors and objects of a great part of the Grecian ido¬
latry, originally emigrated from Phoenicia, llns con¬
jecture will receive additional strength, when it is con¬
sidered, that almost all their names recorded in the la-
bulous records of Greece, may be easily UacecUp
MYTH
Phoenician Original. We agree with Herodotus, that
a considerable part of the idolatry of Greece may have
been borrowed from the Egyptians; at the same time,
we imagine it highly probable, that the idolatry of the
Egyptians and Phoenicians was, in its original consti¬
tution, nearly the same. Both systems were Sabiism,
or the worship of the host of heaven. The Pelasgi, ac¬
cording to Herodotus, learned the names of the gods
from the Egyptians •, but in this conjecture he is cer¬
tainly warped by his partiality for that people. Had
those names been imported from Egypt, they would
no doubt have bewrayed their Egyptian original; where¬
as, every etymologist will be convinced that every one
is of Phoenician extraction.
The adventures of Jupiter, Juno, Mercury, Apollo,
Diana, Mars, Minerva or Pallas, Venus, Bacchus, Ce¬
res, Proserpine, Pluto, Neptune, and the other descen-
diinls and coadjutors of the ambitious family of the
Titans, furnish by far the greatest part of the mytho¬
logy ol Greece. They left Phoenicia, we think, about
the age of Moses; they settled in Crete, a large and
fertile island ; from this region they made their way
into Greece, which, according to the most authentic ac¬
counts, was at that time inhabited bv a race of sava¬
ges. The arts and inventions which they communi¬
cated to the natives ; the mysteries ol religion which
they inculcated; the laws, customs, polity, and good
order, which they established ; in short, the blessings of
humanity and civilization, which they everywhere dis¬
seminated, in process of time inspired the unpolished
inhabitants with a kind of divine admiration. Those
ambitious mortals improved this admiration into divine
homage and adoration. The greater part of that wor¬
ship, which had been formerly addressed to the lumina¬
ries of heaven, was now transferred to those illustrious
personages. They claimed and obtained divine honours
from the deluded rabble of enthusiastic Greeks. Hence
sprung an inexhaustible fund of the most inconsistent
and irreconcilable fictions.
e the The foibles and frailties of the deified mortals were
transmitted to posterity, incorporated as it were with
ofthethe pompous attributes of supreme divinity. Hence
: the heterogeneous mixture of the mighty and the
mean which chequers the characters of the heroes of
the Iliad and Odyssey. The Greeks adopted the ori¬
ental fables , the import of which they did not under¬
stand. These they accommodated to heroes and illu¬
strious personages, who had figured in their own coun-
try in the earliest periods. I he labours of Hercules
originated in Egypt, and evidently relate to the annual
progress of the sun in the zodiac, though the vain-glo¬
rious Greeks accommodated them to a hero of their
own, the reputed son of Jupiter and Alcmena. The
expedition of Osiris they borrowed from the Egyptians,
and transferred to their Bacchus, the son of Jupiter
and Semele the daughter of Cadmus. The transfor¬
mation and wanderings of lo are evidently transcribed
from the Egyptian romance of the travels of Isis in
quest of the body of Osiris, or of the Phoenician
Astarte, drawn from Sanchoniathon. lo or lo/i is in
reality the Egyptian name of the moon, and Astarte
was the name of the same planet among the Phoeni¬
cians. Both these fables are allegorical representations
of the anomalies of the lunar planet, or perhaps of the
progress of the worship of that planet in different parts
o L O G Y. 591
of the world. 'Ihe fable of the conflagration occa¬
sioned by Phaeton is clearly of oriental extraction,
and alludes to an excessive drought which in the early
periods of time scorched Ethiopia and the adjacent
countries. The fabulous adventures of Perseus are said
to have happened in the same regions, and are allego¬
rical representations of the influence of the solar lumi-
nary; for the original Perseus was the sun. The rape
of Proserpine and the wanderings of Ceres; the Eleu-
sinian mysteries ; the orgia or sacred rites of Bacchus;
the rites and worship ol the Cabiri—were imported
from Egypt and Phoenicia; but strangely garbled and
disfigured by the hierophants of Greece. The gigan-
tomachia, or war between the gods and the giants,
and all the fabulous events and varieties of that war,
form an exact counterpart to the battles of the Peri
and Dives, celebrated in the romantic annals of Per¬
sia. f
A considerable part of the mythology of the Greeks The Greeks
sprung from their ignorance of the oriental languages, ignorant ot"
I hey disdained to apply themselves to the study of0liental
languages spoken by people whom, in the pride 0flaDsuages'
their heart, ^ they stigmatized with the epithet of bar¬
barians. 1 his aversion to every foreign dialect was
highly detrimental to their progress in the sciences.
I he same neglect or aversion has, we imagine, proved
an irreparable injury to the republic of letters in all
succeeding ages. The aoids, or strolling bards, laid
hold on those oriental legends, which they sophisti¬
cated with their own additions and improvements,
in order to accommodate them to the popular taste.
Ihese wonderful tales figured in their rhapsodical
compositions, and were greedily swallowed down by
the credulous vulgar. Those fictions, as they rolled
down, were constantly augmented with fresh materials,
till in process of time their original import was either
forgotten or buried in impenetrable darkness. A mul¬
titude of these Hesiod has collected in his Theogonia,
or Generation of the Gods, wmch unhappily became
the religious creed of the illiterate part of the Greeks.
Indeed fable was so closely interwoven with the religion
of that airy volatile people, that it seems to have conta¬
minated not only their religious and moral, but even
their political tenets.
The far-famed oracle of Dodona was copied from Orlcuf0f
that of Ammon at Thebes in Egypt: The oracle of Dodona.
Apollo at Delphos was an emanation from the same
source : The celebrated Apollo Pythius of the Greeks
was no other than Ob or Aub of the Egyptians, who
denominated the basilisk or royal snake Ov Cai, because
it was held sacred to the sun. Ob or Aub is still re¬
tained in the Coptic dialect, and is one of the many
names or epithets of that luminary. In short, the
ground-work of the Grecian mythology is to be tra¬
ced in the east. Only small part of it was fabricated
in the country; and what was imported pure and ge¬
nuine was miserably sophisticated by the hands through
which it passed, in order to give it a Grecian air, and
to accommodate its style to the Grecian taste. To
enlarge upon this topic would be altogether superflu¬
ous, as our learned readers must be well acquainted with 40
it already, and the unlearned may without much trouble Roman
or expence furnish themselves with books upon that mythology
subject. borrowed
The Roman mythology was borrowed from theQreecc<
Greeks.
592
mythology.
41
'Mythology
of the
.northern
nations.
’■ 4*
COdin or
’Woden.
43
'‘The hell
and devil
of the
Scandina
vians.
Greeks. That people had addicted themselves for
many centuries to the arts of war and civil polity.
Science and philosophy were either neglected or un¬
known. At last they conquered Greece, the native
land of science, and then “ Grtecia capta ferum victo-
rem cepit arte et intulit agresti Latio.” This being
the case, their mythology was, upon the whole, a tran¬
script from that of Greece. They had indeed gleaned
a few fables from the Pelasgi and Hetruscans, which,
however, are of so little consequence, that they are
scarce worth the trouble of transcribing.
The mythology of the Celtic nations is in a good
measure lost. There may possibly still remain some
vestiges of the Druidical superstition in the remotest
parts of the highlands and islands of Scotland^ j and
perhaps in the uncivilized places of Ireland. Ihese,
we presume, would afford our readers but little enter¬
tainment, and still less instruction. Instead therefore
of giving a detail of those uninteresting articles, we
shall beg leave to refer our readers to Ossian’s Poems,
and Col. Valency’s Collections ol Irish Antiquities, for
satisfaction on that subject.
The mythology ol the northern nations, i. e. of the
Norwegians, Hanes, Swedes, Icelanders, &c. is un¬
commonly curious and entertaining. The Edda and
Voluspa contain a complete collection of fables which
have not the smallest affinity with those of the Greeks
and Romans. They are wholly of an oriental com¬
plexion, and seem almost congenial with the tales of
the Persians above described. The Edda was com¬
piled in Iceland in the 13th century. It is a kind of
system of the Scandinavian mythology : and has been
reckoned, and we believe justly, a commentary on the
Voluspa, which was the Bible of the northern nations.
Odin or Othin, or Woden or Waden, was the supreme
divinity of those people. His exploits and adventures
furnish the far greater part of their mythological creed.
That hero is supposed to have emigrated from the east j
but from what country or at what period is not cer¬
tainly known. His achievements are magnified be¬
yond all credibility. He is represented as the god ot
battles, and as slaughtering thousands at a blow. His
palace is called Valhal: it is situated in the city of
Midgard, where, according to the fable, the souls of
heroes who had bravely fallen in battle enjoy supreme
felicity. They spend the day in mimic hunting
matches, or imaginary combats. At night they as¬
semble in the palace of Valhalla, where they feast on
the most delicious viands, dressed and served up by the
Yalky rice, virgins adorned with celestial charms, and
flushed with the bloom of everlasting youth. They
solace themselves with drinking mead out of the skulls
of enemies whom they killed in their days of nature.
Mead, it seems, was the nectar of the Scandinavian
heroes.
Sleepner, the horse of Odin, is celebrated along
with his master. Hela, the hell of the Scandinavi¬
ans, affords a variety of fables equally shocking and
heterogeneous. Loke, the evil genius or devil of the
northern people, nearly resembles the Typhon of the
Egyptians. Signa or Sinna is the consort of Loke;
from this name the English word sin is derived. The
giants Weymur, Ferbanter, Belupher, and Hellunda,
perform a variety of exploits, and are exhibited in the
most frightful attitudes. One would be tempted to
J
imagine, that they perform the exact counterpart of
the giants of the Greek and Roman mythologists. In¬
stead of glancing at these ridiculous and uninteresting
fables, which is all that the limits prescribed us would
permit, we shall take the liberty to lay before our
readers a brief account of the contents of the Voluspa,
which is indeed the text of the Scandinavian mytho-
l°gy. 44
The word Voluspa imports, “ the prophecy of VolaTlie Y0U1
or Fola.” This was, perhaps, a general name for the pa.
prophetic ladies of the north, as Sibyl was appropriated
to women endowed with the like faculty in the south.
Certain it is, that the ancients generally connected mad¬
ness with the prophetic faculty. Of this we have two
celebrated examples : the one in Lycophron’s Alex¬
andra, and the other in the Sibyl of the Reman poet.
The word vola signifies “ mad or foolish j” whence the
English words fool, foolish, folly. Spa, the latter part
of the composition, signifies “ to prophecy,” and is still
current among the common people in Scotland, in the
word Spac, which has nearly the same signification.
The Voluspa consists of "between 200 and 300 lines.
The prophetess having imposed silence on all intelli¬
gent beings, declares that she is about to reveal the
works of the Father of nature, the actions and opera¬
tions of the gods, which no mortal ever knew before
herself. She then begins with a description of the
chaos j and then proceeds to the formation of the
world, the creation of the different species of its inha¬
bitants, giants, men, and dw'arfs. She then explains
the employments of the fairies or destinies, whom the
northern people call norntes; the functions of the dei¬
ties, their most memorable adventures, their disputes
with Loke, and the vengeance that ensued. She at
last concludes with a long and indeed animated descrip¬
tion of the final state of the universe, and its dissolu¬
tion by a general conflagration.
In this catastrophe, Odin and all the rabble of the
Pagan divinities, are to be confounded in the general
ruin, no more to appear on the stage of the universe.
Out of the ruins of the former world, according to the
Voluspa, a new one shall spring up, arrayed in all the
bloom of celestial beauty.
Such is the doctrine exhibited in the fabulous V 0-
luspa. So congenial are some of the details therein
delivered, especially those relating to the final dissolu¬
tion of the present system, and the succession of a new
heaven and a new earth, that we find ourselves strong¬
ly inclined to suspect, that the original fabricator of the
work was a semipagan writer, much of the same com¬
plexion with the authors of the Sibylline oracles, and
of some other apocryphal pieces which appeared in the
world during the first ages of Christianity. 45;
In America, the only mythological countries mustMytlwljj
be Mexico and Peru. The other parts ot that large M
continent were originally inhabited by savages, most
of them as remote from religion as from civilization.
The two vast empires of Mexico and Peru had existed
about 400 years only before the Spanish invasion. In
neither of them was the use of letters understood j and
of course the ancient opinions of the natives relating
to the origin of the universe, the changes which suc¬
ceeded, and every other monument of antiquity, were
obliterated and lost. Clavigero has indeed enumerated
a vast canaille of sanguinary gods worshipped by the
Mexicans $
593
M Y T H O
Mexicans j hut produces nothing either entertaining
or interesting with respect to their mythology. The
information to be derived from any other quarter is
little to be depended upon. It passes through the
hands of bigotted missionaries or other ecclesiastics,
who were so deeply tinctured with fanaticism, that
they viewed every action, every sentiment, every cus¬
tom, every religious opinion and ceremony of those
half-civilized people, through a false medium. They
often imagined they discovered resemblances and ana¬
logies betwen the lutes of those savages and the dogmas
of Christianity, which nowhere existed but in their own
heated imagination.
The only remarkable piece of mythology in the an¬
nals of the Peruvians, is the pretendedYxtraction of
Manco Capec the first Inca of Peru, and of Mama
Ocolla his consort. These two illustrious personages
appeared first on the banks of the lake Titiaca. They
were persons of a majestic stature, and clothed in de¬
cent garments. They declared themselves to be the
children of the Sun, sent by their beneficent parent,
who beheld with pity the miseries of the human race,
L O G Y.
to instruct and to reclaim them. Thus we find these
two legislators availed themselves of a pretence which
had often been employed in more civilized regions to
the very same purposes. T he idolatry of Peru was
gentle and beneficent, that of Mexico gloomy and san¬
guinary. Hence we may see, that every mode of su¬
perstition, where a divine revelation is not concerned,
borrows its complexion from the characters of its pro¬
fessors.
In the course of this article, our readers will ob¬
serve, that we have not much enlarged upon the my¬
thology of the Greeks and Romans 5 that subject we.
imagine to be so universally known by the learned,
and . so little valued by the vulgar, that a minute dis¬
cussion of it would be altogether superfluous. Be¬
sides, we hope it will be remembered, that the nar¬
rowness of the limits prescribed us ivould scarce admit
of a more copious detail. We would flatter ourselves,
that in the course of our disquisition, we have thrown
out a few reflections and observations, which may per¬
haps prove more acceptable to both descriptions of
readers.
lytilus
M Y U
j\I\ TILL S, the Mussel, a genus of animals, be¬
longing to the order of vermes testacea. See Concho-
LOGY Index.
MYTTOTON, a coarse kind of food, used by the
labouring people among the Greeks, and sometimes
among the Romans. It was made of garlic, onions,
eggs, cheese, oil, and vinegar, and reckoned very whole¬
some.
MYUS, in Ancient Geography, one of the twelve
towns of Ionia $ seated on the Meander, at the distance
of 30 stadia from the sea. In Strabo’s time it was in-
M Y X
coiporated with the Milesians, on account of the paucity
of inhabitants, from its being formerly overwhelmed with
water: for which reason the lonians consigned its suf¬
frage and religious ceremonies to the people of Mile¬
tus. Artaxerxes allotted this town to Themistocles, in
order to furnish his table with meat: Magnesia was
to support him in bread, and Lampsacus in wine. The
town now lies in ruins.
MYXINE, the,Hag; a genus of animals belong¬
ing to the order of vermes intestina. See Helmin¬
thology Index.
Myus
II
N.
N.
VT A liquid consonant, and the 13th letter of the
5 Greek, Latin, English, &c. alphabets.
The n is a nasal consonant: its sound is that of a d,
passed through the nose ; so that when the nose is stop¬
ped by a cold, or the like, it is usual to pronounce d
for n. M. Abbe de Dangeau observes, that in the
rench, the n is frequently a mere nasal vowel, with¬
out any thing of the consonant in it. He calls it the
Sclavonic vowel. The Hebrews call their n nun,
winch signifies child, as being supposed the offspring
0 ni ; partly on account of the resemblance of sound,
partly on that of the figure. Thus from the m,
>y omitting the last column, is formed n; and thus
-10m the capital N, by omitting the first column, is
Vol. XIV. Part II. +
formed the Greek minuscle 1. Hence from biennies, See.
the Latins frequently use bimus, &c. and the same peo¬
ple convert the Greek v, at the end of a word, into an
m, as ipx^uKov, pharmacum, &c. See M.
2Vbefore/?, b, and m, the Latins change into m, and
frequently into / and r; as in in-ludo, illudo; inrigp,
irrigo, &c.: in which they agree with the Hebrews’
who, in lieu of nnn, frequently double the following
consonants : and the Greeks do the same ; as when for
Manlius, they write MxXXu?, &c. The Greeks also,
before x, y, £, y, changed the v into y: in which they
were followed by the ancient Romans: who, for Angu-_
lus, wrote Aggulus; for anceps, ageeps. Sec. i
The Latins retrench the n from Greek nouns end-'
4 F Ing
NAB
[ '594 ]
NAB
II.
N a.bis.
xocr in uv \ as Aewx, Leo ; Draco ; on the con¬
trary, the Greeks add it to the Latin ones ending in
0 as K«t<w)', NsgA*. Cato, Nci'O. . .
N, among the ancients, was a numeral letter, signi¬
fying 900 according to the verse in Baronins,
N, quoque nongentos numero dcsignat habendos.
And when a line was struck over it, N, nine thousand.
Among the ancient lawyers, N. L. stood lor no7i li¬
quet. 1. e. the cause is not clear enough to pass sen¬
tence upon. N, or N°, in commerce, &c. is used as
an abbreviation of iiumero, number.
NAAKDA, Nearda, Neerda, or Ne/iardea, in
Ancient Geography, a town situated on the confines ot
Mesopotamia and Babylonia 5 populous, and with a
rich and extensive territory, not easily to be attacked by
an enemy, being surrounded on all sides by the Luphra-
tes and strong walls (Josephus). In the lower age the
Jews had a celebrated school theic. .
NAAS, a borough town of Ireland, in the county
of Kildare and province of Leinster. It is the shire
town of that county, and alternately with Athy the
assizes town. It is distant above 15 miles south-west
from Dublin, in N. Lat. 53. 10. W. Long. 6. 50. It
<nves title of viscount to the family of Burke. Ihis
place was anciently the residence of the kings ol
Leinster : the name signifies “ the place ol elders,
for here the states of that province assembled during
the 6th, 7th, and 8th centuries, after the Naasteighan
of Carmen had been anathematized by the Christian
clergy. On the airival of the English it was fortified ;
many castles were erected, the ruins of which are part¬
ly visible ^ and parliaments were held there. At the
foot of the mount or rath are the ruins of a house
founded in 1484, for eremites of the order of St Au¬
gustin. In the 12th century the baron of Naas lound-
ed a priory dedicated to St John the Baptist, loi Au-
gustinian regular canons. In the centre of this tov\n
the family of Eustace erected a monastery for Domi¬
nican friars, dedicated to St Eustachius ; and it appears
that their possessions in Naas were granted them in the
year 1355. This place was a strong hold during the
©ivil wars.
NABATENE, or Regio Nabataiorum, accord¬
ing to Jerome, copiprised all the country lying be¬
tween the Euphrates and the Red. sea, and thus con¬
tained Arabia Deserta, with a part of the Petrma :
ao called from Nabaioth, the first born of Ismael. Ac¬
cording to Diodorus, it was situated between Syiia
and Egypt. The people Nabatsei (1 Maccabees, Dio¬
dorus Siculus) : inhabiting a desert and barren coun¬
try : they lived by plundering their neighbours, accord¬
ing to Diodorus. Nabatheeus the epithets
NABIS, tyrant of Sparta, reigned about 204 B. C.;
and is reported to have exceeded all other tyrants so
far that, upon comparison, he left the epithets ot
gracious and merciful to Dionysius and Phalaris. He
is said to have contrived an instrument of torture in
the form of a statue of a beautiful woman, whose rich
dress concealed a number of iron spikes in her bosom
and arms. When any one therefore opposed his de¬
mands, he would say, “ If 1 have not talents enough
to prevail with you, perhaps my woman Apega may
persuade you.” The statue then appeared •, which
Nabi^ taking by the hand, led up to the person, who,
being embraced by it, was thus tortured into com- Nabis
pliance. To render his tyranny less unpopular, Nabis ||
made an alliance with Flaminius the Roman general, N^™
and pursued with the most inveterate enmity the war
which he had undertaken against the Achmans. He
besieged Gythium, and defeated Philopcemen in a naval
battle. His triumph was short, the general of the
Aclueans soon repaired Ins losses, and Nabis was de¬
feated in an engagement, and killed as he attempted
to save his life by flight, about 194 years before the
Christian era.
NABLOUS, a province of Syria, anciently cele¬
brated under the name of the kingdom of Samaria. Its
capital, likewise called JSablous, is situated near to
Sichem on the ruins of the Niepolis of the Greeks, and
is the residence of a sheik, who is subordinate to the
pacha of Damascus, from whom he farms the tribute
of the province.
NABLUM, in Hebrew, Nebel, was an instrument
of music among the Jews. It had strings like the harp,,
and was played upon by both hands. Its form was
that of a Greek A. In the Septuagint and Vulgate, it is
called noblum, psalterion, lyra ; and sometimes cithara.
NABO, or Nebo, in Mythology, a deity of'the
Babylonians, who possessed the next rank to Bel,. It
is mentioned by Isaiah, chap, xlviii. Vossius appre¬
hends that Nabo was the moon, and Bel the sun : but
Grotius supposes that Nabo was some celebrated prophet
of the country 5 Avhich opinion is confirmed by the ety¬
mology of the name, signifying, according to Jerome,
“ one that presides over prophecy.”
NABOB, properly NavaB, the plural of ISaib, a
deputy. As used in Bengal, it is the same as Nazim. ,
It is a title also given to the wives and daughters of
princes, as well as to the princes themselves.
NABONASSAR, first king of the Chaldeans or
Babyloniansmemorable for the Jewish era which
bears his name, which is generally fixed m 3257, be¬
ginning on Wednesday, February 26th, in the 3967th •
of the Julian period, 747 years before Christ, lha
Babylonians revolting from the Medes, who had over¬
thrown the Assyrian monarchy, did, under Nabonassar,
found a dominion, which was much increased under
Nebuchadnezzar. It is probable, that this Nabonassar
is that Baladan in the second ol Kings, xx. 1 2. lather,
of Merodach, who sent ambassadors to Hezekmh. bee
2 Chron. xxxii. , • •
NABOPOLASSAR, king of Babylon : he joined;
with Astyages the Mede, to destroy the empire of As¬
syria •, which having accomplished, they founded the
two empires of the Medes under Astyages, and the.
Chaldeans under Nabopolassar, 627 B. C.
NABUCHADNEZZAR, or Nabuchodonosor
II. king of Assyria, son of Nabopolassar, and sty e
the Great, was associated by his father in the empire,
607 B. C. and the following year he took Jehoiakim
king of Judah prisoner, and proposed to carry him
and his subjects in captivity into Babylon *, but upon'
his submission, and promising to hold his kingdom un¬
der Nabuchodonosor, he was permitted to remain at
Jerusalem In 6oq B. C. Jehoiakim attempted to
shake off the Assyrian yoke, but without success j and
this revolt brought on the general captivity. JNatm-
chadnezzar having subdued the Ethiopians Arabians,
Idumaeans, Philistines, Syrians, 1 ersians, e
N
'/fabachad
nezzar
Naevus
A ^ t 595 ]
U Syrians and almost all Asia j being puffed up with born with a person
pride, caused a golden statue to be set up, and com- 1
manded all to worship it; which Daniel’s companions
—, refusing to do, they were cast into the fiery furnace.
J>ut as he was admiring his own magnificence, by di¬
vine sentence he was driven from men, and in the Scrip¬
ture style is said to have eaten grassas oxen : i. e. he was
seized with the disease called by the Greeks lycon-
tnj'opy, which is a kind of madness that causes persons
to run into the fields and streets in the night, and
Sometimes to suppose themselves to have the heads of
oxen, or to be made of glass. At the end of seven
years his reason returned to him, and he was restored
to his throne and glory. He died 562 B. C. in the
43d year of his reign j in the 5th of which happened
that eclipse ol the sun mentioned by Ptolemy, which
,s "Le ^“rest foundation of the chronology of his reign.
NADIR, in Astronomy, that point of the heavens
whic.i is diametrically opposite to the zenith or point
directly over our heads.
N7ENIA, the goddess of funerals at Rome. Her
temple was without the gates of the city. The songs
which were sung at funerals were also called juem'a.
iliey were generally filled with the praises of the de¬
ceased ; but sometimes they were so unmeaning and
improper, that the word became proverbial to signify
nonsense. ° J
NAERDEN, a strong town of Holland, seated at
the head of the canals ol the province. The foun¬
dations of it were laid by William of Bavaria, in
ft was taken by the Spaniards in 1572, and
by the rrench in 1672; but it was retaken by the
prince of Orange the next year. It stands at the’south
end of the Zuyder Zee, in E. Long. c. 3. N. Lat.
51. 22. j j
NAEVTUS, Cxeius, a famous poet of Campania,
was bred a soldier ; but quitted the profession of arms,
in order to apply himself to poetry, which he prose¬
cuted with great diligence. He composed a history in
verse, and a great number of comedies: but it is said
that his first performance of this last kind so displeas¬
ed Metellus on account of the satirical strokes it con¬
tained, that he procured his being banished from the
city : on which he retired to Utica in Africa, where
he at length died, 202 B. C. We have only some
fragments left of his works.
Ihere was another N^ivrus, a famous augur in the
reign of larquin, who, to convince the king and the
‘omans of his preternatural power, cut a flint with a
razor, and turned the ridicule of the populace to ad¬
miration. Tarquin rewarded his merit by erecting
him a statue in the comitium, which was still in be¬
ing in the age of Augustus. The razor and flint were
mied near it nnder an altar, and it was usual among
the Romans to make witnesses in civil causes swear
near it. Ihis miraculous event of cutting a flint with
a lazor, though believed by some writers, is treated
as fabulous and improbable by Cicero, who himself
had been augur.
a mole on the skin, generally called a
mother's mark; also the tumour known by the name
or a wen.
All preternatural tumours on the skin, in the form
« a wart or tubercle, are called excrescences; by the
wrecks they are called acrothymia ; and when they are
N A I
; . they are called navi maternt, or
marks Jrom the mother. See Tumours, Surgery
Index.
NAGERA, or Nagara, a town of Spain, in Old
Castile, and the territory of Rioja, with the title of a
duchy and fortress j famous for a battle fought in its
neighbourhood in 1369. It is situated in a fertile
country, on a brook called NaserilUi. W. Lorn? 2 20
N. Lat. 42. 45. 5
NAGRACUT, a town of India, the capital of a
kingdom of the same name in the dominions of the
Great Mogul, with a rich temple to which the Indians
go in pilgrimage. It is seated on the river Ravi. E.
Long. 78. 10. N. Lat, 33. 12.
NAHUM, or the Prophccy of Nahum, a canonical
book of the Old Testament.
ahum, the seventh ot the 12 lesser prophets, was
a native of Elkoshai, a little village of Galilee. The
subject of his prophecy is the destruction of Nineveh,
which he describes in the most lively and pathetic man¬
ner j Ins style is bold and figurative, and cannot be ex¬
ceeded by the most perfect masters of oratory. This
prophecy was verified at the siege of that city by Astyl
ages, in the year of the world 3378, 622 years before
Christ.
NAIADES, in fabulous history, certain inferior
deities who presided over rivers, springs, wells, and
fountains. 1 he Naiades generally inhabited the coun¬
try, and resorted to the woods or meadows near the
stream over which they presided. They are represent¬
ed as young and beautiful virgins, often leaning upon
an urn, from which flows a stream of water. y£gle
was the fairest of the Naiades, according to Virgil.
Their name seems to be derived from ^£<1-, “ to flow.”
They were held in great veneration among the an¬
cients ; and often sacrifices of goats and lambs were of¬
fered to them, with libations of wine, honey, and oil.
Sometimes they received only offerings of milk, fruit,
and flowers. *
NAIANT, in Heraldry, a term used in blazoning
fishes, when borne in a horizontal posture, as if swim¬
ming.
NAIAS, a genus of plants belonging to Hie disecia
class j and in the natural method ranking with those of
which the order is doubtful. See Botany Index.
NAID, the interior of the great desert of Arabia,
inhabited by a few scattered tribes of feeble and
wretched Arabs. See Arabia.
NAIL, Unguis, in Anatomy, which see.
Nails, in building, &c. small spikes of iron, brass,
&c. which being driven into wood, serve to bind se¬
veral pieces together, or to fasten something upon
them. x
Nails were made use of by the ancient Hebrews for
cancelling bonds and the ceremony was performed by
striking them through the writing. This seems to be
alluded to in Scripture, where God is said by our cru¬
cified Saviour to have “blotted out the hand-writing
of ordinances that was against us, and to have taken it
out of the way, nailing it to his cross,” Col. ii. 14.
For the cause and ceremony of driving the annual nail,
or claws annalis, among the Romans, see Annalis
Clavus.
Nail, is also a measure of length, containing the
16th part of a yard
4 F 3
Ntcvas
Nail.
—y—
Nailing
trailing of
Cannon
NAT [ 5S>6 ]
Nailing of Camion. When circumstances make it rage
Nairn
Nairn.
iHcessary to abandon cannon, or when the enemy s ar¬
tillery are seized, and it is not however possible to take
them away, it is proper to nail them up, in order to
render them useless; which is done by driving a large
nail or irOn spike into the vent of a piece of artillery,
to render it unserviceable. There are various contri¬
vances to force the nail out, as also sundry machines
invented for that purpose, but they have never been
found of general use y so that the best method is to
drill a new vent. . ,
One Gasper Vimercalus was the first who invented
the nailing of cannon. He was a native of Bremen,
and made°use of his invention first in nailing up the ar¬
tillery of Sigismund Malatesta. _ ,
NAIN, Lewis Sebastian de, a French critic and
historian, was the son ol a master of the requests, and
was born at Paris in 1637. At ten years old he went
to school at Port Royal, and became one ot the best
writers of that institution. Sacy, his intimate iriend
and counsellor, prevailed with him in 1676 to receive
the priesthood y which it seems, his. great humility
would not before suffer him to aspire to. This virtue
he seems to have possessed in the extreme-, so that
Bossuet, seeing one of his letters to ! ather Dami, wit 1
whom he had some little dispute, besought him mer¬
rily “ not to be always upon his knees before Ins ad¬
versary, but raise himself up now and then.” He
was solicited to push himself forward in the church,
and Buzanval, bishop of Beauvois, wished to have him
for his successor y but Nain, regardless of dignities,
wished for nothing but retirement, so that he might in¬
dulge in the mortifications of a religious life and the in¬
defatigable cultivation of letters. He died m 1698, aged
61. His principal works are, 1. Memoirs on the ec-
'clesiastical history of the six first ages of the church,
16 vols. 4to. 2. The history of the emperors, 6 vols.
ito. These works are deduced from original sources,
and composed with the utmost fidelity and accuracy.
Nain, or Naim, situated at the bottom of Mount
.Hermon’on the north side, was anciently a city of the
tribe of Issachar, in the province of Galilee. It was
near the gates of this city that our Saviour restored
to life the only son of a widow, and where he inspired
Mary Magdalen to come and mourn for her sins at
his feet. These circumstances -alone make this place
worthy of notice y for at present Nain is only a hamlet
inhabited by Christians, Mahometans, and Hebrews,
where there is not a single monument to attract the cu¬
riosity of the traveller. .
NAIRES, Nahers, or Na YERS, m modern history,
(a name which is given by the Malabarians to the mili¬
tary of their country, who form a very numerous class
or tribe, out of which the sovereigns ot Malabar choose
their body guard. '
NAIRN, a county of Scotland, comprehending the
western part of the province of Murray. It is bounded
on the north by the Murray frith, on the west and
south by Inverness, and on the east by Elgin. The
length is about 18 miles, and the breadth about 14.
The air is temperate and salubrious, and the winters
are remarkably mild. The face of the country is rough
and mountainous: yet there are some fruitful valleys
which produce good crops of oats and barley y but in
general the country is much better adapted tor pastu-
N A I
Here are also large woods of fir, and other
trees, that afford shelter to the game, of which there is ^ „
great plenty. The most remarkable straths or valleys , Naksuj
in this county, are Strathnairn, on the river ol that
name, in the south-west part ol the shire y and on the
south-east side, Strathrin, on both sides of lindhorn
river. Nairn is well watered with streams, rivulets,
and lakes abounding with fish. In the southern part
there is a small lake, called Moy. T-he greater Impart
of the shire is peopled by the Frazers, a warlike High¬
land clan, whose chief, the lord Lovat, lost his life
on the scaffold for having been concerned in the rebel¬
lion of 1745. Here are a great number of villages y
hut no towns of note except Nairn, supposed to be the
Tucesis of Ptolemy, situated at the mouth of the river
which bears the same name y a royal borough, which
gave the title of lord to an ancient family, forfeited m
the rebellion of 1715. The harbour, which opened in
the Murray frith, is now choked up with sand y and
the commerce of the town is too inconsiderable to de¬
serve notice. About four miles from Nairn stands the
castle of Calder on the river of that name, belonging
to a branch of the family of Campbell y and six miles
to the north-west of Nairn stands Fort George.
The following is the population of the parishes of
this county, according to the Statistical History of Scot¬
land.
Parishes.
Ardclach
Auldearn
Calder
Nairn
Population in
1790—1798*
Il86
1406
1062
24OO
Increase
Population in
1801, including part of some other
Parishes.
Ardclach
Auldearn
Calder
Croy (Nairn division)
Moy do.
Nairn
Urquhart (do.)
1256
1401
1179
- . 562
34
town 2215
1610
8^57
In the returns for 1811 the population of Nairn is
Stated to be 8251. See Nairn, Supplement. _
NAISSANT, in Heraldry, is applied to any animat
issuing out of the midst of some ordinary, and showing
only his head, shoulders, fore feet, and legs, with t ie
tip'of his tail y the rest of his body being hid in the
shield, or some charge upon it: in which it differs lom
issuant, which denotes a living creature arising out ol
the bottom of any ordinary or charge.
NAISSUS, in Ancient Geography, a town ot mr-
dania, a district of Mcesia Superior, said to be the
birthplace of Constantine the Great, which seem8 pro¬
bable from his often residing at that place. Naisitarn,
Naissus
II
Names.
NAM
the people (Coin). Now called Nissa, a city of Ser
via. E. Long. 23. N. Lat. 43.
NAKED seeds, in Botany, those that are not en¬
closed in any pod or case.
NAKIB, in the oriental dignities, the name of an
officer who is a deputy to the cadiliskier, or, as he may
he called, the lord high chancellor of Egypt, appoint¬
ed by the grand signior. His office is to carry the
standard of Mahomet.
NAKOUS, an Egyptian musical instrument, made
like two plates of brass, and of all sizes, from two inches
to a foot in diameter; they hold them by strings fast¬
ened to their middles, and strike them together so as to
beat time. 1 hey are used in the Coptic churches and
in the Mahometan processions.
NAMA, a genus of plants belonging to the pent-
andria class, and order digynia ; and, in the natural
method, ranking under the 13th order, Succulcntce.
See Botany Index.
NAME, denotes a word whereby men have agreed
to express some idea ; or which serves to denote or sig¬
nify a thing or subject spoken of. See Word.
This the grammarians usually call a noun, nomen,
though their noun is not of quite so much extent as our
name. See Noun.
Seneca, lib. ii. de Beneficns, observes, that there are
a great number of things which have no name; and
which, therefore, we are forced to call by other bor¬
rowed names. Ingens est (says he) rerum copia sine no¬
mine, quas cum propnis nppcHatiombus s/gnare non pos-
sumus, alienis accommodatis utimur : which may show
why, in the course of this dictionary, we frequently give
divers senses to the same word.
Names are distinguished into proper and appellative.
Proper Names, are those which represent some indi¬
vidual thing or person, so as to distinguish it from all
other things of the same species; as, Socrates, which
represents a certain philosopher.
Appellative or General Names, are those which sig¬
nify common ideas; or which are common to several
individuals ot the same species; as, horse, animal, man,
oak, &c. , ’
Proper names are either called Christian, as being
given at baptism ; or surnames : The first imposed for
distinction of persons, answering to the Roman preeno-
men; the second, for the distinction of families, an¬
swering to the nomen of the Romans, and \\\e. patrony-
micum of the Greeks.
Originally every person had but one name; as among
the Jews, Adam, &c. among the Egyptians, Busiris;
among the Chaldees, Ninus; the Medes, Astyages;
the Greeks, Diomedes; the Romans, Bomulus; the
Gauls, Divitiacus; the Germans, Ariovistus ; the Bri¬
tons, Cassibelan; the English, Hcngist, &c. And thus
of other nations, except the savages of Mount Atlas,
whom Pliny and Marcellinus represent as anonymi,
“ nameless.”
_ The Jews gave the name at the circumcision, viz.
eight days after the birth : the Romans, to females the
same day, to males the ninth ; at which time they held
a feast, called nominalia.
Since Christianity has obtained, most nations have
followed the Jews, baptizing and giving the name on
the eighth day after the birth; except our English an-
t 597 ] NAM
ccstors, who, till of late, baptized and gave the name
on the birth day.
I he first imposition of names was founded on differ¬
ent views, among different people ; the most common
was to mark the good wishes of the parents, or to en¬
title the children to the good fortune a happy name
seemed to promise. Hence, Victor, Castor, Faustus,
Statorius, Probus, &c.
Accordingly, w'e find such names, by Cicero called
bona nomina, and by Tacitus fausta nomina, were
first enrolled and ranged in the Roman musters ; first
called to serve at the sacrifices, in the foundation of
colonies, &c.-—And, on the contrary, Livy calls Atrius
Umber, abominandi omnis nomen: and Plautus, on oc¬
casion of a person named Lyco, i. e. “ greedy wolff”
says; J ’ *
T osmet nunc facite conjecturam ceeterum
Quid id sit hominis, cui Lyco nomen fiet.
Hence, Plato recommends it to men to be careful in
giving happy names; and the Pythagoreans taught ex¬
pressly, that the minds, actions, and successes of men,
were according to their names, genius, and fate. Thus
Panormifan, ex bono nomine oritur bona prevsumptio 1
and the common proverb, Bonum nomen bonum omen ;
and hence the foundation of the onomomantia. See
Onomomantxa.
It is an observation deserving attention, says the
abbe Barthelemi, that the greater part of names found
in Homer are marks of distinction. They were given
in honour of the qualities most esteemed in the heroic
ages. I rom the word polemos, which signifies war,
have been formed Tlepolemus and Archepolemus, the
names of two heroes mentioned in the Iliad. The for¬
mer name signifies able to support, and the latter, able
to direct, the labours of war. By adding to the word
mache, or battle, certain prepositions and different parts
of speech, which modify the sense in a manner always
honourable, are composed the names Amphimachus,
Antimachus, Promachus, Telemachus. Proceedino- in
the same way, with the word honorea, “ strength or
intrepidity,” they formed the, names Ngapenor, “ he
who esteems valour;” Agenor, “ he who directs it.”
From thoes, “ swift,” are derived, Alcathoes, Panthoes,
Penthoes, &c. From nous, “mind or intelligence,”
come Astynoes, Arsinoes, Autemes, &c. From medes,
“ counsel,” Agamedes, Eumedes, Lycomedes, Thrgsy-
medes; and from ciios, “ glory,” Amphicles, Agacles, ,
Iphicles, Pati'oclus, Cleobulus, with many others.
Hence Camden takes it for granted, that the names,
in all nations and languages, are significative, and not
simple sounds for mere distinction’s" sake. This holds
not only among the Jews, Greeks, Latins, &c. but even
the Turks ; among whom, Abdala signifies Gods ser¬
vant; Soliman, peaceable; Mahomet, glorified, &c.
And the savages of Hispaniola, and throughout Ame¬
rica, who, in their languages, name their children,
Glistering Light, Sun, Bright, Fine Gold, &e.; and
they of Congo, by the names of precious stones, flow¬
ers, &c.
Jo suppose names given without any meaning,
however by the alteration of language their .significa¬
tion may be lost, that learned author thinks is to re¬
proach our ancestors; and that contrary to -the sense
of
Names.
Nainev
NAM
of all ancient writers. Porphyry notes.
'barous Acmes, as he calls them, were very emphatical,
and very concise: and accordingly it was esteemed a
duty to be Qwvwpoi, or sui nominis homines: as beve-
rus, Probus, and Aurelius, are called sui nomvns impe-
ratores. „ . . . • i *1
It was the usual way of giving names, to wish the
children might discharge their names. Ihus when
Gunthram king of Prance named Clotharms at the
font, he said, Crescol puer, et hujuS sit nomims execu-
The ancient Britons, Gamden says, generally took
their names from colours, because, they painted them¬
selves 5 which names are now lost, or remain hid among
the Welsh. When they were subdued by the Romans,
they took Roman names, some of which still remain
corrupted •, though the greatest part became extinct
upon the admission of the English Saxons, who intro¬
duced the German names, as Cndda, Fen da, Oswald,
Edward, &c.—The Danes, too, brought with them
their names ; as Suayne, Harold, Knnte, Ihe
Normans, at the Conquest, brought in other German
names, as originally using the German tongue •, such
as Robert, William, Richard, Henry, Hugh, &c. alter
the same manner as the Greek names Aspasius, Roe-
thins, Symmachus, &c. were introduced into Italy upon
the division of the empire. After the Conquest, our
nation, which had ever been averse to foreign names,
as deeming them unlucky, began to take Hebrew
' names: as Matthew, David, Ramson, &c. J he va¬
rious names anciently or at present obtaining among us,
from what language or people soever borrowed, are ex¬
plained by Camden in his Remains. As to the period
when names began to be multiplied, and surnames in¬
troduced, &c. see Surname.
Of late years it has obtained among us to give sur¬
names for Christian names; which some dislike, on
account of the confusion it may introduce. Camden
relates it as an opinion, that the practice first began in
the reign of Edward VI. by such as would be godfathers,
when they were more than halt fathers. Upon which
some were persuaded to change their names at confix-
mation •, which, it seems, is usual in other countries.
—Thus, two sons of Henry II. of Prance, christened
Alexander and Hercules, changed them at confirmation
Into Henry and Francis. In monasteries, the religious
assume new names at their admittance, to show they are
about to lead a new life, and have renounced the world,
their family, and even their name : v. g. sister Mary of
the Incarnation, brother Henry of the Holy Sacrament,
&c. The popes also changed their names at their
exaltation to the pontificate *, a custom first introduced
by Pope Sergius, whose name till then, as Platina
informs us, was Swine's-snout. But Onuphrius refers
it to John XII. or XIII. and at the same time adds a
different reason for it from that of Platina, viz. that it
was done in imitation ot St Peter and St Paul, who
were first called Simon and Said.
Among the ancients, those deified by the Heathen
consecrations had new names given them •, as Romulus
was called Quirinus; Melicertes, Fortunus or Portum-
nus, &c.
New names were also given in adoptions, and some¬
times by testament? thus L. JEmilius, adopted by
Scipio, took the name of Scipio Ajricanus ; and thus
3
[ 598 1 NAM
that the bar- Augustus, who Was-at first called C. Octavius Thurinus,
being adopted by the testament of Julius Caesar into his
name and family, took the name of Caius Julius Cwsar
Octdvianus.
Names were also changed at enfranchisements into
new cities. Tlhus Lucumo, at his first being made fiee
of Rome, took the name Lucius Tarquinius Priscus,
&c.} and slaves when made free, usually assumed their
masters names. Those called to the equestrian order,
if they had base names, were always new named, nomini
ingenuorum veterumqus Romanorum. And among the
primitive Christians, it wras the practice to change the
names of the catechumens: Thus the renegado Lucianus,
till his baptism, was called Lucius.
Towards the middle of the 15th century, it was the
fancy of the wits and learned men of the age, particularly
in Italy, to change their baptismal names for classical
ones. As Sannazarius, for instance, who altered his
own plain name Jacopo to Actius Syr,cents. Numbers
did the same, and among the rest Platina the historian
at Rome, who, not without a solemn ceremonial, took
the name of Callimachus instead ot Philip. Pope Paul
II. who reigned about that time, unluckily chanced to
be suspicious, illiterate, and heavy of comprehension,
He had no idea that persons could wish to alter their
names unless they had some bad design, and actually
scrupled not to employ imprisonment and other violent,
methods to discover the fancied mystery. Platina was
most cruelly tortured on this frivolous account: he had
nothing to confess : so the pope, after endea\ curing in
vain to convict him of heresy, sedition, &c. released
him after a long imprisonment.
NAMPTWTCH, or NaNTWICH, a town of Che¬
shire in England, situated on the river Weever, 14
miles S. E. from Chester, and 162 miles from London.
It lies in the Vale Royal, and is one of the largest and
best built towns in the county, the streets being very
regular, and adorned with many gentlemen’s houses.
The inhabitants amounting in 1811 to 3999, trade in
corn, cattle, cheese, fine white salt, and shoes. It is
governed by a constable, &c. who are guardians of the
salt springs. It is divided into two equal parts by the
Weever, which is navigable to Winsford bridge. The
Chester canal, terminatesin a large bason near this place.
In this town were several religious foundations, now ns
more. The church is a handsome pile of building in
the form of a cross, with an octangular tower in the
middle. # » -vr 1
NAMUR, a province in the kingdom of the Nether¬
lands, lying between the rivers Sambre and Maese«
bounded on the north by Brabant, on the east and south
by Liege, and on the west by Hainault. . It is pietty
fertile j has several forests, marble quarries, and mines
of iron, lead, and pit coaland is about 30 miles long
and 20 broad. Namur is the capital town.
Namur, a large, rich, and very strong town of the
Netherlands, capital of the county of Namur, with a
strong castle, several forts, and a bishop’s see. It con¬
tains 1 ^,400 inhabitants. The most considerable forts
are, Fort William, Fort Maese, Fort Coquelet, and
Fort Espinor. The castle is built in the middle of the
town, on a craggy rock. It was besieged by King
William in 1695, who took it in the sight of an army
of 100,000 French, though there were 16,000 men m
the garrison. It was ceded to the house of Austria
lit
Varaur
A N
by the French in
t
N
in 1713, hut taken by the French in 17465 and
|| and restored by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle. It was
an-king. again taken by the French in 1794, and remained in
^ their possession till 1814, when it was ceded to the
king of the Netherlands. It is situated at the con¬
fluence of the rivers Maese and Sambre, in E. Long.
4. 57. N. Lat, 50. 25.
NAN-TCHANG-FOU, the capital of Kiang-si, a pro¬
vince of China. This city has no trade but that of
porcelain, which is made in the neighbourhood of Jao-
tcheou. It is the residence of a viceroy, and compre¬
hends in its district eight cities 5 seven of which are of
the third class, and only one of the second. So much
of the country is cultivated, that the pastures left are
scarcely sufficient for the flocks.
NANCI, a town of France, in the department of
Meurthe, situated near the river Meurthe, and con¬
taining 29,740 inhabitants in 1800. It is divided into
the Old and New Towns. The first is irregularly
built, and contains the ducal palace : the streets of tile
New Town are as straight as a line, adorned with
handsome buildings, and a very fine square. The pri-
matial church is a magnificent structure, and in that
of the Cordeliers are the tombs of the ancient dukes.
The manufactures are cloths, woollen stufls, silks, hats,
iron ware, &c. The town was very well fortified, but
the king of I ranee demolished the fortifications. It
has been taken and retaken several times 5 but has be¬
longed to France ever since 1736. E. Long. 6. 17.
N. Lat. 48. 41.
NANCOWRY, or Sowry, one of the Nicobar
islands, lying at the entrance of the bay of Bengal. See
Nicobar.
NANI, John Baptist, was born in 1616. His
father was procurator of St Mark, and ambassador from
Venice to Rome. He was educated with attention,
and make considerable improvement. Urban VIII. a
just valuer of merit, soon perceived that of young
Nani. He was admitted into the college of senators in
1641, and was shortly after nominated ambassador in
France, where he signalized himself by his compliant
manners. He procured considerable succours for the
war of Candia against the Turks 5 and became, after
his return to Venice, superintendant of the wrar office
and of finances. He was afterwards ambassador to the
empire : where he rendered those services to his coun¬
try which, as a zealous and intelligent citizen, he was
well qualified to discharge. He was again sent into
I ranee in 1660 to solicit fresh succours for Candia 5
and on his return was appointed procurator of St Mark.
He died November 5. 1768, at the age of 63, much
regretted by his countrymen. The senate had appoint¬
ed him to write the History of the Republic 5 which he
executed to the satisfaction of the Venetians, although
the work was less admired by foreigners, who were not
proper judges of the accuracy with which he stated the
facts, of the purity of his diction, nor of the simplicity
of his style 5 although it must be acknowledged that
his narrative is much interrupted by too frequent paren¬
theses. In writing his history of Venice he has given
an universal history of his times, especially with respect
to the affairs of the French in Italy. This history,
which is continued from 1613 to 1671, was printed at
Venice in 2 vols 410, in the years 1662 and 1679.
NAN-KING, a city of China, and capital of the pro
599 ] N A N
viiice of Kiang-naii, is said to have been formerly one Nan-king,
of the most beautiful and flourishing cities in the
world. When the Chinese speak of its extent, they
say, if two horsemen should go out by the same gate,
and ride round it on full speed, taking different direc¬
tions, they would not meet before night. This account
is evidently exaggerated j but it is certain, that Nan¬
king surpasses in extent all the other cities of China.
We are assured that its walls are five leagues and a half
in circumference.
I his city is situated at the distance of a league from
the river Yang-tse-kiang: it is of an irregular figure j
the mountains which are-within its circumference hav¬
ing prevented its being built on a regular plan. It was
formerly the imperial city 5 for this reason it was called,
Nan-King, which signifies, the Southern Courtbut
since the six grand tribunals have been transferred
from lienee to Peking, it is called Kiang-ning in all the
public acts.
Nan-king has lost much of its ancient splendour : it
had formerly a magnificent palace, no vestige of which
is now to be seen 5 an observatory at present neglected,
temples, tombs of the emperors, and other superb mo¬
numents, of which nothing remains but the remem¬
brance. A third of the city is deserted, but the rest is
well inhabited. Some quarters of it are extremely po¬
pulous and full of business; particularly the manufac¬
ture of a species of cotton cloth, of which great quanT
tities are imported into Europe under the name of Nan¬
kin. The streets are not so broad as those of Peking,
they are, however, very beautiful, well paved, and
bordered with rich shops.
In this city resides one of those great mandarins
called Tsong-gtou, who takes cognizance of all import¬
ant aftairs, not only of both the governments of the
province, but also of those of the province of Kiang-si.
The Tartars have a numerous garrison here, command¬
ed by a general of their own nation 5 and they occupy
a quarter of the city, separated from the rest by a plain
wall.
1 he palaces of the mandarins, whether Chinese or
Tartars, are in this city neither larger nor better built
than those in the capital cities of other provinces. Here
are no public edifices corresponding to the reputation
of so celebrated a city, excepting its gates, which are
very beautiful, and some temples, among which is the
famous porcelain tower. It is 200 feet high, and di¬
vided into nine stories by plain boards within, and
without by cornices and small projections covered with
green varnished tiles. There is air ascent of 40 steps
to the first story 5 between each of the others there
are 21.
The. breadth and depth of the river Yang-tse-kiang
formerly rendered the port of Nan-king very commo¬
dious 5 but at present large barks, or j-ather Chines©
junks, never enter it: whether it he that it is shut up
by sand banks, or that the entrance of it has been for¬
bid, in order that navigators may insensibly lose all
knowledge of it.
In the months of April and,May a great number of
excellent fish are caught in this river near the city,
which are sent to court 5' they are covered with ice,
and transported in that manner by barks kept entirely
on ; purpose. Although this city is more than 200
leagues from Peking, these boats make such expedition,
that
NAP [ 6co
UdR-kinj that they arrive there in eight or nine Jays, lint city,
|| though the capital of the province, has under its par-
Napier, ticular jurisdiction only eight cities ol the third class,
v The number of its inhabitants is said to be i,ooo,ooo*
without comprehending the garrison of 40,000 men.
E. Long. 119. 24. N. Lat. 32. 46.
NANSIO, an island of the Archipelago, a little.to
' the north of the island of Santorino, 16 miles, in cir¬
cumference ; but has no harbour. The mountains are
nothing but bare rocks, and there are not springs suffi¬
cient to water the fields. There is a vast number of
partridges, whose eggs they destroy every year to pre¬
serve the corn, and yet vast numbers of them are always
produced. The ruins of the temple of Apollo are yet
to he seen, and consist chiefly of marble columns.
E. Long. 26. 20. N. Lat. 36. 15.
NANTES, an ancient, rich, and very considerable
town of France, in the department of Lower Loire,
containing 73’^79 inhabitants in 1800. It is situated
the north side of the Loire, about 40 miles from
its mouth, at the confluence of the Erdre. It is the
chief place of the department, the see ol a bishop,
and the seat of several tribunals. 1 he atmosphere is
pure, and the surrounding country is rich and beautiful*
Nantes is a town of extensive trade. Vessels under
100 tons ascend to the city, those above that siz.e dis¬
charge their cargoes at Paimboeuf, 23 miles below, and
have them conveyed up in boats. Ihe manufactures
are cordage, canvas, linen, calico, leather, refined sugar,
bottle-glass, &c. By the Loire, this town has an ex¬
tensive communication with the interior of France ; and
supplies Orleans and other towns with foreign com¬
modities. The Spaniards trade here in wine, fine wool,
iron, silk, oil, oranges, and lemons ; and they carry
back cloth, stuffs, corn, and hard ware. The Dutch
send salt fish, and all sorts of spices ; and in return
have wine and brandy. The Swedes bring copper 5
and the English, lead, tin, &c. It was in this place
that Henry IV. promulgated the famous edict in 1598,
called the Edict of Nantes, and which was revoked in
1685. Nantes was anciently, like almost every con¬
siderable city in Europe, very strongly fortified. Peter
de Dreux, one of the dukes of Bretagne, surrounded it
with walls, which have only been demolished within
these few years. The bridge is an object of curiosity.
It is near a mile and a half in length, being continued
across all the little islands in the Loire, from north to
south. W. Long. 1. 45. N. Lat. 47. 13.
NANTWICH. See Namptwich.
NAPiEA, a genus of plants belonging to the po-
lyadelphia class j and in the natural method ranking
under the 37th order, Columniferce. See Botany
Index. •
NAPHTHA, an inflammable substance of the bi¬
tuminous kind. See Chemistry and Mineralogy.
NAPHTHALI, or NephtHali (Josh, xix.), one
of the tribes of Israel j having Zabulon on the south,
Asher on the west, the Jordan on the east, and on the
north Antilibanus.
NAPIEB, John, baron of Merchiston in Scot¬
land, inventor of the logarithms, was the eldest son of
Sir Archibald Napier of Merchiston, and born in the
year 1550. Having given early discoveries of great
natural parts, his father was careful to have them cul¬
tivated by a liberal education. After going through
2
] NAP
the ordinary, courses of philosophy at the university of
St Andrew’s, he made the tour of F ranee, Italy, and
Germany. Upon his return to his native country,
his literature and other fine accomplishments soon ren¬
dered him conspicuous, and might have raised him to
the highest offices of the state : but declining all civil
employments, and the bustle of the court, he retired
from the world to pursue literary researches, in which
he made an uncommon progress, so as to have favour-,
ed mankind with sundry useful discoveries. Fie ap¬
plied himself chiefly to the study of mathematics ; but
at the same time did not neglect that of the Holy
Scriptures. In both these he hath discovered the most
extensive knowledge and profound penetration. His
essay upon the book of the Apocalypse, indicates the
most acute 'investigation, and an uncommon strength
of judgment ; though time hath discovered, that his
calculations concerning particular events hath proceeded
upon fallacious data. This work has been printed
abroad in several languages •, particularly in French at
Rochelle in the year 1593, 8vo, announced in the title,
as revised by himself. Nothing, says Lord Buchan,
could be more agreeable to the Rochellers or to the
Huguenots of .France at tins time, than the author’s
annunciation ol the pope as' antichrist, which in this
book he has endeavoured to set forth with much zeal
and erudition. But what has principally rendered his
name famous, was his great and fortunate discovery of
logarithms in trigonometry, by which the ease and ex¬
pedition in calculation have so wonderfully assisted the
science of astronomy and the arts ol practical geometry
and navigation. That he had begun about the year
1593 the train of inquiry which led him to that great
achievement in arithmetic, appears from a letter to
Crugerus from Kepler in the year 1624, wherein,
mentioning the Canon Mir feus, he writes thus } “Nihil
autem supra Neperianam rationeni esse puto: etsi 8co-
tus quidem literis ad Tychonem, anno 15641 scriptis
jam spem fecit Canonis illius mirifici j ’ which allu¬
sion agrees with the idle story mentioned by W ood in
his Athena; Oxon. and explains it in a way perfectly
consonant to the rights of Napier as the inventor.
When Napier had communicated to Mr Henry
Briggs, mathematical professor in Gresham college,
his wonderful canon for the logarithms, that learned
professor set himself to apply the rules in his Imitatio
Nepeii'ea; and in a letter to Archbishop Usher in the
year 1615, he writes thus : “ Napier, baron of Mer¬
chiston, hath set my head and hands at work with his
new and admirable logarithms. I hope to see him
this summer, if it please God } for I never saw a book
which pleased me better, and made me more wonder.’
The following passage from the life of Lilly the astro¬
loger is quoted by Lord Buchan, as giving a pictu¬
resque view of the meeting betwixt Briggs and the in¬
ventor of the logarithms at Merchiston near Edinburgh.
“ I will acquaint you (says Lilly) with one memorable
story related unto me by John Marr, an excellent ma-.
thematician and geometrician, whom I conceive you
remember. He was servant to King James I. and
Charles I. When Merchiston first published his lo¬
garithms, Mr Briggs, then reader of the astronomy lec¬
tures at Gresham college in London, was so much sur¬
prised with admiration of them, that he could have no
quietness in himself until he had seen that noble person
whose
Kapler.
Napier.
^ A ^ [ 6oi
^vhose only invention they were-: he- acquaints John
'Marr therewith, who went into Scotland before Mr
Briggs, purposely to be there when these two so learned
persons should meet. Mr Briggs appoints a certain day
when to meet at Edinburgh 5 but failing thereof, Mer-
chiston was fearful he would not come. It happened
one day as John Marr and the baron Napier were
speaking of Mr Briggs j ‘ Ah, John (said Merchiston),
Mr Briggs will not come.’ At the very instant one
knocks at the gate: John Marr hasted down, and it
proved to be Mr Briggs to his great contentment. Pie
brings Mr Briggs up to the baron’s chamber, where
almost one quarter of an hour was spent, each behold-
1
NAP
o-'.apiei
€/;'er.
Won,
ing the other with admiration before one word was
spoken. At last Mr Briggs began j ‘ Sir, I have un¬
dertaken this long journey purposely to see your person,
and to know by what engine of wit or ingenuity you
came first to think ol this most excellent help into astro¬
nomy, viz. the logarithms 5 but, Sir, being by you
found out, I wonder nobody else found it out before,
when nowr being known it appears so easy.’ He was
nobly entertained by Baron Napier ^ and every summer
after that, during the laird’s being alive, this venerable
man, Mr Briggs, went purposely to Scotland to visit
i'arlof him*.”
! mtlfr, TherC a Passa£e in the life of Tycho Brahe by
l Writ- Gassemh, which may mislead an attentive reader to
1 ami suppose that Napier’s method had been explored by
l mtions Herwart at Hoenburg : It is in Gassendi’s Observa-
t’ons on a Letter from Tycho to Herwart of the last
day of August 1599. “ Dixit Hervartus nihil morari
se solvendi cujusquam trianguli difficultatem ; solere
se enim multiplicationum, ac divisionum vice additiones
solum, subtractiones 93 usurpare (quod ut fieri posset,
docuit postmodum suo logarithmorum Canone Nepe-
rus}.” But Herwart here alludes to this work after-
w’aids published in the year 1610, which solves tri¬
angles by prostaphceresis 5 a mode totally diflerent from
that ot the logarithms.
Kepler dedicated his Ephemcridcs, to Napier, which
W'cre published in the year 1617 ; and it appears from
many passages in his letter about this time, that he
held Napier to be the greatest man of his age in the
particular department to which he applied his abili¬
ties. And indeed (says our noble biographer), if
■We consider that Napier’s discovery Was not like those
of Kepler or of Newton, connected with any analogies
or coincidences which might have led him to it, but
the fruit of unassisted reason and science, we shall be
\ indicated in placing him in one of the highest niches
m the temple ot lame. Kepler had made many un¬
successful attempts to discover his canon for the pe¬
riodic motions of the planets, and hit upon it at last,
as he himself candidly owns, on the 15th of May 1618 ;
and Newton applied the palpable tendency of heavy
bodies to the earth to the system of the universe in ge¬
neral } but Napier sought out his admirable rules by a
slow scientific progress, arising from the gradual evolu¬
tion of truth.”
The last literary exertion of this eminent person was
die publication of his Rabdology and Promptuary in the
year 1617, which he dedicated to the Chancellor Se-
ton ; and soon after died at Merchiston on the 3d of
April O. S of the same year, in the 68th year of his
VOL. XIV. Part XL .+
age and 23d of his happy invention.—The particular
titles of his works published are : r. A plain discovery
of the Revelation of St John. 2. Mirijici ipsius cannnis
constructin ct loganthmomm, ad natitrales ipsorum nu-
itietos habitudines, 3. Appendix de alia atqne pra’stav-
tiorc loganthmonim specie constitnenda, in qua scilicet
unit as loganthmus est. 4. Bhabdologice, sett numcratU
oms per yirgulas, hbrt duo. 3, Propositiones queedam
eminentissima\ ad triungula sphcerica mira facultate rc-
solvenda. To which may be added, 6. His Letter to
Anthony Bacon (the original of which is in the archbi¬
shop s library at Lambeth), entitled, “Secret inventions,
profitable and necessary in these days for the defence of
film » +li fN .#1!~ i-   • ik
this island, and withstanding strangers enemies to God’s
truth and religion j” which the earl of Buchan has
caused to be printed in the Appendix to his Account of
Napier’s Writings. Ibis letter is dated June 2. 1596,
about which time it appears the author had set himself
to explore his logarithmic canon.
'Ibis eminent person wa*i twice married. By his
first wife, who was a daughter of Sir James Stirling of
Keir, he had only one son named Archibald, who suc¬
ceeded to the estate. By his second wife, a daughter
of Sir James Chisholm of Cromhx, he had a numerous
issue.—Archibald Napier, the only son of the first mar-
viage, was a person of fine parts and learning. Having
more a turn to public business than his father had, he
W'as raised to be a privy counsellor by James VI. under
whose reign he also held the offices of treasurer-depute,
justice-clerk, and senator^jf the college of justice. By
Charles I. he was raised to the peerage by the title ot
Lord Napier,
Napier's Rods, or Bones, an instrument invented by
Baron Napier, whereby the multiplication ami division
of large numbers is much facilitated.
As to the Construction of Napier's Rods : Suppose the
common table of multiplication to be made upon a
plate of metal, ivory, or pasteboard, and then con¬
ceive the several columns (standing downwards from
the digits on the head) to he cut asunder: and these
are what we call Napier's rods of multiplication. But
then there must be a good number of each; for as
many times as any figure is in the multiplicand, se
many rods of that species (i. e. with that figure on the
top of it) must we have 5 though six rods of each spe¬
cies will be sufficient for any example in common af¬
fairs : there must be also as many rods of o’s.
But before we explain the way of using these rods,
there is another thing to be known, viz. that the fi¬
gures on every rod are written in an order different
from that in the table. Thus the little square space
or division in which the several products of every co¬
lumn are written, is divided into two parts by a line
across from the upper angle on the right to the lower
on the left ; and if the product is a digit, it is set in
the lower division 5 if it has two places, the first is set in
the lower, and the second in the upper division ; but
the spaces on the top are not divided 5 also there is a
rod of digits, not divided, which is called the index rod,
and of this we need but one single rod. See the figure
of all the different rods, and the index, separate from
one another, in Plate CCCLXIX. fig. 1.
Multiplication by Napier's Rods. First lay down the
index rod j then on the right of it set a rod, whose
4 ^
Napier.
NAP
[ 602 1
top is the figure in the highest place of the multipli¬
cand •, next to this again, set the rod whose top is the
next figure of the multiplicand j and so on in order to
the first figure. Then is your multiplicand tabulated
for all the nine digits ; for in the same line of squares
standing against every figure of the index rod, you have
the product of that figure j and therefore you have no
more to do but to transfer the products and sum them.
But in taking out these products from the rods, the
order in which the figures stand obliges you to a very
easy and small addition ; thus, begin to take out the
fio-ure in the lower part, or units place, of the square
of the first rod on the right 5 add the figure on the up¬
per part of this rod to that in the lower part ot the
next, and so on j which may be done as fast as you
can look on them. To make this practice as clear as
possible, take the following example. .
Example : To multiply 4768 by 385. Having set
the rods together for the number 4768 (fig. 2.) against
r in the index, I find this number by adding accord¬
ing to the rule, - " 2384a
Against 8, this number - - 3Sl44
Against 3, this number - - M3°4
NAP
6123)2179788(356
18369..
34288
3o6i5
Napier,
Naples.,
Total product - “ " 183568 a
To make the use of the rods yet more regular and easy,
they are kept in a flat square box, whose breadth is
that cf ten rods, and the length that of one rod, as
thick as to hold six (or as many as you please), the ca¬
pacity of the box being divided into ten cells, for the
different species, of rods. When the rods are put up in
the box (each species in its own cell distinguished
by the first figure of the rod set before it on the face of
the box near the top), as much of every rod stands
without the box as shows the first figure of that rod:
also, upon one of the flat sides without and near the
edge, upon the left hand, the index rod is fixed j and
along the foot there is a small ledge *, so that the rods
when applied are laid upon this side, and supported by
the ledge, which makes the practice very easy •, but in
case the multiplicand should have more than nine places,
that upper face of the box may. be made broader. Some
make the rods with four different faces, and figures on
each for different purposes.
Division by Napier's Bods. First tabulate your di¬
visor ; then.you have it multiplied by all the, digits, out
of which you may choose such convenient divisors as
will be next less to the figures in the dividend, and
write the index answering in the quotient, and so con¬
tinually till the work is done.. Thus 2179788, divided
by 6123, gives in the quotient 35^.
Having tabulated the div.isor 6123, you see that
6123 cannot, be had. in 21795 therefore take five
places, and on the rods find a number that is equal or
next less to 21797, which is 18369 5 that is, 3 times
the divisor 5 wherefore set 3*jn quotient, and sub¬
tract 18369 from the figures above, and there will re¬
main 34285 tp which add. 8, the next figure of the di¬
vidend, and seek again on the rods for it,, or the next
less, which you will find to be five times. 5.therefore set
5 in the quotient, and subtract 30615 from 34288, and
there will remain 3673 5 to which add 8, the last figure
ip the dividend, and finding it to be just six times the
divisor, set. six in the quotient.
36738
36738
NAPLES, a kingdom of Italy, comprehending the
ancient countries of Samnium, Campania, Apulia, and
Magna Gnecia. It is bounded on all sides by the Me¬
diterranean and Adriatic, except on the north east,
where it terminates on the Ecclesiastical state. Its
greatest length from south-east to north-west is about
280 English miles 5 and its breadth from north-east to
south-west, from 96 to 120.
The ancient history of this country falls under the
articles Rome and Italy 5 the present state of it, as
well as of the rest of Italy, is owing to the conquests
of Charlemagne. When that monarch put an end
to the kingdom of the Lombards, be obliged the dukes
of Friuli, Spoletto, and Benevento, to acknowledge
him as king of Italy 5 but allowed them to exercise the
same power and authority which they had enjoyed be¬
fore his conquest. Of these three dukedoms Benevento ^
was by far the most powerful and extensive, as it com- jrxtent0,‘
prehended almost all the present kingdom of Naples 5 the duchj
that part of Farther Calabria beyond the rivers Savuto of Bene,
and Peto, a few maritime cities in Hither Calabria,
with the city of Acripoli, and the promontory in its
neighbourhood called Capo di Licosa; and lastly, the.
dukedoms of Gaeta, Naples, and Amalfi, which were
very inconsiderable, and extended along the ghoie only
about too miles, and were interrupted by the Gastal-
date or county of Capua. 2.
This flourishing and extensive dukedom was at thisArecluv
time governed by Areclns, who had married one °^ngVent0
the daughters of the last king of the Lombards, an^ YU]ts froi
had submitted, and taken the oath of allegiance to tbeChfir]e-
emperor Charles. However, a few year's after, _ liemagne.
renounced, his allegiance to the I ranks, declared aim-
self an independent sovereign, and was acknowledged
as such by all the inhabitants of his duchy. Io
strengthen himself against Pepin king of Italy, uho
resided at Ravenna, he enlarged and fortified the
city of Benevento, and likewise built Salerno on.
the sea coast, surrounding it with a very strong and
high wall. He engaged in several wars with the
Greeks, whom he sometimes obliged to give him
hostages 5 but having invaded the territories of the
pope, whom Pepin could not assist, Charlemagne was
prevailed on to return to Italy, Arecbis, unable to
oppose such a formidable enemy, sent his eldest son,
Romuald, to Rome, with an offer of submission : but,
at the instigation of the pope, Charles refused t m
offer, and detained his son prisoner 5 after which he ra¬
vaged the country, and made himself master of Capua.
Other deputies, however, pi oved more successful 5 and,
in-the year 787, a peace was concluded on these con¬
ditions : That Arechis and the Beneventans should ie-
new their allegiance to the I ranks; that he should pay a
yearly tribute to Pepin 5 deliver up all his treasure;
and
giva
NAP [
Naples. ^aVe Jus son Crimould and his daughter Adelgisa, v.ith
' twelve others, as hostages for his fidelity : however, af¬
ter many entreaties, Adelgisa was restored to her father.
Charles had no sooner left Italy, than Arechis for
I S
lj!iioal(l
cj inues
fir ome
tii- faitli
fij'J the
ilaks.
got all his engagements, and began to negociate with
Irene, empress of Constantinople, and her son Con^
stantine, for expelling the Franks out of Italy. For
himself, lie desired the honour of the patriciate, and the
dukedom of Naples with all its depemlenties ; and,
in return, promised to acknowledge the Greek empe¬
ror as his sovereign, and to live after the manner of
the Greeks. He required, however, to be supported
hy a Greek army, and that his brother-in-laW Adal-
gisus, son to Desiderius the last king of the Lombards,
should he sent over into Italy, to raise a party among
his countrymen. These conditions were readily ac¬
cepted, on condition that Prince Ilomuald should be
sent as an hostage 5 ambassadors were sent to Naples
with the ensigns cf the Patrician order, namely the
mantle of cloth of gold, the sword, the comb, and the
sandals t but before the ceremony could be performed,
Prince Romuald died, and soon after him his father 5
whose death was supposed to have been hastened by
that of his son.
After the death of Arechis, the Belleventans sent
aynost submissive embassy to Charlemagne, entreating
him to send them Grimoald, the late king’s son, and
only lawful heir to his crown ; threatening at the same
time to revolt if their prince was denied them. Charles
readily granted their request, and allowed Grimoald
to depart, after he had agreed to the following con¬
ditions, vii. That he should oblige the Lombards to
shave their beards j that, in writings, and on money,
the name of the king should he put before that of the
prince ; and that he should cause the walls of Salerno,
AcerenZa, and Consia, to be entirely abolished.—
The new king was received by his subjects with the
utmost joy : and for some time continued faithful to
his engagements, excepting only the last article, which
he either neglected or eluded. So far, however, was
he from assisting the Greeks, that he gave notice of
their machinations to Pepin king of Italy ; raised an
army to oppose his Uncle Adalgisus ; and being join¬
ed by Hildebrand duke of Spoletto, and Yinigise the
genera) of Pepin, he attacked the Greeks in Calabria
soon after they had landed, entirely defeated and took
Ins uncle prisoner, and, as is said, put him to a cruel
death. Yet in a short time Grimoald contracted aft
alliance with the Greek emperor by marrying his niece
Wanzia; and in the fifth year bf his reign a war
broke out between him and Pepin, which continued
for twelve years •, at the end of which time a truce was
concluded. Grimoald survived this pacification onlv
three years, and Was succeeded hy his treasurer Gri¬
moald II. who submitted to Charlemagne after the
death of Pepin ; and from this time the Beneventans
were looked upon as tributaries of the Western emperors*
As yet, however, the city of Naples did not own alle¬
giance to the dukes of Bettevento, but Was held by the
eastern emperors j and frequent Wars took place be¬
tween the Beneventans and Neapolitans. This hap¬
pened to be the case when Grimoald II. ascended the
throne. He concluded a peace with them j which,
however, was of no long continuance j for Theodore,
governor of Naples, having granted protections to
$
661 ] NAP
Dauferius ft noble Beneventan, who had been concerned Naples
in a conspiracy against his prince, Grimoald marched v 
against the city ot Naples, and invested it hy sea and
land. Theodore still refused to deliver up the traitor,
and a general engagement both hy land and sea was
the consequence } in which the Neapolitans were de¬
feated with .so great slaughter, that the sea was stain¬
ed with their blood for more than seven days. Theodore
then consented to deliver up Dauferius, with 8000
ciowns for the expence of the war j and Grimoald not
only pardoned Dauferius, but received him into favour:
I he traitor, however, reflecting on the heinousness
of his crime, was seiied with remorse 5 and went a
pilgrimage to the holy land, carrying a large stone in
his mouth, hy Way of penance, which he neVer took out
hut at his mtftls. 6
In the year 821', Grimoald was murdered by Ra-13 murder
dele his count of Consia, and Sico Gastald of Acerenza e^>an^ Sl,c
the latter of whom succeeded to the dukedom of^fctlud ly
Benevento. Radelchis being sdon after seized with °
remoi se, became a monk 5 while Sifco associated his
son Sicardo with him in the government; and both,
being of unambitious and restless disposition, sought
ft pretence for attacking the Neapolitans. This wfts j^aplL br
soon found, and the city was invested by sea and land, sieged bp
1 he walls Were furiously battered j and part of theni®'co>
being beat down, Sico prepared for a general assault.
Stephen, at that time duke of Naples, pretended to
submit; but, that he might prevent the city from be¬
ing pillaged, entreated Sico to put off his entry till
the morning, and in the mean time sent out his mo¬
ther and his two children as hostages. Si'co consented
to his request j but next morning found the breach
built up, and the Neapolitans prepared for their de¬
fence. Exasperated at their perfidy, he renewed his
attacks With vigour, but without any success; the be¬
sieged defending themselves with the utmost obstinacy.
At last, perceiving that they should not be able to
hold out much longer, they consented to a peace oti
the following conditions, viz. That the Neapolitans
should pay an annual tribute to the princes of Bene¬
vento, and consent of the transporting of the body of
St Januaries from his church without the walls of
Naples to Benevento. These conditions being ratified,
Sico returned with great honour to Benevento; hut
soon after renewed the war, under pretence that the
Neapolitans had neglected to pay the stipulated sum;
and hostilities continued till his death, which happened
iD 8.33- . 8
Sico was succeeded in the government of Benevento an(1 by his
by In's son Sicardo, who had married the daughter of(uccessofl
Dauferius ; and being influenced by the evil counsels
of Roffrid his wife’s brother, oppressed his subjects to
such a degree that they conspired against his life. He
besieged Naples with a powerful army, and took pos.-
session of Acerra and Atella, both of which he forti¬
fied. But Bonus, the Neapolitan duke, defended him¬
self so vigorously, that the Beneventans were obliged
to retire, and even to abandon Acerra and Atella Uu;
fortifications of which were immediately demolished.
At last Sicardo agreed to a peace for five years, on
the intercession of Lothaire, emperor and king of Italy •
but his chief motive was thought to have been the fear
of the Saracens, whom the duke of Naples had called
over from Africa to his assistance ; for no sooner were
4 G 2 the,y
Sicardo.
Xa-ples.
The Sara¬
cens called
in by the
duke of
Naples.
nap E 604
tJiey sent back than Sicarclo attempted to delay the
conclusion of the treaty j but the emperor interposing
his authority, a peace was concluded m the year S36,
after the war had continued, with very littie intei mis¬
sion, for 16 years.
Soon after the conclusion of this peace, the. Saracens
landed at Brindisi j and having made themselves masters
of the place, ravaged all the neighbouring country.
Sicardo marched against them with a numerous army j
but the Saracens having dug a great number of ditches
which they slightly covered over, found means to draw
the Beneventans in among them, whereby they were
repulsed with great loss. However, Sicardo, having
reinforced his army, marched again to attack them ;
but the Saracens, despairing of success, pillaged and
burnt Brindisi, and then retired with their booty, and
a great many captives to Sieily. Sicardo, then, with¬
out any apparent provocation, attacked the city of
Amalfi, levelled its walls with the ground, carried ott
all its wealth, and the body of its tutelar saint Tri-
phomen. A great many of the inhabitants were
transported to Salerno j and by promoting alliances
between the inhabitants of both places, he endeavoured
t* unite Amalfi to his own principality as firmly as
possible.
During all these transactions, Sicardo had tyran-
nixed over his subjects in such a manner, that at last he
became intolerable. Among other acts of injustice,
he imprisoned his own brother Siconolphus j com¬
pelled him to turn priest j and afterwards sent him
bound to Tarento, where he caused him to be shut up
in an old tower that bad been built for a cistern. By
such acts of tyranny his nobles were provoked to con-
hy Rndcl- Spjre against him j and in the year 839 he was mur-
chh, which tlered iri his tellt.
acml war. On the death of Sicardo, Radelehis, his secretary
or treasurer, was unanimously elected prince of Bene-
vento *, but Siconolphus, the last king’s brother, hav¬
ing regained his liberty, formed a great party against
the new prince. Ra dele his did not fail to oppose
him with a formidable army j and a most luinous civil
war ensued. Both parties by turns called in- the Sara¬
cens •, and these treacherous allies acted sometimes
against one, and sometimes against the other j or?„
turned their arms against both, as seemed most suit¬
able to their own interest. Thus the war continued
with the utmost animosity for 12 years, during which
time the principality was almost entirely ruined ; till
at last the emperor Lewis interposed, and obliged the
11 competitors to agree to a partition of the principality,
The pin. By this treaty, Radelchis promised to acknowledge
videdtydl Siconolphus and his successors as lawful princes of the
principality of Salerno, which was declared to contain
Tarento, Latiano, Cassano, Cossenzo, Laino, Luca-
dia, Consia, Montella, Rota, Salerno, Sarno, Cirate-
rium, Furculo, Capua, teano, Sora, and the halt of
the Gastaldate of Acerenza, where it joins Latiano
and Consia. The boundary betwixt Benevento and
Capua was fixed at St Angelo ad Cerros •, Alii Pere-
rrrini was made the boundary betwixt Benevento and
Salerno, and Staffilo betwixt Benevento and Consia.
The monasteries of Monte Cassino and St Vincent
were declared to be immediately under the protection
of the emperor: both princes stipulated that no hosti¬
lities should be committed by either against the sub-
10
Sicardo
murdered
NAP
jects of each other ; and promised to join their forces Naplei
in order to drive out the Saracens. Soon after this ^
pacification, however, both Radelchis and Siconolphus
died •, the former appointing his son Radelgarius,
or Radelcar, to succeed him ; and the latter leaving
an infant son, Sico, to the care of his godfather,
Peter. n
The war with the Saracens proved very unsuccess-Unsucc
ful: neither the united efforts of the princes, nor the tulwar
assistance of the emperor Lewis himself, being able to™™™
expel the infidels j and in 854, Adelgise the second
son of Radelchis, who had now succeeded, on the
death of his brother Radelcar, to the principality of
Benevento, was obliged to pay them an annual sub¬
sidy^ Two years after, Lando, count of Capua, re¬
volted from the prince of Salerno, and could not be
reduced. In the mean time, Sico, the lawful prince
of Salerno, had been poisoned by Count Lando, and.
the principality usurped by Ademarius, the son of
Peter above mentioned*, but in 861, Ademarius himself
was seized and imprisoned by Gauferius, the son of
Dauferius formerly mentioned. This was occasioned
by Ids cruelty and rapaciousness, which entirely alie¬
nated the hearts of 1ns subjects from him, and encour¬
aged Gauferius to become the head of the conspirators.
The Saracens in the mean time committed terrible
ravages throughout the Beneventan territories 5 which
at last obliged Adelgise to enter into an alliance with
Gauferius, and both together sent a most bumble em¬
bassy to the emperor Lewis, requesting him to take
them under his protection. About the same time an
embassy arrived from Constantinople, proposing a junc¬
tion of the forces of the eastern and western empires
against the infidels j upon which Lewis gave orders for.
assembling a formidable army. But in the mean time
Adelgise fell off from his alliance, and made peace
with "the Saracens ; nay, according to some, he en¬
couraged them in their incursions, and it was at his
desire that they invaded the duchy of Capua, and after¬
wards that of Naples, which they ravaged in a most
barbarous manner. The Neapolitans, in conjunction
with the duke.of Spoletto and the count of Marsi, en¬
deavoured to oppose them *, but being defeated, the
Saracens continued their ravages with redoubled fury,
and retired to Bari, which was their capital city, with
an immense booty.
In 866, Lewis arrived at Sora with his army: and
having marched to Capua, was there joined by Lan-
dulpli, the bishop and count, with a body of Capuans :
but Landulph soon after persuading his countrymen to
desert, Lewis marched against that city, which he took
after a siege of three months, and almost totally de¬
stroyed. In the end of the year he was joined by
Gauferius with bis quota of troops, having ordered the
eyes of Ardemarius to be put out in his absence. Lewis.,
confirmed him in the principality, and marched with
his army to Benevento, where Adelgise received him
with great respect. Having reduced some inconsider¬
able places belonging to the Saracens, Lewis soon after
invested Bari*, but as the Saracens received continual
supplies from their countrymen settled in Sicily, an
besides were protected by the Neapolitans, he could
not reduce the place till the year 871, though he had
received considerable assistance from bis brotherLotlia-
rius, and the Greek emperor bad sent him a
Naples
i,3
’hey are
'it last ex
relied,
14
nit soon
eturn.
e pope
comes
Mr tribu
NAP [ ^05
200 sail. The expulsion of the Saracens was complet¬
ed the same year by the taking of Tarento ; after which
the emperor returned with great glory to Benevento,
resolving next to carry his arms into Sicily, and expel
the infidels from thence also. But his future schemes
of conquest were frustrated by a quarrel between him
and Adelgise. The latter, pretending to have been in¬
sulted by the empress, and oppressed by the French,
seized the emperor himself, and kept him prisoner for
40 days. His imprisonment would probably have been
of much longer continuance, had not a body of Sara¬
cens arrived from Africa, who, being joined by such of
their countrymen as had concealed themselves in Italy,
laid siege to Salerno with an army of 30,000 men, ra¬
vaging the neighbouring country at the same time with
the utmost barbarity. By this new invasion Adelgise
was so much alarmed, that he set the emperor at liber¬
ty, but first obliged him to swear that he would not re¬
venge the insult that had been offered him, and that he
would never return to Benevento. Lewis having then
joined his forces to those of the prince of Salerno, soon
obliged the Saracens to raise the siege of Salerno j
but though they, were prevented from taking that
city, they entirely destroyed the inhabitants of Cala¬
bria, leaving it, according to the expression of one of
the historians of that time, “ as desolate as it was at the
flood.”
In the year 873, Lewis being absolved from bis oath
by the pope, went to Benevento, and was reconciled
to Adelgise j but soon after this reconciliation he died,
and the Saracens continued their ravages to such a de¬
gree that the inhabitants of Bari were constrained to
deliver up their city to the Greeks. At the same time
the Salernitans, Neapolitans, Cajetans, and Amalfi-
tans, having made peace with the Saracens, were com¬
pelled to agree to their proposal of invading the terri¬
tories of the Roman pontiff'. His holiness exerted
himself to the utmost, both with spiritual and tempo¬
ral weapons, in order to defend his right j but was at
last reduced to the necessity of becoming a tributary
to the infidels, and promising to pay them a large sum
annually.
In the mean time, all Italy was thrown into the
greatest confusion by the death of Charles the Bald,
who died of poison at Pavia, as he was coming to the
pope’s assistance. Sergius duke of Naples continued
a firm friend to the infidels j nor could he be detached
from their interests even by the thunder of a papal ex-
communication : but unluckily happening to fall into
the hands of his bi’other Athanasius bishop of Naples,
the zeal of that prelate prompted him to put out his
eyes, and send him a close prisoner to Rome ; for which
the highest encomiums were bestowed on him by the
holy father.
In 876, Adelgise was murdered by two of his ne¬
phews j one of whom, by name Gaideris, seized the
principality. About the same time Landulph bishop
of Capua dying, a civil war ensued among his children,
though their father’s dominions had been divided a-
mong them according to his will. The princes ol Sa¬
lerno and Benevento, the duke of Spoletto, and Gre¬
gory the Greek governor of Bari and Otranto, took
different sides in the quarrel, as they thought most
proper ; and to complete the confusion, the new bishop
was expelled, and his brother, though a layman, cho-
3 NAP
sen to that office, and even consecrated by the pope, Naplr
who wrote to Gauferius, forbidding him to attack Ca- 14'" v~
pita under pain of excommunication. But though Gau-
ierius was, in general, obedient to the pope’s commands,
he proved refractory in this particular, and laid siege to
Capua for two years successively.
Thus the Capuan territories were reduced to the
most miserable situation j being obliged to maintain at
the same time the armies of the prince of Benevento
and the duke of Spoletto. The Saracens, in the mean
time, took the opportunity of strengthening themselves
in Italy ; and Athanasius, notwithstanding the great
commendations he had received from the pope for put¬
ting out his brother’s eyes, consented to enter into an
alliance with them, in conjunction with whom he ra¬
vaged the territories of the pope, as w'ell as those of Be¬
nevento and Spoletto, plundering all the churches, mo¬
nasteries, towns, and villages, through which they pas¬
sed. At the same time the prince of Salerno v’as obli¬
ged to grant them a settlement in the neighbourhood
ol his capital ; the duke of Gaeta invited them to his
assistance, being oppressed" by the count of Capua 5 and
even the pope himself was obliged to make peace with
them, and to grant them a settlement on the north side
of the Carigliano, where they fortified themselves, and
continued for more than 40 years.
To put a stop to the confusion which reigned in .
Italy, the pope now thought proper to restore the bi¬
shop of Capua, who had been expelled, but allowed his
brother to reside in the city, and govern one half of
the diocese; but notwithstanding this partition, the
civil dissensions continued with the utmost violence, the
nearest relations murdering or banishing each other,
according as the fortune of the one or the other pre¬
vailed. Athanasius, notwithstanding all the pope’s re¬
monstrances, continued his alliance with the Saracens 5
in conjunction with whom he ravaged the territory of
Benevento, and fomented the divisions in Capua, in
hopes of being able to make a conquest of it. At last
his holiness thought proper to issue a sentence of ex-
communication against him : but this attached him to
the Saracens more than ever : insomuch that he sent
to Suchaim, king of the Saracens in Sicily, desiring
him to come over and command a great body of his
countrymen who had settled at the foot of Mount Ve¬
suvius. Suchaim accepted the invitation, and immedi¬
ately turned his anus against Athanasius $ allowing his
troops to live at discretion in the territory of Naples,
where they ravished the women, and plundered the in¬
habitants. These calamities were, by the superstitious
Neapolitans, imagined to be a consequence of the sen¬
tence- of excommunication y and therefore they used
their utmost endeavours to persuade the prelate to con¬
clude a league with some Christian prince, and renounce
all connexion with the infidels. In this they at last
proved successful, and Athanasius concluded an alliance
with Guaimarius prince of Salerno 5 in consequence of
which the Saracens were obliged to quit the Neapoli¬
tan territories, and retire to Agropoli. Athanasius
then directed his force against Capua, of which he made
himself master in the year 882. The Saracens, how¬
ever, still continued their incursions, and ravaged several
provinces in such a manner, that they became entirely
desolate.
These confusions continued for a long time j during
which
'Naples
NAP [
wVicli tlie Greeks found an opportunity of making
themselves masters of Benevento, and well nigh became
masters also of Salerno; but in this they failed through
the treachery of the bishop, and in the year 896 they
were totally expelled by the bishop, four years after
they had become masters of it. In 9*5 ^he Saracens
The Sara- received such an overthrow at Cafigliano, that scarce
tens almost one of them remained. However, a new body soon ar-
cntirely cut rived from Africa, and infested the sea coasts for some
Naples.
off.
17
The Nor¬
mans first
known in
Italy.
time lonrrer. A war also ensued between Landulph
and the Greeks; which concluded disadvantageously
for the former, who was obliged to submit to the empe¬
ror of Constantinople in 943.
In 961, Otho the Great, king of Germany, invaded
Italy with a powerful army against Berengarius lit.
and, marching to Home, received the imperial crown
from the hands of the pope. In 964, he erected Ca¬
pua into a principality, received homage from the
'other princes of Lombardy, and formed a design of re¬
covering Puglia and Calabria from tbe Greeks. But
in this last scheme he failed; and after various hostili¬
ties a treaty was concluded, and the young princess
Theophania married to Otho’s son, afterwards em¬
peror.
All this time the Saracens continued their incursions;
and the Greeks had gained ground so much, that they
Were now7 in possession of two-thirds of the present
kingdom of Naples ; but in the year 1002 or IC03, the
Normans first began to be remarkable in Italy. They
had, about a century before, embraced Christianity, and
.become very zealous in all the superstitions which were
then practised. They were particularly zealous in visi¬
ting sacred places, especially Rome, and the holy se¬
pulchre at Jerusalem ; and being naturally of a very
martial disposition, they forced through great bodies of
Creeks and Saracens who opposed their passage. A-
bout this time 40, or, as others write, too, of these
Normans, returning from Jerusalem by sea, landed at
fSalerno in the habit of pilgrims, where they were ho¬
nourably received by Guaimarins. During their resi¬
dence at Salerno, a great body of Saracens landed, and
invested the city. Guaimarius, not being in a condi¬
tion to oppose the invaders by force, was preparing to
pay them a large sum of money, which they demanded
when the Normans proposed to attack them ; and, ha¬
ving got arms and horses from the prince, they engaged
the infidels with such fury and bravery, that they en¬
tirely defeated them, and obliged them to fly to their
ships. By this complete victory Guaimarius W7as filled
with such admiration of the valour of these strangers,
that he entreated them to remain in his country; offer¬
ing them lands, and the most honourable employ¬
ments : but not being able to prevail with them to stay
in Italy, or even accept of his presents ; at their depar¬
ture he sent some ambassadors with them to Normandy,
in vessels loaded with exquisite fruits, rich furniture for
horses, &c. in order to allure the valiant Normans to
leave their own country. This kind invitation encou¬
raged a Norman chief, named Osmond Drcngot, to set¬
tle in Italy about the year 1015 ; having killed another
lord in a duel, which obliged him to leave his own
country, in order to avoid the resentment of his sove¬
reign, Robert duke of Normandy. In the mean time,
the city of Bari had revolted from the Greeks, and
chosen one Mello for their leader, whose wife and
606 ] NAP
children happened soon after to fall into the hands 6f
their enemies, and were sent prisoners to Constantinople.
No sooner, therefore, did Mello hear of the arrival of
these adventurers, than he engaged them to assist him; U)m ^
and having drawn together a considerable army, defeat- defeat the
ed the Greeks with great slaughter, and obliged them Greek*,
to abandon their camp. In this engagement the Nor¬
mans distinguished themselves by their bravery; and
the news of their success soon brought from Norman¬
dy an innumerable multitude of their countrymen,
with their vvives and children. By this reinforcement,
Mello gained two other victories, took a great many
towns, and obliged the Greeks to abandon a large
territory ; but, in 1019, they were utterly defeated, ^
and every thing recovered by the Greeks. The Greek but are a
general, Bajanus, continued to go on with such sur-last defer;
prising success, that he almost entirely re-establishedet* ^ytlwE
the alfairs of his countrymen in Italy, and made a dis¬
tinct province of the western part of Puglia, which
he called Capatanata, and which to this day retains the
name of Capitanata. His great progress at last alarm¬
ed the emperors of Germany ; and, in 1027, Pandul-
plnts prince of Capua made himself master of Naples ;
but ivas obliged, three years afterwards, to leave it, by
the Normans, who built the city of Aversa, which
was now7 erected into a county. In consequence of this
piece of good fortune, great numbers of Norman ad¬
venturers migrated into Italy; among whom were Wil¬
liam, Drogo, and Umbert, three of the sons of Tancred
duke of Hautville ; from whose posterity those princes
wrere descended, who first conquered the island of Sicily
from the Saracens, and formed the present kingdom of
Naples.
In 1040, the Greek emperor Michael Paleologus,
in order to secure the affection of his fickle subjects,
undertook the conquest of Italy from the Saracens,
and for that purpose sent a general named MichaelMa~
niacus into Sicily. This commander, hearing of the
great reputation of the Normans, sent to Guaimarius,
prince of Salerno, entreating him to grant him some of
those warriors. His request was mast willingly heark¬
ened to by the prince of Salerno, w7ho, to encourage
the Normans to engage in the expedition, promised
them some additional rewards besides the emperor’s pay.
William, Drogo, and Umbert, accordingly marched 20
from Salerno Avith 300 of their countrymen ; and, pas- Tbe Noi¬
sing over into Sicily, distinguished themselves most re*^ae"S;^J
markably in the conquest of that island. Maniacus ac- sicj]y(
knowlcdged, that the recovery of Messina Avas chiefly
owing to their valour; and William Avith his Normans
gained a complete victory over the Saracens before Sy¬
racuse, Avhere he killed the governor of the city in
simile combat. Maniacus made himself master of Sy¬
racuse, and almost entirely reduced the whole island;
but, being accused of treason, Was next year carried
prisoner to Constantinople. His successor Doceanua,
being a matt of no abilities, quickly lost the whole
island except Messina, and treated his Norman auxi¬
liaries Avith the utmost contempt. He Would not al¬
low them any share of the booty ; and even caused one
Ardoin, a noble Lombard, and associate and interpre¬
ter of the Normans, to be wdiipped round the camp,
because he refused to part Avith the horse of a Saracen
whom he had slain in single combat. The consequences
of this tyrannical behaviour Avere very fatal to the
3 Greeks.
N
Naples
A p [ 607 ] NAP
after obtained leave to return about the most important affairs of the nation. Argyrus
21
'heir con-
icst.
Greeks. Ardoin soon
1 to Italy under a pretence of a vow, and all the Normans
embarked at night along with him ; but instead of go¬
ing to Rome, Ardoin went immediately to Aversa,
where he persuaded Count Rainulphus, sovereign of
that province, to join with him in the design he had
formed of attacking the Greek provinces in Italy,
which he showed him would be an easy conquest, as
the inhabitants submitted with great reluctance to the
Greeks, and the provinces were at that time almost en¬
tirely defenceless. Rainulphus approved of the scheme,
and raised 300 soldiers, whom he sent under 12 offi¬
cers to join the other Normans under the sons of Tail¬
ored j and made an agreement with Ardoin, that the
conquests should be equally divided among the chief
leaders. Their first enterprise was the reduction of
Melfis, one of the strongest cities in Puglia, which
presently surrendered; and they increased its fortifica¬
tions so much, that it thenceforth became impregnable.
Soon after this they made themselves masters of Veno-
sa, Ascoli, and Lavello, with very little opposition.
Doceanus, alarmed with the rapidity of their con¬
quests, immediately left Sicily, and marched with his
army into Puglia, where he attacked the invaders near
the river Oiiviento j but after a fierce engagement, he
was obliged to retire with considerable loss. The
Greeks were soon after defeated a second time at Can-
and in a third engagement, which happened near
Naples.
the river Ofanto, the army of Doceanus was entirely
routed, and he himself obliged to fly to Bari. On
this bad success Doceanus was ordered to return to
his command in Sicily, and another general was sent
with an army into Puglia. This new commander,
however, had no better success than his predecessor;
for his army was entirely defeated in an engagement
with the Normans, and he himself taken prisoner. A-
tenulphus, brother to one of the princes of Benevento
on whom the Normans had conferred the chief com¬
mand, set at liberty the captive general without con¬
sulting them, on receiving from him a considerable
sum of money. With this the Normans were so much
displeased that they deprived Atenulphus of his com¬
mand, and bestowed it on Argyrus son to the late
Aiello, who had escaped from Constantinople, and now
assumed the title of duke and prince of Italy. Before
this time also Maniacus, whom we have-formerly men¬
tioned, had returned to Italy ; and to strike the great¬
er terror into the revolted cities, had executed a num¬
ber of people of all ages and sexes with great inhuma¬
nity. Soon after this Alaniacus openly rebelled against
the Greek emperor Constantinus, and prevailed upon
his own army to proclaim him emperor, beginning
hostilities immediately against the Greek cities. Ar¬
gyrus at the same time took Giovenazzo and besieged
Trani, and soon after besieged Alaniacus himself in
Tarento 5 but he, being afraid of falling into the
hands of the Normans, fled to Otranto, and from thence
to Bulgaria, where being entirely defeated by one of the
emperor’s generals, he was taken prisoner, and had his
head struck off.
The Normans having now conquered the greatest
part of Puglia, proceeded to make a division of their
conquest, in which, after each commander had got his
proper share, the city of AIelfi< was left common to all,
and appropriated as a place for assembling to consult.
alone was neglected in this division ; but he, having 1
gained the favour of the emperor by expelling the re¬
bel Maniacus from Italy, wTas by him created duke of
Bari, on purpose to check the power of the Normans,
with the title oiprince and duke of Puglia. The Nor¬
mans, however, were too powerful to be much awed
by Argyrus, and behaved with great insolence to the
neighbouring princes j but as they could not be expel¬
led by force, and were confirmed in their conquests by
Henry II. emperor of Germany in 1047, the Greek
emperor attempted to get rid of them, by sending Ar¬
gyrus with large sums of money to bribe them to enter
into his service against the Persians. But they, per¬
ceiving the snare, replied that they were resolved not
to leave Italy unless they were expelled by force : upon
which Argyrus made use of the same money in bribing 22
the Puglians to assassinate these invaders. This brought ^■reat,lu™i
on a massacre, in which greater numbers of Normans L.ers of
perished than had fallen in all the late wars. Argyrus sacred138'
attempted to take advantage of the confusion produced ^
by this massacre, but was defeated 5 after which he
had recourse to Pope Leo, beseeching him to deliver
Italy from these cruel tyrants : but this scheme proved
still more unsuccessful than the others had been ; for the
pope himself was defeated and taken prisoner; and, in
consequence of the respect showed him by the Normans, They are
gi anted them, as a lief of the holy see, all the con- confirmed
quests they had made or should make in Calabria and bythe PoPe'
Sicily. in all theix
Soon after this, the Norman power became extreme-C01<1UtStS*
ly foimidable 5 the famous Robert Guiscard ascended;
the throne in 1056. He made great'progress in the
conquest of Calabria, and reduced most of the cities,
which held out for the Greeks in these parts. About
the same time the counts of Capua were expelled from
their territory j and the abbot Desiderius mentions his
having seen the children of Landulphus A7, the last
count, going about as vagabonds, and begging for
their support. The pope alarmed by these conquests,
excommunicated the Normans in wholesale, pretending,
that they had seized some of the territories belonging
to the church ; but by the pretended submission of
Robert, he not only was persuaded to take off the sen¬
tence of excommunication, but to invest him with the
provinces of Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily. After
this, he continued the war against the Greeks with
great success.
In 1071, in conjunction with hisbro- ^. .,24
ther Roger, he conquered the island of Sicily, and.^J/w*
gave the investiture of the whole island to him with the Robert T
title oi count, reserving to himself only the half of Pa-Guisturdr
lermo, Messina, and the valley of Demona. The like
success attended, his arms against Salerno in 1074 ; but
after this, having unadvisedly taken some places from
the pope, he again fell under*the sentence of excommu¬
nication j yet he was reconciled to him in 1080, and
received a second time the investiture of all his domi¬
nions. The next year he undertook an expedition
against the Greeks j and though the emperor was as¬
sisted by a Venetian fleet, Robert made himself master
of the island of Corfu, reduced Durazzo, and great
part of. Romania j insomuch that by the success of his,
arms, and his near approach to Constantinople, he,
struck an universal terror among the Greeks. But,
while Robert was thus extending his conquests, he was,
alarmed.
Napics.
NAP E
ahirmed ty the news af a formidable rebellion in Italy,
and that the emperor Henry had taken the city oi
Home, and closely shut up the pope in the castle oi bt
Ano-elo. Robert, therefore, leaving the command ot
tlie°army to his son Boemund, returned to Italy, where
he immediately dispersed the rebels, ami released the
pope, while his son gained a considerable victory over
the Greeks. After this Robert made great prepara¬
tions for another expedition into Greece, ifc order to
second his son Boemund. Alexius Comnenus, who
was about this time declared emperor by the Greek ar¬
my, being assisted by the Venetian fleet, endeavoured
to oppose his passage'; but was entirely defeated, with
the loss of a great many galleys. But a final stop was
now put to his enterprises by his death, which hap¬
pened in the island of Corfu in loS’y.
Though the power of the Normans was thus tho¬
roughly established in Italy and Sicily, and though
the prince of Benevento was in 1130 invested by the
pope with the title of king of Sicily, yet by reason ol
the civil dissensions which took place among themselves,
and the general confusion which reigned in Italy m
2. those ages, they were obliged, notwithstanding all
And by the their valour, to submit to the emperor in 1195. By
emperor of him the Sicilians were treated with so great cruelty,
Germany. tjiat tiie empress Constantia was induced to conspire
against him in 1197, took him prisoner, and released
him only on condition of his sending off his army im¬
mediately for the Holy Land. This was complied with ;
hut the emperor did not long survive the reconciliation,
being poisoned, as was supposed, by order of the em¬
press. , . .
In 1254 the pope claimed the kingdom as a het
'devolved on the church in consequence ot a sentence of
deposition pronounced against King Frederick at the
council of Lyons; and, in 1263, the kingdom was, in
consequence of this right, conferred on Charles count
of Anjou. After much contention and bloodshed, the
26 French thus became masters of 'Sicily and Naples.
The French'J'ljgjj. government was insupportably tyrannical; and
became .it x*  a 1 L *-1 o o f li o i r* Lmrr cn tivn-
608 ]
NAP
became
masters of
Sicily and
Naples.
at the same time the haughtiness of their king so pro¬
voked the pope, that he resolved to humble him.—
Charles had resolved on an expedition against Constan¬
tinople ; and for this purpose had fitted out a fleet ot
IOO galleys, 30 large ships, 200 transports, besides
many other smaller vessels, on board of which he in¬
tended to embark 10,000 horse, and a numerous ar¬
my of foot. This formidable armament greatly alarm¬
ed the emperor Michael Paleologus ; for which reason
he entered into a negotiation with John di Proeida, a
-noble Salernitan, lord of the isle of Procida in the bay
-of Naples, who had formed a scheme for a general re¬
volt in the island of Sicily. John, though a noble¬
man, was also a physician, and had been counsellor to
two former princes, and even to King Charles himself;
but being stripped of his estate by the king under pre¬
tence of treason, and his wife being debauched by the
French, he retired to Constantia queen of Arragon,
where he was created a baron of the kingdom of Va¬
lencia, by her husband King Peter, and lord of Luxen,
Benizzano, and Palma. As he was greatly exasperat¬
ed against the French, he employed many spies both
in Puglia and Sicily; and being informed that the Si¬
cilians were totally disaffected to fhe French, he came
to the island in disguise, and concerted a plan with the
3
most powerful of the malecontents for a revolution in Naples,
favour of Constantia, though she derived her right only < v—
as being the daughter of a former usurper named Man¬
fred. Procida then set out for Constantinople, where
in some private conferences with the emperor, he per¬
suaded him, that the most probable means of defeating
Charles’s scheme was by assisting the Spaniards and
Sicilian malecontents. Paleologus accordingly grant¬
ed him a large sum of money, and on his departure
sent one of his secretaries along with him, who, land¬
ing in Sicily, had a conference with the chief conspi¬
rators. John, having received letters from them, dis¬
guised himself in the habit of a I ranciscan, and went
to Suriano in the neighbourhood of Rome. As he well
knew the enmity which subsisted between the pope and
King Charles, lie disclosed his design to his holiness ;
who readily entered into, his measures, wrote to Peter
to hasten his armament, promising him the investiture
of the island as soon as he had taken possession of it;
and, by refusing the assistance he had promised to
Charles, obliged him for the present to delay his ex¬
pedition. In the beginning of the year 1280, Procida
returned to Arragon, and by showing the letters from
the pope and Sicilian barons, prevailed on Peter to
embark in his design, by assuring him of the assistance
of Paleologus. This king of Arragon accordingly pre¬
pared a formidable fleet under pretence of invading
Africa, and is even said to have received 20,000 du--
cats from Charles, in order to assist him in his prepa-
Tations.
But while John went on thus successfully With his
scheme, all his measures were in danger of being broke
by the death of Pope Nicholas. The new pope, Mar¬
tin IV. was entirely in the interest of Charles, on whom,
in 1 281, he conferred the senatorial dignity of Rome.
Procida, however, still resolved to prosecute his scheme;
and, leaving Italy, had another conference with the
conspirator^ in Sicily ; after which, he again went to
Constantinople, and obtained from Paleologus 30,000
ounces of gold, with which he immediately returned
to Arragon. The death of Nicholas had damped the
ardour of Peter ; but, being urged with great earnest¬
ness by John, he again renewed his preparations;
which alarmed the pope and the king of I ranee. In
consequence of this they sent a message to him, desir¬
ing to know against what Saracens he designed to
employ his armament. In this particular Petei refu¬
sed to satisfy them; upon which they earnestly coun¬
selled Charles to guard against an invasion : but he
neglected their advice, being wholly intent on his
eastern expedition, and encouraged by a revolt which
had happened in Greece ; and to facilitate his. expedi¬
tion, he prevailed on the pope to excommunicate the
Greeks, on pretence that they had broken some of the
articles of union concluded at the council of Lyons a
few years before. Peter in the mean time continued
his preparations with great diligence, intending to put ^
to sea the following summer. Procida had returned toTjiey .dK
Palermo, to wait for a favourable opportunity of put- massacres
ting his design in execution, which was soon aftorded
him by the French. On Easter Monday, March 30.
1282, the chief conspirators had assembled at Palermo ;
and, after dinner, both the Palermitans and Irench
went in a grand procession to the church of Monreale,
about three miles without the city. While they were
sporting
NAP
Naples.
Ill
Na
sporting in the fields, a bride happened to pass by with
— her train, who being observed by one Drochettus, a
Frenchman, he ran to her, and began to use her in a
rude manner, under pretence of searching for conceal¬
ed arms. A young Sicilian, exasperated at this af¬
front stabbed him with his own sword ; and a tumult
ensuing, 200 French were immediately murdered. The
enraged populace then ran to the city, crying out,
“ Jf'Ct the French die, Let the French dieand, with-
out distinction of age or sex, slaughtered all of that na¬
tion they could find, even such as had fled to the churches.
The conspirators then left Palermo, and excited the in¬
habitants to murder the French all over the island, ex¬
cepting in Messina, which city at first refused to be con¬
cerned in the revolt. But, being invited by the Paler¬
mitans to throw off the French yoke, a few weeks after
the citizens in a tumultous manner destroyed some of
the French ; and pulling down the arms of King Charles,
and erecting those of the city, chose one Baldwin for
their governor, who saved the remaining French from
the fury of the populace, and allowed them to transport
themselves, with their wives and children to Jtalv.
Eight thousand persons are said to have been murdered
on this occasion.
Immediately after this massacre, the Sicilians offered
their allegiance to the king of Arragon ; who accepted
of the invitation, and landed with his forces at Trapani.
From thence he went to Palermo, where he was crown¬
ed king of Sicily with great solemnity, and Charles left
the island with precipitation. The day after he landed
his army in Italy, the Arragonian fleet arrived, took
29 of his galleys, and the next day burnt 80 transports
in piesence of his army. Soon after this Charles sent
an embassy to Peter, accusing him of perfidy', in invading
his dominions in time of peace; and, according to some,
challenged him at the same time to decide the matter
by single combat. Others say that the challenge was
given by Peter. Certain it is, however, that a chal¬
lenge was given, and to appearance accepted : but Pe¬
ter determined to employ much more effectual means in
support of his pretensions than trusting to a duel; and
therefore pushed on his operations most vigorously,
while his adversary trifled away his time: and thus he
at last became master of the congested kingdom ; which,
however, he did not long enjoy, dying about the end
of the year 128
By his will, I eter left the kingdom of Ariagon to
his eldest son Alphonsus, and Sicily to Don James
his other son, who was also to succeed to the kingdom
of Arragon in case Alphonsus should die without male
issue. Accordingly, Don James was solemnly crown¬
ed at Palermo the 2d of February 1286. In 1295,
however, he deserted them, and tamely resigned up his
right to Charles, son to him above mentioned, in a
n,1.a??er Per^aPs unparalleled. On his resignation the
Sicilians conferred the crown upon his brother Don
Frederic : after which the war continued with great
violence till the year when a peace was concluded,
and the kingdoms of Naples and Sicily formally dis-
ing- joined ; i* rederic being allowed to keep the latter, under
[ 609 ]
NAP
Naples
<4 of1
Sic dinl(**n ^ie possession of the former, which he quietly enioy-
ini, till IN*    J J J
the name of Trmaci'ia; and Charles being confirmed
3011
ed till his death in 1309.
Naples continued to be governed by its own kinps
Voi., XIV. Part II. b
till the beginning of the 16th century, when the kings
of Fiance and Spain contended for the sovereignty of .
this country. Frederic, at that time king of Naples,
resigned the sovereignty to Louis XII. on being created
duke of Anjou, and receiving an annual pension of 20
30,000 ducats. But, in 1504J the French were entire-The Spa-
ly defeated by the Spaniards, and obliged to evacuate n'a,^s he-
the kingdom; and the following year Louis renoun-
ced all pretensions to the crown, which from this time Naples,
hath remained almost constantly in the hands of the
Spaniards.
The government of the Spaniards proved no less op¬
pressive to the Neapolitans than that of others had been.
The kings ol Spain set no bounds to their exactions,
and of consequence the people rvere loaded with all
manner ot taxes ; even the most indispensable necessa¬
ries of life not being exempted. In 1647, a new tax
was laid on fruit; winch the people looked upon as
the most grievous oppression, the chief part of their
subsistence, during the summer months, being fruit,
which in the kingdom of Naples is very plentiful and
delicious. 1 he edict for collecting the new duty was 30
110 sooner published, than the people began to murmur A general
in a tumultuous manner; and when the viceroy came.revolt-
abroad, they surrounded his coach, bawling out to
have their grievances redressed. They were encoura¬
ged in their sedition, by the news that'the citizens of
Palermo had actually revolted on account of the im¬
position of new duties. I he viceroy, therefore, appre¬
hensive of greater disorders, began to think of taking
oil the tax ; but those who farmed the tax having brib¬
ed some of bis favourites, he tvas by their means per¬
suaded not to abolish it. The indignation of the people,
who had suspected his intention, was now greatly in¬
creased, especially as they were privately excited by se¬
veral malecontents. The farmers of the revenue, and
all those concerned in raising the taxes had incurred the
hatred and detestation of the people, particularly of 31
'J ommaso Aniello, commonly called Massaniello g/’Account of
Amalfi, a fisherman, whose wife, having been discover- ^assanh‘1-
ed in smuggling a small quantity of meal, was imprison
ed, and condemned to pay a fine of 100 ducats.
Massaniello, a few years before had come to Naples
from Amalfi, where bis father had been a fisherman.
At this time he was about 24 years of age, and the
father of four children. He was of a middle stature,
and an agreeable aspect; was distinguished for his bold¬
ness, activity, and integrity; and had a great influence
with his companions, by whom he was beloved and
esteemed. As be was obliged even to sell his furniture
to pay the heavy fine, he had conceived an implacable
hatred against the farmers of the taxes, and was also
moved with compassion for the miserable state of the
city and kingdom. He therefore formed a design,
with some of his companions, to raise a tumult in the
market place oi) the festival-day of the Carmelites,
usually celebrated about the middle of July, when be¬
tween 500 and 600 youths entertain the people by a
mock fight; one half of them, in the character of
Turks, defending a wooden castle, which is attacked
and stormed by the other half in the character of
Christians. Massaniello being appointed captain of
one of these parties, and one Fione, who was privy to
his design, commanding the other, for several weeks
t 4 H before
lo,
NAP [ <5i'
Naples, before the festival they were very diligent in reviewing
——-v—' ■' and training their followers, who were armed with
sticks and reeds •, but a small and unforeseen accident
tempted them to begin their enterprise without waiting
for the festival.
On the 7th of July a dispute happening in the mar¬
ket-place betwixt the tax-gatherers and some garden¬
ers of Pozzuolo who had brought some figs into the
city, whether the buyer or seller should pay the du¬
ty *, after the tumult had continued several hours, Mas-
saniello, who was present with his company, excited
the mob to pillage the office built in the market for
receiving the duty, and to drive away the officers
with stones. The elect of the people, who, by decid¬
ing against the gardeners, had increased the tumult,
ran to the palace, and informed the viceroy, who most
imprudently neglected all means of putting a stop to
the commotion. Massaniello, in the mean time, being
joined by great numbers of people, ordered his young
troop to set fire to all the offices for the taxes through
the city 5 which command being executed with de¬
spatch, he then conducted them directly to the palace,
•where the viceroy, instead of ordering his Spanish and
German guards to disperse them, encouraged their in¬
solence by timidly granting their demands. As they
rushed into the palace in a furious manner, he escaped
by a private door, and endeavoured to save himself in
Castel del Ovo ; but being overtaken by the rioters in
the streets, he was trampled upon by them, and pulled
by the hair and whiskers. However, by throwing some
handfuls of gold among them, he again escaped, and
took sanctuary in a convent of Minims, where, being
joined by the archbishop of Naples, Cardinal I iloma-
rini, and several nobles, by their advice he signed a bil¬
let, by which he abolished all taxes upon provisions.
As a means to quell the tumult, he likewise desired
the cardinal to offer Massaniello a pension of 2400
crowns, who generously rejected the bribe •, and declar¬
ed, that if the viceroy would keep his word, he would
find them obedient subjects.
It was now expected that the tumult would cease j
but Massaniello, upon his return to the market-place,
being joined by several malecontents, among whom
were Genuino and one Peronne, who had formerly
been a captain of the Sbirri, he was advised by them
to order the houses of those concerned in raising the
tax to be burned •, which were accordingly in a few days
reduced to ashes, with all their rich furniture. Massa¬
niello being now absolute master of the whole city,
and being joined by great numbers of people of despe¬
rate fortunes, he required the viceroy, who had retir¬
ed to the Castel Nuovo, to abolish all the taxes, and to
deliver up the writ of exemption granted by Charles V.
This new demand greatly embarrassed the viceroy }
but to appease the people, he drew up a false deed in
letters of gold, and sent it to them by their favourite
the duke of Matalone, who had before been in con¬
finement. The fraud, however, being discovered, the
duke was pulled from his horse and maltreated by the
mob, and at length committed as a prisoner to Peronne.
This accident, to the great joy of the viceroy, enraged
the people against the nobility, several of whom they
killed, burnt the houses of others, and threatened to
extirpate them all. Massaniello, in the mean time, tat-
d ] NAP
tered and half naked commanded his followers, who Naples,
were now well armed, and reckoned about 100,000' 1 1 v"*'
men, with a most absolute sway. He ate and slept
little, gave his orders with great precision and judge¬
ment, appeared full of moderation, without ambition
and interested views. But the duke of Matalone hav¬
ing procured his liberty by bribing Peronne, the viceroy
imitated his example, and secretly corrupted Genuino
to betray his chief. A conspiracy was accordingly
formed against Massaniello by Matalone and Peronne j
the duke, who was equally exasperated against the vice¬
roy, proposing, that after his death his brother I>.
Joseph should head the rebels.
Massaniello in the mean time, by means of the car¬
dinal archbishop, was negotiating a general peace and
accommodation j but while both parties were assem¬
bling in the convent of the Carmelites, the banditti
hired by Matalone made an unsuccessful attempt upon
Massaniello’s life. His followers immediately killed
150 of them. Peronne and D. Joseph being discovered
to be concerned in the conspiracy, were likewise put
to death, and the duke with great difficulty escaped.
Massaniello by this conspiracy was rendered more sus¬
picious and severe. He began to abuse his power by
putting several persons to death upon slight pretences ;
and, to force the viceroy to an accommodation, he cut
off all communication with the castles, which were un¬
provided with provision and ammunition.—The vice¬
roy likewise being afraid lest the I rench should take
advantage of the commotion, earnestly desired to agree
to a treaty; which was accordingly concluded on the A
fifth day of the insurrection, by the mediation of the cenc]ude:
archbishop. By the treaty it was stipulated, that all between
duties imposed since the time of Charles V. should be Wassame
abolished *, that the writ of exemption granted by that a
emperor should be delivered to the people ; that tor the
future no new taxes should be imposed j that the vote
of the elect of the people should be equal to the votes
of the nobility ; than an act of oblivion should be grant¬
ed for all that was past j and that the people should
continue in arms under Massaniello till the ratification
of the treaty by the king.
By this treaty, no less than 10,000 persons who
fattened upon the blood of the public were ruined.—
The people, when it was solemnly published, manifest¬
ed an extreme joy, believing they had now recovered
all their ancient rights and privileges. Massaniello, at
the desire of the viceroy, went to the palace to visit
him, accompanied by the archbishop, who was obli¬
ged to threaten him with excommunication, before
he would consent to lay aside his rags and assume a
magnificent dress. He was received by the duke with
the greatest demonstrations of respect and friendship,
while the duchess entertained his wife, and presented
her with a robe of cloth of silver, and some jewels.— ^
The viceroy, to preserve some shadow of authority, Massanie
appointed him captain-general j and at his departure lo appotf
made him a present of a golden chain of great value>
which with great difficulty he was prevailed upon to&
accept 5 but yielded at length to the entreaties of the
cardinal. Next day, in consequence of the commission
granted him by the" viceroy, he began to exercise all
the functions of sovereign authority 5 and having caused
a scaffold to be erected in one of the streets, and se-
34 .
assassi
ted.
N, A P [ 6l
veral gibbets, he judged all crimes, whether civil or
military, in the last resort; and ordered the guilty to
be immediately put to death, which was the punishment
he assigned to all offences. Though he neglected all
forms of law, and even frequently judged by physiog-
nomy, yet he is said not to have overlooked any crimi¬
nal, or punished any innocent person.
His grandeur and prosperity were of very short con¬
tinuance $ for his mind becoming distracted and deliri¬
ous for two or three days, he committed a great many
mad and extravagant actions ; and on the i 8th of July
he was assassinated with the consent of the viceroy.
The tumult did not end with the death of Massa-
niello : on the contrary, the people now expelled the
Spaniards from most of the cities throughout the king¬
dom j and this general insurrection being the subject
of discourse at Korne, the duke of Guise, "who happen¬
ed then to be at the pope’s court, took the opportu¬
nity, at the instigation of his holiness, to offer his ser¬
vice to the Neapolitans against the Spaniards. The
duke was prompted by his ambition to engage in this
enterprise, especially as he himself had some distant
pretensions to the crown. The Spaniards in the mean
time made a vigorous attack on the city j but were re¬
pulsed by the people, who now formally renounced
their allegiance to them. In a short time, however,
their city being surprised by the new viceroy, the
35 count d’Oniate, and the duke of Guise himself taken
' people prisoner, the people returned to their allegiance j and
i m to thus all the attempts of the French on Naples were
f-ce. frustrated. From that time the Spaniards continued in
^ * peaceable possession of the kingdom till the year 1707,
when it was taken from them by Prince Eugene. It
was formally ceded to the emperor by the treaty of
Rastadt in 17135 but was recovered by the Spaniards
^ I734> and a branch of the family of Spain has reign¬
ed there since that time. lor a particular account of
these revolutions, see the articles Spain and Sicily.
Naples, like the other states of Europe, has experi¬
enced many revolutions within the last thirty years.
She took part in the alliance against France in 1793,
but was little affected by the war till 1796, when the
progress of the French arms in Italy induced her to
conclude a peace. The continual encroachments of the
french, however, made her take up arms again in con¬
cert with Austria in 179^3 biit her forces commanded
by General Mack sustained repeated defeats, and the
French gained possession of the capital. The king re¬
tired to Palermo in Sicily in December 1798, till the
successes of Suwarrow compelled the French to with¬
draw their troops, after which he re-entered his capital
in 1799. After the treaty of Luneville, Naples ob¬
tained peace from France on the condition of giving
up the port of Otranto In 1806 the king admitted
some British and Russian troops into his dominions,
and this was made a pretext by Bonaparte for de¬
throning him. The kingdom of Naples was given to
Joseph Bonaparte, who retained it till he was promot¬
ed to the crown of Spain in 1808, when Naples was
given to Joachim Murat. From this period Naples
followed the fortunes of France, and furnished men and
money for her wars. After the disasters of the Russian
campaign, Murat who had received some insults from
Bonaparte shook off his authority, and entering into
Naples.
terms with the allies obtained a recognition of his in-
1 ] NAP
dependence. In the beginning of 1814 he assisted the
Austrians in overthrowing the French viceroy in
Italy ; but repenting of this course, or distrusting the
intentions of the allies, he declared for Bonaparte
when the latter returned to France in 1815. Fortune
however did not favour him; he was defeated, and
led to I ranee m May 1815. In a fit of rash enthusiasm
j .SetNTUt Wlt^ a smal1 kand 4°° adventurers, land¬
ed m Naples in October, but instead of meeting with
support was immediately taken and executed. Since
that time Ferdinand IV. has had peaceable possession
of the kingdom.
. ^ie cbmate of Naples is extremely hot, especially Climate,
m July, August, and September. In winter there isProduce'
seldom any ice or snow, except on the mountains.—
On account of its fertility, it is justly termed an P
earthly paradise ; for it abounds with all sorts of grain,
the finest fruit and garden productions of every kind’
with rice, flax, oil, and wine, in the greatest plenty
and perfection. It affords also saffron, manna, alum,
vitriol, sulphur, rock crystal, marble, and several sorts
of minerals, together with fine wool, and silk. The
horses of this country are famous, and the flocks and
herds very numerous. Besides these products, of which
a considerable part is exported, there are manufactures
of snuff, soap, and glass ware. Waistcoats, caps, stock¬
ings, and gloves, are also made of the hair or fila¬
ments of a shell fish, which are warmer than those of
wool, and 01 a beautiful glossy green. In this king¬
dom likewise is found that called the Phrygian stone,
or pietra fungifera, which, being laid in a damp shady
place, will yield mushrooms, sometimes of a very large
size, especially if the stone is sprinkled with hot water.
See Agaricus.
As to the mountains of this country, the principal
are the Apennines, which traverse it from south to
north ; and Mount Vesuvius, which, as is well known,
is a noted volcano, five Italian miles from Naples. The
side of this mountain next the sea yields wine, particu¬
larly the two famed wines called Vino Greco and La-
ehrymee Christi. One of the greatest inconveniences
to which this kingdom is exposed is earthquakes, which
the eruptions of Mount Vesuvius contribute, in some
measure, to prevent. Another inconveniency, which,
however, is common to it with other hot countries, is
the great number of reptiles and insects, of which some
are very poisonous. ^
With respect to religion, it is on a very bad foot-Religion,
ing here. The number of convents and monasteries
is astonishing. It is said, the clergy and convents
possess two thirds of the whole kingdom: nay, some
maintain, that were the kingdom divided into five
parts, four would be found in the hands of the church.
Notwithstanding this power and influence of the clergyj
they have not been able hitherto to get the inquisition
established here. In the year 1731, measures were
taken for lessening the number of convents; and lately
the order of Jesuits hath been suppressed. The papal
bulls cannot be made public without the king’s per¬
mission; nor are Protestants compelled to kneel in the
churches, or at meeting the host; and in Lent they
can very easily procure flesh meat. In the year 1746,
the Jews were allowed to settle in the kingdom during
the term of ;o years, and several privileges were grant¬
ed them during that period ; at the expiration of which,
4 H 2 the
NAP
[ 61
■JJaplts.
the (Tfant was supposed to be renewed, unless they were
v expressly ordered to quit the countiy. _ ,
The king of Naples, or of the two Sicilies, is an
hereditary monarch. The high colleges are, the coun¬
cil of state, the privy council, the treasury, the Sicily
council, the council of war, &c. This kingdom is a
papal lief} and the king, in acknowledgment oi the
pope’s feudal right, ‘sends him every year a white pal-
fry, and a purse of 6000 ducats. The title ot the
king’s eldest son is prince of Calabria. Ihe number
both of the high and low nobility in the kingdom ot
* View of Naples is very great. “ I am assured (says Dr Moore*)
Society, ti,at tiie king of Naples counts among his subjects
in Italy. iqq persons with the title of prince, and a still greater
with that of duke. Six or seven of these have estates
2 ]
assembly
Naples,
which produce from 10 to 12 or 13,000!. a-yeai j a
considerable number have fortunes ot about half that
value 1 and the annual revenue of many is not above
Joool. or 2000I. The inferior orders of the nobility
are much poorer. Many counts and marquisses have
not above 300I. or 400I. a-year of paternal estate
many have still less ; and not a few enjoy the title with¬
out any estate whatever. Ihese nobles, however, are
excessively fond of splendour and show, which appears
in the brilliancy ol their equipages, the number of
their attendants, the richness of their dress, and the
grandeur of their titles. The finest carriages are
painted, gilt, varnished, and lined, in a richer and
more beautiful manner than has yet become fashionable
either in England or in France. They are often drawn
by six and sometimes by eight horses. Before the
carriage, it is the mode to have two running footmen,
and behind three or four servants in the richest liveries.
The ladies and gentlemen within the coaches glitter in
all the brilliancy of lace, embroidery, and jewels.—
This finery is not confined to the persons within and
without the coaches 5 it is extended to the horses,
whose heads, manes, and tails, are ornamented with the
rarest plumage, and set oft with ribbons and artificial
flowers.”
The population of Naples in 1769 was 3,953,098 ;
in 1783 it was 4,675,376, including 45,525 secular
priests, 24,694 religious of the male sex, and 20,973
of the female. (Mentelle et Malte Brim.).
In the kingdom of Naples, the hereditary jurisdic¬
tion of the nobles over their vassals subsists in the full
ri<>-our of the feudal government. The peasants there¬
fore are poor-, and it depends entirely on the personal
character of the master, whether their poverty be not
the least of their grievances. As this power is too
often abused, the importance of the nobility depends
a great measure on the favour of the king who,
under pretence of any offence, can confine tlwm to
their estates, or imprison them at pleasure. Unless
tills prince were so very impolitic as to disgust all the
nobility at once, and so unite the whole body against
him, he has little to fear from their resentment. Even
in case of such an union, as the nobles have lost the af¬
fection of their vassals, what could they do in opposi¬
tion to a standing army of 30,000 men, entirely devoted
to the crown? The government of Naples, therefore,
is in fact a despotic monarchy, though something like
the form of a feudal constitution in its ancient purity
is still kept up by the biennial summons of the general
NAP
 j. This convention, which consists of the no¬
bility and commons, is called together every two years, '•
to deliberate on the customary free gift to the crown.
The inhabitants of this country have at all times
borne but an indifferent character among other nations.
“ From the few hints dropped by the classic authors,
we collect that the ancient Neapolitans were a race of
epicures, of a soft indolent turn, averse from martial ex¬
ercises, passionately fond of theatrical amusements and
music, expert in all the refined arts that administer to
the caprices of luxury, extravagant in their expressions
and gestures, and dupes to various sorts of superstition.
If we make allowance for a quantity ot northern blood
which has joined the original Grecian stream, and im¬
parted a roughness not yet worn off by the mildness of
the climate, we shall find the modern Neapolitans very
like the ancient.—Provisions being here plentiful and
cheap, the lower class of people work but little, f heir
delight is to bask in the sun, and do nothing. Persons
of a middle rank frequent places of public resort j and
very few of any rank attend to their proper business
with the zeal and activity we are wont to meet with m
the professional men of colder countries. Gluttony is
a predominant vice, while instances of ebriety are com¬
paratively rare. In the female sex, the passion for
finery is almost superior to every other } and, though
chastity is not the characteristic virtue ot the countij, Mr
Swinburne doubts * whether a Neapolitan woman would * Travel,
not nine times out of ten prefer a present to a lover.
That furious jealousy for which the nation was once so
remarkable, is now greatly abated. 'Ihe breach of the
conjugal vow sometimes occasions quarrels and assassi¬
nations among people ot an inferior station 5 and in the
metropolis, assassinations are often perpetrated from
much less cogent motives. Of these vices, many are
doubtless owing to that slavery and oppression under
which they groan, and to a radical defect in the admi¬
nistration of pistice, though the kingdom is divided in¬
to 12 provinces or jurisdictions.
Naples, anciently Parthenope, afterwards Ncapolis,
the capital ot the kingdom ot that name m Italy, lies
in the province called Terra de Lavora, which is the
richest and best inhabited of the whole kingdom, and
comprehends a part of the ancient Campania I elix
or the Happy. This city is fabled to owe its founda¬
tion to a Syren, and to have received its ancient name
from its supernatural foundress, Whatever be its ori¬
gin, it is the first for neatness, and the second for ex¬
tent, of all the cities in Italy. It was formerly a place
of strength ; but its walls at present being of no real
defence, its safety depends of course upon the force
of its armies. It is most advantageously situated, hav¬
ing a delicious country on one side, and a noble bay of
the Mediterranean on the other, with an excellent har¬
bour. The circumference, including the suburbs, is
said not to be less than 18 Italian miles, and the num¬
ber of the inhabitants therein little less than 300,000.
The houses are of stone, flat roofed, and generally lofty
and uniform ; but many of them have balconies, with
lattice windows. The streets are well paved 5 but they
are not lighted at night, and in the day time are dis¬
figured, in many places, by stalls, on which provisions
are exposed to sale. Here are a great number of fine
churches, convents, fountains, and palaces of the nobi-
hty.
NAP [ 61
s. lity, many of whom constantly reside here. It is usual
to walk on the tops of the houses in the evenings, to
breathe the sweet cool air, after a hot sultry day. The
climate here is so mild and warm, even in the winter,
that plenty of green pease, artichokes, asparagus, and
other vegetables, may be had so early as the beginning
of the new year, and even all the winter. This city
swarms with monks and nuns of all sorts, to such a de¬
gree, that there are no less than 149 convents. There
are also 34 poorhouses, xi hospitals, 43 parish churches,
and 70 other churches. The magnificence of many of
the churches exceeds imagination. In a cloister of the
Carthusian monastery is a crucifix, said to be done by
Michael Angelo, of inimitable workmanship.
To repel hostile attempts by sea, which from its si¬
tuation, maritime powers might be tempted to make,
Naples has, to the west, the Castel del Ovo, a con¬
fused pile ot ancient buildings, and some modern bat¬
teries. The rock upon which this fortress stands was
originally called Me gar a, then Luculidnum ; and was
considered as a place of strength so early as the
year 475* Along the line of the shore towards the
east are some batteries on the points of land, the ba¬
stions ot the arsenal, and above it the lofty Avail of the
Castel Nuovo. This last fortress has been the usual
refuge of the sovereigns and \uceroys in all civil wars
and tumults j for which i-eason they have long fixed
their residence near its Avails. A blockhouse and
batteries defend the mouth of the harbour, and at the
eastern extremity of the town is the Torrione de Car¬
mine, better known by the figure it made in Massani-
ello’s rebellion than by its extent or military strength.
1 he castle of St Elmo commands Naples in every
direction, and is in reality calculated rather to annoy
and aAve the citizens than to defend them from fo¬
reign invaders. The city is indeed far from being se¬
cure against a bombardment 5 for the sea is so deep,
that a large vessel may come up to the very mole in
defiance ot the blockhouse and batteries, &c. Pic¬
tures, statues, and antiquities, are not so common in
Naples as might be expected in so great and ancient a
city, many of the most valuable pieces having been
sent to Spain by the viceroys. The bay is one of the
finest in the world, being almost of a round figure,
about 30 miles in diameter, and three parts of it shel¬
tered Avith a noble circuit of Avoods and mountains.
The city stands in the bosom of this bay, in as pleasant
a situation, perhaps, as is in the Avorld. MrKeysler says,
they reckon about 18,000 donne li/x’re, or courtezans,
in the city j and Dr Moore computes the number of
UiKKarom, or blackguards at above 30,000. The
greater part of these wretches have no dwelling houses,
but sleep every night under porticos, piazzas, or any
kind of shelter they can find. Those of them avIio
have Avives and children, live in the suburbs of Naples
near Peusihppo, in huts, or in caverns or chambers dug
out of that mountain. They are generally represented
as a lazy, licentious, and turbulent set of people, as in¬
deed by far the greater part of the rabble are, Avho pre¬
fer begging or robbing, or running errands, to any fixed
and permanent employment. Yet there are in Naples
some flourishing manufactures, particularly of silk stock¬
ings, soap, snull-boxes of tortoise shells and the lava of
Mount Vesuvius, tables, and ornamental furniture of
N A R
\
The city is supplied xvith a \’ast quantity of
3 ]
marble.
Avater, by means of a very costly aqueduct, from the
foot of Mount Vesuvius. Mr Addison says, it is in¬
credible hoAV great a multitude of retainers to the laAv
there ace in Naples, who find continual employment
from the fiery temper of the inhabitants. There are
five piazzas or squares in the city, appropriated to the
nobility, viz. those called Capuana, Nido, Montagna,
Porto, and Porta Nova. Of all the palaces, that of the
king is not only the most magnificent, but also in the
best style of architecture. The cathedral, though
Gothic, is a very grand splendid edifice. It is here
that the head and blood of St Januarius, the tutelary
saint of Naples, are kept, the latter in two glass or
crystal vials. I he pretended liquefaction of the dried
blood, as soon as brought near the head of the saint,
is a thing well knoAvn j Mr Addison says, it is one of
the most bungling tricks he ever suav. The harbour
is spacious, and kept in good repair. It is fortified
xvith a mole, which runs about a quarter of a mile in¬
to the sea, and at the extremity has a high lanthorn to
direct ships safely into the harbour. Luxury here is
restrained by severe sumptuary laxvs, and the women
are more closely confined than in any other city of
Italy. Here is an university and two academies of
xvits, the one called Gli Ardenti, and the other Gli
Otiosi. The nunnery for ladies of quality is said to be
the largest in the xvhole xvorld, containing no less than
350 nuns, besides servants* The Mount of Piaiy, or
the office for advancing money to the poor,.on pledges,
at a Ioav interest, or without any, has an income of up¬
wards of 50,000 ducats. The arsenal is said to contain
arms for 50,000 men. The walls of the city consist of,
hard black quarry stones, calledpiperno. Instead of ice,
A'ast quantities of snow are used for cooling their
liquors, not so much as water being drank without it;
so that, it is said, a scarcity of it xvould as soon occa¬
sion a mutiny as a dearth of corn or provisions. Cer¬
tain persons, who farm the monopoly of it from the
government, supply the city all the year round from
a mountain about 18 miles oil, at so much the pound.
In the beginning of 1799, it xvas taken by a body of
French troops under General Cbampionct. The streets
of this city xvere lighted for the first time on the 16th
December, 1806. Naples stands no miles south-east
from Home, 164 north-east from Palermo in Sicifr,
217 south-east from Florence, and 300 from Venice.
E. Long. 14. 20. N. Lat. 40. 55.
NARBO, in Ancient Geography, a toxvn of the
Yolscse Tectosages, called also Narbo Martins, from the
Legio Martia, the colony led thither 59 years before
the consulate of Caesar, (Velleius) ; increased with a
colony of the Decumani or tenth legion by Caesar. An
ancient trading town on the Atax, xvhich discharges
itself into the sea through the Lacus Rubresus, or Rub-
rensis. Capital of Gallia Narbonensis ; surnamed Colo~
nia Julia Paterna, from Julius Ca;sar, the father of
Augustus by adoption. Now called Narbonnc, a city
of Languedoc.
NAftBONNE , is a city of France, in the department
of Aude, xvith an archbishop’s see, and is particularly
famous for its honey. It is seated on a canal cut from
the river Aude, xvhich being but three miles from the
sea, vessels come up it laden xvith merchandise, which
renders
Naples--
II
Narbomre
mmmn J
t
N A K [ 614 J N A R
Natbonne renders it a place of some trade. But though it pre-
II tends to the most remote antiquity under the Celtic
Nardus. ages anterior even to the Roman conquests,
* which under these latter masters gave its name to all
Gallia Narbonensis, and was a colony ot the first con¬
sideration, it is now dwindled to a wretched solitary
town containing 9000 inhabitants, ol whom three-
fourths are priests and women. The streets and build¬
ings are mean and ruinous ■, it has indeed a communi¬
cation with the Mediterranean, from which Narbonne
is only about three leagues distant, by means ol a small
river which intersects the place •, but their commerce
is very limited, and chiefly consists in grain which they
export to Cette and Marseilles. No marks of Roman
magnificence remain, except several inscriptions in dif¬
ferent parts of the city. It is divided into the city
and the town, which are joined together by a bridge,
with houses on each side, in which the richest merchants
live. There are several churches and convents \ the
metropolitan church has a handsome steeple. E. Long.
3. 6. N. Lat. 43. II.
NARCISSUS, in fabulous history, the son of the
river Cephissus and Liriope the daughter of Oceanus,
was a youth of great beauty. Tiresias foretold that
he should live till he saw himself. He despised all the
nymphs of the country j and made Echo languish till
she became a mere sound, by refusing to return her
passion : but one day coming weary and fatigued from
the chase, he stopped on the bank of a fountain to
quench his thirst: when, seeing his own form in the
water, he became so in love with the shadowy image,
that he languished till he died. On which the gods,
being moved at his death, changed him into the flower
which bears his name.
Narcissus, a genus of plants belonging to the hex-
andria class ; and in the natural method ranking under
the 9th order, Spathaccce. See Botany Index.
NARCOTICS, in Medicine, soporiferous drugs,
which bring on a stupefaction. Among narcotics the
most eminent are those usually prepared for medicinal
uses from the poppy, especially opium ; as also all those
prepared from mandragoras, hyoscyamus, stramonium
and datura. See Materia Medica Index.
NARDO, a pretty populous town in the kingdom
of Naples, and in the Terra d’Otranto, with the title
of a duchy and a bishop’s see. E. Long. 18. 27. N.
Lat. 43. 28.
In this little city are 8000 inhabitants. The steeple
of its cathedral is built in a very uncommon but showy
style of Gothic architecture. Luco Giordano and So-
limeni have adorned the church with some agreeable
paintings. This place was a part of the Balzo estate.
The Aquavivas were the next possessors: they are
thought to have come from the Marca di Ancona. In
1401, in consideration of their relationship to Rope Bo¬
niface IX. Laudislaus erected their manor of Atri into
a dukedom, an honour till then seldom granted to any
but princes of the blood royal. Claudius Aquaviva, a
famous general of the Jesuits, who died in 1615, was
of this family.
NARDUS, a genus of plants belonging to the tri
andria class j and in the natural method ranking under
the 4th order, Gramina. See Botany Index.
This plant was highly valued by the ancients, both
as an article of luxury and medicine. The unguentum
1
nardinnm, was used at baths and feasts as a favourite Nardus
perfume. Its value is evident from that passage of Narea.'
Scripture, where our Saviour’s head was anointed with -
a box of it, with which Judas found fault. From a
passage in Horace, it appears that this ointment was so
valuable among the Romans, that as much as could be
contained in a small box of precious stone was consider¬
ed as a sort of equivalent for a large vessel of wine, and
a proper quota for a guest to contribute at an entertain¬
ment, according to the ancient custom:
   JSiardo vina merthere,
Nardiparvus onyx eliciet cadum.
NAREA, the most southerly province of the empire
of Abyssinia •, a kingdom still governed by its own
princes, who have the title of Bencros. Its territory
was formerly more extensive than at present, the Galla
having almost quite surrounded it, especially on the
south-east and north. The country to the west is the
most unknown part of Africa j the kingdom itself
stands like a fortified place in the middle of a plain,
being a high and mountainous country. A great many
rivers, rising in the fourth and fifth degrees of north
latitude, spread themselves over the level part of the
country, and fill it with marshes all the way from south
by east to north or north-west.—These marshes are
bounded by mountains, of which those nearest the mar¬
shes are overgrown with coffee trees, the largest, if not
the onlv ones, which grow in this country. The king¬
dom of Narea Proper is interspersed with small, un-
■wholcsome, but very fertile valleys. The mountainous
country of Caffa adjoins immediately to Narea, and is
said to be governed by a separate prince*, but the Galla
having settled themselves in all the flat ground to the
very edge of the marshes, have in a great measure cut
off the communication with Abyssinia for a long time
past. The Nareans who inhabit the mountainous country
have the lightest complexion of any people in Abyssi¬
nia ; but those who inhabit the borders of the marshes
are perfectly black, and have the features and woolly
heads of negroes j but the mountaineers of Narea, and
much more those of Caffa, are fair complexioned, more
so than even the Neapolitans or Sicilians. It is said
that snow* has been seen to lie on some of the mountains
of Caffa ; but Mr Bruce imagines this to be a mistake,
and thinks that it must have been hail.
Narea abounds with cattle, grain, and all kinds of
provisions, both in the high and low country. The
medium of commerce is gold, which they sell by
weight ; but the principal articles of trade are coarse
cotton cloths, antimony, beads, and incense, which are
carried from this country to the kingdom of Angola,
and the parts of the African continent towards the At¬
lantic The people are exceedingly brave *, and though
they have been driven out of the low country by multi¬
tudes of Galla, they now bid them defiance, and drive
them from their frontiers whenever they come too near.
The Narean prisoners taken in these skirmishes are sold
to the Mahometan merchants at Gondar; and at Con¬
stantinople, Cairo, or in India, the women are more
esteemed than those of any other part of the world.
Both sexes have a cheerful kind disposition, and attach
themselves inviolably to their mastei*s, if properly treat¬
ed. The people of Narea and Caffa speak a language
peculiar to themselves.
NARRATION,
N A R
i iration
[ 615
NARRATION, in oratory, poetry, and history, a
— recital or rehearsal of a fact as it happened, or as it is
supposed to have happened. See Oratory, N° 26.
123.
Concerning Narration and Description we have
the following rules and observations in the Elements of
Criticism.
1. The hrst rule is, That in history the reflections
ought to be chaste and solid ; for while the mind is in¬
tent upon truth, it is little disposed to the operation
of the imagination. Strada’s Belgic history is full of
poetical images, which being discordant with the
subject, are unpleasant 5 and they have a still worse ef¬
fect by giving an air of fiction to a genuine history.
Such flowers ought to be scattered with a sparing hand,
even in epic poetry j and at no rate are they proper
till the leader be warmed, and by an enlivened imagina¬
tion be prepared to relish them : in that state of mind,
they are agreeable j but while we are sedate and at¬
tentive to an historical chain of facts, we reject with
disdain every fiction.
2. Vida, following Horace, recommends a modest
commencement of an epic poem ^ giving for a reason
that the writer ought to husband his fire. Besides bold
thoughts and figures are never relished till the mind be
heated and thoroughly engaged, which is not the rea¬
der s case at the commencement. Homer introduces
not a single simile in the first book of the Iliad, nor in
the first book of the Odyssey. On the other hand,
Shakespeare begins one of his plays with a sentiment
too bold for the most heated imagination :
Bedford. Hung be the heav’ns with black, yield day
to night !
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
That have consented unto Henry’s death !
Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long !
England ne’er lost a king of so much worth.
First part Henry VI.
The passage with which Strada begins his history, is
too poetical for a subject of that kind •, and at any rate
too high for the beginning of a grave performance.
3* A third rule or observation is, That where the
subject is intended for entertainment solely, not for in¬
struction, a. thing ought to be described as it appears,
not as it is in reality. In running, for example, the
impulse upon the ground is proportioned in some degree
to the celerity of motion •, though in appearance it is
otherwise, for a person in swift motion seems to skim
the ground, and scarcely to touch it. Virgil, with great
taste, describes quick running according to appearance 5
and raises an image far more lively than by adhering-
scrupulously to truth :
Hos super advenit Volsca de gente Camilla,
Agmen agens equitum, et florentes cere catervas,
Bellatrix ; non ilia colo calathisve Minervae
I’ oemineas assueta manus j sed preelia virgo
Dura pati cursuque pedum preevertere ventos.
Ilia vel intactae segetis per summa volaret
Gramina, nec teneras cursu Isesisset aristas :
Vel mare per medium, fluctu suspensa tumenti,
Ferret iter, celeres nec tingeret tequore plantas.
JEneid, vii. 803.
1 N A R
4’ narration as w'ell as in description, objects Narration*
ought to be painted so accurately as to form in the'
mind of the reader distinct and lively images. Every
useless circumstance ought indeed to be suppressed, be¬
cause every such circumstance loads the narration ; but
if a circumstance be necessary, however slight, it can¬
not be described too minutely. The force of language
consists in raising complete images, which have the ef-
lect to transport the reader as by magic into the very
place of the important action, and to convert him as
it were into a spectator, beholding every thing that
passes. T he narrative in an epic poem ought to rival
a picture in the liveliness and accuracy of its represen¬
tations : no circumstance must be omitted that tends to
make a complete image ; because an imperfect image as
well as any other imperfect conception, is cold and un¬
interesting. \\ e shall illustrate this rule by several
examples, giving the first place to a beautiful passage
from Virgil:
Qua! is populed m 02 re ns Philomela sub umbra
Amissos queritur foetus, quos durus arator
Observans nido implumes detraxit.
Georg, lib. iv. 511.
The poplar, ploughman, and unfledged young, though
not essential in the description, tend to make a com¬
plete image, and upon that account are an embellish¬
ment.
Again :
Hie viridem iEneas frondenti ex ilice metam
Constituit, signum nautis. JFneid^ y, I2q.
Horace addressing to Fortune :
Tc pauper ambit sollicita prece
luiris col onus : te dominam sequoris,
Quicumque Bithyna lacessit
Carpathium pelagus carina.
Carm. lib. i. ode 3 5,
— 1 Ilium ex moenibus hosticis
Matrona bellantis tyranni
Prospiciens, et adulta virgo,
Suspiret: Eheu, ne rudis agminum
Sponsus lacessat regius asperum
Tactu leonem, quem cruenta
Per medias rapit ira coedes.
Carm. fib. iii. ode 2.
Shakespeare says, “ Vou may as well go about to turn
the sun to ice by fanning in his face with a peacock's
feather.” rJ he peacock’s feather, not to mention the
beauty of the object, completes the image : an accu¬
rate image cannot be formed of that fanciful operation,
without conceiving a particular feather; and one is at
a loss when this is neglected in the description. Again,
“ The rogues slighted me into the river with as little’
remorse, as they would have drown’d a bitch’s blind
puppies, fifteen i’ th’ fitter.”
Old Lady. You would not be a queen ?
Anne. Nb, not for all the riches under heaven.
Old Lady. 1 is strange : a threepence bow’d would
hire me, old as I am, to queen it.
Henry FILL act ii. sc. 5.
In the following passage, the action, with all its materi¬
al
N A R [ 616
Narmtion. «» clremnatances, is represented so much to
 y-.— it would scarce appear more distinct to a real spec
t0r j and it is the manner of description that contri¬
butes greatly to the sublimity of the passage
He spake ; and, to confirm his words, out flew
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty cherubim *, the sudden blaze
Far round illumin’d hell : highly they rag’d
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms,
Clash’d on their sounding shields the dm of war,
Hurling defiance toward the vault of heav’n. _
Milton, book i.
The following passage from Shakespeare falls not
much short of that now mentioned in particularity ot
description :
O you hard lie arts ! ye cruel men of Home !
"'Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft
Have you climb’d up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day with patient expectation
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome j
And when you saw his chariot hut appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,'
That Tyber trembled underneath his hanks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shore ?
Julius Ccesa?', act i. sc. I.
The following passage is scarcely inferior to either of
those mentioned:
“ Far before the rest, the son of Ossian comes ^
bright in the smiles ot youth, tair as the first beams ot
the sun. His long hair waves on his back : his dark
brow is half beneath his helmet. The sword hangs
loose on the hero’s side; and his spear glitters as he
moves. 1 fled from his terrible eye, king of high
Tcmora. Fm«al-
The Henriade of Voltaire errs greatly against the
foregoing rule : every incident is touched in a summary
way, without ever descending to circumstances. Hus
manner is good in a general history, the purpose of
which is to record important transactions : but in a fa-
ble it is cold and uninteresting ; because it is impracti¬
cable to form distinct images of persons or things repre¬
sented in a manner so superficial.
It is observed above, that every useless circumstance
oufflit to be suppressed. The crowding such circum¬
stances is, on the one hand, not less to be avoided
than the conciseness for wliich Voltaire is blamed, on
the other. In the ^Eneid, Barce, the nurse of Sichae-
us, whom we never hear of before nor after, is intro¬
duced for a purpose not more important than to call
Anna to her sister Dido: and that it might not be
thought unjust in Dido, even in this trivial circum¬
stance, to prefer her husband’s nurse before her own,
the poet takes care to inform his reader, that Dido’s
nurse was dead. To this may be opposed a beautiful
passage in the same book, where, after Dido’s last
speech, the poet, without detaining his readers by de-
seribing the manner of her death, hastens to the lamen¬
tation of her attendants:
] n a n
Dixerat: atque illam media inter talia ferro
Collapsam aspiciunt comites, ensemque cruore
Spumantem, sparsasque manus. It clamor ad alta
Atria ; concussam bacchatur fama per urbem }
Lamentis gemituque, et foemineo ulidatu
Tecta fremunt, resonat magnis plangorihus aether.
Lib. iv. 603.
As an appendix to the foregoing rule, may he added
the following observation, That to make a sudden and
strong impression, some single circumstance, happi y
selected, has more power than the most laboured de¬
scription. Macbeth, mentioning to his lady some
voices he heard while he was murdering the King,
says,
There’s
in’s sleep, and one cry d.
and I stood and heard
one did laugh
Murder!
They wak’d each other j
them :
But they did say their prayers, and address them
Again to sleep.
Lady. There are two lodg’d together. (
Macbeth. One cry’d, God bless us . and, Amen .
the other; ,11
As they had seen me with these hangman s hands,
Listening their fear. I could net say Amen,
When they did say, God bless us.
Lady. Consider it not so deeply.
Macbeth. But wherefore could not I pronounce
Amen !
I had most need of blessing, and Amen
Stuck in my throat.
Lady. These deeds must not he thought
After these ways *, so, it will make us mad.
Macbeth. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep
no more 1
Macbeth doth murder sleep, &c. Act 11. sc. 2.
Describing Prince Henry :
I saw young Harry, with his heaver on,
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm d,
Rise from the ground like feather’d Mercury ;
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an angel dropt down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
First Part Hcjiry IV. act in. sc. 3.
King Henry. Lord Cardinal, if thou think’st on
Heaven’s bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
He dies, and makes no sign !
Second Part Henry VI. act. m. sc. m.
The same author, speaking ludicrously of an army
debilitated with diseases, says,
“ Half of them dare not shake the snow from^ofl
their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.
“ I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were
desolate. The flames had resounded in the halls : am
the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream
of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall ot t
walls. The thistle shook there its lonely head : tin.
moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from
tbp windows: and the rank grass ol tiewa ^
4
N A ft [5
Kration. round bis bead. Desolate is the dwelling of Morna :
-1 silence is in the house of her fathers.” Fin no l
To draw a character is the master stroke of descrip¬
tion. In this Tacitus excels} his portraits are natural
and lively, not a feature wanting or misplaced. Shake¬
speare, however, exceeds Tatitus in liveliness ; some
characteristical circumstance being generally invented
or laid hold of, which paints more to the life than
many words. The following instances will explain our
meaning, and &t the same time prove our observation
to be just.
Why should a man, whose blood is Warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice,
By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Authonio,
(I love thee, and it is my love that speaks),
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond 5
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress’d in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit j
As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark !
O my Anthonio ! I do know of those,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing.
Merchant of Venice, act i. sc. 1.
Again:
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
than any man in all Venice : hjs reasons are two grains
of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff j you shall seek all
day ere you find them ; and when you have them, they
are not worth the search.” Ibid.
In the following passage a character is completed by
a single stroke : . ,
Shallow. O the mad days that I have spent; and to
see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead.
Silence. We shall all follow, cousin.
Shallow. Certain, ’tis certain, very sure, very sure •,
Death (as the Psalmist saith) is certain to all: all shall
die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair ?
Slender. Truly cousin, I was not there.
Shallow. Death is certain. Is old Double of your
town living yet ?
Silence. Dead, Sir.
Shallow. Dead ! see, see : he drew a good how : and
dead. He shot a fine shot. How a score of ewes now P
Silence. Thereafter as they be. A score of good
ewes may he worth ten pounds.
Shallow. And is old Double dead ?
Second part Henry IV. act iii. sc. 2.
Describing a jealous husband :
“ Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, hut
he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places,
and goes to them by his note. There is no hiding you
in the house.” Merry TVives of Windsor, act iv. sc. 3.
Congreve has an inimitable stroke of this kind in his
comedy of Love for Love:
' Fen Legend. Well, father, and how do all at home P
how does brother Dick, and brother Val ?
Vol. XIV. Part II. t
*7 ] N A ft
Sir Sampson. Dick, body 0’ me, Dick has been dead Narration.
these two years. I writ you word when you were at  
.Leghorn.
Lien. Mess, that’s true 5 marry I had forgot. Dick’s
dead, as you say. Act iii. sc. 6.
Falstaff speaking of Ancient Pistol:
“ He’s 110 swaggerer, hostess ; a tame cheater i’faith :
you may stroak him as gently as a puppy greyhound;
ie Will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers
turn back in any show of resistance.”
Second part Henry IV. act ii, sc. 4.
Ossian, among his other excellencies, is eminently
successful in drawing characters j and he never fails to
delight his reader with the beautiful attitudes of his
heroes, lake the following instances :
“ O Oscar ! bend the strong in arm ; but spare the
feeble hand. Be thou a stream of many tides against
the foes of thy people ; but like the gale that moves the
giass^to those who ask thine aid.—So Trenmor Jived j
such Trathal was ; and such has Fingal been. My arm
was the support of the injured j and the weak rested
behind the lightning of my steel.”
“ We heard the voice of joy on the coast, and We
thought that the mighty Cathmor came. Cathmor the
friend of strangers ! the brother of red-haired Cairbar !
But their souls were not the same ; for the light of
heave'n was on the bosom of Cathmor. His towers
rose on the banks of Atha : seven paths led to his halls :
seven chiefs stood on these paths, and called the stranger
to the feast. But Cathmor dwelt in the wood to avoid
the voice of praise.”
Dei mid and Oscar Were one i they reaped the
battle together. Their friendship was strong as their
steel 5 and death walked between them to the field.
They rush on the foe like two rocks falling from the
brow of Ardven. Their swords are stained with the
blood of the valiant: warriors faint at their name.
Who is equal to Oscar but Dermid ? who to Dermid
but Oscar ?
“ Son of Comftal, replied the chief, the strength of
Morni’s arm has failed : 1 attempted to draw the sword
of my youth, but it remains in its place; I throw the
spear, but it falls short of the mark i and 1 feel the
Weight of my shield. We decay like the grass of the
mountain, and our strength returns no more. I have
a son, O Fingal ! his soul has delighted in the actions
of Morni’s youth ; but his sword has not been fitted
against the foe, neither has his fame begun. I come
with him to battle, to direct his arm. His renown will
he a sun to my soul, in the dark hour of my departure.
O that the name of Morm were forgot among the
people ! that the heroes would only say, Behold the fa¬
ther of GaulB
Some writers, through heat of imagination, fall into
contradiction 5 some are guilty of downright absurdi¬
ties; and some even rave like madmen. Against such
capital enors one cannot be more effectually warned
than by collecting instances ; and the first shall be of a
contradiction, the most venial of all, Virgil speaking
of Neptune, *
4 T
Tnterea
N A 11
L 61
Narration. Interea magno misceri murmure pouturn, (
 ' Emissamque byemera sensit Neptunus, et inns
Stagna rcfusa vadis ; graviter commotus, et alto
Prospiciens, summa placidum caput e^ji^uuda.^ ^
Again;
When first young Maro, in his boundless mmd,
A work, t’outlast immortal Rome design’d.
Essay on Criticism, 30.
The following examples are ot absurdities.
“ Alii puls is e tormento catenis discerpti sectique,
dimidiato corpore pugnabant sibi superstites, ac per-
emptae partis ultores.” Strada, Dec. n. 2.
II pover buomo, ehe non sen’ era accorto,
Andava combattendo, ed era morto. Berm.
He fled, but flying, left bis life behind.
Iliad, xi. 443.
8 ] NAB
Jupiter m wrath puffing up both cheeks, is alow and Narration,
even ludicrous expression, far from suitable to the gra- —--v—
vlty and importance of the subject: every one must
feel the discordance. The lotlowing couplet, sinking
far below the subject, is no less ludicrous:
Not one looks backward, onward still he goes,
Yet ne’er looks forward farther than bis nose.
Essay on Man, ep. iv. 223.
On the other hand, to raise the expression above the
tone of the subject, is a fault than which none is more
common. Take the following instances:
Orean le plus fidele k servir ses desseins,
Ne sous le ciel brulant des plus noirs Africains.
Bajcrzet, act iii. sc. 8.
Les ombres par trois fois ont obscurci les cieux
Depuis que le sommeil n’est entre dans vos yeux 5
Et le jour a trois fois chasse la nuit obscure
Depuis que votre corps languit sans nourriture.
T*]ist>rlr'n o r* t" “
Full through his neck the weighty falchion sped :
Alono- the pavement roll’d the mutt’ring head.
Odyssey, xxa. 365.
The last article is of raving like one mad. Cleopatra
speaking to the aspic,
   Welcome, thou kind deceiver,
Thou best of thieves ; who, with an easy key,
Dost open life, and unperceiv’d by us
Ev’n steal us from ourselves 5 discharging so
Death’s dreadful office, better than himself*,
Touching our limbs so gently into slumber,
That Death stands by, deceiv’d by his own image,
And thinks himself but sleep.
Dryden, All for Love, act v.
Having discussed what observations occurred upon
the thoughts or things expressed, we proceed to what
more peculiarly concerns the language or verbal dress.
As words are intimately connected with the ideas they
represent, the emotions raised by the sound and by the
sense ought to be concordant. An elevated subject re¬
quires an elevated style ; what is familiar, ought to be
familiarly expressed : a subject that is serious and im¬
portant, ought to be clothed in plain nervous language :
a description, on the other hand, addressed to the ima¬
gination, is susceptible of the highest ornaments that
sounding words and figurative expression can bestow
upon it. .
We shall give a few examples of the foregoing rules.
A poet of any genius is not apt to dress a high sub¬
ject in low words} and yet blemishes of that kind are
found even in classical works. Horace, observing that
men are satisfied with themselves, but seldom with
their condition, introduces Jupiter indulging to each
his own choice:
Jam faciam quod vultis; eris tu, qui modo miles,
Mercator} tu, consultus modo, rusticus : hinc vos,
Yos hinc, mutatis discedite partibus. eia,
Quid P stalls ? nolint, atqui licet esse beatis.
Quid causse est, merito quin illis Jupiter ambas
Iratus buccas injict, neque se fore posthac
Tam facilem dicat, votis ut prsebeat aurem ?
Sat. i. 16.
Assueris. Ce mortel, qui montra tant de zele pour
moi, Vit-il encore ?
Asaph. ■ "—II voit 1’astre qui vous eclaire.
Esther, act ii. sc. 3.
Oui, e’est Agamemnon, e’est ton roi qui t’eveille j
Viens, reconnois la voix qui frappe ton oreille.
Iphigenia.
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell j
And the king’s rowse the heav’n shall bruit again,
Respeaking earthly thunder.
Hamlet, act i. sc. 2.
  -In the inner room
I spy a winking lamp, that weakly strikes
The ambient air, scarce kindling into light.
Southerne, Fate of Capua, act iii.
In the Funeral Orations of the bishop of Meaux, the
following passages are raised far above the tone of the
subject
“ L’Ocean etonne de se voir traverse tant de fois, en
des appareils si divers, et pour des causes si differentes,
&c.” Pag* 6*
“ Grande reinc, je satisfais a vos plus tendres desirs,
quand je celebre ce monarque *, et son cceur qui n’a ja¬
mais vecu que pour lui, s’eveille, tout poudre qu’il est,
et devient sensible, meme sous ce drap mortuaire, au
nom d’un epoux si cher.” Pag. 32.
The following passage, intended, one would imagine,
as a receipt to boil water, is altogether burlesque by
the laboured elevation of the diction :
A massy cauldron ot stupendous frame
They brought, and plac’d it o’er the rising flame :
Then heap the lighted wood ; the flame divides
Beneath the vase, and climbs around the sides :
In its wide womb they pour the rushing stream:
The boiling water bubbles to the brim.
Iliad, xviii. 405.
In a passage at the beginning of the 4th book of
Telemachus, one feels a sudden bound upward without
preparation, which accords not with the subject:
r r “ Calypso,
N A It [ 6
a. u Calypso, qui avoit etc jusq’ a ce nioment immo-
“* bile et transportee de plaisiv en ecoutaut les aventures
de Telemaque, I’mterrompit pour lui faire prendre
quelque repos. II est terns, lui dit-elle, que vous alliez
godter la douceur du sommeil apres taut de travaux.
Vous n’avez rien a craindre ici 5 tout vous est favora¬
ble. Abandonnez vous done a la joie. Goutez la
paxx, et tous les autres dons des dieux dont vous allez
etre comble. Demain, quand PAurora avec ses doi^ts
de roses entr'ouvrira les portes dorccs de P Orient, et que
les chevaux du soldi, sortant de Vonde amere, repundront
les flames du jour, pour chasser devant eux loutes les
ctoiles du del, nous reprendrons, tnon cher Telemaque,
I’histoire de vos malheurs.”
This obviously is copied from a similar passage in
the AEneid, which ought not to have been copied, be¬
cause it lies open to the same censure } but the force
of authority is great:
At regina gravi jamdudum saucia cura,
Vulnus alit venis, et coeco carpitur igni.
Multa viri virtus animo, multusque recursat
Gentis honos : liferent infixi pectore vultus,
Verbaque : nec placidam membris dat cura quietem.
Poster a Phctbea lustrabat lampade terras,
Humentemque Aurora polo dimoverat utnbram;
Cum sic unanimem alloquitur malesana sororem.
Lib. iv. i.
The language of Homer is suited to his subject, not
less accurately than the actions and sentiments of his
heroes are to their characters. Virgil, in that particu¬
lar, falls short of perfection : his language is stately
throughout; and though he descends at "times to the
simplest branches of cookery, roasting and boiling for
example, yet he never relaxes a moment from the high
tone.—In adjusting his language to his subject, no wri¬
ter equals Swift. We can recollect but one exception,
which at the same time is far from being gross : The
Journal of a modern Lady is composed in a style blend-
ing sprightliness with familiarity, perfectly suited to
the subject; in one passage, however, the poet, deviat¬
ing from that style, takes a tone above his subject.
I he passage we have in view begins 1. 115. But let
me tiow a while survey, &c. and ends at 1. 135.
It is proper to be observed upon this head, that wri¬
ters of inferior rank are continually upon the stretch
to enliven and enforce their subject by exaggeration
and superlatives. This unluckily has an effect contrary
to what is intended j the reader, disgusted with lan¬
guage that swells above the subject, is led by contrast
to think more meanly of the subject than it may pos¬
sibly deserve. A man of prudence, beside, will be no
less careful to husband his strength in writing than in
walking ; a writer, too liberal of superlatives, exhausts
his whole stock upon ordinary incidents, and reserves
no share to express, with greater energy, matters of
importance.
Many tvriters of that kind abound so in epithets, as
if poetry consisted entirely in high sounding words.
Take the following instance :
When black brow’d night her dusky mantle spread,
And wrapt in solemn gloom the sable sky 5
When soothing sleep her opiate dews had shed,
And seal’d in silken slumbers every eye:
19] ■ N a 11
My waking thought admits no balmy rest,
Nor the sweet bliss of soft oblivion share ;
But watchful wroe distracts my aching breast,
My heart the subject of corroding care :
I rom haunts of men with wandering steps and slow
I solitary steal, and soothe my pensive woe.
Here every substantive is faithfully attended by some
tumid epithet.
We proceed to a second remark, not less important
than the former. No person of reflection but must be
sensible, that an incident makes a stronger impression on
an eye witness, than when heard at second hand. Wri¬
ters of genius, sensible that the eye is the best avenue to
the heart, represent every thing as passing in our sight j
and, from readers or hearers, transform us as it w'ere
into spectators : a skilful writer conceals himself, and
presents his personages : in a word, every thing becomes
diamatic as much as possible. Plutarch, de gloria A-
theniensium, observes, that Thucydides makes his reader
a spectator, and inspires him writh the same passions as
if he w'ere an eye witness.
In the fine arts, it is a rule to put the capital objects
in the strongest point of view ; and even to present them
oftener than once, where it can be done. In history
painting, the principal figure is placed in the front, and
in the best light: an equestrian statue is placed in a
centre of streets, that it may be seen from many places
at once. In no composition is there greater opportuni¬
ty for this rule than in writing; :
 Sequitur pulcherrimus Astur,
Astur equo fidens et versicoloribus armis.
JEneid, x. 180.
  Full many a lady
I’ve ey’d with best regard, and many a time
Th’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues
Have I lik’d several women : never any
With so full soul, but some defect in her
Hid quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d,
And put it to the foil. But you, O you,
So perfect, and so peerless, are created
Of every creature’s best. Tempest, act iii. sc. 1.
Orlundo.~ ■ . W hate’er you are
That, in the desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time}
If ever you have look’d on better days ;
If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church j
I f ever sat at any go©d man’s feast j
If ever from your eyelids wip’d a tear,
And known what ’tis to pity, and be pity’d }
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be,
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke sen. True is it that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church 5
And sat at good men’s feasts j and wip’d our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity had engender’d $
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be minist’red.
As you like it.
With thee conversing I forget all time j
All seasons and their change, all please alike.
4 I 2 Sw’eet
N A R [
Narration. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
1  -y —  1 With charm oi earliest birds j pleasant the suu
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams on herbs, tree, fruit, and ilow’r
Glist’ring with dew j fragrant the fertile earth
After soft show’rs j and sweet the eoming on
Of grateful ev’ning mild, the silent night
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heavhi, her starry train :
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun
On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flow’r,
Glist’ring with dew, nor fragrance after show’rs,
Nor grateful ev’ning mild, nor silent night,
With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon
Or glittering star light, without thee is sweet.
Paradise Lost, book iv. 1. 634.
“ What mean ye, that ye use this proverb, The fa¬
thers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth
are set on edge ? As I live, saith the Lord God, ye
shall not have occasion to use this proverb in Israel. If
a man keep my judgments to deal truly, be is just, he
shall surely live. But if he be a robber, a shedder of
blood : if be have eaten upon the mountains, and de¬
filed his neighbour’s wife: if he _ have oppressed the
poor and needy, have spoiled by violence, have not re¬
stored the pledge, have lift up his eyes to idols, have
given forth upon usury, and have taken increase : shall
he live P he shall not live : he shall surely die ; and his
blood shall be upon him. Now, lo, if he beget a son,
that sceth all his father’s sins, and considereth, and doth
not such like *, that hath not eaten upon the moun¬
tains, hath not lift up his eyes to idols, nor defiled his
neighbour’s wife, hath not oppressed any, nor with¬
held the pledge, neither hath spoiled by violence, but
hath given his bread to the hungry, and covered the
naked with a garment: that hath not received usury
nor increase, that hath executed my judgments, and
walked in my statutes : he shall not die for the iniquity
of his father ; he shall surely live. The soul that sin-
neth, it shall die •, the son shall not bear the iniquity
of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity
of the son 5 the righteousness of the righteous shall be
upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be
upon him. Have I any pleasure that the wicked should
die, saith the Lord God j and not that he should return
from his ways, and live !” Ezekiel xvii.
A concise comprehensive style is a great ornament in
narration ; and a superfluity of unnecessary words, not
less than of circumstances, a great nuisance. A judi¬
cious selection of the striking circumstances, clothed in
a nervous style, is delightful. In this style, Tacitus
excels all writers, ancient and modern. Instances are
numberless : take the following specimen :
“ Crebra bine preelia, et ssepins in modum latrocinii:
per saltus, per paludes j ut cuique fors aut virtus : te-
mere, proviso, oh iram, ob prsedam, jussu, et aliquando
ignaris ducibus.” Annul, lib. xii. § 39.
After Tacitus, Ossian in that respect justly merits
the place of distinction. One cannot go wrong for ex¬
amples in any part of the book.
If a concise or nervous style he a beauty, tautology
must be a blemish 5 and yet writers, fettered by verse,
•5 , •
620 ] N A R
are not sufficiently careful to avoid this slovenly prac- Narration,,
tice : they may be pitied, but they cannot he justified.
Take for a specimen the following instances, from the
best poet, for versification at least, that England has to
boast of:
Hi gh on his helm celestial lightnings play,
His beamy shield emits a living ray ;
Th’ unweary’d blaze incessant streams supplies,
Like the red star that fires the autumnal skies.
Iliad. 5.
Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne.
Ibid. 576.
So silent fountains, from a rock’s tall head,
In sable streams soft trickling waters shed.
Ibid. ix. 19.
His clanging armour rung. Ibid. xii. 94.
Fear on their cheek, and horror in their eye.
Ibid. xv. 4,
The blaze of armour flash’d against the day.
Ibid. xvii. 73^*
As when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow.
Ibid. xix. 380.
And like the moon, the broad refulgent shield
Blaz’d with long rays, and gleam’d athwart the field.
Ibid. xix. 402.
No—could our swiftness o’er the winds prevail,
Or beat the pinions of the western gale,
All were in vain ■—— Ibid. xix. 604.
The humid swreat from every pore descends.
Ibid, xxiii. 829.
We close this article with a curious inquiry. An
object, however ugly to the sight, is far from being so
when represented by colours or by words. What is
the cause of this difference ? With respect to painting,
the cause is obvious : a good picture, whatever the
subject be, is agreeable by the pleasure we take in
imitation ; and this pleasure overbalancing the dis¬
agreeableness of the subject, makes the picture upon
the whole agreeable. With respect to the description
of an ugly object, the cause follows. To connect in¬
dividuals in the social state, no particular contributes
more than language, by the power it possesses of an
expeditious communication of thought, and a lively
representation of transactions. But nature hath not
been satisfied to recommend language by its utility
merely: independent of utility, it is made susceptible
of many beauties, which are directly felt, without any
intervening reflection.. And this unfolds the mystery
for the pleasui’e of language is so great, as in a lively
description to overbalance the disagreeableness of the
image raised by it. This, however, is no encourage¬
ment to choose a disagreeable subject 5 for the pleasure
is incomparably greater where the subject and the de¬
scription are both of them agreeable.
The following description is upon the whole a-
greeable, though the subject described is in itself
dismal:
Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew
Lay.
N A It '' [
iirrstion. Ijay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,
■"-y—J Confounded though immortal! but his doom
Reserv’d him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him: round he throws his baleful eves
T. hat witness’d huge affliction and dismay,
Mix’d with obdurate pride and stedfast hate.
At once as far as angels ken he views
The dismal situation waste and wild :
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round
As one great furnace flamed •, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Serv’d only to discover sights of wo.
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And lest can never dwell, hope never comes
liiat comes to all ; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
\Vith ever-burning sulphur unconsum’d !
Such place eternal justice had prepar’d
For those rebellious. Paradise Lost, book i. 50.
An unmanly depression of spirits in time of danger is
not an agreeable sight j and yet a fine description or
representation of it will be relished :
A. Pickard. What must the king do now ? must
he submit?
The king shall do it: must he be depos’d ?
The king shall be contented : must he lose
The name of king ? o’ God’s name let it go :
I’ll give my jewels for a set of beads j
% gorgeous palace, for a hermitage 5
My gay apparel, for an almsman’s gown j
My figur’d goblets, for a dish of wood 5
My sceptre for a palmer’s walking staff j
My subjects, for a pair of carved saints 5
And my large kingdom, for a little grave j
A little, little, grave, an obscure grave.
Oi I 11 buried in the king’s highway 5
Some way of common tread, where subjects feet
May hourly trample on their sovereign’s head j
For on my heart they tread now, whilst I live j
And, bury’d once, why not upon my head ?
Rickard II. act iiL sc. 6.
Objects that strike terror in a spectator, have in poe-
try and painting a fine effect. The picture, by raising
a slight emotion of terror, agitates the mind 5 and in
that condition every beauty makes a deep impression,
i lay not contrast heighten the pleasure, by opposing
our present security to the danger of encountering the
object represented.
i -The other shape,
If shape it might be call’d that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ;
Or substance might be call’d that shadow seem’d,
For each seem’d either; black it stood as night,
fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,
And shook a dreadful dart. Par. Lost, book ii. 666.
'Nov/ storming fury rose,
And clamour such as heard in heaven till now
Was never: arms on armour clashing bray’d
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels
Of brazen chariots rage ; dire was the noise-
Of conflict j overhead the dismal hiss
621 ] N A E
Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew,
And flying vaulted either host with fire.
So under fiery cope together rush’d
Both battles main, with ruinous assault
And unextinguishable rage: all heaven
Resounded, and had earth been then, all earth
Had to her centre shook. Ibid, book vi. 207.
G/iost.- .But that I am forbid
Ho tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
W ould harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood.
Make thy two eyes, like stars start from their spheres.
Thy knotty and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end,
I ike quills upon the fretful porcupine :
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood. Hamlet, act i. sc. 8.
Gratiano. Poor Desdemona! I’m glad thy father’s
dead :
Thy match was mortal to him j and pure grief
Shore his old thread in twain. Did he live now,
1 his sight would make him do a desp’rate turn : *
Hea, curse his better angel from bis side,
And fall to reprobation. Othello, act v. sc. 8..
. Objects of horror must be excepted from the forego¬
ing theory ; for no description, however lively, is suffi¬
cient to overbalance the disgust raised even by the idea
of such objects. Every thing horrible ought therefore
to be avoided in a description.
NARSES, the eunuch who rivalled Belisarius in he¬
roism under the reign of the emperor Justinian, emerged
from obscurity A. D. 538. From the domestic service
of the palace, and the administration of the private re-
venue, he was suddenly exalted to the head of an army.
He is ranked among the few eunuchs who have rescued
that unhappy name from the contempt and hatred of
mankind. A feeble diminutive body concealed the soul
of a statesman and a warrior. His youth had been em¬
ployed in the management of the loom and distaff, in
the cares of the household, and the service of female
luxury } but, while his hands were busy, he secrctlv ex¬
ercised the faculties of a vigorous and discerning mind.
A stranger to the schools and the camp, he studied in
the palace to dissemble, to flatter, and to persuade ; and
as soon as he approached the person of the emperor,
Justinian listened with surprise and pleasure to the man¬
ly counsels of his chamberlain and private treasurer.
The talents of Narses were tried and improved in fre¬
quent embassies ; he led an army into Italy, acquired a
practical knowledge of the war and the country, and
presumed to strive with the genius of Belisarius.
Twelve years after his return, the eunuch was chosen
to achieve the conquest which had been left imperfect
by the first of the Roman generals. Instead of being
dazzled by vanity or emulation, he seriously declared
that unless he were armed with an adequate force, he
would never consent to risk his own glory and that of
his sovereign. Justinian granted to the favourite what
he might have denied to the hero : the Gothic wav
was rekindled from its ashes, and the preparations
were not unworthy of the ancient majesty of the em¬
pire.
Naiscs defeated the Goths, the Franks, and the
Alamanni
Narration,
Narscs.
NAS i 622
Alamanni; tie Italian cities opened their gates to the
'Nassau.
]
NAT
Nast.au
conqueror-, he entered the capital in triumph > and
having established the seat of Ins government at Ka-
1 venna, continued 15 years to govern Italy under the
title of Exarch. . , . .
His virtues, we are told, were stained with avarice j
and in this provincial reign he accumulated a t^asure
of gold and silver which surpassed the modest) ot a
private fortune. His government was oppressive or
unpopular j and the general discontent was expressed
with ^freedom by the deputies of Rome. Before the
throne of Justinian they boldly declared that then
Gothic servitude had been more tolerable than the des¬
potism of a Greek eunuch j and that unless their ty¬
rant were instantly removed, they would con^ 11
own happiness in the choice of a master.
his disgrace the effect of the people s disaffection , an
his death, though in the extreme period of old age,
was unseasonable and premature, since his genius a one
could have repaired the last and fatal error ot his h e.
He died about the year 567, and, as some say, at tbe
advanced age of 95 > but this does not appear very pro¬
bable. See Gibbon’s Rom. Hist. vol. iv. qto edit. p. 194*
29NARVA, a strong town of the Russian empire, 111
Livonia, with a castle and a harbour. It was taken by
the Muscovites from the Danes in 1558, by the Swedes
in 1 c8i, and they defeated the Muscovites near it in
1700; but it was retaken by the Russians in 1704 by
storm, and the inhabitants sent to Astracan. It is seat¬
ed on the river Narva, 95 miles south-west of Wiburg,
and 172 north-east of Riga. E> Long. 29. o. N. Lat.
j9NARWAL, a genus of whales. See Monodon,
Cetology Iwf/ea-. . .
NASSAU-siEGEN, a small principality of Germany
in the Westerwalde, is in general a mountainous woody
country, with some arable and pasture ground, and a
•rood breed of cattle. Its manufactures are chiefly
those of iron and steel, having an iron mine in the
neighbourhood of Siegen. Count John the 1 ounger,
in 1626, embraced the Roman Catholic religion, and
endeavoured to introduce it into the country but the
principality, upon the extinction of the line of Nassau-
Sieo-en in 17481 falling to the line of Nassau-Diotz,
and therein to the prince of Orange, hereditary stadt-
holder of the United Provinces, the Protestants were
delivered from their apprehensions ot Popish tyranny
and bigotry. The prince, on account of these territo¬
ries, has a seat and voice at the diets of the empire and
circle in the college of princes. His assessment in the
matricula for Nassau-Siegen is 77 florins monthly ;
and towards the maintenance of the chamber judicato-
j-u jo rixdollars, six kruitzers and a half, each teim.
The revenue of.this principality is estimated at 100,000
rixdollars. . . P ^
Nassau Dillenbourg, a principality of Germany, si¬
tuated near the former. It has not much arable land,
but plenty of wood, good quarries of stone, some sil¬
ver and vitriol, copper and lead, with store of iron,
Debt.
longs entirely to William ^ . prince of Orange, and
hereditary stadtholder of the United Provinces, whose ||
father succeeded to a part of it in 1739 on the death National
of Prince Christian, and to the rest in 1743 on the
death of Prince William Hyacynth of Siegen. The
prince, on account of this principality also and Dietz,
has a seat and voice in the college of princes, at the
diets of the empire and circle. His assessment in the
matricula, for Nassau-Dillenbourg, is 102 florins
monthly ; and to the chamber judicatory, 59 rixdol¬
lars six and half kruitzers, each term. His revenue
from this principality is computed at above 130,000
florins.
NASSAU-Hadamar, a country of Germany, which,
till the year 1711, had princes of its own; but now be¬
longs wholly to William \ . prince of Orange.
Nassau, prince of Orange. See Maurice.
NATES, in Anatomy, a term expressing those two
fleshy exterior parts of the body, vulgarly called the
buttocks. See Anatomy.
Nates Cerebri, are two circular protuberances of the
brain, situated on the back side of the medulla oblonga¬
ta, near the cerebellum.
NATION, a collective term, used for a consider¬
able number of people inhabiting a certain extent of
land, confined within fixed limits, and under the same
government.
NATIONAL DEBT : the money owing by govern-
ment.
Our limits permit us to give but a very general sketch
of this subject: However, as it is ol considerable im¬
portance to every inhabitant of these kingdoms, we
shall endeavour to give as clear and comprehensive a
view of it as the bounds necessarily prescribed us will
admit. In order to this, it may not be improper to re¬
fer back to the times that have gone before us, that we
may the better discover the nature of public revenues,
the manner of their expenditure, and the causes of pub¬
lic debt. < ,
In that rude state of society which precedes tiie ex¬
tension of commerce and the improvements of manu¬
factures, when those expensive luxuries which com¬
merce and manufactures can alone introduce, are alto¬
gether unknown ; the person who possesses a large reve¬
nue can spend or enjoy that revenue in no other way
than by maintaining nearly as many people as it can
maintain. Among our feudal ancestors, the long timer’s
during which estates used to continue in the same fami-ItW
ly, sufficiently demonstrates the general disposition ol ^
people to live within their income. Though the rustic
hospitality constantly exercised by the great landholders
may not to us in the present times seem consistent with
that order which we are apt to consider as insepaia J y
connected with good economy, yet we must certainly
allow them to have been at least so lai luigal as no
commonly to have spent their whole income, borne
part of this money, perhaps, they spent in purchasing
the few objects of vanity and luxury with which the
circumstances of the -times could furnish them : but
some part of it they seem commonly to have hoarded.
1 •',1.111   —- «]se but
for ami'smelting of ,Mc„ there ate man, Tim, ts
> ... .1 ..I i ,1 ot interest*
forges and founderies in the country, and by these
and the sale of their iron, the inhabitants chiefly sub¬
sist. Calvinism is the religion of the principality,
which contains five towns and two boroughs, and be-
ja.ru \\iicttG > v * — . 1.
m aceful to a gentleman 5 and to lend money at mteres ,
which at that time was considered as usury and pro 1 -
bited by law, would have been still more so.
The
NAT [ ,
liotu! The same disposition to save and to hoard prevailed
^ in the sovereign as well as in the subjects. Among na¬
tions to whom commerce and manufactures are little
known, the sovereign is in a situation which naturally
disposes him to the parsimony requisite for accumula¬
tion. In that situation the expence even of a sove¬
reign cannot be directed by that vanity which delights
in the gaudy finery of a court. The ignorance of the
times affords but few of the trinkets in which that
finery consists. Standing armies are not then necessa¬
ry ; so that the ex pence even of a sovereign, like that
of any other great lord, can be employed in scarce any
thing but bounty to his tenants and hospitality to his
retainers. But bounty and hospitality very seldom lead
to extravagance : though vanity almost always does.
All the ancient sovereigns of Europe accordingly had
treasures. Every Tartar chief in the present times is
said to have oue.
In a commercial country abounding with every sort
of expensive luxury, the sovereign, in the same manner
as almost all the great proprietors in his dominions, na¬
turally spends a great part of his revenue in purchasing
those luxuries. His own and the neighbouring coun¬
tries supply him abundantly with all the costly trinkets
which compose the splendid hut insignificant pageantry
of a court. His ordinary expence becomes equal to
his ordinary revenue, and it is well if it does not
frequently exceed it. The amassing of treasure can
no longer be expected: and when extraordinary exi¬
gencies require extraordinary expences, he must ne¬
cessarily call upon his subjects for an extraordinary aid.
The late king of Prussia and his father are the only
great princes of Europe who, since the death of Hen¬
ry IV. of France in 1610, are supposed to have amas¬
sed any considerable treasure. The parsimony which
leads to accumulation has become almost as rare in re¬
publican as in monarchical governments. The Italian
republics, the United Provinces of the Netherlands,
are all in debt. The canton of Berne is the single re¬
public in Europe which has amassed any considerable
treasure. The other Swiss republics have not. The
taste for some sort of pageantry, for splendid buildings
at least and other public ornaments, frequently prevails
as much in the apparently sober senate house of a little
republic as in the dissipated court of the greatest king.
The want of parsimony in time of peace imposes the
necessity of contracting debt in time of war. When
war comes, there is no money in the treasury but what
is necessary for carrying on the ordinary expence of
the peace establishment. In war an establishment of
three or four times that expence becomes necessary for
the defence of the state, and consequently a revenue
three or four times greater than the peace revenue.
Supposing that the sovereign should have what he
scarce ever has, the immediate means of augmenting
his revenue in proportion to the augmentation of his
expence j yet still the produce of the taxes, from which
this increase of revenue must be drawn, will not begin
to come into the treasury till perhaps ten or twelve
months after they are imposed. But the moment in
which war begins, or rather the moment in which it
appears likely to begin, the army must be augmented,
the fleets must be fitted out, the garrisoned towns must
he put into a posture of defence : that army, that fleet
l
*3 ] N A T
those garrisoned towns, must be furnished with arms, Nanoim!
ammunition, and provisions. An immediate and great Debt,
expence must be incurred in that moment of immedi- 'v
ate danger, which will not wait for the gradual and
slow returns oi the new taxes. In this exigency go¬
vernment can have no other resources but in borrow-
ing.
The same commercial state of society which, by the
operation ol moral causes, brings government in this
manner into the necessity ot borrowing, produces in
the. subjects both an ability and an inclination to lend.
If it commonly brings along with it the necessity of
borrowing, it likewise brings along with it the facility
of doing so.
A country abounding with merchants and manufac¬
turers, necessarily abounds with a set of people through
whose hands not only their own capitals, but the capi¬
tals of all those wrho either lend them money or trust
them with goods, pass as frequently or more frequent¬
ly than the. revenue of a private man, who without
trade or business lives upon his income, passes through
his bands. The revenue of such a man can regularly
pass through his hands only once in a yeaix But the
whole amount of the capital and credit of a merchant
who deals in a trade of which the returns are very
quick may sometimes pass through his hands two,
three, or four times in a year. A country abounding
with merchants and manufacture^, therefore, necessa¬
rily abounds with a set of people, who have it at all
times in their power to advance, if they choose to do
so, a very large sum of money to government. Hence
the ability in the subjects of a commercial state to
lend.
The progress of the enormous debts which at pre- Blackst.
sent oppress, and will in the long-run probably Ya[n^CoTnmcn.
all the great nations of Europe, has been pretty uni¬
form. In England, after the Revolution, when new
connexions with Europe introduced a new system of
foreign politics, the expences of the nation not only in
settling the new establishment, but in maintaining long
wars, as principals, on the continent, for the security
of the Dutch barrier, reducing the French monarchy,
settling the Spanish succession, supporting the house
of Austria, maintaining the liberties of the Ger¬
manic body, and other purposes, increased to an un¬
usual degree : insomuch that it was not thought advise-
able to raise all the expenees of any one year by taxes
to be levied within that year, lest the unaccustomed
weight of them should create murmurs among the peo¬
ple. It was therefore the policy of the times to antici¬
pate the revenues of their posterity, by borrowing im¬
mense sums for the current service of the state, and to
lay no more taxes upon the subject than would suffice
to pay the annual interest of the sums so borrowed j by
this means converting the principal debt into a new
species of property, transferable from one man to an¬
other at any time and in any quantity. This system in¬
deed seems to have had its original in the state of Flo¬
rence, A. D. 1344 ; which government then owed a-
bout 6o,oool. sterling j and being unable to pay it,
formed the principal into an aggregate sum, called me¬
taphorically a t7iount or ba?i/c, the shares whereof were
transferable like our stocks, with interest at 5 per cent,
the prices varying according to the exigencies of the
state.
NAT , [ 624 ] NAT
■National state. This laid the foundation of what is called the
* Debt, national debt; for a few long annuities created in the
 v—reign of Charles II. will hardly deserve that name.
Nations, like private men, have generally begun to
borrow upon what may be called pa'sonul credit^ w ith¬
out assigning or mortgaging any particular fund for
the payment of the debt 5 and when this resource has
failed them, they have gone on to borrow upon assign¬
ments or mortgages of particular funds.
What is called the unfunded debt of Great Britain,
is contracted in the former of those two ways. It
consists partly in a debt which bears, or is supposed to
bear, no interest*, and which resembles the dsbts that a
private man contracts upon account, and partly in a
debt which bears interest, and which resembles what a
private man contracts upon his bill or promissory note.
The debts which are due either for extraordinary ser¬
vices, or for services either not provided for or not
paid at the time when they are performed*, part of
the extraordinaries of the army, navy, and ordnance,
the arrears of subsidies to foreign princes, those of
seamen’s wages, &c. usually constitute a debt of the
first kind. Navy and exchequer bills, which are is¬
sued sometimes in payment of a part of such debts
and sometimes for other purposes, constitute a debt of
the second kind *, exchequer bills bearing interest from
the day on which they are issued, and navy bills six
months after they are issued. The bank of England,
either by voluntarily discounting those bills at their
current value, or by agreeing with government for cer¬
tain considerations to circulate exchequer bills, that is,
to receive them at par, paying the interest which hap¬
pens to be due upon them, keeps up their value, and
facilitates their circulation, and thereby frequently
enables government to contract a very large debt of
this kind. During the great recoinage in King Wil¬
liam’s time, when the bank of England thought pro¬
per to put a stop to its usual transactions, exchequer
bills and tallies are said to have sold from 25 to 60
per cent, discount, owing partly, no doubt, to the sup¬
posed instability of the new government established by
the Revolution, but partly too to the want of the sup¬
port of the bank of England.
W hen this resource is exhausted, aud it becomes ne¬
cessary, in order to raise money, to assign or mortgage
some particular branch of the public revenue for the
payment of the debt, government has upon different
occasions done this in two different ways. Sometimes
it has made this assignment or mortgage for a sdiort 310-
jiod of time only, a year or a few years, for example 5
and sometimes for perpetuity. In the one case, the
fund was supposed sufficient to pay within the limited
time both principal and interest of the money bor¬
rowed : In the other, it was supposed sufficient to pay
the interest only, or a perpetual annuity equivalent to
the interest $ government being at liberty to redeem
at any time this annuity upon paying back the prin¬
cipal sum borrowed. W hen money was raised in the
one way, it was said to be raised hi/ anticipation ; when
in the other, bp perpetual funding, or, more shortly, by
funding.
In the reign of King William, when the debt began
to be amassed, and during a great part of that of
Queen Anne, before we had become so familiar as we
are now with the practice of perpetual funding, the
greater part of the new taxes were imposed but for a National;
short period of time (for four, five, six, or seven years Debt,
only), and a great part of the grants of every year v—-v—■■
consisted in loans upon anticipation of the produce of
those taxes. The produce being frequently insufficient
for paying within the limited term the principal and
interest of the money borrowed, deficiencies arose •, to
make good which it became necessary to prolong the
term.
On the 31st of December 1697, the funded and un¬
funded debts amounted to 21,515,742k 13s. S^d. j
at the same time, 1714, they were 53,681,076!. 5s.
6r2d. In I755> before the breaking out of the war,
they amounted to 72,289,673k j and on the 5th of
January 1763, at the conclusion of the peace, they had
accumulated to 122,603,33^* ®s* 2jd. of funded debt,
and of unfunded 13,027,589k 2s. 2d. more. In 1775*
they were very nearly 130 millions j and the last Ame¬
rican war added upwards of 120 millions more to that
enormous sum: to pay the interest of which, and the
charges of management, amounting annually to nearly
eight millions and a half, the extraordinary revenues
elsewhere enumerated* (excepting only the land-tax * See fo.
and annual malt tax) are in the first place mortgaged vmic.
and made perpetual by parliament. Perpetual, we say}
but still redeemable by the same authority that imposed
them : which, if it at any time can pay off the capital,
will abolish those taxes which are raised to discharge
the interest.
By this means, then, the quantity of property in the
kingdom is greatly increased in idea compared with
former times } yet, if we coolly consider it, not at all
increased in reality. We may boast of large fortunes,
and quantities of money in the funds. But where docs
this money exist ? It exists only in name, in paper, in
public faith, in parliamentary security : and that is
undoubtedly sufficient for the creditors of the public
to rely on.’ But then what is the pledge which the
public faith has pawned for the security of these debts?
The land, the trade, and the personal industry of the
subject *, from which the money must arise that sup¬
plies the several taxes. In these, therefore, and these
only, the property of the public creditors does really
and intrinsically exist} and of course the land, the
trade, and the personal industry of individuals, are di¬
minished in their true value just so much as they are
pledged to answer. If A’s income amounts to 100k
per annum } and he is so far indebted to R, that he
pays him 50k per annum for his interest} one half of
the value of A’s property is transferred to B the credi-
ter. The creditor’s property exists in tne demand
which he has upon the debtor, and nowhere else } and
the debtor is only a trustee to his creditor for one half
of the value of his income. In short, the property of
a creditor of the public consists in a certain portion of
the national taxes} by how much 'therefore be is the
richer, by so much the nation, which pays these taxes,
is the poorer. .
The only advantage that can result to a nation from
public debts, is tbe increase of circulation, by multi¬
plying the cash of the kingdom, and creating a new
species of currency, assignable at any time and m any
quantity} always therefore ready to be employed m
any beneficial undertaking, by means of this its trans¬
ferable quality} and yet producing some profit even
De!
I'-’V
National
Debt.
Nat [62
when it lies idle and unemployed. A certain uronor-
^ tion of debt seems to be highly useful to a trading peo¬
ple ; but what that proportion is, it is not for us to
determine. This much is indisputably certain, that
the present magnitude of our national encumbrances
very far exceeds all calculations of commercial bene¬
fit, and is productive of the greatest inconveniences.
Tor, first, The enormous taxes that are raised upon
the necessaries of life for the payment of the interest
of tins debt, are a hurt both to trade 'and manufac¬
tures, by raising the price as well of the artificer’s
subsistence as of the raw material, and of course, in a
much greater proportion, the price of the commodity
itseU. Nay, the very increase of paper circulation it¬
self, when extended beyond what is requisite for com¬
merce or foreign exchange, has a natural tendency to
increase the price of provisions as ivell as of all other
merchandise. For as its elfect is to multiply the cash
of the kingdom, and this to such an extent that much
must remain unemployed, that cash (which is the uni¬
versal measure of the respective values of all other com¬
modities) must necessarily sink in its own value, and
every thing grow comparatively dearer. Secondly, If
part of this debt be owing to foreigners, either they
draw out of the kingdom annually a considerable quan¬
tity of specie for the interest •, or else it is made an ar¬
gument to grant them unreasonable pritileges in order
to induce them to reside here. Thirdly, If the whole
be owing to subjects only, it is then charging the active
and industrious subject, who pays his share of the taxes
to maintain the indolent and idle creditor who receives
them. Lastly, and principally, It weakens the inter¬
nal strength of a state, by anticipating those resources
which should be reserved to defend it in case of neces¬
sity. The interest we noiv pay for our debt would un¬
doubtedly be sufficient to maintain the most vigorous
war that any national motives could possibly require.
If indeed our ancestors in King William’s time bad an¬
nually paid, so long as their exigencies lasted, a fiir
Jess sum than we now annually raise upon their accounts,
they would not in time of war have borne so great bur¬
dens as they have bequeathed to and settled upon their
posterity in time of peace 5 and might have been eased
the instant the exigence was over. /•
On the. w’hole, then, the national debt is undoubt
edly a subject of vast importance, and as such it has
been always considered 5 for much has been said and
written upon it, and many schemes have been proposed
at various times and by various persons for gradually re¬
moving it, it being considered by the most'judicious as
a most pernicious encumbrance to a commercial coun¬
try. Some, we are aware, think it of vast utility ; but
tins opinion is too excentric, and in our estimation too
leebly supported, to be convincing. The public debt
is indisputably a great grievance j and every lover of
bis country must surely wish to see it removed: the pe¬
riod, however, when this blessing shall take place, if
indeed it ever arrive, must at least be very distant.
. (e^er such as wish for farther information on this
interesting topic, to those who have treated of it at full
ength, as Smith in his Wealth of Nations, and Sir
John Sinclair in his History of the Revenue. The
writings of Dr Price likewise deserve considerable at¬
tention, especially as one of his plans for the reduction
Vol. XIV. Part II.
3 ] NAT
of the debt has in fact been adopted, and in conse- National
quence established, by the legislature : His three plans Debt "
may be found in a pamphlet by William Morgan, en- II
titled, A Review of Dr Price’s Writings on the Sub- NaturaI*
ject of the Iinaiices of tins Kingdom. v ^
JSA1I\IT1;, or Natal Day, the day of a per¬
son’s birth. The word nativity is chiefly used in speak¬
ing of the saints ; as, the nativity of St John the Bap-
tist, &c. But when we say the Nativity, it is un¬
derstood of that of Jesus Christ, or the feast of Christ¬
mas.
Nativity, nativitas, in ancient law books, signifies
bondage or servitude.
Nativity, in Astrology, the theme or figure of the
heavens, and particularly of the twelve houses, at the
moment when a person was born j called also the ho¬
roscope.
Casting the nativity, or by calculation seeking to
know how long the queen should live, &c. was made
felony, an. 23. Eliz. c. 2.
NATIV O habendo, in Law, a writ directed to
the shenff, for a lord who claimed inheritance in any
villain, when a villain was run away from him, for the
apprehending and restoring him to the lord.
^ATIX, in iSataral History, a name given by some
old writers to the nerita.
NAPOLI A, the modern name of the Lesser Asia,
being the most westerly part of Turkey in Asia, and
consisting of a large peninsula, which extends from the
liver Euphrates as far as the Archipelago, the sea of
Marmora, the straits of Gallipoli and of Constantinople,
which separate it from Europe on the west. It id
bounded on the north by the Black sea, and on the
south by the Mediterranean.
NATRIX, in Zoology, the name of the common of
water-snake, called also torquata, from the ring about
its neck. See Ophiology Index.
NATRUM, or Natron, the nitre of the ancients,
one or the fixed alkalies. See Soda, Chemistry Index.
It is found in great abundance in many parts of Asia,
where the natives sweep it up from the surface of the
ground, and called soap earth. The earliest account
v'e have of it is in the scriptures, where we find that
the salt called nitre in those times would ferment with
vinegar, and possessed a detersive quality, so that it was
used in baths and in washing. Solomon compares the
singing of songs with a heavy heart, to the contrariety
of vinegar and nitre: and Jeremiah says, that if the sin¬
ner wash himself with nitre, his sin is not cleansed off.
Ihese are properties that perfectly agree with this salt,
but not at all with our saltpetre, which is the nitre of
the moderns.
NATTER-jack, a species of Rana, which see,
Erfetology Index.
NATURAL, in general, something that relates to
nature. See Nature.
Natural Children, are those horn out of lawful wed¬
lock. See Bastard.
Natural Functions, are those actions whereby the
aliments are changed and assimilated so as to become a
part of the body.
Natural, in Heraldry, is used where animals, fruits,
owers, &c. are blazoned with the colours they natu¬
rally have, though different from the common colours
+ 4K of
Natural
f Dr Perci
ral’s Mo¬
ral and Li
ter ary Dis
aertations.
NAT [ 626 ]
of heraldry : and this Is to prevent their armories being tion of nature
accused of falsity, when blazoned with the names ot
colours unknown in heraldry. .
Natural Note, in Music, is used m opposition to
flat and sharp notes, which are called artijicial notes.
See Note, Scale, &c.
Natural is also used for something coming imme¬
diately out of the hands of nature : in which sense it
stands opposed to factitious or artificial, which signifies
something wrought by art. See Artificial.
Bishop Wilkins observes, that there appears a world
of difference between natural and artificial things, when
viewed with microscopes. The first ever appear adorn¬
ed with all imaginable elegance and beauty ; the latter,
though the most curious in their kind, infinitely rude
and unhewn : the finest needle appears a rough bar of
iron \ and the most accurate engi-aving or embossment,
as if done with a mattock or a trowel.
Natural Hcautij, or the beauty of natural objects,
is that quality or those qualities in the works of nature,
or more properly of God, which are calculated to ex¬
cite pleasing sensations in the minds of all such persons
of true taste as attentively observe them. It will not,
wre trust, be deemed improper or impertinent, there¬
fore, to introduce a few observations on this subject,
previous to our treating of natural history. 1 o many,
it is hoped, it will appear to be a very proper introduc¬
tion to that important article.., “ Ilnrt sensibility to
beauty, and iraProved* vve
term taste, is universally diffused through the human
speciest; and it is most uniform with respect to those
objects, which being out of our power, are not liable to
variation from accident, caprice, or fashion. Ihe ver¬
dant lawn, the shady grove, the variegated landscape,
the boundless ocean, and the starry firmament, are con¬
templated with pleasure by every attentive beholder.
But the emotions of different spectators, though similar
in kind, differ widely in degree •, and to relish with full
delight the enchanting scenes of nature, the mind must
be uncorrupted by avarice, sensuality, or ambition ;
quick in her sensibilities ; elevated in her sentiments ;
and devout in her affections. He who possesses such
exalted powers of perception and enjoyment, may al¬
most say, with the poet,
I care not, Fortune ! what you me deny ;
You cannot rob me of free Nature’s grace ;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shows her bright’ning face ;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by li ving stream, at eve :
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave :
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
“ Perhaps such ardent enthusiasm may not be com¬
patible with the necessary toils and active offices which
Providence has assigned to the generality of men. But
there are none to whom some portion of it may not
prove advantageous : and if it were cherished by each
individual, in that degree which is consistent with the
indispensable duties of his station, the felicity of human
life would be considerably augmented. From tins
source the refined and vivid pleasures of the imagina¬
tion are almost entirely derived: and the elegant arts
owe their choicest beauties to a taste for the contemp’a-
N A T
Painting and sculpture are express imi¬
tations of visible objects j and where would be the
charms of poetry, if divested of the imagery and cmbel- v
lishments which she borrows from rural scenes ? I amt-
ers, statuaries, and poets, therefore, are always ambi¬
tious to acknowledge themselves the pupils ot nature j
and as their skill increases, they grow more and more
delighted with every view of the animal and vegetable
world. But the pleasure resulting from admiration is
transient 5 and to cultivate taste, without regard to its
influence on the passions and affections, is to real a
tree for its blossoms, which is capable of yielding the
richest and most valuable fruit.’ Physical and moral
beauty bear so intimate a relation to each other, that
they may be considered as different gradations in the
scale of excellence *, and the knowledge and relish of
the former should be deemed only a step to the nobler
and more permanent enjoyments of the latter.
“ Whoever has visited the Leasowes, in Warwick¬
shire, must have felt the force and propriety of an in¬
scription which meets the eye at the entrance into those
delightful grounds.
Would you then taste the tranquil scene ?
Be sure your bosoms be serene :
Devoid ot hate, devoid of strife.
Devoid of all that poisons life :
And much it ’vails you, in their place,
To graft the love of human race.
Natural
Beauty.
“ Now such scenes contribute powerfully to inspire
that serenity which is necessary to enjoy and to height¬
en their beauties. By a secret contagion, the soul
catches the harmony which she contemplates 5 and
the frame within assimilates itselt to that which is with-
out. For,
Who can forbear to smile with Nature ? Can
The stormy passions in the bosom roll,
While every gale is peace, and every grove
Is melody ?
“ In this state of sweet composure, we become sus¬
ceptible of virtuous impressions, from almost every sur¬
rounding object. The patient ox is viewed with gene¬
rous complacency j the guileless sheep with pity •, and
the playful lamb raises emotions of tenderness and love.
We rejoice with the horse, in his liberty and exemption
from toil, while he ranges at large through enamelled
pastures 5 and the frolics of the colt would aftord un¬
mixed delight, did we not recollect the bondage which
he is soon to undergo. We are charmed with the song
of birds, soothed with the buzz of insects, and pleased
with the sportive motions of fishes, because these are
expressions of enjoyment •, and we exult in the fehcitv
of the whole animated creation. 'I bus an equal and
extensive benevolence is called forth into exertion j and
having felt a common interest in the gratihcations ot
inferior beings, we shall be no longer indifferent to
their sufferings, or become wantonly instrumental in
pioducin^tl^ ^ ^ tlie in{cnt;on 0f Providence, that
the lower order of animals should be subservient to the
comfort, convenience, and sustenance of man. u
his right of dominion extends no farther ; and it tin
right be exercised with mildness, humanity, and jus¬
tice, the subjects of his power will be no less benefi -
NAT
K-dturul
Beauty.
6(1 than himself. 1* or 'Various species of livincr crea-
tuics die annually multiplied by human aii^ improved
in tlieir perceptive powers by human culture, and plen-
tifully fed by human industry. The relation, there¬
fore, is reciprocal between such animals and man •, and
he may supply his own wants by the use of their la¬
bour, the produce of their bodies, and even the sacri¬
fice of their lives, whilst he co-operates with all-gra¬
cious Heaven in promoting happiness, the great end of
existence.
“ But though it be true, that partial evil, with re¬
spect to different orders of sensitive beings, may be uni¬
versal good ; and that it is a wise and benevolent insti¬
tution of nature, to make destruction itself, within cer¬
tain limitations, the cause of an increase of life and en¬
joyment j yet a generous person will extend his com¬
passionate regards to every individual that suffers for
his sake: and whilst he sighs
Even for the kid or lamb that parts its life
Beneath the bloody knife,
he will naturally be solicitous to mitigate pain, both in
duration and degree, by the gentlest modes of inflict¬
ing it.
^ “ We are inclined to believe, however, that this sense
of humanity would soon be obliterated, and that the
iieart would grow callous to every soft impression, were
it not for the benignant influence of the smiling face of
nature. ^ '1 he count de Lauzun, when imprisoned by
Louis XIV. in the castle of Pignerol, amused himself
during a long period of time with catching flies, and
delivering them to be devoured by a rapacious spider.
Such an entertainment was equally singular and cruel i
and inconsistent, we believe, with his former character,
and his subsequent turn of mind. But his cell had im
window, and received only a glimmering light from an
aperture in the roof. In less unfavourable circumstan¬
ces, may we not presume, that instead of sporting with
misery, he would have released the agonizing flies, and
bid them enjoy that freedom of which he himself was
bereaved ?
But the taste for natural beauty is subservient to
higher purposes than those which have been enumerat¬
ed ;. and the cultivation of it not only refines and hu¬
manizes, but dignifies and exalts the affections. It
elevates them to the admiration and love of that Be¬
ing who is the author of all that is fair, sublime, and
good in the creation. Scepticism and irrehgion are
hardly compatible with the sensibility of heart which
arises from a just and lively relish of the wisdom, har-
mony, and order subsisting in the world around us :
and emotions of piety must spring up spontaneously in
the bosom that is in unison with all animated nature.
Actuated by this divine inspiration, man finds a fane in
; eveiy grove ; and glowing with devout fervour, he
joins liis song to the universal chorus, or muses the
praise of the Almighty, in more expressive silence.
Thus they
4‘ Whom Nature’s works can charm, with God himself
Hold converse: grow familiar, day by day,
Vitb his conceptions j act upon his plan 4 *
And form to his the relish of their souls.”
On the wdiole, then, it certainly appears, that the
f 627 ]
NAT
advantages resulting from a taste for natural beauties
are great and important: it is equally certain, that as
it is useful, so it is a continual source of real enjoy- '
ment 5 for a more rational pleasure cannot possibly oc¬
cupy the attention or captivate the affections of man¬
kind, than that which arises from a due consideration
of the works of nature. Pleasure, we know, is a ne¬
cessary ingredient in human life, in order in some mea¬
sure to counterbalance the pains, the evils, and listless¬
nesses, which are at times perhaps unavoidable, and in
order to render life tolerable. It is the part then of
the moralist, and it has been frequently his business,
to point out and recommend such pleasures as are high ¬
ly gratifying, and are yet perfectly innocent- The
Spectator, whose works will be admired as long as the
language in which they are written is understood, re¬
commends strongly and elegantly the pleasure of a gar¬
den ; and a later writer t, of no common degree of me- f
rit, and of very considerable fame, has an essay on
the same subject, from which we shall select a few ob¬
servations, and so conclude the article. “ Not he a-
lone (says this elegant writer) is to be esteemed a be¬
nefactor to mankind, who makes an usefid discovery j
but he also who can point out and recommend an inno¬
cent pleasure. Of this kind are the pleasures arising
from the observation of nature 5 and they are highly
agreeable to every taste uncorrupted by vicious indul¬
gence. Rural scenes of almost every kind are delight¬
ful to the mind of man. But the misfortune is, that
the greater part are hurried on in the career of life w ith
too great rapidity to be able to give attention to that
which solicits no passion. The darkest habitation in
the dirtiest street of the metropolis, where money caw
be earned, has greater charms with many than the
groves of Hagley.
“ The patron of refined pleasure, the elegant Epicu¬
rus, fixed the seat of his enjoyment in a garden. He
was of opinion, that a tranquil spot, furnished with
the united sweets of art and nature, was the best
adapted to delicate repose. And even the severer phi¬
losophers of antiquity were wont to discourse in the
shade of a spreading tree, in some cultivated planta¬
tion. It is obvious, on intuition, that nature often
intended solely to please the eye in her vegetable pro¬
ductions. She decorates the floweret that springs be¬
neath our feet in all the perfections of external beauty.
She has clothed the garden with a constant succession
of various hues. Even the leaves of the tree undergo
a pleasing vicissitude. The fresh verdure which they
exhibit in the spring, the various shades which they
assume in summer, the yellowr and russet tinge of au¬
tumn, and the nakedness of winter, afford a constant
pleasure to a lively imagination. From the snowdrop
to the moss rose the flower garden displays an infinite
variety of shape and colour. The taste of the florist
has been ridiculed as trifling; yet surely without rea¬
son. Did nature bring forth the tulip and the lily,
the rose and the honeysuckle, to be neglected by the
haughty pretender to superior reason ? To omit a
single social duty for the cultivation of a polyanthus
were ridiculous as well as criminal; but to pass by the
beauties lavished before us, without observing them, is
no less ingratitude than stupidity. A had heart finds
little amusement but in a communication with the ac¬
tive world, where scope is given for the indulgence of
4K 2 malignant
Natural
Beauty.
Dr Knox.
Natural
Beauty.
NAT [ 628 ] NAT
malignant passions •, but an amiable disposition is com¬
monly known by a taste for the beauties ot the animal
and the vegetable creation.” In short, since the world
was made for our use, since the beauties of nature are
alike displayed before all men, and since they are un¬
questionably an inexhaustible lund of innocent amuse¬
ment *, that subject must be of vast importance which
enables us to relish them properly.
Natural
Beauty.
NATURAL
Definition.c-pHE objects of nature may he considered under two
points of view 5 1st, With respect to their form,
structure, habits, and individual properties when viewed
in a state of inactivity; 2dly, With respect to the mu¬
tual changes which they produce when made to act on
each other. Hence the study of nature may be
divided into two parts, Natural History and Na¬
tural Science } the former considering bodies in com¬
paratively an inactive state, the latter in a state of mu¬
tual action.
Natural History, then, is that part of natural
knowledge which teaches us to distinguish and describe
the objects of nature, to examine their appearance,
structure, properties and uses, and to collect, preserve,
2 and arrange them (a).
Immensity I. When we take a general survey of the objects
of nature’s w;th which we arc surrounded, we are bewildered
werlw. amidst the number and variety that are every where
presented to our view. The air, the woods, the fields,
the waters, teem with myriads of animals •, a large pro¬
portion of the earth’s surface is covered with a green
mantle of luxuriant herbage, interspersed with plants
and flowers of a thousand varied tints ; and when we
search below this, when we explore the cloud-capt
mountain, the gloomy mine, the sequestered cavern, or
the rocky cliff, we discover a great variety of mineral
substances, either piled into irregular masses, or lying
in uniform beds or layers, disposed in veins or seams,
or scattered at random through the other stony mat¬
ters.
To the casual observer, the number and variety of
these objects would appear almost infinite. He would
consider it equally impossible to enumerate them, as to
number the stars, or count the sands on the sea shore.
This idea, however, arises from his seeing them in con¬
fusion and disorder. The naturalist, by separating them
into those groups or classes, in which they often natural¬
ly present themselves, has succeeded not only in dis¬
tinguishing the several kinds from each other, but
even in guessing pretty accurately at the number of
species that have hitherto been discovered.
There/are two objects which should principally oc-
HISTORY.
cupy the attention of the naturalist: 1st, To classify
natural substances 5 2dly, To examine their structure. 3
The number of natural productions being confessed-Classilka-
ly very great, it is necessary to find out some meanstl0IU
of distinguishing them from each other, and ot re¬
cognising them on seeing them anew. These means
are the peculiarities, or tlie assemblages of peculiarities,
that exclusively belong to each body. Now there is
scarcely any substance that has a simple character, that
is, which can be distinguished from every other sub¬
stance by any one of its properties singly. It is only
by the combination of several of these properties that,
we can distinguish an object from others which re¬
semble it in possessing some one or more of those very
properties ; and the more numerous the species we com¬
pare, the more necessary it becomes to bring their pro¬
perties together, in order to assign to each a character
that may distinguish it from the rest. Hence to distin-
(Tuish a species, considered independently from all others
That exist in nature, it is necessary to express in its cha¬
racter almost the whole of its properties ^ and the moie
of these we take into the character, the more complete
will be our description of the object. But no man can
acquire a sufficiently accurate knowledge of all natural
objects to enable him to give a complete description of
them : human life is too short to admit of the com¬
pletion of such a task. All that can be expected from
our limited faculties is to acquire a general knowledge
of natural objects, confining our principal attention to
such as possess some striking qualities, or appear con¬
vertible to the useful purposes of life. 4
To gain this end, two modes of procedure have been Method*
adopted by naturalists. According to the first made, and
we employ characters that proceed by degrees from tews.
particulars to generals. We begin by comparing
together a certain number of species that bear the
nearest relation to each other. In drawing the cha¬
racters of these species, it is requisite to express only
those differences, which, on a supposition that they are
the most nearly related, form but a small part of their
properties 5 a number of species thus brought together
constitutes what is called a genus or: tribe.
(a) Some writers divide natural history into general and particular^ which are thus defined by Cuvier. General
natural history considers under a single point of view, all natural bodies, and the common lesu t o a t cirac ions
jn the great whole of nature. It determines the laws of coexistence of their properties 5 it establishes the degrees
of resemblance that exist between different bodies, and classes them according to these'degiees. ne ar itu ar
natural history of any body, to be perfect, should comprehend, 1st, The description of al the sensi e propei ics
of that body, and of all its parts ; 2d, The mutual relations of these parts, the motions which they produce, ami
the changes which they undergo while they remain united; 3d, The active and passive relations of *11 ® 0 ^ 1
every other body in the universe; and 4th, The explanation ot all these phenomena. See lableau men ane
W’ Hisloire Naturelle.
NATURAL
ssifica- The remainder of these properties which are common
io»! to all the species of the genus combine to form the
character, or rather the description, of the genus, dis¬
tinguishing it from all those which might be formed by
bringing together other species ; but the number of
these common properties being still very considerable,
we repeat the same means in order to reduce the cha¬
racters of the gcnct’u to smaller terms. We compare
together only those genera which most nearly resemble
eacn other, and the generic characters now employed
must only express those differences which form but a
small part of their common properties. Those proper¬
ties, which are common to all the genera, compose a
character that distinguishes this assemblage or group
from all other groups of genera. Such an assemblage
of genera is called an order.
Repeating the same operation, and bringing to¬
gether such orders as are most nearly allied, we form
a more general assemblage, called a class ; and again
uniting a certain number of classes, we form a higher
division, to which naturalists have given the name of
kingdom r this chain of divisions in which the higher
links comprehend the lower, forms what is called a me¬
thod. 1 he other mode of procedure is to rise gra¬
dually from generals to particulars, beginning with the
slightest and most obvious differences, thus forming the
first division or kingdom ; dividing each kingdom into
classes, each class into orders, each order into genera,
each genus into species, and each species into varieties.
This descending series constitutes what is called a sys¬
tem, and is that which has been generally adopted by
|J]> naturalists.
ti( illustrate this systematical classification of natural
objects, let us select a familiar example. Among the
various creatures that pass under our observation, a
great number are possessed of life, of sensation, and vo¬
luntary motion ; these we call animals, and of these
we form the animal kingdom. On examining various
groups of animals, we find that many have four extre¬
mities, and suckle their young by means of teats •, these
we call quadrupeds or mammalia. We have thus
formed a class of animals. Again we find that of the
mammalia some have hoofed feet and blunt fore-teeth,
and feed almost entirely on vegetables. These will
constitute an order of the class of mammalia, to which
Linnaeus has given the name of helluce. Of this order
a certain number of animals agree in having six fore¬
teeth in both jaws, and form a genus or tribe distinguish¬
ed by this particular from the other animals of the same
order, and commonly called the horse tribe. Lastly,
In this tribe we find one species that has solid hoofs, a
tail bristly at the end, an upright mane, and a black
| cross on the shoulder of the male. This species is the
1 common ass.
I1 °f In framing an artificial system of natural history,
,‘”t0 most writers have agreed on the division of natural
e(j bodies into kingdoms, proceeding on the supposition
that those marks which are to distinguish the objects of
one kingdom from those of another are sufficiently fixed
and certain.
Let us examine for a little how far this supposition
agrees with nature’s works as we find them.
The division of natural objects commonly adopted is
into three kingdoms j the animal, vegetable, and miner¬
al kingdoms. This division has been almost universally
HISTORY. 6251
received as perfectly consistent with nature j and is by Classifica.
most persons thought to be so clear and distinct, that tion.
they suppose it impossible to mistake in referring any
particular object to its proper kingdom. This arises
from their having noticed only such objects as bear evi¬
dent marks of the division to which they belong; but
if we draw their attention to a variety of other indivi¬
duals, they will acknowledge themselves to be incompe¬
tent to the decision, or will erroneously refer to one di¬
vision, what has, after accurate examination, been de¬
termined to belong to another.
^ here is one whole class of productions, called •zoo
phytes by naturalists, which seem to form the connect¬
ing links between the difierent kingdoms. They are
animals of the polypus kind, mostly covered with a cal¬
careous crust, differing little in composition from the
shells of lobsters, shrimps, and other shell-fish, and
formed like them from an exudation or secretion on the
surface of their bodies. Ihese polypi are connected
together by thousands, or even millions, and assume a
great variety of appearances according to their arrange¬
ment : the same species, however, always assuming the
same, or very nearly the same appearance. Some are
connected together in form of stem and branches, as the
flustree, sertularice, corallines and others ; many of which
have their offspring in the egg state attached" to them,
and so situated as to bear exact resemblance to the seed-
vessels of plants. These are altogether so like to many
of the sea plants, as to be generally confounded with
them, under the title of sea-weeds ; but the attentive
naturalist may, by examining them in their natural state,
perceive the tentacula or feelers of each polypus ex¬
tended in its search for food, and hastily retracting
within its shell upon the leant alarm. Many of this de¬
scription are found attached to oysters or other shell¬
fish 5 and often to stones and pebbles which are covered
or occasionally wetted by the sea.
Other zoophytes assume less regular figures, and are
much more firm and solid, resembling the productions
of the mineral kingdom. Madrepores and millepores,
called often brainsiones, are of this kind. At first sight
they look very like stones and pebbles, or like pieces of
chalk or marble, but on an accurate inspection, anv
one may perceive marks of an organic structure ; and
when they are in a recent state, may detect the inhabi¬
tants of their numerous cells.
The above examples will suffice to prove, how in¬
sufficient is either a hasty examination or the judging
by similarity of appearance, for determining to what
kingdom of nature any particular object belongs. But
there are many other productions to which few persons
could without hesitation assign their places : For in¬
stance, where would we arrange the green powdery
substance so common on palingj the spotted and streak¬
ed appearance on stones j the mould on cheese, or the
green jelly-like matter that floats on the surface of the
stagnant waters ? Naturalists in general have assigned
these productions to the vegetable kingdom j but Sen-
nebier and a few others have maintained that some of *
them are animals.
According to some writers, the most philosophical
notion which we can form on this subject is, that the
division of natural objects into kingdoms is artificial,
and that Nature, acknowledging no such bonds, passes
imperceptibly from the animal to the vegetable, and from
th«.
* Skrim-
i.hire's Es¬
says on Na¬
tural His¬
tory, vol. i.
Division of
natural bo
dies into
organized
and inor¬
ganic.
NATURAL
the vegetable to the mineral World, without defining
where one ceases or where the next begins. _
As the appearances of natural productions are insuf¬
ficient, so are their properties and powers, for determin¬
ing which are animals or which vegetables, according
to the received acceptation of the terms, It loco¬
motion is allowed to be the characteristic of an animal,
where shall we place the oyster, or the zoophytes ot
which we have just been speaking, or where some
species of ulva and conferva, plants that swim about de¬
tached in water ? If feeling or sensation be the test,
who shall decide, that the sensitive plant (mimosa pu-
dica), possessess it not ? and who determine that the
leaves of the fly-trap, (Dionera muscipula), when they
contract, and catch the fly as soon as it alights, do ^not
feel the despoiler that comes to rob it of its honey ?
Though these and similar objections may certainly
be made to the artificial division ol nature’s works into
kingdoms, yet it is convenient to have such a division *,
amf even the very difficulty of establishing to which
kingdom any object belongs, is an additional spur to
the genius and industry of the naturalist.
The most natural division of the works of nature is
that which distinguishes them into organized and tnor-
p-anic bodies $ and on the whole, we have seen no at¬
tempt to establish the differences between these so suc¬
cessful as that adopted by M. Dumeril in his late scien¬
tific work, Traite Elementaire d'Histoire JSaturcllc.
“ Some objects, says he, as animals and plants, have for¬
merly constituted a part of other individuals, similar to
themselves, from which they have been separated at a
certain period, under the form of eggs, of germs, or of
little living creatures •, and their existence is evidently
owing to this generation ; they are born. Others, on
the contrary, as stones, salts, Avater, may be formed by
certain circumstances, and even by ourselves at pleasure.
They have not necessarily made a part of other similar
bodies, their existence seems to depend on certainfbi-
tuitous circumstances, that have produced the appioxi-
mation of their constituent principles, and their origin
might be referred to attraction. These bodies are
formed. Vegetables and animals, in increasing their size,
only develope themselves. Whatever may be their
minuteness, we shall, on a careful examination, find
them already formed, with their parts requiring only to
be evolved. Their increase proceeds from Avithin out-
Avards by intussusception.' Stones, and a great many
other bodies, are augmented only by the same matter
from Avhich they are produced ; their groivth takes
place always from without, by a sort of aggregation.
“ As the increase of the bodies ivhich compose these
two great subdivisions is not alike in both, a duration
very different ought to be the result ot these dissimilari¬
ty. In fact, minerals are susceptible of indefinite in-
r crease, and their end is ahvays indeterminate*, it is
vague, and depends on the circumstances under which
they are placed. Plants and animals ought, from the
same circumstances which favoured their developement,
to stop when their extension has been carried to the
highest degree, so that the end or death of these bodies
is fixed and necessary.
“ The masses in which stones and other similar bodies
generally present themselves, are angular, insulated, and
very variable in their size. The individuals which we
jpall plants and animals, have always, and necessarily, a
H I S T O R Y.
form that is constant, for the most part rounded and Classify
symmetrical, and their extension is limited within cer¬
tain bounds.
“ There is this great difference between these bodies j
that those which increase by aggregation may lie divid¬
ed into molecules, or parts infinitely small, bearing a
very near resemblance to the mass from which they
were taken j Avhile in those which develope themselves,
no portion can be taken away and exist by itself, at
least unless it develppe new* parts, ivlucli replace those
that are wanting.
“ The bodies Avhich do not dei'clope themselves, are
in general formed of ^fluids or solids which remain con¬
stantly in the same points ; they are composed of very
few elements, Avhich may he separated and again reunit¬
ed. The bodies which develope themselves, on the
contrary, are essentially composed ot solids and fluids,
Avhioh are always changing, and in a state of renova-
tiony they have always, and from necessity, more or * Duma
less consistence, they are penetrated and augmented by
fluids, and after being- decomposed they can never be; ^ ^
formed again such as they were.be fore.*.” s
For the more convenient study of natural history, the Division
whole subject may he divided into five great branches,natulal
viz. Meteorology, Hydrography, Mineralogy, Botany,101 b
and Zoology.
1. Meteorology includes the description of all those
phenomena which take place in the atmosphere that
surrounds our globe. In the present work it is consider¬
ed under the articles Meteorology, Meteorolite,
Atmospheric.EleUtricit, Cloud, Moon, Influence^
of i
2. Hydrography comprehends the natural history ofHydrognj
the sea, of rivers, lakes, and other collections of water
that make up so large a part of the earth. Much of
this subject Avill he found treated of under the article
River, and various parts of it have been discussed
under Chemistry and Mineralogy. n
3. Mineralogy is that part of the subject rvliich treats Minerak
of the solid inorganic bodies that are found on the sur-gy.
face or in the bowels of the earth. It has been con¬
sidered under the articles Geology and Mineralogy. u
4. Botany comprehends the natural history of vege-Botany.
tables. See Botany. 13
5. Zoology includes the natural history of all am-/-ooiog).
mated beings, and is subdivided into many subordinate
classes.
These classes are different in number and denomina¬
tion, according to the different systems of naturalists.
Linne, whom we have principally followed in this
work, has arranged animals under six classes : viz. i.
Mammalia, or those animals which suckle their young
at mamma: or paps } see Man, Mammalia and Ceto-
logy. 1. Aves, or birds j see Ornithology. 3. Am¬
phibia, or those animals which can live either on land
or in water *, see Erpetology and OpHIOLOGY. 4-
Piscesf or fishes j see Ichthyology. 5. Insecta, or
insects 5 see Entomology. And 6. V?rmes, or wormsj
see Helminthology and Conchology. .^1
Later naturalists have divided animals into a greater
number of classes, and hay e subdivided these differently. 0
Of these arrangements,thatofM. Cuvier seems the most
deserving of notice. After considering man, whom he
very properly distinguishes from the other mammalia
by allotting to him a separate book, he divides the rest
C “
Of '(is.
NATURAL
jfica- of the animal kingdom into nine classes, viz. Mammife-
in. rous animals, Birds, Reptiles, Fishes, Mollusca,
v*”''Worms, Crustaceous animals, Insects and Zoo¬
phytes.
W e have already given an outline of four of these
classes, viz. of the Mammiferous animals, under
Mammalia, and of Mollusca, Worms and Zoo¬
phytes, under Helminthology. To complete our
view of Cuvier’s arrangement, we shall here add an out-
, line of the remaining five classes.
Cuvier divides birds into five orders, viz. Rapa¬
cious birds or Accipitres, Passerine birds, Clim¬
bers or Scansores, Gallinaceous birds, Waders
or Grall/e, and Anserine birds.
1. The Rapacious birds have short feet, toes fur¬
nished with strong claws, and a hooked bill. They are
subdivided into three sections ; viz. Nudicolles, having
the head and part of the neck without feathers ; contain¬
ing the vulture tribe. Plumicolles, having the head
covered with feathers and a cere at the base of the
bill, containing the falcon tribe 5 including Griffons,
Eagles, Sparrow-hawks, Buzzards, Kites and Falcons.
Nycteridcs, having the head flattened backward from
the front and the eyes directed forward } containing the
owl tribe.
2. The Passerine birds are distinguished by having
four toes, three before and one behind, with the exter¬
nal toes wholly or partially united. They are subdivid¬
ed into seven sections: viz. Crenirostres, having the bill
grooved towards the end of the mandible } containing
the Shrikes, Flycatchers, Thrushes, Chatterers and
Tanagers. Dentirostres, having a bill with notched
edges •, containing the Plant-clippers, Motmots, and
Hornbills, Plenirosit'es, having the bill straight, strong,
compressed and without a groove ; containing the Gra-
kles, Crows, Rollers, and Birds of Paradise. Conirostres,
having the bill conical ; containing the Orioles, Stares,
Grosbeaks, Sparrows, and Buntings. Sahtdirostres, hav¬
ing the bill slender like an awl •, containing the Titmice,
Manakins, Larks, and Wagtails. Planirostres, having
the bill short, flattened horizontally, and opening very
wide ; containing the Swallows and Goat-suckers.
Fenuirostres, having the bill slender, elongated and
solid ; containing the Nuthatches, Creepers, Humming
birds, Hoopoes, Bee-eaters, King’s-fishers and Todys.
3. The Climbers have two toes before and two
behind. They are subdivided into two sections j viz.
Cuneirostres, having a slender bill \ containing Jaca-
mars, Wood-peckers, W7ry-necks, and Cuckoos. Levi-
rostres, having the bill thick and light ; containing the
An is, Touracoes, Musophages, Curucnis, Barbets, Tou¬
cans, and Parrots.
4. The Gallinaceous birds have the front toes
united at their base by a short membrane. They are
subdivided into two sections, viz. Alectridcs, having
common wings fitted for flying; containing the Pigeons,
Grouse, Peacocks, Pheasants, Pintados, Turkeys, Cur-
assows, Guans, Bustards. Brevipennes, having wings
too short for flight } containing the Ostrich, Cassowary
and Dodo tribes.
5. The Waders have elevated and naked tarsi and
the two outer toes united. They are subdivided into
five sections, viz. Brevirostres, having the bill short and
thick; containingtheTrumpeters, Screamers,Secretaries,
Boat-bills, and Flamingos. Cultrirostres, having the bill
i5
two Of reptiles.
H I S T O R Y.
long, strong, and like a knife ; containing the Herons,
Jabirus and Ibisses. Latirostres ; having the bill long,
weak, and flattened horizontally; containing the Spoon¬
bills. Longirostres, having the bill slender, long and
weak ; containing the Avosets, Plovers, Lapwings,
Phalaropes, and Woodcocks. Pressirostres, having
the bill middle-sized and compressed, containing the
Oyster-Catchers, Rails, Coots and Jacanas.
6. ’I he Anserine birds have the toes united by
broad membranes. rI hey are subdivided into four sec¬
tions, viz. Pennipedes, having all the four toes united ;
containing the Pelicans, Tropic birds and Darters. Ma-
vroptcrcs, having the thumb free, the bill not indented,
and very long wings; containing the Terns, Gulls, Skim¬
mers, Petrels and Albatr osses. Scrnrostres, having the
thumb free, the bill broad and serrated, and wings of a
moderate size ; containing the Ducks and Mergansers.
Brachyptercs, having the thumb either free or wanting,
the bill not serrated, and the wings very short, contain¬
ing the Grebes, Auks and Manchots.
'I he Amphibia or Reptiles are divided into
orders, as follows.
1. Those that have a heart with two auricles. This
order is subdivided into two sections, viz. Chelonia,
having a back shell and the jaws invested with horn,
containing the Tortoise tribe, including Turtles and
Tortoises. Sauria, having a scaly body and teeth ; con¬
taining the Lizard tribe, including the Crocodiles,
Guanas, Dragons, Lizards, Skinks, and some others.
2. Those that have a heart with one auricle. This
order is also subdivided into two sections, viz. Ophidia,
having a scaly body, no feet, and always without bran-
chioe ; containing the tribes of Anguis, Anrphisbama,
Caecilia, Acrocordon, Angaba, Coluber or Snake,
Boa, and Crotalus or Battle-Snake. Batrachia, hav¬
ing a naked skin, feet and branchiae in the young ani¬
mals ; containing the Frogs, Salamanders, and (accord¬
ing to Cuvier’s original table) the Siren.
The fishes are divided into two orders, CartILAGI- of fiYcs,
nous and Bony fishes.
1. Those which have a Cartilaginous skeleton are
divided into two sections, viz. Chondropterygii, with '
fixed branchiae ; containing the Lampreys, Hags, Rays,
Dog-fish and Sea-monsters. Branchiostegi, with free
branchiae ; containing the tribes Batrachus or American
Toad-fish, Polyodon, Accipenser or Sturgeons^ Pega¬
sus, Syngnathus or Pipe-fish, Centriseus or Bellows-
fish, Balistes or Horned-fish, Ostracion or Trunk-
fish, Tetraodon or Sun-fish, Oveides, Mola or Moles.
Diodon or Porcupine-fish, Lophius or Frog-fish, and
Cyclopterus or Lumpfish*
2. The fishes with a bony skeleton are'subdivided
into four sections, viz. Apodes, having no ventral fins ;
containing the tribes of Muraena or Eels, Gymno-
thorax, Synbranchus, Sphagebranchus, Gymnotus or
Electric-eels, Trichiurus, Gymneterus, Ophidium, Am-
modytes, or Sand-eels ; Anarrhichas, or Sea-wolves ; and
Xiphias or Swordfish. Jugulares, having the ventral
fins situated before the pectoral; containing the Had¬
docks, Blennys, Hunch-back, Dragonets, Sea-dragons,
and Star-gazers. Thoracici, with the ventral fins situ¬
ated below the pectoral ; containing the Bull-heads,
Scorpions, Gurnards, Gobys, Surmullets, Mackerel,
Stickle-backs, Long-tails, Lonchiurus, Johnes, Sciaenes,
Dorees, Stromateus, Theuthis, Cbsetodon, Dorados,
Bodians.;
6 yz
C'assifca-
tiou.
IS
Of Crusta¬
cea,
19
Of insects.
NATURAL
Bodiaiis, Ilojocentrus, Lutiens, Perches, Anthias, Epin-
elephus, Wrasses, Breams, Scares, Flounders, Sea-ser¬
pents, Lepidopus, and Kemoras. Abdominales, with
the ventral fins situated behind the pectoral; containing
the Mormyrus, Carps, Mullets, Flying-fish, 1 olynemus,
Herrings, Atherines, Argentines, Salmons, Pikes,
Loehes, Anablapes, Silurus, Platysomatus, Armed-fish,
Cuirass-fish, Amia, Acanthonotus, and Fistulana, or
Tobacco-pipe-fish.
The Crustacea are divided into two orders, as lol-
l°ws: . • 1
1. Monoculi, containing the tribes of Limulus, Ca-
lygus, Apus, Cyclops, and Polyphemus.
2. Ecrevisscs, or Crabs, containing the tribes of Can¬
cer, Inachus, Pagurus, Astacus, Palinurus, Scyllarus,
and Squilla.
The Insects are distributed by Cuvier under two
general orders, viz. Those with jaws, and those without
jaws.
1, Insects with jaws are arranged under five sections,
viz. Gnathaftera, Neuroptera, Hymenoptera,
Coeeoptera, andOrthoptera. The Gnathaptera,
have no wings, and are subdivided into Polygnathes, bav-
inir several pairsof jaws, containing the tribes ofPhysodes,
Oniscus, and Cymothoa ■, Millepedes, with two jaws and
feet-at each ring of the body, containing the tribes of Ju-
ius and Scolopcndraj Araneides, having the head joined
to the corselets, eight feet, and abdomen without feet;
Seticaudes, having thehead distinct, six feet, and abdomen
terminated by silken threads; Ricimts, with the head
distinct, six feet, and tlie abdomen naked. The Neu¬
roptera have four reticulated wings, and are subdivid¬
ed into 0donates, having the mouth covered with the
lip, and the wings extended during repose j Tectipennes,
with the mouth salient, and wings hidden below the
body during repose •, Agnathes, with a very small
mouth, and no mandibles. The Hymenoptera have
four veined wings, and of these some have the abdomen
joined to the thorax by a pedicle ; as the Melides, ha¬
ving the lip prolonged into a trunk the Duplipennes,
having the upper wings folded lengthwise 5 the Chry-
sides, having the antenna; bent, and the abdomen hol¬
low below ; the Anthophiles, with the antennae filiform,
wings not folded, abdomen round, and lips short j the
Trouisseurs, with setaceous antennae, of 12 or 13 joints,
rolling up spirally *, the Mynneges, with setaceous bent
antennae, and a rounded abdomen j the Insectirodes,
with bent antennae of 30 joints, and a prominent sting }
Cynipes, with filiform antennae and a spiral sting.
Others of this section have the abdomen sessile, as the
Uroceri, with palpae scarcely apparent, and a very pro¬
minent sting, and the Tenthredos with very prominent
palpae and a serrated sting. The Coleoptera have
four wings, the uppermost of which are hard, and the
lower fold transversely : they have either six palpae, as
the Carnassiers, with fililorm or setaceous antennae } or
four palpae j and of these latter some have the tarsus five-
jointed, as the Lamellicornes, with clavated antennae,
having the club lamellatedj the Clavicornes, with the an¬
tennae either perfoliated or solid j the Idrachelyteres, with
nioniliform antennae and short elytra } the (f oodpiercers,
with filiform antennae and hard elytra j and the Apalytres,
with filiform antennae and soft elytra. Others have the
tarsi four or five-jointed; as the Lucifuges, with variable
antennae and hard elytra j and the Blistering-flies, with
4
HISTORY.
variable antennae and soft elytra. Others again have the clans. a. j
tarsi four-jointed \ as the Rostricornes, with antennae on tit I
the beak j the Wood-eaters, with setiform antennae j the ' '■* j
Teretiforms, with clavated antennae, and a body often _
cylindrical, and the club solid ; the Flaniforms, with
granulated antennae and a flattened body j and the Hcr-
bivori, with filiform or moniliform antennae and a swol¬
len body. A few have the tarsi three-jointed, as the
Coccinellce. The Orthoptera have four wings, the up¬
per hard and the lower folded longitudinally. They in¬
clude the Fnrfietdce, having the anus terminated by a for¬
ceps j the Blatter, with a flattened body and the head re¬
tiring below the corselet j the Mantis and Spectres, with
a very long corselet •, and the Reapers, with cylindrical
body and long hinder legs formed for jumping.
2. The Insects without jaws are subdivided into He-
miptera, Lepidotera, Diptera, and Aptera. The
Hemiptera have four wings frequently crossed, and a
jointed beak *, and include the Frontirostrcs, having the
beak rising from the fore part oi the head j the Colh-
rostres, with the beak appearing to grow from the neck j
and the Planipennes, with the wings not crossed and
spreading, The Lepidoptera have four wings covered
with scales and a spiral trunk 5 they include the Butter¬
flies, with the antennae terminated by a solid mass j the
Hesperier, with the antennae curved at their extremity j
the Fusicornes, with the antenna; swelling towards the
middle, and the Seticornes, with setaceous antenna;. The
Diptera have only two wings5 and include the Hydro-
mies, with filiform or plumose antennae and a trunk 5
the Sarcostojnes, with a fleshy retractile trunk, terminat¬
ed by two lips •, the Sclerostomes, with very short anten¬
nae, a horned projecting sucker, but no trunk j and the 1
Gad flies, with short antennae, and neither sucker nor
trunk. The Aptera have no wings: they include the
Parasitical insects, or 1/eas, Lice, and fMites. . ll
It is not surprising that naturalists of taste and genius, The ™
from the gradation that seems to take place among
works of nature, should have been led to form the no-
tion that there exists in nature a regular series or chain FI
of beings, the links of which, if we could discover them
all, would be found to resemble each other so nearly,
as only to exhibit to the superficial observer a few shades
of difterence. Natura non per sa/tnm movet, has be¬
come a sort of axiom in natural history.
The notion of a chain of being is alluring, and does
not want arguments in its favour. The Esquimaux
Indian, or the inhabitant of Terra del Fuego, seems
scarcely superior in form, and very little in intellect, to
the Oran Otan j the Platypus, the flying Lemur, flying
Squirrels, and, still more, the Bats, appear to iorm the
connecting links between quadrupeds and birds j while J I
the Seals, the Walrusses, and the whole order of I ‘
Cete, connect the former with the fishes. In this latter
class, the Flying Fish, in its capability of supporting it¬
self in the air, seems to approach the feathered tribes,
while some of these, as the Penguins, in their habits
and manner of life, bear some distant resemblance to
fishes. Again, the Siren and the Eels so nearly re¬
semble each other, that it has been disputed whether
the former should be reckoned among the Amphibia or
the Fishes; while one species of Lizard, {Lacerta
himbricoides), is so like an earth-worm, as apparently
to connect the Amphibia and the Vermes. Farther, the
diminutive Humming-bird (Trochilus exilis), and the
Humble
21
' -iber of
fies in
-e.
x.
NATURAL
lassifica- Humble Bee, (Apis ter resins), are so nearly alike,
tioii. both in size and manner of life, as to form no very ex-
■—V’—' ceptionabie links of union between the birds and in-
, sects.
If we compare the vegetable tribes with some of the
inferior classes of animals, we shall perceive many points
of resemblance, which may seem to indicate a continu¬
ance of the same chain. Besides the Mimosa pudica and
Dioncea muscipula, already mentioned, the Hedysarum
gyrans, or moving plant, is a remarkable instance of
the mobility of vegetables ; the carrion flower (Stape-
lia hirsuta\ and some species of morel, bear the odour
of putrid animal substances j while on the other hand,
(he Mantis siccifolia might be mistaken for a dried
leaf; several species of Pennatula (sea pens) and Sertu-
laria, for ferns j the Madrepora fungites (mushroom
madrepore), for a petrified mushroom $ and the Tubu-
laria magnifica, and Actinia, when expanded, for the
most beautiful full-blown flowers.
Lastly, on comparing the mineral kingdom with the
classes of organized beings, we find several so nearly
resembling stones, as scarcely to be distinguished from
them.
Though the view which we have given above, of the
circumstances that have led naturalists to form the idea
of a regular chain of beings, is specious; it will not
bear the scrutiny of a strict examination. The resem¬
blances which we have pointed out, are more apparent
than real j and anatomy and chemistry, added to a more
accurate acquaintance with the works of nature, have
proved, that those links which, to superficial observers,
appear most allied, are yet separated by considerable
chasms. In fact, if we were to admit these resemblan¬
ces as ever so accurate, they would lead us to form, not
one chain, but many.
It must be considered as a very difficult, though a
very curious problem, to ascertain the number of spe¬
cies at present known throughout the several subdivi¬
sions of nature. From the different modes in which
diflerent naturalists have distributed the objects of their
research, and from the additions that are perpetually
made to our knowledge, it may be impossible to fix the
precise number of known species at any given time $
but we may make a tolerably near approximation to
the truth $ and this we shall now attempt, going
through the several kingdo?7is, classes, and orders, as
they have been treated of in the former parts of this
work.
22
Akals.
I. IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
A. Man,
*s it/om- B. Mammalia.
1. Primates,
2. Bruta,
3. Ferae,
4. Glires,
^ ^ocora,
U Vol. XIV. Part. II.
5 species.
100*
30*
184*
124*
82*
H I S T O li Y.
6. Belluae
7. Cete,
C. Birds.
1. Accipitres,
2. Pic®,
3. Anseres,
4. Grallae,
5. Gallinae,
6. Passeres,
D. Amphibia.
1. Reptiles
2. Serpents,
E. Fishes.
1. Apodes,
2. Jugulares,
3. Thoracici,
4. Abdominales,
5. Brancheostegi,
6. Chondropterigii,
F. Insects.
1. Coleoptera,
2. Hemiptera,
3. Lepidoptera,
4. Neuroptera,
5. Hymenoptera,
6. Diptera,
7. Ajptera,
G. Worms.
1. Intestina,
2. Mollusca,
3. Testacea,
4. Zoophyta,
5. Infusoria,
25T
558 specie
259
757
^279
346
127
i°38
176
225
*See Mam¬
malia.
f See Ceto-
2806 $ t Turton-
401 §
§ See Er-
petology.
88.7 ** ** Turton.
5011
1687
2900
i°97
J573
1026
744
 14,038 -H
406 ft
433tt
2672*
489ft
229ft
4229
ff Turf oiu
tf See HW.
mint ho logy,
* See Con-
chology.
So that the number of species in this kingdom may
be estimated at about 22,924, or in round numbers about
23,000 (b).
II. IN THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM.
A. Monandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
B. Diandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
C. Triandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
23
Vegetable-5.
73
10
374
5
52
83 species.
431
4L
I055
D. TetrandriAc
(b) The numbers here given differ in several instances from those which we have seen in some late works on
this subject. Thus, M. La Cep&de, in a note to the discourse delivered by him at the close of his course of Na¬
tural History, states the numbers of some classes as follows; Mammalia^ 416 species $ Birds, 2534} Reptiles,
*25 > Serpents, 180 ) Fishes, 9925 in all 4247.
1
f
D. Tetrandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
4. Tetragynia,
E. Pentandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
4. Tetragynia,
5. Pentagynia,
6. Decagynia,
7. Polygynia,
F. Hexandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
4. Hexagynia,
5. Polygynia,
G. Heptandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Tetragynia,
4. Heptagynia,
H. OcTANDRIA.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
4. Tetragynia,
I. Enneandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Trigynia,
3. Hexagynia,
K. Decandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
4. Pentagynia,
5. Decagynia,
L. Dodecandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
4. Tetragynia,
5. Pentagynia,
6. Dodecagynia,
M. Icosandria.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia,
3. Trigynia,
4. Pentagynia,
5. Polygynia,
N. POLYANDRIA.
1. Monogynia,
2. Digynia.
natural history.
527
J4
521
51
593 species.
1537
652
121
8
273
1
2
2494
699
5
69
10
785
25
3
2
1
377
21
95
20
40
8
452
J31
242
205
7
200
6
*38
7
6
31
493
49
927
14
272 species.
133
16
4
102
91
346
259
12
3. Trigynia,
4. Tetragynia,
5. Pentagynia,
6. Polygynia,
O. Didynamia.
1. Gymnospermia,
2. Angiospermia,
P. TetRadynamia.
1. Siliculosae,
2. Siliquosse,
Q. Monadelphia.
2. Triandria,
2. Pentandria,
3. Heptandria,
4. Octandria,
5. Decandria,
6. Endecandria,
7. Dodecandria,
8 Polyandria,
R. Diadelphia.
2. Pentandria,
2. Hexandria,
3. Octandria,
4. Decandria,
S. Polyadelphia.
2. Pentandria,
2. Dodecandria,
3. Icosandria,
4. Polyandria,
T. Syngenesia.
2. Polygamia ^Equalis,
2. Pol. Superflua,
3. Pol. Frustranea,
4. Pol. Necessaria,
5. Pol. Segregata,
6. Monogamia,
V. Gynandria.
2. Diandria,
2. Triandria,
3. Tetrandria,
4. Pentandria,
5. Hexandria,
6. Octandria,
7. Decandria,
8. Dodecandria,
9. Polyandria,
U. Monoecia.
2. Monandria,
2. Diandria,
3. Triandria,
4. Tetrandria,
5. Pentandria,
6. Hexandria,
7. Heptandria.
8. Polyandria,
9. Monadelphiaj
3*
20
12
I3I
564 species.
441
640
1081
168
258
426
x7
i34
220
2
51
4
33
331
692
42
652
710
3
3
4
55
65
439
441
226
97
22
88
2294
155
6
2
42
23
2
7
x
50
286
26
8
99
49
4i
4
2
linn
52
78
xo. Syngenesis,
i o. Syngenesia,
ii. Gynandria,
W. Dioecia.
1. Monandria,
2. Diandria,
3. Triandria,
4. Tetrandria,
5. Pentandria,
6. Hexandria,
7. Octandria,
8. Enneandria,
9. Decandria,
10. Dodecandria,
11. Polyandria,
12. Monadelphia,
13. Syngenesia,
14. Gynandria,
X. POLYGAMIA.
1. Moncecia,
2. Dioecia,
3. Trioecia,
Y. Cryptogamia.
1. Filices,
2. Musci,
3. Algae,
4. Fungi,
Z. Palm^e,
NATURAL
46
4
   398 species.
1
36
21
J9
33
7
4
7
J4
J9
26
219
213 species.
J4^7
J4
4
rals.
Total, 14,807 (c).
ID. IN THE MINERAL KINGDOM.
Minerals are divided into four great classes, viz.
Earths and Stoxes, Salts, Combustibles, and
Metallic Ores.
Earths and Stones.
1. Diamond genus, - 1
2. Zircon, - « 2
3. Siliceous,
4. Argillaceous,
5. Magnesian,
6. Calcareous,
7. Barytic,
8. Strontian,
62
29
J7
22
B. Salts.
1. Sulphates,
2. Nitrates,
3. Muriates,
4. Carbonates,
5. Borates,
6. Fluates,
137 species.
— 15
HISTORY.
C. Combustibles.
1. Sulphur,
2. Bituminous,
3. Graphite,
635
D. Metallic Ores
are divided into 24 genera,
each metal forming a genus,
1
6
2
— 9
Objects and
utility of
Natural
History.
I06
Total, 267 species*. *SeeM.
Hence, taking the whole number of known animals
at 23,000, that of vegetables at 50,000 and that of
minerals 267, the whole number of known species of
natural objects will be 73,267.
II. Though the classification of natural bodies is ofHints for
the highest importance towards making us acquainted stu(,yin£
with unknown species, and distinguishing them from
those which we already know j this alone is not suffi¬
cient to form a naturalist. His principal object should
be to learn the habits, manners, and uses of the objects
which he is studying ; and he may perhaps be assisted
m this object by the following observations. 26’
1. In Zoology, or the natural history of the animal Zool°g}'"
kingdom, it is necessary to ascertain both the distinctive
characters of each individual animal, and its peculiar
habits, properties and uses.
'I he naturalist first learns that the sheep, for instance,
is in the class mammalia, being one of those animals
that suckle their young; in the order pecora, because it
is hoofed, and has no cutting teeth in the upper jaw ;
and that it is distinguished from other animals of the
same order, by its having several blunt wedge-like in¬
cisive fore-teeth in the lower jaw only, hollow reclined
horns, and no tusks.
This information would satisfy many, who call them¬
selves naturalists; but it is far from being all that is re¬
quired ; the philosophical investigator of Nature inquires
into its habits ; as its food, its period of gestation, its
season of lambing, the weather and climate most suited
to its health and vigour. He endeavours to learn what
produces the difference in its fleece, whether climate,
food, or some peculiarity in the breed ; and is anxious
to ascertain what variety is most disposed to fatten, and
what food effects this speedily ; with many other very
useful particulars.
The information of the first kind is of consequence,
and even necessary in many cases ; but that of the latter
is most useful.
If a traveller discovers an animal possessing any use¬
ful property, or producing any useful drug, if he have
not the first kind of information, he gives so confused
and inaccurate a description of it, that others, mistaking
the animal, discredit the author’s account, and the
world loses the benefit of his discovery-
2. Botany, or the natural history of the vegetable Botany;
kingdom, in the usual acceptation of the term, implies and
4 L 2 only
(c) This number, drawn from the article Botany, compared with the three first volumes of Wildenow’s edition
of the Species 'Plantarum, and with Persoon’s edition of the Systema Vegetabilium, of Linne, is certainly very faf
below the truth. Many years ago, the number of known species was reckoned at above twenty thousand, and
•tnere is reason to believe that it exceeds fifty thousand. . *
636
NATURAL HISTORY.
Objects
ami utility
of Natural
History.
aS
Mineral¬
ogy*
Utility of
study.
only the knowledge of the distinctive characters of
plants; and he who knows the greatest number, and is
most accurate in determining the different species, is
accounted the best botanist.
This however constitutes but a small part ol the
science there is another distinct department, which
may properly be termed the philosophy of botany,
which is both more interesting and more useful, ilus
includes the knowledge of the structure, or the anatomy
of plants j and the knowledge of the uses, or functions
of their various parts, as of the leaves, the bark, the
pith, the roots, the juices, &c. j which is called the
physiology of plants. It includes also an acquaintance
with the soil and climate adapted to different vegetables,
their mode of propagation, and the various uses to
which their several parts or productions may be ap-
^ Botany, in the first sense, which maybe called prac¬
tical botany, is subservient, and absolutely necessary to
the study of the philosophy of botany •, for no one that
is unacquainted with the classification of plants can
either convey to others his own information, or himself
receive the benefit of that of others, respecting either
the structure and economy or the habits and the uses
of such plants, as may have been investigated.
If medical virtues are discovered in any vegetable
production ; without the accuracy of the practical bo¬
tanist, to ascertain and describe the particular plant
which affords it, the discovery is often lost *, or perhaps,
what is worse, the virtues are attributed to a different
plant, and it is only by repeated failures, and in some
cases after much mischief, that the error is detected.
It is evident that the same may happen to the agri¬
culturist, the dyer, or any other artizan, who has dis¬
covered in the vegetable kingdom the means of improv¬
ing his art, but has not botanical knowledge sufficient
to give an accurate character of the plant, to which he
is indebted for his discovery.
3. In Mineralogy, or the natural history of the
mineral kingdom, almost half the students are of that
class, who content themselves with collecting, and
being able to arrange systematically the minerals they
meet with. But in this department of natural history,
as well as the other two, which we have considered,
something more than arrangement is required.
It is the man who can analyze, and sepai'ate the
component parts of mineral productions *, who knows
the art of assaying, and who knows a priori the pro¬
bable site of a quarry, or a mine, and can tell the direc¬
tion of a stratum of coal, or of marble, that we may call
a mineralogist.
The natural history of the mineral kingdom includes
geology, or the data upon which are founded the dif¬
ferent theories of the formation of the earth. It in¬
cludes the knowledge of those facts, upon which the
art of mining, and the art of separating and purifying
metals, is founded $ and its object is to teach likewise
the properties of those metals, as well as of the earths,
and other mineral productions, when separated and in
their simple state.
With respect to the utility of the study of natural
history, we have unavoidably given many instances of it,
in considering the object of the science. We need there¬
fore add but few others.
The grazier knows the advantage of attending to the Object'
habits and distinctive marks of our domestic animals, and utili
It is natural history, though not often studied scientifi- °^ate
cally, that teaches him what variety of sheep to prefer; < ^
by what means to obtain a variety of cows, remarkable
for their quantity of milk; how to choose the stock To the
that is best adapted to his land, and what is the best8razi^
food for them during winter.
Much benefit is likely to accrue from the attention
lately paid to the cultivation of what are termed the
artificial grasses. Instead of sowing his hay seeds in¬
discriminately, the grazier may select only such grasses
as are, by observation, found to be most suited to his
soil and cattle. ,
The farmer’s knowledge of the proper succession ofTothe
crops, the best times for sowing them, when to weed, farm<*
and with what to manure, as well as how to destroy both
weeds and insects, is the knowledge of a naturalist;
and surely he who is scientifically acquainted with
the growth of plants, knowing what part the soil
acts in vegetation, and what is the aliment most re¬
quired by them, will have great advantage over the
mere empirical farmer, who has no better reason
for what lie does, than that his father did the same
before him. ,
By studying the natural history of insects, we learn
the habits of such as are noxious and injurious, and
thence derive the means of destroying them.
The mineralogist has often enriched individual pro-To the
prietors of land, and benefited his country, by the dis-landed pi
covery of mines ; he is enabled to direct the planners Pnetor-
of canals by warning them of obstacles ; and his know¬
ledge has aided the physician in ascertaining the vir- 1
tues of minerals, and of mineral waters. . ^
In the arts, a knowledge of natural history prevents in the at
that confusion, and those innumerable errors that must
be committed, when the natural productions which are
employed cannot be accurately disci iminated fiom
others. .
It is to the naturalist that we are many times indebt¬
ed for the introduction of foreign animals and foreign
plants into our own country. Wheat, oats, bailey,
and other vegetables, which are now become necessary
to our existence, were not originally of British growth.
The potato, now so general and so useful, was first in¬
troduced into this country by Gerard, a noted botanist,
and was for some time cultivated in his garden as a ra¬
rity. The sugar-cane, the bread-fruit tree, the farina¬
ceous palms, the flax and hemp, have all been trans¬
ported by naturalists of the present day, to regions
where they never grew before.
Besides the above, and many similar instances of ad¬
vantage to be derived from studying the different
branches of natural history, these two incalculable be¬
nefits necessarily arise to the student himself, from at¬
tending to the whole, or any part of the science;
namely, a power of abstracting the mind, and reason¬
ing methodically; and a habit of contemplating the
Creator in his works*. ,
Our limits do not permit us to enter further into tlre*^
fertile topic of the utility and advantages of natural
history. Its utility, in a moral and religious point ot
view, has been ably illustrated by Mr Ray, in his
“ Wisdom of God;” by Mr Bingley, in the introduc¬
tion
i 34
;t of pre-
irving spc-
mens,
35
lilU-
Jatsem
I ed.
l3«
1 ,erva-
ti ; a-
Jl.st in-
NATURAL
tion to his “ Animal Biography j” and, in particular,
by Dr Paley, in his “ Natural Theology j” and to
these works we must refer our readers.
III. We have stated it to be one of the principal
objects of natural history, to teach the mode of pre¬
serving specimens. This art, called by the French
Taxidermie, is exceedingly curious, and would well de¬
serve a much iuller consideration than we can here al¬
lot to it. We shall confine our attention on this sub¬
ject entirely to the animal kingdom, and even here we
must be very brief.
The art of preparing and mounting the skins of ani¬
mals appears to be pretty old j but it made no great
progress before the 17th century, when Reaumur made
some attempts to preserve the specimens from the at¬
tacks of insects. In the Journalde Physique for 1773,
there is a memoir addressed to the Royal Society of
London, by M. Jvuckhan, on the methods of preparing
birds, which is very curious, but is liable to many ob¬
jections. In the same volume is a memoir by Mauduit,
principally respecting the means of preserving animal
specimens from the attacks of insects. His preservatives
are of a poisonous nature ; and, of course, their use is -
dangerous, while they do not appear to have been at¬
tended with the expected success. The arsenical soap
of Becosur, much celebrated about the same time, is
liable to similar objections.
The latest, and probably the best work on this sub¬
ject, is that published a few years ago by M. Nicolas 5
and from this the following observations are derived.
The instruments employed in the preparation of spe¬
cimens are much the same as those used by anatomists
in their ordinary dissections, consisting of small knives
or scalpels, forceps or pincers of various forms, probes,
needles, and pins or wires.
The preservatives employed by M. Nicolas to pro¬
tect the specimens from insects, are principally of two
kinds : 1. Sulphur, which he applies to the skins by
means of fumigation, thus impregnating them with sul¬
phurous acid ; 2. A liquor for macerating the skins, an¬
other liquor for rubbing over the hair, and a pomatum
for anointing the inside of the skin. The first liquor is
prepared by steeping a pound and a half of powdered oak
bark, and four ounces of powdered alum, in twenty Eng¬
lish pints of cold water, for two days, taking care to
shake the mixture from time to time. The pomatum is
prepared of a pound of white soap, half a pound of caus¬
tic potash, four ounces of powdered alum, two English
pints of water, four ounces of oil of petroleum, and the
same of camphire. The soap, cut into small pieces, is
put into an earthen pipkin, over a moderate fire j the
water poured over it $ and when the whole is formed
into a sort of soft paste, the alum and then the oil are
added ; the whole well stirred together, removed from
the fire, and when it is nearly cold the camphire is
added ; being before hand rubbed down in a mortar
with a little spirit of wine. The pomatum, thus pre¬
pared, must be kept in glass vessels, well stopt; and,
when used, is to be lowered with water to the consist¬
ence of thin cream, and laid on the skins by means of
a pencil brush.
The liquor employed for preserving the fur is pre¬
pared by infusing an ounce of white soap shred very
small, two ounces of camphire broken into very small
M I STORY.
637
pieces, the same of colocynth or bitter-apple grossly Mode of
powdered, in two English pints of spirit of wine, for four preserving
or five days, shaking the vessel from time to time, after specimens,
which the liquor is to be filtered through blotting-paper. ' 4  
M. Nicolas has given directions for preparing and
preserving specimens of ail the various classes of ani-
mals. We shall, as far as crur limits permit, briefly
follow him through each.
. ln sk1inn*nf quadrupeds, he proposes to make an in- Directions
cision along the middle of the back, from the haunches for stuffing
to the shoulders, except in those animals whose skin is quadrupeds,
very thick and hard, or is set with spines, in which the
opening must be made at the belly in the usual man-
ner. In detaching the skin from the flesh, we must
occasionally employ the knife, and as we proceed, must
insert tow between the skin and flesh, to prevent soiling
the fur. When the whole body is detached, and the
skin drawn down as far as the ankles, the nose, arid the
tip of the tail, the whole body is to be cut away except
tbe head and extremities, which are left to give a bet¬
ter form and support to the specimen. All the fleshy
and fatty parts, the brain, and the eyes, however, must
be cut away, and nothing left but the bones, the spaces
between which and the skin must be stuffed with tow
cut fine, and a little soft clay must be put within the
orbits, in order to fix the artificial eyes.
Before stuffing, the skin is to be steeped for several
days, from five to fifteen, according to the size of the
animal, in the liquor first described, and after steeping,
the inside is to be well anointed with the pomatum.
When the legs and head are stuffed, the cavity of
the skull filled with very dry moss, and the eyes fixed,
wires are to be passed through the inside of the body,
the extremities, and the head and tail, in the following
manner. Three iron wires of a moderate size, w7ell an¬
nealed, at least twice as long as the animal, are to be
twisted together for nearly half the length, and while
one wire is left straight, the other two are to be bent
at each end, so as to form a cross. When the skin is
turned, ready for stuffing, these wires are to be placed
within it in such a manner as that the straight wire
shall pass through the head and tail, and the crossing
wire* through the extremities, coming out at the ball
of each foot j and in this way after the cavity is filled
up with tow, and the open part neatly stitched, the
Specimen may be fixed on a board in its natural posi¬
tion. Nothing remains now but to impregnate the fur
with the bitter liquor last described, which is done by
means of a sponge, with which the whole outside is to
be well washed, then covered with folds of linen, and
dried in the shade.
The art of preserving birds is perhaps the most curi- Directi
ous part of the present subject, and is that to which the for stuffing
most attention has been given. M. Nicolas has ex-*dr(b.
plained at some length the mode recommended by M.
Kuckhan in the Journal de Physique ; that by Dr Lett-
som, in the Naturalist's and Traveller's Companion ;
that of Mauduit, inserted in the fifth number of the En-
cyelope die Methodique ; and that of Dufresne, adopted
by M. Daudin, and inserted in his Traite d'Ornithdo-
gie ; after which he details his own.
He describes three methods of preparing birds, ac*
cording as we can procure fresh-killed specimens, whole
dried skins brought from abroad, or detached parts of
several
NATURAL
MoJc of several individuals of Oie same species. We shall here
preserving confine ourselvevS to the first of these, as being es
specimens. a(iapted to the generality of our readers. _ >
^ When a fresh-killed bird is procured, it is to be
placed upon a table, upon its back, with the tail turn¬
ed towards the operator, who, after having separated
with his fingers the feathers which cover the belly to¬
wards the right and left, is to make with a scalpel, a
longitudinal incision through the skin, from the point
of the breast-bone to about the middle of the belly.
The edges of the skin are now to be raised with a pair
of flat pincers, on each side, carefully separating the
flesh as occasion may require, by the knife, and insert¬
ing a little cotton from time to time, to prevent soiling
the feathers. In this way the skin is to be detached
from the shoulders and neck, and as much as possible ot
the body laid bare, after which a pretty strong thread is
to be passed through the nostrils, and tied under the
lower mandible, leaving the ends of the thread when
tied together, at least twice as long as the neck. Now,
holding the bird by the thread, with the back turned
towards him, the operator is to hold together the
feathers on the two edges ol the incision as well as
those that cover the breast, and pushing the head of the
bird inwards with his thumb so as to form the neck in¬
to an arch, is to cut this otf near the body, detach
from it the gullet and wind-pipe, and all the fleshy
parts, botli of the neck and head, by drawing the skin
as far back as possible towards the beak, and cutting
olf the neck-bones close to the head ; he is to empty the
Skull with a little iron instrument in the form of an ear-
picker, and clean it properly with cotton. He is now
to wrap cotton or tow about the head and neck, and to
separate the rest of the skin, leaving the pinions and
hones of the wings, and legs, and the tail, as directed
for quadrupeds. After this has been done, the skin is
to be turned out like a glove, with all its feathers turn¬
ed inwards, all the natural openings of the bird, as well
as any shot-holes, &c. made in killing the bird, are to
be stitched up with a needle and fine thread *, then the
whole skin as well as the bones, are to be washed with
a strong infusion of tan with a little alum, by means of
a pencil-brush, and the skin inclosed in a covered ves¬
sel that it may not dry too hastily.
In ten or twelve hours time we may wash the skin
and bones again with the astringent liquor. Twice
washing in this manner will be sufficient for very small
birds, but those of a middling size will require macera¬
tion in the first liquor employed for quadrupeds during
two days, and four or five days for those of larger size.
The skins being well impregnated with the astringent
liquor, are to be smeared with the soapy pomatum,
have artificial eyes fixed in the orbits by means of wax,
and stuffed and mounted much in the same manner as
quadrupeds, except that the wires employed lor this
purpose are rather differently bended.
Great nicety is required in fixing the different parts
of a bird in its natural position, and in arranging the
feathers smoothly and evenly. M. Nicolas directs thin
plates of lead, to be placed so as to secure the wings in
the proper position till the whole is completely arran¬
ged.
To preserve the feet and legs of birds, he anoints
them with linseed oil mixed with camphire, and applied
a little warm.
HISTORY.
The last operation consists in enveloping the bird Mode of
with bandages of muslin or fine linen, pinned round the preserving
neck, breast, body, and rump, as well to secure tlie specimens,
feathers in their places during drying, as to allow of
their being drenched with the bitter liquor to preserve
them from the attacks ol insects. ^
The different orders of insects require different modes Insects,
of preparation. The following is a summary of our au¬
thor’s mode of preserving each kind.
For the coleoptera and hemiptera.—One of these in¬
sects, as soon as caught, is to be carefully wrapt in very
fine paper, with the ends of the paper curled round to
prevent the animal from moving ; and this roll of paper
including the insect, is to be put into a little box of
pasteboard till the insect-hunter returns home. Each
insect is then to be held between the thumb and fore¬
finger of the left hand, the wings to be raised by means
of a pin, and held open with the middle finger, while
the abdomen of the animal is slit open from the hack,
and the entrails abstracted by means of an iron wire,
and the cavity as well as the edges of the wound are to
he washed with the bitter spirituous liquor described in
N° 36. by means of a very fine pencil. Then a small
cotton plug impregnated with oil of petroleum is to be
stuffed into the cavity, with the point of a wire, till the
cavity is sufficiently full, when the wings are to be suf¬
fered to return to their natural situation, and the insect
is ready for mounting. For mounting these insects,
M. Nicolas employs little squares of card, through the
middle and across which he passes a small iron wire
well annealed, and about the size ol a harpsicord string.
A very fine needle is now to he passed through the ani¬
mal, as near as possible to the corselet j and alter ha¬
ving covered the upright iron wire with a light coating
of gum-water, he passes it through the hole made by
the needle, and fixes the animal m such a manner that
its feet may rest upon the card.
For the kpidoptera.—He recommends them to he put,
when caught, into a triangular piece of paper, and after¬
wards into a pasteboard box of the same form, opening
with a hinge. For mounting these insects it is sufficient
to perforate their bodies with a fine needle, armed with
a double thread impregnated with the bitter spirituous
liquor, making the needle enter by the bead and come
out at the end of the belly, and then cutting the thread
with scissars. The insect thus prepared is mounted by
means of a card, as directed for the coleoptera, and a
piece of wood about an inch long, seven or eight lines
broad, and a proper thickness, is placed below the
wings on each side very near the body, and the wings
are kept down by means of plates ot lead. _ &
In the preparation oj specimens of fishes, M. Nicolas Fishes,
prefers the method of Mauduit to that given by Dr
Lettsom in the Naturalist's and Traveller1 s Compa¬
nion ; but as Mauduit’s method requires much skill and
address, he recommends the following, especially for
the flat kinds of fish.
He makes a longitudinal incision with scissars along
the belly of the fish from the anus to the lower mandi¬
ble, and then gradually and carefully separates the skin
from the flesh with the assistance of the blade and flat
handle of a scalpel, till he has laid bare one side of the
animal. He then passes to the other side, proceeding
in the same manner to detach the skin from that part,
after which he separates the head from the body with a
3
natural
Mode of pair of scisFars, and clears away the fleshy parts attached
•preserving to the head. He now detaches the skin from the back
[’Pec”nens. as far as the anus, and then laying the fish on the table
v he passes the flat handle of the scalpel below the skin
that covers the tail and neighbouring parts, in order to
separate it completely. This done, he pushes the tail
inwards, and with the assistance of the scalpel and
drawing the skin very gently, he detaches this as near
as possible to the end of the tail, which he then sepa¬
rates with scissars, thus leaving the skin with nothing-
attached to it but the head and extremity of the tail.
It only remains now to clear away the cars and eyes,
and properly clean the head. J ’
The skin is now steeped for some days in thetannino-
liquor, then laid on a table, and when the head is pro°
perly arranged, a model of the body of the fish made
of soft clay, mixed with fine sand, is placed within the
skin, which is made to fit neatly over it, is then bound
with little bandages of linen, and suffered to dry. When
the clay is quite dry and hard, and the skin has acquir¬
ed so much firmness as to retain its proper form, it is to
be gently beaten all over to break the clay, so that it
may be withdrawn through the opening. When this
is done, the whole inside of the skin and head is to be
smeared by means of a pencil brush with the soap po¬
matum. After which it is to be entirely filled with
cut tow, and the opening stitched up as neatly as pos¬
sible. I hen artificial eyes are to be placed in the or¬
bits by means of soft wax, and the whole body is to be
covered with a coat of white varnish prepared by di¬
gesting four ounces of clear turpentine, three ounces of
sandarac, and one ounce of mastich in tears, with eight
ounces of oil of turpentine, and four ounces of spirit of
wine, in a bottle placed in a water bath.
In preparing specimens of reptiles,—miter what has
been said above, little direction will be required. The
skin is to be stript backwards as far as the head, which
is to be cut off and cleaned as in other specimens j after
which the skin is to be macerated, anointed within with
pomatum, stuffed and varnished as before*.
'l.heCrustacea, including crabs, lobsters, star-fish, and
sea-urchins, require but little preparation. In crabs
the shell, and in lobsters the tail, is to be separated
from the rest of the body j as-much as possible of the
meat is to be picked out from the body and large
claws; the whole interior is. to be smeared with the
soap pomatum, and after having united the parts, the
whole is to be suffered to dry.
The star-fish and urchins, if taken alive, should be
killed by plunging them in spirit of wine, and after¬
wards drying them in the sun or in an oven moderately
heated.
As to worms the only mode of preserving the mollus-
ca, or those with naked bodies, is to keep them in spirits;
and of the testacea or shell-fish, the only part thought
worth preserving is the shell; for the preparation of
which, see Conchology.
The above is but an imperfect abstract of M. Nico¬
las’s “ Methode de preparer et conserver les Animaux
de toutes les classesf which is illustrated by plates,
and is well deserving the attention of collectors of spe¬
cimens.
1 here is also an excellent essay on this subject by
Dufresne, under Ta.vidermie, in the Nouveau Dic-
twiaire d'Histoire Naturelle*
41
p tiles.
42
istacea.
.43
mis.
HISTORY. 6.V9
It will be expected that in this introductory article History,
on natural histoiy, we should say something of its rise v—
and progress. Much of our observations on this subject . 44
have been anticipated in preceding aitides on the paiA^^T ot
ticular branches of natural history, so that little remains hLorv.
for us to do in this place than to give a general sketch
of the early history of this branch of physics.
Me have reason to believe that the works of nature Jewish
have formed the favourite study among the ingenious and '•vriters.
inquisitive from the earliest ages of the world. From
the continual allusions to the Creator’s works, and the
beautiful metaphors drawn from them, which abound in
the inspired writings of the Jewish prophets and poets,
especially those of Job, Isaiah, Daniel and David, we
know that these sages were well acquainted with natu¬
ral history, as far at least as observation extended. Solo¬
mon, as we are tdd, was acquainted with all vegetables,
“ ^'om the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop that spring-
eth out ot the wall;” and probably so wise a man was
well acquainted with the other kingdoms of nature.
Some writers have gone so far as to assert that Aristotle
and Theophrastus learned natural history from the
writings of Solomon, though on what data they ground
this assertion, we are at a loss to determine.
The principal writers on natural history among the
ancients, whose writings have come down to us, are .6
Aristotle, Theophrastus, and Pliny the elder. Of the Aristotle,
first we may remark with Haller,, that his writings on
this subject exhibit a continued chain of physicaf and
anatomical facts, which for the most part appear to have
been the result of accurate observation. He relied less
than any of the ancient naturalists on uncertain and
fabulous report ; he industriously collected and exam¬
ined natural bodies, and appears to have himself dissec¬
ted many animals, especially fishes, or at least to have
been present at their dissection. There are even to be
found in his writings, references by letters to figures
which he employed to illustrate his observations.
Theophrastus wrote chiefly on the natural history ofTheophia-
plants and fossils, on winds, and on fire. His worksstus*
have been edited by Heinsius, but, except in plants,
they do not contain much that is worthy of our obser¬
vation more than what is to be found in the writings of
Aristotle. ^
I he natural history of Pliny is a valuable repository Pliny,
of ancient knowledge, which, notwithstanding all its er¬
rors and extravagances, we may venture to call after the
panegyric of his nephew, a comprehensive and learned
work, little less various than nature herself. The author,
in the dedication of his work to Vespasian, sensible of
the defects with which it abounds, apologises for them,
from the consideration that the path which he took had
been in a great measure untrodden, and held forth to
the traveller few enticements ; while some parts of his
subject had been so often handled, that readers were
become cloyed with them : that ibwas an arduous task
to give what is old an appearance of novelty ; to add
weight and authority to what is new; to cast a lustre
upon subjects that have been obscured by time; to
render acceptable what is become trite and disgusting ;
to obtain credit to doubtful relations; and, in a wrord, to
represent every thing according to nature, and with all
its natural properties. His design must be acknowled¬
ged to be grand and noble, and when we consider that
the work was composed in the midst of important
engagements,
640
NATURAL HISTORY.
History engagements, ami cluefly at broken periods stolen from
2%: ,vc shall not wonder that it was .mperfectly exe-
AaeiSs. C“at ancients had no idea of methodical or Syste-
tlelicicnt in matJc distinctions. As they tveie acqnain e
1HCt5lod- few bodies in comparison with the moderns and at en_-
cd only to those which were useful to m , ^ y
stinouished them only by their usual properties thetr
native country, their habitations, and the useful pm-
noses to which they might be applied. From the cw
productions which they described, they were not led to
perceive the necessity of searching among them for di¬
stinctive marks or relations, which may prevent their
being confounded with each other. They^ doubtless
believed that their descriptions were sufbcient, and that
1. the names which they imposed would ^cc"d w ju
their customs to posterity, without being afiected by t
disorders and alterations that have changed the face of
countries and the seat of empires. But the revolutions
{bat have desolated the fairest regions of the globe, by
insulating or displacing their inhabitants, or by con¬
founding them with one another, and altering then
language, have frequently almost ext,ngu,shed the lamp
of science. After many ages of ignorance and bar¬
barity, we find in the few works of the ancient na¬
turalists which have escaped the ravages of war and
Ihe detstltious of civil discord, little move dhan ™-
certainty and obscurity, with respect to those species
which they have described. Notwithstanding the labours
of numerous commentators, we do not certainly know
what species of plant is the acuta employedby the
Greeks*for the execution of criminals, and which ter¬
minated the life of Socrates. We cannot be sure that
the animals, which we find best characterized in the
ancient writings, bore the names which we attribute to
them ; nor are we more certain with respect to the an¬
cient nomenclature of minerals. . ,
. - a q long as studious men cultivated the sciences only
Sods through the medium of the writings of the ancients
and fttempted nothing beyond the mterpvetat,o„ of
these natural history, Kke every other branch of physics,
Sal el obscure ami confused, and fiction or imagina¬
tion took the place of facts •, but when they perceived
the advantage of studying nature herself, and inteiro¬
tating her by observation, methods were erected, an
distinctive characters for the species introduced. This
fortunate revolution took place m the 16th century.
Csesalpinus first attempted to reduce vegetables to c as¬
ses and distinguish them into tribes according to their
form.—-Gesner, besides the fine hints that he first gave
of the constant relation between the structure of the
seed and that of the other parts of plants was the first
who attempted any systematic and methodical arrange¬
ment of animals. In the 17th century Monson, Ray,
and Rivinus, improved on the hints of Cmsalpinus re¬
specting the classification of vegetables j and Aldrovan-
dus, Rhedi, and Swammerdam upon those of Gesner
5°
respecting animals ; and in a short time this first impulse History,
given to the art of arranging and distinguishing natural 1 r—j
bodies by constant characters, was communicated to all
those who were employed in the study of nature.
Tournefort, profiting by all the attempts towards method
and system in the classification oi vegetables that had
bee» made before him, advanced a considerable step in
botany, by his beautiful method of distinguishing plants
according to the form of their flowers and fruits, which
he published towards the end of the 17th century. 51
The same year of the 18th century (1707) gave Linne and
birth to two men who have advanced the science ol^unon-
natural history far beyond any of their predecessors.
We need scarcely mention the names ot Linne and
Buffon. The Swedish naturalist extended his enlarged
views through every branch of natural history *, he ar¬
ranged in his Systema Natures and Systerna Vegetable
Hum all the productions of nature, and distinguished
them by characters that were precise and simple j he
created a new language for expressing with brevity all
these characters, and thus presented to the view, as in
a compendious picture, all the properties of bodies.
Buffon, proceeding in a different road, treated more co¬
piously the most important parts of natural history, am
of the animals that are most nearly allied to man, in a
work which the fire of his genius and the brilliancy ot
his style have rendered a universal favourite. I he riva
of Aristotle and Pliny, whose genius he seems to have
combined in the greatness of his views and extent ot
his plan, and altogether one of the first writers ot Ins
age, he inspired a passion for the study of nature in
numbers, who without his works would never have en¬
gaged in such a study, and communicated to his coun¬
trymen that taste which has ever since survived him.
After what has been given in the particular treatises
on natural history in this Encyclopedia, both as to the
progress of the science, and the principal works on each
department of it, since the time of Linne and Button 5
it is unnecessary for us to trace its progress beyond that
period. The advances made within these few years are
immense, our stock of information is prodigiously in¬
creased, and the modes of study greatly improved amt
facilitated. The labours of Cuvier, Geoffrey, Lacepede,
Dumont, Dumeril, Lamarck, Duvernois, bonmm,
Bloch, Spallanzani, Esper, Jussieu, Wildenow, Werner,
Patrin, St Fond, Brochant, Brongmart, Klaproth,
Fourcroy, Vauquelin, Shaw, Latham, Bancroft, Cates-
by, Ellis, Smith, Withering, Woodville, Kirwan, Play¬
fair, Thomson, Jameson, &c. with the assistance to be
derived from the Annales de Museum National, the iNo*
turalisfs Miscellany, the Linncean Transactions, and the
splendid plates of Merian, Schreber, Curtis, Sowerby,
Sotheby, &c. afford ample proofs of the industry and
success with which this delightful field has been culti¬
vated, and of the rich harvest that has been derived
from the united efforts of so many men of genius and
talents.
Natural
Natural
, iilosophy.
NAT [641
Natural Philosophy, is'commonly defined to be that
brand) of knowledge which considers the powers and
properties of natural bodies, and their mutual actions
on one another. The province of moral philosophy is
the mind of man ; its inquiries and researches are Into
the intellectual world. Natural philosophy, on the other
hand, is only concerned with the material part of the
creation. I he Moralist’s business is to inquire into the
nature of virtue, the causes and effects of vice ; to
Propose remedies for it, and to point out the mode of
attaining happiness, which only can be the result of
virtuous conduct. The Naturalist, on the contrary, has
nothing to do with spirit j his business is solely'a’bout
body or matter j and he ought to have a solid and accu¬
rate knowledge of all material substances, together with
their affections and properties ; and if possible, he is to
investigate the reasons of such and such appearances.——
Indeed, the first and principal part of this science is,
to collect all the manifest and sensible appearances of
things, and reduce them into a body of natural history.
1
N A T
Philosophy has often been said, a„'d is even now very °|L o"Z ot aUeoi u,c Tg “ of
generally thought, to mean an inquiry into all the causes of the n.rli ,,‘n ' A , tht. Prcsllnc
generally thought, to mean an inquiry into all the causes
of things 5 but experience informs us, that though we
are acquainted with a good number of effects, we can
trace but few of their causes ; so that philosophy itself
will really be found to be in general but a collection
01 facts. Still, however, it differs from natural hi¬
story in its appropriated sense *, the business of which
is only to observe the appearances of natural bodies
separately, and from these appearances to class them
with other bodies : natural philosophy goes farther,
and recites the action of two or more bodies of the
same or different kinds upon one another ; and though
it can neither investigate nor point out the causes of
those effects, whatever they are, yet, from mathema¬
tical reasoning combined with experience, it can he de¬
monstrated, that in such circumstances such effects must
always take place. 1 here are evidently two ways of
making observations on the material world : the first is,
when we view things nearly as they happen to occur’
without any design or intervention of our own ; in
which way, indeed, no great improvements can be
expected in the art, because chance having the direc¬
tion, only exhibits occasional or extemporary proper¬
ties. The other method is, when, after a thorough
acquaintance with bodies, we apply them to other bo¬
dies equally known, diligently attending to the result,
and observing whether any thing new arises. Such
seems to be in general the nature of our article ; nor
is it our intention to be much more particular at pre¬
sent. We must therefore refer our readers respective¬
ly to those parts of the subject, respecting which they
wish for more satisfaction and minuter details. The
ancient and modern definitions of the word philoso*-
phy, together with its origin, as well as the manner of
philosophizing in former times as well as at present,
with the gradual improvement of science, particularly
natural, we shall introduce, we think, more properly,
under the words Philosophy and Physics. We need
only add, under the present article, what however is
well known, that natural philosophy was till lately di¬
vided only into four parts, commonly called the foui'
ranches, viz. 1. Mechanics 5 2. Hydrostatics ; 3. Op¬
tics 5 and, 4. Astronomy; and these are again subdivid¬
ed into various parts. Modern discoveries have added,
Vol. XIV. Part II.
however, two more parts to the number, viz. Mao-net- x- , ,
ism and Electricity. It is remarkable, that in the En- Philosophy
gush universities these two latter branches are never, |1
taken notice ol in lecturing on natural philosophy, the ^ature-
°ld division being still retained, without any mention ' v  
ol these two important articles. The reason may be,
that they are only subject to experiment, and not yet
reduced to mathematical reasoning; which is the me-
thoit ot teaching philosophy in one of those celebrated
seminaries. Ol these branches of this extensive science,
it is not our intention to take even a general view in
this place. Me must therefore refer our readers to
each particular article, where they will find then*
treated at considerable length.
NATURALISATION, in LaW, the act of na¬
turalizing an alien, or putting him into the condition
ot a natural-born subject, and entitling him to the.
rights and privileges thereof. But none can be natu¬
ralized unless they have received the sacrament within
one month before the bringing in of the bill, and taken
of the parliament. A person who is naturalized may
have lands by descent, as heir at law, as well as obtain
them by purchase ; but he is disabled from being a
nu mber of the privy council or parliament ; or from
holding ofl^es, 7 Jac. I. cap. 2. 12 Will. HI. cao. 2,
Al children born out of the king’s dominions, JLm
lathers were or are subjects of this kingdom at the time
o their birth, are adjudged to be natural born subjects
of this realm, except children of parents attainted of
treason, or that are in the actual service of a foreign
pnnee at enmity with us, 4 Geo. II. cap. 21. Every
foreign seaman, who in time of war serves two years on
board an English ship, is ipso facto naturalized, 12
Geo. II. cap. 3. And all foreign Protestants and Jews,
upon their residing seven years in any of the British
colonies, without being absent above two months at a
time, or serving two years in a military capacity
there, are upon taking the oaths naturalized to all
intents and purposes, as if they had been bom in this
kingdom; and therefore are admissible to all such pri¬
vileges, and no other, as Protestants or Jews horn in
tins kingdom are entitled to. See Alien and De¬
nizen.
In France before the Revolution, naturalization was
the king’s prerogative ; in England it is only done by
act of parliament. In the former of those places, before
their government was overturned, Swiss, Savoyards,
and Scots, did not require naturalization, being reputed
regnicoles, or natives.
NAT. URALS, among physicians, whatever natu¬
rally belongs to an animal, in apposition to non-natu¬
rals. See Non-naturals.
NATURE, according to Mr Boyle, has ei®ht dif¬
ferent significations ; it being used, 1. For the& author
of nature, whom the schoolmen call Natura Naturans
being the same with God. 2. By the nature of a thing
we sometimes mean its essence ; that is, the attributes
which make it what it is, whether the thing be corpo-
rea! or not; as when we attempt to define the nature
o a fluid, of a triangle, &c. 3. Sometimes we con¬
found that which a man has by nature with what ae-
. crues to him by birth ; as when we say, that such a man
is noble by nature. 4. Sometimes we take nature for
an irternal principle of motion ; as when We say, that
f 4 M 7 a
N A V [64
a stone ly nature falls to the earth. 5. Sometimes we
understand by nature, the established course ot things.
6. Sometimes we take nature for an aggregate ot
powers belonging to a body, especially a living one j m
which sense physicians say, that nature is strong, weak,
or spent; or that, in such or such diseases, nature lett
tp herself will perform the cure. 7. Sometimes we use
the term nature for the universe, or whole system ot the
corporeal works of God-, as when it is said oi a phoe¬
nix, or chimera, that there is no such thing in nature.
8. Sometimes too, and that most commonly, we ex¬
press by the word nature, a kind of semi-deity, or
other strange kind of being.
If, says the same philosopher, I were to propose a
notion of nature, less ambiguous than these already
mentioned, and with regard to which many axioms
relating to that word may be conveniently understood,
I should first distinguish between the universal and the
particular nature of things. Universal nature I would
define to be the aggregate of the bodies that make up
the world in its present state, considered as a principle,
by virtue whereof they act and suffer, according to the
laws of motion prescribed by the Author of all things.
And this makes way for the other subordinate notion j
since the particular nature of an individual consists 1.1
the general nature applied to a distinct portion ot the
universe-, or, which is the same thing, it is a particu¬
lar assemblage of the mechanical properties ot matter,
as figure, motion, &c.
Kingdoms of Nature. See Kingdoms.
Conduct or Operations of Nature. See Natural
History. _ . N
NAVA, in Ancient Geography, (Tacitus)-, a river
of Belgica, which runs north-east into the left or west
side of the Rhine. Now the Nahe, rising at the vil¬
lage Naheweiler, on the borders of the bishopric of
Triers, running through the Lower Palatinate, the
duchy of Simmeren, by the small town of Bing, into
the Rhine.
NAVAL, something relating to a ship j whence,
Naval Architecture. See SHIP-Building.
Naval Camp, in antiquity, a fortification, consist¬
ing of a ditch and parapet on the land side, or a wall
built in the form ot a semicircle, and extended from
one point of the sea to another. This was sometimes
defended with towers, and beautified with gates, through
which they issued forth to attack their enemies. Ho¬
mer hath left us a remarkable description of the Gre¬
cian fortifications of this sort, in the Irojan war, be¬
ginning at ver, 43^- ’,-
Then, to secure the naval camp and powers,
They rais’d embattled walls with lofty towers :
From space to space were ample gates around,
For passing chariots and a trench profound,
Of large extent} and deep in earth below
Strong piles infix’d stood adverse to the foe.
Pope’s Transh
Towards the sea, or within it, they fixed great
pales of wood, like those in their artificial harbours:
before these the vessels of burden were placed in such
order as that they might be instead of a wall, and
give protection to those within -, in which manner Ni-
cias is reported by Thucydides to have encamped
2 ] NAV
himself: but this seems only to have been practised
when the enemy was thought superior in strength, ami [j
raised great apprehensions of danger in them. W hen Navarre,
their fortifications were thought strong enough to de- -
fend them from the assaults of enemies, it was frequent
to drag their ships to shore, which the Greeks call¬
ed sv»?ixs(v, the Romans subducerc. Around the ships
the soldiers disposed their tents, as appears every¬
where in Homer : hut this seems only to have been
practised in winter, when their enemy’s fleet was laid
up and cobld not assault them j or in long sieges, and
when they lay in no danger from their enemies by sea;
as in the Trojan war, where the defenders of Troy ne¬
ver once attempted to encounter the Grecians in a sea-
fight.
The adjacent places were usually filled with inns
and stews, well stocked with females, that prostituted
themselves to the mariners, merchants, and artificers
of all sorts, who flocked thither in great numbers; this,
however, appears to have happened only in times of
peace.
Naval Crown, among the ancient Romans, a crown
adorned w'ith figures of prows of ships, conferred on
persons who in sea engagements first boarded the ene¬
my’s vessel. See Crown.
Naval Engagement. See Tactics, Naval.
Naval Stores, comprehend all those particulars
made use of, not only in the royal navy, but in every
other kind of navigation-, as timber and iron for ship¬
ping, pitch, tar, hemp, cordage, sail cloth, gunpowder,
ordnance, and fire arms of every sort, ship chandlery
wares, 8tc.
Naval Tactics, the military operations of fleets.
See Tactics, Naval.
NAVAN, a borough town of Ireland, in the county
of Meath and province of Leinster -, situated about 23
miles north-west of Dublin, on the river Boyne. It
consists of two chief streets, which intersect each other
at right angles.—The tholsel, or town house, is a
handsome stone building. This place was formerly in
great repute, and walled in by Hugh de Lacy. An
abbey for regular canons, dedicated to the V irgin Mary,
was erected here; hut whether antecedent to the end
of the 12th century is not certain : about that period,
however, it was either founded or re-edified by Joce-
line de Angulo or Nangle. In the burial ground are
the remains of many ancient tombs. A barrack for
horse is now built on the site of the abbey.
NAVARRE, a province of Spain, part of the an¬
cient kingdom of Navarre, erected soon after the in- _
vasion of the Moors -, and is otherwise called Upper
Navarre, to distinguish it from Lower Navarre be¬
longing to the French. It is bounded on the south
and east by Arragon, on the north by the Pyrenees,
and on the west by Old Castile and Biscay j extending
from south to north about 80 miles, and from east to
west about 75. It abounds in sheep and cattle ; game
of all kinds, as boars, stags, and roebucks ; and in
wild fowl, horses, and honey, yielding also some
grain, wine, oil, and a variety of minerals, medicinal
waters, and hot baths. Some of the ancient chiefs
of this country were called Sobraibores, from the
custom, as it is supposed, which prevailed among
some of those free nations, of choosing and swearing
N A V [
rre. tlieir princes under some particular tree. The name
vr ^ie Prov“lce *s supposed to be a contraction of
ISava Errca, sig-nifying, in the language of the Vas-
cones, its ancients inhabitants, “ a land of valleys ”
—For the particulars of its history, see the article
Spain.
Navarre, Peter, an officer of eminence in the 16th
century, and particularly celebrated for his dexterity in
the directing and springing of mines. He was a na¬
tive of Biscay, and ot low extraction. According to
1 aul Jove, who affirms that he had an account of the
mattef from his own mouth, he was first a sailor; but
being disgusted with that employment, he sought his
lortune in Italy, when poverty compelled him to be¬
come footman to the cardinal of Arragon. He after¬
wards inlisted himself a soldier in the Houstine army:
and having served there for some time, Went to sea a-
gam, and distinguished himself by his courage. The
reputation of his valour having reached the ears of Gon-
salvo de Cordova, this general employed him in the
war against Naples, and raised him to the rank of a
captain. Having contributed greatly to the taking of
that city by very opportunely springing a mine, the
emperor rewarded him for this signal service with the
earldom of Alveto, situated in that kingdom, and gave
him the title of Count of Navarre. Having the com¬
mand ot a naval expedition against the Moors in Afri-
ca, lie was at first very successful, and took possession of
Oran, 1 ripoh, and some other places ; but being after¬
wards shipwrecked on the island of Gerbes, the great
heats and the Moorish cavalry destroyed a part of his
army. Our hero was equally unfortunate in Italy:
He was made prisoner at the fiimous battle of Raven¬
na in 1512, and languished in France for the space of
two years. When finding that the king of Spain, who
had been prejudiced against him by his courtiers, would
do nothing towards his ransom, he went into the service
o rrancis I. who gave him the command of 20 com¬
panies of infantry, consisting of Gascons, Biscayans,
and the inhabitants of the Pyrenean mountains. He
distinguished himself in several successful expeditions
unti1 the year 1522, when having been sent to the relief
ot the Genoese, he was taken by the Imperialists. They
conducted him to Naples, where he remained a pri¬
soner lor three years in the Castel del Ovo. From this
confinement he was released by the treaty of Madrid,
and afterwards fought at the siege of Naples under
Caulrfc in 1528: but being again made prisoner at
toe unfortunate retreat from A Versa, he was conduct¬
ed a second time to the 'Castel del Ovo. Here the
prince of Orange, having by order of the emperor,
caused several persons of the Angevine faction to be
beheaded, our hero Would undoubtedly have suffered
the same fate, if the governor, seeing his distressed si¬
tuation, and feeling for the misfortunes of so great a
man, had not saved him the shame of this last punish¬
ment by allowing him to die a natural death. Others
pretend that he was strangled in his bed, having ar-
iiyed at. a very advanced age. Paul Jove and Philip
Ihomasim have written his life. This last informs us,
lat he was of a tall size, had a swarthy Countenance,
black eyes, beard, and hair. A duke of Sessa, in the
last century, being desirous to honour his memory
and that of the marshal de Lautree, caused a monu-
-ment to be erected to each of them in the church of
643 ] N A V
Saint-Marie-le Ncnve at Naples, where they hut! been
interred without any funeral honours.
i avarre, Martin, surnamed A%pilcucta, because
ie was born in the kingdom which bears that name,
successively professor of jurisprudence at Toulouse, Sa¬
lamanca, and Coimbra, was consulted from all quar-
ters as the oracle of law. For a part of his knowledge
e was indebted to the schools of Cahors and Toulouse,
in which he had studied. His friend Barthelemi Ca-
rewza, a Dominican, and archbishop of Toledo, hav-
•5 been charged with heresy by the court of inqui-
sitmn at Rome, Navarre set out at the age of 80 years
Cardinal1 f”1”* ’ Al'1-* ^ * .aPP0,nte(I him assessor to
y/tt 1 *rancis Alciat, vice-penitentiary. Greoorv
. , nev?r Passed his gate without sending for him
and sometimes would converse with him for an hour
ogether on the street: he even deigned to visit him
accompanied by several cardinals. These honours did
not render him more haughty. His character became
so eminent, that even in his own time the greatest
encomium that could be paid to a man of learnino-
was to say that he was a Navarre: this name thus
included the idea of erudition, as that of Roscius for¬
merly marked an accomplished comedian. Azpilcucta
was the oracle of the city of Rome, and of the whole
Christian world. J0r the influence which he had ac¬
quired, he was indebted not only to his knowledge,
but also to Ins probity and virtue. Faithful to the
duties which the church prescribed, his temperance
an frugality preserved to him a vigorous constitution ;
and at a very advanced age his genius was equal to the
severest study. His savings enabled him to o-ive libe¬
ral assistance to the poor. His charities, indeed, were
so great, that his mule, it is said, would stop as soon
as she perceived a beggar, He died at Rome in 1 c86
at the age of 92. . His works were collected and
punted in 6 vols. fgl10 at Lyons in 1597, and at Ve¬
nice in 1602. Ihey displayed more learning than judge-
ment, and are now very seldom consulted. Navarre
was uncle by the mother’s side to St Francis of Sales,
oee Sales.
NAUCRARI, among the Athenians, was the name
given to the chief magistrates of the “ boroughs
or townships,” called N**j because each was
obliged, besides two horsemen, to furnish out one ship
tor the public service. r
NAUCRAIES, a Greek poet, who was employed
try' Artemisia to write a panegyric upon Mausolus An
orator who endeavoured to alienate the cities of Lycia
from the interests of Brutus. J
NAUCRATIS, a city of Egypt on the left side
of the Canopic mouth of the Nile. It was celebrated
lor its commerce, and no ship was permitted to land
at any other place, but rvas obliged to sail directly to
the city, there to deposite its cargo. It gave birth to
Atnenaeus.
rPr AVCR^TITES N°M0S’ in ^/ent Geography,
(Pliny) j a division of the Delta, so called from that
town iSaucratis.; though Ptolemy comprises it under the
JNomos baites.
NAUCYDES, a statuary who lived about four cen,
tunes before the Christian era.
NAVE, in Architecture, the body of a church,
where the people are disposed, reaching from the bai-
Inster, or rail of the door, to the chief choir, Some
4^2 derived
N A V
[ 644 1
N A V
derive tlie word from the Greek “ a temple •,,,
and others from “ a ship,” by reason the vault or
roof of a church bears some resemblance to a ship.
NAVEL, in Anatomy, the centre of the lower part
of the abdomen j being that part wliere the umbilical
vessels passed out of the placenta of the mother. See Nave!.,
Anatomy Index, Navew,
NAVEL-Wort. See Cotyledon, Botany Index.
NAVEW. See Brassica, Botany Index.
NAVIGATION
IS the art of conducting or carrying a ship from one
port to another.
HIS TO BY.
The poets refer the invention of the art of naviga¬
tion to Neptune, some to Bacchus, others to Her¬
cules, others to Jason, and others to Janus, who is said
to have made the first ship. Historians ascribe it to
the /Eginetes, the Phoenicians, Tyrians, and the an¬
cient inhabitants of Britain. Some suppose, that the
first hint was taken from the flight of the kite } others,
as Qppian (De Piscibus, Yih. i.), from the fish called
nautilus: others ascribe it to accident.—Scripture re¬
fers the origin of so useful an invention to God himself,
who gave the first specimen thereol in the ark built by
Noah under his direction. For the raillery which the
good man underwent on account of his enterprise shows
evidently enough that the world was then ignorant of
any thing like navigation, and that they even thought
it impossible.
However, profane history represents the Phomicians,
especially those of their capital Tyre, as the first navi¬
gators j being urged to seek a foreign commerce by the
narrowness and poverty of a slip of ground they pos¬
sessed along the coasts ; as well as by the conveniency
of two or three good ports, and by their natural ge¬
nius for traffic. Accordingly, Lebanon, and the other
neighbouring mountains, furnishing them with excel¬
lent wood for ship-building, in a short time they
were masters of a numerous fleet j and constantly
hazarding new navigations, and settling new trades,
they soon arrived at an incredible pitch of opulence
and populousness : insomuch as to be in a condition
to send out colonies, the principal of which was that
of Carthage 5 which, keeping up their Phoenician spi¬
rit of commerce, in time not only equalled Tyre itself,
but vastly surpassed it j sending its merchant fleets
through Hercules’s Pillars, now the straits of Gibral¬
tar, along the western coasts of Africa and Europe 5
and even, if we believe some authors, to America it¬
self.
Tyre, whose immense riches and power are repre¬
sented in such lofty terms both by sacred and profane
authors, being destroyed by Alexander the Great, its
navigation and commerce were transferred by the con¬
queror to Alexandria, a new city admirably situated
for those purposes ^ proposed for the capital of the em¬
pire of Asia, which Alexander then meditated. And
thus arose the navigation of the Egyptians ; which was
afterwards sp much cultivated by the Ptolemies, that
Tyre and Carthage were quite forgotten.
Egypt being reduced into a Koman province after
the battle of Actium, its trade and navigation fell into
the hands of Augustus ; in whose time Alexandria was
only inferior to Borne $ and the magazines of the ca¬
pital of the world were wholly supplied with merchan¬
dises from the capital of Egypt.
At length, Alexandria itself underwent tlie fate of
Tyre and Carthage ; being surprised by the Saracens,
who in spite of the emperor Heraclius, overspread
the northern coasts of Africa, &c. whence the mer¬
chants being driven, Alexandria has ever since been in
a languishing state, though it still has a considerable
part of the commerce of the Christian merchants trad¬
ing to the Levant.
The fall of Borne and its empire drew along with it
not only that of learning and the polite arts, hut that of
navigation ; the barbarians into whose hands it fell,
contenting themselves with the spoils of the industry oi
their predecessors.
But no sooner were the more brave among those na¬
tions well settled in their new provinces, some in Gaul,
as the Franks $ others in Spain, as the Goths j and
others in Italy, as the Lombards ; but they began to
learn the advantages of navigation and commerce, and
the methods of managing them, from the people they
subdued ^ and tins with so much success, that in a lit
tie time some of them became able to give new lessons,
and set on foot new institutions for its advantage. Thus
it is to the Lombards we usually ascribe the invention
and use of banks, book-keeping, exchanges, rechanges,
&.C.
It does not appear which of the European people,
after the settlement of their newr masters, first betook
themselves to navigation and commerce. Some think
it began with the French; though the Italians seem
to have the justest title to it; and are accordingly re¬
garded as the restorers thereof, as well as of the polite
arts, which had been banished together from the time
the empire was torn asunder. It is the people of Ita j
then, and particularly those of Venice and Genoa, who
have the glory of this restoration *, and it is to their ad¬
vantageous situation for navigation they in great mea¬
sure owe their glory. In the bottom ol the Adriatic
were a great number of marshy islands, only separated
by narrow channels, but those well screened, and almost
inaccessible, the residence of some fishermen, who here
supported themselves by a little trade in fish and sa t,
which they found in some of these islands. I hither
the Veneti, a people inhabiting that part of Italy along
the coasts of the gulf, retired, when Alaric king ol the
Goths, and afterwards Attila king of the Huns, rava¬
ged Italy. . , ,.
These new islanders, little imagining that this was
to be their fixed residence, did not think oi composing
any body politic*, but each of the 72 islands of tins
little archipelago continued a long time undei its se
veral masters, and each made a distinct commonwealth.
When their commerce was become considerable enoug 1
to give jealousy to their neighbours, they began to
«
History. N A V I G
think of uniting into a body. And it was this union,
first begun in the sixth century, but not completed till
the eighth, that laid the sure foundation of the future
grandeur of the state of Venice. From the time of this
union, their fleets of merchantmen were sent to all the
ports of the Mediterranean j and at last to those of E-
gypt, particularly Cairo, a new city built by the Sara¬
cen princes on the eastern banks of the Nile, where
they traded for the spices and other products of the
Indies. Thus they flourished, increased their commerce,
their navigation, and their conquests on the terra firma,5
till the league of Cambray in 1508, when a number of
jealous princes conspired to their ruin ; which was the
more easily effected by the diminution of their East In¬
dia commerce, of which the Portuguese had got one
part and the Irench another. Genoa, which had ap¬
plied itself to navigation at the same time with Venice
and that with equal success, was a long time its danger¬
ous rival, disputed with it the empire of the sea, and
shared with it the trade of Egypt and other parts both
of the east and west.
Jealousy soon began to break out; and the two re¬
publics coming to blows, there was almost continual
war for three centuries before the superiority was ascer¬
tained ; when, towards the end of the 14th century,
the battle of Chioza ended the strife ; the Genoese,
who till then had usually the advantage, having now
lost all ; ami the Venetians, almost become desperate,
at one happy blow, beyond all expectation, secured
to themselves the empire of the sea, and superiority in
commerce.
About the same time that navigation was retrieved
in the southern parts of Europe, a new society of mer¬
chants was formed m the north, which not onlv car¬
ried commerce to the greatest perfection it was capable
of till the discovery of the East and West Indies, but
also formed a new scheme of laws for the regulation
therefore, which still obtain under the names of Uses
(ivd Customs of the Sea. This society is that famous
league of the Hanse towns, commonly supposed to have
begun about the year 1164. See Manse Toivns.
tor the modern state of navigation in England, Hol¬
land, France, Spain, Portugal, &c. see Commerce,
Company, &c.
We shall only add, that in examining the causes
of commerce passing successively from the Venetians,
Genoese, and Hanse towns, to the Portuguese and
Spaniards, and from these again to the English and
Hutch, it may be established as a maxim, that the re¬
lation between commerce and navigation, or if we may
be allowed to say it, their union, is so intimate, that
the fall of the one inevitably draws after it that of the
other; and that they will always either flourish or
dwindle together. Hence so many laws, ordinances,
statutes, &c. for its regulation ; and hence particularly
that celebrated act of navigation, which an eminent
foreign author calls the palladium or tutelar deity of the
commerce of England; which is the standing rule, not
only of the British among themselves, but also of other
nations with whom they traffie.
I he art of navigation has been exceedingly im¬
proved in modern times, both with regard to the
form of the vessels themselves, and with regard to the
methods of working them. The use of rowers is now
entirely superseded by the improvements made in the
A T I O N. 645:
formation of the sails,, rigging, &c. by which means
ships can not only sail much faster "than formerly,
but can tack in any direction with the greatest facility.
It is also very probable that the ancients were neither
so well skilled in finding the latitudes, nor in steering
their vessels in places of difficult navigation, as the
moderns. But the greatest advantage which the mo¬
derns have over the ancients is from the mariner’s
compass, by which they are enabled to find their way
with as great facility in the midst of an immeasurable
ocean, as the ancients could have done by creepino-
along the coast, and never going out of sight of land!
borne people indeed contend, that this is no new in¬
dention, but that the ancients were acquainted with it.
’Ihey say, that it was impossible for Solomon to have
sent ships to Ophir, Tarshish, and Parvaim, which last
they will have to be Peru, without this useful instfu-
ment. They insist, that it was impossible for the an¬
cients to be acquainted with the attractive virtue of the
magnet, and to be ignorant of its polarity. Nay, they
affirm, that this property of the magnet is plainly men¬
tioned in the book ot Job, where the loadstone is men-*-
tioued by the name oi topaz, or the stone that turns itself.
But it is certain, that the Homans, who conquered Ju¬
dea, were ignorant of this instrument; and it is very
improbable, that such an useful invention, if once it
had been commonly known to any nation, would have
been forgot, or perfectly concealed from such a prudent,
people as the Romans, who were so much interested in
the discovery of it.
Among those who admit that the mariner’s com¬
pass is a modern, invention, it has been much disput¬
ed who was the inventor. Some give the honour of
it to I lavio Gioia of Amalfi in Campania *, who lived * See 3/a-
about the beginning of the 14th century; while others Uner's
say that it came from the east, and was earlier known ComPas*'
in Euiope. But, at whatever time it was invented, it
is certain, that the mariner’s compass was not com¬
monly used m navigation before the year 1420. In
that year the science was considerably improved under
the auspices of Henry duke of Visco, brother to the
king of Portugal. In the year 1481?, Roderick and
Joseph, physicians to John H. king of Portugal, toge-
thei with one Martin de Bohemia, a Portuguese, na¬
tive of the island of layal, and scholar to Regiomon¬
tanus, calculated tables of the sun’s declination for the
use of sailors, and recommended the astrolabe for taking
observations at sea. Of the instructions of Martin, the
celebrated Christopher Columbus is said to have availed
himself, and to have improved the Spaniards in the
knowledge of the art; for the farther progress of which
a lecture was afterwards founded at Seville by the em¬
peror Charles V.
The discovery of the variation is claimed by Colum¬
bus, and by Sebastian Cabot. 1 be former certainly
did observe this variation without having beard of it
from any other person, on the 14th of September
1492, and it is very probable that Cabot might do
the same. At that time it was found that there was
no variation at the Azores, wuere some geographers
have thought proper to place the first meridian ;
though it hath since been observed that the variation
alters in time.—The use of the cross staff now began
to be introduced among sailors. This ancient instru¬
ment is described by John TVerner of Nuremberg, in
bis
646
N A V I G
his annotations bn the hist hook of Ptolemy’s Geogra-
phy, printed in 15^4* He recommends it for obsei\ing
the distance between the moon and some star, in order
thence to determine the longitude.
At this time the art of navigation was very imper¬
fect, on account of the inaccuracies of the plane chart,
which was the only one then known, and which, by
its gross errors, must have greatly misled the mariner,
especially in voyages far distant from the equator.
Its precepts were probably at first only set down on
the sea charts, as is the custom at this day : but at
length there were two Spanish treatises published in
I545 5 one ^ Pedro de Medina j the other by Martin
Cortes, which contained a complete system ot the art,
as far as it was then known. These seem to have
been the oldest writers who fully handled the art}
for Medina, in his dedication to Philip prince of
Spain, laments that multitudes of ships daily perished
at sea, because there were neither teachers of the art,
nor books by which it might be learned; and Cortes,
in his dedication, boasts to the emperor that he was
the first who had reduced navigation into a compen¬
dium, valuing himself much on what he had perform¬
ed. Medina defended the plane chart j but he was
opposed by Cortes, who showed its errors, and en¬
deavoured to account for the variation of the com¬
pass, by supposing the needle to be influenced by a
magnetic pole (which he called the point attractive'),
-diflerent from that of the world ; which notion hath
been farther prosecuted by others. Medina’s book
was soon translated into Italian, French, and Flemish,
and served for a long time as a guide to foreign na¬
vigators. However, Cortes was the favourite author
of the English nation, and was translated in 1561 ',
while Medina’s work was entirely neglected, though
translated also within a short time of the ether. At
that time the system of navigation consisted of the
following particulars, and others similar : An account
of the Ptolemaic hypothesis, and the circles of the
sphere \ of the roundness of the earth, the longitudes,
latitudes, climates, &c. and eclipses of the luminaries 5
a kalendar j the method of finding the prime, epact,
moon’s age, and tides ; a description of the compass,
an account of its variation,- for the discovering of
which Cortes said an instrument might easily be con¬
trived j tables of the sun’s declination for four years,
in order to find the latitude from his meridian altitude *,
directions to find the same by certain stars j of the
course of the sun and moon ; the length of the days 5
of time and its divisions j the method of finding the
hour of the day and night $ and lastly, a description of
the sea chart, on which to discover where the ship is,
they made use of a small table, that showed, upon an al¬
teration of one degree of the latitude, hew many leagues
were run in each rhumb, together with the departure
from the meridian. Besides, some instruments were
described, especially by Cortes ; such as one to find the
place and declination of the sun, with the days, and
place of the moon ; certain dials, the astrolabe, and
cross staff; with a complex machine to discover the
hour and latitude at once.
About the same time were made proposals for
finding the longitude by observations of the moon.—
In 1530, Gemma Frisius advised the keeping of the
.time by means of small clocks or watches, then, as he
A T I O N. History
says, newly invented. He also contrived a new sort
of cross staff, and an instrument called the nautical
quadrant; which last was much praised by W iliiam
Cunningham, in his Astronomical Glass, printed in the
year 1559.
In 1 537 Pedro Nunez, or Nonius, published a book
in the Portuguese language, to explain a difficulty in
navigation proposed to him by the commander lion
Martin Alphonso de Susa. In this he exposes the er¬
rors of the plane chart, and likewise gives the solution
of several curious astronomical problems j amongst
which is that of determining the latitude from two
observations of the sun’s altitude and intermediate
azimuth being given. He observed, that though the
rhumbs are spiral lines, yet the elirect course of a ship
will always be in the arch of a great circle, whereby
the angle with the meridians will continually change :
all that the steersman can here do for the preserving
of the original rhumb, is to correct these deviations as
soon as they appear sensible. But thus the ship will
in reality describe a course without the rhumb line in¬
tended y and therefore his calculations for assigning the
latitude, where any rhumb line crosses the several me¬
ridians, will be in some measure erroneous. He in¬
vented a method of dividing a quadrant by means ot
concentric circles, which, after being much improved
-by Dr Halley, is used at present, and is called a «»-
nius.
In 1577, Mr William Bourne published a treatise,
in which, by considering the irregularities in the moon’s
motion, he shows the errors ot the sailors in finding
4ier age by the epact, and also in determining the hour
from observing on what point of the compass the sun
and moon appeared-. He advises, in sailing towards
the high latitudes, to keep the reckoning by the globe,
as there the plane chart is most erroneous. He despairs
-of our ever being able to find the longitude, unless the
variation of the compass should be occasioned by some
.such attractive point as Cortes had imagined 3 ot
which, however, he doubts : but as he had shown how
to find the variation at all times, he advises to keep
an account of the observations, as useful for finding
the place of the ship 3 which advice was prosecuted at
large by Simon Stevin, in a treatise published at Ley¬
den in 1599? the substance of which was the same
year printed at London in English by Mr Edward
Wright, entitled the Haven-finding Art. In this an¬
cient tract also is described the way by which our sail¬
ors estimate the rate of a ship in her course, by an in¬
strument called the /qg-. rJ his was so named from the
piece of wood or log that floats in the water while the
time is reckoned during which the line that is fastened
to it is veering out. The author of this contrivance
is not known ; neither was it taken notice of till 1607,
in an East India voyage published by Burch as : but
from this time it became famous, and was much taken
notice of by almost all writers on navigation in every
country 3 and it still continues to be used as at first,
though many attempts have been made to improve it,
and contrivances proposed to supply its place 3 many 0
which have succeeded in quiet water, but proved useless
in a stormy sea.
In 15S1 Michael Coignet, a native of Antwerp,
published a treatise, in which he animadverted on Me*
dina. In this he showed, that as the rhumbs are spt-
xals,
History. N A V I G
rals, making endless revolutions about the poles, nu¬
merous errors must arise from their being represented
by straight lines on the sea charts ; but though he
hoped to find a remedy for these errors, he was of opK
nion that the proposals of Nonius were scarccdy prac¬
ticable, and therefore in a great measure useless. In
treating of the sun’s declination, he took notice of the
gradual decrease in the obliquity of the ecliptic j he
also described the cross staff with three transverse pieces,
as it is at present made, and which he owned to have’
been then in common use among the sailors. He like¬
wise gave some instruments of his own invention • but
all of them are now laid aside, excepting perhap’s his
nocturnal. He constructed a sea table to be used by
such as sailed beyond the 6oth degree of latitude ; and
at the end of the book is delivered a method of sailing
on a parallel of latitude by means of a ring dial and
a 24 hour glass. The same year the discovery of the
dipping needle was made by Mr Robert Norman *. In
xdle° his publication on that art be maintains, in opposition
to Coites, that the variation of the compass was caused
by some point on the surface of the earth, and not in
the heavens . he also made considerable improvements
in the constiuction of compasses themselves } showing
especially the danger of not fixing, on account of the
variation, the wire directly under the/fear cle luce; as
compasses made in different couirtries have it placed
differently. To this performance of Norman’s is al¬
ways prefixed a discourse on the variation of the mao--
netical needle, by Mr William Burrough, in which be
shows how to determine the variation in many different
ways. He also points out many errors in the practice
of navigation at that time, and .speaks in very severe
terms concerning those who had published upon it.
All this time the Spaniards continued to publish trea¬
tises on the art. In 1585 an excellent compendium
was published by Roderico Zamorano j which contri¬
buted greatly towards the improvement of the art, par¬
ticularly in the sea charts. Globes of an improved kind,-
and of a much larger size than those formerly used,
were now constructed, and many improvements were
made In other instruments; however, the plane chart
continued still to be followed, though its errors were
frequently complained of. Methods of removing these
errors had indeed been sought after ; and Gerard Mer¬
cator seems to have been the first who found the true
method of doing this, so as to answer the purposes of
seamen. His method was to represent the parallels both
of latitude and longitude by parallel straight lines, but
gradually to augment the former as they approached
the pole. Thus the rhumbs, which otherwise ought
to have been curves, were now also extended into
straight lines j and thus a straight line drawn between
any two places marked upon the chart would make
an angle with the meridians, expressing the rhumb
leading from the one to the other. But though, in
T569, Mercator published an universal map constructed
in this manner, it doth not appear that he was acquaint¬
ed with the principles on which this proceeded; and
it is now generally believed, that the true principles
on which the construction of what is called Mercator"'s
chart depends, were first discovered by an Englishman,
Mr Edward Wright.
Mr Wright supposes, but, according to the general
opinion, without sufficient grounds, that this enlarge-
2
A T I O N.
ment of elie degrees of latitude was known and men-
tioned by Ptolemy, and that the same thing had also
)een spoken of by Cortes. The expressions of Pto¬
lemy alluded to, relate indeed to the proportion be¬
tween the distances of the parallels and meridians ; but
instead of proposing any gradual enlargement of the
parallels of latitude in a general chart, he speaks only
ot particular maps ; and advises not to confine a system
ol such maps to one and the same scale, but to plan
them out by a different measure, as occasion might re¬
quire : only with this precaution, that the degrees of
longitude in each should bear some proportion to those
ot latitude ; and this proportion is to be deduced from
that which the magnitude of the respective parallels
bears to a great circle of the sphere. He adds, that
in particular maps, if this proportion be observed with -
regard to the middle parallel, the inconvenience will
not he great though the meridians should be straight
lines parallel to each other. Here he is said only to
mean, that the maps should in some measure represent
the figures of the countries for which they are drawn.
In this sense Mercator, who drew maps for Ptolemy’s
tables, understood him ; thinking it, however, an im¬
provement not to regulate the meridians by one paral¬
lel, hut by two ; one distant from the northern, the
other from the southern extremity of the map by a
fourth part of the whole depth j by which means, in
his maps, though the meridians are straight lines, vet
they are generally drawn inclining to each other to¬
wards the poles. With regard to Cortes, he speaks
only of the number of degrees of latitude, and not of
the extent of them ; nay, he gives express directions
that they should all be laid down by equal measurement
on a scale of leagues adapted to the map.
For some time after the appearance of Mercator’s
map, it was not rightly understood, and it was even
thought to be entirely useless, if not detrimental 
However, about the year 1592, its utility began to
he perceived 5 and seven years after, Mr Wright print¬
ed his famous treatise entitled, The Correction of cer¬
tain Errors in Navigation, where he fully explained the
reason of extending the length of the parallels of lati¬
tude, and the uses of it to navigators. In 1610, a se¬
cond edition of Mr Wright’s book was published with
improvements. An excellent method was proposed of
determining the magnitude of the earth ; at the same
time it was judiciously proposed to make our common
measures in some proportion to a degree on its surface,
that they might not depend on the uncertain length of
a barley corn. Some of his other improvements were,
1 he table of latitudes for dividing the meridian com¬
puted to minuteswhereas it had been only divided
to every tenth minute. He also published a descrip¬
tion of an instrument which he calls the sea rings; and
by which the variation of the compass, altitude of the
sun, and time of the day, may be determined readily
at once in any place, provided the latitude is known.
He showed also how to correct the errors arising from
the eccentricity of the eye in observing by the cross-
staff. He made a total amendment in the tables of the
declinations and places of the sun and stars from his
own observations made with a six foot quadrant in the
years 1594, 95, 96, and 97. A sea quadrant to take
altitudes by a forward or backward observation ; and
likewise with a contrivance for the ready finding the
latitude :
647
'643
N A V I G
latitude by the height oF tbe pole star, when not up¬
on the meridian. To this edition was subjoined a trans¬
lation of Zamorano’s Compendium above mentioned, m
which he corrected some mistakes in the orginal; ad¬
ding a large table of the variation of the compass ob¬
served in very difl’erent parts of the world, to show that
it was not occasioned by any magnetical pole.
These improvements soon became known abroad.
In 1608, a treatise entitled, Hypomnemuta Mathema¬
tical was published by Simon Stevin, ioi the. use ol
Prince Maurice. In that part relating to navigation,
the author having treated of sailing on a great circle,
and shown how to draw the rhumbs on a globe mecha¬
nically, sets down Wright’s two tables of latitudes and
of rhumbs, in order to describe these lines more accu¬
rately, pretending even to have discovered an erioi in
Wright’s table. But all Stevin’s objections were fully
answered by the author himself, who showed that they
arose from the gross way of calculating made use ol
by the former. , „ ...
In 1624, the learned Wellebrordus Snelhus, pro-
lessor of mathematics at Leyden, published a treatise
of navigation on Wright’s plan, but somewhat obscure¬
ly : and as he did not particularly mention all the dis¬
coveries of Wright, the latter was thought by some to
have taken the hint of all his discoveries from Snelhus.
But this supposition is long ago refuted : and >\ right
enjoys the honour of those discoveries which is justly
his due. _ . . , c
Mr Wright having shown how to find the place ol
the ship on^his chart, observed that the same might be
performed more accurately by calculation: but con¬
sidering, as he says, that the latitudes, and especially
the courses at sea, could not be determined so precise¬
ly, he forbore setting down particular examples; as
the mariner may be allowed to save himself this trou¬
ble, and only mark out upon his chart the ships’s way,
after the tnanner then usually practised. However, 111
1614, Mr Raphe Handson, among his nautical que¬
stions subjoined to a translation of Pitiscus’s trigono¬
metry, solved very distinctly every case of navigation,
by applying arithmetical calculations to Wright’s table
of latitudes, or of meridional parts, as it hath since
been called. Though the method discovered by
Wrioht for finding the change of longitude by a ship
sailing on a rhumb is the proper way of performing it,
Handson also proposes two ways of approximation to
it without the assistance of Wright’s division of the
meridian line. The first was computed by the arith¬
metical mean between the cosines of both latitudes;
the other by the same mean between the secants as an
alternative, when Wright’s book was not at hand *,
though this latter is wider from the truth than the first.
By the same calculations also he showed how much
each of these compendiums deviates from the truth, and
also how widely the computations on the erroneous
principles of the plane chart differ from them all. The
method, however, commonly used by our sailors is com¬
monly called tbe middle latitude; which, though it
errs more than that by the arithmetical mean between
the two cosines, is preferred on account of its being
less operose : yet in high latitudes it is more eligible
to use that of the arithmetical mean between the lo¬
garithmic cosines, equivalent to the geometrical mean
between the cosines themselves ; a method since pro-
4
A T I O N. History if
posed by Mr John Bassat. The computation by the
middle latitude will always fall short, of the true change
of longitude ; that by the geometrical mean will al¬
ways exceed j but that by the arithmetical mean falls
short in latitudes above 45 degrees, and exceeds in lesser
latitudes. However, none of these methods will differ
much from the truth when the change of latitude is
sufficiently small.
About this time logarithms were invented by John
Napier, baron of Merchiston in Scotland, and proved
of the utmost service to the art of navigation. I rom
which Mr Edmund Gunter constructed a table of lo¬
garithmic sines and tangents to every minute of the
quadrant, which be published in 1620. In this work
he applied to navigation, and other branches of ma¬
thematics, his admirable ruler known by the name of
Gunter’s scale * *, on which are described lines of loga-* SeeGi,r I
rithms, of logarithmic sines and tangents, of meridio- ter'3 Scan\ j
nal parts, &c. He greatly improved the sector for the
sames purposes. He showed also how to take a back
observation by the cross staff, whereby the error arising
from tbe eccentricity of the eye is avoided. He de¬
scribed likewise another instrument, of his own inven¬
tion called the cross bow^ for taking altitudes of the
sun or stars, with some contrivances for the more ready
collecting the latitude from the observation. rIhe dis¬
coveries concerning logarithms were carried to France
in 1624 by Mr Edmund Wingate, who published two
small tracts in that year at Baris. In one of these he
taught the use of Gunter’s scale j and in the other, of
the tables of artificial sines and tangents, as modelled
according to Napier’s last lorm, erroneously attubuted
by Wingate to Briggs.
Gunter’s rule was projected into a circular arch by
the Reverend Mr William Oughtred in 1633, and its
uses fully shown in a pamphlet entitled, The Circles of
Proportion, where, in an appendix, are well treated se¬
veral important points in navigation. It has also been
made in the form of a sliding ruler.
The logarithmic tables were first applied to the
different cases of sailing by Mr Thomas Addison, in
his treatise entitled, Arithmetical Navigation, printed
in 1625. He also gives two traverse tables, with their
uses ■, the one to quarter points of the compass, the
other to degrees. Mr Henry Gellibrand published his
discovery of the changes of the variation of the com¬
pass, in a small quarto pamphlet, entitled, A discourse
mathematical on the variation 0/ the magnetical needle,
printed in 1635. This extraordinary phenomenon he
found out by comparing the observations made at dif¬
ferent times near the same place by Mr Burrough, Mr
Gunter, and himself, all persons of great skill and ex¬
perience in these matters. This discovery was likewise
soon known abroad-, for Father Athanasius Kircher,
in his treatise entitled, Magnes, first printed at Rome
in 1641, informs us, that he had been told it by Mr
John Greaves and then gives a letter of the famous
Marinus Mersennus, containing a very distinct account
of the same.
As altitudes of the sun are taken on shipboard by
observing his elevation above the visible horizon; to
obtain from thence the sun’s true altitude with correct¬
ness, Wright observes it to be necessary that the dip ot
the visible horizon below the horizontal plane passing
through the observer’s eye should be brought into the ,
& account,
History. N A V I G
account, which caftnot he calculated without knowing
the magnitude of the earth. Hence he was induced to
propose different methods for finding this; bat Com¬
plains that the most effectual was out of his power to
execute; and therefore contented himself with a rude
attempt, in some measure sufficient for his purpose : and
the dimensions of the earth deduced by him correspond¬
ed very well with the usual divisions of the log line j
however, as he wrote not an express treatise on naviga¬
tion, but only for the correcting snch errors as prevailed
in general practice, the log line did not fall under his
notice. Mr Richard Norwood, however, put in exe¬
cution the method recommended by Mr Wright as the
most perfect for measuring the dimensions of the earth,
with the true length of the degrees of a great circle
npon it 5 and, ini 1635, ^te actually measured the di¬
stance between London and York; from whence, and
the summer solstitial altitudes of the sun observed on the
meridian at both places, he found a degree on a great
circle of the earth to contain 367,196 English feet,
equaf to 57,300 French fathoms or toises: which is
very exact, as appears from many measures that have
been made since that time. Of all this Mr Norwood
gave a full account in his treatise called The Seaman's
Practice, published in 1637. He there shows the rea¬
son why Snellius had failed in his attempt : he points
out also various uses of his discovery, particularly for
correcting the gross errors hitherto committed in the
divisions of the log line. But necessary amendments
have been little attended to by sailors, whose obstinacy
in adhering to established errors has been complained of
by the best writers on navigation. This improvement
has at length, however, made its . way into practice, and
few navigators of reputation now make use of the old
measure of 42 feet to a knot. In that treatise also Mr
Norwood describes his own excellent method of setting
down and perfecting a sea reckoning, by using a traverse
table 5 which method he had followed and taught for
many years. He shows also how to rectify the course
by the variation of the compass being considered ; as
also how to discover currents, and to make proper al¬
lowance on their accoant. This treatise, and another
on trigonometry, were continually reprinted, as the
principal hooks for learning scientifically the art of
navigation. What he had delivered, especially in the
latter of them, concerning this subject, was contracted
as a manual for sailor?, in a very small piece called his
Ppitotne ; which useful performance has gone through
a great number of editions. No alterations were ever
made in the Seaman’s Practice till the 12th edition in
1676, when the following paragraph was inserted in a
smaller character : “ About the year 1672, Monsieur
Picart lias published an account in French, concerning
the measure of the earth, a breviate whereof may be
seen in the Philosophical Transactions, N° 112, where¬
in he concludes one degree to contain 365,184 English
feet, nearly agreeing with Mr Norwood’s experiment j”
and this advertisement is continued through the subse¬
quent editions as late as the year 1732.
^ About the year 1645, MrBond published in Norwood’s
Epitome a very great improvement in Wright’s method,
by a property in his meridian line, whereby its divisions
are more scientifically assigned than the author himself
was able to effect $ which was from this theorem, that
^hese divisions are analogous to the excesses of the lo-
Yol. XIV. Part II. f
A T I O N.
garithmic tangents of half the respective latitudes aug¬
mented by 45 degrees above the logarithm of the ra¬
dius. This he afterwards explained more fully in the
third edition of Gunter’s worksr printed in 1653 >
where, after observing that the logarithmic tangents
from 450 upwards increase in the same manner that
the secants added together do, if every half degree
be accounted as a whole degree of Mercator’s meri¬
dional line. His rule for computing the meridional
parts belonging to any two latitudes, supposed on the
same side of the equator, is to the following effect:
“ Take the logarithmic tangent, rejecting the radius,
of half each latitude, augmented by 45 degrees ; di¬
vide the difference of those numbers by the logarith¬
mic tangent of 450 30', the radius being likewise re¬
jected 5 and the quotient will be the meridional parts
required, expressed in degrees.” This rule is the imme¬
diate consequence from the general theorem, That the
degrees of latitude bear to one degree (or 60 minute?
which in Wright’s table stands for the meridional parts
of one degree), the same proportion as the logarithmic
tangent ot half any latitude augmented by 45 degrees,
and the radius neglected, to the like tangent of half a
degree augmented by 45 degrees, with the radius like¬
wise rejected. But here was farther wanting the de¬
monstration of this general theorem, which was at
length supplied by Mr James Gregory of Aberdeen in
his Exeratationes Geometriccc, printed at London in
1668 ; and afterwards more concisely demonstrated,
together with a scientific determination of the divisor,
by Hr Halley in the Philosophical Transactions for
I^9Sf N° 219. from the consideration of the spirals into
which the rhumbs are transformed in the stereographic
projection of the sphere upon the plane of the equi¬
noctial j and which is rendered still more simple by
Mr Roger Cotes, in his Logometria, first published in
the Philosophical Transactions for 1714, N° 388. It
is moreover added in Gunter’s book, that if /-th of
this division, which does not sensibly differ from the
logarithmic tangent of 450 r' 30" (with the radius sub¬
tracted from it), be used, the quotient will exhibit the
meridional parts expressed in leagues, and this is the
divisor set down in Norwood’s Epitome. After the
same manner the meridional parts will he found in ipi-
nutes, if the like logarithmic tangent of 450 j' 30",
diminished by the radius, be taken ; that is, the num¬
ber used by others being 12633, when the logarithmic
tables consist of eight places of figures besides die in¬
dex.
In an edition of the Seaman’s Kaleilder, Mr Bond
declared, that he had discovered the longitude by hav¬
ing found out the true theory of the magnetic varia¬
tion ; and to gain credit to his assertion, he foretold,
that at London in 1657 there would be no variation
of the compass, and from that time it would gradually
increase the other way 5 which happened accordingly.
Again, In the Philosophical Transactions for 1668,
N° 40. he published a table of the variation for 49
years to come. Thus he acquired such reputation, that
his treatise, entitled, The Longitude Found, was in 1676
published by the special command of Charles II. and
approved by many celebrated mathematicians. It was
not long, however, before it met with opposition ; and
in 1678 another treatise, entitled, The Longitude not
Found, made its appearance ; and as Mr Bond’s hy-
4 N pothesis
649
650
N A V I G
pothesis did not in any manner answer its author’s san¬
guine expectations, the affair was undertaken by l)r
Halley. The result of his speculation was, that the
magnetic needle is influenced by four poles j but this
wonderful phenomenon seems hitherto to have eluded
all our researches. In 1700, however, Dr Halley pub¬
lished a general map, with curve lines expressing the
paths where the magnetic needle had the same varia¬
tion *, which was received with universal applause. But
as the positions of these curves vary from time to time,
they should frequently be corrected by skilful persons *,
as was done in 1644 and 1756, by Mr William Moun-
taine, and Mr James Dodson, t. II. S. In the Phi¬
losophical Transactions for 1690, Dr Halley also gave
a dissertation on the monsoons 5 containing many very
useful observations for such as sail to places subject to
these winds.
After the true principles of the art were settled by
Wright, Bond, and Norwood, the authors on naviga¬
tion became so numerous, that it would be impossible
to enumerate them. New improvements were daily
made, and every thing relative to it was settled with
an accuracy not only unknown to former ages, but
which would have been reckoned utterly impossible.
The earth being found to be a spheroid, and not a per¬
fect sphere, with the shortest diameter passing through
the poles, a tract was published in 1741, by the Rev.
Doctor Patrick Murdoch, wherein he accommodated
A T I O N. History,,
Wright’s sailing to such a figure ; and Mr Colin Mac-
laurin, the same year, in the Philosophical Transac¬
tions, N° 461. gave a rule for determining the meri¬
dional parts of a spheroid ; which speculation is farther
treated of in his book of Fluxions, printed at Edin¬
burgh in 1742.
Among the later discoveries in navigation, that o f
finding the longitude both by lunar observations and
by time-keepers is the principal. It is owing chiefly to
the rewards offered by the British parliament that this
has attained the present degree of perfection. YV e are
indebted to Dr Maskelyne for putting the first of these
methods in practice, and for other important improve¬
ments in navigation. The time-keepers, constructed
bv Harrison for this express purpose, were found to
answer so well, that he obtained the parliamentary re¬
ward.
The only works that have appeared of late in navi¬
gation are those on the longitude and navigation by Dr
Mackay, of which the following account is transcribed
from the Anti-Jacobin Review for September 1804.
“ This publication, (Dr Mackay’s Treatise on Na¬
vigation) and that on the longitude by the same author,
form the most correct and practical system of naviga¬
tion and nautical science hitherto published in this
country ; they may be considered not only of indivi¬
dual utility, but of national importance.”
:'!if
THEORY OF NAVIGATION.
THE motion of a ship in the water is well known to
depend on the action of the wind upon its sails, regula¬
ted by the direction of the helm. As the water is a
resisting medium and the bulk ol the ship very con¬
siderable, it thence follows that there is always a great
resistance on her fore-part } and wrhen this resistance
becomes sufficient to balance the moving force ot the
wind upon the sails, the ship attains her utmost degree
of velocity, and her motion is no longer accelerated.
This velocity is different according to the different
strength of the wind ; but the stronger the wind, the
greater resistance is made to the ship’s passage through
the water : and hence, though the wind should blow
ever so strong, there is also a limit to the velocity ol the
ship: for the sails and ropes can bear but a certain force
of air; and when the resistance on the fore-part becomes
more than equivalent to their strength, the velocity can
be no longer increased, and the rigging gives way.
The direction of a ship’s motion depends on the po¬
sition of her sails with regard to the wind, combined
with the action of the rudder. rlhe most natural di¬
rection of the ship is, when she runs directly before the
wind, the sails are then disposed, so as to be at right
angles thereto. But this is not always the case, both
on account of the variable nature ol the winds, and the
situation of the intended port, or of intermediate head¬
lands or islands. When the wind therefore happens
not to be favourable, the sails are placed so as to make
an oblique angle both with the direction of the ship and
with the wind; and the sails, together with the rudder,
must be managed in such a manner, that the direction
of the ship may make an acute angle with that of the
wind *, and the ship, making boards on different tacks,,
will by this means arrive at the intended port.
The reason of the ship’s motion in this case is, that
the water resists the side more than the fore-part, and
that in the same proportion as her length exceeds
her breadth. This proportion is so considerable, that
the ship continually flies off where the resistance is
least, and that sometimes with great swiftness. In this
way of sailing, however, there is a great limitation : for
if the angle made by the keel with the direction of the
wind be too acute, the ship cannot be kept in that
position ; neither is it possible for a large ship to make
a more acute angle with the wind than about 6
points *, though small sloops, it is said, may make an
angle of about 5 points with it. In all these cases,
however, the velocity of the ship is greatly retarded;
and that not only on account of the obliquity ol her mo¬
tion, but by reason of what is called htx lee-way. This
is occasioned by the yielding ot the^water on the lee-
side of the ship, by which means the vessel acquires a
compound motion, partly in the direction of-the wind,
and partly in that which is necessary for attaining the
desired port.
It is perhaps impossible to lay down any mathema-
tical principles on which the lee-way of a ship could
be properly calculated; only we may see in general
that it depends on the strength of the wind, the
roughness of the sea, and the velocity of the ship.
When the wind is not very strong, the resistance or
the water on the lee-side bears a very great proportion
to that of the current of air; and therefore it will
yield but very little : however, supposing the ship to
J ' remain
65 r
N A V I G A T I O N.
heory,
remain in the same place, it is evident, that the water
having once begun to yield, will continue to do so for
some time, even though no additional force was ap¬
plied to it; but as the wind continually applies the
same force as at first, the lee-way of the ship must go
on constantly increasing till the resistance of the water
on the lee-side balances the force applied on the other,
when it will become uniform, as doth the motion of a
ship sailing before the wind. If the ship changes her
place with any degree of velocity, then every time she
moves her own length, a new quantity of water is to
be put in motion, which hath not yet received any
momentum, and which of consequence will make a
greater resistance than it can do when the ship remains
in the same place. In proportion to the swiftness of
the ship, then, the lee-way will be the less : but if the
wind is very strong, the velocity of the ship bears but
a small proportion to that of the current of air ; and
the same eftects must follow as though the ship moved
slowly, and the wind was gentle $ that is, the ship
must make a great deal of lee-way.—The same thing
happens when the sea rises high, whether the wind is
strong or not y for then the whole water of the ocean,
as far as the swell reaches, has acquired a motion in
a certain direction, and that to a very considerable
depth. The mountainous waves will not fail to carry
the ship very much out of her course j and this devia¬
tion will certainly be according to their velocity and
magnitude. In all cases of a rough sea, therefore, a
great deal of lee-way is made.—Another circumstance
also makes a variation in the quantity of the lee-way j
namely, the lightness or heaviness of the ship; it being
evident, that when the ship sinks deep in the water, a
much greater quantity of that element is to be put in
motion before she can make any lee-way, than when
she swims on the surface. As therefore it is impossible
to calculate all these things with mathematical exact¬
ness, it is plain that the real course of a ship is exceed-
ingly difficult to be found, and frequent errors must
be made, which can only be corrected by celestial ob¬
servations.
In many places of the ocean there are ctirrents, or
places where the water, instead of remaining at rest,
runs with a very considerable velocity for a great way
in some particular direction, and which will certainly
carry the ship greatly out of her course. This occa¬
sions an error of the same nature with the lee-way :
and therefore, whenever a current is perceived, its
direction and velocity ought to be determined, and the
proper allowances made.
Another source of error in reckoning the course of a
ship proceeds from the variation of the compass.
There are few parts of the world where the needle
points exactly north ; and in those where the variation
is known, it is subject to very considerable alterations.
By these means the course of the ship is mistaken; for
as the sailors have no other standard to direct them
than the compass, if the needle, instead of pointing
due north, should point north-east, a prodigious error
would be occasioned during the course of the voyage,
and the ship would not come near the port to which
she was bound. To avoid errors of this kind, the only
method is, to observe the sun’s amplitude and azimuth
as frequently as possible, by which the variation of the
compass will be perceived, and the proper allowances
can then be made for errors in the course which this
may have occasioned.
Trrors will arise in the reckoning of a ship, espe¬
cially when she sails in high latitudes, from the sphe¬
rical figure of the earth ; for as the polar diameter
oi our globe is found to be considerably shorter than
the equatorial one, it thence follows, that the farther
we remove from the equator, the longer are the degrees
of latitude. Of consequence, if a navigator assigns
any certain number of miles for the length of a degree
of latitude near the equator, he must vary that mea¬
sure as he approaches towards the poles, otherwise
he will imagine that he hath not sailed so far as he
actually hath done. It would therefore be necessary
to have a table containing the length of a degree of
latitude in every different parallel from the equator
to either pole ; as without this a troublesome calcula¬
tion must be made at every time the navigator makes
a reckoning of his course. Such a table, however,
hath not yet appeared ; neither indeed does it seem to
be an easy matter to make it, on account of the diffi¬
culty of measuring the length even of one or two de¬
grees of latitude in different parts of the world. Sir
Isaac Newton first discovered this spheroidal figure of
the earth ; and showed, from experiments on pendulums,
that the polar diameter was to the equatorial one as 229
to 230. This proportion, however, hath not been
admitted by succeeding calculators. The French ma¬
thematicians, who measured a degree on the meridian
m Lapland, made the proportion between the equa¬
torial and polar diametei’s to be as 1 to 0.9891. Those
who measured a degi'ee at Quito in Peru, made the
proportion 1 to 0.99624, or 266 to 265. M. Bouguer
makes the proportion to be as 179 to 178; and M.
Buffon, in one part of his theory of the earth, makes
the equatorial diameter exceed the polar one by -1^3- of
the whole. According to M. du Sejour, this propor¬
tion is as 321 to 320; and M. de la Place, in his Me¬
moir upon the Figure of Spheroids, has deduced the
same propoi tion. Fi-om these variations it appears that
the point is not exactly determined, and consequently
that any corrections which can be made with regard to
the spheroidal figure of the earth must be very uncertain.
It is of consequence to navigators in a long voyage
to take the nearest way to their port; but this is.scaxxe-
ly possible to be done. The shortest distance between
any two points on the surface of a sphere is measured
by an ax ch of a great circle intercepted between them ;
and therefore it is adviseable to direct the ship along a
great circle of the earth’s surface. But this is a matter
of considerable difficulty, because there are no fixed
marks by xvhich it can be x’eadily known whether the
ship sails in the direction of a great circle or not. For
this reason the sailors commonly choose to direct their
course by the rhumbs, or the bearing of the place by
the compass. These healings do not point out the
shortest distance between places ; because, on a globe,
the rhumbs are spirals, and not arches of great circles*
However, when the places lie directly under the equa¬
tor, or exactly under the same meridian, the rhumb then
coincides with the arch of a great circle, and of conse¬
quence shows the nearest way. The sailing on the arch
of a great circle is called great circle sailing ; and the
cases of it depend all on the solution of problems in
spherical trigonometry.
4 N 2
PRACTICE
NAVIGATION.
Practice
652
/
PRACTICE OF NAVIGATION.
BOOK I.
Containing the Various Methods of Sailing*
INTRODUCTION.
The art of navigation depends upon astronomical
and mathematical principles. The places of the sun
and fixed stars are deduced from obsei'vation and cal¬
culation, and arranged in tables, the use of which is
absolutely necessary in reducing observations taken at
sea, for the purpose of ascertaining the latitude and
longitude of the ship, and the variation ot the com¬
pass. The problems in the various sailings are resolved
either by trigonometrical calculation, or by tables or
rules formed by the assistance of trigonometry. By
mathematics, the necessary tables are constructed, and
rules investigated for performing the more difficult
parts of navigation. For these several branches of
science, and for logarithmic tables, the reader is re¬
ferred to the respective articles in this work. A few
tables are given at the end of this article} but as the
other tables necessary for the practice of navigation
are to be found in almost every treatise on that subject,
it therefore seems unnecessary to insert them in this
place.
Chap. I. Preliminary Principles.
of contrary *, and the remainder or sum will be the dif¬
ference of latitude.
Example 1. Required the difference of latitude be¬
tween the Lizard, in latitude 490 57' N. and Cape St
Vincent, in latitude 370 2' N ?
Latitude of the Lizard 490 57'N.
Latitude of Cape St Vincent 37 2N.
Difference of latitude 12 55=177 5 m^es*
Ex. 2. What is the difference of latitude between
Funchal, in latitude 32° 38' N, and the Cape of Good
Hope, in latitude 34* 29' S ?
Latitude of Funchal 320 sB'N.
Lat. of Cape of Good Hope 34 29 S.
Difference of latitude 67 7=4027 miles.
Pros. II. Given the latitude of one place, and the
difference of latitude between it and another place, to
find the latitude of that place.
Rule. If the given latitude and the difference of
latitude be of the same name, add them j but if of dif¬
ferent names, subtract them, and the sum or remainder
will be the latitude required of the same name with the
greater.
Ex. I. A ship from latitude 3c)0 22'N. sailed due
north 560 miles—Required the latitude come to ?
Latitude sailed from - - - 39° 22'N.
Difference of latitude 560' - - =9 20N.
Sect. I. Of the Latitude and Longitude of a Place.
The situation of a place on the surface of the earth
is estimated by its distance from two imaginary lines
intersecting each other at right angles ; The one of
these is called the equator, and the other the first me¬
ridian. The situation of the equator is fixed, but that
of the first meridian is arbitrary, and therefore different
nations assume different first meridians. In Britain, we
esteem that to be the first meridian which passes through
the royal observatory at Greenwich.
The equator divides the earth into two equal parts,
called the northern and southern hemispheres; and the
latitude of a place is its distance from the equator, rec¬
koned on a meridian in degrees and parts of a degree \
and is either north or south, according as it is in the
northern or southern hemisphere.
The first meridian being continued round the globe,
divides it into two equal parts, called the eastern and
western hemispheres; and the longitude ot a place is
that portion of the equator contained between the first
meridian and the meridian of the given place, and is
either east or west •, according as it is in the eastern or
western hemisphere, respectively to the first meridian.
Pros. I. The latitudes of two places being given,
to find the difference of latitude.
Rule. Subtract the less latitude from the greater,
if the latitudes be of the same name, but add them if
Latitude come to - - - - 48 42N.
Ex. 2. A ship from latitude 70 19' N. sailed 854
miles south—Required the latitude come to ?
Latitude sailed from - - - " 7° I9,N*
Difference of latitude 854' - — J4
Latitude come to - - “ 6 55 S.
Pros. III. The longitudes of two places being gi¬
ven, to find their difference of longitude.
Rule. If the longitudes of the given places are of
the same name, subtract the less from the greater, and
the remainder is the difference of longitude : but if
the longitudes are of contrary names, their sum is the
difference of longitude. If this exceeds 180°, sub¬
tract it from 360°, and the remainder is the difference
of longitude.
Ex. 1. Required the difference of longitude between
Edinburgh and New York, their longitudes being 3*
14' W^. and 740 io' W^. respectively ?
Longitude of New York - - 74° 1
Longitude of Edinburgh " - 3 I4
Difference of longitude - - 70 56
Ex. 2. W7hat is the difference of longitude between
Maskelyne’s Isles in longitude 167° 59' E. and Olinde,
in longitude 350 51 W^? .
Longitude
iractice.
Latitude Longitude of Maskelyne’s Isles
and Longitude of Olinde
;ngitude.
’ Sum - - .
Subtract from
Dililerence of longitude
N A V 1 G
167° 59'E.
35 5W.
54'E.
18 W.
Longitude in
Sect. II. Of the Tides.
43 55 w*
The theory of the tides has been explained under
the article Astronomy, and will again be farther il¬
lustrated under that of Tides. In this place, therefore,
it remains only to explain the method of calculating the
time of high water at a given place.
As the tides depend upon the joint actions of the sun
and moon, and therefore upon the distance of these ob¬
jects from the earth and from each other; and as, in
the method generally employed to find the time of high
water, whether by the mean time of new moon, or by
the epacts, or tables deduced therefrom, the moon is
supposed to be the sole agent, and to have an uniform
motion in the periphery of a circle,, whose centre is that
of the earth 5 it is hence obvious that method cannot be
accurate, and by observation the error is sometimes
found to exceed two hours. That method is therefore
rejected, and another given, in. which the error will
seldom exceed a few minutes, unless the tides are great¬
ly influenced by the winds.
Pros. I. To reduce the times of the moon’s phases
as given in the Nautical Almanac to the meridian of a
known place.
. Rule. To the time of the proposed phase, as given
m the Nautical Almanac, apply the longitude of the
place in time, by addition or subtraction, according as
it is east or west, and it will give the time of the phase
at the given place.
. Ex. 1. Required the time of new moon at Salonique
in May 1793 p
A T I O N.
Time of new moon per Naut. Aim.
Longitude of Salonique in time
203 4
360 o
156 56
Pros. IV. Given the longitude of a place, and the
difference of longitude between it and another place, to
find the longitude of that place.
Rule. II the given longitude and the difference of
longitude be of a contrary name, subtract the less from
the greater, and the remainder is the longitude requi¬
red of the same name with the greater quantity $ but
if they are of the same name, add them, and the sum
is the longitude sought, of the same name with that
given. If this sum exceeds 1800, subtract it from 360°,
the remainder is the required longitude of a contrary
name to that given.
Ex. 1. A ship from longitude 90 54'E. sailed wester¬
ly till the difference of longitude was 230 18'.—Re¬
quired the longitude come to ?
Longitude sailed from - -
Difference of longitude - - 23
Longitude come to - - . 13 24 W.
Ex. 2. The longitude sailed from is 250 9' W. and
difference of longitude 180 46' W Required the lon¬
gitude come to ?
Longitude left - - - 2^0 yy
Difference of longitude - - 18 46 W.
Time of new moon required, in May 917 4
Ex. 2. What is the time of the last quarter of the
moon at Resolution bay in October 1793 ?
Time oflast quarter per Naut. Aim. 26d 5h 47'
Longitude in time - - O 9 17 W.
Time at Resolution bay of last quar- -
ter, October - . _ or on
26th day at 8h 30' A. M.
Pros. II. To find the time of high water at a known
place.
Rule. In the Nautical Almanac seek in the given
month, or in that immediately preceding or following
it, 101 the time of that phase which happens nearest
to the given day : reduce the time of this phase to the
meridian of the given place by Prob. I. and take the
, erence between the reduced time and the noon of
the given day.
rr f,in<ir^e efluation answering to this difference in
lable \II. which applied to the time of high water
on the day of new or full moon at the given place, ac¬
cording as the table directs, will give the approximate
time ot high water in the afternoon.
Now, take the interval between the reduced time of
the phase and the approximate time of high water:-
find the corresponding, equation, which applied as be-
tore to the syzigy time of high water, will give the
time of the afternoon high water.
If the time of the morning high water is required,
increase the last interval by 12 hours, if the given day
falls before the phase, or diminish it by 12 hours
when after that phase ; and the equation to this time,
applied to the syxigy time, gives the morning time of
high water.
Er. 1. Required the morning.and afternoon times of
high water at Leith, nth December 1793 ?
Nearest phase to 11 thDec. is 1st quart. 9d 20h 29'
Longitude of Leith in time -  o o 13
Time at Leith of 1st quarter
Given day » _ .
9 20
11 o
16
o
Difference - _ _ _ 1 2 Ad.
Time of H. W. at Leith-pier on syz. 0220
Equat. from Tab. to id 3h 44' - +0 6 32
Approximate time of high water
Reduced time of 1st quarter
II 8 52
9 20 16
Interval - - . . 1 i2 36
Time of high water at Leith on syz. 2 20
Equat. from the Tab. to ld I2h 36' 7 o
Time of high w'ater at Leith q 2oP.M
Time of H. W. at Leith at full & change 2 20
Equat. to id I2h 36'—I2h=ld oh 36' 6 22
High water at Leith, Dec. 1 ith, at 8 42A.M.
The time of high water found by the common me¬
thod is about an hour and a half sooner.
2* Required the time of high water at Funchal,
ijuL-November 1793?
The,
3
‘ navigation.
The nearest phase to 15th November is that of full
moon, - - - ■ i?d 8h 46'
Longitude of Funchal in time, - o 1 8W,
17 7 38
IJ o o
Time of full moon at Funchal,
Given day, November
Difference, * - - * * 2738
Time of high water at Funchal at full
and change, - - - -0124
Equation from the Table to 2d 7I1 38
before full moon, - - —o 1 35
Approx, time of high water, Nov.
Reduced time of full moon,
1c 10 29
17 7 38
Interval, - - - * 1119
Time of high water at full and change, 12 4
Equation to id nh before full moon, o 56
Time of high water, - - " . 11 8P-M-
Equation to id llh I2h~id 23I1 is ih 15* and
12h 4' ih 15'moh 49,=time of high water in the
forenoon. _
Ex* 3. Required the time of high water at Duskey
Bay, 24th October 1793?
The nearest phase to the 24th October is the last quar¬
ter ----- 26d 5b 47'
Longitude of Duskey Bay in time, +0 11 5 E.
Reduced time of first quarter of moon 26 16 52
Given day - - - - 24 o o
Difference, - - - - 2 16 52
Time of high water at full and change, 10 57
Equation to 2d 16I1 52' before last
quarter, - - - - -{- 2 52
52
20
Practice.,
conds run by the glass, being given, to find the true di- ship’s Run
stance, the line being supposed right. -v—f
Rule.—Multiply the distance given by the log by
30, and divide the product by the seconds run by the
glass, the quotient will be the true distance.
Ex. 1. The hourly rate of sailing by the log is nine
knots, and the glass is found to run out in 35 seconds.
Required the true rate of sailing ?
9
3°
Approximate time of high water, 1 49
Change of equation to app. time ih 49' 3
Time of high water in the afternoon,
Change of equation to 12 hours,
Time of high water in the morning, 132
Sect. III. Of measuring a Ship's Run in a given 'lime.
The method commonly used at sea to find the dis¬
tance sailed in a given time, is by means of a log-line
and half-minute glass. A description of these is given
under the articles Log and Log-LINE \ which see.
It has been already observed, that the interval be¬
tween each knot on the line ought to be 50 feet, in or¬
der to adapt it to a glass that runs 30 seconds. But
although the line and glass be at any time perfectly ad¬
justed to each other, yet as the line shrinks after being
wet, and as the weather has a considerable eflect upon
the glass, it will therefore be necessary to examine them
from time to time •, and the distance given by them
must be corrected accordingly. The distance sailed
may, therefore, be affected by an error in the glass, or
in the line, or in both. The true distance may, hoiv-
ever, be found as follows.
Pros. I. The distance sailed by the log, and the se-
1
35)270(7.7=true rate of sailing.
Ex. 1. The distance sailed by the log is 73 miles,
and the glass runs out in 26 seconds. Sought the true
distance ?
73
3°
26)2190(84.2 the true distance.
Pros. II. Given the distance sailed by the log, and
the measured interval between two adjacent knots on
the line j to find the true distance, the glass running
exactly 30 seconds.
Rule. Multiply twice the distance, sailed by the
measured length of a knot, point off two figures to the
right, and the remainder will be the true distance.
Ex. 1. The hourly rate of sailing by the log is five
knots, and the interval between knot and knot mea¬
sures 53 feet. Required the true rate of sailing?
Measured interval =0 53
Twice hourly rate = 10
True rate of sailing =r 5.30
Ex. 2. The distance sailed is 64 miles, by a log-line
which measures 42 feet to a knot. Required the true
distance ?
Twice given distance, “ 120
Measured interval, 42
236
512
True distance, 53’7^
Pros. III. Given the length of a knot, the number
of seconds run by the glass in half a minute, and the
distance sailed by the log: to find the true distance.
Rule. Multiply the distance sailed by the log by
six times the measured length of a knot, and divide the
product by the seconds run by the glass •, the quotient,
pointing off one figure to the right, will be the true di-
stance.
Ex. The distance sailed by the log is 159 miles,
the measured length of a knot is 42 feet, and the glass
runs 33 seconds in half a minute. Required the tine
distance ?
Distance by the log, 159
Six times length of a knot=42X 6=252
3*8
795
318
Seconds run by the glass
true distance.
33)40068(121.4^-
Chap.
iractice.
i Plane
Sailing.
Chap. II. Plane Sailing.
| ’late
C LXIII
Plane sailing is the art of navigating a ship upon
principles deduced from the notion of the earth’s being
an extended plane. On this supposition the meridians
are esteemed as parallel right lines. The parallels of
latitude are at right angles to the meridians ; the lengths
of the degrees on the meridians, equator, and parallels
of latitude, are everywhere equal j and the degrees of
longitude are reckoned on the parallels of latitude as
well as on the equator.—In this sailing four things are
principally concerned, namely, the course^ distance,
difference of latitude, and departure.
The course is the angle contained between the meri¬
dian and the line described by the ship, and is usually
expressed in points of the compass.
I he distance is the number of miles a ship has sailed
on a direct course in a given time.
I he difference of latitude is the portion of a meri¬
dian contained between the parallels of latitude sailed
from and come to ; and is reckoned either north or
south, according as the course is in the northern or
southern hemisphere.
I he departure is the distance of the ship from the
meridian of the place she left, reckoned on a parallel
of latitude. . In this sailing, the departure and differ¬
ence of longitude are esteemed equal.
In order to illustrate the above, let A (fig. i.) re¬
present the position of any given place, anti AB the
meridian passing through that place ; also let AC re¬
present the line described by a ship, and C the point
arrived at. Irom C draw CB perpendicular to AB.
Now in the triangle ABC, the angle BAC represents
the course, the side AC the distance, AB the differ¬
ence of latitude, and BC the departure.
In constructing a figure relating to a ship’s course,
let the upper part of what the figure is to be drawn on
represent the north, then the lower part will be south,
the right-hand side east, and the lelt-hand side 'ivesf.
A north and south line is to be drawn to represent
the meridian of the place from which the ship sailed ;
and the upper or lower part of this line, according as
the course is southerly or northerly, is to be marked as
the position of that place. From this point as a
centre, with the chord oi 6o°, an arch is to be describ¬
ed from the meridian towards the right or left, ac¬
cording as the course is easterly or westerly; and the
course, taken from the line of chords if given in de¬
grees, but from the line of rhumbs if expressed in
points of the compass, is to be laid upon this arch, be¬
ginning at the meridian. A line drawn through this
point and that sailed from, will represent the distance,
which if given must be laid thereon, beginning at the
point sailed from. A line is to be drawn from the ex¬
tremity of the distance perpendicular to the meridian;
and hence the difference of latitude and departure will
be obtained.
If the difference of latitude is given, it is to be laid
npon the meridian, beginning at the point representing
navigation.
the place the ship left j and a line drawn from the ex¬
tremity of the difference of latitude perpendicular to
the meridian, till it meets the distance produced, will
limit the figure.
If the departure is given, it is to be laid off on a pa¬
rallel, and a hue drawn through its extremity will li¬
mit the distance. When either the distance and differ¬
ence ol latitude, distance and departure, or difference
of latitude and departure, are given, the measure of
each is to be taken from a scale of equal parts, and laid
oil on its respective line, and the extremities connect¬
ed. Hence the figure will be formed.
J.n^R0B* L Giyen the course and distance, to find the
dinerence of latitude and departure.
Example. A ship from St Helena, in latitude i c°
55' S. sailed S. W. by S. 158 miles. Required the la-
titude come to, and departure.
By Construction.
Draw the meridian AB (fig. 2.), and with the
chord of 60 describe the arch m n, and make it equal
to the rhumb of 3 points, and through n draw AC
equal to 158 miles j from C, draw CB perpendicular
to AB ; then AB applied to the scale from which AC
was taken, will be found to measure 131.4 and BC
87.8.
By Calculation.
To find the diflierence of latitude.
As radius - _
is to the cosine of the course 3 points
so is the distance - 138
to the difference of latitude 131.4
To find the departure.
As radius - . _ .
is to the sine of the course 3 points
so is the distance - 138
10.00000
9.91985
2.19866
2.11851
10.00000
9-74474
2.19866
1.94340
to the departure - 87.8
By Inspection.
In the traverse table, the difference of latitude an¬
swering to the course 3 points, and distance 158 miles,
in a distance column is 131.4, and departure 87.8.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 8 points to 5 points, the comple¬
ment of the course on the line of sine rhumbs (marked
S-R.) will reach from the distance 158 to 131.4, the
difference of latitude on the line of numbers j and
the extent from s8 points to 3 points on sine rhumbs,
will reach from 158 to 87.8, the departure on num¬
bers (a).
Latitude St Helena =r I5°55' S-
Difference of latitude - 2 11 S.
Latitude come to
18 6 S.
Pros. 11. Given the course and difference of lati-
tude, to find the distance and departure^.
Example.
ferret tolir re^v^nS various problems Jo navigation, by the sliding gunter, the reader is re-
i-rrea to Hr Mackay’s Treatise on the Description and Use of that Instrument. 6 6
6=;6
Plane
Sailing.
NAVIGATION.
Example. A eliip from St George’s, in latitude 38°
45' north, sailed SE : and the latitude by observa-
’ tion was 350 7' N. Required the distance run, and de¬
parture ? _ _ _
Latitude St George’s - 3® 45 ^
Latitude come to - 35 7
By Calculation.
To find the distance.
As the sine of the course 5 P0^8
is to radius
so is the departure
IQ2
Practice,,
Plane
Sailing.
9.91985
10.00000
2.28330
Difference of latitude - 3 3811:218 miles.
By Construction.
Draw the portion of the meridian AB (fig. 3.)
equal to 218 m.: from the centre A with the chord of
6o° describe the arch m n, which make equal to the
rhumb of 3t points : through A n draw the line AC,
and from B draw BC perpendicular to AB, and let
it be produced till it meets AC in C. Then the di¬
stance AC being applied to the scale, will measure
282 m. and the departure BC 179 miles.
By Calculation.
to the distance - - 230.9 - 2.36345
To find the difference of latitude.
As the tangent of the course
is to radius - - -
so is the departure
to the difference of latitude
By Inspection.
Find the departure 192 m. in its proper column
above the given course 5 points 5 and opposite thereto is
the distance 231 miles, and difference ol latitude I3^*3»
in their respective columns.
5 points 10.17511
10.00000
192 2.28330
128.3 2.10819
To find the distance.
As radius - - -
is to the secant of the course 3^ points
so is the difference of latitude - 218 m.
to the distance - 282
To find the departure.
As radius - - - "
is to the tangent of the course 3^ points
so is the difference of latitude 2.18
10.00000
10.11181
2.33846
2.45027
10.00000
9*9I4I7
2.33846
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 5 points to 8 points on the line of
sine rhumbs, being laid from the departure 192 on
numbers, will reach to the distance 231 on the same
line ; and the extent from 5 P°ints to 4 points on
the line of tangent rhumbs, will reach from the de¬
parture 192, to the difference of latitude 128.3 on
numbers. T
Latitude of Palma - - ” ^ ^
Tliffftrenoe of latitude - - " 2 8 .N
Pi
Sai
to the departure
178.9 - 2'2S253 Latitude come to
3° 45 N
By Inspection.
Find the given difference of latitude 218 m. in a la¬
titude column, under the course of 34- points j opposite
to which, in a distance column, is 282 miles j a de¬
parture column is 178.9 the distance and departure
required.
By Gunter's Scale.
Extend the compass from 44 points, the complement
of the course, to 8 points on sine rhumbs, that extent
will reach from the difference of latitude 218 miles, to
the distance 282 miles in numbers j and the extent from
4 points to the course 3^ points on the line of tangent
rhumbs (marked T. R.) will reach from 218 miles to
178.9, the departure on numbers.
Pros. ITT. Given course and departure, to find the
distance and difference of latitude ?
Example. A ship from Palma, in latitude 28° 37*
sailed NW. by \V. and made 192 miles of departure :
Required the distance run, and latitude come to ?
By Construction.
Make the departure BC (fig. 4.) equal to 192 miles,
draw BA perpendicular to BC, and from the centre C,
with the chord of 6o°, describe the arch m n, which
make equal to the rhumb of 3 points, the complement
of the course 5 draw a line through C «, which produce
till it meets BA in A: then the distance AC being
measured, will be equal to 231 m. and the difference of
latitude AB will be 128.3 miles.
Prob. IV. Given the distance and difference of la¬
titude, to find the course and departure.
Example. A ship from a place in latitude 43 13' N.
sails between the north and east 285 miles } and is then
by observation found to be in latitude 46 31 ^
quired the course and departure ?
Latitude sailed from - * 43° ^ ^
Latitude by observation - 46 31 ^
Difference of latitude - 3 18 = 198 miles.
By Construction.
Draw the portion of the meridian AB (fig. 5.) equal
to 198 miles $ from B draw BC perpendicular to -AT* ■
then take the distance 285 miles from the scale, and
with one foot of the compass in A describe an arch m-
ter setting BC in C, and join AC. With the chord of
6o° describe the arch m n, the portion of which, con¬
tained between the distance and difference ot latitude*
applied to the line of chords, will measure 46 , the
course j and the departure BC being measured on the
line of equal parts, will be found equal to 205 miles.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the distance - - 285
is to the difference of latitude I98
so is the radius - - -
to the cosine of the course - 4^° ^
2.45484
2.29660
10.00000
9.84176
To
Practice.
Plane
Sailing. As radius
“" * is to the si«e of the course
so is the distance
N A V I G
lo find the departure.
J 0.00000
46s o' - 9-85693
285 - 2.45484
to the departure
2-3II77
205
7?// Inspection.
Find the given distance in the table in its proper co¬
lumn } and it the difference of latitude answering there¬
to is the same as that given, namely, 198, then the de¬
parture will be found in its proper column, and the
course at the top or bottom of the page, according as
the ddlerence of latitude is found in a column marked
/at. at top or bottom. If the difference of latitude thus
found does not agree with that given, turn over till the
nearest thereto is found to answer to the given distance.
This is in the page marked 46 degrees at the bottom,
which is the course, and the corresponding departure is
205 miles.
Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the distance 285 to the difference of
latitude 198 on numbers, will reach from 90° to 440,
the complement of the course on sines ; and the extent
from 90° to the course 46° on the line of sines being
laid from the distance 285, will reach to the departure
205 on the line of numbers.
Prob. V. Given the distance and departure, to find
the course and difference of latitude.
Example. A ship from Fort-Royal in the island of
Grenada, in latitude 12° 9'N, sailed 260 miles be¬
tween the south and west, and made 190 miles of de*
parture: Required the course and latitude come to ?
By Construction.
Draw BC (fig. 6.) perpendicular to AB, and equal
to the given departure 190 miles 5 then from the centre
C, with the distance 260 miles, sweep an arch inter¬
secting AB in A, and join AC. Now describe an
arch from the centre A with the chord of 6o°, and the
portion m n of this arch, contained between the dis¬
tance and diflerence of latitude, measured on the line
of chords, will be 470 the course; and the dift’erence
of latitude AB applied to the scale of equal parts, mea¬
sures 177F miles.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the distance
is to the departure
so is radius
260
190
to the sine of the course 46° 57'
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius -
is to the cosine of the course 46° 57'
so is the distance •• 260
2.41497
2.27875
10.00000
9.86378
10.00000
9.S3419
2.41497
to the difference of latitude !77*5 - 2.249x6
By Inspection.
Seek in the traverse table until the nearest to the gi¬
ven departure is found in the same line with the given
distance 260. This is found to be in the page marked
470 at the bottom, which is the course j and the corre¬
sponding difference of latitude is 177.3.
Vol. XIV. Part II. i
A T I O N. 657
By Culiter's Scale. riioie
Ihe extent of the compass, from the distance 260 to Sailing,
the departure 190 on the line of numbers, will reach v
from 90° to 470, the course on the line of sines : and
the extent from 90° to 430, the complement of the
course on sines, will reach from the distance 260 to the
difference of latitude 177^ on the line of numbers.
Latitude I ort Royal - - - 120 9'N
Difference of latitude - 177 - “ 2 57 S
Latitude in - - - 9 12 N
I ROB VI. Given diflerence of latitude and depar¬
ture, sought course and distance.
Bxamplc. A ship from a port in latitude 70 56' S,
sailed between the south and east, till her departure is
132 miles 5 and is then by observation found to be in
latitude 12® 3' S. Required the course and distance ?
Latitude sailed from - 70 56' S.
Latitude in by observation 12 3 S.
7=247.
Difference of latitude - 4
By Construction.
Draw the portion ol the meridian AB (fig. 7.) equal pig. 7.
to the diflerenee of latitude 247 miles j from B draw
BC perpendicular to AB, and equal to the given de¬
parture 132 miles, and join AC : then with the chord
of 6o° describe an arch from the centre A 5 and the
portion m n of this arch being applied to the line of
chords, will measure about 28° ; and the distance AC,
measured on the line of equal parts, will be 280 miles.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the difference of latitude - 247 2.39270
is to the departure - - 232 2.120^7
so is radius ... xo.coooo
to the tangent of the course 28° 7' 9.72787
To find the distance.
As radius - - _ 10.00000
is to the secant of the course 28° 7' 10.05454
so is the diflerence of latitude 247 - 2.39270
to the distance
280
2.44724
By Inspection.
Seek in the table till the given difference of latitude
and departure, or the nearest thereto, are found toge¬
ther in their respective columns, which will be under
28°, the required course 5 and the distance answering
thereto is 280 miles.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the given difference of latitude 247
to the departure 132 on the line of numbers, will reach
from 45° to 28°, the course on the line of tangents j
and the extent from 62°, the complement of the course,
to 90° on sines, will reach from the difference of lati¬
tude 247, to the distance 280 on numbers.
Chap. III. Of Traverse Sailing.
If a ship sail upon two or more courses in a given
time, the irregular track she describes is called a tra-
verse ; and to resolve a traverse, is the method of redu¬
cing these several courses, and the distances run, in-
40 to
6$%
NAVIGATION.
Practice.
Tiavevte
^aiiing.
to u single course and distance. The method chiefly used
for this purpose at sea is by inspection, which shall
therefore be principally adhered to ; and is as follows.
Make a table of a breadth and depth sufficient to
contain the several courses, &c. This table is to be
divided into six columns : the courses are to be put in
the first, and the corresponding distances in the second
column 5 the third and fourth columns are to contain
the differences of latitude, and the two last the depar¬
tures.
Now, the several courses and their corresponding
distances being properly arranged in the table, find
the difference of latitude and departure answering to
each in the traverse table ; remembering that the dif¬
ference of latitude is to be put in a north or south co¬
lumn, according as the course is in the northern or
southern hemisphere j anil that the departure is to be
put in an east column if the course is easterly, but in a
west column if the course is westerly : Observing also,
that the departure is less than the difference of latitude
when the course is less than 4 points or 450; otherwise
greater.
Add up the columns of northing, southing, easting,
and westing, and set dorvn the sum of each at its bot¬
tom ; then the difference between the sums of the north
and south columns will be the difference of latitude
made good, of the same name with the greater -, and
the difference between the sums of the east and rvest
columns, is the departure made good, of the same name
with the greater sum.
Now, seek in the traverse table, till a difference of
latitude and departure are found to agree as nearly as
possible with those above ; then the distance •will he
found on the same line, and the course at the top or
bottom of the page, according as the diflerence of lati¬
tude is greater or less than the departure.
In order to resolve a traverse by construction, de¬
scribe a circle with the chord of 6op, in which draw
twTo diameters at right angles to each other, at whose
extremities are to he marked the initials of the cardinal
points, north being uppermost.
Lay ofl' each course on the circumference, reckoned
from its proper meridian ; and from the centre to each
point draw lines, which are to be marked with the pro¬
per number of the course.
On the first radius lay off the first distance from the
centre ; and. through its extremity, and parallel to the
second ra,dius, draw the second distance of its proper
Length through the extremity of the second distance,
and parallel to the third radius, draw the third distance
of its proper length y and thus proceed until all the di¬
stances are drawn.
A line drawn from the extremity of tire last distance
to the centre of the circle will represent the distance
made good: and a line drawn from the same point per¬
pendicular to the meridian, produced, if necessary, will
represent the departure *, and the portion ot the meri¬
dian intercepted between the centre and departure, will
be the difference of latitude made good.
Examples.
I; A ship from Fyal, in hit. 38° 32' N, sailed as fol-
By Inspection.
Course.
ESE
SWiW
SF4S
N6E
Dist.
163
lie
180
68
DiiV. of .Latitude.
N
66.7
66.7
S
62.4
69.8
144.5
276.7
66.7
Departure.
150.6
IO7.2
'3-3
271
85
W
85.0
S4I J-E 281!
Latitude left
Difference of latitude
85.0
210.0 | 186.1
- 38° 32'N.
- 3
21 S.
Latitude come to
35
N.
Traverse ^
Sailing.
t-Y
By Construction.
With the chord of 6o° describe the circle NE, SW
(fig. 8.), the centre of which represents the place the Fig
ship sailed from : draw two diameters NS, EW at right
angles to each other; the one representing the meri¬
dian, and the other the parallel of latitude of the place
sailed from. Take each course from the line of rhumbs,
lay it off on the circumference from its proper nnri-
dian, and number it in order 1, 2,3,4. Upon the
first rhumb Cl, lay off the first distance 163 miles from
C to A ; through it draw the second distance AB pa¬
rallel to C2, and equal to HO miles; through B draw
BD equal to 180 miles, and parallel to C3 ; and draw
DE parallel to C4, and equal to 68 miles. Now CE
being joined, will represent the distance made good ;
which applied to the scale will measure 281 miles.
The arch S n, which represents the course, being mea¬
sured on* the line of chords, will he found equal to 41^°.
From E draw EF perpendicular to CS produced ;
then CF will he the difference of latitude, and EE the
departure made good; which applied to the scale will be
found to measure 210 and 186 miles respectively.
As the method by construction is scarcely ever prac¬
tised at sea, it, therefore, seems unnecessary to apply it
to the solution of the following examples.
II. A ship from latitude 1° 38' S. sailed as under.
Required her present latitude, course, and distance
made good i
Course.
NW6N
WNW
SEAE
WSWfW
Lows : ESE 163 miles, SW 4 W no miles, SE 4 S
180 miles, and N by E 68 miles. Required the lati¬
tude come to, the course, and distance made good.?
N|E
N 44° W
Dist.
43
78
56
62
85
c39
Diff. of .Latitude.
N
35-8
29.9
84.1
1498
49.1
31*1
18.c
49.1
Departure
46.6
12.5
39-1
100.7-= la 41'
- i 38 S.
w
23-9
;2.i
7
59-3
155-3
59.1
96.2
Latitude lett
Latitude come to o 3
JtiL
i-acticc-
miles, WAN 39 miles, and N 20 miles. Required our
present latitude, departure, and direct course and di¬
stance ?
Courses.
Dist.
SSE
s
NW'W
W
SW
WAN
N
8 74° W
36
12
28
3°
42
39
20
110
Dift'. of Latitude
Departure.
N
17.8
7.6
20.0
45-4
Yesterday’s latitude
Present latitude
E W
33‘3
12.0
29.7
3‘8
21.6
30.0
*9-7
38.2
75-o
45-4
13.8
the
navigation;
equator intercepted between the nieridians of the given
places 5 and the meridian distance between two {daces
in the same parallel, is the arch thereof contained
between their meridians. It hence follows, that the
meridian distance, answering to the same difference of
longitude, will be variable with the latitude of the
parallel upon which it is reckoned; and the same
clilterence of longitude will not answer to a given
meridian distance whbn reckoned upon different pa¬
1 arallel sailing is, therefore, the method of finding
the distance between two places lying in the same pa¬
rallel whose longitudes are known ; or, to find the dif¬
ference ol longitude answering to a given distance, run
in an cast or west direction. This sailing is particular¬
ly useful in making low or small islands.
In order to illustrate the principles of parallel sail-
itig, let CARP (fig. 9.) represent a section of one *
fourth part of the earth, the arch ABP being part
of a meridian; CA the equatorial, and CP the polar
semi-axis. Also let B be the situation of any given
place on the earth; and join BC, which will be equal
to CA or CP (c). The arch AR, or angle ACB, is
the measure of the latitude Of the place B ; and the
arch B1, or angle BCP, is that of its fcomplemenE*
If BD be drawn from B perpendicular to CP, it will
represent the cosine of latitude to the radius BC or
tV. The course per compass from Greigstiess (n) to ^4*.
e May is SW^ S, distance 58 miles ; from the May • JN°'V .Sincc <ili,c*e3 an(1 similar portions of circles are
- 1 0 7T- , T, . . ■ - in the direct ratio of their radii; therefore,
As radius
Is to the cosine of latitude;
•So is any given portion of the equatof
lo a similar portion of the given parallel.
But the difference of longitude is an arch of tlid
equator; and the distance between any two plates un¬
der the same parallel, is a similar portion of that pa¬
rallel.
Hence R : cosine latitude :: i)iff. longitude : Distanccr
And by inversion.
Cosine latitude : R :: Distance : DifF. of longitude.
Also,
Diff. of longitude : liistarite :: R : cos. latitude.
650
Parallel
Sailiiu;.
29.6rroD3o'
119-S
13.8
13 i2N
12 42 N
I05*7
to the Staples SAE | E, 44 miles ; and from the Sta¬
ples to Flamboreugh Head SAE, no miles. Required
the course per compass, and distance from Greigsness
to 1'Mmborough Head ?
Courses.
sw^s
SAE l E
SAE
Dist
58
44
no
Dift". of Latitude.
N
S
43-0
4I*4
107.9
192.3
Departure.
E
14.8
21.5
36.3
W
38.9
38-9
36.3
Hence the course per compass is nearly
S 1° W, and distance 1924 miles.
2.6
Chap. IV. OJ' Parallel Sailing.
The figure of the earth is spherical, and the meri¬
dians gradually approach each other, and meet at the
poles. The difference of longitude between any two
places is the angle at the pole contained between the
•meridians of those places; or it is the arch of the
Prob. I. Given the latitude of a parallel, and the
number of miles contained in a portion of the equator,
tb find the miles Contained iti a similar portion of that
parallel.
IHx. 1. Required the number of miles contained in a
degree of longitude in latitude 550 58' ?
Bij Ccnsti'uction.
Draw the indefinite right line AB (fig. 10.) ; make
the angle BAG equal to the given latitude 530 58', '
and AC equal to the number of miles contained in a
degree of longitude at the equator, liamely 60 : from
C draw CB perpendicular to AB ; and AB being
measured on the line of equal parts, will be found equal
to 33.5, the miles required. - ~
4 O 2 By
00 Greigsness is about 2-j- miles distant from Aberdeen, in nearly a SEAE-^E direction.
(c) This is not strictly true, as the figure of the earth is that of an oblate spheroid; and therefore the radius
ol curvature is variable with the latitude. Thi difference between CA and CP, according to Sir Isaac Newton's
hypothesis, is about 17 miles. <
66o
NAVIGATION.
Practice
Parallel
Sailing.
By Calculation.
As radius - * * 10.00000
is to the cosine of latitude, - 55° 5^ 9-74794
so is miles in a deg. ot long, at eq. 6o
between the given latitude and that used, he applied to Parallel
the above, the same result with that found by calcula- Sailing,
tion will be obtained.
to the miles in a deg. in the given par. 33*5^ 1.52609
By Inspection. ^
To 56°, the nearest degree to the given latitude,
and distance 60 miles, the corresponding difference of
latitude is 33-6, which is the miles required.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 470 8', the complement of latitude
to 6o° on the line of sines, being laid the same way from
the distance 342, will reach to the difference of lon¬
gitude 4664- on the line of numbers.
Longitude Cape Finisterre - 90 1 *]' FV
Difference of longitude - 7 47 ^
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 90° to 340, the complement of the
given latitude on the line of sines, will reach from 60
to 33.6 on the line of numbers.
There are two lines on the other side of the scale,
with respect to Gunter’s line, adapted to this parti¬
cular purpose j one of which is entitled chords^ and
contains the several degrees ot latitude : l he other,
marked M. L. signifying miles of longitude, is the line
of longitudes, and shows the number of miles in a degree
of longitude in each parallel. The use of these lines is
therefore obvious. ,
Ex. 2. Required the distance between Treguier in
France, in longitude 30 14' W, and Gaspey Bay, in
longitude 64° 27' W, the common latitude being 48°
47'"N ?
Longitude Treguier - 3° I4/ ^
Longitude Gaspey Bay 64 27 SS
Difference of longitude 61 13=3673'
As radius - - ■ 10.00200
is to the cosine of latitude, 48° 47' - 9.81^882
so is the difference of longitude 3673 - 3-5^502
to the distance - 2420 - 3-3^3^4
Prob. II. Given the number of miles contained in a
portion of a known parallel, to find the number of
miles in a similar portion of the equator.
Example. A ship from Cape Finisterre, in latitude
420 52' N, and longitude 90 17' W, sailed due west
342 miles. Required the longitude come to ?
By Construction.
Pig. ix. Draw the straight line AB (fig. II.) equal to the
given distance^342 miles, and make the angle BAG
equal to 420 52', the given latitude : from B draw BC
perpendicular to AB, meeting AC in C j then AC
applied to the scale will measure 466$, the difference
of longitude required.
Longitude come to - - 17 4 W
Prob. III. Given the number of miles contained in
any portion of the equator, and the miles in a similar
portion of a parallel j to find the latitude of that pa¬
rallel.
Example. A ship sailed due east 358 miles, and was
found by observation to have differed her longitude 8°
42'. Required the latitude of the parallel ?
By Construction.
Make the line AB (fig. 1 2.) equal to the given di-pjg.
stance ; to which let BC be drawn perpendicular, with
an extent equal to 522', the difference of longitude ',
describe an arch from the centre A, cutting BC in C
then the angle BAG being measured by means of the
line of chords, will be found equal to 4&07, the re¬
quired latitude.
By Calculation.
As the distance - 358 2.55388
is to the difference of longitude, 522 2.71767
so is radius - ic.oooco
to the secant of the latitude, 46°42' 10.16379
By Inspection.
As the difference of longitude and distance exceed
the limits of the table, let therefore the half of each
be taken •, these are 261 and 179 respectively. Now,
by entering the table with these quantities, the lati¬
tude will be found to be between 46 and 47 degrees.
Therefore, to latitude 46°, and distance 261 miles, the
corresponding difference of latitude is iSi'-3j which
exceeds the half of the given distance by 2'.3. Again,
to latitude 470, and distance 261, the difference of lati¬
tude is 170.0, being i'.o less than the half of that
given : therefore the change of distance answering to a
change of 1° of latitude is 3'.3.
Now, as 3'.3 : 2'.3 :: l°: 42'.
Hence the latitude required is 46° 42'.
1:.
By Calculation.
As radius - - -
is to the secant of latitude, 4 2° 52'
so is the distance - 342
10.00000
IO-I3493
2-53403
to the difference of longitude 466.6 2.66896
By Inspection.
The nearest degree to the given latitude is 430 j
under which, and opposite to 171, half the given di¬
stance in a latitude column, is 234, in a distance co¬
lumn, which doubled gives 468, the difference of lon¬
gitude.
If the proportional part answering to the difference
By Gunter's Scale-
The extent from 522 to 358 on the line of num¬
bers, will reach from 90° to about 43°"T> ^ie coraP^e'
ment of which 464- is the latitude required.
Prob. IV. Given the number of miles contained ia
the portion of a known parallel, to find the length of a
similar portion of another known parallel.
Example. From two ports in latitude 330 58'N,
distance 348 miles, two ships sail directly north till they
are in latitude 48° 23' N. Required their distance ?
By Construction.
Draw the line CB, CE (fig. 13.), making angles Fig t*
with
•actice. N A V I G
arallel equal to the complements of the given lati-
■atiin- tudes, namely, 56° 2' and 410 37' respectively : make
—v ' BD equal to the given distance 348 miles, and perpen¬
dicular to CP 5 now from the centre C, with the radius
CB, describe an arch intersecting CE in E j then EF
drawn from the point E, perpendicular to CP, will re¬
present the distance required ; which Jjeing applied to
the scale, will measure 2784; miles.
JRy Calculation.
As the cosine of the latitude left 330 38' 9-91874
is to the cosine of the lat. come to 48 23 9.82226
so is the given distance - 348 2-54158
to the distance required - 278.6 2.44510
By Inspection.
Under 340, and opposite to 174, half the given dis¬
tance in a latitude column is 210 in a distance column j
being half the difference of longitude answering thereto.
Now, find the difference of latitude to distance 210
miles over 48° of latitude, which is 140'.5 j from which
5'.i (the proportional part answering to 23 minutes of
latitude) being subtracted, gives I39'.4 which doubled
is 278'.8, the distance required.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 56° 2', the complement of the la¬
titude left, to 41° 37', the complement of that come
to, on the line of sines, being laid the same w'ay from
348, will reach to 2784, the distance sought on the line
of numbers.
M-
Phob. V. Given a certain portion of a known pa¬
rallel, together with a similar portion of an unknown
parallel; to find the latitude of that parallel.
Example. Two ships, in latitude 56° o' N, distant
1 80 miles, sail due south; and having come to the same
parallel, are now 232 miles distant. The latitude of
that parallel is required ?
By Construction.
Make DB (fig. 14.) equal to the first distance 180
miles, DM equal to the second 232, and the angle
DBC equal to the given latitude 56° ; from the centre
C, with the radius GB, describe the arch BE ; and
through M draw ME parallel to CD, intersecting the
arch BE in E ; join EC and draw EF perpendicular
to CD : then the angle FEC will be the latitude re¬
quired ; which being measured, will be found equal to
43° 53'•
By Calculation.
As the distance on the known parallel 180 2.25527
is to the distance on that required 232 2.36549
so is the cosine of the latitude left 56° o' 9.74756
to the cosine of the latitude come to 43 53 9.85778
By Inspection.
To latitude 56°, and half the first distance 90 in a
latitude column, the corresponding distance is 161,
which is half the difference of longitude. Now 161,
and 116, half the second distance, are found to agree
between 43 and 44 degrees; therefore, to latitude
43° and distance 161, the corresponding difference of
latitude is ii’y'.y ; the excess of which above 116' is
P.7 : and to latitude 440, and distance 161, the differ-
A T I o N. 661
ence of latitude is II j'.S : hence 117.7—II5-8 = P.9, Middle
the change answering to a difference of 1° of latitude. Latitude
Therefore, I'.p : B.y :: i° : 53' Sailing.
Hence, the latitude is 430 53'. 1 '
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 180 to 232 on the line of num¬
bers, being laid in the same direction on the line of
sines, from 340, the complement of the latitude sailed
from, will reach to 46° 7', the complement of the lati¬
tude come to.
Chap. V. Of Middle Latitude Sailing.
The earth is a sphere, and the meridians meet at the
poles ; and since a rhumb-line makes equal angles with
every meridian, the line a ship describes is, therefore,,
that kind of a curve called a spiral.
Let AB (fig. 15.) be any given distance sailed upon Fig. 15.
an oblique rhumb, PBN, PAM the extreme meri¬
dians, MN a portion of the equator, and PCK, PEL
two meridians intersecting the distance AB in the
points CE infinitely near each other. If the arches
BS, CD, and AB, be described parallel to the equator,
it is hence evident, that AS is the difference of lati¬
tude, and the arch MN of the equator, the difference
of longitude, answering to the given distance AB and
course PAB.
Now, since CE represents a very small portion of
the distance AB, DE will be the correspondent por¬
tion of a meridian : hence the triangle EDC may be
considered as rectilineal. If the distance be supposed
to be divided into an infinite number of parts, each
equal to CE, and upon these, triangles be constructed
whose sides are portions of a meridian and parallel, it is
evident these triangles will be equal and similar; for,
besides the right angle, and hypothenuse which is the
same in each, the course or angle CED is also the
same. Hence, by the I 2th of V. Euc. the sum of all
the hypothenuses CE, or the distance AB, is to the
sum of all the sides DE, or the difference of latitude
AS, as one of the hypothenuses CE is to the corre¬
sponding side DE. Now', let the triangle GUI (fig. Fig 16.
16.) be constructed similar to the triangle CDE, hav¬
ing the angle G equal to the course : then as GH :
GI :: CE : DC :: AB : AS.
Hence, if GH be made equal to the given distance
AB, then GI wall be the corresponding difference of
latitude.
In like manner, the sum of all the hypothenuses CE,
or the distance AB, is to the sum of all the sides CD,
as CE is to CD, or as GH to HI, because of the simi¬
lar triangles.
The several parts of the same rectilineal triangle will,
therefore, represent the course, distance, difl’erenee of
latitude, and departure.
Although the parts HG, GI, and angle G of the
rectilineal triangle G1H, are equal to the correspond¬
ing parts AB, AS, and angle A, of the triangle ASB
upon the surface of the sphere ; yet PI I is not equal to
BS, for HI is the sum of all the arcs CD ; but CD is
greater than OQ, and less than ZX : therefore HI is
greater than BS, and less than AR. Hence the dif¬
ference of longitude MN cannot be inferred from the
departure reckoned either upon the parallel sailed from,
or on that come to, but on some intermediate parallel
TV,
662
Middle
Ijatitude
Snilins;.
•l-ig. 17.
TV, such that the arch TV is exactly equal to the de¬
parture : and in this case, the difference ot longitude
, would be easily obtained. 1‘or 1 is to MN as the
’ sine TT to the sine PM *, that is, as the cosine of lati¬
tude is to the radius.
The latitude of the parallel TV is riot, however,
easily determined with accuracy j various methods have,
therefore, been taken in order to obtain it nearly, with
as little trouble ns possible : first) by taking the arith¬
metical mean ol the two latitudes for that of the
mean parallel : secondly, by using the arithmetical
Incan of the cosines ot the latitudes: thirdly, by using
the geometrical mean of the cosines ot the latitudes,
rind lastly, by employing the parallel deduced from
the mean of the meridional parts of the two latitudes.
The first of these methods is that which is generally
used.
In order to illustrate the computations in middle
latitude sailing, let the triangle ABC (fig. 17.) re¬
present a figure in plane sailing, wherein AB is the
difference of latitude, AC the distance, BC the de¬
parture, and the angle BAC the course. Also, let
the triangle I)BC be a figure in parallel sailing in
Which DC is the difference of longitude, BC the me¬
ridian distance, and the angle DCB the middle lati¬
tude. In these triangles there is, therefore, one side
BC common to both 5 and that triangle is to he first
resolved in which two parts are given, and then the
Unknown parts of the other triangle will be easily ob¬
tained.
N A V I G A T I O- N,
chords, will be found equal to 73
course.
By Calculation.
To find the course (d)
As the difference of latitude - 98'
is to the difference of longitude 604
Practic
0 44', the required
J[3Ct
M iddle
LatiUido
Suiiing
Prob. I. Given the latitudes and longitudes of two
places, to find the course and distance between them.
Example. Required the course and distance front
the island of May, in latitude 56° 12' N, and longitude
2° 37' W, to the Naze of Norway, in latitude 570 50'
N, and longitude 70 27' E ?
latitude isle of May
Latitude Naze of Norway
56° 12'N
37 5<3 N
56c
12'
57 5°
Difference of latitude *
Middle latitude
Longitude isle of May
Longitude Naze of Norway
38=98'
IX4
57
1 37W
7 27 E
Difference of longitude
1 o 4=604'
so is the cosine of middle latitude 570 1'
i-99I23
2.78104
9-73591
to the tangent of the cosine - 73 24
To find the distance.
As raditis - - -
is to the secant of the course 73® 24'
so is the difference of latitude 98'
10.52572
1O.00000
10.5441 X
1.99123
to the distance
2-53534
343
By Inspection.
To middle latitude 57°, and 151 otte-fourth of the
difference of longitude in a distance column, the corre¬
sponding difference of latitude is 82.2.
Now 24.5, one fourth of the difference of latitude,
and §2.2, taken in a departure column, are found to
agree nearest ill table max-ked 6£ points at the bottom,
wliich is the course and the corresponding distance
85^ multiplied by 4 gives 343 miles, the distance re¬
quired.
By Guntcr^s Scale.
The elcterit from 98 the difference of latitude, td
604 the difference of longitude on numbers, being laid
the same Way from 330, the complement of the middle
latitude on sines, will reach to a certain point beyond
the termination of the line on the scale. Now the
extent between this point and 96° ott sirics, will reach
fr om 450 to 73° 24', the course on the line of tangents.
And the extent from 730 24' the course, to 33° the
complement of the middle latitude on the line ot sines,
being laid the same Way from 604 the difference ot
longitude, will reach to 343 the distance on the line of
numbers.
The true course, therefore, from the island of May
to the Naze of Norway is N 73° 24' E, ENE|E
nearly hut as the variation at the May is 2? points
west, therefore, the course per compass from the May is
EiS.
Jiy Construction.
Draw the right line AD (fig. 18.) to represeht the
“ lS' meridian of the May; with the chord of 6o° describe
the arch mn, upon which lay off the chord of 3 2° 59,
the complement of the middle latitude from m to n :
from D through n draw the line DC equal to 604', the
difference of longitude, and from C draw CB perpen¬
dicular to AD : make BA equal to 98', the differenee
of latitude, and join AC ; Which applied to the scale
will measure 343 miles, the distance sought: and the
wngle A being measured by means of the line of
Prob. II. Given one latitude, course, and distance
sailed, to find the Other latitude and difference oi lon¬
gitude.
Example. A ship from Brest, in latitude 4S0 23' N,
and longitude 40 30' W, sailed SW^AV 238miles. Re¬
quired the latitude and longitude come to ?
i/jtiiii
'T
By Constructioni
‘With the course and distance construct the triarigle
ABC (fig. 17.), and the difference of latitude AB 17.
being measured, will be found equal to 142 miles j
hence the latitude come to is 46° l' N, and the middle
latitude 470 12'. Now make the angle DCB equal
to
(d) For 11. cosine mid. lat. :: Diff. of long. : Departure 5
And diff. of lat. : Dep; i i R. : Tangent courise.
Hence diff. of lat. ^ cosine mid. lat. :: diff. ol long. : tang, course;
Or diff. of lat. : diff. of long. :: cosine mid. lat< : tang, course.
lattice, N A V I G
ulfflc to 47d I 2'j and DC being measured, will be 281, the
i titude difference of longitude : hence the longitude come to is
9° 117 W-
JBtj Calculation.
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius - - . 10.00000
is to the cosine of the course, 4^. 9*77 503
so is the distance, - 238 - 2-37658
%
A T I O N.
measured, will be found equal to 864 and 558 resnee
lively.
71 lj Calculation.
To find the distance.
As radius, - - _
is to the secant of the course 3^ points
so is the difference of lat. 694
10.00000
10.00 Cl 7
2.84136
to the difference of latitude 141,8
Latitude of Brest, 48° 23' N
Difference of lat. 2 22 S
2.15161
48° 23'N
half 1 11 S
2-93^S3
I 2
Lat. come to 46° 1' N. Mid. lat. 47
rlo find the difference of longitude (e).
As the cosine of Mid. Lat. 470 12' 9.83215
is to the sine of the course 4^ points 9.90483
so is the distance - 238 2-3’]^S^
To the distance - 864
lo find the difference of longitude.
As the cosine of middle latitude 22° 47' 9.96472
is to the tangent of the course 3^ points 9.87020
so is the diflerence of latitude 694 2.84136
To the difference of longitude
Longitude of St Antonio
Diffe rence of longitude
558-3
2.74684
24° 25' W
9 18 w
to the difference of longitude
Longitude of Brest
Diflerence of longitude
Longitude come to
281.3
2.44926
4° 30'W
4 41 W
9 11W.
By Inspection.
To the course 4^ points, and distance 238 miles,
the difference of latitude is 141.8, and the departure
191.1. Hence the latitude come to is 46° i' N, and
middle latitude 470 12'. Then to middle latitude
470 12', and departure 191.1 in a latitude column* the
corresponding distance is 281', which is the difference
of longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 8 points to 3^ points, the com¬
plement of the course on sine rhumbs, being laid the
same way from the distance 238, will reach to the dif¬
ference of latitude 142011 the line of numbers j and
the extent from 42° 48' the complement of the middle
latitude, to 530 26^ the course on the line of sines, will
reach from the distance 238 to the difference of longi¬
tude 281 on numbers.
pROB. III. Given both latitudes and course, requir¬
ed the distance and difference of longitude ?
Example. A ship from St Antonio, in latitude
J70 o' N, and longitude 240 25' W, sailed NW £ N,
til! by observation her latitude is found to be 28° 34'N.
Required the distance sailed, and longitude come to ?
Latitude St Antonio I7°oN - I7°oN
Latitude by observation 2834N - 28 34 N
Difference of lat.
11 34=694m.
Middle lat.
45 34:
22 47
By Construction.
Construct the triangle ABC (fig. 19.), with the
given course and difference of latitude, and make the
angle BCD equal to the middle latitude. Now the
distance AC and difference- of longitude DC being To the distance
340.5
9.80236
10.00000
2*33445
2.53209.
To
663
Middle
Latitude
Sailing.
Longitade come to - - 33 43
By Inspection.
To course 3^ points, and diflerence of latitude 231.3
one third of that given, the departure is 171.6 and di¬
stance 288, which multiplied by 3 is 864 miles.
Again to the middle latitude 22° 47', or 230, and
departure 271.6 in a latitude column, the distance is
186, which multiplied by 3 is 558> the difference of
longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 4^ points* the complement of the
course, to 8 points on the line of sine rhumbs, will
reach from the difference of latitude 694 to the distance
864 on numbers j and the extent from the course 36° 34'
to 67° 13', the complement of middle latitude on sines,,
will reach from the distance 864 to the difference of
longitude 5.58 on numbers.
PltOB. IV. Given one latitude, course, and departure,
to' find the other latitude, distance, and difference of
longitude.
Exampla A ship from latitude 26° 30' N, and lon¬
gitude 450 30' W, sailed NE^N till her departure is
216 miles. Required the distance run, and latitude and
longitude come to ?
By Construction.
With the course, and departure construct the triangle
ABC (fig. 20.), and the distance and diflerence of la-
titude being measured, will be found equal to 340 and 0
263 respectively. Hence the latitude come to is 30° 53',
and middle latitude 28° 42'. Now make the angle
BCD equal to the middle latitude, and the difference
of longitude DC applied to the scale will measure 246'.
By Calculation.
To find the distance..
As the sine of the course 3^ points
is to radius ...
so is the departure - 216,
(e) This proportion is obvious, by considering
the whole figure as an oblique-angled plane triangle.
664
Middle
^Latitude
Sailing.
N A V I C
To find the difference of latitude.
As the tangent of the course 3^ P011^3 9,9I4T7
is to radius
1 so is the departure
A
T I O N.
216
10.00000
2*33445
To find the difference of longitude.
As the cosine of middle latitude 420 6'
is to the sine of the course 5° 39
so is the distance - - 246
P&ictid
Middle!
9.87039 Lalitndi
9.8S834 Skiing ^
2*39093
to the difference ot lat. 263.2
Latitude sailed from 26° 30'N
Difference of latitude 4 23 ^
half
2.42028
26° 30'N
2 12N
to the difference of longitude
Longitude Cape Sable,
Difference of longitude
2564
Latitude come to 30 53 N. Mid. lat.
To find the difference of longitude.
;8 42 Longitude Come to
2.40888
65° 39'W
4 16 L
61 23 W
As radius
is to the secant of the mid. lat.
so is the departure
to the difference of longitude
Longitude left -
Difference of longitude
28° 42'
216
246.2
10.00000
10.05693
2-33445
2.39138
45° 3°'>V
4 6 E
24 W
Longitude come to - " 41
jBy Inspection.
Under the course 34 points, and opposite to 108,
half the departure, the distance is 170, and ditlerence
of latitude 1314 j which doubled, give 340 and 263
for the distance and difference oi latitude respective y.
Again, to middle latitude 28° 42', and departure
108, the distance is 1235 which doubled is 246 the
difference of longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the course 34 points, on sure
rhumbs, to the departure 216 on numbers, will reach
from 8 points on sine rhumbs to about 340, the distance
on numbers*, and the same extent will reach Irom 4^
points, the complement of the course, to 263, the dit-
ference of latitude on numbers 3 and the extent trom
6i° l8' the complement of the middle latitude, to 90
on sines, < will reach from the departure 216 to the dif¬
ference of longitude 246 on numbers.
By Inspection.
The distance 246, and difference of latitude 156, are
found to correspond above 44 points, and tlm departure
is 190.1. Now, to the middle latitude 42 , and de¬
parture 190.1 in a latitude column, the corresponding
distance is 256, which is the difference of longitude re¬
quired.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 246 miles, the distance, to 156, the
difference of latitude on numbers, will reach from 90
to about 39°4* t^,e complement of the course on the
line of sines : and the extent from 48°, the complement
of the middle latitude, to 500|, the course on sines,
will reach from the distance 246m. to the difference oi
longitude 256m. on numbers.
Prob. VI. Given both latitudes and departure 3
sought the course, distance, and difierence ot longi¬
tude.
Example. A fillip from Cape St Vincent, in latitude
2 7° 2'N, longitude 90 2'W, sails between the south and
west j the latitude come to is 180 i6'N, and departure
838 miles. Required the course and distance run, and
longitude come to ? „ -.T or
Latitude Cape St \ incent, 37 2 7^ 37-7
- - - 18 16N 18 16
. : s t rr 11 vc •>»«_
Prob. V. Given both latitudes and distance 3 to find
the course and difference ot longitude.
Example. From Cape Sable, in latitude 43 24 N,
and longitude 65° 39'W, a ship sailed 246 miles on a
direct course between the south and east, and is then
by observation in latitude 40° 48'N. Required the
course and longitude in ?
Latitude Cape Sable, 43° ^ 43 M'N
Latitude by observation, 40 48 N 40 48 IN
Latitude come to
Difference of latitude
18 46= 2126 sum 55 18
Middle latitude i? 39
Difference of latitude.
FiR. 21.
2 36=156', sum 24 12
Middle latitude 42 6
By Construction.
Make AB (fig. 21.) equal to 156 miles4 draw BC
perpendicular to AB, and make AC equal to 246
miles. Draw CD, making with CB an angle of 42
6' the middle latitude. Now DC will be found to
measure 256, and the course or angle A will measure
56° 39'.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the distance - < 246
is to the difference of latitude 156
so is radius,
to the cosine of the course, 50° 39'
By Construction.
Make AB (fig. 22.) equal to the difference of lati-Fig.«
tude 1126 miles, and BC equal to the departure 838
and join AC 3 draw CD so as to make an angle with
CB equal to the middle latitude 27 39 • 1 ^ th(j
course being measured on chords is about 30 T, am
the distance and difference of longitude, measured on
the line of equal parts, will be found to be 1403 ami
946 respectively.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the difference of latitude •II2o
is to the departure - - 838
so is radius - . -
2*39°93
2.19312
10.00000
to the tangent of the course 3^ 39
To find the distance.
is to the secant of the course 36° 39'
so is the difference of latitude 1126
9.80219 to the distance
J4°3
3-°5I54
2.92324
10.00000
9.87170
10.00000
10.09566
3-°5i54
actice.
To find the difference of longitude.
kiddle
i ititude As radius
-ilin£ . is to the secant of mid. lat. 270 39'
1 so is the departure - 838
60j
%:
to the difference of longitude
Longitude Cape St Vincent
Difference of longitude
navigation.
To find the difference of longitude. Middle
10.00000 As radius - . . 10.00000 Latitude
10.05266 is to the secant of mid. lat. 470 25' 10.16963 Sailing.
2.92324 so is the departure - - 210 2.32222
946 2*9759° to the difference of longitude
9° 2/\V Longitude of Bourdeaux
15 46 W Difference of longitude
3I0'3
2.4918c
D° 35'W
c 10 W
Longitude come to - - ~ 24 48W
By Inspection.
One tenth of the difference of latitude 112.6 and
°f_ the departure 83.8, are found to agree under
points, and the corresponding distance is 140, which
multiplied by 10 gives 1400 miles. And to middle
latitude^ 27 -j-> and 209.5 fourth of the departure
in a latitude column, the distance is 236.5 ; which mul¬
tiplied by 4 is 946, the difference of longitude.
By Gunter’s Scale.
The extent from the difference of latitude 1126 to
the departure 838 on numbers, will reach from 450
to 36°! the course on tangents 5 and the extent from
53 3' the complement of the course to 90° on sines,
will reach from 1126 to 1403 the distance on numbers!
Lastly, the extent from 62°f the complement of the
middle latitude, to 90° on sines, will reach from the
departure 838 to the difference of longitude 946 on
numbers.
Pros. VII. Given one latitude, distance, and depar¬
ture, to find the other latitude, course, and difference
01 longitude.
Example. A ship from Bourdeaux, in latitude 440
5°' N, and longitude o° 35' W, sailed between the
north and west 374 miles, and made 210 miles of west¬
ing. Kequired the course, and the latitude and longi¬
tude come to ? 6
By Construction.
^ith the given distance and departure make the
triangle ABC (fig 23.). Now the course being mea¬
sured on the line of chords is about 34°$, and the dif-
erence of latitude on the line of numbers is 309 miles:
hence^ the latitude come to, is 490 59' N, and middle
latitude 470 25'. Then make the angle BCD equal
4?.ar,4 DC being measured will be 310 miles,
the difference of longitude.
As the distance
is to the departure
so is radius
By Calculation.
To find the course.
374
210
to the sine of the course 34°
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius .
is to the cosine of the course 340 ic/
so is the distance - - 374
to the difference of latitude 309-4
Latitude of Bourdeaux 440 50'N
Difference of latitude 5 9N half
2.57287
2.32222
10.00000
9-74935
10.00000
9.91772
2.57287
2.49059
44° 5o'
2 33
Latitude come to 49
Vol. XIV. Part JI.
59 N Mid. lat. 47 25
Longitude in - - . _ 5 45 W
By Inspection.
The half of the distance 187, and of the departure
io5, are found to agree nearest under 34°, and the
difference of latitude answering thereto is 155 5 which
doubled is 310 miles.
Again, to middle latitude 470 25', and departure
105 in the latitude column, the corresponding distance
18 I5.l> miles, which doubled is 310 miles, the difference
of longitude.
By Gunter’s Scale.
The extent from the distance 374 miles to the depar¬
ture 210 miles on the line of numbers, will reach from
9°° to 34° IO'» the course on the line of sines j and
the extent from 90° to 550 50', the complement of the
course on sines, will reach from the distance 374 to the
difference of latitude 309 miles on numbers.
Again, the extent from 42p 35', the complement of
the middle latitude, to 90° on sines, will reach from
the departure 210 to the difference of longitude 310 on
numbers.
Pros. VIII. Given one latitude, departure, and dif¬
ference of longitude, to find the other latitude, course,
and distance.
Example. A ship from latitude 54° 56' N, longitude
i° 10' W, sailed between the north and east, till by
observation she is found to be in longitude 50 26' E,
and has made 220 miles of easting. Required the lati¬
tude come to, course, and distance run P
Longitude left - _ _ i° iq'W
Longitude come to - 5 26 E
Difference of longitude
6 36=396
By Construction.
Make BC (fig. 24.) equal to the departure 220, and Fig. 24,
CD equal to the difference of longitude 396 :—then
the middle latitude BCD being measured, will be found
equal to 59° 15': hence the latitude come to is t7° 34',
and difference of latitude 158°. Now make AB equal
to 158, and join AC, which applied to the scale, will
measure 271 miles. Also the course BAC being mea¬
sured on chords will be found equal to 54°-f.
As the departure
is to the diff. of longitude
so is radius
To the secant of mid. lat.
Double, mid. lat.
Latitude left
Latitude come to
Diff. of latitude
By Calculation.
To find the middle latitude.
2.34242
2.59769
10.00000
10.25527
220
396
i^0 15'
112 30
54 56
57 34
2 38=158 miles
To
666
NAVIGATION.
Practice
Middle . To find 0,e course.
.Latitude As the diil'erence ot latitude 15^
Sailing. is t0 tlie departure - 220
* v so radius -
2.19866
2.34242
10.00000
to the tangent of the course 54° 19'
To find the distance.
As radius
10.14376
10.00000
is to the secant of the course 540 19'
so is the difference of latitude 158
10.23410
2.19866
to the distance
2.43276
270.9
jBy Inspection.
As the differences of longitude and departure exceed
the limits of the tables, let, therefore, their halves be
taken j these are 198 and no respectively. Now
these are found to agree exactly in the page marked 5
points at the bottom. Whence the middle latitude is
?6° and difference ol latitude 138 miles.
Again, the difference of latitude 158 and depar¬
ture 220 will be found to agree nearly above 34
the course, and the distance on the same line is 271
miles.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the difference of longitude 396^ to
the departure 220 on numbers, ivill reach from 90° to
43', the complement of the middle latitude on sines 5
and hence the difference of latitude is 138 miles. Now
the extent from 138 to 220 on numbers, will reach
from 430 to 34°f on tangents ; and the extent from the
complement of the course 35°t 9° on s*ne.s’
reach from the difference of latitude 13^ the distance
271 on numbers.
Middle
By Itispection. Lsititude:
To the course 3-! points, and half the distance 219 1 ’ ai^n^|
miles, the departure is 147.0, and difference of lati¬
tude 162.2; which doubled is 324.4. Again, to half
the difference of longitude 224 in a distance column,
the difference of latitude is 149-9 above 48°, and
146.9 over 490.
Now, as 30 : 29 :: 6o' : 38'.
Hence the middle latitude is 48° 38': the latitude sail¬
ed from is therefore 310 40', and latitude come to 46° 16'.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 8 points to 4^ points, the comple¬
ment of the course on sine rhumbs, will reach from the
distance 438 miles to the difference of latitude 3243 on
numbers. And the extent from the difference of longi¬
tude 448, to the distance 438 on numbers, will reach
from the course 420 11' to the complement of the mid¬
dle latitude 41® 2' on sines. Hence the latitude left is
310 40', and that come to 46° 16'.
rfg. 25..
Pros. IX. Given the course and distance sailed, and
difference ol longitude ; to find both latitudes.
Example. A ship from a port in north latitude, sailed
SE^S 438 miles, and differed her longitude 70 28;.
Required the latitude sailed from, and that come to ?
By Construction.
With the course and distance construct the triangle
ABC (fig. 23.), and make DC equal to 448 the gi¬
ven difference of longitude. Now the middle latitude
BCD will measure 48° 38', and the difference of lati¬
tude AB 324 miles : hence the latitude left is 31° 40',
and that come to 46° 16'.
By Calculation.
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius - - "
is to the cosine of the course 3! pts.
so is the distance - 43 ^
Prob. X. To determine the difference of longitude
made good upon compound courses, by middle latitude
sailing.
Rule I. With the several courses and distances find
the difference of latitude and departure made good, and
the ship’s present latitude, as in traverse sailing.
Now enter the traverse table with the given middle
latitude, and the departure in a latitude column, the
corresponding distance will be the difference ot longi¬
tude, of the same name with the departure.
Example. A ship from Cape Clear, in latitude 310
18' N, longitude 90 46'W, sailed as follows SWAS
34 miles, W&N 63 miles, NNW 48 miles, and NE^-E
83 miles. Required the latitude and longitude come to ?
Courses.
10.00000
9.86979
2.64147
to the difference of latitude 324-5
To find the middle latitude.
As the difference of longitude 448
is to the distance - - 438
so is the sine of the course - ^ pts.
2.31126
2.63128
2.64147
9.82708
to the consine of mid. latitude
half difference of latitude
48° 58'
2 42
9.81727
SW6S
W6N
NNW
NE'E
Diff. of Latitude.
Dist
54
63
48
8j
N S
12.3
44.4
53-9
N 340 W 79 63.7=1
Latitude of Cape Clear 31
110.6
44.9
Departure.
44.9
44.9
6N
18N
65-7
65-7
W
30. o
61.8
18.4
110.2
65-7
44-5
Latitude come to 32 24N
Sum - - 103 42
Middle latitude 31 31
Now, to middle latitude 31° 31' or 320, and de
parture 44.3 in a latitude column, the differ
ence of longitude is 72 iu a distance column
Longitude of Cape Clear 9 46 W
Difference ol longitude 1 12 W
Longitude come to
io° 38'W
Latitude sailed from
Latitude come to
51 4°
46 16
The above method is not always practised to find
the difference of longitude made good in the course
Ijtat.
factice. N A V I G
locator’s of ft d3-y s mn ^ cind willj no doubty the diifercnce
I idling, of longitude tolerably exact in any probable run a ship
'-"v ‘ may make in that time, especially near the equator.
But in a high latitude, when the distances are consi¬
derable, this method is not to be depended on. To il-
lustiate this, let a ship be supposed to sail from latitude
57° N, as follows: E 240 miles, N 240 miles, W 240
miles, and S 240 miles: then, by the above method,
the ship will be come to the same place she left. It
will, however, appear evident from the following
consideration, that this is by no means the case ; for
let two ships, from latitude 6i° N, and distant 240
miles, sail directly south till they are in latitude 57°N;
now their distance being computed by Problem IV.
of Parallel Sailing, will be 269.6 miles ; and, there¬
fore, if the ship sailed as above, she will be 29.6 miles
west of the place sailed from ; and the error in longi¬
tude will be equal to 240 X secant 6x°—secant <;j6
= 29.6 X secant 57°:= 54.4.
A T I O N. " 667
Theorems might be investigated for computing the Mercators
errors to which the above method is liable. These cor- Sailing.
ructions may, however, be avoided, by using the follow-' 
ing method.
Kule II. Complete the traverse table as before, to
which annex five columns j the first column is to con¬
tain the several latitudes the ship is in at the end of
each course and distance ; the second, the sums of each
following pair of latitude ; the third, half the sums, or
middle latitudes; and the fourth and fifth columns are
to contain the differences of longitude.
Now find the difference of longitude answering to
each middle latitude and its corresponding departure,
and put them in the east or west difference of longi¬
tude columns, according to the name of the departure.
Then the difference of the sums of the east and west
columns wall be the difference of longitude made good,
of the same name with the greater.
Example. A ship from Halliford in Iceland, in lat. 64° 30' N, long. 27° I s' W, sailed as follows : SSW 46
miles, SW61 miles, S6W 59 miles, SE^E 86 miles, S^EfE 79 miles. Required the lat. and long, come to?
Traverse Table.
Courses.
SSW
sw
saw
SE6E
SaEJ-E
Dist.
46
61
59
86
76
.Diff. of Lat.
Depai lure.
N
42.5-
43-1
57-9
47.8
72.7
7r-5
22.0
264.0
W
176
43- 1
lI- 5
By Rule I.
Latitude Halliford
Difference of latitude
93-5
72.2
21.3
72.2
Longitude Table.
Successive
Latitudes.
64° 30'
63 48
63 5
62 7
61 19
60 6
Sums.
128° 18'
I26 53
125 12
123 26
121 25
Middle
Latitudes.
64° 9'
63 27
62 36
61 43
60 43
DifF. of Lonsiitude
E
150.9
45.0
W
I95-1
161.8
40.4
96.4
25.0
161.8
64° 30'N
4 24 S
Latitude in - . . 60 6 N
Ji'!" ", - - 124 36
Middle latitude - - 62 18
Now, to middle lat. 62 18, and departure
21.3, the difference of long, is 46 E.
Long. Halliford - . 27 15 M
Longitude in - . . 16 29
The error of comm, method, in this Ex. is 12'.
Difference of longitude
Longitude Halliford
Longitude in
34-1
27.15 W
26.41 W
Chap. VI. Of Mercator’s Sailing.
^ as observed in Middle Latitude Sailing, that the
ifference of longitude made upon an oblique rhumb
could not be exactly determined by using the middle
latitude. In Mercator’s sailing, the difference of lon-
gitude is very easily found, and the several problems of
sailing resolved with the utmost accuracy, by the assist¬
ance of Mercator’s chart or equivalent tables.
In Mercator’s chart, the meridians are straight lines
parallel to each other; and the degrees of latitude
which at the equator are equal to those of longitude*
increase with the distance of the parallel from the equa¬
tor. The parts of the meridian thus increased are call¬
ed meridional parts. A table of these parts was first
constructed by Mr Edward Wright, by the continual
addition of the secants of each minute of latitude.
For by parallel sailing,
R ; cos. of lat.:: part of equal.: similar part of parallel.
4 P 2 And
668
Mercator’s
Sailing.
navigation.
Practice!
And because the equator and meridian on the globe
are equaltherefore,
K : cos. lat. :: part of meridian : similar part ol parallel.
Or sec. lat.: R :: part of merid.: similar part of parallel.
secant latitude   R
ilenCe’ part of meridianpart of parallel ’
But in Mercator’s chart the parallels of latitude are
equal, and radius is a constant quality. II, therefore,
the latitude be assumed successively equal to ‘ i', 2,', 3V
&.c. and the corresponding parts of the enlarged meri¬
dian be represented by a, b, r, &c. $ then,
secant i' _ secant A   secant
part of mer. a part of mer. b. part of mer. c.
Hence secant 1' : part of mer. a :: secant 2' : part ot
mer. b :: secant 3' : part of mer. e, &c.
Therefore by I2th V. Euclid.
Secant i' : part of mer. a :: secant j'-j-secant 2f-{-se¬
cant 3', &c.: parts ot a-\-b-\- mer. c, &c.
That is, the meridional parts of any given latitude
are equal to the sum of the secants of the minutes m
that latitude (e).
Since CD : LK :: R : secant LD, fig. 15*
And in the triangle CED,
ED : CD :: R : tangent CED ;
Therefore, ED : LK :: R* : secant LD X tangent CED
„ ED x sec, x ED X tang. CED__
Hence -LK-n: — ^
ED x sec. LD tang
CED
R
R
But
ED X sec- LD t^e enjarge(j portion of the
R
proper difference of latitude ) that is, if the given la- Mercator;
titudes be of the same name, the diflerence of the cor- t Sailing
responding meridional parts will be the meridional dif¬
ference of latitude j but it the latitudes are of a con¬
trary denomination, the sum of these parts will be the
meridional difference ot latitude.
Prob. I. Given the latitudes and longitudes of two
places, to find the course and distance between them.
Ex. Required the course and distance between Cape
Finisterre, in latitude 42° 52' N, longitude 90 17' W,
and Port Praya in the island of St Jago, in latitude
140 54' N, and longitude 23* 29' W ?
Lat. Cape Finisterre 420 52' Mer. parts
Latitude Port Praya 14 54 Mer. parts
Difference of lat. =27 58 Mer. diff. lat. 1948
1678
Longitude Cape Finisterre
Longitude Port Praya -
Diff. longitude
9
23
17'W
29 W
14 12=852.
meridian answering to ED. Now the sum of all the
quantities   —£ corresponding to the sum
of all the ED’s contained in AS, will be the meridional
parts answering to the diflerence of latitude AS ; and
MN is the sum of all the corresponding portions of the
e4uatorLK- CED
Whence MN = mer. diff. of lat. X tangent
That is, the difference of longitude is equal to the me¬
ridional difference of latitude multiplied by the tangent
of the course, and divided by the radius.
This equation answers to a right-angled rectilineal
triangle, leaving an angle equal to the course ; the ad¬
jacent side equal to the meridional difference of latitude,
and the opposite side the difference of longitude. This
triangle is, therefore, similar to a triangle constructed,
with the course and difference of latitude, according to
pkte the principles of plane sailing, and the homologous sides
CCCLXIV. will be proportional. Hence, if, in fig. 26 the angle
fig. 26. A represents the course, AB the difference of latitude,
and if AD be made equal to the meridional difference
of latitude; then DE, drawn perpendicular to AD,
meeting the distance produced to E, will be the differ¬
ence of longitude.
It is scarcely necessary to observe, that the meridional
difference of latitude is found by the same rules as the
Bij Construction.
Draw the straight line AD (fig. 26.) to represent the Kg-
meridian of Cape Einisterre, upon which lay oft AB, -
AD equal to 1678, and 1948, the proper and meridi¬
onal differences of latitude ; from D draw DE perpen¬
dicular to AD, and equal to the difference of longitude
852, join AE, and draw BC parallel to DE j then the
difference AC will measure 1831 miles, and the course
BAG 230 37'.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the meridian difference of lat. 1948 - 3.28959
is to the difference of longitude - 852 - 2.93044
SO is radius ----- 10.00000
to the tangent of the course 23® 37'
To find the distance.
As radius - - - " 0 "
is to the secant of the course, 23 37
so is the difference of latitude 1678
to the distance
1831
9.64085
10.00000
10.03798
3.22479
3.26277
By Inspection.
As the meridian difference of latitude and difference
of longitude are too large to be found in the tables, let
the tenth of each be taken *, these are 194.8 and 85.2
respectively. Now these are found to agree nearest un¬
der 240 ; and to 167.8, one-tenth of the proper differ¬
ence of latitude, the distance is about 183 miles, which
multiplied by 10 is 1830 miles.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent 1948, the meridional difference of lati¬
tude, 10*852, the difference of longitude on the line
of numbers, will reach from 45° to 23° 37', the coui^e
(E) This is not strictly true *, for instead of taking the sum of the secants of every minute ^
the given parallel from the equator, the sum of the secants of every point of latitude should be taken
Itactice.
creator’s00 the line oi tangents. And the extent from 66° 2$\
tailing- the complement of the course to 90° on sines, will reach
v—'from 1678, the proper difference of latitude, to 1831,
the distance on the line of numbers.
NAVIGATION. 66(f
Example. A ship from Port Canso in Nova Scotia, Mercator’s
1 A „ _0 _ _ I A.T 1 * . 1 ✓ n . T-rr •• * s', -rt ^
Pros. II. Given the course and distance, sailed from
a place whose situation is known, to find the latitude
and longitude of the place come to.
Example. A ship from Cape Hinlopen in Virginia, in
latitude 38° 47' N, longitude 750 4' W, sailed 267 miles
IsE&N. Required the ship’s present place ?
By Construction.
With the course and distance sailed, construct the
. 27. triangle ABC (fig. 27.) j and the difference of latitude
AB being measured, is 222 miles : hence the latitude
come to is 420 29' N, and the meridional difference of
latitude 293. Make AD equal to 293 j and draw
DE perpendicular to AD, and meeting AC produced
in E: then, the difference of longitude DE being ap¬
plied to the scale of equal parts will measure 1965 the
longitude come to is therefore 71° 48' W.
By Calculation.
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius - - 10.00000
is to the cosine of the course, - 3 points - 9.91985
so is the distance - 267 - 2.42651
in latitude 450 20' N, longitude 6o° 55' W, sailed SE
■| S, and by observation is found to be in latitude 410
14' N. Required the distance sailed, and longitude
come to P
Eat. Port Canso - 450 20' N - Mer. parts - 3058
Eat. in by observation 41 14 N - Mer. parts - 2720
Sailing.
Difference of lat.
4 6=246 Mer. diff. lat. 338
By Construction.
Make AB (fig. 28.) equal to 246, and AD equal Fig. 28.
33^ 5 draw AE, making an angle with AD equal
^ 3i points, and draw BC, DE perpendicular to AD.
Now AC being applied to the scale, will measure 332,
and DE 306. 00
By Calculation,
To find the distance.
As radius - _ _
is to the secant of the course, - 3! points -
so is the difference of latitude - 246 - -
to the distance - 332 ■
To find the difference of longitude.
As radius
is to the tangent of the course, - 3J; points ■
so is the mer. dift. of latitude - 338
10.00000
10.13021
2.39093
2.52114
10.00000
9-95729
2.52892
to the difference of latitude - 222 - 2.34636
Eat. Cape Hinlopen = 38° 47' N. Mer. parts 2528
Difference of lat. - 3 42 N.
Latitude come to - 42 29 N. Mer. parts 2821
Meridional difference of latitude 293
To find the difference of longitude.
As radius - - - - - 10.00000
is to tangent of the course, 3 points - 9.82489
so is the mer. diff. of latitude - 293 - 2.46687
to the difference of longitude - 195.8- - 2.29176
Longitude Cape Hinlopen 750 4' W
Difference of longitude - 3 16 E
Longitude come to 71 48 W.
By Inspection.
To the course 3 points, and distance 267 miles, the
difference of latitude is 222 miles : hence the latitude in
is 420 29', and the meridional difference of latitude
293. Again, to course three points, and 146.5 half the
mer. difference of latitude, the departure is 97.9, which
doubled is 195.8, the difference of longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 8 points to the complement of the
course 5 points, on sine rhumbs, will reach from the
distance 267 to the difference of latitude 222 on num¬
bers ; and the extent from 4 points to 3 points on
tangent rhumbs, will reach from the meridional differ¬
ence of latitude 293 to the difference of longitude 196
on numbers.
Pros. III. Given the latitudes and bearing of two
places; to find their distance and difference of longi¬
tude.
to the difference of longitude - 306.3 - - 2.48621
Longitude Port Canso - 6o° 55' W
Difference of longitude - 5 6 E
Longitude in - - 53 49 W
By Inspection.
Under the course 3^ points, and opposite to half
the difference of latitude 123 in a latitude column is
166 in a distance column, which doubled is 332 the
distance ; and opposite to 169, half the meridional dif¬
ference of latitude in a latitude column, is 153 in a de¬
parture column, which doubled is 306, the difference of
longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the complement of the course qf
points to 8 points on sine rhumbs, will reach from the
difference of latitude 246 m. to the distance 332 on
numbers 5 and the extent from 4 points, to the course
3^ points on tangent rhumbs, will reach from the me¬
ridional difference of latitude 338 to the difference of
longitude 306 on numbers.
Pros. IV. Given the latitude and longitude of the
place sailed from, the course and departure $ to find
the distance, and the latitude and longitude of the
place come to.
Example. A ship sailed from Sallee in latitude
330 58' N, longitude 6° 20' W, the corrected course
was NWiW’fW, and departure 420 miles. Required
the distance run, and the latitude and longitude come
to ?
By Construction.
With the course and departure construct the triangle
ABC (fig. 29.) ; now AC and AB being measured,
will be found to be equal to 476 and 224 respectively:
hence
•Lat. of St Mary’s,
Lat. come to
Difference of lat.
67o NAVIGATION.
Mercator's lienee the latitude come to is 370 42' N, ami meridional
Sailing, difference of latitude 276. Make AD equal to >
—v—and draw DE perpendicular thereto, meeting the di¬
stance produced in E ) then DE applied to the scale
will be found to measure Ihe longitude in is,
therefore, 140 56'W.
By Calculation.
To find the distance.
As radius -
is to the cosecant of the course 5^ pts
so is the departure - 420
36° J7'N
49 37 N
Mer. parts
Mer. parts
Practice,,
347® Mercator’
2389 Sailing.
I JtrcaW
Sailin?
,
13
Mer. diff. lat. 1081
780
10.00000
10.05457
2.62325
to the distance - 476.2
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius -
is to the co-tangent of the course, 5^ pts -
so is the departure - 420 -
2.67782
10.00000
9.72796
2.62325
to the difference of latitude
Lat. of Sallee 330 58'N
Dill’, of lat. 3 44 N
- 224-5
Mer. parts
2-35I2I
2169
Lat. in
37 42 N Mer. parts 2445
Mer. difference of latitude - 276
To find the difference of longitude.
As radius - - * 10.00000
is to the tangent of the course 5^- pts - 10.27204
so is the mer. diff. of latitude 276 - 2.44091
to the difi’erence of longitude
Longitude of Sallee
Difference of longitude
51<5.3
- 2.71295
6° 20'W
8 36 W
Longitude in
By Construction.
Make AB (fig. 30.) equal to 780, and AD equal Fig. 30.
to 10815 draw BC, DE perpendicular to AD 3 make
AC equal to 1162', and through AC draw ACE.
Then the course or angle A being measured, will be
found equal to 470 50', and the difference of longitude
DE will be 1194.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the distance 1162
is to the difference of latitude, 7^°
so is radius -
3.06521
2.89209
10.00000
14 56 W
By Inspection.
Above 54- points the course, and opposite to 210
half the departure, are 238 and 1123 which doubled,
we h?ve 476 and 224, the distance and difference of
latitude respectively. And to the same course, and
opposite to 138, half the meridional difference ol lati¬
tude, in a latitude column, is 258 in a departure co¬
lumn 3 which being doubled is 516, the difference ol
longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from 5*- points, the course on sine
rhumbs, to the departure 420 on numbers, will reach
from eight points on sine rhumbs to the distance 476 on
numbers; and from the complement of the course 2^-
points on sine rhumbs, to the difference of latitude 224
on numbers.
Again, the extent from difference of latitude 224 to
the meridional difference of latitude 276 on numbers,
will reach from the departure 420 to the difference ol
longitude 516 on the same line.
to the cosine of the course - 470 5?^ "
To find the difference of longitude.
As radius -
is to the tangent of the course, 470 50'
so is the mer. diff. ol latitude 1081
9.82688
10.00000
10.04302
3-°3383
to the difference of longitude
Longitude of St Mary’s
Difference of longitude
1194
25
3.07685
9'W
54 E
Longitude in
5
By Inspection.
Because the distance and difference ol latitude ex¬
ceed the limits of the table, take the tenth of each 3
these are 116.2 and 78.0: Now these are found to
agree nearest above 4^ points, which is therefore the
coui-se 3 and to this course, and opposite to 108.1, one
tentii of the meridional difference of latitude, in a la¬
titude column, is 119.3 in a departure column, which
multiplied by 10 is 1193, the difi’erence of longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the distance 1162 m. to the differ¬
ence of latitude 780 m. on numbers, will reach Irom
90° to 42° 10' in the line of sines. And the extent 45 ,
to the course 470 50' on the line of tangents, will reach
from the meridional difference ol latitude 1081 to the
difference of longitude 1194 on numbers.
Pros. VI. Given the latitudes of two places, and
the departure, to find the course, distance, and difference
of longitude.
Pros. V. Given the latitudes of two places, and
their distance, to find the course and difference ot lon¬
gitude.
Example. A ship from St Mary’s, in latitude 36°
57' N, longitude 250 9' W, sailed on a direct course be¬
tween the north and east 1162 miles, and is then by
observation in latitude 49° 57' N. Required the course
steered, and longitude come to ?
4
Example. From Aberdeen, in latitude 57 9' N
longitude 2° 8' W, a ship sailed between the south and
east till her departure is 146 miles, and latitude come
t0 53° 32' N. Required the course and distance run,
and longitude come to ?
Latitude Aberdeen 570 9'N Mer. parts 4199
Ijatitude come to 53 32^ Mer. paits 3 17
Difference of latitude 3 37=217' Mcr- dlff'lat’ 382
By Construction.
With the difl’erence of latitude 217 m. and departure Fig- 3 •
146 m. construct the triangle ABC (fig. 3X0>
Jtrcator’s
tiiling.
actice. N A V I G
AD equal to draw DE parallel to BC, and pro¬
duce AC to E : Then the course BAG will measure
33 J>6 •> the distance AC 261, and the difference of
longitude DE 257.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the difference of latitude 217
is to the departure - - 146
so is radius - - - - .
2.33646
2*1643 5
10.00000
to the tangent of the course - 330 56'
To find the distance.
As radius -
is to the secant of the course - 330 36'
so is the difference of latitude 217
to the distance - - 261.5
To lind the difference of longitude.
As the difi’erence of latitude 217
is to the mer. diff. of latitude 382
so is the departure - - 146
2.33646
2.58206
2.16435
to the difference of longitude
Longitude of Aberdeen
Difference of longitude
2J7
2.40995
2° 8' W
4 r? E
A T I O N. 67r
longitude DE will measure 224': hence the longitude Mercator’s
in 13 30' E. Sai]ing.
By Calculation. v
To find the course.
As the distance - - 252 - 2.40140
is to the departure - 173 _ 2.2380 c
so is radius 10.00000
9.82789
10.00000
10.08109
2.33646
to the sine of the course - 430 21' - 9.83665
To find the difference of latitude.
Asra?ius   10.00000
is to the cosine of the course 430 21' - 9.86164
so is the distance - - 252 - 2.40140
to the difference of latitude 183.2 - 2.26304
Latitude ol Naples 4a0 51' N. Mer. parts 2600
2,4I755 Difference of latitude 3 3 S.
Latitude come to - 37 48 N. Mer. parts 2453
237
Meridional difference of latitude
To find the difference of longitude.
As radius 10.00000
is to the tangent of the course 430 21' - 9.97497
237 - 2.37475
so is the mer. dill', of latitude
Longitude come to - - . _ 29E
By Inspection.
The difference of latitude 217» and departure 146,
are found to agree nearest under 340, and the corre¬
sponding distance is 262 miles. To the same course,
and opposite to 190.7, the nearest to 191, half the me¬
ridional difference of latitude, is 128.6 in a depar¬
ture column, which doubled is 257, the difference of
longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the difference of latitude 217, to
the departure 146 on numbers, will reach from 450 to
about 340, the course on the line of tangents j and the
same extent will reach from the meridional difference
of latitude 382 to 257, the difference of longitude on
numbers.—Again, the extent from the course 340 to
90 on sines, will reach from the departure 146 to the
distance 261 on numbers.
Pros. VII. Given one latitude, distance and depar¬
ture ; to find the other latitude, course, and difference
of longitude.
Example. A ship from Naples, in latitude 40° 51' N,
longitude 140 14' E, sailed 252 miles on a direct course
between the south and west, and made 173 miles of
westing. Required the course made good, and the lati¬
tude and longitude come to P
to the difference of longitude 223.7 - 2.34072
Longitude of Naples - - _ 140 14'E
Difference of longitude - - ^ 3 44 W
Longitude in - - - . 10 30 E
By Inspection.
Under 430 and opposite to the distance 252 m. the
departure is 171.8, and under 440, and opposite to the
same distance, the departure is 175.0.
Then as 3.2 : 1.2 : : 60' : 22'.
Hence the course is 430 22'.
Again, under 430 and opposite to 118.5, half the
meridional difference of latitude in a latitude column,
is 110.5 in a departure column j also under 440 and
opposite to 118.5 is It4-4-
Then as 3.2 : 1.2 :: 3.9 : 1.5.
And no.5-j-1.5-112, which doubled is 224, the
difference of longitude.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the distance 252 on numbers, to
90° on sines, will reach from the departure 173 on
numbers, to the course 43! on sines 5 and the same ex¬
tent that will reach from the complement of the course
46°y on sines will reach to the difference of latitude
183 on numbers.—Again, the extent from 450 to 43°-*-
on tangents will reach from the meridional difference
ol latitude 237, to the difference of longitude 224, on
numbers.
By Construction.
With the distance and departure make the triangle
ABC (fig. 32.) as formerly.—Now the course BAC
being measured by means of a line of chords will be
found equal to 430 21', and the difference of latitude
applied to the scale of equal parts will measure 183':
hence the latitude come to is 370 48' N, and meri¬
dional difference of latitude 237.—Make AD equal
to 237, and complete the figure, and the difference of
Pros. VIII. Given one latitude, course, and differ¬
ence of longitude: to find the other latitude and dis¬
tance.
Example. A ship from Tercera, in latitude 38° 45' N,
longitude 270 6' W, sailed on a direct course, which,
when corrected, was N 320 E, and is found by observa¬
tion to be in longitude 180 24' W. Required the lati¬
tude come to, and distance sailed ?
Longitude
672
Mercator's
Sailing
Tfe- 33-
Longitude of Tercera
Longitude in
Difference of longitude
27° 6'W
18 24 W
8 42=522
By Construction.
Make the right-angled triangle ADE (fig. 33.) ha¬
ving the angle A equal to the course 3 2°, and the side
DE equal to the difference of longitude 522: then
AD will measure 835, which added to the meridional
parts of the latitude left, will give those of the latitude
come to 48° 46' j hence, the difference of latituile is
601 : make AB equal thereto, to which let BC be
drawn perpendicular ; then AC applied to the scale
will measure 708 miles.
By Calculation.
To find the meridional difference of latitude.
As radius - _ - - 10.00000
is to the co-tangent of the course 3 2° o' 10.20421
so is the difference of longitude 5 22 2.7176?
to the mer. difference of latitude 8352 2.92I88
Latitude of Tercera 30° 45'N Mer. parts 2526
Mer. diff. of lat. 835
Latitude come to - 48 46N Mer. parts 3361
Difference of latitude 10 1=601 miles.
To find the distance.
As radius - - - 10.00000
is to the secant of the course - 32° o' - 10.07158
so is the difference of latitude - 601 - 2.77887
NAVIGATION. Practice.
Example. A ship from port St Julian, in latitude Mercator’s
490 1 o' S, longitude 68° 44' W, sailed as follows •, Sailing.
ESE 53 miles, SE/tS 74 miles, E by N 68 m. SEfrEJE '’T--'
47 miles, and E 84 miles. Required the ship’s pre¬
sent place ?
to the distance
707.7 - 2.85045
By Inspection.
To course 3 2°, and opposite to 130.5, one fourth of
the given difference of longitude in a departure column,
the difference of latitude is 208.8, which multiplied
by 4 is 835, the meridional difference of latitude j
hence the latitude in is 48° 46' N, and difference of la¬
titude 601.
Again, to the same course, and opposite to 200, one
third of the difference of latitude, the distance is 236,
which multiplied by 3 gives 708 miles.
By Gunter's Scale.
The extent from the course 320, to 450 on tangents,
will reach from the difference of longitude 522 to the
meridional difference of latitude 835 on numbers.—
And the extent from the complement of the course 58°
to 90° on sines, will reach from the difference of lati¬
tude 601, to the distance 708 miles on numbers.
Prob. IX. To find the difference of longitude made
good upon compound courses.
Rule. With the several courses and distances, com¬
plete the Traverse Table, and find the difference of la¬
titude, departure, and course made good, and the lati¬
tude come to as in Traverse Sailing. Find also the
meridional difference of latitude.
Now to the course and meridional difference of la¬
titude, in a latitude column, the corresponding depar¬
ture will be the difference of longitude, which applied
to the longitude left will give the ship’s present longi¬
tude. 1
ESE
SEfyS
EfyN
SEfyEfE
E
Courses.
Dist.
53
74
68
47
84
Diff. of Lat.
N
i3-3
:3*3
S 720 E 197
Latitude left,
Latitude come to
S
20.3
61.5
22.1
I03*9
13-3
Departure-
E
49.0
41.1
66.7
4I-5
84.0
282.3
W
90.6=1° 31'
49 ioSm.pt. 3397
50 41 Sm.pt. 3539
Mer. difference of latitude - - 142
Now to course 72°, and opposite to 71, half the
mer. difference of latitude in a latitude column, is
_i8.7 in a departure column, which doubled is
437, the difference of longitude.
Longitude of Port St Julian - 68° 44,^^
Difference of longitude - 7 17 E
Longitude come to
61 27 W
Although the above method is that usually employ¬
ed at sea to find the difference of longitude, yet as it
has been already observed, it is not to be depended on,
especially in high latitudes, long distances, and a con¬
siderable variation in the courses, in which case the fol¬
lowing method becomes necessary.
Rule II. Complete the Traverse Table as before,
to which annex five columns. Now with the latitude
left, and the several differences of latitude, find the
successive latitudes, which are to be placed in the first
of the annexed columns j in the second, the meridional
parts corresponding to each latitude is to be. put j and
in the third, the meridional differences of latitude.
Then to each course, and corresponding meridional
difference of latitude, find the difference of longitude,
by Prob. VI. which place in the fourth or fifth co¬
lumns, according as the coast is easterly or westerly ^
and the difference between the sums of these columns
will be the difference of longitude made good upon the
whole, of the same name with the greater.
Remarks.
1. When the course is north or south, there is no
difference of longitude.
2. When the course is east or west, the difference
of longitude cannot be found by Mercator’s Sailing j
in this case the following rule is to be used.
To the nearest degree to the given latitude taken
as a course, find the distance answering to the depar¬
ture in a latitude column: this distance will be the di -
ference of longitude. ^
sirtiee. NAVIGATION.
*ST J*;™ Sw^Zin M,0(le r 40' N, «nd longitude 4» jo' W.
■— aud W| S 49 miles. Required oiu ^senltLde attngi’tuIT 93 m“eS’ ^ ” mifeS' SW ^ ^
Traverse Table.
Courses.
NW
W
WNW
WAS
SW
WiS
W 1° s
Dist.
32
69
93
77
58
49
343
DifF. of JLat
N
22.6
35-6
58.2
15.0
41.0
7.2
63.2
58.2
5-°
Departure.
W
E
22.6
69.O
85-9
75*5
41.0
48.5
342.5
Longitude Table.
Successive
Latitudes.
58° 40'
59 3
59 3
59 38
59 23
58 42
58 35
Merid.
Parts.
4370
44r5
4415
4484
4454
4374
436i
Merid.
Diff. Lat
45
o
69
30
80
I3
Longitude of Faro head
Difference of longitude
Dili' of Longitude.
E
W
45-0
134.°
166.s
151.0
80.0
88.0
664.5
4" 50' wr.
II
4 W.
Longitude in
T5 54 W-
Traverse Table.
Courses.
WNW
SW
NWfW
NAE
NW|N
SAE4-E
Dist.
r54
96
89
no
56
78
Diff. of Lat.
N
58.9
56.4
107.9
45-0
268.2
I4I*3
67.9
73-4
Mi.3
Latitude left
Diff. of latitude
126.9
By Rule I.
78° 15' N.
2 7 N.
Departure.
E
21.5
26.3
47.8
W
142.3
67.9
68.8
33-4
312.4
47.8
264.6
Mer. pts. 7817
Lat. come to - 80 22 N. Mer. pts. 8504
Meridional diff. of latitude
As difference of lat. - 126.9
is to mer. diff. of lat. - 687
264.6
so is the departure
to diff. of longit.
687
2.10346
2.83696
2.42256
Longitude Table.
Successive
Latitudes.
78° 15'
79 *4
68 6
79 2
80 co
81 35
80 22
Merid.
Parts.
7817
8120
7774
8056
8676
8970
8504
Merid.
Diff. Lat.
303
346
282
620
294
466
Diff. of Longitude.
E
123.6
166.7
290.3
W
73I*7
346.0
343*6
218.0
1639*3
290.3
1349.0
Longitude left
Difference of longitude
28° 14' E.
22 29 W.
Longitude in
5 45 E.
T432
3.15606
Longitude left
230 52' W.
28 14 E.
Longitude in
• 4 22 E.
The error of this method, in the present example,
is therefore i° 23'.
To find the bearing and distance of Hacluit’s
head-land.
Lat. H. H. = 79° 55'N.M. P. 8347 Lon. 11° r r'E.
Lat. ship. =80 22 N. M. P. 8504 Lon. 5 45 E.
Diff. lat. o 27 M.D. L. 157D. L.6 10
37o
VOL. Xiv. Part II.
Now to 78.5 half the meridional difterence of la¬
titude, and 185.0 half the difference of longitude,
the course 67 , and opposite to the difference of lati¬
tude 27, the distance is 69 miles.-—Hence Hacluit’s
head-land bears S 67° E, distant 69 miles.
4 Q
Chat.
67+
Method of
NAVI G
resolving Chap. VII. CoutaAg the Method of resolving the
the Pro- several Problems of Mercator s Sailing, by the As-
M^rcTJr's distance of a Table of Logarithmic Tangents.
Sidling. T*r or I Given one latitude, distance, and differ¬
ence oflongitude , to fmd the course, and other laU-
tURwLE. To the arithmetical complement of the loga¬
rithm of the distance, add the logarithm of the d.fter-
ence of longitude in minutes, and the log. cosine of
the given latitude •, the sum rejecting radius will be the
W. sine of the approximate course. .
To the given latitude taken as a course in the tia-
verse tabll, add half the difference of longitude ... a
distance column 5 the corresponding departure will be
A T I O N. Practi«
the first correction of the course, which is subtractive MetM;
if the given latitude is the least of the two; otherwise,
additive. ^ r .1 ^ blems«
In Table A, under the complement ot the com e, Mercatoil
and opposite to the first correction in the side co- Sailin'
lumn, is the second correction. In the same table find v-
the number answering to the course at the top, and dif¬
ference of longitude in the side column ; and such part
of this number being taken as is found m lable L op¬
posite to the given latitude, will be the third correc¬
tion Now these two corrections, subtracted trom the
course corrected by the first correction, will give the
true course. rr
Now the course and distance being known, the dif¬
ference of latitude is found as formerly.
Table A.
Arc.
10
3'
12
27
47
74
107
J45
190
20"
1
6
l3
36
52
70
92
3°
4°
14
23
33
44
58
i'
2
6
10
16
22
3°
40
50° 6o° 70°
cr
2
4
1
11
a*
21
28
o'
1
3
5
8
11
15
J9
8o°
o'
1
2
3
5
7
9
12
O'
o
I
1
2
3
4
6
9°
Table B.
Lat.
o°
10
20
3°
40
50
60
70 .
80, &c.
T
1
T
■sr + T
Tf+ir
a+tV
4
f+To
Example. From latitude 50° N, a ship sailed 290
miles between the south and west, and differed her lon¬
gitude 50. Required the course, and latitude come to.
Distance - - 29°- ar' c0* J°S' 7-5376°
Diff. of longitude - 3°° , lo^
t j. r _ jo° o'co. - 9.80807
Latitude
Approximate course' - 41 41 s*ne ” 9,82279
To lat. 50°, and half diff. long. 150 in a dist.
dbl. the first corr. in a dep. col. is 115 - +1 55
Approximate course - 41 41
Cor. - - " 1 55
It feible A to co. course 48 and 1st corr. I —Q 2
i° 55? the second direction is j
To course 410 and diff. long. 5°* the num-1
her is 15, of which ^ (Tab. B) being >-—03
taken, gives _ \ lVg
irue course - ■ ‘to o
To find the difference of latitude.
» ; i* _ 10.00000
^ FUfllQS —
is to the cosine of the course 430 33' - 9.86020
so is the distance - - 290 - 2.46240
to the difference of latitude
Latitude left
Difference of latitude
210.2
2.32260
50° o' N
3 3oS
Latitude come to - “ " " 46 3°^
This problem was proposed, and resolved, by Mr
Robert Hues in his Treatise on the Globes, printed at
London in the year 1639, p. 181*
It was afterwards proposed by Dr Halley, m the se~
cond volume of the Miscellanea Cunosa, p. 34. in the
f0,!rX> 'laihfnm a given latitude, and, having run a
certain number of leagues, has altered her hng.tudc by a
given angle; it is reqtm-ei to find the course see .
And he then adds-Tfo soluhon hereof would be very-
acceptable, if not to the puhltc, at least to
this tract, being likely to open some further light into the
’^Since th?ft"time, this problem has been solved in an
indirect manner, by several writers on navigation, and
others As Monsieur Bouguer, in his Nb"n«m IVo
de Navigation; Mr Robertson in the second v°lnme
his Elements of Navigation ; Mr Emerson m Ins Th o-
ry of Navigation, which accompanies his MntWftro/
Principles if Geography; Mr Israel Lyons ,n the Nau¬
tical AlmaLk for .,72; and Monsieur Bezont -nte
Trade,Jc Navigation; and lately, Baron Maseres, with
the assistance of Mr Attwood, has given the first direct
solution of this problem. For a comparison of the va
rious solutions which have hitherto been “'s
problem, the reader is referred to that b, Bt
in the fourth and sixth volumes of Baron Masere
^'ifwarinSefin this place to have-given rules, to
make allowance for the spheroidal figure of the earthy
but as the ratio of the polar to the equatorial sen,,-axis
is not as yet determined with sufficient a J
neither is it known if both hemispheres he simila
figures ; therefore these rules would be grounded 0 ^
sumption only, and might probably err more from ^
actice.
Sblique truth than those adapted to the spherical hypothesis.
ijiliDS_, This therefore is supposed to be a sufficient apology for
not inserting them.
Chap. VIII. OJ" Oblique Sailing.
Oblique sailing is the application of oblique-angled
plane triangles to the solution oi problems at sea. This
sailing will be found particularly useful in going along
shore, and in surveying coasts and harbours, &c.
Ex. I. At i lh A. M. the Girdle Ness bore WNW,
and at 2I1 P. M. it bore NWAN: the course durino-
the interval S6W, five knots an hour. Required the
distance of the ship from the Ness at each station ?
By Construction.
j 34. Describe the circle NE, SW (fig. 34.), and draw
the diameters NS, EW, at right angles to each other:
from the centre C, which represents the first station,
draw the WNW line CF ; and from the same point
draw CH, S&W, and equal to 15 miles the distance
sailed.—From H draw HF in a NW6N direction, and
the point F will represent the Girdle Ness. Now the
distances CF, HF will measure 19.1 and 26.9 miles
respectively.
By Calculation.
In the triangle FCH are given the distance CII 15
miles, the angle FCH equal to 9 points, the interval
between the SAW and WNW points, and the angle
CHI equal to 4 points, being the supplement of
the angle contained between the S6W and NWAN
points j hence CFH is 3 points : to find the distances
CF, HF.
To find the distance CF.
As the sine of CFH - 3 points
is to the sine ot CHF - 4 points
so is the distance CH 15 miles
navigation.
By Calculation.
In the triangle BIF are given BI and BF equal to
39 miles, and 26 miles respectively ; and the angle
BFI equal to 7 points : To find the side FI, and angle
FBI. 6
As the distance BI
is to the distance BF
so is the sine of BFI
to the sine of BIF
Sum -
Angle FBI
 EBF
Difference, or FBI
To find the angle BIF.
39
26
78° 45'
40 50
119 35
60 25
33 45
26 40
1.59106
I>41497
9.99157
9.81548
Bearingof Jersey from BrehautN 63 20 E.
To find the distance FI.
As the sine of BFI - 78° 45'
is to the sine of FBI - 60 25
so is the distance BI - 39 miles
9.99157
9-93934
1.59106
9-74474
9.84948
1.17609
to the distance CF - J9-oq
To find the distance FH.
As the sine of CFH
is to the sine of FCH
so is the distance CH
to the distance FH
3 points
points
15 miles
26.48
1.28083
9-74474
9-99157
1.17609
1.42292
Ex. 2. The distance between the SE point of the
island of Jersey and the island of Brehaut is 13 leagues :
and the correct bearing and distance of Cape Frehel
fiom the island of Brehaut is SE^E 26 miles. It is al¬
so known that the SE point of Jersey bears NNE from
Cape Frehel: from whence the distance of these two is
required, together with the bearing of the same point
from the island of Brehaut P
By Construction.
Describe a circle, (fig. 35.) and draw two diameters
at right angles, the extremities of which will represent
the cardinal points, north being uppermost.—Bet the
centre B represent Brehaut, from which draw the SE/iE
line BF equal to 26 miles, and the point F will repre¬
sent C ape I rebel, from which draw the NNE line FI j
make Bl equal to 39 miles: Then FI applied to the
scale will measure 344 miles, and the inclination of BI
to the meridian will be found equal to 63°^*
Sum - 50, angles B and D 12
Difference 20, half sum - 6
As the sum of the distances - 50
is to their difference - 20
so is the tang, of half sum angles 67 30
to the tangent of half their diff'. 44 o
Angle CDB
pts.
= 67° 30'
1.69897
1.30103
IO-3S378
9.98484
30
Supplement
Angle, NCD
68 30
11 !5
Magnetic bearing - In'T79 45W. Or by al¬
lowing 2^ points of westerly variation, the true bearing
of Be achy head from Dungeness will be WfS nearly. °
4Q2 To
675
pblique
Sailino-.
to the distance FI - • - 34.58 - 1.53883
Ex. 3. At noon Dungeness bore per compass N£V,
distance 5 leagues; and having run NW£W 7 knots
an hour, at 5 F. M. we were up with Beachyhead.
Required the bearing and distance of Beachyhead from
Dungeness ?
By Construction.
Describe a circle (fig. 36.) to represent the horizon ;
from the centre C draw the NAW line CD equal to
15 miles ; and the NWAW line CB equal to 35 miles;
join DB, which applied to the scale will measure about
264- miles ; and the inclination of DB to the meridian
will be found equal to N 79®^W.
By Calculation.
In the triangle DCB are given the distances CD.
C B equal to 15 and 35 miles respectively; and the an¬
gle BCD equal to 4 points ; to find the angles B and
D, and the distance BD.
To find the angles.
Distance CB=35, sum of the ang. 16 points.
CD=I5, angle C - 4
36.
676
NAVIGATION.
Oblique
Sailing.
Fig. 37-
To find the distance.
As the sine of CDB - 1110 30' 9.96868
r is to the sine of BCD - 45*° 9.84948
so is the distance BC - 35 ' I-544°7
to the distance BD - 26.6 1.42487
Ex. 4. Running up Channel E6S per compass at the
rate of 5 knots an hour. At 1 ih A. M. the Eddistone
lighthouse bore N^E^E, and the Start point NEAEfE ;
and at 4 P. M. the Eddistone bore NW6N, and the
Start N|E. Required the distance and bearing of the
Start from the Eddistone, the variation being 2^ points
W?
By Construction.
Let the point C (fig. 37.) represent the first station,
from which draw the N^E^E line CA, the NE&E^E
line CB, and the EAS line CD, which make equal to 25
miles the distance run in the elapsed time ; then from
D draw the NE&N line DA intersecting CA in A,,
which represents the Eddistone *, and from the same
point draw the N|E line DB cutting CB in B, which
therefore represents the Start. Now the distance AB
applied to the scale will measure 22.9, and the bearing
per compass BAE will measure 73°T"
Ey Calculation.
In the triangle CAD are given CD equal to 25
miles, the angle CAD equal to 4^ points, the distance
between N&E^E and NW6N 5 and the angle AD€
equal to 4 points, the distance between the NW6N and
WAN points •, to find the distance CA.
As the sine of CAD 4J points - 9.86979
is to the sine of CD A 4 points - 9.84948
so is the distance CD 25 miles - 1-39794
to the distance CA 23.86 - 1-377^3
In the triangle BCD, are given the distance CD 25
miles, the angle CBD 4^ points the interval between
NEAEJ and N|E, and CDB 7! points, tbe distance
between WAN and N^E j to find the distance CD.
As the sine of CBD - 4I- points 9.88819
is to the sine CDB - 7^ points 9-99947
sq is the distance CD - 25 miles 1-39794
to the distance CB - 32.3 - 1.50922
In the triangle CAB, the distances CA, CB, are
given, together with tire included angle ACB, equal to
4 points, the distance between NAE-^E and NEAE^Ej
to find the angle CAB and distance AB.
Distance CB 32.3 Angle ACB - ~45° o/
Distance CA 23.86 Sum of CAB and ABC 135 o
Practice
the variation 2-3; points being allowed to the left of
ESE^ E, gives E-JN, the true bearing of the Start from
the Eddistone.
To find the distance.
As the sine of CAB 87° 26' - 9.99956
is to the sine of ACB 45 o' - 9.84948
so is the distance CB - 32-3 1.50922
to the distance AB
22.86
I-359I4
Ex. 5. A ship from a port in latitude 570 9'N, lon¬
gitude 2° 9' W, sailed 82 miles on a direct course, and
spoke a ship that had run 100 miles from a port in la¬
titude 56° 2i' N, longitude 2° 50' W.—Required the
course of each ship, and the latitude and longitude come
to ?
Lat. 570 9'N Mer. parts 4199 Lon. 2° 9'W
  56 21 N 4112 — 2 50W
Sum 56-16 Half
Difference 8.44
As the sum of the distances
is to their difference
so is the tangent of half’
sum angles
to the tangent of half"
diff. angles
Angle CAB
Angl6 CAE
56.16
8.44
6730
j9 56
87 26
14 4
67 30
1-74943
0.92634
10.38278
9-55969
Bearing per compass S 73 22 E orESE^Ej and
Diff. of lat. 48 Mer* diff. lat. 87 Diff. Ion. 41
By Construction.
With the meridional difference of latitude, the dif¬
ference of longitude, and diflerence of latitude, con¬
struct the triangles ADE, ABC (fig. 38.) as in Mer-Fig.3$.
cator’s Sailing 3 then A will represent the northernmost,
and C the southernmost port, The distance AC ap¬
plied to the scale will measure 53 miles, and the bear¬
ing BCA will be 25°^. From the points A and C,
with distances equal to 82 and 100 miles respectively,
describe arches intersecting each other in M, which
will therefore be the place of meeting.—Now the angle
ABM, the ship’s course from the southernmost port,,
will measure N So^E j and the other ship’s course,
or angle BAM, will be 670#, or ESE. From M
draw the parallel MNF, and AN will be the differ¬
ence of latitude made by the one ship, and CP that by
the other ship : hence either of these being measured
and applied to its correspondent latitude, will give 56°
38', the latitude in. Make AF equal to 57, the me¬
ridional difference of latitude between the northernmost
port and latitude in : from F draw FG perpendicular
to AF, and produce AM to G, then FG will be the
difference of longitude, which applied to the scale will
measure 139 : hence the longitude in, is 0° io' E.
By Calculation.
In the triangle ADE, ABC, are given AD equal
to 87, DE equal to 41, and AB equal to 48 3 to find
the angle BAC and distance AC.
To find the bearing of the ports.
As the meridional diff. of lat. 87 - I-93952
is to the diff. of long. - 41 - 1.61278
so is radius - - - ■ 10.00000
to the tangent of the bearing 250 14' 9‘67326
To find the distance of the ports.
As radius - - - 10.00000
is to the secant of the 1 25° 14' - IO.04355
bearing - j ^
so is the diff. of latitude 48 - 1.68124
to the distance 53-°6 ■ I-72479
In the triangle AMO, the three sides are given to
find the angles. ^
Practice.
Oblique
Sailing AM
   MC
AC
navigation.
To find the angle ACM.
82
- 100 ar.co.log. - 8.00000
53.06 ar.co.log. - 8.27523
within six points of the wind,
and distance on each tack ?
677
Required the course Windward
Sailing.
Sum
Half -
Difference
Angle ACM
Angle BAC
235.06 log.
117*53 log.
53-53
27 29
2.07015
I*55°59
. 19-89597
cosine 9.94798
54 58
25
Southernmost! XT „
. • , J- N. 80 12 E
ship s course j
To find the angle MAC,
As AM - - - 82
is to MC
So is the sine of ACM
100
54 58
1.91381
2.00000
9.91319
By Construction.
Draw the SSW line CB (fig. 39.) equal to 48 miles. Fig. 39.
Make the angles ACB, ABC, each equal to 6 points.
Hence the first course will be W, and the second SE :
also the distance CA, or AB, applied to the scale,
will measure 62J; miles, the distance to be sailed on
each board.
By Calculation.
From A draw AD perpendicular to BC j then in
the triangle ADC are given CD equal to 24 miles ;
and the angle ACD, equal to 6 points, to find the di¬
stance AC.
As radius
is to the secant of C - 6 points
so is CD 24 miles
to CA
62.7
10.00000
10.41716
1.38021
I-79737
to the sine of MAC
Angle BAC
Northernmost ship’s
course
93 3
25 H
^ S67 49 E, or ESE.
9.99938 2. The wind at NW, a ship bound to a port 64
miles to the windward, proposes to reach it on three
boards 5 two on the starboard, and one on the larboard
tack, and each within 5 points of the wind. Required
the course and.distance on each tack ?
In the right-angled triangle AMN, given AM, and
the angle MAN, to find the differences of latitude
AN.
As radius - - - _ . io.ooocq
is-to the cosine of! ^
the course J 7 49 " 9-57700
so is the distance 82 - - 1.91381
to the diff. of lat. 30*96
Latitude of nor-1 , ,
them most port J ^ 9 Mer. parts.
1.49081
4199
Latitude in
56 38 Mer. parts- 4X42
57
Mex-idional difference of latitude
To find the difference of longitude FG,
As radius _ _ lo.oooco
is to the tangent of 7 ^ 0 / o
the course j 67 49'. 10.38960
so is the mer. diff. of lat. 57
By Construction.
Draw the NW line CA (fig. 40.) equal to 64 miles j Fig. 40.
from C draw CB. W6S, and from A draw AD paral¬
lel thereto, and in an opposite direction j bisect AC in
E, and draw BED parallel to the NAE rhumb, meet¬
ing CB, AD in the points B and D : then CBrrAD
applied to the scale will measure 36^ miles, and BD=
2CB=72^ miles.
By Calculation.
From B draw BF perpendicular to ACj then, in
the triangle BFC are given the angle BCF equal to
5 points, and CF equal to one-fourth of CA=i6 m. to
find CB.
As radius 1 - - - - - 10.00000
is to the secant of BCF - 5 points - 10.25526
so is CF - - - 16 m. - 1.20412
to CB
36-25
1-55938
to the diff. of long.
Longitude left
Difference of longitude
139.8'
2U 9' W ■
2'i 20 E
i-75587
2.14547
Ex. 3. A ship which can lie within 5J points of the
wind, is bound to a port 36 miles to the windward, the
wind being NEZ>N, which it is intended to reach on
four boards, the first being on the larboard tack. Re¬
quired the course and distance on each ?
Longitude in - - on
Chap. IX. Of Windward Sailing.
Windward sailing is, when a ship by reason of a
contrary wind is obliged to sail on different tacks in or¬
der to gain her intended port j and the object of this
sailing is to find the proper course and distance to be
run on each tack.
Ex. 1. A ship is bound to a port 48 miles directly
to the windward, the wind being SSW, which it is in¬
tended to reach on two boards $ and the ship can lie
3
By Construction.
Draw the NEAN line CA (fig. 41.) equal to 36Fig-4i»
miles, and bisect it in B j from C and B draw lines pa¬
rallel to the EfS rhumb; and from A and B draw
lines parallel to the SSEfE point, meeting the former
in the points D and E. Now the distances AD, BD, ~
BE, and CE, are equal; and any one of them applied
to the scale will measure 19.1 miles.
By Calculation.
From E draw EF perpendicular to AC j and in the
triangle CFE are given CFr^m. and the angle FCE
points, to find CE,
AS.,;- _
678
N A V I G A T I O N.
Practice
Windward As radius
Sailing, is to the secant of FCE
so is CF
to the distance CE
Fig. 42.
5f points
9 miles
10.00000
10.32661
0.95424
Fig. 43-
- 19.i miles 1.28085
Ex. 4. A ship bound to a port bearing N6W distant
40 miles, with the wind at NiEfE, intends to reach
it on two boards. Required the course and distance
on each tack, the ship lying within jf points of the
wind ?
By Construction.
Draw the NAW line CA (fig. 42O equal to 40
miles *, and because the wind is N^E^E, and the ship
can lie within yf points of the wind, the course on the
larboard tack will be E&N, and on the starboard N\\.
Therefore, from the centre C draw the E6N hne CB,
and from it draw the NW line AB, meeting CB in
B then CB and AB applied to the scale will measure
26.7 and 48.1 in. respectively.
By Calculation.
In the triangle ACB, given ACz=40 miles, and the
angles A, B, and C, equal to 3, 5, and 8 points.respec¬
tively, to find AB and BC.
To find the distance CB.
As the sine of B - - 5 P°ints 9'919^5
is to the sine of A - - 3 points 9.74474
so is the distance CA - 40 mfies 1.60206
to the distance CB - - 26.73 I.42^95
To find the distance AB.
As the sine of B - - 5 9 9I9^5
is to the sine of C - - 8 points 10.00000
so is the distance CA * 40 miles 1.60206
to the distance AB
48.11
.68221
To find CB, the distance on the larboard tack.
As the sine of B - - 4 P°*nts 9*^494®,
is to the sine of E - - 9 P0^3 9,99I57
so is the distance CE - 27 miles 1.43136
Current
Sailing.
to the distance BC - - 37*45 1 *57345
To find BE half the distance on the starboard tack.
As the sine of B - -• 4 points 9.84948
is to the sine of C - - 3 points 9.74474
so is the distance CE - 27 miles 1.43136
to the distance BE
2I.2I 1.32662
Whole distance AC - 42.42
Ex. 6. A ship plying to the windward, with the
wind atNNE, after sailing 51 miles on each of twm
tacks, is found by observation to have made 36 miles
ol difference of latitude. How near the wind did she
make her way good ?
By Construction.
Make CA (fig. 44. ) equal to 36 miles ; draw AB * ig-44*
perpendicular to CA, and draw the NNE line CB,
meeting AB in B ; make CD, BD each equal to 51
miles, and these being measured, will be found equal to
6 points.
By Calculation.
In the triangles CAB, BCD, are given AB equal to
36 m. CD=BD=5i, and the angle ACB equal to 2
points ; to find the angle BCD.
As the distance CD
is to the dill', of latitude CA
so is the secant ol ACB
51
18
I*7°757
1.25527
to the cosine of BCD
2 points 10.03438
67° 32' 9.58208
Ex. 5. A ship close hauled within 5 points of the
wind, and making one point of leeway, is bound to a
port bearing SSW distant 54 miles, the wind being
SZ»E ; It is intended to make the port at three boards,
the first of which must be on the larboard tack in order
to avoid a reef of rocks. Required the course and dis¬
tance on each tack ?
By Construction.
Draw the SSW line CA (fig. 43.) equal to 54 m.
and as the wind is S6E, and the ship makes her course
good within 6 points of the wind, therefore the course
on the larboard tack will be SW^W, and on the star¬
board E6S : hence from C draw the SWZ»W line CB,
and from A draw AD parallel thereto ; bisect CA in
E, and draw BED parallel to the E/;S line ; then will
CB and AD be the distances on the larboard tack,
which applied to the scale, each will be found to mea¬
sure 37.4 ; and the distance on the starboard tack BD
will measure 42.4 miles.
By Calculation.
The triangles CBE,EAD are equal and similar:
hence in the first of these are given CE, equal to 27
miles, half the distance between the ship and port ; the
angles C, B, and E, equal to 3, 4, and 9 points re¬
spectively, to find CB and BE.
Chap. X. Of Current Sailing.
The computations in the preceding chapters have
been performed upon the assumption that the water has
no motion. This may no doubt answer tolerably well
in those places where the ebbings and flowings are re¬
gular, as then the effect of the tide will be nearly coun¬
terbalanced. But in places where there is a constant
current or setting of the sea towards the same point, an
allowance for "the change of the ship’s place arising
therefrom must be made : And the method of resolving
these problems, in which the effect of a current, or
heave of the sea, is taken into consideration, is called
current sailing.
In a calm, it is evident a ship will be carried in tire
direction and with the velocity of the current. Hence,
if a ship sails in the direction of the current, her rate
will be augmented by the rate of the current; but if
sailing directly against it, the distance made good will
be equal to the difference between the ship’s rate as giv¬
en by the log and that of the current. And the abso¬
lute motion of the ship will be a-head, if her rate ex¬
ceeds that of the current; but if less, the ship will
make sternway. If the ship’s course be oblique to the
current, the distance made good in a given time will
be represented by the third side of a triangle, whereof
the distance given by the log, and the drift of the cur¬
rent in the same time, are the other sides ; and the true
course will be the angle contained between the meridian
and the line actually described by the ship.
Ex.
Current
Sailing.
j Plate
I CCLXV.
i Tig. 45-
Practice. N A V I G
Ex. x. A ship sailed NNE at the rate of 8 knots an
hour, during 18 hours, in a current setting NW6W24
miles an hour. Required the course and distance made
good ?
By Construction.
Draw the NNE line CA (fig. 45.) equal to 18x8
—144 m>les j and from A draw AB parallel to the
NVvAW rhumb, and equal to i8x 2^=45 miles: now
EC being joined will be the distance, and NCB the
course. Ihe first of these will measure 159 miles, and
the second 6° 23'.
By Calculation.
In*the triangle ACB, are given AC=i44 miles,
AB=45 miles, and the angle CAB=9 points, to find
BAG and BC.
lo find the course made good.
Ang. BA€=9 pts=rioi° 15'
Dist. AC
Dist. AB
Sum
Diff.
B-fC
B+C
As the sum of the sides
is to the difierence of the sides
so is the tan. of half sum angles
189
99
39
22
78 45
39 22?
2.27646
i-99563
9.91417
to the tan. of half dilf. angles - 23 154 9-63334
Angle ACB
Angle ACN
16 7
22 30
Course made good N 6
To find the distance.
As the sine of ACB - 160 7'
is to the sine of CAB - 101 15
so is the distance AB - 43
to the distance CB
23
9-44341
9-99i57
I.6532i
159 - 2.20137
Ex. 2. A ship from a port in latitude 42° 52' N,
sailed S6W4W 17 miles in 7 hours, in a current set¬
ting between the north and west j and then the same
port bore ENE, and the ship’s latitude by observation
was 420 42' N. Required the setting and drift of the
current ?
By Construction.
I.46. Draw the S&WfW line CA (fig. 46.) equal to 17
miles, and make CB equal to 10 miles, the difference
of latitude : through B draw the parallel of latitude
BD, and draw the WSW line CD, intersecting BD
in D : AD being joined, will represent the drift of the
current, which applied to the scale will measure 20.2,
and the angle DAE will be its setting, and will be
found equal to 7 2°.
By Calculation.
In the triangle CBD, given CBmo miles, and the
angle BCD=6 points ; to find the distance CD.
As radius _____ 10.00000
is to the secant of BCD - 6 points 10.4x710
so is the diff. of lat. CB - 10 miles 1.00000
to the distance CD - 26.13 1.41710
Again, In the triangle ACD are given the distance
AC=i7 miles, CD=26.i3, and the angle ACD 4'1-
points $ to find the remaining parts.
A T 1 o N.
To find the setting of the current.
Distance DC= 26.13 Angle ACD—4^ points.
Distance AC=i7. o CAD+CDA 114
679
Current
Sailing.
Sum - 43.13 CAD+CDA
2 J
Difference - 9.13
As the sum of the sides 43-13
is to the differ, of the sides - 9.13
so is tang, half sum angles - 64°4i/
to tang, half diff. angles
24 6
: 54=6441,
I.63478
0.96047
10.32509
9.65078
Angle CAD _ - 88 47
Angle CAE = ACB = 14. p. = 16 62
Setting of the current EAD =371 55
To find the drift of the current.
As the sine of CAD - 88° 47'
is to the sine of ACD - 44. points
so is the distance CD - 26.13
9.99990
9.88819
1.41710
I-3°539
20.2
—-=2.9
to the drift of current AD 20.2
Hence the hourly rate of the current is
knots.
Ex. A ship, from latitude 38° 20' N, sailed 24
hours in a current setting NWAN, and by account is in
latitude 38° 42' N, having made 44 miles of easting ;
but the latitude by observation is 38° 58' N. Required
the course and distance made good, and the drift of the
current.
By Construction.
Make CE (fig. 47.) equal to 22 miles, the difference Fig. 471
of latitude by D, R, and EA—54 miles, the depar¬
ture, and join CA; make CD=38 miles, the difier¬
ence of latitude by observation ; draw the parallel of
latitude DB, and from A draw the NW5N line AB,
intersecting DB in B, and AB will be the drift of the
current in 24 hours : CB being joined, will be the dis¬
tance made good, and the angle DCB the true course.
Now, AB and CB applied to the scale, will measure
19.2 and 50.5 respectively: and the angle DCB will
be 41 °4*
By Calculation.
From B draw BF perpendicular to AE, then in the
triangle AFB are given BF=i6 miles, and the angle
ABF=r3 points; to find AB and AF.
To find the drift of the current AB.
As radius _ _ _ 10.00000
is to the secant of ABF
so is BF
- 3 points
16 miles -
to the drift of the current AB 19.24
Hence the hourly ratezz --^' -2.^—0.8.
To find AF.
As radius - - - -
is to the tangent of ABF - 3 points
so is BF - - - 16 miles
to AF - 10.69
Departure by account EA - 44.
10.08015
1.20412
1.28427
ro.ooooo
9.82489
1.20412
1.02901
True departure EFzzDBz^^i
Now,
68o
Current
Sailing.
NAVIGATION.
Now, in the triangle CDB are given the difference
of latitude and departure; to find the course and di-
1 stance.
To find the course.
As the difference of latitude CD 38. - 1*5797^
is to the departure DB - 33’S1 ~ I'52:257
so is radius 10.00000
Practice.
she must steer, and the distance run by the log at 6
knots an hour to reach her port ?
Instru¬
ments to
solve Pro-
blems in
Sailing
without
Calcula-
tion.
to the tangent of the course - 410 14' - 9,94279
To find the distance.
As radius - - - - ■ 10.00060
is to the secant of the course - 410 14' 10.12376
so is the difference of latitude - 38 - I*5797°
to the distance - - - 50*53 “ I*7°354
Ex. 4. In the Straits of Sunda, at 2 F. M. steering
SE6S at the rate of 5 knots an hour, I passed close by
the small islands off Hog point. At 6, not having
changed our course, came to anchor on the Java shore.
Upon setting the said island from this anchoring place,
I find it bears due north, its distance by the chart being
22 miles. It follows from hence, that our course has
been affected by a current, lletjuired its velocity and
direction ?
By Construction.
SV. 48. From A (fig. 48.) draw the SE6S line AB=20,
which will represent the ship’s apparent track through
the water; draw AC equal to 22 miles south, and
C will be the ship’s real place ; and BC being joined
will be the current’s drift in four hours; which ap¬
plied to the scale will measure 12.3 j from A draw
AD parallel to BC, and the angle CAD will be the
direction of the current, and will be found to mea¬
sure 64°f.
Ihj Calculation.
In the triangle ABC, given ABn2om. AC=r22m.
and the included angle A=3 points ; to find the re¬
maining parts.
To find the setting of the current.
Distance Mi—22 m. Included angle =3 points.
— AB=20
B+C=i3
B+C
Sura ' 42 ^=6^p=73.7i
Difference - 2 2
As the sum of the sides - 42 - 1.62325
is to the diff. of the sides - 2 - 0.30103
so is the tang, of half sum angles 730 7'£ - 10.51806
to tang, of half diff. angles
8-55i 9*i9584
Setting of the current S 64 12W, or SWZ»W.
To find the drift of the current.
As the sine of ACB 64° 12f - 9.95440
is to the sine of BAC 33 45 - 9.74474
so is the distance AB - 20 - 1.30103
1-09I37
to the velocity of cur. BC ^ 34
and 12'-—=3.1, its hourly rate.
4
Example. 5. A ship bound from Dover to Calais,
lying 21 miles to the SEiE^E, and the flood tide set¬
ting NE§E 2h miles au hour. .Required the course
By Construction.
In the position of the 8E6E£E rhumb, draw DC
= 21 miles (fig. 49.) j draw DE NE-§E=2f miles j
from E with 6"miles cut DC in F ; draw DB parallel
to EF, meeting CB drawn parallel to DE : then the y  
distance DB applied to the scale will measure 19.4, and Fig. 49.
the course SDB will be SEfS.
By Calculation.
In the triangle DBF, given DE=2% miles, EF
= 6 miles and the angle EDF=6 points j to find the
angle DFE=CBD.
As the hourly rate of sailing - 6m. 0.77815
is to the hourly rate of current 2-§m. 0.39794
so is the sine of EDF=6 point 67° 30' 9.96562
to the sine of DFE - - 22 38 9-58541
Angle - SDC=54 points = 61 52
Course SDB - - - 39 I4—
In the triangle DBC, given DC=2l miles, the
angle BDC=DFE=:220 38', and the angle DCB=
DEF=6 points *, to find the distance DB.
As the sine of DBC - 89° 52' - 9-99999
is to the sine of DCB - 67 30 - 9.96562
so is the true distance DC 21 m. 1.32222
to the distance by the log DB. 21 m. 1.28785
Chap. XI. Instruments proposed to solve the various
Problems in Sailing, independent of Calculation.
VARIOUS methods, besides those already given, have
been proposed to save the trouble ©1 calculation.—
One of these methods is by means of an instrument
composed of rulers, so disposed as to form a right-
angled triangle, having numbers in a regular progres¬
sion marked on their sides. These instruments arc
made of different materials, such as paper, wood, brass,
&c. and are differently constructed, according to the
fancy of the inventor. Among instruments of this
kind, that by John Cooke, Esq. seems to be the best.
A number of other instruments, very differently con¬
structed, have been proposed for the same purpose,
of these, however, we shall only take notice of the rect¬
angular instrument, by A. Mackay, LL.D. I .R.S.E.
&c.
I. Of Cooke’s Triangular Instrument.
Description. The stock abed (fig. 5o0 *s a Pa*Fig.S°*
rallelopiped : The length from a to 6 is two feet, the
breadth from « to c? two inches, and the depth is one
inch and a half. The stock is perforated longitudi¬
nally, so as to be capable of containing within it ef
a cylindrical piece of wood one inch diameter j 4 is
an aperture on the surface of the stock about a quar¬
ter of an inch wide, which discloses one-twelfth part
of the surface of the cylinder contained 5 the edge d c
is divided into twelve parts, each of these is subdivided
into six parts, and each of these again into ten parts.
The surface of the cylinder is divided longitudinally
into twelve parts- and on each ol them is engrave a
L * ' portion
ractice.
lilnsiru- portion o! a line of meridional parts 22 feet lone-
Z%'° ’vl,,cl' contai"s <I>1 meridional parts for every minute
bta, e?r r t0'^rils th? .He as navigation
.. c„ji,nre practicable, and the smaLesl tlivicrrm  a. i
blems • ,• luc puie hm navuration
a Sailing. Pra«ticable; and the smal.est division on it is not less
without ™an ^ot'1 01 an inch. By rolling and sliding this cy-
Calciiia- under, any part of any line on it may be brought into
any position which may be required j the box f is en-
grooved into the edge of the stock a b, so that it may
move freely from a to b ; a limb from this box extends
to k which serves to mark that degree of the perpen¬
dicular 1 l winch is parallel to the centre of the semi¬
circle m; 1 / is two ieet long, and graduated on both
edges as the stock 5 it is perpendicular to the stock,
and is fixed in the box f, by which it may be moved
trom a to b; 0 p n is * semicircle of six inches radius
engraved, as appears in the plate, which slides freely
irom c to cl. in a groove in the edge of the stock c d;
m q is the index moving on the centre m, the edce of
whie.i marks the course on the semicircle j it is two
feet long, and divided 1111072 parts 5 and these are
subdivided in the same manner as those on the stock
and perpendicular, to which they are equal 3 r is a ver¬
nier attached to the index to show minutes j 51 is a ver¬
nier composed of concentric semicircles, which slides
along the edge qm, to the intersection of the perpen¬
dicular and index, where it serves as a vernier to both 3
below « is a small piece of ivory, with a mark on it to
point out the degree of the line d c, which is perpendi¬
cularly under the centre of the semicircle. Fig cj
is a view of the back part of the instrument.
Use.' The method of working every case which
occurs in navigation, is to make the instrument similar
to that ideal triangle which is composed of the dift'er-
ence of latitude, departure, and distance 5 or, to that
composed of the meridional ditference of latitude, dif¬
ference of longitude, and enlarged distance 3 or, to that
composed of the difference of longitude, departure,
and sine of the middle latitude ; which is done by
means of the data procured from the compass, log-line,
and quadrant : whence it follows, from the nature of
similar triangles, or from the relation which exists be¬
tween the sides of triangles and the sines of their op¬
posite angles, that the parts of the instrument become
proportional to those which they represent 3 and will
ascertain the length of the lines, or the extent of the
angles sought, by its gradations.
In the practice of this instrument, a small square is
necesary in order to bring the centre of the semicircle
perpendicularly over the meridional degree correspond¬
ing to the latitude.
navigation.
Prob. II. Botli latitudes and course given, to find
the distance and departure.
68t
Instru¬
ments to
Example. Let the latitude sailed from be 4a0 cq'N solve Pro'
that come to 470 8' N, and the course NNF. Required in sX,-
the distance and departure P without
Move the centre of the semicircle to the latitude left Calcula-
5o0’amL the et,ge of the box to the latitude come, lion-
43
e; 51
0 47 o ; hx the index at the given course 2 points :
then at the point of intersection of the index and per¬
pendicular is the distance 214 miles on the index, and
ie departure 82 miles on the perpendicular.
Prob. III. Given the course and departure, to find
the distance and difference of latitude.
Example. Let the latitude sailed from he 5 2° a8'N
the course SW£S, and the departure 200 miles. Re¬
quired the distance and latitude come to ?
Move the centre of the semicircle to the latitude
e 32 3°> set the index to the given course 2 points,
and move the perpendicular till the given departure
200 cuts the index 3 at this point on the index is a60
miles, and the edge of the box will cut the latitude
come to 2 70 39' N.
Prob. IV Given the difference of latitude and di¬
stance, to find the course and departure.
Example. Let the latitude left be 170 10'N the
latitude come to 2i° 40' N, and the distance sailed on
a direct course between the north and west 300 miles,
xvequired the course and departure ?
Move the semicircle and box to the given latitudes,
and the index until the distance found thereon meets
the perpendicular 3 then at the point of contact on the
perpendicular is 130.8, the departure, and on the semi¬
circle by the index is 250 50', the course.
Prob. V. The distance and departure given, to find
the course and difference of latitude.
Ela7ie Sailing.
Prob. I. The course and distance sailed being given,
to find the difference of latitude and departure.
NTn ^ fr°m latitude 240 18' N, sailed
t\yV6N 168 miles. Required the latitude come to,
and departure ?
Set the centre of the semicircle perpendicularly over
t e given latitude 240 18', and the index to the course
3 points 3 move the perpendicular until it cut the in¬
dex at the given distance 168 3 then at the point of in¬
tersection on the perpendicular is 93.3 miles, the de-
parture, and on the base, by the edge of the box, is
26° 38', the latitude come to.
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
Example. The distance sailed is 246 miles between
the south and east, the departure is 138 miles, and the
latitude left5i° io'N. Required the course and lati¬
tude come to ?
Set the centre of the semicircle to 510 10', the lati¬
tude sailed from 3 find the distance 246 on the index,
and the departure 138 on the perpendicular3 then
move both till these points meet, and the course 340 10'
will be found on the semicircle by the index, and the
latitude in 470 47' N, by the edge of the box.
Prob. VI. Both latitudes and departure given, to
nnd the course and distance.
Example. A ship from latitude 43°io'N, sailed
between the north and west till she was in latitude 470
14' N, and has made 170 miles of departure. Required
the course and distance ?
Move the centre of the semicircle over 430 10' and
the edge of the box to 470 14' 3 find the departure on
the perpendicular, and bring the edge of the index
thereto ; now at the point of intersection is the distance
297*4 miles on the index, and the course -340 C2; or
the semicircle. J J
Traverse Sailing,
,E™™P!e- A shIP from latitude 46° 48' N, sail¬
ed SSVyW 24 miles, S//W 36 miles, and S£E 40
4 R . miles.
682
Instru¬
ments to
solve Pro¬
blems
in Sailing,
without
Calcula¬
tion.
N A V I G
miles. Required the latitude in, together with the di¬
rect course and distance?
Set the semicircle to the latitude sailed from qu 4 >
and the index to the course SSW^VV j mark the di¬
stance 24 on the index, and bring the perpendicular to
meet it; then the index will cut the departure x 1.3
on the perpendicular, and the .perpendicular will cut
the latitude 46° 27' N on the base. For the next course
and distance, bring the semicircle to the latitude mark¬
ed by the perpendicular, and lay down the course S6VV :
if it he towards the first meridian, move the last marked
departure until it meets the index, and the limb ot the
box will mark the present departure j but if the course
be from the first meridian, bring the last departure 11.3
to the limb of the box, the index will mark the depar¬
ture made good 18.3 on the perpendicular, and the a-
titude arrived at 40° 52' will he marked on the base by
the perpendicular: proceed in the same manner with
all the courses of which the traverse consists, then the
difference of latitude i° 36' will be intercepted between
the latitude sailed from 46° 48', and the latitude come
to At0 12' last marked by the perpendicular; and also
the departure made good will he intercepted between
that point on the perpendicular where the first depar¬
ture commenced, and that where the last terminated.
Now, with the difference of latitude i° 36' and the de¬
parture, the course will he S 8° 30' W, and distance 97
miles, by last problem in Plane Sailing.
A T I O N. Practice
both until these numbers meet, and the complement ot instru,
the latitude 40 30' will be shown by the index on the ments to
semicircle.
Mercator's and Middle Latitude Sailings
Prob. I. The latitudes and longitudes of two places
given, to find the direct course and distance between ^
them.
Example. Required the course and distance be¬
tween two places whose latitudes and longitudes are
50° 30' N, 190 o'W, and 540 30' N, 150 30'W, re¬
spectively ?
lit/ Mercator's Sailing.
To find the course.
Move the centre of the semicircle perpendicularly
over the meridional degree answering to latitude 56*
50' N, then move the box until the edge of the per¬
pendicular cuts the meridional parts oi tue othei lati¬
tude 540 30' N, and move the index until it cuts the
difference of longitude 30 30' on the perpendicular, and
the index will mark the course 3<-1
nearly on-the semicircle.
To find the distance.
Screw the index to this course, and move the centre
of the semicircle to the latitude 5°° 5°' "S,'?0au^ l|*Tc
edge of the perpendicular to the latitude 540 3o/ »
then the perpendicular will cut the instance 254*7 0ls
the index.
solve Pr».
blems
in Sailing
without
Calcula¬
tion.
Parallel Sailing.
Prob. I. The difference of longitude between two
places in one parallel of latitude given, to find the dis¬
tance between them.
Example. Let the common latitude be 490 30' N,
and 'the difference of longitude 30 30'. Required the
distance ?
Set the index to 40° 30', the complement of the la¬
titude on the semicircle j mark the difterence of longi¬
tude in miles on the index j then move the perpen¬
dicular until it meets the termination of the difference
of longitude on the index, and the part of the perpen¬
dicular intercepted between the limb of the box and the
point of intersection will be the distance I36-4 miles*
Prob. II. The distance between two places in one
parallel of latitude given, to find the difference of lon¬
gitude between them.
Example. Let the latitude of the given parallel be
490 30' N, the'distance sailed 136.4 E. Required the
difference of longitude ? ,
Set the index to the complement of the latitude
40° 30', and mark the distance sailed on the perpendi¬
cular then move it until it meets the index, and the
point of intersection will show the difference oi longi¬
tude 21 o' or 30 30' on the index.
Prob. III. Given the distance sailed on a parallel,
■ and the difference of longitude, to find the latitude oi
that parallel.
Example. The distance sailed due east is 136.4, and
the difference of longitude 3* 30'. Required the lati¬
tude of the parallel ? # .
Find the difference of longitude 210 on the index,
and the distance 136.4 on the perpendicular, and move
Bif Middle Latitude Sailing.
To find the departure.
Move the centre of the semicircle to the latitude
50° 50', and the edge of the index to the complement
of the middle latitude 370 20' on the semicircle j then
move the box until the edge of the perpendicular inter¬
sects the termination of the difference of longitude 210
miles on the index, which point of intersection will mark
the departure 128 on the perpendicular.
To find the course and distance.
Move the edge of the perpendicular to the other la¬
titude 540 30', and the index until it cuts the depar¬
ture 128 on the perpendicular j then will the perpendi¬
cular mark the distance on the index 254-7 nilles) aru^
the index will mark the course on the semicircle 30 »
or NNE|E nearly.
Prob. II. Both latitudes and course given, to find
the distance and difference of longitude.
Example. A ship from latitude 50° 50'N,. longi¬
tude 190 o' W, sailed N 30° 10' E, until she is in lati¬
tude 540 30' N. Required the distance and difference
of longitude ?
By Mercator's Sailing.
To find the difference of longitude.
Move the box and semicircle as in the former pro¬
blem to the meridional parts of the given latitudes, then
set the index to the course, and it will mark the differ¬
ence of longitude 30 30' on the perpendicular; Hence
the longitude in is 150 30' W.
To find the distance.
Move the perpendicular and semicircle to the given
latitudes, and put the index to the given course j then
the perpendicular will cut the distance 254.7 miles en
the index. _
Py
'racticc.
Instru¬
ments, to
jive Prob¬
lems
NAVI
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
To find the distance and departure.
Move the semicircle and perpendicular to the given
f Sailing, ^titudes, and the index to the course ; then the pcr-
without pendicular will show the departure 128 miles, and the
Calcula- index the distance 254.7 mIles at the point of intersec-
t'0il tion.
To find the difference of longitude.
Set the index to the complement of the middle lati¬
tude on the semicircle, and move the box until the ter¬
mination of the departure on the perpendicular meets
the index, which will mark the difference of longitude
thereon 2io m. or 30 30'.
Prob. III. Both latitudes and distance given, to
find the course and difference of longitude.
Example. From latitude 50° 50' N, longitude 190 o'
TV, a ship sailed 254.7 miles between the north and east,
and by observation is in latitude 540 30' N. Bequired
the course and difference of longitude ?
By Mercator''s Sailing.
To find the course.
Move the perpendicular and semicircle to the given
latitudes, and the index until the distance sailed mark¬
ed on it meets the perpendicular ; then the index will
mark the course N 30° 10' E on the semicircle.
To find the difference of longitude.
Screw the index to the course, move the perpendi¬
cular and semicircle to the meridional parts of the given
latitudes, and the space intercepted between the limb
of the box and the index will be the difference of lon¬
gitude 30 30'-
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
To find the departure and course.
Move the semicircle and perpendicular to the given
latitudes, and the index until the distance sailed on it
cuts the perpendicular j then the perpendicular will
show the departure 128 miles, and the semicircle the
course N 30° 10' E.
To find the difference of longitude.
Set the index to 370 20', the complement of the
middle latitude on the semicircle, and move the perpen¬
dicular until the termination of the departure on it cuts
the index: then the point of intersection will mark the
diflerence of longitude 310 miles on the index.
Prob. IV. Both latitudes and departure given, to
find the course, distance, and difference of longitude.
Example. Let the latitude and longitude sailed from
be 56° 40' S and 28° 55' E respectively, the latitude
come to 6x° 20; S, and departure 172 miles. Required
the course, distance, and difference of longitude ?
- By Mercator's Sailing.
To find the course and distance.
Move the perpendicular and semicircle to the given
latitude (h) ; then move the index till it meets the
extremity of the departure on the perpendicular ; the
CATION.
distance will be marked on the index 329, and the
course S 310 35' E, or SSE^E nearly, on the semi¬
circle.
lo find the dillerence of longitude.
Move the perpendicular and semicircle to the meri¬
dional parts of the given latitudes, and the index will
cut the difference of longitude on the perpendicular
5° 35'-
r By Middle Latitude Sailing.
Tim course and distance are found as before.
Io find the difference of longitude.
Set the index to 31°, the complement of the middle
atitiu e on toe semicircle, and move the perpendicular
unt,l the departure marked on it cuts the index, and
this point of intersection will mark the difference of
longitude on the index 335 m. or 50 35'.
68
Prob. \. One latitude, course, and distance given,
to hnd the difference of latitude and difference of lon¬
gitude.
. Example. Let the latitude left be 56° 40' S, lon-
g.tude 28° 55' E, the course S ^y'E, and distance
329 m. Required the latitude and longitude come to ?
By Mercator's Sailing.
lo find the latitude come to.
Set the semicircle to the latitude sailed from, and
the index to the course, and bring the perpendicular
to the distance, which at the same time will mark the
latitude come to 6i° 20' S.
To find the difference of longitude.
Screw the index to the course, and move the semi¬
circle and perpendicular to the meridional parts of
both latitudes j then the index will cut the difference of
longitude on the perpendicular 50 35'.
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
The latitude arrived at is found as above.
To find the departure.
The semicircle and perpendicular being set to both
latitudes, and the index to the course, °it will show
the departure 172.7 on the perpendicular.
To find the difference of longitude.
Set the index to 310 the complement of the middle
latitude on the semicircle, and move the perpendicular
until the departure marked on it cuts the index, and
the division on the index at the point of intersection
will be the dillerence of longitude 335.
Prob. VI. One latitude, course, and departure given,
to find the distance, difference of latitude, and differ¬
ence of longitude.
Example. Let the latitude sailed from be 56° 40'
N, longitude 28° 35' TV, the course N 310 35' W,
and departure 172.7. Required the distance, and the
latitude and longitude come to ?
By Mercator's Sailing.
To find the distance and latitude come to.
Move the semicircle to the latitude left, and the in¬
dex to the course $ mark the departure on the perpen-
4 ^ 2 dicular,
3
Instru¬
ments to
solve Prob¬
lems
in Sailing,
without
Caicuia-
tion.
(k) In southern latitudes, the end of the cylinder where the numbers begin must be turned towards the north
pointed out by the semicircle 5 and in northern latitudes, it must be reversed.
(j$4
N A V I G
Insini- die alar, ami move it until the termination thereof
inents to meets the index, then the point of intersection tv ill
Nolve Pro- s|i0W the distance 329 miles on the index, and the per-
pcndicular will show the latitude arrived at 61 20 N
on the base.
To find the difference of longitude.
Screw the index, and move the perpendicular and
semicircle to the meridional parts of both latitudes,
then the index will cut the difference of longitude 5° 35'
on the perpendicular.
A T I O N. Practice
is evident that any triangle whatever may be formed
tion.
By Middle Latitude Sniling.
Find the distance sailed and latitude in as above,
and the difference of longitude as in Problem . by
middle latitude sailing.
- , u Instru-
on it. In applying it to nautical problems, the course ments to
is to be found at top, or right-hand side, in the column sol^e Pro¬
of degrees or points, according as it is expressed ; the in
distance is to be found on the index, the difference of without"
latitude at either side column, and the departure at the Cakuk-
head or foot of the instrument. The numbers in these
columns may represent miles, leagues, &.c. *, but when
used in conjunction with the enlarged meridional line,
then 10 is to be accounted 100 miles, 20 is to be
esteemed 200 miles, and so on, each number being in¬
creased in a tenfold ratio *, and the intermediate num¬
bers are to be reckoned accordingly.
Plane Sailing.
Prob. VII. One latitude, the distance sailed, and
departure given, to find the course, difference ol lati¬
tude, and difference of longitude.
Prob. I. The course and distance sailed given, te
find the difference of latitude and departure.
Example. The latitude sailed from is. 48° 3o'_N,
and longitude 14° 40' W 5 the distance run is 345 miles
between the south and east, and the depaituie 200
miles. Required the course, and the latitude and lon¬
gitude come to ?
By Mercator's Sailing.
To find the course and latitude come to.
Move the semicircle to the latitude left, mark the
distance on the index, and the departure on the perpen¬
dicular, move both until these points meet j then will
the index show the course S 350 26' E on the semicircle,
and the latitude come to 43° on the base.
The difference of longitude is found as in the preced¬
ing problem.
Example. Let the course be NEfN, distance 44
miles. Required the difference of latitude and depar¬
ture ?
Move the index until the graduated edge be over 3-*-
points, and find the given distance 44 miles on the in¬
dex : this distance will be found to cut the parallel of
34 miles, the difference of latitude in the side column,
and that of 28 miles, the departure at the top.
Prob. II. Given the course and difference of lati¬
tude, to find the distance and departure.
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
The course and latitude come to are found as above,
and the difference of longitude as in Problem IVk by
middle latitude sailing.
Example. Required the distance and departure an¬
swering to the course 28°, and difference ol latitude 60
miles ?
Lay the index over the given course 28°-: find the
difference of latitude 60 miles in the side column ; its
parallel will cut the index at 68 miles, the distance and
the corresponding departure at the top is 3 2 miles.
Prob. III. The course and departure given, to find
the distance and difference of latitude.
II. O/Dr Mackay’s Rectangular Instrument.
Plate Description. Fig. 52.1s a representation of this in-
CCCLXVI strument, 0f about one-third of the original size.—
The length CA is divided into 100 equal parts, and
the breadth CB into 70 ; but in this plate every se¬
cond division only is marked, in order to avoid con-s
fusion •, through these divisions parallels are drawn, ter¬
minating at the opposite sides of the instrument Upon
the upper and right hand sides are two scales the first
contains the degrees of the quadrant, and the other
the points and quarters of the compass. M is an in¬
dex moveable about the centre C, and divided in the
same manner as the sides (1). Fig. 53. is a portion
of the enlarged meridian, so constructed that the first
degree is equal to three divisions on the instrument 5
and therefore, in the use of this line, each division on
the instrument is to be accounted 20 minutes. The
size of the plate would not admit of the continuation of
the line.
Use. From a bare inspection of this instrument, it
Example. Let the course be SSW and the depar¬
ture 36 miles. Required the distance and difference of
latitude P
Lay the index over two points $ find the departure
at the top, and its parallel will cut the index at 94
miles the distance, and the difference of latitude on the
side column is 87 miles.
Prob. IV. Given the distance and difference of la¬
titude, to find the course and departure.
Example. The distance is 35 leagues, and the dif¬
ference of latitude 30 leagues. Required the course
and departure ? f
Bring 35 leagues on the index to the parallel of 30
leagues in the side ; then the departure at the top is 18
leagues, and the course by the edge of the index on the
line of rhumbs is 2^ points.
Prob. V. Given the distance and departure, to find
the course and difference of latitude.
Example. Let the distance be 58 miles, and the de¬
parture
(1) In the original instrument are two slips, divided like the side and end of the instrument. ne
slips is moveable in a direction parallel to the side of the instrument, and the other parallel to the en .
One of thes^
i
N A V I G
Required the course and difference
iractice.
;:nstru- parture 15 miles.
,-ents to of latitude ?
jve Pro- Move the index until 58 found thereon cuts the pa-
5krallel ,°f 15 the top : this will be found to inter-
|without& sect tne Parailel of 56 miles, the difference of latitude ;
'alcula- and the course by the edge of the ruler is 1
Pros. VI. The difference of latitude and departure
being given, to find the course and distance.
Example. Let the difference of latitude be 30
miles, the departure 28 miles. Required the course
and distance ?
Bring the index to the intersection of the parallels of
30 and 28 , then the distance on the index is 41 miles
and the course by its edge is 430.
Traverse Sailing.
Find the difference of latitude and departure answer¬
ing to each course and distance by Problem I. of Plane
Sailing, and from thence fmd the difference of latitude
and departure made good ; with which find the course
and distance by the last problem.
An example is unnecessary.
Parallel Sailing.
Pros. I. Given the difference of longitude between
two places on the same parallel, to find the distance
between them.
A T I O N.
the enlarged meridian, which laid off from C upwards
will reach to 300 j now find the difference of longitude
302 at the top, and bring the divided edge of the in¬
dex to the intersection of the corresponding parallels,
and the index will show the course 31° 8' on the line of
degrees ; then find the difference of the latitude 375 on
the side column, and its parallel will intersect the index
at 438, the distance.
Py Middle Latitude Sailing.
index to 41° 18', the complement of the
middle latitude on degrees, and the difl'erence of lon¬
gitude 302 on the index will intersect the parallel of
227, the departure, in the side column. Now move
the index to the intersection of the parallels of 375
and 227, the first being found in the side column, and
the other at top or bottom ; then the distance answer¬
ing thereto on the index will be 438, and the course on
the scale of degrees is 410 io\
Prob. II. Given one latitude, course, and distance,
to find the other latitude and difference of longitude.
Example. Let the latitude and longitude sailed from
an.^ 12° ^ ^ respectively, the course
NN VV-IW, and distance 500 miles. Required the la¬
titude and longitude come to.?.,
685
Instru¬
ments to
solve Pro¬
blems
in Sailing
without
Calcula¬
tion.
be
Example. Let the latitude of a parallel be 48°, and
the diflerence of longitude between two places on it 30
40'. Required their distance ?
Put the index to 48°, the given latitude, and find
the difference of longitude 220 on the index, and the
corresponding parallel from the side will be 147, the
distance required.
I ROB. II. The latitude of a parallel, and the distance
between two places on that parallel, being given, to
find the difference of longitude between them.
Example. The latitude of a parallel is 56°, and the
distance between two places on it 200 miles. Required
their difference of longitude ?
Put the index to the given latitude, and find tire
distance in the side column, and the intersection of its
parallel with the index will give 358, the difference of
longitude sought.
Prob. III. Given the distance and difference of lon^
gitude between two places on the-same parallel, to find
the latitude of that parallel.
_ Example. The number of miles in a degree of lon¬
gitude is 46.5. Required the latitude of the parallel ?
Bring 60 on the index to cut the parallel of 46.5
from the side, then the edge of the index will give 39°
iP, the latitude required. ;
Middle Latitude and Mercator's Sailing. <
.Prob. I. The latitudes and longitudes of two places
being given, , to find the course and distance between
them.
Example. Required the course and distance between
Genoa, in latitude 440 25' N, longitude 8° 36' E, and
Palermo, in latitude 38° iq' N, longitude 130 38' E?
By Mercator's Sailing.
lake the interval between 38° 10' and 440 23' on
By Mercator's Sailing.
Put the index to the course 2^- points, and find the
distance 300 miles thereon 3 then the corresponding
difference of latitude will be 441 miles, and the depar-
ture 233^ miles, hence the latitude in is 46° 43' N.
Now take the interval between the latitudes of 390 22'i
and 46° 43' on the enlarged meridian, which laid off from
G will reach to about 603, the parallel of which will in¬
tersect the vertical parallel of the difference of longitude
323 at the edge of the index : hence the longitude in
is 170 31' W.
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
Find the difference of latitude and departure as be¬
fore, and hence the latitude in is 46° 43' N, and the
middle latitude 430 3'. Now put the index to 430 3',
and the horizontal parallel of the departure 233^ will
intersect the index at 322, the difference of longitude.
Prob. III. Both latitudes and course given, to find
the distance and difference of longitude.
Example. The latitude sailed from is 22° 34' S, and
longitude 42° 40' W, the course is SE by E, and lati¬
tude come to 26° 8' S. Required the distance sailed,
and longitude in ?
By Mercator's Sailing.
Bring the index to 3 points, the given course, and
the parallel of 194, the difference of latitude found in
the side column, will intersect the index at 349, the
distance 5 and it will cut the vertical parallel of 290,
the departure.
Take the interval between the given latitudes 22p
34'' and 26° 8' on the enlarged meridian j lay off that
extent from the centre on the side column, and it will
reach to 213 : the parallel of this number will intersect
the vertical parallel of 319, the difference of longitude.
Hence the longitude in is 370 2P W.
686
Instru¬
ments to
solve Prob¬
lems
in Sailing,
without
Calcula¬
tion.
N A V I G A T
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
With the given course and differenQe of latitude find
the distance and departure as before *, then bring the
index to the middle latitude 240 31'; find the departure
290 in the side column, and its parallel will intersect
the index at 319, the difi'erence of longitude.
ION. Practice, fict
0 17' W, the departure 250 miles W, and the Sea Cham L'b
long. 9 -, , — L ^
latitude come to 36° 18'N. Reqxiired the course and
distance sailed, and the longitude come to ?
Prob. IV. One latitude, course, and departure,
given, to find the other latitude, distance, and differ¬
ence of longitude.
Example. The latitude and longitude left are 20°
30' N, and 49° 17'W, respectively*, the course is
NE-JN, and departure 212 miles. Required the lati¬
tude and longitude come to, and distance sailed ?
jiy Mercator's Sailing.
Put the index to the given course & points, and
the vertical parallel of 212 will cut the index at 356,
the distance, and the horizontal parallel of 286, the
difference of latitude j the latitude come to is therefore
250 16'N.
Now take the interval between the latitudes 20® 30',
and 25° 16' on the enlarged meridian, which laid off
from the centre C will reach to 311 *, and this parallel
will intersect the vertical parallel of the difference ol
longitude 230, at the edge of the index. Hence the
longitude in is 45° 27'W.
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
Find the distance and difference of latitude as direct¬
ed above*, then bring the index to 22° 53', the middle
latitude, and the horizontal parallel of 212, the de¬
parture, will intersect the index at 230, the difference
-of longitude.
By Mercator's Sailing.
Find the point of intersection of the horizontal paral¬
lel of 394, the difference of latitude, and the vertical
parallel of 250, the departure ; to this point bring the
index, and the corresponding division thereon will be
467 miles, and the course on the scale of degrees by
the edge of the index will be 3 2° 24'.
Take the interval between the latitudes on the en¬
larged meridian j which being laid oft from the centre
will reach to 5x2: now the horizontal parallel of 512
will cut the vertical parallel of 325, the difference of
longitude, at the edge of the index. The longitude
come to is therefore 14° 42' W.
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
The course and distance are to be found in the same
manner as above. Then bring the index to 390 35',
the middle latitude, and the horizontal parallel of 250
will intersect the edge of the index at 324I-, the differ¬
ence of longitude.
Prob. V. Both latitudes and distance given, to find
the course and difterence of longitude.
Example. The distance sailed is 500 miles between
ti e north and west; the latitude and longitude left are
40° X c' N, and 92 20' W respectively, and the latitude
in is 46° 40' N. Required the course and longitude in ?
By Mercator's Sailing.
Bring the distance 500 on the index to intersect the
horizontal parallel of the difference of latitude 39c j
then the course 38° 44' is found on the line of degrees
by the edge of the index, and the vertical parallel of
the above point of intersection is that answering to 313,
the departure.
Take the interval between the latitudes 40° to', and
46® 40', which lay off from the centre C, and its ho¬
rizontal parallel will intersect the vertical parallel of
.431, the difference of longitude, by the edge of the
index, it being in the same position as before. Hence
the longitude in is 160 31'W.
Prob. VII. Given one latitude, distance, and de¬
parture, to find the other latitude, course, and differ¬
ence of longitude.
Example. A ship from latitude 32° 38'N, longi¬
tude 170 6'W, sailed 586 miles between the south and
west, and made 336 miles of departure :—Required the
course, and the latitude and longitude come to ?
By Mercator's Sailing.
Move the index till the distance 586 intersects the
vertical parallel of the departure 336 j then the corre¬
sponding horizontal parallel will be 480, the difference
of latitude, and the course 35°. Hence the latitude
in is 24° 38' N.
Now take the interval between the latitudes on the
enlarged meridian, which laid oft from the centre will
reach to 547, the horizontal parallel of which will cut
the vertical parallel of 383, the difference of longitude.
The longitude in is therefore 23° 29'W.
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
Find the course and difference of latitude as before,
and hence the middle latitude is 28° 38', to which
bring the index, and the horizontal parallel of 336,
the departure, will intersect the index at 383, the dif-
fei’ence of longitude.
It seems unnecessary to enlarge any further on the
use of this instrument, as the above will make it suf¬
ficiently understood.
Chap. XII. Of Sea-Charts.
By Middle Latitude Sailing.
The course and departure are found as formerly,
and the middle latitude is 430 25', to which bring the
edge of the index, and the horizontal parallel of 313,
the departure, will intersect the index at 431, the dif¬
ference of longitude.
ProB. VI. Both latitudes and departure given, to
find the course, disfance, and difference of longitude.
Example. Let the latitude sailed from be 42® 52' N,
The charts usually employed in the practice of na¬
vigation, are of two kinds, namely, Plane and Mer¬
cator's Charts. The first of these is adapted to repre¬
sent a poi tion of the earth’s surface near the equator *,
and the last for all portions of the earth’s surface. For
a particular description of these, reference has already
been made from the article Chart, to those of Plane
and Mercator : and as these charts are particularly
described under the above articles, u is therefore suf¬
ficient in this place to describe their use ^ ^
; acti
ce.
I •Charts.
N A V I G
Use of the Plane Chart.
A T I O N.
Prob. I. 7o find tlie latitude of a place on the cliai’t.
Pule. Fake the least distance between the eiven
place and the nearest parallel of latitude j now this
distance applied the same way on the graduated meri¬
dian, from the extremity of the parallel, will give the
latitude of the proposed place.
Thus the distance between Bonavista and the paral¬
lel of 15 degrees, being laid from that parallel upon the
graduated meridian, will reach to 160 5', the latitude
required.
Or, take an equal extent of a few degrees from the
meridian on each side of the parallel, and the number of
extents, and parts of an extent, contained between the
places, being multiplied by the length of an extent, will
give the required distance.
Case III. When the given places differ both in lati-
tucle ami longitude.
Rule. Find the difference of latitude between the
given places, and take it from the equator or graduated
parallel; then lay a ruler over the two places, and move
one point of the compass along the edge of the ruler un¬
til the other point just touches a parallel 5 then the dis¬
tance between the place where the point of the compass
rested by the edge of the ruler, and the point of inter¬
section of the ruler and parallel, being applied to the
equator, will give the distance between the places in
degrees and parts of a degree, which multiplied by 60
will reduce it to miles. J
687
Prob. II. To find the course and distance between
two given places on the chart.
Rule. Lay a ruler over the given places, and take
the nearest distance between the centre of any of the
compasses on the chart and the edge of the ruler j move
this extent aiong, so as one point of the compass may
touch the edge of the rule, and the straight line ioininir II r - 1 »
the'rtip°ints-nbe tl,.eret"; ti,e“ «»■' ‘i* 4‘4i::e ^2*. g,tude ^
the other point show the course: J he interval between i*• •.r i
the places, being applied to the scale, will give the re¬
quired distance.
Thus the course from Palma to St Vincent will be
found to be about SSW|W, and the distance 13°^ or
795 m-
 — ^ v \JU LUt V lJ ttl L,
Rule. Lay a ruler over the given latitude, and lay
ott the given longitude from the first meridian by the
edge of the ruler, and the ship’s present place will be
obtained.
Prob. III. The course and distance sailed from a
known place being given, to find the ship’s place on the
chart.
Rule. Lay a ruler over the place sailed from, pa¬
rallel to the rhumb, expressing the given course ; take
the distance from the scale, and lay it off from the
given place by the edge of the ruler j and it will give
the point representing the ship’s present place.
Thus, suppose a ship had sailed SW6W 160 miles
from Cape Palmas ; then by proceeding as above, it will
be found that she is in latitude 2° 57' N.
The various other problems that may be resolved by
means of this chart require no further explanation, be¬
ing only the construction of the remaining problems in
Plane Sailing on the chart. ^
Use of Mercator*s Chart.
The method of finding the latitude and longitude of
a place, and the course of bearing between two given
places by this chart, is performed exactly in the man¬
ner as in the Plane Chart, which see.
Prob. III. Given the course sailed from a known
p ace, and the latitude in, to find the ship’s present
place on the chart.
Rule. Lay a ruler over the place sailed from, in the
direction of the given course, and its intersection with
the parallel of latitude arrived at will be the ship’s pre¬
sent place. r
Prob. I. To find the distance between two given
places on the chart.
Case I. When the given places are under the same
meridian.
Rule. The difference or sum of their latitudes, ac¬
cording as they are on the same or on opposite sides of
the equator, will be the distance required.
Case II. When the given places are under the same
parallel.
Rule. If that parallel be the equator, the difference
or sum of their longitudes is the distance; otherwise,
take half the interval between the places, lay it off up¬
wards and downwards on the meridian from the given
parallel, and the intercepted degrees will be the distance
between the places.
Prob. IV. Given the latitude of the place left and
the course and distance sailed, to find the ship’s present
place on the chart.
Rule The ruler being laid over the place sailed
from, and in the direction of the given course, take the
distance sailed from the equator, put one point of the
compass at the intersection of any parallel with the ru-‘
ler, and the other point of the compass will reach to a
certain place by the edge of the ruler. Now this point
remaining in the same position, draw in the other point
of the compass until it just touch the above parallel
when sweeped round : apply this extent to the equator,
and it will give the difference of latitude. Hence the-
latitude in will he known, and the intersection of the
corresponding parallel with the edge of the ruler will be
the ship’s present place.
The other problems of Mercator’s Sailing may be
very easily resolved by this chart 5 but as they are of
less use than those given, tln-y are, therefore, omitted,
and may serve as an exercise to the student.
BOOK II.
Containing the method of finding the Latitude and
Longitude of a Ship at Sea, and the Variation of the
the Compass.
Chap. I. Of Hadley's Quadrant.
Hadley’s quadrant is the chief instrument in use at
present for observing altitudes at sea. The form of
this instrument, according to the present mode of
construction,
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
683
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
NAVIGATION. Practice
construction, is an octagonal sector of a circle, and cutaway, that nothing may impede the sight through Method
therefore contains 45 degrees j but because ol the
Plate
CCCLXVII
Fig- 54-
double reflection, the limb is divided into 90 degrees.
See Astronomy and Quadrant, lig. 54. represents
a quadrant of the common construction, of which the
following are the principal parts.
1. ABC, the frame of the quadrant.
2. BC, the arch or limb.
3. D, the index4 ab, the subdividing scale.
E, the index-glass.
F, the fore horizon-glass.
G, the back horizon-glass.
K, the coloured or dark glasses.
8. HI, the vanes or sights.
Of the Frame of the Quadrant.
The frame of the quadrant consists of an arch BC,
firmly attached to the two radii AB, AC, which are
bound together by the braces LM, in order to strength¬
en it, and prevent it from warping.
Of the Index D.
The index is a flat bar of brass, and turns on the
centre of the octant: at the lower end of the index
there is an oblong opening 5 to one side ot this open¬
ing the vernier scale is fixed, to subdivide the divi¬
sions of the arch } at the end of the index there is a
piece of brass, which bends under the arch, carrying
a spring to make the subdividing scale lie close to the
divisions. It is also furnished with a screw to fix the
index in any desired position. The best instruments
have an adjusting screw fitted to the index, that it may
be moved more slowly, and with greater regularity
and accuracy, than by the hand. It is proper, how¬
ever, to observe, that the index must be previously
fixed near its right position by the above-mentioned
screw.
the unsilvered part of~the glass. The edge of the foil of finding
of this glass is nearly parallel to the plane ot the in-
strument, and ought to be very sharp, and without a
flaw. The other horizon-glass is silvered at both ends. at Sea *
In the middle there is a transparent slit through which  
the horizon may be seen.
Each of these glasses is set in a brass frame, to which
there is an axis passing through the wood work, and is
fitted to a lever on the under side ot the quadrant, by
which the glass may be turned a few degrees on its axis,
in order to set it parallel to the index-glass. The lever
has a contrivance to turn it slowly, and a button to fix
it. To set the glasses perpendicular to the plane ot the
instrument, there are two sunk screws, one before and
one behind each glass : these screws pass through the
plate on which the frame is fixed into another plate }
so that by loosening one and tightening the other ot
these screws, the direction of the frame with its mir¬
ror may be altered, and set perpendicular to the plane
of the instrument.
Of the Coloured Glasses K.
There are usually three coloured glasses, two of
which are tinged red and the other green. They are
used to prevent the solar rays from hurting the eye at
the time of observation. These glasses are set in a
frame, which turns on a centre, so that they may be
used separately or together as the brightness of the
sun may require. The green glass is particularly use¬
ful in observations of the moon; it may be also used
in observations of the sun, if that object be very faint.
In the fore-observation, these glasses are fixed as in fig.
54. •, but when the back observation is used, they are
removed to N.
Of the Index Glass E.
Upon the index, and near its axis of motion, is fixed
a plane speculum, or mirror of glass quicksilvered. It
is set in a brass frame, and is placed so that its face is
perpendicular to the plane of the instrument. This
mirror being fixed to the index moves along with it,
and has its direction changed by the motion thereof j
and the intention of this glass is to receive the image
of the sun, or any other object, and reflect it upon
either of the two horizon-glasses, according to the na¬
ture of the observation.
The brass frame with the glass is fixed to the index
by the screw c ; the other screw serves to re-place it in
a perpendicular position, if by any accident it has been
deranged.
Of the two Sight Vanes, H, I.
Each of these vanes is a perforated piece of brass,
designed to direct the sight parallel to the plane of the
quadrant. That which is fixed at I is used for the fore,
and the other for the back, observation. The vane I
has two holes, one exactly at the height of the silvered
part of the horizon-glass, the other a little higher, to
direct the sight to the middle of the transparent part of
the mirror.
Of the divisions on the Limb of the Quadrant.
The limb of the quadrant is divided from right to left
into 90 primary divisions, which are to be considered as
degrees, and each degree is subdivided into three equal
parts, which are therefore of 20 minutes each : the in¬
termediate minutes are obtained by means of the scale
of divisions at the end of the index.
Of the Horizon-Glasses F, G.
On the radius AB of the octant are two small spe-
culums: the surface of the upper one is parallel to the
index-glass, and that of the lower one perpendicular
thereto, when 0 on the index coincides with 0 on the
limb. These mirrors receive the reflected rays, and
transmit them to the observer.
The horizon-glasses are not entirely quicksilvered *,
the upper one F is only silvered on its lower half, or
that next the plane of the quadrant, the other half be¬
ing left transparent, and the back part of the frame
3
Of the Vernier, or Subdividing Scale.
The dividing scale contains a space equal to 21 di-,
visions of the limb, and is divided into 20 equal parts.
Hence the difference between a division on the divid¬
ing scale and a division on the limb is one-twentieth ol
a division on the limb, or one minute. The degree and
minute pointed out by the dividing scale may be easily
found thus. k ,
Observe what minute on the dividing scale coincides
with a division on the limb : this division being added
to the degree and part of a degree on the limb,
:i*actice.
| flethod dl.afely preceding the first division on the dividing scale
finding degree and minute required
Kid' Jhr.SUTr -h.e fTt"e.nlh minute on the dividing
, Mgitude SCa,e coincided with a division on the limb, and that the
it Sea. preceding division on the limb to o on the vernier was
 > ris j hence the division shown bv tb* ig
NAVIGATION.
4°/ ’ ’f1Ce 1 V; ^vision shown by the vernier is
5 ,5i* , A m.agn*fy»ng glass will assist the observer to
read oil the coinciding divisions with more accuracy.
Adjustments of Hadleifs Quadrant.
The adjustments of the quadrant consist in placing
the mirrors perpendicular to the plane of the instru¬
ment. The fore horizon-glass must be set parallel to
the speculum, and the planes of the speculum and back
horizon-glass produced must be perpendicular to each
other when the index is at o.
Adjustment I To set the index-glass perpendicu-
iar to the plane ot the quadrant.
Method i. Set the index towards the middle of the
limb, and hold the quadrant so that its plane may be
nearly parallel to the horizon : then look into the in¬
dex-glass j and if the portion of the limb seen by re¬
flection appears in the same plane with that seen direct¬
ly, the speculum is perpendicular to the plane of the in¬
strument. If they do not appear in the same plane, the
error is to be rectified by altering the position of the
screws behind the frame of the glass.
Method 2. This is performed by means of the two
adjusting too s, fig._ 55, 56, which are two wooden
frames, having two lines on each, exactly at the same
distance from the bottom.
Place the quadrant in a horizontal position on a
table; put the index about the middle of the arch; turn
back the dark glasses; place one of the above-mention¬
ed tools near one end of the arch, and the other at the
opposite end, the side with the lines being towards the
index-glass ; then look into the index-glass, directing
the sight parallel to the plane of the instrument, and
one of the tools will be seen by direct vision, and the
other by reflection. By moving the index a little, they
may be brought exactly together. If the lines coin¬
cide, the position of the mirror is right ; if not, they
must be made to coincide by altering the screws behind
the frame, as before.
Adjustment II. To set the fore horizon-glass per¬
pendicular to the plane of the instrument.
Set the index too; hold the plane of the quadrant
parallel to the horizon; direct the sight to the hori-
z.on» and if the horizons seen directly and by reflec¬
tion are apparently in the same straight line, the fore
horizon-glass is perpendicular to the plane of the in¬
strument ; if not, one of the horizons will appear
higher than the other. Now if the horizon seen by
reflection is higher than that seen directly, release the
nearest screw in the pedestal of the glass, and screw up
that on the farther side, till the direct and reflected
horizons appear to make one continued straight line.
But if the reflected horizon is lower than that seen di¬
rectly, unscrew the farthest, and screw up the nearest
screw till the coincidence of the horizons is perfect, ob¬
serving to leave both screws equally tight, and the fore
lonzon-glass will be perpendicular to the plane of the
quadrant.
Adjustment III. To set the fore horizon-glass
parallel to the index-glass, the index being at 0.
Vol, XIV. Part II. b
Set 0 on the index exactly to 0 on the limb, and fix
it in that position by the screw at the under side ; hold
tne plane of the quadrant in a vertical position, and
irect the sight to a well-defined part of the horizon ;
icn it the horizon seen in the silvered part coincides
■wit 1 that seen through the transparent part, the horizon-
g ass is adjusted ; but if the horizons do not coincide
unscrew the milled screw in the middle of the lever oil
the other side of the quadrant, and turn the nut at
ie end of the lever until both horizons coincide, and
screw CVei m thiS 1)0sltion lj-v tightening the milled
As the position of the glass is liable to be altered by
ixing i ie lever, it will therefore be necessary to re-ex¬
amine it, and if the horizons do not coincide, it will
be necessary either to repeat the adjustment, or rather
to hnd the error of adjustment, or, as it is usually cal-
led, the index-error; which may be done thus :
JJirect the sight to the horizon, and move the index
until the reflected horizon coincides with that seen di¬
rectly ; then the difference between 0 on the limb amf
0 on the vernier is the index error; which is additive
when the beginning of the vernier is to the right of 9
on the limb, otherwise subtractive.
Adjustment IV. To set the back horizon glass per¬
pendicular to the plane of the instrument.
Put the index to 0; hold the plane of the quadrant
parallel to the horizon, and direct the sight to the ho¬
rizon through the back sight vane. Now if the re-
dected horizon is in the same straight line with that seen
through the transparent part, the glass is perpendicular
to the plane of the instrument. If the horizons do not
unite, turn the sunk screws in the pedestal of the glass
until they are apparently in the same straight line.
Adjustment V. lo set the back horizon-glass per¬
pendicular to the plane of the index-glass produced, the
index being at 0.
Let the index be put as much to the right of 0 as
twice the dip of the horizon amounts to; hold the
quadiant in a vertical position, and apply the eye to tile
back vane ; then if the reflected horizon coincides with
that seen directly, the glass is adjusted ; if they do not
coincide, the screw in the middle of the lever on the
other side of the quadrant must be released, and the
nut at its extremity turned till both horizons coincide.
It may be observed, that the reflected horizon will be
inverted; that is, the sea will be apparently uppermost
and the sky lowTermost.
As this method of adjustment is esteemed trouble¬
some, and is often found to be very difficult to perform
at sea, various contrivances have therefore been propo¬
sed to render this adjustment more simple. Some of
these are the following.
689
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
I. Mr Dollond’s method of adjusting the back lior.’-
zon-glass.
In this method an index is applied to the hack Wi-
zon-glass, by which it may be moved so as to be paral¬
lel to the index-glass, when 0 on the vernier coincides
with 0 on the limb. When this is effected, the index
of the back horizon-glass is to be moved exactly 90°
from its former position, which is known by means of a
divided arch for that purpose ; and then the plane cf
the back horizon-glass will he perpendicular to the plane
of the index-glass produced,
f 4 S
2. Mr
6go
navigation.
Practice.
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
57-
2. lUv Blair’s method of adjusting the back hori¬
zon-glass.
All that is required in this method is to polish the
lower edge of the index-glass, and expose it to view.
The hack horizon-glass is adjusted by means of a re¬
flection from this polished edge, in the very same me¬
thod as the fore horizon-glass is adjusted by the com¬
mon method. T,TTTr- ^0 \
In order to illustrate this, let RIHE (fig. 57.) re¬
present a pencil of rays emitted from the object R, in¬
cident on the index-glass I, from which it is reflected
to the fore horizon-glass H, and thence to the eye at E.
By this double reflection, an image of the object is
formed at r. RHE represents another pencil from the
s'ame object R, coming directly through the fore hori¬
zon-glass to the eye at E j so that the double reflected
image t' appears coincident with tfie object R itself, seen
directly. . , 1 • . -o
When this coincidence is perfect, and the object It
so very distant as to make the angle IRH insensible, the
position of the speculums l and H will difier insensibly
from parallelism ; that is, the quadrant will he adjusted
for the fore observation. Now it is from the ease and
accuracy with which this adjustment can at any time
he made, that the fore-observation derives its superio¬
rity over the back observation. But by grinding the
edge of the index-glass perpendicular to its reflecting
surface, and polishing it, the observation is rendered ca¬
pable of an adjustment equally easy and accurate as
the fore horizon glass: for by a pencil of rays emitted
from the object S, incident on the reflecting edge of the
index-glass D, thence reflected to the hack horizon-
glass B, and from that to the eye at e, an image will
be formed at s ; which image being made to coincide
with the object S itself, seen directly, ascertains the
position of the back horizon-glass relative to the index-
glass, with the same precision, and in a manner equally
direct, as the former operation does that of the lore
horizon-glass.
Directions for adjusting the Sack Hon%on~ Glass.
The method of adjusting the quadrant for the back-
observation is this. If it is to be done without making
use of the telescope, place the index at 0, and, ap¬
plying the eye to the hole in the sight vane (k), or
tube for directing the sight, direct it through the
back horizon-glass to the horizon, if that is the ob¬
ject to be used for adjusting. The two horizons are
then to be made to coincide, holdmg the quadrant first
in a vertical and then m a horizontal position } by
■which means both adjustments will be effected as in the
fore-observation.
There will be no difficulty in finding the reflected
horizon, if the observer first directs his eye to that part
of the horizon-glass where he observes the image of
the polished edge of the index-glass, which will ap-
Me tliod
of finding
tlie Lati¬
tude ami
Longitude
at Sea.
pear double. When the direct horizon is made to ap¬
pear in this case, the reflected one will be seen close by
it, unless the instrument wants a great adjustment. In
this case, a little motion of the back horizon-glass back¬
wards and forwards will presently bring it in view.
When the horizon, or any obscure terrestrial oh-
ject, is to he made use of for adjusting by means of
the reflecting edge, there is a precaution to be taken,
without which the observer will sometimes meet with
wdiat will appear an unaccountable difficulty ; for if the
sky, or other object behind him, should happen to he
pretty bright, he will not be able to discern the horizon
at all. This arises from the image of the object be¬
hind him, which is reflected from the silvered surface
of the index-glass, appearing to coincide with the ho¬
rizon ; in which case, the bright picture of the for¬
mer, which is formed in the bottom of the eye, pre¬
vents the fainter impression of the latter from being
perceived. This will be avoided either by apply¬
ing a black screen over the silvered surface of the
index glass, or, without being at this trouble, by
standing at a door or window, so that only the dark
objects within can he reflected from the index-glass .
but if the observation is to be made in the open air,
a hat, or any such dark obstacle, held betoie the silvei-
ed surface of the index-glass, will very effectually re¬
move this inconvenience.
It may be remarked, that some observers, instead
of making the principal adjustment, place the speculums
parallel, by moving the index without altering the
position of the horizon-glass: and the difference be¬
tween 0 on the vernier and 0 on the limb is the index
error, which must he subtracted from all angles mea¬
sured’ by the back-observation, when 0 on the index,
is to the right of 0 on the limb ; and added when to the
left.
3. Mr Wright’s method of adjusting the back hori¬
zon-glass of his improved patent quadrant.
Fig. 58. Is a representation of the quadrant com- Fig. 58.
plete in all its parts for use. A, is the reflecting sur¬
face of the index-glass, which is made of the usual
length, and of an inch broad. The bottom part
is covered in front bv the brass frame, and the reflec¬
ting surface is TV on the back. B, the fore horizon-
glass, placed as usual: O, the back horizon-glass, now
placed under the fore sight-vane on the first radius of
the quadrant I : C, the sight-vane of the fore horizon-
glass : D, the sight-vane of the back horizon-glass:
E, the coloured glasses in a brass frame, in the proper
place for the fore observation: F, a hole in the frame
to receive the coloured glasses when an observation is
to be taken with the back horizon-glass in the common
way, by turning the back to the sun : G, a hole in the
frame of the farthest radius K, to receive the coloured
glasses when an observation is to be taken by the new
method ; which is by looking through the lower ho e
in the siodit-vane of the back horizon-glass, directly
0 at
(K) Besides the hole in the sight-vane, commonly made there must be
so placed that an eye directed through it to the centre of the honzon-g ^ 1 * P , to ^ ortijKary size
polished edge of the index-glass. This hole must not be made small like the 0.1, q
«f the pupil of the eyq, there being on some occasions no light to spare.
»£• 59-
x- do.
'Vactice.
Method at the sun in the line of sight DN 5 the horizon from
l finLd^ bGliind will then be reflected from the back of the in-
;ueje ^d' dex‘Slas® t0 ,tlle horizon-glass, and from thence to the
^longitude eye* (‘^ee hg. 62.) M, a brass clamp on the upper
at Se . end of the index, having a milled screw underneath,
~ which fastens the round plate to the index when re¬
quired. (See fig. 59.). IK, the graduated arch of the
quadrant divided into 90 degrees: L, the brass index
which moves over the graduated arch: M, the vernier
to subdivide the divisions on the arch into single mi¬
nutes of a degree.
Fig. 59. shows the upper part of the index L on a
larger scale, with part of the brass frame that fastens
the index-glass, and the three adjusting screws D to
adjust its axis vertical to the plane of the quadrant:
B, the centre on which the milled plate O moves over
the index: T.he dotted line BI is the distance it is
required to move: K, the adjusting screw to stop it in
its proper place for adjusting the back observation-
glass : G, a piece of brass fastened to the index op¬
posite to the clamp H, to keep the plate O always close
to the index L.
Fig. 60. represents the parallel position of the in¬
dex and horizon glasses after adjustment by the sun.:
11C, a ray from the sun incident on the index-glass
C, and from thence reflected to the fore horizon-glass
13, and again to the eye at E, in the line D E, where
the eye sees the sun at A by direct vision, and the
image by reflection, in one j the parallel lines AE and
EC being so near to each other, that no apparent
angle can be observed in the planes of the index and
horizon-glass, when adjusted by a distant object.
In fig. 61. the index-glass is removed 45 degrees
from the plane of the fore horizon-glass, and fixed in
its proper place for adjusting the back horizon-glass
parallel to its plane, in the same manner as the fore
horiion-glass is adjusted.
In fig. 62. the index-glass (after the adjustment of
the fore and back horizon-glasses) is carried forward
by the index on the arch 93 degrees, and makes an
angle of 450 with the plane of tiie fore horizon-glass,
and is at right angles to the plane of the back hori¬
zon-glass. The eye at E now sees the sun in the ho¬
rizon at H, reflected hy the index and horizon glasses
from the zenith at Z, the image and object being 90
degrees distant. The back horizon K is now reflected
from the hack surface of the index-glass C to the ho¬
rizon-glass M, and from thence to the eye at 13, in
a right line with the fore horizon F. In order to make
an exact contact of the fore and back horizons at F,
the index must he advanced beyond the 90th degree
on the arch, by a quantity equal to twice the dip of
the horizon.
The .quadrant is adjusted for the fore observation as
usual, having previously fixed the index-glass in its
proper place by the milled screw at II, as represented
in fig. 59.
To adjust the Quadrant for the Back-observation.
navigation.
I. it.
F 5:.
ver turn the screw K gently to the right or left to make
them perfect, and then fasten the screw. Now remove
the index back to O on the limb, and the index-glass
will be parallel to the back horizon glass E, fig. 61.;
If not, make them so by turning the adjusting screw
of the glass E, the eye being at the upper hole in the
sight-Vane 13, and the sight directed to the horizon,
or any distant object in the direction DN (fig. 58.)*
Now the index remaining in this position, the index-
glass is to returned, to stop at the pin E, and it will
be parallel to the fore horizon-glass as at first: then
the quadrant will be adjusted for both methods of ob¬
servation.
Fasten the index to 90° on the limb j loosen the screw
H (fig. 59.), and turn the plate O by the milled edge
until the end of the adjusting screw K touch the edge
of the clamp M j and by means of a distant object
observe if the glasses are then parallel, as at fig. 60. : if
they are, fasten the screw H j if not, with a screw-dri-
To observe the Suit's Altitude by the Back-observation.
Remove the coloured glasses to G (fig. 58.), and
look through the lower hole in the sight-vane D, in
the line of direction DN, directly to the sun, and move
the index forward on the arch exactly in the same man¬
ner as in the fore-obserVation : make the contact of
the sun’s limb and the back horizon exact, and the
degrees and minutes shown hy the index on the limb
is the sun’s zenith distance. It may be observed, that
the horizon will be inverted. If the sun’s lower limb
be observed, the semidiameter is to he subtracted from
the zenith distance 5 but if the upper limb is observed,
the semidiameter is to be added.
The observation may be made in the usual manner,
by turning the back to the sun. In this case the co¬
loured glasses are to be shifted to F, and proceed ac¬
cording to the directions formerly given.
Use of Hadley's Quadrant.
The altitude of any object is determined by the po
sition of the index on the limb, when by reflection that
object appears to be in contact with the horizon.
If the object whose altitude is to be observed be the
sun, and if so bright that its image may be seen in the
transparent part of the fore horizon-glass, the eye is
to be applied to the upper hole in the sight vane 5
otherwise, to the lower hole : and in this case, the qua¬
drant is to be held so that the sun may be bisected bv
the line of separation of the silvered and transparent
parts of the glass. The moon is to be kept as nearly
as possible in the same position j and the image of the
star is to be observed in the silvered part of the glass
adjacent to the line of separation of the two parts.
There are two different methods of taking observa¬
tions wi th the quadrant. In the first of these the face
of the observer is directed towards that par t of the ho¬
rizon immediately under the sun, and is therefore call¬
ed the fore-observation. In the other method, the ob¬
server’s back is to the sun, and it is hence called the
back-observation. This last method of observation is to
be used only when the horizon under the sun is ob¬
scured, or rendered indistinct by fog or any other im¬
pediment.
In taking the sun’s altitude, whether by the fore or
back observation, the observer must turn the quadrant
about upon the axis of vision, and at the same time
turn himself about upon his heel, so as to keep the sun
always in that part of the horizon-glass which is at the
same distance as the eye from the plane of the quadrant.
In this way the reflected sun will describe an arch of
a parallel circle round the true sun, whose convex side
■482 will
692 N A V I G
Method will 1)0 downwards in the fore-observation and np-
of finding wards in the back ; and consequently, when by moving
ludemand" t^le ^n(^‘x» ^1C lowest point of the arch in the fore ob-
Lmv'itnde servation, or highest in the back, is made to touch the
at Sea horizon, the quadrant will stand in a vertical plane,
'Y-—and the altitude above the visible horizon will be pro¬
perly observed. The reason of these operations may
be thus explained : The image of the sun being always
kept in the axis of vision, the index will always show
on the quadrant the distance between the sun and any
object seen directly which its image appears to touch ',
therefore, as long as the index remains unmoved, the
image of the sun will describe an arch everywhere equi¬
distant from the sun in the heavens, and consequently
a parallel circle about the sun, as a pole. Such a
translation of the sun’s image can only be produced by
the quadrant’s being turned about upon a line drawn
from the eye to the sun, as an axis. A motion of rota¬
tion upon this line may be resolved into two, one up¬
on the axis of vision, and the other upon a line on the
quadrant perpendicular to the axis of vision j and con¬
sequently a proper combination ol these two motions
will keep the image of the sun constantly in the axis
of vision, and cause both jointly to run over a parallel
circle about the sun in the heavens : but when the qua¬
drant is vertical, a line thereon perpendicular to the
•axis of vision, becomes a vertical axis j and as a small
motion of the quadrant is all that is wanted, it will
never differ much in practice from a vertical axis. The
observer is directed to perform two motions rather
than the single one equivalent to them on a line drawn
from the eye to the sun : because we are not capable,
while looking towards the horizon, of judging how
to turn the quadrant about upon the elevated line go¬
ing to the sun as an axis, by any other means than by
combining the two motions above mentioned, so as to
keep the sun’s image always in the proper part of the
horizon-glass. When the sun is near the horizon, the
line going from the eye to the sun will not be far re¬
moved from the axis of vision •, and consequently the
principal motion of the quadrant will be performed
on the axis of vision, and the part of motion made on
the vertical axis will be but small. On the contrary,
when the sun is near the zenith, the line going to the
sun is not far removed from a vertical line, and conse¬
quently the principal motion of the quadrant will be
performed on a vertical axis, by the observer’s turning
himself about, and the part of the motion made on the
axis of vision will be but small. In intermediate alti¬
tudes of the sun, the motions of the quadrant on the
axis of vision, and on the vertical axis, will be more
equally divided.
Observations taken with the quadrant are liable to
errors, arising from the bending and elasticity of the
index, and the resistance it meets with in turning
round its centre : whence the extremity of the index,
on being pushed along the arch, will sensibly advance
beibi’e the index-glass begins to move, and may be
seen to recoil when the force acting on it is removed.
Mr Hadley' seems to have been apprehensive that his
instrument would be liable to errors from this cause j
and in order to avoid them, gives particular directions
that the index be made broad at the end next the cen¬
tre, and that the centre, or axis itself, have as easy a
motion as is consistent with steadiness 5 that is, an en-
4
A T I O N. Practice jjtti
tire freedom from looseness, or shake, as the workmen Method ijetM
term it. By strictly complying with these directions of iindinj Ldb
the error in question may indeed be greatly diminished; ^ t-au AW'
so far, perhaps, as to render it nearly insensible, where Lontitud ' fjt”.!
the index is made strong, and the proper medium be- at Sea,! Sea
tween the two extremes of a shake at the centre on one y-'-,
hand, and too much stillness there on the ether, is nice¬
ly hit ; but it cannot be entirely corrected. For to
more or less of bending the index will always be sub¬
ject ; and some degree of resistance will remain at the
centre, unless the friction there could be totally remov¬
ed, which is impossible.
Of the reality of the error to which he is liable
from this cause, the observer, if he is provided with a
quadrant furnished with a screw for moving the index
gradually, may thus satisfy himself. After finishing
the observation, lay the quadrant on a table, and note
the angle ; then cautiously loosen the screw which fa¬
stens the index, and it will immediately, if the qua¬
drant is not remarkably well constructed, be seen to
start from its former situation, more or less according
to the perfection of the joint and the strength of the
index. This starting, which is owing to the index
recoiling after being released from the confined state
it was in during the observation, will sometimes amount
to several minutes ; and its direction will be opposite
to that in which the index was moved by the screw
at the time of finishing the observation. But howr far
it affects the truth of the observation, depends on the
manner in which the index was moved in setting it to
0, for adjusting the instrument ; or in finishing the ob¬
servations necessary for finding the index error.
The easiest and best rule to avoid these errors seems
to be this : In all observations made by Hadley’s qua¬
drant, let the observer take notice constantly to finish
his observations, by moving the index in the same di¬
rection which was used in setting it to 0 for adjusting ;
or in the observations necessary for finding the index
error. If this rule is observed, the error arising Irom
the spring of the index will be obviated. lor as the
index was bent the same way, and in the same degree
in adjusting as in observing, the truth of the observa¬
tions will not be afiected by this bending.
To take Altitudes by the Fore-observation.
I. Of the Sun.
Turn down either of the coloured glasses before
the horizon-glass, according to the brightness ol the
sun; direct the sight to that part of the horizon which
is under the sun, and move the index until the colour¬
ed image of the sun appear in the horizon-glass; then
give the quadrant a slow vibratory motion about the
axis of vision ; move the index until the lower or up¬
per limb of the sun is in contact with the horizon,
at the lowTest part of the arch desci-ibed by this mo¬
tion ; and the degrees and minutes shown by the index
on the limb will be the altitude of the sun.
II. Of the Moon.
Put the index to 0, turn down the green glass,
place the eye at the lower hole in the sight-vane, and
observe the moon in the silvered part of the horizon-
glass ; move the index gradually, and follow the moon’s
reflected image until the enlightened limb is in contact
aetiec. NAVIGATION.
lethod with the horizon, at the lower part of the arch describ-
iindina ed by tlje vibratory motion as before, and the index
I ati- -ii i , aim me inaex
Le and , low 116 a!tltu^e the observed limb of the moon,
ngitude ^ the observation is made in the day-time, the coloured
Sea. glass is unnecessary.
Ilf* Of ci Star or Planet.
The index being put to o, direct the sight to the
star through the lower hole in the sight-vane and trans¬
parent part erf the horizon-glass ; move the plane of
the quadrant a very little to the left, and the image of
tlie star will be seen in the silvered part of the glass.
i\ow move the index, and the image of the star will
appear to descend : continue moving the index gradual¬
ly until the star is in contact with the horizon at the
lowest part of the arch described; and the degrees and
minutes shown by the index on the limb will be the al¬
titude of the star.
To take Altitudes by the Back-observation.
I. Of the Sun.
Put the stem of the coloured glasses into the perfo¬
ration between the horiron-glasses, turn down either
according to the brightness of the sun, and hold the
quadrant vertically j then direct the sight through
the hole- in the back sight-vane, and the transparent
slit in the horizon-glass to that part of the horizon
which is opposite to the sun ; now move the index
till the sun is in the silvered part of the glass, and bv
giving the quadrant a vibratory motion, the axis of
which is that of vision, the image of the sun will de¬
scribe an arch whose convex side is upwards j bring
the limb ot the sun, when in the upper part of this-
arch, in contact with the horizon j and the index will
show the altitude of the other limb of the sun.
II. Of the Moon.
I HE altitude of the moon is observed in the same
manner as that of the sun, with this difference only, that
the use of the coloured glass is unnecessary unless the
moon is very bright ; and that the enlightened limb,
whether it be the upper or lower, is to be brought in
contact with the horizon.
III. Of a Star or Planet.
Book directly to the star through the vane and trans¬
parent slit in the horizon-glass ; move the index until
the opposite horizon, with respect to the star, is seen in
the silvered part of the glass ; and make the contact
perfect as formerly. If the altitude of the star is known
nearly, the index may be set to that altitude, the sight
directed to the opposite horizon, and the observation
made as before.
Sect. II. Of finding the Latitude of a Place.
I he observation necessary for ascertaining the lati¬
tude of a place, is that of the meridional altitude of a
known celestial object; or two altitudes when the ob¬
ject is out of the meridian. The latitude is deduced
with more certainty and with less trouble from the first*
of these methods, than from the second $ and the sun,
for various reasons, is the object most proper for this
purpose at sea. It, however, frequently happens, that
by the interposition of clouds, the sun is obscured at
noon j and by this means the meridian altitude is lost.
In this case, therefore, the method by double altitudes
becomes necessary. The latitude may be deduced from
three altitudes of an unknown object, or from double
altitudes, the apparent times of observation being given.
1 he altitude of the limb of an object observed at sea,
requires four separate corrections in order to obtain the
true altitude of its centre : these are for semidiameterr
dip, refraction, and parallax. (See Astronomy, and
the respective articles). The first and last of these
corrections vanish when the observed object is a fixed
star.
When the altitude of the lower limb of any object is
observed, its semidiameter is to be added thereto in or¬
der to obtain the central altitude \ but if the upper
limb be observed, the semidiameter is to be subtracted.
If the altitude be taken by the back-observation, the
contrary rule is to be applied. The dip is to be sub¬
tracted from, or added to, the observed altitude, ac¬
cording as the fore or back observation is used. The
refraction is always to be subtracted from, and the pa¬
rallax added to, the observed altitude.
Pros. I. To reduce the sun’s declination to any
given meridian.
Rule. Find the number in Table IX. answering to
the longitude in the table, nearest to that given, and to
the nearest day of the month. Now, if the longitude
is west, and the declination increasing, that is, from
the 20th of March to the 22d of June, and from the
22d of September to the 22d of December, the above
number is to be added to the declination : during the
other part of the year, or while the declination is de¬
creasing, this number is to be subtracted. In east lon¬
gitude, the contrary rule is to be applied.
Px. i. Required the sun’s declination at noon i6th
April 1810, in longitude 84° W p
Sun’s declination at noon at Greenwich 90 59.2'N.
Number from 'Fable IX. - - -J- 5.0
Reduced declination . - - 10 4.2.
Px. 2. Required the sun’s declination at noon 22d
March 1793, in longitude 1510 E ?
Sun’s declination at noon at Greenwich o° 53'N
Equation from Table X. - - — 10
Reduced declination
43 N
ProB. II. Given the sun’s meridian altitude, to find
the latitude of the place of observation.
Rule. The sun’s semidiameter is to be added to, or
subtracted from, the observed altitude, according as the
lower or upper limb is observed j the dip answeririg to
the height from Table V. is to be subtracted if the
fore-observation is used ; otherwise, it is to be added ;
and the refraction answering to the altitude from
Table IV. is to be subtracted : hence the true altitude
of the sun’s centre will be obtained. Call the altitude
south or north, according as the sun is south or north
at the time of observation; which subtracted from 900,
will give the zenith distance of a contrary denomina¬
tion.
Reduce the sun’s declination to the meridian of the
place of observation, by Prob. I. j then the sum or dif¬
ference
<593
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
694
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
N A V I G
ference of the Zenith distance and declination, accord¬
ing as they are of the same or of a contrary denomina¬
tion, will be the latitude of the place of observation, of
the same name with the greater quantity.
Ex. i. October 19. 1810, in longitude 3 2° E, the
meridian altitude of the sun’s lotver limb was 48° 53' S,
height of the eye 18 feet. Required the latitude ?
Ohs.alt.sun’s lower limb4S°53'S Sun’sdec. i9.Oct.n00n. 90 51 S
Semidiameter +0 16 Equation Table IX.— 2
Dip and refraction
Reduced declin. 9 49 S
True alt. sun’s centre 49 4 S Zenith distance - 40 56N
Latitude 31 7N
A T I 0 N. Pracfici
the ship with sufficient exactness for this purpose, espe- MethJ
cially when that distance is not greater than six miles 5 of findir
which is the greatest distance of the visible horizon ^Lat
from an observer on the deck of any ship. Longitu?
at Sew
Prob. III. Given thte meridian altitude of a fixed ■ v ’■*»
star, to find the latitude of the place of observation.
Rule. Correct the altitude of the star by dip and
refraction, and find the zenith distance of the star as
formerly j take the declination of the star from Ta¬
ble XI. and reduce it to the time of observation. Now,
the sum or difference of the zenith distance and decli¬
nation of the star, according as they are of the same or
of a contrary name, will be the latitude of the place of
observation.
Ex. 2. November 16. 1812, in longitude 158° W,
the meridian altitude of the sun’s lower limb w'as 87°
37'N, height of the eye 10 feet. Required the lati¬
tude ?
Obs.alt.sun’slow.limb 87°37,N. Sun’sdec.noon.i8°487S
Semidiameter -J-o 16 Equation tab.-f-o 8
Ex. 1. December 1. 1810, the meridian altitude of
Sirius was 590 50'S, height of the eye 14 feet. Rc*
quired the latitude ?
Observed altitude of Sirius
Dip and refraction
59° 5Q'S
—° 4
Dip and refract. —o 3 Reduced dec. 19 5‘S True altitude
■— Zenith distance
'True alt. sun’s centre 87 50 N. Zenith distance 2 10 S Declination
46 S
14 N
28 S
Latitude 21 6S
Ex. 3. December 19. 1811, being nearly under the
meridian of Greenwich, the altitude of the sun’s upper
limb at noon was 40 30' S, height of the eye 20 feet.
Required the latitude ?
Observed altitude of the sun’s upper limb 40 30rS
Sun’s semidiameter - - 016
Dip and refraction - * - 0 15
True altitude of the sun’s centre - 3 59 ^
Zenith distance - - - 86 I N
Declination - - - 23 25 S
Latitude
13 46N
Ex. 2. February 17. 1797, the meridian altitude of
Procyon was 710 15' N, the height of the eye 10 feet.
Required the latitude ?
Observed altitude of Procyon - 71° I5'N
Dip and refraction - - —o 3
True altitude - * - 71 12N
Zenith distance - - - 18 48 S
Declination - - - 5 43 ^
Latitude - - - ■I35^
Latitude - - - 62 36 N
Ex. 4 August 23. 1812, in longitude 107° E, the
meridian altitude of the sun’s lower limb by the back
observation was 6i° 8''N, and the height of the eye 14
¥ feet. Required the latitude ?
Observed altitude sun’s upper limb - ' 6i° 8'N
Sun’s semidiameter - - . —o 16
Dip - - - - 4-0 34
Refraction - - - —o
True altitude of sun’s centre - 60 55 N
v Zenith distance - - - 29 5 S
- Reduced declination - - 11 26 N
-Latitude - - - - 1739S
The dip in Table V. answers to an entirely open and
unobstructed horizon. It, however, frequently hap¬
pens, that the sun is over the land at the time of obser¬
vation, and the’ ship nearer to the land than the visible
horizon would be if unconfined. In this case, the dip
will be different from what it would otherwise have
been, and is to be taken from Table VI. in which the
height is expressed at the top, and the distance from the
-land in the side column in nautical miles.-^—Seamen, in
-general, can estimate the distance of any object from
Prob. IV. Given the meridian altitude of a planet,
to find the latitude of the place of observation.
Rule. Compute the true altitude of the planet as
directed in last problem (which is sufficiently accurate
for altitudes taken at sea) 5 take its declination from
the Nautical Almanac, p. iv. of the month, and re^
duce it to the time and meridian of the place of obser¬
vation ; then the sum or difference of the zenith dis¬
tance and declination of the planet will be the latitude
as before.
Ex. 1. August 7. 1812, the meridian altitude of Sa¬
turn was 68° 42'N, and height of the eye 15 feet.
Required the latitude ?
Observed altitude of Saturn - 68° 42'!^
Dip and refraction ^ - ~o 4
True altitude
Zenith distance
Declination
68 38 N
21 22 S
22 42 S
Latitude - - - - 44 6 S
Ex. 2. October 15. 1812, the meridian altitude of
Jupiter was 8i° 5' S, height of the eye 18 feet. Re¬
quired the latitude ?
Observed
Met ice.
cthod Observed altitude of Jupiter
i nding Dip
Lati-
tbude True altitude
lj Sea
i -y—j Zenith distance
Declination
Latitude
NAVIGATION.
8i° 5'S
—0 3
^95
8x 2 S
8 58N
!9 4 S
io 6 S
f .i- Mac
k i s Trea
tipn the
X : it tide,
T XX.
11 to,
T< XX.
Reduced time _ . .
Moon’s dec. at midnight, Table IX.
I.q. to time from midnight
Reduced declination
Moon’s hor. par. _ _ .
iUoon’s semidiameter
Augmentation _ _ .
Aug. semidiameter
9 23
2 O
11 23
= H°53/N
— ° 4
14 49N
5J' 23"
+ o 14
15 20
Observed altitude ot the moon’s lower limb 8i° I5'N Method
Prob. V. Given the meridian altitude of the moon,
to find the latitude of the place of observation.
liui.E. Take the number f answering to the ship’s
longitude, and daily variation of the moon’s passing the
meridian ; which being applied to the time of passage
given in the Nautical Almanac, will give the time of
the moon’s passage over the meridian of the ship.
Reduce this time to the meridian of Greenwich; and
by means of the Nautical Almanac find the moon’s de¬
clination, horizontal parallax, and semidiameter at the
reduced time.
Apply the semidiameter and dip to the observed alti¬
tude of the limb, and the apparent altitude of the moon’s
centre will be obtained j to winch add the correction
answering to the apparent altitude and horizontal paral¬
lax t, and the sum will be the true altitude of the
moon’s centre ; which subtracted from 90°, the remain¬
der is the zenith distance, and the sum or difference of
the zenith distance and declination, according as they
are of the same or of a contrary name, will be the lati¬
tude of the place of observation.
E.v. 1. December 24. 1792, in longitude 300 W,
the meridian altitude of the moon’s lower limb was
8i° 15' N, height of the eye 12 feet. Required the
latitude ?
l ime of pass, over the mer. of Greenwich rr^h 19'
Equation Table XX. - - - _j_o 4
1 ime of pass, over mer. ship
Longitude in time - . . .
Semidiameter
Dip _ . . _
Apparent altitude of the moon’s centre
Correction - . _
True altitude of moon’s centre
Zenith distance - - _
Declination - . w
+ ° 15
— o
of finding
o the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
81 27 N at Sea.
+ 08 1 y 
35N
8 25S
14 49 N
6 42N
Latitude - . . _ ^ ^
Remark. If the object be on the meridian below the
pole at the time of observ ation, then the sum of the true
altitude and the complement of the declination is the
latitude, of the same name as the declination or altitude.
Ex. r. July 2. I 812, in longitude 150 W, the alti¬
tude of the sun’s lower limb at midnight was 8° j8',
height of the eye 18 feet. Required the latitude ?
Observed altitude sun’s lower limb - 8° 58'
Semidiameter - _ . . +0 16
Dip and refraction - 4. „  0 10
9 4N
66 57 N
True altitude of sun’s centre
Compl. declin. reduced to time and place
Latitude - - . _ 76 IN
Prob. \I. Given the latitude by account, the de¬
clination and two observed altitudes of the sun, and the
interval of time between them, to find the true latitude.
Rule. To the log. secant of the latitude by account,
add the log. secant of the sun’s declination ; the sum,
rejecting 20 from the index, is the logarithm ratio. To
this add the log. of difference of the natural sines of
the two altitudes, and the log. of the half elapsed time
from its proper column.
Find this sum in column of middle time, and take
out the time answering thereto 5 the difference between
which and the half elapsed time will be the time from
noon when the greater altitude was observed.
Take the log. answering to this time from column of
rising, from which subtract the log. ratio, the remainder >
is the logarithm of a natural number ; which being
added to the natural sine of the greater altitude, the
sum is the natural cosine of the meridian zenith di¬
stance 5 from which and the sun’s declination the lati¬
tude is obtained as formerly.
If the latitude thus found differs considerably from
that by account, the operation is to be repeated, using
the computed latitude in place of that by account (l).
Example 1.
(l) This method is only an approximation, and ought to be used under certain restrictions ; namely,
I he observations must be taken between nine o’clock in the forenoon and three irf the afternoon. If both ob¬
servations be in the forenoon, or both in the afternoon, the interval must not be less than the distance of the time
of observation of the greatest altitude from noon. If one observation be in the forenoon and the other in the af¬
ternoon, the interval must not exceed four hours and a half; and in all cases, the nearer the greater altitude is
to noon the better.
If the sun’s meridian zenith distance be less than the latitude, the limitations are still more contracted. If the
latitude be double the meridian zenith distance, the observations must be taken between half past nine in the
morning and half past two in the afternoon, and the interval must not exceed three hours and a half. The obser¬
vations must be taken still nearer to noon, if the latitude exceed the zenith distance in a greater proportion. See
Maskelyne’s British Mariner’s Guide, Dr Mackay’s Treatises on the Longitude and Navigation, &c. and Be*
quisite Tables, 2d edit.
696
M ctliod
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
navigation.
Example 1. July 9. 181IJ in latitude by account
27° N. at l oh 29' A. M. per watch, the corrected al¬
titude of the sun was 65° 24', and at I2h 31', the alti¬
tude was 740 S*. Required the true latitude .
Practice.
from
iiiuu y v-* •  l  £
Times per wat.Alt. N. Sines. Laf.by acc.370 o Secant c.09765
ich %<J 2y/ 90924 Declination 22 2S Secant c.03428
I2 74 8 96190 Logarithm rati® - 0.i2>19i
2 2 Differ 5266 Logaritlun - ’•72,4S
1 x Half elapsed time - - c'* "?7999
4.43340
2.92740
0.13193
2*79547
As the latitude by computation diflers l° 28
that by account, the operation must be repeated.
Computed latitude 51° 15' Secant 0.20348
Declination - 9 37 Secant 0.00615
31 ic^ Middle time
29 50 Rising
Log. ratio
Natural number
Greatest altitude
Mer. zenith dist.
Declination
624
740 S'N sine 96190
1430N cosine 96S14
22 28
Latitude - 3^ S8
Ex. 2. October 17. 1812, in latitude 430 24'N.
by account, at oh 38' P. M. the correct altitude of
the sun’s centre was 36° 5', and at 2h 46' P. M. the
altitude was 240 49'. Required the latitude ?
Times per wat Alt. N Sines Lat. by acc.43°24' Secant C.13S72
01133' 36° 5' 58896 Declination 9 iS Secant 0.00375
46
8
4
4T 20"
37 20
24 49 41972 Logaiithm ratio
Differ. 16924 Log.
Half elapsed time
Middle time
Rising
Natural Number
Greatest altitude
Mer. zen. distance
Declination
Log. ratio
649
36° 5' N. sine 58896
53 15N. cosine 59S45
9 18
6.14447
4.22850
0.55966
4-93263
3.121S4
0.24447
2-97737
43 57 N-
Latitude
Ex. 3. In latitude 490 48' N. by account, the sun’s
declination being 90 37' S. at oh 32' P. M. per ivatch,
the altitude of the sun’s lower limb was 28° 32', and
at 2I1 41' it was 190 25', the height of the eye 12 feet.
Required the true latitude ?
First observed altit. 28° 32' Second altitude 190 25'
Semidiameter -|-o 16 Semidiameter -f-o 16
Dip and refraction —o 5 Dip and refr. o 6
True altitude 28 43 True altitude 19 35
Time per wat. Alt. N. Sines. Lat. by aec.490 48'Secant 0.19013
oh 32' 28° 43'48048 Declination 9 37 Secant 0.00615
42
29 35 3352S Log. latio
9 Difference 145 \o Log.
4 30" - Half elapsed time
37 o - Middle time
32 3°
Natural number
Rising
639
Mer. zen dist. 6o° 52/ N. cosine4S687
Declination 9 37 S.
Latitude
51 15N.
Logarithm ratio - - 0.20963
Difterence of nat. sines 14530 4.16227
Half elapsed time lb 4' 30" Log. 0.55637
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
;itude
at Sea.
Middle time
Rising
Natural number
<Jr. altitude
1 40 20 Log. 4.92S27
0 35 5° L°g- 3-o863o
753 2-87667
28° 43' N. sine 48048
Mcr. zen. dist. 60 47 N. cosine 48801
Declination 9 37
C.0962S
4.16227
°-55637
4.92492
3 00164
2.80536
Latitude 51 10
As this latitude differs only 5' from that used in the
computation, it may therefore be depended upon as the
true latitude.
Proe. VII. Given the latitude by account, the sun’s
declination, two observed altitudes, the elapsed time,
and the course and distance run between the observa¬
tions ; to find the ship’s latitude at the time of observa ¬
tion of the greater altitude.
Rule. Find the angle contained between the ship’s
course and the sun’s bearing at the time of observation
of the least altitude, with which enter the Traverse
Table as a course, and the difference of latitude an¬
swering to the distance made good will be the reduction
of altitude.
Now, if the least altitude be observed in the fore¬
noon, the reduction of altitude is to he applied there¬
to by addition or subtraction, according as the angle
between the ship’s course and the sun’s bearing is less
or more than eight points. If the least altitude be
observed in the afternoon, the contrary rule is to be
used.
The difference of longitude in time between the
observations is to be applied to the elapsed time by
addition or subtraction, according as it is east or west.
This is, however, in many cases so inconsiderable as to
be neglected.
With the corrected altitudes and interval, the lati¬
tude by account and sun’s declination at the time of ob¬
servation of the gx-eatest altitude, the computation is to
be performed by the last problem.
Ex. 1. July 6. 1793, in latitude 58° 14' N by ac¬
count, and longitude 16° E, at loh 54' A. M. per
watch, the altitude of the sun’s lower limb was 530 17',
and at ih 17' P. M. the altitude was 520 51', and bear¬
ing per compass SWAW j the ship’s course during the
elapsed time was SZ»W-^W, and the hourly rate of sail¬
ing 8 knots, the height of the eye 16 feet. Required
the true latitude at the time of observation of the great¬
er altitude ?
Sun’s bear at 2d. ob.SWiW. Interval bet.observ. 2b 23'
Ship’s course S^W^WDist.run—2h 23x8= 19m.
Contained angle
34 points.
Now
Practice. NAVIGATION.
Method Now to course 3 J points, and distance 19 miles, the
of finding difference of latitude is 14.7 or 15 miles,
the Lati- J4rst observed alt. 530 I *]' Second observed alt. 52'’ 51'
Longitude Semidiameter +0 16 Semidiameter -fo 16
at sea. Dip and refract. —o 4 Dip and refraction —o 4
mJ ______
True altitude
53 29 Reduction
—o 15
697
of an arch j which added to the greatest altitude will Method
give the sun’s meridian altitude. of finding
the Lati-
E.v. 2. December 2ist 1793, in latitude 22° 40' S, tude and
by account at uh 57' the correct altitude of the sun’s Longitude
centre tvas 89° 10', and at 12I1 4' 40", the altitude was , a!: Sca' .
88° 50'. Required the true latitude ?
Reduced altitude 52 48
Timeof ob.ofgr.alt.ioh 54' A.M. Sun’s dec. 22°39,N.
Longitude in time 1 4 Eq. to r. t.-J- 1
Reduced time 9 50 A.M. Red. decl. 22 40N.
Time per wat. Alt N. Sines. Lat. by acc 5S0 14' Secant 0.27S63
ich 54' 53° 29' S036S Declination 22 40 Secant 0.03491
17 52 4S 79653 Logarithm ratio
Differ. 715 Logarithm
- - Half elapsed time
23
11 30'
5 3©
Middle time
Itisinc:
Log. ratio
Natural number
Greatest altitude
Mer zenith dist.
Declination
- - 2001
53° 25'N. sine S0368
©•3I3S4
2- 85431
0.51294
3.6S079
361469
©•3I354
3- 301 *5
34 33 N cos. 82369
22 40 N.
Latitude - 57 13 N.
Since the computed latitude differs so much from
that by account, it will be necessary to repeat the
operation.
Computed latitude 570 13' Secant 0.26643
Declination 22 40 Secant 0.03491
Logarithm ratio _ . _ 0.30134
Difference of natural sines 715 Log. 2.85431
Half elapsed time ih ll' 30" Log. 0.51294
Middle time
Rising
Logarithm ratio
Natural number
5 20 Log. 3.66859
10
Log. 3.61686
°-3OI34
2068
Greatest altitude 530 29'N. sine 80368
Mer. zen. dist.
Declination
34 29 N. cos. 82436
22 40N.
Latitude 57 9 N.
As this latitude differs only 4 miles from that used
in the computation, it may therefore be depended on as
the true latitude
Remark. If the sun come very near the zenith, the
sines of the altitude will vary so little as to make it un¬
certain which ought to be taken as that belonging to
the natural sine of the meridian altitude. In this case,
the following method will be found preferable.
To the log. rising of the time from noon found as
betore, add the log. secant of half the sum of the esti¬
mate meridian altitude, and greatest observed altitude j
from which subtract the log. ratio, its index being in¬
creased by xo, and the remainder will be the log. sine
VoL. XIV. Part. II. f
Times per wat. Alt. N. Sines. Lat. by acc. 2 2° 40'Secant 0.03491
nil 57' o" 89° ig' 99989 Declination 23 28 Secant 0.03749
12 4 40 88 50 99979 Logarithm ratio
Differ. ic
7 10
3 5©
o 50
10 Log.
Half elapsed time
Middle time
o 30 Rising
Comp, of lat. by acc. 67° 20'
Declination - 23 28
0.07240
1.00000
1.77663
2.84903
9.93284
Sum - - 90
Estimate mer. altitude 89
48
Greatest altitude
Logarithm ratio +5
Arch
Greatest altitude
Meridian altitude
89
o
89
89 27
89° 11'sec. 11.84609
X2.77893
5.07240
sine 7-70653
zen. dist. o0 33'N
declinat. 23 28 S
IO
latitude 22 55 S
This differing from the assumed latitude, the work
must be repeated.
Latitude
Declination
22° 55'
23 18
secant
secant
Logarithm ratio
Difference of natural sines
Half elapsed time
Middle time
Rising
Comp, of lat.
Declination
Sum
Mer. alt.
Greatest alt.
Log. ratio -f-5
Arch
Greatest altitude
xu
3' 5°"
o 50
log.
67° 5'
23 28
9° 33
l99 Vo}S9° >8'’
0.02 t7I
O.O3749
O.O732O
1.00000
1.77663
2.84983
0.93284
sec. 11.91827
o
89
21
10
Merid. altitude 89 31
zen. dist.
Declination
12.85111
5-0732°
7.77791
o° 29'
23 28
Latitude 22 59 S
If the work be repeated with this last latitude, the
latter part only may be altered.
4 T Latitude
698
navigation.
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
Latitude
Declination
Est. mer. alt.
Greatest altitude
22® 59'
23 28
secant 0.03592
secant 0.03749
89 31 log. ratio 0.07341
89 10 ar. com.—5 4 92659
Sum
Half
Rising
Arch
Greatest altitude
Meridian altitude
Zenith distance
Declination
Latitude
178 41
89 20f
oh 3' o"
O 22
89 IO
secant 1.93972
0.93284
sine 7-799r5
89 32
o 28
23 28
23 o S.
Practice,
la was 69° 23', and at the same instant the true altitude
of Sirius was 160 19'. Required the latitude ?
Right ascension of Capella
Right ascension of Sirius
5b
6 36
25
1
Interval
Interval
Capella’s declin.
Sirius’s declin.
Sum
ih 34' 36"
450 46'N
16 27 S
1 .34 36
rising 3.92270
cosine 9.84360
cosine 9.98185
Method
of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
62 13 N cosine 46613
5599
Arch first 24 13 N sine
Capella’s declin. 45 46
Interval - lb 34' 36"
Pros. VIII. Given the altitudes of two known stars,
observed at the same or at different times j and if at dif¬
ferent times, the interval between the observations j to
find the latitude.
Rule. If both altitudes be observed at the same
time, call the difference between their right ascensions
the reduced interv al.
But if the altitudes be taken at different times, re¬
duce the interval between the observations to sidereal
time, by adding thereto the proportional part answer¬
ing to the interval, and 3' 56", the daily acceleration
of the fixed stars. Now to the right ascension of the first
observed star, add the interval in sidereal time, and the
difference between this sum and the right ascension of
the other star will be the reduced interval.
To the logarithm rising of the reduced interval, add
the logarithmic cosines of the stars declinations j subtract
the natural number answering to the sum of these loga¬
rithms from the natural cosine of the difference or sum of
the stars declinations, according as they are of the same
or of a contrary name, and the remainder will be the
natural sine of arch first.
To the logarithmic cosine of arch first add the loga¬
rithmic secant of declination of the star having the least
polar distance, and the logarithm half elapsed time of
the reduced interval, the sum will be the logarithm
half elapsed time of arch second.
From the natural cosine of the difference between arch
first and the altitude of the star having the greatest polar
distance, subtract the natural sine of the altitude of the
other star, and find the logarithm of the remainder; to
which add the logarithm secant of arch first, and the lo¬
garithmic secant of the altitude of the star having the
greatest polar distance, the sum will be the logarithm
rising of arch third. The difference between arches
second and third is arch fourth.
To the logarithm rising of arch fourth add the loga¬
rithmic cosines of the declination and altitude of the star
having tire greatest polar distance ; subtract the corre¬
sponding natural number from the natural cosine of the
difference between the altitude and declination, the po¬
lar distance being less than 90° •, otherwise, from their
sum, and the remainder will be the natural sine of the
altitude.
Ex. January 1st 1793, the true altitude of Capel-
Arch second
Arch first
Sirius’s altitude
1
24
16
ll
13
28
41014COS. 9.96002
secant 0.15640
H. E. time 0.39670
H. E. time 0.51310
secant 0.04000
secant 0.01785
Difference 7 54 N. cosine 99051
Capella’a altitude 69 23 N. sine 93596
Arch third
Arch second
ih 2i'
1 11
20r‘
28
5455 3*73679^
rising 3<79464
Arch fourth 9 52
Sirius’s declin. - 16 27
altitude - 16 19
rising
cosine
cosine
Sum
Latitude
32 46 N cos. 84088
85
1.96708
9.9818;
9.98215
1.93008
57 9Nsine 84003
Chap. II. Containing the Alethod of finding the
Longitude at Sea by Lunar Observations.
Sect. I. Introduction.
The observations necessary to determine the longi¬
tude by this method are, the distance between the sun
and moon, or the moon and a fixed star near the eclip¬
tic, together with the altitude of each. The stars
used in the Nautical Almanack for this purpose are the
following: namely, « Anetis^ Aldebciruny I ollux, Ee-
gtdus, Spica Virginis, Antares, » Aquilee, Fouialhaut,
and a Pegasi; and the distances of the moon’s centre
from the sun, and from one or more of these stars,
are contained in the viii. ix. x. and xi. pages of the
month, at the beginning of every third hour appa¬
rent time, by the meridian of Greenwich. The di¬
stance between the moon and the sun, or one of these,
stars, is observed with a sextant j and the altitudes of
the objects are taken as usual with a Hadley’s qua¬
drant. _
In the practice of this method, it will be lound
convenient to be provided with three assistants^ two
of these are to take the altitudes of the sun and moon,
or moon and star, at the same time the principal obser¬
ver is taking the distance between the objects 5 and
the third assistant is to observe the time, and write
down
“ractice. N A V I G
[»ffinding down tlie observations. In order to obtain accuracy,
ie Longi it will be necessary to observe several distances, and
<]eatSeat]ie corresponding altitudes •, the intervals of time Le-
)3bserval tween them being as short as possible ; and the sum of
tions. each divided by the number will give the mean di-
——y—f stance and mean altitudes j from which the time of ob¬
servation at Greenwich is to be computed by the rules
to be explained.
If the sun or star from which the moon’s distance
is observed be at a proper distance from the meridian,
the time at the ship may be inferred from the altitude
observed at the same time with the distance : in this
case, the watch is not necessary ; but if that object be
near the meridian, the watch is absolutely necessary,
in order to connect the observations for ascertaining
the apparent time at the ship and at Greenwich with
each other.
An observer without any assistants may very easily
take all the observations, by first taking the altitudes
of the objects, then the distance, and again their alti¬
tudes, and reduce the altitudes to the time of observa¬
tion of the distance ; or, by a single observation of the
distance, the apparent time being known, the longitude
may be determined.
A set of observations of the distance between the
moon and a star, and their altitudes, may be taken
with accuracy during the time of the evening or
morning twilight j and the observer, though not much
acquainted with the stars, will not find it difficult to
distinguish the star from which the moon’s distance is
to be observed. For the time of observation nearly, and
the ship’s longitude by account being known, the esti¬
mate time at Greenwich may be found ; and by enter¬
ing the Nautical Almanac with the reduced time, the
distance between the moon and given star will be
found nearly. Now set the index of the sextant to
this distance, and hold the plane of the instrument so
as to be nearly at right angles to the line joining the
moon’s cusps, direct the sight to the moon, and by
giving the sextant a slow vibratory motion, the axis
of which being that of vision, the star, which is usual¬
ly' one of the brightest in that part of the heavens,
will be seen in the transparent part of the horizon
glass.
Sect. II. Of the Sextant.
This instrument is constructed for the express pur¬
pose of measuring with accuracy the angular distance
between the sun and moon, or between the moon and
u fixed star, in order to ascei-tain the longitude of a
place by' lunar observations. It is, therefore, made
with more care than the quadrant, and has some addi¬
tional appendages that are wanting in that instrument.
Plate Fig. 63. represents the sextant, so framed as not to
tuvin. ],e ]ia|)|e t0 bend. The arch AA is divided into 120
degrees ; each degree is divided into three parts ; each
of these parts, therefore, contains 20 minutes, which
are again subdivided by the vernier into every half mi¬
nute or 30 seconds. The vernier is numbered at every
fifth of the longer divisions, from the right towards the
left, with 5, 10, 15, and 20 5 the first division to the
right being the beginning of the scale.
In order to observe with accuracy, and make the
images come precisely in contact, an adjusting screw
A T I O N. 699
J5 is added to the index, which may thereby be mov- of finding
ed with greater accuracy than it can be by hand ; the JLongi-
but this screw does not act until the index is fixed bytude atSca
the finger screw C. Care should he taken not to force
the adjusting screw when it arrives at either extemity Uons.1
of its adjustment. When the index is to be moved >-y—'
any considerable quantity, the screw C at the back of
the sextant must be loosened ; but when the index is
brought nearly to the division required, this back screw
should be tightened, and then the index may be moved
gradually by the adjusting screw.
There are four tinged glasses D, each of which is set
in a separate frame that turns on a centre. They are
used to defend the eye from the brightness of the solar
image and the glare of the moon, and may he used se¬
parately or together as occasion requires.
There are three',more such glasses placed behind the
horizon glass at E, to weaken the rays of the sun or
moon when they are viewed directly through the ho¬
rizon glass. Ihe paler glass is sometimes used in ob¬
serving altitudes at sea, to take off the strong glare of
the horizon.
The fi •ame of the index glass I is firmly fixed by a
strong cock to the centre plate of the index. The
horizon glass F is fixed in a frame that turns on the
axes or pivots, which move in an exterior frame; the
holes in which the pivots move may be tightened by
four screws in the exterior frame. G is a screw by
which the horizon glass may be set perpendicular to
the plane of the instrument: should this screw become
loose, or move too easy, it may be easily tightened by
turning the capstan headed screw H, which is on one
side of the socket through which the stem of the fin¬
ger screw passes.
The sextant is furnished with a plain tube (fig. 64.) Fig-. 64
without any glasses ; and to render the objects still
more distinct, it has two telescopes, one (fig. 65.) re- pj,r 5 ,
presenting the objects erect, or in their natural posi¬
tion : the longer one (fig. 66.) shows them inverted ; pi,r. 66.
it has a large field of view, and other advantages, and
a little use will soon accustom the observer to the in¬
verted position, and the instrument will be as readily
managed by it as by the plain tube alone. By a te¬
lescope the contact of the images is more perfectly
distinguished; and by' the place of the images in the
field of tire telescope, it is easy to perceive whether
the sextant is held in the proper place for observation.
By sliding the tube that contains the eye-glasses in the
inside of the other tube, the object is suited to different
eyes, and made to appear perfectly distinct and well
defined.
The telescopes are to be screwed into a circular
ring at K ; this ring rests on two points against an
exterior ring, and is held thex-eto by two screws : by
turning one or other of these screws, and tighteninsf
the other, the axis of the telescope may be set parallel
to the plane of the sextant. The exterior ring is fixed
on a triangular brass stem that slides in a socket, and
by means of a screw at the back of the quadrant may
be raised or lowered so as to move the centre of the
telescope to point to that part of the horizon glass
w'hich shall be judged the most fit for observation.
Fig. 67. is a circular head, with tinged glasses to screw Fig-. 67,
on the eye end of either of the telescopes or the plain
tube. The glasses are contained in a circular plate
4 T 2 which
700
Of finding
the Longi¬
tude at Sea
by Lunar
Observa¬
tions.
Fig. 68.
N A V I O
which has four holes j three of these are fitted with
tinged glasses, the fourth is open. By pressing the fin¬
ger against the projecting edge of this plate, and turn¬
ing it round, the open hole, or any of the tinged glasses,
may be brought between the eye-glass of the telescope
and the eye. . ,
Fig. 68. is a magnifying glass, to assist the observer
to read off the angle with more accuracy : and fig. 69.
a screw-driver. . r 1 1
Mr Hoppe of Church-street, Minories, London, lias
lately contrived a sextant, with two arches, which is,
therefore, preferable to the common sextant.
Adjustments of the Sextant.
The adjustments of a sextant are, to set the mirrors
perpendicular to its plane and parallel to each other
when the index is at zero, and to set the axis ol the
telescope parallel to the plane of the instrument. I he
three first of these adjustments are performed nearly in
the same manner as directed in the section on the qua¬
drant: as however the sextant is provided with a set of
coloured glasses placed behind the horizon glass, the in¬
dex error may be more accurately determined by mea-
o,sun’s diameter twice, with the index place<
A T I O N.
Practice.
Use of the Sextant. Se LonJ
When the distance between the moon and the suntude at Sf;a
Lot
or a star is to be observed, the sextant must be held so
suring the sun’s diameter twice, with the index placed
alternately before and behind the beginning of the divi¬
sions : half the difference of these two measures will be
the index error, which must be added to, or subtracted
from, all observations, according as the diameter mea¬
sured with the index to the left of 0 is less or greater
than the diameter measured with the index to the right
of the beginning of the divisions.
Adjustment IV. To set the Axis of the Telescope pa¬
rallel to the Plane of the Instrument.
Turn the eye end of the telescope until the two wires
are parallel to the plane of the instrument; and let two
distant objects be selected, as two stars of the first mag¬
nitude, whose distance is not less than 9-* t)r 100 }
make the contact of these objects as perfect as possible
at the wire nearest the plaaie ol the instrument j fix the
index in this position j move the sextant till the objects
are seen at the other wire, and if the same points are in
contact, the axis of the telescope is parallel to the plane
of the sextant 5 but if the objects are apparently sepa¬
rated, or do partly cover each other, correct half the
error by the screws in the circular part of the sup¬
porter, one of which is above and the other between
the telescope and sextant : turn the adjusting screw at
the end of the index till the limbs are in contact j then
bring the objects to the wire next the instrument; and
if the limbs are in contact, the axis of the telescope is
adjusted ; if not, proceed as at the other wire, and
continue till no error remains.
It is sometimes necessary to know the angular dis¬
tance between the wires of the telescope’, to find
which, place the wires perpendicular to the plane of
the sextant, hold the instrument vertical, direct the
sight to the horizon, and move the sextant in its own
plane till the horizon and upper wire coincide ; keep
the sextant in this position, and move the index till the
reflected horizon is covered by the lower wire : and the
division shown by the index of the limb, corrected by
the index error, will be the angular distance between
the wires. Other and better methods will readily oc¬
cur to the observer at land.
    . Observa-
that its plane may pass through the eye of the observer tions.
and both objects ; and the reflected image of the most>  
luminous of the two is to be brought in contact with
the other seen directly. To effect this, therefore, it is
evident, that when the brightest object is to the right
of the other, the face of the sextant must be held up¬
wards j but if to the left, downwards. When the face of
the sextant is held upwards, the instrument should be
supported with the right hand, and the index moved
with the left hand. But when the face of the sextant
is from the observer, it should be held with the left
hand, and the motion of the index regulated by the
right hand.
Sometimes a sitting posture will be found very con¬
venient for the observer, particularly when the reflec¬
ted object is to the right of the direct one in this case,
the instrument is supported by the right hand, the el¬
bow may rest on the right knee, the right leg at the
same time resting on the left knee.
If the sextant is provided with a ball and socket,
and a staff, one of whose ends is attached thereto, and
the other rests in a belt fastened round the body of the
observer, the greater part of the weight of the instru¬
ment will by this means be supported by his body.
lile ^1
bL.®
Obsen
tions
To observe the Distance between the Moon and amp
Celestial Object.
1. Between the Sun and Moon.
Put the telescope in its place, and the wires parallel
to the plane of the instrument; and if the sun is
very bright, raise the plate before the silvered part of
the speculum ; direct the telescope to the transparent
part of the horizon glass, or to the line of separation
of the silvered and transparent parts according to the
brightness of the sun, and turn down one of the co¬
loured glasses ; then hold the sextant so that its plane
produced may pass through the sun and moon, having
its face either upwards or downwards according as the
sun is to the right or left of the moon 3 direct the sight
through the telescope to the moon, and move the in¬
dex till the limb of the sun is nearly in contact with
the enlightened limb of the moon 3 now fasten the in¬
dex, and by a gentle motion of the instrument make
the image of the sun move alternately past the moon 3
and, when in that position where the limbs are nearest
each other, make the coincidence of the limbs perfect
by means of the adjusting screw : this being effected,
read off the degrees and parts of a degree shown by the
index on the limb, using the magnifying glass 3 and
thus the angular distance between the nearest limbs of
the sun and moon is obtained.
2. Between the Moon and a Star.
Direct the middle of the field of the telescope to the
line of separation of the silvered and transparent paits
of the horizon glass 3 if the moon is very bright, turn
down the lightest coloured glass ; and hold the sextant
so that its plane may be parallel to that passing through
the eye of the observer and both objects 3 its face being
upwards if the moon is to the right of the star, but if to
the left, the face is to be held from the observer 3 now
direct the sight through the telescope to the star, and
move
lractice.
N A V I G
Of finding move the index till the moon appears by the reflection
te Longi-to be nearly in contact with the star j fasten the index,
ide at Seaaru| ^urn ^iie adjusting screw till the coincidence of the
DhseiviT s*ar ani^ ^lightened limb of the moon is perfect : and
tions. the degrees and parts of a degree shown by the index
—V——' will be the observed distance between the moon’s en¬
lightened limb and the star.
The contact of the limbs must always be observed in
the middle between the parallel wires.
It is sometimes difficult for those not much accus¬
tomed to observations of this kind, to find the reflect¬
ed image in the horizon glass : it will perhaps in this
case be found more convenient to look directly to the
object, and, by moving the index, to make its image
coincide with that seen directly.
Sect. III. Of the Circular Instrument of Reflection.
This instrument was proposed with a view to cor¬
rect the error to which the sextant is liable *, particu¬
larly the error arising from the inaccuracy of the divi¬
sions on the limb. It consists of the following parts 5
a circular ring or limb, two moveable indices, two mir¬
rors, a telescope, coloured glasses, &c.
The limb of this instrument is a complete circle of
metal, and is connected with a perforated central
plate by six radii: it is divided into 720 degrees ; each
degree is divided into three equal parts 5 and the divi¬
sion is carried to minutes by means of the index scale
as usual.
The two indices are moveable about the same axis,
which passes exactly through the centre of the instru¬
ment :—the first index carries the central mirror, and
the other the telescope and horizon glass ; each index
being provided with an adjusting screw for regulating
its motion, and a scale for showing the divisions on the
limb.
The central mirror is placed on the first index im¬
mediately above the centre of the instrument, and its
plane makes an angle of about 30° with the middle
line of the index. The four screws in its pedestal for
making its plane perpendicular to that of the instru¬
ment have square heads, and are therefore easily turn¬
ed either way by a key for that purpose.
The horizon glass is placed on the second index near
the limb, so that as few as possible may be intercepted
of the rays proceeding from the reflected object when
to the left. The perpendicular position of this glass
is rectified in the same manner as that of the horizon
glass of a sextant, to which it is similar. It has another
motion, whereby its plane may be disposed so as to
make a proper angle with the axis of the telescope, and
a line joining its centre, and that of the central mirror.
The telescope is attached to the other end of the
index. It is an achromatic astronomical one, and there¬
fore inverts objects 5 it has two parallel wires in the
common focus of the glasses, whose angular distance is
between two and three degrees ; and which, at the time
of observation, must be placed parallel to the plane of
the instrument. This is easily done, by making the
mark on the eye-piece coincide with that on the tube.
The telescope is moveable by two screws in a vertical
direction with regard to the plane of the instrument,
but is not capable of receiving a lateral motion.
There are two sets of coloured glasses, each set con-
x
A T I O N. 701
taining four, and differing in shade from each other. Of finding
The glasses of the larger set, which belongs to the cen-the Longi-
tral mirror, should have each about half the degree °f
shade with which the correspondent glass ot the set Qbserva-
belonging to the horizon mirror is tinged. These tions.
glasses are kept tight in their places by small pressing \
screws, and make an angle of about 85° with the plane
of the instrument; by which means the image from the
coloured glass is not reflected to the telescope. When
the angle to be measured is between 50 and 340, one
of the glasses of the largest set is to be placed before
the horizon glass.
The handle is of wood, and is screwed to the back
of the instrument, immediately under the centre, with
which it is to be held at the time of observation.
Fig. 70. is a plan of the instrument, wherein the limb Fig. 7c.
is represented by the divided circular plate 5 A is the
central mirror j a a, the places which receive the stems
c n of the glass, fig. 73. ; EF, the first or central index
with its scale and adjusting screw j MN, the second
or horizon index; GH, the telescope j IK, the screws
for moving it towards or from the plane of the instru¬
ment ; C, the plane of the coloured glass, fig. 72. $
and D, its place in certain observations.
Fig. 71. is a section of the instrument, wherein the
several parts are referred to by the same letters as in
fig. 70.: Fig. 72. represents one of the horizon colour¬
ed glasses ; and fig. 73. one of the central coloured
glasses : Fig. 74. is the key for turning the adjusting-
screws of the mirrors : Fig. 75. is the handle : Fig. 76.
a section of one of the radii towards its middle : Fig.
77. is used in some terrestrial observations for diminish¬
ing the light of the direct object, w-hose place at the
time of observation is D : Fig. 78. is the tool for ad¬
justing the central mirror; and lor rectifying the po¬
sition of the telescope with regard to the plane ol the
instrument, there is another tool exactly of the same
size. The height of these is nearly equal to that of
the middle of the central mirror.
Adjustments of the Circular Instrument.
I. To set the horizon glass so that none of the rays
from the central mirror shall be reflected to the telescope
from the horizon mirror, without passing through the
coloured glass belonging to this last mirror.—Place the
coloured glass before the horizon mirror j direct the tele¬
scope to the silvered part of that mirror, and make it
nearly parallel to the plane of the instrument; move the
first index j and if the rays from the central mirror to
the horizon glass, and from thence to the telescope, have
all the same degree of shade with that of the coloured
glass used, the horizon glass is in its proper position ;
otherw ise the pedestal of the glass must be turned until
the uncoloured images disappear.
IT. Place the two adjusting tools on the limb, about
350° of the instrument distant, one on each side of the
division on the left, answering to the plane of the cen¬
tral mirror produced : then the eye being placed at
the upper edge of the nearest tool, move the central
index till one half only of the reflected image of this
tool is seen in the central mirror towards the left, and
move the other tool till its half to the right is hid by
the same edge of the mirror; then, if the upper edges
of both tools are apparently in the same straight line,
the
702
N A V I G
Of finding the central mirror is perpendicular to the plane of the
the Longi- instrument •, if not, bring them into this position by the
tude at Sea screws in the pedestal of the mirror,
by Lunar ] ] [ j'o set the horizon mirror perpendicular to the
°Sr plane of the instrument.—The central mirror being pre-
u—y-L-/ viously adjusted, direct the sight through the telescope
to any well-defined distant object j then if, by moving
the central index, the reflected image passes exactly over
the direct object, the mirror is perpendicular ; if not, its
position must be rectified by means of the screws in the
pedestal of the glass.
A planet, or star of the first magnitude, will be found
a very proper object for this purpose.
XV. To make the line of collimation parallel to the
plane of the instrument.—Lay the instrument horizon¬
tally on a table •, place the two adjusting tools on the
limb, towards the extremities of one of the diameters oi
the instrument; and at about 15 or 20 feet distant let
a well defined mark be placed, so as to be in the same
straight line with the tops of the tools ; then raise or
lower the telescope till the plane, passing through its
axis and the tops of the tools, is parallel to the plane
of the instrument, and direct it to the fixed objects •,
turn either or both of the screws of the telescope till
the mark is apparently in the middle between the wires j
then is the telescope adjusted; and the difference, it
any, between the divisions pointed out by the indices
of the screws will be the error of the indices. Htnce
this adjustment may in future be .easily made.
In this process the eye tube must be so placed as to
obtain distinct vision.
V. To find that division to which the second index being
placed the mirrors will be parallel, the central index be¬
ing at zero.—Having placed the first index exactly to
0, direct the telescope to the horizon mirror, so that
its field may be bisected by the line of separation of
the silvered and transparent parts of that mirror ; hold
the instrument vertically, and move the second index
until the direct and reflected horizons agree ; and the
division shown by the index will be that required.
This adjustment may be performed by measuring the
sun’s diameter in contrary directions, or by making
the reflected and direct images of a star or planet to
coincide.
Use of the Circular Instrument.
To observe the Distance between the Sun and Moon.
I. The sun being to the right of the moon.
Set a proper coloured glass before the central mir-
Tor, if the distance between the objects is less than 350 ;
but if above that quantity, place a coloured glass be¬
fore the horizon mirror : make the mirrors parallel, the
first index being at 0, and hold the instrument so that
its plane may be directed to the objects, with its face
downwards, or from the observer: direct the sight
through the telescope to the moon; move the second
index, according to the order of the divisions on the
limb, till the neai’est limbs of the sun and moon are
almost in contact: fasten that index, and make the
coincidence of the limbs perfect by the adjusting screw
belonging thereto ; then invert the instrument, and
move the central index towards the second by a quan¬
tity equal to twice the arch passed over by that index:
direct the plane of the instrument to the objects: look
2
A T I O N. Practice.
directly to the moot!, ami the sun will he seen in the Of iimlii"
field of the telescope : fasten the central index, and die Longi-
make the contact of the same two limbs exact by means
of the adjusting screw : Then hall the angle shown by 0'1)Serva_
the central index will be the distance between the near- tions.
est limbs of the sun and moon. ' v'--'
II. The sun being to the left of the moon;
Hold the instrument with its lace upwards, so that
its plane may pass through both objects ; direct the te¬
lescope to the moon, and make its limb coincide with
the nearest limb of the sun’s reflected image, by mo¬
ving the second index : now put the instrument in an
opposite position ; direct its plane to the objects, and
the sight to the moon, the central index being previ¬
ously moved towards the second by a quantity equal to
twice the measured distance ; and make the same two
limbs that were before observed coincide exactly, by
turning the adjusting screw of the first index : then halt
the angle shown by the first index will be the angular
distance between the observed limbs of the sun and
moon. This instrument has of late been greatly im¬
proved by Captain Mendoza.
To observe the Angular Distance between the Moon
and a Fixed Star or Planet.
I. The star being to the right of the moon.
In this case the star is to be considered as the direct
oUect ; and the enlightened limb of the moon’s re¬
flected image is to be brought in contact with the star
or planet, both by a direct and inverted position ot the
instrument, exactly in the same manner as described in
the last article. If the moon’s image is very bright,
the lightest tinged glass is to be used.
II. The star being to the left of the moon.
Proceed in the same manner as directed for observ¬
ing the distance between the sun and moon, the sun
being to the right of the moon, using the lightest
tinged glass, if necessary.
Sect. IV. Of the Method of determining the Longitude
from ObseriHltion.
Prob. I. To convert degrees or parts of the equator
into time. „ .
Rule. Multiply the degrees and parts of a degree
bv 4, beginning at the lowest denomination, and the
product will be the corresponding time. Observing
that minutes multiplied by 4 produce seconds ot time,
and degrees multiplied by 4 give minutes.
Ex. I. Let 26° 45' be reduced to time.
26° 45'
4
ih 47' o''—time required.
Ex. 2. Reduce 83° 37' to time.
83° 37'
4
28
Corresponding time=: 5 34
Pros. II. To convert time into degrees
Rule. Multiply the given ^time by 10,^ to
add the half of the product
jesponding degrees.
which
The sum'will be the cor-
E.r.
o'.rr.
NAVIGAT ION. PLATE CCCLXIJL
Fig. 8.
Fu;.Xd. Fit}. 13.
Fig. 24.
NAVIGATION.
PLATE aCLXIV.
Fur-2&- Tip. 2J. .Fiy.ZS.
//: . . /„/: ,/./ . r. „/r.'
NAVIGATION
Plate CCCTXV.
X?'. Jj-5
Jftv/i. OSaZ'. sjcul/vtcrfcat-,
(
(X^^.jhy.
VV—.^<r.
TSTA-VIGATION.
rL-iw (MH'ixvi.
NAVIGATION.
PLATE CCCLXm.
Fig. 54.
E
Fug. 55.
Fjj. 57.
Fig. 60 ■
Fig. 56.
Jr&"72-
Juj.76.
V
F&.77.
ff yS/i&ct/tnl .
Practice*
Of finding
the Longi¬
tude at Sea
by Lunar
Observa¬
tions.
Ex. i. Let 3b 4' 2W be reduced to degrees.
3I1 4' 2 8"
10
3°
Half = 15
44 4°
22 20
Corresponding deg.=: 46 7 o
Ex. 2. Reduce 8h 42' 26'1 to degrees*
8I1 42' 36"
10
NAVIGATION. 703
the proportional logarithm of one-fourth of the interval Of finding
expressed in time, and the proportionallogarithm of the die Longi-
daily variation of declination ; the sum will be the pro-tl^eTat ®®‘l
portional logarithm of the equation of equal altitudes in
minutes and seconds, which are to be esteemed seconds
and thirds.
Example. Let the latitude of the place of obser¬
vation be 570 9' N, the interval of time between the
observations of the equal altitudes 5b 17', the sun’s de¬
clination 170 48' S, and the daily change of declina¬
tion 16' Required the equation of equal alti¬
tudes P
87 6 o
43 33 0
Answer. I3° 39 0
Pros. III. Given the time under any known meridi¬
an, to find the corresponding time at Greenwich.
Rule. Let the given time be reckoned from the pre¬
ceding noon, to which the longitude of the place in
time is to be applied by addition or subtraction, accord ¬
ing as it is east or west; and the sum ordifierence will
be the corresponding time at Greenwich.
Ex. I. What time at Greenwich answers to 6h 15'
at a ship in longitude 76° 45' W ?
Time at ship - - 6h 15'
Longitude in time - 5 7 W,
Time at Greenwich n 22
Ex. 2. Required the time at Greenwich answering
to 5I1 46' 39" of May ist, at Canton, whose longitude is
1130 2' 15" E ?
Time at Canton, May ist, 5I1 46' 39 '
Longitude in time - 7 32 9E
^ ¥ 
Time at Greenwich, April 30. 22 14 30
Prob. IV. To reduce the time at Greenwich to that
under any given meridian.
Rule. Reckon the given time from the preceding
noon, to which add the longitude in time if east, but
subtract it if west; and the sum or remainder will be
the corresponding time under the given meridian.
Ex. 1. What is the expected time of the beginning
of the lunar eclipse of February 25. 1793, at a ship in
longitude 109° 48' E ?
Reg. of eclipse at Greenwich per Naut. Aim. 9b 23' 45'
Ship’s longitude in time - - 7 19 12
Time of beginning of eclipse at ship, 16 42 57
Ex. 2. At what time may the immersion of the first
satellite of Jupiter be observed at Port St Julian, in lon¬
gitude 68° 44'W, which, by the Nautical Almanack,
happens at Greenwich 24th March 1792, at 17I1 53' i;/ ?
App. time of immersion at Greenwich 17b 53' 1"
Longitude of Port St Julian in time 4 34 56 W.
App. time of immer. at Port St Julian 13 18 5
Prob. V. To find the equation of equal altitudes.
Rule. To the cosecant of half the interval of time
in degrees add the tangent of the latitude, and to the
cotangent of half the interval add the tangent of the
declination. Now if the altitude and declination be
of a contrary name, add the corresjjonding natural
numbers; but if of the same name, subtract them.—
Then to the ar. eo. log. of this sum or diilbrence add
Half the intervals: 2I1 38,^=390 37'.
4 int.=r39® 37' cost. 0.19542 cotang. 0.08209
Lat. 57 9 tan. 0.18997 dec. 170 48' ta. 9.50659
c.38539 2.4288
3879 9.58868
Sum - . _ 2.8167 ar.co.lo.9.5503
One fourth interval - ih 19' 15" P.L.0.3563
Daily variation of declination 16' I9"£P.L.1.0424
Equation of equal altitudes 20" I4wP.L.o.9490
Prob. VI, To find the error of a watch by equal al¬
titudes of the sun.
Rule. In the morning, when the sun is more than
two hours distant from the meridian, let a set of obser¬
vations be taken, consisting, for the sake of greater ac¬
curacy, of at least three altitudes, which, together with
the corresponding times per watch, are to be wrote re¬
gularly, the time of each observation being increased
by 12 hours. In the afternoon, observe the instants
when the sun comes to the same altitudes, and write
down each opposite to its respective altitude. Now half
the sum of any two times answering to the same altitude
will be the time of noon per watch uncorrected. Find
the mean of all the times of noon thus deduced from
each corresponding pair of observations, to which the
equation of equal altitudes is to be applied by addition
pr subtraction according as the sun is receding from or
approaching to the elevated pole, and the sum or differ¬
ence will be the time per watch of apparent noon, the
difference between which and noon w'ill be the error of
the watch for apparent time ; and the watch will be
fast or slow according as the time of noon thereby is
more or less than 12 hours.
Example. January 29. 1786, in lat. 570 9' N, the fol¬
lowing equal altitudes of the sun were observed : Re¬
quired the error of the watch ?
Alt.=r80 5' Time 2ih 35' 8"A.M. 2h 55'43"P.M,
8 10 - 36 8 - 54 42
8 20 - 38 9 - 52 41-3
8 25 - 39 12.5 - 51 38
37-5 4-2
21 37 9-37 2 53 4I-°5
21 37 9-37
Sum - - - 24 30 50.42
Time of noon per watch uncorrected 12 15 25.2
Equation of equal altitudes - =0 0 20.2
Time per watch of apparent noon 12 15 5.
Watch fast - - - *5 5*
The
7°4
Of finding The mean time of noon per watch is fount! by ap~
the Longi-plying the equation of time with a contrary sine,
tude at Sea In practice it will be found convenient to put the
by Lunar j|n(jex 0f tjie quailrant to a certain division, and to wait
0Jinn7a till either limb of the sun attains that altitude.
Pros. VII. Given the latitude of a place, the alti¬
tude and declination of the sun, to find the apparent
time, and the error of the watch.
NAVIGATION. Practice.
Rule. If the latitude and declination are of differ- of finding
ent names, let their sum be taken j otherwise, their the Long?,
difference. From the natural cosine of this sum ortu(1e at Se*
difference subtract the natural sine of the corrected al-
titude, and find the logarithm of the remainder 5 to
which add the log. secants of the latitude and declina¬
tion : the sum will Ue the log. rising of the horary di¬
stance of the object from the meridian, and hence the
apparent time will be known.
Observa.
lions.
Ex. 1. September 15. 1792, in latitude 330 56'S, and longitude 180 22'E, the mean of the times per watch
was 8h 12' 10" A. M. and that of the altitudes of the sun’s lower-limb 240 48'; height of the eye 24 feet. Re-
• 1.1 P . 1 .10
quired the error of the watch ?
Obs. alt. Sun’s lower limb
Semidiameter
Dip -
Correction
True altitude Sun’s centre
Eatitude
Declination
Sum
Sun’s altitude
Sun’s meridian distance
24
+
48'
16.0
— 4-7
— 1.9
24 57-4
33 56
2 45-4
36 41.4
24 57-4
Sun’s declin. at noon per Nautical Almanack
Equation to 3b 48 A. M. . -
to 18° 22' East - -
Reduced declination - - -
secant
secant
nat. cosine 80188
nat. sine 42193
Difference 37995
log
3h 48' 51"
rising
2° 4 O'. 5 S
+ 3-7
•J- 1.2
2 45.4 s
0.08109
0.00050
4-57973
4.66132
Apparent time
Time per watch
1 x
12
9
10
Watch fast - - 1 1
Ex. 2. May 6. 1793, in latitude 56° 4' N, and longitude 38° 30'W, at 4I1 37' 4" P. M. per watch the alti¬
tude of the sun’s lower limb was 250 6'. I, and height of the eye 18 feet. Required the error of the w-atch for
apparent time P
Altitude sun’s lower limb - =r 250 6,.x - Sun’s declin. per Nautical Almanack x60 44,-3
Semidiameter - - -j- 15.9 - Equation to 4I1 37' P. M. - - + 3-4
Dip - —- 4.1 - to 38° 30' W, - + lS
Correction
1.9 Reduced declination
True alt. sun’s centre
Latitude
Declination
25 16.0
56 4.0 N
16 49.5 N.
secant
secant
16 49.5
0.25319
0.01900
Difference
Sun’s altitude
39 14.5 nat. cosine 7744^
25 16.0 nat. sine 42683
Difference 347^5
4.54x14
Apparent time - - 4b 38' 12" rising - - - - 4-^I333
Time per watch - - 4 37 4
Watch slow - - 18
Prob. VIII. Given the latitude of a place, the al¬
titude of a known fixed star, and the sun’s right ascen¬
sion, to find the apparent time of observation and error
of the watch.
Rule. Correct the observed altitude of the star, and
reduce its right ascension and declination to the time
of observation.
With the latitude of the place, the true altitude and
declination of the star, compute its horary distance irem
the meridian by last problem j which being added to,
or subtracted from, its right ascension, according as it
was observed in the western or eastern hemisphere, the
sum or remainder will be the right ascension of the me¬
ridian.
From the right ascension of the meridian subtract the
sun’s right ascension, as given in the Nautical Alma¬
nack
Practice. N A V I G A T I O N.
Of finding nack lor the noon of the given day : and the remainder
the Longi-\vill he the approximate time of observation*, from
tude at Sea which subtract the proportional part of the daily va-
Observa- riatlon ol 1‘Jght ascension answering thereto, and let
tions the proportional part answering to the longitude be
i—-^-.i added or subtracted, according as the longitude is east
or wrest, and the result will be the apparent time of
observation} and hence the error of the watch ivill be
known.
.Ex. I. December 12. 1792, in lat. 370 46' N, and
longitude 2i° 15' E, the altitude of Arcturus east of
the meridian was 340 6'.4, the height of the eye 10
feet. Required the apparent time of observation ?
Observed alt. of Arcturus 340 6'.4
Dip and refraction - — 4.4
Obs. alt. of Procyon
Dip and refraction
True altitude
Latitude
Declination
Difference
Altitude of Procyon
J9
58'
7
*9 51
53 24
5 45
secant
secant
7=5
Of finding
the Longi¬
tude at Sea
by Lunar
Observa-
- 0.22459 tions.
- O.OO219  ^
47 39 nat. cos. 67366
19 51 nat. sine 33956
Difference 33410 4.52388
Procyon’s merid. dist. 411 16' 24" rising 4.75066
right as.
True altitude
Latitude
Declination
Difference
Altitude of Arcturus
34 2*°
37 46.0 N - sec. 0.10209
20 14.4 N - sec. 0.02778
17 31.6 N. co. 95358
34 2.0N.sine 55968
Difference 393904.59539
Arcturus’s merid. dist. 4’' 8' 10"
right as. - 14 6 13
- rising 4.72526
Right as. of merid.
Sun’s right as.
Approximate time
Eq. to ap. time
Eq. to long.
Apparent time
Time per watch -
Watch fast
7 28 24
11 44 48
20 47 22
14 57 26
 O 2 36
  OI7
J4 54 33
M 58 38
0 4 5
Right as. of merid. 9 58 3
Sun’s right as. - I7 21 59
Approximate time
Eq. to approx, time
Eq. to longitude +
»
16 36
3
4
3
16
Ap. time of obs. 33 I7
jEx. 2. January 29. 1792, in latitude 530 24' N,
and longitude 250 18' W, by account, at 1411 58' 38",
the altitude of Procyon west on the meridian was 190
58' j height of the eye 20 feet. Required the error of
the watch ?
Prob. IX. Given the altitude of the moon, the lati¬
tude of a place, and the apparent time at Greenwich j,
to find the apparent time at the place of observation.
Rule. Correct the altitude of the moon’s limb by
Problem V. p. 731, and reduce its right ascension and
declination, and the sun’s right ascension, to the Green¬
wich time of observation. Now with the latitude of
the place, the declination and altitude of the moon,
compute its meridian distance as before: Which being
applied to its right ascension by addition or subtraction,
according as it is in the western or eastern hemisphere,
will give the right ascension of the meridian. Then
the sun’s right ascension subtracted from the right as¬
cension of the meridian, will give the apparent time of
observation.
Example, March 3. 1792, in latitude 51* 38' N, at nh 29' 7" P. M. per watch, the altitude
lower limb was 370 31', the height of the eye being 10 feet, and the time at Greenwich I3h 43'.
error of the watch ?
Altitude of the moon’s lower limb =237° 31'
Semidiameter
Dip
Correction
Corrected alt. of moon’s centre
Latitude
Declination
Difference
Moon’s altitude
Moon’s meridian distance
right ascension
Right ascension of meridian
Sun’s right ascension
Apparent time at ship
Time per watch
Watch slow
Vol. XIV. Part II.
+ 15
— 3
+ 42
S8 25
51 38 N
17 o N
34 38
S8 25
3° I4/ 36"
7 22 54
10
23
37 3°
2 o
11
11
35 3°
29 7
23
Moon’s right ascension at Green, time
declination
Sun’s right ascension
secant
secant
Nat. cosine
Nat. siine
Difference
rising
82281
62138
20143
of the moon’s
Required the
7h 22' 54"
17° o N
23h 2' o"
0.20712
0.01940
4*3°4I2
4*53064
4U
Projb,
:q6
Of finding Proe. X. Given the apparent distance between the
the Longi-moon and the sun or a fixed star, to find the true di-
Lnde at Sea stance.
CRiserva1' PULE- To the logarithmic difference answering to
lions. the moon’s apparent altitude and horizontal parallax,
i——v 1 add the logarithmic sines of half the sum, and half the
NAVIGATION. Practice.
difference of the apparent distance and difference of offindlr
the apparent altitudes j half the sum will be the loga-lhe Longi.
rithmic cosine of an arch : now add the logarithm sines tU(tv at Sea
of the sum and difference of this arch, and half the dif- A^’!na'
ference of the true altitudes, and half the sum will be
the logarithmic cosine of half the true distance.
Example. Let the apparent altitude of the moon’s centre be 48° 22', that of the sun’s 270 43', the apparent
central distance 8i° 23' 40", and the moon’s horizontal parallax 38' 45". Required the true distance ?
Apparent altitude sun?s centre
Correction
27 43
40
Sun’s true altitude
Sun’s apparent altitude
27 41 20
27 43
Moon’s apparent altitude
48 22
Difference
Apparent distance
20 3,9
81 23 40
Sum
Difference
102 2 40
60 44 40
Half difference true altitudes
Arch
10 39 33
51 27 29
Sum
Difference
62 7 2
40 47 36
40 32- 16
2
True distance
81
4 32
Pros. XI. To find the time at Greenwich an*
swering to a given distance between the moon and
the sun, or one of the stars, used in the Nautical Al¬
manack.
Rule. If the given distance is found in the Nauti¬
cal Almanack opposite to the given day of the month,
or to that which immediately precedes or follows it,
the time is found at the top of the page. But if this
distance is not found exactly in the ephemeris, sub¬
tract the prop. log. of the difference between the di¬
stances which immediately precede and follow the giv¬
en distance from the prop. log. of the difference be¬
tween the given and preceding distances j the remain¬
der will be the prop. log. of the excess of the time cor¬
responding to the given distance, above that answering
to the preceding distance: And hence the apparent
time at Greenwich is known.
Example. September 21. 1792, the true distance be¬
tween tbe centres of the sun and moon was 68° 13' 8".
Required the apparent time at Greenwich ?
Given distance
Dist. at ix. hours
I?ist. at xii. hours 69 30 6
68° 13' 8"
67 53 27
Diff.~o° 19' 41"
Differ 39
P. log. 9612
P, log. 2701
Excess
Preceding time
° 3* 39
900
P. log. 691 x
App. time at Greenwich
9 36 39
Apparent altitude moon’s centre
Correction
48° 22' o"
+ 38 26
Moon’s true altitude
Sun’s true altitude
49 O 26
27 41 20
Difference
2i 19 6
Half
Logarithmic difference
10 39 33
9.994638
Half
Half
510 l' 20''
30 22 20
Sine
Sine
9.890639
9.703820
cosine
19.389097
9-794548
sine
sine
9.946417
9-8i5i83
19.761600
9.880800
Prob. XII. The latitude of a place and its longitude
by account being given, together with the distance be¬
tween, and the altitude of the moon and the sun, or one
of the stars in the Nautical Almanack j to find the true
longitude of the place of observation.
Rule. Reduce the estimate time of observation to
tbe meridian of Greenwich by Problem III, and to this
time, take from the Nautical Almanack, page 7. of the
month, the moon’s horizontal parallax and semidiame¬
ter. Increase the semidiameter by the augmentation
answering to the moon’s altitude.
Find the apparent and true altitudes of each object’s
centre, and the apparent central distance j with which
compute the true distance by Problem X. and find the
apparent time at Greenwich answering thereto by the
last problem.
If the sun or star be at a proper distance from the
meridian at the time of observation of the distance,
compute the apparent time at the ship. If not, the er¬
ror of the watch may be found from observations taken
either before or after that of the distance j or the appa¬
rent time may be inferred from the moon’s altitude
taken with the distance, by Problem IX.
The difference between the apparent times of obser¬
vation at the ship and Greenwich, will be the longitude
of the ship in time *, which is east or west according as
the time at the ship is later or earlier than the Green¬
wich time.
'Ex. 1. March 17. I792) in latitude 34° 53, N, and longitude by account 270 W, about 9b. A. M. the
distance between the nearest limbs of the sun and moon was 68°3'4 j the altitude of the sun’s lower limb 330 iS'j
that
Practice.
NAVIGATION.
7°7
?f Lon^f ?01 ^ie rnoon’s uPPer limb 3l0 3'} an(l the height of the eye 12 feet. Required the true longitude of the Offinding
the Lon gi- ship ?
tude at ^ca Time at ship
Observa- Longitude in time
tions.
*V—■ ' Reduced time
Altitude moon’s upper limb
Aug. semidiameter
Dip -
Apparent altitude
Correction
Moon’s true altitude
Sun’s apparent altitude
Moon’s apparent altitude
Dilference
Apparent distance
Sum - -
Difference
Half difference true altitudes
Arch -
Sum -
Difference
Half true distance
True distance
Distance at XXI hours
Distance at noon
Proportional part
Preceding time
Apparent time at Greenwich
Latitude 34053'.oN
Declination
Sum
Sun’s altitude
Difference
Time from noon
Apparent time
App. time at Green.
Longitude in time
° 57 -9
35 5° -9
33 29 -5
ph o'
1 48
10 48
3i 3
A.M
A. M
o
— 16 10
- 3 18
30 43 23
+ 49 26
31 32 49
33°30'48"
30 43 23
2 47 25
68 35 40
71 23 5
65 48 15
o 58 20
55 54 !2
56 52 32
54 55 52
34 6 53
2
68 13 46
69 11 20
67 32 38
Secant
Secant
Nat. cosine
Nat. sine
3h 7' 13"
20 52 47
22 45 o
Dist. sun and moon’s nearest limbs
Sun’s semidiameter
Moon’s semidiameter
Augmentation
Apparent central distance
Altitude sun’s lower limb
Sun’s semidiameter
Dip -
Sun’s apparent altitude
Correction -
Sun’s true altitude - _ .
Moon’s true altitude
Difference - . . .
Half
Logarithmic difference
Half
Half
35°4i/32"-§-
32 54 74
Sine
Sine
Cosine
Sine
Sine
Cosifle
Difference
Difference
0°57'34"
1 38 42
1 45 °
21 0 o
22 45 o
P. log.
P. lug.
Per log.
81057
55i8i
25876
Rising
the Longi-
68° 3' I c" tu^e at ®ea
1 ^ by Lunar
+ 16 6 Observa¬
tions.
+ 16 10 V——=f
+ 0 9
52 i3=2863,i\V.
4U2
68 35 40
33 18
+ 16 6
- 3 18
33 3° 48
-o 1 ip
33 29 29
31 32 49
1 56 40
0 58 20
9.996336
9.765991
9-734964
19.497291
9.748645
9.922977
9.912998
i9*835975
9-9I7987
4951
2610
234r
0.08602
0.00006
4.41291
4.49899
JE X • '2s
:o3
N A V 1 G A T I O N.
Practice.
Of finding Example 2. September 2. 1792, in latitude 130 57' N, and longitude by account 56° 1‘, several observations of Of finding
the Longi- the moon and Altaic were taken $ the mean of the times per watch was ih 18' 59" A. M. that of the distance be-the Longi¬
tude at Scatween and the moon’s nearest limb 58° 45' 26" j the mean of the altitude of the moon’s lower limb 7
Ob semi-1" and that of-Altaic 250 27'.4 j height of the eye 13 feet. Required the true longitude ?
Time per watch
Longitude in time
!*> 18' 59" A. M.
3 44 0
Reduced time - 9 34 59
Altitude moon - 70° 33'
Semidiameter and dip—o 13
Distance moon and Altaic
Augmented semidiameter
Apparent central distance
Altitude of Altaic
Dip
Apparent alt. moon 7° 20
Correction - -{-o 19 40
True altitude moon 70 39 40
Moon’s apparent alt. "jO 20
Altair’s apparent alt. 2$ 24
Difference
Apparent distance
Sum
Difference
Half diff. true alt.
Arch
Sum
Difference
Half true distance
44 56
59 1 54
103 57 54
14 5 54
22 38 50
72 1 57
94 4° 47
49 23 7
29 33 48t
2
Apparent altitude Altair
Refraction
True altitude Altair
Moon’s true altitude
Difference
Half
Logarithmic difference
Half
Half
0 58' 57"
2 57
True distance 59 7 37
Distanceat IX hours 58 51 17
—  atXHhours6o 24 34
Proportional part
Preceding time
Apparent time at Greenwich
Latitude - 13 57 N
Declination 8 19.8 N
Difference
Difference
0° 16' 20'
1 33 J7
° 31 31
900
9 31 31
Secant
Secant
Difference
Altitude Altair
Difference
5 37*2
25 22.
Nat. cosine
Nat. sine
995*9
42841
56678
Altair’s meridian distance - 4h 23' 14"
 right ascension - 19 40 40
Right ascension meridian o 3 ^
Sun’s right ascension - 10 46 17
Apparent time at ship 13 17 37
Apparent time at Greenwich 9 31 31
Rising
Sine
Sine
Cosine
Sine
Sine
Cosine
P. log.
P. log.
P. log.
58° 45' 26"'
+0 16 28
59 1 54
25 27 -4
—o 3 .4
20^* tude at Sih
^ ’ by Lunar
Observa¬
tions.
25 24
—O 2
25 22 O
70 39 40
45 *1 40
22 38 50
9.993*01
9.896428
9.088919
18.978448
9.489224
9.998548
9.8803OI
18.978448
9-939424
1.0422
0.2855
0.7567
0.01300
0.00461
4-75341
4.77102
Longitude in time - 4 46 6 = 56° 31East.
lor various other methods of determining the longitude of a place, the reader is referred to Dr Mackay’s
Treatise on the Theory and Practice of finding the Longitude at Sea or Land.
1 Chap.
Practice.
N A V I G A T I Q N.
Yariation
of tile
Compass.
Chap. Ill, (JJ the Variutioti of th$ Compass.
The variation of the eprapass is the deviation of the
points of the mariner’s compass from the correspond¬
ing points oi the. horizon ^ and is denominated cast or
west variation, according as the north point of the com¬
pass is to the east or west of the true north point of the
horizon.
A particular account of the variation, and of the se¬
veral instruments used for determining it from obser¬
vation, may be seen under the articles Azimuth, Com¬
pass, and Variation : and for the method of com¬
municating magnetism to compass needles, see Magne¬
tism.
True amplitude
Observed amplitude
^ aviation
709
.N 67 13 ^ Cosine P.5SS03 Variation
N 78 45 E
of the
Conipa/is.
11 32 j which is be¬
cause the observed amplitude is more distant from the
nor! h than the true amplitude j the observation being
made in the eastern hemisphere.
Ex. 2. December 20. 1793, in latitude 3i°38'S,
longitude 83° W, the sun was observed to set SW. Re¬
quired the variation P
Latitude - S1** 3^ Secant 0.06985
Declination 23 28 Sine 9.60012
True amplitude
Observed ampl.
S 62
s 45
7 W
o W
Cosine 9-66997
Prop. I. Given the latitude of a place, and the
sun’s magnetic amplitude, to find the variation of the
compass.
Rule. To the log. secant of the latitude, add the
log. sine of the sun’s declination, the sum wriil be the
log. cosine of the true amplitude *, to be reckoned from
the north or south according as the declination is north
or south.
The difference between the true and observed ampli¬
tudes, reckoned from the same point, and if of the same
name, is the variation ; but if of a difterent name, their
sum is the variation.
If the observation be made in the eastern hemi¬
sphere, the variation will he east or west according
as the observed amplitude is nearer to or more remote
from the north than the true amplitude. The contrary
rule holds good in observations taken in the western
hemisphere.
Ex. 1. May 15. 1794, in latitude 330 io' N, longi¬
tude 18' W, about 5I1 A. M. the sun wras observed to
rise E6N. Required the variation ?
Sun’s dec. May 15. at noon 180 58' N.
Equation to 7b from noon —o 4
——— to 18° W -fo 1
Reduced declination J8 55 Sine 9.51080
Latitude - - 33 I0 Secant 0.07723
True amplitude
N 67 13 E Cosiue 9.58803
V ariation - 17 7 ; which is eo.?#, as the observ¬
ed amplitude is farther from the north than the true am¬
plitude, the observation being made at sunsetting.
it may be remarked, that the sun’s amplitude ought
to be observed at the instant the altitude of its lower
limb is equal to the sum of 15 minutes and the dip of
the horizon. Thus, if an observer be elevated 18 feet
above the surface of the sea, the amplitude should be
taken at the instant the altitude of the sun’s lower limb
is 19 minutes.
Prob. IT. Given the magnetic azimuth, the altitude
and declination of the sun, together with the latitude
of the place of observation j to find the variation of the
compass.
Rule. Reduce the sun’s declination to the time and
place of observation, and compute the true altitude of
the sun’s centre.
Find the sum of the sun’s polar distance and altitude
and the latitude of the place, take the difference be¬
tween the half of this sum and the polar distance.
To the log. secant of the altitude add the log. secant
of the latitude, the log. cosine of the half sum, and the
fog. cosine of the difference 5 half the sum of these
will be the log. sine of half the sun’s true azimuth, to be
reckoned from the south in north latitude, but from the
north in south latitude.
The difference between the true and observed azi¬
muths w'ill be the variation as formerly.
Ex. 1. November 18. 1793, in latitude 50° 22' N, longitude 240 30'W, about three quarters past eight A. M.
/, and bearing per compass S, 230 18' E: height of the eye 20 feet.
the altitude of the sun’s loAver limb was 8° 10
Required the variation of the compass r
Sun’s declin. 18th Nov. at noon
Equation to 3^h from noon
-   — to 240 30' W
190 25' S
— 2
+ 1
Observed alt. sun’s lower limb
Semidiameter
Dip and refraction
=° 10
+ 16
— 10
Reduced declination
19 24
True altitude
8 16
Polar distance
Altitude
Latitude
109 24
8 16
5° 22
Secant
Secant
0.00454
0.19527
Sum
Half
Difference
168 2
84 1
25 23
Cosine
Cosine
9.01803
9-95591
Half true azimuth
22 43
Sine
J9-I7375
9.58687
Half
710
Variation
of the
Compass.
Half true azimuth
True azimuth
Observed azimuth
NAVIGATION.
22° 43' - Sine
S 45 26 E.
S 23 18 E.
Practict.
9-58687 Ship,s
J ournal.
22
8 W.
V ariation
Fx 2 January q. 1794, in latitude 330 52' N, 530 15' E longitude, about half past three the altitude, of
the sun’s loweX^!0 V8', and azimuth S 50° 25' W, the height of the eye being 20 feet. Reqmred the
variation ? _ (
Bun’s declination at noon - 21
Equation to time from noon
— to longitude
Reduced declination
Polar distance
Altitude
Latitude
Sum
Half
Difference
True azimuth
Observed azimuth
Variation
+
24' S*
2
2
Observed alt. sun’s lower limb
Sun’s semidiameter
Dip and refraction
21 24 S
III 24
41 28
33 52
186 44
93 22
18 2
17 23
2
S. 34 46 W.
True altitude
Secant
Secant
Cosine
Cosine
Sine
=4i‘
+
181
16
6
41 28
0.12532
0.08075
8.76883
9-97JJ8
18.95048
9-47524
Chap. IV. Of a Ship’s Journal.
A journal is a regular and exact register of all the
various transactions that happen aboard a ship whether
at sea or land, and more particularly that which concerns
a ship’s way, from whence her place at noon or any
other time may be justly ascertained.
That part of the account which is kept at sea is cal¬
led sea work; and the remarks taken down while the
ship is in port are called harbour work.
At sea, the day begins at noon, and ends at the noon
of the following day: the first 12 hours, or those con¬
tained between noon and midnight, are denoted by
P. M. signifying after mid day; and the other 12 hours,
or those from midnight to noon, are denoted by A. M.
signifying before mid day. A day’s work marked
Wednesday March 6. began on Tuesday at noon, and
ended on Wednesday at noon. The days of the week
are usually represented by astronomical characters.
Thus © represent Sunday j }) Monday $ Tuesday j
§ Wednesday % Thursday ; $ Friday 5 and b Sa¬
turday.
* When a ship is bound to a port so situated that she
will be out of sight of land, the bearing and distance
of the port must be found. This may be done by Mer¬
cator’s or Middle-latitude Sailing j but the most expe¬
ditious method is by a chart. If islands, capes, or head¬
lands intervene, it will be necessary to find the several
courses and distances between each successively. The
true course between the places must be reduced to the
course per compass, by allowing the variation to the
right or left of the true course, according as it is west
or east.
At the time of leaving the lancl, the bearing of some
known place is to be observed, and its distance is usually
found by estimation. As perhaps the distance thus
found will be liable to some error, particularly in hazy
or foggy weather, or when that distance is considerable,
it will therefore be proper to use the following method
for this purpose.
Let the bearing be observed of the place from which
the departure is to be taken ; and the ship having run
a certain distance on a direct course, the bearing of the
same place is to be again observed. Now having one
side of a plain triangle, namely the distance sailed, and
all the angles, the other distances may be found by
Prob. I. of Oblique Sailing.
The method of finding the course and distance sailed
in a given time is by the compass, the log-line, and half¬
minute-glass. These have been already described. ^ In
the royal navy, and in ships in the service of the East
India Company, the log is hove once every hour j but
in most other trading vessels only every t\vo hours.
The several courses and distances sailed in the course
of 24 hours, or between noon and noon, and whatever
remarks are thought worthy of notice, are set down with
chalk on a board painted black, called the log-board,
which Is usually divided into six columns : the first co¬
lumn on the left hand contains the hours from noon to
noon -, the second and third the knots and parts of a
knot sailed every hour, or every two hours, according
as the log is marked ; the fourth column contains the
courses steered j the fifth the winds j and in the sixth the
various
Practice*
N A V I G A T I O \T.
Ship’s various remarks and phenomena are written. The
Journal log-board is transcribed every day at noon into the
log-book, which is ruled and divided alter the same
manner.
The courses steered must be corrected by the varia¬
tion of the compass and leeway. It the variation is
west, it must be allowed to the left hand of the course
steered ; but if east, to the right hand, in order to ob¬
tain the true course. The leeway is to be allowed to
the right or left of the course steered, according as the
ship is on the larboard or starboard tack. The method
of finding the variation, which should be determined
daily if possible, is given in the preceding chapter ; and
the leeway may be understood from what follows.
When a ship is close hauled, that part of the wind
■which acts upon the hull and rigging, together with a
considerable part of the force which is exerted on the
sails, tends to drive her to the leeward. But since the
bow of a ship exposes less surface to the water than her
side, the resistance will be less in the first case than in
the second ; the velocity in the direction of her head
will therefore in most cases be greater than the velocity
in the direction of her side; and the ship’s real course
will he between the two directions. The angle formed
between the line of her apparent course and the line she
really describes through the water is called the angle of,
leeway, or simply the leeway.
There are many circumstances which prevent the lay¬
ing down rules for the allowance of leeway. The con¬
struction of different vessels, their trim with regard to.
the nature and quantity of their cargo, the position and
magnitude of the sail set, and the velocity of the ship,
together with the swell of the sea, are all susceptible of
great variation, and veiy much affect the leeway. The
following rules, are, however, usually given for this
purpose.
1. When a ship is close hauled, has all her sails set,
the water smooth, with a light breeze of wind, she is
then supposed to make little or no leeway.
2. Allow one point when the top-gallant sails are
handed.
3. Allow two points when under close reefed top¬
sails.
4. Allow two points and a half when one top-sail is
handed.
5. Allow three points and a half when both top-sails
are handed.
6. Allow four points when the fore course is handed.
7. Allow five points when under the main-sail only.
8. Allow six points when under balanced mizen.
9. Allow seven points when under bare poles.
These allowances may be of some qse to work up the
day’s work of a journal which has been neglected ; but
a prudent navigator will never be guilty of this neglect.
A very good method of estimating the leeway is to ob¬
serve the bearing of the ship’s wake as frequently as
may be judged necessary ; which may be conveniently
enough done hydrawing a small semicircle on thetaffe-
rel, with its diameter at right angles to the ship’s length,
and dividing its circumference into points and quarters.
The angle contained between the semidiameter which
points right aft, and that which points in the direction
of the wake, is the leeway. But the best and most ra¬
tional way of bringing the leeway into the day’s log is
to haye a compass or semicircle on the tafferel, as before
described, with a low crutch or swivel in its centre ; af¬
ter heaving the log, the line may be slipped into the
crutch just before it is drawn in, and the angle it makes
on the limb with the line drawn right aft will show the
leeway very accurately ; which as a necessary article,
ought to be entered into a separate column against the
hourly distance on the log-board.
In hard blowing weather, with a contrary wind and
a high sea, it is impossible to gain any advantage bv
saumg. In such cases, therefore, the object is to avoid
as much as possible being driven back. With this in¬
tention it is usual to lie to under no more sail than is
sufficient to prevent the violent rolling which the vessel
would otherwise acquire, to the endangering her masts,
and straining her timbers, Ac. When a ship is brought
to, the tiller is put close over to the leeward, which
brings her head round to the wind. The wind having
then very little power on the sails, the ship loses her
way through the water; which ceasing to act on the
rudder, her head falls off from the wind, the sail which
she has set fills, and gives her fresh way through the wa¬
ter; which acting on the rudder brings her head again
to the wind. Thus the ship has a kind of vibratory
motion, coming up to the wind and falling off from i't
again alternately. Now' the middle point between those
upon which she comes up and falls off is taken for her>
apparent course; and the leeway and variation is to be
allowed from thence, to find the true course.
1 he setting and drift of currents, and the heave of
the sea are to be marked down. These are to be cor¬
rected by variation only.
I he computation made from the several courses
corrected as above, and their corresponding distances,
is called a day's ivork; and the ship’s place,' as deduced
therefrom, is called her place by account, or dead rec¬
koning.
It is almost constantly found that the latitude by ac¬
count does not agree with that by observation. ITom
an attentive consideration of the nature and form of the
common log, that its place is alterable by the weight of
the line, by currents, and other causes, and also the er¬
rors to which the course is liable, from the very often
wrong position of the compass in the binnacle, the vari¬
ation not being well ascertained, an exact agreement of
the latitudes cannot be expected.
When the difference of longitude is to be found by
dead reckoning, if then the latitudes by account and
observation disagree, several writers on navigation have
proposed to apply a conjectural correction to the depar¬
ture or difference of longitude. Thus, if the course be
near the meridian, the error is wholly attributed to the
distance, and the departure is to be increased or diminish¬
ed accordingly: if near the parallel, the course only is
supposed to be erroneous ; and if the course is towards
the middle of the quadrant, the course and distance are
both assumed wrong. This last correction will, accord¬
ing ta different authors, place the ship upon opposite
sides of her meridian by account. As these corrections
arej therefore, no better than guessing, they should be
absolutely rejected.
If the latitudes are not found to agree, the navigator
ought to examine his log-line and half-minute-glass, and
correct the distance accordingly. He is then to consi¬
der if the variation and leeway have been properly as¬
certained ; if not, the courses are again to be corrected,
3 and,
711
Ship’s
Journal.
NAVIGATION.
Ship’s anti no other alteration whatever xs to be made on them.
Journal. He is next to observe if the ship’s place has been atleet-
 ^ ed by a current or heave of the sea, and to allow for
them according to the best of his judgment. By ap¬
plying these corrections, the latitudes will generally be
found to agree tolerably well j and the longitude xs not
to receive any farther alteration.
It will be proper, however, for the navigator to de¬
termine the longitude of the ship from observation as
often as possible ; and the reckoning is be carried for¬
ward in the usual manner from the last good observa¬
tion ; yet it will perhaps be very satisfactory to keep a
sepax-ate account of the longitude by dead xeckoning.
General Rules for working a Day's fF'irk.
Correct the several courses for variation and leeway,
place them, and the corresponding distances, in a table
prepared for that purpose. From whence, by Traverse
Sailing, find the difference of latitude and departure
made good; hence the corresponding course and dis¬
tance, and the ship’s present latitude, will be known.
Find the middle latitude at the top or bottom of the
Traverse Table, and the distance, answering to the de¬
parture found in a latitude column, will be the differ¬
ence of longitude : Or, the departure answering to the
course made good, and the meridional difference of la-
Practicc.
titude in a latitude column, is the difference of long!- Ship’s
tude. The sum, or difference of which, and the long!- Journal,
tude left, according as they are of the same or of a con-v~“*J
trary name, will be the ship’s present longitude of the
same name with the greater.
Compute the difference of latitude between the ship
and the intended port, or any other place whose bearing
and distance may be required : find also the meridional
difference of latitude and the difference of longitude.
Now the course answering the meridional difference of
latitude found in a latitude column, and the difference
of longitude in a departure column, will be the bearing
of the place, and the distance answering to the differ¬
ence of latitude will be the distance of the ship from
the proposed place. If these numbers exceed the limits
of the Table, it will be necessary to take aliquot parts
of them ; and the distance is to be multiplied by the
number by which the difference of latitude is divided.
It will sometimes be necessary to keep an account of
the meridian distance, especially in the Baltic or Medi¬
terranean trade, where charts are used in which the lon¬
gitude is not marked. The meridian distance on the
first day is that day’s departure 5 and any other day it
is equal to the sum or difference of the preceding day’s
meridian distance and the day’s departure, according as
they are of the same or of a contrary denomination.
A Journal
1
[Practice. NAVIGATION. 713
ship’s A’Journal of a Voyage from London to Funchal in Madeira, in his Majesty’s Ship the ship’s
—' Resolution, A M  Commander, anno 1793. . Jol'niaI.
Days of month
f? Sept. 28.
O Sept. 29.
J Sept. 30.
$ Octob. I.
$ Octob. 2.
% Octob. 3.
$ Octob. 4.
Winds.
sw
sw
sw
Variable,
ssw
sw
Variable.
NZ.E
NZ>E
N
,-N
NNE
Remarks on board bis Majesty’s ship Resolution, 1793.
Strong gales and heavy rain. At 3 P. M. sent down topgallant yards j at 11
A. M. the pilot came on board.
Moderate and cloddy, with rain. At 10 A. M. cast loose from the sheer hulk at
Deptford ; got Tip topgallant yards, and made sail down the river. At noon running
through Blackwall reach.
Ihe first part moderate, the latter squally, with rain. At half past one an¬
chored at the Galleons, and moored ship with near a whole cable each way in
5 fathoms, a quarter ol a mile off shoi’e. At 3 A. M. strong gales : got down
topgallant yards. A. M. the people employed working up junk. Bent the sheet
cable.
Fresh gales and squally. P. M. received the remainder of the boatswain’s and
carpenter’s stores on board. The clerk of the cheque mustered the ship’s com¬
pany.
Variable weather with rain. At noon weighed and made sail ; at 5 anchored in
Long-reach in 8 fathoms. Received the powder on board. At 6 A. M. weighed
and got down the river. At 10 A. M. past the Nore: brought too and hoisted in
the boats : double reefed the topsails, and made sail for the Downs. At noon run¬
ning for the flats of Margate.
F irst part stormy weather j latter moderate and clear. At 4 P. M. got through
Margate Roads. At 5 run through the Downs *, and at 6 anchored in Dover Road,
in 10 fathoms muddy ground. Dover Castle bore north, and the South Foreland
NE/tE^E off shore miles. Discharged the pilot. Employed making points, &c.
for the sails. Scaled the guns.
Moderate anti fair. Employed working up junk. Received from Deal a cutter
of 17 feet, with materials. A. M. strong gales and squallv, with rain; got down
topgallant yards.
Hours.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
T 2
Kn.
Fa.
Courses.
wsw
W4N
Winds.
NNE
Remarks, T? Oetob. 5. 1793.
N£
Fresh gales with rain.
Hove short.
Weighed and made sail.
Shortened sail.—Dungeness light NEZ>E.
Fresh breezes and cloudy.
Ditto weather.
Got up topgallant yards.
Set studding sails.
Ditto weather.
St Alban’s Head N-vE.
Vol. XIV. Part II.
4X
Journal
7H
Ship's
Journal.
NAVIGATION.
A Journal from England towards Madeira.
Practice,
[ract
Hours.
Kn.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
9
10
11
12
8
8
8
8
8
8
8
8
8
8
8
8
8
7
7
7
7
7
H
l
7
7
7
7
7
Fa.
Courses.
W£N
Course.
S. 5 20 i W.
Dist.
93
WAS
Winds.
NE
Kemarks, © October 6. 1793.
A fresh steady gale.
Do. weather.
Spoke the Ranger of London, from Carolina.
Took in studding sails.
Do. weather.
Ship’s
Journal,
journal
Eddistone light NAW.
Do. weather.
Eddistone light NE.
Do. weather.
Set lower studding sails.
Fresh breeze and clear weather.
Do. weather.
D.L.
57
Dep
74
N. Latitude by
Acc.
49
Obs.
49 9
D. L<
114'W
W. Lon. by
Acc.
6° 18'
Obs.
W. Var.
2-j pts.
As there is no land in sight this day at noon, and from the course and distance run since the last bearing of the
Eddistone light was taken, it is not to he supposed that any part of England will be seen, the departure is t 'ere-
fore taken from the Eddistone j and the distance of the ship from that place is found by resolving an oblique-angled
plane triangle, in which all the angles are given, and one side, namely, the distance run (16 miles) between te
observations. Hence the distance of the Eddistone at the time the last bearing ot the light was taken wi e
found equal to 18 miles ; and as the bearing of the Eddistone from the ship at that time was NE, the ship s heal¬
ing from the Eddistone was SE. Now the variation points W, being allowed
T -«Tr'' * -%-WT 1 mi 1 1 * _ 1*1      4-~ Lsi O
jlkuw me vuimtuM, p—  e. allowed to the left of SW, gives
SAW|W, the true course. The other courses are in like manner to be corrected, and inserted in the lo owing
table, together with their respective distances, beginning at 10 o’clock A. M. the time when the last icaring 0
the Eddistone was taken. The difference of latitude, departure, course, and distance made good, are to be loumt
by Traverse Sailing.
Courses.
SAW4-W
WASl-S
SWiW
Dist.
Diff. of Lat.
N.
18
22
58
S 52i°W 93
Latitude of Eddistone
S.
17.0
5-3
34*6
Departure.
E.
W.
6.1
21.3
46.6
56.9=57111. 74.0
58 8N.
Latitude by account - 49 11N.
Sum - - - - 99 19
Middle latitude - - 49 4°
Now to middle latitude as a course, and the depar¬
ture 74m. in a latitude column, the difference of long,
in a distance column is 114 = l° 54*W-
Longitude of Eddistone - 4 24 W.
Longitude in by account
6 18W.
J Journal
practice.
Ship’s
lournal.
Hours.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
1 2
Kn.
NAVIGATION.
vl Journal from England towards Madeira.
Fa.
Course. IDist
S. 38° W. 99
Courses.
wsw
swsw
sw
Winds.
NE
N
NW
Var.
D.L
78
Dep.
92
N. Latitude by
Remarks, ]) October 7. 1793.
Fresh breezes.
Sounded 62 j tine sand.
Moderate and cloudy.
Unbent the cables, a.nd coiled them.
Took in studding sails.
Do. weather.
Do. weather.
Light breeze.
A sail S&E.
Hazy weather.
Do. weather.
Acc.
47° 51'
Obs.
D. Long.
93 W.
W. Long, by
Acc. Obs
7° 51'
W. Var.
by acc.
24- pts.
Forto Sancto’s
Bearing.
S gg°«-w.
Distance.
974 m.
7j5
Ship’s
Journal.
The courses being corrected for variation, and the distances summed up, the work will be as under.
Courses.
SW^S
SSW^W
S6W|W
S 38° w
Dist.
77
12
11
99
Dili, of Lat.
N.
S.
57-°
10.3
10.4
Departure.
E.
W
i1-?
6.2
3-7
61.6
Yesterday’s lat. by obser.
Latitude by account
Sum -
Middle latitude
To middle latitude 4840<
latitude column, the corresponding difference of longi¬
tude in a distance column is 93' = 1° 33' W.
Yesterday’s longitude - 918 W.
W.
77-7
i° 8'
■49 9 N
47 S1 N
97 o
48 30
and departure 61.6 in
Longitude in by account
7 51
It is now necessary to find the bearing and distance of the intended port, namely, Funchal4 but as that place
is on the opposite side of the island with respect to the ship, it is therefore more proper to find the bearing of the east
or west end of Madeira } the east end is, however, preferable. But as the small island of Porto Sancto lies a little to
the NE of the east end of Madeira, it therefore seems more eligible to find the bearing and distance of that island.
To find the bearing and distance of Porto Sancto.
Latitude of ship 470 51'N. Mej. parts 3278 Longitude of ship 70 ji'W.
Lat. of Porto Sancto 32 58 N. Mer. parts 2097 Lon. of Porto Sancto 16 25 \\ .
Difference of latitude 14 53 = 893. M, D. Lat. 1181 Difference of long. 8 34=514.
The course answering to the meridional difference of latitude and difference of longitude is about 23°4-, and the
distance corresponding to the difierence of latitude is 974 nnles. ^Jow as 1 01 to Sancto lies to the southward and
westward of the ship, the course is therefore S 23°4- W : and the variation, because W, being allowed to the right
hand, gives SWJ W nearly, the bearing per compass 5 and which is the course that ought to be steered.
4 X a A Journal
i6
Ship’s
Journal.
NAVIGATION.
A Journo/ from England towards Madeira.
Practice.
Honrs.
Kn.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Fa.
Courses.
SW
7 Ship’s head to
f the SW
Ship’s head
{- from SW to SSE
3 wsw
Winds.
NW
Variable.
Remarks, $ October 8. 1793.
w
W*N
s&w
ssw
Course.
S 6i° W
Dist
5i
D.L.
25
Dep.
45
N. Latitude by
Ace.
470 28'
Obs.
28'
D. Long.
Little wind and cloudy.
Tried the current, and found none.
Calm.
Calm j a long swell from the SVi.
Light airs and hazy.
Moderate wind and cloudy.
Set top-gallant sails.
By double altitudes of the sun, the latitude
was found to be 470 28' N.
W. Long, by
Ship’s
Journal.
67' w.
Acc.
8° 38'
Obs.
W. Var.
2 points.
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing.
S 21* w
Distance.
932
The several courses corrected will be as under.
Courses.
SSW
SW
wsw
WiS^S
S 6i° W
Dist.
3
23
22
J5
!5
Diff. of Latit.
N.
Yesterday’s latitude
S.
2.8
9.2
8.4
4.4
Departure.
24.8 = 25
47 51
W.
1.1
9.2
20.3
14.4
45-°
Latitude by account 47 26
Sum - - - 77
Middle latitude - 47 39
To middle latitude 374°» and departure 45' in a
latitude column, the difference of longitude in a di¬
stance column is 67' = i°
Yesterday’s longitude 7 51
Longitude in by account 8 58 W.  
To find the bearing and distance ot Porto Sancto.
Latitude of ship 470 28 N. Mer. parts 3244 ^ Longitude 8° 58' W.
Xat. of Porto Sancto 32 58 N. Mer. parts 2097 Longitude 16 25 W.
Difference of latitude 14 30=1870 M. D. lat. 1147 D. longitude 7 27=447*
Hence the bearing of Porto Sancto is S 2I°W, and distance 932 miles. The course per compass is therefore
SW nearly. , _
4 A Jourmi
Practice-
Ship's
Journal.
Hours. Kn
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Course.
W6N4N
Fa.
Dist
43
Courses.
NAVIGATION.
A Journal from England towards Madeira.
W6N
SEZ/S
up SE&S off ESE
upWSW offWNW
W/AV
WNW
W7N
W
Winds.
Remarks, $ October 9. 1793-
SW^S
sw
SWiS
ssw
D.L.
12
Squally with rain.
Handed top-gallant sails.
In first reel’topsails.
Hark gloomy weather. Tacked ship.
In 2d reef topsails, and down top-gallant yards.
Stormy weather ; in fore and mizen top-sails and 3d
reef main top-sail. Handed the main top-sail, bent
the main stay-sail, and brought to with it and the
mizen ; reefed the mainsail 5 at 10, w'ore and lay to
under the mainsail, got down top-gallant masts 3 at
12 set the foresail, and balanced the mizen.
The sea stove in several half ports.
The swell abates a little.
The swell abates fast.
Up top-gallant masts.
Set the top-sails.
Clear weather 3 good observation.
Hep.
41
N. Latitude by
Ace.
Obs.
470 40' I 47° 39'
D. Long.
61'
W. Long, by
Ace.
Obs.
9° 59'
W. Var.
2 points
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing. Distance
Courses.
WAS
w
WfN
EASfS
EAS-^S
E
NEAE
NWAW
NWAWfW
NWf-W
WAN-J-N
WAN-jN
Hist.
IO
'5-5
5-4
10.6
8
3
1
2
17.2
1
7*4
43
Diff. of Lac.
N.
o-5
0.6
1.1
8.1
7.0
2.1
19.4
7,0
Yest. latitude 47
12.4
28 N.
S.
2.0
3-1
1.9
7.0
Departure.
E.
10.1
7.8
3-o
0.8
21.7
W.
9.8
15-5
5-4
I;7
15.2
8.5
7-1
63.2
21.7
41.5
Lat. by account 47 40 N.
To middle latitude 370 34', and departure 41.5 the
difference of longitude is 6l'=:i0 i'W.
Yesterday’s longitude 8 58W.
Longitude in by account 9 59 W.
A Journal
717
Skip's
Journal.
There is no leeway allowed until two o’clock P. M. ’when the top-gallant sails are taken in 3 from 2 to 3 one
point is allowed 3 from 3 to 6, one and a half points are allowed 3 from 6 to 8, one and three-fourth points are
allowed 3 from 8 to 9, three points 3 from 9 to 10, four and a half points ; from 10 to 12, five points 3 from 12
to 10 A. M. three and a half points 3 and from thence to noon tw'o points leeway are allowed. Now' the several
courses being corrected by variation and leeway will be as under 3 but as the corrected courses from 2 to 3 P. M.
and from 10 to 12 A. M. are the same, namely, west 3 this, therefore, is inserted in the table, together with the
sum of the distances, as a single course and distance. In like manner the courses from 1 2 to 2, and from 5 to 8
being the same, are inserted as a single course and distance.
7i 8
Ship’s
Journal.
navigation.
yl Journey from England towards Mudev a.
Practice.
Ship’s
Journal.
Hours.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
IQ
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Kn.
Fa.
Courses.
W
Course.
S 740 W.
Dist.
108
wsw
SW6W
Winds.
ssw
Kemarks, It October 10. 1793.
SSE
SEiS
Fresh gales with rain.
Do. weather.
Out 3d reef topsails.
Lost a log and line.
Do. weather.
Do. weather.
Moderate and cloudy, out all reefs.
Sprung fore topgallant yard, got up another.
Do. weather.
A sail NE.
Employed working up junk.
A swell from the NW, which by estimation ha
set ship 7 miles in the opposite direction.
D.L
36
Dep.
104
N. Latitude by
Acc.
47° 9'
Obs.
D. Long.
153' W.
W. Long, by
Acc.
120 31'
Obs.
W'. Var.
2 Points.
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing.
S I2°W.
Distance.
870 m.
Two points leeway are allowed on the first course, one on the second ; and as the ship is 7 points from the
wind oVthe third course, there is no leeway allowed on it. The opposite point to NW, that from which the
swell set, with the variation allowed upon it, is the last course in the Iraverse I able.
Courses.
W
sww
SW6S
ESE
S 74 W
List.
86.2
12.3
24.7
7
108
Diff. of Lat.
N.
S.
6.8
20.5
!-7
Yesterday’s latitude
Latitude by account
Sum
Middle latitude
30.0
47 39
47 9
48
47 24
Departure.
6.5
6-5
W.
86.2
10.2
13-7
110.1
6.5
103.6
To middle latitude 47 24, and departure 103.6, the
difference of longitude is 153' = 2° 33'W.
Yesterday’s longitude - 9 59 '''*
12 32 W.
Latitude of ship
Lat. Port Sancto
To find the bearing and distance of Porto Sancto.
470 9' Mer. parts - 3216 Longitude
32 58 Mer. parts - 2097 Longitude
I 2° 3 2'W
16 25 w
about SW6W, - A Journal
Practice.
Ship’s
Jo irnal.
Hours.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
to
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Kn.
Fa.
Course.
Dist
Si2°45/W. 128
NAVIGATION.
A Journalfrom England to Madeira.
Courses.
SW6S
Winds.
ESE
E
ENE
Remarks, 5 October 11. 1793.
Moderate ivind and fair weather.
Shortened sail and set up the topmast rigging.
Do. weather.
Variation per amplitude 21° W.
A fine steady breeze.
By an observation of the moon’s distance from]
a Pcgasi, the ship’s longitude at half past 8*
was 120 28' W. J
Clear weather.
Do. weather.
Set studding sails, &c.
One sail in sight.
Dof weather, good observation.
D.L
12 5
D
ep
28
N. Latitude by
Ace. Obs.
45° 4'
44° 59
D. Lor <•,
41° W.
W. Long, by
Acc.
^ 13'
Obs.
12° 59'
W. Var.
Observed,
21
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing.
S 120 W
Distance.
737 miles.
7I9
Ship’s
Journal.
The observed variation 210 being allowed to the left of SW/jS gives S 12° 45' W, the corrected course, and
the distance summed up is 127.9, or 12^ ra^es* Hence the difference of latitude is 124.8, and the departure
28.2. The latitude by account is therefore 450 4' N, and the middle latitude 46° 6', to which, and the depar¬
ture 28.2 in a latitude column, the difference of longitude in a distance column is 41'W; which being added to
12° 32' W, the yesterday’s longitude gives 130 13' W, the longitude in by account. But the longitude by ob¬
servation was 120 28' W at half past 8 P. M. 5 since that time the ship has run 96 miles ; hence the departure
in that interval is 21.2 m. Now half the difference of latitude 47 m. added to 440 59', the latitude by observa¬
tion at noon, the sum 450 46' is the middle latitude j with which and the departure 21.2, the difference of lon¬
gitude is found to be 31' W 3 which, therefore, added to 120 28', the longitude observed, the sum is 120 59. W,
the longitude by observation reduced to noon.
Latitude ship
Lat. Porto Sancto
Difference of latitude
To find the bearing and distance of Porto Saiicto.
440 59^ N. Mer. parts - 3028 Longitude
32 58 N. Mer. parts - 2097 Longitude
12 1=721 M. D. lat. 931 D. Longitude
120 59' W
16 j 25 W
- - 3 26=206'
Hence the bearing of Porto Sancto is S 12° W, and distance 737 miles. The course to be steered is there¬
fore S 330 W, or SW6S nearly.
A Journal
7 20
Ship’s
-Journal.
navigation.
A Journal from England to Madeira.
Practice.
Ship’s
Journal.
Hours.
Kn.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
io
IX
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Fa.
Course.
SW6S
Winds.
E6N
Course.
S 13° 31' W.
ENE
lie marks, J? October 12. 1793.
Fresh gales, and cloudy.
Do. weather.
Hauled down studding sails.
Do. weather.
A steady gale and fine weather.
Do. weather.
Out studding sails alow and aloft.
Variation per azimuth 20° 14'W.
A sail in the SW quarter.
Sailmaker altering a lower studding sail.
Fine weather, and cloudy.
Dist
183
D.L
178
Dep.
43
N. Latitude hy
Acc.
420 1'
Ohs.
D. Long.
59'W.
W. Long, by
Acc.
140 12'
Ohs.
13° 58'
W. Var.
Ohs.
20° 14'
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing.
S 12° 14'
Distance.
555
The course corrected by variation is S 23 31'W, and the distance run is 183 miles; hence the difference of
latitude is 177.9, and the departure 42.8. g
Yesterday’s latitude hy observation 44 59N. Mer. paits - 3
Difference ol latitude - 2 58 S.
Latitude in by account
42
N.
Mer. parts
2783
Meridional difference of latitude - - ” ri2t'L+,„l0
Now to course i^0, and meridional difference of latitude 245 in a latitude column the difference of longitude
in a departure column is 59'W: hence the longitudes of yesterday by account and observation, reduced to the
noon of this day, will be 140 12'W and 130 58' respectively.
To find the bearing and distance ol Porto Sancto.
Latitude ship - 42° i'N. Mer. parts - 2783 Longitude
Lat. Porto Sancto 32 58N. Mer. parts - 2097 Longitude
130 58'W
16 25W
Difference of latitude 9 3=543 M. D. latitude 686 D. Longitude 2 27—147*
The meridional difference of latitude and difference of longitude will be found to agree nearest under 12, the
correct bearing of Porto Sancto ; and the variation being allowed to the right hand oi h 12 VV, gives & 32^
W, the bearing per compass-, and the distance answering to the difference of latitude 543, under 12 degrees,
555 miles.
A Journal
Practice.
Ship's
Journal.
NAVIGATION.
A Journal from England towards Madeira.
Hours. Km
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Course.
S6W4W
Dist
Courses.
S\TO
Winds.
ENE
ESE
Remarks, © OctoLer 13. 1793.
A steady gale, and fine weather.
At 34 minutes past three, the distance between the
nearest limbs of the sun and moon, together with
the altitude of each, were observed j from whence
the ship’s longitude at that time is 140 i'W.
Hauled in the lower studding-sails.
At 9h 22', by an observation of the moon’s distance
from « Pegasi, the longitude wras 14° 20'W.
Fresh gales, and clear.
Do. weather.
Variation per amplitude 190 51'W.
Do. per azimuth 190 28'W. Set studding-sails.
Carried away a fore-top-mast-studding-sail boom, got
up another.
Fresh gales. Took in studding-sails.
D.L.
184 178
Dep.
45
N. Latitude by
Acc.
39° 3'
Ohs.
D. Long.
59'W.
W. Long, by
Acc. Obs.
150 ii' 140 52' i| pts.
W. Var.
by Obs.
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing. Distance.
The mean of the variation is about points W: hence the course corrected is S&W-JVV j with which and the
distance run 184 miles, the difterence of latitude is 178.5, and the departure 44.7.
Yesterday’s latitude _ - - 420 i'N. Mer. parts - _ _ 2783
Diflerence of latitude - - 2 58 S.
Latitude in by account
39 3n-
Mer. parts
Meridional difference of latitude ------ - 234
Now, to course 1^ points, and meridional difference of latitude 234, the difference of longitude is about 59 m.j
which, added to the yesterday’s longitude by account 140 12'W, the sum 150 ll'W is the longitude in by ac¬
count at noon. The longitudes by observation are reduced to noon as follow:
The distance run between noon and 3** 34' P. M. is 29 miles; to which, and the course if points, the differ¬
ence of latitude is - - 28'
Yesterday’s latitude at noon - - 420 i'N.
Latitude at time of observation
Latitude at noon
41
39
33 N-
3N.
Mer. parts
Mer. parts
721
Ship’s
Journal.
2549
2746
2549
Meridional difference of latitude ------- - 197
Then, to course if points, and meridional difference of latitude 197 in a latitude column, the difference of
longitude in a departure column is 49'W; which added to 140 i'W, the longitude by observation, the sum
140 50'W is the longitude reduced to noon.
Again, the distance run between the preceding noon and <f 22'P. M. is 75 miles: hence the corresponding
difference of latitude is 72.8, or 73 miles ; the ship’s latitude at that time is therefore 40° 48'N.
Latitude at time of observation - 40°48'N Mer. parts - . _ 2686
Latitude at noon - - - - 39 3 N Mer> Parts “ - 2549'
Meridional difference of latitude - - - - - - - 137
Now, with the corrected course, and meridional difference of latitude, the diflerence of longitude is 34' W ;
which added to 40° 20'W, the sum is 140 54'W, the reduced longitude. The mean of which and the former
reduced longitude is 140 52' W, the correct longitude.
Vox.. XIV. Part H. f 4Y A Journal
722
Ship's
Journal.
NAVIGATION.
A Journalfrom England towards Madeira.
Hours.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Kn.
Fa.
Courses.
SW6S
ssw
SW6S
sw
wsw
Practice.
Ship’s
Journal.
Winds.
E6S
Variable
SE6S
SSE
s
Remarks, J) October 14. I793*
Fresh gales and hazy, single reefed topsails.
Got down topgallant yards.
Do. weather, and a confused swell running.
More moderate.
Do. with lightning all round the compass.
Squally, with rain.
Moderate weather} out reef, and up top¬
gallant yards.
At 1 ih 10' A.M. the latitude from double alti-
tudes of the sun was 37° io/. Clear weather
Course.
Dist.
S 16° W
D.L
116
in
Dep.
32
N. Latitude by
Acc.
37° 12'
Ohs.
37
D. Long.
41' W.
W. Long, by
Acc.
Obs.
15° 52'l 15° 33'
W. Var.
pts.
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing.
S io°W.
Distance
254 m-
As the the ship is close hauled from 2 o’clock A. M. l£ points leeway are allowed upon that course and a point
on the two following courses. •*    -
Courses.
S&WfW
S|W
SSW'W
sw^s
swzw^w
S 16° W
Dist.
30
54
J9
8.5
9-5
116
DifF. of Lat.
N.
S.
29.1
53-9
16.8
6.8
4.9
Departure.
E.
111.5=1" 5
39.,—31M.
37 12J
W.
7-3
2.7
9.0
5*1
8.1
Yesterday’s latitude
Latitude in by account
To middle latitude 38°, and departure 3
titude column, the difference of longitude in
column is 41'.
Yesterday’s Ion. by account 1501 ^W. byob.
Difference of longitude 41 ^•
Longitude in - 15 22
l' 32.2
lat. 38° 7'
2.2 in a la
a distance,
I4°52'W.
41 W.
*5 33 w-
The latitude by observation at nh 10' A. M. is 370 10', and from that time till noon the ship has run about
4 miles. Hence the corresponding difference of latitude is two miles, which subtracted from the latitude observed,
gives 370 8', the latitude reduced to noon.
To find the bearing and distance of Porto Sancto.
Latitude of ship - 370 8'N. - Mer. parts. 2403 - Longitude - *5° 33,';'',
Latitude of Port Sancto
Difference of latitude
37
32 58 N.
2403
Mer. parts. 2097
M. D. lat. 306
Longitude
Diff. longitude
16 25 w.
52
miles.
4 10=250
Hence the bearing of Port Sancto is S io° W, or SSW4W nearly, p-r compass, and the distance js 254. miles.
j <. 4 A Journal
Practice.
Ship’s
Journal.
Hours.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
I 2
Kn.
Fa.
NAVIGATION.
A Journal from England towards Madeira.
723
Courses.
WAN
W
WNW
NW6W
SiE
Winds.
S6W
SWiS
Variable.
SW6W
Course.
S. 68° W.
Dist
56
D.L
21
Dep.
52
N. Latitude by
Remarks, ^ October 15. 1793.
Moderate and clear weather.
Employed working points and rope-bands.
Ditto weather.
Fine clear weather.
Ditto weather.
Variation per mean of several azimuths 180 o' W.
Ditto v/eather. Tacked ship.
/
Sail-makers making wind-sails.
A fine steady breeze. Cloudy.
Acc.
36° 47;
Obs.
D. Long.
65' W.
W. Long, by
Acc. Obs.
J-
160 57' 16° 38'
W. Var.
by Obs.
18°
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing.
S4-E.
Distance.
229
Ship’s
Journal.
Half a point of leeway is allowed on each course j but as the variation is expressed in degrees, it will be more
convenient and accurate to reduce the several courses into one, leeway only being allowed upon them. The course
thus found is then to be corrected for variation, with which and the distance made good the difference of latitude
and departure are to be found.
Courses.
W|S
WAN-f-N
W-i-N
NWZW^W
NW£W
SiEfE
V
ar.
S 86° W.
18 W.
Dist.
18
27
7
2
12
20
56
Diff. of Latitude.
N.
7.8
0.7
0.9
7.6
17.0
1.8
19.1
20.9
17.0
3-9
Departure.
5-8
5.8
W
17.9
25.8
7.0
1.8
9-3
61.8
5.8
56.0
Tr. cour. S68 W. to which and the distance 56 m. the difterence
of latitude is 21 m. and the departure 51.9 m. Hence the la¬
titude in at noon is 36° 47' W, and middle latitude 36° 58', to
which and the departure 51.9 in a latitude column, the differ¬
ence of longitude in distance column is 65° W.
Yesterday’s long, by acc. 150 52'W. By obs. I5°33'W-
Difference of longitude 1 5 W. 1 5 W.
Longitude in
16 57
16 38 W.
Latitude ship
Lat. of Porto Sancto
Dist. of latitude
To find the bearing and distance of Porto Sancto.
36° 47'N.
32 58N.
Mer. parts
Mer. parts
M. D. Lat.
2376
2097
279
Longitude
Longitude
D .Longitude
i 01 latituuc ^ 49"*“ ——- —— - — ~~ 17 c?
Hence the course is S|E, distance 229 miles ; and the course per compass is S6W|W nearly.
4 Y 2
160 38'\\.
16 25 W .
o 13
A Journal
724
Ship’s
Journal.
NAVIGATION.
A Journal from England towards Madeira.
Practice.
Ship’s
J ournal.
Hours.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Kn.
Fa.
Course.
Dist.
S 8° E
186
Courses.
S6E
S
S6W
S6WXW
Winds.
SW6W
w
NW
N
NE£E
Remarks, § October 16. 1793.
Fresh gales.
Do. and cloudy.
A steady fresh gale.
Do. weather.
Do. weather.
Variation amplitude if points W.
People employed occasionally.
Do. weather. Observed sun’s meridian altitude.
D.L
185
Dep.
26
N. Latit. by
Acc.
33° 42'
Obs.
33° 46'
D. Long.
31' E*
W. Long, by
Acc.
16° 26'
Obs.
16° 7'
W. Var.
Obs.
if pts.
Porto Sancto’s
Bearing.
S 170 W.
Distance.
50 miles.
Half a point of leeway is allowed on the first course j which, and the others, are corrected for variation as usuah
Courses.
SE6S
SiEfE.
SfE
S
S8°E
Dist.
12.4
43-
65-
68.5
18.6
Diff. of Lat.
N.
10.3
41.2
64.7
68.5
Departure.
E.
6.9
12.5
6.4
Yesterday’s latitude
Latitude by account
Sum
Middle latitude
184.7 25-8
3° S'
36 47 N.
W.
33 42N-
70 29
35 15
To middle latitude and the departure, the difter-
ence of longitude in r. distance column is 3F E.
Yesterday’s long, by acc. 160 57'W. by obs. 160 3 8*W
Dift’erence of long. 031 E. - °3iE*
Longitude in
16 26 W.
16 7 wT.
Latitude of ship
Lat. Port Sancto
To find the bearing and distance of Porto Sancto.
330 46'N. Mer. parts - 2155 Longitude
32 58 N.. Mer. parts - 2097 Longitude
160 7'W
16 25 W
Difference of latitude 48 Mer. ditf. lat. 58 Dill. long.
Hence the bearing of Porto Sancto is S 170 W, distance 50 miles,
A Journal
Practice.
Ship’s
Journal.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
NAVIGATION.
A Journal from England towards Madeira.
725
Ship’s
Journal.
Hours.
Kn.
Fa.
Course.
ssw
s ,
SW6W
SWiW
ssw
Various.
NNW
NW6N
Winds.
NE6E
JRemarks, October 17. 1793.
Moderate wind and clear.
Saw the island of Porto Sancto, SW6S.
Hauled up to round the east end of Porto Sancto.
Bent the cables.
Squally weather.
Port Sancto SWZ>S.
Ditto with rain. Porto Sancto NE.
The Deserters SWhS.
The Deserters WSW. 3 or 4 leagues.
Hauled up round the east end of the Deserters.
Violent squalls ; clewed up at all times.
Running into Funchal Roads.
Anchored in Funchal Roads, with the best bower
in 30 fathoms black sand and mud. Brazen head
EhSiS, Loo Rock NW, the Great Church NNE,
and the southermost Deserter SE-^S j oil' shore two-
thirds of a mile. Saluted the fort with 13 guns; re¬
turned by ditto. Found here his majesty’s ship Ve¬
nus, and 7 English merchants.
This journal is performed by inspection agreeable to
the precepts given. Other methods might have been
nsed for the same purpose ; for which the two instru¬
ments already described and explained seem well adap¬
ted. We cannot, however, omit recommending the
sliding gunter, which will be found very expeditious,
not only in performing a day’s work, but also in re¬
solving most other nautical problems. See Slidi^g-
Gunter.
It will be found very satisfactory to lay down the
ship’s place on a chart at the noon of each day, and
her situation with respect to the place bound to, and
the nearest land, will be obvious. The bearing and di¬
stance of the intended or any other port, and other re¬
quisites, may be easily found by the chart as already
explained ; and indeed, every day’s work may be per¬
formed on the chart; and thus the use of tables super¬
seded.
EXPLANATION of the TABLES.
Table I. To reduce points of the compass to degrees,
and conversely,.
The two first and two last columns of this table con¬
tain the several points and quarter-points of the com¬
pass ; the third column contains the corresponding num¬
ber of points and quarters ; and the fourth, the degrees
&c. answering thereto. The manner of using this table
is obvious.
Table II. The miles and parts of a mile in a degree
of longitude at every degree of latitude.
The first column contains degrees of latitude, and
the second the corresponding miles in a degree of lon¬
gitude ; the other columns arc a continuation of the
first and second. If the given latitude consists of de¬
grees and minutes, a proportional part of the differ¬
ence between the miles answering to the given and
following degrees of latitude is to be subtracted from
the miles answering to the given degree.
Example. Required the number of miles in a degree
of longitude, in latitude 570 9' ?
The difference between the miles answering to the
latitudes of 570 and 58° is 0.89.
Then as 60' : 9' :: 0.89 : 0.13
Miles answering to 570 32.68
Miles answering to 57°9/ 32.5$
This table may be used in Parallel and Middle Lati¬
tude Sailing.
Table III. Of the Hull's Semidiameter.
Th is table contains the angle subtended by the sun’s,
semidiameter at the earth, for every sixth day of the
year. The months and days are contained in the first
column, and the semidiameter expressed in minutes and
seconds in the second column. It is useful in correct¬
ing altitudes of the sun’s limb, and distances between
the sun’s limb and the moon.
4
Table
726
NAVIGATION.
Practice.
Explan a- Table IV. Of the Refraction in Altitude. i8o5 ?
ti0Tableshe The refraction is necessary for correcting altitudes
 v   and distances observed at sea ; it xs always to be sub¬
tracted from the observed altitude, or added to tlie ze¬
nith distance. This table is adapted to a mean state ot
the atmosphere in Britain, namely, to 29.6 inches ot
the barometer, and 50° of the thermometer. If the
height of the mercury in these instruments be ditterent
from the mean, a correction is necessary to reduce the
tabular to the true refraction. See Refraction.
Ex. II. Required the sun’s declination August 20. Explana-
The given year is 12 years after I793> an<^ ^ime
is after the end of February 1800.
Now, Sun’s dec. August 19. 1793 - i2 34'-6
Equation from Table X. to 12 years ■—o 1 .9
tion of the
Tables.
Tables V. VI. Of the Dip of the Horizon.
The first of these tables contains the dip answering to
a free or unobstructed horizon J and the numbers there¬
in, as well as in the other table, are to be subtracted
from the observed altitude when the fore-observation is
used ; but added, in the back-observation.
When the sun is over the land, and the ship nearer it
than the visible horizon when unconfined; in this case,
the sun’s limb is to be brought in contact with the line
of separation of the sea and land j the distance ot that
place from the ship is to be found by estimation or other¬
wise ; and the dip answering thereto, and the height ot
eye, is to be taken from Table VI.
Table VII. Of the Correction to be applied to the time
of high water at full and change of the moon, to find
the time of high water on any other day of the moon.
The use of this table is fully explained at Section II.
Chap. I. Book I. of this article.
Tables VIII. IX. X. Of the Sun's Declination, &c.
The first of these tables contains the sun’s declination,
expressed in degrees, minutes, and tenths ot a minute,
for four successive years, namely, I793» I794> T795>
and 1796: and by means of Table X. may easily be
reduced to a future period *, observing that, after the
28th of February 1800, the declination answering to
the day preceding that given is to be taken.
Ex. I. Required the sun’s declination May 1. 1816 ?
May 1. 1812 is four years after the same day in 1812.
Sun’s declination May 1.1812 - 15 6.7 N
Equation from Table X. - ” +° 0 *6
Sun’s declination May 1. 1799
15 7-3n
Sun’s declination August 20. 1805 - 12 32.7
The declination in Table VIII. is adapted to the me¬
ridian of Greenwich, and Table IX. is intended to re¬
duce it to any other meridian, and to any given time
of the day under that meridian. The titles at the top
and bottom of this table direct when the reduction is to
be added or subtracted.
Table XI. Of the Right Ascensions and Declinations
of Fixed Stars.
This table contains the right ascensions and declina¬
tions of 60 principal fixed stars, adapted to the beginning
of the year 1793* Columns fourth and sixth contain
the annual variation arising from the precession of the
equinoxes, and the proper motion of the stars 5 which
serves to reduce the place of a star to a period a few
years after the epoch of the table with sufficient accu¬
racy. When the place of a star is wanted, after the
beginning of 1793, the variation in right ascension is
additive *, and that in declination is to be applied ac¬
cording to its sign. The contrary rule is to be used
when the given time is before 1793*
Example. Required the right ascension and declina¬
tion of Bellatrix, May 1. 1798 ?
Right ascension January 1.1793 — 5^J4 3
Variation = 3".2lX5Ty- = +° 0 17
Right Ascension, May I. 179®
Declination
Variation r= f X 5t y*
Declination May 1.1798 = 6 914N
The various other tables necessary in the practice of
navigation are to be found in most treatises on that
subject. Those used in this article are m Mackay s
Treatises on the Longitude and Navigation.
= 5 14 20
= 6° 8' 53"N
— -fo o 21
Table
Practice.
NAVIGATION.
727
Table I. To reduce Points of the Compass to Degrees, and con versely.
North-east
Quadrant.
North.
N^E
N4E
N4-E
N^E
NAE'E
NiE^E
N6E4E
NNE
NNE-JE
NNEiE
NNE4E
NE^N
NE|N
NEiN
NE^N
NE
NE^E
NEiE
NE4-E
NE^E
NEAE^E
NE^EfE
NE^EIE
ENE
EiN^N
E6N*N
E^NfN
E&N
E|N
EfN
EfN
East.
South-east
Quadrant.
South.
SfE
SfE
SiE
SbE
SiEfE
SAEfE
SiE^E
SSE
SSEjE
SSE4E
SSE4E
SEAS
SE|S
SEfS
SEfS
SE
SEfE
SEfE
SE4E
SEAE
SEAE^E
SEAEfE
SEAE4-E
ESE
EASAS
EASiS
EAS|S
EAS
E|S
EfS
EiS
East.
Points.
2 O
2 I
2 i
2 i
6 o
6 i
6 i
6 1
D. M. S.
000
2 48 45
5 37 3Q
8 26 15
11 15 o
M 3 45
16 52 30
J9 41 J5
22 30 o
25 18 45
28 7 30
3° 56 !5
33 45 o
36 33 45
39 22 30
42 11 15
45 o o
47 48 45
50 37 3°
53 26 15
56 15 o
59 3 45
61 c 2 30
64 41 15
67 30 o
70 18 45
73 7 3°
75 56 15
78 45 0
81 33 45
84 22 30
87 11 IS
90 o o
South-west
Quadrant.
South.
S|W
S*-W
siw
SAW
SAWfW
SAWfW
SAWjW
ssw.
SSWiW
SSWfW
SSWiW
SWAS
SW^S
SWiS
SW|-S
sw
sw^w
SWfW
SW|W
SWAW
SWAWiW
SWAWiW
SWAWiW
WSW
WAS^S
WASfS
WAS|S
WAS
W|S
WiS
WiS
West.
North-west.
Quadrant.
'Iable J11. Sun's Semidia
North.
NfW
NiW
N4-W
NAW
NAW-JW
NAWiW
NAW|W
NNW
NNW|W
NNWfW
NNW4-W
NWAN
NW|N
NW-J-N
NWfN
NW
NWfW
NWfW
NW4W
NWAW
NWAW^W
NWAW'W
NWAW|W
WNW
WAN^N
WANi N
WAN ^N
WAN
W|N
w;N
W4N
West.
Table II. The Miles and Parts of a Mile in a Degree of Longitude at every
Degree of Latitude.
D.L. Miles. D.L. Miles. D.L. Miles. D.L. Miles. D.L. Miles. D.L. Miles.
7
8
9
10
59-99
59-97
59-92
59.86
59-77
11
12
*3
J4
!5
59-67
59-56
59-44
59.26
59.08
58.89
58.68
58.46
58.22
57-95
16
J7
18
J9
20
21
22
23
24
25
57.67
57-36
57.06
56.73
56-38
56.01
55-63
55-23
54.81
54-38
26
27
28
29
3°
53-93
53-46
52.97
52-47
51.96
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
5 M3
50.88
5°-32
49-74
49-15
48.54
47.92
47.28
46.62
45-95
45.28
44-95
43.88
43.16
42.43
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
41.68
40.92
40.15
39-36
38.57
37-76
36.94
36 11
35-26
4 -41
33-55
32.68
3I-79
3°-90
30.00
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
29.09
28.17
27.24
26.30
25-36
24.41
23-45
22.48
21.50
20.52
I9-54
18.54
I7-54
16.53
15-52
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
I4-5I
I3-5°
12.48
1M5
10.42
9-38
8-35
7-32
6.28
5-23
4.18
3-I4
2.09
1.05
0.09
a
cS
6
7
J3
!9
25
17
J3
!9
25
1
7
J3
J9
25
Oh
<1
I
7
J3
A9
25
I
7
J3
J9
25
7
J3
J9
25
1
7
J3
J9
25
sp 13
<1 J9
25
Oh
<L>
C/D
7
-*3
J9
25
7
J3
J9
25
-0
s
7
13
J9
25
7
J3
J9
25
Sun’s
Semidiam.
16' 19
16 19
16 19
16 18
16 17
16 16
16 15
16 14
16 13
16 12
16 10
16 9
16
16
16
16 2
l6 I
x5 59
!5 57
*5 56
15 54
*5 53
15 52
15 51
!5 50
!5 49
J5 48
15 47
J5 47
15 47
15 47
J5 47
15 47
15 48
!5 48
lS 49
J5 5°
lS 51
1'5 52
I5 53
J5 55
15 56
J5 58
J5 59
16 1
16
16
16
16
16
16 11
16 13
16 14
16 15
16 16
16 17
16 18
16 18
16 19
16 19
Table
Practice,
/
2B
navigation.
Practice
NAVIGATION.
729
Days
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
H
*5
16
18
J9
20
January
230 l'6S
22 56.4
22 50.8
22 44.7
22 38.2
22 31.2
22 23.8
22 I5.9
22 7.6
21 58.9
February.
*7° /i8
16 50.3
16 32.8
16 15.0
*5 59-9
15 38-6
I5 i9-9
15 1.1
H 4I*9
14 22.6
Table VIII. Su/fs Ueclination for 1809, being the jirat after leap year.
March.
37'1 S
M-3
28.4
l*S
42.0
18.8
35-4
32.°
8.6
April.
1 29'7-N
52.8
15.8
38-7
i-5
24.2
46.8
9-3
3^1
53-9
M^y
150 2'oN
15 20.0
37-9
55-4
16 12.7
16 29.7
16 46.5
17 2.9
17 19.1
J7 35-o
June.
22° 2'5N
22 10.6
22 18.3
2 2 25.6
22 32.4
22 38.9
22 45.O
22 50.7
22 56.O
23 O.9
230 8'8N
23 4-7
23 0.1
22 55.2
22 49.9
22 44.1
22 38.0
22 S'-S
22 24.6
22 17.3
July.
August.
18° 5'7N
17 50*5
*7 35-°
17 19.2
x7 3-2
16 46.8
16 30.2
16 13.3
13 56.2
13 38-8
September. | October
8°2i'9iN
8 0.0
38.1
16.0
33-8
3M
9.0
46.4
23.8
1.0
’ 7'4&
30.7
54-o
l7-3
40.4
3-6
26.7
49-7
12.6
33-4
140 24'3 b
14 43-3
15 2.4
13 21.1
*3 39*6
15 37-7
16 15.7
16 33-3
16 50.7
17 7.8
Occ Cliibcf
2i° 48'7b.
21 37-9
22 6.6
22 14.9
22 22.8
22 30.3
22 37-3
22 43.9
22 50.0
22 33-7
21 49.7
21 40.1
21 30.1
21 19.7
21 8.9
20 57.6
20 46.0
20 33.9
20 2I.C
20 8.7
I4 2.9
13 43-1
13 23.0
13 2.7
>3 42.3
12 21.5
12 0.6
11 39.6
11 18.3
10 $6.9
43-°
21.3
37-9
34-2
10.6
46.9
23.2
39-3
33-7
12.0
8 16.0
8 38.0
8 39-9
9 21.6
9 43-1
10 4.5
10 25.7
10 46.7
11 7-3
11 28.3
17 50.6
18 5.9
18 20.9
18 33.6
18 co.o
19 4.1
19 17.9
l9 3'-3
19 44.4
>9 37-1
23 3-3
23 9-4
23 i3-i
23 16.4
23 ^
23 21.7
23 23-7
23 23-3
23 26.5
23 27.3
22 9.6
22 1.5
2i 33-°
21 44.2
21 33-°
21 25.4
21 J3'3
21 3-3
20 54.6
20 43.6
13 21.2
lS 3-3
14 43-1
14 26.7
14 8.1
13 49-3
13 3°*3
13 11.0
12 3I-3
12 31.9
38.2
I3-3
32- 3
29-3
6.2
43-°
19.8
36.6
33- 3
10.0
38.2
20.9
43-4
3-9
8 28.2
8 50.4
9 12o
9 34-3
36.3
10 18.0
17 24.6
17 41.0
*7 37-2
18 13.1
18 28.6
18 43.9
18 58.7
19 13-3
J9 27-3
‘9 4I-3
23 0.9
23 3-6
23 10.0
23 13.8
23 17.2
23 20.0
23 22.5
23 24.3
23 26.0
23 27.0
21
22
23
24
23
26
27
28
29
3°
l9 35-3
19 42.0
19 28.0
19 13.8
18 59.2
18 44.2
18 28.9
18 13.2
17 37-3
17 41.0
10 33.2
9 3I-3
9 29.3
9 7-3
8 44.9
8 22.4
7 39-8
11.6N
33-3
38-9
22.5
46.1
9.7
33-2
36.6
20.0
43-3
48.8
9.0
29.1
49.0
8.7
28.2
47-4
6.4
23.2
43-7
20 9.5
20 21.6
20 33-3
20 44.7
20 33-7
21 6.4
21 16.7
21 26.6
21 36.1
21 43-3
23 27.7
23 27.7
23 27.2
23 26.3
23 25.0
23 23.4
23 21.3
23 18.8
23 J3*9
23 12-3
20 32.3
20 20.6
20 8.5
19 56.2
l9 43*3
l9 3°-3
19 17.1
l9 3*4
18 49.5
18 35.2
12 12.0
11 51.9
11 31.7
11 11.3
10 50.7
10 29.9
10 9.0
9 47-9
9 26.6
9 3-2
46.6
23.2
0.2 S
23.6
47.0
10.4
33-9
37-3
20.7
44.0
39-3
0.9
20.0
43-°
3-9
24.6
45-°
3-3
23-4
43-2
31
24-4
4 6-3
21 54.1
8 20.6
8 43-6
19 54.8
20 7.9
20 29.7
20 33.0
20 45.0
20 c6.6
21 7.9
21 18.7
21 29.1
21 39*
23 27.6
23 27.7
23 27.3
23 26.4
23 23.1
23 23.3
23 21.0
23 18.3
23 ^
23 n-3
14 4.9
23 7-3
Table VILI. T/ie Sim's Declination for 18 to, being the second after leap year
Days
1
2
3
4
3
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
*4
r3
16
17
18
J9
20
January. I February.
230 2^78
22 57.7
22 52.I
22 46.2
?2 39-7
22 32.9
22 25.6
22 17.8
22. 9.6
22 1.0
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31- 9
42.6
32- 3
22.2
“•3
°*3
48.8
36.9
24-3
11.8
’ 1 i'6S
34-3
37-°
19-3
'•3
43-c
?4-4
3-6
46-3
27.2
l9 38-7
r9 45-3
l9 3x-3
!9 17-3
19 2.8
18 47.9
18 32.5
17.1
1.2
'1 43-o
311728.5
‘4 7-7
13 47-9
l3 27.9
!3 7-7
12 47.2
12 26.6
12 5.8
11 44.7
11 23.3
11 2.1
Mai'ch.
I42'7^
19.6
37-°
34-°
10.9
47-7
24-3
1.1
37-7
14.2
10 40.6
10 18.9
9 37-°
9 34-9
9 12.8
8 50.5
8 28.0
8 3-4
3°-7
27.2
3-6
40.0
16.3
32-7
29.0
3-3
41.6
18.0
April.
24'oN
47-1
10.1
33-1
33-9
18.7
4I-3
3-9
26.3
48.3
° 3-7
0 29 3
o 33-°
1 16.7
1 40.2
2 3.8
2 27.3
2 3°-7
3 M-2
3 37-3
4 o-7
8
8
8
9
9
9
10
ic
r 1
11
10.7
32-7
34-3
16.3
37-8
59.2
20.4
4I-3
2.4
23.1
43-6
4.0
24.1
44.0
3-7
23-3
42.6
1.6
20.5
39*1
May.
14°37'5n
!3 13-6
i3 33 3
*3 31*1
16 8.5
16 25.6
16 42.4
16 58.9
17 15.2
17 31'1
17 46.8
18 2.2
! 8 i7-3
18 32.0
18 46.5
19 0.6
l9 I4-3
19 28.0
19 41.1
19 54.0
20 6.4
20 18.6
20 30.4
20 41.9
20 53.0
3-7
14.1
21 24.1
21 33-8
21 43.0
21 52.0
June.
July.
22
22 8.6
22 16.4
22 23.7
22 30.7
22 37-3
22 43-3
22 49-3
22 54-7
22 59.7
o'jN 230 9'7N
23 5.7
23 I-3
22 56.4
22 51.2
22 43-3
22 39-3
22 33.0
22 26.7
22 19.0
23 4-3
23 8.4
23 12.2
23 j3-6
23 l8-5
23 21.1
13 23.2
23 24.9
23 26.2
23 27.1
23 27.6
23 27.7
23 27-3
23 26-3
23 25.4
23 23.8
23 21.8
23 J9-4
23 16.6
23 J8-4
22 11.4
22 3-3
21 33-1
21 46.4
21 37-3
21 27.8
21 18.0
21 7.8
20 57-3
20 46.3
20 33.1
20 23.5
20 11.5
'9 39-3
19 46.6
19 33-7
19 20.3
6.8
18 1:2.9
18 38.7
18 24.1
August.
18° 9'3N
>7 34-2
17 38-7
17 23.0
17 7.0
16 50.7
16 34.2
16 17.4
16 0.3
‘3 43-°
l5 25-4
r3 4-7
H 49-3
14 31.2
14 12.7
l3 33-9
J3 33-°
l3 M-8
12 56.3
12 36.7
12 16.9
12 56.9
11 36.7
11 16.3
^ 35-7
33 0
10 14.0
9 33-°
9 SW
9 IO-3
Se])temi)er
8°27'iN
8 3-3
43-4
21.3
39-1
36.8
14.4
3I-9
29-3
66
43-8
20.9
58.0
35'°
11.9
48.8
25 6
2-3
39-1
J3-7
o 52.4
o 29.0
o 5.6
o 17.8S.
o 41.3
1 4-7
1 28.2
1 51.6
2 13-0
2 38-4
Vol. XIV. Tart II.
t
8 48.8
~Tz
October.
1 l'8S
23-1
48.4
11.7
34-9
58.0
21.r
44.1
7.0
29.9
52.6
37-9
0.4
22.7
44.9
7.0
29.0
3°-9
12.6
10 34.2
10 33-6
11 16.8
11 37-9
n 58.8
12 19.5
12 40.0
13 0.4
13 20.5
13 30-4
November.
14° I9'6S
14 38.8
r4 37-8
15 16.6
J3 33*1
r3 33-3
16 11.3
16 29.0
16 46.5
17 3-6
17 20.4
17 37.0
r7 33-2
18 9.2
18 24.8
18 40.1
18 55.0
J9 9-7
19. 24.0
*9 37-9
14 0.1
19 3i-3
20 4.7
20 17.5
20 30.0
20 42.1
20 53-8
21 5.1
21 16.0
21 26.6
21 36.7
December.
21° 46'4S
21 53-7
22 4.5
22 12.9
22 20.9
22 28.5
22 35.6
22 42.3
22 48.5
22 54-3
22 59.6
23 4-5
23 8.9
23 12,9
23 16.4
23 19.4
23 21.9
23 24.0
23 25.6
23 26.8
23 27.5
23 27.7
23 27.4
23 26.7
23 25-3
’-3 23.8
23 21.5
23 19.0
23 I3-9
23 12.4
23 8.4
Table
730
NAVIGATION.
Practice.
Table VIII. Sun's declination for 1S11, being the third after leap year.
Days.
January.
11
12
13
M
*5
16
!7
x8
*9
20
23° 3'9S
22 58.9
22 53-5
22 47.7
22 41.3
22 34.6
22 27.4
22 19.7
22 11.6
22 3.1
21°54*2
21 44.8
21 35-°
21 24.8
21 14.1
21 3.1
20 51.7
20 39.9
20 27.9
20 15.0
February
I7°I5'7S'
16 58.6
16 41.3
16 23.6
15 5-7
15 47-5
15 29.0
15 IO-3
14 32.0
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
3^
31
20 0.0
19 48.6
x9 34-9
19 20.8
19 6.3
‘8 36.3
18 20.9
5-o
18
14 12.5
*3 52-8
!3 32-9
13 12.7
12 52.3
12 31.7
12 10.9
11 49.9
11 28.8
IT 7.4
March.
48'2S.
25-4
2.6
39-6
16.5
534
30.1
6.8
43-5
20.4
17 48.9
17 32-5
10 45.9
10 24.2
i° 2.3
9 40-3
9 18.1
8 55-8
8 334
8 10.9
3 56-5
3 33-°
3 9 5
45-9
22.2
58.6
34-9
11.2
° 47-5
o 23.8
0.0
23.6N
47.2
10.9
34-5
58.0
21.6
45-i
8.5
o
o
o
I
1
2
2
2
3
3 3I-9
3 55‘2
April.
i8'4N
4I-5
4.6
27-5
504
'3-1
35-8
58.3
20.7
43-°
5*2
27-3
49.2
10.9
32.5
54-°
364
57-3
18.1
38- 7
59*°
J9-3
39- 3
59-°
18.6
38.0
57*1
16.0
34-7
May
53'lN
ll<3
29.2
46.9
4-3
21.4
38-3
54-9
11.2
27*3
43-0
584
13.6
28.5
43-°
57-2
11.1
24.7
37-9
5°-9
June.
21
22
22
22
22
22
22
22
22
22
58'5N
6.7
I4.6
22.0
29.I
35-8
42.0
47-9
534
58.5
23
22
22
20
20
20
20
20
21
21
21
21
21
3-5
15-7
27.6
39-2
5°4
1.2
11.7
21.8
3r-5
40.9
21 49-9
23
23
23
23
23
23
23
23
23
23
3-2
74
n-3
14.8
17.9
20.5
22.7
24- 5
25- 9
26.9
Jui}.
23°io/6N
23 6.7
2-3
57-6
524
22 46.9
22 41.0
22 34.6
22 27.9
22 20.8
18° i2'8S.
n 57-8
424
26.8
10.9
54-7
38.2
21.5
4-5
47.2
!7
l7
16
16
16
16
A5
22
22
21
21
21
21
21
21
20
l3-3
54
57-2
48.5
39-5
30.1
20.4
10.3
59-8
20 48.9
27-5
27.7
274
26.8
25-7
24.2
22.2
20.0
14.2
37-8
26.2
20
20
20 14.4
20 2.2
19 49.6
19 36.7
*9 230'
19 10.0
18 56.2
18 42.0
August.
September
29.7
11.9
53-9
35-6
17.2
58.5
39-5
20.3
1.0
41.4
8032'3S.
8 10.6
48.7
26.6
4-5
42.2
19.9
574
34-8
12.1
49-3
26.5
3-5
40.6
17-5
54-3
31 ■ 2
7-9
44.6
21.3
18 27.6
21.6
1.6
4I-5
21.1
0.6
39-9
19.0
58.0
36.8
15-5
8 54-o
57-9
34- 5
11.1
12.3S
35- 7
59-1
22.5
45-9
9-3
32-7
October. IJN ovember.
2° 56'IS.
3 *94
42.7
5*9
29.2
52.3
i54
384
I-3
24.2
i40i4,8S.
*4 34-1
4 53*1
15 11.9
4 3°*5
15 48.8
16 6.9
16 24.6
16 42.1
16 59-3
6 47.0
7 9-7
7 32-3
7 54-9
8 17*3
8 39-5
9 I*7
9 23-7
9 45-6
10 7.4
10 29.0
10 50.4
11 11.7
11 32.8
11 53-8
12 14.5
12 35-°
12 554
*3 *S-6
13 55-5
17 16.3
*7 32-9
*7 49-3
5-3
21.0
18 36.4
18 51.4
6.1
IQ 20. C
19 34-5
December.
2I044'oS,
21 534
22 2.3
22 IO.9
22 18.9
22 26.6
22 33.9
22 4O.7
22 47.O
22 52.9
19 48.2
20 I.5
20 I4.4
20 27.I
20 39.2
20 5I.O
21 2.4
21 I3.4
21 24.O
21 39.2
22 58.3
23 3-3
23 7-9
23 11.9
23 JS’S
23 18.7
23 21.3
23 23.5
23 25.3
23 26.5
23 27.4
23 27.7
23 27.5
23 26.9
23 25.8
23 24.2
23 22.2
23 I9-7
23 16.7
23 13-3
23 94 23 9.4
Days,
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
4'9S,
0.0
22 54.8
22 49.0
22 42.9
22 36.2
22 29.1
22 21.6
22 13.6
22 5.2
12
*3
14
25
16
17
18
!9
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
3°
January. I February. | March.
Table VIII. Sun's Declination fc/r 1812, being leap year
170 i9'8S.
17 2.8
16 45-5
16 27.9
16 10.1
!5 5I-9
l5 33-5
15 14.8
H 55-9
M 36-5
21 56.3
21 47.0
21 37-3
21 27.2
21 16.7
21 5-7
20 54-4
20 42.6
20 30.5
20 18.0
7 3l/oS-
7 8.2
6 45-3
6 22.2
59 1
35-9
12.6
49.2
25.8
2-3
*4 17-3
*3 57-6
*3 37-7
J3 17-S
12 57.2
12 36.7
12 15.9
11 55-°
11 33-8
11 12.5
20 5.0
19 51.8
19 38.2
19 24.1
19 9.8
18 55.0
18 40.0
18 24.6
18 8.9
17 52.9
31 I1? 36.5
10 51.0
10 29.4
10 7.6
9 45-6
9 23.5
9 ^
8 38-9
8 16.4
7 53-8
3 38.8
3 1S-z
2 51.6
2 27.9
2 4-3
1 40.6
1 16.9
0 53-2
o 29.5
o 5.8
o 17.9N
o 41.5
I 5.2
I 28.8
1
2
2
52-3
15.8
39-3
2.7
26.1
3 494
4 12.6
April.
35'7n
58.8
21.8
44-7
7-5
30.2
52.8
15.2
37-6
59-8
May.
June.
July.”
15° 6'7N
lS 24-7
15 42.4
15 59-9
16 17.1
16 34.0
16 50.8
17 7.2
T7 23.3
l7 39*1
I August.
2 2° 4'6N 230 7'6N i8° 1'5’N
September.
8 21.9
8 43-8
9 5-6
9 27-3
9 48.8
10 10.1
10 52.2
11 13.0
11 33-6
17 54-6
18 9.9
18 24.8
18 39.4
18 53-7
19 7.7
19 21.3
l9 34-7
19 47.7
20 0.3
22 12.5
22 20.1
22 27.3
22 34.0
22 40.4
22 46.4
22 52.0
22 57.2
23 2.0
11 54.0
12 14.3
12 34-3
12 C4.2
13 13*8
13 33-2
J3 52.3
14 11.3
14 30.0
14 48.5
23 6.3
23 10.3
23 J3-9
23 17.0
23 19-7
23 22.1
23 24.0
23 26.5
23 26.6
23 27.3
20 L2-7
20 24.6
20 36.3
20 47.5
20 58.4
21 9.O
21 I9.2
21 29.O
21 38.5
21 47.6
21 56'3
23 3-3
22 58.7
22 53.6
22 48.2
22 42.3
22 36.1
22 29.5
22 22.4
22 15.0
22 7.3
21 CQ.O
21 5O.5
21 41.6
21 32.3
21 22.7
21 12.6
I 2.3
20 5I.5
20 4O.4
17 46.2
17 3O.6
17 I4.7
l6 58.6
l6 42.2
25.5
16 8.6
15 5M
15 33-9
23 27.6
23 27.4
23 26.9
23 25.9
23 24-5
23 22.7
23 20.5
23 I7*9
23 14.8
23 11.4
16.2
58.2
14 40.0
14 21.6
2.9
44.0
25.0
5-7
46.2
26.4
VS
I3
J3
12
12
20 29.0
20 17.2
20 5.1
l9 52-7
*9 39-9
19 26.8
l9 13-3
18 59.6
»8 45-5
18 31.1
18 16.4
8° i5'9N
7 54-°
7 32.0
7 9-9
6 47.7
6 25.3
6 2.8
5 40*3
5 t7'6
4 54-8
6-5
46.4
26.1
11 5-7
10 45.0
10 24.2
10 3.2
9 42.0
9 20.7
8 59-3
8 37-7
32.0
9.x
46.1
23.0
59-9
36.8
13.6
5°-3
27.0
3-7
October.
37'°
°-3
23-5
46.7
9.8
32-9
55-8
18.7
41,5
4°-3
16.9
6.5
29.9
53-3
16.7
40.1
3-5
26.9
5°\3
7 4-3
7 26.9
7 49-4
8 11.8
8 34-i
8 56.3
9 18.4
9 4°-3
10 2.0
10 23.7
November. December.
29,38'
48'5
7-4
26.0
44.4
2.5
20.3
37-9
55-2
12.2
Si'cS,
0.1
22 8.7
22 17.0
22 24.7
22 32.0
22 39.0
22 45.4
22 51.4
22 57.0
10 45.1
11 6.4
11 27.6
11 48.6
12 9.4
12 30.0
12 50.4
13 10.6
13 30.6
13 5°-4
14 10.0
28.9
45-3
1.4
17.2
32.6
47-7
2-5
17.0
31.0
19 44.8
19 582
20 11.2
23-9
36.1
48.0
m
21.4
31‘7
41.6
2.0
6.7
23 10.9
23 14.6
23 17.8
20.6
23 23.0
23 24.8
23 26.2
23 27-I__
23 27.5
23 27.5
23 27.0
23 26.0
23 24.5
23 22.0
23 20.3
23 17*4
23 i4-°
22 10.3
Practice. NAVIGATION.
NAVIGATION.
Practice,
Table X. Change of Sim's Dee.
C3
ft
Complete Years.
o'—i
O .2
O -3
I90
250
IO .7
70 .7
13° .7
190 .6
250 .6
1 o
70
130
190
250
I o
7°
130
190
250— 1
3
12
l6
•4
1 o .5
i7° -5
130 .6
190 .6
25° -7
10 .7
70 .7
130 .7
19° .7
2504-7
o'—3
O .40
o .60
O .7
o .
.6
•5
•5
.40
30 -7
•3
.20
1 o
70
130
190
_25°
1 o
70
130
190
250
I o
70
130
190
_250+ 7
I o
70
130
190
JiL
.6
•3
.42
.42
4~ 4 1
.42
.42
.2 1
.1
.00
o— 1
.x o
.2 0
•3°
.40
2 0 .6 0
4 0 .7
4 0 .9
'—4
•7
•9
.1
•3
o'—6
o .9
•5°
.40
.20
.0 0
.6
2
2
2
2
24- 8
2
.6 2
i
1
1
.8 1
•5°
•3°
.1
.0
o .1
0—3
42
42
42
42
.6
.2
.92
2
.6
14-424- 1
2
2
2
2
24- 8
4 2
42
10
7° -5
130 .4
190 .4
25 o .3
10 .2
70 .2
130 .1
190 .0
25°
.8
.6
Table XI. The Right Ascensions and Decimations of the Pnncipal fxcd Stars,
adap ted to the beginning of the I far 1810.   
Names of Stars.
Pegasi
^ Ceti
Alrucabah, pole star
Mirach
Achernar
Almaach
Menkar
Algol
Algenib
Aldebaran
Capella
Rigel
/3 Tauri
Bellatrix
§ Orionis
1 Orionis
g Orionis
x Coin mine
Betelguese
/3 Canis Majoris
Canopus
Sirius
£ Canis Majoris
Castor
Procyon
Pollux
£ Navis
y Navis
Acubens
/3 Navis
Alphard
Regulus
n Navis
/B Ursx Majoris
Dubhe
Leonis
y Ursoe Majoris
a Crucis
y Crucis
/3 Crucis
Aliath
Spica Virgin is
£ Ursa: Majoris
Benetnach
/8 Centauri
Arcturus
ct Centauri
Alpbacca
/3 Scorpii
Antares
Bas. Algethi
Ras. Alhague
Vega
Altair
Deneb
Gruis
Fomalhaut
Scheat
Markab
ec Andromeda:
2
2
2*3
2
1
2
2
Var.
1
2
bo
ss
I
1
2
2
2
2
2
2
I
2-3
1
1
2
1.2
1.2
2-3
2
2
3
2
1
2
2
1.2
1
1
2
2
1
Right Ascen.
in Time.
2
2
1
1.2
2
2
1
2
2
2
3' 57"
34 2
54 !5
59 7
3° 38
52 16
52 20
56 o
10 49
25 1
2 40
5 !9
14 17
14 57
22 20
26 35
31 11
32 45
44 53
14 22
8 48
9 11
19 43
36 46
o 40
22 27
29 20
32 48
56 44
3 4i
4
6
9 18 14
9 58 I4
10 37 43
10 co 17
10 51 54
11 39 21
11 47 45
12 16 9
12 20 42
12 36 44
12 45 36
13 15 11
13 16 23
13 4° 4
13 5° 32
14 6 59
14 27 16
15 26 38
15 54 26
16 17 45
3" .06
3 -oi
12 .42
3 ‘31
2 ,25
3 -62
3 ‘i1
3 ‘8S
4 .21
3 A2
Ann.
Var.
4 -41
2 .87
3 -78
3 -21
3 ’°7
3 *04
3 *03
2 .17
3 -24
2 .65
1 -33
2 .65
2 .44
3 ,85
3 •I4
3 -69
2 .11
1 .85
3 -3°
o -75
17 5 59
17 26 7
18 30 30
19 41 3°
20 34 56
21 56 ii
22 47 6
22 54 34
22 j5 17
23 58 34
2 -93
3 -20
2 .30
3 -71
3 -85
3 -o6
3 .22
3 -24
3 -24
3 *4i
2 .67
3
2 -43
2 .40
4 .11
2 .72
4 -45
2 *53
3 -47
3 -64
2 -73
2 -77
2 .02
2 .92
2 -®3
3 .85
3 -33
2 .87
2 .96
3 •°7
Declination.
Ann.
14° 7' 35"N
19 3 36 S
88 17 41 N
34 36 45 N
58 11 19 S
41 24 47 N
3 20 27 N
40 12 53 N
49 9 3iN
16 9 6 N
-j-20" o
—19 ,8
4-* 9
4-19
-18 .5
M7
+ 14
+ 14
+ 13 .6
-j- 8 .2
45 47
8 25
28 26
6 10
o 26
1 19
2 3
34 10
7 21
17 52
41 N
48 S
10 N
1 N
53 8
57 s
8 S
54 8
40 N
16 S
+ 5 -i
4
+ 4
+ 4 .0
— 3
— 3
— 2 .6
— 2
+ 1
+ 1 .2
5l 35
15 27
26 6
32 17
5 42
28 27
39 28
46 46
12 35
68 56
44 8
48 S
o S
33 N
56 N
28 N
20 S
39 8
19 N
13 8
7 5°
12 53
58 4i
57 23
62 46
15 37
54 44
62 2
C2 2
58 S8
25 s
29 N
20 S
53 N
43 N
9 N
7 N
46 S
42 s
55 8
57 10
10 9
55 54
5° J5
59 26
20 10
60 3
27 21
10 16
25 59
48 N
54 8
8 N
58 N
ci S
34 N
17 S
44 N
29 S
49 8
+ 1
+ 4
+ 5
— 6
— 7
— 7
+ 9
+ 10
—i3'
+ 14
+ >5 *2
—17
-{-18
-^i9
—19
—19
—20
-f- 20
-f-20
+ l9
—19
+ 19
—19
—18
+ i7
—19
4-16
— 12
4,10
+ 8
14 36
12 42
S8 36
8 22
44 36
48 1
30 48
27 3
27 3
28 2
57 N
37 N
35 N
13 N
13 N
58 S
14 s
7 N
7 N
31 N
- 4 .8
— 3 .0
-f- 2 .6
+ 8 .5
+ !2 -5
—17 .1
—19 .0
+19
+ 19
4-20
Navigation
N A V r 733 ] N A V
Naviga- Navigation of the Ancients* See Phoenicia and
tion, Trade.
Inland Na- Inland Navigation, the method of conveying com-
, vigation. from one par(; Gf a country to another by
means of rivers, lakes, canals, or arms of the sea. See
Canal.
We have already, under Canal, taken notice of a
method proposed by Dr Anderson of raising and lower¬
ing vessels by means of mechanical powers, instead of
dams and locks. We shall describe another mechani¬
cal contrivance proposed by Mr Leach for the same
purpose. This machinery is compounded of an inclined
plane and wheel in axis. The inclined plane is a pa¬
rallelogram whose length reaches from the end of one
canal to the beginning of another, or to the sea or na¬
vigable river, to which the vessel is next to be convey¬
ed ; the breadth ought to he 22^ feet, It may he
made of good oak or deal plank, and sufficiently strong
to bear the weight to be laid upon it; and it must be
very strongly supported by beams of oak or other
wood. It ought to be divided in the middle by a
ledge or rib of 12 inches square, the side ribs being
nine by 12 inches. The elevation must depend upon
CCCLXIX particular circumstances. Fig. I. shows the inclined
iig. x. Part of the machine ; AB being the wooden part just
described, placed between the side of the hill W and
the navigable river F. According to the dimensions
already given, the two paths A and B on which the
vessels move are exactly ten feet wide. G represents
the canal, brought perhaps from the distance of several
miles to the top of the precipice WW. At the end
of the canal, and quite across from R to R, must be
built a very strong wall 5 in which are two sluices
with flood gates at K and L, to let out the water
occasionally. Between the head of the plane AB,
and the end of the canal G, is a horizontal platform
divided into two parts, as is represented in the figure
by the letters HI. At the end of the canal are six
rollers M and N, of use in carrying the boats and
lighters in and out of the,canal. Near the end of the
canal, at S, and T, are two other sluices, with their ,
flood-gates, for letting out a quantity of fluid to drive
the other part of the machine. O and P represent the
two ends of the towing paths, one on each side of -the
canal.
Fig. 2. shows the vehicle by which the lighters are
conveyed up and down the inclined plane, by the two
paths A and B, fig. 1. A A (fig. 2.) represents part
of the inclined plane, B the vehicle in the position in
which it rolls up and down the two paths. C is the
body of the vehicle, which is made hollow, to con¬
tain a quantity of water occasionally used as a coun¬
terbalance for its corresponding vehicle. HDD are
three rollers between the bottom of the vehicle and
the plane, for the purpose of rolling the boats up and
down. HHH ftre six rollers; four by the horizontal
part of the vehicle on which the boat E is to rest in
its passage up and down the plane; the .other two rol¬
lers are in a moveable part, which is fastened to the
body of the vehicle with a pair of very strong hinges :
* and in the passage of the vehicle up and down the
plane, it turns up between the head of the boat and
the plane, preventing the former from rubbing against
the plane. When the vehicle gets up to the top, this
moveable part falls down on the platform marked HI, Inland Na*
becoming parallel with the horizontal part of the ve- vigation.
hide ; after which it serves for a launch and passage * ' '
to place the boat upon the rollers MN (fig. 1.) at the
end of the canal. This passage part of the vehicle,
together with the three rollers at the end of the canal,
is likewise of great use in towing a boat out of the
canal, in order to place it on the horizontal part. At
the bottom of the cavity of the vehicle is a large hole
F, with a valve opening inwardly. Through this hole
the water enters when the vehicle sinks into the naviga¬
ble river F, for the purpose of receiving a boat on the
top or horizontal part of the vehicle, till it is quite
full, and then wall sink entirely under water, while the
boat is towed in on the horizontal part. A small rope
K is fastened to the valve, on purpose to lift it up and
to keep it so, while the vehicle and boat are ascending
up the plane out of the canal j that so the water may
discharge itself till as much as is necessary be got out,
or till it becomes an equal balance for the correspond¬
ing vehicle and its contents, which are descending by
the other path. Hence we see, that every machine
must have two of these vehicles furnished with rollers
as already described, and so constructed that one may
be as nearly as possible a counterbalance to the other.
As it is necessary that the vehicles should be water tight,
the insides of them must be caulked very tight 5 and
they should be capacious enough to hold as much <
water as will balance the largest boat with its con¬
tents. Here it may he observed, that every vessel
will be balanced by as many cubic feet of water as it
displaces by being put into the water when loaded.
The quantity may easily be known, by observing bow
far the boat sinks in the water, and calculating the
bulk of the part immersed.
The machine which puts the vehicles in motion, may
either be constructed with an under-shot or breast-water
wheel : or by an over-shot water wheel : or by two
walking-wheels, for men to w’alk in as in cranes, &c.
Fig. 3. shows a front view of the under-shot water-Fig. 2= ■
wheel movement; where A is the end of the axis or
cylinder of the cog or spur wheel j the diameter of
which axis is four feet, and its length not less than
22 feet, as it must be extended quite across the canal
from one side to the other, and placed on the top of
vei’y strong supporters on each side of the canal, about
seven feet above the surface of the water, as the load¬
ed boat is to pass backwards and forwards under the
cylinder, and at a convenient distance from the wall
RR (fig. I.) 5 and placed between the two sluices S
and T; on the end of which cylinder is the cog¬
wheel B (fig. 3.). The wheel B is supposed to be
20 feet of diameter, having on its edge 120 cogs > and
underneath the cog-wheel is the breast-water one C,
24 feet in diameter, from the tip of one aller-board
to the tip of its opposite. On the end of the axis of
the water-wheel D is a trundle two feet and a half
in diameter, with 15 rounds and staves contained there¬
in. This must be placed between the two sluices S
and T, to let the water out of the canal 5 which, fall¬
ing on the float-boards, will turn the wheel round
from the right hand towards the left, when the sluice
on the left hand of the wheel is opened j but the con¬
trary way when that of the right is opened.—The water
falling
0
.Inland Na¬
vigation.
lig. 4.
rig- 5.
N A V [ 734 1 N A U
falling upon the boards passes along with the wheel in at the top to receive the boat, the other will be at the
the circular cayity EGF, and is discharged at G, what¬
ever way the wheel may turn.
To the axis or cylinder of this machine, which must
Inland Nr.
vigation
always be horizontal, are fixed a pair of strong ropes •,
the ends of each pair fastened to the upper part of
the cylinder ^ it being necessary that they should act
in contrary directions. Each must extend the whole
length of the plane, and their strength must be pro¬
portioned to the weight necessary to be sustained. The
two vehicles already mentioned are fastened to the other*
ends of the ropes ; so that one pair ol the ropes are
wound up by the cylinder turning one way, and the
other by its turning the contrary way. Thus when
one of the vehicles is at the upper part of the path A,
ready to discharge its boat and cargo into the upper
canal, the other boat will be at the foot of the path 13,
all under water in the lower canal, and ready for the
reception of a boat to be towed in on the horizontal
part of it; so that as one vehicle rolls up on one side of
the plane, the other will roll down on the other side,
and vice versa.
Fig. 4. shows the movement by means of an over¬
shot water-wheel. It consists of a water-wheel C,
and two spur or cog-wheels A and B. 1 he water¬
wheel is 18 feet in diameter, and has two rows of
buckets placed contrariwise to one another, that it
may turn round in contrary directions, according as
the one or the other sluice, S, or T, is opened. On its
axis F is a trundle of three feet diameter, having 18
rounds or staves which fall into the cogs of the se¬
cond spur-wheel B, causing it to turn round in a di¬
rection contrary to that of the water-wheel. This
second wheel is likewise 18 feet in diameter, with a
trundle of three feet having 18 rounds or staves.—
The diameter of the upper spur-wheel A is also 18
feet, but the diameter of its axis is six feet. On the
edge of the wheel are 108 cogs. These fall in between
the staves of the axis of the other spur-wheel *, and
thus the third wheel turns round the same way with
the water wheel C. The cylinder of this upper spur-
wheel must be placed across the canal betwixt the two
sluices, on very strong supporters, as explained in the
former movement, and the two pair of ropes in the
same manner.
The movement of the walking wheel is shown (fig.
5.). A1 and A2 are two wheels for men to walk in,
each of them 24 feet in diameter. Bi and B2 are
the axes or cylinders of the two wheels, of equal
lengths j viz. n feet each, and four in diameter.—
At one end of each of the two cylinders Cl and C2, is
a wheel of the same diameter with the cylinder. On
the edges of these wheels are teeth of an equal num¬
ber in each wheel *, and as the teeth of the wheels mu¬
tually fall into each other, the revolutions of both
must be performed in the same time. By this con¬
trivance also the cylinders will turn different ways \ and
the ropes on the two different cylinders will constantly
one pair be wound up, and the other wound down, by
the natural moving of the machine. DDD is the frame
that supports the whole, which must be made very firm
and secure.
Let us now suppose, that there is a boat in the up¬
per canal to be brought down, but none to go up for
H balance. In this case, as one of the vehicles must be
bottom to take in water. Let then any of the move¬
ments just described be set to work, and it is plain,
that as the upper vehicle with its boat descends, the ci)ja
under vehicle rvill ascend with the water \ the valve be- '■ 1 y—.
ing in the mean time lifted up till a sufficient quantity
of water has flowed out, to make the one nearly a coun¬
terbalance to the other j so that the vessel may slide
down gently and without any violence.
If it happens that a boat is to go up while none is
to come down, one of the vehicles being at the foot
of the plane under water, and in readiness to have the
boat towed upon its horizontal part, one of the sluices
at K or L is to be opened, and a quantity of water let
into the cistern of the upper vehicle sufficient to coun¬
terbalance the boat with the contents which is to as¬
cend. This being done, the machine is set to work, the
valve of the under vehicle kept open till the water is all
discharged j and then the boat will roll up to the top of
the plane.
From this description of the canal and machinery
for raising and lowering the vessels, the reader can be
at no loss to undei*stand the principles on which it
depends. It would be superfluous to adduce examples,
or follow our author through his calculations relative
to particular cases. We shall only observe, that the
difference of time in which vessels may be raised or
lowered by the machinery just described, in comparison
with what can be done in the common way by dams
and locks, must give a very favourable idea of the new
method. According to Mr Leach’s computations, a
boat with its cargo weighing 10 tons might be raised
by the walking machine in 12 or 14 minutes, by the
under-shot wheel in 15 minutes, and by the over-shot
wheel in 30 minutes j and that through a space of no
less than 30 fathoms measured on the inclined plane, or
114 feet perpendicular.
NAVIGATORS islands. See Opoun.
NAULUM, in Roman antiquity, a piece of money
put into the mouth of a person deceased, to enable him
to pay Charon the ferryman for his passage. It was to
be of the current coin of the reigning emperor j so that
from this money the time of the person’s death may be
known. The sum for poor men was a farthing, but
the rich in general were very liberal to Charon, as
appears from the number of coins often found in the
neighbourhood of Rome on opening the graves of great
men. Charon was looked upon as a very morose and
obstinate old fellow, who would not carry over any man
without his fare : and hence the proverbial use of that
verse in Juvenal,
Furor est post omnia perdere naulam.
A similar custom took place among the Greeks: The
money put into the mouth of the deceased was by them
called Aacvasxi).
NAUMACHIA, in antiquity, a show or spectacle
among the ancient Romans, representing a sea fight.
These mock sea fights are supposed to have originated
at the time of the first Punic war, when the Romans
first instructed their men in the knowledge of naval
affairs. Afterwards they were intended to entertain
the populace, as well as to improve the seamen. They
were often, like other shows, exhibited at the expence
of individuals, to increase their popularity.
< la
IN LAN]) NAVI GAT ION.
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-fit
n
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N A U t 73S ] N A U
tfaumachia In these spectacles they sometimes strove to excel
II each other in swiftness j and sometimes engaged in a
Nauplius. warUke manner. The naumachite of Cladius indeed
-J v was a most savage diversion. The combatants used
to destroy each other to amuse a tyrant and a cruel
mob. As they passed before him, they nsed this me¬
lancholy greeting, “ Ave Imperator, morituri te salu-
tanty The emperor replied, “ Avete vos.” This
they understood as an answer of kindness, and a grant
of their lives ; but they soon discovered that it pro¬
ceeded from wanton cruelty, and barbarous insensibi¬
lity. In the time of the emperor Domitian, such a
vast number of vessels engaged as would have nearly
formed two regular fleets for a real fight, and the
channel of water was equal in magnitude to a natural
river. The emperor Heliogabalus is reported to have
filled the channel where the vessels were to ride with
wine instead of water. Tritons and sea monsters were
frequently exhibited during the engagement. Suetonius
and Dio Cassius inform us, that at one of these sea fights
of Domitian a violent shower fell; the emperor, how¬
ever, continued till the end of the engagement, often
changing his clothes, nor would he suffer any one to de¬
part j and as the rain continued for several hours, many
were seized with distempers, and some even died, Suet,
cap. 4. Dio. lib. Ixvii. Naumachiee were also places
fitted up for these shows, a sort of circi or amphitheatres,
with seats and porticoes, &c. There were several of
them at Rome; three built by Augustus, one by Clau¬
dius, another by Domitian, and another by Nero:
which served for the reverse of his medals. Claudius
used the lake Fucinus as a naumachia.
NAUMBURG, a town of Germany, in the circle
of Upper Saxony, Capital of the county of Saxe-Naum-
burg, situated on the siver Sala, in E. Long. 11. 20.
N. Lat. 51. 12.
NAUR ACTUS, or Naup ACTUM, in Ancient Geo¬
graphy, a city of TEtolia, at the mouth of the Evenus.
The word is derived from vav? and Tr/i'/wpi, because it
was fhere that the Heraclidse built the first ship which
carried them to Peloponnesus. It first belonged to
the Locri OzoIec, and afterwards fell into the hands
of the Athenians, who gave it to the Messenians, who
had been driven from Peloponnesus by the Lacedse-
monians. It became the property of the Lacedseino-
nians after the battle of iEgospotomos, and it was re¬
stored to the Locri. Philip of Macedon afterwards
took it, and gave it to the ^Etolians ; from which cir¬
cumstance it has generally been called one of the chief
cities of their country. E. Long. 22. 20. N. Lat.
38. O. • •
There was on the shore a temple of Neptune, and
near it a cave filled with offei'ings, and dedicated to
Venus, where widows resorted to request new husbands
of the goddess. Pausan. lib. x. p. 898.
NAUPLIA, in Ancient Geography, a maritime city
of Peloponnesus. It was the naval station of the Ar-
gives. The fountain Canathos was in its neighbourhood.
NAUPLIUS, in fabulous history, a son of Neptune
and Amymone, king of Euboea. He was the father of
the famous Palamedes, who was so unjustly sacrificed
to the artifice and resentment of Ulysses by the Greeks
at the Trojan war. The death of Palamedes highly
enraged Nauplius j and to revenge the injustice of the
Grecian princes, he endeavoured to ilebauch their
wives, and ruin their characters. When the Greeks Nuuplius
returned from the Trojan war, Nauplius was pleased H
to see them distressed in a storm on tile coasts of F.n-. au^c0Py;
hoea •, and to make their disaster still mox-e universal,' *
he lighted fires on such places as were surrounded with
the most dangerous rocks, that the fleet might be ship¬
wrecked upon the coast. This had the desired ef¬
fect j but Nauplius was so disappointed when he saw
Ulysses and Diomedes escape from the general distress,
that he threw himself into the sea. According to
some mythologists there were two persons of this name :
one a native of Argos, who went to. Colchis with Ja¬
son. He was son of Neptune and Amymone.—The
other was king of Euboea, and lived about the time of
the Trojan war. He was, as some observe, son of Cly-
tonas, one of the descendants of Nauplius the Argonaut.
The Argonaut was remarkable for his knowledge of
sea affairs and of astronomy. He built the town of
Nauplia, and sold Auge daughter of Aleus to King
Teuthras, to screen her from her father’s resentment.
NAUPORTUS, or Nauportum, in Ancient Geo¬
graphy, a town on a cognominal river, towards its
source, in Pannonia Superior. The reason of the name,
according to Pliny, is that the ship Argo, after coming
up the Danube, the Save, and the Laubach, was thence
carried on men’s shoulders over the Alps into the A-
driatic. The river Nauportus rises in the Alps, near
Longaticum, at the distance of six miles from the town
Nauportum ; which was a colony of the Taurisci, a
people on the confines of Noricum. Now Upper Lau¬
bach in Carinthia, on the river Laubach. E. Long.
14. 40. N. Lat. 46. 28.
NAUSCOPY, the art of discovering the approach
of ships or the neighbourhood of land at a considerable
distance. This pretended art was discovered by M.
Bottineau, employed in the king and company’s service
in the island of France, from the year 1782 to 1784 j
the account of it is as follows :
“ This knowledge is not derived either from the un¬
dulation of the waves, or from the subtility of sight, or
from any particular sensation; but merely from obser¬
vation of the horizon, which discovers signs indicating
the proximity of ships or of land.
“ On the approximation of a ship toward the land,
or towards another ship, there appears in the atmo¬
sphere a meteor of a particular nature, visible to every
one without any painful attention. It is not by any
kind of accident that this meteor appears under these
circumstances ; on the contrary, it is the necessary re¬
sult of the approximation of one vessel towards another,
or towards the land. The existence of the meteor, and
the knowledge of its different modifications, are what
constitute the certainty and the precision of my infor¬
mation.
“ If I am asked, how it is possible that the approach
of a ship towards land should give birth to any meteor
whatsoever in the atmosphere, and what connexion there
can be between two objects at such a distance from each
other ? I reply, that I am not obliged to give an ac¬
count of the hows and the wherefores : that it is suffi¬
cient for me to have discovered the fact, without being
obliged to account for its principle.”
The writer concludes, by desiring to be called on for
experimental proofs, and by promising in future a com¬
plete treatise of Nauscopy, with maps, plates, &c.
This
N A W [ 736 ]
Nauscopy, This complete treatise, as far as we know, has not wood.
Naworth yet been published-, nor do we expect ever to see such
Castle, treatise on the subject as will satisfy the minds of
tl^se who are persuaded that every eftect must hu^ e
a,n adequate cause. The whole seems to be the work
of fancy.
NAUSEA, or Sickness; a retching or propensity
and endeavour to vomit, arising from something which
irritates the stomach.
NAUTILUS, a genus of animals belonging to the
order of vermes testacea. See Conchology Index.
NAVY, the fleet or shipping of a prince or state.
See Marine,
The management of the British royal navy, under the
lord high admiral of Great Britain, is intrusted to prin¬
cipal officers and commissioners of the navy, who hold
their places by patent. The principal officers of the navy
are four, viz. the treasurer, whose business it is to re¬
ceive money out of the exchequer, and to pay all the
charges of the navy, by warrant from the principal
officers: comptroller, who attends and controuls all
payment of wages, is to know the rates of stores, to
examine and audit all accounts, &c. : surveyor, who
is to know the states of all stores, and see wants sup¬
plied; to estimate repairs, charge boatswains, &c. with
what stores they receive, and at the end of each voyage
to state and audit accounts : clerk of the acts, whose
business it is to record all orders, contracts, bills, war¬
rants, &c.
The commissioners of the navy are five : The first
executes that part of the comptroller’s duty which re¬
lates to the comptrolling the victualler’s accounts ; the
second, another part of the said comptroller’s duty re¬
lating to the account of the storekeepers of the yard;
the third has the direction of the navy at the port ot
Portsmouth ; the fourth has the same at Chatham; and
the fifth at Plymouth. There are also other commission¬
ers at large, the number more or less according to the
exigencies of public affairs; and since the increase of
the royal navy, these have several clerks under them,
with salaries allowed by the king.
The victualling of the royal navy hath formerly
been undertaken by contract; but is now managed by
commissioners, who hold their office on Tower-hill,
London. The navy office is where the whole business
concerning the navy is managed by the principal of¬
ficers and commissioners.
The royal navy of Great Britain is now in a very
flourishing state, having been diligently kept up in late
reigns, as the natural strength of the kingdom. When
it is complete, it is divided into three squadrons, di-
tinguished by the colours of the flags carried by the
respective admirals belonging to the same, viz. ret/,
white, and blue; the principal commander of which
bears the title of admiral; and each has under him a
vice admiral and a rear admiral, who are likewise flag
officers.
Navy Exercise. See Exercise.
Navy Discipline, or Regulations. See Maritime
State.
NAWORTH castle, in Cumberland, 10 miles
from Carlisle, near the Gelt. This castle is still entire
and inhabited. It is a large pile, square, and built
round a court. On the north it stands over the ri¬
ver Ithing, at a great height, the banks shagged with
N A X
  The whole house is a very irregular building;
the rooms numerous, accessible by 16 staircases, with
most frequent and sudden ascents and descents, Sic.-—
The great hall has a gallery at one end, adorned with
four vast crests carved in wood, viz. a griffin and dol¬
phin, with the scallops; an unicorn, and an ox with
a coronet round his neck. In front is a figure in wood
of an armed man; two others, perhaps vassals, in short
jackets and caps. The top and upper end of the room
is painted in squares, representing the Saxon kings and
heroes. This castle was built by one of the Dacres
-about the reign of Henry III. In the garden walls
were stones ivith Roman inscriptions, which the late
earl of Carlisle gave to Sir Thomas Robinson, and were
by him removed to his museum at Rooksby: On one ot
these stones is this inscription,centum qmnqiia-
ginta Britanorum ; whence its appears that the Romans,
when in possession of Britain, sometimes indulged the
national troops with the favour of garrisoning their own
territories.
NAXIA, or Naxos, a considerable island of the
Archipelago, 25 miles in length, and 88 in circum¬
ference. The whole island is covered with orange,
olive, lemon, cedar, citron, pomegranate, fig, and
mulberry trees ; and there are a great many springs
and brooks. This island has no harbour; and yet
they carry on a considerable trade in barley, wine, figs,
cotton, silk, flax, cheese, salt, oxen, sheep, mules,
and oil. They burn only oil of mastich, though olive
oil is exceedingly cheap. It is inhabited both by Greeks
and Latins, who live in great dread of the Turks ;
for when the meanest of their ships appear here, they
always wrear red caps like galley-slaves, and tremble
before the lowest oflicer; but as soon as they are
gone, they put on their caps of velvet. The ladies
are so vain, that when they return out of the country
they have 40 women in their train, hall on foot and
half on asses, one of whom carries a napkin or two,
another a petticoat, another a pair of stockings, and
so on; which is a very ridiculous sight to strangers.
There are four archbishops sees in this island, and a
great many villages ; but so thin of people, that the
whole island does not contain abovef8ooo inhabitants.
The highest mountain is Zia, which signifies “ the
mountain of Jupiter.” There are but few antiquities,
except some small remains of the temple of Bacchus.
Some say they have mines of gold and silver ; how¬
ever, there is one of emery, which is so common here
and so cheap, that the English often ballast their ships
therewith.
NAXOS, or Naxia, a considerable town, and capi¬
tal of the isle of Naxos, over against the isle, of Paros,
with a castle and two archbishops sees, the one Greek
and the other Latin. The greatest part of the .in¬
habitants are Greeks. E. Long. 25’. 51* -L*1!*
S7- •
NAXUS, now Naxia, formerly Slrongylc, Dia,
Dionysius, Callipolis, and little Sicily. It was calico
Strongyle, from a Greek word, signifying “round,’’
though in reality it is rather square than round. The
names of Dia or Divine, and Dionysius, were given
it as being consecrated in a peculiar manner to the fa¬
bulous god Dionysus or Bacchus. The appellation
of Callipolis, Pliny and Solinus derive from the metro¬
polis of the island, formerly a most beautiful city,
1 which
Naworth
Castle
11
Naxus.
Naxu*.
N A X
is tlie import of the word
which is the import of the word C'allipolis.
* great fertility of the country gave rise to the name
of Little Sicihj, Naxus being the most fruitful of all
the Cyclades, as Agathamerus informs us, and no
less fertile than Sicily itself. As for the name of
Naxus, some assert that it was borrowed from one
Naxus, under whose conduct the Carians possessed them¬
selves of the island ; others pretend it received its name
from Naxus, the son of Endymion. Stephanus, Suidas,
and Phavorinus, derive the name of Naxos, from the
Greek word ?ia.rai, signifying, “ to sacrifice,” and will
have it to have been so called from the many sacrifices
offered here to Bacchus. With these Bochart agrees,
as to its being called Naxos from the sacrifices per¬
formed here in honour of Bacchus, but will have the
word naxos to be a corruption of the Phoenician nasca,
or nicsa, signifying “ a sacrifice, offering.” Naxos
is, according to Pliny, 75, but reckoned by the pre¬
sent inhabitants 100 miles, in compass. It has Paros
to the west, Myconos and Delos to the north, and
ios to the south. This island is the most fruitful of
the Archipelago, and was formerly famed for the ex¬
cellent wines it produced. Archilochus, as quoted
by Athenseus, compares them to the nectar of the
gods •, and Asclepiades, cited by Stephanus, assures
us, that Bacchus took more delight in Naxos than
in any other place whatsoever, having himself taught
the inhabitants to cultivate their vines. The wine
of Naxos maintains to this day its ancient reputation,
being by some deemed the best of the Levant. Be¬
sides wine, this island abounds with all sorts of deli¬
cious fruits, the plains being covered with orange,
olive, lemon, cedar, citron, pomegranate, mulberry,
and fig trees. It was formerly famous for quarries of
that sort of marble which the Greeks called ophites,
from its being green, and speckled with white spots
like the skin of a serpent. The best emerald is found
here on the mountains near the western coast, whence
the neighbouring cape is called by the Italians capo
smeriglio, or the emerald cape. As to the inhabitants
of Naxos, Diodorus relates that the island was first
peopled by the Thracians. These were in a little
time subdued by a body of Thessalians, who, having
possessed the island for the space of 200 years and
upwards, were compelled to abandon it by a drought
and famine.
After the Trojan war, the Carians settled here, and
called the island Naxos, from their king, who was the
son of Polemon. He was succeeded by his son Leu¬
cippus, and Leucippus by his son Smardius, in whose
reign Theseus, coming out of Crete, landed here with
Ariadne, whom he was, in his sleep, commanded by
Bacchus to leave in this island. In process of time a
colony of Cnidians and Rhodians settled here under
the conduct of Hippothous and Xuthus : and last of all
the lonians, who, in time, possessed the whole island $
whence the Naxians are, by Herodotus, called lonians,
and ranged among the Athenian colonies. E. Long.
26. 5. N. Lat. 36. 30. It is about 105 miles in cir¬
cumference, and about 30 broad.
Naxus, in Ancient Geography, a town of Crete, fa¬
mous for its hones, called lapis Naxius. Another of
Sicily, built by the Chalcidians *, situated on the south
^ide of Mount Taurus, destroyed by Dionysius the
Vol. XIV. Part IL ' ' t
[737 1
The tyrant
N A Z
from its ruins Tauromenium, built by Timo-
leon, either arose or was increased, (Plutarch).
NAYRES, the nobility of the Malabar coast. We ,
may with truth affirm that they are the oldest nobility *
in the world j lor the most ancient writers mention
them, and quote the law that permits the Nayre la¬
dies to have many husbands ; every one being allowed
four. Their houses, which stand single, have as many
doors as the lady has husbands. When one of them
visits her, he walks round the house, striking with
his sabre on his buckler; he then opens his door,
and leaves a domestic with his arms in a kind of
porch, who serves to inform others that the lady is
engaged. It is said, that one day in the week the
four doors are all opened, and all her husbands visit
her, and dine together with her. Each husband gives
a sum of money, or portion, at the time of marriage;
and the wife only has the charge of the children. The
Nayres, even the Samorin, and the other princes,
have no other heirs than the children of their sisters.
This law was established, that the Nayres, having no
family, might be always ready to march against the
enemy. When the nephews are of age to bear arms,
they follow their uncles. The name of father is un¬
known to a Nayre child. He speaks of the husbands
of his mother and of his uncles, but never of his
father.
NAZARETH, a little city in the tribe of Zebu-
lun, in Lower Galilee, to the west of Tabor, and to
the east of Ptolemais. Eusebius says, it is 13 miles
from Legion towards the east. This city is much ce¬
lebrated in the Scriptures, for having been the usual
place of the residence of Jesus Christ for the first 33
years of his life, Luke ii. 51. It was there our Sa¬
viour became incarnate, where he lived in obedience
to Joseph and Mary, and from whence he took the
name of a Nazarean. After he had begun to execute
his mission, he preached there sometimes in the syna-
gogue, Id. iv. 16. But because his countrymen had
no faith in him, and were offended at the meanness of
his original, he did not many miracles there, Matth. xiii.
54, 58. nor would he dwell therein 5 so he fixed his ha¬
bitation at Capernaum for the latter part of his life, Id.
iv. r3. The city of Nazareth was situated upon au
eminence ; and on one side there was a precipice, from
whence the NaZareans one day had a design of throw¬
ing down our Saviour, because he upbraided them with
their incredulity, Luke iv. 29.
St Epiphanius says, that in his time Nazareth was
only a village, and that to the reign of Constantine it
was inhabited by Jews alone, exclusive of all Christians.
Adamnanus, a writer of the seventh age, says, that in
his time there were two great churches to be seen at
Nazareth, one in the midst of the city, built upon two
arches, in the place where our Saviour’s house had
stood. Under the two arches now mentioned, was a
very fine fountain, which furnished water to the whole
city, and from whence water was drawn also bv the
help of a pulley for the use of the church above. The
second church of Nazareth was built in a place where
the house stood wherein the angel Gabriel revealed to
the virgin Mary the mystery of our Lord’s incarnation j
and we are assured that the church of the Incarnation,
which is supported by two arches, is still in being to
5 A this
Nhxhs
II
Nazareth.
Nazareth,
Nazarite.
N A :Z
this day. Mr Maundrell tells us, that there is a con¬
vent built over what is said to be the place o! annunci¬
ation ; for the chamber where she received the angers
salutation >vas about 500 years ago removed from Na¬
zareth, and, according to the Koman legends, trans¬
ported by angels to Loretto, then a small village in
the pope’s dominions, now become a bishop’s see.—
However, Calmet’s opinion (which is certainly the
true one) upon the difterent translations of tins famous
house of Loretto, is, that they were no other than so
many different buildings made upon the model of the
church of Nazareth, just as in several places sepulchres
have been built upon the model ol that at Jerusalem.
Mariti tells us, that in the eastern part of the city
stands the church dedicated to the Blessed Virgin : the
zeal of the Coenobites raised it from the ruins of that
which had been destroyed by the Saracens. It is a
very handsome building, and consists ol three naves •,
in the middle of which is the principal altar j to which
there is an ascent by two magnificent stairs, much ad¬
mired for their iron ballustrades, the work ol an inge¬
nious monk of the convent. I he descent to the grot¬
to or annunciation chapel below is by steps of beauti¬
ful marble, cut with great taste. Two beautiful co¬
lumns of oriental granite strike the eye of the observer
in the entrance. They appear to have been construct¬
ed both to support and ornament the grotto. T-he al¬
tar pf this subterranean chapel is extremely elegant ;
and the different kinds of marble with which it is or¬
namented, receive an additional lustre from the com¬
bined light of several silver lamps presented by Chri¬
stian princes. On solemn festivals, the Avails and the
pilasters are ornamented with various pieces ol tapes¬
try, representing the mysteries ol the virgin 5 a su¬
perb present from the House ol Austria. In the
western part of the city stands a Christian church,
built, as it is said, on the site of the ancient synagogue
where Jesus showed the Jeivs the accomplishment of
the prophecies in his person. Jins place served a long
time as a shelter for flocks, but at present it is in good
repair. In the neighbourhood may be seen a fountain
of excellent water, which is, however, esteemed by the
people on another account. They conjecture that it
Avas contiguous to the habitation of the virgin, and
that it was used by her. At some distance is a large
stone of a round form, called Christ's Table. It is
pretended that lie came hither more than once Avith his
disciples to eat. The inhabitants of Nazareth pay it a
kind of worship, burning perfumes and incense around
it. It is situated in 350 E. Long, and in 3 2° N. Lat.;
and formerly held the third rank under the patriarch of
Jerusalem. At present it is part of the domains of the
chief of Acre. The ancient city, after the ravages ot
fanaticism, was reduced to a miserable hamlet, con¬
taining only a few Arab huts.—Under the protection
of Halier Omar, however, it recovered very consider¬
ably, and is now of far more importance.
. NAZAHITE, or Nazarean, or Naxarines, a
term Avhich may signify, t. One that is of Nazareth,
or any native of this city. 2. It was given to Jesus
Christ and his disciples, and is commonly taken in a
sense of derision and contempt in such authors as have
written against Christianity. 3. It has been taken for a
sect of heretics called Nazareans. 4. For a Nazarite, a
man that has laid himself under the obligation of a voav
N A Z
to observe the rules of Nazariteship, Avhether it be tor Nazarite-.
his Avhole life, as Samson and John the Baptist, or only v——’
for a time, as those mentioned in Numbers vi. 18, 19,
20. Amos ii. 11, 12. Lastly, The name Nazarite, in
some passages of Scripture, denotes a man of particular
distinction and great dignity in the court of some prince.
But avc must speak of these several sorts of Nazarites
something more distinctly.
The name bf Nazarene belongs to Jesus Christ, not
only because of his having lived the greatest part of his
life at Nazareth, and because this city has ahvays been
considered as his country, but also because the pro¬
phets had foretold that he should be called a Nazarene,
Matth. ii. 23. “ And he came and dwelt in a city
“ called Nazareth, that it might be fulfilled which Avas
“ spoken by the prophets, He shall be called a Naza-
“ rene.” We find no particular place in the prophets
in which it is said that the Messiah should be called a
Nazarene j and St Matthew only quotes the prophets
in general. Perhaps he would insinuate, that the con¬
secration of the Nazarites, and the great purity of
Avhich they made profession, was a type and a sort of
prophecy of those of our Saviour, or else that the
name Tp 'Naxir or Nazarite given to the patriarch
Joseph, Gen. xlix. 26. Heut. xxxiii. 16. was a pro¬
phecy Avhich was to be fulfilled in the person of Jesus
Christ, of whom Joseph Avas a figure. Lastly, St
Jerome was of opinion, that St Matthew here alludes
to that passage of Isaiah xi. I. and lx. 21. “ And
“ there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse,
“ and a branch (in Hebrew Nezer) shall groiv out of
“ his roots.” This branch or Nezer, and this rod, are
certainly intended to denote Jesus Christ, by the general
consent of all the fathers and interpreters.
When the word Nazarean is put for the heretics
known by this name, it denotes Christians converted
from Judaism, whose chief error consisted in defend¬
ing the necessity or expediency ot the works of the
law, and avIio obstinately adhered to the practice ot
the Jewish ceremonies. The name of Nazarenes at
first had nothing odious in it, and it Avas often given
to the first Christians. The fathers frequently men¬
tion the gospel of the Nazarenes, which differs no¬
thing from that of St Matthew, which was either in
Hebrew or Syriac, for the use of the first converts, but
Avas afterwards corrupted by the Ebionites. These-
Nazareans preserved this first gospel in its primitive
purity. Some of them Avere still in being in the time
of St Jerome, Avho does not reproach them Avith any
error. They were very zealous observers of the law
of Moses, but held the traditions of the Pharisees in
very great contempt.
Nazarite, when put to signify those under the an¬
cient law who made a voav of observing a more than
ordinary degree of purity (Numb. ubt. denotes a
man or woman Avho engage themselves by a vow to
abstain from wine and all intoxicating liquors, to let
their hair grorv Avithout cutting or shaving, not to enter
into any house that was polluted by having a dead
corpse in it, nor to be present at any luneral. And if
by chance any one should haA’e died in their presence,
they began again the whole ceremony of their conse¬
cration "and Nazariteship. This ceremony generally
lasted eight days, sometimes a month, and sometimes
their Avhole lives. When the time of their Nazarite-
[ 738 ]
N A Z [ 739 ] N E A
Kazaiite. ship was accomplished, the priest brought tlie person
•> to the door of the temple, who there offered to the
Lord a he lamb for a burnt-offering, a she lamb for an
expiatory sacrifice, and a ram for a peace-offering.
They oftered likewise loaves and cakes, with wine ne¬
cessary for the libations. After all this wras sacrificed
and oft'ered to the Lord, the priest or some other shaved
the head of the Nazarite at the door of the tabernacle,
and burnt his hair, throwing it upon the fire of the al¬
tar. Then the priest put into the hand of the Naza¬
rite the shoulder of the ram roasted, with a loaf and a
cake, which the Nazarite returning into the hands of
the priest, he offered them to the Lord, lifting them up
in the presence of the Nazarite. And from this time
he might again drink wine, his Nazariteship being now
accomplished.
As to those that were perpetual Nazarites, as were
Samson and John the Baptist, it appears that they were
consecrated to their Nazariteship by their parents, and
continued all their lives in this state without drinking
wine or cutting their hair.
Those that made a vow of Nazariteship out of Pa¬
lestine, and could not come to the temple when their
vow was expired, contented themselves with observing
the abstinence required by the law, and after that cut¬
ting their hair in the place where they were : as to the
offerings and sacrifices prescribed by Moses, which
were to be oft’ered at the temple by themselves, or by
others for them, they deferred this till they could have
a convenient opportunity. Hence it was, that St Paul
being at Corinth, and having made the vow of a Naza¬
rite, he had his hair cut off at Cenchrea, and put oft
fulfilling the rest of his vow till he should arrive at Je¬
rusalem, Acts xviii. 18. When a person found that he
was not in a condition to make a vow ot Nazariteship,
or had not leisure to perform the ceremonies belonging
to it, he contented himself by contributing to the ex¬
pence of the sacrifice and offerings of those that had
made and fulfilled this vow ; and by this means he be¬
came a partaker in the merit of such Nazariteship.
When St Paul came to Jerusalem, in the year of Christ
58, the apostle St James the Less, with the other bre¬
thren, said to him, Acts xxi. 23, 24. that to quiet the
minds of the converted Jews, who had been informed
that he everywhere preached up the entire abolition of
the law of Moses, he ought to join himself to four ot
the faithful who had a vow of Nazariteship upon them,
and contribute to the charge of the ceremony at the
shaving of their heads ; by which the new converts
would perceive that he continued to keep the law, and
that what they had heard of him was not true.
The Hebrew word Nazir, or Nazarite, which is made
use of to express a man exalted to great dignity, as it is
said of the patriarch Joseph, Gen. xlix. 26. and Dent,
xxxiii. 16. “ that he was separated from his brethren,”
as it is in our translation ; or as the-Vulgate and others
understand the Hebrew, “ that he was a Nazarite
among his brethren,” is variously understood. Some
think that the Hebrew word *t'P, Nazir, in these pla¬
ces, signifies one who is crowned, chosen, separated, or
distinguished : the word Tp, Nazir, signifies a crown.
The Septuagint translate this word a chief, or him that
is honoured. Calmet thinks that this was a term of
dignity in the courts of eastern princes, and that at this
day in the court of Persia the word Nazir signifies the
superintendant general of the king’s household, the Nazante
chief officer of the crown, the high steward of his fa- H
mily, treasures, and revenues j and that in this sense Neapolu.
Joseph was the Nazir of the court of Pharoh. Le v~—
Clerc translates the Nazir, a prince, and calls Joseph
“ the prince of his brethren,” in the two places already
quoted. Mr Pool declares in favour of this last trans¬
lation. See Joseph. Chardin. Chrysost. St Jerome, &fC.
NAZTANZEN. See Gregory Nazianzen.
NAZIM, the lord lieutenant, vicex-oy, or governor
of a province in Hindostan j the same as Subahdar, or
Nabob.
NEALED, among seamen, is used when the
sounding is deepwater close to the shore; as also when
the shore is sandy, clayey, oozy, or foul and rocky
ground.
NEALING, or rather Annealing, a term used
for the preparing of several matters, by heating of
baking them in the oven, or the like.
Nealing of glass, is the baking of glass, to dry,
harden, and give it the due consistence, after it has been
blown, and fashioned into the proper works.—This is
usually performed in a kind of a tower called the leer,
built over the melting furnace. See Glass.
Nealing of glass is also used for the art of staining
glass with metalline colours. “ One fine use of silver
(says Mr Boyle) was only discovered since the art of
annealing upon glass came to be practised. For pre¬
pared silver, or even the crude metal, being burnt on
a glass plate, will tinge it of a fine yellow or goldep.
colour. And there are several mineral earths, and
other coarse matters, of use in this art, which by means
of fire impart transparent colours to glass, and some¬
times very different ones from those of the bodies them¬
selves.
Nealing of steel, is the heating it in the fire to a
blood-red heat, and then taking it out, and letting it
cool gently of itself. This is done to make it solter,
in order to engrave and punch upon it. See Temper¬
ing and Engraving.
Nealing is also used for the art or act of burning
or baking earthen or other ware in an oven. The
miners at Mendip, when they meet with a rock they
cannot cut through, anneal it by laying on wood and
coal, and contriving the fire so that they quit the mine
before the operation begins, it being dangerous to en¬
ter it again before it be quite cleared of the smoke.
Nealing of tile is used in ancient statutes for the
burning of tile. The word is formed of the Saxon
oncelan, accendere, to light, burn.
NEAP or Neep tides, are those tides which hap¬
pen when the moon is in the middle of the second and
fourth quarters. The neap tides are low tides, in re¬
spect of their opposites the spring tides. As the
highest of the spring tides is three days after the full
or change, so the lowest of the neap is four days before
the full or change. On which occasion the seamen say
that it is deep neap.
NEAPED. When a ship wants water, so that she
cannot get out of the harbour, oft' the ground, or out of
the dock, the seamen say she is neaped, or beneaped.
NEAPOLIS, in Ancient Geography, a city of the
Higher Egypt, in the Nomos Panopolitanus, between
Thebse to the south, and Panopolis to the north, on
the east -side of the Nile ; otherwise called Cacrne. A
9 A 2 second
NEC
[ 74© ]
NEC
Neapolis second Neapolis of Babylonia, situated near the Eu-
11 phrates on the south side.—A third of Campania, an
necessity. anclent town and a colony from Cumae. (See Velleius,
V“““"v ' Pliny, Strabo) 5 accounted a Greek city, and a great
stickler for Greek usages, (See Livy, Tacitus). Its
hot baths were in nothing inferior to those ol Baite, ac¬
cording to Strabo ; at two miles distance from it stands
the monument of Virgil, held in religious veneration
by learned posterity. The Younger Pliny relates, that
Virgil’s birth day was more religiously observed by Si-
lius Italicus than his own, especially at Naples, where
he resorted to his tomb as to a temple. The city is
washed by the river Sebethus. Virgil feigns the nymph
Sebethis to preside over the stream. Now Naples, ca¬
pital of the kingdom of that name. See Naples.—
A fourth, Neapolis of Carla, near the Meander,
(Ptolemy).—A fifth, an inland town of Cyrenaica,
situated between Ptolemais and Arsinoe, (Ptolemy) 5
and to be distinguished from the Caenopolis, or Nea¬
polis, on the east border of the same province, (id.)
A sixth of Ionia, (Strabo) ; which belonged first to
the Ephesians, but afterwards to the Samians, who
exchanged Marathesium, a more distant city, for a
nearer.—A seventh, Neapolis of Macedonia Adjecta,
situated at the distance of 12 miles to the east of Phi¬
lippi, (Antonine).—An eighth, Neapolis of Pisidia,
on the borders of Galatia, situated between Amblada
and Pappa, (Ptolemy).—A ninth of Samaria, the
ancient Sichem, which see 5 so called upon its restora¬
tion by the Romans, (Coin, Pliny, Josephus).—A
tenth of Sardinia, situated on the south-west side of
the island, 30 miles to the north of Metalla j now
called Neapo/i.-^-An eleventh, of the Regio Syrtica,
called also Leptis.—A twelfth, of Zeugitana on the
Mediterranean, to the east of Clypea, and south of the
Promontorium Mercurii.
NEAT or Net Weight, the weight of a commo¬
dity alone, clear of the cask, bag, case, or even filth.
See Net.
NEBEL, or Nablum, a musical instrument among
the Jews. See Nablum.
NEBIO, or Nebbio, a ruined city, on the north
side of the island of Corsica, with a bishop’s see, whose
bishop resides at San Fiorenzn, from which it is a mile
distant.
NEBO, in Ancient Geography, a very high moun¬
tain, a part of the mountains of Abarim, and their
highest top, whither Moses was ordered to ascend to
take a view of the land of Canaan, and there die. Si¬
tuated in the land of Moab over against Jericho: with
a cognominal town at its foot (Isaiah) belonging to the
Reubenites, which afterwards returned to the Moab¬
ites •, in Jerome’s time desolate } eight miles to the
south of Heshbon.
Nebo, or Nabo. See Nabo.
NEBUCHAE'NEZZAR. See NABUCHADNEZr
ZAR.
NEBULY, or Nebulee, in Heraldry, is when a
coat is charged with several little figures, in form of
words running within one another, or when the outline
of a bordure, ordinary, &c. is indented or waved.
NECESSITY, whatever is done by a cause or
power that is irresistible •, in which sense it is opposed
to freedom. Man is a necessary agent, if all his actions
be so determined-by the causes preceding each action,
that not one past action could possibly not have come Necessity,
to pass, or have been otherwise than it hath been ", nor v——’
one future action can possibly not come to pass, or be
otherwise than it shall be. But he is a free agent,
if he be able, at any time, under the circumstances and
causes he then is, to do different things ; or, in other
words, if he be not unavoidably determined in every
point of time, by the circumstances he is in, and the
causes he is under, to do that one thing he does, and
not possibly to do any other thing. Whether man is
a necessary or a free agent, is a question which has
been debated with much ingenuity by writers of the
first eminence, from Hobbes and Clarke, to Priestley
and Gregory. See Metaphysics, Part III. chap. v.
and Predestination.
Necessity, in Mythology, a powrer superior to all
other powers, and equally irresistible by gods and by
men. Herodotus, as he is quoted by Cudworth, men¬
tions an oracle which declared that “ God himself
could not shun his destined fate.” And among the
fragments of Philemon collected by Le Clerc, is the
following sentence:
A«vAe< fictriteuiv vrpiv, a ficttriteii; 6iuv, c esvayxjij,
“ We are subject to kings, kings to the gods, and God
to Necessity.” Hence it is, that, in the Iliad, we find
Jove himself, the sire of gods and men, regretting that
he was restrained by Necessity from rescuing his fa¬
vourite son from the sword of Patroclos. Nay to such
a height was this impiety carried in the earliest ages of
Greece, that we find Hesiod and Homer teaching tljat
the gods themselves were generated by Necessity, of
Night and Chaos.
This power, though always represented as blind and
unintelligent, was however worshipped as a goddess,
bearing in her hand large iron nails, wedges, anchors,
and melted lead *, as emblems of the inflexible severity * Horace,
of her nature. “ In the city of Corinth she had allb ’•ode
temple, in which the goddess Violence likewise resided,jS*
and into which no person was ever permitted to enter
but the priest who officiated in sacrisd' f Paimmx
Learned men have exercised their ingenuity in vain in Corinth..
attempts to trace this portentous notion to its origin. caP» iT-
Some, who wished to interpret it in a pious sense, have
supposed that the gods who are subject to Necessity
were only those who were the ministers of the supreme
numen ; and that by necessity itself was meant nothing
more than divine providence. But this is not consist¬
ent with Hesiod and Homer’s Generation of the Gods,
or with the epithets sceva necessitas, dura necessitas,
by which this power was perpetually distinguished.
Ochers, and among them Mosheim, have supposed that
this monstrous fable was invented by the Pagan priests,
and diligently inculcated upon the minds of the people,
in order to excuse the viilanies of the objects of their
worship. For, says he, who could be indignant at Ju¬
piter’s numberless adulteries, after it was known that
in all his actions he was the servant of blind necessity :
In the thefts of Mercury, the whoredoms of Venus, and
the frequent squabbles of the other gods, there could be
no moral turpitude, if they were under the influence off Martial.
r JEniprartt.
a superior power. 1 0 —
Numina cum videos duns obnoxia jutis.
In via in possis exon crave deos J.
lib. ix. N.
8S. Ed.
Amstel.
This.1?01-
NEC
[ 74i ]
NEC
Necessity. This account of the matter is at least as plausible as
' v 1 any other which is usually given $ but the real case
undoubtedly was, that when men “ did not like to re¬
tain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to
a reprobate mind to do those things which are not con¬
venient } when their foolish heart was darkened, and
professing themselves to be wise, they became fools.”
See ParCjE.
\ Necessity, in Law, as it implies a defect of will,
excuses from the guilt of crimes. See Crime.
Compulsion and inevitable necessity are a constraint
upon the will, whereby a man is urged to do that which
his judgment disapproves 5 and which, it is to be pre¬
sumed, his will (if left to itself) would reject. As
punishments are therefore only inflicted for the abuse,
of that freu will which God has given to man, it is
highly just and equitable that a man should be excused
for those acts which are done through unavoidable
force and compulsion.
1. Of this nature, in the first place, is the obliga¬
tion of civil subjection, whereby the inferior is con¬
strained by the superior to act contrary to what his
own reason and inclination would suggest ; as when
a legislator establishes iniquity by a law, and com¬
mands the subject to do an act contrary to religion or
sound morality. How far this excuse will be admitted
inforo conscientidb, or whether the inferior in this case
is not bound to obey the divine rather than the hu¬
man law, it is not our business to decide ; though
among the casuists, it is believed the question will
hardly bear a doubt. But, however that may be,
obedience to the laws in being is undoubtedly a suffi¬
cient extenuation of civil guilt before the municipal
tribunal. The sheriff who burnt Latimer and Ridley,
in the bigotted days of Queen Mary, was not liable to
punishment from Elizabeth for executing so horrid an
office j being justified by the commands of that ma¬
gistracy which endeavoured to restore Superstition, un¬
der the holy auspices of its merciless sister, Persecu¬
tion.
As to persons in private relations, the principal
case where constraint of a superior is allowed as an
excuse for criminal misconduct, is with regard to the
matrimonial subjection of the wife to her husband :
for neither a son nor a servant are excused from the com¬
mission of any crime, whether capital or otherwise, by
the command or coercion of the parent or master;
though in some cases the command or authority of
the husband, either express or implied, will privilege
the wife from punishment, even from capital offences.
And therefore, if a woman commit theft, burglary, or
other civil offences against the. law of society, by the
coercion of her husband, or even in his company,
which the law construes a coercion, she is not guilty
of any crime j being considered as acting by compul¬
sion, and not of her own will. rIhis doctrine is at
least 1000 years old in this kingdom, being to be
found among the laws of Ring Ina the West Saxon.
And it appears, that among the northern nations on
the continent, this privilege extended to any woman
transgressing in concert with a-man, and to any servant
that committed a joint offence with a freeman: the
male or freeman only was punished, the female or slave
dismissed ; procul dubio quod altcrum hbertas, olterum
nccessitas imvelleret. But (besides that, in our law,
3
which is a stranger to slavery, no impunity is given to Necessity.^
servants, who are as much free agents as their masters) v
even with regard to wives, this rule admits of an ex¬
ception in crimes that are mala m se, and prohibited
by the law of nature 5 as murder, and the like : not
only because these are of a deeper dye, but also, since
in a state of nature no one is in subjection to another,
it would be unreasonable to screen an offender from
the punishment due to natural crimes, by the refiner
ments and subordinations of civil society. In treason
also (the highest crime which a member of society
can, as such, be guilty of), no plea in coverture shall
excuse the wife; no presumption of the husband’s
coercion shall extenuate her guilt $ as well because of
the odiousness and dangerous consequence of the crime
itself, as because the husband, having broken through
the most sacred tie of social community by rebellion a-
gainst the state, has no right to that obedience from a
wife, which he himself as a subject has forgotten to pay.
In inferior misdemeanours also, we may remark another
exception, that a wife may be indicted and set in the
pillory with her husband, for keeping a brothel : for
this is an offence touching the domestic economy or go¬
vernment of the house, in which the wife has a princi¬
pal share 5 and is also such an offence as the law pre¬
sumes to be generally conducted by the intrigues of the
female sex. And in all cases where the wife offends
alone, without the company or coercion of her husband,
she is responsible for her ofi'ence as much as any femme-
sole.
2. Another species of compulsion or necessity is what
our law calls duress per minas; or threats and menaces,
which induce a fear of death or other bodily harm, and
which take away for that reason the guilt of many
ciimes and misdemeanours, at lea.st before the human
tribunal. But then that fear which compels a man to
do an unwarrantable action ought to be just and well
grounded ; such, “ qui cadere possit in virum constan-
tem, non timidum et meticulosu?n,'>'1 as Bracton expresses
it in the words of the civil law.. Therefore in time
of war or rebellion, a man may be justified in doing
many treasonable acts by compulsion of the enemy or
rebels, which would admit of no excuse in the time of
peace. This, however, seems only, or at least principal¬
ly, to hold as to positive crimes, so created by the laws
of society, and which therefore society may excuse j but
not as to natural offences, so declared by the law ot
God, wherein human magistrates are only the execu¬
tioners of divine punishment. And therefore though a
man be violently assaulted, and hath no other possible
means of escaping death but by killing an innocent per¬
son, this fear and force shall not acquit him of murder j
for he ought rather to die himself than escape by the
murder of an innocent. But in such a case he is per¬
mitted to kill the assailant; for there the law of nature,
and self-defence its primary canon, hat e made him his
own protector.
3. There is a third species of necessity, which may
be distinguished from the actual compulsion of exter¬
nal force or fear ; being the result of reason and reflec¬
tion, which act upon and constrain a man’s will, and
oblige him to do an action which without such obli¬
gation would be criminal. And that is, when a man
has his choice of two evils set before him, and being
under a necessity of choosing one, he chooses the least
pernicious
Necessity, pernicious of the two. Here the will cannot he said
v—' freely to exert itself, being rather passive than active j
or, if active, it is rather in rejecting the greater evil
than in choosing the less. Ot this sort is that neces¬
sity, where a man by the commandment of the law is
bound to arrest another for any capital ofi'ence, or to
disperse a riot, and resistance is made to his authority:
it is here justifiable, and even necessary, to beat, to
wound, or perhaps to kill the offenders, rather than
permit the murderer to escape, or the riot to conti¬
nue. For the preservation of the peace of the king¬
dom, and the apprehending of notorious malefactors,
are of the utmost consequence to the public 5 and
therefore excuse the felony, which the killing would
otherwise amount to.
4. There is yet another case of necessity, which has
occasioned great speculation among the writers upon
general law 5 viz. whether a man in extreme want ot
food or clothing may justify stealing either, to relieve
his present necessities. And this both Grotius and
Puffendorff, together with many other of the foreign
jurists, hold in the affirmative } maintaining by many
ingenious, humane, and plausible reasons, that in such
cases the community of goods, by a kind of tacit con¬
cession of society, is revived. And some even ot our
lawyers have held the same j though it seems to be an
unwarranted doctrine, borrowed from the notions of
some civilians •, at least it is now antiquated, the law of
England admitting no such excuse at present. And
this its doctrine is agreeable not only to the sentiments
of many of the wisest ancients, particularly Cicero,
who holds, That suum cniquc incommodumferendum est,
potius quam de alterius commodis detrahendum ; but also
to the Jewish law, as ceititled by King Solomon him¬
self: “ If a thief steal to satisfy his soul when he is
hungry, he shall restore sevenfold, and shall give all
the substance of his house :” which was the ordinary
punishment for theft in that kingdom. And this is
founded upon the highest reason : for men’s properties
would be under a strange insecurity, if liable to be in¬
vaded according to the w'ants of others j of which
wants no man can possibly be an adequate judge but
the party himself who pleads them. In England
especially, there would be a peculiar impropriety in
admitting so dubious an abuse: for by the laws such
sufficient provision is made for the poor by the power of
the civil magistrate, that it is impossible that the most
needy stranger should ever be reduced to the necessity
of thieving to support nature. The case of a stranger
is, by the way, the strongest instance put to Baron
Puffendorff, and whereon he builds his principal ar¬
guments : which, however they may hold upon the
continent, where the parsimonious industry of the
natives orders every one to work or starve, yet must
lose all their weight and efficacy in England, where
charity is redutad to a system, and interwoven in our
very constitution. Therefore our laws ought by no
means to be taxed with being unmerciful, for denying
this privilege to the necessitous *, especially when we
consider, that the king, on the representation of his
ministers of justice, hath a power to soften the law,
and to extend mercy in cases of peculiar hardship. An
advantage which is wanting in many states, parti¬
cularly those which are democratical : and these have
in its stead introduced and adopted, in the body of
the law itself, a multitude of circumstances tending to Necessity
alleviate its rigour. But the founders of our constitu- y
tion thought it better to vest in the crotyn the power of Neck,
pardoning particular objects of compassion, than to
countenance and establish theft by one general undistin¬
guishing latv.
NECHO, king of Egypt, began his reign 690 B. C.
and was killed eight years after by Sabacon king of
Ethiopia. Psammiticus his son succeeded him, and
was the father, as Herodotus informs us, of Necho II.
who reigned in the 6l6 B. C. This Necho II. is ce¬
lebrated in history for attempting, though in vain, to
cut a canal from the Nile to the Arabian gulf. He
carried his arms as far as the Euphrates, and con¬
quered the city of Carchemish. This prince is not only
known in Scripture under the name of Necho, but also
in profane history. He no sooner succeeded to the
crown than he raised great land armies, and fitted out
vast fleets, as well upon the Mediterranean as upon the
Red sea: he gave battle to the Syrians near the city
of Migdol ; routed them, and made himself master
of the city of Cadytis. The learned, however, are not
agreed about this city Cadytis. Some will have it to
be Cades in Arabia Petrma, others Jerusalem ; and
others say it is the city of Cedes, or Kedesh, in Galilee,
in the tribe of Naphtali.
The Scriptures aquaint us with the whole expedi¬
tion of Necho in all its particulars, 2 Kings xxiii. 29.
&c. and 2 Chr. xxxv. 20, 21, &c. In the year of the
world 3394, this prince having drawn out his army
into the field to make war with the Assyrians or Ba¬
bylonians, and to take the city of Carchemish, other¬
wise called Circusium, upon the Euphrates, Josiah king
of Judah, who was a tributary to the king of Babylon,
marched to oppose his passage. Necho, who had no
designs against him, sent to tell him, “ What have I to
do with you, king of Judah ? It is not against you that
I am come forth, but against another people, against
whom the Lord has commanded me to make war.
Leave off therefore to set yourself against me, for fear
the Lord should punish you for your resistance.” But
Josiah would not hearken to the remonstrances of Ne¬
cho, but gave him battle at Megiddo, where he receiv¬
ed the wound of which he died. The people of Je¬
rusalem set up Jehoahaz for king of Judah, and Necho
soon passed forward, without making any longer stay
in Judea.
But at his return from his expedition, which was
very successful, he halted at Riblah in Syria j and
sending for Jehoahaz king ot the Jews, he deposed
him, loaded him with chains, and sent him into
Egypt. Then coming to Jerusalem, he set up Elia-
kim, or Jehoiakim, in his place, and exacted the pay¬
ment of 100 talents of silver and one talent ot gold
from the country. Jeremiah (xlvi. 2.) acquaints us
that the city of Carchemish was taken from Necho by
Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, in the fourth year
of Jehoiakim king of Judah •, so that Necho did not
enjoy his conquest above four years. Josephus adds,
that the king of Babylon pursuing bis victory, brought
under his dominion all the country which is between
the Euphrates and Egypt, excepting Judea. Thus
Necho was again reduced within the limits of his own
country.
KECK, in Anatomy, is the slender part situated be¬
tween
NEC [
Neck tween the head and trunk of the body. See Ana
tomy.
NECROLIUM, a word used by some of the alche¬
mical writers to express a remedy almost always capa¬
ble of averting death, and continuing life to its utmost
period.
NECROLOGY, necrologium, formed of w-oos,
“ dead,” and Aeye?, “ discourse or enumeration,” a
book anciently kept in churches and monasteries,
wherein were registered the benefactors of the same,
the time of their deaths, and the days of their comme¬
moration 5 as also the deaths of the priors, abbots,
religious, canons, &c. This was otherwise called ca¬
lender and obituary.
NECROMANCY, the art of revealing future events
by a pretended communication with the dead.
This superstitious and impious imposture appears
to have had its origin at a very early period in Egypt,
and to have been thence propagated in every nation
with the manners oi which history has made us ac¬
quainted. The conquests of Sesostris might introduce
it into India; the Israelites would naturally borrow
it from the people among whom they sojourned 400
years j and it would easily find its way into Phoenicia,
from the vicinity of that country to the land of its
nativity. From the Egyptians and Phoenicians it
wras adopted, with the other rites of paganism, by the
Greeks j and it was imported into Rome with Grecian
literature and Grecian manners. It was not however
confined to the pagan nations of antiquity : it spread
itself through all the modern nations of Europe, and
took such deep root as to be long retained even after
those nations were converted to the Christain faith.
Of its early antiquity we have complete evidence in
the writings of Moses, where it is severely condemned
as an abomination to the Lord * j and though it appears
to have been even then spread into Phcenicia, wc might
yet conclude its birthplace to have been Egypt, because,
at their exody, the Israelites were corrupted only by
Egyptian superstitions, and because necromancy seems to
be one of those whoredoms which the prophet Ezekiel
represents his countrymen as having brought with them
from Egypt, and continued to practise till they were
carried captives into Babylon.
If from sacred we proceed to consult profane authors,
we shall find them not only affirming Egypt to have
been the birthplace of necromancy, but in some degree
accounting for the origin of so impious a delusion.
Lib.i. j 2. ^”rom Diodorus the Sicilian + we learn that the Gre¬
cian fable of Charon the ferryman of hell, of Stijx, Co-
cytus, the E/ysian Fields, Tartarus, the judgment of
Minos and Rhadamanthus, &c. with the whole scenery
of the infernal regions, w'ere imported from Egypt into
Greece. The ancient Egyptians, and indeed ail the
people of the east, made use of caves for burying places,
which were well suited to the solemn sadness of the sur¬
viving friends, and proper receptacles for those who
were never more to behold the light. In Egypt, many
* Deut.
*viii. ro,
11,12.
743 1 NEC
of those subterraneous cavities being dug out of the na-
tural rock, still remain, and command the admiration cy.
ot travellers ; and near to the pyramids in particular 1*—
there are some apartments of a wonderful fabric, which
though they extend in length 4400 feet, and are about
3° feft bi depth, appear to have been, if not entirely
dug, at least reduced to form by the chissel or pickaxe
of the artist.
From the practice of burying in such caverns sprung
the opinion that the infeimal mansions were situated
somewhere near the centre of the earth, which by the
Egyptians wras believed to be not very distant from its
surface In these dreary mansions, it w^as very easy *
for such adepts as the priests of Egypt to fabricate Ere-mST
bus, -Tartarus, the Elysian Fields, and all those scenes
which were displayed before the initiated (see Myste¬
ries), and by them described to the million of the peo¬
ple. As it was in those dark abodes that necromancy
was practised, it would be no difficult matter for such
magicians as withstood Moses to impose so far upon the
credulous vulgar, as to make them believe, that in con¬
sequence of their invocations they actually saw the
ghosts ot their friends ascend out of the earth. It ap¬
pears tiom the book of Exodus, that the Israelitish wo¬
men were, even in the wilderness, well acquainted with .
the use of the mirror, which was therefore undoubted¬
ly known to the Egyptians. But a mirror of a parti¬
cular form and properly illuminated at the instant re¬
quired, might be easily made to reflect, in a cavern
from which all other light was carefully excluded, the
image of the deceased, who was called upon by the ne¬
cromancer ; and we can readily conceive, that with re¬
spect to the question to be proposed, a person might be
concealed, prepared to give such ambiguous answers
as would satisfy the inquirer, and at the same time save
the credit of the oracle. I he terrified imaginations
of the spectators would aid the delusion, and make a
very slight resemblance pass for the ghost or iduhw of
their departed friend ; or the necromancer might assign
plausible reasons why a spectre, after having dwelt for
some time in the infernal regions, should lose something
of its resemblance to the body which it animated. Such
juggling tricks, though performed by artists less accom¬
plished than Jamies and Jambres, have gained credit ' t
among people much more enlightened than the Egyp¬
tians can possibly have been when the science of necro¬
mancy was invented by their priests.
J hat the Israelites, notwithstanding the prohibition
of their legislator, continued to practise the rites of ne¬
cromancy, is apparent from Saul’s transaction with the
witch of Endor (see Magic). From the same trans¬
action, it is likewise apparent that the witches of Israel,
and therefore in all probability the necromancers of E-
gypt, pretended to evocate the ghosts of the dead by a
demon or familiar spirit, which they had at their com¬
mand to employ upon every emergency. This demon
was called OB ; and therefore Saul desires his servants
to find him a woman who was mistress of an OB (a).
It
(a) The original, or radical, signification of this word occurs, in Job xxxii. ver. 19. j where Elihu compares
his belly to new bottles, which he calls oboth, the plural of ob. But as bottles were then made of leather new
bottles filled with wine and ready to burst, as Elihu describes them, would of course be of a form nearly globu¬
lar..
NEC
[ 74+ ]
N E C
cy.
Nccromau- It is probable that those wretched impostors had in
their pay some persons who occasionally acted the
part of the demon, and when the execution of the
plot required their agency, emitted, by means of a
cavity dug for that purpose, a low hollow voice from
below the ground. Hence we find Isaiah, in his de¬
nunciations against Ariel *, saying, “ Thou shalt be
* Chap,
xxix. 4.
and
brought down, and shalt speak out of the ground;
thy speech shall be low out of the dust, and thy voice
shall be as of one that hath a familiar spirit (an ob) out
of the ground, and thy speech shall whisper wit of the
dust.”
But though the Egyptian priests were undoubtedly
the inventors of the whole mystery of necromancy, and
though it was from them imported into Greece by the
Selli or priests of Dodona, it does not appear that the
Grecian necromancers pretended to be masters of OBS
or familiar spirits. Mopsus, Orpheus, Linus, Eumol-
pus, &c. who either travelled into Egypt in quest of
knowledge, or were actually natives of that country, in¬
structed the early Greeks in this occult Science : but
whatever might be the practice of these apostles them¬
selves, their disciples professed to do all the feats of ma¬
gic by performing certain rites, by offering certain sa¬
crifices, by muttering a certain form of words, by
charms, spells, and exorcisms. By these they pretend¬
ed to evocate the dead as certainly as the Egyptians
and Jews did by their familiar spirits. By a small dis¬
play of critical learning this might be easily proved
from the popular story of Orpheus and Eurydice, which
certainly was founded on one of these necromantic de¬
ceptions exhibited in a cave near Dodona, where the
priests had a hades or infernal mansion, in humble imi¬
tation of those with which the first of them were well
acquainted in Egypt. It is indeed evident, without
the aid of criticism : no man of any letters is ignorant,
that whatever superstitions of this kind prevailed among
the Romans were borrowed from the Greeks. But we
all know that Virgil makes one of his shepherds, by
means of certain herbs, poisons, and senseless charms,
raise up ghosts from the bottoms of their graves ; and
Lucian has fabricated a story of this kind, which may
be considered as an exact parallel to the witch of En-
| Lib. vl. dor. Just before the battle of Pharsalia he makes f
ver. 570. etyoungPornpey travel by night to a Thessalian sorceress,
se1- and anxiously inquire of her the issue of the wrar. This
female necromancer, by a tedious process of charms and
incantations, conjures up the ghost of a soldier who had
been lately slain. The phantom, after a long preamble,
denounces a prediction much of the same kind with that
which the king of Israel received from Samuel at En-
dor; and though we have elsewhere shown, that no¬
thing but the spirit of God could have foreseen the in¬
evitable destruction of Saul, his sons, and his army, (see
Magic), it was very easy for any man of tolerable sa- Necromait-
gacity to foresee the defeat of Pompey’s raw and undis- ^ ^
ciplined troops by the hardy veterans of the victorious
Caesar.
It would be endless to enumerate all the fallacious
evocations of ghosts, and the ambiguous responses re¬
turned by those pretended spirits, of which we have
accounts from the poets and historians of the celebrated
nations of antiquity. We shall therefore proceed to
mention a few which occur in the fabulous history of
more modern nations, and then leave the subject to the
meditation of our readers. In Mallet’s Northern An¬
tiquities, we have the following account of a necroman¬
tic exploit, between which, and the descent of the an¬
cient heroes into hell, it is impossible not to remark a
striking similitude.
“ Odin the sovereign of man arises. He saddles his
horse Sleipner •, he mounts, and is conveyed to the sub¬
terraneous abode of He la. -The dog which guards the
gates of death meets him. His breast and his jaws are
stained with blood. He opens his voracious mouth to
bite, and barks a long time at the father of magic.
Odin pursues his way, and the infernal cavern resounds
and trembles under his horse’s hoofs. At length he
reaches the deep abode of death, and stops near the
eastern gate, where stands the tomb of the prophetess.
He sings with a voice adapted to call up the dead j he
looks towards the world ; he engraves Runic characters
on her tomb j he utters mysterious words } and he de¬
mands an answer, until the prophetess is constrained to
arise and thus utter the rvords of the dead.—“ W ho is
this unknown that dares to disturb my repose, and
drag me from the grave, in which I have been dead so
long, all covered with snow, and moistened with the
rains ?” &c.
The Gaelic druids pretended to be masters of the
same secret. This is evident from the name of a species
of divination, not uncommon among the Scotch High¬
landers so lately as in the beginning of the 18th cen¬
tury'. By a gentleman excellently versed in the anti¬
quities of that people, and a steady friend to the w'riter
of this article, we have been informed, that not many
years ago some of the Highlanders relied implicitly up¬
on certain oracular responses, called in their language
taghairm. This word seems to be compounded of tat
which in some parts of the Highlands is still used to
denote a spirit or ghost, and ghairm, which signifies
calling upon or invoking. Taghairm, therefore, in its
original import, is necromancy in the most proper seiyse
of that word.
There were different kinds of taghairm, of which one
■was very lately practised in Skye. The diviner cover¬
ed himself with a cow’s hide, and repaired at night to
some deep-sounding cave, whither the person who con-
^ & suited
lar. Hence it may be inferred that the original import of ob was round or globular: but b and p being labials,
are often changed into each otherand therefore, from the Hebrew ob is derived the Greek 01]/, oculus, odlogxt,
video, and the Latin ops, a name under which the earth was worshipped. Upis was a name of Diana or the
moon : the father of one of the Dianas was likewise Upis ; but this Upis was undoubtedly the sun. Now the dif¬
ference between upis and opis is nothing } hence we are led to believe, that as they are all derived from ob, this
word was employed by the early idolaters of Egypt to denote the first and greatest of Pagan gods, the sun. If so,
those wretches who pretended to be mistresses of obs, were exactly the same kind of impostors with the Pythones¬
ses of the Greeks.
NEC [ -
'Cerxmu'll!- Inm followed soon after witliout any ftttendaiits,
cy. At the month of the cave he proposed aloud the qtics-
v ' tmns of which he wanted solutions ; and the man with¬
in pronounced the responses in a tone of voice similar
to that with which the DBS, or pretended demons of an¬
tiquity, gave from beneath the ground their oracular
answers. Ihut in the latter days of taghairm, the
Gaelic diviners pretend to evocate ghosts, and from
them to extort solutions of difficulties proposed, we
have no positive evidence ; but that such was the ori¬
ginal pretence there can be little doubt, when we re¬
flect either upon the place where this species of divina¬
tion was practised, or upon the import of the word by
which it ivas denominated.
As we have been led to mention taghairm, we shall
beg leave to make a few observations on another spe¬
cies of it, called taghairm an nisge, or “ tag/iairm by
water.” This too was last practised in the Isle of Skye,
by a man of the name of AbCuidhean, whose ancestors
tiad long been famous for the art. He lived near a
beautiful cascade on a small river 5 and when consulted
on any matter of consequence, he covered his whole
body with a cow’s hide, that necessary implement of
Highland divination, and placed himself between the
water of the cascade and the rock over which it flowed.
Then another man with a heavy pole gave repeated
strokes to the water, and the diviner behind it crying
out now and then in Gaelic, “ Is this a stock o arn ?”
Tills operation was continued till M‘Cuidhean was per¬
ceived to he frantic or furious, when he was considered
ns in a condition to answer the most important ques¬
tions. He was frequently consulted about futurity 5
and though he could not, in the proper sense of the
word, he called a necromancer, his responses were list¬
ened to as proceeding from something more than hu¬
man. A degree of phrenzy, either real or aflected,
seems to have accompanied the predictions of certain
kinds of diviners in all ages j and we cannot help re¬
marking the similarity between the madness of M‘Cuid-
hean and that oflthe Sibyl in the sixth book of the 7E-
neid ; though we cannot suppose the one to have been
borrowed from the other.
At, Phochi nondum patiens, immanis in antro
Bacchatur vales, magnum sipectovc possit
Kxcusissc Deum : tanto magis Me fatigat
Os rabidum, fcrc. cor da damans, jingitque premen do.
Struggling in vain, impatient of her load,
And iab’ring underneath the pond’rous god •,
The more she strove to shake him from her breast,
With more and far superior force he press’d.
Dr YDEX.
That all these pretences, whether ancient or modern,
to the power of divination by means of familiar spirits,
or by the art of necromancy, were groundless as well
as impious, it would be afironting the understandings
of our readers to ofler any proof. Under the article
Magic we have said enough on the subject, and per¬
haps more than enough, to those who know that de¬
mons, if they have any existence, and the depaited
spirits of good and bad men, are all under the controul
of Him who governs the intellectual as well as material
world by fixed and equal laws.—These details of super¬
stition, however, will not be useless, if, by showing
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
45 ] NEC
how poor and wretched a creature man becomes when Neciowiau-
left to his own inventions, they shall make any one <y
grateful for the benefits of good government, and the ^ .
blessings of revealed religion. NccUr!Lfn-
NLC ROPOLIS, a suburb of Alexandria in Egypt.
It signifies “ the City of the Dead wherein there
were temples, gardens, and superb mausoleums. Here
Cleopatra is said to have applied the aspic to her breast,
to prevent being led in triumph by Augustus, who en¬
deavoured to save her.
NLCROSIS, rexgortf, in Medicine, a complete mor¬
tification of any part; called also sideratio and spha¬
celus.
NECTANEBUS, or Nectanabis, a king of E-
gypt, who defended his country against the Persians.
His grandson ol the same name made an alliance with
Agesilaus king of Sparta, and with his assistance he
quelled a rebellion of his subjects. Some time after he
rvas joined by the Sidonians, Phoenicians, and inhabi¬
tants of Cyprus, who had revolted from the king of
Persia. This powerful confederacy was soon attacked
by Darius the king of Persia, who marched at the head
of his troops. Nectanehus, to defend his frontiers
against so dangerous an enemy, levied 20,000 merce¬
nary soldiers in Greece, the same number in Libya,
and 60,000 were furnished in Egypt. This numerous
body was not equal to the Persian forces, and Necta-
nebus, defeated in a battle, gave up all hopes of re¬
sistance, and fled into Ethiopia, where he found a safe
asylum. His kingdom of Egypt became from that time
tributary to the king of Persia.
NECTAR, among ancient poets, the drink of the
fabulous deities of the heathens ; in contradistinction
from their solid food, which was called ambrosia.
NECTARINE, a fruit differing in nothing from
the common peach, of which it is a species, but in
having a smoother rind and a firmer pulp. See Per-
SICA.
NECTARIUM, from nectar, the fabled “ drink
of the gods defined by Linnaeus to be a part of the
corolla, or appendage to the petals, appropriated for
containing the honey, a species of vegetable salt under
a fluid form, that oozes from the plant, and is the prin¬
cipal food of bees and other insects.
Notwithstanding this definition, which seems to con¬
sider the nectarium as necessary a part of the corolla
as the petals, it is certain that all flowers are nut pro¬
vided with this appendage, neither indeed is it essen¬
tial to fructification.
There is, besides, a manifest impropriety in terming
the nectarium a part of the corolla. Linnaeus might, Milne's
with equal propriety, have termed it a part or appen-Bot ly,ct‘
dage of the stamina, calyx, or pointal, as the appear¬
ance in question is confined to no particular part of
the flower, but is as various in point of situation as of
form. The truth is, ffie term nectarium is exceedingly
vague •, and, if any determinate meaning can be affixed
to it, is expressive of all the singularities which are ob¬
served in the different parts of flowers.
The tube, or lower part of flowers with one petal,
Linnaeus considers as a true nectarium, because it is
generally found to contain the sweet liquor formerly
mentioned. This liquor Pontedera compares to that
called amnios in pregnant animals, which enters the
fertile or impregnated seeds : but that this is not at
5 B - least
NEC
[ 74-6 ]
NEE
least its sole use, is evident from this circumstance, that
the honey or liquor in question is to be found in flowers
where there are either no seeds, or those which, from
the want of male organs, cannot be impregnated.
Thus the male flowers of nettle and willow, the female
flowers of sea-side laurel and black bryony, the male
and female flowers of clutia, kiggelaria, and butchei s
broom, ail abound with the honey or nectar alluded
to.
Vaillant was of opinion, that the nectanum was an
essential part of the corolla j for which reason he distin¬
guished the singular appearances in fennel flower and
columbine by the name of petals : the coloured leaves
which are now termed the petals he denominates the
flower cup. „ . .
That the nectarium, however, is frequently distinct
from the petals, is evident both from the well known
examples just mentioned, as likewise from the flovveis
of monkshood, hellebore, isopyrum, fennel flower of
Crete, barrenwort, grass of Parnassus, chocolate nut,
cherleria, and sauvagesia.
These general observations being premised, we pro¬
ceed to take a nearer and more particular view of the
principal diversities, both m form and situation, of this
striking appendage to the flower. I. In many flowers
the nectarium is shaped like a spur or horn and that
either in flpwers of one petal, as valerian, water mil¬
foil (jitricularia), butterwort, and calves-snout; or in
such as have more than one, as larkspur, violet, fumi¬
tory, balsam, and orchis. 2. In the following plants,
the nectarium is properly a part of the corolla, as ly¬
ing within the substance of the petals : ranunculus,
lily, iris, crown imperial, water leaf, mouse tail, ana¬
nas, or pine apple, dog’s-tooth violet, piperidge bush,
vallisneria, hermannia, uvularia, and swertia. 3’
nectarium is frequently placed in a series or row with¬
in the petals, though entirely unconnected with their
substance. In this situation it often resembles a cup,
as in narcissus. A nectarium of this kind is said by
Xunnoeus to crown the corolla. I he following are ex¬
amples : dattodil, sea daffodil, campion, viscous cam¬
pion, swallow-wort, stapelia, cynanchum, nepenthes,
cherleria, balsam-tree, African spirsea, witch-hazel, olax,
and passion-flower. 4. In Indian-cress, buckler, mus¬
tard, Barbadoes cherry, and monotropa, the nectarium
is situated upon or makes part of the calyx. 5. The
nectarium in bastard flower-fence is seated upon the an-
iherce or tops of the stamina ; whence the name atlenan-
thera, or glandular anther a, which has been given to
this genus of plants. In the following list it is placed
upon the filaments *, bean-caper, bay, fraxinella, marvel
of Peru, bell-flower, lead-wort, roella, and commelina.
6. In hyacinth, flowering-rush, stock July flower, and
rocket, the nectarium is placed upon the seed-hud.
7. In honey-flower, orpine, buckwheat, collinsonia, la-
thrcea, navelwort, mercury, cluti.t, kiggelaria, sea side
laurel, and African spiraea, it is attached to the com¬
mon receptacle. Lastly, In ginger, nettle, dyer’s weed,
heart seed, costus, turmeric, grew in, bastard orpine, va-
nelloe, shevv-tree, and willow, the nectarium is of a
verv singular construction, and cannot properly fall under
anv of the foregoimr heads.
In discriminating the genera, the nectarium often
furnishes an essential character.
Plants which have the nectarium distinct from the
5 -
petals, that is, not lodged within their substance, are Nectarium
aflimed by Linnaeus to be generally poisonous. The 11
following are adduced as examples : monkshood, helle- cc^amj
bore, columbine, fennel-flower, grass of Parnassus, bar¬
ren-wort, oleander, marvel of Peru, bean-caper, succu¬
lent swallow-wort, fraxinella, and honey-flower.
NECUIA, in Botany, a name given by the ancient
Greeks to a species of mullein.
The Greeks and Romans both used the stalks of a
peculiar kind of mullein, called thryallis by Nicander,
for the making of wicks of lamps. We have a kind of
mullein e-A\e<ilychnites, and candle-wick mullein, from
the Xvfcvuis of Dioscondes j but it is not certain that
ours is the same plant.
The ancients used the stalks of many different plants
for the wicks of their candles and lamps. I he insb,
stripped of its hark, was as commonly in use with them
as with us for that purpose j and they also used the net¬
tle, this mullein, and many other plants, whose staiks
were composed ol tough filaments, for the same pur¬
pose ; heating them out like hemp, and when dry dip¬
ping them in melted resin, and other such inflammable
substances. When thus prepared, they aie readily in¬
flammable, like our flambeau 5 and this mullein, ha\ing
stalks more long and large, and more firm than, all the
others, wTas used to make those lights with which they
set fire to the funeral pile, for consuming the ashes of
their dead friends.
NECYDAL1S, a genus of insects belonging to the
order of coleoptera. See Entomology Index.
NEEDHAM, John Tuberville, was born at
London the 10th of September in the year 1713. His
parents were descended from ancient and noble fami¬
nes. His father, who had once possessed a considerable
patrimony at Hilston, in the county of Monmouth,
was of the younger and Catholic branch of the Need¬
ham family: the head of the elder and Protestant
branch was Lord Kilmory, created viscount in the year
1625. The father of Mr Needham died young, and
left but a small fortune to his four children. HiS
eldest son, who is the subject of this article, prosecu¬
ted his studies under the secular clergy of the English
college of Douay, where he took orders, taught rhe¬
toric for several years, gave eminent proofs of sagacity
and genius, and surpassed all the other professors of
that seminary in the knowledge of experimental phi¬
losophy. In 1740, he was engaged by his superiors
in the service of the English mission, and was outlast¬
ed with the direction of the school erected at Twy-
ford, near Winchester, for the education of the Ro¬
man Catholic youth. In 1744, he was appointed
professor of philosophy in the English college at Lis¬
bon, where, on account of his bad health, he remain¬
ed only 15 months. After his return, he passed seve¬
ral years at London and Paris, which were principally
employed in microscopical observations, and in other
branches of experimental philosophy. The results of
these observations and experiments were published in
the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society
of London in 1749, and in a volume in i2mo at Pa¬
ris in 1750and an account ol them was also given
by M. de Buffon, in the first volumes of his Natural
History. There was an intimate connexion between,
this illustrious French naturalist and Mr Needham,
they made their experiments and observations to¬
gether ;,
NEE [ ^ ] NEE
Keedham, gethci’ 3 tliougli the results and systems wliitli they de-
Nei'die. duced from the same objects and operations were t*o-
r' 1 tally different. Mr Needham was admitted to a place
in the Royal Society of London in the year 1747,
and in the Antiquarian Society some time after. From
the year 1751 I7^7 lie was chiefly employed in
finishing the education of several English and Irish
noblemen, by attending them as tutor in their travels
through France, Italy, and other countries. He then
retired from this wandering life to the English semi¬
nary at Paris, and in 1768 was chosen by the Royal
Academy of Sciences in that city a corresponding
member.
Yv hen the regency of the Austrian Netherlands, in
order to the revival of philosophy and literature in that
country formed the project of an Imperial academy*
which was preceded by the erection of a small literary
society to prepare the way for its execution, Mr Need¬
ham was invited to Brussels by Count Cobentz.fl and
the president Neny, and was appointed successively
chief director of both these foundations. He held
this place, together with some ecclesiastical preferments
in the Low Countries, until his death, which happened
the-30th of December 1781. “ His piety, temper¬
ance, and purity of manners (we follow the expres¬
sions of the abbe Mann) were eminent: his attach¬
ment to the doctrines and duties of Christianity was in¬
violable. His zealous opposition to modern infidels
was indefatigable, and even passionate. His probity
was untainted. He was incapable of every species of
duplicity j his beneficence was universal, and his un¬
suspicious candour rendered him often a dupe to per¬
fidy.” These and other good qualities the panegyrist
attributes to his deceased friend 5 and the learned au¬
thors of the Monthly Review, to whom Mr Needham
was known, admit the justness of the panegyric. He
xvas undoubtedly (say they), both an honest man and a
worthy citizen j but though his death he a real loss to
the literary world, yet he died seasonably for himself j
for had he lived to see Joseph II. and the Great mak¬
ing so free with the paint* patches, and trinkets ot the
mother church* confiscating her lands, abolishing her
convents, suppressing her holidays, introducing common
sense into her worship, erecting political conductors to
disperse the thunder of the Vatican, and achieving many
other things in this style of improvement, it would have
vexed full sore his feeling heart. For this honest man
was narrow even to superstition and bigotry in his reli¬
gious system 5 and we never knew a man in whom there
was such an unaccountable mixture of implicit faith
and philosophical curiosity as in Mr Needham. He
was a keen and judicious observer of nature, had a pe¬
culiar dexterity in confirming his observations by expe¬
riments, and he was always occupied (sometimes indeed
with too much fancy and precipitation) in generalizing
facts, and reducing them to his system. “ His pen
(says Abbe Mann) was neither remarkable for fecun¬
dity nor method : his writings are rather the great
lines of a subject expressed with energy, and thrown
upon paper in a hurry, than finished treatises.” His
works are well known both in Britain and in France.
Needham, a town in Suffolk, 73 miles from Lon¬
don, stands on the Orwell, 9 miles from Ipswich. Its
population in 1811 was 1301.
NEEDLE, a very common little instrument or uten¬
sil made of steel, pointed at one end, and pierced ut the Noddle.
other, used in sewing, embroidery, tapestry, &c. —-v—*
Needles make a very considerable article in com¬
merce, though there is scarce any commodity cheaper,
the consumption of them being almost incredible.—
The sizes are from N° 1. the largest, to N° 25, the
smallest. In the manufacture of needles, German and
Hungarian steel is of most repute.
In the making of them, the first thing is to pass the
steel through a coal fire, and under a hammer, to bring
it out of its square figure into a cylindrical one. This
done, it is drawn through a large hole of a wire-draw-,
ing iron, and returned into the fire, and drawn through
a second hole of the iron smaller than the first 5 and
thus successively from hole to hole, till it has acquired
the degree of fineness required for that species of
needles $ observing every time it is to be drawn, that
it be greased over with lard, to render it more manage¬
able. The steel, thus reduced to a fine wire, is cut in
pieces of the length of the needles intended. These
pieces are flattened at one end on the anvil, in order
to form the head and eye : they are then put into the
fire to soften them farther *, and thence taken out and
pierced at each extreme of the flat p>art on the anvil,
by force of a poncheon of well-tempered steel, and laid
on a leaden block to bring out, with another puncheon,
the little piece of steel remaining in the eye. The
corners are then filed off the square of the heads, and
a little cavity filed on each side of the flat of the head j
this done, the point is formed with a file, and the whole
filed over: they are then laid to heat red hot on a long
narrow iron, crooked at one end, in a charcoal fire ;
and when taken out thence, are thrown into a bason of
cold water to harden. On this operation a good deal
depends j too much heat burns them, and too little
leaves them soft; the medium is learned by experience.
YV hen they are thus hardened, they are laid in an iron
shovel, on a fire more or less brisk in proportion to the
thickness of the needles j taking care to move them
from time to time. This serves to temper them, and
take off their brittleness j great care here too must be
taken of the degree of heat. They are then straighten¬
ed one after another with the hammer, the coldness of
the water used in hardening them, having twisted the
greatest part of them.
The next process is the polishing them. To do this,
they take 12,000 or 15,000 needles, and range them
in little heaps against each other on a piece of new
buckram sprinkled with emery dust. The needles thus
disposed, emery dust is thrown over them, which is
again sprinkled with oil of olives 3 at last the whole is
made up into a roll* well bound at both ends. This
roll is then laid on a polishing table, and over it a thick
plank loaded with stones, which two men work back¬
wards and forwards a day and a half, or two days,
successively •* by which means the roll thus continually
agitated by the weight and motion of the plank over
it, the needles withinside being rubbed against each
other with oil and emery, are insensibly polished. Af¬
ter polishing they are taken out, and the filth washed
off them with hot water and soap : they are then wi¬
ped in hot bran, a little moistened, placed with the
needles in a round box, suspended in the air by a cord,
which is kept stirring till the bran and needles be dry.
The needles thus wipe.d in two or three different brans,
5 B 2 , are
NEE [ 748 ] NEE
Needle, are taken out and put in wooden vessels, to have the
' sood separated from those whose points or eyes have
been broken either in polishing or wiping ; the points
are then all turned the same way, and smoothed with
an emery stone turned with a wheel. This operation
finishes them, and there remains nothing but to make
them into packets of 250 each. Needles were first
made in England by a native of India, in 1545, but the
art was lost at his death } it was, however, recovered by
Christopher Greening in 1560, w7ho was settled with
his three children, Elizabeth John, and Thomas, by
Mr Damar, ancestor of the present Lord Milton, at
Long Crendon in Bucks, where the manufactory has
Flate been carried on from that time to the present day.
CCCLXIX. ZJipping-Needle, or InclinatonjNeedle, a magnetical
I* needle, so hung, as that, instead of playing horizontally,
and pointing out north and south, one end dips, or in¬
clines to the horizon, and the other points to a certain
degree of elevation above it.
The dipping-needle was invented in the year 1576,
by one Robert Norman, a compass-maker at Wapping.
The occasion of the discovery, according to his own ac¬
count, was, that it being his custom to finish and hang
the needles of his compasses before he touched them, he
always found, that immediately after the touch, the
north-point would bend or incline downward, under the
horizon *, insomuch that, to balance the needle again,
he was always forced to put a piece of wax on the south
end as a counterpoise. The constancy of this effect
led him at length to observe the precise quantity of the
dip, or to measure the greatest angle wdiich the needle
would make with the horizon j and this at London he
found to be ii0 §0'. In 1723 Mr Graham made a
great many observations on the dipping-needle, and
found the angle to he between 74 and 75 degrees.
Mr Nairn, in 1772 found it to he somewhat above
72°. It is not certain whether the dip varies, as wrell
as the horizontal direction, in the same place. The
trifling difference between Mr Norman and MrNairne
would lead us to imagine that the dip was unalterable ;
but Mr Graham, who was a very accurate observer,
makes the difference more considerable. It is certain,
however, from a great number of experiments and ob¬
servations that the dip is variable in different latitudes,
and that it increases in going northwards. It appears
from a table of observations made with the marine dip¬
ping-needle in a voyage towards the north pole in 1733,
that in lat. 60. 18. the dip was 750 j and in lat. 70. 45.
it was 770 52'; in lat. 80. 12. it was Si*1 52'} and in
lat. 80. 27. it was 82° 2^'.
Several authors have endeavoured to apply this dis¬
covery of the dip to the finding of the latitude 5 and
Mr Bond attempted to apply it to the finding of the
longitude alsoj but for want of observations and ex¬
periments he could not make any progress. The af¬
fair was farther prosecuted by Mr Whiston, who pub¬
lished a treatise on the longitude, and for some time
imagined it was possible to find it exactly by means of
the dip of the needle : yet he at last despaired of it, for
the following reasons-, 1. The weakness of the magne¬
tic power. 2. The concussion of the ship, which he
found it exceedingly difficult to avoid so much as was
necessary for the accuracy of the experiments. 3. The
principal objection was an irregularity in the motions
of all magnetic needles, both horizontal and dipping,
by which they, within the compass of about a degree, Needle,
vary uncertainly backward and forward; even some- l—v——
times in a few hours time, without any evident cause.
For a particular account of these variations, both of
the horizontal and dipping needle, see the article Va¬
riation.
Mr Nairne made a dipping needle in 1772 for the
Board of Longitude, which was used in the voyage
towards the north pole. This is represented at fig. 2. Fig. s.
The needle A A is 12 inches long, and its axis, the
ends BB of which are made of gold, alloyed with cop¬
per, rests on friction wheels LCCC, of lour inches
diameter, each end on two friction wheels; which
wheels are balanced with great care. The ends of the
axis of the friction wheels are likewise of gold alloyed
with copper, and mov«d in small holes made in bell
metal; and opposite to the ends ol the axes ol the
needle and the friction wheels, are flat agates, set in
at DDL, finely polished. The magnetic needle vi¬
brates within a circle of bell metal, FEE, divided in¬
to degrees and half degrees j and a line, passing through
the middle of the needle to the ends, points to the di\i-
sions. The needle of this instrument was balanced be¬
fore it was made magnetical ; but by means ot a cross,
the ends of which are FI IE, (contrived by the re¬
verend Mr Mitchell) fixed on the axis of the needle,
on the arms of which are cut very fine screws to receive
small buttons, that may be screwed nearer or farther
from the axis, the needles may be adjusted both ways to
a great nicety, after being made magnetical, by rever¬
sing the poles, and changing the sides ot the needle.
GG are two levels, by which the line ot o degrees of
the instrument is set horizontal, by means ot the tour
adjusting screws LLLL ; H is the perpendicular axis,
by which the instrument may be turned, that the di¬
vided face of the circle may front the east or west j
to this axis may be fixed an index I, which points to an
opposite line on the horizontal plate K when the in¬
strument is turned half round } MMMM are screws
which hold the glass cover to keep the needle from
being disturbed by the wind. When this needle is
constructed for sea, it is suspended by an universal
joint on a triangular stand, and adjusted vertically by
a plumb line and button above the divided circle and
the dovetail work at the upper 90 j and the divisions
on the circle are adjusted so as to be perpendicular to
the horizon by the same plumb line, and an adjoining
screw} and when it is adjusted, a pointer annexed to a
screw, which serves to move the divided circle, is fixed
at the lowest 90. Whenever the instrument is used to
find the dip, it must be so placed that the needle may
vibrate exactly in the magnetic meridian.
Magnetical Needle, in Navigation, a needle touched
with a loadstone, and sustained on a pivot or centre;
on which playing at liberty, it directs itself to certain
points in or under the horizon j whence the magneti¬
cal needle is of two kinds, viz. horizontal or inclinatory.
See the article Magnet.
Horizontal needles are those equally balanced on each
side of the pivot that sustains them, and which, playing
horizontally with their two extremes, point out the north
and south points of the horizon. For their application
and use, see the article Compass.
In the construction of the horizontal needle, a piece
of pure steel is provided 3 of a length not exceeding six
inches.
NEE [ 749 ] N E G
Needle, inches, lest its weight should impede its volubility ;
—V ' very thin, to take its verticity the better ; and not
pierced with any holes, or the like, for ornament sake,
which prevent the equable diffusion of the magnetic
virtue. A perforation is then made, in the middle of
its length, and a brass cap or head soldered on, whose
inner cavity is conical, so as to play freely on a style
or pivot headed with a fine steel point. The north
point of the needle in our hemisphere is made a little
lighter than the southern 5 the touch always destroying
the balance, if well adjusted before, and rendering the
north end heavier than the south, and thus occasioning
the needle to dip.
The method of giving the needle its verticity or di¬
rective faculty has been shown already under the ar¬
ticle Magnet 5 but if, after touching, the needle be
out of its equilibrium, something must be filed off from
the heavier side, till it balance evenly.
Needles in sea compasses are usually made of a rhom-
boidal or oblong form *, we have given their structure
already under the article Compass.
The needle is not found to point precisely to the
north, except in very few places *, but deviates from it
more or less in different places, and that too at difter-
ent times ; which deviation is called its declination or
variation from the meridian. See the article Varia¬
tion.
Surgeons Needles are generally made crooked, and
their points triangular j however, they are of different
forms and sizes, and bear different names, according to
the purposes they are used for.
The largest are needles for amputation ; the next,
needles for wounds ; the finest, needles for sutures.
They have others, very short and flat, for tendons ;
others, still shorter, and the eye placed in the middle,
for tying together of vessels, &.c. Needles for couch¬
ing cataracts are of various kinds j all of which have
a small, broad, and sharp point or tongue, and some
with a sulcus at the point. Surgeons have sometimes
used two needles in this operation •, one with a sharp
point for perforating the coats of the eye, and another
with a more obtuse point for depressing or couehing
the opaque crystalline lens j but care should be taken
in the use of any of these, that they be first well po¬
lished with cloth or leather, before they are applied to
the eye.
Mr Warner observes, that the blade of the couching
needle should be at least a third part larger than those
generally used upon this occasion, as great advantages
will be found in the depressing of the cataract, by the
increased breadth of the blade of that instrument.
The handle, also, if made somewhat shorter than
usual, will enable the operator to perform with greater
steadiness than he can do with a larger handled instru¬
ment.
It is to be observed, that needles of silver pierce
more easily in stitching arteries alter an amputation,
than those made of steel.
Needle Fish. See Syngnathus, Ichthyology
Index.
Needles, sharp pointed rocks north of the isle of
Wight. They are situated at the western extremity of
the island, which is an acute point of high land, from
which they have been disjoined by the washing of the
sea. There were of these lofty white rocks formerly Needle
three, but about 14 years ago the tallest of them, call- i|
ed Lot's Wife, which rose 120 feet above low water Negative.
mark, and in its shape resembling a needle, being un¬
dermined by the constant efforts of the waves, was
thrown down, and totally disappeared.
NEEDS, or St Neots, six miles from Huntingdon,
58 miles from London, so called from the monument of
a saint of that name in it, who was burnt by the Danes,
is a large well built town, having a handsome strong-
church, with a very fine steeple, and a stone bridge over
the Ouse. Its population in 1811 was 1988.
NEEDWOOD forest, in Staffordshire, between
the Trent, Dove, and Blythe, and near Utoxeter, is
said to exceed all the forests in England in the excel¬
lence of its soil and the fineness of its turf.
NE EXEAT KEGNO, in Law, is a writ to re¬
strain a person from going out of the kingdom with¬
out the king’s license. F. N. B. 85. It may be di¬
rected to the sheriff, to make the party find surety that
he will not depart the realm, and on refusal to com¬
mit him to prison : or it may be directed to the party
himself •, and if he then goes, he may be fined. And
this writ is granted on a suit being commenced against
a man in the chancery, when the plaintiff fears the de¬
fendant will fly to some other country ; and thereby
avoid the justice and equity of the court j which hath. -
been sometimes practised : and when thus granted, the
party must give bonds to the master of the rolls, in the
penalty of 1000I. or some other large sum, for yielding
obedience to it; or satisfy the court, by answer, affida¬
vit, or otherwise, that he hath no design of leaving the
kingdom, and give security.
NEFASTI DIES, in itoman antiquity, an appella¬
tion given to those days wherein it was not allowed to
administer justice, or hold courts. They were so called
because non fari licehat, the praetor was not allowed to
pronounce the three solemn words or formulas of the
law, do, dico, addico, I give, I appoint, I adjudge.
These days were distinguished in the calendar by the
letter N. for nefastus ; or N. P. Nefastus Primo, when
the day was only nefastus in tlie forenoon, or first part.
The days of a mixed kind were called intercisi.
NEGAPATAN, a town of Asia, in the peninsula
on this side the Ganges, and on the coast of Coroman¬
del. It was first a colony of the Portuguese, but was
taken from them by the Dutch, and now forms part of
the British territory. It is situated in E. Long. 79. 10.
N. Lat. 1 r. 15.
NEGATION, in Logic, an act of the mind affirm¬
ing one thing to be different from another $ as that the
soul is not matter. See Logic.
NEGATIVE, in general, something that implies a
negation : thus ive say, negative quantities, negative
powers, negative signs, &c.
Negative Sign. The use of the negative sign, in
algebra, is attended with several consequences that at
first sight are admitted with difficulty, and has some¬
times given occasion to notions that seem to have no
real foundation. This sign implies, that the real va¬
lue of the quantity represented by the letter to which
it is prefixed is to be subtracted ; and it serves, with
the positive sign, to keep in view what elements or
parts enter into the composition of quantities, and in
what
N E G
Kfefffitivc wiiat manner, whether as increments or decrements,
Signs, (that is, whether by addition or subtraction), wbidh is
^ 'r—~‘ 0f the greatest use in this art.
In consequence of this, it serves to express a quan¬
tity of an opposite quality to the positive, as a line in
a contrary position ■, a motion with an opposite direc¬
tion ; or a centrifugal force in opposition to gravity ;
and thus often saves the trouble of distinguishing and
demonstrating separately, the various cases ot propor¬
tions, and preserves their analogy in view. Blit as
the proportions of lines depend on their magnitude
only, without regard to their position, and motions
and forces are said td be equal or unequal, in any
given ratio, without regard to their directions ; and, in
general, the proportion of quantity relates to their
magnitude only, without determining whether they ard
to be considered as increments or decrements •, so there
is no ground to imagine any other proportion oi —b
and -j-i« (or of —i and i) than that of the real mag¬
nitude of the quantities represented by b and <r, whether
these quantities are, in any particular case, to be added
or subtracted. It is the same thing to subtract the de¬
crement, as to add an equal increment, or to subtract
—b from a—b, as to add -{-£ to it: and because mul¬
tiplying a quantity by a negative number implies only
a repeated subtraction of it, the multiplying —b by
—ra, is subtracting —b as often as there are units in
n ; and is therefore equivalent to adding -\-b so many
times, or the same as adding -\-?i b. But it we infer
from this, that I is to -^-7i as —b to n b, according to
the rule, that unit is to one of the factors as the other
factor is to the product, there is no ground to imagine,
that there is any mystery in this, or any other meaning
than that the real magnitudes represented by I, b,
and n b are proportional. For that rule relates only trt
the magnitude of the factors and product, without de¬
termining whether any factor, or the product, is to be
added or subtracted. But this likewise must be deter¬
mined in algebraic computations ; and this is the pro¬
per use of the rules coUcefning the signs, without which
the operation could not proceed. Because a quantity
to be subtracted is never produced in composition by
any repeated addition of a positive, or repeated sub¬
traction of a negative, a negative square number is
never produced by composition from the root. Hence
—l, or the square root of a negative, implies an ima¬
ginary quantity ) hud in resolution, is a mark or cha¬
racter of the impossible cases of a problem, unless it is
compensated by another imaginary symbol or supposi¬
tion, when the Whole expfession may have a real sig¬
nification. Thus !+>/—i, and i—^7-—x, taken
separately, are imaginary, but their sum is 2 j as the
conditions that separately would render the solution of
a problem impossible, in some cases destroy each others
effect when conjoined. In the pursuit of general con¬
clusions, and of simple forms representing them, ex¬
pressions of this kind must sometimes arise where the
imaginary symbol is compensated in a manner that is
not always so obvious.
By proper substitutions, hoWever, the expression may
be transformed into another, wherein each particular
term may have a real signification as well as the whole
expression. The theorems that are Sometimes briefly
discovered by the use o'f this syihbbl, may he demon-
NEC
strated without it by the inverse operation, or sbuiC Xegative
other way *, and though such symbols are of some use Si^ns
in the computations by the. method of fluxions, its evi-
dence cannot he said to depend upon arts of this kind. t 1 e^I°'-.J
See Algebra and Fluxions.
Negative Electricity. See the article Electri¬
city, passim. See also Positive Electricity.
NEGINOTH. This term is read before some of
the Psalms, as Psalm Ixvii. It signifies string instru*
ments oj music, to be played oil by the fingers, or wo¬
men musicians ; and the titles of these Psalms where
this word is found, may be thus translated, A psalm oj
David to the master of ?)iusic, who presides over the
string instruments.
NEGOMBO, a sea port town of Asia, on the west
coast of Ceylon. It has a fort built by the Portuguese,
which Was taken from them by the Dutch in 1640*
E. Long. 80. 25. N. Lat. 1*7. o.
NEGRIL point, the most westerly promontory of
the island of Jamaica.
NEGRO, Homo pelli nigra, a name given to a
variety of the human species, who are entirely black,
and are found in the torrid zone, especially in that
part of Africa which lies within the tropics. In the
complexion of Negroes, we meet with many various
shades ; but they likewise differ far from other men in
all the features of their face. Round cheeks, high
cheek-bones, a forehead somewhat elevated, a short,
broad, flat nose, thick lips, small ears, ugliness, and
irregularity of shape, characterise their external ap¬
pearance. The negro women have the loins greatly de¬
pressed, and very large buttocks, which gives the back
the shape of a saddle. Vices the most notorious seem
to be the portion of this unhappy race ^ idleness, trea¬
chery, revenge, cruelty, impudence, stealing, lying,
profanity, debauchery, nastiness, and intemperance, are
said to have extinguished the principles of natural law,
and to have silenced the reproofs of conscience. They
are strangers to every sentiment of compassion, and are
an awful example of the corruption of man when left to
himself.
The origin of the negloes, and the caOse of their
remarkable difl'erence from the rest of the human spe¬
cies, has much perplexed the naturalists. Mr Boyle
has observed, that it cannot be produced by the heat
of the climate : for though the heat of the sun may
darken the colour of the skin* yet experience does not
show that it is sufficient to produce a new blackness like
that of the negroes.
In Africa itself, many nations of Ethiopia are not
black ; nor were there any blacks originally in the
West Indies. In many parts of Asia under the same
parallel with the African region inhabited by the
blacks, the people are hut tawnej. Fie adds, that there
are negroes in Africa beyond the southern tropic ; and
that a river sometimes parts nations, one of Which is
black, and the other only tawney. Dr Barriere alleges
that the gall of negroes is black, and being mixed
With their blood is deposited between the skin and
scarf-skin. However, Dr Mitchell of Virginia, in the
Philosophical Transactions, N° 476, has endeavoured
by many learned arguments to prove, that the influ
ence of the sun in hot countries, and the manner t
life of their inhabitants, are the remote causes of tfe
colour of the negroes, Indians, &c. Lord Kamel
0*
f iso ]
Nesrvo.
N E G [ 75
on the other hand, and such philosophers as he, whose
; genius and imagination are too lively to submit to a
dry and painful investigation of tacts, have contended
that no physical cause is sufficient to change the
colour, and what we call the regular features of white
men, to the dark hue and deformity of the woolly-
headed negro. Their arguments have been examined
with much acuteness and ingenuity by Dr Stanhope
Smith of New Jersey, Dr Hunter, and Professor
Zimmerman, who have made it in a high degree pro¬
bable, that the action of the sun is the original and
chief cause of the black colour, as well as distorted
features of the negro. See America, N° 48—51. and
Complexion.
True negroes are found in no quarter of the globe
where the heat of the climate is not very great. They
exist nowhere but in the torrid zone, and only in three
regions situated in that zone, viz. in Senegal, in Guinea,
and on the western shores of Africa, in Nubia, and tbe
Papous land, or what is called New Guinea. In all
these regions the atmosphere is scorching, and the heat
excessive. The inhabitants of the north are whitest j
and as we advance soutlnvards towards the line, and
those countries on w’hich the sun’s rays fall more per¬
pendicularly, the complexion gradually assumes a dark¬
er shade. And tbe same men, whose colour has been
rendered black by the powerful action of the sun, if
they remove to the north, gradually become whiter (at
least their posterity), and lose their burnt colour.
Whites when transported into the burning regions of
the torrid zone, are the first subject to fever j tbe skin
of the face, hands, and feet, becomes burnt, hardens
and falls off in scales. Hitherto tbe colour of negroes
appears to be only local, extrinsic, and accidental, and
their short frizzled and sparse hair is to be accounted
for in the very same manner.
Climate possesses great and evident influences on tbe
hair, not only of men, but of all other animals. If in
one case these transmutations are acknowledged to be
consistent with identity of kind, they ought not in the
ether to be esteemed criterions of different species. Na¬
ture has adapted the pliancy of her work to the situa¬
tions in which she may require it to be placed. The
beaver and sheep removed to the warm latitudes ex¬
change, the one its fur, and the other its wool, for a
coarse hair that preserves the animal in a more moderate
temperature. The coarse and black shag of the bear is
converted, in the arctic regions, into the finest and
whitest fur. The colour of the hair is likewise changed
by climate. The bear is white under the arctic circle \
and, in high northern latitudes, foxes, hares, and rabbits,
are found white. Similar effects of climate are discern¬
ible on mankind. The hair of the Danes is generally
red ; of the English, fair or brown •, and of the I rench,
commonly black. The hair of all people of colour is
black, and that of the African negroes is likewise sparse
and curled in a manner peculiar to themselves j but this
peculiarity is analogous to the effect which a warm cli¬
mate has on almost every, other animal. Cold, by ob¬
structing the perspiration, tends to throw out the per¬
spirable matter accumulated at the skin man additional
epat of hair. A warm climate, by opening the pores,
evaporates this matter before it can be concreted into
the substance of hair 5 and the laxness and aperture of
the pores render the hair liable to be easily eradiea-
1 ] N E G
ted by innumerable incidents. Its curl may result
in part from the nature of the secretion by which it is 1
nourished, and in part from external heat. That it
depends in some degree on the quality of the secretion
is rendered highly probable from its appearance on the
chin ami other parts of the human body. Climate is as
much distinguished by the nature and proportion of the
secretions as by the degree of heat. (See Physiolo¬
gy, sect. 6.). Whatever be the nutriment of the hair,
it is evidently combined in the torrid zone of Africa
with some fluid of a highly volatile or ardent quality,,
which produces the rank smell of many African nations.
Saline secretions tend to curl and to burn the hair. The
evaporation of any volatile spirit would render its sur¬
face dry and disposed to contract $ whilst the centre con¬
tinuing distended by the vital motion, these opposite
dilatations and contractions would necessarily produce a
curve, and make the hair grow involved. External and
violent heat parching the extremities of the hair, tends
likewise to involve it. A hair held near the fire in¬
stantly coils itself up. Africa is the hottest country on
the globe 5 and the influence of its heat, cither external
or internal, or both, in giving the peculiar form to the
hair of the natives, appears, not only from its sparseness
and its curl, but from its colour. It is not of a shining,
but of an adust black j and its extremities tend to
brown, as if it had been scorched by the fire.
The peculiarities of the negro features and form may
likewise be accounted for from the excessive heat of the
climate and the state of African society. Being sava¬
ges, they have no arts to protect them from the rays of
a. burning sun. The heat and serenity of the sky pre¬
serving the lives of the children without much care of
the parents, they seem of course to he, in the interior
parts of the country, negligent of their offspring. Able
themselves to endure the extremes of that ardent climate,
they inure their children to it from their most tender
age. They suffer them to roll in the dust and sand be¬
neath the direct rays of a vertical sun. The. mother,
if she he engaged, lays down the infant on the first spot
she finds, and is seldom at the pains to seek the miser¬
able shelter of a barren shrub, which is all that the in¬
terior country affords. When we reflect on the influ¬
ence of a glare of light upon the eye, and on the con¬
tortions of countenance produced by our efforts to re¬
pel or prevent it, we need not wonder, that the pliant
features of a negro infant should, by.constant exposure,,
acquire that permanent irregularity which we term their
characteristic ugliness. But besides the climate, food
and clothing and modes of life have prodigious effects^
on the human form and features. This is apparent even
in polished societies, where the poor and labouring part
of the community are much more coarse in their features,
and ill formed in their limbs, than persons of better for¬
tune and more liberal means of subsistence. What an.
immense difference exists in Scotland, for instance, be¬
tween the chiefs and the commonalty of the Highland
clans P If they had been separately found in different
countries, they would have been ranged by some philo¬
sophers under difl’erent species. A similar distinction
takes place between the nobility and peasantry of
France, of Spain, of Italy, and of Germany.
That food and clothing, and the different modes of
life, have as great an influence upon the shapes and fea¬
tures of the Africans as upon the natives of Europe, is
evident.
Negro.
N E G [ 7.
evident from the different appearances ci the negroes in
the southern republics oi America according to the sta¬
tions in which they are employed. “ I he held slaves
(says Dr Smith) are badly fed, clothed, ami lodged.
They live in small huts on the plantations, where they
labour remote from the society and example of their
superiors. Living by themselves, they letam many of
the customs and manners of their African ancestors.
The domestic servants, on the other hand, who are kept
near the persons, or employed in the families of their
masters, are treated with great lenity j their service is
Jighf, they are fed and clothed like their superiors -,
they see their manners,, adopt their habits, and insensi¬
bly receive the same ideas of elegance and beauty. The
held slaves are, in consequence, slow in changing the
aspect and figure of Africa. The domestic servants
have advanced far before them in acquiring the agree¬
able and regular features, and the expressive countenance
of civil society. The former are frequently ill-shaped.
They preserve, in a great degree, the African lips,
nose, and hair. Their genius is dull, and their coun¬
tenance sleepy and stupid. The latter are straight and
Well proportioned 5 their hair extended to three, four,
and sometimes even to six or eight inches 5 the size and
shape of the mouth handsome, their features regular,
their capacity good, and their look animated.”
Upon the whole, we hope that the reader, who shall
candidly weigh in his own mind what we have said at
present and under the article Complexion, will agree
with us, that the black colour in the torrid zone, the
sparse crisp hairs of the negroes, and the peculiarities of
their features and form, proceed from causes altogether
extrinsic ; that they depend on local temperature and the
state of society 5 and that they are as accidental as the
various shades of colour which characterise the difl’erent
nations of Europe. If the whites he considered as the
stock whence all others have sprung, it is easy‘to con¬
ceive how they have degenerated into negroes. Some
have conjectured that the complete change may haVe
taken place at the end of three centuries, whilst others
have thought that it could not be effected in less than
double that period. Such conjectures can be formed
from no certain data ; and a much greater length of
time is undoubtedly necessary before negroes, when
transplanted into our temperate eountries, can entirely
lose their black colour. By crossing the breed with
whites, every taint of the negro colour may be expelled
we believe, from the fifth generation (a).
But the most serious charge brought against the
poor negroes is, that of the vices said to be natural
2 ] NEC
to them. If they be, indeed, such as their enemies >:CKro.
represent them, treacherous, cruel, revengeful, and —v~-“«
intemperate, by a necessity of naiurc, they must he a
different race from the whites j for though all these
vices abound in Europe, it is evident that they proceed
not from nature, but from wrong education, which
gives to the youthful mind such deep impressions as no
future exertions can completely eradicate. Let us in¬
quire coolly if the vices of the negroes may not have a
similar origin.
In every part of Africa with which the nations of
Europe have any commerce, slavery prevails of the
worst kind. Three-fourths of the people are slaves to
the rest, and the children are born to no other inherit¬
ance. “ Most parts of the coast differ in their go- Edwards's
vernments ; some are absolute monarchies,whilst others Hutory of
draw near to an aristocracy. In both the authority of^c West
the chief or chiefs is unlimited, extending to life, and it^*f?>
is exercised as often as criminal cases require, unless
death is commuted into slavery } in which case the of¬
fender is sold, and if the shipping will not buy the cri¬
minal, he is immediately put to death. lathers of free
condition have power to sell their children, but this
power is very seldom enforced. In Congo, however,
a father f will sell a son or daughter, or perhaps both, ^ Mod
for a piece of cloth, a collar or girdle of coral or beads, ijniver_
and often for a bottle of wine or brandy. A husband History,
may have as many wives as he pleases, and repudiate or vo!. xm.
even sell them, though with child, at his pleasure. TheP- So-
wives and concubines, though it be a capital crime for
the former to break the conjugal faith, have a way to
rid themselves of their husbands, if they have set their
affections upon a new gallant, by accusing them of
some crime for which the punishment is death. In a
word, the bulk of the people in every state of Africa
are born slaves to great men, reared as such, held as
property, and as propety sold (see Slavery). There
are indeed many circumstances by which a free man jj^tory of
may become a slave: such as being in debt, and noithe West
able to pay j and in some of such cases, if the debt helndt£s'
large, not "only the debtor, but his Family likewise, be¬
come the slaves of his creditor, and may be sold. A-
dultery is commonly punished in the same ^manner, both
the oftending parties being sold, and the purchase-mo¬
ney paid to the injured husband. Obt, or pretended
witchcraft (in which all the negroes firmly believe, see
Witchcraft), is another, and a very common offence,
for which slavery is adjudged the laivful punishment ;
and it extends to all the family of the offender. There
.are various other crimes which subject the offender and
(a) 1. A white man with a negro woman, or negro man with a white woman, produce a mulatto, half white
and half black, or of a yellow-blackish colour, with black, short frizzled hair. 2. A white man with a mulatto
woman, or a negro with a mulatto woman, produce a quadroon, three-fourths white and one-fourth black, or
three-fourths black and one-fourth white, or of a lighter yellow than the former. In America, they give the
name of cabres to those who are descended from a black man and a mulatto woman, or a mulatto man and a black
woman, who are three-fourths black and one-fourth white, and who are not so black as a negro, hut blacker
than a mulatto. 3. A white man with a quadroon woman, or a negro with a quadroon woman, produce a mesti-
zo, seven-eighths white and one-eighth black, or seven-eighths black and one-eighth white. 4. A white man with
a mestizo woman, or a negro with a mestizo woman, produce, the one almost a perfect white, the other almost
a perfect black, called a quinteroon. This is the last gradation, there being no visible difference between the fair
quinteroons and the whites : and the children of a white and quinteroon consider themselves as free from all taint
of the negro race.
N E G
Negro, liis children to be sold; and it is more than probable,
—-v——1 that it' there were no buyers, the poor wretches would
be murdered without mercy.
In such a state of society, what dispositions can be
looked for in the people, but cruelty, treachery, and
revenge ? Even in the civilized nations of Europe,
blessed with the lights of law, science, and religion,
some of the lower orders of the community consider it
as a very trivial crime to defraud their superiors ; whilst
almost all look up to them with stupid malevolence or
rancorous envy. That a depressed people, when they
get powrer into their hands, are revengeful and cruel,
the present age affords a dreadful proof in the conduct
of the demagogues of a neighbouring nation ; and is it
wonderful that the negroes of Africa, unacquainted
with moral principles, blinded by the cruellest and most
absurd superstitions, and whose customs tend to eradi¬
cate from the mind all natural affection, should some¬
times display to their lordly masters of European ex¬
traction the same spirit that has been so generally dis¬
played by the lower orders of Frenchmen to their ec¬
clesiastics, their nobles, and the family of their murder¬
ed sovereign ! When we consider that the majority of
the negroes srroan under the cruellest slavery, both in
their own country, and in every other where they are
to be found in considerable numbers, it can excite no
surprise that they are in general treacherous, cruel, and
vindictive. Such are the caprices of their tyrants at
home, that they could not preserve their own lives or
the lives of their families for any length of time, but by
a perpetual vigilance, which must necessarily degene¬
rate, first into cunning, and afterwards into treachery;
and it is not conceivable that habits formed in Africa
should be instantly thrown off in the West Indies, where
they are the property of men whom some of them must
consider as a different race of beings.
But tbe truth is, that the ill qualities of the negroes
have been greatly exaggerated. Mr Edwards, in his
valuable History of the West Indies, assures us that tbe
Mandingo negroes display such gentleness of disposi¬
tion and demeanor, as would seem the result of early
education and discipline, were it not that, generally
speaking, they are more prone to theft than any of the
African tribes. It has been supposed that this propen¬
sity, among other vices, is natural to a state of slavery,
which degrades and corrupts the human mind in a de¬
plorable manner ; but why the Mandingoes should have
become more vicious in this respect than the rest of the
natives of Africa in the same condition of life, is a que¬
stion he cannot answer.
“ The circumstances which (according to the same
author) distinguish the Koromantyn or Gold Coast ne¬
groes from all others, are firmness both of body and
mind ; a ferociousness of disposition ; but withal, ac¬
tivity, courage, and a stubbornness, or what an ancient
Roman would have deemed an elevation of soul, which
prompts them to enterprises of difficulty and danger,
and enables them to meet death, in its most horrid
-shape, with fortitude or indifference. rl hey sometimes
take to labour with great promptitude and alacrity, and
have constitutions well adapted for it; for many of them
have undoubtedly been slaves in Africa. But as the
Gold Coast is inhabited by various tribes, which are
engaged in perpetual warfare and hostility with each
other, there cannot be a doubt that many of the captives
Vol. XIV. Part II. *
N E G
taken in battle, and sold in the European settlements, Negro.
were of free condition in their native country, and per- ^ v"?“
haps the owners of slaves themselves. It is not wonder¬
ful that such men should endeavour, even by means the
most desperate, to regain the freedom of which they
have been deprived ; nor do 1 conceive that any further
circumstances are necessary to prompt them to action,
than that of being sold into captivity in a distant coun¬
try. One cannot surely but lament (says our author)
that a people thus naturally intrepid, should be sunk
into so deplorable a state of barbarity and superstition;
and that their spirits should ever be broken down by
tbe yoke of slavery. Whatever may be alleged con¬
cerning their ferociousness and implacability in their
present notions of right and wrong, I am persuaded that
they possess qualities which are capable of, and well de¬
serve, cultivation and improvement.
“ Very difi’erent from the Koromantyns are the ne¬
groes imported from tbe Bight of Benin, and known
in the West Indies by the name of Eboes. So great
is their constitutional timidity and despondency of mind,
as to occasion them very frequently to seek, in a vo¬
luntary death, a refuge from their own melancholy re¬
flections. They require therefore the gentlest and
mildest treatment to reconcile them to their situation ;
but if their confidence be once obtained, they manifest
as great fidelity, affection, and gratitude, as can rea¬
sonably be expected from men in a state of slavery.
The females of this nation are better labourers than the
men, probably from having been more hardly treated
in Africa.
“ Tbe natives of Whidah, who, in tbe West Indies,
are generally called Papaws,are unquestionably the most
docile and best disposed slaves that are imported from
any part of Africa. Without the fierce and savage
manners of the Koromantyn negroes, they are also
happily exempt from the timid and desponding temper
of the Eboes. The cheerful acquiescence with which
these people apply to the labours of the field, and their
constitutional aptitude for such employment, arise, with¬
out doubt, from the great attention paid to agriculture
in their native country. Bosnian speaks with rapture
of the improved state of the soil, the number of villages,
and the industry, riches, and obliging manners of tbe
natives. He observes, however, that they are much
greater thieves than those of the Gold Coast, and very
unlike them in another respect, namely, in the dread
of pain, and the apprehension of death. They are,
says he, so very apprehensive of death, that they are
unwilling to hear it mentioned, for fear t/iat alone
should hasten their end ; and no man dares to speak ol
death in the presence of the king, or any great man,
under tbe penalty of suffering it himself, as a punish¬
ment for his presumption. He relates further, that they
are addicted to gaming beyond any people of Africa.
All these propensities are observable in tbe character of
the Papaws in a state of slavery in the West Indies.
That punishment which excites the Koromantyn to re¬
bel, and drives tbe Ebo negro to suicide, is received by
tbe Papaws as the chastisement of legal authority, to
which it is their duty to submit patiently. The case
seems to be, that the generality of these people are in a
state of absolute slavery in Africa, and, having been
habituated to a life of labour, they submit to a change
of situation with little reluctance.”
5 C Having
1 753 1
N E G
t 754 ]
N E G
Negro.
Having recited such observations as occurred to him
i on contemplating the various tribes of negroes from each
other, Mr Edwards thus estimates their general charac¬
ter, influenced as they are by circumstances which soon
efface the native and original impressions which distin¬
guish one nation from another when newly imported
into the West Indies.
“ Notwithstanding what has been related ol thehrm-
ncss and courage of the natives of the Oold Coast, it is
certain that the negroes in general in our islauds (such
of them at least as have been any length of time in a
state of servitude) are of a distrustiul and cowardly dis¬
position. So degrading is the nature oi slavery, that
fortitude of mind is lost as free agency is restrained.
To the same cause probably must be imputed their pro¬
pensity to conceal or violate the truth } which is so
general, that the vice of falsehood is one of the most
prominent features in their character. If a negro is
asked even an indifferent question by his master, he sel¬
dom gives an immediate reply j but, affecting not to
understand what is said, compels a repetition of the
question, that he may have time to consider, not what
is the true answrer, but what is the most politic one foi
him to give. The proneness observable in many of them
to the vice of theft has already been noticed; and I am
afraid (says our author), that evil communication makes
it almost general. It is no easy matter, I confess, to
discriminate those circumstances which are the result of
proximate causes, from those which are the eflects of
national customs and early habits in savage life; but I am
afraid that cowardice and dissimulation have been the
properties of slavery in all ages, and will continue to be
so to the end of the world. It is a situation that neces¬
sarily suppresses many of the best affections of the human
heart.—If it calls forth any latent virtues, they are
those of sympathy and compassion towards persons in
the same condition of life ; and accordingly we find
that the negroes in general are strongly attached to
their countrymen, but above all, to such of their com¬
panions as came in the same ship with them from Afri¬
ca. This is a striking circumstance : the term shipmate
is understood among them as signifying a relationship
of the most endearing nature ; perhaps as recalling the
time when the sufferers were cut off together from their
common country and kindred, and awakening recipro¬
cal sympathy from the remembrance of mutual afflic¬
tion. But their benevolence, with a very few excep¬
tions, extends no further. The softer virtues are sel¬
dom found in the bosom of the enslaved Africaa. Give
him sufficient authority, and he becomes the most re¬
morseless of tyrants. Of all the degrees of wretched¬
ness endured by the sons ol men, the greatest, assured¬
ly, is the misery Avhich is felt by those who are unhap¬
pily doomed to be the slaves of slaves ; a most unnatural
relation, which sometimes takes place in the sugar
plantations. The same observation may be made con¬
cerning their conduct towards the animal creation.
Their treatment of cattle under their direction is brutal
beyond belief. Even the useful and social qualities of
the dog secure to him no kind usage from an African
master. One of the most pleasing traits in their charac¬
ter is the respect and attention which they pay to their
aged countrymen. The whole body of negroes on a
plantation must be reduced to a deplorable state of
wretchedness, if at any time, they suffer their aged
4
companions to want the common necessaries of life, or
even many of its comforts, as far as they can procure
them. They seem to he actuated on these occasions by
a kind of involuntary impulse, operating as a primitive
law of nature, which scorns to wait the cold dictates ot
reason : among them, it is the exercise of a common
duty, which courts no observation, and looks lor no
applause.”
As the colour and features, and moral qualities of
the negroes, may be thus easily accounted for by the in¬
fluence of climate and the modes of savage life, so there
is good reason to believe that their intellectual endow¬
ments are equal to those of the whites who have been
found in the same circumstances. Of these imitative
arts 111 which perfection can be attained only in an im¬
proved state of society, it is natural to suppose that they
have but little knowledge; but the fabric and colours
of the Guinea cloths are a proof of their native inge¬
nuity. In the West Indies many of them arc expert
carpenters, some watchmakers, and one or two have
successfully practised physic-, while others have figured
both in Latin and English poetry, so that we cannot
doubt but that “ God, who made the world, hath made
of one blood all nations of men,” and animated them
with minds equally rational.
NEGROLAND, or Nigritia, a country of Afri¬
ca, lyine; next to Guinea towards the north, and ex-
Negro,
Neuvoiand.
tending from x8° of west to 230 of east longitude,
and from 90 to 20° of north latitude. On the north
it is hounded by Z.aara or the Desert} on the east, by
countries unknown j on the south, by Guinea 5 and on
the west, by the Atlantic ocean -, and is watered by
the great river Niger or Senegal, which runs through
it from east to west. The Europeans have settlements
on the coasts of this country, especially near the
mouths of the Niger and Gambia, which last is sup¬
posed to be a branch of the former. A great many
nations inhabit the banks of the rivers 5 some I agans,
some Mohammedans, ot different languages, and inde¬
pendent of one another. I he country is fruitful, espe¬
cially along the rivers 5 abounding in rice, Guinea
grain, and Indian corn, where it is cultivated ; and
with cocoa nuts, plantains, pulse, palm trees, and tro¬
pical fruits '■) nor is it destitute of cattle, and a variety
of other animals, particularly such as abound in Gui¬
nea. See Guinea.
Negroland is fertilized by the overflowing of its
rivers the Senegal and Gambia, as Egypt is by the
Nile It hath not yet been ascertained whether the
Gambia is a branch of the Senegal or not. As fiir
as the Europeans have penetrated up the country, they
appear to be distinct; and the Mandingo negroes
report that the Gambia has a different origin. I he
entrance into Senegal river, is narrow and some¬
what difficult, by reason of its immoveable bar, and
sanely shoals, as well as the several islands at the
mouth of it, and the several canals and marshes that
clog it: hut after sailing up eight or ten leagues, it is
found broad anti deep, and fit to carry large vessels j and,
excepting about five or six leagues on each sitle above
the month, which is sandy and barren ground, the
banks are covered with stately trees and villages, and
the country in general is fertile and well watered j
for, like the Nile, this river overflows its banks foy
many leagues, ajid enriches the land to a great de¬
gree.
NEC
Negroland »ree, though, for want of skill, the inhabitants do
II not reap the advantages which they might obtain from
. eSr*)Pl)nt; its fertility. The people on both sides of the river
live as near to it as they can, and feed great herds of
cattle, sowing large and small millet, the former of
which is called by us Turkey iv/ieat, in great quantities,
and with great increase. If the river fails of over¬
flowing at its usual season, a great scarcity ensues in
the adjacent country •, and, even when it overflows
regularly, it breeds such vast flights of grashoppers
and insects, as quite darken the air, and frequently
devour the whole produce of the soil: in which case
the people kill those insects and eat them ; which they
do either by pounding in leather bags, and then boil¬
ing them in milk, or which is reckoned the more de¬
licious method, by frying or broiling them over a light
blaze in a fryingpan full of holes. Thus the legs
and wings of the insects are burnt off’, and the rest of
the body is sufficiently roasted to be eaten as a dainty,
which they look upon to be very wholesome and nou¬
rishing.
To the east, north-east, and south-east of the island
of Senegal, the country, as far as it is known, is
overrun with woods and marshes: the Senegal, Gam¬
bia, and Sherbro, passing through it in their way to the
Atlantic ocean. The Niger rises near the Senegal,
and runs eastward, but its termination is unknown.
During the rainy months, which begin in July, and con¬
tinue to October, they lay the whole country under wa¬
tery and indeed the sudden rise of these rivers is incredi¬
ble to such as are not acquainted with the violent rains
that fall between the tropics. At Galam, 900 miles
from the mouth of the Senegal, the waters rise 150 feet
perpendicular from the bed of the river. At the island
of Senegal, the river rises gradually, during the rainy
season, above 20 feet perpendicular over part of that
flat coast j which of itself, so freshens the water that
ships lying at anchor, at the distance of three leagues
from its mouth, generally make use of it, and fill their
Avater there for their voyage home. When the rains are
at an end, which soon happens in October, the intense
heat of the sun usually dries up those stagnating waters
which lie on the higher parts, and the remainder from
lakes and marshes, in which are found all sorts of dead
animals. At last, those too are quite dried up; and
then the effluvia that arise are almost quite insupport¬
able. At this season the winds blow so hot from the
fand, that they may be compared to the heat proceed¬
ing from the mouth of an oven, and they bring with
them an intolerable smell. The Avolves, tigers, lions,
and other wild beasts, then resort to the river, steep¬
ing their body under Avater, and only their snout above
it for the sake of breathing. The birds soar to an im¬
mense height in the air, and fly a vast way over the
sea, Avhere they continue till the wind changes, and
comes from the Avest.
Negroes, White. See Heliophobi and Albino.
NEGROMANCY. See Necromancy.
NEGROPONT, anciently Euboea, an island of the
Archipelago, stretching along the eastern coast of
Achaia or Livadia, from Avhich it is separated by a
narroAV channel called the Euripus. Ihis strait is so
narrow, that the island is joined to the continent by a
bridge" thrown over it j and here, it is thought, there
was formerly an isthmus. The irregularity of the tides
f 7SS ]
N E H
in the Euripus hath from the remotest antiquity been
very remarkable, and this irregularity is found to be
connected with the age of the moon. From the three
last days of the old moon to the eighth day of the iicav
moon, and from the 14th to the 20th day inclusive,
they are regular, but on the other days they are ir¬
regular, flowing 12, 13, or 14 times in the space of
24 hours, and ebbing as often. The island is 90 miles
long and 25 broad in the widest part ; and produces
corn, oil, fruit, and cattle, in great abundance. The on¬
ly place in the island Avorth notice is the capital, which
is also called Ncgropont ; and Avhich is Availed, and con¬
tains about 15,000 inhabitants j but the Christians are
said to be much more numerous than the Turks. The
captain bashaAV, or admiral of Turkey, who is also go¬
vernor of the city, the island, and the adjacent con¬
tinent of Greece, resides here : and the harbour, Avhich
is very safe and spacious, is seldom without a fleet of
galleys, ready to be put to sea against the pirates and
the Maltese. A part of the bridge between the city
and the coast of Greece, consists of a draAV bridge no
longer than just to let a galley pass through.
NEHEMIAH, or Neemias, son of Hachaliah, Avas
born at Babylon during the captivity, (Neh. i. 1,2,
&c.). He was, according to some, of the race of the
priests, but according to others, of the tribe of Judah
and the royal family. Those avIio maintain the first
opinion, support it by a passage in Ezra, (x. 10.) where
he is called a priest j but those who believe that he avhs
of the race of the kings of Judah, say, 1st, That Ne-
hemiah having governed the republic of the Jcavs for a
considerable time, there is great probability he Avas of
that tribe of Avhich the kings ahvays were. 2dly, Ne-
hemiah mentions his brethren Hanani, and some other
Jcavs, who coming to Babylon during the captivity, ac¬
quainted him with the sad condition of their country.
3diy, The office of cupbearer to the king of Persia,
to which Nehemiah was promoted, is a further proof
that he was of an illustrious family. 4thly, He excuses
himself from entering into the inner part of the temple,
probably because lie was only a laic, (Neh. vi. 11.)
“ Should such a man as I flee ? And who is there
that, being as I am, would go into the temple to savre
his life ?”
The Scripture (Ezra ii. 63. Nehem. vii. 65.) calls
him Nntznn tirshatha, that is to say, “ cup-bearer,;” for
he had this employment at the court of Art a xerxes
Longimanus. Fie had an exceeding great tenderness
for the country of his fathers, though he had never seen
it ; and one day, as some Jews newly come from Jeru¬
salem acquainted him with the miserable estate of that
city, that its wall were beat down, its gates burnt, and
the Jews were become a reproach among all nations ;
he was sensibly affected with this relation ; he fasted,
prayed, and humbled himself before the Lord, that he
would be favourable to the design he had then conceiv¬
ed of asking the king’s permission to rebuild Jerusalem.
The course of his attendance at court being come, he
presented the cup to the king according to custom ;
but with a countenance sad and dejected ; which the
king observing, entertained some suspicion, as if he
might have had some bad design ; but Nehemiah (ii.)
discovering the occasion of his disquiet, Artaxerxts
gave him leavre to go to Jerusalem, and repair its walls
and gates ; but, however, upon this condition, that he
5 C 2 ^ ■should
Negro pout,
Nelieniiaji.
N E H [7
XehemiaU. should return to court at a time appointed. Letters
..—  1 were made out, directed to the governors beyond the
Euphrates, with orders to furnish Nehemiah with tim¬
bers necessary for covering the towers and gates of the
city, and the house designed for Nehemiah himself, who
was now appointed governor of Judea, in the year of
the world 3350* . , , . ,
Nehemiah being arrived at Jerusalem with the king s
commission, went round the cityj and having viewed
the condition of the walls, assembled the chief of the
people, produced his commission, and exhorted them to
undertake the reparation of the gates and walls of the
city. He found every person ready to obey him j
whereupon he immediately began the work. The
enemies of the Jews observing these works in such for¬
wardness, made use of all the means in their power to
deter Nehemiah from this undertaking, and made seve¬
ral attempts to surprise him *, but finding that their de¬
signs were discovered, and that the Jews kept upon their
guard, they had recourse to craft and stratagem, endea¬
vouring to draw him into an ambuscade in the fields,
where they pretended they would finish the dispute at an
amicable conference : but Nehemiab gave them to un¬
derstand, that the work he had begun required bis per¬
sonal attendance *, and therefore he could not come to
them. He sent the same answer to four several mes¬
sages that they sent one after another on the same sub¬
ject, {Id. iv. and vi.).
Sanballat, the chief of the enemies of the Jews, to¬
gether with his associates, wrote word, that a report was
spread that the Jews were building the walls of Jerusa¬
lem only with a design to make it a place of strength,
to support them in an intended revolt 5 that it was said
also that Nehemiah had suborned false prophets to fa¬
vour his designs, and to encourage the people to choose
him king and to stop the course of these rumours, he
advised him to come to him, that they might confer to¬
gether, and take such resolutions as should be found
convenient. Nehemiah gave himself no trouble on this
account, but returned for answer, that all those accusa¬
tions were false and made at random. About the same
time he discovered, that a false prophet called She-
maiah, had been corrupted by his enemies, and that
some of the chief of the city were secretly in confede¬
racy with them. Yet all this did not discourage him ;
he went on with his work, and happily completed it in
two and fifty days after it had been begun.
Then he made a dedication of the walls, of the
towers, and of the gates of Jerusalem, with the solem¬
nity and magnificence that such a work required. He
separated the priests, the Levites, and the princes of the
people, into two companies, one of which walked to
the south and the other to the north, on the top of the
walls. These two companies were to meet at the tem¬
ple. The procession was accompanied with music both
vocal and instrumental: and when they were all come
to.the temple, they there read the law, offered sacrifices,
and made great rejoicings. And as the feast of taber¬
nacles happened at the same time, it was celebrated
with great solemnity, {Id. via.). Nehemiah observing
that the compass of the city was too large for its inha¬
bitants, he ordered that the chief of the nation should
fix their dwelling in the city j and caused them to draw
lots, by which a tenth part of the whole people of Ju¬
dah were to dwell at Jerusalem, {Ld. xi.). Then he ap-
56 ] N E H
plied himself to the reformation of such abuses as had
crept into the administration of the public affairs. He '
curbed the inhumanity of the great ones, who held in
a state of slavery the sons and daughters of those who
were poor or unfortunate, keeping their lands in pos¬
session, which these poor people had been obliged either
to mortgage or to sell to the rich. Another abuse there
was, which Ezra had in vain attempted to redress, that
they had contracted marriages with strange and idola¬
trous women. Nehemiah undertook to dissolve these
marriages, succeeded in it, and sent away all such wo¬
men as had been taken against the express command of
the law, {Id. ix.). Having likewise observed, that the
priests and Levites were obliged to take refuge where-
ever they could, and so the ministry of the temple was
not attended or performed with that decency it ought,
because they did not receive the revenues that the law
had appointed for their subsistence *, he obliged the peo¬
ple punctually to pay the ministers of the Lord what
was due to them, and enjoined the priests and Levites
duly to attend on their respective duties, and to dis¬
charge their functions, {Id. xiii. 10, 11, &c.). He en¬
forced the observation of the sabbath, which had been
much neglected at Jerusalem, and would not permit
strangers to come in to buy and sell, but kept the gates
of the city shut all that day. And, to perpetuate as
much as was possible these good regulations which he
had newlv established, he engaged the chief men of the
nation solemnly to renew the covenant Avith the Lord.
This ceremony was performed in the temple, and an in¬
strument was drawn up, which was signed by the prin¬
cipal men, both priests and people {Id. ix. x.), in the
year of the world 3551.
We read in the books of Maccabees (2 Macc. i.
19, 20, 21. &c.), that Nehemiah sent to search tor the
holy fire, which before the captivity of Babylon the
priests had hid in a dry and deep pit j but not finding
any fire there, but instead thereof a thick and muddy
water, he sprinkled this upon the altar ; whereupon the
wood which had been sprinkled with this water took
fire presently as soon as the sun began to appear.
Which miracle coming to the knowledge of the king
of Persia, he caused the place to he encompassed with
Avails where the fire had been hid, and granted great fa¬
vours and privileges to the priests. It is recorded in
the same books, (2 Macc. ii. 13, 14.), that Nehemiah
erected a library, wherein he placed Avhatever he could
find, either of the books of the prophets, of David, or
of such princes as had made presents to the temple.
Lastly, he returned to Babylon {Id.\. 14. and xiii. 6.)
according to the promise he had made to King Arta-
xerxes, about the thirty-second year of this prince,
in the year 3563. From thence he returned again to
Jerusalem, Avhere he died in peace, about the year 3580,
having governed the people of Judah for about thirty
years.
The book which in the. English Bible, as also in the
HehreAV, has the name of Nehemiah, in the Latin Bible
is called the book of Esdras; and it must he confessed,
that though this author speaks in the first person, and
though at first reading one would think that he had
writ it day by day as the transactions occurred, yet
there are some things in this book which could not
have been written by Nehemiah himself; for example,
memorials are quoted wherein Avere registered the names
N E L
Xehemiah
II
Nelson.
of the priests in the time of Jonathan the son of Elia-
shib, and even to the times of the high priest Jaddus,
who met Alexander the Great. These therefore must
have keen added afterwards.
It may well be questioned, whether this Nehemiah
he the same that is mentioned in Ezra, (ii. 2. and
Neh. vii. 7.) as one that returned from the Babylo¬
nish captivity under Zerubbabel *, since from the first
year of Cyrus to the twentieth of Artaxerxes Longi-
naanus, there are no less than ninety-two years inter¬
vening ; so that Nehemiah must at this time have been
a very old man, upon the lowest computation an hun¬
dred, consequently utterly incapable of being the king’s
cup-bearer, of taking a journey from Shushan to Jeru¬
salem, and of behaving there with all the courage and
activity that is recorded of him. Upon this presump¬
tion, therefore, we may conclude that this was a differ¬
ent person, though of the same name, and that Tir-
shatha (the other name by which he is called, Ezra ii.
63. and Neh. vii. 65.) denotes the title of his office,
and both in the Persian and Chaldean tongues was the
general name given to the king’s deputies and gover¬
nors.
NEHOW, one of the Sandwich islands, discovered
by Captain Cook in his last voyage to the Pacific
ocean : these islands are eleven in number, and are situ¬
ated from I 8° 44'to 22° 15'N. Lat. and from 1540 56'
to 16o° 24' W. Long.
NEIGHBOUR, ;i. One who dwells or is seated
near to another (2 Kings iv. 3.). 2. Every man to
whom we have an opportunity of doing good (Matt,
xxii. 39.). 3. A fellow labourer of one and the same
people (Acts vii. 27.). 4. A friend (Job. xvi. 21.).
At the time of our Saviour, the Pharisees had restrain¬
ed the word neighbour to signify those of their own na¬
tion only, or their own friends 5 being of opinion that
to hate their enemy was not forbidden by their lawr.
But our Saviour informed them, that the whole world
were their neighbours; that they ought not to do to
another what they would not have done to themselves ;
and that this charity ought to be extended even to their
enemies, (Matt. v. 43. Luke x. 29, &c.).
NEISSE, a town of Silesia, containing 7000 people,
and the residence of the bishop of Breslaw, who has a
magnificent .palace here. The air is very wholesome,
and provisions are cheap \ the inhabitants carry on a
great trade in wine and linen. This place suffered great¬
ly by an inundation and fire in 1729- R was taken by
the Prussians in 1741, who augmented the fortifica¬
tions, and built a citadel to which they gave the name
of Prussia. It is seated on a river of the same name,
in E. Long. 17. 35. N. Lat. 50 32.
NEIUS MONS, in Ancient Gkogmphy, at the foot of
which stood Ithaca, a town of the island ol that name,
(Homer).
NELSON, The Right Honourable Viscount, one of
the most celebrated naval commanders, was the son of
the reverend Edmund Nelson, and was born at Burnham
Thorpe, in Norfolk, where his father wras rector, in the
year 1758. He received his education at the school of
North Walsham j but we are unacquainted with the
particulars relative to his childhood, and whether the
progress he made in his studies was in any respect ex¬
traordinary. It is certain, however, that he discovered
a strong predilection for the naval profession at a very
I 757 J
N E L
early period, and having quitted school at the age of Neisor.
twelve years, went on board the Raisonable of 64 guns, —v'—
commanded by his mother’s brother, Captain Maurice
Suckling.
In the month of April 1773, a voyage of discovery
to the north pole wras undertaken by the honourable
Constantine John Phipps, afterwards Lord Mulgrave,
in consequence of an application by the Royal Society
to Lord Sandwich 5 and although the instructions which
were issued, prohibited all boys from being received on
board, yet tbe enterprising spirit of Horatio Nelson
earnestly solicited to be appointed cockswain to Captain
Lutwidge, rather than submit to be left behind; and
Ins unsubdued spirit so forcibly struck the captain, that
his wish was complied with.
When the ship returned to England in the month of
October I773> kelson having received information
that a squadron was fitting out for the East Indies, em¬
ployed all his interest to be appointed to one of the
ships. It was not long before he was placed in the Sea¬
horse of 20 guns, commanded by the celebrated Captain
Farmer, and stationed in the fore-top to keep watch,
but soon after removed to the quarter-deck.
He obtained tbe professional order of lieutenant on
the 8tb of April, I777> an^ received his commission
the next day, as second of the Lowestoffe of 32 guns.
Captain William Locker, in which ship he arrived at
Jamaica ; but feeling that his glowing mind was circum¬
scribed in so small a frigate, he requested the com¬
mand of a schooner, which acted as tender to the
LowestofTe, thus availing himself of the opportunity of
becoming an experienced pilot for every intricate pas¬
sage through the islands, situated on the northern side
of Hispaniola.
When Sir Peter Parker arrived at Jamaica in the
year 1778, Lieutenant Nelson was nominated by that
gallant admiral to be the third of his own flag ship,
the Bristol, and by rotation soon became the first.
In this ship his services terminated in the rank of a
lieutenant.
On the nth of June, 1779, he obtained the rank of
post-captain *, and during the nine years he had been
in the service he not only became an able officer by his
constant attention to every part of his duty, and his
keen observation, but be also laid the foundation of be¬
ing a pilot of distinguished eminence. The first ship to
which he was appointed after being made a post cap¬
tain, was the Hinchinbroke. On the arrival of Count
d’Estaign at Hispaniola, as an attack upon Jamaica was
immediately apprehended, Captain Nelson was intrusted
with the command of the batteries of Port-Royal, with
the concuning approbation of the British admiral and
general. In the month of January 1780, it was re¬
solved on to reduce Fort Juan, on the river St John,
in the gulf of Mexico, when Captain Nelson was made
choice of to command the naval department, and that
of the military was committed to Major Poison. In .
accomplishing the object of this arduous and interesting
undertaking, Nelson’s usual intrepidity was again ex¬
hibited. Having quitted the ship under his command,
he superintended the transporting of the troops in boats,
300 miles up a river, which none but Spaniards had
ever navigated since the time of the buccaneers.
His great and vigorous exertions were represented by
Major Poison to General Dal ling in their true colours,
nor
N E L [ 758 ] N E L
nor was his gallantry passed over by that officer 111
silence. After storming an out-work belonging to the
enemy, he constructed batteries, and fought the Spa¬
niards •, and it is to his conduct in the reduction of Fort
Juan that the success of Britain has been justly and
chiefly ascribed. He was next appointed to the Janus,
at that time stationed at Jamaica on his arrival at
which place every medical assistance was given him
which his situation required •, but as his health still con¬
tinued on the decline, he deemed it expedient to return
to England in his majesty’s ship Lion, the honourable
William Cornwallis commander, to whose unremitting
care and attention he owed the preservation of his life.
He obtained the command of the Albemarle in the
month of August 1781, which put his delicate con¬
stitution to the severest trial, as he was stationed during
the whole of the ensuing winter in the north seas.
He sailed from Quebec in the month of October,
1782, with a convoy to New Aork, where he had an
opportunity of joining the fleet under Sir Samuel
Hood j and in the month following he sailed with him
to the West Indies, where he was honourably employed
until the termination of hostilities. He soon after re¬
ceived orders to repair to England, being directed to
attend in his way, his royal highness Prince William
Henry on his visit to the Uavannah. AV hen he reach¬
ed England, the Albemarle was paid off at Ports¬
mouth on the 31st July, 1783. During the autumn of
that year he paid a visit to France, where he continued
till the spring of the ensuing year, when he received
the command of the Boreas frigate of 28 guns, and his
destination was the Leeward Islands, where he cop-
tinued until June 1787, and was then ordered to repair
to England. In the month of March the same year
he was married to the amiable and accomplished widow
of Dr Nesbit, of the island of Nevis. When the Boreas
frigate was paid oft' at Sheerness on the 3cth Novem¬
ber, 1787, he retired to the parsonage-house of Burn¬
ham Thorpe, which had been conferred upon him by
his father for a place of residence, there to enjoy the
consolations which result from domestic felicity.
He again came forward on the 30th of January
1793, to shine forth more conspicuous as a naval officer
than he had ever done before, at which time he re¬
ceived the command of the Agamemnon of 64 guns,
being soon placed under the orders of that truly great
and illustrious character, Lord Hood, who at that pe¬
riod was destined to command in the Mediterranean.
The unlimited confidence reposed in him by this noble
and gallant admiral, is an incontestable evidence of the
high estimation in which his courage and naval abilities
were held. If his superior designed to attack batteries,
or cut ships out of the harbours in which they were
moored if troops were to be landed in perilous situa¬
tions, or passages of extreme difficulty to be explored,
the great Nelson took the lead on every such occasion,
seconded by the brave officers and crew belonging to
the Agamemnon. Toulon, Bastia, and Calvi, witnes¬
sed his gallant and intrepid deportment, of which Lord
Hood did not fail to make honourable mention. At
the siege of Calvi Captain Nelson lost the sight of his
light eye, a shot from the battery of the enemy having
struck that of which he had the command, and driven
■some particles of sand against his face with irresistible
impetuosity.
When Lord Hood left his station in the Mediter- Nelson,
ranean in the month of October, 1794, the command v——v—
devolved on Admiral Hotham, who honoured our hero
with an equal share of his confidence and esteem. On
the 13th and 14th of March, and 13th of July 1795,
he again rendered himself conspicuous in the actions
which then took place with the French fleet; and
soon after he was chosen by Admiral Hotham to co¬
operate writh General De Vins, on the coast of Genoa,
in which service he continued so long as Hotham re¬
tained the command, who was superseded by Sir John
Jervis. This officer so much applauded the conduct of
Captain Nelson, that he received the honour of wearing
a pendant of distinction ; and in the month of May he
was removed from the Agamemnon to the Captain of
74 guns. On the nth of August he had a captain ap¬
pointed under him.
From April to October 1795, Commodore Nelson
was continually employed in the most active and ar¬
duous service, the blockade ot Leghorn, the taking of
Porto Ferrajo, with the island of Caprea, and finally in
the evacuation of Bastia. In December 1796 he hoist¬
ed his broad pendant on board La Minerve frigate,
and was dispatched with that ship, and La Blanche, to
Porto Ferrajo, to bring the naval stores left there to
Gibraltar, which the fleet was in much want of. While
on this service in the night ot the 17th December, he
fell in with two Spanish frigates, one of which he im¬
mediately attacked, and ordered the Blanche to bear
down to engage the other. About half past ten the
commodore brought his ship to close action, which con¬
tinued without interruption till half past one, when the
Spanish frigate of 40 guns, 28 of which were 18
pounders, struck to La Minerve.
After various other active and important services dur¬
ing the three preceding months, Sir Horatio Nelson,
in April 1797, hoisted his flag on board the Captain of
74 guns as rear-admiral of the blue, and in the end ol
May he shifted his flag from the Captain to the The¬
seus, when he was appointed to the command of the
inner squadron at the blockade ol Cadiz. W bile on
this service he exhibited another remarkable proof ot
his undaunted personal courage. In the attack on the
Spanish gun-boats in July, he was boarded in his barge,
which had only the usual complement of 10 men, and
the cockswain. The commander of the Spanish gun¬
boats, in a barge with 30 men and officers, made a
desperate attack on the admiral and his brave compa¬
nions. The conflict remained long doubtful, but after
18 of the Spaniards were killed, and almost the whole
of the remainder wounded, the rear-admiral and his
brave crew succeeded in carrying this superior force.
On the 15th of July the same year, Admiral Nelson
was detached with a small squadron to attack the town
of Santa Cruz in the island of Teneriffe. A thousand
men, including marines, were landed in the course of a
dark night, made themselves masters ol the town, and
retained possession of it for seven hours •, but finding it
impossible to storm the citadel, they prepared for their
retreat, which the Spaniards allowed them to make un¬
molested, agreeable to the stipulations which had been
entered into. In this unfortunate attack the brave
Nelson lost his arm by a cannon shot.
But a more splendid scene of the life of our hero is
now opening. On the 13th ol April 179^ was
tached
N E L
Nelson, tachecl from Earl St Vincent1!; fleet, in pursuit of the
 v 1 French to the coast of Egypt, with 12 sail of the line
ami one 50 gun ship, while the enemy’s fleet consisted
of 13 sail of the line and four frigates, protected by the
batteries on the shore, and several gun-boats. This me¬
morable action commenced at sunset, and terminated
gloriously for the honour of our hero and that of the
British navy. Nine sail of the line fell into the hands
of the conqueror, two were burnt, and two effected
their escape. The brave Nelson was wounded in the
action, believing himself to have been shot through the
head ; but after his wound was examined by the sur¬
geon, it was happily found not to be mortal, a cir¬
cumstance which diffused the most lively satisfaction
through the whole fleet. To the honour of this great
man it ought to be mentioned, that even under the
conviction of approaching dissolution, he prepared for
the interesting change with calmness and fortitude, de¬
sired his chaplain to recommend him to Lady Nelson,
appointed the brave Hardy to the rank of post-captain
and to the command of a ship, and took an afiectionate
leave of Captain Louis.
The French admiral’s ship, L’Orient, was blown up
during the action. From the mainmast of this ship
Captain Hallowell ordered a coffin to be constructed,
which was presented to Admiral Nelson, and gratefully
accepted by the hero, as a token of affectionate regard.
For some months he had it placed upright in his
cabin j but in consequence of the entreaties of an old
servant, the admiral was at length prevailed on to al¬
low it to be removed. Our readers wrill not be sur¬
prised that Lord Nelson should now be regarded as the
great defence of the empire, and the support of her na¬
tional glory. It is to his gallantry and naval skill that
we are indebted for the victory of Copenhagen, and
the annihilation of that formidable northern confede¬
racy which menaced the prosperity, the commerce, the
very existence of the rest of Europe.
One of the most important services which Lord Nel¬
son performed, was the pursuit of the combined fleets
of France and Spain to the West Indies. This fleet
had sailed from Cadiz on the 10th of April, and it was
at first conjectured that Egypt was the place of their
destination. In consequence of this conjecture, Lord
Nelson sailed in pursuit of the enemy for the coast of
Egypt ) and, having missed his object, after reconnoi¬
tring that coast, he passed the straits of Gibraltar, and
anchored in Lagos bay on the 10th of May; soon after
which he sailed for the West Indies with ten ships of
the line ; arrived off Barbadoes on the 4th of June ; and
having touched at Tobago, Trinidad, and Grenada, at
the latter of which places he was informed that the
combined fleet had been seen on the 6th off Dominica;
he reached Antigua on the 12th, where he received in¬
formation that the enemy had been seen on the 8th
standing to the northward. Lord Nelson, without the
loss of a moment, continued the pursuit of the enemy oa
their return to Europe, where they arrived about the
end of July; and after taking in provisions and
water at Gibraltar, and reconnoitring the harbour of
Cadiz; he returned to England, where he arrived in
the Victory, on the 1 8th of August, after having been
engaged for nearly four months in one of the most ar¬
duous, and, at the same time, one ol the most iqiportant
and beneficial,although, in its immediate object, unsuc-
[ 759 ]
N E L
cessful enterprises, for which his life was distinguished. Nelson.
His lordship had now been absent from England more
than two years, on the Mediterranean station.
The concluding scene of this extraordinary man’s
naval career, kindles emotions of admiration and re¬
gret ; and at once excites both transport and extreme
of sorrow. Perhaps no action, in point of splendour
and magnanimity, can equal that which deprived his
country of one of the greatest heroes it ever produced.
Britons appear to be sensible of its vast importance; yet
it is not improbable that posterity will consider it as still
more splendid, their love and admiration not being
damped by the poignant recollection that they personal¬
ly saw the man by whose loss it was accomplished.
When Lord Nelson perceived that, in consequence of
his manoeuvres, he had reduced the enemy to the abso¬
lute necessity of engaging him, he exclaimed in the
presence of Captain Hardy and the other officers who
surrounded him on the quarter deck ; “ Now they can¬
not escape us; I think we shall at least make sure of
twenty of them.—I shall probably lose a leg, but that
will be purchasing a victory cheaply.” But alas !
amidst the inexpressible satisfaction and delight, which
a victory so splendid could not fail to inspire, he has
left us to lament that it was purchased by the loss of a
life so incomparably valuable.
His lordship’s flag ship fell on board the Redoubtable,
by which means he was exposed to the fire of the mus¬
ketry from the tops; and the insignia of his grandeur and
dignity, it is supposed, singled him out to the aims of the
enemy, which in the issue were too fatally successful.
His secretary was cut in two by his side with a chain
shot, and soon after a ball grazed his lordship’s shoul¬
der, entered his left breast, and passed through his
lungs. He lived about three hours after this tragical
event, during which he remained perfectly recollected1,
and he displayed the same heroic magnanimity in the
arms of death, which had so eminently distinguish¬
ed him through the whole of his career. His last
words to Captain Hardy were, “ I know I am dying.
I could have wished to survive to breathe my last upon
British ground, but the Aviil of God be done!” In a
few moments he expired. His last signal ought not,
and will not be forgotten, which was by telegraph,—
“ That England expected every man would do his du¬
ty.” He spoke in raptures concerning the event of the
day only a short time before his dissolution, and sent
word to Admiral Collingw’ood, desiring that he would
make his affectionate farewell to all his brother seamen
throughout the fleet. In this manner died, in the 47th
year of his age, the greatest commander that perhaps
ever adorned the British navy, leaving behind him a
name dear to Great Britain, and an example of heroism
which will inspire his companions in arms to emulate
his virtues, that they too may live in the remembrance
of a grateful posterity.
His singular plan of attack on this memorable occa¬
sion was communicated by hi^ lordship to all his cap¬
tains, who unanimously gave it as their opinion that it
could not possibly fail of success, being concerted with
such consummate wisdom ; and they even pledged their
lives for the favourable result of it. His titles wTere,
Viscount Nelson, and Duke of Bronte.—The united
parliament voted him a pension of 3000I. a year, to con¬
tinue during his own life and his two next heirs ; the
East
N E M ^ [76
Ktlson Kast India Company made Inm a present of 10,0001.; the
|| grandsignior gave him a diamond aigrette worth 40001.;
Nemeau (_|ie emperor of liussia gave him a diamond box worth
Games. 2 J . tjje kjng 0f Naples made him presents ^to the
y amount of 5000I. together with the dukedom of Bronte,
and an estate of 3000I. per annum. ^ Thus all Europe
conspired to testify the estimation in which they held
this distinguished hero ; and the numerous monuments
which have been, and still are erecting to his memory
throughout the British empire, will continue lasting
evidences of the esteem in which he was held by his
grateful country. Parliament also voted a sum loi the
purchase of an estate for his heirs, and his majesty con¬
ferred the title of earl on his immediate successor.
Nor were his talents wholly confined to the know¬
ledge of naval tactics, for it is known that as a senator
he was highly respectable, although he enjoyed lew op¬
portunities of coming forward in that capacity. W hen
he did, his speeches were heard by their lordships with
respect, and the mast profound attention. Hie lew
specimens we have ot his abilities as a politician, afford
no mean proof that if he had devoted as much of his
time to those studies as he did to his peculiar profession,
he would have made a distinguished figure in the house
of peers. _ _
NEMAUSIS, or Nemausum, in Ancient Geogra¬
phy, the capital of the Arecomici in Gallia Narbonen-
sis ; a colony, (Coin), with the surname of Augusta,
(Inscription). In it stands a Roman amphitheatre,
which is still almost entire. Now Nismes in Languedoc.
NEMEA (Strabo, Livy) ; a river ot Achaia, run¬
ning between Sicyon and Corinth, the common boun¬
dary of both territories, and falling into the Corinthian
bay.
Nemea, in Ancient Geography, situated between
Cleome and Philus in Argolis ; whether town, district,
or other thing, uncertain ; there a grove stood in which
the Argives celebrated the Nemean games, and there
happened all the fabulous circumstances of the Nemean
lion. The district Nemea is called Bembinadia, (Pli¬
ny) a village, Benibina, standing near Nemea, (Stra¬
bo). Stephanas places Nemea in Elis ; though not in
Elis, but on its borders ; Pliny, erroneously in Arcadia.
In the adjoining mountain is still shown the den of the
lion, distant 15 stadia from the place Nemea, (Pausa-
nias) ; in which stands a considerable temple of Jupiter
Nemaeus and Cleonaeus, from the vicinity of these two
places. This place gave name to the Nemaean games,
celebrated every third year.
NEMEAN GAMES, so called from Nemea, a vil¬
lage between the cities of Cleonae and Philus, where
they were celebrated every third year. The exercises
were chariot-races, and all the parts of the Pentathlum.
These games were instituted in memory of Opbeltes or
Archemorus the son of Euphetes and Creusa, and who
was nursed by Hypsipele ; who leaving him in a mea¬
dow while she went to show the besiegers of Thebes a
fountain, at her return found him dead, and a serpent
twined about his neck: whence the fountain, before
> ] N E M
called Langia, was named Archemorus; and the cap- N-emen*
tains, to comfort Hypsipele, instituted these games— Game*
Others ascribe their institution to Hercules, after his H .
victory over the Nemean lion. Others allow, that they . C1‘1^su^
were instituted first in honour of Archemorus; but in¬
termitted, and revived again by Hercules. The victors
were crowned with parsley, an herb used at funerals,
and feigned to have sprung from Archemorus’s blood.
The Argives presided at these games.
NEM ESI ANUS, Aurelius Olympius, a Latin
poet who was born at Carthage, and flourished about
the vear 281, under the emperor Cams, and his sons
C aim us and Numerian : the last of which emperors
was so fond of poetry, that he contested the glory with
Nemoianus, who had written a poem upon fishing and
maritime affairs. We have still remaining a poem of
our author called Cynegeticon, and four eclogues : they
were published by Paulus Manutius in 1538 ; by Bar-
thelet in 1613 ; at Leyden in 1653 i ^ notes
Janus Vlitias. Giraldi hath preserved a fragment of
Nemesianus, which was communicated to him by San-
nazarius, to whom we are obliged for our poet’s works ;
for having found them written in Gothic characters, he
procured them to be put into the Roman, and then sent
them to Paulus Manutius. Although this poem hath
acquired some reputation, it is greatly inferior to those
of Oppian and Gratian upon the same subject; yet Ne-
mesianus’s style is natural enough, and has some degree
of elegance. The world was so much possessed with an
opinion of his poem in the eighth century, that it was
read among the classics in the public schools, particular¬
ly in the time of Charlemagne, as appears from a letter
of the celebrated Hincmar bishop of Rheims, to his
nephew Hincmar of Laon.
NEMESIS, in Pagan worship, the daughter of Ju¬
piter and Necessity, or, according to others, of Oceanus
and Nox, had the care of revenging the crimes which
human justice left unpunished. She was also called
Adrastcea, because Adrastus king of Argos first raised
an altar to her; and Rhamnusia, from her having a
magnificent temple at Rhamnus in Attica. She had
likewise a temple at Rome m the Capitol. She is re¬
presented with a stern countenance, holding a whip in
one hand and a pair of scales in the other.
NEMESIUS, a Greek philosopher who embraced
Christianity, and was made bishop ot Emesa in Phoeni¬
cia, where he had his birth ; he flourished in the begin¬
ning of the fifth century. There is a work of his extant,
entitled De Natura Hominis, in which he refutes the fa¬
tality of the Stoics and the errors of the Manichees, the
Apollianarists, and the Eunomians ; but he espouses the
opinion of Origen concerning the pre-existence of souls
(a). This treatise was translated by Valla, and print¬
ed in 1535. Another version was afterwards made of
it by Ellebodius, and printed in 1665 ; it is also insert¬
ed in the Bibliotheca Patrum, in Greek and Latin.
Lastly, Another edition was published at Oxford in
1671, folio, with a learned preface, wherein the editor
endeavours to prove, from a passage in this book, that
the
(a) It is much more probable that he and Origen both brought their opinion with them from the schools of
philosophy, than that either of them borrowed it from the other. See Metaphysics, Part HE Chap. IV.
N E O [ 7^
Nemeski* the circulation of the blood was known to Nemesius ;
II which, however, was since shown to be a mistake by
Neemcnia. Fj-eind, in his History of Physic.
NEMINE CONTRAD1CENTE, “ none contradicting
it;” a term chiefly used in parliament when any thing
is carried without opposition.
NEMOURS, a town in France, in the department
of Seine and Marne, containing 3469 inhabitants in
1800. It is seated on the riyer Loin#, in E. Eons' 2.
45. N. Eat. 48. 15. '*
NENAGH, a post and fair town of Ireland, in the
county of Tipperary, and province of Munster, 75 miles
from Dublin. It is situated on a branch of the river
Shannon which runs into Lough-Derg. Here stand
the ruins of an old castle called Nenagh round. Also
those of an hospital founded in the year 1200, for ca¬
nons following the rule of St Augustin. It was dedi¬
cated to St John the Baptist, and was usually called
Teachon, or St John’s house. In the reign of Henry
HE a friary for conventual Franciscans was also found¬
ed here, and esteemed the richest foundation of that or¬
der in the kingdom. Here is a barrack for two troops
of horse. This town was burnt on St Stephen’s day,
1348, by the Irish. The fairs held here are four.
NENIA, or NjENIA, in the ancient poetry, a kind
of funeral song sung to the music of flutes at the obse¬
quies of the dead. Authors represent them as sorry
compositions, sung by hired women mourners called
Prcejiccc. The first rise of these Nenia is ascribed to
the physicians. In the heathen antiquity, the goddess
of tears and funerals was called Nenia ; whom some
suppose to have given that name to the funeral song,
and others to have taken her name from it.
NEOCESARIA, (Pliny), a town of Pontus on the
south or the left side of the Eycus. About the year
342, when Leontius and Sallustius were consuls, it was
entirely ruined by a dreadful earthquake, no edifice
having withstood the violence of the shock, except the
church and the bishop’s habitation, who was saved, with
the clergy and some other pious persons, while the rest
of the inhabitants were buried in its ruins.
NEOMAGUS, (Ptolemy); Noviomagus, (An-
tonine) ; a town of the Regni in Britain: now thought
to be Guildford in Surry, (Lhuyd) ; or Croydon, (Tal¬
bot). But Camden takes it to be Woodcote, two miles
to the south of Croydon, where traces of an ancient
town are still to be seen.
Neomagus, (Ptolemy); (Antonine) ; a
town of the Treviri on the Moselle. Now Numagen
14 miles east, below Triers.
Neomagus, (Ptolemy) ; Noviomagus Lexoviorum,
(Antonine); a town of Gallia Celtica. Now Liseux,
in Normandy.
Neomagus, (Ptolemy) ; Noviomagus Nemetum,
(Antonine). Now Spire, a city of the Palatinate, on
the left or west side of the Rhine.
Neomagus, (Ptolemy) ; a town of Gallia Narbo-
nensis, on the confines of the Tricastini. Now Nyons
in Dauphine.
NEOMENIA, or Noumenia, a festival of the an¬
cient Greeks, at the beginning oi every lunar month,
which, as the name imports, was observed upon the day
of the new moon, in honour of all the gods, but espe¬
cially Apollo, who was called Neomenios, because the
•sun is the fountain of light; and whatever distinction
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
it ] N E P
of times and seasons may be taken from other planets, Ncomenia
yet they are all owing to him as the original of those ||
borrowed rays by which they shine. The games and Nepal,
public entertainments at these festivals were made by v
the rich, to whose tables the poor flocked in great num¬
bers. 'I he Athenians at these times offered solemn
prayers and sacrifices for the prosperity of their coun¬
try during the ensuing month. See Games.
rI he Jews had also their neomenia, or feast of the new
moon, on which peculiar sacrifices were appointed: and
on this day they had a sort of family entertainment and
rejoicing. The most celebrated neomenia of all others
was that at the beginning of the civil year, or first day
of the month Tisri, on which no servile labour was per¬
formed : they then offered particular burnt sacrifices,
and sounded the trumpets of the temple. The modern
Jews keep the neomenia only as a feast of devotion,
which anv one may observe or not as he pleases.
NEOPHYTES, “ new plants ;” a name given by
the ancient Christians to those heathens who had newly
embraced the faith ; such persons being considered as
regenerated, or born anew by baptism. The term neo¬
phytes has been also used for new priests, or those just
admitted into orders, and sometimes for the novices in
monasteries. It is still applied to the converts made by
the missionaries among the infidels.
NEPA, a genus of insects belonging to the order of
hemiptera. See Entomology Index.
NEPAL, a kingdom of India, to the north-east of
the city of Patna, inclosed among the secondary branch¬
es of the Himmaleh mountains, of great extent from
east to west, but scarcely exceeding a degree of lati¬
tude in breadth. The height of the country above the
sea, as indicated by the barometer, is not less than
4000 feet; yet Colonel Kirkpatrick found the thermo¬
meter on one occasion at 87°. But the neighbouring
mountains afford the inhabitants every variety of cli¬
mate, from the heat of Bengal to the cold of Russia.
The high grounds are very healthy ; in the valleys
fever prevails; guttural tumours or goitres are found in
both. Iron and copper abound in this country. Though
stones are found, the houses are built of brick, ce¬
mented with mud. The cattle are similar to those of
Bengal, and the honey is excellent. The soil is fer¬
tile, and besides wheat, rice, and sugar, yields the
Zooral a species of yam, and the Kuraila a kind of
wild asparagus, which form a considerable part of the
subsistence of the poorer inhabitants.
The inhabitants consist principally of the two supe¬
rior classes of Hindoos, and a race called Newars, who
are probably of Chinese or Tartar origin. The former,
who compose the army, engross all situations of trust,
and are found dispersed all over the country. The
Newars are confined almost entirely to the valley of
of Nepal Proper. The latter are divided into several
castes or orders. The total population is estimated at
about half a million. The Newars are a peaceable and
industrious people, of a middle size, with broad should¬
ers and chests, very stout limbs, round and flat faces, but
open and cheerful. The Newar women change their
husbands as often as they please on the slightest preten¬
ces. The religion of the country is the same as the
Hinduism of Bengal. The gavernment is despotic. The
trade is inconsiderable, being crushed by monopolies.
Khatmandu, the capital, is supposed to contain about
5 D 50,000
N E P [
50,000 inhabitants. It abounds in wooden temple*,
which are so numerous, that Colonel Kirkpatrick says,
thPre art; almost as many of them as of houses.
NEPENTHES, a genus of plants belonging to the
gynandria class } and in the natural method ranking
among those of which the order is doubtful. See Bo-
1'ANY Index.
NEPETA, Catmint, or Hep, a genus of plants be¬
longing to the didynamia class, and in the natural me¬
thod ranking under the 43d order, I'crtmUatA'. See
Botany Irldek*.
NEPHELIUM, a genus of plants belonging to the-
hionoecia class. Sde Boi’ANY Index.
NEPHEW, a term relative! to uncle and aunt, sig¬
nifying a brother’s or sister’s son ; who, according^ to
the ciVil law, is in the third degree of consanguinity,
but according to th£ canon in the second.
NEPHRITIC, something that relates to the kid¬
neys. See Kidney.
Nephritic Wood, (lignum nepliriticuma 'wood of
a very dense and compact texture, and of a fine gram,
brought to us from New Spain in small blocks, in its
hatural state, and covered with its bark. Ibis wood
is said to be a good diuretic j and We are told it is used
a'mong the Indians in all diseases of the kidneys and
bladder, and in suppression of urine, from whatever
cause. It is also recommended in fevers, and in ob¬
structions of the viscera. The way of taking it among
the Indians is otdy an infusion in cold water. These
uses are not however properly ascertained. See Gui-
landina, Botany Lidex.
Nephritic Stone. See Nephrite or Jade, Mine¬
ralogy Index.
NEPHRITICS, in Pharmacy, medicines proper for
diseases of the kidneys. See Materia Medica Index.
NEPHRITIS, or inflammation of the kidneys. See
Medicine Index.
NEPOS, Cornelius, a celebrated Latin biogra¬
pher, who flourished in the time of Julius Caesar, and
lived, according to St Jerome, to the sixth year of
Augustus. He was an Italian, if we may credit Ca¬
tullus, and born at Hostilia, a small town in the terri¬
tory of Verona, in Cisalpine Gaul. Ausonius, however,
will have it that he was born in the Gauls. Leander
Alberti thinks Nepos’s country was Verona. Cicero
and Atticus were friends of our author ; who wrote the
lives of the Greek historians, as he himself attests in
that of Dion, speaking of Philistus. What he says, also,
in the lives of Cato and Hannibal, proves that he had
also written the lives of the Latin captains and historians.
He wrote some other excellent works which are lost.
All that we have left of his at present is, “ The
Lives of the illustrious Greek and Roman Captains j”
which were a long time ascribed to .TEmilius Probus,
who published them, as it is said, under his own name,
to insinuate himself thereby into the favour of the em¬
peror Theodosius j but, in the course of time, the fraud
has been discovered, although several learned persons
have confounded the two authors. This piece has been
translated into French by the Sieur de Claveret, with a
dedication to the duke of Longueviile, in 1663 ; and
again by M. le Gras, then of the congregation of the
Oratory at Paris, 1729, i2mo. We have an excel¬
lent translation of it into English, by several hands at
Oxford, which has gone through several editions.
62 ] N E P
NEPTUNE, in Pagan worship, the god of the Peptone.
sea, was the son of Saturn and Vesta or Ops, and the 1 yr—»
brother of Jupiter and Pluto. He assisted Jupiter in
his expeditions } on which that god, when he arrived
at the supreme power, assigned him the sea and the
islands for his empire. He was. however, expelled
from heaven with Apollo for conspiring against Ju¬
piter, when they w^ere both employed by Laomedort
king of Phrygia in building the walls ot Iroyj but
that prince dismissing Neptune without a reward, he
sent a sea monster to lay wraste the country, on which
he was obliged to expose his daughter Hesione. He
is said to have been the first inventor of horsemanship
and chariot racing’, on which account Mithridates
king of Pontus threw chariots drawn by four horses
into the sea in honour of this god 5 and the Romans
instituted horse races in the circus at his festival, du¬
ring which all other horses left working, and the mules
were adorned with wreaths of flowers.
In a contest with Minerva he produced a horse by
striking the earth with his trident 5 and on another
occasion, in a trial of skill with Minerva and Vulcanj
produced a bull, whence that animal was sacrificed to
him. His favourite wife was Amphytrite, whom he
long courted in vain, till sending a dolphin to inter¬
cede for him, he met with success ; on which he re¬
warded the dolphin by placing him among the stars.
He had also two other wives, one of whom was called
Salasia from the salt water’, the other Venilia from
the ebbing and flowing of the tides. He had like¬
wise many concubines, by whom he had a great number
of children. He is represented with black hair, with a;
garment of an azure or sea green : holding his trident
in his hand, and seated in a large shell drawn by sea
horses : attended by the sea gods Palemon, Glaucus,
and Phorcys, and the sea goddesses T hetis, Melita, and
Panopaea, and a long train of tritons and sea nymphs. ;
This deity Was known in Egypt by the name of (<?-
nobus or Canopus, and was worshipped as the nutnen
aquarum or spirit of the Nile. His emblem was the fij
gure of certain vases or pitchers, with which the Egyp¬
tians filtrated the water of the sacred river, in order
to purify and render it fit for use. From the mouth
of each of these vases, which were charged with hie¬
roglyphics, arose the head and sometimes the head and
hands of a man or woman. Such are the emblems
which still remain of the Egyptian Neptune or Cano¬
bus *, and it was by this emblem that the tutelar god
of Egypt vanquished the god of Chaldea in the ridicul¬
ous manner mentioned by Ruffinus in his Ecclesiastical
History*. # Lib. x.
« The Chaldeans (says he) who adored the fire, cap. 26-
carried their god into various countries that he might
try his strength in contests with other gods. He
vanquished, as we may easily conceive, the images
made of gold, silver, brass, and wood, &c. by reducing
them to ashes *, and thus the worship of fire was every¬
where established. The priest of Canobus, unwilling,
as became him, to admit the superiority of strahge
gods, contrived to make his god vanquish the god
of Chaldsea in a pitched battle. The vases which Were
worshipped as the emblems of Canobus, being used for
filtering the waters of the Nile, were of course per¬
forated on all sides with very small holes. This
faithful priest having stopped all the holes in otte of
these-
N E R t 763 1 N K 15
Neplone tliese with wax, and painted the vase of dilTercnt co- harity might astonish some, hut Nero had his devoted
|1 lours for a reason which the reader will admit to be a adherents j and when he declared that he Jiad taken
Cl0, . g00d one, tilled it up with water, and fitted to its mouth away his mother’s life to save himself from ruin, the
the head of an idol. 1 his emblem ol Canobus was _ senate applauded his measures, and the people signified
then placed in a small fire brought by the Chaldeans as their approbation. Many of his courtiers shared her
the emblem of their god 5 and thus the gods of Egypt unhappy fate; and Nero sacrificed to his fury or ca-
and Chaldea were forced into battle.^ 'Ihe contest, price all such as obstructed bis pleasure or diverted his
howevei, was of shoit duration. 1 lie beat melt- inclination. In the night be generally went from bis
jug the wax made way for the water to run out, which palace to visit the meanest taverns, and all the scenes
quickly extinguished the fue } and thus Canobus van- of debauchery which liome contained. In this noc-
quished the. god of the Chaldeans. Ixidiculous as this turnal riot he was fond of insulting the people in the
story is, it is peilectly suitable to the genius of Paga- streets } and his attempts to offer violence to the wife
nism, and the mean artifices of the Pagan priesthood j of a Roman senator nearly cost him his life. He also
but we suspect that the historian laboured under one turned actor, and openly apjieared on the Kortian stage
• mistake, and substituted the Chaldeans instead of the in the meanest characters. In his attempts to excel in
Persians. See Polyiheism. music, and to conquer the disadvantages of a hoarse
NEREIDS, in the Pagan theology, sea nymphs, disagreeable voice, he moderated his meals, and often
daughters ol Nereus and Doris.—The Nereids were passed the day without eating. The Olympian games
esteemed very handsome ; insomuch that Cassiope, the attracted his notice : he went into Greece, and pre¬
wife of Cepheus king of Ethiopia, having triumphed sented himself a candidate for the public honour. He
over all the beauties of the age, and daring to vie with Was defeated in wrestling j but the flattery of the
the Nereids, they were so enraged that they sent a pro- spectators adjudged him the victory, and he returned
digious sea monster into the country, and, to appease to Rome with all the splendour and pomp of an eastern
them, she was commanded by tbe oracle to expose her conqueror, drawn in the chariot of Augustus, and at-
daughter Andromeda, bound to a rock, to be devoured tended by a band of musicians, actors, and stage dau¬
by the monster. In ancient monuments, the Nereids cers from every part of the empire. These private
are represented riding upon sea horses j sometimes with and public amusements of the emperor were indeed
an entire human form, and at other times with the tail innocent; his character only was injured, and not the
of a fish. lives of the people. His conduct, however, soon be-
NEREIS, a genus of animals belonging to the order came more abominable: he disguised himself in the
of vermes mollusca. See Helminthology Index. habit of a woman, and was publicly married to one of
NEREUS, in fabulous history, a marine deity, was his eunuchs. This violence to nature and decency
son of Oceanus and Thetis. He settled in the Hilgean was soon exchanged for another : Nero resumed his
sea, was considered as a prophet, and had the power sex, and celebrated his nuptials with one of his mean-
of assuming what form he pleased. He married his est catamites : and it was on this occasion that one
sister Doris, by whom he had 50 daughters called the of the Romans observed that the world would have
Nereids, who constantly attended on Neptune, and been happy if Nero’s father had had such a wife. Byt
when he went abroad surrounded his chariot. his cruelty was now displayed in a still higher degree,
NERI, Anthony, a learned writer who published for he sacrificed to his wantonness his wife Octavia
a curious book printed at Florence 1612, in 4to, with Poppoea, and the celebrated writers Seneca, Lucan,
this title, IMP Aide Verrari# Libri VII.; or the Art Petronius, &c. Nor did the Christians escape his
of Glassmaking. barbarity. He had heard of the burning of Troy;
NERIUM, a genus of plants belonging to the pent- and as he wished to renew that dismal scene, he caused
andria class; and in the natural method ranking under Rome to be set on fire in difl’erent places. The con-
the 30th order, Contortce. See Botany and Dyeing flagration became soon universal, and during nine suc-
Index. cessive days the fire continued. All was desolation :
NERO, Claudius Domitius Gesar, a celebrated nothing was heard but the lamentations of mothers
Homan emperor, son of Cains Domitius Ahenobarbus whose children had perished in the flames, the groans
and Agrippina the daughter of Germanicus. He was of the dying, and the continual fall of palaces and
adopted by the emperor Claudius, A. D. 50, and four buildings. Nero was the only one who enjoyed the
years after he succeeded him on the throne. In the general consternation. He placed himself on the top
beginning of his reign he showed several marks of the of a high tower, and he sung on his lyre the destine*
greatest kindness and condescension, affability, com- tion of Troy, a dreadful scene which his barbarity had
plaisance, and popularity. The object of his admini- realized before his eyes. He attempted to avert the
stration seemed to he the good of his people ; and when public odium from las bead by a pretended commisera-
he was desired to sign his name to a list of malefac- tion of the miseries of his subjects. He began to repair
tors that were to be executed, he exclaimed, Woidd the streets and public buildings at bis own expence. He
to heaven I cot/ld not write ! He hated flattery and built himself a celebrated palace, which he called his
when the senate had liberally commended the wisdom golden house. It was liberally adorned with gold, with
of his government, lie desired them to keep their precious stones, and with every thing rare and exgui-
praises till he deserved them. These promising virtues site. It contained spacious fields, artificial lakes, woods,
soon, however, proved to be artificial : Nero soon dis- gardens, orchards, and whatever exhibited a beautiful
played the real propensities of his nature. He deliver- scene. The entrance of this edifice could admit a large
ed himself from the sway of his mother, and at last colossus of the emperor 120 feet high j the galleries
ordered her to be murdered. This unnatural act of bar- were each a mile long, and the whole was covered with
5 D 2 gold*
Nero.
N E R T 764
gold. The roofs of the dining halls represented the
firmament, in motion as well as in figure; and conti¬
nually turned round night and day, showering down
all sorts of perfumes and sweet waters. When this
grand edifice, which, according to Phny, extended
all round the city, was finished, Nero said, that now
he could lodge like a man. His profusion was not less
remarkable in all his other actions. When he went
a fishing his nets were of gold and silk. He never ap¬
peared twice in the same garment, and when he took
a voyage, there rvere thousands of servants to take care
of his wardrobe. This continuation of debauchery
and extravagance at last roused the people. Many
conspiracies "were formed against him j but they were
generally discovered, and such as were accessory suf¬
fered the severest punishments. The most dangerous
conspiracy against Nero’s life was that of 1 iso, from
which he was saved by the confession of a slave, i he
conspiracy of Galba proved more successful, who, when
he was informed that his plot was known to Nero, de¬
clared himself emperor. The unpopularity of Nero fa¬
voured his cause ; he was acknowledged by all the
Roman empire, and the senate condemned the tyrant
to be dragged naked through the streets of Rome, and
whipped to death, and afterwards to be thrown down
from the Tarpeian rock like the meanest malefactor.
This, however, was not executed ; for Nero pre¬
vented it by a voluntary death. He killed himself,
A. I). 68, in the 32d year of his age, after a reign of
of 13 years and eight months. Rome was filled with
acclamations on the occasion j and the citizens, more
strongly to indicate their joy, wore caps, such as
were generally used by slaves who had received then
freedom. Their vengeance was not only exercised
against the statues of the deceased monster, but many
of his friends were the object of the public resentment}
and many were crushed to pieces in such a violent
manner, that one of the senators, amid the universal
joy, said that he was afraid they should soon have
cause to wish for Nero. The tyrant, as he expired,
requested that his head plight not be cut off fiom
his body, and exposed to the insolence of the popu¬
lace, but that the whole might be burned on the
funeral pile. His request was granted by one of Galba’s
freedmen, and his obsequies were performed with the
psual ceremonies. 1 bough his death seemed to be the
source of general gladness, yet many of his favourites
lamented his fall, and were grieved to see that their
pleasures and amusements were stopped by the death
of this patron of debauchery and extravagance. Even
the king of Parthia sent ambassadors to Rome, to con¬
dole with the Romans, and to beg that they would
honour and revere the memory of Nero. His statues
were also crowned with garlands of flowers j and
many imagined that he was not dead, but that he
would soon make his appearance and take vengeance
on his enemies. It will be sufficient to observe, in
finishing the character of this tyrannical monster, that
the name of Nero is even now used emphatically to ex¬
press a barbarous and unfeeling oppressor. Pliny calls
him the common enemy and fury of mankind 5 and so
indeed he has been called by all writers, who exhibit
Nero as a pattern of the most execrable barbarity and
unpardonable wantonness. The same Pliny furnishes us
with this singular anecdote of him : “ Nero had or-
] N E S
dered himself to be painted under the figure of a co¬
lossus, upon cloth or canvas, 120 feet in height.” He
adds, “ that this preposterous picture, when it was fi- ^
nished, met with its fate from lightning, which con¬
sumed it, and involved likewise the most beautiful part
of the gardens where it was placed in the conflagra¬
tion.”
NERVA, Cocceius, a Roman emperor alter L)o-
mitian, who was the last of the 12 Caesars. He was a
native of Narnia in Umbria j his family, however, was
originally of Crete. Dion Cassius says he was born on
the 17th of March, in the 18th year of Tiberius’s reign,
and of the Christian era the 32d. Nero in the 12th year
of his reign made him praetor, and erected a statue for
him in the palace on account of his poems (lor he wao
one of the best poets of his age), some of which were
inscribed to him. He was consul in 71 with Vespasian,
and in 90 with Domitian.
Ancient authors uniformly celebrate him as a prince
of a most mild and humane temper, of great moderation
and generosity, who looked on his office as emperor,
not as if it was for his own advantage, but for that of
his people ; and whilst he reigned, which was however
but for a short time, he made the happiness of his sub¬
jects his only end and pursuit. He narrowly escaped
death under Domitian j was naturally of a. weak and
timorous disposition •, and, as some say, addicted to ex¬
cessive drinking. The Romans unanimously chose him
emperor 5 and they had no cause to repent ol theii
choice, for he was constantly attentive to what could
make them happy j he was generous, merciful, and dis¬
interested. An instance of his great lenity appears in
his pardoning Calpurnius Crassus who conspired against
him. In short, he omitted nothing that might contri¬
bute to the restoring of the empire to its former lustre :
recalling those who had been banished for religion, and
redressing all grievances that came to his knowledge.
He however found his strength failing, and that it
would be impossible for him to finish his designs, in
consequence of which he adopted'l raj an. After his
death, which happened in the year 98, he was ranked
among the gods. He was the first Roman empeior of
foreign extraction.
NERVES, in Anatomy, certain white glistening
cords, proceeding from the brain and spinal manow,
and dividing into very small branches, which are sent
off throughout all parts of the body •, and which are
found to be the organs of sensation and motion. See
Anatomy Index.
NERVOUS fluid. See Anatomy Index.
NESSUS, in fabulous history, a celebrated Centaur*
son of Ixion and a Cloud. He offered violence to De-
janira, whom Hercules had intrusted to his care, with
orders to carry her across the river Evenus. Hercules
saw the distress of his wife from the opposite shore ef
the river, and immediately he let fly one of his poison¬
ed arrows, which struck the Centaur to the heart. Nes-
sus, as he expired, gave the tunic he then wore to De-
janira, assuring her that from the poisoned blood which
had flowed from his wounds, it had received the power
of calling a husband away from unlawful loves. Deja-
nira received it with pleasure, and this mournful present
caused the death of Hercules A river which sepa¬
rates Thrace from Macedonia. It is also called Nesus,
Nestos, and Nest us. ^TT-crr>
NEol.
Nero-
Nessus.
N E S [
NEST. See Nidus.
Eatable Birds Nests. See Birds Nests.
NESTOR, in fabulous history, a son of Neleus and
Chloris, nephew to Pelias and grandson to Neptune.
He had eleven brothers, who were all killed with lus
father by Hercules. His tender age detained him at
home, and was the cause of his preservation. The con¬
queror spared his life and placed him upon the throne
of Pylos. He married Eurydice the daughter ol Cly-
menus} or, according to others, Anaxibia the daugh¬
ter of Atreus. He soon distinguished himself in the
field of battle j and was present at the nuptials of Peri-
thous, when a bloody engagement took place between
the Lapithae and Centaurs. As king of Pylos and
Messenia he led his subjects to the Trojan war, where
he distinguished himself among the rest ot the Grecian
chiefs, by eloquence, address, wisdom, justice, und un¬
common prudence. Homer displays his character as
the most perfect of all his heroes j and Agamemnon ex¬
claims, that it he had 20 generals like Nestor, he
should soon see the walls ot Troy reduced to ashes. Alter
the Trojan war Nestor retired to Greece, where he en¬
joyed in the bosom of his family the peace and tranquil¬
lity which were due to his wisdom and to his age. Ihe
manner and the time of his death are unknown . the
ancients are all agreed that he lived three generations
of men ; which length ot time is supposed to be 300
years, though more probably only 90 years, allowing
30 years for each generation. From that circumstance,
therefore, it was usual among the Greeks and the La¬
tins, when they wished a long and happy life to their
friends, to wish them to see the years ot Nestor. He
had many children •, two daughters, Pisidice, and I 0-
lycaste *, and seven sons, Perseus, Straticus, Aretus,
Echephron, Pisistratus, Antilochus, and Thrasymedes.
Nestor was one of the Argonauts, accoiding to . a e-
rius Flaccus, v. 380, &c.—A poet ot Lycaoma in
the age of the emperor Severus. He was father to
Pisander, who under the emperor Alexander wrote
some fabulous stories. One of the body guards ot
Alexander.
Nestor, whose secular name is not known, was a
native of Russia, and the earliest historian of the north.
He was born in 1056 at Bielozero j and in the 19th
year of his age he assumed the monastic habit in the
convent of Petcherski at Kiof, and took the name of
Nestor. He there made a considerable prohcieucy in
the Greek language : but seems to have formed his
style and manner rather from the Byzantine historians,
Cedrenus, Zonaras, and Syncellus, than from the an-
oient classics. The time of Nestor’s death is not ascer¬
tained ; but he is supposed to have lived to an advan¬
ced age, and to have died about the year 111 S’
His great work is his Chronicle, to which he has
prefixed an introduction, which after a short sketc 1 0
the early state of the world, taken from the Byzantine
writers, contains a geographical description of Russia
and the adjacent regions ; an account of the Slavonian
nations, their manners, their emigrations from the
banks of the Danube, their dispersion, and settlement
in the several countries wherein their descendants are
now established. He then enters upon a chronologica
series of the Russian annals, from the year 858 to about
ilia. His style is simple and unadorned, such as suits
a mere recorder of facts > but his chronological exact-
765 ] N E S
ness, though it renders his narrative dry and tedious, Nestor,
contributes fo ascertain the era and authenticity of the Nestorians.
events which he relates. y
It is remarkable (says Mr Coxe, from whom we
have taken this narrative), that an author of such im¬
portance, whose name frequently occurs in the early
Russian books, should have remained in obscurity above
600 years j and been scarcely known to his modern
countrymen, the origin and actions of whose ancestors
he records with such circumstantial exactness. A copy
of his Chronicle was given in 1668 by Prince Radzivil
to the library of Konigsburg, where it lay unnoticed
till Peter the Great, in his passage through that town,
ordered a transcript of it to be sent to Petersburg!!. But
it still was not known as the performance of Nestor :
for when Muller in 1732 published the first part of a
German translation, he mentioned it as the work of the
abbot Theodosius of Kiof; an error which arose from
the following circumstance : The ingenious editor not
being at that time sufficiently acquainted with the Scla-
vonian tongue, employed an interpreter, who, by mis¬
taking a letter in the title, supposed it to have been
written by a person whose name was T. heodosius. 1 his
ridiculous blunder was soon circulated and copied by
many foreign writers, even long after it had been can¬
didly acknowledged and corrected by Muller.
NFSTOBTANS. a sect of ancient Christir
I^ESTORIANS, a sect of ancient Christians, still
said to be subsisting in some parts of the Levant;
whose distinguishing tenet is, that Mary is not the
mother of God. They take their name from Nesto-
rius bishop of Constantinople, whose doctrines were
spread with much zeal through Syria, Egypt, and
Persia.
One of the chief promoters of the Nestorian cause
was Barsumas, created bishop of Nisibis, A. D. 435*
Such was his zeal and success, that the Nestorians,
who still remain in Chaldea, Persia, Assyria, and the
adjacent countries, consider him alone as their parent
and founder. By him Pherozes the Persian monarch
wras persuaded to expel those Christians who adopted
the opinions of the Greeks, and to admit the Nestoiians
in their place, putting them in possession of the princi¬
pal seat of ecclesiastical authority in Persia, the see of
Seleucia, which the patriarch of the Nestorians has al¬
ways filled even down to our time.—Barsumas also
erected a school at Nisibis, from which proceeded those
Nestorian doctors who in the fifth and sixth centuries
spread abroad their tenets through Egypt, Syria, Ara¬
bia, India, Tartary, and China. r
He differed considerably from Nestonus, holding
that there are two persons in Jesus Christ, as well as
that the Virgin was not his mother, as God, but only
as man. •
The abettors of this doctrine refuse the title JNesto-
rians j alleging that it had been handed down from the
earliest times of the Christian church. _
In the tenth century, the Nestorians in Chaldea,
whence they are sometimes called Chaldeans, extended
their spiritual conquests beyond Mount Imaus, and in
troduced the Christian religion into Tartary properly
so called, and especially into that country called Kant,
bordering on the northern part of China. Ihe prince
of that country, whom the Nestorians converted to the
Christian faith, assumed, according to the vulgar tradi¬
tion, the name of John after his baptism, to which he
7 added
N E S [ ?66 ] N E S
Nestorians, added the surname of Presbyter, from a principle of
Ncstorius.' modesty j whence it is said his successors were each of
‘ V them called Prester John until the time of Gengis
J^han. But Mosheim observes, that the famous Prester
John did not begin to reign in that part of Asia before
the conclusion of the Iith century. The Nestorians
formed so considerable a body of Christians, that the
missionaries of Borne were industrious m their endea¬
vours to reduce them under the papal yoke. Inno¬
cent IV. in 1246, and Nicolas IV. in 1278, used their
utmost efforts for this purpose, but without success. Till
the time of Pope Julius III. the Nestorians acknow¬
ledged but one patriarch, who resided first at Bagdad,
and afterwards at Mousul; but a division arising among
them, in 1551 the patriarchate became divided, at
least for a time, and a new patriarch was consecrated
by that pope, whose successors fixed their residence in
the city of Ormus in the mountainous part of Persia,
where they still continue, distinguished by the name of
Simeon ; and so far down as the last century, these pa¬
triarchs persevered in their communion with the church
of Home, but seem at present to have withdrawn them¬
selves from it. The great Nestorian pontiffs, who form
the opposite party, and look with a hostile eye on this
little patriarch, have since the year 1559 been distin¬
guished by the general denomination of Elias, and re¬
side constantly in the city of Mousul. I heir spiritual
dominion is very extensive, takes in a great part of A-
sia, and comprehends also within its circuit the Arabian
Nestorians, and also the Christians of St Thomas, who
dwell along the coast of Malabar. It is observed, to
the lasting honour of the Nestorians, that of all the
Christian societies established in the East, they have
been tlie most careful and successful in avoiding a mul¬
titude of superstitious opinions and practices that have
infected the Greek and Latin churches. About the
middle of the 17th century, the Romish missionaries
gained over to their communion a small number of Ne¬
storians, whom they formed into a congregation or
church } the patriarchs or bishops of which reside in the
city of Amida, or Diarbekir, and all assume the deno¬
mination of Joseph. Nevertheless the Nestorians in ge¬
neral persevere to our own times in their refusal to en-
4er into the communion of the Romish church, notwith¬
standing the earnest entreaties and alluring offers that
have been made by the pope’s legate to conquer their
inflexible constancy.
NESTORIUS, from whom the sect of Nestorian
Christians derive their name, was born in Germanica a
city of Syria. He received his education at Antioch,
where he was likewise baptized j and soon after his bap¬
tism he withdrew himself to a monastery in the suburbs
«of that city. Upon his being admitted to the order of
priesthood, he quickly acquired so great reputation by
the eloquence of his preaching, and the regularity of
his life, that by the emperor Theodosius he was deem¬
ed a fit person to fill the second see in the Christian
church, and was accordingly consecrated bishop of Con¬
stantinople in the year 429.
In one of his first sermons after his promotion, he
publicly declared his intention to make war upon here¬
tics ; and with that intolerant spirit which has so often
disgraced the preachers of the mild religion of Jesus, he
called upon the emperor to Jr.ee the,earth from heretics,
{promising to give him heaven as a reward for his zeal.
To this spiritual motive he added one, that, though Nestorius. JW
carnal, he possibly judged of equal force:—“ Join—y——' \
with me (said he) in war against them, and I will assist 1 ^
you against the Persians.” Although the wiser and
better part of his audience were amazed to see a man,
before he had tasted (as the historian * expresses him-* Socrates.
self) the water of his city, declare that he would per¬
secute all who were not of his opinion *, yet the majori¬
ty of the people approved of this discourse, and encou¬
raged him to execute his purpose. Accordingly, five
days after his consecration, he attempted to demolish
the church in which the Arians secretly held their as¬
semblies ; and he succeeded so far in his design, that
these people, growing desperate, set it on fire them¬
selves, and consumed with it some of the neighbouring
houses. This fire excited great commotions in the
city, and Nestorius was ever afterwards called an iti-
cendiary.
From the Arians he turned his persecution against
the Novatians, but was stopped in his career by the in¬
terposition of the emperor. He then let loose his fury
upon those Christians of Asia, Lydia, and Caria, who
celebrated the feast of Easter upon the 14th day of the
moon ; and for this unimportant deviation from the Ca¬
tholic practice, many of those people were murdered
by his agents both at Mileturn and Sardis.—One can¬
not be sorry that such a relentless persecutor should him¬
self be afterwards condemned as a heretic, for holding
an opinion which no man who speaks or thinks with
philosophic accuracy will now venture to controvert.
This obnoxious tenet, which produced a schism in the
church, and was condemnedJjy a general council, was
nothing more than that “ the Virgin Mary cannot with
propriety be called the mother of God. Hie people
being accustomed to hear this expression, were much
inflamed against their bishop, imagining that he had re¬
vived the error of Paulas Samosetenus and Photinus,
who taught that Jesus Christ was a mere man. The
monks declared openly against him, and, with some of
the most considerable men of Constantinople, separated
themselves from his communion. Several bishops wrote
to him earnest persuasives to acknowledge that Mary
was the mother of God *, and when he would not com¬
ply, they procured his condemnation in the council of
Ephesus, which deprived him of his see. He then re¬
tired to his ancient monastery at Antioch, whence he
was taken four years afterwards by the emperor’s order,
and banished in 435 to Tarsus. That city being taken
and destroyed by the Barbarians, he was removed to Sport,
Panopolis/a city of Thebais ; where he was not sufler-
ed to remain long, but was compelled to go from place
to place, till, being in one of his journeys mortally
bruised by a fall, death relieved him from the fury of
his persecutors.
If we examine such of his writings as remain, we
shall find that he was very unjustly condemned. It ap¬
pears that he rejected the errors of Ebion, Paulas Sa¬
mosetenus, and Photinus; that he maintained in express
terms, that the divine Word was united to the human
nature in Jesus Christ in the most strict and intimate
sense possible } that these two natures, in this state of
union, make but one Christ and one person J that the
properties of the Divine and human natures may both
be attributed to this person} and that Jesus Christ may
be sard to have been born of a virgin, to have suffered
NET
Net.
Nestorius ami died •, but he never would admit that God could
be said to have been born, to have suffered, or to have
( died.—When we consider that every person partakes of
the substance of his mother, and that it is this which
constitutes the parental and filial relation between them,
it is indeed surprising that the expression “ Mother of
God should ever have been admitted into the Cdinstian
church, or that any man who understands the meaning
of the words should condemn Nestorius for not having
used them.
NESTUS, or Nessus, a river which separates
Thrace from Macedonia. It falls into the jEgean sea
near the island 'l hasos. It is sometimes called Nestis
and Nesst/s.
NET, a device for catching fish and fowl. See the
article Fishery.
The taking fowls by nets is the readiest and most
advantageous of all others, Where numbers are to be
taken. The making the nets is very easy, and what
every true sportsman ought to be able to do for himself.
All the necessary tools are wooden needles, of which,
there should be several of difierent sizes, some round
and others flat ; a pair of round pointed and flat scis¬
sors ; and a wheel to wind off the thread. The pack¬
thread is to be of difierent strength and thickness, ac¬
cording to the sort of birds to be taken ; and the gene¬
ral size ot the meshes, if not for very small birds, is
two inches from point to point. The nets should nei¬
ther be made too deep nor too long, for they are then
difficult to manage j and they must be verged on each
side with twisted thread. The natural colour of the
thread is too bright and pale, and is therefore in many
cases to be altered. The most usual colour is the rus¬
set *, which is to be obtained by plunging the net, after
it is made, into a tanners pit, and letting it lie there
till it be sufficiently tinged : this is of a 'double service
to the net, since it preserves the thread as well as alters
the colour. The green colour is given by chopping
some green wheat and boiling it in water, and then
soaking the net in this green tincture. The yellow co¬
lour is given in the same manner with the decoction of
celandine ; which gives a pale straw-colour, which is
the colour of stubble in the harvest-time. The brown
nets are to be used on ploughed lands, the green on
grass grounds, and the yellow on stubble lands.
Day-Net, among fowlers, a net generally used for
taking such small birds as play in the air, and will
stoop either to prey, gig, or the like ; as larks, linnets,
fyorls- buntings, &c. The time of the year for using this net
'nan's Die-from August to November 5 and the best time is
’Vmary. very early in the morning: and it is to be observed,
that the milder the air, and the brighter the sun is, the
better will be the sport, and of longer continuance.
The place where this net should be laid, ought to be
plain champaign, either on short stubbles, green leas,
or flat meadows, near corn fields, and somewhat remote
from towns and villages: you must be sure to let ybur
net lie close to the ground, that the birds creep not
out and make their escape.—The net is made of a fine
packthread with a small mesh, not exceeding half an
irifeh square ; it must be three fathoms long, and but
one broad : it must be verged about with a small but
strong cord j and the two ends extended dpon twd
small long poles, suitable td the bfeadth of the net,
5
c 7S7 ]
NET
with four stakes, tail-strings, and drawing-lines.—This
net is composed of two, which must be exactly alike ; 1
and are to be laid opposite to one another, so even and
close, that when they are drawn and pulled over, the
sides must meet and touch each otheh You must stake*
this net down with strong stakes, very stiff on their '
lines, so that you may with a nimble touch cast them
to and fro at pleasure •, then fasten your drawing-cord
or hand-lines (of which there must be a dozen at least,
and each two yards long) to tbe upper end of the fore¬
most staves: and so extehd them of such a straitness,
that with a little strength they may rise up in the nets
and cast them over.
Your nets being thus laid, place yout- gigs, or play¬
ing-wantons, about 20 or 30 paces beyond, and as
much on this side your nets : the gigs must be fastened
to the tops of long poles, and turned into the wind, so
as they may play to make a noise therein. These gigs
are a sort of toys made of .long goose-feathefs, like
shuttle-cocks, and with little small tunnels of wood
running in broad and flat swin-quills, made round like
a small hoop; and so, with longer strings fastened to a
pole, will, with any small wind or air, move after such
a manner, that birds will come in great flocks to plajt
about them.
W hen you have placed your gigs, then place your
stale ; which is a small stake of wood, to prick down
into the earth, having in it a mortice-hole, in which
a small and slender piece of wood, about twTo feet
long, is fastened, so as it may move up and down
at pleasure : and fasten to this longer stick a small line,
which, running through a hole in the stick above-men¬
tioned, and so coming up to the place where yon are
to sit, you may, by drawing the line up and down with
your right hand, raise up the longer stick as you see
occasion.
Fasten a live lark, or such like bird, to this longer
stick, which, with the line making it to stir up and
down by your pulling, will entice the birds to come to,
your net.
There is another stale, or enticement, to draw oil
these birds, called a looking-glass; which is a round
stake of wood, as big as a man’s arm, made very sharp
at the end, to thrust it into the ground : they make it
very hollow in the upper part, above five fingers deep;
into which hollow they place a three-square piece of
wood about a foot long, and each two inches broad,
lying upon the top of the stake, and going with a foot
into the hollowness r which foot must have a great knob
at the top, and another at the bottom, with a deep
slenderness between ; to which slenderness you are to*
fasten a small packthread, which, running through a
hole in the side of the stake, must come up to the place
where you sit. The three square piece of wood which
lies on the top of the stake, must be of such a poise and
evenness, and the foot of the socket so smooth and
round, that it may whirl and turn round upon the least
touch ; winding the packthread so many times about
it, which being suddenly drawn, and as suddenly let
go, will keep the engine in a constant rotatory mo¬
tion : then fasten with glue on the uppermost flat
squares of the three-square piece, about 20 Small
piectes of lobkihg-glass, and paint all the square wood
between them of a light and lively red; which, int
ths
Net.
Net,
Nether¬
lands.
NET [
the continual motion, will give such a reflection, that
the birds will play about to admiration until they are
1 ^^oth this and the other stale are to be placed in the
middle between the two nets, about two or three lee
distance from each other* so that m the falhng of the
nets the chords may not touch or annoy them . neither
must they stand one before or after another * the glass
bein" kept in a continual motion, and the bird veiy
often fluttering. Having placed your nets m this
manner, as also your gigs and stales, go to the further
end of your long drawing lines and stale lines, an
having placed yourself, lay the mam drawing line across
your thigh, and, with your left, pull the stale line
show the birds* and when you perceive them to p ay
near and about your nets and stales, then pull the net
over with both hands, with a quick but not too hasty
motion * for otherwise your sport will be spoiled.
Plate See Plate CCCLXIX. where A shows the bodies of
CCCLXIX. the main net, and how they ought to be laid, n, the
tail lines, or the hinder lines, staked to the ground
C the fore lines staked also to the ground. 1), the
bird stale. E, the looking-glass stale. G, the line
which draws the bird stale. H, the line that diaw
the glass stale. I, the drawing double lines of the
nets, which pulls them over. K, the stakes which
stake down the four nether points of the nets and the
two tail lines. L, the stakes that stake down the fore
lines. M, the single line, with the wooden button to
pull the net over with. N, the stake that stakes down
the single line, and where the man should sit * and U,
the gig. , . ,
Net, Neat, in commerce, something pure, and un¬
adulterated with any foreign mixture.
Thus wines are said to be Jiet when not ialsihed or
balderdashed * and coffee, rice, pepper, &c. are net
when the filth and ordures are separated from them.
See Neat.
A diamond is said to be net when it has no stains or
flaws * a crystal, when transparent throughout.
Net is also used for what remains after the tare has
been taken out of the weight of any merchandise, i. e.
when it is weighed clear of all package. See I ARE.
Thus we say, a barrel of cochineal weighs 450
pounds * the tare is 50 pounds, and there remain tiet
400 pounds.
Net Produce, a term used to express what any com¬
modity has yielded, all tare and charges deducted.
The merchants sometimes use the Italian words netto
proceduto, for net produce. , „ . . ,
NETHERLANDS, anciently called Belgia, but
since denominated Low Countries or Netherlands, frorn
their low situation, are situated between 2° and 7 of
east longitude, and between 50° and 530 30' of north
latitude : and are bounded by the German sea on the
north, Germany on the east, by Lorrain and France on
the south, and by another part of France and the Bri¬
tish seas on the west* extending near 300 miles in
length from north to south, and 200 miles in,breadth
from east to west. They consist of 17 provinces * 1 o of
which were called \.\w Austrian andFrenchNetherlajids,
and the other seven the United Provinces. The whole
united were erected into a kingdom at the peace ol
Paris in 1814.
The greatest part of the Netherlands was conquered
I
NET
768 ]
by the Romans * and that part which lies towards
Gaul continued in their subjection till the decline ol ^
that empire; after which the Franks became masters
of it * and under the Irench monarchy, it was part of
the kingdom of Metz or Austrasia. ....
Towards the end of the 15th century Maximilian ot
Austria, son of the emperor Ferdinand HI. acquired,
by marrying the only daughter of the duke ol Burgun¬
dy, the duchies of Brabant, Limburg, and Luxemburg *
the counties of Flanders, Burgundy, Hainault, Hol¬
land, Zealand, and Namur* and the lordship ol Ines-
land. Philip of Austria, son to Maximilian and Mary,
married Jane the daughter of Ferdinand king of Arra-
gon and of Isabella queen of Castile * by which means
their sou Charles inherited not only almost all Spam
and the great countries then lately discovered in Ame¬
rica, but also those noble provinces of the Netherlands,
and was chosen emperor under tire name of Charles l.
Towards the latter end of the 1527, he added to his
dominions the temporalities of the bishoprick of Utrecht
on both sides of the Yssel * and Henry of Bavaria, be¬
ing distressed through war with the duke ol Guelder-
land, and tired with the continued rebellion of his own
subjects, surrendered to the emperor the temporalities
of his diocese, which was confirmed by the pope, and
the states of the country. In 1536, Charles V. bought
of Charles of Egmond the reversion of the duchy ot
Guelderland and of the county of Zutphen, in case that
prince should die without issue. The same year the ci¬
ty of Groningen took the oath of allegiance, and sub¬
mitted to Charles V. and in 1543 P«t a garrison in¬
to the city of Cambray, and built a citadel there. lin¬
ing thus united the 1 7 provinces, as it were m one bo¬
dy, he ordered that they should continue for ever under
the same prince, without being ever separated or dis¬
membered * for which purpose he published in Novem¬
ber 1540, with the consent and at the request ol the
states of all the provinces, a perpetual and irrevocable
edict or law, by which it was enacted, that in order to
keep all those provinces together under one and the
same prince, the right of representation, with regard to
the succession of a prince or princess, should take place
for ever both in a direct and collateral line, notwith¬
standing the common laws of some provinces to the
contrary. Charles had even a mind to incorporate
these provinces with the Germanic body, and to make
of them a circle of the empire, under the title of the cir¬
cle of Burgundy, in order thereby to engage the princes
of the empire to concern themselves for the presetva-
tion of those provinces. But the Netherlands, always
jealous of their liberty, did not seem to like that incor¬
poration * and when they were demanded to pay their
share towards the expences of the empire, they refused
it: whereupon the princes of Germany refused, in their
turn, to take any part in the wars in F landers, and
looked upon those provinces as by no means belonging
to the Germanic body.
Philip of Austria and his son Charles, who were bom
in the Netherlands, had for these provinces that natural
affection whjch men use to have for their native coun¬
try * pnd, jtnowing how jealous the inhabitants were of
their liberty, and of the privileges granted to them by
their former princes,'they took great caie to pieserve
them and suffered willingly that the states who were
the guardians of the people’s liberty and
Netlier.
lands.
NET [ 7
■Xeilicr- snould in a manner share the supreme authority with
lands, them. Philip II. son to the emperor Charles V. had
not the same affection for the Netherlands, nor those
generous sentiments which his father had endeavoured
to inspire him with. Being born in Spain of a Portu¬
guese woman, he had no regard but for his native
country ; and, when he removed out of the Nether¬
lands, he left them to the weak government of a wo¬
man, to the proud and haughty spirit of Cardinal de
Grenville, and to the wild ambition of some lords of
these provinces, who availing themselves of the impru¬
dent conduct and continual blunders of the council of
Spain, found their private interest in the disturbances
they could not fail to produce. Philip il. also, instead
of the mild and moderate measures which his predeces¬
sors had successfully employed on many occasions, as
best suiting the genius and temper of the people, had
recourse to the most violent and cruel proceedings ;
which, far from coring the evil, served only to exaspe¬
rate it the more and render it incurable. The Spa¬
niards, whom be sent thither, being born and educated
in an absolute monarchy, jealous of the liberties and
envious ot the riches of the people, broke through all
their privileges, and used them almost after the same
manner as they had done the inhabitants of their new
and ill-gotten dominions in America. This treatment
occasioned a general insurrection. The counts Hoorn,
Egmont, and the prince of Orange, appeared at the
head of it, and Luther’s reformation gaining ground
about the same time in the Netherlands, his disciples
joined the malecontents : whereupon King Philip in¬
troduced a kind of inquisition in order to suppress
them, and many thousands were put to death by that
court, besides those that perished by the sword ; for
these persecutions and encroachments had occasioned a
civil war, in which several battles were fought. The
counts H corn and Egmont were taken and beheaded :
but the prince of Ox-ange, retiring into Holland, with
the assistance of England and France, preserved Hol¬
land and some of the adjacent provinces, which entei’ed
into a treaty for their mutual defence at Utrecht in 1579,
and they have ever since been styled the United Pro¬
vinces ; hut the other provinces were reduced to the
obedience of Spain by the duke of Alva and other Spa¬
nish generals. Howevex-, their ancient privileges wexe
in a great measure restored ; every province was allow¬
ed its great council or parliament, whose concurrence
was required to the making of laws, and raising money
for the government, though these assemblies were too
often obliged to follow the dictates of the court.
The emperor Joseph II. endeavoux-ed to deprive them
even of the form of their free constitution j and he
might very probably have succeeded, had he not at¬
tempted at the same time a reformation of the church.
The Austrian Netherlands are wholly Catholic, and so
bigotted to the Romish superstition, that though they
had tamely submitted to many encroachments of the
ax*chducal house on their civil rights, no sooner did the
monarch encroach upon the property of the holy mother
church than they resisted his authority, and claimed all
their ancient px-ivileges political and religious.
The Spaniards continued possessed of almost eight
of these provinces, until the duke of Marlborough,
genei'al of the allies, gained the memorable victory of
Vol. XIV. Part II. f
69 j N E T
Ramil lies. After which Brussels (he capital, and great
part of these provinces, acknowledged Charles VI. (af¬
terwards emperoi') their sovereign j and his daughter,
the lute empxess queen, remained possessed of them till
the war that followed the death of her father, when
the French made an entire conquest of them, except
part ol the province of Luxemburg ; hut they were re¬
stored by the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748, and
the 1 renclx retained only Artois, the Cambxcsis, part
ol I landers, part of Hainault, and part of Luxembui’g.
I hese provinces were overrun by the French in 1 794,
and formally ceded to them by the treaty of Campo
Joimio in I797" They kept possession of them till
1814, when they were separated from France, and along
with the seven Dutch provinces, formed into a king¬
dom under the prince of Orange, who assumed the title
of king of the Netherlands. By the new constitution
promulgated in 1815, the people of the two countries
were to be represented in an assembly called the States-
General, whose sittings were to be held alternately in
a town in Holland and a town in Belgium. The States
consist of two chambers 5 the deliberations of the lower
ai'e public, those of the upper private. The constitution
guarantees the liberty of the press, the right of petition¬
ing, and the independence of the judges.
The soil is generally fruitful, but differs in the se¬
veral parts. The climate also differs in the several
provinces; in those towai’ds the south it does not dif¬
fer much ti'onx that of England, though the seasons
are more x-egular. In the northern provinces the win¬
ter is generally very sharp, and the summer sultry hot;
hut the extieme cold and excessive heat seldom con¬
tinue above five or six weeks. The air is reckoned
very wholesome, but is subject to thick fogs in win-
tei', through the moistness of the country, which
would be very noxious, were it not for the dry easterly
winds, which, blowing off a long continent for two
or three months in the year, clear the ah’, and occasion
very sharp frosts in Januaiy and February; during
which, the ports, rivei’S, and canals are commonly shut
up. The face of the country is low and flat ; for, ex¬
cept some small hills and a few rising grounds in Utrecht
and Guelderland, and in the parts lying towards Ger¬
many, there is no hill to be seen in the whole 17 pro¬
vinces. This is the reason why they have been called
the Low Countries. French Flanders abounds in grain,
vegetables, flax and cattle, but is in want of wood.
For the Dutch Netherlands, see United Provinces.
NETHIN1MS, among the Jews, the posterity of the
Gibeonites, who were condemned by Joshua to be hew¬
ers of wood and drawers of water for the house of God.
NETOPION, a name given by the ancients to a
vex-y fragi-ant and costly ointment, consisting of a great
number of the finest spicy ingredients. Hippocxates,
in his Treatise on the Diseases of Women, frequently
pi esexibes the netopion in diseases of the uterus ; and in
other places he speaks of its being poured into the ear
as a remedy for deafness; these compositions, by their
attenuating qualities, dividing the viscous and thick
humours. The word netopion is also sometimes used to
express the unguentum Egijptiacum, and sometimes
simply for oil of almonds.
NETTINGS, in a ship, a sort of gi’ates made of
small ropes seized together with rope yarn or twine, and
5 E fixed
S'■'tPrr.
binds
Nettings.
N E V f 770 ] N E \
Nettings fixed on the quarters ami in the tops $ they arc some-
|| ^ times stretched upon the ledges troni the waste trees to
Neva. t|ie roof trees, from the top oi the forecastle to the
v poop, and sometimes are laid in the waste of a ship to
serve instead of gratings.
NETTLE. See Uktica, Botany Index.
Scu-Nettle. See Medusa, Helminthology In¬
dex, and ANIMAL-Flower.
NETTLE-Tree. See Celtis, Botany Index.
NETTUNO, a handsome town of Italy, in the
Campagna di Roma. It is but thinly peopled, though
seated in a fertile soil. Ihe inhabitants are almost all
hunters. E. Long. 12. 57. N. Lat. 41. 30.
NEVA, a river at Petersburgh, in Russia. The
views npon the banks exhibit the grandest and most
lively scenes. The river is in most places broader than
the Thames at London. It is deep, rapid, and trans¬
parent as crystal, and its banks are lined on each side
with a continued range of handsome buildings. On
the north side the fortress, the academy of sciences
and that of art are the most striking objects $ on the
opposite side are the imperial palace, the admiralty,
the mansions of many Russian nobles, and the English
line, so called because (a few houses excepted) the
whole row is occupied by the English merchants. In
front of these buildings, on the south side, is the quay,
which,stretches for three miles, except where it is in¬
terrupted by the admiralty $ and the Neva, during the
whole of that space, has been lately embanked at the
expence of the empress, by a wall, parapet, and pave¬
ment of hewn granite *, a most elegant and durable mo¬
nument of imperial magnificence. There is a commu¬
nication between the opposite sides of the river by a
bridge of pontoons, which, when any thing is appre¬
hended from the force of ice rushing down the stream,
can be, and is generally indeed, removed. The great
depth of the river, it appears, prevents the building of
a stone bridge j and, if it could be built, there is no rea¬
son to suppose it could possibly resist the force of those
vast shoals of ice which in the beginning of winter come
down this rapid river. An attempt, however, has been
made to remedy this inconvenience •, and a Russian
peasant has actually projected the plan of throwing a
wooden bridge of one arch across it, which, in its nar¬
rowest part, is 989 feet in breadth. As we think this is
a matter of very considerable importance, as well as of
curiosity, we shall give the following copious account of
the plan and its author, in Mr Coxe’s own words ■, who
tells us that the artist had then executed a model 98
feet in length, which he saw and examined with consi¬
derable attention.
“ The bridge is upon the same principle with that
of Shaffhausen, excepting that the mechanism is more
complicated, and that the road is not so level. I shall
attempt to descrilie it by supposing it finished, as that
will convey the best idea ef the plan. The bridge is
roofed at the top, and covered at the sides •, it is formed
by four frames of timber, two on each side, composed of
various beams or trusses, which support the whole ma¬
chine. The road is not, as is usual, carried over the
top of the arch, but is suspended in the middle.
“ The following propqrtions I noted down with the
greatest exactness at the time when they were explain¬
ed to me by the artist.
Length of the abutment on the north end, 658 feet Neva.
Span of the arch, - - 980 1—v_^1
Length of the abutment on the south end, 658
Length of the whole structure, including the
abutments, _ _ _ 2296
The plane of the road upon its first ascent
makes an angle of five degrees with the
ordinary surface of the river.
Mean level of the river to the top of the
bridge in the centre, - - 168
Ditto to the bottom of the bridge in the
centre, - - - - 126
Height of the bridge from the bottom to the
top in the centre, - - 42
Height from the bottom of the bridge in the
centre to the road, - - 7
Height from the bottom of ditto to the
water, - - - - 84
Height from the water to the spring of the
arch, - - - 56
So that there is a difference of 35 feet between the
road at the spring of the arch and the road at the
centre 5 in other words, an ascent of 35 feet in half,
980, or in the space of 490 feet, which is little more
than eight-tenths of an inch to a foot. The bridge is
broadest towards the sides, and diminishes towards the
centre.
In the broadest part it is - - 168 feet.-
In the centre or narrowest - - 42
The breadth of the road is, - - 28
“ The artist informed me, that to complete the
bridge would require 49,650 iron nails, 12,908 large
trees, 5500 beams to strengthen them: and that it/
would cost 300,000 rubles or 6o,oool. He speaks
of this bold project with the usual warmth of genius j
and is perfectly convinced that it would be practicable.
I must own that I am of the same, opinion, though 1
hazard it with great diffidence. What a noble effect
would be produced by a bridge striking across the
Neva, with an arch 980 feet wide, and towering 168
feet from the surface of the water ! ihe description
of such a bridge seems almost chimerical; and yet up¬
on inspection of the model we become reconciled to the
idea. But whether the execution of tins stupendous
work may be deemed possible or not, the model itself
is worthy of attention, and reflects the highest honour
on the inventive faculties of that unimproved genius.
It is so ceunpactly constructed, and of such uniform soli¬
dity, that it has supported 3540 pood, or 127,440 pounds,
without having in the least swerved from its direction,
which I am told is far more, in proportion to its size,
than the bridge if completed would have occasion to
sustain from the pressure of the carriages added to its
own weight.
“ The person who projected this plan vs a common
Russian peasant. This extraordinary genius was ap¬
prentice to a shopkeeper at .Nishnei Nqvogorod : oppo¬
site to his dwelling was a wooden clock, which ex¬
cited his curiosity. By repeated examination he com¬
prehended the internal structure, and without any as¬
sistance formed one exactly similar in its proportion
and materials. His success in this first essay urged
him to undertake the construction of metal clocks and
watches.
N £ U [ 7?t ]
The empress, hearing t)f these wonderful ex- habitants.
te).
Sjeva Watches.
P ertions of his native genius, took him under her pro-
Ncuchat- tection, and sent him to England ; from whence, on
account of the difficulties attending his ignorance of
the language, he soon returned to Russia. I saw a
repeating watch of his workmanship at the Academy
of Sciences . it is about the bigness of an egg ^ in the
inside is represented the tomb of our Saviour, with
the stone at the entrance, and the centinels upon duty :
suddenly the stone is removed, the centinels fall down,
the angels appear, the women enter the sepulchre, and
the same chant is heard which is performed on Easter-
eve. These are trifling, although curious peformances ;
but the very planning of the bridge Was a most sublime
conception. This person, whose name is Kulihin,
bears the appearance of a Russian peasant » he has a
long beard, and wears the common dress of the coun¬
try. He receives a pension from the empress, and is
encouraged to follow the bent of his mechanical ge¬
nius (a).
NEVEL, or Nebel, in the Jewish antiquities, a
kind of musical intrument. See Nablum.
NEVEHS, a town of France, in the department of
Nievre, and situated in E. Long. 3. 14. N. Lab. 46. 59.
on the river Loire, which here receives the rivulet
Nievre. It contained 10,156 inhabitants in 1800. It
is a place of great antiquity, supposed to be Ciesah’s No-
Viodunum in JEduis, where he erected magazines for
his armies. Francis 1. made it a duchy and peerage in
1 521, in favour df Francis of Cleves, to whom it came
by marriage. It devolved afterwards to the house of
Mantua, and then to the Palatine family, who in 1651
sold it to Cardinal Mazarine. The cardinal obtained
a title of duke and peer for his nephew Philip Mancini,
in whose family it contimied till the late revolution.
The town is fortified with walls, defended with many
high WWers and deep ditches, and is the seiit of a bi¬
shopric, suffragan of Sens, as likewise of a bailiwic and
chamber of accounts. There was a stone bridge on the
Loire, which was carried away by the ice, and has been
replaced by a wooden one. This town is famous for
its manufacture of glass, earthen ware, cloth, and
cutlery. In the centre of Nevers, bn the summit ot a
hill, is built the palace of the ancient dukes. It ap¬
pears to have been constructed in the sixteenth century,
and exhibits a model of the beauty and delicacy of
Gothic architecture. The apartments are hung with
tapestry of 200 years old, which have an air of gro¬
tesque and rude magnificence.
NEUCHATTEL, a town of Swisserlarid, capital
of a county of the same name. There are several an¬
cient ruins near it, which show its former extent *, and
there are two large churches, besides a castle where the
governor resides. The town contains about 3000 in-
N E U
It is sittsated partly on a small plain, be¬
tween Mount Jura and the lake of Neuchattel, which
is 17 miles long and five broad j the side of the har¬
bour is the usual walk of the inhabitants. Part of it
too is built upon the side of the mountain ; whence
some of its streets are very steep. In this small place
several public works have lately been executed, which
Mr Coxe thinks are far beyond the revenues, or ever!
the wants, of such a little state. Among these he in
stances a superb causeway and a town-house “ built
(says he) ofsfich solid materials, as if it was intended to
survive to the most distant posterity, and to rival the
duration of the much famed Roman cauitol.” At the
beginning of the 18th century, commerce Was verv
little followed in this town, owing to an absurd opi¬
nion which prevailed among the inhabitants, of its be¬
ing disgraceful j but this prejudice is now extinguish¬
ed, and the town in a much more flourishing situation
than before. The chief article of exportation is wine,
which is much esteemed j and manufactures of printed
linens and cottons have been established with consider
able success. The flourishing state of Neuchattel is
principally owing to the benefactions of Mr David
Pury, late banker of the court at Lisbon. He was
born at Neuchattel in 1709 j but having received hi-
education there, he quitted it in great poverty, and re¬
paired to Geneva, where he served his apprenticeship,
but in what line is not mentioned. From Geneva he
went to London, where life acted as clerk to a dealer
in precious stones, and acquired great reputation by
estimating the value of diamonds at sight. After a
long residence in England he went to Lisbon, where
he carried on a very extensive commerce ; and having
been appointed tourt-bankcr, his fortune rapidly in¬
creased. His generosity, however, kept pace with his
wealth j and he not only remitted large sums to Neli-
chattel while living, but left his country his heir when
he died. His contributions in all are estimated bv Mr
Coxe at 2oo,oool.; a considerable part of which has
been employed in constructing the public works already
mentioned. Neuchattel has a grand and little council:
the first is composed of 40 persons, with two masters of
the keys 5 the little council consists of 24 members,
comprehending the mayor, who is president. These two
councils assemble regularly every month. The eccle¬
siastics likewise assemble every month, to consult on
affairs belonging to the church, and to fnl up the places
of ministers that die. They choose a dean every year,
who is president of the general assemblies, which are
called classes; and sometimes he is confirmed in this
dignity. E. Long. id. N. Lat. 47. 5.
Neuchattel, a sovereign county of Swisserland,
bounded on tbe west by the Franche Compte, on the
north by the bishopric of Basle, and on the east and
5 E 2 south
(A) \\e have given the detail in Mr Coxe’s own words, as it appears to us to deserve attention on ac¬
count of the greatness of the project, which would have excited admiration had it been attempted by one en-
built’it, had she not found use for all her money in carrying on her warlike and diplomatic transactions will-
other courts.”
N E V [ 772 1
N £
chattel south by the cantons of Berne and Irlburg. I I'.is
f| principality of Neuchattel anil Vallengin extend fioni
evis the lake of Neuchattel to the borders of Iranche
  ' Compte, being in length about 12 leagues, ami six in
breadth. Tile plain with the lower part of the moun¬
tains is occupied by the district ot Neuchattel, but
Vallengin is totally enclosed by Jura. Parallel chains
of these mountains run from cast to west, forming se¬
veral valleys in the most elevated parts. Ihe lower
grounds of this chain consist of arable lands and vine¬
yards j the higher of large tracts of forest, which in
many parts have been cleared and converted into pas¬
ture grounds, intermixed with fields of barley and oats.
The inhabitants are numerous, and remarkable lor
their genius, politeness, and active industry. It contains
three cities, one town, 90 villages, and about 300 houses
dispersed in the mountains. 1 he inhabitants are all
Protestants, except two Roman catholic villages: and
in I 529 they entered into a strict alliance with the can¬
tons of Berne, Friburg, Sokure, and Lucern. Ihe air
is healthy and temperate, dmt the soil not everywhere
equally fertile: however, there are large vineyards,
which produce white and red wine, which last is excel¬
lent. The pastures on the mountains feed a great num¬
ber of cattle ; there are plenty of deer in the forests j
the lakes and rivers abound with fish. The mildness of
the government, and agreeable situation of the inhabi¬
tants in general in these districts is evident from the
great increase of population in the space of 32 years.
In 1752 they contained only 28,017 subjects and 43J8
aliens: but in 1784 the number was augmented to
31,576 subjects and 97°4 aliens j being an increase
of near a fourtli pait in that time. Ihe facility with
whic h the burghership of Neuchattel is acquired, may
also he accounted one ot the means 01 augmenting its
population 5 for between the years 176c and I77°>
the magistrates admitted 41 persons to this privilege 5
from 1770 to 1780, 465 from 1780 to 1785, 51 •, in
all 138 •, many of whom had children before they pur¬
chased their burghership, and 38 of them were foreigners,
either German, French, or Dutch. This country has
experienced similar changes with the rest ot Switzer¬
land during the usurpation of the French.
NEUFCHATTEAU, a commercial town of France,
in the department of the Vosges, containing 2700 in¬
habitants. It formerly had an abbey of the nuns of St
Clair, a eommandery of Malta, and several convents of
monks and nuns. It is seated in a fertile soil, which
produces corn, wine, and all the necessaries of life, on
the river Mouzon. E. Long. 5. 45. N. Eat. 48. 20.
NEVIS, one of the Caribbee islands, lying about
seven leagues north of Montserrat, and separated from
St Christopher’s by a narrow channel. It makes a
beautiful appearance from the sea, being a large coni¬
cal mountain covered with fine trees, of an easy ascent
on every side, and entirely cultivated. The circumfe¬
rence is about 21 miles, with a considerable tract of
level ground all around. The climate in the lower
part is reckoned to be warmer than Barbadoes, but it
is more temperate towards the summit. ‘The soil is
very fine in the lower part, but grows coarser as we
.ascend. The productions are nearly the same with
? those of St Christopher’s. There are three pretty good
roads cr bays, with small towns in their vicinity j
Charles Town, Moreton bay, and Newcastle. This
pleasant island was settled under the auspices of Sir
Thomas Warner from St Christopher's. His succes¬
sor, Governor Lake, was considered as the Solon of
this little country, in which he disposed of every thing
with such prudence, wisdom, and justice, as procured
him a high reputation with the French as well as
English. In the Dutch war they met with some di¬
sturbance from the French 5 but by being covered by
an English squadron, the enemy were obliged to desist
from their intended invasion, after a smart engage¬
ment in sight of the island. Sir William Stapleton
sometimes resided here, and Sir Nathaniel Johnson con¬
stantly, at which time the inhabitants of Nevis were
computed at 30,000. In the war immediately after
the Revolution, they exerted themselves gallantly, and
had two regiments of 300 men each* In that ot
Queen Anne they behaved equally w’ell, though they
were less fortunate 5 for the French landing with a
superior force, and having inveigled most of their
slaves, they were forced to capitulate. About 400Q
of these slaves the French carried away and sold to
the Spaniards, to work in their mines. The parlia¬
ment, after making due inquiry into the losses they
had sustained, voted them about a third part of the
sum in which they had sufiered. Ihese losses by war,
an epidemic disease, and repeated hurricanes, exceed¬
ingly diminished the number of the people. They are
now thought not to exceed 2000 or 3000 whites, and
6000 blacks. There is here a lieutenant governor,
with a council, and an assembly, which is composed
of three members from each ot the five parishes into
which the island is divided. The commodities are
cotton and sugar j and about 20 sail of ships are an¬
nually employed in this trade.
NEURADA, in Botany, a genus of plants belong¬
ing to the decandria class, and in the natural method
ranking under the 13th order, Succulent#. See Bo¬
tany Index.
NEUROGRAPHY, signifies a description of the
nerves. See Anatomy.
NEUROPTEIIA, the name of one of the orders into
which the class of insects is divided according to the
Linmean classification. See Entomology Index.
NEUTER, a person indiflerent, who has espoused
neither party, and is neither friend nor foe.
A judge ought to he neuter in the causes he judges ;
in questions, where reason appears neuter, a man should
ever incline to the side of the unhappy.
Neuter, in Grammar, denotes a sort of gender of
nouns, which are neither masculine nor feminine. See
Gender.
The Latins have three kinds of genders, masculine,
feminine, and neuter. In English, and other modern
tongues, there is no such thing as neuter nouns. See
Noun.
Verbs Neuter, by some grammarians called intran¬
sitive verbs, are those which govern nothing, and that
are neither active nor passive. See Verb.
When the action expressed by the verb has no object
to fall upon, but the verb alone supplies the whole idea
of the action 5 the verb is said to be neuter: as, I sleep,
thou yawnest, he sneezes, we walk, ye run, they stand
still.
Some divide Verbs neuter into, 1. Such as do not
signify any action, but a quality; asalbet, “it is white;”
NEW [ 77
or a situation, as vedct, “ he sits j’' 6vhave some relation
to place 5 us adest, “he is presentj” or to some other
state or attribute, as rcgnat, “ he rules,” &c. And,
2- loose that do signify actions, though those such as
do not pass into any subject different from the actor ; as
to dine, to sup, to play, &c.
But this latter kind sometimes cease to he venter,
and commence active j especially in Greek and Latin,
when a subject is given them 5 as, vivere vitam, ambu-
lare viam, pi/gnu re pugnam. Thus the old French
poets say, Sonpircrson tourment; the English, to sigh his
woes, &e.
But this is observed only to obtain where something
particular is to be expressed, not contained in the verb:
as, vivere vitam beatam, to live a happy life j pugnare
bonam pugnam, to fight a good fight, 6cc.
According to the abbot de Dangeau, verbs neuter
may be divided into active and passive ; the first, those
that form their tenses in English, by the auxiliary verb
to have; in French, by avoir. The second, those that
form them in English with the verb to be; in French
etre.—Thus, to sleep, to yawn, donnir and eternuer,
arc neuters active.—To come, and to arrive, are neuters
passive.
Neutral Salts, in Chemistry, compounded of an acid
with any other substance capable of uniting with it and
destroying its acidity, as sulphuric acid and soda, or
Glauber’s salt, muriatic acid and soda, or common salt.
NEUTRALITY, the state of a person or thing
that is neuter, or that takes part with neither side.
NEW-abbey, situated near Kilcullen bridge in the
county of Kildare, and province of Leinster in Ireland.
It was founded by Rowland Eustace, of a great and an¬
cient family in this county •, the tower is still standing,
and some part of the abbey *, the ruins of the rest have
contributed to build several dwellings near it. In the
inside Rowland Eustace and his lady lie buried j their
figures, clothed in armour, are to be seen there. Near
this is a handsome seat of the Carter family, on the op¬
posite side of the river Liffev.
NEWARK upon Trent, in the county of Notting¬
ham, is a great thoroughfare in the York road, 124
miles from London. It has bridges over the Trent,
which forms an island here, by dividing itself into twTo
streams ttvo miles above the town, which meet again
two miles below it. A magnificent castle was built
here in the reign of King Stephen, which held out
stoutly in the barons wars for King John, who died
here, October 19. 1216 ; and it also stood out lor
King Charles I. to the last ; but after he had put him¬
self into the hands of the Scots army then before it,
the governor by his order surrendered it, after which it
was demolished.—It was situated near the river j the
walls of the towers are very thick, and of a very great
height } and were there no historical testimony, these
remains are sufficient evidence that it was formerly of
great importance. In the court before these ruins is
a very fine bowling green. The town being subject to
inundations from the river Trent, and often from that
circumstance made impassable, a turnpike road, at the
instigation of a publican, was made about twenty years
ago, so high as to be passed with safety in the greatest
floods, by arches of brick being made in several places
to carry oft’ the water, constructed by Mr Smeaton, at
the expence of 12,oool. Near the town there is a bridge
3 j N E' W
constructed for the same purpose, made mostly upon i\T2iy ll-;i
dry land, consisting of nine arches. Its church, which jj
is reckoned one of the finest in the kingdom, was built Newcastle
by Henry VI. and has a lofty spire. The population ,on Lv“e-
in 1 811 was 7236.
NEWBOROUCH, or Newburgh, in the isle of
Anglesey, North Wales, distant from London 254
miles, though but a small town, situated over against
Caernarvon in North Wales, about 17 miles south¬
west from Beaumaris, is governed by; a mayor, two
bailiffs and a recorder. Its Welsh name is Rhossir, or
Rkosvair.
NEWBURG, the name of several towns of Ger¬
many, two of which are the chief towns of" duchies of
the same name j one in Bavaria, and the other in the
Palatinate.
NEWBURY, a town in the county of Berks in
England, 16 miles from Reading, and 56 from Lon¬
don, arose on the decay of Spinham-Land. Notwith¬
standing its name signifies New-Borough, it is as old
almost as the Conquest. It made so much broad
cloth formerly, that in the reign of Henry VIII. here
flourished John Winscomb, commonly called Jack of
Newbury, one of the greatest clothiers that ever was
in England, who kept 100 looms in his house ; and
in the expedition to Flowden Field against the Scots,
marched with 100 of his own men, all armed and
clothed at his own expence 5 and be built all the west
part of the church. Also Mr Kenric, the son of a
clothier here, though afterwards a merchant in Lon¬
don, left 4000I. to the town, as well as 7500I. to
Reading, to encourage the woollen manufactory. It
makes a great quantity of shalloons and druggets, but
not near so much broad cloth now as formerly j yet it
is a flourishing town, with spacious streets, and a large
marketplace, in which is the guild-hall. In the neigh¬
bourhood, on the banks of the Kennet, there is a stra¬
tum of petrified wood dug out for firing, where they fre¬
quently find trunks of large oaks yet undeeayed, with
petrified hazel nuts, fir cones, &c. with the boues and
horns of stags, antelopes, &c. tusks of boars, and heads
of beavers. The river Keimet, which abounds with
excellent trout, eels, and cray-fish, runs through the
town. It was made a corporation by Queen Elizabeth,
and is governed by a mayor, high steward, aldermen,
See. The population in 1811 was 4898.
NEWCASTlAE-under-Linc, a town in England,
in the county of Stafford, on a branch of the Trent, is
15 miles north of Stafford, 33 south south-east of War¬
rington, and 149 from London : had a castle, now in
ruins •, and is so called from an older castle, which for¬
merly stood two miles off, at Chesterton-under-Line.
It was incorporated by King Henry I. and again by
Queen Elizabeth and King Charles tl. and is governed
by a mayor, two justices, two bailiffs, and 24 common
council. The population in 18x1 was 6175. The
clothing trade llourishes here ; but its chief manu¬
factory is hats, here being an incorporated company of
felt-makers. A great quantity of stone ware is made
near this place.
Newcastle on Tyne, the capital of the county of
Northumberland in England, 15; miles north of Dur¬
ham, 94 north of York, 63 south by east of Berwick,
60 east of Carlisle, and 271 from London, stands at the
end of the Piets wall, on the north side of the Tyne,
over
N E W
f 774 1
NEW
Newcastle ovet which it has a stately bridge into the hishopi c
oa Tyne, of Durham, in which its suburb called Gateside is situ-
^ -r 'ated; for the lilierties of Newcastle extend no farther
than the great iron gate upon the bridge, which has the
arms of the bishop of Durham carved on the east side
and those of Newcastle on the west side. VV. -Long,
j 2yf juj-, Lat. 55. 5. It is 'admitted to have been a
Homan station, though no evidence at present appears,
except at Pandon-gate, whose superstructure is ol dif¬
ferent workmanship and model from any others ot the
ibwn, the arches being circular. Ihe Carpenters
toiver is also of Homan originah In the Saxons tune
it was called Moncastct, from the monks here, who all
fled Avhen it Avas depopulated by tbe Danes 5 and after¬
wards Newcastle, from a castle built here by VV 1 ham
the Conqueror’s son, Robert* in i©So, to defend the
country against the Scots, whose kings had this town be¬
fore the Norman conquest, and sometimes resided here.
—Several monasteries and houses Avere built here soon
after the castle 5 and it AA-as greatly enlarged and en¬
riched by a gdbd trade to the coasts of Germany, and
by the sale of its coal to other parts of England 5 for
which, and for other merchandise, it is become the
great emporium of the north of England, it being the
neatest and largest town in those parts, next to York.
In the reign of Edward I. it Avas burnt by the Scots j
hut a very rich burgher* who AVas taken prisoner, soon
ransomed himself for a good stum of money, and be¬
gan the first fortifications of the place, which he ex¬
tended from Sandgate to Pampedon, and thence to
the Austin friars gate ; Avhich the toAA’nsmen finished,
and encompassed Avith stout Avails, which extended two
miles, wherein are seven gates artd many turrets, Avith
several Casemates bomb-proof. T-O which Iavo other
o-ates Avere added in more modern times, viz. Bridge-
gate and Sand-gate : the Avail between them Was af-
tei’Avards removed to open the quay. Edward III>
granted the corporation the duties and customs of the
toAvn for seven years, to enable them to complete the
fortification. It is a borough at least as ancient as
King Richard II. who granted that a sword should be
carried before the mayor ; and King Henry VI. made
it a town and county incorporate ot itself, indepen¬
dent of Northumberland. Henry VII. built a mona¬
stery here for the Franciscans. Resides Avhich, it had
several religious foundations, several of Avhich structures
have been converted to companies halls and private
residences. In the reign of Henry VIII. this place
is said to have exceeded in the strength and magnifi¬
cence of its works all the cities of England, and most
places in Europe. The toAvn is governed by a mayor,
12 aldermen, a recorder, sheriff, toAvn clerk, a clerk of
' the chambers, trvo coroners, eight chamberlains, a
sword-bearer, a Avater bailiff, and seven Serjeants at
mace. Its situation, especially the most busy part of
it toAvards the river, is very uneven, it being built on
the declivity of a steep hill, and the houses very close.
The castle overlooks the Avhole town. That part built
bv Robert Avas of great strength, and square, and sur¬
rounded by tAvo Avails j the square was 62 feet by 54,
and the walls 13 feet thick, within which was a cha¬
pel. The outAvard fortifications are now defaced, and
their site croAvded Avith buildings. The toAver remains
entire, and situated on a lofty eminence, and its prin¬
cipal entrance is to the south. This castle belongs to
3
the county* and makes no part of the liberties.—It is NcAvcastfe
noAV the county prison, and in the great hall the judges on 1 ync.
hold the assizes. Here Baliol king of Scotland did ho¬
mage to King EdAvard I. in 1292 : as did EdAvard Baliol
in 1334 to King EdAvard III. Here is a magnificent
exchange and a customhouse j and a very fine quay.
There is a handsome mansion house for the mayor, who
is allowed 1000I. a-year, for his table, besides a coach
and barge. The old bridge Avas carried away in a
flood, and the present Was erected about 1775, of nine
noble elliptic arches. With the old bridge 22 houses
AverC throAvn doAvn, and six lives lost. It Avas original¬
ly built of Avood j but having been destroyed by fire in
1248, ivas rebuilt of stone, and consisted of 12 arches,
three of which on the north side A\Tere closed up, and
served for cellars: this Avas again rebuilt about 1450,
and Avas crowded Avith Avooden buildings } but near tbe
middle Avas a tower AA'ith an iron gate, used as a town
prison. A strong building crossed the bridge, AA’hich
AVas used as a magazine. On the south front Avas a
status of King Charles II. ’Hie Avater Avhich destroy¬
ed this bridge, on November II. 1771, was upAvards
of 12 feet above high Avater mark in spring tides.—On
removing the foundations of the piers of the old bridge
to erect the present, by observations made, and medals
found, part of it is supposed to ha\’e existed from the.
time of the Romans. It is computed that abo\re 6000
keelmen are employed here, avIio haAre formed them¬
selves into a friendly society j and by their oavu con¬
tributions, built a noble hospital containing 50 cham¬
bers, for such of their fraternity as are poor, disabled,
or past their labour 5 and it is supported by the con¬
tribution 6f those that are in health. Hie toAvn is-
extremely populous j and, notAvithstanding the multi¬
tude of those employed in and about the coal pits,
with which the town is in a manner surrounded, has
abundance of poor $ but it has also many Avealthy in¬
habitants, and it is said they pay above 4000k a-year
to their relief. It is ohserA’ed, that this toAvn has the
greatest public reA’enue in its oAvn right as a corpora¬
tion, of any toAVn in England, it being computed at nrt
less than 8000I. a-year. In 1774, the receipts of the
Corporation Avere 20,360k 9s* > ant^ their uisbursc-
ments about 19,445k The number ot inhabitants in
1811 Avas 27,587, exclusive of a number of seamen avIio
cannot be accurately estimated. Here are four churches
or chapels. That of St Nicholas is the mother church,
a curious fabric, built cathedral-Avise by David king ot
Scots, 240 feet long* 75 broad, and proportionably
high, with a toAver steeple 194 feet i*1 height, of Go¬
thic architecture also St Andrew’s, St John’s, and
All Saints, lately rebuilt on the site of the old struc¬
ture, of a circular form. Here are also several meet¬
ing houses, and four charity schools for 300 children ,
a fine hall for the surgeons, and a large prison called
Newgate ,■ also an hospital for lunatics, aoothei foi the
lying-in of married women, as well as a fund raised
for the relief of those who are delivered at their oaaw
houses. Here is a Avell endoAved and large infirmary,
and an assembly room that attracts attention, contain¬
ing every useful apartment, and a bail room 93 feet
by 40 : The front is ornamented with six Ionic pillars,
&c. In another part of the toAvn is a neAV theatie.
Here is a very neat set of baths. A free grammar
school Avas granted by James I. from an old foundation
of
N E W
Newcastle Mary’s hospital, in the vestry room of whose
ou Tyne, chapel is the election of the officers of the corporation.
^ * ' There were formerly several palaces in this city,.viz. Pam-
pedon hall, Lumley place, Earl’s Place, Northumber¬
land house, Westmoreland place, &c. The free ma¬
sons have lately erected an elegant hall, richly orna¬
mented, to hold their lodge in, near High friar chair,
capable of holding above 4000 of that ancient frater¬
nity. Here is an hospital for 39 decayed freemen
and their widows 5 and another for three clergymen’s
widow's and three merchants widows. The Maidens
hospital, built in I753> is endowed with 2400I. for six
maiden women and six poor men. Dr Thomlin, a pre¬
bendary of St Paul’s, and rector of Whieham in the
bishopric of Durham, gave a library of above 6000
valuable books to the corporation, and settled a rent
charge of 5I. a-year for ever for buying new ones y
and Sir Walter Blacket, formerly one of its represen¬
tatives in parliament, built a neat repository for them,
and settled 25I. a-year for ever on a librarian. The
upper or north part of the town, inhabited by the politer
sort of people, is much pleasanter than that part next
the river, and has three level, well built, and spacious
streets. The river all the way up from Shields to
Newcastle is broad, the channel safe, and the tide
flows with a strong current to the town, and far be¬
yond it. In the beginning of the civil wars, this town
was taken and plundered by the Scotch fanatics, who
here sold their king, Charles I. for 200,oool. in hand,
and security for as much more. The glass works are
very curious, and have more' business of the fine sort
than most other places : the duty on this article drawn
by government is said to amount to 200,ocol. annually.
Besides, it has a considerable manufacture of broad and ;
narrow cloths, and several soap boileries 5 and this
place is famous for grindstones, for which there is such
a demand, that scarce a ship stirs without them j from
whence came the proverb, “ That a Scotsman and a-
Newcastle grindstone travel all the world over.” Ships
fit for the coal trade are built here to perfection, with
great strength. Here is v. considerable manufactory of
hardware and wrought iron, after the manner of that at
Sheffield.—Its markets are on Tuesdays and Saturdays.
Its fairs in August, which last nine days, and October
29th, which last nine days. By an act of Queen Mary,
the price of the carriage of goods hither from London
by waggons was settled at 2d. per lib. London alone,
is said to consume at least 766,887 chaldrons of its
coal every year} but as for the fish vended in that
city by the name of Newcastle salmon, it is more pro¬
perly c%\\e& Berwick salmon, the fresh salmon being,
taken near 50 miles farther, as far as the 1 weed, and
brought on the backs of horses to Shields, where it
is cured, pickled, and sent , on board for London. It ■
is worth remembering, that at the assizes here in *743*
two old men were subpoena’d hither as witnesses from
a neighbouring village, viz. one 135 years of age, and
his son 95, both hearty, and having their sight and
hearing j and that in 1744, one Adam Turnbull died
in this town aged 112, who had had four wives, the
last of whom he had married when he was near too
years old.
The annual amount of the revenue of customs at
port, which Mr Brand in his History of New-
t 775 ]
NEW
castle states at 41,000!. is now very considerably up- Newcastle
wards of 70,000!. on Tyne,
The coals carried out of it annually (on an average Newcastle’.
from 1785 t° 1791) were nearly 448,000 Newcastle
chaldrons j the weight of which is 1,187,200 tons.
The following are the exports of coals from the Tyne
for the years annexed.
Years.
1802
1803
1804
1803
Coastways.
494,488
579.929
552,827
Over sea.
4M57
42,808
48,737
47.213
Plantation;
2844
i 06
3852
2360
The number of persons employed in the coal trade of'
the rivers Tyne and Wear in 1792 exceeded 64,000.
The manufacture of earthen u are is greatly increas¬
ed, and carried on to great perfection in its neighbour¬
hood, in seven potteries ; and their produce exported
hence to foreign parts, as well as to the different ports
of this kingdom j some of which, potteries constantly
employ upwards of ,100 persons, men, women, and
children.
New works of considerable extent for the manufac¬
ture, of iron have been established 5 as also a very capi¬
tal manufactory for white lead, milled lead, &c. In¬
dependent of red and white lead, the quantity of lead
exported from the river Tyne during four years was as
follows.
Years.
1802
1803
1804
1805
Tons.
8609
6364
10352
9l63
Cut.
18
6
The trade with the West India islands is increasing,
and may in time become very considerable $ as the
port has great advantages, in being able to supply
on the cheapest terms many articles wanted in those
islands j such as coals, grindstones, lime, bricks, tiles,
iron wares, &q.; and is most advantageously situated
for the re-exportation of the .West India produce to
the ports on the Baltic, to Germany, the United Pro¬
vinces, Flanders, and part of France 5 and moreover,
the risk of navigation, and the rate of insurance, not
being greater than between those islands and Liver¬
pool, and some other ports 00 the western coast of this
kingdom.
The population of Newcastle in 1811 was 27,587,
and it is daily increasing in inhabitants and opulence.
It has long been noted for hospitality and good living.
Great improvements have been made in the town, by
opening new streets, and paving the principal ones, in
the same manner as in London. To the list of public
edifices of modern erection, and mentioned above, viz.
the grand assembly rooms, and the elegant theatre,
which were built by subscription, and the superb parish
church of All Saints, built at a very great expence by
the parishioners, may be added a commodious riding
house, built also by subscription.
Newcastle, a borough town of Ireland, in the
county of Dublin, and province of Leinster, which for¬
merly returned two members to parliament, and holds
two fairs, 9th of May and 8th of October.
Newcastle is also the name of a handsome town
in »
NEW [ 7T6
Newcastle in the comity of Limerick and province of Munster,
|| on the high road to Kerry, 114 ™iles ^om Dublin.
New Fo- Here was a religions house possessed by the knights
rest’ , templars. It is said, they used some barbarous customs
' which greatly disgusted the Iris!), who, watching a fa¬
vourable opportunity, attacked a number ol the knights
riding out together and put them to death ; the place
is still remembered where their remains were interred.
This order was suppressed in the famous council of
Vienna, 22d of March 1312. Newcastle consists of a
large square where markets and fairs are held ; on the
northern side stands a market house, with an assembly
room •, on the south side is the church, which is the
neatest in the county: it was finished in 1777 at the
sole expence of Lord Courtenay. It stands close to
the walls and fortifications of the knights templars, ol
which one of the castles is fitted up for Lord Courte-
-nay’s agent. . . .
Newcastle, a town in America, 35 miles below
Philadelphia, on the west bank of Delaware river.
It was first settled by the Swedes about the year 1627,
and called Stockholm. It was afterwards taken by the
Dutch, and called New Amsterdam. When it fell in¬
to the hands of the Lnglish, it was called by its pie-
sent name. It contained 2438 inhabitants in 1800,
including 235 slaves, and was formerly the seat of go¬
vernment. This is the first town that was settled on
Delaware river.
Newcastle, Duke of. See Cavendish.
New England. See Exoland, New.
New Forest of Hampshire in England, is a tract of
at least 40 miles in compass, which had many populous
towns and villages, and 3^ mother churches, till it
was destroyed and turned into a forest by M illiam the
Conqueror. There are nine walks in it} and to every
one a keeper, under a lord warden, besides two ran¬
gers, and a bow-hearer. As tills large tract lay many
ages open and exposed to invasions from foreigners,
King Henry VIII. built some castles in it: .and it has
now several pretty towns and villages. It is situated
in that part of Hampshire which is hounded on the
east by Southampton river, and on the south by the
British channel. It possesses advantages of situation,
with respect to the convenience of water carriage and
nearness to the dock yards, superior to every other
forest, having in its neighbourhood several ports and
places of shelter for shipping timber, among which
Lymington is at the distance of only two miles, Bew-
ley about half a mile, and Redbridge three or four
miles from the forest} and the navigation to Ports¬
mouth, the most considerable dock yard in this king¬
dom, is only about 30 miles from the nearest of those
places. This is the only forest belonging to the
crown of which the origin is known. Doomsday-
hook contains the most distinct account of its affore¬
station by William the Conqueror : the contents of
every field, farm, or estate afforested, in hides, caru-
cates, or virgates, by which the extent of laud was
then computed, together with the names of the hun¬
dreds and villages, and of the former proprietors
(which are for the most part Saxon), the rent or yearly
value of each possession, and the tax which had been
paid for it to the crown during the reign of Edward
the Confessor, before the inhabitants were expelled,
’and that part of the country laid waste, are all to he
I
]
N
E W
found in that most curious and venerable record.
Wishing to discover the original extent of the forest,
wc extracted, for our own information, all that relates
to it in that ancient survey. 1 he extract is far too
voluminous for insertion. I he names of many of
the places having been changed since that time, it is
difficult to ascertain with precision what were then the
limits of the forest. rIhe oldest perambulation we have
met with is among the Pleas of the I orest, in the
eighth year of King Edward I. preserved in the
Chapter-house at Westminster. The boundaries there
described include all the country from Southampton
river on the east to the Avon on the west, following
the sea coast as far as the southern boundary between
those rivers, and extending northwards as far as North
Cbadeford, or North Charford, on the west, and to
Wade and Orebrngg, or Owerbridge, on tne east 5 and
the greatest part, if not the whole, of that extensive
district, is mentioned in Doomsday book to he the
forest belonging to the crown. Another perambula¬
tion was however made in the 29th of the same king,
which leaves out a great part of the country contain¬
ed within the former. rl his perambulation, which is
preserved in the Tower of London, confines the forest
to limits which, as far as we can trace them, appear to
have been followed in the 22d year of Charles II.
when the forest was again perambulated. By the
Charta de Foresta, all lands not belonging to the crown
which had been afforested by Henry II. Richard I.
or King John, were to he disafforested } hut as no
provision was made for the reduction of the more an¬
cient afforestations, it is easy to account for the great,
diminution of this forest in the reign of Edward I.
who was not a prince likely to submit to any encroach¬
ment on lus rights. Hie perambulation of the 22.d
of Charles II. is the last which we find on record: it
contains the present legal hounds of the forest, and
was given to the surveyors as their guide, in taking the
plan which they have made lately7 by direction. Irom
that plan, with the approbation of the lords commis¬
sioners of his majesty’s treasury, an engraving was made.
According to the last-mentioned perambulation and the
plan, the forest extends from Godshill on the north¬
west to the sea on the south-east, about 20 miles } and
from Hardley on the east to Ringwood on the west,
about 15 miles} and contains within those limits,
about 92,365 acres statute measure. The whole of
that quantity, however, is not forest land, or now the
property of the crown : there are several manors and
other considerable freehold estates within the pei amhu-
lation, belonging to individuals, to the amount oi about
24,797 acres} about 625 acres are copyhold or custo¬
mary lands belonging to his majesty s manor of Lynd-
hurst} about 1004 acres are lease-hold under the
crown, granted for certain terms of years, and forming
part of the demised land revenue, under the manage¬
ment of the surveyor-general of crown lands } about
901 acres are purprestures or encroachments on the
forest } about 1193 acres more are enclosed lands held
by the master-keepers and groom-keepers, with iheir
respective lodges} and the remainder, being .about
63,845 acres, are woods and waste lands-of the torest.
To perpetuate the spot where William Rufus was
killed by the glance of an arrow shot at a stag, a tri¬
angular stone was erected in 1745* George HI. vi-
sited
New Fo¬
rest
it
Newfound¬
land
N E W
sited tin, spot in 1789. In August 1782, a canons
ancient golden cross was found here by a labourino-
man digging turf. It weighed above an ounce of cold,
and had on one side an engraving of our Saviour, and
^ °? “.,e ot tll<! sP* >r, nails, and other emblems
01 his suiliTings.
Aaik Holland. See HoLla\’D, New,
Njiiv York. See York, New.
Zealand. See Zealasd, New.
c^£fy ^ears Gi/tx’ Presents made on the first day
of the new year. Nonins Marcellns refers the origin
of this custom among the Romans to Tatius king of
the Sabines, who reigned at Rome conjointly with
Romulus, and who having considered as a good omen
a present of some branches cut in a w-ood consecrated
to Slrenia, the goddess of strength, which lie received
on the first day of the new year, authorized this cu¬
stom afterwards, and gave to these presents the name
■of sire me. However this may be, the Romans on that
day celebrated a festival in honour of Janus, and paid
their respects at the same time to Juno *, but they did
not pass, it in idleness, lest they should become indo¬
lent during the rest of the year. They sent presents
to one another of figs, dates, honey, &c. to show their
friends that they wished for a happy and agreeable
bit. Clients, tnat is to say, those who were under
tlie protection of the great, carried presents of this
kind to their patrons, adding to them a small piece of
silver. Under Augustus, the senate., the knights, and
ihe people, presented such gifts to him, and in his ab¬
sence deposited them in the capitol. Of the succeed¬
ing princes some adopted this custom and others abo¬
lished it ; but it always continued among the people.
The early Christians condemned it, because it appeared
to be a relick of Paganism and a species of supersti¬
tion ; but when it began to have no other object than
that of being a mark of veneration and esteem, the
church ceased to disapprove it.
NEWEL, in architecture, is the upright post
which a pair of winding stairs turn about ; this is
properly a cylinder of stone, which bears on the
ground, and is formed by the end of the steps of the
winding stairs.
NEW I IDLER-sea, a lake in Hungary, 17 miles
in length and 6 in breadth.
NEWFOUNDLAND, a large island of North
America, belonging to Great Britain, lying between
46. 50. and 51. 30. N. Lat. and between 53. 30. and
58. 20. W. Long, from London. The form is that of
an irregular triangle, the base or south side being 80
feagues in extent ; the east side is the longest ; and the
whole circumference about 150 leagues. It is bound¬
ed on the north by the straits of Beileisle., which sepa¬
rate it from Labrador ; on the east and south it hath
tiie Atlantic ocean, and on the west the gulf of St
Lawrence. The climate is rather severe; and the soil,
at least on the sea coast, which is all that we know of
it, is poor and barren. A few kitchen vegetables, with
strawberries and raspberries, are all its produce. The
country within land is mountainous, and abounds with
timber; there are several rivers which are plentifully
stored with various sorts of fish, abundance of deep bays,
and many good ports. St John’s and Placentia are the
two principal settlements, and at each of these there is
a fort; the number of people who remain here.ip the
Vol. XIV. Part IL f
f 777 J
N E W
winter hath been computed at 4000. The French, bv
tiie treaty oi Utrecht, were permitted to fish from Cape
Bonavista on the east side round the north of the island
to Point Rich on the west; and by the treaty of Paris,
they are allowed the isles of St Pierre and Miquelon,’
upon which they are to dry their fish, but not to erect
fortifications of any kind.
1 lie great importance of this place arises from its
fishery, which is in part carried on bv the inhabitants
at the several harbours, which are about 20 in number,
who take vast quantities of cod near the coast, whiph
they bring in and cure at their leisure, in order to have
it ready for the ships when they arrive. But the great
and extensive fishery is on the banks at some distance
from, the island. J he great bank lies 20 leagues from
the nearest point of land, from the latitude 410 to 490,
stretching 300 miles in length and 75 in breadth.—’
lo the east of this lies the False Bank ; the next is
styled lert, or the Green Bank, about 240 miles lon<:r,
and 120 over ; then Banquero, about the same size ;
the shoals of Sand Island, Whale Bank, and the Bank
of St Peter’s, with several others of less note, all
abounding with fish.
The cod are caught only by a hook ; an expert
fisher will take from. 1 50 to 306 and upwards in a day;
for the fish never bite in the night: the labour 'is
very great. '1 he season is from May to October, in
the height of which there are from 500 to 700 sail
upon the banks at a time. The fish caught in the
spring months are best; they are cured in very (lifter
ent ways. Some are styled white fish, others mud fish,
which are stowed and salted in the Imlil, and will not
keep long; but the best and most valuable are the dried
cod. The quantity taken is prodigious : yet in some
seasons and in different places varies considerably, as
the fish frequently change their stations. Tlie/o/z/V/g
ships, as they are called, lie upon the banks, with the
help of their boats take and cure their own fish, and as
soon as they are full sail for a market. The sack ships
proceed directly to the island, where they purchase
firdi from the inhabitants either by barter or bills-of ex-
change. The principal markets for cod are Spain,
Portugal, Italy, and the West Indies. The value cf
this fishery is computed at some hundred thousand
pounds annually ; employing, besides several hundred
ships, some thousands of seamen, and affording a main¬
tenance to a number of tradesmen of different occupa¬
tions, by which many large towns on the west side of
England accumulate much wealth, and at the same time
contribute in many respects to the benefit of the public.
1 he great utility of this fishery was very early seen,
and very vigorously pursued ; for in the beginning of
the reign of King James I. we had two hundred and
fifty sail employed therein. It is computed, that
three quintals of wet fish make one quintal of dried cod.
Besides, the livers of every hundred quintals make a
hogshead of oil; and exclusive of these there are many
lesser advantages that go in diminution of the expence.
J he li>hery, as we have said above, produces different^
>y ^ different seasons; but it is judged ’to be a very
good one when it produces 300,000 quintals of fish and
3000 barrels of oil, both equally saleable and valuable
commodities. As every ship carries twelve, and each
of their boats eight men, and as these return home in
six months, there cannot be a more noble nursery for
5 ^ seamen.
N E W
r
Newfound
land.
Se3mcn. The artificers and traders employed in build¬
ing, victualling, and repairing these vessels, are very nu-
merous in the respective ports from winch they sad
These circumstances justify the particular attention paid
by government to this branch of the public service , m
respect to which that they may be wel informed, an an¬
nual and very distinct account, by which the whole is
seen at one view, is delivered by the proper oflicer to
the governor of Newfoundland, that is, to the commo¬
dore of his majesty’s squadron. Mr 1 ennant, m the
appendix to his Arctic Zoology, gives us,_ from what
appears to he very good authority, the following account
of this island. ,
“Within the circuit of 60 miles of the southeill
cart, the country is hilly, hut not mountainous. Ihe
bills increase in height as they recede from the sea ,
their course is irregular, not torming a chain of nils,
but rising and falling abruptly. 'I he coasts are high,
and the shores most remarkably bold. 1 he same may
be said of almost every part of this vast island. ie
country is much wooded, and the hills (such as have
not flat tops to admit the rain to stagnate on them) are
clothed with birch, with hazel, spruce, b-', and pine,-all
small ; which is chiefly owing to the inhabitants taki g
off the bark to cover the fish stages. 1 his peninsula is
so indented by the fine and deep bays of Placentia, > t
yyS ] NEW
but as they catch fish, they supply themselves with a shell Newfound-
fish called clams, which is found in the belly ol the cod. land
The next bait is the lobster > after that the herring and
the launce, which last till June, when the capelan comes t
on the coast, and is another bait. In August the squid
comes into use, and finally the herring again. The
greatest number of cod fish taken by a single fisheiman
or me procuring ot spar-   > ' i • i
island is on all sides pierced with deep bays, which pen-
insulate it in manv places by isthmuses most remarkably
narrow.—The mountains on the south-west side, near
the sea, are very high, and terminate in lolty headlands ,
such are Chapeau Rouge, a most remarkably high pro¬
montory, Cape St Mary’s, and Cape le Hune. Such in
general is the formation ol the island-, on the north-
cast, most of the hills in the interior part of the coun¬
try terminate pyramidically, but form no chain. I be
interior parts of the country consist chiefly ol morasses,
or dry barren hummocks, or level land, with trequent
lakes'or ponds, and in some places covered with stunted
black spruce. The rivers of Newfoundland are unlit
for navigation, but they are of use in floating (-nvn
the wood with the summer floods. Still the rivers and
the brooks are excellent guides for the hunters ot
beavers and other animals, to penetrate up the country,
which as yet has never been done deeper than 30 miles.
Near the brooks it is that timber is commonly met
with, but seldom above three or four miles inland, and
in valleys-, the hills in the northern district being na¬
ked and barren. . „
“ In some parts of Newfoundland there is timber suf¬
ficiently large for the building of merchant ships : the
hulk is made of juniper, and the pine furnishes masts
and yards j but as yet none has been found large
enough for a mast for a large cutter. 1 he fishery is
divided into two seasons-, that on the shore, or the
shore season, commences about the 2cth ol April, and
ends about the 10th of October -, the boats fish in from
four to 20 fathoms of water. The most important, the
bank fishing season, begins the lOtli of May, and con¬
tinues till the last of September, and is carried on 111 30
to 45 fathoms deep of water. Banking vessels have
sailed from St John’s to the bank as early as the 1 2th
sf April- At first they use pork or birds for a bait 3
in the season has been 12,coo, but the average is 7000.
The largest fish which has been taken was four feet
three inches long, and weighed 46 pounds. A bank¬
ing vessel ol 10,000 fish ought to be filled 111 three
weeks, and so in proportion 3 and 80 quintals i^ii^lb.
each) for a boat in the same time.
“ In 1785, 541 English vessels fished on the hank, a.
number exceeding that of the trench. A heap of
dried fish, 20 feet long and ten wide, and lour deep,
contains 300 quintals. Such a heap settles, in the
course of 48 hours after it is made, about TV. An ex¬
traordinary splitter will split five quintals ol^ fish 111 an
hour. The average in that time is two. I here is no
fishing during winter, on account of the inclemency
of the season. It is supposed that the fish in a great
measure quit the banks before that time, as in gencial
thov urn very scarce when the fishing vessels go upon
the banks early in the spring.
“ There are a few small towns on the coasts, which
have gardens sown with English pmse 3 but many of
the inhabitants quit the country in winter.
“ An admiral or some sea officer is generally gover¬
nor of Newfoundland.”
NEWMARKET, in Cambridgeshire, 13 miles from
Cambridge, 13 from St Edmundsbury, and 60 from
London, is a town with one long street, the. north side
in Suffolk, the south side in Cambridgeshire. It is a
healthy place, and a great thoroughfare in the road fiom
London to Norfolk 3 but stands mostly by the horse
races every vear in April and October, here being the
finest course in England 3 on which there is a house for
the kin<r when he comes to the races, which rvas bunt
by Charles II. The king gives a plate or two every
year, besides those given by the nobility 3 and wagers
are laid upon the horses, which are seldom under 500k
and often above 1000I. Here are two coffeehouses, at
which, every night and morning during the races, there
is gaming, as there is also at the houses ot the nobility
and gentry. Here are also cock matches. Here is a
little chapel, which is a chapel of ease to the mother
church at Ditton ; and another in the Suflolk su.e,
which is parochial. The town was burnt in 1683, but
soon rebuilt 3 and in 1811 contained 1917 inhabitants.
NEWROSS, a borough town in the county ot
Wexford, and province ot Leinster in Ireland, 67 miles
from Dublin. This town was formerly walled, and
some of the gates still remain. It lies on the river
Barrow, which is here very deep, and ships of burden
can come up to the quay even when the tide is cut.
The church is large, but the customhouse and quay
are both small, and sometimes overflooded many teet,
It is one of the staple ports for exporting wool, yet
its trade is but inconsiderable 3 beef and butter arc the
principal articles exported. Here is a barrack for a
troop of horse, and a good lerry into the county ot
Kilkenny. Near this town is a charter school. It
is also a post town, and gives title of tarl to the fami¬
ly of Gore. It was formerly fortified, and adorned
J with
N E W [ ?
with many religious houses, among which \Vas a Crouch¬
ed friary, built on the summit of a hill in the town ;
but one ol the friars having killed a principal inhabi¬
tant, the whole body ol the people arose, put the friars
to death, and totally destroyed the friary ; on the site
of which the monastery of St Saviour, for conventual
Franciscans, was afterwards erected by Sir John Deve-
yeux } and the east enti of this last building is now the
parish church. A friary for Eremites, following the
rule of St Augustine, was also founded here in the reiam
of F.dward Ilf.
NLVi SPAPERS, periodical publications, daily,
weekly, &c. for the purpose of communicating to the
world every thing of importance, whether political or
literary, &c. which is going on. They have tended
much to the dissemination of learning, and have served
many other valuable purposes j and while they are car¬
ried on with candour, impartiality, and ability, they are
unquestionably a great national"benefit. When this,
ho "ever, is not the ease, and it often happens, they dis¬
grace their authors, and are highly injurious to the pub¬
lic. They were first published in England, August 22.
1642. Journal de Spavan?, a French paper, was first
published in 1665, though one was printed in England,
under the title of the Public Intelligencer, by Sir Ro¬
ger L’Estrange, 1663, which he dropped, on the pub*
lication ol the first Eondon Gazette. Newspapers and
pamphlets were prohibited by royal proclamation 1680.
Though at the Revolution prohibitions of this kind
were done away, and the press set at liberty, yet news¬
papers were afterwards made objects of taxation^ and
for this purpose were first stamped in 1733. The number
‘of them, however, gradually increased ; and there were
printed in the whole kingdom during the years 1775,
12,680,00D } 1776,12,830,0005 1777, 13,150,6425
1778, 13,240,059 5 1779, 14,106,8425 1780,
14,217,3715 1781, 14,397,6205 1782, 15,272,519.
They are now still more numerous. The average num¬
ber of newspapers printed in England at the close of
the reign of George If. was 9,464,790. The number
in 1790, was 14,034,6395 in 1792, it was 15,605,760*
ChalmerJ Life of Huddiman, p. 442.
NEW Style, first used in England in 1753, was
introduced into the western world by Pope Gregory
XIII. See Chronology, N° 24.
NEWT, or Eft, the common lizard. See Lacer-
ta, Erpetology Index*
NEWTON, Sir Isaac, one of the greatest philo¬
sophers and mathematicians the world has ever produ¬
ced, was the only child of Mr John Newton of Coles-
worth, not far from Grantham in Lincolnshire, who had
an estate of about 120I. per annum, which he kept in
his own hands. He was born at that place on Christ¬
mas day 1642* His father dying when he was young,
his mother’s brother, a clergyman of the name of Jys-
cough, or Askew, who lived near her, and directed all
her affairs after the death of Mr Newton, put her son
to school at Grantham. When he had finished his
school learning, his mother took him home, intend¬
ing, as she had no other child, to have the pleasure of
his company 5 and that he, as his father had done,
should occupy his own estate. But his uncle happen¬
ing to find him in a hay loft at Grantham working a
mathematical problem, and having otherwise observed
the boy’s mind to he uncommonly bent upon learning,
79 1 N E W
he prevailed upon her to part with hiin 5 and she sent Xt-wum
him to Trinity College in Cambridge, where her brother, '—-
having himself been a member of it, had still many
friends. Isaac was soon taken notice of by Dr Isaac
Barrow 5 who, observing his bright genius, contracted
a great friendship for him. M. de Fontenelle tells us,
“ Chat in learning mathematics he did not study Eu¬
clid, who seemed to him tob plain and simple, and un¬
worthy of taking up his time. He understood him al¬
most before he read him 5 and a cast of his eye upon the
contents of his theorems'was sufficient to make him ma-
ster of them. He advanced at once to the geometry of
Des Cartes, Kepler’s Optics, &c. It is certain that
he had made his great discoveries in geometry, and laid
the foundation of his two famous works, the Prinafia
and Optics, by the time he was 24 years of age.”
In 1664, he took the degree of bachelor of arts 5 and
in 1668 that of master, being elected the year before,
fellow of his college. He had before this time disco¬
vered the method of fluxions 5 and in 1669 he was
chosen professor of mathematics in the university of
Cambridge, upon the resignation of Mr Barrow. The
same year, and the two following, he read a course of
optical lectures in Latin, in the public schools of the
university 5 an English translation of which was print¬
ed at London in 1728, in 8vo, as w'as the Latin ori¬
ginal the next year in 410. From the year 1671 to
1679, he held a correspondence by letters with Mr
Henry Oldenburg secretary of the Royal Society, ami
Mr John Collins fellow of that society 5 which letters
contain a variety of curious observations.
Concerning the origin of his discoveries, we are told
that as he sat alone in a garden, the falling of some
apples from a tree led him into a speculation on the
power of gravity 5 that as this pow'er is not diminished
at the remotest distance from the centre of the earth to
which we can rise, it appeared to him reasonable to
conclude, that it must^ extend much farther than wras
usually thought 5 and pursuing this speculation, by
comparing the periods of the several planets with their
distances from the sun, he found, that if any power
like gravity held them in their courses, its strength
must decrease in the duplicate proportion of the in¬
crease of distance. This inquiry was dropped 5 but re¬
sumed again, and gave rise to his writing the treatise
which he published in 1687, under the name of Ji#-
thematical Principles of Natural Philosophy ; a w ork
looked upon as the production of a celestial intelligence
lather than of a man. The very same year in which
this great work was published, the university of Cam¬
bridge was attacked by King James II. when Mr Newr-
ton Was one of its most zealous defenders, arid was ac¬
cordingly nominated one of the delegates of that uni¬
versity to the high-commission court 5 and the next
year he was chosen one of their members for the con¬
vention parliament, in which he sat till it w'as dissolved.
In 1696, Mr Montague, then chancellor of the exche¬
quer, and afterwards earl of Halifax, obtained for him
of the king the office of warden of the hunt 5 in which
employment he wits of signal service, when the money
was called in to be recoined. Three years after, he
was appointed master of the mint 5 a place of very con¬
siderable profit, which he held till his death. In 1699,
he was elected one of the members of the Royal Aca-.
demy of Sciences at Baris. In 1701, he was a second
? F 2 time
N E Wr [ 78
time cliosen member of parliament for tbe university ot
Cambridge. In 1704, he published his Optics ; which
is a piece of philosophy so new, that the science may be
considered as entirely indebted to our author. In 1705,
be was knighted by Queen Anne. In 1707, he pub¬
lished his Arithmctica Universalis. In 1711, his Ava-
hjsis per Quantitatam Series, Fluxioncs ct Differentias,
otc. was published by William Jones, Kscj. In \*]\ 1,
several letters of his were published in the Commercmm
Kpistolicum. In the reign of George I. he was bet¬
ter known at court than before. rI he princess of
Wales, afterwards queen consort of England, used
frequently to propose questions to him, and to declare
that she thought herself happy to live at the same time
with him, and have the pleasure and advantages of Ins
conversation. He had written a treatise of ancient
chronology, which he did not think of publishing •, but
the princess desired an abstract, which she would never
part with. However, a copy of it stole abroad, and
was carried into France, where it was translated and
printed, with some observations, which were afterwards
answered by Sir Isaac. But, in 1728, the Chronology
itself was published at London in quarto ; and was at¬
tacked by several persons, and as zealously defended by
Sir Isaac’s friends. The main design of it was to find
out, from some tracts of the most ancient Greek astro¬
nomy, what was tbe position of tbe colures with respect
to the fixed stars, in the time of Chiron the centaur.
As it is now known that these stars have a motion m
longitude of one degree in 72 years, if it be once known
through what fixed stars the colure passed in Chiron’s
time, by taking the distance of these stars from those
through which it now passes, we might determine what
number of years has elapsed since Chiron s time. As
Chiron was one of the Argonauts, this would fix the
time of that famous expedition, and consequently that
of the Trojan war j the two great events upon which
all ancient chronology depends. Sir Isaac places them
1500 years nearer the birth of Christ than other chro-
nologers have done.
This great man had all along enjoyed a settled and
equal state of health to the age of 80, when he began
to be afflicted with an incontinence of urine. However,
for the five following years, he had great intervals of
ease, which he procured by the observance of a strict
regimen. It was then believed that he certainly had
the stone *, and when the paroxysms were so violent,
that large drops of sweat ran down his face, he never
uttered the least complaint, or expressed the smallest de¬
gree of impatience j but, as soon as he had a moment’s
ease, would smile and talk with his usual cheerfulness.
Till then he always read and wrote several hours in a
day. He had the perfect use of all his senses and un¬
derstanding till the day before he died, which was on
the 20th of March 1726-7, in the 85th year of his age.
He lay in state in the Jerusalem chamber at Westmin¬
ster, and on the 28th of March his body was conveyed
into Westminster abbey j the pall being supported by
the lord chancellor, the dukes of Montrose and Rox¬
burgh, and the earls of Pembroke, Sussex, and Mac¬
clesfield. The bishop of Rochester read the funeral
service, being attended by all tbe clergy of the church.
The corpse was interred just at the entrance into the
cbpir, where a noble monument is erected to his memory.
Sir Isaac was of a njiddling stature, and in the latter
D ] N E W
part of his life somewhat inclined to be fat. His conn- K«
tenance was pleasing, and at the same time venerable. '~_
He never made use of spectacles, and lost but one tooth
during his whole life.
His temper is said to have been so equal and miid,
that no accident could disturb it. Ot this the follow¬
ing remarkable instance is related. Sir Isaac had a
favourite little dog, which he called iAiamovd > and
being one day called out of his study into the next
room, Diamond was left behind. When Sir Isaac re¬
turned, having been absent but a few minutes, he had
the mortification to find, that Diamond having thrown
down a lighted candle among some papers, the nearly
finished labour of many years was in flames, and almost
consumed to ashes. This loss, as Sir Isaac was then
very far advanced in years, was irretrievable j yet with¬
out once striking the dog, he only rebuked him with
this exclamation, “ Oh ! Diamond ! Diamond ! tbsou
little knowest the mischief thou hast done !”
He was a great lover of peace, and would rather
have chosen to remain in obscurity than to have the
calm of life ruffled by those storms and disputes which
genius and learning always draw upon tnose that are
peculiarly eminent for them. In contemplating his ge¬
nius it presently becomes a doubt, which ot these en¬
dowments had the greatest share, sagacity, penetration,
strength or diligence and after all, the mark that
seems most to distinguish it is, that he himstif made
the justest estimation of it, declaring, that, if he had
done the world any service, it was due to nothing but
industry and patient thought j that he kept the sub¬
ject under consideration constantly before him. and
waited till the first dawning opened gradually, by
little and little, into a full and clear light. It is said,
that when he had any mathematical problems or so¬
lutions in bis mind, he would never quit the subject
on any account. Dinner has been often three boms
ready for him before be could be brought to table : and
his man often said, when he has been getting up in a
morning, he has sometimes begun to dress, and with
one leg in his breeches sat down again on the bed,
where he has remained for hours before he got his
clothes on. From lus love of peace, no doubt, aiose
that unusual kind of horror which he had for all dis¬
putes } a steady unbroken attention, free from those
frequent recoilings inseparably incident to others, was
bis peculiar felicity j he knew it, and he knew the va¬
lue of it. No wonder then that controversy was look¬
ed on as his bane. When some objections, hastily made
to his discoveries concerning light and colours, induced
him to lay aside the design he had ol publishing
his optic lectures, we find him reflecting on that dis¬
pute, into which he was unavoidably drawn thereby, in
these terms : 44 I blamed my own imprudence for part¬
ing with so real a blessing as my quiet, to run alter a
shadow.” It is true this shadow (as Mr Fontenelle
observes) did not escape him afterwards, nor did it cost
him that quiet which he so much valued, but proved
as much a real happiness to him as his quiet itsellj yet
this was a happiness of his own making : he took a
resolution, from these disputes, not to publish any more
about that theory till he had put it above the reach
of controversy, by the exaetest experiments and the
strictest demonstrations ; and accordingly it has never
been called in question since. In the same temper, ai-
NEW [ 7
Xer.'ior. tt'v he had sent the manuscript of Ills 'Principia to the
—v 1 Royal .Society, with his consent to the printing of it
by them, upon Mr Hook’s injuriously insisting that
himself had demonstrated Kepler’s problem before our
author, he determined, rather than be involved again
in a controversy, to suppress the third book, and was
very hardly prevailed upon to alter that resolution. It
is true, the public was thereby a gainer j that book,
which is indeed no more than a corollary of some pro¬
positions in the first, being originally drawn up in the
popular way, with the design to publish it in that form j
whereas he was now convinced that it would he best
not to let it go abroad without a strict demonstration.
After all, notwithstanding his anxious care to avoid
every occasion of breaking his intense application to
study, he was at a great distance from being steeped in
philosophy: on the contrary, he could lay aside his
thoughts, though engaged in the most intricate resear¬
ches, when his other affairs required his attendance j
and as soon as he had leisure, resume the subject attbe
point where he had left off. This he seems to have
done not so much hy any extraordinary strength of
memory, as by the force of his inventive faculty, to
which every thing opened itself again with ease, if no¬
thing intervened to ruffle him. The readiness of his
invention made him not think of putting his memory
much to trial: but this wras the offspring of a vi¬
gorous intenseness of thought, out of which he was but
a common man. He spent therefore, the prime of his
age in those abstruse researches, when his situation in
a college gave him leisure, and even while study was his
proper profession. But as soon as he was removed to
the mint, he applied himself chiefly to the business of
that office ; and so far quitted mathematics and philo¬
sophy, as not to engage in any pursuits of either kind
afterwards.
The amiable quality of modesty is represented as
standing foremost in the character of this great man’s
mind and manners. It was in reality greater than can
he easily imagined, or will be readily believed j yet it
always continued so without any alteration, though
the whole world, says Fontenelle, conspired against it;
and let us add, though he was thereby robbed of bis
invention of fluxions. Nicholas Mercator publishing
bis Lognrithmotechnia in 1668, where be gave the qua¬
drature of the hyperbola by an infinite series, which was
the first appearance in the learned world of a series of
this sort draw n from the particular nature of the curve,
and that in a manner very new and abstracted ; Dr Bar-
row, then at Cambridge,where Mr Newton, at that time
about 26 years of age, resided, recollected that be bad
met with the same thing in the writings of that young
gentleman ; and there not confined to the hyperbola
only, but extended, by general forms, to all sorts of
curves, even such as are mechanical ; to their quadra¬
tures, their rectifications, and their centres of gravity;
to the solids formed by their rotations, and to the su¬
perficies of those solids ; so that, when their determi¬
nations were possible, the series stopped at a certain
point, or at least their sums were given by stated rules:
and, if the absolute determinations were impossible,
thev could yet be infinitely approximated ; which is
the happiest and most refined method, says Mr Fonte¬
nelle, of supplying the defects of human knowledge
»hat man’s imagination could possibly invent. To be
2
i j N E \V
master of so fruitful and general a theory was a mine of
gold to a geometrician; but it was a greater glory to
have been the discoverer of so surprising and ingenious
a system. So that Mr Newton finding, by Merca¬
tor’s book, that lie was in the wav to it, and that
others might follow in his track, should naturally have
been forward to open his treasures, and secure the pro¬
perty, which consisted in making the discovery ; but
be contented himself with his treasure which he had
found, without regarding the glory. What an idea
does it give us of his unparalleled modesty, when we
see him declaring, that he thought Mercator had en¬
tirely discovered his secret, or that others would, be¬
fore he was of a proper age for writing? His MS. up¬
on infinite series was communicated to none but Mr
John Collins and the lord Brounker; and even that
had not been complied with, but for Dr Barrow, who
would not suffer him to indulge his modesty so much
as he desired.
It is further observed, concerning this part of his_
character, that he never talked either of himself or
others, nor ever behaved in such a manner as to give
the most malicious censurers the least occasion even to
suspect him of vanity. He was candid and affable, and
always put himself upon a level with his company, ille
never thought either his merit or his reputation suffi¬
cient to excuse him from any of the common offices of
social life ; no singularities, either natural or affected,
distinguished him from other men. Though he was
firmly attached to the church of England, he was
averse to the persecution of the non-conformists. He
judged of men hy their manners ; and the true schis¬
matics, in his opinion, were the vicious and the wicked.
Not that he confined his principles to natural religion,
for he was thoroughly persuaded of the truth of reve¬
lation ; and amidst the great variety of books which he
had constantly before him, that which he studied with
the greatest application was the Bible: and he under¬
stood the nature and force of moral certainty as well
as he did that of a strict demonstration.
Sir Isaac did not neglect the opportunities of doing
good, wrhen the revenues of his patrimony, and a pro¬
fitable employment, improved hy a prudent economy,
put it in his power. We have two remarkable instances
of his bounty and generosity ; one to Mr M‘Laurin,
professor of mathematics at Edinburgh, to whom he
offered 20I. per annum, and the other to his niece Bar¬
ton, on whom lie settled an annuity of 100I. When
decency upon any occasion required expence and show,,
he was magnificent without grudging it, and with a
very good grace ; at all other times, that pomp which
seems great to low minds only, was utterly retrenched,
and the expence reserved for better uses. He never
married, and perhaps he never had leisure to think of -
it. Being immersed in profound studies during the
prime of his age, and afterwards engaged in an employ¬
ment of great importance, and even quite taken up with
the company which his merit drew to him, he was not
sensible of any vacancy in life, or of the want of a com¬
panion at home. He left 32,000!. at his death ; but
made no will, which Mr Fontenelle tells us was because
he thought a legacy was no gift. As to his works,
besides what were published in his lifetime, there were
found after his death, among his paper's, several discour¬
ses upon subjects of antiquity, history, divinity, chemi¬
stry,.
NEW
.[ 782 ]
NEW
Nfewto ti,
>\ cwtoni in
,rhilosophy.
Different
opinions
concernin'
this pliilo*
■f'cpliy.
Definitions
mi which
the philo¬
sophy is
founded.
stry, find mathematics, several oi which tvere published
at dift’ereht times.
AewtoviaxPlulosopJnj, the doctrirte of the universe,
and particularly of the heavenly bodies, their laws, af¬
fections, &c. as delivered by Sir Isaac Newton.
The term Newtonian Philosophy is applied very dif¬
ferently ; whence divers confused notions relating
thereto. Some authors under this philosophy include
all the corpuscular philosophy, Considered as it now
stands corrected and reformed by the discoveries and
improvements made in several parts thereof by Sir
Isaac Newton. In which sense it is that Gravesande
calls his elementsof physics, Introductio adPhilosophiam
Ncwlonianam. And in this sense the Newtonian is the
same with the new philosophy $ and stands contradistin¬
guished from the Cartesian, the Peripatetic, and the
ancient Corpuscular.
Others, by Newtonian philosophy, mean the method
or order which Sir Isaac Newton observes in philoso¬
phizing •, viz. the reasoning and drawing of conclu¬
sions directly from phenomena, exclusive ot all previous
hypotheses: the beginning from simple principles j de¬
ducing the first powers and laws of nature from a tew
select phenomena, and then applying those laws, &c.
to account for other things. And in this sense the
Newtonian philosophy is the same with the experimental
philosophy, and stands opposed to the ancient corpuscu¬
lar.
Others, by Newtonian philosophy, mean that where¬
in physical bodies are considered mathematically, and
where geometry and mechanics are applied to the so¬
lution of the appearances ot nature. In which sense the
Newtonian is the same with the mechanical and mathe¬
matical philosophy.
Others again, by Newtonian philosophy, understand
that part of physical knowledge which Sir Isaac New¬
ton has handled, improved, and demonstrated, in his
Principia.
Others, lastly, by Newtonian philosophy, mean the
new principles which Sir Isaac Newton has brought
into philosophy j the new system founded thereon j
and the new solutions of phenomena thence deduced ;
or that which characterizes and distinguishes his philo¬
sophy from all others.—Which is the sense wherein we
shall chiefly consider it.
As to the history of this philosophy, We have no¬
thing to add to what has been given in the preceding
article. It was first made public in the year 1687,
by the author, then a fellow of Trinity College, Cam¬
bridge, and in the year 1713, republished with consi¬
derable improvements.-—Several authors have since at¬
tempted to make it plainer } by setting aside many of
the more sublime mathematical researches, and substi¬
tuting either more obvious reasonings or experiments
in lieu thereof} particularly Whiston in his Prcelect.
Phys. Mathemat. Gravesande in Element, et Instit. and
Dr Pemberton in his View,
The whole of the Newtonian philosophy, as delivered
by the author, is contained in his Principia or Mathe¬
matical Principles of Natural Philosophy. He founds his
system on the following definitions :
I. The quantity of matter is the measure of the
same, arising from its density and bulk conjunctly.—
Thus air of a double density, in a double space, is
quadruple in quantity j in a triple space, sextuple in Newtonian
quantity, &c. riiilosopbt,
2. The quantity of motion is the measure of the1 v '
same, arising from the velocity and quantity of mat¬
ter conjunctly. This is evident, because the motion
of the whole is the motion of all its parts 5 and there¬
fore in a body double in quantity, with equal Velocity,
the motion is double, £tc. 3
3. The vis insit a, or innate force of matter, is a.Visimita
power of resisting, by which every body, as much asdefmc;(i a*u*
m it lies, endeavours to persevere in its present state,
whether it be of rest, or moving uniformly forward in
a right line.—This definition is proved to be just, only
by the difficulty we find in moving any thing out of
its place 5 and this difficulty is by some reckoned to
proceed only from gravity. They contend, that in
those cases where we can prevent the force of gravity
from acting upon bodies, this power of resistance be¬
comes insensible, and the greatest quantities of matter
mav he put in motion by the very least force. Thus
there have been balances formed so exact, that when
loaded with 200 weight in each scale, they would turn
by the addition of a single drachm. In this case
4'oolb. of matter was put in motion by a single
drachm, i. e: by TT4wo Part its own quantity : and
even this small weight, they say, is only necessary on
account of the inaccuracy of the machine : so that we
have no reason to suppose, that, if the friction could
be entirely removed, it would take more force to move
a tun weight than a grain of sand. This objection,
however, is not taken notice of by Sir Isaac : and he
bestows on the resisting power above mentioned the
name of vis inert ice j a P1 irase which is perhaps not well
chosen, and with which inferior writers have endeavour¬
ed to make their readers merry at the expence of New¬
ton. A force of inactivity, it has been said, is * forceless
force and analogous to a black white, a cold heat, and
a tempestuous calm.
But objections of more importance have been made
to the whole of this doctrine than those which merely
respect the term vis inertia:. “ An endeavour to re¬
main at rest (we are told*) is unnecessary, whilst no-* Young's
thing attempts to disturb the rest. It is likewise
possible to be conceived, as it implies a contradiction.
A man, by opposing iorce to lorce, may endeavouryOMt.^j)t.
not to be moved ; but this opposition is an endeavour/mrtions of
to move, not with a design to move, but by counter-the first
acting another force to prevent being moved. An^J/.^
endeavour not to move therefore cannot exist in bo-
dies, because it is absurd ) and if we appeal to fact,
we shall find every body in an actual and constant en¬
deavour to move.” It has been likewise observed,
and we think justly, that “ if bodies could continue t»
move by any innate force, they might also begin to
move by that force. For the same cause which can
move a body with a given velocity at one time, could
do it, if present, at any other time ; and therefore if
the force by which bodies continue in motion were
innate and essential to them, they would begin to
move of themselves, which is not true.” Newton
indeed says that this innate force is the cause of
motion under certain circumstances only, or when the
body is acted upon by a force impressed ab extra.
But if this impressed force do not continue as well
NEW [ ?
Newtonian as begin the motion, if it cease tbe instant that
Philosophy, the impression is over, and the body continue to
' move by its vis mcrticc, why is tbe body ever stopped ?
‘‘ If in the beginning of the motion the body, by
its innate force, overcomes a certain resistance of fric¬
tion and air, in any following times, the force being
undiminished, it will overcome the same resistance for
ever. 1 hese resistances, therefore, could never change
the state of a moving body, because they cannot
change the quantity of its motive force. But this is
contrary to universal experience.” For these reasons
we are inclined to think that bodies are wholly pas¬
sive ; that they endeavour nothing j and that they con¬
tinue in motion not by any innate force or vis insita,
but by that force, whatever it be, which begins the
motion, and which, whilst it remains with the moving
body, is gradually diminished, and at last overcome by
opposite forces, when the body of course ceases to
move.
4. An impressed force is an action exerted upon a
body, in order to change its state, either of rest or of
moving uniformly forward in a right line.—This force
consists in the action only j and remains no longer
in the body when the action is over. For a body
maintains every new state it acquires by its vis inertice
only.
It is here implied, and indeed fully expressed, that
motion is not continued by the same power that pro¬
duced it. Now there are two grounds on which the
truth of this doctrine may be supposed to rest.
“ First, On a direct proof that the impressed force
does not remain in the body, either by'showing the
nature of the force to be transitory and incapable of
more than its first action ; or that it acts only on the
surface, and that the body escapes from it; or that the
force is somewhere else, and not remaining in the body.
But none of these direct proofs are offered.
“ Secondly, It may rest on an indirect proof, that
there is in the nature of body a sufficient cause for
the continuance of every new state acquired ; and
that therefore any adventitious force to continue mo¬
tion, though necessary for its production, is super¬
fluous and inadmissible. As this is the very ground
on which the supposition stands, it ought to have been
indubitably certain that the innate force of the body
is sufficient to perpetuate the motion it has once ac¬
quired, before the other agent, by which the motion
was communicated, had been dismissed from the office.
But the innate force of body has been shown not
to be that which continues its motion •, and there¬
fore the proof, that the impressed force does not re¬
main in the body, fails. Nor indeed is it in this case
desirable to support the proof, because we should then
be left without any reason for the continuance of mo-
* Youngs t*011*'” When we mention an impressed force, we
F.xamina- mean such a force as is communicated either at the
lion, See. surface of tbe body or by being diffused through the
mass.
5. A centripetal force is that by which bodies are
drawn, impelled, or any way tend towards a point, as
to a centre.—Tbe quantity of any centripetal force may
be considered as of three kinds, absolute, accelerative,
and motive.
6. The absolute quantity of a centrifugal force is tbe
measure of the same, proportional to tbe efficacy cf the
83 ] N E W
cause that propagates it from the centre, through the Newtonian
spaces round it. Philosophy.
7. The accelerative quantity of a centripetal force is '
the measure of the same, proportional to the velocity
which it generates in a given time.
8. The motive quantity of a centripetal force is a
measure of the same, proportional to the motion
which it generates in a given time. This is always
known by the quantity of a force equal and contrary
to it, that is just sufficient to hinder the descent of the
body.
Scholia.
I. Absolute, true, and mathematical time, of itself, of time,
and from its own nature, flows equably, without re¬
gard to any thing external, and, by another name, is
called duration. Relative, apparent, and common time,
is* some sensible and external measure of duration,
whether accurate or not, which is commonly used in¬
stead of true time; such as an hour, a day, a month, a
year, &c.
II. Absolute space, in its own nature, without re- Space,
gard to any thing external, remains always similar and
immoveable. Relative space is some moveable dimen¬
sion or measure of the absolute spaces ; and which is
vulgarly taken for immoveable space. Such is the d£
mension of a subterraneous, an aerial, or celestial space,,
determined by its position to bodies, and which is vul¬
garly taken for immoveable space } as tbe distance of
-a subterraneous, an aerial, or celestial space, deter¬
mined by its position in respect of the earth, Abso¬
lute and relative space are the same in figure and mag¬
nitude ; but they do not remain always numerically
tbe same. For if the earth, for instance, moves, a space
of our air which, relatively and in respect of the
earth, remains always the same, will at one time be one
part of the absolute space into which the earth passes j
at another time it will be another part of the same ;
and so, absolutely understood, it will be perpetually
mutable. ^
III. Place is a part of space which a body takes Place de-
up ; and is, according to the space, either absolute orfilie(h
relative. Our author says it is part of space 5 not the
situation, nor the external surface of the body. For
tbe places of equal solids are always equal; but their
superficies, by reason of their dissimilar figures, are of¬
ten unequal. Positions properly have no quantity, nor
are they so much tbe places themselves as the proper¬
ties of places. The motion of the whole is the samo
thing with the sum of the motions of the parts 5 that
is, the translation of the whole out of its place is the
same thing with the sum of the translations of the parts
out of their places : and therefore the place of the
whole is the same thing with the sum of tile places of
the parts ; and for that reason it is internal, and in the
whole body.
IV. Absolute motion is the translation of a bodyQf
from one absolute place into another, and relative mo¬
tion the translation from one relative place into ano¬
ther. Thus, in a ship under sail, the relative place of
a body is that part of the ship which the body pos-<
sesses, or that part of its cavity which the body fills,
and which therefore moves together with the ship ;
and relative rest is the continuance of the body in the
same part of the ship, or of its cavity. But real
absolute
NEW [
Newtonian absolute rest is the continuance ot' the hoOV tu the
Philosophy, same part of that immoveable space in which the ship
^ v ' itself, its cavity, and all that it contains, is moved.
Wherefore, if the earth is really at rest, the body
which relatively rests in the ship will really and abso¬
lutely move with the same velocity which the ship has
on the earth. But if the earth also moves, the true
and absolute motion of the body will arise, partly from
the true motion of the earth in immoveable space *,
partly from the relative motion of the ship on toe
earth : and if the body moves also relatively in the
ship, its true motion will arise partly from the true mo¬
tion of the earth in immoveable space, and partly from
the relative motions as well of the ship on the earth as
of the body in the ship •, and from these relative mo-
tions will arise the relative motion of the body on the
earth. As if that part of the earth where the ship is,
was truly moved towards the east, with a \clocity ol
iooTO parts ; while the ship itself with a fresh gale is
carried towards the west, with a velocity expressed by .
IO of these parts } but a sailor walks in the ship to¬
wards the east wkh one part of the said velocity : then
the sailor will be moved truly and absolutely in im¬
moveable space towards the east with a velocity of
loot parts : and relatively on the earth towards the
west, with a velocity of 9 those parts..
Absolute time, in astronomy, is distinguished from
relative, by the equation or correction of the vulgar
time. For the natural days are truly unequal, though
" they are commonly considered as equal, and used for a
measure of time : astronomers correct this inequality
for their more accurate deducing of the celestial mo¬
tions. It may he that there is no such thing as an
equable motion whereby time may be accurately mea¬
sured. All motions may be accelerated or retarded *,
hut the true or equable progress of absolute time is
liable to no change. The duration or perseverance of
the existence of things remains the same, whether the
motions are swift or slow, or none at all j and there¬
fore ought to be distinguished from what are only
sensible measures thereof, and out of which we collect
it by means of the astronomical equation. The ne¬
cessity of which equation for determining the times of
a phenomenon is evinced, as well from the experiments
of the pendulum clock as by eclipses of the satellites of
8 Jupiter.
1 mnmtabi- As the order of the parts of time is immutable, so
Jityof time also is the order of the parts of space. Suppose those
iand space. parts to be moved out of their places, and they will he
moved (if-we may be allowed the expression) out of
themselves. For times and spaces are, as it were,
the places of themselves as of all other things. All
things are placed in time as to order of succession ; and
in space as to order of situation. It is from their
essence or nature that they are places 5 and that the
primary places of things should be moveable is absurd.
These are therefore the absolute places j and transla-
; tions out of those places are the only absolute mo¬
tions.
But because the parts of space cannot be seen, or
distinguished from one another by the senses, therefore
in their stead we use sensible measures of them. For,
from the positions and distances of things from any
body, considered as immoveable, we define all place ;
and then with respect to such places, we estimate all
84 J N E W
motions, considering bodies as transferred from Some Newtonian
of those places into others. And so, instead of abso- Pl ilosophy.
lute places and motions, we use relative ones j and ““ ^ ■
that without anv inconvenience in common affairs :
but in philosophical disquisitions we ought to abstract
from our senses, and consider things themselves di¬
stinct from what are only sensible measures of them.
For it mav be, that there is no body really at rest,
to which the places and motions of others may be re¬
ferred.
But we may distinguish rest and motion, absolute
and relative, one from the other, by their properties,
causes, and effects. It is a property of rest, that
bodies really at rest do rest in respect of each other.
And therefore, as it is possible, that in the remote re¬
gions of the fixed stars, or perhaps far beyond them,
there may be some body absolutely at rest, though it be
impossible to know from the position of bodies to one
another in our regions, whether any of these do keep
the same position to that remote body ; it follows, that
absolute rest cannot be determined from the position of
bodies in our regions. <,
It is a property of motion, that the parts which Of the mo-
retain given positions to their wholes do partake of the
motion of their wholes. For all parts of revolving
bodies endeavour to recede from the axis of motion •, rcspe,t to
and the impetus of bodies moving forwards arises from one ano-
the joint impetus of all the parts. Therefore if sur-ther.
rounding bodies are moved, those that are relatively
at rest within them will partake of their motion.
Upon which account the true and absolute motion of
a body cannot be determined by the translation of it
from those only which seem to rest •, for the external
bodies ought not only to appear at rest, but to he
really at rest. For otherwise all included bodies, be¬
side their translation from near the surrounding ones,
partake likewise of their true motions ; and though
that translation was not made, they would not really
be at rest, but only seem to he so. For the sur¬
rounding bodies stand in the like relation to the sur¬
rounded, as the exterior part of a whole does to the
interior, or as the shell does to tlie kernel j hut if
the shell moves, the kernel will also move, as being
part of the whole, without any removal from near the
shell.
A propei’ty near akin to the preceding is, that if
a place is moved, whatever is placed therein moves
along with it j and therefore a body which is moved
from a place in motion, partakes also of the motion of
its place. Upon which account all motions from
places in motion, are no other than parts of entire
and absolute motions *, apd every entire motion is
composed of the motion of the body out of its first
place, and the motion of this place out of its place
and so on, until we come to some immoveable place, as
in the above-mentioned example of the sailor. A\ here-
fore entire and absolute motions can be no otherwise
determined than by immoveable places. Now, no
other places are immoveable but those that from in¬
finity to infinity do all retain the same given positions
one to another 5 and upon this account must ever re¬
main unmoved, and do thereby constitute what we call
immoveable space.
The causes by which true and relative motions are
distino-uished one from the other, are the forces ini-
IO
Absolute
and rela-
N E W
Newtonian pressed upon bodies to generate motion. True mo-
l-’lulosopliV; tion is neither generated nor altered, but by some foree
^ ' impressed upon the body moved : but relative motion
may be generated or altered without any force impres¬
sed upon the body. For it is sufficient only to impress
some force on other bodies with which the former is
compared, that by their giving way, that relation may
be changed, in which the relative rest or motion of the
other body did consist. Again, True motion suffers al¬
ways some change from any force impressed upon the
moving body j but relative motion does not necessarily
undergo any changes by such force. For if the same
forces are likewise impressed on those other bodies with
which the comparison is made, that the relative position
may be pieserved 5 then that condition will be preserv¬
ed, in which the relative motion consists. And there¬
fore any relative motion maybe changed when the true
motion remains unaltered, and the relative may be pre¬
served when the true motion suffers some change. Upon
which account true motion does by no means consist in
such relations.
The effects which distinguish absolute from relative
live motion n-0^0n ai e’ ^ie ^orces of receding from the axis of
distinguish-C!lcu^ar rnotjon* F°r there are no such forces in a
cd, circular motion purely relative ; but in a true and ab¬
solute circular motion, they are greater or less accord¬
ing to the quantity of the motion. If a vessel hung
by a long cord, is so often turned about that the cord
is strongly twisted, then filled with water, and let go,
it will be whirled about the contrary way; and while
the cord is untwisting itself, the surface of the water
will at first be plain, as before the vessel began to move ;
but the vessel, by gradually communicating its motion
to the water, will make it begin sensibly to revolve,
and recede by little and little from the middle, and as¬
cend to the sides of the vessel, forming itself into a con¬
cave figure ; and the swifter the motion becomes, the
higher will the water rise, till at last, performing its
revolutions in the same times with the vessel, it be¬
comes relatively at rest in it. This ascent of the wa¬
ter shows its endeavour to recede from the axis of its
motion j and the true and absolute circular motion of
the water, which is here directly contrary to the rela¬
tive, discovers itself, and may be measured by this en¬
deavour. At first, when the relative motion in the
water was greatest, it produced no endeavour to recede
from the axis; the water showed no tendency to the
circumference, nor any ascent towards the sides of the
vessel, but remained of a plane surface j and therefore
its true circular motion had not yet begun. But after¬
wards, when the relative motion of the water had de¬
creased, the ascent thereof towards the sides of the ves¬
sel proved its endeavour to recede from the axis ; and
this endeavour showed the real circular motion of the
water perpetually increasing, till it had acquired its
greatest quantity, when the water rested relatively in
the vessel. And therefore this endeavour does not de¬
pend upon any translation of the water in repect of the
ambient bodies 5 nor can true circular motion be de¬
fined by suedi translations. There is only one real circu¬
lar motion of anv one revolving body, corresponding to
only one power of endeavouring to recede from its axis
of motion, as its proper and adequate effect 5 but rela¬
tive motions in one and the same body are innume¬
rable, according to the various relations it bears to ex-
Vol. XIV. Part II.
[78S] N E W
ternal bodies j and, like other relations, aie altogether Newtonian
destitute of any real effect, otherwise than they may Philosophy.
perhaps participate of that only true motion. And  v 
therefore, in the system which supposes that our hea¬
vens, revolving below the sphere of the fixed stars,
carry the planets along with them, the several parts of
those heavens and the planets, which are indeed rela¬
tively at rest in their heavens, do yet really move. For
they change their position one to another, which never
happens to bodies truly at rest j and being carried to¬
gether with the heavens, participate of their motions,
and, as parts of revolving wholes, endeavour to recede
from the axis of their motion.
Wherefore relative quantities are not the quantities
themselves whose ’names they bear, but those sensible
measures of them, either accurate or inaccurate, which
are commonly used instead of the measured quantities
themselves. And then, if the meaning of words be
determined by their use, by the names time, space, place,
and motion, their measures are properly to be under¬
stood *, and the expression will be unusual and purely
mathematical, if the measured quantities themselves are
meant.
It is indeed a matter of great difficulty to discover,
and effectually to distinguish, the true motions of par¬
ticular bodies from those that are only apparent: be¬
cause the parts of that immoveable space in which those
motions are performed, do by no means come under
the observation of our senses. Yet we have some things
to direct us in this intricate affair 5 and these arise
partly from the apparent motions which are the dif¬
ference of the true motions, partly from the forces
which are the causes and effects of the true motions.
For instance, if two globes kept at a given distance
one from the other by means of a cord that connects
them, were revolved about their common centre of
gravity *, we might, from the tension of the cord, dis¬
cover the endeavour of the globes to recede from the
axis of motion, and from thence we might compute
the quantity of their circular motions. And then, if
any equal forces should be impressed at once on the
alternate faces of the globes to augment or diminish
their circular motions, from the increase or decrease
of the tension of the cord we might infer the incre¬
ment or decrement of their motions; and thence
would be found on what faces those forces ought to
be impressed, that the motions of the globes might be
most augmented j that is, we might discover their
hindermost faces, or those which follow in the circular
motion. But the faces which follow being known,
and consequently the opposite ones that precede, we
should likewise know the determination of their mo¬
tions. And thus we might find both the quantity and'
determination of this circular motion, even in an im¬
mense vacuum, where there was nothing external or
sensible with which the globes might be compared.
But now, if in that space some remote bodies were pla¬
ced that kept always a given position one to another, as
the fixed stars do in our regions; we could not indeed
determine from the relative translation of the globes a-
mong those bodies, whether the motion did belong to
the globes or to the bodies. But if we observed the
cord, and found that its tension was that very tension
which the motions of the globes required, we might con¬
clude the motion to be in the globes, and the bodies to
f 5 G be
Newtonian
Philosophy.
J,aws of
motion.
ii
Objections
to the first
law.
N E W [ 786
be at rest j and then, lastly, from the translation of the lorce
globes among the bodies, we should find the determina¬
tion of their motions.
Having thus explained himself, Sir Isaac proposes to
show how we are to collect the true motions from their
causes, effects, and apparent differences-, and vice versa,
how from the motion, either true or apparent, we may
come to the knowledge of their causes and effects. In
order to this, he lays down the following axioms or
laws of motion.
i. Every body perseveres in its state of
REST, OR OF UNIFORM MOTION IN A RIGHT LINE, UN¬
LESS IT IS COMPELLED TO CHANGE THAT STATE B f
FORCES IMPRESSED upon it.—Sir Isaac’s proof of this
axiom is as follows : “ Projectiles persevere in their
motions, so far as they are not retarded by the resistance
of the air, or impelled downwards by the force of gra¬
vity. A top, whose parts, by their cohesion, are perpe¬
tually drawn aside from rectilinear motion, does not
cease its rotation otherwise than as it is retarded by the
air. The greater bodies of the planets and comets,
meeting with less resistance in more free spaces, preserve
their motions, both progressive and circular, for a much
longer time.”—Notwithstanding this demonstration,
however, the axiom hath been violently disputed. It
hath been argued, that bodies continue in their state of
motion because they are subjected to the continual im¬
pulse of an invisible and subtile fluid, which always
pours in from behind, and of which all places are full.
It hath been affirmed, that motion is as natural to this
fluid as rest is to all other matter. It is said, moreover,
that it is impossible we can know in what manner a body
would be influenced by moving forces if it was entirely
destitute of gravity. According to what we can ob¬
serve, the momentum of a body, or its tendency to move,
depends very much on its gravity. A heavy cannon¬
ball will fly to a much greater distance than a light.one,
though both are actuated by an equal force. It is by
no means clear, therefore, that a body totally destitute
of gravity would have any proper momentum of its
own and if it had no momentum, it could not con¬
tinue its motion for the smallest space ot time after the
moving power was withdrawn. Some have imagined
that matter was capable of beginning motion of itself,
and consequently that the axiom was false because we
see plainly that matter in some cases hath a tendency
to change from a state of motion to a state of rest, and
from a state of rest to a state of motion. A paper ap¬
peared on this subject in the first volume of the Edin¬
burgh Physical and Literary Essays ; but the hypo¬
thesis never gained any ground.
2. THE ALTERATION OF MOTION IS EVER PROPOR¬
TIONAL TO THE MOTIVE FORCE IMPRESSED } AND IS
MADE IN THE DIRECTION OF THE RIGHT LINE IN
WHICH THAT FORCE IS IMPRESSED. Thus, if ally
force generates a certain quantity of motion, double
] NEW
will generate a double quantity, whether that Newtonian
force be impressed all at once, or in successive moments. Philosophy-
To this law no objection of consequence has ever been v——'
made. It is founded on this self-evident truth, that
every efiect must be proportional to its cause. Mr
Young, who seems to be very ambitious of detecting
the errors of Newton, finds fault indeed with the ex¬
pressions in which the law is stated j but he owns, that
if thus expressed, The alteration of motion is proportional
to the actions or resistance which produces it, and is in
the direction in which the actions or resistances are
made, it would be unexceptionable.
3. TO EVERY ACTION THERE ALWAYS IS OPPOSED
AN EQUAL RE-ACTION : OR, THE MUTUAL ACTION OF
TWO BODIES UPON EACH OTHER IS ALWAYS EQUAL, ^
AND DIRECTED TO CONTRARY PARTS.—This axiom is objections
also disputed by many. In the above-mentioned paper to the thinj
in the Physical Essays, the author endeavours to makela'v-
a distinction between rc-action and resistance} and
the same attempt lias been made by Mr Young.
“ When an action generates no motion (says he) it is
certain that its effects have been destroyed by a con-
trary and equal action. M hen an action generates two
contrary and equal motions, it is also evident that mu¬
tual actions were exerted, equal and contrary to each
other. All cases where one of these conditions is not
found, are exceptions to the truth of the law. If a fin¬
ger presses against a stone, the stone, if it does not yield
to the pressure, presses as much upon the finger} but if
the stone yields, it re-acts less than the finger acts} and
if it should yield with all the momentum that the force
of the pressure ought to generate, which it would do if
it were not impeded by friction, or a medium, it would
not re-act at all. So if the stone drawn by a horse,
follows after the horse, it does not re-act so much as the
horse acts but only so much as the velocity of the
stone is diminished by friction, and it is the re-action
of friction only, not of the stone. The stone does not
re-act, because it does not act it resists, but resistance
is not action.
“ In the loss of motion from a striking body, equal
to the gain in the body struck, there is a plain solution
without requiring any re-action. The motion lost is
identically that which is found in the other body j this
supposition accounts for the whole phenomenon in the
most simple manner. If it be not admitted, but the
solution by re-action is insisted upon, it will be incum¬
bent on the party to account for the ivhole effect of
communication of motion : otherwise he will lie under
the imputation of rejecting a solution which is simple,
obvious, and perfect j for one complex, unnatural, and
incomplete. However this may be determined, it will
be allowed, that the circumstances mentioned, aflord
no ground for the inference, that action and re-action-
are equal, since appearances may be explained in ano¬
ther way.” (a.)
(a) If there be a perfect reciprocity betwixt an impinging body and a body at rest sustaining its impu se,,
mav we not at our pleasure consider either body as the agent, and the other as the resistant . et a mo\mg
body, A, pass from north to south, an equal body B at rest, which receives the stroke of A, act upon rom
south to north, and A resist in a contrary direction, both inelastic : let the motion reciprocally communicate
be called six. Then B at rest communicates to A six degrees of motion towards the north, and receives six
degrees towards the south. B having no other motion than the six degrees it communicated, wil, Y 1 ^
NEW [ 7g7
Newtonian Others grant that Sir Isaac’s axiom is very true in
philosophy, respect to terrestrial substances j but they affirm, that,
' v these, both action and re-action are the effects of
gravity. Substances void of gravity would have no
momentum ^ and without this they could not act ^ they
should be moved by the least force, and therefore could
not resist or re-act. If therefore there is any fluid which
is the cause of gravity, though such fluid could act up¬
on terrestrial substances, yet these could not re-act up¬
on it 5 because they have no force of their own* but
depend entirely upon it for their momentum. In this
manner, say they, we may conceive that the planets
circulate, and all the operations of nature are carried
on by means of a subtile fluid ; which being perfectly
active, and the rest of matter altogether passive, there
is neither resistance nor loss of motion. See Mo¬
tion.
From the preceding axiom Sir Isaac draws the fol¬
lowing corollaries.
1. A body by two forces conjoined will describe the
diagonal of a parallelogram in the same time that it
W'ould describe the sides by those forces apart.
2. Hence we may explain the composition of any
one direct force out of any two oblique ones, viz. by
making the two oblique forces the sides of a parallelo¬
gram, and the direct one the diagonal.
3. The quantity of motion, which is collected by
taking the sum of the motions directed towards the same
parts, and the difference of those that are directed to
contrary parts, suffers no change from the action cf bo¬
dies among themselves : because the motion which one
body loses is communicated to another ; and if we sup¬
pose friction and the resistance of the air to be absent,
the motion of a number of bodies which mutually im¬
pelled one another would be perpetual, and its quantity
always equal.
] NEW
4. The common centre of gravity of two or more Newtonian
bodies do not alter its state of motion or rest bv the Philosophy,
actions of the bodies among themselves j and therefore '——v"-*1
the common centre of gravity of all bodies acting upon
each other (excluding outward actions and impedi¬
ments) is either at rest, or moves uniformly in a right
line.
5. Tdie motions of bodies included in a given space
are the same among themselves, whether that space is
at rest, or moves uniformly forward in a right line
without any circular motion. The truth of this is evi¬
dently shown by the experiment of a ship j where alt
motions happen after the same manner, whether the
ship is at rest, or proceeds uniformly forward in a straieht
line.
6. If bodies, anyhow moved among themselves, are
urged in the direction of parallel lines by equal accele¬
rative forces, they will all continue to move among
themselves, after the same manner as if they had been
urged by no such forces*
The whole of the mathematical part of the Newto¬
nian philosophy depends on the following lemmas j of
which the first is the principal.
Lem. L Quantities, and the ratios of quantities,
which in any finite time converge continually to equa¬
lity, and before that time approach nearer the one to
the other than by any given dift’erence, become ulti¬
mately equal. If you deny it •, suppose them to be ulti¬
mately unequal, and let I) be their ultimate difference.
Therefore they cannot approach nearer to equality than
by that given difference JD j which is against the sup¬
position.
Concerning the meaning of this lemma philosophers Objectious
are not agreed 5 and unhappily it is the very fundamen- to the first
tal jjosition on which the whole of the system rests. *emn18*
Many objections have been raised to it by people who
J G 2 supposed
equal and contrary loss and gain, remain in equilibrio. Let the original motion of A have been twelve, then A
having received a contrary action equal to six, six degrees of its motion will be destroyed or in equilibrio ; con¬
sequently, a motive force as six will remain to A towards the south, and B will be in equilibrio, or at rest. A
will then endeavour to move with six degrees, or half its original motion, and B will remain at rest as before.
A and B being equal masses, by the laws of communication three degrees of motion will be communicated to B,
or A with its six degrees will act with three, and B will re-act also with three* B then will act on A from
south to north equal to three, while it is acted upon or resisted by A from north to south, equal also to three, and
B will remain at rest as before 5 A will also have its six degrees of motion reduced to one half by the contrary
action of B, and only three degrees of motion will remain to A, with which it will yet endeavour to move ; and
finding B still at rest, the same process will be repeated till the whole motion of A is reduced to an infinitely
small quantity, B all the while remaining at rest, and there will be no communication of motion from A to B,
which is contrary to experience.
Let a body, A, whose mass is twelve, at rest, be impinged upon first by B, having a mass as twelve, and a
velocity as four, making a momentum of 48 ; and secondly by C, whose mass is six, and velocity eight, making
a momentum of 48 equal to B, the three bodies being inelastic. In the first case, A will become possessed of a
momentum of 24, and 24 will remain to B j and, in the second case, A will become possessed of a momentum
of 32, and r6 will remain to C, both bodies moving with equal velocities after the shock, in both cases, by the
laws of percussion. It is required to know, if in both cases A resists equally, and it B and C act equally P if
the actions and resistances are equal, how does A in one case destroy 24 parts of B s motion, and in the other
case 32 parts of C’s motion, by an equal resistance? And how does B communicate in one case 24 degrees of
motion, and C 32, by equal actions ? If the actions and resistances are unequal, it is asked how the same mass
can resist differently to bodies impinging upon it with equal momenta, and how bodies possessed of equal mo¬
menta can exert different actions, it being admitted that bodies resist proportional to their masses, and that their
power of overcomins resistance is proportional to their momenta P
It is incumbent on those who maintain the doctrine of universal re-action, to free it from these difficulties and
Apparent contradictions.
N E W
[
Xewtonian supposed themselves capable of understanding it. They
Philosophy.say, that it is impossible we can come to an end of any
*-—v“ 1 infinite series, and therefore that the word ultimate can
in this case have no meaning. In some cases the lemma
is evidently false. Thus, suppose there are two quanti¬
ties of matter A and B, the one containing halt a pound,
and the other a third part of one. Let both be conti¬
nually divided by 2 *, and though their ratio, or the
proportion of the one to the other, doth not vary, yet
the difference between them perpetually becomes less,
as well as the quantities themselves, until both the dif¬
ference and quantities themselves become less than any
assignable quantity: yet the difference will never total¬
ly vanish, nor the quantities become equal, as is evident
from the two following series:
answered.
T 0*2-71 &-C*
TTT^l ^C*
&C.
T 7 7 77 T7 "57 17-g-Ts7 51V
\ 7 77 77 TS" "5 7 T77 TS1 77TT ^
Diff.|T7 77 77 777 T77 777 TXT7 ToT7i
Thus we see, that though the difference is continual¬
ly diminishing, and that in a very large proportion,
there is no hope of its vanishing, or the quantities be¬
coming equal. In like manner, let us take the propor¬
tions or ratios of quantities, and we shall be equally un¬
successful. Suppose two quantities of matter, one con¬
taining 8 and the other 10 pounds ; these quantities al¬
ready have to each other the ratio of 8 to 10, 01 of 4
to 5 *, but let us add 2 continually to each of them,
and though the ratios continually come nearer to that
of equality, it is in vain to hope for a perfect coinci¬
dence. Thus,
8
10
Ratio y
I 2
14
16 18 20 22 24, &C.
18 20 22 24 26, &.C.
8 9 IOIIT2 Xt(.
7 7 7 To TT 7 7 TTl
For this and his other lemmas Sir Isaac makes the
following apology : “ These lemmas are premised, to
avoid the tediousness of deducing perplexed demonstra¬
tions ad absurdum, according to the method of ancient
■reometers. For demonstrations are more contracted by
the method of indivisibles : but because the hypothesis
of indivisibles seems somewhat harsh, and therefore that
method is reckoned less geometrical, I chose rather to
reduce the demonstrations of the following propositions
to the first and last suras and ratios of nascent and eva¬
nescent quantities, that is, to the limits of those sums
and ratios 5 and so to premise, as short as I could, the
demonstrations of those limits. For hereby the same
thing is performed as by the method of indivisibles 5
and now those principles being demonstrated, we may
use them with more safety.—Therefore, if hereafter I
should happen to consider quantities as made of parti¬
cles, or should use little curve lines for right ones \ I
would not be understood to mean indivisibles, but eva¬
nescent divisible quantities not the sums and ratios of
determinate parts, but always the limits of sums and
ratios *, and that the force of such demonstrations al¬
ways depends on the method laid down in the foregoing
lemmas.
“ Perhaps it may be objected, that there is no ulti¬
mate proportion of evanescent quantities, because the
proportion, before the quantities have vanished, is not
the ultimate, and, when they are vanished, is none.—
Rut by the same argument it may be alleged, that a
body arriving at a certain place, and there stopping,
788 ] N E W
has no ultimate velocity j because the velocity before Newtonian
the body comes to the place is not its ultimate veloci- Philosophy,
ty ■, when it is arrived, it has none. But the answer is v
easy : for by the ultimate velocity is meant that with
which the body is moved, neither before it arrives at
its place and the motion ceases, nor after j but at the ^
very instant it arrives, that is, that velocity with which
the body arrives at its last place, and with which the
motion ceases. And in like manner, by the ultimate
ratio of evanescent quantities is to be understood the ra¬
tio of the quantities, not before they vanish, nor after¬
wards, but with which they vanish. In like manner,
the first ratio of nascent quantities is that with which
they begin to be. And the first or last sum is that
with which they begin and cease to he (or to be aug¬
mented and diminished). T here is a limit which the
velocity at the end of the motion may attain, but not
exceed y and tins is the ultimate velocity. And there
is the like limit in all quantities and proportions that
begin and cease to be. And, since such limits aie cer¬
tain and definite, to determine the same is a problem
strictly geometrical. But whatever is geometrical we
may be allowed to make use of in determining and
demonstrating any other tiling that is likewise geome¬
trical.
“ It may also be objected, that if the ultimate ratios
of evanescent quantities are given, their ultimate mag¬
nitudes will be also given ■, and so all quantities will
consist of indivisibles, which is contrary to what Fu-
clid has demonstrated concerning incommensurables, in
the 10th book ot bis Elements. But this objection is
founded on a false supposition. For those ultimate
ratios with which quantities vanish are not truly the
ratios of ultimate quantities, but limits towards which
the ratios of quantities decreasing continually ap-
Pr<LEM. II. If in any figure AccE terminated
by the right line A o, A E, and the curse a c E, ^
there be inscribed any number of parallelograms
A 6, B c, C r/, &c. comprehended under equal bases
AB,5 BC, CD, &c. and the sides B 6, C c, D </,
&x’ parallel to one side A a of the figure ; and the
parallelograms aY*.b l^b L c /w, c M ff, &c. are com¬
pleted.—Tlien if the breadth of those parallelograms
be supposed to he diminished, and their number aug¬
mented in infinitum ; the ultimate ratios which the in¬
scribed figure AK 6 L c M i/ D, the circumscribed fi¬
gure KalbmcndoY.ya.nA. curvilineal figure A abcdYy
will have to one another, are ratios of equality.—lor
the difference of the inscribed and circumscribed figures
is the sum of the parallelograms K /, L niy 1VI n, D 0,
that is (from the equality of all their bases), the
rectangle under one ol their bases L. b, and the sum
of their altitudes A a, that is, the rectangle AB l a.
—But this rectangle, because its breadth AB is sup¬
posed diminished in infinitum, becomes less than any
given space. And therefore by Lem. I. the figures
inscribed and circumscribed become ultimately equal
the one to the other , and much more will the interme¬
diate curvilineal figure be ultimately equal to eithei..
Lem. III. The same ultimate ratios are also ratios
of equality, when the breadths AB, BC, CD, &c. of
the parallelograms are unequal, and are all diminished
in infinitum.—The demonstration of this difiers but lit¬
tle from that of the former.
Jn
Pig. 2.
NEW [
Newtonian In his succeeding lemmas, Sir Isaac goes on to prove
philosophy, in a manner similar to tlie above, that the ultimate ra-
v ~ 1 tios ot the sine, chord, and tangent of arcs infinitely di¬
minished, are ratios of equality, and therefore that in
all our reasonings about these we may safely use the
one tor the other :—that the ultimate form of evanes¬
cent triangles made by the arc, chord, and tangent, is
that ot similitude, and their ultimate ratio is "that of
equality ; and hence, in reasonings about ultimate ra¬
tios, we may safely use these triangles for each other,
whether made with the sine, the arc, or the tangent 
ile then shows some properties of the ordinates of cur¬
vilinear figures ; and proves that the spaces which a
body describes by any finite force urging it, whether
that force is determinate and immutable, or is conti¬
nually augmented or continually diminished, are, in the
very beginning of the motion, one to the other in the
duplicate ratio of the powers. And, lastly, Having
added some demonstrations concerning the evanescence
of angles of contact, he proceeds to lay down the ma¬
thematical part of his system, and which depends on
the following theorems :
Theor. I. The areas which revolving bodies de¬
scribe by radii drawn to an immoveable centre of force,
lie in the same immoveable planes, and are proportional
to the times in which they are described.—For, sup¬
pose the time to be divided into equal parts, and in the
first part of that time, let the body by its innate force
describe the right line AB (fig. 2.) j in the second part
of that time, the same would, by Law 1. if not hinder¬
ed, proceed directly to c along the line B c=:AB 5 so
that by the radii AS, BS, c S, drawn to the centre, the
equal areas ASB, BS c, would be described. But,
when the body is arrived at B, suppose the centripetal
force acts at once with a great impulse, and turning
aside the body from the right line B c, compels it after¬
wards to continue its motion along the right line BC.
Draw c C parallel to BS, meeting BC in C *, and at
the end of the second part of the time, the body, by
Cor. I. of the Laws, will be found in C, in the same
plane with the triangle ASB. Join SC 5 and because
SB and c C are parallel, the triangle SBC will be
equal to the triangle SBC, and therefore also to the
triangle SAB. By the like argument, if the centripe¬
tal force acts successively in C, D, E, &c. and makes
the body in each single particle of time to describe the
right lines CD, DE, EF, &.c. they will all lie in the
same plane ; and the triangle SCD will be equal to the
triangle SBC, and SDE to SCD, and SEF to SDE.
And therefore, in equal times, equal areas are describ¬
ed in one immoveable plane ; and, by composition, any
sums SADS, SAFS, of those areas are, one to the
other, as the times in which they are described. Now,
let the number of those triangles be augmented, and
their size diminished in infinitum ; and then, by the
preceding lemmas, their ultimate perimeter ADI will
be a curve line : and therefore the centripetal force by
which the body is perpetually drawn back from the
tangent of this curve will act continually} and any de¬
scribed areas SADS, SAFS, which are always propor¬
tional to the times of description, will, in this case also,
be proportional to those times. Q. E. D.
Cor. 1. The velocity of a body attracted towards an
immoveable centre, in spaces void of resistance, is re¬
ciprocally as the perpendicular let fall from that centre
789 ] N E W
on the right line which touches the orbit. For the ve- NewLoniarr
locities in these places, A, B, C, D, E, are as the Philosophy,
bases AB, BC, DE, EF, of equal triangles 5 and these 1 v -
bases are reciprocally as the perpendiculars let fall upon
them.
Cor. 2. II the chords AB, BC, of two arcs, succes¬
sively described in equal times by the same body, in
spaces void of resistance, are completed into a parallelo¬
gram ABC\', and the diagonal BV of this parallelo¬
gram, in the position which it ultimately acquix-es when
those arcs are diminished in infinitum, is produced both
ways, it will pass through the centre of force.
Cor. 3. If the chords AB, BC, and DE, EF, of
arcs described in equal times, in spaces void of resist¬
ance, are completed into the parallelograms ABCV,
DEFZ, the foxxes in B and E are one to the other in
the ultimate ratio of the diagonals BV, EZ, when those
arcs are diminished in infinitum. For the motions BC
and EF of the body (by Cor. 1. of the Laws), ai’e com¬
pounded of the motions Be, BV and Ef, EZ ; but
BV and EZ, which are equal to C c and Ff, in the
demonstration of this proposition, were genei’ated by
the impulses of the centripetal force in B and E, and
are therefore proportional to those impulses.
Cor. 4. The forces by which bodies, in spaces void
of resistance, are drawn back from rectilinear motions,
and turned into curvilinear ox-bits, are one to another as
the versed sines of arcs described in equal times j which
versed sines tend to the centre of force, and bisect the
chords when these ai-cs ax-e diminished to infinity. Fox-
such versed sines are the halts of the diagonals men¬
tioned in Cor. 3.
Cor. 5. And therefore those forces are to the force
of gravity, as the said versed sines to the versed sines
pei-pendicnlar to the horizon of those pax-abolic arcs
which px-qjectiles describe in the same time.
Cor. 6. And the same things do all hold good
(by Cor. 5. of the laws) when the planes in which the
bodies are moved, together with the centres of force,
which are placed in those planes, are not at rest, but
move uniformly forward in right lines.
Theor. II. Every body that moves in any curvo
line described in a plane, and, by a radius drawn to a
point either immoveable or moving forward with an
uniform rectilinear motion, describes about that point
ax-eas proportional to the times, is urged by a centripe¬
tal force directed to that point.
Case I. For every body that moves in a curve line
is (by Law 1.) tux-ned aside from its rectilinear course
by the action of some force that impels it; and that
force by which the body is turned off from its rectili¬
near course, and made to describe in equal times the
least equal triangles SAB,. SBC, SCD, &c. about the
immoveable point S, (by Prop. 40. E. 1. and Law 2.)
acts in the place B according to the direction of a line
parallel to C *, that is, in the direction of the line BS j
and in the place C according to the direction of a line
parallel to d D, that is, in the direction of the line CS,
&c. *, and therefore acts always in the direction of lines
tending to the immoveable point S. Q. E. D.
Case II. And (by Cor. 5. of the laws) it is indif¬
ferent whether the superficies in which a body describes
a curvilinear figure be quiescent, or moves together
with the body, the figure described, and its point S,
uniformly forward in right lines.
Cor.
N E W
[ 79° 3
NEW
Cor. I. In non-resisting spaces or mediums, if tire
p£s™Sy areas ore not proportional to tire times, tire forces are
 V-— ^ not directed to the point in which the radii meet , but
diviate therefrom in consequential or towards the parts
to which the motion is directed, if the description oi
the areas is accelerated j but in antecedentia if retard-
UlCoR. 2. And even in resistirtg mediums, if the de¬
scription of the areas is accelerated, the directions of
the forces deviate from the point m which the radii
meet, towards the parts to which the motion tends.
Scholium.
A body may be urged by a centripetal force com-
pounded of several forces. In which case the meaning
of the proposition is, that the force which results out
of all tends to the point S. But if any force acts per¬
petually in the direction of lines perpendicular to the
described surface, this force will make the body to de¬
viate from the plane of its motion, but will neither aug¬
ment nor diminish the quantity of the described sur¬
face ; and is therefore not to be neglected in the com¬
position of forces. .. ,
Theor. III. Every body that, by a radius drawn
to the centre of another body, howsoever moved, de¬
scribes areas about that centre proportional to the times,
is urged by a force compounded of the centripetal iorces
tending to that other body, and of all the accelerative
force by which that other body is impelled.—1 he de¬
monstration of this is a natural consequence ot the theo¬
rem immediately preceding.
Hence, if the one body L, by a radius drawn to the
other body T, describes areas proportional to the times,
and from the whole force by which the first body L is
urged, (whether that force is simple, or, according to
Cor. 2. of the laws, compounded of several forces), we
subduct that whole accelerative force by which the
other body is urged-, the whole remaining force by
which the first body is urged will tend to the other
body T, as its centre.
And vice versa, if the remaining force tends nearly
to the other body T, those areas will be nearly propor¬
tional to the times.
If the body L, by a radius drawn to the other body
T, describes areas, which, compared with the times, aie
very unequal, and that other body T be either at rest,
or moves uniformly forward in a right line, the action
“of the centripetal force tending to that other body. I
"is either none at all, or it is mixed and combined with
f very powerful actions ol other forces } and the whole
force compounded of them all, if they are many, is di¬
rected to another (immoveable or moveable) centre.
The same thing obtains when the other body is actu¬
ated by any other motion whatever provided that
centripetal force is taken which remains after sub-
■ ducting that whole force acting upon that other body
T.
Scholium.
Because the equable description of areas indicates
that a centre is respected by that force with which the
body is most affected, and by which it is drawn back
from its rectilinear motion, and retained in its orbit, we
may always be allowed to use the equable description of
areas as an indication of a centre about which all cir- Newtsnian
Jar motion is performed in free spaces. _ Philosophy.
Theor. IV. The centripetal forces of bodies which v
by equable motions describe dift’erent circles, tend to the
centres of the same circles; and are one to the other
as the squares of the arcs described in equal times ap¬
plied to the radii of circles.—For^ these forces tend to
the centres of the circles, (by fheor. 2. and Cor. 2.
Theor. I.) and are to one another as the versed sines of
the least arcs described in equal times (by Cor. 4.
Theor 1.), that is, as the squares of the same arcs ap¬
plied to the diameters of the circles, by one of the lem¬
mas j and therefore, since those arcs are as arcs describ¬
ed in any equal times, and the diameters are as the ra¬
dii, the forces will be as the squares of any arcs describ¬
ed in the same time, applied to the radii of the circles.
Q. E. 1).
Cor. I. Therefore, since those arcs are as the ve¬
locities of the bodies, the centripetal forces are in a
ratio compounded of the duplicate ratio of the velo¬
cities directly, and of the simple ratio ot the radii in¬
versely.
Cor. 2. And since the periodic times are in a ratio
compounded of the ratio ot the radii directly, and the
ratio of the velocities inversely ; the centripetal forces
are in a ratio compounded of the ratio of the radii di¬
rectly, and the duplicate ratio of the periodic times in-
versely.
Cor. 3. "Whence, if the periodic times are equal, and
the velocities therefore as the radii, the centripetal forces
will be equal among themselves j and the contrary.
Cor. 4. If the periodic times and the velocities are
both in the subduplicate ratio of the radii, the centri¬
petal forces will be equal among themselves; and the
contrary. > ..
Cor. 5. If the periodic times are as the radii, and
therefore the velocities equal, the centripetal forces will
be reciprocally as the radii", and the conti aiy.
Cor. 6. If the periodic times are in the sesquipheate
ratio of the radii, and therefore the velocities recipro¬
cally in the subduplicate ratio of the radii, the centri¬
petal forces will be in the duplicate ratio of the radii
inversely and the contrary. ...
Cor. 7. And universally, if the periodic time is as
any power Rn of the radius R, and therefore the veloci-
city reciprocally as the power RI1_I of the radiusj» ^
centripetal force will be reciprocally as the power R n
of the radius } and the contrary.
Cor. 8. The same things all hold concerning the
times, the velocities, and forces, by which bodies de¬
scribe the similar parts of any similar figures, that have
their centres in a similar position within those figures,
as appears by applying the demonstrations of the prece¬
ding cases to those. And the application is easy, by
only substituting the equable description of areas in the
place of equable motion, and using the distances of the
bodies from the centres instead ot the radii.
Cor. 9. From the same demonstration it likewise
follows, that the arc which a body uniformly revolving
in a circle by means of a given centripetal force de¬
scribes in any time, is a mean proportional between the
diameter of the circle, and the space which the same
body, falling by the same given force, would descend
through in the same given time. ^ ^
N E W
"Newtonian “ By means of the preceding proposition and its eo-
rinlosophy. rollaries (says Sir Isaac), we may discover the propor-
tion of centupetal force to any other known force
such as that of gravity. For if a'body by means of its
gravity revolves in a circle concentric to the earth, this
gravity is the centripetal force of that body. But from
the descent of heavy bodies, the time of one entire re¬
volution, as well as the arc described in any given time,
is given (by Cor. 9. of this theorem). And by such
propositions Mr Huygens, in his excellent book De Ho-
rologio Oscilhitorio, has compared the force of gravity
with the centrifugal forces of revolving bodies.
The preceding proposition may also be demonstrated
in the following manner. In any circle suppose a poly¬
gon to he inscribed of any number of sides. And if a
body, moved with a given velocity along the sides of
the polygon, is reflected from the circle at the several
angular points ; the force with which, at every reflec¬
tion it strikes the circle, will be as its velocity : and
therefore the sum of the forces, in a given time, will be
as that velocity and the number of reflections conjunct-
ly ; that is (il the species oi the polygon be given), as
the length described in that given time, and increased
or diminished in the ratio of the same length to the ra¬
tlins of the circle $ that is, as the square of that length
applied to the radius •, and therefore, if the polygon,
by having its sides diminished in infinitum, coincides
with the circle, as the square of the arc described in
a given time applied to the radius. This is the centri¬
fugal force, with which the body impels the circle ;
and to which the contrary force, wherewith the circle
continually repels the body towards the centre, is equal.
On these principles hangs the whole of Sir Isaac
Newton’s mathematical philosophy. He now shows
how to find the centre to which the forces impelling
any body are directed, having the velocity of the body
given : and finds the centrifugal force to be always as
the versed sine of the nascent arc directly, and as the
square of the time inversely $ or directly as the square
of the velocity, and inversely as the chord of the nas¬
cent arc. From these premises he deduces the method
of finding the centripetal force directed to any given
point when the body revolves in a circle ; and this
whether the central point is near or at an immense
distance $ so that all the lines drawn from it may be
taken for parallels. The same thing he shows with re¬
gard to bodies revolving in spirals, ellipses, hyperbo¬
las, or parabolas.—Having the figures of the orbits
given, he shows also how to find the velocities and
moving powers j and, in short, selves all the most dif¬
ficult problems relating to the celestial bodies with an
astonishing degree of mathematical skill. These pro¬
blems and demonstrations are all contained in the first
book of the Principia : but to give an account of them
here would far exceed our limits ; neither would many
of them be intelligible, excepting to first-rate mathe¬
maticians.
In the second book, Sir Isaac treats of the proper¬
ties of fluids, and their powers of resistance : and here
he lays down such principles as entirely overthrow the
doctrine of Des Cartes’s vortices, which was the fa¬
shionable system in his time. In the third book, he be¬
gins particularly to treat of the natural phenomena, and
apply them to the mathematical principles formerly de¬
monstrated j and, as a necessary preliminary to this part,
1 79' J
N E W
16
Rules for
philosophi¬
cal reason¬
ing.
he lays down the following rules for reasoning in uatu- Wu-mm
ral philosophy. mUpby
1. We are to admit no more causes of natural things —~'<r~—1
than such as are both true and sufficient to explain their
natural appearances.
2. Iherefore to the same natural effects we must al¬
ways assign, as far as possible, the same causes.
3. I he qualities of bodies which admit neither in¬
tension or remission of degrees, and which are found
to belong to all bodies within the reach of our experi¬
ments, are to be esteemed the universal qualities of all¬
bodies whatsoever.
4. In experimental philosophy, we are to look upon-
propositions collected by general induction from pheno¬
mena as accurately or very nearly true, notwithstanding
any contrary hypotheses that may be imagined, till
such time as other phenomena occur, by which they
may either be made more accurate, or liable to exceptions..
The phenomena first considered are, 1. That the sa¬
tellites of Jupiter, by radii drawn to the centre of their
primary, describe areas proportional to the times of
their description , and that their periodic times, the
fixed stars being at rest, are in the sesquiplicate ratio of
their distances from its centre. 2. The same thing is
likewise observed of the phenomena of Saturn. 3. The
five primary planets, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter,
and Saturn, with their several orbits encompass the sun.
4. The fixed stars being supposed at rest, the periodic
times of the five primary planets, and of the earth,
about the sun, are in the sesquiplicate proportion of
their mean distances from the sun. 5. The primary
planets, by radii drawn to the earth, describe areas no
wrays proportionable to the times : but the areas which
they describe by radii drawn to the sun are propor¬
tional to the times of description. 6. The moon, by a
radius drawn to the centre of the earth, describes an
area proportional to the time of description. All these
phenomena are undeniable from astronomical observa¬
tions, and are explained at large under the article
Astronomy. The mathematical demonstrations are
next applied by Sir Isaac Newton, in the following
propositions:
Prop. I. The forces by which the satellites of Ju¬
piter are continually drawn off from rectilinear motions,
and retained in their proper orbits, tend to the centre
of that planet 5 and are reciprocally as the squares of
the distances of those satellites from that centre. The
former part of this proposition appears from Theor. 2-
or 3. and the latter from Cor. 6. of Theor. 5. j and
the same thing we are to understand of the satellites of
Saturn.
Prop. II. The forces by which the primary planets
are continually drawn off from rectilinear motions, and
retained in their proper orbits, tend to the sun 5 and
are reciprocally as the squares of the distances from the
sun’s centre. The former part of this proposition is
manifest from Phenomenon 5. just mentioned, and
from Theor. 2. j the latter from Phenomenon 4. and
Cor. 6. of Theor. 4. But this part of the proposition
is with great accuracy deducible from the quiescence of
the aphelion points. For a very small aberration from
the reciprocal duplicate proportion would produce a
motion of the apsides, sensible in every single revolution,
and in many of them enormously great.
Prop. III.. The force by which the moon is retained
NEW [
X. i„ Us orbit, ton,Is towards the eartli; and is reciprocally
Phiteophy. as the square of the distance of its place from the centre
'of the earth. The former part ot this proposition is
evident from Phenom. 5. and Theor. 2. j the latter from
Phenom. 6. and Theor. 2. or 3. It is also evident from
the verv slow motion of the moon’s apogee •, which, m
every single revolution, amounting but to 3 3' in con-
sequentia, may be neglected: and this more fully ap¬
pears from the next proposition.
Prop. IV. The moon gravitates towards the earth,
and by the force of gravity is continually drawn oft
from a rectilinear motion, and vetaiued m its orbit.--
The mean distance from the moon to the earth m the
syzifnes, in semidiameters of the latter, is about OOy.
Let us assume the mean distance of 60 semidiameters m
the syzigies •, and suppose one revolution ot the moon in
respect of the fixed stars to be completed in 27 7 43 ,
as astronomers have determined and the circumference
of the earth to amount to 123,249,600 Fans leet.
Now, if we imagine the moon, deprived of all motion,
to be let go, so as to descend towards the earth with the
impulse of all that force by which it is retained in its or¬
bit it will, in the space of one minute of time, describe in
its fall 15^ Paris feet. For the versed sine of that arc
which the moon, in the space of one minute of time,
describes by its mean motion at the distance of 60 se¬
midiameters of the earth, is nearly
or more accurately, 15 feet one inch and one line y.
Wherefore since that force, in approaching to the earth,
increases in the reciprocal duplicate proportion of the
distance ; and, upon that account, at the surface of the
earth, is 60 X 60 times greater than that at the moon; a
body in our regions, falling with that force, ought, in
the space of one minute of time, to describe 60 X 60 X
lCf\ Paris feet; and in the space of one second of time
to describe 15A of those feet; or, more accurately, 15
feet 1 inch I line -f . And with this very force we ac¬
tually find that bodies here on earth do really descend.
 For a pendulum oscillating seconds in the latitude of
Paris, will be three Paris feet and lines in length,
as Mr Huygens has observed. And the space which
a heavy body describes by falling one second of time,
is to half the length of the pendulum in the duplicate
ratio of the circumference of the circle to its diame¬
ter *, and is therefore 15 Paris feet I inch 1 line •£.
And therefore the force by which the moon is retained
in its orbit, becomes at the very surface of the earth,
equal to the force of gravity which we observe in heavy
bodies there. And therefore (by Rule 1. and 2.) the
force by which the moon is retained in its orbit is that
very same force which we commonly call gravity. For
were gravity another force different from that, then bo¬
dies descending to the earth with the joint impulse of
lioth forces would fall with a double velocity, and, in
the space of one second of time, would describe 30^
Paris feet; altogether against experience.
The demonstration of this proposition may be more
diffusely explained after the following manner : Sup¬
pose several moons to revolve about the earth, as in
the system of Jupiter or Saturn, the periodic times of
those moons would (by the argument of induction)
observe the same law which Kepler found to obtain
among the planets; and therefore their centripetal for¬
ces would be reciprocally as the squares of the distan-
4
792 ] NEW
ces from the centre of the earth, by Prop. I. Now, if Newtonian
the lowest of these were very small, and were so near Philosophy,
the earth as almost to touch the tops of the highest
mountains, the centripetal force thereof, retaining it
in its orbit, would be very nearly equal to the weights
of any terrestrial bodies that should be found upon
the tops of these mountains ; as may be known from
the foregoing calculation. Iherefore, it the same little
moon should he deserted by its centrifugal force that
carries it through its orbit, it would descend to the
earth ; and that with the same velocity as heavy bo¬
dies do actually descend with upon the tops of those
very mountains, because of the equality ol forces that
oblige them both to descend. And if the force by
which that lowest moon would descend were dift'erent
from that of gravity, and if that moon were to gravitate
towards the earth, as we find terrestrial bodies do on
the tops of mountains, it would then descend with
twice the velocity, as being impelled by both these
forces conspiring together. Therefore, since both these
forces, that is, the gravity of heavy bodies, and the
centripetal forces ot the moons, respect the centre of
the earth, and are similar and equal between themselves,
they will (by Rule 1. and 2.) have the same cause.
And therefore the force which retains the moon in its
orbit, is that very force which we commonly call gra¬
vity; because otherwise, this little moon at the top ot
a mountain must either be without gravity, or fall twice
as swiftly as heavy bodies use to do.
Having thus demonstrated that the moon is retained
in its orbit by its gravitation towards the earth, it is
easy to apply the same demonstration to the motions ol
the other secondary planets, and of the primary planets
round the sun, and thus to show that gravitation prevails
throughout the whole creation ; after which, Sir Isaac
proceeds to show from the same principles that the
heavenly bodies'gravitate towards each other, and con¬
tain different quantities of matter, or have different
densities in proportion to their bulks.
Pros. V. All bodies gravitate towards every planet;
and the weights of bodies towards the same planet, at
equal distances from its centre, are proportional to the
quantities of matter they contain.
It has been confirmed by many experiments, that
all sorts of heavy bodies (allowance being made for
« • 1*4 _r a. ctYinll stance
the inequality of retardation by some small resistance
of the air), descend to the earth from equal heights in
equal times; and that equality of times we may dis¬
tinguish to a great accuracy by the help of pendu¬
lums. Sir Isaac Newton tried the thing in gold, sil¬
ver, lead, glass, sand, common salt, wood, water, and
wheat. He provided two wooden boxes, round and
equal, filled the one with wood, and suspended an
equal weight of gold in the centre ol oscillation of the
other. The boxes hanging by equal threads of II
feet, made a couple of pendulums, perfectly equal m
weight and figure, and equally receiving the resistance
of the air. And placing the one by the other, he ob¬
served them to play together forwards and backward,
for a. long time, with equal vibrations. And there¬
fore the quantity of matter in the gold was to the
quantity of matter in the wood, as the action of the
motive force (or vis matrix') upon all the gold, to the
action of the same upon all the wood ; that is, as the
weight
N E W t 705
Newtonian Weight of the one to the weight of the other. And
Plidosophy. the l,ke happened in the other bodies. By these exoc-
nments, in bodies of the same weight, he could mani-
fetly haYe discovered a aifference of matter less than
the thousandth part of the whole, had any such been.
But without all doubt, the nature of gravity towards
the planets, is the same as towards the earth For
should we imagine our terrestrial bodies removed to the
Orb of the moon, and there, together with the moon,
deprived of all motion, to be let go, so as to fall to-
f1''" ‘°"'ar<ls ‘V earth ! it is certain from what sve
have demonstrated before, that in equal times, they
would describe equal spaces with the moon, and of
consequence are to the moon in quantity of matter,
as their weights to its weight. Moreover, since the
satelhtes of Jupiter perform their revolutions in times
which observe the sesquiplicate proportion of their di¬
stances from Jupiter’s centre, their accelerative gravi-
tles towards Jupiter will be reciprocally as the squares
ot their distances from Jupiter’s centre ; that is, equal
at equal distances. And therefore, these satellites if
supposed to fall towards Jupiter from equal heights,
would describe equal spaces in equal times, in like man¬
ner as heavy bodies do on our earth. And by the same
argument if the circumsolar planets were supposed to
be let fall at equal distances from the sun, they would
in their descent towards the sun, describe equal spaces
m equal times. But forces, which equally accelerate
unequal bodies, must be as those bodies: that is to say
the weights of the planets towards the sun must be as
their quantities of matter. Further, That the weights
of Jupiter and his satellites towards the sun arc pro-
portional to the several quantities of their matter, ap¬
pears from the exceeding regular motions of the satel¬
lites. I or if some ot the bodies were more strongly
attracted to the sun in proportion to their quantity of
matter than others, the motions of the satellites would
be disturbed by that inequality of attraction. If, at
equal distances from the sun, any satellite, in propor¬
tion to the quantity of its matter, did gravitate to¬
wards the sun, with a force greater than Jupiter in pro¬
portion to his, according to any given proportion, sup¬
pose d to c; then the distance between the centres of
tne sun and of the satellite’s orbit would be always
greater than the distance between the centres of the sun
and of Jupiter nearly in the subduplicate of that pro-
]
N E W
portion. And if the satellite gravitated towards the
sun with a force less in the proportion of e to d, the di¬
stance of the centre of the satellite’s orb from the sun
would be less than the distance of the centre of Jupiter’s
irom the sun in the subduplicate of the same proportion.
Therefore, if, at equal distances from the sun, the acce¬
lerative gravity of any satellite towards the sun were
greater or less than the accelerating gravity of Jupiter
towards the sun but by toW Par^ °f the whole gravity 5
the distance of the centre of the satellite’s orbit from
the sun would be greater or less than the distance of Ju¬
piter from the sun by o Pai't °f the whole distance;
that is, by a fifth part of the distance of the utmost sa¬
tellite from the centre of Jiqiiter; an eccentricity of
the orbit which would be very sensible. But the orbits
ol the satellites are concentric to Jupiter ; therefore the
accelerative gravities of Jupiter, and of all its satellites,
towards the sun, are equal among themselves. And by
the same argument, the weight of Saturn and of his sa-
Vol. XIV. Part II. +.
telhtes towards the sun, at equal distances from the sun, v ,
are as their several quantities of matter 5 and themlotpln
weights of the moon and of the earth towards the sun
are either none, or accurately proportional to the masses
oi matter which they contain.
But further, the weights of all the parts of every
planet towards any other planet are one to another as
the matter m the several parts. For if some parts gra¬
vitated more, others less, than in proportion to the quan¬
tity of their matter; then the whole planet, according
0 the sort of parts with which it most abounds, would
gravitate more or less than in proportion to the quantity
of matter in the whole. Nor is it of any moment whe¬
ther these parts are external or internal. For if as an
instance, we should imagine the terrestrial bodies with
us to be raised up to the orb of the moon, to be there
compared with its body; if the Weights of such bodies
were to the weights of the external parts of the moon
as the quantities of matter in the one and in the other
respectively, but to the weights of the internal parts
in a greater or less proportion; then likewise the
weights of those bodies would be to the weight of the
whole moon in a greater or less proportion; against
what we have showed above.
Cor. j. Hence the weights of bodies do not de¬
pend upon their forms and textures. For if the weights
could be altered with the forms, they would be great¬
er or less, according to tbe variety of forms in equal
matter; altogether against experience.
. ^OR* 2- Universally, all bodies about the earth gra¬
vitate towards the earth ; and the weights of all at
equal distances from the earth’s centre, are as the quan¬
tities of matter which they severally contain. This is
the quality of all bodies within the reach of our expe
riments; and therefore (by Rule 3.) to be affirmed of
all bodies whatsoever. If ether, or any other body
were either altogether void of gravity, or Were to gra¬
vitate less in proportion to its quantity of matter*
then, because (according to Aristotle, l)es Cartes, and
others) there, is no difference betwixt that and ether
bodies, hut in mere form of matter, by a successive
change from form to form, it might be changed at last
into a body ot the same condition with those which
gravitate most in proportion to their quantity of mut-
ter; and, on the other hand, the heaviest bodies, ac¬
quiring the first form of that body, might by degrees
quite lose their gravity. And therefore the weights
would depend upon the forms of bodies, and with those
forms might be changed, contrary to what was proved
in the preceding corollary.
Cor. 3. All spaces are not equally full. For if all
spaces were equally full, then the specific gravity of the
fluid which fills the region of the air, on account of
the extreme density of the matter, would fall nothing
short of the specific gravity of quicksilver or gold^
or any other the most dense body, and'therefore, nei¬
ther gold, nor any other body, could descend in air.
lor bodies do not descend in fluids, unless they are
specifically heavier than the fluids. Ami if the quan¬
tity of matter in a given space can by any rarefaction
be diminished, what should hinder a diminution to in¬
finity ?
Cor. 4. if all the solid particles of all bodies are of
the same density, nor can be rarefied without pores,
a void space or vacuum must be granted. [By bodies
5 of
N E W
F 794 J
N E W
of the same density, our autlior ineans tliose whose vires
pl.Uosopjy.i'wfiVe are in the proportion of their bulks.]
V -v J Prob VI. That there is a power ot gravity tend¬
ing to all bodies, proportional to the several quantities
of matter which they contain.
That all the planets mutually gravitate one towards
another, we have proved before: as well as that the
force of gravity towards every one ot them, considered
apart, is reciprocally as the square of the distance oi
places from the centre of the planet. And thence it
follows that the gravity tending towards all the pla¬
nets is proportional to the matter which they con¬
tain. _ i X A
Moreover, since all the parts of any planet A gra¬
vitate towards any other planet B, and the gravity ol
every part is to the gravity ot the whole as the matter
of the part to the matter of the whole *, and (by Law 3.)
to every action corresponds an equal re-action . t ere-
fore the planet B will, on the other hand, gravitate to¬
wards all the parts of the planet A ; and its gravity
towards any one part will be to the gravity towards
the whole, as the matter of the part to the matter ot
the whole. Q. E. D.
Cor. i. Therefore the force of gravity towards any
whole planet, arises from, and is compounded of, the
forces of gravity towards all its parts. Magnetic and
electric attractions afford us examples of tins, t or all
attraction towards the whole arises from the attractions
towards the several parts. The thing may be easily un¬
derstood in gravity, if we consider a greater planet as
formed of a mimber of lesser planets, meeting together
in one globe. For hence it would appear that the
force of "the whole must arise from the forces of the
component parts. If it be objected, that, according
to this law, all bodies with us must mutually gravitate
one towards another, whereas no such gravitation any¬
where appears j it is answered, that, since the gravita¬
tion towards these bodies is to the gravitation towards
the whole earth, as these bodies are to the whole earth,
the gravitation towards them must be lar less than to
fall under the observation of our senses. [The expe¬
riments with regard to the attraction ol mountains,
however, have now further elucidated this point.J
Cor. 2. The force of gravity towards the several
equal particles of any body, is reciprocally as the square
of the distance of places from the particles.
Prob. VII. In two spheres mutually gravitating
each towards the other, if the matter, in places on all
sides round about and equidistant from the centres, is
similar j the weight of either sphere towards the other
will be reciprocally as the square ol the distance be¬
tween their centres.
For the demonstration of this, see the Pnncipia,
Book I. Prop. Ixxv. and Ixxvi.
Cor. I. Hence we may find and compare together
the weights of bodies towards different planets. For
the weights of bodies revolving in circles about pla¬
nets are as the diameters of the circles directly, and
the squares of their periodic times reciprocally ; and
their weights at the surfaces of the planets, or at any
other distances from their centres, are (by this prop.)
greater or less, in the reciprocal duplicate proportion
of the distances. Thus from the periodic times of Ve¬
nus, revolving about the sun, in 224d. l6^b. j of the
^utmost eircumjovial satellite revolving about Jupiter, in
i6d. i6i\b. 5 ^'e Huygenian satellite about ftaluvn Kewloniaq
in 13d. 223b.; and of the moon about the earth in Philosophy.
2yd. 7I1. 43' ) compared with the mean distance ot \ e- v
nus from the sun, and with the greatest heliocentric
elongations of the outmost circumjovial satellite from
Jupiter’s centre, 8'i6"j of the Huygenian satellite
from the centre of Saturn, 3' ; and of the moon from
the earth, 10'33"by computation our author found,
that the weight of equal bodies, at equal distances from
the centres of the sun, of Jupiter, of Saturn, and of the
earth, towards the sun, Jupiter, Saturn, and the earth,
were one to another as toVt? and re*
spcctively. Then, because as the distances are increased
or diminished, the weights are diminished or increased
in a duplicate ratio *, the weights of equal bodies to
wards the sun, Jupiter, Saturn, and the earth, at the
distances 10000, 997, 791, and 109, from their centres,
that is, at their very superficies, will be as locoo, 943,
529, and 435 respectively.
Cor. 2. Hence likewise we discover the quantity of
matter in the several planets. For their quantities of
matter are as the forces of gravity at equal distances
from their centres, that is, in the sun, Jupiter, Saturn,
and the earth, as I, toVti toW> and rwrVo'» respec¬
tively. If the parallax ol the sun be taken greater or
less than 10" 30'", the quantity of matter in the earth
must be augmented or diminished in the triplicate ot
that proportion.
Cor. 3. Hence also we find the densities of the
planets. For (by Prop. Ixxii. Book I.) the weights of
equal and similar bodies towards similar spheres, are,
at the surfaces of those spheres, as the diameters of the
spheres. And therefore the densities ot dissimilar
spheres are as those weights applied to the diameters
of the spheres. But the true diameters of the sun, Ju¬
piter, Saturn, and the earth, were one to another as
JOCOO, 997, 791, and 109 j and the weights towards
the same, as 10000, 943, 529, and 435 respectively j
and therefore their densities are as 1 20, 94^, 67, and
400. The density of the earth, which conies out by
this computation, does not depend upon the parallax,
of the sun, but it is determined by the parallax of the
moon, and therefore is here truly defined. The sun
therefore is a little denser than Jupiter, and Jupiter
than Saturn, and the earth four times denser than the
sun j for the sun, by its great heat, is kept in a sort ot
a rarefied state. The moon also is denser than the
earth.
Cor. 4. The smaller the planets are, they are ca--
teris paribus, of so much the greater density. Jor so
the powers ot gravity on their several surfaces come
nearer* to equality. They are likewise, ccrterisparibus,
of the greater density as they are nearer to the sun.
So Jupiter is more dense than Saturn, and the earth
than Jupiter. For the planets were placed at difier-
ent distances from the sun, that, according to their
degrees of density, they might enjoy a greater or less
proportion of the sun’s heat. Our water, it it were
removed as far as the orb of Saturn, would be con¬
verted into ice, and in the orb of Mercury would
quickly fly away in vapour. Tor the light of the sun,
to which its heat is proportional, is seven times denser
in the orb of Mercury than with us : and by the ther¬
mometer Sir Isaac found, that a sevenfold beat of our
summer syn will make water boil. Nor are we to doubt,
that
Newt nian
Philosophy,
N ewton.
N E W r
that the matter of Mercury is adapted to its heat and Chi »
is therefore more A„n*o *1— *i._ ' ‘r’ ai,<1 tieonre’s
• ,i p , in auciiiieu io its heat nno
ts therefore more dense than the matter of our e’nth •
smee, in a denser matter, the operations of nature re¬
quire a stronger heat.
It is shown in the scholium of Prop. xxii. Book II. of
rarth 'the ai^ t ,at’ ^ ^ l;e,g,’.t °f 200 mi!es al)«ve the
Z 1 L,"0.r'.ra'?."an 11 ,s at 'he of
Wa
N E w
o 11anover-square j and continued for seve¬
ral v ears assistant preacher to Dr Trebeek. Iii3 f,rst
pre erment was that of reader and afternoon preacher
at Grosvenor Chapel, ,t, South Audley street.
ihrs introduced him to the family'of Lord Tyrcon-
nel, to whose son he became tutor. He continued in
this situation for many years, very much at his ease
sity with that superior air, would not lose by the re¬
sistance of the medium the looooooth part of its mo
t.on in ioooooo years. In the spaces near the earth,
die resistance is produced only by the air, exhalations,
and vapours. When these are carefully exhausted by
the air pump from under the receiver, heavy bodies fall
within the receiver with perfect freedom, and with¬
out the least sens.ble resistance ; gold itself, and the
lightest down, let fall together, will descend with equal
velocity ; and though they fall through a space of four
six, and eight feet, they will come to the bottom at
the same time; as appears from experiments that have
often been made. And therefore the celestial reo-ions
being perfectly void of air and exhalations, the planets
and comets meeting no sensible resistance in those
spaces, will continue their motions through them for
an immense space of time.
Newton, lord bishop of Bristol and
dean of St 1 aul’s London, was born on the first of
January 1704. His father, John Newton, was a
considerable brandy and cyder merchant, who, by his
industry and integrity, having acquired what lie thought
a competent fortune, left off trade several years before
he died.
He received the first part of his education in the free
■Virw-il X .1 1 1 • « .1 . . .
   ~ ~ lit tile If C.C
school of Litchfield j a school which, the bishop ob¬
serves with some kind of exultation, had at all times
sent forth several persons of note and eminence ; from
Bishop Smaldridge arid Mr Wollaston, to Dr Johnson
and Mr Garrick
From Litchfield he was removed to Westminster
school, in 1717, under the care of Dr Freind and Dr
Nicoll.
During the time he was at Westminster, there wrere,
he observes, more young men who made a distinguish¬
ed figure afterwards in the world, than perhaps at any
other period, either before or since. He particularly
mentions William Murray, the late earl of Mansfield,
with whom he lived on terms of the highest friendship
to tire last.
He continued six years at Westminster school, five
of which he passed in the college. He afterwards went
to Cambridge, and entered at Trinity college. Here he
constantly resided eight months at least in every year,
till he had taken his Bachelor of Arts degree. Being
chosen fellow of his college, he came afterwards to
settle in London. As it had been his inclination from
a child, and as he was also designed for holy orders,
he had sufficient time to prepare himself, and composed
some sermons, that he might have a stock in hand
when he entered on the ministry. His title for orders
was his fellowship 5 and he was ordained deacon in
December 1729, and priest in February following,
by Bishop Gibson.
At his first setting out in his office, he was curate at
n the spring of 1744, he was, through the interest
of the earl of Bath (who was his great friend and pa-
t on, and whose friendship and patronage were return-
ed by grateful acknowledgements and the warmest en¬
comiums), presented to the rectory of St Mary Le Bow
living ^ WaS 40 yearS °kl bef°re he obtail^l any
At the commencement of 1745, he took his doctor’s
ln t,1’6 spring of 1747 he was chosen lecturer
ot St George s, Hanover-square, by a must respectable
Nestry of nob emen and gentlemen of high distinction.
In August following he married his first wife, the eld
est daughter of Dr Trebeck j an unaffected, modest,
decent young woman, with whom he lived very happy
in mutual love and harmony for near seven years.
Jn 1749 he published his edition of Milton’s Para-
ose Lost, which, (says he, very modestly) it is hoped
hath not been ill received by the public, havino- in
*775> g°ne through eight editions. After the Para¬
dise Lost, it was judged (says he) proper that Dr
Newton should also publish the Paradise Regained and
other poems of Milton j but these things he thought
detained him from other more material studies, thou if h
MM* r f good1f°|'t.une t0 gain by them more than
IVlilton dm by all his works put together. But his
greatest gain (he says) was their first introducing him
to the friendship and intimacy of two such men as Bi¬
shop Warhurton and Dr Jortin, whose works will speak
tor tucm better than any private commendation.
In 1754 he lost his father at the age of 83 ; and
within a few days his wife, at the age of 38. This
was the severest trial he ever underwent, and almost
overwhelmed him. At that time he was engaged in
writing his Dissertations on the Prophecies; and hap-
py it was for him : for in any affliction he never found
a better or more effectual remedy than plunging deep
into study, and fixing his thoughts as intensely as he
possibly could upon other subjects. The first volume
was published the following winter ; but the other did
not appear till three years afterwards ; and as a reward
for his past and an incitement to future labours, he
was appointed, in the meantime, to preach Boyle’s
lecture. The bishop informs us, that 1250 copies of
the Dissertations were taken at the first impression, and
1000 at every other edition : and “ though (says he)
some things have been since published upon the same
subjects, yet, they still hold up their head above water,
and having gone through five editions, are again pre¬
pared for another. Abroad, too, their reception hath
not been unfavourable, if accounts from thence may be
depended upon.” They were translated into the Ger¬
man and Danish languages ; and received the warmest
encomiums from persons of learning and rank.
In the spring of 1757, he was made prebendary of
Westminster, in the room of Dr Green, and promoted
J H 2 to
N E
Kcwtoa
II.
NeX'i.
X [ 79^ ] N
In October following, he than the slaves themselves
to the deanery of Salisbury - .
was made sub-almoner to his majesty. I his he owed
to Bishop Gilbert. He married a second wife in Sep-
'tember 1761. She was the widow of the Ilev. Mr
Hand, and daughter of John Lord Viscount Lisburn.
In the same month he kissed his majesty’s hand toi his
bishopric. . r
In the ’winter of ^7^4’ Stone, the primate ot
Ireland, died. Mr Grenville sent for Bishop Newton,
and in the most obliging manner desired his acceptance
of the primacy. Having maturely weighed the matter
in his mind, he declined the offer.
In 1768 he was made dean oi St Baul s. His ambi¬
tion was now fully satisfied •, and he firmly resolved ne¬
ver to ask for any thing more.
From this time to his death, ill health was almost
his constant companion. It was wonderful that such a
poor, weak, and slender thread as the bishop’s life,
should be spun out to such an amazing length as it real¬
ly was. In the autumn of 1781 (usually the most fa¬
vourable part of the year to him) he laboured under re¬
peated illnesses: and on Saturday the 9th ot February
1782, he began to find his breath much affected by
the frost. His complaints grew worse and worse till
the Thursday following. He got up at five o’clock,
and was placed in a chair by the fire} complained to
his wife how much he had suffered in bed, and repeat¬
ed to himself that portion of the Psalms, “ O my God,
1 cry unto thee in the day time,” &c. &c. About six
o’clock he was left by his apothecary in a quiet sleep.
Between seven and eight he awoke, and appeared ra¬
ther more easy, and took a little refreshment. He con¬
tinued dozing till near nine, when he ordered his ser¬
vant to come and dress him, and help him down stairs.
As soon as he was dressed, he inquired the hour, and
bid his servant open the shutter and look at the dial of
St Paul’s. The servant answered, it was upon the
stroke of nine. The bishop made an efiort to take out
his watch 5 with an intent to set it} but sunk down in
his chair, and expired without a sigk or the least visi¬
ble emotion, his countenance still retaining the same
placid appearance which was so peculiar to him when
alive. Of his numerous works, his Dissertations on
the Prophecies are by much the most valuable. His
learning was undoubtedly very considerable; but he
seldom exhibits evidence of a very vigorous mind. On
one occasion, indeed, he appears to have thought with
freedom ; for we believe he was the first dignitary of
the church of England who avowed his belief of the
final restitution of all things to harmony and happi¬
ness.
NEWTYA, a port little known, on the coast be¬
tween Goa the capital of the Portuguese settlements in
India, and the English settlement of Bombay. Mr
Rennel conjectures it to be the Nitrias of Pliny j near
which the pirates cruized for the Roman ship. The
same writer places it near to 150 52' 30" north lati¬
tude, and 730 16' 30" east longitude.
NEXT, among the Romans, persons free born, who
for debt were reduced to a state of slavery. By the
laws of the twelve tables it was ordained, that insolvent
debtors should be given up to their creditors to be
bound in fetters and cords, whence they were called
JSfexi; and though they did not entirely lose the rights
4»f freemen, yet they were often treated more harshly
5
G O
If any one was indebted
to several persons, and could not within 60 days find
a cautioner, his body according to some, but accord- ^
ing to others his effects, might be cut in pieces, and
divided among his creditors. The latter opinion seems
by much the most probable, as Livy mentions a law by
which creditors had a right to attach the goods but not
the persons of their debtors.
NEYTRECHT, a town of Upper Hungary, capi¬
tal of a county of the same name, with a bishop’s see j
seated on the river Ncitra, 40 niiles north-east of Pres-
burg. E. Long. 17. 49. N. Lat. 48. 28.
NGAN-KING-FOU, a city of China, and capi¬
tal of the western part of the province of Kiang-nan.
It is governed by a particular viceroy, who keeps a
large garrison in a fort built on the baiiKS ot the river
Yang-tse-kiang. Its situation is delightful 5 its com¬
merce and riches render it very considerable ; and every
thing that goes from the southern part of China to
Nan-king must pass through it. All the country be¬
longing to it is level, pleasant, and fertile. It has un¬
der its jurisdiction only six cities of the third class.
NGO-KIA, a Chinese drug, of which the compo¬
sition will no doubt appear as singular as the numerous
properties ascribed to it. In the province Chang-tong,
near Ngo-hicn, a city ot the third class, is a weii
formed by nature, which is reckoned to be sexenty
feet in depth, and which has a communication, as the
Chinese say, with some subterranean lake, or other
large reservoir. The water drawn from it is exceed-
Jnglv clear, and much heavier than common •, and if it
be& mixed with muddy water, it purifies it and ren¬
ders it limpid, by precipitating all its impurities to the
bottom of the vessel. This water is employed in ma¬
king the ngo-kia, which is nothing else but a kind of
glue procured from the skin of a black ass.
The animal is killed and flayed, and the skin is steep¬
ed for five days in water drawn from this well. At
the end of that time, it is taken out to be scraped and
cleaned j it is afterwards cut into small pieces, which
are boiled over a slow fire, m the same kind of water,
until it is reduced to a jelly, which is strained, while
warm, through a cloth, to free it from all the gross
matter which could not be melted. When this glue
is cool, and has acquired a consistence, it is formed
iato square cakes, upon which the Chinese imprint cha¬
racters and coats of arms, or the signs of their shops.
This well is the only one of the kind in China j it’
is always shut, and sealed by the governor of the place
with his own seal, until the customary day of ma¬
king the emperor’s glue. This operation generally lasts
from the autumnal harvest till the month of March.
During that time, the neighbouring people and mer¬
chants treat for the purchase of the glue with those
who guard the well, and with the people who make
it. The latter manufacture as much of it as they
can, on their own account, with this difference,
that it is not so pure, and that they are less scrupulous
in examining whether the ass be fat, or of a very
black colour: however, all the glue made here is as
much esteemed at Peking as that Much the mandaiins
who are on the spot transmit to court and to their
friends.
As this drug is in the greatest request, and as the
quantity of it made at Ngo-hien is not sufficient to
supply
Ncxi
Ngo-kia.
mia r .
Npro-kia, supply the whole empire, there are not wanting people'
Niagara, who counterfeit it elsewhere, and who manufacture
v a spurious kind from the skins of mules, horses, and
camels, and sometimes even from old boots; it is
however, very easy to distinguish that which is ge¬
nuine, it lias neither a -bad smell nor a disagreeable
taste when applied to the mouth ; it is brittle and
friable, and always ot a deep black colour, sometimes
inclining to red. The qualities of the counterfeit
kind are entirely difi'erent; both its taste and smell
are disagreeable, and it is viscous and flabby even
when made of the skin of a hog, which is that which
imitates the true kind the best.
rIhe Chinese attribute a great number of virtues to
this drug. They assure us that it dissolves phlegm,
facilitates the play and elasticity of the lungs, gives a
free respiration to those who breathe with difficulty *,
that it comforts the breast, increases the blood, stops
dysenteries, provokes urine, and strengthens children in
the womb. Without warranting the truth of all these
properties, it appears, at least, certain, by the testi¬
mony of the missionaries, that this drug is serviceable
in all diseases of the lungs. It is taken w'ith a de¬
coction of simples, and sometimes in powder, but very
seldom.
NIAGARA, a fort of North America, which was
taken from the French in 1759. According to the
treaty of 1794, it w'as delivered up by Britain to the
United States in 1796. It is situated on a small penin¬
sula formed by the river Niagara as it flows into the
lake Ontario. About six leagues from the fort is the
greatest cataract in the world, knowm by the name of
the Waterfall of Niagara. The river at this fall runs
from SSE to NNW; and the rock of the fall crosses it
not in a right line, but forms a kind of figure like a
hollow semicircle or horse shoe. Above the fall, in the
middle of the river, is an island about 800 or 1000
feet long ; the lower end of which is just at the perpen¬
dicular edge of the fall. On both sides of this island
runs all the water that comes from the lakes of Canada;
viz. Lake Superior, Lake Michigan, Lake Huron, and
Lake Erie, which have some large rivers that open
themselves into them. Before the water comes to this
island, it runs but slowly compared with its motion
afterwards, when it grows the most rapid in the world,
running with a surprising swiftness before it comes to
the fall. It is perfectly white, and in many places is
thrown high up into the air. The w’ater that runs
down on the wrest side is more rapid, in greater abun¬
dance, and whiter, than that on the east side ; and
seems almost to outfly an arrow in swiftness. When
you are at the fall, and look up the river, you may see
that the water is everywhere exceedingly steep, almost
like the side of a hill j but when you come to look at
the fail itself, it is impossible to express the amazement
It occasions. The height of it, as measured by mathe¬
matical instruments, is found to be exactly 137 feet j
and when the water is come to the bottom, it jumps
back to a very great height in the air. The noise may be
heard at the distance of 451 miles, but seldom further j
nor can it be heard even at Fort Niagara, which is only
six leagues distant, unless Lake Ontario is calm. At
that fort it is observed, that when they hear the noise
of the fall more loud than ordinary, they are sure that
a oertb-east wind will follow y which is the more sur-
97 I N I A
prising, as the fort lies south-west from the fall. At
some times the fall makes a much greater noise than at
others ; and this is held lor an infallible sign of ap¬
proaching rain or other bad weather.
Fi om the place where the water falls there arises
abundance ol vapour like, very thick smoke, insomuch-
that when viewed at a distance you would think that
the Indians had set the forests on fire. These vapours
1 ise high in the air when it is calm, but are dispersed
by the wind when it blows hard. If you go into this
vapour or fog, or if the wind blows it on you, it is so
penetrating, that in a few moments you will be as wet
as if you had been under water. Some are of opinion
that when birds come flying into this log or smoke of
the lall, they drop down and perish in the water ; either
because their wings are become wet, or that tbe noise
of the fall, astonishes them, and they know not where
to go in the darkness : but others think that seldom
or never any bird perishes there in that manner ; be¬
cause among the abundance of birds found dead be¬
low the fall, there are no other sorts than such as
live and swim frequently in the water ; as swans, geese,
ducks, water hens, teal, and the like. And very
often great flocks of them are seen going to destruc¬
tion in this manner : they swim in the river above the
fall, and so are carried down lower and lower by the
water ; and as water fowl commonly take great delight
in being carried with the stream, they indulge them¬
selves in enjoying this pleasure so long, till the swift¬
ness of the water becomes so great, that it is no longer
possible for them to rise, hut they are driven down the
precipice and perish. They are observed, when they
draw nigh the lall, to endeavour with all their might
to take wing and leave the water ; but they cannot.
In the months of September and October such abun¬
dant quantities of dead water fowl are found every
morning below the fall, on the shore, that the garrison
of the fort for a long time live chiefly upon them.
Besides the fowl, they find also several sorts of death
fish, also deer, bears and other animals which have
tried to eross the water above the fall 5 the larger
animals are generally found broken to pieces. Just
below, a little way from the fall, the water is not ra¬
pid, but goes all in circles, and whirls like a boiling
pot 5 which however does not hinder the Indians go¬
ing upon it in small canoes a-fishing; but a little fur¬
ther, and lower, the other smaller falls begin. When
you are above the fall, and look down, your head be¬
gins to turn } even such as have been here numberless
times, will seldom venture to look down, without at the-
same time keeping fast hold of some tree with one
hand.
It was formerly thought impossible for anybody
living to come at the island that is in the middle of
the fall j but an accident that happened about 50
years ago made it appear otherwise. The history
is this : Two Indians of the Six Nations went out
from Niagara fort to hunt upon an island that is in the
middle of the river, or strait, above the great fall, on
which there used to be abundance of deer. They took
some French brandy with them from the fort, which
they tasted several times as they were going over the
carrying place ; and when they were in their canoe*,
they took now and then a dram, and so went along
up the strait towards tbe island where they proposed.
to.
N 1 . A [ 798 3 N I A
to hunt*, hut growing sleepy, they laid themselves
down in the canoe, which getting loose drove back
with the stream, farther and tardier down, till it came
nigh that island that is in the middle of the fall. Here
one of them, awakened by the noise oi the fall, cries
out to the other, that they were gone : Yet they tried
if possible to save life. This island was nighest, and
with much working they got on shore there. At
first they were glad ; but when they had considered
every thing, they thought themselves hardly in a bet¬
ter state than if they had gone down the fall, since
they had now no other choice, than either to throw
themselves down the same, or perish with hunger.
But hard necessity put them on invention. At the
lower end of the island the rock is perpendicular, and
no water is running there. The island has plenty of
wrood *, they went to work then, and made a ladder
or shrouds of the bark of the lind tree (which is very
tough and strong) so long till they could with it reach
the w'ater below; one end of this hark ladder they
tied fast to a great tree that grew at the side of the
rock above the fall, and let the other end dow'n to the
water. So they went down along their new invented
stairs, and when they came to the bottom in the mid¬
dle of the fall they rested a little ; and as the water
next below the fall is not rapid, as before mentioned,
they threw themselves out into it, thinking to swim
on shore. We have said before, that one part of the
fall is on one side of the island, the other on the other
side. Hence it is, that the waters of the two cata¬
racts running against each other, turn back against the
rock that is just under the island. Therefore, hardly
had the Indians begun to swim, before the w'aves of
the eddy threw them back with violence against the
rock from whence they came. They tried it several
times, but at last grew weary ; and by being often
thrown against the rock they were much bruised, and
the skin tom off their bodies in many places. So
they were obliged to climb up stairs again to the island,
not know'ing what to do. After some time they per¬
ceived Indians on the shore, to whom they cried out.
These saw and pitied them, but gave them little hope
or help: yet they made haste down to the fort, and
told the commandant where two of their brothers were.
He persuaded them to try all possible means of reliev¬
ing the two poor Indians; and it Avas done in the fol¬
lowing manner:
The water that runs on the east side of this island is
shallow, especially a little above the island towards the
eastern shore. The commandant caused poles to be
made and pointed with iron ; twro Indians took upon
them to walk to this island by the help of these poles,
to save the other poor creatures, or perish themselves.
They took leave of all their friends, as if they Avere
going to death. Each had Iavo such poles in his
hands, to set to the bottom of the stream, to keep
them steady : and in this manner reached the island :
and having given poles to the two poor Indians there,
they all returned safely to the main land. These Iavo
Indians (who in the above-mentioned manner Avere first
brought to this island) Avere nine days on the island, and
almost ready to starve to death. Now since the road to
this island has been found, the Indians go there often to
kill deer, Avhich have tried to cioss the river above
the fall, and are driven upon it by the stream. On
the Avest side of this island are some small islands or
rocks, of no consequence. The east side of the river is
almost perpendicular, the west side more sloping. ]n
former times, a part of the rock at the fall which is oil
the Avest side of the island, hung over in such a man¬
ner, that the Avater Avhich fell perpendicularly from it,
left a vacancy beloAV, so that people could go under
between the rock and the Avater ; but the prominent
part some years since broke oft and fell down. rI he
breadth of the fall, as it runs in a semicircle, is rec¬
koned to be about 300 feet. The island is in the
middle of the fall, and from it the Avater on each side
is almost the same breadth ; the breadth of the island
at its loAver end is about 100 feet. BcIoav the fall,
in the holes of the rocks, are great plenty of eels,
Avhich the Indians and French catch with their hands
without any other means. Every day Avhen the sun
shines, you see here from ten o’clock in the morning
to tAVO in the afternoon, beloAV the fall, and under
A'ou, Avhere you stand at the side of the fall, a glo¬
rious rainbow, and sometimes two, one Avithin the
other. The more vapours, the brighter and clearer
is the rainboAV. When the Avind carries the vapours
from that place, the rainbow is gone, but appears
again as soon as ucav vapours come. From the fall
to the landing above it, where the canoes from Lake
Erie put ashore, (or from the fall to the upper end of
the carrying place), is half a mile. LoAver the ca¬
noes dare not come, lest they should be obliged to
try the fate of the Iavo Indians, and perhaps Avith
less success. They have often found below the fall
pieces of human bodies, perhaps drunken Indians,
that have unhappily come down to the fall. The
French say, that they have often throAvn whole great
trees into the Avater above, to see them tumble down
the fall: they went down Avitli surprising swiftness,
but could never be seen afterwards; Avhence it Avas
thought there Avas a bottomless deep or abyss just under
the fall. The rock of the fall consists of a gray lime¬
stone. For an interesting account of this celebrated
fall, the reader is referred to \olney’s or Hall’s Tra¬
vels in America.
Having mentioned the Six J^atio?is Avhich Ka’C on the
banks of tlie Niagara, we shall here add a feAv particu¬
lars relative to those nations Avlnch, as they seem not to
be well understood even in America, are probably still
less known in Europe. The information Avluchwe have
to give Avas communicated to the Royal Society of Lon¬
don by Mr Richard M‘Causland surgeon to the 8th re¬
giment of foot, Avho, Avriting from the best authority,
informs us, that each nation is divided into three tribes,
of Avhich the principal are called the turtle tribe, the
wolf tribe, and the bear tribe.
Each tribe has two, three, or more chiefs, called
sachems; and this distinction is always hereditary in
the family, but descends along the female line: for
instance, if a chief dies, one of his sister’s sons, or one
of his oavu brothers, Avill be appointed to succeed
him. Among these no preference is given to proxi¬
mity or primogeniture ; hut the sachem, during his
lifetime, pitches upon one Avhom he supposes to have
more abilities than the rest; and in this choice he
frequently, though not always, consults the princi¬
pal men of the tribe. If the successor happens to be
a child, the offices of the post are performed by some
Niagara
N I A
until he is of sufficient are
1 799 ]
to act him- the friend
ofh is friends
^ self.
Lac!) of these posts of sachem has a name which is
peculiar to it, and which never changes, as it is al¬
ways adopted by the successor: nor does the order of
precedency of each of these names or titles ever vary.
Nevertheless, .any sachem, by abilities and activitv,
may acquire greater power and influence in the nation
than those who rank before him in point of precedency:
iiut thif is merely temporary, and dies with him.
Each tribe has one or two chief warriors 5 which
dignity is also hereditary, and has a peculiar name at¬
tached to it.
These are the only titles of distinction which are
fixed and permanent in the nation ; for although any
Indian may by superior talents, either as a counsellor
or as a warrior, acquire influence in the nation, yet it
is not in his power to transmit this to his family.
1 he Indians have also their great women as well as
their great men, to whose opinions they pay great de¬
ference: and tnis distinction is also hereditary in families.
rIhey do not sit in council with the sachems, but have
separate ones of their own.—When war is declared, the
sachems and great women generally give up the manage¬
ment of public affairs into the hands of the warriors.
!t may however so happen, that a sachem may at the
same time be also a chief warrior.
Friendship seems to have been instituted with a view
towards strengthening the union between the several
nations of the confederacy; and hence friends arc called
t he sinews of the Six Nations. An Indian lias there¬
fore generally one or more friends in each nation. Be¬
sides the attachment which subsists during the lifetime
•of the two friends, whenever one of them happens to be
killed, it is incumbent on the survivor to replace him,
by presenting to his family either a scalp, a prisoner, or
a belt consisting of some thousands of wampum ; and
this ceremony is performed by every friend of the de¬
ceased.
I he purpose and foundation of Avar parties, therefore, on the Sinus Maliacus.
is m general to procure a prisoner or scalp to replace
N I C
or Nation of the Indian who is the head
of the party. An Indian who wishes to replace a
neiu 01 1 elation presents a belt to his acquaintance ;
and as many as choose to follow him accept this belt,
and become his party. After this, it is of no con¬
sequence whether he goes on the expedition or re¬
mains at home (as it often happens that he is a child:}
he is still considered as the head of the party. The
belt he presented to his party is returned fixed to the
scalp or prisoner, and passes along with them to the
friends of the person he replaces. Hence it happens,
that a war party, returning with more scalps or pri¬
soners than the original intention of the party requi¬
red, will often give one of these supernumerary scalps
or prisoners to another war party whom they meet go-
ing out; upon which this party, having fulfilled the
purpose of their expedition, will sometimes return with¬
out going to war.
NICiEA, in Ancient Geography, the metropolis of
it iyna ; situated, on the lake Ascanius, in a large
and fertile plain ; in compass 16 stadia.' first built by
Antigonus, the son of Philip, and thence called Anti
afterwards completed by Lysimachus, who call-
ed it JSiccea, after his consort the daughter of Antipater.
According to Stephanus, it ivas originally a colony of-,
the Bottiaei, a people of Thrace, and called Ancore;
and afterwards called Niccea. Now Nice in Asia the
Less ,' famous for the first general council.—Ase-*
cond Niccea, (Diodorus Siculus), of Corsica A third
of the Hither India, (Arrian); situated on the west
sit e of the Hydaspes, opposite taBucephale, on the east
fourth Niccea, a town of Liguria, at the
Maritime Alps, on the east side of the river Paulon,
near its mouth, which runs between the Varus and Ni-
ciea, (Mela). A colony of the Massilians, (Stepha¬
nas) ; the last town of Italy to the west. Now Ni-zxa
or A/ce, capital of the county of that name, on the Me-
diterranean.—A fifth, of Locris, (Strabo).; a town near
Thermopylae; one of the keys of that pass. It stood
See Nice,
END OF THE FOURTEENTH VOLUME,
DIRECTIONS for placing the PLATES of Vol. XIV.
Part I.
Plate CCCXXXVII.—CCCXLV. to face - - page 38
CCCXLVI.—CCCL. ... - 76
CCCLI.—CCCL11I. - - ‘ -254
Part II.
CCCL1V.—CCCLXII. - - - - 552
CCCLXIII.—CCCLXVIII. - - - 7°2
CCCLXIX. 734
V
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